A/N: Hello everyone! So, with both Falling and Music Of My Soul ending soon, I figured now would be a good time to share what I've been working on! :D

This story is a little different from what I usually write, but it's inspired by a mix of different shows that I've been watching or have watched (mainly Lucifer, The Good Place, and Supernatural).

I hope you all enjoy!

Time was a human construct that held little meaning for Saint Peter. Sure, time passed over eons and millennia, much the same way it did when a life flashed before someone's eyes before their mortal clocks stopped ticking; fast and slow, both together and separate, in slow motion and all at once.

Time, in its meaningless and indispensable significance, was something he'd had a lot of, and it was something that stretched out endlessly before him. It was infinite, in both directions, and would remain so for as long as there was existence.

Which was why he sat in his office at his wits end. Dressed in his white robe with gold trim, his gray hair in long wisps, worry marred his brow. He simply couldn't let this go on for one more minute.

Wait up. Hold on. Saint Peter has an office?

Well, kind of.

If Heaven was an organization, an ethereal factory, of sorts, then yes, Saint Peter had an office. There was The Boss' office, which no one went into. Not even Saint Peter. Like most CEOs, they oversaw the machine as a whole but had little clue how the smaller, individual parts worked.

The next level of Heaven was the many different divisions that made the factory work. Like the Prayers Department, which was kind of like the mailroom. Then there was the Souls Division, which kept track of the souls-in and souls-out, so it was basically just accounting and general ledger stuff. There was also the HR Department, which made sure all the ranks of angels were performing duties and tasks adequately. IT, of course, took care of the interdepartmental correspondence and information, and Security One kept eyes on all departments to make sure all the cogs were turning efficiently. Security Two kept eyes on the humans to make sure the world wasn't about to end. If you could picture a room full of screens like in those government spy movies where they have facial recognition and license plate identification software. Well, it was like that. Just times eight billion and without the espionage.

All angels rotated throughout the different departments, keeping things fresh and motivated. However, the most popular department was the Canes Omnes Department, for obvious reasons. Endless fields of long grass and sunshine, it was the equivalent of Earth's Disneyland, only this was the happiest place in Heaven. All angels looked forward to their time overseeing this department the most.

The Marketing Department was in charge of ensuring the humans were convinced Heaven was worth the wait. And it was. Ordinarily.

Unless you were a soul that burned up on re-entry. No, those souls didn't enjoy an eternity of damnation too much at all. Given each human got the Heaven they deserved, not everyone's 'Heaven' was pleasant. Humans had given this particular department the name of Hell, and it had stuck some several thousand years ago; another spot of genius by the Marketing Department, really.

The Hell Department was filled with endless torment, suffering, and pain, the very worst of fears realized, unimaginable horrors, and excruciating nothingness. A void so black, it even absorbed the screams of the damned. But the Science Department had since figured out a way to recycle that absorbed-scream energy into a ball-projectile machine that spat out tennis balls into the fields of the Canes Omnes Department. It was a win-win, by all accounts.

And like all factories with staff, there were hierarchies of angels. All angels worked in order to keep the organization running effectively. They each had duties to perform and departments to oversee, and for the most part, this ran smoothly.

Except for today.

Saint Peter's sigh was more of a grumble this time. He didn't like this. He didn't like this at all.

"I knew I should have taken vacation time when I had the chance," he muttered. With one more grumble for good measure, he hit the intercom to reception. "Can you please send in James Diamond and Logan Mitchell."

A few moments later, the grand white double doors opened and two angels walked in. James stalked in first, and he wore his rage like body armor. His brunet hair was slightly ruffled, his hazel eyes with red flecks were narrowed under his scowling brow. His lips were pressed together in suspicion with a tinge of anger. His wings a reddish-brown hue, matching his whole aesthetic. It was as though he'd spent far too long staring into the flames of the Hell Department. Which, in all fairness, he probably had.

Logan glided in behind him. His dark hair slightly tousled as though he'd just floated in on a breeze. His eyes were dark brown with flecks of blue, his wings stark white with ice-blue at the tips, his smile pleasant.

If James was fire, then Logan was air.

