entrancelogs | and if bridges gotta fall then you'll fall, too

Entry tags:

and if bridges gotta fall then you'll fall, too

Who: Double log ahoy! Adam Milligan (

freewill), followed by Jo Harvelle (

lightgunhustler) on another day.
Where: In the library with Castiel, then the ballroom with Jo.
When: Backdated for angel times on the 5th, big sis times on the 6th.
Rating: G for now!
Summary: Apparently Santa decide to give Adam a social circle for Christmas.
The Story:

Castiel

For Adam Milligan, a new year was a stupid thing to celebrate. He'd survived too many of them; they were just meaningless numbers now, brittle, forgettable. The idea of New Year's celebrations happening around the mansion had annoyed him a little, less than Thanksgiving but more than Christmas. People were too damn happy around here sometimes, celebrating holidays that probably didn't even exist in this world. (Though he had gotten too drunk to stand on New Year's Eve, go figure).

He was happy when things settled down again and he could approach the "new year" on his own terms: slowly, and with a great deal of forethought. He went out for a few hours on New Year's Day and again on the third, and when no bodily harm came to him, he felt a little less like Chicken Little waiting for the sky to fall as he did after breaking every long stretch of solitude.

Here was hoping the third time wasn't the charm.

Adam officially gave no shits as he went looking for the library that day, checking each floor until he finally found where it was hiding. Looking through the stacks was about as calming as it got. A pleasant reminder of his old life.

Jo

It had been a long time since Adam had made plans--real plans, not just bumping into people, or being introduced to others, or getting unexpected visits at this door. Almost every day since arriving in Wonderland had been about living on the defensive. Burying memories as far down as they could go. Reacting. Following other people's lead. Getting away from the Winchesters' version of the Baby-sitters Club had been a good start, but moving out... that had been about hiding his damage from sight, not conquering it. Keeping himself from backsliding was about all he could do.

Or thought he could do.

Calling Jo Harvelle out of the blue and hinting to someone he was afraid his grip might slip one day was different.

Adam didn't know what he was asking when he wanted to talk outside of his little nest of quiet hours and nightmares, only that he knew something had to be done. He was hoping in some weird way that she could give him some direction; he sure as hell didn't trust his "family" enough to sit down with them and try to explain that he worried he was going to fall into a rut he couldn't get out of.

But waiting in front of one of the ballroom's windows felt like a step in some kind of direction.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Safety didn't quite factor into the equation the same way for Adam as for Castiel. He dug his hands into his jacket pockets, looking around with brow furrowed. Though the hideout didn't scream "angel ambush, you're going to die," there was still the fact that the bunker seemed empty.

Alone in a room with an angel. That could never go wrong.

He shifted, the line of his shoulders settling and resettling, before facing Castiel from a distance of a few feet. Sitting or standing, it wouldn't matter. If something was going to happen that he didn't see coming, accepting the angel's invitation and playing nice wouldn't change a thing.

But it reminded him of Zachariah. A lot.

"I'm fine." If this was going to hurt to the point that that changed, then he'd reconsider, but he'd give standing on his own feet a shot until he couldn't anymore.

Castiel had been hoping for some level of cooperation, seeing how he'd proved himself to be nothing but trustworthy so far, but apparently that had been nothing more than wishful thinking.

He let out a sigh and shook his head. "You should be seated. As I said, it's a painful process." There was no guarantee that Adam would be able to keep his footing when Castiel was getting close enough to examine his soul.

While he would be able to hold up Adam's weight without much trouble, there was no denying it would be awkward and the risk of Adam collapsing and hurting himself didn't seem worth it, even if Castiel was capable of healing his wounds.

Adam would have used a different word for Castiel. Guilty, maybe. Different from trustworthy. Definitely nowhere near trustworthy enough or enough of a friend to anyone else besides himself and the Winchesters to sigh at Adam like a disappointed parent.

