JustPrompts. Ten ways to grieve.
O HAI. :X So after a lot of pulling and pushing, here's Mike. These fics were written to mark/show how he has been since the last time he was around here. The very last one is supposed to be "present time."
1.) It's a strange sensation, what he's feeling. The world continues moving, people keep living, but all it is to Michael it's movement. He doesn't care what goes where, and who does what. All he wants to do is stay there. He wants the world to stop. He wants everything to end. They had won, didn't they get it? They won. They wanted to beat the fire out of him? Congratulations. They had done it. Step right up and claim the fucking price.
Right now he doesn't care. He doesn't care what Elise says, or what the doctors tell him. He doesn't care how many file in and out in an attempt to get him to talk. All he wants to do is stay there.
All he wants is for it to end.
2.) He doesn't know what time it is. It's late, he knows that much, but other than that it doesn't matter. It's dark, and it's quiet. After the deafening sounds he had heard in his dreams, he wants to be alone.
The faucet is leaking, he suddenly realizes as he stares at his reflection in the mirror, and the sound doesn't stop. Drip, drip, drip. It's nothing to concern himself with, something he can just ignore, but he doesn't.
Drip, drip, drip.
Someone might as well be shoving a sledgehammer against a brick wall.
It's not the sound that gets him angry. It's not even that the faucet is leaking. It's just that it's there, and he's there, and as he stares at himself in the mirror all he sees is everything he hates.
How did he become what he hates?
How did things spiral so out of control?
Drip, drip, drip.
The mirror breaks as he yells for the fucking water to STOP. And it does. He can't hear the water dripping anymore. All there is left is the sound of him cursing up a storm.
3.) "Leaving won't change anything, you know."
"I know."
"So why are you doing it?"
Michael turns to his sister, still holding one of the t-shirts he had been folding. When he can't find the right answer to give her, he just shrugs and continues packing. "It's the only thing that really makes sense right now."
4.) There are bottles laying everywhere. Empty bottles, new bottles, others that are half gone. The room reeks of booze and cigarettes, and god only knows what else.
Go ahead, though. Ask him if he cares.
Instead he focuses on the spots on the ceiling above him. The ceiling is so damn interesting, isn't it? A sound bubbles out of him, something that resembles a laugh yet it isn't one at the same time, and he just closes his eyes.
Okay, so he had been wrong. Leaving hadn't been the only thing that made sense. Drinking himself to oblivion was a close second.
5.) His head is pounding as he steps out onto the bright sunlight. He groans, and he flinches, but he steps out onto the patio anyway.
It hurts to be there, in one of the houses his brother owned. It hurts to realize he's tainting something that had been so precious and dear to him.
It hurts.
Everything. Fucking. Hurts.
He wants to go back into the house and find some bottle that isn't gone. He wants to smoke another pack of cigarette. He really wants to give in to that temptation and go find some heroin that he can use.
But he doesn't.
Instead he just stands there, watching the ocean. He hears the rumbling of the waves, he lets the breeze hit him. He wants to know how he should feel, but...there's no right answer. There never is.
He's just so fucking tired.
Moving a chair closer, he slumps into it and closes his eyes. He has no idea what he's doing. But at least this is better than going back inside, isn't it?
6.) The curtains slide open, letting the sun inside, and Michael flinches again. He's barely grumbling a "What the hell?" before he's hauled up to his feet by one very angry Damian.
"...how did you get inside?"
There's no answer to that. There's just a box being shoved onto his hands, and Damian points at the room. "Clean this shit up. Now."
Michael's jaw clenches, and if he doesn't reach over to punch him it's because his body feels to sluggish to even be standing. "This isn't your house."
"Yeah, and it ain't yours either, so clean it up." Michael looks like he has been punched, and Damian picks up the cigarettes that haven't been smoked yet. "I'll be in the kitchen, when you're done. Clean up, shower and put on some clean clothes, and meet me there."
