Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Perhaps this wasn't the best idea. It certainly didn't seem like it as he traversed the endless winding halls, a labyrinth of books and furniture. Gabriel's anxiety was through the roof, and no level of self soothing was helping calm his nerves. Yet he had good reason to worry; his life was on the line, and he would very much like to keep his newfound mortality. Gabriel had left his swords and armor at their shared base with V1, hoping to show the two he meant no harm. Looking back, it was a stupid idea. A profoundly stupid idea. But tucked deep within the recesses of his mind, a part of him hoped they'd smite him on the spot, contradicting his yearn for survival.

He'd tortured, abandoned and murdered so many; Gabriel wouldn't fault anyone for hating him, especially his victims. And among those victims, he found himself ruminating over 2 notable executions: the killing of the kings.

Sisyphus put up a good fight, but was spared no mercy, liberating his head from his neck in one swift chop. He died with a smile on his face. While notoriously violent when need be, he was a just ruler that cared for his people. His existence was a morale boost in and of itself. Gabriel remembers the husk's wailing screams, their leader's lifeless body on the floor. It might’ve been for the best if the insurrection succeeded. He'd hate to face his post-mortem wrath.

Minos, on the other hand, was honorable beyond belief, his kindness knowing no bounds. His crown was filled with flowers gifted by the very people he so cherished. Out of everyone, he deserved his fate the least. Forced to watch his once prosperous city be demolished by his own hand and struck down under the false pretense of peaceful negotiation. It was cowardice. Gabriel doesn't know what'd be worse, Minos forgiving him, or the king crushing his skull. At least he wouldn't have to suffer the guilt of his actions if his head was caved in.

Guilt and regret was why he was here, after all, and he was dreading it. Gabriel heard from the machine that the two kings reformed as prime souls, freed from their respective prisons. It left them alive, if only barely, hoping it could get more blood from them later on. When V1 first told him, Gabriel nearly screamed in frustration. They sealed those two away for a reason! They might destroy heaven or hunt him down with (admittedly rightful) vengeance! Or… he could apologize and right his wrongs. He was far from redemption, but regret gnawed at his very being, and for good reason. Maybe releasing the prime souls was a blessing in disguise.

Gabriel ventured to the lust layer with shaking hands. If the two kings were still standing, they'd meet at Minos's castle. They were close friends in life despite their vastly different ideologies, and the kingdom Minos built was still perfectly habitable. The city was breathtakingly beautiful, the violet skies bleeding into every surface, pinks and blues painting the town. He silently treaded the empty roads, buildings lining every street. Gabriel made the mistake of peeking in one of the houses out of curiosity. He found two skeletons hugging one another on the bed, their eternal embrace on display for all to see, hands lovingly intertwined. He might've thrown up.

It took a while for him to get to the castle, purposefully stalling his entrance by pacing the streets. Eventually, he couldn't stand the silence and approached the castle stairs. The interior was just as stunning as the exterior, if not a bit repetitive, hence him getting lost, where he is now. Gabriel wanders for what seems like hours, whether it be from procrastination or the confusing, forking hallways, he does not know. Finally, he hears a voice: a very familiar one. They sounded like they were laughing, gruff yet jovial. Sisyphus. Another voice responded with clear amusement. Their tone was calm but regal. That must be Minos. His heart clenched in dread. What if they kill him before he gets to apologize? Would they even hear him out? Pushing his anxieties aside, he raised a quaking fist to the door and knocked thrice. 

The conversation turned into uncomfortable silence. They knew everyone else in hell was dead, apart from him and the machine. V1 never knocks, so the kings knew only one person could be at the door.

"...If you are who I think you are, you may enter. But be warned, I cannot guarantee you will leave here alive." Sisyphus drawls. His voice shakes the very foundation of the castle.

That wasn't exactly the warm welcome he was hoping for, but it will have to do (it's not like he deserved one, anyways). Steeling himself and prepared for anything, Gabriel presses his hands against the double doors and pushes. What he saw left him in shock.

He was greeted with the sight of a modest stairway leading up to two thrones, a long dining table to his right. One of the thrones looked like it was haphazardly dragged over and placed next to the other. But what really caught his eye was the figures those thrones belonged to. The man sitting on his left was glowing a pale white color, his see-through skin putting his circulatory system out for display. Gabriel's heart sank when he recognized the crown atop their head: Minos. The king was left with a gaping hole where his face was, an unmistakable reminder of when Gabriel's sword pierced his skull. His guilt weighed heavily on his shoulders.

The second man was similarly transparent, but the shining star that replaced their head glowed with such ferocity that he could barely make out their facial features. The missing head made it obvious who he laid his eyes upon: Sisyphus. Unlike Minos, he stood with barely restrained fury, likely for the other king's sake. While Minos was taller than he remembered, Sisyphus towered over both of them. A bolt of fear struck through Gabriel's body.

"Come to gloat, have you? Ever so confident, you have the audacity to face us unarmed." Sisyphus bellows. Minos stares in stern silence, letting Sisyphus do the talking for him.

"Though we have grown in power, we grant you no mercy, as you have done to us.” He cracks his knuckles. “Come forth, filth, and die ." 

Like the obedient weapon he is, Gabriel does what he's told and approaches the two kings. Sisyphus readies his fists; Minos finally stands from his throne. Gabriel stares back at the two; his judges, jury and executioners. As he reaches the stairs, the kings prepare a fighting stance, and Gabriel, he-

-he kneels before them. 

Baffled, Minos lowers his hands. Sisyphus has confusion written on his face but does not relax in the slightest. Wary, yet hopeful, they listen for what he has to say.

"...I'm sorry. For your executions, for your people, for everything and everyone I've ruined. I know words will never be enough to redeem myself, nor undo my wrongs, but I hope it brings you peace to know I deeply regret my actions." 

