Title:Seraphs and Phoenix Wings (26/?)
Author: daksgirl
Rating: R
Pairings: Dean/Castiel, Michael/Lucifer (LOL WUT)
Genre: Family/ Drama
Spoilers: None
Warnings: Swearing, blasphemy, an incestuous relationship (kind of? I don't even know..), graphic non-con(not sexual, but grace violation without consent), mpreg (not really, magical angel grace babies, you know the drill by now :P), violence.
Word Count: 7,229 (LONG CHAPTER IS LONG)
Summary: Michael remembers.
A/N: Ok so this chapter is so long... again, have faith in me guys! Some dark themes here, a scene with non-con, its not sexual but it might as well be really, so if thats a trigger for you, I'd advise skipping to the end, just skip Michael's memories, (oh god I am so embarrassed seriously ack ack ack). Each middle linebreak was meant to be a new snippet Michael was remembering but that kind of fell through...eh whatever, enjoy! :D
…
Michael had existed since the Earth first formed.
He could remember the formation of worlds, of watching the stars burst into life as meteors flashed across the glittering black sky. He could remember his Father's voice, the first words God spoke in the stillness of heaven, and the angels that sprung into being beneath His loving gaze. Michael had been the first in many things; God's first creation, the first angel, first son…
The first casualty of Lucifer's war.
Michael loved his family. He loved tiny Gabriel, with his mischievous ways and raucous laughter. He loved Raphael's unending patience and fierce loyalty. He loved Lucifer's…well. He loved Lucifer. Michael was a loyal son, a protective older brother and eventually, after Father's instruction, a father in many ways. Michael formed many fledglings, many more brothers and sisters to love and protect. And Michael cherished them all, each feather on each wing of every angel.
Yet none knew, for none spoke to the archangel. Michael was terrifying to behold, an angel that carried within him God's righteous wrath and love in equal amounts; Michael the protector, Michael the soldier…never Michael the brother. Never Michael the beloved.
Fledglings hid from him, cowering behind their carers whenever he approached; intimidated by his power and fiery wings. Even his closest siblings could not bear to stand in his presence for long. Gabriel would wince, eyes watering and wings shivering with fear as Raphael stood nearby, spine ramrod straight, never looking at him directly. Neither would relax until Michael left, and their silent sighs of relief were too-sharp shards of pain in his chest.
Michael was alone in a family of thousands.
Perhaps his brother knew this, knew of the loneliness that festered deep within Michael's grace. Perhaps it was merely all an act, a plan that would eventually lead to its terrible but inevitable conclusion. Michael preferred to think that it was real what Lucifer offered him, what they shared together once upon a time. That somehow the years turned Lucifer into something else, but in those early days he was just…Lucifer. Brother, friend, beloved.
Lucifer was not afraid to stand in his presence. Lucifer, with his beautiful wings and laughing eyes. He burned brighter than Michael ever could, but not with fire. No, Lucifer glittered like refracted light within a gem; casting his rays upon any who looked upon him. They would talk together, lying side by side on the peaceful more empty plains of heaven; Michael's voice low and deep, Lucifer's melodious and light. They forged a bond between them in those quiet moments, and Michael felt whole. Complete.
At peace.
Michael could remember the pleasant press of Lucifer's grace against his, stolen in their quiet moments of solitude. Michael would run his fingers along Lucifer's strong jaw, feathers brushing together as Lucifer laughed into the silence, his smile blinding and heated beneath Michael's lips.
It was not forbidden to love one another in heaven, yet what he and his brother shared…it made Michael uneasy. He was becoming too dependent, preferring Lucifer's company to God's, seeking his brother out even when he knew he should speak with his Father instead. But Lucifer was so very beautiful, and Michael, terrifying and stoic Michael, was helpless to his charms. He could remember beautiful moments they shared, hiding from Raphael like naughty fledglings, taking refuge the still new Library.
...
It was empty, for books had yet to be written, but Michael enjoyed the peace here, the history the building would soon bear. They had taken refuge in one quiet corner, hidden behind a parapet, and Raphael's voice echoed towards them, demanding they come forth. Lucifer bit down on his fist, body shivering with giggles. Michael was pressed so close against him that the giggles seemed to come from within himself as well, and he grinned, wrapping sure arms around Lucifer's lither form. He pressed chaste kisses against Lucifer's neck, smiling as he felt his brother's answering purr reverberate beneath his lips.
