Unexpected Destinies Chapter 67
Title: Unexpected Destinies
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: up to and including Exile on Main St., AU from the end of season 5
Warnings: AU, slash
Word Count: 2,616
Summary: Michael and Dean begin collecting ingredients for the Rite of Contressa.
PAST
The inside of the church was cavernous, echoing and empty. The faint smell of incense still clung to the air, as did the perpetual chill that Dean had come to associate with churches everywhere. It had something to do with the logistics of heating so large an open space, or at least that was what Pastor Jim had always said and he figured his old friend would know what he'd been talking about.
All of this, Dean took in almost mechanically in the seconds after they'd landed. The rest of his attention was still trying to process what had just happened. In typical angel fashion, Michael had flown them to their first destination, but the archangel had neglected to warn him of what angel air was like for a vessel as opposed to a human being carried by an angel. Whereas angel transportation had always seemed instantaneous before, now it hadn't. Oh, he was sure that no extra time had actually elapsed (and exactly how the hell that worked he didn't even want to try and figure out), merely that his angelically enhanced senses had now picked up and transmitted things to his brain that his ordinary human ones never could have.
"Dean?" Michael questioned. "Are you alright?"
"Yeah, just give me a moment to process all of that."
"All of what?"
"Being transported by one of you guys seems instantaneous to humans."
"Oh, my apologies."
Dean snorted. "Not your fault."
In a way, Dean was kinda glad that he'd had no warning of what it would be like. His fear of flying probably would have kicked in otherwise and he was rather glad that he hadn't been given the opportunity to embarrass himself before the archangel. Now that he knew what to expect, he also wouldn't freak out in the future either as it was nothing like normal flying. For one, he could literally feel his- Michael's- many wings beating and the air moving through and over the feathers, giving him the illusion of being in control. If he'd thought the wings were cool earlier, it was absolutely nothing compared to the feel of the strong appendages beating and bearing his weight as they flew.
As for the rest, well, Dean just wasn't quite sure what to make of it. Yes, he'd seen things, but it had all flashed by so fast as to be nearly meaningless. It had come down to flashes of color, gray, red, green, blue, brown and gray again. Even if Michael was able to process all of that faster than him, he still doubted that the archangel could fly and navigate just by that alone.
"How do you fly?" Dean finally asked. "How do you know how to get to somewhere?"
"Angels all know the Earth in its entirety. It is one of our Father's greatest creations and something we all know very well and any angel that comes to it must know what you call each area now."
"So you just fly in the general direction first?"
"Yes, then we narrow it down, faster then you can probably follow."
"Yeah," Dean admitted ruefully.
Since he knew that he wouldn't be able to figure it all out now, Dean let it slide and turned all of his attention to what was going on around him at the moment. Michael had walked them up the central aisle and now they stood before the main altar and the large cross that hung behind it. As he looked up at it, his eyes were inevitably drawn to the vaulted ceiling above the cross. The moment he caught sight of the detailed stonework and paintings up there, he knew that they weren't actually in a large church, but rather in a small cathedral. The realization gave new meaning to the landscape that had flashed by beneath him, particularly to the blue.
"We're in Europe, aren't we?" Dean asked with an odd sort of acceptance as if he really should have seen this coming.
Castiel had used to fly off for all corners of the globe on a regular basis after all. Not to mention the fact that it was really shortsighted of him to expect this whole thing to take place in the US. Which was to say nothing of the fact that if it was so easy for angels to travel anywhere, why should they limit themselves geographically?
"Yes, Western Belgium to be exact," Michael replied.
"Why?"
"Because there is a priest here who has been praying to me since he was a child."
"You can tell people's prayers apart? Of those you've never met, I mean."
"Sometimes, yes. Lesser angels find it easier to do so as they receive far fewer prayers then say myself, Raphael or, well, or then Gabriel used to get."
The wave of foreign sadness that reached him made Dean wince in sympathy. He was, unfortunately, only all too aware of what it felt like to lose a brother and even the knowledge that Michael and Gabriel had been estranged for centuries or millennia only made it worse in a way. Yes, they'd been apart for so long, but he could only imagine that they'd been together for far longer and time apart didn't make the loss any easier to bear and could make it worse depending on the circumstances of their split. That, however, was not something that he was going to pry into even if part of him felt that it would serve the archangel right for his earlier attempts at the same.
