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"Michael, stop it. Stop it." Adam wheezed, doubling over and wrapping his arms around himself. His lungs ached, burned, from the screaming that the archangel was doing; He had most of the control over the body they shared, but the demon was doing his best to reign him back in again. Without Lucifer there, they were both slowly losing it. Michael was the first to slip, growing more desperate in his attempts to reach his Father up in Heaven, begging to his siblings, just about anything he can do to reach someone. Adam, on the other hand, was only slipping because of his fury. The overwhelming, burning fury that he couldn't shake.

Michael quieted, with a violent shudder, and finally retracted the control he had built up. Adam lingered for a moment, on the edge of taking back control or retreating, himself; But after a good few seconds, he ended up simply letting himself crumple to his knees, hands pressed to the bottom of the cage as he coughed and gasped, his throat burning. He wished he knew what day it was, what year it was, but the demon had absolutely no idea…

He groaned, arching his back and shoving himself backwards, sinking against the bars of the cage. A shuddering sigh broke through his lips, but at that point, Adam couldn't tell who had exhaled. It was like that, now. A cough, a gasp, a word, a flick of the wrist. One of them would move, or both of them would, at the same time. So perfectly in sync, almost as if they were the same person now, with how long they had spent together, like this, in the same body. They stopped trying to figure out who did what anymore. Who moved the arms, who moved the legs. Who spoke. Maybe it stopped mattering. Or maybe they were just too tired to keep track.

The chicken and the egg. Which came first. One of them would do something small, the other would follow suit. One of them would twitch, the other would move completely. Then they were both left wondering who had started what, who had moved first, unable to register or remember the cause of the movement, to realize anything until it had already happened. And by then it was always far too late.

Adam closed his eyes, finally pulling back. Michael didn't take his place as usual, though - so the demon went a little deeper into his own mind, wary as he walked along through the thoughts, the memories. He knew where he was going, he knew where Michael was. His safe place - their safe place. Adam's safe place.

It didn't seem like Michael really had one. But he used Adam's, and that was fine. They were almost the same, anyway. Almost, but not quite.

Sure enough, he found him there in the relatively empty park. The swings moved gently, as if a breeze was pushing them. Leaves of the trees nearby rustled. The entire place was devoid of any kind of life. No children playing on the slides. No adults standing on the sidelines. Not even a squirrel in the branches hanging over the bench, or a bird flying overhead. No noises except for the ruffling of leaves, the wind blowing, the creaking of the swings as they went back and forth. It was eerie, but Adam didn't care. He'd grown too used to it. And it was better than the cold, damp, empty, darkness of the cage.

He found Michael lying on his back beside the monkey bars, mulch tangled into his hair and his arms over his face, his entire body shaking. The demon could feel the pain radiating off of him as if it were his own, which made him recoil. He hadn't felt his own pain in so long.

No, for him, it was mostly rage. Fury. Abandonment. Hatred. These days, it seemed all he could ever think about was Sam and Dean - mostly Sam. Out of both of them, Sam was the one who had preached family more than anything. He was the one who had begged Adam to stay, because they were brothers, because blood was thicker than anything, because they were family and they needed him to trust them and they wanted him around. Sam was the one with the doe-eyed, puppy-dog look, the one who told him family stuck together, didn't leave each other behind. Sam was the one with them in the cage, telling him they were going to get out.

They. What a fucking joke that was.

"Stop it," Michael breathed, echoing Adam's own words back at him. He let out a huff, and a soft, choked sound that could have been a laugh, but also a sob. Adam chose to think it was neither, because the situation wasn't quite humorous, but the thought of the archangel crying made him feel awkward. "Stop…" Michael's arms moved down, over his chest, and he hugged himself tightly as he sat up and curled inwards. "Just… your anger… it hurts."

"Well, your pathetic-ness hurts," Adam snapped back, turning and walking away from him. He settled himself down on one of the swings, and Michael just stared back at him with a dull gaze. Truth be told, he's gotten kind of used to that. The silent stares, the archangel looking more tired than anything, devoid of any kind of emotion, or purpose. Like everything had just been completely drained from him. The demon heaved out a sigh and looked away, mouth twisting slightly at the uncomfortable pressure against the inside of his chest. It didn't start up often, but when it did, Adam just couldn't handle it. He'd gotten too used to the anger to be able to register anything else. Any other emotion made him shy away.

"I can't do this…" Michael whispered, bringing his arm back up over his eyes. Adam shook his head a little and looked down, lightly pushing himself up on the swing. He let himself go, the swing moving forward and then falling back again. He shivered a bit at the feeling of the wind in his hair, leaning his head to the side against the chain as he pushed himself back a little further. "I can't be- I can't be stuck here forever- I- He wouldn't do this, r- right?"

"Who, God?" Adam mumbled dryly, watching the ground get further and further from his feet as he swang backwards, then rocketed forward again. "I hate to tell you, shortcake, but He doesn't give a damn. If He did, He'd have done something by now. But we're still here - you're still here, and nobody's doing a damn thing about it." He closed his eyes for a moment. "I hate to tell you, sorta, not really, but- nobody's coming back for you. He most certainly isn't."

