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goneawaymod) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
goneawayworld2021-04-10 09:37 pm
goneawaymod) wrote in goneawayworld2021-04-10 09:37 pm
3..2...1...CONTACT!
Who: The New Hires
What: Sudden Memory Share
Where: Their Memory Palaces
When: After "Don't Touch That Dial"
Warnings/Notes: Possible in every memory, warn in subject lines.
Contact.
It's during a pause in their day. A nap. An idle moment looking across the Top Deck. Taking a slow breath between reps in the training room.
The New Hires are connected. Mental pathways locking together, they're forced into one another's innermost beings. Thrust into one another's memory palaces where the mind collects and stores everything that makes them who they are. The core of their beings are only a few steps away and no one can help the violation.
To make matters worse, it comes with no explanation or no ability to pull out and stop. Once they're through the first memory, perhaps they can find a way out, but they're already witnessing some event from their host's past. And, if they left, who knows whether or not they'd end up accidentally invading another memory palace?
And if they were there, who was in theirs?
[[So, how this works: the memories can either be viewed in spectator mode or the guest can be experiencing everything themselves. The person whose memories are being shown, the host, can watch as their current self or take the form they had of their past self. They can talk about the memory with the "guest" that's visiting.
They cannot control the first memory shown, the player decides that, but they can control any other memories they'd like to show people after. Of course, there's also always the option of an extreme emotional reaction bringing up other memories unbidden.]]
What: Sudden Memory Share
Where: Their Memory Palaces
When: After "Don't Touch That Dial"
Warnings/Notes: Possible in every memory, warn in subject lines.
Contact.
It's during a pause in their day. A nap. An idle moment looking across the Top Deck. Taking a slow breath between reps in the training room.
The New Hires are connected. Mental pathways locking together, they're forced into one another's innermost beings. Thrust into one another's memory palaces where the mind collects and stores everything that makes them who they are. The core of their beings are only a few steps away and no one can help the violation.
To make matters worse, it comes with no explanation or no ability to pull out and stop. Once they're through the first memory, perhaps they can find a way out, but they're already witnessing some event from their host's past. And, if they left, who knows whether or not they'd end up accidentally invading another memory palace?
And if they were there, who was in theirs?
[[So, how this works: the memories can either be viewed in spectator mode or the guest can be experiencing everything themselves. The person whose memories are being shown, the host, can watch as their current self or take the form they had of their past self. They can talk about the memory with the "guest" that's visiting.
They cannot control the first memory shown, the player decides that, but they can control any other memories they'd like to show people after. Of course, there's also always the option of an extreme emotional reaction bringing up other memories unbidden.]]
Sam Winchester | CW: Verbal abuse, mild physical abuse
For those who have been in Sam's memories before, the fact that it takes place in a hotel room is no big surprise. It's some dingy hotel on the edge of a nowhere town, one of hundreds that all have the same layout if not the same fixtures, of a childhood measured by miles on the odometer.
The Sam at the center of the memory is young. Much younger than those on the Rig know him. He has most of his height, but it's hard to tell how solid he is when his upper body is hidden by a too large hoodie.
And the young Sam is currently shouting at a slightly shorter, older but much more built man. "You can't keep me here against my will, Dad! I'm eighteen years old! And I'm going to go to Stanford whether you like it or not!"
"That's where you're wrong. You're my son and you do as you're told!" John Winchester is shouting loud enough to shake the walls. Not that Sam himself isn't trying to do a good job of that himself. "You have a duty to your family to stay here and help us!"
"Help you do what? Run credit card scams and impersonate the FBI? Pretty sure you and Dean are good enough at those on your own." Sam scoffs under his breath, starting to pull away.
Which is when John grabs him, pulling him back to look at him. "Don't talk back to me like that, Sam. I'm giving you an order."
Sam pulls back, trying to shake off John's arm. "I'm your son, Dad, not one of your Marine buddies. I never signed up for this shit." He tries to push John away.
Which gets John to release him. But only so that he can slap Sam as the door opens.
B. Just to get a glimpse beyond this illusion
This memory opens in an apartment, Sam sitting at a desk in a nice bedroom, books laid out in front of him. It's obvious he's supposed to be working on a paper, but he's not getting very far.
"Sam! Get a move on, would you?"
His head comes up as a woman calls for him.
"We were supposed to be there fifteen minutes ago. You coming or what?"
He stands, heading for the door. He sticks his head around the corner, spying a young, blonde woman in a very sexy nurse outfit. "Do I have to?"
