Title: Shiny Happy People [4/4]
Author: morkhan
Warnings: Cursing, snark, violence, both sides of the Winchester asskicking coin, kinkiness.
Characters: Dean, Sam, Adam, Meg, OCs.
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 5547
Summary: The brothers face Meg for the final time. Things get physical.
Disclaimer: Characters, universe, and recognizable things belong to CW and EK. The ridiculous plot is, sadly, mine.

Author's Notes: It's over! I spent several days doing almost nothing but writing this, so I sincerely hope you guys enjoyed the ride. Now that it's finished, I really must concentrate on school for a bit, but as soon as things calm down again, I'm sure I will find a few moments to dedicate to writing and keeping you lot entertained. The Season 6 premiere is less than a month away! Keep your fingers crossed…

Reviews are like love and cookies and cocaine to me. I can never have enough.

It's all backwards.

Usually, Dean is the one blindly charging ahead, devil-may-care attitude and all, making shit up as he goes along because as far as he's concerned, flying by the seat of your pants is the only way to fly. Sam is his counterbalance—the careful, measured, take-it-slow type who wants a plan for everything and a plan B for every plan A. That's the way the story usually goes.


Now, however, it's different. Now, as Dean stands in front of Meg, trying to figure out the best way to disable her, get to that knife, and insert Tab A into Bitch B, any and all plans he is making are thrust aside by a six foot semi-truck made of pure Winchester fury; Sam roars as he shoulder-charges Meg in one of the fastest sprints Dean has ever seen from his little brother. Not even super strength or whatever mojo she has going on can save that bitch from the full fury of Sam Winchester—there is a bone-crunching impact as the massive man slams into Meg's meatsuit and keeps going, his momentun carrying the both of them to and then through the wall in the back of the closet, which lands them in the bedroom that Sam and Dean were supposed to stay in when they first got here. For a few seconds, Dean is literally incapable of doing anything but watching as the enormous Sam picks up the relatively small body Meg is hiding in and slams it into every surface in the room save the ceiling. He shatters a headboard to one of the beds, cleans off the top of a dresser, knocks over and breaks an expensive-looking armoire in half, all with Meg as his weapon of choice. The last time Dean saw Sam this honest-to-God, out-of-control furious was… well, when he was on the receiving end of the beatdown. And this time Sam isn't even on demon blood.

He better not be on demon blood.

After finally shaking himself back into action, he realizes that what Sam is doing will ultimately be useless if he doesn't follow it up with something a little more concrete. Looking down at Adam, Dean feels his entire chest shrivel at how still he is. Even when Meg snapped his goddamn neck like a twig, he was twitching and moving his face as he fell. Now, he's not moving anything; just lying there, slack-faced, with a goddamn knife speared through his skull from bottom-to-top, a puddle of blood casually creeping outwards from his head. There's no time to mourn. There's never any time to mourn, but Dean is tired of losing people. He is especially tired of losing the same people, over and over and over again. He feels like a goddamn animal, being teased with bits of food on a string only to chase after it and have it yanked away. And then he finally catches it, and it's rubber. Or poisoned. And he realizes that the only one who got anything out of this sick little game was the one pulling the strings.

Whatever. There's no time to mourn. Not when there is still business to be taken care of.

So he ignores the rising pressure in his throat as he kneels next to Adam's body, grabs the knife handle and yanks it free (having to yank it at least three times to get it to budge, making Adam's head flop uselessly and bleed even more onto the hardwood). The blade is still wreathed in tiny ribbons of smoke. With his free hand, Dean lets the proverbial dam break just a little bit, reaching down and gently ruffling his baby brother's hair.

"We've got this one, kid. Don't worry."

And then it's back to the fight. Meg finally wriggles free of Sam's colossal grip, and Dean can see that the fury is starting to take its toll on him. Sam is covered in sweat and breathing like his lungs are filled with paper. He sees Dean with the knife, and the two of them come to a silent understanding; they'll be doing this one Ruby-style.

