The pain wakes him after he and Ella both pass out, following him making her orgasm more than once. And when the pain hits, it's excruciating. And new.

It is nothing like he's had before and between the Rebellion, his ruined existence, and the fight at the precinct…and his months of wing spasms, Michael has still never felt anything like this. He bolts up and hurries to the bathroom. He is nauseated at the same time and that has never once happened to him, not even after he was dragged to the palace and his side was on fire. Not even then.

But the pain in his lower back and low across his abdomen is ferocious, like he's a mortal caught in a vice, and what else has Father done to him?

Why?

Why?

Samael started a Rebellion that tore heaven asunder, Mother sent a flood, Amenadiel and his machinations left humans dead. He was not good, but he did nothing like any of this, and still he cannot escape the pain.

Michael retches into the toilet again and again until he passes out on the floor. He comes to just a bit, his back wrenching as he does, but he drifts off again. The bathroom in the hotel has no windows so he has no idea what time it is. Maybe there isn't any time. It feels as if his oldest brother has unleashed his power and made a few hours an eternity. There is just pain and exhaustion and the nausea.

And then maybe he thinks his sensitive nose detects blood.

Michael only stirs because Ella has found him. Part of him hates that she has. He's an angel of the Lord…or he was. He isn't sure exactly what he is now, but he's supposed to be above mortal problems, and pain. Lopez shouldn't have to see him weak and suffering. She's felt the brunt of that early on, when he grew so desperate to feed. He doesn't want her to keep thinking of him as weak. To only pity him.

But now she's in his bathroom, cradling his head on her lap and that warmth is back in his belly but so are the cramps. As he blinks his eyes wider, he finds the tile of the bathroom floor stained with blood. It's like a shock of cold water against his skin. Michael tries to sit up, but he's so fucking woozy that Ella cradles him.

"Hey, shh, you're okay. It's okay."

He tries again but he just can't get the energy together to do much. "No, you're cut. I don't…what hurt you?" Michael flails to the blood by the base of the toilet.

Fuck, he was too sick to flush it and for all the humiliation in his immortal life, this is only not the worst because facing his siblings after Raphael could not save his right side was yet more painful. But this is not bearable either. After all the blood, bile, and vomit…she should leave.

He didn't ask for help.

And her eyes are wide and so very sad. He doesn't want pity either.

But she seems to understand at least that he can't stand to be touched right now. She hops up to the sink and grabs a stack of white, fluffy towels from under it. Then she offers them to him and discreetly shuts the toilet lid and flushes it.

"Michael, I…you should have told me."

"You're cut!" He objects because where else would blood come from? He's wingless, not vulnerable and nothing can pierce his skin. So Ella has done something unfathomable or someone has hurt her, and he will make them pay. "Who did it?"

She bites her lower lip. "It's your blood."

"I don't bleed though. I can't. It's not like Samael and being near his…" he stops himself before he blurts fucking Chloe Decker's name. He is not a truth teller, never has been, and he's more than content to tell her all about his brother the Devil, the evil Samael than connect him to the Lucifer she knows and still fawns over. No yet, not till Georgia. Still, he has no Miracle for himself, and he cannot be wounded by mortal means. Certainly not in a washroom.

"My twin can be hurt, but I can't, not like this."

Ella's eyes are wide and a bit misty, as if she's holding back tears. "You don't know. I just…oh man."

"Ella, I don't…" he stands and looks down and the hem of the t-shirt he passed out in is covered in blood, it cakes his thighs and streaks down his calves.

No. Dear Father no.

Michael looks to her, and the shock of it is so great that he should be shoving her out, locking the bathroom door behind him. She can't…oh fuck this is embarrassing. But, then again, when did Michael Demiurgos ever have a good moment? When was he ever respected?

Why fucking start now?

He swallows hard even through the nausea and the back pain and reaches between his legs, everything there is warm and uncomfortably sticky. When he pulls his palm back, it is coated in blood.

"I don't…what is this?"

Ella goes to the sink and wets down a towel and starts running it over his knees and calves, down to his feet, getting the blood from there before handing it to him and then rabbiting over to the tub. "I'll get a plastic bag, and we'll toss the shirt, okay? You need a bath and to get a few breaths. I've got tons of stuff in my suitcases for this, and we can…I don't use pads, but I can hop to a drug store before you're done cleaning up."

"I can't. I'm not…I'm a guy." And even if Dad were so cruel to make the change this pervasive and apparently He was, but even then, angels are sterile. Yes, he made seed but there was nothing about it that could impregnate a woman. His sisters have never had filthy secretions shared in common with mortal women. He isn't…but oh no.

Oh fuck no.

Michael barely can process anything. Just mutely goes through the motions of stripping off his ruined t-shirt and slides into the tub. He is naked as the day Mother and Father made him, and the scar on his back and the blood on his thighs and all of it is hers to see. There is nowhere to hide, no hiding at all now.

He would rather he still had his crappy wings left to him, and Ella had seen that than the mess he's become.

