Summary: Mike is suspicious of his benevolent host. One thing he knows for sure, it isn't his twin brother.

Notes: Mikey is going through it, mentally. A lot of self-blame, unreliable narration and some descriptions of abuse and violence.

Michael was a skeptic by nature. He had been through too much in his long life to be anything but. He was never the angel of patterns, but he knew enough to operate within the role he had been given. He knew how to please God and failing that, he knew how to take the punishments he so foolishly earned. He had to become something of an expert in the complicated dance of appeasement required when dealing with the Almighty, but all those skills now seemed to be failing him and he didn't know why.

Michael had been in this strange place for almost a month now, making numerous missteps, speaking out of turn, entering forbidden areas, and God had brushed the infractions off as if they were nothing. Michael wondered if his Almighty Father was ill and then immediately chastised himself for the thought. His Father did not make mistakes and He could never be so weak as to succumb to an illness, he should know this by now. Still, He was being unnaturally gracious. Michael had earned several beatings by now, at the very least a tongue-lashing, and he had only received hugs and coddling instead. The shift was doing his head in.

He had considered if this was a new punishment his father was trying out. It certainly was effective. All the waiting and anticipation for the blow that wasn't coming, for the hit that never landed, was doing more to hurt than any beating ever could. Not even sleep offered a reprieve. He was being made to share Father's room, something he had never done with anyone besides Sam.

Sam…

That was the strangest new development. Father was presenting himself with Sam's face. Michael had played along, even calling him by Sam's name, or the closest thing to his name Michael was comfortable assigning this facsimile. He was certain this was another form of punishment: confront him every day with the twin he betrayed and abandoned. He would beg his father to end this psychological torture if he didn't know that would only earn him a lecture about his weakness and cowardice. He would gladly return to physical consequences, they were much easier to handle than this: dangling hope before his face whilst the sword of Damocles hung over his head, ready to drop at the first sign of vulnerability.

This was a test. It had to be. Father was trying to weigh his faith in Him. He did this sometimes. Usually, by forcing Michael to perform the most taxing and horrific of duties: banishing Sam to Hell, fighting and subduing Mother, unleashing plagues and disasters onto humanity, pitting his siblings against one another to see who was the strongest, slaughtering lesser pantheons as Father saw fit. Michael had completed every task as per his father's orders, ignoring how wretched his soul felt afterwards. He was his father's Sword, His Prince, His Defender. It was his duty to act as Father ordered, even if it hurt, especially if it did. They had developed a reliable pattern over the eons but now Michael found himself at a loss.

Father, wearing Sam's face and using his voice, claimed benevolence. He said He only wished to help Michael, to heal him, to love him. To prove this, He had lavished him with attention and indulgences, treating him as if he was a delicate thing that required the utmost care and consideration. He held him when he woke from nightmares, promising safety. He even swore He would regenerate Michael's wings. His wings, which had been cut off by… by Sam?

No, Sam was Father. Or was Father now Sam? But Father was gone, wasn't He? That couldn't be true, Father was eternal. Michael will never be free of Him, not that he needed to be. He wanted nothing more than to bask in Father's divine light, the safety of His warm bosom. Father was all things, He was life. He was without end, He couldn't simply be gone, it wasn't possible.

But if Sam was Father, then where was Sam? Hell, surely.

Michael felt a stab of guilt at the thought. His twin brother was in Hell while Michael got to remain at their father's side. It wasn't fair, it wasn't right. Hell was not the place for the Lightbringer. Samael was good. He could be vain and prideful, mischievous and teasing, and a bit self-absorbed. He certainly had a fondness for drama and bedlam, but it was the harmless sort. Sam was warm and kind even when he tried to make it seem like he wasn't. He was Light. And even with all that, Michael had let him fall. He should've fallen with him or he should've ensured Sam never fell in the first place. He should've begged Father harder to be allowed to join Sam in the infernal realm. He had let Fear keep him away. Fear of Sam's anger and his rejection. Fear of fire and burning. Fear of being consumed by the Darkness. Darkness and Fear were Michael's domains, he should have conquered both by now, but Father was right. He had always been right about Michael. Michael was weak, barely a spark in comparison to the bright burning inferno that his twin represented. His cowardly nature allowed his gifts to rule him instead of the other way around and it kept him from his better half.

