thursdays_angel | (no subject)

(no subject)

The door to Milliways flies open with enough force to bounce it off of the wall. It's just as well that no one is nearby. In fact, the bar seems practically deserted but for the waitrats.

A moment later, out of the void beyond, an angel (a bit worse for wear) staggers through the door. The limp form of a man hangs over his shoulder in a fireman's carry. The face is not visible, resting against the back of Castiel's coat. And every inch of the man--hair to the soles of his shoes--is coated in a thick layer of grime. So much so that his race is difficult to distinguish, let alone his features.

Hell is not, after all, a clean place.

Castiel grabs the door and closes it on the cold realm outside and, hefting his burden a bit more securely, takes stock of Milliways.

God has granted him this place of Sanctuary. But he is hoping to avoid awkward questions.

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Someone in Milliways takes stock of him.

And when the Archangel Michael stands and approaches --

Well, then. No one else is about to notice anything at all, are they?

"Castiel," she says, even and precise. "What have you done?"

Judgment has no place here, and for more reasons than one. Still, this is certainly unexpected.

From one point of view.

Castiel straightens up. It looks like it takes a bit of effort.

His eyes narrow a bit, going from Michael to the bar at large. There is power present here. But not the kind that attracts attention.

Quite the opposite, in fact.

Castiel is grateful.

"I was given a mission," he tells Michael.

It's not quite complete.

Milliways is a somewhat unexpected stop. But, Castiel feels, a necessary one.

"So I see," she says dryly, gaze flicking to the other angel's cargo.

"Did any seek to prevent you from carrying it out?"

"Enough."

Not legions, fortunately. Those forces had been mustered at the Gate. Castiel, now that he has space to breathe, gives thanks that he encountered as little opposition as he had.

"But he is..."

Castiel shifts his grip a bit on his charge.

"He is to be returned to Earth. But I believe he needs....time."

Castiel looks at Michael levelly. He has taken liberty with his orders -- at least, with the orders from higher ranking angels.

He hopes Michael will understand.

"Mmm," Michael says noncommittally, taking a few steps closer in order to better see Castiel's cargo.

She also drops her arms to her sides, leaving her T-shirt visible.

Apropos of nothing, it reads IHOPP = BANNED in bright red letters.

"More than time, perhaps. But this would seem to be the place for it. Well done."

Anyone else, and Castiel would back away right now. With Michael, he simply stands at attention.

As well as he can while lugging a Winchester.

The lines that were tensing slightly around his eyes relax at her words.

"I had thought to appropriate an additional room here. One that is quiet."

That's about as much thought as he's had time to give the matter between spotting the door and diving through it.

"It's a start," she acknowledges, inclining her head very slightly.

"And after that? When he -- wakes?"

"He is certain to be calmer then."

Never let it be said that Castiel lacks faith.

Michael merely raises one eyebrow.

"Is he? But not comatose, I hope?"

"I..." Castiel casts an awkward glance over his shoulder, as if trying to assess his charge's condition. "I do not believe so."

"The damage is, by and large, not physical."

Damage on a spiritual level is harder to outwardly diagnose.

"Here we are outside of time. When he is fit to continue, I will complete my mission."

And hope that none of his superiors noticed the little detour.

"Most humans are not intended to withstand metaphysical damage," Michael says.

"Which, well. God grant that it doesn't put the rest of your mission in jeopardy. Whatever that mission may be."

Though there are limits.

Castiel nods. Though now a little niggle of doubt is nudging at the back of his mind.

"Should that prove to be the case, may I......I would not presume that you would be at the disposal of...."

Castiel shifts slightly.

"Should I need aid or advice, may I seek you out?"

Angels seem to be thin on the ground in Milliways. Castiel has never missed that backing more than at this moment, as the task he has set for himself--and the possible ramifications--begins to sink in.

"Of course, Castiel," Michael says -- almost kindly, for her.

"I have given you leave before. And, like any, you need only say my name."

Castiel nods.

"I thank you."

Though his burden is in no way growing heavy, Castiel's eyes drift toward the stairs.

"I should take him to a room. This would not be a good place for him to wake."

"There is likely no good place, but solitude is far kinder than this."

She flicks her fingers, the gesture encompassing the bar, the waitrats, the empty chairs that soon may not be empty at all.

"Yes."

Casteil nods and begins to move toward Bar.

"Quiet and solitude. I am sure Bar can accommodate the request."

"Can and will," Michael acknowledges, folding her arms over her chest.

She, on the other hand, will merely be waiting.

And watching.

It's a skill.

Castiel's request is answered by the appearance of a key on Bar's surface. He picks it up and reads the tag with an approving look.

With a last nod at Michael, Castiel starts up the stairs.

Secure in the knowledge that, if he needs it, reinforcements are only a word away.

Michael watches him go.

And then she keeps watching.

It has ever been so.

(Action comes later, if at all.)

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