entrancelogs | OPEN | there's a place i have gone

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OPEN | there's a place i have gone

Who: Adam Milligan (

halfwinchester) and anyone who cares to cross his path!
Where: Around the mansion.
When: Oct. 17th.
Rating: PG-13?
Summary: Having been unconscious for most of his stay in Wonderland, when Adam has a lucid moment he takes himself on a tour of the mansion.
The Story:

For someone who'd been in Wonderland for over a week, Adam had seen remarkably little of it since Castiel had brought him indoors. The forest, he remembered in flashes and vague splinters of memory, and that was only in those rare moments of consciousness.

Being awake meant remembering everything. Each time he breathed, he smelled burning skin in Hell's fires. Each time he moved, he felt phantom pain from Hell's ministrations. Each time he closed his eyes, Hell. No matter what the angels had done to him, Hell was still everywhere, and he was still a part of it. Unconsciousness was a blessing in disguise when Hell was all you had to wake up to, and if he’d had a choice, he would have picked oblivion every single time.

But on the ninth day, something changed.

Adam woke up to a sense of clarity he hadn't felt between his pelting through the trees on his first day and the angels playing with his soul like Silly Putty. Not since… no, he couldn't remember. Not since before. Not since he’d had a body and a place in the real, physical world without Michael. As he stared at the ceiling, the fact that the room stayed just a room and didn’t bleed into a place he’d been in his memories, or somewhere in the pit, almost confused him more than the alternative.

For once, lying in a bed (in Wonderland of all places, according to an angel, whatever that counted for) seemed like a possibility and not just a fever dream cobbled together by a sick mind.

Real.

What that possible? Really? He hadn’t believed Castiel about being free, not enough to dare let that hope sink in. Now, the longer he laid there, the more doubt crept in.

Free…?

If he was alive, being alive felt an awful like being on the verge of passing out. Sliding out of bed and convincing his legs to hold him up was a touch-and-go affair, made worse by a floor that didn’t seem to want to stay steady underneath him. Getting across the room was a sheer miracle in and of itself; his need to know just what the fuck was happening to him just barely outweighed his body's desire to pitch him over. He held onto the door frame to rest for a second. Good for him that he didn't have any dignity left to lose.

"Warmed-over shit" was a good way to describe the young man who eventually staggered into the sixth floor hallway that morning, unshaven and unwashed. A kind assessment, given that Hell was still written all over the lines of his face; it was in the glassy cast to his eyes and the purpled skin underneath, in the way he had to steady himself on the occasional section of wall. Absorbed in the push and pull of his own muscles, Adam almost forgot his surroundings entirely. Stairs, more hallways, rooms… Places he didn’t recognize, falling forgotten behind him.

The first time he glimpsed himself in a mirror brought him to a halt, however. Startled, he froze in place before turning back to the mirror, bringing his hands to rest on either side of it.

He saw his face. At the same time, he saw the face of a stranger. The person in it didn't look… right.

Maybe he was alive, after all. Only reality could be this gaunt, and cold, and uncomfortable.

_{(OOC: It's prose to start, but I'm down with action tags! Feel free to find him anywhere in the mansion you'd like, too.)}

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As he had with Castiel, Adam was forced to suffer the same disconnect between feeling that he shouldn't even have legs with which to walk, and seeing for himself that there was nothing wrong with him. He wasn't burning. The walls weren't on fire. Not yet.

But...

Hell. From the way the woman repeated him, he thought maybe, somehow, she understood a fraction of the reverence and the terror that went into the very thought. That it wasn't just four letter word, but a place, a real place, one where you could be shattered and melted down, reformed into a more awful shape than before, unrecognizable to yourself. That you could end up screaming on the inside with no one around to hear you. A tree, falling in a forest made out of suffering souls.

He didn't know what he was expecting, but having a complete stranger lead him to a chair in a perfectly normal-looking kitchen wasn't it. By the time he latched onto the back of it and took his weight off of her, he was more out of energy than she was. Sweat made his hair stick to his brow.

"You didn't say I was making it up."

Forming the words gave him something to focus on as he all but collapsed into the chair. Out of the many things he should say, and the many he just couldn't, Adam didn't know why that particular observation seemed important. As a matter of fact, he probably was making it up--this place he'd found himself in, rather. Hell had been the only thing for a long time. Hard to believe that had changed so abruptly.

Impossible, actually.

Real and terrifying and probably not even close to what Bela could imagine hell was. Sure, she had ideas about it, imaginings. The only thing that ruled those both out was the fear Bela felt. Knowing that she wasn't going to heaven when she died.

"I believe it exists." Bela replied carefully. "Besides, you look like you've been through hell so why shouldn't it be possible?" She knew that going to hell was a real possibility for her if things didn't work out the way she wanted them to and Sam did mention before that she had died. Perhaps Bela was in denial but her situation was irrelevant now, not when Adam was the one who needed help.

