Sora (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
lighthearted) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
damned_institute2010-12-13 03:00 am
lighthearted) wrote in damned_institute2010-12-13 03:00 am
Entry tags:
Night 53: M-A Block Hallway
[From here.]
At one point Sora might have noted how the hall was particularly empty, but as things stood, he just made his way around the corner and toward the block's exit without really thinking about it. The fact of the matter was that he'd seen this hall in so many different states (empty, packed full of people, streaked with blood after a fight) that it hardly registered. He could have tried to analyze the situation, but in the end there wasn't much that could be determined this early in the night.
When he thought about it, he hadn't done something this routine since he'd been in school. (Which was a sad enough realization on its own, but it was true.) His life as a Keyblade Master had been constantly changing. Sure, there had been a pattern (move to the next world, fight Heartless, move on again), but at least he'd generally been exposed to brand new places each time.
This place, on the other hand, was as drab as could be. Until something bad happened, of course.
Rubbing at the back of his neck, Sora opened the door and then slipped out into the next corridor.
[To here.]
At one point Sora might have noted how the hall was particularly empty, but as things stood, he just made his way around the corner and toward the block's exit without really thinking about it. The fact of the matter was that he'd seen this hall in so many different states (empty, packed full of people, streaked with blood after a fight) that it hardly registered. He could have tried to analyze the situation, but in the end there wasn't much that could be determined this early in the night.
When he thought about it, he hadn't done something this routine since he'd been in school. (Which was a sad enough realization on its own, but it was true.) His life as a Keyblade Master had been constantly changing. Sure, there had been a pattern (move to the next world, fight Heartless, move on again), but at least he'd generally been exposed to brand new places each time.
This place, on the other hand, was as drab as could be. Until something bad happened, of course.
Rubbing at the back of his neck, Sora opened the door and then slipped out into the next corridor.
[To here.]
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Badd now understood the meaning behind the map posted up earlier that day and wished he'd made a full copy of it. At least he'd given it a good hard look. The rooms marked with an F were were likely to be the women's rooms, and they weren't too far. If he went quickly he might catch her before she did anything particularly foolish.
Kay was resourceful, if nothing else. She'd survived more than one night here (how had he slept for three days?) and ideally she'd survive this one too, but no telling what the imposters might have up their sleeves for her. Not to mention the fact that this was psychological warfare past anything he'd seen implemented in the most severe of interrogation sessions and he wouldn't put them to...if they were targeting him specifically for some kind of misguided revenge, hurting her would be the best way to hurt him.
[To here. (http://community.livejournal.com/damned/1017510.html#comments)]
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So, what he knew was: they were meeting by the stairs, and someone named Ritsuka who looked like a cat (what was that about, anyway?) was in charge of everything. Other people would most likely be pitching in, too, but groups hadn't been formed. Javert might be around as well, but Peter wasn't sure if he met at the same spot as everyone else. He'd like to think he did just so that everyone could keep things straight, but...
Hopefully he'd figure things out once he had it to the meeting point. That was easy, at the very least. Sighing to himself, Peter moved past the one person in the hallway (a strange-looking boy with white hair) and toward the door that led out.
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While Castiel had been lucky to run into the Doctor the night before, as the man had been able to show him the way to the chapel, he was relieved that he would be able to move on his own now. While being attacked while alone could easily become problematic, it wasn't as if the Doctor had been able to do anything against that robot girl either. He didn't see how it mattered if someone was with him or not, as no one here seemed particularly well-equipped to be fighting. Dean and Sam were exceptions, and he had seen people with weapons, but whether they could use them was another issue entirely.
The point was that he thought he would get much further on his own, and so he refused to let anyone get in his way this time around. Brushing someone off politely wasn't something he'd really learned how to do, but he'd work it out if the time came.
The first thing he had to do was get to the stairs, and so Castiel exited the block without any delay.
[To here.]
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John took the time, now that he wasn't being ushered from place to place by nursing staff, to take a good look at his surroundings. It was a hospital like dozens John had been in before, all white floors and white walls and the lingering smell of disinfectant. He did take note of the numbers of the rooms he saw, pausing to pull out his map and write down the number of the first room on every hallway that branched out from this one. He wasn't sure it would be particularly useful information, but it was something that made sense, something he could understand, and perhaps a tiny piece of the larger puzzle. He tucked the map away again.
