Summary: Michael is starting to heal and find himself but that also means confronting his past and the world outside of his twin's apartment.
Healing was a strange concept, Michael would come to learn.
It wasn't a linear process, but not many things were, not even time. It would probably be easier if it was. Humans seemed to associate healing with time, though Michael wasn't so sure about that. He had eons under his belt and it hadn't healed his wings or his back or his soul. But time didn't mean as much to him as it did to humans. They decorated their lives with reminders of time. He counted two clocks in the room, three if cell phones were added. The clock on the desk was a silent digital clock, but the one on the wall was analog and ticked away in a constant rhythm.
Michael didn't notice his fingers tapping on his knee nervously to the same rhythm until an identical hand reached over and took his, intertwining their fingers. He glanced over at Sam, who gave him a reassuring smile.
"Alright?"
"Yeah, yeah. Just…"
"Nervous?"
"I don't know why. I've faced primordial beings hellbent on destroying me and had less nerves than this."
"Fighting was always easy for you. This is different. It's asking you to take all the vulnerable parts of yourself and lay them bare not just for your viewing but for another to examine as well, knowing full well you might not like what you see. A bit of anxiety isn't remiss, brother," Sam reassured.
Michael sighed and glanced around the waiting room of Dr. Linda Martin's office. He had agreed to try to forgive himself, but he was at a loss of where to start. Turns out, Sam wasn't much better than him and his solution was for them to go see Dr. Martin since she had been a huge help to him.
Michael was understandably uneasy about it. He had gotten Dr. Martin caught up in the mess of fulfilling Father's plan. He had been a threat to her son, his own nephew. He understood if she did not want to see him. For some reason, she agreed. To be honest, he had been expecting Amenadiel to be standing like a sentinel in the corner of the waiting room, ready to defend her. Perhaps Sam had talked him down or he had assured him he would tag along to play chaperone in case Michael went crazy. Then again, there was every chance Sam had accompanied him to keep him from bolting, which was not out of the realm of possibility.
This was the first time Michael had been out of the penthouse since he had been taken out of Hell. He had gone to Lux and officially met Sam's employees and had even gone to watch one of his brother's sets, but he had to leave halfway through. The crush of people made him feel suffocated, not to mention all the fears that he was not used to shutting out yet. That was something totally different from getting dressed, getting in a car and driving through densely populated LA. He didn't have to interact with people, but the wider world hadn't felt free and open to him. All it did was remind him that life existed outside of Sam's penthouse. Eventually, Michael was going to have to rejoin it and run the risk of hurting people again (and of being hurt.)
He tried not to think about it on the journey to Dr. Martin's office, but now he was dwelling on it and wondering if he had made a mistake. He knew in his heart of hearts there was nothing that could fix him. He was wrong, he was ill-made, he was Darkness and Fear and had always been. If he was worthy, then Father would have loved him, his siblings would have wanted him, Mother would have cared more about him. If he was stronger, then he would not have caused so much pain in his long life. There was no way he could be forgiven, not by them and not by himself.
A hand ran through his hair softly, pulling him from his fraught thoughts. He looked over at Sam, who had a look of concern.
"I'm fine," he reassured.
Sam's face tightened at that.
"I'm sorry. I don't want to keep lying to you. I think it just comes more naturally to me than the truth does nowadays."
Michael chuckled bitterly as a thought struck him.
"One twin incapable of lying and the other incapable of telling the truth. Irony of ironies."
"I can lie, I simply choose not to. And you're not incapable of telling the truth. I seem to remember a certain someone had no qualms about telling me when my ego was outgrowing me."
"Not that you ever listened," Michael retorted.
"I listened to the lectures, I just never did take them very much to heart. There's a difference," Sam protested.
Michael raised a dubious eyebrow at that.
"Is there?"
"Besides, your lies have had their uses."
Michael's other eyebrow went up at that.
"What? But you hate liars."
"I hate the act of lying in order to manipulate others for nefarious purposes or cover up one's own truth to assuage some, likely, misguided sense of guilt. Hate the sin, not the sinner and all that. I'm God now, I kind of have to be a little more forgiving, don't I? Anyway, I remember your lies getting us out of quite a few jams and into some of the best mischief. Like when we convinced Amenadiel to dye his wings pink."
Michael's lips went up in a smirk at the memory of Amenadiel's embarrassed face when all their siblings saw the bad dye job.
"True. Or when we convinced Delirium to help us make new psychedelic plants in secret."
"My favorite was when you tricked Esrafil into leading her chorus in a song honoring Zeus instead of Dad."
The twins shared a laugh of amusement as they remembered the horrified and scandalized looks amongst the Host as the heavenly choir sang at the Gates about the mighty God of Lightning sitting high on Mount Olympus.
"To be fair, we did make sure she didn't sing it in front of Father," Michael justified.
"Exactly. We were tricksters but we weren't cruel for the most part. Besides, our siblings were so easy to fool, who could resist the temptation? You'd think Mr. and Mrs. Perfect Design would've made them with a few more brain cells. Bunch of beautiful idiots."
"They're your idiots now."
"For better or worse. Lot of good it does me. They're even more clueless than demons. I don't know how you managed."
"They have their strengths and uses once you know how to corral them."
"I suppose you would be the expert there. Any time you want to pop up and give me some pointers or put some natural Fear into them, let me know."
Michael shifted a little in his seat.
"I'm not ready for that."
Sam glanced over at him and gave him a small smile of reassurance.
"It was just talk. No pressure. And don't worry, I can handle the lot of them. I wonder if I should institute some sort of formal education for them. It seems to work mostly with humans. Although, all the angels are past the adolescent phase of growth so who knows how effective that would be."
"Give them a job and some freedom with reasonable boundaries and most of them will be satisfied. Though you'll always have some detractors for a variety of reasons. Esra will probably be one of them. She's never forgiven us for that stunt. You might want to watch out for her."
"Oh please. Of all of the siblings not pleased with the transition of power upstairs, Esra's the least of my worries."
"Well, she's very good at holding a grudge. She even helped Amenadiel spread those goat stories about you as revenge."
Sam's face fell at that.
"Wait, that was Amenadiel?!"
"Yes, I thought you knew that."
"I figured it was you!"
"Why would I do that? I don't like goats any more than you do."
