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[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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[Whatever kinda world this is. Does the make of this place even extend beyond the hotel? Is it just its own isolated little thing? Ugh, no, Sam doesn't want an answer to that. He just wants out. Out and away, and back to his brother and the mess they've made.]

Luck's not really something that comes to mind in a place like this.

[And yet. He's only human, and he can't resist putting some stock in silly concepts like that.]

I'm mostly just used to summoning, exorcisms, warding, stuff like that. Nothing really fancy.

[Except the Apocalypse.

Sam is not talking about the Apocalypse.]

Yes, it wouldn't be would it.

[He's certainly not had much in the way of luck here, though he guessed one could debate that given Belle's recent arrival. Though that could just be another way to hurt him through her. It's not a concept that's foreign to him sad to say.]

I've done a little of those myself, as well as some rather more advanced stuff.

[Like creating one hell of a curse that ripped quite a number of people out of one world to deposit them into another.

All for the sake of allowing him to find his son.]

If you don't mind me asking, how does your magic work? I have a feeling that it might be different than mine.

It doesn't have a lot of rules. Most of it's, uh. Blood-based.

[This with a slight cough. Not really the most elegant, he knows. His arms are a patchwork of scars from how many angel-banishing sigils he's had to draw from his own blood, and that's not starting on his attempts to cure a demon.

His arms still hurt from that too. Because, ow.]

You need the right symbols, the right ingredients, the right incantation, and usually you gotta set something on fire. Sometimes you don't even need that. Drawing something in blood can be enough if you wanna, say - banish something.

Mostly it's simple stuff. Exorcisms are just recitations, and ghosts just need a line of salt to keep 'em out.

[Because this place apparently has ghosts. Which just makes his day so much better.]

[That certainly caught his attention as might be obvious by the sudden rise of his eyebrows and the fact that he's reached to pick the tablet up so as to bring it closer. He's worked with blood magic before himself. Not overly often, but enough to get the feeling that his definition of blood magic and Sam's is likely considerably different.

The thumb and forefinger of the hand not holding the device absently rub together, the memory of the needle prick required for the globe to work coming and going through his mind briefly.]

Interesting. Do emotions have any place within your magic? Or is it all symbolism, words and material things?

[He nods with a wiggly, noncommittal wave of a hand.]

Mostly the latter. Never got into the real dark stuff, though I was on the receiving end of it a couple times. Stuff like hex bags, curses. Those have a little more to them.

[The particulars of magic aren't something Sam's taken a lot of time to examine, largely preferring to take the Dean Winchester route of 'if it works, that's good enough for me.' The rules are buried deep in runes and shapes, but he's usually been on the bad side of witchcraft and has never had any true incentive to study it short of 'what is a hex bag and how do I make it stop killing people.']

Not sure that kinda thing's even possible here. Takes more ingredients, and probably more power than this place'll allow.

[Whatever...that means.]

[He considered that. It's interesting in a sense how different it seems their respective forms of magic were. Perhaps if they could manage to get both types to work in tandem, they might be able to achieve what just one brand of magic could not.]

Perhaps if we combine our talents, we might have more success than if you were to attempt this spell alone?

[It isn't as if they have much in the way to lose right now.]

My magic is powered by emotion, symbolism, words, material things are more of an afterthought. Sometimes necessary depending on what you desire to do, but usually not needed.

[He shrugs, and the tiredness of the motion doesn't veil the desperation buried beneath.] I'm ready to try just about anything. If there's any way we can mix the two and it might work, then hey.

[Magic's sticky business, particularly here in this bizarro no-man's-land of a hotel. Sam's ready to pull out all the stops. Whatever it takes.]

Maybe both will be enough.

One can hope.

[Because really that's all they have currently. Hope. Though given how things have gone for him since his arrival, sans Belle's own arrival, it's entirely possible the hotel will crush that hope and land him back in the position of being capable of doing nothing when it came to getting out of here.]

Should you like to speak further in person, I'm in room 218.

I'm in 112. The, uh, sick thing's not catching, no worries.

[He doubts the guy would be. Magic has its perks, probably. And the high fever sustained by the Trials is pretty completely specific to him and his terrible idea to go ahead with the damn Trials in the first place.]

Didn't catch your name?

I might be capable of helping you with that.

[He's not really had much cause or chance to test how his ability to heal has been subdued here, this could be a good opportunity to test that particular ability.]

I never gave it, forgive my lapse in manners. It's Mr. Gold.

Sam Winchester.

[People here sure do love their surnames. Whatever; it's not like Sam's not dealt with that before. Crowley. Ruby. People with one name, wielding that nebulous power and intent.

But hey, this guy's offering to help. Sam was just thinking of attacking the bug with copious painkillers and frequent siestas. Before they never had a reason to try to quash it with magic or anything, since it was the Trials and they were purging him, or purifying him, or cleansing him, or whatever it was they were meant to do. But the Trials - they're kind of beyond his reach now. Out of the scope of his insight and depth.]

I hadn't thought of using magic. Before I got here I - couldn't really afford to. Long story. But you, uh - think it might work?

[Well, it's better that he introduce himself as Gold. Saves him having to hear people mangle his actual name when they attempted to pronounce it. Mr. Gold was indefinitely easier on the tongue than Rumpelstiltskin. Not to mention it came with less skepticism. He didn't have to explains his origins as well as his name.]

Worth the attempt? It's not as if either of us have much to lose should it fail, and you have the most to gain if it succeeds.

[Despite the possibility of not having his head throbbing like it's about to split 24/7, Sam shifts a little, unsettled.]

Well, you're not wrong. It's just, it - it's some pretty dark stuff. It was a big, long - thing.

[Deep breath. He's been pretty open about this too, and he might as well be frank if Gold thinks he can help.]

Would you believe me if I said it's kind of a - side effect of trying to close the Gates of Hell?

[There's a bit of renewed interest in his demeanor once again at that.]

Fascinating. If you like we can discuss this more in private? In person perhaps?

[He's certainly no stranger to dark magic. He admittedly doesn't know much about 'Hell' or it's gates, save what he's seen in books, but no doubt Sam could fill him in on it. However, he would prefer not to get into such a discussion over a public venue where anyone might be listening in.]

[Well, if that doesn't put him off that might be a good sign. Or a bad one. But it's not like he can make this much worse, right? Sam considers for a minute before the indecision resolves with the acquiescing supination of a palm.]

Hey, I'm game if you are. You want I should meet you in yours, or...?

[That is the question isn't it. After a bit of mulling the issue over he decided he was possibly in better shape to make the trip than Sam was. He could always rest in the other man's room to recover from the effort.]

I'll come to you. I suspect I'm in slightly better shape than you.

[Sam looks down as if silently gauging the assessment. He looks up again. He looks down again.

He looks like shit.

Not really a big question of how Gold came to that conclusion.]

Yeah, okay, fair enough. I'll leave the door open.

[He cuts off the feed and stands to do so.]

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