Of his two brothers, Adam didn’t think it would be Sam who would end up on Bobby’s couch groping an angel.
They hadn’t even picked a piece of furniture in one of the darker corners. No, Lucifer had pulled Sam down on top of him on the couch that sat at the crossways of three rooms, so there was no way anybody trying to get to the kitchen, the basement, or even flee out the front door would make the trip without an eye full.
When Adam descended the stairs into the main living area that warm summer night, his stomach was grumbling, and Lucifer was pulling Sam’s shirt over his head, pants half-undone.
Adam braked to a stop in the doorway.
“Wow. Okay. This is getting really old, guys.” He whirled away, covering his eyes with a wince. “Get a room!"
Ugh, naked brother flesh.
Unfortunately, there weren’t so many avenues to the kitchen, and getting naked in a shared living space? That was just disrespectful. He would have expected that from Dean, but considering who was with Sam on that couch – he shouldn’t have been surprised.
“I’m just—“ Adam gestured to the kitchen, hand still held up as a shield against the trauma, but it did nothing to block his ears from Lucifer’s low, quiet laughter or Sam’s wet, pleased noises that sounded like he’d found skin, so Adam made a break for it.
It’s like they didn’t even notice he was there and Adam almost thanked God for small mercies, until he remembered that God didn’t deserve his thanks for anything, least of all placing Adam in desperate need to un-see what could not be unseen. Again.
At least someone was getting some action around here.
Grabbing a beer and one of the left over hot dogs, Adam decided he’d rather eat it cold outside in the yard than hang around the extra minute in front of the microwave listening to the live porno of Lucifer and Sam in the next room.
The front screen door swung wide, spring creaking as it smacked against the wall, and Adam shuddered with relief in the low porch light.
That is, until he noticed his other brother and his angel crowded by the wooden railing's post at the stairs. Dean was glaring at him with that narrowed, threatening promise of slow, enduring torture, but it was Castiel’s deep frown of annoyance that made Adam shrink back.
“What?” He gawked, gesturing wide with his beer and dinner. “Rocky and Frank-n-furter are getting nasty on the couch; I’m not going back in there!”
Dean and Castiel weren’t even touching! What the hell was with the faces?
Adam felt their accusing eyes on his back as he charged past down the stairs into the lot. He heard Dean mutter something as he passed and was half-tempted to throw back an observation about the epic unchanging fail of Dean’s messed up, impotent need for Castiel, but Dean was faster and bigger than him and Adam really just wanted to have his dinner in peace. Even if it was cold and it meant going out into the darkening salvage yard.
“Where’s your angel?” Dean jeered, voice loud and clear behind him.
“He’s not my angel,” Adam shot back, turning the corner of the house, out of sight and hopefully out of earshot if this was the night Dean and Castiel decided to make progress on their thing.
He wondered if Dean and Castiel were stupid or ignorant, but there was no ignoring the way they orbited each other and cut The Look of Death at anyone who interrupted or drew attention to it. They made the small exception for Sam because he’d been there first in the landscape of Dean’s life and ‘Sam and Dean’ were, for all intents and purposes, a packaged deal.
Adam wasn’t bitter about their exclusivity; he knew the life they were coming from. He was even pretty optimistic that Dean could pull the giant stick out of his ass if he and Castiel finally addressed the elephant in the room, then maybe Dean could try putting something else up his ass instead.
… Why did his brain have to go there?
Adam stared at Bobby’s wall of tools in disgust. Suddenly, the hot dog wasn’t so appealing.
It goes in the garbage under the workbench and Adam drained half his beer in one go instead. He was still starving, but the beer was thick, cool, and better than nothing.
It was a funny thing breathing in and coughing out at the same time when you had a mouthful of beer. Mostly, Adam ended up choking.
When he was finished surrendering a lung, he glared at the archangel who had appeared at the other side of the shed.
Michael looked him over, patiently waiting for him to recover himself. If Adam had actually choked on his beer, that would have been such an anticlimax and he reminded himself to thank the angel for the helping hand later.
“What?” Adam coughed, voice watery and rough.
“You called,” Michael said again.
Adam looked away, frowning, and looked back at the angel.
“No, I didn’t.”
“Adam, you called me.”
All right, whatever, Adam wasn’t going to argue with him because Michael was here now, Adam was hungry and this was his only bottle of beer.
