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Michael waited until everyone else had settled into place before taking his own seat; even still, he took a moment to straighten his paperwork before signaling Gabriel to begin. They nodded in return, glancing across the table to Joel before addressing the group.

“It is clear that we all have some very strong feelings about Princess Charlie and her ideas. Micheal and I believe it would be best to get those feelings out in the open, to address them and move on. We will need a method of keeping things on track, of course; a reminder not to interrupt or get distracted. So, given the topic of discussion, we have opted to take a page from Miss Morningstar’s own playbook.”

Charlie watched curiously as Gabriel held their hands out in front of themselves, a few inches apart; a soft glow began to illuminate the empty space there as Charlie pondered what exactly the archangels were planning. The answer came as the light solidified; Charlie couldn’t help an ecstatic little cheer at the same time as Azrael heaved a long suffering groan. “The Share Bear!”

Settled gently between Gabriel’s reddish-brown hands was a stuffed bear; its plush fur was snow white and the little figure sported a set of sparkly wings and a glittery golden halo. Gabriel couldn’t help the gentle grin on his face at Charlie and Azrael’s interjection, nodding briefly and parroting, “the Share Bear. Azrael told me about it and how useful it was; I thought we should give it a shot. For everyone else, the rules are simple: if you’re holding the bear, it’s your turn to speak. While speaking you should be honest and open: this is just a discussion of feelings, for now. This way we have a better idea of how to move forward.”

Gabriel adjusted her grip on the toy, settling it on the table in front of her with her hands resting lightly on its fuzzy legs. “I’ll start us out.” She took a deep, steadying breath, eyes closing as she sorted out her words. “I am…happy to have this chance to get to know Charlie. I’m hopeful that this will serve as an opportunity to spend time with Lucifer again, too—I know that’s selfish of me. I know we all miss him and I know better than to question our Father’s decisions; but when I think back to how it was when we were all together, that was happy. We were— I was happy.”

They could remember that time so clearly, back before humanity, before earth and Eden; it had felt so good, everything felt so easy. Being with their siblings took no thought, no effort: easy as breathing, except that didn’t compare, not really. There was nothing more right or natural than the way they had mixed in the Aether. She remembered how it felt to be one with Lucifer, the incredible warmth and security of it, the light that could flood her being and fill her, lift her, encapsule her. She remembered being within him, too, his voice weaving her words, taking her meanings and making them beautiful, exquisite. 

His fingers traced idly along the stitching of the toy’s foot, ocean eyes downcast toward the table as his mind returned to the present, the tribulations facing all of creation and the burden of responsibility for it all. The souls in heaven believed themselves to be safe, untouchable by the pain of life or the struggles of those below; it was the duty of the archangels to ensure that faith was well founded, but Gabriel found himself horribly lacking in regard to how to handle the underworld’s growing populace. “I don’t know what to do about hell’s overpopulation; I don’t know what to do about sinners who become powerful enough to escape hell. I feel like there should be a humane solution, something other than indiscriminately destroying these human souls, but I don’t have the answer. Maybe Princess Charlie’s redemption plan could work, but there are so many humans dying every day and so many of them end up here, I don’t know if there’s time.”

He brought one hand to his brow, massaging gently at the place between his eyebrows to stave off a headache at the moral weight of the quandary; he wanted to be fair to the sinners, but what did that even mean? What was fair to the citizens of hell, those human souls who had fallen short of His expectations?

“It doesn’t feel right to disregard souls just because of a lack of time. That doesn’t seem fair—if anyone is given a chance, then I think everyone should. I don’t know how to fix things, but I know that what was being done doesn’t sit right with me.”

She wet her lips, closing her eyes and nodding to herself. “Whatever choice we make, I think Charlie and Lucifer both should approve of it. These are their people and their realm; we should only interfere if it’s a matter of safety for creation as a whole. I’m not comfortable coming into someone else’s home and making demands—but I’m happy to help, however I’m able.”

She nodded again, satisfied with that summation,  before looking down the table to where Charlie sat watching her with wide eyes full of happy tears. “I’m happy to know you, Charlie Morningstar. However this turns out, whatever we decide—know you have a friend in me.” He offered the Princess a tight smile before clearing his throat, absentmindedly tucking his chestnut colored curls back behind his ear before offering the teddy bear to the angel beside him. “That’s it. That’s all I wanted to say.”

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Raphael accepted the plush toy from Gabriel, dexterous fingers curling gingerly around the soft toy. His ruddy brown eyes studied it for a moment, sand colored fingertips brushing softly along the stitching as he gathered himself together. His emerald wings shifted, curling around himself as he hugged the bear against his broad chest, head bowed to hide his face behind swinging black braids; he wasn’t fond of being the center of attention at the best of times, and this meeting hardly counted as such.

Even so, he had a duty to Heaven and those that dwelled within; Raphael took a deep breath to steady himself, sitting up properly and shifting the brilliant green wings back again. He couldn’t hide from this, couldn’t run from it; he needed to face this challenge head on.

“This is meant to be an airing of emotion,” Raphael began, choosing his words carefully, “so I will admit this: I am afraid.” He swallowed thickly, hugging the toy tighter as he forced himself to continue. “Most of us recall how much it hurt to lose Lucifer—to have his light and warmth ripped from us. We all carry the ache of his loss—but that wasn’t all that was taken.

“I was foolhardy back then; I acted on my hurt, and it cost me dearly. That which I had created was destroyed; the life I had so lovingly crafted snuffed out. And I…I felt their dying.” Raphael shut his eyes tight, taking careful breaths as his heart began to race; he kept his arms curled around the teddy bear, but one hand stretched back to begin nervously combing through his deep green plumage. 

The memory of that ache, of the burning and searing pain, the sensation of choking on gas and ash, the intense cold that sank through sinew and muscle into his very bones, was more than enough to cause tears to build until they spilled past his closed eyelids, dripping down his cheeks to soak into his tightly curling gray beard. Raphael tugged at his own feathers, pulling a few loose to let the new hurt ground himself in the present; his next breath was shuddering, but he continued nonetheless.

“I cannot stand the thought of such a thing coming to pass once more, of creation facing another great dying—I hate the idea that such hurt could be put upon any of you.” He forced himself to look at his siblings for just a moment, scanning over each of them before bowing his head once more. “I can accept my punishment for speaking out against our Father—I can live with it. But if I were to lose any more of you…” He choked on a sob and lifted one hand to cover his mouth, the other still pulling at his own feathers with the stuffed toy caught between his arms. 

Gabriel set a hand upon Raphael’s shoulder and the broader archangel leaned into the touch, fisting his hand in his feathers and roughly pulling a handful loose before speaking once more. “I fear that interfering in hell could draw our Father’s wrath upon us. I fear that I could lose more of you—that He could do to you what He did unto our brother. That He could chose to destroy everything we’ve made, that we’ve loved, to remind us of our place.”

He swallowed thickly, loosening his tight hold on the teddy bear as he finally faced the devil’s daughter; there was horror in her eyes, anguish and concern and pity, sympathy and grief; it struck into him a new wound, seeing eyes so like Lucifer’s filled with such pain. He shut his eyes tight and turned his face toward the table once more, fingers twisting around another feather and pulling it free to distract and distance himself from those eyes. 

“I’m sorry, Princess. I cannot aid you—not when faced with everything I have to lose. I can’t—I can’t risk what I have. I’m sorry.”

Clumsily, he pushed the toy further down the line, unaware of the faint smear of golden blood from his fingertips upon the synthetic white fur. His wings curled up around himself again, hiding from the other’s sight as he curled in tight, trying to calm himself properly and drive the tears back from his eyes. As much as it broke his heart to deny the child, he simply could not bring himself to risk what he still had for the hope of a shadow of what had been lost long before. Not when the ache of that loss still festered within him, leaving him hollow and aching more than any minor physical hurt could ever really distract from.

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Jophiel accepted the stuffed bear Raphael shoved her way, rosy pink eyes watching him in concern as the other angel hid behind his emerald wings. It broke her heart to see him like this, reliving his trauma before them all; she set one hand gingerly on his back, offering him whatever solace she was able. Her free hand delicately brushed away the golden blood on the wintery faux fur, not wanting the tool to be stained.

“I…guess it’s my turn,” she mumbled, turning her face down toward the cuddly plush she held. Nimble purple fingertips caressed carefully over the toy, tidying as they went. She had been so excited to meet Charlie, to know Lucifer’s child; she’d been so swept up in the joy of it and her that she hadn’t given the consequences a single thought. It seemed the potential downsides all but consumed her brother; how was she meant to be honest about her feelings of gladness when he was so upset?

She couldn’t be quiet forever; not with all of her siblings waiting on her. The angel of word took a deep, slow breath before nodding, having decided the best way to move forward was the simplest: honesty. She would be completely open about her feelings, even the ones she shied back from or tried to ignore. She would be brave and truthful, just as Raphael had been, even if it meant potentially upsetting others. She kept her eyes on the fuzzy bear as she began to speak, carefully removing every trace of discoloring from its synthetic fur.

“I don’t like most humans. They’re dirty and messy and mean—they can be so hurtful to each other, to everything in creation. I try my best with them, always—I give them my best words, send them inspiration, make them pretty things over and over and over again. I work so hard to make everything pretty—and they break my things, always. It’s not fair!” 

She felt stubborn, angry tears gathering in her eyes and shut them tight, not wanting to break down over something so silly while Raphael nursed his ancient wounds beside her. “I know they aren’t all bad. When they have the chance, they make pretty things too: beautiful music and poetry and stories. I love their pretty things; some of them even come close to the beauty of True Creation. When I see and hear what they can do with my gifts my heart feels so full I could burst! 

“But it’s never long. They live such short little lives already, and so many of them are made even shorter by others. The violence and sickness and wars…. The hunger and fear. It isn’t fair; they shouldn’t have to deal with all of this. They were given a perfectly good home that they could have stayed in, and maybe they wouldn’t have made their pretty things there—I don’t know. But I know what they are now makes me sad, and mad, especially the ones who end up down here!”

Jophiel paused, taking another careful breath to school her feelings into thoughts and words. “…I don’t want to help them. I don’t think they deserve it. Maybe that’s mean of me….” She brushed her long green hair back out of her face, shoulders slumping. “I don’t want to be mean…but it’s true. Humans took the most beautiful being in all creation from us and continue to ruin my pretty things even now and I think I might hate them for it.” It was a dirty, ugly thought; she didn’t like that something so filthy came from her own mouth. What must the others think of her now, learning she held such nastiness inside? What did Charlie think?

