So… that could've gone better - but, Charlie argues to herself, it also could've gone a lot worse.
There was probably no easy way to reveal to Adam what had happened. She wishes she had a magic answer that would soothe the angel, something that would both give him hope and drive off his trauma, but it doesn't work like that. How do you look at someone and tell them they've lost something vital and can't ever get it back? How do you say they're at the complete mercy of their enemies, and are too weak and restrained to do anything about it?
As it turns out, it's pretty difficult… and impossible without some very intense feelings being released.
Charlie really had no idea how deeply her mission to save people would ultimately go - she certainly never predicted that compassionate goal would inevitably extend towards her enemies. She doesn't really mind, it just makes things a bit more challenging.
For instance, morale at the hotel post-battle hasn't been as high as she would've liked, but that's completely understandable. Having an enemy sleeping so close by is uncomfortable.
(Well, to be fair, he's not an enemy currently, but a reluctant guest - but the fact remains that Adam is no one's favorite person, and his presence is causing some uneasiness.)
Angel had actually mentioned seeing Cherri shitposting online about Adam, but it's mostly vague references that could easily be explained away as vindictive jokes at the First Man's expense. Charlie really hopes she doesn't reveal Adam's alive, as that'll put the hotel in danger of random sinner attacks.
She doesn't like hiding things from her people, but she also knows they're not the biggest advocates for mercy. The only way to keep the hotel and Adam safe is by keeping the other sinners in the dark for now.
There's nothing the princess would like better than Adam being able to go back home, but… Heaven isn't in any hurry to speak to Hell, let alone hear the news that their first human hasn't been erased from existence.
No matter what Charlie or even her father tries, Heaven won't answer. Lucifer even personally requested to speak with the seraphim, explaining that they had someone very important currently recovering in Hell - someone they will be most likely very happy to bring home. Charlie herself helped her dad craft the message, making sure to leave it vague but unthreatening with their word choice, something that would pique Heaven's curiosity and leave them wondering, "Who?"
But, in the end… nothing. There's been no response whatsoever, not even the angelic equivalent to a text being left on "read". Even the embassy is abandoned, the lights all off and no one answering the doorbells.
It's like Hell doesn't exist anymore in their eyes.
Charlie knows it's probably her fault Heaven won't listen, what with the uprising and fight back against the Exorcists, but she doesn't regret it. Her people's safety is still her biggest priority, and if she has to go against the other half of the universe to prove it, she will.
But the radio silence since the Extermination is upsetting, if only because she doesn't know how to break the news to Adam. Granted, he didn't seem ready to go back yet, but Charlie's heart can't help but twist at the fact that, even when he wants to return, he might not be able to.
And not only because he can't fly anymore - his people, assuming he's dead, don't even care to make funeral arrangements or try to reclaim his body. If they're just going to continue ignoring Hell, he'll never be able to go home.
And, fuck, that's a lot to unload on someone who already went through torture.
Charlie heaves a deep sigh, gazing sadly at Adam's closed door. His demands for her to leave weren't rooted in his usual rudeness or hostility, but fear. There's a lot of trauma he clearly has to work through, and it's only going to get harder as the days go on. Once he comes to truly see and know the experiences he went through, it'll be an uphill climb.
Or maybe not - maybe she's just basing her assumptions on Vaggie's similar experience. Adam is, obviously, a totally different person, and he might have a response completely unlike Vaggie's. Who's to say?
Vaggie had also been frightened easily back then, though… Charlie thinks, lost in her thoughts as she mentally goes through her studies on trauma. But she'd been away from the Exorcists - what do I do about Adam, who - at least for now - has to live under the same roof as the one who hurt him?
"Salutations!"
A cheerful, filtered voice sounds nearby, and Alastor's shadowy image literally steps out of the wall in front of her. He has the same devious smile stretched onto his face (can he stop smiling?), his hands poised behind his back.
With a nervous chuckle, Charlie gives a light wave. What's the saying Earth uses? "Speak of the devil and he shall appear"? Does that extend to the Radio Demon?
"Hey… hey there, Alastor… um, what can I do for you?" she asks, as cheerfully as she can. Though, no matter how confident she can make her smiles, Alastor's eternal grin always seems wider - and a bit domineering.
