tryingitall | waiting in the wings (for Gadreel)

He's one of the few who has been here since the very beginning. Gadreel, the angel who was tricked into allowing Lucifer into the Garden. Most of the other prisoners either ignored him or joined in with their wardens in dealing out what they thought was just wrath and punishment.

Balthazar was the rare exception and while Gadreel did not understand, he was at least grateful. Conversation, no matter how limited, was at least some way to concentrate on something other than the light or the pain. They had shared a few words, but when you were thrown in prison to rot, what was there to really talk about?

Except things were changing. The wardens were quieter, discussing things among themselves or they simply weren't present. Perhaps they assumed that the angels left were too broken to take notice anymore. He'd been quietly contemplating that when Balthazar slipped up beside him.

Slowly he shook his head. Bored? How does one get bored in a place like this? If you were being left alone that was a respite you savored because it never lasted. "No, Brother. It is not something I am familiar with."

Balthazar would be lying if he said he wasn't intrigued by Gadreel's story. Sometimes in the brief moments they interact between torment and labor, he's itching to ask what really happened. Did he feel sorry for Lucifer? Did he just want to think the best of their beautiful archangel brother? Was he afraid?

But in this place, they're all a little unstable, a bit too close to the edge of breaking one way or another. It's more important to be kind. If unsatisfied curiosity makes the difference between a living, functional angel and one consumed by guilt, Balthazar is willing to go forever not knowing. He's a bit shy about his own backstory, anyway. The few who've bothered to ask were simply told he was tired of watching brothers and sisters die.

Balthazar glances to where two guards are talking, their Graces muted the better not to be overheard, then turns back to Gadreel. "It's a word game. One person thinks of something, and the other has twenty questions to guess what they're thinking of. Yes or no questions, like, 'is it a living thing?'. Care to play? Or would you rather speculate with me on what exactly has everyone stirred up today?"

Preferably both, because a silly word game is a decent cover if someone does happen to notice they're chatting.

Lucifer is not a subject Gadreel is capable of discussing, at least not in the depths of Heaven's prisons. He's been driven so close to the breaking point again and again that the slightest nudge in the wrong direction could send him spiraling into despair, leaving him silent and despondent like so many of their shattered brethren who have become unresponsive to anything, kindness or violence.

The word game seems like a good distraction and he nods slowly to convey his understanding. "I will try, Brother. But perhaps you should start? I am not certain that I understand the game." His eyes flick towards the nearest warden. Ordinarily they strode around arrogantly, wings held high and hands resting on swords or lashes as they moved among the prisoners. Today they ignored their charges, more intent on some conversation that he couldn't quite make out. "Something is wrong."

Yes, he knows this is apparent, but he has to start somewhere.

Balthazar is still a little reluctant to accept that those silent, semi-catatonic angels in the back of the prison are truly beyond reach. But he's an optimist, sometimes, and he hasn't been here long. He can't even resent their guards much yet, although he's appalled at how well they do their work.

He studies Gadreel's expression as he nods. Not all angels get the nuances of being covert. Heaven knows Castiel never has, and in some ways Gadreel's quiet sobriety reminds him of Cas. He seems to get this, though, and Balthazar is relieved not to have to explain further. "Certainly! I'm thinking of something that can be found on the Earth. Now, you can begin asking me questions."

He doesn't bother to look at the wardens, but he's listening for the approach, just in case. In a lower voice he adds: "Yes. Not all of the higher-ups are here. A conference, maybe?"

Gadreel has learned, from his time in prison, that discretion kept you alive. The quieter you were, the less chance you had of catching the attention of a warden who wished to exert a little of his wrath. So he huddles closer to Balthazar, looking for all intents like another weary angel desperate for the comfort of another brother. The contact is welcome, but it also affords them the chance to speak quietly without observation.

"I have not been on Earth since the Garden. Is it alive?"

A subtle glance around. "Perhaps. There have been fewer of them on duty of late."

"No, it's not a living thing," he answers mildly, and when Gadreel moves closer he responds in kind, even so far as extending a wing to brush his brother's. Balthazar is, if nothing else, a sucker for the pleasure and comfort of contact, whether body or Grace. Besides, if the guards assume they're simply getting acquainted, they might just get ignored that much longer.

