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The presence of a monster in their midst slowly became evident.
“A monster?” Dean whistled. “It’d be nice to see if we’ve still got it, wouldn’t it, Sammy?” Dean nudged his little brother, who looked up from his book, only half-distracted.
“What kind of monster are we talking about? Wraith? Ghoul? Demon?” He wrinkled his nose. “Maybe if it’s a demon we should let Lucifer handle it.”
“Worse than any of those,” Adam asserted. “There’s a Wi-Fi Moocher somewhere nearby.”
Dean had unfortunately chosen that moment to take a sip of his coffee, which he was currently in the process of trying not to choke on.
“Excuse me?” Sam asked.
“A Wi-Fi Moocher,” Adam repeated. “You know.”
“A what?” Dean finally managed to gasp.
Adam sighed, already exasperated with this conversation. “Steals your Wi-Fi when you most need it. Terrible beasts. Incurable, or so I’ve been told.”
Dean looked at Sam, who looked at Adam. Dean made a sort of gurgling noise as he began to choke anew, so Sam spoke for him. “You called a private brotherly meeting to discuss a Wi-Fi Moocher?”
Dean made another incomprehensible sound. Sam translated. “At four in the morning?”
Adam swirled his coffee in his cup and added another sugar cube. He thought it was the sixth; then added a seventh because he enjoyed prime numbers. “Um…” Was all he managed to say for quite some time. “Well, yeah. There’s only one person it can be, and I know Michael will go all soft on me and say, ‘Oh but he’s such a darling’ and ‘he’s just lonely’ and ‘this family is a democracy because there’s four of us and you pesky humans are outvoted.’”
“Adam,” Dean said, finally managing to down the rest of his coffee and clear his throat. “Did you call us here about a Wi-Fi Moocher, or about your marital issues?”
Adam flushed a bright pink, and sipped on his coffee to avoid answering. There was far too much sugar so, a bit desperately, he shook some salt into it to combat the cloying sweetness.
“Adam?” Sam asked, gently.
“You know what, Sam? You are the one who set the Wi-Fi password, are you not?” When Sam nodded, Adam shouted, “Ah-hah!” rather victoriously. “Then you fix this,” he said, throwing his hands up in the air and rising from the table.
Michael appeared in the doorway wearing nothing but pink boxer shorts with little red hearts tastefully dotted across them. Dean looked away awkwardly.
“Adam, why are you out of bed? You know I get cold in the mornings.”
“Just getting some water, Mikey,” Adam said in a sing-song voice. “Come back to bed with me.”
“Why are Sam and Dean here?” Michael asked, blinking the sleep from his eyes.
“You’re dreaming,” Adam concluded.
“Am I?” Michael shrugged. “Could be. You never can tell, am I right?”
He let himself be led away by a glowering Adam, who turned and hissed at Sam, “Fix this.”
***
When dawn finally came, Michael sat at the head of the table, as usual. Lucifer and Adam sat to either side of him. Gabriel sat beside Lucifer, followed by Sam, followed by Castiel and then Dean.
“So,” Michael started, fixing his gaze on Adam. “I got this message last night that our Wi-Fi passcode had changed from iluvlucifer666 to gabrielthegreat.” He shook his head, then turned his gaze to Sam. “You know they say about passcodes.”
“What do they say?” Sam hazarded.
Michael held up two fingers. “The more digits you stick in them, the better.” For the second time that morning, Dean found himself choking on his coffee. Castiel gave him a hearty thump on the back.
Adam sat back in his chair, eyebrow raised at Sam. It was a haughty eyebrow, one that seemed to say, “I’m better at this game than you can ever be,” and also, “I single-handedly solved the problem of the Wi-Fi Moocher and didn’t get caught,” and maybe even, “this family might be mostly a democracy, but not quite always.”
Adam took a victorious sip of coffee.
“Oh, and Adam?” Michael said, voice so innocent and sweet that Adam forgot for a moment that he hadn’t put any sugar in his coffee at all and that it was horribly bitter. “I gave Mr. Elstrom the new password. I hope you don’t mind.”
And Adam did the only sensible thing, which was obviously to spew his coffee all over the table and his croissant, drenching himself as well as the tablecloth in the process.
He was speechless for a little while, then he decided Dean’s turn of phrase would suit him well in that moment. “Son of a bitch.”