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{A/N: Okay, first off, lemme say that I am very pleasantly surprised at how this all came together given my play-by-play way of writing it. Second of all, I'm VERY salty that there's finna be more sections then I wanted in this story. I WANTED A BIBLICAL 40 CHAPTERS AND IT WAS TOO LONG! CURSES. Ah, oh well. Anyway, there's more to this than I planned there to be at this point. So, I had to split it up into more chapters if I wanted to actually value myself as a non-Dickensian (despite the fact this is fan-fiction and I'd be remiss to call myself an "author") but still, author. One day I might be. Who knows? I got real shit to bump. Back to this shit: It's not totally over, though the closer I get to the end, the more it may seem like it is. So, that being said, I WILL specify when it is, in fact, the end. Just so there's no confusion! As far as this part goes, here's the spin:
This occurs much much much much later, after everything is said and done. It's not on earth, which means it can only be one place. 'Awkward' family reunion round II: upstairs.}
Time wasn't a significant factor here, so it didn't feel like an eternity since you'd seen him. If you thought being with Azazel (as you'd been reprimanded for calling a high ranking, invaluable leader of countless soldiers, turning the tides against his former allies, by a cute, period-style name once belonging to a dog, given to him by a little kid playing with fire, only after getting burnt one too many times) on earth was enjoyable, this was euphoric. You wanted to call him what you wanted, since that made sense to you, and to those you cared about. No one but you even knew he was anything but human other than that little kid.
Speaking of which...
"Hey, Ciel!" You waved, your father and mother sitting lazily beside Vincent and Rachel Phantomhive, a black dog running around what was a somewhat irritated yet impressed young lioness. Your familiar. You half expected it to be a raven, but this wasn't his home, yet. "Throw it over here!"
Ciel nodded. None of you required anything you had then, bodies, voices, toys, but you were allowed the luxuries you wanted, Heaven was personalised for you, if you felt it more comforting. Ciel looked young, not the same as you'd left him, but not a kid either. You weren't sure why he was here now, you thought that Sebastian, or Azazel would have to die before the souls he'd consumed were freed, like in Dracula, a good book you wished you could get your hands on again, superfluous or not. But then again, this wasn't a book.
This was far better than anything humans could ever have written. The infinite prism of colours in the sky was momentarily broken as a large, light-yet-heavy bouncing ball hit Vincent right on his head, knocking over the ornate crystal glasses he'd filled with "wine." It tasted more like what you'd read about when you wanted to learn more about theology: the mythological nectar of the Gods, ambrosia, but wine was what they called it. Seemed more Christian. Maybe Ambrosia was too Greek. Even so, you were in your own version of the Elysian Fields, and now Rachel's pretty white dress was ruined. Well, as ruined as anything here could be. Your father laughed as Vincent hurled the ball back away from his son, Sebastian the dog bounding over the hills, as your own pet curled up alongside your father, your mother stroking its head. It purred. Someone you know would be jealous. You couldn't wait to see him again, to introduce him, and your "children" to your amazing, only-available-here personal lion. Her name was Sheba. Ironically. You called her Queen when you could get away with it.
Thomas and Beatrice had reunited with their own families, and everyone you knew, from the Midfords to Her Majesty, to oddly enough, and awkwardly enough, Aliestor Chamber, had come here to stay. You wondered if one day you'd see your biological father walk through these fields of gold, along with the men who almost took everything from you. It wouldn't matter. If they were here, they were forgiven, no matter what they'd done. Hate was imposible to find or to bear in Paradise.
The only feeling any of you had known for centuries was joy. You wanted this for everyone, even, especially your enemies.
The fact that there were still gaps in the rolling hills, the patchwork of the picturesque quilt of the landscape all around you meant it wasn't over. There was still a war going on, and it would rage for thousands of years, angels and demons battling over the hearts and souls of mankind. You knew good always won in the end. It was a cliche, but it had to be true. You'd seen it for yourself.
"{Y/N}," Ciel had given up on trying to get his token back from the family dog. Sebastian. You both snickered each time you said his name. You'd laughed about other things, now that you had more omnipotence than you knew what to do with. "Tell me again, about how the last thing you did to your husband was to slap him. It never gets old."
"I slapped him. I was old. Sue me."
"No lawyers here, doll." A man with hair more orange than all of Valencia's citrus trees sauntered up, waving both his hands, elated at the functionality of all parts therein. Your eyes narrowed, in jest, looking to his right. The woman who never left his side was one of the reasons you wished you didn't know everything the second everyone else here did.
