Fanfic: Oh Brother Where Art Thou? (Dean/Castiel, Michael/Lucifer)
Title: Oh Brother, Where Art Thou?
Author: bellajayd
Rating: R
Pairing: Dean/Castiel, Michael/Lucifer
Spoilers: Blanket spoilers for all aired episodes.
Warnings: AU for season 5, Romance, Angst, machiavellian!dark!insane!Michael, wing!cest.
Word Count: 2,079
Prompt/Notes: Written for fiveclawedfics in the deancastiel Renegade Angels Exchange. The war is in full swing, with Dean leading the forces of humanity against Lucifer. Castiel is his lover. Another angel observes their relationship and tries to comprehend it. Coming right up, I hope you like a side dish of the Gnostic Gospels with your fanfic!
In the Gnostic Gospels the story of how the Archangel Michael prevailed over Lucifer is given lots more detail. There, Michael and Lucifer battled for eons and the Morning Star even looked to be winning for a time when managed to grab Michael by his wings and drag him into Hell. Then Michael, greatly wounded and bleeding heavily, crawled out of Hell and summoned a great light. When it faded the door to Hell had been sealed. The angels then descended to bear the wounded Archangel back up to Heaven where he rests until he is called to battle his brother once more. THE END. Also, many thanks to
aisling_door for the beta!
Summary: The plan is everything, because I will not spend all of eternity without my love. I refuse. I am the Morning Star’s brother and Heaven should never have forgotten that.
------
I was born within the second heartbeat of chaos and my brother, always the favored one, was birthed just before me in a burst of incandescent light.
My poor brother, Heaven’s very own wayward son.
When he left us the Celestial Plane grew a little darker, a little bit further from understanding Father’s plan - how could it not, with its light-bearer fallen and buried beneath the Earth?
I have argued many a time that my brother’s punishment did not fit his crime. He was only guilty of loving our Father too much. With this came love’s dark brethren, jealousy and obsession, which overcame his common sense.
I blame myself.
I should have been more aware and paid my twin his due attention.
Many have wondered why it took the Righteous Angel, the General of Heaven’s impregnable forces, so many millennia to emerge triumphant over the Morning Star. The truth is that I could hardly bear to carry out my duty of casting him into the Pit to be joined by the detritus of humanity.
Lucifer was not the only angel punished by Father’s command.
Thus, I drew out the clash for as long as I could.
Each bruise we laid upon each other was like a lover’s kiss.
Each of the wounds we inflicted were naught but the gentle touches of affection that sweethearts are wont to exchange.
Each moment locked in battle with him was another that I could spend savoring the caress of his Light.
That’s not the only reason the battle between us took so long. I had a plan - one that, a few civilizations later, is finally coming to fruition.
And so as we fought, I exposed my wings and let my beautiful twin drag me down into the Pit, a place where even my Father’s vision does not linger, and there we shared our secrets for a time before I made a show of victoriously crawling out of Perdition and languishing upon the Earth for a while.
There, on the burnt soil surrounding the Hellmouth, clasping a few shimmering feathers in my fist, I made sure to bleed away part of my essence until it soaked into the very rock - causing it to roil and rage in a catastrophic cataclysm.
It was from these bits and pieces of me, slowly harvested by the most loyal of demons over centuries, that Dean Winchester would be made.
I worried for a while that my angelic lieutenants had born me back to Heaven too quickly, and for the first few decades I anxiously watched over the spot. As it turned out, I’d left more than enough Grace to create the Righteous Man.
All I had to do was wait, wait, and wait.
After centuries of gathering wool on a fluffy cloud, in May of the year 1978 Mary Winchester parted her legs for her husband in the back of an old ‘67 Impala and Dean Winchester was conceived.
Halleluiah! The Savior is Born! Or so sang the Heavenly choirs that night.
If only they knew.
The angels thought they understood that Dean was to be my vessel. It was no secret that the prophesized coming of Lucifer was at hand and that Michael would come down and possess the Righteous Man to smite the Unholy, as if I could ever hurt my beloved brother, once and for all. What they didn’t realize was that Dean Winchester was the Archangel Michael, or at least a part of him that had been left upon the ground so long ago.
The Righteous Man was the Righteous Angel; who ever would have thought?
He is me, and I am him. The moment he was conceived each drop of Grace I’d allowed to bleed from me as I crawled from the Pit, each wisp of angelic essence that had been painstakingly gathered and distilled from the dirt and grime by my brother’s followers over the centuries, had coalesced into one magnificent being called Dean Winchester.
What he did, I did.
What he felt, I felt.
By the time he’d replicated from one cell into ten we had become so intertwined that one being could not exist without the other. It was a weakness for an Archangel to become almost mortal, to be sure, but it was all part of the plan.
And the plan is everything because I will not spend all of eternity without my brother.
I refuse.
