sirenspull_logs | where have you been? it's alright, we know where you've been.

Who: Chuck Shurley, Michael
When: Monday morning
Where: the baseball diamond
Summary: welcome back, Chuckie. ♥
Warnings: PG for language, I think.

["--nothing ever really ends, does it?" THE END period carriage return carriage return as He disrobes His body into ether to bid the world good-bye-

-and tumbles face-first into dying grass, sore, disorientingly solid. There's barely a second to try and calm the ringing in His ears before He's throwing up violently, clutching his stomach until it hurts and He can't retch anymore.

He's been here before. There's too much noise in his head -- spark-starlight fabric ripping prayers echos shouting ringtones the Core's deep-down singing and silence - to concentrate and remember the whens, hows, whys: all he has is where. The "where"- the where has him groaning and clutching his stomach, pushing up to his hands and knees weakly and cursing from the spinning pain of having His universe ripped out through His nose. It's not home. Not His place, and it's only the feeling of breathing without lungs that starts to clue Him in.

Here.]

Shit.

[He's back.]

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[Here's where it gets different- reality forks away from deja-vu when someone's hand grips him firm but gentle and Chuck moves laboriously with the force of someone helping him. He grunts noncommittally, not registering at first who the someone is. God, his everything hurts.]

It's wrong- this is wrong.

[Chuck shakes his head slowly, having found his feet enough, and looks up. The bottom drops out of his stomach.]

Michael?

[With a very abrupt surge of strength he pushes the angel away and staggers back, staring in bald shock. Maybe he should've expected it but fuck, Chuck wasn't ready to see a ghost today, no. No no no he was trying to get away from this.]

[The archangel waits patiently as Chuck attempts to get his mind together after the disorienting trip back to this place. He doesn't even look offended at being pushed away, in fact, Michael purposely takes a step back, releasing the prophet as he did.]

Try to calm down.

[Or he'll put Chuck to sleep and take him home.

Silver-blue eyes are completely focused on the prophet, curious as to what could make Chuck stare at him in such a manner. He had a theory but kept his mouth shut for the time being.]

[Somehow the calming down isn't on the table right now, however much He'd like to- he's stepping back again, clapping a hand over his mouth and pretending really hard that there aren't tears in His eyes threatening to well up the longer He looks at Michael.

The one who failed. The one who fell. Chuck would give anything right now to be a mile, a world, a universe away from here- to shed His bones like He meant to and start the circle over in a new life and a new body that wouldn't ring every day with the prayers and pains of angels.

He can only choke out one thing.]

You fell-

[Alcohol can't even excuse the reaction. He's more sober than he's been in a very long time- was easily, back home. Back home it was easy to ignore the cries and easier still to pull up stakes and ride the rails to elsewhere. Grief suffocates easily in the airless vacuum of a heart hardened by denial and crippling dysfunction.

All that seems a world away. Now he looks into Michael's eyes and remembers. The weeks, the months, the long nights and days wrapped in lies and slowly encroaching understanding. Hung-over mornings and uncomfortable heart-to-hearts and prayers heard in the painful nights: He remembers.

A punch to the gut would be easier. A knife to the temple, bathing in fire.]

[While Chuck has his freak-out Michael stands there calmly, not affected by the prophets emotions that are threatening to spill out onto his face with tears. He has no idea just what is going through Chuck's head - not really anyway.

It's just like he thought. Chuck had gone home and lived to the point where they'd fallen into the Cage.

He shrugs casually.]

Not yet, I haven't.

[Things have changed in the last two weeks, big things that Chuck has missed out on. Michael and Lucifer had actually made up and it wasn't something they just avoided talking about anymore. The eldest had vowed to try to get them to be...more like a family and he'd gotten Lucifer to stop harassing Gabriel and making it worse.

But he doesn't say any of that because it seems like none of it matters if they get sucked back home like Chuck did. Everything they were changing here would mean nothing.

Michael doesn't let that brief stab of hopelessness show on his face because he's so damn good at hiding his emotions.]

[And still, he stares. At probably the last face in all of wide Creation he wanted to see right now.]

-God, sorry to be a complete pussy about it, but. Man, it's really- you're okay. You're actually okay.

I mean, it just happened like five minutes ago- this is really screwing with my head.

[Even Lucifer's? Harsh Dad. He shrugs wanting to get away from this topic.]

Do I need to take you to a liquor store to help you man up? And of course I'm okay, I've been here the entire time you've been gone.

[...]

Did you just say "man up"?

Are you really all that surprised?

[Chuck did get him to say 'tits' one day, after all.]

But I mean, you said it without me saying it first.

[You said a weird thing all on your own it's different.]

I thought I'd try it out. See how it works.

[He's been in a relatively good mood. Good things have been happening.]

Well it isn't "tits" but... I like it. You should, y'know, keep it up.

I'm not sure I'll ever be able to top that.

[Michael will never be like Gabiel or Dean when it comes to references. Seems like Chuck is feeling better though.]

where have you been? it's alright, we know where you've been.

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