driftfleet | action

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action | open

Who: Sam Wilson (AU) and you!
Broadcast: n/a
Action: on the SS Bishop, around the Iskaulit
When: now and throughout the week

The SS Bishop

[ Sam'd barely woken up on the Marsiva before he'd found himself whisked away again, and honestly, he's not even surprised. Figures that he wouldn't have enough time to start to get his bearings before he's inexplicably brought somewhere completely new again; that's kind of par for the course of his life the last few years.

He can't even bring himself to be mad about the implant that he can feel just behind his left ear, the one he's guessing is responsible for the sudden influx of knowledge twisting around in his head. It's not like it's the first time that's happened, and at least it's a hell of a lot less invasive than what the Capitol'd done. There's a part of him that's aware that he's probably just deflecting, trying to focus on anything else to keep himself from going down that path, but he doesn't really care right now.

It's hard to keep himself from panicking, more because he's alone and he struggles with self regulation these days than anything else, but he's doing his best.

Mostly that means he's turned all his attention to exploring the ship he's ended up on. He can be found in the armory poking at weapons he doesn't fully understand, as well as helping himself to the sidearm he can make sense of; in the kitchen rooting around in the pantry and fiddling with the machines he's pretty sure make more sense than they should; or roaming the hallways, eyes flashing red and pupils dilating as he scans the walls like they've got secrets he can discover if he only looks long enough. ]

around Iskaulit

[ Most of him doesn't really believe this is the Capitol, not after the way the war'd gone, but there's always the chance that Snow or someone else had some kind of messed up last resort plan, and this is it.

It's enough to make him paranoid about, well, just about everything. He's not sure he really expects to find any more answers on board the Iskaulit than he did on the Bishop. But at least it's bigger, and eases some of the claustrophobic feeling of being trapped in addition to giving him more places to explore.

The garden... honestly just makes things worse, at the moment, and Sam isn't there very long before his wings start to itch under his skin. He'd wanted soothing, but instead he finds himself getting a little more agitated, and he takes off to the gym to get some of the violence out of his system. Sam turns his attention to one of the punching bags built for enhanced strength, going not quite full out against it, but pretty close. He'll slow down at the arrival of anyone else, clearly wary and uncertain though he musters up something like a smile and a casual "hey" in greeting.

Eventually he makes his way to both Malum and the Space Bar, less out of a desire to drink and more out of falling back on the habits he'd had while in the Capitol. It's a little different when there's not a crowd of Capitolites to disappear into, but he slides into a seat anyway with a nod in greeting for anyone who makes eye contact. ]

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[Sam's heard about other universes, talked to not-quite-Clint. Somewhere, in the back of his head, he'd acknowledged that there were other Sams walking around out there, but with a safe distance between them, it's something he's never really thought of as a possibility. Maybe he thought that they wouldn't look exactly like him, in the way Clint hadn't looked like the Clint he knows. Because it's the similarity that really takes his breath away and makes his skin crawl a little. It's his face, the exact same one he sees in the mirror every morning.]

Are there Sam robots out there somewhere? Because I'm chill with Vision, don't get me wrong, but I'm not real into robot duplicates of myself.

[He tries to keep his tone light and joking. What do you even talk about with yourself? Someone like Stark wouldn't have any problem, but Sam's just an ordinary guy, even after being in space for nearly a year.]

[ He tries to keep himself relaxed, to remind himself to keep breathing and not let himself hyperventilate. He can tell he's creeping Sam out, and it's - understandable, it's understandable, and he reminds himself of that, too. Tells himself it's not another Capitol trick, another attempt for them to throw this in his face and twist his head.

He'd been talking about the figments of his own mind - or the ones the Capitol'd put there - but he's not sure if that's better or worse than cyborgs.

He's not sure which one he actually wants to admit to, either, but he's gotta say something. If this Sam is all in his head, then it doesn't matter what he reveals because it's not like it's anything new - but if he's not, then he deserves to know what he's dealing with. ]

Only half robot. Still got a heartbeat, it's just a little artificial.

