Sometimes we make mistakes. Sometimes we make miscalculations. Sometimes we do things we know we shouldn't.
And sometimes, we just have to live with the consequences.
The next time Michael opened his eyes, he wished he hadn't. For the action brought with it sensation, all of which as far from 'good' as he'd yet felt. Multiplied by three. At minimum.
As soon as the shock of it all settled well enough that he could move, the archangel screwed his eyes shut against the feeling of his vessel wanting desperately to divulge every single last drop of food or liquid it had ever, in its gluttonous life, taken in. Glad that the self imposed darkness also hid from his view the hideous picture of an Enochian emblazoned ceiling and the burning light of what must have been some sort of... lamp.
Where the hell-
"Not quite how you were hoping that would turn out, huh, Michael?"
"Samuel," the archangel said, by way of acknowledgement. Dismayed when it came out nigh unintelligible.
"What the hell, man? I thought things were good- that you were good. I mean, what the hell were you thinking?" Sam demanded, sounding as if he were keeping his outrage as private as possible.
"It got me out here, didn't it?" The heavenly being in the borrowed body pointed out. Tilting his head ever so slightly so as to look the Winchester in the face. Realizing as he did that only one of his eyes was functioning well enough to open more than a crack.
"Yeah, but at what cost? You literally almost died before we even got you out of there. Seriously, Michael, what were you thinking?" The hunter asked, more insistent the second time.
"I had half thought it would be enough to finish the job you and your softhearted family were too 'compassionate' to yourselves," the angel informed, tone as derisive as his throat would allow.
"What 'job'? What are you talking about?" The eternal thorn in Michael's side demanded.
"Me. I'm the biggest threat to you and your family and everyone else's families existences. By the hunter handbook, you should have put me down well over a month ago. You're practically honor bound to it," the archangel explained, having to stop to catch his breath by the end.
"Look, since you have access to Dean's memories, you should already know that there are always exceptions to the rules. Like Garth and his family: friendly werewolves. And besides, wouldn't you rather... keep living, given the choice?"
Michael closed his eye against the trite argument, uninterested in the younger's hopes and far flung dreams. Growing instead increasingly occupied as his ribs and lungs and throat continued to fight against his ongoing efforts to regulate his breathing.
"Michael?" Came that ever persistent voice. Pleading as if the one he was wasting his breath on was somehow beholden to care.
"C'mon, dude, we're not trying to 'end you' or a-anything like that. We just want what's best for, well, honestly, for Dean, but nobody's out for your blood, man."
"Were I only so naive," Michael retorted with a derisive scoff. Breath catching when the small but sudden contraction of his diaphragm caused an abused muscle along his side to pang with a sharpness that reminded him of being stabbed.
"C'mon, Michael, you said it yourself: that we should and could have gotten rid of you over a month ago," the simpleton argued. Completely oblivious to Michael's attempts to keep composed and calm while a tearing, cramping crawled both up and down his side.
"Michael?"
"Everything... hurts," the celestial being all but wheezed, finally exhaling as the terrible sensation began to dissipate. Then, just as he noticed the unfamiliar feeling of water leaking from the corner of his eye, so did Michael notice his 'visitor' flinch with surprise.
"Are you crying?" Sprang the incredulous question.
"What? Don't be ridicu-"
"Oh my God, you're- You're an archangel and you're crying." Blurted the brainless buffoon. Whose face sobered an instant later.
"... How bad is it?"
"...I'm not sure I'll live," Michael admitted. Surprised he'd answered at all. Let alone truthfully.
"Cas said you're gonna be fine. A-after a few more healing sessions an-and some rest," the human insisted with the assistance of a bobbing nod.
"Your tone does not inspire confidence, Samuel," the archangel informed, further dismayed when he felt a trickle of something slimy slither out and down from one nostril.
"You'll see. When we get you back up to factory standards-"
"If."
"When, dude. The word's 'when'. You're sharing that body with my brother, remember? He and I? We don't give up on each other," the hunter said with far more conviction than Michael thought he'd yet heard from the lone cerebral member of the family Winchester.
"Even when possessed by an archangel?"
"Especially then. He didn't give up on me when I said yes to Lucifer, so-"
"You were possessed by Lucifer? And lived?"
"Heh, uh, yeah, that was, like, forever ago. How did you not know that?" Sam asked, sounding now far more entertained than Michael had ever heard him sound.
"As established over six weeks ago: I suppose your brother is good at something after all."
"Secrets are sort of his specialty," the giant said with a chuckle. Which Michael let fade away to silence before posing his next question.
"Are you putting me back in that 'Room'?" Michael asked, voice and face purposely devoid of emotion.
"...Are you going to do this again if we do?" Sam asked, voice and face no doubt as serious as the hunter could make them.
After a slow swallow, thickened by a tang the flavor of which Michael vaguely recognized as human blood, he spoke his piece. "No matter how gilded, a bird who has tasted freedom will always attempt to escape its cage."
"I'll take that as a yes," the hunter with the narrowed eyes informed.
"I refuse to live like that any longer," Michael informed, feeling a flush of anger warm him from somewhere deep down.
"Well, you don't have much of a choice in the matter, because as long as you're possessing my brother, you're staying alive. And as long as you're alive, Dean wants you in that Room. For good reason."