Father has exiled His Illuminator from Heaven and I am unable to reach him within the marrow of Hell. No one, however, has said anything about Earth. The plane upon which humanity exists is fair game as far as we are concerned.
Yet Dean Winchester was just one-half of the equation, the other half had been set into motion moments after I crawled from the fires of Perdition.
I am an Angel of Creation; I can give life just as other angels deliver death. As I lay upon the soil, bleeding out my Grace and clutching a few feathers from my brother’s opalescent wings, I spawned a new being into existence for the final time.
He was born on a Thursday.
He was beautiful, but modest - brilliant but humble, as all angels should be.
As far as Celestial beings went, he was nothing special and no one paid him much attention. Only one angel took the time to look closely at him as he went about his tasks like the diligent and dutiful creature he was - Anael. But then she fell.
I have always wondered if she fell because of what she saw. Who knows, perhaps she was pushed? The preachy seraph was certainly annoying enough with her prattle about free will.
The point is, no one - not I, after I created him, nor any other angelic creature - paid Castiel the slightest bit of attention.
Imagine everyone’s shock when the Littlest Angel That Could emerged from the flames of Hell with Dean Winchester in tow, branded, and with surly attitude intact.
My time spent in Hell was far too short. I was loath to leave the comforting arms of my cherished one, but the show must go on!
Soon.
Soon, I would never have to leave the reach of his Light again.
Castiel did a fine job restoring Dean’s body, each bit of my Grace was perfectly placed and he’d applied bits of his own familiar Divine Light as a salve to soothe the roughed bits that insisted on remaining below with their other half.
Silly bits, didn’t they know they had work to do?
I had not seen Castiel since I’d molded him from a few radiant feathers and tads of ether eons ago, and I was shocked that no one had seen what he was. Just more evidence that the denizens of Heaven are blind fools.
But Dean, he saw almost instantly what a miracle Castiel was. It was no surprise that the two fell in love, no surprise at all to me. They were, after all, made for each other - cut from the same everlasting cloth of chaos and light.
I expected their love to be familiar, to be like mine, but it wasn’t.
Their first touch was tender, two hands brushing curiously while their eyes locked.
Castiel smiled, and I could feel his warm breath hush across Dean’s cheek as he spoke, “Is this a date, Dean?”
And then, Dean was smiling as well and it was as if a thousand butterflies had taken flight within his stomach. “Yeah,” and he moved to hold Castiel’s hand more firmly in his own, “Yeah, Cas, I think it is.”
You’d think that for a man and an angel stuck in the middle of the Apocalypse that they would hurry things along, but they didn’t. Their first date ended with a kiss on the cheek and a murmured, “Goodnight, Dean.”
It was sweet and different from what I knew of love.
Later, their first kiss was lush and full of tension - a harsh press of lips upon lips, conveying love and desperation as Dean sent Castiel out to the battlefront for the first time. The angel was stunned that he could feel such emotion, such love.
My heart, or what shards of it remained, spasmed at the irony of the situation. If only he knew.
That love saved him, for Castiel finally had something to fight for - something to save.
One night over a hot pie - apple had become my favorite, the symbolism alone made it sweetly delicious - Dean finally decided to state the obvious to Castiel. He swallowed dryly around a sticky piece of crust, took a swig of warm milk and said, “Cas, you know you mean the world to me . . . right?”
Naïve blue eyes stared back at him through a delicate fringe of eyelashes, “Dean?”
What a positively naughty angel our Castiel was becoming, he knew full well what his beloved was trying to convey.
Alas, Castiel’s apparent confusion caused the hunter to clear his throat resolutely. “I love you.” The angel leaned across the table and brushed a kiss brimming with joy onto Dean’s parted lips.
We slipped him a little tongue. Naughty angel.
This love made Dean more careful, more guarded, and he kept Castiel close by - just as he did his brother Sam.
We had never been good at sharing what belonged to us.
The first time they had sex was . . . as amusing as it was surprising.
There was no violence.
And the only pain that occurred was due to a quickly aborted attempt at the act without lubrication. This resulted in the most creative use of angelic power that I’ve witnessed to date. Who knew you could manifest lube from the very air?
Their lovemaking was slow and sensuous. Each gesture, each touch surprised me anew that the two of them had such a capacity for affection.
They give me hope. They make me sure that my plans are Righteous and Worthy.
It won’t be long now until everything comes together. The final battle will take place the following evening and the barriers between Dean and I are all but gone.
I can feel my brother so clearly now, he is almost in complete possession of his vessel.
We are ready.
I pity Heaven. They have been waiting with bated breath for Lucifer to make his appearance upon the battlefield, never once realizing that he has been amongst them all along - his radiance hidden in plain sight behind a boring trench coat.
Soon.
We will both be free to walk upon the Earth.
I am the Archangel Michael.
I am Dean Winchester.
