Chapter Text
You grabbed onto the wall and peered past the corner. Concentration made your eyes untypically wide. Adam was somewhere in your apartment; he snuck off as soon as you made the comment like he knew exactly what would happen. "Adam," you cooed, "Come on. Don't make this shit harder than it needs to be, you little bitch." You twisted around, your head tilting at a small creak behind you, and you grinned. Two large eyes glowed from under your couch. Your head tilted to the other side and you slowly strolled closer. If you made a dive for him now, you knew the goblin would bite you again. So slowly. You needed to stalk that little shit.
"It's been a week, Adam. You stink more than you did when I found you in literal trash," you said, carefully sneaking across the room like the floor was full of landmines. Your couch quivered in response.
A blur of brown, white, and yellow streaked past you. The tell-tale squeak of your loose kitchen cabinet told you exactly where he ran. A different squeak—boarding on chattering—followed it. "Oh, come on! I'm pretty sure you're actually growing mold at this point! Let's just get this over with." Another series of high-pitched chattering answered you and, from a week with the creature, you could safely guess he was chanting curses at you.
Your eyebrow twitched and you had to force yourself not to rush the process. Even when everything inside of you wanted to just fill the kitchen sink and scrub him like dirty laundry. Honey, you reminded yourself, just have to use honey. "I got you one of those baby bath seats."
Adam glared at you from between a slight crack before shoving a small hand out and flipping you off. Just as quickly, it was back inside in the safety of the darkness. Your eyes narrowed.
"I spent a lot of money to get it."
He blew a raspberry and another quick middle finger.
"Now you're just being rude," you muttered and crossed your arms. Your hip popped to one side, your head in the other, as you tried to think of a way to get Adam into the bathtub. You were not lying when you thought he was growing mold; he stank like something rotten. It was...disgusting. Horrible. It made your nose burn when you were around him too much, the smell far too similar to an unwashed jockstrap or a sock that had never seen the inside of a washer. You couldn't stop the gag as the scent wafted in your direction.
Think, think, think. You chanted internally. Maybe some manifestation would help. As you began the simple, one-word mantra, you allowed the energy collecting in your apartment and from the street to gather. You were desperate enough to use the untapped energy—invisible, swirling—but not desperate enough to tap into anything gathering in your neighbors' apartments like a thief. It caressed your skin with your careful prompting and your mind slowly cleared from all distractions. Through the self-imposed daze, you vaguely heard the cabinet door crack open on its rusty hinges. You ignored it and let yourself fade deeper, your eyes slipping closed as you focused.
You needed an answer. You needed to get Adam to bathe.
Something was worming its way through the open door inside. You let it through, a faint emotion of surprise fluttering in your chest. It was an unexpected visitor. A guide that rarely interacted with you. They coaxed themself around your mind, pulling at your thoughts like strings. Haltingly, they turned you in a possible right direction, plucking at your brain for those already formed thoughts: use Adam's pride against him. You send your thanks through the dwindling link. An amused feeling of welcome replied before they swiftly left you alone.
The sudden, sharp intake of breath was a mistake. Adam, as you had thought, had opened the cabinet door to stare at you. With it came the smell. Strong and potent without the—admittedly—flimsy wood as a barrier. You choke on air, sputtering and flailing like a fish out of water, collapsing against a countertop hard enough for the sharp edge to stab into your side. "Motherfucker!" you wheezed. With strength you certainly hadn't felt at the moment, you turned to look over your shoulder. Adam's face was blank except for the twitching of a thick brow. Then he was chattering at a high speed, sharp teeth bared and nose furrowed like a rabbit's. Small arms waved wildly around him in a half-circle.
It was time.
Adam cut himself off with a shrill squeak, eyes narrowing.
Your mouth pulled into an unsightly grin, his body tensed, and you slowly turned back around. "You know," you began, "It's not really shining you in the right light." At his furrowed lip, you continued with the flush of pure unadulterated spite fueling you, "I mean, just imagine! First Man Adam, the forefather of all dicks everywhere, being able to clear entire rooms...no...clearing buildings just because of his rank, disgusting, foul body odor." You paused for dramatic effect, your eyes shining with maliciousness. "Why, one might even call it a demonic ability." You fell into a half-crouch, elbows bent and hands spread on either side of your face with wild eyes and an unhinged grin. Even without a mirror, you knew you likely looked highly unstable. But you couldn't find it in yourself to give a shit; Adam + Bath = No stinky smells was far too important an equation that you desired to solve.
Check. Bingo. You had won the battle.
His mouth fell open and his squinted eyes flung open. He ran himself to your bathroom. You followed with a cackle worthy of the witch you were.
So...you might have celebrated too early.
Once in the bath, the little Adam creature wasn't willing to let you have the win so easily. He splashed, slashed the child bath seat's plastic covering to hell (you silently mourned the cute ducklings and the loss of your money), and shook his junk in your face while maintaining direct eye contact. At one point, he had managed to get behind you while you tried to unclog your bathtub—he had shredded a bar of soap and jammed it into your drain—and he had headbutted the back of your knee hard. You fell head-first into the dirty water.
