Work Text:
Muriel knew at once what had happened when it did. Though she had never personally experienced it, she was intelligent enough to realize that she was falling.
Falling from Heaven.
The thought was incredible. She, Muriel, falling from Heaven? She was as perfect an angel as they got these days. She’d never picked sides in any wars (excluding, perhaps, the apocalyptic fight between Michael and Lucifer that turned out to be not so much of a fight after all). And yet here she was, existing in a fragile state of Grace upon God’s Green Earth.
She wasn’t stupid. She knew she had to find herself a vessel before she ceased to exist. Angels weren’t meant to inhabit the earth without a barrier of flesh to protect everyone involved.
It was fairly easy to locate a vessel. The one skill common to all angels is that of finding a proper vessel for their strength. The vessel Muriel located was a park ranger in eastern Wyoming named Elizabeth Jones. The only hard part, Muriel reasoned, would be to gain permission.
It turned out to be not so hard after all.
“Elizabeth?” Muriel asked, speaking directly to the human’s mind and avoiding any glass-shattering results from her angelic voice. She sincerely hoped that Elizabeth could understand her.
Elizabeth, alone in her living room, sat up quickly, nearly knocking over her beer in the process.
“Who’s there?” she said aloud.
“Elizabeth,” Muriel repeated. “My name is Muriel, and I am an angel of the Lord. I have a favor to ask of you.”
Elizabeth eyed her drink warily, but Muriel could tell that Elizabeth knew she was not drunk enough for hallucinations.
“An angel of the Lord?” Elizabeth repeated scathingly. “And where was my guardian angel two years ago? Have you come to soothe old wounds?”
“Elizabeth,” Muriel said again. “It was never God’s intention for any of this to happen.” She didn’t specifically state whether God’s intention included Elizabeth’s husband’s death or Muriel’s presence on Earth, but she let Elizabeth assume what she must. “But I am here now regardless, and I need your help.”
“Help?” Elizabeth said, and she didn’t seem as stoic as she had before. “Like what?”
“I am incorporeal,” Muriel explained. “I need a body to inhabit.”
Elizabeth actually snorted at that. “So this is God’s plan? Kick off a poor lonely human and let an angel waltz around in her skin?”
“An angel and a human can inhabit a body at the same time,” Muriel said. “I could make things better. I am an angel. I can heal those who are hurting. But I need your help. I need your permission.”
Elizabeth remained silent, so Muriel continued.
“Your husband,” she said, and Elizabeth visibly flinched. “I can’t go back in time and undo that, but I can make it so that others don’t have to feel the same pain you did.”
She was quiet for only a moment more, and then, “Promise?”
“Promise.”
“What do I have to do?” Elizabeth asked, business-like.
“Just say yes,” Muriel said. “Accept me. Let yourself become my vessel.”
“Yes,” said Elizabeth, and just like that Muriel flooded her senses, disappeared down her throat and burrowed in her brain and stretched along her every nerve.
Tucked away at the back of her own mind, Elizabeth asked, “Where do we start?”
“We listen to the prayers,” Muriel told her mentally.
“The prayers of the helpless, and we find those that are nearby and we help them.”
“Those that are nearby?” Elizabeth repeated. “You’re an angel of the Lord. Don’t tell me we have to walk everywhere.”
“I imagine you have a vehicle,” was Muriel’s only response.
~~~~~~
It started small. Muriel refused to let Elizabeth quit her job, and during the hours Elizabeth worked and many others as well Muriel retreated to the corner of Elizabeth’s mind and let the human do all the work.
Whenever Muriel picked up on a prayer from someone within a couple hundred miles, she would manipulate Elizabeth’s boss’s thoughts so as to guarantee time off, and the two of them would head off for a day or two in Elizabeth’s sedan to provide assistance.
The hardest part was how to step around those they were helping. Although every one of them had prayed for help, very few of them had any real expectations in an angel turning up.
Often they just required comforting, and in those instances Muriel would let Elizabeth take the ropes, merely guiding the human along the path needed to coincidentally encounter the troubled soul. At this point Elizabeth would offer kind words, from one stranger to another. The soul would always return to their lives shining a little bit brighter.
