Ummm I hate you.... You know who you are... ;

He smiled, a sickly, malicious smile, dull blue eyes gazing at Michael, accusingly... Gleefully. Michael stared back, his own green eyes wide and fearful as he saw who was speaking to him, someone he had thought -and dared hope- he would never see again; someone who, simply by having a familiar voice, sent pangs of painful regret through Michael. he managed smally, his voice softer and lighter than usual.

The blond boy's smile widened to a smirk. So you remember us, do you? he asked, regarding Michael as a child. Michael only continued to stare at Camael, who sat unmoving, but for his lips, on the pale white sheets of a bed in a pale white hospital room. Wont you come say hello properly, Michael? he asked again, patting the side of the bed next to him, his voice innocent enough.

Michael bit his lip, and entered the room warily, never letting his own gaze leave Camael, though never meeting his eyes. He did not want to be here... Not at all. Will you be joining us today? Or are you still pretending you belong out there, you stupid boy, he said quietly, his smile still playing on his lips. His hand reached out to finger the pale yellow petals of the flowers at his bedside, sitting in an unassuming glass vase on an unassuming night stand.

Michael said softly. He wasn't even conscious of the fact that he had begun to cry until the tears finally welled up and spilled down his cheeks, and he blinked them away, a little startled. Camael laughed again, and Michael nearly winced at the hatred there.

Tsk, you were always such a child, Michael. Come here, he said, reaching his hands out unassumingly, towards Michael, who, against his better judgment, complied. He closed his teary, green eyes as Camael's long, cold fingers cupped his chin. Don't you want to know what it would be like? he asked soothingly, like a predator trying to lure its prey with sweet music. To be here with us? Don't you want to see him again? Michael's eyes snapped open, and Camael's lips curled into a smirk, his cold blue eyes piercing right through the poor young boy. Or do you already? Michael cried suddenly, hesitating just enough for Camael to notice. He smiled still, and his hands slid away from Michael, back to fingering the yellow flowers. Michael buried his face in his hands, his head spinning with every one of the thoughts and emotions he'd tried so hard to suppress all this time. You killed him, he said softly, so soft, in fact, that Camael didn't seem to take notice.

You're just like us... Why not come and stay? he asked sweetly, followed by another bout of that ominous, childish laughter. He'd like to see you, I'm sure. You're all he talks about, you know? Michael' this, Michael' that... Michael, Michael, Michael.' He pulled a handful of the flowers from the vase, and cradled them in his arms. You're just like us, you stupid little boy...No! Shut up! I'm not like you! Michael cried finally, shaking with tears and rage. You killed him! He's not real! You killed my brother! he sobbed, grabbing Camael by the wrists. You killed him, and I hate you... Michael sobbed softly, his head bent, tears sliding down his cheeks one after the other. You killed him, and I hate you, I hate you, I hate you... I'm not like you at all.

Camael, who --actually quite startled when Michael had grabbed him-- dropped the yellow flowers onto the bed, and pursed his lips shut, narrowing his cold blue eyes at Michael. He said nothing, only glaring at the shaking boy, before finally wrenching his wrists from Michael's hold, and drawing one hand across his face with a quick, harsh motion. Long days of hospital confinement had allowed his unkempt nails to draw blood as he slapped Michael, who, as though suddenly snapped out of a daze, put his hands on his cheeks and stared frightfully at Camael. You stupid, stupid boy... he said lowly, his voice full of malice.

I-It's true... Michael protested softly. That's... That's why you're here... Because... Because you... You... Camael was still only glaring at him from the hospital bed, and Michael, his cheek stinging, wasn't even sure himself if his words where true.

I what? Camael asked slowly, as though just daring Michael to speak. I what, Michael? Slowly, as Michael refused to answer, Camael's smile returned to his lips. Exactly what I thought you would say, you stupid boy. He'd be so upset to hear you say such things, Michael... Michael closed his eyes, and began to shake his head. Why must you be so difficult? Are you, perhaps... Scared of your big brother? Or maybe scared of the things you want him to do to you? he asked, almost gleefully.

