Midam Appreciation Week

word count: 5k

tags: temporary character death, post-canon, post episode au: s15e19 inherit the earth, established relationship, angst with a happy ending, grace eating, fluff and smut, grief/mourning, alternate universe – canon divergence

type: one shot

pairing: michael/adam milligan

“As an archangel, it was impossible not to think about at least three things at any given time,” he said, looking up from the earth to the sunset again. “As a... whatever I am now, it's much easier to just look, and feel, and not think anything in particular.”

A hesitant hand came to rest over Michael's on the deck, and he looked up at Adam's bright blue eyes. They had changed too, with Michael's absence. They were calmer, somehow, maybe deeper, and – if it was possible – kinder.

Adam had always been the more level-headed one out of the two of them, but he had still carried grief and anger with him in an intensity that may have torn a weaker man apart. But now, his gaze was unguarded, and seemed to look straight into Michael's (maybe not purely metaphorical) soul.

“Do you miss it?” Adam's eyes flitted down to their hands, and he curled his fingers to hold Michael's darker ones.

His vessel had not been of his own choosing. If it had been, it may have resembled Adam more closely. Instead, he had curly black hair that he was trying to grow out, and skin several shades darker than Adam's. They contrasted nicely like this though, Michael thought as he watched their hands together.

All in all, it was a good vessel. The grief he felt didn't come from its shape, but from the fact that Adam's soul wasn't in it.

“Being an archangel? Yes, I miss it,” Michael said, and felt Adam's hand twitching around his. “If only because it was the only way of being I ever knew and understood. Being what I am now – a human, I suppose... I don't know how to be that.”

Adam shifted closer to him on the deck and pressed their shoulders together.

“It took me a long time, too. To learn to be human again.” A corner of his mouth ticked upwards. “And I had already been one.”

“You learned to live without me,” Michael said, and then wished he hadn't spoken when the only answering sound was a slight rustling of the breeze in the grass. But Adam was still leaning against his shoulder, even if silently, so Michael mustered up courage to continue. “Could you maybe... learn to live with me again?”

He knew that it was too much to ask. Michael had already landed Adam in hell, and had then failed to protect him from his Father. It was unfair to ask for more – to ask for Adam to say yes to him again, in this changed state of being that even Michael didn't understand.

But Adam smiled, and moved his hand to fully intertwine their fingers. “Did you really think I'd let you go, now that I just got you back?”

“I can't help you,” Michael whispered. “Can't fly you anywhere, can't make people give you food, can't- I can't do anything.” His voice broke on the last part as the lump in his throat made tears well in his eyes.

“You don't have to do any of that.” Adam squeezed his hand again. “You don't have to do anything except be here. Do you think you can manage that?”

Adam's eyes were almost challenging, but there was also so much joy in them that Michael almost let his tears fall.

Almost.

“Yes,” he whispered. “Yes, I think I can do that.”

“A third brother,” Michael summarised, still not sounding entirely interested. “What use is he to us?”

“Well, you see,” Zachariah said, giving something like a smile – perhaps he had been on Earth for too long, since angels didn't smile, considering they had no mouths. “Dean is a big brother first and a human second. If we present him with his little brother in danger, he will cave to our demands.”

“Hm,” Michael said.

“It's fool-proof,” Zachariah reassured him.

“Just like your last plan, and the one before that.”

“Ah. You see, it is all a game of patience, if we only try long enough, eventually-”

“My patience ends here,” Michael bellowed, and pulled himself to his full height, his archangelic True Form towering over Zachariah. “I do not like this new plan. Try something else.”

“Of course, Sir.” Zachariah righted himself out of his instinctual cowering, and turned to leave.

“And Zachariah?” Michael said, making him stop in his tracks and peer back at him. “Don't disappoint me again.”

When the humans around Zachariah had their eyes burned out and their brains fried, he stood up.

“Go ahead! Get it over with. I'm ready,” he yelled, expecting the divine wrath of Heaven to rain down on him every moment.

The True Voice which rang across the bar was made of molten steel.

ZACHARIAH. THERE IS NO TIME FOR HUMAN INDULGENCES. YOU HAVE WORK TO DO.

“Wait,” Zachariah said. “What?”

DON'T YOU WANT TO RETURN TO YOUR POST? WE HAVE CONSIDERED YOUR LAST PROPOSAL AND HAVE DECIDED TO IMPLEMENT IT, THOUGH WITH SOME... TWEAKS, Michael's voice rang, shattering more and more of the bottles on the shelves.

“Yes! Anything, of course, just put me back in, you won't regret it!”

WE WILL SEE ABOUT THAT. THIS TIME, IT IS REALLY YOUR LAST CHANCE.

