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impala-dreamer · 5 years

Text

Take

SPN FanFic

~Jared and Misha deal with the aftermath of their drunken night.~

Jared x Misha, Jensen

2,535 Words

Warnings: NSFW. Sex and Angst.

A/N: This directly follows GIVE and will stand for my final @spnkinkbingo square "Rimming". Hope you enjoy! And yeah, there will be part three ;)

2019 Kink Bingo Masterlist ~ Feedback is Gold ~ My Masterlist ~ Become A Patreon

“Sam, I really don’t think it’s possible to simply walk into the warehouse. Not with that many demons on guard.”

Castiel turned in his seat, pivoting slightly to look at Sam. The man’s fingers were tight on the wheel, knuckles blanched and aching; a stray line of dried crimson decorating his wrist where Dean’s blood had sprayed onto him.

Sam kept his eyes on the road, narrowed and angry. “Damn it, Cas,” he sneered; lights from a passing truck illuminating his worried brow. He gripped the wheel tighter. “We’re getting in there. We’re getting Jack out.”

“Cut!” Jensen’s voice filled the soundstage and all movement ceased. There was a pause and then a small din of voices rang through the empty.

“There was a small sound issue,” Jensen explained, leaning an arm on the driver’s side door of the Impala. He leaned in, bill of his ball cap hitting the roof. He slapped Jared on the chest playfully and grinned. “Guys are doing great. Keep it up.” He winked at Misha and then was gone, running back to deal with his sound crew.

Jared let out a heavy sigh and leaned back a bit, sinking down so he could rest his head on the back of the seat.

Misha sat still, watching as Jared continued to ignore him.

All day it had been like this; working together was fine once that camera rolled, but everytime they stopped, Misha’s heart began to race. He was visibly panicked, even to the point of one of the PAs coming to ask if he felt alright. But Jared; Jared showed no signs of being off at all. He showed up, stood at his marks, said his lines, and that was that. He barely even looked at Misha, but he certainly didn’t act like anything was amiss.

The fact that Jared seemed fine made Misha worry even more. Did he remember the night before? Was it not good? Did he do something wrong? His head buzzed with questions but none slipped passed his lips.

Finally, Misha took the leap. “So, last night was…” His throat tightened and he swallowed hard.

Jared shifted in his seat, popping his eyes open as if Misha disturbed his nap. “Yeah.” His voice was thin and dry, just agreeing with a fact.

“I’m sorry about the call,” Misha went on, finding a bit of relief in Jared at least answering him. “I wanted to... hang out more with you, obviously, but-”

Jared cleared his throat. “Don’t worry about it.”

“No, it’s just... Jensen... you know how he gets when he’s directing,” Misha pushed, trying to apologize but fumbling. “He gets so agitated and stressed...he...he needed me.”

Jared huffed and crossed his arms, leaning back in the seat again. “I said don’t worry about it. We’re cool.”

Misha’s patience was gone. “Really?” he snapped, “because you haven’t looked at me all day.��

Jaw clenched and eyes empty, Jared sat up and turned his head towards Misha. “I’m looking at you,” he said stiffly, one eyebrow slightly raised in annoyance.

Misha’s stomach churned and he looked away. “OK then.” He could feel Jared’s eyes still on him, carving a deep trench into his cheekbones, burning holes in his temple. “I just wanted...us to be OK…” He didn’t turn his eyes back to Jared’s, simply held his breath for an answer that never came.

Jensen nearly gave him a heart attack, rushing up to his window, headphones slung around his neck, ballcap turned, green tee a rumpled mess. “OK, hear me out,” he said, firm directing tone locked in. “We’re gonna try this one more time, except I want…”

There hadn’t been another opportunity to talk. Any time they paused or changed scenes, Jensen pulled Misha along with him, keeping him by his side. It wasn’t anything unusual, but Misha’s mind was elsewhere. It was back in Baby with Jared, back in that awkward moment when Misha had exploded and Jared sneered. He was near to shaking with worry again, and nothing short of talking face to face with Jared would stop it.

Luckily, they broke for lunch a bit early. Double lucky, Jensen got pulled away by Bob to look over a stunt for that afternoon.

Misha, still in costume, trekked to the back lot and rapped his knuckles on Jared’s trailer door. He was determined to talk, unwilling to be shoved off, ready to defy Jared’s nonchalance and resolve their friendship. Nothing could stop him.

Jared’s face when he opened the door stopped Misha’s breath. He chewed his lip and looked down, hazel eyes squinting in the sunlight, hair still sprayed into place but shining so brightly. Misha gasped as he looked up.

The silence was ridiculous.

Jared refused to speak, pushing the door fully open before disappearing up the stairs. Misha managed to grab the door before it swung shut, quickly hopping up the stairs and letting the door close behind him.

He stood in the living area, just a step behind Jared, his eyes to the floor as he made his confession. “Listen, I’m really sorry,” he said softly, voice dropping to a hard whisper. “About last night and everything, but… if you’re mad at me, I get it, but-”

His words and wind were cut off as Jared lunged at him, grabbing his face between those giant hands once more and kissing him hard. Misha stumbled backwards as Jared’s tongue slipped inside his mouth, moaning in shock, eyes wide and full.

Jared let him go only to breathe, hands still holding his face tightly. “I...I can’t stop thinking about doing that. All fucking day.”

Misha faltered, his knees weakening as Jared held him there, entraced by pink lips and a sultry confession. “Fuck…”

A smirk lit Jared’s lips and his eyes fell downwards, traipsing over Misha’s body. “Can we?” he asked in a heavy breath. His hands finally moved from Misha’s cheeks, the left curling around the nape of his neck, fingertips dancing through his soft black hair. “I mean…” His right hand sank down between them, turning at Misha’s stomach and reaching to cup his cock. He rubbed his palm over him gently, leaning in with wet lips for a second kiss.

“Holy fuck…” Misha’s eyes rolled as Jared touched him, his dick filling with the blood that drained from his face. “Jared...I…”

Another kiss made him moan and Jared watched Misha’s face fall limp with lust. “Shh.” He licked at Misha’s thick lips, distracting him as he took a step, walking him backwards until Misha hit the wall.

“Oh fuck.” Misha sucked in a deep breath as Jared’s lips attacked his neck, sucking hard on his pulse, nipping and licking his way down. “Please.”

Jared bent at the knees, sinking down to press himself against Misha, running his hands upwards, slipping his fingers beneath his layers. A shrug of shoulders and a kiss later, Misha’s suit and coat were at their feet. Jared tugged at the tie, loosening it’s hold on Misha’s neck. He wanted to be there, to taste and kiss every place he could reach; the tie was just in the way.

“God, you feel so good,” Misha moaned as Jared pushed against him, full weight pinning him to the wall.

“So do you,” Jared hummed and tugged against Misha’s belt, determined to reach inside.

Hips lifted, fingers worked, the zipper fell.

“Fuck!”

Jared’s long fingers wrapped fully around Misha’s cock, slowly pumping until he was full and aching. “Be quiet,” he warned, covering Misha’s mouth with his huge palm for just a moment. He looked him dead in the eyes and smiled; a perfect devil in the dim room. “I want you.”

Misha could feel his breath pushing back at him, reflected off Jared’s big hand. He mumbled into Jared’s palm; a prayer, a plea, a note of consent.

“Want you,” he mimicked, gasping for air as Jared moved his hand, tugging at his shirt, nearly ripping the buttons open.

“Get on the bed,” Jared growled, gathering up a handful of Misha’s shirt and spinning with him. “Now.” He shoved hard and Misha stumbled, awed and weak with lust, towards the bedroom in the back of the trailer.

Jared slammed the door shut behind him, making Misha jump and spin around, body shaking, cock hard and leaking.

“Hey.” Jared smiled gently, leaning back against the door. He nearly covered the entire portal, head to toe, long body on a slant; beautiful.

Nerves suddenly took over, synapses crashing like storm clouds through Misha’s head. He shifted from left to right, hands dangling at his sides, unsure of what to do, where to look. “Hi,” he replied finally, tongue and teeth taking turns to mal his bottom lip.

Jared pushed himself away from the door, rising to full height as he took a step closer. “Nervous?”

Misha swallowed down the fear, opting for logic, communication. “We don’t have to do this,” he said, trying to sound casual.

“I want to,” Jared told him honestly, creeping ever closer, long legs closing the space between them in two strides. “Don’t you?”

Misha hissed as Jared pulled him close, index fingers hooking into the elastic of his bright blue briefs. Their hips met with a forceful slam and Misha could feel just how much Jared was enjoying manhandling him.

"God, I want you so bad you have no idea." Misha's voice curled at the end, vocal chords tightening as Jared yanked the stretchy cotton from Misha's right hip.

"Good."

