Chapter Text
Michael had been able to see ghosts for as long as he could remember.
Everyone around him had said the same thing to him; that ghosts weren’t real.
But he knew they were. He knew that he wasn’t just seeing things, no matter what the neurologists said. He knew because other people sensed it too; they just couldn’t see it. Not like he could.
Michael didn’t know what kind of freak he was, to be able to see dead people. For a long time, he didn’t understand it. He still didn’t, but at least now that he was older, he knew more on how to deal with it.
When he was younger, he’d frequently get these horrible, horrible migraines and headaches. They could get so bad that he would sometimes get rushed to the hospital. The doctors couldn’t explain it. Nothing added up to what caused it or why they kept happening. There were no connections to what triggered it, nothing that showed up in any scans... It just happened randomly without explanation.
Michael knew that these headaches occurred most often in older areas and buildings (old prisons, hospitals, old schools…) and at cemeteries.
In other words, places where a lot of people have died or were buried at.
Little Michael didn’t tell the doctors that because he didn’t think it was relevant in any way back then. For quite a few years of his life he had thought that everyone could see them. It wasn’t until he was 9 or 10 that he was diagnosed with an extremely early development of schizophrenia, because what other explanation was there?
So, he began getting treated differently. Every mention of his ‘disorder’ was quickly shut down and pushed aside because Chuck made it out to seem that they weren’t supposed to talk about it. He was treated like he was incapable of doing things on his own, and when he mentioned that, everyone denied it and claimed that they were just trying to help. He was taken to a freaking psychologist every week.
He just wanted to be normal, dammit. Was that too much to ask?
Now he was at a new school, in a new town. Now he had only one living brother and one sister. Now he lived in a stupidly big house with his aunt and his dad and a dead brother that was, quite literally, haunting him.
Speaking of being haunted by his brother, he had figured out a way to escape him. As it turned out, if Lucifer went too far away from his old favourite pocketknife, he got teleported straight back. He had a certain radius he could go before it was too far. It was a blessing for Michael and a curse for Lucifer.
Michael, now being in a new town, no longer lived close to his old psychiatrist, and hence had a new one.
He wasn’t too excited to meet them, honestly. Considering his previous psychiatrist, Naomi, the next wouldn’t be too good either.
Naomi refused to listen to anything he had to say about ghosts, and all that ever did was frustrate Michael. Wasn’t she supposed to listen? To hear him out, to help him work out his thoughts? All Naomi did was shove any thoughts with even the slightest hint of negativity away because they were ‘bad’ to have. Michael had tried to talk to dad about it, but, like everyone in his life, he either completely disregarded him, claiming that Naomi was “a nice woman”, or he was too hooked up in his stupid stories to pay attention to him.
Now Michael sat in the waiting room beside his dad, who was working through some of his notes for his latest dumb story. He loved his dad, he really did, but sometimes he could be quite… absent.
“Michael Shurley?”
Michael perked up. He felt his heart pace pick up a slight bit. It took him a few moments to recognise it at anxiety.
The woman who called his name stood with a clipboard in her hand and her other hand on her hip. Dark hair floated down her shoulders in whisps, and two eyes that reminded him of a dull green sea gleamed as brightly as her smile. As soon as his eyes met hers, he felt a sudden strong sense of familiarity overcome him, despite never seeing her before in his life.
“C’mon Michael,” Chuck said, standing up and slipping his notebook and pen into his bag. “Let’s go.”
“Just follow me,” the woman - his new psychiatrist, he assumed - said, walking off through a corridor.
The room he was led into was different to Naomi’s. Hers was boring and plain and white and felt like some sort of asylum. The walls there were so bare it felt suffocating.
This office had the same white walls, but he was greeted with different posters about the brain, emotions, and all sorts of things. Maybe this was normal, and Naomi was just boring and plain, but that didn’t mean Michael couldn’t be surprised. Just behind her desk, he even noticed a poster for a rock band.
He stood in the centre of the room awkwardly, suddenly realising that he had been looking around the room with his mouth open like some sort of idiot.
“Take a seat, I don’t bite,” the doctor said, a smile on her face as she watched Michael, who only noticed the seat once she pointed it out.
“Oh,” Michael said, a light embarrassment coming over him as he sat down at the seat. Chuck took the spare seat beside him, giving him a smile that was meant to be encouraging, but only made Michael more nervous.
