Night 58: Main Hallway 2-West
[from here]Snow reached the top of the stairs within moments. This was the part where he was supposed to start raising hell and kicking in doors. If he had still been as infuriated as he had been when first leaving his room, he probably would have done that immediately. Right now, there was a slight delay. Maybe it was just an after effect of...
( Read more... )
He'd also been on the brink of death at the time and there was no sign of those wounds now, so that was proof enough that it hadn't happened.
The idea that there were prisoners being held up here on the second floor was enough to incite Michael to action for a moment, but then he remembered that Noah was nuts (how could he forget?) and his information couldn't be trusted. Michael could only believe the things he saw with his own eyes, and only if he was lucid at the time. He didn't feel himself slipping, but he had to be constantly aware of it.
As Noah spun around to face him and then pinned him down with a question, Michael had to fight not to roll his eyes. I promise I won't judge you. Yeah right. How many times had he been fed that line over the course of their childhood? He didn't know why Noah was asking about the night before last when as far as Michael could tell it had been last night, but he knew what he was referring to and so it wasn't worth getting hung up on.
"I remember what you remember. Well, bits and pieces." Mainly what he recalled was pain and light and the realization that he was going to die for a family member. "I just know that it was a hallucination. A dream." Not real. It couldn't be, because those things weren't possible. He wouldn't glow when he was cut and he certainly didn't have wings.
Although, every now and then he did feel this uncomfortable weight on his back, but he knew it was fake, a phantom feeling that was just his own confused mind messing with him.
Reply
Huh. Either the kid could only remember the last night or he was refusing to pony up anything that happened before the arena shindig. So he must have had at least part of Castiel's memories (if he was to go about this as separating brainwashed-bro from Rainman-bro) which probably fueled the condescension train. Good to know. Except he already did know that, meaning he had just wasted five minutes of his life for nothing.
He would never get those minutes back. Tragic.
"Whatever you say, Castiel." He spun on his heel again, pressing on into the darkness. "Sorry. Michael. I'd hate to call you by the wrong holy name." Gabriel shrugged, the flashlight's beam dancing along the walls. Michael would probably have been insulted his name had been passed down in this fashion.
More reason to think it was hilarious, except that didn't override all the justified anger he was still simmering under the surface. Smiting needed to happen, so hear him. Smiting was a'comin'.
You know. Eventually. Pinata-smiting. (It was a good idea, all right? He couldn't let it go to waste.)
[To here.]
Reply
Leave a comment