[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

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.