Azrael hates everyone and everything. His father's in a particularly bad mood today, which is surprising considering it's only the morning, the gashes along his forearm and waist as proof, along with the yellowish-green bruises scattered around his body.
Opening his bathroom cabinet, he reaches for his good friend, Advil. Pausing when he sees his Antipsychotics, his name printed on the white label wrapped around the orange tube.
He stands there for a moment, his hand hovering between the Antipsychotics and Advil, debating whether or not he should take them.
What if I really am just crazy? What if I'm just a psycho like people say? What if everything everyone else has been telling me my entire life is true?
These questions run through his mind, his hand gravitating to the tube with his name labelled on it.
Just as he's about to grasp the tube, the same hum from his dream filters into his mind, guiding his hand towards what will truly relieve his pain. The hum pushing away all the thoughts of him being crazy out of his head, his mind relaxing into its dark embrace.
"Wait!" A young Azrael Dark calls out to the dark haired woman walking out of his room. "Don't turn off the light." He tells her as she reaches for the light switch. She turns her head, her perfectly shaped brows furrowing in confusion.
"Why not?" She asks, turning so she's facing the boy.
"I... I don't like the dark." He admits, pulling his blanket over his lower face, watching as the woman walks back over to his bed.
"You're scared?" She asks, sitting down on his bed, brushing her hands through his curly hair, a nod coming from the boy. "You have no need to be scared of the dark, my little ghost." She tells him with a gentle smile, watching as he starts to come out of the covers, his mouth now being visible.
"Why?" He asks, his brows furrowing, his dark brown eyes peering up at her curiously.
"'Why'?" She hums his question back to him, smiling wider as she watches her sons eyes flutter as he relaxes. "Because the darkness is where me and you thrive." She whispers, leaning down to kiss his temple, a faint green glow connecting his temple to her lips, forming a green web of energy between the two as she pulls away. "Sweet dreams, little ghost." And with a flick of her wrist the lights turn off, her sons quiet snores filling the silence, a faint green glow coming from his closed eyes.
His mind clears of its dark yet gentle embrace. His body doesn't hurt anymore. Every gash and bruise on his body is gone, like it was never even there. Actually, he feels better than he has in months. His body feels weirdly energised, like he's just had a hit of adrenaline.
Glancing up he sees that he moved so he's standing under the attic in his weird state, only now noticing that it's entrance is cracked open.
Reaching up, intending to close it, he notices that the attic is humming in the same energy that's been in the back of his head since his dream. He notices that the closer his hand gets, the more energy starts to fill his body.
"Azrael!" His fathers voice booms through the house, stopping him from pulling open the attic and with it coming it's ladder. "Wear a sweater to school, make sure nobody s-." The man cuts himself off as he walks up the stairs, stopping when he notices all the harm he inflicted upon his son is gone, but most importantly, that he's reaching for the partially open attic. "What are you doing?" He sneers out, rushing up the stairs to slam the cracked open attic closed, his heart beating unhealthily fast in panic.
"It-It was open, I was closing it." The boy lies, trying to back away from his clearly angry father, all the frustration he worked out earlier back tenfolds. "I'm sorry." He instinctively apologies, slightly flinching when his father harshly turns to face him.
"You will never go up there." The man tells his son, glaring when he doesn't immediately respond with 'yes, sir'. "Understood?" He takes a threatening step closer to the boy, grinning when the boy takes two panicked ones back.
"Yes, sir." This time Azrael responds without hesitation. Seeing that his father has nothing else to say and - surprisingly enough - isn't trying to beat him, he walks away and back to his room, closing the door as quietly as possible, not wanting to give his father any reason to attack him.
Daniel (Azrael's father) is freaking the fuck out, letting it show on his face as his sons door closes. He rushes down the stairs and into the garage, quickly gathering a hammer and some nails, not sparing his confused son a glance when he rushes back inside the house, stumbling up the stairs.
When he hears the front door closed - not wanting to deal with his sons silent questions - he quickly starts hammering the nails into the entrance to the attics frame, making sure that it's as sealed as he can make it on short notice.