"Lesser angels are also more likely to get repeat prayers," Michael continued on. "They are less well known and thus those who know of them tend to have looked them up specifically or have attached some special meaning to calling upon them that brings them back time and again."
"They're not lesser," Dean couldn't help but mutter in defense of his lover.
"I do not mean it in a negative sense, Little One, just that they are not archangels and are less well known to humans."
That much at least Dean knew to be true. He'd tried to look up Castiel once while waiting for his brother to finish up with some research at a library and he'd been completely unable to find anything on him. It was as if his then friend had simply not existed according to the angelic lore that humans possessed. It had saddened him then, but now he wondered if that might not be a mixed blessing, if it meant that his angel didn't have to put up with the incessant pleas and requests from people. Or did angels really like getting prayed to? If so, it wasn't fair that Castiel wasn't mentioned anywhere, he was the best angel as far as he was concerned and no, that wasn't just his bias as a lover talking, he'd felt that way for a long time. Not that Michael wasn't proving to be half decent himself.
"So do you get prayers all of the time then?" Dean asked.
Instead of replying, Dean felt a twist of Michael's Grace alongside himself and suddenly a flood of overlapping voices echoed in his head.
"I pray to Michael, greatest of the angels-"
"- please bless my son, he has done nothing-"
"-Michael, sword of Heaven, Prince of Light-"
"Give me the rewards I so justly deserve for the sacrifices that I have made, Michael-"
The voices blurred into a loud buzz but for those that seemed to leap out, at least temporarily, and Dean found himself shaking his head in an attempt to clear it before they all vanished once more. The silence was a blessed relief after the unexpected clamor and he found himself sighing in relief.
"How do you deal with it all?" Dean questioned.
"It is not as difficult for me to handle. You forget that I am used to constantly hearing others as I am connected to all my brothers and sisters."
"Oh, right, I'd forgotten about that. You keeping that quiet as well?"
"Yes. It is not something that requires attention all of the time and should anyone call out to me specifically, I will know."
It was little wonder to Dean now why Castiel had found his separation from the Host so difficult to bear if his lover had always had a constant link to his brothers and sisters even if only as background noise. He could only imagine that the silence had been stifling and totally alien to him. He wished now that he'd been more sympathetic at the time, but he just hadn't known in the same way that his angel hadn't truly been able to grasp any number of human idiosyncrasies.
When Dean turned his attention back to his surroundings, it was to find that Michael still had them before the altar. In the past, he would have made some smartass remark to get them moving onto the actual reason they were here, but now he held his tongue as it were. He'd spent enough time with Castiel to know how seriously angels took their connection to God and while he still had quite firm and judgmental opinions about the guy, he could relate to being conflicted about one's father. Not to mention that Michael's relationship with his Father was probably made even more complicated by his recent trip downstairs.
The sound of a door closing off to their right seemed to end the moment as Dean could feel Michael becoming more alert again even though he didn't move a muscle. The sound was followed by footsteps on the stone floor and then he was aware of a presence in a way he'd never felt before. It amazed him how quickly he was able to accept that and chalk it up to angelic senses and move on to dealing with the implications of what it meant.
"It is him," Michael stated.
"The priest?"
"Yes. He will be able to guide us to a pure soul who will bless us."
There was a pause in the footsteps as the priest obviously caught sight of them and then an old voice called out to them. "Can I help you? I'm afraid we don't do late Mass tonight."
It took Dean a few seconds to realize that he really shouldn't be able to understand what the priest had just said. Not if they were in Western Belgium. What did Belgians speak anyway? Belgish?
"You could comprehend him?" Michael questioned, surprised.
"Yes, shouldn't I be able to?"
"Not really, no. You must be taping into my ability to comprehend all languages."
"Oh, oops."
"I do not mind, it is merely surprising. But now you can see how easily information and knowledge is shared between us."
"Yeah."
