[Closed]

[familysucks]

Who: Michael, Wanda & Matt; Michael & Istredd; Michael & Jack; Michael & Castiel
What: Closed prompts for the month
When: February
Where: Horizon
Warnings: None at the moment, will add as required

Comments

Wanda & Matt - Wanda's domain

[familysucks]

On its own, an invitation from Wanda isn't unusual. They've known one another long enough to decide they enjoy each other's presence and to be comfortable with that fact. She's easy for him to talk to—or not talk to, as the mood strikes them—and Michael sees something familiar in her demeanour. Her company is as close as he gets anymore to the feeling of being among fellow angels. Exactly what she gets out of the arrangement he hasn't asked, but he knows she had an elder brother she dearly misses. He can guess.

The request that he be on his best behaviour had been a little strange, however. A bit ominous, even, but Michael trusts Wanda enough to believe that she won't lead him into any unpleasant surprises.

Well. Unless he's really done something to deserve it, recently.

Michael lands on the porch outside the small home inside her domain's forest, accompanied by a winged chaperone. The raven settles on the railing with a flutter and the click of clawed feet against wood. It lets out a short croak to hail their arrival.

He sees himself through the door without knocking. Wanda would know he's here even without the sound of a corvid greeter to alert her. The inside is as he remembers it from his last visit: warm, cozy, a few walls lined with shelves of books and the rest adorned with picture after picture. It's a little overdecorated by Michael's spartan tastes, but he'd never critique Wanda's choices in interior design. Not without the right comedic timing anyway.

Today, Wanda is not alone.

"Wanda." He greets her with a polite incline of his head. Then he turns to the other man, the one he remembers from their recent sea voyage. "And Matt, wasn't it?"

They've never spoken before. Everything he knows about the man boils down to an hour or so bemoaning the roll of the ship on the waves and a stern request from Wanda to treat his religious beliefs with delicacy, but he never forgets a name.

michael - wanda - matt order? :>

[carmesi]

Of course Michael would come upon her request; this much she never doubted, in the same way that she didn't doubt Matt joining her in the Horizon with nothing more but a statement of 'there is someone I'd like you to meet' as incentive. There is certainly nothing ominous about her making this meeting happen.

Michael would immediately be able to tell where 'to be on his best behavior' comes from the moment he sees Matt, however. That much she trusts.

They sit in the living room space, a cozier spot than her and Michael's usual perching over the porch or by the kitchen with a cup of tea, looking out into the woods around them. As for here, it is clear that the intent is to keep the attention within this room—and it's also more comfortable for Matt, who may be about to meet an idol of his? Who knows.

This could go sideways.

Wanda stands from the couch to go around the coffee table towards Michael — but allowing herself to be somewhat in the middle between the two men.

"I think you both are owed a proper introduction," is what she says, hoping to clear up why she has two guests in her Horizon. All by design. She's been tripping in her mind how to actually introduce them. "This is Matt. He's in the Free Cities, and he's — coincidentally from my world, too." She turns to the other. "Michael. He's in Solvunn with me. We shared a cabin together in the ship."

Nothing... to worry about... right? She shoots Michael a glance.

[catholica]

Matt thought the next time he and Wanda talked, it would be in Nocwich and it would be a fairly serious conversation. He hadn't expected her invite to her Horizon with the promise of meeting someone. He'd blanched at first, not wanting to be caught off guard but he knows that Wanda wouldn't throw him into a surprise meeting with Lucifer or anything like that.

When he arrives, he makes himself at home on the couch and waits. The other person arrives soon thereafter and Matt waits for introductions. When she mentions Michael, he knows that it's not any Michael. It's the Michael and he doesn't really know how to process that at first.

"Matt, yeah. Matthew Murdock," he says after finding his voice again. He does stand, remembering some of his manners and extends a hand because he could do that.

[familysucks]

He looks back at Wanda, expression level. It's him, Michael—Prince of the Heavenly Host, fighter of demons, holy force against evil. He is above reproach. Sure, he's counting all the things in the room he could knock over just like a cat with a twitchy tail, but it's his analytical side that compels him to. He's not about to start pushing anything off of the table.

Michael stares at Matt's extended hand for just a beat too long. Then its meaning clicks into place: a greeting, not an offer. Handshakes aren't a normal part of angelic communication, but having to introduce himself in the first place is a feature unique to his interactions with humans. He does reach out and take the man's hand, his grip firm but not crushing. He suspects Wanda would not approve of him immediately trying to make her beau lose his nerve.