Michael was silent for a second, but Adam could still feel the hurt radiating from him. He could feel the soft exhale as the archangel relaxed into the ground again. Well, to put it lightly. More or less, he seemed to give up, the rest of whatever energy and tension he had left seeming to drain from him as he collapsed into the ground. "What about Lucifer?"

Adam stopped the swing rather harshly.

Now, that was someone that, admittedly, Adam hadn't thought of in a while. It was easier than expected, to ignore all thoughts of Lucifer, and turn his rage completely onto Sam and Dean. But even regardless of that, he hated that he wasn't as angry with Lucifer as he was with his so-called brothers. Maybe it was because that Lucifer had always been honest with him, anyway. Sure, he acted alright to Adam. After the first few years of torturing and all. But afterwards, when Adam began changing into a demon, Lucifer had seemed satisfied. Nice, even. But he never preached the same things Sam did. He never told Adam he would come back if he had the chance. He never told Adam he'd take them with him if he could.

He didn't lie. And that, among other things, was one of the reasons Adam liked him a little more than the Winchesters. And why he didn't feel like his entire world had come crashing and crumbling to pieces upon realizing that everything he'd ever been told was a lie. Lucifer was, at least, honest about the fact that he didn't care. If Sam just hadn't faked it with him, hadn't used him, then maybe Adam wouldn't be as pissed at him either.

The demon struggled with his conflicted feelings for a moment, gritting his teeth as he stared down at the ground. Michael groaned a little at the mixture of rage and confusion bubbling from him, but he didn't say anything, simply allowed Adam to process whatever he was feeling before he spoke. "You know Luce isn't coming back anytime soon, Michael. Not of his own free will."

Michael shook his head a little, not saying anything else. Adam closed his eyes and leaned his head back, giving a low sigh. There was nothing else to say, and quite frankly when it came to these two, words weren't really needed. They knew how the other was feeling, what the other was thinking. Michael could feel the betrayal and anger radiating from Adam and, Adam could feel the pain and grief radiating from Michael. They didn't need to sit and talk about how they felt. They didn't need any chick-flick moments. They didn't even need each other.

… For a moment, Adam wondered if that was true. Sometimes it felt like he really was going to lose it. He wondered if Michael was the only thing keeping him sane, or if it was the fury he was feeling, the thought of getting Sam and Dean back for all of the pain they had caused him.

"What do you think he's doing?" Michael asked suddenly, taking his arm off of his face. For the first time in a long time, he sounded… oddly curious. His tone had lightened considerably, with a faint, tingling edge to it. Adam blinked his eyes open to look over at the archange with the same amount of curiosity, more or less for what he was saying than the thought of what Lucifer might be doing with his free time. "I mean, he pretty much got a get out of jail free card." Michael put his arms down beside him, heaving himself to sit up and balancing on his hands. "So what do you think he's doing with that, anyway?"

"Dude, I don't know," Adam mumbled, irritated, but a part of him couldn't help but wonder. There was absolutely nothing sane about Lucifer. So he couldn't be doing anything sane.

"Think it's better than cage wrestling?" Michael asked lightly, a faint smile appearing on his face for a second. It was the first one he had given… probably since Lucifer had gotten out. Adam marveled at that for a moment, genuinely. He couldn't bring himself to smile these days. The amount of anger he was holding just wouldn't allow it. However, a tiny bit of amusement did creep up in the demon's chest, just for a split second. Not enough to bring a smile to his face, but enough for something other than a scowl to appear on his lips.

"I can say with certainty, there's nothing better than cage wrestling."

Michael chuckled, and flopped back to the ground. Adam studied him for a moment, wondering what, exactly, was up with that, anyway. The archangel seemed to be in a relatively good mood, which wasn't exactly common in Hell. Especially not in this part of Hell.

He fell silent, swinging a little bit more.

Maybe it was just better not to think about it too much. The little, unexplainable things. Like why Michael was trying to lighten everything up. Why he wasn't going insane. Maybe that was what would end up driving him to the edge. The questions, the wondering, the why, why, why. It was like running in circles, a dog chasing its tail in an endless, horrible loop. Unable to catch up, but at the same time unable to give up. Like a constant circle, a cycle.


He fell backwards, landing on the ground with a harsh thud, kicking his feet off of the swing and letting his entire body collapse backwards onto the ground, burying himself into the mulch. The swing rocked gently back and forth above him, a little shaken from his movement. He stared for a while, somewhat entranced by the motions, before finally giving up.

One eye slipped shut, and then the other. There was no point in sleeping, of course, he didn't need to and he never would need to again, and he hadn't slept since before he'd landed in Hell. But sometimes a break was needed. Now was one of those times.

A soft sigh broke through his lips, and at the same time, Michael let out the same kind of sound. A gentle, almost content huff of air - almost. Because, for the moment, in this place and this place only, their worries unhooked and floated away, snipped and severed and dissipating into the air faster than either of them could register. For the moment, they weren't in Hell.

They weren't together. They weren't apart. They weren't two people. They weren't one person. Not quite Michael. Not quite Adam. Not quite anything. Hardly existing.

Just them. Just there. Just then.

For that moment, nothing else mattered but that.