Of Pitchers and Vessels
Jun. 27th, 2017 11:12 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
madimpossibledreamerOkay, I legit don't remember writing this.
I might rewrite this section. Or just leave it. *shrug*
~Dreamer~
Main Points:
Supernatural AU
Summary: Dean, Michael, and Sam have a talk. Plus, we (maybe) figure out the identity of Michael's vessel.
Word Count: 1033
Rating: K
Plus it’s kind of funny to watch the angel fumble with the cell phone. He’s catching on quicker than Cas, too. He’s not sure whether to be proud or angry on behalf of Cas.
Finally, Michael manages to make the call and put it on speakerphone, which is something Dean hadn’t thought of even though he really should have and earns a look of gratitude.
“Dean! Dean, where are you?” Sam sounds absolutely frantic.
“I’m fine, but I might’ve ticked off a few demons, so don’t go back to the hotel,” Dean states first of all. That’s the most important part.
“You just took off. Again. Without a word.” Sam’s not even listening.
“Sam. You’re not going back there, right?”
“No, Dean. I’m not going back. Where are you?”
The snort from Michael makes them both shut up.
Then, “Uh, who is there with you?”
“Apparently, we’ve been recruiting for this whole anti-Apocalypse plan. Were you making fliers on your laptop?”
Sam makes a sound of frustration. “This isn’t something to joke about, Dean.”
“He’s not joking. The End of Days is one of the stupidest things to come out of Heaven Studios for a while, and given things like, say, the Crusades, that’s saying a lot.” The angel’s looking a little more intense. The rigid righteousness surfaces for the first time since they’d met. “We’ll talk more once we meet in person, but know this—I’m looking forward to meeting you, Samuel Winchester. I’ve heard a lot. Though perhaps Dean as the driver should actually make the decision on where we should rendezvous.”
He doesn’t speak, not even at Sam’s questions, when he’s done, leaning back and closing his eyes. “It’s a lot to talk about over the phone, and I kinda don’t want to,” Dean states firmly, before giving a location. He then reaches over and turns it off.
He glances a couple times at his passenger before continuing, “Crusades, huh?”
“Oh, yes.” Michael clicks his fingers, and suddenly the seat isn’t messy at all. He’s breathing heavily, though. “It’s not a problem, Dean. I can’t just…use my power willy-nilly, but the Impala’s important, isn’t it?”
It warms him a little. “What happened to all the slang?”
“What, you mean, why am I not talking like you?” That’s a downright smirk. “It got your attention, didn’t it? And…my vessel, I guess. Though that’s not exactly…”
“What about him?” Dean’s gaze sharpens.
Michael bites his lip, staring into the road in front of them. “That’s a story…I guess, settle in.” There’s pain in those green eyes. “This is the story of, well, I guess you’d call it a battleground. But not a battleground like most people think of. Your kind of battleground. Not everything, Dean, just is a once off thing. There are places in the world that draw the supernatural. Towns. Where I lived was like that. My first kill was my best friend. He’d been turned.”
Oddly, unlike Cas, the voice was full of emotion, like he’d actually been there, lived that life. “My parents were lost, too. For years, my friends and I, the ones that survived anyway, we held the line. We weren’t trained, but hunters aren’t, are they? We’re born from tragedy, the avenging blade. Some sort of someone’s messed up idea of balance.”
Michael has to remind himself to breathe. “We did well. A few casualties, but…by this point, you expect that, don’t you? You don’t grieve. You just bottle it up inside, because it gives you drive. At some point, it’s all you expect, all you know. You torture yourself with the memories, because it gives you the edge you need to survive.”
The words are bitter and blunt and, damn, it hurts to hear them. “And then an apocalypse came. We’d averted a few, tried to figure out the plural of apocalypse or whether it’d even be called that when it didn’t happen. This one was different. This one…people had died, people were going to die, and we weren’t going to win. Everyone was going to die.”
Those are legitimate tears. An angel can cry, ladies and gents. “Everyone. I didn’t have family left, but then, that’s a hunter thing, too, isn’t it? Family isn’t blood relations, not much, because there’s not usually many of those left. Family are those that stand and fight beside you. They were going to die and there was nothing to fix that and I was going to be just as useless as usual. I was dying.”
Why the first person, though? Was this the vessel talking?
“And then there was a voice. Accepting didn’t matter very much. We were dead either way, the world might end. If I said yes, there was a chance, no matter how small, that my family didn’t have to die, that the world didn’t have to end. Not much of a choice.”
“End of story? What’s the guy’s name?”
“Given that what’s left of him lives on in me? Does it really matter?” The voice is meant to be authoritative, Dean guesses. Instead, he’s just a little bleak.
He wants to apologize or comfort somehow. Instead, he says nothing.
“Only something went wrong. Vessels are exactly that. At least, they’re supposed to be. I could leave if I needed to, go back to Heaven for the planning.” Michael suddenly fixes his gaze back on Dean, rather than on something that he can’t even see. “Or maybe something went right. I didn’t stick around. Didn’t seem right, really. I could pretend, but I didn’t want to hurt them. But when I…suddenly I was seeing things from a human’s perspective. That’s not supposed to happen, but when I did, I…started coming around. Until I realized that I didn’t want to watch the world burn.”
“Don’t you not have a choice?”
“Maybe that’s his dying gift. Freedom of choice. You don’t want to watch your brother die, Dean. You don’t want to kill him. I don’t want to do either of those things either. So why don’t we figure out an alternative?”
