Chapter Text
The first thing that registers is light.
Something bright is hitting her eyes and she's both cold and warm and is decidedly uncomfortable, but there's a fog over her senses, a murkiness to her thoughts that she can't shake. Muffled voices that sound like they're coming through water catch her attention, and she tries to focus on that through the haze.
It's several people talking, she thinks, and pries her stiff eyelids until she's got a fuzzy, bright view before her. There's someone, a man judging by the chestnut facial hair, looking down at her. He looks up and says something her ears don't catch, not for lack of trying, but something about all this feels wrong.
There's light and sounds and she can feel the warmth of where the man holds her against his chest, but something is wrong with this whole thing. Everything is too large and she's too small, her eyes aren't focusing properly, and she feels confined in a way she's never felt before. It's only when she catches a brief glance at the kneeling people he's talking to, more specifically the feathered appendages behind them, does it click.
I should be dead .
She died. She remembers dying. She remembers the whisper of dread that ran down her spine, cornered in the dead of night in an alley she didn't know dead ended. She remembers how scared she was, the fear making her heart stutter and cold washing down her spine. She remembers the knife in the man's hand, how he'd wanted her wallet but she knew it wouldn't end at that. She remembers the weight of the heavy metal clasp on the keychain hooked to her belt loops, meant for just such an occasion, but knowing that she wouldn't be fast enough to unhook it before he could lunge. She remembers trying anyway.
She remembers failing.
She shivers at the memories, disjointed and scattered as they are, knowing that she'd died, but was somehow here now. Somehow smaller, somehow younger .
The man holding her makes some sort of beckoning noise, and she manages to drag her attention back to him. Her vision is slowly becoming clearer, so she can spot when his muted expression becomes more mischievous, but not the nice kind. The kind of face you’d make when you planned on purposefully leaving the dog you were meant to dog-sit out in the cold, just to see if it could figure out how to get back inside before it froze to death.
Somehow, she knows she's the dog.
The man's smile widens, and he winks.
The blood in her veins turns to ice, and she can't but think again, I should be dead .
He says more words, and even though she's beginning to hear them, she can't understand , not until he taps a soft finger against her forehead with a, “That's better now, isn't it.” It is not a question.
“Father,” one of the winged people starts, drawing both her and his attention to him, and the winged man both straightens and crumples under their combined weight. “What is going on? Why have you personality stepped in to create a new one after all this time?” A word sticks like gum in her brain. Create . Something is wrong.
“She is special, Michael,” the man— Father? (Something is wrong ) says, a mean, teasing lilt to his voice. “She needed to be created, and I was the only one who could do it.”
The winged man has a torn expression on his face, but he swallows any comments he has and bows his head. “Of course, Father.”
“Father,” another winged man beside the first lifts his head. “Might we know her name and placement in the hierarchy?”
‘Father’ chuckles, and it rumbles in his chest and through her body like an oncoming earthquake. “Her name, Raphael—” something is wrong “is Raziel.” Angel of Mysteries, something in her head whispers. Keeper of Secrets , Holder of all Magic . “And she will not be placed within the hierarchy. But if you must consolidate a placement, she will answer to no-one, and be heard by all.” The corners of his eyes crinkle unkindly. “A Throne.” She felt that if the… angels, maybe, were lesser people, then they all would have broken out into fervent whispers.
She wasn't stupid. If she was an angel now ( something is wrong ) than they were too, and if they were angels, than the one they called ‘Father’ could only be—
“I am God, little Raziel.” He was looking at her now, his face soft, the slant of his mouth upwards, smile lines wrinkling his face. But his eyes were not soft. They were sharp, and knowing , like they were both in on a joke, but one only he found funny. Somehow, she knew he could tell what her thoughts were, could tell that he knew she had memories that a fledgling angel shouldn't, and was almost positive that it was all on purpose.
By God's Will.
“You will make everything interesting, won't you?”
(She wouldn't realize the depth of that statement until she met an angel named Castiel, and finally put together where exactly God had pulled her soul to.)
