The Good Times Are Killing Me

[ Set a few days after a night out on the town. ]

Jack came home to a bullet to the knee.

Literally.

It was bullshit. He let out a pained scream and collapsed on his "good" knee, a burst of white hot pain blinding him momentarily to his surroundings. There was a loud ringing everything before everything sharpened abruptly and went back to normal. Fucking vertigo. It was always a bad time. His survival training started to kick in and he reached out under the couch to get to the floorboards, but he stopped when he saw who exactly fucking shot him.

Footsteps of expensive branded shoes on a wooden floor. Malicious golden eyes and a Cheshire grin. He had a gun in his hands now, but he couldn't bear to point it at him.

"I think it's so lovely you're having fun here," Gabriel said, raising his gaudy golden pistol so it was visible under the moonlight. Soon enough, the pistol was pointed right at him. "But you know me. I like to keep my pets in line."

Mikhainon would be lying if he said he didn't miss this. Jack was different from all the others. They had something special, you know? They had the sort of romance that took everybody by storm. Months in a cruise ship. Boating in Venice. Kisses in Paris. Passion that could weather through anything life threw at them. It was such a shame everything was so woefully tainted by the aftermath of it all. He would've liked to keep him, but it wasn't his fault Jack made so many mistakes he couldn't forgive.

Mikhainon watched Jack spit out blood and tremble under gun point. It was pathetic. While Mikhainoon was at it, he didn't hesitate blowing out his good knee too.

"Ow! Fuck!" He crumpled to the ground, clutching both of his bloody knees on the floor. Humans were so dramatic sometimes, but he supposed they were good for entertainment. Mikhainon knelt in front of his face and lifted him up by the hair. It was the same face wincing but with a different hairstyle, different clothes. So odd how seeing an old lover brought you back to a different time.

He pointed the gun in Jack's beautiful throat.

"I've been wanting to avoid you since the fallout, but you're not really giving me a choice here. I tried to stay away. You keep finding me. I had to keep an eye on you," Mikhainon said, with hints of actual sadness in his voice. "So, Valentine Crowther, huh? I've heard of the Crowthers. Didn't realize you were the gold digging type. That really upsets me, you know. What happened to I'll love you forever?"

He would've. He honest to god would've loved him forever. He still would, even after this abuse — his bloody limbs, the gun at his throat.

"What happened was that you dumped me. It's kind of discouraging to stay loyal when you won't even let me near you."

"I didn't —" Gabriel shoved him away, scratching his hair, irritated. "I dumped you? You're the one that dumped me. I wanted to keep what we had, Jack! I told you what you were thinking wouldn't be possible! I can't believe you still won't take responsibility for your actions."

Fear started building up inside Jack again. Was it his fault? No, that wasn't possible. He couldn't remember that night as clearly as he did before, and he wasn't sure if the events he remembered were accurate, but what Gabriel was saying didn't sound exactly right. He looked up at him to confront him, but as he focused on his face, the man's expression was offended, aghast.

"You told me you couldn't love me," Jack said, quietly, not as sure of his words as he was before. "You told me you couldn't stay."

"Why the fuck would I say that? Use your head. I wanted to be with you."

Jack was quiet.

Gabriel cupped his face, caressing his cheeks with his thumbs. "Come back to me, Jack. I missed you."

"I need to quit you."

Mikhainon couldn't believe what Jack was saying, here. He needed to quit him? He stood up and paced, tapping the base of his pistol to his palm and shaking his head in utter disbelief. "You — you make it sound like I'm the monster here."

"I never said you were a monster..."

"You implied it. You're — making it sound like I ruined your life." Mikhainon didn't know what his face looked like right now, but it sure did the job when he looked at the alarmed expression Jack was throwing at his general direction. "You owe your good life to me. When I met you, you were garbage. You were just small time hipster trash who sold mediocre paintings in a cheap cafe for twenty dollars a piece. I made you! I turned your stupid gig into something sustainable because I care about you, Jack. I never stopped caring. I never will."

This was their usual dance. He knew the steps well. This was usually the moment Mikhainon expected Jack to cave and back down. He waited for that inevitable apology, the one both of them knew could fix these entire situation in just two words. Jack was objectively an idiot, but he was smart enough to know what was good for him.

Events unfolded differently.

"How would you explain what happened, then? The bankruptcy, the defamation, the divorce?" Mikhainon's eyes widened, taking a step back as Jack rolled to his side and tried to get up. "Gabe, I'm not as stupid as you think I am. I know you were behind all that. And I know that the only thing you regret about sleeping with my wife was getting caught."

Clever. He never thought he had it in him. But just because he was impressed didn't mean he was going to back down. No, in fact, he was going to push even harder because he was furious. Jack was acting out of turn, and you know what they say about children acting out of turn: They needed to be punished.

How will they learn otherwise?

He pointed his gun at him again.

Awww fuck. Aw, shit. Jack messed up. Jack messed up really badly. He knew Gabe wouldn't like that response, but he did it anyway, because in some deep, obtuse corner of his mind, he fantasized about confronting Gabriel, but it turned out that shit was so much scarier in real life.

Why couldn't he go back in time and say Sorry, babe, won't happen again? Maybe if he groveled, Gabriel would have mercy on him. Maybe.

Jack fell backwards and hit the floor with the back of his head before he knew what had happened. Oh, he knew what happened. Gabriel shot him in the fucking face. He covered his bleeding cheek and heard the sound of gunshots firing several times within the living room, alongside with destroyed rubble and glass breaking. When his vision came back, he saw the carnage: broken window, light bulb, holes in the roof (and, consequently, Angelo's floor, sorry bud) and his fucking TV. Jack and Gabriel made eye contact again, and apparently that was Gabe's cue to pump his chest with bullets.