The relief she felt when he got into the chair was palpable and even now, Bela isn't sure how she managed to achieve it but there he was.

With him sitting in the chair, it made it possible for Bela to get a proper look at him and see what damage had been done- the physical at least. God only knows the extent of the emotional and psychological damage he had suffered. Underneath the unnatural pallor of his skin was a handsome man, someone who had been vibrant once. Bela couldn't tell how old Adam actually was but he couldn't be far off her age.

"I'll get you some water. Be back in a moment." It was more to reassure him that she wasn't up and disappearing. Bela got a glass and turned the tap on at the sink, letting the water run a bit until it was cold, filling the glass up almost to the brim. She brought it back over to Adam, holding it to his lips. "Come on. Drink."

I believe it exists.

He hadn't been able to say that much for himself before he'd found out the hard way. Adam looked down, finding it difficult to look at her for a moment, or at anything else besides the floor, for that matter. He believed in it, too. And he believed her when she said he looked as godawful as he felt; skin and bone didn't seem enough to hide the rest. The sensation of someone watching him made him glance up at her briefly, hands clenching on the chair arms. He couldn't tell if what he felt was relief, or fear, or gratitude, or anxiety--it all felt like pain, an ache he couldn't pinpoint--and he watched her retreating back, brow furrowed.

When she returned with the glass, Adam's gaze drifted to the water like he didn't know what to do with it, and in actuality, he couldn't even remember the last time he'd seen it up close and in person. The stories got Hell right in some respects--it was an inferno, not equipped with convenient bodies of water.

For the first second the water touched his lips he almost, almost reared back, and the first sip was a mess, but it went down easily over his parched throat. He'd never stopped to realize just how thirsty he was until that moment.

Baby steps then.

At least he managed to get some water into him, even if it wasn't exactly smooth. Bela kept the glass steady anyway, just in case, because Adam looked like he could use a lot more. "Try to finish it." She instructed him in a manner like a mother would a child and that was a little alarming for Bela.

What was even more alarming was how it was possible for someone to come back from hell and be able to function. Sure, it was the most basic of functions but Adam was breathing and speaking, able to communicate with her. Would he be able to get back to who he was after what happened to him? Perhaps with time. Coming to Wonderland mightn't help with the healing process because of all the crazy shit that happened in this place on an almost daily basis.

Her efforts may not make a difference but she had to try at least.

In the kind of place he'd been, a person didn't need food, or water, or even sleep. He'd gone a long time without any of those things, and maybe that was why the craving hit him like a fist out of nowhere. Water seemed like something he desperately needed all of a sudden.

He brought both hands up to cup the bottom of the glass, needing no encouragement to down what was rest. Some of it ended up going down the wrong way, and he ended up coughing into his arm. Cold. The sensation of cold water slipping down his throat and into his belly was so vivid. It felt real, beyond a shadow of a doubt. Normal and human.

Could hallucinations really be this true-to-life?

When his coughing finally ceased and he fell to silence, his gaze flicked over Bela. Adam still didn't know what to make of her, but...

"... Thanks."

It became her job to make sure that he didn't choke on the water by keeping an eye on him while he finished the rest of his glass. Much to Bela's relief he seemed to manage it without too many hiccups but she was still playing cautious by watching everything he did.

"You're welcome." She replied, stretching out her hand to take the glass off him, mainly because she didn't want Adam to drop it; Bela would have to be the one to clean it up after all.

Bela looked him over again, still not liking what she could see. "Why were you roaming the Mansion by yourself, Adam? Especially in your state." More importantly, why wasn't anyone looking out for him when he clearly needed it? It baffled her.

For the best that Bela took the glass from him, for he certainly didn't trust himself with it anymore than she did. He wiped his forearm across his mouth, holding it there to ward away more coughing... or, maybe, just to make sure the water didn't come back up the same way it'd gone down.

At the sound of his name again, Adam looked at the woman almost furtively, darkness creeping into the edges of his expression. With everything he and his name were attached to...

"No one stopped me," he offered, as if that minimal freedom explained everything.

Having the latitude to move around a house full of fancy architecture and glimmering decor was far different than what one found in the Cage. He couldn't chase the sight out of his mind's eye; it constantly hovered there, a beacon made of flame and affliction, drawing him in like a lighthouse guiding him home.

He rubbed his hand over his eyes. "I don't know. I don't know how I got here."

The glass is safely put to one side before her attention is drawn back to him as she listened to what he had to say.

"That wasn't very responsible of them." Someone had to be aware of Adam while he was like this, surely? Maybe Bela was expecting too much from them but all she could do now was speculate.

It's also possible that she wasn't giving him any credit either. "But you did. Somehow, you managed to make your way around the mansion, practically on the brink of exhaustion and you're alive." Barely. "I don't think you should move around too much anymore. A rest might do you a lot of good. I'm only being practical here."

