Nightshift 41: Equipment/Chemical Storage

[haplesstracker.livejournal.com]

[From here.]

Finally! Now maybe he could actually get something done.

Scourge opened up his pillowcase and switched on his flashlight for the first time that night, holding them together to keep his hand free. Sure enough, the chemicals had those little colored and numbered diamonds Lord Recluse had sketched out for him. This would be a lot easier if he'd had some actual chemical names rather than orders to just pick out the most dangerously numbered ones, but it did give him somewhere to start.

He went for the acids first. Scourge knew very little about chemistry and most of that from listening to Mixmaster babble about things nobody really cared about, but he knew that Acids Melt Stuff and that they had to be beneficial to weapons that made the bad things go away. Glycerin had low numbers on it, but it sounded a lot like nitroglycerin and that was a dangerous substance indeed, so maybe it would be helpful. Magnesium chloride also looked useful, he'd seen someone set a cube of magnesium on fire and that had gotten very interesting very fast.

He packed the chemicals into the bag in generally equal amounts, being as gentle as possible just in case they exploded or caught fire on their own. When he could barely close the pillow up again, he offlined the flashlight and stuffed it into the top of the bag before heaving it over his shoulder and stumbling out of the room again.

[To here.]

Comments

[boyking]

[from here]

The storage area wasn't exactly spacious, and though the two of them probably still could've fit inside, crowding into a small space was never a good plan, even without the prospect of getting jumped by something supernatural. With chemicals and glass around, the last thing he was interested in was knocking something over.

Sam lingered in the threshold of the doorway instead, eyes skimming through the shelves over Dean's shoulder. It definitely seemed like someone had grabbed a bunch of stuff, but—

"That syringe," he said, nodding at it. "And the alcohol pads."

Dean was probably gonna run out of space to hold stuff, but he didn't offer to help. There was no need; if Dean wanted him to carry anything, Sam knew Dean wouldn't wait for an invitation before going ahead and simply shoving things into his brother's hands.

Hard to tell what else might've been here, given a lot of it was missing, but place like this, there was always alcohol. And where there was alcohol, there could be explosives. Provided they had something to light it with. Which they didn't yet so they'd have to leave it for now.

Christ, they didn't even have a damn lighter on them. He'd always figured them for travelling light, and they did—you had to, if you were gonna live out of a car—but compared to their situation right now, it was starting to seem like the Impala was a mansion full of stuff.

He thought about asking what Dean had gotten from outside there, stopped and decided now wasn't the time for a lot of conversation. He wanted to get out of here and back to their rooms. Quicker they did that, the better he'd feel.

Of course, that did leave the issue of having to tattoo Dean on the fly. He'd...deal with that when they got down to it, though.

[kindalikedit]

Holding his flashlight under his arm, Dean took the syringe and the pads, passing them off to Sam before he went rummaging around for anything else. A lot of it was general lab equipment, stuff they couldn't use without electricity and, even then, probably wouldn't be too useful. Somehow, Dean didn't think he'd have much of an every day need for an incubator. However, he did like the look of the marble mortar and pestle: if they needed to mix anything, it beat having to try to do it with the butt of a flashlight. Dean handed off that, too, to Sam, before continuing his search. Picked pretty clean, looked like. After a good ten minutes of searching, Dean turned back to Sam.

"Think that's the best we'll get for now," Dean said. It wasn't much. Still, it was better than what they started with. Dean wasn't looking forward to heading back to M2 and getting a tattoo hand-carved into him. It wasn't going to be anything like getting shot or bones broken or the hundreds of other, more painful things he could think of, but that didn't mean he could shrug it off, completely.

That, and he wasn't so sure just how sterile these tools were. The last thing he wanted to do was get screwed up because of a crazy infection doing what a demon or monster couldn't and actually taking him down. Dean kept that to himself. Sam didn't need to hear it. He just needed to know - or believe, at least - that Dean thought it was gonna turn out okay.

[damned-monsters.livejournal.com]

The sound was faint at first, easily dismissed as something merely imagined. After all, even in this place, why would there be a child weeping as though it had lost everything most dear?

A wisp of breeze curled past Sam in the doorway, bringing a momentary chill into the small closet before it dissipated again. It was almost as though someone had opened a door to winter air, allowing in a draft - though there had been no sound of movement nearby.

[tiassa - o hai gaiz ♥]

[boyking]

Sam leaned against the door frame, one eye on the room outside. He took the mortar and dropped the syringe and alcohol pads inside it, and was just reaching over Dean's shoulder for one of the glass beakers—never knew when a container might come in handy—when he heard it.

Crap.

Freaking spirits were everywhere in this place. No surprises given where they were, but still. They really needed a decent shotgun. Among other things.

He didn't waste time, tugging on Dean's jacket to get his attention, though he was sure Dean had heard the crying just the same, felt the slight dip in temperature. The last spirit had been a crying boy, too, and he wasn't sure whether it was this place or what, but that seemed to kind of be the MO here.

Probably not the same one, though. The other little boy was different, his crying less...unsettling, in a way. If that meant this particular spirit was an omen, too, of something worse to come (suffocation by hair, for example), Sam had no idea. And he wasn't gonna wait to find out.

In any case, time to go. He didn't need to look at his brother to know Dean was thinking the same thing.

[back out here]