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Ah, lunch break. Fifteen minutes of nothing for nutrients he has absolutely no need for. Good thing the bosses ultra-deep-fried terriyaki squid came with some extra stuff. They didn't keep food in the office.
"Uh, didya' need somethin'? I'm kinda off the clock."
"Only your help in fixing Heaven although I have high doubt that you are doing a much better job then me". God spoken noticing the others posture and felt some what pleased that Michael still knew what was what.
He tried not to flinch-- was the other implying that he had failed in his attempts to restore Heaven?
(Michael shouldn't have been so surprised; He could have chosen so much better when it came to which angel should have been Viceroy. Michael had tried to do his best, but his best was never going to be good enough.)
"I will-- I will do my utmost to assist You, Father," he replied obediently, just as he always would agree to anything God ordered him to do.
Michael could never disobey a direct order, not even if it meant betraying the trust of others. He made sure he remained as respectful as possible, despite wanting to scream at the other that he'd been doing all that he could.
A small part of Michael blamed Him for the civil war; if He had come home, none of their siblings would have had to die. But He hadn't, and Michael had come to a family where nearly all of the angels had been killed.
He tried to banish away those blasphemous thoughts, focusing his attention on remaining the soldier he had been created to be.
"Michael. Hello son".
"Father," he replied respectfully, bowing his head in greeting.
"--Is there something you require from me?"
He kept his eyes on the floor, straightening to stand at attention. His hands were clasped behind his back, and he kept his wings lowered as a sign to show the other that he knew that God was above him.
• imbouncingoffthewalls • tightskirtclara • enterprisebornandraised • ac-kirk • beholdthexcreator
There's a small diner, just outside of Kansas. It's called Mama's 39-ers, and it's empty most of the time. There's a few truckers, a few regulars, but no one else, nothing special. That's where Xander had set up shop for the day. He wanted to go two states over, to Illinois, to visit his 'parents' - their graves, more like. But he couldn't. And he knew he couldn't. So two states over would do. He sat sipping coffee, searching through the Jobs section of a newspaper. Anything. The coffee had bought him out of his last ten dollars.
He continued to scan his eyes over the page as he heard footsteps approaching, not looking up. ❝You won't find anything here. Look somewhere else.❞
"Not at the moment- I simply wish to talk" God replied as he looked over to his oldest son.
"What do You wish to discuss, Father?" he asked, hiding the nervousness that rose up at their conversation.
As much as he idolised his Father, the prospect of stepping out of line when speaking to Him was enough to make Michael anxious from the moment God appeared.
Michael wanted to make his Father proud; if he acted insolent or ungrateful, he would only disappoint his Father further than he had already.
"Michael. Hello" God spoke as he gave a small nod, looking towards his son.
He swallowed once, straightening himself up and assuming the stance that a soldier would hold in front of his commander.
"Hello, Father," he greeted, hands behind his back as he remained standing at attention. "Is there something You wish for me to do?"
Stunned silence was not what he had been expecting, more anger and harsh words but perhaps the fact that he had been around Castiel as a prophet was the shock, he stood still as he gazed to his son, the one with too much heart and there was still part of Chuck there, rubbing his hands together as he felt nervous upon speaking to his children. Not like a God at all but being human for so long had changed his ways. "It has been a long time"
The wonderment that had filled him in those first few moments of their meeting was quick to fade - replaced by the precise expectation of God and angel alike.
Anger.
Indignation.
Outrage.
A sense of self entitlement surged within him, foregoing the blind will that did tug from deep within - urging him to his knees so settle in abject supplication. The basic code of his existence, discarded in favour of a righteous fury nursed since that first bitter sting of disappointment.
"All this time…all that has happened - that is what you have to say?"
"Castiel". The voice was a familiar one but was not Chuck in fact God, he was dressed in smart attire as he appeared in black and gold whirlwind of particles.
The reconcilation between what was known and what he saw was a struggle.
He could well recall the reclusive propet, so oft curled about an empty whiskey bottle - his existence metted out beneath the ethereal glow of a computer screen, overlaid by the insistent clacking of the keyboard.
What stood before him - was a far cry from that.
What he was expected to do, was not even considered as he met the presence his Father - long lost, and largely disinterested - with wide eyes and stunned silence
