abraxaslogs | [Closed]

( It's not his first time seeing the Diner. He stumbled across it, actually, as a demon — but his wants and desires in that state weren't quite a 1:1 with his wants and desires as a human. He had no need to eat, a burger wouldn't get him drunk the way alcohol would. You can't fuck a burger. Well, you can, but he wouldn't.

Unless it was, you know, like a really good burger.

Anyway, the point is, it pings distantly in the back of his mind one sleepy evening when he finds himself sorely missing diner food. He could, of course, always magic himself something up, but it's different. There's more to crappy diner food than just the food. It's the atmosphere. It's the weirdly comforting experience that comes with having grown up inside them just the same as he grew up inside of motel rooms and his car.

So he goes.

He doesn't know who it belongs to. Someone he's never met, he's assuming. Someone new, maybe, or somebody from another faction.

Not... this.

He's only just sat down and helped himself to a fry when an uncomfortably familiar voice cuts through his oil-and-salt appreciation bliss.

He freezes. Then sighs out a soft; )

Oh, crap.

( And then, finally, looks up.

That resignation slips into incredulity, and he can't keep it from escaping his mouth. )

This one's yours? That is... not what I'd have guessed.

[That surprise is met with Michael's habitual stony expression, tinged with disapproval. Dean's existence is tied to unpleasant history and even more unpleasant memories. He can't help but frown a little at the sight of him.]

Jaci's, actually. [Jaci's Red Wagon Diner, he highlights, because Michael loves to argue details.] This is merely my version of it.

[The real thing had had more life to it, hungry customers digging into their meals and waitstaff drifting between tables and the kitchen. That isn't what Michael enjoyed about it, so they're absent. The Horizon's not very good at imitating life, anyway.

He ignores the obvious question of why he'd put something so plain and earthly in his domain. There's a reason he picked it, but Michael doesn't offer answers to questions that haven't been posed. Save that for when he feels like making a dig at Dean.

Instead, he pauses only a moment to assess the room—apart the missing fry, exactly as he left it—then strolls over and takes a seat across from him.

For now, the food stays. Call it fate, genetics, a common thread between vessels. He made a place that one vessel enjoyed and attracted another. It's gratifying to think that Dean must be a little mortified he came here all on his own.]

Last time we spoke, you threatened me. Is this your idea of 'I'll see you', or should I still expect you in Solvunn?

[Dean didn't know this was his domain, so of course he's here by accident. Still. Evidently, being on opposite ends of the continent isn't going to keep them out of each other's way forever.]

( It takes great restraint not to zing back a comment about Jaci's, about how everything here is a recreation of literally everything — but that kind of petty retort isn't gonna do him any favors right now. He did not, believe it or not, come here looking to pick a fight with the stick-assiest of archangels. He's not looking to poke the bear. He's got plenty on his plate to deal with already without reinitiating an old feud.

Can't pretend like he isn't a little curious why Big Brother Angel's domain is so unbelievably human, though. Maybe that's what tips the scales on his internal stay or go meter. Worst case scenario, if things get dicey he can just wake himself up, take the quick ejected out of the Horizon, no risk.

The atmosphere feels tense, but not outright hostile. That's... something. )

...No.

( He says eventually, schooling his expression into something carefully stoic — not terribly unlike the expression on the face across from him. )

No, Solvunn's not in my vacation plans. The Mark's gone. But I'm sure you already knew that.

[Hey, some of the Horizon is original creations. Just not anything the angels have made. None of them are really equipped to output that kind of creativity.

Well, maybe some of them are. Not Michael.

For his part, despite the molotov incident, the stay in hell, the circle of holy oil and the warded handcuffs, Michael is at worst irked by Dean's presence. Arrogance is and always will be the Achilles' heel of any archangel. There is nothing for him to fear, here. This is his domain. Also, they did eventually let him out of the cuffs without an argument.]

I did. Regardless, it might have been an indication of an underlying intent.

[Dean wasn't quite demon yet when they had their exchange, as he understands it, and even if he had been the desires of demons aren't spawned from nothing.]

( Somebody talk the mages into recruiting Alfie one of these rounds. He'd kill for a Wiener Hut in the Horizon, it's been two friggin' years since he's had one of those. Could he make it himself? Technically, yes. Will he? Absolutely the hell not.

That subtle lilt of irritation in Dean's voice is rote at best. It's not that he's particularly annoyed at what is probably a totally valid observation, he just has resting bitch voice. For the most part, he just sounds firm in his answer. )

My intent was to get myself smote off the planet before I could hurt anyone. The way I figured it, you were the only thing with a snowball's chance at doing that. It wasn't about- starting any beef with you personally. It was a means to an end.