"Wow, boys," Meg sneers. "I didn't know you cared so—"

Dean has had so much more than enough of this bitch's mouth. He reaches for the nearest object, a piece of the broken armoire, and hurls it at Meg like a spear. The impact doesn't look like it hurts much, but it stops her from talking and gives Sam an opportunity to tackle her again. Dean charges in behind him, and sure enough, there is enough fire left in Sammy to enable him to arm-lock Meg. The knife is warm in Dean's hand as jabs, but Meg sees what's coming and moves with unreal speed, breaking Sam's arm-lock (along with his arm) and bringing his hand forward to intercept the knife. Dean is too far into the thrust to stop it, and the knife spears right through Sam's palm, stopping well before it reaches the Hellbitch. With casual ease, she flips Sam over her shoulder and hurls him at Dean, sending them both sprawling.

"It's rude to interrupt," she says. "Now, as I was saying, I didn't know you cared so much about John's dirty little secret. It took you so long to get around to finding him that I was seriously considering just stuffing the little shit into a cement mixer and hunting you down myself. You let him get angel-napped, you drag him into Hell, and then you get all precious about it when I finally put the poor bastard out of his misery. You should be happy! I've given you another reason to mope and be angsty with each other, your favorite pastimes! Alas, poor little Baby Winchester, cut down in the prime of his—"

"Don't call me that."

There is no stopping Dean's grin. And there is, apparently, no stopping his baby brother. Adam is covered, at this point, in more blood than any human being should be able to lose and still stand, but his Wolverine powers have seen him through once again, and he stands ready, shoulders squared, head held high in the hole Sam made upon his entrance.

"Dude, we thought you were dead!" Sam says, shock and relief radiating from him in nearly-tangible waves.

Adam looks sheepish. "Actually… I'm pretty sure I was dead. At least until you pulled the knife out."

"Oh yeah. Thanks for the reminder." Dean yanks the knife rather rudely out of Sam's hand, ignoring his yelp of protest as Adam gives them both a pat on the forehead. Good as new, and now they're armed to boot. "Great timing, buddy. I was just about to call for a Medic."

"That feels awesome," Sam sighs with a semi-dopey grin on his face as he stands up, no longer able to see through his own palm.

Adam grins back. "You know, that's what everybody has been telli—"

"Oh, that is it." Meg is now breathing like a bull on the verge of a full-speed charge. "I'm done. This isn't even funny anymore." She thrusts a savage finger at Dean. "You, I am decapitating." At Sam. "You, I'm snapping in half. No more games. No more torture." Then she turns to Adam. "And finally, since the stupid knife apparently doesn't work as well on Angel Turds as it does demons… You, I am locking in a safe and dropping in the ocean as soon as I deal with these two. But first, I'm going to nail you to the wall so you can't annoy me," she snarls.

Adam looks at her with half-lidded, thoughtful eyes as she rants. When she finishes, he looks at Sam and Dean, seeming a little uneasy, before turning back to Meg and smirking. "Oh, someone here's about to get nailed, but it's not me…"

Meg just looks at him like he turned into a purple octo-horse. Dean's not quite sure what he means either, but he doesn't have time to ask.

"…and by the way? The name's MILLIGAN!" Adam shouts as he immediately charges towards Meg, slamming into her at just the right trajectory to send them both soaring out the window—the same window Adam once climbed through to make his escape. Now, he is even less sure of what the kid is planning, but the last thing they need is to sit around pondering it.

"Come on, Sammy," he says as he drags his little brother to his feet, down the stairs, around the outside of the house to where Adam and Meg—




It's kind of a stupid idea.

Okay, it's a very stupid idea. But from what he's been able to gather, the knife she used to give him an impromptu tracheotomy is supposed to be some kind of magic knife. Sam and Dean have it, and now all they need is the opportunity to put it in Meg. And it's the weirdest thing, but it's Sam who finally cements the thought in his head; everybody says that it feels so good when he touches them… well…

Since beating her up doesn't seem to be helping, why not go in the opposite direction?

