Dumat: The Dragon of Silence (nearestvessel) wrote in valarlogs, @ 2014-02-02 13:37:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, michael, samandriel |
Who: Michael & Samandriel
What: When Michael calls, Samandriel answers
When: 30 January
Where: Michael’s
Rating: High as balls
Status: Complete
Samandriel didn’t know if he’d actually heard something or if he’d just imagined the sound of his brother’s voice saying his name. In all honesty, Michael could have been absolutely hammered and just testing the waters to make sure that Dean really hadn’t been fucking with him. Or he could have been in real trouble. Or Samandriel could have just wanted so badly to hear it that suddenly he had. He was Imagination after all. It was completely in the realm of possibility. So with a quick nudge to Lucifer and one...two...alright several stolen kisses, he went to go see. He made no promises to be back that night. Lucifer trusted him. Samandriel would be back when he was back and would be as much Lucifer’s as he had been when he left. Compared to some other relationships, he was more than grateful for the level of trust and openness they had.
He was in Michael’s apartment in less than a thought, arriving in a pair of loose pyjama pants and an even looser v-neck t-shirt. Samandriel wasn’t entirely sure what he should be saying. Maybe just looking at his pained brother would be enough for the moment, could prompt him into saying something first.
To his credit Michael didn’t jump when Samandriel appeared. Though that was very possibly because Michael wasn’t sure if he had been there for hours already. He couldn’t remember much of anything from that day. He’d had a severe migraine followed by hallucination, then a seizure at some point. He remembered falling to the floor and convulsing for a moment or two and after that everything was simply gone. At some point he had drawn all the curtains and shut off all the lights, but he wasn’t sure when that had happened or when he had gotten the ice pack from the fridge he currently had pressed against one side of his head. It wasn’t even cool so he had to figure it was some time ago, likely just before he had found his current spot on the floor, back against the wall that separated the living room from the kitchen, one knee up the other leg straight.
It must have been some time, maybe a few hours as lower back and legs had begun to tingle and fall asleep, but then there was Samandriel looking at him. He had to be let in at some point, didn’t he? He didn’t remember calling him or him coming to see him but that didn’t mean it didn’t happen, given the way the angel was dressed Michael could only figure that he had been there a while and that he had already broken his assurance to Dean that he wasn’t interested in him. That thought should have made him smile but he currently felt it took too much strength to do so. “Wha...” he had to clear his throat and cough softly, apparently he must have gone for several hours without speaking and his throat had gone dry. “What?”
One day, Samandriel was going to ask why Michael didn't have anyone to check in on him, but that question was answered by the simple fact that this was Michael. Angel or not, there was a stubborn streak that ran just as firmly in him as it did in the young man meant to be his vessel. If Michael had prayed, he clearly wasn't aware of it. It didn't matter now. Samandriel was there and he was very definitely needed.
"Shh," he said softly, crouching down in front of Michael. He didn't have to be particularly subtle about it this time. Michael knew and Samandriel just wanted to help. He could manage to heal things permanently, but he really honestly didn't know what kind of impact that might have on Michael or his dreaming or what he might yet eventually be. Regardless, he cupped the soldier's cheek and gave him the kind of relief from pain that not even narcotic grade pharmaceuticals could manage. "I've got you." He tried to make it sound like it was okay to need a hand, to accept it up as well. There wasn't anything to be ashamed of here.
Everything seemed to melt away but not into that near oblivion like before, he was aware of what was going on, he was fully aware of himself and of his surroundings. The only thing slipping away from him was the pain he usually felt running through the whole of him. And unlike the last time Samandriel had done this to him he was fully aware and could almost feel what he was doing, he could only equate it to warm water running over his scalp and easing every muscle it touched on its way down.
