In Which Ya'll Kept Asking and Asking for This, So I Finally Decided, What the Hell, I'll Throw Away My Nice, Tragic Ending Just to Make Ya'll Stop. Be Happy I Love You.
"Do you have any threes?"
Sighing, Harry reached out and grabbed another card from the deck in between Michael and him. They weren't real cards, of course; just manifestations of his Grace given shape in order to provide some break from the absolute boredom and monotony that living in the Cage has caused. It wasn't working very well. Both archangels were bored to tears.
When they had first fallen into the Cage, their battles had shaken the ground. That was back when Adam's soul was still among them. Michael, trying to fulfill what he thought was their Father's will, had attacked him for what felt like decades and Harry defended, unintentionally hurting Adam's soul in the process. After all that time fighting in the Cage, the two archangels eventually came to the realization that neither could die while inside.
Then Death appeared one day. He had taken Adam's soul, which Dean Winchester had exchanged his ring back in order to allow Adam to go to Heaven. The information still made Harry smile. Leave it to Dean to exchange one of the most powerful artifacts in the world just to get a soul out of Hell. He supposed that was just the Winchester way.
Death had kept him updated about what they were doing after that. Harry had come to anticipate and dread these visits; anticipate because it broke the normal dullness of his life and got to hear how they were doing, dread because somehow, even after stopping the Apocalypse which is supposedly the most challenging thing in the world, they kept getting into worse situations. Seriously, first Eve, then Leviathans, then fight after fight after fight. Those poor brothers…his poor Sam…
Thinking about the Winchesters and Castiel hurt. Dean hurt the least. He was like another Michael, but (not that Harry would ever admit this out loud) better. He was a comrade in arms, the only one who understood why he had to trap Michael. Because just like him, Dean understood not being able to kill one's brother, even though the world would be better without him. Harry would be ever grateful of Dean.
Castiel…Cas was only just bearable to think about. His little brother. The one who watched with curious eyes as the first humans just started to develop. Death had told Harry of Castiel's time with all the souls of Purgatory inside of him, of his time insane, and finally his life as a hunter. His little brother had messed up a lot in his pursuit of free will for their family, just like Harry had done. But somehow…Cas was better at it. He was the one truly chosen to bring freedom to the angels. But with every word Death spoke about him, Harry desired to escape the Cage and hide Castiel away from the world in order to keep it from hurting him anymore.
And Sam… Sam was like an hour long Crusio. Every thought of him was either wishes and laments or urges to know how he was doing. The latter urge was often satisfied by Death's visits, but Harry always felt worse afterwards. He should be with him. He shouldn't be in here, trapped with Michael playing endless rounds of Gold Fish, when he should be up top, fighting side by side with Sam and preventing tragedies from happening to his human. Harry couldn't blame Sam for trying to move on—moving on was a part of human existence. To not do so would be detrimental to his psyche, like Snape's obsession with his mother.
But nothing ever worked. Sam seemed destined to suffer heartbreak after heartbreak.
Albeit, Harry's time in the Cage hadn't been all bad. He finally got Michael to actually listen to him for once, to explain why Dad hadn't wanted the Apocalypse yet (Michael had forced him to add on the yet, citing that even if Dad didn't want the world to end now, it didn't mean that it couldn't end later.). It didn't change that they were stuck without anything to do besides endless card games.
Sighing again, Harry said, "Do you have any twos—do you hear that?"
There was chanting. It was faint, a whisper on non-existent wind. There were rarely sounds from the outside world inside the Cage—occasional screams of the damned, the odd Satanist's prayer that he could do nothing about even if he wanted too, the random soul's voice that Harry had tempted back when he was really into all that "Lord of Darkness" BS. But this wasn't like any of those. It was a long string of words in…Latin, maybe? He couldn't tell, the voice was too far away.
Michael stood, his cards vanishing into nothing. "What is that?" he demanded as if Harry would know the answer.
"How would I know?" Harry shot back. "You'd know better than I would with all your time conscious of divine and demonic movements. It's not like you were doing nothing up in Heaven while all of my followers were trying to break me out of here, right?"
"You think it's a demon?" he scoffed. "Impossible."
"Is it really so impossible that a demon would try to release its creator, or are you just being a pompous arsehole?"
"Why you little—" Reconciled or not, no one could ever claim that Harry didn't know how to provoke his brother. Michael swung a fist at him, only for it to go straight through Harry like he was mist. "How is that…?"
"Looks like I'm getting out of here a bit sooner than we expected, Mikey," Harry whispered, awe coloring his tone as he inspected his hand. It was turning translucent. He glanced up at Michael, who was watching him with wide eyes. "I guess this is goodbye for now, Michael."
The chanting grew louder as Harry was spirited away. It felt like he was being tugged up by his navel. Smoke bellowed over him, around him, fading everything to a dull grey which wasn't much better to black rocks of the Cage. He was pulled along until solid ground appeared under his feet, although the smoke didn't dissipate. Harry took a shaky step forward, trying to gain a sense of direction. What was this place? Was it Hell, Heaven, Purgatory? The color reminded him of Purgatory, but there was something distinctively human about this place…
He could hear someone breathing. Harry started walking left, towards the sound. As he got closer, the smoke began to clear and Harry could tell that he was heading towards the light. Finally the smoke cleared enough for him to see the person that was there.
His eyes widened. It couldn't…could it? With shaking hands, Harry reached out and clutched the bars that separated them. His heart sped as he took in the other's features—the longer hair, the stronger jawline, the same hopeful, hazel eyes… Slowly, a smile graced Harry's face as words tumbled out of his mouth.
"Hello Sam. It's been far too long."
A/N: I've stopped watching Supernatural, so I'm not entirely sure if this is how Rowena or what's-her-face summoned Luci back, but this ended up better (and longer) than I expected, so might as well keep it. And now, I officially end the Morning Star.