Dare

by Harukami

Author's notes: This is a Tenshi ni Narumon fanfic set after the series ended, so there are a few spoilers, mainly for Raphael and Mikael. It is set in the Angel School as expanded by the Hoyden to include other teachers, students, etc. Read her fics... they're Godly.
Notes on Angel and Demon names: Raphael is the healer in angelic lore, thus the Latin phrase 'Medicus' (doctor.) Azrael is, as most people know, the Angel of Death, and Suriel is also an Angel of Death, but a kind one, usually sent to gather the souls of babies that died before their time. Gabriel is an Archangel, and the Metatron is the Angel who is the Voice of God. Uriel is the angel of lightning and creativity. Cherior as a traditional angel name was basically a dark and pessimistic angel. Sophia was never an angel name but was taken from the Greek for 'wisdom'. Omael, according to angel lore, is both fallen and upright and wanders between the realms. As for the demons, I'm not completely sure of their names. I did do research in the Book of Sacred Magic of Abra-Melin the Mage, but since the book is rumoured to make people go insane if they read too much of it and since every part of me that touched the book started to feel as if it was burning, I didn't do too much work on it. The four Demon Princes who stand for the four different directions in Hell are: Lucifer, Leviathan, Satan, and Belial. (If you're wondering, Lucifer is the highest being the leader of the Angelic Rebellion, and Satan was just the serpent. They're often confused.) I believe the Levaithan is supposed to be the demonic equivalent of the Metatron, but I couldn't read far enough to say. It might be Belzebud, but I'm sticking with Leviathan as the higher ranking Fallen Angel. I /know/ Belial is a Warrior-Prince of Hell.
Other notes: I found I'm incapable of heating up donuts while my hands feel like they're burning. The end result tasted okay but felt like rubber. Onto the story!

[5:00] Mikael was late getting out of class.

This was not an uncommon event. It had been a VERY uncommon event back when he was a student... since Raphael would take any chance he got to get Mikael alone, Mikael would take every chance he got to /not/ be alone. That had been the very reason Raphael had applied to tutor Mikael one-on-one -- that, and some bullshit he'd managed to pull about Mikael's 'special circumstances'. Thinking back to that state always made Raphael smile. The /lengths/ he'd go through for some private time with that boy... and the lengths Mikael would go to to avoid it. Of course, Raphael'd always won. Always would, too, Raphael decided. He had the advantage of Mikael's having never figured out the headache excuse.

But now that Mikael had to actually teach CLASSES at the angel school, he ended up having to stay after class to help his class. Usually students, but more commonly now, student.

Mikael had Azrael's protege in his class, and Az's boy seemed to have set himself a goal of making Mikael's life miserable. An admirable persuit, Raphael had to admit, but fairly unoriginal. HE'd been doing it since before Az's boy had even been considered a candidate for angeldom.

Sure enough, when he walked into Mikael's class, the aqua-haired angel had his head down on his desk and Cherior, red-haired, short, and strong, was standing before the desk. "But what DOES happen to someone after they become an angel?" the redhead was demanding.

A heavy sigh, muffled by oak. "You have to learn that for yourself."

"Oh?" The redhead leaned over the desk. "I don't /think/ so. Why else would we have to have TEACHERS anyway? I think you don't /know/ the answer. You're not even qualified to teach, are you? I think I should go to Gabriel-sama with my complaints."

Very slowly, Mikael's head raised from the desk. He had the extremely calm expression he only wore when he was very, very angry, and his golden eyes were sharp. He smiled, a slow, deliberate stretching of lips and baring of teeth. Raphael thought he could hear, very distantly, the high whine of an electric guitar. Equally slowly, Mikael rose. He wasn't a tall angel by any means, but he was a little taller than Az's boy, who hadn't had his growth spurt yet.

Mikael leaned in, so he was nose-to-nose with the redhead. "You know what, Cherior? You do that. Go to Gabriel-sama. Tell him exACTly what you told me. Better yet, go to Azrael and tell /him/. Go on. Try me."

Cherior laughed, turned, and bumped his nose into Raphael's chest.

"Gabriel's a very busy man," Raphael said, pushing Cherior away by the shoulders. "You might get better answers from Azrael."

The redhead scowled, started to flip Raphael off and thought better of it, and sauntered away.

Mikael was slowly shredding a piece of paper between his fingers. "I give up. I really shouldn't be a teacher. One of these days I'll be teaching ancient Chinese poetic forms and Cherior will just open his mouth and I will kill him. Visciously--" he started in on a new piece of paper "-- and quite happily, might I add. And then Azrael will murder me and that will be the end. But at least I will have had the pleasure of killing that, that--"

Raphael patted his shoulder sympathetically. "If you think it's bad now, just wait until you get called to be a supervisor for a school dance. Five to one Az's boy gets drunk and vomits on someone's feet."