"She'll blow up one day if we tease her too much," Michael murmured, voice low and gruff in the silence as they listened to Raphael stomp away. He sometimes felt like a lumbering animal beside Lucifer; too large and bumbling. Lucifer was a graceful creature, much more so than he, but he didn't seem to mind, turning in Michael's arms to fix his blinding gaze upon his brother.
"You mean if we're lucky," Lucifer winked, fingers combing through Michael's air as he tugged gently to pull him forward for another kiss. "The old crone would have a heart attack if she knew what we really got up to."
He knew he should admonish Lucifer for that, for calling their sister a name, but Michael only smiled, allowing Lucifer to take what he wanted from his mouth, wings folding around them both.
...
Such memories hurt. They clawed at his heart, rendering him bloody and shivering. He should have known, he should have seen that it was wrong, should have stopped it. But…but he couldn't. Michael was blind when it came to Lucifer, and that blindness had cost him everything.
...
"What are you doing?"
Lucifer glanced up, blonde hair ruffled and dark circles beneath his eyes. "Michael, I…I…"
With a heavy sigh, Michael willed the clouds around them closed, shutting out the rest of heaven. It was not unusual to find Lucifer within his nest, more often than not his brother slept there rather than his own.
"Lucifer you know this is not how Father wills it," he said gently, settling down behind his brother. Lucifer looked away stubbornly, arms curling more protectively around the bundle in his arms.
"He's mine," Lucifer said stubbornly, shifting the sleeping seraph in his arms. "I made him, he's mine."
The babe snuffled, pressing its tiny face more firmly into the pale column of Lucifer's throat. Tiny burnt sepia wings fluttered on its back, and Michael reached out to touch them gently.
"Lucifer he is not yours. We are all creatures of God. Give the seraph back to Anael, she will raise our brother until he is grown."
Lucifer glared at him frostily, and Michael felt his wings twitch in aggravation. Why must Lucifer always make things so difficult?
"Just because you don't care about your fledglings," his brother said bitterly. "How many do you have anyways? Hundreds I bet. You don't even know their names."
Michael pulled away, face darkening. "Lucifer, cease your childish ways. Azazel's place is with Anael. Return him to her and I will not mention this to Father."
Lucifer snorted, rising to his feet in a flap of his wings. "I bet you'd love that. Go tattling to Father and tell him what a bad son I am." Lucifer moved closer towards Michael, eyes cold as he lowered his voice to a whisper. "If he only knew what we got up to in the dark places of heaven, I bet he wouldn't look upon you as highly."
Azazel was beginning to stir in Lucifer's arms, and with a dark mutter, Lucifer pushed past Michael, disappearing. Michael could only stare after him.
...
Perhaps it was that moment where it all changed. Perhaps it was inevitable, perhaps not. But after that moment, Lucifer withdrew from him, and Michael's nest was empty once again.
Michael accepted that he was alone. It was his punishment for allowing himself to become so close to Lucifer, a burden he had to bear and he bore his cross silently. Lucifer avoided him, preferring the company of other angels, then Azazel when he grew old enough. Michael spent more and more time in the library as the shelves filled with books, remembering happier times spent in its nooks and crannies as he read through the soon to be history of man.
Then…then that fateful night.
...
Michael rubbed his eyes tiredly, the text shifting lower in his lap. Maoin shuffled past him, a cart laden with books in front of him.
"Staying up late, brother?" the old librarian queried. Michael smiled over at him, wincing as he sat up.
"Lost track of time. I will be out of your feathers soon enough, Maoin."
The old angel waved him away. "Don't mind me. I'm just going to deliver these texts to Raphael. Why she can't just come here and read them herself is beyond me but…"
Michael chuckled. "Raphael is Raphael. Goodnight."
With a nod and a wave, the old librarian was gone. With a groan, Michael set the book aside, slowly getting to his feet with a long stretch. He preferred spending time in the library. His nest was too empty, too large, and the archangel rarely spent time in it anymore. Several sheets of parchment rustled; a gust of air pushing them off the mahogany desk to the floor. Michael already knew who it was, and he turned slowly, suddenly impossibly nervous.
"Lucifer."
He was still as bright and beautiful as Michael remembered, and his fingers twitched, longing to reach forward towards those ebony wings. He kept his hands at his sides.
"Michael," his brother acknowledged, glancing at the books around them. "Doing a little bit of light reading?"
Lucifer was tense, coiled and unpredictable. His black wings were twitching, betraying his brother's inner thoughts. Lucifer had come here for a reason.
