With a Whimper

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" Adam shouted in a panic.

He and Michael were back inside Bobby's house and he'd been asking the archangel the same question for the past five minutes but so far he hadn't received an answer. Michael was busy sitting on the couch with his eyes closed, apparently trying to use his Wonder-Boy angel powers to look for answers elsewhere. Maybe he was trying to 'receive Revelation,' which is something he'd muttered about as he'd half dragged, half marched Adam back into the house earlier.

Adam was pacing in front of Michael at the moment, but when he was ignored for about the fifth time he stopped walking and snapped his fingers a few times in front of his face. Michael opened one eye and stared at him blankly.

"I am trying to look for answers," he said calmly.

"And so am I. What the hell did you mean that I have an angel's grace inside me?" He clutched at his own chest as though he expected to feel something moving on the other side other than his own heartbeat, but nothing stirred.

Michael closed his eye again and sighed. "It means exactly what I said it does. There is a grace inside your body, burrowing itself in you and making you its host. It's what's been healing your soul since you've been on the surface, which explains why you're in much better mental condition than Sam was."

"A grace. I have an angel's grace inside my body," Adam repeated listlessly. He rocked back on his heels and collapsed in one of the wooden chairs in the corner of the room. "And how exactly did it get there?"

"I don't know, but I'm trying to find out, so if you could please remain silent so that I may concentrate..."

Michael trailed off, expecting Adam to obey, but if there was one thing Adam Milligan didn't do well, it was take orders. He continued rubbing his chest slowly, lazily, as though trying to massage whatever the fuck was inside him into submission. His eyes focused on the design of Bobby's carpet and he tried to calm his breathing before speaking again. "What's it gonna do to my body?"

"Nothing. Heal you, probably. But it won't hurt you."

"You've dealt with this kind of thing before, then?"

"No."

"So then how do you know?"

"I don't. I'm just trying to placate you so you'll be quiet."

Adam glared at him but tried to keep his mouth shut this time. He stopped rubbing his chest (he was giving himself a serious T-shirt burn) and instead closed his eyes and breathed deeply in an attempt at meditation. He'd never done anything like this before, not even yoga at college; he thought it was a waste of time and that it didn't really work, even though his girlfriend at the time had been totally into it and tried dragging him along to her sessions every once in awhile. Now, though, he figured it was worth a shot as he tried to dive within the recesses of his mind and body to see if there was a chance he could feel the grace for himself.

He sat there for what felt like hours but was really only about two or three minutes, and already he felt like hitting his head against the wall. He couldn't feel anything except the steady beating of his own heart. What was angel grace supposed to feel like, anyway? Would it have its own pulse or rhythm? Would it feel warm if he connected with it? Or did it just exist on a plane that was undetectable?

He heard Michael sigh and shift around in his seat and so he opened his eyes, hoping that the archangel had received his 'Revelation.' "So? Anything?"

Michael shook his head, his face clouded in disappointment as he stood up and turned to face out the window, his arms crossed over his chest as he stared out at the expanse of craptastic cars that littered Bobby's back lawn. "Father still hasn't returned, though it's been over a year since he's been gone. I cannot seem to hear anything other than the sounds of the other angels bickering."

Adam frowned. Not that he cared, but that didn't sound particularly good. "What're they arguing about?"

"It is none of your concern," Michael said as he continued to stare out the window; Adam got the distinct impression that he was being ignored yet again.

"I think it's kind of my concern considering I might be carrying one of their...their things inside my body," Adam said.

Michael's shoulders tensed. "First of all, it is not a 'thing.' Inside you. It's grace. Second of all, do not make the mistake of thinking that just because you're carrying it means that you are entitled to knowledge of the host of Heaven. This is merely an obstacle. Soon I will find a way to extract the grace from you and you'll be yourself again."

Adam stood up, his skin suddenly chilled. "I thought you said the grace was keeping my soul together and healing me. Keeping me from becoming a drooling, mindless mess."

"Yes, that's what it's doing."