His eyes narrowed a fraction. The hard expression didn't hide what he was thinking.

"You say that like it's new," he said, turning to toss aside one of the cushions and sit down on tree stump. Pain magnet, remember? Or maybe he didn't. John's other kid was easy to forget, or so experience kept telling him.

Adam may have complained, but at least he did what he was told in the end. That was a pattern Castiel had already started to take note of when it came to their interactions. A lot of hand-wringing, but eventually Adam went along with what he had to say.

"Hopefully you'll be properly braced for it, then." Bobby had managed to endure the treatment, and so had Sam. Adam, who'd been trapped in the Cage for years and years, had to be something of an expert at this by now.

Without much fanfare, Castiel approached the stump where Adam was seated, drawing close enough that he could easily make contact. The first thing he did was set his palm flat against Adam's ribcage, closing his eyes as he opened his senses to what was etched there. While it wouldn't feel like anything more than a spark, that would still be enough to startle those not expecting it.

What he saw there, though... That was more worrying than the rest of it. Michael had inscribed Enochian symbols that instead of hiding Adam, made him always visible and more like a beacon, specifically intended for Michael.

Castiel withdrew his hand, speechless for a moment.

What Castiel saw as hand-wringing was for Adam the familiar sense of anger that came at the hands of being turned around in circles by people like Castiel. The tension in the line of his jaw had nothing to do with the pain to come.

Adam didn't care to watch; he turned his head to the side, fixing his gaze on a point in the room. To be honest, it hurt less than what Gabriel and Michael had done to him, but he was essentially opening himself up to let a freak of nature to do whatever it wanted with his insides. That wasn't a pleasant thought and only heightened his discomfort. But no matter what, he wouldn't give an angel the satisfaction of yelping. He breathed in through his nose, shifting minutely.

After everything, Castiel didn't even deign to say anything right away, which made Adam glance back at him with a frown. What was the hold up? They didn't have to worry about breaking the bad news to the patient here, that he was Michael's vessel-slash-bitch.

"Well?"

There was definitely still news that had to be broken, even to someone like Adam who had both heard and been through some terrible things already. While he might think that he'd reached a point where nothing would surprise him, even Castiel -- who had lived much longer than Adam, even taking into account his Hell years -- was surprised on a regular basis.

He wasn't going to hold back the information, though he braced himself for Adam's bad reaction. Not that Castiel could blame him in this case.

"Michael's inscribed symbols on your ribs that allow him to know your location no matter where you are," he said. "I don't know if that accounts for warding." Castiel honestly couldn't say whether Michael had the sort of power to break through wards that were made specifically against him.

Unfortunately, it meant that Michael might know where Adam was now, and if he was able to track him and unearth the resistance bunker, then that was going to leave Castiel with a whole new set of problems.

"Is the cancer that bad, doc?" he persisted, shifting his hands over his knees.

Having Castiel look at him like there was something really and truly wrong brought him back to those early days of having his soul put back together. The least--the very least--the people who'd caused the events leading up to Sam's suicide dive could do was be reliable in front of him. They knew where he'd been. They knew there was something fractured in him. Castiel could even see into his soul. Getting a tense silence that suggested Michael had done something to top all of that in Castiel's eyes didn't sit well.

His frown was more concerned for himself than vexed at Castiel. "Symbols on my ribs."

He'd never had a clear idea how Castiel and the Winchesters had managed to hide him from Zachariah in the past, but Dean had said something similar, in that offhand, condescending way he seemed to have. Michael's death touch had just been another problem on a long list of them to Adam.

But chicken scratch on his fucking bones, for real?

"Dean brought it up," he admitted. "But he said that warding should work. What, you're saying Michael made himself a back door in me? He could have come into my room anytime?"

"I don't know," Castiel said with a shake of his head. "Michael is very powerful, but warding exists for a reason. He may not have access to your room."

