Day 55: Cafeteria

[tightsofmight]

A night spent inside his room had done nothing to ease his jitters. Peter couldn't stop worrying. Over Brainy, what he thought of him now that he knew about what he'd done to Grell, and where he was going for the night. If he'd be safe. If Indy and the others would be safe, trucking on down to the basement. (Not frigging likely, considering 'basement' was synonymous for 'giant ass doom pit'.) If that ominous intercom announcement had meant anything. Peter had spent hours staring into the dark after that, his stomach churning his supper into butter over the horrific possibilities. Whatever punishment that arose for the food fight was a mystery. It didn't seem to infect him, unless it was a particularly trying case of insomnia. No matter how badly Peter tried, he couldn't find the will to sleep. Much of the night had been spent making notations and doodles in his journal by flashlight, peppered with long stretches of staring at the dark.

Honestly, he'd rather be taking another crack at the Hall of Hallucinations instead of rolling around in his bed. Paranoia was his only company the whole night.

Morning felt like a blessing by the time it came. He wasn't sure when sleep had finally overtaken him, but as he blinked his way into life he couldn't help feeling a bit...off.

It was really quiet. Peter's face scrunched under the light, and he stretched underneath the covers. There was a zip of cotton on cotton, and his shirt half dragged itself out from under the belt.

His eyes shot open. Belt? The covers flipped back, and Peter gaped down at his form on the bed. ...Belt?!

What the frigging hell was this? Peter jolted to his feet, patting himself down. He looked like some kind of air cadet. There were freaking epaulettes on his shoulders (was that even what they were called?), boots on his feet and a beret on the dresser. A single pin was nestled into the front, looking freshly polished as it glinted in the light. Peter snatched the hat up and stared. Two letters were inscribed on the pin. Nothing more, nothing less.

"SC..."

Special Counseling? Peter's expression took a turn for the frantic. What else could it stand for? He tried to run through a few candidates, but nothing stuck. Nothing applied so neatly without being ridiculous, because it clearly didn't stand for Super Cuckoo or Spider Cadet. Was he supposed to wear this like some stupid badge of honour? God, just brand it across his forehead, why don't you? My name is Peter Parker and I totally snapped a guy's arm for Mother Landel's. Hail the Smiley!

Peter pressed the beret against his face and groaned into the fabric. This was it. They weren't playing games anymore. They were finally turning this into death match boot camp and sending them off to war. Shit. Shit he was going to be in the frigging army in some messed up alternate universe, and he didn't even know what the frick they were fighting against or why they were fighting. If they were pulling magical whatsits out of every book and TV show known to man, then who knew what wacky threat they were up against. Aliens? If it was aliens, he was quitting. He was going to curl up on the ground hugging a grenade and pull the pin. Just no. No. This was not happening. This could not be frigging happening.

Except that it was. The person who whipped open the door that morning wasn't the affably sour Nurse Rachel, but a hulking, thickly built man who looked like he consumed a toddler a meal solely to fuel his pecs. Peter couldn't even find the breath to argue as he was told to tuck in his shirt and put on his boots and come to the cafeteria. He left just as another soldier brushed past them to collect Brainy, and Peter abruptly realized that in his confusion he'd forgotten to check if the boy was okay.

Too late for that now. Peter tried to match pace with the burly man, fumbling to put his snazzy new beret on and watching with wary eyes as other patients were dragged by. Things seemed even bleaker as they hit the cafeteria. The buffet was empty. The scent of food was lacking. Soldiers packed along the borders of the room so neatly you would think they were part of a particularly tacky wall paper. And worst of all? Buckets. Mops and rags and brooms, all piled in the center of the room.

The lady officer's speech was entirely unnecessary at that point. Peter withered where he stood as she told them their duty. It was like a scolding from Aunt May, if someone gave her a gun and a license to use it. Except the joke only made things worse - now he just wanted his Aunt. The force of his loneliness bowled him over like a wrecking ball. He might never see Aunt May again. Peter's gaze fell to the floor and he clenched his fists.

Was this it? Was his life really over? Escape never seemed so far away.