His growl was enough to send Misha reeling. His eyes unfocused as Jared yanked at his clothing, ripping away the layers piece by piece. His breath stopped and started, his heart jumping each time Jared’s hands brushed against a newly bare patch of skin. He watched Jared’s face as he worked; his gaze steady yet full of lust, focused on his task, wanting to see and feel every inch. It was maddening, exciting, terrifying, and Misha’s goofy smile was unbreakable.

“On the bed,” Jared whispered, giving Misha’s shoulders a shove. “Hands and knees. I want to see you.”

Shaking, Misha climbed onto Jared’s bed. His knees sunk into the pillowtop mattress, his palms were cradled by the plush blanket. A rush of cool air hit his ass as Jared neared the bed, quickly moving through the room towards his goal.

“Fucking perfect,” Jared murmured, eyes trailing over Misha’s toned body. His thighs were thick, muscles tight, calves perfectly sculpted, ass round and firm. “Jesus.”

Misha tried to say something, anything, to break apart the giant lump of anticipation that had settled in his throat, but it all came out in a heavy sigh as Jared’s long middle finger traced a line down Misha’s back. “Oh…” He sucked in a deep breath as Jared climbed onto the bed behind him, his weight causing Misha to fall backwards a bit as the bed sank. He bit his lip as Jared leaned over him, rough denim and soft flannel pressing into his skin. Waves of heat fell from Jared, pouring into Misha’s bones, filling every space inside of him. He moaned when Jared’s lips fluttered on the nape of his neck, gasped when his hot tongue slid down his spine, groaned as Jared kissed his way down the taut muscles and tanned skin.

“Fuck, Jared…”

Jared hummed in reply and shifted back on the bed, falling down as his kisses landed, wet and firm on Misha’s backside. He cupped each cheek in his big hands and spread them gently with his thumbs, smiling as Misha tensed.

“Relax.” Jared’s whisper fell, hot against Misha’s tight hole, followed by a press of lips that made his eyes roll back.

“Oh my god…”

“You like that?” Jared asked, pulling back just an inch.

Misha rocked backwards on his knees and nodded quickly. “Yes, fuck.”

A swipe of hot tongue made Misha shiver and hold his breath. He clenched his fists, fingers digging into the blankets as Jared ran the tip of his tongue around and around.

“Holy shit.” Misha cursed into the bed, burying his face in the mattress as Jared licked and kissed. When his tongue plunged into him, Misha froze, his entire body clenching as Jared slipped inside. “Fuck!”

Jared chuckled and pulled his tongue away, gently lapping at the sensitive flesh. “I love making you cuss.”

“Well, fuck you,” Misha teased, pushing back against Jared’s mouth and recieving a suctioning kiss in return. “Fuck!”

Pleased with Misha’s outburst, Jared doubled his efforts, adding his giant fist to the mix, reaching around to grip Misha’s thick cock. He pumped slowly, matching his pace, fucking in and out of Misha’s ass with his tongue as he jerked him off.

Misha’s vision blurred. The walls began to pulse and spin; his heart raced. “Please...fuck, please don’t stop…”

Jared drank down Misha’s begging, smiling to himself as he squeezed Misha’s cock. “Want you to feel like I felt last night,” he growled against him.

Misha’s arms began to buckle, unable to hold himself up much longer. His entire frame was shaking, consumed by pressure building in front and behind. “Fuck, I’m...I’m gonna cum.”

Jared hummed in approval and thrust his tongue deeper inside as he pumped his wrist faster. Grunting through a clenched jaw, Misha came, spilling out through the web of Jared’s fingers and leaking down onto the blanket. His arms gave out, crumbling beneath him, sending him face down onto the bed.

“Shit!” He rolled, stomach still twitching, chest heaving. He looked back at Jared, his cheeks pink, lips ruddy and wet, eyes dark with lust. “Come here.”

Jared was hard, pushing into Misha’s bare thigh as he fell down on top of him. Their kiss was brief, Misha breaking away to shift below Jared, reaching down to unzip his jeans.

“Need you...inside of me,” he begged, jaw slack, eyes rolling.

Jared kissed him hard and pushed upwards between Misha’s legs, rolling his hips upwards.

Banging on the trailer door stopped them both; the very air around them hanging in a dramatic pause.

“Mr. Padalecki! You’re needed on set in five.”

The PA knocked once more and then left, but the damage was done.

Still hard and rocking against Misha’s aching ass, Jared looked down and licked his lips, catching his breath. “Later?”

Misha panicked, suddenly remembering where they were and more importantly, who they were. “I...I don’t know,” he admitted with a cringe. “Jensen... he-”

Jared pulled away quickly, rolling and then jumping up from the bed. “Fine. Fine, that’s fine.” He turned away and adjusted his jeans, keeping his voice as even an as uncaring as possible. “Gen’s supposed to bring the kids up this weekend anyway. I should get the house ready. That’s fine. Whatever.”

Misha scooted to the end of the bed, reaching for his briefs. “Jared, don’t be upset, please.” He stood, pulling the cotton up with him. He reached for Jared’s elbow, trying to pull him back. “I want this,” he said honestly, “I do. I just...I have obligations.”

Jared shrugged his hand away and laughed bitterly. “Yeah.” He was at the door before his sarcasm fell from the air. “Don’t we all?”

2019 Forever Tags:

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#spn fanfic #mishalecki #misha x jared #cockles #jensen x misha #spnkinkbingo #mini series #smut

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impala-dreamer · 5 years

Text

The Chosen - Part Two

Rebekah’s Story

Written and conceived by @impala-dreamer and @covered-byroses

~If there was a chance to save Dean, a chance to save her friend…why wouldn’t she take it?~

Michael x Beka, Sam, Y/N, Castiel, Kelly, OMC

11,187 Words

Warnings: NSFW. Angst. Death. Ethics. Theology. Blood. Darkness. Sexual Activity. All the Angst. All the Incredible emotions that come with it.

A/N: Kelly and I are immensely proud of this and hope that you enjoy. Take your time with it, let it sink in. We know that this simple two parter topped out at very close to 20k, but we stand by every single word, and we thank you for reading.

The Chosen - Part One ~ Feedback is Gold ~ Impala-Dreamer’s Masterlist ~ Coverd-byroses’s Masterlist ~ Become A Patreon

She screamed. She couldn’t help it.

His grip was tight, fingers pressing into her scalp even as he tugged, the pain spreading like a web across her skull. It trickled down her spine like an ice bath until Beka could feel her arms going numb; Michael’s touch pushing against some nerve in her neck that sent warning signals throughout her body.

Shut down. Run from the pain.

Beka screamed and Michael sneered, dipping his chin to meet her eye line. His eyes were bright; Grace consuming every speck of green with blinding blue, and Beka struggled to look away.

“Please!”

She hated herself for screaming, for begging; she had made it this far fueled by a tepid mix of pure stubbornness and borrowed fortitude, and to lose it now, to face certain death like some scared child was something she could neither abide nor avoid.

Michael let out a sigh that had weight, more of a deep growl than an exhale, and Beka held her breath, waiting for the end.

With his left hand fisted in her hair, his right rose to cradle her cheek, forcing her to hold still and look up at him at him as she died. Michael wanted to watch her soul depart, to see the exact millisecond when the darkness of her pupils took over and the russet iris went lifeless and dull. He wanted to savor it; a little sweet revenge for the games she’d been playing.

Michael let his fingers tighten on her skin and he parted his lips, wanting to suck down her tearful cry. He sent out a wisp of Grace and she shut her eyes against the glow, making his teeth gnash in annoyance.

“Look at me!”

His roar snapped her eyes open and Michael’s lips curled, ready to end the pathetic creature in his hands. He took one last look, deep into her eyes and the world spun around him, his mind drifting back to another realm.

The wind was laced with smoke, dust spun around his boots but never settled. The sky was yellow with fires that burned forever; clouds made of earth and ash instead of rain.

Michael landed atop the hill, gilded white wings spread wide, feathers still twitching from his flight. He looked out over the ruined landscape, dark eyes surveying his Angelic Army as it took out a rogue settlement just west of Reno.

He felt it before he saw it. The air shifted just so, turning his face towards the wreckage of a barn. The dying sun sparked off of a metallic sphere and Michael watched as the bomb rolled to the middle of the field, detonating within seconds and taking out four of his soldiers. With their wings turned to coal, ashes stolen by the breeze, the rebels attacked, circling the remaining angels and using all manner of supernatural weapons to cause as much damage as possible.

Michael’s most trusted, his confidant, Radueriel, was trapped amidst the scuffle. She was talented in strategy, an overseer of archives, but not a fighter. Michael had sent her on a reconnaissance mission, gravely miscalculating the danger. She had been spared from the blast, but was surrounded, and while she held her own, Radueriel was heavily outnumbered.

