Hello Darkness My Old Friend [Open to Multiple]

[has_a_horn]

The world is dark and there's a war in heaven. The blackness of the scene is deep, lit only by the graceful, inhuman figures of his brothers and sisters. They dance viciously, hands clasped around long silver blades, slashing as they turn and evade. They bleed light and die like a star going supernova. Gabriel stands trembling, watching. If it wasn't so horrible, it might be beautiful.

He's wearing the same vessel he has been wearing for so long now-

Briefly, the scene shifts. He's kneeling before this vessel, a hand cupping the slightly stubbled chin. He'll shave properly, when he takes it. The man smiles, nods. It looks so sincere.

Gabriel smiles back, in awe of him.

-except he can feel the weight of his wings, the power contained there, his own potential for destruction. Behind him, they sweep up at least twenty times his height, closed in and tight against each other, a gigantic extension of his own horrified posture. Next to any of the rest, he would look so small like he is now. Inconsequential. Still, they'll want him to join in, soon. Michael will come looking, or Lucifer. Enough will have died that he will be needed on one side or the other.

He wonders if this slaughter is really what God wanted, then chastises himself for thinking it. He should fight for heaven, for God. Another supernova lights up the black canvas. A triumphant shout echoes back to him along with a ghost of bright piercing pain. How can they deny the feeling that quakes through them with each death? Is he the only one?

He can't bring himself to take a single step forward. Instead, he drops to his knees and prays. The sounds of his prayers rend the air around him, harsh, beautiful, and useless. No one turns to him, and God isn't listening.

He searches for something, any feeling in the darkness that isn't this, isn't here. When he feels something, he pulls on it like a lifeline.

[[ooc: Gabriel has passed out following events that will be happening in this thread. He doesn't have control over his dreaming, and chances are he won't know he's dreaming most of the time, so expect horror, and expect him to take over the dream.]]

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[has_a_horn]

At the TARDIS's arrival, Gabriel twists up and around, blade at hand and ready to defend himself. The consciousness feels like it should be familiar, but he can't pin it down to a face or name. The mental greeting only confuses him and he looks about for the source, his face making no effort to conceal his confusion and fear, his emotions seeping out into the landscape.

"Come out!" A ball of fury boils in his stomach. If they've come to kill him, they might have done him the decency of letting him see his death coming. Is it too much to give him at least that?

Behind him, a figure appears, dropping to the ground feather light behind Gabriel. Gabriel twists, expecting it, and plunges in his blade instinctively. The figure looming above him curls in on itself and cries out, a heart rending sound that only gets worse and penetrates deeper as the angel bursts into light. He stumbles back from his fallen brother, gasping. "I..."

[theoldgirl]

Oh this isn't good, he's too entrenched in this... dream? memory? to recognize her, and her presence is only aggravating his confusion and fear. She wants to send him calm and comfort, but when he attacks she flinches away mentally, and then his utter horror at having killed one of his own kind threatens to drag her down again. Doesn't she know this all too well, the pain and the guilt, the agony of the dying felt through a connection so intimate and ancient, the beautiful bloom of disintegrating TARDISes bleeding into all planes of reality, and she at the heart of it--

But this isn't her memory, it isn't, and once again she withdraws with some effort, trembling. For a moment she does consider fleeing; this is just too horrifying, and if he lashes out at her in his confusion, she's still entangled enough that it might do her serious harm. But because it is so terrible, she can't refuse to try and help, can't just leave him to suffer here.

Steeling her mental walls, she projects her humanoid form on the ground in front of him, out of his weapon's immediate reach. She doubts he'll recognize her this way, but it's worth a try and will perhaps reassure him of her good intentions. "Gabriel?", she tries, poorly masking her dismay and remembered pain. "You know me, I am the TARDIS. The time ship. I want to help."

[has_a_horn]

Gabriel braces himself for another attack, but when this strange figure makes no move to rush forward he holds himself at the ready. She's - he tilts his head to the side, still breathing heavily. He's not entirely focused on her. He's too consumed with his own intense feelings of guilt, loss, and confusion.