"I promise it's something that would have been on the Earth last time you were there." That's an extra clue, but Balthazar considers it fair. He knew in an academic sense that Gadreel hadn't been on Earth since his disgrace, but it strikes him suddenly as a crying shame. The ripple of sympathy through his Grace is almost visible.

The last time he was on the planet was in the midst of an ugly human war. But he still saw a lot there to admire, from oceans to sunrise, storms to dandelions gone to seed. It's all still there, at least until the big showdown between Michael and Lucifer obliterates it.

Assuming that happens. He's starting to wonder.

"I wish we could overhear the talk. How do you think they'd react if I tried to get closer?" Gadreel knows this place, this situation, better than Balthazar does. Maybe he has an idea who's least likely to lash out at them?

The contact gets a pleased hum along his Grace in reply. So few of his brothers or sisters wanted anything to do with the angel who was responsible - however indirectly - for the fall of Eden. His wings push up against Balthazar's, eager for the slightest comfort after so many years alone, cut off from the Host.

Gadreel considers as the worn, faded feathers of his wings flutter restlessly. "Is it made of stone?" He hasn't been on Earth in so long, he has wondered more than once how much things have changed.

"Hannah," he murmurs, nodding towards the slender figure standing on her own. "She is.. dissatisfied with the course that the Host has taken. If anyone would speak to you without violence, it is her."

Gadreel has come to the right angel, then. Or, rather, the right angel has come to him. Balthazar seems to melt into the touch subtly. If he wasn't slightly distracted with the worries at hand, he'd probably be twining primaries with him by now. As it is, he makes a note for future reference that this particular brother seems to be game for cuddles.

"Not made of stone, no. I suppose there could be stones in it..." And once again, he's volunteering extra information. Balthazar isn't very good at this game.

He follows the gesture and gives a faint nod of his own. "Duly noted. Think on the questions for a moment, then, and I'll see what I can find out."

He rises, wings withdrawing more slowly and reluctantly than the rest of him. He approaches Hannah in a roundabout way, slinking along the wall, pausing to murmur to one of the other prisoners. When he does reach Hannah, they're out of earshot of Gadreel, but the interaction is, of course, visible. She's defensive, he's wary, but she doesn't lash out to punish him, either. It's several minutes of soft, tense conversation before she's called away, and Balthazar hastens back far less subtly than he left Gadreel's side, jaw set.

A nod and Gadreel watches the exchange through lowered eyes. It's never safe to make extended eye contact, but he can at least monitor what goes on from his vantage point. Balthazar seems to be making at least some headway with Hannah and he will admit he's curious about what his brother might have learned.

Slowly his wing flares in offering as Balthazar settles against him again. "Is it water?"

And in a lower tone: "What did you learn?"

Balthazar huddles into the offered wing-hug like he needs the comfort. That doesn't bode well, and neither does the blank look he gives Gadreel in response to the question about water. In the heat of the conversation about current events, he's temporarily forgotten the game they were playing--or pretending to play--and his wings fidget and settle against the other angels slowly before it clicks.

"...oh. Oh! Yes. Yes, that's...correct, actually. I had a more specific type in mind if you want to go on."

If he were less shaken, he'd look sheepish, but he's quick to switch gears now, because it's important. "We need to get out. They're evacuating. They're leaving this dimension, all of the angels in good standing." He takes a shaky breath. "Raphael's already taken the first two waves away. There's only a few left, and Michael will be collecting the rest in a few hours. Hannah doesn't want to go, but I don't think she'll disobey orders."

He actually reaches for Gadreel's arm, holding onto his wrist. It shouldn't matter at this point. The guards won't bother to punish them for acting up or getting too close. "They're just going to leave us all locked up forever. We have to get out or we'll be trapped."

Granted, their options for places to go once they escape are limited, but the planet has to be a better option than prison.

...right?

Leaving. They were going to be abandoned there. Gadreel tightens his hand in Balthazar's, his wing acting on instinct to shield him in his distress. They were going to be abandoned in prison. There would be no more torture, but there would also be no chance of finding their way out and cut off from the rest of the Host, they would eventually fade away and die.

"Is there anything left of Earth?" Already they're of a like mind. Escape or die - either option was preferable to facing the rest of their existence in prison.