There had never been two angels more different. Though they were both angels from the same order of the same hierarchy, they were realms apart. Both served their purpose, both were on equal standing within the gates of Heaven.

But these two angels were more than that. They were an anomaly, a unique twinning of souls. A weaving of eternal light that James had refused to accept. But the burn of twin flames couldn't be ignored forever. Peter wasn't sure how long before the flame would die out or consume them both.

Well, he surmised, he was about to find out.

"You asked to see me," James prompted. He completely ignored Logan, who now stood beside him, and the other higher-ranking angels at the table. Typical James; raised chin, steely gaze directed ahead.

"Yes," Saint Peter said. There was no point in beating around the bush with this, and he needed to assert his authority there. Mostly because Peter was almost certain James could smell fear. "You're being assigned to a new mission."

James' wings bristled. "Pardon?"

"A new mission," Peter repeated. "Effective immediately."

"But-"

"It's not negotiable," Peter said, cutting off whatever argument was coming. "Highest order, priority one."

Not even James would argue with that.

But he gave a sideways glance to Logan, then shot a look back at Peter. His nostrils flared. "And you're telling both of us because…"

"Because you're both assigned to it. It's important, and it will take both of you. The length of the mission is indeterminable at this point. It could be over quickly." Peter waved his hand. "Or it may take longer than usual."

James raised a pointed finger in protest. "Wait just a minute-"

"There will be no waiting," Peter reiterated. He spoke with more authority. "You're both to leave, effective immediately. You will work together, and"-he stared directly at James-"you will not complain or jeopardize this case."

James took a deep breath and bowed his head. "As you wish." He clearly wasn't happy, but he would never defy a direct order. Peter knew this.

"As you wish," Logan echoed, his voice neutral, sweet even. Logan would never question Peter's authority.

"Michael will take you to your destination and see you are properly briefed. You will not have your powers-"

James' head shot up, his expression stricken. "Oh, are you fucking kidding me?!"

"Thou shall not have powers!" Peter said, his voice ringing loud and clear. He took a calming breath and began again, quieter this time. "Like with all missions, you will be human; you will integrate with humans until your mission is complete. You will guard the secret of our existence at all costs. Or you'll find your time will expire with the human life you assume. Am I clear?"

James glowered.

Logan gave a nod. "Of course."

It was standard procedure for angels to be without powers when on a human assignment, after all.

Saint Peter let out the mother of all sighs. But he softened when he looked at James. "You will make me proud, I know you will."

James stared right back at him, or right through him, it would seem.

Of course James would see.

"What aren't you telling me?" he asked. "Peter, just exactly what is this mission? What exactly will I be doing?"

Archangel Michael appeared out of nowhere, as he was prone to do. "We ready to go."

"Yes," Peter replied quickly.

"Peter," James warned. "What is this mission?"

Peter turned to Logan. "Take care of him."

James' mouth opened, and Peter was certain an unholy tirade was about to spew forth. But Michael gave him a wink, and in a flash of light, he disappeared, taking James and Logan with him.

Peter sagged with relief. He looked around the room at all the faces staring back at him. "May Thelied and Achaiah watch over them now."

Though Peter knew it would take more than Love and Patience to make this work. He briefly wondered if there was any sacramental wine handy, but with a dawn on realization that it was far too late, he did all he could. He said a prayer.

Kind of.

"Heaven help us all."

The transfer to a human form was never easy. It felt confined and constricting, like an ill-fitting suit, and James always hated the residual squeeze the morphing left in its wake. He shook himself out, rolling his shoulders and fisting his hands a few times until the discomforting buzz subsided.

The room James found himself in was typical living quarters for twenty-first-century humans. There was a sofa, a dining table, a kitchen, a fluffy white rug, all spacious and grand, and any human would have appreciated the apparent wealth and luxuriousness of it all. But not James.

Human niceties weren't something he much cared for.

He did, however, notice the skyline out the window. He'd seen it in reports and videos enough to recognize it, and it was apparent the apartment was high up and well-positioned because of the view.

"New York," he grumbled.