The Radio Demon dips his head in greeting. "My dear, we haven't spoken much since the battle with Heaven - it is quite impolite of me not to check up on my fellow hotelier. Terribly sorry it took me this long to reach out, but I suppose you've also been rather preoccupied." His red eyes narrow and pointedly dart down the hall.
Charlie steps in front of his view, trying to shift his attention. "Of course! I'd be glad to catch up! I think we should move somewhere where we can sit down to chat, though. Let's head towards the lobby!" She hooks her arm around his and begins to march down the hallway, away from Adam's door.
Resistance from Alastor makes her stop in her tracks, the demon's unmoving form pulling her back and twirling her around.
Hands meet her shoulders and steady her, the toothy smile inches from her face. "What's the rush, my dear?" Alastor sneers. "Why, I wanted to swing by here and check up on our First Man, as well. I know it was our combined efforts that did quite a number on him! So tell me - how is he faring these days?" Alastor begins to saunter in the opposite direction, towards Adam's door, emphatically twirling his microphone staff - now in one piece again. "As an esteemed member of this hotel staff, I must ensure all guests have their needs properly met!"
While Charlie doesn't believe for a second that Alastor is actually concerned about Adam's wellbeing, she figures she might as well play along with the sentiment - though she still can't have him getting into that room.
Hurrying after him, she tries her best to stop him with words first: "Oh, Alastor, that's…" Creepy. Strange. Worrisome. Suspicious. "...sweet of you. But, well, the room is currently off-limits." She steps forward, in front of him again, and raises her palms to signal him to stop.
Alastor does, indeed, stop, his head cocked to the side and an eyebrow raised. "Is it, now?" he hums.
"Yes. Only me, Vaggie, and my dad are allowed in." Truthfully, Charlie had been fine with helping the angel by herself - it'd been her idea to save him, after all - but both Lucifer and Vaggie had insisted that they be part of the efforts, as well. There's no lost love between them and Adam, so Charlie knows it's their love for her that's pushing them to interact with someone they can't stand.
(And yes, Charlie may have cried once she came to that realization - it's an amazing feeling, being that loved, and she can never take that for granted!)
The Radio Demon snorts. "Well, if you all are so sure that you have it covered, I suppose that's as good a confirmation of his status as any." He inspects his claws casually. "But can you at least let him know I stopped by?"
Charlie frowns. "No, I won't do that." When he looks at her with a cocked eyebrow, she continues, "I don't want to talk about you around him. You… you really hurt him."
"I fought an enemy - a man itching to destroy your property and kill us all," Alastor asserts.
Okay, now she knows Alastor's just being a little shit. He's smart - there's no way he doesn't realize he went too far. "You held him down and ripped his wings off - after he was already beaten."
With a chuckle, the Radio Demon nods. "I did do that, yes."
"Then you'll understand why I don't want you two to interact again," she snaps. It's hard for her to have to restrict her allies - not to mention the worries if she somehow can't - but she's standing firm on this. Being the founder of the hotel means she has to balance keeping peace and asserting herself.
"Do you intend to rehabilitate him? Offer him the redemption you do to sinners?" Alastor asks.
So casual a tone for such a heavy question. Adam isn't a demon, but she can't say with confidence that he's still a complete angel, too - he's sort of like Vaggie, whatever she counts as, species-wise. Vaggie had never wanted to go back to Heaven, but it's clear Adam does… but, as Charlie has found these past few days, things have drastically changed for both Heaven and Hell.
"I… I don't know," she admits. "I'll ask him later if he even wants something like that. But for now, he's staying, and I don't need you scaring him." Bringing Alastor anywhere near the angel right now would just send him further into panic.
It would be too much.
Back in the battle, when Lucifer had been punching him, Charlie had made her father stop. She'd said, "He's had enough," not realizing just how much more Adam would have to endure after that.
But now, he'd truly had enough - she doesn't want to know Adam's mental limit, and fears he'd break if pushed any further.
The image of Adam's heartbroken and lost expression once he realized what happened to his wings is so fresh in her mind, so raw . They may be on opposite sides, but she wants to give him the time to recover and process things in peace. If their roles were reversed, he might not do the same, but she wants to be the better, more compassionate person here.
