Waking was slow, difficult, and unwanted, but the nausea that seemed to just crash over him in waves was unrelenting and waking seemed to be the only state his body would let him be in.
Whatever his forehead was pressed against was warm, almost hot, and he frowned. When had he become so cold?
He curled towards the heat and his brain finally registered the arms holding him as they tightened at his movement.
"Easy," came the gentle command from somewhere over his left ear, soft enough not to deafen him out of proximity. That single word rumbled the chest he finally realized he was against, the throat shifting against his forehead as the person carrying him spoke. "I've got you."
He frowned as his foggy brain dredged up memories as best it could, memories of what had transpired who knew how long ago. "Lucifer?" he asked for the third time, though now the name came out crackly and on a fat tongue. His frown grew at his distaste for the slurring. The person carrying him hummed in a way to acknowledge his inquiry without vocalizing their own inquiry. Michael felt his heart clench as he gripped the expensive shirt covering the broad chest. Something shifted against his arm and he wondered when he had been draped in a coat that smelt all too familiar. "Or Luciano?"
Again with the slurring but it seemed to have been enough for the man carrying him gave him a clear enough answer. "Both, in one way or another; Luciano is my current façade on Earth and I'll probably be changing it again in a decade or two as I normally do."
Michael closed his eyes tightly. His brain was moving faster now which meant that it was taking in more from his senses. His sense of sight was finally seeing beyond the little bubble that was him against Lucifer's chest and the view of motion was not helping his nausea. At least he couldn't feel it yet.
"Why did you let me believe that I was dealing with someone other than my Fallen Brother?" Michael ground against the fat tongue in his mouth. "I was so confused when Jesus brought me before God accusing me of associating with you when I truly thought you were nothing more than another mortal."
Lucifer's head shifted but with Michael's forehead pressed against the other's neck and his eyes closed, he didn't know specifically how. He also wasn't sure he cared one way or the other.
"You didn't pick up on my aura on our date?"
Michael's eyes snapped open and – nausea be damned – he fisted his hands in Lucifer's shirt as he pushed himself away to stare at him. The sudden motion startled them both and Lucifer jerked to a stop in order to keep from not only losing Michael but from losing his own balance. Michael didn't have enough in him to care. Instead, he found himself staring at Lucifer, not Luciano like he had half expected, and that made the words come out higher than he had intended. "Why would you make me think I was going crazy because I couldn't shake the overlay of your face over Luciano's? I thought I was losing my mind!"
Something crossed Lucifer's expression but the sudden motion and his sudden shrieking had caused his head to start pounding. That, in turn, made his nausea spike and he groaned as he pressed his forehead to Lucifer's shoulder with his eyes squeezed shut.
Lucifer shifted his weight about enough to bury a hand in Michael's curls. "I apologize if I has caused you such turmoil. It had not been my intent and, to be honest, I had thought you had realized who I was when we had first met here on Earth."
"I hadn't thought too much on what my aura had been picking up in the gallery so much as trying to not let you realize that I was drawing it back into myself," Michael countered, though there was an edge to his words he had not intended. He silently cursed his frustration with the situation and amended in a softer tone, "After that, I was working in the café surrounded by humans. There was no way I would have let my aura out to even try and sense anything off of you."
Lucifer chuckled and Michael felt it rumble through his arms into his chest. It didn't help his headache. "No, no. Before all that."
Michael frowned. "Before all that?" He parroted. And before Lucifer could even say a word towards it, the nausea suddenly spiked. With a moan, he quickly uttered, "I'm going to be sick."
He wasn't sure where they had been nor where they had been heading, but thankfully they had been close enough to some restroom that by the time Michael could no longer suppress the urge to expel whatever his body was rejecting, his face was over some toilet.
There was no tracking of time nor memories after that. Only impressions stayed with him once the whole ordeal passed and those impressions returned as he laid against Lucifer's chest on the bathroom floor, too exhausted to try to protest or move and far too cold to even think about leaving the furnace that Lucifer seemed to be.
The first impressions were of Lucifer's constant presence, the other always there and always comforting him in some way: rubbing circles into his back, softly rubbing a damp cloth over the back of his neck and through his hair, cleaning his face.
