Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/8337418.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      Gen, M/M, Other
  Fandom:
      Supernatural
  Relationship:
      Michael/Dean_Winchester, Dean_Winchester/John_Winchester
  Character:
      Dean_Winchester, Sam_Winchester, Castiel_(Supernatural), Michael_
      (Supernatural), Michael_(John_Winchester), Lucifer_(Supernatural),
      Lucifer_(Sam_Winchester), Zachariah_(Supernatural), Raphael_
      (Supernatural), Anael_(Supernatural)
  Additional Tags:
      Extremely_Dubious_Consent, Hurt/Comfort, Good_Brother_Dean, Good_Brother
      Sam, John's_A+_Parenting, Heavy_Angst, Angelic_Grace, Angels_Are_Not
      People, God's_A+_Parenting, Gaslighting, POV_Michael, Protective_Michael,
      Lucifer's_Fall, Broken_Dean_Winchester
  Stats:
      Published: 2016-10-21 Words: 4891
****** Succumb ******
by Airmid
Summary
     "They do not mourn, they do not look back, they do not falter for
     they were eternal."
     Michael's involvement and witnessing of Dean's life at various
     moments up to his fall.
Notes
     It is important to be familiar with the major story elements of the
     first five seasons (i.e. John and Dean's deal etc) as they are
     referenced but not gone into with great detail when Michael addresses
     them.
See the end of the work for more notes
The boy was on his knees, legs open as his forehead rested on the yellowed
pillow. Michael hummed appreciatively, running his fingers over this offering,
Dean giving off a low sigh but otherwise remaining still.
This was good. It was right when the boy obeyed, that he had learned even as
John screamed inside him. Yet every time he relinquished control the man
wouldn’t tell his son that it wasn’t who he saw as a father that touched him
with such love. It was all drowned out in alcohol and despair and John’s
inability to even function anymore without violence against the evil he was
seeing everywhere.
Truly, Michael was disgusted the man was part of his bloodline.
“You’ve been so good,” he whispered to Dean, letting his fingers slide against
that skin still soft in youth. “Daddy’s good little boy so I want to do
something special. But you have to behave.”
Dean murmured a ‘yes sir’ to the honeyed tones in John’s voice, his eyes
slipping closed and it pleased Michael to see this much ecstasy gained from
obeying. His vessel was beautiful, brimming with righteousness and all was as
it should be.
Ancient springs creaked under his weight as he kneeled behind where the boy was
waiting, welcoming. Dean was trying to cut off sounds as Michael’s mouth moved
lower, tasting the salt that the beginning trickles of sweat were leaving
behind and it just wouldn’t do.
“You can tell me how much you enjoy this,” Michael told him. A sound of relief
followed by a moan rolled off those pink lips. Michael’s mouth had found that
sweet opening, the one that called and allowed them to be together. Where he
could teach of obedience and submission and he licked his way inside savoring
the warmth, this humanness.
There were screams still inside him, John raging about how impure he was while
Dean’s spirit quietly sang beneath his fingers, a smile on lips. The ‘sir’s
were gone, and he was murmuring “Daddy, Daddy so good,” fingers pressed into
the blankets, eyes still closed. Michael was close to shoving John down for a
while as he wanted to enjoy this, the way his vessel was beautiful and bare
before him, asking for him. His tongue slipped in farther as he slid in the
first finger, relishing the low reedy sounds from Dean.
John, you and I both know how much you want this. I can see your soul so if you
do not desist I will put you to sleep to play with later.
The man finally shut up in his shame and Michael smiled against the flesh in
front of him, humming in agreement as Dean asked for more in soft breathy
noises.
Dean was discovering girls, the way he felt around them as the hormones raged
in his teenaged body. In some ways, Michael reflected, he wished he could keep
him here like this, stretched and content. Satisfied by him and him alone
instead of thinking of this as training, and Michael knew he would have to let
his human go.
Rocking back he raised himself, kissing down that beautiful back that even at
his age had scars, letting his cock sink in long and slow. There was a hiss
from Dean, a shudder of pleasure and the soft urges as the boy did everything
to keep still, to obey.
His mouth sucked at the base of that neck, hand slipping around to find Dean
hard and slick, the weight a solid heat as he circled his fingers around. A
momentary loss of control then the boy had it again, determined, flushed and
glorious.
It was such a shame they could not stay like this as he began to move his hips
as John wept inside him.
===============================================================================
 
