driftfleet | (no subject)

Entry tags:

(no subject)

Who: Coil
Broadcast: Anonymous text, open to anyone
Action: SS Red Fish cargo hold, open to crewmates or visitors
When: Sometime after this little exchange

(OOC: warning for self-destructive and suicidal content.)

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[he's made sure to keep this message anonymous, but that might be the only thought he puts solidly forward before he begins typing. after that, it's like the words are appearing on the screen on their own accord--fast and clumsy--and he's only watching.]

what hapepns at home if we die here will they even know oe maybe it will be like we never existed maybe we go back

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[Coil wouldn't still be on the ship if he'd been able to help it. but the Red Fish is in orbit, and he still refuses to set foot in the shuttles. so, he's stuck in this little metal box, holed up in a dark corner of the cargo hold because he can't stand the sight of his own room. there, tucked amongst the alcove-shapes of big, empty containers, it's quiet and familiar. he'd had an important argument there, once. it's right where the previous captain liked to sit or sleep when he couldn't stand the confines of his own room either.

like an abandoned dog, Coil is lingering at the last spot that had made sense--as if staying there long enough might make something change, and the life he remembers best will inexplicably come right back. maybe something will happen there, and he will be taken away.

aside from quiet, stressed breathing, he's not making any noise. he's deep inside his own head, sunk somewhere that aches so bad he can't stand it, and he has been there for a while. he doesn't know how long he's been sitting there, staring at the small, beautiful white knife resting in front of him, but he has lost feeling in his limbs. curled up and squeezing his knees to his chest, tears are leaking over the dried tracks of those that have fallen before them, as the war rages on. the pros and cons, furies and fears, all clamor back and forth inside of him while he mentally screams at himself to reach out and make it stop.

just pick it up; easy as breathing.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[He drops his hands a little; while he's getting decent at signing, there are some things he can convey better with words — in a kinder, quieter tone, he speaks, only occasionally signing with it. Just to offer that kind of open comfort.]

... Right... Home.

I can't blame you. Being stuck here... it's hard when you have tasks, places, people left behind. But this, I don't think it's an especially healthy way of getting your head wrapped up in it. I don't know what brought it on, and you don't... have to tell me if you don't want to, but I think it'll help. If you feel able.

[He smiles thinly, a naturally born compassion there.

Sam always did hate seeing people troubled, struggling with themselves.

He relates well enough.]

But either way, there's a difference between being stuck here in the fleet and being stuck in your own heavy thoughts, all by yourself... don't you think? You've got people here who are always willing to listen.

[he doesn't seem like he's even attempting to allow himself the strength to pull out of this pit. he doesn't see a reason to try; he has no idea how to even look. he knows that he's letting himself get tangled in things instead of continuing to fight, and he knows that it's not healthy. he just can't bring himself to care right now. whatever his usual compass is in the world, he's lost it.

so, it seems like he might just not answer at all, at first. it's probably all going in one ear and out the other. until that last bit, anyway. it's easier to sink... but that last sentence gets him.

he doesn't want people who will listen. there is only one thing in the universe that he wants.

the big breath he pulls in is to try and keep himself from tipping over the edge into a sob. and maybe it's because of who he's talking to, pinged by what little he knows about him, but the word he finally answers with is only-- 'brother.'

that is what he's missing.]

[............

He breathes out a sigh. Soft, and in remembrance. His brother is here with him, and even if he's... you know, not the same exact Dean, it's still Dean. It's still his brother. He purses his lips, then continues quietly.]

I get it. I do. But... this — this isn't going to help any.

Back home, I'd lost my brother before. And I got like this, man. I did. I know how it is; everything's overwhelming, and something hurts, but the person you depended on isn't here. You're reminding me a hell of a lot like my younger self, staring at whatever weapon I had for the day. But... slippery slope, Coil. I nearly self-detonated myself. Almost seriously wrecked myself, and that's not what my brother'd wanted.

So this... Sitting here, upset, armed. It's not the way to go.

And I'm sure it's not what any family you have would want.

... Right?

[he really thinks about it, which is a big step. he's not good at listening to anyone but those who have been vetted into his innermost circle, but he's got big, gaping holes in his armor right now. the timing is good, and the subject matter is even better, for getting in past all of his stupid defenses.

he's quiet and defeated, gaze low and off to the side as he listens, rolling the question around in his head. it's not the kind of thing he thinks about often--how his pain might affect the precious few he actually cares about. but he really tries to imagine it. Coil really tries to think about what he'd say if he could see him now; he thinks about what she would say.

he would shake him, call him pathetic and tell him to stand up, and she would wail over losing another baby boy.

