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“Gabriel,” Michael murmurs, his voice soft, worried. He cradles Gabriel to his chest, holds the much smaller body to him, feels the rattle in his breath. One arm securely holds Gabriel and the other traces gentle patterns over his back, fingers massaging away the hurt and the aches. He avoids bruises by memory, not having to look to know where angry hand prints are forged into his skin, a brand that shouldn’t last long but will because Lucifer’s routine rarely varies. It’s always the same places on Gabriel’s body, the same teeth marks from days before in the exact same spot. He has a fascination for Gabriel’s thighs, bite marks, scratches and bruises litter them constantly.
Gabriel is a tapestry of abuse, his eyes are a testament to that. They’re closed right now as he huddles against Michael, finds some relief from the pain in Michael’s touches. Michael always was the big brother, caring for Gabriel, teaching him. There are bitter memories of him as well but right now Gabriel can’t afford to remember or dwell on Michael’s obsession with war, that’s long gone. Now it’s just them, bound and used. Michael avoids most of it, the worst he gets is a quick fuck against the wall, or desk or whatever object Lucifer wants to bend him over at the time. Lucifer doesn’t take his time with Michael, it’s a quick needy rut that happens once or twice every few days - those weeks when Lucifer doesn’t have time to work each scream from Gabriel’s throat.
Gabriel shudders against Michael. He doesn’t want to move but he knows what’s coming. It’s the same thing every time.
“Gabriel, you’re going to have to move,” Michael says carefully as he shifts. Gabriel never moves, he can’t but that doesn’t stop Michael. The archangel moves effortlessly despite their circumstances, his stride a graceful glide to the bathroom. They’re lucky Lucifer has left one for them. Michael carries Gabriel to it with a care he had never thought possible before now.
He draws a bath somehow, managing to do it while still clutching Gabriel to his chest. The water, unfortunately, is ice cold and Michael curses Lucifer for being so damn heartless, for forcing him to torture Gabriel further. In the dim light of the bathroom Michael sees the extent of this rounds wounds on Gabriel. It’s worse, deep cuts over cuts and bruises blanketing them. Michael can count every rib in Gabriel’s body, can nearly see every bone clearly. It’s disgusting what Lucifer has done but Michael has no choice but to do this. He presses his lips to Gabriel’s hair.
“This won’t be pleasant,” he sighs, feeling Gabriel’s fingers curl into the remains of his shirt. He gently lowers Gabriel into the water and the reaction is almost instant. Gabriel gasps, a whimper following close after as the cold bites at him. Teeth skin deep and Gabriel shivers uncontrollably as Michael washes him with quick, brutal prescion. He’s not trying to draw tears from Gabriel but he does and Michael finishes up quickly, pulling Gabriel from the water.
He hurries back to the bedroom and falls to the bed with Gabriel shivering and wet. There are no towels, only the ratty blankets but it will have to do. Michael wraps himself around Gabriel, cuddling the drenched, shivering body to him, piling the sheets and pillows on top of them.
“Gabriel,” he says in a sing song voice. It’s something he’s done since Gabriel first came into existence, something he developed to comfort the youngest of the archangels, the most childish. Now it has little effect to change Gabriel’s mood but it doesn’t matter because it’s a security blanket for Michael himself, as if he tries to trick himself into believing everything will be okay.
He knows that’s not true, it’ll never be true. Still he can’t help but rest his chin on the top of Gabriel’s head and speak to him in that same sing song tone.
“Gabriel, it will be okay,” he hums, his hands stroking the smooth skin of Gabriel’s back. “Just sleep.” His voice is a whisper now, the tune to it gone.
Gabriel closes his eyes and clutches Michael’s shoulders, his face pressing to Michael’s neck. He breathes deeply and sighs.
“Michael, I - I can’t thank you enough,” he utters. “You’ve always looked after me.”
Michael smiles, even chuckles.
“Don’t thank me, Gabe, you’ve no right to, not when I’m powerless to stop this…” He trails off then squeezes Gabriel to him. “Torment. I would give anything for this to end.”
“Even your life?” Lucifer’s voice seeps from the walls, thick with menace.
Gabriel shrinks, suddenly trembling.
“Even that.” Michael says defiantly, his eyes burning.
Lucifer laughs. “Well, I might just take you up on that offer,” Michael can practically hear the grin on his distorted face. “Of course, there’s no guarantee I’d uphold our deal.”
His laughing grows in volume until Gabriel is clawing at his ears. Michael grabs his wrists and presses them against his chest, holding them there.
“It’s okay,” he says, staring into Gabriel’s eyes. “Just breathe, he’s not here-“
“Not yet!” Lucifer teases.
“-just ignore him,” Gabriel nods and curls as close to Michael as he can get. Somehow he manages to block out the insistent noise of Lucifer, pushes it into the back of his head until it’s just a squeaking mewl. He sighs into Michael’s chest as Lucifer’s presence vanishes. He shuts his eyes, now is a moment for rest. Lucifer is angry, he’ll be back later and he won’t wield only his degrading words. He’ll wield something that freezes Gabriel’s core in layers of a milky substance that trickles down the inside of his thighs when Lucifer’s sated.
Now there is nothing to do but wait and rest and try to prepare. That in itself is impossible, there is no preparing. Just the shocking cold burn of Lucifer taking him, moving within him.