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blue_bells» Title: My Brothers Are Not Brothers
» Fandom: Supernatural
» Warnings: Angelcest
» Pairing(s)/Characters: Michael/Lucifer, Raphael
» Summary: Wherein Michael prays on the front line and Lucifer answers.
» A/N: Written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
aeon_entwined at the Angel Comment Fic Fest because it's more fun than sleeping.
"Rest," Raphael had told him, hand pushing down on his shoulder until Michael sagged against the boulder with the now-dried blood on his armour.
Raphael had healed him, but Michael had to check twice to comprehend his wounds were gone.
Michael couldn’t look into his brother’s face. There was a roughness in Raphael’s voice, a new sound like Raphael was still understanding how to stand while their brothers of Lucifer’s regiment were torn down and splintered by Michael’s righteous grace.
But Raphael had stopped calling them ‘brothers’. He’d also stopped questioning Michael’s orders.
This war was honing their healer. He knew Father was proud.
Michael’s mouth twisted in a fierce scowl to strangle the sob in his throat.
“I need to rest,” He agreed and Raphael bowed, taking his leave.
Michael sits at the front line of their regained territory for a long time, barely registering the transport of the injured or the sacraments for the martyred. His senses are consumed with the remnants of the dead, cloying and thick like spilled sand and stars.
His brothers and sisters are all around him, the live, the failing and the dead. They’re a sheen on his grace, a speck of dust in the corner of his eye, the gloss of blood on his lips. They march like the proudest soldiers within arm’s reach and he doesn’t understand how he feels so desperately alone.
Father, Michael finally prays and squeezes his eyes shut, Give me the strength.
He thinks Raphael’s returned when the hand squeezes his shoulder.
“Michael,” Lucifer says.
Michael’s sword is drawn in a moment and he flies at his brother.
Although Michael’s fury is righteous, Lucifer’s cunning is swift and he wrests the sword from his brother and throws it to the nearest sun.
But Lucifer doesn’t look victorious.
His grace is already tainted with his dissension, the edge of his motions jagged with a wretched exhaustion. He pulls Michael against his chest and holds him there.
For a moment Michael thinks Lucifer is trying to claw him apart, fingers raking down and through his form. Lucifer’s shaking against him, cold sobs of air against his cheek and Michael is angry, but he relents because it’s as though that chaos in his chest has finally broken free and manifested in the angel against him.
“Gabriel is gone.”
Lucifer’s mouth tightens into a thin line of regret. “I know.”
“This is your fault,” Michael snarls.
“I know,” Lucifer says just so Michael’s arms will close around him.
The kiss crushes between them as a rough, sliding gasp of apology.
Lucifer probably thinks his brother doesn’t catch it, but it’s no admission of guilt.
It’s a plea for forgiveness for this line he’s drawn between them. Michael knows that if he gave Lucifer half the opportunity, the slightest show of doubt, that Lucifer would drag him across that line, chain him down until judgment day and love him too well, too much, too completely.
Michael could let him.
“I miss you,” Lucifer says.
Michael looks into Lucifer’s tight expression and wonders why their Father answered his prayer in this way.
“I’ll kill you,” Michael says, flatly.
Lucifer searches the face he’s holding and he doesn’t smile, doesn’t tighten his grip or snarl against the threat.
“Tomorrow,” Lucifer says and kisses him again.
» Fandom: Supernatural
» Warnings: Angelcest
» Pairing(s)/Characters: Michael/Lucifer, Raphael
» Summary: Wherein Michael prays on the front line and Lucifer answers.
» A/N: Written for
aeon_entwined at the Angel Comment Fic Fest because it's more fun than sleeping."Rest," Raphael had told him, hand pushing down on his shoulder until Michael sagged against the boulder with the now-dried blood on his armour.
Raphael had healed him, but Michael had to check twice to comprehend his wounds were gone.
Michael couldn’t look into his brother’s face. There was a roughness in Raphael’s voice, a new sound like Raphael was still understanding how to stand while their brothers of Lucifer’s regiment were torn down and splintered by Michael’s righteous grace.
But Raphael had stopped calling them ‘brothers’. He’d also stopped questioning Michael’s orders.
This war was honing their healer. He knew Father was proud.
Michael’s mouth twisted in a fierce scowl to strangle the sob in his throat.
“I need to rest,” He agreed and Raphael bowed, taking his leave.
Michael sits at the front line of their regained territory for a long time, barely registering the transport of the injured or the sacraments for the martyred. His senses are consumed with the remnants of the dead, cloying and thick like spilled sand and stars.
His brothers and sisters are all around him, the live, the failing and the dead. They’re a sheen on his grace, a speck of dust in the corner of his eye, the gloss of blood on his lips. They march like the proudest soldiers within arm’s reach and he doesn’t understand how he feels so desperately alone.
Father, Michael finally prays and squeezes his eyes shut, Give me the strength.
He thinks Raphael’s returned when the hand squeezes his shoulder.
“Michael,” Lucifer says.
Michael’s sword is drawn in a moment and he flies at his brother.
Although Michael’s fury is righteous, Lucifer’s cunning is swift and he wrests the sword from his brother and throws it to the nearest sun.
But Lucifer doesn’t look victorious.
His grace is already tainted with his dissension, the edge of his motions jagged with a wretched exhaustion. He pulls Michael against his chest and holds him there.
For a moment Michael thinks Lucifer is trying to claw him apart, fingers raking down and through his form. Lucifer’s shaking against him, cold sobs of air against his cheek and Michael is angry, but he relents because it’s as though that chaos in his chest has finally broken free and manifested in the angel against him.
“Gabriel is gone.”
Lucifer’s mouth tightens into a thin line of regret. “I know.”
“This is your fault,” Michael snarls.
“I know,” Lucifer says just so Michael’s arms will close around him.
The kiss crushes between them as a rough, sliding gasp of apology.
Lucifer probably thinks his brother doesn’t catch it, but it’s no admission of guilt.
It’s a plea for forgiveness for this line he’s drawn between them. Michael knows that if he gave Lucifer half the opportunity, the slightest show of doubt, that Lucifer would drag him across that line, chain him down until judgment day and love him too well, too much, too completely.
Michael could let him.
“I miss you,” Lucifer says.
Michael looks into Lucifer’s tight expression and wonders why their Father answered his prayer in this way.
“I’ll kill you,” Michael says, flatly.
Lucifer searches the face he’s holding and he doesn’t smile, doesn’t tighten his grip or snarl against the threat.
“Tomorrow,” Lucifer says and kisses him again.
