Rose was..... having a bad day. Well more like bad month. Or time. New York was... different to say the least and Rose wasn't acclimating so well. She'd been walking, stopping at an older church, pausing before shrugging and going in. Fingers grazed over the wood as Rose made her way down the rows of pews. Colored light sprayed over the room, filtered through the stained glass windows. Her steps echoed in the empty church, glancing around as she walked to the front, sitting down quietly. The blonde shifted, sighing softly, clasping her hands in her lap. "I... I really haven't done this in a long time." She murmured, giving a small laugh, the musical sound spreading through the area. Taking a deep breath she let it out. "I don't know what I'm doing here, really. Or what I'm supposed to do. I feel so sorry for my parents. They've got to be worried. I just... I wish that I could let them know I'm safe." She murmured. "Just when I started to get used to it, I was trapped here again. I miss Mum of course... but Dad. I was given a second chance, and I miss him. I miss him so much. I can see what Mum saw in him, really. And no, he wasn't the perfect man. Nor the perfect father, even these past few years. But really... no one is perfect. And I wouldn't change fathers for anything. I'll always love him. " Rose said quietly, her voice wavering slightly. "I'm just... so lost. " She admitted, her hands tightening around each other, shoulders slumping.
Michael raised his head, one of the voices echoing clearer than the others, words flickering in, feelings more evident than snippets of 'miss' and 'father' and 'love', words without meaning save when they were given them. He had been lying down, resting, in agony, when that prayer came, silver-bright and clear as music, something soothing and familiar and full of sweet sadness. He listened, distracted, for a long time, and there was a tug at him, small. Something close to recognition. Damaged, his wings rent and destroyed from his time in the cage, he listened to the prayer and was comforted. His feet touched ground lightly with a soft rustle announcing his presence, his footsteps near silent, his head raised. The light streaming from the windows touched the dark hair of his vessel into a soft crown, his face full of warmth and remoteness and brightness. Solitary, silent, sad. Sad with the kind of sweetness that was the privilege of youth, and strange to see it with the deep galaxies of his gaze. "She worries," he said softly. "Your mother. But she trusts. And she believes. She believes that you are smart enough, wise enough to be safe. She's wrong, but she doesn't know."
Rose was silent, biting her lip as she tried to think. As the girl tried to gather her thoughts, a soft voice sounded near her, the blonde flinched, turning towards the other. She hadn't heard his steps, wondering where he'd been as she hadn't seen anyone when walking in. The way he spoke of her mother... The thought flitted through her mind, wondering if he might possibly be another angel. A soft though sad smile appeared on Rose's lips as she nodded. "She does... but while she thinks that. She still worries. " Rose murmured, giving a one shouldered shrug. "But I'd rather not have her know. It would make her feel awful and I couldn't bear putting that burden on her."
Michael looked at her curiously, the lack of surprise registering in him. He had stopped, his posture stiff, although not with formality. The dark head raised to look up at the stained glass window that cast its multicolored glare over his features. "Sometimes it is more merciful not to know," he said quietly, looking at the stained glass mural of his brother and himself---one shining, victorious, blade poised, the other defeated, twisting, terrible. "Not to see what will be coming. Not to have that upon you. To believe in safety and security, and trust that what will come will be good. It is a luxury. Let her keep it."
Rose followed his gaze to the window, studying it, wondering silently if one of those pictures up there were memories rather than art. At his words, the girl turned her gaze to him as he spoke, giving a nod, looking down at her hands. "Exactly. Especially as now, there isn't anything she can possibly do. " Rose shrugged. "It's like telling an accident victim, who literally has minutes left that they're children are dead as well. There's no helping them. It's better to say they are fine and let those last few minutes be filled with peace. "
"They are fine," Michael repeated softly. His eyes averted. "Peace." His movements were slow, jerky, evident of pain, that sadness emanating from him. "I wonder indeed, what peace would be like. Darkness. Silence. Lonely." He smiled, barely. "It is not right to be alone." His eyes found hers again. "You are lonely," he said quietly.
Rose tilted her head back, studying the mural on the ceiling. "I'm realizing that peace.... Is an illusion. A hope. But not a reality as people can't keep it." She murmured softly, glancing to the man, finding it difficult to look away. Smiling softly at his words, Rose shrugged. "But sometimes that's the only choice one has. And you have to try and make the best of it. And I am. More than I probably ever have been in my life. But once again.... There is really nothing I can do about it sadly. "
"Choice," he said, and there was a quality in his voice, something rising up beneath the calm, human tone. "I wonder if that isn't the largest illusion of them all. Or if perhaps it is better to believe that it is. The truth of it would be too terrible to think of." He shook his head, and that expression of pain, kept, contained, showed on his face. "You know what I am," he said quietly. "And yet you express nothing. How many of my brothers have you seen?" A twinge of hope filtered into his tone.
Rose turned to look at him with a raised eyebrow. "But if choice were actually an illusion... what would be the point of living? " She asked quietly. "It literally... there would be nothing to... work for. If everything was pre-destined and chosen and all that... Life would lose meaning." Rose could almost feel his pain, her gaze softening as she looked at him. This... this was a man who had seen far too much. And experienced too much pain. Plus there was... something else there. A.. physical pain of some sort, though Rose couldn't see anything. One side of her mouth turned up, laughing softly. She'd been right. He was an angel. "One... at least that I know of. Perhaps others, you never are sure." Rose said, a lightness to her tone. Her experiences had made her open to believing most things. "If it hadn't been for him, I would have been dead." She shuddered, thinking back to the warehouse before adding. "Or worse."
