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damned_institute2011-02-10 04:19 am
autophoenix.livejournal.com) wrote in damned_institute2011-02-10 04:19 am
Entry tags:
- claire bennet,
- japan,
- l,
- peter petrelli,
- prussia,
- ruby,
- s.t.,
- sam winchester,
- shinji,
- spock,
- sylar
NIGHT 54: M21-30 HALLWAY
[ from here ]
It took her a moment when she turned down the men's hallway to skim the area with her flashlight. This was the part where she got confused, the muscle memory not really carrying her the whole way. He'd given her directions once, but that felt like a lifetime ago now that she actually needed to put them into practice without Bella attached to her hip. Being alone made it harder, for some reason. She hoped Bella was having more luck than she was at getting to … wherever.
On her left, the single door of the bathroom that she suspected was the same as the women's facilities, and on her right four hallways. Peter's was … she scrutinized. Second in from the door? It sounded about right. If her room was F34 and it was the closest to the door, 24 should be one row further in. So, she hung a right and headed down the hallway.
Her flashlight beam checked the numbers on the doors as she headed down. 30 … 29 … the numbers were counting downwards, which was a good sign that this was the right hallway to get her to M24.
[ bumping intosylar peter ]
It took her a moment when she turned down the men's hallway to skim the area with her flashlight. This was the part where she got confused, the muscle memory not really carrying her the whole way. He'd given her directions once, but that felt like a lifetime ago now that she actually needed to put them into practice without Bella attached to her hip. Being alone made it harder, for some reason. She hoped Bella was having more luck than she was at getting to … wherever.
On her left, the single door of the bathroom that she suspected was the same as the women's facilities, and on her right four hallways. Peter's was … she scrutinized. Second in from the door? It sounded about right. If her room was F34 and it was the closest to the door, 24 should be one row further in. So, she hung a right and headed down the hallway.
Her flashlight beam checked the numbers on the doors as she headed down. 30 … 29 … the numbers were counting downwards, which was a good sign that this was the right hallway to get her to M24.
[ bumping into
M24
Her footsteps echoed a little louder in the confines of this narrower hall than they had on her way there. The grip she held on the knife in her right hand tightened a little and she kept close to the right wall, letting people filter by her as necessary while she moved backwards, deeper down the hallway. Blondie was still hanging out -- Ruby brushed past her wordlessly, passing her on her way to room 24.
27 … 26 … She continued pacing down the hallway, light trained on the numbers and eventually stopping in front of the appropriate door. At first, she reached out to knock once on the metal, but then she decided it wasn't worth it. They didn't do knocking anymore. His roomie could deal, if he was jerkin' it, he deserved the quick burst of humiliation anyway.
So, she reached out and turned the knob, leaning in the doorway as she swung the door open.
"Hope I'm not interrupting your book club or anything, but if I remember right, we got a date."
[ sammy - timeskip to after peter's out and about? ]
no subject
With Dean, Sam tended to get the warning of a turning key. With Ruby, he'd gotten used to her just bursting in—which was exactly what she did while he was laying the weapons out on drawer's surface. It was a sad collection compared to the arsenal in the Impala, but he knew he was lucky. He hadn't heard from Skuld in days and as far as he knew, she was one of the last ones around here who could make weapons.
He turned around, anyway, though, even before she spoke up. If there was one thing he'd learned, it was that assuming the identity of the person at the door usually led to you being proved wrong in the crappiest way possible.
"You can come in, you know," he said, tucking the gun into the back of his jeans. Normally he might've added, I haven't lined it with salt or anything, but for one, technically he had even if it was a broken line, and for another, after yesterday morning he was less certain of where they stood right now.
All right, true, he'd never been all that certain, but there'd been a growing easiness between them over the past month or so that had slipped a bit. Either way, there'd been enough tension between him and Dean. He wasn't gonna go out of his way to do the same with Ruby.
Speaking of...that incident. He reached for her demon killing knife and held it out, handle first. "Thought you might want this back."
no subject
When he offered her the knife, she looked down at the butcher's knife in her hand. Yeah, real hard decision. She set it aside on the desk and reached out to take the familiar handle of her own knife. A little piece of home. Not that demons had a real particular sense of nostalgia, but considering the tricks she'd had to pull off to get her hands on this baby, she wasn't taking for granted the fact that she had it around again. It was the little things, truly.
"You spoil me," she quipped, taking it from him and turning the blade over in her hands, inspecting the unique curvature for any kind of indicator that it'd suffered from misuse in their time at the institute. But, the handle wasn't much more abused than it had been from the symbols she'd carved into the wood herself, and the blade was pristine. "Kinda morbid for a birthday present." Kind of a morbid joke on her part, as well, but she couldn't help but remember who'd gotten impaled on it.
Or maybe at this point it was remembering that she didn't remember. Whichever. Her eyes flickered up towards him and she raised a questioning brow slowly, lips tugging out of the smirk they'd pursed to form and into something more analytical.
"You gonna share with the class how you got it outta Landel's own personal impound?" Or why you spent breakfast with a goddamn angel? Sam hadn't met the guy, right? He didn't even know Dean was gonna spring back, so what was he doing slumming it with a guy who reeked of Grace and self-righteous divinity? Not the company she liked to see him hanging around, but also, unfortunately, not the kind of question she could rationalize throwing out there so suddenly. Better to ease into it and give him a chance to bring it up himself. The last thing he needed to think was that she was keeping a constant eye on him.
no subject
He placed the flashlight beside Ruby on the desk to keep the room from plunging into absolute darkness and leaned back against the closet across from her. Ruby didn't seem interested in going anywhere anytime soon, and Sam didn't mind. If they were going to catch up, it'd be easier to do it in here than walking around out there with one eye over his shoulder for anything about to eat them.
Speaking of which, hadn't Ruby said something about...King Kong? Never mind. He could ask after he answered her questions, though he was prepared for it to not make much more sense even after her explanation.
"A few nights ago, there was this—incident that turned all the doors into portals." He hated the word portal, but there was no other way to describe it. "Most of them led to other parts of the institute, but some of them threw people into home dimensions. But I mean, more of a pocket, you know? Like someone cut out a square of it. It was basically a ghost town, no reception, no residents, eventually it threw you back when you stepped too far. Anyway, I ended up by Dean's grave, found the car—that knife was the only thing that came back with me." He paused. "My abilities worked there. Whatever was suppressing it, they lifted it for that one moment."
Which meant it could be lifted again, if they only found out how the hell it was being done in the first place. They were putting down even angels, apparently, or at the very least a demigod, so whoever this was had some major juice behind them.
...And that was all he had. It was sad, but he honestly was out of his depth. He just hoped Ruby had some answers here, because he was flat out.
no subject
When he finished, she looked down at the knife in her hand, obviously impressed. She'd like to say it was a case of savior complex strikes again, but she knew there was no chance he'd just grabbed it outta the freaking glovebox to bring it back to her. That was pushing her luck even back before Dean had come prowling back around the land of the living.
She was going to remark on their luck that the knife had come back, but that last implication stopped her dead in her tracks, mouth hanging slightly open as she hesitated to process. His abilities were kicked back into gear. He didn't exactly reek of joy about the fact, which she'd have to work on, but the fact that he was even mentioning it meant he knew it was big news. Good news. And that brought a slow, genuine smile to her face. Well, look at the kid go.
"You pulled a demon," she clarified bluntly. "Nobody around except a demon for you to smoke. Kinda left that part out, Sam." At least, she could assume he was smoking a demon. The way he'd reacted to her bringing up the possibility of his other abilities didn't exactly lend to him whipping anything else outta the arsenal just for a dog and pony show. It changed things to know that there was a demon in the equation. Either it had broken into Landel's little pocket, or Landel had trapped it there to wait for Sam. Neither option was really looking too good. If the demon broke in, it meant they weren't safe from them inside the facility like she'd thought. But, if Landel put it there, it meant he was leading them on to think that Sam could use them again for any sensible reason.
"Sammy, that's --" there was an excited kind of relief in her tone and she shook her head. "It's great news. Do you even realize what that means?" Apparently, she didn't think he did, cause she just kept going without giving him much of a chance to respond. "It means we got a better idea of how he's pulling this off. You got outta range. Sure, we take a walk outside, it's still covering us, but if you could get far enough away through your portals that they were coming back?"
She pushes away from the desk and begins to slowly walk across the room to where Peter's desk is, pacing a little bit but slowly enough that it's more like strolling while she thought. There was a lot to consider. Whether it was just distance or some kinda dimension jump or -- it was way above her paygrade, that was for sure. First angels, now this crap. They could handle it, but she didn't really make a habit of trying to find ways into alternate planes of existence that she didn't belong on. Not exactly her brand of homework. Maybe it should have been.