Jophiel startled briefly, turning to look down the table to the Princess of hell; she was distraught to find Charlie’s face a heartbreaking mix of sadness and disappointment. “That doesn’t mean I don’t like you, Charlie! I love you! You’re so sweet and thoughtful and so so so pretty! Really, Charlie, you’re so beautiful; I know you care about the sinners down here, but we’ve worked so hard to keep Heaven pretty, and all the human souls up there are pretty, and the ones you have down here are so nasty and I don’t want them anywhere near ours, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want you there!” The thought had her face lighting up in delight, her iridescent wings quivering in excitement to the point that she began to raise slightly out of her seat.

“Oh, Charlie, I would love it so much if you came home with us. We could make you a house right next to mine, and you could come over whenever you wanted, and I would make the most beautiful words for you to sing—do you like to sing? Lucifer loved to sing. We used to sing together all the time—oh, Charlie, if only you could have heard it. He’d make my words so pretty, every time—even when I was having mean, nasty feelings he’d make them pretty. He made everything pretty.” It hurt, remembering what she had lost. Being with Lucifer had always felt so easy; he never made her feel dirty or ugly for having bad feelings. He always found a way to show her the beauty within the ugliness; without him, everything seemed so much more dull. Maybe his daughter would be able to bring some of that back.

“I’d give almost anything to be with Lucifer again—for him to make pretty things with me again. Oh, little star, you have no idea what it’s like; he makes it all so good, even the hurting is good when it’s with him.” Now the Princess looked uncomfortable; what had Jophiel done to cause that? She wasn’t trying to do that, she was trying to convince Charlie to come back to Heaven with them.

“…I’d like for you to come be with us. You don’t belong down here in the ick; neither does he. But if we can’t have him, I’d love to have you. I know you think of this place as your home, but we could make a new home for you together. I just… I want to give that to you. I want to make that for you. I want to keep you. I just….” She sighed, wings and shoulders slumping, settling back into her seat. “I miss him, I want you, and I don’t trust the sinners. That’s…that’s where I am, with all of this.”

She sighed, looking down at the spotless little plush toy before passing it down the line; hopefully she hadn’t ruined their only chance to bring Lucifer’s child back to heaven, where she belonged.

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The angel of Grace accepted the plush toy from her sister, cradling it gently between softly spring green palms as her fingertips caressed the little ears. Haniel smiled softly at the stitched on face, using her thumb to make the little toy wave up at her with a quiet chuckle. She settled the toy on the table in front of her, crossing her arms over it’s fuzzy lap as she addressed the group.

“I know tensions are high right now; this is a novel experience for us all. It’s been a long while since any of us have faced something truly new; I think it’s a brilliant gift we’ve been granted, getting to meet Charlie: the first child of any archangel.” She offered the Princess of hell a gentle smile, butter yellow eyes fond as she turned to the young woman. “I know this must all seem overwhelming, all of these powerful feelings we’ve shown, especially with this being our first meeting. I’m genuinely so glad we get to share with you.”

She tucked a lock of snow white hair back behind her ear, letting it curl among the twisting vines that dripped down from her halo to mingle among the other tresses. She tilted her head back slightly, enjoying the warmth of the pride ring’s strange red sky against her pale skin and allowing the blooms among her hair and halo to turn to drink in the light. She’d never had the opportunity to absorb hell’s light before; it was warm, nearly oppressively hot in fact, heavy and thick in a not unpleasant manner, reminding her of syrup and sap. If she sent her power out like roots into the ground she could feel it coming up barren, devoid of nutrients and hard packed, stony and difficult to break through. It was a hostile land, difficult to thrive in; the life it supported was sturdy and guarded, bearing sharp thorns to protect luscious blooms and fruits. 

Charlie was one such sapling, still putting down roots herself but breaking new ground for those around her. Her roots went deep, pulling up groundwater from far below, pulling it up for others to tap into. Her branches and broad leaves sheltered new shoots from the sun, allowed dew to gather into shallow pools beneath her; someday, Haniel was sure, she would foster a new ecosystem in which her people could grow and thrive. But first, she would need support through this storm.

Haniel didn’t know if she could provide that support, but she could certainly try. Calm yellow eyes gazed out from a placid green face, regarding her siblings again. “I am displeased by the destruction of mortal souls. Even broken tools can still serve a purpose, in the right hands; we have neglected hell for too long. We are the tools which were used to craft creation; this world is part of that. Things crafted by our own hands have been left here to fester—some of which took root.” She closed her eyes again, letting herself sink into the soil once more; she waved one hand, conjuring visions over the table of discarded creations, of pterosaurs and dragons, of fierce creatures which once roamed the seas and skies of the worlds; a twist of the fingers brought forth new images, Hellborn beings and creatures going about their glorious and mundane lives.

“I am guilty of this, too; I left these creations in our brother’s hands without regard for what nuisance they may pose. None of us may be directly responsible for hell’s overpopulation of sinners, but we should acknowledge the struggles of those Hellborn affected by their presence, many of which are descendants of our own works. I am willing to aid our brother and his child in any way I can in order to rectify the damage done.”

She dropped her hand, letting the image fade away, floating into nothingness like leaves on the breeze as she crossed her hands demurely upon the table. “Within reason, of course. I have no intention of unsettling the balance of creation; I will no longer turn a blind eye to this realm, but I will ultimately bow to the decision of this council.” Her gaze was directed once more toward Charlie, offering a gentle smile. “I am blessed to know you, child of the Morningstar; I thank you for this opportunity to do better by creation and all of the souls within. You have opened my eyes to the suffering here and for that I am eternally grateful. However this plays out, know that I am proud of you: your actions have taken strength, courage, and compassion. You are truly a remarkable being, more than worthy of our time and attention. You should be proud of what you have accomplished thus far.”

Haniel looked back down at the plush toy she held in her soft green hands, brushing her thumbs over its soft fur before making it wave to her once more. She would have to wait and see how things would play out; it was beyond her hands now. Satisfied, she offered the toy to the sister beside her to allow the sharing to continue.

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Cassiel accepted the toy, holding it loosely between gray fingers as she examined it with an expression of distaste. It was so childish, demeaning; it made sense that such a foolhardy concept would come from the Princess of hell. Despite her contempt, she would have to play along: the others had, after all, and she had no desire to upset her siblings more than they had already been by the entire ridiculous ordeal. She set the toy on the table in front of herself, straightening it absently so it’s plastic eyes gazed sightlessly ahead at the others, her hands folded neatly on the table in front as she chose her words. 

“I know we all miss Lucifer,” she began, ice blue eyes gazing down at the offending plushy, “I am not exempt from this pain. He was the light of our life; I look back upon our time together fondly. Being with our Morningstar was exquisite, an experience unlike any other—he was truly the best of us.” It took little effort to summon a single tear to her eye; she brushed it away, making the motion seem absentminded rather than calculated as was her following deep, bracing breath.

“But he was corrupted. The woman took advantage of his good nature to try to elevate her station—instead she merely dragged him down with her. Our Lucifer was too good to see it, the way she used and twisted him, manipulated him. She wanted his light all to herself and was willing to diminish him to keep it; she stole him away, deluded him, diluted him, and now we will never get back what came before.” The guardian angel was careful to keep her rage and contempt from her tone, coloring her words instead in sorrow and regret, ensuring she was seen as a victim in this rather than a potential antagonist, showcasing only pretty tears and elegant despair.

“Now the child of that despicable creature is trying to send her agents into our home, among the weakest and most impressionable of our flock. She comes to us with pretty stories of redemption, of second chances—her mother was given a second chance once, an opportunity to content herself with the light she stole, but it wasn’t enough. She took advantage of our compassion to spread her plague to the rest of her kind, ensuring that they would all carry the potential to fall into darkness as she had. She infected our Father’s creation with her greed and envy, with her lust for power and control—and still our Lucifer defended and supported her, still so innocent and trusting in his misaligned devotion to the witch which had ensnared him.”

She shifted her hands from the table, fingers combing through tinsel silver hair in a crafted display of nervousness and fear, worrying the shining tresses between the digits without causing any hint of snarls or snares. Delicate teardrops slipped from her pale eyes over her smooth cheeks, gathering along the line of her jaw to drip unhindered to her lap, the picture of bereft beauty. “I am frightened of this girl,” she stated, voice hushed but pitched to carry, to give the air of shamefulness. “I understand that she is the child of our brother and thus one of our own—but she is also the child of the one who stole him from us. Perhaps all which she claims is true; perhaps she does mean only to aid the misfortunate and misguided. But what if her motives are not what she claims? Or worse, what if she, too, is being manipulated and puppeteered by the one who dragged out dear brother into hell?”

She raised a dainty hand to her face, brushing the tears aside with her fingertips. “I fear we cannot afford to risk the chance; it is our duty to protect Heaven and the souls which reside therein. It isn’t fair, that we should have to deny ourselves even this trace of our brother’s light from our lives, but it is the sacrifice we must make in order to protect what we still have. I know this isn’t what many of you want to hear, but I just- I just don’t know what I would do if I lost any of you.” She pitched her voice carefully, tone wavering and fragile, her narrow shoulders trembling for added effect.

She felt her youngest brother’s hand rest reassuringly on her shoulder and turned into Camael’s embrace, letting her waifish form be held against his strong chest and braced by his powerful arms. She cried prettily against his shoulder, slim body trembling; it wasn’t long until Raguel had shifted from his seat as well, his broad hands petting softly through her silver hair while Haniel cooed at her back, giving her soft praises and encouragements, Jophiel parroting the assurances of the others, complimenting her for being so brave.

Cassiel’s ice blue eyes flicked up, looking up over Camael’s shoulder; the only two positioned to see her face from this position where the Princess and her dog, poor simple Azrael already caught in her dangerous web. Even as her little body trembled with delicate and demure sobs, she couldn’t help the sharp smile that came to her upon gazing upon the girl’s distressed visage or the way it grew when the child saw her smile, the Princess’s expression shifting from worry to anger at the revelation. Cassiel reveled in the satisfaction of an excellent performance for a moment before pulling away from her siblings, expression carefully schooled into reticent sorrow once more.

“It’s alright—I’m fine,” she assured, sniffing delicately as she brushed away her tears once more. “I’m so sorry to worry you, I’m alright. I’m fine.” She took a moment to settle herself as her siblings returned to their places, smoothing out her dress and hair before passing the plush bear into Camael’s scarlet hands, her cold eyes meeting Charlie’s again as she gave it over. “I know we’ll all make the right decision.”

