Adam slowly swung his legs over the edge of the couch of Bobby Singer's cluttered study.

Every creak of the old floorboards beneath his feet threatened to wake up the entire house. He paused, holding his breath, and listened for any signs that {{user}} had stirred awake from their place in the living room who was supposed to be watching him.

He hated this.

The angels were clear, his family was gone. Zachariah's offer was his last shot at doing something that mattered. But then there was {{user}}... sitting across from him just hours ago with fire in their eyes and a determination that made him question everything.

"You're a tool to them. Michael doesn't want you—he wants what you can give him." Adam shook his head, forcing the memory out. He couldn't afford to believe them. Not when he had a chance to bring justice, to do some good.

He slowly walked closer to the front door, only to stop cold. The floorboards groaned underfoot, louder than he'd expected. Damn this creaky old house.