Not entirely certain of where he was heading, John made for the door and the corridor beyond.
[To here (http://community.livejournal.com/damned/1017510.html?thread=74780326#t74780326).]
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As Spock made his way down the hallway, he kept an eye out for any creatures lurking around the dark. As usual, there did not appear to be any immediate danger, although he knew that the institute's violence was not always contained to the areas outside of the patients' blocks.
He moved quickly, however, as he was scheduled to meet with Dr. McCoy again tonight. From there, they would continue to the second floor, and make their way back to the rooms they were previously investigating. So long as Landel refrained from performing more experiments on the patient population as a whole, he was confident they would make more progress.
Of course, whether Landel would be so cooperative was yet to be seen. There was a chance he'd be less likely to take risks with the visit from a superior so close at hand -- but there was also the possibility that he would want to have results to share with this Eagle.
Regardless, it did not change the need to remain vigilant. Spock maintained a steady pace and stepped through the next doorway.
((To here (http://community.livejournal.com/damned/1017510.html?thread=74853030#t74853030).))
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Reaching the end of his hallway, Vino paused. The joint hallway that lead to a small row of similar corridors to the one he had just come from certainly looked different under a different light. It was almost hard to imagine that he had passed through this hallway twice today and thought the walls too bright and too bland.
The door halfway down the hallway to his right caught his attention for a moment. He hadn't yet taken a look at what was behind that door, though he couldn't imagine it would be of much significance since he'd seen people walk in and out of the place a few times in passing. Vino stepped towards it anyway if only to satiate the tiny amount of curiosity that had been piqued.
The door opened easily enough and the lights were on strong enough for Vino to see the lines of stalls that indicated a bathroom. The sign on the door when he turned to look at it was in the dark though, so Vino made first use of his flashlight to read "Men" on it. Ah, just a bathroom then. He would have been more surprised if he hadn't already been acquainted with the modern bathroom earlier that day.
He let the door fall shut, slowing as it closed with a soft sound. Nothing of interest here for tonight. Vino could always come back and look in the morning, though he doubted it would be much different from the bathrooms in the Sun Room that he'd already been in.
Vino turned back and headed for the door that would lead to the outside hall on the way to the rest of the Institute. He had a mind to take a look at the bulletin board in the Sun Room. The map he'd seen there earlier that day could be helpful after all.
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The hall was slowly waking up, the early twilight crowd lumbering past like barges or decaffeinated yuppies. S.T. revved his legs and zipped through, moving through the dark without a light. Stealth wasn't especially important in the patient blocks, but it wasn't a bad habit.
The fact that it looked cooler was entirely free-range gravy.
[to here]
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So, it was him, a giant toothpick, an epileptic flashlight and a warm body temperature against the world. Though he was moderately more comfortable than he had been, he couldn't exactly say in his own skin. Chained or not, being in a vessel was like being crammed into an overhead storage bin while being the size of a skyscraper. It was not a nice combination.
At least the jeans were nice. He was fully confident his ass could now look perfect while being maimed, if the chance ever came up. With his flawless record with monsters, it was looking good.
Especially considering the herd had already thinned out or not been thick to start with; this hallway was completely deserted, which left a short, fashionably dressed Gabriel standing in the center, pondering the door of the bathroom while spinning the angel blade in one hand. So... three nights ago, he'd made the lock pick. Wasn't bad, for the most part. He would've remade it but hadn't figured the effort worth it since he didn't know how to use it. The thing that irked him was not knowing why it turned back. That thing should have been a lock pick until he told it different. It wasn't supposed to just... decide to change back. That wasn't how reality worked.
Of course, if things worked like they were supposed to he would've added a few more Casa Eroticas to the collection and leveled this building and built a Waffle House on top of it. Sometimes reality was just a bitch.
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Having determined that it would be a pretty good idea tonight to take some time out alone and just work—research, stumble straight into the middle of a hunt (which was likely, given this place), whatever—fate would only just have it that as soon as Sam rounded the corner, his flashlight fell on...him.