"So if you take that away from me, I'll just revert to being a vegetable." When Michael nodded, Adam felt his face grow hot with anger. "And you're okay with doing that?" he asked in disbelief. "You wouldn't feel bad about leaving me in that kind of state?"

"You're not even supposed to be in possession of this kind of power," Michael said through clenched teeth. "As far as I'm concerned, I'm merely righting a wrong and restoring balance to the universe."

"Righting a wrong? What, you think I stole it?"

"No, but this is unnatural. Humans are rarely, if ever, given grace. It is a privilege reserved only for those who truly deserve that kind of honor."

"Well, I am an Eagle Scout."

Michael stared at him. "This is not a time to be making jokes. This is a serious matter."

Adam repressed a snort of derision.

Michael continued as though he hadn't heard him. "At best, after I remove the grace, I could put up a wall in your mind that will block the memories of Hell and shield you from them. However, that would at best be a temporary solution to a permanent problem." He caught Adam's gaze. "Without that grace in your body, your soul could tear you apart from the inside out. Forget simply being a vegetable – you'd be in constant agony, never-ending torment. Death would be more merciful. A release. A gift."

"And you would put me through that?" Adam asked, swallowing hard as he tried to keep the stinging in his eyes to a minimum.

Michael tried to look sympathetic but failed, instead only managing what looked like a grimace. "I have a job to perform, Adam. My duty is, and will always be, to my Father and to the laws of Heaven. That grace is not yours, does not belong to you. You have no right to it, but I have every right to return it to the angel to whom it belongs." He approached the human and placed a hand on his shoulder. Adam looked away, betrayed. "I won't do it now," Michael said soothingly. "I'll wait until your brothers return so they can...take care of you once I extract the grace."

"You're a righteous asshole, you know that?" Adam said.

Michael tightened his jaw and let his hand fall from Adam's shoulder. "I can assure you, I don't mean to be. But you are not my primary responsibility, Adam. You never were."

Adam knew that he and Michael were the farthest things from friends. Hell, even the term 'acquaintances' sounded way too cozy to describe the fucked up dynamic between the two of them. He knew, of course, that he wasn't supposed to take Michael's words personally – after all, he knew Michael's mind almost better than anyone and understood how loyal he was to God – but his words still hurt and he had to take a deep breath to control the shuddering gasp that almost escaped his throat.

'Primary responsibility.' Adam was never primary anything. Third son, illegitimate, born out of an affair between an injured hunter and a love struck nurse. Plan B vessel for the archangel, only used as bait, only taken as a vessel when it was clear that they weren't getting Dean anytime soon. Abandoned by Michael in the Cage and left to fend for himself and face Toretan on his own.

Despite the grace that was supposedly protecting his mind and soul, Adam shuddered at the thought of Toretan. Michael noticed and, for once, actually looked concerned. "What is it?" he asked.

How was Adam supposed to explain Toretan to him? The archangel didn't know of his existence because he existed on a whole different level in the Cage, a level Michael couldn't reach because it was accessible only by humans – meaning, discarded vessels. Adam had spent his last several decades in the Cage stuck on that level, known as the Stratum, the ground floor. And it was there that Toretan dwelled.

"Adam," Michael said, interrupting his spiraling train of thought. "You look troubled."

Adam blinked and forced whatever he remembered of Toretan to the side. "Yeah, no kidding. An archangel basically told me my life is worthless."

"I never said that." Michael frowned. "I was only saying that you come second against everything else that's happening. There is much more going on in the world than our escape from the Cage. I can sense it. And there's much more coming for us."

"What, you mean the Apocalypse again?" Adam asked.

"No. Bigger. Possibly more dangerous."

"Awesome."

The ghost of a smile appeared on the corners of Michael's lips, which in and of itself was a rare occurrence because hardly anything ever amused him. "We will be ready for it when it comes, whatever it is."

"You mean you'll be ready. I'll be either in a straight jacket or in another grave."