"Jesus, will you fucking stop?"

"I want to stop," Gabriel said regretfully, but the fact that he was loading the casing with more bullets suggested otherwise. Dick. "I never wanted to hurt you, but you hurt me, and I can't forgive that. You need to learn that there are consequences to your actions. That reminds me: Are you available for hire?"

Everything inside Jack screamed a loud NO FUCK NO. Fuck his design. Fuck this entire thing. Jack covered his now bright red mark and covered the back of his neck with his hand, grunting a begrudging, "yeah."

Mikhainon didn't lie.

He never wanted to hurt him.

Jack was precious to him, and he hurt himself too when he had to punish him like this, but sometimes it couldn't be helped. He was spoiling him too much, he realized, and now Jack was turning rotten, turning against him. Maybe if he took his precious toys away, he'd come to his senses and come back to him. Mikhainon was the best Jack would ever know. He was deluding himself thinking there was ever anything better.

Mikhainon sat on the couch arm rest and crossed his arms, a malicious grin playing on his features. "Five hundred and your freedom for Valentine Crowther's life."

"FUCK, NO."

That hurt him. It really did. But sometimes, you have to do things that hurt your loved ones because they often didn't know better. "Do we have a deal, Jack?"

"I-I can't — W-why would you even —"

"Do we have a deal?"

Jack dragged his hands down his face and sobbed, just a little. "Yes. Yes, we have a fucking deal."

Jack could feel the old magic revitalizing his aching body with a new surge of power. And he hated it. Did he mention he fucking hated this? Because he did. This entire situation could sick his big, fat wiener.

When he thought of Valentine, there was a specific romanticized image that came to mind: A thin figure with sharp edges, colored blue, black and gray, with a miasma of death surrounding it. It was a sort of feeling he couldn't quite capture in paintings but he tried. God, he tried.

He was beautiful.

When he thought of him again, the rich silhouette was replaced with nothing but red, indicating he was a target. His head was starting to get flooded with information: heard rumors, location, and skills. Suddenly, Val's entire essence was getting broken down into data required to kill him.

Jack groaned, grabbing the edge of a nearby table and knocking his vase of poppies over. It shattered onto the floor. For once, he was glad Gabriel took his sweet time using him as a shooting dummy because his body was literally too in pain to move. That was good. Normally, he would be out of the door and halfway to Crowther mansion right about now.

"You know, I didn't realize you became so petty that you'd kill someone out of jealousy."

Gabriel gave him a sharp look that indicated yeah, that got to him. He knew Gabriel too well at this point. The way he hugged his arms close to his chest meant he was rethinking this course of action.

"Do you remember that night after the Brooklyn exhibit?"

Mikhainon leaned against the backrest of the couch and scoffed, eyes softer as he was remembering. "How can I forget? You couldn't stop fidgeting with your suit which, by the way, had to be custom made because the store didn't have a size available for giants. Blew a hole in my wallet, that."

Not young. Younger. Different. Jack had blonde hair, Mikhainon was a brunette, and Facebook wasn't a thing yet. The exhibit was in a museum with bright white paint and chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. The hors-d'oeuvres looked comical when Jack picked them up.

"We went back to my place after."

Mikhainon squirmed. "That was the first night you kissed me. I get it. I remember."

"It was magical."

"You knew I acquiesced because I was sleeping with your wife, right?"

There was a brief, awkward mutual laughter between the two of them. When Mikhainon opened his eyes, Jack's face was inches away from his. His heart fluttered uncomfortably in his chest. If he didn't know Jack any better, he'd assume this was some sort of manipulation tactic meant to appeal to old emotions.

But this was Jack. He couldn't lie to him if he tried. This was... as genuine as it was sappy.

"Would you believe it if I said I was more jealous that you liked my wife over me?" He felt Jack's blood-covered fingers on his cheeks. Felt, of course, because he refused to look at him directly because he knew his eyes would betray weakness if he did. "I still love you. If this is all a tantrum about me moving on, I'll come back to you, but I'm not going to be your pet, and I'm going to keep wanting to love you."

"You don't get it. I can't love."

"Why is that the problem? I'll love you still. I'll love you until the ends of the earth. I'll love you until the sun explodes and my body disintegrates and I can't love anymore. But I can't come back if you won't accept that."

Mikhainon scratched his head, irritated. He knew his own logic didn't add up. He used people. Affection was good. Affection kept them from leaving so he could use them again and again. Jack was a valuable asset, and even if he wasn't, he was pretty and amusing. He should want to keep him like this.

Why didn't he?

Jack raised his chin, and their lips met.

It was so familiar, the way Gabriel kissed. There was always a hint of roughness in the technique, and a hint of scotch in the taste. When he wrapped his arm around his waist, Gabriel always responded with his arm around his neck.

Jack hit the table when Gabriel shot him in the ribs.

"Fuck." Jack rubbed the back of his head and that was definitely a concussion he was feeling there. Yep. He watched Gabriel pace uncomfortably, rubbing his lips frantically with his sleeve.

"You don't get it. You don't fucking get it." Gabriel threw the golden fucking pistol at his head. It was like getting hit with a metal ball, damn. "You're not going to get it until..."

He stopped.

"Consider your contract with Valentine null."

What?

Before he could ask him about that, Gabriel already shifted into a raven and exited through the broken window. Jack sat there, dumbstruck, and attempted to piece together what happened. He almost wished Gabriel stuck with the previous order. Him changing his mind was always going to lead to even worse things.

For now, he should...

He should...

He took one look at his bloody body and destroyed living room, and groaned.

"Well, I guess I'll go fuck myself, then."