Michael joined the fray, swooping in like a knight upon his steed, using his Grace to hold back the human scum that dared defy him. One by one, the mortals fell, Michael easily taking them down, but not without tragedy.

Before he could reach her, Radueriel fell; brilliant brown eyes sparking violently before the Grace inside was gone.

Michael pulled in a deep breath and shook himself, his Grace subsiding as he realized he was looking down into the same brown eyes all over again. Ghosts of home were forever nipping at his heels, but here was one, solid and corporeal, in his hands.

“G-go ahead,” Beka gasped, pulling a final molecule of defiance from the depths of her being. “Just get it over with. Kill me.”

Michael cocked his head and relaxed his hold, letting his fingers slip out from her hair, his palm fall from her cheek. He closed his eyes slowly and took a breath, calming himself and quickly rebuilding the wall that his memory had struck down.

“Do it!” she yelled, in her fear not perceiving the subtle change in his posture or the dulling of his expression to mean that he was standing down. She was braced for death and ready to go down with a fight. “Go on!”

Michael regained his composure and set a cocky smirk upon his lips. Raising his chin to look down his nose at her, he laughed. “Oh, no, my dear. I’m going to do so much worse than that.”

A shudder tore through the woman and Michael watched the pulse throb in her neck.

Beka’s eyes flashed between both of his, terrified and searching for an out. “Fine,” she said in a hoarse whisper, trying to calm herself and find her courage. “Don’t kill me. Then…let Kelly go.” She nodded to the cage. “I’ll stay in your cage. Just… set her free.”

Michael took a step back, watching carefully as Beka teetered without him there to catch her. He playfully imagined her attached to a string, a marionette waiting for his talented hand.

“Why would I let her go?” he asked simply. “Kelly is very happy being my little... pet. Aren’t you?”

He let his eyes drift slowly from Beka to the cage where Kelly was waiting patiently, watching the show. She was up on her knees, two tiny fingers hooked onto the horizontal bars that shadowed her face.

“Yes, Sir!” she replied with a chipper smile.

Green eyes returned to Beka, palms open and up in a subtle shrug. “See?”

Beka shivered. “I don’t know what you did to her,” she said, tossing an accusatory finger at the Archangel, “but that is not happy.”

Michael dropped his hands to settle at his sides. His eyes closed for a moment as a sigh of disappointment flowed from his lips. “Why can’t you trust in me?” he asked softly. “What have I ever done to you that’s caused this...fear and distrust?”

The absurdity of the entire situation topped with his question shook Beka to the core and a wildly inappropriate laugh escaped her chapped lips. “What? I… I don’t even know where to start.” She laughed again and crossed her arms, leaning towards him. “You’re wearing my friend for one. And…” An overly sarcastic nod towards Kelly. “You got another friend locked in a fucking dog cage.”

Michael tilted his head, brows knitting in confusion. “Dean let me in...Kelly prayed. They both came to me willingly. As did you.”

Beka steeled as she narrowed her eyes at him. “I came to kill you.”

“No,” the Archangel rumbled with a curt shake of his head. One corner of his mouth tugged with a cool smirk.“You didn’t.”

“I did,” Beka insisted, a confident smile curling her own lips. “I’ve been playing you for weeks.”

Michael’s smile faded at her words, the olive of his eyes darkening into a deep jade. “You think I didn’t know?” He huffed a venomous laugh that was void of any semblance of humor. “You’re not that good of an actress, Rebekah.” The Angel’s lips again twisted into a sinister smirk as he dipped his chin. “I can see your heart. I’ve been in your mind.” His mouth went slack as his eyes dimmed into something hungry. “I have tasted your...desire. I know what you want…” Beka couldn’t breathe. Michael grinned. “And it’s not to kill me.”

A pregnant pause settled between them and Beka’s voice was faint when she spoke again.

“You’re wrong.”

Michael laughed, ruddy lips pulling back to expose perfect ivory teeth. “So stubborn. So...human.” He bit his bottom lip as mossy eyes danced around her face. “Just give in to me. You know how...happy I can make you. I can take away your pain, your...worry. Everything. Just let go. Be with me.”

Beka swallowed and licked at her dry lips. She felt heavy and light-headed.

“No.” Her voice was barely a whisper, but her resolve was strong.

The Archangel simply blinked, then hummed as he brought a hand up to brush a strand of dark hair from Beka’s eyes. His fingertips burned her skin.

“We’ll see.”

Her heart slowed like the tick of a time bomb as Michael leaned in, his eyes slowly falling to target her lips. A quick breath was held and Beka closed her eyes, hoping that if he was out of sight, the uncontrollable desire swirling inside of her would forget and leave. But he was so close, his breath so hot on her lips, his fingertips curled perfectly around her ear.

The second stretched into eternity and Beka found herself slipping, her mind screaming for him to close the gap. She parted her lips gently and lifted them in offering.

“Michael…”

A clang of metal stole the moment as Kelly rattled the bars of her cage.

In an instant, Michael was gone, dropping to Kelly's side as Beka shivered with his departure.

The spell quickly faded and Beka shook her head to clear the remainder away. She had to fight this. Kelly was still trapped and Dean… at this point she wasn't sure if Dean was still alive or that whole thing had been a cruel joke played by Michael to confuse her.

If it was, it had worked.

“Hush now.” Michael smiled at his captive and stuck two fingers through the cage. Kelly immediately smiled and pressed her head against his hand, sighing as Michael pet her.

Kelly quieted and sat back with a dreamy smile on her face, which was nothing short of horrid to Beka who watched on. As Michael dipped into his coat pocket, Beka began to wander, slowly inching towards the door.

Michael withdrew a single chocolate kiss from his coat and held it out for Kelly to take, smiling in amusement as she grabbed it. “There's a good girl,” he mused, watching as she peeled away the shining wrapper and popped the treat between her lips.

Beka was confused by the display of obvious affection. “So,” she asked, taking stock of the room and the lack of weapons available. “Why Kelly, anyway? Why keep her around?”

Michael offered Kelly a final pat on the head. “She prayed the loudest.” It was, for him, a simple explanation, but Beka could not accept it.

Anger rose in her throat like bile. “She would never pray to you.”

“But she did.” Michael stood then, rising to his feet with an ease that Dean no longer possessed. “She dreamt, she wrote, used all of her energy to call out to me over and over.” He turned to Beka with arms open and shrugged. “Her want was pure.”

“Ah.” Beka gave him a mocking smile as she nodded and took another step towards the door. “So you're just an ego fiend,” she laughed, “explains the blog.”

Michael smiled thoughtfully, stepping toward her. “The blog is...a means to an end.”

“You’re enjoying it,” Beka shot back. “Don’t deny it.”

“I deny nothing,” the Angel said, forehead creasing with perplexity. “I do enjoy it. So many…” His eyes lifted toward the ceiling as he searched for the right word. “Toys.”

“Toys?” Beka parroted, incredulous.

“Toys,” Michael confirmed. “Humans. Women...” His smile was soft, his voice like silk as he spoke. “Throwing themselves at my feet every moment of the day. They think they’re playing a game...but they are giving themselves to me.” He sighed. “It is...enlivening.”

“You’re sick,” Beka hissed.

“Come now, Rebekah,” Michael grinned, green eyes sparking with mirth. “You wouldn’t want to be one of my... playthings?”

Heat curled in Beka’s stomach at his words and her breath caught in her throat.

“Never,” she whispered.

“You lie.” Michael’s voice had a sharp edge to it, and she stiffened as he took a step closer.

Terrified as she was, Beka couldn’t break. She wouldn’t break. With the last fleck of confidence in her, she bared her teeth and spat, “Fuck. You.”

In a flash, he was on her again, breath meeting hers, big hand tight on the nape of her neck. His usually composed face trembled with agitation, and Beka held her tongue.

“You,” he seethed, blunt nails curling into the pale flesh under her hair. “Need to be taught some...respect.”

Y/N's eyes grew wider with every scroll of her finger, each line she read making her heart race until she was sure it would explode.

“Oh, no. No. No.” She chastised the screen, her friend, herself for not paying closer attention. “Goddamnit, Beka!”

Her fist hit the table as her anger bubbled and the splintering pain caught her by surprise.

“Fuck!” The curse rang loud through her room and drifted into the hallway, quickly followed by the slap of her bare feet and another yell. “Sam!”

He wasn't asleep. He was just resting his eyes. Just being self indulgent and closing his strained eyes for two minutes while the world collapsed around him. Taking a selfish five minutes to sit in silence with his temple resting on his knuckles, his elbow on the hard desk. He wasn't asleep.

“Sam!”

Y/N's frantic scream ripped his eyes open and dragged him instantly from the cusp of sleep. He jumped from his spot and gasped, brain desperate for an anchor as he felt around for his gun.

