Disclaimer: I own nothing except my ideas. Warning: mild swearing

Chapter 6 – When the Levee Breaks

Dean steps into the darkened living room. Adam is slumped into one cushion on the worn down old couch. The fabric has browned with age, so the pale floral pattern now looks more like generic splotches. Sam, once making sure Adam is settled, has chosen to sit opposite, in a dark brown, sagging easy chair. He's too tall for the chair, so his legs are stretched out, heels resting on the floor. His brown eyes flitter towards the doorway, as Dean moves inside.

Dean's green eyes move from Sam, towards Adam, and he moves to slip past Adam's form on the couch. The coffee table makes the passage narrow, and as his goes by him, his sense of smell is inundated with unpleasantness: dirt, grime, the strange nearly sweet smell of unwashed skin, a hint of blood and vomit, and even brimstone, fill the air surrounding the youngest Winchester. Dean stifles an audible gagging. He settles on the far cushion, then not so subtly, scooches further away, pressing up against the armrest, trying to put as much space between himself and those smells as possible.

Silence owns the room for a few moments, as the three Winchesters glance towards each other, clearly nervous and unsure where to go. Sam shoots Dean one of his specialty looks, nodding slightly towards Adam as he does so, trying to non-verbally tell Dean to speak up. Dean raises his eyebrows and shakes his head slightly at Sam's request. A finger reaches up to gently point to Sam, then to Adam. Clearly Dean thinks this is Sam's responsibility.

Sam huffs slightly, and rolls his eyes. He moistens his lips, and manages, "Adam, can I get you a drink?"

Adam looks towards Sam, his cloudy blue eyes squinting, "Water would be great," he manages gruffly. Then he sighs waiting patiently.

Sam eagerly jumps to his feet, and steps out into the kitchen to fetch the drink.

To himself, Dean mutters as Sam practically runs out of the room, "Son of a bitch," realizing he's being left along with his younger-now-older brother. He clears his throat, "How are you?" he finally manages, trying to sound like he's vested in the answer.

Adam turns towards Dean. He narrows his eyes slightly, "Tired," he answers, "And apparently old, my bones and joints are all aching. How long," he pauses as Sam returns, to accept the glass of ice water and take a sip. Nothing has tasted better, ever. "How long was I down there?" he asks, looking from Dean to Sam, "and how the hell did you get out?"

Sam clears his throat, "We're not real sure," he answers, "but I was without my soul for quite a while." Awkward.

Dean seems about to jump into the conversation, but Adam beats him to it, "No I remember that. Lucifer and Michael were fighting over it. It was," he pauses for another quick sip of water, "it was one of those few times, they left me alone." His voice takes on a hollow tone towards the end of the comment.

Dean has to intervene now, swallowing his fear before he does, "Adam, we did try to get you out," he says, firmly, "it just …. We never could figure out a way. I'm sorry, man."

Adam glances over to Dean, and nods, slightly, "I know you did. They mocked you for it. They mocked you both once Sam was pieced back together. Of course, then they told me, Death made you choose," and Adam can't keep the venom out of the last phrase.

The anger in Adam's last statement is palpable. "I'm family, huh?" he says, now glaring at Dean.

What Adam can't see, is the changes that are happening to him, as he is sitting there. He seems to be aging right in front of the other two Winchesters. He goes from looking in his late 60s, to mid-80s quickly. His hair thins, and begins to fall out. His face gets crinklier. His beard thins out. Pale yellow liver spots show up on his face, arms and the back of his palms. He manages a sarcastic smile, and the age is visible in his teeth, yellowed with age, and lack of care.

"Fuck you, Dean," Adam manages, his voice getting scratchier as the aging continues. Moments later he goes completely still, the glass of ice water collapsing to the floor. His color and pallor changes.

Sam realizes, then, that Adam has stopped breathing. He jumps to his feet, "Adam!" he states loudly, then after another moment, he yells, "Adam!" He moves towards the man, reaching out to check his pulse.

Dean is paralyzed. He has no idea what to do, he has no comeback, no retort, no game plan, for the anger from the brother he, basically abandoned.

Sam moves to pull Adam off the couch, and lay him on the floor, "Dean!" he yells at his older brother, trying to pierce through the fog that has enveloped him, "Go call an ambulance. Now!"

That at least pushes Dean back into action. He reaches for a phone, and makes the call. Sam begins rudimentary CPR, and the minutes that tick by feel like hours.

It takes a full 15 minutes for the EMT squad to get to the house. The EMTs come in and take over for Sam and Dean, who've been switching off in the CPR cycle. Five minutes later, they code Adam.

Gone. Just like that. No chance for redemption, apologies, or reunion. Dead.

Adam makes the fifth today if you count the disappearance of Mary and Lucifer.

Dean can't handle it. He retreats to the kitchen, and finds a bottle of cheap scotch. He unscrews the top, and doesn't even bother with a glass. Or ice. Or a chair.

Sam is left to try and explain the awkward situation, and insists that they will handle the transportation of the body to the funeral home. He goes into baby, pulling out the cigar box of IDs, and finds one, that shows that he is an active mortician two states over. It's enough to make the professionals go away. He's left in the living room, he brother's dead body on the floor. The angel in the backseat of Baby. Kelly, upstairs in the bed, undiscovered by those professionals.

Sam wants to stop and process, but he knows he can't. He knows Dean is useless right now. He gets to his feet, goes and finds an axe, and begins putting together a funeral pyre for three.