He grips his hand tighter around the blade and forces himself to look directly at her. She's...sad? Not human, but not an angel either. "This isn't your war. Is it?" He takes a step back from her, already glancing back up to the fighting. He takes a deep, shaking breath and exhales slowly.

The blade falls from his hand as the scene around them changes. The TARDIS will recognise the view from their last meeting. Rome, 80 AD, only this time, the scene is more accurate. The sky is filled with smoke, and fire is burning through the city. Even worse, a plague is loose, and the entire city is lost in despair. Gabriel's wings shift about like ashes as he turns to the TARDIS, face both weary and suspicious. "Have you brought me here?"

[theoldgirl]

The TARDIS waits patiently, yet more than a bit anxiously for a reaction, ready to protect herself if necessary. There's no real recognition in him, but at least he doesn't seem inclined to attack. She takes the time he needs to focus to study the more literal projection in front of her, rather than just the distressing emotions all around. The giant, expressive wings, the imposing blade, the fighting stance - is this his true form? But no, not quite; throwing a somewhat fearful glance up at the battle overhead she realizes he must be like them, the alien figures slaughtering each other for who knows what reason. Soon she has to turn away in grief and revulsion.

When he asks about the war, she can't help wincing, but before she can deny it firmly for both their sakes, the scene shifts abruptly. She's relieved to be spared more of his celestial war, but now there's chaos pressing close, Rome in flames, and as she turns to look around and reorient herself she notes the projection is powerful enough that she can feel the heat of the fires, the smoke and stench of the city biting in her throat.

She shakes her head at his question, and takes a cautious step towards him to be heard above the din of screaming children. "No, you did. You are dreaming, Gabriel. This isn't happening now." Another step, as non-threatening as possible. "Let me help you," she offers, trying to exude calm, but there's the desperate edge of a plea to it. Meanwhile, she expands her influence in an attempt to stifle the flames, make the scene a little less horrible, though his mind has a fierce grip on it.

[has_a_horn]

When the TARDIS starts influencing his surroundings, Gabriel focuses intensely on her. For now, she's not doing anything dangerous, but he doesn't trust that not to change at any moment. Her cautious approach amounts to nothing as he steps into her personal space and lifts a hand to encircle her neck. His intention isn't to hurt her, just to be threatening enough that she knows he's not going to put up with anything but the truth.

"What are you?" He casts a glance up the marble steps. He has to go up there soon. If this takes too long, he'll have to leave her behind. "Why would I need your help?"

[theoldgirl]

His sudden approach surprises her and she flinches, but stays still and calm in his grip to show she has no intention of fighting him. Her influence on the surroundings dies down as she draws up more protective walls, though she can't be sure they'd be much use if he does decide to hurt her. And he isn't hearing a rational word she's saying, nor acknowledging her non-verbal communications. It would be frustrating if it wasn't so frightening. What could have possibility done this to him, drive him to this level of unconsciousness?

"I'm a friend," she replies steadily, resting one hand lightly on the hand around her throat. "I saw you in pain and wished to help, that's all." She follows his gaze up the steps, sensing his impatience and desire to move on. "What did you come here to do?" He's unable to listen to reason now, but perhaps if she manages to become part of the dream rather than an intruder, he'll be more susceptible to her guidance soon.

[has_a_horn]

The TARDIS saying that she'd seen him in pain is enough to unbalance him. He's already getting caught up in the memory of this place and time, forgetting that she had seen the war in heaven. He still feels that pain, but he can also feel the pain of all the distressed and dying people in the city. There's a chance that that is all she is picking up on.

Gabriel narrows his eyes, prodding at her mind as he searches for what she is. He doesn't believe that she's his friend like she's so eager to claim herself as, but he doesn't immediately sense hostility either. He draws away, frustrated but willing to give her some space. It's likely that she's some small-time temple goddess caught up in this mess trying to make a name for herself. He doesn't have time for this.

"Come see, if you're so curious." Without waiting for her to answer, he turns away from her and vaults up the steps several at a time.

