driftfleet | 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.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

I'm sure I can overlook it just this once.

[She pauses, glancing across the room she's in at the prize rack. She'll make up for it tomorrow.] I'll be there soon. Gotta shuttle my way back.

[Give her twenty.]

[Sam'll be here, don't mind him.

He's not even drinking in the dark or anything! He's just scrolling through his network. Rather blankly, like he's just doing it to pass time and veg out, but that's worth something, right?]

[Yeah well, hang on bro. I can at least help you mope in good company...?

She heads for the Red Fish direct, heading for his room and knocking on the outside wall quietly before she enters. Seems every time she visits here, it's to pick up Dean-related pieces of late.]

Hey.

[Ah, yes, let's do the steps of grief, Sam Winchester style:

Stand up, answer the door, and smile a little like there's totally nothing to frown about.]

Hi.

[Yeah, Dean-related pieces. Considering the Winchesters revolve around each other like they're on an axis, it's gonna be a usual theme, ain't it? Even with Dean not here.]

[He could come back. That's what she wants to say, with Sam standing there doing his kicked puppy impression. But that's the problem. Dean always comes back. Differing variations. Then he leaves again.

This Dean went home to die, by all reports. You can't bandaid that.]

You sure you want to go in for shift? We could hole up right here and get drunk.

[Sam seems unsure at first.

If it's not abundantly clear as is, he's not sure what could ever help get his mind off this right now, when the wound is so fresh. If he's drinking, he'll be somberly thinking about his brother. If he's working, he'll be somberly thinking about his brother. The only difference is in one scenario he's polishing the glass, and in another he's taking gulps out of it.

But Nami's trying to help him, and he appreciates that. A lot.]

Don't know. I mean... Getting drunk is usually the thing to do in these situations, I guess. Right?

[He gives her a bit of a lop-sided smile.]

This kind of thing really is getting too common for me.

I know. It sucks. I'm sorry.

[It's a horrendous tease at best. She gives him a crooked smile.] Getting drunk is what I usually do. Or... well, drinking. [She doesn't really get drunk much.] But it's just an option. We could go have a good meal, take a shuttle flight. Do anything in the name of distraction.

If I'd seen the roster, I'd have come sooner.

I'm afraid if I get drunk I'll turn into a weepy sad sack. And I don't think you want that version of me.

[Sam certainly hates that version of himself.]

And - it's alright. It's... I mean, I knew it could happen.

It just...

Sucks.

[Clearly, he has a low vocabulary today. He's tired and doesn't care.]

If you want to avoid weepy and sad, I'd suggest avoiding the bar, frankly. [It's full of people who do get drunk to avoid their issues, let's face it.]

Come with me to the Marsiva. If the assholes are gonna keep doing this to you, seems fitting they fit the bill for a decent meal.

...besides. You might find something that belongs to you in the prize bracket. And if you don't-- we'll find something else to distract us.

[Her weapon. Kirito's ring. They've really outdone themselves on the gall factor this time.]

[He snorts softly.]

Softcore gambling isn't a very good coping mechanism.

... But it's definitely a hunting family's. Sure, let's do it.

[Maybe he'll win something, but the distraction feels urgently needed.]

It's not gambling. It's time-wasting skill management. [She holds out an arm. It's both kind of a beckon and come here so I can stick an arm around your giant waist, pretty much.]

Plus I have to say they have some seriously decent steak over there. C'mon.

[He tucks his arm and lets her tuck her own behind him. Despite the inches he's got on her in height, he's still surprisingly easy to slip an arm around — the wasp waist he's got going on, the narrow hips, they make for an easy corralling. He melts a little bit, still hurting, terribly lost... but he has to move forward.

At least he has Nami to help him, and he's at least come to accept it.

He gives her shoulder a little squeeze in his big yeti mitt.]

Thank you, Nami.

Any time. [Though, you know. I could hope there isn't a next time.

C'mon then, wasp waist. Let's go distract you with our supposed birthday celebrations.]

voice. a quick sad post.

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