"...I'm not completely sure. Lucifer has his vessel, but Michael's has refused. There must be chaos. Demons everywhere, disasters..."

He closes his eyes. What could Michael possibly be thinking? Deserting the planet and the Plan after all this time, after all the lives lost? He must have gone mad. There's no other reasonable explanation.

"But Castiel is down there somewhere," he adds. "And there must still be some humans, as well. Innocent ones. Going to the earth is probably suicide, but any of our options mean death at this point. I think I'd rather throw in my lot there."

He looks up at Gadreel, his gaze almost a plea. "So. Coming with?"

Gadreel pushes in closer at the news, horrified. Michael was abandoning them, all of Heaven and Earth - taking them all away from the fight instead of making his stand. It doesn't take more than a beat for him to make his decision. "Yes. We must escape, take as many as we can with us." Or at least throw the doors wide to allow the angels to make their own decisions.

"There are few wardens left," he hazards another look around. "We may have to fight our way out."

They didn't have their weapons - their swords were long gone - but they were still warriors of Heaven. "I will stand with you, brother."

There's a subtle flare in his Grace, a mix of gratitude and affection. As little as Balthazar wants to fight against their guards, it feels good to have someone to make a stand with him. He leans in abruptly and kisses Gadreel on the temple, a little burst of warmth, then takes a breath and looks around, trying to plan.

"You know this place better, and the other prisoners. Let me distract the guards. Rally whomever you can. Everyone lucid enough to fight should press the wards in one spot. If we can break them, we can get to the planet's surface."

They will fight their way out together, his brother at his side. The affectionate gesture gets an answering flare of his Grace, eager to curl around his brother's. He nods, reaching to squeeze his hand.

"Beware of Uriel. He will not hesitate to strike you down." A warning delivered before they separate. There aren't many angels left that are aware of their surroundings, but there are enough for him to gradually begin to spread his message. Samandriel. Tophiel. Former warriors in their own right. If they can shatter a single ward - it will be enough. To fall is terrifying, but to remain in prison for eternity is a torment that none of them will abide.

"Yes...Uriel was always the ask-questions-later type," he sighs, frowning as he slips away. It's a crying shame; he likes Uriel. And Hannah, and a large number of the siblings he's about to betray by fighting and disobeying utterly.

Then again, they betrayed him and the other prisoners first.

Balthazar has never been the strongest or fastest angel, but he's one of the most cunning. One guard, he can catch alone, and steal her weapon. From there it's a matter of creating confusion. The wardens remaining are already panicky. Michael's decision, while no one has dared to say much against it, is not entirely popular. Leaving everything one has ever known is terrifying, even to an angel.

By the time Balthazar's done with his task, several guards have fled and four wardens are fighting amongst themselves, creating plenty of distraction to allow him to return to Gadreel's side.

He's bruised and molting from the conflict, but intact and armed with an extra blade, which he offers to Gadreel. "Are we ready? It will take Grace from all of us to punch through."

The moment Balthazar acts, Gadreel is in motion, moving among the prisoners. He knows the ones that can still act, the ones that haven't broken and they're clustered around him, harried but resolved.

He accepts the blade, fingers tight around the familiar weight in his palm. "We are with you, brother. There should be enough of us to punch through at the weakest ward."

A risky option, but it was far better than rotting in prison forever.

He looks around at the small assembly, and nods. There may be no coming back from this, and for one wild moment he wants to back out, stay here where it's familiar, if not at all safe.

And then he looks into Gadreel's eyes and his resolve hardens. His brothers are with him. With him, Balthazar, who has never stood out among the rank and file, with no great gift for battle or strategy, just a few clever tricks and a need to serve his family.

"Let's go, then. I can feel where they're fraying. Nobody's been maintaining them since the evacuations began." Eyes closing, he reaches out through the telekinetic connection the Winchesters so charmingly named 'angel radio', touches minds with the gathered siblings, and points.

It'll take a lot of strength, focused on a very small area, but Balthazar's game to lead the efforts, Grace pushing at a pinpoint spot in the web of power that holds the prison secure. Light pushing against light.

It won't take long.

They're all haggard, damaged, but resolved. Still angels of the Host for whatever that was worth and they would go down fighting rather than simply fading away into nothingness. Better to finally face the end on your feet.