[theoldgirl]

She allows the examination freely, but the result is disappointing. If he can't tell who she is after the mental equivalent of looking directly at her , she has no hope of convincing him verbally. All she can do is to try and earn his trust within the dream setting, a dangerous and unpredictable place.

At least he seems to have decided to tolerate her, letting go of her neck, and she allows herself a small breath of relief before following him up the stairs hurriedly. She can feel the dying all around too, through him, and braces herself for more unpleasant things.

[has_a_horn]

When he reaches the top of the steps, he finds that the door is locked from the inside and covered in symbols - warded against angels. He growls aloud and kicks in the door with one swift kick that shatters wood and breaks the wards.

Inside, three men startle to their feet, visibly frightened by the appearance of an angel in their midst. Without hesitation, he strides towards them and lifts his hands to two of their faces. Light explodes out of their eyes and mouths as he burns the demons out of the human bodies. As their bodies crumple to the floor, unconscious, he turns around. The third man is standing with black smoke billowing out of his mouth, the demon attempting escape before Gabriel can kill him as well.

He lifts his hand up as he bridges the distance between himself and the cloud, forcing it back into the man's body. A harsh, horrible noise emanates from the man's throat. Gabriel is smooth, efficient. Still a soldier. Soon enough, this demon is killed in the same manner as the previous two.

The job isn't finished. He goes back to the first two men and kneels gently down next to them. He wakes up the first man with a touch to his forehead. Immediately, the man startles and shuffles back on his elbows, eyes wide. Garbled Latin falls from his mouth, pleading that he didn't mean for things to get so out of control. These are lies, Gabriel knows. Gabriel pins him in place with a glance and hefts up the man beside him. These other two men, now that there are no demons in their bodies, are innocent. These men he wakes up and watches as they run away from the horror of this scene and into the horror outside.

The man still sprawled on the floor continues to beg for mercy, but Gabriel doesn't care to offer him any. This man invited Pestilence into the city, this man allowed the destruction of human lives for the sake of personal gain. It doesn't matter that he is human himself. Nothing could excuse the needless death of so many. Gabriel's wings sweep across the room as he turns to go, and the man starts sobbing, saying thank you, thank you, angel, thank you.

As he passes the doorway, he raises a hand and snaps his fingers. The sobbing man bursts suddenly into flame, screaming as he is consumed by holy fire.

(He stands watching as Sodom burns and doesn't know whether to feel horrified or relieved.)

He stands on the top step for just a moment before walking back down into the city. He feels vindicated in his service to God, but the punishment has come too late, there has already been so much destruction and death. He shakes his head of the thought. He was sent when he was truly needed. This is what had to happen.

Gabriel's gaze finally falls on the TARDIS. "You should be helping the people of the city." It's barely a glance, and then he's already leaving again.

[theoldgirl]

The TARDIS watches the scene from the doorway, trying to understand. For all that she's seen so much of her universe, she's never encountered anything quite like this; thick black smoke emanating from one of the humans, the underlying certainty that it's alive and hostile, Gabriel burning it out of the three men with a touch of his hand - parasites, perhaps?

Two of the cured humans run past her without so much as a glance, the third is begging for mercy, making her think he must be responsible for something terrible. It doesn't occur to her to connect it with the disaster that has befallen the city, since to her knowledge it was caused simply by humans being humans, ignorant and careless. Absently she notes what he calls Gabriel, wonders if there's somehow truth to it or if it's just another human name for something they don't understand.

The cruelty of Gabriel's punishment takes her by surprise, though she doesn't bat an eyelash at the grim image, only takes a large step back from the heat of the flames. And there's one thing she does recognize - the ruthless efficiency of the soldier, likely acting under orders. He takes no joy from it, all she can sense is the conviction that it was necessary. Still, his callousness is troubling, and she watches the dying man crumble to the floor with tight-lipped uneasiness.

But it's not her place to judge without understanding the context, the reasons, without even knowing if this ever actually happened at all, and she turns to follow him once more. "I am not here for them," she replies quietly, catching up with him. "I am trying to help you, Gabriel. You don't have to be here, you are dreaming." Spurred on by wanting to leave this atmosphere of death and despair as much as she wants to free him from it, she exerts more power than before over the scene, trying to subvert his hold on it by turning the dust in the streets and on the steps into beach sand, curling the dark smoke covering the sky into a giant moon's silhouette, changing the pitch of the screams into laughter. It's a risky attempt, given how he'd reacted earlier, not to mention a tiring struggle against the leaden strength of his sleeping mind, but she has to shake him out of this somehow.

