Holy crap how freakin AWESOME was Michael on Supernatural? You know I don't even care that it blows this fic out of the water, Michael and Dean, the two of them together were just so SO fabulous I could not STAND it. Seriously when he came out and was all "we need to talk" before smoking you-know-who, I was bouncing with the awesomeness of what happened. Seriously SO FREAKIN COOL!! Oh and I liked the cupid episode mostly because Castiel was adorable and Dean was just so perfectly angsty--two things I love.
Also, side note, this fic has a precursor. I was inspired by Gabriel and Michael and all those comments about how much you guys liked the two of them. So now there's a fic called "Amaranth" that I wrote. Its kind of a tag to the episode with Michael and kind of ties in with this fic but not entirely. Its more of an excuse for me to play with Michael and Gabriel who are possibly my two favorite characters. Go to my profile and look at it! Its all about the two of them.
Back to the story!
Jo felt like a piece of meat.
Laying on the bed as Gabriel healed her, she was helpless to do anything but that. It had been hard to move when she was just hurt but with the Archangel healing her it was truly impossible. Even moving her finger would have been too much for her as Gabriel worked to keep her failing body from doing just that. Dean was straddling a chair just out of her range of sight, chin resting on his folded forearms. Gabriel had dragged a chair up to the bed and was sitting in it properly, his hands hovering over her chest. Maybe it was an effect of Michael using her as a Vessel or maybe it was something else but for whatever reason, Jo could clearly see blue light emitting from Gabriel's palms. It was unsettling as hell to see it and to feel the light pulsing through her, though she imagined light was the wrong word for what she was seeing.
"So what's going on with Sammy?" Dean asked finally, breaking the silence, "you said he wasn't handling the 'Angel juice'?"
"Yeah that's what happens when Vessels don't act as they should--" Gabriel began.
"Oh come on man, don't start that crap again," Dean said.
"You asked," Gabriel said looking at him, "Lucifer's playing shit with him. The big guns weren't working so he's going subtle now. Sam can't eat salt, he's physically affected by our powers in a negative way--Lucifer's tryin to isolate him from us so he can probably torture a big old yes outta him."
"Shit," Dean swiped a hand over his face.
"Yeah, I know, jokes on him right?" Gabriel snorted, "he always was a know it all," he glanced a Dean's blank look and grinned, "we didn't restore Castiel back to Heaven because of this. He can get to us, we can communicate with him and that'll be enough but he's not strong enough to affect Sam like the rest of us would."
"He's also not strong enough to fight Lucifer," Dean broke in angrily.
"He-llo, none of us are strong enough to fight Lucifer," Gabriel said sarcastically, "except for Michael. Which is why she's here remember?"
Both their eyes went to Jo and for the life of her she wasn't sure where to look first. She'd brushed up on her Angel lore, she knew that it was Gabriel the Archangel on one side of her. An Archangel that she later learned had abandoned Heaven in what Dean had called "his own private Witness protection program". On the other side of course was Dean Winchester, the boy that flipped destiny the bird when it didn't go with his own plan or meant that the people he loved would get hurt. Despite Dean's struggle, when it came down to it, Jo saw far more alike in the Archangels and the Winchesters than she was sure either party would like to admit. Of course now both were staring at her and Jo felt exposed, naked even under their piercing gazes.
"Could you--" she began.
The door slammed open, cutting her off.
Dean was instantly on his feet, sawed off shotgun in his hands and pointed at the door. The ram rod strait posture, the sharp gaze, even the slight tilt of the head were all dead give aways that the being in the doorway was not of their world. But the piercing emerald eyes, the tumble of dirty blond hair the framed a face that could have belonged on a billboard--those were all of this world and the Vessel that was being inhabited. As was the white lace dress, black motorcycle boots and well worn ebony leather jacket. Dean would have said demon except that despite the slamming of the door, the woman did not make a move to storm in. Hands tucked neatly into her pockets, she just stood there and stared him down, as if she was waiting for something--something like permission to enter the room.
"Amitiel?"
Dean glanced out of the corner of his eye at the Archangel. He looked shocked, stunned even at the sight of her. Dean's mind quickly scrolled through his angelic knowledge. Amitiel wasn't mentioned with the other Arc's, which meant that Gabriel could probably take her. But from the shell shocked look on the Archangel's face and the fact he wasn't making either snide comments or a move to kill her, she was probably on his side. Or on Michael's side anyway. Her eyes did not even flick to Gabriel, they remained locked on Dean. The shotgun in his hand didn't seem to threaten her. If anything it seemed to amuse her. He could see it in the flicker of her eye and the slight turn of her lip. Dean knew that even if she was a Demon the shotgun wasn't gonna do shit, but facing an enemy with a gun was familiar. And in the crazy ass world he'd been thrust into, even the barest shred of familiarity was something he needed.
