As soon as Castiel left the room, Michael projected himself next to Adam, chest heaving like he was dying and tears running down his face. He backed himself into a corner and slid down the wall, tugging on his hair, eyes darting wildly around the room.
“Woah, woah, Michael, hey.” Adam hurried to him and knelt down, trying to grab at Michael’s flailing arms. “You’re gonna hurt yourself, flyboy.” He finally got a hold of Michael’s hands, or thought he did, but they slid right through. Non-corporeal. Of course. Shit.
Michael was quickly leaving the realm of panic and approaching hysteria. Adam could feel him freaking out through their bond, could feel the ache in his chest as Michael’s breathing sped up.
“He-” The word tore itself loose from Michael’s throat with a sob, and Adam winced in sympathy. “He- Adam, I don’t know- why would he-”
“Mike, hey, it’s okay. I know, I know.” He tried his best to push some semblance of calm through the bond, but it was drowned out by the storm that was Michael. “Okay, I need you to breathe right now. That’s it. Just breathe.” This was exactly what he’d been trying to avoid in their earlier conversation, but the Winchesters evidently hadn’t grasped the concept of subtlety while he was gone. He reached out and let his hand hover over Michael’s chest. “Can you feel me breathing?” He took an exaggerated breath and let it blow out into the space between them.
Michael nodded, and then kept nodding rhythmically and aggressively, almost rocking himself to the tune of some internal crisis. That was good. Self-soothing was good.
“Awesome. Can you follow it?”
Another nod, only distinguishable from the rocking with help from the bond. Michael pushed at his mind clumsily, like he’d forgotten how, and Adam got a flash of help me help me think I’m dying can’t believe he would do that to me love fear anger help me.
“I know. I know, bud. It sucks, and I know, but all you can do right now is breathe.” He took another deep breath and Michael followed him, shuddering with the effort of fighting the sobs. Again. It was easier that time, Adam could tell. More tears, less hyperventilation. Again. Again. Again.
Finally, Michael exhausted himself, and the tension left him in one last sob. He slumped back against the wall, eyes closed, panting weakly.
“You back with me?”
“Mm-hmm,” Michael hummed.
Adam let himself relax, too, settling down next to Michael, almost close enough to touch. Jesus. Adam was no stranger to familial let-downs, but even by his standards, that was extreme. Michael defined himself by his father, had never known a life without him. Even when he was gone, he was still the guiding force in Michael’s mind. Or, at least, was. Adam couldn’t help but notice a gradual change in the archangel over the last few years. Slowly, he was realizing his own personhood. Slowly, he was seeing what he had missed out on for so long. Adam couldn’t help but pride himself in his role in that. Now, maybe, Michael could get some closure. Hell of a way to get it, though.
For a while, they just sat like that, breathing. Michael was still crying, but it was calmer, now, more manageable. He was hurting, though, and Adam wanted to get to the bottom of it. He knew something was off between Michael and Chuck, had known since Michael had first mentioned him, but he was beginning to suspect it went deeper than he thought. Chuck was a manipulator, and Michael, well, for all Michael’s strengths, he was easily manipulated. His sense of self was nearly non-existent, and what came off as an ego to outsiders was really more of a desire to achieve, to be perceived as worthy in front of a parent who had never given a damn about him. Adam couldn’t even begin to imagine looking someone as earnest and sincere as Michael in the eye and lying. It would just be wrong. He could be a real dick sometimes, but lying? Manipulation on the level they were talking? He didn’t deserve that.
When Michael stopped crying and the place where their bond met felt a little less raw and awful, Adam turned to look at him.
Michael was a mess, all swollen eyes and dried tear tracks and tangled hair. It was the expression, though, that really broke Adam’s heart. He looked… dead. Hollowed out, like someone had reached into the core of what he was and scooped out the insides. Like he might collapse in on himself at any moment. His last support, the foundation upon which he’d built his entire sense of self, was gone, and Adam would have done anything to help him.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Adam watched his face carefully, searching for any sign that he was pushing too hard. Michael had a tendency to wait until the last possible minute to throw up emotional barriers, and with Adam, he sometimes didn’t do it at all.
Michael opened his eyes and sighed. “Hmm. Yes? But… I don’t have the words to say all there is to be said. To tell you everything he did to me would be an injustice, I think. I do not know what of my past is wrong, and what is to be expected of a father. It all seemed alright, at the time. In light of these recent discoveries, though, I am unsure. I am unsure of the one thing I have never been given reason to doubt in my entire existence.”
Adam thought for a moment. “Is there a way for you to show me?”
Michael frowned, chewing on his lip, then nodded. “Yes, I think that would be adequate.” He reached forward and sort of fell into Adam, and then everything was gone.
“Today, Michael, you will learn to fly.”
Flight, once a nebulous, meaningless concept, had very suddenly and recently become a real concern, what with the advent of the first surface. It wasn’t much, just a smooth plane for Michael and his father to stand on and watch the rest of the abyss spin, but it was something.
