AdamxAngel!Reader:HomeComingAfterHell

You were a rookie angel. Barely accustomed to the weight of her vast and heavy wings, each single feather pearly white and glistening in heaven's absurd sunlight. It tasted like plastic. Something drawn up in careful calculation by a directors hand in one of those film studios your brother Gabriel use to tell you about. TV land; though you'd later find it out it had an even stranger and more exotic name. Hollywood. You'd plan to take a pit stop there once you were granted permission to leave heaven. The truth was, you had a plan. A little concoction you had thought about all on your little lonesome, the brainwashed warrior who wasn't suppose to question divine right. Somebody once said that teaching freedom to angels, was like teaching poetry to a fish. But, you just couldn't help it. You were wired this way...

Corruption in heaven wasn't a foreign topic to you. Nor was the corruption in hell. Millions of innocent vibrant souls trapped in hell's sticky web of torture for millenniums to come. And nobody up here, in this "heavenly garden" was doing jack squat to fix it. Of course your brother Castiel had, but once again he was on the run from heaven. More or less. Whispers spoke about him "stocking up" in souls, fainter ones murmured about a quest to find Purgatory. Anyways, you were tired of being a slimy, dead-eyed fish. Gills have no use for breathing the vast blanket of air that lightly floats on this blue planet. 

Or that was at least what you were telling yourself as you submerged yourself into the pit. Blood-curdling screams, gagged at intervals echoed through the caverns, that like blood vessels tumbled and dripped thick, clotted droplets of blood. As you pursued the caverns farther metal hooks began sprouting from the walls, raw shredded bits of meat stuck on the rusted loops. Hanged corpses of children littered the bottom ceiling, nooses twirled and bounded around jutted pieces of flesh. Trying to loop themselves around your lumanating neck. 

At the bottom two vibrant swirls of energy like acid induced clouds clashed against each other, bodies breaking into smithereens just to be patched back together. In a feverish cycle, they pushed and pushed to the brink point, again and again!

One, a crystallized baby blue with fire-y green spikes.

Michael. 

The other, a darker, more tainted blue bruised by prune colored disfigurations like popped arteries. 

Lucifer. 

Distant, older brothers that had become bedtime stories to your ears. The colliding forces of an epic novel. Yet, there they were; god's puppets on strings. It was pitiful actually, two loving brothers pitted against each other for the sake of "fate." 
(you'd met her, she was an uptight bitch). 

Then your eyes found a tiny figure, like burnt ash that was faltering in between the acid induced clouds. Your mission. Adam, the tiniest Winchester, right? You take a deep breathe, in through the nose and out through the mouth. In a flash, you sweep through between the figures (inches separating you from them) and snatch Adam's torso with both hands. The journey upwards is uneventful and stomach-clenching quick. Creaking, the earth cracks forth to allow you to enter the land of the living once again. 

You'd already pick the place for recovery. A nice, isolated cabin in some virgin forrest (almost completely untouched my humanity) with all necessary resources taken care of. The king-sized bed in the middle of the 3 room house with a fluffy pearly white comforter. This is were you laid the burnt, bloodied form. Then, you entered the bathroom and start to draw a warm bubble bath. Tub steaming. Gently you cupped the crisp figure in your hands and settled him inside the bath. Carefully scrubbing the soot, raw flesh shimmering in the sunlight and wounds ripped right open. As they appeared you healed them, slowly rebuilding him like a lego figure, piece by piece. Before long, tufts of dirty blonde hair began to appear on his head and eyes widened open with electric blue clarity. It reminded you of the stories of the great italian sculptor, Michelangelo, who'd chip away at blocks of marble to uncover the bodies inside. The more ironic thing was the fact that he named them Prisoners... 

You lifted him up, and carried him bridal style to the bed. The flimsy body submerging into the pillows, each bone outlined against the raw, pale flesh. In a bowl, next to the bed floated a marble colored rag, soaking in the cool water. Pinched between your index finger and thumb you awkwardly carried it onto his forehead, which caused him to shiver slightly. That was the first reaction you'd gotten from him. Time for the next step, and in a snap of your fingers a crystal jar appeared on the stand. Molten autumn leaves, a golden colored of purity. Amborsia... 

Tenderly you tipped Adam's head back, unlocking his lips with your fingertip, then placing the tip of the jar in between them. Slowly, you began pouring a thin strand of liquid gold, watching as his cheeks reddened and flesh lumped upward in his once skinny arms. From a scrawny little shriveled thing to quite a handsome human. Or at least that's what you'd been told? That this was supposedly beauty in the human world. You sorta understood. Once he had finished the Amborsia, you'd let him sleep deep into the night. 

-----------------------------------------------------------Later on that night--------------------------------

It was about 3 am and your eyes were plastered on to the TV set, watching some medical show called Doctor Sexy? Not that many medical procedures occurred on it. When suddenly a shrill scream cut through the cliché lines two good-looking doctors exchanged back and forth, a form of flirtation? Father, these humans are strange. In a blink of an eye your were by Adam's bedside, each inch of his body was smeared in icy droplets of sweat and the light crunching sound of teeth against teeth resounded across the room. 

Another scream. Tears pouring from his eyes like a torrent of feverish hatred. 

You sat next to him, in a second a cool rag in hand, and began damping his forehead with care. Suddenly, out of nowhere you began humming a song that your older brother Gabriel use to listen to before he disappeared. Before long you began to sing, your voice as clear and lucid as church bells. 

"Carry on my wayward so-oon, they'll be peace when you are done, lay your weary head to rest..." 

The screams were reduced to whimpers incased in his throat. 

"Don't you cry no more..." 

----------------------------------------------------------- In the morning (Adam's POV) --------------------------------

It'd been millenniums since I'd opened my eyes. Always the unfaltering terror of what twisted torture awaited me on Lucifers or Michael's hands. But this time, I awoke to the smell of blue-berry pancakes and cream-colored light gleaming through a clean windowpane.

Has my fruitcake finally cracked open?
Has my body been burned to such a crisp that it must create an alternative reality to survive? 

When suddenly the most gorgeous girl I have ever laid eyes on enters the room, floats more like it. Face iridescent and eyes like an ever twisting kaleidoscopes of the most tender (eye color). And a smile that just ignited my bones, whole and unbroken. 

"What's yo-ur na-me?" the words clashing against each other, tongue unknowing in movements. 

She speaks a word in Enochain (after listening the brothers cuss at each other for all eternity I had learned it well). 

"That's beautiful but what about (your name)? For when you are on earth..." I ask, pensively. 

She flashes me her pearly whites, a smile that reminded me of snow-capped mountaintops. 
But then, right behind her, two figures walked up. 

The devil. 

And the archangel. 

Laughing in unison.