Alastor sneers at her words, quietly scrutinizing her. Whatever he's looking for, she hopes he finds it quickly, because she doesn't really have time to stand here all day at a standoff with him.
"Very well," he finally concedes. He doesn't look happy, but there doesn't seem to be an underlying mischief to his tone.
She can't get a good read on what he's thinking - well, not that she ever could. Does he really want to see Adam, and if so, would he just hurt him again? If he doesn't want to see him, why did he even ask? Why bother inquiring about him at all?
Alastor's still such a mystery - but before this whole thing, it'd been kind of charming. A mysterious ally with a bit of an edge to him. Now… now, Charlie has to admit she's a bit uncomfortable with him. This is Hell, of course, but something even more wicked seems to lurk inside that demon.
"I mean it, Alastor," she presses. "Please… please don't forget what I said after we found you both. Just… leave him alone now."
Alastor's eyes glint with mischief and his smile widens a fraction. "Oh, Charlie, no need to fret! You have my word , dear: I won't touch a hair on his head." With that, he slinks away, back down the hall and away from the ward.
His words aren't convincing, but Charlie can only trust that he means them. She lets out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding. "Fuck…"
"He really knows how to make an exit, huh?" Vaggie's voice snaps her out of her gloom. The smaller woman appears from the direction Alastor left, giving a small wave and smile in greeting.
"Vaggie!" Charlie exclaims, pecking her girlfriend on the cheek in greeting. "What are you doing here?"
With a dry look, Vaggie points out, "You forgot to get me for my shift - though I'll bet you just tried to double up yours, huh?"
With a nervous chuckle, the princess stammers, "Well… umm…"
"Babe, I can read you like a book."
"Sorry! I feel so bad for asking you to keep doing this - I know you hate him! That's why I was okay with just continuing on with my watch." This isn't the first time she's taken Vaggie's turns, either - when Adam had been pretty deep in the thick of his fever, she'd stayed at his bedside in her girlfriend's place.
Vaggie purses her lips. "Hon, we already talked about this - I don't want you to take my shifts anymore. Yeah, I don't like him, but I don't mind doing it because you're asking. It's not like I'm keeping Adam safe out of the goodness of my heart - not like you - but the least I can do is respect and help out with your wishes, right?"
Charlie still feels bad, but Vaggie's reassurance helps a bit with the guilt. She wraps her arms around Vaggie's smaller frame, squeezing her gently. "Thank you," she whispers. "You're the best."
With a shy smile, Vaggie tucks back a strand of hair - an adorable habit of hers when she's flustered. She clears her throat nervously and changes the subject, "A-anyway, what did Alastor want?"
Oh… there goes that good mood. Charlie slumps her shoulders with a sigh. "He said he wanted to catch up with me , but all he did was ask about Adam. It was weird."
"Alastor's a weird guy," Vaggie mutters. "But I take it you're not letting him inside First Dickhead's room?"
"No, no, not at all," Charlie assures. "It's still entirely restricted to us and my dad."
"Good. Speaking of… and I mean this more genuinely than Alastor I hope: how is Adam doing?"
"...well…"
Charlie recaps what she'd just witnessed in the room: Adam finally waking up for longer than a few minutes, having a conversation about what he remembered, and inevitably telling him what happened to him and the near-catatonic state he fell to as a result.
By the end of it, Vaggie looks sympathetic. "Damn… so he really couldn't remember it at first?"
"No, and I hate that I had to tell him. I encouraged him to shower and try to get used to the new shapes on his body. There's no mirrors in the bathroom, so he doesn't have to look at himself yet - I know he won't want to." Charlie wrings her hands anxiously. "I want to give him some space, so if- if it's alright, can you stay out here and just keep watch? Unless there's an emergency, of course! He's just… really not okay right now." That's putting it lightly, but hopefully Vaggie will get the gist.
Luckily, Vaggie nods understandably. "Yeah, don't worry, that's fine with me. I'll take any excuse not to be in the same room as him," she jokes with a smirk, nudging Charlie playfully.
