ataraxionlogs | twenty-eighth jump;

Entry tags:

twenty-eighth jump;

CHARACTERS: Any and all.
LOCATION: Gravity Couches and beyond.
WARNINGS: Maybe some swearing, or even some violence, and more than likely some implied (and possibly explicit) nakedness.
SUMMARY: Another month, another jump, another round of new faces.
NOTES: It could just be the standard sensation of air on wet skin, but if you bother to check, you might notice the steam rising from your body, barely there and gone within a minute. By the time you get to the showers, it will be clear that it's not just taking you time to adjust. The room is cold — colder than usual, but no worse than the last jump. While it's nothing dangerous, it's certainly motivation to hurry through the usual routine and get dressed quickly.

It's getting closer.

YOUR EYES ARE OPEN.

KEEP LOOKING.

You wake up in darkness.

There's a breathing tube jammed down your trachea, and you're suspended in a tube of clear blue fluid. Upon registering your level of consciousness, the gravity couch drains the fluid surrounding you and retracts the breathing apparatus; the doors in front of you open, and you're deposited on the floor of a stark, sterile medical bay.

You are not alone.
There are others who have come before you, others who are awakening beside you. Some may be familiar to you, perhaps even friends. Others have much less amiable plans. Some are merely alien and inexplicable, but there are always those who might mean you harm.

After you catch your breath and your vision returns, you notice a number on the inside of your forearm. Maybe it's a familiar number. Maybe it means something. Maybe it's just a number. But the number—completely unique to you—is a tattoo, and it does not come off.

If you enter the room adjacent to the medbay, you will find a small locker with your number on it, surrounded by rows upon rows of identical lockers. Inside, you will find a few of your personal items, a communications device, and a ship's uniform in your exact size. The comms device is fully powered and connects directly to the ship's network; it's your only means of communication beyond physical conversation. Upon turning the device on, a neutral, automated voice will say, "Please take the blue lift to the passenger quarters." Any other attempts at communicating with the rest of the network are met only with static.

This is your welcome party.

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[ sam might be talking, something that should soothe dean, but with his brother bleeding out right in front of him not a lot can do to silence the worry, the panic. they've both gotten pretty fucked up before, killed even-- but there is no returning to life here, there is most likely no heaven, hell or purgatory. whatever waits after death is one big mystery and dean isn't about to send sam to it.

as sam falls against him, dean does his best to cradle his brother, barely finding the right words for what sam's going on about.

it is the time, isn't it, when one of azazel's special children had decided to take sam down with him. the time when sam had died -- something no brother would ever forget -- and which had lead to dean doing whatever it took to bring sam back. he's never once regretted his decision, but he can't go through this again. not here.

dean doesn't have time to answer, not when cas is suddenly right there. he's looking at the angel then, mouth falling open but words taking a moment to process-- ]

I don't-- he crawled out of the pod like this. [ no, out with it, dean, out with the info. ] I think he went back home, got stabbed-- Cas, he's gonna die. [ they can't let that happen. and even as the angel moves closer, lays his hands on sam, dean still keeps talking. ]

You have to save him, heal him-- just do something, please.

[ never mind that cas' power isn't at max here, like they'd discussed before, that he can barely teleport from one end of the hallway to the other, that maybe it means he can't save sam. never fucking mind any of that, he has to save his brother. has to.

even as cas' hands being to do what they do best, dean keeps a tight grip on sam, hands digging down. ]

Sam? You still with me? Sammy?

[Sam can at least hear them pretty well, though it's all getting kind of fuzzed out with the blood leaving him; Cas' power is starting to fill the cracks, though, clean up the rips and tears that are causing the internal bleeding, stemming the flow of blood more and more with time. He's still pale and his breathing is laboring, teeth clenched under his more bloodless lips in an attempt to not have them chatter. He's actually feeling cold as hell right now -- cold floor, mostly naked, needing a little fluid in his body. A little? A lot.

He opens one eye, the other pressed against Dean's shoulder.]

M'not... dead...

[Dean's kind of freaked though. He curls his fingers at Dean's back and realizes the tang of blood is strong in his mouth. What the hell is Castiel doing, anyway? Sam knew Cas had a pretty impressive display of powers, but he never really considered that he'd heal up something like this.

He groans in pain, Cas' hand making sensitive, torn skin even more agony-inducing.]

... M'I dying?

[He's asking both of you, y'know...?]

No one is going to die.

[ It's a matter-of-fact statement kept low by the fact he's almost grinding his teeth now. His grace feels... jammed, stuck in ways that he could only describe -- if anyone happened to ask -- by relating it to a damn in the midst of a river. An ocean. His other hand has dropped against the hold Dean has on Sam, gripping him as he continues to press with the palm over the wound. The smell of blood is potently strong, strangely bitter in the back of his throat when he unconsciously breathes in to gain more focus. And that's just it, isn't it? The longer he stays here, the more he does, the less he can consider himself an angel.

The peculiarity is so strikingly odd, but he can't comment on it. Doesn't have anyone to confide in if he did.

