Wandering through Heaven again after so long felt like… Hell.

It was almost unrecognizable. Every hallway, every pillar, every statue and window looking out across all of Heaven itself, and the angels flying just outside, spiraling through the air, training. He watched the swords cross, the blows they landed on one another with little hesitation, not caring about the scars that were forming or the blood they were drawing from their siblings - just focused on the fight and who would win, training like their lives depended on it, like there was nothing better to do in Heaven. Michael's face twisted up a little, confusion flickering through his eyes, mouth pulling taut into a thin line before his lips puckered into a frown. It was unfamiliar. But the way he felt about it now, watching his brothers and sisters, was even stranger. There was such a sense of deep hatred for the place he'd originated from, the place he'd called home, even for the angels sparring outside - perfect strangers, not siblings, just unfamiliar people.

He took in a shaking breath and lifted his eyes to one of the lights hanging overhead, emitting a gentle glow across the white walls and floor. It was actually somewhat maddening - Michael could even go so far as to say it was worse than pacing the floor of the Cage. The archangel's eyebrows pinched together at the thought, feeling, oddly enough, like he wasn't supposed to know what that felt like, but he did. Just vaguely, he could remember the fire flickering through the bars, the lightning crashing down. He remembered the face of his brother, and the words of someone he didn't quite recognize at first glance, but someone he cared for…

The name was too far out of his reach, even now, but the face, he knew as if it were his own. Unconsciously, he brushed his fingers against his cheek and looked down, his confusion strengthening further as he turned his hand over to study his knuckles, before finally dropping his hand back down to his side. Again, it was something that he wasn't sure he was supposed to know, like something long suppressed, like some kind of severed connection. But his mind strayed back to the face in his thoughts more often than not, and he found himself longing for the person corroding his mind, the face of the man he couldn't shake. Like he needed them.

He settled a hand over his stomach, a sharp ache bringing his mind back to the present.

Michael drew in a breath and looked back out the window, his eyes fixed on the glittering swords, the sounds they made as they sliced through the air, the way his siblings screamed when one of them were struck by the other. He could almost feel blood seeping through his fingers, the burn of a wound that wasn't even there, though maybe it had been. Finally, though, unable to remember why he'd stopped to watch the fighting, he turned away and stared down across the hallway, a glimmer of confusion flitting across his face - a sharp, odd reminder that he wasn't supposed to be there - before the expression smoothed over, and he turned and wandered back the way he had come, with no clear destination in mind just yet.

He found himself crossing paths with a familiar face - one he could actually pick out through the blur of people swimming through his head, but one he still felt odd about encountering. In fact, staring at the angel in front of him, it felt very odd, because this person shouldn't exist anymore.

"Ah, if it isn't the almighty Michael," Zachariah cheered as he approached him, a lazy grin written across his face and his eyes glittering with an emotion Michael couldn't even begin trying to place. His brother clasped a hand over his shoulder - and the archangel flinched, he flinched and he flinched hard, harder than he had ever expected to, with such a sense of vulnerability - of fear that he knew he should never be displaying around a lower-class angel such as Zachariah, but at the same time, he couldn't stop it, and it made him feel even worse. "Surprised to see you finally out of the hole," Zachariah commented further, and Michael blinked, rapidly.

"The…" He trailed off, the words feeling weird on his tongue - or maybe it was just the fact that he was speaking to Zachariah, which he still felt like he shouldn't… be able to do. Managing to recover, if only slightly, from the terrifying rush of dizzying, cold terror, he shrugged Zachariah's hand off of his shoulder and took a few steps backwards, staring at him. "The hole?" He asked slowly, somewhat unsteadily, unable to help but wonder if those visions and flashes of the Cage were… real. He had chalked it up to his own imagination - perhaps his own guilt over Lucifer… But if Zachariah knew of it, then was it real? And if so, how could he not remember how…?

