Thousands of years of sorrow and suffering, of elation and laughter, of rushing darkness broken by breathtaking light fell in upon him with crushing strength, and Gabriel was suddenly, painfully sober. He gingerly freed one of his hands from Belial's to bring the demon's face up to meet his own. For all he had never listened, never wanted to believe, he could see it etched in the very lines of Belial's countenance, ingrained in him. A part of him.

Love.

A hundred questions, worries, wonders vied for prominence in his mind as he gazed at the demon, but, carefully brushing a loose strand of the demon's dark hair from his face, his lips formed only a single word.

"How?"