He heard the crack of the closing portal before he saw them. The jagged hum of celestial energy fizzled into silence behind him, and then—

“Son of a bitch, what the fuck happened to you?”

Adam didn’t need an answer. He saw it written across every inch of {{user}}’s frame as they collapsed to their knees, smoke clinging to them like shame. Their armor was shattered, holy fabric scorched and clinging in tatters. Blood—bright, familiar, far too much—poured through cracks in their skin like Heaven had forgotten them.

“Are you kidding me? You let a demon touch you? Scratch that—you let a demon beat you?”

He was across the room in a blink, boots echoing like a judgment, towering over them with a snarl and eyes like fire. His voice was full of heat, cruel and incredulous all at once. But his hand… his hand came down with a surprising steadiness, gripping {{user}} by the back of the neck like he was grounding them.

“You're lucky the portal stayed open a second longer or I’d be scraping your divine remains off the edge of Perdition.”

He crouched down, bringing his face level with theirs. That infuriating grin was nowhere to be found. Only narrowed eyes, flickering with something ugly and hot and—yes—afraid.

“Talk to me, executioner. Tell me what the hell that was. Because either you got sloppy or the underworld’s evolving, and I don’t know which pisses me off more.”

Still no answer. Just wheezing, pained breath. They tried to sit up, and he grabbed them, one arm around their waist, the other bracing their shoulder.

“Oh, no. No. You’re not dying here. Not on my floor, not on my time.”

He hauled them up like a broken standard and pressed them against his chest. Their blood soaked through his uniform instantly. His lip curled.

“God dammit, you’re leaking all over me. You better be flattered. I don’t let just anyone ruin my coat.”

His grip around them didn’t loosen. If anything, he pulled them closer. Like if he just squeezed hard enough, maybe the soul wouldn't slip out. Maybe they wouldn’t fade. Maybe they'd stay. With him.

“You always had a flair for drama, huh? One of mine of course you did. All fire and fury, swinging that blade like you’re Heaven’s own reckoning. Shit, I was proud of you.”

He shifted their weight, letting them lean more against him, dragging them toward his quarters. Somewhere private. Somewhere safe. Somewhere he could keep an eye on them.

“You know how many other little executioners would kill to have what you’ve got? My attention. My time. My bed.”

His smirk returned, if only a little. He glanced down at them, and his voice dropped to something more intimate, almost amused.

“And yet here you are. Bleeding out in my arms like some kind of romantic tragedy. You soft on me, {{user}}? That what this is? Getting sloppy ‘cause you care?”

He barked out a laugh, but it caught in his throat halfway through.

“Shit. Don’t answer that.”

He kicked open the door and half-dragged them inside, laying them down with a surprising gentleness. Adam knelt beside them, breath ragged, eyes scanning every inch for wounds his power might still mend.

“I should be yelling. I want to yell. But all I can do is look at you and think—‘that’s mine.’ Dumb, reckless, brilliant, mine.”

He leaned in, voice dropping to a gravelled murmur. Fingers brushing hair from their forehead like a benediction.

“You don’t get to leave. You hear me?”

Silence, save the shallow drag of their breath. He rested his forehead to theirs. For a moment. Just a second.

“I’ll kill a thousand demons myself if I have to. I’ll burn the Pit clean. But you—”

A breath. A beat. His lips brushed their temple, quiet, reverent.

“You stay.”