“Thank you. Thank you!”

YES, YES. I AM VERY MERCIFUL, AS OUR FATHER WAS MERCIFUL WHEN HE ABSOLVED HUMANITY OF ITS SINS. NOW. RAPHAEL- WE DECIDED TO GIVE THE BOY SOME MOTIVATION.

“The boy, Sir?” Weren't they already giving Dean enough motivation by threatening his brother?

ADAM MULLIGAN.

“Milligan, Sir.”

YES. HIM.

The boy was motivated, alright.

A good Midwestern Christian boy, Zachariah judged from the cheerful, gullible expression on Adam's face as he talked about becoming Michael's vessel. Zachariah enjoyed making his face fall, though the resulting puppy eyes were a little much in his opinion.

It felt even better when the plan worked, Dean Winchester appearing to swoop in and save his brother-in-distress.

Yes, the plan worked – right up until Dean stabbed an angel blade through Zachariah's chest.

The plan had worked, Michael thought as he rushed down to Earth. Finally! Dean was to be his vessel.

DEAN WINCHESTER, he intoned as he descended on the room, wings spread imposingly. AS IT WAS PROPHESIED, SO IT WILL BE. YOU ARE FULFULLING YOUR DESTINY AND YOUR DUTY BY BECOMING MY VESSEL.

“Um,” the only human in the room made.

Michael peered down at him more closely.

YOU ARE NOT DEAN WINCHESTER, he said.

“No.”

YOU ARE ADAM... Michael spotted the corpse which Zachariah had left behind, wings burned into the ground around him. … MILLIGAN?

“Yeah, that's me,” Adam said, and turned his startled and awed expression into a weak smile. “And I'm guessing you're Michael, the archangel?”

YES.

“Right.”

They regarded each other for a long moment, the boy apprehensively and Michael thoughtfully.

DEAN WOULDN'T HAPPEN TO BE AROUND HERE SOMEWHERE?

“No, sorry, he just left before you came.”

AH.

“Yeah.” Adam shifted on his feet. “Um, so what are you gonna do now? I mean, about me, but also... about Dean?”

THAT IS NOT YOUR CONCERN.

“So you don't have a plan,” Adam said, raising an eyebrow.

THAT IS NOT WHAT I SAID.

“Sure, but it was implied.”

IT WAS CERTAINLY NOT.

Adam shifted on his feet again, and licked his lips before looking back up at Michael. With a start, Michael realised that he was looking upon his True Form without having his eyes burned out or his mind turned to mush.

“You guys have already tried pretty much everything to get Dean, anyway, right? I mean, if you had to resort to reviving me...” Adam shrugged. “That sounds pretty damn desperate.”

HEAVEN IS NOT DESPERATE, Michael corrected him. HEAVEN FOLLOWS GOD'S PLAN, WHICH IS OF COURSE ALWAYS THE RIGHT ONE. THIS IS MERELY A DELAY.

“U-huh,” Adam made. “And how many of those delays have there been?”

Michael narrowed his eyes at the human, but he barely flinched. Curious. That always worked with the lesser angels.

I DO NOT NEED TO CONCERN MYSELF WITH YOU, Michael said.

“Hey- wait!”

Against his better judgement, Michael waited.

There were more plans to come up with. An apocalypse to prepare. But at that moment, Michael had no great desire to return to the metaphorical drawing board.

Dean Winchester had once again thwarted his plans, and Michael was getting tired of it.

“Is it really going to happen? The apocalypse?” Adam asked, sounding concerned.

OF COURSE. MY BROTHER WILL ACQUIRE SAM WINCHESTER AS A VESSEL – OF THAT I HAVE NO DOUBT. Lucifer had always been the more convincing, more charming one. Where Michael was brute force, Lucifer was sly seduction. IF HE WALKS EARTH IN HIS TRUE VESSEL, HE WILL WREAK HAVOC. HE HAS TO BE STOPPED.

“Can't you take a different vessel? Use... Larry from Radio Shack, or something?”

NO. MY VESSEL HAS TO BE OF THE WINCHESTER BLOODLINE. ONLY THE ELDEST SON, WHO HAS STUDIOUSLY OBEYED HIS PARENT'S WORD, CAN BE MY TRUE VESSEL.

This time, it was Adam who narrowed his eyes at him.

“I'm my mom's oldest son,” he said. “And I always did what she said.”

Michael hesitated. WHAT?

“I'm just saying, Dean's not gonna say yes any time soon, and you still need a vessel, right? Now I can't say I'm very happy to say this, since your goon tricked and tortured me and all that, but like, I get it. This is the apocalypse we're talking about. The literal end of the world. Desperate times, desperate measures, and all that.”

