driftfleet | voice. a quick sad post.

Entry tags:

voice. a quick sad post.

Who: Sam Winchester
Broadcast: fleetwide
Action: Red Fish
When: after a sad shuffle :C

[Sam's very much subdued the day that Dean vanishes. If he reacts more viscerally to it, to knowing that this Dean was returning to his inevitable death at Sam and satan's own hands, nobody'd know it — he closes himself up in his room, keeps himself distant for a little while. It helps, because it also gets him away from those damned echoes that have begun to snowball. He's tried his best to ignore them, and with Dean suddenly gone... he doesn't trust himself to be anything but stressed at the sight.

Anyway. Um. Best to move forward, right...? Get back into things. Working at the bar keeps his mind busy, as does helping with the garden, and there's also helping with the weird messages from the planet, and — dammit, Sam, get back into things. Fake it 'til you make it. This too shall pass, if you pretend hard enough that you're fine. So he breathes in deep, breathes out, and addresses the fleet.]

My brother, Dean, um. Dean Winchester's left the fleet. I wasn't sure how many people knew him, but...

[A pause.]

Anyone want to talk? I could use something to keep me occupied. Your choice of topic, just shoot. I can be a pretty good listener, too.

[Help me get out of this funk, huh.]

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[He smiles pleasantly.]

You, fibbing?

[... Yeah he had figured a few things here and there.]

Sounds like you've had to fib a lot in the past, Ms. Carter.

Side effect of having signed the Official Secrets Act, I'm afraid.

[ -- he seems a brainy sort. peggy throws the words out almost to test his understanding of what she's not quite saying. ]

[... Ah. He considers her response.]

You must have a pretty important job, if it's a matter of national security.

[But he sounds like he considered as much. He lowers his cup, figuring he might as well prove himself when it comes to investigations and whatnot. After all, this loser hacks a lot of crap and really loves picking up clues.]

You're pretty comfortable with guns and you have a fondness for puzzles, but I started knowing there was more after what happened with Bucky. [His cheeks color, just slightly, at the next admittance. Because he's basically a network peeping tom. He taps the rim o the cup.] I... might have spied on a few open feeds during that, to try and collect information, and I couldn't help but notice you carried yourself very well for a civilian who had just been badly injured. Led me to believe you've had to take control of a situation while you've been injured before.

[He smiles apologetically.]

... Communications. And all.

[ there's a hint of something in her expression. it's not quite pride -- but she's certainly pleased with his legwork. after some time, she'd stopped being quite so careful about it all. not least of all because of what's been revealed about the future. her legacy. ]

Spied on open feeds? [ she plucks up that wording rather particularly. ] Good for you. I'd expect nothing less of any communications officer worth his or her salt.

[ after all, she'd started on comms. ]

[He chuckles.]

Yeah, well. I've got my own breed of job that requires secrecy.

And snooping. A lot of snooping.

[He smirks, just slightly.]

... Nobody suspects the weird guy with long hair and lumberjack plaid can hack police databases and surveillance systems.

Nor do they much suspect the woman taking their lunch orders, as it turns out. [ a spy within her own damn spy agency. not a double-agent, exactly, but near enough to cause discomfort. her smile is rueful. ]

Although I must confess you'd stick out like a damned sore thumb, back home.

[He blinks.]

Who, me?

[nah man i'm so covert look at me, so covert.]

... Is it the hair?

It's not quite regulation, I'm afraid. And it makes you identifiable. [ peggy shrugs. ] But I doubt it's your fault. The future also seems to be running a deficit of decent ties, from what I can tell.

[ an odd conclusion, maybe, until you realize she's only been comparing her own year with the 'modern' fashions seemingly common to everyone else's. ]

I've never been a fan of regulation.

[About his hair, anyways. He grins a dimpled grin, amused.]

I got pretty used to ties — actually, I was pre-law at one point, so I kind of needed to accept wearing them. But, um. Flannel is plenty more comfortable for wandering heavily wooded areas and abandoned asylums. And whatnot.

You in your flannel -- reminds me of a stevedore. [ she's teasing. a little bit of deflection, of course, in the wake of revealing just enough about herself. ]

[He nearly spits his tea, thank you, Peggy.

But he recovers well enough, putting a hand against a smiling mouth.]

Wow.

Not the worst I've been referred to, but thanks. You have a lot of stevedore friends in your lifetime??

Friends? [ oh, she laughs. ] Good God, no. But I'll admit I spend more time than I like getting into trouble at the docks.

[...................... That sounds... frisky....

He raises his eyebrows at her, unsure what best way there is to ask about this trouble.]

[ her laughter is sharp -- almost embarrassed. ] My line of work -- my real work -- sometimes requires poking 'round a few import/export businesses. Determining what people are bringing into the country. And why.

Oh. Right. So illegal smuggling.

Usually in my line of work, we have to try to avoid people in your line of work.

[He laughs.]

You do some pretty... interesting stuff, when you're in the hunter's life.

The same can be said about the life of an SSR agent. [ he's always been so forthcoming with the details of his own work, and so she settles into something approaching honesty. ] Although I'm fairly confident those initials won't mean much to you -- it seems the same agency might've gone by a different name in some iterations of the world.

Once, we had a young man here on the Starstruck who described a very similar organization called the OSS.

[ -- the agency that grew into the cia. ]

Ah - that's right. It was a predecessor to the CIA.

[And there is Sam's geeky brain, what's up.

He smiles sheepishly.]

... I um, have to pretend to be some kind of agent on a semi-regular basis.

Impersonating a federal agent! Must land you in some hot water. [ she should know. ] I've heard about the CIA link, yes. But back home I've learned the SSR instead breaks into two different agencies: the CIA and SHIELD.

Mmm, yeah. I've seen the inside of a cell before, for sure.

Specific differences between the two?

Edited 2016-12-29 01:40 (UTC)

[ calmly, except for a slight edge of irritation: ] Hard to say. I've never known the CIA and I have yet to found SHIELD.

[ a crinkle of her nose. ] But I will. Purportedly.

Oh no.

Future talk.

[He speaks as someone who is so familiar with ~future~ business.

The sympathy is real.]

-- Can you imagine how infuriating it is to live a life of secrecy and discretion, only to find your name fit for a history textbook decades later? It makes one feel a little like a failure, Sam.

[..... He is just gonna. Drink his tea. He raises his eyebrows and looks to the side.]

Um, yeah... I don't really - need to imagine, actually.

Is that so? [ she smiles -- almost playful. ] Tell me, which international incidents have you unintentionally incited for the future?

[ she's serious. commiserate with her. please. ]

[He winces. This topic is not a great one, and it's been - really rough to revisit back home. Usually... people remember Sam as That Guy Who Fucked Everything Up. Sam's slowly come to terms with it, both back home and in other universes (especially thanks to people like Nami - she hardly lets him beat himself up as much these days). It happened. And Sam's figuring out that maybe it's not all on him.

Angels and demons are dicks. Majorly.

But he made mistakes. A lot of them.

The guilt still eats at him at his lowest.

Maybe that's all clearly played on the hesitancy that follows her playfulness. He's not quite playful in return, more shamed than anything, like she caught him red-handed breaking a rule.

At the same time? Fuck it, you know? The books had shown up here. He's explained it before to equally fair and polite company. She's not gonna make him drink demon blood or throw him in a cell, or anything. She may even Get It.]

A prophet wrote an entire novel series on my family's life that kind of, um. Cultivated into how we got - tricked into helping start an angelic apocalypse?

[He... sips his tea. Pauses. Winces a smile.]

Don't worry, we, uh, stopped it. So it's okay.

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