This day had been brewing for a long time, driven faster by him giving control
to John more and more often. The man drank till his liver swam, knowing Michael
would heal them both because the angel needed this body for a little longer.
When he was severely impaired, he’d beg Michael to send him to hell as it was
better than this and the angel would allow a smile to stretch across their
shared face.
Soon enough, he whispered to that soul before slinking back, watching John
explode in a drunken rage. Dean caught in the cross fire as he tried to protect
Sam. Always poor little Sam and Michael despised it. Soon his vessel would
learn that no matter how hard he tried Sam wasn’t worth it, wasn’t worth the
pain and suffering and it would be best to just let John kill him.
If there hadn’t been a plan to follow he would have struck the child down
himself.
Now Dean stood, heartbroken and confused with Sam having left them for an
education and a future that didn’t include the things that wore fangs in the
dark. He was reaching for John, seeking comfort as the man backslapped him
sending the boy, for he was really just a boy still, backwards. Shock,
confusion rippled across his face, tears heavy and threatening.
John was spiteful, he was gloating to the angel that he would fix this and
Michael simply curled up around that tarnished soul not wanting to watch but it
was necessary all the same. The way Dean uttered the word ‘Daddy’ almost
stirred him but he had been taught this same lesson an eon ago.
They did not want. They did not need. The only obeyed.
Perhaps when it was learned, when it came time for them to truly be together it
would be easier. That the urge to comfort wouldn’t be as strong.
He listened to the sounds of splintering glass as John threw his bottle towards
the wall by his eldest son and waited.
===============================================================================
 
The selfishness of John Winchester had never ceased to amaze him, nor the
limitless love that Dean had for him, was capable of giving to anyone.
Michael wished this cold man was the one who could break the seal, that he
could bleed and die in hell eternally and carry the terrible truth of what he
had done on his shoulders but he knew that was not meant to be. His beautiful
vessel would be forced to suffer because of family, because he loved and
Michael watched from heaven as Dean wept in secret. There was little he could
do as he had no vessel and it was not time to claim the child as his own.
In his dreams he allowed a thread of grace to slip in and soothe the child, to
weave memories of happier times as the inevitable grew closer.
===============================================================================
 
The deal had been made, the great wheel had begun to turn in earnest.
Pain that was to come, the realization that he was not as loved as he should be
would be later. Michael turned his faces, not wanting to watch Dean’s relief
that Sam was saved when it would all rot beneath his feet in due time.
===============================================================================
 
As it grew closer Dean’s panic and fear were almost suffocating. Yet the soul
was resigned to suffer only fearing becoming what hell would repurpose him as.
It was a lingering strangeness to him that his Father had shaped the walls of
hell but it was the cursed souls themselves that pushed the art of damnation.
There was a biting longing, a hot urge that coursed through him that made him
almost go resurrect John. To hold the child and when the hounds howled slip a
knife through his heart to give him a peaceful death. To be with his purity one
last time before the demons rejoiced and ripped into it making it scream.
Sam was selfish. It was his own needs that drove him and he could not give what
needed to be given, to do what was right in the face of that sacrifice.
Michael pushed the thought of the hounds claws on the skin he had pressed
against, the pain of a thousand wounds each bite translated into. It was how it
was meant to be yet the yearning for one last touch persisted.
He would obey. He would always obey.
===============================================================================
 
Dean Winchester has descended into hell.
Michael raised his eyes to the stars, to the galaxies that lay at his feet and
tried to find hope that perhaps it would go quickly but he doubted it. Dean’s
soul would be as glorious in hell as he was as firey in heaven and it would
suffer but not fully break. Hollowed out and in pain and still so much work to
be done before Dean could be reclaimed.
Brother do you feel it, the time for your justice is soon at hand.
There was no illusion that his thoughts reached the Cage, let alone breeched
its walls but his mouths showed teeth in anticipation all the same, his very
essence craving the blood that was to come.
===============================================================================
 