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Camael’s hands shook minutely as he took the toy from his delicate sister, rage boiling the golden blood in his veins as scarlet fingers closed into a fist around the white bear. He always hated seeing his siblings upset, especially the fragile ones like Cassiel; he was the angel of strength, it was his role to support and shelter the rest of them and here they all were, actively inviting a threat into their midst. He understood the mixed feelings, that his siblings must miss Lucifer, but what for? They were better off without the upstart, in his opinion. They were safer and stronger without the weak link in their flock; he would be sure to remind them all.

“This is stupid,” he declared adamantly, sitting up straight in his seat with his shoulders squared and jaw set, deep purple eyes defiant as he looked over the others. “You’re all torturing yourselves—for what? Her?” He gesticulated down the table at the wide eyed Princess, mouth curling into a snarl as he looked upon her. “I won’t have it.”

He pushed back his seat, too agitated to remain sitting, and clambered onto the table directly. He saw Azrael out of the corner of his eye, the angel of death shifting to shield Charlie Morningstar behind his pitch black wings, and couldn’t help a snort of derision. “Look at you. Mighty archangel, bringer of death, the darkness that fell over Egypt—acting like some sort of guard dog for a bitch that isn’t even yours. And I’m not talking about the girl.”

He turned toward the others, looking up the table to Michael’s calm, thoughtful face. “You all speak so highly of Lucifer Morningstar—he left you. He chose the human, chose to give in to his impulses and walked away from all of you. You’re all so hung up on how high he made you that you won’t even acknowledge what he really is: a traitor, to you, to heaven, to our Father . You wax poetic about how good it felt to be with him—that good is gone! He is nothing now!”

Michael’s empty expression only fueled Cam’s rage; he strode down the table toward the older angel, yellow wings flared wide to command his attention. “You broke him with your own hands. You stripped him of his rank and plunged him into this pit. You know this is what Father wanted for him; that this is what he deserves. Why consider anything from him? Why give this girl the time of day? Why let her try to corrupt you?”

As Camael spoke his body shifted, swelling in size and musculature, wings adjusting to allow a swell of muscle to rise between. His vibrant violaceous hair seemed to bristle and stand on end, spreading down along his spine to make him seem even more massive; his mouth changed shape, allowing for tusks to grow forth, curling down from his upper jaw and jutting straight from the lower. His feet shifted to cloven hooves, leaving scratches along the tabletop as he stomped forward and back. He gestured wildly as he paced and spoke, the toy clutched in one hand all but forgotten. 

“We shouldn’t be listening to anyone down here! They don’t deserve it, don’t deserve us! We are the light of creation and this is where the scum is sent to languish and die .” Vibrant purple eyes shot back to the Princess, still mostly concealed behind Azrael’s plumage. “Anything that comes from this pit is nothing , undeserving of our consideration or grace. They don’t deserve our mercy; they don’t deserve our compassion. They deserve to burn , to suffer and struggle forever for their selfishness and cruelty. Any ‘life’ from here is nothing but a pestilence, a parasite feeding off the waste of better worlds.”

He crouched down, putting himself at eye level with the Princess; her yellow sclera and scarlet irises peered back at him from behind her shield of ebony plumage, her stupid doll face not even having the decency to look afraid. A growl rumbled from his cavernous chest, snarling once more at her ridiculous visage. “You are nothing . You’re a bastard, an abomination, an affront to creation—if not for the bleeding hearts of my siblings I would cut you down here and now.”

The angel of death echoed him, growl low and threatening as he shifted more of himself in front of the girl, growing in stature as he turned bony and monstrous. The two stared each other down for a tense moment before Camael turned away with a rumble of distaste and irritation, free hand going to his stiff hair to tug at the bristles in frustration. “How can you all let yourselves be lead along by this schemer? All she is and all she will ever be is trash. You’ll see it soon enough; she and all her kind are good for nothing beyond incineration. When the time comes? I’ll be glad to light the match.”

Camael glanced down at the ridiculous plush toy in his hand before rolling his eyes, dropping the bear in front of his next sibling as he reverted back to his previous form, stepping off the tabletop to return to his seat. He slouched low in the chair, arms crossed over his chest as he continued to glower at the child of the devil and her pet archangel.

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The conference room was quiet for a poignant moment, the primary sound Camael’s irritated breathing as Raguel plucked up the Share Bear for his turn. The angel of Justice took his time, dusting off the plush toy and mending the small tears his brother had made in the fabric before addressing the room.

“Well, now that we’ve gotten that bit of nonsense out of our system, perhaps the adults can address things properly.” His tone was droll and unamused, acidic green eyes barely giving Camael a glance. “We are archangels: it is our solemn and sacred duty to nurture creation and protect it from any and all threats, no matter how subtle or how uncertain.”

The broad shouldered angel rose from his seat, stepping back from the table; he held the toy loosely in one hand, his wrist clasped in the opposite behind his back as he began to calmly circle the room. “This girl—Charlie Morningstar—cannot be allowed into heaven, regardless of the nobility of her goals.”

His steps paused behind Haniel, resting a hand on her green shoulder, his deep brown skin tone contrasting sharply. “We know dangers can come from the most unlikely of places. Even an innocent can carry the match that starts the fire—even if we are to take this girl at her word, we cannot judge on intentions alone.”

He stepped back from his sister, resuming his measured march forward. “The path to hell is paved with good intentions, after all. This has been true since the beginning of hell: since our Morningstar made the first mistake by welcoming the woman into his heart and elevating her beyond her intended. This act of kindness and compassion began the first corruption, the first dark shadow over creation; the mortal world is now overrun by it, drowning in it. As we feared that first crack has widened to a fissure which threatens to swallow all human life; who is to say that this new act of altruism would not allow that darkness into heaven, into our very homes?”

He paused again, standing at the corner between Michael and Gabriel; he bent forward, tone softer as he directed his next words toward their leader. “No one here is untouched by the pain of that distant day. Least of all you, my beloved brother.” He raised his hand carefully, gingerly brushing his knuckles against Michael’s cheek; he caressed softly along the black lines beneath the heavenly protector’s golden eyes, tracing the permanent stain of the other’s grief. 

Michael’s eyes closed as he turned his head away, mouth pressed into a thin line as the golden archangel’s blemish became the center of everyone’s focus. Raguel let the silence linger for a long moment before he straightened, rounding his brother’s chair at the head of the table. “Who among us can claim to know what would occur if we were to allow this child into our midst? If we were to foster her hopes and dreams, encourage her sweet foolishness, what would come of it?” 

He paused again behind Sariel, letting his hand rest on her shoulder as he loomed behind her. “Not even the most long-lived among us carries that knowledge; not even the power of foresight can grant us knowledge of which path destiny will take, which direction the river will run. We cannot afford to gamble souls; we must protect and preserve that which is good and whole, worthy of our light. Heaven is our domain, the sanctuary of those who have earned ascension; we cannot cheapen their achievement by entertaining the notion that those who dug their own graves should walk among them.”

His pace next stopped between Uriel and Shebuel, wrists resting lightly on the backs of their chairs. “Furthermore, we must consider the girl’s own well-being: what should become of her if she were to be cast out as her father had been? Would she survive the fall? Would her mother have, had she not been protected by our Morningstar?”

His poison green eyes moved to Azrael, watching the angel of death as he brought forth his next question. “Would any of us be able to stomach it if we were made to break her? To rend flesh and bone, to spill her blood upon heaven’s ground?” For the briefest moment he saw hesitation flicker across the dark angel’s features, a flare of fear in his electric blue eyes. 

Raguel let his fingertips trail along the backs of Shebuel and Remiel’s seats, stepping closer to the Princess. He paused before her, his free hand shifting now to gently grasp her chin and tilt her pretty face up to him, studying her wide eyes and innocent features. “What color do you bleed, I wonder?” he mused thoughtfully, his thumb shifting to brush briefly over the swell of her lower lip. “Would golden blood stain our halls once more? Would your screams be as melodic as his had been? I can still hear it all, you know. The impact of his body upon the floor, the rending of flesh from bone, our brother’s fists and blade upon him. And his cries…oh, the way he cried when he was torn asunder…. It echoes in my mind. Exquisite, glorious, even in such anguish.”

There was a resounding crack as the meeting table split, pale blue stone broken in a jagged line from one end to the other. The only thing preventing it from toppling was the very thing which had caused the rift: the hand of Michael, grasping the golden edge in his inhuman grip. The room was still, all eyes now on the golden angel, watching the way his chest rose and fell in silent gasps for unneeded air. The first movement was of Gabriel, reaching out to soothe her brother; Michael waved them away, mending the break in the same movement, placing his hand afterward over his face to conceal his eyes from the rest. Even so, a single teardrop could be seen escaping to drip off his jaw.

Raguel watched the droplet fall, a deep sense of satisfaction settling over him as he released the girl from his hold. “In any case, I question our capability to survive such an event again. Perhaps I am incorrect, and the entire ordeal will pass us by as no more than a brief, unpleasant thought.”  He patted Charlie’s shoulder lightly, passing her by to drop the white bear on the table in front of Azrael. He settled into his seat once more, expression somewhat smug as he turned to face the angel of death in anticipation of his turn.

Chapter Text

Uncharacteristically, Azrael found himself at a loss for words. He’d been so sure of what he would say before, smugly certain of his standing, but the thought of Charlie being treated as Lucifer had so very long ago had him shaken; what would he do in that situation? What could he do? What if their Father saw fit to punish him for supporting the girl and used his very hands to mete out His wrath? Would his soul be able to survive such strain? Would he break from it, as Michael had broken from the horrible task he’d been forced into so long ago?

Gingerly, bone white fingers curled around the soft and disarming figure of the plush bear before him; Azrael brushed his thumb slowly over the toy’s plump tummy, smoothing it down and roughing it up again in steady strokes. The motion was rhythmic, nearly meditative as he gathered his thoughts back together again. He let the silence linger; he’d spent an age running from the quiet, drowning his thoughts in sounds and vice to prevent this sort of addressing, this direct ordering of feelings and beliefs. He wasn’t running anymore; he was ready to face this battle head on, regardless of the outcome.

“Charlie Morningstar is not her father,” he began finally, pulling his eyes away from the cuddly toy to meet the gaze of his siblings. “She is not her mother. She is kind, and thoughtful, and generous—I have felt her soul, cradled it within my own. I know her as surely as I know any of you and I swear unto thee: she is not a threat to any who do not threaten her and her own. Even then, she will not lead with violence; I’ve displayed the darkness within myself to her, shown her the filth in others, and watched as she reached out with intent to heal. If anyone is capable of rehabilitating these souls, it is she.”