Yeah, he recognized that figure anywhere. Especially after last night. He still hadn't had the chance to confront the Trickster over what all that had been about last night and while he seriously didn't feel like bringing on the headache that he knew would come with this task, he couldn't ignore it either.
For all he knew, the Trickster might've planted himself here deliberately. He'd latched onto Jo and Sam could hardly forget the when he'd latched onto him. The demigod had a tendency to be there when unwanted. Not that he was ever wanted in the first place.
Great. So much for obtaining some peace. Still, he had said he wanted information and...here was information. Maybe not about the institute, but nevertheless important. The longer he let this talk of angels stew, the sooner it would come to bite them all in the ass.
Sam swept his flashlight forward and he made no effort to keep it out of the Trickster's eyes. He lifted an eyebrow. "Lost?"
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Gabriel might have had the decency to not stab Sam (and totally not look surprised by a voice creeping out of the darkness followed by a frame that was equivalent to a moose on stilts), he wasn't equally as good at hiding his annoyance, closing his eyes with a frown. "Turn down the high beams before someone loses an eye."
He meant Sam in particular, by the way. Once Gabriel found a step ladder. It was nice that the joys of having your face on level with someone's elbow kept being brought up all the time.
Besides, if Sam was going to go out of his way to be a smarmy smartass, he could at least be polite. Gabriel was not supposed to be the victim of annoyance. Annoying was on his terms. "What's it to you, yeti? Gonna lead me by the hand and take me on an adventure?"
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Even if that meant a freaking demigod that had made his life hell on more than one occasion.
God, this place really was driving him crazy.
He ignored the rhetorical question. No way was he taking the bait. "So you wanna tell me what that was all about last night?"
Normally, he was more tactful than this and more willing to ease a conversation into the topic he wanted to discuss, but in this case, it felt like a waste of effort. It wasn't like the Trickster had been all that considerate in their interactions.
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"Uhhhh," let him think about it, "nope. I wasn't planning on ever mentioning it, in fact. And before you start with your wild and mildly flattering accusations, I didn't do it." Gabriel just thought it would be a good idea and go ahead and lay that down, considering the straight flush he'd had of people all blaming shit on him. It was flattering, sure, but he didn't like to steal credit from anyone else. He was an upstanding guy like that.
Also, he still insisted he was more imaginative than a haunted asylum.
"Besides, what's it to you, kid? According to your own figuratively little stalker, sounds like you're keeping secrets from your own brother." If only he had the ability to create the world's smallest violin again. "And that's terrible. Leeeeet me guess - something about demon blood? Just a wild guess."
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No, it shouldn't be a question. Their abductors apparently knew and he'd had at least one patient tell just by looking at him from across the room. In light of that, Sam realized he should probably only have been surprised if someone who could bend time and reality at the snap of a finger hadn't known.
He'd have been suspicious about the connection this might've presented, but for once, the Trickster's penchant for screwing around with people's lives played in his favor. Since the keyword was people and Yellow-Eyes had wanted to throw demons across the entire planet. He doubted the Trickster would've found demons as fun to mess with.
Then again.
"Yeah, well, Dean knows." Now, he didn't add. "Speaking of Dean, you know he was setting out to kill you last night, right? Before we were interrupted? Trust me, the shadow deal didn't help stop him from wanting to put a stake through you."
And him. Why wasn't he here to kill the Trickster? He had to admit, he should've felt a stronger instinct to. It was a threat, after all. But he was needed to know, too, what the hell was going on. This whole frigging business with angels and apparently Heaven and names like Lucifer and Gabriel being tossed around. Right now, the Trickster was his pretty much his only way of knowing. (Confirming? He didn't know if he was ready to go that far.)
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If it was a threat on Sam's part, it was too little, too late. Once the little time jump had been established, Gabriel had been prepared to be next on the monster menu. Jo had tried the same, and you know what? He was a little sick of all the disrespect and the condescension, even from his grunt baby brother.
"So what's it gonna be, Gigantor? Gonna sic your brother on me or do it yourself? I guess you could always resort to threats in the hope it'll make me throw some random tidbit of information you're looking for your way. I have to say though, probably not gonna work."
