AN: Once again, thank you all for your reviews! Please leave more, I love hearing what you all think about the story and where it's going so far :)
"Dick Roman sure knows how to pick his hiding spots," Sam commented as Michael let go of his arm, having finished zapping them both to the address Roman had texted to Sam.
Michael nodded, eyes glued to the old townhouse in front of them. It wasn't anything grandiose or particularly eye-catching, but with the bright afternoon sun overhead and the slowly melting icicles casting glints of light on the sidewalk, it was certainly a lot nicer than what Michael had expected creatures like the Leviathans to use.
"We're in New York City," Michael observed as he glanced around. "Near New York University, to be exact."
"How d'you figure?" Sam asked.
Michael pointed at the front door of the townhouse where a bronze placard announced: 'Lillian Vernon Creative Writers House, 1836, New York University.'
"Well I'll be damned" was all Sam could say.
Michael shoved his hands into his jacket pockets, already feeling on edge. He'd never had to face these creatures before and all he knew about them was what Sam had divulged before they took off together. Apparently borax was a key weakness of theirs and they'd both loaded up their flasks with the stuff. Adam had suggested bringing Super Soakers with them but Sam had brushed the idea off as quaint, even though it made some sense.
At the thought of Adam, Michael almost drowned in his thoughts of him – the anxiety, the worry, the regret of leaving Adam with Bobby – but Sam noticed and grabbed Michael by the elbow, pulling him from the waters. "Come on. We don't have much time."
Side by side Michael and Sam marched up the narrow steps to the front door of the townhouse. Sam tried to open the door but found it locked so he knocked twice, hard.
From within, there was a gruff voice: "Yes?"
"It's Sam Winchester. I'm here with Michael," Sam mumbled close to the door, not wanting to shout it to the streets for passersby to hear.
It was only a brief moment later when they both heard the bolt slide open.
Dick Roman was waiting for them in one of the reading rooms towards the back of the townhouse, a room bordered with dark wood and floor paneling that, despite the sunshine peeking through the half-closed windows, made the atmosphere ultimately unpleasant and cold. Two Leviathans that Sam had never seen before walked behind him and Michael, keeping an eye on them in case they tried to attack their leader. Not that their borax would do much actual damage anyway. It would hurt him, hinder him, but it wouldn't kill him. That was what Michael and Adam were for.
The man of the hour was already standing when they entered and Dean was nowhere in sight, and normally Sam would take a pause and absorb the sight of the Leviathan boss right in front of them, but Roman wasted no time in reading their expressions and assuring them, "Dean is just fine. He's in the basement for safekeeping." His grey eyes gleamed. "How are you, Sam?"
"Enough small talk," Sam snapped. "Bring Dean up here. I want to see him."
Roman smirked. "Sam, Sam, Sam. Don't be rude. I'm just making conversation here."
"We brought Michael. Now let Dean go." Sam wasn't having any of it; his face was set and his eyes were steel.
"Ah. That's true. You did bring the archangel." Roman sat down at the large mahogany desk and rested his elbows on the top, steepling his fingers. "It's nice to finally meet the creature destined to kill me. You know, you're not as big as I'd imagined."
"You're not as handsome as on TV," Michael replied smoothly.
That didn't seem to faze the Leviathan boss, who merely chuckled halfheartedly and said, "An archangel with an attitude. You must be fun at parties." He leaned forward against the desk a bit, eyes suddenly cast into darkness. "Here's the thing boys. I'm willing to return Dean to you safe and sound, but I'm gonna need something from you in return. A fair trade."
"We brought you Michael like you asked," Sam repeated, though his tone sounded a little off-kilter. Unbalanced. What was Roman playing at? "That was the trade we agreed on."
Michael frowned while he stood behind Sam. He didn't like hearing himself talked about as though he weren't there – or worse, as though he were some sort of object to be handed back and forth like a trading good. "Don't be surprised, Sam," Michael said, loud enough for Roman to hear. "You shouldn't put your trust in these creatures. Nothing but lying roaches, all of them."
Sam turned to give Michael one of the patented bitch face looks but Roman was already getting up and out of his seat to walk around to the front of the desk, his face unreadable but his posture calm and poised.
"I never lied," Roman corrected. "I merely...withheld certain information."
"Such as?" Sam challenged.
Roman smiled without warmth. "I do want to trade for Dean. But the life of your big brother...he's worth a lot to you, isn't he?"
Sam's jaw tightened and Michael could feel the hairs on the back of his neck stick up. If anything, this was the one thing he and Sam had in common: their fatal flaws were their brothers.
Roman continued without waiting for a response. "He's, for example, worth much more than a dying archangel." Michael wished he could rip the smirk right off the man's face but he held his ground. "So what, then? We have to even out the scale. I want the dying archangel...and the other one. The hybrid."
"The hybrid has a name," Michael said as calmly as he could manage. "And no, Adam is not part of this deal. You wanted me, and you've got me. Release Dean or face the consequences."
