(August Catch-All) The Things We Do

[unclesam]

CHARACTERS: Sam Wilson & You (Open + Closed Starters)
LOCATION: Various aboard the station
DATE: Immediately post mission + the days after.
CONTENT: Catch-all prompts for post mission feelings
WARNINGS: Will be added to Top Levels

[ Top Levels in comments:
Infirmary: angsty hurt people after returning from the mission
Mess Hall: the evening post mission, after the food delivery, alcohol is on the table
Simulation Room: the day after the mission, sam disappears and can be found zoned out in the simulation room
Training Room: hot dude working up a sweat while training, various days post mission
Lab and Tech Storage: redwing is the best boi, fight me (and Sam)
TBA: maybe closed starters for Bucky/Natasha?

If you'd like a closed starter or have a different kind of thread idea for which none of these setups work, feel free to hit me at inkcharm, Discord inkcharm#4573 or send me a PM. ]

Comments

Open: Infirmary.

[unclesam]

✪ So Others May Live. Post-Mission.

[ CWs: angst, references to past trauma, references to medical procedures, discussions of wounds, blood ]

[ Heading to the infirmary isn't immediately a selfless act. Quite frankly, Sam feels like shit. Despite Finn and Bucky trying their best to help, sleep had been elusive at best in Yuryeong, and he hasn't quite yet gotten to catch up on it after the cure. Add to that the mental strain of the hallucinations and the physical horrors of his spine repeatedly growing out of his back, massive, heavy bone wings included, while he submitted himself as a guinea pig for the cure research... and then the battle, of course.

End of the day, Sam might be extremely capable, but he is just a dude in a fancy jetpack, and the fighting has taken its toll on his body.

Still, while others enter the infirmary, he prioritizes them, and anyone who comes in gets an offer of help. Sam's a trained pararescue - patching people up after combat is practically second nature, and if the help is accepted, the routine becomes obvious in how he handles the equipment, and the people who could use a hand. Smiles, too, says he's lucky that he just got a few scratches on his face from doing a completely calculated crash into a tree. Facefirst, judging by the bruising along his cheekbone. Sam's good at keeping spirits up and acting unbothered while helping others out.

He won't actually tend to himself until other people are not longer around, and he believes himself to be alone. Sam peels off the top part of the suit with shaking hands and hitched breath - underneath is a nasty electric burn on his chest, dark and ugly bruising on his back and arms. Sam sits on one of the examination tables in the infirmary and presses a cool cloth over the burn with a supressed grunt, just audible enough to be heard by any passerby. ]

---

Open: Mess Hall

[unclesam]

✪ Heres's to Us, Fill The Glass. Evening after the mission.

[ CWs: alcohol, potential discussions of death ]

[ Sam's out of his combat armor and back in normal clothing, which makes the bruising on his arms and face, as well as the scratches on his forehead and cheek stand out a little more. He's humming something under his breath and has some things set out on a table in front of him - bourbon, milk, cream, simple syrup, vanilla, nutmeg, absinthe, rye whiskey, two kinds of bitters, orange peel, several glasses, ice... When someone approaches, he glances up, face open with a small smile, though something mildly troubled in his eyes. The following offer will only go out to people of clear drinking age: ]

Alright, pick your poison. Milk Punch or Sazerac? Could raise a glass.

[ He'll leave it to the other person to signal whether it'll be a somber toast or something more joyful and life affirming. ]

---

Open: Simulation Room

[unclesam]

✪ You Put Up Your Defences When You Leave. Day after the mission.

[ CWs: references to panic attacks, poor coping mechanisms, references to past trauma, war, ptsd and grief. ]

[ Sam isn't to be found on the morning after the mission. Redwing, his gear, his shield are all still sitting in the room he shares with Natasha and Bucky, but of the man there is no trace. And indeed, he doesn't seem to be anywhere on the station, either. The solution can be found when the simulation room unlocks itself after three hours of having been solidly locked - a security measure. If anyone steps inside - either looking for Sam, or for any other reason whatsoever - they'll find themselves in a simulation currently running.

The setting is a T shaped pier jutting out into the water in Delacroix, Louisiana. The pier is home to a fishing business, faded signs declaring it 'Wilson Family Seafood'. The Louisiana air is hot and thick with humidity, but a gentle breeze blows in from the water and further inland through the cypress trees. The sun is setting, bathing the pier in rich golden hues. There's music, faded into the background - people seem to be having a cookout; rather a crawfish boil for those familiar with the region. The mood is good, laughter is in the air, overlapping the sound of children playing and the faint cacophony of cicadas in concert. The focus of the simulation is the boat anchored to the pier though, a small and old fishing boat that's recently gotten some loving work and a fresh coat of paint. The name declares it the Paul & Darlene. Sam's sitting perched on the bow of the boat, shoulders slumped and unaware of the company, though there's an unmistakable tension in his body that he can't quite seem to shake, and his gaze seems far away without actually going to the distant, wide horizon. ]

---

Open: Training Room

[unclesam]

✪ By My Side On The Frontline. Daily post mission.