I might rewrite this section. Or just leave it. *shrug*
~Dreamer~
Main Points:
Supernatural AU
Summary: Dean, Michael, and Sam have a talk. Plus, we (maybe) figure out the identity of Michael's vessel.
Word Count: 1033
Rating: K
Maybe it’s a bit of a test, too. Let Michael talk to the tainted-by-demon-blood guy, see how he acts. He’s going to listen surreptitiously.
Plus it’s kind of funny to watch the angel fumble with the cell phone. He’s catching on quicker than Cas, too. He’s not sure whether to be proud or angry on behalf of Cas.
Finally, Michael manages to make the call and put it on speakerphone, which is something Dean hadn’t thought of even though he really should have and earns a look of gratitude.
“Dean! Dean, where are you?” Sam sounds absolutely frantic.
“I’m fine, but I might’ve ticked off a few demons, so don’t go back to the hotel,” Dean states first of all. That’s the most important part.
“You just took off. Again. Without a word.” Sam’s not even listening.
“Sam. You’re not going back there, right?”
“No, Dean. I’m not going back. Where are you?”
The snort from Michael makes them both shut up.
Then, “Uh, who is there with you?”
“Apparently, we’ve been recruiting for this whole anti-Apocalypse plan. Were you making fliers on your laptop?”
Sam makes a sound of frustration. “This isn’t something to joke about, Dean.”
“He’s not joking. The End of Days is one of the stupidest things to come out of Heaven Studios for a while, and given things like, say, the Crusades, that’s saying a lot.” The angel’s looking a little more intense. The rigid righteousness surfaces for the first time since they’d met. “We’ll talk more once we meet in person, but know this—I’m looking forward to meeting you, Samuel Winchester. I’ve heard a lot. Though perhaps Dean as the driver should actually make the decision on where we should rendezvous.”
He doesn’t speak, not even at Sam’s questions, when he’s done, leaning back and closing his eyes. “It’s a lot to talk about over the phone, and I kinda don’t want to,” Dean states firmly, before giving a location. He then reaches over and turns it off.
He glances a couple times at his passenger before continuing, “Crusades, huh?”
“Oh, yes.” Michael clicks his fingers, and suddenly the seat isn’t messy at all. He’s breathing heavily, though. “It’s not a problem, Dean. I can’t just…use my power willy-nilly, but the Impala’s important, isn’t it?”
It warms him a little. “What happened to all the slang?”
“What, you mean, why am I not talking like you?” That’s a downright smirk. “It got your attention, didn’t it? And…my vessel, I guess. Though that’s not exactly…”
“What about him?” Dean’s gaze sharpens.
Michael bites his lip, staring into the road in front of them. “That’s a story…I guess, settle in.” There’s pain in those green eyes. “This is the story of, well, I guess you’d call it a battleground. But not a battleground like most people think of. Your kind of battleground. Not everything, Dean, just is a once off thing. There are places in the world that draw the supernatural. Towns. Where I lived was like that. My first kill was my best friend. He’d been turned.”
Oddly, unlike Cas, the voice was full of emotion, like he’d actually been there, lived that life. “My parents were lost, too. For years, my friends and I, the ones that survived anyway, we held the line. We weren’t trained, but hunters aren’t, are they? We’re born from tragedy, the avenging blade. Some sort of someone’s messed up idea of balance.”
Michael has to remind himself to breathe. “We did well. A few casualties, but…by this point, you expect that, don’t you? You don’t grieve. You just bottle it up inside, because it gives you drive. At some point, it’s all you expect, all you know. You torture yourself with the memories, because it gives you the edge you need to survive.”
The words are bitter and blunt and, damn, it hurts to hear them. “And then an apocalypse came. We’d averted a few, tried to figure out the plural of apocalypse or whether it’d even be called that when it didn’t happen. This one was different. This one…people had died, people were going to die, and we weren’t going to win. Everyone was going to die.”
Those are legitimate tears. An angel can cry, ladies and gents. “Everyone. I didn’t have family left, but then, that’s a hunter thing, too, isn’t it? Family isn’t blood relations, not much, because there’s not usually many of those left. Family are those that stand and fight beside you. They were going to die and there was nothing to fix that and I was going to be just as useless as usual. I was dying.”
Why the first person, though? Was this the vessel talking?
“And then there was a voice. Accepting didn’t matter very much. We were dead either way, the world might end. If I said yes, there was a chance, no matter how small, that my family didn’t have to die, that the world didn’t have to end. Not much of a choice.”
“End of story? What’s the guy’s name?”
“Given that what’s left of him lives on in me? Does it really matter?” The voice is meant to be authoritative, Dean guesses. Instead, he’s just a little bleak.
He wants to apologize or comfort somehow. Instead, he says nothing.
“Only something went wrong. Vessels are exactly that. At least, they’re supposed to be. I could leave if I needed to, go back to Heaven for the planning.” Michael suddenly fixes his gaze back on Dean, rather than on something that he can’t even see. “Or maybe something went right. I didn’t stick around. Didn’t seem right, really. I could pretend, but I didn’t want to hurt them. But when I…suddenly I was seeing things from a human’s perspective. That’s not supposed to happen, but when I did, I…started coming around. Until I realized that I didn’t want to watch the world burn.”
“Don’t you not have a choice?”
“Maybe that’s his dying gift. Freedom of choice. You don’t want to watch your brother die, Dean. You don’t want to kill him. I don’t want to do either of those things either. So why don’t we figure out an alternative?”