Michael stayed where he was, cool and collected. "Yes. The stories of man make for excellent bedtime reading."
Something dark scurried across Lucifer's face, and Michael arched his wings slightly. Lucifer had begun to voice his opinions about Father's plans, and Michael had heard the whispers between his siblings.
"Despite what you may think Lucifer, mankind will be worth loving."
Lucifer laughed out loud at that, pausing by the desk, hands clasped behind his back. "Oh really? Well that's alright then, as long as Michael says so. Or is it Father? And you're just the good little choirboy repeating his words."
Michael's sense of foreboding grew. He should leave. Perhaps seek out Father and tell him of Lucifer's misgivings, ask Him for guidance as to how to solve the problem. Anything but remain here, with a brother he loved so completely, and so easily lost himself in.
"Why are you here?" he asked instead, voice but a mere whisper in the quiet. "Why now, Lucifer?"
Why did you leave me? The library seemed to hold its breath; the many books awaiting the response and craning their spines closer to hear.
"Why?" Lucifer asked bitterly. "Of them all, I thought you understood. How could you not? We're different from them, Michael. The two of us."
Michael took a step back, feeling the cool marble of the fireplace brush against the tips of his wings. "Understand what?"
Lucifer advanced, eyes glittering. There was something predatory in his gaze, hungry and demanding. "We don't have to bow to them. We can create our own world, Michael. You and me. We don't have to suffer under this yoke of obedience. We can make our own path. Together."
Michael was speechless. What Lucifer was saying…what he was implying…it was blasphemy.
"Be silent!" he snapped, his voice booming through the library as anger broiled low in his chest. "You would defy God?"
The steely resolve in those crystalline eyes was all the answer he needed, and Michael felt genuine fear for his brother. For what he wanted to do, for what might happen to him if he chose to follow that path. The archangel took a deep breath, calming himself. Taking a step forward, he spread his arms.
"Lucifer I beg you, cease these delusional ideas. Father would-"
Before his eyes Lucifer seemed to grow in size, wings snapping wide and face darkening further. "Father," he spat, eyes flashing. "What Father asks so much of his children? What Father demands that I give life to something, then give it to someone else? That asks me to bow to something so…weak? He is no Father."
Michael found words had deserted him, mouth opening and closing. Lucifer advanced again, a seething storm of anger.
"And you-" Lucifer hissed. "Strong, loyal Michael. You cling to His every word, blindly obey Him. What are you without Him, Michael? Who are you? Nothing."
They were chest to chest now, and Michael drew himself up to his full height, glaring down at his brother.
"I am an archangel," he said firmly, though inside he quaked. "A loyal son, yes. Something you would not understand, Lucifer. I obey my Father, my God. I do not answer to you."
The shadows in his brother's eyes deepened, and inside Michael screamed at the injustice of it. That he must choose between his God and his brother. That Lucifer was forcing that choice upon him.
"No," Lucifer said quietly, voice dangerous. "No, I suppose you don't answer to me."
Michael was startled by the hand that grabbed his arm, Lucifer so quick he didn't see him move. Lucifer's touch was uncomfortable, a tight band around his flesh, and Michael growled at him, trying to pull away. He was stronger than Lucifer, but he did not use it, afraid of hurting his brother. His first mistake of many.
"Release me!" he demanded. "Lucifer let me go."
Lucifer was watching his face, but something had dimmed in those eyes, leaving a flat smooth surface that betrayed nothing. "You don't answer to me. But you will."
It happened quickly. Michael remembered twisting and fighting, wings buffeting and crashing into shelves of books; their contents spilling down to the floor in loud thuds. It was as if his mind blanked. In all of his time in heaven, no angels had ever fought. A scuffle here and there, some feather pulling perhaps but not this; not punches that drew blood. Even as it happened he could only gawk in stunned disbelief that it was real. His back ached from the force of being slammed against things, desks, shelves and his arms shook as he tried to deflect the blows, slapping Lucifer away and twisting his body. He was stronger, but Lucifer was quicker; dodging him and breaking his defenses easily.
Michael slammed to the floor, Lucifer straddling his chest and trapping his arms. His wings were pinned beneath him, and he flapped them weakly, but Lucifer bore down on him, using his own to keep Michael pinned.
"You," Lucifer hissed, backhanding Michael hard. "I loved you! And you just…you just threw me away for Him."