"You an Angel?" he demanded gruffly.
"Yes," she said, "Michael sent me to you."
"Michael sent you?" Dean demanded, "why'd he do that?"
"Perhaps because he does not trust cowards who run like dogs with their tails between their legs at the first sign of trouble," she said, titling her head slightly towards Gabriel though her eyes remained locked on Dean.
"An Angel who hates other Angels. Come on in," Dean said lowering the shotgun.
"Your manners are far better than what I would have expected," Amitiel said stepping into the room, kicking the door shut behind her and turning the lock telekinetically.
"I tend to be nicer when I'm not being tortured by self righteous assholes," Dean replied.
"Manners but no sense of humor," came the reply as the Angel moved across the room.
Dean watched her. The ramrod strait posture relaxed and her eyes softened, the keen sense of curiosity and piercing directness vanishing. By the time she reached the bed where Jo lay, she could have been any woman on the street. Dean let out a breath, his lips twitching up before he could stop them. This chick was good. She knew what the other Angels looked like and she'd done so that even if Gabriel hadn't been there he probably would've been inclined to let her in. Now though all those little things were gone. He wouldn't have thought she was an Angel anymore than he would've thought Gabriel was one when they had first interacted. Which, Dean realized as he looked between the two of them, might not have been entirely coincidental.
"You're good," Dean said, "i'll give you that."
A quirk of her eyebrow was the only reply he got. Dean looked at Amitiel before he looked at Gabriel.
Michael, it seemed, had a sense of humor.
From his shocked face and her steadfast refusal to even look at him, something had passed between the two Angels. Gabriel had fled, as Amitiel said, with his tail between his legs. Dean had called the Archangel a coward and he'd meant the insult with every bone in his body. And from what Castiel had told him, Michael had all but beat the tar out of Gabriel across the cheap parking lot of the motel the first night the two had been in the same hemisphere for the first time in centuries. But this Angel, she was acting like, well, like a chick. An from personal experience, Dean knew Gabriel would give anything for her to hit him and just get it over with. But she wouldn't. She'd treat him like he was scum--or worse, like he didn't exist--and she'd do it in that sneaky way that only chicks seemed able to pull off. Shrugging off her jacket, the Angel lowered herself to Jo's level, her eyes sweeping over Jo's form and Dean saw the blonde woman squirm in discomfort.
"Okay thats it, show's over," Dean said. Both the Angels looked at him, "you heard me, take the staring contest outside."
"I am not leaving--" Amitiel began
"Yeah you are. So get out before I have to fingerpaint on the walls," Dean said glaring at the Angels. Amitiel moved forward until she stood before Dean, her eyes locking on his, undeterred by their height difference.
"O-kay," Gabriel wisely stepped forward, "how about we break up the staring contest since, you know, there's the end of the world to prevent. " Gabriel looked between them, "Ami--"
"Don't call me that," the Angel snapped, breaking her gaze with Dean to turn and glare furiously at Gabriel who took a step backwards as Amitiel stepped forward, "I should have known you would run again, you miserable, cowar--" Gabriel quickly reversed their positions so she was out the door first.
"You owe me big time for this," he said glaring at Dean before slamming the door behind them, "hey, hey--is that any way to treat your former--ow!"
Dean turned around and walked over to where Jo was laying. She gave him a grateful look, but from the brightness in her eyes he could see that she was very near crying. Jo was a tough girl, they both knew that, but she was a half dead tough girl whose mom had just died. Who was stuck in a shitty motel room with two Angels that saw her as nothing more than a vessel and a guy who pushed people away to protect them. Dean would have cut his arm off if he thought itd' bring Sammy here. Sammy knew how to deal with chicks in ways that didn't involve sex or booze. Hell even Michael probably had a better idea of how to deal what was happening rather than he did. At least when they had been driving it had been with a destination, purpose clear in mind. Now there was nowhere to go, nothing to do except stay alive until Michael came back and took her body over to be his Vessel once again.
"So you feeling any better?" Dean asked walking over to the bathroom and filling one of the cups with water. She watched him carefully, more like a sick child watching their mother approach with foul tasting medicine than an adult watching her--whatever they were to each other, "time to drink."