The two share a suspicious glance. Slowly, Sisyphus turns back to him, giving a nod as if to say, "go on."

"The torment you've faced is unjust. You were just trying to help your denizens thrive, and heaven and I deemed it an offense worthy of death." His voice wavered now and then, but he willed himself to continue.

"It is with shame I say I willingly carried out their word. Now, far too late, I realize it was wrong." 

Daring to meet their gazes, he raises his head. Minos's expression is hard to read due to the gaping hole where his face should be, but his posture seems more relaxed. Sisyphus had finally loosened his stance, standing deep in contemplation. Sweat drips from Gabriel's brow as the two silently scrutinize him. His knees feel like they're going to give out.

After what feels like eons, Sisyphus descends the stairs, approaching with an uncharacteristically kind smile. He says nothing, but Gabriel knows he can see him trembling. The fallen angel rises to his feet with wobbly legs, his height barely reaching Sisyphus's torso. 

"What an interesting turn of events," Sisyphus says. “I’m tempted to say you’ve changed, Gabriel.”

The king leans in close to whisper in his ear, so close that he can feel the heat radiating off of him. 

" But it's too bad you didn't spare us when you were given the chance. "

Everything happens so quickly. Sisyphus's expression turns to one of disgust, grabbing Gabriel by the neck and tossing him across the dining table. He's sent careening towards the fireplace, his body landing on utensils and plates, sending silverware flying from the force of the impact. By the time he rolled to a stop at the end of the table, he was deeply battered, with aching joints and bruised skin. Yeah, leaving his armor behind was a very stupid idea. Gabriel coughs, a hand cupping his neck to soothe the pain. His eyes flit around the room in a desperate frenzy.

In his panic, he spots Minos on the sidelines, watching on with contempt. His crossed arms say he won't help Gabriel in the slightest. 

Fuck. Nononono. 

Minos's forgiveness was integral to Gabriel getting out alive. Even if Sisyphus still had his qualms, Minos would step in, ever the diplomat. But now, nothing and no one will protect him from Sisyphus's wrath. 

"O' Gabriel. Now dawns thy reckoning."

Gabriel holds out his hand, a paltry attempt at shielding himself. Through sputtering breaths, he manages to plead, "I-I understand you both are rightfully irate, but-"

" You understand nothing. "

Sisyphus advances at blinding speeds. He only manages to scramble backwards a couple feet before a palm strikes his chest, pinning him to the table. Gabriel frantically tries to pry his hands away. However, his white-knuckling is futile, for Sisyphus's strength dwarfs his own. He can barely breathe, lungs struggling to make enough room for air, ribs cracking under the pressure. Sisyphus ignores the snapping of his bones, his eyes portraying perfect hatred.

" You took everything from us! " He shouts.

"I know! And I know I cannot erase my sins, like the father once told us! But please, spare my life."

" So you've discovered the father's flaws. I'd congratulate you, if I wasn't about to destroy the very essence of your being. "

“Wait-” 

The hand on his chest draws back, only allowing for a moment of respite. Sisyphus’s hand shoots out, grabbing for him. Gabriel evades him, if only barely, lunging across the table. His wings beat the air and propel him towards the door; he’s almost there, if he can just reach the exit maybe-

His hope is shattered by a violent tug at his shoulder. Sisyphus has his wing in a vice grip and he can feel its delicate bones snap like twigs. Gabriel screams as his momentum carries him forward but is held back by the king’s firm hold. Something definitely just dislocated. As if it can’t get any worse, Sisyphus throws him to the ground, which isn’t doing any favors for his broken wing. He lands with a sickening thud . Gabriel clambers away while cradling his cracked ribs, keeping one wing tucked close to his body as every little movement sends pain shooting through his shoulder. His other wing is clumsily flailing around, unable to properly balance on its own.

“P-Please, don’t.” He begs.

“ Mercy is reserved for the innocent. ” Sisyphus growls.

Gabriel looks to Minos for help, spotting him at the window. The king is staring blankly at his desolate city, seemingly unaware of the fight going on behind him, yet he can tell from his tense stance that Minos knows; he’s just ignoring them. Despite being a known pacifist, that doesn’t mean he won’t allow another to do the dirty work for him. Especially for filth like him.

Gabriel is thrown back into the battle as Sisyphus grabs him by the throat and lifts him off the ground. His toes reach for the floor but miss it by a mile, the king dangling him effortlessly from his hand. He feels his windpipe being crushed, lungs burning like they've been charred. No matter how hard he struggles, he can't escape. This is it. This is how he dies: slaughtered at the hands of a man whose head once laid at his feet. Maybe he deserves this. What will the machine think? Will it go looking for him? Would it even care?

" I'd tell you to say your prayers, but there is no god to hear your pleas. " Sisyphus chuckles. " Send my regards to the council then. "

Oh, how Gabriel wishes he could laugh. How ironic. In a rare show of generosity, the man loosens his grip just a tad to let him wheeze out his final words.

"I…I do not know where angels go when they die, but I hope to see them in hell." He manages a single huff of laughter. Just out of spite. His eyes slip close, ready for his due reward of death, and waits. And waits…and waits. But retribution never comes. Cautiously, Gabriel opens his eyes. 

He's met with the sight of his captor, utterly bewildered. It appears Minos is equally interested in his words, having moved towards their (very one-sided) fight. Air rushes to his lungs as the hand around his throat drops him, immediately gasping for breath. Stars are dancing in his peripherals and blood rushes to his head so quickly he can practically hear his heartbeat. 

" Explain. Now. " Sisyphus demands. Gabriel tries his best to reply, but he can't stop coughing.  Regardless, Sisyphus requires an answer.

" SPEAK! "

"Wha-"

" THE COUNCIL. WHAT HAPPENED TO THEM. "

" I killed them, alright! "

His labored panting is the only sound that fills the silence. The two kings have been rendered mute.

"They're…they're dead. All of them." He whispers. 