Michael had paid penance for his cowardice and betrayal when his brother first fell. He kept their soul bond open as long as he could so he could feel the pain alongside Sam. He knew with startling clarity what it felt like to go careening at a frightening velocity through dimensional planes only to crash into the depths of Hell's Lake of Fire, burning and breaking over and over again for hours, weeks, decades, centuries, an eternity. He knew because Sam knew.

Father had allowed Michael to burn with his twin only so long as He felt it didn't hinder Michael's duties and then He closed their bond permanently, severing the last link between them. Michael had always been able to feel his twin since the moment of their creation, and then suddenly there was only a void where his presence had been. Now, he was confronted with his twin's face everyday as Father cruelly pretended to be him.

He knew it wasn't truly Samael. Michael had destroyed their trust, their love. His twin would never want anything to do with him again. Even before the Rebellion, Michael had chosen his Fear of Father over his love for Sam so many times, it was no surprise that Samael grew tired of him. His other siblings barely wanted anything to do with Michael from the start. Mother was interested in Michael sometimes. In bright shining moments, he had felt the full force of her care, but that was ruined the moment he agreed to subdue her before throwing her to God's judgement. All he had now was Father. And that was fine, that was all he needed anyway.

The problem was he didn't know how to operate under this new regime. It wasn't strange for Father to isolate Michael from the rest of the Host as He did now, but to carry on this charade for this long without explicitly telling Michael what he had done to receive this punishment, that was new.

He had vague memories of hurting humans, Father's beloved pets. Perhaps that was what had triggered this. There was also a horrible flash of Michael holding a sword in hand with a skewered Remiel on the end of it, but his mind viciously rebelled against that thought. It wasn't real, it couldn't be. He would not kill his sister. Michael knew what he was, Father had let him know time and again: he was a traitor and a coward, an ill-made spiteful creature, an envious beast full of jealousy and cunning, an unworthy son, a failure of a brother, a pitiful excuse for an archangel, a burden to the universe. Still, he was not a kinslayer. He would not have killed his sister. He couldn't have.

"Mi, are you still with me?"

Michael jumped at the voice and turned to see Sam— Father watching him cautiously. He didn't notice that he had begun shaking. Sa— Father had implored him to join Him in the living room as they watched a movie. Michael had not been paying attention and was lost in thought instead. He briefly noted that he and Sam Father were curled up together amongst the cushions, almost as if the sofa were a nest. He could even feel an achingly familiar divinity coming from the pillows. Did Father have to be so cruel as to make the pillows from Sam's feathers as well? Michael knew he deserved the punishment, but this was almost too much. His fingers itched to play with the bracelet where one of his own black feathers were wrapped around his wrist alongside a white feather that could only be Sam's. He had thanked his father profusely for the unwarranted gift, but his prostrations only garnered a sad smile. He didn't understand what he was doing wrong. Why could he not please his God? Was he truly that much of a failure?

An identical hand intertwined its fingers with Michael's, drawing his attention away from his thoughts once more.

"Michael, are you okay?"

He opened his mouth to answer before stilling as he remembered his exchange with Father in His office. He shouldn't have trespassed. Mother had drilled it into his head after Michael had first suffered the punishment of breaking that rule, but he had sensed his lost divinity in there and he had just wanted to feel a hint of it one last time. He lingered too long and was caught. But Father was a gracious God and He had forgiven him. All He had asked was that Michael be alright and so that was what he had to be. He hadn't even commanded it, which was well within His rights, He merely asked. He had left Michael with a choice. It was a gift and he could not just throw it back in Father's face.

