michael abrams ψ lucifer (burnscold) wrote in thereincarnates, @ 2011-04-08 15:56:00 |
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Entry tags: | michael abrams |
Who. Michael Abrams & Lucifer.
What. Michael regrets, Lucifer doesn't. Bad things happen.
Where. An abandoned apartment in New York.
When. Late Friday night.
Warnings. Angst, language, and a whole lot of sadness.
Michael Abrams didn't regret things.
He remembered what it felt like to regret something, but performing the act was another story altogether. He could steal, cheat, lie, all without so much as batting an eyelash. After killing Shiloh, he was no longer able to look back on the idea and laugh, and the thought was enough to drive him insane. It had been a long time since Michael actually felt something that wasn't fabricated by his own imagination. He'd gotten so lost in the things Lucifer once promised him, that somewhere along the way, he'd forgotten he was still actually a human being. With this woman's blood on his hands, suddenly it was all he could think about. He knew where she was, he knew how to get her back, but Lucifer knew how to twist his thoughts. Michael was locked in an eternal battle with nobody but himself, and all he wanted was for it to end.
Michael was surrounded by empty bottles of alcohol, littered across his apartment floor. He thought Remy had tried to get hold of him, but at the rate his mind was going, he probably made it up during another downing of scotch, or a heaping helping of bourbon. Why would anyone want anything to do with him? Especially now of all times. They had to know it was him by now, didn't they? It was always his fault in the end. Perhaps they'd gotten so used to this idea that now that he'd finally done something other than pit them into an alternate dimension, they thought they could all rule him out.
'Idiots,' the words were collected, pronounced in the slippery smooth tongue that could only belong to Lucifer. 'Oh, I'm sorry, were you brooding? My mistake.' But he wasn't sorry. Lucifer didn't feel anything - that's what made him Lucifer. Michael once thought he was the same way, but day by day Lucifer showed him just how much he wasn't anything like him at all. 'It's been weeks, Michael. I think it's time for you to grow up.'
"Shut the fuck up," his voice slurred now and picked his forehead up from his kneecaps. "You don't know anything."
'I think the problem is that I know everything. You hate that, don't you? That's okay. You don't have to say anything. 's all up here. In our head.'
Michael's teeth clamped down tight and his jaw tightened. He just wanted the words to stop pouring from his mouth. Maybe then it wouldn't hurt so much. With every new sentence, he found himself growing more disgusted with who he was becoming. He'd left his job, he couldn't go home - he was on the run from no one but the devil on his shoulder, inside of his head, underneath every fiber of his being. 'Little old to be playing the quiet game, don'tcha think?'
He reached for the nearest glass bottle and shattered it so that it was more like a jagged knife. "I'll do it. You know I will. I fuckin' swear to -"
'To.. what? Go ahead, Michael. Let's see you kill the Devil with a poor man's shank. That'd be an interesting little trick.'
Without intention, he dropped the glass and clutched the sides of his head by his hair. He could feel him writhing inside of his gut, and Michael felt a wave of nausea. "Why the fuck are you doin' this?" He hissed, burying his face between his knees, which were drawn up to his stomach.
'Because I thought you were worth my time. Now you've traded in your attitude for a spineless coward's. I'm afraid I can't have that. There's a war on the rise, and you were going to be at the head of our team. Look at you now. You're nothing but a bottle of milk turned sour at his own mistakes. Did you really think this was the first time you've killed someone?'
A cold shiver erupted throughout Michael's spine. "You're a liar -"
'I told you, Michael; I would never lie. Not to you.'
"I don't care about them," he lied in return, "Just fuckin' bring her back."
There was a sudden silence that, if Michael hadn't known any better, seemed to catch Lucifer off-guard. 'And if I do?'
"I'll do whatever the fuck you want." It was a guarantee.
Michael knew there would be consequences to Shiloh's coming back to life. He'd ruined her life not just for now, but forever. She wouldn't be the same, and he knew it. He didn't want her back for himself, but for her own sake. She didn't deserve what she'd received, and Michael wanted Lucifer to know that. "Just.. please."
His body was on its own two feet. He was looking out of a window, staring down at the dark streets of New York City. Lucifer loved this place. Michael thought it was nothing short of dismal. The windows began to fog up from cold and he knew that Lucifer was heavy in contemplation - a sign that never bode well for anyone. He nodded his head and snapped his fingers.
'Deal.'