Title: Innocence Lost
Word count: 17 562
Centric: God and Lucifer
Notes: The first story in the Heavenly Chaos series. (In two parts, with a link to part 2 at the bottom.)



Two figures rested on a hill overlooking the lower city of Heaven, one sprawled out languidly and one sitting hunched up with arms braced on his legs and his chin resting in his hands. Lucifer, hands linked behind his head, wore a very self-satisfied smirk. His shaggy, shoulder-length vibrant green hair almost blended in to the grass in a mock halo around his head, and his burnished golden eyes gleamed mischievously.

God, on the other hand, did not look happy. His long strands of dark violet hair fell freely over his tensed up shoulders, the rest of it pulled back into a loose ponytail. His deep blood red eyes had an air of extreme annoyance about them, and the scowl darkening his features bespoke much vengeance and smiting.

Throwing his hands up into the air suddenly, God flopped back down to the ground with a thump and began to mutter darkly under his breath. Lucifer watched him curiously for a few seconds, but made no comment. He was curious of what God was up to, yes, but was quite willing to wait for God to clarify his irritable mood. God eventually felt that he had to express himself more obviously.

"Gah!"

Lucifer raised an eyebrow. "Eloquent. Mind giving a bit more detail?"

God's expression grew even fouler. "Oh, shut up. In case you haven't noticed, I'm not in a good mood."

Lucifer rolled his eyes, voice dripping absolute sarcasm at this unexpected revelation. "No, really? I never would have guessed! Well, fearless leader, speak of your anguish so that I may go do your bidding. Although, you know, I really do think you should do your own smiting. Or let Uriel do it, isn't that what he's meant to do? I always told him he was lazy."

God stuck his tongue out. "Idiot. I don't know why I put up with you. Anyway, I'm not your fearless leader. Isn't that the point?"

Lucifer considered this. "Depends what the point is, really. But if it is the point, then it's your fault anyway, so don't blame me."

God stared at him. "How exactly did you come up with that one?"

"Easy. My Falling was a direct result of your complete pig-headedness, not to mention, if you recall, your inability to apologise."

God blinked. "That is such an incredibly stupid statement. You're the one who chose to Fall. I didn't make you. Which means, if there is any fault, it still belongs to you. Besides, you deserved it."

Lucifer rolled onto his stomach so he could face God. "I believe the matter of whether my enforced Fall was justified or not is still under debate."

God scoffed. "Come on! I'm not the one who chucked a complete spastic, am I? Besides, stop being so pompous. You sound like a lawyer. Or Michael. Anyway, enforced? We just covered that!"

"Eh, enforced is as good a word as any. You drove me to it. And me, a lawyer? What an awful thought. I'll be leaving that to Mikey, if you please. Although, I don't think I'd be too bad, now that I think about it. I'd make a good lawyer. A barrister, maybe. They're meant to be belligerent and argumentative, aren't they? Belligerent and argumentative is what I do best!"

"No disputing that," God muttered.

"Whichever way," Lucifer continued, "I wasn't the one who was being a stubborn pig-headed brat, was I?"

God sighed. "Give it a rest. We've been over this before. I'm obviously superior to you, so why bother?"

Lucifer grinned triumphantly. "Ah, but that's just what you say because you can't think of anything else and you know I've won."

God glared at him. "Yeah, whatever. Say what you will. Just because you're not mature enough to concede to my victory."

Lucifer shrugged. "And that is also what you say because you can't think of anything better and you know I've won. What was that about maturity, again? You're a fine one to talk. Hypocrite."

"I am too mature. I'll have you know I'm millions of years old, so hah!"

"Yep, real mature. I'm millions of years old too, try another one."

"Silence, foolish morta- oh. Wait a second."

"You know, mortals don't tend to be millions of years old." Lucifer commented idly.

"Shut up." God growled.

"Make me."

"No. I can't be bothered. Besides, the argument isn't over yet."

"Yes it is. I won."

"It is not. And you did not." God sniffed loftily.

"Did too." Lucifer shot back. His mode of attack was one tried and true throughout the ages.

"Did not."

"Did too."

"Did not."

"Too!"

"Not!"

"Too!"

"Not not not not not not not!" God snapped. There was a long silence. Lucifer started laughing, and God glowered at him balefully.

"God, how about we conclude that I am indeed far cooler than you and possess an intellect far superior to yours and move on? Like, say, to why you're sulking?"

"I am not sulking. I do not do sulking. I'm just brooding," God responded automatically. Then he realised that Lucifer had gotten the last word, and that it was also too late to do anything about it. "Damn."

"You know, going around saying 'damn' might not be such a great idea for you. I mean, there's always that small possibility that it might actually happen."

"Well maybe I want to damn you," God muttered childishly.

Lucifer made a face. "What kind of stupid comment is that? Unless you've forgotten, you should be fully aware that I'm already damned. I'm very much damned; in fact, I'm running the show down there in the land of said damned. I thought you were aware of that, unless you're getting senile in your old age."

God seethed indignantly. "I am not getting senile! I'm omnipotent, I don't get senile!"

"Keep telling yourself that and you may just believe it. However, right now I'm more interested in the reason for your highly strung sulking."

"I don't sulk," God replied absently.

"Yeah, whatever, I know. You don't do sulking; you're brooding omnipotently. So, go on- why?"

God bit his lip. "It's kind of silly, really. I mean, it's humans again."

Lucifer groaned. "Oh, not again! Last time you had a hissy fit over them you flooded the whole bloody planet!"

God sat up and crossed his arms defensively. "They deserved it!"

Lucifer shook his head. "I begin to sense a pattern here. Maybe you should lay off the justice and let Michael do his job in peace."

God gave Lucifer a dirty look. "Why don't you mind your own business?"

"Ah, but it is my business. I haven't noticed the humans doing anything particularly bad, recently, so what's your problem?"

"Well, they're not following the commandments anymore. I mean, come on! I tell them 'thou shalt not steal', and what to they do? Stealing becomes a new favourite. I tell them 'thou shalt not kill', and they murder each other left, right and centre. I tell them 'thou shalt not commit adultery', and suddenly it becomes everyone's favourite pastime! Whatever happened to 'thou shalt not'?" God whined.

Lucifer passed a hand over his eyes tiredly. "It's not exactly their fault, as such. You can't really blame them."