So Adam charges and tackles Meg and knocks them both through the window. The glass shards cut into their skin and the landing knocks them for a loop, but through it all, Adam never lets go of Meg, letting a constant current of healing juice run through her. One look at her face as Adam's magic fingers touch her skin tells him pretty much everything he needs to know. Oh God, this is going to be so gross…

With a savage snarl, Adam closes his eyes and smashes their faces together. Meg reciprocates with equal enthusiasm, which just seems to up the ante—the strength of the energy current increases in direct proportion to the amount of skin-to-skin contact, Adam notes with clinical detachment in an effort to keep from barfing all over her, which he is fairly sure will break the moment. That little observation explains why the psycho from Hell promptly tears what's left of his shirt off and practically impales him on her super-sharp bitch fingernails. The little twinge of pain causes his frustration to boil over as he spitefully bites the shit out of her lip, but fuck if the kinky bitch doesn't like that; she just moans and digs in deeper, rolling over on top of him and slamming his head into the dirt with her own. Well, fine, if that's the way she wants to play, he's got plenty of frustration he's just dying to work out on a deserving target. Summoning all the rage at this sneaky, lying slut for stalking him, using him, using all of them to carry out some stupid vendetta against his brothers, he turns outright savage as he lifts himself off the ground, Meg and all, and slams her as hard as humanly possible into a tree trunk.

"Oh, YEAH," she growls, still trying to swallow him whole. "Hurts so good! Come on, baby, make it hurt so good…"

This just pisses him off even more, and now he's grinding her against the tree like he's trying to smooth it out with her ass as sandpaper. Meg is ecstatic, and the overflow of energy inspires her to take charge again as she suddenly whips him around as has him pressed against the tree.

"Oh, FUCK! Little Winchester likes it rough, doesn't he?" she says, her voice husky as she practically presses him into the tree hard enough to leave an Adam-shaped imprint in the wood.

He opens his eyes to look at her, never breaking the contact. "Oh, you like that?" he asks, low and dangerous, digging his fingers into her back.

She groans in reply, closing her eyes taking a bite of his neck.

"Then I've got one question for you," Adam says. He grabs her by the hair and jerks her up to stare into her eyes, which have gone completely black with lust.

"What?" she sneers.

Adam grins. "How do you feel about anal?"

Meg has less than a second to be confused by that before Dean promptly shoves the knife up her ass.

Well, into the base of her spine, anyway. Close enough.

In and out, in and out, over and over and over and over. He stabs her again and again and again and again and again, reveling in the sound of sliced flesh, the smoke of cooked tissue, the dull orange glow that accompanies demon death. Her meatsuit illuminates from within, the Halloweenish spectacle of orange light around a black skeleton appearing through her pale skin with each thrust. Meg gasps and twitches—Dean wants to hear her scream, wants her to suffer, to beg for mercy for all of the pain and misery she has caused, but more than all of that, he just wants her gone. So he will keep on stabbing. He will stab her until she stops moving, or his arm falls off, and if the latter happens… well, he's got two arms for a reason, y'know.

Eventually, the death throes subside and the death glow dims to nothing and Meg's last desperate gasps at life are replaced with a steady chanting that is oddly monotone.

"Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. Stop that. Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. Stop. Ow. She's gone. Ow. Ow…"

"Dean," Sam says, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder and finally bringing him out of his bitch-shanking trance. "Meg's toast. You can stop now."

Dean looks up at Meg, who blinks at him owlishly. "But she's still moving."

"That's not Meg, Dean. That's who she was wearing," Sam clarifies.

Adam looks at him with worried eyes. It's at that point that Dean notices that Adam never let go of the meatsuit, which explains why none of the wounds Dean left were persistent (eventually, hacking into someone starts to make different noises as the skin is peeled away and you start hitting muscle tissue and bone). "Oh," Dean says, slowly lowering the knife and looking at the girl he just spent a few minutes filleting. "Sorry. Got a little… carried away there."