Logan walked to the window, inspecting the nearby buildings and the park across the street, then turned and smiled. "This city never gets old."

James suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. Logan found beauty in everything. He had for thousands of years, and it had always been a burr in James' boot. Logan would simply smile and nothing was ever an issue. He took everything in stride, and everything was cheery and promising. His blessed cup forever runneth over.

James was more of a chalice-half-empty kind of angel.

Logan and he had worked together several times over the eons, not particularly well, James could admit. They were too different. Like night and day. Logan was sunshine and roses; James was darkness and thorns. If you thought angels couldn't have such vast and varied personalities, you'd be mistaken. They most certainly did. And with differing personalities came personality clashes.

And that's what this was. Between James and Logan. Just a clash of personalities. The tension, the push and pull, that instant irritation James felt from being anywhere remotely near Logan could all be explained by a difference of personalities.

At least that's what James had convinced himself of since their last disastrous encounter that might or might not have led Saint Peter to down most of the sacramental wine-actually, half of the heavens had taken a hit that day-so why Saint Peter insisted they work together again now was as bold as it was stupid.

"James?" Michael said, as though not for the first time.

James blinked and focused. "Yes. Apologies."

"How does the human modification feel?" Michael asked. "There can be a period of adjustment. It's been a while for you, has it not? Since you've taken human form?"

James rolled his shoulders again, noting the absence of his wings and the tightness of his skin, and shook off the unease. "It'll pass, I'm sure." Michael's gaze darted to Logan, then back to James, and a smile played at the archangel's lips. James had always liked Michael-well, he hadn't disliked him, so that was always a start-but James knew this mission was going to be a rough one. Peter had been behaving oddly and wouldn't divulge any information, and that never boded well. And given he'd been partnered with Logan… "Michael, what is the emergency citation we have been sent here for?"

Michael smiled at them both, then gestured toward the sofa. "Please take a seat."

Logan sat, because of course Logan sat. Logan did everything he was told. James did not. This mission wasn't going to be good. Not good at all. "I'd rather stand."

Michael gave Logan a patient smile and ignored James' petulance. With a small flick of his wrist, in a flourish of sparkles, two files appeared in his hand. "Your missions," he began, handing Logan his file first. He held out James' file, but James refused to take it. Michael pursed his lips and sighed, his annoyance clear. "This mission isn't optional, James. So quit the dramatics. We're not here to pander to you."

"Oh…" Logan murmured, and when James shot him a look, he saw that Logan was reading his file.

"Oh, what?" James demanded. He held his hand out to Michael for his file now, but this time it was Michael who ignored him. Instead, Micheal opened the file and read out loud. Probably because if James wanted to act like a child, Michael would treat him like one.

"James Angelo." Michael paused. "That's your human/undercover name, by the way."

"Angelo?" James scoffed. "It literally means angel. Was the Creative Department off work that day?"

"Don't complain," Logan said. "My surname's Bellomo. That's Italian for beautiful man."

James rolled his eyes. "Of course it is."

Michael ignored both of them. "James, age twenty-nine. Youngest of three children to Christian and Mary Angelo of Bethlehem, New York."

James blinked. "Christian and Mary of Bethlehem? Why did they stop short of calling my father Joseph? Is this someone's idea of a joke?"

Michael just kept on reading. "The Angelos are a wealthy family, which explains this apartment." He gestured to the room they were in. "So your parents weren't overly impressed when you decided that being an early childhood development teacher was your true calling-"

"Wait, wait. What?" James asked.

Michael looked up from the file, his expression serious. "A teacher. A preschool teacher to be more specific.

"No. Nope. No. Absolutely not." James shook his head. "Actually, the enormity of the no I must insist upon should not be underestimated."

Michael raised once archangel eyebrow. "This mission, or any sum of its parts, is not negotiable."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. But a teacher?" James barked. "Of infant humans?"

Michael just kept reading, as though James' abject horror was irrelevant. "You studied at Columbia University where you met Logan. He was also studying to be an early childhood development teacher. You dated for six years and married three years ago in front of family and friends in a beautiful ceremony at your parents' stately house." Michael waved his hand and an array of photo frames appeared on the bookcase. Not just any photos, but wedding photos.