"Thank you," Charlie repeats, pressing a kiss to the top of her girlfriend's head. "Come get me or my dad if anything's wrong, okay?"
"Sure, but it'll be fine," she replies, shooing Charlie off. "Now go on - I'm sure everyone's bored and just dying for a new team-building activity. Let me handle this - I can definitely handle him."
Adam stares at the bathroom door, frustrated that it looks so far away.
It's slow going, his journey to the shower - every step is heavy, every slight jerky movement bringing ripples of pain. Of course, he knows that logically, it makes sense why he'd feel so weak - near death, tortured, sick, unconscious for over a week - but it still angers him.
He's not supposed to feel like this. It's just… it's just not a thing. He's supposed to be badass, invincible, strong… he's supposed to be a leader. If his girls could see him now, they'd be embarrassed of what their commander has become.
One thing he already hates about this post-wing body is how off-balance he constantly is, his trudging steps uneven and stumbling. It's strange how eerily light he feels without his wings - and yet, there's a deep heaviness that weighs his chest down like an anchor. It constricts around him tighter as he drags himself, panicked thoughts prickling around his mind and threatening to take his attention away. But he tries to do what he does best - ignore all the bad shit and any lame-ass feelings and push them aside.
Just keep moving forward - this time, literally. Like, literally step to the bathroom.
He splays his palms against the walls to brace himself as he struggles closer, his legs trembling like a newborn fawn. After a few more steps, his chest tightens and he gives a slight cough; he has to force himself to stop and catch his breath, frustration at his weak body simmering deep inside him. By the time he continues on his stupidly-long journey to the shower, his energy is almost spent.
One step is too wide, and he finds himself tripping; subconsciously, he tries to catch himself with his wings, but that only sprouts a shooting stinging from his back. With a hiss of pain, he manages to slam his other foot into the ground and steady himself, heart beating wildly from the surprise of nearly falling.
Pathetic , he hisses to himself as he steps forward again. So fucking pathetic.
Though he didn't notice it before, Adam can tell now that a lot of his power stemmed from his wings. Not all of it, but a fuckton for sure - he can feel the absence of it like the absence of his wings. Something is just so obviously missing , and cuffs or no cuffs, he's incredibly lacking in the power department now. For fuck's sake, he's not even sure he'll ever be able to conjure his guitar again.
And- yep, a quick pat to the top of his head confirms no halo. It shouldn't have taken this long for him to realize it's gone, but he'd been a bit preoccupied. So where is it? When he'd been nearly killed, did it fall off or crumble…?
Just keeps getting worse, doesn't it?
Adam can't remember who he was before the wings and halo, before Heaven. Sure, he's heard the stories, and read the Bible - the parts with him in it, at least - but events from back then are few and far between in his mind. His life with Eve is just a hazy spot in his memories, replaced by thousands of years living it up in Heaven. Rocking out, leading his army, hanging with Lute, and chowing down on whatever he wanted, when ever he wanted… all of it was, well, heavenly . A true-blue paradise. And it never changed - it was perfect.
Mangled like this, he's forced to remember what it feels like to be without all that, to be utterly powerless. His wings being torn away from him had been traumatic enough, but now he can't escape the feelings left behind. It's like grief - and though a lot of his life before is foggy, the one thing he'll never be able to forget is the vast, unrelenting power of grief.
He wants to reign in the creeping sense of dread, but as much as he tries, he can't fight off the flashbacks poisoning his mind. The cackling laughs of that demon echoes in his ears, his back tingling from the imprints of agony.
Maybe if he turns the faucet up full-blast and burns himself with the hot water, he won't hear the demon's voice anymore. The thought is oddly comforting - pain sucks, but it's a pain he's in control of, at least. Yeah, at least that's a (relatively short-term) plan, another objective for the next few minutes. Anything to keep himself distracted from thinking about…
His foot hits a barrier, and he realizes he's reached the door. Staring at the dark red wood makes him feel even more uneasy, like Alastor will pop out behind it and jumpscare him or something.
