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asongofmarvelanddc · 13 days

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Edit: I thought I might as well add some extra thoughts here

I LOVE that you chose this specific aspect of Michael’s character to explore in this fic. I’ve spoken in the past about how I don’t feel the show writers did enough with him as a character and the parts of his past that influence who he becomes.

I know this fic is specifically focusing on his childhood trauma, but even his assault in s2 is pretty overlooked despite the fact that it’s a huge turning point for the character. It’s the first time we see him truly “darken” and he’s furthered hardened when he kills Father Hughes.

Except we never see the immediate impact of killing his childhood abuser on Michael. We see him in the adrenaline-filled state right after the killing, but not the quiet moments once what he did settles in.

In short, the breakdown you described in this fic is what I wish the writers showed us on screen. Fantastic job, OP! ❤️

It’s okay

Michael Gray x Fem!Reader

Pairing: Michael Gray x Girlfriend Reader

Synopsis: Michael longs for your company after killing his abuser, Father Hughes.

Warnings: Blood, angst, tears, allusion to SA, pretty much nothing pleasant in this fic

Author’s note: I feel that Michael’s trauma is really overlooked so I wanted to give attention to it.

In the damp, moonless street, Michael’s form stood paralyzed outside of your door, breaking the silence with his shivering breaths as a rush of adrenaline coursed through his veins. He gaze lingered over his fingers, covered in blood and twitching, as he gathered them into a fist, hovering against the wooden doorframe.

Each breath and movement felt like a monumental effort, extracting every ounce of energy from him. His jaw clenched, fighting to keep himself under control.

A wave of hesitation suddenly washed over him. He faltered and withdrew, releasing a deep breath and unclenching his fingers. His eyes squeezed shut as he ran his fingers over his face, pulling at his brows. His head throbbed with the weight of turbulent emotions, but he couldn’t allow himself to break in front of you. He had to be strong. He forced himself to step forward, swallowing the pain inside him that threatened to spill over at any moment. A dull, heavy, ache that filled his chest.

Finally, with an unsteady breath, he knocked at the door.

In a matter of seconds it swung open, revealing your familiar frame. As you opened your mouth to speak the words got caught in your throat, coming out in an unsteady gasp. Fear and alarm crept over you as your wide eyes took in his bloodied hands and face. He was almost unrecognizable, you knew him only by the shining of his green irises peeking through his crimson stained skin.

“Michael?” Your timid voice was barely a whisper as your fingers hovered over your mouth. “What’s happened?”

The shakiness in your tone made his expression soften with guilt. He stepped inside, pulling the door behind him and shutting out the cool outside air.

The silence in the foyer was deafening as you studied him for answers. Was he hurt? Who’s blood was that? Your mind raced with questions, but you tried to stay calm for him, holding yourself as you shuddered with nervous energy.

In the light, his masculine face became more pronounced, the angles of his cheekbones accentuated with dried blood. As he mustered the courage to speak, a bead of sweat gathered along his hairline, rolling down his temple.

“I’ve.. I’ve dealt with-“ he choked on his words, tightening his lips into a line in an effort to control their trembling. “I’ve dealt with Father Hughes.”

Sympathy welled up inside of you, bringing tears to the surface of your eyes. As you tried to blink them back, your throat tightened with emotion. His solemn tone, restless hands, and empty, tired gaze—all made your heart ache for him.

Hesitantly, he mustered the will to lift his eyes. They were red and weary. His expression communicated the weight of his pain; the permanent crease in his brow no doubt manifested from the chronic turmoil in his soul. The depth of his despair didn’t need words, it was spoken with his gaze.

“Oh Michael..” the words fled you with a breath, your lashes fluttering as you took him in. The trembling of his hands troubled you, exposing his nerves. In an effort to soothe him, you stepped forward, reaching your hand for his. Your fingers lightly grazed his, seeing if it was okay to touch him.

He willfully yielded to your touch, covering your skin in warmth and settling his shaking hand in yours. It was firm and sticky with dried blood.

