HEAVEN WAITS FOR YOU
PART 1: Heaven's Prodigal Son
NOTE: This arc picks up with Michael's exit in "The Valley of the Shadow."
Michael flew from the Earth, barely managing to contain his wrath until he was out of range of the fledgling. The two humans trailed behind him, wrapped in the protection of his grace. Not that they deserved it. He was sorely tempted to let them go and watch their miserable souls burn in the planet's atmosphere, but he wanted answers first. They would burn enough later.
Space and time folded around him with each fiery wing beat, and in less than a human-heartbeat he was there. Heaven—the one place he thought he'd never see again. The only place he ever wanted to be. Home.
The Host sang in his mind, praising the return of three archangels. Their chorus blended with frantic questions concerning the explosion of grace that had shaken the foundation of Heaven, and the unmistakable cry of a fledgling. So many voices creating a cacophony of sound, and yet he heard the gaps where many were now missing.
Michael landed inside Heaven's main hall—an enormous gathering space from which all other hallways branched. 'The Heart of Heaven,' some called it, or 'Heart Hall' for short. A glorious cavern crafted by the Head Architect from grace and stars, it could expand to hold infinite numbers of angels. Countless eternities had been spent in this space, singing and grooming and just existing together.
Heart Hall teemed with rough-looking seraphs huddling in clusters. They had been assembling teams to investigate before Michael intercepted them. He hadn't realized the ragged group barely capable of flight were the healthiest of the Host.
Michael let the unconscious humans fall to the ground as he stared, his mind temporarily stunned in horror. Everywhere he looked, he saw evidence of wars. Battles the Host fought while he'd been trapped in the cage had left scars on everyone.
Raphael had described some of it during their time with the Father, but not to this extent. He wondered how many siblings were lost after the Healer's demise. Why had none of the other healers tended to anyone? Most of the angels he saw had burned, mangled wings incapable of flight. And even more shocking was the fact that almost every single angel had a vessel.
Michael ran out of time for contemplation when a hush fell over the hall. One-by-one, seraphs turned toward him. He felt their brokenness as his own. "Hello, brothers and sisters." His voice carried easily through the room. No one moved.
The silence continued until a figure broke through the crowd. He recognized his sister, Sariel—Heaven's top warrior and Michael's personal guard. He'd not seen her since he left to battle Lucifer.
"Commander?" she said in awe.
Michael smiled, pulling her in for an embrace. "Sariel, it is good to see you again." He felt the scars on her grace where old injuries had never healed properly. If Heaven's best was in so bad a shape, then what chance did the others have of being any better?
"How...just how?" she asked, disbelief marring her joy.
"It is a long story," he sighed. Looking across the sea of faces, Michael addressed them all. "I must apologize—to all of you. The last time I stood here, I demanded obedience and in the same breath I ordered destruction. I was wrong. I forgot my purpose, and the purpose of Heaven, in the absence of our Father. And in turn, He lost faith in us."
Murmurs and gasps rolled through the hall. They were all lost children, and had been for a long time. Michael saw that now.
"But we have been given a second chance. I have been given a second chance. Our Father pulled me from the Cage. He gave me back my purpose, and showed me His plan for us. We have a lot of work to do before we can fulfill that purpose, and it all starts now." That turned some heads as hope sparked in the midst of despair. "I want all healers to report to me immediately. Same goes for any seraphs who have been serving as leaders in my absence. I need reports on everything that has transpired since the apocalypse. Once I am up-to-date, we can begin work on fixing Heaven, and our family."
Seraphs began breaking off from their groups as the healers made their way toward Michael. His grace ached when he saw how few remained among their ranks. Raphael would be devastated.
"Sariel," he said quietly. "I must ask two things from you. First, I need you and at least two others for a special mission."
"Of course, sir!" Sariel's eyes lit up. "What will we be doing?"
Michael smiled at her eagerness. "The cry you heard earlier? It came from a new fledgling."
Sariel gasped and looked behind him like the child might be hiding. She frowned at the slumped bodies. "Where is he? Why is he not with you?"