Stunned, Michael reeled from the blow, still struggling. He could feel the slow slide of blood from his split lip, and he swallowed hard, wincing at the metallic taste. "Lucifer…please I-"
Another backhand and Michael saw stars. Lucifer grabbed his chin, face darting down to bite at Michael's lips viciously as the archangel struggled feebly. When he pulled away, Lucifer's mouth was smudged red.
"You could have had it all," he said calmly. "You could have had me. Now you'll have nothing. He's going to be beautiful, Michael. So very beautiful."
Michael tried one last time to buck his brother off, but Lucifer clamped down, keeping him in place.
"Who?" He finally asked, desperate and worried. Maybe he could keep Lucifer talking, until someone came, Maoin or Raphael or…
Lucifer smiled down at him, but it was nothing like the sweet smiles they used to exchange, hidden in their private places. "Our son."
Michael's world shattered at the first shove of Lucifer's grace against his. He could remember shouting, pleading perhaps, the echoes of his begging bouncing off the smooth alabaster walls back towards his straining ears. It was a red hot pain within him as Lucifer pressed in; tendrils of strange grace curling around Michael's own. He struggled against it, feet scuffing the floor and thrashing his head from side to side. He could burn Lucifer to nothing, could scatter him across the universe with a blink, but…but it was Lucifer. It was his brother, his friend…his…his everything…
A sudden image cut through the chaos in his mind, and for a moment Michael stopped struggling, chest heaving and eyes wide but unseeing. A child.
It would have Lucifer's wings, his beauty. A dark haired child with Michael's eyes, his stoic loyalty. It would be the best of both of them, pure and innocent. A fledgling of their very own. Untouched by God, untouched by heaven, a being all unto himself.
And in that moment, Michael wanted.
It was the weakness Lucifer searched for, and he tugged at the crack, tearing it open. There was pain within Michael, a burning wall of fire that he couldn't escape, and the archangel screamed to the ceiling, to God. It angered Lucifer, and he tore a swathe through Michael's grace, seizing the jagged bleeding cracks and worrying them open. And through the pain, through the haze of horror, Michael could hear a voice screaming back to him, something dying as he himself was torn open.
Father.
He tried to yell, to tell Lucifer to stop, that he was doing so much more than just making a fledgling, more than simply tearing Michael apart. But his throat was closed, his voice hoarse and he could do nothing as the last desperate tendrils of Lucifer tugged hard, and a piece of Michael was forever separated from himself; a light suddenly born into being as another died.
Lucifer was whispering to him as Michael lay prone beneath him, endearments he had not used for many years, and Michael turned his face away as Lucifer tried to kiss him, eyes clenched shut and tearful.
He had failed. He had failed to protect heaven, his siblings…even God Himself. God was dead because of Michael's weakness. God was dead.
Lucifer rolled off him, swaying almost drunkenly as he sprawled across the floor.
"Oh," he said, voice slurred with pleasure. "Oh." Lucifer groaned then, rolling to his side as his body twitched. Michael tried to move, his whole body reverberating with red hot pain. He hooked his fingers against the hard floor, painfully rolling himself over. His wings felt like dead weight against his back, dragging sluggishly either side of him.
Lucifer was glowing; his eyes an opaque white as he arched his back, wings fluttering around him. His hands pulled at his chest, a keening cry tumbling from his lips. Michael dragged himself forward, arms straining as Lucifer cried out; a burst of hot white light illuminating the deadly silent library.
And as the light faded, the silence was broken by a sharp cry. Michael paused, staring with wide eyes towards his brother. Lucifer grinned stupidly up at the ceiling, a mess of dark hair and shadows cradled against his chest.
"Told you," he murmured, eyes glazed. "Isn't he beautiful?"
Michael didn't know how he did it. Somehow he gathered what strength he had left, and with a growl, lunged forward. His fingers closed around the whimpering tiny form, tugging it away from Lucifer and hard against his own chest. His other hand slammed down on Lucifer's still weak form, banishing his brother somewhere into the cosmos. Lucifer disappeared, his enraged shout cut off as he was sent somewhere far away.
He'd return.
Michael rolled onto his back, panting heavily. The tiny thing against his chest was trembling, whimpering, as a small head nuzzled hard into the safety of his neck. Michael found himself comforting it, running his large hand down its soft downy wings as it shivered against him.
This fledgling was blasphemy; born in the worst possible way. Its birth had destroyed God Himself, its existence going against each rule God had set forth for angels. He should destroy it; remove its black mark from heaven before Lucifer could spread more corruption.
It snuffled against him, rubbing its cheek needily against his skin, and Michael felt his heart lurch and head spin. He already knew he could not. He would not. Because he was weak.