"Adam is a part of this just as much as you are," Roman argued. "In fact, even more so, now that I'd say he's stronger than you are. You're losing your grip, Michael. Adam is getting stronger. And why shouldn't I have the right to the only two beings in the universe who can kill me?"
"You can't have Adam," Sam repeated for Michael. "He isn't yours to kill."
"What, and you think I'm gonna kill Michael here?" Roman pointed listlessly with a ringed forefinger. "Come on, Sam. I thought you were the smart one of the bunch. I didn't ask for Michael just to kill him off the second I got him."
Sam and Michael looked at each other questioningly, but neither one looked like he was about to tackle the subject for himself, so Michael asked, "So what do you want with us then, if not to kill us?"
"Correction: I don't want to kill you. Not yet, anyway. Adam, on the other hand, well..." Roman shrugged, a smile playing on his lips. "Him I can't wait to get my hands on."
Michael's nostrils flared and he took a step forward but Sam threw his arm out in front and barred the angel's path. Michael could've easily pushed through the attempted blockade but decided against it. Attacking Roman now wouldn't provide any more answers, which they desperately needed. Something didn't quite fit right.
"You're keeping Michael alive? Why?" Sam asked.
Roman clicked his tongue sharply. "I need him. That's all I'll say."
"Need me?" Michael was genuinely lost. "You want my help and then you'll kill me?"
"Exactly."
"And you think I'll just...agree to go quietly?"
Roman frowned and shrugged one shoulder. "You can always refuse, but I think we all know what'll happen to Dean if you do. And then, who knows? Maybe I won't be satisfied with cutting the older Winchester's throat. Maybe I'll go after your Papa stand-in too." He grinned at the stony look on Sam's face; Sam tried to hide his discomfort but his eyes gave him away. Roman looked over at Michael. "Either way, you'll help me get what I want when I ask you. You'll say yes." A grin. "Interesting, being on the other side of the coin, isn't it, Michael? Is this how you got Adam's permission to use his body? You threatened him with the life of a loved one? Or, really, it would be an afterlife..."
"Shut up," Michael snapped. If looks could kill...but then there was the look Sam was giving him right now, that look of utter disbelief and shock. Michael averted his eyes, unable to take it, not wanting to absorb it.
Roman's eyes flicked from Michael to Sam, assessing them both. "You never told them, did you?" he asked, very obviously amused with this turn of events. "Ah. How interesting. And I'm assuming Adam doesn't remember?"
"Adam doesn't need to know. The matter is no longer relevant."
"Oh, sure. Threatening to send his mother spiraling into Hell if he refused to let you wear him like a pretty party dress? Yeah, you're right, that kind of info isn't important." Roman's eyes never stopped shining. "You keep walking with your proud little head up like that Michael, and one day, the sky might cut it off."
"Okay, enough," Sam demanded, pushing back on Michael as he tried once again to go after Roman and his smug little face. As much as Sam wanted to tear into Roman too, he knew they wouldn't get very far, especially not with the two Leviathan guards inching their way forward. "Look, you said Michael for Dean. Adam's not involved in any of this."
Roman tilted his head to the side like a curious dog. "He is if he thinks he can try sneaking past me and rescuing our resident damsel in distress."
Michael tried to control his facial expression, wiping it as blank as possible as he said, "Adam is doing no such thing."
"Really now?" Roman snapped his fingers and motioned to the Leviathan on Michael's right. "Then I hope you won't mind if I send Doug over here to check on Dean—"
Doug, unfortunately, never got the chance to check on Dean, as Michael wasted no time in turning on his heel and slamming his open palm against Doug's chest, sending the Leviathan sailing backwards and crashing through the wooden paneled wall. Sam took the cue and turned, borax-coated hunting knife in hand, and stabbed the other Leviathan in the chest. He watched as what Bobby had predicted earlier came true: because of the painted borax on the knife, the wound refused to close up. Black ooze spilled from the gash in the Leviathan's chest as it reared its head skyward and wailed, mouth gaping wide to show the forked tongue and rows of jagged teeth. Sam twisted and ripped the knife from its chest to do maximum damage and the Leviathan collapsed, bleeding on the floor.
All of this took place in about five to seven seconds, but Roman barely flinched. Instead he watched, amused, at the scene unfolding, and didn't even blink when Sam advanced on him with the borax knife.
"Sorry to burst your bubble, Sammy, but that knife won't work on me. I'm a wee bit tougher to kill. Hence why you need the power of two archangels to do it."
"I don't care," Sam snarled, grip tightening on the knife. "I'll just keep stabbing until you let Dean go. You can still feel the pain of it, right?"
Roman chuckled. "Always with the temper, eh, Sam?"
"Let him go!" Sam repeated louder.
A noise behind Roman made the Leviathan turn and look towards the door leading to the back of the townhouse. Sam couldn't help but let his eyes follow, and lo and behold...
"Dean!" Sam shouted. He made to run to his brother but remembered who he was dealing with and so he remained there, knife inching its way closer to Roman's throat.
"Sammy." Dean's face was death incarnate, with the blood already coagulating and his expression a red mask of pain. He walked with a limp, but damnit, he was walking and that was at least a good sign. "Sammy. It's okay. I got out."