"That little… I have to start plotting my revenge. I can't let this stand. Anyone will think I've gone soft. Oh, he will rue the day."
Michael felt his lips quirking in an amused but tender smile. Sam was always so dramatic. Michael had missed his blustering and ranting, he had missed him. He so wanted to be better for him. He didn't want to let Sam down. He just knew himself well enough to know that eventually he probably would disappoint him. However, he figured he had better enjoy the moment while it lasted.
"I'll help you come up with some ideas. I doubt he's gotten any less easy to prank."
Sam shot him an impish smile.
"I'm sure together we'll come up with something sufficiently embarrassing."
Just then, Dr. Martin's door opened and she stepped out with a woman. The woman's eyes were a bit red, like she'd been crying.
Great.
"I'll see you the same time next week, Dr. Martin," the woman said.
"You will. And remember your homework."
The woman nodded to them as she walked past, leaving just the twins and the doctor.
"Michael, thank you for coming. I'm glad you agreed to see me."
"You are," he asked doubtfully.
Dr. Martin nodded but he still wasn't sure he believed her. He followed Sam's lead in standing, but Dr. Martin stopped them.
"Actually Lucifer, I'd like to speak to Michael alone for the first session. I know the two of you would like to do sessions together, and you should, but I'd like to establish an understanding on our own first."
Michael paused, glancing at Sam uncertainly.
"Amenadiel won't be happy," Sam pointed out.
"I'm aware. But this is my office and my client. I'm not going to change the way I do my job for Amenadiel."
"Too right. Okay, I'll just be out here then, Mi."
Michael felt a pit of anxiety settle in his stomach. He was not expecting to be alone with Dr. Martin after everything he had done to her. He certainly hadn't anticipated her requesting his presence alone, but he couldn't back out now. He entered the office once Dr. Martin had waved him in and settled on the couch. There was another clock in this room ticking to a different rhythm than the one in the waiting room.
Michael shook his head and took a deep breath, not wanting to be distracted. Dr. Martin sat in her seat and gave him a genial smile. She seemed like she was about to speak but Michael jumped in first.
"Um, before we start, can I say something?"
Dr. Martin blinked but nodded.
"Of course."
"I just wanted to apologize for everything that happened. No, for everything that I did. I know I made your life difficult. But I want you to know I would never have hurt Charlie."
Not if I could help it, he thought but didn't say.
"I also want to say that I appreciate that you're doing this when you really don't have to. I wouldn't blame you if you changed your mind. If at any point you want me to leave, you can just say the word and I'll go, no questions asked. You'll never have to see me again. I swear that upon my soul."
The ticking clock filled the room as silence descended. The doctor took a moment to think his words over before she spoke.
"First of all, I accept your apology, Michael. I did have concerns when Lucifer asked me to see you. All I've known about you is what I've heard and what happened between us before. Given what Amenadiel has told me about how your father's Commands work, I can see all of that in a new light. I understand a bit better the breach of consent that occurred between yourself and your father and that does change the level of your culpability in things."
Michael disagreed, but he did not interrupt the doctor.
"Regardless of that, I also know that guilt doesn't work logically and that there is a lot of trauma and shame left over that you're going to have to work through. I will warn you now, it won't be easy."
"But you can fix me, right?"
Dr. Martin gave him a sympathetic smile.
"That's not what I do. Therapy is not a one-stop shop, it's a process. It will hurt and it may get worse before it gets better. If you're up for that, then I'm up for helping you. That's what I'm here to do. I'm not a magical guru, I can't give you the answers to the universe and I can't erase the past. I can only lead you to a possible solution for any problems you may have and teach you coping strategies so you can process your past and move forward into a healthy future. Does that sound like something you'd be interested in?"
Michael was a little disappointed there wasn't an easy fix. Then again, he didn't break in a day so why should it take only a day to put him back together?
"I suppose that doesn't sound awful."
"Good. However, I need you to understand what the nature of our relationship is as a therapist and a client. We are both entering into an agreement of mutual trust. I won't divulge anything you tell me outside of these walls to anyone, including Amenadiel and Lucifer, without your express permission. That's your right as my client and I see it as my duty to protect that right. That means ensuring that I do nothing to break that embedded trust within the relationship we'll be forming. We will have a conversation about boundaries and set goals and expectations soon, but before that I need you to know that I take this very seriously. I wouldn't have agreed to take you on as a client if I didn't intend to give this my all. So even when things get difficult between us, you can trust that I won't throw you out and leave you to flounder on your own. I am committed to seeing this through. All I ask is that you give that same commitment. This process is daunting, we can only move forward if we're on the same page. There will be no asking you to 'leave, no questions asked'. Not if we both stay within the boundaries we'll be setting. We will be dealing with heavy memories and emotions. One of our body's default reactions to that is flight. I understand that and I'll understand if you need to end a session early, but if that is the case, we will address that in our next session. Because there will be a next session. I won't be changing my mind about helping you halfway through the process, okay?"
Michael blinked a little at that, surprised at her vehemence. He didn't feel any fear of him from her either. She just seemed determined and composed, professional. She was still watching him expectantly, waiting for an answer from him.
"Okay. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to offend you."
"You didn't. I just want to be sure we both go into this on the same page. I need you to feel like you can be open here, that this is a safe space to express yourself. If all you're doing is walking on eggshells for fear that I'm going to throw you out, this won't work. I'm willing to see past everything that's happened in order to move forward together. If you're willing to do the same, then I see no reason why we need to let it hang over our heads. It'll only hinder our progress."
"If you're sure…"
"I am."
"Okay then."
"Good. To start, I want to talk about what you hope to get out of this. I heard you ask if this would fix you. Why do you think you need to be fixed?"
"Isn't it obvious?"
"Not to me, no."
"I'm broken, I'm unworthy. I shouldn't even be here. I hurt people and I don't deserve a second chance. If I'm honest, I don't think that I can be fixed."
"Then why did you agree to do this?"
"My brother thinks that what happened wasn't my fault, that Father was manipulating me, that he made me do those things, hurt people, kill people. Kill our sister."
"Did your father place Divine Commands on you?"
"Yes."
"So would it be fair to say you didn't choose to do those things?"