There was no protest from him as they were sent to work. Ashen and queasy, Peter stumbled towards the cleaning supplies and selected a bucket and a rag. He couldn't even bemoan his lack of breakfast. His nerves were making it impossible to even think about food.

They needed to get out tonight. Everyone. Somehow...

[Lion!]

Comments

[boyking]

Truth was, he should've known better than to be caught off guard. Of course the two of them were bound to bump into each other, and of course it would result in a spectacular blowout. He knew he couldn't stay in the middle, as much as he felt caught in it, and when it came down to it, he still trusted Ruby more than he did some angel he hadn't even known existed until three days ago. But he also wasn't exactly looking to incite any bad blood here if he could help it. There'd been a reason why he'd extended a tentative truce with Gabriel, why he hadn't done anything about Castiel until now, and why he'd been avoiding discussing it with Ruby as much as possible. He didn't need the mess, end of story. And not only him, but Dean, either. He was interested in getting Dean alive and out of here. That was it. For such as simple goal, this was getting really freaking complicated. Angels. He never thought he'd run into a supernatural entity that caused more trouble than demons, but at this point, he'd pick demons. At least he knew he could take them, what to do with them, where he stood with them. What was he supposed to do with an angel?

More to the point, what was Dean going to want to do with them, 'cause he foresaw that being an issue that was gonna come up, too.

Sam sighed and grabbed some of the cleaning supplies as soon as the woman left. The situation sort of sucked, but it didn't seem worth it to complain. With the amount that was on his mind, he had to admit, he wasn't going to turn down the opportunity to throw himself into some mindless task.

But talk about high security. Were they mercenaries? That almost seemed more likely than actual organized official military, given the lack of...everything. No rank, no insignias, nothing. It wasn't as if the doctors and nurses had struck him as proper doctors and nurses. Certainly not for a psychiatric institution. Or a military institution now.

Then maybe we can call you valuable. Dammit, what the hell did that mean? After being tossed into an impromptu Battle Royale at Cold Oak to find out he was well on his way to being demon general, Sam wasn't exactly sitting well with the idea of being trained up for a purpose.

He caught a quick glimpse of Dean across the room before he could practically feel some of the soldiers stare at him. Christ. Okay. He'd have to look for Ruby later. He hoped she wasn't getting into trouble. He didn't think so, but it was...Ruby. As well as he knew her, he wouldn't call her predictable.

Since going all the way across the room to join Dean seemed to push it—and he kind of wanted to hold off until he could sort stuff out, take a break from anything supernatural—he decided he'd look for some nearby company. His eyes landed on a familiar face. He didn't know the kid's name, but he'd been around long enough to start recognizing people he'd only seen in passing. He knew there was more to a lot of the patients (that word didn't work anymore, did it), but man, still. The kid looked like he should be in high school, not stuck with all of this crap.

Sam knelt down beside the boy. He'd started out with every intention of spending this shift on his feet (it wasn't anything; he was just, you now. Kind of the wrong size for getting on his hands and knees. He tended to end up with all the grace of a bear on stilts), but it occurred to him he'd get more privacy by ducking down. He'd take that trade-off.

He rolled up his sleeves and offered a smile, friendly without being pushy. "Mind some company?"

[lighthearted]

Sora hadn't necessarily been a spoiled kid, but his parents also hadn't treated him like a servant rather than a child. He'd been given chores to do, but they had also allowed him to leave his room at least a little messy most of the time. And even when his mom had gotten upset and ordered him to clean the kitchen or something, he'd always been able to call friends over to split up the work.

He realized that was the case here, too. The cafeteria was a big room, but with so many people working together it probably wouldn't take much time at all! He just hoped everyone did their fair share...

When Sora bent down to really put some muscle into his scrubbing, he found that his beret kept almost falling off, forcing him to readjust each time to put it back in place. It was frustrating, especially since the hat was supposed to fit, but his hair was just impossible to deal with sometimes.

He was distracted by that minor annoyance when another patient came and took up a spot next to him. Good, some help! Sora stared up at the tall man and was a little relieved when he decided to get a bit closer to the ground. The guy looked familiar, which probably meant he'd been around for a while.

