@natemichaelson location: Killjoys notes: father son bonding
The bar was closed but the pair sat at a booth, a pair of beers between them. Michael had supposed from the time that Nathaniel had made his first kill that they’d been old enough to drink. The seraphim considered the other while Nathaniel was distracted with that damn phone, at some point the child had ceased being as such, older still there were lines at the corner of Nathaniel’s eyes, a tiredness beneath them too. Michael wondered when the other had grown up, or if he’d ever really been a child. The seraphim supposed neither of them really had that chance. Still, there was a time when he could support the other with just his palm - Nathaniel had been so little then. Vulnerable. Michael recalled being afraid that at any moment the infant would snap in half, or his little lungs would stop breathing, his tiny heart would no longer beat.
Michael had been so afraid of breaking him. So afraid of losing him. He used to take a spoon and hold it near the other’s lips, so small were Nathaniel’s breaths that the seraphim couldn’t tell if his chest was moving or not. How they’d grown, how they’d changed. Too soon, Michael thought, Nathaniel you’ll be gone too soon.
“So,” Michael started, “I think you should get your own place.” He didn’t know what was going to happen in the future, but he did want the best for the other. “You’re an adult, you should find a safehouse. Somewhere you can laylow when you need it.”