Sometimes they needed saving, and that was when Muriel took over. They snuck into hospitals and cured illnesses when the nurses weren’t looking and when the family was away. It was a fairly simple process, and while it did pull on the strength of her Grace, she was still powerful, and still backed by an empty Heaven.
Everything changed one day, of course, because no stories can stretch eternally.
~~~~~~
“No one may be listening, but I do need assistance. I have questions, and there seem to be no answers. I wouldn’t presume to ask for help if I weren’t desperate, but I need help. I’m lost. I need your guidance. Please, hear my prayer.”
~~~~~~
Elizabeth was at work when Muriel heard the prayer. It was nearing the end of a long shift, and while Elizabeth wanted to spend some time resting, she insisted Muriel take over and provide comfort for this soul.
She drove them to a motel and quickly located the soul, fiddling with an unplugged television in one of the rooms.
“Try plugging it in,” Muriel said from outside the room. A pause, and then the door swung open, revealing a middle-aged man with dark hair and blue eyes.
“Surely that wasn’t the answer you were seeking,” she continued.
“You’re an angel,” said the man, wonder in his eyes. She wondered if he actually knew, or maybe if he was simply desperate enough to believe anyone who came to his door an angel.
“Muriel,” she agreed. “I didn’t pick the outfit.” She glanced up again, into this human’s soul, and what she saw completely threw her off.
“Castiel?” she said, shocked. Elizabeth, in the back, wondered how such a human face could spark recognition in an angel. Castiel, human, grinned slightly at his name, but dropped it when Muriel began to turn away.
“No, wait, please,” he said frantically. “Just hear me out.”
“It can’t be known that I even spoke to you,” Muriel said, almost angry.
“I just need a moment.”
“No.”
“Please.” He sounded so unbelievably human that Muriel hesitated. “I just need information.” She turned back slowly to face him, and then nodded once. Castiel stepped back from the doorway and Muriel followed him into the cramped motel room.
Once the door was locked behind them Castiel turned to her and began to speak. Sensing now was not a time for interruption, she sat back and let his words wash over her.
“I did not mean to cast the angels out of Heaven,” Cas began. “I was tricked. The scribe, Metatron, lied to me, told me that what I was doing would lock the angels in Heaven. I only wanted to end the suffering I’d caused. I admit that what I’d done was wrong, but my intentions were never anything but pure.” He looked up at her, seemingly finished, so Muriel spoke.
“Let’s say you’re telling the truth and Metatron tricked you,” she said, arms crossed over Elizabeth’s chest. “I should still turn you in.”
“But you won’t,” Castiel said, looking up at her from where he was half-seated on a table.
“Don’t be so sure,” Muriel responded.
“I--I think you instinctively trust me,” Castiel said, eyes wide with hope. “We’re similar. We both want no part of the fanatics.”
“And when you prayed?” Muriel said, egged on by Elizabeth’s naive encouragement to trust him. “How did you know you wouldn’t get one of them?”
“I’m warded,” Castiel explained. “My Grace is gone, and I was hoping that I would seem like just another desperate human that the...the militants couldn’t care less about.”
Muriel paused for a second. “And you think I care?”
Castiel looked so helpless in that moment...so human. “You’re here.” Then, “You may know the situation. Bartholomew, he’s in a blood feud with another faction.”
Muriel shook her head softly. “It’s madness,” she agreed, letting a confused but silent Elizabeth into her memories.
“Who leads the opposition?” Castiel pressed.
“Malachi,” Muriel responded without hesitation.
Castiel looked surprised at this. “Malachi,” he said. “The anarchist?”
“He’s become equals with Bartholomew,” Muriel explained. “In some ways, worse.”
“But there are still those, like you, who want to stay out of it.”
“Fewer and fewer. Each side is rounding up those who try and stay neutral. Angels are being tortured, and killed, if they don’t pledge loyalty.”
Castiel sighed and dropped his head. “It’s worse than I thought.”
“Each side wants to crush the other,” Muriel said. “Overthrow Metatron and rule Heaven and...Heaven under either of them would be...” She trailed off, uncertain of the next word.
“Hell,” Castiel offered. Muriel nodded.