God pouted. "Why not? I bet you're just saying that. You're doubtlessly delighted by it. In fact, the existence of adultery is probably all your fault!"

"Don't be a daft blockhead. You of all people should know that the whole me being evil thing is just your very inconvenient propaganda. I wish you would do something about that, by the way. You know it's not true, and it was just petty revenge after I Fell. Not only did you not speak to me for a millennia, you spread nasty rumours down on Earth! Geez(1)!" Stopping to catch his breath, Lucifer shook his head. "Whichever way, I actually happen to prize loyalty quite dearly," Lucifer went on, ignoring God's snort of disbelief. "But my point was that you created them. You should have known that this would happen if you're so all-knowing."

God shook his head. "What would you expect me to do? I couldn't have made them mindless slaves. That would defeat the whole point- they're supposed to be rational, individual beings, like us."

Lucifer smiled wryly. "Maybe not, but in giving them free-will, you gave them the choice to do wrong. And in case you haven't noticed, we do wrong too. And none of us always do exactly what you want, either. It's a part of the territory."

"Yeah, I have noticed, actually. You being the prime example. But if I stopped them whenever they tried to make a bad decision, then I wouldn't really be giving them freedom at all, would I?"

Lucifer contemplated this. "Well, no. So either you're going to have to let them be and sort it out themselves, or you'll have to think of something else to do. Maybe you need to do something visible and flashy to put the fear of God into them?" He paused and sniggered. "Literally, come to think of it."

God wrinkled his nose. "Don't be ridiculous. Flashy is so old-testament."

Lucifer tried to choke back his unadvisable laughter. "Yes, that is rather true. What happened there, anyway?"

God avoided his enquiring look. "Um. I was having a bad millennia."

"Right. So what you really mean is that I had done something to irritate you and you took it out on the poor humans."

God flushed. "No comment."

"Maybe you need some more commandments," Lucifer stated thoughtfully.

"Like what?"

"How about, 'thou shalt not cause thine friends to Fall for love'?"

God squawked and struck Lucifer with a miniature bolt of lightning. "You always have to bring that up, don't you?"

Lucifer rubbed his shoulder reproachfully. "Or what about, 'Thou Shalt Not Smite Thine Friends'?"

There was a stony silence. Lucifer smirked. "Or alternatively, if that's too much to ask, you could always go for 'Thou Shalt Not Smite Thine Friends With Little Or No Provocation'."

"Go away. I'm not talking to you."

Lucifer rolled his eyes. "Geez, what'd I do? If you're going to be like that, then what's the point of hanging around? You're so moody sometimes, honestly."

God slid his hand through his hair. He had that absent, far-away, melancholy look on his face that always spelled trouble and meant that his mind was off with the faeries. "What's the point in anything?"

Lucifer winced. This had all the markings of a really big tantrum in the works.

God stood up abruptly and looked back at Lucifer.

"I'm going to talk to Gaia. I'll see you later."

As God walked away, Lucifer thumped his palm into his forehead. God was in a mood again, and storm clouds were clearly brewing. Oh dear. This was not good. Not good at all.

---

(1) Human curses were an easy habit to pick up and a hard one to break. Personally, Jesus found it quite funny.



God stormed down the marble corridor to his sister's most common dwelling. They needed to sort out a few things, and as far as he was concerned, there was no time like the present.

"Gaia!" God yelled, slamming the door loudly behind him.

Gaia looked up then, soft waves of earthy brown hair falling around her delicate heart-shaped face. She was incredibly beautiful, but as a Goddess, she didn't find this to be particularly useful or important. Her eyes were the colour of the sea, a cloudy blue-green, and right now they were surveying God calmly. "Yes, little brother?"

God opened and shut his mouth several times, bearing a remarkable resemblance to a goldfish. He should have expected this, having known Gaia for however many millions of years, but her implacable calm never failed to unnerve him. His older sister studied him with some concern and rose to her feet. "Yizriel?"

"Gaia!" God wailed, throwing himself into her arms. Gaia sighed.

"Oh, dear. What in the name of Heaven is the matter, sweetheart?"

God burrowed his face into Gaia's neck, muffled sobs distorting his words. Gaia furrowed her brow in slight confusion. "Brother, I can't hear you. What's wrong?"

God attempted to steady himself, crimson eyes brimming with unshed tears. "Why, Gaia?"

Gaia tilted her head to the side. "Why what, Yizriel?"

God rubbed at his eyes roughly, a bitter expression gracing his features. "Why did we do it? Why did we create them?"

Gaia closed her eyes slowly. "The humans."

"Yes."

Gaia opened her eyes again. "I don't know why. We just did. We did for the same reason we have ever created anything- for the pure joy of giving life. We did it for the same reason that a mother has children. We did it out of love, and out of selfishness. That's all I can tell you."

God ran his fingers through his hair wearily. "We had no right. We shouldn't have done it."

"Why not? Don't they deserve a chance to live too?" Gaia challenged him.

God looked away, pain written across his face. His voice was little more than a whisper. "Because there is evil. Because there is pain. Because… because innocent children are made to suffer."

Gaia studied him sadly. "And yet, through all this evil, there is kindness. With the pain comes joy. And with the suffering is love. Would you deny them this?"

God's eyes blazed. "I don't care! What use is love? What use is anything? How can we have created a world where those who have done no wrong are punished?"

"If those who do wrong are punished, where is free will? Would you have their actions controlled, their thoughts policed? They would be little more than automatons; mindless machines who can neither think nor feel. Isn't that worse than pain? Worse than death?"

"I… of course I wouldn't. I feel the same, I would never… but why can't you understand? That's the point! We have created this problem, and now there is no way to reverse it! Love doesn't matter, nothing matters! We should never have made the Earth at all, don't you see? Nothing is worth this. Nothing is worth the price of the suffering of a single child!" God had worked himself up into a wild fury, and was shrieking at the top of his voice. Gaia reached towards him hesitantly.

"Yizriel-"

"Leave it," he responded scathingly. "I don't want to talk about it." With that, he stalked out of the room and slammed the door yet again on his way out. Gaia cringed. That certainly could have gone much better than it did. Not even she knew what her younger brother would do now.