I am the Morning Star’s brother and Heaven should never have forgotten that.
The End.
Author: bellajayd
Rating: R
Pairing: Dean/Castiel, Michael/Lucifer
Spoilers: Blanket spoilers for all aired episodes.
Warnings: AU for season 5, Romance, Angst, machiavellian!dark!insane!Michael, wing!cest.
Word Count: 2,079
Prompt/Notes: Written for fiveclawedfics in the deancastiel Renegade Angels Exchange. The war is in full swing, with Dean leading the forces of humanity against Lucifer. Castiel is his lover. Another angel observes their relationship and tries to comprehend it. Coming right up, I hope you like a side dish of the Gnostic Gospels with your fanfic!
In the Gnostic Gospels the story of how the Archangel Michael prevailed over Lucifer is given lots more detail. There, Michael and Lucifer battled for eons and the Morning Star even looked to be winning for a time when managed to grab Michael by his wings and drag him into Hell. Then Michael, greatly wounded and bleeding heavily, crawled out of Hell and summoned a great light. When it faded the door to Hell had been sealed. The angels then descended to bear the wounded Archangel back up to Heaven where he rests until he is called to battle his brother once more. THE END. Also, many thanks to
aisling_door for the beta!
Summary: The plan is everything, because I will not spend all of eternity without my love. I refuse. I am the Morning Star’s brother and Heaven should never have forgotten that.
------
I was born within the second heartbeat of chaos and my brother, always the favored one, was birthed just before me in a burst of incandescent light.
My poor brother, Heaven’s very own wayward son.
When he left us the Celestial Plane grew a little darker, a little bit further from understanding Father’s plan - how could it not, with its light-bearer fallen and buried beneath the Earth?
I have argued many a time that my brother’s punishment did not fit his crime. He was only guilty of loving our Father too much. With this came love’s dark brethren, jealousy and obsession, which overcame his common sense.
I blame myself.
I should have been more aware and paid my twin his due attention.
Many have wondered why it took the Righteous Angel, the General of Heaven’s impregnable forces, so many millennia to emerge triumphant over the Morning Star. The truth is that I could hardly bear to carry out my duty of casting him into the Pit to be joined by the detritus of humanity.
Lucifer was not the only angel punished by Father’s command.
Thus, I drew out the clash for as long as I could.
Each bruise we laid upon each other was like a lover’s kiss.
Each of the wounds we inflicted were naught but the gentle touches of affection that sweethearts are wont to exchange.
Each moment locked in battle with him was another that I could spend savoring the caress of his Light.
That’s not the only reason the battle between us took so long. I had a plan - one that, a few civilizations later, is finally coming to fruition.
And so as we fought, I exposed my wings and let my beautiful twin drag me down into the Pit, a place where even my Father’s vision does not linger, and there we shared our secrets for a time before I made a show of victoriously crawling out of Perdition and languishing upon the Earth for a while.
There, on the burnt soil surrounding the Hellmouth, clasping a few shimmering feathers in my fist, I made sure to bleed away part of my essence until it soaked into the very rock - causing it to roil and rage in a catastrophic cataclysm.
It was from these bits and pieces of me, slowly harvested by the most loyal of demons over centuries, that Dean Winchester would be made.
I worried for a while that my angelic lieutenants had born me back to Heaven too quickly, and for the first few decades I anxiously watched over the spot. As it turned out, I’d left more than enough Grace to create the Righteous Man.
All I had to do was wait, wait, and wait.
After centuries of gathering wool on a fluffy cloud, in May of the year 1978 Mary Winchester parted her legs for her husband in the back of an old ‘67 Impala and Dean Winchester was conceived.
Halleluiah! The Savior is Born! Or so sang the Heavenly choirs that night.
If only they knew.
The angels thought they understood that Dean was to be my vessel. It was no secret that the prophesized coming of Lucifer was at hand and that Michael would come down and possess the Righteous Man to smite the Unholy, as if I could ever hurt my beloved brother, once and for all. What they didn’t realize was that Dean Winchester was the Archangel Michael, or at least a part of him that had been left upon the ground so long ago.
The Righteous Man was the Righteous Angel; who ever would have thought?
He is me, and I am him. The moment he was conceived each drop of Grace I’d allowed to bleed from me as I crawled from the Pit, each wisp of angelic essence that had been painstakingly gathered and distilled from the dirt and grime by my brother’s followers over the centuries, had coalesced into one magnificent being called Dean Winchester.
What he did, I did.
What he felt, I felt.
By the time he’d replicated from one cell into ten we had become so intertwined that one being could not exist without the other. It was a weakness for an Archangel to become almost mortal, to be sure, but it was all part of the plan.
And the plan is everything because I will not spend all of eternity without my brother.
I refuse.