Truth be told, it kinda terrified Dean a little how easily he'd utilized the archangel's knowledge and skills. Michael's earlier ability to pluck stuff from his mind without intending to do so was starting to make much more sense now. But if it happened so readily, then how did they keep themselves separate? How did they stop themselves from blending or blurring into one?
"Any advice on how to proceed?" Michael asked.
"What? With him? No, sorry, I was never religious so I don't have the first clue what a man of the cloth might need to be convinced that you're you. Cas had to show the last priest the shadow of his wings, but that guy thought he was a demon 'cause he'd seen him appear out of thin air."
"I have come to ask for your help, Pieter-Jan," Michael stated.
The old man started, clearly caught off-guard. "Do I know you?" he inquired.
"No, but you have called upon me often since you were but a boy."
"Okay, now you've just freaked him out," Dean stated as he watched the priest's eyes go wide and the poor guy took a step back.
"I do not understand, he has prayed to me often," Michael replied.
The genuine confusion radiating from the archangel made Dean shake his head. "Yeah, but he never really expected for you to answer him directly, let alone appear before him."
Michael sighed and Dean wasn't sure if that had been just in his head or whether the archangel had done it aloud. The next thing he knew, he could feel their wings arching even as there was another shift of Grace and several unlit candles around them blazed to life far stronger then was normal or natural. Pieter-Jan's eyes widened in alarm and darted about before they froze in shock and wonder just over his shoulders and he knew that somehow Michael had made his wings visible to the priest. The lightning and thunder that had accompanied his own first sighting of angelic wings was absent, but then he realized that it hadn't been there in the archives of the Vatican either, so perhaps it was an archangel thing to not need such a flashy display? He half wished that he could see himself right now as it could only imagine what he looked like just now with the wings, shadow and fire.
"Michael," the priest breathed in awe before going to his knees, a psalm falling from his lips.
"Aw, man," Dean complained. "Tell him to get up."
"Why?"
"'Cause he shouldn't have to do that. No one should have to prostrate themselves before another."
There was a subtle twist of Grace against his soul and Michael made a surprised little noise. "I always thought your lack of proper respect was born solely of defiance, but you truly believe this."
"Yeah, of course. What does such subservience do but signify fear of the person performing it of another's greater power?"
"It is considered a sign of respect."
Dean snorted. "Respect born solely of, or based largely on, fear isn't true respect. That's self-preservation kicking in. Real respect runs deeper and doesn't need such flashy gestures."
"Hmm."
It was Michael's only verbal reply, but Dean could feel him considering those words and he left it at that as the archangel started to move. Michael dipped his hand into the font of Holy water and stepped close to the priest. When the man looked up at him, the archangel made the sign of the cross on the priest's forehead, whispering a benediction before briefly placing his hand on Pieter-Jan's head. It was as the worshipful gaze of the priest registered that it suddenly hit Dean that it was his own face that the man was seeing. Sure, he'd known what saying yes entailed, had seen himself in the mirror earlier, but he hadn't given much thought to how others would view them. To them, he was Michael, just like Jimmy Novak's appearance was so intricately tied to Castiel in his mind even if he knew that Jimmy was merely a vessel so that his lover could interact with him and be on Earth.
This priest and anyone else they encountered would forever more associate his appearance with Michael. Dean swallowed at the thought and was suddenly ridiculously glad that the archangel had decided to cross the Atlantic in order to fulfill this particular requirement of the Rite.
"How may I serve you, my- Michael?" Pieter-Jan questioned.
The little slip of the tongue didn't pass Dean by and he knew it would have amused him if he weren't still so shocked. Who'd ever have thought that he'd ever be mistaken for an angel? Not anyone who knew him, that was for sure.
"I require a blessing by a pure soul," Michael explained. "I believe you have one who is thus innocent, you have mentioned him in your prayers."
A.N.: Okay, so enough of you have said not to apologize every time I'm a day or so late with posting a chapter, so I won't. I just wanted to mention that something has come up at work that will keep me very busy for the rest of this week and all of next, so I wanted to give you a heads up that my posting schedule might be thrown off during this time. It might not, but this way you'll know what's going on if I miss a few days.
