caveofsapphires | suddenly my eyes are open [open]

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suddenly my eyes are open [open]

WHO: Gabriel (Sylvester Wilton) and [OPEN]
WHAT: Gabriel got taken in for a memory-modification. Now he's a little bit weirded out.
WHERE: Sleeping quarters, Bakery, Bar, Temple, streets in-between.
WHEN: Tuesday 10 to Saturday 21 April 2012.

This was one Hell of an elaborate prank. Except that Gabriel was starting to doubt that it was a prank, exactly. Dad wouldn't have thrown him into a place where the inhabitants drilled into his skull. Or experimented on him. Or ... did something Gabriel wasn't quite aware of but which must have happened, because going off to the clinic and then waking up in his quarters without knowing the in-between kind of indicated something happened in the in-between. All at once he remembered the 'dancing alien' prank he'd pulled and wondered if this was in any way similar. Maybe Lucifer had done it, except that Gabriel was fairly sure even Lucifer had no idea where archangels went after they died or how to capture them before they went there.

Maybe this was some kind of archangel's afterlife. If so, Gabriel's only hope was that Luci's turned out worse in the end.

With a groan Gabriel rubbed his temples, trying to wish away the ... it wasn't a throb, exactly. More like a hollow ache. He'd tried to snap it away, naturally, but that had only made the headache worse, so he'd stopped.

"Note to self," he told his reflection in the mirror. "This ain't a game anymore, and pushing the line results in ... in ... something. Just because you've already died apparently doesn't mean it can't happen again. I mean, look at the Winchesters."

With that pep-talk, he staggered to his feet and out the door.

The next five days were, in a word, weird. He still had no idea how to bake, but when he walked into the bakery on Tuesday he found himself automatically pulling out the ingredients for icing and had finished making a multi-tier wedding cake before he realised what he was doing. (Of course, then he had get rid of the excess icing. The cake wasn't actually saleable either, but Gabriel figured he deserved a reward for actually doing some baking and not having it completely burn.)

Tuesday night and Wednesday morning he discovered that powerless archangels in human bodies could, indeed, get sick from eating too much sugar. He made it to work--for a little while--he just didn't get much work done. (Instead he spent most of it looking green and slumped on a chair near the cash-register, with neither the appetite for sweets nor the energy to bake.)

On Thursday after work he went to the bar. If he could get sick, maybe he could get drunk too, and then he could get rid of this niggling uneasiness (fear) that Something Was Wrong. He succeeded in getting drunk quite well, and for a happily oblivious night completely forgot what the hell he was meant to be uneasy about, if anything.

He just didn't make it to work on Friday and spent the day in bed, groaning over the hangover, yelling at anyone who made too much noise and then going back to bed to groan some more.

On Saturday he found the Temple, a tiny little hole in the wall whose only two seats were cut into stone and whose altar sported a couple of thick candles. There was another worshipper, but he left when Gabriel told him to skedaddle, and then the archangel had a very unproductive one-sided conversation with the candles. Anyone passing by might have heard the final rather frustrated and faintly echoing refrain of, "Dad, if you can hear me, get me out of here!"

By Sunday morning something had settled in his mind and he finally became aware that he, in fact, had an extra memory that had been hiding by pretending it belonged there. A memory of baking a multi-tier wedding cake, colour-coordinated with the wedding party, with the mother-in-law hovering over his shoulder. The realisation it was there made him shiver.

He imagined it lurking and giggling, and named it Marie.

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Human senses really, really sucked. That was the only reason why Gabriel didn't hear anyone coming in. Not because he was too busy glaring at the altar; not at all.

He jumped and whirled around at the sound of someone taking a spill, one hand instinctively raised with fingers ready to snap and the other rigid at his side, prepared for the archangel blade that was emphatically not going to slide into his grasp as he willed it. Then he released a breath, forced himself to relax, and laughed.

"Have a nice trip?" Lame, but the best he could manage at the moment. The archangel really wished he had his soul-seeing eyes, but since he didn't, he settled for ambling over and squinting at the man (because candlelight wasn't very illuminating, okay!)

Aziraphale sighed. What tremendous stealth, angel. Pulling himself to his feet, he smoothed down the front of his jacket, cheeks blazing with embarrassment and indignity.

"Have a nice discussion?" he snapped back before he could help himself, then cleared his throat and bent down to retrieve his glasses. He put them in his front pocket, for something to do. He did not appreciate the sudden scrutiny, although turnabout was fair play, he supposed,and he had been watching this . . . individual without permission.

