The War was not going well.

New York City was but one of many examples of this fact. Michael stood atop its highest building surveying the scene before him. The battle had mostly ended, leaving only a few straggling demons to flee before what was left of Heaven's army. Reapers swarmed the streets, collecting the souls of the dead and dying.

They had driven Hell's army back, forcing them to retreat. But Lucifer had gotten what he'd wanted. Few humans would survive this. Those who did would take refuge in yet another city. Until Lucifer's Army came for that one as well.

It was all he could do to keep Heaven together. They were losing Angels far too quickly, and unlike Hell, they couldn't replenish their troops. Moral was falling fast, and there were some Angels, most notable one of the Garrison leaders, an Angel called Castiel, was questioning his leadership and the plan that they were following.

Not that it was much of a plan anymore, Michael thought bitterly. Much of his Fathers grand plan had dissolved the moment that Mary Winchester had allowed John to die and prevented his True Vessel from being born. Absently he rubbed one of the lesions on his face, the result of his grace breaking through his current vessel. It was his fifth one since Lucifer had been freed and it would not last much longer.

As if sensing his thoughts, Raphael appeared next to him with several buckets of dark red liquid. The Healer offered him a cup and Michael began to drink the demon blood. Michael detested using it, but it was one of the only ways to prolong a vessels durability.

"He's not going to be able to hold you for long" Raphael warned "It might be time to start looking for a new one"

"He'll hold," Michael said stubbornly. He had too. There were precious few humans who let an angel in anymore. Lucifer himself had not yet found a suitable vessel. Even the most devout would now run in fear at the sight of an angel. And Michael could not blame them

Raphael shook his head letting out a frustrated sigh but said nothing more. The two of them gazed out at the broken city, at the piles of bodies, Human, Demon and Angel alike.

"Well," Raphael finally said, "If you don't do something soon, there's not going to be anything left."

Michael caught his brother's eye and knew that he was no longer talking about his vessel. Michael nodded and Raphael disappeared, presumably to help heal who he could.

Michael cast his eyes up toward the overcast sky. 'Father' He prayed 'Help me. What do I do?'

There, of course, was no answer. There was never an answer. Michael had long since abandoned the hope that his father would return, but prayer was a habit he was reluctant to break.

He left the building, angry and hopeless. He passed multiple reapers, each of them with several brilliant souls.

Wait

Souls…

Michael immediately recoiled from that idea. It was blasphemous, Humans were his Father's pride and joy. They were the reason he was fighting his brother at all. To protect them.

His Father would never have even entertained this idea.

But Father wasn't here, Michael thought resentfully. He had left Michael in charge of all of Heaven, with no instructions, save a glorious plan that had fallen apart almost immediately.

"Zachariah" He called. The angel appeared beside him. "How many humans would you say died here"

"Around 8 million, sir" Zachariah replied. Michael nodded.

"I need you to bring them to me"

"Sir?"

"I need you to bring me the souls," Michael said. "Everyone who died here"

"What of the reaper's?" Zachariah asked "They're not going to just give them up"
Michael set his jaw. "Fight them. Kill them if you must. But bring me those souls"

Hours later Michael was standing with an orb of intense light in front of him. He could hear the whispers coming from it, the thoughts of 8 million people. He reached out a hand to it but hesitated.

'Father, forgive me' He prayed. And consumed them.