Warnings: Winchester free, fairly absurd
Spoilers: Everything aired, including 5x08
Author's note: If Kripke can play fast and loose with angel canon, so can I, right? Right?
Family dinner happened on Sundays, of course, though "dinner" was something of an abstract concept for beings that were sustained by the will of God rather than actual food. So was "Sunday", when you got down to it, or rather, it was a different kind of "Sunday" than we're used to hearing about on Earth. It was longer, for one. A week in Heaven might last centuries on Earth, just like weeks on Earth were years in Hell. It was a whole hierarchy thing, you see. Don't ask us to explain, it all ends up being about strings, and then people get confused and start throwing atoms at each other like monkeys with feces.
"Family" wasn't abstract. It was perhaps the most relatable concept of the whole deal.
The table was set by five. That's the way God wanted it. Or at least, it was the way that Michael said that God wanted it, and he should know, shouldn't he? He was, after all, the oldest. Even if God didn't speak to Michael directly, per say, he still knew what was what. That's why he always got to sit at the head and got to distribute the food. Usually, it was roast will of God, with a side of righteousness and mashed compassion. Sometimes they got vengeance pie for dessert, but no one ever got to eat it because Michael insisted on putting it back in the oven to keep it warm until God got home. "'Vengeance is mine,' said the Lord," he'd say, and turn the oven to "medium holy", smacking the little ones' hands with a flaming dishtowel when they got too close.
Lucifer would always wait until Michael went to go do God's work, then sneak into the kitchen, ignoring the dirty dishes, and steal a slice of vengeance pie for himself. He slipped little slivers to Uriel the one time the younger angel caught him, just to keep him quiet, though Uriel told anyway, when Michael caught him with a smear of vengeance on his shirt.
Lucifer and Raphael sat on either side of Michael at the big table, Lucifer to the left and Raphael to the right. Michael said this was because they were the second and third oldest, so they should get their dinner first, but Raphael always passed the plates clockwise, so all Lucifer would get was the scraps of will the others didn't want, before passing it on to the kids' table. Michael swore that wasn't his fault. Raphael was just a little bit OCD, was all. It was best to humor him, or he'd go all lightning wing on them and blow out all the lights again, and God couldn't be expected to declare "let there be light" and turn them back on all the time.
The kids' table had been Zachariah's idea. He came up with it after Gabriel, always the family clown, had turned the foot of the table into a foosball table, and little Castiel spilled his cream of glory soup all over the goalie. The kids' table wasn't so much a table as it was a steamer trunk full of all the ills and evils of nature and mankind, but it looked nice enough when they draped a table cloth over it, and the kids enjoyed sitting on the floor close to their toys while they ate, so Zachariah insisted that it would work perfectly well. And, well, if it meant that he got to sit at the head of the steamer trunk, well. That was just a bonus.
This particular Sunday had been going on for quite some time when five o'clock rolled around and the table and steamer trunk were set for the family meal. God had already been up all week creating the world and all the plants and animals and people and everything, so He was off resting in His study, leaving Michael in charge as usual. The roast will was dressed and set in the center of the table, the bowls of righteousness and compassion arranged artistically to either side, and there was even a mercy and charity salad for Anaelachiem, who'd decided two days ago that she was going to go vegan (Michael was certain that it wouldn't last, but he was willing to humor her for now; she was good at keeping Castiel and Uriel entertained, after all). But God had said that Sunday night's family dinner couldn't be Sunday night's family dinner without the whole family (Himself excepted, of course), and Lucifer was late.
Again.
It was just like Lucifer, really. It seemed these days like he was always in some sort of snit over something. "Why does Michael get to decide everything?" he'd ask. "Why are we having roast will again? I'm sick of it," or "how come Raphael always gets to sit on the right? I'm older," or "what do you mean He created people? What the Hell does He need people for when He's got us?" He was starting to give the younger kids ideas, and Raphael was wound up tight enough to snap on a good day. Besides, didn't Lucifer notice that every time he started a fight, Gabriel just got weirder with the little jokes and gags? No one needed a repeat of the foosball/soup incident. Castiel was intensely serious, and he'd spent half the night just looking melancholy at that little creamed goalie, and Michael didn't want to try to explain to God why one of his youngest was being all pouty.
Michael glanced over at the kids' table. Zachariah was sitting primly and eagerly as always, fork in one hand, knife in the other, all set to dig in, but the youngest -- Castiel and Uriel weren't exactly the same age, really, but they were close enough together that Michael tended to lose track of who was older and who was younger, so he tended to just end up lumping them together as "the youngest" -- were getting restless. Anaelachiem -- he thought maybe she was going by "Anna" these days, which was something of an affront to God, seeing as He'd named her and everything, but really, everyone agreed that Anaelachiem was a bit of a mouthful and "Anna" seemed to suit her -- had pulled out some of her dolls, handing one of them over to Castiel and seemed to be guiding him in some sort of intricate detective game, which Michael was pretty sure would keep the kid occupied for hours, while Uriel eyed the tower of blocks he'd been messing with earlier. Michael gave him three minutes before he started knocking the whole thing down while ranting about the hand of God and pillars of salt. If Lucifer didn't show up by the time Uriel's laying to waste expanded to Anna and Castiel's little detective drama, Michael was going to kill him. There were only so many times he could watch Castiel "raise" his teddy bear "from Perdition" before he cracked.
