checkin | video

[The few days it's taken to adjust have been, well - Sam is not going to use the word 'Hell' because he's actually been, and this is crappy but it doesn't come close. Still, anyone who hasn't seen him yet might be a little alarmed at what's being broadcast: six feet and four inches of sickly sasquatch, valiantly trying to address the network, appallingly pale, sallow-faced and bloodshot-sunken-eyed.]

Hey. Uh - Sam. I'm new. I guess this is a, uh, a thing that, that people do. Is introduce themselves. And I get that - we're all looking for a way out.

[Auspicious beginnings. Who knows if anyone's even getting this? Nevertheless, he continues.]

Okay. So. No promises, but there's something I can try. Kinda like a ward, or a spell. [Magic exists, surprise. The few people he's already talked to have expressed a kind of varied interest in this sort of thing, so caution be damned.] Anyone wants to help, I'll need a couple things.

First is - salt. Table salt, any kind will do. Second? Matches, a lighter, anything that can make sparks, even for a few seconds. And then I'll need something to write with, marker, pen, spray paint - I don't care. Anything along those lines.

[He looks at something off-screen, mouth briefly twisting in what might best be categorized as 'disgust'.]

I have food to trade for it. Heard that's kind of a limited resource these days. Food and, uh. [He squints at something.] Neosporin. If anyone, y'know, needs that.

[Yeah, he doesn't get it either. He jerks off frame for a moment, face buried in his elbow. It's not enough to fully stifle the ragged, fierce coughs that leave his shoulders shuddering. Finally, signs of life trickle back through the feed, albeit muffled and with their subject mostly lurched off camera as he mutters in his more characteristic deadpan, wearily sardonic, 'so-done-with-this-shit' tone.]

Also. If anyone happens to have some aspirin on them, that'd be great.

[There's the rattling of trembling, uncoordinated fingertips trying to navigate the tablet, and the feed snaps off.]

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[He accepts the pills with a rueful, one-cornered smile. Maybe video broadcast wasn't his brightest idea.]

Thanks. Yeah, uh - bad, bad day before I got here.

[He settles for leaning against the wall - because that's almost like sitting, right? - and two of the pills are dry-swallowed by desperate, feverish rote.]

[no leaning against the wall is not sitting. Coulson crosses his arms but he stays silent for now. He doesn't know the other man well enough yet]

Wanna talk about it? Also, feel free to ask me for more later. I'm just trying to keep track of how many I have left.

Thank you.

[It's worth repeating. Because oh god his head feels like it's splitting in two. With any luck the Ibuprofen will take the edge off.

He snorts out an unamused, bitter sound and runs one hand through his hair.]

Would, uh - would you believe that closing the Gates of Hell is a rough job?

[He says it almost bleakly. Yeah, even with everything Sam's seen he wouldn't believe himself either.]

[that does earn Sam a strange look as Coulson tries to process that]

The literal Gates of Hell?

Yeah.

[No bullshit with him. He's just very tired. Very tired, and with a very strange life.]

Didn't work, hence the bit where I'm still alive.

[Gallows humor, always a hit.]

Sorry, uh - I know that's kind of - out there.

Don't worry. You start believing a lot of things once you're here.

Sounds like you were prepared to die trying.

I was. My brother wasn't prepared to watch me do it. Next thing I know, well -

[He gestures helplessly. Goodbye, heaven-and-hell drama and hello, hotel.

Belatedly, he remembers introductions are a thing.]

Sam. Winchester.

Phil Coulson. [he holds out a hand to him]

Have you managed to see a doctor while you're here? We have quite a few people with medical expertise.

[He shakes the hand offered, brief and with considerably less strength behind it than he'd like, and lets it drop with a bitter twist to one side of his mouth.]

I don't think there's a whole lot anyone can do. S'a whole magic thing going on.

[He folds his arms in a motion meant to look casual, but probably comes across as anxious, leaden with uncertainty.]

I canceled out what was causing it. It should fade away. I think.

[Coulson's grip isn't all that strong himself what with the starvation period going on. Though he has been able to get his hands on some food thanks to all the newcomers]

Might be good to have someone look it over anyway, especially if you're still not feeling better in a couple days.

It might not be the same magic but there are people familiar with that sort of thing here.

I'll think on it.

[Yeah, it's your typical evasive answer from someone who's leaning towards sticking it out solo. Maybe broadcasting his situation wasn't the wisest, but hasn't been given reason to hide it from anyone and trying to keep it some kind of secret would be more trouble than it's worth.]

Ibuprofen should help, though. Thanks.

[Well, that just means Coulson will check on him from time to time to make sure he hasn't passed out in his room or something]

No problem.

I'm going to go and let you rest. Take care of yourself, Sam. Let me know if you need anything else.

Thank you. I will.

[At least the neighbors are nice. That makes this place feel a little less hostile.]

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