He took the ice pack from his forehead and put it down on the floor beside him, blinking slowly as the whole of him adjusted to that pain-free feeling. It was far easier than coming to terms with the fact that he had an angel tending to him. That was still hard for him to accept but there really was no better proof than what Samandriel was doing. His hand came up to cover the smaller one on his cheek, gently pulling it away. His voice was better, and remarkably calm for a man who felt like he could run the block a few times. “What are you doing here?”
Samandriel let Michael keep hold of his hand, direct it wherever he wanted it to be as he held himself steady and used the other one to briefly brush fingers over Michael's chest. "You called," he said, making sure it was clear that words hadn't been necessary. "I answered." He probably should have answered more immediately, but Lucifer was perpetually distracting in all the best ways. That free hand drew away, and the angel stood, still letting Michael keep that one hand. "When people ask for help and it's in my power to do something, I see no reason to let anyone suffer." It disgusted him more than he could ever articulate. There was no need for it. Suffering didn't make you stronger. It just wore you down the longer it went on. "We should get you to bed. You look like you could use some proper rest."
“I don’t remember.” he admitted but he wouldn’t argue that it made sense. He may not have remembered actually calling out to the angel but he remembered that his text had said to pray to him and he would hear it. He had been hurting, hurting bad enough for him to black out, it made sense he would reach out to the person who had made him feel better before. Michael eventually got back on his feet though mostly his own power but Samandriel had helped get him started. That stubbornness would have never admitted to it, even if it had been true, it was simply the way Michael was and how he was raised. “I feel fine,” his voice was still quiet and calm but those words had an edge to him, one that suggested he wasn’t interested in being led around. But he quickly after realized that he was being a bit of a dick by copping even the most weak of attitudes at the angel who had just come to his aid. “I mean, I’m feeling better. I’ll be alright.”
Of course Michael was feeling better. Samandriel had just fixed him however temporarily. “You will be,” he said, completely confident in his own words. Michael would be alright because he was Michael whether or not his brother knew it yet was irrelevant. For now, it could simply come off as angelic confidence or simply faith. He supposed it didn’t matter either way. He let go of his hand, considering his brother for a long moment. “You don’t believe you deserve to be saved.” It was strange to see something so very true of Dean Winchester apparent in the angel who was meant to use him.
He couldn’t keep himself from touching the man in front of him again. It might’ve been a problem that he was such a tactile creature, but that was either something that was going to get corrected by Michael real soon or it simply wouldn’t matter. There was sadness in the angel, but not pity. Never pity. The question was whether Michael thought that Michael abandoned him. That he’d had all this faith and didn’t think he was worth it anymore or that the archangel was refusing to protect him. He’d learned the hard way that turning up and calling an angel brother when they had no idea what was going on was probably not the best of ideas. Gabriel’s reaction had to be better than what Michael’s might be.
“No.” he said, really trying to explain whatever it was he’d been carrying around with him since his last injury, though it had been there since the first injury. Survivor’s guilt was what they had called it the first time. The IED had taken out the whole of his squad save himself and his CO, Michael had walked away from that with a few shattered bones, soft tissue damage and more than a few burns, his CO ended up needing both legs and an arm amputated and was shipped home. Anyone who came out of that mostly fine was supposed to feel guilt, or said the counselor he had been made to talk to, Michael hadn’t agreed but had gone along with it just to get back to combat. The second time he had avoided the counselor, he had taken a few bullets in the line of duty, no different than most soldiers and like the rest that survived were patched up and shipped back out to combat. He had been able to stand at attention when the boys that had died under his command were shipped back to their families and that had been good enough for him. “I was saved. More than once, maybe by our creator or sheer dumb luck, but here I am. But you’ve got to tell me what the point of it was. When a once useful tool is broken so beyond repair that you can’t even recognize it for what it once was you get rid of it and get a new one. You don’t keep it around.”
Michael pulled away, moving to pick up the ice pack on the floor and take it back into the kitchen only a few steps away. Once there he tossed it back into the freezer and grabbed himself a bottle of water from the fridge. “I don’t feel guilty,” he said, opening the bottle. “I feel angry, but I’m dealing with it.”