But… Charlie had said they'd keep that freak away from Adam - not that he necessarily believes her, but if she's wrong, then at least he can catch her in the lie and prove the hellscum down here are, well, scum…
His stomach is in knots, remembering the girl's advice on how to acquaint himself with this new body. He's actually afraid of what he'll feel, at how different he surely looks without his wings. The dissonance between what he's known as his body for thousands of years and what he's stuck as now is too grand. Maybe he's being dramatic, but he just does not feel right in any sense of the word - physically, mentally, emotionally.
He is not ready to face the changes he'd been forced through.
And for Adam, change has never been a good thing - he'd been just fine with Eden's status quo, until one fuckass little devil showed up and stole his wives. And that had been the catalyst that changed the trajectory of his life - and the future of humanity.
So, yeah. Fuck change - it's just too bad no one fucking cares down here.
Just stop being a pussy and get in there, he berates himself.
Fine. Okay. He opens the door and steps inside. The vast black space is threatening - as a creature of Heaven he is, naturally, wary of darkness, after all - but he fumbles blindly for the lightswitch. When he finally finds it, he flicks it on and light pours into the room.
There's a brief moment of pause like a loading screen as the sight before him struggles to process in his mind.
What the fuck is that?
It doesn't register right away in his brain, and he squints to comprehend what he's looking at. It's vaguely person-shaped, some kind of pale monster projected before him… only there are dozens of the same image, near-identical save for the angles they're standing in as they encircle him. He thinks for a second that it's a bunch of imps or demonic little shits…
…and then he takes a step back, and so do they.
So does he.
It's him.
The entire room is covered from top to bottom with mirrors, all carefully maneuvered so they reflect back every ugly angle of his body. It's all so overwhelming to take in at once, and his heart feels like it plummets to his stomach.
A wave of nausea hits him, the world blurring as he steps back. His frail body sways dangerously and threatens to collapse, his pulse fluttering with fright. He whips himself around and reaches for the doorknob, but the door itself is now also a mirror, and it's locked. Some thin tendrils of black crawl away from the knob like spiders, dissolving into thin air.
Hell, even the lightswitch is gone, so he can't even bring the dark back into the room.
FUCK!
He immediately screws his eyes shut tightly, to not even catch a glimpse of what's looking back at him-
-but a voice hisses something, sounding like someone's right fucking next to him.
"No, no, Mr. First Man~ I wouldn't do that if I were you."
Alastor's cruel voice whispers from… somewhere, followed by a loud blare of static that hurts Adam's ears.
…FUCK! He can't be here!
As if to prove Adam's protests wrong, the laughter returns - this time not in his head but bouncing around the fucking walls. The tone is garbled and wicked, echoing throughout the suffocatingly small space. A thump sounds from the other side of the room, causing Adam to flinch and reopen his eyes. He looks around wildly, trying to find the source of the noise - but nothing is there.
Nothing he can see, at least…
The paranoia of something attacking him keeps his eyes open, the memories of inescapable pain just too fresh. Terrified of the man in the mirror, Adam turns his head, only to be met with the same images no matter where he turns. The fact that there's no escaping the mirrors anywhere in the room forces him to confront and look at what he was never ready to see.
It's not real, it's not real, this is all just a fucking nightmare-
But the more he tries to rationalize it away, the less he believes himself.
It is him, it's his reality.
"What do you think of my design changes for this room?" A filtered voice whispers mockingly. "Lucifer's original vision was so dull…"
Adam just backs up, shaking his head in protest. He watches his reflection mimic his actions, sees how his fingers feverishly claw through his hair in an attempt to distract himself - but he can't, the fear has taken control of him, the images in the mirror stealing his focus.
He's no icon, no Exorcist commander, no revered angel. There's no halo atop his head, no mask covering his bruised face, no cassock on his body - he's only in plain black pants, showing off his contusions and wounds from the fight. There's a cluster of scars on his chest and lower back, probably from where he'd been stabbed by whoever Niffty is, but they're nowhere near the most grisly marks on his body.
What really captures his attention are the two conspicuous lumps on his back. He wishes he could look at something, anything else, but he can't peel his gaze away. It's like his eyes are glued to the horrible sight.
They look like twin tumors, so grotesque and raw with a sickly yellow outlining them against his pallid skin. A disgusting scab-like texture has begun to cover where his wings used to be, effectively sealing his body shut without the two very important appendages. The dashed black lines of the stitches look like long-legged ants crawling all over him, bringing a psychological sort of itch that he has to fight not to scratch.
