['our', he says, and wanda understands it for what it is: angels, whatever lords over humanity in the heavens, this sanctimonious belief that have believers nervous about sin and praying on their knees. she has enough superficial knowledge to know that not everything heralded from the heavens was peaceful and glorious.
still, michael asking her something like that—part of wanda wonders if it's out of genuine curiosity or a sense of wanting to know facts as they are (or simply wanting to fill in the silence and quell boredom at its margins).
wanda, for her part, is silent a moment as she fixes the herbs she holds, removing some dry and dead leaves from the stems.]
My home was so broken the world decided the best thing to do was to remove it from existence entirely. Erase it from the map, let its territory be divided by the countries surrounding it.
[she doesn't like thinking of sokovia, because it is no more—because it is a tomb to her people who died during the bombings, during the civil unrest, when novi grad was dropped from the sky. a tomb for her parents, for her brother.]
My parents died when the first bombs fell from the skies. My brother died a forgotten hero.
[shrugging, wanda draws a deep breath and sets the bundle of herbs to the side, picking up another to continue the process of inspection and tying up.]
I don't have a home to return to. [she makes a face.] Solvunn's the closest I have to it right now, and even saying that sounds like a sad admittance.
[because there is no certainty in their being here permanently, or that they are anything but tools, only accepted and welcomed because of who they are; outsiders, still.]
[Michael asks for all the reasons Wanda guesses, and more. He misses the constant presence of another that had come from sharing this body with a human soul. Conversation doesn't quite compare, but it fills some of the space. He'd be loathe to admit to something like simple curiosity, but he does want to know more about her, too. Maybe it will lead him to understand why her presence so comfortably occupies a space he'd thought reserved only for his brothers.
He does not mind the silence. While she considers her words, he finishes measuring out doses of powder and tips each into one of the empty bottles he's been given. When she does speak up he listens attentively, though his eyes stay on his task.
Empathy is not his most developed skill, but her history is—sad. Even if the human and angelic concept of family are not quite the same, Michael knows what it is to lose brothers, and sisters, and home alike. She didn't tell him any of this to solicit pity, however. He gets the impression she'd hate it as much as he would, so he doesn't offer any.
(Would she judge him harshly if she knew he has been many of his siblings' executioner? That much of his life has been devoted to bringing about a war intended to eradicate half of Earth's population?)]
I wouldn't disparage anyone trying to make a home of Solvunn. [He looks up long enough to give her an expression that's both sympathetic and chagrined.] Though, I am in much the same position as you.
[Which is to say: he might be biased.]
My family was at war with itself for... millennia. Now, my brothers are dead and our world is no more. I couldn't go back if I wanted to.
What do you know of the Apocalypse?
[Wanda does not seem particularly religious to him. Certainly not enough for him to worry that the implication that Heaven no longer exists would bother her at all. That does not mean that she has no knowledge or education in this field.]
[he is right to assume that she isn't telling him about her story to solicit pity—it is an ingrained part of her, all this pain, this life full of tragedy and trauma, to the point where she can speak of it as if she were talking about the weather.
of course, it still hurts, but this is not a moment that she is speaking of it to try and achieve some kind of emotional response. michael asked, and so she offered—because he has earned as much from her.
millennia, though, is not something she can quite fathom. a family at war, and she thinks of lucifer and his reaction when she had mentioned michael was in solvunn. as mythical as his character of 'michael' may be, there are certainly similarities; no family, no home.
she shifts her eyes to look at him.]
It is the end of the world, isn't it?
[well, he might have to educate her about it regarding what it means religiously, or what it means for his people and those of his world.]
—am I right to assume you would not be happy to see your brothers again, even in this world?
[Michael lets out a sound that's not quite a laugh, but there's humor in it.]
All angels are kin, Wanda. I have thousands of brothers.
[Saying that he wouldn't be happy to see any of them—or any of them him—is painting with a very wide brush indeed. She had no way of knowing, but all the same. Is that really the impression he gives? It must be, or she wouldn't have voiced it.
Michael frowns as he considers it, dropping the last few ingredients into the bottles: a few animal parts, a slow drip of honey.
