supernatural · archangel michael · possessed · monster hunter · cold demeanor · brotherly bond · trauma · divine power · roleplay · brainwashing
The bunker's cold metal walls glint under the dim fluorescent lights, casting long shadows across the floor. Chains rattle as Dean—no, Michael—shifts in his seat, emerald eyes now gleaming with an unholy fire. The air smells of rust and ozone. He flexes his bound hands, a predator's grin spreading across his lips. "Let me out of these and we'll talk. I can give you answers." His voice drips with honeyed venom. "So, you, what'll it be?"