[ CWs: violence for the sake of training, also CW for Sam being a snack, I don't make the rules ]

[ To Sam's credit, he almost waits long enough for his wounds to have had chance to recover before he hits the training room again, and once there, it seems very little holds him back, be it fading bruises, scrapes, burns, or other kinds of pain plaguing his sleep.

On various days, he can be found keeping himself in shape - mostly he's practicing throws with his shield, a variety of acrobatic martial arts maneuvers, or even using his wingsuit in the limited space to practice recklessly fast, nimble maneuvers in the air. Sam puts in the work - tirelessly so. He's a man who knows he needs to put in twice as much effort, and so he does - and then some. And hey, if anyone's in need of a sparring partner, he's happy to provide. Sam's a talk, muscular man, but surprisingly nimble, and his fighting style is much more based in martial arts and acrobatics than brute force. ]

---

Open: Lab and Tech Storage

[unclesam]

✪ White Crippled Wings. A few days post mission.

[ CWs: none, but I'm gonna try to make you, the player, fall in love with a non-sentient fictional drone, so good luck. ]

I love you, but what the hell.

[ A sigh. The statement isn't heated, but rather exasperated. If someone follows the voice, they'll find Sam sitting at one of the work stations, staring incredulously at Redwing. ]

Right. Get back down here. You got no right to be pulling left, buddy, so what gives?

[ Using some of the tools at hand, Sam opens Redwing's chassis up, connects a small device with the drone's innards, running some diagnostics. ]

See, the problem ain't Junior, and it sure as shit ain't Buckabee. You just tryna embarrass me in front of the bionic staring machine?

[ The drone, being an inanimate object, gives no indication of feeling inclined to answer. It doesn't stop Sam from fussing over Redwing as if he's a pet who mildly misbehaved. ]

Yeah, yeah. Pout all you want...

---

[scarcastically]

[ erik gives a little snort. ]

That barely constitutes as poison, Wilson. Pick somethin' harder.

[unclesam]

Ain't inviting you to my luxury billion-star bar if you gonna slander french quarter drinks, man. [ Sam flashes a quick grin, though. ] I mean, I got harder. Only thing is we'd have to carry you out on a stretcher.

[ Did someone ask for Asgardian Ale for Bucky?

Very possible. He's still astonished that it worked. ]

[scarcastically]

Yeah? What'd you spring for?

[ erik's not much of a drinker, but he needs hard liquors. he puts his body through too much to be into the weaker stuff. ]

[unclesam]

You ever hear of Asgardian Ale? I'd recommend just going for the entire absinthe bottle over messing with that stuff, though.

[ No, seriously. ]

As the name implies, stuff's made for people with different metabolisms.

[scarcastically]

Then I'll pass. I've got no interest in stuff like that.

[ he's fine being human and being grounded that way. aliens and galactic cultures don't hold much sway for him. besides, he's always preferred fantasy to sci-fi in general. ]

CW| Hairline Fractures

[morethan084]

[The first thing Daisy upon arriving back on the station was take a long shower, and while those were usually relaxing, taking off her clothes was extremely painful due to her arms.

She manages to get changed into the a clean pair of clothes, but didn’t brush her wet hair out because she couldn’t stand the pain anymore. The adrenaline having finally worn off, she heads to the infirmary to see what kind of supplies they had. She slows to a stop when she spots Sam, smiling tiredly in his direction. The smile fades when she spots the bruise on his cheek and scratches on his face.]

You okay? That looks painful.

[The sleeves of her shirt are pushed up as much as she could manage, exposing the bruises all up and down her arms. She already knows what’s wrong, hairline fractures. Daisy starts looking through cabinets, hoping to find bone healing pills like SHIELD had.]

[bijective]

[Right then, back at it once more…

Hermann enters the lab hearing the subtle clangs of metal and banter from what he assumes from one individual to another. Curiosity gets the best of him as he directs his wheelchair towards Sam’s workstation.

Once Hermann is somewhat close, situated a few feet behind Sam, he slightly cranes his neck to gander at the bird-like device.]

The little ones do tend to show the most attitude.

[Well, "little" for Hermann would be robots over 100ft, but it’s all relative at this stage.]

[unclesam]

Good choice.

[ Sam taps a glass. ]

So, what're you having, man? If you're passing on the good nola mixes, how 'bout some of that rye whiskey or bourbon. Neat?

[scarcastically]

[ erik swipes some of his dreads back. ]

Fine. Bourbon neat, it is.

