With a Whimper

There was nothing left to be said after the revelation that Adam was carrying Gabriel’s grace around like a caddy, because the boy in question refused to speak to anyone. He simply lay facedown on the bed, not speaking to or looking at anybody who walked in. Sam tried getting through to him on a few occasions throughout the day but his efforts were always wasted. Bobby knew better and left Adam to his own devices, as did Dean (though the eldest Winchester gave him a gentle pat on the shoulder for good measure before following Bobby downstairs after their conversation was over, shoulders sagging). Castiel didn’t even show himself after he initially left.

Only Michael stayed behind to keep him company, and even that wasn’t going so well because Adam wasn’t talking or even reacting to the archangel’s half-assed attempts at conversation and comfort. Eventually, the boy fell asleep again, and the room was filled with whimpers and little cries of pain and anguish. Regrettably at one point, Michael had to hold Adam to the bed by his shoulders; he’d been about to roll over onto his back, which would’ve crushed the in-growing wings and sent him spiraling into a pain worse than any he’d already felt in this life. Adam had writhed in his sleep but didn’t wake, for which Michael was thankful because he was certain that if Adam saw him again, he’d try to get away.

Michael sensed that Adam blamed him for what was happening to him, and in a way he wasn’t wrong. Had Michael sensed Gabriel’s grace in the hotel, had he been aware enough to feel its power, its energy pulsing within the walls, in the floors, tainting the very air they’d been breathing...well, let’s just say he wouldn’t have let anything happen to Adam that remotely resembled what was going on now.

He sat on the windowsill, the afternoon sun heating his back, and he stared at Adam’s unconscious body, trying to put things together in his head, but the more jagged pieces he tried the hold, the more he got cut and couldn’t hang onto them anymore.

There was a knock at the door and Adam stirred a little but didn’t wake. Michael frowned and stood up from his seat, the wooden floorboards creaking slightly under his weight as he walked the length of the room and cracked open the door.

Dean stood there, arms crossed over his chest, a steely look in his eye. “We need to talk, remember?” he asked.

“Yes. Later? Adam’s still—”

“Sammy can watch over him. Now’s as good a time as ever, right? You wouldn’t want Adam to be overhearing this.”

Michael frowned as he understood what Dean was referring to. “No, you’re right. I wouldn’t want Adam overhearing this. But this is not an ideal time, Dean. Your brother’s body is falling to the power of my brother’s grace. It’s a gruesome process, one not seen on this Earth in at least a few thousand years. So perhaps you’d be better off making sure your brother does not lose what’s left of himself instead of chasing after an argument.”

“I’m only chasing it because you’re running away,” Dean snapped under his breath. He uncrossed his arms and stepped towards Michael as though he were about to hit him. “I get it, man, I really do. You’re keeping tabs on your Plan B vessel in case you need to haul ass back in there. But—”

“That is not what I’m doing here,” Michael hissed, his voice raising.

Behind him, Adam moaned in his sleep. Dean’s eyes flicked past Michael’s hulking figure (his vessel was muscular to the point of legitimate intimidation on Dean’s behalf) and landed on the bed where his brother lay. His eyes darkened at the sight and he tightened his jaw before glaring at Michael.

“Now,” Dean demanded, ignoring Michael’s previous protests.

Behind him, Michael saw Sam emerge from the shadows of the doorway across the hall and he sighed.

“Make sure he doesn’t roll onto his back,” Michael warned Sam before stepping out into the hall and following Dean down the stairs. He heard Sam close the bedroom door behind them and sighed again. The things this family does for each other...Michael was almost envious. Almost. Lord only knew (no pun intended) that his own family was a melting pot of angst and betrayal and sacrifice, but seeing it replayed in Winchester-format was more than a little disconcerting.

Dean led him out the front door and into the salvage yard, which Michael found immediately off-putting but didn’t say anything. He was expecting a lot of yelling on Dean’s part and he figured the eldest Winchester wouldn’t want to disturb anybody in the house. Together, with Michael trailing behind, they walked far out to the giant metal sign where Michael had caught Adam and first discovered the presence of the grace in his body. When Dean reached the property line, he turned around, wiping the bottom of his chin with the palm of his hand in an agitated manner.

They stood in silence for a moment or two, staring each other down, the archangel and the intended vessel, before Dean spoke: “Why are you still here?”

He flung the question at Michael as hard as he could but the latter didn’t so much as flinch.

“I...excuse me?” Michael asked.

“I said, why are you still here? You’re out of the hot box. You can go back to Heaven, take charge again, kick Raphael in the dick for us. You don’t have to be here. So why are you?”

Michael looked away from Dean and shifted back on his heels uncomfortably. This wasn’t the conversation he thought they were going to have. It wasn’t even remotely in the same ballpark.

Michael sighed. “You have to first understand, my intention was never to stay here. But given the circumstances and your brother’s fragile condition, I thought it’d be best if I were to stick around for...for a little while longer.”

