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

[collegedropout]

[A silence. He tries to digest what she says.]

You're the one who makes promises, right?

Can you — promise not to use me? Or, um. Possess me. Can you?

[hollystrike]

[Katie freezes, breath caught. And doesn't answer for a long moment, first fighting down the more primal, older coil anger that rises from within (asking for such a thing how dare you)-- can't be helped, she is what she is, and this is a damaged and frightened human and her friend it's not the same-- and then thinking furiously over all the ways that could go wrong. She wouldn't have thought her first promise could be such a monumental mistake, and yet...

She pulls up one sleeve to look at the faded scars still carved, onetwothree, into her forearm. She would never use or possess him. On purpose. Look how hurting him turned out.

But in the end...]

If I give you that oath, will you let me help you?

[collegedropout]

[He shudders, but nods behind the safety of the door.

He's so terrified of saying something wrong. 'Yes' is always bad. Always.]

I will... let you help me, if you... promise.

I can't — I can't have him inside me again. Please.

[hollystrike]

[And there she sees an out.]

...Sam. To use or possess you is a terrible thing. I give you my oath that, should anyone try without your blessing, I will fight tooth and nail to protect you from it.

[It leaves room for the highly unlikely reality that Sam wants it himself, and she won't pay the price if she fights to help him and fails.]

[collegedropout]

[After a moment — a rather long and pregnant one — the door knob turns.

One hazel eye peers out from the dark, framed by unkempt hair.]

It's not safe...

Could be playing hide and seek.

Not really, um... much of a kid game, anymore.

[hollystrike]

It never really was. It's never all that much fun to be found.

[She smiles faintly, holding her fingers up to the gap.] Are you coming out, or shall I come in to help you hide?

[collegedropout]

[... A difficult choice.

He doesn't really like being left in the dark after Lucifer's done with him, but. But it's usually the safest there, you know? The brighter the world around him is, the more likely it's a prelude to terrible pain.

He isn't really sure, but...]

Do you mind the dark?

[hollystrike]

The dark is all right. Though I can't really see in it, but I don't mind. [Hah. Cat's eyes.]

I'll come in to you when you're ready then, shall I?

[collegedropout]

[He bites his lip.

There's a long pause. Contemplative.

And then the door slowly creaks open for her.]

[hollystrike]

[Sam. :c

She smiles into the darkness and shuffles her way inside, closing the door again behind her. She can see just fine in here, though she wishes briefly that she couldn't. Between Sam himself and his strengthened echoes...]

Hello. Thanks for keeping me company. [She says it lightly. She won't touch him-- she remembers too well what happened last time in Adstring. She wishes he remembered.]

I'm Katie.

[collegedropout]

[He breathes in, breathes out, settles in the cloudy, terrible stench of hellfire.]

I'm —

[He closes his mouth and looks away.]

... not good company.

[hollystrike]

Aren't you? [It's smothering in here and she already hates it. Right now, unfortunately, she agrees. But this isn't about her.]

Well, we can't be amazingly entertaining to our friends all the time. You're allowed to have a bad week, I'm sure. Are you hurt anywhere?

[collegedropout]

[Yes, he's hurt everywhere, and his soul is fucked.

But, y'know. Not so bad.]

I'm okay.

As long as he doesn't see me, I get to rest. Wait until he's bored again.

[hollystrike]

[What a shock that that is his answer.]

Well, he won't see you while you're in here. If you want to rest, rest. I have it on authority my shoulders are very comfortable.

[collegedropout]

[He looks unsure.]

Your shoulders...?

[He looks at them like she's speaking code. But then he smiles, just a small smile, blink-and-you'll-miss-it in the dark. For some reason, he believes her on that one.]

You get a lot of people sleeping on them?

[hollystrike]

[She rolls her shoulders a little, a playful little wriggle.] All the time. As long as they're not allergic to cats, it should be fine, don't you think? I own six and I'm a bit smelly.

...you're not allergic, are you? [It's not really a question. Dean is, she remembers. More reasons to arbitrarily dislike him. But Sam is another story. She pats at one gently.]

It's here if you want it.

[collegedropout]

... I don't think so. Yeah, pretty sure I'm not.

[Someone is. Dean, right? Yeah, Dean. He stares with uncertainty at her, and now that he's a bit closer and his own echoes aren't blinding him and making her so hard to see — he swallows hard. His eyes glance from her nose to the top of her head.]

... Is that... normal?

[hollystrike]

[For a moment she doesn't follow. It's just so ridiculous that a normal human would see her more feline features. So her (cat) nose wrinkles in confusion.]

Not being allergic to cats...?

[collegedropout]

No, I mean... Your — ears.

[He's not looking at where her human ears would be, when he says it.

He's looking at the top of her head.]

[hollystrike]

[Katie goes very still for a moment. That's...uh. Unexpected. She's trying to recall if he saw her markings the last time this happened, but those memories are hazy at best.]

My ears? [She reaches up to scratch behind one with a finger, making it flick, and her voice is casual.] Oh. [And oh. If he's seeing the chimerical realm, he's sure as hell getting a face full of his own echoes. That's horrid.] Well, what do you know? I suppose that means I've been around cats for far too long.

Sam. What else can you see?

[collegedropout]

[He shrinks a little into himself, but keeps staring.]

I see fire... smoke...

... I see... cat eyes.

[He's peering at her when he says it, at green eyes, slitted. His eyes drift then toward the tail wafting back and forth between them. He doesn't understand why it's cats — or space — so he is admittedly... looking a little confused about all of this.]

[hollystrike]

[Not good. Not good at all. She could try to remove the enchantment, but the quickest way is to exhaust his creativity by force, and that would... count as hurting him. Already been there. Done that. She bites her lip.]

Fire and smoke isn't very pleasant. Perhaps you should close your eyes. Rest. Ignore them.

[collegedropout]

[He shakes his head.]

... Then I'd be in the dark.

I sound like a kid, huh? I'm too old to be scared of something like that.

[Of course you should be scared of the dark; you know what's out there.]

[hollystrike]

You've never too old. It's common sense to be frightened of what you can't see, isn't it? Even if what you can't see is as straightforward as a furniture corner in the dark. You can still hurt yourself on all those sharp edges.

The dark itself, though. It's just lonely because the light ran away and let all these dangerous things hide in it.

I can see them. That means you don't have to.

[collegedropout]

[Certain, he curls a bit more into himself.]

I can see them, I think. The dangerous things.

... I was one of them, once.