"But I still did them. I have to live with them even though I wasn't meant to. Father's plan said I was supposed to die but I'm here and I don't have the first clue of what to do with myself."
Dr. Martin appeared to be weighing her next words carefully.
"Has there been a time recently where you have wished that your father's plan had gone the way it was meant to? That you had died?"
"Yes," he admitted in a whisper, looking down in shame.
"In Hell, I thought of it often while I was scrubbing those floors. I hurt myself more than once down there, but it meant nothing. Even if I had taken my own life, my soul wouldn't have gone anywhere. I was already in Hell. Now that I'm on Earth… you know, a couple of weeks ago I asked Sam to kill me or send me back to Hell and he refused. Since then, I've thought of how I could get back to Hell on my own, but I know I could never do it."
"Why?"
"Because I don't enjoy hurting people. I love Sam more than I've loved anyone else in my entire existence and yet I've managed to hurt him more than anyone else. If I left him again, I would hurt him again and I want to stop doing that. I don't have any excuses if I do it again. Father's gone, it's all on me now. So I'm trying to figure out… me, how to live with myself now after everything, how to make it hurt a little less," Michael confessed, his eyes watering against his will.
"What's hurting," Dr. Martin asked, her tone and expression neutral but open.
"Everything. Being here. And I don't mean here in this room, I mean existing."
"When did that start?"
"I don't remember. I don't think there was one specific thing that started it."
"Has it been a constant hurt, or has it ebbed at times?"
"It seems like it never stops," he groused.
"Look beyond how it seems, try to remember how it truly feels. Has it always felt like this," she prompted.
"No, I guess not. It's harder to deal with the feeling when I'm alone and I've been alone for most of my life. Many of my siblings didn't want to be around me because of how my power affected them. Mom was erratic. Her mood depended on how she and Dad were doing. All of us had to suffer if their relationship was on the rocks, which was often. Father was… his attention made me feel good about myself momentarily, but it was never good for me in the long run, it inevitably just made the hurt worse. I only really had Sam. With him, it was different. He could be difficult, but before the Rebellion everything I felt was bearable. I could ignore it or deal with it better."
"And after, were there ever times when it stopped?"
Michael blinked as he thought it over.
"I had Gabriel then. It wasn't the same as my bond with Sam, but it helped. I had a few of my other siblings too: Cassiel, Duma, Raphael. That helped with the loneliness. I had a purpose as the Prince of Heaven, even if that was stressful. But there were moments when I could help my siblings or the other angels and the mortal souls and it didn't hurt as much then."
"Connection is important and so is a sense of duty, but I want you to look beyond relationships with anyone else or responsibilities. Has the feeling ever stopped or even lessened while you were on your own? Maybe while you were doing something you enjoyed, a hobby?"
"A hobby?"
"Yes, something that you do on your down time."
"Angels don't really have hobbies. We have our dominions that we are meant to stay within. Beyond that, anything we do is for Father's glorification."
"Even within that there are some variations, aren't there? Some space for yourselves? Lucifer is the Angel of Desire and Light, but he excels at music and enjoys it beyond any connection to your father. Amenadiel is the Angel of Righteousness, but he has made cooking and baking his hobby. Was there ever anything like that for you?"
"Does it matter?"
"I think it does. I appreciate everything you said about the effect of relationships in your life and how it can mitigate the hurt you feel. Loneliness and isolation are both huge factors in how Depression can express itself in someone."
"Depression?"
"It's much too early to make any diagnosis, but from the feelings you've described: the loneliness, the negative sense of self along with the feelings of worthlessness and guilt, the suicidal ideation, the struggle to form meaningful relationships, it all points to Depression. All things considered, it's likely comorbid with C-PTSD. Complex Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Some of the symptoms can overlap with Depression. It's largely caused by sustained trauma and/or abuse over months or years. You spent countless years being exploited and mistreated by your father, I'd say that diagnosis is apt. Again, anything official is premature at this stage."
Michael struggled trying to ascribe those labels to himself. They seemed insignificant in a way. They were just words some person made up to try to explain aberrant human behavior. Michael was many things, but human wasn't one of them. Why should he accept human labels to explain his feelings? But he had come up with nothing better since he had first started feeling this way. Having a name for it was a big step, even if it didn't feel quite right or make him feel better about himself.
"I'm also concerned about your relationships veering into codependency, which is unhealthy."
"What's that?"
"It's when one or both parties in any relationship rely heavily on the other and the relationship for their sense of self, feelings of worthiness, and overall emotional well-being."
Michael sat back heavily then.
"You think that's what I've been doing to Sam," he stated rather than questioned.
"I think that's what you've both been doing, but I also recognize that you two are different even from other angels. Lucifer tried to explain the Demiurge to me before, what it means, what your relationship was. I can't say I totally understand but I can tell you were extremely close once upon a time. A third party, your own father, interfered in that and turned you into bitter enemies. Many things happened and you both hurt each other and did things you regret. Then, suddenly, there is hope to reestablish the relationship you used to have. I don't blame you both for jumping in, but given your… delicate health at the time, social interaction beyond Lucifer wasn't very possible. You've been locked together with only each other. On top of that, you were previously stuck in a toxic relationship with your father which relied heavily on isolating you and making you dependent on Him for everything. That can easily lead to codependency in other aspects of your life. The two situations are not exactly the same but you're in a transitory period of your life where every step forward has to be thought of and made with extreme care."
Michael looked away, fiddling with the white and black feathers of the bracelet Sam gifted him. He knew he was a burden and this was just confirming it. He didn't want to be the reason Sam didn't live his life with the people who loved him, people who hadn't made him miserable for eons on end.
"Let me stop that train of thought in its tracks. I can see what you're thinking written all over your face. I'm not saying there's anything inherently wrong with you and Lucifer wanting to be close again. In fact, having time alone is beneficial to re-establishing a bond. Codependency is unhealthy but there is no reason you two can't be interdependent. Think of that as codependency's healthier cousin. Interdependence involves sharing roles but not being so dependent on another person that you lose yourself. That's my main concern for you. It sounds like you define your worth and value through others: your parents, your siblings, Lucifer. Relationships are important and they do help to define us, but you can't always look to others to tell you who you are, what you deserve or what you're worth. You have to know that for yourself."
Michael scoffed bitterly at that.