Sora had already decided that the classes didn't matter to him, but he was still curious. The stranger's dog tags were tucked away, so he had to ask. "No, not at all! Oh, and I was curious... What class are you? You've been here for a while, right? I've seen you around."

[boyking]

For his part, Sam's bangs kept falling into his eyes. The upside was that he was pretty used to it, having always had them too long since...ever. Part of this was because Dean had made it a habit early on of bitching about their length and how one day, it was gonna get his ass kicked six ways to Sunday.

This had...admittedly happened. Several times. But not because of his hair.

"Uh." Sam paused, fingers in the wet sponge, before starting up again. "B-class. I've been here just under three weeks."

He missed the car, he wasn't going to deny it. He'd never had the attachment Dean did to the Impala, but after Dean died, it'd...meant something more to him and even with his brother back again, it hadn't quite lost that. Had the one he'd driven in that pocket dimension been a replica? Probably. He hadn't found her where he'd last remembered leaving her, at least. He hoped so, 'cause otherwise it meant she was sitting in the middle of an empty parking lot somewhere. At least he hadn't crashed her or anything.

"I've seen you around, too. I'm Sam, by the way," he added. He would've offered his hand, but, you know. It'd be better if they didn't look like they were socializing too much, anyway. He didn't want to be responsible for getting someone else in trouble. "Do you know what they mean? Like, the ranking. The soldier this morning was sort of the...strong and silent type."

He figured the kid knew, or had some idea, if he was asking. Considering he'd coupled it with a comment on the length of time Sam had been here, Sam realized belatedly that the question had been unnecessary: the class system corresponded to how long they'd been here. Was that it?

It made sense. The ones who disappeared for good, that obviously wasn't accidental. They'd been knocked off for a reason, meaning the ones who stuck around had been deemed, God, what. Valuable?

That was one way to phrase it. The thought made him uneasy.

[lighthearted]

B Class? Sora hadn't expected that. If he was S Class and that was the best one, then he'd figured the other ones would be T and U and things like that. Then again, this place had never made much sense to him; why would the soldiers taking over have changed that?

When the man offered his name, Sora pulled up onto his knees and sent him a smile. "I'm Sora! It's nice to meet you." If both of them had been spotting each other for a while now, then it was kind of funny that they hadn't started talking until now. But there were so many patients coming in and out that it made some sense. And Sora usually dedicated a chunk of his time to catching up with friends he'd already made, which meant that sometimes he missed out on meeting other potential friends.

The structured schedule also made it difficult, and he got the feeling that that would become even stricter now, if that was possible.

He knew that he shouldn't stop cleaning for too long, though, and so he quickly moved down to a part he hadn't wiped his sponge over yet and kept working. "The soldier who brought me here made it sound like it had to do with how long we've been here, yeah. I don't know why that matters, but..."

It meant that the guy had treated him decently, though, so it seemed that his persistence and consistent good behavior had gotten him somewhere. But he was still on his hands and knees scrubbing a cafeteria floor clean, so he wasn't that impressed.

[boyking]

Sam returned the smile. "Yeah, I guess it was time we did."

You know, given the circumstances, Sora seemed to be adapting pretty well. Not that this was too big a surprise from the other people he'd already met, but still. If they weren't both wrist-deep in soapy water, he'd have thought they were chatting across a table at a diner somewhere.

He wondered if Sora had parents or something. If it made a difference—Sam wasn't a hundred percent sure whether it was possible to be missed in the first place, but he was leaning towards the answer to that being a no. His own case wasn't much to go off of (hunters made it a point to disappear even before they, well. Actually disappeared), but there was Peter's brother. Senator, wasn't that what his roommate had said?

He nodded at the confirmation. "It's probably just one way of divvying up the hierarchy." He wouldn't be surprised if it got down to the higher ranks having some kind of authority over the lower ones. It'd be the easiest method of breaking any sort of solidarity. Though at this point, it was too early to tell how far this was all gonna go—but he figured assuming all the way was a pretty safe bet.