No use worrying about it now.
no subject
"I mean, I gotta tell you, Sam, I'm not all that eager for angels to be playing hard ball on the in-field, but if we wanna get you and your brother outta here …" The Dean card. It almost felt too cruel to play it, but she knew it would illicit the response she wanted. Enthusiasm. A pause, discomfort and sudden coldness washed over her expression and her eyes sternly fixed on Sam. She studied him for a minute, scrutinizing, then she canted her head a little, a small degree of wry dread making itself clear in her tone and the knitting of her eyebrows.
"Tell me your little trip back to Kansas didn't involve takin' your brother along for the ride. I mean, no offense, the guy can handle a lot, but getting him caught up in this …" It almost sounded like she was encouraging Sam to hide things from Dean for Dean's own good. Wouldn't that be a perfect world. Truth be told, a part of her just wanted to find out if he'd agree. Test the boundaries of how far he was willing to go and how open he was hoping to be with his brother.
no subject
He shouldn't be thinking about it.
"I wouldn't go that far," he said. "I'm pretty sure that demon was dumped in there specifically for me. Whatever's capping me off was probably just momentarily lifted. But yeah, you're right. It can be lifted, so..."
So they just had to lift it. Easy enough to say. Not so much in practice. Whether the curse, as Ruby put it, was placed over the institute or the entire dimension as a whole (was that possible? He wouldn't put it past them at this point), the concept of breaking it remained the same. Though with the amount of bad blood between some of the patients here, he had a feeling throwing everything back to normal was gonna result in some major chaos, but that. What. Wasn't his problem? He hated to acknowledge it, but the thought was there. It was only his problem insofar as it affected Dean and...Peter, yeah. People he'd come to call friends. But even then, it was a risk he was willing to take if it meant bringing Dean back.
As for the angels. He had to admit, he wasn't sure where Ruby stood on there with them, but if she was willing to put up with them, as it sounded, to do what they needed to, then that was good enough for him. He knew a large part of it was because she knew Dean was a package deal—but it didn't matter. As long as they were on the same page. He was hard pressed on help right now and he did appreciate that at least with Ruby, getting her on his side wasn't like pulling teeth.
He guessed that was one more reason to keep the shaky truce with the angels. Unspoken truce in Castiel's case, but one nonetheless. In case they needed them, in case the power switch came back on. He couldn't see it being a good idea to stir crap up with them only to be screwed over later on.
Which was something he was about to bring up with Ruby when she spoke up again. In hindsight, it wasn't unexpected at all that her mind had jumped there, but it hadn't occurred to him just then. He shook his head. God, the thought alone...it'd been sheer freaking luck that Peter had been with him that night.
Yeah. No encouragement necessary. He was doing just fine hiding shit from Dean on his own, apparently.
"Dean's still in the dark, believe me. I was with my roommate, actually." He hadn't wanted to drag Peter into this, but he couldn't keep Peter out of their conversations forever. "He's...kind of like me. But, uh, not. It's complicated. He says he has abilities, too, but the way he describes them doesn't match up. And his birth year definitely doesn't line up with Azazel's generation batches."
It was possible for Yellow-Eyes to break the pattern, but he doubted it. That many kids, all of them sticking to the same schedule? Combined with Landel's earlier outburst of altverses, he was more inclined to believe that Peter's powers had nothing to do with demons, or at least not demons in the way that Sam knew them.
Oh. Right. Jesus, he'd almost forgotten. Talk about having too much on his mind.
"By the way—you weren't in the Sun Room earlier, were you?"
She hadn't been, he was fairly certain, since he would've remembered seeing her, but it was as good a way to segue into the next topic as any.
no subject
Of course, that was the big question, wasn't it? Whether or not he was willing to go there. As long as she kept dangling Dean over him like the carrot on a stick, she had a feeling she could get him to do anything. Just had to show him how dire it was -- he'd been desperate to get Dean back, and here there was a way. She just had to hold back that little tidbit that Dean happened to have come back already.
Well. He was better off not knowing that.
A look of relief passed over her face and she smiled warmly at him, though there was a grim and sympathetic edge to it. She knew he didn't like lying to his brother. It wasn't rocket science. But, it was for the best, and it made her job a helluva lot easier. It seemed like he knew it too. She shifted, ready to step closer and get with the comforting, but he moved onto his roommate so she just stuck to her spot on the desk.
Now there was something above her pay grade. Non-psychic kid with abilities? Talk about fishy. Could be a witch, or a monster of some kind himself. Leave it to Sam to get crammed in a room with something that didn't sound all that human to her. Wasn't that just his luck? She almost felt sorry for the guy.
"You mean when Landel was getting his ass handed to him and losing his shit?" She snorted a little, shaking her head. "Saw the whole thing. I'd say a change in regime ranks a little lower on the importance scale than finding out there might be a way to pull the abilities outta the box though, don't you think?" A pause. "Assuming you don't mind me interfering with your little subject change, that is. Look, I get it, you don't like talking about this stuff, but if we don't talk about it, we can kiss getting Dean outta here goodbye." She pulled herself up on the desk more, getting comfortable and resting her back against the wall.
"This roommate of yours, what's he look like, anyway? Got a name, maybe?" There was a short list of people she'd passed on her way in here -- he had to be one of 'em, right? It was worth chatting him up. "If he's got abilities, I'll bet he wants them back in full force as much as we do. Wouldn't hurt to have somebody on our team to help pick up info on how Landel mighta been pulling this off." She stopped, looking thoughtful. It made sense that maybe with Landel out of the picture, it'd could be lifted, but that pressure in the back of her mind wasn't going anywhere. She still wasn't smoking out anytime soon.
"Or how General Aguilar intends to keep it up. This 2911 stuff might not be a bad place to start digging." Doctor's offices, file rooms, that kind of thing. Somewhere they had to have paperwork on what they were doing, or some kind of ritual set-up to keep the power levels under nine thousand.
no subject
Well, that was good, though. He was glad she'd been there to see for herself. There was less to explain and maybe she'd caught something he missed—of course, that was assuming she was even interested in discussing it, which she apparently wasn't. Not the biggest surprise, he guessed. She'd always pushed the angle on his abilities. He'd never been certain of how right she was, but at the same time, there hadn't been that many options when they'd been dealing with Lilith and she was right in that there were even fewer options here, dealing with the institute and Dean.
So he didn't argue.
"His name's Peter Petrelli," he replied, tackling the easy topic first. "He's pretty nondescript, about my age, dark hair, about half a foot shorter. I can point him to you tomorrow, but if you're only gonna ask him what he knows, don't bother. We've been exchanging information. He doesn't know anymore than I do."
And Ruby might've found it necessary to question whether Peter did, in fact, not know anymore than Sam did, but Sam honestly didn't. It felt weird to say this about anyone other than Dean, but trusted his roommate. Peter had been open with him from the start, and he'd kept a lot of what Sam had told him private. If anything came up, he knew Peter would tell him. Plus, he had to admit he was kinda hesitant about the idea of Ruby talking to Peter, though he knew Rub wouldn't do anything, of course. Why would she? And she'd been plenty helpful with witnesses in the past—in a way, more so than Dean, if only because the guys tended to be much more willing to talk to pretty girl. Still.
Anyways. He wasn't so hesitant that he didn't get where she was coming from.
As for the project. "There's a computer upstairs. The first time I tried hacking into it, it wouldn't crack, but..." He shrugged. "I can always give it another go. Otherwise, I've looked at the offices, the staff library, those have all come up empty, and anyone who's been to the file rooms has only found falsified documents on themselves."
The computer might be their best bet, in truth, 'cause he couldn't see something as big as this project lying around in rooms just anyone could get into. He hadn't had a lot of time to work on the computer the last time he'd been up there with Dean—though yeah, he had a feeling that if it could be broken into, it would've been so by now. But it was something to do, right? There was no point in not giving it a shot.
Anyway, all of this crap wasn't what Ruby was interested in, Sam knew that. He shifted against the closet door.
"I take it you want to leave all that for later, though. Whatever you have in mind about my abilities, go ahead. I'm listening."
He could guess—it wasn't hard to predict—but there was no point in jumping to assumptions. He might as well let her say it.
no subject
"Relax, wouldja? No single, swinging light in an interrogation room, I just wanna meet the guy." She gave an innocuous enough shrug in combination with the dismissal. "If you want me to keep my distance, I will, but you can't blame me for wanting to get in touch with him if we're all playin' on the same team. Believe it or not, I've got a truckload more knowledge about this stuff than you do, and if he's really not Yellow-Eyes material, then maybe I can figure out what exactly has him juiced."