Brushing the metaphorical dust off his vocal chords, Minos speaks up.

"...But what for?"

They grant him a moment to catch his breath. Meanwhile, he judges their expressions. Sisyphus has gone silent, the gears turning in his head, still glaring with scrutiny. Unsurprisingly, Minos is more difficult to read, but he seems more curious than anything. Schooching to slump against the wall, he lies broken and beaten. He stares at the rafters above, drearily explaining what happened in heaven. He's unsure if his incoherent warbling even gets through to them, but he tries. The fallen angel describes his run in with the machine and the unjust theft of his light. He rambles about the council's misgivings for the father and the only way he knew how to dethrone them with the little time he had left. Between his words, sisyphus takes a seat at the dining table, facing away from them. With an elbow propped up on his knee, a fist supporting his head, he resembles the pose of a cerberus. Minos nods along to show he's listening. Eventually, Gabriel wraps up his tale, eyes shut in complete exhaustion.

"...and I don't regret it. Not one bit."

There's a beat of silence before Minos replies.

"How do we know thou art truthful?"

"Without the father’s light, I cannot teleport. If I was still immortal, don't you think I'd have left by now?" He can't help the bit of sass that comes out of his mouth. Must be the adrenaline high.

"...Thou hast merit."

Sisyphus stands suddenly, nearly knocking over his chair and causing Gabriel to flinch. The movement makes his injuries absolutely blossom with agony. He looms over the former angel as his shadow encompasses his own. 

"Let me make this clear," his tone is much more measured than before. "I do not forgive you. Nor will I ever."

He crumbles under Sisyphus's gaze.

"But, you've shown much growth from our last…escapade. You are a rebel exhumed, and for that, I can respect." 

"I never believed mine eyes would witness a day of justice dawn. Though it was by thy hand, it seems the 'holy' council has met retribution." Sisyphus hums in agreement.

Oh. They were thanking him. Gabriel felt hardly worthy of praise, but if it meant getting out alive, he would gladly play the part of a hero. Relief washed over him in waves, finally settling his nerves. His head felt strangely light.

"I understand your resentment towards me. My goal was not to be forgiven, just to apologize.” Odd. His arms are numb. “Your gratitude for ending the council’s reign is not needed, for their demise is a reward in and of itself.”

Gabriel wrenches himself up to his feet, having to use the wall for support. He takes a single step-

-and promptly passes out. Ah. That would be the adrenaline crash .

“...”

“Have thou perished?”

“...Minos, how do you feel about digging a shallow grave?”

Said man elbows Sisyphus in the side.

Chapter Text

Two kings stand awkwardly around the fallen angel, the only indicator he's still with them is the slow rise and fall of his chest.

“We are not burying him alive,” Minos says, slipping his hands under Gabriel’s limp body. “Though it is tempting, I must admit.”

Sisyphus raises a brow at the questionable remark. Minos did have his occasional mischievous streaks.

“Ah, but I jest.” He chuckles, lifting Gabriel with ease, his helmet lolling to the side. Sisyphus swears he hears Minos whisper, “Or do I?,” but doesn’t comment. He shakes his head fondly, as if there isn’t a badly beaten angel in the other’s arms. Minos glances down at the bundle resting against his chest, who finally appears to be at peace. Perhaps I was a bit harsh on him , he ponders, but that notion is abruptly squashed when he spots his forsaken city through the window. Kind faces of townsfolk flash through his mind, men and women who openly expressed their gratitude with smiles and “hellos.” The renaissance was truly a sight to behold. He recalls the children gleefully placing dandelions in his crown, bowing his head to allow for it. People flocked to him for advice and he gave it freely, and all of it for nothing. His words were null against the edge of an angelic blade. Their voices, silenced forever. He hadn’t even the heart to move their corpses from their beds. Anger renewed, the idea of putting Gabriel in the ground doesn’t seem so far fetched anymore.

It takes the will of a man far greater than himself not to drop them right then and there. Instead, Minos adjusts his hold before begrudgingly carrying him over to a spare bedroom. Sisyphus follows; boredom quickly sets in in the lust layer with its citizens gone, so any source of entertainment is a good one. Placing him gently on a queen-sized bed, Minos’ eyes do a once over on Gabriel’s broken body. Blood is caked to his tunic in several places, painful looking bruises littering his ebony skin. Loose feathers fall upon the bedsheets, stemming from the bare patches on his wings where Sisyphus had manhandled him. The king curiously cards his fingers through the feathers, attempting to pluck a few bloodied ones. Pluck. A whine escapes the angel’s lips. Minos ignores him. Pluck. His wings twitch pathetically, dislodging even more feathers. Pluck. Pluck. Pluck.

“Please, no more,” Gabriel gasps, trying to rise from the bed. “I yield, I yield. Just. Don’t hurt them.” He sounds as vulnerable as the day he was created.

Minos and Sisyphus share a wary look and study the cowering body before them; his unsuccessful attempt to get up left him weak, ordinarily strong muscles shaking from exertion, trembling under their own weight. Or was he shivering? Gabriel’s skin shines with sweat, fingers desperately grasping at the blanket to pull over himself. Minos places a hand against his chest, sensing the heat radiating off of him before his digits even touch down. He feels like the scorching sands of Greed, like his blood boils hotter than the sun. With the way he feverishly tosses and turns, one can reasonably deduce he's delirious. Getting beat within an inch of your life tends to do that to a person.

Gabriel's good wing curls around him protectively, obscuring his face. Minos gently pushes the limb aside, noting how he’s met with little resistance. 

"Wouldst thou explain thy words?" He tries to keep his voice soft, despite the resentment brewing just below the surface.

"Ngh. S-stop. Raphael did nothing wrong,” He ducks his head, body wracked with quiet sobbing. “It’s my fault, I’m sorry.” His fingers twitch, too weak to even grasp at the bedsheets. "I-I beg of you, holy council. Please…" Gabriel's voice trails off into heavy breaths. He's gone limp once more, exhausted by his fitful writhing.

