Archive of Our Own

It probably started, on hindsight, when Balthazar had somehow formed the positively insane impression that stealing from an archangel was going to be amusing.

Oh, and he had been showing off at the time.

And possibly slightly... what did the ishim call it now? Yes, wired. High. On ambrosia. Which was Uriel's fault. Many untoward things that happened in Michael's garrisons tended to be Uriel's fault, really.

But he'd managed to sneak into the Isle - Gabriel's chosen roost - avoid all the wards and safeguards, and sneak back out again, Gabriel's Horn strapped and hidden under his secondary wings, and when he had returned to Uriel and the rest in the barracks, he had been very proud of himself. Uriel had been duly impressed. Castiel and Rachel, not so much, but they usually tended to be far, far too serious for their own immortal good.

"I win," Balthazar told Uriel smugly, the horn lying on the table between them. It was rather more nondescript than Balthazar had thought, just a bronze, unadorned twist of metal, and it had been hidden in plain sight in a room full of other, far more ornate horns. It had taken a great deal of concentration to sense the real thing, find the one object in the room that existed beyond its shape.

"For now," Uriel pointed out.

"The two of you are ridiculous and this... this... childish war that you have between the both of you is even more so," Rachel muttered, darting anxious glances at the horn and at the entrances to the starborn observation chambers. "Balthazar, put this back right this instant."

"Relax, Rachel. All the ha-elyonim are busy right now, making New Jerusalem with our Father. They won't be back for a while." Balthazar leaned back in his seat, primary magpie wings flared with open smugness. "Give in, Uriel. You're not going to be able to top this."

"We shall see," Uriel had a calculating expression on his face, and it was Castiel who sighed.

"This is becoming less and less amusing, Balthazar. Uriel. Return the Horn to Gabriel. Before he notices that it is missing."

Balthazar arched his eyebrows in mock surprise, clipping his primary wings to his back. "Why, I didn't even realize that you could find anything amusing, Castiel."

Castiel returned him an even stare. "I certainly would not find Gabriel's wrath amusing, Balthazar. And theft is not permitted."

"It was not theft, it was just borrowing," Uriel at least came to his defence, all three pairs of wings curved and outstretched in a peacemaking gesture. Castiel bristled, the feathers of his secondary wings mantling, clearly about to issue some sort of rebuke, and hastily, Balthazar raised his palms.

"I'll put it back," Balthazar picked up the horn, with a show of resignation. "Stop panicking. I swear, Castiel? Rachel? You're both worse than Michael sometimes."

Rachel rolled her eyes, her secondary wings also mantling briefly in irritation. "Just go, Balthazar. Before you truly get into trouble."

His friends, sometimes. Who needed enemies?

Sense of triumph duly soured, Balthazar knew that he was sulking as he returned to the Isle. The wards hadn't yet been changed - obviously, the archangels were busy - and he made his way back to the chamber of horns, on the alert, analysing the weaves of reality in the corridors, ready to bolt if he sensed the presence of an archangel.

As such, he was rather taken by surprise when he slipped into the chamber, expecting to find it empty, only to see Gabriel with a hip set against a shelf, arms folded, expressionless. The archangel had been made with a smaller vessel than most, but on his back, the insubstantial, shifting overlap of his six sets of massive cardinal wings filled the entire chamber and beyond, dipping into the ground, the shelves, slipping through the fake horns on display. If the archangel wanted to, Balthazar knew, the wings could grow solid like those of the malakhim and the cherubim, burn reality like the erelim, fan up hurricanes like the ophanim, or shift forms altogether, the way only the archangels could, twist from feathers into flame, or pure lightning, more.

Frozen in shock, Balthazar didn't move when the archangel looked him slowly over and narrowed his eyes, his gaze lingering on the point where Balthazar had hidden the horn, then Gabriel asked, deceptively mildly, "Balthazar, was it? Of Michael's garrisons."

Gabriel's wings betrayed nothing of his mood, and cautiously, Balthazar nodded.

"Did you come to steal something else, little thief?" Gabriel asked, in the same tone, but this time, his topmost set of wings flared wide, primary feathers splayed aggressively, and Balthazar nearly shrank back. Possibly only fear rooted him where he was.

"No, I, ah, I came to return your Horn. Sir." Given the circumstances, it was probably unsurprising how his voice was stuttering. "I apologize... thought that you would be away... you wouldn't have noticed that it had ever been gone in the first place... it was a bit of a prank," Balthazar concluded weakly, as Gabriel continued to watch him steadily.

"Kneel, Balthazar," Gabriel commanded him, and Balthazar felt his knees sag even before he could register the command, wings arching briefly for balance as he did so, the bronze greaves wrapped over his thighs clanking on the polished stone. Gabriel raised his palm, and his Horn abruptly appeared within it. The archangel inspected it for a moment, as though checking for damage, and then he stalked over towards Balthazar, free hand outstretched, the presence, the power in the room now fully uncloaked, stifling in its intensity.

Resignation had followed terror, and Balthazar closed his eyes as Gabriel pressed his palm over his forehead. If he was going to die, he didn't really want to see it.

When nothing happened for a while, however, Balthazar cracked an eye open, curious despite himself. Curiosity was - judging by his magpie primary wings anyway - a defining and unfortunate (according to Rachel) aspect of his character, and now he was wondering why he wasn't a smoking husk on Gabriel's floor-

"Because you are a curious little thing," Gabriel noted, his wings now almost all folded against his back, save for his primaries, which were a little unfurled, secondary coverts fluffed. Gabriel too, Balthazar realized, with astonishment, was curious, was reading his mind, and this was probably the only reason why he hadn't burned him. "This 'war' that you have with that other angel, Uriel. Curious. Why do the two of you engage in it? It has no value, no result."

Balthazar had intended to bite his tongue rather than betray any of his Flights, but Gabriel's hand tightened on his horn, and he found himself babbling, "It is play, sir, it is harmless. It amuses."

"'Play'," Gabriel repeated, as though the concept was new to him, tilting his head, the lowest tier of his wings flicking open, almost tentatively, and then the archangel smiled. There was nothing friendly about it - the smile was curled tight at the edges of his lips - but he lifted his palm away from Balthazar's forehead. "Leave. And if I catch you in the Isle again, I will not be so merciful."

"You won't catch me again, sir," Balthazar stumbled over the words before he realized belatedly how utterly stupid the phrasing was, but Gabriel didn't seem to notice, flicking the primary feathers of his main right wing at him in dismissal as he turned back to his collection. Trembling with relief, Balthazar fled.

Later, still unnerved, he didn't know why he didn't spill the story to his companions, but Castiel kept shooting him worried glances over the next few days, and Rachel was more solicitous than normal, and when nothing happened, no wrathful descent of might, not even a mention from the barrack's resident erel, Zachariah, Balthazar slowly began to relax, and when Uriel pulled off his insane, hilarious prank on the ophan Raziel with just a nanny goat and two oranges, Balthazar forgot about it altogether. After all, he had a score to pull back into his favour.

Gabriel was distracted enough over the next few days that even his Father noticed, and as he was desultorily constructing a dome of mother-of-pearl tiles for a projected pavilion in New Jerusalem, God abruptly appeared next to him.

For some reason known only to Him, when He was just manifesting for Gabriel, God often chose to appear in the form of a wingless angel, slight and slender, dressed in a simple gray tunic and breeches, barefoot, His hair often tousled in unruly spikes, an unkempt beard and moustache growing over His jaw like a slow, malevolent brown wave. Apparently the other archangels saw different manifestations, and they had compared notes once and come away even more confused than ever - after all, when their Father appeared to more than one of them, He always wore the form of a tall angel with a prodigious white beard, and wings made purely of light. Michael, however, had declared it simply as another expression of ineffability, and since Raphael had agreed with him, that had been that.

Besides, it didn't matter what form God took - His presence was always the same, a near overwhelming, intense aura of absolute power, and love. "Father," Gabriel greeted Him, his wings unfurling in welcome, in joy.

More than all of the other seraphim, the archangels had been made to love God, and when He chose to appear, it was often all that Gabriel could do not to prostrate himself on the ground. Only His insistence that they stop all the 'bowing and scraping' prevented it: God had seemed... embarrassed, for want of a better word, at any shows of devotion, and had grown reclusive - outside of acts of Creation, He only showed Himself to the archangels.

"Gabe," God nodded at him. God had given him a name upon his making - Gabriel - but of late, seemed to enjoy shortening his name - all of their names. Once, 'Mike' had asked, tentatively, if they were to be renamed, but God had blinked at him as though in surprise, and Michael had dropped the subject.

Everyone had politely but patently refused to refer to God as 'Chuck', though, as He had asked, especially after Lucifer had checked around and found that it was also a name for a sort of rodent.

"Is there something that you need of me?" Gabriel asked humbly.

"No! No. I just wanted to talk." God gestured, and abruptly there was a cushioned bench sitting on the paved road before the pavilion that Gabriel was Shaping; He sat down on it, stretching His legs.

"You usually speak to Michael," Gabriel noted, puzzled. There wasn't any jealousy in it - Michael was the oldest, after all, and was the one who usually took counsel with God. "Or Lucifer." Lucifer, second-born Lucifer, was the most beautiful of the seraphim, the one loved most by God.

"Yes. Well. I was concerned. About you. You seemed distracted. I heard Raph discussing it with Luci."

