Chapter 9

Quoth the Raven

He knows this is a dream.

At some point, Michael has passed out in the office and on the spare day bed while waiting for his twin. It's not that falling asleep bothers him. Samael is a struggle to deal with on the best of days, and this about the worst day of his existence, almost. But he is surprised a bit to be back at the same café with the red panda servers and the sushi conveyor belt. He's never been a huge dreamer before. Oh, Michael can dream and has, but his dreams usually come crafted from memory, a panoply of his endless regrets and losses.

They are rarely pleasant.

And they do not repeat.

So, he's a bit confused to be sitting back at the sushi place's main bar. He leans closer to grab a menu and stills, realizing that-for now-there is more heft to him than he realized. And in more ways than one.

Michael felt the odd shift and the pull of gravity before checking his belly. His stomach is large and rounded, and it looks as if in this crazy little dream of his, he's already six months along if he's anything. He cranes his neck a bit more, trying to see the full breadth of this somnambulant change but he definitely cannot see his own feet currently. He sits back on his chair and groans at the swell of his chest too. He's been reshaped to be tall and lean, much as he was before, so to be perfectly honest, he's mostly all legs and modest in bosom at all. It helps, that at least that part of his endless, bull shit changes, is not as pronounced as it could have been.

This is not that case for now. His breasts are larger and heavier now, grown along with his belly and whatever divine equivalent for hormones have surged through, well, dream him. He's not sure if whatever that's all about involves being able to nurse. He knows fuck all about pregnancy because the only human he'd really hung out with never talked about her children and he learned soon enough with Lily never to ask. Angels didn't, and he didn't know. He's pretty sure that because they're mammals humans nurse. So the Nephilim might but he's…

And of course Dad would.

Fucker.

But Michael's not even sure the progression for any of this except probably nine months (and it better be Dr. Drug Problems) and then getting them pushed out is going to be a level of pain even Michael has not ever experienced, at least in that particular flavor. When and if he'd nurse or anything else is a toss up. He sighs, even if this will be gone by the time he fucking wakes up, and makes a mental note to have a talk with both Linda and Chloe. Linda's gone through this whole bull shit thing the most recently, and she'd have books. He's sure she's the type to have the whole Barnes and Noble in her bookshelf. Maybe knowing more about what to maybe expect is good.

But for now, as he dreams, his crazy subconscious has come up with a progression in his pregnancy that has clearly skipped four or five months. And he's just trying hard not to stare at his rack or feel the fullness of it pulling on his bad shoulder and his back.

"Funny, brain, real funny," he huffs.

A red panda in a royal blue kimono with koi pond pattern approaches him. She smiles, and it's a little hard to gauge but he can make it out with the way her cheeks crinkle up too and her little whiskers twitch. "You're back!"

He blinks, and sure he was here once, but he's definitely never had a dream happy to see him return. It would imply he was good at remembering his dreams and that he has repeat ones, none of which have been true in billions of years. But you know a first time for everything or, more accurately, a second.

"Yes."

The panda nods very hard and passes him a water. "And you've made such progress."

"You knew?" And it's probably dumb to ask a projection of his subconscious this, but Michael has little else to do.

She nods again and pulls out an order pad. He's impressed at how well she grips a pen with her paws. "Oh yes. It was a great honor to have an Elohim here at all, let alone one who was with children. We didn't think you knew, so we didn't say anything."

"I…do pandas have some pregnancy radar because first I'm not this far along when I'm awake, and I was here once and that was a month ago. I think." He frowns because dream logic isn't logical at all so who even knows.

"Oh heavens no. You don't smell." She pauses and her whiskers twitch again. "Well, no more than any Elohim would. But may I?"

He quirks his head at her, unsure about what the little panda wants. "May you what?"

"Touch?" She asks quietly, staring at his stomach.

He wants to bark at her to keep her literal paws to herself, but he's already spent a night in the waking world poked and prodded, and Michael has the worst feeling his stomach just became public property anyway. Besides, it's his own brain that even asked.

"I…no one's asked before except my doctor."

"It's okay if you feel shy," she amends.

"No…I…this is all part of a crazy dream anyway. You can. I'll forget this when I wake up anyway, and Lopez was latched onto me like a barnacle before anyway."