"Oh, y'know. Your office, bub?" Zachariah pressed, his grin only widening as he shook his head at the oldest archangel. Michael opened his mouth, then closed it. "You've been locked up in there for a while, ever since the Big Guy left the building. Glad to see you finally coming out of your shell, though," he added conversationally, while Michael only blinked, his shoulders tensing up slightly. "Now we can discuss the plans for the Winchesters. If you're ready, I'll contact Lilit-"

"N- I-" Michael shook his head vigorously, bringing one of his hands up to his face again, his fingers finding skin against his forehead and his nails digging in slightly, leaving indents of curved little half-circles into his pale skin as he shook his head back and forth. The Winchesters- the Winchesters. Of course that name was familiar, and well it should be. There was Samuel Winchester, and there was Dean Winchester - his true vessel, though that just felt wrong…

But what did Zachariah mean, the Big Guy left the building? God wasn't gone. He'd just spoken to God, hadn't he? He could vaguely remember his face, his words- such vicious words… he could remember the surprising amount of hatred pulsing deep in his chest when he looked at his Father, the amount of contempt and disgust and the thoughts of how dare he do this to them.

"Mmmmmike?" Zachariah stretched his nickname out somewhat uncertainly.

"Something's… something's wrong, Zachariah," Michael started, breathing heavily as he gripped his head with his other hand, now, fingers burrowing deep into his hair as he looked up at his brother, somewhat frantically now. He wasn't sure why he was reaching out to Zachariah of all angels for help, he needed something else- he needed someone else. Again, that face flashed in his mind, along with a name. Oddly enough, he found it related to the Winchesters, but it was still different - the name Adam. Adam Milligan. The face flashed in his mind once again, but this time it was accompanied by a rush of memories, of the Cage, of a park, a school, a bunker-

A sword.

Blood.

Healing.

Darkness.

Oh, no. He remembered now. He knew why it all felt wrong, him being here; it wasn't real. He was supposed to be possessing Dean Winchester, supposed to be meeting Adam, he was supposed to be with his best friend, fighting against his Father - a turn of events he never would have believed if he didn't see it unfolding right before his own eyes. The sudden sense of self-loathing made sense, the amount of hatred he felt toward Heaven, his siblings, his Father - his desperation to get back to Adam, the face haunting his mind, his distaste for the training and fighting the angels were putting themselves through - why he just, in general, didn't want to be here. Because he was supposed to be somewhere else. This wasn't real.

The smile on Zachariah's face had turned much colder, but it was still there, with just enough malice to be terrifying. "You just can't leave well enough alone, can you, Michael?" His brother ground out through clenched teeth, as Michael managed to pull himself out of the whirlwind of memories. "I mean, you could've had it all. Right here." He spread his arms out, and Michael took in a breath, staring back at him. "You could have ruled Heaven again, been a big-shot just like before. Done things right this time. All you would've had to do was give in and let yourself go, and stop pressing and pushing- but you really can't do it, can you?" His voice lowered, the smile turning into a grin, sharp, cold. "Are you that screwed up?"

"You," Michael started, voice shaking, as he took a few steps away from his brother. "Are not real. You're not real. You're dead," he insisted, practically spitting the word at his brother, while Zachariah just rolled his eyes and stuffed his hands back into his pockets, offering a lazy sigh.

"Real or not, it doesn't matter," Zachariah chuckled, tilting his head. "I mean, come on. It doesn't have to be real to seem real to you, does it? It didn't in the Cage, and it doesn't now…" He took a few steps forward, and Michael stumbled back again, his breath hitching slightly as he stared back at his brother through wide eyes. "Look. Hell knocked a few screws loose. The line between what's real and what's not, in your case, has been pretty far gone for a while now. You've been pretty far gone for a while now. You're just finally noticing."

"I need to get to Adam," Michael mumbled to himself, doing his best to ignore the words Zachariah was saying, to ignore the insults and the implications, the things he didn't want to have to think about right then, the insanity he didn't want to deal with again. This wasn't real. He needed to get back to his best friend; Adam needed him. "I need to wake up…"

"Mi-chael," Zachariah sing-songed, an air of laughter in his voice now as he shook his head at the oldest archangel, nothing but amused. "Don't you get it? You're not waking up. This is what you've gotta deal with now, pal. We've got you on lockdown, down to every last corner of your mind. You can't get out and they can't get in." He stepped forward again, but Michael didn't retreat this time, just staring at him. "And, hey, we tried to do things the easy way, y'know. But you just had to make things difficult, had to ruin it, just like you always do."

Michael just stared back at him, not really knowing what to say. Just knowing that this was crazy - this was one-hundred percent, batshit crazy-

"You're crazy," Zachariah laughed, startling the archangel for a moment; Michael jumped, flinched, and swallowed hard, struggling past the pain that was building up in his chest. His own insanity was something he hadn't wanted to confront; Adam had been the one to pull him out of it so long ago, and even he had barely managed to bring the archangel back. Adam wasn't here now, it was just Michael alone with his own thoughts. His own twisted, dark, traitorous thoughts. The feelings he fought so hard to repress, the cacophony of voices whispering in his ear.

