fic: our blood is still so young (it runs) // supernatural // adam milligan + kali + gabriel
our blood is still so young (it runs)
adam milligan, gabriel/kali
coda to 5x19, so spoilers!
ty to scorpiod1 , who helped poke at this when i was writing it, and never once said SHUT UP OMG. i <3 you sfm!
(this was written for a prompt at the fix-it meme, 'Dean is Michael's vessel. Sam is Lucifer's vessel. With that in mind, Gabriel (wherever he is) or the boys finds a way to make Adam his willing vessel.' but i kind of mis-remembered. whatever, it's done now!)
summary: Adam Milligan is a vessel, just not Michael's. Kali sets out to fix what was broken, and doesn't quite get what she intended.
--
He is in Heaven. There is something like pain slipping through the back of his head; mostly, it resembles grief. He can only think son of a bitch, you could have at least let me see her.
--
There is a woman, with dark hair and dark skin and dark eyes. She smells like blood, warm and coppery. (Like life.)
She stops in the doorway of his bedroom during his first kiss, and Casey Cartwright dissolves beside him, sunlight filtering through the window onto the faded dinosaurs of his bedspread.
"Adam Milligan?" she asks. She isn't speaking a language he knows, but the syllables twist warm through his throat, and he knows what she's saying.
"Yeah," he says. "Hi. Who are you?"
"The destroyer," she murmurs, lovely; "Mahakali. Basically, I'm here to get you out."
"I’m dead though," he says, tentative. "I’m not supposed to get out."
"Yeah," she says. "I’ve never been a big fan of Judeo-Christianity."
(Adam’s mom was a big fan of church; she'd probably disapprove. But considering the circumstances, Adam is willing to let it pass.)
He sits down, heavily, on his bed. "What do I have to do?" he asks.
"Just take my hand," she says. The curve of her mouth is careful, wry. "I've done all the heavy lifting."
--
(It's still kind of bloody, but he is starting to get that that is her thing.)
--
He wakes up in a bed in an apartment with the windows open, smells of the street flooding in with the breeze. He is wearing his body, and his body is wearing a t-shirt and jeans, which is a good thing, because the woman who pulled him out of Heaven is sitting in a chair at the end of his bed.
there is blood along her wrists, running in a pattern that looks like they might have been intentional.
The ceiling is white, except for the splashes of crimson spelling out runes he can’t comprehend.
"Welcome back," she says.
He can tell now that she is speaking Hindi. the sounds that drift in are Hindi too, and there is an undercurrent of spice in the breeze.
He coughs. "Hi," he says. "So, what did you need me for?"
She smiles. "So suspicious," she says.
"Well," he says, "that's a lot of effort to go to, for no reason."
"I could just be nice," she smirks, raising an eyebrow.
"And like," he adds, realising, "my body was dust, that's what happens when an angel settles over you-- how--"
"I don't think," she says, suddenly clipped and precise, "that you want to know."
He remembers, all of a sudden, the wrath she wore when they left. The way the angels fell before her, how their hearts beat once and failed. Maybe he doesn't.
--
They walk along the banks of the river Ganges, slipping through the throngs of people. The water is dark with pollution, dark like her eyes.
"I always wanted to travel," he says, wryly. "I never thought I’d be a good tourist, though."
"No one is a good tourist," she says. She is wearing a bright red sari that makes him think of the blood on her hands. "It's all right though; you have me now."
"I still don't know who you are," he says. The sun is very hot; it hits his shoulders and he thinks he might get sunburnt. It snowed all the time, back home.
"They call me Kali, sometimes," she says. "Sometimes Bhavatarini; I am destroyer and redeemer. I was married, for a while. that didn't last."
"Wait," he says, thinking about pictures in books he never really wanted to read, at school, "wait." Ten arms, ten heads, ten legs; skulls; blood-- "The goddess?"
"Do you think anyone less could get you out?" she asks, lightly. She is strikingly, stunningly beautiful, but all he can see is the red, and the danger, curled like a sleeping snake into her voice.
He thinks about it, and concedes the point.
--
Later, she says, "I need something from you."
He grins, feeling a little sick inside. "I knew it. Is it sex? Cause I’m really not comfortable with being resurrected for that, but for you, I’d try."
She raises a delicate, sarcastic eyebrow, which tells him all he needs to know, and runs her hand through her hair. "So, the end of the world is rolling around."
"I’m not," he says, heart sinking. "I’m bad at that." (He remembers Dean, worried; he remembers Sam, all earnestness and terrible convincing skills. He remembers Bobby and Castiel and Zachariah and falling backwards, being trapped, the light of Michael raining down upon him until he was nothing: alone again, in Heaven.)