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Sam folded his arms across his chest and sighed. This was seriously gonna go against everything he stood for, but then these days, what did he stand for? Deals with demons, breaking promises to his brother left and right, and now...this. But screw it, this was big, bigger than even the Trickster or—uh, angels, apparently, according to Castiel. And the Trickster's shadow. Anyway, he could play it safe or gamble on this, and there were times when Sam wasn't the best at playing it safe.
"None of the above, actually. As much as I want to."
Unless he made the first move, hung unsaid in the air, but Sam had to admit that so far, the Trickster didn't appear to be as up to his old tricks as usual. Annoying and antagonistic, yeah, but nothing had happened. And he'd been pretty damn freaked by his shadow last night which said something about what this place could do even to a demigod. Not that the Trickster wasn't a good actor, but...
Besides, God, knowing this place and the way his life went in general, the Trickster would probably just pop back in the next couple of days, memory wiped, and then he'd be stuck with the same damn thing.
There was a beat before he continued. "Look, I don't know about you, but I'd rather we all get out of here instead of killing each other."
Well okay, so he didn't give a crap if the Trickster got out of here or not, but if it meant everyone got out, he figured the Trickster coming along—there were worse prices to pay, that was all.
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Maybe Jo Huntress had influenced them a little, if she was being honest. Maybe they'd all gang up on him at the wrong time and gank him in the heart. Wouldn't be the first betrayal, and it certainly would hurt as bad. Hey, maybe he was the favorite old kid and he'd just pop back to life again. That would be swell.
But seriously doubtful.
"A truce." He puffed out a short breath of air that sounded shockingly like "huh". "You're kidding."
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And Sam was pretty sure he could say that as little as he knew about the institute's array of paranormal freaks, he still knew more about how not to get devoured in two seconds flat than the Trickster did.
...Kind of pretty sure.
He didn't voice any of his thoughts yet and shrugged instead. "No, I'm not." He stood, waiting for the Trickster's response before he said anything else. He hadn't exactly set out tonight to make a deal with a pagan god.
Make a deal with a pagan god. It even sounded absurd in his head.
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"Ooookay," he started. It was a good start, considering how there wasn't much chance of this ever going good for him. "Hypothetically, I'm going to pretend to be totally okay with this. Hunter, pagan god. You have to admit, it's all very progressive of me to even consider." Sure, it'd happened in the future, but this... wasn't the future. Or maybe it was. His apocalypse alarm wasn't in working order any more, and considering the varying time lines that were crisscrossing all over the place, there wasn't much chance in pinpointing the time of his current location. So maybe it was still the past and he should, technically, still just be sneaking around and generally ruining lives. Gabriel. He was a life ruiner.
Either way, he knew the hunter had some kind of catch. Maybe Jo hadn't been looking to use him specifically, but damned if he didn't know the Winchesters weren't so beautifully naive. Resourceful of them, sure. He could respect that. But it was just a pride thing. "What are you planning on squeezing outta me?"
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Not that pagan god was a title he was sure applied wholeheartedly to the Trickster anymore, though he had to admit that it was only the shadow last night that was throwing a wrench in the works. Everything else about the god screamed Trickster. At this point, Sam could predict the guy's M.O. in his sleep.
One useful thing about the Trickster: it was easy to spot when he was the one behind it all. Of course, everything after that was a frigging headache to solve.
He took a few steps forward, one hand in his pocket and the other still holding the flashlight. And yes, he was considerate enough to keep it pointed down and out of the Trickster's face.
It occurred to him that they were still in front of the men's room. Negotiating the terms of not killing each other. Or he guessed in the Trickster's case, it was more like the terms of not screwing around with his brother to make Sam want to kill himself. Either way.... He glanced briefly at the door, then back again, and tried not to sigh out loud.
Right. The Trickster would want to know what Sam wanted from him.
"Whatever's got us stuck here, he has a thing for bending reality and alternate dimensions," he said. "Sound familiar?"
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Okay. Considering the big contenders in his family and their actions as of late, he was being very progressive. Like breaking the metaphorical progressive bar and then making it explode several times. (Except for Castiel, maybe, but "except" was kind of a big word there. Biiiig word. And also Gabriel did not really think of Castiel at all. Or really make note of him. Or think about not thinking about him. Chances are his brother wasn't about to pony up any huge, groundbreaking wells of information out of his ass and just squeezing the small bit he had out of him was about as difficult as pulling teeth with eyebrow tweezers. Also, he knew the whole thing about "angels" and "grudges". Terrible combination.)
