Work Text:
there was a fruit tree. the fruits were purplish-reddish, and they hung in millions, as tho dangling from strings.
there were wild tall grasses that overgrew the garden. small animals scurried between the grasses, rabbits and squirrels.
there was a river that ran thru the garden. there was a path beside the garden.
the path was also overgrown with mosses. there was a wind blowing that made the grass sway.
the garden of eden. nobody has rly used this place to host meetings and stuff after michael died. he was the only one who rly liked the atmosphere here.
metatron was wearing his usual outfit. a hooded cloak over a tunic and baggy trousers.
as he walked along the river, he cudnt help but feel distaste. he never liked it here, the atmosphere was too artificial and stifling. the overgrownness just gave it an abandoned look.
“michael… u idiot…” he muttered, drawing the hood moreso over his face.
then, a person with long blue hair and heavens uniform appeared. he was sytry, the half-born son of gabriel and baalberith, reclaimed by heaven after the thing with lucifer.
“metatron!” sytry seemed surprised to see him. his eyes widened, his body tensed, as he shifted into a defensive stance. “…its not a special holiday or something, right? do u have a reason to be here?”
“haha, no,” metatron looked around. “has michael come back?”
“what? michael is…” sytrys shoulders tensed. “whatever,” he said, before spreading his wings and flying away.
a memory flew into metatrons mind. two hundred years ago, the battle with lucifer. he had clashed with michael, his own arm turning into the branch of the tree of wisdom. his ‘sword’ was a part of his own body, turned into enchanted wood.
michael was fighting with his golden sword. and then…
disintegrating wings.
eyes that closed.
immortals fell asleep when they became injured, or extremely old. then theyd wake up once again. there were some cases where they stayed asleep forever, and then simply disappeared forever.
but michael cudnt be gone. he was the leaders of the archangels. so, surely, metatron was certain hed find him.
he must find him. michael still owed him, after all. for turning him from the human enoch, into the archangel metatron. for giving him thirty-six wings that cudnt take him to where he wanted to go to the most.
metatron continued walking. he heard the flowing of the river, trickling downstream. he heard the chirping of the birds, both distant and near.
then he came across a stone. and another, and more. stretching on for miles and miles. it all had names and dates written on them. it was the graveyard of angels.
he found sandalphon in front of one of the stones. they were both surprised to see each other. sandalphon looked at him thru the long bangs covering his eyes.
“michael is dead.”
metatron started. “what?”
“u know that already.” sandalphon looked back down at the gravestone in front of him. "mightier angels had fallen before. thats just how war is. even gods can die.”
“haha,” metatron leaned his palm against one of the gravestones, feeling the cold bumpy rock against his hand. his body at a slant, he said, “wow. ur so serious.”
sandalphon shook his head. metatrons smile faded into a snarl.
after sandalphon left, metatron sat down on a stone and swung his legs. he remembered a time when michael and him went to the humans realm together.
it was winter. it was snowing. snow fell for days, sometimes softly, sometimes intensely. it piled up on the ground. it gathered.
metatron and michael walked along the snow-covered streets. the houses were also made of stone and clay. there was nothing except for that, and people walking along. there were the stars, the moon, the sky, and there was the houses and the snow-covered grounds, and there were people walking around. everything was lifeless, but also filled with life.
“lets go watch a puppet show,” michael suddenly said. he never seemed excited abt anything, so this was new.
“theres a crowd of people gathered there…” metatron said.
michael took his hand and ran towards it. metatron felt his heart pounding. each step made him feel lightheaded. the crowds of people seemed so familiar, and it was like a river flowing into a sea. in the same way, they blended into a crowd.
“its starting!” someone shouted.
metatron looked at michael. he was smiling with his mouth slightly open, and his eyes were shining.
everybody was cheering and chattering and laughing as the puppet show played on. altho the stone houses and snow were the same as ever, the air seemed to come alive with the people here.
the story was abt a clay man who came to life. it was represented by a clay puppet that dangled from a string, while the other puppets were made of wood and had joints.
after the clay man came to life, its creator, a potter, passed away. the clay man spent decades traveling thru different kingdoms and forests. it asked both people and animals (represented by cloth cutouts and drawings of animals) abt how to bring a person back to life.
even tho there were moments where it seemed it might work, it never did. all of its efforts were futile in the end. with grief, the clay man turned back into a lump of clay. this lump of clay grew bigger over time, as rocks clung to it. eventually turning into a mountain.
the puppeteer concluded the story, saying.
“this moutain is called clay mountain, and as u kno it is just outside our city! u can see it, there!”
indeed. there was a mountain, rocky with spots of green, rising over the city walls, towering. there were ooos and ahhs from the crowd.
“the moral of this story is that altho the living can move and change, the dead is dead forever. no matter what, death cannot be reversed.”
“thats just bullshit,” michael muttered. “immortals fall asleep, then wake up again. i bestow ecstasy onto humans, who become immortal saints themselves, and join the ranks of heaven. of course death can be reversed.”
metatron nodded. now, he realized, michael mustve been thinking of gabriel, his sister who fell into the death sleep, during lucifers fall. michael was often convinced that she wud wake up again.
she disappeared, her body turning into a white lily. michael built a coffin for that lily in the etemenaki, the angels bed, where they slept. but unlike the other coffins there, gabriel was never going to wake up. she had become a flower.
sitting in the graveyard, metatron wondered what kind of thing he wud become after disappearing. some gods didnt leave anything behind at all, metatron had seen that first hand many times. they simply turn to dust. dust wasnt useful for anything.
a bird chirped. the stillness extended as metatron sat on that tombstone, surrounded by so so many others. surrounded by trees, grass, and the river. then, finally, he got up and walked away.
at the edge of heaven, where the floating island break off and there were only clouds beneath, metatron spread all of his wings, and glided back down thru the clouds, into the humans world.
since michael wasnt in heaven and wasnt in hell, then he was surely hiding in the humans world.
michael wud find him there. one day, some day. he was sure of it.