Uriel, angel of lightning, fire and God's wrath(2) and egotist extraordinaire, was sprawled out in a most inelegant fashion, one arm flung over his eyes and the other lying half off the bed. The sheets were twisted around his ankles and a discarded blanket rested on top of a miscellaneous lump on the floor where it had fallen the night before. It had been hot last night, and Uriel had kicked his bedclothes every which way in his sleep.

The lump on the floor rolled over, and made a noise. The lump was actually Cassiel, the angel of rain, tears and sorrow and coincidentally the only being capable of keeping his best friend Uriel under control. While he usually slept in his own bed in another room, his normal bed had broken in strange circumstances(3) and he had been relegated to the floor for the night.

Cassiel decided that it was probably time to get up, so half-heartedly shoved his blankets off and sat up. Yawning, he stretched and blinked his bleary grey eyes. His normally immaculate pale purple-blue plait was an absolute mess, and he reflected that he needed a brush, and fast. Hopefully before Uriel woke up and had the opportunity to laugh at his pain. Then again, Uriel's hair upon first waking was pretty terrible too, so if it came to that, there was always hope of retaliation.

Cassiel stumbled to his feet and staggered into the bathroom, staring at his reflection in the mirror. Bed hair was truly a work of evil(4). Shaking his head ruefully, he yanked the thick tie out of the tangled mass. Picking up his brush, he tugged it through the knots and winced as it got caught in a particularly bad snarl.

Plaiting his hair back again, Cassiel splashed cold water from the tap in his face in an effort to wake up. His nightshirt was unfortunately damp, but it was an inevitable result. Scrubbing himself with one of the big fluffy towels, Cassiel decided he was prepared to face the morning.

Not so for Uriel. In Uriel's opinion, morning was an unholy beast that should not be seen unless no other option presented itself, in which case death was infinitely preferable. He often made this point of view known, very loudly and clearly. Mornings, he felt, were for the weak. Or the clinically insane.

So, as one might have expected, Uriel did not take at all kindly to being awoken unnecessarily. A semi-nocturnal angel by nature, he would be perfectly satisfied to live as a creature of the hours of darkness, going about his business at the dead of night and sleeping through the day. Cassiel, best friend and roommate, felt that this was unhealthy and never had any intention of letting Uriel getting away with it. Besides, it was almost one o'clock already, and if Cassiel had to suffer, so did Uriel. Thus, the daily ritual began.

Cassiel poked Uriel in the side, showing no mercy. With a groan, Uriel rolled over onto his stomach, burying his face in his pillow and curling his limbs inwards. Cassiel refused to relent, now shaking Uriel unfeelingly. The pillow stifled Uriel's words, but they sounded suspiciously akin to, "Piss off. Sleeping."

Cassiel decided to resort to underhand tactics, as he almost always did. Time to get the wet washcloth. Uriel, subconsciously aware of that which was soon to come, grabbed his blankets from the floor and pulled them over his head.

Having returned from the bathroom once more, cloth dripping freezing water in tow, Cassiel wasn't taking any prisoners. He meant business. With an evil glint in his eyes, he ruthlessly tore the blankets away, heedless to Uriel's whimpers. Cassiel reflected that the sounds of Uriel's high-pitched squeal and the resounding thump as the tortured angel landed on the floor were very satisfying music to his ears. Shuddering at the remnants of the icy cold trickle down his back, Uriel treated Cassiel to the ultimate glare of death.

"You seriously suck."

Cassiel shrugged. It was an ongoing joke between them; Uriel always said it, and never meant it. "You say that all the time. Anyway, your hair is everywhere." This last part was said with an insufferably smug inflection, Cassiel being perfectly aware that his hair was now immaculate.

Uriel poked his tongue out at Cassiel and worriedly patted at his head. Uriel's midnight blue hair was indeed sticking out in some very weird directions, and his rather considerable pride was wounded by this indignity. Sniffing self-righteously, he hauled himself upright and stalked in the direction of the much-frequented bathroom.

"I will be back!" Uriel called over his shoulder ominously.

Cassiel grinned. "Is that a threat, or a promise?"

Uriel leaned back around the doorframe and appeared to consider this. Finally he shrugged. "Who knows, who cares? Just one of life's mysteries. You can choose. Meanwhile, I have serious business to attend to. Ta ta!" With that, his head once more disappeared around the corner and he locked the bathroom door behind him. Cassiel rolled his eyes, fully aware that this process would probably go on for another hour. In the meantime, Cassiel occupied himself by staring blankly at the wall. Everything was exactly the same as every other morning except for the waking up on the ground part, but something just didn't seem right. He moved to the window by some inner instinct, pulling aside the heavy curtains. What he saw made him stop abruptly, gasping for breath and mind reeling. Unknowingly, his wings had burst open, shedding snowy white feathers to the carpet.

When his scattered wits finally regathered, Cassiel whirled around to face away from the glass, catching at the windowsill for balance. He called out blindly, filled with irrational panic. "Uri! Uri, come quick!"

Unnerved by the hysterical note in his normally quiet best friend, Uriel raced out of the bathroom, coal black eyes flashing with concern. "Cass? Cass, what in the name of Heaven is wrong?"

Cassiel slid down the wall, burying his head in his hands. "Look out the window." He murmured faintly.

Perplexed, Uriel walked over to the window and opened the curtains, falling back in shock when he realised what had given Cassiel such a fright. "Holy FUCK!"

Cassiel smiled weakly. "While a bit explicit, my sentiments exactly." His wings had curled themselves around him, creating a ball of shivering warmth.

Uriel shook his head dazedly. It was impossible to take in. Outside, it was storming so badly that it was practically a hurricane. The rain was falling hard and fast in what was almost a solid stream of water, there were gale-force winds, and a brief flicker of lightning set the whole sky ablaze. Seconds later, the thunder was so loud it rattled the windowpanes.

While this may have not seemed such a great calamity to most beyond the usual concerns of dangerous weather, this storm was more than it appeared. Any and all rain in heaven or on earth was under the jurisdiction of Cassiel, and likewise with lightning and Uriel. No storm should take place without not just their knowledge but also their direct intervention, let alone one of this magnitude. Something, somewhere, had gone completely and utterly amiss.

Expression hardening into a look of determination, Uriel grabbed Cassiel's wrist and pulled him to his feet. Dragging his friend towards the front door, Uriel threw Cassiel back a thick jacket. Cassiel's wings had by now been dispelled.

