Day 26: Cafeteria, Lunch

[right-handed.livejournal.com]

Scar felt cold and sick, though more the latter than the former. As he rose from his bed, he didn't quite know which way was up, and the artificial light coming from overhead seemed as hot and as blinding as the Ishbal sun.

His head hurt, but that was nothing new. After all, the last thing he remembered from the night before was fighting a homunculus off of Lust and then having a conversation about events best left forgotten. The man hadn't been his brother. He just hadn't. And if what Lust had said they'd done to her was true...

Scar stood with shakiness that he wanted to attribute more to a bizarrely weakened physical state than a mental one. Had he been knocked out by some kind of lurking monster before the morning had come? He felt as if he had been out for days, being a veteran of such circumstances, though as he took the practiced role of being an obedient follower behind the nurse and orderlies that came for him, it didn't seem as if much had changed.

This place was probably just playing tricks on him again, and he was tired of being the man left out of the loop. He grabbed some food he didn't really care for and sat down, not seeing anyone he knew already seated. On one hand, he wished he had someone to talk to, and on the other, it scared him that he was no longer used to being alone.

He dug his fork into his food and tried to block out any related thought.

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[thehellismycar.livejournal.com]

Getting to his feet, as if to stress how goddamn infuriating the most recent edict was, he glowered at the younger man.

"Y'know, I am sick of this." He gnashed his teeth, growl unwavering but arms trembling just a little. The older brother jabbed a finger toward the younger. "Ever since you arrived, you've treated me like some nut job."

The tone of his voice was absolute, and if anyone arrived to call him 'sensitive'? He was going to kill them, which was why he retained low volume at the cost of blatant sweat.

[neverreallyfit.livejournal.com]

Sam did not stand himself, though the palms of his hands pressed flat against the tabletop, tense enough that the first and second knuckles on both hands bleached white. It was a posture meant to give him leverage, to negate some of the disadvantage of remaining seated. His features fell into stark lines, closed off and belligerent, though the bleak, sick look still lurked behind his eyes.

"What the hell am I supposed to do? Pretend everything's normal? I can't just sit here and act like I don't remember any more than you do." As though picking up a cue, he was careful as well to keep his voice low enough to shield the discussion from too many prying ears. The last thing he desired was interference from another inmate, or worse yet one of the staff.

[thehellismycar.livejournal.com]

At Sam's retort, Dean glimpsed left and right, placing a hand over his eyes, which descended to his mouth and finally lowerered to his side following a pause. It appeared to be a strain for him to force his body into the chair again; bending and straightening awkwardly, and sitting down in the end. He kept a slouched posture and stared long and hard at his brother.

He opened his mouth to speak, realising belatedly there wasn't a single word on his tongue. Jaw twitching, the man set a tough gaze on the full tray of food in front of him.