Chapter Six

Is That a Slipper, or Are You Just Happy to See Me?

He closes his eyes and lies back on the sofa. Samael has gone to retrieve the First Born himself because even though his…baby momma called him, Amenadiel has not yet come to the penthouse. Michael figures it's because Menny is eager to be jailer but not thrilled to speak to him one to one or see him out of his quarters. As if an ultrasound on Sam's couch is the equivalent of going to Disneyland. Decker and Linda must be in the bedroom, and if he perks up Celestial hearing, Michael might hear them. He doesn't want to. He has no interest in any gossip since it's all about him these days.

Well, more accurately, the twins and the fact that Father has planned something truly horrible. At least as far as he and Sam are concerned. They have an expiration date and it'll be before even next Christmas.

Maybe Sam and the Miracle should get a few extra holidays and birthdays in before Father unmakes them both. It's…it feels impossibly hopeless. And already, Michael is getting used to grabbing his belly. It's not even evident he's pregnant. More than two months in, actually. He's had such a hard time keeping anything down all week, but inside of him are two, new archangels.

A demiurge.

Something that for once could be beautiful and not a mess, but certainly not if Father gets His hands on them.

Michael sighs and rubs at the twinge in his right side. He'd been getting it on and off for weeks but had been too dense to realize what was happening to him. Then again, why would he guess this?

"I don't know what to do yet, but I won't let your grandfather have you. I don't know what I'll have to bargain with or where we'll hide, but he won't…you won't be made into monsters like your uncle and me. You won't grow up to hate each other."

And his voice cracks on that second part because he and Sam are semi-functional because neither wants to die and both want the twins to survive and be safe. They are not friends. They are hardly brothers. But once, when the multiverse was new and they shaped it together, they could spend hours talking to each other or joking. They had been each other's dearest friend, and then they just…weren't.

It pains him all over again to think of such a fate for the little lives inside of him. They should care about each other. Protect each other. And he wants badly for them not to be identical like him and Samael, to not live so obviously in competition for the spotlight, but that probably won't happen either.

Some terrible, twisted thought makes him wonder if they will grow up to be such an exacting replica of him and Samael that they will be identical as well. That it's just a new iteration, another collection doomed to fail because it's Father who's the poison and not them.

It never was.

His eyes still closed, Michael sighs heavily and rubs at his flat stomach. "Whatever happens, don't turn on each other. If Sam and I hadn't during the Rebellion, maybe…maybe things would have ended up better for both of us."

His heart clenches, and he frets over how to hide them. To what? To find a way to kill the Presence. Yeah, right, that's an easy feat. No problem at all.

"I am so sorry your grandfather, that Dad, that He hurts people. You don't deserve it. Your mom never deserved it either."

Footsteps approach him, and he opens his eyes, expecting either the doctor and the detective or Azrael. He's less sure it'll be kid sis since she seems to have taken a flight to stretch her wings. He half figures she's gone after Gabriel for answers too since the ass won't answer either his prayers or Sam's.

And Michael's tried four times since he and Sam shook on their deal.

The bastard. To gossip and lord the information over others but then to leave him to twist in the wind when Michael needs more than a fucking ultrasound. He needs an audience with Father. By now, he's more than fucking earned it.

But when he opens his eyes, he's a bit confused to find it is neither Sam's humans nor the Angel of Death. It's the doctor with his own personal ultrasound who seems more than a little disgruntled about not being employed by any actual (read legitimate) hospital.

Michael sits up and eyes him suspiciously. "I thought you'd fucked on off."

The doc curls his lips in a slight smile. "You know, sooner rather than later, developing fetuses recognize the sound of their mother's voice in the room. Might want to think about that before they come out cursing like sailors."

"Yeah, sure, I'll take that under advisement. I'm sure you have another client to see at four a.m. Strikes me as your high time for business." He arches and eyebrow at the doc.

"Sure, but the animal trainer and his husband can wait for yet another wound cleaning. You know, I keep telling them about corralling the Komodo dragon and they never listen. Well, the trainer doesn't but I'm not trying to drug it on the sly again. Try and keep out of the personal lives of the paying clientele."

"Did Samael stiff you already?" Michael asks. "Is that why you stuck around?"

