damned_institute | DAY 52: BREAKFAST

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DAY 52: BREAKFAST

How one's body could maintain a waking schedule when sleep came unnaturally and in a room without windows, must surely be a mystery. Yet, as if working on cue, Natalia stirred well before her nurse arrived. That was normal. Less so, the weight that sought to press her eyelids closed again, the heaviness of her limbs that made lifting her hands to her face an effort. She put her wrist to her forehead with a frown, then attempted a jolt of energy – to swiftly dig her hands into the mattress and shove herself into a seated position, and from there, to her feet.

Not to overexert herself once again, but to refuse that it could be possible after sleeping. Happily, though all still felt leaden, her head did not swim. Encouraged, Natalia put on her slippers, rearranged the bedding, and waited. There came the announcement (reminding her, suddenly, of what she had last heard, and the guilt that had twisted in her gut, Jill--), and her face wrinkled with disgust at the hacking sound. Therapy and breakfast. Food would surely help.

Natalia did not wait long before her nurse opened the door, and after exchanging cursory “Good Morning”s (with rather more enthusiasm on the other woman's part), they began the walk to the Cafeteria. With, of course, the essential rest room stop, where water was splashed and scrubbed over her face, and her hair toyed with to no great satisfaction. At least the shower had renewed its body.

Separating in the Cafeteria, Natalia took her place in line and loaded her plate: eggs, fruit salad, fried “tater tots” (potatoes?), and curious meat wrapped in cooked dough. Some of everything, with juice and water. She thanked her servers, collected utensils and napkins, and found a seat at an empty table. It was early yet.

Sparing a brief look around to be sure no one she recognized had arrived – though she remained eager to greet every patient, at the moment she chose to focus on the possible strength gained from the meal – Natalia began to cut up the items and eat with a refined gusto. Entirely possible!

[Claude!]

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The girl seemed to be doing what she could to reassure him and get him to relax, and Castiel did what he could to comply. There was nothing to worry about, and he knew that, but for so long he'd been able to function while knowing exactly what to do. There had always been orders to follow and rules to live by, but ever since he'd left Heaven he'd been caught in a lurch of never quite knowing what to do. In fact, that only thing he did know was that he had to stop the world from ending, and that he had to stick with the Winchesters. Here, he had been separated from both, in a sense, and maybe that was why he was having a hard time communicating, even with someone who was doing their best to be polite.

But he forced himself to snap out of it, finally turning to face the stranger, though he also tried not to stare. He'd had Dean mention it to him a few times -- that he barely blinked. It apparently unsettled people, and so instead of looking straight into her eyes, he tried to keep his gaze more at her shoulder.

So she was also searching for information. That was something that he could connect to, and he was glad to have that, at least. It calmed him down slightly, and being asked something with an easy answer also helped. "I am Castiel," he told her in kind. "I arrived in this place two nights ago." And she was Renamon. The name seemed foreign, but not in the sense that he could apply it to any region of Earth that he was acquainted with.

Interesting.

Something seemed to calm in the man, enough for him to... look in her direction at the very least. This one seemed a contradiction, nerves colliding with apparent composure. He was better off than others she had seen two days in. His name, as well, something interesting, but she had stopped being surprised at the unique quality of others' names. "I see. I've been here three weeks now. If you have any questions I can try to assist you."

Three weeks. She said it so simply when it was anything but. Three weeks after she had left Rika expecting to only see her in dreams. Two weeks after seeing the girl again, locked in the trap set. Still Rika, but not the Digimon Queen. But still Rika. And even so, Renamon remained here, trapped here. Information gained in bits and pieces but nothing to be held up as work enough to make a difference. She knew most of the known workings and mysteries from contacts and interviews, but that gave her nothing still, to affect. Nothing to shift and change to something more wanted.

Two nights as opposed to three weeks. Castiel hadn't realized that people had been held here for so long. He hadn't gotten the chance to ask Sam or Dean, as they'd been distracted by other topics. He needed to find them both again and talk to them, but that was turning out to be a difficult task. Not that he would give up so easily, especially when the day had only begun.

It was altruistic of Renamon to offer to answer his questions, but she had probably decided that he wouldn't have any useful information for her when he was so new. And that was likely the case, truthfully. The only interesting place he'd found was through the front door, and surely Renamon had already been there weeks back.

But the fact stood that he didn't have three weeks to spend in this place. He glanced off to the side, staring at nothing as he sorted through his thoughts, and yet this time it wasn't for the purpose of avoiding the other patient. It was possible that he would be luckier than Renamon had been (or simply more determined), but with his abilities so limited, he wasn't going to assume anything.

