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Gabriel sits beside them, watching, listening, waiting. Their optic, normally a golden honeyed light, is dark and grey: grey like the gaps between their blue plating, grey like the skies outside of this ship. But unlike the skies out there, this space is calm, tranquil– a sleeping maelstrom.
V1 rests on their stomach, head turned to the side, pillow tucked beneath. They strike him as concerningly human like this, even with the artificial wings tucked against their back, even with their flesh made of metal and veins made of plastic and heart made of mechanisms beyond his understanding.
Do they ever really sleep? In the long between-times where they sit, staring at nothing in particular, optic glowing but dim, do they sleep then? When they lay like this, limbs limp, sensors dead to the world, is that sleep for them? Do you dream then, supreme machine?
Of what do they dream?
Do they dream of a time before they drove humanity to extinction, when they must have walked peacefully among their creators? Do they dream of the turning of their mind, the runaway processes, whatever slights drove them to live a life hell-bent on violence? Do they dream of Hell, of the way it churns and feeds off of its denizens, of the way it lures them deeper and deeper into itself with facsimile shreds of human-made passages? Perhaps they dream of other machines, of streetcleaners and mindflayers and V2.
Do they dream of him? Of their fights, with scenes filled with gunfire and shouting and blood? Of the heavy nights they spend with their bodies melded together as one, mixing and fusing like an alloy, hands incapable of remaining solitary and still?
When they wake to find him beside them, are they relieved? Are they happy?
V1 lays beside him, watching, listening, waiting. These periods drag by with a slowness that would be painful if it were not for Gabriel’s presence here. His chest, body-suit clad even in sleep, rises and falls with a steadiness that they find nearly soothing. His head, guarded by a helmet even in rest, is turned to the side, but nothing on it betrays his state of slumber.
Gabriel rests on his back, shoulders relaxed, a hand laying on his stomach. They know he’s an angel, but times like these make V1 think of him as something more human, something more fragile and temporary. As they stare at the unmoving cross on his face, they find their mind wandering to ponderings of what lay beneath, if anything at all, but they find themself content with the understanding that they will never see him without his helmet.
Like a human, like any organic being, he sleeps. It’s necessary for him, they know. The brains of organics need the downtime to perform their critical self-maintenance, to form experiences into memories, to remain alert and ready. V1 suddenly realizes that they aren’t entirely sure if Gabriel has a brain like organics do, or how the anatomy of angels works– especially not humanoid ones.
But assuming that he does have a semblance of one, of what does he dream when he rests beside them?
Does he dream of his time in Heaven before the disappearance of God? Does he dream of his fellow angels? Does he dream of an Earth before the extinction of mankind, full of lush greenery and sprawling cityscapes and blistering deserts and frigid snow? Perhaps he dreams of King Minos, of the Ferrymen, of the countless souls he must have met here in Hell.
Does he dream of them? Of watching them on their rampage, of failing to stand in their way, of how he must have struggled for the sake of it? Of the passion that sprung forth, of the turning of his heart, of the floors and beds and inviting arms it led him to?
When he wakes to find them beside him, is he relieved? Is he happy?
He rests beside them now, turned onto his side, face half-buried in a pillow. And although he sleeps, he seems restless, his body twitching and turning and voice mumbling something that they can’t quite make out yet.
Is he dreaming?
V1 lays on their side, wings tucked tightly against their back, laying with their head level to Gabriel’s. They watch him, listen to him, studying the way his heart now races and breathing picks up.
“...I… have never strayed…” he mumbles, voice heavy.
Is he awake? V1 props themself up slightly so that they can tilt their head to the side inquisitively, but Gabriel doesn’t respond to their question.
“...a machine… no, no, stop, no –” His voice picks up, rising to something pained, and V1 grabs him by the shoulder. He’s sweating, they realize, skin clammy and cold beneath their palm.
Gabriel startles awake at the touch, gasping. His muscles are tense as if he’s bracing himself for something that never comes. Is he… trembling? Somewhere between the shaking breath and cold sweat on his skin and tense form, they swear they feel him trembling.
What could possibly make Gabriel tremble?
His head has lifted, attention fixed on V1, as his breathing struggles to slow. He says nothing for several long moments, but they can feel his gaze on them. If he wasn’t awake before, he definitely is now.
Was it a dream?
Slowly, as if uncertain, Gabriel’s arms wrap around V1, pulling them close. “Machine,” he murmurs, but his voice is free from its prior desperation. He no longer sounds pleading, defensive, desperate. He sounds… worn. Exhausted. Like something heavy weighs upon him, some terrible act, some gruesome burden. “...I am sorry to disturb you.”
They shake their head; they weren’t sleeping. They tilt their head against Gabriel, gently pressing for an explanation.
“I was simply a… a bad dream, is all.”
Nightmares, V1 remembers humans calling them. Dreams of pain and imagined creatures and trauma. Which of these plagued him? V1 nudges him again.
“Does that mean that you want me to talk about it?”
V1 nods.
Gabriel rests his chin atop their head, holding them a little closer as he sighs heavily. “After we fought the first time– after I failed to stop you from venturing deeper into Hell, the Council was… furious,” he begins. “I had always perfectly executed everything they and The Father had asked of me until they sent me to stop you. As punishment, they severed my connection to His light. It was supposed to be a death sentence.
“They told me to unmake my mistakes– to kill you. And when I failed the second time, when you and I…” He clears his throat. “...I thought about everything. Everything the Council had made me do, the cruelty –” he spits the word out as if it’s something vile, his fingers curling against V1– “I came to embody. It disgusted me.
“And so I did away with the Council. I killed them, V1. Every last one of them.”
Briefly, V1 imagines Gabriel covered in blood, and what a thought it is indeed. For him to kill of his own volition, to commit such acts of bloodshed to meet his own ends, was… Delightful.
“It was drastic, I know.”
That too, perhaps.
“At the same time, though, it was freeing.” He sighs. “And yet the memories still haunt me. The pain the Council inflicted on me. The pure hatred I felt towards you and how I cursed you. The blood in the auditorium, and the dead silence as I held up the last severed head before the masses. And the thought that my life was soon to be snuffed out. Even now, a part of me still fears that my time is soon to come, waiting for the moment that I least expect it.”
There’s a long pause, and at first V1 isn’t sure if Gabriel intends to keep speaking, but after taking a moment to collect himself, he does. His voice is quieter now, nearly a whisper, speaking things that V1 knows he’ll never say to anyone else. “I used to not fear it. Death, that is. But now that we are… together, I find myself thinking often about what you might endure should I disappear.”
V1 squirms in his arms, shifting themself enough to look up and make eye contact. They’ve never had someone show such concern for their well-being before. To tell the truth, they’ve never even had someone seem this keen on simply being around them. Especially not someone who has endured so much pain and hardship because of their unending need for blood. It defied reason, to be honest, for Gabriel to want to remain so close to them in spite of all of this. To love them. To trust them.
And yet he’s here, holding them, opening the most painful parts of his heart to them.
What is this love he’s showing them? They can only endeavor to understand it more.
“I know you cannot give me an elaborate reply. You do not need to try to give one. Listening is enough.” He settles his head against theirs once more, metal clanking softly as it presses together. “You have my thanks.”
Some small part of them wishes they could reply and offer some semblance of comfort, but truth be told, they haven’t the slightest idea where to begin. So they nod in reply, letting Gabriel hold them as tightly as he wishes, and they bury themself in the slowing beat of his heart.