"I don't even know myself. I don't think there is a me to know. All I've been is what Dad wanted me to be."
"Hmm, that's funny."
"What's funny about that?"
"It's just that when I asked Amenadiel about you before taking you on as a client, he was able to tell me who you are. Lucifer spent a whole session talking about you: personality traits, little character quirks, what you like, what you don't, anecdotes of things you've done both together and separately. None of it had anything to do with your dad. What do you suppose they might've told me about who you are?"
Michael shrugged a little.
"I am half of the Demiurge, an Angel of Creation. As the Power, I have the ability to shape creation. I molded the stars that Sam lit in the night sky. Creating things, anything, has always made me feel at peace. Sam is more focused on music, but I like reading. I collected books, even after… everything. I've written a few stories and poems. Nothing special really, but it was something that wasn't about Father or my assigned duties. Sam always found it boring, so I did that on my own, but I didn't feel isolated in those moments."
"Reading and writing are hobbies. Is there anything else you can think of that you enjoyed doing? Something that you associate with being you?"
"Painting and drawing. I always had a gift for it. Mom put up a few of my pieces in Her office. They're still there."
"That must've felt good."
"I wasn't expecting it. She showed interest every now and again. When She did, it was nice. She had a garden in the Silver City that I helped Her with. After She… after I had to… when She was gone, I took it over. It was relaxing and, in those moments, the pain did lessen. I also enjoyed training fledgling angels when I had the time. I always liked fighting."
"Wouldn't fighting be the opposite of creation?"
"I never saw it that way, though Sam did. He associates fighting with Destruction. He always thought it was antithetical to our nature as Angels of Creation, but fighting can be a form of creation in and of itself. It's creating a future based on the outcome of a single conflict. It may not be on the same scale of creation as the stars and planets, but it's creation nonetheless."
"That's an interesting way to see it. Was there anything else about fighting that appealed to you so much?"
"Well, I always enjoyed the control that fighting offers."
"Control?"
"The control of my immediate future. The killing was what ruined it for me. But training was different. It was more about teaching the younger ones. You have to have full awareness of your own body to do it properly without hurting anyone or yourself. I appreciated that aspect of it, the control."
Michael looked down, ruminating on that.
"I can see why you would. There's a lot to unpack here, and I thank you for sharing all of that with me."
"Does that mean I can go now," Michael asked hopefully.
He already felt raw and cracked open. He didn't enjoy bearing himself and nearly crying in front of a virtual stranger whom he had harmed in the past.
Dr. Martin chuckled good-naturedly.
"Not quite. I think we can build even more on this and we've still got to talk about boundaries and expectations. My goal is to help you figure out yourself. In doing so, I hope you'll be able to see that broken doesn't mean beyond repair. Worthy means whatever you want it to mean. You do deserve a second chance and you do belong here."
Dr. Martin was giving him a kind smile, like she wholeheartedly believed in her own words. Michael sighed heavily.
"I want to believe that. I wish I could believe that."
"Then let's get to work."
Dr. Martin's idea of work was not exactly what Michael thought it would be. There were moments of frustration, heartache and pain. However, over the next few weeks as he worked with her, he discovered parts of himself that he had forgotten even existed and learned new things that he had never even thought of. Reading was just as enjoyable as it always was. He was behind in modern literature by a century or two, but that led to so many opportunities to explore new genres and sub-genres, contemporary writing styles and even gain some insight into human nature through their stories. He hadn't tried penning anything himself yet, but he had been keeping a journal at Dr. Martin's suggestion to organize his thoughts.
He had mentioned his garden in the Silver City during a family therapy session and the next thing he knew, Sam had had the roof renovated to accommodate a garden. He had brought some plants down from the Silver City and passed along a huge stack of books on Earth's flora so Michael could decide what he wanted to plant. He had also brought Michael's easel and several canvases down. Michael had kept those locked up in their old nest, collecting dust since he never stepped foot in there after the Rebellion. He had wanted to ask Sam how it looked nowadays but he couldn't find the courage and Sam didn't bring it up either, though his eyes had looked suspiciously red that day. Michael had set his art materials up on the roof, figuring the garden was as good a subject to reintroduce himself to that particular skill. He hadn't found it in himself to paint anything yet, but he had made some sketches in his journal.
His love for food was definitely something new. Sustenance wasn't necessary in the Silver City, but on Earth their bodies did feel a need for something after a while. He hadn't considered how many different kinds of food would be available in a place where food was a matter of survival. Humans had taken that necessity and turned it into something of an art form. California being a melting pot offered cuisines from around the world and Sam's connections meant Michael could get anything he wanted. Sam was miffed that Michael didn't really care as much for the expensive so-called "sophisticated" fare he had tried to get him into. He really didn't see the point of eating foam for 11 courses for an obscene amount of money. And he thought a $7 coffee was bad, Sam really had no concept of the value of a dollar. Michael had set his eyes on cheaper and tastier foods and had fallen in love with some great local Asian and Mexican restaurants. Plus, cheeseburgers. They were really good. And pizza. And chocolate. And brownies. And candy. Or anything sweet.
Sam had joked it was a good thing he was an angel or he would've put on 20 pounds a week. Amenadiel was the one more concerned about Michael's diet. He was a "health-nut", whatever that meant. He was constantly preaching to Michael about acids and vitamins and additives like it mattered to them, but at least Michael could say some things didn't change. Amenadiel would always find something to be holier-than-thou about. Michael found it didn't bother him as much as it used to, Amenadiel didn't bother him as much. He had been dreading seeing anyone from their family other than Sam. Amenadiel was pretty up there on the list of people he would've liked to avoid, but his brother had had other plans and showed up to the penthouse unannounced while Sam was out.
Michael had frozen when the elevator dinged and out stepped his older brother, staring at him cautiously and anxiously. Michael had been healing better lately. The only thing that was still not fully healed were the wing stumps and, of course, his previous injuries. He'd lived with those injuries long enough to fight through them, but he was not the angel he used to be. He barely had the strength of a lesser angel. He wouldn't last five minutes on his own against Amenadiel if his brother had come to exact some sort of revenge.