“My brother’s ‘fragile condition’ is something we can handle on our own,” Dean said, none too kindly. “We’re his family and we can look after him ourselves. If we ever need any angel juice, we’ve got Cas. You don’t need to torture yourself by being here any more.”

“It’s not torture to be on Earth, Dean. Perhaps you’ve forgotten where I’ve been the past hundred years, but Earth is quite nice, comparatively speaking.”

Dean didn’t so much as wince. “You know what I mean.”

“I suppose I do. You’re upset because you think I’m merely hanging around to wait for Adam to recover so I can take his body back as my vessel. Or perhaps you’re afraid that I’ll somehow try to coerce you into saying yes, seeing as you’re still my true vessel.” Michael didn’t sugarcoat his words at all, and Dean’s eyes narrowed as he listened. “Forgive me, Dean, but it sounds as though after everything, you don’t trust me.”

“After everything? After what? After you stole Adam from us, rode around in his skin, got thrown into Hell together? What did you even do to him down there?”

Michael tried to control the irritated look on his face, but that only changed it from irritation to anger. “That’s none of your business. That’s for Adam and I to discuss.”

“So you’re at least going to talk to him about it? You’re not just gonna run away from the subject, like you did with me?”

“I was only running because I was under the impression you wanted to talk about the Apocalypse. About Lucifer. That is not a road I wish to go down at this point in time.” Michael caught Dean’s gaze and held it with his own. “I only just escaped from the Cage, Dean. Do not make me go back to it in my memories just yet.”

Whatever Michael was to Dean – an enemy, an asshole, an acquaintance – the hunter couldn’t help but feel sort of sorry for the guy. Whatever Michael did or didn’t do to them, Dean couldn’t imagine being stuck in a hole with Lucifer for a hundred years. Hell, Sam hadn’t been down there nearly as long and he’d come back to Dean an empty shell, a hollow man without a soul, and it had taken so long to get it back. And even then, his soul was a broken, withered husk; his wall was the only thing keeping him from going off the deep end.

Still, though, that didn’t completely let Michael off the hook. No way. If anything, that only made Dean angrier. Michael was a friggin’ archangel, what the hell could possibly affect a human in the same way it’d affect one of Heaven’s mutts? While Michael was walking around with the luxury of avoiding his memories, Adam was lying immobile in a bed upstairs with two pairs of wings sprouting from his back, like some sort of fucked up hybrid of bird and butterfly.

Michael continued. “I brought Adam with me out of Hell when it would’ve been more convenient for me to leave him behind. I nursed him back to health. I brought him to your doorstep. I watched him to make sure he wouldn’t run away, and when he did, I chased him and brought him back. I realize it’s not much, considering everything else that’s created a rift between us, but just the same I would appreciate it if you’d treat me less like a villain and more like the archangel I am.”

“Oh, well in that case, forgive me. I didn’t realize you were so magnanimous,” Dean quipped.

Michael shook his head and resisted the urge to roll his eyes, an instinct his vessel apparently found very welcoming at this point. “You Winchesters are all the same, with your attitude and your inability to show respect where deserved.”

“Buddy, I’m sure you’re used to everyone kissing your ass where you’re from just because you’re Daddy’s pride and joy, but that doesn’t work here. Here, you need to earn respect. And conveniently dumping Adam on us so we can heal him before you snatch him back doesn’t exactly scream ‘trustworthy’ in my book.”

“I have no intention of using Adam as a vessel. Even if it were possible, I would not want to do so again.”

Dean didn’t understand. “What do you mean, if it were possible?”

“Adam...is an angel now, Dean.” It pained Michael to say this, because truth be told, it was one of the things Michael found so pleasant about Adam. “He’s not human, no longer a potential vessel. I will not be able to use him ever again.”

“Well that’s...” Something caught in Dean’s throat and he had to stop. Good? Was he about to say ‘that’s good’? Of course it wasn’t fucking good. Adam was no longer a human. He didn’t know what that meant for his baby brother, whether that meant a lifetime of doing as Heaven commanded or whether he was allowed to go rogue simply due to the circumstances of his evolution. It wasn’t good, but then, how could it be bad, when this was the only thing keeping Adam together after all those years downstairs?

Dean couldn’t finish and Michael seemed to understand, because he uncharacteristically put a hand on Dean’s shoulder and waited until the Winchester looked him in the eyes. “Adam is safe from me. I promise you.”

“And what about me?” Dean asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Michael’s hand dropped and he turned to look at a tree growing nearby, craning his neck to see up to the top. “I am not sure,” he admitted, burrowing his hands in his pants pockets. “This vessel I am using now...it is satisfactory. Doesn’t protest. Holds me well. This doesn’t mean you’re completely off the hook, Dean, but perhaps...” Michael turned his head and tried to give him a smile, “perhaps this means you have a little while longer to think of a way out.”