Beast. "Hi, {Y/N}!" She pecked Joker on the cheek. "Good to see you again, Smile." Ciel cracked a genuine grin. "Where's your husband?" She elbowed you. "Ehhh? He's not bad in bed, am I right?" Your father cleared his throat from twelve miles away, like he did every one of the 1826217726267162 times she'd made that same joke, like it was a greeting. "Oh sorry, {Your Father's Name}! I was just having a laugh!" She leaned in and whispered anyway. "But seriously, he's not bad. Though, I know you don't need to be told that. Especially not by me. You're a doll, more than even well, Doll." A girl who's dedication to being boyish rivalled yours, perhaps even surpassed it, waved eagerly from an adjacent table. "I'm glad you're my friend. I'm so so glad. I'm sorry about what I did."
"Don't be." You laughed, play punching her. "You're a competitor, aren't ya? So am I! This just means I won." She laughed and hugged you. She never cared about anyone in that way except for the man beside her.
There were too many people to name that you knew here, so your days were filled with endless recounting of old times, good and bad, all only remembered for their positive repercussions. The world was rose coloured here. No spectacles needed.
You glanced down, your hand still bore your wedding ring. You wouldn't take it off. Not ever. Beside you ran a tranquil stream, and in it you caught a glimpse of your reflection as it blended in with the sky, shiny and bright, brilliant like you were when alive, human, in the world far below you, where the love of your life still remained. How things change. Why would he ever have wanted to leave here? Did he get bored? You supposed without a point of comparison that could be feasible, but you were biased. You'd never been anything but human after all.
You looked like you did when you found yourself the most beautiful, that day on the water, in the arms of a fallen angel. You ensured your hair would always be natural, wild and free like your soul. You noticed your mother definitely preferred to don the attire of her younger years. Your father wasn't as choosy. He just grew a beard. "I'm in heaven, aren't I, my love?" Your mother had covered her face. She wanted him to look like he did when she met him, but he had no intention of being serious ever again. Any time she'd look away from him she'd turn back to see him stroking his chin, twisting his fingers in what she clearly didn't adore like he did. "I MUST CHOOSE A STYLE BEFITTING MY STATION! I AM A SAINT NOW, AND SAINTS MUST REMIND THOSE WHO MAY HAVE FORGOTTEN THAT WE ARE ALL MADE IN GOD'S IMAGE! FACIAL HAIR IS THE WAY OF THE LORD!"
Vincent and his old university friends disagreed. You noticed his German mate, Diedrich, clearly lost some weight after getting back here. Though he didn't need to, he always stuffed his face with tea cakes. You don't think he even had an accent, or at least, you never could hear it properly.
Of course the other servants looked as they had, and Lizzie was cuter than ever. Charles Grey and Charles Phipps were decidedly more muscular, and though you hardly saw him, as he held a greater place in a different part of eternity, the Indian Prince, Soma sure was brilliant to look at. It kind of hurt. He was so shiny. You could almost hear his Kansama clapping animatedly. My Prince! My Prince!
It didn't feel complete without Sebastian, as they all knew him. Though time passed slowly for him now, you knew it wasn't easy to wait either. Your sympathy, if it was even possible to do so, increased tenfold. You missed him.
You had no idea how much he'd missed you.
{Back downstairs...}
"Come on, we've got to go."
"Are you sure He wants this? I get that forgiveness is His thing, but I don't think our interpretation really holds water."
"Enough! Listen to me, I know we're right." He spun around, and huffed in annoyance. You were wrong. These were an obstacle.
"Jesus, Azz." he heard a laugh followed by an Oh boy, and a Here we go again.
"I told you NEVER TO CALL ME THAT!" He huffed. "And don't keep using that name in vain. You're a saint now, remember? Act like one!"
"My apologies, Your Highness." He exhaled. His former friend, the one who couldn't be patient, was trying to evade doing the right thing by being funny. He'd done it before. He just wouldn't quit. He bowed, but not before ducking away from the clearly larger and more powerful set of angel's wings, used in situations like these, a clear indicator of who's side one was on. "Or, if you prefer master," another angel slapped him, giving his superior time to think.
He thought of you, your ways of addressing each other. The Best Christian...Ever didn't quite roll off the tongue, nor did it properly convey the respect you deserved, regardless of your station. Your name was enough. He fell in love with you. He respected you. He missed you.