Roman didn't look at all surprised to see Dean making his way slowly into the room. "Dean. So nice of you to join us. I see you had a nice time with my friend Hannah downstairs?"
"You mean the dead bitch? Oh yeah, fun times." And at least Dean's attitude was still intact, if nothing else.
Roman quirked an eyebrow but he still didn't seem all that bothered by this news. "And how exactly did Hannah die?"
"Me."
Adam slammed into Roman from the side, silver wings flared out so they knocked Sam flat onto his ass. Together, Leviathan and newborn archangel flew into the window behind the desk and crashed through the glass in a wonderful shatter of glinting light and sharp bursts of pain. They landed in the grassy courtyard, Roman on his back and Adam skidding onto his stomach before using his wings to kick the air up around him and twirl him to his feet.
"Get up," Adam commanded Roman as he heard Michael land gently behind him, his own white wings out as well.
Roman stood, casually brushing dirt and broken glass off his tailored suit. "Why Adam, you're taking charge for a change? Kinky."
"Shut up," he growled, reaching for his own borax knife that he'd sheathed to his waist, covered in black blood from Hannah.
Roman saw where his hand was traveling and he licked his lips. "Ah. I'd just finished explaining to your brother: that won't be enough to kill me." He shrugged with a feigned look of sorrow. "Sorry, kiddo."
"You're bluffing," Adam said.
"Am I?" Roman opened his arms wide. "Go for it if you think it'll work. But just because you're the special one holding the knife doesn't mean it'll fail any worse than it would if Sam tried."
Adam hesitated, knife gripped tight in his hand.
"Adam," Michael breathed behind him. "Don't—"
He didn't listen, instead choosing that moment to charge at Roman, blackened knife at the ready.
Roman dodged much quicker than Adam had anticipated and so he missed, swinging a bit too wide and only catching the collar of Roman's shirt. Fabric tore with a quiet ripping sound and Roman reached around to catch Adam's wrist, throwing him off balance and pulling him closer to Roman than was comfortable. A glint of silver caught Adam's eye and he looked down at the angel blade in Roman's free fist.
Roman sliced at Adam's stomach but he was able to jerk away quickly; his shirt tore but his skin remained untouched. Adam breathed in deep before blowing air out through his mouth, a helpful new trick he'd learned. The force separated him from Roman, ripping his wrist free, and sent the Leviathan crashing into the far wall. To Adam's dismay, Roman held tight to the angel blade and didn't stay down for long. He was on his feet as Michael appeared at Adam's side.
"We can't beat him," Adam admitted under his breath as Roman stared them down. "He's right. The borax knife...it was a good idea on Bobby's part but it won't be strong enough to kill him..."
Roman leapt across the space separating him and Adam. Knife met blade and together, angel and Leviathan danced around the courtyard, Michael armed with a borax-coated knife of his own.
Though there were two of them and only one of Roman, he was a force to be reckoned with. His reflexes were quick, his strength unmatched, his thirst for blood untamable. His eyes were always searching for a weak spot and he usually found them: an exposed piece of flesh here, an unprotected spot there. He hit and sliced and stabbed at anything he could reach, cold and calculating, while Adam barely had time to deflect most of the blows. It was then that Roman concentrated all his efforts on cutting Adam down, as he was obviously the weaker of the two, and though Michael tried to divert Roman's attention to him, Roman would only spare him a passing blow or two before redirecting back to Adam. Red blood mixed with black ichor as the three creatures grappled and sliced at each other wildly, not doing enough damage to kill but slowly cutting each other down to the core.
It so happened that when Adam finally had Roman pinned to a wall by the shoulders, finally thought he'd at least trapped the son of a bitch, that Roman pulled his own trick. He whirled and rammed Adam against the wall, switching positions as his jaw unhinged and his mouth opened wide to reveal the infamous tongue and rows of shark-like teeth. Roman screeched something terrible to the sky and Adam had only a moment to wince, ears ringing, before Roman bent forward and snapped down on Adam's shoulder, teeth piercing and breaking the skin. Adam cried out in pain and sank to his knees; Roman had bitten deep, and silver-white grace mixed with the blood that began to stain his shirt.
"Adam!" Michael roared, surging forward at lightning speed, wings outstretched and eyes full of fire.
Roman slid a second angel blade out of his sleeve and turned, quicker than Michael could move, and rammed the blade through Michael's chest up to the hilt. White hot grace began to bleed out and burn a light so bright that, even though Adam tried to look and wanted to look and needed to look, he had to turn his face away. In the midst of the blinding chaos, Roman grinned wide and fled across the courtyard to a door that led to the building opposite the house they'd come from, and Adam didn't have the energy to run after him. All he could do was grab Michael as he collapsed, on the brink of consciousness, with the blade still embedded in his chest.
Adam sank back onto his haunches as he cradled Michael's head against his own bloodied chest. His face felt wet, though he didn't know if that was because of the blood or possibly the tears he hadn't noticed till now that he'd begun to shed.