The panda squeals, and she must never see pregnant people, let alone pregnant angels around here. Her paw is tiny and against the contrast of his gravid belly is made even smaller. "That's…I didn't know Elohim were made this way or any new ones were being made at all."

Michael sighs and decides that, fuck it, this is a dream, and he's going to eat a fuck ton of tuna and sake just to spite his waking self. "We aren't. We were Created by Dad and Mom, whole and adult, but these two are special."

She nods and takes her paw away after a beat. "That must be nice, to be the mother of special babies, even by Elohim standards. You must feel honored."

She's so damn sincere, and he is too tired to scream his head off about how Dad can suck his non-existent dick currently and then go die in a fire. He just wants some alcohol-real or not-so Michael goes along with her sentiments as best he can.

"They belong to the woman I love more than anything, and I'm happy I can give her a gift like this," he answers, for once adopting Sammy's trick of saying what others want to hear even if it's only a partial truth. It greases wheels well enough.

"You speak as if they're not yours, but they are clearly angelic beings too."

Michael sighs and feels even more parched than when he showed up here. "I'm a Vessel, and it's Scrappy who matters." His hands trace the girth of him. "They matter. I've been told pretty damn loudly that I don't and never did here."

"Did your, uh, Scrappy tell you that you don't?"

"Of course not. Dad help her, but I think Ella really does love me. She shouldn't. She should hate me for every damn thing I've done to her and that goes double now because they're beyond unplanned," he hedges.

Another side step so he can soon just order and get his booze. Father planned it. Father spent over a year planning it. Father Willed it just so that puke Pete could torture Lopez and drive her, eventually, to him. But he and Ella? Not a clue between them, and he just…he had wanted so much better for her. Because Celestial bull shit never makes anyone happy, and he wants her to be blissfully so. He's the Angel of Fear or the Goddess of Fear, same difference.

There is no lasting happiness to be found here.

"Then, they are still a blessing," the panda decides, clicking her pen and bringing it close to her pad.

"Literally," he grumbles. "But I'll have a bunch of spicy tuna rolls, a bottle of your cheapest sake-"

"There is no charge for anything the Dreaming, silly angel. Did you not know that?"

He gapes at her. Michael is no fool, and he was for so many epochs Dad's chief weapon and enforcer. He knows the endless. He was run afoul a few times of most of them when they and Father were at cross purposes. Usually Desire and their odd whims or even that prodigal before he seemed to disappear. But he has never just fallen into the Dreaming. Been sent there rarely as emissary, but just to slip into it.

That is not something he has done before.

Well except the first time at this little sushi joint apparently.

"This isn't the castle-"

"There are many parts of the Dreaming. This is open to you easily, so a sake of the nicest proof?" she asks.

He nods. "I could use it. I…I can't drink when I'm awake."

She finishes scribbling in her pad and nods hard. "Understandable, well I'll get right on that, Michael right?"

"Some days," he says, not sure how much longer he can keep any sense of self of having been, of billions of years as a male angel, when he's very much a pregnant Goddess (far along in the real world or not).

His body is doing something so fundamentally alien not only to having been male but to being an angel since they are supposed to be sterile that Michael just…

He feels so fucking lost.

"Good, then Sir Michael, it's nice to have you," she says, heading back to the kitchen to give the order.

He sips on his water, tired even if this is a dream, and sighs to himself. He can't help letting his bad hand stray to the swell of his stomach, to letting it caress the twins that aren't quite there at this level yet when awake. "You and your mom both deserved a better shot. I mean it. Sam and I will get you out of Dad's clutches. I don't know who I have to beg, barter, or steal from, but we'll get there, kiddos. I just…you're really putting your dad through a loop here."

He blinks.

It is the first time he's called himself a father out loud. He's mused about it, and decided in his own thoughts over the last few hours that for all his changes, he is the father. Lopez deserves the honorific of mother and him being forced to be the incubator doesn't change that. Besides, he's still Michael, still himself somewhere under all this chaos and havoc Father has wreaked. He's himself.

He is.

"But the sake better be good," he adds. "I think your old dad could use it."