"Have you gotten any closer to escape than the first day you arrived here?" he asked, turning back to look at her and study her response. He didn't need for her to lie to him, but humans tended to do that if they were worried that the truth would be too much to bear. But Castiel preferred sincerity.

The Digimon expected questions of details. Where to go. What would be found. Who was holding them. Why were they here. What could they do. What would happen. Anything that she had been asked before, in the countless times she had encountered new patients--since she had begun seeing the need to enlighten as much as they were able to understand. The first few days were the worst. Everything was heightened. Your loss. Your inadequacy. Your powerlessness. And the horrors and questions that surrounded you. If one person could protect themselves and those they cared about better because of that information, then she was all too willing to provide.

But this person asked the one thing she didn't expect. The one question that plagued her constantly. Every moment she was conscious, every failed night, and every meaningless day. Had she gotten any closer to escape?

She turned her head to face him fully, expression changing as she reestablished him as something more than just an unknowing patient. She was silent as she went over the facts she knew. Theories, mostly. Bits and pieces. Rumors about ruined towns, the basement, a third floor. The past of this place and those who ran it. But that was all backwards knowledge--necessary to understand, but not to move forward. At times the two coexisted, but now, right now, as things stood....

"No," she answered evenly, watching Castiel stare as unblinkingly as she herself did. "Theories. Facts. Details. Changes. But nothing that would allow me to answer you in the affirmative." And that answered everything, didn't it? That was the question that no one had dared ask, for the reasons she already knew.

For most humans, a loss of hope would be worse than death.

It was hard for Castiel to be certain, but something about Renamon's expression morphed after his question had been asked. Maybe she hadn't expected such a fatalistic question from him, but it seemed like she was giving it proper thought, rather than immediately trying to reassure him with platitudes and pre-worded phrases.

And when she did give her answer, it was straight, to the point, and exactly what he'd expected to hear. Castiel glanced down again, though once more, it was not out of awkwardness. Now that they had settled on a conversation topic, his nervousness was gone. All that mattered was getting the answers he needed, and this girl, who had somehow survived in this place for three whole weeks, seemed like a good candidate for providing them.

"I see," he said, more because he knew a response was expected than because he felt a need to say it. But humans got worried if he remained quiet and immersed in his thoughts for too long. There was no saying that he would encounter as much resistance as Renamon had in his escape attempts, but Castiel knew that he also had no advantage over her anymore.

"Of what you've discovered, what do you consider worth knowing?" he asked next. He didn't need all the details, necessarily; only the most important parts. She hadn't wasted her time here, as far as he could tell. It was only that they had strings attached -- or chains, more likely. They could never stray to far without being reigned in again.

He wouldn't assume that escape was impossible yet, but Castiel was starting to realize that it would not be something he could easily accomplish on his own.

[sorry for the lag; work killed me.--also. scream. sorry for tl;dr. >_>;;]

With the gradual shift, something loosened in her. It was still the same conversation, same subject, but the man had taken the answer given and hadn't asked for the reasons behind it like others might have. It was something to be grateful for. There was enough already spinning within her mind. The fact of repeating these actions days in the future. The loss of others. The simple truth of her own meaningless actions.

...What she considered worth knowing. That was an opinion, and in that flawed. Some would keep to patient knowledge and organization, others would want the layout and hidden crevices--more still, the past of this place and what had happened since. The Digimon cocked her head slightly in thought, passing over general knowledge that he could gain elsewhere, and pulling other thoughts forward.

"Some things," she finally said. "There's a chapel on the second floor. At night it can heal you at the price of another gaining your wounds. I wouldn't recommend it. If you leave the institute at night, you'll wake up here, no matter how far you run." Once started, she continued, choppy facts slipping into place. "There's a basement, with trials in which the purpose in unknown, with the entry way through the kitchen's freezer. There's a third floor, in which we don't yet have access to, which is rumored to house both the head doctor and other secrets tucked away." Other facts were passed on, and she shifted direction.

"This place plays with death. You may see others that you know have died, as well as bringing them here to remain as patients as well. People can die here, to reappear the next day, and you yourself can experience death to wake up as if it never happened. There's been others here." The briefest pause. "That have been seen as zombi as well." Including, if the facts from those who were here at the time were true, Doyle as well.

"Otherwise," the Digimon continued. "This has been rumored to be a military establishment. There was a computer program a bit ago that gave as much information. Others have theorized about this being a training facility for a time, and that fortified those. The man in charge, Landel, had a partner. Alec Doyle, called Jack, who broke from him to start helping us instead. He died. Jill, the woman, started soon after that, but right after she began, another on the radio warned us not to trust her. And now there's another man supposedly helping as well." Who at least had shown his face more than the woman. That negated some suspicion.