Samandriel watched Michael move. “No,” he said simply. “You don’t turn your back on family like that. Living beings are not tools. There’s a difference. You were never a tool.” Well, he might’ve been a tool, but anyone who’d known Michael in heaven couldn’t be surprised by that. “I can’t comment to God’s involvement in anything, but you’re here now. Take that for what it is and at least let me help you.” Samandriel leaned against a counter shifting easily in Michael’s space almost like he belonged there with him.
There was something to be said for this. Here and now. There was so much unnecessary drama going on just at the edge of Samandriel’s awareness that had been shoved to the backburner. He doubted that Damon would ever truly understand what was going on here, that there was so much bigger than his relationship with Elena that the angel had to consider.The archangel in front of him was as high a priority as anyone could get while Lucifer still existed. “Please,” he said softer. “Just because I’m not a warrior myself doesn’t mean that I don’t understand and it doesn’t mean I don’t have my own skills to let you have at your disposal.”
Michael the archangel might have argued with that but Michael the human being let it slide. He had never really bought into the idea of a loving God, his time deployed really destroyed any chance he had at thinking that if there had ever been any doubts on his part. Instead he tended to see God as more the chessmaster, angels and saints were the upper level pawns where as everyone else was a lesser pawn. God had a plan and His pieces carried it out, when a piece was captured or no longer useful it was removed from the board. It might have been too simplistic and utterly devalued the idea of free will or prayer, which tended to stand at odds with a lot of Catholic dogma, but it made sense to Michael. It didn’t stop him from praying but after a few years of silence it put an end to him expecting to be heard. “I’m not a warrior anymore.”
He checked his watch discovering that he had been out of it for at least ten hours or so. Internally he sighed but was at least thankful that it had happened now, between training sessions, instead of when he was supposed to be at work. He had gotten lucky, but only in the loosest sense. Story of his life. Michael chugged the water, downing the bottle in the space of a few seconds, his relatively dehydrated body almost begging him to grab another and do it again. “And what am I supposed to be letting you help with beyond what you’ve already done?”
Oh Michael, Samandriel thought as he sighed. “There’s a difference between actively letting me help and simply deciding stopping me is too much effort,” he pointed out. He pushed out of his lean. “Letting me help implies asking when you need it.” He rolled his shoulders, stretching his wings out behind him, grand things that were both there and not, passing easily through the inanimate obstacles in the house. The look he gave Michael implied that he was allowed to stare this time, allowed to touch if he wanted. “No one’s asking you to be a warrior.” That didn’t stop Michael from being exactly that no matter how much Michael might wish otherwise. “Just like no one’s asking me to. Which is, frankly a good thing. It could end very badly for everyone if I had fight like that in me.” Other things Michael didn’t know yet, but would in time.
“I was under the impression that I did ask when I needed it.” If he actually had called him anyway. But really he was simply being himself with that little remark. Dean had been right to call him an asshole, and probably everything else he had ever called him, for the most part it was true. But it was a little difficult to maintain that obnoxious streak when confronted with a pair of wings, especially now that he knew those wings were completely real and not just his scarred mind playing tricks. “You are beautiful, Samandriel.”
He was, with or without the wings, but they added a whole other dimension to the violinist, one that felt a great disservice to him to have to keep covered or hidden or however he dealt with having those wings and not letting everyone know he was an angel. He did stare but it felt wrong to try to touch them, almost like it was disrespectful to his celestial superiority and that he would only mar or soil them if he tried. “But why is an angel bothering with me and my pain?”
Samandriel closed some of the space between them, reaching to let his fingers rest on the medallion under Michael’s shirt. “I have my reasons,” he said simply. He wanted to say. He desperately wanted to grab Michael by the shirt and tell him, impress upon him however he could that Michael was his brother and you really didn’t leave family behind. No matter how they’d disappointed you or how much they hurt you or suffered themselves. No one should ever be left behind or forgotten the way Samandriel himself had been. “You’re important to me. A tiny, insignificant angel of Imagination and Fertility. You matter to me. No one ordered me to be here. There’s no greater plan at work other than you meaning something to me for reasons that...that I’m sure eventually you’ll understand. For now, please let me leave it at that.”
