For You, Little Brother
Title: For You, Little Brother
Rating: R
Length: One-shot (6460 words)
Pairings: Michael/Lucifer (Michael!Dean/Lucifer!Sam)
Era: 5.22: "Swan Song"
Warnings: AU; slight adult language; sexual relations
Summary: Dean made the decision to save his brother, to keep Sam safe. But sometimes, destiny really just can't be changed. And sometimes, even angels have some "issues" they need to work through.
Note: Written for spn_reversebang, to adrenalineshots's lovely prompt piece here. The Master Art post filled w/some fantastic pieces can be seen here
He had thought about it. For days and days, for nights and nights, the decision had kept him awake. It had been brewing and growing in his mind, swirling around inside him, until he could barely think of anything else.
He had not planned on things turning out this way. No one ever plans on things not working out, on failing, on seeing everything you have ever worked for or loved fall apart and be destroyed.
But then, that was life. In the majority of people’s lives, what they planned - what they hoped for, what they wanted, what they sought and prayed for - never happened. It was always the opposite.
And he had learned that long ago … so why was it a surprise for him now that, once again, what he had thought - what he had hoped for and planned - had not turned out the way he had wanted it to?
Why was he so shocked?
Perhaps because it wasn’t in his nature to give up like this, to give in to what was, as far as he could see, the inevitable. For all of his life, he had just fought the inevitable, the impossible, and he had always come out ahead, even when it hadn’t seemed likely, or even possible.
Even when he probably shouldn’t have.
But now … now he could see no other way. Now he just did not feel like fighting anymore.
When it came to this point, when it came to this particular choice, the only option - the only path - that he could see that provided any sort of salvation for those he loved was the one that doomed him.
And, really, he was okay with that.
Yeah, he thought, slipping on his jacket as he walked quietly out of the motel room, glancing back for only the briefest moment at the slumbering figure on the far bed. He stood in the open doorway, the light from a nearby streetlight providing a semi-bright beam into the room that lay out a straight path right into the sleeping face of Sam Winchester.
Dean stood there for a moment longer, the keys to the Impala cool in his hand, and thought about the decision just that one more time.
But looking at Sam, sleeping soundly in the bed for more than three hours for the first time in Dean didn’t know how long, no sign at all that the apocalypse was hanging over his head, no worries about being the vessel of the Devil, nothing at all … it was all Dean needed to make up his mind.
He knew he was doing the right thing.
Even if Sam wouldn’t understand, would probably end up hating him for it, Dean knew that he had to do this.
In order to save the world - in order to save Sam - he had no qualms about giving up himself.
Not anymore.
Yeah, he thought. I really am okay with that.
**
He awoke to bright rays of sunlight shining through a crack in the ragged curtains hanging over the window. He squinted and rolled over in the bed, burying his head back into the pillow as he attempted to escape the light. It was too early to wake up, he thought, not wanting to give in and return to dealing with the inevitable coming apocalypse.
And besides, Dean hadn’t even woken up yet-
Sam jumped up and out of bed as soon as that thought fell into his mind. He looked frantically around the small motel room. He saw the pizza box that held the cold remains of last night’s supper; he saw the empty beer bottles on the table, and the not yet used coffee maker. He saw his laptop still plugged in and sitting on the desk, right where he had left it when he had decided to crash last night. He saw his duffle bag still stuffed with all his possessions, and he saw Dean’s-
Sam did a double - and a triple - take around the room, but nothing changed from that first time. Dean’s stuff was missing. Every single thing that Dean had brought into the room - his bag, his guns - all of it was gone.
It didn’t take long for all of the pieces to fall into place for Sam, and the answer came in a flash, almost before the question had been fully raised in his head.
“Damn it, Dean,” he muttered, hurrying out of the bed and throwing on the nearest clothes he could grab. He didn’t know when, exactly, in the night Dean had left. He didn’t know where his brother would ultimately end up - not for sure, anyway, but he had a few solid guesses.
But he did know what Dean was doing.
And he knew he had to stop him.
**
He had driven for hours, not quite having a particular destination - not a physical one, at least - in his mind. If he was honest with himself, he would admit that he had really no idea how he was going to go about this. If he was honest, he would admit that he had “planned” about as far as “say, ‘yes,’ and save Sam.”
So he just kept going in some direction, hoping the next part of the plan would just fall into place. He wasn’t thinking it would be quite such a literal drop, though, when the figure suddenly arrived next to him.
“Hello, Dean.”
**
“Hello, Sam.”
Sam jerked his head at the soft-sounding greeting. He turned to the left, his eyes instantly meeting the piercing blue gaze of the archangel sitting next to him. He didn’t jump, though; he didn’t push himself away, didn’t rush to put distance between himself and his visitor.
“How …”
Lucifer just smiled, turning away from Sam as he spoke. “How did I manage to find you? Sam,” he sighed, “I’ve always known where you are; I could always feel you … just as you could always feel me.”
Sam went to deny it; the words were on the tip of his lips when Lucifer overrode him.
“No, Sam,” he said, looking directly at the human again. “You can’t lie to me, not about this. I know you far too well.”
A large part of Sam wanted to rebel against that, wanted to fight against Lucifer’s confident assumption that he knew him so well. But he pushed it down (for now), choosing to deal with more urgent matters.
“Why are you here, anyway?” he asked, piercing Lucifer with a glare in an attempt to be intimidating. “I’m not changing my answer, and you already know that, so why the constant visits?”
Lucifer was silent as he started at Sam, the intense unblinking gaze beginning to make the hunter uncomfortable. Sam was almost tempted to speak, to ask the question again - if anything, just to break the silence and perhaps, cause the Devil to divert his attention for at least a brief moment.
But something just held him back. There was just something about the look in Lucifer’s eyes, the expression on his face, that kept Sam silent, kept him waiting for the archangel to continue on his own.
Finally, his patience was rewarded.
“You know where your brother has gone,” said Lucifer. “You know what he is about to do.” Lucifer watched Sam as his words penetrated the human’s mind. He clenched his jaw, and Lucifer knew that he was barely restraining the anger, the rage, the betrayal, that longed to burst free.
“You know that everything is happening just as they expected it to, just as it was planned and destined to happen,” said Lucifer. “And you know the truth, Sam. You know, deep inside, that there is only one way things can come to an end.”
Sam looked back up at Lucifer, his own eyes meeting those of the archangel. He knew where the Devil was going - had known the course this conversation was traveling since it started. And a part of him had always known that it would end up here, in this way, at this moment.
That he would be faced with this choice …
He just hadn’t expected it to be exactly like this.
“I’ve told you the same answer over and over,” he said, his voice low, barely able to be heard above the sounds coming from the newscaster on the television set. “Every time, you ask the same question, and every time, I tell you that I won’t do it. What makes you think that this time, right now, is gonna be any different?”
Lucifer smiled sadly. “Because you know the truth about where Dean is, about what is about to happen. You know the inevitability of the outcome, and you can no longer hold on to any sort of false hope that things will turn out any differently than how it was written.” Lucifer watched as Sam’s head fell, his gaze falling away from the archangel’s to stare at the ragged carpet under his feet.
“I’m sorry, Sam.”
**
Dean did a double take at the dark-haired man that had suddenly materialized in the passenger seat of the Impala, knowing instantly that it couldn’t be the very man it actually looked like.
Because, really, there was no fucking way his 20-something year-old dad was sitting beside him.
“Michael.”
