[spn_j2_bigbang fic]: Wings, Rings and Interspecies Flings - NC-17 - 3/6
BACK TO MASTERPOST?
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Chapter Three: The Suite Life of Michael and Adam
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The name of the hotel was The Lady of Lawrence, monogrammed on practically everything Adam came across. In any case, at least he now knew why LL had been embroidered on his towels.
It was a huge, sprawling estate that, according to a brochure he’d found at the empty front desk, doubled as a resort, as well, and it was smack in the middle of some tiny Kansas town. Yet, when he looked out of a giant window that could practically pass for a door in itself, he couldn’t immediately locate any cows, tiny dogs or air-headed girls. Adam was slightly disappointed.
However, he was soon distracted by the boxes slowly trudging across the lobby toward him, so he decided to cautiously meet them halfway. First angels and now sentient cardboard - what was next, friendly schoolboy aliens?
Despite that, he was somewhat surprised when the boxes cursed quite explicitly, the stubby legs under them shaking, but he was close enough now that he could see at least the top of a woman’s braided head. He felt a little bit silly for not noticing in the first place, but self-deprecation could wait.
“Can I help you with that, ma’am?” he quickly asked, easily taking the boxes from her grasp without waiting for a reply, leaving her holding only a big, gaudy purse under one arm. Now he could actually see her face, which was dark and weathered with kind laugh-lines, her smile stretching wide, though she wore an enormous pair of black shades that hid her eyes from sight. Even standing with her back squared, she only came up to his chest.
“Thank ya, sugar,” she said, beaming up at him. He began to shake his head, to insist it was no problem, but she raised her now free hands to cover her mouth in surprise. “I knew it, I knew it! You really are Sleepin’ Beauty, ain’t ya?”
Adam blinked. “Uh, excuse me?” He gave her a subtle once over, wondering if she'd hurt herself before happening upon him. Last he’d checked, there were no Disney princesses about.
“Don't ya gimme that look!” she scolded, and he ducked his head on instinct. “I know I ain't gettin' any younger, but my vision's just fine, thank ya. 'Sides, I'm still a woman, and I wouldn't have forgotten such a handsome boy!”
“Oh, well, um, thank you, ma'am,” he stammered, but she didn't miss the lost expression on his face.
“I'm Vivian Weldes, but just 'bout everybody calls me Viv, and I own The Lady of Lawrence, finest lodgings this here side of the Midwest,” she explained, her braids clacking as she bobbed her head.
Adam nodded, understanding starting to dawn, and honestly said, “It's very beautiful. I've been having a look around.”
Viv snorted. “Maybe so, but it can sure get borin', leastwise till you and Prince Charmin' arrived.”
“'Prince Charming'?” Adam repeated, somewhat apologetic. “I'm not really following, ma'am.”
“Viv,” the old woman clarified, her hands on her hips, and she only went on after he nodded his compliance. “It's just, Lawrence's such a wall-flower of a town at times. Sure was different when that good-looking fella of yours carried ya in, actin' all chivalrous, like you was precious.”
“R-really?” Adam asked, cursing himself not only for losing his composure so easily, but also for not asking earlier how it was that Michael had managed to pull this off, since he'd been knocked out at the time. The money was probably no obstacle, since he could counterfeit money faster than Leonardo DiCaprio in Catch Me if You Can, but Michael had to have made a pretty funny picture, clumsy with money that even human children were comfortable with, lugging around human dead-weight, and it was surprising that no cops had come knocking on their door, suspecting a serial killing in progress.
Then again, he was an archangel and mind-whammies were always a good plan B. It probably wasn't the best time to snigger and imagine Michael reaching out his arm and saying, “These are not the droids you are looking for!” though he had a feeling it probably did go down that way.
Viv nodded solemnly, looking up at Adam. “Cross my heart, baby boy,” she promised, before her wide lips quirked in mischief, taking years off her face. “The maids're the ones who call ya Sleepin' Beauty and Prince Charmin', by the way, and they haven't once stopped whisperin' about it. Gotta say, though, I saw the way he was holdin' ya, and I remembered my husband, God rest his soul. Carried me over the threshold just like that, he did, and when he came home from the second war. It warms the cockles of my little heart to see you two.”
“You think me and Michael-” Adam began, before hastily sputtering, “We're not like that, ma'am - Viv. He just doesn't understand, uh, social boundaries, is all. He handles all his friends like that.”
“Oh, so you're friends,” she replied, eyebrows raised pointedly high. With the amused smile still plastered on her face, she said, “I see.” Adam sucked in a breath and silently counted to ten, because she obviously didn't see, but Kate Milligan had drummed manners into him from day one, so his tantrum was completely mental, contradicted only by a small pout. Viv laughed, booming and bright, when she noticed the way the intake of air made his cheeks swell. “Why don't ya set those over there, sugar?” she directed, indicating from the boxes he still bore to the top of the reception desk. “Then, I'd like to know the name of the gentleman who's doin' all my bell-boy's work, before givin' him a real tour.”
Adam blushed. “I'm Adam - Adam Milligan - and you really don't have to do that. You're probably busy.”
“Nonsense. It's always nice to meet such a polite young man. My grandson, Charlie, is 'round your age, but he's always been a wild thing. His brother's more sensible, though. He's my partner - handles all the money stuff, since it always slips through my fingers like green water, while I take care of this pretty Lady.” She prodded him with a sharp finger till he did as she'd dictated, albeit reluctantly, then smiled victoriously, hooking her arm in his, not noticing how he had to hunch to make up for their height difference.
For such a sweet looking old lady, she was surprisingly strong, and Adam stumbled over his new sneakers trying to stay apace with her, dutifully nodding whenever she stopped her inane chatter about her family and work to show him something significant in the hotel - “This is the library. Ya like to read?” or “That's the kitchen. You can just call 'em when you're peckish and they'll come right up to your suite.”
“This here's the spa,” she eventually said, stopping in front of an open door that permeated steam, on the Lady's basement level. “Gotta be honest, baby boy, you look like ya need to visit it.”
He frowned, supposing it was true. Unfortunately, he wasn't really a spa kind of guy. Once a year, for as long as he could remember, his mom would have a self-proclaimed Kate-day that she'd spend at there. When he was really, really small, Adam had no choice but to be forced along with her, sitting with other kids in a blocked off playpen corner, and it had always been so boring. He didn't begrudge her for it - working while taking care of a little kid by yourself was nothing if not a laudable accomplishment - but he’d jumped at the opportunity to stay behind as soon as he was old enough not to need a babysitter anymore. The stigma of the experience, however, was forever seared into his brain, hence his disinclination to answer now.
Viv laughed, apparently reading his reaction for what it was. “It's okay if ya say no, silly thing. I ain't gonna hit you or nothin', but your lil' friend did pay up front for every doggone thing, so you should try and relax while ya can, get some meat on those bones. Noticed y'all didn't order any food yet.”
“No, Michael, uh, cooked for us, I guess you could say,” he explained, trying to put her at ease. He had no idea why every older woman he'd ever met wanted to mommy him - perhaps his instinct to be as independent as possible somehow conflicted with their own intrinsic maternal qualities - but it wasn't so bad, even if it was sometimes bothersome.
Viv cupped her wrinkled hands together over her heart. “Aww, ain't that just the most darlin' thing? Come here, come here!” She suddenly grasped his wrist, running past the resort area on too quick legs, and dragged him along until they'd climbed spiraling stairs back up to where most of the guest suites were. One particular door had a well-polished silver plaque on it, proclaiming in sloping script that it belonged to a 'Miss Vivian Weldes', rather than the identifying numbers that the others had. She tugged the knob till it swung open, not yet releasing Adam, and pulled him in after her, shutting the door behind them.
All this time, he'd been forced to trail her like a puppy that had been threatened by a rolled-up paper, and now he stared suspiciously at the locked door, wondering if he was in the presence of an ax-murderer due to his own bad judge of character. It wasn't completely unfounded, considering he'd believed in Zachariah not long ago. Viv must have noticed how he'd shifted into fight-or-flight mode, because she made an eager gesture with her hands, guiding him to her soft, flower-printed couch, where he uneasily took a seat, glancing around.
The elderly woman's quarters weren't bad, per-se. The walls were the same cream as the rest of the hotel, and the carpet was the same crimson, but her furniture was all over the place. Apart from the ugly but comfortable couch, there was a Victorian era tea-set on a serving cart, as well as a fireplace topped with pictures of her family and a sixties style lava lamp, shifting from bombastic color to bombastic color. Viv now stood in front of the cart, pouring equal portions of tea into two small cups and uncovering platters of croissants.
“Don't be lookin' so scared,” she chastised with a laugh, setting a doily and a steaming cup down on top the small mahogany table before him. “Before I gotta call sayin' Ernest, my bell-boy, wasn't gonna be in, I was preppin' for some tea. Since you was so nice as to help me, I thought the least I could do was have ya join me.”
“You really didn't have to,” Adam said, in part because she honestly didn't, but also because tea, in his experience, tasted like sweaty balls. He preferred coffee. Viv's tea, though, smelled subtly of cinnamon, and the desserts she laid out looked better than the Dough Boy's.
“'Course I did,” Viv replied, staring at him unnervingly from behind those unfathomable sunglasses till he'd carefully plucked a croissant off the dish and dipped it into his piping hot drink. She smiled when he proclaimed his pleasure with a happy moan. “That's right, eat up while it's still warm. 'Sides, baby boy, I can help you, too, if ya let me.”
He swallowed his current bite and asked, “How?” Nice as she was, unless she knew some magical way to annul supernatural unions, she wasn't in his required neck of the woods.
“Well, that sweet blighter of yours wanted to cook just for you, even though we've gotta five-star kitchen right downstairs and he's obviously no pauper,” she said, emphatic enough to make him bristle again.
“It's not like that!” he started defensively, but she cut him off with an upraised palm.
“I know you might not see it, but I do. I was there when he brought ya in, and I can see that he cares about you. All my kids and three of my grand-kids are already married, ya know, so I've got a handle on what I'm talkin' 'bout. Can't ya throw that poor child a bone?” She smirked at him when he sagged, crossing her arms over her chest triumphantly, and he scowled down at a freshly baked chocolate chip cookie.