The doc shakes his head and rakes his hand through his closely shorn dark hair. "No, but I'd…look not asking questions is how my business model is supposed to run."

"Good instinct, go with that," he bites back. Michael has no interest in explaining himself or what he is and what he's not. If the human can hack it, so be it. He seems the sort to do almost anything for enough cash and Sam literally has more money than God. "I don't have any answers you're gonna want to hear anyway."

Doc nods at that. "No, I get that something really fucked up is going on here."

"Now who's cursing in front of a conglomeration of cells?" Michael chirps back.

"But…and I get a feeling I'll be seeing way more of the weird in the next five or six months."

"You said I was two months. So that's seven. Humans go nine." He frowns. He's not completely sure that's true now that he really thinks on it. Linda and Chloe seemed to think so, and they'd done it."

"As opposed to what? Elephants and dolphins?" The doctor rolls his eyes and sits on the edge of the chaise part of the sofa. He leans in close to Michael and lets his voice drop to a whisper. "We do, but you're carrying twins."

"So?"

"You do know that most twin births are premature. If you get to eight months, you'll be lucky."

Michael feels like one of his siblings slugged him; the air is so thoroughly pushed out of his lungs at that revelation. "No…I get nine months. That's what they…we get." The doc frowns at him but he continues anyway. "I mean, I need the time. Dad will…" he trails off and wants to pace, but he's tired and hasn't fed lately. He seems always to be hungrier (for lack of a dumber, more degrading term) these days. "…I need the time."

"Someone hurt you badly."

It's not a question.

"Get in line. I mean, it wasn't just one," Michael admits honestly but whatever jeers of the Host over the eons isn't really what the so-called good doctor means. He looks away and figures it doesn't matter which direction anymore. From either side, his scarred mess of a face is an eyesore. "My family is complicated."

"Your brother is footing the bill, and I don't come cheap. Linda knew that when she called but this place is clearly doing well as a club. Too touristy for me, but the reputation is no slouch. Heard the Molly chemist here was the best in the city now."

"I wouldn't know," Michael says, studying the shiny black marble beneath his feet.

"But," the doc says, leaning closer still and setting a surprisingly gentle had on his left knee. "Scars like that…the way you favor your right side. Michael, that doesn't just happen. If your brother is the reason…I can't just leave you here. It's not supposed to be my business-"

"Then why the fuck is it?" Michael demands, looking up and just barely keeping his eyes from going gold in his frustration.

"Because there are some things I don't ignore and this is one of the few. Are you safe here?"

"With Sam? Yeah, we're fine. I mean, we're not great, but no, he's not hurting me."

Anymore.

"But your father is controlling?"

"A real master of the universe type," Michael answers. "Apparently if how you reacted to Linda's third degree, you know the type. Figures they're God's gift or God Himself, same difference."

"I do. So it's your Father who-"

Michael curls up on the sofa, and while he's still tall like this and all long limbs, it's so much easier to wrap around himself. To make himself small and fragile. Or maybe he's that and it's finally truth in advertising. He's not sure anymore.

"I don't have long to figure out what to do, all right. I don't…make this last as long as you can. That's your job, right? Get me to nine? Isn't that the deal."

"If your father is hurting you, then there are places you can call. My assistant knows some numbers for places."

"Not this time and not for this situation," Michael replies tersely. "You'll understand soon enough, even if you keep your head down and just cash the checks. I'm not your typical pregnancy."

And he'd rarely understated anything so succinctly in his life.

"No, I don't think you are or exactly all that's going on here, but if you change your mind, I'll make sure to get the brochures and business cards from ye olde assistant anyway." He drops his hand from Michael's knee and stands.

"Be careful, doc. That's how I got in this mess."

"Huh?"

"The mother…" And the doc frowns at him as Michael starts to speak because of course any reasonable person would point out he's the mother. He's carrying but Michael can't even wrap his head around a title like that. He's the dad or, more accurately, he's the incubator. These are Lopez's kids, and he owes all three of them everything he has in himself to get the twins here and safely so. That's all. But a human can't understand that. Tough. "…that's how we really met. She thought I looked pathetic back then too, and I had less scars then. I just, never mind, Doc, been a long day."

"You're not a cartoon rabbit."

"Huh?"