The archangel smiled as he looked over at the human. “Of course,” he said, turning away again as he returned his focus to the passing countryside. “You asked for me, Dean-”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Yes, you did,” interrupted Michael. “Unconsciously, true, but the desire was there all the same.” He watched as Dean gripped the steering wheel even tighter, watched as the elder Winchester’s posture grew stiff against the seat. “And you know why you have done so,” he whispered.
Dean didn’t speak right away. He pulled the car over to the side of the road, even though he very well could have probably gotten away with stopping right in the middle of the street, it was so deserted.
“Are you ready?”
He let the question hang in the air for a moment; he just allowed the silence to drift in the car, no sounds heard between Dean and Michael other than the few rare noises that happened to make it in from the outside. When he finally did turn and look back up, ready to speak, he met the unblinking green gaze of the archangel on his right.
“You know the deal?” asked Dean. “Everything that you said before, back then in that whole time jump thing, it all still goes, right? Nothing’s changed?”
Michael nodded. “Of course,” he said. “You have my word, Dean. I didn’t lie to you then, and I am not lying to you now.”
And that was all Dean needed to hear.
“Okay then.”
Dean wasn’t prepared for the intensity of the bright light that overwhelmed the small area inside the car when the young form of John Winchester suddenly disappeared; although, looking back, he probably should have been. He had not even been given a chance to guard his eyes against the light, but such a fact didn’t matter.
The light was meant for him - and him alone.
It wouldn’t - couldn’t - harm him.
He was overwhelmed by it, the heavenly presence embracing and surrounding every part of him - every inch, every cell, every fiber - until he couldn’t separate himself from the light. Its warmth was comforting and soothing, like a mother’s embrace after finally returning home, rather than the hot burning he had first thought it would be.
“We were always meant to be.”
And even the voice, whispering in his head as the light held him, was soothing. Michael’s tone wasn’t harsh or commanding or self-righteous.
It was safe; it was welcome.
It was right.
“We complete each other,” the voice whispered, the light reaching out like fingers to stroke him and wipe away his anxieties. “We have - and always will be - two pieces of the same picture.”
The embrace strengthened; the hold that the light held him in grew, wrapping around him and comforting him; the warmth increased, and he knew there was no denying the truth in the voice’s words anymore.
He accepted that, even deep down, there was a part of him that had always known.
“Will you accept me?”
And Dean Winchester didn’t hesitate as he answered the archangel’s question.
“Yes.”
**
Michael felt the pull towards Stull Cemetery, knowing its importance as the location of the destined battle. But he ignored it at first, wishing to put off what he knew would be inevitable the moment that he arrived there.
He had not lied all that time ago when he had confessed to Dean that he had no wish to kill his brother.
So instead of leaving for Kansas immediately, he disappeared from the empty road in a rush of wings and reappeared miles away on the coast. The archangel just stood there and watched the waves of the ocean as the water lapped at the sandy beach, the area deserted due to the day’s cool, falling temperatures. It was just how he wished it.
And so he stood there, and he simply took in the moment of silence and stillness, and tried to convince himself it wasn’t because he was stalling. It wasn’t because he was avidly trying to put off what he knew must be done. Michael tried to convince himself that he needed time; he needed to adjust to everything - time to adjust to his vessel, time to prepare himself for the moment that was, after all this time, finally at hand.
But even Michael couldn’t convince himself of such half-truths.
It had not taken him long to get … comfortable inside of Dean; there was a reason, after all, that the eldest Winchester had been his true vessel, even if it had taken the human a long time to come to the realization of it himself. From the very moment that the hunter had said, “Yes,” and Michael had taken him as his own, Michael had felt complete. He had felt comfortable … and he felt ready.
Ready to do what must, unfortunately, be done.
With one last look at the ocean, he gave one last wish that he could remain there and not follow the order that he had been given, even if he knew such a thing was futile. He had tried before, to ignore an order, and it was just not a part of who he was. Michael tried, but could not bring himself to go against the one he loved and obeyed above all.
And nothing had changed between then and now.
“Forgive me, brother,” he whispered, knowing that such a hope was pointless even as the words left his lips and he disappeared.
The air was still when Michael arrived in the cemetery. No wind was blowing, and the sun itself was hidden behind thick grey clouds, keeping the sky overcast and keeping the same threat of storms alive that had been present for the entire central part of the country for the past week. Fallen leaves blew along the ground. Dead and dying grass crunched under his feet as Michael walked through the cemetery, passing by the faded headstones that hadn’t been cared for in ages.
He paid little attention to such things, though. He knew where he needed to go. From the very moment that he had arrived, Michael had sensed the presence of another - the presence of one whom he hadn’t felt in ages, the presence of one whom he knew better than any other …
And whom he had missed more than he was ever outwardly willing to admit.
So he simply followed the pull across the old cemetery, caring little for anything else around him. And Michael only stopped when he came upon the sight of the lounging figure below the only decently sized tree in the cemetery.
The figure sat leaned back against the tree’s trunk, his left leg bent at the knee while he kept the right one straight out, his arm resting atop it. His gaze remained outwards, focused on something that Michael couldn’t see beyond the edges of the farthest headstones - and a part of the archangel even wondered if, perhaps, he was even looking at anything at all.
Michael knew that his presence had not gone unnoticed, but still, the other gave no acknowledgement of him. There was no look in his direction, no movement in the body, to suggest that he had even realized that he was no longer alone on the edges of Stull Cemetery.
But still, Michael knew that he knew.
He had always been able to know every single thing about his little brother.
“Lucifer.”
The younger archangel didn’t acknowledge Michael at first, and he knew the reason; it took a good deal of his willpower to hold back on the desire to berate his brother then and there. He knew it was only Lucifer’s way of baiting him, of continuing to behave like a petulant child.
And he knew that a grand, outward reaction was exactly what his brother was hoping for.
“Lucifer,” he said again, his voice taking on the tone it always did when he sought to command his brothers and sisters. It had never had much effect on the Morningstar in the past, Michael knew, but apparently, the time apart had also made that change in his brother as well.
He watched as the figure at the tree slowly got up, stretched his arms and turned to face him, stepping right into the sun’s rays.
And Michael found himself looking directly into the face of Sam Winchester.
“Hello, brother,” said Lucifer.
Michael felt Dean’s distress the moment he laid eyes on the Devil’s chosen vessel, and he sought to use a fraction of his Grace to calm the human soul within him.
He realized now that he should have known. He should have realized the very moment he sensed Lucifer’s presence in the cemetery that it would be Samuel he would be meeting, and not the borrowed vessel in which his brother had previously been spending his time.
Lucifer never was one to do anything halfway.
“He said yes,” said Michael, nodding towards the towering form of the younger Winchester brother standing before him.
Lucifer smiled. “As did yours,” he said, his gaze travelling up and down the body of Dean Winchester. “But we both knew it would eventually come to this, Michael. After all, was there ever any doubt that either of them could deny us?”
Michael straightened, his own emotions intensified by Dean’s brief flare of anger at Lucifer’s insinuation. “They are both strong, brother,” he said. “And their … desire for free will was great.”
“Hmm, yes. But we both know that there are many reasons for them being chosen, don’t we?” said Lucifer as he watched Michael. The elder archangel remained exactly in the same spot that he had been since he arrived, having not even taken a single step closer towards Lucifer. He stood with the same strength, the same pride, that he always had whenever he was faced with moments like these.
Moments when he was torn between duty and desire.
It had been too long; he would admit that. And there was a part of him that wanted nothing more than to walk away from this battle - or, even better, embrace Lucifer like the little brother he had always been and forget everything that had ever happened between them.
