And my motives used to be so pure.

[Dean has been doing floor checks, sometimes alone and sometimes in pairs with whoever is moving at the same time, and later he'll stop to wonder at the fact that all of this barely gets his heartrate going. It's a terrible thing he'll never admit, but it feels good to be directly useful again, to have a problem to sort out, a role to play and a group to work with. It happens a lot on the Barge, true, but he's not out of his depth, he's not following anyone's lead, he already knows the steps.

Other cleverdick scientists and doctors will figure out the cure, all he has to do is keep his eyes peeled and stay one step ahead of the people acting crazy. He can do that.

He's learned by now what a lack of response to a door knock means, and when he walks past the Marquis's door on his way back to his room and finds it open, he knows what that means too. The hunter closes it - though not without a quick, confused glance around inside just to make sure - then passes up his own door and sets out again warily.

When he finally catches a glimpse of a familiar coat up ahead of him, he'd half been considering checking the infirmary just in case, but of course that's never how this goes. He breaks into a longer stride and calls ahead of himself, deceptively cheerful.] Hey, sunshine! Wait up!

From:

mattersverymuch

[It's not the Beast.]

[No, it's not, because even through all of this the marquis remembers that the Beast is dead. Hunter is gone from his mind by now, because really, in the end, she hadn't mattered. Instead there are whispers of footsteps behind him, the cautious tread of a creature with purpose. Not a beast at all.]

[Richard had killed the Beast. Or had it killed him? The marquis could barely breathe, let alone recall.]

[The coat swishes around his legs as he stops, tilts his head to sniff the air. His mouth is open, panting, and there are flavors on his tongue, of fear and blood and death. Dirt.]

[When he laughs, it's neither cruel nor quiet, like his normal laughter is. Pain pulses in his abdomen, and he laughs like a hyena as a result, echoes bouncing off the low ceiling.]

I hear you. Don't talk so loudly.

[He digs his nails into the walls. His grin is a rictus, but he doesn't turn. Instead he listens. He doesn't want to see.]

From:

[There's a part of Dean that crawls with the wrongness of the way the Marquis is behaving, the thin, sharp line of delirium through his laughter, the way that even thinking straight is a breathless endeavor. He doesn't even have to turn around for Dean to see the telltale tension in his shoulders - pain or exertion it hardly matters - and the hunter completely ignores the part of himself that is trying to preserve his good health by getting him to leave now. Right now.

He doesn't slow and though the dark hazelgreen eyes are bright and clinically intent, ready, one would be hardpressed to tell there's anything wrong at all simply by listening to him despite the words he chooses. He skirts a bit wider when he moves to come around the Marquis's side, maybe, but he doesn't so much hesitate or pause in his approach.]

Wow, you are pretty much tripping balls, aren't you? Either this is really, really bad timing for you to come outta the closet with a drug problem, or I'm gonna need you to come with me for a minute or two.

From:

mattersverymuch

[Who's there? He is almost sure he recognizes the voice. Someone he had dealings with once before, someone he had tried to outsmart. Someone to whom he owes no debt.]

[He raises a hand and puts it to his ear, still not turning to look at Dean. Jumps when his fingers graze his skin, as if they're not attached to him at all.]

I go where I go. Not where you go.

[And then he does turn, baring his teeth automatically. The corners of his mouth are wet.]

And you should go away.

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[Dean is watching carefully, because everyone seems to be showing different symptoms after the baseline flu hangers on; he notes the hypersensitivity, and if that's how this is gonna go, this is gonna be a party. He still doesn't consider backing off, though he stops when the Marquis turns and meets his eyes with a smooth, unflinching smile.]

Probably. Doesn't mean I'm gonna, buddy. You know where you are? Who I am? [He's looking a little... feral, doesn't sound like himself, which doesn't surprise Dean in the least.] 'Cause you got a little crazy on your face, man. Like... hereish. [He makes a vague motion to indicate the whole of his own face with one hand, the other held low and ready.]

From:

[Dean checks the network only periodically, looking for people ranting about things that aren't there or other people calling for help, but otherwise he keeps his attention where it can do the most good: directly in front of him. He's always been the hands on sort anyway, preferring to be in the thick of things and having a direct effect rather than picking at the sidelines.

He doesn't think much of the conversations he'd had about coordinating for floor checks; not that he ignores them, but he doesn't count on them, either, and instead takes matters once more directly into his own hands as best he can. He's currently pacing his way through the laundromat, checking the perimeter and then through each row of machines, looking for anyone in the grips of a fever who might have decided one would be a good hiding place.]