Father has exiled His Illuminator from Heaven and I am unable to reach him within the marrow of Hell. No one, however, has said anything about Earth. The plane upon which humanity exists is fair game as far as we are concerned.
Yet Dean Winchester was just one-half of the equation, the other half had been set into motion moments after I crawled from the fires of Perdition.
I am an Angel of Creation; I can give life just as other angels deliver death. As I lay upon the soil, bleeding out my Grace and clutching a few feathers from my brother’s opalescent wings, I spawned a new being into existence for the final time.
He was born on a Thursday.
He was beautiful, but modest - brilliant but humble, as all angels should be.
As far as Celestial beings went, he was nothing special and no one paid him much attention. Only one angel took the time to look closely at him as he went about his tasks like the diligent and dutiful creature he was - Anael. But then she fell.
I have always wondered if she fell because of what she saw. Who knows, perhaps she was pushed? The preachy seraph was certainly annoying enough with her prattle about free will.
The point is, no one - not I, after I created him, nor any other angelic creature - paid Castiel the slightest bit of attention.
Imagine everyone’s shock when the Littlest Angel That Could emerged from the flames of Hell with Dean Winchester in tow, branded, and with surly attitude intact.
My time spent in Hell was far too short. I was loath to leave the comforting arms of my cherished one, but the show must go on!
Soon.
Soon, I would never have to leave the reach of his Light again.
Castiel did a fine job restoring Dean’s body, each bit of my Grace was perfectly placed and he’d applied bits of his own familiar Divine Light as a salve to soothe the roughed bits that insisted on remaining below with their other half.
Silly bits, didn’t they know they had work to do?
I had not seen Castiel since I’d molded him from a few radiant feathers and tads of ether eons ago, and I was shocked that no one had seen what he was. Just more evidence that the denizens of Heaven are blind fools.
But Dean, he saw almost instantly what a miracle Castiel was. It was no surprise that the two fell in love, no surprise at all to me. They were, after all, made for each other - cut from the same everlasting cloth of chaos and light.
I expected their love to be familiar, to be like mine, but it wasn’t.
Their first touch was tender, two hands brushing curiously while their eyes locked.
Castiel smiled, and I could feel his warm breath hush across Dean’s cheek as he spoke, “Is this a date, Dean?”
And then, Dean was smiling as well and it was as if a thousand butterflies had taken flight within his stomach. “Yeah,” and he moved to hold Castiel’s hand more firmly in his own, “Yeah, Cas, I think it is.”
You’d think that for a man and an angel stuck in the middle of the Apocalypse that they would hurry things along, but they didn’t. Their first date ended with a kiss on the cheek and a murmured, “Goodnight, Dean.”
It was sweet and different from what I knew of love.
Later, their first kiss was lush and full of tension - a harsh press of lips upon lips, conveying love and desperation as Dean sent Castiel out to the battlefront for the first time. The angel was stunned that he could feel such emotion, such love.
My heart, or what shards of it remained, spasmed at the irony of the situation. If only he knew.
That love saved him, for Castiel finally had something to fight for - something to save.
One night over a hot pie - apple had become my favorite, the symbolism alone made it sweetly delicious - Dean finally decided to state the obvious to Castiel. He swallowed dryly around a sticky piece of crust, took a swig of warm milk and said, “Cas, you know you mean the world to me . . . right?”
Naïve blue eyes stared back at him through a delicate fringe of eyelashes, “Dean?”
What a positively naughty angel our Castiel was becoming, he knew full well what his beloved was trying to convey.
Alas, Castiel’s apparent confusion caused the hunter to clear his throat resolutely. “I love you.” The angel leaned across the table and brushed a kiss brimming with joy onto Dean’s parted lips.
We slipped him a little tongue. Naughty angel.
This love made Dean more careful, more guarded, and he kept Castiel close by - just as he did his brother Sam.
We had never been good at sharing what belonged to us.
The first time they had sex was . . . as amusing as it was surprising.
There was no violence.
And the only pain that occurred was due to a quickly aborted attempt at the act without lubrication. This resulted in the most creative use of angelic power that I’ve witnessed to date. Who knew you could manifest lube from the very air?
Their lovemaking was slow and sensuous. Each gesture, each touch surprised me anew that the two of them had such a capacity for affection.
They give me hope. They make me sure that my plans are Righteous and Worthy.
It won’t be long now until everything comes together. The final battle will take place the following evening and the barriers between Dean and I are all but gone.
I can feel my brother so clearly now, he is almost in complete possession of his vessel.
We are ready.
I pity Heaven. They have been waiting with bated breath for Lucifer to make his appearance upon the battlefield, never once realizing that he has been amongst them all along - his radiance hidden in plain sight behind a boring trench coat.
Soon.
We will both be free to walk upon the Earth.
I am the Archangel Michael.
I am Dean Winchester.
I am the Morning Star’s brother and Heaven should never have forgotten that.
The End.