There is a flutter of wings, and Michael tenses. It is highly unlikely to be any of his siblings. The fact that he is here at all and that it's allowed on no official emissary work is extremely unusual. It's again protocols for courts, but he's been exiled of course, forbidden from the Silver City, so maybe a lost, bastardized Celestial doesn't conflict with accords and custom.

He's not sure.

But no other angel just flaps into Dream's realm, ever.

So he tenses and wishes for about the millionth time he had even his crappy wings back. Having no weapons to reach for is disconcerting. Michael spins in his seat and glares to his left, expecting the visitor to be Gabriel. His brother had been wounded and humiliated by their confrontation. He would never put it past the jealous bastard to break even protocol to see him here.

Away from Father's full command.

But it is not any angel. No. Beside him is a raven who nods gratefully as a panda chef in a big, white hat sets a platter of what must be raw squid before him. Michael thinks he's imagining that the tentacles still wriggle. He honestly doesn't want to know.

The bird eats a few pieces quickly and chuckles his way. "I'm not an angel."

"I can tell."

The raven laughs again. "But you didn't know before. I'm not here to hurt you. The boss was just curious."

"Morpheus?" he asks, heart quickening. "I didn't mean to come here. I didn't know how I've even done it twice. Trust me, I know the rules. This isn't an overture of anything more than apparently even my subconscious being fucked up too." He sighs and accepts his sake and tuna gratefully from his little waitress. Michael drains half the cup in a gulp. "It makes sense it would join the rest of the club."

"Yeah, before I got sent on this plum assignment, the boss said you'd been through a lot."

Michael finishes his drink, pushes the fish to the side and sets his head on the counter to groan. At least he starts to do that, but at that angle, his chin hits the top of his now-ample breasts and it short circuits every damn part of his brain. He hops up from the stool as if scalded and breathes in ragged, deep gasps.

He's still himself, he's Michael. He's the Sword, and one day he will fix this. Be his true self again.

The raven hops at the counter and turns to fully face him. "Rough, I know."

"What do you know about anything?"

"Your sister and the boss's are close friends." The raven draws out the word close and Michael had assumed as much about Azrael, but she'd been cagey lately when he brought up Death at all. But yeah, he wasn't surprised. "Azrael talks and then Death talks so whether he wanted to know or not, the boss knows. You weren't always like you are now. I get that, even if I hadn't heard when I was still alive that the Sword of God was a big warrior dude."

Michael glares down at the raven. "I'm not a shrimp now. I just…I miss my body. I don't want to be pregnant-not that I was fucking asked about that-and I am so tired of nothing being familiar. In fact, the further I go, the less familiar it even is."

"Yup, been there."

Michael sets his hands on his belly protectively. "I doubt that."

"I said I was alive once, right?" the raven asks. "Well, before, I was a human dude. Matthew by the way, but I was a mob enforcer. I lay dying after my Don put a hit on me, and I had this choice: either serve Dream for millennia or go to Hell. I chose this."

Michael shudders. He knows what Sam's kingdom is like intimately. He has traveled there, and it weighs heavily on his mind because in the best of all probable scenarios, if Father doesn't outright unmake him, then he will reside in Mom's old cell. He will rot there, driven quickly into insanity by his pain.

"This is better."

"Yeah, sure, but I miss hands. God, those are so underrated." He punctuates his point by taking another tentacle, and it is definitely still moving, in his beak.

"Agreed. It's a real bitch missing some appendages," Michael adds dryly. "But Dream's not mad?"

"Nope. All I know is that when you pop in, I'm supposed to keep watch. I think you'll be fine. If anything bad happened to you then Azrael would be furious so then so would Death, and boss has a soft spot for that sister. She's his favorite, so…I guess in a way this is semi in-law charity, maybe?"

Michael sputters, not sure that's what he'd call their two sisters fooling around, though Rae Rae is hardly a love them and leave them type. This might be a serious fling for them both, but it hardly makes him and Oneiros buddies. But at least he won't cause a paranormal Def Con 1 for slipping into the Dreaming by accident.

"Fine," he says, sitting back down and getting out his chopsticks. "But yeah, it's hard not recognizing anything about yourself. It's confusing. Sometimes, not to make even a sort of pun, but it feels like the old life was a dream. I don't know how billions of years can get washed away when one is nothing, but this…never mind."