"Michael. Just Michael."

He's not sure what exactly she's said about him to Matt, but he expects she's told him enough that he doesn't need to elaborate on his lack of a last name. After the handshake, Michael lets go and moves for the individual seat in the corner. He turns around, glancing between Wanda and Matt.

"Formal introductions, then. Is there an agenda, or should I start by asking what you're known for?"

[carmesi]

"No agenda," she says, easily, grateful that Michael is not immediately trying to make anyone lose their nerve, especially when Matt is one of the few—if not the only one—that is actively practicing his faith (however that looks like).

When Michael sits, Wanda steps closer to Matt, a hand over his arm, helping him ease back down on the couch beside her. Moral support and all that.

Before the two of them can go about with this conversation, Wands speaks up to explain the reasoning with wanting them both here. She's sure Matt might appreciate having a few more minutes to recover some sense of confidence in the presence of Michael The Archangel.

"I wanted you two to meet because— you're both important to me." Gross. "And you could both do with making more friends across the borders."

Excellent logic, Wanda. Definitely no power dynamic here to consider.

She decides to help Matt a little. "He's a lawyer."

[catholica]

"I have friends."

He says it lightly though just because he has to say something. He works his jaw back and forth, listening to Wanda's explanation and then trying to hear anything from Michael. But, considering he's an archangel, it's not like he's going to need to do things that humans do.

Does he? Had Abraxas changed that? Maybe it's best not to ask. Not great conversation topics. He frowns.

"And yeah, I'm a lawyer. Not that that means much right now because I'm not licensed in the Free Cities but it's something to work towards."

[familysucks]

If he's important enough for Wanda to introduce him to her partner as an equal, what does that make them—family? Michael lets only a fraction of his surprise show, and only for a moment, but it's there. Wanda isn't one for open displays of sentiment any more than he is. He files the thought away for use in a teasing remark later. In the meantime, he drops some of the standoffish air he usually carries around strangers as he peers at Matt.

"I won't refuse the opportunity for an ally on the other side of a faction border, especially if Wanda is vouching for your character."

So maybe he doesn't have many friends out there. Thanks, Wanda. There's a face or two in the Free Cities that would greet him with a smile, but he's not sure how far any of them would be willing to go for him if he were truly in a bind.

Michael leans back in his chair, lacing his fingers and settling them on his lap. He doesn't seem relaxed so much as he looks like a tool set in its proper place.

"Regrettably, Solvunn has a limited job market outside of farming and childcare."

There's little work to be found for a lawyer in the commune, and even less for a general.

Istredd - Istredd's domain

[familysucks]

Michael sweeps into Istredd's tower like he owns the place, wingbeats that sound suspiciously like sheets being hung to dry announcing his arrival. It's the same imperious attitude he carries himself with everywhere he goes, but he was invited. That's close enough to justification for him. He wears the same modern-looking outfit he did last time he visited. It's the sole change he ever makes to his appearance in the Horizon—a matter of comfort. Experimenting with fashion doesn't hold much interest for him.

He nods a mild greeting as he spots Istredd on the main floor.

"So where is this book of theories you've been preparing?"

Given the theme of Istredd's domain, Michael is making some assumptions about the format of the speculation he and the others have been engaging in.

[magicalarchaeologist]

Istredd did invite him so he can swoop in however he likes. There are a few new texts in the library that he was curiously looking at, but he was waiting for Michael. Considering that Michael has been helpful in talking about Solvunn, and willing to share his thoughts, it seemed only logical to tell him about their notes. He is as old as Lucifer and wise in his own way, Istredd believes very strongly that he is an ally worth making. And Lucifer grudgingly allows it.

The five ravens who live in the tower do all flutter a floor above them and stare at Michael. They're not Wanda's although it is a little connected. They don't do anything to him though, as opposed to two of them that like to annoy the two chief occupants.

"Follow me." He leads through the shelves that part and it is very intuitive, quick to move around people if they know what they're looking for. Usually reading nooks are just created, but this is a special one for people who know. Michael will be able to find his way back to this if he decides to come on his own. It's a nice and comfortable space once they're inside with plenty of seating arrangements for people to enjoy if they want to talk about the theories.