His weary eyes slowly dragged over you, to the tenderness and concern in your wide lustrous gaze. Your sweet familiar scent enraptured him as he took in an unsteady breath. He felt his guard beginning to crumble, noticing the soft feeling of your fingers intertwined with his. As he gave himself permission to absorb the warmth and gentleness of your presence, he finally felt safe to let go. Sucking in a few quick breaths through his nose, he at last came undone, breaking down in sobs.

The foyer erupted with his gut-wrenching cry as his arms cradled your shoulders, the weight pulling you inexorably to the floor as he became consumed with emotion.

His nose brushed against your skin as he buried his face in your neck, desperate for relief from his suffering. Without a second thought your hands instinctively guided him into your chest, wrapping him in a secure embrace. He was warm to the touch, his body shaking uncontrollably as he let go, enclosing his arms around your waist.

As his broad masculine frame curled up against yours, he seemed to shrink into himself, and he no longer appeared as a man, but as a scared little boy in desperate need of comfort.

“It’s over now Michael.. it’s over now.” Your delicate fingers stroked his face, catching his falling tears, like a string of broken pearls cascading against his skin. “You’re safe. He can’t hurt you anymore. He can’t hurt anyone anymore.."

The soft hushing of your words encouraged him to let go, his pent up sobs muffled against the fabric of your shirt, staining it with his tears. The sound of his cry was painful and intense, you felt it's strength vibrating against your chest as he let out years of bottled up hurt, rage, and shame. It made your stomach sink.

“It’s okay.. shh.. let it out. You don’t have to be strong. You don’t have to be a man. You can be weak Michael. You don’t have to protect yourself anymore.."

His words came out in choked gasps, struggling to speak through his uncontrollable sobbing. “I thought if I killed that bastard, the pain would be gone, but it’s still there. It’s still there y/n..” he moaned in agony, clutching onto you in desperation, his large hands squeezing your delicate frame.

The pain in his voice nearly took your breath away, “I’ll help you.. I’ll help you don’t worry.. I won’t leave you Michael. I won’t let you go.." Your fingers worked to pull his hair out of his face, sticking to his skin, damp with sweat.

He let out a broken, bitter sob. “It hurts,” he wept, shaking softly, quivering under your touch, “it hurts..” Slowly, he raised his head from the warmth of your chest, meeting your eyes with a pleading look. A veil of light came over him, it's amber glow illuminating his glistening irises, now red and swollen. A trail of snot ran down his nose, settling over his trembling lips. The sight nearly broke you.

“It’s too much.. it’s too much y/n..” He muttered through a coughing fit, choking on his tears.

He was overwhelmed with a spectrum of emotions. Feeling both relief and shame at the same time. Relieved that his abuser was gone, but the pain still remained, the abuse left it’s stain on him. He felt it lingering, like the cold unwanted hands that forced themselves upon him at such a young age.

He felt sick with shame for the person he’s become, for taking a life, even if it was meant to be done. Shame for being taken advantage of in the first place, for not being a man, for not being able to protect himself.

He thought of Charlie. Recalling the innocent posture of the boy sitting around the corner from him. It reminded him so much of himself; never fully realizing how young he was at the time. So defenseless. So helpless and innocent. The feeling of grief and pain that came with it all made him let out another violent cry.

The sight of Michael in such agony was too much for you to bear. You didn’t realize the depth of his suffering. He opened up to you in the past about his trauma, but you didn’t realize the extent to which it had affected him. He was putting on a front, like most men do, and that’s what hurt you the most.

A warm gathering of tears came suddenly into your eyes, and with a shaky exhale spilled uncontrollably down your cheeks. You pulled him close to you, cradling his head as you cried, speaking against his hair.

“I’m so sorry Michael.." your voice cracked with empathy. "I’m so sorry..” you wept, crying with him. “I’m so sorry..”

He let out a heavy breath against you, holding onto your words and nudging his head against your chest. He let out an audible breath under your touch, tightening his embrace. The depth of your compassion touched him deeply. That he had someone to cry with him, instead of spending those dreadful nights alone, staring at the ceiling as he shook under the sheets. Or time spent stumbling into dark alleyways, desperate to lay his hands on a new drug, anything to numb out the soul crushing shame. He realized now that the best medicine is an attentive ear, and a compassionate heart. The rhythm of your breath and the vibration of your voice against his ear soothed him.