“I’m Dr. Barnes, but you can just call me Pamela,” the doctor said, still smiling. There was something deep about her smile, something… more than just her smile. He knew it didn’t make sense, but there was just something else. Michael just couldn’t figure out what. “I’m your new psychiatrist.”
Obviously. He was here to see his new psychiatrist. Who else would she be?
Pamela chuckled for some reason. Michael frowned. He hadn’t said anything.
“So, Michael, it says on your file that you were diagnosed with schizophrenia when you were… 9?”
“That’s what it says,” Michael grumbled. He didn’t want to be here. He didn’t even really need to be here. There was nothing even wrong with him.
Nothing that doctors could explain, anyways.
“Were you put on any medication for it?”
Michael froze. Oh hell no. She wasn’t saying he’d have to, was she? He had seen the side effects of those things. If he took it, there wouldn’t even be any benefit, so all he’d get was crappy side effects. The effects could possibly be worse, too, considering there was nothing in his head to fix. Nothing that could be fixed. At least, he didn’t think there was.
“I’m not saying you’ll have to. Just asking,” Pamela interrupted his thoughts, answering him so perfectly he briefly questioned if she could hear everything he thought.
“No. No medication,” Michael said quietly.
“Okay then,” Pamela nodded, glancing at her computer. “Is there any other medical history I might need to know about?”
Michael looked to his dad.
“Uhh,” Chuck thought, “When he was younger, he’d get headaches and migraines quite regularly. He still gets them, sometimes, but not nearly as bad.”
“He did now?” Pamela asked, typing something on her computer. “Do you know what caused it?”
“No,” Chuck sighed. “We never did. No one could explain it.”
Michael could. Ghosts.
Pamela looked to Michael as soon as he thought that. “Michael? Do you have anything to say regarding what might’ve caused your headaches?” Pamela asked.
“No,” Michael lied. Pamela’s eyes lingered on him for a second before she typed something else up on her computer.
“Okay, thank you. Now, is there anyone else in the family that has struggled with any disorders, mental health…”
“Uh, well I’ve struggled with depression a bit,” Chuck admitted. “But his siblings have all, uh, been fine so far.”
“And on his mother’s side?”
Michael slowly looked over to his dad.
“She, uh… she left a while ago,” Chuck bit his lip. “Michael was only 9 months old. I wouldn’t know anything about her.”
Lucifer had been 9 months old as well. His mother had decided that something was wrong with Michael and left. Gabriel and Raphael weren’t even born yet.
Sometimes, he wondered if his mother had somehow known he’d turn out like this.
“I’ll definitely take note of that,” Pamela replied. “Now, what got you guys to move houses?”
Michael bit the inside of his cheek, keeping his eyes fixated on the ground, as if it was suddenly the most interesting thing in the room. White floors covered in blue speckles like stars in a galaxy. 1 speckle, 2 speckles, 3 speckles-
Why was he so upset about this? It wasn’t even a big deal. It shouldn’t have been, not to him. He could still see his brother. Still talk to him. He was the only one who could, so he didn’t deserve to be upset about it because his brother was still there!
“My… son,” Chuck began hesitantly, “Second eldest. He was... He was in an accident a month ago. He… he passed away. We thought it was best to move.”
6 speckles, 7 speckles, 8 speckles, 9 speckles-
There was more than just that. Chuck knew it. Michael knew it.
“I’m so sorry,” Pamela apologised. Michael bit his lip harder. Why did everyone apologise? What were they apologising for? They weren’t involved in it, they didn’t see it, they didn’t know Lucifer.
“And… Michael? How have you been holding up? If you don’t mind me asking of course.”
“I’m fine,” Michael grumbled, now tasting blood in his mouth from how hard he had bit the inside of his cheek.
Pamela didn’t push him. Naomi would have. Hell, she had. She had continued asking questions, pushing and pushing until Michael had snapped at her and left.
Pamela changed the topic, asking Michael a few different questions.
“Now, Michael, it says here that you occasionally have visual hallucinations. What do you think about that?”
Michael blinked. His father's eyes pressed into his skin.
“They’re not real,” Michael said, hoping this was the right answer. Everything Pamela had asked to far had had a different answer to what Michael was used to.
Pamela furrowed her eyebrows, considering his reply. “Just because they may not be real to us, it doesn’t mean that they’re not real to you.”
