Adam stands there, his body ready, waiting (Yes, he thinks, Yes, always Yes), and Jack – God – closes his eyes, a soft smile on his face. Dean, standing alone and off to one side, looks like he's about to be sick. Sam and Eileen wait together by one of the walls.

Jack is still smiling, and then there's a warm glow next to Dean, and Castiel appears, stumbling a little, eyes wide with shock. Adam hears Dean make a wet, choking sort of sound, lurching forward to catch Castiel in his arms. But his own body is still empty, still aching, and he says again to Jack, begging, 'Please.'

Jack's face is serene, untroubled, and for an instant Adam is so afraid that he's changed his mind that he could choke; and then, all at once, he's glowing from the inside out, and a presence slots back inside him as though he'd never left.

Michael, he thinks, mad with joy. Michael, sweetheart, Michael, and searches inside himself with frantic nudges of his soul.

He can access their shared headspace again, finally, and that's where he finds the focus of Michael's grace, quivering and unresponsive with shock. He wraps his soul around it, weak with relief; in the headspace, he kneels by the shuddering, foetal ball of Michael's body and touches him, unable to stop himself from running his hands over Michael's shoulders and face.

'Michael,' he says shakily, 'Michael, hey, look at me,' but he doesn't give Michael the chance, crushing his arms around him and pulling him up, pulling him close. Michael's hands are trembling fists against his chest, his eyes darting wildly.

'Adam,' he croaks. 'Where - ? Adam, why am I – they'll kill you!' He's frantic, panicking, hands flying up to cup Adam's face. 'You don't understand what I – if you knew – they will kill you, to get to me!'

'Michael,' Adam says, and he's crying, now, unable to stop.

'I have to leave,' Michael says. He sounds agonised, but Adam grips his arms, shaking his head through the tears.

'It's okay,' he says. 'Michael, we're safe.' He presses forward, wrapping his arms around Michael's neck, soul around grace, rubbing their cheeks together softly. Michael is trembling all over, his grace raw and quivering against him.

'I went back to him,' he says hoarsely. 'I thought – if I helped him, I thought I could ask him to bring you back. I thought – and then he - ' He makes a wounded, shaky sound, hands clutching against Adam's back.

'I know, they told me,' Adam says, and it comes out wet and stuffy. 'You idiot, of course he was going to do that, Michael – '

He presses his face into Michael's neck, folding into the familiar aura and warmth of his grace, soothing the rough hurting patches of it with little healing touches of his own soul. Michael's face is buried into the hair above Adam's ear, and he makes another little sound, like he's crying, too.

'I'll go,' he says after a minute, in a low voice. 'I can't ask you to forgive - if you revoke your consent, I'll honour it.' His hand comes up to cup the back of Adam's head for an instant, then reluctantly drops away.

Adam stiffens, pulling back a little to glare at him. 'Don't you fucking dare,' he chokes. 'You asshole, don't you – if you dare leave me again – Michael.' He puts a hand on Michael's cheek, runs his thumb under Michael's eye, his touch immeasurably gentler than his words.

Michael's grace quivers all over, his face working as he leans into the touch. 'How am I here,' he says. 'Why would anyone ever bring me back – let alone you – let alone the Winchesters? I doomed us – doomed you.' His grace is cracking open now, flowing over with pain and recrimination. 'I knew from the moment he raised his hand. I died knowing I failed you.'

'Jack's God now,' Adam says, stroking his face; he can't help himself, too overcome with the utter relief of having Michael back. 'He can do what he wants. He brought you back.'

'To stand trial, surely,' Michael says, and his face firms into lines of resignation. 'I'll submit to it, granted that you'll be safe. Free.' He closes his eyes, and Adam can feel his grace press softly, carefully against the edges of his soul, as though he's memorising the shape and feeling of it before being dragged away. Adam shakes his head fiercely.

'You're so stupid,' he says, and his voice cracks between a laugh and a sob. 'I'd die before I let that happen, you stupid – stupid fucking archangel, do you hear me? They can just try.'

