headcanon: Adam Milligan
For posterity's sake, I'm posting this here.
You know my love for Adam. That poor, sweet (okay, he's not so sweet, he was fucking snarky, and I love him for it), little boy who didn't ask for any of the shit that happened to him, and still hasn't gotten any thanks in return? I have a version of him in my head, and what I want him to be, and to give him some sort of redemption I leave you with this little bit of headcanon I've created. The Adam in my head.
In my head, Adam didn’t die.
In my head Adam’s alive. He drives a Jeep Cherokee*, loves Beastie Boys, Dr. Pepper, and cashew chicken. His favorite movie is A Clockwork Orange, his favorite book is House of Leaves, and he’s in love with Milla Jovovich (and he will marry her one day, he doesn’t care what you say).
In my head he, for whatever reason, was still introduced to Sam and Dean and the life of hunting, and he took to it. He traveled with Sam and Dean for a while, learning things about the lifestyle and the family; things John never told him, or never wanted to tell him...But Sam and Dean tell him. Because they owe him that much.
He even stayed with Bobby for a time, learning things Sam and Dean couldn’t teach him, or didn’t know to teach him. And they fought. All. The time. But there was so much John in him, so much Sam, and Dean, and everything else ‘Winchester’ that Bobby couldn’t help but love the little sonofabitch.
And soon Adam decided it was time for him to try things on his own. He took one of John’s old cellphones (“Take this, kid,” Dean reached into the glove-compartment of the Impala and pulled out a battered Nokia that looked like reception was the last thing it was getting, and he tossed it to Adam. “I wanna know I can get ahold of you,” he said.), a journal that Sam had started with all the good bits of info left in that Adam might need, and his medical textbooks--which Sam had said would be more useful to him now than they ever would have been in school.
He left. By himself. And with wave and a smile, a dufflebag full of mostly-clean clothes and a trunkful of hand-me-down weaponry, he headed south…
*The Adam in my head drives a forest green Jeep Cherokee. It was a gift from his uncle on Adam’s 16th birthday, and he loves it. He wouldn’t drive anything else. He still drives it now when he’s on hunts, slowly updating the arsenal that he keeps hidden in the back, and keeping it stocked with supplies, and food, and water, and a few of the blankets his mom kept in the hall closet at home. The home he slowly forgets about each day, waking up every morning with it just a little further from his grasp, and just a little closer to a fond memory…
You know my love for Adam. That poor, sweet (okay, he's not so sweet, he was fucking snarky, and I love him for it), little boy who didn't ask for any of the shit that happened to him, and still hasn't gotten any thanks in return? I have a version of him in my head, and what I want him to be, and to give him some sort of redemption I leave you with this little bit of headcanon I've created. The Adam in my head.
In my head, Adam didn’t die.
In my head Adam’s alive. He drives a Jeep Cherokee*, loves Beastie Boys, Dr. Pepper, and cashew chicken. His favorite movie is A Clockwork Orange, his favorite book is House of Leaves, and he’s in love with Milla Jovovich (and he will marry her one day, he doesn’t care what you say).
In my head he, for whatever reason, was still introduced to Sam and Dean and the life of hunting, and he took to it. He traveled with Sam and Dean for a while, learning things about the lifestyle and the family; things John never told him, or never wanted to tell him...But Sam and Dean tell him. Because they owe him that much.
He even stayed with Bobby for a time, learning things Sam and Dean couldn’t teach him, or didn’t know to teach him. And they fought. All. The time. But there was so much John in him, so much Sam, and Dean, and everything else ‘Winchester’ that Bobby couldn’t help but love the little sonofabitch.
And soon Adam decided it was time for him to try things on his own. He took one of John’s old cellphones (“Take this, kid,” Dean reached into the glove-compartment of the Impala and pulled out a battered Nokia that looked like reception was the last thing it was getting, and he tossed it to Adam. “I wanna know I can get ahold of you,” he said.), a journal that Sam had started with all the good bits of info left in that Adam might need, and his medical textbooks--which Sam had said would be more useful to him now than they ever would have been in school.
He left. By himself. And with wave and a smile, a dufflebag full of mostly-clean clothes and a trunkful of hand-me-down weaponry, he headed south…
*The Adam in my head drives a forest green Jeep Cherokee. It was a gift from his uncle on Adam’s 16th birthday, and he loves it. He wouldn’t drive anything else. He still drives it now when he’s on hunts, slowly updating the arsenal that he keeps hidden in the back, and keeping it stocked with supplies, and food, and water, and a few of the blankets his mom kept in the hall closet at home. The home he slowly forgets about each day, waking up every morning with it just a little further from his grasp, and just a little closer to a fond memory…