Minos feels an ember of sympathy growing in his heart and quickly tries to snuff it out. However, that little flame is persistent, and no amount of smothering seems to dampen its fiery spirit. He kicks sand at the tinder, he douses it with water, but nothing works. I believe I finally understand why Sisyphus says compassion is my weakness, he laments to himself. It seems the council's abuse was not just limited to hell’s subjects, but to Gabriel as well. Minos could only glean so much from his fever-ridden rambling; something about torture and a name he's never heard before. But whoever they are, they're close enough to Gabriel to be used as leverage.

"I can't believe I'm saying this, but I think I liked it better when he was being annoying." Sisyphus grumbles. Minos manages to give him a strange look despite lacking any facial features. "A weakened opponent makes for a dull fight," he hastily tacks on. If Minos could give him a deadpan stare, he would.

He spends the next hour tending to Gabriel’s wounds, weaving stitches into skin. Sisyphus is engrossed in a novel, handing Minos tools when the occasion arises. As time trudges on, Sisyphus finds himself becoming impatient. He places his book face down on the arm rest, being sure not to crease the pages. His legs ache from disuse as he makes his way over to the makeshift operating table. Gabriel’s condition doesn’t appear to have improved, his tunic still stained sanguine-red. At least he’s still breathing , he thinks.

“How much longer until he wakes?”

“That I am unsure. His healing is much delayed, due to his fall from grace, no doubt. We’ll have to wait and see, my friend.” Minos goes back to stitching the lesion on the angel’s stomach, who squirms in response. 

Even unconscious, he seems…disturbed. Sisyphus’ brows crease, taking in his suffering. Their fingers curl in on themselves, as if grasping for something that isn’t there, trying to catch the wind. Perhaps they’re searching for someone: a someone who is no longer here. He remembers receiving the news of Minos’ execution, the sheer anguish overwhelming his senses. He vowed to avenge them, to tear Gabriel limb from limb, but knowing about them what he knows now, would he still seek retribution? They’re just another lost soul, trying to find themself, driven by fear and threats. It’s all so convoluted that he opts to ignore the clashing, swirling thoughts in favor of clearing his mind. He wrinkles his nose. The scent of iron is becoming bothersome. 

Curious of their health (and for lack of anything better to do), he leans down, listening for their breath, their faces almost touching.

“Sisyphus. What art thou doing, he does not need-”

He hears a sharp gasp in his ear, pulling back just in time to avoid being headbutted. Gabriel wakes up with a start, letting out a scream and desperately trying to scramble away while shielding himself with his uninjured arm. Minos, on the other hand, is fruitlessly trying to stop his graceless flailing; those sutures are fragile, and by the way the king is swearing, he’s definitely torn a few. Grabbing his wrists doesn't seem to be working, the angel wrenching his arms away in sheer panic. Not such a warm welcome back to the land of the living.

“Oh, stop overreacting. My face isn’t that appalling,” Sisyphus huffs. His joke goes unappreciated.

After an infuriating tussle, and a few choice words from Minos, he manages to pin his arms to his sides.

“Would…thou… cease thy senseless struggle?” He sounds like he’s gritting his non-existent teeth, frustrated panting interrupting his words. Gabriel starts to untense his muscles, still a bit rattled from the unwanted wake up call.

“W-what happened? What is-”

“You passed out from your injuries,” Sisyphus says. “Keep that blood inside your body next time.” Gabriel bristles, incredulous. He’s too offended to realize the man he’s arguing with could very well eat him for breakfast. Blame it on the blood loss.

“What? You were the one who beat me to a pulp! If anything, this is your fault.”

“Enough with thy bickering,” Minos interjects, making a shooing motion with his hand. “If thou cannot control thyselves, leave at once. Childish squabbling will not aid in the healing process.” Sisyphus has known Minos long enough to know that statement’s targeted towards him. He scoffs, but removes himself without further complaint. Which leaves just Gabriel and Minos. Alone. In silence. He makes an effort to keep his gaze lowered when the other roughly snatches back the needle and motions him to lay back down, clearly in a foul mood.

Oh joy, he thinks. I do hope Minos can suture quickly.

Chapter Text

“I, uh. Love what you did with the curtains?”

Gabriel’s feeble attempt at small talk is ignored. Breaking the ice has never been this difficult, and he's getting absolutely stone walled by the man stitching up his skin. Prestigious ruler or not, his bedside manners can use some work. He tries not to let his irritation show through his body language. I think I’d rather get my ass handed to me again over whatever this is.

“Is everything alright?”

“...”

“Look, you really don’t have to do this. I can just head back and patch mys-”

“Hold thy tongue,” Minos snaps. His mouth slams shut. He immediately drops the subject.

“Oh, um yeah. I can do that.”

He fidgets with his hands for lack of anything better to do. The loopiness from his fever is fading, his dampened healing factor working overtime to repair weary muscle. While he still had his light, Gabriel’s regeneration was enough to mend any wound in seconds. Now more than ever, he longs for that invulnerability, bestowing him confidence to the point of arrogance, reckless beyond abandon. It encased him like his shell of armor, covering incorporeal flaws. If only he could see himself now, having to rely on the tools of man and the care of another to heal. Some days, he berates his reflection. “How weak,” “how distasteful,” he thinks. “How pathetic.”

How the mighty have fallen.

His eyes flick back and forth from Minos and the floor, trying not to get caught staring. He doesn't deserve to be in their presence; a kind and noble man like him shouldn't be tainted by his darkness. Perhaps that's why Minos is being so irritable; he must be rubbing off on them. Despite the need to shy away, he spares another glance.