Not the kind of information cozy roommates would be swapping. Nothing to do with Landel at all, just identifying Peter and categorizing him. Threat. Non-threat. Ally, even. Sam seemed to put a good deal of faith in him by the sound of it, which made him either a promising ally or a dangerous potential enemy. Depending on who he was getting information from aside from Sammy.
Everything about the computer was filed away for later, too. She was the furthest thing from a computer whiz, she didn't need the crap and it was more or less after her time. But, that didn't mean there wasn't hope for her to find someone who could crack it if Sam's second shot at it didn't prove any more effective than the first. It sounded like the best option, regardless, and she had to give him props for not sticking it in the journal. The monster, he could dismiss writing about if the nurses got nosy. But chances were they'd move their supercomputer if they knew Sammy Winchester had found it.
"The computer waits," she confirmed. "I'll ask around and see what I can dig up about it or somebody who can get into it. Couple dozen patients here, we oughtta be able to find somebody who can crack it." Of course, she didn't really have the perspective to consider how hard that could really be, particularly with zero resources. It wasn't her fault that technology happened to be a less than stellar area for her to perform in. That was all on Tammi.
"We didn't exactly get the chance to finish with the attack plan yesterday." The fact that he was the one who changed the topic validated her a little in diving into it. Clearly he was interested in what she had to say, even if he wasn't directly saying so. The fact that he was listening was enough -- she knew how single-minded Sam could be when he got an idea in his head, and he liked to dissuade other possibilities once he'd picked his route. Which meant she had hope that his route would be through her.
no subject
"Pretty sure I'd consider getting force-choked out a blessing right about now." There was a some bitterness in the words. Not that she necessarily ever wanted to experience that, but she didn't like this cloistered feeling she had in the reanimated corpse she'd inhabited either. It was chilling to be seriously trapped and rooted somewhere like that when she'd had a failsafe escape route as long as there was no salt in the area for hundreds of years before.
Right. Persuading Sam. It was a delicate enough art to begin with, she didn't need to let herself get sidetracked by self pity.
"It's not all gone, though, Sammy. Coma girl never woulda been able to do what I got up to last night." Not without help, anyway. The pipe was firmly secured to the wall and she'd wrestled it off with relative ease. Sam might consider it an average day, but for a girl as tiny as the brunette? Not so much in the everyday department. It was enough to convince her that it wasn't all sucked away.
"And you and I both know that pulling demons ain't all you can do." She shifted her gaze to him sternly. Holding up her hand, she began to count off on fingers as she listed the possibilities. "Premonitions, super strength, mind control, telekinesis." Enthusiasm hopped up into her voice. It was only the start of the list and the possibilities were already racking up. "Not to mention Scott Carey's little electrical trick. You could do it all, Sam!" It almost sounded like she was praising him. Worshipping, even. But her tone quickly darkened to something hard and grim.
"But you're not gonna get there by sittin' around and wishing." The way her eyebrows knitted together and her lips tightened into a firm line had her looking like a teacher scolding him for not keeping up with his studies. But that was honestly more or less what it came down to -- he had to pick up the slack. The institute wasn't gonna make it anywhere close to easy for 'em, but they could do it. Together. "You want to get Dean outta here and rescue these people, you know what you have to do. You know what it's gonna take."
Her expression softened a little and she pushed up away from the desk, approaching him with slow, purposeful steps. Brow creasing, her expression became sympathetic, softening her eyes.
"I'll be here for you every step of the way. You're not gonna have to do it alone, but you're our only shot, Sammy."
no subject
For a brief moment, Sam felt like he was being oddly paranoid and he wasn't sure where all of his concerns were even coming from. It was just, these past few weeks, it felt like everything could go wrong way too easily.
He shook his head, dismissing his earlier concern. "He won't mind talking to you. Just tell him you're a friend of mine."
Peter seemed just as okay with talking to strangers about his abilities (or at least mentioning that he had them), but his roommate would probably be willing to delve into it a little more detail if he knew that Ruby was a friend. Friend. Talk about an oversimplification of their relationship. But it was the easiest one to give. A part of him wondered if he should be asking Peter instead, but Ruby was right: he didn't know as much about his abilities which was partially his fault. He hadn't wanted to know. As if he could bury it all and make it go away. It was ridiculous, he knew. He should get over it.
"A few people I've spoken to couldn't do it, either," he went on. Or, well, conversed with on the board, anyway. Awhile ago, but still. He frowned, thinking. He hadn't considered the technology here since then. "It's weird—the system doesn't even look that advanced, but the entire thing was on lockdown. Couldn't even start to locate a back door. Ditto for one of the doctor's computers. But, uh—see what you can do, I guess. It's worth a look."
He wasn't hopeful, but he wasn't going to be pessimistic about it. If she could find someone willing to do it, who could break through further than he had—well, they could use the help, that was for sure. As good as he was with this stuff, it wasn't his area of expertise. He'd picked it up because it was a handy skill, and because his brother barely had the patience to sit still for ten seconds, never mind for a couple of hours in front of a screen.
Besides, there was something to be said for being able to hack into his brother's Busty Asian Beauties account every time Dean froze his laptop up.
Sam propped a foot up against the closet door, but otherwise let Ruby talk without interrupting. He needed the time to think, anyway, so the longer he had before he needed to give her some kind of answer, the better. She wasn't saying anything he hadn't already thought about, but having it laid flat out in front of him like that made it just that much more tangible. That much more like something he had to make a decision on.
He leaned his head back. God. A part of him knew there was no point in going halfway, that he might as well go for it and not do it at all, and the idea of not doing it at all wasn't an option given what was going on. This wasn't about Lilith anymore, it wasn't even about him. It was about Dean—which both did and didn't make taking that step harder. He knew full well what his brother wanted him to be, but Dean didn't really know him, did he?
"It's not all gone for me, either," he began. "I can reach for it, it just—takes more out of me." He bit his lip. "Look, I know, okay? Just—give me some time. A day or two. Dean already thinks I'm up to something. I can't have him getting any more suspicious than he already is."
Shit, that was as good as an agreement, wasn't it? Better than a maybe. What was he even thinking? He needed more time, but he knew Ruby would say they didn't have more time, and she would be right. They didn't. Though there was no guarantee this would work—and if it didn't, they could stop. If it did...if it did, then he might actually be able to do something for Dean. Lelouch had been proof enough that not all of the patients with abilities were like Peter or Wally. Throw in the monsters, the angels—he couldn't really justify sitting on this any longer when he had a choice not to.
He looked at her. "You really think it's gonna work well enough to be any use, even in here."
no subject
But that paranoia, that worry, was greatly outweighed by the way the weight in her gut lifted at the fact that he was more or less agreeing to what she was trying to coax him into. It was obvious by stress in his demeanor -- leaning his head back, biting his lip -- that he was starting to feel cornered, though. Had she taken it too far? She hesitated some, combing her eyes over him and trying to quickly assess the situation. If she pushed too hard, she'd blow the whole thing.
That didn't mean she was going to let him off the hook that easily though. A day or two would turn into three or four or however long he wanted to let his guilt over Dean delay it. Inevitably, probably. So she let her sympathetic look harden a little.
"You really think it won't?" She shook her head. "Figured by now you'd give yourself a little more credit than that." The distance sufficiently closed, she shifted her weight for a minute, eyes prying for indicators of where the line was here. Then she reached up and placed a comforting hand on the side of his cheek, a supportive if grim smile on her lips. "How many times do I have to tell you you're it? What you can do, what Yellow-Eyes gave you, it's incredible, Sam, and even a fraction of it's gonna be more than what most of these mooks can do. With a little luck, once we get you trained up, it'll be more than enough.
"But, Sam." She paused purposefully, her expression shifting. It was still reassuring in all the right ways, but there was something more solid to it. More urgent. "I'm not gonna tell you not to think on it, but time's not exactly something we're busting at the seams with here." It was hard to make the concessions between what she wanted to say, which was something more along the lines of 'Sure, Sam, take your time, not like we don't have an eternity to get this done and then get back to the war we're still fighting back home. Stop and smell the roses while you're at it, too, why don'tcha?' and what would actually behoove her to tell him. She was getting better with the patience thing -- Sam had taught her how to really use it. One more thing she'd have to thank him for when it was all over.
"And, call me crazy, but I don't see time doing a whole lot to change the situation here. What are you gonna do? Poll the audience, try and talk it over in code with your brother? You're either on board or you're not." All right, so maybe it would've gotten her some points to compromise a little bit more, but compromise wasn't gonna win them any wars, it wasn't gonna knock out any sadistic scientists and it sure as hell wasn't gonna pack away any apocalypses. So maybe the patience thing hadn't quite reached its peak yet.