( And then after a beat, the most miraculous thing occurs: )

Sorry.

( It's a short, terse apology. Michael didn't actually qualify for his Dean Winchester Apology Tour 2023 (or whatever year it is in Abraxas) list, but he'll acknowledge that threatening somebody's people for leverage is a dick move worthy of an apology. So. There it is. It ain't much, but it's honest work. )

[Michael pauses, a crease appearing between his brows. He regards Dean with the same suspicion one reserves for a car sold for a "too good to be true" price by a salesman with a reputation for dishonesty. The merchandise must be faulty, though he can't tell what's wrong with it from the outside.

Spending time as a demon had an effect on him, evidently.]

The last time I heard you apologize, it took you hours to work up the words after being explicitly informed an apology was called for.

[That event was—will be?—also several years into Dean's future and was directed at his own half-brother, so it's doubly odd for Michael to be on the receiving end of one. It's deserved, though, so he'll accept it. Threatening his maybe-friends is one thing; burdening Michael with the fallout of what would have happened if he had been forced to try and kill Dean is a whole other pain in the ass. His entourage would no doubt have wanted revenge.]

You don't consider our past interactions 'personal beef'?

[They have existing conflicts, don't they? Even if neither of them is interested in pursuing it anymore.]

( It's not an unfair stance to take, considering all the crap that is absolutely wrong with Dean's merchandise. He's an old, busted beater with a knock in the engine and a funny burning smell that blows through the air vents when you put it in reverse. Fortunately for them both, he's not trying to sell himself to Michael here. Dude's got his own ride.

He says the last time I heard you apologize, and Dean squints at him. Does he want to ask? Maybe a little. Is he going to? Absolutely not. He knows Lucifer's from further down the timeline than him, he knows Cas is too, and Gabriel as well. Both of the former have hinted at some pretty unpleasant sounding crap, and it's a whole entire can of worms he has less than zero interest popping open. He's got enough to deal with, without spending energy worrying about the crap happening back home he can't change.

So, yeah, no. He's not gonna ask.

Though, frankly, if someone explicitly informed him he needed to apologize, that might be why it took so long to get it out of him. He's stubborn and a little contrary. He's better at apologies when he gets to them on his own.

Usually. Sometimes. )

Yeah, let's not get carried away. Our whole... deal is hands down 100% USDA prime, but... Bigger picture. You went to the cage. The world kept spinning, and your dad kept chucking whole entire cows at us, so...

( Their beef is like the forgotten pack of freezer burnt ground chuck — no pun intended — stuffed in the back of the ice chest. Yeah, they could thaw it out, but... did they want to right now? )

[Even Michael wouldn't be quite as critical of Dean as the man himself is. A true vessel is still a true vessel. If he didn't have sentimental attachments to his current body, he might even be a little tempted. Dean's outwardly the full package. His flaws are the kind that don't make themselves obvious until you've already committed to the purchase: the hidden rust spots eating their way to the surface, the ever more pronounced drift to the left when you're damned sure the wheels are pointed straight ahead.

But those are thoughts for a hypothetical future, when Michael's in the market for a new ride.

For now, Michael simply hums. He doesn't have the full picture of what they were up against while he was still locked up down below, but he knows what his Father's temper is like. Two men against God? He's not betting on the Winchesters in that scenario.]

It gets worse.

[Michael is from a dead end future. He's not very optimistic about what was waiting for Sam and Dean once Chuck finished with him.]

You stay out of my business and I'll ignore yours is a state of affairs I can accept. Make sure your entourage and that little huntress do the same.

[Dean might not have his friends on a leash the way Michael had his subordinates, but his word's still worth more to them than Michael's. Keep them out of his hair and he'll keep his hands off of what's yours.]

( If Dean were a betting man — rather, if he wagered on things he hadn't already rigged the outcome of — he'd be inclined to agree with Michael. Him and his brother against God? No way in Hell. And, hilariously, both of them would lose that bet in the end. Go figure.

He's totally on board with this Switzerland neutrality sentiment for the most part, but he doesn't bother hiding the vaguely disgusted scowl that flashes across his features at little huntress. )

Ew, don't- don't call her that, dude, that just sounds like a bad porn name.

( Which is so not the point of this and very aside from the main topic, but he's gotta interject because he physically can't not.

Anyway- )

I'll tell Jo and Cas. I'm not their boss, but I'm sure they'll be down for another ceasefire treaty.

( Like the one they have with Lucifer. Weirdly. )

[The mild disgust gets him a raised eyebrow. Lucky for Dean he's not talking to the archangel that's three positions younger. If Gabriel knew using nicknames for his friends bothered him, he'd find a new and creatively obscene title for every occasion. Michael, meanwhile, is merely quietly confused.