"Meaning," Michael said quietly. "The Meaning is in the plan. Watching it unroll perfectly, watching it take shape, intricate, beautiful, defined. Isn't that enough?" The last word raised softly, a true question, wrought with agony. Even so, he smiled, something subtle and small. "They are not usually interested in the affairs of humanity now that our Father is gone. You were lucky."
Rose shook her head, a frown marring her soft features. "That's... boring. Really then it's... a game of sorts. Just... pawns in a game. That seems... unfair to the players. Would it not be more beautiful to let it have some freedom? Such as... a field of flowers. Kept all in rows.. they're pretty. But predictable. If you just scatter the seeds and let nature take it's course, you can create a new sort of beauty. And it's a lovely surprise. " Rose gave a shrug, meeting his smile with a small one of her own. "So he told me. But he also said he was an exception to it all. That he had his own set of rules. But I'm... more than grateful to him. I know I'm lucky. More lucky than I should have been."
Michael knew then who she was speaking of, and remained silent for a long moment. He did not know how to answer her. "It's not a game, Rose," he said in his curiously flat, curiously musical voice, a contradiction at once. "Games have winners." He relaxed slightly at her smile, his eyes weary, full of pain, broadcasting no danger. "Do you know who I am," he asked quietly.
Rose knew that she'd said enough for the other to know the angel who saved her, giving a small nod. She was comfortable with the silence, finding nothing awkward of impatient about it. Something about hearing her name fall from his lips... made it seem like he knew her. Like they weren't strangers. "Even worse." She murmured, in answer to his words, shaking her head. "Then it's... an experiment." Rose's eyes trailed over him before shaking her head with a slightly shy smile. "I... have a hunch though I'm unsure. But something tells me you're not just a.. 'normal' angel."
Michael shook his head. "It is not an experiment. Not when you know the outcome. A Plan." His gaze went back to the image of the Champion and the Dragon locked in mortal combat. "Though I do not know if it continues on." He shook himself from his reverie. "No," he said with a small smile in return. "Rose Tyler, I am not a 'normal' angel."
Rose couldn't help the musical laugh that escaped, shaking her head. "Plans always can be changed. And sometimes things don't always work out. Plans are good and all. But often aren't completed the way originally created. But once again. If everything went to plan, what is the fun in that?" She glanced to him for a moment before scooting over on the bench, laying her hand on it in a sign of invitation before facing forward again. Hearing her name that way... sadly reminded her of times with the doctor. Only he had been able to make it sound almost like a... title. Something to live up to. Rose raised a pale eyebrow, tilting her head just a bit. "Well then, what sort of angel are you? " Though really, she was almost positive. And the small bit of doubt she had was washed away with the feeling of... rightness she had in her stomach about her hunch. It just felt... right.
Michael lowered his eyes at the invitation and slowly sat down beside her, reluctant, movements halted, small, his body held tense. There was a weariness to him and a wariness to him, the look of an animal stepping softly through the brush, wondering whether to leave at a moment's notice. He smiled, faint. "The first." For a moment, with the light streaming down, he seemed very beautiful, but very old, very tired. Something wise and eternal and patient, and dangerous, holder of careful rages and swift justice.
Rose noticed his wariness though said nothing. She gave a small nod, remembering back to her times in church. "Michael." She murmured, the name a bit odd on her tongue. As it wasn't a name but a title as well. He was the first. The one who'd battled Lucifer. And oddly she felt honored. Rose turned to look at him, licking her lower lip as she let the sadness he seemed to be feeling wash over her. "Why did you come here? Speak to me? You're.. well. Important." She smiled, nodding. "And I'm just some girl a bit out of her time and alone."
Michael nodded at his name, and seemed to sit that much straighter, despite the slowness of his movements. "Why," he echoed softly. "Perhaps because I needed a moment away from being important. And because I am also alone."
Rose glanced to him at the nod, her suspicions confirmed. Gabriel... had changed her beliefs. It had been a bit... to wrap her head around. And now a second archangel? Her life was seeming to get complicated in a sort of... biblical way. However, Gabriel had been nothing like the bible archangel's. And while... Michael seemed more.... serious than the playful Messenger, she had a feeling he was far different than the stories from the bible. The blonde shifted so she could look at Michael a bit easier, a soft smile playing on her lips, curiosity brightening her eyes. A moment away from being important. She couldn't begin to imagine the type of stress and responsiblity that laid on his shoulders. However, she didn't voice it. "So you decided to come visit me. " She murmured, eyes softening. That last sentence... there was something underlying those words. He was an eternal being, ageless. "And are you lonely, Michael?" Rose asked softly.
Michael glanced at her, his eyes shielded, but some of the wariness had eased from his features. "Yes," he replied simply, quietly.
Continued under cut in Chatzy format.
Rose gave a small nod, looking down to her hands. It seemed they were both in the same situation. But it wasn't just loneliness really. It was a bone deep, resounding feeling of being entirely alone in the world with no one there. It was more than just 'being lonely'."And how do you... fill it? " She murmured, glancing to the archangel, biting her lower lip as she tried not to think of all the reasons she was lonely in the first place. "I'm jealous sometimes, of those who have bunches of people. They're happy. Truly happy... and while I had my time, it's just made... not having anything all that much worse. I can only imagine... how it must be for you." Rose was far far younger than he. And she doubted this was... something new with Michael. How had he gone for so long?