"This isn't the kind of thing you can just turn on, and we've got a lot of ground to cover. With the way this Aguilar guy's heading things, I'm not sure we're gonna have the wiggle room we've got now to actually cover it. We need to work fast; we don't have time to sit around shooting the breeze."
no subject
Still, he knew that was less a justification, more an excuse. He'd run into plenty of patients here who had enough fragments of their powers remaining to put it to use. The kid from his second night, Wally, Lelouch...He wasn't so sure if it would be enough to really break them out, like Ruby seemed so certain it would be, but it would be something. A pistol and a couple of knives weren't gonna cut it with most of the things running around here. If he could stop getting slowed down by every little supernatural creature that came his way, they might actually make some damn progress.
He frowned down at her, though he didn't pull away from her touch. He knew what she was doing—over four months together, and this wasn't exactly the first time she'd brought this up with him—but it'd stopped mattering awhile ago, after he'd decided not to turn her down. He supposed it was one more thing that separated her from Dean. Sam had been collecting those distinctions from day one. There was a part of him that knew if he wasn't careful, he'd forget.
His thoughts drifted briefly back to what Castiel said again about Dean. He was tempted to say something to Ruby—but what was there to say? True or not, whatever happened, he couldn't see himself relying on another entity to do the rescuing. This Dean, this version of Dean, was here, and Sam wasn't leaving him behind. The angels had nothing to do with it.
Or did they?
Dammit.
After a second, he sighed. "Yeah, you're right. We can't just turn it on, so there's no point in rushing into it tonight if everything's gonna flip by tomorrow because of this Eagle crap and keep us from going any further. Seriously, Ruby. One more night, that's all I'm saying. See what the hell this military takeover deal is going to do to the institute. I want the time with Dean. And God knows I need the time to figure out what I'm even going to tell him if he starts asking." He eyed her for a moment. "It wouldn't hurt if you took that time to be friends with him, either."
If Dean thought Sam liked her...He wouldn't trust her, but he'd be all right with her. As far as Dean was concerned, she was just another hunter, anyway. Just a girl, like Jo. That would make it easier. And Christ, was he really working an angle on Dean now, too?
As if he hadn't done it before. He knew he had, sometimes without even thinking, until months later when he looked back and realized that Dean had only done something because Sam had asked, specifically. But he'd never done it like this. To sneak around with a demon, doing the very thing Dean had asked him not to. But they were over three weeks in and Sam was no closer to busting them out of here or saving Dean. And that wasn't even counting the rest of the people who were still trapped her.
He'd never been good with dealing with feeling useless for long, had he.
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"You're gonna get all the time with Dean you could ask for if we can actually pull this Shawshank Redemption off," she makes a small turn on her heels, rolling her eyes in tandem with the movement and walking back towards his desk. This was going a whole lot of nowhere tonight. "But, fine. Have it your way." He always did, after all. She turned back towards him and began to lay it out. Time to gear up that unwavering obedience.
"We spend a day, figure out what General Mao's up to and what we're in for 'cause of it, and I'll work on trying to become Dean's new BFF." Wasn't that just the kind of day she would look forward to. Playing hunter girlfriend for Dean might be a little easier if he wasn't pulling the black-eyed skank card every two seconds, but that didn't make her like him many more. And her feelings on the subject were clear in the look on her face -- the grim, thinly pulled line of her lips, the raised eyebrows, and the way she seemed to be in a constant state of a begrudging shrug.
"I'm not making any promises on that one. Not that I don't want to bury the hatchet before it can get sharpened and all, but your brother didn't like me the first time. I don't see the second going any better just because he doesn't have all the facts." But she was conceding. She was going to do it -- for Sam, if not just to make her life easier. He didn't need to further convince her, but she felt the need to lay down her pessimism anyway. "Speaking of which … if I'm gonna drop in and start getting cuddly, you should probably fill me in on what you've been telling him. Anything and everything, I mean specifics. We can't afford to be singing a different tune."
There were parts to the story that she already knew, of course. The host of personas she'd accrued since waking up in Landel's wasn't easy to juggle, but she could manage. There was Kristen Alighieri, the supposed nutjob who'd gotten locked up in this place for one reason or another -- probably thought she'd been possessed by demons, Ruby imagined. Then there was Ruby, hunter, friend who'd worked with Sam a coupla times and one hundred percent, bonafide, breathing human. That one was probably even funnier, but hey, if Dean bought it … and all of that was piled on top of the real deal.
The real Ruby that couldn't seem to keep separated the two halves she'd already cleaved herself into. Sympathetic, snarky sidekick in Team Prevent the Coming Apocalypse who cared about Sam and really wanted to help him, and the one who was trying to bring it on and played him like a fiddle. Those two had already bled over to a certain degree, it was unsettling to consider if the other two might throw themselves into the blender as well. She'd always imagined she'd be better at this.
Her eyes softened as she watched him, considering this, and her lips turned downwards into a despondent frown. Maybe there was some credence to not shitting where you slept after all.
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So here they were, then. It wasn't that he couldn't back out at the last minute, but Sam knew himself better than that and in some ways, he had a feeling Ruby did, too. He didn't say yes unless he meant it. If he'd been uncertain enough to walk away, he never would've let Ruby negotiate him down this far in the first place.
Honestly, he wasn't even sure what that extra night was gonna do except give him an illusion of some kind of peace of mind. But...maybe that was it. As ridiculous as it sounded, he could use the temporary downtime, even knowing it wouldn't last.
Right. Anyways. Dean. Fortunately, Ruby and Dean hadn't crossed paths that much and the few times they had, only once or twice had they had the chance to even talk a whole lot. It made coordinating this simpler, but at the same time, was it that good of an idea to have them become...BFFs, as Ruby had decided to call it? Sam preferred acquaintances. Either way, he knew it made logical sense in theory. If they were gonna do this, he couldn't keep taking off with Ruby without Dean wanting to know who this chick was. They might as well cut to the chase and have Ruby get to know Dean before his brother started asking after it. It'd be less suspicious.
In practice, though, Sam couldn't say he was any more at ease with the idea than Ruby was. Still.
He shifted, the closet creaking a little on its hinges behind him. The outline of the gun dug into his back, but he ignored it. "There's not much," he said. "You two barely met. As far as he's aware, we never knew each other outside of here. He knows you're a hunter and that you specialize in the occult, which should cover why you might know more about hexes than most. And he knows you're not the first version of you. You gave your surname as Jackson, but he's not gonna blink if you turn up with a new one." Most hunters were being generous when they gave out their real first name. Last names were a luxury.
Sam shook his head, as if wrapping up his thoughts. "That's about it."
He returned his eyes to her, realizing her expression had changed. He studied her for a moment with a sort of cautious curiosity, but he didn't ask, mostly 'cause, where did he start? He did, however, concede, "Look, I know you're not exactly thrilled with Dean and I know he's not the easiest guy to get along with. I promise I'll try and get him to behave around you, too, all right?"
Nothing changed, he guessed. He'd always been playing mediator between the two of them. He still remembered keeping Dean from putting a bullet in her. At least it wouldn't go that far this time as long as the part about her being a demon stayed under the table.
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She knew how hunters operated and she knew how to act like one. Luckily, it was more or less like a demon - distrusting and arrogant. They all were. With that self-righteous saving people stick up their asses. Give a guy a knife and a "monster" and they'd all think they were heroes. Kinda ridiculous. Giving a slow nod, she leaned back against the wall beside the door, arms crossing over her chest as she processed the info.
"All right. Easy enough to remember," that was good news. "And don't get me wrong, I'm not your brother's biggest fan. Honestly, I could do without him." That was a big risk to take, telling the guy who thought his brother was still dead that she didn't give a damn about it. But, they could 'save him' here and she was gonna do everything she could to help him, so that should even it out some.
"But he's your brother, and I know what that means to you." Obedient as always. "I'm gonna do whatever I can to get him out of here with us and I know getting along's gonna help that along. Trust me, Sam, I'll play nice. Believe iet or not, I do know how." Believe it or not. That was a little laughable, and she made sure that the quirk of her lips and one eyebrow implied it. Sam knew all about how nice she could play.
She hesitated, considering one interesting thing about the story they'd apparently spun together and Sam's debriefing. "How's he know I'm version 2.0?" Thinking about it kinda stung -- as though it wasn't bad enough having her memories on the fritz and yanked from her skull by the good doctor, she had to admit to it aloud and sacrifice all that pride. It was worse that Dean knew, to be honest.