“Sam!” A little softer this time as Y/N ran into his bedroom, and Sam relaxed a fraction, realizing her scream was not out of need but excitement.

“What happened?” He was still disoriented, blinking wildly up at her as Y/N shoved her laptop in his face.

“Beka's in Texas,” she said with a proud smirk.

“What? How do you know?”

“Ah…” She set the computer down before him, uncaring of the shuffled mess of papers he'd been pouring over before exhaustion tapped on his shoulder. “Well…” A few clicks and Y/N pulled up Beka’s blog.

Sam squinted at the screen. “What the hell is this?”

“Her blog.” Y/N waved a dismissive hand and scrolled as Sam looked on. “You remember, she asked you if you cared she was writing stuff and you said no. I have one too.”

“You do?”

“Well, it’s just… like… Chris Evans gifs and cat stuff…”

Sam’s forehead creased as he raised his eyebrows mockingly.

“Oh, shut up! Some of us need hobbies. Anyway… I haven’t been on in forever since we’ve been a little busy, but Beka is always on her blog, so I thought I’d look and… well… look!” She gestured frantically to the screen and Sam sighed, narrowing his eyes as the brightness made his head hurt.

Sometime caught his eye and he leaned in, his index finger quickly finding the arrow keys and scrolling through Beka’s blog.

“This isn’t...what? No.” He clicked through a hundred posts from over the last week, asks and answers, random reblogged things. It looked like a joke- someone roleplaying as Michael, and yet, some of it felt… “This isn’t real.”

“Seriously?” Y/N popped a hip and hung her hand on it. “Look at it, Sam. Read between the lines.”

He shook his head as he went through everything. “Holy shit.”

“Yeah. And…” Y/N pulled the computer away and tapped the keys a few times, easily hacking into Beka’s account.

“How do you know her password?”

“She’s my best friend,” Y/N scoffed. “And it’s Dean’s birthday. It wasn’t that hard to figure out. Here… read.”

Sam grabbed the laptop from her and held it up, hazel eyes growing wide and then narrowing with anger as he read through Beka’s private messages. For more than a week it seemed, she had gone back and forth with Michael, and Sam was in utter shock. They talked about nothing and everything, of missions and fate. He told her of his plans, she told him of her life. They talked all night, every night, and after a while, the messages took on a new form. There were lovesick messages intertwined with hopeful admissions of passion, mentions of dreams and Michael’s desires for her, of her hesitation and ultimate submission to him. Sam read on and on, unable to believe that she’d kept such a thing from him.

As much as the public posts seemed like mere roleplaying, it was clear to Sam that the private talks were real. This was Michael. Beka had found him and not said a damn word about it. She’d been catfishing the very Archangel they’d been looking for and kept it all to herself.

“Why would she do this?” Sam sat back in his seat, just to take a breath, and Y/N shrugged. “Wait, how do you know she’s in Texas?”

Y/N sighed and took back the keyboard. “Strap in, Sam.”

A little maneuvering of Tumblr brought her to another blog, and she tilted the screen for Sam. He sat forward and read through a month’s worth of Michael-centric posts as she explained.

“This blog belongs to Kelly, whom I believe is being actually held captive by Michael at her home in Vernon, Texas.”

Sam lifted a brow towards her but kept scrolling. “Who’s Kelly?”

“Do you like, ever pay attention to anyone but Dean?” Y/N bit, exasperated and ignoring Sam’s eye roll. “Kelly is Beka’s old friend from college. They hunted together for like five years before she met you guys; she’s talked about her.”

Sam shrugged, clueless. “OK, so, Kelly’s a hunter in Texas and Michael kidnapped her?”

“No!” Y/N sighed dramatically and rubbed her forehead. “Kelly’s retired. Something happened with her and Beka on a hunt… I don’t remember the details, but they split up and haven't really seen each other since. Beka didn’t like to talk about what happened, but I know she kept tabs on Kelly.”

“So… OK.” Sam sat back and scratched at his beard.

“You keeping up?”

Sam scoffed. “Yes.”

“OK, so… it seems like Michael went and made himself comfy at Kelly’s place and Beka found out and… ya know…”

“Snuck out in the middle of the night to confront a murderous archangel without telling anyone where she was going?”

“In her defense… it was morning.”

“She’s being an idiot.”

“That’s not up for debate.”

They stared at each other for a moment and then at the screen, each of them breathing deeply, preparing for what was next.

“Meet ya at the car in twenty?” Y/N asked finally.

Sam scrubbed a tired hand down his face and nodded. “Make it fifteen.”

Beka wobbled on her feet, still dizzy from the teleportation. She was no stranger to it, having known Cas for so long, but it still shook her to her bones. She rubbed her forehead, the press of Michael’s fingertips still warm and lingering on her skin.

Michael was cool and calm beside her while she whipped her head about, trying to make sense of her surroundings.

They were in a chapel, that much she knew. A Catholic chapel from the looks of the framed paintings of biblical scenes and the large crucifix hanging against the pristine white wall. A priest knelt at the altar, head bowed, completely oblivious to the Angel and Hunter standing behind him. The room was silent save for the man’s murmured prayers and the soft pattering of rain against the stained glass windows.

Beka held her breath, trepidation twisting her gut as her mind reeled for an explanation to why Michael would bring her here.

The Archangel broke the silence by clearing his throat. The priest froze, slowly twisting around to to face the source of the sound. His eyes widened at the sight of his sudden visitors, but before he had a chance to speak, the deep rumble of Michael’s borrowed voice filled the room.

“Father Mckenzie.”

Beka’s eyes floated up to the Angel’s, brows furrowed in confusion.

“Yes?” The priest stiffly rose to his feet, a kind smile carving into his face. “How may I-”

The man sucked in a sharp gasp, terrified as Michael let his Grace brightly filter through his vessel’s eyes.

“What are you?” His voice was a low, shaky whisper, and his complexion had noticeably paled.

“Oh, you know me,” Michael said with a cool smirk, bright blue gaze fading back to green. “You’ve...preached about me. And my brothers.”

“Y-you’re an Archangel.”

“Bingo. Michael. In case you were wondering.”

The priest fell to his knees, the thump loud against the hard floor. He brought his hands up, folding them tightly as he began to pray.

“No-no,” Michael protested, waving a hand at the gesture. “None of that. I only want to ask you a simple question.”

The man’s hands fell away, his hands frozen on the being before him.

“Anything,” he breathed.

The atmosphere of the chapel thickened as Michael leaned forward, head dipped toward the wood floor.

“What...do you want?”

“What? I don’t...I don’t understand.” The priest’s face was pulled in a firm expression of puzzlement, his eyes wide.

“What do you want?” Michael repeated. “It’s a simple question, Father. It could be anything. What do you want most in the world?”

There was a long pause as the godly man considered the Angel’s inquiry, and icy dread settled into Beka’s bones as she waited.

“Humbleness,” the man said.

“Mmm,” Michael hummed, lips stretching in a tight smile. “This is why you donate to charities? To humble yourself?”

“Of course,” the priest replied with a clipped nod. “All of us should.” The man smiled softly. “Sadly, modesty is no longer a valued trait in this day and time.”

Michael grinned a cold, sinister grin, and Beka felt sick to her stomach. This wasn’t good. Something was about to happen.

“So, you’re a humble man, hmm?” the Archangel asked. “You’re...modest?”

“I am,” the man agreed. “I’m not perfect, of course, but...I do try to lead by example.”

“And the woman you laid with last night? The woman you..bought. Was she an example?”

Something flickered across the priest’s face, but he quickly blinked it away. “I’m sorry, I don’t know-”

“But you do know.” Michael’s voice was chilling and his grin had not faltered. “How many women have you...made an example of?” The Angel’s eyes rolled back, lips twitching as he counted under his breath. “Six this week. “If I’m not mistaken.”

Beka swallowed as she watched the man start to tremble, her heartbeat thundering in her ears.

“You’ve quite the appetite for flesh, Father Mckenzie,” Michael rumbled.

The priest was panting, true fear evident in his wild eyes. “Please,” he whimpered. “I’m only human...I’ve made mistakes-”

“Yes,” Michael agreed. “You have. Thank you for your time...Father.”

The Angel turned then, and Beka felt a sprout of relief deep in her chest.

The hopeful feeling quickly dissipated.

“Close your eyes,” Michael instructed, hard gaze briefly locking with hers.

“No, please - don’t!” Beka’s plea fell on deaf ears, and she quickly slapped both hands over tightly shut eyes just as Michael’s began to glow a scorching blue.

She could hear it, the sizzling heat as the Archangel burned the man alive - but the smell, the smell was the worst.

Silence fell over the room again in a matter of seconds, and Beka flinched when big hands closed around her forearms.

“It’s over, Rebekah. It’s done.”