Michael remained quiet, the silence comforting, concentrating on his vessel's breathing as the pain, a constant companion, lanced through him. His jaw clenched slightly, the only showing of his pain, held still. He did was he did best, and listened for a moment. "My brothers are scattered," he said quietly. "It was not always this way." He was uncomfortable at the emotion in her voice. "It is what it is. It's something to be borne."
Rose raised her hand to touch his arm, though paused just a fraction from him, returning her hand to her lap. She was only vaguely aware of what had happened, but knew that now probably wasn't the best time to ask about it. Rose shook her head, meeting his eyes again. "Perhaps it is... but if you could... change it. Would you not? Just because it has happened, does not mean you have to bear it and do nothing."
Michael looked at her with his deep, still eyes. "It is my fate to bear it. It must be. But I will try to find them, if I can." He closed his eyes briefly as the pain lanced, shuddering.
Rose felt as though time stilled, their gazes meeting. "But who said you must bear it alone?" She asked, voice quiet, worry crossing over her features. "You're injured. " She murmured, though she couldn't see a wound. "What... is there a way I can help?"
Michael looked at her, silent again for a moment. His eyes opened, seafoam eyes, changeable eyes, now green, now blue with the light. They were calm. They held all answers but one. He had no answer to give her. He straightened despite the pain, determined to show no weakness. "I do not know if you would know how," he said softly. "I'm fine." He was shocked at how easily the lie came. It was far more easy then the silence.
Rose rose an eyebrow, unable to believe him. She'd been told before that her compassion, her empathy... was her weakness. But to her, it was a strength. "Bollocks." She challenged softly, he was hardly fine. "Can you not read my mind?" Gabriel had, she assumed Michael would be able to. "How can you not know if I would know, unless you ask or find out?"
Michael could easily read her mind, and he knew of her kindness. It confused him, unsettled him. Rank and power clashed with the truth of that pain that he could not aid himself. "My wings---" he said quietly.
Rose 's eyes flicked behind Michael as if to look, though she knew she'd be able to see anything. However, she knew what a sign of trust it was, especially for a powerful being. "What... what do I need to do? Or can do?”
Michael stood slowly, haltingly, his body held stiff, pained. He exhaled softly, and his wings flared, dramatic, bright as sunlight on snow. They were pure white, huge, overarching, stretching out and shining, larger than the largest of birds, their ethereal beauty clashing with the animal solidity of them. His snow-white primary feathers brushed the edge of the steps to the altar, and then he stopped, the lights from the stained glass window imbuing them with hues of greens and reds and golds and blues, like a living watercolor. There was blood trapped in his feathers, and some of the bones were bent into strange shapes, shifted. His breathing was shallow.
Rose watched in curiosity as the archangel got up, wincing at the sudden light. However once her eyes adjusted, the girl's eyes widened, her features one of awe. They were... beautiful. There was really no words to describe other than breathtaking. They were the color of pure snow, almost shining with some hidden inner light. She was then drawn from the beauty to the red mottling the flawless white, sucking in a sharp breath. No wonder he was in pain. Rose sat there, staring for a moment longer, swallowing thickly before standing and moving towards the angel. "May.... May I?" She questioned, holding a hand out, though not touching the feathers, unsure of where the lines were to not cross.
Michael watched her carefully, his eyes meeting hers, cautious. He folded them slightly, his eyes closing at the pain. He nodded.
Rose hesitated, eyes looking to his before looking towards the soft white under her hand, gently brushing her finger against an outermost feather, biting her lip, the touch something almost... as if seeing it was real.
Michael shivered slightly, his feathers exquisitely sensitive. He folded his wings slightly further, his deep gaze watching her curiously.
Rose glanced to Michael, biting her lip moving her fingers over the feathers, watching Michael to gauge a reaction, pulling away her hand as she came to part of the more injured parts of his wings. "I... I don't want to hurt you." Rose said, brows drawing together just a bit.
Michael didn't move away. His voice was quiet, eyes still. "I'm already hurt," he murmured.
Rose looked down at the mangled feathers, chewing on the inside of her lip nervously. "But it will... help yeah? Like... it'll heal better or something?"
"The bones are displaced in many places," he said softly. "I cannot replace them by myself."
Rose sighed, not liking the fact that she was about to likely cause more pain, but he was an archangel... so it... would heal. But it didn't make her feel any less horrible. The girl squeezed her eyes shut, taking a deep breath before reaching out again, praying to herself that she'd do it right, taking the first area that she saw. Nimble fingers brushed over the bone, unsure of how much pressure to apply, flinching as it snapped back in place with a sharp intake of breath. "I'm so sorry, I..." She wasn't sure what to expect, afraid she'd made it worse.
Michael flinched heavily, a short exhalation escaping him, jaws clenching. He remained as stoic as possible, breathing raggedly as the pain removed all ability to think. After a long moment, he winced, trying his wing. "Better," he said softly.
Rose shivered, shaking her head. "I'm going to be sick after this." She murmured, swallowing thickly before moving onto the next area, this time not flinching as much but still wincing before continuing.
