Title: Carnage
Summary: Trust me — she never knew angels could be so destructive with their promises. — supernatural!au, natsume/mikan
She sits by the river one night, and hums.
Maybe it's just Mikan, but the riverside looks much more breathtaking in the evening. She isn't exactly someone whose peripheral vision is as clear as day, but the water reflecting the moonlight is enough to let her know that there isn't much to be terrified of in the dark. The grass underneath her feet do not bring any harm; so she lays herself down on the fields, watches the stars twinkle, and listens to the melodies of the river.
It's a beautiful song — silence always is. Not only is it therapeutic, but it's the most charming lullaby Mikan's ever lent her ears to. She counts the constellations that she could name and finds that she could be one of the best astrologers on the planet. That is, if only she doesn't live far away from civilization.
She doesn't hate the company of people — Mikan just isn't very fond of urbanized areas, so she found a spot in the middle of an undiscovered meadow where resting meant closing her eyes to the sound of nothingness. She has been more than happy to abandon the noises of trains and television sets for peacefulness.
Her life is as steady as the flow of the river, until she sees a white-clothed lad on the other side, extending his hand to her.
He looks very peculiar, Mikan muses. His garments are blinding with their purity in contrast with his rugged expression, crimson irises, and disheveled black mane. "I need you to come with me," he says with a smooth voice, and it is only then that Mikan notices the bloodied feathers surrounding him.
Mikan has to admit that she feels vulnerable in front of the stranger, but she asks in her bravest facade, "And why should I? I have no responsibility to associate with you."
She stares right into his eyes and wonders how something could seem so broken from inside. "Please," he groans and grits his teeth at the same time as if he has difficulty in asking for favors. "I would never, in a million years, ask a human for help, but I'm in a desperate situation."
"What do you need?" Mikan furrows her eyebrows. And why did you call me human if ever you were one yourself? There have never been strange occurrences like this in Mikan's entire life, and it's just fate's trickery that this has happened when she finally got away from all that bothered her in the city life.
The young man releases a scornful breath. "Isn't it obvious? I wonder how He puts up with mortals like you. Well, Miss Oblivious, I think it's not that difficult to catch up on the fact that I have broken wings." He makes circular motions on his temporal region with his fingertips. In annoyance, he can't will himself to stop talking. "This is frustrating — I haven't delivered a dozen messages to the prophets in Europe, and without —"
"Wings?" Mikan sputters incredulously. She clasps her hands over her mouth as she catches the faint halo on the stranger's head. "Y-you're —"
"An angel," the lad finishes for her ungratefully. "We finally got that covered. Now, I need you to cross the river and sew the feathers back onto my dysfunctional wings."
"S-sew —"
"Yes, with needles and threads. You can use thimbles if you want to, but I advise against that because it will only complicate the process."
Mikan grows irritated at the 'angel's' lack of consideration for her information intake. "First of all, I don't believe you. Don't make a fool out of me — that's all I'm asking for. Second, I can't. The moment I set foot on the water is equivalent to the moment I drown myself to death."
The angel laughs bitterly and instantaneously reverts to his serious disposition. "Do you believe in God?"
"Of course I do," Mikan nearly spits.
"Then do Him a favor and fix my wings, because I can't send His Word if a mere girl with probably a handful of sins is reluctant to aid in the mending of my flying mechanisms."
"I'll die if I cross the river," Mikan repeats. She doesn't exude cowardice, but she's certain that she's scared.
"What's more important," the angel growls, "your life, or a thousand others?"
Mikan retaliates with a huff, "Call me selfish, but I won't make a sacrifice for people whom I have no idea of." Again, the angel responds with laughter.
"I won't be surprised if you end up in purgatory. Or just smack in the depths of hell. I'm sure even your religiosity can't save you."
"Then tell me your name," Mikan hisses, stomping to the edge of the riverside and hoping she wouldn't fall straight into the glimmering water. A bath would be nice for her fuming insides, but she couldn't just leave this pathetic excuse for an angel outside of her home. "I'll pray for you. I'm too horrified by the thought of losing my breath, so this is all I can do. I apologize if that act can't live up to your standards of heaven-eligible people."
Mikan's favorite lullaby comes along until the angel speaks quietly. "Natsume."
"What?"
"Natsume," he says, muttering something about Mikan's partial deafness.
"Like the fruit?"
"Yes. Like the fruit. Now pray. I can't exactly pray for myself, because He wouldn't hear my voice in the millions of requests He receives everyday."
Natsume adds one last thing. "And close your eyes. I'll be gone before you know it."