It was good on him that he didn't raise the angel blade any higher with even the small approach Sam took towards him; in fact, he'd lowered it a little with the mere mention of "truce". He wasn't looking forward to trying to defend himself anyway. He also wasn't very trusting in general.
Gabriel resisted the urge to roll his eyes at Sam's train of thought. "Reminds me of a little something, yeah. I hope you're not believing this whole catastrophe's the work of another trickster, 'cause I can tell you it's definitely not." Sure, they could be pseudo-gods... but they weren't God-god. And pseudo-gods could not revive archangels or throw them in a lake against their will.
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More importantly, what the hell could be done about Dean? Not that Sam could bring that up without dropping too much information at once about the deal. About how certain he was that no matter what Ruby assured him, no matter what he tried to tell himself: Dean wasn't alive back in the real world, end of story. Nothing to be done. But he'd never been good at accepting—whatever that was, pessimism or realism or some combination.
It'd have been easier to believe something one way or the other. He was sick if inklings of hope that led nowhere. It summed up his life. It was his life.
Only no, damn it, he wasn't going to get stuck on that right now. If there was ever a bad time to do this, it was while grabbing information out of the Trickster. Information that might not even be useful and that he had no way of verifying, and that was coming from a demigod who had no reason to help anyone much less a hunter. But Sam had cracked cases using just Google, Wikipedia, and witnesses who might as well have been asleep during the incident. As far as resources went, this didn't rate that low on the unreliability scale.
Though it was getting there. Maybe in the 1.5-2.0 range.
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Then again, he was already dead, so there wouldn't really be any change at all. How convenient.
The point was this: Gabriel had already ruled just about... everything out. Tricksters couldn't do this to him. Hell, no kind of pagan could, minor gods or not. Certainly none of the little guys - vampires, ghouls, ghosts, whatever. Not cherubs, not the grunts. An archangel - well, sure. Lucifer definitely could, but he couldn't bring him back to life (probably). Which kind of left only Dad, which was both unrealistic and completely depressing.
"Yeah, some. We don't all operate the same, you know. You think I'd be stuck in the middle of this shit if I knew what was going on? There could be a ripple, for all I know. There could be a giant sinkhole in the flow of time. The universe could be imploding. We could be stuck in a dream. I think that's part of the problem with you, kid," he pointed the knife in Sam's direction, "you always want to know the hows and whys. After a while, you realize it doesn't matter that much, at least while it's happening."
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He huffed, stopping short of an exasperated snort. Why had he thought this was a good idea again? "I think you would have some idea of what was going on if you actually bothered with the hows and whys." He paused. There'd been something he'd wondered awhile ago, a question he'd pushed aside because there'd been no way of answering it. Until now.
"All right, fine, then answer me this," he said. "When you went and chucked me into the Wednesday, was it a pocket dimension? Or did you actually mess with time?"
A part of him had always thought the former was more plausible. Screwing with time, that was some serious crap right there. To do it that frivolously and for that long—six months—either that meant the Trickster possessed some major juice or this idea of toying with time was somehow less big a deal than it sounded. Which was just so counterintuitive, it was hard to believe without any solid proof.
But then, he hadn't carried back any of the scars he'd had over that period. Exact same way Dean here hadn't, either. That was always the one thing that tripped him up.
He regretted not asking Skuld what she knew about manipulating time when he'd had the chance. His experience with other pagan gods all pointed towards them being less gods than just self-entitled supernatural beings who liked worship and sacrifice. Hell, they'd taken out two in one night before.
The Trickster had always been different. But even now, he couldn't bring himself to outright ask—that. It was just. It was crazy. He felt crazy just thinking it. Of everything he'd read, there was no way...He was used to the things they dealt with sometimes breaking the rules, but this went way beyond that.
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"I don't torture and tell," he said, his tone making the words seem totally innocuous. He was good at that. "It doesn't matter either way. I can do both. Don't think it's just a pagan thing, though. I'm top of the line. Expert grade, even. I could say messing with time is tricky, but that kiiinda understates the difficulty." Damn, he wish he had some kind of convenient sheathe or some - right. Jacket now. He paused to rifle through his new (old?) clothes to safely tuck the archangel blade into an inner pocket. The weight was comfortable, but still cold.
