driftfleet | action./voice.

Entry tags:

action./voice.

Who: Sam Winchester
Broadcast: Fleetwide
Action: SS Bloodsport
When: Now-ish!

[Man, he had the nicest dream. And yeah, he knows it's just a dream, because it's nice. That's literally the criteria the dude works with most nights. His brother and mother and Cas, they were all sitting in the bunker enjoying a movie, or something. He couldn't remember the movie exactly, but there were people who were definitely supposed to be dead there. And they had retired, and it was all good, and they were talking about fishing nearby where it's really abandoned —

When he peels his eyes open he feels like he has the biggest hangover of his life — and is more than a little uneasy (that dream didn't help), and before long he's shuffling through the halls of the Bloodsport like a full month of being missing didn't happen. He knows something's off for sure, but, um. He's also half-awake, hair askew and palm pressing into the socket of one eye to stave off a migraine.]

Man, where'd this even come from...

[Don't worry, it'll go away eventually. He'll just. Make some coffee. Yes.

He sits down with his cup of coffee and turns on his comm device, and nearly spits his drink on it.]

I've been out a month!?

[AW MAN, NOT LOST TIME AGAIN.

Sam Winchester and lost time, not buddies, thanks.

A little while later, after he catches up with his buddies:]

[VOICE.]

Hey, uh. So. I've been out a while. Sorry about that — It's been a hell of a... time... I guess. To be honest, I can't really say it feels like it's been that long. I might as well pick up right where I left off, though — right. Blood drives are at the Iskaulit; I'll be available throughout the next few days for that, if you're interested in donating blood.

You do have some paperwork to fill out, and I'm keeping the cut-off at 16, but for those who qualify, it can be a matter of life or death around here when things go crazy.

For anyone new, hey — I'm Sam Winchester, employee at The Space Bar. I also loan out books from my personal stash if you're feeling bored. If you're a new face to me, I'd love to learn more about you, especially what kind of earth or universe you're from. We all seem to have pretty interesting diverging paths at some point, even if the rest of our Earths match up pretty well.

... Like for example, imaginary friends are real in my world, and Snooki is a demon.

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[He has to reach out and stop the hand, because he is not gonna get a ~~wet willy~~ finger in his ear right now. Instead he furrows his brow and looks at the sickly angel with a disapproving frown.]

You're a terrible liar; what happened? What'd you get into, man?

[I mean, it helps that some people have been ratting you out.]

[Everybody on this post sucks]

Sam-... [Cas gives up trying to take his temperature for right now, meeting Sam's stubborn I'm concerned for you look with his own before he caves. Heckin...Winchesters.] I gathered some others and attempted to breach the Marsiva.

[Oh my god, my headache is gonna increase tenfold.]

You — What happened? Did you actually get on board?

[And what happened to you, because you look like shit.]

[Put ur headache away it was just zero-g warfare]

No, we were unable to penetrate the ship. I even left my vessel, but I couldn't find a way inside. [It's was fucked up, and also he actually missed having fingers.] We witnessed a few things- I'll show it to you later. You look exhausted, how do you feel? [Trying to take ur temp via finger-in-ear again]

[Ah, right, just warfare. He stares deadpan at Castiel while a finger is in his ear.

Because there's no use in battling it a second time.]

Exhausted. Like I'm hungover.

You?

[Hmm...normal temperature... Removes finger] Pretty much the same. ...except without the hangover. [Feels along ur throat like checking for strep, only he's actually measuring ur exposure to radioactive waves] Are you experiencing a deep, pervasive sense of dread?

Edited 2018-06-17 07:18 (UTC)

... I mean. Do you mean more than usual, or...?

More than the usual amount, yeah.

... Honestly, nothing that much out of the ordinary in here.

[He taps his temple.]

Now, are you actually gonna explain why you're sick? What's this about going to the Marsiva?

[......but he doesn't want to- okay fine]

When you disappeared, but your name remained on the roster, I attempted to find you. Location spells all failed, and searching physically revealed no results so I consulted other members of the Fleet. It was suggested by several persons that Atroma had taken you into their custody, and that the Marsiva was your likely cell.

So I went to investigate.

[He folds his arms and quirks a brow.]

Investigate, huh? And how'd that go?

[He's at least relieved that you didn't go get yourself murdered? Lordy, Cas.]

[Is it murder if it's Castiel's fault? Checkmate.

Anyway, Cas really wanted to wait to see if Sam really is in good healthy after that long nap, but...honestly conditions here probably won't get that much better. So after a moment of silent contemplation he reaches over and taps Sam's forehead.