Gabriel only ever met the youngest angel once before he left Heaven.
Things between Lucifer and Father were hitting a boiling point, and his Grace was trying —unsuccessfully mind you— to tear itself in half. He wasn't particularly loyal to Father, nor did he love Him, but there was a connection of responsibility that he couldn't deny, one that was at odds with the bond he'd formed with his brother Lucifer before he'd taken the Mark. Not that he agreed with Lucifer about humans, but he wasn't compelled to love them as Father asked for either.
He didn't know what to do. He didn't want to be forced to pick sides.
On top of that was the new angel, the fifth angel Father's ever personally created, but by far the most powerful one in existence. One that Father called the Throne, the highest position besides Father himself, and he'd given it to a newborn angel, confined to a small form that lacked the wings all angels should have had.
The only time Gabriel has ever seen Raziel had been upon her creation. He hadn't even spoken up, but the weight of her brand new Grace as her piercing eyes scanned the kneeling angels was one he could never forget. It held a heavy, all-encompassing weight that pressed down on his bowed shoulders like the gravity of the Earth's pull, as if he was mortal and she the divine one.
Gabriel's spine tingles just remembering it.
Father had said Little Raziel was to be under the tutelage of a rotation of angels in order to learn from them, with an expression that showed he knew something they didn't, and from what he'd heard from his brothers, she was uncanny. Her expression was always blank and unreadable. She rarely ever spoke, and when she did, it was incomprehensible nonsense. Not that she wasn't speaking Enochian, no, the words she strung together made a sentence, but the content itself made no sense.
(“I'm sorry,” Raziel said to Lucifer on one of the days he was calmer, less prone to bouts of rage and hatred.
“What for, little one?” He asked as he brushed her long hair, the tresses shifting colors beneath his hands as if it couldn't pick a shade it liked.
She'd frowned slightly. At the term of address, maybe?
“I promise I will try to help you find yourself once you're free. I don't want him to make the jump.”)
Not to mention, she is the only angel ever that calls Father by his title, “God”.
Originally the others had gotten up in arms about her use of the title due to the distance it assumed between her and Father, but they were dismissed with a (cold) chuckle from Father and the words, “Out of all my children, she has the most right to call me that.”
Thus far he's managed to avoid being forced to babysit— ahem, teach Raziel for any period of time, and for a moment he thinks he can continue his streak.
Father must be messing with him, as that tingling down his spine hadn't been as in his head as he'd thought.
“Throne Raziel!” An angel shouts, three parts dismayed, one part exhausted. Gabriel doesn't think much about it, other than it means he needs to quickly vacate the premise, which is a mistake when he starts to move and nearly steps on the baby angel, who's standing less than a foot away staring right up at him.
Well, baby may be a bit conservative as she looks more like a human 8 or 9 years old, but she's his baby sister, so baby is it.
“Er—” he pauses, caught off guard by being the sole focus of her attention. Her pupiless eyes stare at him with an intensity that is fathomless. They are black but not pitch, and stars seem to wink in and out of their depths.
Many angels fashion themselves to look like the humans Father told them to love more than himself, but they aren't human, and sometimes a not so human feature leaks out. For little Raziel, it seems it is her eyes.
Her mouth twitches slightly, and he has the abrupt realization that all angels can read the minds of those lower in the hierarchy than themselves, and she's the highest of them all. He can't help but warily ask, “Are you reading my mind?”
Raziel says nothing, but the corner of her eyes crinkle in what’s either amusement or confusion, neither of which bodes well for him. She answers in a way that's exactly as much of an answer as it isn't. “Your Grace is hurting.” Which, oh Father, is so much worse than reading his mind, because at least in his mind he can lie to himself. An angel's Grace can't lie at all.
The angel that's supposed to be keeping an eye on Raziel —Anna, he thinks her name is— takes that moment to finally arrive, and hurriedly bows to Gabriel.