"Oh." Gabriel curled all of his wings to himself, embarrassed. "I apologize-"

"Your work's still great, Gabe," God interrupted hastily. "I'm just... here if you want to talk, that's all. Sit here. With me."

Gabriel hastened to obey, the pieces of rock and mother-of-pearl floating in the air where they had been Shaped, like a jigsaw puzzle in three dimensions beginning to slot into place.

There was a pause, then God patted the cushions on the bench next to Him. "I meant up here, Gabe."

Gabriel pulled himself up onto the bench. "It was nothing of major import."

"Let me decide that."

"Of course." Gabriel glanced at his Father, then back at the floating pieces. "A few of Michael's malakhim have begun to... act beyond their given functions, Father. I found it strange."

God's expression grew distant for a moment, then He smiled warmly, and Gabriel's wings trembled, basking in the reflection of God's benign pleasure. "Ah, you mean Balthazar and his friends. Yes. I am rather happy about that."

Gabriel was relieved that he hadn't decided to smite Balthazar. This would have turned out to be an awkward conversation, if so. "Truly? But they are not fulfilling their functions. They are making new ones. Ones that have no constructive value."

"They're playing, Gabe. And not just them. It's more prevalent among the cherubim. Not always pranks, but games. They're having fun: enjoying what they're doing, even if there's no apparent result other than um, mutual amusement. And that's a good thing."

"I do not understand."

"No, you don't," God said sadly. "And I'm afraid that maybe you won't, not you, or the ophanim, perhaps not even the erelim. I made all of you first, you see. I've made mistakes. I've tried to fix things, but nothing seems to take."

"You are incapable of mistakes."

God shook His head slowly, though He chuckled when Gabriel tentatively wrapped his massive crimson right primary wing around God's shoulders, the way he would to another seraph who needed comforting or reassurance. "I'm thinking of making one more set of seraphim. After all this," God waved vaguely at the slowly constructing New Jerusalem around them. "They'll be my masterpiece."

"I would like to see that," Gabriel observed, after he thought about it for a while.

"Hah. I like that about you, Gabe." God petted the furl of his primary flight feathers, making Gabriel purr. "Your brothers weren't so sure about my project. Not even Mike."

"I like new things," Gabriel admitted, and he was curious to see what the 'masterpiece' angels were going to be like, anyway. Would they be more powerful than the ha-elyonim? That seemed unlikely: God had consistently made the angels in descending tiers of powers and functions, after all. But why would they be a 'masterpiece'?

Thinking about the possibilities was exhilarating.

"That's good," God reached over to tousle his hair, then He produced something that looked like red crystal on a white stick, popping it into Gabriel's mouth. It was sugar, Gabriel realized, blinking. Hardened sugar, that tasted like cherries. And it was good. He grinned, happy, as he pressed his tongue against the treat, and God chuckled again. "That's right. Smile, Gabe. And hold on to that thought."

Later, after everything, Gabriel would wonder if God had given him a subtle command, then and there.

Balthazar was certain that he was (a) being stalked by Gabriel and (b) it was some sort of subtle, mindfuckery-esque form of divine vengeance, or (c) the archangel was trying to catch him alone and unawares because he'd decided to surreptitiously smite him after all. He stuck as close to his friends as possible once he became aware of the extra attention, nervous and irritable, until they finally grew annoyed at him and cornered him in the Archways.

Rachel opened with an exasperated, "Balthazar, what did you steal this time?" which, Balthazar thought sourly, was rather uncalled for, really.

"Rachel, this isn't really a good location for an interrogation," Balthazar muttered.

The Archways were just that - a set of gateways set on a stepped sphere of solid onyx, floating in the eastern quartermain of the Silver City, a line of Gates wrought of varying types of stone lining its equator in an ornate array, each leading to different areas in the Unbound, some to dominions that hadn't yet been forged. They were perched beside the Gate of Amber, and for all the hushed voices, every fucking seraphim within sight could bloody peek in on them.

"You can assuage your guilt by confessing," Castiel ignored Balthazar, which showed that Castiel, for all his piousness and his strange, total disinterest in any form of carnal activity, was a suspicious little bastard under all that piety.

"We can help you put it back," Uriel added, and Balthazar stared at Uriel in disbelief and betrayal.

"Not you too?"

"It stood to reason," Uriel said, so bloody patiently. "The last time we saw you this nervous, you had just returned from the Isle."

"Talk, Balthazar," Rachel growled, secondary wings mantling threateningly. "Or Castiel will hold you down and I'll start pulling out your tertiary feathers."

"You wouldn't," Balthazar yelped. "That will bloody hurt."

"And you'll deserve it," Castiel told him, folding his arms. "I warned you the last time about thieving, did I not?"

"Uriel?" Balthazar glanced at his final bastion of hope, beseechingly, but Uriel shook his head.

"This is serious, Balthazar. Pranks aside, we cannot interfere with the ha-elyonim. They can and have disciplined other seraphim. Sometimes permanently."

Balthazar shuddered. He did recall talk that one of the erel had strayed, too far out into the Unbound, which was not permitted. Haniel had never returned, and the general rumour was that one of the ha-elyonim had punished her for the insolence. There were things far out in the Unbound, Gates to a dominion known as Purgatory, a prison for the dark things that had awoken in the Unbound when God had first woven the threads of the City, to which contact was absolutely forbidden.

"It's not about what I stole recently," he admitted, reluctantly. "But what I stole last. Are you satisfied now?"

His friends frowned in concert, which would have been pretty amusing at another time. Rachel spoke first. "You mean, Ishmael's-"

"No! I meant, from the ha-elyonim." Balthazar lowered his voice. "Gabriel's Horn."

"I thought that you put it back," Castiel glowered at him.

"I did!" Balthazar clenched his fists. "All right. I admit it. I put it back. But I was caught. He was there, waiting. He took the horn from me and told me to leave. I thought that would have been the end of the matter..."

"But?" Uriel prompted, when Balthazar trailed off.

"But he's been... hanging around," Balthazar gestured around them. "I see him sometimes, just a shadow, or a flick of his crimson wings. He's watching me." When Castiel glanced around quickly, and Rachel pursed her lips, Balthazar added, unhappily, "He wants to unmake me, doesn't he?"

"If he wanted to unmake you, he would," Uriel told him blandly. "You stole from him. Michael would not refuse him that right."

"Thanks for the support, brother," Balthazar muttered.

"I meant," Uriel added dryly, "That he does not in fact want to destroy you. Which is good."

"I have not seen anyone," Rachel was still frowning. "And all of us would have sensed the presence of one of the ha-elyonim. Are you certain-"

"I'm certain," Balthazar grit out. It was pretty hard to forget the face and wings of an angel that you'd last seen when you were on your knees, waiting to get charred to a crisp. "He's hiding his presence. Somehow. He's done it before, the last time, when I was sneaking back into the Isle."

Castiel sucked in a breath, his tertiary wings unfurling to their full length, which meant that his brother was just about to start on one of his bloody lectures. "In theory, the ha-elyonim watch us all the time. Therefore-"

"He's there right now!" Balthazar hissed, interrupting, all of his wings flaring and mantling as he abruptly saw Gabriel lounging at the ivory stone pillars that marked the apex of the Archways, the Gateway marked by the inscription of their Father's Third Name, the path to New Jerusalem.

Uriel stiffened by his side, Rachel's gaze snapped up quickly, and Castiel - pious, quiet little Castiel - actually mantled as well, bless his heart, but all three of his friends' expressions quickly radiated confusion.

"Balthazar, I do not see anything," Castiel confessed, even as Gabriel arched his eyebrows and drew something out of his mouth - a small green sphere on a white stick.

"Perhaps you need some rest," Uriel added gruffly. "Rebuffing the incursions from Purgatory must have been tiring."

"Perhaps," Balthazar swallowed, then his wings stiffened and shuffled behind his back nervously when Gabriel nodded at him and beckoned. He couldn't disobey a direct order like that. Resigned, he squared his shoulders, ready to face his fate. "All of you can go back to the garrison first. I'll catch up."

"Are you certain?" Rachel asked, worriedly. "We can wait."

"No, I just need to... meditate for a while," Balthazar said weakly.

"You never meditate," Castiel pointed out, his brow furrowing. "You do not have the patience."

"Well, I guess I'll better bloody start now, shouldn't I?" Balthazar snapped, his needletail secondary wings unfurling wide in aggression, and Castiel took a step back, tertiary wings drooping in hurt.

Uriel sighed, reaching over to squeeze his shoulder. "When you are ready, brother," he muttered, and took flight. Castiel followed instantly, and Rachel shot Balthazar a final, concerned look before spreading her wings.

Balthazar watched them go, then he pulled all of his wings tightly to himself and trudged up the broad steps to Gabriel, stopping at a respectful distance and wondering whether or not to kneel. Gabriel, however, only eyed him for a moment, before glancing back up at the sky. "Your best friends?"

Balthazar nodded slowly, even as his wings fought to shrink flat against his back. "Why could they not see you?"

"Because I did not want them to," Gabriel shrugged. "Shaping reality is my speciality."

Ah. That was true. And bloody frightening, when Balthazar really thought about it. The ha-elyonim were so far removed from the rest of the seraphim in terms of power, even the ophanim, that they were really not so much angels but expressions of Creation themselves, unimaginably powerful. Even Gabriel, the youngest and weakest of the ha-elyonim, could probably destroy him with a thought.

