The World Before: MM Romance

by Primrose, Ella

  “Because that always works out well,” Jakob comments dryly. “Is there nobody up there who could, you know, just stop Brath? I mean; they banned Lucifer. They took Brath’s powers away once. Why not just do it again?”

  Both Andrew and Perry mull over it for a moment before Perry finds his voice to answer. “Only Our Father could do that. He was the one to ban Lucifer and put him in chains, and he was the one who cast out Brath.”

  “Michael was the one who defeated Lucifer in the first place,” Andrew adds thoughtfully. “When in possession of his sword, no other archangel could match Brath.”

  “Then why doesn’t he get his ass down here and do something?” Mathieu feels inclined to ask.

  “Yeah,” Keith suddenly pipes up. “Why don’t you?” And he is staring straight ahead at Jakob.

  All heads turn towards him, and Mathieu blinks in confusion. The only comfort is that Jakob looks even more confused than all of them put together.

  “Um,” he starts. “What?”

  “Why don’t you do something?” Keith repeats almost impatiently. “Perhaps destroy the sword this time rather than keeping it for some random cherub to grab?”

  “I don’t follow.”

  “Yeah, me neither,” Mathieu throws in, almost knocking over the stack of dirty dishes to his left. He distractedly wonders if it would be tactless for him to ask Keith to make a cup of coffee. Or more than one. He thinks he needs a lot of caffeine right now.

  “You are Michael, are you not?” Keith elaborates after a couple of baffled glances have been exchanged at the table. “Brath said you were. Only in a human shell. I assumed that’s why you were acting weird this morning.”

  Jakob blinks furiously. “Sorry—”

  “I mean, I wouldn’t have guessed it’s you,” Keith continues unperturbed, seemingly adapting to his new angel-poisoned surroundings much better than Gareth; he almost seems chipper again. “No offense, but you do look pretty ordinary at first glance. Perry here isn’t going to be of much to you, but you could strip Brath of his powers, couldn’t you?”

  “No, I couldn’t!” Jakob calls out desperately, getting up and taking a few quick steps around the room, rubbing his fingers over his scalp and his face, inwardly shaking so much that the tremble carries on to the outside. “I have no fucking idea what you’re on about. I mean, it’s not even possible, is it?” he asks and looking at Andrew, he anxiously waits for him to support him.

  But Andrew looks like a deer in the headlights, frozen and helplessly lost. “Michael is gone,” he says absently. “He struck Lucifer and disappeared, and we didn’t… There were stories, many stories but nobody knew.”

  “You can’t honestly believe that this is true,” Jakob says, and Perry and Andrew say nothing, and Mathieu can’t do anything but be kind of overwhelmed with everything, mental capacities exhausted.

  “I can prove it,” Keith suggests, and stretches and catches Jakob’s wrist just like he had caught Mathieu’s not more than a few minutes ago. But instead of just holding on, Keith jams his teeth together and squints and hisses.

  When he withdraws his hand, Mathieu can see that his palm is covered in blisters.

  “What the fuck,” he says, and it’s Jakob’s turn to do the staring.

  “Your soul is so bright it burns me,” Keith explains simply. “No normal soul could do that to me. See?” And he presses his flat hand (the one without blisters, thankfully) to Mathieu’s forehead just to prove another point.

  There is more baffled silence; more wide-eyed looks and Mathieu can’t decide whether to be thankful for being the only normal person amidst them. “Well, fuck me.”

  “I’m supposed to be the actual archangel, Michael?” Jakob snorts. “Right. Don’t you think I’d know if I was someone else?”

  Keith shrugs. “Believe me or not, it doesn’t change a thing,” he says nonchalantly, licking the tips of his fingers to pick up a few crumbs covering the stacked-up plates. “It was a pretty smart thing to do after going into hiding. But souls are curious things, aren’t they? Very fickle. Brath says they’re tasty too. And they never die. They’re cleansed and reborn, and I don’t know if that’s what you intended, to lose all knowledge of who you used to be… But that’s Michael’s soul, all right. I know an archangel’s soul when I feel one. Give me some credit.”