"Then I choose death," said the archangel, wishing he could draw breath enough to give the statement the conviction it deserved.
"That's not an option," the Winchester said with a hand motion which spoke volumes about how much the current conversation displeased him.
"Listen, we're still in progress making the place more of a home, alright? We're making more furniture; Cas almost has the lights figured out, he thinks; Mom- uh, Mary's on top of the research side of things-"
"Research which all parties pray will eventually lead to my expulsion from your beloved brother. At which point, I will either be left to rot in that prison you dare call a Room, or summarily put down like the rabid dog everyone thinks me." At the tremble in his ultimately human voice, Michael tamped down hard on his roiling emotions. Ashamed to be feeling them at all. Let alone betraying them through tears and tremors.
As he did that, the hunter by his bed averted his gaze and rubbed at his own stubbled face. Looking almost as if he too were attempting to dispel some unwanted swell of sentimentality.
Pathetic.
"I pose instead a third option," Michael said on his first truly calmed breath. Then, sure he had recaptured his babysitter's attention, he went on. "Bind my divine powers, find me an alternative vessel, and set me free."
"But Dean's your true vessel. The sword of Michael? You'd burn out anyone else within a-a matter of months. If you're careful," Sam admonished, looking like he might want to grab the archangel by the shoulders and shake him. Something said archangel knew the stilt of a man didn't have the nerve for.
"If my powers are truly blunted, I won't need my sword," Michael reasoned. "Besides, I am not so reckless with my vessels as you so obviously think me." The responding disbelieving look reminding succinctly why it was he so disliked Samuel. "Except, perhaps, with this particular gambit," he 'corrected' with a spared glance down at the battered vessel in question. A genetically engineered weapon which, on his world, his heavenly brethren had failed to create for him. And which, in this parallel dimension, had turned out far more trouble than it was worth.
"You're not kidding, are you?" The least dull member of the family Winchester asked. Face tilting toward incredulous.
"Have you ever known me to 'kid'?" Michael asked, every spare drop of venom infusing his rhetorical statement.
"Huh," the only thing the simpleton said for an awkward, overly long moment. Before looking the archangel in the good eye once more. "You might be right about this. I'll have to run it by Cas, and Mo-Mary, but we've actually done something like this before."
"Hooray for you," Michael said as he reverted his gaze to the ceiling, rather turned off by the Winchester's sudden over-enthusiasm.
"I'm serious," began the half-indignant defense. "Years ago, Ruby —a sort-of friend of ours— needed a vessel so she could help us out with... some stuff, so we helped her find one that wasn't being used by the original owner and-"
"I'm not familiar with this 'Ruby'," Michael said, happy to cut off the tedious recount.
"How could you be? You're from another dimension," said the man who thought he'd just pointed out a glaring hole in a higher intelligence's reasoning.
"Because our earths are perfect copies of each other and because every angel knows —or, in the very least, knows of— every other angel. It's the way of it," Michael informed with a sneer. "We're all related, and I don't know any 'Ruby'."
"Well, Ruby wasn't exactly a-an angel... per se."
"Come again?" Michael demanded of the stuttering plebeian.
"She was kind of... the opposite?" Informed the glorified shaven monkey, with an unbecoming cringe.
"What?"
Wordlessly, the Winchester raised one hand high enough so that it could be seen without issue, then, with one unnaturally long finger, pointed to the floor. Looking uncomfortable as he-
"A demon?! You dare lump me in with that filth?" Michael demanded, head spinning just a hair with the effort his outrage had taken to express.
"Uh, yeah, 'that filth' helped us save the world, so I can think of worse you could be 'lumped in with'," the gangly hunter informed with an enraging half smirk.
"And I can think of many ways I could maim you where you sit," Michael growled, realizing with a sense of disappointment that it lacked most the bravado necessary to come across as satisfactorily intimidating.
"And that's the kind of talk that gets you the cuffs," Samuel The Sinner said as he raised the damnable things by one ring, dangling links glinting in obvious taunt.
The archangel glared in response, wishing he could access but a fraction of his potential so that he could wipe that stupid expression clean off-
"You promise to behave if I don't put these on?" The peon with the long hair prompted.
"I 'promise' not to maim anyone," Michael grudgingly allowed, blood simmering enough to warm his vessel ever so slightly.
"Good enough for now," said the extortionist as he stowed the offending tool of bondage with a raise of one brow.
"So, I'll run this past Cas and we'll get back to you on the efficacy and logistics of finding you a suitable alternative long-term vessel."
"Ooh, look who knows a four syllable word," Michael couldn't help but jab.
"Uh, right... get some rest, Michael. Sounds like you need it."
The way the dolt looked at him as he got up from his chair and left the sigil encrusted, cloth walled medical room, face a mix of confusion and dismay, was a welcome improvement over any of his earlier expressions. Still annoying, but an improvement nonetheless.
So, with some small sense of victory, the archangel reminded himself that the disturbing persistent pains of his vessel were indeed not sign of an impending and agonizing death, but in fact a temporary step on his virtually powerless road to recovery. Then, comforted by his reasoning, he closed his eye in a bid for contemplative quiet. Pleased when it went uninterrupted for quite some time.
Wow. Give me freedom or give me death? That's pretty metal of Michael. But considering he just smote himself and all, I'd take the request seriously!