He glanced at his twin's display of weaponry, but he wouldn't be able to reach it before Amenadiel attacked him. If he did, what would he do? Hurt him? Kill him? Sam might be convinced to take his side, but it would be blind loyalty. Surely, he wouldn't approve. As God, he would have to punish him for hurting an angel of the lord or risk their siblings' displeasure. They were already fickle enough, he doubted they grew any more trustworthy in his time away. Beyond that, after all Dr. Martin had done for him, he didn't want to repay her by doing something to Amenadiel nor did he want to risk his nephew losing his father in any way. He tore his eyes from the display while wrapping himself tightly in a layer of Fear to encourage his brother to keep his distance.
"You don't have to be frightened of me, brother. I'm not here to fight."
Michael continued to stare at him. Amenadiel would've never noticed his discomfort before. He would've taken it as cowardice and decided to meet it with brutality and violence. Then again, he had seen Dr. Martin's effect on others in action. He did not think she was the kind of woman who would fall for the Amenadiel he used to know. Still, he remained cautious.
"I'm not afraid of you," Michael replied.
He wasn't even sure if that was true or not. Amenadiel didn't look as if he believed him but he made no further comment on it.
"You look well. Your hair is… nice."
Michael had no response to that. He had gone to Sam for help with his hair after it got all knotted up in the shower from Sam's shampoo. His brother had wanted to straighten it as he felt the mess of curls "hurt the Morningstar brand" but Michael refused. They had had an almost ten-minute back and forth before Sam relented and ordered some hair products specifically for curly hair and helped Michael trim and sort the bush into something orderly. Michael had later felt awful that he had started a fight over something so trivial. If Sam would rather his hair be straight, then maybe he should just straighten it. He had spiraled for about an hour before he called Dr. Martin to share his concerns. She had said that Michael's hair belonged to him. Sam could make suggestions, but Michael was under no obligation to follow them. Michael had made a choice and ultimately Sam had to respect it. Clearly, he did if he helped Michael get his hair how he wanted it to be. She had said she was proud that Michael had made a personal decision for himself regardless of Sam's feelings about it, both as his twin and as his God. It was a positive step in the right direction.
Michael might've teared up a bit at her validation and then proceeded to spiral about whether he was getting too attached to her approval. She also had to talk him off that ledge too, but he was trying not to think of just how much he was depending on a single, fragile human to help him figure himself out. A human who was attached to his older brother at that.
"Sam isn't here," Michael said after a moment of awkward silence.
"I know. I saw him at the station with Chloe."
Michael did his best to hide his flinch at the mention of the detective. She was the person he wanted to see the least.
"So, what…?"
"Linda told me your sessions have been going well and Lucifer has mentioned that you're getting better. I guess I just wanted to see you for myself."
Michael's brows scrunched at that as he tried to process his brother's words. They sounded odd coming from him. It was like he cared about him and was concerned for Michael's well-being. That didn't make sense. Amenadiel had always hated him and he had even more reason now.
"Why would you want to do that?"
"I haven't seen you since we all learned the truth about what Dad did to you. Before that, last I saw you, you were begging for Chloe to kill you, then your wings were severed with the Flaming Sword and you were banished to Hell."
Michael could not hide his physical reaction to the reminder this time.
"Yes, I know. I was there, thank you," he replied flatly.
"What I'm saying is I was worried about you. That's why I'm here. And… and I wanted to apologize."
Michael blinked at him a few times, his mind blank.
"Did Dr. Martin or Sam put you up to this, because I don't need—"
"No one put me up to this. I've just had a lot of time to think about everything. When I learned what Father had done, a part of me blamed myself for not seeing it but, and I'm ashamed to say this, a part of me blamed you too. I kept thinking you must've done something to deserve what He did. There is a piece of me that still finds it hard to find fault in Him. It's easier to believe that He's as flawless as I always believed Him to be."
Michael looked down and away. He had spent eons thinking the same as Amenadiel: that he was the problem, that he was unworthy. He had to be wrong if Father loathed his very existence. There was no way it was Him, it had to be Michael.
"Then I was thinking of Charlie and how I've been looking at him differently because of his mortality. I realized that it shouldn't matter what he is any more than it should've ever mattered what you were or what you did. There was never any reason for Dad to do what He did to you. There is nothing you could've ever done to deserve it. Nothing. At the end of the day, He was just a bad father."
Michael glanced up, surprised at his brother's declaration, shocked that he of all angels would ever speak against their father.
"And I was a bad brother. I've found myself thinking lately, 'why didn't he come to me, why didn't he tell me?' Who I used to be, the kind of brother I was, I wouldn't have trusted me either if I were you. I'm sure Duma could fill up the entire library of the Silver City with tomes of all the ways I've failed as a big brother. I was the oldest, the only one older than you. I was meant to protect you. I was supposed to be someone you could rely on, someone you could turn to, but I only made things worse for you. I only hurt you more. I'm sorry for everything I did to you, Michael. I'm sorry for all the ways I failed you. I'm sorry for not being the brother you needed."
Michael was sure his mouth was agape. He had never even considered the possibility of receiving an apology. He hadn't believed he needed or deserved one after everything he did.
"I… I don't know what to say to that."
"You don't have to say anything. You don't owe me your forgiveness."
"I'm the one who should be apologizing. I've hurt you. I hurt Dr. Martin. I used Charlie against you. My forgiveness would be the least I owe you."
"No. I've learned better being on Earth. That's not how it works. Things like forgiveness don't have to be a transaction. I know you never hurt Charlie. You did scare Linda, but since you brought her fears to the surface, she's reached out to her daughter and she and Adrianna are getting to know each other. All of this has forced me to face the fact that my son is more than likely mortal and it shouldn't matter to me. He's my son anyway."
"I killed Remiel. You and she were… I destroyed her."
A flash of several emotions crossed Amenadiel's face.
"You did. And I will mourn her just as I mourn Uriel. I know it was your hand that killed our sister, but it wasn't in your heart or in your mind to do it. Without Dad's plan, you never would've. So, I forgive you."
Michael felt a tear slip down his face as he stared at Amenadiel with disbelief. The feeling only deepened when Amenadiel drew close to him, ignoring Michael's Fear in a way none of his siblings save for Sam, Gabriel and rarely Raphael had ever been able to do. When Amenadiel's arms wrapped around him, Michael tensed, waiting for an attack and bracing for pain that never came. After a moment of nothing, he found himself returning the embrace. Amenadiel held him a little tighter, but Michael wasn't afraid. He felt something he had never felt with his older brother before: safe.
