damned_institute | DAY 64: CHAPEL

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DAY 64: CHAPEL

This time, when the darkness faded and the next thing Skulduggery became aware of was that same bed underneath him, he didn't take the time to absorb the jarring feeling and sort out what might be going on. He leaped off the bed immediately, almost stumbling in the process - damn balance - and took a moment to realize that his eyes were burning and he could barely see a thing.

The room was blinding. The light itself wasn't an issue; it was the fact that Skulduggery's eyes had to slowly adjust to it, a sensation he hadn't experienced in ages and had never expected to experience again. He had a hand pressed to his forehead and was blinking rapidly when a woman knocked on the door and came in.

She was... cheerful. Everything was cheerful, from the bright light and noises outside to the intercom announcement that interrupted the woman's sudden spiel. It was such a startling change from just a few minutes ago that Skulduggery found himself lost for words while the... nurse... nodded brightly at him. She'd said something about a mental hospital, something about a man called Erik, and something else about 'not real' and 'getting better.' With Skulduggery's mental prowess - even operating at less than its usual efficiency - it was easy to work out what she meant.

He studied her openly once the light wasn't so blinding. "You're either a very convincing liar, utterly insane, or a psychopath. Let me find out which one." His head tilted. "Would you believe me if I said there was a woman last night who had been mortally wounded, but who was still walking around?" He cut her off before she could answer. "No, obviously not. And I don't think you're a psychopath who murders people for fun. A convincing liar, then. That doesn't clear anything up in the slightest, but I suppose it's something."

"Mr. MacAuley, you were sleeping all of last night. Are you sure you didn't just have a nightmare?"

Skulduggery wanted to point out that as a skeleton, he didn't sleep, and he certainly didn't have nightmares. The blurriness at the edges of his vision, however, reminded him with a jolt of his mysterious transformation to human. Suddenly, annoyingly, the nurse was making much more sense.

Was it... real, then? Everything with Yomi and the chapel - had that all just been a vivid hallucination? Had his entire life just been a vivid hallucination, like the woman was insisting?

In a slight daze, Skulduggery asked to see the chapel. He was standing there alone now, examining the fountain carefully for any sign of its demonic visage from before. But now it was just a fountain, the water was just water, and despite Skulduggery's best efforts, the water didn't respond to his Elemental magic. It remained stubbornly in its basin without so much as a ripple, silently mocking him.

Skulduggery sat down heavily on one of the pews, mystified. He wasn't insane. He joked sometimes that he was, and it might partly be true, but he wasn't insane on a level like this. He didn't just make up his whole life as he pleased.

[Free! But be prepared for a barrage of questions.]

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Castiel watched as Kratos' hand ghosted across the hymnals. They weren't the traditional kind, containing songs from a number of different faiths, and yet he had to wonder if the man was trying to find some strength in making that contact. Was he religious? It seemed like a soldier would have more reason to be than most, but Castiel didn't know for sure.

While it seemed that Kratos wasn't doing particularly well, apparently things weren't as bad now as they had been for him in the past. Castiel didn't know if he could say the same. He'd definitely endured some harsh trials before this. He'd been trapped by Lucifer, had been torn apart by one of his brothers... Did anything here truly match up to that?

"I've... also been better," he said after a pause. "This body seems to be giving out on me, and I'm not certain there's any way to stop that." While the symptoms he had now were truly only annoyances in the end, Castiel realized that it had the potential to get much worse. If it did, he wasn't sure what would be the best way to handle it. The idea of an angel being reduced to a snarling monster was so beyond what he'd ever prepared for, but that didn't make the threat any less real.

He'd only touched the hymnals because the action seemed a benign thing for him to focus on rather than reflect fully on all of the trials of the previous days; even in his barely-remembered youth, Kratos had never called himself particularly religious. With a war and at times the politics of the royal court to deal with, he had found little time to be concerned with the state of his soul. There was of course fate, but that wasn't exactly something you could turn to for comfort or strength, but merely an inevitable truth that existed to be accepted.