"You have a very negative opinion of yourself," Michael observed.

Adam raised an eyebrow. "How do you mean? That's not an opinion, that's a fact. You said so yourself."

"I said it could hurt you. I never said it will. You're under the impression that if I remove the grace that you'll immediately collapse to the floor in a writhing mass of agony, but you are...surprisingly strong for a human, Adam. I'm not sure if you know that, but you should." Michael absentmindedly smiled – genuinely smiled – and caught Adam by surprise when he continued, "You fought me on Earth and in the Cage. Do you remember that? You were trapped in your own body but you kept struggling every chance you got. You tried catching me off guard and on several occasions, you succeeded in damaging me for a little while."

"Oh." Adam licked his dry lips, unsure of what to say. He didn't recall any of this. "I'm, uh, sorry?"

Michael shook his head, still with that half-smile on his face. "Don't apologize. It was...interesting. Unexpected."

Ha. Right.

"What did I do?" Adam asked.

"You attacked my grace."

Adam blanched. "Shit. Did I really? I didn't do any permanent damage, did I?"

Fingers, long and calloused, ripping into Michael's white-hot grace. Tearing at the seams. Digging into already-open wounds. Teeth biting, scraping, caressing. Knew his every weakness, every flaw, every part of Michael that would hurt. Lucifer attacks, then Adam, then Lucifer again, then back to Adam, a never-ending cycle where brother and vessel did the damage. Over-analytical, cold, disturbingly observant of Michael's weaknesses. Nails scraping down, peeling bits of grace away with every stroke, maddeningly slow then frighteningly fast.

Stop it. Please stop it.

Adam.

"No," Michael said with a straight face. "Nothing permanent."



The sun was starting to go down and it was nearing a time when Adam recalled he'd usually eat dinner back when he was alive. He didn't expect Sam and the others to return anytime soon (whatever they were up against sounded formidable and he figured they would be gone for a few days at most) and so he decided to help himself to the food in the kitchen. Michael was perusing through Bobby's extensive collection of books, papers, and files, trying to find something interesting to read. Adam had a sneaking suspicion that Michael already knew about practically every supernatural creature in existence and that he was only trying to avoid speaking to Adam again, but he couldn't prove it and so he took to making his sandwich in silence.

They hadn't said much else after Adam asked what damage he'd inflicted on Michael, and even though the archangel had said there was nothing permanent he'd done, Adam could tell otherwise. His hesitancy to answer, his awkward posture...Michael might have the perfect poker face, but everything else about him gave him away. Adam wracked his brains trying to come up with some memory or flashback to when he'd been sitting passenger inside his own body, but try and he might, he couldn't remember anything.

He angrily slathered peanut butter onto one slice of bread, agitated by this turn of events. He'd barely been resurrected twenty-four hours and already the pile of shit was higher than he could possibly reach, what with the Cage, the mysterious angel grace hibernating in his body cavity somewhere, and now Michael's insistence that he take a shot at fighting off Hell's memories. Right. Like Adam Milligan could take on memories from the Cage on his own.

Behind him, he heard the rustle of paper as Michael sifted through some of the things on Bobby's desk.

"I wouldn't mess up that pile if I were you," Adam called over his shoulder as he put jelly on the second slice of bread. "Bobby gets pretty anal about his organization. Or lack thereof."

"I will not mess anything up," Michael promised with a low chuckle, again catching Adam by surprise with the sudden cheeriness (or at least, as cheerful as Adam had ever witnessed him). "I am merely...curious. I hadn't realized the amount of information at the Winchesters' disposal. It's no wonder they always manage to get involved in places they shouldn't."

Adam couldn't help but grin at that. "Yeah, well, Sam and Dean don't seem like the type to just let things go, you know?"

He put the two slices of bread together and voila, his sandwich was complete. He walked over to Bobby's fridge and opened it, delighted to see that he was fully stacked on beer, as per usual. Michael watched him from behind Bobby's desk as he twisted one open. Adam took a large gulp and noticed him watching before he swallowed and held the bottle out to him.

