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
I didn't do it on purpose. I was I was trying to keep him in. In the cage.
They said if I killed the first demon he made, the seals on the cage wouldn't break.
[He sounds like in any other place, people would walk around him as he sat rambling on the street corner. He tucks his hands into his jacket and doesn't look at her. Shame paints his face, dark and sad.]
The angels and demons, they all said--
[He sucks in a breath.]
But it was -- the final seal, and I broke it... I fixed it, though. I swear.
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It's not okay. I was stupid. I was so stupid.
[He runs his hand through his hair, the shadows playing on his scars.]
I made so many mistakes.
I'm where I need to be, because of it.
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What if... it's the same? Redeemed by being punished?
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[Adam, too. But he's not sure where Adam is; he's never gotten to see him since they fell.]
They get to do whatever they like. Not much choice in it.
[softly, resigned:]
It is messed up, but it's what had to happen.
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A bit cryptically, perhaps:]
I wish it'd been a bigger one.
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It's not that. It's --
[He bites his lip, uncertain, running the pad of his thumb against his wrist.]
I'm sorry. No, I'm just tired.
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Sometimes, he pretends the Dean that mocks him is really his brother. It's better than never speaking to him again. And sometimes, very rarely, when he feels particularly cruel, Lucifer will put a hand on his face -- as he's wearing Dean's -- and call him Sammy. And Sam, god help him, he'd smile and curl a hand in Dean's jacket and whisper his name. Torture and comfort, all rolled into one demented ball, just sickening enough to make Sam feel like the freak he's told he is.
That's when he's at his lowest.
He bows his head, curling a little more in on himself as his shoulders shake and his eyes flood behind the safety of his bangs.
He's so fucked up.
He's so fucked.
And Dean is clear as day in his head. Don't say it, Sammy. Don't say it. That's when you know you've really lost--]
I just want to -- stop.
no subject
But then you're somewhere beautiful with so many people who have never seen or done those things and you don't know how to relate or fit in. And then you start to and it's so good but eventually you realize that darkness is still a part of you and instead of making the world around you better you're the thing making the world around you worse. And you're unloved and unwanted and broken and wrong. And you just want those final seconds and the sudden stop at the end. Not even for very long, but you know you wanted it.
Her voice is gently commanding when she speaks.] C'mere. [She opens her arms up to draw him in.] I know. I know... But don't.
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God, he's not breathing, he's dead.
Why does it all feel so real and alive?
He hugs a bit more securely, shame and comfort and relief all enlarging his heart, leaving it fit to burst out of his chest. And wouldn't that be just what Lucifer called for? But nothing happens. It's quiet, and the garden is still there, and the room isn't too cold or too hot. His stomach hurts because he's hungry and his head hurts because he's crying, and he's so tired, he could sleep for weeks. But that's impossible, because he's dead, and nobody is coming for him down here.]
I want -- [He sucks in a breath, voice hitching.] -- to stay a little longer.
Here -- in the garden.
no subject
She's worried about other concerns. His wounds. Whether he's eaten. But for now it can just be this. She wishes she knew if this was a glitch or if this was him further down the line. She's thinking and hoping glitch. It feels like it doesn't make sense either way, but she knows Dean had been in hell, so it must just not be as final as it sounds. She will do her best to protect him from himself in the here and now and so he knows he's not alone and maybe will come to trust she's not Lucifer.]
Then we'll stay.