michael abrams ψ lucifer (burnscold) wrote in thereincarnates, @ 2011-04-14 14:39:00 |
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Entry tags: | lillie shipton, michael abrams, michelle kingston, shane savage |
Who. Team Winchester & Michael Abrams.
What. Lucifer gets an unexpected surprise, or does he?
Where. Charleston, South Carolina, Hang Man's Bluff.
When. 12 o'clock in the afternoon, Thursday.
Warnings. Character death, angst, a sprinkle of evil, maybe a dash of language, possible violence, etc.
Michael Abrams was tired.
Not even thirty years of age, and all he wanted was a direct route out. He'd lived with Lucifer for a huge part of his life - for most of it, in fact. He thought he knew the man like the back of his hand, but it wasn't until recently that he discovered there was no knowing Lucifer. Not really. All it took was one little crack in their system, one tiny flaw, and everything he knew was thrown off. He let himself get careless, let himself get lazy. It was his fault, no matter how much he wanted to blame Lucifer. Michael screwed up. Now he had to deal with the consequences one of the only ways he knew how: by running away.
The contract between Lucifer and Michael was simple. By bringing Shiloh back, to somehow quench the guilt he wasn't aware he could feel, at the end of the week, Lucifer would take hold. Forever. There would be no going back, no give or take. All of him would be tucked away in The Devil's subconscious - at least, that'd be the case if Lucifer had a subconscious. Michael knew he had to act fast. His days were numbered, and Lucifer could have easily won the war between the two of them at any given second. He couldn't help but wonder if Lucifer knew what fate was about to befall the two of them. That was a thought worth the worry.
He'd contacted Shane - just Shane - though he knew that she wouldn't come alone. She was a Winchester, Winchesters never came to a battle unprepared, no matter how small. They all probably assumed this would be a trap. He couldn't blame them. He wasn't particularly the most trustworthy of souls.
When he'd arrived, Michael knew just how much of a mess he appeared to be. His hair was disheveled, his t-shirt shirt was wrinkled, his jeans were somewhat tattered, and it was a miracle he managed to put on any shoes at all. He could feel Lucifer in his gut, slithering and writhing, and it was taking everything out of him just to keep him from taking over and turning tail to the wind. He inhaled through his nose, hands in his pockets, balled into fists. He wasn't ready for this. He'd never be ready for this. But it was his life versus the thousands, millions, that Lucifer possessed the ability to destroy.
For the first time in Michael's life, there was no contest.