"He is safe for the moment. Gabriel and Raphael have him." Michael gazed around them at the broken structures and angels. "Heaven cannot nurture a fledgling in its current state. Especially not this one."
"What do you mean, sir?"
Michael sighed and drew her closer, away from the approaching healers and curious ears. "It is Samuel Winchester," he explained in a whisper. "Father healed the boy's soul with His own grace."
Sariel stared at him, blinking almond-shaped eyes slowly in shock. "I...I see how moving him to Heaven could be problematic. We do not have a good history with the Winchesters—especially the younger one." Her quick appraisal of the situation made Michael want to hug her again.
"Yes. And some of us...I have personally hurt him in ways that are unforgivable. I cannot ask him, nor force him, to come here. Nevermind the fact that Heaven is crumbling and our caretakers have all been reduced to soldiers. We are not capable of handling this child at present."
"What can I do?" she asked, agreeing with his assessment.
"Gabriel has formed a flock on Earth," he said with equal parts fondness and longing. "They are an odd mix of angels and humans, but fiercely protective of each other. I would not have them separated for any reason."
"'Angels' plural?" Sariel's mouth dropped open in realization. "You mean Castiel? The traitor Castiel is caring for our newest sibling? Is that wise, sir?"
Michael rested a calming hand on her shoulder, using his grace to soothe her rising agitation. "Yes, I mean Castiel. I understand that his devotion to the Winchesters has often led him down a troublesome path. He has made many mistakes. So have I. But now is not the time for judgment or vengeance. We have all been given a second chance, and it shall be used for reconciliation. Castiel has the Winchesters' trust, and I have seen him interact with Samuel. To separate them would only lead to more fighting and death."
"I...I understand." Sariel shook her head—she understood, but it was still hard to believe. Michael felt the same way. She squared her shoulders, and repeated, "What can I do?"
"I need a team to guard Gabriel's nest. A group of humans managed to get their hands on some of Heaven's most powerful weapons. We will be taking steps to eliminate the threat they pose very soon, but I want this flock protected in the meantime. No one is to approach their nest unless cleared by you or Gabriel."
"What weapons do they have?"
"I am unsure what items they still possess. We recovered a few." He handed her the Olive branch. "This is one—a holy relic from the Sisters' Olive trees. And I believe Raphael has just recovered a Tear of God."
Sariel almost dropped the branch in horror. "A Tear? A Tear was taken by humans? Did they know how to use it?"
Michael nodded. "Please, secure this in our weapon's store. And gather the other seraphs you think best suited for the mission. I wish to see them before you leave. Hurry—time is of the essence. And be discreet—I will announce the fledgling's identity once I am assured the Host will not react poorly. Until then, not a word to anyone."
"I understand, sir. What was the second thing?"
Michael made a face of disgust as he gestured at the humans. "Take them to a cell. I will interrogate them as soon as I can. Place them under our most trusted guards. I want the humans alive no matter what the jailers hear them say."
Sariel saluted without question and took off through the crowd.
Michael turned to the small group of healers who stood nervously nearby. Their own grace shone dimly from lack of self-maintenance. Sighing, he waved them forward.
"How can we be of service, sir?" asked Remiel. Michael didn't remember her being so timid.
"Is this...all of you?" he asked, trying to keep the devastation from his voice.
Remiel gave a single stilted nod. "We lost most of our numbers when we fell to Earth. Some of us managed to find vessels, but even then we faced numerous threats. I fear we have failed as healers. Our grace never recovered from the fall—many angels have suffered and died because of it."
Michael saw the others hang their heads, unable to look at him. He had never seen such defeat among his siblings. "No one has failed more than I," he assured them. "How would you like to help me restore Heaven to its rightful state? Hmm?"
Several heads popped back up. Remiel took a shuffling step back. "You want our help?"
"Of course," Michael said, bewildered by their response. "Why else..." But he saw it now—the way they all were bracing, huddled together for support and some amount of safety. "You thought I called you here for punishment."
"We failed..." One of the other angels started to say, but Michael cut them off.