She let Michael pull her hands away, blinking rapidly to let her eyes readjust to the room. He turned her so that she was facing the mess left of the man, and bile immediately rose in her throat at the sight.

The priest was nothing more than a...puddle.

Beka closed her eyes, swallowing hard against the putrid heat that pushed up from her stomach. “You… why...oh my god.”

“God...has no power here. He left this to us to deal with.”

“He was just a man!” she raged, spinning to face him again. “He was a good man!”

Michael was still, calmly watching her spin out. “Was he?”

She looked around, frantically searching for answers on the air. Her shoulders shook up and down, her hands reached for nothing. “I… He… He was a priest!”

“Rebekah.” Michael called to her gently, taking a step towards her, his fingertips brushing the hem of his coat. “I don’t have to tell you how corrupt much of the Church is. And you know better than most the kind of hypocrisy that has run rampant in this world.”

“No.” She turned away again, hands rising to cradle her pounding skull.

Michael ignored her attempt at walking away from his lesson and continued, matching each of her steps with one of his own. “The good Father, stole from the church coffers to pay for the woman he brought here. He drugged them with pills dissolved in sacramental wine, wine that he dedicated to the Lord daily, and laid with them on this...very floor.”

Beka couldn’t help but look to him then, in disbelief and a need to hear the rest. Her heart was racing as fast as her thoughts, and Michael’s voice could always calm the rush.

“Some would leave here bruised, some broken,” he went on, “all humiliated and used. All scarred irreparably; body and mind.” He paused to let the last piece sink in, and Beka looked away, breathing heavy as she stared at the pile of charred clerics on the floor. “Now tell me, Rebekah, was he a good man?”

She couldn’t answer. Her tongue was as useless as she had been while Michael murdered the priest. She stood by, listening as he went on, trying in vain to pull out a lie amidst his words.

“This man is not the exception, he is the rule.” Michael stepped up to the muck beside her, careful to skirt the bloody puddle and keep his shoes out of the mess. “All of creation is flawed like this man was. The lies, the...pain visited upon one another…” He took a deep breath as if his words upset him, as if humanity burned him in some way. “No other species in this world harms itself for pleasure...for gain.” He shook his head sadly. “Humans are evil, ruined things.”

Beka shook her head, her eyes glued to the remains. “And you’re going to fix them?” she asked in a whisper.

“I will,” he confirmed, turning at the waist to look at her. “I will save Mankind. You will help me.”

The certainty in his voice, the utter lack of questioning or offer made her angry. She turned away again, battling herself as well as him. “I can’t.” She stopped and let her head fall back, eyes lifting to an empty ceiling, to a God who wasn’t there. “You are so wrong.” Tears tightened her throat and she looked back at Michael. “People are inherently good. You’re confusing a few… bad apples with a dead orchard. It’s not like that.”

Michael nodded as he came towards her, accepting her analogy. “Does not one rotten apple spoil the entire basket?” he asked in honest debate. “The cancer always spreads.”

Her voice was weak, a revenant whisper that echoed nonetheless in the cavernous room. “Cancer can be stopped, slowed.”

“Exactly.” Michael smiled, a hint of excitement lighting his face. “I will stop it. You will help me.”

It all seemed so simple when he spoke, but Beka could not accept it. She believed in the good of people, in their ability to make the right decisions, to be… good. All the bad she’d seen in her life never stopped her for long. There was always something good, always someone who could pull her back from the faltering ledge of disbelief. Sam had taught her that. Dean had taught her. People were good. Crazy, flawed, yes, but not hopeless. Not condemnable.

But Michael wasn't too far from the other truth, and she knew it. She'd known many men like Father McKenzie. She had seen men of power say one thing and in the shadows do another. There was no hiding the plain facts that Michael laid out for her now; the simplicity of his plans. It was one thing to hear them, see his words flashing on a screen, but to see them...to feel them…

Her eyes burned with tears she refused to let go. Her body shook with a shiver so intense that it clattered her teeth against one another. Her breath was quick, chest tight. She was spinning into a panic, unable as contradicting thoughts battled in her mind, to pull up.

The room began to spin and Beka held her head, clawing at her own cheeks as the walls became an impossible wave of moveable stone. “I can't...it's not...the whole...point...you…”

Her jaw dropped suddenly as the next breath refused to come. Her eyes bulged and her mouth parched. Violent white began to paint her vision, but Michael pulled her back.

“Rebekah…” His voice sounded miles away but she heard it. It called to her again and she turned her eyes to meet his. “Breathe, my love.”

A warm hand cupped her cheek and Beka took that breath finally, sucking in a lungful of air and letting out a pathetic cry. A single tear escaped her left eye and Michael swept it away with a gentle pass of his fingers.

“Please do not cry,” he whispered, earnestly. “This is a good thing. A new world will be born and you will be with me, by my side. Forever.”

His smile was soft and kind but Beka froze in his gaze. She had seen that smile a thousand times before but it was wrong. The blank intensity of his stare was wrong. Everything was just… wrong.

“Let go of your fear and take the first step with me.” Michael held both cheeks now, softly cradling her face as she twisted inside. “You understand,” he insisted. “I know you do.”

Beka could feel another wave of anxiety eroding her thoughts and she stiffened against him. “Let me go.”

Michael's smile fell and contorted into a disappointed line. The crease between his eyes deepend and he dropped his hands, hurt by her words.

“I am not keeping you here,” he said sadly. “You may leave me whenever you wish.”

She pulled away quickly, boots echoing on the stone floor as she ran to the door. Before she pulled it open, a pang of regret struck her heart and she looked back over her shoulder. “I...I just need to be alone for a bit. I’m sorry.”

Michael nodded solemnly and watched her leave. He had no fear of her running off, no worry that she would not return. He knew he had her. She belonged to him even before tonight, before they’d met face to face. This was all just... sealing the deal.

Sam’s grip was firm but his hands still slipped from the wheel. Every few miles he would drop them to his jeans and wipe the sweat away with a disgusted grimace. Maybe it was nerves, the thought of finally confronting Michael after all these weeks of searching certainly had his stomach in knots, but it was also the utter uncertainty of what they were walking into.

Beka’s messages, her behaviour, her posts, they were all incredibly strange. She wasn’t herself when she was talking to Michael. It was almost as if he had reached through the computer screen and doused her with a love potion. On the other hand, she could have been pretending, acting the part to draw him in, gain his trust, and then lure him out of hiding. Sam wasn’t sure which was it was, but either direction had its potholes and detours. Beka was stubborn, painfully so, and once she had it in her mind to do something, there was only one person who could usually talk her out of it, and Dean wasn’t exactly on call anymore.

Sam almost hoped she’d been hit by a Grace-induced love spell. At least that they could remedy. Pure stubbornness and a reluctance to ever ask for help, even in life or death situations made for a hard combo to combat.

Castiel noticed Sam’s shaking knee and leaned towards him a bit, the Impala’s leather bench squeaking under the shifting weight. “We will bring her home, Sam.” His voice was low and gruff, and Y/N’s head popped up in the backseat, pulled from her sleepy haze.

Teeth scraped across a tense bottom lip. “We don’t know what we’re walking into, Cas.” Sam sighed and trained his eyes on the road lest they see Cas’s worry. “If she’s even alive.”

Y/N sat forward and inserted herself into the front seat, a floating heat lit by passing streetlights. “She’s alive.” Her faith was secure.

Cas looked back at Y/N, his lips turning downwards. “Y/N… it is possible that Michael killed her on sight.”

Tears threatened, but Y/N held firm. “No. She’s fine. She knew what she was doing when she walked in there and I know she will walk back out.”

Sam sighed and spared a glance over his shoulder. “Y/N/N…”

“No! She is fine! We’re just going to pick her up. Like her car broken down. Or...she got a flat tire. She… lost her phone and can’t get an Uber. She…”

“Was an idiot and ran off to fight Michael without telling anyone?” Sam tried to continue in jest but anger and worry clouded his voice, lifting it into a full shout by the end. Annoyed with himself and wanting the conversation to end, he slammed his palm against the steering wheel and huffed.

Y/N sank back into the shadows and Cas turned back to his window.

With his heart pounding and a new headache springing to life, Sam pushed down hard on the gas, willing the old Chevy to sprout wings and take them to Texas faster.

No such luck.

After a mile, the windshield was splattered with a heavy mist as God pulled a blanket of clouds over their heads. They were driving into the rain.

They were driving into a storm.

The air was cool after the rain. Nothing like the chilly nighttime air of home but it felt good. It was a refreshing change of atmosphere from the heat and the stench of the chapel.

Beka needed to think. Her mind was still whirring from the existential discussion she’d just shared with the Archangel. The ground was still wet from the evening’s shower, street lights reflected in the small puddles collected on the sidewalk.