He was not very ashamed of himself, he realized to some dismay.

"Sure, it was illuminating," Gabriel said without missing a beat, though that didn't stop the fact his eyes narrowed. Well, then; he'd been overheard. Now the question was whether this guy thought he was insane or actually knew something about 'discussions'.

"I think the line's broken though," he added with a winsome smile. "So if you're looking for call someone up, you're going to need more than a dime." That'll give him something to think about. Or react to. Maybe.

Aziraphale pressed his lips together in irritation. What an idiot. He hated word games. "Maybe you're using the wrong line," he said archly. "This place is astonishingly awful. And I think I lost all my dimes while I was sleeping in any case."

"You'd be amazed at what sort of connection I know how to get even with faulty lines," Gabriel said, his smile turning somewhat more sardonic and his gaze still on the other. He wondered if the Temple was watched just as everything else likely was. "I'm pretty sure the Workers have been stiffing us."

"Repairman, are you? How respectable. So why wasn't it working?" Aziraphale challenged. "Besides, if I wanted to find my Father - " A hint of emphasis there. " - I'd find him on the main land. Apparently."

He sat down squarely on one of the seats and crossed his right leg over his left, feeling a bit more in control. This one might not be as clever as he thought he was. "'Stiffing us' implies that you are unsatisfied with living in a cave."

"Jack of all trades," Gabriel told him lightly, but where the stranger sat, Gabriel chose to remain standing, loose and deceptively relaxed, his hands gesturing. "Just got here, haven't had the chance to figure out the problem yet."

He didn't like this man. He was snide in the 'I know better than you' way. Kind of like some of Gabriel's brothers. (The thought was both interesting and a pain, and Gabriel wasn't sure whether he wanted it or not.)

"Hey, if you're fine with living like a mole, that's up to you," he said with an expansive shrug, the sardonic little smile never leaving his face. "Some of us like the air, water and just a little less Hell-landscape."

"We've all just got here," Aziraphale said dismissively, inspecting his nails. He was being petulant, but something about this man rubbed him entirely the wrong way - not least the fact that if he was an angel, or had been, he might pose a direct threat to Aziraphale's continued good health, depending how faithful he was. "I should think the problem is fairly obvious."

He did laugh a bit at the Hell comment. "Very subtle." He should shut up, he really should. Hinting would only take him so far. But hanging around with demons was a bad influence, and he went on: "Moles are God's creatures, you know, just like the both of us. Surely you've figured that out by now."

"I don't like submitting to the obvious," Gabriel said smartly. "Usually it means you're missing something far more complicated and fun under the surface." Never mind that he had been on the apocalypse bandwagon for a long time, but he'd cracked that habit!

"Oh, I like moles," assured Gabriel with a smirk, waggling his fingers in midair. "They're small and furry, and dig excellent potholes to trick people into stepping through. But I'm not a mole, and if you are, then all I can say is: where did you buy your costume?"

Aziraphale hated it when unpleasant people made good points. That did not, of course, negate the validity of said points. He'd always been a bit passive (that had been his job, generally speaking, to obey orders and not take initiative), but that didn't mean he ought to be forever. He surrendered the argument with a quick shrug.

A smile appeared briefly at the corner of his mouth, then flickered away. "The 1950s, or so I've been told," he added breezily. "And yours?"

Aha; victory! Mentally Gabriel tallied that one up to him and shrugged easily. "Mine's a bit worn in," he said. "A family heirloom, you know how it is. They're just that old and you should really let 'em go, but nope, they're just too comfortable and there's no guarantee you'll find one that breaks in just as nicely."

Technically speaking, his meatsuit was his third, but he was almost fifteen hundred years old. Gabriel had been lucky; he'd found a 'One True Vessel' who actually contributed to ideas for pranks for almost a thousand years, up until he'd asked for his soul to be let go.

Yes, well, let him gloat. Aziraphale had decided, in the last thirty seconds, that he was above such silliness. Nor could anyone say he was petty. What a ridiculous notion.

"Threadbare about the edges; so it goes," he said. "Period costume is so difficult to keep up with regardless." He'd worn a toga several centuries longer than he should have. It was so hard to get Vikings to take you seriously when you were wearing a toga, but he just hadn't connected the dots. He would probably have caught up with the nineties around the twenty-second century, had he stayed.

