#omano chan

Lucifer feels himself pale, the anger flowing down the drain. His head grows cold while his stomach churns hot, flushed with all the blood rushing from his face. He feels really sick. It's only the sharp pain just behind his heart that nails him to the spot, somehow still standing. Michael is in terrible pain. Seeing him burning up from the inside, close to sobbing and gasping for air under the freezing stream of the shower to ease the pain just a little is breaking Lucifer's heart. Before he could think better of it he is pulled to his brother, wrapping him up in his arms, pulling him back to his chest. He feels helpless like a child. The despair with which Michael unconsciously leans back into his touch, grasps for his naked forearms for his skin is cool, crunches the traitorous heart into fine diamond dust.

In the middle of the reeking bloodbath Michael is sitting on one arm of the sofa. There is no scratch at all on his imperial figure. He sits like one of those stone angels in cemeteries with their solemn, gentle faces and commanding posture even as they watch over the dead. The blade lying across his knees is glinting even in the dark. Clean. There was no fight here. Only ants were squished. Lucifer squints at the scene. "Do I want to know what's all this?" he asks. Michael looks at him with the calm of the endless ocean in his eyes. "I found them tumbling across our property," Michael says. "And they call me a mass murderer," Lucifer rolls his eyes and bites down on a hiss as he feels the skin peeling at their corners. Michael stands. The steel is slowly melting from his features as he walks up to his brother. Gently, he cups Lucifer's cheek in a warm palm, and suddenly the skin doesn't feel too tight anymore. Only chills chase each other along the length of the blond's spine. It's Michael's grace. "What's with all the blood?" Lucifer asks a bit lightheaded. "That's for you. I gathered you wouldn't rely on me healing you all the time." Why is there sadness underlining those words? "I'll leave you to it," in passing Michael adds, "Clean up after yourself."

Lucifer snickers. Does he honestly think that there is any chance of a last showdown here? Well. He shouldn’t be the one to let his brother down. The destructive dance starts again.

A great amount of sleeping later Michael took a shower and re-emerged into the world of the living. He also came back on angel radio, which partly and definitely not admittedly, eased off the knot in Lucifer's stomach. His brother is all right and he can go back to hating him just as it was before.

After that night of calm and softening Lucifer forcefully reminded himself how much he hated his brother. Thus he has become Michael's shadow; only more faithful, a malicious sweet voice even on the greyest of days, tirelessly seeking for the tiniest of cracks on the other's armour. Just a single sign of sloppiness in the sacred procedure of putting on the golden mail, and Lucifer immediately slipped a poisoned little knife in there.

Lucifer makes one last attempt to push himself up from the ground, but soon it is Michael's solid weight straddling his middle that keeps him in place. He expects the firm, suffocating touch of a blade to his throat, repaying the favour from those nights prior. Instead, a warm hand cups the side of his face and pulls Lucifer up into an awkward half sitting position. His body obeys. Foreign power cruises his veins keeping the Fallen where Michael wants him to be. Michael leans down and kisses Lucifer on the mouth. Surprise, then a burst of electricity stills his heart. The next time his tongue flickers out, to gain more time for a snap back, or to chase Michael's taste on his lips he will never know for sure, but he finds that the blistering scar is gone. The only blood he savours tastes like copper and sun-kissed warm soil. It is Michael's. His brother leans up, brows pinched into a scowl. "I can still taste the demon blood on your breath," he says. "It's disgusting." And Lucifer can taste salt on Michael's skin, exhaustion and insistence for oxygen on his breath. Michael has tired. If Lucifer swallows down the gagging fury he can see it in his brother's movements too. There is the strain of muscle as he pushes himself back on his feet, his shoulders are squared by pure will, head is hanging by two degrees as he leans his sticks carefully against the wall. It was a training, playful little fight. Nothing compared to the Apocalypse. Yet Lucifer has been defeated. Yet Michael has tired. Still on the ground, Lucifer shouts after Michael's retreating back. "You didn't only abandon me!" He chuckles maliciously. "Did you rebel, Michael? You didn't kill me. You left Heaven!" Michael doesn't stop on his way inside. Just as he opens the door Lucifer's voice thunders through the air, sure that the elder could not miss it, "I'll make sure you'll never return!"

Just don't let me take a shower while thoroughly frustrated :P This idea was so, ugh, strange and off, and disassembled I wanna digg a hole and bury myself in it :P ^^; sry!!!

Tintin the Kitten - Deal With It