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

[freewill]

While he had had to endure a demon's attempt to bully him in order to experience this, Castiel had to admit that it was satisfying to watch Ruby be disciplined by a human soldier. If she had any of her power left in her, it clearly wasn't enough to manifest now. That seemed to be a common factor for all patients during the day, however. It was at night that he would need to watch himself.

These soldiers were more serious with punishments than the nurses, however. While the officer hadn't taken out a needle to sedate Ruby, she nonetheless gave her a full report of what she would have to do for the rest of the day. Or rather, of what she couldn't do. It wasn't all that severe from an angel's perspective; Castiel had endured punishments far worse while serving Heaven. Despite that, he got the feeling that it would bother Ruby. She'd been behaving rather childishly since she'd lost her temper, after all.

In this situation, he knew that the best thing to do was keep quiet. He caught the look from the soldier and understood its meaning completely. If anything, his posture stiffened in response. He wasn't a mindless soldier anymore, but he could still play the part if it kept him out of trouble. There was no reason to get on the bad side of the military here. If anything, that would make his job harder, and it was already hard enough.

[thatdemonbitch.livejournal.com]

The soldier's idea of punishment was laughable at best. Considering what she'd had done to her in the Pit just a couple months ago, this was like a visit to Candyland. The idea that the soldiers thought they had any authority, though, was what really got under her skin. If she were at the top of her game …

But she wasn't. So, she had to play by their rules. It wasn't like missing out on another meal would be hard, exactly. It had been so long since Ruby had needed to eat, getting put on a set schedule of three squares in and of itself was weird enough. Going off of it was gonna be cake. Even if it meant a lack thereof. Standing room only would be a pain when lunch rolled around, but hey. Most days, she liked it better that way anyway.

Finally, she'd cooled off enough to let those things reassure her that she didn't need to fight back out of sheer spite and to just accept her punishment while it was still the kind of crap she could handle without too much annoyance. Worse than the uppity soldier and the weak-handed idea of punishment, though, was the angel getting out of it. But she kept the frustration to a tight-lipped look on her face, accompanied by a glare at him.

"Yeah," she informed the soldier nonchalantly, eyes fixed threateningly on Castiel the entire time she spoke. "I get the message."

[damned-soldiers.livejournal.com]

One more icy look to the both of them. The soldier had caught the way Alighieri glared at Collins; if there was any more trouble between the two of them today, they were both going to get their butts handed to them on rusty metal platters.

"Good," she responded curtly, turning and leaving them both to stew.

[freewill]

It seemed that Ruby was capable of knowing when to quit, since she finally relented and told the soldier that she understood what she would be required to do to serve out her punishment. For some reason the soldier was comfortable enough with that that she walked off with only a word in reply, which seemed unwise. They could be back at each other's throats in seconds, though the soldier likely figured that they wouldn't risk such a thing.

Which was the truth. In fact, all Castiel did was send Ruby one of his best glares, though he was quickly interrupted by the sound of someone stalking through the middle of the room and yelling about where they would be headed next.

That was for the best. While his business with Ruby was far from done, it would have to be continued later. He'd scared her and set her off, so that was enough for now. His focus needed to be the Winchesters at this point. So he eyed her one last time and then silently walked away in the direction of the courtyard.