After that, Amenadiel came around more. He had even brought Charlie a few times and had been teaching Michael how to bake and cook, though he kept lecturing him on cooking healthier foods. Michael figured it must've mattered so much to him because these were the sorts of things that could affect Charlie but that didn't mean Michael had to suffer for it.
Charlie had taken to Michael within the first visit, which was a surprise to him since babies in particular seemed negatively impacted by his powers. He was reigning it in as much as he could, but it still hung around him like perfume. Charlie had been adorably confused at first, seeing him and Sam together and had given Michael a wide berth but after a few minutes he started edging closer and then he offered Michael a toy, which he accepted. Apparently, that was some sort of infant ritual of acknowledgement because Charlie took that as carte blanche to climb all over Michael like he was a jungle gym. He didn't really mind it though.
Amenadiel was not the only surprise visit that Michael would have to deal with, but the other did not go nearly as well.
Michael liked alone time.
That seemed counter to everything he had previously believed he wanted. In his life, alone usually equated to forced isolation that only served to make him dwell on all of his shortcomings, but through Dr. Martin's guidance, he came to value his time alone. He needed to be comfortable with himself, comfortable in his own skin, comfortable with his thoughts or with the absence of thought. Dr. Martin had suggested meditation. Michael was initially skeptical. Tatianna and Dolores from Lux had both talked it up and even invited him to their sessions together in Lux's absurdly large employee break room. Michael had almost said no, but they had seemed quite eager to teach him and it was nice to have some interaction with people who didn't know what had happened and didn't judge him based on what they knew or thought they knew about him. All they saw was their boss's twin brother who was a war veteran with some issues and needed some time to acclimate and get on his feet, at least that's what Sam had implied, none of which were lies.
He actually found that once he got the hang of the process, it helped to relax him. He was able to push away all thoughts and emotions, negative and otherwise. He was able to let go of the fears, both his own and the impressions from others that he could feel floating up towards him from the LA streets below. He could allow himself to breathe and feel his body, feel that for the first time in forever, his body was his. He had been owned by his father for most of his life but now he belonged to himself. He might've cried at that realization the first time he had it, but he kept that to himself.
He sat in the living room of the penthouse now, allowing his mind to stay clear and drift pleasantly on a sea of nothing. He rolled his shoulders as he settled further into himself. There was a feeling of tightness in his right side, but it was nothing he couldn't ignore. The movement also forced him to feel the scarring wounds on his back. He never thought he would miss his wings, deformed as they were, until they were gone. He didn't mention it because he didn't want to upset his brother. He noticed Sam staring at the scar on his face enough times to guess what the look on his face would be when it came to the latest injury he'd inflicted on Michael's body. Neither of them was ready to step into the minefield of the arena anyway.
Michael sighed and took a deep breath, centering himself so he could push the thoughts out of his mind. This wasn't the time to think about it.
The penthouse was pin drop silent, but he still didn't notice anything was amiss until he felt prickling up his spine and a warning flashed in his head that there was possible danger. Just then, the sound of something sailing through the air caught his attention and he quickly lunged to the right to avoid the blade as it narrowly missed his head. He could hear running footsteps getting closer to him and instinctively threw his body back to the left just as a weight jumped on his weaker side. He lifted his hand on instinct and caught the blade before it could touch his skin. The demon-forged steel cut into his palm, drawing blood as he held it away from his throat. The blade could hurt him, but the person wielding it was not as strong as him and he easily ripped the dagger away from their grip. His assailant was smaller and it wasn't hard to flip them off his back and onto the floor as he crawled away to put space between them, pulling the circular blade out of his hand as he did.
He looked over to see who it was that had the gall to attack him in his twin's apartment against the orders of their God and froze as he was met with the furious young face of Beatrice Espinoza. She took full advantage of his shock by whipping out another Hell-forged blade from who knew where and running at him with it. Michael shook from his stupor and pushed himself up and out of range.
"Beatrice," he started but she cut him off.
"You don't get to call me that. Only Lucifer calls me that," she snapped at him.
"Okay, then. Trixie. Does your mother know you're here?"
"She's home, arguing with Lucifer, again, because of you."
Michael was taken aback at the words. He didn't know his brother and Chloe were having problems, definitely not because of him.
"He keeps telling us to give you a chance, that you're not who we think you are, that what happened wasn't your fault. I know that isn't true. I don't know how you managed to trick Lucifer, but I haven't forgotten. You are the reason my dad is dead. You are the reason I won't ever get to see him again. I would've lost my mom too because of you. I know what you did, I know what you are. You're not an angel, you're a monster!"
Michael exhaled harshly at her words. He opened his mouth to deny them, but how could he? Everything she said was true. He hadn't spared her a thought during any of it. He would've made the child an orphan. For a few moments, he had.
He had always had a fondness for children. He had found, surprisingly, that the fondness was returned. Babies could be turned off by him but the young mortal souls in the Silver City never seemed to mind his Fear. They had few fears to worry about, they were in paradise after all.
At their ages, they didn't care about his reputation, they cared that he could amuse them by playing with shadows and creating some light shows for them. He didn't get as annoyed as other adults when they peppered him with questions, overflowing with curiosity that most quickly tired of. More often than not, he would be sure to take an hour out of his busy day to sit down with the child souls, especially the orphans, and regale them with stories and his powers. He would like to claim it was altruistic, but it gave him a break from his harder duties. Their lack of expectations and distrust in him was freeing.
Sometimes, he would catch other angels or even adult souls hanging around, watching his interactions vigilantly. At the time, he had been offended. He never had or would hurt a child.
It was now clear with Beatrice standing across from him that that wasn't true.
He could tell himself he had not been the one to pull the trigger, that he didn't watch the life leave Daniel Espinoza's eyes, his death wasn't by his hands. But it was Michael's machinations that led to his death, it was his words that moved Le Mec. His face was the one that haunted the nightmares of Beatrice, not Le Mec's or his father's, but his.