"Michael," Adam pleaded hoarsely, "no, please...just hang on...Michael..." He held Michael's shoulder with one hand while he used the other to desperately press down on the area around the wound to staunch the flow. Michael winced and so Adam stopped, merely resting his hand on the broken angel's chest.
Michael breathed raggedly, forcing the words from his lungs: "Take...the blade..."
"Wh-What?" Adam didn't think he'd heard correctly.
"The blade...you'll need it..."
Adam shook his head. "No, I can't. The blood flow...it'll get worse—"
"Take it."
Adam grit his teeth – his bottom lip was trembling – and grabbed the hilt of the angel blade. He hesitated and for a moment his eyes caught Michael's. Blue met green, and green begged for compliance. Adam shut his eyes and pulled the blade out as fast as he could, earning a sharp cry of pain from Michael as he did so.
"I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry," Adam gasped in one breath, dropping the blade off to the side and clutching Michael closer to his body with both arms around him. "You told me to so I—"
"Adam. Listen to me," Michael struggled to say through his tiny gasps of pain. "That blade...will kill Roman."
Again, Adam thought he heard wrong. "It's an angel blade," he said dumbly.
"I...I gave up my grace..."
Adam's blood chilled. "You what?"
"Let me finish. My grace...most of it...it's embedded in that blade. It's empowering it. If you...if you can get Roman with it...you can kill him." Michael winced again but continued. "It looks as though...you'll have to do it without me."
Adam looked down at the angel blade next to him and sure enough, the blade burned a deadly white color instead of its usual shining silver. He reached out tentatively with one hand to touch it and was surprised to see that he could do so without burning himself.
Michael nodded approvingly, weakening. "You can still do it...on your own."
"I don't want to do it alone." The tears returned, the knot in his throat, the ache in his chest. "You can't leave me, you can't..." He wracked his brain for a solution. "I-I can heal you. Maybe I can heal you and you'll be okay and..." He trailed off as Michael started shaking his head. "No? What d'you mean no? I have to give it a try—"
"You can't save me fr-from this, Adam," Michael breathed. "I'm sorry." He smiled gently, eyes locking on Adam's as he tried to keep them open. "Do I at least...get a goodbye kiss?"
Adam laughed once through his tears, an uncontrollable reaction, as he looked down at Michael – now near human, apparently, due to his giving the blade most of his remaining grace – and saw, for what seemed like the first time, that here was a person who well and truly loved Adam. And Adam, having realized it too late, was losing him. God was wicked.
Adam nodded once before he leaned down and pressed his lips to Michael's, eyes shut as Michael leaned up to meet him halfway.
Even with his eyes shut, Adam could see through his lids the blinding white light as the rest of Michael's grace burned away. There was a stinging sensation against his cheek and arms and chest, sharp and painful, and Adam pulled his lips away with a gasp.
Michael was limp in his arms. His wings had scorched their marks accordingly, leaving Adam with the outlines of black scars along the front of his body.
Sam and Dean found Adam minutes later with Michael's body in his arms and the taste of dead stars in his mouth.
"...not your fault, Bobby, they worked great, they really did..."
"Didn't do Michael a damn bit of good, though. And I'm sure the thought doesn't comfort Adam much in the night."
"Bobby—"
"How is he, Sam?"
"He's...managing."
"I don't like 'managing'. Sounds too much like 'suffering'."
"It's only been a day."
Adam could hear them through the thin walls of the fairly bare hotel room they'd rented in Manhattan. Dean was with them too but keeping silent, and honestly Adam was tired of listening to them talk about how he was 'coping' and 'healing' and 'dealing with it,' because he wasn't. Lying in bed wasn't helping him deal with it. If anything, the only thing that would help would be putting Michael's blade right through Roman's heart and finger painting with his blood.
He couldn't sleep for the life of him. Every time he shut his eyes he saw either Michael with his dying grace or gruesome images from Hell: Toretan, the Hellspawn, Lucifer attacking him. It was only now he realized he hadn't had to deal with the nightmares before, not because of Gabriel's grace in his body, but because Michael had been the one chasing them away. And now that he wasn't here...
Adam rolled over onto his back, staring up at the white cracked ceiling. His eyes were heavy and tired from crying, either openly or silently, but his face was a tight mask of anger. He didn't want to lie in this bed mourning. He wanted to get out there and kill the son of a bitch who'd done all this. He wanted to tear himself off the bed and rip everything apart around him.
The door to his puny bedroom opened and Adam quickly shut his eyes, pretending to be sleeping as he'd done so many times beforehand. He didn't know who'd walked in but whoever it was sat on the side of Adam's bed with a creak and a sigh.
A pause. "There's nothing worse." It was Dean.
Adam tried not to react in surprise. He hadn't expected Dean of all people to check in on him. It had been mostly Sam the past few hours, and Bobby on occasion. Never Dean. He thought the eldest Winchester was still angry with him for earlier.
