blue_bells: BY <lj user="chosenfire28"> (Supernatural :: Somewhere to Begin - dar)
[personal profile] blue_bells
» Title: Somewhere to Begin - Part X (MASTERPOST)
» Author: [profile] _bluebells
» Artist: [personal profile] chosenfire28
» Beta: [personal profile] ladyknightanka, [personal profile] mishaphappens
» Pairing(s)/Character(s): Michael/Adam, Dean/Castiel, Lucifer/Sam/Gabriel, Raphael/Balthazar, Bobby and others
» Warnings: NC-17/R for violence, torture, gore, dub-con, angelcest, language, alcohol, and character death
» Spoilers: All seasons, AU from Season 5 finale
» Summary: Adam Milligan was just another casualty of the engine of the Apocalypse. After Michael breaks them out of the Cage, Adam is accidentally thrown into the future where peace has finally settled by strange circumstances. With his memories sealed to protect his sanity, Adam learns the censored, Apocalypse-free version of the life he's forged with a suite of archangels, a crabby adopted Uncle, and brothers he never knew he had, but this has all happened before and will happen again.



Michael is a street ahead, his hands in his pockets, and he doesn’t slow down. Adam's breath steams in the late hour as he quickens his step to catch-up. He half-expects Michael to break his disguise and fly, but Michael's feet hit the pavement, and he ignores Adam even when he breaks to a walking pace at his shoulder.

"Michael, hold up, I need to talk to you."

"What for? What?" Michael stops and turns on him angrily, his hands falling to clench by his sides. "You asked me to leave, so I left.” He thrusts a hand back in the direction they had come. “This doesn’t change anything. Do you want another apology? I'm sorry. I'm sorry you are who you are and you got mixed up in all of this. I'm sorry you decided to forgive me and I fell for it. I'm staying away. What else do you want me to say?"

"... Nothing. Just, thank you." Adam is stunned, caught off-guard by Michael’s outburst, and he struggles to remember what he had planned to say. "I don't know if those guys already said this, but, thank you. For Dean. I know what it cost you."

Michael’s gaze narrows and Adam has a feeling the angel doesn’t believe him.

"Thank you for my name.”

"Wait, don't --" Adam catches his arm when Michael starts turning away again, "Don't you want to be with your family? I know they want you there. C'mon."

"To be taunted with footage about the life I used to have? Do you think that's fun for me?"

Adam is not doing the best job of this.

"Okay, okay. Look: we don't have to watch them. We don’t even have to go back there. Where do you want to go?"

“We?” Michael stares at him in surprise, realising that Adam's inviting himself along.

Adam nods encouragingly and braces his hands on his hips, hoping that Michael will let him follow and choose somewhere warmer. This street is a wind tunnel and there’s an icy gale blowing right through the thin layers of his clothes.

"You should go back," Michael says.

"Maybe. I'm sticking with you anyway," Adam shrugs, wrapping his arms around himself with a shiver, and an obvious, if delayed, thought occurs to him, "Unless you don't want me here?"

Michael’s face melts to sad confusion and he makes Adam feel three chapters behind, heart beating in the sudden tightness of his throat.

“Adam, you’re the only thing I want. Don’t you -- ?” He stops when his voice cracks, and Adam bites his tongue watching Michael pull himself back under control. “You should go back.”

“… Mike, we’re out of time,” Adam says, finding himself almost short of breath, and it feels as difficult, vulnerable and plain as any confession. He’s shaking when he clutches his arms tighter around himself, and he doesn’t bother lying that it’s just from the cold with the way his heart drums, slow and heavy, against his ribs. “Can we just go somewhere?”

Adam can already see the answer in Michael’s face before the angel starts shaking his head and pushing him away again, though the effort sounds weak.


“Please?” He steps in closer, buffeting Michael from the wind. He doesn’t miss the way Michael glances down, studying how tightly Adam is bracing himself against the cold.

The wind howls down the long, empty street, glass windows trembling in their panes. A flicker of motion catches Adam’s attention out of the corner of his eye. He watches a dark plastic bag tumble up the line of parked cars, winding itself around the nose and headlight of a deep red convertible before a fresh gust drives it free and up towards the second floor balconies of the neighbouring apartment block.

It’s the coldest hour before dawn and the moment Michael acquiesces comes like a sigh of unhappy defeat. Adam glances from the steel buttons of Michael’s open jacket to the soft scowl of his mouth, and then Michael’s palm is on his neck and it’s warmer than he remembers. Adam closes his eyes with a small shiver of relief after the initial numbness fades and Michael’s heat seeps into his skin, a thumb sweeping across the lock of his jaw and over his ear.

