Day 64: Waiting Room/Lobby 2 (Fourth Shift)

[freewill]

The time spent with Izaya hadn't led to much, but that might have also been due to the fact that Castiel wasn't functioning at full energy. If he'd been sharper, if he hadn't had his body holding him back every step of the way, maybe he would have worked harder to try and get some information out of the other patient.

As it was, Castiel had spent most of the day dealing with aches and pains on random parts of his body. None of it seemed to follow any pattern, and the rash on his hand was still there, making itself obvious to the rest of the patient body. He was, to be frank, exhausted -- and while part of him wished to fight against that because angels weren't supposed to get tired, the other part felt this urge to lie down.

He remembered how Dean had explained to him that he needed a certain amount of sleep each night. He also remembered how it had annoyed him at the time, how he had seen it as a waste. He would have apologized to Dean for his ignorance now, if he could have.

While the idea had been to spend the last shift in the Sun Room so he could at least lay down and rest, the nurses had another plan for him. He was told instead that there were some visitors who had come to see them, and before he knew it he'd been placed in some sort of waiting room. Castiel remembered looking into this room once before, though it had been night at the time. Now he knew what its purpose was.

He stood there awkwardly for a few moments before his nurse urged him to take a seat. Castiel found a chair and settled himself onto it, but he couldn't relax. He placed a hand against his injured shoulder, prodding at it for a moment. Who would possibly want to come visit him? There were a few options, but he didn't want to jump to any conclusions.

Comments

[freewill]

Back on duty. Castiel wondered what that meant, but his memories of when he'd been Michael were very vague, and so he couldn't quite remember what Anna's fake profession had been. Not that it mattered much. If Gabriel and Anna truly had been brainwashed and forced out into this world, then they weren't themselves at the moment and he shouldn't concern himself too much with them. Both of them were supposed to be dead, so he wouldn't be surprised if these were doppelgangers.

When Sam -- or Matthew, as he thought of himself -- spoke up and tried to get a more sincere answer out of him, Castiel glanced down at his hands. In reality, he didn't feel well at all. His whole body ached, especially his shoulder where that bird had clawed him. But could he really tell these two about any of that?

Then again, it was a way to vent his thoughts without being held accountable for it, since he likely wasn't going to see them again until next week, if at all.

"Do you really want to know what I'm going through?" he asked, glancing up to look both of them in the face. "Chances are you won't like it." They would see him as insane, and while they already thought that was the case, this would reinforce it -- even though he was only speaking the truth.

[damned_visitors]

Matthew couldn't tell what Michael meant exactly by going through whether he meant emotionally dealing with being in here or something, or...bringing up those monsters that they all used to believe in. An angel, right? It was hard to say what made Michael come up with that identity. The truth was, Matthew didn't know him all that well before landing in here—he was pretty out of it even back then when he was running after those crazy reports looking for Dean—and it wasn't like he ever got to know Michael for who he really was in here.

Maybe that wasn't fair. It wasn't like Michael was a different person altogether.

Matthew rearranged his hands where they were clasped together on the table.

"Yeah, of course, man. Anything that might help."

That was why they were visiting, right? He remembered, you know. Thinking he helped people being a supposed hunter. He knew it wasn't real anymore, but he figured it must've come from somewhere—that maybe somewhere along the way, he'd realized he'd been a little too buried in his work to think about anyone else.