Chapter Text
An unfortunate human will visit the hospital over a dozen times during their short lifespan. An average one might manage only five. And those few possessing extraordinarily good luck will see the identical stacked halls and endless rows of small rooms only twice. Once to be brought into the world, and once to be taken away from it.
Azrael was jealous of even the first group.
The spawning concrete giant that is the Los Angeles County+USC Medical Center is a familiar sight to the millions of visitors it receives each year, but the Angel of Death was far and away its most frequent visitor. She knew each room number. Had memorized the pattern of tiles in every ward. Knew the names of the staff members and some of their victories. But mostly, she was better acquainted with their failures, an accountant armed with an abacus who counts how many flat lines each doctor has suffered, how many operations were mere hours too late, how many ghosts of tear stained goodbyes linger still in the scratchy fabric of bedsheets and the hardened glints in the nurses’ eyes.
There were thousands of hospitals in the world, from polished glass new age buildings to tents set up in the midst of war scorched and smoke choked valleys and forests. And yet, it was here more than the rest that Azrael felt she visited far too often.
But this was her duty, her sole task, and after centuries of ferrying souls, she wanted to say it got easier. She could deceive herself with the deception because, unlike her favorite brother, she held no loyalty towards the truth. She could lie. And so she did, watching the scene unfold below her as another family gathered around another frail body, unaware of how close the end was drawing for them and how far the distance between them was about to grow.
It was excruciating, words whispered from rasping throats offering inadequate comfort as tears fell and the stoic bore the pain of the more sensitive. A private battle with grief.
As always in these situations, Azrael tried to look away and give the humans some modicum of privacy. She distracted herself by wondering where this soul would go, up or down. Nearly all of her trips this morning had been to Hell. Which may have been all well and good if not for the fact that things were changing.
She couldn’t quite describe it, but Hell was restless in a way she had never before felt. The demons were angrier, more given to violence. She dared not linger anymore, feeling less safe without Lucifer keeping his hands wound around their collars. Only a few times had she seen her elder brother, usually from afar as he handled his domain and she hers. But his presence was sorely missed by her now. She’d never realized the full extent of the control he’d managed, able to provide stability to a place that simply wanted to implode.
The summons was no more than a tickle on the back of the head, but it may well have been a spitting cattle rod for how Azrael jolted. It was fortunate she was invisible, otherwise the grieving family gathered around the hospital bed below her would have been startled to see a woman nearly fall from the ceiling. As it were, the humans evidently noticed something was amiss because most of them glanced up, though whatever curiosity they held was quickly swallowed again by grief.
Azrael stayed still as possible, wings moving just enough to keep her hovering, until she was certain the moment had been forgotten. In her current form it was nearly impossible for her to be noticed unless she willed it but occasionally, when the soul she had come to collect was within her grasp, humans could sense her divinity. Often what some perceived as the spirit of a dead relative visiting, a sudden certainty that they were no longer alone, was an angel.
At the moment though, Azrael did not much care if the humans below her all sprouted flowers out of their head and started screaming. The summon, the first one in over three centuries, burned away all other thoughts.
Preparing to return to Heaven, she gave the hospital bed one last look. Later, she would return and collect the human soul. The grieving family would have a few more hours with the supine form in the bed though whether or not the prolonging of the inevitable was considered a blessing or a curse, she did not know.
Rising through the levels of the hospital as if they were merely holograms and not solid structures of concrete and steel, she burst upwards with a mighty flag of her wings, spurring herself like a popped cork. It took her only moment to crease the barrier between Earth and Heaven, an intense pressure wrapping around her skull so thickly, she squeezed her eyes shut. Just when it encroached on unbearable, the vice released her. Breathing thickly, she squinted and was met by a wave of intense, glimmering white light.
Home.
Swooping low, she sped over the cluster of buildings that made up the inner circle of the Silver City - where the angels resided. Usually, the path which winded lazily through the area would be scattered with her siblings as they went about their duties. But today, the streets were devoid of so much as a lost soul. The windows she passed, most unshuttered to accommodate a species given to flight, let her peek into equally empty dwellings.
She should have known she’d be the last to arrive. For her on Earth, hardly a minute had passed since the summons but for those already in Heaven, it had been significantly longer.
The Silver City was rather small, all things considered. Low buildings crowded the outer edges, which opened upon vast planes. And beyond that was where the human souls dwelled in their approximation of Earth. The center of the city was the oldest, and these buildings too were the grandest. Massive columns and arches decorated the outside, bridging and spanning as they created a complex network of paths and walkways high above. But even these paled in comparison to the main tower.