  Jakob is still looking to Andrew. “Come on, Andrew, this is… I mean, it can’t…” and he trails off as Andrew continues to look at him with wide eyes.

  “I always thought you were different,” he muses wondrously. “I could never tell why. Maybe that’s what drew me to you in the first place.”

  “Mathieu?”

  “Oh no,” Mathieu replies instantly. “I’m out. Not letting any of this sink in, because my brain will explode if I do, and it won’t be pretty.”

  Jakob shakes his head. “You have all lost your minds,” and then Perry moves, making Jakob flinch before pointing a trembling finger. “Oh no, no kneeling! Are you insane?”

  “Only Brath would figure it out,” Perry says after coming to stand again. “You knew each other so well; used to be so close. He didn’t tell you?”

  “Not – technically. He said some weird things I didn’t get.”

  “What?”

  “What he said, in a way,” Jakob nods over at Keith, who is looking deflated and exhausted and it doesn’t surprise Mathieu at all. But as he said, he’s trying not to take all of this in, because this is too much for one day. Maybe spread out over a week or so, a month; or ever better, a lifetime.

  * * *

  Time has frozen, but Mathieu guesses that they don’t talk for at least an hour. Perry is worrying his lips, and Gareth returns to the living (at least in some way), not parting from the slowly melting pack of ice that he wears as a hat. Keith is slumped forward, head resting on the table and Andrew has sat down on the armrest of the chair Jakob has sunk into. The former cupid, seemingly comfortable in his own skin, keeps running his fingers through Jakob’s hair in a gesture so soft and gentle that it kind of makes Mathieu’s heart ache.

  He is still trying to come to terms with the fact that time is standing still; that his best friend is an archangel reincarnated; that Brath is releasing the Devil to have revenge on those who abandoned and hurt him. And Mathieu is trying to understand Brath, to not be angry and disappointed and probably terrified out of his mind—but he gets it.

  He knows Brath’s story. He doubts that the others wouldn’t do the same if they could. So, he can understand it, but that doesn’t mean he believes it’s a good idea. The outcome can’t be rosy for any of them, and he would be happy just to unfreeze time, turn it back a day and tell Andrew to leave Brath’s sword where it is so that they can all live in peace.

  “I’m sorry,” Jakob suddenly breaks the silence. “I don’t know why you think I’m… well, you know. But I’m not anymore, and I’m just me. I can’t do anything.”

  “It’s alright, angel boy,” Mathieu says sympathetically and pats Jakob’s hand. Jakob sends him a half-hearted glare.

  Drops from Gareth’s bag of ice hit the table with a steady rhythm. “Nobody can do anything. But we’ll figure things out, right? We’ll work out something.” Gareth says with a dry laugh.

  “I guess we should go stop the Apocalypse.” Mathieu replies.

  “Mathieu?” Jakob asks.

  “Hm?”

  “Shut up.”

  19

  Brath

  It’s exhilarating. It is a craving finally satisfied, and an ache finally quenched; a lost limb regained, a parent reunited with their long lost child. He wants to rejoice and curse the heavens, curse His Father and his pawns and laugh at them while they fall and crumble to dust.

  But all in due time.

  Right now, Brath has things to do, critical things that cannot be postponed, although he would like to. He doesn’t like leaving Mathieu behind like this, no doubt exposing him to lies that these cherubs are no doubt going to tell him. But he believe
s that Mathieu will not let them pass judgment on him. He’s got it all figured out, he just needs to follow his plan and everything will turn out in his favor; he will have revenge instead of redemption, and he will have Mathieu for the rest of his existence instead of a mere mortal lifetime.

  * * *

  He lets a blast of light loose while he walks across the Atacama Desert, obscuring the thousands of years old geoglyphs just because he can, and it doesn’t feel as good as it should.

  * * *

  They part as he walks, a beacon of shining light in the icy darkness. Brath finds it quite a strange experience to set his eyes upon Hell after all this time. If possible, it is even more than unpleasant now that Brath can see the misery, the crippled beings flinching and curling away from the path he cuts through them. It takes Brath no time at all to find him.