Gabriel's helm shields his face, but he feels naked, transparent, like the king’s iridescent skin. He sees right through them, literally and figuratively. Right through their resentment, which is held not only for Gabriel, but also for the man himself. V1 once spoke of his rage upon being liberated from the flesh prison, going as far as to describe his demeanor as “violent;” a bit ironic coming from the literal murder machine. He never thought those two words could be said in the same sentence; violence and Minos simply aren't compatible, like oil and water, fire and ice. Or so he thought.

Halfway through their battle, he grit out a single, spiteful word; “weak.” He spat it out as if it tasted vile, vicious and repulsive like acid on his tongue. And while yes, Minos despises V1 for all their kind has done to humanity, he’d never deny their skill in battle. The king was struggling to his feet, having to push off his knee to stand, frustrated that his muscles seemed to rebel against him. It's almost as if that bitterness was directed not at the machine, but instead at…

Hm.
Maybe they're not so different after all.

Gabriel observes the man beside him, no longer trying to be discreet. Their shoulders are tense, whether it's from being hunched over so long or the restraint needed to not beat him until his bones are a fine, white mist, he doesn’t know. But he will risk his skeletal system if it means this’ll stop being so damn awkward.

“I’m well aware you told me to shut up,” Gabriel says, holding his hands up in a placating manner. Minos gives him a deadpan glare (or what he assumes is a deadpan glare), but lets him continue. “But I must speak my piece.” He takes a deep breath and resists the urge to pray to a god that no longer exists.

“The father once told us that all sin can be forgiven with a confession and a wave of the hand.” He laughs bitterly. “Now, that's really not true, is it.” It's not a question. He knows the answer.

“No confession will ever right the wrongs that are my actions. No apology of mine will ever be worthy of your ears. I presume you would not want one from me, anyways.”

Minos doesn't dignify him with a response, opting to stare straight ahead.

Gabriel is reminded of his own silent brooding, remembering the warm glow of the campfire while he pondered his questionable morality. After a (not-so) healthy amount of denial, he'd turned to self loathing. How could he have not recognized the council's manipulation sooner? Was he that blind, that moronic to believe their lies? Or was he just too pathetic to form any sort of resistance? What if he was more observant, would he have figured this out earlier and prevented it all from spiraling down to disaster? These questions crowded his mind, like fish in a much-too-small bucket, gasping for air, suffocating each other as they squirm and writhe. The “what ifs” and “if onlys” taunted him with a universe in which he was better, stronger.

How he yearned for someone to battle his thoughts for him, to shut down the paralyzing convictions that plagued his dreams.
So maybe what they really need isn’t an apology, just simple reassurance.

“You…are not weak. Far from it.” The words come out awkward and stilted, though he barely needs to think before he speaks. It’s like the syllables have long been ingrained in the deepest parts of his mind, mouth moving to form sounds that have already left his lips.

“You were wronged, and people suffered for it, but it wasn’t your fault. Your strength would not have made a difference, though you harbor more of it than I ever will.”

It's hard to tell what Minos is feeling, half from the fact he lacks a face, and the other half being that Gabriel's people skills are out of practice. In fact, he never had them in the first place. Never had a reason to, if your only purpose is to carry out orders.

“The fact you still stand here today, tragedy after tragedy, is a show of resilience. Though you couldn’t prevent the tragedies in the first place, you did your best to make do with what was left. What’s done is done, Minos.”

He wishes he can take his own advice. Practice what you preach, as they say. Gabriel was never a good preacher, but he tries. He makes sure the other man is listening before delivering his final words.

“You did good.”

Minos says nothing, and for a terrifying moment he thinks he’s made a fatal mistake. And then the man huffs a quiet laugh. Gabriel stares in confusion.

“I…appreciate thy appraisal, but I must admit I’m rather conflicted. On one hand, I understand thou hast merit, but I am reluctant to entertain thy words, due to our history.”

Gabriel lowers his gaze, disappointed he didn’t get through to them, but Minos starts again.

“However, I must thank thee. Thou clearly drew from thy own experience; that shows courage. I shall consider thy appraisal.”

He perks up at that, looking to the king with elation and surprise.

“Just…keep the creature of steel away from this layer. I’m sure thou can surmise why.” He sounds like he’s trying to keep his anger at bay, staring at the floor.

Oh, V1. Yes, he can do that. It did destroy much of what was left of Minos’ kingdom after all, so a permanent ban from the lust layer is more than fair. And that’s not even delving into their battle, the man treating his own defeat as a sign that he’d failed humanity. He shudders at the thought of what Minos would do if he got his hands on them again.

“I understand. I’ll tell them to avoid your city.” It’s Gabriel’s turn to laugh. “Maybe it’ll actually listen to me for once.”

He fixes his eyes on the floor as well, the two sharing a moment of understanding. And then the moment is gone, brief as it is cathartic.

“Sisyphus will accompany thou as I prepare supper. Stay.” Minos goes to open the door…revealing the man in question. Speak of the devil. He has the gall to look smug, bent at the knees to press his ear to the door, the shameless bastard.

“What have I told thee about eavesdropping,” Minos seems unphased, expectant, even.

“Sorry,” But Sisyphus’ grin says otherwise. “I can't help it. Force of habit, I suppose.” The other lets out a rather childish groan.

“I would tell thou to cease thy antics, if not for thy refusal to listen.”

“That's not true. I listened in on your conversation perfectly well.”

“That's…just entertain thy guest.”

“Anything for you, my friend.”

Minos tries to slip past the other, very much ready to leave, but not before Sisyphus catches him with a warm hand on his shoulder. His large frame blocks most of Gabriel's view, but he sees his body lean into theirs. All encompassing, like a solar eclipse. He can't hear what they're saying, so he can only imagine the kindness Sisyphus reserves for friends alone, something he knows he’ll never deserve. He’ll let them have their moment, too.