Curious, he glanced at Sora. "Did he say anything else?"

[lighthearted]

Even though Sam was trying to make a guess at what the ranks were for, Sora didn't really get it. Divvy up for what? Why did there have to be a hierarchy in the first place? This military stuff just made no sense to him, and the only thing he could really relate it to was the Organization. They'd also assigned ranks through numbers that were based on when a member "joined," right? Which was why Roxas, the final one, had been number thirteen.

His hand was starting to feel sore from all of the monotonous scrubbing, and so Sora took a moment to wring the sponge out and then get some fresh water onto it. This seemed like way more work than fighting monsters to him, but he realized that probably wasn't the case for most people. His life hadn't exactly been ordinary for the past year or two.

At Sam's question, he took a moment to think back on the conversation he'd had with that soldier. It hadn't been that long ago, after all. "He said that if I continued to behave, I'd be treated well. I'm not sure what that means, but he did let me write on the bulletin board before coming in here."

He had no idea if either of his notes had been responded to yet, but he hoped that at least Venom got back to him. He wasn't going to keep his hopes up for Riku. Sighing, he started to clean again. At least the chore did a good job of distracting him from certain thoughts.

[boyking]

Sounded about right. Rank + privileges was pretty average. Sam did consider that maybe the soldier had gone easy on Sora because Sora was younger. He couldn't imagine all of them being completely heartless, but he wasn't naive enough to rule it out, either. Besides, he wasn't sure whether he was supposed to take these soldiers as actual people or if they were something else. The brainwashing thing was straight out of sci-fi, but it seemed real enough here, and it didn't have to just apply to the patients.

"Keeping your head down does sound like a good idea," he agreed. It'd probably be harder for some than others, though. Harder for most, even, because he'd figured out pretty quick that a good chunk of the people pulled into here weren't exactly the type to do as they were told. Hell, even he was finding his patience fraying, if he had to be honest.

He shifted along the floor. Man, this was some bad planning. Like, logistically speaking. People were gonna just keep stepping into each other's newly cleaned areas. He knew cleaning wasn't the point, but still. There should've been a system and the lack of one bugged him in that irrational way.

He started to say something else when he saw Sora's beret start to tilt again, the way it'd been doing this whole time.

"Oh, hey—" He reached up and pushed it back into place before it could fall right off. He hadn't missed the soldiers getting on people's cases about the state of their uniform. "Your hair really doesn't like being covered, huh?"

[lighthearted]

"Keeping your head down" was what Sam called it. Sora just figured it was a matter of being nice and following orders. He wasn't a very confrontational person, not like Riku -- though he got the feeling that even his friend would have known better than to start arguing with these guys. They had no way to fight back and it would just get them on their bad side, which could have some serious consequences. All in all, his night with Kairi had been very calm, but that was because they'd chosen to take it easy.

Either way, he'd been behaving well enough so far, and while the general's attitude annoyed him, Sora was able to focus on other things and distract himself so that he didn't lose his temper too much. He wasn't that happy about having to clean the floor, but having someone to talk to made it ten times better. He always thrived around company.

But then his hat was starting to fall again, and both of his hands were wet with soapy, dirty water -- he flailed for a moment, not wanting it to fall again, but Sam came to the rescue.

He tilted his head back as Sam pushed the beret up to make sure that the hat was fitted more firmly onto his head. Even with that in mind, though, it probably wouldn't be long before it slipped off again. The boy sighed and nodded (though only barely -- any sudden movements with his head would probably send the beret toppling). "Yeah. Basically the only thing that makes it go kind of flat is if it gets wet..."

Normally he had no problem with his hair, but in this instance he was getting a little frustrated. Then again, he could always blame the hat instead. Why did they have to wear one?

[boyking]

Usually, Sam would've figured this for an exaggeration—you know, that whole, "my hair just won't stay in place" kind of thing—but he was pretty much witnessing the literalness of Sora's statement right now. It was kinda weird if he considered it too long and he realized he was only half-kidding when he wondered briefly if it was maybe...possessed or its own entity or something.

...Yeah, okay. This place was definitely driving him crazy. Oh God.