All in all, you left that bathroom completely traumatized. After you showered, of course, washing yourself no less than three times and slathering your tub in bleach.
Now, Adam was peacefully cleaning his ears with a soft baby ear cleaner—the only baby item you had bought that he hadn't destroyed immediately—a large, fluffy pink towel drowning his body with a powder blue hand towel wrapped in his now correct colored hair. You hadn't noticed until the water in the tub had turned brown how dirty his hair had been. He sat on the couch on a pillow, preening. You had changed into a comfortable pair of sweatpants and a graphic T-shirt, your towel hanging limply around your neck while you stared unseeingly at the Disney Plus home screen; you mindlessly selected The Little Mermaid, your remote falling out of your hands to land on the floor. You glanced at it before deciding it was too much effort to bend down and pick it back up. Its new home was your floor for the unforeseeable future.
That was terrible. It was horrible. But your apartment was no longer being assaulted so it was a necessary evil. You told yourself it was necessary repeatedly. If you told yourself that enough times, you would start to believe it. Fuck, you felt like you had lost your very soul. Maybe it went down the drain side-by-side with your disfigured soap? They had both been mutilated, after all. Just as you were relaxing into a half-doze in your armchair your cell phone rang. Startled, you jumped straight up in your chair and fumbled through your sweatpants' pockets.
You answered without looking. "Hello?"
"Oh, wow, my baby actually answered my call? What's goin' on? You're not dyin' on me are ya, sweet pea?"
And this wasn't a conversation you should be having with Adam in the room. You snuck a glance at him and did a doubletake. He was watching the movie with uncharacteristic enrapturement, his face slack and for once not mournful, angry, or smug. The creature actually almost looked adorable. Almost. On light, practiced feet, you snuck around the back of the couch and into your kitchen area. You kept him firmly in the range of your sight and whispered, "Hey, mama. What did you find out?"
There was a scoff on the other end. "Being used by my very own child! And they're not even gonna ask me how I'm doin'. Which I'm doin' just fine by the way, thank you askin'. You know you could stand to be just a bit more respectful to your mama. After all, I'm not always gonna be here for ya and that can be so frightenin'. Why, I remember when I lost my—"
You pulled your cell phone away from your ear, looked up at your ceiling, and groaned. "Ma," you interrupted her tangent that you knew from experience would quickly have you both off-topic, "How are you doing?"
"Eh, could be better honestly. Work hasn't been doin' well and I think your pa might have prostate cancer or somethin' 'cause that man's bladder has been actin' up somethin' awful. And, of course, he's as stubborn as a fuckin' mule and he won't go to the doctor."
"Well, yeah, he can be as stubborn as a fuc—"
"Watch your language! Honestly, did I raise ya in a barn?"
Your eye twitched and you reached out to your guides for aid in keeping patience in this trying time. Two of them wrapped you with positive energy, another—the one who helped you earlier with figuring out how to get Adam in the bath—was amused and you felt they were content in watching you struggle; the two actually helpful guides felt disgruntled and disapproving.
"Anyhow, how have you been sugarplum?"
"Besides the First Man and apparently the first 'mortal' angel crashing at my apartment? Pretty good. I just got a raise." And a well-fucking-deserved raise it was. You worked your whole ass off for it, sucked up to your managers with coffee and muffin bribes, and worked overtime for two weeks straight.
Your mother squealed, her end of the call suddenly muffling with rapid movements that you assume were her doing one of the dances she saved for when you accomplished something. "You get ya money, honey! Drain those corporate fuckers dry!" There was a brief moment while she caught her breath. "Alright, so I did find somethin' out about why that man is there instead of Heaven. My guides have been helpin' somethin' great and it's big news, baby, very big news."
"What news?" you asked hesitantly, stealing a glance at Adam. He was still invested in The Little Mermaid and he was now lying down on his stomach, chewing mindlessly at his thumb as Ariel's father destroyed her human trinkets. If you didn't know any better, you could have sworn you saw tears gathering in those large eyes of his as they flickered across the screen in an attempt to capture everything he could. Your brow furrowed briefly.
"Hon," your mother started, exhaling sharply and making your speaker crackle, "Adam died. I mean, died died. I don't know the full story since I'm still among the living and the afterlife is kept on a tight leash from us, but somethin' happened and he died for good."
Turning slightly to the side, you cupped your mouth around your cell phone. "What? What the hell does that mean, ma? He's right here. Obviously, he didn't 'die for good.'"
"Yeah, that's somethin' I was able to get a clear answer on. Buckle up, buttercup, because this is some shit, I swear." There was a muffled shuffle and then a distant 'don't touch the cookies.' "Sorry, your pa is actin' up and tryin' to snack. Yes, I'm fuckin' telling on ya! You actually listen to our kiddo! Why wouldn't I use that against ya? Anywho, pineapple, Adam messed up at some point. He wasn't supposed to return to Earth in any fashion or Heaven for that matter."
Your stomach rolled and tightened. "What does that mean? What are you saying?"
She hesitated. Your mother never hesitated much to your own childhood and adulthood embarrassment.
"He's supposed to be in Hell."