gabriel had fallen on his own.

he had chosen this path to save last of his dignity, have some little respect to himself and cherish those he deemed precious all the while indulging on his curiosities and not-so-angelic selfishness.

he wanted to live a life, you know. wanted to be free, to be someone and not just be one of the abandoned nobodies. but here he is, crushed that, holding onto his dear brother, blade plunged in his gut. and it's like the archangel just wanted to hang on to something that really matters. and so he hangs on lucifer, because he still loves him and understands because he left, too and gabriel just looks at him as if saying i'm sorry, i'm so sorry.

but it's too late for sorry now, aye?

but it's not too late to run, to escape, like he always does. witty ol' me, he thought not. he's a runner, a track star, and he's a trickster directing this pretty white lie that had him currently drowning in the dark sea.

the icy water stung, kept him down. spun him until he don't know which was down which was down. when was he alive, not. or was he even there. or somewhere else that isn't cold, somewhere warm, donuts, somewhere with fresh scent of grass, a place where the sun would look so close when it set to show the stars for to wish through.

pain ripped through his leg. crack was then heard from below. mouth opens but it was filled. water in his throat, eyes, his nose, his ears. he couldn't hear anything, just regrets, murmurings. whispers.

he would turn his head. look around. tried to reach out. but found nothing but black. eyes blurred and cleared. closing his eyes, his lips opened, water filling in again and again, letting him breathe and killing him again. and he knew it wasn't real. none of it was. so maybe the distant figure, half of a fish— you, heading his way is a lie, too.