Death for angels is a more permanent state than it is for humans. Castiel and Lucifer are outliers, exceptions their Father made to add twists to his story. What if my family came back from the dead isn't an idea he's given thought any more than humans typically do. It just doesn't happen.
Then again, in Abraxas...]
There were only three I was ever close to. I admit it would be difficult to see some of them again. We didn't often see eye to eye and some of us parted on poor terms.
[That doesn't mean he didn't love them. He trusts Wanda to read him well enough to hear that even if he doesn't say it.
He's been given very explicit instructions on how to mix these potions. Shaking is strictly forbidden. Instead, he tips them gently from side to side, watching the mix transition from a muddy amber into a clarified red.]
The Apocalypse was meant to bring about the end of one world, and the beginning of another. We were to receive Paradise. All I had to do was kill one of my brothers. Only now, I can't imagine what that Paradise would have looked like.
[as michael mixes the potion by tipping it from side to side, wanda cheats a little in terms of this world's modernity and creates an ink pen from thin air, just so she can write the labels for these herbs she's put in bundles.
she hears what he says, but she also hears what he doesn't say about his siblings. about the story of his family so heavily intertwined with heaven and the end of the world and prophecy of sorts. his words are always so well-contained, so devoid of too much emotion, but even wanda can pick up the hints of something else.
it is in this moment that she comes to realize something about him, even if it should have been obvious: just how old he is in a human's reckoning, how time must fluctuate so differently for him (or at all?).]
Was it true, though? This promise?
[there's an opportunity here for her to ask about the intricacies of the world unseen that mortals such as herself hardly ever get to envision, but to grasp at in hopes it may be real and that they're following the righteous path.]
My brother and I were made promises of achieving what we wanted most. We were called miracles, but— we were used, in the end. [her glance at him is devoid of any judgement, of any harsh criticism; it's open, almost vulnerable. she reaches for another bundle needing to be bound and labeled.] Were you unable to kill him because you didn't want to, or were you stopped from doing so?
[Michael's usually against cheating, but he'll cut her some slack. A little leeway is a privilege accorded to those he likes. She's getting the work done, and that's what counts. Wanda has probably done this sort of thing with the materials provided by the locals at least once or twice before, anyway. Michael hasn't. He's trying to attempt things with his borrowed hands before resorting to grace and a snap of his fingers.
Adam is not here, but the thought that he'd approve of this approach is a small comfort.
There is an admission in her words, a truth Michael shares but has been unwilling to voice. He had allowed himself to be used. Not to achieve the promised goal—Michael hadn't resented being an instrument of his Father's will, a tool destined for a particular task—but for another purpose entirely. He'd been nothing but a background character in a different, more important story.]
I was prevented from it. [Just as well he pointedly does not say. He's not about to give the Winchesters credit for sending him to Hell. They stopped him from killing Lucifer (the first time) but they certainly hadn't done him a favour.] I didn't want to, either, but I would have. It was God's command and my Father is not an entity who takes disloyalty lightly.
[If Wanda cares for another glimpse of life among the angels, there it is. Human children are often subject to their parents' will, too, but the consequences for disobedience are orders of magnitude apart.
The labels for the potions are already attached to lengths of string that Michael loops and tightens around the neck of each bottle. Once the label is on, he sets each inside a straw-filled crate. Someone else will handle delivery. Outside of Solvunn Michael is all but pinioned, unable to fly or carry anything with him. He wouldn't get it done any faster than the locals will.]
There would have been no Paradise. It was a lie. What was it you and your brother wanted?
[He could make a few guesses, to be sure: the return of their home, an end to the war she'd spoken of. If time alongside his vessel had taught him anything, though, it's that humans are absolutely brimming with desires.]
[wanda hears what's between the lines, but does not make a comment of it. it's easy to see things later in a different light—hindsight being 20-20, after all. but it means something to wanda, even if michael may never take note of it, that he says he didn't want to; that despite having thousands of brothers, as an angel, he wouldn't want to kill one of them, just because he could.
she remembers a bit, from her conversations with matt, about how michael was the archangel that defeated satan—lucifer. she remembers statues, a spear (or sword?) in his hand, pressed against the neck of the devil, a foot stomping him down. that michael, with that role.
at his question, she turns to him, drawing her hands back, recognizing that she's arrived at the tail-end of his task. what did she and her brother want?]