The paper slipped from numb fingers as Mikael seemed to space out. Distantly, he murmured, "If Cherior ever becomes a teacher, I hope he has a student who is three times as irritating as he is."

Unable to stop himself, Raphael grinned. "Hey, you know, I'd wished that before about /you/. Strange how our prayers are answered..."

Golden eyes fixed on Raphael, who counted slowly to three before starting to run.

[5:12]

He'd almost made it to the Faculty Lounge before Mikael caught up to him. Though taller and much more muscled than his slender, pretty-boy lover Mikael, the loss of one wing had unbalanced Raphael's body and, at the same time, removed an unfortunately sizable amount of muscle that made it much more easy for him to get winded than he liked. And so Mikael caught up, and even then, Raphael would have been fine as he lunged for the door, but the newer angel gave one powerful push of his wings and grabbed at Raphael's legs. Half-in and half-out of the door, Raphael writhed, laughing, trying to squirm out of Mikael's hold. The smaller angel twisted Raphael's left arm behind his back, also laughing.

"I give in!" Raphael cried, tapping out with his free hand. "Come on, darling, I'm already down a limb, don't take another!" Mikael let go so quickly that Raphael's body actually jerked, and the one-winged angel turned over before Mikael could quite scramble away, holding Mikael's legs to his hips so that the younger angel was held straddling him. "You caught me," Raphael said, and smiled.

The younger angel raised pale brows. "Who's caught who?" he wondered, bracing himself against Raphael's chest with his hands, leaning forward. Raphael's eyelashes dipped, slightly, as he raised his head to meet Mikael's lips, his own dark lips half-open already.

"Children," a voice reproved gruffly from inside the Lounge.

Mikael jerked back, jumping to his feet, embarrassed. Sighing at the missed opportunity, Raphael rolled into a crouch, then stood and crossed his arms at Azrael, who was sprawled out on one of the couches. "Come on," Raphael muttered at the Angel of Death. "I seem to recall some interesting places YOU ended up with your sweetie."

Azrael just crooked an eyebrow and took a sip from his steaming mug.

Beside him, Mikael had tensed a little, as if remembering the source of his problems. Raphael glanced over in time to see his lover's hands clench into fists. He hoped, desperately, that Mikael didn't try to deck Azrael. The scar where his wing had been ached at the thought.

"Azrael," Mikael said sweetly. "You're going to have to do something about Cherior."

The black eyebrow winged again. "I'm going to HAVE to?"

"If you want him to live," Mikael specified. "I think I can get away with temporary insanity charges, after what he's put me through."

Azrael waved a hand. "Oh, the little fucker isn't all that bad, really."

Azrael's lover, Suriel, emerged from the kitchenette with a cup of tea. "Actually, love, you wouldn't want to hear some of the things he says to me."

They shared a look that Raphael knew was closed-wave telepathy, and Azrael scowled. "Right," he said, and cracked his knuckles. "I'll have a word with him."

Mikael smiled.

Suriel hummed cheerfully as he straightened some cushions on the other couch, then beamed at Raphael and Mikael. "Could I get you some tea or coffee?"

"Um, tea, please," Mikael said.

Raphael leaned over Azrael's shoulder, taking a look at what the darker Angel of Death was drinking. Coffee? He sniffed, smelled grinds and booze, and made a face. "What /is/ that, Az, coffee or brandy?"

"Yes," Azrael said, and took another sip.

[5:21]

Pretty soon, they were involved in a conversation on Uriel's latest antics. Raphael, though contributing helpfully with the most recent rumours, wasn't really paying much attention to the discussion. Mikael had developed an adorable habit of winding his fingers through his bangs as he talked, and Raphael found himself wanting, as usual, to be alone with the younger angel. As they laughed at one thing or another their colleague had done, Raphael touched Mikael's cheek, his shoulder, his leg. Lightly, almost not thinking about it, because he liked touching Mikael. His aqua-haired lover seemed not to notice, but once in a while, as Raphael's fingers brushed here, or knuckles brushed there, Mikael would pause while talking and take a moment to regain the thread of what he was saying, lips pursed in thought, adorable, kissable.

~You are so far gone,~ Azrael's voice whispered in Raphael's head. He didn't answer. He would have liked to, would have liked to find some way to laugh it off or send the joke back, but it was the truth, he /was/ far gone, and he didn't want to hurt Mikael's feelings by making a joke about it. For some reason, and Raphael hadn't been able to figure out why, Mikael was able to pick up anything that Raphael telepathed, or that was telepathed to him. It wasn't normal, not for any angel, but admittedly Mikael was, as Azrael had put it more than once, 'Fucking weird'. He smiled slightly at that memory and brushed his knuckles once more across Mikael's baby-soft cheek.