Renamon leaned backwards in her chair the slightest bit, drained. There was more, but all was hearsay and jumps of logic. And these were the facts found and given. There was more, less, but she could not place her thoughts in even patterns any longer. And she was sure that there was things to be expanded on, but she would wait for the man's direction in what subject to move.

It appeared that he had in fact hit a stroke of luck in terms of who had come to sit with him. Castiel hadn't expected it, but it turned out that Renamon had a plethora of information for him. This was the sort of thing that he thrived on, and so he sat straight in his seat and listened, absorbing it all without feeling the need to write it down. He'd never had to before. Information had a tendency of sticking in his head.

Though the first thing that was mentioned was a chapel, and that did cause his eyes to widen for a split second. Hallowed ground was not something he would have expected to see in this place, with its monsters, and yet there was always the chance that the chapel was merely a counterfeit. Considering that it seemed to grant the one who visited it some sort of transference of their wounds, that was probably the case. It was possible it had been cursed or created through black magic, but he would only know if he was able to look at it with his own (vessel's) eyes. He might need to travel up the stairs after all, then. That chapel might have a clue as to who was behind this, something that wouldn't be noticed by the untrained eye.

Renamon confirmed what Castiel had already been suspecting, that he would always be placed back in that bed when dawn came. And yet he had to wonder how far the girl had really run. Trying to test the limits of the binding spell (or whatever it might be) would be difficult, and yet there might be merit to the idea. Monsters or ghosts might block the path regardless of which way he attempted to go, but he wouldn't write it off as impossible so easily.

There were ways to move both down and even further up, and yet in both cases the entrance was hidden away. The kitchen's freezer; he kept it in mind, though he wasn't so interested in searching further in, but rather in getting out. Unless it became clear that the only way to get out was to find something within the building, but he wasn't willing to assume that yet.

The mention of death almost affected him more than hearing about the chapel, if only because he and Gabriel had been skirting around the subject the night before. So maybe his brother had in fact lost his life and been brought back, as impossible as it should have been. The way the girl described it went against every rule he had learned about the way that resurrection functioned, and it was making God's involvement seem less and less likely. Not that Castiel was necessarily surprised by that, but it made him wonder if deals were being made or if someone had truly unearthed a way to cheat death without attaching any strings. He found it doubtful.

Zombies were another story entirely, and he wondered if the Winchesters had been exposed to them during their time here. It seemed that they would have much to discuss when he finally tracked them down again.

The idea of the military being involved seemed unlikely to Castiel, if only because they had never been a part of stopping the apocalypse. Still, if there had been indication of that, then it wasn't as if he could discount the possibility. He hadn't expected it, but he clearly couldn't assume that things would work the way he was used to here. His own perceptions had already been disproved a few times, and he was still getting used to that.

It sounded as if the radio had gone through a few voices before getting to the current one, which was interesting but not immediately relevant. Whether the clues were worth following was apparently not yet known; something else he would have to keep in mind. But it seemed that was where the explanations ended, and it was certainly enough to go by.

"That's useful," he said finally, bowing his head slightly in gratitude. "Thank you." It was awkwardly phrased, but it got the point across. Or so he hoped. "I did have one more question, however. I noticed that in the room with the sun light, there's an area where the patients seem to congregate. What is the purpose of that place?" He had never gotten the chance to get a closer look, but someone who had been here for three weeks was likely to know.

He accepted the information as peaceably as anything else and she nodded in turn, inclining her head politely. "It's no trouble at all." It was something to focus on, a simple enough goal to achieve--enlightening others when things were not known. As with the other question he procured. The Digimon tilted her head, wondering exactly what was meant. "The sun room?" She offered. "We're just meant to spend most of our time there it seems. Probably--" Ah. Unless he meant something else.

"Do you mean the bulletin board?" Renamon went on. "If so, that's where the majority of the patients pass notes to each other--either for information or to meet at night. There used to be a beginner sheet, but the man who posted that is no longer here." And no one had filled in Edgeworth's place. The recent crackdown of wording would make it difficult but it was something to look into possibly.

Like her original thought when considering this man. "If I may, actually, I have a question for you as well." Renamon watched him, eyes bright. "You're not a human. What exactly are you?"

It had taken her a moment or two, but she had come to understand the meaning of his question. A bulletin board where people could leave notes. Castiel doubted it would be useful to him except in one or two cases, namely when he needed to try and contact Sam or Dean. Possibly Gabriel, but he didn't see a need to rely on the archangel for anything. They had spent the previous night together because his brother had decided to invite himself, and that was all.

