Chapter Text
Gabriel remembered laughter. It is light and airy, bright and colorful.
He remembered a pair of Archangels; one strict and one lax. One brunette and one blond. They watched over everyone who was playing in the Garden, both wearing worried and excited faces. The two were older than Gabriel was, the blond one cheekily giving comments on the other individuals running around the grass while the brunette simply remained silent. Gabriel knew the brunette’s face well enough though, enough to see that she was actually quite amused.
He remembered rich red hair, a cheesy grin that promised mischief, and stardust covering the white hem of their robes. This one had fun chasing after a littler individual, a small cherub who had rich brown skin. Gabriel had a bit of a soft spot for this little one, one who often turned to him for advice. It made him feel great, worthy even, for he was no longer the youngest of them all.
Small as he was at the time, he calls out a name he doesn’t quite understand. The angel with red hair turns their head and calls for him to follow. “C’mon Gabriel, Uriel’s being a bit of a cheat and I need your speed right now!”
Gabriel couldn’t resist, he laughs and joins them. Flying and running faster than ever before, as the brunette shouts, “Not that fast, Gabriel, you’re gonna end up twisting a wing again!” The brunette follows after them as Gabriel shoots back, “Well then, Michael, you better catch up!”
The brunette he apparently called Michael rolls her eyes with a click of her tongue before flying after him. While Michael is older, Gabriel was a lot faster. He ends up capturing the giggling cherub who wriggles in his grasp. He eventually sets the cherub, Uriel, his mind supplies, down. “Again, again!” They repeat, clapping happily.
Michael settles down beside him, immediately checking his wings before stepping back and giving a frown. Gabriel can’t help but grin, “See, no twisted feathers or wings!” Michael is still left unimpressed, giving a flat “Mhmm.” She looks out into the distance where her twin and the red-haired angel stayed. She calls them over.
They don’t move. They stay still.
Gabriel looks at the red-haired angel’s eyes. Gone were the brown he remembered, and was now replaced with a haunted stare of gold. They were slitted like a snake’s, like the creatures he knew the angel was fond of. The angel looks at him with betrayal, with hurt, as the blond stares indifferent and impassive.
It felt wrong. It wasn’t how he remembered it. How he remembered them.
He remembered joy sticking to all of them like a second skin. He remembered their smiles, their warm affections, their touches.
Gabriel remembered them, he swears.
He no longer remembers.