tonight i'm so alone / this sorrow takes a hold

[impudentsongbird]

The mountain-lion was skittish. He leapt from rock to rock, ducked under the trees, peered through the foliage as if searching. His fur bristled with anxiety, the feeling of wrongness.

And there was something wrong. Something it couldn't comprehend. As if, when that human had touched him, it had shifted something--ruffled his fur all up the wrong way, and he couldn't get it to settle. And there was something else, too; something he couldn't quite remember which had happened at the same time. His instincts wondered why he let the humans go.

But mostly, there was something wrong, and the mountain-lion fled from being seen.

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[machaseh]

Michael knew what the lion was. He knew where it had been, and he knew, roughly, where it was going. He had lived in Taubolt long enough to know how to track an animal. But Gabriel - what had been Gabriel, what would be Gabriel again, he hoped, he prayed (though perhaps their Master wasn't listening) - would sense him and know to evade him.

They landed the clearing where Swami had seen the lion, and the boy pointed wordlessly in the direction it had gone; his eyes were wide and frightened, but he walked forward ahead of the ancient and the angel, only stepping back and following when Michael pushed gently ahead of him. The archangel relaxed as much as he could manage, reaching out for the nearly demonic presence that had once been his brother.

[impudentsongbird]

Prickles. Prickles in his fur, like he'd walked the wrong way through a burr-bush--soothing the right way, when they combed the dirt from his coat, but irritating the wrong. The lion half growled, half whined, backing deeper into the shadows of the tree.

There was something there. Not prey. Not a predator. But a hunter. Someone to be feared.

He trembled up against the tree, and when Michael's presence brushed by the lion's mind, it was like touching static. The lion yowled and shot off into the brush, less a sprint and more a mad, panicked rush away.

[machaseh]

Swami had fallen into a trance. Michael made sure of it. The things that were going to happen would hurt him if he was conscious. He'd done it just in time, too; it was a few very short minutes before he felt a spark, violent and furious, on his Grace.

There.

He glanced sharply at Merlin - Did you feel? - and the ancient nodded grimly, pointing to the left. There. Go!

And Michael was off, Merlin following more slowly with Swami, the ancient casting a net of power yards ahead of the lion while Michael pushed forward like a wall, Grace a shield before his face, bright enough to burn.

[impudentsongbird]

A normal mountain-lion would never have been able to dodge that net. This wasn't a normal lion. It was the unyielding presence behind him which made him so fast, but it was the sudden trap ahead that made the unreasoning panic snap. He twisted, ducked, used the way the rock sloped beneath him to dart under it and block the energy when it tried to reach for him. It crackled against his fur, making it stand on end; he snarled.

The lion leapt from rock to rock down the slope so fast one might have thought he could fly--or would fall. He did neither, making for a thick copse of trees and foliage which could well hide him if he got there.

[machaseh]

Absurdly, it wasn't the sudden burst of defensive energy that made Michael's heart clench with fear; it was the precarious way in which Gabriel was leaping down the slope. He followed and circled, faster than the eye could follow, feet not quite touching the ground, distracted as he was. Merlin followed more slowly, cursing and recasting, weaving the net tighter and with more fire to it.

Once ahead of the lion at the bottom of the slope, Michael quietened himself, letting his Grace die down as low as it could 'til it burned like embers in the center of him. He sent out a message of love and hope and, above all, sternness.

Little brother. Stop this.

[impudentsongbird]

They were following. Tracking. The lion's body was beginning to tire, but for the adrenaline and the fear. Except, all of a sudden, the hunter was before him instead of behind, and the great cat skidded to a halt atop a boulder.

Even banked, Michael's words and presence made him flinch, made something in the back of his mind roll with--guiltandgriefandjudgement. He snarled, his ears flattening; his fur bristled, his body quivering with fear and energy, waiting for the slightest opening for escape.

[machaseh]

As Merlin circled around, casting and recasting, reinforcing and interweaving, Michael stood immovably, his eyes locked on the lion's.

Little brother. Stay. Stop running.

He wanted to say I will protect you, but he didn't know if it was true, and the last thing Gabriel needed at this moment was a lie. Instead he opened his Grace, not pushing it forward but allowing it to expand into the air around and just in front of him, so that Gabriel could see and smell and sense but not drown in it.

He let his concern bleed through, his love, but most of all memories of their Master. He was sick with worry that this would not be enough, but this was where he had to start.

[impudentsongbird]

The Grace and emotions jarred with the lion's energy, scraping it raw like rubbing his fur the wrong way. It made him bristle, made a high-pitched whine rise in his throat, because it felt

wrong there's no hope can't be hope none left was angry isn't true just mistaken it's too late

and it hurt the way it tried to brush against him, hurt in a way that the lion couldn't quite define but--

Michael?

--was too much, far too much, even as gentle as Michael was being. The prolonged containment made the lion's panic spill over, and he shot sideways, leaping down among the rocks, toward the only possible remaining escape avenue--quickly closing between Merlin and Michael's forces. Whether he'd make it at all was debatable.

[machaseh]

Michael's heart sank like a stone the instant he felt the lion begin to move. Its muscles bunched in panic and he knew, he knew he had expected too much. His brother, nigh-demonic, could not stand to feel his touch anymore.

But he had no choice but to put that aside, and so he tamped the fear and the emotion down and hardened, the eyes of his physical form bright and hard as flint. Moving as quickly as he could, he managed to catch up to Gabriel just as he shot between him and Merlin's net, turning and chasing after him with something that was more than speed and less than instantaneous travel, a way of flitting between molecules of air, of making them irrelevant.

Merlin might have been an ancient, but this even his old eyes could not follow; in this he was as human as anyone else. He came as fast as he could, pulling Swami limply along with him. The boy had to be the conduit. He wondered if Michael was forgetting that.

[impudentsongbird]

Too close. Too fast. Even the lion's panic couldn't spare him Michael's presence, the feel of the Archangel's Grace white-hot on his flanks. He'd forgotten how to fly.

With an inhuman wail the lion turned on his paws, sending natural debris scattering and pebbles bouncing down the slope. Futile as it was, he lunged at the Archangel, teeth bared and claws out, ears flattened and eyes wide with mad fear.

[machaseh]

Oh, Gabriel.

Though his brother wasn't listening, though he likely couldn't hear, Michael couldn't help but let out a cry of mourning as Gabriel leapt at him. This was not him, was it? Not truly. He could not have become something this primal and mindless. Not Gabriel.

He had no choice but to retaliate, in the desperate hope that his brother would draw on his power and come back to himself. Coming to a stop, sandalled feet skidding on the slope, he rebuffed Gabriel's attack easily, without true touch, and with a silent apology he intensified the light of his Grace. With every dagger of light he let a memory flit through, slipping into Gabriel's space and, with luck, into his mind - everything from the creation of humanity to the beauty of Taubolt to the joy of a warm pastry at the side of their Master.

Remember, Gabriel. You cannot be damned.

[impudentsongbird]

The rebuff sent the lion flying back, twisting in the air; he didn't land on his feet, quite, and staggered instead. The feel of Michael's Grace was like a fire. The lion howled and shied away, but the memories hit like knives and with a whimper he stumbled.

As if the lion's instincts and mind were a thin veil the memories cut through them, and for a few moments the turbulence of Gabriel's mind rolled in every direction. It was almost a literal maelstrom, a seething mess of guilt and fear and hopelessness, dark enough that touching it made the sun seem to dim. But for just a moment, the sharpness of Michael's Grace burned away the despair until--

'Michael!'

--Gabriel's voice whispered through it, half on a sob and half on a wail. Whining in pain, the lion staggered uncomprehendingly away and into Merlin's net.

[machaseh]

Everything in Michael's being winced at the sight and the feel and the sense of Gabriel's turbulent Grace, this thing on the edge of utter confusion, the brink of desparate evil, reaching out not for anything in particular but out of pure terror. Crying out again, Michael thought a warning to Merlin just as the other angel stumbled into his net.

The net closed, Merlin coming up white-faced and frantic behind it, and Michael approached the lion with trepidation.

[impudentsongbird]

The net wasn't like a normal net. It pressed and contained and the magic in it made the lion's fur sizzle without burning. It was painful, like pine-needles; the lion whined, high-pitched.

He tried to shake himself free, but the net clung, weighed him down, so much so that when he tried to take a step his legs collapsed instead and he fell heavily to the ground. The lion lay there and breathed, terror and pain shining in his eyes as he gazed up at Michael's approach; he shivered with them, ever so slightly.

[machaseh]

There was a voice in the back of Michael's head which he, even he, was not immune to; it was the voice of doubt, the voice of fear, the voice that worried he did not do enough to protect those in his charge. Gabriel had entered Taubolt; Gabriel was his brother; Gabriel was his charge; and yet -

He's too far gone, the voice whispered in the part of his mind that was too human, that was not even close to human. You'll never save him. Your brother has Fallen. And soon you will have to kill him.

Michael closed his eyes briefly, still walking forward, though his feet barely touched the ground and obstacles cleared from his path of their own volition. When he opened his eyes, he was before the net, and he looked down into the pain and fear in the lion's eyes.

This lion, he knew, was not his brother. This lion, this shape, was killing his brother.

He reached down, his hand passing through the net like it was so much smoke, and grabbed the lion by the scruff of the neck.

"Gabriel," he said, his voice rough, loud and silent at the same time, too much and too little for any mortal to hear (Swami, unconscious, swayed and shook at the edge of the clearing), "you must come back to yourself. Now."

[impudentsongbird]

The older Archangel's touch burned, light and unceasing rather than sudden and overwhelming like his Grace; the lion squirmed and whined, his claws scraping divots in the ground. His muscles quivered with the need to run, but the net prevented his movement. Michael's voice rang all through him. The sound of it bounced back, resonating on that metaphysical level that mortals couldn't quite hear but could sense, the sort that made their hearts warm and their backs prickle.

This time it made instincts scream, this twisting, echoing throwback of a loving order. Fear and hopelessness made it dark. Yet there was something under it, something hollow, the sound of someone crying out beneath the weight of the lion's mind. And it was heavy--too heavy.

'brother,' came the whisper, defeated and resigned and crushed beneath that weight. Gabriel had none of the strength to do what Michael asked. The lion yowled.

[machaseh]

"I will peel its skin from your body, Gabriel." Michael's voice, wretched and angry and frightened, rang out, shaking the trees, as his fingers tightened in the lion's scruff and his Grace tightened the net around its body. "I will pull you out of it bodily if I must. I will re-form you. Do you want me to do that, little brother? It will hurt."

He stopped himself before he said, I don't want to hurt you. Just because it was true didn't mean that Gabriel ought to hear it. It was weakness. Just because this was his brother didn't mean he should show this much sympathy. He was a danger to Taubolt. Gabriel was a danger. Not his brother. A threat.

He lifted the lion bodily 'til all four paws dangled in the air, its tail twisting and thrashing against the dusty ground. "I will climb into your head and make you whole again," he said, throat feeling raw and tight in a way he was sure it wasn't meant to. "I will."

[impudentsongbird]

Paws flailed desperately and uselessly for purchase. The lion twisted this way and that in Michael's grip, and only caused his skin to bunch painfully. Claws caught on Michael's wrist, but the Archangel's skin was too hard to penetrate, and the lion scrabbled uselessly, whining.

There was no answer, but whatever presence lay behind the lion seemed to withdraw. Michael was angry. It only proved what Gabriel already knew.

"Michael," Merlin said quietly, half a warning and half a plea. It wasn't easy to see this from the outside--to see Michael so stern, almost furious, with his beloved younger brother. The sorcerer couldn't imagine what they must be feeling.

So Merlin tried to keep his tone as compassionate as possible as he said, "We should begin, Michael."

[machaseh]

Merlin's tone brought him back to himself, and as he returned he saw the damage he had done. His face, far too expressive in this form, shut down, and he lowered what remained of his brother to the forest floor, loosening his grip on the lion's scruff.

"Yes." And that was all he said for a moment as he watched Gabriel struggle, until he said sharply, "Swami."

The boy walked toward him, remarkably steady for someone outside of consciousness, and placed his hand over Michael's on Gabriel's neck as if in a dream.

"Now, Merlin. Hurry."