Her boot sloshed through a tiny pool as she rounded the corner to the alley. If she’d been paying attention, she would have caught the mirrored image of a figure silently swooping in behind her as she ventured into the quiet dark.

Beka’s scream was too late as a gloved hand clamped over her mouth, stifling any plea for help. Rough stone bit into her back as she was roughly shoved against the side of the church. She blinked, heart pounding, straining to make out the face of her attacker. He wore a ski mask, only the stranger’s dark eyes and thin lips peeking through the holes of the black fabric.

A flash of steel glinting under a nearby street light caught Beka’s eye, causing fresh fear to spread over her scalp and trickle down her back. The knife pressed against her throat, just shy of breaking the skin.

“Cash,” a low voice demanded. “All of it.”

Beka nodded frantically, slipping a hand into the front pocket of her jeans. She wasn’t much of a fighter, her true skills as a hunter lying in research, but she wasn’t going to be brought down by a common mugger. Beka used all of her strength to bring her knee up, hard between the criminal’s legs. The move granted her freedom, the man’s hands leaving her as he doubled over in pain.

Her heart threatened to burst as she took off in a sprint, and the sound of her own boots against asphalt drowned out the stranger’s second attack.

The air was violently knocked from Beka’s lungs as she was thrown to the ground and her head cracked painfully against the graveled floor, blinding stars whiting out her vision.

“Fuckin’ bitch,” the man growled, knife tightly clutched in his fist.

The pain was white-hot as the cold steel plunged into Beka’s stomach. She could hear the sickening wet sound the weapon made as her attacker pulled it free, and both hands immediately flew to the gushing wound as the stranger ran off into the night.

Beka used all of her weakening strength to press against the gaping hole in her belly, and her eyes drifted up to the towering steeple of the church. Michael’s words echoed in her head as warm blood sluiced over her knuckles.

Humans are evil, ruined things.

It started to rain then, cool wet mingling with the hot tears slipping down her cheeks. Her eyesight was fading, but Beka could still see the glisten of the building storm clinging to the stained glass windows.

Black was framing her vision like a vignette, and her eyes were just beginning to softly flutter closed when she saw him.

The press of his palm against her clammy forehead was warm, and the Grace flooding her veins even warmer. Her skin itched for just a moment as the open wound on her stomach sealed back into place.

Strong hands helped her to her feet, and she clung to him like the literal lifeline he was.

The Archangel Michael. Her savior.

There was a time when people prayed to him daily.

‘Saint Michael, defend us in battle! Cleanse the earth of all evil that we may be closer to our Heavenly Father.’

A time when their knees bore the weight of their bodies pressing down into hard floors and benches as they beat their breasts in supplication to him.

‘Oh, glorious prince, Saint Michael! Chief and commander of the heavenly hosts, guardian of souls, vanquisher of rebel spirits, hear our prayers! Save us from all evil!’

He was worshiped.

He was feared.

He was loved.

But somewhere, amidst the rise of modern industry and the glow of technology, humans had turned away from him. Away from the Church, away from God.

They knew the Commandments and they willfully disobeyed, bragging on their Twitters about how they had broken the rules. They skirted the laws of man, utterly rebelled against the laws of Heaven, and openly rejoiced about their wicked ways. They built shrines on their blogs to the filth that excited them; they joked about adultery, waged hate wars born from jealousy, and even attempted to silently cause warm to others through a tiny, gray face.

Michael had seen it happen on his world, and here, across the dimensions, so far from home, he saw it again.

A mere week on the internet had sealed Mankind's fate. There would be no saving most of them. Their souls were already singed by the kindling of Hell's fire within them, all earmarked for damnation.

His mission was the same as it had always been. He had been created by this Father to rid the world of evil, to defend the righteous, to battle Satan and all of his minions so that the worthy could be saved.

His mission had not changed, it had simply evolved, expanded. A new, better plan for a new, better world.

He would not be stopped.

It was his purpose, his destiny.

And it was hers to stand by his side.

Death had retreated; her pain was gone.

Beka pulled away just an inch, just far enough to look up into his face.

“You saved me.”

She needed affirmation, something to pull her from shock back into reality.

Michael's arms wrapped around her, firm yet gentle, pulling her close as she began to tremble. She let him guide her to rest against him, her cheek pressed to the wool of his rain dampened sweater. She closed her eyes as his palm lay on the back of her head, keeping her still.

“I will always save you. You are my Chosen. My Rebekah.”

His embrace was warm but she was chilled to the core, shivering as the weight of the night settled upon her.

“Why?” she asked suddenly, her tongue bypassing her brain and running amuck. “Why me? Why did you choose me?” Tears churned in her chest and began their climb.

Michael's arms tightened around her. “You know why. I've told you.”

Her heart ached. Confusion swirled once more, circling like seagulls above a cracker of doubt.

“Tell me again,” she pleaded in a whisper.

He ran a hand down over her head, smoothing down the hair that had gone wild in the attack. His fingers closed gently at the nape of her neck and he squeezed, a gesture of reassurance laced with possession.

“You're strong. Full of hope but not blinded by it. Your soul is bright and others are drawn to it. You can help invoke change, lead others to our cause.”

She struggled to understand, burrowing her face into his chest to hide from the questions that tore through her mind; the self doubt, uncertainty. “I don't think that's true. I'm nothing special.”

Michael tilted his neck and lay a cheek on her head, drawing her closer. “It is true, my love. I have looked into your heart. I see...everything. And I know you understand.”

“You don't need help,” she whispered, breathing him in, filling herself with his warmth while she could.

“No,” Michael sighed. “But I want it.”

His grip on her eased and Beka stood up straight, looking up to find his face pained.

“I want help,” he said again. “I want someone who understands. Someone who, as you would say… gets it.”

Beka chewed her lip and shook her head, unsure. “And you think I get it?”

Michael's features softened and he took a small step forward. “Oh, I know you do.”

She fell back, slowly mirroring his steps, waiting to see what he was up to.

“I know you understand,” he repeated, his eyes dark once more, his subtle smirk set. “I know you understood when I killed that corrupt old man. I know you understood when that bum ripped a hole in your gut. I know you felt it when your soul pulled away, when I… retrieved it. I know you...get it.”

Beka swallowed hard and halted her retreat. Her eyes flew across his face and for the first time she saw passed the mask, she saw passed Dean’s stolen face, she saw Him. “I do.” The words broke free and her shoulders settled, her heart finding a steady rhythm at last. It all made sense, finally. This was fate.

Michael took a final step towards her, leaving only inches between them. He lifted his hand to cup her cheek, curling his fingers around her ear, dragging his thumb over the soft pink flesh of her plump bottom lip. She leaned into his touch, her eyes fluttering as she gave in.

“So tell me, Rebekah, now that you understand…” He leaned close, green eyes wide as he watched her lips twitch, calling to him. “What...do you...want?”

A deep breath filled her lungs and Beka’s mind was clear for the first time in her life. There was no more panic, no more worry, no question at all. Just an answer. Simple, pure, true. She exhaled slowly and opened her eyes, looking up at her Angel.

“You.”

Michael’s lip curled with a victorious smile. “Then take...what you want.”

There was only a sliver of space between them, and Beka quickly closed the gap, pressing her full lips against his. The kiss was hungry; desperate - and she felt like she couldn’t taste enough of him.

The Angel began to walk her backwards, and she let him, sighing into his mouth as he backed her against the same stone wall that her would-be killer had pressed her against mere moments before. Beka looped her arms around Michael’s neck as he licked into her mouth, his hands roughly squeezing at her breasts, pulling visceral moans from the base of her throat.

She yelped as he effortlessly flipped her around, her chest and cheek flush against rain-slick stone. Heat gathered in her belly at the sensation of blunt teeth scraping at her neck, and her eyes rolled back in her skull as Michael’s fingers deftly pulled her jeans open, dipping a hand underneath the elastic barrier of her panties.

There was a hard lump pressed against her ass as thick fingers easily slid through her slick folds.

“Wait,” Beka gasped. “N-not here. Please.” She took a calming breath. “Take me somewhere.”

Michael’s stolen lips brushed against her ear as he spoke, and his voice was thunder-deep.

“Where?”

“Anywhere.”

Beka blinked at her new surroundings, her stomach completing it’s last flip at the sudden change of location.

It was the most exquisite hotel room she’d ever seen with its large windows that took up the entire wall, allowing for a breathtaking view of the twinkling city lights of the night skyline. The king size bed was neatly made, a plush ottoman sitting at its foot.

“Where are we?” Beka breathed.

Michael stepped toward her, lifting a hand to cup her cheek.

“Does it matter?”

Her reply was silent but honest. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered anymore, only being with him.

Beka pressed up on her toes to try and kiss him again, to restart the scene from the alley, but Michael pulled away gently. His fingers fell from her cheek to grab her hand and he smiled. “May I show you something?”