Michael might recognize the Chart of Hell by Sandro Botticelli painting and know his brother's hands are all over this, but it wouldn't be a surprise, since he knows how close Istredd is with him. Istredd turns it around and shows Michael the back of it where many of their notes are on it. Some in handwriting he knows, some in Istredd's, some merely thought into existence and not written.

"Obviously we'll be lucky if even one of these turns out to be true, but we're trying to make sense of the gods and what's going on here." Yes they could leave it alone and ignore it, but after the Heralds, that seems like a stupid idea, if people can come fater them.

[familysucks]

Michael glances at the books that had held Istredd's attention as they pass, wondering if any of the titles are worth examining himself, but he doesn't stop to check any of them. Now's not the time. The ravens receive a similar cursory glance. So long as they don't swoop down to harass him, they're not a concern of his.

There might be something to why the people he knows are so fond of filling their domains with that particular corvid, but that's another thought for later.

He follows after Istredd, between the book-laden shelves and into the secret reading room beyond. He frowns a little at Istredd's back as the man heads over to pull something down from the wall instead of off a shelf. A painting slash bulletin board is not what he'd been expecting. Michael is silent for a few moments as he examines the back, reading each line before he makes any comment of his own. Some of these theories sound a little far-fetched, if he's being generous; like grasping at thin air, if he's being his honest self.

"Good luck to you. Even Solvunn's ritual masters are not very forthcoming when they speak of the gods. We may only learn of them by meeting them ourselves," he suggests, cynical. "Are you thinking of testing any of these theories, or merely gathering them?"

[magicalarchaeologist]

He knows that most of these are just thoughts as they came to them, and there is an element of it more prone to instigating thoughts than facts in themselves. Istredd can look at any of these and it spins him off into other theories, it works better when within a conversation. He wouldn't try to make this come off as more than ideas, ideas are sometimes all you have. Until someone else comes along and perhaps knows a fact.

"It has been brought up that we could intentionally try to summon the gods. In theory, if a blood sacrifice has done that, and they created a spell to send the entity back, it would be possible to refine both. Summon a god for questions, send it away." Istredd shrugs, looking at the board. That particular idea isn't written out there, because it's already in their minds. "I was the one to refuse to try anything like that until we had a guaranteed ability to dispel them."

Otherwise they were looking at maybe something worse than the heralds. Retribution, perhaps, from a god offended by the idea.

"If there is a way to test any of them, I would do it. The more we look into this, the more I think we really do have to summon one to get any answers." It's just not the smartest choice. It's dangerous. But who are they going to get answers out of otherwise? Solvunn? Unlikely. "Kyle's theory that they're not originally from this world is interesting."

[familysucks]

"I agree with you on that much. Even if you were to send away whatever you summoned, could you guarantee it wouldn't return of its own accord later? Some entities don't care to be called upon. They might hold a grudge."

There, Michael speaks from personal experience, having on one occasion been trapped in a circle of holy flame, handcuffed, and dragged to the Winchester's bunker. He hadn't appreciated it, and he'd nearly wrung the life out of Castiel for it. In the end, the news they'd brought him had been worth more than the insult of his capture. They were lucky that Michael isn't the vengeful type.

The gods of Abraxas, though—who knows? At the last ritual by the ocean, Solvunn's mages had said it was best not to target any specific god with their offerings, lest they offend others. Their old gods might be as jealous and capricious as any of the pagan gods Michael knows of.

"Do you have a means of banishing a deity?" he asks, a shade of genuine curiosity in his expression as he glances away from the board, towards Istredd. An opportunity to test it might present itself before they ever get around to summoning anything.

"You might also try reaching out to the gods before you try dragging them to you. Prayer, the magic writing. Perhaps some of the other Summoned know other means of contacting the gods of their worlds, if Kyle's theory is true."

[magicalarchaeologist]

"I think the Heralds proved that none of us would be stronger than them."

None of them were fully able to resist the influence. Even Istredd who was less afflicted than most was struggling the entire time. To put that much power over the entire world? Definitely over their pay grade. The problem is that simply can't be enough. They can't shrug their shoulders and go 'oh well' and go about their lives, or apparently Lucifer, Istredd, and Kyle can't. Part of it will always be about the Singularity for him, but this too. He doesn't like dangling on someone's string.

