Well, despite the fact she was lacking the obligatory accent, she sure acted French. Anyway, the girl was evidently from a well-off family. Who in hell asked where their clothes were when they'd just woken up in a madhouse? It'd be like him questioning the absence of his car, though he'd be lying if he said the notion hadn't crossed his mind.
The older man watched her quietly, head canted to one side. The people he'd met here certainly had their share of interesting histories, but this one? Let's say this one in particular had his interest piqued. The fairytale was troubling, at best. Being informed of a tower, and the obvious ties it had to the princess's current condition, led to a separate route in his processes.
He'd heard fleeting mentions of a third floor. It wasn't clear if this was the key to discovering the truth behind the Institute, or a mere rumour told to entertain the masses. But...
But this girl, she could... could she have been...?
The miraculous healing of his injuries seemed to have occurred in a realistic time frame – prior to his awakening. He couldn't remember a single detail of the curing procedure itself. In his line of work, he'd come to accept that miracles? They didn't happen, least of all around him. There was a supernatural explanation for why he was alive and breathing; he didn't care how flash these bastards thought they were with their fancy surgical methods. You couldn't revive the dead with a scalpel. He had to figure out not who, but what was in the driver's seat of this absurd simulation. What sort of creature had him and Sam added to its collection, and why?
Diva had been a test subject. Maybe she could recall tidbits of an operating theatre. Maybe she was snatched at a time where she was at a hundred percent; rather unlike Dean's comatose state.
He nearly shook his head when he realised he was glaring at her in anticipation.
"Wish I could lie, say things're peachy now. Won't achieve anything," he reasoned weakly, offering her a poignant frown. "At night, we've gotta fend for ourselves. Landel has more than a few tricks up his sleeve. And sometimes..." He cringed, ready to issue a crippling blow. "Patients're plucked from the population. For experiments."
Shooting to his feet in a professional manner, Dean laid both hands on the teenager's shoulders, gripping them tenderly. Telling the nastiest truths was like ripping off a band-aid – only this closet sap wasn't the type to inflict pain on innocent little girls, on any level, no matter how pithy it might be. Cutting corners. He simply wanted the distant smile to remain on her face, for her to have gone temporarily deaf.
"The tower. You remember much of it?" He spoke gently, fixating on her cold blue eyes and performing a covert search of them.
no subject
The older man watched her quietly, head canted to one side. The people he'd met here certainly had their share of interesting histories, but this one? Let's say this one in particular had his interest piqued. The fairytale was troubling, at best. Being informed of a tower, and the obvious ties it had to the princess's current condition, led to a separate route in his processes.
He'd heard fleeting mentions of a third floor. It wasn't clear if this was the key to discovering the truth behind the Institute, or a mere rumour told to entertain the masses. But...
But this girl, she could... could she have been...?
The miraculous healing of his injuries seemed to have occurred in a realistic time frame – prior to his awakening. He couldn't remember a single detail of the curing procedure itself. In his line of work, he'd come to accept that miracles? They didn't happen, least of all around him. There was a supernatural explanation for why he was alive and breathing; he didn't care how flash these bastards thought they were with their fancy surgical methods. You couldn't revive the dead with a scalpel. He had to figure out not who, but what was in the driver's seat of this absurd simulation. What sort of creature had him and Sam added to its collection, and why?
Diva had been a test subject. Maybe she could recall tidbits of an operating theatre. Maybe she was snatched at a time where she was at a hundred percent; rather unlike Dean's comatose state.
He nearly shook his head when he realised he was glaring at her in anticipation.
"Wish I could lie, say things're peachy now. Won't achieve anything," he reasoned weakly, offering her a poignant frown. "At night, we've gotta fend for ourselves. Landel has more than a few tricks up his sleeve. And sometimes..." He cringed, ready to issue a crippling blow. "Patients're plucked from the population. For experiments."
Shooting to his feet in a professional manner, Dean laid both hands on the teenager's shoulders, gripping them tenderly. Telling the nastiest truths was like ripping off a band-aid – only this closet sap wasn't the type to inflict pain on innocent little girls, on any level, no matter how pithy it might be. Cutting corners. He simply wanted the distant smile to remain on her face, for her to have gone temporarily deaf.
"The tower. You remember much of it?" He spoke gently, fixating on her cold blue eyes and performing a covert search of them.