That was Michael’s desire.
But like both Michael and Lucifer were well aware, duty always won out for the eldest of the archangels.
And this time was, unfortunately, no different.
He squared his shoulders as he continued staring right at Lucifer, his hand moving almost subconsciously to the angelic blade at his side. Wrapping his fingers around it, he slowly drew it out, bringing it in front of him and stared at it, as if entranced.
One of the first weapons created in Heaven, it had been his since the moment he was created, given to him by God himself. The blade gleamed silver, Enochian sigils etched into the metal glinting as they caught a spare ray of sun with a movement of Michael’s hand or a flick of his wrist. Gold was inlaid into the hilt and it, too, sparkled in the rare moments it managed to catch a bit of sun.
Many enemies of his Father had fallen under the force of this particular blade, for Michael had wielded it well - just as God had expected of his oldest son. No matter what his Father had asked of him, Michael had used the sword to its fullest and greatest potential …
Even against the one person who rivaled the strength of love he held for his Father.
Michael could feel Lucifer’s gaze on him the entire time - never blinking, never ceasing. He tore his own eyes from the sword and tried to clear his mind from the memories of all those thousands of years ago - a completely other lifetime.
A completely different and impossible-to-return-to lifetime.
“I figured that you would still have that,” said Lucifer, nodding towards the heavenly blade Michael held in his hands. “I could never see you using anything else, you know. And besides …” He paused as withdrew his own weapon from Sam Winchester’s jacket.
“Nothing beats your first.”
Lucifer’s blade was unlike anything Michael had ever seen before. It was, in short, a somewhat twisted version of the heavenly weapon he used to have … Before. The markings along the blade were still in Enochian script, but they were too faded for Michael to make out clearly what they said. The metal itself was black rather than the silver of Heaven’s weapons, while its only silver colors were a few inlaid strands in the hilt. It was shorter and more curved, far more different than the long, straight edge of Michael’s sword.
“And yours is rather … new, I see,” said Michael.
Lucifer smiled, glancing down at his own blade as he ran a hand almost lovingly over the blackened metal. “It’ll do,” he replied, meeting Michael’s eyes once again as his gaze turned hard. “It was not as if I could just retrieve my old one, after all … Isn’t that right, brother?”
Michael nodded. “He destroyed it … afterwards.”
Sighing, Lucifer bowed his head. “As I figured He would,” the younger angel muttered before looking back up again.
“Well,” he started, his hands running over the hilt of his weapon as he watched Michael do the same, “this seems familiar.” Lucifer continued his study of Michael. “I don’t suppose I can convince you to listen to me this time, either?”
Michael was silent for a moment. “You haven’t changed,” he finally said, his voice heavy and sad, weighted. “You say you want me to believe you, to trust you, Lucifer?” Michael shook his head. “All of this-” He motioned around as if trying to encompass the entirety of everything - the earth, Heaven, everything in every place - anything at all “-It is all because of you, and your actions … Before.”
“I was just trying to do the right thing, Michael,” whispered Lucifer. “You should have known that, brother.”
“But you were warned, and you were told - you were ordered, Lucifer - to stop.” Michael just sighed, a part of him still longing just to go and embrace his little brother. “But you never could,” he said sadly.
Not for any of us, the archangel thought.
Lucifer just nodded, his head lowered once again and refusing to meet Michael’s eyes. “So, I guess that means there is no way around it? We’re at the same point we were at all those years ago … Aren’t we, Michael?”
“I’m sorry … but I know my duty, little brother. And my destiny-”
“But you don’t have to follow it!”
“Enough!”
The blast of sudden Grace from Michael was powerful enough that it sent an unsuspecting and unprepared Lucifer flying backwards and desperately scrambling to remain on his feet. Michael’s wings burst forth, suddenly free from any “constraints” they had been placed in while existing upon the earthly plane and now completely visible to anyone who might just happen to pass by the two archangels in the middle of Stull Cemetery.
“That’s enough, Lucifer,” said Michael, sounding every bit the leader of the angels and the elder brother that he had always been.
But Lucifer just shook his head. “No, Michael,” he said, getting up from the ground and revealing his own ebony wings as he started stalking towards the other angel. “No, it’s not.”
And with that, he swung his weapon towards Michael.
The dark blade rushed through the air, breezing just a fraction away from where Michael had been as the archangel dodged back with the help of his wings. A quick parry with his sword kept Lucifer’s second attack from succeeding, and then it was Michael’s chance to gain the upper hand.
He swung low, knowing that Lucifer had rarely been able to anticipate such a maneuver in the past. But such had changed over these thousands of years; Michael’s sword had barely started its attack before Lucifer was already in the air, his wings having taken him out of harm’s way. He was not alone in the sanctity of the sky for long, though, as Michael was quick to follow his little brother to their newer battleground.
The fight grew more intense, their blades clashing against each other. The sounds echoed around the graveyard, scaring the little wildlife that had managed to remain on the outskirts and causing them to flee further away.
Lucifer swung his blade down towards Michael, and the elder barely raised his own weapon in time to stop the point of the darkened and twisted heavenly steel from piercing his chest. But still, Lucifer pressed down, putting all of his strength behind the weapon in an attempt to force it to reach Michael.
The assault was too much for Michael’s sword; the steel fractured, allowing Michael only a moment to escape the deadly path of Lucifer’s own sword before it swiped through the very spot where he had just been.
Michael tossed the fragment of his now broken weapon aside as he opened up his wings and in a rush of air, propelled himself directly into Lucifer, running the younger archangel full-force into the tree that he had been lounging against when Michael had first arrived. It crumbled and shattered under the sudden onslaught of the angelic battle.
He yanked his fist back and punched Lucifer, sending the Devil’s head falling backwards and to the side.
“Just tell me why,” he said, pulling up on Sam Winchester’s jacket and bringing Lucifer’s now bloodied face inches from his own. “Why do all of this, Lucifer?” Another punch. “To Father?” Punch. “To us?” Punch.
“To me?”
Michael sat up on Lucifer’s chest, oblivious to the tears that had started falling as he pounded into the other angel, an act fueled by millennia of betrayal. Even if Michael could remotely feel the stirrings of Dean’s discomfort at the appearance of his vessel’s little brother’s well being, the act of “crying” was too foreign.
He continued starting down at the physically bloodied face of Sam Winchester - yet Michael was able to see only the battered bits of his brother beneath. He saw through the bleeding, cut flesh of the fragile human shell that housed his little brother, and saw only the being that Lucifer had been.
The powerful, bright, and angelic being that he still was.
He knew that Hell had left its marks on his brother, that Lucifer had, in some ways, been forced to change by everything that had happened to him. He knew that, in a way, it might have been better if he had been ordered to destroy Lucifer all those millennia ago, instead of simply casting him away at their Father’s behest to a fate that all of them knew could not be worse.
Hell, after all, was never meant to be the home of angels.
Michael yanked his brother’s face closer to his own, only partially mindful of the injuries, until barely a few inches separated the two angels. It was the closest he had been to Lucifer in thousands of years, and feelings - emotions - desires - that he had long thought suppressed beyond any sort of resurrection began suddenly returning.
His hand hovered over the broken skin, and a part of him yearned for nothing more than to use a bit of his Grace to wipe the marks away. To return even the vessel to a beauty that would be somewhat befitting the glory that his little brother was. And as his hand hung just those few inches above Lucifer, Michael felt the wave of coolness that was now completely “Lucifer” flowing and hovering just there, just below the surface of Sam Winchester’s skin.