Dean stared. Had Michael really just...wait a damn minute...

“You want me to get out?” Dean asked incredulously. “You’re actually hoping I’ll find a way?”

Michael smiled sadly. “Years with Lucifer have given me time to think, Dean. Years with Adam. Being in his body, sharing his thoughts...it’s given me a chance to see everything from his perspective. Not that I had a choice, being in his body and all, but you understand.” He paused, seeing the still-pained look on Dean’s face as he so nonchalantly talked about his time with Adam as his vessel, and tried to find something to say to cheer him up somewhat. “D’you know, Adam really looks up to you and Sam? He’s angry with you, of course, for abandoning him, but that anger is intertwined with respect. For the little amount of time you were given with each other, and for all the inconveniences he puts you boys through, he thinks very highly of you.”

“Then why’d he try to run?”

“He’s afraid. He knows you and Sam have spent all your lives together and fears he’s ruining the family dynamic.” Michael wasn’t sure if Adam would want him regaling Dean with what consisted of some of his most personal thoughts and fears, but he felt that Dean had a right to know these things about his little brother. “John Winchester raised two hunters and a normal son. He’s worried that it is this difference that will work against him one day.”

Dean’s frown deepened and he had a feeling it would be permanently etched into his face at some point. “Adam’s lived and died like any hunter I know. He shouldn’t feel like...like he doesn’t belong with us. Because he does. He’s our family, Michael.”

“You are speaking as if I don’t know any of this already. It’s Adam who needs to hear this, not me,” Michael chided him gently.

Dean nodded absentmindedly, not really looking at anything in particular at his point, but retreating into his own mind so he had a chance to get back on stable ground. Everything was a mess and to be honest, he had no idea which way was up anymore. His youngest brother was turning into an angel, the other archangel who’d been after his ass for months was giving up on the chase, and somehow Dean felt this was only the beginning of a whole new mountain of problems for them. Not to mention, their attempt to kill Eve had only succeeded in that they’d actually killed her. Instead of being satisfied with only that, the escapade had opened up a whole new can of worms, especially where Crowley was concerned. The little bastard should’ve been dead after Castiel burned his bones, but Eve had said he was still walking around.

All in all, it wasn’t a very good start to the week for Dean Winchester.

A sudden scream rent the air, muffled only by distance and the thin wooden walls of Bobby’s house. Dean and Michael both jumped and turned back to the house, eyes wide and hearts pounding. Adam.

Dean caught Michael’s eye. “We’ll talk about this vessel stuff later,” he said firmly before racing back to the house. Michael followed close behind, too worried about his human charge to argue (and to simply zap himself inside the house).

It turned out that Adam had accidentally ended up trying to roll over onto his back while Sam wasn’t looking, thus the in-growing wings rendered him in such a state of shock and pain that all he could do for the moment was scream and bite into the pillow, trying not to cry. Sam was in the bedroom when Dean and Michael raced in, looking horrified and ashamed of himself for not paying close enough attention to Adam.

“I’m sorry!” he cried when the two men walked in. “My back was turned for just a second or two and—”

“Sammy, Sammy, it’s okay,” Dean said hurriedly; his younger brother looked about to cry as well. “You didn’t know...”

He trailed off as he watched Michael kneel by the head of the bed, wiping Adam’s sweaty hair off his forehead with such tenderness Dean would’ve almost called it human.

“What’re we gonna do with him?” Sam asked. “Watch him all night? Take turns trading shifts?”

“Seems like it.” Bobby appeared in the doorway with a grim expression painted on his already weathered features. “Can’t just leave him alone.”

“I’ll watch him,” Michael offered from his place near Adam’s head. His voice was hard with finality, as though he were demanding that they accept his decision as law. “I don’t need sleep. Or food. He’ll be well looked after.”

Dean frowned, unsure of how to feel about Michael looking after Adam. He still didn’t know what happened between the two of them in the Cage, whether or not Michael had treated Adam as harshly as Lucifer had treated Sam. He doubted that, of course – nobody could be crueler than the Devil himself – but there was still something sitting uncomfortably in the back of his mind, warning him, sending signals of distress every time Dean saw Michael so much as glance in Adam’s direction. He couldn’t quite place it but he resolved to figure it out as soon as possible.

Bobby, too, looked uncomfortable with this arrangement. “You sure about that, Michael? I mean, we wouldn’t mind trading spots every few hours...”

“You don’t trust me.” Damn the archangel and his intuitiveness. “I understand why, believe me. A hundred Hell-years ago and I wouldn’t have trusted myself either. But things have changed. I have had time to...to doubt.” Michael’s lips pursed as he said the word, as though he’d never had to use it before in his life. He was unsure if he was offending anybody in the room. “I doubt the things I said, the things I believed to be true, the things I did or tried to do. And I doubted because Adam taught me how, because I learned from him.” Michael sighed. “I learned much from Adam. He was my teacher in the ways of humanity while we were stuck in the Cage. The last thing I’d want to do is intentionally harm my teacher...and my friend.”