"Months ago when people were experiencing very vivid nightmares, they were also seeing an entity of some kind. I heard it had multiple faces, it looked like whatever someone might be scared of. It seemed like it followed people into the real world." Istredd was not there for it, but many people were, and he listened carefully to their stories, just in case.

"Thorne asked that the Summoned perform a ritual to push it out of here. Whatever that spell was, it seemed to work." He shrugs. "So it's possible that spell could be used again. Then again, they could have used it again on the Heralds, and they didn't." Istredd doesn't know the answers, that's why there is so much speculation. But he can't simply turn his back on it.

"I just think if we keep sitting around, it'll escalate. They have nothing holding them back."

Jack - Michael's domain

[familysucks]

The diner has become something of a refuge, for Michael. When he grows tired of Solvunn, irritated with its old gods and their constant presence in the thoughts and words of locals, he retreats to this corner of his domain. Being nearer the Singularity does not necessarily put him further away from the gods—if there is anyone who knows for certain the nature of the relationship between the gods and the Singularity, it hasn't reached his ears—but at least his domain is free of offerings and shrines.

Apart from the church, that is. That doesn't count.

He won't get to keep thinking of his domain as a safe place if estranged relatives keep wandering in, though. First Lucifer, and now his son.

Michael rises from the same booth along the wall that he always occupies when he's here. For a moment, all he does is look taken aback. Throwing out his wings in threat wouldn't do much. This isn't truly a face to face meeting, it's merely the Horizon: no harm they might do to one another here will have any real meaning. Besides, they've met before, whether Jack remembers it or not. It hadn't gone so bad. The boy is not his father.

"Jack," he ventures, tone unavoidably guarded but not hostile. "So even a nephilim is subject to the whims of the factions and their summoning ritual."

[notoftheblood]

Jack couldn't say for sure how he had ended up here. Truth be told, his explorations and learnings of the free cities hadn't afforded him as much knowledge as he'd have liked. No, in true, raised by Winchesters style, the young nephilim spent most of his time alone in his room at Mags.

More recently in his room in the new house everyone had gotten together.

No, one moment he was doing a little more than nothing the next he was walking through the woods, much like when he went to see Eddie running D&D. When he stepped into the diner he had seen in the distance, he had not expected another. Michael didn't look like the Michael he knew, nor did he recognize him yet. No, Jack was from a few days before they would meet.

"You know me?" He asked, carefully stepping in more to get out of the doorway. Unsure how to feel. "I suppose so, where am I? And, how do you know me?" The kid really needs to get out more.

[familysucks]

The lack of recognition on Jack's face explained a great deal. By the time Michael had met him, Jack had been little more than human. He had to be from an earlier time frame, before they'd met and before whatever he'd done to lose his power.

The thought of a first meeting with a fully charged nephilim who probably expected him to be the same aggressive, alternate Michael Lucifer had didn't thrill him, but it was better for it to happen in a place he controlled than in the middle of Nocwich. Michael moved closer, stepping slowly and deliberately between the tables without taking his eyes off of Jack.

"I do know you—or I will, however you prefer to see it. You're Lucifer's son, which makes you my nephew," he said, and then, before Jack could start going through the list of possibilities, he gestured at himself. "Michael."

Next, Michael waved a hand at the single table that remained between them—an invitation. Have a seat.

"You're in the Horizon, within my domain. How I know you is a longer story."

[notoftheblood]

Jack didn't recall the man's face at all, but as he had told Lucifer before. He had only met the alternate Michael, not the real one. No, Jack was from a few days from before Chuck would wipe the planet of everyone but the three of them, and Michael.

Meeting in a place neither could fully power up and throw down was safer than in the actual world around them. Jack was clearly concerned, but he just tipped his head as Michael explained. A look of worry crossed his face, but he didn't move to attack.

No, that worry grew.

"Please don't tell anyone." The nephilim asked, that worry in his tone, finally moving forward. As things seemed to click in place. "You're the Michael from my world?" He had reasons to be apprehensive. No one bothered to tell Jack about Adam. And the Michael he knew was kind of psycho.

Yet, family would always be a weakness for Jack. "I would like to know the longer story, please. But." He paused, looking awkward. "I didn't tell anyone I was Lucifer's son... They don't remember me. I told them I am someone elses. I can explain later, but I would like to know how you know me." Jack was more uncertain than he had been when they met.

A few months here, and the freshly recovered soul that he's brooded over alone, hadn't helped his normally sunny disposition.