It also didn’t seem to ever change of its own accord, but changes wrought upon it by Michael remained as they were until acted upon again by an outside force. Inside and outside. Staying the same. Some things that hadn’t had much meaning to him before. Father had informed him that this was because he was an ignorant child. Michael had known this already. After all, there had been a time when he hadn’t had a concept of himself, which surely must be the height of folly.
As far as the platform, though, it was just another example of a static object in the field of time. Though such a field was younger than Michael, it was hard to say how much, since, well. You know.
“Flying,” his father continued, and Michael shook himself, jerking back to the present. “Will be a necessary skill in the world I am planning for us. You will need it to get around, from places like this one,” he patted the surface, “to others. I will also expect you to teach your siblings how this is done, so watch carefully.”
“Siblings?” Michael had never heard the word before, and it didn’t seem to flow between them quite as other concepts did. This one would need explaining.
“Yes, my child, siblings. More of you. Like you in shape and abilities, but with some changes. You know the Darkness, and how she is both like me and not?”
Michael nodded. “Of course.”
“Like that. They will share these new spaces with us, which is why I am creating this room for them. You will love them and care for them, of course.” Father waves his hand in a dismissive sort of fashion. Waves his hand. Waves his hand. What is a hand, and where did he get one to wave? Physical form in this manner is also fairly new to Michael. He and his father have been perceivable to one another for a long time, but as of late his father has been tinkering with a new way of doing so. Vision, he calls it. A new sensory aspect that adds dimensionality to Michael’s world. Michael certainly feels watched.
“How do I fly?”
“Well, isn’t that the million dollar question?” Michael cocks his head in question and his Father brushes him off. He says such strange things sometimes, and rarely offers explanation. “You just sort of… do it. I can’t show you, I don’t have the proper facilities. You just jump up, off of this, and think about warping the down-force of gravity around you. We have a down, now, don’t you think that’s rather fun?”
Michael nods. He’s been entranced by the down-force since arriving on the platform. It’s mesmerizing, the feeling of being stuck to something from the top of your being when it’s the bottom of you that’s touching it. He’s not sure what’s holding him there, or how it’s doing so without any sort of mass or shape to support its conviction, but it’s a work in progress. Later he will suggest to Father the idea of warping gravity about the shapes of things to be more easily predicted and worked with.
“I’m thinking of adding another physical component to this whole thing later on, but for now, you don’t need anything special. Just jump and think about it.”
Later, Michael will have wings grafted to his back and it will hurt like nothing he’s ever known before. His siblings will watch in awe because they all have wings, it was only Michael, their test run eldest brother, who came without them, who needed modification. Gabriel will laugh, too young to understand that the trickle of liquid that fascinates him is a part of Michael’s body. Raphael will observe with that flat way she has, remembering everything she can so she can pick up the pieces and fix him later. Lucifer will cry in sympathy and there will be an anger in his eyes that Michael will not understand for a long, long time.
“Father, there’s no way he can go back out there,” Raphael implores. “He’s barely conscious, and I need time to fix his leg.”
Michael hears footsteps and cracks his eyes open to see his father hovering over him. He’s laid out on a cot in the medical room, surrounded by dozens of other wounded angels, and he can hardly think for the pain overwhelming his mind. He moves to sit up.
“Michael. I need you in the field. The third garrison is being torn to shreds at the Journey Gates, and they need your leadership. Can I trust you to handle this like an adult?”
He doesn’t need to be told twice. He may, however, need a moment to regain his sight. He gets halfway up before sparks cloud his vision and his head begins to throb, but it passes quickly enough. “Yes, sir. I’ll prepare my troops.”
“Thank you, Michael.” His father claps him on the shoulder and Michael knows he didn’t mean for it to hurt as much as it did.
“I just don’t understand. Can you help me understand, Michael?”
He shifts nervously from foot to foot. The throne room has always made him uncomfortable, and this time is certainly no exception. “Understand what, father?”
“Why your brother is becoming like this. I expected you to do better by him.” Lucifer is slipping, Michael knows this. But he does not know what to do.
“I’m sorry, Father. I’ll speak with him again.” His father leans forward, and Michael flinches back. “He is restless, but that is to be expected at this age, I believe.” There is no precedent for this.
His father sighs. “Michael, I’m not asking you to be a hero, just a problem-solver. I need you to do this one thing for me. Just don’t let him spread these ideas to the young ones.”
“I understand, Father. I’ll make sure of it.” It’s already spreading, the discontent with his new creation. The youngest and the brightest want their spotlight back, and they only want it from one person. Michael can’t fix that, can’t give them that attention or take away their new competitors, but he can offer a sympathetic ear. Who better to discuss being upstaged than the prototype of a species?
He was gone. He was really gone. Days and days of searching had only confirmed what Michael knew in his heart to be true. Father was gone, and Lucifer was gone, and nearly half of the friends and fellow warriors he had raised from their creation were gone with him.
Michael now had a kingdom to lead and no experience with anything of the sort. How would he make them listen to him? Even he knew that his particular brand of aggressive persuasion wasn’t enough to run Heaven, but what else was he good for? What was he going to do?