[has_a_horn]

As the wind picks up, the ash and sand mix and mingle and blow around until the scene around them disappears. The moon is in the sky and as a man's voice laughs in the distance, Gabriel's gaze shifts from trying to scrutinize the TARDIS to observe the new scene instead.

A city is burning on the horizon, and two men stand watch over the unnatural glow. The faint smell of ash and burning bodies still hangs in the air, mixed with the crisp evening air. The laughing man might seem like a stereotypical hunk, blond and muscled, if it weren't for the cruelty in his laugh. He pats the other man on the shoulder and leans in to whisper something, smiling. His brother (yes, of course, brothers) is taller, wiry, with dark hair pulled back into a short pony tail. This man nods and might return the smile, but it's hard to tell from this distance.

Gabriel takes a step toward the pair, then holds himself back from going any closer. He recognizes these men, because the first is his brother. The other, tall, dark and quiet, is him. He lets out a sigh. He'd been conflicted, even then. Michael had been trying to reassure him. He can still feel what he felt then - a strange mixture of love, horror and justification, but he's strangely distanced from the entire scene.

He not unfamiliar with seeing a copy of himself wandering about, but this is very different. He can discern that the TARDIS is still trying to influence his mind, but he's not sure for what purpose. Bringing up a memory to distract him? From what? "I don't dream like this," he answers, because he doesn't. He barely ever dreams at all.

[theoldgirl]

Well, that wasn't a total failure, though it's hardly what she was trying to achieve. Another city on fire. It seems Gabriel has seen as many of those as she has. She tries to get her bearing among the new emotions, tries to discern the relationship he has to the two figures in front of them. There's a strange sort of familiarity with the taller one, distanced but profound, and after a moment she recognizes the feeling - it's not dissimilar to how the Doctor feels about past incarnations of himself. Once she realizes this, the mixture of love and horror for the other man click into place as well; she might almost be looking at the Doctor and the Master. Another of his kind, then, someone particularly close, whom he can't stop loving despite the cruelty in him.

She sighs, not wanting to see this. She has no qualms about smaller minds being laid out in front of her, dipping into them is one of her functions and their emotions and affairs have no significance to her, as a general rule. But Gabriel and her are equals, and she respects him. Not to mention she certainly wouldn't want him to explore her mind while she wasn't in control.

But still, this is progress, he didn't lash out against her and now he's observing the dream, commenting on it rather than being part of the action. She turns her gaze back on the version of him at her side and presses her advantage. "I know, something must be affecting you. If you wake up, you can find out what it is and defend yourself." Before he can object, she goes on. "We were just in Rome, were we not? And now we are here, watching you and your... friend. How?"

[has_a_horn]

"Time is fluid." He answers almost immediately, though...he hadn't intended to make any move through time, and definitely not in order to watch himself.

The most ready explanation is that this has something to do with the TARDIS. Besides, when has someone who so eager to be called a friend ever been trustworthy? He keeps watch over the scene in front of them, but he's definitely on his guard now. He stands a little straighter and even feathers are more puffed out and demonstrative than they had been. He's waiting for the twist here, and he really doesn't like not being in control. "What would I need to defend myself from?"

[theoldgirl]

She can't stop herself letting out a humorless huff, realizing how ridiculous it is that she's the one trying to argue for linearity, here. "That it is," she agrees wistfully and looks back out at the glow of the burning city. This line of reasoning would hardly work on her if she'd somehow lost her grasp on continuity. But what would?

At his question she shakes her head, concern gnawing at her. It's mostly concern for him, but whatever is capable of suppressing his mind like this could be dangerous to her too. "I don't know. I can't try to detect you while I am focused here, and my sensors don't cover all of Manhattan to begin with." She glances up at him sadly. "You probably don't remember falling through a rift between universes and being trapped in an alternate New York."