And for the briefest of moments, the shock of it startled Michael.
He had never felt his brother so cold before. Never before had Michael experienced this “new Lucifer” - this side and element of the younger archangel that had, evidently, been brought about by his decisions. And Michael suddenly realized that it was a consequence he didn’t like.
For the first time, he realized that he desperately - more than anything else - wanted to see the brightness and feel the warmth that had been his Lucifer.
“You get used to it after awhile,” muttered Lucifer, tearing Michael’s attention back to him. He smiled sadly. “I hardly even notice how cold it is anymore.”
Michael just shook his head and, placing his hand on Lucifer’s cheek, ignoring the icy feeling that shot through him, he sent a warm bit of his Grace over. “No, little brother,” whispered Michael, stroking the now-healed and cleared skin of Sam Winchester, though looking deeper into the healing bits of Lucifer’s own tattered Grace that were taking comfort in the sudden and surprising arrival of a fellow angel’s essence.
“I don’t want to just get used to it.”
Michael didn’t even take time for the full weight of his statement to sink in to Lucifer’s mind. With the confusion still apparent on the younger angel’s face, he brought Lucifer’s lips to meet his own.
The kiss started out slow, testing. It was almost tentative. They were relearning desires that hadn’t been acted upon, actions that hadn’t been carried out, for so many thousands of years. Hesitant though it may have been in the beginning, it didn’t stay that way for long.
Michael may have been the initiator of the act, but Lucifer wasted no time sitting back in shocked surprise.
Lucifer returned the kiss with a sudden enthusiasm, a desperate hunger that needed to be sated. His hands traveled from the ground to Michael’s hair, pulling at the short, light strands of the Winchester brother - and wishing for the darker, longer strands that had crowned the eldest archangel’s head Before. He shivered as Michael’s hands took their own little journey, running along the edges of his wings and stroking the dark feathers.
Michael’s Grace reached out towards Lucifer’s, which welcomed its embrace just as much as their physical counterparts did each other’s. Millennia of being alone, of being required to survive in a way no angel was ever meant to through his imprisoned solitude - his forced lack of contact - was being healed with each passing moment as Michael held Lucifer closer and closer, their vessels’ bodies joining as their Graces twined together.
The clothing of the two chosen vessels had long been discarded, the need for contact by both Michael and Lucifer too strong to be inhibited by even the thinnest layers of material. Michael wanted to feel every inch of his brother, even held within the human body of Sam Winchester, and nothing was different for Lucifer as he stared at his older brother housed in the solid body of the elder Winchester.
Michael ignored the coldness that still managed to bleed from Lucifer as he ran his hands over the lines that marked bends in muscles, scars gained in fights or battles this body had been involved in throughout its short life. His hand paused over the spot where the heart beat out a strong, steady rhythm, and he smiled.
“Always calm, little brother,” he said, glancing up to meet Lucifer’s eyes.
Lucifer grinned. “Would you want me any other way, Michael?” His own hand traveled up to rest upon the heart that beat below the paler chest in front of him. Still strong, but the fast pace was clear evidence of the earlier passion that had run through them. “But that’s only the way it is now,” he admitted. He pressed down on Michael’s chest, emphasizing the pounding heart.
“This,” he said, “This is how it was, brother.”
Michael captured Lucifer’s mouth in another kiss, and this time it was Lucifer’s hands that traveled over to Michael’s wings. Michael arched his back, leaning into the touch as he groaned. Grabbing Lucifer by the neck, he brought the younger archangel down to the ground next to him.
“Lucifer …” he hissed, glaring at his brother, but all he received was a smirk in return. His hands made their own course down Lucifer’s sides, ending just above the waist, and Michael felt Lucifer’s Grace respond to his own … much in the same way that, Michael discovered, his body was. While held within their vessels, for the first time, both angels were experiencing what it was humans had found so enjoyable about sex for so long.
His wings expanded and cast a shadow over both of them, the feathers ruffling in the wind that had suddenly started up. “I’ve missed you,” muttered Michael, simply looking at Lucifer in the brief bits of light that passed through the gaps in his wings’ feathers.
“Come on, Michael,” said Lucifer, smiling as he stared up at his big brother. “There’s no reason to miss me anymore.” He gave Michael a light kiss before leaning back once again. “I’m right here.”
Lucifer held Michael’s face in his hands, his eyes staring right into Michael’s own. Their face remained just a few inches apart, and Michael could feel the breath that came from Lucifer with every word the other angel spoke.
“This world can be ours,” muttered Lucifer, his head resting against Michael’s. “Please, Michael. Help me make it into what it once was - what it was always meant to be.”
Michael stared into the pleading eyes of his younger brother - the brother he had already denied too many times before, the brother he had cast away and betrayed and denied for so long, the brother he had basically forced to become the villain so many saw him as - and realized that he could not do the same actions again.
Orders or not, destiny or not, he could not bring himself to deny the one thing he had always known.
Lucifer - his little brother - always came first. Always.
He lifted his hand from its resting place against Lucifer’s chest and brought it to the younger angel’s face. He held Lucifer’s cheek, his thumb stroking back and forth along the skin, before running the hand through Sam Winchester’s dark hair.
“When Father told me to protect you,” he started, ignoring the look of confusion on Lucifer’s face at the odd beginning, “it was the first thing He ever told me. He told me on that very first day to watch over you, and to love you. And I promised that I always would. That nothing would keep me from doing exactly as Father had commanded of me in that moment.”
“Michael, what-?”
“Shh.” Michael placed his fingers on Lucifer’s lips. “Just listen.” And Lucifer nodded, brow still furrowed in confusion.
“I swore that no matter what happened, that no matter what other brother or sister came along, it would always be you - and you alone - that I cared the most for. I promised it, Lucifer.
“But for too long, that promise has been broken. All those millennia ago, I did the one thing that I swore I would never do to you - I almost destroyed you.”
“If it’s forgiveness you want, you have it,” said Lucifer, gasping. “I know you’re sorry, Michael. I know it now-”
Smiling sadly, Michael just sighed. “No, Lucifer, it is not forgiveness that I seek. Thank you, little brother,” he whispered, kissing Lucifer lightly on the forehead, “but that’s not it.”
“Then what is?”
Michael just continued smiling. “Just keep listening.”
Michael shook his head, knowing now that the drops of liquid falling from his eyes were, indeed, tears. “But I am finished with denying the truth. I am finished with fighting, and I am finished with breaking that one promise I always intended to keep.”
Lucifer looked at Michael when the elder angel had finished, trying - and, to his annoyance, still failing - to fully understand the complete meaning behind his brother’s words. “So … what are you saying, Michael?” he asked. “You don’t seek forgiveness, so what do you want?”
At that, Michael just embraced Lucifer and held him close. He brought his lips up to Lucifer’s ear and, whispering, answered the question.
“You.”
Lucifer jerked back, looking surprised at Michael. “What?”
“I wish for things to return to the way they always were - before everything happened that tore us, and all of Heaven, apart. I wish to erase the past, and forget all of these broken promises.
“I wish for there to be peace, and Paradise, but only if I can have you with me.”
Lucifer smiled. “So the world …”
“… Is a small price to pay for these desires, little brother,” finished Michael, giving Lucifer another brief kiss as he continued holding the other angel in his embrace, sheltering the two of them in the cover of his wings.
Just like he always had.
And just like he always would.