His thoughts drift for a second, and Castiel feels himself losing what little work he's done. It's not enough to push Sam's body into repairing itself, and he blinks back to the moment, to the task slipping precariously through his fingers. ] I--

[ Whatever he means to say loses itself in the jolt he feels course through him. It kickstarts everything, the majority of the wound knitting itself neatly back together. He thinks it's hardly as bad as when he'd found them, like he'd been a bit too careless but extremely lucky to have not penetrated fragile organs or nick part of his spinal column. It still needs attention, but it's better. He won't bleed to death. He won't die.

Castiel considers all of this as he stumbles back, taking a knee in the puddle of blood already pooling at their feet. He feels winded. ]

It's all I can do. [ So take him to the Medbay already. ]

[ that's right, no one is going to die.

dean keeps sam propped up as cas does his thing, looking between the angel and his brother like he's expecting this all to just blow up in their faces somehow, that sam's just going to go limp any second, drained of blood and life. but he knows better than to let the panic or worry override what he has to do here, how he has to make sure sam remains awake, conscious. ]

You'll be fine-- don't worry, okay? Perfectly fine. Cas'll fix you right up.

[ won't you?

dean gets his answer as the wound begins to sew itself back together, fix the tearing of skin and organs. it doesn't mean sam can just climb back up and call it a day, all fixed and better, but knowing he's getting somewhat healed eases some of the tension building in him.

as cas falls to a knee, dean knows he's done all he can, and gives his friend a nod. ]

Thanks.

[ he doesn't have time for more than that right now though, they still need to get sam into the medbay. ]

Sam? You still with me? Come on, we gotta move, man. Ain't gotta go far but lem'me help you there.

[It is better. Sam feels something fixing itself in his body; there's still a wide, bloody furrow, a good two or three inches tall along his spinal column that is gnarled from a twisted knife, but the horrible wounds deep inside are gone, and the blood is barely trickling now. He moans when he tries to shift, because his body aches; aches, but isn't numbing.

It's still fucking cold, though. He paws clumsily at Dean's jacket until he has him as best he can.]

Cas — what'd you...

[Angel mojo, man.

He hisses between his teeth, still pale and tired looking, kneeling in his own blood. He nods at his brother.]

M'spine — is it okay? Is it fixed?

[He may or may not, in his haze, be afraid of spinal damage.

Because the last thing he needs is being paralyzed in some way or hampered or -- or chronically hurting. Or something. Maybe he should get a little blood pumped into him before he dwells on that. Brain's not up to speed.]

I fixed what I could. You'll be all right.

[ If there's no delay reaching the Medbay. As it is, they aren't very far at all from it, and though he's still weak fro the exchange, he's climbing back to his feet as if nothing had happened seconds before. His body trembles, but he ignores it with a clench of his fists, eyes fixed on Sam and his scramble for answers. On Dean now that there's no immediate danger to losing Sam.

He has his own questions to ask, but neither of them can give him what he wants. So, he holds his tongue. He looks beyond both of them instead. ]

I can take him. [ It's a quiet offer, refusing to let either of them argue the point. ] It's not entirely ideal, but it's still faster than walking.

[ Seconds rather than the minutes it would take Dean to drag him through the people to get there. Castiel steps forward and gently lays a hand on Sam's shoulder, glancing between them for any sign of agreement. He'd take them both, but honestly, he's not entirely sure how far he could make it with Sam alone. ]

You're on your way to good as new.

[ physically, maybe. slowly but surely. but mentally... that's a hassle for another day.

dean trusts cas enough that when he says sam will be okay for now, it includes no spinal damage. so he nods at sam while cas answers, hands steady on his brother. last time, when this had taken sam's life, it probably had damaged his spine, rendered his limbs useless-- dean doesn't know since the ending of the story there had been a whole lot worse than just spinal damage.

but he won't push sam by walking, no matter how much he wants to keep his eyes on his brother at all times, which ends with him giving a short, affirmative nod at cas. ]

I'll meet you there. Just-- [ he looks between sam and the angel, hesitating. ]

Be careful with him.

[ mostly because he knows this has got to be taking a toll on cas. they'd talked about the limits the ship places on people, after all, and how little cas could do now. that includes teleporting, of course. ]

[One hand moves to grab at Castiel's clothes, unknowingly leaving red marks on the fabric. He's pale and cold, shivering under their hands, but he nods at Dean's reply. Good as new. He doesn't entirely believe it just yet, but he's a little brother and he has to take those words to heart anyway. Before Castiel can whisk him away, he peels his eyes open and tries to hold his head up proper and tries not too look completely konked out of his mind.]

— Race you there?

[... Well, he is missing a lot of blood, so that's a forgivable quip.

At least he won't have to bend his knees, right?]

[ There's a moment he meets Dean's eyes without hesitation, foregoing an answer and just offering the slightest nod. He would do nothing but be careful, not wanting to risk jarring the wound open further and causing more damage that couldn't possibly be repaired. Castiel's strength is wavering here, slowly seeping out the longer he stands and does nothing. He doesn't mind the way Sam touches his clothes or stains them, reaching out to grab Sam's wrist. The hold won't do much, even if they're going a short distance, so he has to step even closer to support him as best he can. ]

Don't worry.