Coil is finally shaken to answer when blinking causes another big tear to roll down the side of his face. flinching, he brings up an arm to wipe it back, and finally shakes his head. no, if they could see him, they wouldn't want this either.]

[He smiles softly, in that way he tends to do with the victims of his cases. It's hard not to feel that sharp pang of sympathy, because for a lot of people he meets... he's been in their shoes. Whether it's a loved one dying because of the supernatural... or in Coil's case, missing someone so much, you draw back into yourself.

There may be more to this; he figures there might be. But this is a good step.]

... You eat anything lately? Drink anything?

You should come sit in the kitchen. I could make hot tea. It's better than sitting alone in here.

[one shoulder shrugs up. it's not much of an answer, but it's at least an honest one. he's not great about keeping track of meals on a good day... and this is just about as far from that as you can get.

how can he even begin to think about taking care of himself when it feels like his world is ending? or, at the very least, like it should be ending. the thought seems silly to him.]

[He frowns, then leans down and nudges Coil gently with his elbow. It's mostly just a supportive little gesture, a c'mon sort of pep-talk without the actual talking. He starts to sign things that are blissfully easier, thank god.

Let's go to the kitchen. I'll make some space food.

I'm starving, and eating by myself is sad.]

[more little wordless things--he still listens to those best. it makes it easier to believe that he's being nudged toward something by a familiar peer, instead of having words thrown at him by just another stranger trying to help something they know nothing about.

it's still not a real answer, but Coil looks up at him. not wary, exactly, but at least searching. he's still got tears leaking apathetically down his face, he still knows that everything that spirit had seen and said to him was true, but he's at least considering trying to stand up and pass it by for now.]

Alright, questionable space food it is.

[Considering is good. Considering is always good.]

... Don't make fun of me, but.

[He reaches into his back pocket, whips out a small packet of what can only be space kleenex, and pulls a few to offer Coil with a sheepish smile. He's a loser who flosses after every meal and has mastered the hospital blanket fold, what did you expect from him.]

[yeah, he's a loser alright. but Coil's a baby, sitting there crying, and this is when the shame really starts to kick in. if anything, that might get him up and moving.

he ducks his head, embarrassed... but eventually takes the kleenex so he can wipe off his face.

if Dean decides to lead the way anywhere, he's ready to pick himself up and follow.]

[Sam looks carefully at Coil's face.]

Hey... Coil. It'll be okay. Okay?

One thing I learned in life -- all things pass, you know? What you're feeling right now, crappy as it is... it'll get better, even if you don't feel like it will right now. It will. Trust me on this one.

[He offers a small smile.]

You're a tough kid.

[with his face as cleaned up as it can be (there's little he can do about how puffy and red and still-weeping his eye is), he can focus on Sam a little bit more, and he's met with a gaze that is a little too close and direct for his tastes.

and everything that Sam is saying? Coil's brow comes down, and then furrows in the middle, as he stumbles over a few of those concepts. or is maybe just highly suspicious of them.

whatever it is, he's not accepting it as the reassurance it should be. he doesn't get it.]

[Sam sighs, reaches out and ruffles Coil's hair, a quick easy motion that Dean so often used to do to him, as a kid. Maybe it's overstepping, but it used to make him feel better. Used to feel like some kind of tether, a wordless "I'm here if you need anything." He misses that, sometimes. A lot of times.]

Come on, let's go get you vertical and eating, huh? Anything you're willing to eat that you actually like in that kitchen?

[it is overstepping a bit, and Coil flinches back in startled indignation. but the gesture is also a familiar one, as much as he'd never admit it. and being treated like a child is always humiliating, but he was just caught crying his eyes out, so it's not like he has a whole lot of pride to have wounded at the moment.

so, he swallows most of the insult, and finally pushes himself up to his feet. it's a big step.

to the question, he just offers a disgruntled shrug. food is not his favorite topic.]

[Good job, Sam, good job. He pulls his hand back and tucks them into his pockets, as if he can just hide them out of sight, out of mind. Well. Okay then, got it. He blushes like a loser and clears his throat, moving toward the kitchen.]

You sure about that? A shrug means I might make something really gross.

Like marshmallow on top of chips.