~*~
Finite!
~Megan
Rating: R
Length: One-shot (6460 words)
Pairings: Michael/Lucifer (Michael!Dean/Lucifer!Sam)
Era: 5.22: "Swan Song"
Warnings: AU; slight adult language; sexual relations
Summary: Dean made the decision to save his brother, to keep Sam safe. But sometimes, destiny really just can't be changed. And sometimes, even angels have some "issues" they need to work through.
Note: Written for spn_reversebang, to adrenalineshots's lovely prompt piece here. The Master Art post filled w/some fantastic pieces can be seen here
He had thought about it. For days and days, for nights and nights, the decision had kept him awake. It had been brewing and growing in his mind, swirling around inside him, until he could barely think of anything else.
He had not planned on things turning out this way. No one ever plans on things not working out, on failing, on seeing everything you have ever worked for or loved fall apart and be destroyed.
But then, that was life. In the majority of people’s lives, what they planned - what they hoped for, what they wanted, what they sought and prayed for - never happened. It was always the opposite.
And he had learned that long ago … so why was it a surprise for him now that, once again, what he had thought - what he had hoped for and planned - had not turned out the way he had wanted it to?
Why was he so shocked?
Perhaps because it wasn’t in his nature to give up like this, to give in to what was, as far as he could see, the inevitable. For all of his life, he had just fought the inevitable, the impossible, and he had always come out ahead, even when it hadn’t seemed likely, or even possible.
Even when he probably shouldn’t have.
But now … now he could see no other way. Now he just did not feel like fighting anymore.
When it came to this point, when it came to this particular choice, the only option - the only path - that he could see that provided any sort of salvation for those he loved was the one that doomed him.
And, really, he was okay with that.
Yeah, he thought, slipping on his jacket as he walked quietly out of the motel room, glancing back for only the briefest moment at the slumbering figure on the far bed. He stood in the open doorway, the light from a nearby streetlight providing a semi-bright beam into the room that lay out a straight path right into the sleeping face of Sam Winchester.
Dean stood there for a moment longer, the keys to the Impala cool in his hand, and thought about the decision just that one more time.
But looking at Sam, sleeping soundly in the bed for more than three hours for the first time in Dean didn’t know how long, no sign at all that the apocalypse was hanging over his head, no worries about being the vessel of the Devil, nothing at all … it was all Dean needed to make up his mind.
He knew he was doing the right thing.
Even if Sam wouldn’t understand, would probably end up hating him for it, Dean knew that he had to do this.
In order to save the world - in order to save Sam - he had no qualms about giving up himself.
Not anymore.
Yeah, he thought. I really am okay with that.
**
He awoke to bright rays of sunlight shining through a crack in the ragged curtains hanging over the window. He squinted and rolled over in the bed, burying his head back into the pillow as he attempted to escape the light. It was too early to wake up, he thought, not wanting to give in and return to dealing with the inevitable coming apocalypse.
And besides, Dean hadn’t even woken up yet-
Sam jumped up and out of bed as soon as that thought fell into his mind. He looked frantically around the small motel room. He saw the pizza box that held the cold remains of last night’s supper; he saw the empty beer bottles on the table, and the not yet used coffee maker. He saw his laptop still plugged in and sitting on the desk, right where he had left it when he had decided to crash last night. He saw his duffle bag still stuffed with all his possessions, and he saw Dean’s-
Sam did a double - and a triple - take around the room, but nothing changed from that first time. Dean’s stuff was missing. Every single thing that Dean had brought into the room - his bag, his guns - all of it was gone.
It didn’t take long for all of the pieces to fall into place for Sam, and the answer came in a flash, almost before the question had been fully raised in his head.
“Damn it, Dean,” he muttered, hurrying out of the bed and throwing on the nearest clothes he could grab. He didn’t know when, exactly, in the night Dean had left. He didn’t know where his brother would ultimately end up - not for sure, anyway, but he had a few solid guesses.
But he did know what Dean was doing.
And he knew he had to stop him.
**
He had driven for hours, not quite having a particular destination - not a physical one, at least - in his mind. If he was honest with himself, he would admit that he had really no idea how he was going to go about this. If he was honest, he would admit that he had “planned” about as far as “say, ‘yes,’ and save Sam.”
So he just kept going in some direction, hoping the next part of the plan would just fall into place. He wasn’t thinking it would be quite such a literal drop, though, when the figure suddenly arrived next to him.
“Hello, Dean.”
**
“Hello, Sam.”
Sam jerked his head at the soft-sounding greeting. He turned to the left, his eyes instantly meeting the piercing blue gaze of the archangel sitting next to him. He didn’t jump, though; he didn’t push himself away, didn’t rush to put distance between himself and his visitor.
“How …”
Lucifer just smiled, turning away from Sam as he spoke. “How did I manage to find you? Sam,” he sighed, “I’ve always known where you are; I could always feel you … just as you could always feel me.”
Sam went to deny it; the words were on the tip of his lips when Lucifer overrode him.
“No, Sam,” he said, looking directly at the human again. “You can’t lie to me, not about this. I know you far too well.”
A large part of Sam wanted to rebel against that, wanted to fight against Lucifer’s confident assumption that he knew him so well. But he pushed it down (for now), choosing to deal with more urgent matters.
“Why are you here, anyway?” he asked, piercing Lucifer with a glare in an attempt to be intimidating. “I’m not changing my answer, and you already know that, so why the constant visits?”
Lucifer was silent as he started at Sam, the intense unblinking gaze beginning to make the hunter uncomfortable. Sam was almost tempted to speak, to ask the question again - if anything, just to break the silence and perhaps, cause the Devil to divert his attention for at least a brief moment.
But something just held him back. There was just something about the look in Lucifer’s eyes, the expression on his face, that kept Sam silent, kept him waiting for the archangel to continue on his own.
Finally, his patience was rewarded.
“You know where your brother has gone,” said Lucifer. “You know what he is about to do.” Lucifer watched Sam as his words penetrated the human’s mind. He clenched his jaw, and Lucifer knew that he was barely restraining the anger, the rage, the betrayal, that longed to burst free.
“You know that everything is happening just as they expected it to, just as it was planned and destined to happen,” said Lucifer. “And you know the truth, Sam. You know, deep inside, that there is only one way things can come to an end.”
Sam looked back up at Lucifer, his own eyes meeting those of the archangel. He knew where the Devil was going - had known the course this conversation was traveling since it started. And a part of him had always known that it would end up here, in this way, at this moment.
That he would be faced with this choice …
He just hadn’t expected it to be exactly like this.
“I’ve told you the same answer over and over,” he said, his voice low, barely able to be heard above the sounds coming from the newscaster on the television set. “Every time, you ask the same question, and every time, I tell you that I won’t do it. What makes you think that this time, right now, is gonna be any different?”
Lucifer smiled sadly. “Because you know the truth about where Dean is, about what is about to happen. You know the inevitability of the outcome, and you can no longer hold on to any sort of false hope that things will turn out any differently than how it was written.” Lucifer watched as Sam’s head fell, his gaze falling away from the archangel’s to stare at the ragged carpet under his feet.
“I’m sorry, Sam.”
**
Dean did a double take at the dark-haired man that had suddenly materialized in the passenger seat of the Impala, knowing instantly that it couldn’t be the very man it actually looked like.
Because, really, there was no fucking way his 20-something year-old dad was sitting beside him.
“Michael.”
