One ride up, and no batted an eye. One ride up and I was on the empty Earth of the present, breathing in the October air. This was the first time in all these years that the month in Heaven and Hell was the same as that on the cycling Earth- because the latter jumped from October to May when the change came, there was usually a gap in seasons.

It was nice to have this level of consistency between realms, even if in two days it'd be another hundred and seventy years before we got back to this point. And god, I'd be alive for all of them.

So would Michael. The despot of the angels. I had a feeling he wouldn't take kindly to me.

Good thing I knew exactly where Heaven was, or I'd have died of mourning. You don't really get how hard it honestly is to wander a wasteland. Especially one you grew up in- the empty cars, the growing plants... I was tempted to wander down into Hornbrook, but I think would've honestly cried.

Up the highway and through the pines, taking deep breaths. I'd never been to Heaven, per se, but I knew enough about things to know what to expect. My first glimpse- a shoddy white wall where no wall should have stood felt like an appropriate introduction. I had to admire Michael's dedication to an aesthetic, building a seven foot brick wall in the middle of a desolate forest, just in case some deer decided to take up arms.

I followed the length of the wall until I could spy an open gate. Guards, but no actual iron fence in the way. This would've been great if I wasn't certain the guard post was a twenty four seven, though utterly pointless, position.

Then again, I guess it was doing a good job at keeping unsavory types like me out.

I'd been spotted a good thirty feet off, and I was surprised to find I had yet to be speared through the head. I approached the sillily dressed guards and gave a polite, angelic salute.

"Hello." I was trying my hand at angelic; I knew the basic idea, but it was hard to formulate complicated sentences. I just hoped one or two words would be enough to clear me through.

The guards were both clearly astonished, but they made no effort to sheathe their weapons. They started quickly chattered- to each other and to me- in angelic, but it was so mixed up and fast that I couldn't get a single word.

Angelic was a fucked up version of latin, basically. I'd studied it in high school, and I'd had plenty of time to learn a few words. But angels had a unique grammar system, complicated slang, and very little regard for the language theirs was related to.

"I am with Percial." It took me a long time to stumble these words out, and while I think the guards got me, neither seemed particularly pleased or impressed. "And Michael." I gave another salute. "I go?"

"No." Ouch, I knew that word.

Speaking of ouch, the next thing I felt was a knife to my neck and a whole lot of pain. Good thing it was over fast.

Death really isn't fun. It's pain, it's aching, it's suffering- you know, that kind of thing. Then this kind of sinking feeling, like the world is quicksand, or your friends just did that trick on you that makes it feel like you're falling through the floor.

Then you're out, in this spasm of dark light, the sort you see if you rub your eyes harder than you should. When I was younger, I thought the dots in my eyes were atoms, and the fuzziness of things meant I had the world's most powerful eyes. Turns out I just needed glasses. Never got them though.

There's a fall, and there's a rise, and then I was back again. Blinking at the sun, usually lying in the grass. I always awoke in the same spot in my old backyard on the cycling Earth, under the oak tree. I'd catch my breath, shake a little, and get up. Sometimes I'd lay there and pretend everything else had been a dream, and that my mother was dead and I was merely thirty-five.

It wasn't one of those days today. I went right back to the Hellmouth, up through Hell, and straight back to Heaven. My last body had been tied to a tree a little ways from Heaven's gate, and I tried not to look. It... always threw me off.

"Hello," I said, in proper English this time, because what the fuck were they going to about it? "I need to speak with Michael."

"I-I'm not sure we can." The angel on the left stuttered out. His winter outfit looked ridiculous, but then again, so did most angelic clothing. Michael probably did the designs himself, and they were a strange smattering of modern and hand-sewn, bright dyed cowls to match wing color over fur lined white tops, bits of useless armor, and store-bought jeans.

"Please, I am sure I can think of a number of things that would get his attention."

"Can you wait here?" The other guard said, glancing behind him. There was no one else in sight.

"I'd rather not."

"Then- Here, you can write what you wish, and I will deliver it to him. Meanwhile, wait." He handed me a piece of paper from his pocket, on it was scribbled a little bit of angelic- a symbolic language that I couldn't decipher. By his form, I'd guess he had been working on a poem.

I shook my head. "That's not going to work. Let me in."

"Your sort can't," The guard insisted, "Infernal beasts... I can be felled for even speaking with you, but I dare worry what you would do to me if I didn't."

"How about nothing?" I said, "We will walk through together, and you will say nothing. The fact we are heading towards whatever palace Michael has built for himself will be enough to quell any concerns."

"No," The angel said. Then he said it again in angelic.

"How about yes?"

Oh. There it was, that fear in his eyes, that childlike belief that magic was real. Michael and I were cut from the same cloth; born with that desire to foster such ignorance, to protect and to isolate.

The guard on the right started to lead without a word, frowning and clutching his little knife in his hands, rubbing its oil-slick colored blade like a prayer was inscribed in its imaginary steel.

There was another wall at the far end of this one, and I had a feeling Heaven was divided into proper spheres. Except you can't quite do that on a two dimensional surface, so circles it'd have to be.

The first one was wide, with old house and plenty of crops. Angels worked in the fields, and far off some were running. A couple sat on the walls.

It was surreal, and it took a moment to settle in: the number of men. Heaven was all men, I knew, but it still seemed unnerving, like I had stumbled into a strange rural summer camp for wayward young adults.

The second circle was smaller than the first, though not by much. There were more houses, and proper streets, and... working street lamps? Looks like they weren't living without every inconvenience. We also passed an outdoor bath, which I tried my hardest not to stare at.

I swear to God, Heaven was the gayest fucking place I'd seen in my life. That's what you get when you enforce absolute chastity and teach everyone that physical affection is normal.

