The Wheels On The Bus Chapter 27

 
It’s boring. 

Nerve-wracking, but very, very boring. 

Perhaps that’s a good thing though, Adam thinks. They want it to be boring. They need it to be boring, because boring means nothing disastrous happens and things can go smoothly. Boring means no one’s going to pop up to try to kill them while Sam and Dean are unconscious. Boring means that everyone en route to Hell can come back home safe.

So Adam doesn’t complain. He leans his head on the wall instead, watching the clock tick by, scrolling on his phone to see if anything interesting’s come up from the outside world, and watching Jack trying his hardest not to fall asleep. The poor boy looks like he just wants to pass out with how quiet it is.

He has been rather stressed lately. He hasn’t said anything about it, but Adam’s spent enough time around him to tell. 

He’s too young for this whole apocalypse business. He’s a Nephilim, yes, but he’s still entitled to being a child. He’s a fucking toddler in an adult’s body just for his own safety, for fuck’s sake. 

Adam hears said nephilim yawn loudly, while trying not to yawn loudly. Adam laughs quietly, even as Jack gives him a sleepy, half-hearted glare.

“You can sleep,” he says. “I’ll wake you up if something happens.”

“I probably won’t be able to sleep through it if something does happen, anyway,” Jack says. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, you need the rest,” he says.

Jack nods. “Thanks,” he says, before he moves so that he can lean his arms on the edge of Belphegor’s bed and rest his head on them. 

His breathing evens out in a few minutes. Adam turns away to stare back at the clock. 

What would he do, once this apocalypse was over?

Start a new life, maybe. Staying in town felt like a good idea, since everyone here already knew about the supernatural, and his wacky little family, so he’d have leg room to stretch. It’d be a good place to take a breather, but knows he doesn’t want to be confined to it either. Maybe he and Michael can stay here for a little while, and then they can travel the world. Maybe he can finish that degree, get a job, come back here for the holidays.

That would be nice, wouldn’t it? They’d have a base of operations that wasn’t underground, with people that knew just how odd the world could be.

It could be like a little sanctuary.

He yawns, realizing that his eyes are drooping and that he too, feels really tired. It’s the stillness of the air. It must be. The weather’s nice, he can hear birds faintly chirping outside, and it’s a quiet, albeit intense day. It’s the perfect time to just lounge around and rest. 

He deserves it too, after these past few days.

Maybe he should get some sleep.

He stretches, feeling his joints and muscles getting relief from being stuck in the same position for the last few hours, and he scoots back on his chair, settling himself into a more comfortable position. He’s not keen on waking up with a crick in his neck. 

He closes his eyes, and immediately feels like something is scratching at the surface of his mind - not unlike that feeling he gets when something is at the tip of his tongue and he knows that he knows what it is, but it just won’t come out. He opens his eyes, blearily, like he’s been asleep for a while already when it’s just been a few seconds, wondering why this is. 

The feeling gets more intense, more adamant, and his eyes jolt wide open as a thought violently slams into his head. 

MILLIGAN, WAKE THE FUCK UP!

“Wh - “ He looks around, momentarily confused, but realizes the shouting is from the telepathic link as everyone around him is asleep.

DO NOT FALL ASLEEP, YOU FUCKING IDIOT.

The voice is familiar. The feeling of the thoughts is familiar, but he can’t pinpoint just exactly who - Sam, Dean and Jack are out, and it doesn’t feel like anyone from the team going to hell, it -

He blinks. The Shedim?!

It has to be the Shedim. He’s the only guy in the group Adam hasn’t had the chance to get to know.

But - no, that’s not it. Because it still feels familiar, it still feels like someone he knows, just shouting from a distorted microphone.

Keep your eyes open, someone’s coming, the voice says. 

“Who?” Adam says, out loud, if only to keep himself awake by focusing on his words.

I don’t know, I don’t know their name, the voice says, frantic. But I can feel them - Hell can feel them, they’re around here, they’re trying to put you to sleep, I think -

Adam stands up. He needs water. If it’s cold enough, maybe that’ll help him stay awake. He staggers to his feet, his chair scraping loudly behind him and yet still failing to alert his senses. His eyelids still feel heavy, annoyingly dropping back closed even as he forces them open. 

There’s a mini-fridge in this infirmary. There’s a few sodas there. He knows this because he’s the one who stocked them a few hours ago, when they’d decided he and Jack were on guard duty. 

He takes a step forward, nearly stumbles, and catches himself on the edge of Belphegor’s bed. The bed moves, squeaking as the force of Adam’s fall pushes it sideways. Jack lists back from the sudden movement, and falls to the floor. 

He remains unconscious. 

Panic blooms in Adam’s stomach, but even that feels faint. He’s still sleepy. He’s still tired. It’s like wading around in a fucking dream and his limbs aren’t moving as fast as he wants them to.

What are you doing?

“Trying to keep myself awake,” he grits out. “There - some soda in the fridge - “

You’re thinking about sodas at a time like this?!

