damned_institute | Day 23: Lunch

The second the intercom sounded, while the man on the intercom was still talking, Ashton pulled himself off the couch in the Music Room and slowly made his way to the door. He walked, glided even, as if he were a ghost in a dream. The nurses had already filed up to escort the patients to the lunchroom, and one bustled over to walk Ashton those few feet from one room to another.

"You're not looking very well, Mr. Pritchett," she said cheerfully. "Didn't you enjoy your shower?"

Ashton replied with a small, forced smile, then shook his head. He didn't feel like talking now. Though the nurses were pushy and downright annoying, he figured he owed this one at least a little explanation. They didn't know - or didn't believe - what went on after dark, but he owed them the benefit of the doubt. "Bad day," he decided on telling her.

Bad day indeed. The showers and the music had done nothing for his nerves. But then again, what could get that graphic image out of his head?

He glided ghostily through the taco line and settled on two chicken and bean tacos, with chips, a scoop of guacamole, two churros on the side, and a glass of apple juice. He wasn't used to this sort of food (save the juice) and he wasn't even sure he'd eat it, but the chances were high that he'd be able to pass it off on someone.

He was on the verge of tears again, too. What he would have given to just sit down next to a barrel and eat a hamburger.

Thank goodness the cafeteria was bare just now, too. It left all the corner tables open, the tables that shouted 'Don't talk to me, I'm brooding over here.' He sat at one, pushed his food a little away from him, and buried his head in his arms.

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He tapped his foot as he digested the information. 'Playing their little game'; yes, it had been fairly obvious from the start that what she'd told him in the Chapel was indeed closest to the truth he'd come by – that the staff seemed to toy with their patients. There has to be another motive, he thought silently. There must be fastidious statistics or data on each of us, and that's why they chose to capture us. Dean still had a scheme in mind suggesting this was all an illusion, and he was essentially unconscious in a hospital bed, awaiting contact from a reaper. It would explain why he didn't know anyone in the vicinity from his past.

His brother just better have a plan to pull him back to reality. Or-

Stomach sinking, another thought invaded. What if being sent here was Sam's doing? What if this is where those who were on the barely discernible borderline between life and death came to rest while they anticipated revival? Oblivion. Maybe this was a daydream of Hell. The dull ache of his burns said otherwise, however. This had to be reality of some variety or another.

He shook his head. Thinking in circles like that would drive him crazy if he persisted; perhaps that's what the staff of the Institute wanted.

"I see. We show signs of muscle and they mirror it back. Great." Biting his lower lip, eyes avoiding glances by moving to inanimate objects, he uncrossed his arms and got to his feet unexpectedly. "It's been fun, but I really have to get going. Gotta-" He motioned to the exit – "Meet someone." He gave Rein a friendly pat on the shoulder. "With luck I'll run into you later!"

Day 23: Lunch

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