Day 51: Breakfast

[thatdamnedninja.livejournal.com]

Yuffie Kisaragi, indomitable bouncing ball of sunshine and unfathomable ebullience, was tired. It'd been a long night full of gibberish and getting nowhere fast.

"Can't I—"

Plucky, who had been busily loading a plate full of French toast and bacon, tittered. "I'm afraid not, Hanna, darling. A chat over a nice, hearty breakfast would do you a world of good, don't you think?"

"Aaaaactually—"

"Come on, let's find you a seat. Plenty to choose from this morning!"

For a long moment, Yuffie seriously considered doing something—anything—to act out. Punch her nurse, rub jam in an orderly's face, climb a wall and hang off the ceiling, jump on a table and parody Loveless… A ruckus like that would definitely jolt her back into gear, right? Sedation aside. And it'd turn Plucky's good day right on its head, which was always a bonus worth shooting for.

But, by the time she'd reached a decision—and it was an epic decision, a really awesome one; everybody'd appreciate the genius, she was sure—she was already alone. Her breakfast tray had been set down neatly by the nurse, who had left with an infuriatingly winsome smile.

"Wow," Yuffie muttered. Shaking her head, she picked a chair at random and threw herself into it. She kicked back, one arm slung across her eyes, to wait. For what, she wasn't totally sure. Some moron to decide that she looked like good company? That was how it usually went.

Comments

[boyking]

If Sam had been drinking something, there was every chance he would've choked on it. As it was, he...stared. He wasn't sure what it was; most likely it was the way Michael (or Castiel now) had said it, as though he were almost guilty to admit what he was—but if it was a joke, it didn't sound like he was making one.

Maybe the guy was delusional, then. Or something. It had to be something, because there were a lot of things Sam could buy, but angels weren't one of them. They used to be; it hadn't been so long ago that he forgot the way he used to believe, but thinking back on it was like thinking back on the days when he used to believe in Santa Clause or that Dad would actually come home in time for a holiday for once.

And honestly, he didn't want Castiel to be an angel like he claimed. The implications were too much. Because it would mean that no one gave enough of a damn about his brother to step in when it mattered, that apparently, their own guardian angel only showed up after it was too fucking late.

No matter which way Sam thought about this, whether he chose to believe it or not, it only served to piss him off.

His slid his gaze back to Dean for what must've been the fifth time since Castiel had sat down at their table. He didn't have anything to say anymore. He had a million questions, and no way to phrase any of it. He didn't need this right now. He didn't need some random dude showing up saying he owned a pair of wings. They had enough problems of their own without adding this crap on top of it.

He bit his lip, passed the torch over to his brother. If Dean had something to say about this, he could. Otherwise, Sam was gonna need at least a minute before he could figure out where to go from here. He wanted to ask Castiel to prove it, except that sounded childish despite how he knew he was more than entitled to get some visual evidence.

What nagged him was that he couldn't see any reason for Castiel to lie. He had to have known that even hunters—or maybe especially hunters—didn't exactly buy into the angel thing.

Only, he reminded himself, he didn't know Castiel at all. Maybe the so-called angel did have a reason. That was...a thought. Not a comforting one; the logic was thin, he knew. He could barely convince himself. Although who the hell knew, maybe part of the issue here was that he wasn't sure what he wanted to believe.

[kindalikedit]

Dean snorted. No point getting all diplomatic with some guy thinking he was God's gift to...well, everything. "An angel. You're saying you're an angel."

Making a point to lean over and check out his back, Dean raised an eyebrow. Either he had the world's tiniest wings or he was trying to sell them on this story and it was one of those things you came up with at the last minute. Not much of a sell. Sure, sometimes it was hard to pick a winner on the fly like that but dude, I'm an angel had to be at the bottom of the bullshit list; the point was to pick something people could believe was true as a cover, not something that sounded cool on paper. Dean didn’t have to glance over to know Sam was trying to figure out something to say. The kid probably had that same look on his face he got when the job went oddball on them. Man, he thought the fake UFO probing had been about as weird as it was going to get.

“Word of advice, but I wouldn’t go around bragging I got wings in front of folks around here,” Dean said. Maybe he did believe the guy could very well have abilities – there were plenty of folks here that did, and that thought alone wasn’t making getting any sleep easier – but he’d be damned if there was such thing as an angel. Castiel didn’t look much like his mental image of an angel; seemed like there was more scruff and staring than a fruity harp or halo.

He had a feeling Castiel wasn’t Sam’s mental image of an angel, either. These days he had to wonder if the kid even still believed in angels himself. It wasn’t like Sam said he’d been doing much praying recently. After all the crap that came at them, Dean couldn’t say he was too surprised if he stopped. He was just surprised his brother had kept it up this long.

[freewill]

Their reactions were more or less predictable, and he had no way of showing them how little space they had to be skeptical. If he provoked Dean into punching him right now, he would take the blow just as a human would. There would be no shielding, no heavenly resilience. He could not take them out of this place with a flap of his wings (and when Dean glanced at his back as if searching for them, he couldn't help hunching forward in embarrassment); he could not cause a lightning flash or a rumble of thunder.

They likely thought he was insane (or simply moronic), and there was nothing he could say right now to change their minds.

Except for give them information and prove to them that he knew more about them than was even possible. The deal, Dean's trip to Hell, and his role in getting him out. He could be brutally honest (that, at least, was something he was good at that had not been taken from him), and maybe eventually they would cave in.

"I'm not boasting," he shot back at Dean, his tone a bit short due to frustration, mainly with the situation itself. He sighed then, straightening and trying to scrape up some confidence from wherever his powers had gone. Just as he was about to try and tell them something affecting, however, he felt a hand on his shoulder.

Castiel tensed and immediately grabbed for the offending wrist, causing its owner to gasp in response. When he realized it was one the nurses, he relinquished and instead stared up at her in question.

"I'm sorry, Michael," she said with a nervous smile. "I didn't mean to startle you. It's just that lunch is over, so the Derringers need to shower and you can go relax in the Sun Room, all right?"

It wasn't all right, but he knew that resisting would get him nowhere. He did note that they were using fake names for the Winchesters as well, however. It didn't shed that much light on the situation, but it was something to keep in mind nonetheless. Sending one more glance at each brother, Castiel nodded and stood. "Very well."

This wasn't over by any means, but it would clearly have to wait for another time. Until then, he could muse over how to best present the information.