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IT WAS EVENING BEFORE MICHAEL RETURNED, his mood so volatile Molly could sense it before he even reached the porch. She had considered following him in his mad dash to save his Satanic foster mother, but talked herself out of it. Michael's powers grew as her own did, and there was no telling if he'd have been able to use her to find the witches.
Molly also did not want to be anywhere near the battle that would ensue between her former family and her lover, even though it was an eventuality.
She stifled a gasp of surprise when the front door slammed shut, waiting nervously on the couch for him to come into sight. The girl wondered whether he would march onward and ignore her altogether, and pondered if she would have preferred that, but with the sight of the young Antichrist - suddenly standing in the doorframe to the living room with tear-stained cheeks and a heartbroken expression, her thoughts crumbled.
Molly's arms caught him in time as he slumped toward her, stopping Michael from falling forward and ending in the two of them sitting on the ground - arms gripping onto each other with enough ferocity to draw blood. Every inch of their bodies was moulded against the other's, his fingers gripping onto her back as if she were a ledge he was about to fall from. She ended up in his lap, allowing him to hide his mourning face into her chest and out of sight.
Unsure of what to do, Molly tangled her fingers through his blonde locks and simply held onto him with equaling strength, her thoughts conflicted. As much as she despised the woman who would have easily torn Molly's head from her shoulders without blinking, her eyes pricked with emotion at witnessing Michael's heartbreak. For him, this was the loss of a mother.
The minutes passed, perhaps hours, but the couple never let up until Michael's sobs dulled to mere heavy breathing, finally leaning back to look his lover in the eyes. Molly stopped the sharp exhale that built in her chest at the sight of him - never having seen, and never expecting to see, him so stricken. Her soft hands trailed down from his hair to cup his tear-hardened cheeks, pads of her thumbs soothingly wiping away the dampness underneath his eyes.
"I'll kill them," he choked out tiredly, voice hoarse from crying. "Every last one of them."
Molly stayed silent, knowing full well she would never allow that to happen. But that was a conversation for another day, she thought, as he leaned to the side to lay on the floor, taking her down to lie with him. The hard ground was uncomfortable, but neither cared for comfort at that moment.
"I'm here," she whispered against his trembling lips, pressing her mouth against his in a kiss that was without romantic or sexual intention. Michael could feel the sheer power through her lips, knowing well that she was using every ounce of light magic inside of her to soothe his worries. The blonde hated to admit that it was working.
For as much as he doubted the existence of a divine entity as a child, and rebelled against it when Molly came into his life as proof, he couldn't help but thank God that night for the angel that was gifted to him.