It was a massive structure, perfectly round at the base and stretching upwards indefinitely. Azrael had never seen what lay at the top. Nor had any of her siblings. Those upper layers belonged to their Father alone.
Folding in her wings, she shot down the ground and shook herself slightly. The golden double doors before her, interlaid with a myriad of languages carved into the surface, stood coldly before her. With trepidation, she pressed her palm to the doors, noiseless hinges yielding at the barely there pressure she exerted. Steadying herself, and wondering what this was all about, she entered The Coliseum. As always, the initial sight stole her breath.
There was little that could awe an angel, especially one such as herself who spent so much time on Earth. Once, every flash of lighting and every field mouse climbing flower stems had seemed its own miracle. But even miracles can lose their luster after a few thousand of the same moments, the same images. The Coliseum however? Azrael would never be able to enter without being stalled by its intense prowess.
As the outside implied, the interior was circular, rows of seats carved into the quartz without seams. The ceiling was at least fifty feet above her head, a dome painted such a pale blue, it might have well be white. And in the center, on a flat bit of stone, sat a throne.
Once, there had been two. But that had been Before. Before the Rebellion. Before the Fall. Before they had ceased being a family, losing a brother and a parent.
The lone throne was, unsurprisingly, unoccupied. It had been eons since God had summoned the Heavenly Host for a meeting. What was surprising, however, was the figure lurking beside it, sloped shoulders cutting a unique form in a place where perfection reigned.
Michael? Why was he calling a meeting? Azrael looked around, taking the first available seat behind Uriel - always easily identified by his diminished height - as she looked down.
Amenadiel was the one who always called these sorts of meetings, being the eldest. She knew he had been spending quite a bit of time on Earth recently. Perhaps something had happened?
Michael was stalking around the throne, circling it like an agitated shark. He wasn’t the only one who was ruffled. Most of the angels were tense, flaring wings obscuring some of her view. Far below her on the lowest seats reserved for the archangels, she could make out Gabriel and Raphael, both sitting rigid.
Michael again swept around the room, glancing up the doors. When it seemed all angels had assembled, he stuttered to a halt before the throne, running a hand through his dark curly hair as the strands bounced with misplaced joviality.
“Brothers and sisters,” he began, gaze sweeping the crowd, “troubling news has come from Earth.” His movements were stiff and uncertain, the usual power he carried with him lacking.
“What sort of trouble?” someone called out, their voice echoing.
Michael’s eyes were piercing as he visibly steadied himself, a hand resting on the arm of the throne. “I do not know how to tell you all this but…” his adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, “Amenadiel has Fallen.”
The response was immediate, a hundred voices raising with protest or questions as angels jumped to their feet. Azrael slunk in her seat, shock ripping through her like an electric charge. Amenadiel Fallen? It was impossible. She clasped together shaking hands, silently imploring the room to quiet so they could hear the rest.
Laughter, it’s unexpectedness cutting cleanly through the confusion and yelling, drew her attention downwards to where Uriel had almost remained in his seat.
“Uriel?” she questioned, leaning forwards to speak into his ear.
He half turned to face her, expression nearly smug. “Ah, Azrael! I was wondering if you’d find the time to join us.” He seemed completely unbothered by the news that their eldest brother - he who had been crafted directly in His image - had Fallen.
“Of course I did,” she said slowly. “Summons from Heaven are so rare now. But even so, this was the last thing I expected to hear.”
“Really?” He smirked. “I thought it to be rather inevitable.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well,” he drew out the word slightly in that patronizing way of his, “it was only a matter of time before the Traitor got his claws into one of us.”
“You think Amenadiel fell because of Lucifer?” she blanched, ignoring the way those around her flinched at the name.
“Oh, I don’t just think. I can see patterns, remember? This outcome, why it was inevitable really. Though,” his brow furrowed, “I didn’t expect it to be Amenadiel who fell prey to him and his ways.”
Azrael looked away, unfocused gaze finding Michael, who was attempting to restore order as he tried to outmatch the volume of the others with his shouts. In that moment, eyes alight and standing at his full height, he had never looked more like Lucifer, that manic energy stealing the deservedness that usually doured him.
No, Lucifer wouldn’t. Not this…
Gabriel was also on her feet, her short cropped blonde hair flying as she strode up to Michael urgently and engaged him in discussion. After a moment, they parted and Michael drew a massive breath, chest inflating before a mighty cry of “Silence” ripped through the room.
The scream lacked the thunder and lighting which usually accompanied their father’s yelling, but the power was still equal. The angels quieted, most retaking their seats though a few remained firmly standing, arms crossed.