"I get one 'what's up, Doc' from you and I might just tear up the checks." The doctor shakes his head. "William but everyone-"

"Yeah, William, fine," Michael snaps. "I guess I tend to scream pathetic everywhere I go lately."

Maybe he always did.

"No," William says but not unkindly. "You seemed like you needed a lot of help, that's all."

Michael lies his head back against the cushion and sighs to the ceiling. "Needing help is the same as pathetic."

"Maybe," the doctor says, fishing around in his pockets. "I can't put off the angry dragon call any longer, but if you need anything, here's my card."

Michael leans forward again and takes it. The card is plain white, nice stock, but it only has a number on it, not even the doc's name let alone address. Then again "trunk of my car" probably doesn't look grade on office stationary.

"Are you a hooker?"

"No, but…it's discreet," William says, shaking his head. "More me. Anyway, I'll be back next week for a check up and to get you on something you can keep down if you're still having morning sickness by then. Michael, nice meeting you."

"You mean nice meeting Sam's bank account."

"Well, that too," he admits, smiling and heading to the elevator.

Michael takes the card and shoves it in the pocket of his flannel pajama pants. Great, he's locked up in a tower and the only medical help he has isn't just human but also possibly moonlighting as a stripper or a dealer. But of course, Raphael would probably rather spit on him than help, even she's even allowed at all.

He sets his head in his hands and keeps himself from shaking, just barely.

Gabriel, I need to talk to you. You know why. Get your ass down here!

He sits like that for a while, and it's been both hours since Azrael spilled the beans and years somehow. Shock. That's what Lopez called it back when he first got his period-and as always fuck you so much Father for all of this-that weird time dilation that he can't explain where seconds take years and sometimes the reverse. But soon enough (at least he thinks) there's a hand on his shoulder, and he expects it of all fucking people to be Chloe. She hates his guts, and he gets why, but she is clearly on board already with protecting two mini-miracles.

He'll take whatever allies he can give his twins, but when he looks up, Michael thinks he's finally cracked. That he's hallucinating.

Because it's Scrappy, and she's wearing a zip-up sweatshirt that opens widely over her sushi pajama pants and a t-shirt with a rainbow colored cat with a unicorn horn on its forehead glaring forward and with a caption about how the cat's not a morning person.

It is a ridiculous ensemble and says everything about her that it could off the bat.

He gapes between her and Rae Rae. "I…I thought you were getting Gabriel?"

His sister shakes her head and then cleans her glasses on her robes. "I can do that right now. He knows I have a new blade, the ass. He can get down here and explain himself."

Sis spreads her wings-and it will always hurt to see functional pairs, any pairs at all-and flaps off again.

Ella stands before him, and except for the few, precious minutes in that alley behind Lux, he hasn't seen her in months. Michael reaches out and takes her hand with his left one. "You're real?"

She nods and hugs him so tightly that even he-a Goddess-can barely breathe. "I missed you. I…I missed you so much."

He nods and sweeps her up into his lap. "Me too, Scraps, but you're not supposed to be here. You have a new apartment and a new job because Sam mentioned you did, and you're going to finish your novel finally. You're going to leave Celestial crap behind. It's better for you."

"Is that what you want?" she asks, and when she sits back to face him, he realizes the look in her eye is the hungry, angry one in alleyways. The same one, actually, he saw on her face the first time he ever met her and when she pummeled him with a shoe (which Michael still doesn't get). "You don't want me here?"

He wants to be noble. He wants to want to do the right thing, but he has missed her so very much. And he's scared. Because he doesn't know how to save them, any of them, and he just needs her. He's better with her, and Michael can't do this alone. But she…

"You deserve better," he says.

She takes off her bunny slipper and smacks him with it in the shoulder. It doesn't hurt. Not like her sneaker hurt either just confused the fuck out of him. But she definitely gives him a few more whaps before settling it on her foot. "You complete idiot!"

Ella continues to rant a bit, a mix of that Clangon stuff and some very irate sounding Spanish. Even he's been around her enough to know that chingado isn't a compliment.

"Uh, wait, are you here to hug me or shoe me to death?" He offers her a small, sad smile. "Because I know Azrael and her very large mouth, so you know you can't harm a guy in a delicate condition, right?"

She glares at him. "After all this time, corazón, do you not get that better is you?"