But, it did seem a common, subconscious desire of Man to find something or some force larger than himself, one capable of acting where he could not. Kratos wasn't about to give much more time to entertaining that sort of possibility within himself.

"I see. It must be frustrating" He glanced briefly at Castiel's hand. Now was the time where he was supposed to be encouraging about the prospects of recovery, but he couldn't bring himself to be that optimistic. "Hopefully, we'll be able to unite around finding one."

Kratos frowned. "And forgive me, but you said...'this body'? So this" - he gestured toward Castiel - "isn't your original form?" That he could sympathize with, even though his appearance hadn't been changed.

Frustrating was a good word to describe it, although if it continued it could become something much more dire than that. Castiel didn't even know what he might turn into, if the illness ended up progressing in the way that Landel had predicted. There was truly an unending amount of monsters to choose from, but he couldn't imagine turning into any of them.

He stared down at his hands for a moment, drawn out of his thoughts when Kratos asked a question. Glancing over, he realized that he had never told Kratos the full details of his situation. They had spoken about their lives as soldiers, but he'd kept it vague.

He shook his head. "No, it's..." He reached down and tugged at the collar of his shirt, yet another thing that didn't truly belong to him. "A vessel. My true form wouldn't fit in this room." It wasn't something that could be easily explained to a human, as their senses were rather limited.

"However, this body has felt more and more like mine since I arrived here." It was beyond strange, but he couldn't deny that he'd been getting attached to it even before then. That didn't mean he wanted to be bound to it and its limitations, however.

Kratos's eyebrow raised as he listened to Castiel's explanation. "Huh. If it's not too much to ask, what were you originally?" He wasn't sure why he felt the need to ask, except perhaps out of curiosity: Castiel seemed to be from this world - his knowledge of it was certainly extensive - and therefore couldn't possibly be anything that he would know.

He didn't need to be familiar with 'Earth' and its natives, though, to understand Castiel's growing attachment to his 'vessel'. At first, it had been jarring for him, dealing with hunger and exhaustion for the first time in hundreds of years--and in a weaker, limited body to boot. A month later, though, Kratos could call it normal without much reservation at all. That night when he'd suddenly regained his powers had briefly reminded him of everything he'd once been, and although he had enjoyed the feeling of power, he couldn't say that he was as pleased by all of the other side effects. He'd learned to deal with them over the years, but the process was something he didn't find himself keen to repeat. If and when he returned home, hopefully, it could all be avoided.

While Castiel knew that nothing had been meant by it, the way that Kratos phrased the question hit harder than expected. What was he originally? The implication was that he was no longer what he'd once been, and it wasn't something he could necessarily refute.

The words came out nonetheless. "This vessel doesn't make me any less of one, but..." He paused, looking from the hymnals up to the stained glass. Even though it was in abstract patterns, the source was still clear. Perhaps Kratos didn't know that, but it was something Castiel was keenly aware of. He could he not be?

"I'm an angel. From the Judeo-Christian religion," he finished, moving his head to look directly at Kratos, expecting a reaction. Once again, the significance might be lost on Kratos depending on his origins, but in some ways that made it easier to say. The man wouldn't necessarily have any expectations.

Usually, he was good at controlling his reactions to things, but as soon as Castiel used the word "angel", Kratos stiffened. He had no idea what this Judeo-Christian business was, but the parallels were too prominent to be fully ignored. And is your religion also a well-crafted farce? Castiel still seemed to believe in it, if he was able to lay claim to that title without hesitation. He, on the other hand, would never use that word, simply because he knew the truth.

"'An angel'," Kratos repeated slowly as he relaxed. His eyes fell back to Castiel's hands, this time to reassure himself that the other really did not have a Crystal, and confirm what he had suspected: that he was dealing with perhaps a difference in definition. By releasing enough mana, he was capable of shattering windows and other sorts of intimidating feats, but Kratos was completely sure that his angelic form would never come close to spilling out of the chapel.