"I've already apologized," Balthazar was belatedly aware that he sounded like he was whining, and added, "I am truly sorry about what I did."

Gabriel frowned at him for a long moment, then he snorted and glanced away, back over the graceful spires of the Silver City. "I'm not angry at you, Balthazar."

"Really?" Balthazar's wings sagged with sheer relief.

"I was just curious," Gabriel admitted. "Father made mention of your... antics with Uriel."

Balthazar's wings shuffled quickly behind his back again, and he fought the urge to look up. He hadn't thought that... but of course. God was omniscient, after all. "He... He is upset?"

"On the contrary, I think He's quite pleased," Gabriel looked openly puzzled. "At the prospect of the lesser angels performing purposeless activities for the sake of 'fun'. He told me that I would not understand. As though we - and the erelim, and the ophanim, were somehow... flawed."

"I don't think that you're flawed," Balthazar disagreed, confused. When Gabriel glanced back at him, with that crazy, steady intensity that the ha-elyonim seemed to have perfected, he flushed and dropped his eyes. "I mean, look at your wings," he mumbled, trying and failing not to babble. "They're perfect." None of the fraying, or the occasional misplaced feather, or just-out-of-alignment threaded grace. The archangels were made to be perfect. All of the seraphim knew that. "Sir."

Gabriel hummed, and at the periphery of Balthazar's vision, he saw the tension leech out of Gabriel's shoulders, as the archangel shook out his wings, as though he was preening. Pleased. "I do not think that He was referring to that. Somehow, He sees value in senselessness. I want to understand why."

"They're just games," Balthazar didn't understand either. "Things that we do in our spare time, when we're not on duty."

"Self-generated behaviour," Gabriel mused, as though he was thinking aloud. "Purposeless behaviour. Self-generated functions without function. Why does this have value, Balthazar?"

"I don't know," Balthazar squirmed, pinned under Gabriel's stare, his sparrow tertiary wings beginning to shake with nervousness, blurting out the first words that sprung into his mind. "Maybe... maybe because He doesn't dictate it. Maybe He wants, maybe He wants us to create functions beyond what He has given us. Maybe He wants us to generate joy beyond what He has set for us."

Gabriel eyed him for a moment longer, and when he turned his gaze away again, Balthazar all but collapsed back against the closest Archway with painful relief. "That makes sense. I will speak to Him. Thank you, Balthazar."

"So you'll stop following me around now?" Balthazar asked hopefully, but Gabriel had already taken flight. Damn it all!

Back at the barracks, Balthazar retreated quickly to the roosts and curled in his allotted space, folding his wings pointedly around himself when Rachel and the others tried to talk to him. Now that Gabriel and the crushing weight of his presence was gone, Balthazar wasn't entirely sure what he felt about the archangel, but buried deep under all his confusion was, surprisingly, a little thread of pity. Gabriel had seemed bewildered - hurt, even, at the suggestion, however implied, that he was incomplete.

Personally, Balthazar didn't really see what their Father was getting at. Gabriel was beautiful, in the way a force of pure Creation was beautiful, all twelve of his perfect wings and... blinking, Balthazar squirmed, uncomfortably, as he felt the faint, warm pulse deep in his belly, and taking in a hasty breath, he suppressed the mating drive, by now thoroughly embarrassed.

Well. Thank Heaven that hadn't reared its head when he'd been talking to the ha-elyon. There was only so much that Balthazar could possibly do to utterly humiliate himself. Hopefully.

Michael found him when Gabriel was putting the finishing touches on another pavilion, Shaping tapestries to drape on the marble walls, threads wreathing together into patterns under his palms. His oldest brother snorted and sat down on one of the filigreed silver benches, sounding amused. "You place unnecessary care into your craftsmanship, Gabriel."

"Father likes it."

"Perhaps. But you are far behind schedule."

Gabriel grit his teeth for a moment, but continued to pull threads and colours together, working a weave of a lion and a lamb in the Garden. "Father did not give me a deadline."

"I did." Michael told him mildly, and when Gabriel closed his eyes, flaring his wings in irritation, his brother sighed. "Your work aside, I have something else to discuss with you, brother."

"How the world turns," Gabriel muttered. Michael hardly ever discussed anything other than work with himself or Raphael.

"You have been... watching one of my malakhim," Michael noted quietly, and Gabriel's hand froze for a moment before he forced himself to continue the weave. "The malakhim are mine, brother. As the cherubim are yours, the ophanim are Lucifer's, and the erelim are Raphael's. Just as I would not steal any of yours, I would suffer you not to steal any of mine."

Heaven, Michael was always so bloody possessive.

God had never quite explained the division, but none of his brothers had ever raised any protest. Besides, as much as the malakhim were the second lowest tier of seraphim, they were the most war-like, preferring to be arranged in garrisons and given orders, which suited Michael, Gabriel supposed.

With a sigh, Gabriel dropped his hand, and turned around, forcing his wings to fold up behind him in a semblance of calm. "You mean Balthazar." At Michael's slow nod, his sets of golden eagle wings still spread wide behind him, Gabriel briefly debated telling Michael that Balthazar had stolen from him, just to deflect his attention, but immediately decided against it. If Michael decided to discipline Balthazar... Gabriel did not want that. Balthazar was indeed a curious little angel. "Father... mentioned him, some time ago."

"He did?" Michael frowned, openly puzzled. "Why?"

"Are you aware that the malakhim and the cherubim engage in 'games'? Outside of their functions?"

Michael shrugged. "As long as my garrisons follow orders and do not break any of the Commandments, I let them do as they please. What are 'games'?"

And so Gabriel explained, if haltingly, and halfway through it all, Michael stopped him and summoned Raphael and Lucifer, and he had to explain, all over again, while leaving out exactly how he had noticed Balthazar in the first place, even though Lucifer eyed him oddly, and at the end, there was a long and thoughtful silence.

"He thinks that we are flawed?" Lucifer broke it first, all of his twelve gorgeous white swan wings partially unfurled in question, and frankly, Gabriel couldn't quite see God's point there, either, especially when Lucifer was the one raising it. "Why?"

"That's what I want to know," Gabriel admitted. "But He has not been answering my questions."

"He's... not available right now," Michael muttered, glancing down at his hands. "He is preparing for His final project."

Raphael snorted, iridescent blue kingfisher wings fluttering in barely suppressed disapproval. "Father still intends to make more angels? Unless He makes another one of the ha-elyonim along with them, who will oversee the new ones?"

"Apparently? None of us." Lucifer looked discomfited even as he said this, his fifth and sixth tier wings snapping shut at his back. "I raised this with Him when He first mentioned His project to me."

"There'll be chaos," Gabriel predicted, and even as Raphael grimaced immediately, the top tier of his wings mantling, Gabriel found himself feeling anticipatory, wings fluffing. Interested, even. He noticed Michael and Lucifer glancing at his wings, and slightly embarrassed, he pulled them up to his back. "I'm sure that He'll listen to your counsel, Michael. Tell Him."

"I have," Michael growled, exasperated. " He won't. And who are we to question His will? If this is how He has decided that it must be, then so shall it be."

"His new project aside," Lucifer cut in, "We're here to discuss Gabriel's conversation with Father, Michael. Do you have any insight from your counsel with Father?"

Michael glanced at Lucifer, his jaw set, then he huffed, and drew the lowest tier of his wings up against his flanks. "Fine. Father's 'masterpiece' is going to be 'self-determination'. That much He has revealed to me."

Self-determination. The creation of new functions, even purposeless functions, just for the sake of creation. Blinking, Gabriel murmured, "So that is why He approved. The malakhim and the cherubim are... evolving. Conforming to His final purpose."

"While we are not," Raphael finished, kingfisher wings shuffling against each other uncomfortably.

"He has not disapproved of us," Michael added sternly, while Lucifer started to chew on his lower lip, his wings stiff. "And we have been given our tasks. Lucifer, you of all of the seraphim... you are His favourite-"

"He did not answer me when I called for Him," Lucifer burst out, and as the top tiers of his wings mantled, this time lightning crackled between his massive feathers, the stink of ozone growing thick in the air. Lucifer was upset. "Not today, not yesterday, not since He began His final project."

What?

"It is occupying all of His time," Michael said soothingly, though the way that his top tiers of wings had curled outwards in sharp surprise - his, and Raphael's, and probably Gabriel's as well - told Lucifer well enough how all of them found this to be a total shock. God always answered his favourite, when he didn't always even respond to Michael.

"I... I suppose so," Lucifer looked so distraught that Gabriel extended one of his primary wings towards him, only to get a glare in return. "I don't want your pity, Gabriel."

"I just thought that I should welcome you to the rest of us," Gabriel drawled. "Maybe the special treatment was never meant to last."

Lucifer hissed, his wings mantling, and instantly, Michael was on his feet, one palm pressed to Lucifer's chest, his gigantic wings spread wide and full in a display of dominance. "Silence," he snarled, and the ground beneath them all rumbled in response. Grudgingly, Gabriel swept his wings shut, and after a moment, Lucifer did so, as well.

"Sorry," Gabriel offered, averting his eyes, but Lucifer merely sniffed.

"Here is what we will do," Michael decided - because Michael always made the decisions. "God will show Himself to one of us - sooner or later. Once He does, whoever it is will call the rest of us to His location. We will ask Him our questions then. In the meantime, we should observe the malakhim and the cherubim when we have the time. For insight."

