He didn't turn off the lights anymore. Not even when he was sleeping, not that he slept very often. He was sure that if he ever woke up and it was dark and he didn't know where he was… Well, he would never let that happen, but if it did happen, he thought he would die. Not bother with any drama, just fall down dead. Sometimes the light itself was not good enough. He had to turn on the TV, the radio, anything that moved or made sound, just to ensure himself that he was no longer there… because when he was sleeping, there were dreams, and they brought him back there, down into the pit, and every time he thought that this time he would be left there, this time forever.
He had lost track of time. Down there. There were no nights, but there had always been darkness, and the sound of screaming. His own screaming, echoing at wall that were not even there. Not really there, nothing really there except… that pain, and something had been holding him down, tearing at him, and, and laughing. How long? He didn't know. The world hadn't changed that much, but he didn't know.
So he kept the light on, his eyes open, and he had a knife, safely in his hand all the time. He would never let them close. But even in the light there were shadows, and they took shapes and sometimes he thought he recognized them. If he could, he would light the whole world so there was no place for shadows to hide.
This night, he had blood on the blade. And in his face too, he realized researching his face in the bathroom's mirror. It had been a vampire. Its blood had sprayed all over him like a sickly red fountain as he cut off its head. His face looked bruised and battered; his eyes, hidden beneath shadows from too many sleepless nights, blue and glimmering in the reflection. He could see things moving about in there, but he shut them for a second, and opening them, there was nothing in there except for blue.
He washed the blade, then his face, and then he looked in the mirror again. Things flickering in the background, but when he turned around, there was nothing there. The room was bright and empty. The door was locked. In the ceiling, just above the door, he had painted that demon trap that SAM had taught him. Just like in all the other rooms these months. There were others sign and sigils there, too, all he could find; nothing would sneak pass. The walls were covered in angel banishing seals – he wanted to make sure none of them would ever get near him again. There had been plenty of blood to put in them. He found cutting yourself wasn't as bad as it should be, not anymore. The windows were sealed with salt; another thing he had learned from THEM. He had a rifle next to the bed, and another knife hidden under the pillow, and the lights were on all night through. He sat on the bed, wide awake, waiting for them. If they would come.
When he was little he had been afraid of monsters, and Mom had of course told him that they were not real. "There's no such thing as monsters, Adam", she had said. But she allowed him to keep the night lamp on as she went away to work, leaving him there, alone. And he had believed her, because that had been the most comfortable lie of all. No such thing as monsters, sure. And no ghouls either. No demons. No angels. And no Hell. Definitely not a Hell.
No, there were monsters, and they had teeth, and they had things that were so much worse than teeth, and he remembered that, he remembered dying… And he remembered the lies, they had always stayed with him. Like: We'll protect you. Don't worry. We're family. That's what family is for. Even angels lied. They were good at it, too.
Like what Michael had told him. He remembered every word. They told you I'm the villain, right? It's all a matter of perspectives, Adam. That's all there is to it. You remember Heaven, don't you? That's what I want. Heaven for everyone. Is that really such a bad thing, compared to what we have now? Compared to what we will have if my brother wins this battle? Those are the only options; he wins, or I win. And if I will win, you'll have to help me.
Lies, all lies. He knew it now. And he was not going to be lied to again. He didn't remember Heaven anymore. All gone. He only remembered dying, and coming back, the digging, clawing at the earth; then Hell.
And so, he sat on the bed. He knew he would have to sleep eventually. Human beings needed sleep. He was pretty sure he was still a human being. Although how would he know? He had been travelling around a lot, and he had left dead monsters behind him, and no one had ever even seen him. Stellar as a ghost. Fitting, considering. Maybe that was what he really was; a ghost. Spiritual remnants. There was nothing left of him.
He rested the knife on his thighs, his legs crossed, eyes open and sweeping the room. A room like any other. He could see the night outside the windows; rain-soaked glass, dim streetlights. Someone went past his door. He gripped the knife, waiting, but the footsteps disappeared again.
The dead monsters had – before they were dead, obviously – told him, in bits, all he had needed to know. Every monster was a step closer. They were demons, vampires, other things. He had been so scared. Felt so vulnerable. And yet, they were dead and he was alive. At first, he had not even been able to ask them questions. He couldn't talk: his voice seemed to have been left behind in the pit, probably still screaming while no one could hear it. He could talk now, though.
Closer now. Stepping closer.
He looked at the pictures at the further wall. THEIR faces. The headlines that screamed out their names as trophies. His brothers. The ones that had left him down there, because their lies about family and blood had been only that: lies. He was looking for them now. And when he found them, then…
Then…