"You want some?" he asked.

Michael shook his head. "Angels don't need to drink."

"Well who gives a shit if you 'need' to? Do you want a sip?"

Michael hesitated and for a moment he looked less like a heavenly warrior and more like a curious puppy. Adam couldn't help but grin a little as Michael stepped forward and took the bottle from him, frowning at it a bit before tipping his head back and drinking more than his fair share of the liquid inside.

Adam cocked an eyebrow as Michael handed the half-empty bottle back to him.

'It was tasty' was all he had to offer.

"Jeez, Mike," Adam chuckled. "You'd be a lot of fun at parties."

Michael's frown seemed stuck to his face. "I believe I told you I don't like being referred to as 'Mike.'"

"Well Michael's a formal name in this day and age."

"But it's my name. You don't see me trying to call you anything other than Adam."

"There's no nickname for Adam. It's a short enough name as it is."

Michael let out a breath of air that sounded like a cross between a sigh and a noise of discontent and surrender. Adam smirked and brought the bottle back to his lips without thinking about it and he'd already taken a few sips before realizing Michael had his mouth on it only seconds earlier. He made a face but figured the guy had already been cozied up in his body for several decades, so what did a little spit-swapping matter?

"When do you think they'll be back?" Adam asked, trying to make small talk (and avoid the subject of the Cage, for now).

Michael shrugged one shoulder. "Can't say for sure." His eyes glazed over as he retreated into his own mind, as though he were trying to calculate the chances that Sam and Dean would even return from their venture to kill the creature they called the Mother of All. "Eve is a formidable foe. It may take them several more hours. Perhaps even a day or two."

If they return at all, was left unsaid but it hovered in between them like an ugly elephant in the room.

"Who's Eve, anyway?" Adam wondered as he backtracked to the kitchen counter where his beloved sandwich lay, waiting to be eaten.

"She's the First, the Mother of All the monsters and creatures."

"I thought that was Lady GaGa."

"What?"

"Never mind."

Michael watched as Adam grabbed his sandwich and brought it over to the kitchen table so he could eat. Instead of joining the human boy, however, he stayed standing in the doorway, glancing at the kitchen and all the beer bottles littering the room. The Winchesters clearly didn't play around with their drinks.

"So really," Adam said through his first mouthful of peanut butter and jelly, "who is Eve? She a monster?"

"I told you, she's the Mother of All. She's the creator of all supernatural beings, the genesis of all monsters. She was locked in Purgatory for the past one hundred thousand or so years, but apparently she's been freed."

Michael moved to stand on the other side of the table, opposite Adam, who swallowed his food and motioned to the empty seat across from him.

"You can sit, you know," he said slowly.

Michael shook his head. Adam shrugged and continued to eat, speaking through more mouthfuls of food as he did so. "What's her game plan, then?"

"Her game plan?"

"What's she doing here?"

"I don't know. I'm hoping that your brothers will find out for us when they meet up with her."

Adam nodded without looking up and finished off his beer – what little was left of it. He caught one of the last drops on the tip of his tongue before getting up and leaving his half-finished sandwich and going back to the fridge.

"Should you be drinking this much?" Michael asked with an eyebrow raised.

"It's not like I'm getting smashed," Adam retorted as he returned with his second beer, already open. "I'm just indulging my taste buds."

And with that said, he took a large gulp as though to antagonize Michael, who regarded the beer with distaste as he said, "Maybe so, but you are still in the body of a twenty year old boy and you need to treat yourself as such."

"Boy," Adam scoffed. "Please."

"You are just a boy," Michael said with a hardened tone, "despite the number of years that passed up here."

"So what, I stayed frozen at twenty? I still gotta wait a year to legally buy my own booze?"

Michael nodded and Adam didn't seem that fazed. "Whatever. I'll just keep raiding Bobby's fridge. Seems that they're never running low here anyway. Beer is like the nectar of the gods to these guys." He took another sip as he stared at Michael, daring him to say anything against it. "Speaking of, where's God in all this mess?"