Michael glowered. “Control yourselves!” he snarled. “We are the Heavenly Host, not a litter of snapping whelps!” He waited a moment for his point to get across before continuing. “Now, we do not know what transpired on Earth, but I think we can all guess who is involved in this.” His face twisted into a pained smile. “It seems a Rebellion simply wasn’t enough. The Devil wishes to pull the rest of us down to his level.”
“Do we have any evidence Lucifer is actually involved?” Raphael questioned. There was a round of muttering at these words but she shrugged them off, hands folded neatly in her lap.
“You believe it to be more likely he isn’t?” Michael challenged.
Raphael swept to her feet, light blue gown rustling as she glided to her brother’s side, head cocked as she surveyed him. “I believe in quantifiable truths,” she said simply. “To act on fraught knowledge is to act recklessly. There is more to this story, regardless of who may have been involved.” Her eyes, nearly black, burned. “An angel Falling is no small matter, as I believe we are all aware. We must know more.”
“What use will knowledge bring?” Gabriel cried out. “Amenadiel would never have Fallen unless someone else interfered! He has spent months on Earth now, trying to force the Devil back to Hell. And we all know how resistant he is to returning. Lucifer could have planned this!”
“Has Father spoken?” Raphael asked, unflustered, her dark hands folded before her as if in prayer. “He was the one who banished Lucifer. Was He the one who banished Amenadiel?”
“But is he banished?” someone called down. “If the Traitor returns to Heaven, he will be incinerated. And rightly so. But does such a punishment await Amenadiel as well?”
The crowd was stirring again, voice raising even as Michael held up a firm hand. “Enough,” he said firmly. “There is no point in debating these trivial matters.”
“How do you know Amenadiel has Fallen?” Raphael asked. The slope of Michael’s shoulder meant she was slightly taller and she looked down on him now.
Michael rolled his eyes. “We cannot pray to him,” he said simply. “Not even Gabriel. We know he is alive but his grace - his divinity - we can no longer sense it as we once did. It was weak, practically non-existent.”
“And has anyone checked on him personally?” Raphael frowned.
Everyone else had fallen silent, allowing the three archangels to hash things out. Without their father or Amenadiel, it was technically Michael, Gabriel, and Raphael who had control of Heaven and its decisions. But Azrael was not soothed by this. She wished Father would give them answers, tell them what to do. There was fear surrounding her, thick and rotten. The angels were afraid.
And why wouldn’t they be? If the most just of them could Fall… what did that mean for the rest of them?
“You know the laws about our visits to Earth,” Michael said wearily. “I have tried my best to track Amenadiel from here and I can tell you he is alive, at the very least.”
“That is inadequate.” Raphael turned slowly, looking to Gabriel. “You truly could not reach him?”
“No.” She shook her head, short golden hair falling into her face. “For days now, it has been more and more difficult to send signals across but this…” her expression tightened. “I should have said something earlier. I knew something was wrong.”
“The fault lies not with you,” Michael said, “but with our Fallen brother.” Raphael made to interrupt and he gave a gesture to quiet her. “The last communication we received from Amenadiel was him begging us to lend aid to Lucifer and, ah, save a human on his behalf.”
Azrael flinched. She wasn’t sure she’d ever be able to forget that moment, Amenadiel’s pained voice whispering in her ear for help. And even louder, Lucifer’s agonized screams. She knew grief. She saw it a thousand times a day as she collected souls. But she had never felt the likes of Lucifer’s, a pain so terrible, it had frozen the very blood in her veins.
Even worse had been getting that familiar tug in her gut meaning a soul was ready for her to collect. She’d been there, invisible, as Lucifer had clutched the dying woman to him and tried to give reassurances, broken and slurred by his own uncontrolled sobs. The agony had scalded her and she too had been driven to tears, his heartache bleeding onto the ground as easily as the human’s had.
Lucifer using his own divinity to save her… that broke about a dozen Heavenly laws. But she had been so thankful too. Azrael knew, for the rest of the time that Chloe Decker was alive, she would dread the day she would have to collect that soul, stealing her away from Lucifer.
“Perhaps it was this that caused Amenadiel’s Fall,” Michael mused aloud. “Showing mercy - nay, empathy, towards the Traitor…” He looked at Raphael. “Surely even you, sister, can agree that is a distinct possibility.”
Raphael inclined her head a few scant inches. “All is a possibility, brother. Still, I wish to hear Father’s words on this matter.”
