Freak of Nature (Destiel)

Chapter 46: Standing Alone

A.N.

I BARELY finished this on time to make this quota... so much for finishing this by January 1st, huh? Lol Either way, this is nearing its end and we shall all see it through together.

Mahalo.

Love,
deathbyinsomnia

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The tears were dried on Dean's face in the wind, itching his cheeks. Wiping away them away, he couldn't bring himself to go to the manor yet. He couldn't keep a clear head after all that had just happened. Taking a shortcut to the road, he took the long walk to Bobby's to find the house empty.

Dust had feathered onto some of the furniture, rousing Dean's suspicion. Maybe he spent the night at the Roadhouse. Sure, it had been a long time since he'd stayed there, but he would probably return tomorrow. Especially if it was a night of drunkeness and possibly mistakes involving a particular Roadhouse owner.

Taking off his coat, his wing was clearly visible, making him feel a bit naked from the exposure. Dean took the short walk to the bedroom and climbed into the bed. He couldn't find the whimsy in him to count sheep, or sing about imaginary bottles of beer, so he just stared at the ceiling until he fell asleep.

Dean woke to the sound of a megaphone blaring echoes throughout central Arya and possibly the other districts. He hadn't heard the buzzing of a megaphone since Metatron was in charge, a faint memory in his mind. It must be important, Dean thought, getting out of bed and massaging his shoulders.

...

"To all of Arya!" Michael's voice bellowed, "I am asking you, the people, to find a Mister Dean Winchester and bring him to the stake to be burned for treason against the Aryan empire! Anyone who hides or aides him will die with him, get looking."

Michael repeated his speech once more before turning off his megaphone, eyes turning to Castiel and his sunken, red eyes that were dreary from crying. He touched Castiel's shoulder but the boy shied from the touch. Michael obeyed, returning to hear Metatron's speech.

"You need to captivate your audience, son. Being straightforward makes for a bad leader. They want to hear poetry when you're on the soapbox, not words of condeming."

"Regardless, it's a death sentence." Castiel whispered hatefully, glaring at his brother. "I've lost my brother, and now it's my love. How much more must I lose, Michael?"

Michael looked at the ground in shame, none of this was his intention. He didn't mean for this to happen, for Castiel to get hurt. However, Michael had to keep his priorities in order- the leaders came first, half-brothers an afterthought.

The heartlessness in the thought made him cringe, but he rose his eyes to that of Castiel's and smiled honestly. "It will all be over soon, little brother, then we can all be a family again."

"All I hear are empty promises, Michael. Whether or not you will excuse me, I am going to my room to mourn the inevitable deaths that will transpire here today. I hope you realize the gravity of what you are doing, Michael, before it is too late."

Michael felt his throat tighten as Castiel walked the trek towards the house, his brother had such little faith in this cause. Though it was best for them, the boy refused. Stupid, stupid boy, Micheal told himself as though the more he said it, the more what he was doing would find more stable ground and be an honest cause.

He repeated it a dozen times by the time he reached the manor. He was greeted by the extreme emptiness of the house upon entry, the Winchesters not reporting for the day and a few angelkind (unknown to Michael) joining them to plan a revolution. Vaguely, Michael could even hear the soft thumping of Castiel's bare feet pacing the floor above.

This emptiness was the first concrete thing to make his vendetta waver, but that is all it did-- waver. It returned within an instant as Crowley entered the manor's foyer where Michael stood, his words as clear as ever.

"Dean Winchester's father is the human that killed Raphael. I heard it through my sources among the other angels. You may now put a bounty on him as well, if you wish, sir. I heard other things as well, sir, but that information may be better used at a different time." he smiled, then letting the smile fall away for fear of angering Michael.

Michael felt something akin to confliction rising in his chest, it's as though many of those he thought he could trust were nothing but wolves in sheep's clothing. He took a deep breath through his nose, then another, and another. He found his voice and dismissed Crowley from his sight. The angel slunk away as though he were a kicked dog, nursing its wounds, but it was only Crowley's pride that had been ruined. Crowley had chosen the side he believed would reward him for his loyalty, but it was then he realized he would get no warm welcome from either side.

Michael ascended the stairs and found his way to the room of Adam and his servant, Samandriel. He knocked quietly at the door, waited a moment, then knocked again before opening the door. The room seemed as though it had been ransacked. Taking a brief stroll around the room, he had come to realize they had fled. Fled because they were on the opposite side.

Sides, Michael wondered to himself, How could we be on sides? The gray area which I have ruled under, my own learned morality and ethics taught to me by tutors and my father, has now become black and white to the people of Arya. They do not know how I am truly thinking, nor my reasons. What I am doing is right to maintain the order I have established thus far. This decision is for the best of Arya. If this boy had not come out of hiding, none of this would have happened. Nothing would have changed. The perfection would have stayed.

Of course, these thoughts were self-justification for this act of murder he planned on committing, but his feeling of moral correctness in his decision had become so far gone he couldn't have turned back. Even if he wanted to, he was beyond the point he could recant his decision. There were three sides: those who stood behind Dean Winchester and the fall of the Aryan Council, those who stood for the Aryan Council's rule, and those who hid for fear of involvement. It was at the point of no return.

"The clock is ticking down to the moment of reckoning. Dean Winchester, take up your arms and steel your heart, for the decision of the future lies in your hands." Michael muttered to no one in particular, slamming the door behind him as he bounded to the Council Room.