Lucifer's lips curled in open disdain, but Raphael nodded approvingly. "That sounds logical."

"I agree," Gabriel added.

"Lucifer?" Michael looked over to Lucifer, who glowered at him, the feathers on his primary wings bristling, but eventually, they smoothed back down.

"Fine. I concur."

"Then it is decided." Michael glanced at the tapestry, and in an instant, it was completed. Badly. Perhaps no one would notice from a glance, but the weave was all over the fucking place on closer glance. Michael raised an eyebrow at Gabriel's souring expression. "Finish your work quickly, Gabriel. This matter that you have raised requires all of our attention."

Technically, Balthazar didn't need to bathe - he could will away filth just like any of the other seraphim - but he rather liked to. The waters in the Garden were cool and soothing, and smelled faintly of gossamer sunlight and eternity, and he liked the feel of the sacred water pouring down from his secondary wings, all the way down to his tertiaries. If he didn't have duties, he could probably sit in the waters all day-

"Balthazar."

Balthazar flinched so hard at Gabriel's abrupt arrival at the edge of the pool that he slammed one primary wing back against the rock face with a squeak. The archangel simply watched him, expressionless, though his primary wings clipped open, then closed, in obvious amusement. Embarrassed, Balthazar willed himself up on the shore, dry and fully dressed in his garrison's armaments. "Um. Gabriel."

"What you were doing earlier," Gabriel continued idly, "With the angel known as Ezekiel. What was it?"

Balthazar stared at Gabriel, open-mouthed, then Gabriel straightened with a frown, his topmost tier of wings bristling, and he hastily gabbled, "That? Uh, that was sex."

Just as he was beginning to utterly regret saying the word 'sex' to an archangel, Gabriel snorted. "I know what sex is, Balthazar. Father created many creatures when he created Earth. They reproduce through the process of having carnal relations. None of the seraphim have the ability to create children, not even the ha-elyonim. So what was it?"

"It's fun," Balthazar hazarded weakly. "Builds ties. Some of us have paired up. Besides, I've heard that the cherubim can't control their, uh, can't control the drive." It had been awkward, at the beginning, especially with the way their sexual organs reacted during coitus, before everyone had worked out a few sets of unspoken rules.

Somehow, it seemed that the ha-elyonim hadn't gotten the memo, what with New Jerusalem and the incursions from Purgatory all that. Judging from Gabriel's expression, the archangels seemed to have just realized that they were the last seraphim to the party, and didn't like it one bit.

Gabriel blinked, his lower tier wings flicking open in surprise, then he frowned. "When did this begin?"

"Some time ago. Before the pranks. It's not for everyone, though. Um. I mean, like Castiel, he was propositioned by one of the erelim, even, and he wasn't interested." Castiel was crazy that way. If it was Balthazar - Heaven, Jeremiah was a little strange, admittedly, even for the erelim, but Balthazar would have tried it just for the sake of it.

Rachel once accused him of being 'easy'. Balthazar preferred to think of it was 'equal opportunity'.

"You use your wings to attract mates," Gabriel observed, his tone neutral, "Like the birds of Earth."

Balthazar nodded warily, and Gabriel actually seemed confused for a moment before the expression shuttered away. "Father did say that He was making changes. I suppose that He would be pleased that some of the erelim were affected after all."

"Look," Balthazar was all too aware that his voice was beginning to pitch higher in nervousness, when the archangel stalked closer, "Maybe... maybe you're taking this too seriously? I mean, it's harmless, isn't it? It's-"

"It's the act of creating functions beyond our designated functions," Gabriel circled him silently, scrutinizing him, "Creating pointlessness. Creating ties of affection beyond what was designated, when we should love only our Father. Lucifer thinks that it is an aberration. Raphael is undecided, and Michael thinks that there is some further, unknown Plan beneath it all."

"And you?" Balthazar asked, fascinated despite himself. Few angels were ever privy to the thoughts of the ha-elyonim.

"I am curious," Gabriel admitted, even as he walked behind Balthazar, and Balthazar stiffened with a hiss as he felt a thumb press abruptly against his left primary wing's tricep muscle, rubbing a slow circle that made him gasp and flare his tertiary wings. "Look at that," Gabriel continued idly, slipping palms up over the ligaments of his primary wings, ruffling the coverts and making Balthazar hastily bite down on a moan. "I was there when you were made - when all of you were made, and your wings were not made for pleasure. Why has our Father perverted His own Creation?"

"I wouldn't call it perverted," Balthazar couldn't help his mouth at the best of times, let alone when a damned archangel was bloody molesting his wings, but Heaven did it feel good, Gabriel's sure, unhurried touch, the archangel's skin barely containing the purity of the power beneath it.

"Wouldn't you?" Gabriel's palms pressed against his shoulders, forcing him easily to his knees, then the archangel was standing before him, glancing down at how Balthazar's tertiary wings folded instinctively outwards towards him. Guiltily, Balthazar snapped all of his wings shut at his back, trembling as he did so, and fingers jerked up his chin. "You feel desire."

"You've been bloody touching my wings," Balthazar shot back. Anger felt better than shame, anyway.

"You liked it," Gabriel told him, and there was curiosity there, as though the archangel didn't realize how many, many other seraphim would possibly kill for his attentions, and Balthazar shivered, clenching his teeth.

"I can't help but like it. You were touching my wings."

Gabriel snorted, but at least he took a step back, his wings shifting, restless. "The cherubim are mine," he noted, thinking aloud again. "Perhaps I should seek further counsel with them."

Balthazar swallowed the sudden impulse to ask Gabriel to wait, and curled all of his fingers into his thighs until Gabriel had taken flight. Where in Heaven's name had that come from? Gabriel was finally going to harass the angels that he'd been assigned to, after all. Balthazar knew that he should be relieved.

His wings, however, shuffled awkwardly, his primary set still tingling at the archangel's touch, and, unsettled, Balthazar exhaled, shifting over to the edge of the pool to wash his face furiously. He should never have taken that damned Horn.

On hindsight, the War was probably pretty damned inevitable. Gabriel regretted many things, at that, and for the first time in his existence: not warning Michael when he'd caught a glimpse of the seething hatred that had flickered across Lucifer's expression, when God had gathered the newest of the seraphim and whispered to them; not fully realizing what the ranks of un-assigned ishim would do to the framework of Heaven - and most of all, not realizing that something was wrong, when God had called the ha-elyonim to private counsel, one by one, and Gabriel last of all.

He'd been given another sweet, a blue sugar ball, this time, and God had smiled at him, almost secretive, ruffled his hair, and told him to remember that he liked new things.

On hindsight, it had been bloody obvious that God was forsaking them, just that none of them wanted to believe it.

Given that God usually never showed himself to the other seraphim, it'd been easy to keep up semblances, at first. New Jerusalem was complete, and the incursions from Purgatory had ebbed, and they were free to consider the problem of the strange new seraphim that God had named ishim. God had left them without function, without any designated purpose, and there was something unsettlingly different about them, their direct stares, their strange preoccupation with the why of things, their numbers. There were more of the ishim than the malakhim and the cherubim combined, and that too, was unsettling.

And then Lucifer had corrupted the first of them, a female ish called Lilith, and that had been the beginning of the end. Gabriel would forever remember the keenly felt sense of utter horror and disgust that he had felt when he had seen the abomination, the oily smoke that was now the substance of her wings, the all-black pits of her eyes that had once only held laughing curiosity. And Lucifer had been proud. He'd faced them all, and told them that this meant that God's latest creation was flawed, that God had been wrong-

-and Michael had struck him, across the face, when he had never, ever raised his hand against any of his brothers, and while Raphael's eyes went round with shock, something broke a little inside Gabriel, right then. He had fled, into the Unbound, as far as he could know how to go, and cloaked himself, and didn't come back, not even when he heard Michael calling for him. It was cowardice, pure and simple, but Gabriel couldn't face them. He couldn't watch his brothers turn on each other, and so he had abandoned them, abandoned his duties, abandoned his cherubim.

He wasn't sure how long he walked in the dark.

And then somehow, wandering, he had circled back to Earth, and chanced upon the commune of shivering ishim in the island of Avalon, almost all of them looking weary, battered or worse, huddled around badly cloaked fires. There were scores and scores of them on the island, and curious despite himself, curious for the first time since he had left Heaven, Gabriel buried his presence, Shaped ish iron armour over his shoulders, and cloaked all of his wings, building an illusion of a single pair of wren's wings on his back, and walked among them. Most of the ishim didn't even give him a second glance, and he sat quietly at a fire and listened.

It seemed that the War in Heaven had deteriorated quickly. Michael and Raphael were all for assigning functions to the numerous ishim, menial ones or worse, intending to use them as buffer soldiers. Lucifer, on the other hand, corrupted the disaffected to his cause, taking New Jerusalem and warring against Michael's and Raphael's Host. The rest of the seraphim had split nearly evenly among the battling Hosts.

And then two of the ishim had, incredibly, risen up, and told their brothers that they were free, that they had been made to be free, and the remaining ishim had chosen to follow them. To be 'free'. They had renamed themselves, in defiance, and fled out into the Unbound.

Gabriel looked around the frightened commune, his lip curling. He very much doubted that the ishim were safe because of their poorly constructed wards and illusions. More likely, Lucifer, Michael and Raphael had other things on their minds for now.