She'd done a lot of work to keep anybody from catching on, with the exception of a select few like Sam and Roxas who were on the need-to-know list, and acted like she'd been around the whole time. In a place as populated as Landel's, that was easy, and sure, it had gotten her info, but it might have been easier if she wasn't worried about all of her tale being copacetic with Sam's. Truthfully, they should have had this talk sooner, but there hadn't really been time between weapon-hunting with Roxas and the nurses constantly lurking while the lights were on. Still.
"Not that I'm complaining, but I didn't really think you'd include "Ruby's back all memory-free" when telling him about your day at crazy school."
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Sam acknowledged what she said with a slight nod, but he let any further discussion of it drop. He knew how she felt about Dean and frankly, he didn't begrudge her. He didn't like it, but it wasn't like he'd ever expected any different. She was a demon and Dean hadn't once given her the time of day, not even long enough for Sam to get some damn answers out of her barely thirty hours before the clock was going to strike midnight. So...yeah, he couldn't say he wanted them to be the best of friends. She was agreeing to help him get his brother out and she was willing to be civil. That was about the most he could ask for.
He moved around her to perch on the edge of the desk. "It came up. He saw me beeline for you and he wanted to know why since, uh, something happened the night before. Something I needed to talk to him about before you showed. Actually," he added with some hesitation, "I wanted to tell you that, too. "There was this—incident across the institute, something preying on the subconscious. Anyway, the short of it is, he...knows I have demon blood. As of yesterday afternoon. I had to give him something." He frowned, more at himself than at Ruby. "And he's dealing, so it won't be a problem."
He couldn't quite tell how Ruby would take this news, but what was done was done and honestly, the confession had gotten Dean off his back for the first time in...weeks, it felt like. And Sam had to admit, it made him breathe easier to know that Dean was okay with that giant bombshell. He knew it didn't change anything; there was still a crapload of stuff he hadn't told his brother. But a part of him felt a little less guilty, anyway.
Besides, as far as confessions went, that had been the most practical option. There was no way he could tell Dean about willingly using his powers, and he was glad his shadow hadn't gone down that road. At least the demon blood was something he couldn't help.
"Anyway, at least one patient's known Dean before he even remembers being here, as well, so he's not gonna hold you being version 2.0 against you. Someone might've tampered with him, too."
Or Dean, entirely. Dean as a whole? How many were there, if this altverse stuff was happening? The thought of there being alternate copies of Dean somewhere out there, throughout the various threads of time, was crazy, but it was all too possible.
Had this been in the journal he'd given Ruby, by the way? He could've sworn he'd written it down, but at this point, there was way too much information to keep track of that he'd let himself be more disorganized than he normally would've. It hadn't been necessary to record every little thing down, anyway, until Ruby came back and needed catching up. The journal was more to keep some semblance of order to what was going on, keep him busy when he needed to be kept busy; it wasn't really about him being worried he'd forget. He'd always had a good memory.
Plus, the details of this place weren't things you could forget that easily.
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There was a chance whatever had gotten in her and made her attack Sam had wiped her clean, or there was a chance Landel had brought her in for a personal reboot conditioning session. Either way, it made her wonder what else had happened to her and if there was still something wrong inside. Considering how fritzy her radar had been, she wouldn't be surprised if the vessel-lock had kept her from noticing something else hanky.
But, everything else Sam said made sense. Throw big brother a bone so he didn't go chasing after the whole damn dinner table. It'd keep him busy, keep him at bay, and make Sam feel a little better about all the lies if he could open up about some small things. Sure, she could tell he wasn't wholly happy about it -- whether that was because of how Dean was looking at him (she'd seen enough of the judgey look to know how it stung) or because he wanted to home run with the honesty, she couldn't say. But he'd deal, he was a trooper, and it seemed to ease some of that by reminding him a.) what Dean would think of it and remind him why this something to hide, and b.) let him feel like less of a secretive asshole.
"All right." she didn't seem too bothered, giving a nod of confirmation and understanding. When she realized it might seem a little weird that she was so on board the communication with Dean train, she sighed and began to explain. "Look, it wasn't exactly like we were dealing with him being in the dark," she nearly said back home, but Sam's edition of back home was dean-free, so she treaded cautiously and adjusted her words seamlessly, "before he went downstairs. He knew what Azazel did to you, right? So, he's just caught up a little bit."
It seemed like the obvious solution to her and honestly she was kind of impressed that Sam had been able to work it up on his own like that. She needed to give him more credit in that department. He wasn't just a soldier, he was a strategist, and that was part of why she was so attached.
"He doesn't know it's mine," the demon blood. The word was messy. Talking about it was messy. Ruby liked to avoid it at all costs because calling it what it was would make Sam squirm, she knew that much. Hell, sometimes she thought the idea made her squirm. There was something akin to searching for confirmation, though. God damn him if he had seriously thrown that out there. "And he doesn't know what we're doing," it came out more confidently. "That's the important part. Compared to what we could be dealing with? I'd say we're at crisis level orange. I'm not worrying about it, and neither should you. Dean's not a problem."
A smile worked its way onto her features. The fond, proud kind that Sam always warranted from her, mixed with reassurances that he wasn't alone in this and that he had her there to support him. Support him like Dean never would -- never could -- and back him. No matter what his choices were.
"You did good, Sam."
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He bit back a sigh. Never mind.
His gaze traveled back to Ruby. He didn't return her smile, but he relaxed slightly. It wasn't that he looked to her for reassurance—the thought of that was...it felt wrong, even to him, even after all this time—but he couldn't deny that it put him at ease, knowing that he at least had her to fall back on. Because while he could handle this alone, he knew, too, that having someone at your back wasn't something to turn down.
Not that Dean wasn't there, as well. He knew his brother would always back him when it came down to it. But it was...different, that was all.
He nodded, pausing for a moment to consider if there was anything else he needed to bring it up. The conversation felt pretty much done—he'd agreed to what she wanted. Beyond that, there wasn't a lot in terms of strategy aside from keep Dean from finding out and God knew he already had that part down.
So what else was there...all that angel crap, maybe? Though he had to admit, he wanted to leave that alone for now. Too frigging complicated and messy. He wasn't sure what to make of it yet, even now, and he'd always preferred to sort a situation out for himself before he brought it up as a topic of conversation. Growing up in a household with Dean and Dad had taught him the importance of figuring out exactly where he stood—or at least where he wanted to stand—before tangling himself in a damn yelling match about it.
Oh, right. She had mentioned running into a creature last night. From the way she termed it, it was apparently an oversized gorilla. Sam had seen oversized cats, but he'd yet to run into any oversized apes. Just imagining it made him feel crazy. In the grand scheme of things, it wasn't that important, but he wanted to know regardless. He didn't like having blank spots of information when he could fill them in.
"What was that thing you ran into last night, anyway? You said...King Kong?"
He really, really hoped that that was just an analogy.
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His mention of King Kong brought back the memories of the night before in the kitchen with Roxas and she nodded, still not regretting her choice of words to vaguely describe it on the bulletin despite the fact that, judging by Sam's curiosity, he probably was taking her pretty literally. Pushing back her brief interest in what the kid was up to tonight, she got to working on explaining herself.
"Not life-sized; I mean, it wasn't exactly stomping New York City into rubble, but pretty damn close. I don't spend a lot of time in African jungles hanging around gorillas, but this one was larger than your average bear and seemed more interested in longpig than bananas." All sarcasm aside, that wasn't really the scariest part. The humor seemed to drop out of her expression and it grew something between grim and exasperated. She didn't like admitting to getting her ass kicked six ways from Sunday by an animal. But, they weren't exactly talking about Bambi here.
"I'm no vet, but I got the thing between the ribs with that knife and it didn't even flinch. It's skin was pretty tough to get through, too." She gave a nod over to where the spare kitchen knife was lying around. Sure, it wasn't made for any real fighting, but given the length alone, she had to have punctured a lung -- if it played by normal rules, that was. But it didn't hesitate in the slightest and just continued to fling her and Roxas around like rag dolls.
There was also the part about Roxas summoning up the weirdest sword she could never imagine, doing shit all with it, and the two of them getting knocked out cold, but it was probably better for her pride that she kept that to herself unless Sam got to prying.
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Actually, that...description was pretty average for the monsters that infested the institute from what he could tell. That snake, for instance, where a bullet and a knife from Dean had barely slowed it down. Only Gabriel (Sylar, he kept having to correct) had managed to fry it.
After seeing that one room upstairs, during that crazy night with Peter, Sam knew now where they came from, but it was still really weird to think about just because he wasn't used to looking at in terms of something straight out of science fiction. Myth and urban legends, he got. Some psycho piecing together animal experiments just felt a bit out there, as illogical as he knew that was.
He frowned in thought. "And then the night just ended?"