[familysucks]

The worry was all but written in bold text on the boy's face, and Michael's expression grew pinched. His parentage was a big secret to keep. He could only assume the truth and the necessity of concealing it weighed even more heavily on Jack for his young age.

"That answers one of my questions. Does Dean Winchester know you're here?"

Dean was from several years before either of them. Of all the people who'd be most willing and eager to run through the son of the devil, Michael would place him at the top of the list. A fight against a nephilim probably wouldn't end well for Dean, but then again Jack struck him as soft enough to let the man take a few swings at him without fighting back. With the Mark and the first blade on his side, well. He might be able to do quite a bit of damage.

Michael sat at the table. He snapped his fingers, the door locking and blinds around the diner drawing shut in response. This was now a private conversation.

"No one will be hearing it from me, other than those who already know. Wanda, your—" He paused for a moment, not quite sure what Jack's exact view of Lucifer was. From his time spent with Adam he knew that a father was not always a parent. John Winchester had been his vessel's father, but he'd been little more than an occasional visitor to Adam. Eventually, with a tilt of his head and a puzzled glance, he offered: "Grace donor?"

Maybe that wasn't quite right. He'd let Jack tell him what title suited Lucifer.

"I'm the Michael from your world," he confirmed. "Or you're the Jack from mine. I was freed from Hell shortly before my Father—your grandfather—decided to wipe humanity from the face of the Earth. All except for Sam and Dean. That was the point at which I met you, though you had very little in the way of power by then."

He was leaving out the part where he was dragged to the bunker in a pair of handcuffs. Surely that wasn't relevant here.

[notoftheblood]

"Dean knows." He answers truthfully, it was only then that Jack sat down across from Michael in the booth. Both hands sitting on the table as he awkwardly tried to get his thoughts in order. "He is younger than when I knew him, everyone is. Castiel looks the same, but I know he's not." He went on. "I told them all that Castiel is my father. It's... not really a lie, he raised me. He protected my mother, I trust him. And... I'm sure you know what Dean would do if he knew. I don't want to go through that again."

It was spoken low, like a guilty confession. He had relaxed a little, but not much when the doors locked, and the blinds closed. Though he'd only seen confession in movies, he wondered if this is what that felt like.

He had hated other world Michael with all of his young being, but this Michael didn't feel wrong. He felt oddly safe speaking, which felt rare these days. This was why he hated lies and the weight of them.

"I appreciate you, they are my family, but I can't tell them. They wouldn't understand." He truly felt his mother's influence was all that kept him safe when he was firstborn. Kelly wasn't here. "Wanda?" He asked, "I think I know her. She was at the Sir Eddie's game and spoke to me. Unless there is two." Sitting back finally, looking just as worried as ever. "You can call him my father when it's us. I know he's here, I can feel it. I've been trying to hide myself." He was still mad at Lucifer, and didn't know Lucifer was also from before him as well.

Sitting up again, a fidgety child-man... no, nephilim. Offering his hand, Michael's way. "It is nice to finally meet you. At least a not apocalypse version of you, anyway." Maybe he should have remembered meeting Michael, he hadn't been weak for awhile, but every time he tried to think it was drawing a blank. "Maybe I lost my power again, it has happened more than once, I am sad to admit." It was why for such a strong creature he didn't always rely on his ablities.

cas and michael go to church

[unwings]

It isn't often Castiel finds another domain with a Judeo-Christian church, and despite himself, he's curious. If he'd had several more seasons under his belt, he might've know better, but alas. Its contemporary, no grand cathedral, but more realistic that way. The pews are well worn, the organ old but grand, and beautifully crafted stain glass.

It isn't until he's moved on from the altar and started to inspect the stained glass that suspicion starts to set in. When he picks up a hymn book and reads the name of the church printed across the spine.

St. Michael's.

Well shit.

As if electricity shot through him, Cas straightens up, glances one direction then the other, and could swear he feels the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. He whips around, ready to flee, only to nearly barrel into a familiar face. Oops.

Caught. Cas clears his throat awkwardly, fiddling with the hymn book still in his hands.

"Hello, brother."

[familysucks]

Castiel's welcome is a sharp narrowing of Michael's eyes. Don't you 'brother' him. He's still irritated about events that his little brother has no way of remembering, because he hasn't taken those actions yet.