What had he done wrong? How could he possibly keep everything from falling apart again if he didn’t even know where he’d strayed from the path in the first place? Surely, though, this wasn’t all because of him. His father had some other important matter to attend to, and he didn’t know how bad things were getting. He didn’t know.
Father, come back. I need you. They need you. Please. I’ll fix it. I’ll do anything you need. Please.
Burning behind his eyes and in his wings.
“He’s not coming for you, child.”
“I know.”
Why had he been left here? What had he done this time? Was he truly as bad as Lucifer?
“Michael, do you ever think we’re on the wrong side of this?”
“No. Never.” I can’t.
He had failed in the last battle. He had been taken, captured by one of those monsters that had apparently come before him, and he had been hurt. Father was displeased. He was locked out of the complex again.
“I’m trying.”
“I need you to try harder. I need your help, Michael. You’re the only one who can do this.”
“-rewrite the story-”
“ Couldn’t you give them more than two paragraphs?”
“ -all because you wrote it-”
“-you knew-”
“The end.”
Adam came back to himself with a choking gasp, feeling as hollow as Michael had looked before. All of that, and for what? Some sick game? Teaching your child to follow you blindly, that he’s only a weapon to be used and disposed of at your whim? It made Adam nauseous, how did Michael live with it? No wonder he’d thought like that - the only way to make his life livable was to trust his father wholeheartedly, never doubt even for a second that what he was doing was right, that he was choosing to do it, that it was all worth something.
Adam gagged, and for a moment he thought he would vomit. He wrestled the urge down just as Michael split back off again and sat down across from him.
“Adam?” He was watching Adam with concern, like he was the one with the problem here. “Adam, it wasn’t- it wasn’t as bad as you’re thinking. That’s what I was made for. The fact that he lied to me, yes, it was bad, but it’s not like-”
“Michael.” Adam cut him off before he had the chance to really get going. He couldn’t hear that, couldn’t bear to listen to Michael verbalize what he knew the archangel felt. “Michael, listen to me. Right now, I need you to listen to me and believe me. I don’t give a flying fuck what you were ‘built for.’ You’re a person.” Michael opened his mouth to protest. “Nope. Don’t even go there. I know you’re an angel, I know you’re not human, but you’re a person. You have worth. You have a heart and a mind and you feel pain and joy and love and hate and you deserve the chance to make your own life. If fucking Chuck wanted a weapon he should have built a sword. You are allowed to be mad at him. Hell, you should be mad at him. It doesn’t matter if he brought you into the world, you’re in it now and you don’t owe him shit, do you hear me?”
Michael is staring at him with that tingly intensity he gets right before shit goes down, and if Adam were anyone else, he’d be worried. But he’s not going to get smote. Not by the angel who’s looking at him with such pure wonder and adoration and heartbreaking confusion Adam thinks he’ll break down again then and there. He’s looking at Adam like Adam is holding his heart in his hands and there’s trust there and something so close to belief that Adam knows he can’t give up now.
“Here, let’s use a different example. Dean and Sam left me in the Cage even after they knew I was down there and alive. They left me to suffer even though we’re family and that makes them shit, right?”
Michael nods. “Of course. They forsook their familial ties for no reason other than the fact that you had expended all of your usefulness in their eyes.”
Adam nods emphatically. “That’s what Chuck did. He could have helped you and he didn’t. He left you down there with me to die. His son, the one who sacrificed himself over and over again to further some sick plot he found amusing. That’s wrong, just like what Sam and Dean did to me was wrong.”
Michael blinks, and Adam notices that he’s tearing up again. “It was wrong,” he murmurs. “He lied to me and he left me to die and he never loved me and that was wrong.”
Adam laughs, and if it’s a little hysterical well, that’s nobody’s business. “Yeah, Mikes, it was. You deserve better than that.”
“Why?”
“You just do. You’re his kid, and parents take care of their kids. You know all the stories I’ve told you about my mom, right?” Michael nods. “Well, I didn’t have to do anything to ‘earn’ her love, she just loved me because I was her kid. She took care of me just because she wanted to, because she loved me. Because we were family.”
The next thing Adam says comes out before he has the chance to think about the implications. “I wouldn’t do something like that to you, and I know you wouldn’t do something like that to me. That’s what caring about someone is, what you and I have. I know you know that, you just need to-”
“I hate him.”
“What?”
“I hate him.” That was sudden. “I hate my father. I hate what he did to me.” Michael was staring off into space, that familiar look of righteous rage filling his eyes and burning away the tears.
Deep down, where their souls met, Adam could feel their rage mixing and it was like nothing he’d ever felt before. Michael’s anger was blunt and flat-edged, a steely gray fractal of raw power and confusion and hurt, and Adam’s was red and yellow and bleeding and bitten, the scorn of a forgotten piece. “Say it again,” he said.
“I hate my father.” The world shook around them as Michael repeated it, devastated but with more conviction than perhaps anything Adam had heard him say. “I hate my father.”
“Yeah. Me too, Mikey. Me fucking too.”