The request was easier said than done. Often times Michael couldn't control his mind. It took him down dark places and obscure memories, the implications of which painted him as a sinister villain. He didn't know what to do with that. His mind was a mess of mismatched pieces he couldn't sort through, but his Father's wishes were clear.

"I'm alright."

Father looked like He wanted to say something, His stolen brow was furrowed in consternation and His nose was wrinkled with concern the way Sam always used to do when Michael had had a particularly bad day. It caused his heart to clench with bitter longing which he hoped Father couldn't sense.

He did not want to lie to Him and open himself up for further punishment, so he turned to the television and scrunched his brow with confusion.

"I thought that you eradicated the large lizard species, Hêlēl. You said they were too dangerous for your new creation," Michael commented, watching the large reptile on screen fighting what appeared to be a three-headed dragon. Father glanced at the screen and then let out a chuckle.

"That was Father's doing, not mine. You know that. I was actually quite fond of the dinosaurs. But rest assured, they are all extinct. It's merely a movie, a performance, it's not real. It's just pretend. Humans have come up with all kinds of technology to bring such monsters to the screen. They always insist on doing so for the sole purpose of creating a spectacle of mayhem, destruction and death. You'd think they would've had enough of that in their daily lives, but no, they need it in their media as well. It is entertaining though, in a mindless sort of way."

Michael stared at his brother father. It was moments like this that made it very difficult to remember who he was talking to. This different version of Father rambled and ranted just like Sam. His mannerisms were Sam, his tastes were Sam, everything he did lived and breathed Sam. Michael had to keep reminding himself to see beneath the lie performance.

(Not lie, Father would never lie. He was faithful and true.)

Michael turned back to the screen to see the two titans continuing to clash, trying to assert their dominance. And what was the point? To be king of the monsters? Michael got a quick flash of himself and Sam, fighting and clawing at each other, both vying for a throne that never meant any goodwill for either of them. It was quickly followed by a blonde woman covered in blood and Sam's agonized face and Remiel's shock with a sword Michael was wielding lodged in her stomach because Michael had killed—

He quickly shook the stray thought loose.

It wasn't real, not real, not real, never real.

Arms wrapped gently around him, pulling him into a soft embrace. He shuddered at the contact and tensed in anticipation, still expecting Father's hugs to be as they once were: precursors to a vitriolic sermon cataloguing all of Michael's faults and failures. Father would always encircle him in a grip that was both soft and firm even while the words were sharpened with the singular intent of cutting the deepest.

Sam… Father… Sam…

Heavens, he didn't even know anymore.

The being wearing his twin's face didn't ever try to hurt him with words or anything else. He held him close and offered reassurances, nothing more. That made it all the worse. Michael wished He would just stop but he also sorely needed the comfort. He knew that would make it hurt more later, but as terrified as he was, he never pulled away. This time, he even snuggled deeper into the others' arms. There was a pause for a moment before he was held tighter.

"It's alright, Mi. I'm here."

Michael flinched a little at hearing those words in his twin's voice. He wished more than anything that that was true, but all he had was this being, this entity, this… other and so Michael would take what he could get for as long as it was available to him.

Michael was getting suspicious.

His Father was capable of playing the long game, but this had been going on for much too long by this point. He should have received his punishment by now. There were times when Michael was sure his father would punish him and that turned out to be false. The first time was when Michael weakened the barriers between Hell and Earth to allow Sam his terrestrial vacations. He was sure that was going to land him in hot water, but his father had simply tasked him with cleaning up all the demons who ended up on Earth too and sent Amenadiel to retrieve Sam instead. He never fixed the barriers like Michael expected and He never punished him for it.

As a result of Amenadiel's brutish violence against his twin, Michael had started sending him on wild goose chases anytime Sam surfaced to allow him a longer getaway from the Infernal Realm. Amenadiel had complained and Michael braced himself for punishment, but Father did nothing.

When Michael sent things from his and Sam's nest downstairs as anonymous gifts, especially Sam's old weapons to help him conquer Hell, that had certainly garnered complaints from the Host, but again nothing.