Free. That soul that was its own sun exploded onto earth and drew breath into
aching lungs.
Life had started again and he felt the desire in his form bloom heavy, that
need to feel the heat against him and the whispered words long forgotten. It
flickered and wove into him, his wings agitated in want.
He allowed it till he heard Raphael’s call, this indulgence that dug deep and
held firm.
===============================================================================
 
He was unhappy.
Heaven sensed it and even Raphael dared not come to him when he was angered.
Castiel had failed, the wall constructed to give his soul a bit of peace had
crumbled much like rotting wood.
Michael could feel the anguish, the way it cried out to him for it knew him
even if Dean’s mind was not aware.
It begged for comfort and he could not give it.
“Do better,” he commanded Castiel and the solider went back to earth determined
to not wrong him again.
He curled in his wings, heaven trembling and scrambling.
===============================================================================
 
Dean was dying to the demon who had tortured him in hell, who had ripped apart
his memories and violated him while making him scream his most cherished
thoughts.
Before he mobilized a unit to go it was Sam Winchester, addicted and high who
came and tore the demon apart. Michael relished in those screams, wishing he
had been there to dip his hands in that black blood as it shattered and flashed
out.
As much as he burned with the want to have driven that killing blow deep it was
strangely appropriate that it was Sam. The last thing he would truly do for his
brother before he betrayed everything.
Uriel was not surprising. Working for the demons, the filth that believes
itself better than humanity when it was simply a devolved version of it. None
of his brothers were trustworthy but it would come to pass as it should and he
mourned for Dean, for the boy who’s soul had once been innocent and pure
despite John’s influence. That soul that sang for him and he longed to twist
them up together.
The time for joining would be soon.
===============================================================================
 
His most cherished was breaking, the hands of something Dean loved were
breaking his flesh, stealing his breath and that fragile hope Dean had clutched
to.
There was that strange sensation in his grace where a blade had sunk in deep
before severing a few of his wings. It had been driven by the one he had
adored, the one he begged to stay. The one who stared at him triumphant as he
coughed up his essence, his shattered love oozing across heaven like a hot
brand.
It never healed.
It was close and he wished he knew why his love must suffer as he once did. He
would bear it all but this as how it was written, how it was to be. Castiel,
invisible and intangible, was watching over the broken man and soon the offer
would be made.
The ache only grew deeper as he drew up his wings.
===============================================================================
 
Castiel the betrayer.
He tried to smooth his rage, tried to coax his inner fire to burn instead of
incinerate at what the little angel had done. Castiel did not know, he did not
understand what they were, what they were destined to be when had stolen Dean
from the Beautiful Room. When he had so foolishly sent his most precious to Sam
so they would be forced to witness the rising of his brother from the depths of
hell.
Fortunately Father saved him, even if it meant saving Samuel. Dean was safe,
his soul defeated but unharmed.
It was satisfying to feel Castiel’s death ripple through the host as they
cowered. He only wished it had been longer.
===============================================================================
 
Anael’s antics had not been a surprise to him and he had already dealt with it
in the time stream originally. All he had had to do was simply wait for an
opportune time so that it would not be suspicious. He already owned John
Winchester by that point, had already sired Dean but he did regret he had not
fully understood his child. The one that sang in the womb as its body grew, the
tiny hands and joyful eyes that wanted to touch the world at birth. The way it
offered up love without thought, without hesitation, touched just enough by his
grace that Dean was always marked. That he would always and forever be only
his.
He had not known then and he suspected his speech to Dean about responsibility
and duty would do little but it was too unstable to go back and change it now.
If he could he would let them speak to each other in mouths and touches instead
of empty threats and promises.
That beautiful thing that he had helped create, that was a part of him and
sought him was slowly breaking.
If you call I will always come, he whispered to the earth spread out beneath
his feet but Dean still could not raise his eyes. Not yet.
===============================================================================
 