Michael kept himself calm, held back the pain. He lightly put a hand on her shoulder. "You can stop," he said quietly. "You don't have to do this."
Rose looked up in surprise at the touch, her eyes meeting his. She was quiet for a few moments before shaking her head. "If it's helping I want to. I know I don't have to. But I can help. And you... you seemed to have trusted me enough to allow it. How can I not help?" She murmured.
Michael looked at her again with wary eyes. Trust? Or desperation? His hand dropped but his wing moved slightly, gently into her hand. There was a small crease upon his brow. "It is easier to walk away than it is to help me. You know I have no love nor hatred for your kind."
Rose softly stroked over the soft feathers, giving a minute shrug as she looked back up at Michael. "You need help and I can help you. It's that simple. Though perhaps by doing it, you might see that not all... humans are the same."
Michael looked at her in silent doubt, that ageless quality resonating, eyes that had seen the evolution and change of the species and marked them only as sheep to be defended when required, according to his duty. He had been the first to bend the knee, but not out of love for them. Love for my Father. Yes. The touch felt good. He did not move away. When had been the last time something touched him? "Humans are humans. Angels are angels. Life is life. All things are different, and the same."
Rose didn't look away, even as his gaze seemed to focus on her. At one time perhaps she might have been swayed, but there had once been another in her life who'd seen generations come and go, wars won and lost. Planets destroyed. There was that same saddened hardness in those eyes, wise and eternal. Her hand stayed on the feathers, meeting his gaze as she spoke. "And yet you are here and so am I. Things might not be the same but that doesn't mean they need to be separated."
Michael didn't answer her, but his eyes dropped, quiet. He seemed to be confused but allowing the confusion for the time being, not seeing her as a threat.
Rose gave a small nod before turning away from him to walk behind working on some of the smaller bones. She kept repeating to herself that this was helping, just like setting a bone on a person caused pain but then it felt better. She worked in silenced, hands moving over the one wing and after some time, smoothed her hands over, feeling for any that she might have missed. She still had the other, but the one she'd worked on did look better, though still marred with blood.
Michael bore the pain without complaint, only his tension revealing how much it hurt, the slight way he flinched at her touch, the wariness that returned then and again into the green eyes. He moved his wing gently and hissed, but the movement seemed considerably more free. He nodded slightly. He did not voice his thanks. It was in the permission itself that she could aid him.
Rose leaned around his wing so she should see his face. "Did you want me to continue, or give you a few minutes?" She could tell he was in pain, though didn't say anything as it would do no good.
Michael raised his chin. "I am Champion of the Host. I will not need a few minutes." His tone was braver than he felt.
Rose ducked back under, rolling her eyes. "Well give me a minute or so." She did need it, but was also using it as an excuse to give him a small break. Were he someone else, the blonde might have actually teased Mr. 'Champion of the Host', though knew better of it. At least for the moment. She popped a few of her fingers, moving her hand. "May... I ask a question real quick?"
Michael tilted his head, curious. "Yes?"
Rose smiled softly. "So... this... you. Is just a vessel. Your form is different. So... the wings... are those just a... physical manifestation of them, or....?" She asked, curious. Quite curious about angels in general.
Michael relaxed. "Yes. This is my vessel. This is a physical manifestation of part of my true form. You are only seeing two, or what your eyes can process. In reality, they are six. But a true look at what I am would destroy you."
Rose froze, grateful that he wasn't able to see her face. Yes, there were two main... but then two other sets, though fainter. The middle set about half the lightness and the next just a ghost image.
"Yeah... two..." Rose murmured, having already moved over the other sets. Perhaps it was what you did to one, it was done to the others? Her fingers brushed against the small feathers at his back of the faintest set before pulling her hand back realizing what she'd done.
Michael felt her touch his smallest wings, and startled, his head raising. "How," he said softly. His instincts pricked, static rustling in the back of his mind.
Rose took a step back, heart leaping to her throat. So she must not have before, or not thought about it and he hadn't noticed either. "I'm sorry, I didn't-" She cut off with a shake of her head.
Michael regarded her, puzzled, and he did not speak. He pressed his hand gently to her forehead, gaze watchful, bewildered. Something had unsettled him. He extended his Grace, terrifyingly powerful, kept under wraps enough so that it did not harm, searching, exploratory, not aggressive. A sensation of bright flame, held back from burning, the truth of what he was kept from sight, but barely, like shadows upon the wall. He could sense something in her mind, something ancient and knowing and creative, something that looked back----"What are you," he whispered.
Rose glanced up at him, biting her lip with worry as he touched her forehead. A faint tingling warm sensation spread through her, something telling her that it was coming from the archangel in front of her. Much like the feeling of sun on ones face, a day at the beach. But the hint of the power behind it and its ability to burn. Her brow furrowed at his whispered question, eyes looking away before returning to his features. "I... I don't understand what you mean." She said in the same tone.
"What is in your head?"
Rose looked at him in confusion, shaking her head. "I... me. I don't...." She took a sharp breath, wondering if that's what he could be sensing.
"Something called....not a fox. Not a hound." His eyes flickered to hers. "A wolf?"
Rose nodded, looking away for a moment. "Bad Wolf." She murmured, swallowing. She'd thought... it was was gone.
Michael shook his head, glancing away. "I don't understand."