Balthazar's grace sings along theirs, directing the flow of power against the ancient wards woven into the very fabric of the prison and Gadreel murmurs a few words of encouragement to his fading brethren as they surge forward. Light surges and crackles and for a moment it doesn't feel like the wards will break. There. The tiniest crack in the wards is enough and as the angels throw themselves forward, it all begins to unravel.

"Again!"

Balthazar pushes his Grace forward, again leading the efforts. It only makes sense; he's the newest prisoner and therefore the least drained and damaged by captivity. He won't blow out the entirety of his Grace in these efforts, but he'll try to take the brunt of the risk, and do as much of the heavy lifting as he can.

"Almost..." His voice echoes over angel radio. "Try to land close together. We'll need one another."

When the wards give, there's a brief backlash, like getting hit with a fine-stranded electric whiplash. There are winces and cries of pain, and tumble of confusion, and then the bottom drops out beneath them and all the angels of their little group will either fall or fly.

Most of them are beyond flying at this point.

Below, any living humans with enough cognizance left to look skyward will see a meteor shower. Small and brief but all the brighter for that, the cluster of lights fall toward the earth in a matter of minutes. Somehow, it's a vision that feels less ominous than the skyfire caused by demonic events in the past months.

Balthazar hits the earth hard, in a Walmart parking lot at the edge of a small, dying farm town. The store has been heavily looted, and his landing leaves a huge crater in the asphalt and kicks up a shower of glass and gravel and dust. Abandoned shopping carts flip and tumble, pieces breaking off, and as the shrapnel settles, a cart wheel spins in a slow circle, losing momentum until it rattles and flops in the grass. Equally wobbly, the angel rises in a crouch, hand to his head, and looks for evidence that other siblings have landed nearby.

The fall is sudden and terrifying. Gadreel can barely call his wings in time, hearing the cries of distress of the other angels as they plummet to Earth. But better to die free than languish in prison for eternity. He's too weak to catch himself and land smoothly, instead plowing into the parking lot and skidding into an overturned truck before he finally comes to a stop.

Gadreel forces his head up, taking in his surroundings. Get up. Move. He can't stay, they have to find the others.

"Nngh. Balthazar? Brother?" His voice is no more than a weak rasp.

The damage left by Gadreel's tumble isn't hard to track, even if Balthazar can't quite hear his voice from his vantage point. Like a newborn colt, he staggers up and makes a weaving, shaky path across the lot, eventually dropping to his knees again next to his brother. Reaching out, he clasps his arm with both hands and smiles weakly.

"...it worked. Are you all right?" Wait, that's a foolish question. They're none of them, technically, all right. "Do you think you can walk?"

He can't tell where any of the others have landed. It may take a while to find them.

It worked. They're free. Slowly Gadreel pulls himself to his feet, blinking slowly up at Balthazar. His ears are ringing and his vessel is a wash of agony, but he can move, get himself up.

"I can walk," he confirms with a raspy voice, dragging a hand across his face. "We did it. We are free." And they are in danger. It's not safe. But he.. needs a moment to simply turn his face to the sky and breathe.

"The others. Have you seen them?"

He'll answer that question in a moment, when the unpleasant roar of blood in his vessel's veins dies to a level he can think through, when the burning feeling in his wing-joints fades to something he can tolerate. When he can restrain himself from wincing at the raw scrape of Gadreel's voice.

They're free. In danger. And pretty well wrecked.

Still, he can't bring himself to regret this course of action. He takes his brother's hands, offering to help him up, and looks around them. There don't appear to be any other angels nearby, not in line of sight. They all stayed close when they fell; he can only hope that means they're all within a reasonable radius. They'll have to search.

They may end up searching until Death takes them, in fact, trying to gather fallen brethren. But maybe that's a nobler end even than fighting. Balthazar shrugs and shakes hie head regretfully. "Not yet. Just you. Let's get under cover. That crash will draw demons, and I'm not really in fighting shape yet."

His wings are a wash of agony and when Gadreel staggers to his feet, the pain threatens to drop him to his knees. He clings to Balthazar for a moment, resolving to ignore the pain, to set it aside. Gadreel has known torture in heaven, known pain and he will survive this as he has survived everything else.