Matthew slurps up a tentacle greedily. "I wouldn't call being a bird comfortable, but I didn't like who I was before much. I broke knees and other things for loan shark enforcement. I was a real piece of shit. Now, I have to take the boss's orders, but I hope…maybe it's dumb but if you're gonna get a fresh start, how much fresher does it get than a new body, am I right?"

Michael considers that and digs into his sushi. The spice is plentiful on his tongue, and he finds it's excellent fish, very tender. "Same messed up insides. I think, bird boy, that we follow ourselves wherever we go. If that's going to be the case, then I want to be me again."

"Well, asshole angel, if that's the way you feel about it," Matthew caws a bit at that. "Then, that's your opinion. But you angels self-actualize, so if you miss what you were so much, just fix it."

"I have two passengers in here who might disagree with ruined accommodations."

"But Azrael told Death and she said…" he pauses to grab another tentacle. The slurping would turn Michael off his own meal if he weren't so ravenous too. "…you're Creation. So, it's the same whatever form you take, isn't it?"

"No. I'd have known if this were possible before. I would have."

Matthew shrugs. "Sure, I get that. I mean you're right. That billions of years thing. Yeah? Totally time to have figured out all you cand do. I've only been working for the boss a few years and I'm still getting a handle on the bird thing. Guess you'd have known every thing you could do before the bit switcheroo, right?"

"Exactly."

"And it's not like every multiverse version gets pregnant."

He blinks at the raven. "Wait, what?"

He's aware of the multiple universes stacked on top of each other. The other versions of himself and the Host and all other beings spread between the folds of space and time. He and Sam were ordered to lay that groundwork, spent eons doing it. It just had never concerned him much. It was more of a joke to him. He had enough to worry and scrabble for in his own universe. Aside from jokingly plotting to go to one universe where Batman was real and they could get on Wayne Manor's bankroll to muse Scrappy more than anything else, Michael hadn't given much thought to the ends and outs of the multiverse in a long time.

No more than beyond wishing Sam hadn't given Mom her own universe they couldn't reach.

Michael…he wished she were around more than anything, not just because he thought she could help protect Lopez and the twins from Dad, but more because they were more alike than he'd ever realized. That they were both the only repositories of Creation Father could control. He wondered about that so often these days, and if whatever was happening to him-whatever he was struggling to contain-would drive him crazy too.

But the rest of the multiverse?

He didn't have time to worry about universes that kept to themselves, never had.

"I don't…what?" he asks again. "I assume most other places that have a Michael, he's male."

"Oh, usually," Matthew chirps. He hops over to a short glass of water and dips his beak in for a sip before talking again. "But you're all always Creation, every single one of you. Sometimes, that goes even worse than it has for you. I don't know a lot, but we've hopped a couple other places where…you're doing better than those two poor bastards."

"How?" Michael demands, suddenly so bone weary he can't even stand it. "Everything about me has been twisted into a joke. Father did it to make sure I could grow my own replacements. I love Lopez dearly. Because of that, even though I wish there were any other way, to get the twins here, I love them too and I deal with this. Been dealing with it maybe ten hours, but I'm trying. How could it be worse?"

"You're not impaled through the side and chained to a corner of Hell even the Devil doesn't know about. It can always be worse, Goddess. I'm not giving a pep talk."

"Good because as one might go, this blows."

"I'm just saying you seem as fragile as the other two, and sometimes some pains aren't just a spear in the side, but they hurt almost as much." The raven hopped over to him and set one of his talons over Michael's left hand. "I am saying that I get it. Not being who you were is the worst. Not sure where you're going or who'll you'll even be in a year or two is even scarier."

Michael nods but pulls his hand away. The café is pleasant, the wait staff cute and unassuming, and even Dream's familiar is trying, but it still hurts. This bizarre sleeping respite or not.

He beckons to the little panda waitress for another sake, honestly asking for her to leave the bottle. He pours a cup for himself and one for Matthew, who eagerly accepts. "But I won't be here in a year." He rubs his belly, at the bigger versions of his twins but of children he is surely carrying regardless. "I don't even know if I have six months. I guess I'll never know any of it: who I was, who I am now, or what I could be. I know the answer-I'm the incubator. And when they're here, Father won't need me anymore. And He knows that, we all do, and Sam and I both are cosmically fucked."

