Title: Falling Still
Author: Carmarthen (lacorneille@earthlink.net)
Fandom/Pairing: The Sandman; Remiel/Duma
Disclaimer: The Sandman and its characters belong to Neil Gaiman and DC Comics, not me. I only wish. No offense is intended nor profit earned.
Rating: PG, for disturbingness and the implication of homosexuality (if it can be called such when referring to two sexless beings).
Rating: PG for a kiss and a lot of creepiness
Spoilers: For The Sandman: Season of Mists and TS: The Wake.
Warnings: Slash between two sexless beings, religious themes, no happy ending.
Summary: Remiel wants. This is not a good thing.
Archive: Yes to sandmanslash, to Silverlake, and to my personal site (http://thewritegirls.populli.net/carmarthen); others ask.
Notes:Because it had to be written. (And y'all who write normal slash, you think it's confusing having two 'he's? Try having two 'it's and keep them from being confused with each other, with abstract thoughts, and with inanimate objects!) Vague inspiration from "Murder Mysteries," in Smoke and Mirrors. The title is from a song on the concept album of The Scarlet Pimpernel. The double meaning is deliberate.

Thanks to Katy (imperfectcircle) for the beta, to pearl-o for a preliminary pronoun-read, and to Caia for providing the impetus to actually write it

Falling Still

"How was the Dreamlord's wake, Duma?"

The angel Duma, co-ruler of Hell, shrugged narrow shoulders. It did not move from its couch.

Remiel seethed. "Why do you not speak, Duma? You are no longer Angel of Silence," it said for what might have been the tenth, or the hundredth, or the thousandth time. It had not minded Duma's silence in the Silver City, but it grated on Remiel's fraying nerves now.

"I am here because of you, Duma," Remiel whispered, its voice still as clear and pure as a glass bell. Remiel turned away from the window that looked out over Hell and walked over to where Duma lay. Remiel's bare feet did not so much as brush the carpet. "I am no longer set over those who rise. Because of you. And now I have no one but you. Surely you can speak to me now. You must speak to me."

Remiel looked down upon Duma's prone form, still slender and sexless and perfect as a marble statue, untainted by the horrors of Hell, and it cried out: "Why, Duma? Why will you not speak to me?"

Duma sighed soundlessly and was upright in a blink, so smoothly Remiel had not seen it move. Its feet did not touch the floor. It reached out and touched Remiel's brow lightly with one cool, pale hand. Duma's face was emotionless and Remiel felt a sudden overwhelming compulsion to shatter that serene facade. The rage rose up in Remiel like a tide of blood. How could Duma endure Hell so calmly? It was not fair, no more fair than their banishment to the Pit. Remiel's faith had been severely shaken in recent times.

Something snapped within Remiel and it darted forward, grasped once-Heavenly shoulders hard enough to bruise, and kissed Duma's perfect mouth. Duma stiffened slightly and seemed to withdraw into itself, unresponsive. Remiel tasted salt and perfection on their lips, and it drew back from Duma, suddenly cold and fearful.

Duma shed one perfect, crystalline tear.

And Remiel saw not only its own existence in that tear, but its beginning, when it had coalesced from nothingness as from a single drop of Universe flung from the hand of the Lord, and before that it saw the beginning of the beginning, stars and planets swirling into constellations against the blackness of infinity.

It also saw there forgiveness and love and and an infinite sadness that froze it even as Duma drew away and inward, perfect silver-gilt face serene. As Remiel started forward, Duma held out a hand in a gesture as final as it was distant.

And Remiel Fell, even as it drowned in the compassion of Duma's gray eyes. It took an instant and an eternity for Remiel's bare feet to touch the floor, the soft carpet shockingly rough against its feet. Remiel hardly noticed the pain as feathers fell away from now-twisted and leathery wings.

"I'm sorry," Remiel whispered as it folded slowly to its knees before Duma. Remiel buried its face in its hands. "I'm so sorry." Then, even more softly, its voice jagged as broken glass, "I love you."

Duma was still.

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