Rose looked down at the wood beneath them, shaking her head. "I... I don't remember a lot. It was... locked away. So it wouldn't be repeated. " She sighed, shaking her head. "It's a bit mixed up as... information makes it seem like it was before. Wait no, I'm confusing myself and probably you more. " Rose took a deep breath, releasing it before trying again. "I... looked into the heart of the Tardis and into the time vortex itself. Something... that a human isn't supposed to do. It filled me and.. that... created the bad wolf entity. A... being of immense power. " She couldn't understand though. There'd always been a... lingering. Even the werewolf had mentioned there was 'something wolf in her'. But was it... still there enough to actually make an archangel nervous?
Michael gazed at her quietly, listening. "You have nothing to fear. It is faint. Fading. Dying. But it is strong enough to cause you to see what should not be seen. Like me." He inclined his head. "Tell me, Rose Tyler...are you frightened of me?"
Rose nodded, though truthfully... she was a bit sad. Bad Wolf was a part of her. And it had a right to live as much as she. The blonde studied him as if searching for the answer to his question there before shaking her head, speaking truthfully. "No. I'm not."
Michael gazed at her again, even more confused. His wings folded. "Why?"
Rose pursed her lips before shrugging. "Why should I be?"
Michael did not honestly know how to answer that question. Because I am the most powerful being that exists beneath my Father. Because I could destroy your world with half a thought, and because my name strikes terror into things of evil, and terrifies those that walk in shadow. Because I am indifferent to the fate of you and every human save for what you mean. Because I am myself. "I am not going to hurt you."
Rose shrugging again with a soft smile. "Exactly. So why should I fear you? Yes. You could literally kill me with less than a full thought. Along with the world." Rose waved a light hand. "But you haven't. And if you are, there's really nothing I'm going to be able to do. "
Michael shook his head. "I have no interest in destroying the world for my own amusement."
Rose met his eyes. "Well then. As I said before. I'm not frightened of you. You've given me no reason to fear."
Michael looked at her with those suffering, remote eyes. He nodded, the one still broken wing pulled in a little closer to himself. "Very well."
Rose gave a nod of confirmation before moving back behind him. "Let's get you fixed up completely." She murmured with a faint smile, her movements now more confident, rather than hesitating.
Michael spread his wings slightly, tension coiling into him as she moved behind him, but he did not move, did not bolt. "Thank you." The words tasted foreign on his tongue.
Rose paused in surprise, not having expected him to actually say it. She knew that he was thankful for the fact that he'd stayed there. Her hands moved over, straightening the bent bones, as well as shifting the feathers so that they laid straight. "You're welcome, Michael." She said quietly, glancing to the back of his head before returning back to the wings.
Michael remained still, patient, unmoving, breathing through the pain, bearing it without noise. "I wonder how my brother fared," he murmured without thinking.
Rose raised an eyebrow, wincing at one of bones, hand soothing over the area once it was set. "Which one?"
"Lucifer. I have not seen him since the Cage." His wing rose gently into her hand. "He was injured as well. I must find him."
"You seem... to care. A lot. You're a good brother." She unconsciously caressed the feathers with her hand as it pressed against her hand.
Michael sighed out softly at the touch, distracting from the pain. "I must find him. He...we were meant to fight. But I do not know where he has gone. I only know he is still alive. But I do not want to kill him." Sadness radiated from him, sweet and devastating. "It is blasphemy to say so, but part of me hopes I do not find him."
Rose kept up the light touch, trying to soothe. "But people change. It... it doesn't have to be. I was probably meant to die long ago. I didn't. Things.. fate can be changed. He's your brother, Michael. Does.. does that not mean anything? " Yes, this was Lucifer. But still... a brother was a brother. Family... was always strong. "But if you must fight, perhaps it is best that you do not find one another."
Michael shook his head. "You were not meant to die," he said softly. "And fate...fate cannot be changed." Anxiety was in his voice. He closed his eyes. "Of course it means something. He is more than my brother. I was alone in creation, perfect and with my Father, but alone. I hungered for companionship, and as my Father did with Adam, he created me a companion. A child. I took that child, and I raised him. Taught him, protected him. There is no move that he makes that I did not teach him, save for his wildness. Of...course that matters. Do you not think that the idea of slaying him torments me? That I do not wish every day that it was different? That I was different? We were together. We were happy. And then I had learned what my purpose was and it tortures me." His voice was soft, agonized, his head hung. "It matters," he whispered. "It matters."
Rose reached up, touching his arm. "Then don't do it." She whispered, meaning it. "Make your own plan. Do what you want for once." She shook her head. If god truly put brothers that close against one another... perhaps he wasn't the best divine being then. Because it didn't matter who it was. Or what they were. Pitting brothers against each other... was beyond cruel.
Michael flinched slightly when she touched his arm, but let it stay there, tolerating it. "I do not belong to myself," he said, turning his head, his voice quiet.
"Who said? You are yourself. Are your actions controlled like a robot?" Rose asked quietly. "I think not. You make the decision but do it because that's... the command. But you still do it because you consider it your duty. But you are still deciding to do it, are you not?"
Michael raised his chin. "I am a soldier," he said. "And a commander of soldiers. I am created to be a soldier. I follow orders. I execute those orders. I die in that duty if I must. What I am is that. I follow what I was created to do. I am a good son."