He smiled softly, turning to Charlie herself as he continued, holding the Princess of hell within his angelic sight. “She has proven herself capable of healing these souls, of guiding them along the path to healing themselves. A soul condemned to the pit spent half a year under her guidance and ascended to the heavens—she’s only two hundred twenty-six years old! She’s barely begun!” His grin broadened as he took Charlie’s hand, squeezing gently as excitement colored his tone. “It would be a disservice to all creation not to let her continue her experiment. Heaven is meant to house and shelter the best the worlds can offer: are we really going to ignore the potential this realm holds, just because it’s a little scuffed?”

He couldn’t hold back a laugh, looking up the table again with mirth in his electric blue eyes, his wide smile crinkling their corners. “Reduce reuse recycle, right? Besides, it isn’t as if folks are lining up to get in upstairs. We aren’t about to run out of space—it’s infinite. We can take everyone she’s able to guide our way.  And sure, maybe it won’t fix the overpopulation problem down here—so what? We don’t need a one size fits all solution, we can still come up with something else. We can work with Charlie—with hell. With Lucifer.” His thumb brushed over the smooth skin of Charlie’s knuckles now, the same prayerful rhythm that he’d stroked over the Share Bear’s synthetic form.

“We don’t need to be enemies. We’re family.” He quieted again, eyes closing before he looked up at Raguel beside him, shifting to set one gentle hand on his strong arm. Vibrant blue eyes met screaming green, one guarded, one earnest, both full of power and potential. “I love you. All of you.” He squeezed Charlie’s hand, their fingers lacing; hesitation danced in the eyes of his brother until Raguel’s broad hand settled gently over his own, giving a soft squeeze. Azrael positively beamed at this tiny gesture of goodwill, the angel of death aglow in hope and compassion before he sobered, turning his gaze inward. He had some apologies to make.

“I know I haven’t been the best of brothers… I’ve been selfish and angry and cowardly, hiding from all of you, from heaven, from myself. It wasn’t fair to anyone; we were all hurting, but I didn’t do a damn thing to help. I’m sorry for that; you all deserved better. I wasn’t in any sort of a state to do better, but that doesn’t excuse the way I behaved; it was wrong of me to cut you all off like that.” He wet his lips absently, looking back at the teddy bear smiling up at him with vacant plastic eyes from the tabletop.

“I can’t be like that anymore—I won’t.” He turned the hand resting at Raguel’s bicep, curling his fingers around the other’s broad hand—taking hold of the lifeline he’d ignored for so long, finally ready to cease drowning in sorrow and accept the escape afforded him. “I don’t have all the answers, but I do know this: turning my back on my family was a mistake, one none of you deserved. I may not be the brightest of us, but I intend to learn from my mistakes: from now on, I’m here. I may not be enough, I’m with you.”

He shifted his hands, drawing them together and dragging Charlie and Raguel along with him; he didn’t try to make them hold on to each other, it was far too soon to expect that, but just held them within the same space as he cradled them softly. “All of you; no matter what. I promise.” 

The angel of death bowed his head, letting his lips brush first over Charlie’s knuckles—her eyes were wet when he looked up at her, shining with unshed tears belaying a smile as bright as the sun—then over Raguel’s, looking up now to see none of the archangel’s usual brusqueness but instead soft, earnest compassion gazing back at him. Azrael gave both their hands one last, lingering squeeze before letting go, sitting back in his seat and absentmindedly wiping at his own leaking eyes.

He took a moment to pull himself back together, clearing the closeness from his throat and the tears from his face before adding, “I fucking hate the Share Bear,” with a wet chuckle, flicking the little toy in the head to knock it in Charlie’s direction and signal the end of his turn.

Chapter Text

The Princess of hell accepted the cuddly toy, taking a moment to look it over as she thought over all she had heard and learned. Her family had truly gone through some terrible things; they’d been horribly hurt, and by their Father no less. She understood their reticence—and Lucifer’s, too. He had only been trying to protect her; she felt more guilty than ever for having lashed out at him. She would have to find a way to make it up to him—but first she needed to address the matter at hand.

Her stance hadn’t changed: the citizens of hell deserved a chance to better themselves, to prove they could be more than they had been in life. Especially since she now knew of Pentious’s assention; he was proof of the possibility, that a human soul could grow and change even after death. She couldn’t turn back now; she wouldn’t. It wouldn’t be fair to her people. Resolve settled, she looked up from the bear to the waiting archangels.

“I just want to start by saying how glad I am to have you all here,” she began, giving the room a warm and charismatic smile. “I know it was a last minute venue change; I really appreciate you all coming down to meet with me.” When Camael scoffed at her comment she pushed doggedly on, refusing to let herself be derailed by his derision. 

“I am so, so happy to meet all of you. When I was little, it was just me and my parents; then when they split up it was just me and mom-“

“What?” Jophiel interrupted, rosy eyes wide in shock as a similar murmur of discord ran through the group. “Lucifer and his wife are—“

“Don’t interrupt,” Haniel scolded her sister gently, though her own visage carried an air of confusion. Charlie waited for everyone to settle before continuing, choosing her words carefully as she addressed the group.

“Yes, my parents are separated. I…I don’t know exactly why. I was little when it happened.” She quieted, looking down at the toy’s cheerful smile and thinking back to the confusion she’d felt long ago before moving on. “I stayed with mom after… I didn’t get to see dad much. It was just me and her for a while…then she left, too. And I didn’t know where she was…” The thought that she had been in heaven all this time was still wild in Charlie’s mind; it was so hard to understand why, to even begin to comprehend how it had come to be. Lilith had ruled hell for centuries, it didn’t make any sense to her that she could just walk away from everything she’d built—still, she wasn’t about to get any answers about that now. Charlie pushed that confusion aside for the time being; later, when she was able to speak to her mother again, she could address it. For now, there were more pressing matters at hand.

“I was alone for a while, until I met Vaggie—she’s my partner. I didn’t know it when we met, but she’s an angel: one of the ones Heaven had sent to kill my people. She made a different call and they left her here; she’s been helping me ever since.” The Princess’s expression was fond, holding her love in her mind. Time after time, Vaggie supported and stood by her; Charlie could never ask for a better partner. “She’s even the one who convinced me to try talking to dad again.” Charlie wiped at her eyes, a bit embarrassed to be tearing up over this.

“Because of Vaggie, I got my dad back; and because of him I got to meet Azrael and know about all of you.” She offered the angel of death a warm smile, taking his hand and squeezing gently. “I always felt so…disconnected here. So different. I never would have guessed that I had so much family.” She looked out over the room again, looking between the archangels and finding traces of her father in them: she could see him in the shape of Michael’s jaw, the curve of Uriel’s cheek, the set of Cassiel’s shoulders. Their relation to one another might not be the same as that between mortals, but it was still there: lingering traces of a shared maker in each of them.

“I know I’m asking for a lot; I know it isn’t fair for me to spring all of this on you with us only just meeting. But these sinners—they’re my people. It’s my responsibility to help them, to take care of them; just like you guys take care of the human souls up in heaven. I’m their Princess, I can’t just stand aside while they’re hurt. I know they can be…messy…” She glanced over at Jophiel, offering the iridescent angel a small smile, “but I know they’re capable of more. Sir Pentious is proof of that; we just need to give them a chance.”

Her eyes moved back to the little toy, its silly smile and glittery wings, button eyes shining in the light of the room. “All of you have been put through so much—I’m sorry about that. You didn’t deserve to be hurt like that; least of all from somebody you trusted. From your dad.” Charlie closed her eyes, tears beginning to escape. She had been so mean to her own dad, and he’d had to suffer so much—she was deeply ashamed of herself for what she had said to him when all he’d wanted was to protect her from the hurt all of his siblings carried with them. She understood that better now; there was still so much he was shielding her from, but she was starting to get it.

“I can’t promise that everything will go well. I have no idea what…that guy…would think about this. I’ve never met him; apparently he’s nothing like my dad, from what I’ve heard.” She didn’t even know what to call their creator; the archangels called him their father, but he didn’t seem worthy of the title in her mind. He had made them, but was that really all it took to count as somebody’s dad? They all carried such fearful reverence for him; she didn’t think he had earned it, but it wasn’t her place to tell them how to feel about it all. “I get that he could really hurt me; that he could hurt all of us—but I still think we should try.” She wasn’t about to let fear of some unnamed patriarch stop her from helping others; not if there was anything at all she could do about it. Scarlet eyes looked back up at the room, determined and sure. “It’ll be hard; sinners aren’t all bad, but they aren’t all good either. I know that. But I still say it’s worth it!”

Her smile was bright, cherubic; she was confident in her assessment, she knew that human souls could change if they wanted to. They only needed to be given the chance. “Maybe it won’t solve everything; maybe there’ll still be issues. But I want to work through those issues with you! I know we can find a solution, I know we can, if we just work together!”

Charlie was more certain in her beliefs than ever; if her family was on her side, then surely everything would work out. Even if it took time, even if it was messy, even if it was difficult and strenuous and painful, she knew they could get through it if they worked together.

The Princess of hell looked at all of the archangels in the room, her heart full to bursting with hope and love. “I know I just met most of you and I haven’t known any of you for very long, but I believe in you. I believe in us. We’re a family; we can do this.” She took a moment to give the Share Bear a tight hug, smiling warmly before offering the toy to Remiel. “Thank you.”

Chapter Text

Remiel accepted the toy from the Princess, giving her what he hoped was a reassuring smile. His partner was a steady support beside him, one hand resting softly on his warm brown arm; a soft sigh escaped him as he gazed upon the unassuming plush, one hand raising to his dark grey hair and the plain silver halo keeping it back from his face. Calloused fingertips trailed slowly over the smooth metal, breathing slowly as he tried to determine how to begin.

Remiel had never been a fighter; it wasn’t what he was made for. He was a caretaker, an organizer, a guiding hand to those who had gone astray—how had he missed how lost his own family was? How had he been so content to turn a blind eye to his brothers and sisters, to the hurt they carried and the ache within them all?

“I am…tired,” he began finally, tearing his wide dark eyes away from the plush toward his siblings, “of being scared all the time.” His broad hand closed into a fist, shaking with the righteous anger he’d kept restrained for so long he’d nearly forgotten about it, the carefully banked heat rising in him. “Our brother was cast out—for what? For disagreeing with Him?”