“I'm terribly sorry to bother you, Archangel Gabriel. I only took my eyes off her for a moment and she disappeared.” Anna's mind is a bit of a panicked, frazzled mess, although it's hard to tell if that's because of Raziel’s little escape or because she's hyper aware she's standing in the direct presence of an Archangel. Comparatively, Raziel’s mind is unreadable to him, an indicator of her higher ranking. It sends a sliver of unease through him to be blocked from another’s mind, as the only other he can't read the mind of is Father.
He glances back to Raziel, who's still looking at him for Father's sake, before facing Anna to reply. “It's no problem, Anna,” he says amiably, even though he'd really rather be nowhere near the baby. “Younger angels are indeed a handful.”
“Yes, I—” She starts, before cutting herself off and looking down at Raziel in mute surprise. Gabriel looks too, unsurprised to see her still staring , but now she's holding both arms out towards him, and is opening and closing her fists in tandem.
He stares blankly down at her.
She stares blankly back up at him.
“Um, that means she wants you to pick her up.” Anna breaks the standstill.
Gabriel, hit with an exhausted wave of ‘family’ , only just refrains from rolling his eyes, before dutifully picking Raziel up and settling her on his hip. Her face is mostly blank, but by the amused slant of her mouth, she probably picks up on the aborted eye roll. Well, at least the concern of being smited if he shows any disobedience towards her was off the table now. Probably. Hopefully.
Raziel’s arms wind around his neck, and she tucks her head in the crook of his shoulder in a natural motion that he vaguely realizes she probably shouldn’t have. Gabriel can barely contain his grimace, as while it’s not uncomfortable per-se, it’s not something he wishes to prolongate.
“Loki is a good name,” she whispers so softly against the skin of his neck that if he wasn't an Archangel he would have missed it entirely, but when the words register, Gabriel can’t help but freeze as the world seems to narrow around him. Cold sweat runs down his back, his arm ridged where he holds her.
How did she know?
He’d barely even begun to consider it himself.
Escaping to the human world that is.
It’s one of his many fantasies, many contingencies, many plans in place to get out of being forced to choose between Father and Lucifer. One of them was escaping to the human world and posing as a new deity, because he'd obviously have to hide from Heaven if he did so, and the name he's been partial to so far?
Loki.
“I think I am capable of handling her for a while, Anna. I'm certain there's much I can teach her.” Gabriel doesn't like abusing his authority over the other angels much, but it is at times like this his status comes in handy.
Anna's mind screams that she's seconds away from trying to contest, but gets stuck in his wording trap. If she wants to take Raziel from him, then her words will either insinuate that Archangel Gabriel is incapable of taking care of a young angel, or that there isn't anything he can teach her.
Obedience wins, and she bows to him. “As you wish, Archangel Gabriel,” she says, before turning and leaving the way she came.
There's an extended silence, no angels nearby besides the two of them, and Raziel breaks it with a soft, chiding, “That wasn't very nice.”
Gabriel huffs out what would be a pout on anyone else, and he readjusts Raziel to be leaning on his chest instead of his side. “Perhaps not but it was surely the quickest.”
Raziel is silent, easily conceding to his point.
“Now,” Gabriel starts, tone turning low and steely. “ What do you know? ” He needs to know just how compromised he is. If she can read his Grace like she practically told him she could, then she knows how indecisive he feels about the widening rift between Lucifer and Father. With a single word from her to anyone , she could seal his fate, forcing him to flee Heaven a traitor or to pick a side.
Raziel pulls away just enough that Gabriel can see her searching gaze. He doesn't know what she's looking for, nor if she finds it, and although it's starting to make his skin crawl, he endures. Something in him is telling him that it's worth it.
Finally, she says, “You have things to do down there.”
The tension in his body ratchets up a notch, because that really didn't answer his question. She does something creepy, says something nonsensical, etcetera etcetera. Feels par for the course even though Gabriel's only been in her presence for a few minutes tops.
“They'll need you.”
Great, just the headache he needs, more cryptic language. Except—
A single stray thought upends his worldview.
What if it isn't?
Unbidden, his mind recalls the whisper of a designation he and the other Archangels had heard right after Father named her. They hadn't thought much of it, because while angels did have dominions, they are not defined by those dominions and do branch out and overlap with others. Maybe they should have put more stock into her designation.