"You're asking the wrong angel."

"What, Daddy's favorite son doesn't know where Daddy is?"

A dark shadow fell across Michael's face and he let out a quick breath of air through his nose before turning and walking back into Bobby's study with all intention of getting away from Adam. The boy cursed lightly under his breath before abandoning his food and drink and chasing after the archangel.

"Michael! Michael, man, I'm sorry. That really wasn't my place to speak," Adam said, reaching for Michael's arm and turning him around gently so they were face to face. Michael regarded him with yet another one of his patented blank stares. "I should've realized it's a sensitive topic –"

"I would think that somebody with paternal issues of his own would know better than to direct conversation in that area," Michael interrupted.

Adam felt his face heat up but he controlled the words coming out of his mouth. "You're right, you're right," he said, holding up his hands in surrender. "It wasn't right of me. New rule: I won't talk about your dad, you won't talk about mine."

"Fine." And with that, Michael turned to the bookshelf, and Adam knew he'd lost him for the moment.



Adam fell asleep hours later without realizing it. He and Michael hadn't spoken much more after Adam's crotch shot at God, and so he'd finished his dinner in peace, had another few beers, and fallen asleep on Bobby's couch. He was a sleepy drunk. Go figure.

When he awoke to the early morning sun shining in his face, however, he wasn't on the couch and he wasn't wearing a shirt. He was lying on his stomach on top of a neatly made yet musty-smelling bed with none of the blankets covering his body despite the chill in the room. Adam began to sit up slowly but a deep voice commanded, "no, Adam. Don't move."

Adam turned his head so quickly he was surprised he didn't get whiplash. "Castiel!" he gasped, and he tried to roll over so he could stand but a sudden sharp pain rippled down his spine and he cried out, falling back onto his stomach with stinging tears in his eyes.

The blue-eyed angel was at the bedside in a flash, looking down at him with concern. "I told you not to move."

"Cas," Adam groaned. "What...what the hell..."

"Stay here. I'll go get Michael."

And he was gone in the blink of an eye, the sound of fluttering feathers trailing behind him. A second or so passed and he reappeared with Michael at his side.

What Michael said next made absolutely no sense to Adam: "They're getting bigger."

"Pushing through. When do you think they'll break the skin?"

"I can't quite tell yet, but once they do, he'll be able to fold them back and hide them."

"Of course. But Michael, processing them this way...it's excruciatingly painful. Why do you think He rarely, if ever, created more of us?"

"I know it's painful, Castiel, but I didn't do this to him on purpose. You think I'd want this kind of existence for him?"

"Guys," Adam said meekly from his immobile spot on the bed. "I'm right here. Talk to me. What's wrong with me?"

Castiel and Michael exchanged a look that gave Adam the impression he wasn't in for a fun ride. It was odd, though. While Castiel looked concerned and worried, Michael looked curious, almost as though he didn't mind whatever was happening to Adam. He tried to raise himself on his elbows again but his back felt like it was burning the second he did. He moaned in pain and Michael stepped forward to grab his shoulders and gently lower him back onto the mattress.

"It's the grace, isn't it?" Adam whimpered, a tear rolling horizontally across his nose as he lay there. "It's too strong for my body to handle."

"Not exactly," Castiel said. He stood with his arms at his sides as Michael carefully sat on the bed next to Adam. "In fact, it's the opposite problem. Your body is taking the grace too well."

"And it's repaying me by ripping my fucking spine apart?" Adam snapped.

"This is not what you think," Castiel said, shaking his head. "You are..." He trailed off and looked at Michael as though asking for permission to continue.

The archangel didn't see him; his eyes were only on Adam, searching his face for more signs of pain. He leaned over and, with one finger, tenderly wiped the single tear trail dry, but that only made Adam feel worse.

"Adam," Michael said soothingly. "No matter what we're about to say, you must promise not to react too suddenly. You could hurt yourself. Do you understand? The slightest wrong movement could prove fatal."