  “You look like shit.”

  A raspy chuckle; a pale and stained chest stuttering with it. “As do you, little brother. Halos don’t suit you. You look so heavenly.” He spits out the word like poison tainting his tongue.

  “Really?” Brath smiles. “I think it gives me a healthy glow.”

  Lucifer smirks. “It burns me.”

  “You’ll survive,” Brath says. “You always do.”

  “I assume that the little cupid has done as you commanded. Now, are you going to set me free?” Lucifer cuts to the chase. “Are you going to break these tedious chains?”

  It clatters, and clinks and Brath can see them now that his brother pulls at them; the web of shackles wound around him to allow no movement whatsoever. It is a painful sight, he thinks, one that should move him more but it doesn’t, for some reason.

  His brother is less than a shadow of himself; distorted almost beyond recognition, face a warped mask of his former appearance. Only his eyes still held the same unbroken spirit, the same rebellious soul and that unmatched wit and intelligence and if it weren’t for them, Brath might not have recognized him at all. He would not have believed to have his brother in front of him.

  “Not yet,” Brath says. “I realize there is some place I need to go first. Someone I need to see before I open the abyss.”

  “You deem your little human more important than me?” Brath stops short. “What? Are you surprised I have ways to keep myself informed? Are you surprised I do not only rely on you bringing me word?”

  “What do you know?”

  “I know enough,” Lucifer tells him, “to be slightly baffled that you place a mere mortal above me. Of what use is he to you, baby brother? Does he make you happy? Do you love him?”

  Brath’s hand shoots out before he can help it, the chains rattle as he grabs Lucifer’s throat and, squeezing down, his skin is so icy that it burns Brath’s palm, but he doesn’t care.

  “Consider our positions,” Brath reminds him while fighting a spreading tightness in his chest, uneasiness taking over and grabbing hold of his body. “Do not dare to mock me.”

  “I would not think of it. I can’t but wonder,” he muses, tilting his head out of Brath’s grasp with an odd glint in his eyes. “You go to such lengths, and you risk it all just for him. And for what? You do not honestly believe that he will not betray you as everybody else has before him, do you?”

  “Mathieu is different.”

  “Oh, but is he? Perhaps you should put him to the test. It would pain me to find you disappointed and with your hands stained by his blood because he turned out to be no more worthy of you than all the others.” Then his gaze turns softer. “You should remember that I am the only one you can trust. I’m the one who will always stay by your side.”

  But Brath doubts that. He wants to believe that, but he doubts that he can fully trust his brother. And as much as he still loves Lucifer, he doesn’t think that he would refrain from crossing him if it were to benefit his cause.

  Much like Brath, Lucifer is an opportunist. And even more, he is an excellent liar.

  “I will return shortly,” Brath says. “And this time, do not send any of your pawns after me. I will skin them and send back their heads for the others to feast upon them.”

  * * *

  The world is still standing still and devoid of all colors when Brath arrives back on the empty street and looks at the doors leading to a place that has, for the past couple of months, become something resembling life so closely that Brath had given in to the illusion in spite of his better judgment. He had given in to a non-reality that would never be real, at least not for his kind, and especially not for him.

  It dawns on him now that he can rebel all he wants and make his own right and wrong choices—but he will always remain a prisoner of his own existence. He can’t change who and what he is; he had never wanted to. But he sees Mathieu’s silhouette through the smudged windows, knowing that he can make his own choices too, and Brath is afraid that Mathieu’s choice won’t include him. So he stays frozen to the spot, trying to argue himself into leaving, failing miserably and in the end, his subconscious decides for him, forcing his body to move entirely on its own.