Angel of Mysteries, Holder of all Magic , but in hindsight, what sticks out the most is Keeper of Secrets . Perhaps the crypticness of her words are a side effect of knowing things that no one else, save perhaps Father, knows about?
Wait, Raziel's used phrases that indicate future events….
Father said that Raziel needed to be created, and that he could be the only one to do so. The two main, overwhelming things Father has over them is knowledge and power.
…Is it possible that he instilled in Raziel knowledge of future events?
As far as Gabriel can tell, little Raziel holds little to no dominion over time, not like himself, and has shown no signs of the foresight both Michael and Lucifer have, nor is she all-knowing like Father is.
But.
But .
What if her bizarre statements and eerily knowing gazes are because she knows The Future. Not the bits and pieces that his brothers get, no. What if she sees The Future? The whole picture?
Gabriel can barely fathom it. It sounds so outrageous, even within the confines of his own mind, but it's the conclusion that fits the most puzzle pieces that make up Raziel.
“Who will need me?” Gabriel manages to croak out past his constricted throat.
Raziel’s eyes dart to his face and settle on his own eyes, the weight nearly a physical thing . “The Brothers.” He can feel the capitalization, and it's probably his nerves getting to him that make him want to giggle a little hysterically.
“I see,” he says both wryly and with bemusement, because he really doesn't.
Raziel seems to realize anyway, head tilting in amusement. Or at least what he thinks is amusement. She's still incredibly hard to read, especially since he can't read her mind to gauge her mood. “If it helps, you'll know them when you see them.”
Gabriel automatically scoffs, tenses, waiting for her reaction to his offense, but doesn't take it back. It doesn't come. “That's what they all say.”
Raziel hums noncommittally instead of smiting him like he was half expecting her to do. Even more unexpectedly, she smiles, gaze far away. “It's like the start of a bad joke. An Archangel and two true vessels walk into a school. Except they don't know the Archangel is an angel at all.”
Gabriel blinks, stunned at the deluge of information. “That was surprisingly coherent of you.”
Raziel pauses, and blinks back at him, far more present than she was before. “I hadn't thought I could say it at all.”
There's no way that Raziel being comprehensible twice in a row is a coincidence. But you know what they say, three times makes a pattern.
“Anything else you haven't said that you probably should?”
“Oh absolutely. Like the fact that your true vessel has a forehead the size of a billboard.”
Gabriel has the brief, gibbering thought of ‘What's a billboard?’ before he only just manages to keep from spluttering at the perceived slight.
Then it clicks.
“Wh— hey! You're not talking cryptically anymore!”
She looks just as stunned as him at that revelation, but still says, “I can go back to being vaguely helpful and incredibly ominous if that'd be better.”
Gabriel physically can't stop his incredibly and probably over the top, emphatic “ No! ”
Raziel snickers, her face bunching up in humor, and he’s struck dumb by the notion that this is the most open he's ever seen her, anyone's ever seen her, probably. Even if it quickly was obvious that she favors Castiel, Gabriel somehow doesn't think that the other angel has ever seen her quite like this. It warms his chest, in a way, that she's open around himself like that, even if he doesn't know why.
“So why the cryptic statements before? Why not be candid from the start?” He decides to ask.
And just like that her face has fallen back into something neutral again, but he can sense a bitter undertone to it. It's odd how easy he can read her now, like a haze over his perception has been lifted. A shiver goes up his spine. “I am not the Keeper of Secrets for no reason.” She shrugs her shoulders lightly. “I can't say most things when people don't know what I know, but no one knows what I know because I can't tell them. My very own catch 22.”
Gabriel absently files away another word (phrase?) he doesn't recognize as he instinctively clutches her tighter. “But you can speak clearly around me now.”
She smiles, and it's a hopeful, broken thing. “I can speak clearly around you now, but,” her smile deepens into something tragic to witness. “Only while you’re here.”