...
Castiel. They named Michael's son, Castiel.
The seraph flourished beneath Gabriel's loving gaze. Michael watched from afar as Castiel grew; the mischief he caused with Balthazar, his curiosity for the world of man. Lucifer returned from the place Michael sent him, but by the time Lucifer found his way back to heaven, Castiel was already walking and talking. Lucifer's chance at raising the seraph for his own dark purposes had been ruined, and Michael counted that as a small victory. No-one knew of the seraph's beginnings and no-one asked. Unbelievably no-one noticed God's absence, the gaping hole that only Michael could feel. Raphael had her doubts, but Michael did not tell her. It was better for them all to continue existing in their ignorance. Father had made so many plans, and Michael dutifully protected them, ensuring they came to fruition. Mankind flourished and grew.
Lucifer's corruption spread despite Michael's best efforts. He had gathered those faithful around him, Azazel included. He was not repentant of what he had done, and Michael lived in a constant state of alert that his brother would attempt such a thing again. They fought, loudly and publicly, for Michael would not allow himself to ever be caught unawares and unguarded again. Michael listened as his brother preached hatred, sowing the seeds of discontentment within heaven's ranks.
And he watched, as despite his best efforts, Lucifer succeeded. His brother was too blind, too angry. Lucifer was lost the moment he set foot in the library all those years ago, and there was nothing Michael could do. The pantheons of heaven ran red with blood, and Michael saw how utterly he had failed his Father, his brother; even heaven itself.
He knew that it had to be done.
Michael cast all feelings out of himself, becoming just a tool for heaven to extract her holy wrath. He became a soldier to do what had to be done; emotionless and cold. Lucifer was cast into the pit. The war ended. Angels rejoiced, but Michael was not among them. Lucifer had been right all those years ago; Michael had nothing. He had no God, no brother. He was nothing but a weak body with no purpose, and after Lucifer's fall, Michael disappeared into himself. He had failed so utterly, so completely that there was no further the archangel could fall. He withdrew from his siblings, the years turning him frail and bitter; locked within his own mind with his regrets and mistakes.
It was a hell of his own making, and Michael suffered within it willingly. Others believed him mad and he did nothing to discourage their whispers, haunting the halls of the library, growing as derelict as the texts within it. His mind dulled, as did his wings and the shattered remains of his grace. He waited for something, anything. He waited for an absolution that never came.
He did not meddle in the affairs of heaven. Raphael had her many plans, as did the others, and Michael did not care for them. Let them bring about the apocalypse. Let them fight amongst themselves. Let it be over. Michael drifted in and out on the waves of lucidity and the world continued without him.
...
It was a shout that roused him from his dusty slumber. A cry that ripped into his very being, cutting into him and he had gasped out loud, opening his eyes for the first time in many a year. He was aflame, pain infusing him and he reveled in it; a feeling beyond the blankness.
Castiel.
Castiel had grown into a young angel, a soldier much like Michael had once been. Now the angel was screaming, his voice so loud in the silence that was Michael's mind. He was being torn asunder by a wrathful archangel, for defying heaven and rebelling. Much like another angel did so long ago.
One name the seraph called out over and over, and it was not God's. He did not beg for divine forgiveness for his sins, nor mercy. He called out for another, selfless even in his dying moments.
Let him succeed, let him live, Dean, Dean, Dean….
The righteous man. Michael's intended vessel, if Raphael was to be believed. Despite all that had befallen the seraph, despite the betrayals of heaven, he still had faith. In a human, who by his very design would no doubt fail. It was faith, pure and blinding, and Michael felt ashamed. Ashamed he could not feel the same way, ashamed for letting the seraph slip through his fingers so easily. Ashamed he had failed once again.
Michael felt the moment Castiel died; the bright scattering of the seraph's grace across the cosmos.
Books fell from the shelves, dust swirling and papers fluttering as Michael spread his wings. It burned, his muscles and ligaments snapping with misuse but he ignored it, pushing free from the confines of heaven and its dead halls. Slowly and painfully, Michael gathered the tattered pieces of Castiel back together, smoothing his lips across the glittering fragments, knitting together flesh and bone. He trailed his fingers lovingly along each feather, restoring each knick, each burn and every scar. Castiel had descended into hell and retrieved the righteous man, and as such bore that honor upon his wings.