"If our Father has enough mercy to cover my sins, then how could there not be enough for the Host?" he asked. Michael knew his own failures far outweighed those of his younger siblings. His leadership had led them all down this path, misguided and driven by the desire to see the world end. "I was not brought back to punish those I led astray. God has set me on the correct path once again, and shared with me His vision of things to come. We are no longer operating in the dark."
"And we are really going to restore Heaven?" Remiel asked, daring to look hopeful. It hurt to think that hope would require so much bravery for beings made of grace.
"That is the plan, little sister," Michael said gently. "Tell me—how fares the Garden?"
"The Garden? It is fine, sir."
"Then walk with me. Can anyone give me a general report about the state of the Host?"
Remiel stepped forward to walk alongside Michael. He staggered against a wall, too weak to hold his vessel upright as she listed their losses. So many! He wanted to race back to their Father, make Him return this very moment to personally oversee His children. How could Michael handle the magnitude of Heaven's brokenness alone?
"Sir?" she asked, worried at his reaction. "Are you alright?"
"No," he whispered, pushing himself upright and wiping his mouth with a shaky hand. Damn this connection to his vessel! "How is Heaven even functioning right now?"
"It..." Remiel glanced at the other healers. "We are not functioning. Not currently. Not for a long time."
"I set you on this road to ruin long before the Apocalypse. This burden is not on your shoulders." He tried to be reassuring through his own grief.
Before they could continue, Sariel returned with two seraphs. "Commander," she said, coming to attention with a salute. He returned it with a smile, reminded that not all was lost. "I completed the task you ordered, and have put together a team."
Michael looked at the other two. Sariel's choices surprised him. Of course, once he considered the seraphs' past specialties, he found them to be potentially perfect fits.
Nuriel was a fierce warrior known for her kindness. Her vessel suited her—strength hid behind soft, round curves. She had once been Head Caretaker in Heaven's nursery, back when there were still fledglings. And when the last of the angel children were fully grown, she'd assimilated into a garrison. Her experience with fledglings would be a great asset.
Zadkiel stood next to her in a scrawny, pale vessel. A shock of bright red curls sat atop his head, and barely old enough to grow whiskers on his chin. The angel was a competent fighter when challenged, but his jurisdiction was mercy and compassion. Most of his life had been spent as a virtual office worker, sorting through incoming prayers and assigning them as needed.
"Nuriel. Zadkiel." Michael gave each a smile as he said their names. "Please, join us. I will see you healed enough for flight before you leave. I am sure Raphael will finish my work as soon as he gets a look at you." He led them through through the halls of Heaven, his grace shifting the paths ahead toward the Garden. He listened to the angels' ruffled wings and low whispers. No one was accustomed to hearing the Commander speak with humor—including Michael himself.
"So it is true?" Remiel asked in a small voice. "The Healer will be returning as well, sir?"
"It is true," he confirmed, warming at the thought. "Raphael and Gabriel have both been resurrected, and restored to their respective places as our Father's Healer and Messenger. As I said—Heaven has a purpose again, and Father wants to make sure we have the leadership to see it through."
They entered the Garden. It sat at the center of Heaven. Michael remembered when the Garden held all of existence—long before the creation of seraphs and planets and souls. He took a deep breath, smelling the combination of rich vegetation and spiced earth. It smelled like home.
Joshua sat against the tallest oak tree, not bothering to open his eyes as they approached. "It is about time you got here, Michael."
Michael paused, tilting his head. The Keeper of the Garden never failed to intrigue him. "You were expecting me?"
"I knew of your coming for a long while now," Joshua opened one eye and smirked, wrinkles growing prominent along his ancient face. "Shame on you for making me wait."
"My apologies," Michael said, returning the smirk even as he heard the seraphs nervously whispering among themselves again. Most were probably to young to realize that Joshua was one of the first seraphs—almost as old as the archangels. "You may have noticed that I am a late bloomer in many ways."
"Better late than never. Some flowers need extra seasons to show their true colors."
Michael's smile wavered, emotion clawing at his vessel's throat in a way he still disliked. "How do you decide if too many seasons have passed? When do you give up on a plant that does not show signs of thriving?"
"When they die and provide more earth for the next generation of seedlings." Joshua said, slowly getting to his feet. "But in this Garden, anything is possible. Life never ends—it transforms."