~You really are,~ Azrael repeated, amused, not aware that he might as well have said it aloud; Mikael could hear and Azrael probably hadn't bothered to hide his thoughts from Suriel. Even then, Suriel probably could have guessed. Oh well. He smiled brightly back at Azrael. ~Don't suppose that means you'll go off somewhere and let us have the Lounge to ourselves?~ He accompanied the sending with a series of softcore images.

Mikael, who had been talking, stuttered into silence, flush heating pale cheeks. His gold eyes, bright with embarrassment and another form of heat, locked onto Raphael's in their startlement.

By the Most Holy, he loved Mikael's eyes, their outer ring of dark gold that flecked into the paleness before growing dark again, loved the way he could make them go sharp or dull, pupils tight or wide, just by saying a few words or doing a few things. Mikael was so expressive, always expressive, but his eyes spoke even more than his body did. Even without telepathy, Raphael thought he could have whole conversations with Mikael's heart just by watching his eyes respond.

Silence stretched and Suriel coughed into a hand. "Mikael, you were saying?"

Golden eyes broke away from the hold, colour still high in Mikael's cheeks. "I... oh. Um. I'd heard a rumour that Uriel has even had his way with the Metatron himself." Raphael winced, having been one of the few people the Metatron would talk with, and knowing the Voice of God's desparation for Uriel to return his feelings. But it had been said.

Despite the potential juiciness of the gossip, Mikael didn't seem to be thinking about it, instead watching his fingers twine together in his lap. "Um, do you think it's true?"

"You'd have to ask Uriel," Azrael said dryly. "I'm sure he'd brag, at any rate."

"Ask me what?" Uriel said from the doorway, and Raphael threw his hands up in dispair.

It was the way of things. He wanted privacy with his lover, and more people showed up. He wanted the subject to be dropped for the Metatron's sake, and Uriel himself arrived. "I'm getting more tea," he said.

[5:47]

"--Can't keep his mouth shut in bed. Or when he's asleep for that matter." Uriel waved a hand. "Quite educational, I assure you."

Azrael muttered something that Raphael couldn't catch but that was undoubtably derogatory, and Suriel choked on a chuckle. Mikael's ears were flushed a perminant pink. Raphael 'hmmed' thoughtfully, face impassive.

"Honestly, though," Uriel continued, "considering his personality, that's really not a surprise. Now, Gabriel -- I could hardly believe it when I got through to him."

"Gabriel-sama?!" Mikael squeaked, disbelievingly.

Uriel blinked at the newer teacher. "Have you LOOKED at that man, Mikael? Delightful, absolutely delightful. Of course, it was never really a serious affair. More an act done to express our friendship. Poor Gabriel gets so stressed so easily... it's practically my /duty/ as one of his loyal angels to do what I can to relax him, make him remember some of the good things about life at this school. Knowing that, how COULD I possibly turn away from that wonderful man in his hours of need?"

"Skank," Azrael said.

Uriel waved it off. "But enough about me." Raphael thanked Most Holy silently and quite thoroughly, but Uriel wasn't finished talking. "I'm not the only one who's done nicely for myself. How are our happy new lovers?"

"Fine, thank you," Mikael said politely at the same time as Raphael answered,

"Outdoing you in several areas."

In the stunned silence that fell, Raphael actually believed he could hear Mikael's face heating.

Finally, Uriel grinned with that nonchalant ease that seemed to always come to him. "You lie."

"Like a rug, yes, I know," Raphael nodded, face schooled in seriousness. He felt a little bit sorry; Uriel's promiscuity seemed to be his pride. But it wasn't fair that Azrael and Suriel would be deliberately hanging around when they KNEW he wanted to be alone with Mikael, encouraging the rake to go on about his affairs when Mikael was a foot away and mostly untouchable. It wasn't fair that Uriel never looked at another's feelings. Besides, Uriel would take the challenge well; there WAS something to say about the blue-eyed angel's easy-going manner. "Your problem is, dear Uriel, that you have such a variety of interests that you can't afford enough time with one person to get to know that person's triggers. It only follows that, though you get a larger number of different flavours, someone who sticks with one flavour gets to know that one flavour better than you do your collection."

He beamed. Uriel beamed back. Mikael looked as if he was going to die. The other two watched with the satisfied air of sports commentators.

"So," Uriel said. "You gonna share some of the juicy details?"

"Wanna watch?" Raphael replied, leering.

Mikael hit him. "Raphael-sama!"

[6:00]

Everyone was getting vaguely hungry, and Raphael began to wonder if he could use that as an excuse for heading back to his and Mikael's apartment. Uriel, who'd been drinking straight brandy out of a mug, leaned forward.