The archangel smiled as he looked over at the human. “Of course,” he said, turning away again as he returned his focus to the passing countryside. “You asked for me, Dean-”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Yes, you did,” interrupted Michael. “Unconsciously, true, but the desire was there all the same.” He watched as Dean gripped the steering wheel even tighter, watched as the elder Winchester’s posture grew stiff against the seat. “And you know why you have done so,” he whispered.
Dean didn’t speak right away. He pulled the car over to the side of the road, even though he very well could have probably gotten away with stopping right in the middle of the street, it was so deserted.
“Are you ready?”
He let the question hang in the air for a moment; he just allowed the silence to drift in the car, no sounds heard between Dean and Michael other than the few rare noises that happened to make it in from the outside. When he finally did turn and look back up, ready to speak, he met the unblinking green gaze of the archangel on his right.
“You know the deal?” asked Dean. “Everything that you said before, back then in that whole time jump thing, it all still goes, right? Nothing’s changed?”
Michael nodded. “Of course,” he said. “You have my word, Dean. I didn’t lie to you then, and I am not lying to you now.”
And that was all Dean needed to hear.
“Okay then.”
Dean wasn’t prepared for the intensity of the bright light that overwhelmed the small area inside the car when the young form of John Winchester suddenly disappeared; although, looking back, he probably should have been. He had not even been given a chance to guard his eyes against the light, but such a fact didn’t matter.
The light was meant for him - and him alone.
It wouldn’t - couldn’t - harm him.
He was overwhelmed by it, the heavenly presence embracing and surrounding every part of him - every inch, every cell, every fiber - until he couldn’t separate himself from the light. Its warmth was comforting and soothing, like a mother’s embrace after finally returning home, rather than the hot burning he had first thought it would be.
“We were always meant to be.”
And even the voice, whispering in his head as the light held him, was soothing. Michael’s tone wasn’t harsh or commanding or self-righteous.
It was safe; it was welcome.
It was right.
“We complete each other,” the voice whispered, the light reaching out like fingers to stroke him and wipe away his anxieties. “We have - and always will be - two pieces of the same picture.”
The embrace strengthened; the hold that the light held him in grew, wrapping around him and comforting him; the warmth increased, and he knew there was no denying the truth in the voice’s words anymore.
He accepted that, even deep down, there was a part of him that had always known.
“Will you accept me?”
And Dean Winchester didn’t hesitate as he answered the archangel’s question.
“Yes.”
**
Michael felt the pull towards Stull Cemetery, knowing its importance as the location of the destined battle. But he ignored it at first, wishing to put off what he knew would be inevitable the moment that he arrived there.
He had not lied all that time ago when he had confessed to Dean that he had no wish to kill his brother.
So instead of leaving for Kansas immediately, he disappeared from the empty road in a rush of wings and reappeared miles away on the coast. The archangel just stood there and watched the waves of the ocean as the water lapped at the sandy beach, the area deserted due to the day’s cool, falling temperatures. It was just how he wished it.
And so he stood there, and he simply took in the moment of silence and stillness, and tried to convince himself it wasn’t because he was stalling. It wasn’t because he was avidly trying to put off what he knew must be done. Michael tried to convince himself that he needed time; he needed to adjust to everything - time to adjust to his vessel, time to prepare himself for the moment that was, after all this time, finally at hand.
But even Michael couldn’t convince himself of such half-truths.
It had not taken him long to get … comfortable inside of Dean; there was a reason, after all, that the eldest Winchester had been his true vessel, even if it had taken the human a long time to come to the realization of it himself. From the very moment that the hunter had said, “Yes,” and Michael had taken him as his own, Michael had felt complete. He had felt comfortable … and he felt ready.
Ready to do what must, unfortunately, be done.
With one last look at the ocean, he gave one last wish that he could remain there and not follow the order that he had been given, even if he knew such a thing was futile. He had tried before, to ignore an order, and it was just not a part of who he was. Michael tried, but could not bring himself to go against the one he loved and obeyed above all.
And nothing had changed between then and now.
“Forgive me, brother,” he whispered, knowing that such a hope was pointless even as the words left his lips and he disappeared.
The air was still when Michael arrived in the cemetery. No wind was blowing, and the sun itself was hidden behind thick grey clouds, keeping the sky overcast and keeping the same threat of storms alive that had been present for the entire central part of the country for the past week. Fallen leaves blew along the ground. Dead and dying grass crunched under his feet as Michael walked through the cemetery, passing by the faded headstones that hadn’t been cared for in ages.
He paid little attention to such things, though. He knew where he needed to go. From the very moment that he had arrived, Michael had sensed the presence of another - the presence of one whom he hadn’t felt in ages, the presence of one whom he knew better than any other …
And whom he had missed more than he was ever outwardly willing to admit.
So he simply followed the pull across the old cemetery, caring little for anything else around him. And Michael only stopped when he came upon the sight of the lounging figure below the only decently sized tree in the cemetery.
The figure sat leaned back against the tree’s trunk, his left leg bent at the knee while he kept the right one straight out, his arm resting atop it. His gaze remained outwards, focused on something that Michael couldn’t see beyond the edges of the farthest headstones - and a part of the archangel even wondered if, perhaps, he was even looking at anything at all.
Michael knew that his presence had not gone unnoticed, but still, the other gave no acknowledgement of him. There was no look in his direction, no movement in the body, to suggest that he had even realized that he was no longer alone on the edges of Stull Cemetery.
But still, Michael knew that he knew.
He had always been able to know every single thing about his little brother.
“Lucifer.”
The younger archangel didn’t acknowledge Michael at first, and he knew the reason; it took a good deal of his willpower to hold back on the desire to berate his brother then and there. He knew it was only Lucifer’s way of baiting him, of continuing to behave like a petulant child.
And he knew that a grand, outward reaction was exactly what his brother was hoping for.
“Lucifer,” he said again, his voice taking on the tone it always did when he sought to command his brothers and sisters. It had never had much effect on the Morningstar in the past, Michael knew, but apparently, the time apart had also made that change in his brother as well.
He watched as the figure at the tree slowly got up, stretched his arms and turned to face him, stepping right into the sun’s rays.
And Michael found himself looking directly into the face of Sam Winchester.
“Hello, brother,” said Lucifer.
Michael felt Dean’s distress the moment he laid eyes on the Devil’s chosen vessel, and he sought to use a fraction of his Grace to calm the human soul within him.
He realized now that he should have known. He should have realized the very moment he sensed Lucifer’s presence in the cemetery that it would be Samuel he would be meeting, and not the borrowed vessel in which his brother had previously been spending his time.
Lucifer never was one to do anything halfway.
“He said yes,” said Michael, nodding towards the towering form of the younger Winchester brother standing before him.
Lucifer smiled. “As did yours,” he said, his gaze travelling up and down the body of Dean Winchester. “But we both knew it would eventually come to this, Michael. After all, was there ever any doubt that either of them could deny us?”
Michael straightened, his own emotions intensified by Dean’s brief flare of anger at Lucifer’s insinuation. “They are both strong, brother,” he said. “And their … desire for free will was great.”
“Hmm, yes. But we both know that there are many reasons for them being chosen, don’t we?” said Lucifer as he watched Michael. The elder archangel remained exactly in the same spot that he had been since he arrived, having not even taken a single step closer towards Lucifer. He stood with the same strength, the same pride, that he always had whenever he was faced with moments like these.
Moments when he was torn between duty and desire.
It had been too long; he would admit that. And there was a part of him that wanted nothing more than to walk away from this battle - or, even better, embrace Lucifer like the little brother he had always been and forget everything that had ever happened between them.