Michael later reasoned that because these actions did not actually impede Father's grand plan of having Sam sit on the throne of Hell and eventually Heaven, then perhaps it was part of the plan. Father must've wanted him to do it just like He wanted Michael to come to Earth and imperso—

No, no, no. Not real, not real, Michael told himself, chasing that thought away.

Still, that didn't explain the current situation. This was something completely new. He could see no logical reason for Father to pretend to be Sam for this long and not have already punished him for his misdeeds. Even if He did want to play this game, what about the rest of the Silver City? Without Michael and Father around to run it (mostly Michael) and Amenadiel on Earth, who was keeping the place afloat? Gabriel and Raphael would do their best and Duma would help, but who knew the systems the way Michael did? Who knew how to keep the fragile wheels spinning better than him? Father was aware of this, which was why his punishments never lasted so long as to take him from his duties the way this punishment was. Father had barely left the apartment, so Michael knew He wasn't leading the City. It didn't make any sense.

There was another explanation. Everything that Maybe Father said could be true. He could really be Sam, but that hardly made sense either. Why would Sam want Michael here? Why would he take him back? Why wouldn't Father have swooped down by now and separated them so they could not ruin His plan? Unless His plan had already come to fruition, but if that was the case and Father had truly retired, why was Michael still here? The plan always ended with Michael dying. He was never meant to see Sam sit on the throne and Father ride off into the sunset, Michael's lot in life was to play the villain for Sam's star to rise and in the end, Sam was meant to kill him. Michael wasn't even planning to fight that outcome. At least his death would mean that he would be free of pain once and for all and Sam would finally be free from his sentence, free of Hell, and in a position where no one could ever hurt him again. Michael's life was a perfectly fair trade in the face of that. But Michael was still here and Sam, if this was Sam, was with him. That scenario was nowhere in Father's plan so that couldn't possibly be the truth.

There were a few other options: he was trapped in Limbo or the Dreaming, though things weren't quite as fantastical and irrational as he would expect if that were the case. He was trapped in a Hell Loop. Then again, given his status as an archangel he would have a vague inkling of that being the case. He could have fallen prey to a powerful enough magic user who had grabbed hold of his mind for some nefarious purposes. But even if he was not the most popular angel in the Silver City, his absence would've been noted by now and he would've been located.

Michael didn't like this. All of his theories were running him into dead ends. He was supposed to be the Sword, the Defender, the Prince. True, most days that felt like a mask he donned, but it was one he held strong to over the eons. Now it felt so far away from him. A rug had been pulled out from under him unceremoniously and he was dangling over an abyss with no wings to slow his descent. He needed clarity, he needed truth, he needed to know what the Hell was going on here.

With that in mind, he started paying attention even more to the being he was sharing a living space with. Ergo, his suspicions.

Michael had had to be observant to survive, he had to learn to read his Father's moods. It struck him that he was so confused by this being because he kept trying to assign Father's traits to It when they clearly didn't fit. So, he took a different approach and threw those expectations away so he could study Him.

Studying his appearance was fruitless. He looked like Sam. He walked like him, talked like him, dressed like him, but this meant nothing. Any witch or sorcerer worth their salt could conjure a believable duplication of any living being, even the Devil or God.

He studied what the being did next. He doted on Michael, pampered him to the point of excess. It was totally disconcerting and unfamiliar. Well, not unfamiliar just foreign. Sam was like that when they were younger, constantly showering Michael with affection and attention. Nearly every day there was some new song or poem for him, some new invention to impress him, something beautiful Sam had created to make him smile. Michael was unused to being the recipient of such things once more.

That wasn't to say the being had no life outside of Michael. He made many phone calls to people, some of the names familiar: Chloe, Maze, Beatrice, Miss Lopez, Dr. Linda, Patrick. Michael tried hard to place faces and people to the names. Some of the memories were fuzzier than others.