"Has anyone heard of a game called 'Truth or Dare'?" he asked, grinning.

Nervously, Mikael raised a hand.

Uriel nodded. "Figures. You were probably a little party-animal down on earth." He ignored Mikael's sputtering and continued. "In the game, you ask someone 'Truth or dare', and they get to pick one. You either give them a dare or ask them a question and they have to either respond truthfully, if it's truth, or complete the dare if it isn't. If they refuse to do their assigned choice, they have to accept a set penalty: in this case, contributing money for dinner." He beamed. "How's that?"

"You're just looking for an excuse to brag," Raphael accused, and Uriel shrugged.

Though Mikael looked uncertain, Suriel and Azrael sat to play, and it looked like the game would be on. Uriel started: "Mikael, truth or dare?"

Raphael's lover visibly hesitated. "D... Truth."

The Sinatra-esque angel quirked an eyebrow, smiling sensually. "Where do you consider to be the most kinky place you and Raphael have ever had sex?"

Mikael's head thumped into the table, and Raphael felt a rush of sympathy. It often seemed as though the easily embarrassed Mikael really wasn't the type to stay with Raphael's friends.

"Well?" Uriel prompted. "Unless you /really/ want to donate to our supper?"

Finally, Mikael spoke, though his voice was muffled by the table. "In the classroom."

Uriel looked disappointed. "How is THAT kinky?"

"There was fifteen minutes until class started, and some of my students show up early," Mikael explained through gritted teeth, then turned hurriedly to

Suriel. "Suriel, truth or dare?" The game continued, and they were starting to build quite the hoard of money on the table --mainly from Mikael, who had protested a few dares -- when Azrael turned to Raphael with a smug look on his face. "Truth or Dare?"

"Dare," Raphael answered, smiling easily. He'd been Professor long enough to not have to worry particularly about anything Az could ask him.

The cruel Angel of Death steepled his fingers, leaning forward. "I dare you to go to the Demon Court this evening. Bring something back to prove you've gone."

"Azrael!" Suriel protested, putting a hand on his lover's shoulder, but Az was still smiling.

The rest of the room held its breath.

The Demon Court was the demon race's answer to the Angel School. Common demons, like the ones Noelle's family had been, weren't even given access. It was the domain of the Unfaithful and the demesne of the Morning Star. Only one angel who still attended the school had ever been there, Omael, who was considered an impartial observer, Faithful and Unfaithful. No other angel even had a key to the realm.

Mikael clutched at his arm. "Raphael-sama! Don't!"

He made the mistake of looking at distressed golden eyes. They quavered, slightly, with the intaken-breath instinct of /please don't./

~It's not a nice place, Raphael-sama,~ Mikael pleaded into his mind. ~Please don't go. Not for something as silly as this. Please.~

It was hard -- almost impossible -- to argue with that. Painful, even. But the dare itself was impossible, and so Raphael had to try. He never could turn down a challenge. And he'd always wondered...

Besides, Mikael had been there -- once -- before, and returned. Omael had gone and returned.

"After dinner, I'll go," he said, more jovially than he had thought he could manage before he'd tried.

The game ended there, and they ordered in dinner. Mikael was silent throughout the meal, and as Raphael held out his teacup for a refill, Mikael's hand snuck out and took his, fingers twining.

Suriel cleaned up the plates, and Raphael rose, hand slipping from Mikael's. He stretched, trying to ease his inner discomfort. "I'll just go make arrangements. I'll be back by midnight."

"I'm going with you," Mikael said, rising, determined.

Raphael reached for the spot of inner calm he'd turned to so many times when upset, and smiled at Mikael, pretending his fingers weren't itching for a guitar to let his worry out on. "No, it's all right. I'm not the Professor for nothing, you know." He wanted to take Mikael back to their rooms now, spend a quiet hour, just in case, but he didn't want to waste time, wanted to get back well before the deadline. He leaned forward and brushed a light kiss over the other angel's lips. "Don't wait up."

Mikael looked as if he were going to say something else, then let his hand drop from where it had reached out. He straightened, eyes shuttering, and it shot straight to Raphael's heart. He realised that if Mikael told him once more not to go, he wouldn't. But Mikael said nothing, just looked at him with gold eyes gone suddenly distant.

"I think," Uriel said, "that we'll all wait up to see how this one goes."

[7:18]

There was no answer when Raphael knocked on the door of Omael's room, so he knocked again, louder, then shrugged and tested the door. It was unlocked.

As he pushed the door open, he was treated to a sight that could have been a painting, remote from reality. Omael knelt in the center of the floor, smiling and humming to himself, golden be-ribboned hair tumbling about his stooped shoulders. He had wings but no halo. A pile of paper was on his left and a huge pile of folded orgami was on his right. Paper cranes. Raphael thought of the girl on Earth who had had a crush on Mikael, and Raphael thought of insanity.

