[If it was their Father's attention he was after, Lucifer would be pulling feathers from Michael's wings until the day they refused to grow back. The only thing God had demonstrated interest in over the last several millenia was chatting up Heaven's gardener.
Michael hadn't been surprised when God hadn't returned at the conclusion of the Apocalypse. He'd always assumed their Father's return was conditional on fulfilling His Plan as foretold by the prophets. This was not the paradise the angels had been promised, and it was not the victory He had demanded. They had disappointed Him, yet again.
His own failures weren't something Michael liked to dwell on, though, except when attempting to ruffle Lucifer's feathers with loud prayers to their Father.
Most of the time, his thoughts of choice were seething over Dean's refusal to act as his vessel. If he hadn't been forced to improvise, if only he hadn't been stuck with a vessel that threatened to tear apart at the seams when he so much as spread his wings-
Feeling fingers brushing his scalp, Michael lifted his head to glare at Lucifer, seated ever so casually on his throne.]
I'll sit this one out.
[There was no such thing as refusing Lucifer when he was in a mood, of course. Lucifer never had heeded the word 'no', not when he wanted to play, not when he wanted to rebel, and certainly not when he was feeling vengeful. A consequence of being favoured by God and Heaven at large, no doubt, and Michael still cursed himself for being as permissive as he had been with his brother when they were younger.
Michael still made the effort to refuse him whenever possible, even more so than he had before he had lost. It was a matter of principle, and he had always been stubborn, maybe the most obstinate angel God had ever assembled.]
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Michael hadn't been surprised when God hadn't returned at the conclusion of the Apocalypse. He'd always assumed their Father's return was conditional on fulfilling His Plan as foretold by the prophets. This was not the paradise the angels had been promised, and it was not the victory He had demanded. They had disappointed Him, yet again.
His own failures weren't something Michael liked to dwell on, though, except when attempting to ruffle Lucifer's feathers with loud prayers to their Father.
Most of the time, his thoughts of choice were seething over Dean's refusal to act as his vessel. If he hadn't been forced to improvise, if only he hadn't been stuck with a vessel that threatened to tear apart at the seams when he so much as spread his wings-
Feeling fingers brushing his scalp, Michael lifted his head to glare at Lucifer, seated ever so casually on his throne.]
I'll sit this one out.
[There was no such thing as refusing Lucifer when he was in a mood, of course. Lucifer never had heeded the word 'no', not when he wanted to play, not when he wanted to rebel, and certainly not when he was feeling vengeful. A consequence of being favoured by God and Heaven at large, no doubt, and Michael still cursed himself for being as permissive as he had been with his brother when they were younger.
Michael still made the effort to refuse him whenever possible, even more so than he had before he had lost. It was a matter of principle, and he had always been stubborn, maybe the most obstinate angel God had ever assembled.]