The unthinkable had happened and he had taken a temporary vessel, something
that could hold him for even a few minutes so that he could see it for himself.
The dead of this place filled his senses and he felt the worst, the husk of the
horseman that his own brother had cultivated the younger Winchester for.
Yet Sam stood firm, refused to disappoint his brother and now there was another
ring in the wind, another rip in the seams of Dean’s soul as Sam screamed and
screamed locked and alone through the worst of the blood withdraw.
Even though it caused so much more pain he was proud of his child, that his
very core could make the damned walk the path of righteousness.
Dean’s voice had been calling desperate pleas to Father and so he waited until
the boy was asleep to spin them into a dream together.
“Why am I thinking you aint John?” Those green eyes narrowed at him as they
stood in a wide open field of the world Michael had wound for them. It was
cutting deep to see the distrust there, the hate when it had all been so simple
once.
“I am your father.”
Dean snorted, something undignified and rather precious in the same moment.
“Yeah, just put him back when you’re done with your mind fuck.”
“Your soul is filled with drops of my grace,” Michael said, keeping his voice
quiet as he watched the boy still. He stretched out a hand and frowned as Dean
flinched away. “You are my child beloved.”
“This whole time, you were –“ there was the sensation of nausea, of Dean trying
to wake himself up so the archangel closed the distance between them, grasping
that face in his hands.
“Only some of the time. John alone sired Sam before I allowed him to become
permanently aware of my presence,” he replied, rubbing his thumbs  across those
cheekbones marked with the small freckles that had always grown in number as
the years past. “Your father made his own choices, do not carry his blame for
him.”
“Guess we know which one you were,” Dean got out as Michael kissed his nose,
breathing over his lips. “Didn’t you think my schizoid childhood would fuck me
up royally? That I would be the bastard that broke the world?”
“You are perfect,” the archangel told him getting a rough sound, a scoff of
self-loathing and he finally kissed the boy fully, wanting to stop such
nonsense. “We are both trapped in a destiny neither of us wanted. I know you
are hurting, let me help you.”
“I – I can’t say that, I can’t –“ his voice trailed off, that swelling panic
festering again in those eyes and Michael sealed their lips together, waiting
for it to dissipate.
“I don’t mean that. Let me love you, let me give you rest.”
Dean was trying to shake his head but he didn’t pull away, hands clutching at
Michael’s shirt. He carved out and claimed that mouth as Dean relaxed into a
line of need against him. He could wave a hand and be done with all the
clothing but he wanted it visceral. Even in this dream state he wanted what
they had had on earth and Dean seemed to want it too as his soul sang louder.
“So beautiful, my most cherished,” Michael murmured as he slide himself inside
before gathering his child up in his arms, Deans fingers biting into him. The
boys face was pressed into his neck now, mouth leaving kisses as they moved,
that beautiful heat clenched around him, of being this close. They were almost
already one. “I have missed this.”
“Daddy,” Dean whispered, his voice broken with need and love and Michael was
gone, over the edge at hearing it again so earnestly the child not far behind
painting them both with seed.
He listened to their panting, the unneeded breaths of this dreamspace, Dean’s
slick body of sweat and fluid pressed solidly against his own manufactured
form. If only they could just be lost in here forever and the rest of the world
could wither and burn out like he had been doing for so many years before the
conception of his son.
“I forgive you.”
Dean’s voice was like a song he hadn’t known he needed to hear, those arms
tightening around him as Michael kissed his hair, his neck, tasting that mouth
again as he sensed dawn coming and that this world too would shatter until all
that was left was duty.
===============================================================================
 