Michael stiffened slightly. “Father has not been answering my summons. Nor Gabriel’s or anyone else who has been asking. Evidently, we are meant to handle this ourselves.” At this, Raphael conceded, taking a step back and Michael’s expression alight with victory. “What has happened now has only gone to fortify what we already knew - the Devil is not meant to walk the Earth. He has tricked Amenadiel into sympathizing with him somehow and we must take action accordingly before another of us suffers.”
Azrael dared to glance around the room, unsurprised to find a hefty majority of her siblings nodding in total agreement. However, a few were unswayed. Raphael looked disappointed in the outcome, as did several others. But none dared raise objections, not while being so heavily outnumbered.
Michael launched into a speech, his confidence returning with every word as he began to discuss how Heaven would reclaim Amenadiel and permanently return Lucifer to Hell. His eyes were alight with a fierce excitement which made her stomach roll. How could they talk so callously of their own? Even if Lucifer had been banished, he was still a part of them.
She couldn’t bring herself to listen to another word when Michael proposed they send down an entire battalion to beat their brother into submission, shattering him to a point where not even the thought of escaping would dare cross his mind for a few centuries.
Rising, she fled the room, sure no one would question her. Even at the best of times, her duties kept her extraordinarily busy. Her sudden abandonment of the meeting was par for course.
Only when she was outside did she gasp a pained breath, not allowing a sob to dare cross her lips. It never got easier, the way they spoke so brutally of Lucifer. Like he were no more than a wild animal that they could collar and bind. The Rebellion, it had been so long ago. She scarcely even remembered it anymore. And what of the others? Did they even know where their hatred stemmed from anymore? Or was it just a part of Heaven now, a dark and cold center hidden amongst the illusion of light and love that showered the landscape.
Her thoughts were approaching treachery, the sort of things that would cause her to be less trusted than she already was. Taking flight, she headed back to Earth, eager to engage in someone else’s problems for a while.
But Michael’s words pounded in her skull. Surely they wouldn’t send a war party for Lucifer? Firstly, it wasn’t even allowed. Only the archangels could descend to Earth as per the laws and with Amenadiel gone, Michael was now in charge. That left just Raphael and Gabriel. But they were important too, their presence necessary to keep the Silver City running.
There was another moment of pressure as she crossed the dimensional boundaries, and then she was hurtling towards Earth. Towards Los Angeles. Towards Lucifer-
No, she mustn’t visit him. That was prohibited too.
She wasn’t sure how long negotiations would drag on in the Silver City. Angels were a slow sort when it came to making decisions as a group. Raphael wouldn’t be the last to voice objections. They could argue for days or even weeks before coming to any sort of consensus.
The Los Angeles County+USC Medical Center once again came into view, completely unchanged from her previous visit. As it always had been. As it always would be.
The future was not her business and nor was the past, but today, Azrael felt fear. True fear. For her family. Her siblings. And Lucifer most of all. He had no idea about the storm that was brewing above him and though he was strong, he had lost against Heaven once already.
If only there was a way to help him…
She mused on the point as she returned to the hospital room from earlier, unsurprised to find that none of the humans had abandoned their vigil. How strange they could be sometimes, creatures capable of so much pain and death but so gentle too.
That was what Lucifer needed, kindness and gentleness. As much as the world possessed. Like that Chloe Decker had.
Her wings barely flapped as she hovered, aware her lingering was creating a backlog but unable to continue her job for the moment.
She knew someone else who was kind, perhaps the kindest human on the planet. And even better, she worked in the forensic field, close enough to Chloe Decker’s job that they might cross paths without her meddling too much.
Yes, that was the answer. If she couldn’t be there for Lucifer, she could send someone in her stead. Someone who would freely offer him the hugs and smiles she wasn’t allowed too. Not anymore.
The plan washed away some of the fear eating at her. Even if there was nothing to be done and Lucifer was truly meant to be forced back to Hell, at least she could make it so his final days on Earth were peaceful. It wasn’t much in the grand scheme of things but just maybe, it would be enough to hold him over until he again raised the strength to escape.
Lowering herself, she trailed a hand down the forehead of the elderly man laying in the hospital bed. Immediately, machines jumped to life, blaring their warnings as the humans all cried out and crowded the bed.
But Azrael was already gone, this new soul tucked closer to her chest. She allowed some of her divinity to intertwine with his essence, feeling him. Oh, good, he was meant for Heaven. She wasn’t relishing returning to Hell.
And again, up she went, traveling a path she had followed a million times and would do again a million times more. But first, after she settled this soul, she would have to make a quick stop in Detroit and visit her favorite human.
She had some work to do to reunite her with her favorite brother.