The Perfect Crime [ABANDONED]

Shovels

Michael's head hurt like hell. He had been having bad headaches since he had stopped sleeping, but this was more like when he had gotten hit in a post-season game and gotten a concunsion. Is that what had happened? Had he hurt himself in a game? He rubbed his eyes and attempted to open them, but the small bit of light that was there was far too bright for him. 

"Bright..." he mumbled. The light behind his eyelids faded a bit and Michael managed to open his eyes. The events of the night flooded back to him and he attempted to stand. 

"Calm your ass down, ya idjit," Bobby grumbled, pushing Michael back down onto the couch. 

So this is how Michael was going to die. He always figured he was going to get himself into a situation with one of his foster parents and not be able to get himself out. He had to at least find a way to get to his brother...

"You've got that look on your face that says you're about to do something stupid," Rufus said from the other side of the room. What was Coach doing here? 

"I'm sorry about your head. I hit you with a shovel," Rufus continued. Michael looked at him for a long second. 

"I thought you liked me?" Michael said quietly. "Why?" 

"What were you doing in the basement?" Bobby asked. He didn't seem particularly angry, or like he really had any feelings about the fact that Michael surely knew that he was some sort of serial killer. 

"I...why are you asking me questions? You're the one who had a fucking picture of a dead body!" Michael said lowly. 

"If you don't talk quieter, you're going to wake up your brother," Bobby said. That was exactly what Michael wanted. He needed to find a way to talk to Adam, Dean, or Sam. 

"Bobby, did you tell the boys what you did before the accident?" Rufus asked. Bobby froze and looked at Rufus. 

"I don't think so," Bobby said. "Damn, kid, now I can see why you would be confused. I'm not some sort of serial killer." Michael blinked at him. "I can imagine why you would think that, you've had some rough houses in the past. You're used to seeing the bad in people." 

"Wait....what?" Michael asked. Now he was just confused. And his head was still pounding, and he felt a bit like he wanted to pass out, which he knew he couldn't do because of his concussion. 

"Michael, do you know what I do for a job?" Bobby asked. Michael shook his head. Hopefully the man wasn't going to say kill people. 

"I'm a forensic psychologist," Bobby said. The thought of Bobby being a psychologist had Michael laughing. Bobby frowned at him. "Would you stop laughing, ya idjit?" 

"Sorry, sorry. I think my brain is messed up from getting hit over the head with a shovel," Michael said, giving his best bitchface to Rufus. Rufus mouthed an apology as Bobby kept talking. 

"I used to work with the FBI, profiling, the works. I don't do it anymore, 'cause of the wheelchair, but I still help them from time to time on a case. That's what that picture was. It was a crime scene photo," Bobby explained. 

"I see you forgot to mention me," Rufus said. 

"Not everything is about you, you grumpy old man," Bobby snapped at his friend. 

"Well, I used to work with him too. And when I came over and saw the basement door open, and then someone down there...well, I thought you were trying to steal something. I don't know, I'm real sorry, kid," Rufus said. He looked at his watch and then sighed. "I've got to go to work...take practice off this morning." Michael frowned. 

"You didn't hit me with a shovel because Balthazar skipped practice again, right?" Michael asked, only half-joking. He had been through some pretty horrible practices because of that asshole. 

"No, I didn't," Rufus said. "Although I should probably go hit him with a shovel." Rufus stood and walked past, sharing a long stare with Bobby before walking out of the house. Those two had a strange friendship. 

"Well...I should go get ready for school," Michael said. He needed to shower. He needed to sleep. Well, he wasn't able to sleep at the moment, but he needed to do something to tire himself enough that he'd sleep. 

"No, I think you need to sit here and talk to me," Bobby said seriously. Michael looked at him. 

"Talk? About what?" Michael asked. 

"Whatever it is that you're going through," Bobby explained. 

"There's nothing that I'm going through," Michael argued. "I'm not like an emotional wreck." 

"Your sleeping schedule says otherwise." 

"Yeah, I don't sleep much. I'm fine though..." Michael started. 

"What about the Novak boy?" Bobby asked. Even just the mention of Lucifer's last name felt like a stab in the chest. He automatically felt the pain start in his heart and spread through his chest, leaving a pit in his stomach and a lump in his throat. 

"I don't want to talk about him," Michael said in a whisper. Bobby was silent, so Michael chanced a look up at him. 

He had never had an adult look at him with such warmness. He had gotten a lot of looks from judges, from foster parents, from CPS agents. Looks from hatred, to disgust, to dissapointment, to apathy, to pity. He had never seen anyone look at him like they actually cared. Michael couldn't fight the tears anymore. He buried his face in his hands and let himself cry. 

"You're going to have to talk about him at some point. It's gonna kill you if you don't," Bobby said softly. 

"I don't know how," Michael admitted, hands still hiding his face. Of course, the tears were still falling and he didn't know when or how to make them stop, the same way he couldn't get his feelings for Lucifer to stop, the same way he couldn't get the constant stream of you're not good enough  to stop ringing in his mind over and over and keeping him up until four in the morning. 

"You'll learn," Bobby said. "Just start somewhere." 

"Michael?" Michael's hands automatically wiped his eyes in an attempt to hide his tears when he heard his brother's voice. He looked up to see Adam wiping at his own eyes, but his was in an attempt to remove his exhaustion. "Are you okay?" Adam asked. He still looked like such a kid sometimes. Michael hated that. He still saw his five year old brother who had just spent the entire day crying as he realized that their parents weren't coming home. He still saw the kid he had spent the past ten years of his life protecting, caring for, and loving. 

"Yeah, buddy, I'm good," Michael said, his voice thick with emotion and clouded in tears. Adam crossed the room and cuddled into Michael's arms. Michael hugged his brother back, trying to find a way to breathe. It felt like he was drowning, and the last time he had taken a breath was on that roof with Lucifer. 

"Why don't you call him?" Adam asked. Michael shook his head. 

"It's not that simple, Adam. I wish it was. But it's not," Michael said softly. "I miss him. God, I miss him. But sometimes there's a big difference between what you want, and what you need," Michael continued, getting a hold of his emotions enough that he wasn't stil crying. 

"And sometimes there isn't a difference," Adam said softly. Michael wished with all his might that this was one of those cases. 

Hi! This was supposed to be longer, but I'm tired and I want to at least give y'all something. Also, I have a job, I think. Or I should have a job soon. I got hired I just have to wait to go to orientation. And I reached 25k words for NaNo so woohoo! And sorry for the Michifer angst....I have some ideas where I want to go from here with the different ships so we'll see which one we should go to next. Y'all want some more Michifer drama, or Destiel, or Sabriel? Lemme know. 

We are all born perfect and life beats us down. We start out as perfect porcelien, but we are cracked by struggles and shattered by time. You say you're broken, but darling, that simply isn't true. Remember that cracks are beautiful, for they let the light shine through. 

Did that rhyme? Yes, yes it did. 

I have the honor to be your obedient servant.