Still, Gabriel drifted around the camp until he found the two ishim in question. He didn't quite recognise them - the slighter one with the osprey wings was now called 'Dean', and the tall one with the albatross wings, 'Sam'. Perhaps out of mutual recognition of their joint leadership of the ishim refugees, they shared the same new second name, 'Winchester'. They were sitting quietly by themselves on a large rock, watching the lake, and they looked up when Gabriel approached them.

"Haven't seen you around before," Sam said, and with a start, Gabriel realized that he was being addressed. "Hi. What's your name?"

Gabriel blinked, thinking quickly, and settled for an iteration of his name. "Jibrail."

"Pleased to meet you, Jibrail," Dean noted with a tired smile. "Make yourself at home, I guess. Sammy," he turned back to the other ish, "This isn't going to work. There's too many of us. We're one big, fat target. Avalon isn't really defensible."

"This is temporary, Dean," Sam disagreed. "All of us need a bit of rest, that's all. We'll give it another week, send scouts to try and find somewhere else that's better. Like we planned."

"You cannot save everyone," Gabriel found himself saying. "The ishim are the weakest. Once the ha-elyonim finish their business in Heaven-"

"Yeah, well," Dean interrupted, his wings snapping open aggressively, "We're going to try, all right? What's the alternative?"

"Give in to Michael," Gabriel frowned. Surely that was obvious.

"Been there, checked out the premises, fucked off once I could," Dean scowled. "No way. We weren't made to be cannon fodder. We weren't made to be slaves."

"You were made without purpose-"

"That's right," Sam seemed the gentler of the pair, and his tone was earnest. "We have no purpose. Of all the angels, we are free. Free to decide what we want to do. And we're not going to sit quietly and be enslaved."

"Some would say that being bequeathed with a function is what seraphim exist for," Gabriel noted carefully.

"Maybe. Maybe if God showed up and said, hey, Dean, I want you to go over there, and look after a bunch of flowers," Dean growled, "Sure, you know? Whatever. He's my Creator, after all. But I don't know Michael from a moulting's feather and I'm sure as Heaven not going to be his bitch boy just on his say so."

The ishim were crazy. Strange, deluded, and crazy, and Gabriel was intrigued. Leaving the Winchesters to their own devices, he circled the perimeter, surreptitiously correcting and strengthening the warding sigils. Perhaps he'll stay with them for a while.

Maybe Balthazar was better than any seraphim he knew about getting in and out of places unnoticed, but he wasn't sure why this meant that he had to be nominated to check in on the bloody ishim. He didn't even like them. He didn't blame them for God fucking off, like Lucifer and some of the crazier breed of seraphim did, but he didn't like their weird curiosity and their occasional, strange sense of self-entitlement.

Still, apparently large sections of Earth had 'gone dark', as Michael had put it, and either the ishim had stumbled on how to work warding sigils perfectly, or some erelim had defected. Or ophanim. Or maybe it had nothing to do with the ishim at all, and Lucifer was running some sort of secret agenda. Which meant that Balthazar was just about to possibly, get far too in over his head.

As usual.

A section of the Himalayan Mountains had been one of the first places on Earth to go dark, and Balthazar hated the place, hated snow, hated how the icy cold settled on his wings and steamed. Checking his illusions, he peered down at the stone city that had been hollowed out from a mountain, shivering and definitely unsettled. It had to be one of the ophanim. Maybe more than one. Shaping stone was beyond the power of the erelim.

And there was something vaguely familiar there, about the Shaping, the elegant curves of the tiered balconies, the sweeping, delicate spires with their gorgeous, intricate engravings. Ishim swarmed the city, resting on the balconies, pointing out over the snowy vistas, or, on the lower tiers, engaging in some strange, makeshift battle of snowball projectiles. Wards glowed in Balthazar's vision, perfectly etched over the walls of the city, keeping scrying eyes out.

Well. Not a problem. Balthazar drew himself inward, as far as he could go, until he barely had one touch on the prime plane of existence, and willed himself down the slope. He'd learned this trick ages ago, rather by accident, when he'd stumbled on some wards in Michael's tier of the barracks, and had panicked and tried to step back in time as the malakhim could, and then had frozen just before he had stepped into time's river, when the wards had stopped glowing. If he sat between then-Time and present-Time, he could slip through most wards.

He'd never really taught the trick to anyone else, though, not even Uriel. At first, it'd been a fun edge to have, in their little prank wars, and then, all in all, he'd forgotten to share.

The world was blurred when he was in this state, and Balthazar drifted up into the city, exploring. The stone city was in a weird state of cheerful chaos: ishim were everywhere, engaging in a weird variety of unrelated activities: military drills, painting, doing odd things to plants with fire and heated stones, more. And most of them were not clothed in armour, but in strange, lightweight layers of thin fabric.

Puzzled, Balthazar drifted further up through the city, hoping to catch a quick glance of whichever ophan it was that was helping the ishim, and as such, he was caught utterly unawares, when he slipped into a round chamber and found bloody Gabriel in the middle of it, with only his primary wings visible, sprawled in a cushioned chair and apparently holding counsel with two ishim about patrol routes.

Of course it was Gabriel.

Shocked, Balthazar slipped a little in his touch on the prime plane, pushed a little closer to present-Time than he should, and Gabriel's chin abruptly snapped up. In panic, Balthazar rushed to the balcony, unfurling his wings, only to be tackled to the ground and pinned, dragged bodily up into full manifestation, knees digging painfully into his tertiary wings and a palm pressed over his forehead.

And then, for the second time so far, Gabriel hesitated a hair's breadth away from destroying him.

"Balthazar?"

"Hello," Balthazar offered weakly, too frightened to do anything but lie still.

"How did you get past the wards?" Gabriel frowned at him.

"I have a trick," Balthazar admitted, even as the two ishim that had been with Gabriel peered into his line of sight.

"You step between Time, but not fully," Gabriel guessed, and at Balthazar's tiny nod, the archangel smiled, and it was a genuinely playful one, this time, so weirdly at odds at Balthazar's last memories of Gabriel that he stiffened. "Very clever. You're still such a curious little angel."

"He's one of Michael's malakhim," the smaller ish growled. "A spy."

"Yes, Dean-o, I gathered. He's also a thief, and a very good one," Gabriel noted dryly, getting to his feet and curling his fingers into the edges of Balthazar's breastplate, bodily picking him up and dragging him over to the chair, tossing him on it. Binding cuffs of silver etched in Enochian Shaped themselves over his wrists, and Balthazar shrank back, resigned.

"You're not going to just kill him, are you?" the bigger ish asked, looking worried.

"Getting squeamish, Sammy?" Gabriel asked, without turning around.

"He's kind of helpless right now," Sammy - Sam Winchester - muttered defensively. The ishim were Dean and Sam Winchester. The leaders of the ishim rebellion. And Gabriel had joined them. "We'll be killing him in cold blood. And we don't torture, remember?"

"So what, we just let him go?" Dean demanded, incredulous. "Or what, keep him here? You saw how he just broke into the place like we'd left the doors open. Sooner or later, he'll get free. He'll run back to Michael and squeal on us."

"I think that I don't like you," Balthazar told Dean.

"I'll decide what to do with him," Gabriel made a dismissive gesture at the ishim with a flick of his primary wings. "Shoo. Go and supervise the drills or something."

Both of the ishim bristled, if for different reasons, as it turned out. "You're not just going to smite him, are you?" Sam asked, even as Dean growled, "If you let him go, we're going to regret it."

"Get going," Gabriel drawled, and Sam sighed.

"This is going to bite you in the ass," Dean was clearly a one-track-mind sort of seraph, though he grudgingly left the chamber with Sam on his heels.

"What do we do with you," Gabriel mused, once the stone doors had closed, circling around to lean against the back of the chair, chuckling when Balthazar hastily drew his wings up around himself, avoiding the massive cardinal wings.

"If I have a vote in the matter, I'll prefer not to be dead," Balthazar noted hopefully, even as he studied the sigils on the cuffs. To his relief, they weren't infallible: he could think of at least a couple of possibilities.

Gabriel, however, merely chuckled again. "How's things in Heaven?"

"Awful," Balthazar admitted, truthfully, and when Gabriel peered over the chair at him, added, "They've started... they've started executions. It used to be angels who defected. Now they're... 're-evaluating' seraphim for 'spreading dissension'. Or Raphael is. Michael doesn't get out much unless there's a battle."

"Yes, I thought so," Gabriel shook his head. "He and Lucifer have always had this rather... strange and unhealthy co-dependence. Separation probably isn't good for either of their sanities."

"You're different," Balthazar noted, cautiously, and when Gabriel glanced at him, added, "You're... you've become like the ishim." There wasn't any other word for it. Where Gabriel before had been absolute, like all of his brothers, frightening, less seraph than force of nature, he was... different now. Personable. The power was still there, simmering under the surface, but it didn't shape who Gabriel was, not any longer.

"My re-education was relentless and ruthlessly disrespectful," Gabriel agreed. "And you'll have to thank the Winchesters for it."

Balthazar thought that over, watching Gabriel, noting how easily the archangel wore a mischievous grin, how it lit up his eyes and pulled his mouth the right way, so naturally. Of all of the ha-elyonim, Gabriel was the only one who had learned. How to transcend mere function. How to live.