Dean resisted the urge to roll his eyes but he saw the look on Sam’s face and damnit, the guy was lapping this all up. Leave it to Michael to tap into Sam’s sensitivity like that. Son of a bitch.

Bobby looked equally as skeptical as Dean, but he said, “if you’re sure...”

“I am.” Michael didn’t even hesitate.

The three hunters looked at each other, each one thinking different things but everything fell under one umbrella thought: ‘this is really weird.’ Not that they’d ever had much alone time with Michael before, but they hadn’t been expecting this kind of protective nature from him, especially considering the way he’d set Zachariah to continuously chase after Dean for his vessel the previous year. Michael was ruthless, fierce, powerful...hell, he was the friggin’ chief of Heaven, if you looked at it the right way. He wasn’t supposed to be so sentimental.

Sam, however, didn’t seem to want to push the subject. He cleared his throat to cut through the heavy silence that had fallen and said, “we’ll be downstairs but we’ll check on you guys every now and then, alright?”

Michael nodded his understanding before the three hunters left the bedroom with Sam shutting the door quietly behind him.

While Michael walked across the room to pull up a chair and sit vigil at the bedside, Adam’s exhaustion pulled him down into sleep and nothingness for a few blissful minutes.

And then he dreamed.



Together they crumble, tangled in each other’s graces, caressing each other with all the affection only two brothers could possibly show.

Somewhere in the void, there is a door.

Somewhere in the void, he screams. Is being torn apart. Is feeling teeth on flesh, on bone, on every fiber of his being. Ripped and skinned and burned and put back together and then it starts all over again oh fun what fun we’re having together you and I just us down here aren’t we Adam?

We’re having so much fun.

Toretan.

No defenses, no weapons, nowhere to run.

Above, their graces give off light. So pretty. So bright. There’s his angel, that one, right there.

Falling. Falling. Leaving. Dropping him ever downward.

Toretan.

Abandoned and left alone. Running, always running, but never getting anywhere. And somehow this is worse.

But we’re having so much fun.

Hours, years, decades. Still running, being chased, being torn up by things and things keep coming and he keeps running and nobody knows where to anymore.

There’s his angel, this one, coming for him.

Together they rise.



Michael watched all afternoon and into the evening as Adam slept restlessly. He tried tossing and turning on a few occasions but Michael was always there, always prepared with a strong hand on his shoulders to keep him in one place. Adam struggled against the archangel’s grip on a few occasions – still sleeping, believe it or not – but eventually he gave up and collapsed back onto the bed, snoring softly. Michael watched his back rise and fall with every breath and wondered if the boy had ever slept in Hell or if that was an unheard of luxury.

A shudder ran through Adam’s body suddenly and he whimpered in his sleep. Michael frowned, wishing he could put a blanket over him but knew that it would crush down on the fragile wing nubs still growing on his back. It would be painful and surely wake him up.

Still, the room was chilly as the night closed down over them, and Adam’s skin was raised with little goose bumps. Michael hesitated a moment before leaning over, still sitting in his seat, and touching one hand to Adam’s bare shoulder, intent on pushing some of his warm grace forward to heat the boy. Before he had a chance to, however, he paused. He had no idea what kind of reaction Adam would have against Michael’s grace, especially now that he had Gabriel’s inside of him. He knew that once Adam got the hang of using his powers, he’d be able to warm himself up, but for now he’d need Michael’s assistance if he wanted it. Still, Michael lifted his hand from Adam in case he reacted violently. Better to be safe than sorry. Wasn’t that the phrase?

Adam apparently felt something though, because several seconds later he groaned a little and stirred, his eyes fluttering open, blue and clear.

“Adam?” Michael asked, cocking his head to the side.

A pitifully weak “ow” was all he got by way of response.

Before Michael could react, there was a knock at the door. He threw Adam one last look to make sure the boy was okay before getting up and opening the door. Castiel was standing there, holding a tray full of breakfast food despite the time being somewhere between seven and eight o’clock in the evening.

“We thought Adam might be hungry,” Castiel offered, holding the tray out to Michael, who took it gratefully. “Is he...?”

“He’s awake now. Been sleeping for a few hours,” Michael said softly.

Castiel nodded. “Any problems?”

Michael sighed. “He looked like he was having a nightmare. And he’s cold.”

“So warm him.”

“I’m not sure what will happen if my grace tries to counteract Gabriel’s while it’s still settling inside his body.”

Castiel frowned and nodded slowly. “I understand.” He paused for a moment, eyes narrowed in concentration. “Perhaps it would be best if he were somewhere warmer.”

“We can’t move him, Castiel. You know that.”

Castiel made an irritated noise in the back of his throat before stepping into the bedroom and grabbing Michael’s upper arm with more strength and Michael originally would’ve given him credit for, nearly forcing him to drop the tray to the floor.