Well, it was normal down in Hell too. And Earth. But not really for me. Plus, I mean, what else was I supposed to think when I caught sight of twenty men bathing naked together, some cuddling? That that wasn't extremely gay? Come on.

Around here I caught sight of a real monstrosity: what seemed to be the world's least safe tower that definitely wasn't part of the old human architecture. It was wide, white as the walls, and hopefully structurally secure, rising out of the third circle of Heaven like tall towers are prone to do.

Oh, the other angels had been noticing me at this point. I was flush with the same sort of feelings that attention always brought forth, but mostly wrought with worry one of them might lash out and lose me another hour to death. So far they hadn't been doing much else but stare.

Most of the angels were in their twenties, but some I suspected were an edge younger, a little wider eyed than their fellows. Even with the spare two hundred years tacked on.

We were stopped before we could enter the center of Heaven proper by one of the few women in here. Her hair was a strawberry blonde mess of tangles and not, and it was far longer than it needed to be.

She started off at my angel escort in a dialect of angelic that I nearly could grasp. I certainly got that she was asking who I was, and why I wasn't yet dead. Of course, I probably could've guessed as much.

My escort was dismissed, and the woman put her hands on her decoratively armored hips and glared at me. "What is it that you want?"

"Did he not tell you? To talk to Michael. Don't worry, he'll want to see me."

"No, he won't. I have heard of your bloodcraft, and I will not kill you now. You may walk out now, but if you return, I will strike you down each time." Something about her brash, raspy voice was familiar to me.

"Has Percial returned to you yet?"

She shifted on her feet a little, "No."

"Lovely. It's a fun story, believe me. I'm sure Michael will be very interested."

"Not very likely." Her voice was brisk and quiet. "He doesn't care for him very much."

"That's probably even better given what he's probably going through right now."

"Listen, demon, your speech can't persuade me of much besides further anger. Please, leave."

"What sort of ruckus do I need to create to get him to show up?" I muttered loudly, looking around. The angels watching us were perhaps the least comfortable audience I'd ever had. I took a deep breath and whistled as loud as I could, three distinct though wobbly notes.

Michael and I had known each other for a long, long time, and those notes were straight out of our childhood, from when we were both loud brats. Now, only one of us was.

The female angel seemed deeply off put by my action, but had yet to think of an appropriate response. I whistled again.

There was a cry from far away, in the third circle, and past the scattered group of angelic observers I could make out Michael making his way over. When he spotted the clump I was in, he dove out of sight to the right, and in a few more minutes he was perched on the wall above us.

He was the same, as ageless beings tend to be. Juvenile mop of blonde hair styled out of his eyes, pale blue eyes shining even from this distance. The angels around me all averted their eyes for a moment, and crossed their chest before looking up again.

"Cassiel!" He shouted. "Who is this?"

"A demon," she replied, "Why did you come?"

Michael crossed his legs. Despite it being October, he was wearing capri length loose white shorts and a short sleeved shirt with gold embroidery. In what I assume he thought was a regal statement, he had a small crown of golden points behind his bangs, five gold bracelets on his arms, and even five clip-on ear cuffs.

"Hello, Michael Lexington," I said, "I think we need to talk."

"You think." The enthusiasm in his voice died with every millisecond of those two words, and I think he finally recognized me. If not- well- he knew the name.

"Demon," Michael said. "Demon." He laughed a little. "We'll talk then, yeah?"

"Michael-" Cassiel urged, clearly indignant.

"Cassiel." Michael hopped off the roof, the angels again taking a moment to cross their chest and avert their eyes. He fixed his shirt and grinned, turning with a little spin on his heel into deeper Heaven. I followed for a few steps, before he stopped. "Cassiel, are you not coming?"

She seemed as surprised as I was, and ran with, still holding her head down like she had misbehaved.

"Michael..." Business first. Business first. "Michael. The situation down in Hell is not pleasant. I mean, Percial sort of... mistakes were made. I need you to go through with this peace meeting though."

"What?" He smiled like he hadn't heard a word and was pretending he had. "I'm not going to hold peace with the demons. What's the point of that?" He laughed.

"Just meet with them, without blood. Tomorrow, even- who cares?" I said.

"What's this about blood?" He looked like the cleanest cut of kids, perking up at that word as if it was the title of his favorite TV show.

"Percial... killed a couple people the other day. I don't want to give the full story, just trust me and hold a peace meeting."

"I don't want to." He cocked his head. "I mean... again, I'm simply not into the whole concept. Peace? What comes after? Ha! Nothing interesting."

"Michael."

"Don't say his name," Cassiel whispered.

"Michael Lexington, please. I need to go back there with something."

At the end of the street, right below the white tower, was the ruins of an old hospital. Michael nodded to a confused guard and led us inside.

"Sure?" He spoke only as we came to the second floor, an area that had been converted into one long room. A bunch of couches surrounded a beat up table, and several of the old rooms were now bedrooms. I could see Michael's room from here- his name wasn't on it, but the steel surface had been painted with illustrations of michaelmas daises.

"Sure," I said, to test him.

"Okay. We'll meet on Earth, in their cabin in the woods, tomorrow. I will sit with the demons, and I will eat their food."

"You shouldn't do that," Cassiel said, back to angelic.

"Why are you here with us?" Michael said in reply, and she left in red faced shame.

When we were alone for a while, I looked Michael in the eyes. He was the few people I could do that with, just stare him down. "Do you remember me?"

"I'd like you to be there, demon."

"Do you know who I am?"

"I have a very good memory. There's over a thousand angels, and I know them all. I'm very smart, you know?" He laughed gleefully.

"You're very talented, Michael," I said, and he smiled dumbly, like a golden retriever. It was what he wanted to hear.

"I am," Michael said, validated, "So what are you doing here?"

"Now?"

"Still."