Once Minos has had enough (said affectionately) with his friend’s fussing, he leaves the two alone in favor of attending to his kingly duties (or whatever that man does in his free time). Sisyphus takes a place at his side, awkwardness not any less prevalent. Time to pull out his award-winning small talk skills again, because that went over so well last time. Believe it or not, Gabriel's smart enough to know that bringing up the king's beheading is a bad idea. The traumatic event is likely still an open wound, for lack of a better term. When would it be appropriate to “get over” your own beheading, anyways? Fourty, fifty years? A hundred? Never? It's not like he's going to get his head back. Alright, now he's just stalling. He needs to come up with a conversation topic quick, because he swears the silence is eating away at his soul. Maybe he can talk about V1; he finds himself doing that often. Not that it means anything.

“...I apologize for my friend's behavior.”

Sisyphus raises a brow.

“You have friends? I never thought you had it in you to be likable.” Oh, so that’s how it’s going to be. Gabriel rolls his eyes, giving an indignant glare. “I do not know who you are referring to. Not many can tolerate your presence.”

“I'm just going to ignore what you said and move on. Look, the machine has said it regrets it's actions-”

“Ah, you mean the child of man.” His mood lifts instantly. “At least you have good taste in company. Our battle ought to be remembered; it was invigorating. I hope to have a rematch someday.” Well, that was very much not the reaction he was expecting.

“You don’t…hate V1? They nearly killed you!”

“Is that its name? I shall honor that, for unlike you,” He shoves a finger in his direction. “it fights with a sense of decency.” Gabriel shrinks under his scrutiny. “How ironic, that a war machine holds more virtue than the supreme angel.” Ouch.

“...That was uncalled for.”

“Was it? It’s not my fault that your lover has better morals than you.”

Time stands still for Gabriel. He feels like he just got shot by the railcannon. There’s no way he heard that right…right?

“I’m sorry, my WHAT?”

“Your lover,” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “You two are joined at the hip. It’s nauseating, honestly. Or was your relationship supposed to be a secret?” Gabriel flounders like a fish out of water. This greatly amuses Sisyphus, who’s found his new favorite pastime: pestering a certain archangel.

“I-we are not a couple! I don’t know where you could’ve possibly gleaned that from, but you’re wrong. They are my companion, nothing more.”

“Denial does not look good on you, Gabriel. I thought you were past that.”

“Listen,” he grumbles. “we may be close, but I do not have feelings for the machine!”

“Whatever you say.” He drawls, voice dripping in sarcasm. Sisyphus grins when the other lets out a frustrated groan.

“You-ngh. You are impossible. For the last time, I’m not in love with them. I don't even like them; they're, uh. Sinful and unholy-”

Thud. They whip their heads towards the noise. It sounded like someone kicking open a pair of doors.

“Did…did you hear that?”

“Of course I heard that. Now shut your mouth.” They sit in tense silence. A single beat passes before the quiet is shattered by a thunderous shout.

“CREATURE OF STEEL.”

Oh no. It better not be who he thinks it is. It seems Sisyphus has the same inkling, both slowly turning to give the other a wary look.

“...Is that-”

CRASH.

The wooden wall by the door explodes inward, a blue torpedo rocketing into the room, splinters flying everywhere. Gabriel lets out an undignified shriek. As the dust settles, he can make out a familiar figure lying in the rubble. Shit. It is who he thought it was. At least they seem completely unharmed, despite crashing through a damn wall. It perks up when it sees Gabriel. V1, like the menace it is, waves excitedly.
He can’t for the life of him conjure up a single word to say, speechless for the Nth time today. Sisyphus, for one, doesn’t appear phased, greeting them with a hearty chuckle.

“Ah, V1. We were just talking about you. How nice of you to join us.” It would've given him a wave as well, but their friendly conversation is interrupted by a foreboding presence.

“THOU ART NOT WELCOME HERE.” Minos has arrived, and boy is he pissed. He stands in the hole left in the wall, posture stiff and gaze unyielding. The dim, blue-tinged light that once emanated from his form has grown into a blazing, turquoise glow. His heart pumps furiously, veins bulging, visible through his translucent skin.

If Gabriel thought Sisphysus’ wrath was terrifying, Minos’ is nearly enough to make him go into cardiac arrest. Before he can properly process his own terror, the king starts approaching V1, fists ready. Gabriel quickly scrambles to put himself between the two, reacting before his common sense can stop him.

“Don’t!”

Minos glares down at him. Somehow his lack of eyes makes him even more terrifying.

“Please. Spare them.”

The realization sets in that he’s keeping a predator from its prey, and there’s a slight tremble in the arm he shoots out to keep the man at a distance. With a huff, Minos tries to shove past, but the angel shifts to block him. Gabriel sternly shakes his head.

“Move.”

Minos’ voice drips with venom, thick with barely concealed rage. It takes everything within him to stand his ground, anticipating the worst. After all, V1 would do the same for him.

“I will not. Ask. Again.”

Fuck. Gabriel is starting to regret not bringing his swords. He watches helplessly as the other advances, quick steps with murderous intent. He tenses his muscles, steadies his breath, and prepares for a jaw shattering punch…but is instead met with a voice, low and understanding.

“Minos. Think about what you are doing.”

Gabriel locks eyes with his unlikely savior. Sisyphus is the picture of neutrality, brow set in careful analysis. He's well aware of the fragility of the situation; Minos looks like he’s just about to go off the deep end. And while he has good reason to loathe, Sisyphus knows he'll regret lashing out. His conscience always comes back to haunt him, the damn thing. As much as he'd like to see the two mashed into a red paste, Minos doesn't need another thing to lament over. He can’t say he’s looking forward to defending the duo, suddenly reminded of what provoked such an intense response. He scolds himself for starting to actually get along with Gabriel, nearly forgetting the horrors he unleashed upon his greatest friend. Sisyphus schools his expression, trying not to let his own anger show.

“Your people, they look up to you for your compassion and empathy. Where is that mercy now?”

