Glitch | "Who wants to remember all that hell?" | OTA

[collegedropout]

Who: Sam and you. Also Hell!Sam.
Broadcast: N/A
Action: Iskaulit
When: 1/25/17 and onward as he glitches.


WARNING for Supernatural being awful, so you'll find stuff here that will be very mental health oriented. Mentions of torture/abuse, potentially graphic in narrative, talk of hallucinations, hell, the devil, etc. Sam'll also be reacting as someone who has endured said things listed so if that sort of thing bothers you don't mind me (or if you're close CR lemme know and we can work around it). Sam's a hot mess 'de-aged' for a week to season 6 (~5 years ago in canon), where he hasn't been resurrected yet and thinks he's still trapped in hell. Your character may think he's canon updated into the future but it's quite the opposite! Luckily!


WEDNESDAY/THURSDAY. AFTERMATH, CONTINUED. Space Bar/Garden/Iskaulit. (aka anything you wanna do before he glitches)

[Sam has busied himself with helping with repairs; luckily things aren't quite so awful looking, and the debris and blood's been relatively cleaned away. The garden is one of his top priorities, actually, other than helping re-open the bar (which congrats, guys, we did it! just need some replacements but...), and he can be found carefully replanting and plucking dead leaves and sadly pulling any of his herbs that were too damaged to salvage. He also helps with the library and works on any damage the Bloodsport sustained. Everything seems to at least be getting back to normal. That's good. Really good. And as much as he wishes they'd been spared the attack — Aria's still out, even if she's not dead from her injuries — he at least finds a shitty silver lining in being too occupied to think.]

FRIDAY. LIBRARY. "who wants to remember all that hell?"

[And on schedule, per Sam's luck, he glitches.

He's in the middle of quietly reading in the library when it happens, like a punch. His eyes roll back and he's out for the count, slumping forward, unconscious — for a short while. Images dance behind his eyes, voices teasing him from afar. If you happen to find him here, practically comatose against handwritten accounts of what happened during the raider attack, you'll find he looks — bad. Pale pink scars have formed on his arms and neck and face, and he twitches in the throes of terrible images, eyelashes clumped and wet. Despite what it looks like, he hasn't updated to a new point; he hasn't gone to the future.

No, he's gone to the past. Down below, trapped with the devil himself in a cage. De-aged years back, before he was resurrected, plucked from hell by Death himself. An attempt to rouse him will give the visitor a surprise: Sam jerks like he's been burned, shuddering like he's been struck by lightning before he throws himself back from the chair, toppling it with him, a strangled NO flying from his lips as he blindly crawls back and away. He's terrified and confused, utterly confused.

... Good luck.]

GLITCH. Iskaulit. Garden.



[After he wakes up from the library, anyone who expected him throughout the day will find he'll absolutely miss any appointments. He can be found wandering the Iskaulit, actually. He's not all there — actually, he's trying to figure out where this hallucination begins and ends. Nothing makes any sense, but there's no way he's going to think he's out of hell. No, this must be some elaborate prank by the devil. He's just... waiting for the whole thing to fall apart. Sure, he hasn't seen any familiar faces, and usually things would have gotten violent by now, but... you know. You can't trust Lucifer and his new tricks. Always, new tricks. You can't torment someone for eighteen decades without mixing things up a bit.

The nervous figure rubs his hand along his burn-marked skin, over rough scarring, and looks nothing like the usually confident and good-natured man Sam usually is; he's flighty, and his eyes dart to any little noise like it may very well be the death of him. Er. Well. He's pretty sure he's dead anyway, but the... mutilation and reconstruction of his soul, if you will. He doesn't want to be found, but it's inevitable. His teeth chatter behind his lips and he passes like a ghost, gray-rimmed eyes and disheveled appearance unnatural on his figure.

Sometimes if he hears someone approaching, he finds a place to hide and wait it out. Whether or not the person in question doesn't find him is another matter entirely, but regardless, he'll look at you as if you're aiming to behead him and squeeze into the smallest hiding space he can in order to evade your destructive hands. Because you're probably Morning star, you know? Probably.

He revisits the garden, temporarily eased by the plant-life growing there. Lucifer always did love nature. One of the few pleasures he was allowed was to witness exquisite scenery sometimes, when the devil was feeling generous. It was always accompanied with some sort of terrible double-edged sword, but at least Sam could enjoy that much. He sits with his legs pulled up, long fingers awkwardly plucking at someone's plant — he's a bit confused, because even though he's completely sure he's in hell and has been and never will get out... there's just. Something off. Something different. When he breathes, it doesn't hurt his lungs. And his bones don't crunch when he walks. And there aren't any hooks, aren't any flames (yet, Sam, yet, don't assume anything).