Mikan nods, kneels, and listens to the stream while thinking of broken wings. She catches a whiff of flowers before she lets her fingers disentangle themselves. The sky is perfectly blue as her glazed eyes stare at the distance in a stupor, and in the instant Mikan turns her head to the riverside, all that exist are remains of bloodstained feathers and an empty field of grass.
"Again?"
Luckily for Mikan, Natsume makes a crater near her cottage on his touchdown, so she doesn't have to swim her way to him.
"Again," Natsume echoes with dull interest. He uses the small pit as a temporary abode as he tries to gather all of his feathers in a messy heap. "I don't understand why I keep on having a detour to your territory, if that's what you wanted to inquire about."
"Not just that," Mikan has an available sewing kit on hand. She inserts the white thread into the needle's eye and carefully tries not to prick herself. "I'm wondering why your wings always malfunction. Is it like this for everybody? I didn't know that wings weren't as durable as I thought they would be. I'm not so sure why I'm helping you, either."
Natsume coughs. In the corner of Mikan's eye, blood is evident on Natsume's palms. "I'm a messenger. I travel without stopovers, and the weathers in some countries don't like to cooperate with my schedules and routes."
"Hurricanes aren't always present. And you can pray for a better climate," Mikan says, inwardly smiling at her suggestion. Here she is, a girl on a deserted meadow, recommending the use of prayer to an angel.
"I can't."
Mikan perks up. "What do you mean you can't?"
"I can't," Natsume snarls, his knuckles turning white. "He won't hear me."
"If He can listen to me and fix your wings, then it would be safe to assume that He has control over the weather, too."
"He can't hear me. How many times do I have to say that, you blockhead? Give me the needle and I'll sew on my own."
"H-Hey!" Mikan is taken aback by Natsume's odd behavior. She drives the needle away from him. "You're an angel; of course you'll matter!"
Natsume stands up abruptly and almost falls again. He surveys the state of his wings before walking towards the riverside, his halo scattering the sunlight in its presence. "I'm an angel reserved for combat — for wars on Earth, for the prevention of catastrophes. He never visits our chambers, and it's obvious that He doesn't want to concede to having an army just to defeat the evils of His own creations."
"He doesn't know my identity, so how will He ever respond to a prayer of mine?"
Mikan follows his example and positions herself right across him so she could land a particularly strong blow on his neck. He screams in pain, and Natsume's eyes flash dangerously. Mikan only scolds him in return. "Then how did you arrive in heaven if He didn't care about you?"
"Simple." Natsume rubs the back of his neck and winces as another feather falls off of his right wing. "I died."
A whole afternoon passes, and although Mikan's handiwork couldn't compare to those of other grandiose artists, she regards Natsume's wings as good as new.
"Well, now you can go back to whatever nation you're defending and never return. I hope you don't wreck your wings and somebody else's garden the next time," Mikan chuckles lightly, tucking all of her materials back into the container. Natsume scowls but his gratitude is showing through his divine features.
Natsume, before taking off, smirks. "Oh, I'll come back for you. Trust me."
God has no idea that his own army would turn against him for the recognition that was never granted, and for the pleas that were never answered.
The Revelation is proven accurate: Mikan shields her eyes from the queue of seven angels in the clouds. Natsume is noticeable with his raven hair, and he pours a bowl of fire into the now barren lands of Middle East.
"Why, Natsume?"
In a span of seconds, Mikan sees Natsume gazing down at her, and never has she wished this hard that heaven would cease to exist.
Natsume, with nerves of steel, leaves his position and swoops down, neglecting the thunderous voices of the ethereal entities he used to work for.
His feathers cascade like an apology to the humans who have been led to believe that they will be spared. In a world like theirs, evil is triumphant and even the good can be consumed and contaminated.
Mikan doesn't gasp when Natsume's wings catch on fire, and they are reduced to dark, molten abominations.
Mikan lays her head on a patch of green grass and watches heaven crumble.
Her meadow is never going to regress to the quiescent paradise it once was — now, ash is drizzling to her eyes as she takes the liberty to blink. The whole world has metamorphosed into a large cemetery, and she is simply waiting for the fire to take her away.
Natsume does come for her — no longer are his white wings lined with golden specks. His irises blaze their way to Mikan, but he seems so far away. The Apocalypse continues in his surroundings.
He offers his hand, and Mikan slowly and agonizingly stands up from her supposed deathbed. She smiles in spite of tears.
Natsume mouths, I fell for you.
And then just one more step, one step —
She walks through the river and has never been more thankful of the relief of water. Natsume says, with crimson eyes as passionate as ever, "I need you to come with me."
This time, Mikan doesn't hesitate.
She sits by the river one night, and hums.
Still, silence is a beautiful song.
end