Aziraphale was itching to ask the real questions. For example: Had he been shouting because he expected an answer? Did the Lord have power here? Was it just a desperate plea for help, a loss of control? Most importantly, did this clever idiot (relatively clever, relatively) know who he was?

Instead, he settled for, "And your name would be?"

"Ah." Gabriel held up a finger. "Let's play a game! I've given you hints. Go ahead and guess my name. If you guess wrong, you have to tell me your name first."

The last thing Gabriel needed was one of Mikey and Zach's to be sent here to be a killjoy, though this one did have some kind of sense of humour. Then again, so did Zachariah, and Gabriel was without any ability to properly smite if his possible-little-brother decided to get uppity. (Then again, he didn't really look in the condition for hand-to-hand, either.)

"If you guess right ..." Gabriel paused, thought and shrugged. "If you guess right I'll tell you so. And then you can tell me your name anyway."

The last was said breezily, but there was something in his smile and the way he stood which indicated he wasn't going to settle for a lie or a weaselling.

Aziraphale made a face. "That's a terrible game," he said, "it doesn't even make sense." He cocked his head up at Gabriel with a glare. "And if I was to make a guess based on instincts, I'd say you're out of the game entirely. You've Fallen."

Which raised the question of why he was praying. Shouting. Whatever. Aziraphale was clearly missing some crucial piece of this puzzle, and growing irritated again. Running a hand through his hair (he needed a comb, or something, it was ridiculous not to be able to miracle it tidy), he let all his breath out in a huff.

Ought he to gamble? If this one was truly out of the game, then it was unlikely that he posed much danger in the I'm-going-to-smite-you sense. Besides, what could Heaven do to Aziraphale from here?

Bugger.

"No, I'm not playing," he said, "but I will tell you anyway. I dreamed myself an angel, you see, Aziraphale, formerly of the Eastern Gate." He left off the titles. They embarrassed him, usually.

"So I'm not at the top of my game; can you blame me?" Gabriel said with a shrug. He was having trouble just thinking up riddles right now, and an angel would probably be able to peg them all anyway. He raised his other finger and his eyebrow. "And, just to be clear here bucko, I haven't Fallen. I still have a very cushy office waiting Upstairs if I decide to go back."

Or did. Before Luci stabbed him.

Either way, this was much easier and Gabriel had no objections. It took a moment or two of thought, but then Gabriel snapped his fingers in recognition. "Oh, I remember you; one of the poor schmucks who got lumped with perpetual guard duty. Bad luck, bro. Really."

"Do you?" Aziraphale asked with some amusement. "Because you show a bit more life than the Host tends to. But go on, what job is that?"

Schmuck? He supposed it must have seemed that way to someone with a 'cushy office Upstairs'. "It wasn't so bad," he said mildly. "I was a field angel for millenia. It was eventful." More eventful than Heaven, he didn't say. More eventful than hosannas and blankness. He'd tried braised octopus once, and he was willing to bet that neither Raphael nor Uriel had ever eaten so much as a biscuit.

"Having to listen to brothers whinging every time they come through the Gates," Gabriel said promptly. "'Why do we have to bother with these mud-monkeys'; 'stop joking around and be grim and proper'; 'why couldn't Dad send me into Hell to smite Luci instead of his Son'. Moan, moan, moan, moan, moan."

He didn't remember Aziraphale being a field-angel, but he was minor enough that it's entirely possible Gabriel just hadn't noticed. He'd been a bit busy trying to keep Michael out of his frequent snits right up until after the whole 'death and resurrection' thing with the Trinity. After that, boom, Gabriel figured things would handle themselves.

He sighed, raised his hands in faux celebration, and smiled mockingly. "Just call me Gabriel, Big Brother extraordinaire."

Aziraphale realized as it was happening that he had never experienced a full-force human fear reaction before.

Even when he'd been woken from the cryogenics chamber it had been nothing like this. He'd felt fear but it had been numbed, distant, and he hadn't associated it with reality. He'd been able to walk from the building unscathed and feel the fear ebb away.

The strangest thing was that he had no control over it whatsoever. He could feel his pupils dilating, his heart speeding up, his fingers tightening into fists - his bowels clenching, which he distantly found disgusting. There was a ringing in his ears that competed with the dull thud of his heart echoing through his bones and he was convinced, utterly convinced, that he was about to die once and for all.