Paradise, too, I suppose.
[the same thing he had been promised—something too good to be true, something achieved through more bloodshed and personal sacrifice than anything else.]
—but perhaps like you, that is not attainable anymore. I will never find paradise, for I cannot be with my brother anymore. Neither with the man I loved, nor with my children. [when she turns to look at him, makes eye contact, she is being a little deliberate with her words.] I may as well be stuck in a cage.
The desires I had before here seem so far away.
[a touch of demonic corruption, enrapturing her understanding of space and time, making two years feel longer than what they actually were.]
And even undeserved, especially when our [our] fates were never ours to begin with.
[him, an archangel serving god; she, a child of prophecy. both places in the world neither of them asked for.]
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no subject
still, michael asking her something like that—part of wanda wonders if it's out of genuine curiosity or a sense of wanting to know facts as they are (or simply wanting to fill in the silence and quell boredom at its margins).
wanda, for her part, is silent a moment as she fixes the herbs she holds, removing some dry and dead leaves from the stems.]
My home was so broken the world decided the best thing to do was to remove it from existence entirely. Erase it from the map, let its territory be divided by the countries surrounding it.
[she doesn't like thinking of sokovia, because it is no more—because it is a tomb to her people who died during the bombings, during the civil unrest, when novi grad was dropped from the sky. a tomb for her parents, for her brother.]
My parents died when the first bombs fell from the skies. My brother died a forgotten hero.
[shrugging, wanda draws a deep breath and sets the bundle of herbs to the side, picking up another to continue the process of inspection and tying up.]
I don't have a home to return to. [she makes a face.] Solvunn's the closest I have to it right now, and even saying that sounds like a sad admittance.
[because there is no certainty in their being here permanently, or that they are anything but tools, only accepted and welcomed because of who they are; outsiders, still.]
no subject
He does not mind the silence. While she considers her words, he finishes measuring out doses of powder and tips each into one of the empty bottles he's been given. When she does speak up he listens attentively, though his eyes stay on his task.
Empathy is not his most developed skill, but her history is—sad. Even if the human and angelic concept of family are not quite the same, Michael knows what it is to lose brothers, and sisters, and home alike. She didn't tell him any of this to solicit pity, however. He gets the impression she'd hate it as much as he would, so he doesn't offer any.
(Would she judge him harshly if she knew he has been many of his siblings' executioner? That much of his life has been devoted to bringing about a war intended to eradicate half of Earth's population?)]
I wouldn't disparage anyone trying to make a home of Solvunn. [He looks up long enough to give her an expression that's both sympathetic and chagrined.] Though, I am in much the same position as you.
[Which is to say: he might be biased.]
My family was at war with itself for... millennia. Now, my brothers are dead and our world is no more. I couldn't go back if I wanted to.
What do you know of the Apocalypse?
[Wanda does not seem particularly religious to him. Certainly not enough for him to worry that the implication that Heaven no longer exists would bother her at all. That does not mean that she has no knowledge or education in this field.]
no subject
of course, it still hurts, but this is not a moment that she is speaking of it to try and achieve some kind of emotional response. michael asked, and so she offered—because he has earned as much from her.
millennia, though, is not something she can quite fathom. a family at war, and she thinks of lucifer and his reaction when she had mentioned michael was in solvunn. as mythical as his character of 'michael' may be, there are certainly similarities; no family, no home.
she shifts her eyes to look at him.]
It is the end of the world, isn't it?
[well, he might have to educate her about it regarding what it means religiously, or what it means for his people and those of his world.]
—am I right to assume you would not be happy to see your brothers again, even in this world?
no subject
All angels are kin, Wanda. I have thousands of brothers.
[Saying that he wouldn't be happy to see any of them—or any of them him—is painting with a very wide brush indeed. She had no way of knowing, but all the same. Is that really the impression he gives? It must be, or she wouldn't have voiced it.
Michael frowns as he considers it, dropping the last few ingredients into the bottles: a few animal parts, a slow drip of honey.