Responsible of whom? The angels? Because there weren't any others that Adam knew of. There'd been Michael, Lucifer, Sam, and the Cage, for ages, for lifetimes, for--

For too long.

Adam didn't understand what she was saying, he couldn't. She made it sound so easy to accept that he'd suddenly moved from one place to the other, from Hell to whatever this was, in a blink of an eye, and he continued to hide behind his hand, finding the possibility of a lie just as overwhelming as the possibility that she was telling the truth.

"Alive," he repeated under his breath.

He'd had a life once, and he didn't remember it being anything like this.

"That can't be it."

"What else could it be? You're not in Hell anymore." A hell of sorts but not the fire and brimstone kind. "You are breathing and have a heartbeat."

If Bela had to resort to shaking him in order to have Adam believe that he wasn't dreaming and here wasn't a figment of his imagination, she would do it. A slap to the face was also a viable option but she's not going to do it. Someone should have been keeping an eye on him whilst he recovered.

Not leave someone like her to pick up the pieces.

"Look at me, Adam. Am I not real? You felt my hand on your arm, I helped you into the kitchen." Her voice took on a harsher edge, trying to make him see sense.

It wouldn't be the first time he'd seen something that wasn't there. A person's mind could do all sorts of things to protect them, or conversely, Hell could do all sorts of things to trick a person's mind. Give hope and take it away, that was the perfect way to ruin someone inside and out.

But he couldn't make those arguments. He didn't have the power in him to form the words.

As he dropped his hand to face her, his name caused another flinch of emotion around his eyes. Every time she said it, the feeling got worse, a monumental ache in his chest he couldn't identify.

"Then why?" Although the counter remark was quiet, there was a pleading edge to it. "Why am I back?"

This is why Bela worked alone and used something other than compassion to get her out of an awkward situation. Throw money at it until it went away or sweet talk a way out of it. None of those would work now and since she was so caught up in this already, Bela had to run with it until it was over.

At least he was looking at her again.

"Maybe it's better not to question why." Bela didn't have an answer for him and she wouldn't even attempt one either. "You're back. Accept it and get on with your life."

The healing process would take a long time she'd imagine because Hell would break even those with the strongest of characters. He's been damaged, not just physically but emotionally and mentally too and there's a small part of her that can relate. Bela had managed to overcome her trauma but there was a price for that. Her soul.

"Letting it consume you will only keep you back."

Adam couldn't hold back his question. "What life?"

Honestly, what life? He'd not only lost everything, but Zachariah and Michael... they'd both made promises neither of them had intended to keep before his brothers had ensured none of that mattered. Did he accept he was back in a world without the one thing he'd fought for, or was that too cruel of a thought to try and convince himself?

He blinked, then shook his head slowly. "That's gone."

Bela sat down in the nearest chair opposite Adam, getting tired of standing around and thinking that it may be better to be at his level and talk some sense into him.

"Only if you allow it to be gone." The words are out before she can stop herself and Bela briefly wondered if there was much point because he mightn't even listen to them. Still, she had to try to get through to him.

The universe was going to owe her big time for this. "Don't give up. It's not going to get better over night but you have to try to get past it."

The groove in his forehead deepened with anxiety. "You don't understand. I--"

But he couldn't finish. He didn't know what he was trying to make her understand, because he didn't understand himself. He'd been in Lucifer's Cage, and that was all he really knew. Past, present, future... they blurred together into the same thing in the end.

Hell. Everything was Hell.

Adam made another doubtful sound before bringing both hands up to scrub his face again. The sight of her and the lights reflecting off the counters and steel surfaces made his eyes itch. This was all wrong. These things were part of a life he'd left behind a long time ago. No, had been taken from him, between Sam, and Michael, and...

"I should..." He looked away sharply, glancing over the rest of the unfamiliar room before resting his gaze on the door. "Go. I should go. I need to... get out of here."

He was right: she didn't understand. Whatever he had gone through in Hell, maybe even before that was likely beyond her comprehension. Her words seemed to be falling on deaf ears, barely registering with Adam.

"Can you manage by yourself?" Bela isn't going to stop him from leaving but she had to make sure that he got out of the room in one piece. Or so the compassionate part of herself was telling her, rare as it was.

Bela pushed back the chair and got to her feet, her hands falling to her hips as she looked down at him. She worried at her lip briefly, then sighed. Before doing anything else she was going to wait for Adam's response.

Could he manage? Probably not. But then, what was there to manage? He knew enough about the Cage to know that people weren't supposed to just spontaneously pop out of it. As real as everything felt, as convincing as she was, he still couldn't quite believe he was in a real place.

And he didn't have to fear make-believe ones. Right?

The act of pulling himself to his feet was one of pure muscle memory, and he stopped to balance himself with a hand on the chair. "Thanks for the water," he said, which wasn't an answer but was answer enough.

Adam didn't have a choice in facing whatever the Cage or this place threw at him. "Managing" it was optional.

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