damned_institute | Nightshift 38: M1- M10 Hallway

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Nightshift 38: M1- M10 Hallway

Dean had taken a nap after dinner, figuring that he might as well grab whatever rest he could before he took off trying to find supplies for a full-blown exorcism. His sleep was fitful, the hunter tossing and turning in the bed, eventually settling for sprawling face down in it with his arms flung around his pillow. When he woke up, Angel was gone. Dean rolled over to sit up, jaw set as he rubbed the sleep from one bleary eye, still breathing heavily. Cold Oak. Fucking Cold Oak. That was over and done with, yet he was still having nightmares about the goddamned place, as if enough wasn't enough that all of that was far behind him now. Reaching up, Dean took in a slightly shaking breath, pinching the bridge of his nose as he told himself he wasn't gonna keep waking up in cold sweats feeling Sam's blood all over him, and, if he was, he would deal with it 'cause it was just a bunch of dreams. Wasn't real anymore. He'd saved Sammy.

When he stood up, he was ready to get on with the night. He'd find his little brother, no matter what, even if he had to get his information from that demon Punk-Ass and not by asking nicely.

Dean was even looking forward to it now.

Heading over to the closet, Dean opened it. His clothes hung there in the closet, all perfectly folded, just like it'd been this morning when he'd left it. Feeling under his jeans, his fingers closed around the bowie knife's hilt. Setting the knife aside, Dean began changing, shrugging out of his simple patient clothes and kicking them aside so he could put on his real clothes. The last things to go on were his boots and jacket, the weight of his pendent settling comfortably against his chest. Dean turned his attention to getting ready for the night. Flashlight? Check. Bowie? Check. And something to carry more than a handful of salt...Dean improvised, removing the pillow case from his pillow and balling it up so he could stuff it in his pocket.

Ready as he was ever gonna be. Aside from being bandaged up still, he was good.

Dean consulted the map he'd copied his first day here from the bulletin board. If he was gonna try to get hold of a rosary, it'd most likely be in Patient Possessions - someone here would've had to be a Bible-thumper who believed in God and all that stuff at some point, right? Salt, he figured the kitchen. As for something to deal with Punk-Ass, he figured he'd need some rope (or duct tape, if they didn't have any rope just lyin' around) and something to draw out the Key of Solomon. Not to mention water; kinda hard to make holy water when you had the holy but not the water. First thing was first though; he still had that meeting with that "R" chick - he thought it was a chick - in F-A hall for that spare flashlight.

The hunter turned on his flashlight and opened M2's door, stepping outside.

[To here]

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[From here, helped along by Ronixis]

Dean's head had been hanging as he looked down at his feet and alternated between the important job of keeping them moving and trying not to get awesomely sick over himself and Samaritan. Somehow he didn't think chucking up on the other guy was gonna earn him any points. Dean was amazed to find he could walk and, with the other patient's help and his arms slung around him, they actually made it past what he thought might've been M-A hall. They took a right and suddenly they were in the hall where his room was. Or, he thought it was. Now he wasn't so sure it was M2. Maybe he'd given him crappy directions.

The hunter leaned heavily against the other patient, his own arm loosely draped over the back of his neck, still keeping a somewhat slack hold on his own flashlight and the empty plastic milk container. "Think so," he slurred. "Came this way."

It'd been only a couple of hours ago, maybe, but it felt like it'd been all night since he'd come this way. Awareness seemed to come and go, sneaking up on him; sometimes he'd be aware of talking, only to realize he'd lapsed off into a dazed silence, staring at nothing and just walking with Samaritan's support. Eventually the two hit the end of the hall, and stood before M1 and M2, Dean leaning on his rescuer more than he had been before, the pillowcase of salt he'd absolutely refused to drop starting to drag on the floor thanks to his lax grip on it. It'd been a lot of work just to get some salt. Come to think of it, he wasn't entirely sure why he even needed so much. All he was sure about was he wanted to konk out and sleep till doomsday. Maybe then he'd get warm. Lifting his head to pay attention was too much effort, lolling heavily as he swallowed thickly, closing his eyes briefly as he pursed his blue-tinged lips.

Not gonna throw up. Nope, not gonna. If that was the last thing Dean was gonna do, it was to at least honest to God keep it to himself, especially now that they'd made it this far.

"Gotta get inside."

Edited 2009-02-01 07:57 (UTC)

It was kind of typical that the room was in the corridor furthest from the entrance, but Ronixis supposed that the man might have belongings or perhaps a first aid kit which would make going to a particular room better than ducking into any one of them. Or maybe there were other people in the rooms, although he didn't hear any noise from them as they passed. They could be asleep? Ah, but he was going to get nowhere if he didn't get some real information.

The walk to the end of the corridor seemed to take an eternity, with the young man leaning heavily against him, Ronixis braced for every stumble. Finally they reached the room, and Ronixis shone his flashlight over the numbers. Definitely the room that the man had said, hopefully he'd said the right room.

"Right," Ronixis agreed, shifting his weight so that he could reach out and pushed the door open. "There we go," he said clearly to the man. "Let's go."

" 'sokay."

Dean didn't quite make it inside on his own steam - he had to lean heavily on Samaritan ninety nine percent of the time already and while his legs had felt the very definition of rubbery earlier, he could feel his muscles now starting to go rigid and tense as they locked up, another bad sign right up there with the sudden lack of shivering. The more that the guy talked to him though, the more he was able to focus, which was why he was gonna have to keep going and not stop. It was already warmer in the room, but only barely, not enough to help him immediately.

