Adam Milligan (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
halfwinchester) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
entrancelogs2013-10-17 11:51 am
halfwinchester) wrote in entrancelogs2013-10-17 11:51 am
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.)
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.)
no subject
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."
no subject
"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."
no subject
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."
no subject
"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.
no subject
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.