"You might want that, it's probably cold out there."

Hurriedly yanking the jacket on over his nightshirt, Cassiel blinked warily. "Where are we going, Uri? It's pouring, and neither of us a properly dressed yet."

Uriel shrugged impatiently, unusually serious. "We're finding out what the hell is going on. Some things are more important than appearance."

Cassiel stared. "Alright, who are you and what did you do with Uriel? I take it that personal wellbeing is among the things that are currently unimportant?"

Uriel snorted. "Don't be stupid. Now come on, let's go. We're going to get to the bottom of this, and preferably sometime today."

"Fine, but don't blame me if you get pneumonia. Don't expect me to nurse you back to health, either, for that matter," Cassiel muttered under his breath.

"Cass? You suck. Now move it!"

About to head out into the bucketing rain, Cassiel reflected that some things never changed, and at least aliens hadn't abducted Uriel after all.

---

(2) Meaning that he was technically the one who got to do all the smiting. God had a tendency to take such things into his own hands when personally offended, however. Such as anything involving Lucifer.

(3) Read: Uriel Waz Ere. Or more precisely, was bouncing on the furniture like a maniac.

(4) Whenever people tried to blame Lucifer, he strenuously objected to the assumption that he had anything to do with it. No one ever seemed to remember that he wasn't actually EVIL.



Within a second of leaving shelter, Uriel and Cassiel were completely drenched. Not merely wet; wet is what you get when you have a shower. We're talking real soaked to the bone sort of thing, such as what might be expected if you jump into a swimming pool fully clothed. Cassiel still had no idea where they were going or what was happening, but considering Uriel didn't either, that was no big surprise.

Uriel had given up attempting to flick the sodden bangs from his eyes, as the water pressure was too high and made the action near impossible. His hair and clothing were plastered to his skin, and he and Cassiel both bore an astonishing likeness to drowned rats. Possibly worst of all was the fact that wet clothes chafe, and that not only did they splash while walking, but also squelched. The really awful part probably wouldn't come until they were out of the rain, as anyone who has been dressed in wet clothing would probably be aware. Having lived for however many millions of years, they knew all to well the extreme and inevitable discomfort that loomed before them.

Progress was slow, as the winds were pushing them back and their saturated clothing was weighing them down. Needless to say, Cassiel and Uriel were freezing, and the heavy beat of the water stung their eyes and skin. They weren't really getting very far, and they had absolutely no idea what they were trying to achieve.

After about seventy minutes of fruitless searching and unpleasant conditions, even Uriel conceded that it was in fact time to give it a rest. The streets were deserted, because most angels, while being curious, were not that curious. Most of Uriel and Cassiel's close friends lived in either the lower city or the main palace, a beautiful 18th century style communal mansion which was almost like an extremely high-class hotel, but not quite. As Uriel and Cassiel's suburban apartment was in the upper city, it was a long walk in such harsh weather to shelter and company.

Cassiel closed his eyes and turned his face up to the heavy torrent of water. It hurt slightly, but it was almost refreshing after having his hair stuck to him so long. It would be worse when they got into the warmth. Humidity could be very sticky and disagreeable.

Lowering his head again, Cassiel shook it hard to get his plait out of the way. Presumably, he was sending water everywhere, but that scarcely made a difference under the circumstances. Opening his eyes, he regarded Uriel solemnly. "Uri, we need to go somewhere. We can't just stay here indefinitely."

Uriel laughed hysterically. "Why not? Let's just stay here and catch pneumonia, it's hardly going to kill us."

Cassiel rubbed his bare shoulder where the nightshirt had slipped. "Well, for one thing, I'm absolutely freezing. Plus, it's impossible to breathe out here."

Uriel studied him. "You seem to be breathing fine to me," he noted observantly.

Cassiel rolled his eyes. "You may not have realised, but breathing and inhaling water are completely different activities."

Uriel stuck his tongue out and stopped to drink some rainwater. "Hah hah, you're so funny. But seriously, what can we do?"

Cassiel pushed his fringe out of his eyes thoughtfully. "We've been wandering in the direction of the palace, right? Why don't we stay there?"

"You have got to be kidding me," Uriel complained. "The palace is ages away!"

Cassiel stared at him. "Uri? It takes an hour's flight to get to the palace from our place, and we're closer to it than to home. Unless you'd rather stay here?"

Uriel scowled. "Alright, alright, point made already. We'll go to the palace- maybe we can crash with Gabe and Metatron. I don't particularly fancy getting sick, so we can't stay here. Are you happy?"

"I hate to say it, but I told you so," Cassiel stated mildly.

"Like hell you didn't enjoy it," Uriel grumbled.

Cassiel grinned. "True. You see right through me. I don't know why we couldn't just stay at home, though. I mean, we had no idea what we were doing and now look where we are."

"Cass? Put a sock in it. You've had your chance to gloat, now are we going or not?"

Cassiel agreed that they should probably move it, so they set off yet again. After about another forty minutes of walking, Uriel was beginning to lag behind. While the angel hadn't said anything, Cassiel knew his friend was tired. They had to stop for a rest, or Uriel would probably collapse from sheer exhaustion. Keeping these thoughts in mind, Cassiel pulled to a sudden halt. Uriel, by now staring mindlessly ahead without seeing anything, walked into him. His feet felt like they had been crushed repeatedly, broken apart and put back together incorrectly, and his mind had retreated after the first three kilometres, search included. Until then, Uriel had quietly amused himself with his thoughts, but for the past kilometre he had been reduced to what was practically a mobile vegetable state. The thought that there was another kilometre to go was enough to make him want to burst into tears, but he didn't have the energy.

When he crashed into Cassiel, though, Uriel had been temporarily roused from his oblivion. Sinking gratefully to the ground now that there was no movement needed, Uriel massaged his very sore feet. "Why did we stop?"

Cassiel shrugged matter-of-factly. "You were about to keel over and die."

Uriel smiled weakly. "Thanks. Ugh," he groaned, flopping down onto the ground.

"Come on, don't lie on the paving. You'll get even colder, which you can't afford. After all that exertion, you're losing body heat as it is."

"Can't be bothered. Can't move," Uriel sighed. "Too tired."

Cassiel knelt down and heaved Uriel bodily into his arms. Uriel was limp, like a gigantic rag doll.