There is no angle of this celestial wavelength that sees Jo and thinks anything remotely pornographic. The fault lies in the interpreter.]

I didn't know she was in the business.

[Tone dryer than the deserts Dean hunts in. That's certainly one way to pay off hunting supplies if one isn't in the mood to hustle bar patrons at the pool table.

Michael cocks his head to the side. Sam is an obvious and interesting omission from the list of people Dean plans to inform, but he's more interested in who Dean's been making deals with. Though he doesn't expect an answer, he sees no reason not to ask.]

Another ceasefire?

( It's not normal nicknames that bother him, Michael, it's just creepy ones that make it sound like Jo should be wrapped in a leopard skin onesie doing questionable things to a fake spear. There's totally a difference, okay. Any reasonable human from the 21st century would totally take his side on this.

Probably.

Also - I didn't know she was in the business - wait a second, was that... was that a joke? He makes jokes now? He's not sure if that's unsettling or fascinating — if he wants to laugh, or punch the guy on Jo's behalf. Such deep, profound conflict.

Best course of action: gloss right over that and don't think about it too hard. )

Your brother didn't tell you, huh?

( He asks, leaning comfortably back in the booth, looking some venn diagram midsection cross between grim and amused. )

Apparently we're entering a hippy, new-age era of world peace. Happy Christmas, Yoko.

[Michael is confident that Adam would have his back on this one, even if only to spite Dean. But Adam isn't here and they're not going there, so it's not an argument they're about to have.

Though the archangel himself would deny it—it'd mar his deadly serious image—Michael's always had a sense of humor. Dean just doesn't know about it because he hasn't spent more than five minutes in his company before now. There's a deadpan pun deep within just waiting to silence Dean with the absurdity of a dad joke coming from the prime rigid asshole of stick-up-their-ass angels.

Despite the joke, Michael looks more stern than entertained by the news.]

Heartwarming. Lucifer and I don't talk.

[He's only guessing, of course, but this 'brother' of his can only be Lucifer. Castiel would be eagerly rolling over before Dean could so much as utter the word 'deal', Gabriel is too averse to politics to be pinned down and bargained with, and if Raphael were here he'd have consulted Michael long before agreeing to anything with Dean.

So. Lucifer. Deals with the devil are inherently hazardous and he can't imagine why the man would ever trust one, but that's Dean's problem.]

Huh.

( Is the only remark Dean's got for that at first, a mild, inscrutable little sound that downplays his actual interest in this news.

He's not sure whether or not he's surprised. Yeah, granted, the two of them spent years and untold effort trying to murder one another for the scripted apocalypse, sure, but now that that's off the table... He has a hard time imagining the idea of knowing his own brother's in the same world as him and not reaching out. Especially after all this time. How long have Michael and Lucifer been here? Almost as long as him, right?

But then again, he guesses they are timeless, immortal beings. What's a year when you've got centuries? They can, if nothing else, hold onto a grudge for a really long time.

At least it's good to know that a unified Michael-Lucifer tag team assault isn't likely to crop up out of nowhere, at least not in the immediate future. )

Well, as much as I wanna sit here and get all Doctor Phil about your family problems, I think I'm gonna quit while I'm ahead.

( No point hanging out until Michael loses patience with him and yanks one of his imaginary arms off, or something.

He goes to scoot out of the booth, but pauses long enough to nod down at the plate of food forgotten on top of it. )

Solid burger, by the way. You should try it with bacon.

Edited 2023-10-13 02:57 (UTC)

[The thing about being eternal is that it allows them entirely too much time to build intricate complications into their relationships. Michael and Lucifer have both got their reasons for giving each other a wide berth.

So long as Dean doesn't ram a knife into his brother while he's watching, he doesn't have much to worry about from Michael. Apocalypse and betrayals aside, he's still an elder brother. The base programming is difficult to overcome. He hadn't deliberated very long over pulling Castiel out of the sea, either, and he doesn't like him nearly as much as his fellow archangel.

Michael never leaves his seat, though he follows Dean with his gaze as he shimmies aside.]

I'd kick you out if you tried.

[His face is all faux charm, the kind that says he'd do much worse than that. Beneath Adam's deceptively young features, he's still an archangel. Ask Nanaue how challenging his temper goes.

He drops both the false cheer and his look, giving the comment genuine space for consideration as he contemplates the plate of leftovers.]

Noted. Maybe next time.

[Adam had felt similarly. Cheeseburger, double bacon.

Must be a vessel bloodline thing.]

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