"I'm okay," Jo whispered, her voice hoarse and almost gone from the coughing.
"Come on, you know better than that," Dean said, "last thing we need is for you to get dehydrated," he set the cup on the table, "here," Dean said bending down, "sit up."
He slid his hand under her shoulders and helped her sit up, propping her against the headboard as gently as he could. Picking up the glass of water, he held it as her shaky hand reached up and grasped the plastic. Only her feeble glare made him lower his hand so she could tip the glass back alone. Dean had coughed up enough blood to know that it hurt like hell to drink afterwards but she did not look more miserable than she already did. She was stubborn as hell and despite the agony she downed the entire glass. Dean was there to take it away when she was done, putting the cheap plastic back down on the table. When he looked back at her her eyes were closed, head back against the synthetic wood with her eyes closed and her lips parted to help her breathe. He could hear a rattle in her chest, liquid was in her lungs.
She was running out of time.
For just a second she was not dressed in black leather pants and a tank top, she was in blue jeans and a grey t-shirt stained with her blood from an attack she'd taken in an effort to save his sorry ass. She was pale now but not as pale as she had been. And her skin was not wet with sweat, her hair was not slicked with blood but the picture was frightening in its similarity. Her eyes were closed, not open and fighting past the pull of death. But she was still fighting. Still fighting to save the world--his sorry ass included. He was just grateful that this time it wasn't going to involve him listening to her say that she was going to blow herself up so that they could keep fighting. It wasn't that she was brave enough to die for what she believed in, he'd done it, Sam had done it--hell most hunters worth their salt had. It was the practical way she'd said it too. Her voice had been full of acceptance, acceptance and determination as if this was the way it was and that was what was going to be.
What had killed him was the fact she had looked at him when she'd said it.
As if she'd known the storm of emotions going on inside him.
Half dead and she was reassuring him.
Dean hadn't known why he'd cared so much either. Sure he'd liked her well enough--even if her taste of music was questionable and her skills were rough around the edges. But none of that made sense for why he felt as if he was slowly being tortured, watching her laying there. He'd felt so damn helpless watching her there and it struck him just how wildly unfair the situation at hand was. She was the last person who deserved to be laying there dying in the middle of a shit hardware store in the middle of a shit town. And when that place had blown sky high he couldn't help but wonder if maybe a few of the Hell Hounds hadn't escaped and began to claw at him. It certainly felt that way, like his entire body was engulfed in agony that went strait to his very soul. He'd told her that he didn't want her blood on his hands, that he didn't want to be the reason she chose the fucked up life he'd been forced into. And at the end of the day it was what happened anyway. If he hadn't felt like he was being ripped apart he would have laughed in that bitter, cynical way that made Sam look at him through his bangs and Castiel make some comment about human emotion.
"So how much worse you feeling?" Dean asked finally, more in an effort to get her to respond than to actually find out. He had a feeling the answer wasn't one he wanted to hear, "Jo, Jo, talk to me."
"My head's spinning," she mumbled, "s'too heavy."
"Yeah, I know, but your lungs--" he cut himself off, "laying down right now isn't a good idea, okay?"
"Did m'mom blow it up?" she asked, her head turning towards him, "I never got--" she stopped, her eyes glistening, "i was too gone to do it m'self."
"Yeah, yeah she blew that place up, took those hell hounds out and saved me and Sammy's asses," Dean said, and if his smile was forced she didn't say anything about it. Her lips quirked up in a smile of her own, "you and she did good."
"I didn't do anything," Jo said, blinking as furiously as she could, even though a tear escaped and streaked her cheek, "I couldn't--" she shook her head slightly, "couldn't stay alive--"
"Hey, you're still here," Dean said, "that means you're still aliv--" he stopped and looked at her skin.
It was like watching a film in reverse.
the skin of her stomach darkened, first with a bruise then with a scar. Before Dean's horrified gaze, the skin of her side tore. Not as much as the hell hounds had done but enough to elicit a broken cry from her lips. Blood immediately pooled in the wound, spreading over the skin and seeping into the fabric of her shirt and pats before it began to spread across the bedspread. For a second Dean was paralyzed, his mind refusing to believe that this could happen again. Then his body kicked into action. Grabbing the nearest, cleanest piece of fabric he could find, he balled it up and pressed it into the wound. Her entire body tensed as she fought back the urge to cry out, her fingers knotting themselves into the bed sheets as she gasped for air past the agony, past the fluid in her lungs.