"Fucking Kalma." He curses Azrael's mother and his ex wife, glaring up at the poorly nailed attic. "You're dead." He speaks, a painfully cold shiver runs down his spine as he says it, the constant ache in his mind increasing. "Stop trying to corrupt him." He hisses out in pain, hunching over with his hands pressed against his temple, a stream of blood flowing out of his nose, his vision blurring slightly.
"It should be you who is dead." Her voice whispers in his ear, though it's gentle, as she always was, with her words his pain increases. Yelling out as in becomes unbearable. "You will not keep my son away from me and, most importantly, himself." This time her voice is harsh and defensive, his windpipes feeling like they're being crushed as he falls to the ground, like the heels she always wore are pressing down on his throat.
After a few moments of pain and not being able to breathe, it disappears in an instant, a small smirk growing on his face.
"The dead can't kill the living." He stumbles back to his feet. "Isn't that what you always told me?" He asks her, knowing she's listening to his every word, probably glaring. "I think Azrael deserves a punishment for your actions, don't you think?" He asks, grinning when he feels the temperature drop drastically. "And you'll do nothing but watch." He walks back downstairs and into the kitchen, opening the refrigerator to grab a few beers, already thinking of the ways he can punish Azrael - and with the boy's suffering, Kalma - when he comes home.
Every since Azrael left the house he's felt like something bad was going to happen. Unfortunately for him, it wasn't a bad omen for anyone but himself, he knew that, already deciding he'll stay out as late as possible. Maybe he'll sleep at a park, the benches are surprisingly comfortable.
In the corner of his classroom he notices that there's a teen girl with thick brown hair and pretty brown eyes looking around boredly, rolling her eyes when the teacher goes on a particularly long rant about pie or something, Azrael hasn't been paying any attention.
The girls eyes scan the bored looking students, looking equally as bored herself, only stopping when she locks eyes with Azrael, hers widening when she realises he's looking directly at her.
"Okay. So can anyone tell me-." The teacher up front begins, only to be cut off by a bell, every student quickly packing their bags before he even has a chance to tell them to stop. "Hey, the bell doesn't dismiss you I-." He yells as everyone begins to leave, cutting himself off with a grunt as someone steps on his foot.
Along with the other students, Azrael leaves the classroom, glancing behind him to see the dead girl following him with desperate eyes.
Deciding to be nice and that he doesn't want to go to French, he turns left to walk in the direction of the library.
"What do you want?" He asks the girl as they break away from most of the teens.
"You can see me?"
"Obviously." He confirms, rolling his eyes, already annoyed. "Again, what do you want?" He asks again, this time in a more firm manner, not noticing as one of the overhead lights near them begins to flicker on and off.
"How can you see me?" She asks, trying to look for any glowing eyes, sharp wolf-like claws or ugly sideburns. Though she finds none, just the look of an irritated boy with soft looking hair.
"No clue, just can." He answers, opening the double doors that lead to the library, not sparing the librarian a glance as he does so. "What are you?" He asks after the two walk to a more secluded area of the library, sitting down in front of and leaning against a bookshelf.
"What?- oh, I'm human." She answers, leaning her head back against one of the shelves, a sadness filling her when she doesn't feel the smooth wood against her skull. "What are you?" She asks his question back to him, turning her head so she's looking at him.
"I..." He trails off. She can see a cloud of confusion cast over his eyes, his shoulders slumping in slight defeat. "...have no idea." He admits, his mind switching over to the little daydream of a memory he experienced earlier, trying to figure out why he's thinking of her again. Of his mother.
The two sit in silence, Azrael trying to force himself to remember more, what happened after he fell asleep with his mothers hand combing through his hair. Why his mind is suddenly making him remember the one person who loved him.
The spirit girl just looks at the boy, trying to figure out what made his already dark eyes darker. Why his body suddenly became tense, not in an angry way, but in a defeated sadness.
"My names Paige." She breaks the silence, smiling when his eyes flicker over to her.
"Azrael." He tries for a smile, it coming out as a grimace. "I can't do anything for you, Paige." He tells her, leaning back against the shelf behind him, his shoulder brushing up against hers, though all he feels is an empty coldness, and she feels nothing.
"That's fine. It's just nice to be seen."