"Inside. Perhaps we can secure the entrance long enough to rest." The store might not be ideal cover, but it has walls and can be secured and right now - that's what they require beyond supplies. Time and a chance to get their bearings after the fall.

Instinctively, Balthazar clings back. Partly he's just as in need of support, but mostly he's simply determined to protect the one sibling he has with everything he's got. He huffs a deep breath, steadying himself, and squeezes Gadreel's shoulder, nodding once more.

"As a temporary shelter, it will do. I'm not going to spend my last moments in a Wal-mart bathroom, though, so fair warning." He moves off slowly, circling around the debris they've left.

As it turns out, the glass in the doors of the building is well and truly shattered. What's inside is in terrible disrepair, but the only things alive within appear to be bugs and birds in the rafters. Balthazar pauses to pick up a tattered magazine page, eyeing the cereal advert and attached coupons blandly. "...we're going to have to get used to eating, aren't we?"

The contact is enough to steady them both and Gadreel limps inside with Balthazar, taking in the overturned shelves, scattered bags and bits of humanity left behind in what must have been utter chaos. How many people had tried to find shelter in here? How many left in despair?

At least the store is quiet, the only sounds were of birds and feathers ruffling high in the rafters. No immediate danger and that's the important part - shelter. "Everything that falls to human will likely fall to us. Eating. Sleeping. The need for shelter and safety."

Gadreel twists his wrist and the stolen silver sword lands in his palm with a satisfying slap. "We are not defenseless." It's not much, but it's a start.

He sets the page down on a broken conveyor belt with a sigh. "That's going to be tedious. But maybe it's fitting."

Glancing over as Gadreel draws the sword, he smiles faintly. "No. Some sort of ranged weapon will be needed eventually, but we'll manage. I think I can still make a slingshot, or a spear. I'll scrounge around a bit here after we've caught our breath."

He pauses by the customer service counter, set in an alcove deep into the building. It looks like the best shelter available for the moment, so he makes for it, peering warily behind the counter at torn chairs and broken cabinets. "...here. This can be base camp for the moment. Sit, and let me look you over; what hurts?"

Hardly a comfortable shelter, but it's enough for the two of them to rest for a bit, before they can get their bearings and start looking for supplies. "Perhaps there are better weapons here, or things we can make use of."

The sword disappears and Gadreel follows his brother closely towards the small alcove. "I have sustained worse in Heaven. I will recover." His wings ache, his vessel in agony, but he will survive. "I merely require rest." A curious glance. "And you? We must rest together."

"I was...going to look around for something to use as a blanket," he murmurs, feeling a bit shell-shocked still. His idea was to have Gadreel rest here while he searched around, but upon a second glance, neither one of them is in much better condition than the other.

He slides to a sitting position on the floor, scooting back so he's partly hidden behind the counter, then beckons Gadreel after him. "I'm trying to look after you, but I suppose you're right. We'll be warm enough if we stay close, and definitely safer together. I've never felt my wings ache like this."

He flexes his fingers carefully, and rolls an ankle. It pops softly, but that's just the tendons in his vessel settling. Nothing's broken. Nothing's bleeding.

Gadreel frowns and is clearly ready to protest until Balthazar relents and settles in beside him. Their vessels are warm, their grace sustaining them for at least the moment. “We should rest for now. If our fall hasn’t drawn attention now, then perhaps we have escaped notice for the moment.” An arm drapes around him as he draws Balthazar’s lean vessel against his broader one. The physical comfort is almost as pleasant as when they had tangled their wings together in prison. Reassurance without words. “After we rest, we will look for supplies. Food.”

His grace is scraped raw and aching, but for now intact. “We should also conserve our power. I do not know how long it will last, but it may prove useful in an emergency.”

Gadreel's vessel is broader and taller, and it never occurred to Balthazar to notice such things before. Now, gathered against his brother, he feels both smaller and more sheltered than he's used to. The touch feels pleasant, indeed, but he reddens slightly, oddly flustered.

Then he decides since the world is ending, anyway, he might as well give and get what good he can, so he slides his arm around Gadreel's waist. "...we ought to be able to run on low food supplies for a while. We might have better luck outside cities; I imagine there are infected people about, as well as demons."