Dean continued. "Nothing worse than losing someone you love. I mean, we'd know, right? All we do is lose people." There was another sigh. "And you, Adam...you're like the poster boy for loss, along with me and Sam. Your mom, your future, your...Michael. Just like that." He gently snapped his fingers for emphasis. "Gone. And I know how you feel. I do. You want revenge. You wanna rip Roman's head off his goddamned neck and put it in a stick and parade it around town. I understand that. Hell, I wouldn't be opposed."
Adam kept his lips from twitching into a smile, and Dean went on without seeing him. "But you shouldn't have to do it alone. You've been alone for too long, man. You have us now. And I know," Dean added quickly, "that you're not too gung-ho about us, but..." He trailed off and didn't try to pick up where he'd left off. "I understand if you can't forgive us. But we wanna help you. It's the least we can do."
Adam tried once again to keep his face from reacting to Dean's words, even though he wanted nothing more than to sit up and stare at him. It wasn't a complete apology, not by far, but it was the closest to bona fide sorrow that Adam had ever heard in regards to how he'd been treated time after time. He knew Dean wasn't one to make full-fledged apologies, so this was a huge step forward for him.
The bed creaked as Dean shifted his sitting position. "I didn't realize how much Michael meant to you. I thought...I thought maybe it was just leftover vessel attachment or something. But...you really liked him, didn't you?" Adam wanted to say it was more than that, but didn't. He couldn't see it, but Dean nodded to himself absentmindedly. "We'll get Roman. Michael won't have died in vain. That I can promise you."
"Dean." Adam opened his eyes and shifted himself up to sit on his elbows, breaking his code of silence. Dean didn't look all that surprised that he was awake, and for a moment the two of them stared at each other, a wall of uncertainty separating them until Adam finally tore it down: "I'm tired of being angry."
Dean suppressed the tiniest of grins. "You have every right to be."
"I know, but...nowadays, I'm just pissed at everything. At John for treating me like a cast-off. At Roman for ruining what looked like a good future for me. At Michael for leaving me." Adam pushed himself further up on the bed to lean against the wooden headboard, leaning his head against the wall with a dull thunk. "I can't keep being pissed with you and Sam too. You guys and Bobby...you're all I've got left now."
He could feel the tears – angry and unwelcome – building up in his eyes again, but when he lifted a hand to rub at them, his arm stung sharply. Adam winced and looked to see the faint white scars of Michael's wings threading their way up his arm, coated in what looked like a clear salve.
"Sam tried patching you up," Dean explained in answer to the confused look on Adam's face. "But the scars...they won't go away."
"I don't want them to." Along with you guys, they're all I've got left, too.
Dean ran a hand across the back of his neck and sighed, replaying Adam's words in his head, thinking about his own life, his own anger towards the kid, though he was hardly a 'kid' now. And for once, Dean could see where he and Adam were alike: they had nobody left but their family. Everyone else was gone. Their dad. Mary and Kate. Castiel and Michael. Staying angry, losing each other...what good would that do except further solidify their loneliness in the world?
Eventually, Dean chuckled dryly. "If it's any consolation, you're all Sam and I have left, too."
The corners of Adam's lips quirked up. "Guess you're stuck with me, then."
"Twerp."
"Asshole."
They smiled halfheartedly at each other, but it was enough.
Adam emerged from the confines of his darkened bedroom later that day, shuffling out into the brightly lit living room as he shielded his eyes and drank in the familiar sight of Sam and Bobby sitting around a table with papers and books piled up, bouncing ideas off of each other. They both looked up at Adam as he entered and, suddenly feeling self-conscious because of his bare upper body and the obvious scars raked across his skin, ducked into the tiny kitchen where Dean was fetching a beer from the fridge.
"How're you feeling?" Sam asked gently as Adam filled up a glass with cold water and chugged the whole thing as fast as he could.
Adam slid the glass across the kitchen counter, empty, and shambled back into the living room to collapse on the unoccupied couch, taking care to avoid lying down on his injured arm. "Like it matters. Have you guys found anything out?"
Sam and Bobby glanced at each other concernedly but Adam didn't notice. Bobby cleared his throat and shuffled through some of the papers on the table. "We think we've figured out why Roman wanted Michael alive."
Adam frowned and tilted his neck up to look at them. "Really?"
Bobby nodded without looking up from the papers. "Roman wanted Lucifer," he began to explain.
"Lucifer?" To Adam, that seemed to come out of left field; he hadn't heard Lucifer's name spoken in a couple of months. He seemed so far away and almost irrelevant considering what was happening now.
Bobby sighed and rubbed his beard with his open palm. "It's a bit of an...odd story."
Adam opened his arms wide. "I'm all ears."
"Lilith was the first demon that Lucifer created," Sam jumped in eagerly. "He...twisted and warped her to an unrecognizable point, and she eventually turned. But before that, she was human. She was Adam's first wife before Eve, but she was kicked out of the Garden of Eden when she challenged God's command that she bow before her husband."
"After she left Eden," Bobby continued, "she went to the city of Sheba where she gained control over the city. She was kind of a..."
"A bitch?" Adam supplied after a pause.