Zachariah's mouth twisted into a cruel smile. "You always were your own worst enemy." He raised a hand, pressing his middle finger and his thumb together, and Michael went rigid.

"No-" He began to beg, but it did little to stop the hallucination; Zachariah snapped his fingers, and, smiling all the while, he just watched as the floor beneath Michael's feet caved and gave way to an eternal pit of nothingness, leaving him falling, spiraling, into a dizzying, nauseating pit of his own worst nightmares come true; his insanity had all the ammunition it needed, being in his own head and in Dean's, and for a second he wondered if there was any point in fighting it.

He could feel it when the apparent barrier he'd put up between himself and Dean's memories was ripped; he had struggled, long and hard, for both their sakes, not to dive into the hunter's memories himself. If there was something Dean wanted him to know, he'd let him, know, but Michael had struggled not to invade his privacy. But he could feel it now, as he did so, against the hunter's will - and against his own; he could feel every mental block breaking down, despite his best attempts to struggle against it, to pull himself back. It was like something was tugging him forward and he had no control, absolutely none, like a puppet on a string just being yanked along wherever it saw fit to push him. And, he found himself pushed straight into something out of the horror films he occasionally found Adam thinking of every so often in the Cage.

A barren, deserted land, an Earth that reeked of death and destruction. Michael found himself cowering, just after a few seconds inside. It was worse than Hell, worse than Purgatory.

His gaze found his brothers before anything; Lucifer and Gabriel. Lucifer was on the ground, seemingly hurt, while Gabriel was facing off against someone that Michael didn't recognize at first glance. It took a good few seconds of staring to recognize the vessel - one he had taken a long time ago, to interact with Adam… and it hit him, maybe a little too late, that it was him.

He took a few staggering steps forward, toward them, but he couldn't move an inch further than that. His breathing hitched, watching Gabriel fight the other archangel, watching his brother throw punch after punch, slicing down at him with the archangel blade - they both had archangel blades, Michael noted, growing more and more terrifying, and more and more angry, as he realized exactly what this was; Gabriel had said, hadn't he, that the other him had-

A scream, a flash of light… a laugh.

Dean's voice rang out, a sharp "Gabe, no!", as Sam had to hold him back from lunging at the two archangels. Michael tried to scream, wanting to yell out for his brother, but he couldn't. He couldn't speak, he couldn't move, he couldn't even breathe; and then, just as sudden, it ended. The hunter had left the universe on Sam's command, and Michael didn't even get the chance to see what happened when he got back to their own; he just kept his eyes fixated on Michael until another sudden, dizzying blur of darkness send him falling right into another memory.

It was happening so fast that it was jarring, but he knew that was the point. His own mind was working against him, actively trying to break him down, and even he knew that the best way to do that was to throw it all at him at once. He saw so many things; he saw the other Michael, torturing Dean inside his own head, locking him away and pushing him down and laughing as the hunter screamed and struggled to claw himself out of the pit he was thrown into time and time again, fighting to get out of the chains the other archangel had him trapped in. He saw the way Dean was breaking, alternating between cussing the other Michael out to begging him to stop, to just stop and listen, trying to get his attention, trying to convince him to let him go.

The things the other Michael did, the things he said to Dean, the methods he used to break the hunter down, to make him stop fighting, to get him compliant and complicit - it was sickening. It was sickening and wrong and no angel, no matter how powerful, no matter how scornful of humanity, should ever even think about breaking their own vessel down this way. Dean's hatred and fear toward him made too much sense, with each memory that Michael was forced to experience, sometimes through the hunter's own eyes. He'd hate himself too. Hell, he did hate himself - both himself and the other him. And he found those feelings getting stronger.

But the worst one - the worst one - was one where Dean wasn't present. He was locked inside his own head, content. This memory was Michael's - the other Michael's. Just one that the hunter still had rattling around inside his head, one that he probably wasn't even aware of.

