[ Once upon a time, there were two archangels, brothers actually, and one of them - the cooler one - kicked the other brother's ass. End of story. Except it really wasn't. Even after the apocalypse, the world just kept ticking on, minute after minute, day after day, and despite all the younger brother's efforts, Dad never showed to set everything right.
He burned the world, killed all but a handful of humans, exterminated all his Father's pets. The angels abandoned Heaven, they abandoned their champion, and Lucifer still didn't get what he wanted.
Unfortunately, that meant Michael needed to keep suffering. He needed to rot. He needed to hurt. He needed... He needed to hurt so badly that their Father came running, so that he could grab him by the arm and slap him on the wrist. Wasn't that how admonishment worked? Lucifer didn't know, he'd been shoved straight into the Cage the first time his Father had gotten truly mad at him.
Poor Michael. The consequences, for his brother, were severe and bitterly dark. Lucifer just wanted to make everyone else hurt the way that he did.
So Michael, bound and helpless on his knees beside Lucifer's throne, a collar sealed with Enochian sigils clasped around his neck. It had been a rough day, rougher than usual, emotionally, and he reached across, dragged his fingers through his brother's hair, then turned to look down at him. ]
[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.]
[ It wasn't like Michael had anywhere to go. He was beaten, trounced, and that meant that Lucifer - as the victor - could dictate the world in whatever fashion he wanted. But that wasn't how the world was meant to be. What was the point if Lucifer could just do what he wanted? It made it all seem so...so worthless. All that noise, all this fighting, and God didn't come back for his favored son, for his ape pets, for the entire planet. If Lucifer hadn't begun to realize that burning the world meant he'd have nothing left, he would have done so, but this pitiful Creation was the last thing his Father had made.
It was just so unfair. He was tired and angry, immensely frustrated, and Michael was his best outlet. ]
Well now you're just being unreasonable. Who knew you were such a baby?
[ He tightened his grip suddenly in his brother's hair, his hand tight, and then pulling upward, dragging Michael around toward him. He could resist, of course, but... ]
Remember how you lost, and I won? I mean...
[ He rolled his shoulders, leaning forward, almost putting his face right into Michael's face. ]
Maybe I've been treating you too gently. Maybe you've gotten complacent.
[ It wouldn't surprise him. He'd been cruel to Michael, of course, but a lot of his energy had been spent on reshaping the world, too. Maybe he had been too gentle. Maybe Michael didn't realize how good he had it. If so, it was up to Lucifer to reacquaint his brother with his position. ]
[Michael did resist, steadfast in his refusal to fold to Lucifer's will in the way so much already had, but it did him little good. The warded collar and chains restricted more than just his movements. He found himself, as always, dragged where Lucifer wanted him.
Getting into his personal space did little more than prompt that same stubborn glare he always had ready for his brother. Lucifer played the part of Heaven's new ruler convincingly, but Michael had never recognized any authority but God's and had only ever feared the same. His younger brother would always be exactly that in his eyes: the little sibling that pitched fits when he didn't get his way.]
And yet you're the one throwing a tantrum, little brother. Is this not the victory you had in mind?
[He may have won Heaven, but Lucifer wasn't the favourite anymore. That much was plain to see even to Michael. Gone were the crowds of admiring younger siblings, and in their place was a silent, Godless Heaven. That had to sting. He had always thought Lucifer's rebellion had more to do with Lucifer's bruised ego than anything else.]
Do you really believe that you can do with me what you did with Lilith's soul? That if you beat me enough, torture me enough, I'll bow before you?
[Michael tilted his head. He still wore the same fierce scowl, but behind it he wondered if Lucifer really believed he could change him.
[ Lucifer had never been under any allusions. He knew that Michael was far from broken, of course, and the fact that his brother was chained did very little to break any of the spirit it held in bondage. Michael was...well, he was Michael. Their Father's little soldier, His sword, His champion. Lucifer knew that swords didn't bend; he knew that, ultimately, if he wanted to tear Michael down he would have to snap him in half, but he hoped that wouldn't be any time soon. No matter how frustrating it could sometimes be, the idea of Michael spending the rest of eternity as a dribbling wreck with no resistance left saddened him. That wasn't what he wanted, even if one day it was practically inevitable.
For now, Michael wasn't broken. Michael glowered at him, Michael was defiant, Michael was proud and strong, and Lucifer was more than happy to own that. It wasn't a failure to not have destroyed his beautiful, brave, older brother yet. That pitiable moment would come, and Lucifer would no doubt throw him away when it happened (who wanted to play with a broken toy?) but for now he could push back against Michael from this point of superiority, of ownership.