No, stop it...You want him to touch you, don't you, Michael? he asked, delightedly, reaching out to trace his fingers against Michael's cheeks again. Doesn't it make you feel dirty, Michael, thinking those things about your brother? Doesn't it? Michael shook his head again, but stopped when Camael's hands circled around his neck, with a stronger hold than the frail boy's figure led on. And what makes you think, he sneered, shoving Michael against the wall beside his bed and tightening his grip around his neck. That he'd want someone as dirty as you?S-stop it! Michael choked out, pulling desperately at Camael's hands, unable, for the life of him, to make the smaller boy let go. He closed his eyes and winced as Camael leaned forwards and licked the blood from his cheek, laughing maniacally when he pulled away, his fingers crushing Michael's throat all the more as he did so.

Michael felt Camael's hands suddenly pried off him, and someone larger and stronger than either of them pulling Michael into their arms and carrying him away. He was just grateful for anyone but Camael, and sobbed quietly into a lithe chest. I'm not like him, he whispered softly to himself. I'm not, I'm not.. I'm not crazy..! He was conscious of whoever was holding him stopping, and sitting them both down on the ground, cradling Michael in a warm embrace.

came a coaxing voice. Of course you aren't...He killed him, he killed him... he sobbed softly, shuddering against his sobs. I'm not crazy, he really killed him... No one said anything after that, and Michael just cried himself to sleep, not once knowing who held him.

Camael sat alone in his room, the door now bolted closed. From his night stand he took his phone, dialing the only number he ever bothered to dial. There was a click, and faint static, followed by a masculine voice on the other end. His hands traced the flowers that had fallen on his bed for a moment before he answered. After silently fingering the petals, his hands curled around them, crushing them in one fluid movement.

he replied, sweetly as ever, a cold smile on his lips. I think I'd like to go home now.


Michael sobbed softly, clinging to the warm but impassive hand that he held at his side. He looked up at his mother, dressed all in black, and then around at the small mass dressed likewise. Never once did she look down at him, and never once did her hand close comfortingly around his.

There were many people there that Michael didn't recognize, people he assumed Terry had known from school, or had not known at all, and only ended using the event as a good excuse to get out of class. There weren't many things said at the service, and silently people threw roses and an assortment of other flowers into the gaping hole in the ground. Nobody else, from what Michael could tell, was crying but him. Although it could have just been that it was raining.

He waited, watching the people pay their indifferent last respects, until his bother finally pulled him forwards a little, and he followed, walking up to the side of where his brother's coffin lay. His mother hadn't allowed him to purchase any flowers, so he held in his hands what soaked wildflowers and weeds he'd managed to pull up during the short but dreary walk from the chapel to the cemetery. He held his handful of flowers out over the hole.

Before he let them fall from his hand, there was a faint screeching sound, only unusual because of the otherwise relative silence that hung over the place. A limousine skidded to a stop on the rode through the cemetery, sending little sprays of fallen rain water up into the air. Everyone, without exception, turned to watch the doors open, and a short, teenage boy with cornflower hair step out.

Out of everyone there, Michael actually thought, vaguely, that he recognized him as one of Terry's actual companions. He was, at least, wearing the plaid pants and uniform of Terry's private Catholic school, beneath a long crimson duster. In his hands he held a beautiful bouquet of flowers, similarly colored to his hair, which he carried over to the grave. Michael thought, pulling his own poor excuse for an arrangement back down to his side, that the boy's flowers where the only truly thoughtful ones of all the flowers that had fallen into he hole all morning.

Respectfully, he kneeled and bowed his head before he held out his hand and let the flowers drop atop of the other askew roses and the like. Faintly, Michael thought he could make out sirens, but was more confused by the fact that, out of everyone here who didn't seem incredibly sad that Terry was gone, this one boy didn't seem to mind getting mud all over the knees of his expensive uniform. He stood, finally, after a moment, and Michael's green eyes widened, his hand slipping from his mother's.

A cold, twisted smile spread over the boys lips as he looked down at Michael, who was frozen in the spot. Murmurs ran through the groups of people, all dressed in black, and the sound of sirens grew lest faint in the cold, wet air. The flowers Michael had gathered fell from his fingertips as he stared at the boy's otherwise pristine white shirt, splattered with what looked to be dried blood.

