Nightshift 40 - M1-M10 Hallway
[Geass is now under effect]
It wasn't the intercom that jolted Dean awake. Or, at least, he didn't think it was, 'cause it wasn't that same start you got when you were surprised by some egomaniac suddenly running his mouth off on the intercom who loved the sound of his voice and made sure you did too. Or, that was usually how it went, except Martin Landel - or whoever it was, the raspy croak made it hard to tell this time - for once kept it short. No, it was something else. Not just getting startled awake. Dean couldn't describe it, only that it was like a switch had flipped and suddenly...suddenly he just knew he had work to do. How else to explain it? It was like a hunch, but way, way stronger. Rolling out of bed, he found there was no room for any lingering memories of his nightmares or the constant cold sweats or waking up and just needing to know where Sammy was as he groped about like a blind man in those first few terrified seconds, as if he was a kid again. Not when everything was Okay with a capital O. There was a job to do and Dean Winchester knew he was the man to do it.
Hell, he was the best man, the most qualified. The only man.
Not that Dean could say where he got this sudden boost of confidence. Any other time, he would've thought it weird but now? The hunter instead just headed straight for the closet after turning on his flashlight so he could see, pulling on his clothes. M31. Had to report to M31. That thought kept circling in his head and though Dean dressed as fast as humanly possibly, practically throwing on his necklace and his favorite old leather jacket, it didn't seem fast enough. Dean had just enough time to snag his bowie knife before that compulsion to move and move faster kicked him in the ass and got him into gear. Dean didn't even spare Angel another look, didn't care he'd seen where he'd stashed his own weapon - sure it wasn't as big as Angel's ax, but still - and instead just left the room with a single-minded intent. A man on a mission.
Dean liked feeling like this. He liked it a lot.
Thinking about how he was going to get the M31 and do whatever he was supposed to do there made him feel good, like he had a purpose and it wasn't gonna blow up in his face like everything else did these days. Dean had a new spring in his step as he navigated the dark halls; spring or not, though, he also kept focused, listening for any signs of anything out to kill him in the darkness even as he moved quickly. Couldn't do his job if he got tagged, after all. Despite having this mission, it wasn't like he'd lost his sense of self-preservation - sure, that was kind of a moot point for him these days, but he didn't really want to die if he could help it. He'd make that year last, dammit. Get his money's (or soul's) worth.
As for Sammy...Dean just felt somehow he'd be okay. For all they knew, whatever he was gonna do at M31 would help his little brother with their ghost problem.
Even if it didn't, there was no changing the fact he absolutely had to get to M31, no questions asked.
[To here]
It wasn't the intercom that jolted Dean awake. Or, at least, he didn't think it was, 'cause it wasn't that same start you got when you were surprised by some egomaniac suddenly running his mouth off on the intercom who loved the sound of his voice and made sure you did too. Or, that was usually how it went, except Martin Landel - or whoever it was, the raspy croak made it hard to tell this time - for once kept it short. No, it was something else. Not just getting startled awake. Dean couldn't describe it, only that it was like a switch had flipped and suddenly...suddenly he just knew he had work to do. How else to explain it? It was like a hunch, but way, way stronger. Rolling out of bed, he found there was no room for any lingering memories of his nightmares or the constant cold sweats or waking up and just needing to know where Sammy was as he groped about like a blind man in those first few terrified seconds, as if he was a kid again. Not when everything was Okay with a capital O. There was a job to do and Dean Winchester knew he was the man to do it.
Hell, he was the best man, the most qualified. The only man.
Not that Dean could say where he got this sudden boost of confidence. Any other time, he would've thought it weird but now? The hunter instead just headed straight for the closet after turning on his flashlight so he could see, pulling on his clothes. M31. Had to report to M31. That thought kept circling in his head and though Dean dressed as fast as humanly possibly, practically throwing on his necklace and his favorite old leather jacket, it didn't seem fast enough. Dean had just enough time to snag his bowie knife before that compulsion to move and move faster kicked him in the ass and got him into gear. Dean didn't even spare Angel another look, didn't care he'd seen where he'd stashed his own weapon - sure it wasn't as big as Angel's ax, but still - and instead just left the room with a single-minded intent. A man on a mission.
Dean liked feeling like this. He liked it a lot.
Thinking about how he was going to get the M31 and do whatever he was supposed to do there made him feel good, like he had a purpose and it wasn't gonna blow up in his face like everything else did these days. Dean had a new spring in his step as he navigated the dark halls; spring or not, though, he also kept focused, listening for any signs of anything out to kill him in the darkness even as he moved quickly. Couldn't do his job if he got tagged, after all. Despite having this mission, it wasn't like he'd lost his sense of self-preservation - sure, that was kind of a moot point for him these days, but he didn't really want to die if he could help it. He'd make that year last, dammit. Get his money's (or soul's) worth.
As for Sammy...Dean just felt somehow he'd be okay. For all they knew, whatever he was gonna do at M31 would help his little brother with their ghost problem.
Even if it didn't, there was no changing the fact he absolutely had to get to M31, no questions asked.
[To here]