Death for angels is a more permanent state than it is for humans. Castiel and Lucifer are outliers, exceptions their Father made to add twists to his story. What if my family came back from the dead isn't an idea he's given thought any more than humans typically do. It just doesn't happen.
Then again, in Abraxas...]
There were only three I was ever close to. I admit it would be difficult to see some of them again. We didn't often see eye to eye and some of us parted on poor terms.
[That doesn't mean he didn't love them. He trusts Wanda to read him well enough to hear that even if he doesn't say it.
He's been given very explicit instructions on how to mix these potions. Shaking is strictly forbidden. Instead, he tips them gently from side to side, watching the mix transition from a muddy amber into a clarified red.]
The Apocalypse was meant to bring about the end of one world, and the beginning of another. We were to receive Paradise. All I had to do was kill one of my brothers. Only now, I can't imagine what that Paradise would have looked like.
no subject
she hears what he says, but she also hears what he doesn't say about his siblings. about the story of his family so heavily intertwined with heaven and the end of the world and prophecy of sorts. his words are always so well-contained, so devoid of too much emotion, but even wanda can pick up the hints of something else.
it is in this moment that she comes to realize something about him, even if it should have been obvious: just how old he is in a human's reckoning, how time must fluctuate so differently for him (or at all?).]
Was it true, though? This promise?
[there's an opportunity here for her to ask about the intricacies of the world unseen that mortals such as herself hardly ever get to envision, but to grasp at in hopes it may be real and that they're following the righteous path.]
My brother and I were made promises of achieving what we wanted most. We were called miracles, but— we were used, in the end. [her glance at him is devoid of any judgement, of any harsh criticism; it's open, almost vulnerable. she reaches for another bundle needing to be bound and labeled.] Were you unable to kill him because you didn't want to, or were you stopped from doing so?
no subject
Adam is not here, but the thought that he'd approve of this approach is a small comfort.
There is an admission in her words, a truth Michael shares but has been unwilling to voice. He had allowed himself to be used. Not to achieve the promised goal—Michael hadn't resented being an instrument of his Father's will, a tool destined for a particular task—but for another purpose entirely. He'd been nothing but a background character in a different, more important story.]
I was prevented from it. [Just as well he pointedly does not say. He's not about to give the Winchesters credit for sending him to Hell. They stopped him from killing Lucifer (the first time) but they certainly hadn't done him a favour.] I didn't want to, either, but I would have. It was God's command and my Father is not an entity who takes disloyalty lightly.
[If Wanda cares for another glimpse of life among the angels, there it is. Human children are often subject to their parents' will, too, but the consequences for disobedience are orders of magnitude apart.
The labels for the potions are already attached to lengths of string that Michael loops and tightens around the neck of each bottle. Once the label is on, he sets each inside a straw-filled crate. Someone else will handle delivery. Outside of Solvunn Michael is all but pinioned, unable to fly or carry anything with him. He wouldn't get it done any faster than the locals will.]
There would have been no Paradise. It was a lie. What was it you and your brother wanted?
[He could make a few guesses, to be sure: the return of their home, an end to the war she'd spoken of. If time alongside his vessel had taught him anything, though, it's that humans are absolutely brimming with desires.]
no subject
she remembers a bit, from her conversations with matt, about how michael was the archangel that defeated satan—lucifer. she remembers statues, a spear (or sword?) in his hand, pressed against the neck of the devil, a foot stomping him down. that michael, with that role.
at his question, she turns to him, drawing her hands back, recognizing that she's arrived at the tail-end of his task. what did she and her brother want?]
Paradise, too, I suppose.
[the same thing he had been promised—something too good to be true, something achieved through more bloodshed and personal sacrifice than anything else.]
—but perhaps like you, that is not attainable anymore. I will never find paradise, for I cannot be with my brother anymore. Neither with the man I loved, nor with my children. [when she turns to look at him, makes eye contact, she is being a little deliberate with her words.] I may as well be stuck in a cage.
The desires I had before here seem so far away.
[a touch of demonic corruption, enrapturing her understanding of space and time, making two years feel longer than what they actually were.]
And even undeserved, especially when our [our] fates were never ours to begin with.
[him, an archangel serving god; she, a child of prophecy. both places in the world neither of them asked for.]