It was a laborious task, but Michael diligently pieced the seraph back together. He felt a pang of regret that it was beyond his powers to save the human soul that had so bravely given itself for a lost cause, but was comforted in knowing that the man was at peace.
Castiel was not Lucifer, despite the wicked whispers. Castiel was a being that loved, that knew of selflessness. And as Michael cradled the seraph's limp form tightly against his chest, he lamented the years he had lost not knowing the angel, of thinking the worst. With murmured apologies, Michael set the seraph back on earth, hoping that perhaps he had finally done some good.
He then returned to his dusty halls. There was no place for him out there.
Then...then Castiel came to him, and it hurt to look at the seraph, his fierce loyalty, his bright faith. He was too much like Michael used to be, too righteous and beautiful. Did he not see how weak Michael was? Had always been? He could not stop Lucifer. Lucifer was relentless, absolute, and Michael was tired of trying. Tired of it all. Let him come.
Let the fight finally be over.
...
The library was even colder after Castiel left, lifeless without his fire. It would be so easy to slip back into the depths of his despair, to float upon the sea of numbness again. Michael could hear the horn of war, the panicked fluttering of his siblings in heaven as they prepared for battle, and he felt a stirring. God was dead. Lucifer was free. The odds were stacked so impossibly in front of them, yet they prepared for war.
Michael left the library, pushing the huge doors open despite their protests and screeches. He blinked in the light; feeling like an owl suddenly thrust into the sun, to find most of the angels had already descended to earth, the others all at the gates of heaven, ready for the onslaught. Only one angel remained, and he sat serenely upon the library steps, face tilted towards the sun. Michael approached him, joints creaking and protesting from misuse.
Joshua didn't respond as the archangel stood above him, merely tilting his head further into the line of light.
"They say you speak to God," Michael's voice was so much quieter than it used to be, but Joshua did not comment on it, merely opening his eyes to look up at the archangel with soft eyes.
"They are correct."
Michael paused at that, his wings creaking and rustling in the quiet. "Does He ever speak to you in return?"
Joshua chuckled, reaching up to take Michael's hand in his. "He doesn't have to."
Michael looked out over the empty expanse of heaven, wondering dimly when it was Raphael had built so many buildings. "God is dead. You speak to nothing but a ghost."
"Funny," Joshua mused. "They say the same about you, yet here we are."
Michael looked down sharply at the angel, but Joshua was looking back up at the sky. "God is only dead if you believe Him to be, Michael." He continued. "That's why we have faith you see."
"I have no faith," Michael said bitterly. "I know the truth. How can I have faith?"
Joshua shook his head, fingers squeezing Michael's. "Faith does not need facts. It does not understand truth or lies. That is why in the wrong hands, faith can be so dangerous." The angel dropped his hand back to his lap, taking a deep contented breath. "But it can also be beautiful. A flower amongst the weeds, giving us hope that the winter will end and spring will come. We need but nurture that flower. Let it grow."
Michael glanced away, jaw clenching. "But the flower will wither and die amongst the weeds." He growled, impatient with Joshua's games. "The weeds will choke it, deny it sunlight and water."
Joshua nodded sagely. "Of course. If we allow it." The angel looked up, peering into Michael's face with sudden interest. "The question is whether you will allow it, Michael. Will you allow the flower to die? Or will you trim the weeds away?"
It was not a flower they were truly discussing. Michael looked down at Joshua, and found his wings jerking, suddenly longing to stretch wide and fly.
"God is dead," he repeated, as if this would explain everything. Joshua merely snorted.
"Only if we believe so, Michael. Only if you believe. Nothing is ever truly gone if you love it." The angel leaned upwards, pressing his palm hard against Michael's chest. "You always carry love within. Always."
They stayed like that, Michael staring with wide eyes and chest heaving, even as Joshua slowly pulled away, settling himself more comfortably on the steps.
"So I suppose the true question here is not whether you have faith." The angel shrugged. "It is whether you have the will to fight for that faith. Do you have the will, Michael? Do you have the will to nurture such a flower?"
Michael thought of an angel with singed ebony wings. An angel who should not exist but did, an angel who had a will so much stronger than Michael. An angel Michael had once clutched to his chest and loved so fiercely, long ago, broken and bloody on a cold marble floor.
"Yes," Michael said, and Joshua's smile seemed to light up all of heaven. "Yes I do."
…..
Castiel could only gape in undisguised awe at the being before him, hand clutching his burning chest.
