[Of Angels and Demons Bar] Samael's pain

Samael? Is that you, son? his father called once he entered the bar, closing softly the heavy wooden door behind him.

I'm back. he called back in return, as he turned around, placing his load on the nearest desk.

Have you found e... What in the world happened to you? his father's voice echoed around the empty room once more, this time filled with worry and schock. Samael had no idea how he looked, but judging by the pain still throbbing through his left side, he will be sporting some very nasty bruises soon.

I think I run into someone. he answered, raising his hand towards his forehead. I'm afraid some of the bottles broke when I fell down. Sorry.

I couldn't care less about the bottles, idiot. You're bleeding. his father was by his side quicker than his 'sight' could detect him, his strong, calloused hand on his cheek surprising him, and making him jump. Are you feeling light-headed? Do you need to sit? Your mother will be here soon with the first aid kit.

You caled mom?! I'm fine, I swear, it's just...a...scratch...

Pain. So much pain. Gut-wrenching, soul crashing, life ending pain searing through him, wave after wave. He can feel salt on his lips. Tears. Rivers of them, falling to the ground. Ground? He was in the bar...

Samael! his father yelled, but he can't hear him, because somebody's screaming. And he sounds alone. So alone.

Emptiness. Loneliness. And pain...All that pain.

There is a feeling of blood mixed in all that. Yeah, he was bleeding. But this is not it. This is a feeling of suffering sounds of someone suffocating and drowning in their own blood.

For a moment, there is tranquility, and he uses that moment to search for his father, his face a mess of dark lines across even darker background. That always happens when he forms a connection.

I... he tried to speak, but was brought down to his knees by another overwhelming wave of pain, and he is down, he is curled up in a ball and crying, hitting his head against the wooden floor and he doesn't' know why. He doesn't know why because he doesn't know whom he had formed a connection with, but he cries, he cries his soul out, sobbing and hurting, his nails biting deep within his own flesh as he tries to pull away from his own father, because there is fear there as well.

Don't touch me! he screamed, and he couldn't recognize his own voice. It is deep, and dry, and broken, and oh god when will this stop? He had never formed a connection this strong before. Or at least not that he remembers. He had passed out before, searching sanctuary from the pain in the dark worlds of unconsciousness, but that wasn't happening now. He was in the dark, yes, but he could still feel the pain clearly, and oh, god, there was so much pain, how could anybody handle this alone? And he knew that they were alone. Whoever was feeling this was alone, and scared, and what was causing that anyway? Because this wasn't physical pain. He knew that. He could feel that much. This was something emotional. No, not something, EVERYTHING. There was nothing but raw emotions in the turmoil he was feeling, emotions so strong, so sharp, so overwhelming that he thought he was going to break as wave after wave of paintearssaddnesfearpleasedontleavemealonehorrorwhyisthishappeningwhatsgoingonbloodpainsalttearsimcr
yingalonestaywithmeiloveyou......................................

By the time it had ended, he felt dead. There was nothing but this empty feeling inside him, a dark, black hole of nothingness that ate away every thought or feeling he might think to have after this. There was just nothing there but pure, endless space of emptiness, and, for some reason, he kept crying, crying even though he did not have anymore tears in his broken body, crying even though his eyes were sore, his head was hurting, crying his soul out because he didn't want to feel anything anymore. Those were the tears of this stranger.

But he also found himself crying for himself, for this poor creature in pain. Not because of its pain, but because it was in pain. He felt sorrow that was purely his own, and sympathy he could never master before, because every connection he had formed before had left him angry at the fact that he has to feel someone else's pain, that he has to deal with someone else's anger. Why would he have to do that?! He did not know. But right now, he did not care either. The only thing he could think about was that he wouldn't be able to feel that much pain himself even if the world was ending. And thus he stayed where he was, curled up at his father's floor, a river of tears flowing between the wooden boards.

***

He should have known, though, that his sympathy wouldn't last for long. The anger found him not much later, once he had calmed down, and was able to function as a personality separate from some stranger's pain, which he was still feeling. Whoever he had formed this connection with had some serious problems, for he had kept getting random flashes of strong fearguiltypainsadnesshate throughout the next few days as well, a feeling that had kept him gritting his teeth and sitting at the edge of his seat because he just didn't know when he will next randomly drop to the floor. He had broken three bottles and seven glasses so far, and the only reason he was behind the bar today was that his mother was down with a headache. His father still kept a stern eye on him and has promised him he would be sending him to bed at the first sight of any phantom pain. Which was just great. Not only did he have to suffer under this monstrous power, but his father's health was also being put on the line. The bar wasn't full but there were some people around and there was no way his aging father could follow up on all these orders without straining himself.

So he tried to hide his pain as best as he could through the night, letting his face twitch slightly only when he knew that his father wasn't looking his way and being careful not to touch any bottles while his hands were trembling under the feeling of self-loathing.