Rose gave him a sharp look, raising a pale eyebrow. "And what war are you fighting, Michael? You said your brothers are scattered. It doesn't sound like they need a soldier. Or a commander. They need an older brother. To care for them. To show them that they have nothing to be afraid of. To help them. They are scared and have no idea what is going on. And you're here with your 'duty' and 'orders'. Be a good son, but be a good brother and sibling as well. "
Michael gazed at her suddenly, his eyes growing shielded. "You do not understand," he said softly.
Rose softened her gaze, filled with slight sadness. "I don't. I don't understand how... you can happily live like that." She murmured. "You seem to love your brothers and sisters with everything. You love Lucifer, helped to raise him. Yet because it supposedly is meant to be, you would kill him? Even though it would likely wreck you for the rest of your life? I don't understand how... how you aren't willing to at least try. Not full rebel or whatever. But just... one thing. " She searched his features, eyebrows drawn. "You said you were lonely. And yet you're ready to take out one of the last people there?"
Michael bowed his head. "Because it is not about me," he said softly. "Or who I love. It is about what I am. It does not matter that I am happy. I am the Sword of God. I deliver justice and spare the righteous. That is who I am. That...is all that I am."
Rose continued to watch him. "So you don't deserve to be happy? Even soldiers have a family. A spouse. " She pointed out quietly. "That's all you are?" Rose repeated, shaking her head. "I doubt that. You're your own person, well, angel. But if you were just meant to deliver, you wouldn't have a thought of your own. Yet you do."
Michael remained quiet, his head dropping again, eyes agonized.
Rose stayed quiet, not wanting to push as she knew she was likely close to overstepping if she hadn't already. Though as he hadn't glared her into the next dimension, Rose could hope that she hadn't. She gave his arm a gentle squeeze before laying a light hand on the feathers. "Did you want me to finish?" She asked softly, realizing he might need a distraction.
Michael nodded without speaking, his eyes firmly averted, and then closed. His jaws clenched, pulse jumping, brow furrowed, remaining strong despite the confusion that roiled through him.
Rose nodded as well, moving to where she could get to them easier, working in silence. She fixed all of them, grooming his wings and straightening them as well as popping them back into place. It shouldn't have surprised her with all that when one of the pure white feathers came loose in her hand as she finished. "I, uhm..." She faltered, holding out the feather, unsure what to do with it.
Michael looked, his head turning. Gently, delicately, he reached out to it, picking it up, studying its silvery incandescence, the way it caught the light. He gave it back to her. "Destroy it. It's dangerous. Or keep it. It could be useful to you. A gift. If you accept the risk."
Rose gently took it back, spinning it slowly, eyes glancing over the feather to meet his eyes. "What's dangerous about it? Or the risk?"
"It can be used for dark magic. Hunter's spells. Summonings. Risks to myself rather to you. But you could be harmed by someone who would want their hands on it. Or you could keep it. Use it yourself."
Rose shrugged, running the pad of her first finger over the feather. "What would I ever use it for? You know I know near nothing about magic or summoning. "
"Then destroy it." His voice was soft. He reached out and brushed it lightly with his fingertips, looking at its perfection, its lovely fragility, silver accented and bright. "All beautiful things are destroyed in the end."
"And what if... I don't want to? How am I to destroy something... this perfect? This... rare?" She asked softly, watching his hand. "Though at the same time, I can't keep it. As I imagine this is something that could be used to endanger you, given it is... priceless."
"Now you too will understand," he said softly, his eyes meeting hers. "How I feel. How it feels to destroy something beautiful. Something that means so much to you, that can never be replaced. For the good of the whole." His hand dropped. "That is what it means to be what I am."
Rose looked away, biting her lip to keep it from trembling. Her hand dropped as well, shoulders slumping as she struggled. "I've never been good at letting things go." Rose said with a sad laugh, shaking her head. "Though I've been forced more times than I'd like." Part of her wondered if it wouldn't be safe in the Tardis, as most couldn't get in there. They technically could take the ship itself but still wouldn't be able to get in without the key.
Michael met her eyes with his own ancient gaze, and he closed her fingers gently over the feather. "Neither have I."
Rose found herself unable to look away, letting him close her hand, skin faintly tingling. The girl smiled faintly at his words. "Then don't."
"We do not have that choice," Michael said, and in return, despite the sadness of his words, his gaze lost some of its pain. "Your Doctor is still out there, Rose Tyler. You have not lost him yet."
Rose sighed softly, her eyes showing pain. "I've already lost him once." Her voice wavered, having to look away to keep her emotions in check. "And this one... he's happier without me. He has a wife. I met her... she's lovely. " Rose shrugged, giving a watery smile. "If he's happy, why should I go about and muck it up? I don't know if I could lose him again." She shook her head.
"He is happy," he said quietly. "And he is safe. I can't say the same thing about you."
"One out of two?" She said with a faint smile, though it barely touched her eyes. "What can you say about me?"
"That knowing I am here endangers you."
Rose raised an eyebrow. "How exactly?"
"I was...in a prison of sorts. It is not common knowledge that I am free."
"I was in New York for just under two weeks when I was kidnapped by a group of demons and the only reason I'm alive is because of Gabriel. I also know the Doctor and having a working time and space ship. Sadly, my life... is never going to be safe." Rose shrugged. "It's... something I've come to terms with. Plus... how would they think that I would know you were free? You don't... quite seem like the talkative, house call sort of archangel." She said, a faint playful tone underlying her words.