'You can't fight a god, kid,' Michael says softly. 'You're just human,' but his voice is so tender that it takes any possible sting out of the words. Adam strokes his face again, overwhelmed by the way Michael – an archangel, the mightiest warrior, the first creation – leans into his touch each time.

'Yeah, well,' he says with a heroic sniff. 'They owed me, big time, and the only thing I wanted was to have you back.' He pushes his fingers through Michael's hair, to the back of his head, and tugs, bringing their foreheads together with a painless little thud, grace against soul against grace in every dimension of their shared existence. Michael's hands come gently to rest on the small of his back, and they lean against each other, breathing in each other's essence.

'You called me sweetheart,' Michael whispers, after a minute, 'you – what does that mean,' and Adam flushes.

'I know it – probably seems stupid and small to you,' he murmurs, looking away. 'Don't worry about it. It doesn't have to change anything.' It had been an accident, a slip of the tongue – or heart – in his joy at getting Michael back. In all the hundreds of years of his loving Michael with his whole heart, he had never intended to reveal this particular, pointless, human weakness. What they'd had together had been enough.

But – 'I want to know,' Michael says, and Adam wonders – can it really hurt, to simply tell him, now? Michael probably won't understand, but he won't judge, or mock him, either. He might even already know.

'Okay,' Adam agrees, quiet. 'Okay. So – you might have already guessed it, that I'm in love with you, by human standards. Sorry. I didn't mean to, it just – sort of happened, somewhere along the line.'

Michael is looking at his face as though he's never seen it before, his face a picture of astonishment. Adam winces, gnaws his lower lip. 'It really doesn't have to change anything,' he adds hopefully.

'I love you more than I loved my father,' Michael blurts out suddenly, 'more than the universe, more than the first star, more than anything, in every possible way.' He looks at Adam, and his cheeks are flushing. 'I – I want to try kissing with you, I want – the other things as well, all of it. Everything. For a long time now.'

'You what,' Adam says blankly, and then, 'Seriously?! Michael!' His soul, slowly lighting up with surprise and unexpected joy, is reaching out to curl against Michael's grace, but what?

Michael looks shifty. 'I was – working up to suggesting it. In the Cage. As a… way to pass the time,' he mumbles.

'Oh my god,' Adam says, and then starts giggling helplessly. 'You – you! And there I was! Thinking there was no possible way an – an archangel could feel that way, and you were – you were working up to suggesting it!' He feels giddy and light with laughter and delight, and he leans forward and shakes happily against Michael's neck.

Michael holds him carefully, his hands splayed on the small of Adam's back, his grace wrapping around them both like a tattered blanket. Adam can feel the way it aches, can feel Michael's love and loss, his pain and guilt; and he presses his soul against it, hugs Michael back.

'I don't know what I should do now,' Michael says shakily, against his hair. 'Where I begin.'

Adam strokes his back, scrapes his fingers back and forth in a gentle, random pattern of comfort. There's a lot of things they need to talk about, that Michael needs to explain and atone for and work through, but for now, he thinks that he gets to be a little selfish. 'I know,' he says. 'But I think – I think you should start by kissing me.'

He turns his head against Michael's, lets his lips skate across his ear, feels Michael shiver through the whole expanse of his grace. 'And then,' he says, warming to this idea, 'then, I think we should get out of my brothers' weird underground dungeon, and go somewhere nice – like – like New Zealand, somewhere where it's green and there aren't any people, and we can kiss some more. And then after that maybe we can get a hotel room, a really nice one with a spa bath, and kiss there, and – and then decide what we do next, maybe help some people, fix climate change or the hole in the ozone layer. But definitely the kissing first.'

Michael is looking at his lips, eyes hazy. His grace is shining despite the rough patches and pain it holds, lighting up and drifting forward and around them both, bright with longing. 'I've never kissed anyone before,' he says softly.

'I've never kissed an archangel, but I'm about to,' Adam says, and pulls him in, and kisses him, and kisses him, and kisses him.

Title from Be Your Love - Bishop Briggs
I'm greymantledlady on tumblr, you're welcome to come follow me there if you want! If you post a lot of Michael/Adam stuff I'll probably follow you back because I need more content.