The wind vanishes like a cry cut short and when Adam opens his eyes he’s standing beside the wooden gate of a large, open field.

Michael’s hand falls away and Adam looks at him in surprise.

“I don’t think you’ve been here before,” Michael says, quietly, still watching him.

The air feels warmer when Adam breathes it in. He can smell pine.

“This is the field,” he says, and Michael nods without him needing to elaborate, “I dreamed about this place.”

Michael looks out towards the wide perimeter of the trees and the pine’s familiar peaks. There are no street lights here. The pale, bright glow of the half-moon overhead reveals the fields have been recently harvested. Michael’s gaze flickers from a taller outcrop of trees at the field’s furthest corner and back to Adam, hesitant.

“I want to show you something,” he says.

Adam tucks his hands in his pockets and winds his jacket tight around his torso. There’s a strange intimacy about walking alone with someone under the cover of night and only the crickets around their feet. Michael barely makes a sound as he moves through the short grass and it’s a natural grace Adam has realised the angels share – unless they wanted everyone to know of their impending arrival.

“That’s where Sam and Dean set up our camp the day the war ended.”

Michael points towards the hills at Adam’s left where the fence of wooden logs ran beside the dirt road and a small cluster of pine.

“This is where you almost lost your arm setting off fireworks with Gabriel.”

Adam feels his mouth quirk in a smile for Michael’s tone of gentle exasperation at the memory as they cross the center of the field.

“Raphael and Castiel paced this entire field for two or maybe three hours between those posts.”

Michael gestures from one side of the field to the other and Adam follows his hand, watches his expression turn pensive and nostalgic.

“They never told me what they spoke of, but… even if the peace was uneasy, it lasted. Balthazar and Gabriel must have brought confection from every country on Earth. Lucifer burned sigils at the corners of this field to ward it from attention. Like our house.”

Adam is surprised at how easily Michael can say that. He watches the shadows of Michael’s hair fall across his face. Michael speaks like he has no particular thoughts or feelings about their house, but Adam doesn’t think that’s true. Michael looks like a man standing on the tracks who can’t do anything but stare ahead and face the lights of the oncoming train. Adam should say something, but he hadn’t planned further ahead than his thanks, and then Michael leads them under the shade of the largest pine at the corner of the field.

Michael presses his fingers to the bark.

“Can you see it?” Michael asks him and Adam laughs quietly.

“Um. No.”

“Feel with your hands.”

Adam’s palms press flat to the trunk, but the rough lines all feel the same when he slides his hands across.

“What am I looking for?”

“Here. You carved it.”

Adam looks to the angel when Michael guides his hands further across the bark. He shows Adam where to press his fingers, but Michael only has eyes for the carving that’s too dark for Adam to see.

“What does it say?” Adam asks, a little nervous to know the answer.

“It says ‘Dean + Cas 4 EVA’.”

Adam stares at Michael’s expression of perfect composure and then bursts out laughing. Michael finally looks at him and Adam’s eyes have adjusted enough to the dark to detect the hint of humour lifting the long, smooth lines of his face.

“Dean made you hustle petrol cash for a month,” Michael says, “And this is the spot where you invited me to stay with you.”

The laughter goes right out of Adam with the rest of his air. Michael leans his shoulder against the tree and his hands rest in the pockets of his jacket, watching Adam expectantly.

Adam wonders what the time is.

“I think I kind of like you,” he says.

It’s not perfect, it’s not even that brave, but it’s worth it for the soft smile that crosses Michael’s features.

“And I love you,” Michael says, smooth and matter-of-fact. Adam watches his face while he says it and he can tell that Michael means it this time, he isn’t confused anymore.

“How do you make it sound so easy?” Adam leans beside him on the trunk, too impressed to let the hammer in his chest silence him, and Michael doesn’t even shrug.


“And is it easy?”

“No,” Michael admits, a smile still on his lips, “But it’s worth it.”

Adam considers that, weighing his next decision in the span it takes him to exhale, close that final step, and Michael’s eyes slide shut when Adam tugs him forward by his jacket, leaning in to kiss him.

He hasn’t kissed Michael since that awful night with the tequila and Hellfire, but he likes to think that time didn’t count because he was under the influence and it wasn’t worth the hurt in Michael’s face that he’s tried to push out of mind.

Michael kisses him slowly without any of the loss Adam had been dreading, sinking hands in Adam’s hair and around his waist. Adam pulls him closer until he can feel Michael’s delicious fever warmth along his entire body, and he’s missed this.