From:

[Castiel was hoping for more of him being teamed up with Dean - not for anyone's sake but Dean's, actually, because even if the man hates him to his core he can't stomach the possibility of letting him fall to this disease. Watching him fight invisible monsters is drastically out of the question. They are going to patrol together whether Dean likes it or not. So he locks the greenhouse and tracks down the man, as surreptitiously as he can. He finds him here.]

Hello.

From:

[Hate isn't really a word Dean knew before Hell, and he's still safe from that particular fire just now; his anger is fading with the passage of time, though there's still plenty left that when he closes a dryer door and suddenly there's an angel standing in front of him, his eyes sharpen and a muscle in his jaw jumps even as he does.]

Jesus. [And then he's over that bit of heartstutter, relaxing the hand that had reflexively curled into a fist, tone sharper and more deliberate.] What the hell do you want?

[Yeah, he knows, but there's a reason people think he's a dick. He is.]

From:

[It's not that he forgot that Dean hates him, or thinks he doesn't deserve it, but it doesn't make the obvious venom in the man's voice hurt any less. He headtilts slightly, looking around the laundry room, then back to Dean.]

I want to make sure people don't hurt themselves, or others. This drug is dangerous and was created with the intent for chaos.

From:

Ya think? [There's a growl to his voice but overall, Dean is fairly calm, given the givens. There's no urgency in him to do more than he's doing, being right in the middle of it and doing what he can to help - which in this case is pretty much purely damage control. People are doing terrible things to people, that's someone else's shtick to sort out; Dick or Sara or Steph, one of the cops. He'll help how he can, but this? He knows how to do.

Dean's always done best when he has something constructive to do, even if that's hunt down fevered, violent people trying to harm themselves and others and wrestle them to the Infirmary.

The hunter steps away from his current machine, turns away to head to the next one.]

Well there's no one here that's gonna hurt anyone except maybe y... hey, wait. [Dean's tone had started out sharp and not a little accusatory, but all at once it's all leveled by speculation as he remembers something.] You got mojo, right?

From:

From:

trenchcoatedly - Date: 2013-03-09 06:01 pm (UTC) - Expand

From:

yeahscience

[Jesse's voice sounds very tense; he's breathing hard.]

You're Lisbeth's warden, right? She's--

[He cuts off before he can finish.] Um... [And then the line goes dead.]

From:

[Ok, if that isn't an indication of something going wrong....]

[There's definitely a note of intensity in Castiel's usually level voice.]

Where is she, Jesse? Call for me if you can. If not I'll come looking.

From:

yeahscience

[There's nothing else, and Jesse will be dead by the time anyone finds him. Sorry, Cas. :C]

From:

[!! panic]

From:

investigating.

From:

Please alert me immediately if you need help or are in danger. Protecting you is part of my duty as your warden.

From:

[She's fading fast. Stuck between hallucinations taking over her mind and feeling like she's going to faint a moment later.. The virus is close to taking a fatal toll on her. Physically, her hands are splattered with blood that isn't hers, she has bruises on her knuckles. Her nose is broken, dried and still-moist blood decorating her nose and cheeks. Her temperature is very high and she's leaning against a wall in a hallway, clinging to it with her fingers as if it's moving too fast for her to hang on.

Eventually, she gets the nerve to call on him, like he asked. To come to her. She loathes asking for help of any kind, so this.. Took a while.] Castiel?

Castiel.

From:

[Lisbeth hasn't made herself easy to find. With Jesse's warning and his warden item pinging, and Dean (potentially) rescued, if he's not getting into more trouble - which this angel finds difficult to believe - he's been scouring the barge up and down for her. The frustration is mounting, too, because only his Father knows where one small girl used to hiding could be hiding in the dark - until the back of his mind finally twinges.

There's the sound of air and wings and he's just there, reaching out to wrap his arms around her.]

You should have called for me earlier.

From:

[Lisbeth isn't in her right mind enough to know if he literally just appeared or not for real or if she just imagined it. It takes her a second to react at all to him touching her, but once she registers it she tenses in his arms, shoving away from the gesture with surprising strength given her condition.

She doesn't want comfort.

Lisbeth is barely holding it together at all anymore.] Don't.

From:

[Her immediate push to get away from him is met by surprise - enough so that he loosens and allows her to break his grasp.]

You're injured, sick and affected by the disease. I can heal you but I have to touch you to do it.

From:

[She's ready to tell him to eff off anyway. She should probably go ahead and die. His healing powers may not even take care of everything and she's just..

...But she's collapsing again anyway. So it's not like she really has a choice. She clings onto Castiel instead of falling to the ground.]

Okay.

From: