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Chapter Text

"And when you go, preach saying, the kingdom of Heaven is at hand.” 

_________________________

Muffled footsteps echoed off the shabby, scribbled walls as you walked firmly down the alley. The streets are empty and deserted: everyone has long been home and having dinner with their families. Only rare passers-by run after a delay at work, wanting to get to bed as soon as possible. 

A building appeared around the corner – gray, simple; This could only be a factory or a large warehouse. You didn't even stop walking through the iron door. Dark corridors twisted, making up an endless labyrinth. The dim bulbs provided no illumination at all; the scaly shells of the flies glittered in their light. 

You spread your massive wings and in one powerful movement flew into a certain room. The corners were soaked with dampness, with mold bubbling prolifically. Paint hung from the walls in patches exposing a bald patch of concrete. Drops from the ceiling are the only sound in a lonely quiet room. Almost lonely. 

In addition to the disgusting crawling cockroaches, of which there were a dime a dozen in such a place, there was a silhouette sitting near the wall. His outline shook with barely noticeable breathing and trembling from the cold. The man was half-sitting, half-standing, the weight was held only by the handcuffs that chained his hands to the pipes. Long, greasy hair hung over his battered face. There is a thick bandage on his eyes and his clothes are soaked with stains of dried blood. 

You took a step towards him, and the figure jerked. 

“Who is there?!” came the voice, shrunken and hoarse, as if it had been used for hours until it was torn off. 

You ignored the question as you walked closer. The man swallowed hard, preparing for the blow, but it never came. You tore the bandage off his face and he closed his eyes unpleasantly, blinded. His nose wrinkled as he sniffed in confusion. 

“Stanley Pines,” your voice boomed and the man shrank away, “we need to talk.” 

Stan clenched his hands into fists, tugging at the bonds. You caught the way his pulse jumped and his body temperature dropped. 

“How do you know my name?!” he growled, throwing a fierce look at you, but it didn’t do much, because you didn’t even raise an eyebrow. “Rico sent you?!”

You pursed your lips slightly, sizing up the man in front of you. No matter how hard he tried to sound menacing, even if he were not sitting here, chained and beaten, he did not pose the slightest threat to you, he was not capable of scaring you. 

“I do not know who Rico is,” you answered, “and I do not care. I am here for only one purpose – to talk to you.”

Stanley narrowed his eyes in disbelief. “Then why not free me first?” he grinned, clinking his handcuffs demonstratively. 

With a slight movement of your hand, you made the shackles disappear, causing the prisoner to land on his butt with a dull “oof.” He looked blankly at the bleeding marks on his wrists, trying to understand how you did it. 

There was a heavy, oppressive silence. 

Your patience began to come to an end, and you were about to open your mouth to repeat, when a fist flew from the darkness into your jaw. But hand hit the air when you grabbed his wrist with an iron grip, stopping it an inch from your face. 

Stanley tried to pull away the grabbed limb, but you only squeezed harder, almost breaking his bones, from which he could only squirm helplessly. The attacker tried to hit you in the stomach, but was thrown into the wall. 

The man fell flat to the ground with a quiet groan, and you chuckled unimpressed.  

Suddenly, stomping was heard from the corridor. 

Stan jumped to his feet nervously, a second before the door burst open and a group of men ran into the room. 

“What the hell is going on here?!” the leader shouted with a Spanish accent. There was an ugly long scar running through his mouth. 

You turned to the new arrivals as Stan backed away. Pistols appeared in their hands and were immediately pointed at you. You silently looked down the barrel. 

“Who is this?” only now the leader paid closer attention to you. 

“No idea, boss.”

The man looked at you thoughtfully. As if he had decided something, he turned his head to others. “Shoot.”

The silence was shaken by a roar: bullets cut the air in a flurry. You could feel the pieces of iron tearing your flesh and clothes. Just as a fact. Any person would have been lying there in a second, wincing in pain, but you were not a person. 

At the moment, you didn’t feel like fighting at all. Your goal is to talk. Fighting people would be like crushing ants with your finger: dishonest and boring. You made a small movement with your hand and a synchronized crunch was heard. The shelling stopped, and the guards fell to the ground in a lifeless heap with their necks broken. 

You turned to Stanley, who had been huddled in the corner all this time, trying to get around those blocking the exit and escape. His eyes were fixed on the corpses. You took a step towards him, and he turned his gaze to you, full of horror.

“I guess we should find a more private place,” you suggested. 

You extended your hand to him, already opening your wings for flight, when Stan took off and ran out the free door. You closed your eyes in irritation, catching up with the fugitive with one flap of your wings. The man almost crashed into you when you, in his opinion, appeared out of nowhere. 

“Leave me alone!” He threw the first thing he found in the corridor at you, a stone. 

You countered the serve, grabbing the man by the throat and lifting him off the ground before he could escape. Stanley tore your arms with his nails and kicked your legs in vain attempts to get out.

    A second later, the environment changed from rotten corridors to a night street. The man plopped down on the asphalt with a wheeze, clutching his neck. 

“W-Who are you?!” he stuttered, crawling away. “What do you need from me?!”

You're starting to get pretty fed up with this. “I am [Y/n], an Angel of the Lord,” your figure towered like a mountain above the person, conveying all the power of your words. “As I already said, we need to talk.”

Silence. 

The man looked at you with wide eyes, waiting for you to laugh and say that it was a joke. But there was no explanation. Noticing your expectant look, he cleared his throat. 

“Are you... Is this some kind of organization?” he asked suspiciously, “Did the mafia send you?” 

You frowned in confusion. “Heaven sent me.”

Stanley was silent. You wondered if the man was deaf, but his hearing aids were relatively fine. Are all people really that slow-witted? “Well... And what did you want to talk about?” Whatever Stan wanted to ask earlier, he decided to keep it to himself.

The adrenaline coursing through his mind had subsided a little, judging by the way Stan began to look around in confusion. At some point, his gaze caught on your clothes, and he frowned. 

“About Stanford Pines.” 

Stanley turned pale. All the thoughts gnawing at him earlier instantly disappeared. The fatigue and pain seemed to instantly disappear as he jumped to his feet. 

“Don’t you dare...” he thundered, walking threateningly towards you. Calloused hands grabbed you by the collar and shook you. “Don't you dare involve my brother!”

His eyes burning with anger met your cold ones. Only now, remembering how easily (and extremely incomprehensibly; a trick?) you killed a gang of dangerous thugs, Stan realized in shock what he had done. 

The man swallowed hard, slowly letting go and retreating, rubbing his shaking hands. Your face did not express anything, stressing your interlocutor even more. But you were angry. You were furious, a person doesn’t dare talk to you like that. And even if you beat him half to death and then healed him, it would not bring any results worth it; Moreover, you did not have time for this. 

Instead, you clenched your teeth and decided to return to the topic. 

“I did not have to do anything,” you spat, narrowing your eyes. “Your brother did everything himself.” 

Stan's lips could only move silently, not making a sound. 

“But,” you continued, “I am tasked with correcting what he did. More precisely, he is going to do. I need an address, they hid it from me with protective sigils, so I can not find it.”

You were indignant. You hated it when someone used anti-angelic symbols, interfering and complicating your work, even though this was a common and obvious solution. As the Weapon of the Heaven, you were often tasked with tracking down and preventing impending danger. And the “danger” always knew what would be at gunpoint. 

That's why Bill Cipher hid his puppet. The most unpleasant thing about this business was that you had to contact people in order to get on the right trail. You didn't like getting involved with them and their dirty, insolent souls, but surprisingly, they were more capable than anyone else of finding anyone. 

You waited for the slow creature to assimilate the information. He seemed to have decided something for himself. 

“Really,” he said irritably, missing the last part, “And you think you can get this from me?” Stanley chuckled. “Yes, even if I knew where he is, – and I don’t know, – I wouldn’t say,” he snapped, raising his chin. “So fuck yourself.”

You bowed your head, not understanding how you can fuck yourself. 

“But people in blood unions, as it should be, keep in touch...” You squinted suspiciously. “And you do not know where he is?”

Stanley winced, as if the words hurt him, and clenched his teeth. “No, sweetie, we haven’t talked for a long time.”

“But could you find out?” you didn’t give up. 

Stanley looked at you with an unkind look. “And why would I do this?” he snorted, crossing his arms.

“Because he, without realizing it, is going to start a premature Armageddon,” you answered evenly. 

The man looked at you as if you had grown a second head. Well, the fourth one, to be more precise, you have several of them. Have people really learned to see through the spatial veil and are now able to see your face? You moved your wings slightly, testing, but when you didn’t see a reaction, you discarded this theory. 

Pines shook his head, raising his hands in surrender. “Nope,” he laughed, “don’t fool me. I have no idea how you know my brother's name, but I won't participate in your sect.” 

The man turned on his heel and waved goodbye. "Thanks for savin’ and ect, but this is where our paths diverge.” He took a few steps when your voice sounded. 

“In that case, when I find him,” you said calmly, “I will have to kill him.” 

Stan froze abruptly, his foot never touching the ground. He stood there for a few minutes before slowly turning to you, his face white as a canvas. Thick saliva passed heavily through his throat, his voice was much lower. 

“What do you mean kill?” he croaked. 

You furrowed your brow in irritation. Seriously, it wasn't even funny anymore. “To kill,” you said clearly, as if explaining to a small child, “to disincarnate, to take life...

“Yeah, I got it!” he barked. The mortal's eyes darted indignantly as his trembling hand fiddled with his long, greasy hair (too short for a mullet, but long past the point of being considered an official hairstyle). “Maybe kill them?” flashed through his head. 

“There is no point in even trying to kill me,” you advised, ignoring the shocked look, “you can not kill an angel, especially a Weapon.” You unconsciously slightly spread your wings, invisible to the mortal eye, in silent confirmation of your own words. “Even if you manage to kill me, the next one will take my place,” you stated coldly. 

You could tell by the tense shoulders and furiously racing thoughts that you had hit the nail on the head: you had shaken his resolve. 

“What if I help you?” Pines asked quietly, after thinking. 

“Your twin will have a chance to escape.” 

You weren't completely lying. If the death of a person meant the completion of your mission, you would unconditionally agree to it. No matter how much the Father loves his creatures, and you love the Father, you obey the orders of Heaven. And the Heaven obeys the will of the Father. At least that's what they say. 

But on the other hand, it would be much easier to reach your target through other mortals. You just need to offer them something they can’t refuse. For you, the difference was still small. 

Stanley thought for a long time. But in the end he turned completely towards you and raised his head with a neutral expression on his face. 

“Okay,” he agreed, “Okay, I’ll help you find him.” 

Your wings rustled quite a bit. Finally, the person stopped arguing with you and realized that it would be better for everyone. Finally, it will allow you to continue working. 

“But,” he raised a finger under your frowning eyebrows, “You are going without me. Well, you know, we, uh… We didn't break up very well…”

You nodded in understanding. You didn't get along with all your siblings either. Given the chance, there are some you'd rather not see until the end of time. 

You have your feet shoulder-width apart and your wings fully extended on both sides. 

“Pray to me when you find him,” you said evenly and, without allowing your interlocutor to open his mouth to clarify, you flew away with a loud wave.

Stanley was left alone, on an unfamiliar street, with the leaves still not settling after your takeoff and hundreds of questions about what he got himself into. 

He never dared to ask you why you were in a hospital gown and with a sparkling butt. 

_____________________

The smell of medicine and antiseptics hung were in the air. People scurried back and forth, shouting memorized phrases that only they themselves understood, dragging stacks of papers covered in sharp cursive, consoling and taking away rare people on gurneys. 

There was bustle everywhere: everyone was busy with their own business. Immersed in the whirlpool of the hospital bustle, no one noticed the rustle of feathers. 

Usually you did not like to visit hospitals, this is the main place of work of the reapers, which you were not very happy about encountering. It’s not that they were bad, on the contrary, you respected their neutrality, but there was no desire to contact more than required. 

The parking lot where you landed was crowded with cars, both crew cars and ordinary citizens. Several people were milling about near their vehicles, but overall it was deserted. You have raised your wings and expanded your consciousness in search of one specific person. 

The building was teeming with life, dozens of sparkling souls. The young and small have always shone brightest – children. There were also very dim ones, flickering, but never even close to extinguished. 

And there, among all this whirlwind, there was a soul. Modest and unremarkable compared to the rest. It would never have been noticed, unintentionally missed, if it had not been specifically looked for. You headed towards the light. 

The snow-white room was clean and washed. The cardiometer was turned off and put away in a corner, hoping to never be used again. The room was filled with only a couple of necessary furniture, including an empty bed. 

A man was sitting in a wheelchair near the window. Their glass eyes looked somewhere towards the playground. The distant laughter of frolicking children contrasted extremely with the silence of the room. 

You sniffed, a compression lumbar spine fracture. Just a couple of cracks, a couple of crushed vertebrae, slipped discs and the mortal body will lose partial or complete mobility. Will remain forever strapped to the bed with no possibility of recovery. And for the hundredth time you became convinced how fragile a person is.

You slowly floated to the window. Your Grace traced a trail along the glass, trying to follow the empty gaze. Their [Y/c] eyes seemed like a bottomless ocean, in which deep melancholy splashed. It was as if they were in a completely different place, abstracted from those around them and completely unaware of what was happening around them. 

A thin hospital gown barely covered the multiple stitched wounds. The entire detached appearance and motionless body could be mistaken for a comatose state if you had not noted a steady pulse and active brain activity. 

You approached a little more, opening your huge wings and looked at them for a couple more minutes, and then sent your thoughts into their consciousness. 

"August Dekker."

Your voice brought them out of their own thoughts. The eyes reluctantly tore themselves away from the invisible object and, blinking, looked around the empty room. Frowning, they were about to write it off as “it seemed,” until the name was repeated again. 

"August Dekker." You echoed, trying to reach the person. 

August's eyes widened. Groaning, they turned the gurney towards the door, but again saw no one. The words seemed to come from all directions and nowhere at the same time. 

“Who is there?” they asked confused. 

“I am [Y/n], an Angel of the Lord,” you said. 

Augustus craned his neck as best they could, trying to find the joker. The only answer was the rumble of the air conditioner. 

“Stop hiding! Come out!” Decker shouted hoarsely. 

“Human is not able to see my face,” you calmly answered, “and when I say that it is will burn out your eyes, I am being completely honest.”

Although there were exceptions. Once every hundred years, a true one was born, someone who would be able to see and hear angels. But even if your creature did not blind, it would frighten to such an extent that it would irreparably break the fragile human psyche. Unfortunately, people's perception was too narrow. 

“Guess, I’m losing my mind,” you caught the thought in someone else’s mind. 

“No,” you denied, and August shuddered, “although I can say for sure, your consciousness is different from that of a mentally ill person.”

There was no answer. 

This was expected. If you asked someone to tell you how many times a person immediately accepted and understood your words, you could name only five. These were mostly pious people, although even they needed time to absorb the information. 

“Prove it,” they suddenly whispered. In one breath, but completely seriously. 

You were a little taken aback as you considered the ask. After a couple of minutes you decided. 

___________________

August sat and listened carefully to any possible rustle. Enough time passed for them to begin to doubt the reality of everything that just happened, when suddenly the light began to blink. 

For a second, just at the edge of hearing, they could hear a static crackle as all the appliances in the room began to go crazy: lights flickered wildly, the phone vibrated and started ringing, and small lightning bolts shot from the sockets. The air became charged and a strong ozone smell hit their nose. Anyone who walked in here now would instantly feel the tension; their skin would be covered with goosebumps, and they would strive to quickly leave the attacked room. 

And then it's all gone, just as quickly as it came. You folded your wings, satisfied with the work done. Now the person will definitely believe you and will be ready to listen. 

You looked at August, waiting for a reaction. 

Their knuckles turned white, fingers dug tightly into the armrests, trying to ground themselves. Their eyes were wide open, and eyelashes trembled like an aspen leaf, shaking off the tears that had come out. They swallowed hard through the lump in their throats, clenching their teeth tightly. 

You noticed how much their pulse jumped, and if they were now connected to a cardiometer, it would already be pumping, attracting the attention of the nurses. You wondered if you had gone too far. “Do you believe me now?”

August nodded quickly. They struggled to tear their numb fingers away from the stroller and wiped the wet streaks on their cheeks.

“Y-you...” they stuttered. “...Have you come to heal me?...” Augusts spoke quietly, it was barely an audible whisper, but the seeping hope could not be heard. 

It’s as if your being has been pricked, the sprout of a strange, hitherto unknown feeling has sprouted poisonous threads through your grace. You didn't know what it was, but you definitely didn't like it. How can you, a powerful angel, be made to feel this way with just one phrase? You could not understand how this person influenced you so much. Maybe they studied magic and decided to subjugate you? No, you would have smelled the magic before the ritual began. It felt like something familiar, and somewhere inside, a long-buried part of you recognized Augustus. 

You twitched as if you had caught yourself doing something forbidden. Which, in principle, was the case. And although you obeyed the Father and obeyed the covenant to love his creations as himself, angels cannot become attached. 

“No,” you said evenly, driving away uninvited thoughts, “I am here on another matter.”

August nodded reservedly. “Yes, of course,” they answered calmly. “But then what could an angel want from me?” 

You walked through the thick glass, approaching the human. "I need a wessel."

“You mean... A body?” August frowned.

"Yes".

August pursed his lips thoughtfully. You waited patiently for a decision. Even though you were created without a mortal vessel, you knew how valuable it was. How hard it is for people to say goodbye to him. 

“But why me?...” they asked in confusion, but immediately pulled themselves away. “D-don't get me wrong! It's an honor, but…” Augusts gestured to their legs and wheelchair. 

You bowed your head in understanding. 

“We are angels, we need vessels to walk on Earth,” explained you, “but not every one of them suits us. At the beginning of time, the Father gave each of us a person that our being is capable of withstanding.”

You remember that day well. Your father has called all your brothers and sisters. The heavens were in turmoil. There were still much fewer people then than there are now, and He created most of them specifically for His children (You are still surprised at how quickly these creatures multiplied into the billions). 

You were a chick who stood in line and excitedly discussed with your siblings who would be assigned which ward. When it was your turn, you practically sparkled, joyfully flapping your wings. And you got it. 

Her name was Amalia. [Y/c] eyes looked at you with fascination, and her soul and hands reverently reached out to your grace. Golden hair framed her round face, which is forever imprinted in your memory. 

“Each angel blessed his ward and his family,” you continued, “and only the descendants of those people are able not to explode from our possession.”

August listened with wide eyes, absorbing your every word. Now that they knew the other side of this world, they tried to absorb as much information as possible. 

“But if my distant ancestor was blessed,” Augustus reasoned slowly, “then there are many more suitable people than me?” 

"This is true".

August waited for the continuation. Having never received it, they cleared their throats. “And yet you came to me.” To be confined to a wheelchair, perhaps until death. 

"You were not the first."

The human pulled their face in surprise in a silent “oh.” The sad note that flashed through Their consciousness did not escape you. 

“I visited your second cousin Silenzio. But he said no."

Augustus's face contorted in even greater shock: either from the realization that they had a second cousin, or that he was able to refuse the angel.“No?” 

“We need permission to own it. He did not agree."

You visited him during the day during his family gathering. Everyone was in the park playing tennis. You asked him if he would allow you to become your vessel. He refused. You noticed the way his gaze darted to his frolicking sons and daughter. And they decided to give in. 

If the situation required it, you would have found a way to get what you wanted, but fortunately there were still candidates left. August was the second to last option, and if you failed, you would go to their great aunt, but you hoped not to go down the difficult path. That is why you tried to behave as delicately as possible (At least as much as you could, people were very complex.) 

“He has kids.”

August hummed in understanding. 

You have always been surprised by the strong devotion of these little creatures. They are even ready to give their already short lives for each other. Especially for those with whom they are related by blood and marriage. 

“So I decided to find someone who has no relatives to whom he could cling,” you said. 

August shuddered all over and bit their lower lip hard. Trembling fingers weightlessly ran across their stomach, outlining the wounds that had not yet healed. You knew about the fight. It was impossible not to know when in the alien consciousness in which you were, thoughts of recent events swarmed like a hive. 

August lived with his parents. Or more precisely, – father and stepmother, – their own mother died when they were nine. They had long had a strained relationship with their stepmother, but their father more or less balanced the tension. August loved him very much. And everything was quite good, until one day the stepmother lost her temper. 

Decker shook their head, trying to clear away the tears and memories of the ax glistening with blood. They took a few deep breaths, calming down. “What are you going to use my body for?” 

“Stop Weirdmageddon,” you answered honestly. 

August was taken aback. “Is this... Is this some kind of encryption?” 

“This is the demon one own Armageddon. He constantly called him Weirdmageddon.”

August's eyes widened. Their face paled even more and they swallowed hard. “What will happen to me?” they tried to sound as casual as possible, as if they were discussing the weather, but they couldn’t hide the trembling in their voices. 

It was inevitable. People were very frightened by the unknown. Lack of knowledge instilled animal fear in them and forced them to do reckless things. 

“I will take you into the depths of your consciousness. “I will put you in the sweetest and deepest sleep.”

And Augustus made a decision. They straightened up, ignoring the sharp pain in their crushed vertebrae and stomach, and fixed their determined gaze in front of them. “What should I do?”

You pulled away in surprise, not expecting such a quick and persistent answer. Well, you didn’t even really hope for agreement, already starting to think about plan “B” in case of failure. And you were glad that you didn’t have to resort to it. 

You straightened up to your full height. The bulky wings opened to their full extent, the flight feathers slightly moving apart from each other. 

“Just say yes.”

August took one last look at his surroundings. They meekly looked at the photograph that stood on the nightstand, they and their father stood with their arms around each other's shoulders. Taking as much air as possible into their tortured lungs, they exhaled, straightening their shoulders. 

“Yes.”

Chapter Text

— Always play honestly if you have all the trump cards in your hands.

 (Oscar Wilde) 

_____________________________________

The cigarette burned almost to the filter, burning his fingers, giving away everything it could. The blue smoke of nicotine filled lungs and hit his head with a pleasant dizziness. The tiny light flickered faintly in the darkness, foreshadowing its imminent extinction.

Stanley took one last tightening and rubbed the still smoking cigarette into the ground. Two days have passed since your last meeting and miraculous salvation. That night, after you left him on the sidewalk of an unfamiliar street, he somehow made his way onto familiar terrain and found a parked Stanmobile, faithfully awaiting the owner's return. 

Then everything was like a fog. He didn't remember how he disinfected and bandaged his skinned wrists. Didn’t remember exactly how he drove along the night roads, trying to get as far as possible from the ill-fated prison. Maybe if he left Nebraska as quickly as possible, he could break away from his pursuers. Not to leave, but just to break away: to take a head start. 

Rico and his guys never forget or forgive. Next time he will carve “don’t borrow when you’re broke” on his forehead. Although, even that wouldn't stop him from finding troubles on his butt. After all, if he did not look for them, they themselves happily found him. 

The dialogue with you was also not very imprinted in his head. Not found in the morning clear evidence about your recent interventions, Stanley attributed this to hallucinations due to insomnia and psychotropic substances with which his captors pumped him. 

Only the warning (or threat?) of his brother's death continued to cause discomfort. No matter how much Ley convinced himself that his brain was making this up, he couldn’t help but return to it. When was the last time they saw each other? 8 years ago? 

But even after a hundred years, after millions of quarrels and death, he will continue to worry about his twin. No matter how long they were apart, for Stanley Ford would always come first. Thousands of drunken nights he killed himself and denied it, but soon accepted: it was simply an unchangeable fact. 

Stanley smoothed his brown hair, brushing away fallen red leaves. Winter lingered, giving him a little time to worry about heating if he didn't want to go numb. Stanley learned his lesson; this cannot be delayed. 

And again his thoughts returned to the conversation with you and Stanley grinned. Did you really hope to learn the location of Stanford from him? Now that he had thought about it soberly, Stan realized how suspicious it all looked. 

A phantom smell of nitrogen hit his nose, as if it appeared along with you, and Stan wrinkled his nose. 

“I am [Y/n], the Angel of the Lord,” he parodied you in a vile voice, “pray to me when you find me.” Ugh! 

Stanley slapped the hood irritably. “Pray?” flashed through his head. “Like in church?”

The man licked his teeth, leaning both hands on the car. A chuckle escaped his lips as he parodied the classic prayer position: leaning on his elbows, he clasped his hands and rested his forehead against it. 

Stan was never a believer and did not support all this nonsense, but Ma often told him. He also sometimes caught a glimpse of her kneeling in silent prayer before going to bed. 

"How was it there?... Oh yes", Stanley made himself more comfortable. “[Y/n], Angel of the Lord,” he began, “I pray to you, falling down, for your appearance. Enlighten my sinful soul and save me from all evil. Amen.”

Stanley stood listening for a while. Hearing nothing but the hum of cars and distant voices of people, he chuckled triumphantly. Straightening up, satisfied with his little experience, Stan turned around to leave, but ran into [Y/c] eyes. 

A very "manly" scream escaped his throat and Stan almost jumped over the car. You stood right in front of him without even blinking. When did you manage to sneak up on him? 

“If you want to isolate yourself from evil,” you said calmly, “then stop breathing poison into your lungs.” 

Stanley was practically lying on the hood, breathing raggedly and holding his chest in an attempt to calm his rapidly beating heart. His eyes were wide open, looking at you in disbelief. He wondered if you were following him, but you continued:

“Have you found Stanford Pines?”

The man frowned in confusion, not understanding what you were talking about. Suddenly the memories of that evening covered him like a wave. You still came. You pulled him out of that hole. You threatened to kill Ford. 

Stunned by the realization, Stan jumped up from the offending metal. You were still waiting for an answer. 

“I... Well, um...” he ran his eyes, looking for a clue. 

You looked at him coldly, sending shivers down Stan's spine. 

“Certainly!” He caught himself. “I found out where Stanford is.”

Which, for one of the many times, was not true. The plan to mislead you and get away while you were on your way seemed pathetic. But he'd be damned if he didn't at least try to protect his brother. He knew not to run to Ford, because other accomplices could watch and simply track him down. Stan was going to run away in the hope of not running into your organization again. And even if he can’t, the main thing is that his brother will be safe. 

Stanley pulled out a crumpled old receipt and a pencil from his pocket. He quickly scribbled the address and handed you the piece of paper. You were already reaching out to take what was offered, but the man pulled his hand back at the last moment. Without waiting for your indignation, he raised his finger. 

“But,” he reminded, “as we already agreed, you are going without me, cold? 

You nodded curtly and took the check away. You read but said nothing. 

Stanley nervously wrung his fingers, waiting for the verdict. 

“Please, believe me, please, believe me, please..." he thought. 

As if you heard him, you squeezed the piece of paper in your hand. 

“I believe you. Thank you for your assistance,” you said evenly, without a note of real gratitude. 

Stanley didn't notice that he was holding his breath. He closed his eyes in relief. Damn, this really worked. When he opened them, there was no one in front of him. The man spat irritably. 

Damn secret agents. 

_________________

You didn't leave. Just hide your vessel from human eyes. You continued to stand, invisible, and watch as Stanley frantically started the car and stepped on the gas. Even during the dialogue, you noticed how his pulse jumped. Was he really so upset with his twin that he became nervous at the mere mention of him? 

You knew the person was lying. But you were curious why. 

Watching the retreating car go, you unfolded the check and read the address again. Satisfied, you opened your palm with the leaf and a second later it caught fire. Having removed the ashes, you plunged into the ether and headed to the indicated place. 

_______________

You landed in the corridor. Delicate cream wallpaper sparkled in the light of neon lights and garlands. Matching light furniture stood on all sides, and the spicy aroma of peaches hung in the air. 

Apparently, hearing a noise in the hallway, the owner became alarmed. 

“I'm coming!” A high sweet voice said and you frowned. 

A miniature woman scurried into the room. Her curly blonde hair was pulled back into a neat bun and pinned with a gold flower comb. The white wavy dress tightly hugged her plump body, and her blue eyes shone with joy. 

“Welcome to the Den of Vice!” She greeted, clasping her hands behind her back. “Are you by appointment?”

You looked at the strange woman in bewilderment. 