Gone was the sickly creature moping before a marble hearth, and in its place was a warrior. At Lucifer's words, Michael's wings snapped upwards, flames erupting in an inferno, blazing tendrils of fire crackling along each feather. His eyes were bright and smoldering where they glared down into the depths of Lucifer's; his dark hair no longer limp and greasy.
Michael was restored, and he burned brighter than Castiel had ever seen. In his right hand he brandished an archangel's blade, and Lucifer eyed it warily.
"Well. Guess it was foolish to hope you'd just stay moping around up there huh Michael?" Lucifer remarked, slowly straightening; talons digging into the cracked earth. "Long time no see."
Michael snarled at him, the sound as loud as a lion roaring as his wings fluffed further. "You dare stand before me and speak my name so easily?" The archangel's feet squared, his body poised and ready for a fight, even though he wore no armor. "You dare lay your hands upon my seraph?"
Lucifer's shadows contorted, his dead wings twitching in anger. "Your?" he spat. "Castiel is mine. Go back to your dusty library Michael. Pine away and leave the fighting to the pros."
"I will not." The ground shook with the force of Michael's voice, the monsters around them cowering away. "For too long have I stood aside and lamented my failures. Too long have I haunted heaven and done nothing. I failed you a long time ago Lucifer, but I will be damned if I fail my brothers and sisters again."
"So you're going to stop me is that it?" Lucifer laughed, the sound hollow and bitter as he paced in front of the archangel; a tiger in a cage. "Cause that worked well last time didn't it?"
Michael did not move. "I will cast you down once again if I must."
Lucifer leered at him, forked tongue rolling between his jagged teeth. "Right. What about our poor little son hmm? Mummy and Daddy fighting again. Come on honey, think of the children."
The devil advanced, body moving as sinuously as a snake. "Tell us Michael," he murmured, voice smooth as silk. "Why don't you tell us all how you begged for it? Gagged for me to just take it all, on a cold library floor."
Michael stood frozen, eyes wide and horrified as the devil advanced, the sword in his hand trembling. The monsters were closing in again, sniggering and jeering, and Castiel struggled to his feet, breath coming in short gasps. The pain in his chest intensified, and he bent over, gritting his teeth.
"Do not listen, Michael," he grunted. "Lucifer's words are poison and lies. Empty and hollow."
Michael snapped out of his trance, and Lucifer backed off, growling unhappily. A loud shout from nearby signaled that Gabriel was once again near, and Michael threw a quick glance towards Castiel, bent double.
"I loved you once," Michael admitted, turning back to the devil, squaring his shoulders. "That is true. It blinded me to what you were capable of. But what you have become…can you not see Lucifer?" Michael gestured around them, at the bloody battle ongoing, the monsters that grinned around them. "Look at what you have done! What a fine accomplishment indeed, murdering your own and cavorting with abominations."
Michael's eyes were hard and unforgiving as he looked at his brother. "You became everything we despised."
"Enough of your lecturing, Michael!" Lucifer snarled, decayed wings flapping. "You made your choice, and now you'll suffer the consequences!"
The devil lunged forward, and Michael parried the deadly claws with his blade. "For choosing God over you?" With a grunt, Michael spun, his wings sweeping wide and forcing the devil back a few paces. "Lucifer…I always loved you. Despite your atrocities, and your blasphemy, I loved you. Even after…after…" The archangel looked away, over towards Castiel who was on his knees in the dirt, sucking in deep lungful's of air. "Even after that, I still loved you. I believe a part of me always will."
"It's too late for that!" Lucifer screamed, slashing outwards and catching Michael on the arm. The two grappled, Michael winning and shoving the devil backwards. "You cast me down! You could have joined me Michael, and you chose them! You chose God, you chose man, you chose everyone except me!"
Michael returned Lucifer's glare, searching those black shadows for anything left of the brother he had loved. "And if I could do it all over again, I would do the same. I regret my mistakes, but not my choices. God forgive me."
"God is dead!" Lucifer advanced again but Michael forced him back with precise strikes of his blade. "I killed Him and even then you still loved Him! Even our…even our…" the devil hissed, drawing back to gesture angrily towards Castiel. "You couldn't even love him."
Michael's eyes were sad, but he did not relax his stance, not allowing Lucifer to move past him towards the seraph. "You are not God, Lucifer. I can never love you as I love Him. Dead or not."
"Enough!" The devil's bellow sounded across the clearing, and the monsters nudged one another eagerly. "I will make you watch, Michael. I will make you watch as I destroy the world and create a new heaven."