The second he was through the door, Dean dropped the bag of salt and the empty plastic gallon container. His fingers remained stiff. No way was he gonna be able to strip the wet clothes off himself like this. Dean knew in the distant back of his head that maybe he should be glad he was partially delirious; getting stripped by a stranger was bad enough, but by a dude was just icing on the bullcrap cake. Dean planned to take two steps to sit on his bed, he really did, but he didn't even make it that far when his legs gave out on him, spilling him onto the floor and almost dragging Samaritan after him. He grunted as he hit the carpet, closing his eyes, skin still ashen as he roused himself again because dude or not, Samaritan was all the rescue he had coming and he had to take whatever he could get. He might not like it - whatever part of him that still cared - but he was gonna have to get stripped and it wasn't gonna be by some hot chick with badass boobs and a cute ass.

"Gotta...keep talkin' t'me," he said, although it was more of a mumble. "Don't think I can do this myself. Gotta walk you through it."

His movements were sluggish as he tried to look up at the other patient. From his position on the floor, the guy looked tall, damn tall, we're talkin'-Sammy-tall. Dean found his thoughts wandering again, wondering about his brother, wondering if he was taking care of the Impala like he was supposed to and why hadn't he showed the kid the ropes about how to baby her? Sammy only knew how to drive her, and that was only 'cause Dean let him. He didn't know shit about how to keep her purring, which Dean knew was gonna kill him just worrying about it.

Edited 2009-02-02 01:57 (UTC)

He'd stopped shivering. Ronixis frowned, feeling the way that the man was moving even more stiffly now. Stopping shivering; wasn't that a bad sign? Either way, he couldn't do anything much until he got the man inside and could get a look at whatever the problem was. Hopefully his very basic medical skills could help. Perhaps he'd come to rely too much on modern technology and Milly and Joshua's healing magic. At least he wasn't quite so helpless without the modern trappings as he probably would have been a few months ago.

Ronixis stumbled under the man's weight when he fell, trying to keep himself upright and take some of the other man's weight. He needed to be seen to quickly. The wet clothing couldn't be helping. He stooped, sliding both arms around the man to help him back up. "Right, talking. If that helps, then that's what I'll do," he said, flashing the man a smile. "What do I need to do?" he asked. "I guess getting you warm is probably a good first step, right?" He was fairly sure it was, but keeping him involved in the conversation was probably the best idea; it would give him something to focus on and stay conscious for. He started to try to maneuver the man towards the bed, knowing it would be easier if he wasn't trying to remain standing. "So, I guess I should ask your name, huh?"

Christ, all this jumping up and down was making him about two seconds away from hurling just on sheer principle. Dean's pale face twisted into a grimace, both from irritation and trying his damnedest to keep it down, feeling cranky and wishing Samaritan would've just left him on the floor instead of trying to be so friggen helpful. "Yeah, jus'...yeah."

Dean flopped more than sat down on the bed, despite his stiffening muscles. As far as he could tell, it didn't feel much more comfortable than the floor, so why had Samaritan even bothered hauling him up and not just left him on the carpet so he wouldn't be wondering if he should just puke on the guy and see if that made him leave him alone? It was around when he was thinking that one over, maybe even honestly debating the pros and cons, that the guy asked him his name. Dean was too disoriented and tired to remember to come up with his AC/DC alias and instead said flatly: "'s Dean, you?"

It took a while to remember that wasn't actually the important question he'd just been asked, which he'd apparently glossed over in his hurry to get everyone introduced. Dean pursed his blue lips, and finally it clicked. What he was supposed to do. Dean wished he didn't have to go saying this to anyone, much less another man, but fact was he was barely holding it together as it was and while he had no idea if that witch's magic might still screw him over even with warm dry clothes, he had to at least try to get better. Or WhateverHisName had to, 'cause Dean doubted he could tie his shoelaces at the moment, much less get out of his own clothes. As it was, it was already tempting to just push away the other patient, roll over, and go to sleep, Dean swaying as he sat on the mattress. He closed his eyes, seemed to be steeling himself, and then went on:

"Gotta strip me. Get me outta wet clothes," he said, voice slurred, tongue feeling thick in his mouth. "Need t'get dry first an' then warm."

Edited 2009-02-02 04:58 (UTC)

Maybe getting him onto the bed hadn't been the best idea, but it was better than the floor since he needed to be warm. Carpet was not the most forgiving of surfaces in Ronixis' opinion. The mattress would at least absorb body heat and keep warm. Carpet probably wouldn't. He smiled a little at finally getting Dean's name. Beat continuing to call him 'the man', really. "Ronixis," he replied, not bothering with the whole name and rank now.

Ah, that was what he'd been expecting. Something like that anyway. What a way to make a fist impression, huh? First meetings were not supposed to involve undressing someone else, no matter how innocent the situation really was. People took things the wrong way. Well, he'd just have to be professional about this. "I see," he agreed and then stooped, reaching for the jacket and wondering how best to go about this. "You wouldn't have scissors or anything would you?" he asked in a conversational tone as he began to pull off the sodden jacket. The shirt might be easier to get off if he could cut it.

Yeah, there was no way he was gonna be able to manage that name without mangling it horribly. Hell, he'd probably mangle it without being fucked up from the hypothermia.

Dean didn't exactly remember getting the jacket pried off, instead sitting there on the mattress, and then the next thing he knew, the jacket was suddenly in Ron's hands and the guy was asking about scissors. Dean snorted, his shoulders rising in a feeble shrug as it sunk in what he wanted. Scissors. Yeah, right, like he'd happen to have any on him. He would've said yeah if this was any other time, seeing as he thought he remembered packing some hospital-grade scissors into the Impala for all those times either Sammy or himself would need them to patch each other up. He did have something, but while the still-coherent part of him wasn't sure it was a good idea, the rest of him was already moving, reaching stiffly behind his back and pulling out the big bowie knife from where it'd been snugly resting between his back and the waistband of his jeans.