Raguel reached across the table, a steadying hand settling over Remiel’s trembling fist. “Careful, Remy,” he murmured, voice soft—a warning. Remiel pulled his hand away, gesturing to the other emphatically. 

“This is what I mean! We’re constantly walking on eggshells, policing our words, our thoughts, our very feelings—why?” His eyes shifted to his husband, then to Charlie: the niece he had never been allowed to know. More than two hundred years old—two hundred years in which the knowledge existed of how to create equal life and yet it was kept from him, locked away due to some arbitrary whims of a Creator that had walked away long before. When he spoke next, the archangel’s voice was cracked and broken. “I could have had a child. I could have been a father by now!”

Azrael reached for him now, pity in the electric eyes of the angel of death; Remiel batted his hands away, pushing his chair back from the table. He began to pace the floor; restless and angry, far from the measured steps the angel of Justice had shown before but unlike Camael he directed the anger toward the floor, not wanting a stray jab to hurt any of those he loved. Even so, he changed as well; his body grew less substantial than before, murky and swirling like a stormy sky. Occasional gestures of his hands would meet with the backs of the others’ chairs or the room’s decorative pillars; the digits would waft away like mist, reforming momentarily after. Thunder rumbled within him, paired with flashing, crackling light beneath the semblance of his skin; his footfalls sounded like heavy rainfall but left no water behind.

“I’ve spent eons keeping my head down, doing what’s expected of me; trying to keep everything running smoothly, trying to keep the garden clean for a Master who might never return—and if He does, what does it matter! Will He even care that I’ve poured myself into creation, into building the lives of the beings He formed—beings He cast our brother out for setting free?” Tears ran down his round cheeks, falling nearly silently to the floor, the sound swallowed up in the rumbling thunder. When Remiel’s pacing ceased, his eyes were trained in the ground, watching the teardrops fall. When he next spoke, his voice was all but a whisper.

“Lucifer was ri-“

“Are you out of your mind?!” Cassiel was over the table and at his side in an instant, both dainty hands covering his mouth to end his words. Her own voice was hushed, words coming out in a hiss as her icy eyes darted around the room as though expecting some great force to rise up from the floor or appear from the sky for the explicit purpose of ending her brother. 

Remiel drew back from her, expression stormy, only to be stopped again by Uriel, the angel of wisdom resting a wrinkled hand upon his shoulder. “Think of all you have to lose,” he reminded quietly, deep violet eyes flicking to Shebuel in emphasis. Remiel’s expression was tempestuous, dark eyes meeting his lover’s briefly before looking away.

“Remiel.” Michael was the next to speak, the archangel luminescent gold as he looked up from his place. His expression was calm, nearly resigned as he addressed the other. “Do not force my hand.” The golden angel was dangerously still, glowing eyes remaining trained onto the other much like a predator observes their prey.

Remiel swallowed thickly, taking in his brother’s poised position, the light emanating from him, the empty hand held loosely at his side—waiting for a weapon to fill it. He nodded minutely, taking a careful breath to calm himself. He brushed off Cassiel and Uriel as he returned to his seat and his corporal form, physical hands shaking slightly as he resumed his place.

“Apologies, brother,” he murmured, eyes on the still brightly smiling teddy bear, “it…slipped my mind. In any case, I trust you all know where I stand on this matter: Charlie Morningstar has my support. I am prepared to assist her however I am able—up to and including relocation.” A ripple passed through the room as the others processed his meaning; the only opinion that mattered was seated beside him. 

Shebuel took his husband’s hand, squeezing gently and offering a soft smile. “We’d need a bigger house, anyway,” the former human agreed lightly, “if we’re planning to add to our family.” Plush lips pressed softly to Remiel’s cheek before the young angel took the toy for himself, settling back into his seat. “Now then: I believe it’s my turn.”

Chapter Text

Shebuel leaned absently against Remiel’s side, their fingers laced together, the other hand resting lightly on the legs of the plush toy. His mind turned over his husband’s words, the anger he knew dwelled within the gentle man. Remiel was a loving husband, passionate, earnest and open in most things; even so, their union had caused a bit of a stir up in Heaven all those years ago when their love was young and untested. In each other, they each found support: in Remiel, Shebuel had found honesty and understanding he had always longed for. When the formerly mortal man had first found himself in paradise, it had been Remiel’s gentle hand that had guided and sheltered him; they had acted as each other’s conscience ever since. 

A soft sigh passed full lips, dark eyes closing as Shebuel decided upon the proper course of action; he turned Remiel’s hand palm up on the table, tracing gentle patterns over his husband’s skin. As he did so wispy grey figures rose over the table, drawn from his own mind with Remiel’s power. “As you know, I was not born into this role—I was human before all else. First I was someone’s son, then someone’s brother; I served the God of my father in the temple of my people.” The shadow figures depicted his words, forming first into the shape of a woman holding an infant, then again while accompanied by an older child, then that older child growing and walking away from them into a tent and before an alter.

“I suppose my actions must have pleased the Lord; He took me from my place and elevated me to be among you.” A great hand was shown to reach down from above, grasping the figure in its hold; the world fell away, replaced by an area filled with various sculptures and gemstones, angelic figures surrounding the man. “I was brought into heaven and placed among His treasures: that was many years ago.”

Shebuel’s eyes opened, the misty display dissipating into the air as his dark eyes took in the room once more. “I still remember what it was like to be human. I know what it is like to suffer like them, to be helpless in the face of so much. I remember our history, the stories of my own family enduring slavery and homelessness; I remember skin burnt and aching from the very sun, I remember the sting of sand in my eyes and the ache of hunger in my belly.” All of these aches were centuries ago now; his new form was not susceptible to such earthly woes. He had been changed from his time in heaven and his ascension to the position he now held; he would not change it, if given the chance, but that did not mean he was without regrets.

“There are many parts of human life I will never have the opportunity to experience. I was not blessed with romantic love in my time on earth; I was not given the opportunity to know a wife, to form a partnership with a woman with whom I should have grown old. I never grew old—I never will. I—“

“Ugh, who cares?” Camael had adopted a surly posture, arms across his chest as he slouched in his seat. The young angel tilted his chair back as he drew attention to himself, propping his feet up on the table.

“Cam, it isn’t your turn,” Gabriel reminded, leaning back to scowl at her younger brother’s impertinence. “No one interrupted you, you should show Shebuel the same respect.”

“Oh, so Uri and Cass can butt into Remy’s turn,” the other scoffed, “but I’m the bad guy for talking over his pet?”

“Camael!” Raguel scolded the boy this time, taking hold of the back of his chair to force it into an upright position. “You know very well that that was different.”

“How? He still had the bear.” The angel of strength sneered at the cutesy toy, doing nothing to hide his disdain for the entire affair.

Raphael spoke up from his place near the head of the table, voice hushed and anxious. “That was for everyone’s safety: Remiel nearly said Michael’s trigger phrase.”

Camael’s purple eyes rolled, scoffing as he shouldered Raguel’s hand off his seat to prop it back again. “Oh please; we don’t even know that that’s still in effect,” he dismissed, “besides, I’m doing everyone a favor: we all know the dog agrees with his master, so why should we bother dragging this out?”

Charlie gave a small wave from her end of the table, drawing attention to herself. “Hi! Hey, sorry. The point of the Share Bear isn’t just to let you know someone’s opinion, it’s to help you understand why they feel that way. It’s about being open to learn about each other’s experiences, to—“

The angel of strength groaned, cutting off the Princess’s shpiel as he rubbed his hands over his own face. “Shut up! You’re insufferable, you know that? Your stupid, insipid little goody two-shoes act is the most annoying, irritating—“

“Shut your damn mouth, Cam,” Azrael snarled, standing from his chair to let himself glare down at the other from over Raguel’s shoulder. “Unless you want me to shut you up instead.”

“I’m just saying—“

“ Enough .” Michael’s voice cut through the squabbling, resonant and powerful, echoing faintly off the tall ceiling of the room. The other angels all went still, something almost like fear flashing over the youngest’s face before it settled into a mask of stubborn defiance. The golden angel let the room settle before continuing. “Gabriel is right; it is Shebuel’s turn to share. We will be respectful of him and hear what he has to say; none of us will speak over another again unless it is to prevent harm. We are archangels, the defenders of creation and representative of the best of it: we will not allow ourselves to become entangled in hurtful or antagonistic vitriol. Am I understood?”

The other angels murmured quiet affirmatives, Charlie agreeing immediately as well; Camael glared down at the tabletop, expression sullen, not saying a word. Michael watched the boy for a long moment before addressing him once more. 

“Camael. I require an answer of you.” He stood from his seat, once more shining with golden radiance as he crossed the room, taking hold of his younger brother’s chair and turning the furniture so the other was facing toward him. Even with the repositioning, the other kept his vibrant eyes downcast; Michael slid his first two fingers beneath the boy’s stubborn jaw, tilting his head up and holding him in place until the other looked upon him. Dark amaranthine eyes met warm honey for a tremulous moment before the younger huffed a sigh, lessening the strain of his shoulders.

“Alright, fine; geez. I’ll be quiet. Happy?” He groused, squirming out of Michael’s grip. The other smiled softly, some of his glow softening as he bent to press a brief kiss to his brother’s spiked hair.

“Thank you, little fighter.” Michael squeezed his shoulder once before nodding toward Shebuel. “Please, continue. I apologize for the disruption; it will not happen again.”

Shebuel returned Michael’s nod, remaining quiet as the other returned to his former position. The former human could feel his husband’s restrained rage beside him, didn’t need to look to know Remiel’s irate gaze was locked on the youngest of his brothers; a soft sigh passed Shebuel’s lips as he leaned against his husband’s side, grateful for the weight of his arm around his shoulders.

“Camael is right: I do agree with my husband,” he stated after a long moment, “but my reason is my own: I was taken from my life before I could truly live it. I was denied a chance for a family and children, denied a natural death, all so I could be a pretty trinket among the treasures of God.

“God is not my father—I haven’t been able to see or speak with any of my family since that day. Not even the holiest of them was enough to meet the requirements of Heaven—requirements that remain unknown to those who walk the earth. It is unfair to hold humanity to an unknown standard: one cannot be expected to embark upon a journey to an unknown destination when the very road itself is concealed from them. 

“I will not sit by while my people are left to flounder in the darkness. At least when my grandfather searched the world for home he was given guidance: there is no pillar of smoke to lead them now, no sign of God’s hand upon heaven or earth besides that which this council is able to provide.