She nodded and let him lead her to the big windows, stepping up until her toes touched glass.

Midnight was upon them and the city was quiet, streets empty from polluting cars, sidewalks clear of crowds. Lights were on, but they were soothing from this height, like looking down upon the night sky, a dizzying reversal that made Beka’s heart race as she pressed her forehead to the window.

“It’s beautiful,” she whispered.

“I like the view,” he said with an amused sigh. “The world is peaceful at night, clean, calm. As it should be.”

Beka couldn’t disagree. The rain had washed the city clean and it glinted against the black sky, a hundred thousand stars lighting the night.

But those were not stars, not really. The lights were lights from inside homes, skyscrapers filled with people, hundreds of thousands of people sleeping below them, all in danger.

“You’re going to murder them all, aren’t you?” She let it out in a whisper that fogged up the glass. It wasn’t accusatory or hateful, merely a question. She had to know what she had signed up for.

Michael stood behind her, looking out upon the world he had given himself charge of. “Most will perish, yes.”

She looked up at his reflection, at the resolve in his eyes, the absolute surety as he spoke.

“This city... will burn. But it is from the ashes that the righteous will rise.”

His fingertips lingered above her shoulder, and she turned slowly, ready to give in to him, to everything.

She pressed her palm to his chest and slid it upwards, tickling his collar with her fingertips. Their eyes met and she let out a sigh. “Kiss me.”

Michael broke their gaze as he dipped his chin, and Beka’s blood ignited as his warm lips pressed against hers. His hands found purchase on her hips, and she sighed into his mouth as their tongues slid against each other’s.

Beka didn’t realize they were moving until the backs of her knees bumped against the edge of the bed. The mattress was soft under her back as the Angel blanketed himself over her, trapping her underneath his heavy bulk.

Michael’s lips were hungry as they sucked and pulled at hers, and Beka was impatient herself, her fingers desperately clawing at his sweater to rid him of it. He obliged, and within seconds they were both naked, pressed skin to skin.

Beka was panting by the time Michael’s lips reached her chest, the plush cushions of them ghosting across her heated skin. The hot weight of his cock was delicious against her, the shaft grinding perfectly against her clit.

She was nearly vibrating with arousal, her cunt aching in desperation. “Please...” she begged, her lust-blown pupils eclipsing the rich brown of her eyes. “Please...I need you.”

The Archangel halted his movements, hitching himself up on his forearms to bore dark green eyes into her.

“Pray to me.”

Liquid heat hurtled through her veins at his command, and Beka had to take a moment to just breathe. “Please, Michael,” she rasped. “Take me...take what’s yours. Take what’s always belonged to you.”

A slow grin blossomed across Michael’s face, and Beka gasped as he shifted to press the warm head of his cock against her soaked entrance.

With a powerful snap of his hips, the Angel was fully seated inside her, and Beka’s jaw dropped in a silent scream at the delicious stretch, her fingertips denting into the smooth skin of his back.

His eyes were unblinking as he began to thrust, fast and hard, and her eyes began to fall out of focus with the burning pleasure of it all. Nothing else existed as Michael ferociously pumped into her, and his voice sounded distant as he called to her.

“Rebekah...Rebekah, look at me.” Everything was fuzzy, staticky…

Until her eyes reset on his. The luminous blue crystals of his eyes were sharp as they blazed into hers, the only clarity she needed as he fucked her apart.

Michael’s face was set in a cold sneer as he watched her crumble underneath him, as he watched her disintegrate under his power.

Just like the world would.

Beka’s shrieks of pleasure were piercing as he claimed her; mind, body, and soul.

“Do you give yourself to me?” Michael asked, his voice even despite his exertion.

“Yes! Fuck! Yes, Michael!” Her voice was raw as she screamed her submission, and her fingernails etched little crescent moons into his shoulders as she clenched up, clinging to her savior as her orgasm rippled through her.

Michael came soon after, biting into her shoulder as he shook with his own climax. He smoothed her damp hair out of her eyes, his own gaze back to a calming green as he waited for her breathing to settle.

“You’re mine now, Rebekah. My Chosen.” His voice was deep and rich, soaking into the marrow of her bones.

A dreamy smile stretched her lips. “Yours, Sir. Always.”

She drifted for a while, stuck in a haze of bliss, unable to move a muscle save for her eyes that followed Michael around the room.

How strange, she thought, to watch him like this. He was naked still, body much leaner than she remembered Dean ever being; the shadow on his collarbone a little darker, his stomach more defined. But it was entirely not Dean. He held himself differently, moved in deliberate and clipped ways. It was not Dean.

And Rebekah did not care.

He dressed slowly, pulling on each layer of fabric as if he were mad at it, as if the very act of dressing disgusted him. However, he was not without a sense of vanity, she realized, for Michael stared at his own reflection in the dark window, making sure the lines of his slacks were in order, the collar of his wool sweater in place. He seemed to enjoy the body he had acquired and carefully adjusted his clothing to accentuate it.

Michael ran his fingers through his hair and caught her eye in the glass.

She smiled but he pulled his gaze away.

“Get dressed.”

She sat up quickly and reached for her clothes, collecting the pile to sort on the bed between her legs. While her jeans were airborne, her phone slipped free of the back pocket and landed with a muted thud on the carpet.

Rebekah retrieved it and tapped the screen out of habit. Fourteen missed calls and twenty-seven texts. She chewed absentmindedly at the corner of her mouth as she opened the screen and went for a scroll. She deleted the calls from Y/N and Cas, shooing away their voicemail notifications, and took a peek at their texts.

The last, from Sam, caught her eye.

‘Bek- CALL ME. please. We’re coming to get you’

She cocked her head at his words and turned the screen in her had before holding it up and out towards Michael. He saw the glow in the window and turned slowly, easily reading the tiny words from across the room.

His lips fell into a tight line and he nodded.

“Let them come.”

They parked a few blocks away, though they knew it wouldn't matter. If Michael was there, if they had truly tracked him down, he would know they were coming, roaring Impala or not.

Guns tucked in waistbands, angel blades hidden but ready, the trio shared a silent moment over the Impala’s hood, each nodding their readiness.

Puddles broke beneath Sam’s boots as he lead them to Kelly’s house. Y/N had tracked her down easily and their surveillance of the surrounding area had shown Michael coming and going from this spot for the last two weeks. He kept no schedule, but he always returned, every ten hours or so, but Kelly had not been seen since his first arrival.

They didn’t know what they were in for, but Sam was always prepared. Prepared or stupid, he was never really sure. Brave, he liked to think, but it was probably stupidity that pushed him forward tonight.

There was no way to prepare for this, to come face to face with the monster that had stolen his brother.

The house was dark, save for a light at the top of the stairs. Three pairs of boots silently climbed the thirteen steps to the landing, weapons drawn, breaths steady.

Once they’d reached the narrow hallway, Sam waved a hand, gesturing for Y/N and Cas to stay behind as they crept toward the sliver of yellow light filtering from around the corner just ahead.

The wooden door had been left ajar, and Sam stretched his neck to survey what little he could see of the room.

There was a window on the far wall, blinds drawn, and he could just make out wooden bedpost a couple of feet in front of it. Sam strained his ears, but there were no sounds. He turned then, the index finger of his free hand pressed to his lips in warning to the hunters behind him.

Breaths were held as Sam pushed the door wide, the air thick with dread. There was a chorus of relieved exhales at the sight of the cage, Kelly’s small body tightly curled up against its floor.

“Oh my god…” Y/N breathed, rushing toward the kennel. She slipped the lock pick set from her back pocket, making quick work of the padlock before wrenching the small door open.

Kelly stirred at the noise, raising up to rub the sleep from her eyes.

“Hey, Kelly…” Y/N greeted, careful to keep her voice soft. She winced at the sight of the poor girl. Her face was deeply bruised, and two angry cuts on her bottom lip and above her left eye were just beginning to scab over. “You’re gonna be okay,” Y/N assured her. “Everything’s okay. You’re safe now.”

Kelly’s eyes were pained, but Y/N could see a faint glimmer of hope bloom in the deep blue of her irises. “Safe?” she croaked, her voice gruff from nonuse.

“Ye-”

A sound at the door interrupted the rescue, and she looked up just in time to see her best friend standing at the entrance of the room. Beka wasn’t alone.

“Michael,” Y/N hissed, spitting the name out like acid.

The Archangel smiled, stepping in front of his new companion. “Y/N…” Michael’s eyes were hard as steel as he smirked down at her. “I see you’ve found my pet.”

Y/N had been too distracted with Michael and her friend’s arrival to see the snarl curl Kelly’s lips, and before she could stop it, the captive was launching herself from the cage, knocking the hunter to her back. She tried to throw her off, even managed to get a firm hold of her arms, but then everything went dark as Kelly’s forehead violently smashed against hers.