He held it up. "Got this, Ron. Don' go pokin' your eye out." He seemed to think that was funny, a ghost of a dry smile crossing his pale face for a second. Actually, he just didn't want the guy to go runnin' off with it or stabbin' him with his own weapon, but he wasn't about to go giving him ideas.

He didn't care if he went slashing up his clothes. Dean's mind was in a fog, but there was one thing he knew for certain. These were the clothes he'd had on in Cold Oak. They just brought bad memories and bad luck. If they ended up getting to cut to ribbons, whatever. Dean tried to track Ron's progress, but it was hard when he seemed to be moving so friggen fast about him. The best thing to do was to be limp and let him have at it, but he couldn't help raising one bloodless hand to his mouth and cupping it over it, closing his eyes as he kept the nausea down, gritting his teeth, and then opened his eyes again. Had to keep an eye on where Ron was in the room. He might be in a shitty state but Dean had been too well-trained by Dad to not at least do that much. If he did anything, there probably wasn't much he could do but give him a nice big black eye, but he wanted to do that much if he was gonna go out.

The jacket hadn't been too difficult, but Ronixis wasn't expecting the shirt to be quite so easy. He put the jacket to one side, resting it over the end of the bed so that it was out of the way and could hopefully dry. He was glad when Dean produced a knife though. "This should help, thanks," he replied with a short nod as he took the knife and moved into a better position to cut the shirt off. "I'm sure I'll manage to come out of it alive," he added with a touch of amusement. He frowned a little, deciding where to cut the shirt. Down the middle of the back was probably best and then he could pull each half off rather than trying to pull the whole thing off. He grasped the collar, trying not to pull it too tight and then sliced through it as quickly as he could without nicking into Dean's skin. Once it got past a certain point it went more easily; he could practically rip it all the way down.

Once it was cut (the hem took a bit of work; the material was thick and well sewn), he set the knife aside on the bed, within easy reach of Dean if he wanted it, and Ronixis pulled back. "I'll pull each half off seperately," he explained as he grasped one of the sleeves and began to pull it down slowly, the sodden material sticking to Dean's skin. "There," he murmured softly as he moved onto the next one, repeating the process.

Ron hadn't gone using that bowie on him, which was a huge bonus in Dean's book. He relaxed just a little, focusing on Ron's voice and using it as an anchor to keep him grounded and conscious. It'd probably be all too easy to gray out but while he could now trust Ron not to go stabbing him, that didn't mean he was comfortable with a guy undressing him while he was knocked out either, Samaritan or not. Soon enough his first layer of clothes was in tatters, the red and white plaid shirt peeled off and then joined by the gray one he'd been wearing, leaving the hunter sitting bare-chested.

He didn't notice yet that he was missing the amulet that he always wore around his neck.

Dean's skin was still cold, the color drained away from whatever that bitch had done to him and beads of icy water still clinging to his back and chest. He glanced blearily at the remains of his shirt, not looking forward to the part where his jeans would be the next to go. Dean attempted to undo his belt buckle, but his fingers were stiff and numb, he could only pry at the buckle without much success, fumbling with the metal. He cursed whoever thought up belt buckles and made them so damn hard to deal with.

"Thanks, pal," he mumbled. "Gotta get th' rest. Towel-dry."

He forgot they weren't near any towels, instead just resorting back to what he'd pulled from what Dad drilled into his head about this, as if he was reciting something. Dean's head hung low as he rested his elbows on the knees of his jeans. He still didn't know who Ron was or where he was from, but he seemed to be pretty solid proof that not all civvies were soft, squeamish people who had no head under pressure. Ron's hand had been surprisingly careful as he wielded the big bowie, and while Dean vaguely registered the blade touching his skin, he hadn't actually been cut. The cuts that'd reopened from trying to fight that girl in the rec field were still bleeding, but it'd slowed for the most part, the red stains on the bandages on his forehead and around his chest no longer growing. Supposed he should be thankful for that bit, at least. Ron seemed to be doing a pretty awesome job for a civilian, but he didn't want him falling apart at the sight of a lot of blood when he happened to be holding a big ass knife.

Edited 2009-02-04 08:01 (UTC)

He might have been a little offended at the idea that Dean had considered him the type to attack someone in such a vulnerable position. Or hell, that he'd attack anyone who hadn't already attacked him. Thankfully he had no idea what Dean was thinking and was quite content to go on with what he had been doing. The shirt was useless now, and too damp to be of any use in getting him dry, so Ronixis dropped it to the floor and pushed it out of the way, followed quickly by the sodden denim that had been a pair of jeans a minute ago. He seemed completely oblivious to Dean's discomfort. He wasn't going to try to do anything unsavoury after all, so it was sort of incomprehensible that anyone should be anticipating that.

"Towels hm?" He said thoughtfully, looking around the room. Towels didn't seem to be a prominent feature, which was strange. He thought that everywhere had towels. "Let me see..." A quick rummage in one of the drawers produced a t-shirt and sweatshirt with the same logo as his own on the front. Another drawer revealed a few pairs of sweatpants, the colour and similarity to his own only compounding the institutional feel of the place. But for drying? "I guess the sheets will do?" he said, more to himself than to Dean. He went over to the other bed and quickly divested them of the sheets and blanket, carrying them over to Dean. He looked the wounds and bandages over with some concern before draping the sheet around the other man's shoulders lightly. "You got pretty beat up, hm?" he said lightly as he began to towel Dean's chest off lightly, careful to avoid the injured spots as best he could except for gently patting dry around them. It wasn't exactly ideal, but it would have to do do now. He was sure that they'd both much rather this be being done by someone they knew. "Think you can manage the t-shirt?" he asked, reaching for the garment. He didn't want to leave him shivering and half naked.