"You're right, though. The less we burn, the better. I want to find the others, Cas included. After that...I don't know, we may as well just pretend to be humans until it all winds down."

He leans his head on Gadreel's shoulder, finding it at the perfect height. "We'll stay together, though. You and me, whatever happens from here?" It's half promise, half request.

Balthazar fits perfectly against him and Gadreel tucks him in as he slides an arm around his waist. It's different than twining grace, but it is still a comfort, still pleasant despite their somewhat bleak chances at the moment. Weariness is already threatening to overtake, his mortal body demanding rest and the soothing warmth of Balthazar tucked against him.

Gadreel turns to rest his cheek in his hair. "You and me, until the end." A promise he would never break, a brother he will not fail.

"We will rest for now, and begin our search for Castiel as soon as we are able." Together.

Balthazar's grip on his brother tightens subtly. This is a promise they would never be permitted to make, as angels in good standing. Obedient angels commit to the Divine Will, or at worst the good of the Host, not to another individual. Maybe Balthazar's more broken and willful than he thought, because the promise Gadreel has just made him sounds like everything he ever wanted, without knowing it.

Which is why he can reciprocate easily, wordlessly committing himself to a brother he barely knew up until a few short months ago. Fingers locking in Gadreel's vessel's clothing, he curls close enough that barely a breath could pass between them, and nods.

It's enough. And he'll be silent for a while, letting himself recover from the fall and hoping Gadreel can do the same.

Night falls, and there are distant sounds of marauding creatures, either low-level demons or humans far gone to the Croatoan virus. Nothing comes to their hiding place, though, and by the time dawn comes, with a light rain, Balthazar is feeling a bit more together. He sits up without letting go of Gadreel's jacket, weighing options.

He should go look around, see what they can turn up that's useful. But that would mean moving away from the warmth and comfort of bodily contact.

The promise would have sentenced them to the prisons all over again - to agree to stay together, come what may. Not to follow orders or obey, but a promise made to one another. Gadreel will not leave Balthazar and will not fail him. As they lay together, huddled in the growing dark, he turns his head towards the warm hair of his brother's vessel and closes his eyes.

Sleep.. is an unsettling experience to say the least. But it leaves his vessel time to heal, his grace time to recover from the fall and by the time Balthazar stirs against him, his eyes flicker open.

He doesn't want to let go, doesn't want to give up any of the contact shared between them, but they do need to prepare, to gather supplies and protect themselves. A soft, sleepy sound as he shifts against him. "We should gather what may still remain."

Balthazar has never slept before. It is a strange experience, like a half of a skip through time, but as he wakes he realizes he feels better. Good, even, considering the circumstances. Probably part of that is the fact that he's remained warm and safe in his brother's arms.

He's certainly far too sentimental, reluctant to move away. It wouldn't be so bad to spend the rest of their time like this, surely? Except they do still have other family out there, maybe in need of help, and while he'd certainly prefer they die together eventually, Balthazar concludes that he doesn't want that day to be today.

"We should," he answers with a sigh.

Sitting up creates space between them, which is unpleasant. Balthazar frowns faintly, then leans in for one last grasp at contentment before their work begins. This time, his lips brush Gadreel's in a kiss that's almost chaste, but full of emotion. "Do you feel stronger for the rest? I believe I do."

There is a brief, irrational desire to pull Balthazar in after such a gentle display of affection, to return the kiss and never let him go. But they have work to do, so he simply leans in to kiss him in return. "I do. The rest was helpful."

He is sure that the contact was part of the reason he'd even managed to rest. There had been little contact in prison and he was finding that touch, human touch, was just as soothing as tangling grace with an angel. With his brother.

"I will look to the left, if you take the right. We may be able to work faster and cover more ground." The store was vast and while Gadreel understood little of it, he could still recognize what would make serviceable supplies. Warm clothing. Weapons.

Irrational, or merely instinctual? Balthazar finds himself wishing they had time for a bit more kissing, as well, but it's probably not worth the risk of getting killed by demons while they dally. They can explore the possibilities later, if they find somewhere safer.

Reluctantly, but with determination, Balthazar rises and stretches, offering Gadreel a hand up. "Sounds fair. Try to stay within earshot, though; we can't be sure there's no danger in here, and we'll both have a better chance if we stand back to back against any trouble."