It was true, Michael had shown that he obviously did care about him, if not in the way her romantic heart wanted to perceive it, and he had been something of an asshole to the archangel lately - meaning pretty much always - despite how he'd gone out of his way to make sure Adam didn't die - again.
“Maybe you're right,” he admitted reluctantly, before muttering, “but not about Michael being in love with me,” when he caught the way her eyes sparkled. “I guess it wouldn't hurt to be nicer to him, though.” 'Much,' he quietly added, because his pride, at least, would smart for a while.
Viv clapped her hands together delightedly, bouncing on her seat cushion. “Oh, goodie!” she childishly exclaimed, leaning forward as if she was about to divulge the answer to one of the universe's greatest mysteries. “Well, here's what ya gotta do...”
Adam sighed, left with no other choice but to comply with her demands, and angled forward, hearing the bell she wore around her neck tinkle as she began whispering in his ear.
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By the time Viv's staff were done readying their suite, Adam was feeling more nervous than he had since prom. Then, it had been because his date's father, a snobby insurance broker from the uppity side of town, had made it apparent that he didn't want his innocent princess associating with the son of an impoverished nurse, no matter how Adam excelled in and out of school, and completely ignoring how sweet little Kristen had been around the block a time or two. If anything, Kate had more of a right to be upset, since Adam was the one who'd lost his virginity that night. Fun times, those.
Now, he had no idea why butterflies were doing back-flips in his belly, but they were and there was no ignoring it, so he sucked in a huge breath and called, “Michael!” Before his teeth had even clacked fully shut, the angel was there.
“Hello,” Michael said, eying the two uniformed men who edged out of the room, pushing a cart.
The intensity of that single look could make the bravest man wet himself, Adam thought, so he quickly diverted Michael's attention by stepping fully into his line of sight, grinning sheepishly at him, while the Lady's employees speedily thanked him for blocking the scary man from view. If they only knew exactly how much danger they'd just escaped, they might have named some fancy dessert after him - pie-a-la-Adam, maybe.
“I'm sorry for snapping at you earlier. I've had a bad temper lately,” Adam murmured, scuffing his shoe against the carpet.
“I accept your apology,” Michael replied. “I've known you to be capable of glumness since I first occupied your body. It ceases to bother me any longer.”
Absorbing that, Adam refused to give into his glower, since that would only prove the angel's point. Instead, he said through gritted teeth, “You're no peach yourself,” but Michael's unexpected response made him feel like an ass again.
“I...know. I am always unintentionally upsetting you,” the archangel murmured sadly. “I apologize, as well.” He hung his head, curly dark hair obscuring his vivid hazel eyes.
“No,” Adam said, borderline frustrated because he honestly hadn't meant to make Michael feel bad. He tugged on a stray blond lock thoughtfully, then picked up where he left off with, “You know what, we both suck sometimes. Let's just forget about it.”
He figured that sounded reasonable enough, especially since the angel nodded agreeably, even wearing a tiny smile, happy to simply stare at Adam now that they were once again on amiable terms. “If that's what you wish.”
“I do,” Adam stated, satisfied to let him gaze to his heart's content, despite how vexing it was, if it really meant that much to him. “But I didn't think it'd be so easy to get back into your good graces, so I do have a surprise for you. Another surprise, other than my ability to be complacent, for once.”
“Why?” the archangel asked, befuddled again. “Your soul hasn't once left from within the shelter of my grace, to my knowledge.” He seemed truly bothered by this prospect, so Adam resisted the urge to roll his eyes, not wanting to be insensitive toward any true fear Michael felt, humorous as it was.
“Don't be so literal,” he chided gently, reaching out to take Michael's hand. It felt inexplicably warm and dry in his own, soothing against his incessantly cold digits, as he curled their fingers together. Only to keep Michael from straying, he silently justified, because the angel wasn't that different from a baby at the mall sometimes, with his unfortunate habit of pulling a Houdini whenever he was spooked in the slightest. He began to draw him forward, out of the huge living room and into the dining area, where they'd spent their morning.
Michael eyed the fully stocked table. “Did you get very hungry?”
Adam smacked his arm. “Even I couldn't eat this much unless I had a stomach worm - which I don't, in case you were thinking of actually checking. No, this is for you,” he said, beginning to feel anxious again.
“I do not require sustenance,” the archangel reminded him, not at all helping to abolish his discomfort.
“I know, I know,” Adam replied. “Doesn't mean you can't eat. I even saw you do it before, so no excuses! Now come on!” He yanked on Michael's arm till they were close enough to smell all the exquisite food Vivian had suggested for the night.
“I don't understand,” Michael muttered, the closest thing to an actual whine Adam had ever heard from him, but he did take a seat, admittedly hesitant. Adam felt his mood uplift, knowing that the angel was at least sharing in his unspoken discomfort, if nothing else. It was weird how vindictively happy he could get over that, but Michael already knew he could be a bitch at times - 'glum' was the word he'd used - and there had to be a reason he hadn't yet flown for the hills, right?
“Well,” Adam explained, “I thought I'd repay you for breakfast, except I can't just flap on over to Belgium to do it. Thankfully, you apparently dropped enough cash to book this place six times over and the hotel manager insisted I order something off their menu.” It was the God's honest truth, as Viv had truly gone so far as threatening him, though she'd also pushed for him to make it up to the angel in some other, unmentionable ways - ways that he was never thinking about again, if he could help it. Instead, he'd opted to let her order for them and got her off his back that way.
“You shouldn't have listened to her, then. I don't wish for you to go out of you way for me,” Michael answered quietly, his mouth overturned in displeasure.
“I wanted to,” Adam huffed, annoyed that the angel was so against what he'd been hoping was a well-intentioned gesture. “Besides,” he quipped slyly, “you can't walk around like you've been living under a rock anymore. I don't want to be seen with you if you don't even know the difference between chocolate and vanilla. Unless, of course, you're scared?”
Michael gave him a look that could have withered a leech faster than a whole bucket of salt. “I am not afraid,” he said decidedly, seeming not to notice how Adam smirked, or maybe ignoring him for the sake of his own pride, before he lifted the lid off of the biggest platter, which sat at the center of the table.
“Ugh!” Adam cried, while Michael's eyes widened, after being faced with a fully roasted pig. It's dead, beady little eyes stared at them, its teeth grinning around the shiny red apple in its mouth. “You don't see that everyday.”
“No,” Michael permitted, scrutinizing the bristling creature for an entire minute, then turning to Adam. “I can sense that it has died, but it continues to appear alive.”
“You mean it looks like it's about to kill you!” Adam shuddered, taking the lid from him and concealing Babe once more. “Jesus, and Viv thinks this is romantic?”
“Is this meant to be romantic?” Michael inquired, fixing onto his words.
“Uh, no, that's not what I meant!” Adam answered, unnecessarily loud, and drooped with relief when the angel let it go, allowing him to steer the conversation back to the subject of their meal.
The next dish was a lot better, something folded in handmade pita bread that tasted like potatoes and many unidentifiable spices when Adam took a bite, its aroma poignant and saliva-inducing. There were two, one for each of them, about as long as the area from his palm to his tallest finger, and there were some freshly diced, soupy tomatoes on the edge of the plate, to dunk the wrap in.
“This is good,” Adam informed Michael around his mouthful, truthful though he'd been incredulous at first when Raj, Vivian's talkative head chef, had recommended this particular recipe. He didn't think his palate was refined enough to enjoy it, since he generally preferred a burger and a beer, or something else he could either whip up himself or pick up from Cousin Oliver's. When Michael didn't move to take his own Indian roll, Adam sighed and waved his in front of the angel's mouth, allowing him to bend forward and take a nibble with an easy chuckle.
“It is good,” Michael said upon swallowing, his eyes lighting up. Instead of picking up the one without a bite in it, however, he carefully plucked Adam's from his grasp.
“I can't believe you just did that,” came the complaint, moderately disbelieving, to which Michael, now shamefaced, attempted to hand it back. “Nah, it's okay, you can keep it, Fido,” Adam laughed, refusing him so he could take the untouched roll and dip it into the accompanying tomato chutney, watching as the angel mimicked his actions.
From that point, lunch went off without a hitch, save that Michael, perhaps because of the disastrous moment with the pig, refused to try a single iota of meat. The desserts, on the other hand, two tall glasses filled with raspberry white-chocolate mousses and topped off with chocolate covered strawberries, were met with a pleased hum.
Adam thought it was a little bizarre, sure, that his angel-friend could be both the most merciless warrior in Heaven and a vegan, but Michael's sweet-tooth more than made up for the contradiction. He would always look back fondly on the memory of Michael with cream dripping like a beard from his chin, mouth and nose, still managing to look as stern as ever even with his passing resemblance to Gandalf the Grey.
Besides, it was probably a good thing that the confections kept the oblivious angel from realizing just how close to a date all this had been, because it wasn't. Really.
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They ended up staying at the Lady for the better part of a month, partly to recover from the invisible but no less painful scars Hell had left on them, but also because Vivian had welcomed them both into her already thriving brood and Adam found that he loved that - belonging and being wanted somewhere, for nothing but being himself. It was ironic that he couldn't have that with his own flesh and blood.
It helped that the hotel was the epitome of sumptuous, its property going on for miles and miles, and they could do just about anything there - in fact, Adam, at least, was pestered near daily till he'd tried every single listed bullet-point of activities on the Lady's brochure. While Viv threatened him with her impending wrath, otherwise, she let Michael be.
Her reason was, “For a youngster, that fine child knows what he wants. I like that.” Adam almost wished he could tell her just how many years of seniority the 'child' in question had over her, in response.
That was one small ripple in an otherwise perfect reality, however, and Michael joined him for almost all the 'adventures' she planned for him, anyway, because Adam had taken it upon himself to teach Michael new things about humanity and he wouldn't let the angel off the hook. It was for his own good, so attempted human genocides via Apocalypse was never a plan that gained second wind, but Adam admitted, if only to himself, that spending time with Michael wasn't so bad.