“You’re not Stanford Pines,” you stated, narrowing your eyes. It was not a question. 

The stranger was taken aback, not at all expecting such an accusation. 

“I beg your pardon?...” she asked embarrassedly. 

But you didn’t listen to her anymore. In a couple of seconds, you scanned the next few miles, but did not sense even a hint of anti-angelic symbols. He wasn't here. Expected. 

With a loud bang, you flew away and landed in the back seat of a moving car. 

“Come on, pick up the phone...” the driver muttered and nervously tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, without noticing you. 

You pursed your lips in irritation. A stupid impudent man who dared to deceive you. Did he really think that he could escape without answering for what he had done? He needs to be taught a lesson. 

“Stanley Pines,” you bit off coldly, emerging from the shadows of the salon. 

The tires squealed on the asphalt and the smell of burnt rubber could be heard. The car swerved sharply, completely defying the pitiful attempts to straighten it out and throwing the passenger around like a rag doll. The man pressed the pedal to the floor, but the brakes could not save him from a tree that suddenly jumped out.

The blow was deafening. 

Chips and iron shavings flew a good ten meters around and strewn the ground like festive confetti. Thick smoke billowed from the mangled hood as the engine wheezed in its death throes. The airbag popped out even as the car wrapped around the trunk of the plant. The dense fabric stretched all the way, gradually deflating. 

One of the massive branches pierced the windshield, unraveling the mesh pattern and piercing right through the driver's seat. There is no chance of survival. 

You stood aside and looked at the whole spectacle. Transport was into the trash. It won't take a single repair to restore it. A dented disk rolled past, tumbling along the asphalt with a clanking sound. 

You turned to Stanley, who stood in shock at your right. Sweat formed on his forehead in realization of how close he was to becoming a kebab. Or he was not able to realize anything at all. His heart was beating wildly and the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. 

“Oh Jesus, I almost died…” you heard someone else’s thoughts. 

“The son of God has nothing to do with it,” you objected, but he didn’t seem to hear. You remembered why you started all this and turned to the man. 

“You mortal bald monkey,” you growled and turned your body completely, the harsh tone causing the man to wake up. “How dare you believe that you can deceive the angel of the Lord?”

The rising wind swayed colorful dry leaves, tossing and moving them in the air. Stanley swallowed hard as the meaning of the words dawned on him. 

You pushed him away with your grace, and the man gasped as the impact with the tree knocked all the air out of his lungs. You advanced like wildfire. The trees that stood in this small lane seemed to part, fearfully letting you pass ahead. The air sparkled with tension, encouraged by the diverging wind. From a light breeze it imperceptibly turned into a fresh wind: it whistled, clapped tree branches and curled around your feet. 

It would be an understatement to say that Stan was scared. He was in animal horror. He watched with fear and reverence as you walked. 

“I will not kill my Father’s creation,” you growled.

 Invisible wings rose above your vessel in a threatening gesture, obscuring and leaving you alone with the person. 

“But remember that you are no match for me, and you don’t dare behave as you please,” you barked and made your eyes light up. 

Lightning lit up the sky and a clap of thunder was heard. A flash flashed brightly behind the man, illuminating you, and his eyes widened. You noticed a reflection of your own in the tiny dots-pupils. 

You lowered your wings and closed your eyes, stopping the glow. Showing wings and grace should be enough. 

Not a single minute of silence passed and you waited for the upcoming moral problems of a person that would follow. 

“So it’s true...” Stanley whispered in one breath, surprising you. “All this time…”

His Adam's apple twitched. 

“You really are an angel...” the eyes sparkled, and trembling fingers clung to the dry grass. 

You frowned. Was he just confused by the angel part? But what about the slander, for the sake of which you actually staged this whole show? You wanted to scare him so that this would not happen again, but in the end he only realized what you had already gone through. 

Didn't you tell him about this? People never listen and refuse information given to them. Or maybe he has problems with short-term memory and forgets everything that goes beyond one day? Or he simply denies it. People constantly turn up their noses and demand the truth, – the "real" truth, – and refuse to accept what has already been provided. It's not your fault they didn't like her. 

“But then...” Stanley frowned, as if he was losing sight of something, and suddenly turned white in realization. “Stanford will start Armageddon?!”

“Strangegeddon,” you corrected, “Armageddon is planned for another time.” 

Stan stared at you, and you realized that you had said too much. You hastened to return to the topic:

“But yes, your brother is directly involved in this,” you confirmed. 

Unless a deal with a demon and the construction of a machine that tears the fabric of the universe is considered indirect influence. Against the background of impending events – yes, perhaps, but at the moment he is your number one goal. Through it you can reach Bill and stop the launch of the apocalyptic device. 

“Maybe you don’t understand all the dangers, but the chaos that the demon will bring into the world will be no less deadly than Armageddon, ” You added to clearly convey to the person the seriousness of the situation. 