Bobby snorted. "A bitch," he agreed. "But the Leviathans there liked her. She was everything they were: ruthless, power-hungry, arrogant...they took a liking to her and she didn't mind. I expect she liked having something that followed her every word, even if they weren't human. The Leviathans eventually adopted Lilith as their true mother."
"Gross," Adam commented. Sam chuckled in agreement and even Dean cracked a smile from the kitchen doorway. "But what's that got to do with Michael?"
"When Lucifer turned Lilith into a demon, you can imagine the Leviathans weren't too happy about the queen mother being taken from them. They were looking for revenge before they were cast into Purgatory, and they've been keen on it ever since."
"Explains why they hate demons so much," Sam commented. Bobby nodded.
"Wait," Dean said, and it was then that Adam realized he was hearing this for the first time too. "So the Leviathans jumped Purgatory just to gank Lucifer for turning Lilith into a demon? So why don't we let 'em? It's only the friggin' Devil, after all."
"You don't understand, Dean," Bobby said with a shake of the head. "If the Leviathans manage to kill Lucifer, they won't stop there. They'll move on. Angels. Humans. They're a vicious, hungry breed and they see no end in sight to their little crusade."
Dean sighed but Adam could see the surrender in his eyes. "So why Michael?"
"Roman needed to know how to open the Cage, and where it is," Sam explained. "And he needed a way to coax Lucifer to come to him. Holding Michael captive would've accomplished all the above."
"Michael never would've told Roman how to open the Cage," Adam said adamantly. When everyone looked at him, he added, "He loves Lucifer no matter what. He'd never do that, put him on a silver platter for the Leviathans."
Dean nodded slowly. 'Nobody dicks around with Michael but me.' That was what Lucifer had said a year or so ago, after Castiel had molotoved the oldest archangel. Why shouldn't it work the other way, with Michael protecting Lucifer from harm? Only family could mess with other family. That was the unwritten rule of life.
Bobby paused. "Michael's death bought us some time. Roman's gonna be lost for a bit now that his bargaining chip is dead, so he'll need to reorganize and find a new way to find the Cage and break in. While he's doing that, we can attack again."
"Attack again?" Adam repeated incredulously. He swung his legs over the side of the couch and sat up at attention. "Are you crazy? Look at what happened the last time we tried to fight them."
"That was partly a rescue mission gone screwy, I'll admit," Bobby said, "but we need to try again while they're still disorganized."
"Disorganized? They looked pretty fine to me," Adam snapped. "At least, Roman did, while he was busy cutting me up like a Christmas ham."
"Adam," Sam said gently, "I know this is hard for you, but—"
"Don't tell me that I need to 'give' you guys a little more," Adam hissed. He finally stood up, shoving himself off of the couch violently. "Don't you dare."
"Look at it this way," Dean said from behind him, "what else have you got to lose?"
Adam tightened his jaw and turned to stare him down, but before he could come up with a halfway decent reply, there was a knock at the door. The air grew heavy in the room as everybody froze; they'd of course paid for the room with a fake credit card and name, and since they'd tried so hard to keep under the radar, nobody should really know who was staying in the room. Who could possibly be knocking?
Dean reached over from his spot and hesitated, hand on the doorknob, before swinging it open, his eyes widening in shock at whoever was in the hallway. "Balthazar?"
"With another familiar face." The English drawl was recognizable, even though Adam couldn't see the angel from his position in front of the couch. "May we come in?"
Adam heard movement from the hall and watched as Dean's expression morphed from surprise to downright disbelief. His mouth fell open slightly and he looked as though he was trying to speak but nothing was coming out of his mouth.
From the hall, Balthazar added, "I need to set him down, Dean. In case you can't tell, he's not been so well lately."
"Who?" Sam asked, craning his neck from his seat, but he too fell into silent shock as Balthazar shuffled into the room with a disheveled and very battered-looking Castiel tucked under his arm, pinned to Balthazar's side so he could stand.
"Cas?" Dean asked hoarsely.
Castiel barely looked up at Dean, either from lack of energy or shame, Adam couldn't tell. His clothes – black dress pants and white button-up only – were wrinkled and covered in mud stains and specks of blood everywhere, and his skin was bruised and calloused with dark circles under his eyes.
When Balthazar successfully led Castiel into the room, the shattered angel (if he even was one anymore) strained to raise his head and look at Adam, who froze when those familiar blue eyes caught his own.
"Cas," Adam breathed, stepping towards him. "What happened to you?"
Castiel struggled to speak, leaning away from Balthazar as he tried to reach out to Adam with a withered hand. "Adam..." his voice was rough with disuse, lips chapped, but still he spoke. "I tried..."
He didn't get much further than that though. Unbalanced, without an arm around Balthazar's waist, Castiel pitched forward. Adam quickly stepped forward to stop his fall, but Dean was already there, catching him before he hit the ground and holding him tightly as though he was trying to make sure Castiel didn't fall apart.