"You’re the only one who can do this," she says, quiet. "Unless you know of any other illegitimate Winchesters."
"My last name is Milligan," he snaps. "Look, I owe you, big. But what do you want? I’m only-- they made it quite clear, I’m bait and that's it. Which I mean, I’d do it, but they probably wouldn't even come."
"Only not," she says. There is something like a smile at the edges of her mouth. "There’s this angel. Gabriel. I used to think he was a god. We had a thing, he was an asshole. Long story short, he's dead. But if you consent, I can bring him back. And he can maybe fuck some shit up."
"Um," he says. "Is this a meatsuit thing?"
"Little bit," she says. Her eyes are warm. He reminds himself that she is death, and not to be trusted; only, right now, she is all he has. "It’s the only thing I can think of. It could help."
"Would I--" he starts, feeling awkward, young, useless. "Would I get to see my mom again?"
"I don't know," she says. She doesn't look away from him, because she's a goddess. "Maybe. Heaven’s not really my forte."
"Okay," he says, biting his lip, taking a breath. "Call me an idiot, but sure, go for it."
--
There’s a needle in his arm, and he's thinking, this is the stupidest thing I ever agreed to (only he was buried alive, for a little, before they dug him up: so not really).
"This isn't exactly sanitary," he quips, watching Gabriel the archangel's blood drip into his veins.
"Not so much," she says. "But this is India, and I am powerful here, like blood. Besides, I’m almost positive angels don't get sick."
"Just dead," he says. "So I’m--"
"Just sitting here," she says. "He should wake up soon. Just say yes, I guess."
"Well," he says, "in case I don't get to talk to you again, thanks for busting me out. It was cool."
She laughs. "No problem," she says, white teeth flashing. "It was my pleasure."
--
Gabriel’s voice is warm in Adam’s head. Hi, he says. It’s cool if I come in?
"No problem," Adam says. "Go for it."
--
Hi, Gabriel says, again. Thanks.
"No problem," Adam says, "welcome to the body." His voice vibrates through the air. He blinks.
Fuck, Gabriel says. Fuck.
--
I’m an echo, he says. I’m not-- I’m just memories. The stuff in the blood. Do you have any idea how much that sucks?
I’m guessing, Adam thinks, kind of a lot.
I’m dead, he says. I’m dead.
My condolences, Adam thinks. He’s not entirely sure what to say.
Well, Gabriel says. It’s kind of a perk for you. You’d be in a lot of pain right now, if I was running the show.
Thanks, Adam thinks, dryly. That’s really reassuring.
I try.
--
Kali is eating something dripping, but she looks up when Adam says, "hey."
"Gabriel?" she asks. The hope in her voice is piercing, enough to make him swallow, hard.
"Just me," he says. "Sorry. He’s in here, but-- he's not strong enough. He’s not whole."
Tell her hi, Gabriel says. he suddenly sounds awkward, shy, like Adam at his junior prom. Tell her I missed her. and I forgive her for trying to kill me.
"He says hi," Adam says. "He missed you. It’s okay that you tried to kill him."
It’s not okay, Gabriel snaps. I just forgive her.
"Okay then," Adam relays, "it's not okay, but he forgives you anyway."
Much better.
She raises an eyebrow. "That’s nice of him," she says, sharp like the edge of a perfectly-balanced knife. "Because really, that was eating me up inside."
There is so much history in Kali's quiet, sardonic, infinite gaze, in Gabriel’s stuttered thoughts, that Adam wishes he could turn his brain off, just so they could be alone.
That’s sweet of you, Gabriel says. thanks.
No problem, Adam thinks. I’m sorry.
Stop apologising. It’s not your fault. and tell her I bet it was.
Do I look like I have a death-wish?
Well, Gabriel says. You did say yes.
Adam shakes his head. "He really did miss you," he says, because it is true, "and he really really loves you," because Gabriel wouldn't say it, otherwise. "He really really does."
"I know," she says, fondness sweet in her voice. "Thank you, Adam."
For you, she gets sincere, Gabriel says. Should I be jealous?
--
There is a crowd of demons thick around Dean and Castiel. Dean is shooting them but close range there are too many of them; Castiel is bleeding, from a rent in his right arm which is hanging limply at his side.
Sam’s immobile, a little while away; his eyes are screaming.
One of the demons gets to Dean, wraps her arm around his throat, says Are you ready to give it up now, Sammy?
"I’m thinking he's really not," Kali says, sharply, dark crimson, burning; she is dangerous, and deadly, and so beautiful.
"Hi," Adam says, shooting Dean a grin. Gabriel’s wings are flickering out behind him, like a shadow, like night, like glory. "Did someone call for the cavalry?"