[ There, that's good. If he can joke about it that makes it better, right? ]

[That earns a wry smile from Sam, but it also serves to pique his curiosity. Something wrong with his heart? If that's the case, then why's he working out against one of the special heavy bags?]

Hey, nothing wrong with being half-robot, just ask Barnes.

[Well. Maybe don't ask Bucky.]

[ That - actually makes Sam quirk a little smile, huffing out an exhale that could almost be something like a chuckle. ]

I got him a little beat these days. [ It makes him ease up, just the tiniest bit, that Sam's joking back. And when he gets stuck on saying the actual word - he lets himself think of Jet and Albert, of how much he loves them and how much of a shit he's never given about them being cyborgs.

If he's thinking about them, it's... he doesn't have to think about it in terms of himself. ]

Cyborg. Technically. I'm not - [ His jaw clenches as he looks away, quickly finding something else to focus on. ] You shouldn't have to deal with this.

[It's a little strange - where, he wonders, did Sam's path diverge from his? Because of course he's thinking of a timeline like his own, and not a world that's completely different. He knows Bucky, after all, or so it would seem.]

Yeah? You look pretty normal. Not a Terminator, are you?

[But his manner is more relaxed now. As weird as it is to have a double, to be literally talking to himself, he evidently doesn't seem to have any prejudice against cyborgs.]

Deal with this? [Something in Sam's mannerisms ping him, remind him a little of his patients - of himself, once upon a time.] Nah, it's no problem, don't worry about it.

[ There's a moment where Sam doesn't know what to say to that. It's clearly a joke, and he wants to laugh - it's making him feel better, because if they can keep making jokes about it then it can't be that bad. But he kind of thinks laughter will give the impression that it's way off base, when... it kind of isn't. Or at least, it wasn't when he was first sent out from the Capitol, and he still has his doubts. ]

Haven't been sent here to kill anyone as far as I know.

[ His tone is light, like he's attempting a joke in return, but the fact that there was a pause there probably makes it pretty clear that he'd had to think about it.

He has to swallow past a lump in his throat when Sam tells him it's not a problem, and he's not sure if it's a good feeling or not. It's - he's acutely aware of how vulnerable he's making himself, of how weird this should be and how much he wants to run to avoid dealing with this at odds with how much he wants to stay and maybe get something like understanding. ] You say that now.

Well, if I see Sarah Connor, I'll give her a heads up, just in case.

[But it's a subject that he's pretty sure is making other-Sam uncomfortable, so he'll just slide away from it. He's not sure what is a comfortable topic when you're meeting a different version of yourself from a universe that's probably totally unlike your own. Has someone in the Fleet written a guide to this sort of thing? There should definitely be a guide.]

Look, I'm not saying I'm used to guys who're part-robot, but I don't see why it'd make a difference, either. [Although the way he talks makes it sound like he's got some dark secret he's hiding, that he's alluding to more than just having a few pieces of tech implanted.] Back home, I work with guys who used to serve in the military, guys who're trying to get used to civilian life again. Not all of 'em have all their limbs, and that's fine.

[But Sam's words are layered, and he might be referring to more than just guys with prosthetic limbs there.]

[ Man, he's just making this worse. Not that there's ever really a way to make meeting a version of yourself less awkward - or if there is, his friends who've gone through it haven't told him - but still.

It makes him feel even more alone, for a moment, but it - it means something, what Sam says. He can't believe it for himself, but he didn't realize how freaked out he'd been about Sam's reaction until he got it. ]

I didn't - [ have a choice, he'd been planning on saying, but the words don't make it out. It feels like he'd be implying that the people Sam's talking about, the people that he used to work with, too, did, and that's not something he's ever got in him to do. He doesn't know how to explain what he means without mentioning the Capitol's hijacking, and he just -

He can't. ]

It's a recent change. I'm not used to it yet.

[Maybe it's knowing himself, even when it's not quite him, or maybe it's the corner of his mind that knows about military history, about history in general in his world, that fills in the blanks there, and Sam's lips twist in something like sympathy. (His reasoning is wrong, presumably, even if he comes to the right conclusion in the end, but he has no way of knowing, and he's not gonna ask.)]