Even so. He huffs tiredly, head rolling on his shoulders, and plucks off a small fruit, unsure if he's even capable of eating it.

It's not real, it's not real. It's not. It'll probably turn into razors in his mouth.]

... This cage isn't very hot.

[Or frostbite-cold.

It's quite... pleasant, this temperature. 

Everything is different. The devil is probably enjoying his owl-eyed confusion.]

Comments

[hollystrike]

[Katie sets foot on the Iskaulit and she knows. She slows as her nose wrinkles, boots coming to a stop well short of her intended destination of the fox park.

Sulfur. Hellfire. Acrid and strong, and while Sam usually has those tinges about him, so strong to her sensitive nose, it hasn't been this pervasive since... since a long time ago, half a memory, of a dented black Impala and a promise she really shouldn't have made.

But she did, and it stands, and after a moment her mouth thins into a line and she about faces, tracking Sam down with surety. Maybe he'll remember her. Maybe he won't. It doesn't matter, really, does it?]

[collegedropout]

[Sam's decided that everything's a bit too much, you know? So this, um, this closet over here in this hall, it's probably the best place to be in, where they probably keep roombas. Sam doesn't particularly pay it any mind; they're not really there anyway. Nothing's really here. But if he hides, sometimes Lucifer just ignores him and lets him until he's bored again. Or sometimes he likes to make a game of it. Either way, if Sam can get a breath of fresh air...

All the better.

He tenses at the sound of click-clacking footsteps, holding his breath.

Strange how real that feels.]

[hollystrike]

[Oh, Sam. If you were anyone else, hiding in a closet would at least confuse her a while longer. But where most people don't have a trace of chimerical creation around them, Sam's echoes may as well be blaring, neon-lit signs, pointing to this closet in particular. It's not just the strengthened smell. It's the voices just on the edge of hearing.

It's the closet door developing tiny frosted patterns from cold that doesn't exist, not really. She wipes them away from the door handle, and gives a long count of five before she crouches down, and taps with one finger.]

Sam...?

Can I come in?

Garden

[onlyanapple]

[On occasion, Crowley visits the garden. He's always had a fondness for plantlife, he expects Eden had rather a large role to play in that one. The garden also happens to be where he dumps the houseplants that don't make the grade.

...It's totally a punishment, shut up.

Seeing Sam makes him pause, even putting down the plant pot with a rather droopy fern in it. This is wrong. He's seen that look on people before and he really, really hopes it's just some Standard Winchester Bullshit and not what immediately springs to mind. ]

...Doing alright there, Sam?

Garden

[collegedropout]

[Sam's gaze whips to Crowley rather sharply -- and he doesn't look very content to see him. Perhaps even scared. No, definitely scared, but Sam knows that at this point, acting afraid'll only make things worse. He bites his cheek and finds a strange solace in how much he feels that. This face isn't familiar. It's not one he uses. But then, sometimes he likes to use new ones -- Lucifer knows a lot of humans by name and face, despite his hatred for them.

He looks at Crowley with wringing hands, thick scars across the knuckles.

He doesn't usually scar. This is strange. It's all really strange.]

I'm -- I'm fine. I'm always fine. Everything's fine.

[He looks away. At the plants. They'll freeze over. They'll wilt or burn.

Won't last, never does.]

[onlyanapple]

[Crowley stays still for a moment, because in his experience a Winchester on the Edge was never a good thing for demonkind. Once he decides Sam probably isn't going to snap and kill him, he edges a little closer. Carefully. Like he's approaching a firework that didn't go off the first time. ]

You sure about that? You look just about the opposite of fine.

Garden

[mistyday]

[Ever since the attack, Misty has been spending even more time in the Iskaulit's garden than usual, helping to revitalize the plants with both her regular gardening skills as well as her magic. Rhiannon, her cleaner bot, follows her around, merrily chugging up dirt and broken bits of pots and plants. Today, though, as soon as she enters, Misty can feel it: something is wrong, very wrong, dark and twisted and... all too familiar.

She picks up Rhiannon, cradling her while she ventures further into the garden. Rhiannon buzzes angrily.]

Shhh.

[Following that mysterious extra sense of hers, Misty finds the source of all those bad vibes, crouched and terrified as he tries to hide from her. Oh no.]

Sam, honey, don't be scared. It's just me.

Garden

[collegedropout]

[He is scared, though. Always scared, when there's a new face. He backs up a little further, shoulders hunched and arm raised as if ready to deflect a sudden attack from her. There's no where to run and no where to melt into; it's just a wall behind him. Feels so solid, but he knows it's just conjured from a scheming mind. Angel grace is powerful stuff, always good at fooling him, even all these decades later.