The girl looks at him, her expression not condemning and… well, not much of anything, really. "Your outrage is completely justified," she says, still talking in kind of an odd, flat tone that makes her sound semi-robotic. "She deserved to die several million deaths. Thank you for being so thorough in her extermination."

"Stephanie?" Adam asks, finally seeming to realize that he has her in a death grip and releasing her.

She, in turn, backs away from the tree, allowing Adam to slide down his trunk. "Indeed, that is my name. I would imagine that using my name along with my identification and social security made it significantly easier for this 'Meg' to navigate the labyrinthine legalities necessary to establish an organization such as this. Though, I must say, I am somewhat surprised that she chose to file this cult as an official religious organization. She did not seem like one who held respect for the law." Yeah. She definitely sounds like a robot. Wait, no—she sounds like Cas.

Adam is looking at her with wide, slightly frightened eyes. "You're… uhhh… different."

She nods at him, her expression not changing in the slightest. "I am. I believe Meg's personal interpretation of the so-called 'Valley Girl' persona was adopted as an intentional affront to my intellectual sensibilities."

Dean looks over to Sam, who seems just as weirded-out about this whole thing as he is. "Uhhh, yeah, that sounds like Meg…" Dean offers.

Stephanie turns her head towards him and just… blinks. Some more.

"But you're alright?" Adam asks.

Stephanie turns back to him. "Yes, I am in extremely good health. I may, in fact, be in better condition than when I was when initially spiritually co-opted. We should try having enthusiastic, athletic sex at some point to see if you are indeed capable of improving one's physical condition in addition to restoring it."

Adam's jaw drops and his eyes become Elijah Wood huge. "Wait, what?"

Stephanie shrugs; it's the first actual sign of emotion of any sort that Dean has seen from her, and it looks weird. "You are an unfathomably fascinating specimen, Adam Milligan. You have the potential to revolutionize modern medicine and your very existence demolishes the laws of science, physics, and biology as I know them. I would like to study you further. But first…" she trails off, suddenly turning around and walking towards the cabin. "…I need a fuckin' drink."

She leaves the sons of John Winchester standing in baffled silence.

"Adam," Sam says. "I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I think dispossessing her has just made her worse."

Adam gives a miserable groan and leans against the tree, beating the back of his head against it in a steady rhythm.

Dean can only smirk as he looks at the kid. He's half-naked, looking like he got in a fight with a combine harvester and lost, big time, but still standing. At the end of the day, somehow, they're still standing.

"What?" Adam says.

The eldest Winchester just shrugs. "Nothing. Just… you look kind of badass."

The kid looks surprised for a second, but he quickly sweeps the shock away in favor of a semi-decent pass at nonchalance. "Yeah, so? I am kind of badass. What of it?"

It's too fucking funny. This kid is so his little brother. Dean just shakes his head and laughs.

Sam, on the other hand, has his camera phone aimed at the youngest Winchester.

"Dude!" Adam shouts, trying in vain to hold his hands up to block the shot, but Sam has already snapped him.

"Don't worry," Sam says as he pockets the phone. "Just… a little picture for posterity. If I ever need a reminder that we're related, that should erase any doubts."

Adam crosses his arms, looking disgusted. "Yeah, I'll bet that's what it's for." He stomps off back towards the cabin.

"Where're you going?" Dean asks.

"To put some clothes on!" Adam shouts without looking back. "Fuckin' perverts…" Dean hears him mumble before turning the corner.

The two Winchesters-by-name are then left alone in the silence. Dean raises his eyebrows at Sam. "Well, that was…"

"Profoundly fucked up?" Sam offers.

Dean nods. "Yeah, that works. Man, what the fuck was up with him getting all handsy with that Hell-whore?"

The tallest Winchester shrugs. "I guess it was supposed to be a distraction. It worked, didn't it?"

Dean shakes his head as the two of them start back towards the cabin. "Yeah, I guess it's just… man, it's a little too weird, y'know? I'm guessing he gets the whole 'has sex with monsters' thing from you."