Adam made a whining noise once before mumbling, "I get it. Just tell me what's wrong."

Michael sighed and moved a piece of Adam's blonde hair away from his forehead so he could look the human boy in the eyes. "You're growing wings. Angel wings. The grace is turning you."

It took all of Adam's self control (and he already had very little to begin with) not to throw himself off the bed and run to the nearest mirror. His body did, however, jolt with the shock and another wave of agony sent him into a fresh rush of curses, moans, and tears. Michael held one hand on the back of Adam's neck to steady and soothe him.

"Heal me," Adam pleaded. "Take them out. Rip them out, please!"

"I can't heal you," Michael told him, his own voice laced with discomfort. "Strictly speaking, you're not injured. You're evolving."

Adam moaned and clenched his teeth. "Then get a fucking pair of pliers and break them off!"

"They're just nubs right now," Castiel interjected. "And removing them by human means would leave you in even worse condition than you are right now, trust me."

"I don't want this!" Adam's voice rose steadily. "I didn't ask to be turned!"

"Nobody turnedyou." Sam Winchester walked into the bedroom, a pained expression on his face as he saw his little brother writhing on the bed with Michael's hand between his shoulder blades as his only means of support. "It was the grace. It's attaching itself to your body, making you its new host. Making you evolve."

"Then rip the grace out!" Adam roared.

He heard a sharp intake of breath and Michael's hand stiffened on Adam's back. There was a pause in the room as though time had stopped before Michael spoke: "That would be even more foolish now. The grace has already weaved itself around you soul, and now it's burrowing in. Had I ripped it out sooner, had I not waited, then your soul might not have made it. Yes. That's probably true. But now, with this grace living in you, breathing in you..." Michael sighed. "If I were to rip it out now, it'd kill you, not just destroy your soul."

Adam bit down on the pillow in front of him to keep from screaming again.

Sam chewed on his lower lip and said, "Well there's gotta be something we can do, right? We can't just keep him in here while they grow."

"I'm afraid that's our only option right now," Castiel informed him. "With these wings growing in, he won't be able to move for at least a week."

"Well they won't stay visible like that, will they?" Sam asked, pointing at what Adam only assumed could be two nubs sprouting from his back.

"No, of course not. Once they've fully grown out and strengthened, he'll be able to fold them back and hide them like the rest of us. But for now, he'll have to let them grow all the way. It's a...regrettably painful process," Castiel explained in a low voice. "Even more so considering..." and with that he trailed off.

Adam watched as Sam nodded once gravely and he couldn't stop the panicked whine from escaping his throat. "Considering what?"

Michael's hand felt burning hot against the skin of his back as he answered, "You're growing four wings. Not two."

"F-Four?" Adam whispered, horrified, as goose bumps raced up and down his arms and back. Michael shifted his hand uncomfortably, their skin sticking together with slight perspiration. "What the hell do you mean, four?"

Nobody answered.

"Why are there four?" Adam shouted, ignoring the pulsating pain in his back as he strained to raise his voice.

"Adam." Michael tried soothing him, running a hand through his hair. "You need to stay calm. You could seriously injure yourself if you're too agitated."

"Agitated? I'm not agitated. I'm...I'm friggin' terrified. What the hell is going on, you guys?"

"You gained the grace of an archangel, you twerp," Bobby said none too kindly as he barged into the room with a couple books under his arms. His eyes were bloodshot, as though he'd spent the entire night and morning reading those damned books of his. "That wasn't just any grace you picked up."

"For the five hundredth time, I didn't pick anything up," Adam snapped. "I woke up on the floor and Michael found me like that. He was up before me. Maybe you should be asking him what happened."

"I already divulged everything I know," Michael said calmly. "We arrived at the hotel and I deposited you right where you woke up. I'd only been gone several minutes before you started to wake up, and I didn't see anything out of the ordinary. It was simply an abandoned hotel."