Still... the voice is so nice.

He hates that Lucifer can speak so sweetly.]

I know it's you, it's always you.

[His words are fast and rushed and he doesn't look at her.]

Please -- just. Let me look at them. I just wanted to look.

Garden

[mistyday]

[Misty frowns. "It's always you." The way he says that, it's clear he doesn't actually recognize her. And his aura is broken and tattered, not the source of strength it usually is. Something's been eating away at him and from the pit growing ever larger in her stomach, she thinks she can guess what that something is.]

Of course you can look. You're always welcome here. But...who do you think I am?

let's all go to the garden.

[steeledskin]

[ sansa arrives at night -- or on the cusp of it, she suspects, despite a lack of dependable sun to tell her so. she arrives with her cloak fastened firmly under her chin and a little direwolf at her heels. hush, ghost, she chides him when he whimpers. she doesn't think his complaints might come from there being another body in the vicinity.

kneeling next to a sapling, sansa is careful not to jostle the arm that's tucked away in a sling. for all intents and purposes, she appears to be praying. eyes shut and lips moving. she tries to pray as regularly as she can, substituting the garden for a godswood. alas, it never seems to help. she doesn't blame the plants; she blames herself.

and while she prays, the mischievous ghost goes a-sniffing for the interloper a few rows down. ]

garden party, bring your misery

[collegedropout]

[Sam wanders in himself; this time he finds someone and not the other way around. Which surely helps steel him. Sansa is the kind of vessel Lucifer'd love to have — fiery hair, pale skin, a prettiness that the devil appreciates in God's hairless apes — so Sam can only assume it's just him in wait. Like usual. But regardless, the loneliness sometimes defeats the caution and fear. He sees her praying and his heart swells and his eyes burn.

Tricks, he thinks, it's all tricks, but it's so beautiful to see something like that. He'd stopped praying a hundred years ago. Nothing was going through, nothing was getting out. He should've known better, but it had brought him some comfort to think maybe... maybe...

He clears his throat, not looking at her, scarred hands hanging limply a his sides for whatever may come.]

Praying doesn't work here.

[He wishes it did.]

... I'm sorry.

[steeledskin]

[ -- spooked by his arrival, sansa is quick to find her feet. she grabs at garden-bed's ledge with her good hand. ]

Sam. [ she says his name quietly and without ornamentation. ever since the conversation that had started anonymously but had progressed into something else, she's been more familiar with him. a little less stilted, perhaps. very rarely does she call him 'ser' any longer.

but when she watches him now it's with concern. he looks dreadful -- but her first assumption is that he'd been hurt badly during the raid.

but as for praying? ] I...I know. It's foolish of me -- the gods aren't listening. I doubt they ever were. [ sansa hesitates before she takes a step towards him. ] But I like to pretend they're there. Just for the evening.

party in da garden

[noprophecies]

[she's been frequenting the garden lately due to her magic stores being all used up. It's really the only reprieve she'll get until they stop on a planet proper, and it's better than nothing. She's still exhausted regardless, but at least she likes the garden. It's peaceful, and it's comforting, and it lets her forget they're in the damn stars for a moment or two.

Its on one of these particular trips that she stumbles past where Sam's sitting; she almost misses him, as out of it as she is, but she stops and regards him with a strange look before she takes a few steps back to stand in front of him, hands on her hips]

It's bloody cold here, I don't know what you're on about.

[then again, she finds everything cold, so she isn't the best authority on how it feels]

bring out the rave sticks

[collegedropout]

[Sam keeps his stare downward, and if she looks under the mess of bangs she'll find an interesting collection of scars there. From old burns, here and there, leaving strange marks on his face with an unclear origin. He curls in on himself a bit more and seems afraid to talk back.]

... You're right. Sorry. It's cold.

[Strangely robotic in delivery, like it's his job to agree.

A rather un-enjoyable, loveless job.

He looks quite tired.]

untz untz untz

[noprophecies]

[it's the tone that makes her stay. Eyebrows furrowing, she kneels down to get a better look at him - and her eyes widen when she sees the scars and old burns. What in the world happened?]

Are you all right? Is this - [and she gestures] - from the attack?

Garden

[goodandtrue]

[She had been working quietly in the garden, as she often did when her chores were finished. After the attack, much of her supplies and salves had been used up, leaving her trying to replenish her supplies and experiment with a fresh batch of medicine.

The quiet of the garden often lulled her into a sense of peace, focusing her mind on her thoughts and tranquility. It was often that someone could enter the garden and she would remain undisturbed, unaware that there was anyone else there.