James and Logan's wedding.

To each other.

Oh, mercy bless.

James opened his mouth to protest the greatest of protests ever protested, but a burst of pain pierced his brain, and his stomach knotted painfully. The air became suddenly too thin to sustain his human form, and the world tilted ever so slightly. He swayed, put his hand to the side of his head, and groaned. "What is this?"

Michael looked him over, apparently none too concerned. "I believe that's called a headache. It's a human ailment where the blood vessels-"

"Make it stop!" James cried.

"It's not that bad. Stop being such a baby," Michael mumbled, rolling his eyes. But blessedly, he snapped his fingers, and the biting pain in James' head disappeared.

James swayed again and put a hand on the back of the sofa to steady himself. Michael just kept right on.

"Right, so where was I? Oh, here. Okay, so yes, you two are married. Happily, blissfully married. And you both start work the day after tomorrow at Eisenhower Learning Center, two blocks from here. The two teachers who you're both replacing had an unfortunate accident at the end of the last term, so there was most conveniently-" He cleared his throat. "-a requirement for two qualified, experienced teachers. You'll be a two-man team in charge of twenty four-year-old children."

James couldn't believe what he was hearing. No wonder Peter hadn't wanted to disclose any details. A preschool teacher? Twenty four-year-old children? He put his hand to his forehead. Married? Were human foreheads always this clammy?

"I think I'll take that seat now," he whispered, then held onto the sofa as he walked around to sit, as though the floor was unsteady. He lowered himself onto the sofa. In angel form, he'd have sworn and possibly kicked the coffee table through the window by now. But this body… "I think there's something physically wrong with this human body. Can I get an exchange or a diagnostic check?"

"There's nothing wrong with your human body," Michael said flatly. He flipped to another file page. "Ah, here it is. James, you're prone to anxiety. Which can manifest itself as headaches and nausea, elevated heart rate, general irritability, impending doom, that kind of thing."

James blinked up at him. "Why? Why would you do that?"

"I didn't," Michael replied. "You'll have to take it up with Peter at the end of the mission. There are some clauses on page fifteen about losing powers, the ability to swear, and curbing all bouts of temper. But that was added by the Legal Department, I believe. You'll need to take it up with them, too."

"Believe me, I will," James replied. "Truly. They'll both be the first in what will be a long and distinguished list. Because, if this cruelty is supposed to be funny…" He put his hand to his forehead again. Now it was even wetter than before. "I just don't even know where to start. I think I'm leaking..."

Logan closed the file soundlessly, his gaze fixed on Michael, brow furrowed. "And the child?"

"We have a child?" James wheezed. His stomach did some awful squeezy-rolling thing, tying itself in knots and somehow making the act of breathing difficult. He made a face at Micahel. "Ugh, is this nausea? And my head hurts again. A child? Why?"

"Calm down," Michael said flatly, and with a snap of his fingers, James' ailments disappeared, which was dizzying in itself. "You don't have a child."

"Oh, thank Heaven's mercy for that," James breathed, sagging into the sofa, a little woozy, but at least the pain was gone. "And please put a stop to the anxiety. It's all rather awful, and I'm certain a human body shouldn't be hot and cold at the same time. Are we sure you can't do a swap or at least run a diagnostic check-"

"James, stop talking." Michael put his hand up. "The child may not be yours, but your mission is to ensure the safety of a child in your preschool class."

In your preschool class.

James sank lower into despair when he realized this was, indeed, actually happening. He was a preschool teacher. A teacher of underdeveloped human children. The adult in charge of a room full of four-year-olds. Where there would likely be things like untied shoelaces, nasal discharge, and awkward questions...He began to feel unwell again.

He wondered what the consequences of disobeying the highest order would be. Just exactly how much worse could it be? What punishment could Peter throw at him that would be worse than being a preschool teacher?

"You know," James said, standing up. "I've overseen the Hell Department for quite some time, and I think I'll take my chances with-"

"Sit down!" Michael ordered, his voice booming with the power of Heaven.