Chapter 68
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: up to and including Exile on Main St., AU from the end of season 5
Warnings: AU, slash
Word Count: 2,616
Summary: Michael and Dean begin collecting ingredients for the Rite of Contressa.
PAST
The inside of the church was cavernous, echoing and empty. The faint smell of incense still clung to the air, as did the perpetual chill that Dean had come to associate with churches everywhere. It had something to do with the logistics of heating so large an open space, or at least that was what Pastor Jim had always said and he figured his old friend would know what he'd been talking about.
All of this, Dean took in almost mechanically in the seconds after they'd landed. The rest of his attention was still trying to process what had just happened. In typical angel fashion, Michael had flown them to their first destination, but the archangel had neglected to warn him of what angel air was like for a vessel as opposed to a human being carried by an angel. Whereas angel transportation had always seemed instantaneous before, now it hadn't. Oh, he was sure that no extra time had actually elapsed (and exactly how the hell that worked he didn't even want to try and figure out), merely that his angelically enhanced senses had now picked up and transmitted things to his brain that his ordinary human ones never could have.
"Dean?" Michael questioned. "Are you alright?"
"Yeah, just give me a moment to process all of that."
"All of what?"
"Being transported by one of you guys seems instantaneous to humans."
"Oh, my apologies."
Dean snorted. "Not your fault."
In a way, Dean was kinda glad that he'd had no warning of what it would be like. His fear of flying probably would have kicked in otherwise and he was rather glad that he hadn't been given the opportunity to embarrass himself before the archangel. Now that he knew what to expect, he also wouldn't freak out in the future either as it was nothing like normal flying. For one, he could literally feel his- Michael's- many wings beating and the air moving through and over the feathers, giving him the illusion of being in control. If he'd thought the wings were cool earlier, it was absolutely nothing compared to the feel of the strong appendages beating and bearing his weight as they flew.
As for the rest, well, Dean just wasn't quite sure what to make of it. Yes, he'd seen things, but it had all flashed by so fast as to be nearly meaningless. It had come down to flashes of color, gray, red, green, blue, brown and gray again. Even if Michael was able to process all of that faster than him, he still doubted that the archangel could fly and navigate just by that alone.
"How do you fly?" Dean finally asked. "How do you know how to get to somewhere?"
"Angels all know the Earth in its entirety. It is one of our Father's greatest creations and something we all know very well and any angel that comes to it must know what you call each area now."
"So you just fly in the general direction first?"
"Yes, then we narrow it down, faster then you can probably follow."
"Yeah," Dean admitted ruefully.
Since he knew that he wouldn't be able to figure it all out now, Dean let it slide and turned all of his attention to what was going on around him at the moment. Michael had walked them up the central aisle and now they stood before the main altar and the large cross that hung behind it. As he looked up at it, his eyes were inevitably drawn to the vaulted ceiling above the cross. The moment he caught sight of the detailed stonework and paintings up there, he knew that they weren't actually in a large church, but rather in a small cathedral. The realization gave new meaning to the landscape that had flashed by beneath him, particularly to the blue.
"We're in Europe, aren't we?" Dean asked with an odd sort of acceptance as if he really should have seen this coming.
Castiel had used to fly off for all corners of the globe on a regular basis after all. Not to mention the fact that it was really shortsighted of him to expect this whole thing to take place in the US. Which was to say nothing of the fact that if it was so easy for angels to travel anywhere, why should they limit themselves geographically?
"Yes, Western Belgium to be exact," Michael replied.
"Why?"
"Because there is a priest here who has been praying to me since he was a child."
"You can tell people's prayers apart? Of those you've never met, I mean."
"Sometimes, yes. Lesser angels find it easier to do so as they receive far fewer prayers then say myself, Raphael or, well, or then Gabriel used to get."
The wave of foreign sadness that reached him made Dean wince in sympathy. He was, unfortunately, only all too aware of what it felt like to lose a brother and even the knowledge that Michael and Gabriel had been estranged for centuries or millennia only made it worse in a way. Yes, they'd been apart for so long, but he could only imagine that they'd been together for far longer and time apart didn't make the loss any easier to bear and could make it worse depending on the circumstances of their split. That, however, was not something that he was going to pry into even if part of him felt that it would serve the archangel right for his earlier attempts at the same.