Michael watched her for a moment, cautious. That was new. No one had said that before.
Pamela glanced at his dad. “Would you be more comfortable if your dad was outside?”
Michael blinked again, clamping his jaw shut and silently nodding. He refused to look at his dad, fearing that he’d only be met with offence, or anger, or even worse; disappointment.
Pamela looked to Chuck expectantly, who, although rather reluctantly, complied.
Now it was just Pamela and Michael in the room.
“I’m not forcing you to talk about it,” Pamela told him. “I’m just saying that sometimes, talking about this can help rather than pushing it away. Of course, this depends on the person. It’s up to you to try and decide on whether it might help you or not. Not whether it helps me or your dad.”
Michael opened and closed his mouth a few times, trying to find the right words. No one had ever asked about what he saw, or even what he thought. He was always the one to tell them about it, and over half the time all he got was a reminder that it wasn’t real.
“I see… ghosts.”
Pamela raised her eyebrows a slight bit, intrigued.
“Sometimes they’re just… standing there. Sometimes they’re trying to talk to people. Sometimes they talk to me.”
Pamela, surprisingly, didn’t type anything down. “What do they say?”
“They ask me if I can see them,” Michael said. “I sometimes say yes. Other times I ignore them, and they assume I can’t see them.”
“How long have you seen them for?”
Michael huffed out a long breath, trying to decide on whether he should just lie and say a bit before he was diagnosed or admit the truth.
“Since… forever?”
Pamela looked surprised. That strange, vague feeling of familiarity came back, tingling on his skin and rattling through his bones.
He couldn’t figure out whether it was a good or bad feeling, but it disappeared as soon as the appointment ended.
Adam Milligan.
Where to start?
Adam was nice. Really, really nice. He didn’t completely shove Michael aside, he didn’t look at him like he was weird, he didn’t act like he was incapable of anything. He spoke with Michael normally.
Best of all, Adam Milligan loved to talk. Michael loved to listen.
He learnt that Adam was raised by his mother, Kate Milligan. Kate was a nurse that worked very hard at her job. She worked 12-hour shifts, four days a week (and occasionally an extra day or hours if it was a particularly busy week) and still managed to spare some time for Adam. Michael had told Adam that she sounded like an amazing woman. Adam told him that she was. He was planning to one day go to college and follow in her footsteps.
Adam didn’t say anything about a dad.
“What about you?” Adam asked. “What’s your family like?”
“Oh, uh... I just have my three siblings, my dad, and my aunt.”
“Dude, you have siblings? Older or younger?”
“Younger, all of them,” Michael said. “Lucifer, Raphael, and Gabriel.”
“Those are very biblical names,” Adam blinked. “And- I’m sorry, did you just say Lucifer? How was that name even allowed?”
Michael shrugged. “I honestly have no idea. Of course, the name Uriel was a thought, but Amara thought it sounded too close to urinal. Besides, Lucifer matches him perfectly. I sometimes genuinely believe that he is the spawn of Satan.”
Adam laughed, a light, breathy sound that rang in his ears. Michael looked up, and a smile spread across his face. He laughed! At his joke! It wasn’t even intended to make him laugh but Adam had found it amusing!
“Ahem, Michael, I’m not the spawn of Satan, I am Satan.”
...And the moment was over. Speak of the devil.
“Man, I wish I had siblings,” Adam huffed, not noticing Lucifer’s arrival. “I mean- well, I do, but they’re only my half-brothers and I don’t think they even like me.”
“Oooo! The plot thickens!” Lucifer cackled, sitting down right in front of Adam (not that the boy could see him). “Tell us more!”
Michael resisted the urge to roll his eyes, lest Adam think it was aimed at him.
“To them, I’m just a reminder of how their dad cheated on their mom.”
“Oh,” Michael said in all his great intelligence, unsure of how to respond to a statement like that. “Wow. That... sucks.”
Adam laughed again. “It’s fine, the older one is a bit of a douche, anyways. The other guy is okay, though. He tries to be nice, at least.”
“That’s good,” Michael said, not knowing what else to say.
“Yeah,” Adam muttered. He looked up, frowning. “Is it just me or did the temperature like... drop?”
Michael blinked, sparing a look to Lucifer.
“Don’t look at me, I can’t control it.” Lucifer held his hands up, as if that would prove he didn’t have anything to do with it, even if he really didn’t have any control on how he affected the temperature.