He looks… dirty. Not even just physically - there's a haunted shadow over his face that just screams damaged. He's so worn and mangled, his body too… plain. His wings helped him stand tall and proud at all times, and without them, he just looks strange and small - a feeling proven true by the way he's standing with his shoulders hunched and his feet awkwardly planted at a wide distance from each other.
And it's not just what he's seeing, but what he's remembering - it's all so clear now, he can't believe he ever forgot. The imprints on his body of being tortured, the memories stained on his mind - the humiliation of begging for mercy, for help.
Get a fucking grip, Adam! Please, get it together - you HAVE to!
But no matter how much he yells in his head, he can't escape the self-hatred. It's like poison, dripping all over his mind and infecting his every thought. Everything he sees before him is repulsive . He was once so handsome and desirable - what the fuck happened? Now, he's just so UGLYand VILE and HIDEOUS—
One of the mirrors darkens for a second, like the light in the room filtered out of it. An image on the glass surface swirls into a smiling, vaguely-person-shaped shadow. Two spiky ears stick out from its head, a wide, yellow smile etched into its face.
"Boo."
It looks like Alastor mixed with a ghostly shadow - some kind of demon magic? But it's definitely the Radio Demon in some form…
"Oh fuck no— there's nothing left to take, asshole!" Adam hisses as he takes a step back, his heart racing with fright at the thought of the torture continuing.
Mirror-Ghost-Alastor laughs. "Believe me, there's always something. But I'm not actually here with you now - in a physical sense. So while I can't touch you, make no mistake - I can still SEE you, clear as day!"
So it's more psychological shit. Adam's face burns with the shame that, on top of everything else in this godforsaken room, Alastor intends to just show up and watch him freak out?
Sure, Adam figured the cunt could see through walls or some shit already - but now he's, in some way, actually present - and that's just… degrading.
"Fucking— leave me alone!"
"Why would I do that~?"
Why? Is it too much to ask for Adam to have a moment, a secluded place , to feel safe !? Yeah, it's Hell , and yeah, it sucks balls, but can't he even have a fucking minute of peace?
(Then again… did he ever give the sinners a moment to make peace with their deaths as he cut through them…?)
Stop thinking like that! They deserved it - I don't!
He feels like he's going mad , so many contradictory emotions swirling through him. Hatred for both Alastor and himself blend together. Fear mixes with frustration, and he finds himself gnashing his teeth, watching himself raise a shaking middle finger.
"Why the fuck are you doing this!? Why are you here - why did you do this to my bathroom in the first place?!" he demands, his voice way less confident than he wanted to appear. "Do- do you get off on this, you sick cunt!?"
"Don't flatter yourself," Alastor's shadow chuckles. "I simply wanted you to bear witness to the graceless, flightless creature you've become. You now stand equal with the sinners you slaughter."
With a roar, Adam thrusts a fist out, striking the mirror Alastor's image occupies. It shatters from the force, but the vile reflections only shrink and multiply. And to add insult to injury, the demon's toothy grin spreads across multiple mirrors, laughing it up as it stretches out.
"Missed me~"
Fueled by the desire to stop seeing this fuck, Adam keeps punching, smashing each mirror with as much power as he can find. He's vaguely aware that, while the glass is sharp, it probably can't severely damage him. It certainly can't kill him, at least.
Even if he's supposed to be in pain, from the glass or the strain, he can't feel anything. The adrenaline has his heart quickly thrumming in his chest, forcing him to keep pushing himself more and more - but he doesn't stop. He can't stop. The fear and grief and rage just keep building and building- he's a plane on fire, spiraling through the sky to crash headfirst into the earth below.
(Except that's not even an accurate metaphor because PLANES HAVE FUCKING WINGS!)
"Are you trying to hit me, Adam? I already told you I'm not physically present…"
"SHUT-"
Smash!
"Or do you hate the look of yourself that much?"
"THE-"
Crash!
"I understand, if that's the case. I mean… just LOOK at you!"
"FUCK-"
Crack!
"All that power and prestige - gone with the wind!"
