[ooc: Set in the same mafia 'verse as this one and this one, but you don't have to read those to get this. Also, smut didn't really happen, but I hope you like it anyways. :3]
Raphael's who he calls, when his senses return to him. There's blood on his hands, and the mess - he doesn't think about the mess. Instead he holds the cellphone with slick fingers and waits for his brother to pick up.
"Michael," Raphael greets within four rings, and he doesn't sound tired or sleep-bogged at all - Michael doesn't know how he does it. (Anything to avoid thinking about what he's done.)
"I need you here," Michael says, and, "It's a mess."
He hears the rustling of papers and wonders if this is it, if this is the time Raphael will refuse him help. If this time he'll be left with a mess and if the family will abandon him and -
"Stay put, I'll be right there."
Michael breathes relief as the call ends, and he gingerly slides the cellphone into his pocket - his whole outfit is a mess, what was he thinking - and he sinks to his haunches, unwilling to sit in the blood but needing a moment to hide himself. He won't leave the scene, and it's probably for the best if he stays right where he is, so he doesn't track shoeprints everywhere -
He wonders (and not for the first time) if Raphael would be able to control him when he gets like this. If Raphael could prevent the mess before it's created. He chides himself for even thinking of it, not after...not after that last time.
It won't matter if it's family or not when he's lost himself like that.
---
The lights in the laundromat are too bright, and Michael closes his eyes to them while he waits for the detergents to work their magic on his clothes. He thinks of the harsh lights of the interrogation room, and it's his mood that leads him to picture himself in the hot seat, with two of his brothers (Raphael, Zachariah) working him over. Asking him how many he's killed. Asking him for the details.
Nightmares creep up on him while he waits, and he digs his fingernails into his bare thighs. The pain doesn't ward them off, but it does keep him grounded. Focused. The emotions fear stirs up won't cause him to lose control.
A jacket is draped around his shoulders, and he looks up at Raphael in poorly veiled surprise.
"I'm taking you home as soon as this is done."
"Ah," Michael works his jaw, and looks back at his knees, uncomfortably aware of the implications. His work here is over, and someone else will manage his loose ends.
"It's unlike you to be so doubtful," Raphael comments as he sits next to him. "Was it really so bad?"
"You saw," Michael says.
"You have remarkable skill at managing who is in your range before you let go," Raphael says. "No one in there was someone we would have let live."
"Be quiet, Raphael."
Michael closes his eyes again and he's glad it's Raphael here. He tries to picture Zachariah standing in Raphael's place, or worse: Lucifer. He shivers and pulls the jacket closer to him, not liking what he sees. (Zachariah's disapproving look, Lucifer's sneering amusement...)
He feels fingers in his hair and ducks his head, keenly aware that he still needs a good shower to get rid of all the blood, but Raphael's fingers (they must be Raphael's) hold on, still picking through his hair with a gentle touch.
Supernatural, Michael/Raphael, PG(ish), Mafia AU/handporn/post-crisis moment [1/2]
Raphael's who he calls, when his senses return to him. There's blood on his hands, and the mess - he doesn't think about the mess. Instead he holds the cellphone with slick fingers and waits for his brother to pick up.
"Michael," Raphael greets within four rings, and he doesn't sound tired or sleep-bogged at all - Michael doesn't know how he does it. (Anything to avoid thinking about what he's done.)
"I need you here," Michael says, and, "It's a mess."
He hears the rustling of papers and wonders if this is it, if this is the time Raphael will refuse him help. If this time he'll be left with a mess and if the family will abandon him and -
"Stay put, I'll be right there."
Michael breathes relief as the call ends, and he gingerly slides the cellphone into his pocket - his whole outfit is a mess, what was he thinking - and he sinks to his haunches, unwilling to sit in the blood but needing a moment to hide himself. He won't leave the scene, and it's probably for the best if he stays right where he is, so he doesn't track shoeprints everywhere -
He wonders (and not for the first time) if Raphael would be able to control him when he gets like this. If Raphael could prevent the mess before it's created. He chides himself for even thinking of it, not after...not after that last time.
It won't matter if it's family or not when he's lost himself like that.
---
The lights in the laundromat are too bright, and Michael closes his eyes to them while he waits for the detergents to work their magic on his clothes. He thinks of the harsh lights of the interrogation room, and it's his mood that leads him to picture himself in the hot seat, with two of his brothers (Raphael, Zachariah) working him over. Asking him how many he's killed. Asking him for the details.
Nightmares creep up on him while he waits, and he digs his fingernails into his bare thighs. The pain doesn't ward them off, but it does keep him grounded. Focused. The emotions fear stirs up won't cause him to lose control.
A jacket is draped around his shoulders, and he looks up at Raphael in poorly veiled surprise.
"I'm taking you home as soon as this is done."
"Ah," Michael works his jaw, and looks back at his knees, uncomfortably aware of the implications. His work here is over, and someone else will manage his loose ends.
"It's unlike you to be so doubtful," Raphael comments as he sits next to him. "Was it really so bad?"
"You saw," Michael says.
"You have remarkable skill at managing who is in your range before you let go," Raphael says. "No one in there was someone we would have let live."
"Be quiet, Raphael."
Michael closes his eyes again and he's glad it's Raphael here. He tries to picture Zachariah standing in Raphael's place, or worse: Lucifer. He shivers and pulls the jacket closer to him, not liking what he sees. (Zachariah's disapproving look, Lucifer's sneering amusement...)
He feels fingers in his hair and ducks his head, keenly aware that he still needs a good shower to get rid of all the blood, but Raphael's fingers (they must be Raphael's) hold on, still picking through his hair with a gentle touch.
"Stop."