And now you got more weird shit in your head on top of everything else. [Sam makes a face, a bit of a grimace.] That's gotta be fun.

[Sure, the implants are relatively unobtrusive (as long as you don't try to do anything to them), but that doesn't mean anyone's comfortable with them.]

[ All the tension snaps back into his body in an instant, and he holds himself very carefully still, like he's trying to disappear. Sam knows, he knows, and he can't figure out how but that doesn't - how much does he know, how can he think he's safe, who's he going to tell -

And then he realizes that Sam had used the present tense, that he was talking about what'd happened on his arrival here. He tries to force himself to relax, but he knows it's too late to keep Sam from noticing, and the rush of adrenaline still makes his skin feel stretched too thin. ]

Not complaining about being able to make some sense of what they call food here, but yeah, doesn't help. [ But he looks at Sam, and breathes, and - he can't trust himself, not the person he is now, but he needs to trust someone. He won't do well without it, he knows that, and -

Bucky's not here. No one is. ]

It's not the first time.

[There's no way to avoid noticing the way Sam tenses and goes still when he mentions getting stuff put in, and, yeah, it doesn't take a genius to figure out that it's happened to him before. Like hell he wants to inadvertently trigger any kind of panic or stress reaction, especially when Sam doesn't know what other-Sam can do, what kind of robot shit he has in his body that might accidentally activate. So he continues just skirting the edges of the issue.]

You got a cooking implant? [Sam's amused as hell by that - would be more amused if he wasn't still watching him to see what might happen.] Man, I ended up as a damn engineer. [Not that he doesn't know a couple things about engineering, but it's largely from what he was taught in the service, what he learned on the fly in Afghanistan. He is definitely not equipped to handle things for an entire spaceship - not without the augment, anyway.

But then other-Sam speaks again, and Sam quiets himself, gets a more serious expression back on his face.]

Yeah, I kinda guessed that. You wanna talk about it?

[ He ducks his head a little, mouth quirking in a brief smile at that amusement. Aside from the way he's carefully not thinking too hard about the download of information to his brain, he doesn't mind it. It's probably the least threatening... update he could've gotten.

But - engineer. There's an almost birdlike tilt of his head as he considers that. Without Albert and Jet and Clint, without Bucky - there's no one to take a look at him if something happens, maybe he could ask - Except asking means he's planning on taking precautions for being here awhile. And that might be practical, might be what he should be doing, but he can't. Feels like admitting he's giving up on getting home quickly.

He exhales sharply when Sam asks if he wants to talk about it, startled even if he probably shouldn't be. He doesn't - he doesn't know, honestly. He's never really had to. Most of the people in Distrct 13 had gotten briefed in some form or another, and the few who'd wanted more details either already knew them or did't have to ask to know what his state of mind was. ]

Not sure I even know how. [ One of his hands goes for his pocket before he catches himself, and he twists his fingers in the fabric of his shirt to prevent himself from going for a token he knows damn well isn't there anymore. ] You can't trust me.

[ It almost hurts to say, and he can't meet Sam's eyes, but it's - it's true. ]

Back home, I signed up for the Air Force after a couple years of community college. Wanted to get out of Harlem, maybe figure out what it was I wanted to do with my life. And when they asked for volunteers for a project with these experimental jetpacks, I signed on.

[It's the short and sweet version of everything leading up to what he's become. And that's not even the point, really.]

I served two tours of duty in Afghanistan - recon, search and rescue, special ops, I did a bit of everything. Saw just about everything there is to see in a war. I quit when my best friend got shot down when I was in the air with him. Took a RPG to the chest, and there wasn't a damn thing I could do to save him. [His throat tightens when he talks about Riley, and he wonders if the same thing happened in Sam's world, in some other way. If he knows the lie there.] I was- about as broken as a man can get by the time I got back home.

[But a frown twists his lips at Sam's last words.] Something in your head that'll set you off, you mean? Like Barnes? Or are you talking about something else?