“I was shanghaied into this crew with no consideration to my own life; while I have come to love much of you as family, you should not be surprised that I am choosing to make landfall. The Princess of hell is right: humanity deserves more than what God has deemed fit to give them. Now that the opportunity has presented itself, I intend to do everything within my power to aid my people.”

Dark eyes flicked toward Camael, taking in the angel’s dismissive expression for but a moment before looking away. “I thank each of you who is worthy of my gratitude. That is all.” He passed the toy into the next angel’s waiting hand, settling comfortably back into his husband’s embrace to hear what the others had to say.

Chapter Text

Uriel accepted the toy from Shebuel, the bear’s white fur seeming to nearly shine when contrasted with the almost mundane tan, wrinkled fingers. The violet eyed angel offered the former human a polite nod before looking down at the tool, smiling softly as he took in it’s unchanging smile and plastic eyes. He took a careful breath before he began, shoulders raising and settling comfortably as he turned his gaze toward the others.

“Well, now that we’ve gotten all of that,” he gestured vaguely toward Camael, Azrael and others, hand waving dismissively, “fluff out of the way, let’s focus on the matters at hand, shall we?” He conjured a small pair of spectacles, perching them at the end of his rounded nose. As he did so, the pamphlets in everyone’s possession shifted, the segments he looked upon shining and emboldened on the pages.

“Let’s see here—a sinner demon managed to claw their way up to heaven. Now, we simply cannot be having that; while I doubt that any mortal soul would be able to pass the gates unbidden, it’s simply a poor example for the other mortal souls. Not to mention the only regulatory official we’ve posted is Saint Peter—I dare say the man is ill equipped to deal with any sort of hostility.” His voice was crisp, matter of fact as he leafed through the pages to highlight his points. 

“I wouldn’t call myself a fan of Adam’s little brigade, but I’d recommend selecting a handful among their number to be reassigned to the gates. They aren’t to interfere with Saint Peter’s work; they would merely be a precaution.” He shuffled the pages aside, picking out his next topic.

“Speaking of: the Exterminations. We can do better than that. Joel.” He snapped his fingers in the elder angel’s direction, catching his attention. “I need numbers. How many sinners enter hell, annually?”

Joel’s dark blue-black eyes shifted to Uriel as the angel of wisdom gestured for him, supplying the answer immediately. “Approximately forty seven million mortal souls.”

Uriel hummed in acknowledgement, scowling faintly at the paperwork. “And how many were purged in the Exterminations, annually?”

“Approximately seven point five two million, trending upwards,” the angelic scrivener supplied. 

Uriel nodded, skimming over the pages in his hands. “And of those culled, how many were likely to gain the ability to force their way to heaven’s gates?”

Joel was quiet for a moment, dark eyes staring forward as he determined the probability. “It is likely that less than two persons per year carried the capacity to amass such power.”

Uriel’s lips pursed as he accepted the information, glancing toward Charlie Morningstar for a moment. “And how many could have been redeemed via the Princess’s program?”

“Inconclusive,” Joel responded immediately. “There is not enough data available for this determination.”

Gabriel cut in then, tone gentle. “Uriel, this is supposed to be a chance to talk about our feelings,” she reminded, “not to go over numbers.”

“I care about the numbers,” Uriel responded simply, offering his sibling a calm smile in response to the reminder. “If a thing can be measured, it can be managed: this is true. These numbers help me to determine what will be the best path forward for everyone. For example: this shows that the annual exterminations are statistical failures. While their very existence is distasteful, in my opinion, I’m ultimately opposed to them due to their inefficiency: it is simply a waste of manpower. What we need is a means to determine which sinners are likely to become a nuisance and to control or remove those souls specifically. Additionally, it would be good for us to develop a way to find which souls are capable of redemption akin to this Sir Pentious fellow. To put it into an analogy: we’ve bombing when the problem is better handled by a sniper. It is my opinion that this issue needs to be revisited and reconciled, preferably with hell’s proper rulers present and contributing to the solution.”

He shuffled his paperwork for a moment, the other pages around the room moving with him to settle on a page featuring the Morningstar family. “Speaking of: there is the matter of Miss Charlie herself. I do not believe hell is the proper home for a young lady of angelic origin: she and her paramour both belong in heaven.” 

Uriel raised one hand, palm forward, to silence any dissent from the others before it could begin. “However: she is quite clearly tied to this place, as its Princess. I would recommend a gradual weening: carefully removing her from this place over time, eventually culminating in her taking her proper place among us above.”

Thoughtful violet eyes regarded the girl as he spoke, lacing his fingers together to rest his hands palms down on the tabletop. “She’ll need proper guidance, of course; goodness knows what she’s been taught here. I would like to volunteer as her sponsor: I am sure that, with my hand to guide her, she will grow into one worthy of heaven’s grace in no time. It has been some time since I’ve had a proper challenge; I look forward to molding her divine potential into the best she could be.”

A smile quirked at the edge of his lips, the angel of wisdom glancing to the opposite end of the table to regard Michael. “With approval, of course. As always, I defer to the council: I am sure the correct decision will be made.” That said, Uriel slid the Share Bear down the line to his next sibling, satisfied and sure that his view was correct.

Chapter Text

The bear had reached the elder angels at this point; Zadkiel, the angel of mercy, accepted the toy into their dusty orange hands, eerie white eyes gazing down upon the little figure between their palms. Slowly, their hands separated to hold the toy magically suspended in the air; light movements of their fingers saw the fluffy object coming apart, the threads unwinding, fabric separating and fluff drawing out into the air.

“It is curious,” the angel spoke finally, “that new life always seeks to imitate that which exists before them; even this lifeless object is evidence of that. An empty facsimile of a predator, devoid now of claws and teeth, sanitized and helpless: a bear that cannot hunt will starve to death.” The stuffing pulled from the toy reshaped, condensing and forming into a more realistic polar bear; in an instant it became real, a tiny, breathing creature floating in the air. It began to cry, tiny voice ringing out in pain and hunger and confusion; Zadkiel closed their hand over it, squeezing tight for a moment before letting go. Lifeless, bloodless white fluff rested in their palm.

“So too was the creation of man; helpless, powerless little creatures, like us in form but devoid of our thought and knowledge and power.” The fabric of the toy twisted into a new shape, forming into familiar figures until impossibly tiny homunculi stood on the tabletop, intensely diminutive Adam and Lilith standing unblinking before them. “And we, divine beings that we may be, are nought but a shadow of He who came before.”

The stuffing of the toy was reshaped again, becoming tiny figures of several of the angels sat at the table: Joel, Sariel, Raziel, and Zadkiel themself. The true Zadkiel took what was left into their hands, closing over it. “So the pattern was and so it would continue to be, were it not for one who believed there could be more.” Their hands opened, the tiny figure of Lucifer before the fall knelt upon their palm. He gazed out at the other angels and then down upon the figures of mankind, watching the tiny people who had begun to wind the thread of the toy into a bundle upon the table. He grasped Zadkiel’s finger for balance, leaning out far to watch them before spreading his minute wings and soaring down toward them. 

The little Lucifer landed near the Lilith, offering a timid wave; she responded in kind, their mouths moving but voices too small for any words to carry to their observers. “Our brother looked upon them and saw not what they were, but what they could become. He desired not to create a shadow, to leave his mark upon creation; he wanted something which could equal himself, become more.”

Zadkiel swept the petite figures into their hand, watching dispassionately as the beings squirmed in their grip. “We all know what came of this.” Their hands closed over the beings, squeezing and releasing, revealing all converted back into the original components. 

“And so it was done and so it would be: except, it seems, that our brother was eventually successful in his endeavor.” Once again the fluff and fabric reformed, this time becoming the Princess of hell; the doll like being was not as she truly was, this version instead fully embodying her nature. She was dressed in a gossamer white gown, trident in hand, wings spread wide and tail whipping about her ankles. Above her sharply pointed horns floated a halo of flame; her eyes glowed crimson, her skin giving off preternatural light. “Despite his punishment, his banishment, his broken bones and spirit, our brother was able to do that which we thought impossible: he created something which would outlive him.”

Zadkiel took the figure into their hands, wincing faintly as it struck out at them; golden blood leaked from the new stab wound in their palm, dripping down the infernal weapon to stain the hands of the tiny princess. Despite the attack, the angel closed their palms and destroyed the creation, crushing it and forming it again into the harmless, defunct toy bear. Droplets of angelic ichor lingered on its fuzzy paws; Zadkiel absentmindedly licked the blood off their own palm, white eyes looking up at their siblings, impassive and calm, apparently unmoved by all they had said and done.

“We failed; He failed. Lucifer was successful in achieving his goal; isn’t it wonderful?” The angel smiled at this point, a sound more exhale than laugh passing their lips as their empty expression finally shifted. “After all, it has been so very long since we have been faced with something truly new . Isn’t it exciting, the not knowing? Isn’t it grand?” They laughed again, the strange little shuddery exhale as they picked up the toy to brush their blood from its fur, licking the liquid off their fingertips. “I do so love surprises.”

The toy now clean, they passed it on to their neighbor, pale eyes settling upon Charlie Morningstar as breathy little giggles passed coral colored lips.

Chapter Text

Sariel accepted the toy from her sibling, green fingers cradling the object gently as jet black eyes observed it. Her gaze lingered on the stuffed bear for a moment before she looked up at the room, expression soft and fond.

“I pity you little ones,” she stated gently, her voice oddly hollow, “so full of fear, so uncertain of what’s to come. You need only ask.” Her ebony eyes sparkled, glimmering like stars in the night sky; with a wave of her hand, the space above the table echoed the visual with colorful galaxies and nebulas swirling overhead.

“Everything made ever expands, grows and spreads, invisible hands desperately clinging but doomed to someday let go.” The display closed in on an asteroid circling a star only to break from orbit; it hurtled off into the abyss of space, twisting into a brightly shining comet, rocketing into the vast unknown.

“Still, all is ever reaching, ever grasping at that which they cannot know.” The celestial body shifted, drawn in by another star, tail sprayed out behind as it closed in on the distant fiery ball. “Clinging, desperate and longing; such a hold can only lead to destruction.” The glowing orb the comet plunged toward flickered, seeming to shudder inward before abruptly expanding out, swallowing planets and asteroids in its path. The comet they’d been following flickered and wavered before being burnt out and swallowed up as well, disappearing into the flames and gas. 