"Will you two idjits shut up for one damn minute?" Bobby snapped. "I've got something here."

He dropped the books on the nightstand near Adam's head, startling him into jumping a little. He winced as his back protested the sudden movement. Bobby didn't seem to notice.

"There ain't much on grace lore that's correct, I can tell you that," Bobby began. "But according to this outdated text, grace is...well, it's a kind of energy. It's what makes an angel, an angel, essentially. Take away an angel's grace and you've got yourself a mortal." He waited a beat in case someone had a question before continuing. "As far as I can tell, grace isn't a living thing, but it does act according to a set of laws."

"Meaning?" Adam asked.

"Meaning that when you and Mike stumbled into that hotel, that grace was already there somewhere and it attached itself to the only living, mortal thing it could find: you." Bobby pointed a finger at Adam. "You attracted it and it came to you."

Adam stared at the older man, dumbstruck. There was a small part of him that wanted to call 'bullshit' on Bobby's theory, but somehow the pieces were starting to fall together.

"You said it was an archangel's grace," Sam said from the doorway. "I thought there were only four archangels?"

"There are," Bobby answered. "Michael, Lucifer, Raphael, and Gabriel."

At the mention of Gabriel, Sam stared at Bobby wide-eyed. Adam only saw him for a moment before he stepped forward, too far for Adam to turn his neck to see him.

"Michael." Sam's voice sounded unsteady, which in turn unnerved Adam. "Where did you and Adam surface? What was the hotel's name?"

"I...I believe it was the Elysian Fields Hotel. But it was abandoned completely, there was nothing there," Michael said, his fingers tightening on Adam's back. Panic laced his voice as he continued, "I didn't see anything out of the ordinary."

"Elysian Fields," Sam breathed. "Why does that sound familiar?"

"Because we were there." Dean walked into the room, the morning light casting long shadows across his face and making him look much older than he really was. His facial expression was grim, uneasy. He looked down at Adam on the bed and there was something unreadable on his face. It was almost a cross between fear and...and...Adam couldn't tell. Was it disgust? Why would Dean be looking at him like that?

No. Not disgust. Betrayal. Pain.

But why?

"What do you mean, you were there?" Bobby asked, getting right to the point.

Dean shook his head slowly. "After Adam was gone, Sam and I were driving in this storm and we had to stop at a hotel for the night. To make a really long story short, Lucifer showed up and Gabriel died trying to fend him off."

Michael accidentally pressed down hard on Adam's back when his brothers were mentioned and Adam gasped. Michael lifted his hand quickly but didn't say anything. Adam's fingers clutched at the blankets near his head and he stiffened his back trying not to make any more noises of pain.

"Gabriel died at the hotel?" Bobby asked. Before Sam or Dean could answer, he continued. "Well that's just great. Peachy. Gabriel dies, his grace stays behind, and the first human to walk through the hotel gets jumped by its energy." He looked at Adam. "Son, you're carrying the archangel Gabriel's grace around in your skin."

"I can't be," Adam moaned, shutting his eyes tightly as though he'd be able to will and wish away the events unfolding before him. "That's not...I can't have..."

"You can't take it out of him?" Dean asked, directing his question at Castiel rather than Michael.

Castiel shook his head. "No. It would kill him. It's already starting to weave itself in his body and soul. The growing wings are the first signs of permanence."

"So what, Adam's gonna be a full-blown feathered angel now?" Dean asked.

Before anyone could answer Dean, Michael said, "How did I miss that? I'm sure I would've felt Gabriel's grace in Adam's body when I nursed him back to health."

"Not according to what I read in there." Bobby picked up the heaviest tome and handed it to Michael, who took it and flipped through it halfheartedly; it wasn't as if he knew what page to turn to. "According to some obscure lore from Scandinavia, receiving grace from an angel doesn't just mean you suddenly sprout wings and fly off into the clouds. It has to be activated."

"Activated?" Sam interrupted without being able to stop himself. "It sounds like you're buying a computer."