If you could cram any more annoyance into Sam's eyes, they'd probably pop out of his head just to smack you. "He doesn't 'get' anything from me. He's my brother, Dean, not my kid."

"I know, I'm just sayin'—" Dean suddenly grinds to a halt, stopping Sam with an oustretched hand so the two of them can witness the majestic sight in front of them. A magnificent, enormous buck, with antlers any hunter would be proud to hang on his wall, strides nobly across the campsite, impervious to all obstacles. Stuck on one of its antlers is a squirming, spitting, snarling, Satanic cultist uttering epithets too foul for Dean to repeat. His struggles, mighty as they are, do not impair the progress of the buck in the slightest, not even causing its head to twitch as it gracefully enters the woods.

Sam looks at Dean. Dean looks at Sam. The two of them last about five seconds before they both fall over, having lost all muscle control from the sheer force of their guffawing.

Several minutes pass before they can get up again

Afterwards, Adam goes through and insta-heals every sickie still in the camp, sending them all on their way and begging them not to spread his gospel. The remaining demons get the same treatment as Stephanie, with Adam preserving the meat while Dean and Sam apply the heat.

Stephanie, fortunately, remembers exactly where Meg parked the car.

"She had no desire to damage or deface it, oddly enough. I believe she intended to use it to drag you along the highway after you were killed. Or possibly before."

Dean puts that vomit-inducing thought out of his head so he can concentrate on his car. "Oh, God, baby…" he whispers. "I am so sorry. I am so sorry that those bad men got inside you. I promise, I'll never let it happen again. You'll be safe with me. Shhhh…" He is hugging the car, gently running his hands across the finish. He can feel her distress, even if the others are looking at him like he took a leap off the high dive and hit every board on his way down. She was so scared. So alone. So… defiled. "We'll give you a washing like you won't believe. Hand-rubbed, every inch, washed, waxed and shined. We'll even get you some new upholstery if that's what it takes to fix things between us. Just please… please don't be mad at me…"

The silence that follows is awkward for everyone but Dean, but she doesn't hold it against him. He knows. He knew he could count on his baby to take him back. "So forgiving…" he sighs, and Sam finally steps in to take over the conversation.

"Thanks for taking us to the car, Stephanie, she means… a lot to the family," he says with a gentle smile.

Stephanie turns her strange owl-eyes towards him. "You are welcome. Oh, and I should thank you for saving my life." She looks at him thoughtfully for a few seconds. "Thank you for saving my life," she finishes.

"No problem," Sam says.

"Hey, guys?" Adam says, stepping forward from the crowd of gathered cultists, dressed once again in people-clothes. "Can I, uhhh… can you take me for a ride in her?" he asks sheepishly. "You know, for old time's sake."

Dean gives a million-dollar smile. "Hop in," he says, and Adam returns his grin.

Sam gives a little wave to the gathered cultists before they vanish in a cloud of dust and burnt rubber.

Stephanie watches them passively as they leave.

After a few minutes, a voice from the crowd speaks up. "They're not coming back, are they?"

"Nope," Stephanie says.

"So now what do we do?" another voice asks.

The woman turns to address them directly. "We track him down."


"There will be signs. Portents. Omens. Everywhere he goes, they will follow, and so will we. The world must know the Gospel of Adam and the Winchesters," she says simply. "But for now… we rest. Meg was terrible with her paperwork, and there are great deals of administrative duties I must attend to. Sleep well, everyone, for tomorrow… the hunt begins." She dismisses them with a smile.

She fully intends to complete the aforementioned paperwork, but not right away. First, she really must get in touch with one of her old friends to let her know she is alright. And, of course, to talk about what happened. It might sound crazy to most people, but Stephanie has a feeling that her old friend will appreciate the story even if she doesn't believe it. The plot is remarkably similar to a truly awful book she once tried to make Stephanie read.

Now, what was Becky's number?