It was as if Dean’s soul was determined to come home regardless of how it
managed to do it. Which in itself would be touching if not for the
circumstances surrounding it. Oh yes, Dean could always be sent back with a
small move of one of his many hands, no worse for wear.
But his son was showing himself, able to freely travel about heaven though the
others had yet to really question why that was. Raphael would soon enough and
they were questions he did not want to answer. Not from shame, he could care
less of what the host thought. No rather everything was unstable, balancing on
that edge of sliding too far one way and for him to sire a child, even his true
vessel, it could cause further cracks along the foundation. It would do no good
to win one war and simply fall into yet another civil war at home.
No, it would be better to wait to reveal that so he stayed back, Raphael
insisting on Zachariah the latter of which cowered before him later when the
failure of what he had done was learned. He had forever tarnished his child’s
heaven and demonized Mary when all she had done was simply make the choice she
was destined to make.
The anguish in his son’s soul though was what caught him from simply burning
Zachariah completely from existence. It was breaking, not from torture but from
hopelessness and he did not arrive in the garden before they were sent back.
“He will not intervene Michael. He sees it as not His problem anymore.”
Michael felt his wings unfurl, stretching across the garden, across heaven
bright and terrible as though the celestial realm itself was on fire under his
rage. Bitterness was a hard taste to get leave of. He had known it since it had
lingered for centuries after he had been abandoned for simply doing what he had
been commanded to do. For obeying.
Joshua did not flinch at his fury, nor did he show pity or contempt. Michael
knew the angel who Father spoke to already had knowledge of who Dean was and
there was compassion. An understanding that despite everything, what they had
at their disposal nothing every truly changed and he allowed the comfort.
If his Father did not care then it would be finished but he would find a way to
spare his son from having to strike that killing blow, the one with his own
great sword that would extinguish forever what both he and Dean still loved.
He leaned forward, allowing Joshua to feel his grace and felt the hum of grief
mix with his own. There was a want there, always present and he wished it
wasn’t so.
“Thank you. You are the only one that has always been kind to me.”
His wings twitched then spread as he took flight to finalize a plan, refusing
Joshua’s request once again though out of selfishness he rarely allowed
himself. They could not skirt duty.
===============================================================================
 
His child was close to saying yes, his family had been confining him
desperately trying to get him to hang on. Samuel with his faith bursting
through his being that his big brother was still strong, still good, would
still prevail. Dean’s soul screaming, longing and begging for salvation and it
had to be soon.
So he sent Zachariah as Castiel was resourceful and needed a good fight. Plus
that Seraph was expendable, he would not care if he took a blade due to his
corruption, his malicious self-serving plays for power. Raphael may find it
admirable but he did not and in the end if he slated them to die, then die they
would without a final hearing.
It was his son though that drove the final strike home, not Castiel and his
grace sang with pride. His beautiful one had not let the despair eat him and
while the host sat horrified he managed to fight the temptation to command them
to sing.
While he may not be forgiven for what was to come next he descended and
whispered the promises that the youngest, the family anomaly, needed to hear.
At least John had provided their children with something in the end, even if it
was a weaker substitute.
===============================================================================
 
“Adam?”
“He is safe and completely unharmed as my vessel,” Michael answered, watching
Dean lean back against a tree as for now he made sure he still resembled John
Winchester. “Why do none of you ever cry out to me if you are in trouble?”
He had not meant for his words to sound brittle as he saw his child’s eyes fall
on him, calculating. The image of Gabriel, spread out with the scent of death
and burning still prevalent when he had arrived. Lucifer had had the gall to
attempt to weep, to be petulant and blame it all on the humans and then on
Gabriel himself when his baby brother had done what was right and necessary.
It had been revolting. He had sent Gabriel’s remains somewhere remote, where
the traces of his grace that still hoovered within it would not be tainted by
the heathen blood pooling metallic across the floor. Somehow he had refrained
from simply striking down Lucifer there in that house of the dead where no one
would mourn him now after the innocence he had taken.
“I didn’t think you would come,” Dean finally offered and Michael sank down to
his knees between his beloved’s legs. There were unspoken words there of
‘without a price’ and the threads of Deans self-hatred were tangible and harsh.
“My brother is dead,” he said, simple yet it felt like a chasm yawned wide in
him. There were hands on his shoulders and he leaned forward his head dropping,
feeling Dean’s breath against him. Gentle touches, offering him something he
thought he would never need.
They do not mourn, they do not look back, they do not falter for they were
eternal.
“My baby brother is dead,” he said again, a strange wetness to his voice.
“Let me take care of you,” was the whisper against his cheek as the wires in
him snapped as he became limp.
Grief was not foreign to him but this was, large and endless and he tried to
not think of Gabriel’s first days. When all his eyes opened and his majestic
wings snapped fast enough to cause the first stars to stutter in their wake.
Heaven’s joy and it had been missing for so long only to burn out beneath the
heels of something that couldn’t be stopped. Would never be prevented as it
ground them all to dust.
Dean was laying him down, his hands and mouth were smooth and he could feel the
shared sorrow of a thousand nameless travesties, the atrocities at their own
hands and the dying of what they loved.
For the first time he let go.
===============================================================================
 