Dean didn't register he was getting asked a direct question. Not at first, anyway. He sat there, a little stiffly, as Ron began to pat him dry with blankets from his roomie's bed, almost like he was either an invalid or a kid. That was probably gonna lead to some awkward questions when Angel came back only to find his bed was stripped and the bedding mysteriously wet. Nevermind the salt lines he was gonna have to start lying down as soon as his coordination came back. Dean would've insisted on drying off himself under normal circumstances, but he wasn't gonna kid himself; his head was still foggy and while it had cleared up a tiny bit, he probably would've still forgotten what he was doing half-way through. The hunter instead sat there for being "toweled" off, one hand rising up to clutch the blanket wrapped around his shoulders a little tighter for the warmth. "T-shirt?"

He echoed Ron, staring right at the gray t-shirt without seeing it at first. What shirt? Wasn't it chopped up to pieces - oh. Oh. Dean suddenly felt stupid. Not that shirt, idiot, the one Ron was holding right in front of him, literally. Dean reached out with his other hand, nearly fumbled the shirt but was proud to say he didn't drop it even if his fingers kept wanting to lock up on him. He made a good effort to dress himself this time like he was a big boy, struggling into the coarse, Institute-gray shirt and pulling it over his head. The fact it was dry felt damn good against his skin.

Between getting dry and out of his wet clothes, Dean was starting to suspect that that witch's spell might be wearing off too. He still felt like crap, but it seemed to be easier to focus on Ron's voice and actually track what he was doing and saying.

"Ran into some weird crap," Dean said as he put his arms through the shirt's sleeves. He was still slurring his words, but it wasn't as bad as before. At least he didn't sound like he'd been hitting the bottle too hard now. "Rec field? Got some crazy chick there who looks at you wrong and suddenly you got hypothermia. Awesome party out there."

It was around now that he noticed he'd been without jeans for awhile. Trying not to think too hard about Ron pulling off his pants, he hurriedly pulled on the sweatpants, which was a challenge in itself. Dean found himself almost irrationally proud when not only did he get them on, but he didn't even put them on backwards; he felt as proud as he had when he'd made his first sawed-off. Now that he wasn't freezing and that witch's spell was slowly starting to wear off, it suddenly occurred to him that Ron was new, really new, and he might not be prepared for whatever was out there. Dean reached out with one pale hand to snag his own blanket, wrapping it tightly around him and almost sighing in relief.

He did his best to lock eyes with Ron, to show he really wasn't as incoherent as earlier. "But I'm guessin' you're new here. You did good, Ron. You probably saved my life."

Edited 2009-02-05 04:23 (UTC)

There, mostly dry which wasn't perfect but still a lot better than soaked to the bone. It wasn't long before the sheet was soaked through and cold against Ronixis' hands. Thankfully it wouldn't be needed anymore and there were always spare shirts and the duvet cover to be used if it was needed. The confusion and blank stare from Dean was rather worrying, but his voice sounded less slurred than it had been which hopefully meant that he was recovering a little. "Yeah, a t-shirt," he replied mildly. "No point sitting around mostly nude is there? It'll be warmer." He let Dean pulled the shirt away from him and held his tongue as the other man fumbled to pull it over his head, obviously having trouble, but seeming determined to manage it himself. Perhaps giving him something to concentrate one would help him regain his focus.

"Weird crap?" Ronixis asked, raising an eyebrow at him as he began to describe what he'd encountered. Crazy chick? But causing hypothermia? That sounded like... "Was it Heraldry?" He asked and then paysed, thinking over what he'd said. "Magic I mean. It sounds like it." He couldn't remember a few of the demons that they'd encountered being very good with ice based spells. It would explain the hypothermia despite it not feeling all that cold in the air.

His eyes seemed to be tracking well enough; he was managing to meet Ronixis' gaze without too much trouble, but damn, he wasn't a doctor or a healer or anything like that. "I'm guessing so," he agreed with a nod. "Can't have woken up more than an hour ago at most," he added after a moment. No way of telling the exact time, but he'd been getting better at telling the passage of time without timepieces. It implied that other people had been around for a lot longer though. He smiled at little at the thanks. "Don't mention it. I wasn't about to leave you there." He helped people whenever he could.

"It wasn't natural," Dean admitted as he shot Ron a Look. Magic? Most people didn't immediately leap to the "it must be magic!" conclusion right off the bat, not in his line of work - nah, it was usually the "I must be going crazy" or "you're insane" lines he was used to. "She started chanting and suddenly there was this ice and freezing cold water all over the place. I got hit with it. So I guess you could say it was magic, 'cause I sure as hell can't describe it any other way."

He wondered if there were more hunters than just himself here. Looking at Ron, really trying to size up him, he just couldn't see him at a hunter, sticking stakes into things and decapitating vampires and all that fun stuff that was just a day at the office. He just looked...well, Dean wasn't sure how he looked, but he looked like he should be thinking about having kids and hard at work building that Joe Normal white picket fence to keep them corralled with. Still, looking like a civvie and actually being one were two different things. He filed away having to look into Ron's background for when he was, y'know, more conscious and not recovering from having his ass frozen off. Maybe he wouldn't have died immediately, but without Ron to step in, Dean knew it hadn't looked good. Ron seemed like a nice guy. He hoped he stayed that way 'cause he really didn't want to have to add him to his growing list of crap that needed hunting or an ass-kicking.