"Yes! It'll be fun!" She stops and looks him over, as he's still in jeans and three layers of shirt. "And where's your costume?"
He ducks his head, laughing. "You know how I feel about Halloween."
A
He sees Sam, speaking up and being tired of patiently taking any abuse, any more absurd orders, promptly being shamed for it. Shaming is a very good technique, especially on a subordinate of any kind. When they start second guessing themselves, that's when the job is well done.
Sam does look convinced, though. While it is obvious that he will think back of this event a lot, he seems to have seen right through that technique. He's smarter, therefore he deserves to survive. That's how survival works.
Price does not comment verbally, rather gives young Sam a pitiful look.
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Sam appears beside Price. The one from the Rig, older and broader in general. Even a little taller. "This was a long time coming, honestly," he says as another person comes through the door.
"Whoa whoa whoa, hold up, hold up." A new voice and somebody else enters the fray. Older than Sam, built like John, with bright green eyes and closely cropped blond hair. He places himself between Sam and John, back to Sam. Which is probably a good thing because Sam looks ready to go back after his father. "Dad. You know you can't do this. You can't just keep Sam here. Not when he has this sort of opportunity. You and me. We can hunt just fine on our own."
John glares at Sam over Dean's shoulder, then turns away. "If you want to leave so much, Sam, then leave. But I better never see your face again, is that clear?"
Sam reaches up, rubbing at his jaw before grabbing up a packed duffle bag. "Crystal," he grits out before turning and walking out the door, slamming it shut behind him.
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"So...Do you know your brother's current whereabouts?"
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It changes to a different hotel, though similar enough as Sam wakes up with a massive hangover to the sound of somebody in the bathroom taking a shower. The sound is familiar enough that it obviously relaxes the Sam in the memory enough to fall asleep again, who looks very much like the current Sam. "Yeah. He's in the bathroom. This is literally right before I woke up in the Rig, so...he's probably tearing everything apart trying to find me."
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For what they know time might as well stop just so that someone gets sent in here, does what they have to do, and then is sent back as if nothing happened. Anything is possible at this point.
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He then starts to ponder.
"Do you think they chose us with a specific criteria?"
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His expression gets pensive.
"I had previously discussed this with Daniel, and made the hypothesis that the New Hires selected were deliberately taken from a moment of their life where they had no guarantees. It is common for those who feel lost to hold onto negative circumstances as they become their new comfort zone, and it is very easy to make so that it happens by promising a second chance. You can trust me on this because in Project Freelancer this was our recruiting system.
It is also worth noting that the staff did inform us about the shock collars, a method of punishment that is there but they deliberately use sparingly to create a sense of false security. The fact that they want us to subscribe to the clubs to get more used to each other reads as further proof. They might want to divide us later, when they need to distract us from...Whatever their plan is."
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The only reason the memory DOESN'T rock is because it's so easy for him to keep going. Though Price might see a blond man appear in the library, behind Sam's shoulder but definitely watching him before he disappears.
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Price expresses his confusion but quickly remembers that Sam might not want to talk about it.
"...If it's alright to ask."
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The look on his face isn't curious. More...wary.
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He figures he should probably be more specific.
"I did not catch many details, I'm afraid, but I noticed it was a man with blond hair."
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Sam closes his eyes, taking a moment so that the memory library comes back to the full. "Sorry. Sorry. That..." He huffs a short, humorless laugh. "Let's just say that there's trauma and leave it there."
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Huh. Who knows what strange story is behind that sighting giving how Sam is reacting now. Price is curious, but he won't be reckless with questions.
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cw implied death
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A.
He never fought with his parents like this. He never fought with his siblings like this, either, although that was more to do with his temperament than theirs; Dan's always been a peacemaker. He knows watching this play out that he never would have had the self-assuredness and determination that Sam carries right now, that commandment that Sam will determine his own life and shuck off those who would decide it for him.
But there really isn't anything to say when you walk in as a total bystander to the point where someone else's relationship cracks like a bone.
"FBI impersonation, huh? Ballsy."
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"Whoa whoa whoa, hold up, hold up." A new voice and somebody else enters the fray. Older than Sam, built like John, with bright green eyes and closely cropped blond hair. Dan's seen enough of Sam's memories to recognize Dean.
He places himself between Sam and John, back to Sam. Which is probably a good thing because Sam looks ready to go back after his father. "Dad. You know you can't do this. You can't just keep Sam here. Not when he has this sort of opportunity. You and me. We can hunt just fine on our own."
John glares at Sam over Dean's shoulder, then turns away. "If you want to leave so much, Sam, then leave. But I better never see your face again, is that clear?"
Sam reaches up, rubbing at his jaw before grabbing up a packed duffle bag. "Crystal," he grits out before turning and walking out the door, slamming it shut behind him.
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He isn't sure what the polite thing to do is here, watching Sam and Mr. Winchester's relationship splitting, hitting everyone in the room with all this emotional shrapnel, so he just stays talking with the Sam that does exist as the memory version slams out the door. He knows Sam's memory will soon fade before he sees how Mr. Winchester will inevitably take it out on the older kid, or will take him out of this motel room and outside with Sam.
"You know, I get why you told me I remind you of your brother sometimes." He watches the older brother keeping the peace, de-escalating, trying to keep everyone happy and safe, and yeah, that was his role for his entire youth. "But Dean actually reminds me of my big sister more than anything."
He only is able to mention his sister at all because Sam's already seem some of Dan's memories. Sam knows she existed. And so Dan can draw that link between Dean Winchester and Katherine Sartoris, young people defined by their ability to step up when stepping up is cruelly asked of them.
"If it ain't too forward, I'm impressed you had the strength to leave."
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The memory does shift outside, though things don't go quite the way that Dan expects. Memory!Sam stalks across the parking lot of the hotel, duffle bag over his shoulder and an angry hunch to his shoulders. He's only about halfway across, though, when he hears a particular whistle. One that makes him turn his head to see Dean coming out of the room and heading for the black muscle car outside. "Come on, Sammy. I can't get you to California, but I can at least get you to the Greyhound station."
Older Sam nods his head toward Dean, who waits for his little brother before getting into the Impala. "Dean's the reason I even could. He was always there, putting himself between Dad and me when things got going. He's the reason I was kept out of hunting for as long as I was." And Dan's seen the memory where Sam even found out about it.
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"That's a beauty of a car. I bet she's all kinds of fun to work on." Working as a mechanic, like stripping or tending bar, generally is one of Dan's go-to hustles when he's staying in a town for more than a few days, and, well, when you're destitute broke, undocumented, living in a stolen car and carrying scads of unlicensed firearms, you get really good at repairing your own ride. But Dan's used to a shitty Toyota he rented and then stripped the plates off of and never returned; the Impala is a well-loved crafted piece of car.
Dan rubs his fingertip back and forth across his lower lip as he thinks of the kindest, softest ways to exist in someone else's recollections. "How old were you when you started hunting full-time? I was sixteen, but a lot of the skills came engrained."
Sam's seen the underground Bible bunker, and Dan suspects from what he's seen here that Mr. Winchester drilled plenty of similar skills into Sam at a tender age.
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"I'm not actually that great of a mechanic," the older Sam admits, watching this with an air of sad fondness. "The Impala was Dad's. When Dean was old enough, Dad gave it to him."
The question makes Sam pause, considering the question. "I was eight when Dean told me what was going on. I'd found Dad's journal, though, so was more wondering if it was real at that point. When Dad came back from the hunt he was on, he started teaching me what I needed to know. Mostly how to do research at that point, but also how to defend myself and others." A pause, then, "Dean was already doing a lot of that as it was."
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"Snooping through your dad's stuff, huh? Note taken not to leave my journal out for Sam Winchester to read." See, it's funny, since Dan can't read enough to keep a journal or even sign his name. He keeps peeking at the car and sees the Legos stuffed into the air vent. "These yours?"
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Dean's voice is a bit deeper and gravelier than it was in Sam's first memory, but not too bad. Certainly nothing like Dan's. Sam picks up the box wrench, holding it out. "Yeah. There you go."
Dean takes the wrench with a grunted "thanks", then pauses, looking at the wrench thoughtfully. "Sam?"
The older Sam takes a breath, knowing what's coming even as he follows Dan around to where he's looking. "Yeah. I can't remember which of us shoved those in there."
"Wrong one?" the younger Sam asks as he opens his beer. The older Sam closes his eyes, before moving around to show off the initials they'd carved in the back window. "She was always home, so we left our mark as best we could."
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"Reckon if your brother ever got tired of saving people from monsters and ghosts, there'd be a lot of classic cars out there needing saving from the wear and tear of time." It's funny, how much hunters talk and yet don't actually consider or commit to the idea of doing anything besides hunting.