theunsmiling | (no subject)

(no subject)

It's a dark room, and cold, shrouded in iron and lead, covered over in symbols to repel every evil thing under the sun, and a few things that will never see the light of day. There's one door, bolted tight, and salt sealed into the very walls.

Nothing can get in.

Nothing can get out.

All that exists inside is Sam. Sam, and his blood, and his demons.

And one angel, too-skinny and wild-haired and so very, very somber.

So very, very silent.

Maybe she's a hallucination, too.

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"Maybe you haven't talked with Uriel lately," Sam lashes back.

"You know, there was a time I'd have done anything --"

He bites that off right where it is, then continues,

"I believed in you guys. I trusted in you. Prayed every day, all of it."

"Guess it didn't matter, huh? I was screwed from the start."

"Not this Uriel, no -- not least because he's dead. And the rest of them -- "

Again she flicks her fingers, disdain fairly plastered across her face.

"There's a difference between obedience and blind obedience. No one ever seems to think I understand that."

Michael leans forward, shoulder blades flexing underneath her T-shirt almost like wings.

"And predestination is just another convenient fiction. I wouldn't be here talking to you if the ending was already written."

"Dead? No loss there besides the obvious. And you're damn right, it's not over."

Hard as iron and twice as stubborn, judging by his expression and the line of every muscle in his body.

"I'm not giving up."

"I wasn't suggesting you should. But there's a difference between not giving up and engaging in a foolhardy suicidal rush off the tallest cliff in the area."

She stands, raking one hand through her hair, making it stand up on end -- at least in sections.

"Or is this you not believing me?"

It's a question that suggests its own answer, really.

"Sure, I believe you."

It's easy enough to say, no matter what the truth might be.

"So how are you gonna destroy Lilith?"

"There are ways and ways of doing that, oddly enough. But I'd thought to start with terrifying her into submission, then moving into utter annihilation if she proves -- unreceptive."

There's a moment -- skinniness, ragged jeans, and coltish grace aside -- where Michael's presence seems to cut through the room, more real than the walls and the floor and the air itself.

It fades.

"I've been here before, Sam. Somewhere else."

He starts to flash back at her, then stops.

Sam eyes Michael warily for almost a full minute.

"How'd that work out for you?"

She accepts that wary regard calmly, just waiting it out.

And after he speaks -- well, then she spreads her hands.

"The world exists much as it was; a few are wiser, a few are sadder, and more than a few died. But that particular devil's schemes were brought to nothing in the end."

One day Christian will get above himself. Michael will be waiting.

He says nothing again for several seconds, while he thinks his way through it.

"All right."

Another beat.

"So why aren't you talking to Dean?"

"Why should I be? You're the one I know, Sam."

She shrugs, gaze fixed on his face.

"And you're the one standing on the edge of being damned."

"Because he's the one that's got the hotline to heaven," Sam snaps.

"Besides, I figure I already am."

"That's why I said you're lost."

She leans forward suddenly, one hand lifted to rest on his shoulder. It's a solid touch, and strong.

"Because you aren't damned, Sam. Not yet. Tarnished, a bit. Demon-touched? Certainly. But you'd be surprised how much of that is not irrevocable -- how much of that means nothing in the long run, do you choose to change your ways."

He jerks a little at the touch, but doesn't pull away.

"And if I change my ways, I have to let Lilith walk, is that it?"

"You do," Michael says, even and intent.

"I don't. You just have to have faith."

Her expression is more somber than harsh -- and maybe a little sad.

"And pray."

It's such a little thing -- and yet there's nothing easy about any of it.

Michael knows.

"Tried that already, remember?"

Sam glares at her.

"Didn't help Jess, or Dad, or Dean. They all died. Where the fuck were you then, huh? When I was fucking begging for help? Faith didn't do me a damn bit of good then, did it? Or how about after, when your side fucking turned away from me?"

"Forget it. At least I know what to expect when dealing with demons. Lilith's gonna die, and I'm gonna see to it, personally. Whatever it takes."

Michael closes her eyes, breathing deep.

And then she moves forward, lifting Sam by his shirt and slamming him into the wall. The sound of solid flesh meeting metal echoes in the chamber, up through the vents, out into the wider world.

"Thy world is not and never has been mine, Samuel Winchester. Do not be so great a fool."

There's a sharpness to her delivery, frustration limned with pity.

"I have never turned from thee, though we have not been acquainted so long as all that. And this price -- "

She clenches her teeth, green eyes fair burning underneath dark brows.

"This price you speak of paying shall not fall on thee alone. Much as thy brother's was not his alone. Thou hast craved freedom before, Samuel. And now that the end of the cycle is before thee -- shalt thou not take hold of it? Art thou so great a fool?"

The noise that escapes him through clenched teeth is one of agony, but it's impossible to say whether the cause is physical or mental.

Maybe it's both.

"And just let her go? Don't you get it? I can't!"

"Then you will fall," Michael says, jaw clenching as she half-releases him, stepping back.

"And thy brother will fall with thee. Or did you forget what happened last time?"

She studies him, jade-green eyes intent and piercing, looking through him instead of at him.

"Or is that the problem? That you cannot forget?"

"He wouldn't -- he won't!," Sam yells at her, and there's no question that Michael's hit a raw nerve.

His fists clench at his sides as he begins to struggle violently to free himself of both her grasp and her gaze.

There's the sound of feathers moving, and then that living warmth -- brilliantly green -- is caging Sam in.

"And that's the heart of it, then, isn't it? What do you think is different this time, Sam? His burden of love is less? Is thine?"

"What's different is that I'm gonna make sure it can't happen again, now let go of me!"

The struggle, such as it is, has been noticed -- or so the pounding footsteps headed their way from from upstairs would indicate.

"Shalt thou choose to make me, Samuel Winchester?"

Which is to say:

Bring it.

His gift, such as it is, affords him no power over angels that he's aware of -- and even if it did, he's in no shape to use it.

Given the alternative, that doesn't mean that he's not going to try.

Michael does not budge. Not an inch.

Not a whisper.

"Thou art no Jacob, Samuel, to be wrestling with angels. Give over. Have done."

Her wings press more tightly around them, holding him back. Holding him up.

"I shall not let thee fall."

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