She hadn't said how she'd killed the thing, so that must've been what'd happened. It'd saved his life a couple of times. He still couldn't forget when Dean had nearly slit his throat. God. Yeah, that had been insanely lucky timing. Or, he guessed luck maybe wasn't the right way to put it. The blackouts were far too convenient for it to ever be an accident. What was bizarre was that several of the patients had died—the number had to be around five or six, possibly more now—which could mean only one of two things: either there was a slip up in whatever system was keeping most of them alive, or the institute had some kind of criteria about who got ganked. Given that they had the ability to bring people back, the latter seemed more likely.
Unsettling as hell, though.
/SHORTEST TAG AFTER AN ETERNITY OF WAITING I'M SO SORRY
"No. And then it flung me across the room like a rag doll and I blacked out. Considering I didn't get torn apart, though, I'm guessin' something like that happened pretty quick." Well, technically, it had taken Roxas it out first. Technically. But as far as she was concerned, he wasn't the critical part to the story and Sam would be better off not hearing about how she was playing babysitter and making friends with Charlie Bucket.
"What about you? Didn't exactly expect a "better than usual" update on check-in. So, you gonna let me in on how you spent your time creepin' around or should I start guessing?"
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Seeing how Castiel's first priority had simply been to get away from Gabriel, he hadn't put much thought into where to go next. Part of that was because it was obvious. Having seen Dean and Gabriel already, Sam was the only one left. He realized that it might be fruitless to visit the younger Winchester, and yet he still had hope that he would be able to get through to Sam where he had seemingly failed with Dean.
Perhaps, if Sam wasn't distracted by a girl the way Dean had been--
That, however, did not turn out to be the case. He landed in a room again, removing his hand from Orihara as usual -- and yet the sight he took in with the aid of his flashlight was more or less the last thing that Castiel could have expected.
Ruby, who had gotten Sam addicted to demon blood and led them all to the cataclysmic end point of releasing Lucifer, was standing there and speaking with Sam like she hadn't died nearly a year ago on that fateful night. It was true that Castiel had not been present for her death, but Dean had told him about it later -- about how he'd plunged a demon-killing knife right between her vessel's ribs.
Both of them seemed far too comfortable with the situation, which was hard for Castiel to reconcile as he stood there, Orihara forgotten for at least the moment, and stared the human and demon down. He felt his small amount of Grace repelling against Ruby's presence and his whole body had tensed without him realizing it.
He needed to tell Sam that he was practically lying with the devil by conversing with Ruby, needed to stop her from spinning her webs of lies, needed to somehow prevent this from falling completely out of control again. He could think about why Ruby was alive later.
And so he advanced on her, not certain of what he was going to do and yet propelled by anger. "You."
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And there was Castiel's voice again: "You're not taking Sam Winchester. I won't let you."
"Castiel," was the man's reply as he started walking around the fire. "I don't understand why you're fighting me... of a—"
And then it was gone. Izaya forced his focus to their new location, where it seemed Castiel once again had stopped to visit acquaintances. He couldn't help but stare for a moment at the man in the room—a man that he recognized from earlier, but whom he'd never seen in person before now.
If Castiel had come to say hello to him, though, that obviously wasn't on his mind now. He was advancing on the girl instead with an accusatory-sounding "You."
He'd stayed quiet last time as he'd still been reeling, but he had more clarity now than before. Curiosity over the situation prompted him to ask, "Something wrong, Castiel?"
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So he sure as hell hadn't expected the freaking angel to just materialize out of nowhere like some David Copperfield trick, along with some guy who looked more confused than not.
Jesus, what—
He started off the desk, drawing his gun without even thinking. (Threatening angels with bullets, great. This was his life now.) He moved forward to step in front of Ruby, as automatic as it'd been his brother instead. As ambivalent he might've felt towards her sometimes, he'd made his alliances a long time ago. Watching her back had stopped being something he had to think about when it came down to it. If Castiel had just walked up to them like a normal person, it would've been different, but sheer surprise of the situation threw every instinct he had on the defensive.
Besides, judging from Castiel's immediate reaction, the guy didn't look that interested in diplomacy at the moment.
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And then it hit her. The stench of the angel -- Castiel, the guy had called him? -- his Grace was overpowering. Her eyes flashed dark, pupils dilating until they had encapsulated the entirety of her eyes in that inky darkness, reflecting a certain kind of hollow darkness within. Immediately, she raised a hand, waving it back towards Sam and stepping between him and the intruders.
How stupid was she right now? Putting herself between him and an angel. But whatever they were here for, it couldn't possibly be good news and as much as she wanted to hold onto that self preservation, there was something in Sam that was a whole lot more important to be preserved.
"Sam, get back," she barked. A surprising thing happened then, something she hadn't intended. A power thrumming through her veins, concentrating in the hand that was thrown out in Sam's direction. And a force, strong and invisible, moved out from that point as she flung her hand backwards to keep him back, hurling Sam into the wall behind him, above his bed.
Oops.
It was enough to distract her from the angel and the seething rage that was filling her at the sheer sight of him. She looked backwards, a little frantic and discombobulated, worried at the sound of crashing that accompanied his fall.
Immediately she hurled a glare that was meant to distract from her own failure at Castiel and his nameless but equally guilty companion.
"A lot of things are wrong with Castiel. Crashing into rooms unannounced is just the tip of the friggen iceberg." She seethed. It was mostly directed at Castiel, though it was in unsolicited response to his companion's question and generally addressed him.
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Even though Castiel was well aware that the bullets could hurt him as much as any human now -- the night he'd tried to make it to the chapel with the Doctor had proved that rather clearly -- he stared at the weapon like it was a toy instead of a killing device. The truth was that Sam was the furthest thing from his mind right now, even if he was the reason that he'd come here in the first place.
No, his gaze quickly returned to Ruby, expecting an explanation. She didn't back down from facing him, even forcing Sam out of the way. And yet the way she did so was completely unnecessary and entirely too predictable for a demon.
That act of violence against someone he'd come to see as a friend (even if that feeling clearly wasn't returned at the moment) was enough to spur him into further action. Castiel lunged forward with two quick steps and seized Ruby by her arm. She could still use telekinesis; that was something he would need to file away and address later.
Instead, he pulled her close, staring her right in her blackened eyes. "How did you get here? What are you doing here?" His tone was stiff and demanding, Orihara's question and Sam's state after he'd hit the wall forgotten for the moment.
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And then the man—Sam, she'd called him? Was it the same Sam that he'd 'heard' mentioned a moment ago?... He'd gone flying away almost like he'd been thrown, and then the woman started throwing accusations about Castiel's character. It was a personal history, then, and one that Izaya would stay out of.
He removed himself from beside Castiel, heading for where Sam had fallen instead—partly to see how he was after that and partly to keep out of the couple's issues in case it put him in the line of fire. Their spat was interesting, but right now the questions of what had happened to Sam? and how had that even happened? were foremost on his mind.
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Then again, this alternate version had to be someone's home. Who was to say that this wasn't his Earth even still? Maybe Brooklyn or Sam had been the ones who had come from different versions, where things like gargoyles and demons existed. Not that Peter was discounting the possibility that those things were real in his Earth too, but...
In a way, he hoped that was the case. If they were all from different Earths, that would mean that he might not have a chance of seeing Sam or some of his other friends here if they ever escaped. He knew it shouldn't have bothered him, but he'd always been the sort to get quickly attached to people.
But that wasn't something he could worry about now, seeing how escape was still a faraway and unattainable thing for all of them. And with the two announcements that were made, both the mention of a project and the short speech given by an unknown voice, it seemed even more clear that this was not going to get any easier for them.
Still, even with all these distractions Peter knew that he had somewhere he needed to go tonight, and that was the pharmacy. He could only hope that meeting up with Ritsuka would go off without a hitch this time around, though he was prepared to head up the stairs on his own if it came to that. He'd been putting this off for too long. Even if it had been for good reasons, such as helping out Claire, he couldn't let it go anymore.
So once the announcements had finished, Peter got everything he needed: his pillowcase full of medical supplies (which he tossed his radio into), his flashlight, and his shovel.
With all of that gathered, he sent Sam a small smile. "Good luck tonight. I get the feeling it's going to be another tough one." He'd missed out on those shadows last time, so Peter didn't expect he would be so lucky this round.
After giving a final wave to his roommate, he headed out the door and down the hall.
M30
Something to do with fingers? S.T. opened his eyes and stared at his index finger. He wiggled it, as if doing so would uncover an avalanche of small pieces of cardstock, and in their wake, the empty catalog drawers that precisely paralleled his state of mind. After that, the name of the thing would be superfluous. Relieving, but superfluous.