There are no tearful goodbyes. No heartfelt reconciliations or warm words of brotherhood. They're Winchesters, and they don't do that kind of shit. Dean simply wakes up one morning, finds a note that says 'Thanks,' and does not find Adam or any of his things. He didn't really expect the kid to stick around forever, but…

"I don't know, Sammy," he says as they head down the road. "I kind of thought we were… fuck, bonding or whatever."

Sam is playing a game on his cell phone, but he nods to show Dean he is paying attention (or at least to stop Dean from bothering him about it).

"I just wish I knew where he went, y'know?" Dean does not sigh, because wistful sighing is for teenage girls.

Sam grins without ever looking up from his game. "Check your contact list."

Dean gives him the fish-eye before fishing his phone out of his jacket and flipping it open. His numbers list is arranged alphabetically. 'Adam' is now at the top. It wasn't before. "Huh," Dean says, and presses 'Call.'

"Put it on speaker," Sam says, still engrossed in his virtual world. Dean activates the speakerphone and puts it in the little holster Sam installed.

"What the fuck? Where did this phone come from?"

"Slipped it into your stuff before you left," Sam smiles, before immediately frowning again and slamming his phone shut, as apparently the conversation caused him to die. Well, not 'die' but… you know.

"Gee, thanks," Adam's voice is loaded with sarcasm. Dean can picture his longsuffering little face even now. "Any other goodies I should know about?"

"Yeah, there's about five thousand dollars in cash in the side pocket above where you pack your toothbrush," Sam replies.

Dean and Adam respond in unison. "WHAT?"

Sam just shrugs. "I figured Adam could use a little help starting out."

Dean gapes. "So you gave him five thousand dollars of our money?"

Sam's sarcastic bitchface speaks volumes. "Funny, how you refer to it as 'our money…'"

Dean tilts his head in thought for a bit, before silently conceding the point.

"Look, guys, I… seriously, thanks for your help, but I just don't think driving around the country, hunting monsters is my bag of chips, okay?"

"Adam, it's okay. We don't want you to go down that road if that's not what you want," Dean finally picks up the conversation.

"We just figured it'd be good to give you a way to get in touch with us if you ever need anything. There are other numbers in there, too, if you can't get in touch with us. Bobby's a great guy. Missouri is kind of a handful, but she usually knows what she's talking about."

Dean grins at Sam. "You thoughtful little bitch."

"Oh, wow, uhhh… thanks."

"So where you heading, kid?" Dean asks.

"Pffffft, like I'm telling you."

"Aw, come on. Not even a hint?" Dean prods.

"Somewhere where there's a shit-ton of sick people, how about that?" Adam replies.

Dean shrugs, knowing that's probably all they'll get out of him. "Fair enough. I just wanted to check up on you, man. We're family, we look out for each other, capisce?"


"What?" Dean asks. Sam snorts, of course, which just makes him feel like the idiot of the family.

"Nothing," Adam replies, and it sounds like he's grinning too.

"Hey, I don't know how much it'll actually mean to you, but me and Sam, we were proud of you back there. You kicked ass, man," Dean says.

"…well, duh." Smug little shit.

Sam leans forward, like he's making sure his voice is nice and clear to the other end. "Dad would've been proud of you, too."

Adam is silent for a few seconds. "…thanks." He sounds a little rough on the other end, and Dean scoffs at this unrepentant display of emotion.

"Alright, it's getting a little too Lifetime Original Movie in here for my blood," Dean says. "Adios, little bro."

"Call if you need anything. And send us an email sometime."

"Yeah, whatever. Later," Adam says, and the call ends.

"He totally loves us," Dean smirks.

Sam on the other hand, is staring off into space, lost in thought.

"Something on your mind, sasquatch?"

Sam keeps thinking for a few seconds, before cracking another of those way-too-devilish grins of his. "I think I know where Adam is going."

Dean gives him a sidelong glance. "And? What's so funny about it?"

Sam reclines in his seat, pulling out his game phone again. "Let's just say that… if I'm right… Adam probably didn't think this through nearly as much as he should have."