"What're you doing?" Uriel mumbled, words slurred from fatigue.

"Sharing warmth," Cassiel stated bluntly. "I don't want you getting hypothermia."

Uriel shivered, teeth chattering. "N-no, w-we w-wouldn't w-want t-that, w-would w-we?" He yawned, eyelids starting to slide shut involuntarily.

Cassiel slapped him hard across the face. Uriel jerked upright. "Ow, C-cass, what was t-that for?" he yelped, rubbing his cheek. Cassiel pulled him closer. "You can't go to sleep, Uri. If you go to sleep, you might not wake up."

Uriel coughed faintly. "D-don't b-be stupid, C-cass. Angels c-can't d-die."

"Maybe so, but they can fall into comas. Just stay awake, Uriel. For me, at least."

Uriel's eyelashes fluttered as he struggled to keep his eyes open. "Fine."

Cassiel knew that there was no way he could support Uriel's weight normally while walking, but they couldn't stop much longer. Uriel badly needed care, but he was in no condition to walk the rest of the way to the palace.

Cassiel realised this left only one option. He'd have to use his power to lend him strength so that he could carry Uriel the rest of the way. It would drain him to a dangerous point, but there was no alternative. It was just too bad the conditions were impossible for flying.



Metatron grabbed the controller from the floor where it had last been thrown, an evil glint in his cornflower blue eyes.

"All right, Gabriel. Now is when I seriously kick your arse."

Gabriel snorted. "So you say. I personally can't see it happening in the near future."

Metatron crossed his arms calmly. "Fine. Then I challenge you to a game of Puyo Puyo(5)! Hah!"

Gabriel raised his eyebrows. "Oh, you are so going down."

Metatron clicked the playstation on and smugly curled up on the couch. "We'll soon see. Just remember that talk is cheap and actions speak louder than words, Gabe."

Gabriel grinned. "Exactly. Which is why I'm going to whip you, and you know it."

"You wish. I am the LORD of Puyo Puyo!" Metatron cackled madly.

Gabriel edged away with a mock-disturbed expression on his face. "Right. Sure thing, Met. Have I told you how weird you are lately?"

Metatron shrugged. "Meh. All the time. What're you stalling for, wuss? Let's get this show on the road!"

Gabriel rolled his eyes and pressed the 'start' button. "Sure thing. Prepare for a humiliating defeat."

Metatron did not deign to dignify this with an answer, instead opting to stick his tongue out in an immature fashion. The game was soon underway, little coloured bubbles on the screen falling hard and fast. Both being seasoned game players, Metatron and Gabriel were tied, still going strong.

At least, they were until the knock on the door.

Gabriel paused the game, staring at the door. "What the hell?"

Metatron dropped his controller. "Who the hell, you mean."

Gabriel waved his hand vaguely. "Yeah, whatever. Why would anyone be coming over at this hour?"

Metatron jumped up with a grin so happy it was scary. "Let's go see! Come on come on come on!"

"Alright, alright, calm down! Last time I let you near the coffee," Gabriel laughed as Metatron bounded towards the door.

Metatron stopped, his eyes wide and guileless. "Coffee? What coffee?"

Gabriel brushed back the thick, wavy strands of black hair that had escaped his ponytail. "Well, you're definitely on something, that's for sure."

Metatron blinked. "Hey, hey, aren't I usually hyper? But you're right, I ate chocolate. And drank some soft drink. Oh, and don't forget the ice-cream."

Gabriel groaned. "Oh no, you have got to be joking. You're overexcited enough as it is! Besides, I don't know how you manage to stay so skinny. You eat so much junk."

Metatron shrugged. "High metabolism? I don't know. And I prefer slim, thank you very much." He blinked, and remembered his original objective. "Ooh, door!"

When the next knock came, Metatron yelled loudly, "I'm coming already! Don't break the door down!"

Gabriel tossed his controller onto the couch cushions and stood up, stretching. "Whoever it is, don't freak them out too badly, Met," he called.

Metatron sniffed indignantly. "Hey! I'm not that bad! Screw you, anyway."

"I only wish," Gabriel muttered.

Metatron's brow creased. "Did you say something?"

Gabriel squeaked. "Never mind! Stop leaving whoever it is to rot on the doorstep and let them in!"

Metatron decided to let it go, figuring that whatever it was it was probably insulting and therefore not worth worrying about. In any case, he reasoned, he could always get Gabriel back later with a sound thrashing in Puyo Puyo. Throwing the door open, he tripped over in shock.

"Raphael? What's up?"

Raphael presently had a face like thunderclouds, appropriately enough. "There is a very massive problem going on."

Metatron bit his lip. "Man, just what we need right now. God damn it!" He waited almost guiltily for God to start grouching about the use of his name in cursing(6), but there was blissful silence, at least in his mind. Gabriel made his usual comment about Metatron being blasphemous, and Metatron made his usual reply:

"Mmm. Sacrilicious."

Raphael scratched his head, long chestnut-coloured spikes falling naturally into his eyes over the cloth tied across his forehead. "Metatron, I always ask you to explain that and you never do."

Metatron just laughed, skipping off to fall onto the couch with his straight blonde shoulder-length hair flying around him. Gabriel made a face.

"Don't ask. Just trust me when I say you should never let Met watch the Simpsons(7)."

Raphael's dark green eyes blinked dazedly. "Alright. I'll take your word on that one." Striding into the living room, he stared at the TV. "Dude, I didn't know it was possible for two people to die at the same time!"

Metatron and Gabriel whipped around to face the television. "What? NO!" Their simultaneous howls of horror and anguish probably echoed throughout the whole palace, Raphael reflected. Metatron began to sob melodramatically.

"And I was going to win!" Metatron wailed, making the word 'win' last for at least 5 syllables.

Gabriel's chocolate brown eyes were slightly mutinous as he considered kicking his stupid controller. "No, you weren't. You're deluding yourself."

Metatron drew himself up to his not very considerable height, eyes blazing. Before he could open his mouth to stage a protest, though, Raphael interrupted.

"Hey, guys? While this debate might be absolutely hilarious and fascinating some other time, and believe me, I love laughing at your stupidity," Raphael ignored the glares being redirected at him, "I meant it. There's something going wrong."