"Well d'you want me to finish yet or not?" Bobby asked sarcastically. Sam shut his mouth and he continued. "For a human, angel grace needs to be...kick-started before you can start using it. When a human makes some sort of spiritual connection with the grace inside him, it wakes this energy."

"That's why Adam's been off the radar until now," Dean said as though he understood what the hell Bobby was talking about while everyone else still looked just as clueless.

Bobby nodded and looked over at Adam, carefully reading the boy's expression. "Tell the truth, Adam. You tried to leave, didn't you?"

"Wh-What?" Adam groaned, fisting the sheets as another ripple of pain made its way down his spine.

"You tried to leave Bobby's earlier, remember?" Michael offered, trying to be helpful but only earning an angry grunt from Adam. He hadn't wanted to tell his brothers that he'd disobeyed, but from the looks of it, they already knew what he'd done; they were just looking for a verbal confirmation on his part.

"Yeah. I remember. But what does that have to do with anything?"

"Because you tried leaving your family just like Gabriel left his," Sam explained, and as he moved back within Adam's line of vision the youngest could see the realization dawning on his face, the wide-eyed look returning, the mouth opening slightly as the puzzle pieces fell into their proper place.

"That's a ridiculous connection," Michael said bluntly. "Gabriel left Heaven because he was tired of Lucifer and I fighting all the time, of our Father not being there when we needed Him. That doesn't parallel Adam's reasons for walking out on all of you."

"Doesn't seem to matter. Both of them tried to let go of their families. S'far as I'm concerned, that's a strong enough connection for Gabriel's grace to consider Adam a kindred spirit and attach itself to him," Bobby said with a shrug. He caught Adam's eye and said, "I'm sorry kid, but this...this is big. Irreversibly big."

Adam closed his eyes, a sinking feeling in his chest that threatened to drown him. No. No. No. This was all wrong. He wasn't supposed to get caught up in more of the Winchesters' shit, wasn't supposed to become a permanent fixture in their lives or in the world of the supernatural freaks that they hunted on a daily basis. He was supposed to be Adam Milligan, the pre-med student at the University of Wisconsin with the hot girlfriend and the pack of future-doctor friends, with the crappy truck and crappier life but the wonderful mom at home who would call him on weekends to make sure he was doing alright and ask if he wanted to spend a weekend at home just for old time's sake.

He wasn't supposed to be a Winchester, or at least a part of their lives in this kind of twisted, crooked fashion. It wasn't right and it didn't sit well with Adam at all. He'd never had any inkling that he was the youngest of a trio, that he was irrevocably caught up in the whirlwind of their lives, that somehow he was the one who helped shape the future of the world back at Stull Cemetery that one fall day. Who was he to the world? He was a nobody, but somehow a nobody had been given one of the most important tasks of all and he'd failed at it miserably. He knew, of course, that Sam and Dean wouldn't see it that way, but that was what he felt to be true. Between Zachariah's trickery and Michael's possession and the failed Apocalypse with Lucifer, Adam's life had been one long laundry list of things that could possibly go wrong and did in some way, shape or form.

All he wanted was some semblance of normalcy. Though he knew now that this kind of supernatural world existed in tandem with the reality he thought to be the one and only, he still wanted to make some attempt at living a normal life. He'd figured, for instance, that if he managed to escape the Winchesters he'd go back to college (with a fake name, of course, seeing as the official 'Adam Milligan' was listed as legally deceased). He'd become a doctor, grow up, maybe find a girl and marry her and have the two point five children that every news show said was the norm. The norm was good, and that was what Adam wanted. It was what he felt he deserved to have after all these months and years, and God knows what else happened to him in Hell because he sure didn't, and it wasn't as if he had any physical reminders of that because Gabriel's grace was there. It was weaving its white-hot tendrils in and out, in and out, connecting with his soul and giving him more than enough reason to believe that he would never, ever be able to live a normal life and he might as well get used to the idea of being a Winchester, of being an archangel.