"I know, I know it hurts--" the comfort spilled messily from his lips, "damn it--Gabriel!" he shouted the Archangel's name.
Instantly the door was open and the Archangel was striding across the room. His eyes assessed the situation the situation with the calm that came with experience on the battlefield. Immediately they went to the wound on Jo's side, sweeping over the blood on the bed and her clothing. He looked at Dean's hand pressing a towel turning red to the wound on her side.
"Shit," Gabriel said, "hold her up," he continued placing his hand on the bandages.
Dean took Jo's weight onto him, her head fell heavy against his chest. She was too lost in the delirium of her fever and weakness to pretend to be strong. One of his arms wrapped around her shoulders, his other pressing to her chest as Gabriel examined the freshly bleeding wound. Her skin was bare and clammy but his still felt impossibly warm against her own. She could feel the thin cotton of his t-shirt before it ended. And underneath she could feel the rapid, strong pulse of his heart against her ear. The hand that rested on her chest came up and pressed against her neck. Jo couldn't feel her own pulse but whatever he had felt must have been bad. She felt his chest move as he swore, the arm around her shoulders tightening as though if he held her tight enough against him he would be able to keep her safe and whole and alive. The smell of metal, gunshot, leather and whiskey invaded her senses. It was a comforting smell, a mix of all the ones that she had loved as a child.
Like the Roadhouse.
"I hope that's on a clean day," Dean's voice came from somewhere above her and far far away and Jo didn't realize she'd said it aloud.
"Best day," Jo mumbled, her face turned into the cotton of his shirt.
Over the crown of her head, Dean looked at the light that pulsed from Gabriel's hands. The Trickster looked incredibly somber, none of the humor or sass that Dean was used to seeing from the Archangel. Dean risked a look down at the wound on Jo's side. it wasn't getting worse but he didn't see it getting better. Red was still seeping out of her, though it was less than the flood it had been. Dean felt his arm tighten around her, something between a silent plea and a real attempt at keeping her there. He had thought it was bad before but now, now it was so much worse. His eyes raised up to the rest of the room. Amitiel stood outside the door, head bowed and hands clasped. It took Dean's mind a moment to realize that she was not speaking or standing, the Angel was praying. He could not hear the words that came from her lips but as he watched her devotion he found himself hoping that she was in touch with Michael. Because if Jo bled out on the bed then--then--Dean shoved the thought aside.
It wasn't going to happen.
Even when Gabriel looked up at him and the look in his eyes was the last thing that Dean wanted to see.
Three things happened in rapid succession. First the room was suddenly filled with light, light that burned with power. Next something threw Dean away from Jo, clear off the bed so the young Hunter was sprawled on his stomach, a very real knee pressed into his spine to hold him there. The third thing Dean did not see. His eyes seared before his vision went black. He felt power compress, alter like water being poured into a bottle and he heard Jo scream. He could have screamed as well and not have known it. The power, the darkness, the glory of it was crippling. Dean would have fought anything to make sure Jo was alright and, if he was being honest, Gabriel too. But all the fight in the world was unmatched for the power that flooded and overwhelmed his senses. He tried to open his eyes, tried to breathe, to scream to do anything but he could barely cling to consciousness. Even as a hand was laid against his brow and a voice that sounded like Jo but was not whispered to him.
"Rest, Dean, I will take it from here."
"You," Dean inhaled through lungs that felt like they too were full of fluid, "miserable," he forced the words past the blood that trickled hot down his face, "bastard."
And then the darkness roared up and took the Hunter with it.
And Michael's back!
So we've got Amitiel now in the party too! Don't worry we're gonna be checking in with Cas and Sam in a bit but for right now we're sticking with this group. As for Amitiel, she's not technically one of the seven traditional archangels but considering they don't have Uriel being an Arc for the Supernatural storyline, I've got a special role for her to play. I also wanted to throw in another side to the Gabriel-leaves-heaven story which will be explained in a bit. Also I wanted a female Angel who wasn't so, well, awful as Anna. Anyone who tries to kill the Winchester's sucks and Anna sucked in a big way. I'm glad she's gone.
Anyway don't forget to check out Amaranth if you like the Michael/Gabriel dynamic!
Oh and please PLEASE review! Only a few of you rock stars showed up last time--for which I am immensely grateful--but all the other alerts/faves/readers, please review! I love the jump in statics but I love your reviews more! And if you review, I'm more inclined to update sooner....
So please review!