He'd almost forgotten the sure, familiar way Michael held him. Michael lingers anywhere Adam lets him, but he still kisses like he's unsure if he's allowed to be here and he lets Adam lead, sliding hot and wet everywhere Adam asks him to follow.

“Send me back with Cas,” Adam breathes, when Michael lets him surface for air, lips shining with moisture, and he curls his fingers in the short hair at Michael’s nape, leaning against his forehead, “I’ll look out for him. I’ll make sure we get back here.”

“No,” Michael frowns at the creases on Adam’s shirt and his hand tracks possessively up and down his back, “We don’t have the strength and I’m not losing you again.”

Adam swallows the truth, it warms and aches at the same time, cording tight in his chest.

“You said Uriel’s spell was broken. What happens to us if I don’t go back?”

Michael shakes his head with regret and the tension in Adam’s chest knots painfully.

“I don’t know. But I gave Castiel something that will help.”

What if they stayed on opposite sides? What if the war went on? What if they never learned and all those hunters, angels, and friends still died?

“I would have stayed with you,” Adam says.

This future wasn't so terrible: four walls, a career, and more family with an interest in his life than he knew what to do with. He's losing a whole family of people he's just learning to care about and he feels guilty telling Michael now when they were coming up against the brick wall with no exit. This life isn't terrible at all, it's sort of amazing, and he doesn't want to lose it.

Michael just holds him close and his smile is forgiving.

“I would have been okay with that,” Michael says and presses his mouth to Adam's in a lingering kiss.

Dawn finds them hours later sitting side-by-side under that large pine tree, Adam dozing with his head on Michael’s shoulder.

Michael feels the spell’s tug on his power when Castiel goes back to those five years past. He shifts Adam closer against his side, pushes the hair back from his eyes when he murmurs in his sleep, and watches the day break.


They’re coming out the doors of a bar, celebrating the survival of their latest hunt, the first time Michael finds them.

Sam and Dean stop halfway down the stairs, alerted and wary of the stranger stalking across the dark gravel parking lot, because anyone who walked with that much intent to a place like this at such an hour of the night had a very specific mission in mind. But they don’t recognise him and they clear the mouth of the short stairs to give him a wide berth.

He’s just another face, unannounced, but Adam feels the wrench from something inside of himself before he even lays eyes on him.

It burns tight, twisting like a fist somewhere between his liver and his lungs. He freezes, stunned, and they realise too late that it’s Adam this guy is headed for.

Adam meets Michael’s glower only three paces away and his mouth goes dry.

He hears a gruff shout of warning (hey!) that sounds like Dean, but Michael doesn’t stop. Boots scuffle on gravel, Sam’s closest and he reaches for Adam out of the corner of his eye, an urgent babble of sound.

Adam doesn’t hear what his brothers say, because the shot rings out like an explosion and Michael goes down like a stone at the foot of the stairs.

Huh. He wasn’t such a bad shot after all.

Dean is shouting for Castiel somewhere by the parked cars. Adam’s boots are loud as he descends the stairs, gun still trained, and Sam comes up beside him with his own piece drawn.

“Adam. Adam, be careful,” Sam is saying, though he towers over both of them with his giant, reassuring shadow.

Michael groans, holding a hand to his wounded shoulder, and Adam just plants a boot on his chest, leaning with his weight, when the archangel tries to sit up.

Castiel appears at Adam’s shoulder with a light rush of wind. He glances from Adam’s face to the weapon he had put in Adam’s hands after Balthazar found him and Castiel scotch-taped the tears in his soul.

At that time, Castiel had pressed fingers to Adam’s temple and shared second-hand memories of another life that left Adam breathless, confused, and occasionally seeing double.

Frankly, those memories explained a lot about the shared looks and personal space between Dean and Castiel, the reason why Dean pushed Castiel behind him at the first sign of danger, though Dean was the more vulnerable to physical damage.

Adam had begged to have some of those images permanently erased. Castiel was strangely resistant to the idea of tampering with his memory at all.

“These clips hold a remoulded form of Michael’s sword,” Castiel said, pushing the gun with several spare rounds of ammunition across the table. No explanation of how it came into his possession. “The choice is yours, Adam. Peace is still an option, if you’ll help me fight for it.”

Confusion colours Michael’s eyes and Adam trains his gun at the space between them.

Just in case.

“Hey, babe,” Adam smirks, “You kept me waiting.”


Return to the MASTERPOST (Or) Continue to the timestamp: Genesis 1:31 (Michael/Adam, PG-13)


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