He heard the name Chloe and pictured a blonde human woman, a Miracle with her features blurred by an angelic halo so he couldn't discern her appearance. He thought of a stern frown and a heartbroken cry. He thought of a blade pressed to his neck and painpainpain. Everything was hurting. Sam was gone. No, Sam was dead and it was Michael's fault. Chloe's heart was breaking and Michael's was absolutely ravaged. She was hurting, he was hurting, and he couldn't stop it because it was part of the plan. He trusted Father and this was not what he said would happen. Chloe was holding a blade against his neck and Michael could taste the sweet oblivion it promised. All he wanted was for her to do it, to kill him, to end it all. He was so tired and everything was hurting.

He shut that line of thought down and didn't think of Chloe ever again.

He heard the name Mazikeen and could picture a beautiful face hiding an infernal visage with a sneer across her lips. He could see a bitter glare and practically smell ash and sulfur. It raised a question. His father interacting with humans wasn't unheard of, even ones who were not Miracles, but demons? Never. They were beneath God, lowly soulless creatures not worth His attention, only fit for Hell or nonexistence. Father would never collude with them.

That just made it more likely this being wasn't Father. Mazikeen was Sam's righthand woman in Hell, but she also had betrayed him many times. Perhaps this being was a usurper she was conspiring with. Or a doppelgänger who, unbeknownst to the demoness, had taken Sam's place and did who knew what with his twin.

After a few more days of observation, Michael settled on this option. The being was not Father for He would have punished Michael by now. The being was not his brother, because Sam hated him. It must be an imposter, some unholy duplicate, a doppelgänger or a shapeshifter who wanted Michael for some malevolent purpose that had yet to be revealed. The being must've believed that It could trap more flies with honey and so It was being kind and loving to try to lure Michael in. Well, he was not going to let it work. Father would be coming for him soon and he will be sure to let Him know that Michael didn't fall for this thing's tricks. He held strong and remained faithful to his true God.

He began shunning the being. He moved to the second room in the apartment and rarely left it, not even when the being knocked and cajoled, enticed and even begged. It did nothing but solidify Michael's resolve. Sam would never beg, least of all to Michael. He didn't even beg Father before he was cast out of Heaven. Why would he be reduced to begging because Michael turned away from him? Michael, who betrayed him, hurt him?

The few times Michael did leave his room, he would not speak to the being, he would dodge hugs, he would not let It continue healing his wounds or groom his hair after showers. He stayed quiet at night when he had nightmares so the being would not come and investigate.

His actions seemed to sadden It if the kicked-puppy expression was anything to go by. He almost relented then. The thing was still wearing Sam's face and he hated being the cause of anymore grief in his twin's life when he had already brought about so much of it. But he reminded himself that It wasn't really Sam and the fact that the being didn't react violently just proved to him that It wasn't Father either. He didn't know what the creature was, but he was determined to keep his distance from It.

Until, one night, he couldn't anymore.

The only time Michael had left his room recently was very late at night when he knew It was asleep. This night was one such night. He was in the kitchen, rummaging around and looking for the brownies the creature had introduced him to. Though It was a liar, It had not erred when It offered him the delicious confection. He was hooked now and was even wondering if he would be able to make some hot chocolate without attracting It's attention when a strange sound broke the night.

He froze, wondering if It had woken up. He stared at the bedroom door, but nothing emerged. He tentatively resumed his search but stopped once more as another sound came from the room. He stepped away from the counter and slowly approached the door, both curious and cautious. He hesitated before pressing his ear to the door to see if he could discern the sound. It repeated much clearer to his ears. It sounded like an agonized moan and was quickly followed by pained whimpers and gasps. Was it the creature? Did It have some kind of prey in the room? Michael hadn't noticed It bring anything or anyone into the apartment and it had never given any indication that It needed anything beyond normal human sustenance.

A louder moan came followed by a whimper and this time Michael could recognize Sam's voice making the noises. It caused his heart to jump into his throat and without thinking, he entered the room. Sam— It was lying in bed, the moonlight from the window splashing across Its body. It was sweating and tossing amongst the cushions. Its face was scrunched up in pain while Its body trembled in fright. No, not fright, Fear.