"Thanks," Dean said, although it sounded a little uncomfortable, like he wasn't used to thanking people for saving his life. Sure, Sammy had stepped in more times than he could count in the past, but that was different. You didn't need to say anything, his kid brother knew what he meant. Dean switched subjects, concentrating on the warmth the blankets wrapped tightly around him were providing. "Talk 'bout blind leadin' the blind, man. I'm new myself. Got maybe two days on you."

He shifted positions. There wasn't any harm in bringing the guy up to date, removing any thing like "I'm a Winchester", "I'm also a hunter", and "by the way, you're not a monster, are you?" from his thoughts about what this place was.

Dean still didn't feel one hundred percent but the fact he was thinking in a more or less straight line was a good sign no matter how crappy he looked. "From what I can tell, you're in this place called Landels Institute. During the day, it seems to be an asylum, but during the night..." he made a shrug, "gets crazy, more or less. Y'get a lot of stuff you can't explain. It's pretty dangerous stepping outside the rooms. Guess you and I drew the short straws, Ron. Sorry, man."

And he was sorry. He was sorry Sammy was still out there, maybe being under watch by people like Doctor Makiko Kisugi, he was sorry he hadn't had enough time to spend with Sam when he came back, he was sorry he didn't have any of his usual weapons to protect everyone here. He was sorry Ron had equally shitty luck and had ended up here with probably no warning, like the other people he'd talked to. If they'd been taken by the Demon, there hadn't been the usual signs.

Edited 2009-02-05 05:04 (UTC)

Chanting and then ice. Yup, sounded like heraldry to him. But how? As far as he knew, he was the only human who was able to use Heraldry. It had been an unknown art until they'd visited Roak and he knew that Iria had never heard of it before then either. How strange. Dean definitely looked human, but that had become a confusing issue recently. "This may sound strange, but she didn't happen to have a tail or wings did she?" he asked mildly. If this woman was Fellpool or Featherfolk it would explain it, just leaving the question of how such a building like this had come to be on Roak. The Rezonians perhaps? "It definitely sounds like heraldry though," he added for Dean's benefit.

Hmm, that was something to file away for further thought. He wasn't expecting Dean to recognise the term though. Only the Calnus crew and those involved in his mission had even heard of the term and even then, it hadn't been studied or anything.

He smiled at the other man, shaking his head. "Anything you can tell me would be helpful, no matter how patchy." He was kind of missing the presence of scanners and computers, he had to admit. They made some things much easier. "Two days is still better than two minutes." He listened carefully to what Dean said, frown deepending as it became clear that something had gone terribly wrong. An asylum. He didn't know how he would have got to such a place, but then, he didn't know much about the Time Gate really. "Pitch darkness, attackers," He murmured, glancing over at Dean and remembering the injuries. He would have said Asmodeus except that he knew the demon was dead. He'd seen him die with his own eyes.

He rubbed the back of his neck, looking thoughtful. "I guess the guardian of the Time Gate has a pretty warped sense of humour," he murmured with a faint smile. And now he had no clue how to find the others or get back to his real time. He could be anywhere in history. "Thanks for the help. I appreciate it."

Now that he was actually slowly getting warmer, he could feel some feeling returning to his arms and legs. Dean maneuvered himself clumsily so that his back was against the wall, legs folded Indian-style as he clutched the blankets more tightly around him. He still felt sleepy, but it wasn't the same as before, where it felt heavy, pressing in on him and he'd had the feeling in the back of his mind that if he'd fallen asleep then, he wasn't gonna wake up. Still was hard not to nod off right in the middle of the conversation. Even as he listened to Ron, eyebrow raising almost skeptically, he told himself that he owed the guy 'cause of tonight.

There would be a limit to how big a favor Ron could call in, but so long as it didn't require killing people or messing with any black magic crap, Dean had his back.

Even if he had no idea what he was going on about with Time Gates. Warped sense of humor? He could get. Sounded like a Trickster, especially with the humor deal and being able to just pluck people from anywhere and mess around with him. Then again, Joe Normals like Ron shouldn't even know about them, which got him wondering. Time Gate sounded like something out of a bad sci-fi movie, but it wasn't out of the realm of possibility to lose time or gain it. This was more Sammy's area, what with being a huge geek, in Dean's opinion. But even Dean knew there were accounts of people claiming they were from the past or present...although they were usually quickly proven to be hoaxes, it wasn't like this was entirely outta the blue. Dean chewed this over, watching Ron out from under half-closed eyes, seeming to be on the verge of konking out for the night.

"Pretty sure she didn't have wings or a tail," he finally said. "Then again, wasn't like I got a good look at her, she was usin' the fog as cover."

Ron sounded surprisingly unconcerned about the idea of a girl who might have a tail and/or wings. Dean had run into his fair share of supernatural crap, but there wasn't a lot of human-looking, real monsters out there with wings he could recall, except for the obvious. Angels. But the only angels he'd ever seen where the crappy plastic ones you busted out for Christmas, and, no disrespect for Sammy, but far as he was concerned, angels were just as much a hoax as Bigfoot, give or take a few thousand years. You wanted to pray to the imaginary, than go for it, if it helped you get through the day, whatever. As for tails...that did stump Dean. Werecat? Werewolves didn't have tails though, so why would werecats? If Ron had been a witness to some kinda weird creature, he was taking it way better than any civvie in their right mind should be. Dean was honestly starting to doubt if he was just a normal guy - he was starting to come across as one of the most balanced hunters he'd ever run into and that was saying something. You didn't get into this gig 'cause you were balanced.