"Good," Michael said, pulling the old seraph's thin vessel in close. "We have need of transformation today."
Joshua stepped back and looked over the group standing slightly away from the archangel. "Why do they all look like they expect you to smite them?"
"I am not entirely sure. They get very nervous whenever I smile. Do you think I am doing it wrong?" Right on cue, he heard more wing shuffling from behind.
Joshua chuckled. "Maybe it is the shock of seeing their Commander smile at all. The archangel I see before me is not the one I remember. I imagine it is quite disconcerting for those who never knew you capable of smiling in the first place."
"Oh." Michael hadn't realized the change he felt was so noticeable to those around him. He felt different—lighter, freed from the driving desire for destruction and unburdened by the insanity of the Cage. But was he so different that a simple smile was enough to cause this level of disquiet?
His confusion must have shown on his face because Joshua chuckled. "Smiling looks good on you, Michael. Just give them time. There has not been a lot of smiling in Heaven lately."
"Then I shall endeavor to reassure everyone that my smiling is not a sign of the end times. In the interim, I am in need of a place to heal this lot." Michael swept his hand toward the healers and Sariel's team.
"Been in Heaven for five minutes and already getting to work," Joshua sounded exasperated but his eyes shone with approval. "At least you had the good sense to come here. The Garden is more conducive to healing than a crumbling hallway." He led them to the giant oak and encouraged them to sit.
Remiel was the healthiest looking of the healers. Michael figured the best strategy would be to start with those who needed the least work so they could join him in working on those next in line. He sat next to her, explaining to them his plan, and began to work.
Michael's grace flowed strong through the little healer, quickly adjusting her levels and healing old wounds. He didn't have the finesse or skills of Raphael, but he made up for it with power and speed gained through field experience. His brother could fine-tune everyone later. There was time.
Remiel tensed when he started, and Michael had to remind himself to be gentle. They were no longer on a battlefield. Healers were the most sensitive to others' grace, and none had stronger, more potent energies, than the archangels. He tried to not burn through her already-painful injuries.
When he finished with her, Michael moved on to Sariel while Remiel began work on another healer. The guard he was sending to patrol Gabriel's flock had to be in peak condition—including their wings. He hated doing delicate procedures.
Joshua mingled with them, occasionally commenting on their techniques. Mostly, he hummed to the seraphs and flowers. It made it easy for everyone to fall into a rhythm of calm healing. Michael greatly appreciated it.
Time ran slowest in the Garden, allowing them to rush less. He didn't want to send anyone out on a mission of such importance with badly healed and useless wings. But he kept track of time passing outside the center of Heaven—the guard needed to be in place on Earth before the fledgling returned to his home.
As each healer was restored, they joined Michael in grooming the chosen guard. His domino-strategy worked, and soon all three members of Sariel's team was under the intense healing of multiple full-powered seraphs. The entire Garden glowed with blazing grace and wings.
The healers practically bounced with excitement. Their joy and pride reverberated through the whole body of the Host. Songs from Heart Hall flowed through their minds as the rest of Heaven sought to lend their energy and enthusiasm.
Michael shivered at the onslaught of emotions. While time spent with his Father had buffered the isolation of the Cage, it hadn't erased it. To be this connected again to the Host was fantastically overwhelming. He would willingly drown in it if it meant never being cut off again.
When the last guard member was fully healed, they all stood. Michael looked at them with satisfaction. "Thank you all. This is an excellent beginning." He bowed his head low in appreciation to the fluster of the seraphs. "I must meet with others, and get more work started. For now, I need you to begin triage and healing on the rest of the Host. I would like to have at least one full garrison ready and able to fly and fight if needed. Beyond that, prioritize as you see fit. If you find more healers, or those with potential as healers, please bring them into this effort. Our work has only begun."
He watched the healers sprint from the Garden, eager to use their renewed grace on their siblings. Grinning, Michael turned to Sariel, Nuriel, and Zadkiel. All three stood at attention, rejuvenated and full of purpose.
"Thank you, sir," Sariel sounded breathless, stretching her wings in wonder before focusing.