[ Might not be the point, but it helps. It helps hearing the similarities, to be reminded that Sam knows what it's like to barely hold himself together, to look in a mirror and not like what he sees.

There's a sharp inhale and a ragged exhale when Sam mentions Riley. For a moment, he thinks about telling Sam that he saw Riley again. That he was in Panem, however briefly, that he'd made it clear no version of Riley would ever have blamed any version of Sam for what happened. But he can't quite get it out. Maybe because even he doesn't believe that sometimes, maybe because unpacking Riley and everything that lingers there after what'd gone down in Panem isn't something he's up for right now.

Later, it'll have to be later.

He doesn't directly answer the question, because he's not sure he even knows what'll set him off. It's not like Bucky - either of them - but it's not unlike it, either. How do you explain having your loyalties twisted to the point that you can't tell who you can trust and what your place is in anything, that everything you thought was wrong and what you were fighting against became what you were willing to die for, to kill for?

After a moment, he settles for trying to explain how it'd gone down. ]

It happened again. Flying a mission with my brother, and this time I went after him and we both ended up caught. They took everything we had and used it to make us better ab- [ He cuts off midword, abrupt and forceful like he's trying to slam his jaw shut before the rest of that thought can make its way out. ] There was a war. I got real damn good at being on one side of it, and the other side - changed that.

[Sam...well, he doesn't know what to say. Doesn't have anything to compare it to in his own experiences, doesn't want to say the wrong thing and set him off accidentally, because he's starting to suspect that talking about this is kind of like a minefield for him. Sam knows war, but not this kind of war, not capturing people and torturing them way past broken. Afghanistan might've rewritten the rules of combat, but not like that (although Stark might beg to differ).

So he just reaches out slowly and grips Sam's shoulder for a moment to reassure him of his presence and his support. Maybe he's just met the guy, but he feels a kinship with him - which, okay, might be because they're the same person sent down different paths, but Sam doesn't have a problem with that.]

Look, if there's anything I can do to help you, just let me know, okay? I mean, I probably can't do much, but- [Sam shrugs. They both know that even the smallest thing can make all the difference in the world.]

[ There's a moment where he flinches, like he's expecting any kind of reaching out to come with violence, but he holds himself still for it. It's half because he's trying real damn hard to believe that he can trust Sam at least a little, and half because, well. If his other self wanted to punch him, he'd probably take it.

But he leans into the contact while it's happening, unable to pull himself away no matter how stupid he tells himself it is. It's only been a handful of days being alone, but it's - he's backsliding and he knows it, in an unfamiliar, dangerous environment without the only people who can keep him sane. He hates how close he is to when he first got out of the Capitol, unable to stand people in his space but craving personal contact. If he needed a wake up call for how dependent he's become on grounding himself in the handful of people he trusts, well, here it is.

It's gonna get him killed one day, and he doesn't know if that's the Capitol talking or his own experience, but there's not much he can do about it. ]

You did a lot just by offering. [ By not running or attacking or telling him to get the hell out, though part of him is still waiting for Sam to point out that all he's ever gonna be is someone who can't stop hurting people. ] You're an engineer here? I... can't really go to a regular medic anymore. If something comes up with me or the wings, can you take a look?

[If he thought he could get away with it, Sam would hug him. But he seems skittish, and it's better to err on the side of caution than to fuck up and scare him off or get punched in the face or both. He lets go after a moment, steps back and gives him his personal space again.]

Medic- [Sam looks confused for a moment before he works it out.] The wings are in your back?

[ It’s probably a good call right now. He barely knows what to do with the hand on his shoulder, as much as he doesn’t want it to go away, and a hug might be a little too overwhelming.

And he waits, trying not to be too on edge about Sam’s response, or about making the request in the first place. ]

Cybernetics. Might be easier to show you.

[ Which is something he wouldn’t normally do, but this is one thing that’s actually easier while he’s less grounded. It’s easier to accept them as part of him when he’s like this. ]

If you don't mind, I'd like to see them.

[Because, hell, now his interest is sort of piqued, or as much as it can be while he's also a little sick at the thought of Sam being captured and experimented on. It's a weird dichotomy.]

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