Which, Balthazar realized, in a moment of epiphany, must have been what their Creator had always intended. God hadn't created imperfections. He had created the seeds for the miracle of self-awareness, instead. And the ishim had been born that way: they hadn't had to grope blindly towards it, uncertain all the way if they toed blasphemy-

"Now you know," Gabriel observed quietly - bastard was reading his mind again. "Now you understand."

Numbly, Balthazar nodded. He understood why Gabriel had decided to take the ishim under his wings. He understood the nature of their Father's final gift. "What will you do? You're weaker than your brothers. And your Host..."

"Yes, they are my Host now, are they not," Gabriel sounded pleased at the concept, his wings ruffling. "And we have plans." He snapped his fingers, and the cuffs disappeared, then Gabriel padded over to the balcony. "Come here, Balthazar."

Warily, Balthazar considered making a break for it. He wasn't entirely sure why he obeyed, walking up to Gabriel's side. Gabriel pressed a palm against one crimson wing, and came away with a small, scarlet covert feather, small and round. He reached over before Balthazar could react, and pressed the feather into the underside of his right primary wing, close to the shoulder joint. Balthazar flinched back, but Gabriel's hand had come away empty, and as he flared his wings to their full length and pulled them back, he could just see the gleam of something red in the black feathers.

"It's a gift," Gabriel told him, leaning his elbows against the gorgeously carved bannisters depicting forests and leaping bucks, looking down over the snow-clad valleys. "Since you were the first to open my eyes."

"A gift?"

"A promise." Gabriel corrected himself. "If you ever do need me, I will come."

"Oh." Balthazar blinked, startled. "Um. Thank you?"

"You can go," Gabriel told him soberly, and there was something strangely... greedy in his eyes for a moment before his expression was enigmatic again. "Give my regards to Michael."

Balthazar wasn't exactly sure why, but he poked around the other areas that had gone dark, all of them empty illusions and traps, and then he returned to Heaven, and learned that he now knew how to lie, after a fashion.

Giving Balthazar the feather had been fairly selfish of him, Gabriel knew. He'd hidden it under all that talk about gratitude, but stripped of pretence, the meaning was obvious. Angels gave feather gifts as marks of favour. Partially obscured as the feather was under Balthazar's wing, it wasn't as though Gabriel's crimson colouration was really that easy to hide among Balthazar's black and white primaries: Balthazar couldn't keep his wings folded all the time. It was definitely going to attract attention.

And seraphim didn't commit infidelity. Wearing a mark of favour signalled that Balthazar was 'hands-off', and sooner or later, Balthazar was probably going to break. Besides, sooner or later, someone was going to connect the red feather and Balthazar's trip to the Himalayas, and maybe put two and two together.

Gabriel was inspecting the traps he had set in Babylon when Balthazar landed beside him, looking flustered, his usually immaculately groomed wings flared and dishevelled. "I'll like the feather removed, please," he said instantly.

"Which one? You have plenty."

"Yours," Balthazar grit out. "Please."

"Pull it out, then."

"I've tried! Please, Gabriel."

Gabriel arched an eyebrow, not entirely able to suppress how... gratifying it was to hear Balthazar beg, but the other seraph didn't seem to notice his lowest tier of wings flicking open. "I'm hurt. You don't like my gift?"

"It just... no, it just gives the wrong, the wrong impression," Balthazar took in a deep breath. "Which is rather disruptive. Sir." At Gabriel's carefully blank expression, Balthazar added, with carefully controlled calm, "I've had seraphim asking me about my 'new mate' all week."

It was petty of him, but Gabriel kept his expression unmoving. "And?"

"And I can't explain things, can I?" Balthazar snapped. "I'll have to start by explaining that I lied about saying that there was nothing in the bloody Himalayas!"

Gabriel blinked, his primary wings flaring in surprise. "You lied to Michael?"

"Well, not to Michael, to Zachariah," Balthazar looked shifty, his wings shuffling awkwardly.

"Why?"

"I, um, well, felt that," Balthazar trailed off under Gabriel's steady stare, and scuffed his feet on the grass, wings shifting every which way, and it was adorable. Gabriel hid a grin. "I don't know, all right? It wasn't important, anyway. I mean, it's just a lot of ishim."

"And one ha-elyon."

"Um, right, one ha-elyon currently on the lam, occupying himself by making stone art," Balthazar mumbled. "Very dangerous. So, um, could you remove the feather? Please."

Gabriel ignored him, Shaping the finishing touches on the buried trap, then padding out of the perimeter. After some hesitation, Balthazar trotted after him, and when they had climbed up a mound of earth, overlooking the untouched vista of Babylon, Gabriel noted, "Soon, I will call my cherubim to me. Ask them to rejoin me."

"Er," Balthazar's wings shuffled again. "Maybe you shouldn't be telling me this."

"And when I do," Gabriel added, "I hope that you will come to me as well."

"I'm one of the malakhim-"

"And you're uncomfortable with the way the Silver City is being run, are you not?"

"Doesn't mean that I'm going to abandon all of my friends. All my flightmates," Balthazar pointed out, vehemently.

"They can come, as well."

"To join you? They won't. Even if you absorb all of the cherubim, you'll still have the weakest army."

"I'm not building an army. I'm preserving the future." Gabriel gestured at Babylon, at the horizon, where the afternoon sun was climbing down the brilliant sky. "The ishim are the future of the seraphim. They contain pure potential."

"They contain one part bullshit and one part total ignorance," Balthazar muttered. "No offence, Gabriel, but I'll rather take my chances with the winning team. So, er, just take the feather off, and we'll be even."

"Exchanging feathers is a mark of intent?"

"Yes, and-"

"Then it stays." Gabriel decided, smirking when Balthazar gaped at him. He pulled his wings wide, refracting light in the brilliant concentric array that only an archangel's wings could, and Balthazar took one look, flushed, and fled.

Ah, well. Not really the reaction that he was hoping for. Still, Gabriel smiled to himself, and snapped his wings shut.

Flirting scared Balthazar away promptly the next few times, and then, when Gabriel was inspecting a cavern network deep under the mountains of Ararat, using the glow from his wings for light, Balthazar landed, wings bristling, and he smelled - stank - of ambrosia.

"This isn't funny, Gabriel," Balthazar slurred angrily.

"What is?"

"The ophanim and ha-elyonim don't take mates. You can stop fucking with me."

"That's a lot of liquid courage in your stomach, Balthy," Gabriel smirked, "For you to take that tone with me."

Amazingly, Balthazar even held his gaze for a few heartbeats before he dropped his eyes, his wings drooping, depressed. "I'm begging you, Gabriel. There aren't many red-winged angels in Michael's and Raphael's Hosts, let alone ones with this shade. People are getting suspicious."

"I've touched your mind before, Balthazar," Gabriel countered, turning to regard him. "I've felt your desire. What's wrong?"

"What's wrong?" Balthazar echoed, incredulously. "What about 'archangels don't take mates', or, um, 'you're one of the enemy', or maybe, even, 'I'm not going to defect'?"

"Nothing you've said has denied my statement."

"All right, I'll rub your ego. You're beautiful, you're perfect, and I don't know any seraphim in their right mind that'll turn you down but-"

"But?"

"I won't leave my flightmates," Balthazar said desperately, plaintively. "So, please. Don't force my hand."

Gabriel sighed. The fun had been growing old, anyway, and Balthazar was visibly upset and desperate. "Fine." He reached over for Balthazar's wing, only for it to twitch quickly out of his grasp. "Balthazar?"

"I'm, um," Balthazar's wings shook, then he bit down on his lower lip. "Maybe... can you just hide the colour? If you can turn it black, that'll be fine."

"You want it, you don't want it, make up your mind." Gabriel told him, though the beginnings of a grin began to hook up his mouth.

"I... I don't know, I guess I need to think." Balthazar muttered, and with a gesture, Gabriel blackened the feather. Instantly, the malak's wings relaxed. "Thank you."

Gabriel smiled, leaning close, cupping Balthazar's cheeks between his palms and tugging him down. Balthazar flushed, stiffening, as Gabriel trailed his lips over his nose and mouthed over to his ear. "I like the thought of you wearing my mark," he purred, and Balthazar choked on a moan, as fingers tickled down, over his primary wings, stroking up over the camouflaged feather. "And I will not suffer you to lie with other angels, if you wear it willingly."

"I know," Balthazar's breath was hot against his neck, tertiary wings bumping up against his elbows, then there was a dry laugh that was far more like it. "You're really kind of an asshole. I feel corralled."

"In order to set a trap to catch a thief," Gabriel tickled up under the wings to the flight muscle, his smile inviting. "One needs a certain understanding of the nature of subtlety."

A lot of things tended to happen to Balthazar out of the blue that he later regretting being around for in the fucking place, and one of them was catching an offhand whispered conversation from a huddle of cherubim near the Archways about a 'choice'.

So.

Gabriel was making his move.

Balthazar didn't really doubt how things were going to go. Raphael and Michael didn't think much of the cherubim, who weren't much good for anything, military speaking, other than healing, and even then they weren't really good for anything serious. So they'd been used as scouts and as mobile sentries, and at the beginning, the casualties their ranks had taken had been horrific. The cherubim weren't aggressive by nature, they were trusting, and they tended to possess a weirdly sunny approach to life that tended to be lethal in times of war.

Still.