“It’s the cold, asshole!” he says. “Maybe - if I can - “

He hears laughter behind him. He freezes.

That sounds familiar too. He can’t place where he’s heard it before, but he knows he has. A jolly, cheerful little laugh from a man that makes him think about fake smiles and the somehow marker-smell of corporate America. 

He turns around, as best as he can.

“Zachariah?”

There’s no mistaking it. That is Zachariah, in his stupid little suit, with his stupid little smile, standing beside Sam’s bed. 

Adam’s suddenly nineteen again, stuck in a room with some angels wondering if he’s about to make a decision that he’s going to spend the rest of his life regretting; wondering if Sam and Dean would ever come get him because they actually do value him as family, even if he was about to do something really stupid. He’s just dug himself out of his grave again, confused beyond belief but determined that, if the world was going to throw bizarre shit at him, he might as well ask to see the one person he wants to see at the end of the world. 

And - well, he is, physically, still nineteen, but there’s just Cage-related technicalities to take into consideration and all.

“What, your death was greatly exaggerated too?” he slurs out, still keeping his hand on the bed so as not to fall over.

“Oh, no, I was very dead,” Zachariah says. “But you’re not the only ones who can resurrect angels.”

Adam closes his eyes. Chuck.

Fuck.

Zachariah laughs. “What, did you expect that Sam was the only one who could see through the link to our Father?” he asks, with a little titter in his voice that makes Adam want to punch him, but it’s taking all of his effort to even get his eyes open again. “A door goes two ways.”

“What did you do to Jack?” he asks.

Zachariah steps around Sam’s bed, not laying a single finger on him. Adam raises an eyebrow, very slightly. Huh. 

“Nothing, just put him to sleep,” Zachariah says. “I’m not stupid enough to take an archangel-bred Nephilim head on.”

Adam steels his jaw. He’s got no angel blade, so even if he could fight, he couldn’t harm Zachariah. An angel banishing sigil? Could he make one fast enough?

“You, though.” Zachariah frowns, but it’s more in mocking, an expression of amusement on his face. “Somehow, you’ve kept yourself awake.”

And you’re gonna do your goddamn best to stay awake, the voice in his head says. Right now your best bet is to grab Jack and get the fuck out of there.

What? He tries his best to think back. But Sam and Dean - 

I know! But Jack is a trump card - you think I want to leave your brothers behind? The voice snaps back. Listen, the only one of them in danger is Dean, but with him in the Empty, he might have a chance of scraping by alive. This prick can’t hurt Sam, because -

“A door goes two ways,” Adam blurts out, softly. If Chuck eliminates Chuck, he loses his way of spying into their plans.

“Hmm?” Zachariah looks confused for a moment, but waves it off when Adam doesn’t answer. He raises a hand towards Adam. “Well, no matter. It would have been a lot less unpleasant for you, if you’d been asleep, but if you insist on being awake - ”

Stall!

“Michael’s not going to be very happy with you,” Adam says, “He’s rather fond of us.”

A look of annoyance flits past Zachariah’s face. “I’m sure,” he says. “It’s been disappointing to hear.”

“Oh?” Adam straightens up. He ends up looking like a zombie trying their best to stay upright. “I thought it was a rather good step in development. Not everyday you crawl out of Hell with your best friend and find out you have a nephew.”

“Of course you wouldn’t understand,” Zachariah says. “None of you Winchesters have been able to comprehend divinity, from the very start.”

“Not a Winchester,” Adam bites out.

There’s gotta be something he can do - if he can just write a banishing sigil fast enough…

Adam, listen, the voice says, You have Grace. You’ve used it before. Use it again.

On small things! Never against a fucking angel! Adam shoots back as Zachariah does another one of his infuriating laughs.

“By name, maybe,” Zachariah says. “In blood and in action? Most definitely.”

“Oh, yeah? I like to think I’m ten times smarter,” Adam says. 

You don’t have a choice! It’s archangel Grace anyway!

It’s only enough to keep my soul together, not fight people.

Zachariah barks out a laugh. “Maybe,” he says. “I wouldn’t count on it.”

“I know Chuck resurrected you,” Adam says. “And I know he probably did that because he knows he can’t keep his focus on more than one thing anymore.”

Then connect it with your fucking soul then, the voice throws back.

Adam stills. 

...what?

“I’m not exactly impressed,” Zachariah says. “Especially when your attempt at stalling is painfully obvious.”

Fuck.

Fuck.

Zachariah shakes his head. “It’s cute,” he says. “But it gets old fast.”

Adam -

I know. Adam looks around, his movements slow and sluggish, as he sees Zachariah’s eyes glow.

A high-pitched ringing fills the room. 

ADAM - 

I FUCKING KNOW!

Adam flings a hand out, adrenaline and biology kicking in despite Zachariah influencing him, and he feels energy bursting out of his chest that knocks the wind right out of his lungs. Across him, Zachariah’s eyes widen, concentration breaking, as he’s suddenly thrown back, hitting the door and ripping it off its hinges on his way out.