There's a near unperceptive tremor that wracks his friend's tense frame. Good. He's getting through to him.

“The beings before you did what they needed to survive. While their actions had dire repercussions, and I am not absolving them of fault here, consider their circumstances.”

Minos doesn't want to. He doesn't want to humanize them any further. He wants to tear them apart like they did humanity, unhindered by stupid morals.

“Would one blame a trout for thrashing when caught? Would one scorn a wolf for killing to eat?”

A thick, black liquid starts to ooze out of Minos’ abyss-like face. It flows like tar, ugly and coagulated with sorrow and feelings he'd hate to dissect. In the hollow silence that swallows the room, they can hear his breath hitch.

“Gabriel,” Sisyphus says, fixing him with a piercing stare. The angel stares with wide eyes, not expecting to have been brought into the conversation. “You were a weapon wielded by another, neglected and abused. When you inevitably faltered, you were discarded like a rag.”

Gabriel lowers his gaze. He hates that they're right.

“The sins you committed were the result of eons of manipulation and torture. When you finally realized what you'd done, you took immediate action to correct your mistakes with the little time you had left.”

The angel in question is stunned into silence. Truly, what more could he have possibly done in his situation? With only one day to right his wrongs, it’d be futile to reason with the council; killing them was the sole solution. As for the sins of his past, perhaps all the blame does not fall on him. It was the council’s abuse that forced him to carry out their word, conditioned to be unquestioningly loyal to the point of blind faith. While he was the one to strike innocents down, the blood is also on their hands. An ancient weight is halved, lifted from his shoulders, no longer unbearable. A sliver of forgiveness, not from another, but for himself: a gift he never expected Sisyphus of all people to bestow upon him. He would’ve expressed his gratitude if not for the sudden shift in subject, mourning the chance to thank his unlikely advocate.

“V1,” the machine perks up at the mention of its name. “You were created to kill and survive, and you did just that. After the threat of death had passed, you opted to explore beyond your nature. If passivity was an option, you took it.”

They do little more than tilt their head in consideration. They’re a bit hard to read on the count of not having a face, so he can only speculate if it's having a similarly Earth-shattering revelation like his.

“You defied your creator’s wildest expectations. Yes, you are violent, and ruthless, and efficient, but you are more than just that. I see flair in the way you fight, confidence in your skills, and a desire to succeed. You are so much more than the actions you did in order to survive.” He lets a beat of silence pass for the information to sink in before addressing the man of the moment.

“Minos, listen to me.” The king doesn't turn to face him, but he's known him long enough to tell he’s hearing every word. “You are a just ruler who took the time to care for each of your denizens, and you have every right to be angry that they met an untimely death. You did not deserve your fate, and neither did they. And neither did V1 and Gabriel. We are all victims of circumstance.”

Minos’ fists shake, clenching and unclenching. Everything sounds like it's underwater, words garbled and distorted, yet frustratingly coherent. He wants to plug his ears and scream until he suffocates, anything to get Sisyphus’ voice out of his head. He wants to destroy everything and everyone, until there is nothing left, and then destroy himself too. For once, he just wants revenge, not resolution. It’s not like he can ever get his people back, anyways. Clench. Unclench. Clench. Unclench.

“The only thing we can do now is to live on. Stand down, Minos. Is this what your people would've wanted?”

Something in him snaps, and the fight leaves him all at once. It’s not. It’s not what they would’ve wanted; how deplorable it would be to kill in their memory. Wordlessly, he rushes out of the room. Sisyphus holds out an arm to stop the other two from following.

“No. Give him time.”

The air is plunged into silence once again. Gabriel dares to break it, eager to give thanks.

“I-thank you. We truly appreciate-”

“Don't. Just-” Sisyphus sighs, shaking his head. “don't. I didn't do this for you.”

“...”

“We will meet by the castle entrance when the sun starts to set for your departure. Do not follow me.”

“...I understand.”

Wow. A bit harsh. Regardless, he's still grateful for this new perspective, if not a tad disappointed. Sisyphus rises from his chair and heads toward the door, steps stiff yet dutiful. Lost in thought, it takes Gabriel a moment to notice the king hasn't actually left the room yet, lingering with his back turned.

“The suffering you’ve brought my dear friend is beyond cruel. For that, my forgiveness is withheld, but my words hold true. Do with that what you will.” He finally exits, figure slipping through the door.

Huh. The pseudo-approval of Sisyphus feels…nice. It’s easy for him to get lost in his own sense of accomplishment.
Gabriel feels a hand rest upon his. He snaps out of his trance, eyes trailing up its arm to see the machine sitting beside him, staring ahead. There's an awkwardly long pause before V1 has the courage to speak up.

Its hands move in quick, stilted gestures, conveying aggression in its urgency. Oh, they’re angry, he realizes, cringing in anticipation. He’s had more than enough action for today, thank you very much.

What are you doing here?!

“Me? I-uh,” Gabriel scrambles for an excuse. “I was just visiting lust for a chat with a couple old friends, but um. We had a little disagreement.”

The machine raises a single brow. Or they would’ve, but making fully-functional robotic eyebrows was apparently not one of their creator’s priorities. Shame.

Right. It looks like you three had an absolute ball.

The angel grimaces.

“Alright, fine. I came here to apologize for my actions.” He huffs. “And clearly, it didn’t exactly go to plan,” gesturing to the bruises that still litter his torso.

No shit. And without your armor, too. What, were you trying to get yourself killed?

“W-well, when have you ever cared about my wellbeing?” Gabriel growls, suddenly standing to his full height. “Even if you do, I’m just a bloodbag to you. You only care about your own survival. You always have.” V1 narrows their optic.

You don’t mean that.

“What if I do? And what if I was trying to kill myself?!” He shouts, picking up the nearest chair and chucking it across the room. It isn’t until its splintered remains settle on the floor that he regains his composure, kneeling on the ground, visibly deflating.