Michael looks him over, his expression as judgemental as it's ever been. He's younger than the last time Michael saw him.

"Castiel. I see the Singularity's had its way with you. I don't suppose you remember our last meeting?" It had gone better than the one before: no one had been handcuffed, and no one had been strangled. They'd had bigger problems than one another at the time.

Michael sweeps away without waiting for an answer, satisfied with the apparent amount of discomfort his presence in his personal space causes Castiel, and takes a seat in the middle of the front pew like he owns the place—because, well, he does. He'd act the same even if he didn't, though.

"Charming little establishment, isn't it? I'm rather fond of the stained glass, though they never do get the wings right."

He motions off to one side, to the colourful window that depicts an armored angel bearing a flaming sword.

[unwings]

He should've known a family reunion was in the books somewhere in his future, Castiel just hoped he'd know when he was walking into it. Too late now for regrets, Michael's here and, per usual, he doesn't seem happy.

Our last meeting? 'Meeting' is a bit docile of a descriptor for what he recalls.

"The... molotov?" Spoken with a slight wince. But Castiel is completely unaware of any other kind of meeting they might've had. Either way, it's not a topic Michael's interested in linger on, and that's probably for the best. Reluctantly, he paces after his brother, standing to the side of the pew and taking in the stained glass.

He's not wrong. They never get the wings right.

"I imagine capturing transdimensional structures composed of pure energy would be difficult in painted glass." He tilts his head, squinting at the depiction more critically. "But they do often resemble pigeon wings, don't they?"

[familysucks]

There are few things that bring Michael joy. Being reminded of the holy oil molotov incident is not one of them.

"I meant our last meeting here, in Abraxas, but don't think that you setting me on fire is forgotten or forgiven," he says, emphasizing his words with an index finger pointed directly at him.

Michael does not forgive easily, especially when no apology has been offered and it's clear never will be. Castiel may wince at the recollection but Michael doubts that he has any regrets. Put back into the same moment with his memories intact, he's just about certain he'd do it again.

From anyone else, 'pigeon wings' might be an insult. From Castiel, it's the sort of blunt, straightforward comment he expects of a younger angel. Most of them hadn't been built to think or to analyze the implications of their words before they spoke. Castiel does do a lot more than what he was strictly designed to do, but that's another series of thoughts entirely.

Michael gives a hum that sounds as annoyed as he looks, but he agrees.

"I expect they had more doves to model for them than angels, and that having their eyes burned out would make it rather challenging to complete the piece."

[unwings]

No, he doesn't have any regrets. If they were in the same spot, with Michael and Lucifer bent on leveling the earth for the sake of their prophesied battle royale, he'd do exactly the same. Or possibly better, maybe find some way to avoid being atomized directly after.

He was neither expecting or requesting forgetting or forgiveness.

"Ah." Right, that period of months that he was here without remembering he was here. That must have been when Michael arrived. "You'll have to refresh my memory on that. It seems I've lost a handful of months in leaving and returning."

Cas pauses, looking away from the glass to take a closer inspection of his brother, tilting his head curiously.

"You seem different. Older."

To Michael, who is already old as absolute balls, the comment might be redundant, but still. Something's just off. The vessel, at least, Adam Mulligan, does appear to have aged.

[familysucks]

Fortunately enough for everyone in Abraxas—Michael and Lucifer included—razing half the planet to fulfill God's desire for a fight to the death between his eldest angels is no longer Michael's highest aspiration. He's not certain God ever cared all that much about it, either. If he puts a blade through either of his siblings, it'll be for his own reasons.

"There's little to remember. We were briefly trapped in the Horizon together," he says, then adds what he feels is the most pertinent fact. "No one died."

Not that there's much point to fighting in the Horizon, but it's a testament to his patience and forgiving nature that he didn't smite Castiel on the spot for everything he's done. Though it had been a bit cathartic to strangle him that one time, so perhaps...

(Meddling with Castiel and the Winchesters has never once worked out for him, he reminds himself.)

Michael leans back in the pew and stretches his arms along the back of it, letting Castiel take a close look. Older. It's another comment that might land very differently if they weren't what they are, but age and power go hand in hand where they're from.

"Yes, ten years in Hell does tend to have that effect on people."

He narrows his eyes momentarily, giving him a particularly sharp glare. Castiel knows when he took the plunge. He should be able to add a decade and figure out the true time differential between them from there.