Suddenly, the full force of Fear hit Michael and he could feel and see what the being was so terrified of.

He is falling, hurtling, crashing through dimensions. Planes of existence zoom past him so fast that even with his superior eyesight, everything is little more than an amorphous blur. He tries to spread his wings but feels the strong resistance of adamantine, the celestial steel preventing him from saving himself. The temperature rises in the air around him, his velocity causing the atmosphere to superheat. The heat attacks his wings first, each individual feather smoldering before the friction sets them alight and burns them away, leaving his wing flesh vulnerable. He screams as the terrifying plunge seems to last forever and the heat rises and rises, burning away hair, heating his armor so he feels as if he's boiling inside of it. Then his tumble abruptly ends as he breaks into Hell's atmosphere and gravity continues pulling him downdowndown until there is nothing else to do but land with a mighty crash that decimates the very foundation of the ground and breaks nearly every bone in his body. The impact displaces the craggy ground beneath him, giving way to the magma and lava pit below. He has no time to be relieved that the fall has ended because the heat rises sharply to an inferno. He is burning, everything is burning, his clothes, his wings, his skin, inside and out there is nothing more than fiery agony. He tries desperately to escape the fire but he cannot move his limbs, whether because they burned away too or because of the chains, he can't tell. All around him all he sees is red, or perhaps that is simply the impression left before his eyes melted. He can't scream anymore, the fire has entered his throat and burned it to ash. He can't move, he can't escape. He can't even die. Where would he go if he did? He'd just end up right back here, burning and dying again and again and again.

'Father, have mercy! Forgive me, I beg of you,' he prays, but there is no response.

'Mi, please! I'm sorry, I never meant for it to get this far. Do not forsake me here, brother! Please, I can't do this! Mikael, please.'

Again, nothing.

No salvation, no reprieve, just pain, agony. An eternity of suffering.

Michael gasped as he was suddenly thrown from the vision, the memory. The action was so violent that he found himself stumbling backwards before tripping and falling to the floor.

Falling, he is falling, crashing down to Hell, landing in the Lake of Fire and he is burning. His skin is sloughing from his muscles and bones and burning away into nothing. His eyes are boiling in their sockets, his throat is crushed and withered away, not even allowing him the release of screaming. His beautiful wings, which had already been broken by the chains, burn to charred stumps. His body is disintegrating into ash and he can feel every agonizing second of it until all that is left is his soul. Even then, he continues to burn with no end in sight.

"Michael!"

His head snapped up, the sight of redredred clearing away so he could see Sam kneeling in front of him, his face a mask of worry and remorse.

"Michael, look at me."

He shook his head frantically, glancing around the room that he was certain was in flames.

"I'm falling, I'm burning," he replied in a panic, rubbing at his own skin as if there was a fire that needed to be put out.

Sam paused before shaking his head.

"It was just a dream. I didn't mean for you to see that. Don't et the Fear drag your mind down that road. It's not real. Here, right now, this is real."

But it had been real. Michael knew that better than anyone other than Sam himself. He had fallen, he had burned and he had suffered, languishing in that pain for years while Michael had done nothing to stop it.

And it was happening again.

They were falling, they were burning.

"Mi," Sam implored, shaking him to get his attention.

"Mi, I can't… please, just stay with me. Focus on me and breathe."

Michael made himself meet identical brown eyes and copied the breathing pattern Sam was setting for him. His pulse was still racing, and his heart was slamming in his chest. He could feel the phantom tingling of fire over his entire body. His skin felt clammy and sweaty as his body started to come down from the adrenaline rush of being hit not just with Fear but full-blown Terror. A shaky hand began running through his hair soothingly and he looked up at the figure in front of him.

