If there was one thing Michael had noticed since the fall, it was how pensive Lucifer was. He had been bright in Heaven, and he was surely bright now, but there was a difference in his demeanor that it had taken months to place, one Michael still didn’t always understand. There was not so much playfulness and excitement, just the quiet thoughtfulness that so often degraded into moody sulking. It pained him to watch, but Michael could not really comment, not after what Lucifer had been through. He understood it so much more clearly now, and even that wasn’t enough. After all, a few hundred thousand years in that horrible place was surely different than a mere handful. If time had dragged to thousands of years for him, it must have been millions for Lucifer, but still, it wasn’t something he should be left to fixate on.
“Are you hungry?” Michael called to him softly, stepping through the doorway and watching how rigidly Lucifer sat on the couch.
He looked up, icy blue eyes narrowing sharply. “No.”
Michael sighed. Eating had been problematic for Lucifer, though he wasn’t exactly sure why. He supposed that his brother’s notorious pride might have made the need to take in nutrients both insult and injury, but Lucifer had always been practical and efficient. He would admit to being hungry, but he didn’t seem to like anything. Whatever foods Lucifer took to, Michael kept on a list taped inside a kitchen cabinet to refer to in times such as these.
“Have you eaten at all today?”
“No.”
“Lucifer, you have to eat. You need--”
“Why are you pushing this so much?”
“Because I want you to be healthy.”
Lucifer scowled and turned away from him, tucking more into the corner of the couch nearest the window, hunching his body up into the sunlight.
“...Are you cold? You’re not getting sick, are you?” Michael asked, worry creasing his brow as he rested the back of his hand on Lucifer’s forehead. He’d seen that done on television to check for fever.
“I am always cold,” Lucifer replied softly, closing his eyes. “Your hands are warm.”
Michael smiled to himself. Even in Heaven, Lucifer had what might have been termed a slight obsession with touch. When he was a fledgling, he’d liked to be picked up and held and carried, and Michael had always been pleased to gratify his whims. Later, when he was grown, Lucifer took to holding hands as they strolled through the gardens, brushing their wings against each other, twisting their graces together. Much of that was lost to them now. When they found themselves forcibly ejected from the Cage, tumbling across the wet grass in feeble, human bodies, scraps of their graces remained. There was no flying, though Lucifer seemed to retain more of his wings than Michael did, but in time, it all faded away. There had been weeks of fighting, weeks of blaming each other, blaming Castiel, blaming anyone that they could think of-- anything to cope with the agony that came with the absolute loss of self. There was none of that now. This was just how it was.
Michael gathered a plush blanket into his arms from the hallway closet and returned to Lucifer’s side to bundle his little brother up, sitting close to him so that he could wrap their bodies up together.
“Do you know what today is?” he asked.
Lucifer leaned in towards Michael’s body heat instinctively, but he kept his eyes out the window. “Saturday.”
“The date, Lucifer.”
“No… I have trouble with…”
Michael kissed his temple and smoothed his hair back. “It’s been a year,” he whispered.
Lucifer turned to look at him then. “You kept track?”
“Well… Yes. I thought we could do something special.”
“You want to celebrate?”
A small frown tugged the corners of Michael’s mouth, making him look remarkably sad. “Is it all so horrible for you?”
Lucifer looked away again, quiet for several moments. “No,” he whispered, turning his body to lean back into Michael’s arms. “I like this.”
“Then this it is,” Michael replied. He placed a small kiss behind Lucifer’s ear before wrapping his arms around his waist and seeking out one of his hands, gently lacing their fingers together. They had no wings to touch and no graces to intertwine, but at least the fighting was over and now he could hold Lucifer’s hand.
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Fill, Team Castiel/Lucifer, Human Anniversary
Date: 2013-10-20 08:20 pm (UTC)If there was one thing Michael had noticed since the fall, it was how pensive Lucifer was. He had been bright in Heaven, and he was surely bright now, but there was a difference in his demeanor that it had taken months to place, one Michael still didn’t always understand. There was not so much playfulness and excitement, just the quiet thoughtfulness that so often degraded into moody sulking. It pained him to watch, but Michael could not really comment, not after what Lucifer had been through. He understood it so much more clearly now, and even that wasn’t enough. After all, a few hundred thousand years in that horrible place was surely different than a mere handful. If time had dragged to thousands of years for him, it must have been millions for Lucifer, but still, it wasn’t something he should be left to fixate on.
“Are you hungry?” Michael called to him softly, stepping through the doorway and watching how rigidly Lucifer sat on the couch.
He looked up, icy blue eyes narrowing sharply. “No.”
Michael sighed. Eating had been problematic for Lucifer, though he wasn’t exactly sure why. He supposed that his brother’s notorious pride might have made the need to take in nutrients both insult and injury, but Lucifer had always been practical and efficient. He would admit to being hungry, but he didn’t seem to like anything. Whatever foods Lucifer took to, Michael kept on a list taped inside a kitchen cabinet to refer to in times such as these.
“Have you eaten at all today?”
“No.”
“Lucifer, you have to eat. You need--”
“Why are you pushing this so much?”
“Because I want you to be healthy.”
Lucifer scowled and turned away from him, tucking more into the corner of the couch nearest the window, hunching his body up into the sunlight.
“...Are you cold? You’re not getting sick, are you?” Michael asked, worry creasing his brow as he rested the back of his hand on Lucifer’s forehead. He’d seen that done on television to check for fever.
“I am always cold,” Lucifer replied softly, closing his eyes. “Your hands are warm.”
Michael smiled to himself. Even in Heaven, Lucifer had what might have been termed a slight obsession with touch. When he was a fledgling, he’d liked to be picked up and held and carried, and Michael had always been pleased to gratify his whims. Later, when he was grown, Lucifer took to holding hands as they strolled through the gardens, brushing their wings against each other, twisting their graces together. Much of that was lost to them now. When they found themselves forcibly ejected from the Cage, tumbling across the wet grass in feeble, human bodies, scraps of their graces remained. There was no flying, though Lucifer seemed to retain more of his wings than Michael did, but in time, it all faded away. There had been weeks of fighting, weeks of blaming each other, blaming Castiel, blaming anyone that they could think of-- anything to cope with the agony that came with the absolute loss of self. There was none of that now. This was just how it was.
Michael gathered a plush blanket into his arms from the hallway closet and returned to Lucifer’s side to bundle his little brother up, sitting close to him so that he could wrap their bodies up together.
“Do you know what today is?” he asked.
Lucifer leaned in towards Michael’s body heat instinctively, but he kept his eyes out the window. “Saturday.”
“The date, Lucifer.”
“No… I have trouble with…”
Michael kissed his temple and smoothed his hair back. “It’s been a year,” he whispered.
Lucifer turned to look at him then. “You kept track?”
“Well… Yes. I thought we could do something special.”
“You want to celebrate?”
A small frown tugged the corners of Michael’s mouth, making him look remarkably sad. “Is it all so horrible for you?”
Lucifer looked away again, quiet for several moments. “No,” he whispered, turning his body to lean back into Michael’s arms. “I like this.”
“Then this it is,” Michael replied. He placed a small kiss behind Lucifer’s ear before wrapping his arms around his waist and seeking out one of his hands, gently lacing their fingers together. They had no wings to touch and no graces to intertwine, but at least the fighting was over and now he could hold Lucifer’s hand.