Michael shook his head, not wanting her gratitude. "It is the least I could do—and we are only getting started. I imagine Raphael will be less than thrilled with my efforts, although he will be pleased to see his healers are still capable and willing."
"What did you need us to do?" Nuriel asked, glancing at the other team members in curiosity. "No offense, but we are an odd choice for a special mission."
Michael chuckled, and was pleased when none of the team acted put off by it. Good—they needed to be open to laughing archangels if they were to work around Gabriel. "I remember you, Nuriel. You were one of our finest caretakers, and became an excellent soldier. Zadkiel—your compassion and mercy will serve you well, as I believe you will need an abundance of both. And there has been no greater warrior among the seraphs in all the ages than you, Sariel. You are perfect choices. I am sending you to guard the new fledgling and his flock on Earth."
"Fledgling!?" Nuriel gasped. "On Earth? But why, sir?"
"All in good time, sister. If you three will follow me," Michael said, leading them out of the Garden. He sent a mental word to Raphael, asking for an update. It took a few seconds for the Healer to reply.
We have just left this...place. The disgust was clear in Raphael's voice. Gabriel informs me we shall reach their home in approximately three hours. Apparently, they live in something called a 'bunker.'
A bunker? Michael asked, confused. I know what a bunkers are, and they are not usually homes.
That was my thought as well. But he assured me it was adequate for raising a fledgling that started life as a Winchester. He paused, and Michael waited, knowing there was more. I will let you know if I find the location to be otherwise.
Thank you, Raphael. Michael had no doubts that his brother would make known his opinion. Do you have the destination coordinates? I am sending the guard down to be in place for when you arrive.
Raphael sent him the location—a combination of images, mathematics, and emotions. Michael thanked him and wished him luck on their journey. He looked forward to seeing his brother be able to return to Heaven again soon. He hoped it was soon, anyway. Life with Gabriel and the Winchesters was bound to be unpredictable.
Michael led the team back to Heart Hall. It was as good a place as any for him to begin a more thorough evaluation of Heaven's needs. "I am sending you down now. Gabriel and Raphael will be with them when they arrive." He smiled, remembering his exchange with 'Righteous Man' Dean Winchester. "Also, it is important that you allow Gabriel to control your interaction with the rest of his flock. I have already been informed by one of the human members that extra protection from Heaven is not necessary nor welcome, but will be tolerated as long as you remain unseen."
Shock rippled through all three of them. The idea of a human dictating demands to the Commander of Heaven was inconceivable. Michael following those directions was probably even harder to believe.
"Do not worry," he reassured them. "You will understand when you get there. Now, I must ask that this is treated with the utmost discretion. Sariel knows a little more, and I promise you will soon learn the rest of the details."
Nuriel and Zadkiel both nodded, their faces serious though Michael could feel their curiosity. Sariel placed a hand on each seraph's shoulder. "I picked them for many reasons, Commander. Their trustworthiness is one."
"Excellent, Sariel." Michael smiled, and mentally sent her the location provided by Raphael. She gave a nod to show she understood. "Go now, you three. And good luck."
He watched them fly out of the hall to the cheers of the surrounding seraphs. The noise startled him, but he realized it must have been some time since they'd last witnessed an angel in flight. Which led him to wonder how exactly the angels had been moving between Heaven and Earth without the use of their wings.
Walking around Heart Hall, Michael quickly found exactly what he was looking for—or more specifically, who. A small cluster of seraphs stood in a close huddle. Each shuffled a large stack of papers, intensely passing pages and making more notes as they conversed in a whisper.
"Are those for me?" he asked, almost afraid to interrupt.
All four jumped back, and turned to face him. One actually dropped his armful of papers and Michael watched as they fluttered slowly to the ground. "My apologies, sir!" the seraph's voice cracked as he threw himself to the ground to gather the pages into a pile.
Michael knelt down next to him and gently patted his shoulder before helping collect the notes. "Peace, brother. I know my return is a shock, but you have nothing to fear from me. You are Puriel, correct? The Soul Inspector?"
"Yes, sir!" Puriel said breathlessly.