"I really fucked up and I hurt you and I-"

"You did," she says, sitting back down next to him and setting her head on his shoulder but regarding him too with those addictively sincere, wide anime eyes of hers. "But I meant it in the alley too. I miss you. Were you not gonna tell me about them?" She highlights her point about the twins as if he could ever confuse it by spreading her hand over his abdomen.

"I've known about four hours, maybe? It's hard to tell. I was in a lot of shock when Azrael told me and it's all been kind of in and out of focus since," he admits.

"You knew you were getting an ultrasound. I…missed the first appointment."

He snorts. "I don't think some sketchy concierge who kind of owes Linda because his dad and her are med school buddies counts as the first appointment you were envisioning, Scraps."

"But I want to be here."

He sighs heavily and takes her hand in his again. "You have had something angelic fucking with your life since you were eight. Sam, me…Rae Rae…we were all gonna let you go. You should have had a chance to have a life where angels aren't messing it up."

"You're not."

He laughs, and the bitterness in his tone hurts even his ears. "Really? I think we all fucked it."

She glares back at him, and he has to remember that for a tiny human, she can be kind of scary. "I think I might have kind of done the reverse, Mike."

"Yeah, ha-ha, but I…" he adds his right hand to the one already holding both of hers. "…I'll understand if you don't want to deal with this. I swear, Scrappy, I didn't know. I had no idea that I could do this…that Dad could make it so we could. I wouldn't trap you like that."

"Not a trap, and I know. You didn't even know you could cycle. I mean, I was there and I know just all of this has hurt over and over again. Mike, you didn't ask for this any more than I did."

And it hurts something deep in his chest that the children inside of him just happened, that they were inflicted on him and Lopez at Father's designs. That they hadn't even had a chance to plan, not that normally they could for such a thing, but maybe they'd have gotten here somehow or adoption or something without the games and Miracle bullshit.

He guesses they'll never know.

"But you can leave. You have lost so much because of Celestials."

She looks pointedly at his stomach and then at his eyes. "I've gained more because of them. Look, we're not okay. We're not in a great place. We're in a place but it's hard and it'll take a long time to trust you again."

"I know and I am so sorry."

"And you'll have to show me that. But those are my hijos. My gemelos, and I'm not going anywhere. Mike, the last two months have felt like sleepwalking, and I missed you, you dummy."

He relaxes and buries his head in her hair, that citrus smell sharp yet comforting against his nose. "Me too and I just wanted to give you the shot, Lopez. I can't ask again. I've tried to send you away a few times now, and if this is what you want, well, then I'll do whatever you want."

"That'll be the day," she says slyly. "I just want to figure out how this happened and how to…is this dangerous for you?"

He sits back up and shrugs. The fact his body is already being weirder than normal bothers him. The random glowing he can't really tamp down when it flares up and the extra hunger he's already noticed, well, more accurately that extra pain and need to Fear. He hasn't changed his schedule yet, only ever couple weeks but he is scared that will need to be more frequently.

And he already loathes every time he has to do it.

"I'm a Goddess. I mean, Dad must have done the fucking math for this. He reconfigured me so much that I'm up to it."

"That's not exactly what I asked, corazón."

"I'm tired. Morning sickness is a fucking joke. But I can do this. I just…we have a lot to talk about."

She nods. "I bet. Because, seriously, how? I'm gonna need more than the Big Guy said so. I mean, dude, we're not exactly-"

"The same species? Yeah that came up in my thoughts too."

"I know your dad moves in mysterious ways, but this isn't what I expected," she adds.

Michael laughs. "Me either, believe me. I'm about ten times more confused, Scraps."

She snuggles into him, and he's missed this so much. "I really missed you. I even had this totally bonkers dream a while back about us at the Grand Canyon but you were different, more like I guess you used to be. Bad turtleneck sweater, the works."

He frowns at that because that can't…

"What?" And his throat is a bit dry at that.

"Yeah crazy. But the dream…well that you gave pretty good advice, you know? At least you definitely encouraged me writing and stuff." She quirks her head at him. "That was just a dream, right? Because if being the Angel of Fear lets you just dream hop, you really should have told me."