Covering his eyes to keep him from seeing what his body was rejecting so vehemently even if the tears did that for him.
And the more impressions that came, the more confused he got: there were no discernable words but Lucifer's voice wrapped around him regularly, the other's strong arms holding him close in the brief reprieves that occurred.
Holding him close as he cried.
Shame washed through him and was quickly followed by self-loathing. He could not remember anything he had blabbed while sobbing turning some of the reprieves but he knew there were many a word he had never intended to share. A sour taste that had nothing to do with bile filled his mouth; out of all the people to lose it in front of, Lucifer had never been high on his list. He had idolized his Brother and had done everything to be seen as worthy enough. Now he was nothing more than a Fallen afflicted by some human illness that had degraded him down to the level of babbling moron.
Lucifer shifted under him and Michael opened his eyes. The bathroom was spacious, well decorated, and he couldn't help but wonder where they had ended up. "Are you feeling well enough to move to the bed?"
"Bed?" Michael echoed faintly, trying to get beyond the exhaustion to remember if Lucifer had ever mentioned where they were at.
Lucifer's hand through his hair was oddly soothing and he found himself settling against Lucifer again, almost slipping off to sleep only for Lucifer's voice to cut through gently. "I was able to make it to my home. We're in the bathroom attached to my bedroom."
There was his answer, then. "I doubt I'll be vomiting any time soon. I doubt there's anything left my body can expel anyways."
Lucifer hummed but Michael wasn't sure if that was because Lucifer had nothing to add or had kept from saying something else. There was movement under him before he was up in Lucifer's arms once more. He wasn't sure how the other male was able to carry him without obvious strain and probably would have asked under different circumstances. Instead, his muddled brain bypassed the question and went straight to letting out a contented moan as he was placed on a mattress that enveloped him so complete that he nearly fell asleep at that moment. It was only the covers being pulled over him and Lucifer's voice that kept him from slipping under completely.
"I'll be in the living room if you need me. Just shout or reach me with your aura."
Michael shifted about and blindly grabbed for Lucifer. Fingers ensnared fabric and he clung to it vehemently, Lucifer's body heat slipping beyond the fabric confirmation that he had indeed grabbed the other. "Why are you leaving?"
Amusement washed over him and he blatantly realized that Lucifer's aura was not currently restricted. "Because you need sleep and I want to watch some tv for a while."
"You have a tv in here," Michael protested, though he didn't know that for sure. He couldn't remember actually seeing one.
"It'll keep you up," Lucifer countered, his hands gentle as he pried Michael's fingers from the fabric and confirming Michael's blind accusation.
Michael snorted into the pillow that smelt not of Luciano but Lucifer, as if the other slept in his proper human form rather than the façade he portrayed to the public, not that there was much difference between either. "I'm going to be dead to the world in all of two seconds. Stay and watch your show. I don't want to rid you of your bed."
And that had been the unintentional display of his distress. And while he would rather not have said that, he truly did not want Lucifer leaving. The thought of being left alone, of being vulnerable to Jesus's antics, and of having to face another bout of vomiting should it occur also brought to focus that he was imposing on Lucifer and Lucifer's home.
Comfort wrapped around him as Lucifer brought Michael's knuckles to his lips. Michael wondered if he had accidentally spoken his distress more than he had already unintentionally had done.
"Alright, I'll stay," Lucifer conceded against the skin of Michael's knuckles before lowering Michael's hand back to the mattress. "But if I'm keeping you up, let me know."
Michael hummed an affirmation. When Lucifer moved away, Michael found it hard not to just pass out. He waited, listening as Lucifer shuffled about, the sound of fabric and things getting dropped or tossed filling the silence in spirts, until finally the other side of what Michael quickly discovered was a massive bed dipped under the other Fallen's weight. Lucifer's presence approached along with the weight on the mattress till Lucifer was just beyond what Michael was sure was arm's reach. Already inches from the edge of the bed, Michael couldn't fathom how large this mattress truly was and why Lucifer had such a large bed. Certainly he grew lonely.
He ignored the anger at their situations, of how Lucifer had the height of luxury while Michael lived among the common folk.