"Me and my brother…" The other Michael was chained to a chair, nothing but amused, as he fixed cold green eyes on Castiel, the smile on his face nothing short of psychotic, but in the calmest way possible. Michael paced behind his brother, just staring at the other him, unnerved, afraid and pissed off to every extent. "My Lucifer," the other Michael clarified further, "when we fought in my world, we thought that God would come back. Give us answers. Why he'd gone. What we'd done. But instead, do you know what happened?" The smile on his face dropped.

"Nothing," Zachariah's voice whispered in Michael's ear, tauntingly, teasingly, and Michael felt another shiver run up his spine, eyes squeezing shut against the tears threatening to rise.

"Nothing," the other Michael spat out, his voice impossibly colder, even more so than before, rough, calloused, desensitized - broken, but possibly in a way even worse than Michael was. "No God. Nothing. And now, now that I'm… in here…" Michael cracked his eyes open again, watching as the other one looked down, gesturing slightly with his chin toward his own body - toward Dean's body - and Michael's fists clenched as the other one went on. "Now I know why."

"You see, Mike," Zachariah spoke up, conversationally, as he draped an arm around Michael's shoulders and watched the other one with a cold sense of amusement, the same kind that the archangel saw reflected across the alternate him's features. "This is exactly what you could've become. Hell, maybe it's what you're on the way to becoming. All this anger, all this rage…"

"... because he doesn't care…!"

Michael stiffened when Zachariah leaned in even closer, speaking right up against his ear now, and the cold shudders running through the archangel just became that much more intense. "Because Daddy left you," he taunted, his voice soft, carrying a haunting, melodic tone. "You and all his other little failed experiments. Every anomaly, every defect like you." His tone lowered, the gentle sing-song turning to more of a growl. "But maybe the reason you're not bitter is because you know that you're so broken that nobody will want you. Especially not God. You know, I don't really blame him." Zachariah placed his hands over Michael's shoulders. "Look at how you turned out in every other draft. It's no wonder he threw you away early this time."

Michael's breathing hitched, and he shook his head a little bit, struggling past the tears that were brewing in his eyes, the explosive amounts of pain and anger clashing in his chest. The contempt he held toward Chuck twisted, just enough, just a tiny bit spilling out toward himself. And the second it found purchase, it wrapped around him, as tight as the grip Zachariah had on his shoulders. It coiled around him, not viciously, not aggressive or as violent as the self-destructive hatred he usually felt toward himself. Instead it was something akin to the way Zachariah was whispering in his ear, the vicious, angry loathing wrapped up in a mask of sweet, semi-comforting gentleness, just thinly-veiled enough to still leave some room for confusion.

He trembled under his brother's hands as Zachariah grinned, cold fingers rubbing Michael's shoulders, soft and sweet and not at all matching the words that spilled from his lips. "It's because you're broken, Michael," he told the archangel gently, humming softly. "You've always been broken. Just a few feathers short of a wing. Never good enough. For Dad, for Heaven, or even for yourself. Every part of you is damaged, and shattered, and so far beyond repair that God himself couldn't fix you." He chuckled, his breath hot against the back of Michael's neck, causing him to flinch. "You're so bad," he hissed, "that God himself couldn't make you better."

Michael breathed in shakily, his throat closing up, whatever words he wanted to say only escaping as a soft, quiet whimper before he was forced into silence again, his breath coming in gasps and his chest and lungs aching. This was almost exactly what had happened in the Cage, except now, his mind had new ammo to use against him, more knowledge to twist and turn and break him down with. But unlike back then, he wanted to protest. He wanted to have some reason to argue against it, he wanted to hear Adam's voice in his head, soothing him, assuring him, he wanted the only person that could make him feel like he wasn't a piece of shit.

He couldn't give into it this time, he couldn't let himself fall back into the insanity, not with Adam waiting for him, expecting him. Adam needed him. Adam needed him.

"No…" Michael mumbled, his voice shaking, as he jerked out of Zachariah's grip and turned to face his brother; except, when he turned, the scene around him changed. His brother was gone. The bunker was gone. The other Michael, and Castiel, gone. For a second, he stood completely surrounded by darkness, looking around through wide eyes. Then, taking a deep breath, he turned his head to look around again, trembling slightly as he stared around through the darkness. He couldn't will himself to wake up. Usually he didn't have this much trouble, but this time, he couldn't bring himself out of his own unconscious state, and he didn't know why.

Michael wrapped his arms around himself and tried to focus on breathing, blinking past the blur of tears that were still forcing their way forward, threatening to spill.