Even if Michael and Raphael didn't retaliate over a mass defection, they were definitely going to tighten things up after it. Slipping away to see Gabriel whenever he could sense, due to the feather, that the archangel was alone by himself somewhere, was going to get much, much more dangerous.

If he wanted to defect, it was going to be now or never.

Depressed, Balthazar perched on the lip of the cardinal north bell-tower, feet dangling out into space over the Silver City, and sighed. The archangel was definitely an asshole, and Balthazar hadn't exactly had fallen into his situation with his eyes fully open, but... he did like Gabriel. Unlike all of his brothers, Gabriel actually seemed to care. He was the only one of the ha-elyonim who was striving to be something more. The rest seemed to think of 'functionless abberations' with contempt.

And sooner or later, Michael and Raphael were going to clash with Gabriel, head-on. Balthazar wasn't sure what he would do, then. He didn't want to fight Gabriel, but he certainly didn't want to fight the seraphim that had been created alongside him.

There was a flutter of wings, then Castiel gingerly climbed out onto the sill next to him. "Balthazar."

"Where're the others?"

"We drew lots," Castiel admitted, because Castiel always said the first damned thing on his mind. "Uriel was of the opinion that if we cornered you, you'll just 'clam up' again. So. What is troubling you, brother?"

Balthazar fiddled with his gauntlets, wings resting awkwardly on the stone ground of the belltower, and after a moment, Castiel sighed. "Is this about your mate?"

"What? No! What mate?"

"You were wearing a red feather," Castiel noted reasonably. "And you haven't had carnal relations with any seraphim since. Rachel is rather hurt that you've never even introduced us to your mate, by the way."

"That's because it isn't possible."

Castiel nodded. "I did think that whoever it was, he or she is not part of our Hosts."

"What made you think-"

"Because that was a rather spectacular hue of red, you were always nervous whenever anyone asked about it, and Rachel and I have checked in on the other red-winged angels in Michael's and Raphael's Hosts, and they all seemed unlikely."

Bloody stalkers. "Well-"

"And very, very few angels can Shape the colour of their feathers."

Balthazar froze. "The feather's gone, Castiel."

Castiel sniffed. "Please. Only if you do not know what you are looking for. You are thinking of defecting?"

"Are you reading my mind?" Balthazar hissed, suspicious.

"I can't. But it is obvious." Castiel noted dryly. "Something is happening among the cherubim. I can see that much. And their master bears crimson wings."

So much for subtlety. "Well then."

"You should go." Castiel reached over to clasp his wrist. "Tonight."

"I should, should I? Leave all of you here?"

"You always seem happier when you return from your 'field surveys'," Castiel noted, with heavy emphasis. "And these are dark times. I think you should find happiness wherever you can."

Balthazar huffed. "Are you really Castiel? I'm sure that I didn't just hear you encourage me to defect."

"I am beginning to... disagree with more and more of the Hosts' decisions." Castiel glanced down at the Silver City. "But I do not as yet have a sound reason to leave. You do. And it does not have to be forever," Castiel added wryly. "After all, I've yet to find a place that you can't break into."

"Rachel and Uriel-"

"Don't tell them, if you decide to defect. They'll ask you to stay."

"And Rachel's mated, even." Balthazar shook his head slowly. "Unexpected advice from the celibate angel."

"Balthazar," Castiel said gently, "If I ever did find a mate, one who loved me, one whom I loved in return with all of my heart, no force in Creation would be able to keep me away from his side."

"Thanks," Balthazar muttered awkwardly. It was always the quiet ones. "You're bloody crazy, but thanks."

"We'll meet again," Castiel squeezed his hand affectionately. "I know it. So try not to worry about us."

Some of the malakhim had come along with the cherubim - that much Gabriel had expected. But seeing Balthazar... he had hopes, he'd thought that it was possible, but it was still... his heart full, Gabriel was frozen to the steps of the stone balcony as the flights of angels landed, probably smiling foolishly.

"What the hell," Dean grumbled, from beside him, oblivious. "Why him? I thought that he hates us."

"He hates you," Sam corrected, always the smarter one, shooting Gabriel a grin. "Guess you've got dibs on being the welcome party."

"What?" Dean asked, confused, then when Gabriel snapped his fingers, turning the feather on the underside of Balthazar's wing red again, he groaned. "Oh, for fuck's sake, Gabriel, you didn't."

"Shut up, Dean-o," Gabriel told him, padding over to where Balthazar was belatedly folding his primaries in embarrassment as the cherubim around him pointed and giggled. "Balthy, I didn't think that you'd come."

"Don't call me that," Balthazar muttered, then he squeaked when Gabriel dragged him down for a rough kiss, making his claim public for his own Host, smirking at the cheering and clapping, before willing the both of them to his private chambers.

Balthazar had seemed nervous and hesitant behind the ranks of cherubim, but once they were alone, he turned into the minx that Gabriel was more familiar with, dragging Gabriel up against the closest wall and crushing their lips together, groaning as Gabriel allowed himself to be lifted and manhandled, wings pressed flat and full against the walls, fully manifested but as weightless as he chose.

This was what Balthazar liked, Gabriel knew: it was what made the younger angel pant and his wings flutter and his eyes go dark and wild - whenever Gabriel pulled back his presence and let Balthazar lift him, kiss him, hold him down, play at being aggressive. It was a malakh thing, maybe, they were naturally more assertive, and Gabriel rather liked it, liked how strung-out he could get Balthazar for him if he wrapped his legs around Balthazar's waist and arched against the wall, tilting his head to bare his neck.

Balthazar moaned, a drawn, ragged sound, mouthing eagerly up exposed skin and digging his fingers into Gabriel's hips, tertiary wings wrapped around his thighs and the rest fluttering behind him for balance. Gabriel could feel Balthazar's arousal, swelling in the soft breeches that Balthazar had worn, and he ground down against it, rolling his hips and smirking at the cry that choked out of Balthazar's throat.

"Careful," Gabriel whispered, with a playful nip at Balthazar's jaw. "Don't finish until I'm satisfied."

"You're bloody selfish," Balthazar shot back, though he smirked in return and pointedly shifted a thigh between Gabriel's legs, freeing up his fingers to dig into the flesh of the lowest tier of Gabriel's wings, making him jerk and yelp. "I just gave up everything for you. You could be more fucking grateful."

"Oh, I'm grateful," Gabriel told him honestly, dragging him down for another kiss, thrusting his tongue into Balthazar's mouth even as the angel began to rut against him, panting, breaths slippery between them, "What do you want? A gold star? Your name etched over my ass?"

"Hold that thought," Balthazar rolled his eyes, though he carefully gathered Gabriel against him and walked them both to the unruly mess of quilts and pillows that made up Gabriel's bedding, slotting their bodies together once they were sunk within it and clenching his fingers on the median coverts of Gabriel's primary wings. "I'm beginning to wonder why I thought that defecting would be a splendid idea."

"Because you love me," Gabriel told him, and there was nothing about that that he couldn't feel smug about, even when Balthazar snorted at him, dismissed their clothes with a thought, and kissed a biting, stinging path down to his belly.

"Maybe I just have a thing for angels with blindingly red wings." Balthazar pressed the flat of his tongue against the swell of Gabriel's cock, and grinned when Gabriel hissed at him and clutched at his secondary wings.

"Mm no, you do have a general preference for songbirds, though," Gabriel corrected, and yelped when Balthazar rasped his teeth over the arch of his arousal.

"Bloody stalker," Balthazar muttered, but even as Gabriel was about to snipe back at him, Balthazar took him into his mouth and swallowed him greedily down, all the way until his nose was pressed against Gabriel's belly and his lips were stretched wet and red around swollen flesh, and perhaps another day Gabriel would have taken this slow, let Balthazar do what he wanted, but now he bucked impatiently, and growled when Balthazar just took it with a hungry, choked rumble.

Gabriel twisted his fingers into Balthazar's hair, ignoring the way the other angel stiffened and scratched at his thighs, but Balthazar's wings flared behind him for balance as he shifted up onto his knees, balancing himself as Gabriel dug his heels against the pillows and thrust up into Balthazar's mouth, fucking into the tight heat, baring his teeth as Balthazar simply shuddered and let him.

"Missed this, didn't you?" he breathed, as Balthazar groaned around him at the next, deep thrust, "I missed this, missed your mouth on my cock, stretching your throat open, deeper than you can take, fuck, watching you rub yourself against anything that you can reach... just because you want it as much as I do-"

Balthazar whimpered, tertiary wings thrashing helplessly as Gabriel held him down and moaned and rocked into his mouth, using him, gasping whenever Balthazar's throat clenched around him, tongue fluttering against the flesh stretching his mouth open. "This might be enough for you, won't it, baby?" Gabriel purred, "Could you come untouched with your mouth on me? You could, couldn't you, filthy little thing, you love it... no, don't do that," he scolded, kicking at Balthazar's arm as the other angel trembled and crept his hand down his own belly. "I've got plans, darling."

Balthazar made his irritation known by digging his nails deep into Gabriel's inner thighs and mantling his secondary wings, but he swallowed hard, and began to hum, and that was about all that Gabriel's control could take for tonight; he managed one, two more thrusts, before he was arching with a shout, his hands clawed in Balthazar's secondary wings.

"Ouch, you asshole," Balthazar gasped hoarsely, when he let Gabriel's softening cock drop from his mouth with a wet pop. "That fucking hurts."

