#sonofchuck

٩(̾●̮̮̃̾•̃̾)۶ : Do you like sugar/sweet things?

((Hells yeah I do! I live off of them. I have a major sweet tooth.))

(∩︵∩) : Last movie to make you cry?

I don’t know the last one exactly, but Les Mis made me cry at the end. Honestly, it’s hard to get me to cry at a movie unless there’s a scene that affects me personally.

(✿ ♥‿♥) : Cutest thing you’ve ever seen?

Uh…..uh…most baby animals that are furry and happy and bouncing and caught on camera. Or any good LGBT success story. (As in marriage/love stories/coming out and being accepted)

(✿◠‿◠) : Describe your personality in three word or less?

"Oh. Good afternoon, Adam. Here to see Michael?" the nurse at the nurses' station asked from her spot. 

Adam smiled sheepishly at her. He had been visiting everyday to the point all the nurses knew him. He couldn't say it was a bad thing though. The nurses were incredibly friendly because he was becoming a regular. 

"I'm going on my break in a few minutes. Would you like me to bring back a cup of coffee for you, Adam?" the nurse, Nancy her name tag read, asked with a pleasant smile. 

He shook his head. "It's okay. I brought myself a thermos of coffee. But thanks for the offer," he answered back with a tired smile of his own. 

As he entered Michael's private room, he made sure to leave the door ajar. Settling himself in, Adam pulled his textbook from his Advanced Biology class.

First things first. 

St. Michael's Prayer in Latin. He had finally been able to memorize the prayer to the point he didn't need his printed out prayer sheet anymore. So, he quickly said the prayer in Latin before he made himself comfortable.

"Bet it's getting boring in here, isn't it, Michael?" Adam chuckled under his breath, but his laugh lacked any real humor behind it. 

"A couple of my professors are worried about me. They keep pushing me to see campus Counseling Services, but I don't want to. The moment I tell them about the Cage, they're going to think I'm nuts. I don't want to end up locked up in a psychiatric ward, Michael. Who's going to take care of you when you wake up?" he asked as he looked down at his Biology textbook. 

Michael was supposed to be an Archangel.

Weren't Archangels supposed to be strong? Powerful? Invincible?

Adam shifted uncomfortably in the hard plastic chair the nurse had left out for him during his visits. He'd come by everyday after his classes just to be with Michael. 

He needed to. 

It was no longer obligation. 

He wanted Michael to wake up. He wanted his Archangel to wake up.

He reached into his bag and pulled out a heavily folded piece of paper. The first day he had been to visit Michael, Adam had threatened his unconscious form with the reciting of the prayer said to Michael. He also promised to butcher the prayer. 

Unfolding the paper, he looked down at the Latin prayer. He didn't see how it would actually work, but he had vaguely remembered praying to an Angel gave them strength or something like that. 

"Sancte Michael Archangele... defende nos in proelio..." 

Adam continued to recite the prayer in slightly broken and mispronounced Latin as he sat there by Michael's side. 

".... Amen."

Taking hold of Michael's hand, he gave a light squeeze to show he was there. "Hope my Latin wasn't too bad."

Swallowing, he withdrew his hand back to his lap. 

"You're going to wake up, Michael. Prove the doctors wrong. You're supposed to be some powerful Archangel. You're supposed to strike fear and awe into humans. You can't do that like this." Adam's fingers dug into his thighs as he held back tears. 

"You know how fucking hard it is keeping myself sane without you around? I could hardly care about you being an Archangel with daddy issues. The nightmares are worse than before. I've barely been getting sleep. Hell, I've slipped up in class a couple of times. You know what it's like having your professors try to recommend you to Counseling Services on campus?" Adam asked as he glared at Michael's motionless figure. 

Too long, Michael had been out on the streets of Earth. Too. Long. 

He was just about out of money, running on barely fifty dollars. Now, his vessel had contained a decent amount of money, which he was grateful for, among other things, but... it wasn't enough. He'd been... managing. Sort of. He'd managed renting out a motel room for the past week, had managed to purchase a change of clothes for himself, had managed purchasing food. He'd tolerated the negative aspects of being human- the nightmares, the loneliness, etc. 

It had been two weeks since his loss of Grace, and one day since he'd lost his motel room. 

Sitting at a park bench, he exhaled slowly, feeling a spark of frustration for the millionth time that day. How could any of this even be happening? Why should any of this be an issue? He was an archangel, dammit! A.. a prince! What was he doing here? 

If he ever got his hands on Metatron, he'd... he'd land himself in Hell so fast, he wouldn't have time to regret doing it all. 

For hurting him, hurting his siblings, for harming Heaven's overall well being. He was clearly going against Father's orders, Father's plans, he was causing demise to every bit of sanity any of them had left. 

And there was nothing Michael could do about it- for all he was now was a homeless human, lacking his resources, lacking help, lacking... well, pretty much everything. 

He couldn't find his siblings. He couldn't find assistance .The field he'd landed in had been bare, angel-wise, and so he was alone here, with only humans, none of which believed anything he'd say regarding his issue. 

Tipping his head back, Michael gazed at the sky. Such a thing was becoming a hobby, he'd admit. He'd think, would imagine the chaos of Heaven and the souls residing there, of the orders piling up, of things not getting finished quick enough. People wouldn't be finding their love, seeing as the cupids had fallen, and humans would lack their guardian angels, which meant only negativity for them, and-... 

He stopped as a certain being caught his eye. One clad in bright red stripes- hard not to notice in a park of normality. Tipping his head to the side, he narrowed his eyes, wondering why this boy looked so familiar. And once it dawned on him, his eyes widened, and he stood. 

Michael Milton did not belong here.

He was sure of it. Positive. There was no doubt in his mind that of all places, a mental sanatorium was not the place for him.

People of higher power and with higher opinions claimed otherwise, and at the age of twenty-three, Michael had been diagnosed with religious psychosis.

Now, at the age of twenty-five, Michael could be found in a mental institution just a state over from his original one, harboring symptoms which had worsened over the years rather than healed- hallucinations, strong beliefs that he was of other, more heavenly worlds.

Sure, he saw things. But Michael didn't believe this had to do with insanity. No, this was because of who he truly was, an angel- the eldest angel, the strongest archangel- He was Michael, Angel Prince of Israel, Ruler of the Fourth Level of Heaven. The beings he saw were not hallucinations, they were angels. Angels which spoke to him, kept him company. No mortal beings could see them besides him, as he was one of them.

Or... so he believed. The frail mind was easily deterred. Easily swayed.

He sat in the wreck room now, seated back at the table he'd long since dragged out into the corner. He sat at it, and Lucifer- a hallucination, though he didn't see him as such- sat across from him, chatting away at how idiotic the remaining population of the room were.

'And that one there, he's nothing but a freak. Sorta like you, Mikey,' Lucifer grinned, quirking an eyebrow as he looked to Michael. The man rolled his eyes, staring intently at Lucifer, though he grudgingly averted his gaze to where the man implied.

"Good evening."