If he did, surely he would have flaunted it by now. As Adam had already pointed out multiple times, it had been a few months that he'd been walking around, and yet Michael hadn't invaded any spaces he wasn't meant to.

Which meant they might still be safe. Michael would now know that there was a place out in the woods that was warded against him, but that was fine so long as he never broke through. And he should't be able to.

"But it does mean that when you're walking around in the open, he could appear at any time," he said gravely. "I... don't think I can remove the symbols." Gabriel might be able to, but even that was doubtful.

He didn't know? Jesus. Castiel didn't know much, did he? Basically, in essence all they'd ascertained was that nothing had changed. Nothing at all.

"Wow," Adam finally said after a long silence. "This has been really helpful. Thanks."

This had been a waste of time, but he shouldn't have been surprised. The Winchesters and Castiel had a history of wasting it, his especially.

It wasn't a waste of time, because knowing was better than not knowing, and Castiel could look into researching a way to remove the symbols. It might take time and he'd have to ask around and do some reading into it, and possibly even confront Michael himself, but the knowledge was better than being left to wonder.

He crossed his arms over his chest and closed his eyes, holding back his frustration at Adam's attitude.

They'd made a deal, though, and in this case Castiel intended to keep to his word. "Did you still want me to look at your soul?" he asked tetchily.

"I'm sorry, am I putting you out?"

He made a show of tilting his head to the side. They kept doing this song and dance, this half-hearted attempt at taking responsibility for Sam and Dean's half-brother, for Michael's vessel. It was getting old.

All of this, old.

"Walk a mile in your shoes, right? It must be so much harder being the guy who possesses other people. If I could make it easier on you, I'd go back to being dead." His hands flexed on his knees. "Better yet, when Michael gets tired of dragging my dad around, I'll just stand back and let him use me as his sock monkey again. Then none of you will have to worry about telling me things I'm already worried about."

Must be nice, living on a heavenly pedestal, never needing to understand pain. If Adam could have reached out and smothered that light inside Castiel's body, he would have.

Maybe it would have been easier if he'd been able to control his annoyance, but Castiel wasn't particularly good with patience. At the same time, Adam didn't back down, and he was so very much like Dean in the way.

Including all the dramatics and threatening to let Michael in (again).

Castiel sighed. "Adam, I'm trying to help you. It may not seem that way, but Michael is also very powerful. I'll do what I can, but I'll admit I can't promise much. But things will go more smoothly if you're willing to work with me."

How could he ever prove that he didn't mean Adam harm? Was that even possible, or would their interactions always have this bitter undertone to them? Maybe that was simply how it had to be, considering their history or lack thereof.

Adam, in contrast, had patience in spades--at least the the patience to dig in and fix the angel with a flat, unmoved look.

"You think I'm joking?" How many more ways could he make his point before someone opened their damn ears? His tone stayed low, dark. "Don't give me the "you don't know what you're talking about" run around. I know. I know what Michael is--and about the rest of you. I'm not that same guy who got involved in your mess the first time, even if Michael's still got it in his head he's going to do it all over again."

Hell had given him perspective, if anything. Sam's hand grasping at him, pulling at him, the fall into the blackness, the realization of what had happened... Then time ticking by, then Sam disappearing, and the greater realization that he was alone with the angels in the Cage.

He had eyes wide open this time.

"The only things going for me this time is that he doesn't have family to hold over my head, and I'm not going to work as bait for Dean. I'm still queued up to be collateral damage if things go sideways. What I don't need are these good intentions that aren't going anywhere."

The road to Hell was paved with good intentions, literally. Adam emphasized the words with a certain cynicism, leaving no illusion that he believed Castiel's good will would lead in a positive direction, even if the angel had nothing but altruism on his mind. They'd all said as much--Dean, Sam, Castiel--and they'd all forgotten about him in the Cage just the same.