When they weren't riding horses around the trails that wound around the hotel or lounging and swimming at the immense pool area, Adam was catching up on his reading. The Lady had a vast, impressive library to boast of.
Soon after the first time Vivian saw him browsing through its nigh endless shelves, she turned up at his suite with an armful of comic books and the most bashful smile he'd ever seen the spirited woman don.
“These were actually my grandson's,” she informed him gruffly, showing him a well-thumbed edition of Captain America, along with a few other Marvel hits. “And I asked our librarian 'bout what was 'hip' nowadays. He suggested some of these graphic novels. I thought ya might like to have a first look?”
It was such a nice, unexpected gesture that Adam immediately replied, “I can't accept this,” unused to things like that.
“I was gonna let ya, but it's not like ya have to keep 'em,” was her exasperated response, as she all but pushed them into his arms. “Tell me what ya think, baby boy. Oh, Damon used to talk my ear off 'bout all these heroes, 'fore he became more interested in girls. Nobody wants to tell grandma about their love lives.”
“Thank you, Viv,” he told her, feeling equal amounts of flustered and grateful, because he knew she wouldn't back down, otherwise. He watched her traipse off with a small, bemused smile, and it took him only a few hours to devour the stack. As soon as the last book's last page flipped to join the others, he decided to return the favor, standing at her doorstep the next morning.
It wasn't a hard choice to make, even if he didn't think he'd tell her about his love life anytime soon. Vivian was amusing, generous and, if that wasn't already enough, she completely doted on him. Plus, the delighted, surprised beam she wore when she opened the door and saw him made the whole endeavor worth it. It was impossible not to like the vibrant little woman.
Michael didn't. Whenever Adam asked the angel to join him - which was to say, whenever he made said offer on Viv's behalf - Michael politely declined, and whenever she visited, he drew further and further into his cold, indifferent shell. More often than not, he didn't even bother to stick around, choosing instead to sequester himself behind closed doors until he could disappear to who-knows-where again, only returning the second Adam was alone again.
It wasn't that Adam didn't see it, but he allowed it to go on. Who would it hurt, after all, if fly-boy wanted to be an antisocial dick? No one but Michael - certainly not Adam. Except, someone was hurt.
In the middle of her wild tale about how she'd met a real life Wonder Woman on her trip to the Amazon, Vivian paused, and Adam followed her gaze in time to catch Michael's back just in time to see the angel close their bedroom door behind him.
“Where's he go?” she asked softly. “I never see him comin' back, but lo and behold, he's always there when I'm not.”
Adam hesitated, then said, “He's just shy, that's all. Uh, he's not used to having ladies around.” In part, it was true. Michael always called 'God' his father so, in a way, he'd grown up in a 'household' opposite to Adam's and Adam had plenty of awkward moments with paternal figures to know that it wasn't completely unwarranted for Michael to feel weird around the fairer sex.
Vivian snorted, shaking her beaded head. “He just don't like me, ya mean,” she muttered, before standing up.
“Don't go,” Adam answered imploringly, but she paused only to pat him on the cheek.
“We give our customers what they want, here at the Lady. If he wants to spend time only the two of ya, I certainly don't blame him. I know I'd be annoyed, too, in his place, stuck with a nosy old woman instead of the cute boy I dug. Night, sugar,” she said, before gracefully taking her leave, her many skirts fluttering colorfully around her.
As if he'd been summoned, the undulation of wings announced Michael's arrival. “Hello,” he murmured, unperturbed by how his chilling attitude had scared Vivian away.
“You're ageist,” Adam said, glowering at him from the couch. “I can't believe you were such a dick to a poor, helpless old lady.”
He expected the archangel to hang his head and immediately become sheepish, like he generally did whenever Adam berated him. Instead, Michael frowned back at him, barking, “I cannot believe you still choose to be so naively trusting after everything.”
“Dude...” Adam pursed his lips together disbelievingly. “Yes, she's a little snoopy, but she's seventy years old. What is she going to hurt me with, her hair rollers? Get real, man.”
“If you spend enough time with her, she can hurt you,” the angel said darkly, and the expression he wore plainly revealed that he was ready to take flight again.
“Wait!” Adam exclaimed, patting the spot on the sofa next to him until Michael reluctantly sat down. “Maybe it's true, what you're saying. Maybe I'm stupid, but... It's nice, you know, that someone cares about me for no reason - that she doesn't want to make sure I've eaten only to, I dunno, ensure my meatsuit is healthy enough for some jerkbag angel to ride around in. No offense, of course.”
“I do not have a reason," Michael protested quietly. “Not anymore. I simply wish to see you happy.”
“And I am,” Adam said, searching his face, finding only sincerity there. “I'm happy partly because of you, but also because of Vivian, who reminds me of my mom and takes some of the edge off. I'm...always going to miss her, and this helps, just a little bit. Can't I have that, for now?”
Michael seemed to reflect on this for a moment, before conceding. “You may spend all the time you'd like with her. I will not come between you,” he murmured, defeated.
“Hey,” Adam pressed, “this doesn't mean that I don't want you around, man. We're having this discussion because I do. I want you to lurk and be your charmingly creepy self when she's here, and I want you when she's not, too. Her visiting doesn't mean we can't keep being friends.”
“You don't have to say that,” Michael protested, as close to self-conscious as he could ever get.
Adam offered him a heartfelt, fond smile. “I know I don't and you know I only do what I want. I want you to be nicer, yeah, but I'm selfish. It's not just for Vivian or anyone else - it's for me, for when we're together, okay? I don't like us fighting.”
“Yes,” Michael agreed, returning his smile. After a moment of mutely staring at Adam, he continued, “So...when would you like for us to spend time together - alone?” and Adam sighed. He should have known Michael would latch onto his words like a barnacle.
That was how he ended up spending half his nights snuggled down in a puffy sofa, across from an attentive archangel whose eyes never left his face, reading quietly aloud, even though he'd always been more of a mental reader before. It was also what he ended up doing on their last night at The Lady of Lawrence, at least to the point when he shut The Lovely Bones, the latest must-read he'd found at the library, after feeling disquieted by its concept.
“I somehow doubt all ghosts are as sweet and vulnerable as Susie Salmon,” he began dryly, to hide his wrangled nerves, but Michael saw right through him.
“She reminds you of yourself,” the archangel murmured, tone gentle, as if he was probing a still-sore wound with it.
Adam pursed his lips, then sighed. “I guess so. I mean, I can see why it was so hard for her, killed too soon, when she was far too young, by a force she couldn't control, but then being unable to move on from the world she was ripped from. Even knowing that depraved bastard died doesn't make up for her family's loss.” Damn, he'd gotten all unintentionally Poe in his post-afterlife, and he couldn't stand the idea of Michael pitying him over his now misty eyes. “Whatever, it's just a book, no big deal,” he proclaimed with false cheer, changing the subject and ignoring Michael's knowing look. “Wanna catch another movie, instead? I asked Vivian to see if she could get one off her two year old great-grandson, 'cause it's an epic.”
“All right,” the ancient warrior answered, deciding to let the book issue go for now, to Adam's great relief. “What is it?”
Grinning more authentically, Adam beckoned him into their bedroom, where the DVD sat on the nightstand. “Ta-da!” he exclaimed, lifting up a slightly battered copy of the first Shrek.
It didn't garner the reaction he'd hoped, since Michael only inspected the two ogres on the cover and nodded, but that ceased to matter when he popped the DVD into their entertainment system, pausing it on the introduction, and left the angel sitting on their bed so he could microwave some popcorn.
During the entirety of his childhood, he and his mom had a movie night, usually on Friday after Kate's shift ended, a tradition he'd carried on with his roommates and friends in college. In Hell, it was hard to even think about the woes of fictional characters when yours were a billion times worse, but it was still yet another thing that Adam had longed for that he could now do with Michael.
It had been peculiar at first, as all new experiences with his supernatural friend were, because of the dimmed lights, their proximity to each other, the way the knees of their folded legs touched around the huge bowl of popcorn that was propped between them, and the intense manner with which Michael deviated his attention from the screen to Adam, eager to learn from the goofy flicks that the human chose in order to please him. It was very reminiscent of Adam's first date.
All the same, it was never so bad that he wanted to stop doing it, so here he was again, offering Michael a lopsided grin as the movie started, before focusing once more on the antics of Shrek's colorful cast.
Eventually, almost too soon, it came time for the two ogres on the screen to share a last kiss, raucous music, funny jeers and other immature scenes following.
Adam stretched his arms up above his head, cramped from sitting in the same position for too long, and turned to look at Michael. The archangel was still staring at the screen, where the movie’s credits now rolled, with excessive concentration, and Adam shrugged, pegging it as an holy thing.
Michael read the last credit, then quietly inquired, “They lived happily ever after?”
“Yup,” Adam replied, exultant because this movie would never not rock.
“But why?” the angel demanded. “They were so different. She didn’t find her own ogre form beautiful, so what drew her to his?”
Pale blue eyes regarded him skeptically, then furled up to the ceiling in exasperation. Leave it to Michael to take a kid’s movie and turn it into some philosophical debate about the nature of love and beauty.
“Because,” Adam answered at length, “because he always found her beautiful, no matter what, so he made her love herself a little. It’s easy to requite someone's feelings if they make you feel special, as if you’re perfect when you’re not, when you feel really ugly inside, so she didn't mind staying an ogre to make him happy, too. Besides, beauty’s supposed to be in the eye of the beholder, isn’t it?” As an angel, he thought Michael would slurp that sugary crap right off the plate, but his vessel’s face twisted in a way that was almost pained. Adam frowned. “Why? Are you really that bothered by it? Geez, Mike, it’s a freaking movie, not Shakespeare!”
Michael didn’t reply, instead glowering obstinately at the screen, disregarding the fact that the credits had ended and it was now a blank blue. Adam scowled at him, then told himself it didn't matter. Sometimes, Michael was endearingly sweet, and other times he was an asocial bastard, but that was just Michael and if he wasn't used to it yet, then he was the only one with issues.