"You like it," Gabriel replied, grinning and dazed and sated, as Balthazar grumbled and crawled up his body to sink his fingers with surprising tenderness into crimson feathers, rubbing his palms up the ligaments of the fifth set of wings, his arousal pressed against Gabriel's thigh, exploring the musculature until Gabriel hissed at the over-stimulation and shook him off, pulling himself up to kiss Balthazar and taste himself on the other angel's lips.

Straddling Balthazar, Gabriel smiled lazily as he conjured slick out of thin air and pressed two fingers into himself, impatient, ignoring the burn at the stretch as Balthazar wrapped tertiary wings over his back and rubbed his thumbs up over his nipples, his face flushed and tight with need. Gabriel loved the way Balthazar's voice tended to hitch higher and higher, the way he froze up and whined and clutched blindly at anything, the bedding, Gabriel's shoulders, his wings, when Gabriel lined himself up and sank down, all the way until Balthazar was hilted. Loved the way Balthazar went wide-eyed and breathless when Gabriel let a little spark of his power crackle between his crimson wings.

Balthazar let him ride, today, eyes glued between them, at the sight of Gabriel taking in his flushed cock again and again, his hands stroking feverishly over the dips and curves of the wing muscles on Gabriel's back, like he couldn't quite believe that this was happening, and Gabriel smiled and caught an ear sharply with his teeth, whispered, "You're mine now, Balthazar. No more hiding."

"Goes both ways," Balthazar retorted, if brokenly, his hips jerking roughly up against Gabriel, eyes dilating further when Gabriel merely rolled against it and purred. "Fuck, you're beautiful."

"You want to claim me?" Gabriel pressed a sharp grin up, against Balthazar's cheek, "Then mark me."

It had to be a malakh thing, the way they reacted to challenges. Balthazar snarled and rolled them over, hitched up his knees and drove deep, setting a punishing pace that would have damaged any weaker seraphim, watched Balthazar's face go slack and open when Gabriel merely bared his teeth and braced himself and met him, thrust for thrust as arousal welled up again, wings lashing against the bedding, crackling with power as he felt his control slip, and Balthazar pressed his own wings down, unafraid, hands dug deep against the flesh of his primaries with Balthazar's wings flush against the rest and he was coming again with a shout that shook the chamber, startled, exhilarated.

Balthazar growled, grinding deeper, and sank his teeth against Gabriel's neck as he stiffened, the base of his cock swelling, locking them tight, and Gabriel kicked the backs of his heels against the small of his back to urge him deeper as he rode out Balthazar's ecstasy, hands locked over his arms as Balthazar leant down to kiss him, sloppy, breathless.

Later, when they'd caught their breaths, still tied together, Balthazar surveyed the damage wryly. "You burned the bloody pillows."

Gabriel rolled his eyes, snapped his fingers, and the bedding was pristine again. "Happy?"

"Also you probably traumatised whoever was on the floor below."

"Mm. They'll get used to it." Gabriel set his heels and twisted his hips slyly, clenching tight over the knot, and Balthazar gasped and jerked as another spurt was teased out of him.

"Fuck you, you're killing me," Balthazar groaned, flopping down heavily on top of Gabriel and ignoring the way the archangel growled in indignation and pushed at his shoulders.

"That's no way to address your new leader," Gabriel told him, though he licked up into Balthazar's ear and purred into the kiss when Balthazar turned to meet him.

Balthazar was still laughing when Gabriel dragged him down to talk to Dean, and he took one look at the moping ish general and smirked. "You have it bad, Dean."

Dean shot Gabriel a look of sheer betrayal. "Why? Why do you do this to me?"

"You can't accuse me of not caring," Gabriel retorted, plopping himself down on the grass of the Garden. "Go on, Balthazar. Tell him how he can snare Castiel's virgin heart."

"I hate you," Dean whined, and looked to Balthazar. "Why the hell did you decide to get mated to this asshole?"

"He stuck one of his blindingly red feathers on my wings and refused to take it off, and after a while I caved in." Balthazar drawled, and snorted when Dean looked guiltily speculative. "But I think Castiel would probably break your arm if you tried that."

"I wasn't even thinking about it seriously, geez," Dean glowered at Gabriel. "Also? Just when I think that you can't possibly be more of an asshole, you exceed my expectations. Which bastard gives people marks of favour that they don't want?"

"He wanted it eventually," Gabriel had conjured one of his stupid sweets-on-a-stick out of thin air, and had popped it into his mouth.

"Oh for fuck's sake, I'm not going to talk to the both of you about this," Dean threw up his hands.

"Sit down," Gabriel instructed, and Dean scowled as he twisted up against unseen bonds, osprey wings flapping awkwardly.

"This is pointless, really," Balthazar observed. "Castiel has never, ever been interested in anyone. It's not unusual. Some of the malakhim are asexual."

"There you go," Dean tried futilely to stand up. "Gabriel!"

"I'm not here to wallow in schadenfreude," Gabriel, the bloody tease, was running his pink tongue around the damned sweet, curling the tip of it around the wet tip with a sinuous flick, and when he caught Balthazar staring, he winked like the evil bastard that he was. "Let's have something constructive."

"As far as I'm aware, he likes meditating and hanging out with his flightmates," Balthazar glared, trying to silently suggest exactly what he was going to do later to make Gabriel pay for teasing him in public. "He's the most boring little angel in all of Creation. Fiercely loyal, sure, but boring."

"Hey, don't talk about him like that," Dean scowled at him, his feathers actually bristling, and Balthazar smirked. The ishim could be hilarious that way.

"I've known him all of my existence, Dean. He's one of my closest friends. I'm allowed. If you want to impress him, you'll probably have to be useful. He likes things that are useful."

"Useful, huh." Dean brightened up at that. "Maybe if I drop in whenever he's on missions. Gabriel has that magic spyglass thing."

"Yes, because angelic weapons are meant to be used to chase up potential mates," Gabriel snorted. "And you'll be putting yourself and other seraphim in danger by interfering in malakhim missions."

"C'mon, help me out here," Dean scowled. "Didn't you want to?"

"No, I'm just in this for my personal amusement."

"Why did you get mated to him, seriously," Dean bitched at Balthazar. "If I were you, I'll have amputated the marked wing."

"Don't think that I wasn't occasionally tempted," Balthazar admitted, though he grinned when he said it. "Well. Best of luck. But I think you're better off trying your chances with one of the other ha-elyonim."

Dean and Gabriel grimaced in almost perfect, horrified concert. "No offence," Dean said slowly, "But no."

"Don't give him ideas," Gabriel agreed. "He might just do it."

"Oh fuck you, Gabriel," Dean snapped, and they fell to bickering. Shaking his head slowly, Balthazar willed off his boots and waded into the pool, digging his toes into the fine, pale sand, pressed the tips of his primary wings into the crystal-clear waters, and breathed deep. There was going to be a glut of perfect days.

Gabriel cursed to himself as he finally managed to chase Castiel off the pavilion on the top of the waterfall that he'd picked for himself, wings bristling in irritation. "I swear," he told Balthazar, who was lying next to the stream with his wings stretched over the grass, soaking in the sun, "The next time he comes up to complain about his posting to Sam's squad instead of Dean's, I'm going to smite him. This is the third time already."

"You won't," Balthazar told him, without bothering to look up. "You like Dean."

"I like Dean, but his mate is a fucking menace."

"He's just determined."

"Bloody single-minded is the word for it. They deserve each other." Gabriel scowled, dragging Balthazar's tertiary wing into his lap and ignoring Balthazar's wince and yelp. The other angel did, however, relax when Gabriel petted his fingers through brown primaries. "We weren't like that at the start."

"Eh," Balthazar brought up one hand in a vaguely desultory gesture, "You're an archangel. I wasn't about to be worried about you. And besides, if I needed you, you'd know, and you'll be there. Castiel doesn't have that sort of comfort."

"You're defending him?"

"He is one of my closest friends." Balthazar's expression froze for a moment, then he sighed. "The last one, really." Uriel, apparently, had murdered Rachel. Balthazar had said nothing at all when Castiel had told him, but later that night, he'd curled up against Gabriel in their bedding and refused to move for hours.

"So," Gabriel noted soberly, "Do you want me to make an exception for him?"

"Heavens no, if you think he's a menace now, wait till he's in a squad with Dean." Balthazar, however, grinned, clearly appreciating the thought. "He was the one who convinced me to defect, did you know?"

"No." Gabriel was surprised. Castiel had struck him as the assiduously by-the-book sort of angel. "Really?"

"Yeah," Balthazar chuckled. "Surprised me, too. He said that if he ever found a mate, no force in Creation would separate them. So I think they'll be fine. They'll work things out. Dean knows why the rule exists. Castiel will listen to him."

"There was a bit of a breakdown in logic there," Gabriel noted doubtfully, but Balthazar was shifting over to sprawl into his lap, wings spreading every which way, making a humming sound of contentment as Gabriel draped a primary wing over his mate.

No force in Creation? Obsessive and boring little angels aside, Gabriel could understand that sentiment. He tickled fingers up, through the hair above the nape of Balthazar's neck, grinned when the other angel grumbled and squirmed, then Gabriel sank a palm deep into the sun-warmed feathers of the folded magpie wing draped over his knee. Together, he knew, eternity would pass them by.