James sat. Well, it was more he slumped peevishly but it was still technically sitting. He crossed his arms and pouted for good measure. At least his headache was gone.

Wait….nope.

There it was.

That sharp ache at his right temple. He pressed his palm to his head and squinted one eye shut. He tried to let out a string of obscenities, but none were forthcoming. "Can we at least put a stop to this cruelty? And why can't I curse?"

Michael sighed and put his hand to the side of James' head, doing that archangel thing he could do. "Oh for the love of...it's a mild headache. It's not even a migraine. Stop your whining. You should have done more human missions long before now, and if you had, you'd be used to it. The cursing and temper control is like a celestial anger management thing. You'll get used to it. Use the time to learn how to channel your anger into something less destructive." He thrust the mission file into James' hand. "Read this. Become familiar with...well, all of it. No excuses. Mess this up, and overseeing the Hell Department will be the least of your worries." Michael took a step back, then nodded to Logan. "Good luck. You'll need it." He lifted his hand, about to snap his fingers but stopped. "Oh, and get him to a CVS for some Tylenol or something. Or some Valium...or edibles. Or some catnip if you get desperate. If he won't take it, I suggest you do."

With a snap of his fingers, he was gone in a spark of light, leaving James and Logan alone. In their New York apartment. As humans. And husbands. And preschool teachers.

"Oh Heaven's mercy." James rubbed his temples and peered at Logan. "Did you know about this?"

"No," he replied sweetly. "Not even a whisper." He studied James for a moment. "I understand this isn't what you wanted."

James groaned as the tightness in his stomach returned. He pushed against it with the heel of his hand. "I really am of the opinion that there is something wrong with this human body. There seems to be a short circuit or an imbalance of some kind. It doesn't feel right at all."

Logan stood up and walked into the kitchen. He opened a few cupboards; apparently Peter's team had been grocery shopping. Logan found a packet of salted crackers, plated a few, and filled a glass of water, then held them out for James. "Here, have this. You could be hungry."

"Hungry?" James was disgusted at the thought. "Human food is terrible!"

"It's not all bad. And I'm guessing you haven't had to eat human food in quite some time."

"Not for…" James began but stopped himself from finishing that sentence. "No, not for a while, no."

"It's improved," Logan said gently, sitting beside him. "Please eat. Then we need to go over our mission files, and…"

"And what?" James ate a cracker, mildly surprised it wasn't completely awful. He didn't want to admit that it did make him feel a little better.

"Well, we need to go grocery shopping. There are some basics here, but we'll need more. We'll possibly have to go shopping for clothes, though we should take a look at the outfits they gave us. Not sure if what's been provided is suitable for teaching. We'll need to go over our profile histories to make sure we get it right. And considering you haven't been back on Earth in a while, you'll need to brush up on some world history."

James groaned as he finished another cracker because the idea of shopping wasn't bad enough. "I'm a preschool teacher! I'm sure all of Heaven is looking on right now, laughing hysterically, and taking bets to see how long I last."

Logan almost smiled, but he opened his file. "Uh...there's something else you're probably not going to like."

James paused, a cracker halfway to his mouth. "What?"

"This gorgeous apartment," he replied. "Right on Central Park, Upper West Side. Designer furniture, ultra-modern. Luxurious, elite real estate…"

James looked around at the marble tiles, the high ceilings, and yes, the view was a little impressive. "What about this apartment? What won't I like? Besides the fact that it's in the human world and we're on some secret mission as teacher-husbands, and sweet Heaven's mercy-" He put his hand to his forehead. "-why do we have American accents?"

Logan looked up from page four of his report. "Um...this apartment? It's all very lovely and all," he said again, making a pained face. "But it's only got one bedroom."

Done! So, that was the first chapter (which was technically more of a prologue, but...yeah)! I wonder how this is going to go for Jagan. :P

Like I said, this is a little different, but I'd love to hear your thoughts on the chapter, as well as if you happened to have a favorite part/moment!

Again, I hope you all enjoyed and that you all are staying safe and healthy! The next chapter of this probably won't be up until either next week or week after next, but in the meantime, I'd love to hear your initial thoughts!

Until then!

-Epically Obsessed