He scrubbed the floor a little harder, as if that would turn his thought processes back to normal.

"Maybe they'll let you bobby pin it on," he said wryly. It was only then that it suddenly clicked where he'd heard the name before. Or seen, actually. He didn't know why he hadn't made the connection immediately. Part of it might've been because he hadn't expected it to be someone so young, but in hindsight, he should've guessed from the tone of those notes that they'd been written by a teenager.

"Hey, uh. You're the one running the Arts & Crafts thing?"

[lighthearted]

That was actually a good idea. Well, maybe. Sora had always thought that bobby pins were for girls. Kairi and Selphie had made them out of things they'd found on the beach, kind of like those thalassa shell necklaces. Would people make fun of him if he used those to keep his hat on? Maybe if he did it the right way, they wouldn't be visible at all.

He was probably thinking way too hard on this, though; it was causing his movements with the sponge to become more erratic. Eventually he stopped himself, glancing over to Sam with a smile. "Thanks for the suggestion! I'll ask them when the shift is over." The guy who had woken him up had seemed nice enough, so hopefully he was the one who'd take him to the next shift too, and then he'd have his chance.

Sora was pretty surprised when the club was brought up. He hadn't realized that even people who weren't members noticed that sort of thing, and it made his smile grow. "Yeah, that's me! Ahh, though I still have to put up the post for today," he realized, frowning to himself as the words came out of his mouth. He'd completely forgotten because of everything else that had been going on.

"But were you interested in joining? I can answer any questions if you are!" Sora knew that he needed to be better about recruiting, so he quickly jumped on the opportunity now that it had been brought up.

[boyking]

An almost involuntary smile tugged at Sam's lips. He had no idea where Sora was getting his enthusiasm from, but it was sorta refreshing. He didn't begrudge anyone from being in a completely crappy mood, of course, given the circumstances. It was just, you know. Nice to see people like Sora. And yeah, he knew it was probably a lot more complicated under the surface, but he could tell the kid was genuine.

At the question, he looked over. He hadn't expected Sora to leap on it like that. He pushed his sleeve back up, leaving damp spots in the material. Something told him that if Sora had had a clipboard on hand, he would've whipped it out and started collecting Sam's name and email address.

"I don't think I can, sorry. I've got...people." Who need me, he couldn't quite bring himself to finish. The kind of guilt that accompanied turning down a solicitation for a donation crept up in him. He knew he shouldn't be so caught up in his own problems, but there wasn't any way around it: he was. Still, from what he'd glimpsed on the board, it did look like Sora had a pretty solid group of helping hands. "Though if you ever need anything in particular, you should let me know."

It was more than an empty offer; if Sora did ask, he knew he'd help. It was what he was supposed to do, after all, and it continued to bother him that he wasn't doing it more. He knew it bothered Dean, too. The lack of any real hunting, that was. This place made it damn near impossible, but regardless—

He shook it off. Ruby. He'd agreed for a reason, hadn't he? Dean had been one. This was the other.

[lighthearted]

While it was a bit disappointing to be turned down so quickly, Sora didn't judge Sam for it. The explanation he gave, short as it was, was more than enough for him to understand. People meant friends, those who relied on him and who he couldn't let down. It wasn't like he wanted people to leave important obligations for the sake of a club, after all. It was meant to be a support system, something for people to use if they needed guidance for what to do during the night.

"That's fine!" he quickly shot back, shaking his head and waving Sam off. It looked like his hat was behaving for now, which was good, and so he made sure to keep working at a new spot on the floor as he spoke.

The offer that Sam gave afterward sounded familiar. He'd heard it from Tsubaki and Scott, too. They'd said something to the effect of being too busy to commit every night, but that they might be able to help with specific things. Sora knew that it was more or less a polite refusal, and he didn't hold it against them, but he got the point.

"Don't worry about it," he continued. "But was there anything else you wanted to know about the club?" Sam had asked for a reason, right? Or had he just been curious? A lot of people tried to track Sora down because he'd been around so long (and now the label on his dog tags would make that clear), so maybe it had something to do with that.