The clock on the wall read six minutes to six by the time Lucifer finally arrived, his hair all mussed and his head bobbing sinuously like he had not a care in the world. He paused when he saw all of them seated at the table, the food laid out and waiting, and his eyes widened as though in surprise.
"Am I late?" he asked, a mask of innocence on that blandly pretty face. "I must have gotten distracted, admiring the beauty of our father's creation."
"We've been waiting," Michael said, trying and failing to keep his anger from coloring his tone, "for almost an hour."
Lucifer pulled out his chair on the left side of the head of the table, still radiating innocence and light. "I'm so sorry, Michael. You should have started without me."
Michael opened his mouth to respond -- Lucifer damn well knew that they couldn't -- when the voice of God thundered down from His study above.
"WHY DO YOU COVER YOURSELVES?" He asked, loud enough that the righteousness quivered in its bowl and Castiel let out a little squeak of surprise. "HOW DID YOU KNOW YOU WERE NAKED?!"
Michael gaped and looked to Lucifer, who utterly failed to hide his self-satisfied smirk.
"You didn't."
Lucifer's eyes went wide all over again. "Just a harmless little prank," he said. Gabriel tittered nervously.
Michael would tell everyone later that he knew exactly what he was doing, that he was only doing what God wanted him to, but frankly, he barely realized he'd summoned the flaming sword until he had it poised over Lucifer above the mouth of the Pit.
Everyone was staring at him when he returned to the table alone. Raphael understood, Michael could tell at a glance. But Raphael always understood when it came to keeping things orderly and timely. The tardy had to be punished. Zachariah took his cue from Raphael -- the little sniveling kiss-ass -- and nodded approvingly. Gabriel stared like Michael had just killed his dog.
"Why'd you do that?!"
Michael planted his feet, tucking the flaming sword away. "It is as it's meant to be."
"But he's our brother!"
Michael shook his head. "Not any more. Now. Who wants some roast will?"
Gabriel, usually so upbeat and goofy, pushed back from the table in an angry huff. "You're a self-righteous jackass, and I've had it with this family!" And he stormed out, turning the steamer trunk to a jar and kicking it over on his way out, spilling all those ills and sufferings out across the world in his wake.
What a drama queen.
Michael sighed and watched him go, debating going after him. But God was sure to want him to help clean up the mess going on in Eden, and Michael damn well wanted to get his dinner in first. Gabriel would come back when he was good and ready. "Anyone else have something to say?"
Anna opened her mouth, her hands on Castiel's shoulders as though to keep the kid from toppling forward into the space where the steamer trunk used to be, but then closed it softly. Zachariah folded his arms across his chest.
"He took our table," he said prissily. Michael sighed.
"Then get your asses over here. There's plenty of room."
Zachariah looked a little put out, but scrambled up, anyway. Michael supposed he figured that if he couldn't rule over his own table, at least he was being invited to sit up with his big brothers. Uriel and Castiel stood to follow, but Anna hung back.
"Anaelachiem." There was rebellion brewing there, Michael knew. Anna always had more mashed compassion than the rest of them at dinner, and seeing her brothers hurt or missing would weigh on her. Best to nip it in the bud right now. Nicknames and food choices were one thing. The last thing he needed was another Lucifer on his hands. "Sit."
Her lips pressed together and she clutched her doll close to her chest. "I'm going to eat in my room." And she primly picked up her salad and marched off.
Well. At least her hissy fit didn't involve casting illness and despair over the newly created world.
Michael looked around the table at his remaining brothers. Raphael and Zachariah wore matching expressions of mixed righteous indignation at their siblings and admiration of Michael himself. Zachariah, now the third oldest at the table, had a right to Lucifer's old spot, but instead pushed a chair up to Raphael's side. Uriel and Castiel were squished together into Gabriel's seat at the other end the table, Uriel eying the roast will hungrily and seeming unaffected by the night's drama, but Castiel's gaze held something even more melancholy than usual as he arranged his bear carefully in his lap, setting his fork within reach of one of the stuffed paws.
"Right," Michael said. "Let's eat." He picked up the dishes one by one and started passing them around the table. Everyone took their share except for Castiel, who seemed to be distracted with laying his napkin carefully in his bear's lap. Michael sighed. He was beginning to understand why God spent all his time hiding in his study. He was going to need an extended Sunday rest himself, at this rate. "Castiel."
His younger brother looked up solemnly.
"Eat up," Michael said. "There'll be starving people in China one day, and they'll wish they had food like this."
Castiel nodded seriously and started dishing himself out an angel-and-bear-sized helping of righteousness. He picked up his fork, then paused and looked up at Michael expectantly.
Michael waited. Castiel stared. Michael rubbed his forehead.
"What?"
"What's a China?"
In the distance, Anna let out a determined grunt, followed by a fading "" as she ripped out her grace and hurled herself to Earth.
God definitely had the right of it. Michael was totally going to hide in his study, from now on.