Michael barely softened at the playfulness, tilting his head. "There are many others besides myself that can see into minds. I should erase your memories of this night."
Rose flinched, not moving away but her eyes showing a vulnerability. "Please don't." She whispered.
Michael looked at her, puzzled. "Why not?"
Rose looked away, giving a shrug. "I... our conversation... this time. Has meant something. And perhaps brought a bit of hope, I guess. To not have that....."
Michael did not understand. He looked at her with that searching confusion written clear in his gaze. "You would not know you had lost it."
Rose sighed. "I know. But... " She gave a soft laugh though it wasn't happy. "I have no idea what I'm doing here. Or what I'm supposed to be doing. I'm lost." She looked away, shaking her head. "Because this was important. Probably more for me than you. But.... I don't know. It ruins the timeline. And then... I'll never see you again. Never know that I knew you. "
Michael relented at last. "Very well. I will not."
Rose bit her lip before looking up at him. "If.. if you think that's for the best... for your safety... then do it. "Her voice wavered, not wanting to, but once again as always, thinking over herself to someone else.
Michael gazed at her. "No. Think of it as...a gift then. Since you must destroy the other."
Rose averted her eyes. "Must I?"
"Yes," he said quietly. "Goodbye, Rose Tyler," he said, turning to go.
Rose looked up, lips slightly parted, trying to think of what to say. "Will... will I see you again?"
"Do you wish to?"
"I wouldn't mind." She said, a corner of her mouth turning up into a genuine smile.
Michael looked at her, puzzled but accepting. "Farewell, I---" There was nothing more to say, and words died in his throat. There was a beating of massive wings, and a shimmer in the air. And then he was gone.
Rose gave a small nod, sensing the acceptance. However, she was expecting more, the faint fluttering and the air stirring enough to make her hair gently move showed the archangel's departure. She looked to the spot Michael had been standing moments before and back to the feather in her hand, sighing softly. "I'll see you around, Michael." Rose murmured, having faith he'd be able to hear her.
The past year... had been hell. But he wasn't sure if this was worse than just running for his life. The tablets... weren't just simple to read like a book. He might have been a prophet, but it didn't mean that it wasn't taking a physical toll on the young boy. He was getting an average of three to four hours a night and that was if he was lucky.
The white chocolate mocha held in his hands had enough shots in it that it should have been syrup rather than a drink, with enough caffeine to give most people a heart attack. He stared into the cream on top of the drink, taking another small sip, trying to relax, if not just for a few minutes. He'd have to go back, start working again. But he needed just a few minutes. The chatter around the cafe was both comforting and a bit annoying. As if that thought was a trigger, the diner suddenly went deadly silent, the cook who had been flipping a pancake frozen into place.
Kevin swallowed hard, before sighing, completely relaxed. He had no energy to be afraid right now. He glanced over as someone spoke, looking back to his coffee with a small noise. They'd called him prophet and thereby as he'd thought this wasn't something of the human world. "Look. Really, I'm not quite in the mood right now."
Dean was never a good listener. Didn't take advice well, had trouble playing with others that weren't his little brother, sharing issues, all of that etched in every report card from kindergarten on up.
And some things just never change.
Because if Sammy were here right now, Sammy would've said, "Let's wait for back-up" or would have been Dean's back-up. If Bobby were here he wouldn't have let him anywhere near this place alone. If Dad were here he would've slapped him and told him he trained him better than that and he deserved whatever shit came along with his mistake.
The last option seemed to be the closest to what was actually happening.
He'd taken down a nest of vampires by himself before. He'd killed a crapton of demons all by his lonesome, taken on a gaggle of zombies and a family or two of ghosts all by himself. He was thirty five years old for Christ's sake, been hunting since he was seven, this wasn't hard. Or it shouldn't be.
Maybe invading a conference of demons by himself was a bad idea. Instead of the ten he thought would be there it was closer to thirty or forty, all black-eyed and sitting around tables in suits and business attire, all listening to one guy talk about all the chaos and mayhem that was yet to come in the name of some chick named Abaddon but he didn't get to hear much else.
Going in guns blazing always sounds like a good idea at the time but then shit like this happens and you end up looking like a fucking idiot. The mic squeals, the people stop and stare at their...friends? groaning on the floor covered in rocksalt and they get a bit angry. Then they realize you're Dean fucking Winchester and they get pissed.
He had about four seconds before the guns were ripped out of his hands and he was being tossed around the room like a bouncy ball, smacking off of the floor and the walls until the demon who'd been speaking at the mic before had thrown him up with him and pressed her heel to his throat.
"This was by invitation only," she growled, her crisp hair now disheveled around her face. The other demons hissed and panted in their anticipation. Dean looked up at the woman, one eye swollen shut, his cheek broken with blood in his lips and his clothes torn from grabby, greedy people trying to tear something off.
"Sorry, bitch," he spat. "But I love crashin' parties."
She grinned and knelt beside him. "Oh, I'll bet you do, cowboy." She grabbed his hair and threw him over the podium, two demons forcing his arms back and pinning him there, body pointed out toward the crowd. Dean grunted, feeling his wrist fracture in one of the demon's grips.
Yeah he definitely should've brought back-up.
The demon said something about gutting Dean Winchester and presenting his corpse to this Abaddon lady again and the crowd cheered. Dean grimaced, grunting and trying to pull his already injured arm out of the demon's hands. It earned him a hard tug from the big guy holding his fractured wrist and his shoulder leapt out of place. He cried out and the woman grabbed his hair, forcing his head back with a taser in her hand.