The warmth in Gabriel's chest vanishes like a candle snuffed out, and is replaced by a cold, sinking dread. So, he really is going to leave Heaven, isn't he?
“Things get worse here, don't they,” Gabriel asks on a whisper, his voice stolen by the chill permeating his lungs.
Raziel’s expression is enough of an answer.
His throat closes up involuntarily, because that's his family . He barely manages to force out, “How much worse?”
She looks at him, her gaze searching once more, and he can tell what the look she's giving him asks.
Do you really want to know?
No, no he doesn't. He doesn't want to hear about his family fighting and the fallout that will befall them all. Doesn't want to hear who ends up dead and who kills who. Doesn't want to test his character, having the knowledge of how things end up and finding out if he'll do anything about it.
Raziel knowingly smiles with that bitter smile of hers. “I'll miss you once you're gone. You're one of my favorites.”
Gabriel doesn't want to know which definition of gone she means.
“C'mon,” she says in a far brighter tone, her previous expression having melted off her face like wax. Her eyes are still dark and glittering with stars, the emotion hidden within them much the same, but she’s making an effort to be more cheerful. For him . “I want to go to the Garden today. It's been a while.”
With a rush of breath he hadn't even realized he'd been holding, he feels guilt chew away at his inside for his immeasurable appreciation at her change in topic. He wants to know The Future just as much as he doesn't, and is grateful that she took the choice out of his hands.
His heart hurts in his chest for her, because she knows what's in store, and has to find out whether or not she'll do something about it. If she has the determination to say no to The Future she sees.
Or maybe she's trapped, because in The Future she does try to change things, and she sees just what outcome those actions cause. Maybe she's stuck between ‘let it all happen’ and ‘I try to help and it happens anyway’ .
What did she call it— a catch 22?
With a sinking feeling low in his gut, he thinks he knows what it means now.
Gabriel hefts her higher in his grasp, and leans just a fraction into her warmth. “Let's go to the Garden. Who knows, you might be able to touch a golden apple if you ask nicely.” He's only mostly joking.
(Not only does the Tree give her an apple, it gives her an apple without the Gardener present. She hands the golden fruit, bursting at the seams with divine life energy, to him right before they part, a soft, knowing , “You'll know when to use this,” and is gone with a small smile before he can even say goodbye back.
Centuries upon centuries later, he'll be on death's door after trying desperately to stop the Apocalypse with the Brothers —the ones he recognized on sight, as promised— and will bite into the golden apple that ends up saving his life with a barely suppressed hysterical chuckle. It was like the start of a bad joke.)
Michael doesn't know what to think about his youngest sister. She's always been an outlier, a bit of an enigma, completely unhelpful by the knowledge of just how much Father favors her, even before he left.
He still doesn’t understand why Father had to be the one to create the Angel of Mysteries, Holder of all Magic, when any one of the Archangels could have done so. She's not more powerful than them, nor does she have a higher capability, or more knowledge, but Father still made her a Throne, and the unfairness of it all grates on his nerves. She doesn't even speak coherently, talking in sentences that don't make sense, and acts with a blatant confidence that chafes. She's functionally useless, yet Father gave her all the privileges and let her galivant around Heaven doing whatever she wants bar nothing. She could do or say anything and, because of her position, they had to just take it.
The little wretch didn't even have wings .
The number of wings, color, size, everything about them are an indicator to how powerful and important that angel is. All the Archangels have three sets of wings, every angel has at least one, but her —
She had none . Not until—
“Father!” Michael called out upon seeing the throne room, the doors shut. Not an uncommon sight.
They had just caged Lucifer, and lost Gabriel, and although the victory hurt and was harsh to obtain, they'd done it. They'd won, fighting for Father's beliefs.
“Father!” He called again, Raphael just behind him. “Father, we've just…” His voice trailed off as the doors creaked open. Something ugly dripped down his spine.
Father was nowhere to be seen, but his little sister Raziel was sitting on the throne instead.
Her head was bowed, hands folded in her lap, sitting unmoving on the throne, her feet unable to even touch the ground. The air shimmered behind her like a mirage, giving everything around her an ethereal, hazy feel.
