The Wheels On The Bus Chapter 28

XXVIII.

When Adam was seven, some kid thought it would be a good idea to make like a coming-of-age, high-school-set movie bully and corner him to demand homework answers. It’d confused him then, because he hadn’t really expected this shit to happen in real life, but he had enough sense to say no. The kid had tried to threaten him, and Adam - though much smaller since he hadn’t hit his growth spurt yet - barely blinked at the effort. It wasn’t that the kid’s acting was lacking, it was just that Adam already barely blinked at anything that was supposed to be scary, in general. Once you’ve sat in the hospital waiting room because your mother couldn’t afford babysitters all the time and you saw people with life-threatening injuries spilling their blood and guts as they ran inside and screamed for help, there wasn’t much that fazed you, after all.

The kid hadn’t been amused, though, and had promptly shoved him against the locker. 

Adam slammed his head right at the kid’s nose, blood spurting all over his hair and the kid’s shirt, and in the distraction, he’d taken the chance to swing his tiny little fists and land as many hits as he could. 

Being called to the principal’s office and his mother arriving had been a blur, but the car ride home was, and still is, a crystal clear memory to him. 

“He put his hands on you?” his mother had asked, anger simmering underneath her flat tone, but he knew she wasn’t mad at him. She was staring straight ahead at traffic, waiting for the red light to turn green. 

“He shoved me at the locker,” he’d said. 

His mother had nodded. “You punched him?”

“Headbutted him first,” he’d corrected, “Then punched him.”

She’d nodded again. Her grip on the steering wheel had loosened.

“Good,” she’d said, and he’d held his head a little higher the rest of the way home. 

That was the first scuffle he’d ever gotten into, at least from what he remembers. He’s gotten into other, more volatile fights - a few troublemakers in middle school, some drunk guys in high school, the occasional asshole in college who somehow found the time to be a dick in between midterms and plates. 

He’s never fought against the supernatural, though. Not really.

The first time he’d encountered anything out of the ordinary, he’d promptly gotten eaten by a ghoul and died. The second time, he’d gotten resurrected, bossed around and roughed up by a few angels, and then Michael had arrived. The rest of that, well, was a blur of being an archangel’s vessel, the Cage, and Hell springing open. He hadn’t even really fought against the ghosts around them, since he’d spent most of the time either staying behind the barrier, tending to wounds, or hiding inside the school so he wouldn’t get in the way of the Hunters.

He’s the team medic, he thinks. Michael is the strategist, Jack the powerhouse, and Belphegor the weapons genius. He’s the guy who makes sure that everyone else who can’t heal themselves will live long enough so they can be hit with a miracle.

He’s not a fighter, not in the same way Sam and Dean are.

But Sam and Dean are down for the count, worrying about their own assignments right now. Jack is too, and Belphegor’s too weak to offer any physical assistance. 

This is down to him. 

In the back of his head, he’s aware of Castiel and Rowena sending him concerned thoughts, but he assures them that everything is fine, and that he’s taking care of it. He makes sure to tell Castiel that Jack is fine, for the sake of the angel’s nonexistent blood pressure.

I’ve got a few ghosts in the building, Belphegor tells him. They’re trying to look for Zachariah.

“Where is he?” Adam asks, stepping through the large hole on the wall that Zachariah had blasted through. The room is dark, but on the other end, he can make out that that wall is broken too. That explosion of Grace had been more powerful than he’d thought. 

He crosses the room, mindful of the mess and the debris, until he gets to the damaged wall. He peeks past it, careful. It leads to the hallway, and across him, another broken wall and a dark room. 

He’s quiet as he makes his way over to the room. There’s no damaged wall on the other end.

Zachariah landed here. 

The lights flicker dangerously, like they’re getting so bright they can’t handle it. 

“Evacuate everyone!” Adam yells. There’s not a lot of people in the school anymore, but there still are people, and Adam doesn’t want to know if Zachariah’s going to stoop so low as to take hostages. 