"It doesn't, but Lopez-"

They are interrupted by the flap of wings and not just Sam and Amenadiel arriving but about the same time out on the balcony the flash of osprey colored wings and the dark feathers, so hawk like, of The Angel of Messages.

If Sam is shocked to see Ella there, he doesn't show it. Being the consummate host he always is (at least for his gaggle of humans), he gives Lopez a courtly bow because everything is affectation with his twin. "Well, Miss Lopez, as I live and breathe."

She stands and after a beat a bit too long hugs him. It's stiff, which is odd to see on her, but Ella does hug him. "Hey, how are you?"

"Apparently not a parent in any fashion, which makes me the only person in this room."

Amenadiel looks more constipated than usual. "Michael, what have you even done?"

He doesn't have the energy-literally, he hasn't kept calories down in days-to deal with this shit at three a.m. "She knocked me up, if you want to get technical about it."

"Actually," Gabriel says, striding in.

Michael winces at that. His brother actually looks nothing like him or Sam. Outside of being tall like most of the guy angels tend to run. But he's apparently Dad's Aryan draft of things: tall and lean, a swimmer's build, and blond hair. His eyes are icy like Chloe's come to think of it, a similar shade of blue. But one is just a hint lazy. Nothing as abominable as busted wings in heaven, but just a bit of imperfection nevertheless. But he is tall and strong and clearly masculine. All the things Michael feels he's been missing for the better part of a year now. And after so very long between Menny leaving the Silver City for Chucky, his own punishments, and Sam's fall…

After all of it, Gabriel finally has the key place at Father's right hand that he's wanted since the beginning of time.

"Oh, so you can answer a prayer," Michael snaps.

Ella takes his bad hand in hers and squeezes it tightly. It's sweet, like she can protect him from one of his siblings. She can't, but he's not surprised that Scrappy lives up to his moniker, that she's trying to be bold in a world that outclasses her.

"I can, when it's allowed," Gabriel says.

"Oh, had to brown nose and get it past Father Dearest. Now doesn't that sound terribly familiar," Sam says.

He has not put his wings away. They aren't bladed yet, but unlike Rae Rae and Amenadiel who have both stepped back a bit from the couch to offer space, Samael hasn't sheathed his weapons yet. Michael gets it. Sam's as much on the chopping block as he is. He'd have his wings out too if he only could.

"What were you saying earlier?" Amenadiel says. His brother focuses on Gabriel and sometimes on Ella but barely acknowledges him.

Sure, as if Michael had a grand master plan to make himself a chick, seduce Scrappy, and have twins with her. Sometimes, Amenadiel really was the dullest star in the heavens. He wasn't scheming anymore. Hadn't been in a long time. At this point, Michael was just the one acted upon.

"I was saying," Gabriel continues, "that Michael's not completely accurate."

His heart lurches in his throat.

"If you're saying that this is more direct, like with you and Mary…that these children are actually Dad's…" he trails off, breathing hard for a few, interminable beats. "I don't want to know."

Everyone assembled looks greener at that suggestion, even Menny. Ella squeezes his hand more tightly.

Gabriel shakes his head and stands ramrod straight, as if he were commanding the Legion. It rankles but of course his younger brother has that role now. But here it's too formal, too try hard. It's just them in the dead of night and by now he figures Linda and Chloe escaped to the closed club below for a breath and some alcohol. He wishes desperately he could have some too.

"They're hers. I mean, it's a Nephilim Demiurge this time. Very carefully chosen actually."

"I don't understand," Amenadiel says.

And isn't that a surprise.

Sam pipes in too, wings twitching. "Yes, what are you on about?"

Rae Rae gets closer to the sofa, sitting on Lopez's other side and wrapping an arm around Ella's shoulder. He's not sure what she's figured out, but the way Gabe said all this…it makes something quicken in Michael's heart as well, makes him more nauseated than his morning sickness.

Gabriel narrows his eyes between Amenadiel and Samael. Michael gets it. Even if he and Sam are on the same side…his brother sometimes takes forever to get the point. It's the myopia. Amenadiel is just kind of dense but not the kind that comes from being self-centered.

Still, relatable. Like herding cats. Big, angelic cats sometimes.

"Father chose Ella Lopez specifically for this. They're hers and yours, and since you've begged me to come, I have some rules Father wants to lay out. So, Sister, let's chat."