Michael watched him throw the empty bottle into the garbage with a crash of glass.
“Okay, let’s go.”
“I’m not going back in that house, man. I haven’t eaten and I need more beer for the shit I’ve seen.”
Michael’s frown deepened, slightly annoyed and disapproving, and Adam saw shades of that simpler angel he used to know.
“Adam, I have—“
Adam didn’t let him finish that sentence.
“Heaven can survive without you for one night. Castiel’s down here anyway, let’s go.”
Michael paused, looking out into the yard as he considered it.
They had been at the bar for three hours and in that time Michael had matched Adam drink for drink. He also listened to Adam rant through two meals of shoestring fries and some kind of breaded sea creature that Michael didn’t care for.
“And they’re always around, in the kitchen, the yard, in the other room when I’m trying to sleep – I was gonna do my laundry yesterday and pretty much walked into Lucifer’s backside! ‘Course he had Sam there and, man, there are parts of your siblings a dude should never have to see—“
Michael was patient and quiet, leaning forward resting elbows on his knees beside Adam on the curved cushion seat. They sat behind a low, circular table, other patrons swimming and crushing around them, but somehow, with a single look from Michael, they never came close enough to ask about sharing the space.
Michael drank everything Adam put in front of him, but with the beer bottles piling up, Adam was only getting louder and angrier while Michael hadn't uttered a word.
He was fairly sure he was expected to empathize (he didn't).
He was positive he'd missed the crucial point of his role in this conversation.
“Adam, what do you want me to do?”
“Why is Lucifer always around, man? Can’t you find some job for him to do—“
“Lucifer can’t return to Heaven.” Michael’s voice lowered with regret, but when Adam waited, searching the angel’s downcast expression, Michael didn’t continue, deeming the subject closed.
He didn't believe Adam wanted to hear about Lucifer's deep and growing feelings for Sam when he was already so aggravated by their mere presence.
Adam swallowed the last drop from his latest bottle and flicked it across the table top to join their collection in the centre. He’d fought every waiter who’d come by trying to clear the space for him, Adam needed the mountain to remind himself he’d accomplished something tonight, even if it was only to get stone-faced drunk with his former angel.
And he was spending Sam’s money. Hell yeah to that, he'd said.
“He’s got to do something besides neck my brother all day!” Adam practically shouted, reaching for a new bottle and not noticing the heads that turned their way.
Michael did, though, and raised an eyebrow at those curious patrons who swiftly turned back to their own business once caught watching.
Adam cracked open a bottle for Michael on the table top’s rim and held it out.
“To brothers,” Adam cheered, clinking his bottle against Michael’s. “And brain bleach.”
“… I can see that you’re frustrated,” Michael said, watching Adam drink like it was a race, but he was the only one competing.
Adam’s lips parted from the bottle top with a pop, his expression hard, skin flushed.
“I’m so far beyond that, man, Imna march back there and kick them off that couch. Imna lock them in that panic room until they’re so sick of each other they don’t even want to be on the same continent - no, the same dimension - and then? Maybe I’ll let ‘em out. ‘N then I’m gon’ get Dean ‘n Castiel to get the fuck onto each other like white on rice at a fucking buffet – but maybe only on Sundays and when I’m not around – ‘cause if they don’t do it I will!”
Michael stared at him, brow furrowing in confusion.
“You’re going to fuck your brother and Castiel?”
Adam’s face twisted abruptly like he’d stepped in something.
“’The fu—no! You been listening to anything I’ve been saying?”
Michael shook his head slowly, searching Adam’s glassy gaze, pupils wide and dilated.
“I admit I’m having trouble following you.”
Adam’s face pinched in annoyance and he knocked his bottle against the one in Michael’s hand.
“You’re just not drunk enough, come on, you gotta catch up.”
“Adam, I’ve had as much as you.”
“Then drink some more.”
“I think you’ve had enough.”
Adam’s eyes narrowed at the angel in challenge.
“What, are you gonna stop me?”
“I can stop you.”
Michael pried the cold, slippery bottle from Adam’s tight grip to prove his point.
Adam glowered as the angel straightened, tall, in his seat, the bottles pushed out of reach, and Michael had no idea how that led to the next words that came out of the human’s mouth.
“You’re kinda hot, you know that?”