Gabriel winced. "Oh, no. Please, please tell me it's not the Apocalypse."

Metatron thumped him upside the head affectionately. "You slacker."

"I am not a slacker! I'm an arch angel, I do heaps more things than the Apocalypse!" Gabriel protested.

Metatron arched an eyebrow. "Yeah, such as?"

"Such as…" Gabriel hesitated. It was a bit hard to articulate, because other than being the angel of the apocalypse, he did so many different things. The titles just sort of began heaping up after awhile. "Such as stuff."

Metatron dissolved into helpless giggles on the floor. Gabriel shook his head amusedly. "Note to self: Never let Metatron have sugar ever."

Raphael stepped over the giggling heap, hands in the pockets of his leather jacket. "I thought that Metatron was always like that."

Gabriel sighed. "Yeah, but he's even worse, which I had once hoped was impossible."

Raphael poked Metatron with the tip of his chunky blue suede shoe. "I think I get your drift."

Gabriel fiddled with the crystal on the leather strap around his neck. "Anyway, we're getting distracted as always. You said there was a problem? Where's Michael, by the way?"

Wearily, Raphael blew the soft silky spikes out of his way. The time for jokes was over. "Yeah. A big problem. Michael's gone to talk to God."

Gabriel could see that this was not shaping up in a favourable way. "Shit. What's happened?"

Raphael shook his head, frustrated. "I don't know. All I can assume is that Cassiel and Uriel had a fight, or they're in trouble, or they lost control!"

Gabriel frowned. "What? What did Uriel do now?"

Raphael spread his hands helplessly. "I don't know, that's the point! It's storming out there so bad the conditions are cyclonic, and there was no warning and no reason!"

Metatron had recovered by now, and was sitting up solemnly, an extremely rare occurrence.

"Poor Cassiel," Metatron murmured. "Something must have happened to him- he's far too mature to do anything like that normally. What if he and Uriel are in trouble?" Nervously, he tugged at his tight white t-shirt.

Gabriel had grabbed his mid-calf-length brown leather boots and was lacing them up over his dark red hose.

"We've got to do something about it. Metatron, get your shoes on."

Metatron grabbed his caramel canvas sneakers and pulled them on hurriedly, tying the laces up as quickly as he could. Despite the gravity of the situation, Raphael found himself curious.

"Hey, Metatron, why are the soles of your sneakers two inches thick?"

Metatron blushed slightly. "Well, I'm short, I'll take all the height I can get even if it's just enough to lord it over Sandy."

"Your poor twin. I don't know how he put up with you for so long," Gabriel commented.

Ignoring this, Metatron continued. "Besides, it's a fashion statement. I like the current fashion on Earth. You ought to talk, anyway; you look like a cross between a punk and a hippie!"

"Hey!" Raphael objected. "What's wrong with that? What do you mean, anyway?"

Metatron tapped his finger on his chin. "I never said there was anything wrong, just a statement of fact. Looks kinda cool, actually. As for what I mean? The top half is definitely punk. Tight black tee, chunky belt, leather jacket, long spiky hair-"

"It's not my fault it goes that way. I wet it, and it dries like this!" Raphael grumbled.

"Well, don't change it even if you figure out how, it suits you. I'm just saying it's very much a punk style, that's all. And the bottom half is straight out of the 1960's. Those shoes, and those tight flare jeans? Very hippy," Metatron concluded.

Gabriel had only just finished tightening the belts on his boots. "Very educational, Met. I'm sure we all appreciate your fashion critique. Are you quite done?"

Metatron considered this. "Yeah, I guess."

"Oh well," Raphael stated in a mildly resigned tone. "Hippies and punks are fine. I like 60's rock and 90's metal, so I guess it's all good."

Gabriel had to laugh at that. His friends were so strange sometimes. The conversation had stalled them an extra five minutes, though, so they really had better get moving.

Just when he was about to mention this, something thumped loudly into the door. Metatron tilted his head to the side in confusion.

"Twice in one night? Wow, we're really popular, huh, Gabe? All those concerned neighbours. And it's not even the stereo being up too loud this time!" Metatron joked weakly, moving over to open the door again.

All three of them were wondering who it was, but when Metatron opened the door for the second time that evening, they really were not expecting what they found.

---

(5) Puyo Puyo is the creation of Compile. There are many Puyo games, and all of them are very entertaining. Puyo Puyo probably spans the most systems of any console game.

(6) God always noticed when Metatron was talking about Him. It was an adverse effect of being the Voice of God, but Metatron didn't really mind. It was good for getting a rise out of God, really.

(7) "Mmm. Sacrilicious." - original quote by Homer Simpson.



Cassiel slumped onto the door, wincing when his shoulder hit the wood too hard. A few more seconds and he'd drop Uriel, he knew it. He'd probably collapse on top of the other angel, come to think of it. It had taken an unhealthy level of power to get this far, and he was feeling hollow and frail.

Cassiel's breath was laboured, and he was struggling to keep his grip on Uriel. All his weight was supported on the door, so when it opened, he went crashing to the floor. All he saw was the concerned and bewildered expression on Metatron's face before he blacked out.



Gabriel jumped to his feet at Metatron's hysterical yelp.

"Met, who is it? What's wrong?"

Metatron was all but hyperventilating.

"Cassiel… Cassiel and Uriel… Uriel is out cold; Cassiel just passed out-" Metatron babbled faintly, looking for all the world like he was about to do the same thing as Cassiel.

Somewhat worried(8), Gabriel raced over. Things were shaping up to be a semi-catastrophic, and he was definitely scared for Cassiel and Uriel, but it would only exacerbate the problem if Metatron were to fall unconscious too. Metatron had no ability to deal with any serious level of stress, and was susceptible to panic attacks. Two prone bodies were almost certainly preferable to three, at least in these circumstances.

In crises such as this, Metatron's heart was in the right place. He'd tried to help, but he often just made things worse. Right now, he was demonstrating this by running around like a chicken with its head cut off, throwing towels at people and fanning them uselessly in a vaguely annoying manner.

With these thoughts in mind, Gabriel led Metatron over to the couch and instructed him to lie down, giving him a glass of water. Metatron protested most heartily at this, not wanting to sit aside and do nothing while his friends needed help. Gabriel finally persuaded him he would be most helpful making dinner, as Cassiel and Uriel would be probably need something to eat when they woke up.