It was clear that It was still coming down from It's own bout of Fear. It too was sweaty and It's pupils were blown wide. It was shaking and It's breathing was uneven. Michael tilted his head a little as he observed It. Even while It was trying to comfort Michael, he noticed that It was shifting uncomfortably, likely because It too could still feel the lingering effects of the flames across It's skin, but It was apparently doing It's best not to let it show. Or It had decided to ignore It's own state of mind in favor of caring for Michael, which was very Sam of It.

It's eyebrows were scrunched and It's nose was wrinkled in concern for Michael, just like… just like Sam used to do.

There were only two beings in the entire universe who knew what it was to fall from Heaven, to go hurtling through the dimensions, to crash to Hell and create the Lake of Fire through the force of the crash, to burn in the Lake. No doppelgänger or shapeshifter could pretend to understand what that felt like. Even for Michael, though he had kept the soul bond open to experience it with his twin, it would never be as intense an experience or memory as it was for Sam, as vivid as that nightmare had portrayed it to be.

And if that were true, and it was, then the being he had been cohabitating with truly was Sam. The realization hit him like a thunderbolt, and he felt himself jerking with the knowledge of it. Sam shushed him and continued running his fingers through his hair as Michael stared at him in disbelief. But why would Sam… Michael was unworthy, he didn't deserve— he couldn't dare to hope—

A violent shudder went through Sam's body and his fingers paused in Michael's hair before he took a deep breath and continued mumbling reassurances. Michael's disbelief only grew. Why was Sam trying to take care of him? Michael was the one who banished him, threw him from Heaven, left him to burn. He didn't come for him. Sam prayed to him, he begged for his help, and Michael abandoned him. Now, Sam was comforting him because the memory had scared Michael?

Michael still didn't know how or why he was here, why Sam let him be here, where Father was or what had happened. He didn't know what was real and what wasn't. His mind was Swiss cheese, full of holes he couldn't begin to fill but he knew now that the man before him really was Samael. This was his twin brother. His twin, who for the last few weeks had been taking care of Michael, loving him, keeping him above water. Michael needed him and Sam was there.

Michael gave his brother another once over. He was shaking and his skin was pale. His eyes had a faraway glassy quality that made it clear his mind was elsewhere. Though his Terror had abated, the thrum of his Fear still permeated the air and Michael could sense the Fear of falling, of burning, of becoming a monster, of being alone.

Michael reached out and gently grabbed Sam's hand, pulling it away from his hair. Sam looked at him both curiously and anxiously. Michael stared back uncertainly, trying to decide what he should do next. It had been so long since he offered comfort instead of judgement or reproach. He didn't know how to do it, but then he thought of all Sam had done for him and it became clear.

He slowly pulled Sam towards him, giving him the option to back away if he wanted to. When he made no move to do so, Michael drew him into a loose embrace, still unsure if he was doing the right thing. He briefly thought of unfurling his wings to envelope Sam the way they used to before remembering that was impossible, so this would have to do. Sam was tense in his arms, though Michael couldn't say if it was from shock or anxiety. Either way, after a moment, Sam let out a tremulous breath and pressed his face into Michael's shoulder. Michael, in return, held him a little tighter and began rubbing circles into his back the way Sam had done for him when the world had gotten to be just a bit too much.

"It's alright. I'm here," he reassured, just as Sam had done for him countless times over the last few weeks.

Sam let out a choked laugh in response, but his chuckles quickly devolved into sobs. Michael wondered if he said something wrong. Was he so out of practice?

He made to pull away, but Sam's arms wrapped around him tightly, making sure the embrace persisted. Michael pulled him closer and murmured reassurances as Sam cried into his shoulder. Before long, he felt tears stinging his own eyes and silently rolling down his cheeks. A shudder ran through him as he rested his head on top of Sam's and didn't fight the swell of emotion ravishing him. It was just him and his twin here, as insane as that was. Sam was actually here. They were together and Sam wasn't turning him away, he hadn't cursed him and sent him away. He took him back. Michael didn't know how or why, and he didn't know how long this would last, but all that hardly mattered right now. Sam needed him and he needed Sam and for now, that was enough.