Feeling the fucking stupidity of trying to talk to a monster who didn't care about one long-dead vessel, Adam finally broke his gaze, a sigh of his own caught in his throat. "Can we not pretend "smoothly" is a part of this? How about we just not. I screwed up with Michael, but wanting to be on your side still seemed to end up with the rest of you putting me to rest in the pit like that was that. But I came here, didn't I?"

Castiel could fuck himself if he wanted to lecture him on being more cooperative. Minding his own business, trying to keep his crazy under wraps... That was working with them. That was more anyone deserved from him anymore.

It was probably the most that Castiel had heard out of Adam at one time since his arrival here, and that was reason enough to pay attention. He was angry, of course, and that hadn't faded one bit over the months. The fact was that Castiel had failed Adam, and nothing he did was going to make up for that.

So did he keep trying despite that? Adam had made it very clear he didn't want his help, and so maybe it would be better to leave him be after this. Castiel couldn't make up his mind on it, and it might be better left to the family Adam did have here, even if he didn't consider them such.

The problem was, Michael would make use of Adam again if he saw a need for it. Seeing how he had John's body under lock here, though, Castiel could at least hope that it wouldn't come up. Dean was also the better option, though the idea of Michael making use of Dean was enough to set Castiel on edge simply when he thought about it.

It was true that nothing about this was smooth and it was true that Adam had shown up, so Castiel was going to have to accept the rest of it for what it was. That was probably the least he could do after abandoning Adam to that terrible fate.

In response to all that, Castiel only nodded silently, letting that quiet hold out for a bit longer before he finally spoke.

And it was to repeat a question from earlier. "And did you still want me to look at your soul?" If not, then they might as well part ways here.

He shifted with a faint unease. When you knew what an angel was really like, you didn't ask them to do something lightly, and Adam hadn't. Broaching the subject of his soul wasn't an easy one.

He could say "no" and wind up no worse off. Michael had apparently already branded his body, what did it really matter what the state of his soul was? They came as a package deal, and Castiel had already made it clear he didn't know how to break Michael's password protection and wasn't in a hurry to find out. This had really just emphasized the fact that he could end up under Michael's thumb again just as he had in the Beautiful Room.

But what did it say to give up responsibility for his own soul, too? Just... quit. Give up wanting to know.

Was that the sign of someone who'd given up living, or just someone who'd learned their lesson about beating their head against a wall?

Adam thought about the choice for a few moments, putting Castiel's patience back to the test while he faced down the absolute futility of existing in a place where Michael could always get to him. The decision was, in the end, a cursory one. He'd agreed to meet Castiel, and after all of this what was even the point of not finishing what he'd started? Might as well, even if at the moment he cared very little about the state of his soul when the state of his ribs was the real problem.

He nodded finally. "If this is how it's going to be, I should know everything."

Although the answer should have been a determined one from the way he said it, it had the taste of surrender to it.

Impatient as Castiel may be, when it came to something like whether or not to allow someone access to one's soul, he could understand taking some time to think it over. It wasn't something he did lightly either. There was a reason he'd taken Adam to Gabriel when he'd first found him, and that was because he hadn't trusted his own abilities to heal him when he'd been in such a bad state.

Now, though, all he'll be doing was looking, so there wouldn't be nearly as much of a risk. This was more for Adam's own knowledge than anything else, so in the end it was up to him.

His response was what Castiel had expected. Adam must have asked for a reason, so it wouldn't have made sense for him to back down now. Castiel nodded, and seeing how Adam was already seated, he didn't need to hesitate.

"Here," he said, unbuckling his belt and sliding it out to hand over. "Bite down on this." The last thing that Adam needed right now was to bite off his tongue from the pain. While he had to be used to managing it after the Cage, it was better to be safe with this.

Castiel set his hand on Adam's shoulder then, bending his knees so that he was at the best angle for the task. "I'm going to push my hand into your chest, to make contact with your soul," he warned. "Let me know when you're ready."