Michael shook his head, blade raised and ready. "No. No, you won't brother." His wings blazed in the darkness, his grace strong and once again with purpose. "For I will destroy you before I allow that to happen."
Slowly, Michael raised his left hand, sweeping it in front of him in a wide arc. The monsters surrounding them shrieked as flames of holy fire swept through their ranks, forcing them to flee or die. Through the hole they left swept another archangel; Gabriel. Eve fled the flames with her children, and freed, the archangel was at Castiel's side, propping him up as he looked towards his older brother with wide eyes.
"Michael are you-"
"Gabriel, many years ago I gave to you a fledgling," Michael said grimly. "You vowed to me you would protect him at all costs. Does your vow still stand true?"
Gabriel dipped his head in shock, and Michael smiled grimly. "Good. Ensure you do so. Lucifer and I have much to discuss."
…..
Gabriel winced, looking away as the two greatest powers of light and dark clashed; the boom making the earth tremble. Castiel's face was ashen, his breath coming in shallow gasps as Gabriel ran shaking hands over his face and body.
"Kiddo what's wrong? Did that bastard get you with something?" his voice was shaky, terrified. Castiel motioned to his chest, and Gabriel nodded. "Ok, ok hang on. I'm getting you out of here."
Gathering the seraph to him, Gabriel hooked his arm under Castiel's legs and back. Quickly, he flew them up and away, just in time it seemed, as the dark shape of Lucifer slammed into the space they had been. Gabriel flew towards the edge of the fighting, where he could sense the bright souls of the humans that had accompanied them there. The Winchesters had set up camp behind a wall of dead monsters, and Gabriel added a few more to the pile with his powers as he landed.
Balthazar flitted to his side, a jagged cut along his forehead. "What's wrong? Is Cassie ok?"
Gabriel's fingers were fumbling with the armor's leather straps, and Balthazar joined him, undoing the straps at the waist. "I dunno, something's not right, " he said desperately. "Lucifer might have gotten him with something."
Crowley swayed over, firing a few fireballs into the roiling mass of monsters, Sam and Dean just behind him. Dean spotted the three angels and hurried over, eyes wide and fearful.
Gabriel cut him off before he could start yelling. "We don't know. Lucifer might have done something."
Sam sank down beside them as well, face drawn and eyes vacant. "Gabriel…I…I have to tell you-"
"Not right now, Sam," Gabriel said curtly, sliding the heavy metal of Castiel's breastplate free. "Kinda busy."
Castiel's breathing didn't get any easier without the armor, clutching at his chest with bloodless fingers. With murmured words of comfort Dean shuffled around to pull the angel's head into his lap, running shaking and bloody fingers through his hair.
"It's gonna be ok, Cas. It's gonna be ok."
The angel looked up at him with frightened eyes, giving the hunter a tiny nod. Gabriel ripped open the leather tunic beneath the armor, flattening his hands on the heaving ribcage beneath.
"Okay," he murmured. "Okay this might sting a bit. I'm just gonna use some grace magic to find what's wrong."
Castiel reached out to clutch Gabriel's arm, nodding slightly.
"Hurr…hurry," he wheezed.
Concentrating, Gabriel reached down with his grace, tentatively touching his own to Castiel. To the humans, the archangel's hands appeared to glow with a white light; his eyes bleeding liquid gold. After a moment or two, Crowley pushed forward, ignoring Bobby's hushed whispers.
"Well?" he demanded, nervous. "Is he alright?"
No-one was prepared as Gabriel suddenly grinned, his teeth a stark white against his bloody face as he pulled his hands away to clap them happily. "Well I'll be a son-of-a-bitch. That is just wildly inappropriate Castiel!"
Castiel was still wheezing, managing to look confused and murderous between breaths, and Dean asked the question for him, glaring over at the archangel.
"What the hell Gabe? Is he okay?"
Gabriel glanced up at the human, eyes dimming to their normal amber. "Well considering I'm about to take the career plunge of a midwife in the middle of a battle, no. But otherwise, yes."
The group fell silent, all staring with wide eyes at the archangel as the battle raged around them. Even Castiel seemed to have stopped breathing in disbelief, and Balthazar leaned over to tap him gently on the shoulder, prompting the angel to exhale shakily.
"Can you run that by me again?" Crowley asked, wriggling a finger in his ear. "I think I went momentarily deaf. Did you sssay midwife?"
Gabriel was looking at Dean, the human opening and closing his mouth like a startled goldfish. "Congrats Dean-o. You're gonna be a daddy."
…..