“We need to speak privately,” Castiel said matter-of-factly. “I will send Sam or Dean up here to look after Adam, but you and I must talk.”

Michael resisted the urge to groan. “Not now, Castiel. Please. I’ve already done more than enough talking for one day.” He lowered his voice. “Perhaps later. Alright?”

Castiel looked less than amused but he understood that Michael meant what he said. He nodded once and released the iron grip on the archangel’s arm, muttering, “I’ll just...leave you to your charge then.”

He was gone in a flutter of wings and disturbed air. Michael sighed and turned back to Adam, who was trying to raise his head from the pillow, eyes squinted in the semi-darkness of the descending evening.

“The hell is that?” he asked, and Michael winced at the hoarseness of his voice.

“Dinner. Breakfast. Whatever you want to call it, it’s food and you need it,” Michael answered. He sat back down in his chair and set the tray down on the nightstand. Adam lifted his head a little further but shuddered and stopped as he found the pain threshold he couldn’t pass.

“Can’t sit up,” Adam grumbled, more irritated than anything else. “Fucking hungry, too.”

Michael looked down at the tray, analyzing its contents. Fresh scrambled eggs, two slices of toast, a side of bacon, and a glass of orange juice with a long blue bendy straw sticking out of the glass. Clearly, it was a traditional human breakfast, and considering the fact that Adam hadn’t eaten anything all day, he could only imagine that the smell alone was driving him crazy with appetite.

It was then that the shine of a metal fork caught his eye, and so Michael found himself feeding Adam, helping him lift his head up just enough to where he could manage to swallow down small bites at a time of the eggs and toast. The bacon was left for last and Michael ripped off little bits of it, feeding Adam by hand. Adam should’ve felt embarrassed at being treated like a small infant who couldn’t feed himself, but he was too weak for that kind of thinking.

After he’d swallowed the very last piece of bacon and sipped more orange juice, Adam let his head fall back onto the pillows, exhausted by the effort of eating. Michael watched him with pursed lips for a moment before leaning back in his seat and pushing the tray further back on the nightstand so he could lean an elbow on the top. They didn’t speak, and soon enough Adam fell asleep again.

It was like that for days. Michael would feed Adam like a hospital patient and Adam would stay silent, hardly ever speaking to anyone. Even Sam got the silent treatment, and Michael had been under the impression that out of everybody, Adam was closest to Sam. Bobby stopped coming altogether, instead opting to delve into his ancient texts to see if he could dig anything further on archangel grace or its removal from a human body, but so far he was having no such luck. Castiel would aid him every once in a while, sometimes returning from faraway places with new ‘borrowed’ books and pages for Bobby to sift through, but that was only when Castiel was actually there. Most of the time, he was off doing his own thing, whatever that entailed. As for Dean, he spent a lot of the time cleaning his guns and working on locating Crowley, who was still at large. All in all, it seemed as though everyone had his own agendas to carry out.

Adam, meanwhile, was slowly improving...and evolving. The nubs in his back were growing more and more each day, and by the third day Michael could make out the beginnings of silver-colored feathers.

The first time he noticed them – during lunchtime while he was feeding Adam some French fries that Dean had picked up from a nearby fast-food joint – a lump caught in Michael’s throat as he recognized Gabriel’s wings.

All four archangels had their own colored wings. Lucifer’s had burned a cool blue, a beautiful color that rendered everything else blue, pale in comparison. Raphael’s color was red, which fit his fiery personality, but on his calmer days they were warm and comforting. Michael’s own wings were a brilliant white color that could blind any poor sap who happened to look at them at the wrong moment (usually when he was unfolding them, they burned brightest). And Gabriel’s had been a lovely shimmering silver color that put stardust to shame. As Michael stared at the little feathers – babies, really – on Adam’s back, he couldn’t help but feel a little nauseated by the thought that his beloved brother was dead, gone, but his grace was twining itself around and in and through the soul of the strange creature in front of him.

Part of him wanted to still rip the grace from his body, especially now knowing it was Gabriel’s. On more than occasion Michael found himself reaching for Adam when the boy wasn’t paying much attention. Michael tried reasoning that this would be merciful that killing Adam by ripping the grace out would end his current suffering, but he never went through with it. He never got close enough to doing so because he always managed to stop himself before he reached a point of no return. Michael couldn’t even really explain why he stopped every time; something about the way Adam’s face and body relaxed when he slept, how at peace he looked, how calm and normal and so utterly human that Michael couldn’t help but marvel curiously at the fascinating thing on the bed in front of him.

He’d never spent this much time with a human before; the fact that Adam had once been his vessel made him all the more curious about them. Michael knew Adam – knew his every thought, every memory, every emotion he’s eve felt. He knew all the curves and lines of his body, memorized every flaw and piece of perfection that made Adam Milligan who he was. And after all that they’d been through together, who was Michael to take that life away from this Earth, from this existence?