“There are only two ways such a hold can lead.” The images shifted, time rolling back, the flames drawn back into their previous position. This time, when set back into motion, the star did not expand; rather, it caved inward, the force of it beginning to pull the rest of the solar system along. The former shining light became its antithesis, swallowing everything that came near.

“Either the hold will give out, or all will be consumed by it. Those that escape are doomed to wander the cold forever—those are our choices, to accept the constriction or the absence.” Sariel turned her eyes from the display she’d created to the faces around the table, a faint furrow settling between her brows as she observed their expressions. Those who weren’t openly confused seemed bored, as though they weren’t listening at all; Gabriel in particular seemed placating, as though fondly tolerating what seemed to be innate ramblings of a loved one.

Sariel shifted one hand absently to her own loose gray hair, drawing the messy locks out of her face into a bun at the back of her head more with will than physical direction. “I see I have failed to explain myself well. Let me try again.” She altered the images above them, changing the view from immense galaxies to a simple, singular golden line. Before their eyes it branched out, then again, and again, until it was a myriad of interconnecting branches and streams, coming together and breaking away once more.

“All with the vaguest sense of sentience make choices,” she began again, heedless of the groan of complaint coming from her youngest brother, Camael, as she tried anew. “These choices shape existence; most can only see the path before them, the light illuminating only once the decision has been made. I see beyond; I see each possibility, each opportunity. I know all that which may unfold.”

She focused in on one of the branches near the base of the web, drawing them closer and closer until a scene played out in front of their eyes. It showed the first man and woman in the garden, Adam and Lilith clearly in the midst of an argument based on their body language though no sound was made. A passing shadow overhead drew them both out of their conflict, both retreating into themselves before turning to walk away; at this point the image split, now showing three different scenes. In one Lilith’s footsteps stilled, tears streaming down her face before she turned and ran back to her first husband, cradled in his strong arms as she sobbed against his chest. In another it was Adam who broke, chasing after his wife with tears in his own eyes. Here the image split again: in one instant Lilith accepted his display, holding him close and offering comfort; in another she brushed him off, choosing to push him away and wander off on her own, leaving him to break down on his own.

In the third display the cause of the shadow was shown to be a group of passing angels; the archangels themselves, missing several members and following after another figure, tall and imposing. The final angel in the group was Lucifer; he hesitated, falling behind the others as he looked down upon the mortals’ folly. This image split, one depicting the archangel following after the others after his momentary distraction while the other showed him leaving his post, floating down toward the earth to observe more closely. This path merged into those before it: when Adam and Lilith reconciled, Lucifer smiled fondly upon them and returned to his family in the sky.

When Lilith rejected Adam, Lucifer’s line split again in triplicate: in one he seemed dejected at the display but returned to his family nonetheless. In another he approached Adam, small hand resting tentatively upon the man’s shoulder. The mortal looked up from his knelt state upon the ground; the image split once more, one Adam rising to his feet and wiping away his tears, brushing off the archangel’s comfort, causing this Lucifer to rejoin his celestial family once more. In another the mortal fell against the angel, hugging the being’s legs while crying against his front, accepting the comfort as Lucifer pet his dark hair and murmured gentle encouragement. The third line showed Lucifer following after Lilith instead, watching the woman as she left her husband behind. He approached her quietly, again offering comfort; the timeline split once more, one Lilith rejecting the offer and turning away from him, the other accepting the companionship and comfort.

The images became smaller, fading again into simple lines that crossed over, merged together and broke apart, flowing like water and twisting like vines. “I know of every path and outcome,” Sariel intoned, a small smile on her face as she observed the complex web of fate, “I know every twist and turn; I know every destination, every calamity and end, but even I do not know what path we will take.”

With a small gesture of her fingers, she collapsed the ever expanding web into an infinitesimal ball, holding it in her palm as she gazed fondly upon the glowing strands. “What will be will be; I am…excited to see which path we will take.” She closed her hand over the construct she had made, removing the web of fate from their current plane. Looking upon the others, she could see that many still did not understand; that was alright. They didn’t need to. 

Having said her piece, the Angel of Time passed the Share Bear along the line to the angel beside her.

Chapter Text

Raziel accepted the toy from their sister, dandelion yellow hands holding the toy with what seemed to be almost exaggerated care. After a long moment of quiet contemplation, they turned lavender eyes up toward the others. “Why do we bother with any of this anxiety?” they posited finally, tone earnestly curious. “It is beneath us all; should some stray sinner find their way into heaven’s halls, what could ever be done unto us? They are but weak little things, are they not?”

She shifted to rest her forearms on the table, head tilted to the side as she focused her gaze on Michael’s face, reading every minute shift of his carefully composed expression. “Perhaps it is not a single sinner that is feared; perhaps it is an armada, a fleet, an everlasting throng of the neglected dead. A growing pile of wretched souls climbing over one another, fruitlessly striving to breach the Pearly Gates and ravish the bounty beyond. Is this the notion that troubles you?”

Her eyes shifted, leaving Michael to instead hold winsome Cassiel in her gaze. “What response would the ascended mortal souls supply? How long until some mournful, compassionate being opened the gate to the unwashed masses? Would they withstand decades of screaming, of pleading? Months? Minutes? How long until the carefully maintained gardens above would fall victim to the vice and desire of those barred from their splendor?”

There was a hint of laughter in her voice as her view shifted again, pinning the Angel of Justice in his seat. “What would befall the poor, tender hearted fool who opened the gates? What punishment would they receive? How are we to reprimand the mother who sought to satiate their starving child only to welcome in the wolf at the door?”

They shifted almost absently to nuzzle their cheek against the plush toy’s soft head, sighing quietly as their eyes fell closed, quiet and peaceful before looking to the irritated expression of Camuel. “What would you do, little fighter? Would the angel of strength rise to the occasion, beat back the swarm of undead?” Their laughter was clearer now; the archangel took a moment to bite at their own knuckle, stifling the giggles despite the way their shoulders still shook from the thought, deeply amused by the rhetorical inquiry, rocking slowly in their seat as they beheld the younger being’s disgruntled expression.

The young archangel’s face contorted in anger, his knee bouncing with restless energy; his gaze shot toward their leader, whining his name planatively.

“Be patient,” Michael soothed softly, briefly meeting Camael’s gaze before looking down at his own clasped hands. “This is nearly over.” His golden eyes closed, head bowed; his posture immulating that of a man at prayer.

Raziel didn’t seem bothered by the interruption, smiling widely as she watched the exchange. “Maybe so,” she agreed comfortably, watching Michael closely. “Maybe it is all nearly over; maybe hell will overwhelm and overrun our home and we will be forced out. Maybe we will finally move on from this place and start again. Or maybe not.”

Their lavender eyes flicked down to Charlie Morningstar, the child of Lucifer sitting quiet and polite at the far end of the long table, appearing harmless and earnest. Raziel’s grin grew, causing their eyes to crinkle at the edges. “Maybe the sinners will not be alone,” they suggested. “Maybe they will be lead by another, one whose heart and will are stronger than heaven’s meager defenders; stronger even than His. Maybe something new will be built from the ashes.”

She sat up, still cradling the toy in her arms. “Maybe another will come, one who dares to shine without His light; maybe together they will create more than we were meant to. Maybe they will be more than we were meant to.” She hugged the toy close, chuckling quietly and beginning to rock again in her seat; her eyes were on the table now, half closed as she continued to speak under her breath, too low for any to be able to understand. 

Raziel’s expression did not match the sense of unease around them, many of the archangel’s seeming uncomfortable with the display. She was smiling, eyes seeming faraway as she mumbled apparently to herself. The room was quiet for a moment, the others glancing to one another in uncertainty before Gabriel spoke up, reaching across the table to set a gentle hand over their sister’s dandelion skin.

“Raziel?” She pressed gently, offering a soft smile when the other looked up to meet her eyes, blinking briefly as though she hadn’t noticed the other there before. 

“Hello, Gabriel.” The Archangel of Magic smiled warmly at her sister, shoulders relaxed, posture at ease.

The messenger smiled softly at the greeting, giving the elder angel’s hand a careful squeeze. “Hey, Razzmatazz,” she returned, shoulders relaxing at the other’s almost childish giggle. “Did you have anything else you wanted to say?”

The archangel frowned slightly, looking down at the plushie they held as though seeing it for the first time. “Ah, yes. I was speaking, wasn’t I?” Gabriel nodded, giving them an encouraging nod. “Hm. I suppose I have finished, then.” She passed the toy off, though she seemed reluctant to do so.

Gabriel glanced at Michael briefly before suggesting, “Why don’t you make yourself a new toy to hold for the rest of the meeting? You seem to have worn yourself out.”

Raziel nodded, conjuring a strange configuration of colors to hold in their arms, hugging it close as they settled back into their chair, lilac eyes sleepy as she quieted and settled in.

Chapter Text

Joel accepted the stuffed toy, holding the plushy bear between his hands and turning it over in absent investigation before setting it down on the table in front of him. He laced his fingers together behind it, resting his hands palms down over his paperwork as he blinked up at the room with empty blue-black eyes. “You are all allowing your emotions to misconstrue the circumstances,” he stated finally, his tone flat. “This is dissatisfactory. If your emotions continue to cloud your judgement then I must recommend they be taken care of.”

Gabriel sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose before addressing the elder angel. “Joel, we’ve discussed this already: our emotions color our judgement, not cloud it.”

“This is incorrect.” Joel’s rebuttal was calm and without malice. “We are tools to serve a purpose; if our given objective is not being met as we are then we are insufficient and must be adjusted. If your emotions are preventing you from determining the best response for a situation then they should not be considered at all.”

“But our emotions can be necessary to our tasks,” Haniel pointed out. “Determining the best care for mortal souls requires empathy; we cannot mend that which we do not understand.”

“Nor can we judge it,” Raguel agreed, nodding toward his sister in solidarity. “As Gabe said, we’ve already had this discussion. We aren’t doing it again.”

Joel quieted for a moment, delicately running one fingertip along the ear of the plush toy as he considered his next words. “Perhaps a purging is unnecessary,” he began finally. “Perhaps a simple…distancing would suffice. A slight disassociation to ease you all toward the correct decision.”

“It isn’t going to happen, Joel,” Remiel stated firmly, one arm wrapped around his husband’s shoulders as he looked up the table to meet the other’s gaze. “We’ll sort this all out, emotions and all. Just as we always have.”

“Remy’s right,” Camael cut in, scowling at the eldest. “Which makes you wrong. Who are you to say we’re falling short, anyway? Since you know so much, why don’t you remind me what your purpose is?”

