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

[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.