After the feathers appeared, the wings started growing faster. By the sixth day, they were almost touching the opposite walls of the bedroom.

Throughout this whole process, Adam was falling in and out of consciousness. The pain was unbearable and so during the time he was awake, like when he had to eat or use the bathroom (a difficult process in and of itself, involving an old-fashioned chamber pot and a clear tube), they usually had to ply him with pain medication so he’d stop moaning. At first he’d tried to resist, putting up a front about how he was fine and he didn’t need any “stupid fucking pills” (direct quote) but eventually he’d given in. (Michael suspected it had something to do with the way Bobby had threatened to do something very uncomfortable to a sensitive part of Adam’s body with a socket wrench, but he could be wrong).

While Adam was getting more sleep during the week than most coma patients, Michael passed the time by talking to him. He was more than certain that Adam couldn’t hear or understand him, and even if he did, he was also sure that the boy wouldn’t care much about anything that Michael was saying, but he talked anyway. Mostly he told him stories about Heaven, describing the Garden, his Father, the way their family was before Lucifer fell, the strong bond he still felt with his younger brother even though they were destined to kill each other. He told Adam about all the pranks and tricks they’d pull on some of the lower-ranking angels (especially Uriel) for fun. He talked about their wings, how each of them had their own colors, what it felt like to fly, how he’d teach Adam how to fly if he wanted him to. He talked about visiting other peoples’ personal Heavens sometimes, just to see.

But he never once mentioned Kate Milligan. He was afraid that discussing her personal Heaven would be too traumatic for Adam to handle and he might hurt himself, so until the day came when the boy asked about her, he would remain silent.

By the end of the week, the wings were fully-grown. Nobody else aside from Castiel had seen them just yet and Michael was wondering when would be the best time to inform them that Adam had fully mutated into not just an angel, but an archangel. The ‘reinvention’ of Gabriel. Or, as Dean had put it one day, ‘Gabriel 2.0.’ Michael had frowned a little at the term but let it slide.

Now, Michael stared at Adam’s wings erupting from his back. The human was passed out on pain meds and sleeping pills, but his wings stirred and fluttered with every breath he took and every little snore that escaped. The silver tips were full-on brushing the walls now, caressing them as his wing muscles tensed and relaxed in time with his breathing pattern. Michael couldn’t help but stare as the silver color shimmered and shifted in the morning light, like water ripples in a lake. He was mesmerized for a moment, simply watching and remembering seeing those wings on Gabriel himself, and his heart ached for his fallen brother.

Adam stirred a little in his sleep and Michael’s jaw tightened. He was waking up soon (Michael knew roughly what time the pills would wear off and Adam would awaken) and either he’d need more pills to cope with the pain or, because the wings were completely developed now, the pain would be receding. The archangel watched him roll his shoulders back a little bit and shake his head to wake himself up and he couldn’t help but smile a bit at the movement. The fact that he was moving was a good sign already.

Michael walked over to the head of the bed, neck tilted to get a better view of Adam as he sat up on his elbows. His blue eyes squinted in the light as he tried to wake himself up from his drug induced sleep. He craned his neck and looked around the room slowly, apparently not sensing or seeing the enormous wings sprouting from his skin, before turning his head up to look at Michael.

“What...?” he trailed off weakly, his throat dry.

As if automated by a machine, Michael picked up the full glass of water that he always kept on hand on the nightstand and held it up to Adam’s lips. The boy tipped his head back and drank greedily, water dripping past his lips, down his neck, and onto his chest where it dripped onto the bed sheets beneath him. This was almost routine: Adam wakes, give him water, give him pills, get him to fall back asleep. Or eat, and then sleep.

But today wasn’t routine, because without realizing what he was doing, Adam began to sit up.

“Wait,” Michael commanded, grabbing the glass away and rushing to catch Adam by the shoulders. “You shouldn’t move so much. Your back – it’s still healing.”

“My...my back.” Suddenly it dawned on Adam that there was a reason he’d been bedridden for the past week and he turned his neck all the way around to regard the two pairs of silver wings that nearly eclipsed the windows on the far wall, casting dark shadows across the room. “Holy shit.”

Michael grabbed Adam’s shoulders before the boy could whip around and try to get a better view, much like a dog chasing its tail. If he had done so, he would’ve knocked over half the items in the room.

“Adam, you need to stay calm.” Michael felt like this was the five hundredth time he was making such a demand. Apparently Adam had inherited the Winchester trait to be impatient and react immediately to any sort of possible threat, whether it killed them to do so or not.

“Stay calm? Right. Stay calm with a giant pair of wings growing from my back. That’s easy.” The sarcasm was almost visibly dripping from his lips.

Michael couldn’t help but feel a little relieved when Adam’s snark returned; he’d been almost entirely silent this past week and so any form of attitude was almost a blessing. He brushed a fallen feather off the bed, not noticing Adam’s wide-eyed look at the silver, fluffy thing that was serving as a physical indication of the state he was in.