"Whoever's in charge is doing things they shouldn't be able to. It makes them..." - an angel, a damn angel was the only thing that could mess with time outside of the big man himself - "a big problem, obviously. Even if we're in a pocket dimension, it's still a problem of time. Your brother should at least have some idea about what the hell's going on, and clearly he doesn't."
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It wasn't that Sam didn't believe there wasn't some kind of hierarchy working with the gods because by all means, it made perfect sense if there were. But for the Trickster to be way up the top? Why the Trickster, of all the gods? What he would've bought a lot easier was that the Trickster was willing to mess with time while none of the other gods were. Now that, that made sense. He knew demons had their own little set of rules and red tape; he wouldn't rule out something similar happening with the gods. And the Trickster was known for defying those rules.
But the way he was talking, it was as if nothing else in existence was even supposed to come near his level of power. Which, yeah, could just be his ego talking—God knew the Trickster had plenty of that—but on the other hand...
It just threw him back to the same square: angels, heaven, Lucifer.
The Trickster's next words sidetracked him, though.
Sam's eyes narrowed. "My brother? Why him in particular?" Did it have something to do with Castiel recognizing Dean right off the bat? Not just Dean, but the both of them, together, as if death hadn't ever separated them?
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Not that it would have helped him any. So, yeah, maybe he was a little personally invested with the Winchester timeline because he wanted to know what happened. Sure, time travel was easy. The past was real easy. The future? Eh. Not so much. It could change. It was subjective, for the most part. That was the problem with free will.
Well, if you asked his brothers, one of the problems.
Just because he'd left his dead love note didn't mean it had worked. The kids would probably lose their damn heads if they weren't attached. Telling them to go against Lucifer? Sufficiently more difficult. And if Sam ever said yes, well. They were all screwed. Humanity, at least. Gabriel was pretty sure Lucifer wouldn't be too keen on keeping much of the family around, though. That was kind of what was wrong with rebels: short-sighted. Amusing, considering their average lifespan (read: forever), but what could you do? One born every minute.
"Not that you're much better, but you're not years back. Maybe one. Little less than one. You can't just pluck humans out of time whenever you feel like it. Time doesn't work that way. But guess what's happened?"
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Someone being a further point didn't mean they were at the furthest point, after all. Anyway, it was just one of the things he'd been trying to deftly avoid talking about with the Trickster. He didn't want Dean to get with the program; everything rested on Dean not getting with the program. And apparently, the Trickster knew exactly where Sam stood in terms of the...timeline, he supposed was the word for it.
A bit like Castiel.
You know, maybe he should just leave his questions for Castiel. Not that he was all that sure Castiel would be much more help, but he could at least say that it would be far less of an exercise in frustration.
There was a part of him that wanted to ask what happened between the year he was supposed from and the one that the Trickster was, but something held him back. Did he want to know? He did, yeah. But at the same time—
Crap. He couldn't do this. Not right now. His head suddenly felt like it was gonna explode. God, maybe he should just stop with the interrogation for tonight. Or at least this line of interrogation. He didn't want to think about it. He knew himself. It'd be edging into dangerous territory.
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Okay, so he had reason to believe whoever did this could do whatever they wanted to him. Put him in the future, the past, or even a small, contained universe that didn't exist on the same plane as earth and the other bodies. His pride just wasn't going to admit that it was possible, but he wasn't going to keep arguing that point. He who protesteth loudest... looks pretty damn guilty of something. He was guilty of a lot of things, of course, but he wasn't exactly fond of going under the faux-FBI investigation scope.
Since it look like the kid had chilled for a minute, maybe he could get something done.
And he was going to segway subtly into it. "If you're done trying to wring answers out of me, I have a question for you. Any chance you know how to use a lockpick?" Totally subtle.
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Sam blinked. Talk about a whiplash topic change. There was a small part of him that remained kinda suspicious if this was a trick question, but there was a larger part of him that was aware of the line between caution and paranoia. Of course, with the Trickster, that line got pretty blurry a lot of the times, but still.