Michael regarded the human more carefully. He was wearing a determined expression, and what he had said did make some kind of sense.

WE DO NOT EVEN KNOW WHETHER YOU CAN BE MY VESSEL, Michael cautioned. MUCH LESS MY TRUE VESSEL.

“So what happens if we try and I can't? I mean, I figure I'm gonna die, but then what. Do I just go back to Heaven?”

Michael's wings rustled thoughtfully. YES, I SUPPOSE.

The boy might of course fall into madness or have his soul snuffed out under the weight of Michael's grace, but Michael elected to omit those finer details.

“Okay, then we just try it. I'm not supposed to be alive anyway, right? And with my mom dead, it's not like I've got anyone waiting for me or whatever.” Adam raised his chin. “So do it. Possess me.”

ALRIGHT, Michael said after a moment. ADAM MILLIGAN, WILL YOU LEND ME YOUR BODY AND YOUR-

“Woah, wait. I already told you to do it.”

YES, BUT THERE IS A PROCEDURE TO THINGS, Michael said, not exactly pleased about being interrupted. AND BESIDES, YOU NEED TO SAY 'YES'.

“Oh, okay. Then yes.”

Michael let out something that might have been a sigh in a human. Then he resigned himself to not getting to give a big speech, and possessed the boy.

It was a tight squeeze within a human, but not so bad as Michael remembered. Mostly, he supposed, because there was a lot less screaming from the soul than the last time he had taken a vessel.

When Michael was almost fully settled, but had not had time to put Adam Milligan to sleep, the soul said: Sick.

Michael turned some of his attention to the human. YOU CANNOT BE SICK WHILE I AM POSSESSING YOU.

Woah, that voice doesn't get any less loud when it's inside my head, huh? Uh, but I just meant that this is like, neat and stuff.

NEAT? Michael did not see how possession by an archangel could be 'neat', seeing as how it would be unpleasant – to put it mildly – for even the hardiest of souls.

Yeah. Heh. I'm possessed by the archangel whose feast day I was born on. My mom would flip out.

Michael paused, and reconsidered the information he had received about the boy beforehand. There was nothing in his memory of his birthday. This might have been due to the fact that he didn't read the memo which Zachariah had prepared, but he still thought about who he might punish for this oversight.

Mom always said I was special because I was born on St. Michael's Feast Day. I doubt she imagined anything like this, though, the soul kept babbling.

St. Michael's Feast Day, or Michaelmas. In the Western Christian world, this event was celebrated on 29 September of the Gregorian Calendar. As Adam had grown up in this sphere, the fact that he was born on this day held meaning.

To someone born in the more Eastern Christian circles, the same would have been true for 8 November.

It didn't generally matter. Michael had no special connection to humans born on his feast day, nor did he have any particular interest in them. However, the boy being of the Winchester bloodline and being born on Michaelmas might have created the right conditions to make him a near perfect vessel.

For a moment, Michael wondered if his Father had planned this: A second vessel. Another option. But why would God plan for Michael's failure? No, it was more likely that it was a coincidence, though a lucky one.

YOU WILL DO, Michael decided.

Oh gee, thanks, dude, Adam said. If his tone was a little sarcastic, Michael ignored it.

This would all be over soon, anyway. Once he had executed the apocalypse, he could shed this vessel, and return Adam's soul to its rightful place in Heaven. (With a possible pit-stop at his mother's Heaven. Michael might have been a lying bastard – something that Adam would accuse him of plenty for about a hundred years in the cage – but he was not entirely without mercy, or sympathy.)

It was, of course, not all over soon. In fact, Michael and Adam would spend almost 1,600 years in the deepest layer of Hell, partly with the devil for company.

As first Sam, and then Lucifer was freed while Michael and Adam were still trapped, it began to look as if it would be the end for both of them, or at least the end of hope. But then, miraculously, they were freed, and stood in the golden rays of the glittering sun, dazed.

Had the world always been so bright, Michael wondered, and so beautiful?

The soul that lived in the chest he shared was doing somersaults.

We're free, Adam thought, his words gleaming perhaps more brightly than the sun. We're really, actually, free.

Michael smiled, and spread his wings wide, as if they could catch the slight breeze.

He didn't know what the future held – a beginning, or an end, or possibly both – but he and Adam were finally free. Free to go wherever they wanted, something that Adam was more familiar with than Michael, though he had never travelled as far as they would those following weeks. Free to do what they wanted, an entirely novel concept for Michael, who followed Adam as his guide to the sprawling world before them.

Free to be who they wanted. Except, of course, when Michael's father returned, and brought the dreaded ending.

But the ending of one book doesn't preclude the beginning of another. Or even the possibility of taking up a pen and writing one's own story.