“Raziel,” Raphael said as the two of them stepped into the room cautiously. Michael could see out of the corner of his eye that his brother was looking around the massive, empty room, but his own eyes were locked to Raziel. Something was wrong. “Where's Father?”
Slowly, her head tilted up, face blank like always, but her eyes— dozens of stars in her eyes had gone supernova. A cold, invisible hand choked his throat.
“Angel of Mysteries,” Michael snarled, “Where is Father?”
She stared at him, and said one word that shattered his whole universe.
“Gone.”
A hollow feeling opened up in Michael's chest like a black hole because— because that couldn't be. Father loved them and created them and wouldn't leave them behind. Raziel was a brat and a liar and an immature child. She didn't know what she was talking about.
He gritted his teeth, wings flaring in agitation behind him. “Angel of Mysteries and Magic, speak plainly. Where is Father? What have you done?”
Raziel’s face turned flinty, showing more emotion than he's ever seen on her before. “Speak plainly? You want plainly?” She stood, and the weight of her Grace pressed down on him. It wasn't heavy enough that he couldn't resist, but for the first time, it made him stumble. He made to push back, to assert control as the stronger one, but stalled, face turned ashen, as the shimmering behind her solidified into a pair of massive, prismatic, crystalline wings. More colorful than any wings he'd ever seen, larger than even his own. Ones he was positive she hadn't had before.
“You wouldn't believe me even if I shoved the truth in your face. The only thing your pious , poisoned mind will be able to comprehend is that God's gone.” She stared down at them, a mix of something like loathing and pity coloring her voice. “Left without a sign, without a thought to his Angels. His children .” She sat primly back on the throne, eyes blank. “God has left Heaven.”
Raphael shook like a leaf in the wind, clearly believing the miscreant and her false words. Michael was shaking too, but his source was anger. How dare she try and mislead them? Father would never leave them behind for any reason, and even if he had, he'd let his children know first.
…Right?
“Raziel,” Raphael rasped, voice quivering, dangerously close to tears. “Do… do, you know where Father went?”
A moment of silence.
A moment too long to make her answer true.
“No.”
Raphael's knees hit the floor with a bang, his broken keen echoing in the near empty chamber. That was just enough to push Michael over the edge. His hiccupping cries matched Raphael's and they both began sobbing without reservation. They cried and they wailed. They wanted their Father back.
Raziel sat above them all.
And Michael hated her all the more for it.
Even though she is the Throne, and therefore supposed to take over Heaven in Father's… absence, it is almost unanimously concluded that Michael will take control instead. The only few angels that don't agree chose to abstain. He's finding the few who don't support his ascension are those who Raziel favors. He'll be watching Castiel and Anna closely.
It is her young age of only a few decades, the time being not nearly enough to take proper rule of Heaven, that makes up the main proponent of her disfavor. Michael agrees, if only to keep her from power. Keep her from infecting the minds of any Angels with her words.
Once he becomes the leader, the first thing he does is imprison the traitor in her Space until she tells them where Father has gone to.
A space is a section of Heaven carved out for each angel to do what they wish with. Each angel has one, and the only ones allowed in are themselves, who they designate, and Archangels. They can also be altered to have a set entry and exit, so that guards can be stationed on orders that no one goes on or out.
When he makes the verdict, she does nothing to stop it, says nothing to reach for freedom, only keeps her eyes resting on the floor with her wings relaxed and asks, “Can I go to the Garden every once in a while?”
Michael hates her. He despises her traitorous tongue and rebelling childishness. But, he relents, Raziel is his little sister, and she has much to learn. She can go to the Garden every once in a while, and he will teach her the right way to be an angel.
(He will not know of it, but Raziel gains a second set of wings when the Brothers are born, a set as black as the night with stars nestled in their pinions. She gains a third set, small, blood red and webbed like a bat, once the apocalypse starts.
The fourth set, a beautiful, pure white set with a wingspan of less than a foot, she gets right after she breaks out of Heaven.)