Police cars parked on the road much as the long black limo had, and officers jumped from their cars, pointing guns at the boy, who stood smiling at Michael. Everyone, including Michael's mother, parted from the grave, but Michael was frozen in the spot, too scared to move. Laughter fell from the older boy's lips, then, even as the police officer's, seeing that it seemed he didn't intend to resist, grabbed his hands from behind and pushed him onto the ground, pulling his wrists into handcuffs.

He kept laughing all the while they read him his rights, and finally dragged him into one of the police cars. He's mine! He's mine now! Michael heard him say. He's mine, and no one else can ever have him again! laughing all the while. Michael didn't know how long he stood there, no one daring to move from where they stood to grab him. Eventually, when no one, not even his mother, pulled him away from the coffin that he stood staring at, someone, whom he recognized as Terry's doctor, finally pulled him away.


Raphael took off down the hallway much faster than he should have, getting lost just as quickly. It struck him, then, that, though he'd run after him in a haste, he had no idea where Michael could have gone. So he stopped for a moment, and Gabriel, who he realized then had been calling after him, was finally able to catch up, resting his hands on his knees when he was finally able to stop, breathing hard.

But Raphael wasn't inclined to listen. For some reason he couldn't quite place, he just knew whatever situation Michael's wandering off had led him into wasn't a good one. It could have just been, Raphael thought, that whenever Michael was left alone, bad, perhaps harmful, things seemed to happen to him. He didn't know, as often as he'd really visited the place, where anything in the hospital was, aside from Gabriel's office.

He took off again, just barely managing to dash into an elevator as it closed, leaving Gabriel to only guess where he was going, not that he had much idea himself. He made a not to apologize to physically-uninclined doctor once he found Michael. Impatiently, he waited for the elevator to reach the ground floor, not that far, though it took what seemed like forever, before running out again and off down the halls.

Though he noticed all the looks he got from the odd doctor or two as he skidded down the hall, he kept running, down the halls that seemed so much longer now. It was against his nature to get so worried, especially so quickly, but everything about Michael was against his nature. He rounded a corner, finally, nearly running into a nurse. He mumbled apologies, but only got halfway through them.

Down the hall a ways, he noticed, sitting on the floor against a wall, was Michael, in the arms of... Someone else. He didn't seem to be conscious, and Raphael took off towards him again, feeling foolish for running such a short distance, but still worried enough about him to do it just the same. When he stopped at their side, he said nothing, but the blond holding Michael in her arms looked up after a moment, and smiled. Raphael took a step back.

You must be Raphael, she said, though, Raphael noted, her voice was oddly low, lacking in terribly effeminate qualities. She looked, for all Raphael tried not to think about it, much like someone he'd once known... Honestly, he goes on about you, she said with a smile, nodding gently down at Michael. Gabriel says good things too. I'm afraid, she said, looking down at Michael again and changing the subject. That he got quite a shock from seeing Camael again, but he should be okay in a bit. He seems to be having nightmares, though.

Raphael just nodded, kneeling down and brushing some of Michael's dark hair from his fevered brow. He'd worry about who this woman was later, and how she knew anything about Gabriel, himself, and even Camael. For now, though, he just worried about Michael, whom, he noticed, seemed to have been bleeding. Gently, his fingers traced the cut, and he winced as he thought Michael might have.

Michael opened his eyes, slowly, blinking away his confusion. He squinted at Raphael for a moment, his green eyes cloudy, before grinning happily at him. Raphael smiled, and ran his fingers through Michael's hair again, a huge weight he didn't know he'd been carrying lifted. Blinking still, Michael looked around a bit, finally seeming to notice the person that held him wasn't Raphael. he cried delightedly, throwing his arms around the woman's neck.

She smiled with a faint laugh, hugging him tightly in return. Raphael gave a small sigh of relief, convinced for now that Michael was okay where he was, with someone he seemed to not only know, but actually like. He stood when Gabriel, still looking out of breath, finally reached them, leaving Michael and Zaphykins' to cuddle and exchange compliments like two giddy schoolgirls.