He jabbed his hand almost viciously into the bowl of popcorn, making some of the still-warm kernels spill over the edge, and this seemed to jar the archangel out of his stupor. He blinked at Adam’s unhappy face, then down at his hand, before he cautiously immersed his own into the bowl. Instead of taking some popcorn, however, he touched his fingers to the human's, slippery from too much butter, then interlaced the digits together, lifting their conjoined hands out of the bowl. With his remaining appendage, he cupped Adam's cheek, his grip tender but impossible to escape, and maneuvered his head till their eyes met.
“Wha-what are you-?” Adam began to stutter, but Michael's mouth was on his before he could finish the sentence.
The archangel's lips were unexpectedly soft against his, if a little bit clumsy, knocking their teeth together for a second, but too insistent and powerful to ever be described as delicate - nothing at all like how making out with a girl had ever been. He tasted like buttered popcorn - they both did, really - because he'd been trying the snacks slowly, picking them up between two careful fingers, while Adam stuffed whole handfuls at a time into his mouth. It wasn't a bad taste.
Michael pushed Adam back with very little of his strength - still too much - till his back hit the bed's headboard and the bowl between them upturned, slopping the greasy snack all over the once-clean sheets. Adam made a quiet groan of distress as the antique body of the wood rubbed up roughly against his bonding mark, which Michael had been kind enough to avoid since his initial explanation of it had resulted in a freak-out of heroic proportions. Adam wasn't sure whether, now, the archangel did it on purpose or not, but when Michael finally pulled away, he found himself too busy sucking in hungry gulps of air to question his motives. It was plainly obvious, anyway, that he'd forgotten that Adam was mortal and, consequentially, needed to breathe.
“You,” Michael gritted out in a low growl, while Adam blinked dazed eyes of a cornflower shade at him, “are the most infuriating human being I've ever met. You are stubborn and temperamental, you refuse to see the obvious, and you respond to anything that daunts you with insults, even when you know that it will be counterproductive. You stupidly care little for yourself and too much about others, you needlessly put yourself at risk, and you provoke me as no one has since Lucifer.”
He paused in his tirade and Adam felt his eyes start to sting humiliatingly. Sure, he'd known he wasn't exactly Michael's best-friend - couldn't be, really, since he now knew how lowly humanity measured on the Heavenly Host's scale of importance - but for Michael to compare him to Lucifer - the holy adversary, the arch-nemesis, the fucking devil - was kind of harsh.
“Jesus, Michael, tell me how you really feel!” he snapped, attempting to turn his head away, but the angel held his chin in place.
“You didn't let me finish - yet another peeving quality you have,” Michael went on smoothly, no hint of his supposed irritation coloring his inflection.
Adam scowled at him darkly, wishing he could lock himself in the bathroom, but that wouldn't work - firstly, the angel wouldn't let him go, and second, he'd just zap in, no respect for Adam's personal space whatsoever. Even now, his husky, unremitting voice wouldn't let his prisoner focus on all of his deprecating thoughts, the son of a bitch.
“As I was saying - despite all that, you made and make me rethink things.” Michael spoke so softly, in a whisper, that Adam frowned at him, disoriented by his sudden flip of the switch. “I used to wish to let my brothers smite your entire race, if only because I was upset, but when I inhabited your vessel and became privy to your thoughts, I found that your presence was surprisingly enjoyable, even desired. I-I was selfish, in Perdition, for I grew so attuned to it that I wanted to keep you with me, so I bonded us, knowing you wouldn't approve if you truly knew. And then, we talked more than I've ever spoken with even a fellow angel, with anyone, and you made me see that...perhaps humanity is worth preserving, if it means those like you and your mother can live, because I never realized, but you are beautiful. Wingless, powerless, unable to shield your fragile souls, but beautiful. And I want to hold you all the time, kiss you even though I used to find the gesture wet and disgusting, but I cannot even begin to express why, not even to my Father.”
Adam gawked at him for more moments than he'd want to admit, feeling like a fish out of water, opening and closing his mouth dumbly as he attempted to articulate a coherent response. Finally, he babbled, “U-um, I really have to pee,” and Michael sighed, moving away at once.
“It is late. Perhaps you should begin your nighttime routine and rest,” he acquiesced, gracefully slipping out of the bed and to the middle of the room, where he stood with his back bared, his already glamored wings even more imperceptible in the darkness.
Adam hugged himself with his arms, feeling a chill that hadn't been present in the room when they'd first entered, and nodded wordlessly, starting for the bathroom. He locked the door behind him, ineffectual though it may have been, and frowned down at the cold, tiled floor. Why did everything always have to be so stupidly complicated?
When he abandoned his ceramic sanctum at last, Michael was already gone. He thought he might have heard the muted beating of the angel's wings not long ago, but with the running water and his own screaming thoughts, he couldn't have been sure.
Adam went to bed as Michael had advised, but the Sandman, exactly like every other supernatural creature he'd ever met, decided it would be hilarious to screw around and leave him hanging, so he spent the remainder of the night staring up at the plain white ceiling, feeling more lonely than he had in years.
-
By the time the sun rose, Adam was a man on a mission. Thankfully, Michael wasn't yet home to impede said mission, so he crept out of his room and to Vivian's door without getting caught.
He only realized how early it was when the old woman opened the door, wearing rollers in her undone hair and a half-open robe around her stout frame, and then he cut off her sleepy curses with a quick apology.
Viv grimaced up at him, missing her ever-present spectacles for once, and something - perhaps the frantic expression of panic on his face or maybe some sixth sense she had - motivated her to invite him in. Even as the door shut behind him, he began telling her what he'd have to do. She was visibly upset and he had to make her some tea before she even started to accept it, but she soon nodded.
“You're right. I love having ya here more than I should, but you're right,” she acknowledged, as she ushered him out her door, forcing him to bend down so she could give him a final kiss on the cheek. “Don't you forget to call, baby boy, 'specially since I'm gonna get it from the maids 'cause of you. They are all half in love with one of you or the other.”
“I will,” he promised, even invoking his honor as an Eagle Scout, before insisting he could never forget her, when she gave him a knowing look. He left and found Michael sitting in their kitchenette, after eventually convincing the mettlesome elderly lady of his sincerity.
“Good morning,” the archangel greeted, without looking away from the orange he was meticulously peeling. He seemed unaffected by his recent rejection, and while Adam hadn't exactly been expecting serenades or love poems, he was somewhat offended by how Michael seemed to already be over him. For all he knew, Michael had been with a pretty girl angel this whole time, while Adam had been sorting through his conflicting feelings - the feelings the citrus-eating douche had caused.
Trying not to fume, Adam stalked over to the cupboard, which was readily stocked with all kinds of instantly made food, and took out a half-finished box of Lucky Charms cereal, his personal favorite. He grabbed some milk, then sat at the table, pouring the concoction together into a bowl and ignoring Michael.
Finally, after glaring down at the tabletop for a minimum of five minutes, Adam said, “I-I think it's time we left here. I already told Vivian.”
Michael set his partially eaten fruit down, licking his lips for any errant drops of fresh orange juice, and inquired, “Why? I was of the assumption that you liked it here.”
“You can't imagine how much I do, but we can't stay. No one stays at hotels forever.” It was hard for him to say so, because he really did love it here, with the ease of no responsibility after spending almost twenty years trying to be the best he could, but at the same time he knew, deep down in his heart, that their leaving had been inevitable straight from the get-go.
“Zack and Cody do,” the warrior of God replied, unaware of his charge's turbulent emotions and unruffled by the fact that he argued his logic through the employment of shows for children. This past month, he had realized his affinity for those, especially if they were animated.
Adam dropped his head onto the tabletop, the light collision making his cereal quiver inside its milky depths, and moaned loudly, secretly happy to at least have his frustration to distract himself from everything else he didn't want to dwell on.
“That, you dweeb, is fiction - and stupid fiction, at that. I don't want to stay here forever, no matter how cool it would be. The Lady might be amazing, but it isn't home.” He struggled to explain the abstract concept to a creature who, in Heaven, existed in a vast collective consciousness, wherein other angels reached out tendrils of grace to contact one another. Heaven was infinite, parallel to the never-ending universe, so how could Michael understand how important it was to have a small space to call all your own?
Of course, he really did owe the archangel more credit since, after a few lifetimes together in Hell, he probably knew Adam better than anyone - better than Adam did himself. Thus, with only the slightest reluctance, a line forming between his furrowed eyebrows, Michael asked, “Would you like, in that case, to go to Robert Singer's salvage-yard?”
Adam stabbed a green clover marshmallow with the curving head of his spoon, skillfully slicing it in two. “Why do you say that?”
“Your brothers consider his whereabouts their home. I thought, perhaps, you'd liken to them,” Michael explained patiently.
This time, a magically delicious toasted oat was crushed under his metallic eating utensil, and he watched the dusty particles float around with a malicious sense of glee. It wasn't nearly enough to satisfy him, however.
“I don't 'liken to them', no,” he said, then took a bite out of his bland breakfast. Michael frowned at him, injured by his barbed tone, and he thawed slightly. It wasn't that it was a bad suggestion. In fact, it might have even been the most sensible thing to do, but Adam couldn't bear the thought of seeing Dean again - not when he'd obviously feel betrayed by how chummy his half-brother and former enemy angel were, and especially because he knew Dean would only be disappointed that Adam was free and Sam was not. Besides, if he was asked to choose between them, he knew he'd probably choose Michael again, and while there was no love lost between him and his estranged brothers, he didn't want Dean to hate him, either. “I just mean... Well, you're an angel - an archangel - so why limit ourselves, huh? We could go anywhere, literally.”
Michael processed this for a few minutes, then nodded, handing Adam a beautiful yellow banana, not a brown spot in sight. At his human companion's questioning glance, he explained, “Potassium is good for you.”
Adam honestly couldn't find a effective argument to counter that, and his cereal had already become a soggy, unappealing mess by now, so he accepted the fruit with a small, gracious smile.
“Thanks, Michael,” he said, and meant it.