Got it!

Adam tries to see if there’s any disturbance in the dust, any indication of where Zachariah’s gotten up and walked away, but he can’t see anything. The bastard probably just flew, but he’s still gotta be at the school. He wouldn’t just let Adam get away so easily.

He’s in the comms room!

Adam turns on his heels and bolts.

Dean’s comm room is still in operation, so there’s still people there. They’re Hunters, of course, and they’re armed, but they don’t exactly have access to angel blades like the Winchesters have. Not everybody gets the opportunity to be on Heaven’s bad side, after all. 

He hears a few gunshots, some screams. Adam would kill to have wings right now.

I’m trying to hold him off as much as possible - Belphegor’s voice sounds strained - shit, why the fuck are the demons so far away -

Adam follows the sound of the gunshots, getting louder now, and with one final turn, he sprints down the right hallway and towards the room, the door wide open. 

He sees smears of red on the floor, a couple of feet sticking out from behind some desks, but Adam doesn’t stop to think, doesn’t stop to balk, instead he just lets his rage drive him towards Zachariah, tackling him to the ground from the back. 

The angel immediately pushes off the ground, flipping over and knocking Adam off of him. Adam’s quick to pull a leg up and kick Zachariah’s back when he hits the ground, far too used to rage-filled fights that he knows how to fight quick and dirty. 

Zachariah’s shoved forward. Adam scoots back and gets to his feet. Across him, the angel does the same. 

When he turns, Adam can see the fury in his eyes. His usually pressed suit is rumbled, greyed by the dust from the concrete that had fallen all around him when he’d been blasted back. 

At the sides, Adam can see the Hunters pressed up against the wall, guns trained on Zachariah. There’s a few ghosts milling about, trying to motion to the door.

“Get out,” Adam says, still keeping his eyes on Zachariah. “I’ll take care of this.”

He doesn’t turn his attention away from his enemy, no matter if the Hunters are giving him confused looks, or if they’re staring at the silver armor wrapped around one of his arms. 

Zachariah flicks out a wrist, the glint of an angel blade peeking out his sleeve.

There’s a tense second, two. Neither of them do anything.

Zachariah lunges forward.

He’s fast, deadly fast, but Adam expects as much from a literal fucking angel. Adam raises his arms up, the armored one over the unprotected one - and he notices that arm moves a lot lighter and faster now. There’s a loud sound of metal clashing against metal, and swings the armored arm out, relishing in how Zachariah’s pushed back a bit farther than how he would have if Adam hadn’t had Grace armor. 

“Go!” Adam yells at the Hunters, and this time they do listen to him, keeping to the walls as they hurry out the room.

Zachariah doesn’t turn to them, though. He only keeps his eyes on Adam, teeth gritted, seething.

“There won’t be any of you left when I’m done with you,” the angel hisses.

“Oh, trust me, I’ll still find a way to haunt your ass,” Adam says, standing a little straighter, since it seems to rankle Zachariah so much. Sure enough, the lights above them flicker again.

Zachariah flings his free hand out, and Adam feels as if someone’s just punched his chest. There’s a sudden weight all over him - save for his armored hand, he realizes - and then he’s suddenly flying backwards and crashing into a table. 

He coughs, weakly, trying to blink out the blurriness in his vision.

Fuck. He’d forgotten angels could do that. 

Adam!

I got it, I got it, he thinks, but his body hurts too much to move right now. 

He frowns. He’s sturdier than most people, with the Grace and all. He should be able to get up. 

He moves his armored arm, which is the only part of him he can feel without any pain, and uses it to push himself up to his feet. 

Zachariah is stalking towards him, smiling, angel blade glinting dangerously in hand. 

“Don’t get so cocky just because you have Grace now, kid,” he says, “You’re just another shitstain we have to wipe off the universe.”

Adam’s legs are shaking. He’s alive, he’s okay, which is already a lot to ask for considering his spine just got slammed onto a table, but he’s gotta be able to move faster and better if he’s going to defend himself from being stabbed. 