Current theory was that it was the many trips back and forth between opposing existances that had unbalanced Omael, though when he was being honest with himself, Raphael could admit that many of the angels seemed a little unbalanced, himself included. It might well be his role as the Recorder, impartial observer of Court and School, which caused his public coldness and jumpiness, but Raphael had his own theory. There were only so many lies someone could have before he got lost between them, after all.

Pupilless blue eyes were half-lidded as fingers delicately worked paper into a shape, laid it on the pile, and took up another sheet. He hadn't noticed Raphael.

"What will you wish for?" Raphael asked.

Omael literally jumped, ending up on his feet, wings half-spread for balance. A crane was crushed under his left foot. Blank eyes opened wide, not-quite looking at Raphael. "How did you get in here?!" His voice was surprisingly harsh compared to the melody it had been composing earlier. A ribbon-braid fell over one eye.

Raphael casually jerked his thumb back and took a step forward, smiling. "You left the door unlocked. Nobody answered when I knocked, so I came in."

Cold voice, cold tongue. "What do you want, Medicus?" It was typical of Omael to use his angelic title, not his professional title. It made another wedge of distance, so Raphael took another step forward, careful not to step on any cranes himself. It wasn't /his/ wish, after all.

"I need to borrow your key." He kept his voice light. "To the Demon Court. And I need you not to tell anyone."

A half-folded crane fell from pale fingers, and Omael's mouth worked a few times. "You're insane," the Recorder said. "You're not allowed to go there. Why do you think I'd give my key to /you/?"

There was a nearly-hidden tone in that last word, an almost hysterical accusation. Raphael was very good at reading people, and it implied something he'd suspected. He reached out and touched a half-faded small bruise on Omael's neck -- a type he'd left on Mikael more than once-- before the other angel slapped his hand away. "Perhaps," he said, "I can give /him/ some news for you?"

Omael cried out, covering the bruise with a hand, shaking his head, wordless. "No... you... How do you know?!" Eyes looked around, fearful, checking to make sure that the door was closed, panicky. "You can't... you shouldn't know!!" A fist flew out, and Raphael caught it.

The hand that followed it was soft, placed on the front of Raphael's chest. It trembled slightly, and fingers were tense. "You can't tell anyone. You can't. I'll do anything. Just don't. Don't."

Raphael forced himself to keep smiling. "Just your key, please. Nobody needs to know, and I'll return it later tonight, no harm done."

Omael's hand jumped away from Raphael as if he'd been burned, and he stumbled backward, knocking paper cranes everywhere. "Key. Of course. The key. Yes. And you won't tell anyone." Blank eyes shut, and there was a flash as a crimson key appeared in his hand. He held it out to Raphael, shakily. "Promise me. Promise me you won't."

Desperation. Raphael felt like shit. "Of course, Omael. I won't tell anyone." The key was hot as Omael pressed it into his hand and he took a quick step back, wanting out already. There was a quiet thump as Omael sank to the floor and Raphael hesitated, looking at him. "Just..." his curiousity had been his undoing more than once. "Why, Omael? Why the Morning Star?"

Tears were rolling down his cheeks, but Omael looked at him steadily through them, mustering what had to be a last ounce of dignity. "I don't expect you to understand. All you need to do is not tell anyone. I'd kill you before they threw me out. I would, you know. So you won't tell anyone."

"No. No, I won't." Unable to take his eyes off the cranes Omael was methodically crushing between his fingers, Raphael nodded once, respectfully, and backed away, shutting the door.

As soon as it was closed, the screaming began. Raphael hurried down the hall and was halfway down when he saw Mikael waiting for him.

[7:31]

"I don't believe you," Mikael said, voice hard. The screaming was still audible, faint, but audible. "Did you /bully/ him?"

Raphael thought about himself and decided on honesty. "Yes."

Golden eyes widened and Mikael huffed. "I never understand you. That was cruel."

"Probably, yes." He checked the time. "I don't have that long, Mikael. I have to get going."

Full lips hardened into a thin line and Mikael took a step forward, whole body tense. "Why won't you listen to me, Raphael-sama? You don't want to go. It's not a nice place, it's full of not-nice people, and it's definately not worth not being nice yourself over. Just listen to me, give the key back, and tell Azrael you'll pay for the next dinner, or something." Mikael was angry, not screaming-angry, but really calm-angry. It hurt Raphael, having eyes like coins glaring at him like that.

"I already agreed to do it, Mikael. I'm just going to get it over with, now."

Mikael slapped him. "You /never/ listen to me! Doesn't it matter what I feel?!"