"Lesser angels are also more likely to get repeat prayers," Michael continued on. "They are less well known and thus those who know of them tend to have looked them up specifically or have attached some special meaning to calling upon them that brings them back time and again."
"They're not lesser," Dean couldn't help but mutter in defense of his lover.
"I do not mean it in a negative sense, Little One, just that they are not archangels and are less well known to humans."
That much at least Dean knew to be true. He'd tried to look up Castiel once while waiting for his brother to finish up with some research at a library and he'd been completely unable to find anything on him. It was as if his then friend had simply not existed according to the angelic lore that humans possessed. It had saddened him then, but now he wondered if that might not be a mixed blessing, if it meant that his angel didn't have to put up with the incessant pleas and requests from people. Or did angels really like getting prayed to? If so, it wasn't fair that Castiel wasn't mentioned anywhere, he was the best angel as far as he was concerned and no, that wasn't just his bias as a lover talking, he'd felt that way for a long time. Not that Michael wasn't proving to be half decent himself.
"So do you get prayers all of the time then?" Dean asked.
Instead of replying, Dean felt a twist of Michael's Grace alongside himself and suddenly a flood of overlapping voices echoed in his head.
"I pray to Michael, greatest of the angels-"
"- please bless my son, he has done nothing-"
"-Michael, sword of Heaven, Prince of Light-"
"Give me the rewards I so justly deserve for the sacrifices that I have made, Michael-"
The voices blurred into a loud buzz but for those that seemed to leap out, at least temporarily, and Dean found himself shaking his head in an attempt to clear it before they all vanished once more. The silence was a blessed relief after the unexpected clamor and he found himself sighing in relief.
"How do you deal with it all?" Dean questioned.
"It is not as difficult for me to handle. You forget that I am used to constantly hearing others as I am connected to all my brothers and sisters."
"Oh, right, I'd forgotten about that. You keeping that quiet as well?"
"Yes. It is not something that requires attention all of the time and should anyone call out to me specifically, I will know."
It was little wonder to Dean now why Castiel had found his separation from the Host so difficult to bear if his lover had always had a constant link to his brothers and sisters even if only as background noise. He could only imagine that the silence had been stifling and totally alien to him. He wished now that he'd been more sympathetic at the time, but he just hadn't known in the same way that his angel hadn't truly been able to grasp any number of human idiosyncrasies.
When Dean turned his attention back to his surroundings, it was to find that Michael still had them before the altar. In the past, he would have made some smartass remark to get them moving onto the actual reason they were here, but now he held his tongue as it were. He'd spent enough time with Castiel to know how seriously angels took their connection to God and while he still had quite firm and judgmental opinions about the guy, he could relate to being conflicted about one's father. Not to mention that Michael's relationship with his Father was probably made even more complicated by his recent trip downstairs.
The sound of a door closing off to their right seemed to end the moment as Dean could feel Michael becoming more alert again even though he didn't move a muscle. The sound was followed by footsteps on the stone floor and then he was aware of a presence in a way he'd never felt before. It amazed him how quickly he was able to accept that and chalk it up to angelic senses and move on to dealing with the implications of what it meant.
"It is him," Michael stated.
"The priest?"
"Yes. He will be able to guide us to a pure soul who will bless us."
There was a pause in the footsteps as the priest obviously caught sight of them and then an old voice called out to them. "Can I help you? I'm afraid we don't do late Mass tonight."
It took Dean a few seconds to realize that he really shouldn't be able to understand what the priest had just said. Not if they were in Western Belgium. What did Belgians speak anyway? Belgish?
"You could comprehend him?" Michael questioned, surprised.
"Yes, shouldn't I be able to?"
"Not really, no. You must be taping into my ability to comprehend all languages."
"Oh, oops."
"I do not mind, it is merely surprising. But now you can see how easily information and knowledge is shared between us."
"Yeah."