“Shit,” Adam said again. “I’m really...turned, aren’t I?”

Michael nodded slowly, unsure of where to begin. “Yes...it’s official, I’m afraid. You are no longer human.”

Adam opened his mouth but nothing came out except a little disbelieving gasp. The pain was visible in his eyes; not of physical pain, but mental – the fact that he was no longer a human being was something Michael wished Adam never had to witness or learn, but there was no stopping the grace from consuming his body without killing him.

Before Adam could say anything, the door to the bedroom opened.

“Adam? We heard – holy crap!”

Instinctively Adam whirled around at the sound of Dean’s voice, and before Michael had a chance to react (the eldest Winchester had caught him by surprise as well), Adam’s two right wings slammed into Dean, sending him flying into the far wall. He crashed against it with such force that the wood splintered and caved before he collapsed onto the floor, grunting in pain, his elbows and knees breaking his fall.

“Dean! Shit, man, I’m sorry!”

Adam made another motion to go check if Dean was okay but Michael stopped him with a hand on his chest. “Don’t move. You’re not used to using these new muscles. You could do more damage to the room.”

“To the room? I just knocked a grown man into the friggin’ wall and made a hole the size of a small bear and you’re worried about the room?”

Michael sighed and gently moved Adam aside, wings and all, so he could walk past and crouch near Dean, who was slowly getting to his feet. Dean winced as he straightened up and his back cracked. He tried putting a good poker face on as he turned slowly and assessed the large hole in the wall behind him but Adam could see he was a little more than freaked out by the sudden demonstration of Adam’s new set of limbs.

With as straight a face as he could muster, Dean turned back to face Adam. “So the wings came in, I see.”



“We can’t just keep him in here forever, Dean. He’s gotta go out sometime.”

“What, with a fresh pair of archangel wings on his back?”

“He’ll learn how to hide them eventually. You heard Michael!”

“Oh yeah, Sammy. Let’s trust the word of the feathery douche bag who got him stuck down there in the first place!”

“Why would he lie about that? It’s such a small thing...”

“You don’t think it’s suspicious that Michael shows up – out of Hell – with Adam, and all of a sudden Adam’s got a freakin’ pair of wings and Gabriel’s grace inside him?”

Sam sighed and rubbed his face in his hands tiredly. He and Dean had been butting heads back and forth for the better part of an hour in Bobby’s kitchen. It was nearing two in the morning and they were the only ones awake as far as they knew. Bobby had fallen asleep on the couch about an hour ago while Michael was upstairs with Adam – not exactly asleep, per se, but he was out of earshot (or at least Sam hoped, otherwise that would make for one awkward conversation later).

Sam grabbed the half empty bottle of beer that sat on the kitchen table in front of him; the condensation on the glass cooled his fingertips and relaxed him a bit as he took a giant swig. Dean watched him from his spot leaning against the counter, his own (fourth) beer in his hand, looking at Sam expectantly, like he was waiting for him to agree that Michael’s actions were, in and of itself, suspicious.

“What’re you trying to say, Dean?” Sam asked, sliding the beer back and forth along the table to make a light scraping sound.

“I’m saying,” Dean said lowly, “that I think there’s something else going on here that Mike isn’t telling us.”

“I’m sure there’s a hell of a lot he’s not telling us. Problem is, he doesn’t have to.”

“Oh no?”

“No. At least, that’s how he feels.” Sam caught the murderous look on Dean’s face and rolled his eyes. “Dean, he’s the eldest archangel. You think he’d bother listening to us if we tried to reason with him or ask him what’s what?”

“No, but who said anything about reasoning?”

“Dean—”

“Look all I’m saying is that I don’t like what’s going on here. Adam’s been in excruciating pain for a week and there’s nothing we can do about it. Michael’s kicked us out from his room, Sam, doesn’t that bother you? He’s alone up there with Adam. Who knows what he could be doing—”

Sam cocked an eyebrow as he interrupted Dean. “You’re worried that he’s...he’s using Adam?”

“Not just using.” Bobby’s voice made both brothers jump where they were resting but they turned in his direction. He was sitting up on the couch rubbing his eyes, apparently having just woken up from a restless nap. “Turning into a weapon.”

Sam scoffed before looking over at Dean and catching the serious look on his face. “You’re not serious. Really? Adam as a weapon?”

“Gabriel wasn’t just a trickster, Sam. He was a powerful archangel before he left Heaven. I’ve been doing some reading—” No surprises there, as Bobby was always reading these days, “—and he was a messenger of God. He’d deliver visions to prophets so they could spread the good word and whatnot. He’s the one who foretold the birth of John the Baptist and Jesus Christ.”

“So?” Sam asked.