Adam blinks, the heaviness of his eyelids easing up the second. 

“Shit,” he says. “Did that work?”

Is Jack awake? The voice asks. 

Adam looks down. Jack is still sleeping. 

No, he’s unconscious. He stands up properly this time, rubbing the tiredness out of his eyes.

I think it’s your Grace, then. The voice says. 

I don’t know shit about connecting it to my soul, he thinks, patting a hand over his chest as he feels his heart skip a beat. This is why he never uses it, whether it be part of his soul now or not. Shit, I think I overdid it. 

Connect it to your soul, the voice says. Angel Grace can recharge via human soul. That shit doesn’t run out unless it’s being destroyed. It’s the perfect battery for angels. You’ve practically got a built-in generator. 

I don’t know how! He snaps. He grabs Jack by the ankles and pulls him aside, setting him by the wall, so that he’s leaning his back on it. 

The boy doesn’t so much as stir.

Adam turns towards the hallway, glaring. He doesn’t know how far back he’s blasted Zachariah, but right now, his fists are itching to beat the bastard’s face in. 

It’s instinctual! Grace is always instinctual! It’s like being a sorcerer, the voice says, snapping him back to attention. It’s the difference between practitioners and supernatural creatures. This shit responds to what you want as long as you really want it. 

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” he asks, out loud this time because he can’t help it. 

He stands, sparing Belphegor a glance as he does, since he’s already beside his bed. Belphegor, who’s currently slightly frowning a little, like he’s in pain. 

Adam blinks in shock. 

Slowly, the demon’s eyes open, just a crack. Adam can see the irises glowing yellow as they slide over to look at him. 

“It means,” Belphegor rasps out, so softly that Adam doesn’t realize what he’s saying until about a few seconds later. “That it’s like walking and breathing to those who have the universal authority to access it.” 

The demon cracks a small smile. “You’ve used your Grace before. All it takes is to use it differently, but with the same conviction.” His eyes slowly slide shut again. “You fucking dumbass.”

“You - “

But Belphegor’s gone. He’s unconscious again, breathing slowing and evening out almost as soon as he loses consciousness. 

“Belphegor!” 

Calm the fuck down, idiot, I’m alive, Belphegor says. Just bodiless right now.

“What?” 

It’s kinda cool, Belphegor says. I exist as a hivemind, at the moment. I can see and hear everything that Hell has access to. That means the ghosts, the demons, the Shedim - if they’re not fighting me, I mean - the -

“Oh,” Adam says, interrupting. “That’s how you knew Zachariah was coming.”

Still looking after you dolts, even when I’m comatose and formless. Adam imagines the demon shaking his head dramatically. When will my suffering end?

“Shut up,” Adam says, relieved. He takes a step back to see down the hallway. The dust is still settling. He can see that there’s a hole in the wall of the room across them, but since that room is empty and the lights are off, he can’t see if he’s destroyed the room behind that too. 

You shut up, Belphegor says. That bastard’s probably getting up. Accept and unify your Grace and your soul.

“Do you have to sound so cheesy all the time?” Adam asks, staring down at his hand. He has used Grace before, and he knows how it feels. He knows how easy it is as long as he knows what he wants to do. It is instinctual, now that he thinks about it.

But to connect it to his soul…

He’s human, he knows that. He’s always maintained that. Whether or not he was patchwork nephilim or a corrupted human soul never mattered, because he knew that at the end of the day he was human. He had to be human. 

Humanity was normality, for him. It was his life before all this. 

But - 

But maybe sometimes he just had to accept there was no going back anymore. That he did go through Hell, for years and years. That his soul was in tatters and he was on the brink of insanity had it not been for the Grace woven into him to keep him alive. That Grace was gifted to him by Michael, and was - is a part of him. 

It didn’t mean he was different, at his core. No, he was still him. 

Just with a few more sparks and lights. 

I want to protect everyone, he thinks, and watches in shock as blue light - Grace, he realizes - wraps around his arm, snaking up to his shoulder. It dies down, fading from sight, and then he’s looking at his arm wrapped in sleek, silver armor.

“What the fuck,” he says out loud. 

What is it?

“I’ve got, uh, one piece of Exodia,” Adam says. 

I fucking hate you, Belphegor says. Which one?

“Well, my right arm’s covered in armor right now,” he says. “...do you think I’ve got super strength in this arm?”

One way to find out, Belphegor says.

There’s a series of screams across them, faint but loud. Adam’s head snaps up. 

“Right,” he says. He stalks forward, noticing how despite the armor, his arm feels light, like there’s nothing there at all.

He lifts his armored hand and touches the broken concrete, the jagged part where the door had been ripped off earlier. He clenches his hand - the chunk he’d been holding on to crumbles into rubble.  

He watches the debris fall down. He grins. 

“Oh,” he says, laughing. He turns to look at the busted wall across him. “Let’s go beat the shit out of this motherfucker.”