Sam Winchester (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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driftfleet2017-01-25 01:12 am
collegedropout) wrote in driftfleet2017-01-25 01:12 am
Glitch | "Who wants to remember all that hell?" | OTA
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.]
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.]
no subject
Small mercies.
After a moment of rubbing a scar on his outer wrist raw, he stops gnawing his lip to reply:]
The cage. This is just a hallucination in the cage, that's all. That's always all.
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I guess if you think you're in a hallucination it would be pretty hard to convince you that you're not.
[She frowns when she sees him handling himself so roughly.] Are you in pain?
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Yes.
[Sam rubs his hands against his temples.]
But it's okay. No fire, no hooks, no needles.
Everything's okay.
[Says the man, like he's trying to convince himself more than anything.]
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[But she doubts moving him or bringing in a doctor will make him feel secure just now. It would be helpful if Dean was here.]
Do you know who I am?
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He glances at her as if it's a bad idea, to look for too long.]
... No. No, I — I don't know your face.
Maybe... before Hell? I can't remember. It was so long ago...
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If I was a hallucination, wouldn't I be someone you remember?
no subject
Lucifer uses a lot of faces... It makes tricking me easier. More fun.
He's the devil, y'know. He knows a lot of people I don't.
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You're on a spaceship called the Iskaulit. It's one of several ships in a fleet. We were abducted by an alien race called the Atroma to be part of a reality show.
[It's a lot to spring on a guy curled up in a ball, but she figures he'll dismiss it all as a hallucination or just maybe it will jar something loose since maybe it won't be a fit for the sort of images he'd expect. Probably a big stretch.]
no subject
That's a new one.]
... We running out of hallucinations already, Lucifer?
Come on. I know it's been a long time, but...
[Sam's still capable of some humor.
Dark, ugly humor, but still.]
no subject
And it's extremely unbelievable and also somehow true. Which is probably how you've felt explaining things to people most of your life.
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He huffs a humorless laugh, unable to look at her.]
Not anymore.
I don't have to explain it to anyone anymore. I'm — locked up. I'll be here, and they'll be up there... safe. That's... all I wanted. To keep them all safe.
[And he failed that, because he asked Cas to look out for Dean. But Lucifer — no, himself, he killed Cas. Not strong enough to fight the devil, and Cas paid for it. Cas and Bobby. His jaw squares and his eyes shimmer, and he keeps looking anywhere but her.]
I tried, I swear.
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Sam, they're still safe. [Hopefully. He sounds so worried and hurt and...]
The surprise is that you are too. [More or less.]
You're not in hell anymore and Lucifer isn't here.
[She takes a breath.] I know how hard it can be just to hope for better. You find a way to survive and you just dig into that and it gets you through the day, but it's not really living. Reaching for more is scary. It can bring down your system. Crush you. But it's also the only way to really make things any better for yourself.
no subject
Lucifer says that sometimes, too. Sometimes he looks like Mom, sometimes he looks like Jessica or — or Dean. [He curls his fingers on his legs. Big hands, the kind that turns combat knives into switchblades.] Sorry, I, um... After a few decades, I learned to know better.
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But he doesn't scramble at her proximity. He just ducks his head, hides behind his bangs.]
I lost track. I tried not to, but it was so hard...
Lucifer said I was the math wiz, you know. A century, that's about 36,500 days. They say there's 365.25 days in the year, actually. S-so if you incorporate that, it figures up more days. Makes the year a quarter of a day longer, right? So, um. So at least 36,500 days, for sure. 24 days longer, too. More than that, I guess. That was a long time ago, when he celebrated a hundred.
[He's rambling now, as he tends to when he's alone and needs his own company.]
no subject
How long did Lucifer hold an illusion? The longest?
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[He leans back, staring at the wall to their left.]
He wouldn't like that. If he gave me too long a break.
[That's what these are, apparently. Breaks.]
Because once the illusions are over... it's me and him, and...
[He swallows hard at the unfinished thought.]
no subject
Does this still seem like one of his illusions?
no subject
It has to be...
... Not usually... this. But he gets bored sometimes.
[His hand trembles under hers; his sign of fear, where it's not as active on his face.]
no subject
I won't hurt you, Sam. You're safe here. You're safe from him. [And she very much hopes it stays this way. Lucifer sounds like someone who would bring ratings, but as far as he knows he's not on the fleet. She checks the roster every now and then to stay current.]
no subject
There's nowhere I can go, that's safe. He's everywhere; you can't hide for long.
Not if he wants to find you.
[He rubs his hand over his face.]
It's okay, though. I won't ever say yes again. I won't let him in.
no subject
What do you mean you won't let him in?
no subject
They need bodies to walk the earth. Angels.
I'm the chosen one, you know? I was Lucifer's. I -- I'm supposed to be his body on earth. I was his body, but I fought it, and -- and when we fell, I promised myself I'd... never let him back in again. Not again.
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[Rubbing his arm, he looks distant.]
He wouldn't walk back into his cage. I could... I could throw him back in.
I could fix things.
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