He felt a heavy weight settling on his chest as Beatrice continued to rage at him, tears falling from her eyes unrelentingly. He had done this. He had caused this child untold pain. He watched the grief he created sweep over her body, forcing her to her knees. He stepped a little closer, concern and worry filling him, but he stopped short when she whipped her head back up and held out the blade still clutched in her hand. He raised his hands in surrender, the blood from his palm trickling down his wrist and elbow even faster from the gesture. He lowered himself to his knees to show her that he meant no further harm.
"I know my words will mean nothing to you. They can't change what's happened, nor will they bring your father back. Nonetheless, I apologize from the deepest depths of my soul for all the pain I've caused you. I didn't take you into account when everything was happening, I didn't think of what would be done to you from all that occurred. You have every right to hate me no matter what anyone says. It doesn't matter what came before or after, I am the reason your father is dead. I will never be able to make that up to you, but I am so sorry. If I could turn back time and change it, I would."
The girl stared at him with big wet eyes that broke his heart.
"Why? Why did my dad have to die," she asked tearfully.
"I don't know," he replied mournfully.
"There has to be a reason. It can't have been for nothing," she continued desperately.
Michael dropped his hands limply at his sides.
"Dad had a plan and I… I had to follow it. I don't know why He chose those specific people to die: your father, my sister and so many others before that. I don't know if there was a reason. He never told me. He just… Commanded that His Will be done. I ensured that it would."
Michael felt a thick lump form in his throat. There wasn't a good reason, he realized. He had left broken bodies and souls in his wake all at Dad's Command and he still didn't know why it had to be this way. He still didn't know what the end goal was. Was there ever a reason for anything He made Michael do? Was it truly all because his father wanted to retire with his mother to their new universe? But then why make Michael banish Mom in the first place? If She hadn't been in Hell, it's likely events wouldn't have shaken out so She had a new universe, but Dad's plan had changed several times over the years, so could that really have been it? All those lives snuffed out so Dad could hit the reset button? So He could, in Sam's words, fuck up another version of them, not caring what He had destroyed in His wake, the broken people left behind? Michael, Trixie, Sam, Chloe, Daniel, Remiel, even Amenadiel and Dr. Martin and the entirety of the Host who all had to endure Michael's Commanded actions at one point or another, who were all now mourning their sister just as they had mourned Uriel before, another victim in Dad's machinations. Michael had been His main weapon of destruction and he had never let himself stop to wonder why. He had convinced himself that he was chosen because he was wrong, broken, damaged, unworthy. But Beatrice wasn't, Chloe wasn't, Sam wasn't, Remiel wasn't, and Daniel wasn't, so why did they have to suffer too?
He looked back up at Trixie through tear-filled eyes, his body feeling as if he was climbing the biggest mountain with a boulder sitting on his chest and the heaviest boots of cement on his feet.
"I'm sorry. I wish I had answers for you. I wish… I can't… I don't… I'm sorry."
Before he even knew it, he was on his feet and stumbling towards Sam's bedroom and then the bathroom, ignoring the girl's continued sobbing shouts, asking, begging, to know why. He didn't have the answer and it was all crashing down on him now just how clueless he was about all the horror he had caused for millennia. Everything felt too big and too much. He wished he still had his wings so he could hide inside of them. Instead, he stepped into the shower and pushed himself into the corner, sliding down the wall and curling up as he hyperventilated and tried to calm himself down.
"I don't know. I don't know," he mumbled to himself over and over again as tears fell down his face.
He didn't know how many minutes passed as he fell apart, his sobs echoing through the bathroom. He flinched violently when he felt a hand touching his own. He glanced up to see Beatrice looking at him. Her eyes and face were both red, but the tears looked like they had half-dried on her cheeks. He looked down at his hand. His palm was full of blood and there was a small puddle of it on the shower tile beneath him. Beatrice was pressing a washrag to the wound. He stared at her, mystified.
"What are you doing?"
"I hurt you," she replied, her voice cracking.
"Hurt me? I hurt you so much worse."
"You did. And I hate you for it. But… I think I believe Lucifer when he said you didn't want to."
"I didn't want to hurt anybody. I just…"
I wanted Him to love me, I wanted to be worthy of Him. I wanted… I wanted Him to give me a choice, he thought to himself but did not say. That was not something he was going to dump on this child. This child whom he had wronged so egregiously and hadn't given a second thought until today.
"Why are you helping me," he questioned quietly.
"I don't know."
They sat in the shower for another 20 minutes, mostly silent except for a few questions.
["Where did you learn how to fight?" "Maze trained me."]
["Did Maze give you all those blades?" "Yes. But don't tell Mom."]
["Did you see my dad when you were in Hell?" "No, but he's in Heaven now."]
["Is he happy?" "Heaven has always welcomed mortal souls. It will make sure he is happy."]
Mostly, it was silence. Heavy, tense silence. It was only broken when the elevator could be heard in the living area and two frantic voices rang out.
"Trixie!?"
"Beatrice?! Michael?!"
The two glanced at each other but neither answered, both exhausted physically and emotionally. Michael reached out to Sam through prayer to let him know where he was. Soon enough both he and Chloe were bursting into the bathroom, both looking worried and anxious, though probably for different reasons.
"Trixie! Get away from him!"
Michael watched as Chloe pulled her daughter away, clutching her to her body protectively. She looked her over just as Sam stepped into the shower and kneeled next to Michael, taking his hand in both of his and inspecting the wound. It wasn't bleeding anymore but it was throbbing painfully, not that Michael cared.
"What happened," Sam asked worriedly.
"What the hell did you do to my daughter?!" Chloe accused angrily.
"I'm fine. He didn't hurt me. I'm the one who snuck out and came here so I could attack him. He didn't even really fight back," Beatrice explained before Michael could say anything in his own defense.
"Why would you do something like that, monkey? Do you have any idea how dangerous that was?"
"I wanted to tell him to his face how much I hated him and that I didn't forgive him for what happened to Dad, that nothing changed for me. But…"
"But?"
Beatrice shrugged a little.
"I just started thinking that their dad hurt Lucifer so maybe He really did hurt Michael too. Maybe he didn't want to do all that stuff. It doesn't mean I forgive him, but… I don't know. Hurting him just doesn't feel like I thought it would feel."
Michael looked up at the girl sadly while her mother stared down at her, stunned.
"Can we just go back home," Beatrice asked guilelessly.