Rising abruptly, he pressed his back to the wall, well aware of how woefully unprepared and ridiculous he must look - but what choice did he have? In all the different scenarios he'd thought up (while miracling dishes dry, learning to prune roses, walking on the beach), he'd never imagined it would be Gabriel who'd come for him. Different, but more dangerous for it, and still insufferably smug, as ever.

Gabriel. He wished he had a tire iron, but picked up a decorative urn instead. "Go on, then," he said wildly. "Good job, you've tricked me, now try it!"

Whatever Gabriel had been expecting, that reaction was the very last one. He held out his hands as if to ward off Aziraphale's fear, bafflement crossing his face fast enough to cover the faintest hint of what might have been hurt. Sure, his brothers had been annoyed by him, constantly, but he had almost never been feared. Especially once he'd left and they'd given up looking for him.

"Woah there, little brother," he said with a startled laugh. "I'm not in the position to smite anybody. Especially siblings who actually demonstrate a sense of humour. We're kind of thin on the clouds, as you may've noticed. It'd be a waste."

Aziraphale did not put down the urn. He did not step forward. He did not - could not - breathe any slower. He was ready to run out the open door at any moment, though if he did have to flee he doubted this body would make it very far. He ought to have gotten a fresh one before the world almost ended.

"This is a stupid game," he said, voice low and tense. "You must know. You're an Archangel. You must know. If you want to fool me, at least try harder!"

Gabriel's smile dropped. He didn't step forward, because Aziraphale looked this close to running, and Gabriel was not going to let this get any further than it had to. "Yeah, I'm an archangel," he said with intensity. "And in case you didn't notice, I'm in this place just the same as you are."

His lip curled in something that wasn't a smile, wasn't humorous at all, and he gestured back toward the altar. "You think I'd be yelling for Dad in a damned non-denominational temple if I had any idea what was going on? The last thing I remember is Lucifer killing me."

The inescapable intensity of that gaze - definitely archangel. But the words didn't match up. Something was off; it was as though they were talking past each other, trying to meet in the middle but never quite making it.

Aziraphale put down the urn, for what it was worth. "I'm sorry," he said, "really, I am. But it's been years, and I'm not in good standing, and I feel as though perhaps I've missed a great deal of information while on bloody vacation!"

He coughed. Shouting had not been part of the plan for that little speech.

Gabriel blinked for a moment and then threw back his head and laughed, clapping his hands. "Oh, this is wonderful. You've Fallen? Did you somehow miss the fact I haven't set foot in Heaven for two thousand years?"

He recovered himself with a huff, and any trace of amusement vanished completely. "This is one hell of an alternate reality construct if it's got members of the family who've lived a different history. Not even Lucifer has that power. Not and pull the wool over my eyes."

That's all it could be. It was the only way Aziraphale could have Fallen and not known that Gabriel, of all archangels, might be on his side; the only way he could be so terrified of being smote by the only archangel who had left. Now the real question was: was Azzy only a construct? Or was he real, as Gabriel was? Because if the latter, there was only one being who had that kind of power.

Gabriel scowled at the altar and pointed at it emphatically. "For the record, Dad, giving me a little brother to corrupt just makes this more interesting, not any more funny."

"Excuse me, there is a difference between not being in good standing and being Fallen!" Aziraphale protested shrilly over the sound of Gabriel's laughter. Not that he was likely to listen. The more things change . . .

At Gabriel's last outburst, he scoffed. "What makes you think it's your job to corrupt me? Or that you can?" He allowed himself to stand straight, stepping away from the wall. "Not to mention the fact," he added, pointing at Gabriel accusingly, "that you are not the same Gabriel I knew. He was a humorless twit. You're just a twit. So either you've changed entirely over the last - " He attempted to count how long it had been. " - while, or we've never met. Which is it?"

"Uh, we've never met. I just said that. Weren't you listening?" Gabriel sighed and leaned back against the altar, poking away the candles so they didn't catch on his clothes. "I'd hate to imagine any universe where I didn't have a sense of humour," he grumbled, but then perked up. "But maybe that's just because I got it all. That would make sense."

So saying, he turned his attention fully back to Aziraphale, golden eyes intense and thoughtful. "See, the thing is, Azzy, apparently we've each got brothers who share each other's name but aren't actually us."

He said it slowly, like he was spelling it out for the dumb little brother. Then he smirked, a slow, almost wicked smirk. "Besides, it's always been my job to corrupt our younger brothers. Someone's gotta teach you how to have some fun."

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