She Has Wings. | Castiel

Adam.

Chapter Twelve

We were literally just on the side of the road, Sam brushing his teeth, me flipping through a book, when Dean woke up. Then a phone rang. I was the closest, so I reached in and rifled through every phone until I grabbed Dad's.

"Isn't that Dad's?" Dean asked, and Sam gave me a questioning look. I nodded. I answered.

"Hello?"

"Oh," the voice sounded startled. "Is John there?"

"I'm sorry, he can't come to the phone. Can I take a message?"

"No, I need John," they said, voice tense, desperate.

"Okay, look, I don't want to be the bearer of bad news, but John Winchester passed away. Two years ago." I heard a sharp intake of breath. "I'm sorry, who is this?" I asked, glancing at my brothers.

"I'm his... son." And then it hit me, a quiet echo in my mind from Cas: "It is not the first time he's had intimacy with someone who resembled your mother, or had another love child." My stomach knotted. I looked at Sam and Dean, who were still trying to wrap their heads around the call.

"Where do you live?" I asked.

"Minnesota," he said. I exhaled slowly, trying to steady myself.

"Look, whatever you need, we were the closest to John, hence the phone being with us. I'm sure we can help." He gave me his address, and I told him we would be there in a few hours. I hung up and looked at my brothers, confusion and disbelief etched across their faces.

"It's a long story, but we gotta go," I said, already moving toward the Impala.

The drive was quiet, the hum of the engine and the occasional radio static filling the gaps. I explained the call to Dean, leaving out anything about Cas. Some things were better kept for when the time was right. Dean, predictably, was tense, convinced someone was trying to pull some emotional manipulation. I knew better.

When we arrived, Dean slammed his door shut and led the way into the diner. We chose a booth in the back corner, the cracked vinyl seats smelling faintly of grease and coffee. I kept my eyes on the door, anticipation curling in my chest. Adam. He had to be Adam. The other love child Cas had warned me about. Dean, never one to leave anything to chance, laid out the silverware and filled a cup with holy water, placing it in the spot where Adam would sit. I slid into the seat closest to the window, the late afternoon sun throwing long shadows across the table. Sam was already deep in the journal, pointing out missing entries around the time Adam must have been conceived.

The door opened, and there he was. Adam. My pulse thudded in my ears. I glanced at Dean.

"There's no demon in him," I said quietly. Dean waved me off as if my certainty didn't matter, like he alone could see through whatever disguise the world had laid out. I clenched my jaw, irritation flickering across me.

"Adam!" I called. He looked up, surprised, and I stood, extending my hand.

"Y/N?" His voice was cautious, curious. I nodded. Relief softened his face into a small, tentative smile. I gestured for him to sit. Dean, ever theatrical, grabbed the cup the waitress had set down for Adam; leaving the one with holy water, a silent declaration of mistrust.

"So, how'd he die?" Adam asked, voice tight with emotion.

"On the job," I said simply. He blinked, confusion clouding his features.

"He was a mechanic, right?"

"A car fell on him," I replied, shooting Dean a look. His anger was palpable, radiating across the booth. That only fueled the heat rising inside me. I stared him down, my expression livid, part fury, part helplessness.