John was no stranger to insomnia. His day-to-day life furnished more raw material for nightmares than most horror movie franchises, and at any given time he had more than enough to worry about to keep him up and his mental gears grinding away from dusk til dawn. It was entirely possible that some of the more asinine mistakes he'd made over the years were at least partly a result of chronic sleep deprivation.

Ordinarily he just shrugged it off and soldiered on, or failing that, drank himself unconscious. What with one thing and another, though, tonight he was feeling the lack of genuine, unliquored sleep badly enough that it had driven him down here in search of a less crude remedy. Finding the place seemingly unattended, he'd almost given up and headed for the bar instead, until the sound of rattling instruments led him back to a doorway with light spilling out into the sterile hall.

It was Raphael, of course, apparently trying to scrub a pile of already-spotless instruments down to so many surgical steel toothpicks. Apparently, he wasn't the only one who was finding the night less than restful.

He rapped softly on the doorframe, and when the archangel didn't look up from his single-minded scrubbing, cleared his throat quietly. "Oi, Raphael..."