“Yeah, it did,” Michael said, standing up and brushing the grass off his pants. “Must’ve been a light breeze. We are outside, after all.”
Adam considered this. “I guess. I just didn’t feel the breeze itself.”
“Weather these days,” Michael said, looking right at Lucifer. “It’s just so annoying sometimes, isn’t it?”
Dinner had been getting a bit better recently. There was no longer an uncomfortable silence, and conversation became easier and easier.
“Did you guys know that Mikey has a new friend?” Gabriel suddenly said.
“What?” Chuck and Raphael exclaimed in unison, equally as shocked. Michael sunk in his seat a bit, an uneasy feeling coming over him with all eyes on him, even if they were all familiar faces.
“Yeah, I saw them talking the past week!” Gabriel said, eager to share as much information as he could about Michael’s life. He had always done this, except Lucifer would normally be the one to lead these kinds of conversations.
“Oh. Wow.” Chuck blinked a few times, trying to process the idea that his eldest son had a friend. “What’s uh- this new friend’s name?”
“His name is Adam,” Michael said, tapping his foot anxiously.
“And?” Lucifer deadpanned. “C’mon Mikey, you gotta give them more than that!”
Michael didn’t elaborate.
“That’s great, Michael,” Amara said, smiling down at him. “It’s good that you’ve finally made a proper friend.”
Of course, by ‘proper friend’ she meant something that wasn’t a ghost or a rock he had found on the ground. Lucifer had always been the socialiser. Michael, as a young child, found a rock and decided it was his friend. Its name had been Bob. He had it until he was 9, when he lost it. Other friends of his included dead people.
...Michael had been a weird kid, okay?
He was at least better in comparison to Gabriel and Lucifer’s childhood habits.
“Yeah, he’s cool,” Michael muttered, poking at his pasta.
“Did you know Gabe has a friend, too? Raph’s still a loner, but I was stalking Gabe earlier! Mention that!”
Good Lord, Lucifer was a constant buzzing in his ear, wasn’t he? The lights began to flicker, no doubt caused by his brother again.
“We have really got to check for faulty wiring,” Chuck muttered, looking up at it.
“I saw Gabriel has a new friend, too,” Michael reluctantly said, hoping his brother would stop nagging him.
“You stalker!” Gabriel pointed an accusing finger at him.
“You told them that I had a friend, what are you on about?”
“Doesn’t mean you’re not a stalker,” Gabriel huffed, ignoring the eye roll Michael gave him in response. “But yeah, I made a friend. He’s cool, I guess. He’s also, like, hella tall. Like, think tall, and then think taller. Like, dude, you do not need to be that tall! What has his family been feeding him?”
“Raphael? What about you, how has things been going at school?” Amara asked before Gabriel could continue. While Gabriel looked a bit annoyed by this, it was probably for the best. Gabriel’s rants could go on for hours if you let him.
“Someone in my class covered me in salt,” Raphael sneered. “It took half an hour to get it all off, and even then, there’s still more. He and his friend thought it was funny.”
“He sounds like an asshole,” Gabriel said, throwing a piece of pasta into the air to try and catch it in his mouth. It missed. “What’s his name?”
“Balthazar, I think.”
“Oh yeah! I met him the other day! He’s really funny, actually,” Gabriel chirped.
Raphael glared at him.
Gabriel’s face fell. “Oh! I mean- ew! He sucks! I hate him! How could he have done such a thing to you?”
Raphael sighed. “It’s fine, anyway. I’ll get him back. And I’ll get him back harder.”
“Just please don’t get caught?” Chuck pleaded, sighing. “The last thing I need is for you to get yourself expelled within the first week of school.”
“I won’t get caught, I’m not stupid,” Raphael scoffed, pushing her now-empty plate forward. “I know how to plan things out.”
It was true. Raphael could be petty when she wanted to be. If anyone did anything that affected her or her siblings in any negative way, it was practically declaring war. When it came to bullies or just plain jerks, Raphael would get them back 10 times over, and wouldn’t even get caught doing it.
Hence why no one was worried for her, and more for this Balthazar person and his friend.
“Oooo, I can’t wait to see how this turns out,” Lucifer grinned, rubbing his hands together.
Things were going well considering the circumstances, Michael thought. Everyone seemed quite happy.