That was Michael’s desire.
But like both Michael and Lucifer were well aware, duty always won out for the eldest of the archangels.
And this time was, unfortunately, no different.
He squared his shoulders as he continued staring right at Lucifer, his hand moving almost subconsciously to the angelic blade at his side. Wrapping his fingers around it, he slowly drew it out, bringing it in front of him and stared at it, as if entranced.
One of the first weapons created in Heaven, it had been his since the moment he was created, given to him by God himself. The blade gleamed silver, Enochian sigils etched into the metal glinting as they caught a spare ray of sun with a movement of Michael’s hand or a flick of his wrist. Gold was inlaid into the hilt and it, too, sparkled in the rare moments it managed to catch a bit of sun.
Many enemies of his Father had fallen under the force of this particular blade, for Michael had wielded it well - just as God had expected of his oldest son. No matter what his Father had asked of him, Michael had used the sword to its fullest and greatest potential …
Even against the one person who rivaled the strength of love he held for his Father.
Michael could feel Lucifer’s gaze on him the entire time - never blinking, never ceasing. He tore his own eyes from the sword and tried to clear his mind from the memories of all those thousands of years ago - a completely other lifetime.
A completely different and impossible-to-return-to lifetime.
“I figured that you would still have that,” said Lucifer, nodding towards the heavenly blade Michael held in his hands. “I could never see you using anything else, you know. And besides …” He paused as withdrew his own weapon from Sam Winchester’s jacket.
“Nothing beats your first.”
Lucifer’s blade was unlike anything Michael had ever seen before. It was, in short, a somewhat twisted version of the heavenly weapon he used to have … Before. The markings along the blade were still in Enochian script, but they were too faded for Michael to make out clearly what they said. The metal itself was black rather than the silver of Heaven’s weapons, while its only silver colors were a few inlaid strands in the hilt. It was shorter and more curved, far more different than the long, straight edge of Michael’s sword.
“And yours is rather … new, I see,” said Michael.
Lucifer smiled, glancing down at his own blade as he ran a hand almost lovingly over the blackened metal. “It’ll do,” he replied, meeting Michael’s eyes once again as his gaze turned hard. “It was not as if I could just retrieve my old one, after all … Isn’t that right, brother?”
Michael nodded. “He destroyed it … afterwards.”
Sighing, Lucifer bowed his head. “As I figured He would,” the younger angel muttered before looking back up again.
“Well,” he started, his hands running over the hilt of his weapon as he watched Michael do the same, “this seems familiar.” Lucifer continued his study of Michael. “I don’t suppose I can convince you to listen to me this time, either?”
Michael was silent for a moment. “You haven’t changed,” he finally said, his voice heavy and sad, weighted. “You say you want me to believe you, to trust you, Lucifer?” Michael shook his head. “All of this-” He motioned around as if trying to encompass the entirety of everything - the earth, Heaven, everything in every place - anything at all “-It is all because of you, and your actions … Before.”
“I was just trying to do the right thing, Michael,” whispered Lucifer. “You should have known that, brother.”
“But you were warned, and you were told - you were ordered, Lucifer - to stop.” Michael just sighed, a part of him still longing just to go and embrace his little brother. “But you never could,” he said sadly.
Not for any of us, the archangel thought.
Lucifer just nodded, his head lowered once again and refusing to meet Michael’s eyes. “So, I guess that means there is no way around it? We’re at the same point we were at all those years ago … Aren’t we, Michael?”
“I’m sorry … but I know my duty, little brother. And my destiny-”
“But you don’t have to follow it!”
“Enough!”
The blast of sudden Grace from Michael was powerful enough that it sent an unsuspecting and unprepared Lucifer flying backwards and desperately scrambling to remain on his feet. Michael’s wings burst forth, suddenly free from any “constraints” they had been placed in while existing upon the earthly plane and now completely visible to anyone who might just happen to pass by the two archangels in the middle of Stull Cemetery.
“That’s enough, Lucifer,” said Michael, sounding every bit the leader of the angels and the elder brother that he had always been.
But Lucifer just shook his head. “No, Michael,” he said, getting up from the ground and revealing his own ebony wings as he started stalking towards the other angel. “No, it’s not.”
And with that, he swung his weapon towards Michael.
The dark blade rushed through the air, breezing just a fraction away from where Michael had been as the archangel dodged back with the help of his wings. A quick parry with his sword kept Lucifer’s second attack from succeeding, and then it was Michael’s chance to gain the upper hand.
He swung low, knowing that Lucifer had rarely been able to anticipate such a maneuver in the past. But such had changed over these thousands of years; Michael’s sword had barely started its attack before Lucifer was already in the air, his wings having taken him out of harm’s way. He was not alone in the sanctity of the sky for long, though, as Michael was quick to follow his little brother to their newer battleground.
The fight grew more intense, their blades clashing against each other. The sounds echoed around the graveyard, scaring the little wildlife that had managed to remain on the outskirts and causing them to flee further away.
Lucifer swung his blade down towards Michael, and the elder barely raised his own weapon in time to stop the point of the darkened and twisted heavenly steel from piercing his chest. But still, Lucifer pressed down, putting all of his strength behind the weapon in an attempt to force it to reach Michael.
The assault was too much for Michael’s sword; the steel fractured, allowing Michael only a moment to escape the deadly path of Lucifer’s own sword before it swiped through the very spot where he had just been.
Michael tossed the fragment of his now broken weapon aside as he opened up his wings and in a rush of air, propelled himself directly into Lucifer, running the younger archangel full-force into the tree that he had been lounging against when Michael had first arrived. It crumbled and shattered under the sudden onslaught of the angelic battle.
He yanked his fist back and punched Lucifer, sending the Devil’s head falling backwards and to the side.
“Just tell me why,” he said, pulling up on Sam Winchester’s jacket and bringing Lucifer’s now bloodied face inches from his own. “Why do all of this, Lucifer?” Another punch. “To Father?” Punch. “To us?” Punch.
“To me?”
Michael sat up on Lucifer’s chest, oblivious to the tears that had started falling as he pounded into the other angel, an act fueled by millennia of betrayal. Even if Michael could remotely feel the stirrings of Dean’s discomfort at the appearance of his vessel’s little brother’s well being, the act of “crying” was too foreign.
He continued starting down at the physically bloodied face of Sam Winchester - yet Michael was able to see only the battered bits of his brother beneath. He saw through the bleeding, cut flesh of the fragile human shell that housed his little brother, and saw only the being that Lucifer had been.
The powerful, bright, and angelic being that he still was.
He knew that Hell had left its marks on his brother, that Lucifer had, in some ways, been forced to change by everything that had happened to him. He knew that, in a way, it might have been better if he had been ordered to destroy Lucifer all those millennia ago, instead of simply casting him away at their Father’s behest to a fate that all of them knew could not be worse.
Hell, after all, was never meant to be the home of angels.
Michael yanked his brother’s face closer to his own, only partially mindful of the injuries, until barely a few inches separated the two angels. It was the closest he had been to Lucifer in thousands of years, and feelings - emotions - desires - that he had long thought suppressed beyond any sort of resurrection began suddenly returning.
His hand hovered over the broken skin, and a part of him yearned for nothing more than to use a bit of his Grace to wipe the marks away. To return even the vessel to a beauty that would be somewhat befitting the glory that his little brother was. And as his hand hung just those few inches above Lucifer, Michael felt the wave of coolness that was now completely “Lucifer” flowing and hovering just there, just below the surface of Sam Winchester’s skin.