"He found me," Balthazar said simply, swirling the tap water around in the wine glass he'd nicked from the kitchen. "I wasn't looking for him, particularly. I'd thought he was long gone after his stint with the Leviathans." He took a sip, made a face, and carefully set the glass down on the creaky table. "He just turned up a few days ago, near out of his mind, and wouldn't stop talking about Adam and getting to Adam and helping Adam and what the bloody hell is Adam up to that's got Cas's panties in such a twist?"
He, Adam, Sam, and Bobby were sitting around the dinky little table in the living room, with all the books and papers shoved to one side and piled so high that Adam almost couldn't see the top of Bobby's head across from him. Dean was in the bedroom taking care of Castiel, who'd passed out shortly after collapsing. Sam had suggested Adam try to wake him, but Dean had glared so fiercely at everybody that they just let him half drag, half carry Castiel into the bedroom.
The three of them started filling Balthazar in on what happened since Castiel first opened the door to Purgatory, because presumably he wasn't in contact with any of them since then, but Balthazar stopped them with a poised hand.
"I know all about the Leviathans," he said. "And about that puppet master Dick Roman. How could I not? Bastards are everywhere."
"And you've been hiding out this whole time?" Sam asked, a hint of distaste in his voice.
Balthazar scoffed. "You know as well as I do that anything I try will be utterly useless. What would be the point in attacking? We can't kill them."
"No," Bobby agreed, "but Adam can."
Balthazar regarded the youngest with a curious look on his face, studying him closely. He even leaned closer to Adam, forcing him to arch away slightly, uncomfortable with the closeness.
Finally, Balthazar retreated into his seat. "Ah yes. You're referring to the Talmud translation about Gabriel, aren't you? Which makes you the Gabriel of the legend. How nice."
"We've got manmade weapons to kill the drones," Bobby said, using their agreed-upon codename to refer to the less important Leviathans. "Knives coated in borax. But it'll have to be Adam with his own Michael sword who kills Dick Roman once and for all."
"Michael sword? What're you going to do, grab Dean by the ankles and start swinging him 'round in circles?"
"What? No," Adam snorted. He shook his head slowly, eyes glued to the tabletop. "I've got an angel blade fused with Michael's grace. It'll kill Roman so long as I'm the one who wields it."
Balthazar's eyes gleamed. "So Gabriel and Michael will kill him together, albeit in an improvised way. I see where you're going with this."
"Think it'll work?" Sam asked.
"Oh, it has to. It's our only option, isn't it? There's no Plan B." Balthazar folded his hands together and leaned his elbows on the table.
"Our only option?" Bobby repeated.
Balthazar smirked. "You didn't think I'd just sit this one out, did you? It's the big prize fight for the throne and I'll not see the crown – or the world – fall into the wrong hands."
"Why do you care all of a sudden? Why now?" Sam asked.
Balthazar smiled a little sadly. "Obvious, isn't it? It's become personal." His eyes flicked over to the bedroom where Castiel was no doubt still unconscious. "They'll not get away with what they did to Cas, I can promise you that. And you," Balthazar added, nudging Adam with his elbow, "need to promise me to rip the heart from Roman's chest, if he's even got one."
Adam smiled without cheer. "You think I can do it?"
"Can't I? You're the little vessel that could."
Even Bobby chuckled at that, running a finger over his beard before asking, "Hey, Bal, why did Cas struggle so much to get here?" He jabbed his finger down into the tabletop for emphasis.
Balthazar shrugged. "You'll have to ask him that once he wakes. He couldn't say much when he got to me. Still very weak." A cloud hovered over his face. "The Leviathans just...got rid of him. Shed him when they decided they needed a stronger body to inhabit. Or, more precisely, more bodies. He's been wandering around since, unable to use any of his powers. They've...pretty much drained him of everything. That's why he had to come find me. He needed my help reaching you lot."
"Is he human?" Adam asked, blanching.
Balthazar shook his head quickly. "No, no, not quite. He's still got some juice left in him, but I'm not sure how long it'll last him. In any case, he's in no position to try anything hasty. You saw him. He can't even walk on his own."
Adam sighed, drumming his fingers absentmindedly on the table. He wasn't sure what any of this meant, or what Castiel could possibly need of Adam. They still hadn't spent much quality time together, so he doubted there would be some kind of big friendly bonding period together.
"Whatever it is," Sam said, voicing Adam's own thoughts, "it's gotta be important, otherwise Cas wouldn't have fought so hard to find him."
The bedroom door opened and everybody turned to look as Dean slumped out, shoulders tensed and eyes downcast.
"Dean?" Sam asked gently. "How is he?"
Dean paused to catch Sam's eye. "He's awake," he said with a nod. "He's barely rested, but..." He trailed off as he looked over at Adam. "He wants to talk to you. Alone."
The window shades were pulled to the side, which was a huge contrast to the darkened room Adam had kept himself in while he was recovering. The afternoon sun cast rays over Castiel's tired form in the bed, sheets tucked up to his chest as he lay there surveying Adam when he walked in and quietly shut the door behind him.