Only unlike when he'd shared his experiences before, with Sam he hands over all of it.

Taking the shuttle up to the ship, deciding to vacate his vessel. Talking to Kaworu, another angel (another world's angel but an angel nonetheless) who loves humans and thinks Castiel is something lovely instead of a traitor. Speaking with Eizen, the earth spirit; speaking with Loki, with Thor, seeing in them the reflections of the Winchesters.

The cold, vast quiet of space, moving around with somehow more and less freedom than ever. Trying to push into the ship, beating himself against it on the other side while Thor and Loki tore at its sides. Spreading himself out all over the ship in the attempt to find something, anything, some small crack or gap in the molecules that he can squeeze through. Searching for wards, thrumming with anger and regret and desperation.

Finding the thing that reminds him of the whispered stories of the Empty that he hasn't even shared with the Winchesters.

As Castiel in the memory retreats regretfully into his vessel, feeling sick and horrified by the manufactured dread (nothing as worse as the idea of leaving Sam there with that thing but debilitating nonetheless), as he withdraws from what can hardly be called a battlefield, Castiel withdraws from Sam.

Better sit down, that was probably a lot.]

Edited 2018-06-29 04:56 (UTC)

[Sam blinks back into life, nearly choking on his own breath — and suddenly, there's a curdling dread in his stomach, syphoned from the memory of Castiel's own. He rubs a palm across his face and tries to soothe himself with the thought that, at the very least, nobody got hurt by such an expedition. But now he's getting terrible flashbacks of particular purgatory monsters that had been their own breed of black, oily ooze. Familiar. Probably not related whatsoever, but boy, it brings back memories.]

What the hell was that? The — the end part.

[The gross black infinite oily shit, Cas. That part.]

I don't know. [And because they're on similar trains of thought with that-] Not Leviathan. They make look similar but the feeling is different- unless the warding that kept me from the ship was affecting that as well.

Considering they prefer taking the shape of everyone else and eating them, I can't say they fit the profile anyway. [But it's still a little unsettling nonetheless.] There was warding on the ship? Similar to home, or something more localized?

I don't know. Sam- [Finds a chair, pulls it out to sit down. Folds his hands atop the table.] Whatever is on that ship, whatever that ship is made of, whatever protects that ship...I've never seen before. Gods attacked it and did nothing.

We may be against something similar.

[He rubs a hand over the nape of his neck, blowing out a breath.]

It wouldn't be a day in our life otherwise, right? There's always something to stab or, uh. Ritual at. What were the side effects of seeing all that, then? Because you clearly got hit with something.

[He gives him a Look that says 'tell me otherwise bitch'. Or something like that.

But nicer and Sam-friendly.]

[Sighs, looking away for a moment before returning that laserlike focus back onto Sam. If Sam comes with Cas next time he does something like that, he'll have to know what he's in store for, after all.] Fever, chills. Hallucinations, sometimes. The duration of the symptoms vary from trip to trip, but so far they haven't lasted longer than a week, for me. The shortest period was three days.

[.......................

He scrubs a hand over his face.]

Jesus, Cas.

What else could I have done, Sam?

[Leans back, spreading his hands a little.] All indication pointed toward you being aboard that ship.

[Oh, he knows it's a fruitless thing to complain about.

After all, Castiel is way too much like them when it comes to throwing himself headfirst into danger for each other.]

I know, I know. It's just — I don't want you getting yourself screwed up over it.

['Over me', is the proper reply, but he figures that'll just get him some bitch-facing in return.]

... I'd have done the same.

You're feeling a lot better, right?

[Please, ease his concerns, my dude.]

[Cas catches onto that easily enough anyway, though there's less bitch-facing and more of that old sadness he levels at Sam whenever he sees that self-sacrifice rearing its ugly, ugly head again.]

Yes, Sam. I'm feeling much better.

[He'd been carefully measuring his strength out for when he needed to try again.]

... Good. Can you at least tell me you won't go too crazy with the whole search and rescue thing, if it ever comes up again? For my peace of mind? Don't keep punishing yourself after the first go-around, man. It's not worth it if you accidentally get yourself killed.

[He's coming from a place of being a friend, here —

Just give him an empty promise, he'll work with that for five seconds.]

[What's Castiel if he's not doing something crazy to try and get information, get a leg up on an enemy, pluck a Winchester from the jaws of death? He doesn't even succeed at those things very often even when he does go crazy.

Well- he can promise something, at least. And mean it. He doesn't want to lie to Sam anymore.]

You have my word that I'll be as careful as I can.

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