  The little bell above the door chirps pathetically as all eyes settle on him and go wide. Brath wants his gaze to find Mathieu’s and stay there, but he can’t help but notice Gareth and Keith huddled together in a corner, pupils blown and teeth bared, and he hears his name being called, yet he walks over to them. They shrink and blink against his light, and he can see their pain, can almost feel it. They’ve always been faithful; they are his friends and seeing them suffering is unbecoming. Brath reaches out for them, and they scoot closer on their knees until they’re a tangle of limbs at his feet. He touches their foreheads with his palms, and the cracks in their souls are so ragged they almost cut into his hands.

  Then Brath digs into their souls.

  Their shrieks are far too familiar in his ears, and he finds his regained powers. But they simmer down as Brath puts their broken spirits back together, piece by piece, like a broken puzzle. When he is finished, their souls lie bare and tempting, and it would be easy for him to soak them up, but his name being called again draws his attention away from Keith and Gareth, and they sink to the floor when he releases them to turn around.

  “Brath,” Mathieu says again and tries to push his way past Perry, who stands between them like a solid tower.

  “Are you suddenly afraid of me?” Brath addresses the only remaining cherub in the room.

  Perry shakes his head. “I’m afraid of what you’re willing to do.”

  “You should know,” Brath says, “that I am willing to do many things to get what I want.”

  “And what do you want now?”

  Brath averts his gaze. His eyes lock with Mathieu’s. “You know exactly what I want.” Then he holds out his hand. “We should go,” he tells Mathieu, who seems confused.

  “What?”

  “We need to leave,” he repeats, taking a determined step forward, silently begging Mathieu to stop asking questions, just to trust him and take his hand and let Brath take him away. “I need you to be safe.”

  “Safe from the Devil who you’re planning to unleash? If you haven’t done that already....then why Brath?”

  “Safe from this rotten earth,” Brath evades the accusation. Keith and Gareth must have told them while he was gone. He should’ve known better than to think they weren't smart enough to catch on to his plans. “Come with me, or you can choose to stay.”

  Mathieu raises his brows. “So it’s the choice between dying technically, and actually. Why would I pick either of these options? Brath, we talked about this. This is insane.”

  “It’s insane that I am not willing to part from you? That I don’t want to watch, while you die?”

  He can see Mathieu’s façade crumble; can feel the jab to his chest because it hits him in the same place.

  “That’s not the point, Brath!” Mathieu calls out, ducking around Perry’s arm, but not coming as close as Brath wishes him to be. “I will die, that’s what people do, and it’s fine. This is my life and my
home, and these are my friends. And I can’t leave them.”

  “Not even for me?” His throat feels tight, almost as tight as his chest and his head is beginning to throb.

  “Brath. Why do you think those are the only options? We were having a good run, right? It’s good the way it is. You don’t need to do any of this. Forget about the fucking Devil and revenge, and we can just go home.”

  Brath only hears half of what Mathieu is saying. He has Lucifer’s voice in his head, telling him, See, I told you he wasn’t going to choose you, I told you he would leave you like everyone else always leaves you. And Brath grabs his sword tightly, trying to drown out the pain from where his heart would be if he had one and he feels a familiar burn seizing his soul; Wrath suppressed for so long, wanting to break free.

  “Brath, please drop it,” Mathieu continues, but Brath has rage buzzing in his ears, and he has his sword, and he wants to drive it into the ground to open it up and let Hell’s scum crawl out of it. He wants to take it and drive it into his own chest because it hurts.

  It hurts so much, and if it’s going to be like this for all eternity then Brath doesn’t want to exist anymore, and everything and everyone can go to Hell. Suddenly, he doesn’t know what he hates more: his own existence or the ones who forced him into it. He has just fixed the broken edges of Keith and Gareth’s souls, and how ironic is it that he can feel the jagged pieces of his own tattered being tearing him up from inside.

  Come on, the voice in his head continues, so prominent that it obscures his vision. Do it. And together we can wipe them out. I will kill them all if you set me free.

  “Brath,” Mathieu starts again, carefully approaching and then there it is. Brath can feel it. There is something wrong, and he doesn’t—the voice is too loud, and it is overwhelming; it’s inside his head, and it’s spreading quickly like a disease.

  “Stay away,” he manages to grit out between his teeth as he is forced to his knees by sheer agony.