"Cut out the Sham, Shem." He clicked his tongue. "I like that. Clever, eh?" He expected a confirming high-five, but was met with stern faces and eye rolls. "Well, fine then. Be that way." They all turned to their leader, who closed his eyes, understanding the weight of the task at hand.
"Listen, everyone. We're in agreement. So, it's now or never. Let's bring him up."
"Them, up, you mean." A smaller, kinder voice spoke. "There's a lot of them, now, too. You had to know that, Azazel. Don't forget about the humans. That wouldn't be like you."
"Of course not." He grunted. "What you just said precludes your doubt. Your conclusion should be your final remark, not the second to last one. It detracts from proper rhetoric! Form your speeches right, scribe."
The docile, sweet sound of the helpful underling grew malicious. "This isn't Egypt!" It was still cute, but not nice. He was pissed. "I'm not. a. scribe." He poked his boss with a Mont Blanc pen, which definitely wasn't in the budget. How he got his hands on that sure was enigmatic.
"FINE!" The severity of his reply terrified the already squeaky paralegal/secretary/intern or whatever he thought he was into submission. Everyone else listened, too. One more paternal figure frowned and sheltered his meeker subordinate, taking him under his own wing. Don't be such an asshole, Azazel. You'll lose your credibility as a saint if the first thing you do is take advantage of those who've helped you, those needing your protection.
He sighed, nodding to the rest of his soldiers. "I'm sorry, my friend." The little angel grinned after folding his arms. He didn't hold grudges for long. None of them could afford to any more. It would sabotage the mission.
"How many of them are there?" Someone else handed him a piece of parchment. His eyes widened. "I see. This is it then, isn't it?"
His reaction was contagious. Everyone briefly smiled before lowering their gazes, as though in prayer. Each inner dialogue was unique, though all were brought on by the same revelation.
Finally. I'm coming home. We all are. It's over. It's all over. We won.
{I think you know this means we're going back upstairs again...}
You were still looking at the perfect mirror of the sky as it melted into the river flowing through the very heart of God. Nothing was out of the ordinary; you didn't know what was coming, nothing had changed dramatically. The scenery was always transformative, it adapted to what you all felt the most enchanting. Today it was bluer than normal, like the ocean. Everyone felt cool, peaceful, and relaxed.
You heard the laughter of your friends and family, and you almost turned around to punish Queen, or Sheba if you had to yell at her loud enough for all to behold, lest you get scolded, for trying to bite at Sebastian again. Though, if she tried to go after Lizzie's lamb...no...you laughed...of course not. Idiot. That's page one of this place. They were probably just lying off in the grass somewhere.
Still, you heard a roar.
Oh...wait...that wasn't Sheba. You'd only ever seen that other Lion when something was about to happen, something people here, though unable to hate, wouldn't wholly like. It took an awfully great deal of competence to disrupt the power dynamic between here and earth, and usually, everyone didn't hear Him roar like this. Not all at once.
That wasn't all everyone heard, either. Trumpets, the ones only Gabriel really could sound, meat someone was coming, that the gates would open. You spun around, as ripples appeared on the surface of the forever tranquil infinity pool. You rarely encountered the important saints. Peter, Mary, even Micheal, ones you'd chosen as your own when alive, were busy elsewhere. Everyone here was a saint, and if called on they had to help. No one called you, since you knew the only one who even would call was the busiest of all down on earth. Plus, despite the fact you were literally higher than him, he was better than you at doing what you'd always wanted.
He was a damn good soldier. The Archangels were fortunate he'd defected twice, his double treason cancelling out, rendering the first null and void. Well, until now.
Now there was no such thing as treason. You heard a collective gasp before you noticed you'd felt an unfamiliar sensation, like breathing was hard, and needed. Suddenly essential to continue existing.
The far-off gates were here, in front of everyone, though they hadn't moved. You'd all been pulled forward, brought alongside each other to witness what you all knew to be the long awaited response to the war. The victory of the righteous. The end of all time.
Still, you weren't equal to God, and you didn't share His level of omnipotence, despite you -everyone here's- supernatural gift of clairvoyance. You ran forward, finding your family, standing beside your father, you stroked Sheba, made eye contact with your allies, Ciel, your adopted son and daughter. Her Majesty, far off in the distance, winked at you.
What does she...she pointed ahead, nodding, elbowing Albert. She was young, beautiful, tiny, darling, and regal in spite of it all. Still, you were annoyed as you could be here. What does she know that I don't? You looked at Ciel, but he didn't notice. He merely looked on excitedly, same as everyone else. None of you had any idea what was coming.