After an hour of work, her back had begun to ache and her head throbbed with the threat of a headache. Collecting her supplies, she prepared to return to the Blue Fish...until she saw a figure huddled nearby. He didn't seem to notice her either, but the crazed look on his face was enough to send away any thoughts she had of rest.

It was with a sudden jolt that she realized it was Sam she was looking at. She drew in a shaky breath, moving slowly to his side, careful to keep a measure of distance.]

Sam?

[ooc: She has lull, but I leave it up to you whether or not you want her to use it at any point.]

Garden | oh yes, lull might be useful in the thread! ;)

[collegedropout]

[He hadn't wanted her to find him; if he had his way, she would have never noticed him trying to be as small as possible in a space too big for someone his height and muscle. He looks at her over his knees with some level of haunted panic, as if maybe something terrible will happen now that he's been discovered (something terrible usually does happen then).

He swallows hard, tries to open his mouth, find a voice.

He isn't sure what to say, though.

Pleading for more time just makes him ungrateful.

Demanding for more time just makes Him angry.]

[goodandtrue]

[She could see the fear on his face, a look of desperation that shot right through her. With the upgrade in her augment, Jeyne exuded a sense of peace and tranquility to Sam, gently trying to ease him back towards a calm state.]

It's all right, Sam. Do you know me? It's Jeyne.

[She scooted closer by an inch, careful to make no sudden movements, treating him as though he were a spooked horse.]

You are safe, Sam.

Garden

[passingthrough]

[Once repairs were underway and friends were checked on and things generally slowed down again on the fleet Kitty found herself drawn to the garden. After all the ugliness—her ugliness—she just wanted to see something beautiful for a few minutes before getting back to trying to fix things. She was not expecting to see a giant of a man trying to stuff himself behind garden supplies.

...Sam?

[collegedropout]

[Excuse him as he continues to do just that.

The cowering man swallows hard, trying to maintain some level of bravery in the face of what he thinks is a threat, but that's the terrible thing about torture -- you can't help but recoil after a while. The devil is not one to turn your chin at, when it causes you worse consequences.

He squeezes his eyes shut and try to melt further into the darkness, with little success.

Hey, Kitty.]

[passingthrough]

[She glances around the room just in case there is something much scarier than herself in there, but she only sees Sam. Back home she was used to humans cowering in fear of her, but it's been a long time since that happened and Sam just isn't the sort to do that. At least she's never known him to be.

She takes a few experimental steps in his direction to gauge his reaction.]

Sam? What's wrong? [She sounds concerned. Is this a glitch? Maybe someone who isn't Sam but looks like him? A version from another universe?]

[namisan]

[Some time after he's been there-- after he's spoken with Crowley-- Nami ventures into the garden. Quietly.

She stole the medkit from the bar, because she's not sure at all what she's going to find, and Crowley mentioned scars so maybe there's nothing she can do, but she doesn't know for sure. She also brings fresh water.

At the very least, it makes her feel better to hope for just a few moments she might be able to help in some smaller and trivial way. Nami has heard about Sam's Hell. She's seen a brief echo of it within Diereadh. Nothing that's going to help at all with what the reality is, she knows.

Fucking glitches.

She shucks her shoes off before stepping through the garden. It makes her smaller and her steps maybe not so loud. Anything, right?

She has no idea how to handle this.]

[collegedropout]

[By the time Nami comes along, Sam's exhausted.

It's a strange sort of exhaustion, of course, but Sam's always exhausted. It's nothing new. And the sensation of weariness and hunger and thirst are little compared to where he'd just come from. He sits with dry lips and stares distantly at the plants, unaware of Nami's arrival; burns on his arms, on his face, have long-since been healed by the augment and its strange functions.

He shivers, jaw trembling. His stomach gurgles loudly.

He curls his fingers in the fabric of his shirt, above his stomach, trying to make sense of it.]

garden?

[bythewaves]

Too hot would be bad for the plants.

[ A soft voice answers, and Maglor looks up from where he was idly playing with his harp - if Sam thinks, he might realise he's been hearing the harp the whole time, a soft ripple of sound that blends into the noise of the gardens so seamlessly as to be no more than background noise ]

You do not look well.

[ He looks concerned ]

garden!

[collegedropout]

[He stands at a distance, hands hanging anxiously at his sides. Everything about him is cautious, nervous, like a cornered animal ready to try and bolt at the next opportunity. But the music — it sounds... nice. Better than what Cage has to offer, though sometimes Lucifer will allow sweet music to pour in while he works.

You know, humans are disgusting, but they make decent music.

He shudders, looking at the ground between him and the harp player with listless eyes. The scarred man seems unsure of what to say.]

I'm okay.

I just — wanted to listen.