Dean actually smiled, although it was a tired, somewhat feeble ghost of his usual grin, face still wan and bloodless. "Anytime, Ron. I know this ain't gonna mean much yet, but during the night, watch out for the rec field and the Sun Room," he paused, debating how much to admit. He couldn't just tell him to be careful. With ghosts, you either came prepared or you were dead meat. Maybe it was just recovering from that witch's cold spell crap, but Dean found that at the moment, he was looser about what he'd give away. "Word of advice and this's probably gonna sound all kinds of crazy, but if I were you, I'd get some salt. Keep it on you. And find some iron, it'll be your best defense if you go through the Sun Room."

If Ron needed salt, he could spot him. Least he could do was cough up some spare salt for the guy who just saved his ass from a potentially early trip downstairs.

Edited 2009-02-05 09:49 (UTC)

Dean was starting to look much better in Ronixis' opinion. He wasn't quite such a deathly white pallor, although he was still very pale. Hopefully he'd managed to get warm before any more lasting damage had been done. He was acting far more together and coherent now as well which was reassuring. If Dean had still been having trouble following movement and speaking then he would be more concerned. He still wished that he had Milly's... hell, any skill with healing heraldry so he'd be able to do something about those wounds. They couldn't be helping Dean with recovering. He still looked about ready to either pass out or fall asleep though. Ronixis wasn't convinced that letting him fall asleep so soon after suffering hypothermia was a good idea.

He nodded when Dean said that the woman hadn't seemed to have a tail or wings. So, not Featherfolk or Fellpool. Probably. Well, there were plenty of other creatures, even on Roak, that could use magic. Those demons which had followed Asmodeus for one. And there were thousands of other planets out there which could, in theory, have access to their own version of Heraldry and there was nothing to say that they couldn't be humanoid as well. Milly and Ratix looked pretty much human except for the ears and tails. Which left him in exactly the same position as he already was; pretty much clueless.

"I suppose there's the possibility that she could have changed shape as well," Ronixis replied thoughtfully. He'd heard from Iria and Ratix what had happened in Astral with the demon posing as a knight. It wasn't completely beyond the realm of posibility which meant the woman might have been a demon.

He nodded in response to Dean's advice, comitting those names to memory. "Right, rec field and the Sun Room, got it." He supposed that they must be the most dangerous points in the building, although he was still trying to get his head around the fact that this was supposed to be an asylum as well. He kind of wished that Iria was here to watch his back. She might have a better explanation for what had gone wrong to land them here. "Salt?" he asked, looking a little confused. What did salt and iron do?

He didn't know about salt? Dean didn't care where you were from. If you were a hunter, that was pretty much the basics of the whole lifestyle. It didn't explain why he knew about shifters, though, but the way he said it, it sounded more like a theory than actual up close experience. Or, if he had any, he had to be the most green hunter he'd ever run up against if he hadn't even known about salt. Had he even put down anything or was this all just theories and myths to him still?

That or Ron was testing him, like he'd been testing Angel earlier. Dean was too tired and drained to care too much; if he had a job right now, it was making sure Ron got himself prepared.

"Sounds weird, but yeah. Salt," Dean made a lethargic nod toward the bag still lying near the door. He was amazed he'd actually managed to hold onto it, all things considered. "I saw some more in the kitchen's pantry, but if I were you, I'd get more and make a line at the door. It should protect you. If you see a girl with rope burns around her neck in the Sun Room, draw a salt circle around you and get inside."

He wasn't so sure about a shapeshifter. Apparently there was a shifter running around, but he needed some more solid information - like a pattern - and silver. Shit, what he needed to do was find his car, hope they hadn't found the arsenal hidden in his baby's trunk, and get some real weapons pronto. But right now he needed to get a second wind, and warn Ron about the spirit in the Sun Room without flat-out saying she was a friggen, honest to God ghost. Dean took a heavy breath, closing his eyes for a second and just enjoying the fact he was dry and slowly getting warm; he was never gonna take being dry and warm for granted ever again.

Ronixis followed Dean's gaze towards the door where the bag of salt lay. It seemed a strange thing to suggest, something like the superstitions of Earth before science had effectively banished them to old habits which had never quite died out. Ronixis much preferred to trust in his own skills and those of his people, but he wasn't about to ignore any advice in such a situation. Earth's knowledge wasn't infallible by any means and he wasn't prepared to be caught out because of pride. "I'll bear that in mind," he agreed. Even if he was probably more likely to just use heraldry. It had worked well enough against demons and Asmodeus when he'd needed it. It was a strange place where salt could be a protection.

He smiled slightly. "I should be used to weird stuff by now," he murmured, shaking his head. First magic and monsters and lycanthropes and now salt as protection. He just hoped that he wouldn't ever actually get used to it. He liked being surprised by new things. He didn't know what would happen if one day he lost that sense of wonder he felt at discovering a new planet and a new race. Life just wouldn't be worth living in his opinion.

Dean knew this wasn't gonna be comforting to Ron, but he wasn't gonna sugarcoat it. "Probably gonna get a lot weirder from here."

Speaking of salt. Much as it was dangerously comfortable to be bundled up in all these blankets, Dean didn't feel comfortable sitting here while he knew there were ghosts and demons out there. Probably wasn't a good idea to be moving about, but old habits died hard and he'd be damned if he wasn't gonna lay down a salt line like he'd just been saying they should. The hunter got up gingerly, was glad he could actually sorta-kinda walk on his own on what still felt like uneven footing, and knelt carefully next to the bag of salt (carefully 'cause he didn't want to tilt over and brain himself on the door just 'cause his coordination was shot). He reached in and pulled out a small handful of salt, expertly laying down a thin white line of it so that if the door was opened, the line wouldn't be disturbed.