Was this a test?
A thundering voice erupted throughout the clouds, the mountains below you seemed to tremble, and you pitied your poor cottage. It probably was twenty thousand leagues below the sea by now. You didn't know how long you'd been here, after all. Everyone covered their ears, even though there was nothing unpleasant about it. It was just so powerful.
"Open the gates!"
You heard what sounded like someone call to Peter, the light coming from the other side of the enormous golden doors nearly blinded you as the winds blew back your hair. They calmed almost at once, but you quickly glanced at Sheba. Great. You looked more alike than ever. You knew it. You swore you saw your father chuckle. He clearly didn't see his beard like your mum did. You all grinned, before everyone's smiles fell.
No. You raised a hand to your mouth. No. This can't be. That's not possible...
A cacophony filled the entirety of your new home. This was the first interruption of this calibre in eons, and it was more than obvious as to why.
Heaven seemed small then. There were too many faces to identify save the more prominent ones in front of you. Down below, you saw them. Ten angels stood before you, surrounding two, carrying third one as he tried not to fall.
"Holy shit." You whispered, and your father slapped your wrist, but there was no need. Countless others expressed their shock as well.
"That's..."
"This is insane."
"How is this possible?"
"I can't believe it!"
Hushed whispers turned into conversations, then outright professions, calls, all sorts of noises rang out. Some cheered while others quietly dissented, but largely, collectively, they were in agreement.
Everyone agreed on one thing once they were here: If you're here, you're forgiven. No matter what you've done.
Even so, this was quite unexpected.
"Father," you turned to see Thomas quietly comforting Sebastian Michaelis II. Ugh. Lame. You were aware of the fact he knew of your disapproval of the name he'd chosen for his son, but you couldn't stay mad at him. You respected his defiance, and so did Sebastian Michaelis I. "Is that, is that..."
You heard Tom's response, but more than that, you whispered it at the same time.
"The Devil Himself." You turned to your own father. "Father, that's..." he put a finger to his lips, pulling you towards him, pointing at the trinity of conflated angels, each considered to be responsible for the fall of man at different times, across different lands.
"The one waving, clearly with the best hair," you tugged at his beard, trying not to laugh. He knew. "I believe was your husband, wasn't he?" You let go.
"He is." You held a hand over your mouth, dramatically, though you weren't acting. You saw him, and there was no better feeling anywhere, not even here, that could compare to the immeasurable happiness you felt knowing he saw you, too. He pursed his lips before holding back a snicker, and you looked to your right. Oh. Right. "Sheba. Don't be nice to him when he gets up here, understand? I want you to bite him if he tries to pet you before he talks to me." She obeyed, growling, baring her teeth almost in a smile. He heard you, but you both needed to act mature. This was literally the most important thing. Ever.
Your father continued where he'd left off, used to you interrupting him. He pulled you back as he continued his didacticism. "The one next to him, who looks like he's already anxious to get on with it, that's-"
You cut him off, growling almost louder than your pet. She whimpered. "Shemyaza." This was a test. You knew it. You took a deep breath, remembering to act holy. You were a saint. You needed to act like one. Maybe this really did disrupt the power dynamic, and more than that, it overturned it. It sure didn't seem as tranquil and calm, nor as all-around blissful, touchy-feely warm rainbow bridge love-joy coating the entire land in butterflies and dandelions. You all had to forgive your individual least favourable version of Satan.
You were more important than you thought, and you knew why Her Majesty had gone and addressed you like a giddy little schoolgirl. If you only knew. So much for omnipotence.
There was a reason you were chosen, which, now, you knew you were. You didn't know, however, if it was God Himself who initiated that directly, or if it was solely because you were you, which you knew was a human way of looking at it, but it was an important technicality. Free-will meant everything. Your family, your birthright, everything made sense now. You were a bastard, your worst fears realised, but not in the way you wanted, and you'd been here before. You weren't allowed to leave, you were commanded to. God didn't just do that to anyone. Your father's beard seemed fitting for real, prophetic as he kept speaking, patting your head as you overcame your distaste for your husband's old friend. "I take it you know the name of the one on his knees."
You nodded, instantly intrigued by the thought of finding what lucky bitch had brought out the light in...Well, his name did already have that word in there: in the root of it all. Light-Bearer.
"Lucifer." You swore he looked right at you when you said it.
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