Angels Everywhere by afrai
Before the horror the Archangel stood, his gun aimed dead centre at one of the many foreheads, his wings spread and still against the storm. He was smiling -- not the bright, terrifying simulation of friendliness he'd turned on Aziraphale when threatening him, but a fiercely joyous smile, as if looking death in the eye was precisely his idea of a good time. His eyes were genuinely happy, and wholly forgetful of self. There was no fear in them at all.