She senses his mistrust more than she sees it in his posture, and is on her guard as well, needing to be ready in case he changes his mind about tolerating her. But she doesn't try to exude reassurance anymore, seeing how it would likely fall on deaf ears or make him even more suspicious. He'll find nothing but sincerity and compassion if he looks, anyway. But that would bother her, having gaps in her memory, reality not quite fitting together. So she tries again. "How do you think I know you, if you don't remember meeting me? I don't believe your universe even has sentient time ships at all."

[has_a_horn]

"I don't think that you do know me. You haven't given me any reason to believe it." Inside, he's a mass of confusion and suspicion and remembered pain, but on the outside he shows nothing. He clasps his hands behind his back, a conscious gesture that adds to his image of being impressive and imposing.

Still, he doesn't take his eyes off of the scene in front of them, and the two figures stay just out of hearing range, in turn watching the city.

He lets out a sigh, but it comes out sounding more like exasperation. When he speaks, it's dripping with sarcasm. "You want me to believe that I'm asleep in an alternate dimension where you are a sentient time machine and I'm...what? Your friend? Forgive me if I don't take your word for it."

[theoldgirl]

Isn't her staying with him through all this and trying to steer him towards less unpleasant scenarios reason enough to believe she might care? But of course he isn't able to appreciate that, and if some outside influence is really affecting his mind like she believes, it's understandable for his subconscious to be so wary and defensive.

So she does her best to provide a kernel of calm and companionship amidst the continued turmoil of emotions in the atmosphere. "I understand that it makes little sense to you now," she admits patiently, though regretfully. "And I'm not certain 'friend' is the appropriate word. We only met once, four days ago, but I... do not often have the opportunity to converse with agreeable beings who are not so different from myself anymore, and I valued it." She doesn't usually feel alone or is bothered by her lack of communication with others like her, since all she's ever needed was the Doctor's company. But with those memories of the War stirred so forcefully, her words and bearing are strangely heavy, carrying the weight of a loneliness reserved for the last of a kind.

"You seemed to enjoy our conversation as well," she adds after a moment, trying to quell her own troubled emotions. Instead, she focuses on him and tilts her head. "What would convince you?"

[has_a_horn]

He's looking in her direction, wondering what she could do when his face contorts in pain and he falls to his knees, curling in on himself. He moans, and light starts to seep out of his pores - his Grace, seeping out from underneath his skin. And then, everything disappears. Gabriel, the hallway, the city. He's woken up, leaving her behind in his dream scape.

It's just a few minutes later that Gabriel returns. For a few moments, they're standing in the hallway of the Rebel base, surrounded by scattered feathers. Then, they're in destroyed hotel room. Then, they're back outside, Sodom burning in the distance. He turns to her, his teeth gritting in pain. "You might be right."

[theoldgirl]

The unexpected surge of pure pain takes her by surprise, and for a moment she feels like she's breaking apart right with him. But then she's left reeling in an empty dreamscape, pain turning into panic as all his emotions are pulled out from under her like a rug, and she does the mental equivalent of spinning around searching for him.

Before she can decide to leave the Dreaming herself and try to locate him in the real world, his mind flows back into place around her. She watches with something vaguely like motion sickness as they rapidly switch through a few sceneries, unable to make out any details. Once they've settled back into the previous view, she sinks to her knees beside him, an expression of both shock and concern on her face. "Did you wake up? What did you see?" She starts focusing her energy on easing his pain, but it's everywhere, along with a gruelling strain, and she's having a hard enough time just preventing it all from seeping into her own mind.

[has_a_horn]

"A room. White." He shakes his head, pained and frustrated. "There was something about it...holding me back. Or the opposite. I don't know." He sighs and a shudder works its way through his body. His mind is still confused. He can remember talking with the TARDIS before he'd briefly woken, but remembering their previous meetings is too much of a strain to recall.

He can feel the pressure of that room even now, how it's pulling at him to lose control. In the distance, the burning city disappears and the two figures, Michael and Gabriel, stand motionless on an endless plain of sand, the moon shining down on two sets of enormous wings. With an effort, he sits down and wraps his arms around his knees, physically trying to contain himself while his mind fights a larger battle.