Damian walks away before Michael can speak again, but he doesn't try to anyway. He just stands there for a moment before looking around, silent. It seems like it takes him ages in order to move, but when he does he starts to clean up. Everything feels raw as he packs things up in those boxes and he sees the house that had belonged to his brother, but he just continues. He just moves, and keeps moving because it doesn't let him think. So he'll just move, and move until his body stops again.
7.) "How are you feeling?"
"Fine."
"Liar."
Michael shrugs, but doesn't turn to him. His forehead is just pressed against the window of the plane. He feels sick, and he wants to be alone. Why doesn't Damian just leave him the hell alone?
"You need to deal with this at some point, you know."
He turns to him then, his face as blank as it has been, yet at the same time there's something there. There's some resemblance to something that belonged to a Michael that Damian had once known, and he looks fine. Normal.
Denial is a wonderful thing.
"I'm fine."
8.) His room in Damian's house is spotless. He can hear the waves from the ocean, but he hasn't opened the curtains in order to see what's outside.
Instead he is sitting on the bed, looking at some of the things he had taken with him. A small toy of Aidan's that he always kept. A leather bracelet. The pendant that had belonged to DJ. The ring that he was going to give to Tess once upon a time. He knows all those things so well. He knows them, so why is it that it feels like it belonged to someone else entirely?
'That's because they do,' a voice inside his head says, and Michael just shakes his head, but instead of moving and placing them somewhere hidden in the room he just sits there. He sits there and he stares, as if they can give him a clue as to what he's supposed to do now.
9.) Michael is sitting on a dune of sand out on the beach when someone sits quietly next to him. He half expects it to be Damian, but when he looks over the one that he sees is none other than Elise. His mother. Well, birth mother, but still.
Frowning in confusion, he stares at her before talking quietly. "What are you doing here?"
Elise shrugs, her eyes searching his face. "Damian told me what you were doing." Her voice lowers, and even if she knows that Michael might react badly to it, she caresses his cheek in the way that she does with her daughters. "You can't keep doing this."
Turning away from her, Michael just returns his gaze towards the water. "I don't even know what 'this' is. I don't even know why... Why this. I don't..."
"You went years without dealing with what happened to you. Any of it. And they..."
"...broke me. You can say it."
"But can you accept it?" She reaches over to brush his hair back, even if the breeze doesn't let it stand still. "I know they took a life you had from you, sweetheart, but you still have one left. And 'this' you're doing, you're just trying to end it. Slowly, and very painfully, but you're ending it in a horrible way."
Michael opens his mouth to speak then, but when he tries he just can't. She's lying, he wants to say. She's wrong. She's so fucking wrong. She--
You know she's right, he suddenly hears DJ say. Maybe the not sleeping and barely eating is making him hallucinate, but as he sits there he just wants that to be real. He wants DJ there. He wants his son there. He wants his grandfather. He wants Tess. He wants...
"It's all gone," he finally manages to say in a choked whisper, his eyes filling with tears so quickly that he can't stop how they just spill over. "Everything is so fucked up, and I have no idea--... God, Mom, I..."
Unable to continue speaking anymore, he keeps looking away as he silently starts to cry even if he's trying desperately to stop. Elise wraps an arm around him, murmuring words of reassurance, and even if he wants her to stop he just stays there and he cries, for everything he loved, and everything he lost.
10.) "Are you going to be alright?"
Michael nods, his elbows leaning on his knees as he watches his mother pack. It's been a week and a half since that day at the beach, and even if she has been helping him she has to go back. Michael knows this, and he understands well enough, so he just gives her a small reassuring smile. "You think Damian's going to let me be anything but that? He'll drag my ass back to Jersey to dump me on your doorstep if I'm not."
She can't help but grin. "And since I doubt you want him to drag you any more than what he has, I probably shouldn't worry, huh?"
"Not at all." He falls silent for a moment, the sound of the ocean being the only sound between them for a few minutes, until he looks up at her. "Thank you."
Elise blinks at him in surprise before smiling gently. "I'm just glad I could help."
"You did. A lot." With a sigh, he leans back against the couch he's sitting on. "I mean, I'm not okay now...but..."
"You've made improvement." She nods. "You will be fine. Just...give yourself some time."