They can find time for more intimate explorations later, Gadreel is certain of that. Every touch is a reassurance in a world swiftly collapsing around them. Creation was falling, but it didn't matter. They were free and they would stand together for as long as they could. Free.

He accepts the hand up, stretching out his vessel with a quiet grunt. "I will gather what supplies I can. See if you can locate any weapons. Or the food we may require." Because food was something he had never experienced and sending him after it might result in jars of capers, pancake mix and cajun seasoning.

Balthazar's most recent earthly experience was long enough ago that some packaging may baffle him, too. But he ought to be able to figure things out well enough to refrain from making cajun caper pancakes, at least. He smiles and squeezes Gadreel's hand. "Will do. Back here in forty-five minutes."

They may not be leaving the building, but it's large enough a space that he wants to take precautions. Clambering around the customer service desk, he scans the room again. "...I just hope the place is structurally sound. But we'll see."

"Be careful." And he hazards another bit of contact, reaching to squeeze his hand again. Perhaps if they can find a safer place to stay for the evening, they can explore such contact further. But there were pressing matters to deal with first. Shelter. Food. Weapons.

It takes just over fifty minutes to retrieve the weapons he could find. The section said Sporting Goods and while he didn't understand what it meant, Gadreel had been able to retrieve two light metal bats, hunting knives and two sidearms he'd been able to pull from a safe in the back. He had also found warm clothes and packs to carry whatever Balthazar had located.

A good start. To whatever came next.

"Right back at you, love," he smiles at Gadreel fleetingly, then heads off in his appointed direction.

The first thing he comes to is the pharmacy section, and it's more than a little bewildering. There are plenty of medications lying around untouched, but only a few are names he recognizes from his last experience among humans. Penicillin he knows, and various pain relievers, and he manages to gather some gauze and iodine, stuffing it all into a pillowcase from the housewares section.

The food is sadly picked over. He's not entirely surprised to see it. He and Gadreel weren't the first ones to take shelter here, after all. Still, most of what's been taken was canned and dried and processed, the easiest to prepare and carry. It doesn't take him too long to scrape together some bagged lentils, rice, beans, cornmeal, even a bit of powdered milk and a jar of molasses. They'll have to experiment to figure out how to make use of them, but it's something.

He grabs a set of kitchen knives on the way back to Gadreel, and a kettle. Potential makeshift weapons, but also tools they're likely to need.

"This is going to be awkward to carry," he says as he sets his load down by the other angel's feet. "Should we make a travois or something? There's a garden section, there are probably stakes and tarps there."

The endearment, no matter how casual, gets a small smile in return. Yes, he would risk it all to spend whatever time they have left together with Balthazar. "I found these," he indicated the backpacks, already packed with the spare clothes, warm blankets and sleeping bags. Tents might take a little longer for them to sort out, but between them if it was needed, they could find some way to make them work.

"It should help to distribute the load while we carry the rest." They had sheltered at the store long enough, to stay longer would only hazard further attention that they did not need. "With any luck we should make good time before it grows too dark."

The travois might slow them down, but for now it was better to take more than leave behind what they might need. Once they get clear of the store and further away from where they landed, perhaps then they could spare the time to both rest and go through the scavenged provisions.

Balthazar nods in response, hastening to shift his load into equal portions, and to shoulder one of the packs Gadreel has put together. "We ought to be able to manage on sheer strength for a bit. Our Graces shouldn't drain away all at once."

He slips the kitchen knives in Gadreel's pack, keeping the kettle himself. "Do you know anything about hunting? Or wild plants? Might come in handy. I remember you can eat dandelions and nettles and berries, but I don't know about anything else."

Once they're loaded up, he heads for the entrance, intending to exit first if only to take the brunt of the risk. The lot outside is quiet, the roads empty and starting to get overgrown with weeds and vines. Their store is located by a highway, but there's little else close by save woods.

waiting in the wings (for Gadreel)

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<3

\o/

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((Pardon the lag! RL/job stuff.))

No worries!

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Sorry for the delay - RL has been swamping me lately. :/

likewise, tbh. New job. So take your time, I'll be here. :)

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