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My schedule's clear and so is my blood drug level. =)

Come on over, I'll save you a seat.

[ Matt sends a second picture, this one containing a rough map that extends across several cocktail napkins. The manor being what it is, maps aren't always purely spatial; sometimes they look more like flowcharts. A lot of if-then statements.

Anyway, when Dean rolls up, Matt's messing around on his phone. He is clearly the guy from the woozy hospital network post--same twiggy frame, same nest of dark hair--but now he looks a lot more lucid and isn't wearing a paper gown. He's commandeered a plush velvet loveseat, which appears to be in conversation with a duo of equally plush armchairs and a small central table. A neat bourbon sits on it, largely untouched. ]

[ The map is INSANELY helpful even if it isn't even...all that accurate in the sense a map should be. A general idea is there at least, and he navigates the halls and massive home with more ease than normal, eventually appearing in the bar and looking fairly pleased with himself at his success. Fuck yeah.

Clad in jeans and his traditional flannel over a henley, he saunters over, hands in his pockets, a crooked grin on his face. ]

Matt, I'm guessing?

[ Matt looks up, brightening. He is unironically thrilled that some combination of his navigational advice and Dean's natural capacity has successfully gotten him here. He's also a bit jealous of Dean's denim and flannel: Matt's closet in the manor seems to populate exclusively with costumes and the yuppiest nonsense imaginable. He's started stealing other people's clothes just to feel normal. ]

That's me, [ he says pleasantly. ] Dean? [ He gestures towards the empty chairs. ] Have a seat--or head to the bar first, I guess, I haven't had good luck getting anyone to come over here. I didn't want to start drinking without you.

In the flesh.

[ Can't blame him, if Dean's closet was full of dandy crap he'd be stealing other peoples shit, too. ]

Kind of you. Give me one second. [ He will in fact head to the bar, and reappear a few moments later with the entire bottle and his own glass. ] That's better.

[ The appearance of a whole bottle surprises Matt into a laugh. ]

Shit, maybe I should've started after all, [ he says. Matt plucks up his own glass and clinks it against the bottle's side. ] Cheers.

[ He takes a small, savoring sip of bourbon. Considers the taste as he swallows, the warmth in his throat. ]

As long as we're stuck here and our options are limited, I do appreciate that the booze tastes good.

[ He flashes a little grin, sly as he pours it and holds it up, taking a nice long sip. Thank God for small favors, it's good. ]

Cheers. [ What a dopamine hit, that taste, the heat that blooms in his chest. Much much better. ] No kidding. Already kind of a hellhole and shitty booze would be one hell of a dealbreaker.

[ Matt sighs. ]

Kind of a hellhole. Yeah. [ It's hard to be too depressed in the face of Dean's grin, at least. Matt takes another pull from his glass. ] So, I ... reread what I sent you from the hospital. [ His lips twitch. ] Thanks for bearing with me through all that. I can talk a little bit more about what I meant regarding energy harvesting, but honestly, I don't have a whole lot to show for how long I've been here, apart from theories.

Well, least that's familiar. There's a lot less screaming here than in hell, though.

[ And look, he has to laugh a little, because despite learning some shit it was kinda funny to talk to someone that high off pain meds. ]

No problem. I am curious about the harvesting thing. That's incredibly creepy.

[ Matt's eyebrows arch for his hairline at the invocation of a more literal kind of hell. Though Dean's not the first person to demonstrate familiarity with the place. Matt's roommate, the Literal Christian Devil, has that honor. ]

It's absolutely creepy, [ Matt agrees. He glances off into the distance as he tries to organize his thoughts. ] Okay, how I got to the harvesting idea is ...

One of the first things that happened when I arrived here is they threw a party with cake shaped astonishingly like human people. If you ate it, it gave you pretty strange appetites. [ Matt shrugs. ] I should've died. I don't know why I didn't. And afterwards, analyzing the leftover cake showed it was actually transfigured human remains ... and one of the kitchen staff I managed to track down with this girl Betty said that kind of thing happened "all the time."

[ Matt takes another sip from his glass. ]

Since then, that hasn't been the only grisly transformation moment. There was a "wolfman" over the summer who was actually just a wolf and a person spliced together. I tried to help them, but it didn't work. [ Matt's quiet a moment, subdued, before he rouses himself from his downward dip. ] Um. More transfigured corpses popped up. And I've noticed a kind of commonality in some of the weird urges we get around here. They tend to be arousal, atypical kinks, violence, or activation of trauma. Basically, things that create a lot of emotional energy.

I guess it could just be straight-up torture, but I wonder if this isn't some kind of generative cycle.

[ All of their bodies and spirits hitched to the grinding gears of change: bones elongating and contracting, blood greasing the skids. Energy rising like steam from the wreckage. ]

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cw: discussion of cannibalism, murder, body horror