Everything having to do with the Winchesters, and Castiel, and his resurrection and death--it had all come as a whirlwind. He didn't know what to expect now any more than he had then. To claim the offer of the belt didn't stir his anxiety would be a lie, because if even Castiel thought the process was going to hurt so bad he'd need a gag, then the pain had to be intense.

His skin tingled, awash with renewed nerves, before he pushed past his hesitation and took the belt, the question dying in this throat. At the end of the day, he was in over his head. He hadn't stopped being in over his head since Zachariah had found him in Heaven. When did John's youngest ever get to stop being scared?

Never, apparently.

"That bad, huh." Adam hated that the hand on his shoulder imitated something normal, a gesture of basic human comfort, but he couldn't stop himself from being nervous. This was all on him, a moment of literally baring his soul. Every protective instinct in him told him not to let this happen.

And he was going to anyway, because maybe, just maybe, there was something twisted about him that gravitated toward the pain and the horror these days. At least this time the person doing the torturing wasn't Michael.

Stiffly, Adam shifted, putting the edge of the table against his back before folding the belt in two, just the right width to clamp down on. What wouldn't kill him might not make him stronger, but what wouldn't kill him wouldn't kill him, and Adam already knew what being on the other side of that equation was like. He nodded when he thought he was as ready as he could be.

That bad, yes. Sam and Bobby had endured this, though, which gave Castiel confidence that Adam would be able to do the same. Humans were fragile in some ways, but when it came to something like this, they were as strong as any angel or demon if their will was hardy enough.

And there was something about the Winchesters and their iron-clad strength of will.

Watching Adam place the belt between his teeth brought back memories of when Sam had been in this position, and how Castiel had been forced to pretend as if he hadn't known all along that his soul was missing. It was a worse time, not too long after he'd made that fateful trip to the Cage...

But dwelling on that wouldn't help anyone right now. With a nod, he squeezed his fingers into Adam's shoulder and then placed his other hand against his chest. In the next moment, he probed further in, past skin and bone to the soul hidden deep beneath. Adam's body flashed red and white, but Castiel closed his eyes in order to see to another plane, to where Adam's soul dwelled.

It was, as expected, a complete mess, torn apart and bleeding, raw and flayed to the last nerve. It wasn't much better than when Adam had first arrived, but Castiel could see the scar tissue from where Gabriel had patched up the worst areas, and he could see some signs of healing here and there.

It was going to take a long time for Adam to heal, just as Castiel had originally told him. He was getting better, but only very gradually.

Having seen enough to have an assessment, Castiel didn't want to put Adam through any more distress, and so he pulled back, wiping his hand off against his pants. He shifted his head down to look into Adam's face and make certain the process hadn't been too much for him.

For once Castiel was right about something. He trusted the angels had their ways of doing something like this without leaving his body in as bad a shape as the ghouls probably had--how did you sneak a peek at a soul, after all?--but it still hurt.

It hurt a lot, as a matter of fact. Maybe not the worst pain he'd ever felt, but that was hard to tell after a point when it started overloading every pain sensor in your body.

Pain was pain was pain.

He couldn't say if he screamed against the gag or not, or what he did beyond stiffen against the table. Castiel had every opportunity to take advantage of him, kill him if he wanted to, even, and Adam would have been at a loss to fight back. When the pressure and the worst of the bright-hot agony subsided, he clenched his fingers against the edge of the table and realized belatedly that he'd grabbed it somewhere in the middle.

Adam rolled his head forward, mind swimming. It was over, right? It felt over.

As Adam's head pitched forward, Castiel stepped forward and took the belt out of his mouth. It fell right into his hand as Adam's body loosened, jaw included.

The leather was indented from the teeth marks, but Castiel didn't pay it much mind. Without any ceremony, the belt was restored and placed back where it should be, through the loops of his pants. Angel telekinesis could come in handy even for such small tasks.

"Breathe," he ordered, in case Adam had forgotten.