With a small smile, Michael nods slightly. That's really the first time he's able to believe those words.
1.) It's a strange sensation, what he's feeling. The world continues moving, people keep living, but all it is to Michael it's movement. He doesn't care what goes where, and who does what. All he wants to do is stay there. He wants the world to stop. He wants everything to end. They had won, didn't they get it? They won. They wanted to beat the fire out of him? Congratulations. They had done it. Step right up and claim the fucking price.
Right now he doesn't care. He doesn't care what Elise says, or what the doctors tell him. He doesn't care how many file in and out in an attempt to get him to talk. All he wants to do is stay there.
All he wants is for it to end.
2.) He doesn't know what time it is. It's late, he knows that much, but other than that it doesn't matter. It's dark, and it's quiet. After the deafening sounds he had heard in his dreams, he wants to be alone.
The faucet is leaking, he suddenly realizes as he stares at his reflection in the mirror, and the sound doesn't stop. Drip, drip, drip. It's nothing to concern himself with, something he can just ignore, but he doesn't.
Drip, drip, drip.
Someone might as well be shoving a sledgehammer against a brick wall.
It's not the sound that gets him angry. It's not even that the faucet is leaking. It's just that it's there, and he's there, and as he stares at himself in the mirror all he sees is everything he hates.
How did he become what he hates?
How did things spiral so out of control?
Drip, drip, drip.
The mirror breaks as he yells for the fucking water to STOP. And it does. He can't hear the water dripping anymore. All there is left is the sound of him cursing up a storm.
3.) "Leaving won't change anything, you know."
"I know."
"So why are you doing it?"
Michael turns to his sister, still holding one of the t-shirts he had been folding. When he can't find the right answer to give her, he just shrugs and continues packing. "It's the only thing that really makes sense right now."
4.) There are bottles laying everywhere. Empty bottles, new bottles, others that are half gone. The room reeks of booze and cigarettes, and god only knows what else.
Go ahead, though. Ask him if he cares.
Instead he focuses on the spots on the ceiling above him. The ceiling is so damn interesting, isn't it? A sound bubbles out of him, something that resembles a laugh yet it isn't one at the same time, and he just closes his eyes.
Okay, so he had been wrong. Leaving hadn't been the only thing that made sense. Drinking himself to oblivion was a close second.
5.) His head is pounding as he steps out onto the bright sunlight. He groans, and he flinches, but he steps out onto the patio anyway.
It hurts to be there, in one of the houses his brother owned. It hurts to realize he's tainting something that had been so precious and dear to him.
It hurts.
Everything. Fucking. Hurts.
He wants to go back into the house and find some bottle that isn't gone. He wants to smoke another pack of cigarette. He really wants to give in to that temptation and go find some heroin that he can use.
But he doesn't.
Instead he just stands there, watching the ocean. He hears the rumbling of the waves, he lets the breeze hit him. He wants to know how he should feel, but...there's no right answer. There never is.
He's just so fucking tired.
Moving a chair closer, he slumps into it and closes his eyes. He has no idea what he's doing. But at least this is better than going back inside, isn't it?
6.) The curtains slide open, letting the sun inside, and Michael flinches again. He's barely grumbling a "What the hell?" before he's hauled up to his feet by one very angry Damian.
"...how did you get inside?"
There's no answer to that. There's just a box being shoved onto his hands, and Damian points at the room. "Clean this shit up. Now."
Michael's jaw clenches, and if he doesn't reach over to punch him it's because his body feels to sluggish to even be standing. "This isn't your house."
"Yeah, and it ain't yours either, so clean it up." Michael looks like he has been punched, and Damian picks up the cigarettes that haven't been smoked yet. "I'll be in the kitchen, when you're done. Clean up, shower and put on some clean clothes, and meet me there."
Damian walks away before Michael can speak again, but he doesn't try to anyway. He just stands there for a moment before looking around, silent. It seems like it takes him ages in order to move, but when he does he starts to clean up. Everything feels raw as he packs things up in those boxes and he sees the house that had belonged to his brother, but he just continues. He just moves, and keeps moving because it doesn't let him think. So he'll just move, and move until his body stops again.