"Something close to a god, then." He paused and then added for the sake of feigning partial ignorance, "That's quite interesting, that mortality would actually grow on you." It was also ironic, given how many people actively chased after the dream of immortality. If they only knew...

If it hadn't been such a personal subject, perhaps Castiel wouldn't have noticed Kratos' reaction. It was very slight, but he knew that he reacted to surprising things in almost the exact same way, so he was able to recognize it. Of course, someone being shocked to hear what he was made sense, but this seemed different somehow.

The equation to a god of any sort was unexpected, and Castiel frowned for a moment before shaking his head. "Not exactly," he said, "but you're correct that I'm immortal and considered very powerful. Were I at my full strength, I'd be able to obliterate any of the monsters here with a single touch." Still, he was nothing like his Father, nor did he want to be.

And he wouldn't say that mortality had grown on him in any sense. In fact, it was rather frustrating, but he hadn't found a way around it thus far, and so he was going to have to bear it. "It's only earned me trouble," he said with a sigh. "Especially with this illness."

The god comparison had been meant as a subtle probe for details, to see how similar their ideas of "angels" really were. He had certainly gotten some, although they seemed fairly generic: it would be easy to label himself as (formerly) immortal and equally capable of destroying monsters with laughable ease.

He considered, for a second, opening Castiel's eyes to yet another uncanny and strange similarity between the two of them, but something held him back. Though he had technically settled things with the identity that had consumed him for the last four thousand years or so, Kratos still could not bring himself to talk about his role in Cruxis in a casual manner. There was still too much catharsis associated with it, too many memories and unpleasant feelings tied up in that one word, "angel". He would keep it a secret for now.

"I'm sorry." He'd done something like this to Sora over the board, and even in person, he was still terrible at conveying real sympathy, even when he felt it. They both seemed to be that way, though, so hopefully, Castiel would understand.

The apology wasn't necessary, and Castiel didn't hesitate to say as much. "It's not your fault," he replied, shaking his head. No, all of them were equally a part of this. Even if the majority of patients didn't seem to be as ill as he was, they were still being forced to deal with the reality of some of the people around them possibly turning into monsters.

Castiel wondered why he had been picked in particular, if it had been random or if Landel had been specifically aiming to take him down a few notches. Castiel thought he had done a good enough job of that by draining his powers to such an extent; this just seemed like overkill.

The conversation had reached one of those awkward lulls, and Castiel forced himself to glance in Kratos' direction. "If you come across any information for how to reverse this, however, I'd appreciate if you'd let me know." The chances were unlikely, but the more people looking, the more likely they became.

They had reached an impasse; it was probably time to start showing interest in the books sitting in the pews. Thankfully, Castiel had managed to somehow give the conversation one last breath of life. Kratos nodded. "Assuming Landel doesn't decide to indulge in a follow-up act tonight, Arts and Crafts will be able to start investigating. It's my understanding that we'll share our findings, if we have any." The chances of success were slim, but trying was better than just standing by--for once, he could actually agree to that.

"What are you planning to do later? Conduct your own search?" Coordinating efforts would probably be useful, especially since they were all on a tight schedule. There was no need to have at least ten people all sweeping the same room.

Castiel paused at the mention of Arts and Crafts. It was something he'd seen mentioned on the bulletin frequently, but he'd never had much interest in it. He couldn't spend his time throwing his support in with a group of unknown patients, not when he had his own goals. It seemed that Kratos was much more selfless in that respect, seeing how he was clearly a member of the group.

Though when Kratos turned the question around on him, he realized that he really didn't have any specific plans. With very little knowledge on how diseases and infections of the human body worked, Castiel didn't know where to start.

"I would, but I'm not very educated in modern medicine," he admitted. He also didn't know how well his body would hold up if he tried to go out at night, between being injured and sick. "If you had any suggestions, I'd like to hear them."