He wasn't entirely certain of what she meant by beginner sheet, but it if the person responsible for it was already gone (and what did "gone" indicate, here?), then it hardly seemed to matter. Castiel only nodded again, a second, more silent thank you.

Considering how amicable the woman had been until now, Castiel was more than willing to answer any question that she might have. Though what she came up with was enough to legitimately take him by surprise. How had she--?

Concentrating, he focused in on her again, trying to find a sign of demon or angel or anything else in her. But his senses were weakened here, and he couldn't be sure if this was a case of her recognizing him due to them having something in common. "Were you able to sense it?" he asked, seeing no reason not to be upfront with his questions. "I'm an angel." He said it with more confidence than he had the day before, since it seemed as if Renamon was already prepared to hear something out of the ordinary.

It would be a relief, to have someone other than Gabriel believe what he was.

Something shifted on his expression; she took it as some sort of surprise. Him allowing that she could possibly sense him only solidified the thought--if he was familiar with that, it was more and more likely that he was not what he appeared. She nodded once in reply; there was no reason to not tell the truth on this. "Yes. You didn't feel human." Or Digimon, but that would go into things she didn't necessarily feel like attempting to explain.

His answer, though, made her blink. An angel. Renamon didn't lack knowledge of the term. There was enough in the media for her to be familiar with the white winged messengers of heaven. Certain Digimon as well, reflected the theme. Angemon. Angewomon. She hadn't came across either--the Digimon version or the human ones here, but that gave nothing in terms of doubt. There were ones who identified as gods here--far be it from her to deny an angel. "I see. Interesting." There was a beat before pure curiosity begged a continuance. "Does that afford you anything here that you can still use? Most powers and abilities are gone, but some are only diminished."

As expected, Renamon only barely reacted. That was strangely relieving, though Castiel didn't let that show through on his expression. The feeling wasn't one that he understood (or rather, he didn't entirely know why he felt it), and so it was best to keep it to himself. That was a rule he tried to follow in general. Emotions muddled things up far too often. While he treasured seeing them in humans, he still didn't know how to handle his own.

Though this strange woman's next question was considerably more difficult to answer, mainly because it wasn't something he wanted to admit to. She likely wasn't expecting much of him, but he couldn't shake his own standards and how fall beneath them he'd fallen. "I can also sense certain things," he said quietly, avoiding her eyes for different reasons now. "I can tell if another of my kind is here, and can also tell if those who I know are from differing times. As far as I've been able to tell, that is where my power ends."

Trying to move away from that topic as swiftly as possible, Castiel glanced up to regard Renamon curiously. "If you could tell that I was more than human, that must mean you're not one either." He watched her even more closely. "What are you?"

An avoidance of eye contact could speak of a few things. This one had no problem holding one's gaze--which left the option that he was lying, which, he had a right to, by any rate. Or the simple fact of something unwanted. If it had to do with abilities, she could understand, but jumping to conclusions without facts was something she would not do. Instead she nodded again. Much like herself, his sensing was for humans and those of his own kind. How interesting. This conversation was progressing far more easier than she was used to as well--it was something appreciated, to have one that wanted information more than socialization.

His question, however, touched on the very thing she did not want to speak. But even as Renamon would skirt around the issue she was not dishonest. He was owed that, in a way. He had been upfront, and she should be as well. It was a fair and even trade, better than most had. "A Digimon," she stated evenly. "A 'digital monster.'" There was a beat, and then she gestured inward. "This is not my true form." By any stretch of the imagination.

A digital monster. It wasn't something Castiel had ever heard tell of, but that did not mean that the woman was lying. There were many creatures out there, and some of them were remarkably good at hiding. Either that, or they kept to themselves unless their nest was disturbed. Digital could mean a number of things (and Sam would likely have had more theories than himself or Dean; additionally, Sam would probably be more understanding than Dean, whose first instinct would be to hunt Renamon down), but Castiel didn't have the time to ask. The intercom had gone off, and so it was clearly time for them to move on.

It was surprising, how a conversation he had been reluctant to start had gone such an interesting way. And to meet another who was not what she seemed made him feel... in a way, as if he wasn't so alone in his situation. It did nothing to help him get out of here, but it soothed something else. A part he hadn't realized was hurting in the first place, because angels weren't supposed to hurt. "It's the same for me," was the last he was able to say to Renamon before the nurses became aggressive. One was eyeing him from a few feet away, and he took that as his cue to stand.

As he moved away from the other patient, Castiel could only wonder at how true his last statement was. There was no way for him to exit his vessel and return to his true form now. When he said he was an angel, it was -- in a way -- a lie. And yet he had no other answer to give.

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DAY 52: BREAKFAST

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