-
PREVIOUS (CHAP 2) ♥ MASTERPOST ♥ NEXT (CHAP 4)
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Chapter Three: The Suite Life of Michael and Adam
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The name of the hotel was The Lady of Lawrence, monogrammed on practically everything Adam came across. In any case, at least he now knew why LL had been embroidered on his towels.
It was a huge, sprawling estate that, according to a brochure he’d found at the empty front desk, doubled as a resort, as well, and it was smack in the middle of some tiny Kansas town. Yet, when he looked out of a giant window that could practically pass for a door in itself, he couldn’t immediately locate any cows, tiny dogs or air-headed girls. Adam was slightly disappointed.
However, he was soon distracted by the boxes slowly trudging across the lobby toward him, so he decided to cautiously meet them halfway. First angels and now sentient cardboard - what was next, friendly schoolboy aliens?
Despite that, he was somewhat surprised when the boxes cursed quite explicitly, the stubby legs under them shaking, but he was close enough now that he could see at least the top of a woman’s braided head. He felt a little bit silly for not noticing in the first place, but self-deprecation could wait.
“Can I help you with that, ma’am?” he quickly asked, easily taking the boxes from her grasp without waiting for a reply, leaving her holding only a big, gaudy purse under one arm. Now he could actually see her face, which was dark and weathered with kind laugh-lines, her smile stretching wide, though she wore an enormous pair of black shades that hid her eyes from sight. Even standing with her back squared, she only came up to his chest.
“Thank ya, sugar,” she said, beaming up at him. He began to shake his head, to insist it was no problem, but she raised her now free hands to cover her mouth in surprise. “I knew it, I knew it! You really are Sleepin’ Beauty, ain’t ya?”
Adam blinked. “Uh, excuse me?” He gave her a subtle once over, wondering if she'd hurt herself before happening upon him. Last he’d checked, there were no Disney princesses about.
“Don't ya gimme that look!” she scolded, and he ducked his head on instinct. “I know I ain't gettin' any younger, but my vision's just fine, thank ya. 'Sides, I'm still a woman, and I wouldn't have forgotten such a handsome boy!”
“Oh, well, um, thank you, ma'am,” he stammered, but she didn't miss the lost expression on his face.
“I'm Vivian Weldes, but just 'bout everybody calls me Viv, and I own The Lady of Lawrence, finest lodgings this here side of the Midwest,” she explained, her braids clacking as she bobbed her head.
Adam nodded, understanding starting to dawn, and honestly said, “It's very beautiful. I've been having a look around.”
Viv snorted. “Maybe so, but it can sure get borin', leastwise till you and Prince Charmin' arrived.”
“'Prince Charming'?” Adam repeated, somewhat apologetic. “I'm not really following, ma'am.”
“Viv,” the old woman clarified, her hands on her hips, and she only went on after he nodded his compliance. “It's just, Lawrence's such a wall-flower of a town at times. Sure was different when that good-looking fella of yours carried ya in, actin' all chivalrous, like you was precious.”
“R-really?” Adam asked, cursing himself not only for losing his composure so easily, but also for not asking earlier how it was that Michael had managed to pull this off, since he'd been knocked out at the time. The money was probably no obstacle, since he could counterfeit money faster than Leonardo DiCaprio in Catch Me if You Can, but Michael had to have made a pretty funny picture, clumsy with money that even human children were comfortable with, lugging around human dead-weight, and it was surprising that no cops had come knocking on their door, suspecting a serial killing in progress.
Then again, he was an archangel and mind-whammies were always a good plan B. It probably wasn't the best time to snigger and imagine Michael reaching out his arm and saying, “These are not the droids you are looking for!” though he had a feeling it probably did go down that way.
Viv nodded solemnly, looking up at Adam. “Cross my heart, baby boy,” she promised, before her wide lips quirked in mischief, taking years off her face. “The maids're the ones who call ya Sleepin' Beauty and Prince Charmin', by the way, and they haven't once stopped whisperin' about it. Gotta say, though, I saw the way he was holdin' ya, and I remembered my husband, God rest his soul. Carried me over the threshold just like that, he did, and when he came home from the second war. It warms the cockles of my little heart to see you two.”
“You think me and Michael-” Adam began, before hastily sputtering, “We're not like that, ma'am - Viv. He just doesn't understand, uh, social boundaries, is all. He handles all his friends like that.”
“Oh, so you're friends,” she replied, eyebrows raised pointedly high. With the amused smile still plastered on her face, she said, “I see.” Adam sucked in a breath and silently counted to ten, because she obviously didn't see, but Kate Milligan had drummed manners into him from day one, so his tantrum was completely mental, contradicted only by a small pout. Viv laughed, booming and bright, when she noticed the way the intake of air made his cheeks swell. “Why don't ya set those over there, sugar?” she directed, indicating from the boxes he still bore to the top of the reception desk. “Then, I'd like to know the name of the gentleman who's doin' all my bell-boy's work, before givin' him a real tour.”
Adam blushed. “I'm Adam - Adam Milligan - and you really don't have to do that. You're probably busy.”
“Nonsense. It's always nice to meet such a polite young man. My grandson, Charlie, is 'round your age, but he's always been a wild thing. His brother's more sensible, though. He's my partner - handles all the money stuff, since it always slips through my fingers like green water, while I take care of this pretty Lady.” She prodded him with a sharp finger till he did as she'd dictated, albeit reluctantly, then smiled victoriously, hooking her arm in his, not noticing how he had to hunch to make up for their height difference.
For such a sweet looking old lady, she was surprisingly strong, and Adam stumbled over his new sneakers trying to stay apace with her, dutifully nodding whenever she stopped her inane chatter about her family and work to show him something significant in the hotel - “This is the library. Ya like to read?” or “That's the kitchen. You can just call 'em when you're peckish and they'll come right up to your suite.”
“This here's the spa,” she eventually said, stopping in front of an open door that permeated steam, on the Lady's basement level. “Gotta be honest, baby boy, you look like ya need to visit it.”
He frowned, supposing it was true. Unfortunately, he wasn't really a spa kind of guy. Once a year, for as long as he could remember, his mom would have a self-proclaimed Kate-day that she'd spend at there. When he was really, really small, Adam had no choice but to be forced along with her, sitting with other kids in a blocked off playpen corner, and it had always been so boring. He didn't begrudge her for it - working while taking care of a little kid by yourself was nothing if not a laudable accomplishment - but he’d jumped at the opportunity to stay behind as soon as he was old enough not to need a babysitter anymore. The stigma of the experience, however, was forever seared into his brain, hence his disinclination to answer now.
Viv laughed, apparently reading his reaction for what it was. “It's okay if ya say no, silly thing. I ain't gonna hit you or nothin', but your lil' friend did pay up front for every doggone thing, so you should try and relax while ya can, get some meat on those bones. Noticed y'all didn't order any food yet.”
“No, Michael, uh, cooked for us, I guess you could say,” he explained, trying to put her at ease. He had no idea why every older woman he'd ever met wanted to mommy him - perhaps his instinct to be as independent as possible somehow conflicted with their own intrinsic maternal qualities - but it wasn't so bad, even if it was sometimes bothersome.
Viv cupped her wrinkled hands together over her heart. “Aww, ain't that just the most darlin' thing? Come here, come here!” She suddenly grasped his wrist, running past the resort area on too quick legs, and dragged him along until they'd climbed spiraling stairs back up to where most of the guest suites were. One particular door had a well-polished silver plaque on it, proclaiming in sloping script that it belonged to a 'Miss Vivian Weldes', rather than the identifying numbers that the others had. She tugged the knob till it swung open, not yet releasing Adam, and pulled him in after her, shutting the door behind them.
All this time, he'd been forced to trail her like a puppy that had been threatened by a rolled-up paper, and now he stared suspiciously at the locked door, wondering if he was in the presence of an ax-murderer due to his own bad judge of character. It wasn't completely unfounded, considering he'd believed in Zachariah not long ago. Viv must have noticed how he'd shifted into fight-or-flight mode, because she made an eager gesture with her hands, guiding him to her soft, flower-printed couch, where he uneasily took a seat, glancing around.
The elderly woman's quarters weren't bad, per-se. The walls were the same cream as the rest of the hotel, and the carpet was the same crimson, but her furniture was all over the place. Apart from the ugly but comfortable couch, there was a Victorian era tea-set on a serving cart, as well as a fireplace topped with pictures of her family and a sixties style lava lamp, shifting from bombastic color to bombastic color. Viv now stood in front of the cart, pouring equal portions of tea into two small cups and uncovering platters of croissants.
“Don't be lookin' so scared,” she chastised with a laugh, setting a doily and a steaming cup down on top the small mahogany table before him. “Before I gotta call sayin' Ernest, my bell-boy, wasn't gonna be in, I was preppin' for some tea. Since you was so nice as to help me, I thought the least I could do was have ya join me.”
“You really didn't have to,” Adam said, in part because she honestly didn't, but also because tea, in his experience, tasted like sweaty balls. He preferred coffee. Viv's tea, though, smelled subtly of cinnamon, and the desserts she laid out looked better than the Dough Boy's.
“'Course I did,” Viv replied, staring at him unnervingly from behind those unfathomable sunglasses till he'd carefully plucked a croissant off the dish and dipped it into his piping hot drink. She smiled when he proclaimed his pleasure with a happy moan. “That's right, eat up while it's still warm. 'Sides, baby boy, I can help you, too, if ya let me.”
He swallowed his current bite and asked, “How?” Nice as she was, unless she knew some magical way to annul supernatural unions, she wasn't in his required neck of the woods.
“Well, that sweet blighter of yours wanted to cook just for you, even though we've gotta five-star kitchen right downstairs and he's obviously no pauper,” she said, emphatic enough to make him bristle again.
“It's not like that!” he started defensively, but she cut him off with an upraised palm.
“I know you might not see it, but I do. I was there when he brought ya in, and I can see that he cares about you. All my kids and three of my grand-kids are already married, ya know, so I've got a handle on what I'm talkin' 'bout. Can't ya throw that poor child a bone?” She smirked at him when he sagged, crossing her arms over her chest triumphantly, and he scowled down at a freshly baked chocolate chip cookie.