When he awoke, it was to warm sunlight cutting through a crack between the blackout curtains and filtered through the sheer curtains beyond. He also woke up alone in the massive bed in an unfamiliar room. At least he felt better, if not a bit groggy and quite grimy. He must have had a fever that broke while he slept.
While angels never got sick, living in human forms certainly made them more susceptible to an array of illnesses with varying degrees of severity. Because of how he worked and where he worked – too hard and too often – he had come down with the occasional cold or stomach bug but the severity had never been to the level as what he could only presume was the day prior's experience.
Shifting in the sheets, foggy memories of what had transpired during the height of whatever he had gone through filtered through his mind. The only things that seemed to have settled there were Lucifer and Luciano were the same person and that he had said and done things he would not have normally said and done.
But what had transpired in Heaven came back crystal clear.
He let his feet touch the cool floor when he sat up at the bed's edge. Tremors coursed through his body simply at the memories of God's actions and when he tried to get his wings to show, his body fought him tooth and nail.
The trauma of God ripping his wings into existence made the process of pulling his wings into existence a painstakingly slow process but he had to check, to see. When the last tug was made and the full weight of his wings was on his back once more, he opened his eyes.
His wings looked dead as they half curled around his shoulders. Any slight shift or tiny twitch would send a cascade of feathers down onto the sheets and carpet lacking any luster that would have normally been there. It wasn't like the feathers seemed to be clinging to the wing structure to begin with and they were so brittle that the one he had picked up broke. The bits of feather caught between his fingers seemed to turn to dust.
He was disgusted.
What was even more infuriating was, despite how careful and slow he had been, he could feel blood trickling down his back, seeping into the shirt he wore.
He should have been more careful.
"Michael."
Lucifer's hand was cold even through the shirt on his back and Michael hissed against the touch, though the pain was nothing compared to when God had yanked his wings out. The other's hand stayed, healing energy flowing into his back in an attempt to counter the damage he had inevitably created. Michael quickly moved to his feet, putting distance between them even as it created a shower of feathers. Michael was glad Lucifer's expression was so controlled he couldn't even read it. He was not in the mood for pity. "Don't," he snapped, though what he was telling Lucifer not to do was beyond him.
"You shouldn't have brought them out," Lucifer spoke evenly. "What healing I can do was nothing compared to what God had done to your back and bringing them back out only opened the wounds again."
The laugh was dry and sharp. "No kidding," Michael spoke ruefully. "I can feel the blood dripping down my back from these decrepit things."
Lucifer's expression hardened. "Michael," he warned, but whatever was going to finish the warning off was never spoken.
"This is great, isn't it?" he went on sarcastically, throwing his hands up as his anger grew. "Absolutely fabulous!" He gestured at Lucifer. "You get to keep wings worthy of any angel despite being a Fallen and what do I get? Decrepit, useless limbs that will probably be featherless in the next hour."
Whatever Lucifer had been able to do in that brief moment of contact was undone as he forced his wings away, tearing the wounds on his back even bigger and barely even flinching from the pain.
The feathers didn't disappear.
"I'm going home," he spoke to the window.
"Michael," Lucifer spoke again, stepping towards him but Michael stepped around the other Fallen.
"You can't keep me here, Lucifer," Michael countered, his steady voice quaking at the edges as he paused at Lucifer's side. "Not when I don’t want to be here." There was a pause and he half expected Lucifer to fill it but there were no words from the other. So, Michael gave his last piece, glacing over at Lucifer but not looking at the other's face. "Thank you for your help, Lucifer. I'll let you know when I'm feeling up to company."
Lucifer didn't stop him on his way out of the bedroom and certainly not across the living space. It wasn't till he had sat down to put his shoes on that Lucifer did anything but it wasn't what he had expected.
A coat settled on his shoulders, heavy but comforting. Lucifer offered in leau of the coat, "The blood's seeped into the back of your shirt. This will keep it hidden and keep you warm. There's a cold front in town right now and it's quite chilly outside."
Looking over his shoulder, he found Lucifer already halfway across the apartment heading down some hallway. Baffled but not at all deterred, he finished putting his shoes on before slipping his arms into the sleeves. He found his keys on the table near the door and stepped out.
The coat smelt of Lucifer.
(March '18) Prompt #1 - "Absolutely Fabulous!"
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