He brushed his fingers over the sharp line of Michael’s cheekbones, holding eye contact with a man who currently looked at him and saw nothing familiar. When Michael remembered, they would speak on it. Samandriel had questions in this life that he wouldn’t have dared ask in the other. The young angel gently rose up on his toes and pressed a gentle kiss to Michael’s brow like a benediction. He might not have known that the little gesture contained so much forgiveness in it as well, but Samandriel did and that was enough. “You can touch them,” he whispered, wanting to feel Michael’s fingers against his feathers.
“I’ll know what I need to know when I need to know it.” he said, tossing the empty bottle in the direction of the trash before bringing his hands to rest on the angel’s hips when he drew near. “I’m surprisingly alright with that.” Michael was simply used to it, years of been an officer had conditioned him to accept that there would always be situations where he simply wasn’t meant to have all the details. He didn’t like it but he accepted it, even when his men grumbled and assumed he was keeping something from them. They trusted him in the end though, he had earned that trust if not respect. Did he really trust Samandriel? Perhaps not at this point, or at least not with the strength that he would have trusted Dean, but that was different. Michael didn’t really have a choice.
It was strange, at least to Michael, that Samandriel was being so tender with him, even after days had passed without him using that phone number beyond getting confirmation that he was an angel. But he really couldn’t complain about it, in fact he was rather enjoying it. It eased his mind after those ten hours of nothing, made him feel as close to normal as he ever managed. “If you’re sure.” he said softly, turning his eyes back to the wings in question. Samandriel did seem to want it, even Michael could see that, it assured him that his touch wouldn’t corrupt their glory. Still, his touch was hesitant, warm fingers tentatively sliding over and through some of the feathers as his shockingly green eyes watched in slight disbelief. It took a moment for him to realize he had been holding his breath and when he let it go he let out a soft, breathy ‘wow’.
Samandriel couldn’t help but shiver a little in pleasure at fingers on feathers, like fingers in his hair only so, so much better. The other wing stretched and curled around Michael, keeping him protected even though there was nothing outside his own head he needed to be kept safe from at the moment. He pressed his nose in a brief, affectionate bump against the side of Michael’s face. While he really did want to kiss him, he was also content to just let the man touch his feathers. He doubted that Michael had the focus right now to kiss and touch at the same time.
A shudder ran through him though it was from awe, feeling the other wing come around him. Samandriel certainly looked like the angels he had seen in books and great works of Catholic art he had grown up seeing, it all paled in comparison to the actual thing of course but they had gotten the basic idea right. Though seeing the wings in person now made it seem like it was trying to compare a stick figure to an actual human being, sure the basic shape was right but there was so much more to it. His mind wanted to rebel, tell him that he was being just as insane as the last time he had seen those wings, that this whole thing was simply his brain playing tricks even if he could feel the unbelievably soft wings under the tips of his fingers. But Michael knew better. This was real, Samandriel was real, the world for Michael had been turned on its side but he was okay with that. “I don’t… I don’t know what to say.”
Samandriel smiled. “You don’t need to say anything,” he whispered, “though you should probably be made aware that they’re...sensitive. I’m not asking you to stop just...to be mindful.” Particularly of the fact that he was running low on the willpower required to not touch in return, to not fill his eventual celestial kin with whispers of his own wings. All six of them grand and glorious befitting an archangel. Kitchens were probably not the best space to be exploring Michael’s newly developing wing kink or Samandriel’s very firmly extant one. This was dangerous in its way, but Lucifer knew and Michael would know at least about Samandriel’s actual relationship status when full disclosure was necessary. It’d be so much easier to explain once Michael had some context. He would tell him. As soon as Michael began dreaming, he would tell him. “Kiss me?” he asked quietly, amazed at his own ache for it.