"UP!"
A sudden burn flares through Adam's fingers, and he gives an audible yelp as he draws his fist back. His hand's flesh sizzles and angry red streaks mark him like tire tracks, bits of sparkling glass stuck embedded just under the skin. Blood bursts from the tiny cuts, creating dozens of thin golden trails that gush down his palm. The final mirror he'd struck has smoke rising from its cracks, the material glowing with a blinding white light.
Angelic steel , he realizes - but only from this mirror. It fucked up his hand pretty badly, but it won't kill him. None of this is a threat to his life… though he'd probably prefer it if they'd just Old Yeller him right now. It's all to torture and hurt , but not to kill - and isn't that just a testament to how he's being regarded here?
He's just this fucking demon's plaything.
The exhaustion catches up to him as he cradles his throbbing hand, heaving every breath like he'd just run a damn marathon. His eyes are half-lidded, his chest shuddering as he coughs violently. And then his vision becomes blurry and his eyes wet, and - fuck, no, he can't start crying now!
On top of everything else he's forced to suffer through, he also has to be reduced to a fucking pussy and break down like this? Right in front of the demon that crippled him!?
"C'mon… s'not fair… even hellspawn have to have a limit..." he whispers to himself miserably. "The… the torture has to end, it can't be…"
"Forever?" The cruel voice remarks, pure joy laced in its tone. "But everything in Hell is forever."
…fuck.
The anger drains out of him immediately at those words, a deep sadness taking its place. Like trying to wade against a current, Adam just feels powerless against his overwhelming despair.
Men shouldn't cry - he's always understood this. He's always accepted that, as a man, he's the one to comfort women who are emotionally weaker. But right now, he feels more vulnerable than he's ever been, and despite begging himself not to succumb to it all and fucking cry - something finally gives.
His legs buckle and he watches himself pathetically crash to the floor of that bathroom-turned-horror-funhouse. And as he kneels, head and body bowed low, the first few tears slip loose and trail down his nose. From then, it's like a faucet's been turned on, and they start to fall faster and faster. He watches in horror as they plip down, the shame causing him to suck in a shuddering breath. It catches in his throat as a sob, and he moves to curl into himself to hide from the humiliation.
He tries to sweep his wings around his waist again, forgetting for just a half-second before his body reminds him of the ugly truth - namely, in the form of pain blossoming between his shoulder blades.
"Goddammit…" he mumbles miserably, his breath hitching. Vaguely, he can remember crying when getting his wings torn off, but that had been because of physical pain - the type that, sometimes, even the strongest men can't beat. However, this is emotional pain, and he hasn't cried from that in… well, he can't even remember doing that at all.
He lifts both hands, one still throbbing with pain, and buries his face in them. At the very least, he can't see his reflection like this . His face feels wet, and he tries to trick himself into regarding it as the blood from the glass. Obviously, it doesn't work, and the shame continues to burn through him like angelic steel, his face growing hotter as he sucks in another wet gasp.
Alastor's voice cuts through his sobs: "Tata, my good man! I'll be seeing you around, I'm sure~"
And with that, the cruel voice finally fades away, the demon's shadow dissolving as the lights flick off. Adam closes his eyes tightly, pleased to have a moment of complete blindness. He can still feel tears trickling down his cheeks, but he's able to revel in the darkness and quiet as he's left to keep crying like a pussy alone. It hurts his pride to do this, but he's not able to control himself anymore - and, well, at least there's no one around to see.
Of course, he can't be sure Alastor's left for good, but he seems to have gotten the reaction he wanted out of Adam, and left in satisfaction.
Fucking sadist piece of shit.
The lights buzz back on, and Adam flinches; slowly, he lifts one eyelid, expecting to see his wingless body again, but the room's been changed. Now opening both eyes, he peers around to see a normal bathroom: toilet, sink, bathtub, rugs - all plain and too red for his liking, but it's exactly what Charlie had promised when she suggested he use it. And, also just like she'd said, there's not a mirror in sight.
Before he can even think of what to do next, a familiar voice yells out nearby - just outside his room in the hallway, from the sounds of it.
"Adam, what the fuck are you doing in there? Hey, Adam!"