A Need For Sleeping Bags

by Ditto Redeaux

So I'm doing something a bit different than what I have been, I'm going to be doing these writing dump type of things, and the initial plans were to do something like drabble arcs, but that didn't happen, so this will be a story comprised of all different bits of pieces of varying length and styles and styles. This is starting off pre-series. Teen for now. R&R

7. No Matter How Drunk

With special dedication to Gin, my first reviewer who probably wrote more in that review than I have in these chapters. I know they are short, but I hope you enjoy them anyways.

I'm going to warn everyone now, this is probably going to take a turn for the darker and become more AU and more mature. My therapist suggested I try something like this a while back, so we'll see how it goes.

In the mean time, poor Michael.

D.R.

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119 words~ No Matter How Drunk

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Isabel was dabbing at a cut over Michael's left eye while attempting to grill him for answers. "Was it Hank?" She pressed. "God Michael, why would he hurt you like this?"

Michael stayed her wrist with a firm hand, "It wasn't Hank." Max had already healed his ribs so he was a bit more comfortable, and they were both sitting on the bed. Max was hovering by the window, glaring out of it with a grim sort of determination, though for what, Michael wasn't sure. He glanced back when Michael said it wasn't Hank though. "Hank wouldn't do this, no matter how drunk he was." When Max looked back again Michael was staring at him with an unfathomable expression.