He'd give him a moment to recover. If he tried to explain what he'd seen now, it might not even register for Adam.

Every little bit of his energy went into carefully shifting himself back into a proper sitting position. Even after he had nothing to bite down on, he kept his teeth pressed together, just in case. He wouldn't be the whimpering human in this scenario--if he tried hard enough, there had to be a way to keep that moan of pain locked up tight.

A second more and he felt safe to cough a little, grimacing at the way it pulled his chest. Then he lifted his head to look at Castiel. "You were wrong, that was a blast."

On the bright side, after this trek into the middle of nowhere only to have Castiel tell him he wasn't even sure there was anything to be done about Michael, at least he hadn't evacuated his bowel or something equally human and embarrassing. At least.

Even if Adam had lost control of his bowels, that would have been simple enough to clean. Castiel wouldn't have thought much of it. He'd seen what happened to a human body when it died, and he was hardly squeamish.

But no consideration had to be put to that. Instead, Castiel considered Adam's sarcastic statement. If he could make a remark like that, that was one sign that the process hadn't completely ruined him, and so Castiel took it as a relief.

"Your soul is still very much in disarray, but I doubt that I needed to tell you that. I saw some signs of healing, but they were minor." Adam had a long way to go, but the fact that he was progressing at all was a good thing. Far better than being trapped in the same place, at least.

The places his shirt touched his skin felt hot and sticky, his head a little stuffed, drunk on the fading echo of pain. The experience did wonders to dull the anger he'd felt at everything prior. That he still felt the same, still like the same person who'd walked into the resistance hideout, was a relief, to say the least... though on the other hand, he'd felt pretty much the same after Michael had finished with him, too.

Castiel talked about wanting to help, but actually trusting the angel who'd left him behind in the Cage not to screw with him... That was a whole new ball game and not something Adam cared to think about, guaranteed to make him furious all over again. Right now, this was about him. About the most intimate part of him.

After a thick, uncertain silence, Adam settled his gaze on Castiel. "You were more surprised about Michael cutting up my bones," he said. But not surprised about his soul. Not like there was something there he was caught off guard to find.

Adam wasn't sure if that reaction should relieve him or not, as well.

"I know more about Hell damage than about what my brother is thinking," Castiel admitted. In retrospect, maybe he should have been able to predict what Michael had done to his third favorite vessel. But he and Michael thought so differently about just about everything that it was almost impossible for Castiel to think like him.

Despite the fact that it had been a disadvantage in this case, Castiel still saw it as a good thing.

To be fair, Adam didn't sound that surprised to find out that his healing was going so slowly. It was the sort of thing he could probably feel much better than Castiel could see, though he could understand wanting a second opinion on it.

This was everything they'd discussed doing, and so Castiel took another step back to give Adam his space. "If you need to rest here, that should be fine. It's not likely that anyone else will be showing up." Unless Michael now knew where they were, but Castiel was actually indulging in the hope that he didn't.

"If not, I can take you back to your room. It's your choice."

Adam's expression stayed still and locked down tight at the remark until the angel failed to say anything else, then it slipped into a frown. Did Castiel think that was it?

"No, that's not what I want to know. That doesn't tell me anything." He shook his head, frustration mounting, and tensed his arms against the back of the table so he could push himself to his feet. "I already knew it wasn't pretty in there, because I'm not."

Because there was so much wrong with him that figuring out what was right was a shorter list than the former. Yet how did he explain to one of these indifferent sons of bitches what he really wanted to know in all of this? Maybe Castiel did understand what Hell did to a soul in a clinical way, but not what Adam needed to know to help reassure himself.

Adam sucked air in through his teeth. In what language would what he wanted ever translate? "Tell me about it. Tell me what you saw. You don't know how to undo what Michael did, but you have to have something."

A better answer, for starters. A better offer than tired old platitudes and sitting idly by.

"I can't keep doing this. It's not working for me."

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