Michael blinked at him, eyebrows rising in surprise.
“What?” He almost laughed.
Little moved Michael to mirth and the fact that he was laughing at Adam should have been the human’s cue to stop. However, the alcohol had miswired something in his brain, because Michael’s small smile only spurned Adam on.
“This guy, he’s not bad, but I think you’re wearing him wrong. He’s got good muscles and look ‘t the way you’re sitting – not using ‘em.”
Michael struggled to decipher drunken Adam speak.
“You think I’m hot?”
Adam blinked at him, sluggishly, still scowling.
“You’re dense… and rude… you’re never around. But you should be on the cover of a magazine.”
And then a hand clumsily pushed against Michael’s shoulder and Adam leaned into him, kissing him full on the lips. Adam’s mouth was dry for all the beer he’d been drinking, sliding against him in the second it took Michael to recollect himself and push Adam back with both hands on his shoulders.
“Adam, you’re very drunk.”
“Better be. You know how much that beer cost?”
Michael covered the hand curling in his shirt collar, pulling it away.
“Adam,” He started carefully and searched that glassy, dilated gaze. “Do you like me?”
Adam’s mouth twisted in irritation.
“Can’t you just shut up and kiss me?”
“You saying you don’t want to?”
Michael startled at the question, caught off-guard, and Adam blinked at him, looking bored.
After a long moment of nothing, Adam eventually shrugged.
“Well, if you’re not gonna, take me home. I have no idea where we are.”
That was an abrupt change; Michael could barely keep up with Adam and his demands.
Michael took Adam’s shoulder and then they were on the front porch of Bobby’s home again. Adam swayed dangerously, pitching forward, and Michael caught him around the waist and one of his wrists.
Adam blinked up into his face after Michael helped him straighten, frowning gently as though he couldn’t see the angel in clear detail. Michael’s hands lingered on Adam’s arms.
“Well, thanks for… this.” Adam gestured with the beer bottle that had hitched the ride with them and started fumbling with the mystery of the front doorknob. Michael thought he had confiscated that.
He could sense the morose dejection settling in Adam’s mood and reached for Adam's shoulder, turning him back before he realized what he was doing.
“Adam….” He said, quietly.
Adam stiffened as the angel leaned down and kissed his cheek. He went still, his skin was warm and flushed and that was definitely confusion in his face when Michael pulled back, hands pushed deep in the pockets of his jacket.
Adam looked confused and, actually, offended, bright blue eyes searching Michael’s accusingly.
“Goodnight,” Michael excused himself, though what he meant to say was Sorry.
He was surprised when a hand fisted in his shirt, Adam yanked him back and caught Michael’s mouth with his own. Adam kissed hard, Michael learned. Adam also kissed slow and consuming and he was breathing hard when he finally let Michael go, a dark grin spreading on his features.
“You wanna come inside?” Adam asked.
Michael glanced at the beaten, paint-chipped door, then back to Adam’s face, his kiss-swollen lips.
Adam’s grin sharpened to a glare within a beat.
Michael sighed, once again pulling Adam’s hands from his clothes, but this time he didn’t let go.
“Adam, you’re drunk.”
A pause as Adam considered the argument.
“Would you come inside if I wasn’t drunk?”
Michael smiled and squeezed the hands in his before stepping back towards the night. This was a conversation Adam would regret having in the morning and the angel was not inclined to give Adam more reasons to dislike him.
“I’ll call you tomorrow!”
Michael snickered to himself and took flight, missing the moment the porch lights flickered on and off and Adam groaned, turning to lash at whoever had their hand on the light switch.
Of course Adam would call, even if it was just to give the angel an earful about his latest complaints. He’d become impressively brazen with his regard of the angel and Michael couldn’t help giving credit to his audacity, despite knowing what Michael was capable of, what he’d experienced at Michael’s hand himself.
Adam didn’t make a lot of sense when he was under the influence, but if he had the nerve to say half of the things he had when his mind was clear, Michael had a feeling he would seriously consider letting Adam lead him into the house.
At least then he might understand what Lucifer and Castiel had been raving about. Although, as far as Michael understood, Castiel and Dean had never consummated their bond, so Michael had no idea where the younger angel gleaned his disturbingly detailed anecdotes. Michael decided he didn’t want to know.
Adam, however. He’d like to get to know Adam.