Michael was suddenly reminded that he had told Dean not to worry, the barefoot violinist wasn’t his ‘type’. That he wasn’t the sort of person to be interested in a second go around. He probably should have sent the younger man away, or at least he should have but discovering that he was indeed an angel changed things. You didn’t ignore any of the denizens of heaven, even if they were currently actually living in California, you certainly didn’t send them away when they had been more than kind, patient and understanding. You didn’t deny them kisses when they asked for them, especially when you were more than willing to give them. Of course it sort of changed the dynamic between them, at least in Michael’s eyes. It didn’t seem wise to be forceful with a creature that could possibly blink him from existence. There wouldn’t be any grabbing the back of his neck and holding him, instead it was a tender, reverent kiss, one that caused the fingers in those wings to slow to a stop.
Samandriel couldn’t remember when the Michael he knew had ever been so gentle with him. His hand rested on the other man’s waist, his lips parting with a soft sigh that might have been ‘yes’ had he actually put voice to it. He’d treasure that tenderness for as long as it was offered or until he really just needed to growl the hint home that Michael didn’t have to treat him with sacred kid gloves. Both wings wrapped around Michael, the bends of the joints pointed high above their heads as though there were prying eyes somewhere else in his apartment that didn’t need to be seeing this. There weren’t, of course, but he did quite like the extra warmth and security they offered.
To hell with Dean Winchester. He was going to make up his own decisions when it came to who he would and would not see again, and it absolutely had nothing to do with the fact that keeping in contact with the angel would piss him off. He swore. Or rather he would have if his attention hadn’t been so taken up by that kiss and the feeling of those wings around him or that angel in his arms. His hand left the wing when it stretched around him, it moving to the back of Samandriel’s neck where the tips of his fingers played in his lighter hair. The kiss did slowly come to an end though Michael rested his forehead against Samandriel’s after, soaking in his closeness. “I feel like I should be apologizing for… Everything I’ve ever done.”
Samandriel reached up to caress Michael’s cheek. You should be apologising for everything you’ve ever done, but you don’t know the half of it yet. “None of that,” he said softly, allowing Michael whatever peace he could find there with him. “At least not tonight.” He was tempted to bring the man back to his place, to offer him peace and sanctuary at what he defined as home. The problem was that even completely human, he didn’t want Michael anywhere near Lucifer. He hoped that there really wasn’t something wrong with him for the deep seeded need he had to make sure that his family was as safe and happy and together as it could be. It shouldn’t have mattered that he was technically fucking half of them, that as an angel set over fertility the easiest way for him to express himself, to bring welcome and forgiveness and home to his angelic kin was to share his body for whatever that was worth.
He stole another kiss, equally slow and gentle because Michael’s lips were there and his brother was so fragilely human that the feel of them was somehow precious on his skin. “Until you no longer wish for it,” he whispered against Michael’s lips, “you’re under my protection.” It was a very odd thing to be saying to Michael, but he hoped the archangel would appreciate Samandriel doing what he could when he remembered himself.
Michael likely wouldn’t have accepted anyway. As nice as it would have been to have his walking pain reliever around whenever he needed him for the most part Michael prefered a little solitude. He didn’t have to explain himself to anyone, didn’t have to see people looking at him with pity, didn’t have to deal with anyone trying to take care of him. Being some angel’s ‘pet’ really didn’t appeal to him either. He was a grown man who knew how to take care of himself, but that was all likely his upbringing its ugly head again.
He wasn’t quite sure what he was supposed to say to that or just what that was supposed to mean, but if it was anything like the angelic protection his mother always used to pray for then at least it would finally see one of her prayers answered. But it didn’t mean he could remain completely serious, though they were already kissing so this wasn’t exactly a holy moment. “That might have been more helpful before I got shot, but thank you.”