After a moment of heavy breathing, he stood and straightened his glasses beneath his blond bangs. he said, as though in greetings. he said again. he said, though more surprisedly. He shook his head a bit, slowly coping with everything that was going on. Well, that's... Interesting, he managed, finally, with a shrug.

Raphael gave a slight cough, shifting his weight a little so he was closer to being in earshot of just Gabriel. And who exactly is ah... he looked down at Michael and Zaphkiel, quirking a brow at their antics.

Gabriel smiled a bit helplessly, pushing his glasses back up his nose once more. Zaphkiel is a nurse who used to work here, he said, shrugging again as he looked down at the two. Michael knows him; I didn't know he was back in town, though. Raphael asked with faint confusion. Zaphkiel stood, then, still cradling Michael in his arms. As he stood, though he was dressed decidedly feminine, a skirt and all, and his wavy, golden hair fell just past his waist, Raphael supposed, if you really looked for it, you could somewhat tell he was a boy. It would certainly explain his androgynous though not entirely feminine voice. Zaphkiel smiled at him a moment, setting Michael back down on his own two feet.

he cried happily, throwing his arms around the startled doctor in what Raphael thought was a very feminine way. Just a moment afterwards, though, Michael, crying out Raphael's own name, did much the same to him, cuddling him and cooing for all he was worth.


It doesn't bother you, then..? Gabriel asked slowly. Raphael smiled, a bit sadly, and shook his head. Gabriel smiled too, closing his eyes for a moment, his expression equally melancholy. I didn't meet Zaphkiel until after you sister... Died. We became friends really fast, and I didn't even notice the resemblance until someone pointed out how much he looked like my fianc-- that is... How much he looks like Elizabeth.

Raphael gazed out the sliding glass hospital doors onto the front courtyard, where Zaphkiel and Michael where doing some mixture of hugging and roughhousing. He gave a little laugh. Yes, I suppose he does... Though she was never one to bother with hair that long. Actually. he said, turning back to Gabriel. I was a bit startled when I saw him, myself... Gabriel nodded, and for a while, the two of them stood there, a little uncomfortable, occupying themselves with watching Michael and Zaphkiel.

Michael... Saw Camael today, Gabriel said hesitantly, finally breaking the silence. Camael, supposedly... Was the one who killed Michael's brother. They never found his body, actually, and the case was very open ended like that. However, though Camael and Terry were allegedly best friends, it was no secret that they often got into sometimes violent arguments with one another. They found Terry's blood on Camael's uniform, entries about killing Terry in his journal, and --as I said-- never found Terry's body.Camael pleaded insanity, though he wouldn't say to what. He never actually admitted to killing Terry, but... In the police's eyes, it was plainly obvious. The only thing, in their opinion, that could close the case any further would be actually finding Terry's body, but if Camael was the one who killed him, he doesn't seem keen on revealing where he disposed of him any time soon.

Raphael sighed, just nodding absently. Michael, his poor, little Michael, had such a messed up life, and all Raphael wanted to do was make it better. Thank you, Gabriel... he said softly, turning to smile gratefully at him. For, you know... Everything. Even though technically you're not obligated or anything... Gabriel smiled back a little, and just shook his head a bit. And sorry for, well.. You know, also everything too, I guess.

He started to go, but Gabriel stopped him, putting a hand on his shoulder. Turning back, Raphael looked to the young doctor questioningly, but Gabriel just shook his head. Never mind. Just... Be careful. Because... he paused, as though hesitant to finish. Raphael waited patiently for him to continue. Have a good week, is all, he said, with a genuine smile, patting Raphael reassuringly on the back.

Shaking his head, Gabriel once again turned to go. He was startled, when, just outside the door, he saw a man --not Zaphkiel, who was off to the side a ways, looking rather bewildered-- with longish, black hair, behind Michael, with one arm about him. In his free hand, he held a gun.


D: Happy freaking Valentine's Day, yo 3 :) Umm this is Valentine's Day update..? Because I loooooveee youuu all :) Umm and there is a Happy End Valentine's Day picture, and I guess the best place to get to it is my DA account!

h t t p : l a p i x l a x u l i . d e v i a n t a r t . c o m

:) Umm just remove the spaces cause FP is a bum! .:loves you all:.

Chapitre 4.End.