"I'm sorry to hear about Michael," Castiel said the instant the door was firmly closed. His voice sounded a bit better; Adam suspected Dean had been taking care of him to the extreme. "Dean told me everything that's happened so far and—"
"It's okay. I'm...coping," Adam lied, waving his hand. He moved to sit at the foot of the bed. "How're you feeling, Cas?"
Castiel grimaced as he sat further up on his pillows. "Never mind about me. I need to talk to you. It's important. I can rest more after."
Adam frowned. "Man, I wanna know if you're gonna be okay first."
"No. Adam. You need this." Castiel held out his hand, palm turned to the ceiling.
Adam stared, expecting something to appear out of thin air, or maybe for his hand to start glowing or changing color, but nothing happened. He shrugged. "Need what? Your hand in marriage?"
He was glad to see the trace of a smile cross Castiel's lips. "Not exactly. Though you'll need something else very personal of mine: my grace."
Adam turned white and shimmied away from the angel's outstretched hand. "I'm not taking your grace," Adam said firmly. "You need it. It's practically the only thing holding you together, Cas."
"I can manage just fine without it. I'll be human, and I'll probably need hospitalized care, but I'll be able to survive just long enough for you to give it back."
"Give it back? What do you expect me to do with it?"
"Kill Roman."
Adam sighed at length. "Seems like that's the only thing anybody expects of me these days."
"Adam," Castiel said gently after a pause, "despite what I've just said, you do know you have a choice in this, right? You don't have to kill Roman, or fight. You can just walk away."
Adam was already shaking his head before Castiel even finished his sentence. "No. I've gotta do this. I've...I've come too far now, Cas." He tried to hide the regret in his voice but he was pretty sure Castiel was already very aware of how much he'd rather not have to go through with this. "Everything I've done with my life up until this point...it's been near meaningless. What have I contributed? Nothing. I haven't done anything worth remembering."
"Adam—"
"And I mean, I'm okay with that. Or at least, I was, until Sam and Dean came along and opened my eyes to what was out there." Adam swallowed hard. "How can I just sit back and pretend none of this is happening? That the world isn't about to fall off the edge into oblivion? I might as well do my part. Lend a hand. Try."
Castiel was staring at him with a mixture of admiration and surprise. He leaned forward, wrapping his arms loosely around his bent knees, and said, "You've changed much since I last saw you. You used to want nothing more than to run away from all of this."
Adam stared at the carpet, a smile ghosting across his face. "Michael's not the only one with a compass."
"Pardon?"
"Nothing." Adam caught Castiel's eyes, blue greeting blue. "I'm doing this, Cas. I can't promise that I'll succeed, but I'll at least try my hardest."
Castiel tried to smile encouragingly but it came out as a wince as his side stung painfully. "I'm sorry."
"For what?"
"What I've done. If I hadn't been so...so arrogant and proud...if I hadn't opened Purgatory—"
"You were doing what you thought was right," Adam said, repeating the same thing he'd told Michael so long ago.
Castiel shook his head despairingly. "I thought I was, but Michael was right. There was no need to continue the search for Purgatory if Michael was back, if Michael could've taken on Raphael and stopped him."
"Michael was fading," Adam reminded him gently. "He was getting weaker and weaker every day. Raphael would've killed him if they'd fought each other."
"And now Michael is dead anyway," Castiel groaned, his head falling forward into his hands. "And the Leviathans are free."
"Cas. Hey." Adam reached over and lightly shook his shoulder. "Don't blame yourself. Whatever else you wanna do, don't blame yourself for this."
"If I hadn't—"
"You came back to us, Cas," Adam said firmly. "And that's what matters. You're here to help us."
Castiel picked his head up and stared at Adam, long and hard, as though trying to assess whether or not he was serious about his gratitude that Castiel was here again.
Adam stared right back at him unflinchingly. "You said you want me to take your grace," he repeated. "Will it make me stronger?"
"Every little bit helps, even if it's my own flawed grace." Castiel swung his legs over the side of the bed to sit side-by-side with Adam. "But I have to warn you, Adam: it's tainted. The Leviathans, when they were in me, tried their hardest to break me from the inside out, starting with my grace. It's torn and ripped, and quite small, but it's still usable."
"Will this even be possible? Fitting your grace alongside Gabriel's? I thought graces couldn't mix."
Castiel rubbed the back of his neck with his hand. "Two strong graces can't mix, it's true. But a strong and a weak one...Gabriel's grace should absorb mine because it is tainted. His grace will take to mine, will fix it and heal it, and in turn it'll strengthen you."
"And then when I return it to you, you'll be good as new, too," Adam finished, seeing where Castiel was leading with this. He could see it now, the grand scheme laid out before him, leading him closer to Roman.
Castiel warned him, "Don't jump ahead of yourself. You need to be careful with my grace, Adam. Don't let the process reverse. Don't let it infect you."
"Infect me with what?"
But Castiel didn't reply. He held his hand out in front of him, again with his palm turned upwards, and glanced pointedly at Adam. "If you want it," Castiel said, "you can take it."
Adam stared, hesitated, thought, and took his hand.