It was true, Michael had shown that he obviously did care about him, if not in the way her romantic heart wanted to perceive it, and he had been something of an asshole to the archangel lately - meaning pretty much always - despite how he'd gone out of his way to make sure Adam didn't die - again.
“Maybe you're right,” he admitted reluctantly, before muttering, “but not about Michael being in love with me,” when he caught the way her eyes sparkled. “I guess it wouldn't hurt to be nicer to him, though.” 'Much,' he quietly added, because his pride, at least, would smart for a while.
Viv clapped her hands together delightedly, bouncing on her seat cushion. “Oh, goodie!” she childishly exclaimed, leaning forward as if she was about to divulge the answer to one of the universe's greatest mysteries. “Well, here's what ya gotta do...”
Adam sighed, left with no other choice but to comply with her demands, and angled forward, hearing the bell she wore around her neck tinkle as she began whispering in his ear.
-
By the time Viv's staff were done readying their suite, Adam was feeling more nervous than he had since prom. Then, it had been because his date's father, a snobby insurance broker from the uppity side of town, had made it apparent that he didn't want his innocent princess associating with the son of an impoverished nurse, no matter how Adam excelled in and out of school, and completely ignoring how sweet little Kristen had been around the block a time or two. If anything, Kate had more of a right to be upset, since Adam was the one who'd lost his virginity that night. Fun times, those.
Now, he had no idea why butterflies were doing back-flips in his belly, but they were and there was no ignoring it, so he sucked in a huge breath and called, “Michael!” Before his teeth had even clacked fully shut, the angel was there.
“Hello,” Michael said, eying the two uniformed men who edged out of the room, pushing a cart.
The intensity of that single look could make the bravest man wet himself, Adam thought, so he quickly diverted Michael's attention by stepping fully into his line of sight, grinning sheepishly at him, while the Lady's employees speedily thanked him for blocking the scary man from view. If they only knew exactly how much danger they'd just escaped, they might have named some fancy dessert after him - pie-a-la-Adam, maybe.
“I'm sorry for snapping at you earlier. I've had a bad temper lately,” Adam murmured, scuffing his shoe against the carpet.
“I accept your apology,” Michael replied. “I've known you to be capable of glumness since I first occupied your body. It ceases to bother me any longer.”
Absorbing that, Adam refused to give into his glower, since that would only prove the angel's point. Instead, he said through gritted teeth, “You're no peach yourself,” but Michael's unexpected response made him feel like an ass again.
“I...know. I am always unintentionally upsetting you,” the archangel murmured sadly. “I apologize, as well.” He hung his head, curly dark hair obscuring his vivid hazel eyes.
“No,” Adam said, borderline frustrated because he honestly hadn't meant to make Michael feel bad. He tugged on a stray blond lock thoughtfully, then picked up where he left off with, “You know what, we both suck sometimes. Let's just forget about it.”
He figured that sounded reasonable enough, especially since the angel nodded agreeably, even wearing a tiny smile, happy to simply stare at Adam now that they were once again on amiable terms. “If that's what you wish.”
“I do,” Adam stated, satisfied to let him gaze to his heart's content, despite how vexing it was, if it really meant that much to him. “But I didn't think it'd be so easy to get back into your good graces, so I do have a surprise for you. Another surprise, other than my ability to be complacent, for once.”
“Why?” the archangel asked, befuddled again. “Your soul hasn't once left from within the shelter of my grace, to my knowledge.” He seemed truly bothered by this prospect, so Adam resisted the urge to roll his eyes, not wanting to be insensitive toward any true fear Michael felt, humorous as it was.
“Don't be so literal,” he chided gently, reaching out to take Michael's hand. It felt inexplicably warm and dry in his own, soothing against his incessantly cold digits, as he curled their fingers together. Only to keep Michael from straying, he silently justified, because the angel wasn't that different from a baby at the mall sometimes, with his unfortunate habit of pulling a Houdini whenever he was spooked in the slightest. He began to draw him forward, out of the huge living room and into the dining area, where they'd spent their morning.
Michael eyed the fully stocked table. “Did you get very hungry?”
Adam smacked his arm. “Even I couldn't eat this much unless I had a stomach worm - which I don't, in case you were thinking of actually checking. No, this is for you,” he said, beginning to feel anxious again.
“I do not require sustenance,” the archangel reminded him, not at all helping to abolish his discomfort.
“I know, I know,” Adam replied. “Doesn't mean you can't eat. I even saw you do it before, so no excuses! Now come on!” He yanked on Michael's arm till they were close enough to smell all the exquisite food Vivian had suggested for the night.
“I don't understand,” Michael muttered, the closest thing to an actual whine Adam had ever heard from him, but he did take a seat, admittedly hesitant. Adam felt his mood uplift, knowing that the angel was at least sharing in his unspoken discomfort, if nothing else. It was weird how vindictively happy he could get over that, but Michael already knew he could be a bitch at times - 'glum' was the word he'd used - and there had to be a reason he hadn't yet flown for the hills, right?
“Well,” Adam explained, “I thought I'd repay you for breakfast, except I can't just flap on over to Belgium to do it. Thankfully, you apparently dropped enough cash to book this place six times over and the hotel manager insisted I order something off their menu.” It was the God's honest truth, as Viv had truly gone so far as threatening him, though she'd also pushed for him to make it up to the angel in some other, unmentionable ways - ways that he was never thinking about again, if he could help it. Instead, he'd opted to let her order for them and got her off his back that way.
“You shouldn't have listened to her, then. I don't wish for you to go out of you way for me,” Michael answered quietly, his mouth overturned in displeasure.
“I wanted to,” Adam huffed, annoyed that the angel was so against what he'd been hoping was a well-intentioned gesture. “Besides,” he quipped slyly, “you can't walk around like you've been living under a rock anymore. I don't want to be seen with you if you don't even know the difference between chocolate and vanilla. Unless, of course, you're scared?”
Michael gave him a look that could have withered a leech faster than a whole bucket of salt. “I am not afraid,” he said decidedly, seeming not to notice how Adam smirked, or maybe ignoring him for the sake of his own pride, before he lifted the lid off of the biggest platter, which sat at the center of the table.
“Ugh!” Adam cried, while Michael's eyes widened, after being faced with a fully roasted pig. It's dead, beady little eyes stared at them, its teeth grinning around the shiny red apple in its mouth. “You don't see that everyday.”
“No,” Michael permitted, scrutinizing the bristling creature for an entire minute, then turning to Adam. “I can sense that it has died, but it continues to appear alive.”
“You mean it looks like it's about to kill you!” Adam shuddered, taking the lid from him and concealing Babe once more. “Jesus, and Viv thinks this is romantic?”
“Is this meant to be romantic?” Michael inquired, fixing onto his words.
“Uh, no, that's not what I meant!” Adam answered, unnecessarily loud, and drooped with relief when the angel let it go, allowing him to steer the conversation back to the subject of their meal.
The next dish was a lot better, something folded in handmade pita bread that tasted like potatoes and many unidentifiable spices when Adam took a bite, its aroma poignant and saliva-inducing. There were two, one for each of them, about as long as the area from his palm to his tallest finger, and there were some freshly diced, soupy tomatoes on the edge of the plate, to dunk the wrap in.
“This is good,” Adam informed Michael around his mouthful, truthful though he'd been incredulous at first when Raj, Vivian's talkative head chef, had recommended this particular recipe. He didn't think his palate was refined enough to enjoy it, since he generally preferred a burger and a beer, or something else he could either whip up himself or pick up from Cousin Oliver's. When Michael didn't move to take his own Indian roll, Adam sighed and waved his in front of the angel's mouth, allowing him to bend forward and take a nibble with an easy chuckle.
“It is good,” Michael said upon swallowing, his eyes lighting up. Instead of picking up the one without a bite in it, however, he carefully plucked Adam's from his grasp.
“I can't believe you just did that,” came the complaint, moderately disbelieving, to which Michael, now shamefaced, attempted to hand it back. “Nah, it's okay, you can keep it, Fido,” Adam laughed, refusing him so he could take the untouched roll and dip it into the accompanying tomato chutney, watching as the angel mimicked his actions.
From that point, lunch went off without a hitch, save that Michael, perhaps because of the disastrous moment with the pig, refused to try a single iota of meat. The desserts, on the other hand, two tall glasses filled with raspberry white-chocolate mousses and topped off with chocolate covered strawberries, were met with a pleased hum.
Adam thought it was a little bizarre, sure, that his angel-friend could be both the most merciless warrior in Heaven and a vegan, but Michael's sweet-tooth more than made up for the contradiction. He would always look back fondly on the memory of Michael with cream dripping like a beard from his chin, mouth and nose, still managing to look as stern as ever even with his passing resemblance to Gandalf the Grey.
Besides, it was probably a good thing that the confections kept the oblivious angel from realizing just how close to a date all this had been, because it wasn't. Really.
-
They ended up staying at the Lady for the better part of a month, partly to recover from the invisible but no less painful scars Hell had left on them, but also because Vivian had welcomed them both into her already thriving brood and Adam found that he loved that - belonging and being wanted somewhere, for nothing but being himself. It was ironic that he couldn't have that with his own flesh and blood.
It helped that the hotel was the epitome of sumptuous, its property going on for miles and miles, and they could do just about anything there - in fact, Adam, at least, was pestered near daily till he'd tried every single listed bullet-point of activities on the Lady's brochure. While Viv threatened him with her impending wrath, otherwise, she let Michael be.
Her reason was, “For a youngster, that fine child knows what he wants. I like that.” Adam almost wished he could tell her just how many years of seniority the 'child' in question had over her, in response.
That was one small ripple in an otherwise perfect reality, however, and Michael joined him for almost all the 'adventures' she planned for him, anyway, because Adam had taken it upon himself to teach Michael new things about humanity and he wouldn't let the angel off the hook. It was for his own good, so attempted human genocides via Apocalypse was never a plan that gained second wind, but Adam admitted, if only to himself, that spending time with Michael wasn't so bad.