The hunter-turned-prisoner laughed maniacally as she rolled off Y/N’s motionless body, her wild eyes gazing up Michael.

“I did it, Master! Did you see it? Did you see what I did for you?!”

“I saw,” the Angel smiled, crouching down to stroke her hair. “Very good girl…”

Kelly giggled, eyes wild as she soaked up Michael’s praise.

“You son of a bitch,” Cas growled, blue eyes clouded with building rage as he took a threatening step toward the Archangel.

Michael’s smile was steady as he rose back to his height. “Picking up my vessel’s vocabulary, I see,” he quipped, eyes shining with amusement. “You’re becoming one of them. You’re becoming...human.” His smile fell as his eyes darkened. “You can burn with them.”

A roar erupted from Castiel’s chest as his anger crested in the form of a burning blue stare. Angel blade, clutched in his right fist, he surged himself forward-

But Michael was quick, easily blocking the blow and wrenching the useless weapon from the lower-level Angel’s grip. The crunch of Michael’s fist against Castiel’s jaw resounded through the room, the blow effectively stunning him, buckling his knees.

It was all happening so quickly that Sam didn’t know where to look. His gun was useless, he realized soon, unless he wanted to risk shooting one of the girls. As he moved to stow it away, Beka came towards him, walking with purpose. Her hands were empty, and her face was set in a hard expression, one Sam had never seen on her before.

“You need to leave, Sam,” she said simply, stopping less than a foot away. Her eyes were dark in the broken light, almost black; lifeless and without care.

He exhaled heavily and shook his head, his eyes twitching between Beka and the fight behind her.

“What?” His shoulders hunched and he reached for her, locking his big hands around her upper arms. “Bek, what happened to you?”

She smiled as memory washed over her, her eyes rolling for a split second as she took a deep breath. “Everything.”

Sam’s chest was heaving, his mind racing. He looked down at his friend and leaned closer, whispering even though he knew Michael could hear. The Archangel was still occupied with his opponent, beating Castiel to a pulp across the room. A river of blood flowed across the hardwood floor and Sam feared the end was nigh.

“Beka, please, listen to me,” Sam begged, “Cas and I will hold him off, you grab Kelly and Y/N, and go.” He paused to look over at Y/N who was out cold, crimson painting her face, nose to sternum. “It’s all gonna be OK. I promise. Just go.”

Beka cocked her head and frowned. “It’s not, Sam. You shouldn’t have come.”

“What?”

As his brows knit in confusion, Beka attacked, bringing her arms up quickly to break his hold. While he stumbled, shocked by her movements, she grabbed his shoulders and pulled him down as fast as she could while bringing her knee up high, clipping him just below the ribs.

Sam let out a pained moan and doubled over, clutching his side, in shock and hurt. He looked up at the exact wrong moment and took an elbow to the face, letting out a clipped roar as he felt his cheek bone crack. He called her name, held his hands up in surrender, but she paid him no mind, bringing her fist down against his skull again and again.

She wasn’t strong enough to do much and she tired quickly, the time between her blows growing longer with each strike. Finally, Sam caught a break and grabbed her arm, twisting it as he stood and spinning her around, pinning her arm behind her back.

Beka let out a frustrated scream, and in that instant, the battle was over.

Michael’s eyes burned bright as he looked to his Chosen. He left Castiel broken at his feet and took a step towards Sam, warning with his deep growl to let her go.

Sam’s eyes were huge as Michael came near, his quick exhales tickling the hair on Beka’s neck. She squirmed against him, but he refused to let go, gritting his teeth at the Archangel’s approach.

“Sam...Sam...Sam.” Michael paused a ways away and shook his head slowly. His voice was calmer now, but his displeasure was clear. “Let...her go. Now.”

Sam’s hesitation was met with anger, and Michael’s brilliant eyes glowed even brighter. Beka laughed as she felt his Grace shoot passed her and knock Sam backwards, sending him flying into the wall behind them.

He landed with a pained grunt and climbed onto his hands a knees, his vision blurry from the blow. In his daze, he saw Beka turn to stand beside Michael, her eyes blank, lips touched by a calm yet eerie smile.

“What have you done to her!” Sam roared from the floor.

Michael shrugged, his palms turned upwards, arms outstretched. “I have done nothing to her. Rebekah came to me, gave herself to me. I...simply gave her what she’d always wanted.”

Sam was back on his feet, ignoring the pain as he straightened up. “You don’t know what she wants,” he argued. “You don’t know her.”

“And you do?” Michael laughed.

Sam sneered. “She’s my friend. She’s family.”

“She was your secretary,” Michael spat. “I’ve given her what she needs. Purpose.”

Sam’s jaw twitched and he shook his head. “Beka, listen to me,” he pleaded, moving his eyes from Michael to her. “We can fight him. You can fight him. It doesn’t have to be like this. Come home.”

Beka smiled. “I am home.” There was an absolute truth in her voice that both broke Sam’s heart and scared him to death.

“Bek…”

From behind her a step, Michael moved closer and placed his hand on her shoulder, squeezing gently. “She belongs to me now, Sammy,” he said, using Dean’s voice and nickname to mock the seething Hunter. “Run along, now. I’m sure we’ll be seeing you… very soon.”

Sam clenched his fists as rage boiled inside his gut. “I won’t leave without her!” he roared.

Michael did not even flinch, nor Beka, who stood as stoic and tranced as before. “But you must, Sam. She’s not leaving me.” He turned his eyes to Beka who met his gaze with a loving smile. “Are you, my love?”

“Never.”

What was left of Sam’s hope shattered with her answer, his jaw dropping slightly as her reply struck him in the chest.

Michael seemed amused, but not quite satisfied, and he left Beka’s side to attend to his pet. He dropped to one knee and lifted Kelly’s chin gently with one finger. “Kelly, will you help me with something?”

She smiled up at her Master and nodded. “Yes!” she exclaimed with a joyful laugh. “Anything.”

“Such a good girl.” Michael’s praise was well received, but the fist in her hair was not.

Kelly screamed as his thick fingers tore through her scalp, yanking her to her feet as she gaped at him in shock.

Sam watched on in horror as Michael dragged Kelly across the room, her feet unable to keep up, sliding over the hardwood. Without a word, he dropped Kelly at Beka’s feet.

“Sam doesn’t seem to believe you, Rebekah.” His voice was too cool, too calm and it chilled Sam’s soul. “Prove it. Show him that you mean what you say. That you are...mine.”

Beka waited silently for his command, her eyes flickering quickly to Kelly in confusion before resetting on Michael.

“You are mine...are you not?” he asked, lifting his chin as he looked down upon her.

Beka swallowed hard and answered honestly. “Yes.”

Michael nodded once at Kelly. “Kill her.”

Sam began to shake as Beka bent down to pull a blade from her boot. It was short but sharp, it’s old wooden handle softened by bloody and sweaty hands over the years. As she rose back up, she grabbed Kelly by the head, fisting the fragile hairs at the nape of her neck. The poor girl shrieked and begged, tears flooding her bruised cheeks as Beka forced her to her feet.

There was no mercy in her eyes, no regret.

She was deaf to Kelly’s cries.

“Beka, no!” Sam’s voice did little to shake the moment, and he gasped as Beka did as she was told, plunging the blade into Kelly’s chest, piercing her heart.

Kelly fell from her friend’s grasp, falling to her knees and then onto her back, her mouth open in a scream that would never again be heard; her eyes wide and trained on Michael.

Beka wiped the knife on her jeans and carefully tucked it back into her boot. Her face showed no glimpse as to her thoughts, no pain, no sadness. She had killed her oldest friend, the one person who knew her best, the last link to her past.

She had gone there to save Kelly, and lost herself to His whims.

Michael stepped over Kelly’s paling flesh and turned Beka’s face to his. “Very well done, my love.”

She smiled and sighed, his words flooding her mind with pleasure. “Thank you, Sir.”

Sam held his breath and took a step towards the mess, determined to bring her back. Behind them, Castiel stirred, groaning as he woke to pain throughout his body.

Michael turned his eyes to Sam as he walked slowly around his prize. “You see, Sam? It’s too late. She belongs to me, now.”

Sam could not bear to look at him so he pleaded with Beka, with his friend. He’d brought people back from the edge so many times before, he knew he could do it again.

His voice was caked with sorrow as he tried, one last time. “Beka-”

Her eyes flashed up at him, a stren and devilish smile curling her lips as she cut him off. “It’s Rebekah.”

When the rush of wings had dissipated and her goodbye no longer rang in his ears, the only thing Sam was left with was the staccato thudding of his heart and the blood of his failures, pooling at his feet.

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#spn fanfic #michael x beka #change #smut #blood #death #all the angst #sam winchester #castiel #y/n #kelly #beka #michael!dean

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