7.) "How are you feeling?"
"Fine."
"Liar."
Michael shrugs, but doesn't turn to him. His forehead is just pressed against the window of the plane. He feels sick, and he wants to be alone. Why doesn't Damian just leave him the hell alone?
"You need to deal with this at some point, you know."
He turns to him then, his face as blank as it has been, yet at the same time there's something there. There's some resemblance to something that belonged to a Michael that Damian had once known, and he looks fine. Normal.
Denial is a wonderful thing.
"I'm fine."
8.) His room in Damian's house is spotless. He can hear the waves from the ocean, but he hasn't opened the curtains in order to see what's outside.
Instead he is sitting on the bed, looking at some of the things he had taken with him. A small toy of Aidan's that he always kept. A leather bracelet. The pendant that had belonged to DJ. The ring that he was going to give to Tess once upon a time. He knows all those things so well. He knows them, so why is it that it feels like it belonged to someone else entirely?
'That's because they do,' a voice inside his head says, and Michael just shakes his head, but instead of moving and placing them somewhere hidden in the room he just sits there. He sits there and he stares, as if they can give him a clue as to what he's supposed to do now.
9.) Michael is sitting on a dune of sand out on the beach when someone sits quietly next to him. He half expects it to be Damian, but when he looks over the one that he sees is none other than Elise. His mother. Well, birth mother, but still.
Frowning in confusion, he stares at her before talking quietly. "What are you doing here?"
Elise shrugs, her eyes searching his face. "Damian told me what you were doing." Her voice lowers, and even if she knows that Michael might react badly to it, she caresses his cheek in the way that she does with her daughters. "You can't keep doing this."
Turning away from her, Michael just returns his gaze towards the water. "I don't even know what 'this' is. I don't even know why... Why this. I don't..."
"You went years without dealing with what happened to you. Any of it. And they..."
"...broke me. You can say it."
"But can you accept it?" She reaches over to brush his hair back, even if the breeze doesn't let it stand still. "I know they took a life you had from you, sweetheart, but you still have one left. And 'this' you're doing, you're just trying to end it. Slowly, and very painfully, but you're ending it in a horrible way."
Michael opens his mouth to speak then, but when he tries he just can't. She's lying, he wants to say. She's wrong. She's so fucking wrong. She--
You know she's right, he suddenly hears DJ say. Maybe the not sleeping and barely eating is making him hallucinate, but as he sits there he just wants that to be real. He wants DJ there. He wants his son there. He wants his grandfather. He wants Tess. He wants...
"It's all gone," he finally manages to say in a choked whisper, his eyes filling with tears so quickly that he can't stop how they just spill over. "Everything is so fucked up, and I have no idea--... God, Mom, I..."
Unable to continue speaking anymore, he keeps looking away as he silently starts to cry even if he's trying desperately to stop. Elise wraps an arm around him, murmuring words of reassurance, and even if he wants her to stop he just stays there and he cries, for everything he loved, and everything he lost.
10.) "Are you going to be alright?"
Michael nods, his elbows leaning on his knees as he watches his mother pack. It's been a week and a half since that day at the beach, and even if she has been helping him she has to go back. Michael knows this, and he understands well enough, so he just gives her a small reassuring smile. "You think Damian's going to let me be anything but that? He'll drag my ass back to Jersey to dump me on your doorstep if I'm not."
She can't help but grin. "And since I doubt you want him to drag you any more than what he has, I probably shouldn't worry, huh?"
"Not at all." He falls silent for a moment, the sound of the ocean being the only sound between them for a few minutes, until he looks up at her. "Thank you."
Elise blinks at him in surprise before smiling gently. "I'm just glad I could help."
"You did. A lot." With a sigh, he leans back against the couch he's sitting on. "I mean, I'm not okay now...but..."
"You've made improvement." She nods. "You will be fine. Just...give yourself some time."
With a small smile, Michael nods slightly. That's really the first time he's able to believe those words.