“I should’ve died after those twenty-four hours were up. I should’ve.” He whispers. He sounds so frail, a startling divergence from his usual bravado.
Cold metal makes contact with his shoulder. He turns sluggishly to V1, if only to “hear” what they have to say.

I-

Its movements falter momentarily.

I do care about you. And I always have.

They don’t meet his eyes, but he still desperately clings to the hope that it’s speaking truthfully.

“I…I need some air.”

Gabriel speeds toward the balcony, the machine following suit. He takes a seat on the banister, gaze facing forward as V1 does the same. They both stare at the blazing horizon for a while, until V1 can’t take the silence any longer.

You make me dissatisfied with existence, it blurts out, signing almost incomprehensibly fast.

Gabriel blinks. How to respond to that, he does not know.

“I…thanks? I guess?”

It frantically waves its hands, trying to show it means no ill will.

I mean, you make me want more out of life.

It was never allowed to enjoy things; It never had the chance. But now, they spar for the heck of it, not over sustenance or resources. It takes the time to manually read books instead of scanning them, something they once considered a mere waste of fuel. It ignores the alerts that flood its vision, closing them before they have the chance to tell it that it's being “inefficient.” Text irrelevant its ass. Before Gabriel, they were just surviving. Now, they live.

Gabriel can't help but smile. They said so little, but they needn’t say more. He knows what they're feeling all too well. It takes a bit of effort to muster up the courage, but the machine’s honesty spurs him on, and he manages to find his words.

“I think I understand. You taught me to…want. And by the heavens, I wanted to live, I wanted to fight and struggle and fail, to laugh and cry and watch the sunset a million times over just to say that I did. When my light was taken away, it was you who gave me clarity, and for that…I cannot thank you enough.”

He leans a bit closer, just reveling in the comfortable silence they've created. V1 scoots over, closing the distance between them. The cool metal feels nice against his skin.

I think he's right.

“About what?”

Only thing we can do now is keep living, despite-no, with the guilt.

“...How?” The question of “why” goes unasked.

Not sure. But we're still alive, so we've got to be doing something right.

“...I suppose you have a point.”

Perhaps those questions can be answered another time. Right now, all that seems to matter is the gentle breeze that passes through the cracks in his armor and the feeling of the machine's plating against his shoulder. His heart swells as they bask in the “sun's” rays. Considering they're in literal hell, that glowing ball is no star, but whatever it is shall suffice. They’ll make do, as they always. A ray of light falls upon the pair, encasing them in warmth. How picturesque. Two beings at the end of time, watching the sun set as it slips below the horizon.

…Hold on.

Aren't they supposed to be heading somewhere right now? Oh. Oh. Sisyphus is expecting them.

“Shit. We need to go, now.” He snatches V1's hand and bolts for the door. Heart to heart be damned, they have a deadline to meet.

Maybe Gabriel's previous difficulty navigating the palace was procrastination after all. It's remarkably easy to traverse, especially with his head clear and V1 helping guide him. He supposes everything feels a little easier with a clear head, and they find the castle gate in record time. The prime souls are already waiting there, punctual as expected.

As the two pairs face each other in the doorway, Gabriel notices Minos’ glazed look, Sisphysus’ hand resting on his shoulder. He follows the king’s stare, his eyes landing on the city below.. Before he has time to wallow in shame, Minos’ gaze drifts back to him. Silence. Introspection.
After an excruciatingly long lapse in conversation, Minos sighs.

“I bid thee farewell. May thy travels be uneventful.” He senses the sincerity in his voice, and it's honestly relieving. The fact they can even speak to him without hatred oozing from their words leaves him dumbfounded. And it’s not forgiveness, most definitely not, but it’s something. After the atrocities he’s committed, Gabriel is endlessly grateful for this morsel of absolution. The corners of his lips turn upwards as he bows his head in gratitude. His core blooms with warmth.

Ever impatient, V1 halts their respectful exchange by tapping him twice on the shoulder, metal meeting flesh. It raises its hands to sign. Home? It asks. Gabriel huffs fondly, rolling his eyes.

“Yes, yes. We’re going home.” He pivots to the kings. “Thank you very much, truly, but we must get going. This one,” gesturing to V1. “is getting restless. And should also learn some manners.” That earns him a flick to the helmet. He swears he hears Sisyphus stifle a chuckle.

Resisting the urge to bicker, Gabriel turns away, guiding V1 into his hold. With a flap of the wings and a powerful thrust from his legs, they take to the sky. Every beat takes them higher and higher, and further and further from Lust. He doesn’t look back, just focuses on keeping V1 from slipping out of his arms.

His stamina isn’t as infinite as when he still had his light, so by the time they reach the surface, Gabriel is exhausted. They decide to call it a night and rest where they land. He sets up a campfire, not unlike the aftermath of his second defeat, but now with kinder circumstances. It’s nice having someone beside him, even if they are a bit of a pest.

“You're a nuisance, you know.”

The machine gives a cheeky thumbs up. Gabriel heaves a heavy sigh, and for the first time in eons, he feels light. His burdens do not sag and tug at his heart, and the gnawing guilt he harbors has lost its bite. He laughs, pulling V1 in, sheltering them with his wings. Joyous and content, Gabriel gives in to the lulling effect of the setting sun. As sleep pulls him under, he dreams of a hopeful future, not of tongues and teeth.

And though the sight of the lust layer still fills him with regret, the weight on his shoulders is a bit easier to carry. Gabriel may never be able to cry life back into the townsfolk, nor grieve them back from death, but he’s made an effort to make amends. It's a long way forward, yet it's a step in the right direction. These days, the shame doesn't linger and fester like it used to. It's been replaced with a fire that burns bright and unyielding. Gabriel decides he likes his newfound vigor.

And oh, how it suits him to feel strong.