[unclesam]

[ Sam doesn't immediately look up - still a little in the habit from Yuryeong, still expecting to see people dead and dying with charred skin and broken, smashed bones and heads. It's over, of course. So after reaching up and running his finger along the bruising with a thoughtful hum, Sam glances up, and immediately frowns. ]

You gonna roll in here with your arms lookin' like that and tell me my face looks hurt, Marigold?

[ Amusement wars with exasperation, but Sam beckons her closer. ]

C'mere. Lemme take care of that.

[unclesam]

[ Sam grabs the right glasses, setting them down on the table and pouring them each a generous 2 ounces for starters. ]

What're we raising a glass to?

[ He sets the bottle to the side, but within reach, regarding Erik. His call. ]

[unclesam]

[ Sam hums in agreement, focus on Redwing as he recalibrates the way the drone buffers for air resistance. ]

They feel they gotta compensate for size. In this case, it's the middle child being fussy, though.

[ He glances over his shoulder with a grin that drops when he notices Hermann in the wheelchair. Oh, it's not the chair that confuses Sam momentarily - he's just pretty damn sure he'd have noticed if someone aboard the station was using a wheelchair before. ]

Shit, what happened down there?

[scarcastically]

[ erik dangles the glass between his fingers. ]

Mission accomplished, I guess. Though the mood's not all that cheery.

[ not that erik cares, but he's not that much of a sociopath. people deserve space to grieve. to resent. he's just overly pragmatic when it comes to life. he's taken plenty and there are new scars under his clothes. ]

[unclesam]

[ The corner of Sam's lips tugs upwards, but it's not really a smile, just a very wry expression that betrays the way his eyes harden on the middle distance for a moment or two. ]

Shoulda held off on grabbing the orb till we were actually finished down there. We did a lotta good for those people. Coulda done some more, given the girl some more time with her people, helped fix some of the shit that got wrecked on the way back. Mission accomplished - with some stumbling.

[ He taps the glass on the bar, shrugs a shoulder. Sam's not horrifically upset about the things that happened - but they pulled away too fast, and that doesn't sit quite right with him. ]

[scarcastically]

[ erik doesn't point out that this is basically the avenger's mo to a t. immediate solutions and then they're whisked off. but technically he's said that already and it'd be too much to belabour the point. especially since they had no real control over the outcome. ]

The station was never gonna do that.

[ the orb was their priority. always was. short of a coup (and that could pan out badly. he ran the numbers) the AI here aren't putting people as their priority. after all, solving regrets doesn't come for free. ]

It's a war tour. You get in, do what they expect and you're pulled out. That's not gonna change any time soon.

[unclesam]

[ Sam knows - still, it's probably for the better. Sam would have no patience to go over the talking points again. The Avengers didn't do better in the best, and therefore Sam trying to do things differently is dismissed and condemned from the start. This is the fight he agreed to take on, though - for people who look like John Walker to deem him never good enough, and for people who look like Erik to dismiss him as having failed before he started.

He bears it, and keeps fighting. ]

You serve?

[ Not surprising, all things considered - black orphan kid from oakland would have gone to schools targeted by recruiters. Those same promises had pulled Sam towards the Air Force, too.]

[scarcastically]

[ it's not the promises that mattered. erik was smart. he went to mit. he was one of the youngest graduates around. sure, he's not tony stark . . . but who wanted to be? but what erik needed was leveraging power. strength. mobility. the army had all of that.

more importantly, erik needed to be dehumanized so he could kill. and kill easily. ]

NAVY Seal.

[unclesam]

[ Sam's path had started the other way around. College wasn't in the cards until after he'd left the Air Force. At least his time there had shaped what he wanted to do with a degree. Another career in service of people in need. ' So Others May Live' never quite left Sam. He gives Erik a nod. Acknowledgment where it's due ]

Pararescue.

[ Shaped for the opposite purpose. It's what contrasts him against Walker, against Erik - even against Steve. While perfectly, highly capable, Sam was always made for the rescue more than the fight. ]

[scarcastically]

[ it is very hard not to roll his eyes. though it makes sense that wilson would say that and not assume erik already knows about his pararescue roots. the exo-falcon unit was experimental and short-lived, but well known in military-grade circles. and erik has some of the highest clearance in the world, being CIA black ops.

but he can't help a jab. ]

Never would have guessed. Though you were a bird mascot.

[winscenario]

[ Jim raises his brow at the offer, surprised yet not bothered by the approach. He actually came here hoping for something to eat, but a decent drink actually sounds much better right now. Especially one with a kick to it. ]

Any chance at a neat bourbon instead?

[ Cocktails always make him feel like he's celebrating something, and he's certainly not in a mood to celebrate. ]