"I see." Kratos would have assumed Castiel to be somewhat up to date with modern conventions of Earth - he had managed to keep up with the times despite being on a floating comet the majority of the time - but it looked like that wasn't the case.

"My plan tonight was to go out and hopefully locate any information related to the origins of the infection--notes, or a memo...anything that could tell us more beyond the fact that it is able to drastically change a person's physiology. I would hardly call myself a medical expert either, but there are those who can, and if they had more detailed information in hand, it would probably reduce the time needed to suss out the cure." Right now, that list, as far as he knew, consisted of Lingormr, which wasn't promising at all. In times of crisis, though, it wasn't helpful to be picky about one's allies.

He frowned. "If you're not feeling up to it, though, perhaps you should stay in."

In reality, it was hard for him to imagine it. Not heading for the front lines as a proper soldier was so beyond his scope of understanding. Even if he had switched sides and was now part of "Team Free Will," as Dean called it, that didn't mean that the fighting had ever stopped.

No, even if his body was rebelling against him, he would force it to the limit. He wasn't a human, but an angel, and he wouldn't let this vessel dictate his actions.

"Would it be possible for you to take one more with you?" he asked after a pause. "I'm not certain how much help I'll be in this state, but it would sit with me better if I didn't waste the night." Kratos was someone he felt comfortable with, so the idea of spending a nightshift with him seemed feasible.

[sorry for the lateness!]

Kratos resisted the urge to smile knowingly when Castiel asked if he could come along. If given the choice between staying in and going out, even if it was better for him to take the night off, he would have also chosen the latter. There was just something inherently wrong with remaining stagnant unless totally incapacitated.

"I don't see why it shouldn't be." Unlike Lingormr, Castiel was someone he knew and assumed to be trustworthy. Sora seemed to think he was a good judge of character, which he found to be slightly ironic, so he would probably agree to the arrangement. "I'll ask our leader when he posts assignments later today." With luck, they'd be able to get somewhere tonight; he felt as if he owed Castiel that much.

[Likewise!]

That turned out to be simpler than he'd expected. Castiel had to admit that after what had happened with Orihara, he had scaled back on how much he trusted the people here. He didn't see Orihara as a threat, but he didn't feel entirely comfortable around the young man, either. Kratos was one person who he felt a connection to, however, and so if he was going to work with anyone on this, he seemed like a good choice.

"I'll keep an eye on the bulletin board, then," he said after a pause. "And if you aren't able to put a message there for some reason, we should arrange a place to meet." If he turned up there and Kratos never showed, he'd know that it hadn't worked out for some reason. "What would you suggest?" he asked as he idly worked his fingers into the muscle of a sore spot on his arm.

Kratos paused as he went through a list of viable locations. He would have said his usual spot, but the point was to arrange a place to meet that would serve as confirmation in lieu of a message on the board.

"I can meet you at your room," he said finally. "That way, if I fail to show, you won't have spent any unnecessary effort. Would that work?" He usually left early as well, so even if Castiel's room was far, he wouldn't be losing too much time.

That seemed suitable to him. He had no problems with giving out his room number to Kratos. In general, Castiel wasn't particularly paranoid about the other patients, as it seemed like the Head Doctor and his minions were the true concern. Kobayashi might feel differently about it, but that wasn't enough to stop him, not when Kratos was offering help.

"It's M39. Hopefully that isn't too far from your own quarters," he said as the intercom went off and the nurses started weaving through the pews to collect them. Castiel stood with some difficulty, though he managed not to wince despite the pain that seemed to be working its way through different parts of his body. "With any luck, I'll see you tonight."

"Not at all." With no pen on his person, he was forced to memorize the number. but it wouldn't be too hard to do so. In fact, as soon as Castiel had said the number, the chant had started up in his head: M39, M39, M39...

Rising as well, Kratos nodded to Castiel. "Yes, with luck. Let me know if you change your mind at any time. Otherwise, I'll see you tonight as well."

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DAY 64: CHAPEL

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