Stanley was shaking. He ran his hands through his hair, clasped head and tucked legs. It didn't take a supernatural being to notice that he was desperate. And whoever it was: his twin – the one he knew and grew up with all his life – became the one the heavens aimed against. You have been sent to prevent an impending disruption to their ideal plan. 

But suddenly, the man jumped to his knees and threw himself at your feet. 

“I beg you,” he begged, leaning his forehead against your feet, “please save my brother!” 

This was not what you expected. Maybe the screams, the curses from the twin who started it. In extreme cases, fear for your own skin. But here he is, at your feet, asking you to save his twin, whom he should hate. People were confused. 

Besides, it was a big request. No, usually you would agree, just to stop this snot and cure the patient with one touch, accompanied by exclamations of gratitude to the Father. But this was an unusual case and an unusual person. Ford got in too deep and had a minor role in all of this. 

“I'll get the address!” Stanley continued. “I’ll contact my relatives and find out where Stanford is. I’ll find it, I’ll come myself, and at least get it out of the ground! But please…”

The man looked up at you with red eyes and you cringed at how hard they were trying to get through to you. “They look into the soul,” you would say if people could see through the shell, and if you had a soul. But neither is possible. 

“But please, get him out!” Stanley slammed the ground in disappointment, “damn, at least just don’t kill!”

You thought about it. Really thought. For many millennia, you have been prayed for millions of things: from salvation from death to a speedy search for lost socks. But you were never asked to protect the instigator of the Apocalypse – an ally and colleague of the demon. 

And even if you save him from Bill’s clutches, how do you know that he won’t betray you in favor of his “friend”. Could you take such a risk? Could they vouch for the consequences of the outcome of a questionable choice? 

On the other hand, if you agree, then a desperate person could lead you straight to the portal. Contrary to his past judgments, he mentioned that he was even willing to go himself. There was no need for this – you are able to cope with the person – but he, as a blood relative, can convince Ford to come over to your side. This would give you a huge advantage over the enemy and the opportunity to enter from the rear. 

After weighing all the pros and cons, you have made a decision. “Okay, I will fulfill your request.” 

If Stanley had not already been sitting, he would definitely have fallen. You felt salty drops fall on your bare feet. 

“But,” you continued, and the man froze. “You have to dissuade your brother on your own.” You have come to a compromise: you will not kill his brother if Stanley lures him to you. Otherwise, you will have to fix the problem in a well-known way. “If you can convince him to give up his alliance with the demon, then I will let him live.” 

Stan didn't need to be told twice. He jumped to his feet and grabbed you by the shoulders. At the last moment, he remembered who he was talking to and left his limbs floating weightlessly above his skin. “Yes of course! - he nodded. “I…”

Suddenly he fell silent, opening his eyes. His fingers trembled in indecision. “Wait... In what sense is “alliance with a demon”?”

Your feathers bristled slightly at the mention. Noticing your intense gaze, Stanley realized with horror. 

“Oh, God, my dear, what have you gotten yourself into again...” he whispered dumbfoundedly, retreating. 

You ignored the mention of your Father. “Your brother made a deal. And not with some lesser crossroads demon, but with a knight from hell.”

Technically, he still was. In the past, there was a huge scandal in Hell that resulted in Bill being demoted to the rank of crossroads demon who made deals with desperate people. But the forces cannot be completely limited. 

“Out of stupidity or intentionally, he sealed the agreement with a handshake and now Bill Cipher is going to enter the world through him.”

If it were anatomically possible, Stanley's eyes would pop out of his head. You remembered how long people chew, but you never have the time or patience to wait for them to digest the information. It's better to dump everything at once. 

“So...” Stan began to join in the dialogue. “You are looking for Ford. To find Bill and stop him? 

You nodded. 

“But you can’t find Ford and come to me,” he finished the thought. 

“I am capable of finding any person,” you objected, ashamed, “but the demon hid him from me with anti-angelic sigils.” Although the person was right in some ways, you will not so easily admit your flaw. 

“Anti-angel sigils?” Lee didn’t understand. 

“Runes that, like a dome, shelter the soul from the gaze of an angel. They will not allow me to find those who want to hide with them.”

Stanley nodded, like, that makes sense. “But he didn’t become invisible or anything? Can I find him?” 

“He is invisible only to the supernatural world.” They do not affect the mortal plane. 

The man exhaled with relief and stood up resolutely. “In that case, I’ll find him and brainwash him.” 

What strange ways people communicate. 

“I don’t think it’s worth resorting to such radical measures as opening the skull,” you said, “but if tradition requires it, I won’t object.” 

Stanley looked at you strangely. 

Without waiting for an answer, you took a step back and opened your wings in flight readiness. 

“Get the address, Stanley Pines.” 

With the rustle of wings, you left the stunned man and the still smoking car.