Dean raises his eyebrows at that, but Sam won't give him any more answers outside of that Special Satan Grin.

Little brothers. Sheesh.

He… really should have spent more time thinking this through.

It seemed like a good idea at first, but then again, what doesn't? He gets away from his brothers, disaster magnets that they are, he gets away from his creepy stalker cult, he goes and helps those who need it. If only it were that uncomplicated.

He probably would've been better off if he had followed the little boy who tried to wake him up last night. Of course, being that he didn't really speak the local language, he'd only woken up long enough to ensure that nothing was on fire before bedding down again try and sleep off the jetlag. He figured something was wrong as soon as he woke up and found the tiny motel completely deserted save for himself, but he wasn't quite expecting…


Somewhere in the back of his mind, an African choir is chanting in Swahili against a gorgeous Savannah sunrise. In the parking lot below him, there stands a delegation of gazelles, meerkats, elephants, rhinoceroses, giraffes, monkeys, warthogs, zebras, cheetahs, hyenas, wildebeests, cranes (with assorted other birds) along with several groups of animals that he can't even fucking name, in a massive herd that stretches far beyond the morning sun's light. They're all just standing around peacefully, staring up at him like Mufasa died and declared him the freakin' Lion King and they're just waiting on their cue to bow. Any second now, a baboon is going to sneak up behind him and lift him up into the air to be praised. He just knows it.


He's gone through worse than this. He's been to Hell and back—literally—and it's gonna take more than the freakin' Animal Kingdom following him around like he's Edward fucking Cullen and they're a bunch of teen girls. Nothing will dissuade him from his mission. As he gazes down at the crowd, he hears a voice that sounds suspiciously like John Winchester.

"Remember… who you are…"

He does.

So he squares his shoulders, puffs out his chest, and walks down the stairs into the Wild, Wild World. As he reaches the bottom, a shaggy-maned lion gives him a long stare.

"The fuck are you lookin' at?" Adam challenges, jutting out his chin.

The lion yawns and looks away.

"Yeah, thought so."

And so Adam Milligan wades through a huge, stinking crowd of animals, navigating a veritable minefield of poops of all shapes, sizes and consistencies, vowing to walk this road 'til he finds his place on the path unwinding... and to help as many people as he can along the way.

After about an hour of this, he wonders if the elephants will let him ride on their backs.

From: Adam Milligan
Sent: Friday, September 24, 2010 3:34 PM
To: Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester.
Subject: Storytime.

Hey, since you guys made me skip over the best part of the story, I figured I could send you the rest. Yes, I'm fine, and no, I'm still not telling you where I am.

So Adam escaped his freakish fuckin' family circus and dove into the arms of the angels, but he definitely did not find some comfort there. He found only pain and betrayal and lots and lots of blood from the mouth, and fuck if he wasn't wrong about absolutely fuckin' everything: the fucking angels were lying, fucking Dean was supposed to save the world, and he was just a fucking carrot to put on the end of Dean's stick. He wanted to be saved, because, hey, torture is only fun on one end of the equation, but he also kind of wished Dean and Sam would forget about him just so that smug, fat, bald piece of ass fluff Zachariah would have nothing to show for all his douchebaggery.

But they come anyway. These two guys who have known him for all of like six hours risk their fucking lives against goddamn angels to come in and save an ungrateful bastard who doesn't even like them. Dean stabs an angel through the face and the angel EXPLODES and there is really no way to do justice on paper to just how incredibly motherfucking duckchucking cowtrucking chickenclucking AWESOME it is. At that moment, Adam knew, without a doubt, that he had the coolest and most badass fucking brothers on the face of God's earth and that whatever happened, they'd have his back.

'course, then he got trapped in the stupid room and let's not get into Michael's enhanced interrogation techniques. He got possessed by an archangel—which is pretty much the same as being fucked by a supernova—and dragged into Hell and all that stuff but… maybe in the grand scheme of things, all that stuff isn't important.

All's well that ends well, right?