"There," Dean said. He sat back, meaning to sit back on his heels, but miscalculated and ended up sitting down all the way on his butt. He tried to make it look like he'd meant to do that. "Takes about two seconds."

He sat there for a few minutes, wondering what he should do next. The smart thing would be to spend the rest of the night here, resting up, getting more energy for the day and night ahead. But he still had a lot of crap he needed to get if he was gonna get that demon Punk-Ass in a devil's trap and he wasn't gonna get any of that doing the smart thing; place like this, he reasoned they had to have some kind of storage or supply closet with duct tape or packing tape. Rope? Maybe not - he wished - but strong tape like that was a good second. He didn't think Punk-Ass could break his way through a Key of Solomon, but the freak was already immune to salt up close. Dean wasn't taking chances. He needed tape to make sure he wasn't going anywhere while he exorcised him. Glancing over at Ron, Dean debated what he should do with him. Again, smart thing was to leave him here with another salt line where he was for extra measure. But the guy had saved his life and if he was gonna try to search for supplies, it'd only be fair to give the guy a chance to get some stuff for himself.

That and it'd be easier to have two pairs of arms than one, but Dean kept that to himself. And Sammy said he had no tact.

Fact of the matter was he still had a hunt on his hands. The longer he waited, the more of a chance that the demon would remember him and he'd lose the element of surprise.

Dean pushed himself to his feet, wincing a little as he jostled the cuts, and stood up, working extra hard to keep his balance. "I'm gonna have to head out again, Ron. Could you do me a favor, check my jacket for a map?"

It'd been a copy of a copy, but he wouldn't be surprised it some of it was rendered crap from being soaked through. Still, he needed to know what was on the floors so he could try to look for a supply closet or something dealing with storage if he was gonna have any chance of finding some duct tape. Dean occupied himself with padding over to the closet, raiding whatever dry clothes he could find, pulling the drab Landel's overcoat over his sweater and t-shirt and not caring how retarded he looked. What was important was he was warm, if maybe not in the best shape he'd ever been. Too bad whoever made these maps hadn't thought to earmark them with "Ghosts here" or "Beware of Shapeshifter" or anything that would've given him a good warning of whatever might still be out there.

[Dean's gonna try to head for General Storage. Did you want Ronixis to come?]

Edited 2009-02-06 09:11 (UTC)

"Ah well, I'll just have to see what happens," Ronixis replied with his lips quirking up into an amused smile. After time-travel and demons and cat-people, it took a lot of weird to have an effect on him. He wasn't denying the possibility though.

Like this. He watched carefully as Dean walked slowly over the doorway of the room, ready to move if the other man happened to stumble or slip. He did seem very determined to do this and Ronixis supposed that he couldn't blame him one bit. He could be the same when he really wanted or needed to do something. The line of salt though, that still seemed very strange to him. He couldn't see how it would stop anything, but well, there were always things that a person didn't know. Maybe there was something with an extreme salt allergy? Still, Dean seem much more composed by now and less pale.

The assertion that Dean was going to head back out again, made Ronixis raise an eyebrow at the younger man. "Are you sure that's a good idea?" he asked calmly, but still went over to look through the pockets of the jacket, quickly finding a rather battered and somewhat damp piece of paper which he assumed was the map. He went back over to Dean and passed it over. "There. I hope it's not too badly damaged though. It's rather damp."

I'd like to, yeah!

Dean grunted. "No, but I'm doin' it anyway. It can't wait."

He took the map from Ron, carefully unfolding it and holding it as tight as he could so he wouldn't fumble and drop it. Surprisingly, some of it was still intact, although half of the first floor had been washed away, and the ink had run on part of the second. Still, some of it was legible enough to read, the hunter squinting at it and aware of Ron watching him without having to look up. It was pretty obvious Ron wanted to do the smart thing but while he might be either taking this really well or know a little something about something, he didn't know that Dean had a short window of opportunity here. That demon wasn't gonna exorcise itself. Checking out what remained of the map, it looked like there was some rooms ear-marked "general storage" and "extra storage", linked to a janitor's closet. It was possible there might be duct tape or something there. Dean folded the map - more like it folded itself, the wet paper not having much more of a shelf-life - and nodded.

"You want to come? Might find something useful up there," Dean said. He really doubted they'd just have some Glocks or extra bowies lying around. He gestured toward the leather jacket again. If he was gonna ask Ron along, he might as well get him armed. "There's a butter knife in the inside pocket."

As he talked, Dean moved back toward where Ron had left the bowie. He had recovered some feeling in his hands, but his dexterity was gonna be just as crappy as his coordination. They'd have to keep quiet and keep moving, otherwise they were gonna attract the attention of anything that might want to finish the job that witch in the rec field hadn't. Dean still felt crappy, weak in the arms and legs and just friggen tired, but he had to do this. Punk-Ass might have answers that could help him deal with Doctor Kisugi and help him find Sam. And, even if he didn't, it was just one more evil sonuvabitch that needed going down.

Edited 2009-02-07 21:39 (UTC)

That determination, it reminded him a little of Dorne before the virus had... well, before, even though Ronixis had only known him for a short time. He'd seemed like a very determined and headstrong young man. "Well in that case, far be it for me to stop you," Ronixis said with a smile. He just wouldn't let Dean go alone. He'd never forgive himself if Dean got mangled or collapsed after Ronixis had let him just walk off in the condition that he was in. It would be intolerable. He peered over the other man's shoulder at the crudely drawn and dog-eared map. Some of it was at least still readable, although most of it seemed to have been damaged by the water, leaving just ink smeared across the paper. Well, as long as Dean had some idea of where to go without needing the map the whole way. He had to wonder how big a building it could be to require maps for people to get around, especially a hand drawn one like this. He had to admit, he was curious to see more of the place, no matter where it was.