And for the briefest of moments, the shock of it startled Michael.
He had never felt his brother so cold before. Never before had Michael experienced this “new Lucifer” - this side and element of the younger archangel that had, evidently, been brought about by his decisions. And Michael suddenly realized that it was a consequence he didn’t like.
For the first time, he realized that he desperately - more than anything else - wanted to see the brightness and feel the warmth that had been his Lucifer.
“You get used to it after awhile,” muttered Lucifer, tearing Michael’s attention back to him. He smiled sadly. “I hardly even notice how cold it is anymore.”
Michael just shook his head and, placing his hand on Lucifer’s cheek, ignoring the icy feeling that shot through him, he sent a warm bit of his Grace over. “No, little brother,” whispered Michael, stroking the now-healed and cleared skin of Sam Winchester, though looking deeper into the healing bits of Lucifer’s own tattered Grace that were taking comfort in the sudden and surprising arrival of a fellow angel’s essence.
“I don’t want to just get used to it.”
Michael didn’t even take time for the full weight of his statement to sink in to Lucifer’s mind. With the confusion still apparent on the younger angel’s face, he brought Lucifer’s lips to meet his own.
The kiss started out slow, testing. It was almost tentative. They were relearning desires that hadn’t been acted upon, actions that hadn’t been carried out, for so many thousands of years. Hesitant though it may have been in the beginning, it didn’t stay that way for long.
Michael may have been the initiator of the act, but Lucifer wasted no time sitting back in shocked surprise.
Lucifer returned the kiss with a sudden enthusiasm, a desperate hunger that needed to be sated. His hands traveled from the ground to Michael’s hair, pulling at the short, light strands of the Winchester brother - and wishing for the darker, longer strands that had crowned the eldest archangel’s head Before. He shivered as Michael’s hands took their own little journey, running along the edges of his wings and stroking the dark feathers.
Michael’s Grace reached out towards Lucifer’s, which welcomed its embrace just as much as their physical counterparts did each other’s. Millennia of being alone, of being required to survive in a way no angel was ever meant to through his imprisoned solitude - his forced lack of contact - was being healed with each passing moment as Michael held Lucifer closer and closer, their vessels’ bodies joining as their Graces twined together.
The clothing of the two chosen vessels had long been discarded, the need for contact by both Michael and Lucifer too strong to be inhibited by even the thinnest layers of material. Michael wanted to feel every inch of his brother, even held within the human body of Sam Winchester, and nothing was different for Lucifer as he stared at his older brother housed in the solid body of the elder Winchester.
Michael ignored the coldness that still managed to bleed from Lucifer as he ran his hands over the lines that marked bends in muscles, scars gained in fights or battles this body had been involved in throughout its short life. His hand paused over the spot where the heart beat out a strong, steady rhythm, and he smiled.
“Always calm, little brother,” he said, glancing up to meet Lucifer’s eyes.
Lucifer grinned. “Would you want me any other way, Michael?” His own hand traveled up to rest upon the heart that beat below the paler chest in front of him. Still strong, but the fast pace was clear evidence of the earlier passion that had run through them. “But that’s only the way it is now,” he admitted. He pressed down on Michael’s chest, emphasizing the pounding heart.
“This,” he said, “This is how it was, brother.”
Michael captured Lucifer’s mouth in another kiss, and this time it was Lucifer’s hands that traveled over to Michael’s wings. Michael arched his back, leaning into the touch as he groaned. Grabbing Lucifer by the neck, he brought the younger archangel down to the ground next to him.
“Lucifer …” he hissed, glaring at his brother, but all he received was a smirk in return. His hands made their own course down Lucifer’s sides, ending just above the waist, and Michael felt Lucifer’s Grace respond to his own … much in the same way that, Michael discovered, his body was. While held within their vessels, for the first time, both angels were experiencing what it was humans had found so enjoyable about sex for so long.
His wings expanded and cast a shadow over both of them, the feathers ruffling in the wind that had suddenly started up. “I’ve missed you,” muttered Michael, simply looking at Lucifer in the brief bits of light that passed through the gaps in his wings’ feathers.
“Come on, Michael,” said Lucifer, smiling as he stared up at his big brother. “There’s no reason to miss me anymore.” He gave Michael a light kiss before leaning back once again. “I’m right here.”
Lucifer held Michael’s face in his hands, his eyes staring right into Michael’s own. Their face remained just a few inches apart, and Michael could feel the breath that came from Lucifer with every word the other angel spoke.
“This world can be ours,” muttered Lucifer, his head resting against Michael’s. “Please, Michael. Help me make it into what it once was - what it was always meant to be.”
Michael stared into the pleading eyes of his younger brother - the brother he had already denied too many times before, the brother he had cast away and betrayed and denied for so long, the brother he had basically forced to become the villain so many saw him as - and realized that he could not do the same actions again.
Orders or not, destiny or not, he could not bring himself to deny the one thing he had always known.
Lucifer - his little brother - always came first. Always.
He lifted his hand from its resting place against Lucifer’s chest and brought it to the younger angel’s face. He held Lucifer’s cheek, his thumb stroking back and forth along the skin, before running the hand through Sam Winchester’s dark hair.
“When Father told me to protect you,” he started, ignoring the look of confusion on Lucifer’s face at the odd beginning, “it was the first thing He ever told me. He told me on that very first day to watch over you, and to love you. And I promised that I always would. That nothing would keep me from doing exactly as Father had commanded of me in that moment.”
“Michael, what-?”
“Shh.” Michael placed his fingers on Lucifer’s lips. “Just listen.” And Lucifer nodded, brow still furrowed in confusion.
“I swore that no matter what happened, that no matter what other brother or sister came along, it would always be you - and you alone - that I cared the most for. I promised it, Lucifer.
“But for too long, that promise has been broken. All those millennia ago, I did the one thing that I swore I would never do to you - I almost destroyed you.”
“If it’s forgiveness you want, you have it,” said Lucifer, gasping. “I know you’re sorry, Michael. I know it now-”
Smiling sadly, Michael just sighed. “No, Lucifer, it is not forgiveness that I seek. Thank you, little brother,” he whispered, kissing Lucifer lightly on the forehead, “but that’s not it.”
“Then what is?”
Michael just continued smiling. “Just keep listening.”
Michael shook his head, knowing now that the drops of liquid falling from his eyes were, indeed, tears. “But I am finished with denying the truth. I am finished with fighting, and I am finished with breaking that one promise I always intended to keep.”
Lucifer looked at Michael when the elder angel had finished, trying - and, to his annoyance, still failing - to fully understand the complete meaning behind his brother’s words. “So … what are you saying, Michael?” he asked. “You don’t seek forgiveness, so what do you want?”
At that, Michael just embraced Lucifer and held him close. He brought his lips up to Lucifer’s ear and, whispering, answered the question.
“You.”
Lucifer jerked back, looking surprised at Michael. “What?”
“I wish for things to return to the way they always were - before everything happened that tore us, and all of Heaven, apart. I wish to erase the past, and forget all of these broken promises.
“I wish for there to be peace, and Paradise, but only if I can have you with me.”
Lucifer smiled. “So the world …”
“… Is a small price to pay for these desires, little brother,” finished Michael, giving Lucifer another brief kiss as he continued holding the other angel in his embrace, sheltering the two of them in the cover of his wings.
Just like he always had.
And just like he always would.
~*~
Finite!
~Megan