"You ready for this rodeo, cowboy?" She grinned, sparking the device to life. Dean smirked, breathing through the pain radiating through his body. He knew very well that he was about to die here. The torture was a formality, a way to get him to jerk and scream for their viewing pleasure before he kicked it, likely with some dream in mind that Dean would beg for death.
"Bring it on, bitch. This ain't my first rodeo," he assured. And it wasn't. Alistair was his first. First real, make him scream, push him to begging for death and mercy and denying it to him "You'll get out of here when your eyes are blacker than my heart" torture. The other shit that had happened during hunts or whatever was a paper cut compared to that.
Crowley being the next round there was no fucking way that this stupid, low-level bitch could ever be up to snuff. Yeah, it'd hurt. Hurt a lot, actually, he might make some noise or something but if they wanted him dead they'd get tired of his mouth and just fucking do it. There weren't a lot of people alive or dead that could stand Dean's mouth for too awful long.
Don't hate me too much for this, Sammy... He thought as the electricity jolted through his body and burned his skin, wind rushing through his ears so loud he barely heard himself screaming. Just didn't want to bug you with crap like this. Not important. And Cas... Well what could he say to him?
The prayer to the angel stopped as sharp pain snapped him from his clouded state. He screamed again, cursed and spat in faces while he was bludgeoned and cut and torn over and over again. He still laughed and cackled and spat and made smart remarks that only let things hurt worse.
This was for the best. It was good that he was gonna die. Then he wouldn't have those nightmares anymore, he wouldn't feel so desolate and lost and disgusting, he wouldn't have to look over his shoulder wherever he went or wake up shrieking with that soft phrase "Hello, darling" echoing in his ears. Death was alright, that would be fine by him thank you very much.
And with the woman brandishing a knife toward his now exposed stomach, he was sure he wouldn't have to wait long for that peace.
Michael makes a little sound of slight irritation as Gabriel tugs with his wing, but there's a hint of a smile on his lips as he reaches out with his own hands, working carefully on his own feathers. He tries to touch Gabriel's as little as possible, afraid to breach into his territory with probing fingers. "I don't blame you." Michael looks amused briefly before focusing on his wings again. "Yes, you did, that wasn't pleasant -" His smile totally hasn't widened, not at all. {yes good.}
Gabriel clamps down on a laugh, his free wings waving slightly in his amusement, “They deserved it, alright? Show-offs. My gold wasn’t in yet,” he’d disliked having plain, one-toned grey wings. He’d also been a complete brat, so.He meets Michael’s fingers in the middle and cards through, loosening the twisted feathers, “Ha!” and he whacks his brother with his wing again, looking smug,
freewillsillusion replied to your post: [He clearly tenses at the mentions of wings, almost snarling through his teeth as he talks.] If I revealed my wings to you, they would burn your eyes right out of your skull, so be grateful I don’t show them to you. [His bravado falters, and he talks, trying to keep his voice calm.] Though, you wouldn’t be able to see them in my current state even if I wanted you to see them. My Grace was stolen, and I was forced to fall. My wings are - gone. Now, answer my question. What are you.
[Well now he’s just exasperated, exhaling and running a hand over his face.] I am Michael, the second hand of God, one of the highest ranked archangels in the garrison. Now, tell me, what, and who, are you. [There’s a brief pause.] Please.
[The Doctor smiles thinly, and has to bite back the urge to reach over and pat Michael's cheek snidely. His fingers flex against his arm, then he reaches up to adjust his bow tie instead.] See, was that so hard? For an angel your manners are absolutely horrid. Well, Mikey-boy, I'm the Doctor. I'm not from this planet, either, but I suppose you gathered that - you can call me a Time Lord.
[He clearly tenses at the mentions of wings, almost snarling through his teeth as he talks.] If I revealed my wings to you, they would burn your eyes right out of your skull, so be grateful I don't show them to you. [His bravado falters, and he talks, trying to keep his voice calm.] Though, you wouldn't be able to see them in my current state even if I wanted you to see them. My Grace was stolen, and I was forced to fall. My wings are - gone. Now, answer my question. What are you.
Well, somebody's dramatic. Blimey, no wonder he wants to break free -- he's stuck in a melodrama starring an angel. [The Doctor raises his eyebrows at the angel and folds his arms over his chest, giving him a pointed look.] Maybe if you ask politely I'll tell you. Otherwise, you'll just have to remain stooped in my mystery. How about you tell me your name? Dean never really did tell me which angel he had the misfortune of tangling up with.
[Michael moves forward towards the Doctor, voice pointed and rough.] You - you were the one who spoke with my vessel - I knew - I could feel, even though I wasn't in control, I know you are not human - /what are you/?
Are you trying to intimidate me with a show of brusque masculinity? Because, well, it's not working. Vessel - you're talking about Dean. Which would make you this alleged archangel, hm? [He makes a show of looking him up and down, more to irritate him than anything else.] Funny, I thought he might sprout wings or something. Or is that just a fallacy like pirates going 'yo ho ho'?
#successfully referenced cock rings via beyonce #used spitters are quitters #referenced magic mike #and used a very poor biblical pick-up line #i wonder if that's a record of highest number of sexual things michael's been exposed to in an hour #or