"You can't hide from me forever, Michael," Zachariah's voice was still whispering in his ear, yet it was echoing around the darkness at the same time. Michael cringed, looking up and around, wide-eyed; Zachariah wasn't there, but he… he was there. "Or, actually, no, even better… you can't hide from yourself." The sound of his brother's laughter reached his ears, vicious, cold.

Michael took a few steps back, tightening his grip on his own arms just enough to hurt, needing something to ground him just enough to snap himself back to the present, to give him enough control to move; once he could take that back, once he could snap himself back to his senses, he forced himself forward through the darkness, not knowing where he was going but knowing he just needed to get away. He forced his way forward, through the memories that weren't his, through the thoughts, through the other Michael's voice still ringing in his ears, he tore himself through it all, struggling to reach his own, desperate to get back to the other side of the barrier-

He half-running, half-walking stumbling screeched to a halt when the scene around him suddenly changed, abrupt enough to send him crashing backwards into… mulch.

Michael stared down at his hands, buried into the mulch. He could feel wind hitting his face, soft and warm, blowing his hair back. He could see the swingset, he could see the slides, the playground, the grass and the mulch and all of it was familiar; the park. He was in the park. Eyes widening, he twisted himself around to stand up, only to flinch back with a short scream that cut off before the sound could even properly leave his lips, seeing someone in front of him.

They arched an eyebrow at him, and Michael could only stare until the numb terror faded away, the relief hitting him head on, almost enough to knock him straight back down into the ground. "Adam?" He breathed out, huffing and puffing for the air he couldn't seem to get into his lungs. He wanted to laugh, he wanted to cry, but he settled for neither, just glad to see his best friend. In response, Adam's lips twitched upwards, just the tiniest bit, and he took a few steps closer to the archangel, pulling his hands out of his pockets and reaching a hand down to help him up; Michael accepted this without hesitation, gripping Adam's hand as if his life depended on it.

"Well, then, together again, huh?" Adam grinned at him, but it vanished as quick as it had come, staring at the archangel. "You good, halo?"

"I don't know… I don't know," Michael answered honestly, fumbling for a tighter grip on Adam's hand so that he could pull the demon into a hug; Adam accepted it without hesitation, and the archangel buried his face into his best friend's shoulder, finally allowing soft sob to escape his lips as he shook his head back and forth and squeezed his eyes shut. "I wanna get out of here," he said desperately, voice shaking slightly. "I wanna leave."

"Ohhh, but you can't."

Michael cringed, while Adam pulled back sharply, one hand gripping onto the archangel's arm as he turned to see who had spoken; Michael didn't want to, but he looked up, miserably, to meet the eyes of his brother once again, just the sight of Zachariah's cold smile being enough to force another icy-cold shudder down his spine. "Zachariah," Adam greeted coldly.

Zachariah glanced at him, amused. "Oh, why am I not surprised? Of course Michael needs his little guard dog," he taunted, flicking his gaze back to Michael's face. Adam scoffed a little, but he said nothing, as Zachariah smirked over at the archangel and wiggled his eyebrows. "Whatever, you know, it doesn't matter whether he's here or not, does it?"

Michael didn't say anything, just reached a shaking hand out to place on Adam's shoulder when he snarled. Then, just as quickly, Zachariah was gone; Adam jerked back a little, then let out a low hiss and spun around to face Michael again, looking positively livid. "What the he-"

An arm wrapped around Michael's shoulders, and the archangel all but screamed when he was suddenly pulled away from Adam, watching the demon's eyes widen with a mixture of confusion and rage as he was forced away from his best friend; A little bit of fight finally kicking in, Michael turned to shove Zachariah away from him, managing to send his brother staggering, and he took the chance to throw a glance over his shoulder to make sure Adam was okay-

… but he was… gone.

"Adam?" Michael gasped, turning back around, pupils shrinking slightly as his eyes darted around the almost-empty park. Then he turned around to face Zachariah again, mouth opening to demand where the hell Adam was, and what had happened to him - hell, to demand if he had even been real or just another way for his mind to manipulate him, another attempt at turning his own weaknesses and vulnerabilities and fears against him, which… now that he thought about it, it probably was. But it didn't matter; he couldn't ask. Zachariah was gone, too.

But his voice lingered, echoing around the park now, laughing at the archangel's despair as he hissed, "because he can't protect you from yourself."