Plus, he had a feeling the god's overinflated ego wouldn't let him admit to not being able to pick a lock unless he honestly had no idea how.
He raised an eyebrow, lips quirking in bemusement. Good thing he was used to absurd requests. Or just absurd stuff in general. "You want me to show you how to pick a lock?"
Yeah, he could tell the Trickster to go screw himself; it wasn't as if he owed the Trickster any favors. But it'd be petty and Sam didn't like the feeling that he was being petty. Besides, they really were stuck here together. He didn't like the Trickster, but he liked being trapped in the institute even less.
He sighed and held out his hand for the pick in question. "Fine."
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"That's the general idea, considering the question." God, was he talking to a human or a parrot? He'd given Solid Snake a run for his money with all the repeating of questions Sam was doing.
He probably should have anticipated Sam assuming he had one, but he was clean out right now. Not that that was his choice. It wasn't his fault the laws of the universe wanted to go against his will and... change back into what they were supposed to be. The archangel side-eyed the bathroom right next to them, considering whether the risk was worth it. Truce or not, he wasn't about to go all fluttery-eyed around a hunter with a grudge if he could help it. He could borrow the bathroom, turn his epileptic flashlight back into what he wanted to be, then have enough time to smooth his hair out and look presentable enough for just having had a fainting spell.
What an impressive display of an angel, eh?
"You don't happen to have one on you at this particular moment in time, right?"
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Sam withdrew his hand and dug out the needle he'd been using as a makeshift lock pick for the past couple of weeks. Not that it got much use. Doors usually already being broken in aside, he hadn't had the chance to get much done lately. Maneuver a couple of hallways, run into some supernatural event, get stalled for the whole night—that seemed to be the way his life worked these days.
He guessed tonight was an exception. Which, he had to admit, was mildly better than getting chewed on or attacked by a spirit again.
He tossed the Trickster the needle. "If I'm gonna show you, we need to find something with an actual lock. Where's your room?"
Doors could lock from the outside, so that was probably the easiest option. Anyway, Sam wasn't about to point the demigod towards his room, so it would have to be the Trickster's room. Or they could find a locked door but that meant running the risk of meeting something with sharp teeth. He was willing to do this one favor for the Trickster, but he drew the line at sacrificing a limb in the process.
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Okay, so he managed to look surprised again - or at least hold it long enough to recycle it for that little request. "Hooold on there, Eddie Cabot. I don't exactly trust this truce enough for you to not stake me in my sleep, and I definitely don't trust Dean." He knew how information between them didn't really stick around the individual Winchester for long, unless it was something worth hiding. A Trickster? Not really at the top of "do not kill" list, and he couldn't even make their lives a living hell for revenge.
"I've got another door in mind and it'll work just as well. It's just around the corner so you don't have to worry about anything messing up your perm." Two birds, one giant rock.
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Nothing so far, but he wasn't surprised. There were a couple guys down this way, anyway, and he figured that could've been why. Maybe it needed more light, but he wasn't sure. Maybe there was somewhere in the institute where he could get light. Or—and he even cast a glance down toward the pair of rings he had, one on his middle and ring finger—he could use those to end up somewhere else. He knew the one, at least, would get him to the electronics store. That could be a start, right?
But Riku didn't want to be hasty.
He shined his flashlight forward and looked for his shadow, and then he flashed it backward, to where he couldn't see. Nothing—he couldn't sense another presence, and he stood there for three minutes, waiting. Still: nothing. But his understanding of this place answered why. Nothing seemed to happen in these parts of the institute. It usually took them heading out further. Great. If anyone saw him tonight, they would probably think he was crazy.
[to here]
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Compared to last night the institute was much more shrouded in darkness. But the radiance then had been given for a purpose, but Xemnas didn't quite believe the head doctor would repeat the same trick twice. Such a shame, as he would have wanted to observe it.
Several existences already traveled through this corridor; noises coming from various directions, the small beams of their torches breaking through the shadows to indicate their presence. But tonight they were of no concern.
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It was always a simple matter of just bounding on out the door and through the next to move on to a real hallway. What a convenient room Gant had! He'd have to thank Landel for at least that, if nothing else.
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Turning left, Ranulf avoided the flashlights of others occupying the hallway and passed through the door, into the next corridor.
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