It was also too dark in the room for him to actually see the finger he was staring at. He crossed the room and peeled his flashlight from the toolkit by feel alone. That was familiar. So were the shapes inside the kit. Round bottles, delicate sheaves of paper, a small, round circle of metal. He slid each one out and into the pocket of his jeans. Once everything was arranged to his satisfaction, he put them on.
[to here]
M27
He noted that General Aguilar had yet to show himself or speak to the patients at large. Whether there was some sort of significance behind that had yet to be seen, however. In the meantime, there were other things they needed to concern themselves with. Spock quickly finished his preparations for tonight, straightening his uniform and grabbing his items for the night.
While he and Dr. McCoy hadn't made as much progress as Spock would have liked, he privately admitted that he was rather curious as to what rested beyond the institute's walls. Such an excursion obviously required more than two officers, so he could understand Kirk's reasons for ordering that he and McCoy accompany him. Though he didn't know what Nyota intended to do for the night, Spock understood perfectly well that she'd likely put her talents and skills to use while remaining cautious.
Without lingering another moment, Spock opened the door and stepped out into the hallway.
((To here (http://community.livejournal.com/damned/1043870.html?thread=75894174#t75894174).))
M27
Once he'd laced up his boots and pulled on his heavy coat, he wasted no time in getting himself to the door, knife in one hand and his light in the other. Always careful not to run into Peter when the moron had a shovel in hand, he pressed down on the handle with the heel of his hand and then nudged the door open with his shoulder, peering into the hallway beyond.
So far, so good. Only one figure was walking through the hallway, and they seemed to be heading into it, not out. Not Peter, then.
But as Sylar prepared to step out of the door, he noticed something that made him pause. The figure was systematically sweeping each doorway with their light, and when they did, the glow reflected back from their flashlight and illuminated their features.
Claire.
Sylar pulled back into his room and narrowed his eyes at the wall. Chances were that Claire had come here to look for Peter, but given how slowly she was searching and how much care she was taking with the doors, she either wasn't very familiar with Peter's room block... ...or Peter had warned her about what else might be lurking in the patient quarters.
But... that didn't make sense, did it? Sylar frowned. Peter being Peter, he might've told Claire about sharing a room hallway with their nemesis, but regardless of whether he had or not, he'd never allow Claire to come here precisely because of how much it'd endanger her. Not unless he was ready to "protect" her, anyway, but then... why was Claire alone? And, if she was alone, why didn't she seem to be on the immediate lookout for danger? Sylar had seen how determined she was to take him down when he'd provoked her during that movie, but while he considered her stupid enough to try to fight him, he knew she wasn't brave enough to do it with a level face... which was what she had, right now, out in the hallway.
So. Peter didn't know that Claire was here, and Claire didn't know about Sylar.
A smirk grew on Sylar's face as he tightened his hold on the knife in his hand. Just one ambush – one good bash on the skull, one good slice...
But was now the time?
His smirk weakened. Sylar's priority right now was to find out what the hell was going on in the Institute, and if his experiences with Kimbley and Elle had taught him anything, it was that even if he did manage to acquire a new power, it was heavily limited, and worse, left him in crippling pain for over a day. He didn't know if he could afford that right now, even if he could feel the edge of his need digging into him like cold metal. It'd have to wait, and besides, as much as he hated to admit it...
He slowly raised his gaze to the door.
As much as he hated to admit it, he already had a new ability that he'd yet to harness.
M27
He felt his knees give out. He gasped for air as his hands hit the side of his desk, struggling in vain to pull himself upright again. But, as soon as he tried to put weight into his palms, he felt them flare up and he staggered back, hitting the room's other desk in the process. Off-balance, he stumbled and hit the ground, though he could barely feel the shock of the impact through the twisting, tearing, crushing agony that had become his muscles and joints.
He fought not to scream as his nose stretched and wrenched back together, as each individual bone in his fingers and toes seemed to break and reform. His vision glassed over, then sharpened. He hacked on his own phlegm as his stomach turned and his throat went slack. Rigid, his arms and legs jerked against the ground in erratic bursts as his lungs and heart shrunk, then grew.
His back arched and slammed back down. Then, nothing.
M27
In this room. Forever.
His eyes shot open and he inhaled deeply as he pressed his hands against the floor and pushed himself to his knees. He could already see that the scar on his hand had disappeared, but – fast, he needed to be fast. Claire might've already left, or worse, caught up with Peter, in which case this had all been for nothing.
He dragged himself to his feet using the mattress as his hand-hold, then tried not to fall over. He found himself disoriented by how he hadn't actually regained his full height, but that was the least of his worries; he looked down at himself – clothing a little baggier, but that's how it looked on everyone, and he yanked his coat off his shoulders as he realized that it'd easily give him away. Knife too, if Claire had talked to Elle – and she might've.
He shoved the knife under his pillow – painfully – and then turned to face the door. He snatched up his flashlight from where it'd fallen on the ground and put his hand on the doorknob. Here went–
He froze, and then, with a frown, slapped a hand to his forehead and ripped off the small piece of gauze that still sat there. He ran an unfamiliar finger over the incision injury, finding only the few stitches that remained. No scars, just like his hand.
Quickly, he arranged the stupid bangs over the injury and then, with grit teeth, stepped outside.
[ Into the main hall. ]
From M30
Prussia thought the name had a real ominous sound to it—and the stuff about not disappointing some general again (General Aguilar, the new voice doing the announcements had said?) didn't help that much. He would have had little problem with this place coming under military supervision if it weren't for... well, just about everything that had happened since the soldiers arrived. There were too many bad reminders of what might happen next.
He waited until Taylor had left to move from his desk, going straight for the closet. He opened it slowly, as if he were afraid of finding out that the sword he'd gotten off of Raph really hadn't been there. But it was, and he grabbed it out without a second thought. He had a long night ahead of him, and things that he needed to do.
The first thing he had to do was find.....
Gilbert frowned. He'd wanted to talk to someone all day, right? With some effort he could picture the guy—tall, blond, and imposing.... Ah, right; Ludwig, that was the name. He'd wanted to discuss this morning's events with the guy, though why he'd thought some guy he'd only met a handful of times was the best person to talk to escaped now him. He remembered calling the guy his brother once or twice when he was talking to other people, but the 'why' of that seemed just as elusive at the moment as why he wanted to find Ludwig. Maybe he'd meant that the guy was like a brother. They weren't related, after all, even if the guy had said his last name was Beilschmidt too. Gilbert would have known if he had a brother.
But come to think of it.......
...Well, whatever; his mind felt sluggish, and over-thinking little things like that wasn't helping. The first thing he had to do was find Ludwig, and he'd figure out what to do after that later. His sword in one hand and flashlight in the other, he headed out of the room and down the hall.
[To here]
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Just like everything else. Was it? Was he really still in his bed somewhere, dreaming all of this? Was he in Tokyo-3? Or an apartment somewhere in Tokyo? Or in his bed at Landel's? Or actually in this corridor? It was all confusing, all running together and becoming one giant knot of confusion. He had to go, though. He had to. If only to find his friends.
But were they really his friends-?
He shook the thought free and stepped out into the hallway. The doubt chased after him.
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Japan really didn't know and that uncertainty twisted his stomach. Not only that, but now new people on the intercom were talking about how there would be a project being initiated tonight. Military projects never ended well for civilians except for the internet and highways, and Japan highly doubted these new people were giving the patients either of those.
Flashlight in hand, Japan opened the door to his room and then paused, staring out into the darkness. There was a nagging feeling in the back of his mind. What was it? Something...uncomfortable. Very uncomfortable. Japan pulled at the collar of his shirt and then started forward, frowning to himself.
[to here (http://community.livejournal.com/damned/1043870.html?thread=75970718#t75970718)]
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His eyes darted back and forth down the hallway as he tried to divide his attention between keeping himself composed and turning on his flashlight–
He slammed into something in the darkness and stumbled back against the wall. His light, now on, shot up, and... Claire's face. Surprised, but not afraid – in fact, her body's tension relaxed in the moment that Sylar stared at her. The alienness of it stopped him cold for a second.
Then, with instinct he both could and couldn't understand, he smiled and straightened from the wall.
"Hey, Claire..." He raised a hand to scratch through his ridiculously shaggy hair. He grinned weakly. "You scared me."
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"I didn't think you were that easy to sneak up on," there was some light teasing to her tone that indicated she was just ribbing him, particularly in combination with her wry smile. It quickly dropped into a more genuine, despondent look and she tugged her lips and she shifted her gaze briefly to the ground, swallowing. "I'm sorry," she amended. By the sound of it, it wasn't just for scaring him, there was shared context going on that she wasn't exactly explaining right off the bat.