He glares at Zachariah, shifting his weight backwards. 

There’s gotta be something he can do. Zachariah gets telekinesis powers from his Grace, where’s Adam’s?

He tries to concentrate, tries to will it as much as he can, but nothing’s happening.

Shit, shit, shit. 

The angel stands in front of him now, the grin on his face infuriating. 

“You got quiet,” Zachariah says.

“Just got so many ideas on what to say to you that I can’t choose,” Adam says, shooting back his best winning smile. 

There’s gotta be a way to defend himself. He needs to defend himself. There’s gotta be a way to use this armor somehow, but if he moves his hand, he’ll just collapse on his feet, and he’d still be stabbed anyway, because he’s not sure he can move that fast when Zachariah is too close.

Zachariah scoffs. “Winchesters,” he says, disdainfully. 

Adam presses his lips to a thin line. 

The angel moves his arm, angel blade catching the light of the fluorescent above them.

Adam squeezes his eyes shut, preparing for the feeling of pain blossoming in his chest - 

And finds nothing. He wonders, idly, if he’s already in so much pain he can’t even tell anything apart. But he is aware that something’s just clanged against him, so he opens his eyes, by just a crack.

He’s wearing a chest plate.

“What the fuck - “

Even Zachariah looks surprised, staring at the silver armor. Adam notices that his uninjured arm feels a little strained now, tired of holding his body weight, and it’s no longer wrapped in the armor it was in seconds before.

Wait, did the - 

Zachariah pulls his hand back and jabs it forward again, aiming between Adam’s eyes this time. Adam leans back on instinct and nearly screams when he feels something wrap around his head, darkness suddenly swallowing him. 

He watches the angel blade hit the glass of the visor of the helmet he’s now suddenly wearing. 

What the fuck. 

It’s moving! Belphegor says. Adam’s about to ask how the fuck he knows what’s going on before realizing his panic must have pushed everything down the telepathic link. In fact, he’s mildly aware of Castiel once again sending concern his way at the edges of his consciousness. 

The armor is moving.

How the fuck is it moving -

You wanted to protect yourself, Belphegor says. Now it’s doing just that.

The angel blade is withdrawn, suddenly. Through the visor, Adam can see Zachariah’s frustration. 

Adam, Belphegor says. Use your imagination.

What?

Your Grace is responsive. Use that to your advantage. Use your imagination.

Zachariah’s frown is back now. 

“Party tricks,” he mutters, more to himself than to Adam. He clenches the angel blade in his hand, and Adam sees it glow slightly, stretching itself out so the blade is longer, the edges serrated. 

“You hold one hell of a grudge,” Adam says. 

“Only to those deserving.”

Zachariah stabs at him again.

Adam yelps, taking a step back and his knee buckling under him, but he holds his hands out, mostly out of impulse like that’s going to stop the sword from sinking into his flesh. The shadow over his head moves, lightning fast that Adam has to shut his eyes from the sudden brightness, and then he’s aware of the weight his hands are holding. There’s another metal clang, and then a scream of frustration from Zachariah. Adam opens his eyes despite the light. 

He’s got a shield. 

I need a weapon NOW, he thinks, and his hands are already adjusting to hold the weight of exactly what he’s thinking as the shield folds in on itself and changes. He’s holding a flare gun, suddenly, just as his hands meet to hold it, and he squeezes the trigger.

He shuts his eyes again at the sudden bright light, hearing Zachariah scream in surprise and pain and he’s blasted back by a holy flare.

That’s one way around it, Belphegor thinks.

Adam doesn’t get to respond as Zachariah’s launching himself at Adam again, a livid yell tearing out of his throat. Adam lets his knees buckle fully this time, dropping down to the floor, and shoots the flare at Zachariah’s stomach. It hits true, and the angel keels over. Adam dives out of his kneeling position and rolls on his back once, landing past Zachariah and effectively out of the corner he’d been placed in. 

