Never having ideas. Staying distant. No free will. Gabriel froze a little, amusement dropping off his face as he stared after the server. And because he'd been thinking back anyway, he couldn't quite stop some of the memories he had consciously avoided in the last two thousand years.
Before the Fall, before humanity, before any fights or conflict and there was only family. Pride was a sin, but Gabriel felt it anyway, for the song he'd written.
"That was beautiful, little brother. Did Father give it to you?"
Michael. Gabriel dimmed a little, drew in, protective but not wary. "No. I wrote it myself, for Father. It was Lucifer's idea."
Surprise and uncertainty flickered in Michael's Grace. "... Well. Father seemed to like it."
He flew through Heaven, darting between the lines of Creation, sometimes just a little too fast not to leave ripples in his wake. He couldn't stop; they were about to catch up. Why, oh why, had Father given him this mission?
Abruptly he collided with Lucifer's Grace as the older archangel gripped him tight and brought him to a halt. "Gabriel! You're disrupting the cosmos!"
He panicked and then had a flash of inspiration, and let his Grace ripple with a command to those pursuing him. "Lucifer wants a hug!"
Only the cupids would ever even dream of mobbing one archangel at the behest of another. Then again, they always did what Gabriel said anyway. That was probably what Father intended when he gave them to Gabriel to train as messengers.
Later. Much, much later, after the Fall, after everything had gone bad. After Lucifer was imprisoned, Michael thought only about the day he'd be able to kill his own brother, Raphael still refused to have an original thought and Gabriel was left to try and keep their family together. He was returning from his mission on Earth to usher in his Father's Son, irritable and embarrassed and too far gone to even bother caring about the hints of shame.
Wise men. Hah.
Heaven was actually heavens, now, and despite the perception of his Father with a throneroom it wasn't anything so ostentatious. And yet it was more spacious than any actual 'room' could be. Gabriel sank into the fabric between the heavens, the foundation of Creation, where his Father infused every inch of time and space. It opened up before him, inside him, and he felt his Father pull him close in His embrace.
"They're in Egypt," he reported, and explained what had happened with Herod's decree. Not exactly with words. It was never with words, with Father, not even to the half-point the angels used among themselves to supplement their communication through Grace. He just already knew.
He didn't explain how Herod had known. How Gabriel had left the philosophers to their own devices for just a little too long to slip into a willing human and indulge in some of those amazing herbs they had on another continent. But he knew Father knew. Part of him was afraid Father would say something, chastise him, smite him--
The rest wanted Him to, dared Him to. Say something! Do something!
Not a word. He never said a word about Gabriel's transgression, and when Gabriel left Him to seep back into the universe, he felt angry and relieved and strangely disappointed. Thirty-three Earth years later, after the Son had returned to Heaven, Gabriel was gone from it.
Gabriel blinked and took a sharp breath, and when he looked back at Aziraphale there was an angel's lifetime of bitterness in his eyes. "I don't know how it went where you're from," he said, "but in my universe? After the Fall, all Michael was interested in was smiting things. Raphael was Raphael and wouldn't know an original thought if it bit him. So take a guess who had to keep the family together, keep our brothers happy. That whole shtick with Herod and making the Son flee to Egypt? That was me. That was because I took a joyride in someone on the other side of the world to get away for a while and trusted wise men to be able to find their way and keep their mouths shut. It almost ruined everything. And Dad never said a word. Not one word."
He gave the other angel a brittle smile. "So you're asking the wrong angel, Aziraphale. Forget about not having room to make my own choices. I would have given anything for just a little more fucking guidance."
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Before the Fall, before humanity, before any fights or conflict and there was only family. Pride was a sin, but Gabriel felt it anyway, for the song he'd written.
"That was beautiful, little brother. Did Father give it to you?"
Michael. Gabriel dimmed a little, drew in, protective but not wary. "No. I wrote it myself, for Father. It was Lucifer's idea."
Surprise and uncertainty flickered in Michael's Grace. "... Well. Father seemed to like it."
He flew through Heaven, darting between the lines of Creation, sometimes just a little too fast not to leave ripples in his wake. He couldn't stop; they were about to catch up. Why, oh why, had Father given him this mission?
Abruptly he collided with Lucifer's Grace as the older archangel gripped him tight and brought him to a halt. "Gabriel! You're disrupting the cosmos!"
He panicked and then had a flash of inspiration, and let his Grace ripple with a command to those pursuing him. "Lucifer wants a hug!"
Only the cupids would ever even dream of mobbing one archangel at the behest of another. Then again, they always did what Gabriel said anyway. That was probably what Father intended when he gave them to Gabriel to train as messengers.
Later. Much, much later, after the Fall, after everything had gone bad. After Lucifer was imprisoned, Michael thought only about the day he'd be able to kill his own brother, Raphael still refused to have an original thought and Gabriel was left to try and keep their family together. He was returning from his mission on Earth to usher in his Father's Son, irritable and embarrassed and too far gone to even bother caring about the hints of shame.
Wise men. Hah.
Heaven was actually heavens, now, and despite the perception of his Father with a throneroom it wasn't anything so ostentatious. And yet it was more spacious than any actual 'room' could be. Gabriel sank into the fabric between the heavens, the foundation of Creation, where his Father infused every inch of time and space. It opened up before him, inside him, and he felt his Father pull him close in His embrace.
"They're in Egypt," he reported, and explained what had happened with Herod's decree. Not exactly with words. It was never with words, with Father, not even to the half-point the angels used among themselves to supplement their communication through Grace. He just already knew.
He didn't explain how Herod had known. How Gabriel had left the philosophers to their own devices for just a little too long to slip into a willing human and indulge in some of those amazing herbs they had on another continent. But he knew Father knew. Part of him was afraid Father would say something, chastise him, smite him--
The rest wanted Him to, dared Him to. Say something! Do something!
Not a word. He never said a word about Gabriel's transgression, and when Gabriel left Him to seep back into the universe, he felt angry and relieved and strangely disappointed. Thirty-three Earth years later, after the Son had returned to Heaven, Gabriel was gone from it.
Gabriel blinked and took a sharp breath, and when he looked back at Aziraphale there was an angel's lifetime of bitterness in his eyes. "I don't know how it went where you're from," he said, "but in my universe? After the Fall, all Michael was interested in was smiting things. Raphael was Raphael and wouldn't know an original thought if it bit him. So take a guess who had to keep the family together, keep our brothers happy. That whole shtick with Herod and making the Son flee to Egypt? That was me. That was because I took a joyride in someone on the other side of the world to get away for a while and trusted wise men to be able to find their way and keep their mouths shut. It almost ruined everything. And Dad never said a word. Not one word."
He gave the other angel a brittle smile. "So you're asking the wrong angel, Aziraphale. Forget about not having room to make my own choices. I would have given anything for just a little more fucking guidance."