Slowly, Raphael touched his cheek where it stung. It was probably quite red; Mikael hadn't held back. He couldn't help remembering, again, the past, where he had wanted, many times, to do the same. "When it seems as though a person isn't listening," he said, "they either aren't hearing your meaning, aren't paying attention, or they are listening but feel as if there's something they need to do for themselves that no amount of words will change."

"And what is it this time?" Mikael asked, soft, angry.

"I always listen to you, Mikael," Raphael said, and leaned forward to touch his lips to Mikael's unresponsive ones. He smiled, wistfully, and pushed past his lover.

Mikael's voice stopped him before he'd gone much further. "/Why/, Raphael-sama?"

Omael's words flashed in his mind and he bit back before he said them himself. "Because. I need to know what other angels, good angels, gave all this up for." He waved around at the shining halls. "I've wanted to for a long time. If I don't, how can I feel justified in my own choice?"

He summoned his own Earth Key and vanished.

[7:45]

Raphael had to go to Earth before he could use Omael's Court Key. Earth was the transit point; it overlapped both worlds. He breathed in Japan's fresh air, watched people walk by without seeing him, and stepped aside before someone walked through him. It was something he couldn't get used to.

Still, it had been a choice he'd made. He concentrated on Omael's Key.

[7:48]

The place he reappeared was dark and it took his eyes a moment to adjust to the absence of light. It was also very quiet, the kind of quiet that poor suspence authors refer to as 'too quiet'. It was the kind of quiet that one could imagine bad guy background music playing in. And there was a smell, not actually unpleasant, but unusual and completely indescribable. His time-sense was gone, and as he waited for his eyes to adjust, he couldn't tell if seconds, minutes, or hours passed. It was a setting that seemed, to Raphael, designed to set a person on edge. He gave himself another reason that Omael might be unbalanced.

It wasn't completely lightless, after all; his halo cast a dim radius of light in a circle around him and Raphael was suddenly quite aware that in this dark realm, to someone used to it, he was lit up like a beacon. More unease. He'd finally found a place he couldn't live, he told himself, trying to lighten his suddenly nervous thoughts.

It didn't work.

As his eyes finally gave up their protests at the change and vision began to work again, he saw the open, dark gates in front of him. "Too late now," he told himself, and his voice echoed oddly in the non-sound.

A few quick steps forward, and suddenly it was a bit lighter, as if being inside the Court offered some respite from the outside world. He recognized the false comfort for what it was, and appreciated it nonetheless. It was slowly beginning to dawn on Raphael that Mikael had been right; this was a /very/ dangerous place, and not just physically.

To the North, barraks. To the South, the Dreaminglands -- the demonic equivalent of the Wasteland. It was light, over there, shifting and uncertain. Now trees, now rock, now sand. Everything and nothing. Raphael quickly transferred his gaze straight ahead, to the West.

The Court. Dark, tall buildings from a Gothic painting. Again, the doors were open, and Raphael could see blue fires in torches on the walls of the first hall.

He should move more quickly, he realized, unless he /wanted/ to get caught.

He ran. Up the dark marble steps and into the First Hall. Masks lined the walls, lit eerily by the balefires, and he decided that was enough proof.

As he touched one, its eyes opened, and he shuddered, but when his hand had been on it for more than a moment, the eyes closed again. He threw it into a jacket pocket and turned, running back for those gates, stumbling into darkness. The Earth Key was cool in his hand and he concentrated on that, hard.

[10:49]

In the Demon Court's security room, the Head of Security and Chief Commander of the Army replayed the security tape yet again, slowing it at the appropriate times.

"Damn it," he swore. The humour of the situation was not lost on him. Green eyes slid shut and a hand ran through charcoal curls with an aggravated motion.

He knew he had to say something; with a Mask of Destiny stolen, the fact that there had been an intrusion simply couldn't be overlooked. Either Raphael would get accused, or...

Fingers traced over the paused image on screen. How long had it been, he wondered, since he had last seen that face, that muscled body? A wing was missing since that time, but so little else had changed.

No. There could be no trace, or he'd be doing Raphael the type of injustice he'd promised never to commit.

The image on the tape faded and blurred into unrecognizability until there was little but a holy haze. As Raphael's image faded, Belial allowed his eyes to close in pain.

[10:54]

A wave of relief washed over Raphael as his balance reasserted themselves. He realized he was humming and couldn't repress a grin as he recognized the tune. /Keep the Home Fires Burning/.

"Raphael-sama." Mikael had been waiting, leaning against a wall, brows creased. Now he took a step forward, hand outstretched. "Are you... all right?"

Raphael took a few quick steps forward and crushed the other angel to him. "Nothing a large amount of alcohol wouldn't erase," he said into Mikael's hair. "No, you're quite right, Mikael. That was /not/ a nice place. I have no idea how any of the Unfaithful could make a choice to dwell there."