[Coil isn't exactly happy, but he's at least following along toward the kitchen. resigned to carrying on, maybe. he's at least making the attempt to be okay.

and food isn't actually playing much of a part of it, in his head. it's never been a topic that he's been enthused about, especially when not feeling great in general. still, he can't help but pull a bit of a face at that suggestion.

'not hungry,' he signs.]

[Sam makes a face, giving pause for a moment.

Then he signs back: How long since you ate?]

[he probably would have at least tried to lie if he'd been in better mental shape.

as it is, he just sighs and signs, 'don't remember.']

[Let's see how well Coil can ignore the patented "Worried Dog-eyed Stare" Winchester special. Because he's giving Coil that concerned Look right now that makes Dean pissy.

'It's important to take care of yourself.'

A pause.

It's good to be at your physical best, right?']

Edited 2016-05-31 23:24 (UTC)

[ugh. how can one person's eyebrows convey so much concern?

and really, he would be pretty damn immune to them if they weren't backed up by a very good point. because while his concern for his own wellbeing is generally abysmally low, he does take pride in being at the top of his physical game, ready for anything. and he knows very well that he's been failing at that lately.

with another resigned breath, he nods. but, since it's clear that Sam isn't going to drop this like a normal person would, he has to make one thing clear, if it isn't already.

pointing at his own mouth, he draws a little 'X' in front of his lips... and then belatedly forms the sign for 'tongue,' just in case.]

[Ahh.

That really explains a lot. Then taste isn't much a matter of option if the whole tongue is gone... though maybe he has enough of his tongue left in the back that he can taste when he swallows? Sam at least has some experience in not being able to taste what he's eating (or, like, it tasting like blood; he did not value the many months he spent deathly sick back in Adstringendum), but he doesn't exactly know a lot about dysphagia or how Coil's coped with eating. He might have a method that he's embarrassed to do in front of other people.

Hmm.

Sam quirks his eyebrow, forgoing signing because he isn't sure what the sign is.]

How about smoothies? Could include protein, whatever flavor you want, if you can taste.

I make them sometimes when I'm too busy to make a real meal. It'll have anything you need in it, especially since they have some food in powdered form here.

[there is at least a decent amount of embarrassment there, yeah. now that the fact is out in the open and being talked about, Coil can't help but keep his gaze low and kind of hunch into his shoulders at the discomfort of it.

he nods, though. that would be okay.

Zhas used to make them for him, packed with protein and powdered vitamins to try and help keep weight and muscle mass on him. it would be nice to eat something easy. Syeira had been doing her best with stews and soft bite-sized foods, but it's been a while since he's had a meal he didn't have to fight with.]

[....... Sheesh. He smiles a bit.]

Hey, no reason to feel embarrassed or anything, okay? Trust me. I already embarrass myself on a daily basis anyway, so you can't do any worse than me.

[He turns, starts collecting things from the kitchen as they enter it. He only stops for a moment to surrender a little bit of information — it seems only fair, when Coil's had the misfortune of crying in front of him. After all, it's only fair. If someone learns something vulnerable about the other, shouldn't it only be fair he gives them something to feel more level-fielded?

He surrenders ASL for the moment, because his hands are busied.]

... I was kind of in a similar predicament with food, once. Just for a little bit, I mean, so I can't really understand what it's like at all and I wouldn't pretend to, but. But I was sick, kind of like... I guess a terminal illness is the best way to describe it. Supernaturally caused, because that's usually how it goes for me.

[He turns to lean against the counter with his tailbone, talking and signing a bit in unison.]

I couldn't keep much down, let alone have an appetite for it, and I couldn't really taste anything a few months in. But I was a hot mess the whole time. But I did learn that solid foods were, um, the devil.

[ok no solid foods aren't the devil but you know what he means]

[Coil slinks into a seat at the table... and he still looks uncomfortable with the whole conversation, but he's listening. he's just not used to having so many of his weaknesses out on display and talked about like this--out of commiseration or not.

he fidgets with his fingers, but he glances up periodically to show that he's listening, and nods at the end there. it's close enough that he agrees. food in general can kind of be the devil, to him.]

[He glances back as he finishes mixing together some of the stronger powders for what is essentially a fruit smoothie and protein -- and hesitates at how uncomfortable Coil looks. He drops his head a bit, bangs falling into his face, and gives a short, embarrassed laugh of his own as he rubs the back of his head.]

Running my mouth -- kind of my pastime when I'm working on something. I'm useless, huh.

[He shakes his head.]

Sorry.

[He offers Coil a glass with a small smile.]

I know the signs for "shut up", if you ever want to use them.