Despite everything, including the warm bath water and Ella working hard around him to clean the bathroom, to fix his mess, Michael is shaking. His teeth are chattering, and it takes a minute to realize she's sidled up next to him and is scrubbing his back with a washcloth. It feels good. Kind in a way no one has been to him since before he was ruined, and fuck it. Again his cheeks are wet, and Michael's so very tired and alone.

Except not truly because this strange, babbling woman is beside him. This ray of sunshine he has not earned.

"This hasn't happened before, has it?" she asked.

"No, never. I was serious, Ella. Angels are sterile. We can't procreate. Dad made it so."

Amenadiel is a technicality only because he was rendered mortal and human by the time he met Linda. Self-actualization that has created a Nephilim in heritage but with no powers at all.

Michael continues, "My sisters—there are many—they cannot do this."

Ella rolls her eyes. "Dude, not to paint a picture, but it's not like it was something I talked about with my four brothers if I could avoid it. Unless…" she bites her lip again. "…are you turning human?"

Michael shakes his head. He has no wings, but he's as strong as he was, feels his Celestial nature within him. He regards her with golden eyes, the last proof of his Divinity without his wings. If anything, he's more than what he was. Wingless, sure, but his Creation run amok and his ability to both make matter and now, suddenly, shape it far superior to what he had eons ago. And with Maze's accusations he's a goddess also shoved firmly to the back of his mind.

For he can't think on that. He won't, not tonight.

"No, this is insane. This is like my mom. Not even all my sisters, just like Her."

Ella gasps," Do you think that's it? I mean, your mom was the Goddess, right? And she made all the angels?"

"Mother of Angels, and technically true. But I'm an archangel or, well, I was. Doubt I qualify much without wings and all the pain I'm in. But I'm not Her. I couldn't be."

He better fucking not be. His mother was batshit, wherever Samael had sent her. And a part of Michael has to wonder if her Creation abilities had rotted her mind a bit or if it really was just jealousy over Dad's dedication to humanity.

Who can tell?

"Wait, so because you can Create matter…you can…you did get a period?" Ella's tone is surprised, but she seems to get a hold of herself and be calmer after. "Rayos. Look, I'll get you some pads and a heating pad, maybe a hot water bottle too. You can't feel drugs, right?"

"No, I don't think so."

"Good, then I'll just add in lots of chocolate, and you'll thank me later, trust me." She wraps her arms around his shoulders and hugs him tight, and he has never felt worse in his life.

Father in heaven, she'll never see him as anything but pathetic, as little more than a monstrous amalgamation of his wounds after all this. Then again, he almost rendered her catatonic within a few weeks of re-meeting her. This is embarrassing. It is nothing like the power of Fear even now barely contained within him.

"Michael, it's going to be fine," she adds. "Honestly, I never…it was just me and four brothers, you know? I never had anyone to help through this, but I totally have it. I'm like an expert. I can get you all the good stuff."

She hops up then, and her smile is so lively, so kind. Ella Lopez is so damn good.

And he's just broken.

And Creation in a way he never was before. Maybe Father taking his wings has thrown everything off whack, and his mastery over fear has been shattered while his hold over Creation, itself, has warped him.

Changing all he's been after eons left dormant.

What is happening to him?

What will even be left?

Ella mistakes his silence for panic, and truthfully, maybe it is. She reaches across for him and strokes his cheek. He's glad that his left side is to her. He could not bear it if she were to stroke the scar that Samael has left on him. Could not.

"You're okay. It's not so bad. I mean, a few days and it's annoying, but all the chocolate and all the rest you need, Mike. I promise."

She flits out, and he sets his face on his knees. Fuck, what even is the point of Creation without

Will? Why does it even matter?

So far all he's made was one lumpy frog and a busted-up chinchilla with too many ears. Not exactly going gangbusters.

Yet maybe it doesn't matter. Maybe this all is just more of Father's power trip to rip and rend and rebuild Michael's own form as He sees fit. Michael should be glad he still woke up angelic at all. With this cavalcade of changes, Michael may yet awaken one morning to be as burned and scarred as Samael.

To find he is winged again but only with bat-like abominations.

Yes, for now, being a female in every sense he thought of it…except for how he sees and feels about himself deep down…but this body betraying him by leaps and bounds is better than other punishments Dad can still inflict.

But for half the Demiurge, Michael is powerless. At least when it counts.

Currently, he's tied onto the roller coaster, and Father will decide what next to take from him. Or, perhaps, his own mind and his all-consuming guilt over Sam's Miracle has done this too. Perhaps he is truly his own warden. Michael doesn't know. And he doesn't know why Maze can't identify his scent as angelic or how he made Pepe at all. But he shouldn't…no angel should do this, not one of his sisters even.

So what is happening to him? And what, mostly likely does Father want?

Michael has no idea what game his Father is at this time, and it terrifies him. Mostly because if he doesn't even know the game, he can't figure out the rules. He can't keep himself safe, let alone Ella.

The bath water grows cold as he waits for Lopez to return, and Michael shivers.

Alone.