Truth be told, it kinda terrified Dean a little how easily he'd utilized the archangel's knowledge and skills. Michael's earlier ability to pluck stuff from his mind without intending to do so was starting to make much more sense now. But if it happened so readily, then how did they keep themselves separate? How did they stop themselves from blending or blurring into one?
"Any advice on how to proceed?" Michael asked.
"What? With him? No, sorry, I was never religious so I don't have the first clue what a man of the cloth might need to be convinced that you're you. Cas had to show the last priest the shadow of his wings, but that guy thought he was a demon 'cause he'd seen him appear out of thin air."
"I have come to ask for your help, Pieter-Jan," Michael stated.
The old man started, clearly caught off-guard. "Do I know you?" he inquired.
"No, but you have called upon me often since you were but a boy."
"Okay, now you've just freaked him out," Dean stated as he watched the priest's eyes go wide and the poor guy took a step back.
"I do not understand, he has prayed to me often," Michael replied.
The genuine confusion radiating from the archangel made Dean shake his head. "Yeah, but he never really expected for you to answer him directly, let alone appear before him."
Michael sighed and Dean wasn't sure if that had been just in his head or whether the archangel had done it aloud. The next thing he knew, he could feel their wings arching even as there was another shift of Grace and several unlit candles around them blazed to life far stronger then was normal or natural. Pieter-Jan's eyes widened in alarm and darted about before they froze in shock and wonder just over his shoulders and he knew that somehow Michael had made his wings visible to the priest. The lightning and thunder that had accompanied his own first sighting of angelic wings was absent, but then he realized that it hadn't been there in the archives of the Vatican either, so perhaps it was an archangel thing to not need such a flashy display? He half wished that he could see himself right now as it could only imagine what he looked like just now with the wings, shadow and fire.
"Michael," the priest breathed in awe before going to his knees, a psalm falling from his lips.
"Aw, man," Dean complained. "Tell him to get up."
"Why?"
"'Cause he shouldn't have to do that. No one should have to prostrate themselves before another."
There was a subtle twist of Grace against his soul and Michael made a surprised little noise. "I always thought your lack of proper respect was born solely of defiance, but you truly believe this."
"Yeah, of course. What does such subservience do but signify fear of the person performing it of another's greater power?"
"It is considered a sign of respect."
Dean snorted. "Respect born solely of, or based largely on, fear isn't true respect. That's self-preservation kicking in. Real respect runs deeper and doesn't need such flashy gestures."
"Hmm."
It was Michael's only verbal reply, but Dean could feel him considering those words and he left it at that as the archangel started to move. Michael dipped his hand into the font of Holy water and stepped close to the priest. When the man looked up at him, the archangel made the sign of the cross on the priest's forehead, whispering a benediction before briefly placing his hand on Pieter-Jan's head. It was as the worshipful gaze of the priest registered that it suddenly hit Dean that it was his own face that the man was seeing. Sure, he'd known what saying yes entailed, had seen himself in the mirror earlier, but he hadn't given much thought to how others would view them. To them, he was Michael, just like Jimmy Novak's appearance was so intricately tied to Castiel in his mind even if he knew that Jimmy was merely a vessel so that his lover could interact with him and be on Earth.
This priest and anyone else they encountered would forever more associate his appearance with Michael. Dean swallowed at the thought and was suddenly ridiculously glad that the archangel had decided to cross the Atlantic in order to fulfill this particular requirement of the Rite.
"How may I serve you, my- Michael?" Pieter-Jan questioned.
The little slip of the tongue didn't pass Dean by and he knew it would have amused him if he weren't still so shocked. Who'd ever have thought that he'd ever be mistaken for an angel? Not anyone who knew him, that was for sure.
"I require a blessing by a pure soul," Michael explained. "I believe you have one who is thus innocent, you have mentioned him in your prayers."
A.N.: Okay, so enough of you have said not to apologize every time I'm a day or so late with posting a chapter, so I won't. I just wanted to mention that something has come up at work that will keep me very busy for the rest of this week and all of next, so I wanted to give you a heads up that my posting schedule might be thrown off during this time. It might not, but this way you'll know what's going on if I miss a few days.
Chapter 68