"Are you sure?" Metatron asked suspiciously, already moving towards the kitchen.

"It will help more than what you are doing now," Gabriel assured him.

"Oh. Ok," Metatron replied, disappearing into the kitchen.

Aiming a look of pleading at Raphael, Gabriel motioned towards the comatose angels next to the door.

Raphael cringed slightly, but made his way over. "Yeah, I know, I'll do what I can."

Metatron poked his head out of the kitchen. "Thanks, Raph. I'm sure you can do something, you are the angel of healing(9)."

Raphael waved a hand dismissively. "Yeah, yeah. Don't thank me yet, that's all I'm saying." Kneeling down, he put a hand to Uriel's forehead and yanked it back hurriedly. "Yeowch! His temperature is so high I'm surprised he hasn't burst into flames! This could be serious."

Gabriel sighed. "I hope he's alright. What about Cassiel?"

Raphael shrugged and shook Cassiel slightly. Cassiel moaned softly, and mercifully began to stir. Raphael fervently thanked God(10). It would have been impossible to deal with two patients as sick as Uriel.

---

(8) More like on the verge of panic, really, but Gabriel didn't want to admit it.

(9) Not to mention science and knowledge, but Metatron didn't feel that to be particularly relevant under the current circumstances.

(10) Even though God technically had nothing to do with it. Deities are a hard habit to break, even when you've known them personally your entire life. Hey, humans are contagious.



When Cassiel began to wake, the first thing he saw was Raphael. His vision was blurry at first, but when the other angel clicked into focus, Cassiel blinked in surprise.

"Raphael?"

Raphael smirked; not his usual bite-me grin, the expression was rather placid for him.

"Don't strain yourself. You're too weak, so take it easy. You're in way better shape than Uriel, though, I have to tell you."

Cassiel tried to sit up and was pushed gently but firmly back onto the couch he now realised he was lying on.

"Uriel? Is he okay? Where is he?" Cassiel questioned rapidly.

Raphael sighed. "I won't lie to you, Cass. He's in a pretty bad shape. But you know, he's an archangel, so I'm sure he'll be fine. He's in Metatron's bed right now."

Cassiel was vaguely aware that he had a massive headache, but brushed it aside for the time being. He could suffer later. "Metatron?"

"Yeah, you might have forgotten. We're at the Palace, in Met and Gabe's quarters. Uri is in Metatron's room, because nobody in their right mind would enter Gabriel's lair of gloom and incense willingly."

Cassiel looked a bit taken aback. "Incense?"

Raphael made a wry face. "Tell me about it. All pagan candles and incense and other unhealthy things. Gabriel keeps telling Metatron he's going to Fall for blasphemy, but he ought to talk. Anyway, it's in total darkness and is completely messy. I wouldn't put an invalid in there, that's for sure."

"Hey! My room is cool!" Gabriel objected.

"Sure thing. I would have expected that sort of thing more from Metatron, but his room is really clean and light and airy." Raphael shrugged. "Weird, huh?"

Cassiel laughed. "Yeah, I know. He's so hyper and scatter-brained; you'd expect him to be untidy. What is he doing, by the way?"

"Making chicken soup, last I checked. Gabriel wanted to prevent him panicking, so sent him to go cook things," Raphael answered lightly.

Metatron came out of the kitchen carrying a tray with bowls of soup on it. "You're talking about me, aren't you? I can tell by the guilty looks on your- Oh! Cassiel, you're awake!"

Gabriel rolled his eyes. "Don't worry, they were making rude comments about me too."

Metatron smiled sweetly. "I'm sure you deserved it, Gabriel. Now, who wants chicken soup? Meant to be great for colds."

Cassiel gratefully accepted one of the bowls and started eating. Gabriel and Raphael took Metatron up on the offer too, as the Voice of God was one of the best cooks all of Heaven over. It was strange, as Metatron usually didn't have that much patience, but he really did have a talent and a passion for the culinary arts.

After a few seconds, Cassiel carefully put his spoon down and placed the half-full bowl on the coffee table.

"You're probably curious about what happened."

This one sentence stopped everyone else in the room completely. In silence, they waited for Cassiel to continue. Cassiel cleared his throat nervously.

"To be honest, I'm not exactly sure that I know. Just trust me when I say that this storm has nothing to do with Uri or I…"



It hadn't taken Michael that long to make his way over to God's living quarters. When he got there, the first thing he noticed was that the door was locked. There was that indescribably awful sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach that things were about to get worse, but he put it off for the moment. He may have been the serious, mature one, but even he could delude himself with the best.(11)

So it was that he managed to convince himself that a locked door didn't mean anything, especially not anything unpleasant, and that God must obviously be elsewhere. Maybe with Lucifer.

After what felt like an excessively long period of time roaming the extensive hallways aimlessly, Michael had to concede that things weren't looking good. God was probably locked in his room, chucking a tantrum, and if that was so, then there was very little they could do to rectify the situation. They would just have to hold out until God recovered, and he had been known to sulk for whole millennia at a time.

Michael paused at this thought and blinked warily, waiting for the fury of God to come down on his poor abused mind. For once, he was thankfully spared, but hastily adjusted the thought anyway. Brooding, not sulking. God didn't do sulking.

The only thing left was to find Lucifer, but Michael really did not retain all that much hope for that course of action. Still, it was better than nothing (which was the alternative), so Michael went searching for God's archrival regardless. It wasn't like he had anything better to do, and Lucifer might know something they didn't.

So reasoning, Michael went off on a Lucifer-hunt. Hopefully, it wouldn't take too long.

---

(11) He had, after all, had a hell of a lot of time to practice in.



After searching all over the oversized palace, Michael realised that there was a strong possibility that Lucifer was, indeed, not in the palace at all and maybe not even in Heaven(12), when it came to that. He resisted the incredibly attractive urge to give up and destroy something in an expression of frustration, and instead willed himself to revert back to his usual calm self. Breathe in, breathe out. Much better. Now that he was thinking more clearly, he concluded that a much more civilised solution would be to empty his mind and attempt to sense Lucifer. Because Lucifer was older and more powerful than him as well as having Fallen, it didn't always work, which was why he hadn't thought of trying it in the first place. Still, it was worth a try.