When they weren't riding horses around the trails that wound around the hotel or lounging and swimming at the immense pool area, Adam was catching up on his reading. The Lady had a vast, impressive library to boast of.
Soon after the first time Vivian saw him browsing through its nigh endless shelves, she turned up at his suite with an armful of comic books and the most bashful smile he'd ever seen the spirited woman don.
“These were actually my grandson's,” she informed him gruffly, showing him a well-thumbed edition of Captain America, along with a few other Marvel hits. “And I asked our librarian 'bout what was 'hip' nowadays. He suggested some of these graphic novels. I thought ya might like to have a first look?”
It was such a nice, unexpected gesture that Adam immediately replied, “I can't accept this,” unused to things like that.
“I was gonna let ya, but it's not like ya have to keep 'em,” was her exasperated response, as she all but pushed them into his arms. “Tell me what ya think, baby boy. Oh, Damon used to talk my ear off 'bout all these heroes, 'fore he became more interested in girls. Nobody wants to tell grandma about their love lives.”
“Thank you, Viv,” he told her, feeling equal amounts of flustered and grateful, because he knew she wouldn't back down, otherwise. He watched her traipse off with a small, bemused smile, and it took him only a few hours to devour the stack. As soon as the last book's last page flipped to join the others, he decided to return the favor, standing at her doorstep the next morning.
It wasn't a hard choice to make, even if he didn't think he'd tell her about his love life anytime soon. Vivian was amusing, generous and, if that wasn't already enough, she completely doted on him. Plus, the delighted, surprised beam she wore when she opened the door and saw him made the whole endeavor worth it. It was impossible not to like the vibrant little woman.
Michael didn't. Whenever Adam asked the angel to join him - which was to say, whenever he made said offer on Viv's behalf - Michael politely declined, and whenever she visited, he drew further and further into his cold, indifferent shell. More often than not, he didn't even bother to stick around, choosing instead to sequester himself behind closed doors until he could disappear to who-knows-where again, only returning the second Adam was alone again.
It wasn't that Adam didn't see it, but he allowed it to go on. Who would it hurt, after all, if fly-boy wanted to be an antisocial dick? No one but Michael - certainly not Adam. Except, someone was hurt.
In the middle of her wild tale about how she'd met a real life Wonder Woman on her trip to the Amazon, Vivian paused, and Adam followed her gaze in time to catch Michael's back just in time to see the angel close their bedroom door behind him.
“Where's he go?” she asked softly. “I never see him comin' back, but lo and behold, he's always there when I'm not.”
Adam hesitated, then said, “He's just shy, that's all. Uh, he's not used to having ladies around.” In part, it was true. Michael always called 'God' his father so, in a way, he'd grown up in a 'household' opposite to Adam's and Adam had plenty of awkward moments with paternal figures to know that it wasn't completely unwarranted for Michael to feel weird around the fairer sex.
Vivian snorted, shaking her beaded head. “He just don't like me, ya mean,” she muttered, before standing up.
“Don't go,” Adam answered imploringly, but she paused only to pat him on the cheek.
“We give our customers what they want, here at the Lady. If he wants to spend time only the two of ya, I certainly don't blame him. I know I'd be annoyed, too, in his place, stuck with a nosy old woman instead of the cute boy I dug. Night, sugar,” she said, before gracefully taking her leave, her many skirts fluttering colorfully around her.
As if he'd been summoned, the undulation of wings announced Michael's arrival. “Hello,” he murmured, unperturbed by how his chilling attitude had scared Vivian away.
“You're ageist,” Adam said, glowering at him from the couch. “I can't believe you were such a dick to a poor, helpless old lady.”
He expected the archangel to hang his head and immediately become sheepish, like he generally did whenever Adam berated him. Instead, Michael frowned back at him, barking, “I cannot believe you still choose to be so naively trusting after everything.”
“Dude...” Adam pursed his lips together disbelievingly. “Yes, she's a little snoopy, but she's seventy years old. What is she going to hurt me with, her hair rollers? Get real, man.”
“If you spend enough time with her, she can hurt you,” the angel said darkly, and the expression he wore plainly revealed that he was ready to take flight again.
“Wait!” Adam exclaimed, patting the spot on the sofa next to him until Michael reluctantly sat down. “Maybe it's true, what you're saying. Maybe I'm stupid, but... It's nice, you know, that someone cares about me for no reason - that she doesn't want to make sure I've eaten only to, I dunno, ensure my meatsuit is healthy enough for some jerkbag angel to ride around in. No offense, of course.”
“I do not have a reason," Michael protested quietly. “Not anymore. I simply wish to see you happy.”
“And I am,” Adam said, searching his face, finding only sincerity there. “I'm happy partly because of you, but also because of Vivian, who reminds me of my mom and takes some of the edge off. I'm...always going to miss her, and this helps, just a little bit. Can't I have that, for now?”
Michael seemed to reflect on this for a moment, before conceding. “You may spend all the time you'd like with her. I will not come between you,” he murmured, defeated.
“Hey,” Adam pressed, “this doesn't mean that I don't want you around, man. We're having this discussion because I do. I want you to lurk and be your charmingly creepy self when she's here, and I want you when she's not, too. Her visiting doesn't mean we can't keep being friends.”
“You don't have to say that,” Michael protested, as close to self-conscious as he could ever get.
Adam offered him a heartfelt, fond smile. “I know I don't and you know I only do what I want. I want you to be nicer, yeah, but I'm selfish. It's not just for Vivian or anyone else - it's for me, for when we're together, okay? I don't like us fighting.”
“Yes,” Michael agreed, returning his smile. After a moment of mutely staring at Adam, he continued, “So...when would you like for us to spend time together - alone?” and Adam sighed. He should have known Michael would latch onto his words like a barnacle.
That was how he ended up spending half his nights snuggled down in a puffy sofa, across from an attentive archangel whose eyes never left his face, reading quietly aloud, even though he'd always been more of a mental reader before. It was also what he ended up doing on their last night at The Lady of Lawrence, at least to the point when he shut The Lovely Bones, the latest must-read he'd found at the library, after feeling disquieted by its concept.
“I somehow doubt all ghosts are as sweet and vulnerable as Susie Salmon,” he began dryly, to hide his wrangled nerves, but Michael saw right through him.
“She reminds you of yourself,” the archangel murmured, tone gentle, as if he was probing a still-sore wound with it.
Adam pursed his lips, then sighed. “I guess so. I mean, I can see why it was so hard for her, killed too soon, when she was far too young, by a force she couldn't control, but then being unable to move on from the world she was ripped from. Even knowing that depraved bastard died doesn't make up for her family's loss.” Damn, he'd gotten all unintentionally Poe in his post-afterlife, and he couldn't stand the idea of Michael pitying him over his now misty eyes. “Whatever, it's just a book, no big deal,” he proclaimed with false cheer, changing the subject and ignoring Michael's knowing look. “Wanna catch another movie, instead? I asked Vivian to see if she could get one off her two year old great-grandson, 'cause it's an epic.”
“All right,” the ancient warrior answered, deciding to let the book issue go for now, to Adam's great relief. “What is it?”
Grinning more authentically, Adam beckoned him into their bedroom, where the DVD sat on the nightstand. “Ta-da!” he exclaimed, lifting up a slightly battered copy of the first Shrek.
It didn't garner the reaction he'd hoped, since Michael only inspected the two ogres on the cover and nodded, but that ceased to matter when he popped the DVD into their entertainment system, pausing it on the introduction, and left the angel sitting on their bed so he could microwave some popcorn.
During the entirety of his childhood, he and his mom had a movie night, usually on Friday after Kate's shift ended, a tradition he'd carried on with his roommates and friends in college. In Hell, it was hard to even think about the woes of fictional characters when yours were a billion times worse, but it was still yet another thing that Adam had longed for that he could now do with Michael.
It had been peculiar at first, as all new experiences with his supernatural friend were, because of the dimmed lights, their proximity to each other, the way the knees of their folded legs touched around the huge bowl of popcorn that was propped between them, and the intense manner with which Michael deviated his attention from the screen to Adam, eager to learn from the goofy flicks that the human chose in order to please him. It was very reminiscent of Adam's first date.
All the same, it was never so bad that he wanted to stop doing it, so here he was again, offering Michael a lopsided grin as the movie started, before focusing once more on the antics of Shrek's colorful cast.
Eventually, almost too soon, it came time for the two ogres on the screen to share a last kiss, raucous music, funny jeers and other immature scenes following.
Adam stretched his arms up above his head, cramped from sitting in the same position for too long, and turned to look at Michael. The archangel was still staring at the screen, where the movie’s credits now rolled, with excessive concentration, and Adam shrugged, pegging it as an holy thing.
Michael read the last credit, then quietly inquired, “They lived happily ever after?”
“Yup,” Adam replied, exultant because this movie would never not rock.
“But why?” the angel demanded. “They were so different. She didn’t find her own ogre form beautiful, so what drew her to his?”
Pale blue eyes regarded him skeptically, then furled up to the ceiling in exasperation. Leave it to Michael to take a kid’s movie and turn it into some philosophical debate about the nature of love and beauty.
“Because,” Adam answered at length, “because he always found her beautiful, no matter what, so he made her love herself a little. It’s easy to requite someone's feelings if they make you feel special, as if you’re perfect when you’re not, when you feel really ugly inside, so she didn't mind staying an ogre to make him happy, too. Besides, beauty’s supposed to be in the eye of the beholder, isn’t it?” As an angel, he thought Michael would slurp that sugary crap right off the plate, but his vessel’s face twisted in a way that was almost pained. Adam frowned. “Why? Are you really that bothered by it? Geez, Mike, it’s a freaking movie, not Shakespeare!”
Michael didn’t reply, instead glowering obstinately at the screen, disregarding the fact that the credits had ended and it was now a blank blue. Adam scowled at him, then told himself it didn't matter. Sometimes, Michael was endearingly sweet, and other times he was an asocial bastard, but that was just Michael and if he wasn't used to it yet, then he was the only one with issues.