And if God never came, then he never came. It wouldn't only be Lucifer he was forsaking. ]
I can't corrupt you. [ He soothed, darkly, and as he did he brought his free hand up, caressing the other archangel's cheek. ] He made us too perfect for that.
[ Which of course was crap. Lucifer was himself corrupted. He could feel it; had always felt it, even after he'd given the Mark of Cain away. She lived inside of him, somehow, and he could never escape that part of him. But he wasn't having a conversation with Michael about any of that; it was by far the last thing on his mind. No, he wanted to make Michael hurt as much as he did. ]
He's abandoned you too, Michael. It didn't matter which of us won or lost, He was never coming back.
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He burned the world, killed all but a handful of humans, exterminated all his Father's pets. The angels abandoned Heaven, they abandoned their champion, and Lucifer still didn't get what he wanted.
Unfortunately, that meant Michael needed to keep suffering. He needed to rot. He needed to hurt. He needed... He needed to hurt so badly that their Father came running, so that he could grab him by the arm and slap him on the wrist. Wasn't that how admonishment worked? Lucifer didn't know, he'd been shoved straight into the Cage the first time his Father had gotten truly mad at him.
Poor Michael. The consequences, for his brother, were severe and bitterly dark. Lucifer just wanted to make everyone else hurt the way that he did.
So Michael, bound and helpless on his knees beside Lucifer's throne, a collar sealed with Enochian sigils clasped around his neck. It had been a rough day, rougher than usual, emotionally, and he reached across, dragged his fingers through his brother's hair, then turned to look down at him. ]
Feel like making me feel better?
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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.]
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It was just so unfair. He was tired and angry, immensely frustrated, and Michael was his best outlet. ]
Well now you're just being unreasonable. Who knew you were such a baby?
[ He tightened his grip suddenly in his brother's hair, his hand tight, and then pulling upward, dragging Michael around toward him. He could resist, of course, but... ]
Remember how you lost, and I won? I mean...
[ He rolled his shoulders, leaning forward, almost putting his face right into Michael's face. ]
Maybe I've been treating you too gently. Maybe you've gotten complacent.
[ It wouldn't surprise him. He'd been cruel to Michael, of course, but a lot of his energy had been spent on reshaping the world, too. Maybe he had been too gentle. Maybe Michael didn't realize how good he had it. If so, it was up to Lucifer to reacquaint his brother with his position. ]
How should I reeducate you?
no subject
Getting into his personal space did little more than prompt that same stubborn glare he always had ready for his brother. Lucifer played the part of Heaven's new ruler convincingly, but Michael had never recognized any authority but God's and had only ever feared the same. His younger brother would always be exactly that in his eyes: the little sibling that pitched fits when he didn't get his way.]
And yet you're the one throwing a tantrum, little brother. Is this not the victory you had in mind?
[He may have won Heaven, but Lucifer wasn't the favourite anymore. That much was plain to see even to Michael. Gone were the crowds of admiring younger siblings, and in their place was a silent, Godless Heaven. That had to sting. He had always thought Lucifer's rebellion had more to do with Lucifer's bruised ego than anything else.]
Do you really believe that you can do with me what you did with Lilith's soul? That if you beat me enough, torture me enough, I'll bow before you?
[Michael tilted his head. He still wore the same fierce scowl, but behind it he wondered if Lucifer really believed he could change him.
He'd break before he'd bend.]
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For now, Michael wasn't broken. Michael glowered at him, Michael was defiant, Michael was proud and strong, and Lucifer was more than happy to own that. It wasn't a failure to not have destroyed his beautiful, brave, older brother yet. That pitiable moment would come, and Lucifer would no doubt throw him away when it happened (who wanted to play with a broken toy?) but for now he could push back against Michael from this point of superiority, of ownership.
And if God never came, then he never came. It wouldn't only be Lucifer he was forsaking. ]
I can't corrupt you. [ He soothed, darkly, and as he did he brought his free hand up, caressing the other archangel's cheek. ] He made us too perfect for that.
[ Which of course was crap. Lucifer was himself corrupted. He could feel it; had always felt it, even after he'd given the Mark of Cain away. She lived inside of him, somehow, and he could never escape that part of him. But he wasn't having a conversation with Michael about any of that; it was by far the last thing on his mind. No, he wanted to make Michael hurt as much as he did. ]
He's abandoned you too, Michael. It didn't matter which of us won or lost, He was never coming back.