This is my first ever fanfiction published online, so I ask that you take the time to leave some constructive criticism. I welcome it with open arms - after all, how am I going to improve my writing if I don't get some feedback?

I don't remember where I first saw the use of 'Kireawel' for Crowley's angel name, but whoever it was, I thank you. I am in no way taking credit for your idea. Imitation is the highest form of flattery, right? (And it just suits him so marvellously, in my opinion.)

Any incarnation of Aziraphale, Crowley, or DEATH belong to Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett. Not me, sadly.

Kireawel peered through a crack in the doorway. Squinting his golden eyes, he could barely make out the indistinct shape of the Metatron, his halo and aura glowing. Even from far off, it was a magnificent sight – one which only the most senior of angels were privy to.

"What are you doing here?" Kireawel whirled around, wings wrapping around his thin frame in alarm. Before him stood his accuser – a tiny cherub with a mop of unruly curls. His arms were crossed, and clutched to his chest was an enormous book.

"I – I'm not doing anything."

A crease appeared on the small cherub's forehead. "Technically, you're always doing something."

"What?"

"It's a new idea – it's called Logic," said the cherub. "You're always doing something, even if it feels like you're not doing anything. Whether you're thinking about the Glory of the Lord, or singing hymns, or," here the cherub's face took on a mischievous expression, "looking through cracks in doors. You're always doing something."

"Right. There's no need to, to," a word popped into his head, "pontificate about it." There's no way that he'll know what that means, thought Kireawel.

And to be sure, he didn't. But the little cherub's aura flared as he tasted the new word. "Pontificate," he said, rolling the syllables around in his mouth. "What does it mean?"

"Shan't tell you."

The cherub's wings quivered - as did his bottom lip. "Why not?"

"Because then you'll just run off and let someone know I was here."

"I will not!" His blue eyes were very wide. Wide enough to let Kireawel know that he was actively trying to look innocent. That's ridiculous, he thought. What entity looks more innocent than a young cherub?

"Don't lie. Our Father can hear you."

The cherub had the Grace to blush.

"But I'll tell you what," Kireawel said, leaning forward to be at the same height as him, "if you promise to forget I was ever here, I'll tell you what it means."

"That's – that's–" the cherub struggled for the word.

"Devious?" he suggested, the word coming to his mind.

"Yes. Raphael said that angels are supposed to be curious. It isn't fair that I might get in trouble just because I wanted to learn something."

Kireawel shrugged. "It's ineffable, I guess."

The young cherub nodded. Every young angel knew the meaning of that word.

"I – I promise." And then the two beings did something very strange – they took the other's hand, and shook it firmly. Their auras flickered for a brief moment as their fingers slid out of the other's grasp.

"What was that?" asked the cherub, sounding a little nervous.

"I think that was the first ever – " Kireawel stopped and waited for the word to pop into his head.

"Handshake. The first handshake." The cherub beamed at him. "I've never been the first to do anything before."

He was about to reply, but the glorious sound of the archangels approaching the door came to his ears.

"C'mon! We've got to go." Kireawel grabbed the cherub's hand as he took off, wings beating rhythmically as he flew through the jumbled conglomeration of rooms and side-rooms which made up the Palace of Heaven.

They were nearly safe – Kireawel turned his head to look at the cherub, to see how he was keeping up. The little thing was weighed down by that gigantic tome. Maybe he should –

OOF.

The angel stopped short, his arms and wings flailing as he tried desperately to back-pedal through the air. Just as he was on the brink of success (or rather, giving up and miracling the two of them out of there), the cherub crashed into Kireawel's back, knocking them both onto the Palace's carpeted floor.

The two young angels looked up from where they were sprawled – and up, and up, and up. Floating before them was an archangel, arms crossed in a way which young children (and angels) would come to dread.

WHAT ARE YOU TWO DOING?

"Nothing, Azrael sir, honest!" said the cherub, jumping to his feet and dusting himself off. He reached down and helped Kireawel up, more out of the want to look charitable than anything else. He was so tiny that his wings had to flap to ensure he didn't topple over from Kireawel's weight.

DON'T LIE, AZIRAPHAEL. YOU SAID IT YOURSELF – EVERYONE'S ALWAYS DOING SOMETHING. The archangel frowned at them.

"Yes, sir." The cherub's – Aziraphael's – hair was even more tousled than before, giving him the boon of absolute adorableness. If he wasn't such a bad liar, thought Kireawel, then we could have got out of this by sheer lovability.

"We were just playing a game, that's all," continued Aziraphael. "We're sorry we ran into you. It just got a little – rambunctious." His aura flared again at the word.

What was with this angel's obsession with words? Kireawel was more interested in new ideas, himself. Like Right, for instance. Or, for that matter, Wrong. They're much more interesting than words. Those can only mean one thing. Ideas are different. Those change according to the situation. They're fascinating.

Kireawel waited for the inevitable darkening expression on the archangel's face as he realized that the cherub continued to lie. That little thing couldn't lie to save his own existence.

HMM. DON'T LET IT HAPPEN AGAIN.

"Of course not," Kireawel said, blinking in surprise.

Azrael turned to go, his infra-black wings fluttering gracefully. But he stopped for a moment, and said, OH, AND KIREAWEL? TRY TO HAVE A LITTLE MORE FAITH IN OTHERS, EVEN IN YOUR THOUGHTS.

In the next moment, the archangel disappeared and Aziraphael was fixing him with a hurt expression. "That's not very nice," he said quietly, picking up his book from the floor, his head bowed.

"You can't even hear my thoughts! Why should it matter?"

"I – I've never had a friend before, and I thought you could be one." He flushed, and grasped the book so hard that his knuckles turned white. "But obviously you don't think very much of me."

"A friend?" Kireawel was intrigued - he'd never even considered having a friend, let alone one who was so radically different from himself. Well, on the outside, at least. If only Azrael hadn't said anything - but that's the trouble with truthfulness, I suppose. You always run the risk of someone getting hurt.

"It sounds so ludicrous when you say it like that," muttered Aziraphael.

"No, no! I didn't say it like anything! You just need to get to know someone, before you become friends. We all have things called First Impressions. They –"

"Now you're just being polite, in order to pretend to be my friend." The cherub raised his head to meet Kireawel's eyes, and said, "But it's not polite. It's a lie." He turned and started to fly away, but not before he said, "And it's Cruel."

Kireawel stood and watched Aziraphael leave. The words echoed inside his head, burning with Truth, consuming him with a newly-realized idea: Guilt.

"I'm sorry!" he yelled after him. But Aziraphael didn't look back, not even when he continued, "Don't you want to know what that word means?"

How could he resist that? He wondered. Feeling even worse than before, if that was possible, he took flight. Sometimes, Kireawel thought as he pursued the cherub, desperately conjuring multi-syllable words into his brain, I think I'm just not cut out to be an angel.

Thank you for reading!