"I /told/ you," Mikael reproved. "Now give Omael's key back and apologize, Raphael-sama. The Recorder goes through enough /without/ you adding to it."

"Yes, Mother," Raphael sighed, hanging his head, grinning a silly grin.

"Raphael-sama!"

It was good to be home.

[11:00]

Omael wasn't in his room. Raphael found him in the Faculty Storage Room, methodically feeding origami paper into the paper shredder. "Thank you," he said.

The Recorder took the key and cradled it to him like a child, arms crossed over it, over his heart. "Don't ever thank me," he said.

Raphael nodded and backed away.

"You're a bastard," Omael said, conversationally. "Mikael's a nice boy. Worthy of Most Holy. I have no idea why it's considered fair that you have him."

Comments like that were one of the few kinds that would make Raphael actually want to hit someone. He smiled, somewhat sickly. "Persistance works miracles."

"Persistance," Omael said, feeding another sheet of paper into the machine, "is never enough. It can't be enough. Some people just have all the luck. Now get the fuck out of my sight."

He did so.

[11:04]

"I don't think he likes me," Raphael confessed. Mikael looked at him reproachfully, a slight pouting expression that vanished as soon as Raphael started sucking on his lower lip. The aqua-haired angel flushed, stepping back, breath catching. "Let's go back to our apartment, Raphael-sama."

The mask twitched in his pocket and Raphael grimaced. "After I show the proof to the Bastard, I'll be more than glad to take you up on that."

The others were still in the Lounge, and they were apparently waiting for him. Suriel let out a breath of relief, Uriel applauded, and Az raised an eyebrow. "The proof?"

He tossed the mask at Azrael, not wanting his fingers on it longer than necessary. "Proof enough?"

Azrael made a face, looking it over. "I'd say so. Though I have no idea what the fuck possessed you to steal a Mask of Destiny. The demons are going to be clamoring for recompensense for this, yanno."

It took a moment to sink in. "Oh," Raphael said, sheepishly. "So THAT'S a Mask of Destiny."

"Oh dear," Uriel said. "Um. You'd better take it back."

Raphael felt his stomach drop. "No," he said, perhaps a tone too loudly. "I am NOT going back there. I'll just leave it in Gabriel's office, or something."

Suriel winced. "He'll be angry."

"/Let him/."

[11:42]

They had indeed just dropped it off in his office, and Raphael turned as Mikael locked the door. Mikael had the guilty look of self-blame and Raphael would be willing to bet his other wing that he was wishing he'd stopped Raphael.

"Raphael-sama," Mikael began, so Raphael lunged forward and kissed him, using the time-tried method of shutting his lover up.

Mikael's body stiffened unhappily in his arms before relaxing somewhat suddenly, arms coming up and fingers scrunching in the back of Raphael's jacket. Mouths ate at each other somewhat frantically and Raphael felt his /own/ lips bruise against Mikael's teeth.

They broke apart somewhat breathlessly, and Raphael saw tears in Mikael's eyes. Silently, the smaller angel took Raphael's hand and led him to the futon. "Raphael-sama," he whispered. "Love me."

He couldn't help thinking of Omael's words and so he crushed his mouth to Mikael's again, body pressing Mikael's onto the sheets. "I do," he husked, moving his lips from full red lips to throat, biting junction of neck and shoulder just hard enough to leave a small reddish bruise, just lightly enough to make Mikael jerk and cry out. He shed clothes, helped his lover shed clothes. "Oh, Mikael, Mikael," he murmured onto flesh, "forgive me."

Mikael panted something wordless, hooking a leg over Raphael's hips, dazed gold eyes opening and talking to Raphael.

It turned out, Raphael realized not too much later, that a large amount of alcohol wasn't really needed. Oh, drunkenness, yes, the drunkenness of graceful limbs lost in motion, of a slender body pillowed on wings, of pale cheeks with colour spotted high, of stuttering voice stammering out phrases that may or may not be forgotten after that night, but would be repeated again. Raphael buried his face in Mikael's shoulder, body locked in love, and cried where no one would see him.

[The Next Day]

They were woken in late morning -- thank the Most Holy for weekends -- by a memo.

Mikael read it with blurry eyes while Raphael rolled over and tried to go back to sleep. He knew it would fail when Mikael said, "The Metatron's called a staff meeting."

Raphael swore and tried to find his pants.

"Just remember," Mikael cautioned. "It wasn't you."

He smiled. "Dearest, I would so /not/ be the Professor if I confessed half the things I did."

The staff meeting was held, as always, in the top of the Metatron's Tower, a place Raphael always secretly referred to as Too Bloody High. There was something wrong about standing on a floor and looking out a window to see clouds several hundred feet below.