Chloe's face took a sorrowful but determined expression.
"Let's go, baby."
The two began to walk out but then an idea struck Michael.
"Wait."
They paused by the door and he scooted closer to the edge of the shower, ignoring Sam's light protest as he removed the bracelet from his wrist and carefully extracted the black feather from it before holding it out to Beatrice.
"I can't change what happened, but I can give you this. Think of it as a promise. If at any time you need my assistance or you need a favor or anything else, use the feather to call me. I owe you much more than one, but this is the only one I have. I'm still connected to it, I will feel if you summon me."
Beatrice stared between him and the feather while Chloe looked as if she was going to throw it back in his face. Before she could, the girl took it and brought it close to her chest.
"I'm not going to use this any time soon, but one day, I will."
Michael nodded in understanding before turning his gaze to her mother.
"Chloe, I'm—"
"Save it. I don't want your apology. You're not forgiven. I may blame your father for a lot of things, but that doesn't mean I absolve you, so don't waste your breath or my time. If I never had to see you again, it'd be too soon. For some reason I will never understand, Lucifer cares about you. If he didn't, he wouldn't be risking us the way he is. So, you better earn it. But know this, if you ever hurt him or my daughter again, I will kill you. Nothing will stop me."
"Chloe…" Sam breathed out, his voice full of pain and conflict. It made Michael's heart ache to be putting him in this position.
"Nothing," she promised.
"I believe you. If I do hurt them, I'll deserve it, but I am doing my best to earn him."
Chloe gave him a look of deep loathing that had the effect of making Michael feel less like a millennias-old archangel and more like a worm beneath her boot.
"Let's go, monkey. Lucifer, I'll see you later. Alone."
The two turned on their heels and walked out of the bathroom, leaving the twins behind. Michael glanced back at Sam reluctantly. He didn't look at his face, not wanting to see the expression that was there.
His brother wordlessly took his hand once more and pulled him, bringing him to sit on the toilet so he could clean the blood away from the wound Michael hadn't even noticed that he had healed.
"Why didn't you pray to me," Sam asked quietly after a few minutes had passed.
"It didn't occur to me."
Sam quirked a brow at that.
"And it's not because you were hoping Beatrice would do more damage than this?"
Michael glanced up at his brother, his tone catching him off-guard. Sam looked angry but he could feel his fears thrumming in the air: fear of loss, fear of failure, fear of death.
"There's blood in the living room and demon blades embedded in the wall. I thought… Beatrice is a child, she's grieving, if you were going to let her kill you to assuage your misplaced guilt then—"
"Do you really think I would let a child live with the weight of being a murderer just because I was too much of a coward to kill myself?"
"I don't know, Michael. You tell me."
"I wouldn't, you know that."
"How did she even manage to lay a finger on you, much less wound you?"
"She caught me while I was meditating. She snuck up on me, must've used the stairs because I didn't hear the elevator. Your demon friend taught her well enough, and she had an absurd number of weapons on her. I foolishly stopped the blade palm first, but it was over in less than a minute."
Sam practically radiated skepticism, prompting Michael to continue trying to explain.
"I didn't just sit back and let it happen. My first instinct was to defend myself. I didn't want to die."
"Then I guess you can still surprise me," Sam retorted spitefully.
Michael's brows went up at that. He was reminded of earlier days when Sam had started believing in his own hype. He could be callous and casually cruel, even to Michael, but there was something different about this.
"I don't understand what's happening right now. Why are you so angry?"
"Angry? I'm bloody furious! You could've been killed, accidentally or on purpose, it didn't matter. You should've called me the second this happened. You can't do things like this! Do you have any idea how selfish it is?!"
Michael stared up at him, wide-eyed. Sam deflated after a moment and dropped down, so he was kneeling in front of him, putting them eye to eye.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to yell, I'm just… I spent the last hour going back and forth with Chloe, trying to make her understand the situation with you and Dad to little success. Then we discovered Beatrice was gone and that just added another layer of stress. Walking into the penthouse, seeing the blood and the blades and not hearing an answer from you or Beatrice… I feared the worse," Sam explained, his voice full of contrition and remorse.
"I didn't mean to scare you. It was all just… a lot. I should've prayed to you."
"I should've kept a better eye on her. I'm supposed to be omniscient, and I didn't even know she was gone for a whole hour."
"Well, the Omnis only really work from the throne."
"Dad didn't feel the need to put that in the bloody brochure, did He? Might've dampened the whole fear tactic of believing our father could see everything we do I suppose."
Michael silently agreed but didn't comment on it.
"Sam, you know you can't keep protecting me from the reality of what I've done, right? Yes, Father Commanded me, and that means something to you, but it doesn't to a lot of other people."
"I realize that."
"I don't think you do and maybe I've forgotten that a little as well. Dr. Martin's forgiven me and so has Amenadiel. I haven't seen any of our other siblings, but I already know where they stand and I don't really want to see most of them anyway. The issues between myself and the Host went both ways and I have no wish to put myself back in that situation. Beatrice and Chloe are different. My hands were the ones that killed Chloe, not Dad's. My words were the ones that set Daniel's death in motion, not Dad's. My actions are the ones affecting her and her daughter's lives today, not His. I can only imagine how infuriating and hurtful it must be to know that you've forgiven the man she blames for ruining her life, that you love me. She has the right to her anger and hatred. She's under no obligation to forgive me, not now or ever."
"I know and I don't want to hurt her, even though I know that this is doing just that. But I know it's hurting you too and I don't want that either. I don't know what to do, how to fix this. I'm God and I'm bloody helpless to change any of this. I don't fancy the idea that the two people I love the most are hurting each other just by existing. And no, you don't get to go anywhere. You leaving will not make it easier for me, so don't even suggest it."
"I wasn't going to."
"But you were thinking it," Sam replied with exasperation.
Michael didn't answer because to do anything but admit his twin was right would be a lie.
"Mi, I love the Detective. She owns my heart, but you own my soul. I'm not willing to consider living without you again. I won't."
Sam leaned forward and pressed his forehead to Michael's, who accepted the gesture although inside he was a riot of emotions. He knew what he had to do and Sam wasn't going to like it one bit, but he needed to do it nonetheless. He couldn't move forward otherwise.