"I'll come along, yes," Ronixis replied, glad that Dean had offered rather than Ronixis having to insist on accompanying him. He looked a little confused at the mention of the butter knife though. What was he going to use that for? Still, he went to fetch it anyway, feeling rather bemused at the whole idea. "I admit, I don't tend to use knives as a weapon," he said with a touch of amusement, because a butter knife was not known for being any kind of weapon usually. "But thankyou." If something came, then he was far more comfortable with blasting them with a spell or two. Calling down lightning to rain death upon attackers was rather more effective in his opinion.

Dean flicked a glance at Ron when he didn't stop him, but it didn't look like he was being sarcastic. Shit, he was really beginning to like the guy, and this wasn't just 'cause he'd pretty much saved his life, either. Normal civvies, they always demanded answers like "why", "who're you" and "where'd that gun come from" but Ron? Ron was a good guy. He didn't badger him with stupid questions or insist he absolutely had to come, like he'd be any more a pro at this compared to someone who routinely hunted this crap for a living. As civvies went, he was actually pretty cool. Dean gathered up the things he thought he'd need; flashlight, bowie knife, the soaked map, taking extra care to handle them all because of his crap state. He looked up when Ron admitted he didn't use knives.

"Knives are real simple. Sharp end goes in whatever you're stabbing...not that it's even got one, but you get the picture," he said, but grinned - it was tired, but still an honest grin - to show he wasn't totally dicking around with Ron. "Can't imagine it's got as much of a point as the bowie, but you stab it hard enough and you could probably make whatever's out there think twice - go for the soft spots like the eyes if we get attacked and then let me handle it. But if everything goes well, you won't even have to use it."

It was a pretty shitty weapon, sizing it up. But it was either that or tell him to use the flashlight and while the torches here had some bulk, you didn't want to go wasting it braining someone - or something - unless you had no other options at all and risking your light was the least of your problems at that point. Dean didn't think he'd be able to hold his own very long, but if they kept quiet and moved quickly, hopefully that shouldn't be a problem. If something did come up, they'd have to tag team. Dean wasn't much used to tag-teams, not unless you counted all the hunts with Dad and Sammy - the few times he'd teamed up with other hunters, it'd been just a job at best and Gordon Walker at the worst. Bobby was pretty much the only other hunter he could trust not to go stabbing him in the back or gunning for Sam. Dean still didn't know if Ron had any training at all, but he'd just have to assume he didn't - what he did have was just as valuable, though, because keeping a cool head and taking it in a stride like a badass was just as important as knowing how to break down a crossbow or where, exactly, you had to aim when you wanted to decapitate a vampire.

Edited 2009-02-08 05:08 (UTC)

The knife had a bit of a point at least, Ronixis was pleased to note, which was better than nothing, even if he doubted it would be the most effective of weapons. "So I gather," Ronixis replied with a grin in response to 'Stabbing Things 101'. "I have a friend who's a swordsman," he added after a moment. Well, two really. Ratix and Cyuss were both very impressive to witness on the field. They were dangerous men and Ronixis was proud to call them both friends. "I'm more of a bowman myself," he continued as he slipped the knife into his pocket and reached for the flashlight which he'd left on top of the desk earlier. "Crossbow, longbow. Anything really." He'd gone from it being a hobby to something essential for survival. Sometimes there just wasn't enough time to recite a spell in the midst of battle. "But I'm sure that I'll get the hang of it," he added with a grin.

"Do you need a hand up?" he asked, still concerned about Dean's health. Offering a hand up wasn't too pushy was it? People did it all the time, even when they hadn't been half dead from hypothermia half an hour ago.

The man even know how to handle a crossbow.

Dean was in (not gay) love.

He'd been trying not to be impressed with Ron but seriously, he knew how to handle a crossbow, knew when to take no for an answer, and he hadn't freaked out helping him earlier. Why weren't all civvies this awesome? Sure he'd probably be out of a job, but man, all those times a civvie got hysterical or did something stupid or was just a general pain in the ass? Could've probably been halved if people got it through their heads that wigging out just made things worse, not better. The corner of Dean's mouth twitched, as if he was trying not to smile, and he just grunted. Technically all Ron said was he knew how to use one - proving he could was another thing entirely.

Dean waved away the offer of help. "I'm cool right now. Think I'm hittin' my second wind. But if I start feeling really crappy, I'll tell you, okay?"

It was a lot more than he'd give to a civilian normally. First of all, he knew and Ron knew Dean wasn't in great shape right now and second, so far he was liking Ron, and he knew if he might need help, Ron could probably handle that much. He'd already handled him when he was half-conscious. Dean thought he could walk but even that seemed more like a question in his mind than just being sure. With how his legs and whole body felt like Jello, he might actually have to take up that offer, he realized as he went to the door and opened it, stepping over the salt line. With all the layers, he felt like he was living in the Arctic or something, but it was either that or just rest up in the room. He could recover after he had Punk-Ass in that devil's trap.

"There's some stairs out in the Main Hall," he said over his shoulder as he stepped into the darkness. Dean had to brace himself with the wall as he waited for Ron to join him. Once his new "partner" was ready, Dean led the way down the dark halls, trying to at least make it to the Main Hall without having to go asking if that offer for help was still good.

[To here]

[Sorry, had to mod Ronixis as joining him/following since I totally just remembered I was going to link them out]

Edited 2009-02-08 08:33 (UTC)

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Nightshift 38: M1- M10 Hallway

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