The Metatron was painting his nails as various teachers filed in and took their places. He ignored them until everyone was seated, then blew on his nails, and looked up. "We will be getting a message from the Leviathan in three minutes," he said.

Murmurs started up. It was always a matter of utmost security when they were noticed that they were going to be messaged by the Voice of the Morning Star. Everyone knew that someday, the message would be a declaration of war. They were usually relieved when the message turned out to be a request for Omael's return, or an invitation to an anniversary picnic or some other such, but the worry was always there.

He squeezed Mikael's hand under the table. Across the table, Gabriel was looking angry.

The air over the table blurred and a head-and-shoulders image of the Leviathan appeared. Mikael, being the newest teacher and having never seen him, gasped. Raphael could sympathize. The Leviathan even outshone Suriel in good looks, all blue curls and large eyes and eyelashes, yet with a masculine set to his jaw and a darkness that turned the beauty quite cold. Raphael had sometimes wondered if it was always the most beautiful ones who turned Unfaithful, as if good looks and rebellion went together. He twined his fingers through Mikael's.

"One of the Masks of Destiny has been stolen," the Leviathan said, voice faint with the distance of the sending. "Whoever it was altered the security tapes, but we were able to tell that it was indeed an angel. This is a major affront."

Mikael's head had jerked up and he sent a startled sending to Raphael. ~You altered the security tapes?!~

He shook his head, faintly, and wondered.

Gabriel rose and bowed. "It was turned in anonymously to my office sometime last night. We understand your anger quite well."

"It will, of course, be returned," the Metatron said.

"Of course," the Leviathan said, and smiled distantly. "Yet, how are we to take this blatant slap across the face? We wish a suitable recompensation."

Slowly, the Metatron rose. "With no knowledge of whoever did the action, we cannot bring the criminal to justice, of course. How can we rightfully give recompensense when we bear no knowing responsibility of the crime?"

Another distant smile. "True. And yet, We are angered."

Everyone held their breath. Here it was, the possibility of war, so very very close. If the Metatron refused to bend, it could be the beginning of the end. But if he did, they would be proving themselves cowards. Paradoxical bind. Raphael glared down the table at Azrael, who raised his eyebrows.

"We are also angered by the action, Leviathan. It is an affront to the School's policies as well, and so We very much understand your feelings."

The Leviathan's cold smile vanished into a blank expression and then he actually grinned. "Fair enough. Then We change our request: send the Mask back with Omael, who we will keep for a month. We believe that in the brief periods he is here, he cannot properly record Court life and portray it accurately, so we demand a longer period."

"It will be done. He shall leave this afternoon." Metatron bowed, a small show of respect, and the Leviathan's head similarly ducked.

Raphael breathed a very quiet sigh of relief.

Eyes raising, the Leviathan turned and looked directly at him. "And Medicus. Belial sends his greetings." The image blurred out.

Everyone was looking at Raphael, who blinked. "Oh. Um." So that had been it. He resisted the urge to smile a little goofily. He had always known there was still some kind of a goody-good inside the Demon Prince, someone who might remember Raphael. Well, he'd hoped, at any rate.

The Metatron's lips twisted. "Well, Raphael, seems you leave a trail of flame behind you." Raphael shrugged, hand behind his head.

Another brief, slightly confused silence, and Uriel spoke up. "You handled that well, Metatron. Nobody here lost face. /Most/ impressive." He grinned, and Raphael could /see/ the blush spread across the Metatron's cheeks.

And so, he thought, a happy ending was had by all.

Or nearly. As they prepared for bed that night, Mikael turned to Raphael somewhat suspiciously. "Raphael-sama?"

"Hmm?" He was smiling and not able to stop. It was always such a /nice/ rush when these things worked out.

"Who is Belial?"

Oh shit. He managed to wipe the panic off his face, hopefully /before/ Mikael had noticed. "He's one of the four Demon Princes. He and I used to be friends."

Mikael's arms were crossed. "How /close/ friends?"

He could shoot himself. "It was centuries and centuries ago, Mikael!" he protested.

His lover's arms unfolded, but before he could sigh in relief, Mikael pointed to the side. "Couch, Raphael-sama."

Raphael knew better than to go to bed in an argument -- Mikael would get huffy for weeks. He sidled closer to Mikael's back, ran his hands over Mikael's wings. "It was a /long/ time ago, and yes, I was in love."

Gold eyes widened, hurt.

"But. He left me. I didn't think I'd ever fall in love again." He moved closer, nuzzled Mikael's hair. "I did. Even at the time, I thought I was being a fool. But Mikael... I fell in love with you."

"Raphael-sama..."

Smaller hands closed on Raphael's jacket, tight, as the youth turned and buried his face in Raphael's chest.

Raphael closed his eyes and thought about the future.