Camael’s tone was haughty, challenging; Joel didn’t seem affected by it at all. “I am His scrivener. I record and repor—“

“Report, yeah. Pass along information.” The young archangel’s smile was vicious, leaning forward with his elbows on the table top. “Who exactly do you report to, again? Our Father. But you don’t know where He is, do you? You don’t know shit.” The angel of strength didn’t give Joel a chance to respond, surging forward with conviction. “So why don’t you stop acting like you’re so knowledgeable and important when we all know the truth: you’re nothing but a half baked prototype given a nothing task to keep you out of the way. So why don’t you shut up and let someone real take charge?” 

The conference room was quiet for a long moment, many of the archangel’s expressions ranging from shock to anger. Joel seemed unaffected by the other’s tirade, dark eyes resting in the ever cheery face of the toy bear before he wordlessly slid it over to Michael.

Michael didn’t take the toy; the golden archangel instead took a deep, slow breath before issuing an order. “Camael. Apologise to Joel. That was no way to speak to your brother.”

The younger angel scoffed, expression surly and offended at the instruction. “Why? It was true. And I’m not sorry; this little Sharing Is Caring bullshit is about feelings, right? Well he doesn’t have any, so why should he get a turn, anyway?”

“Camael!” Uriel gave the boy a hard look, aged visage reproachful. “Joel is one of us; he deserves to be shown the same respect as anyone else here.”

“Says the guy who uses him as a calculator,” the younger retorted with a scoff. “You say we should listen to and respect him—did you? Did you give his opinion a second of thought, or dismiss him the second he started talking?” The angel of wisdom gave no reply, drawing a short chuckle from Camael. “That’s what I thought.”

“Maybe Joel is on to something,” Jophiel muttered, shooting her younger brother an irritated look, “because somebody here sure needs an attitude adjustment.”

Cassiel gasped, pale hand pressing to her soft lips. “Jojo, surely you don’t mean that; Camael spoke out of turn, true, but you wouldn’t want to limit him, not really.”

“…maybe I do,” Jophiel decided, shoulders straightening and head held high. “We’ve been giving Camael slack for centuries— because he’s younger, because he doesn’t know what we’ve gone through—but maybe that was a mistake. Just look at Charlie!” The angel of word gestured down the table to the princess, the child of Lucifer looking startled to have been brought up. “She’s barely two centuries old and she’s an absolute angel . Clearly being young isn’t Cam’s problem.”

Camael scoffed, turning toward Charlie as well. “If she’s so perfect, let’s hear what she thinks. Well, your majesty?” he posed mockingly. “What do you think we should do with our feewings? Should we all howd hands and swing swongs until we feew bedder?” 

Azrael scowled at Camael’s mocking, but Charlie rested a reassuring hand on his arm. “Everyone deserves a chance to be heard,” she stated firmly, not letting herself be intimidated by Camael’s childish schoolyard insults, “especially if their views are different than our own. Joel is right in some ways: sometimes we have to ignore our own personal feelings in order to do what’s right for everyone. It isn’t a blanket fix for everything; there are absolutely situations where feelings matter and matter a lot. But we can’t let how we feel stop us from doing the right thing: even if we’re scared, or hurt, or upset at all. It can be hard to know where to draw the line; everyone’s going to mess up, to make mistakes. That’s why grace and forgiveness are so important, why second chances matter so much. I appreciate Joel’s point of view on all of this; I don’t agree with his solution entirely, but I recognize the logic in his premise.” 

Charlie offered Camael a bright, warm smile, completely unbothered by the simmering anger that he directed to her. “Just like I appreciate yours. I know this must all be scary for you—you’ve been the youngest for a long time, and then I show up—I promise, I’m not here to try to replace you or show you up. All I want is to help my people; if I can help my family too, then that’s great!” Her expression softened, tentatively holding a hand out toward the frustrated archangel. “And that includes you. I know we got off on the wrong foot—I’m sorry about that. Can we try again?”

For a moment Camael looked conflicted, nearly fearful, before anger flashed in his eyes and a snarl settled in his mouth. “If you think for a second that I’d accept your filthy hell-born hand—“

In an instant, Michael was across the room and glowing brightly, vibrant gold lighting up the room as he grasped Camael by the collar and yanked him up out of his chair. “ That is enough .” His voice shook the room, near deafening in the confined space. Despite Michael being physically shorter than the younger angel he loomed over him, gold and white wings open as he hoisted the other to his feet. Camael stumbled as Michael dragged him up to Joel’s seat and forced him to kneel before the nonplussed eldest archangel. Camael struggled and snarled, fingers shifting to claws as he tried and failed to force the golden angel to release him; his own pale yellow wings spread and flapped, trying to force some distance between them but serving only to scatter feathers over the conference room.

“ Your disrespect has been tolerated long enough; you will know humility. ” Michael held the younger angel on his knees with one hand on his shoulder, the other gripping his bristled purple hair; Camael was only able to struggle for a moment longer before golden light was filling him, spilling from every orifice as his jaw dropped in a silent scream. The other archangel’s shielded their eyes from the light, hiding behind hands and wings; Azrael made sure to cover Charlie with his own, though the Princess couldn’t help but peer through the feathers to witness it.

Camael’s chest was heaving, his body trembling as the light slowly died; the tears that steamed his cheeks were as golden as the light that had overwhelmed him. “I’m sorry,” he sobbed out as soon as his breath was caught. “I’m sorry, Joel, it was wrong for me to speak to you like that, I’m so sorry.”

The eldest archangel seemed entirely unmoved by the whole display; his expression was flat and dispassionate as he looked down upon the weeping angel of strength before him. “You are forgiven,” he stated simply, reaching out one hand to briefly pat the other’s shoulder. His eyes met Michael’s briefly, nodding once in acknowledgement. “Thank you.”

Michael released his hold on Camael and returned to his seat at the head of the table, rubbing his hands over his face. His expression was unearthly tired, an exhaustion settled around his eyes. He looked down at the little toy bear on the tabletop, still smiling emptily at the room, and rested a hand on it’s fuzzy foot. “I hate when you make me do that,” he stated softly, nearly a whisper.

Between Camael’s gasps for air and tremulous sobs, he spat back, “I hate you.” 

Chapter Text

For a moment Camael’s gasping, shuddering breaths were the only sound to fill the cavernous conference room, the pitiful sounds echoing off the high ceiling. Cassiel was the first to break the silence, leaving her seat to crouch by her younger brother, gray hand settling gently on Camael’s shoulder.

“We know you don’t mean that,” she soothed, delicate hand brushing the tears from his face as she helped him to his feet, “you’re just upset, that’s all. It’s alright; come on, let’s get back to our seats.” She steadied the younger angel as he got to his feet, rubbing his back gently as she lead him back to their chairs. As they passed Michael she made a point to shoot a look toward him over her narrow shoulder, icy blue eyes reproachful.

Michael gave no response to the look or the hateful words their brother had spoken, honey brown eyes downturned until they had settled back into their places. The defender of Heaven took a deep breath, rubbing his hands over his face and then pushing back through his golden curls, tilting his head back to look up at the pastel colored ceiling before he finally began to speak.

“I’m tired. I am… so tired. You all look to me for direction, for explanation, and I…I don’t have any.” The golden archangel looked out over the table, his posture changed. Before he had been poised, composed: now his shoulders were slack as though weighted down, one hand resting at the nape of his neck to toy anxiously with the short curls there, the other dropping to the tabletop with a heavy thud. “I don’t know where Father is. I don’t know what He wants—I’ve never known.”

He let his head fall to the tabletop, both hands now gripping at his curled golden hair. “I thought I did, before. I thought I understood. But then He made me—“ The archangel’s voice cracked as he flinched, lustrous feathers puffing up as his wings shifted restlessly behind him. “He made me hurt him. I didn’t want to—I’ve never wanted anything less. I can still feel his blood on my hands…. Is that what I was made for? Is it all I’m good for? Hurting the ones I love?”

In the silence that followed the unanswerable question, Gabriel reached out a comforting hand toward her brother; the moment her reddish-brown fingers settled on his shoulder Michael was flinching away, drawing back from her almost fearfully. “I don’t want to hurt any of you,” he stated earnestly, keeping himself out of her reach as his eyes found Camael’s, the younger’s expression confused and doubtful, “ any of you. But I know I will, if that’s what He wants. I won’t have a choice; just like back then.”

The tears that had welled up in his honey eyes spilled over, following along the black tracks over his cheeks. “I’m sorry. I’m exhausted and I’m— I’m afraid, afraid of what He’ll make me do when He comes back. I…I don’t want Him to come back, but I do. We’re His creation, His children: He was the only one who knew what all of this was for, what was meant to be. Without Him…I’m lost. I don’t know what to do but I need to know what to do because you’re all counting on me. And I keep letting you down.”

Michael scrubbed his hands over his face, smearing the tears over his skin as he struggled to explain the tight coil of anxiety within him, the dread that sat heavy in his gut. Would any of them follow him after this revelation? What was he thinking, baring his soul like this? It was his duty to take care of them; he was failing his siblings, again.

A shaky sigh passed the golden angel’s lips as he looked out at his siblings again, taking in their expressions: the doubt, the pity, the fear. This was all his fault and would always be his fault; he needed to do better. He had no other choice. He turned his gaze down to the plush bear that had begun all of this, at it’s empty eyes and vacant smile; he nudged the bear across the table, back toward Gabriel.

“Thank you, Gabriel; this has been…enlightening,” Michael stated carefully, methodically putting himself back together. His shoulders squared; his feathers smoothed. He couldn’t afford to fall apart, not now, not ever; his family depended on him. If they ever tried this exercise again he’d have to keep himself in check. It was good for his siblings to be able to vent and open up; he needed to remember that such a luxury was beyond him. He had responsibilities toward them that he could not neglect, no matter what.

The toy had moved scant inches before a pitch black hand snatched it up, clawed fingers curled loosely around Michael’s shoulder in kind. 

“What, don’t I get a turn?” the holder of the Share Bear asked, a playful lit to his melodic voice as Michael stared in surprise at the speaker’s sharp smile and scarlet-yellow eyes. “Or is speaking a privilege specifically for angels who haven’t taken a tumble?”

Michael was still caught up in his surprise, both at the other’s appearance and at being caught unaware, when the others’ shock apparently wore off. The other angels were rising from their seats, clamoring for attention and direction while their leader found himself lost in that cheeky smile and brilliant gaze, able only to voice his name.

“Lucifer?”