"After the announcement went off and after what happened in the sun room, I just … I know we didn't talk about it or anything, but I wanted to make sure you were okay." It sounded a lot stupider coming out of her mouth than it did in her head when she'd practically run over here when the lights went out. So, she shrugged some, letting her eyes drift to the wall behind him. The peripheral light from the flashlight managed to light up the numbers of the room he'd come out of and she scrutinized for a minute.
"I guess it's a good thing I scared you," she added without warning, brow wrinkling in confusion and then looking back at his face with a laugh. "I could have sworn you told me your room was 24. I'm pretty sure whoever's down the hall wouldn't appreciate me just bursting in while they're in their underwear or something." Okay, so maybe she couldn't think of a good reason that anyone would be in their underwear while in their rooms, but it was the principle of the thing.
Besides, sandwiching her seriousness between jokes made it a thousand times easier to deal with the fact that she was winding up to get ready and tell him that she was wrong, Bella was off the hook, Pete was a good guy, etc., etc.
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And it was a relief that he sorely needed. As soon as Claire started talking to him like an old friend, implying references to events and conversations that he'd never been a part of or even overheard, he realized just how out of his depth he was. He'd have to be even more careful than usual – one misstep and the game would be over, not only for tonight, but for the rest of his time at the Institute. If he allowed Claire to survive to the morning, then yeah, she'd inevitably find out that Peter hadn't been the one she'd actually hung out with during this Nightshift. And, while that realization would be disconcerting, it could still be explained away in a number of ways given the Institute's weird track record, but if she found out that the shapeshifter had been Sylar...
Then it'd make life significantly harder for him, and this damn power significantly less valuable.
His mind raced through the inferences in Claire's words about as quickly as she spoke them. She was trying to apologize to Peter? Sylar... hadn't expected that, but given what he'd seen of her in the Sun Room, he wouldn't be surprised if her impulsive anger stretched to areas of her life outside of scary boogeymen. And... announcement? Sun Room? The changing guard at the Institute was probably the hot topic across the patient body, but did this mean that Peter and Claire had seen something important? Something that Sylar hadn't?
But apparently, Sylar's momentary silence was exactly what Claire needed to change the subject to something more immediate and far more dangerous. He tensed. Dammit, her seeing him come out of M27 was bad – really bad. Peter knew that this was Sylar's room, and...
Peter knew that this was Sylar's room.
Relaxing and sighing, 'Peter' took a step away from the door, putting some distance between him and it, and some closeness between him and Claire. He looked back to Claire, fixing her with a serious gaze.
"No, I... did say that. And I I'm glad you're okay too. The thing is..." Putting on the dark frown that Sylar knew so well, he raised a finger and pointed it at the door he'd just come from. "That room? Is Sylar's."
It was stupid for Sylar to point this out to Claire, and that was the whole point. Peter already knew that Sylar was in this hallway, so Claire would probably find out eventually anyway, and if they ever accused Sylar of having had a part in all this... Well, if it had been him, why would he ever try to incriminate himself so obviously?
And all this brought up an even bigger point, one that went right along with Claire's ignorance toward the specifics and the generals of Peter and Sylar's rooming situations. Why hadn't Peter told her about M27 in the first place? And why was Claire acting as if this was the first time she'd searched for Peter's room? Shouldn't Peter have been forewarning her of where Sylar tended to be at night? Unless...
Unless he was trying to protect her from something – maybe her own stupidity. It fit the situation and the personalities involved; plus, telling from the real Peter's absence and Claire's own apologetic tone, Peter definitely hadn't planned on meeting with her tonight. It fit Peter's nature that he'd not just help her, but outright prevent her from putting herself in danger.
And it fit Sylar's nature to imitate it.
"...Which is exactly why," he continued quickly, his brow creasing in concern, "I didn't want you hanging around here."
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"Peter," she hissed stubbornly, casting a paranoid glance over his shoulder and fixing her gaze on the door of the room. It seemed so much more ominous now. Her mind flashed to an image of her front door, slamming shut, refusing to open. No escape. She swallowed thickly and looked back up at Peter to anchor herself and push away the fear. Not now, Bennet. "Maybe next time you tell me where to find you, you could include that as part of the memo? There are a few rooms I'd like to avoid on my candystriping rounds, and Sylar's? Happens to be one of them! The top of the list, even!" Her gaze began to drift back to the door and suddenly her eyebrows knitted together in stubborn confusion.
"What were you doing at his room, anyway?" Sketchy didn't even begin to cover it. Secretly, though, she was hoping he'd smothered him in his sleep or something. That'd teach him to try and backseat parent. Her violent thoughts got interrupted by her rationality. Shaking the entirety of it off, she grabbed his hand. "Come on, let's just … get out of here, okay? I don't want to be around when he leaves."
Turning on her heels, she began to drag Peter after her back towards the main block hallway. The faster they got out of there, the better. Prying questions could wait until later. When they reached the mouth of the hall, she glanced left, then glanced right; her flashlight following the path of her vision to insure that the boogeyman wasn't lurking in the shadows waiting to jump them or something. Satisfied that there was no one out there who would pose a significant threat, she pulled Peter out into it after her.
[ to here (http://community.livejournal.com/damned/1043870.html?thread=75974814#t75974814) ]
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By the time the door had clicked open, Roxas was storming out the door, the black leather of the Organization coat sweeping behind him. One hand gripped his pipe, the other his flashlight, installed with new batteries and as strong as a light he could create himself.
Sure, the Nobody didn't know Neku all that well. Their dinners were mostly either curt conversations or a comfortable silence, and they had never spent any time outside of dinner together. That didn't mean he deserved whatever the institute was doing to him. Roxas wasn't going to just... ignore it! He couldn't. But he couldn't leave Goku, either. He couldn't let Sora down on that end, and Goku might get in trouble.
A moment of indecision froze him right outside his door. What should he do...?
Goku first. Roxas could use the help. This was more important than exploring or finding items or something.
M25
It would be natural for any of Landel's prisoners to be tempted to find satisfaction, even pleasure, in his apparent downfall, but in L's opinion, it would also be foolish to do so without knowing what would take his place. The fact that Aguilar had apparently had oversight of the Institute all along didn't leave much room for optimism. The status quo had been bad enough, and L would be surprised if it improved under Aguilar's direct supervision; rather, his bet was for the situation to take a right turn and then go downhill. The General might be less twisted than Landel—that remained to be seen—but it seemed absurd to anticipate that he might be less strict. Different would not necessarily be better.
L had experienced a niggling sense of irritation with himself all day, a frustration based on the fact that he hadn't already ascertained the extent of military involvement in his predicament. There had been hints all along that the military—a military, at any rate—was involved in the Institute's workings, but there had been no way to tell how current that involvement was, or whether or not the representation of it was all for show. Landel's references to training had become more frequent, more prominent, since Saturday. Before today, it would have been tempting to wonder if the references had any connection to reality, or if they amounted to obfuscation that was targeted at Jill and Marc and the rest of their nebulous group; L was certain there hadn't been enough information for him to make a definite connection, not one that he could believe or use as a real basis for theories, but it still rankled at him. Now, even though "the training" seemed real, or at least more plausible, that conclusion still left a number of questions open.
In the last day or two, Landel had seemed nervous; he must have known that his dismissal was a possibility, maybe even a certainty. There was no record that L was aware of, among the patients, of a previous visit by General Aguilar. The General might have come to the Institute for the sole purpose of removing Landel, which would make it a pre-determined outcome that had nothing to do with the events of the General's visit. (Why bring so many troops, otherwise? In gauging the probability that the takeover had been planned from the beginning, the presence of the soldiers added so much weight to that argument that it wasn't worth calculating. He had all but discarded his early theory that there could have been a purge of previous patients, but now, the presence of armed guards caused the idea to rise again in the back of his mind, shadowy and ominous. He couldn't let fear control him any more than he could give reign to his anger, though; doing so would only remove the last few grains of hope. If he was living on borrowed time, he would try to use it productively.)
With regard to the differences between Landel and Aguilar, the next few days would tell for sure, but the learning process might have a costly effect on the patients. It all depended on variables which would be hard to predict.
He wouldn't make the same mistake tonight that he'd made last night. The Walther would stay locked in the drawer. He'd wear the ring; he had no intention of climbing walls on this outing, so if he was in a situation in which the stone was likely to be broken, the breakage might be an advantage, pulling him to safety without requiring him to make the decision to escape. His white shirt was no longer torn or bloodied. He put it on, but chose a pair of sweatpants instead of his jeans: the pockets were more accomodating. Sneakers would do for indoors. The radio went into his pillowcase, along with a first aid kit and a roll of gauze, and he carried the light and the long blade.
Pocketing his keys, he set out for the meeting point that he and Figaro had arranged at lunch.
[Skipping ahead to here.]