What in the world is your problem? he whispered, addressing the mysterious stranger he had formed the Connection with, his breath heavy under the burden, as he grasped the counter so hard his knuckles turned white.

Father. Samael called as soon as he felt the door open, his blind 'sight' being much sharper than that of his aging father, and thus able to detect Draven's haunted look even from meters away, in the half dimmed light of the bar. The space behind the counter was well lit, for where Samael has learned to know bottles by touch, shape or placement, considering that he knew no colour and couldn't detect the letters, his father still very much needed to see the stuff he was working with. The rest of it, especially the space around the door, was, for the sake of ambience, left in almost complete dark.

I see him. Greyam answered to this son's call, eyeing the new customer carefully. Serve him. he ordered in the end, going along with his policy as he always did. Don't bother him unless he starts creating trouble.

Understood. Samael said calmly, though in himself, he was gritting his teeth, thinking that his father sometimes, took far too many risks despite all having to be responsible and respectable. And once the man approached the bar, asking, rudely, for they strongest stuff, Samael knew that he was right. Still, he turned around to fetch what has been ordered, only for faith to have it that he experiences another wave of his phantom pain right then and there.

Shit. he cursed, as his hands trembled. Still he managed to place the glass in front of the haunted man, only to freeze in shock as he recognized him.

Please don't tell me it's you. he blurted out unreasonably, his blind eyes 'looking' at a man as he analysed him through his inner sight.

Samael watched intently as the guy in front of him obviously tried to drown his his numerous sorrows in burning, bitter taste of alcohol, clenching his fists at his sides as the feeling of distant numbness slowly fell over the pain he had been feeling for days. Yes, this was definitely him. The person he had bumped into earlier this week. The person who made him cry his eyes out not two days ago. The person, who was, quite obviously, completely falling apart.

Here. he said, mixing up quickly two of the slightly weaker drinks into a small glass in front of him into a cocktail that has made his father's bar famous among his islander friends . Try this. he offered, pushing the glass towards the man, as he thought, selfishly, that perhaps if he got him drunk enough, the pain he himself was feeling would go away as well, at least for a short time. He knew it was wrong, but now that he was this close to him, the pain inside him got sharper, even though the connection in general was much more influenced by time than by space, and was thus even more overwhelmed, up to the point that he didn't even care anymore that he man looked barely older than him and that he probably won't be able to pay for the expensive drinks he had just given him. He could feel his father eyeing him from the other end of the counter, but choose to ignore him for now.

Anything else?

Anything, eh? Samael said, sighing lightly, for he knew that drink very well. It was the usual choice of those who didn't really care any more what it was that was getting them drunk, having long forgotten that alcohol could also have a taste, instead of just being a bitter, burning flame eating away their liver. Usually, he would refuse such request, deeming the customer too drunk, and sending it either to his father, or out of the bar. This time however, he had an ulterior motive.

Let's see what I can make then. he hummed, reaching by muscle memory for some of the more expensive bottles, handling almost three at a time like it was his second nature.

Samael. his father called for him from the other side of the bar, and the young man raised his head, skilfully finishing the drink without spilling a drop.

You told me to serve him. he answered simply to the older man, and even though he frowned, Greyam let it slide. His son wasn't the type to do anything until he wound it either reasonable or necessary, which was one of the reason he had been trusted with serving customers at such young age, so the man decided to let it slide, for now.

Here. he offered the drink, pale yellow in colour this time, to the man again. This should go down a bit easier. he said, for even though sympathy was thoroughly uncharacteristic for him, he couldn't help but think that this time, perhaps, there was actually a reason for this man to get shit-faced drunk. That, plus the existence of his personal reason, made him want to make it at least bit easier for him.

Samael looked at the man from the side, mixing one of the more complicated drinks for one of the regular customers, an older man, gruffy man who was also a friend of his father. Finishing the drink quickly, he put the bottles away from the possible prying hands of customers, and turning back towards the man. Alcohol has definitely dulled the edge of his pain during the last hour he had spent drinking, and he thus seemed to be approaching the talkative drunk phase.

My father owns the bar. he said, pointing towards the other end of the of the long, wooden counter, where a big, older man was quietly talking with some of his friends while nursing a drink himself, leaving Samael to deal with the rest of the bar. He frowned a bit, wishing that it wasn't so even though this was how things usually worked on every odd night he was helping in, for he had his newest Connection to deal with right now. Scanning the room behind the man, and not sensing a lot of people there, he decided he would be able to keep up. There was no need to alert his father that he had found a man who had caused him all that pain just yet, for sometimes, he could be fairly unreasonable about that. Samael was sure he would be able to deal with it on his own. Especially with this one. He was almost dead drunk anyway, and probably won't remember half of the evening it in the morning.

Why do you ask? he asked, filling himself a drink of water. You think that 'guy like myself' should be doing something else?