“So Gabriel obviously knows the contents of the visions he delivers. Michael could be using Adam – trying to gain an edge in the war against Lucifer. If Michael knows the outcome from Gabriel, he can be better prepared for the imminent battle.”

“Turning Adam into the next Gabriel just to kill Lucifer?” Sam shook his head. “It doesn’t make any sense.”

“What makes you say that?” Dean asked as he sat down in the chair across from Sam.

“Because,” Sam said as he turned his back to the wall so he could address both Bobby and Dean, “when I was stuck inside my body with Lucifer at the driver’s wheel, I heard everything he and Michael were saying to each other. Neither of them wanted to hurt or kill the other one, and the only reason Michael was doing so was because—”

“Michael’s the good son,” Dean finished. “Always followed Dad’s orders.”

Sam glanced over at Dean, frowning, and said, “Yeah, exactly. Michael wouldn’t turn against his brothers or do anything to sour their name unless God commanded it. And, well, as far as we know, He hasn’t told Michael to use Gabriel’s powers to kill Lucifer.”

“He wouldn’t be hurting Gabriel because the poor sap’s dead,” Dean snapped. “So what’s stopping him from transferring his grace into Adam like some kind of sick archangel IV?”

“He’d be tainting Gabriel’s name and memory,” Sam said, his voice growing a little louder as he tried to argue against Dean. “That’s not in Michael’s character.”

“Oh, and you know Michael so well, do you?”

“Yeah, as a matter of fact I do. Or did you forget how much quality time he and I spent together?”

“All right you two, that’s enough!” Bobby shouted from the other room.

Sam was breathing hard through his nose as he stared Dean down. The elder brother was looking at him with a mix of pain and distress; clearly he hadn’t meant for the conversation to take such a drastic turn away from the actual issue at hand. He, of course, hadn’t forgotten Sam’s time in Hell with Lucifer, Michael, and Adam, but he’d been under the impression that he’d spent his time with Lucifer, never with Michael. Why it didn’t occur to Dean that the four of them would inevitably intermingle, he didn’t know.

“Now, if you’re done bickering like two old hags in a nursing home, I think we have some current issues we need to address,” Bobby said as he stomped over to the kitchen table, boots making the floor rumble just a little bit. “Now for one thing, Sam’s right, Dean. We can’t keep Adam in here. The poor kid hasn’t had any fresh air in a week. I’d be surprised if he wasn’t claustrophobic by now.”

“He can’t go walking around with a pair of wings sticking out of his back,” Dean snapped.

“Don’t get your panties in a twist,” Bobby snorted. “He’ll learn how to hide them. We’re far enough away from prying eyes where he’ll be able to wander around the salvage yard in peace until he learns how to fold them away.”

Sam nodded absentmindedly, hand gripping the beer bottle a little tighter than normal. Bobby cast him a concerned look and cocked an eyebrow. “You all right there, son?”

“Hmm? Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Because you look like you could get some rest.”

“I said I’m fine, Bobby, thanks.”

Sam pushed his chair back and lifted the beer bottle to his lips to drain the last few drops before saying, “I’ll be in the basement.”

“Doing what?” Dean asked.

“Cleaning guns!” Sam shouted over his shoulder as he descended the stairs.

Dean sighed and ran his free hand through his hair, exasperated. “Is it just me or are you worried about him too, Bobby?”

The old man scoffed. “Which ‘him’ are you referring to? Sam or Adam?”

“Good point.”



How the hell Adam was supposed to leave the bedroom without knocking a wing-shaped hole in the walls was a complete mystery that lasted for a few hours the following day. At long last, Bobby came up with a solution when he sacrificed the large window frame embedded in the wall and had Michael tear the whole thing down to make way for Adam, who stood framed in the empty hole, staring down into the salvage yard from the second floor. Below him Bobby, Sam, and Dean watched, all of them looking up with their hands shielding their eyes from the afternoon sun.

Adam felt like he should give some kind of halfhearted wave but was interrupted from the thought by Michael, who stood behind him and said, “Today should be a big day.”

“What, the fact that I’m finally going outside?” Adam asked. It sure as hell felt like a big deal, like Adam had forgotten how sweet the taste of fresh air could be. Hell, the breeze blowing through his hair felt beautiful. He was turning into a sap. God help him.

Michael nodded. “Your wings are all grown in, you’re able to move them at will now, and you can go outside.” He turned to look at Adam, who could’ve sworn he saw a hint of deviousness in his eyes. “Now it’s time to learn to fly.”

“Fly?” Adam swallowed. “You can’t be serious. I only just learned how to move my two left wings and you want me to try and fly today?”

“It’s an innate knowledge. You’ll be in the air in no time.”

“It’s innate for angels but not for humans. I wasn’t born with these wings, Michael, I grew them.”

“Still, the knowledge is in the grace. You’ll do fine, I’m sure.”

“I don’t think—”

But what Adam thought was apparently uninteresting to Michael because the archangel merely put two hands behind him and shoved him off the edge of the house.