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When Do We Ever Get What We Deserve?

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Having your essence ripped away abruptly, excruciatingly, violently hurts. In Adam’s words, like a fuckin’ bitch. And if this was any other situation than the one they were currently in, then Michael would’ve gently chastised his favorite human without any real scorn and chosen a more befitting turn of phrase.


But it wasn’t any other situation and instead of basking in the presence of his guide, Michael was too busy screaming in agony as his Grace was used to create a vessel for him. The cold and cruel alien feeling of having your entire being forced into an unnatural shape against your will- and isn’t it funny that Michael finally understands the utter importance of free will, of being able to say no against any order with the knowledge that you can’t be commanded by anyone else- made him want to curl up into a ball and not exist for eternity.


There’s a hush of silence before enraged curses and roars fill the air, Michael instantly recognizing Adam’s voice even in his new chained state. Through blurry eyes, he sees Adam struggling to rise to his knees, every curse falling from his bloody mouth like a vengeful promise.


“I’m only gonna ask this once Michael.”


Gruff but still young, his Father upholding the facade of the young prophet that the archangel can’t even stand to look at anymore.


There’s disgust, fury, but most of all, heartache because, for all that he was titled as such, God was never truly a Father.


In the second before Chuck speaks again, Michael feels a soft pull from his Grace, and the archangel instinctively and effortlessly hands the reigns over to his beloved. Adam, who guides Michael’s Grace as if it were his own, with such gentleness that Michael would’ve collapsed into the human’s hold if only to lengthen the time full of soft touches and the inherent melding of each other’s existence.


In that blasted cage, Michael would curl his wings around Adam, protecting him from the flames as he gently used his Grace to surround Adam’s soul. His soul would always tinker with gentle laughter and soft coos that instinctively caused Michael to curl up his wings even more tightly around the human. Michael likes to think that those years spent with bright laughter and human warmth made the cage that much more manageable.


Until Adam consciously became aware, and Lucifer- bright Grace bright eyes soft heart - tore into his new plaything while Michael could only heal heal heal.

“Michael, the good son, the Left Hand of Heaven. Return to my side and let’s finish this.” And Go- Chuck the stupid prophet the one who lied and lied and lied till all the pieces were on his little chessboard- holds out his hand as if it were a gift, as if he expected Michael to get down on his knees in gratitude and accept.

His arrogance is sickening.


Through the contempt roaring in him, Michael glances behind Adam, sees how the wisps of Grace flicker through his furious blue eyes, and watches as he struggles to rise up, God paying no mind to the human behind him. And seeing that, Adam stubborn in any situation that he’s in, makes Michael feel fond, makes him ache with the knowledge that whatever happens next may end with the archangel separated from his guide permanently; in every single eon that Michael has survived through, that thought was the only one that sends fear through his being.


I love you. Only you.


Without any hesitation, any doubt, or a nagging sense of wrong, Michael, the fated weapon of God says no to his creator and rewrites the end. “I will never follow you again Father.


Three things happen at once:


Adam roars an animalistic noise that was sharpened by the Grace exploding in him.


Michael shrieks as he feels his self u n r a v e l


And God chokes, as his being is obliterated by power only second to his own. 


The world ends with a bang but God dies with a whimper.


There’s a ringing in his new ears, muffling everything to background static as a spine crushing boom hits the world around Michael, leaving him seeing black spots in a white-out world.


The deafening explosion combined with the sudden and instant draining of all of his Grace causes Michael to crumble to the barren ground beneath him, newly crafted fingers digging into the earth in some semblance of what’s real and what wasn’t.


The only thing Michael will ever trust to be real is Adam; only him and never anything or anyone else. Not in this broken world.


Later rather than sooner and Michael blinks back to awareness as a wounded noise shudders its ways into the world around him. He looks up, and Michael wonders for the first time in his existence, can Angels dream?


Because before the grounded archangel, was the broken body of a dying God at the feet of a bloody but glowing Adam.


A sense of euphoria, almost obscene comes over Michael as he takes in the Grace lit eyes and the blood-covered body of a man who looks like he’s been through hell and back. Which is true, in every sense of the term. And if the archangel looked through planes of existence to focus on the shadow of his beloved, he could see the faintest sense of wings.


Michael doesn’t acknowledge the tears streaming down his face, his mind clashing between relief and horror.


There, right in front of Michael, was the perfect mix of human and Grace settled into the cracking body of the only man he has ever loved. 


The one who managed to kill God in the end


A stifled gasp breaks Michael from his awed state and he sways to his knees as Adam takes a stumbling step forward, blue eyes intensely grabbing hold of Michael’s grey eyes.




Adam .”


A whisper full of grief and raw in its entirety carries through the air between the only two living beings and the dusting body of an idea. 


“I did it for you, Michael.”


The world lurched or maybe it was him who dragged his newborn body through the electrifying air around the two as Adam’s body became to collapse with the pressure of Grace bearing down on his soul.


Staring down at the burning body of his beloved held in his human arms -wings straining to break free, his Grace burning their way through the human’s flesh in an attempt to be completed, and his mind is drowning in irrational fear because Adam is dying, he’s dying in your arms and it’s unacceptable for anything painful to happen to him, not when we’re here, not when it’s the two of you against the world - and Michael sobs like he’s the one burning up instead of rapidly being overwhelmed by the senses of what it means to be human.


Help isn’t coming and with Go- Chuck dead, the universe could very well be collapsing underneath his feet. But Michael is stubborn, a byproduct of being the First, of taking command and running through the frontlines with a blade forced in one hand and Grace swirling in the other because what Father decrees, so must Michael do.


Nevermind the idea that Michael grew knowing only coldness and utter violence, understanding that in order to stay in Father’s good Graces he must be willing to follow every command, every decree no matter the consequences. Because there was nothing else he could do.


Even when wings ached to fly alongside Lucifer and little Gabriel. Even when he looked down at the latest archangel Castiel and ached at the idea of sending such innocent Grace into war and death.


So Michael, the First of his name but never the last, framed his beautiful Adam’s face and gently kisses him, siphoning back his Grace into this newly formed body that felt like his but hollow; empty because of the fact that Adam has yet to co-exist with him in this new vessel. And when each drop of Grace was back where it belonged, Michael continued, slowly but softly, kissed the soul of his beloved back into the safety of the archangel’s stable and healing Grace before watching as the body in his hold crumbled to another piled of ash on the barren land.


Between a blink and a second, Michael transports themselves to an empty motel room halfway across the world, and it is only when he gently lays against the soft covers of the bed does he reach inside and speak.




Softly, a deeper sense of awareness comes forth from underneath his subconscious, flickering soothingly against Michael’s Grace.


With enough relief to bring him back to his knees, Michael wraps his arms around his middle as his legs curl up towards his chest, a deep tone of contentment echoing through him as he realizes that his mad plan worked.


Take all the time you need in there. Resurface when you feel like it, I’ll be right here to welcome you back.


With one more sense of relief echoing through him, this time not his own, Michael lets himself fade into a deep sleep, too exhausted to even gather enough energy to unpack what just took place.


And if Michael becomes aware when Adam is in control, tracing their new features, then that’s just fine, because now the archangel gets to wrap his arms around his beloved and feel alive.