“You didn’t deserve it.. it wasn’t your fault.. I’m so sorry..”

His shaking subsided after awhile, and his tears slowed. You continued holding him, rubbing your hands up and down his back, feeling his torso rise and fall with his expansion of his breath. You didn't dare to let go until he did.

He sniffled, speaking out in a congested voice. “I’m sorry I- I didn’t mean for that to happen.” A tone of guilt and shame accompanied the statement. He never intended to drag you into his suffering, to be a burden. He sniffled again, swiping his nose with the back of his hand.

“Never apologize Michael. Please. Look at me.” Your hands gently cradled his face, thumbing his jaw. “Please don’t apologize, you did nothing wrong. Your feelings are never a burden, not to me. It is devastating me to think that you were suffering alone all this time.”

In concern your eyes flicked over him, to his swollen eyes, and rashy cheeks ridden with tear streaks, forming paths in his red stained skin.

You stroked his face, speaking in a soft, comforting whisper, “Can I help you Michael? Help you get cleaned up?” There was a sense of patience in your words, a willingness and longing to take care of him.

He nodded against you, warm with gratitude and letting out a breath. He leaned against you for support, struggling to stand to his feet.

"It’s okay.. it’s okay..” you hugged him softly, wrapping your arms around him. His eyes watered at the word. It’s okay. It’s okay to feel. It’s okay to not be strong all the time. It’s okay to be broken. It’s okay to be vulnerable. The fabric of his blazer shuffled as he reciprocated your embrace, enclosing his heavy arms around your back.

Time seemed to stand still, getting lost in the rhythm of each others breathing. No sound to be heard but the gentle ticking of a nearby wall clock. You've never felt more pain, yet more peace in your entire life. In that moment, your souls were connected, as if your very beings were synchronized, your hearts beating softly in unison as your bodies firmly intertwined.

After awhile he pulled away slowly, raising his chin off of your head and looking down at you.

A sympathetic smile grazed your lips, as you reached for his hand, leading him to the bathroom.

The water sloshed with his movements as he sat in the tub, hunching forward. You took a rag to his skin, scrubbing softly, leaving a trail of suds down the curve of his back.

His soft breathing filled the silence as he felt himself relax, dropping his shoulders. Droplets of water clung to his eyelashes like beads, shimmering in the light as he blinked slowly.

He leaned one arm over the side of the tub, mindlessly stroking his fingers over your thigh, needing to feel your skin, wanting to be close to you. You were the only thing keeping him grounded, making him feel safe and soothed.

“You alright?” Your sweet voice interrupted his stream of thoughts, searching for his eyes.

The feeling of your touch on his skin was soft and patient, foreign to him, but healing. He nodded weakly, looking at you with a tender and appreciative gaze.

You smiled softly as you squeezed out the wash cloth, adding new droplets to the murky red water.

The deep baritone of his voice broke the silence, reverberating off of the tile walls. “Saving Charlie.. it reminded me of myself. Made me wish someone would have protected me. Don’t think I realized how young I was.. I was, I was just a boy, wasn’t I?”

He blinked, fixating his attention to the wall, as if lost for a moment in deep thought. After a long pause he let out a breath, speaking again.

"I promise to protect you." He found your eyes, looking at you sincerely. "And our children, if we have ever have any. Make sure they're safe."

Your face softened, warmed by his expression of loyalty. "I promise to protect you too Michael, with all that I have. I love you. We'll get through this, you just tell me what you need. I'll do anything Michael. Anything."

He smiled softly at your sincere and attentive gaze, taking your hand in his and gently thumbing the tops of your knuckles.

"Thank you y/n. I love you too. Don’t know what I’d do without you.” He whispered sincerely, raising your hand to his mouth and planting a soft kiss on your skin.

Taglist: @call-sign-shark @kmc1989 @peakyswritings @pacifymebby

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