Shield!

The flare gun responds accordingly, melting in on itself and returning to its previous form of a circular shield that Adam raises to block Zachariah’s sword. As he’s still crouching, he kicks a leg out and hits Zachariah’s foot, thrusting his shield upwards so it slams into the angel’s face as he falls.

Zachariah topples back and Adam hurriedly scrambles backwards, breathing hard as his chest tightens. He’s been holding his breath. 

Zachariah’s nose is bleeding, but he doesn’t seem to notice, the red spilling down onto his mouth and his teeth, dripping down his chin.

The disadvantage of Heaven and Hell is that they’re far too used to not thinking for themselves, Belphegor tells him. They’re used to getting orders, and they’re used to underestimating everyone around them. Humans have lived in an environment of possibility their whole lives. 

That’s why you love it here, Adam thinks back, although half of his attention is making sure he doesn’t trip on his feet as he stares Zachariah down.

It’s why any of us do, Belphegor says. But that’s not the point here. The point is...your strongest card is keeping a clear head so you can think your way through this. You’re on the right track. 

Thanks, Adam says. I still feel like I’m going to die.

I will kill you myself if you do, Belphegor says. 

He’s been doing well so far, thinking on his feet, but the panic’s threatening to shut him down right now. The man across him looks ready to tear his neck out by his own teeth. 

Adam eyes his angel blade.

Wait a second. 

“What?” Adam asks, pitching his tone to be haughty. “Ran out of shit to talk?”

If it were possible, Zachariah’s eyes would have bulged out in his fury. As it is, the angel only lets out another guttural yell, enough to freeze Adam in place from the pure hatred in it. 

MILLIGAN!

Adam snaps to attention, just as Zachariah lunges forward, angel blade warping itself into a longsword this time, gleaming silver with power. Adam takes a step back, quickly, to steady his stance as he holds his shield up. 

The sword is thrust towards it. The metal of the shield bends, suddenly, melting and liquifying as it takes on a new form and - 

The teeth of the newly-formed bear trap clamp onto Zachariah’s hand. 

Adam sucks in a gasp as he looks down at the sword that’s sticking out of his stomach. The length of it had been enough to reach him - that was why Zachariah had changed it at the last second, fuck - that a few inches of it has buried itself into his flesh. His hands are shaking, holding onto the bear trap that his Grace armor has turned into. Zachariah’s wrist and forearm are trapped within its teeth, in a way that if Adam pulled, the whole thing would just rip off of his arm. There’s blood all over the floor.

An amused noise comes from Zachariah. Adam looks up to see the smile on the angel’s face.

He grits his teeth. It’s not over yet.

“What now, Winchester?” he asks. “A little vessel damage isn’t going to hurt me.”

“Perhaps,” Adam says, and he’s proud of how his voice doesn't shake. It must be the spite. He grins. “But this might.”

The bear trap morphs under his hands, melting once again before either of them can even blink, and Adam moves, fingers already curling as the light snakes its way back up to wrap around his arm.

With the distance between him and the angel forced near due to the bear trap catching the angel’s hand earlier, Adam raises his armored arm back, and with a yell, punches straight through Zachariah’s chest. 

The angel can only look down in shock for a second, before he erupts in a blast of Grace and light.

Adam grunts once he’s able to open his eyes, having closed them again due to the searing brightness. He’s gonna need to make sure he doesn’t have permanent eye injuries after this. 

He pulls his arm out of the angel’s chest, blood and gore splattered all over the once-silver armor. His vision blurs for a moment and in his distraction, he notices the armor disappearing, the blood all over it falling to the floor as it dissipates into nothing. 

Huh. Maybe he’s not strong enough for the Grace to have a permanent tangible form or something. 

He lifts his head, looking at the marks of angel wings scorched all over the walls.

“Heh,” he says. “How do you like me now...asshole…”

And with that, Adam’s legs give up on him, and he falls on his back, going out like a light.