NIGHTSHIFT 43: M1 - M10 CORRIDOR

[stiffserpent.livejournal.com]

Ignoring the pain in his broken arm, Snake crept along the hallway. He had brought only the matches and hairspray with him, hooked into the band of his pants, needing no light. His feet made no sound. Even that vision of the corridor earlier hadn't phased him like his much-loved old Outer Heaven flashbacks usually did, as he was far too focused on his mission.

He had been checking the men's block rooms, one at a time. Most of them were vacated; some were not, and even the sounds of movement inside those ones were enough to reassure him that they were not the rooms that belonged to Big Boss.

Systematically, he started down the furthest corridor in the block to the south of his own, starting with room M10. The door was, of course, unlocked, and he cautiously pushed it open. Like many of the others, it seemed empty, but for less than a second he caught a trace of Big Boss's smell. It was enough to lure him into the room, even though no-one was visible. Had he imagined it?

[M10]

Comments

Leaving M2 [after Howl]

[kindalikedit]

Dean still didn't know what to make of Howell. He hadn't exactly got used to Angel, either, and it wasn't like he'd had time to. Spending all these years on the road, getting cramped into motel after motel with Sam and Dad, and then just Sam, Dean was still getting used to the idea of having a guy sharing the room who wasn't his brother. It was kinda weird to be actually missing the days where you got into stupid fights about who got the best bed and if a sink was a good place to hang your socks (Dean's opinion was yeah it was, 'cause where else was he gonna hang 'em?). Howell seemed pretty sane, if a little bit...he didn't know, Dean couldn't really place his finger on it. Not all there? Then again, getting friggen kidnapped and waking up to find yourself in a place, and he couldn't blame him. Still, the fact was he didn't know just how trustworthy Howell was. He'd trusted Angel just enough to not go stabbing him in the back.

He waited until he had the room to himself before changing into his real clothes, glad to get rid of the patient get-up and feel like a normal guy, slipping his necklace over his head. Last night had somehow netted him a sheath for that bowie knife, but he wasn't gonna complain, instead strapping the belt around his waist and letting his leather jacket hang over it, concealing it just outta habit. Checking the flashlight, he found it was dead, but fishing around through the drawers, he came up with a spare pair.

There was a whole lot more crazy on the intercom from HAL. Dean wasn't sure what to make of it, except that he had some potential spirits he needed to take care of ASAP, and that would have to be enough for now. One thing at a time. The hunter geared up, splitting the salt he had into one of the patient shirts and bundling it up so he could carry it to Sam's room, before stepping outside.

[And Dean's off to here]