Chapter Text
Maybe it was good that you started to force yourself to believe in God and hell once the news about researchers finding the entrance to hell reached your ears personally.
You can remember it faintly now: scientists and engineers alike coming to your bar in a flood, right before closing, despite your dismay. You had already washed all your glass cups, and clean water was hard to get, even in this era of 'peace'. It was just two days before the news of the entrance to hell struck the entire world, and the group of researchers in your town was getting drunk on your cheap, homemade mead whilst shoving pictures of hell in your face. Glee written all over their faces as you squinted to see what they were so excited for.
Soon, you learned over snippets of conversations that they were partying together as they celebrated the chance of finding a new source of energy that didn't rely on blood or the sun, which was nearly snuffed out by oppressive pollution.
Which was caused by their hands. Yet, you didn't judge them; it wasn't your place as a bartender unless they asked you to judge them.
But... You could guess that they weren't supposed to go out drinking before the announcement or showing you those pictures, as they all kept looking over their shoulders and whisper-shouting in their inebriation, which amused you in the moment. But you couldn't help your quiet curiosity, so you indulged them and kept pouring drinks when they demanded it from you, and in return, you got sneak peeks of hell before the rest of the world.
Lucky you.
You let them take turns as they explained what you were looking at, through slurred speech and giggles, while you looked intently at each picture they held up to your face, with prideful grins.
"Look! Look! The text is so tiny in this one, b-but it says, 'Abandon all hope' uh... something, something-" The overly excited researcher gave a little burp, his fingers loosely holding the picture up to your eyes as he cleared his throat, seemingly remembering the rest of the writing. "Right- 'All ye who enter here.'"
This photo was highly detailed, showing a large metal doorway to literal hell, with two stone statues at either end, and a long, dark walkway beyond, lined with more of those creepy statues that made you stiffen inside. Yet you kept your composure and nodded along like this wasn't starting a deep-seated fear that you haven't prayed enough.
One researcher even had a picture of one of the mining rooms, which was covered in pipes and metal grates. It was everything you hated in this world: machinery. And for a moment, in their laughter, you felt that sinking gut feeling that still happened when you knew something was deeply wrong.
Because even if you held no hope anymore, for the fear of being disappointed, you knew that this would be the first mistake amongst many in this era of the New Peace.
And you prayed for the first time in a very, very long time. Then, once the news broke, you kept praying for almost an entire year, not only to keep sane with each new piece of information you were subjected to from the mining venture into hell. But as a way of possibly keeping a spot open for you in heaven.
You didn't commit any notable sins listed in the Bible, but you didn't want to die with so many regrets on your shoulders only to find yourself suffering again for an eternity.
You already had enough senseless suffering on Earth; you knew that to be true.
So, you began redeeming yourself through your thoughts and prayers, making sure they happened frequently in your mind or out loud when you were alone, so you didn't look insane.
You probably were insane, though. You apologized silently for all the lies you ever told, repaying for any crimes you committed, with your guilt on display for a god you forced yourself to believe in again. People noticed you more as you gave more than you should to others, coming to you for advice outside of your work hours, and you gave them whatever you could offer.
You put your needs on the sideline to help others, just for a chance at reaching those pearly gates after your shitty life. In both your selfless and selfish acts, you had inspired at least one artist in your town, whose name eludes you now, to make a portrait of your face when you saved them from their troubling thoughts for a moment, even though your advice was weak compared to their pain. It now hung in a small, abandoned museum, next to that artist's body.
...
That was after you died, of course. Nothing too horrible, you would note. You were simply in the wrong place at the wrong time, sacrificing yourself for another who was also surely dead as machines finally turned their back on their creators. And honestly? You expected it sooner. Blood was thinning, and machines always had a level of intelligence that crawled up your back.
So, that's how you have a legacy now, even if it was a small one. And you retold it just like that to the High Council of Heaven, which demanded to know why you, a newly created angel, had a body unlike the Virtues and Providences that surrounded you. You weren't a Lesser angel, not with your human form that was sure, but at least a Greater angel.
Just at the tipping point, you'd assume, but your focus was shifting to everything around you. Things you've never seen or only dreamed about when you were a kid. Like breathing clearly.
The air around you was scary in its comforting, clean way, and the pearly marble floor beneath your bare feet was warm like... something. The memory alludes to you, but you think it could've been the sun. Maybe it’s as warm as sunshine? That sounded reasonable in your head, and so you gave a short nod of confirmation to yourself before flicking your eyes around the large room. Examining it for every doorway and window, like you were taught, and counting every intimidating person or person with a weapon.
... There were too many to count, you realize with a dreadful start, and although this room had many exits to the outside world, there were guards everywhere. Eyes everywhere. You were trapped in heaven, not by chains or a cage, but by the fear of being torn from this paradise you're not sure you'd ever get.
And judging from the tension in the commanding group of angels that were sitting behind the tall podiums, you were sure they didn't think you or anyone, for that matter, would get here. Humanity has fucked up too many times; you could agree with that if they pointed that out, but that would mean they would have an excuse to send you to hell. They were mumbling at each other, not turning their heads to look away from your form. Your very human... flawed form.
But you weren't going to give up that easily after all the suffering you went through. After all, you were indeed here, in heaven. Isn't that a reason to celebrate? You want to celebrate, make drinks, and truly enjoy paradise, but you realize you can't fix your face to express that want to the council or voice it. Rather, your body hasn't come to terms with it, and that feeling you get in your stomach when something bad is about to happen is starting again. So, you put your hand on your stomach and press your lips together as you try to collect your thoughts.
'Really? After all of this, you'd think I'd change,' you think bitterly to yourself. You don't hate yourself for being like this, but it is greatly inconvenient.
A part of you is beyond happy that you aren't in pain or suffering in hell. But the part of you that you can't let go of, your inhibitions to express this joy, in fear of it being taken away, held you with a vice so demanding that you didn't smile. You stood there, eyes forcibly far away as you answered everything, they shot at you with this still... monotone voice that didn't raise or tremble in the light of their holy beings. You breathed calmly as you shut off your running mind to the sensations around you and to your own worries.
There was too much happening at once; so, until you knew you were in the clear— until this courtroom saw your innocence, you would hold off on partying or inspecting this body you were given that this group of angels before you seemed so offended by.