"I imagine your job has not been an easy one over recent years." Michael handed the papers to Puriel as they returned to standing.
"No. Not easy at all, sir."
Michael looked at all four angels. They were Heaven's record keepers, known for their quiet natures and attention to detail. But they were not leaders. "Are you the ones tasked with updating me on the status of the Host and Heaven?" he asked, head tilted in confusion. Where were the garrison heads? He'd expected generals, not secretaries.
"You asked for us, did you not?" asked an angel in a tall, female vessel. Her black hair was pulled back in a severe bun. Michael remembered her administration skills were unparalleled.
"Ingrid," he said warmly. She raised an eyebrow as her only outward reaction. "I admit—I was expecting more military leaders."
"Our garrisons are in disarray," Ingrid waved off his assumption. There was a time her dismissal would have angered Michael. Now, it just intrigued him. "As you will see from our reports, the military has dwindled. Those who remain used to be unit leaders who lost most of their members. Survivors are not entirely organized, although there has been movement to unite the forces."
Michael's smile fell away as he was handed a thick stack of papers. It was a list full of names. His vision blurred by the third page. As happened earlier, he felt his knees weaken and the mighty Commander stumbled to sit on a fallen pillar. The Hall faded around him until the only thing he could see was the unending list of names.
By the time he reached the tenth page, he was openly weeping. He couldn't even see the pages anymore. They crumpled in his fist as he covered his face.
The silence of the Hall made Michael's sobs echo deafeningly. He didn't know how long he sat there, openly mourning, and it didn't matter. It would never be long enough.
Eventually, Michael's tears slowed and he became aware of the stillness around him. He smoothed out the papers as best he could, not realizing he'd soaked several sheets. These names were sacred—each one was a sibling he had personally failed. They deserved better.
Wiping his face, Michael stood shakily and motioned for the four administrators to follow him. Ingrid no longer looked dismissive—her own vessel was pale and glassy-eyed as well. In fact, many angels whom Michael thought incapable of emotion were wiping tears from their borrowed faces.
Michael cleared his burning throat. "I have the healers working on any soldiers they can get their grace on. Once we have an established, fully-functional garrison, we can begin to restore every angel's wings." The admins nodded, still too stunned by his breakdown. "Do any of you have a report on the structural state of Heaven? And please tell me some of our Architects survived."
The two angels who had been silent thus far stepped forward. "I am Charmeine, Commander," said the angel wearing a short woman with wide, round hips that she used to nudge the others out of her way. "I was a Gardener under Joshua until Metatron threw us all to Earth. The Architects recruited Neil and I when we returned to Heaven. Now, we are the only ones left. The rest were killed a few months ago by Amara."
"Do you like it?" Michael asked with honest curiosity.
"Love it!" Neil replied enthusiastically, his messy curls flopping over his forehead as he nodded. "They recruited me after I was able to hack into our 'radio' system. It allowed Metatron to silence the Host and address them without interference." He froze in his excitement, a worried expression replacing his grin. "Um, I stopped following the Scribe once I realized his true intentions. I supported him when I believed his goal was to unite the angels."
Michael's eyes went wide. "You figured out how to control our communications? No wonder the Architects recruited you. And Charmeine—a Gardener's experience provides an excellent foundation for your new role. Both require intimate knowledge of how to use grace as a structural component."
The seraphs slowly blinked, processing his praise. Then, they smiled. "I told you he would be impressed!" Charmeine whispered to Neil.
Michael shook his head, thinking of Gabriel. It was the kind of scandalous prank the youngest archangel would have tried. Luckily, the Messenger had never considered the possibility.
"Do me a favor, Neil?" Michael said in a low voice. The floppy-haired angel nodded again, sending his curls flying. "Please refrain from telling Gabriel about your prior experience with our communications. I fear what he may do with such knowledge."
Neil's eyes lit up at the idea—clearly flattered that he shared a mischievous streak with an archangel. He visibly tried to tamper down his reaction by gulping, schooling his face, and nodding seriously. But Michael knew he'd have to keep an eye on this one. Especially once Gabriel began visiting.