As he closed his eyes and began to concentrate, Michael felt the awareness of his surroundings flood his senses. It was one of the powers which was available to all angels, Fallen or otherwise. Many of the more powerful immortals also had title-specific abilities, though. For example, as the angel of justice and truth, Michael could will a sword to materialise in his hand at his beck and call. He could also tell when someone was lying without even trying, which sometimes made it difficult to be his friend, but the others had just had to learn to deal with it. Especially poor Raphael- it is hard to understand just how weird it can be to have a best friend who always knows when you aren't telling the whole and unconditional truth. For his part, Raphael could save people from the brink of death, as well as being a brilliant scientist and having a mind that was, against all the odds, highly logical. It was an individual thing.

While the initial touch of the world around was rather overwhelming, it only took a moment for Michael to adjust. He had, after all, had however many millions of years to get used to this particular skill. Focusing his thoughts, Michael began to block everything out in his search for Lucifer. Surprisingly enough, he located the arch-nemesis of God almost at once. Lucifer was, as previously ascertained, outside the palace gates, and was in fact hanging, apparently aimlessly, in the Lower City. Michael raised his eyebrows. Strange- he seemed to be almost inviting telepathic contact.

'Lucifer?' A polite enquiry, spoken not aloud but through the mind. It was good etiquette to warn someone before bombarding their private thoughts with your own.

'Michael, is that you?' Asked, not demanded- Lucifer seemed to have been expecting something like this.

'Yes.'

There was a mental grin. 'Hey, Mikey-boy!'

Michael gave a long-suffering sigh. 'Please, please don't call me that.'

'Hey, blame Raphael. He came up with it in the first place, and now it's started invading the speech of us all. He's been calling you that for what, how long now? Since before the whole Rebellion jazz, that's for sure, and TRUST me, that is one hell of a long time. I'm in a position to know. So, tell me again, why do you let him get away with it?'

Michael considered this. 'I honestly don't know. But I didn't contact you to converse about the strange and occasionally terrible nicknames Raphael can come up with for his close friends. There has been… a problem.'

Lucifer winced. 'Um, yeah. I kind of know.'

'I take it you noticed the storm, then?'

Lucifer hesitated. 'Er… Not exactly. Now that I think about it, not at all, really. But it doesn't amaze me in the least.'

'You know what's going on?' Michael enquired. There was a long silence. There was the distinct feeling of one looking around surreptitiously and whistling loudly in what they hope is an inconspicuous and unsuspicious nature.

Michael shook his head ruefully. 'Lucifer, I sense guilt. There's something you're not telling me, isn't there? I've known you since before the beginning of time. Even if I weren't angel of truth, I would know.'

Lucifer's aura grew even guiltier-feeling. 'Well, I guess. You could say that. Actually, that pretty much sums it up in a nutshell.'

'Sums what up?'

'What I know. Or, more to the point, what's my fault.'

Michael sighed. 'The guilt makes more sense, now. Lucifer, what did you do, and what do you know about what's going on that we don't?'

'Well, first of all, the storm is God's fault.'

There was another long pause, this one a stunned hush on Michael's side. 'Pardon?'

'You heard. God is having a- um. Temper tantrum. Sort of. But it's a bit more serious than that.'

'Oh, dear. Not again, it's been so long since the last time that we'd hoped that maybe he wouldn't do that sort of thing anymore.'

'Yeah, tell me about it. If you ask me, flooding a whole planet is just going a bit too far. Seriously.'

'Yes. And I suppose that is where the "this being your fault" thing comes into it.' Michael groaned. 'I might have known that somehow, in some way, this would come down to the two of you.'

'Hey!' Lucifer protested. 'I resent that! Okay, so maybe it's true-'

'It undoubtedly is.'

'But there's no need to make us sound like naughty preschoolers!'

'Isn't that what you are?'

'No! Not exactly, anyway. Not really. Only slightly. Maybe just a bit- oi, hold on! Stop that. We're thousands of years old, of course we aren't.'

'There are so many times that you could have fooled me.'

'That's because you're gullible.'

'I know you don't believe that, Lucifer.'

Lucifer scowled. 'Quit that, it's annoying. I'm never going to get used to that particular talent of yours, I swear. Now, do you want to know what I had to do with it or not?'

Michael smiled calmly. 'That would be good, yes.'

'God and I were talking, right, as usual. But he was in a bit of a mood, and you know how he can get. Anyway, he was all in a tiff about humans. Again. For the fifty-fifth thousandth time or so. No particular grievance or anything, they've just been basically ignoring him and disregarding the commandments and so on. As per usual. So I don't know what got him so upset, but- he really meant it. He was depressed that the world he and his sister created contains the suffering of innocents, and he regrets ever creating it. He stormed off, went to talk to Gaia I think. This is serious, Michael. It's not just God being childish and petty like normal, he really means it. And I don't think he's causing floods on purpose. I think he's actually unhappy, this time.'

Michael took a slight step backwards at the mental onslaught. 'I don't think I can quite process all that. This is not good at all. It explains why God's door was locked, too.'

'It's locked? Shit! It's worse than I thought it was. I'll be right there, got it?'

'Are you sure you'll be able to make it through the storm?' Michael's thoughts were tinged with concern.

Lucifer sounded vaguely embarrassed. 'Yeah, I'll be fine. I can teleport, remember? One of the pluses to being God's ultimate opposite. Or whatever.'

Michael contemplated this. 'Ah. Uriel and Raphael must have expressed their envy of you in most elaborate manners.'

Lucifer shuddered. 'Uh huh. I'm the one who has to put up with the constant bitching, here. Anyway, like I said, I'll be there in a bit. Ciao.'

Slightly bewildered by the unexpected information, Michael bid Lucifer farewell and cut the link. This was even more catastrophic than any of them had originally suspected.

---

(12) Although this was highly unlikely. It was quite sad, all things considered, but Lucifer spent a very large proportion of his time loafing around in Heaven hanging around with his old angel friends. There really was a very open gate when it came to Hell and Heaven- the only real difference between them was the décor. So rather a lot of Fallen angels had taken to frequenting Heaven in their spare time. It was amusing, but no one really minded. It would be depressing to be separated from one's Fallen friends.*

*God didn't like to admit it, but he was actually very attached to Lucifer and would be the first to complain should the separation be made more permanent.


On to Part 2