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I do not own Supernatural or its characters.
Chapter 14
It was now November. John sat on the bed of their motel room, weapons spread out around him. His arsenal had grown considerably in the past few months, especially during the vamp hunt. He had been surprised at the number of people that hung around the Roadhouse, not hunters but only too glad to sell to hunters, and he had picked out some guns, knives, and specialized ammo. He set down a freshly polished bronze knife, and picked up one of his newest acquisitions, one he was particularly fond of, a semi-automatic pistol that took silver bullets. This would make things so much easier, there were so many things that required silver to kill, and now he wouldn't have to get close enouph to stab them. He smiled as he tested the safety, then began to disassemble the precious item to clean it.
Dean scrambled up next to him, "What are you doing, Daddy?" John looked down at the boy, "I'm cleaning our weapons."
"Why?"
"Well, stuff gets dirty, and if you don't maintain it all, it won't do its job. See this knife here?" Dean nodded. "Well, it's iron, and iron rusts if it isn't taken care of."
Dean picked up another knife, "What about this one, Daddy? Will it rust?"
John chuckled, "No. That one's silver. Won't rust, but it will get tarnished, which is just as bad." Dean nodded seriously, trying to look as if he understood anything his father had just said. He pointed to the pistol John was taking apart, "What about that?"
"Guns have a lot of moving parts, and they can clog and jam up."
"That's bad, isn't it."
"Yeah." They sat in silence for a moment.
"Daddy, can I ask you something?"
"Sure, Dean. What is it?"
"Did a monster get Mommy?"
John sighed, "Yeah. I'm sorry."
"Are we always gonna live like this?"
"Of course not. This is just until I find the thing that killed her."
"You are gonna find it, right Daddy?"
"Yeah. Don't worry, Dean. That bastard's going to pay for what he did."
Dean smiled, "I'm glad." He looked at the weapons spread around them, "Can I help?"
John considered, "Yeah, sure. You'll have to learn how to do all this eventually anyway."
He handed Dean a sawed-off used for rock salt and began to instruct him on how to disassemble and clean it.
"Anna please. Perhaps I did act rashly, but-"
"Rashly. Rashly?! You disobeyed. I'd say that goes a bit beyond rashly."
Castiel continued, "I can assure you it will not occur again. I have learned from my mistake. Please, you cannot seriously be proposing that the vessels be left unguarded. What happens if the demons learn the truth about them? Would you leave them to be captured, tortured, because I failed to exercise sufficient self-control, once? Anna." He plead with her, visions of what the demons would do to the children running through his mind. Tests, vivisection, anything else that might possibly tell them what made the vessels tick, especially the elder boy. After all, they would need Sam alive. This was not the case with Dean. The thought of what they would do to him… He couldn't bear to think of it. And it would be his fault.
She paused, "It is not my decision to make. I still have not told you why I came in the first place. The mission has been ended."
"What?"
"Those are the orders I received. Heaven's resources are needed elsewhere. There are things more important in the eyes of Heaven than saving a couple of human children some potential unpleasantness."
"Why would God decide that? He loves humans, children in particular."
"I don't know. I only know that he did. It is not our place to question him."
Castiel remained silent for a moment, then spoke, "Then the order is wrong." He made to leave, a move stayed by Anna's voice behind him, "I know I cannot tell you a reason, but I wish you would trust me, as your commander, as you once did. Please, Castiel, whatever you are thinking of doing, don't."
He paused, considering. After a long moment, he spoke, "Very well. What are my orders?"
Michael wondered what he was doing, staying in this meeting, listening to Raphael's nearly blasphemous ideas. He suspected that the archangel's true opinions and motives were significantly darker, but what he allowed himself to say was frightening enouph. He reminded Michael of Lucifer sometimes.
Raphael stared at him, "Michael. Are you listening to me?"
No, you traitorous, bigoted, arrogant psychopath.
"Of course. I am merely having a difficult time discerning your meaning. What is the problem?"
"Why did you remove the guard we set on the vessels? I thought we agreed they should be protected."
Well, I know you've gone behind my back and issued orders on other occasions. I have no intention of giving you the metaphorical blade to stab me with. If you want to take over you're going to have to work for it. I won't position your pawns for you.
"The vessels are safe, and our resources are needed on other fronts."
"Safe? How are they safe? What happens if Azazal discovers the truth?"
Then I'll know you're the one who told him.
"How would he discover the truth? Our kind has remained hidden for a very long time. Many demons think us myths by now. The danger is minimal, and they are protected. The Righteous Man is with them."
"Ah, yes. The Righteous Man. Their father. Won't he will be such a marvelous defense if Hell comes for the children."
"And what would you propose?"
Yes, please. Go on and tell me your plan.
"Let me rescue them. We can care for them, keep them, protect them. We can raise them in righteousness, teach them about their destiny, and ensure that when the war comes, they are on the right side. Humans are weak, foolish, easily confused. If a child is raised in the way he should go, he will not stray from it when he is grown."
You must think me a fool.
Michael boiled. So this was Raphael's plan. Take the vessels and brainwash them to his purpose. The thought horrified him. Destroy the children's lives, raise them as soldiers of heaven, with Raphael in charge of their education, no doubt. And Raphael dared to quote their Father's words in support of such a scheme.
"Our Father would never want such a thing for His children."
"But we can ensure our success. What happens if they refuse their roles?"
"They have not as yet. You have my answer. Dean Winchester is my vessel, and I am ordering you to leave him alone."
"What of the other, the one with the demon blood?"
"He is not to be touched. I removed their guard for a reason. They are to be left alone. Are you prepared to defy me? Are you certain you want that?"
If Raphael had been wearing a vessel he would have smirked, "I don't know, brother. Do you?"
He disappeared and Michael was left alone, fuming. He wished he didn't care quite so much about peace. The day was coming when he would have to fight Raphael, even if they found paradise Raphael would want to rule it, but for now there were greater threats. For now he would smile and laugh and pretend he didn't know his brother to be a traitor. It was extremely frustrating. What was wrong with his brothers? Why was he the only archangel that seemed willing to remain true to God and His plans? Lucifer was preparing to bring hell on earth, Raphael was plotting civil war in heaven, and Gabriel was AWAL. Why did he have to be the strong one? Where was Gabriel? The golden-winged archangel should be by his side, supporting him in this, not…wherever he was. Michael was hemmed in on all sides and he didn't know where to turn.
Desperate for guidance, he prayed, "Please talk to me, Father. I don't know what to do. Just…tell me what to do. Tell me Your will that I might follow it. Please. Father?" No response came. He remained, alone and miserable, wishing he could somehow escape. Why couldn't things be the way they used to? He wanted his family, his Father, his younger brothers, all three of them. Actually, at this point he would even take it the way it had been two thousand years ago, when they had won the Great Victory over Lucifer. He laughed sadly, at the time it had seemed that nothing could possibly be worse, his Father, his Brother, going to hell to defeat his other brother. He remembered it so well, Raphael standing beside him in stony silence, Gabriel screaming and swearing vengeance on those that hurt Christ. The hot-headed archangel had even tried to leave their vantage point to comfort the Man on the cross before Michael restrained him. And then He went to Hell, and… no, Michael couldn't allow himself to think of it any longer. Certainly they had won a victory, but at what cost? The Son had been to Hell, and Gabriel disappeared shortly after that. Still, they had been a family back then, and now- What was he supposed to do? He was staring down another Lucifer in Raphael, the real Morning Star was plotting an escape from the Cage, and his Father was gone. He just didn't know what was expected of him. What did God want?
