=spnwing=

Souls are power- that is the whispered truth among angels.

Michael knew what this meant better than any of his siblings.

You see, "The Michael Sword" (TM) does not exist. It is not a material item like Gabriel's Horn or the Holy Grail that can be bought and traded (and lost in a wild game of poker with some Pagans).

It is sword like, in that it has been tempered, warped, and beaten in its forging- but these are mere metaphorical words.

Michael smiles whenever he hears his siblings whisper about his lost weapon, then his eyes go glassy as he recalls an age eons lost in the sand. There was a lamb, back then, which smelled of salt and fire prayers. He remembers being taught to smile (such an odd expression- should not bared teeth be a sign of aggression?) and observing dreams since he could not have any of his own. He remembers learning the secret of humor ("We laugh because it's sad, not because it's happy!" "But there is no sorrow in heaven...") and all the petty little rules humans imposed upon themselves. He remembers asking a question.

Then he will blink what passes for angelic eyes ("What were you saying again Zachariah?"), and drift away towards a small empty corner of heaven.

Castiel in a haze of desperation opened doors which were never meant to open to gain the accumulated power of souls, but really he just needed one.

One thrown through fire while innocent and baptized in love's ashes.

One plunged into the abyss of death more times than life.

One tempered upon a rack of Hellfire- each impurity ripped free with knives and blood.

Whether or not Castiel knew this, or kept himself from knowing out of some shattered sense of loyalty, we will never know.

Dean won't either.

=spnwing=