"Yeah, Azrael's really worried." Matthew admits before sipping.

Michael frowns and it forces the pieces into place so easily now. "Dream didn't talk to you, did he?"

"Oh he knows you've popped in twice somehow by now, but no. In this case, the actual boss for this pop in is Death. She asked me to keep an eye on you while you sleep because Azrael means a lot to her and you mean a lot to Azrael. So, hey, sake buddies, right?"

Michael chuckles at the ridiculousness of his life and hopes it at least sounds lucid. He's not sure it does. "Little sis, kind of, put you up to babysitting me?"

"It's a good gig, and you seem nice if a lot lost. Like I said, join the club."

He nods and sips his second cup of sake slowly, savoring it this time. "Even if in the multiverse, a couple of other Mes had it worse-"

"Different. You seem real rough too."

"You have no idea," he admits. "I just…doesn't help me."

"Doesn't it? I mean, this is just me asking from what Death told me and what Azrael has said…in a stream of consciousness way. Girl doesn't breathe much, huh?"

This time his laugh his genuine. Never stopping to breathe just talking on and on, that was his little sister, but it warmed his heart that she'd been talking favorably of him and, more than that, looking for people to help him, keep an eye out for him. It was a welcome reminder that even if Menny despised him and Sam only played nice with him because they were so deeply, deeply fucked, that one of the Host loved him as dearly as he did her.

"She doesn't. But what do you figure?"

"That if you have powers as a Goddess and as the old Demiurge-"

"That I either have no idea what they are yet or how to use them and pretty sure Sam can't have Will anymore since he's demonic."

"You know what they say about assuming, right, bub?"

"Oh I…huh."

"Exactly," Matthew says. "I figure if you are in deep shit with the Presence, you better figure out all you can do to use against Him when the time comes. Boot camp or that training montage from every 80s film."

"You remind me of my girlfriend," he says, smiling and thinking of Ella.

"Sure, whatever, but 'wax on and wax off.' If you have powers, figure them out. If the Devil's powers got rusty, then he better move his ass on that. If you can hop to other places to figure out more about the Presence and His weaknesses, then do it."

Michael frowned. "But only Gabriel can do that, can move between realms. Other angels can't."

Mathew slurps up a tentacle, and some juice spills from his beak to the counter in the grossest way possible. It spoils the wisdom of his advice quite a bit. But doesn't make the next tip any less true or, somehow, hopeful. "You're not an angel. Not anymore."

"And Mom needed the sword to cut her into just one universe. I can't hop."

"The Presence can. You sure you couldn't learn?"

"Mom couldn't!"

Matthew shrugs again with tiny bird shoulders. "Maybe, but eventually, way I figure it at least for a few months, you'll be a Goddess carrying a new Demiurge. Think that might change your weight class a while, even if it's borrowed power? I'd start trying to figure out all you can do. Cause everyone in the supernatural realms knows war is coming-the Dreaming, the other Endless realms, Hell-including the exiled part with the First Fallen, and your own siblings above. So, you know, use it or lose it, right?"

"Maybe I could stay here, hide out."

"Yeah, Death wants to help, but that's not allowed. You know better than I do all the never-ending rules all your supernatural deities and other crap have. You can't be here to hide out, or then the Dreaming is at War in the Silver City. You can have rest here and on the down low, Death can help Azrael with research or find ideas, but this isn't a place to hide. You made the multiverse. You put in the sweat equity. Bet there are thousands of universes all folded together. Either you figure out your powers well enough to stop your dad or you get the hell out of dodge permanently. Either way, tick tock, bub."

Michael blinks, not even sure when he signed up for the world's shittiest pep talk from a bird, but his life has been strange even for him lately.

"I…huh."

"Yeah, real deep there. Now, enjoy the sake and the rest. Azrael says when you're awake, you and the Devil both are working against a huge clock, so you'll need to work fast."

Michael nods and pours his third cup of dream-sake. His hand strays to his belly again, and even like this, the larger incarnation of the twins does not stir. There is no kicking, but he can feel those slight flutters especially on his right side that had started not long after his incarceration.

"I will save you and your mom, no matter where I find for you to go."

"That's the spirit," Matthew says, eying his tuna. "You gonna finish that?"