[theoldgirl]

That confirms her suspicions about something purposefully suppressing him, but it doesn't give her any information she could use to locate him. And the worse he's getting in front of her, the more her focus is consumed by the need to help him right here.

She can tell his mind's grip on the dream is weakening as all of it is concentrated on resisting... being pulled away? apart? She doesn't understand the feeling at all, but that doesn't matter at the moment. What she does understand is the despair with which he is fighting it, and what's important is to help him stop it, or at least slow it down until a solution could be found. Placing a hand on his arm, she offers, "Hold onto me," and expands her influence into the pain and exhaustion, forming an anchor of untempered power.

[has_a_horn]

He's beyond the point where he would have shrugged off her help out of pride or suspicion. He doesn't really believe that she's causing this any longer, not after he woke and felt what that room was doing to him.

He lays his own hand atop hers and accepts her influence fully, practically clutching onto the force of it. This is something that he can use. It hasn't fixed things, not yet, but it's enough of a mitigating power that he unclenches his teeth and heaves out a sigh. "What are you doing?"

[theoldgirl]

The intensified contact soon makes her shudder with him as more of his misery and strain bleed into her, and her grip on his arm tightens. She's uncomfortably reminded of the pressure she felt just before her systems overloaded and she was torn apart, taking most of the universe with her. But she knew what she was doing when she decided to support him like this, and she tamps down on the memory quickly.

"Helping," she replies tersely, while sharing yet more of her strength. She's starting to feel like she's propping them both up against whatever is holding him, or draining him, or pulling at him; the sensations are all merging together. "What are you trying to...," She frowns, casting about for a word that conveys what she's sensing. "... contain?"

[has_a_horn]

He replies quickly and tightly, his eyes closing in concentration. "Myself." His shoulders hunch forward and behind him a few long pinion feathers fall from his wings, their ends covered in blood. The structure of his wings seems to be more and more realistic as time moves on, more bird-like.

He takes a few deep breaths and keeps his hand on hers as he tries to use her help. Any hint about her own distress is lost in the sea of his own strain. He's afraid that he may be starting to panic. "The vessel is human. My Grace is usually...usually I can keep it locked up inside. If I burn out, people will be hurt." That, and he'll probably die himself, given that he's stuck in a parallel dimension with no way back to Heaven. For a moment, he focuses on the possibility that he could lose everything and hurt people in the process.

A deep pang of grief overtakes him for a moment and Michael laughs in the distance, still not moving. He clenches his eyes tightly together and takes another deep breath, focusing on his containment once more.

[theoldgirl]

For a moment she blinks in confusion at his answer. She'd simply assumed he had constructed his human form, like she had, but apparently he'd... what, possessed it? The bloodied feathers falling to the ground quickly remind her that there's no time to worry about that now, though.

She's also not sure what Grace is, but it's clear it must be something like the raw force of his being, and that does give her a better idea of what they're trying to achieve. She knows how to contain things, she contains an infinity herself, and she shares that knowledge as wordless reassurance.

Her idea of offering her own mind as at least partial containment for his power is interrupted by the force of his momentary grief, and his fear makes her tremble as well, nearly pushing him away with the sudden terror of what would happen to her if they failed at containing him. Against a flash of panic she tells herself he isn't antitime, isn't inside her actual structures, and isn't going to erupt. Then, with a deep breath, she extends herself as far as she can while being sure she'll be able to maintain this for some time, and enforces his containment like a secondary wall.

[has_a_horn]

As she extends her influence around him, he gasps in relief, his hands falling down to clench in the sand. He knows that he doesn't dare give over the entire burden to the TARDIS. He's still clinging desperately to his Grace, forcing containment, but this helps. This helps immensely.

He shudders out a breath and laughs, sharp and tense. His heart is still beating fast in his chest, the panic taking hold of him. He has to reassure himself that this is helping, that he's not going to hurt the TARDIS by keeping her here. "I could kiss you," he finally manages to say. "Thank you."