Just then, the door burst open, lock flying off the wall, and Malachi entered, follower in his shadow and angel blade in his hand. Muriel spun, eyes wide, wishing above all else that her teleportation hadn’t been taken from her when she’d fallen. She tried to run but they grabbed her, and Castiel too, dragging her and forcing her into vehicles.
“We’ll get out of this,” Muriel told Elizabeth, needing to tell it to someone, needing the words to shape reality, needing to keep them safe. “We will.”
“I thought they were all like you,” Elizabeth said, a little sadly. “Protective, and kind, that’s what we’ve always been taught angels were like. I’d never really believed in angels, but then you came, and all you’ve ever done is help. All you’ve ever wanted to do is help. I’d almost started believing there truly was good in the world.”
“Elizabeth,” Muriel begged. “They are, all of them. It’s just been so long since they’ve had guidance, and so many things have happened. But they are good. I know them.”
They arrived, wherever their destination was. Muriel and Castiel were removed from the vehicle and dragged down a long corridor. Castiel was shackled, standing against the wall, and Muriel was shucked off to the side, crumpled and tied up on the floor. Through her worry she found relief in that Malachi and the others were focusing their efforts on the fallen angel and not her.
“This is a bonus, Castiel,” Malachi said. “We were tracking Muriel, cowardly holdout that she is, and wonder of wonders, she led us to you.”
“Not...knowingly...” Muriel gasped out. She’s pretty sure several of Elizabeth’s ribs are broken.
“I stand corrected,” Malachi said, voice light and dangerous. “Not knowingly. Stupidly.”
Muriel cursed the moment she ever decided to answer Castiel’s prayer. She regretted Elizabeth’s insistence and wished she’d let them go home and get rest.
“It’s okay,” Elizabeth told her. “You didn’t know who he was. You just wanted to help. We’ve done so much good, Muriel. We’ve helped so many.”
“I’ve explained in detail,” Castiel told Malachi. “I don’t know how Metatron’s spell worked, therefore, I can’t assist in reversing it. I was an unwitting accomplice.” His words sounded faint to Muriel, who all but disregarded them in favor of what Elizabeth was saying.
“I was nothing after Mark died. I was nothing, Muriel,” Elizabeth said. “I was nothing until you found me, and you made me so much more. We’ve changed all those lives, Muriel. We’ve made the world a better place.”
“Oh,” Malachi was saying, “a dupe. The great Castiel, valued and trusted Castiel, top of the Christmas tree Castiel, no more than a dupe.”
Muriel was a dupe, too. Muriel did not choose to fall. Muriel did not mean to encounter Castiel. Muriel did not mean for angels to be anything but helpful and protective. The world grew fuzzy through Elizabeth’s eyes.
They spoke more about Metatron, more things Muriel wished had never happened, would never happen. She distantly heard Malachi say a name, and then an angel--Theo, she recognized him--approached Castiel and dragged a blade along his human chest. Muriel winced in sympathy as Castiel’s shouts echoed along the stone walls.
“You suffer, even die for your beliefs. I get it,” Malachi said.
“I would die for you, Muriel,” Elizabeth said. “I believe in you.”
“But is Metatron--whose poll numbers have totally tanked--worth your life?” Malachi continued. “More importantly, is Metatron worth her life?”
He turned to Muriel, and she felt Elizabeth’s pulse rate rising.
No, she thought. Please, no.
“No,” Castiel murmured. “No, she’s innocent. You leave her alone.”
Muriel let out a shaky breath. Castiel will protect her.
“Do you hear that, Elizabeth?” Muriel asked rhetorically. “We’re going to be okay. We’re going to be okay.”
“I’ve no intention of touching her,” said Malachi, and Muriel’s spirits soared.
“We’re going to be okay, Elizabeth. We’re going to be okay.” But then he turned to Theo, and suddenly she knew what was going to happen.
“No,” Muriel thought. “No. Elizabeth, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay, Muriel,” Elizabeth insisted. “It’s okay. I’ll be okay.”
“I’m so sorry. I’m so, so, sorry.”
“Virtue is its own punishment,” said Malachi, but Muriel did not hear.
“I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry.”
Then, nothing.