He jabbed his hand almost viciously into the bowl of popcorn, making some of the still-warm kernels spill over the edge, and this seemed to jar the archangel out of his stupor. He blinked at Adam’s unhappy face, then down at his hand, before he cautiously immersed his own into the bowl. Instead of taking some popcorn, however, he touched his fingers to the human's, slippery from too much butter, then interlaced the digits together, lifting their conjoined hands out of the bowl. With his remaining appendage, he cupped Adam's cheek, his grip tender but impossible to escape, and maneuvered his head till their eyes met.
“Wha-what are you-?” Adam began to stutter, but Michael's mouth was on his before he could finish the sentence.
The archangel's lips were unexpectedly soft against his, if a little bit clumsy, knocking their teeth together for a second, but too insistent and powerful to ever be described as delicate - nothing at all like how making out with a girl had ever been. He tasted like buttered popcorn - they both did, really - because he'd been trying the snacks slowly, picking them up between two careful fingers, while Adam stuffed whole handfuls at a time into his mouth. It wasn't a bad taste.
Michael pushed Adam back with very little of his strength - still too much - till his back hit the bed's headboard and the bowl between them upturned, slopping the greasy snack all over the once-clean sheets. Adam made a quiet groan of distress as the antique body of the wood rubbed up roughly against his bonding mark, which Michael had been kind enough to avoid since his initial explanation of it had resulted in a freak-out of heroic proportions. Adam wasn't sure whether, now, the archangel did it on purpose or not, but when Michael finally pulled away, he found himself too busy sucking in hungry gulps of air to question his motives. It was plainly obvious, anyway, that he'd forgotten that Adam was mortal and, consequentially, needed to breathe.
“You,” Michael gritted out in a low growl, while Adam blinked dazed eyes of a cornflower shade at him, “are the most infuriating human being I've ever met. You are stubborn and temperamental, you refuse to see the obvious, and you respond to anything that daunts you with insults, even when you know that it will be counterproductive. You stupidly care little for yourself and too much about others, you needlessly put yourself at risk, and you provoke me as no one has since Lucifer.”
He paused in his tirade and Adam felt his eyes start to sting humiliatingly. Sure, he'd known he wasn't exactly Michael's best-friend - couldn't be, really, since he now knew how lowly humanity measured on the Heavenly Host's scale of importance - but for Michael to compare him to Lucifer - the holy adversary, the arch-nemesis, the fucking devil - was kind of harsh.
“Jesus, Michael, tell me how you really feel!” he snapped, attempting to turn his head away, but the angel held his chin in place.
“You didn't let me finish - yet another peeving quality you have,” Michael went on smoothly, no hint of his supposed irritation coloring his inflection.
Adam scowled at him darkly, wishing he could lock himself in the bathroom, but that wouldn't work - firstly, the angel wouldn't let him go, and second, he'd just zap in, no respect for Adam's personal space whatsoever. Even now, his husky, unremitting voice wouldn't let his prisoner focus on all of his deprecating thoughts, the son of a bitch.
“As I was saying - despite all that, you made and make me rethink things.” Michael spoke so softly, in a whisper, that Adam frowned at him, disoriented by his sudden flip of the switch. “I used to wish to let my brothers smite your entire race, if only because I was upset, but when I inhabited your vessel and became privy to your thoughts, I found that your presence was surprisingly enjoyable, even desired. I-I was selfish, in Perdition, for I grew so attuned to it that I wanted to keep you with me, so I bonded us, knowing you wouldn't approve if you truly knew. And then, we talked more than I've ever spoken with even a fellow angel, with anyone, and you made me see that...perhaps humanity is worth preserving, if it means those like you and your mother can live, because I never realized, but you are beautiful. Wingless, powerless, unable to shield your fragile souls, but beautiful. And I want to hold you all the time, kiss you even though I used to find the gesture wet and disgusting, but I cannot even begin to express why, not even to my Father.”
Adam gawked at him for more moments than he'd want to admit, feeling like a fish out of water, opening and closing his mouth dumbly as he attempted to articulate a coherent response. Finally, he babbled, “U-um, I really have to pee,” and Michael sighed, moving away at once.
“It is late. Perhaps you should begin your nighttime routine and rest,” he acquiesced, gracefully slipping out of the bed and to the middle of the room, where he stood with his back bared, his already glamored wings even more imperceptible in the darkness.
Adam hugged himself with his arms, feeling a chill that hadn't been present in the room when they'd first entered, and nodded wordlessly, starting for the bathroom. He locked the door behind him, ineffectual though it may have been, and frowned down at the cold, tiled floor. Why did everything always have to be so stupidly complicated?
When he abandoned his ceramic sanctum at last, Michael was already gone. He thought he might have heard the muted beating of the angel's wings not long ago, but with the running water and his own screaming thoughts, he couldn't have been sure.
Adam went to bed as Michael had advised, but the Sandman, exactly like every other supernatural creature he'd ever met, decided it would be hilarious to screw around and leave him hanging, so he spent the remainder of the night staring up at the plain white ceiling, feeling more lonely than he had in years.
-
By the time the sun rose, Adam was a man on a mission. Thankfully, Michael wasn't yet home to impede said mission, so he crept out of his room and to Vivian's door without getting caught.
He only realized how early it was when the old woman opened the door, wearing rollers in her undone hair and a half-open robe around her stout frame, and then he cut off her sleepy curses with a quick apology.
Viv grimaced up at him, missing her ever-present spectacles for once, and something - perhaps the frantic expression of panic on his face or maybe some sixth sense she had - motivated her to invite him in. Even as the door shut behind him, he began telling her what he'd have to do. She was visibly upset and he had to make her some tea before she even started to accept it, but she soon nodded.
“You're right. I love having ya here more than I should, but you're right,” she acknowledged, as she ushered him out her door, forcing him to bend down so she could give him a final kiss on the cheek. “Don't you forget to call, baby boy, 'specially since I'm gonna get it from the maids 'cause of you. They are all half in love with one of you or the other.”
“I will,” he promised, even invoking his honor as an Eagle Scout, before insisting he could never forget her, when she gave him a knowing look. He left and found Michael sitting in their kitchenette, after eventually convincing the mettlesome elderly lady of his sincerity.
“Good morning,” the archangel greeted, without looking away from the orange he was meticulously peeling. He seemed unaffected by his recent rejection, and while Adam hadn't exactly been expecting serenades or love poems, he was somewhat offended by how Michael seemed to already be over him. For all he knew, Michael had been with a pretty girl angel this whole time, while Adam had been sorting through his conflicting feelings - the feelings the citrus-eating douche had caused.
Trying not to fume, Adam stalked over to the cupboard, which was readily stocked with all kinds of instantly made food, and took out a half-finished box of Lucky Charms cereal, his personal favorite. He grabbed some milk, then sat at the table, pouring the concoction together into a bowl and ignoring Michael.
Finally, after glaring down at the tabletop for a minimum of five minutes, Adam said, “I-I think it's time we left here. I already told Vivian.”
Michael set his partially eaten fruit down, licking his lips for any errant drops of fresh orange juice, and inquired, “Why? I was of the assumption that you liked it here.”
“You can't imagine how much I do, but we can't stay. No one stays at hotels forever.” It was hard for him to say so, because he really did love it here, with the ease of no responsibility after spending almost twenty years trying to be the best he could, but at the same time he knew, deep down in his heart, that their leaving had been inevitable straight from the get-go.
“Zack and Cody do,” the warrior of God replied, unaware of his charge's turbulent emotions and unruffled by the fact that he argued his logic through the employment of shows for children. This past month, he had realized his affinity for those, especially if they were animated.
Adam dropped his head onto the tabletop, the light collision making his cereal quiver inside its milky depths, and moaned loudly, secretly happy to at least have his frustration to distract himself from everything else he didn't want to dwell on.
“That, you dweeb, is fiction - and stupid fiction, at that. I don't want to stay here forever, no matter how cool it would be. The Lady might be amazing, but it isn't home.” He struggled to explain the abstract concept to a creature who, in Heaven, existed in a vast collective consciousness, wherein other angels reached out tendrils of grace to contact one another. Heaven was infinite, parallel to the never-ending universe, so how could Michael understand how important it was to have a small space to call all your own?
Of course, he really did owe the archangel more credit since, after a few lifetimes together in Hell, he probably knew Adam better than anyone - better than Adam did himself. Thus, with only the slightest reluctance, a line forming between his furrowed eyebrows, Michael asked, “Would you like, in that case, to go to Robert Singer's salvage-yard?”
Adam stabbed a green clover marshmallow with the curving head of his spoon, skillfully slicing it in two. “Why do you say that?”
“Your brothers consider his whereabouts their home. I thought, perhaps, you'd liken to them,” Michael explained patiently.
This time, a magically delicious toasted oat was crushed under his metallic eating utensil, and he watched the dusty particles float around with a malicious sense of glee. It wasn't nearly enough to satisfy him, however.
“I don't 'liken to them', no,” he said, then took a bite out of his bland breakfast. Michael frowned at him, injured by his barbed tone, and he thawed slightly. It wasn't that it was a bad suggestion. In fact, it might have even been the most sensible thing to do, but Adam couldn't bear the thought of seeing Dean again - not when he'd obviously feel betrayed by how chummy his half-brother and former enemy angel were, and especially because he knew Dean would only be disappointed that Adam was free and Sam was not. Besides, if he was asked to choose between them, he knew he'd probably choose Michael again, and while there was no love lost between him and his estranged brothers, he didn't want Dean to hate him, either. “I just mean... Well, you're an angel - an archangel - so why limit ourselves, huh? We could go anywhere, literally.”
Michael processed this for a few minutes, then nodded, handing Adam a beautiful yellow banana, not a brown spot in sight. At his human companion's questioning glance, he explained, “Potassium is good for you.”
Adam honestly couldn't find a effective argument to counter that, and his cereal had already become a soggy, unappealing mess by now, so he accepted the fruit with a small, gracious smile.
“Thanks, Michael,” he said, and meant it.
-
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