Charmeine and Neil led them through Heaven, shifting the hallways to get to areas with the most damage. They handed Michael more papers with detailed reports of structural issues. Some held handwritten notes from the original Architects. These words were as much their legacy as Heaven's grandest halls. Michael handled them as fragile relics.
As they walked, Michael heard more about Metatron's actions. How he'd managed to cast the Host to Earth, leaving them flightless and fractured. How they'd been reduced to using a portal as a means of entering and exiting Heaven.
It took several hours of touring crumbling walls and shattered floors before Michael asked to be led back to Heart Hall. He had enough of a grasp on the damage to know where he wanted to start rebuilding. With a plan in place and orders to have their grace worked by the Healers first, the two Architects bounded back toward the Garden.
Michael looked over the Hall. The renewal had already begun. Angels everywhere stretched their restored wings, marveling at the lack of pain and damage. Hope spread to those who had yet to visit the Healers. Broken angels celebrated with their siblings, bolstered by the sight of strong grace.
So much still needed to be done—healing, building, restructuring routines. But this was a good start. Their resilience had served his surviving siblings well.
Michael made his way through Heart Hall, brushing his hands and wings against the seraphs as he went. Ingrid and Puriel followed close on his heels. When he reached the hallways, he set them on a path toward the one place he'd spent the most time—his own office.
"Puriel," Michael started, waiting for the awkward angel to step closer to his side. "How are the souls? Have they been affected by the damage and turmoil?"
Puriel remained quiet for a moment, and Michael feared the worst. Of all the areas they'd visited so far, they had not gone into the human portion of Heaven. Finally, Puriel answered. "I am...unsure, sir."
Michael stopped walking, and the seraphs nervously paused too. "What do you mean, 'unsure?'"
"Well, sir, when Metatron expelled the angels, it closed Heaven. Souls were trapped in the veil for a long time. And there has been almost no one but myself to oversee their care. I have been limited in what I can do. And recently..." Puriel trailed off, shooting worried glances toward Ingrid.
"Recently?" Michael gently prodded, trying to be encouraging.
"We have lost access to certain areas where the souls are stored," Puriel mumbled.
"That...does not bode well." Michael wondered what could possibly prevent an angel from reaching a portion of Heaven—especially the Soul Inspector himself.
They reached his office. A large, ornate wooden door stood between him and solitude. Michael had been ecstatic to return to Heaven and reconnect with his siblings, but he needed some time alone soon. The emotional drain of the day was taking its toll.
He'd spent centuries in isolation behind this door, only to have it broken when he became trapped in the cage. The time spent with his Father, Amara, and Raphael had slightly eased him back into socializing, but nothing had prepared him for being among the Host again. It took every drop of patience not to shove the seraphs away and barricade himself behind the familiar door. He needed to mourn the dead away from the survivors. Because he'd failed them both when they'd deserved better.
"I want you to visit the Garden and see Remiel about your wings. The healers have been working on soldiers most of the day—gather a team of them and see what you can do about getting to the souls," he said as he opened the door.
The rest of the order vanished from his mind when Michael looked inside his office. Everything was exactly as he'd left it. Desk in the center, neatly organized and uncluttered. Large windows overlooking whatever area of Heaven he wished—it currently showed the Garden and the teams of angels at work. However, there was one difference—a new addition.
A man sat in his chair, feet propped on top of the desk like he lived there. A human man. A human man Michael recognized, and wasn't surprised to find.
"Well, nice of you to finally show up. Do you know how long I've been waiting for your sorry ass? Too damn long!" the man said in a gruff, impatient voice. "What'd you do, stop for food?"
Michael heard the seraphs gasp behind him. He sent them away, telling Ingrid to accompany Puriel to the Garden. There would be time for more orders later.
As soon as they left, Michael stepped into the room and closed the door. "Bobby Singer," he said in the man's own language. "Why am I not surprised to find you here?"
AUTHOR'S NOTES:
Eternal gratitude to my betas and plotting parnters: Nathyfaith, ScrollingKingfisher, MonPetitTresor, and Patient-Number-Zero have all played enormous roles in ensuring this story got written (and that future stories are so detailed and ready to go)! THANK YOU!
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