[ Whether he speaks to Dean or Sam or to no one in particular remains unclear.

Instead, he turns his head and looks and is gone with him just as quickly. It's faster than a blink, could possibly give Sam vertigo or interfere with his perception due to the lack of warning, but Castiel is there to brace him, to ease him onto one of the free beds before looking around for someone to help them. Help Sam.

He could try again to heal him, but he doesn't know how well it would go this time. So, he hovers almost impatiently, entirely indecisive. ]

I'll beat you six ways to Sunday.

[ oh sam. despite the words, you barely get a smile -- it's a strained shadow of one -- before dean's nodding at cas, putting all his faith in the angel to make sure everything goes alright. once they're gone, he races to the medbay, like it really is a matter of time and being there first, though he knows by the time he's skidding to the door, rushing inside that sam and cas will be there...

when he spots them, he's already twisting around for medical staff, hoping those who work there have recovered from the jump are back at work immediately. it's asking a lot, but when it comes to sam, dean knows no boundaries. ]

How is he--

[ he's approaching then, like something drastic might have changed in the past three minutes. ]

[Sam's curled up on a bed with his shirt removed and a pad of gauze on his back, on his side. He's still pale and shaky and looks prone to fading in and out of consciousness -- feels cold, sleepy, distant -- but he still manages to hear Dean.]

Feel like crap.

[His eyelids flutter and he closes his eyes, and they feel sort of stuck like that.]

Dean -- [No passing out yet, Sammy.] Azazel... Got all the kids t'gehter like me... Whuh' happened?

[Nailed it, perfect conversationalist.]

I imagine that's normal.

[ It's what he says to Sam in way of trying to make him feel better, but he doubts it actually will, even if his efforts are blatantly there. At one point, he wouldn't have even bothered with it. Yet, things have changed since he'd first taken a vessel. He's hardly the same angel he used to be.

Castiel does, however, pause at the question and doesn't answer. Instead, his eyes find Dean to look at him, about what should be said. Sam is still so far in the past in comparison. While problematic, it's best to remain quiet in the event he's needed for something else. Like inducing Sam faster than the exhaustion would, which is why he continues to hover with his fingers curled tight.

If he doesn't want to tell him, just yet, he's more than willing to do so, and it's conveyed with only the slightest glance, one hand resting on the bed beside Sam's head. ]

[ feel like crap, look like crap. dean huffs another half-strained sound, something close to amused but not exactly. it dies quickly enough though, as sam starts asking questions. ]

Not now, Sammy, just rest.

[ yup, gonna just shoot you down on that without hesitation. they can't talk about this now, not with sam only somewhat better but very much still in need of more treatment. they talk about this now and sam might misunderstand something, might connect some missing dots-- something, anything that dean doesn't want him to do.

so he looks at cas then, that same pleading in his eyes as what had clung to his prayer when he'd found sam.

put him to sleep. ]

[Sam doesn't want to end it at that. But his vision is fluttering and trying to drag him back under — he pats around for Dean's arm, skin clammy and waxen, heart beating wildly though weak. Confusion is starting to become a problem, because he can't remember how he got here anymore; Dean had said something, but he's not sure what. Everything wants to click off on him.

Dean was — running toward him, but now he's in a medical facility. He squints hard, eyes nearly shut, trying to focus. He sounds out of breath. Can't get oxygen as quickly as before, not until he's got the blood for it.]

Dean... Not your fault...

[ His expression is considerably thin through the exchange, looking between Dean and Sam and finding that he doesn't need to be asked or told what to do now. Sam isn't in any condition to be having this sort of conversation, and Dean-- Well, it's not a stretch to know what he wants of him without really saying much of anything.

Castiel's hand flexes for just a moment at his side, hidden by the height of the bed and the cuff of his coat. He doesn't glance at Dean when he finally reaches out, settling on Sam's face instead the very second fingertips gently touch his forehead. It's not difficult to put him to sleep, not like it had been when he'd struggled to heal him. Everything is smooth and as it should be.

The apology he'd wanted to give doesn't reach anywhere but his eyes, and he doesn't think anyone, not even Sam, will see it. ]

[ sam's body is not up for this and dean forces his face away from twisting into something upset over the slowly muttered words. it's a time long gone for him, but sam having gotten stabbed-- it'd been a mess, something he probably could have prevented from happening. somehow. his hands curl into fists by his sides, watching cas reach out and touch his brother's forehead.

once it's done, once sam is asleep, dean looks to the angel. ]

Thank you.

[ it's barely audible, said with a small nod and then his eyes are back on sam, for a beat or two-- and he's off then, to find whoever works there, to bark at them to fix sam up faster, to give him what he needs. to keep him alive. dean might be stepping away, but he won't be straying far for the next few days. ]

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twenty-eighth jump;

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