Sam would always say yes. That had never been a question but it was somehow
more disturbing that the boy had done so in a last ditch effort to not be the
monster that stood here now. He wished Dean could find comfort in that but knew
it would never be enough.
Lucifer prattled on as though something would change and he answered politely,
trying not to lose his temper as his little brother still smelling of hell
blamed all their troubles on everyone else. It was hard to not reach out and
strike him, to shake him screaming that regardless of anything else Lucifer
still made the choice to fall. He still refused to seek forgiveness.
For if there was one thing Michael knew with certainty, the one thing immutable
in the universe was that if Morning Star asked for forgiveness, sincerely and
without hesitation, their Father would grant it.
But Lucifer was always stubborn that way.
And then there was Dean, determined to the end to not let his Sam die alone.
Michael knew as he watched his child get out of the car that he had to keep him
concealed from Lucifer. His little brother would use him as leverage and he
needed a reason to snap him away.
So he told him to leave, called him a maggot and got merely an amused look
before he felt his flesh erupt from divine fire and he had to retreat. Adam’s
soul was shocked awake and he held the human beneath the burns as Raphael met
them to reshape the vessel. He would go into the battle wounded but it was not
a priority to him at that moment. That went to the feeling of Dean being slowly
beaten to death.
Yet it was Sam who there before his feet touched earth again, whispering to
Dean and opening the Cage. It was Sam who was so inspired by his brother’s love
that he gave his life, following Dean’s own example.
The easiest solution was to simply thrust his blade through Sam and extinguish
both of them from existence as Sam would not have the reflexes to move quick
enough.
The harder solution was to recall the rings into his hand and continue this
after sending his child far from here.
Both would break his beloved’s heart and he wondered if there was a third
option, one perhaps his Father would allow as his feet touched ground, yelling
to distract his brother still raging and fighting inside Sam.
It was simple to goad Sam into jumping, to give him the urgency to just do it
and cease the hesitation. Dean’s heart broke behind him as he forced out Adam’s
soul, sending it to heaven and allowed Lucifer to lash out, pulling him down
into the depths of hell.
The great wheel that moved them all finally stopped at last.
“Why Mikahel have you done this?” came the shrill voice of Morning Star as
Michael forced him out of Sam’s body, the plummet fast and growing colder as
though ice would form upon his wings.
It was hard to hold onto something being pulled to fall faster than you when
you are already falling faster than a comet, Michael mused holding on against
the sheer force around them. So little time but he wove a bit of grace into
that terrified soul, hoping it was enough for when he was rescued. That Sam
would survive until Dean found a way as there would be no true opening of the
Cage again.
Finally he released him, Sam reaching for him in the darkness illuminated by
his grace, Lucifer screaming and he wondered if being lost to oblivion would
hurt or if he would finally find rest.
End Notes
     First off I'm not even sure if I like this. I usually don't write
     this kind of story but it came to me early this morning while working
     on something else. As I had the day off I ended up outlining the
     whole thing including somehow thinking of a sequel.
     It could be argued that Michael essentially gaslighted Dean but
     seeing as he's an angel that may not have been his intention. While
     the story elements fit it still is rather skeevy to me even as the
     writer though I'd like to believe his progression and end decision
     showed something else. Especially with how he ends up viewing Dean
     and those involved in his life including Sam.
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