exsiliumlogs | words of peace, they fall from you freely. ;; [ CLOSED ]

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words of peace, they fall from you freely. ;; [ CLOSED ]

Date & Time: june 7th, midday.
Location: unit 310.
Characters: buffy summers & sam winchester.
Summary: buffy frets over sam being stupid and self-abusing!
Warnings: -- ( will update if this changes )

[ Buffy's been out picking up various food stuffs, along with a couple of accents for her otherwise incredibly drab bedroom. When she gets back, she puts groceries away, drops the rest of her bags in her room, then pokes around for other life. So far, nobody's in the common areas. Weird. ]

Sam? [ She wanders toward his room, a bottle of water cracking open without much effort, and she drinks as she walks. ] You home?

[ She approaches and sees that his door is slightly ajar, and (kind of rudely and totally nosily) pokes her head in the door, peering in. ]

Sam?

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[A cough is her first reply. It's muffled by his arm, but still coarse and entirely unattractive.

Her next reply is a sniffle.

Only then is she greeted by actual words, and a faint attempt of a smile.]

Hi Buffy - you - might wanna keep out.

[Because guess what he is. In front of him are countless papers where he wrote out every bit of information he's gained since arriving at Exsilium, every bit of information he now attempts to sum up coherently in one helpful feed.

He coughs again into his arm. It's not going well.]

[ Oh. That doesn't sound good. Sam must've caught that awful thing going around. Somehow, Buffy's managed to stay immune. She's chalking it up to Slayer immunity. She's not totally unable to get sick, it's happened before, but her system is resilient. She steps into the room fully and frowns at how he seems to still be busying himself so heavily while he's sick. ]

Or I might wanna come in and lecture you for not being in bed.

[Sam doesn't usually get sick. But he also usually takes good care of his body, and that stopped months ago. The lack of sleep and proper meals has been weighing down on his immune system, as does the stress, as do the missions.

He blows his nose , and covers his mouth with his sleeve, in a pathetic attempt to somewhat reduce her exposure to the virus, as if the air in his room isn't crawling with it as it is.]

You can lecture me over the network.

Sam. [ She is having none of your bullshit. She marches right up to him and snatches the papers out of his hand, setting them aside and leaning over him, getting right in his face. Fuck viruses. ]

When's the last time you slept?

[Woah - scary Buffy. He's more than a little startled, and he has to force his eyes to stay put - because they want nothing more than to avoid hers.

It's been a while.

And since he had a decent consecutive sleep? It's been longer.]

I got a couple hours last night, I'm good. This isn't a big deal.

[ She comes across as aggressive, but her eyes read nothing but worried. She cares about you, Sam, stop being stupid. ]

Yeah, right. You're sick like the walking dead and you got a couple hours. I'm not stupid. Do you think I'm stupid?

[ FROWN. ] Do I have to pick you up and put you in bed?

[If he wasn't sick or better yet if he wasn't himself he could retort that, it wouldn't even be hard. Honestly the thought of being put in bed by Buffy isn't entirely unappealing.

But that's not what matters. He puts his hands up to indicate surrender. He can work in bed.]

Fine - I'll go to bed.

And you'll sleep. [ Her expression softens, as does her tone. ] I mean it, Sam. You look... I don't know, like I should be dragging you to a hospital right now. [ She reaches a tentative hand forward and brushes it over his forehead, and his hair. ] And you're burning up.

It's not that bad. The hospital's filled with people who really can't deal with this - I can.

[He offers her a small smile, touched at her concern, and she does have a point. He's exhausted. If an attack comes now, if they find themselves on a mission right this minute - he'll be useless. He has to regain his health, his energy.]

Don't worry.

Sam -- [ Asking her not to worry is kind of like asking her not to be the Slayer anymore. It's just not gonna happen. ] -- C'mon. I'll sit with you. [ She reaches for his hand, tugging on him. Come lay down, Sam. ]

You shouldn't - this thing's - [his sentence is cut by a coughing fit that rocks his body uncontrollably for a moment. He wipes his mouth when it's past, trying to clear his throat] this thing's obviously catching.

[ He coughs, and she stops to put her hand on his back, rubbing between his shoulder blades soothingly. ] Shh. I'll be fine. If I'm not allowed to worry, neither are you.

You wouldn't be staying if you weren't worried -

[So both of them are breaking the rules. Quite the surprise with the pair of them, they're usually ever so obedient. He's grateful for the company but the mere thought of Buffy catching what he's got is enough to cover his heart with a tightening blanket of guilt.

He reaches for a bottle of water he had the good sense of bringing in with him, and drains what's left of it in an attempt to sooth his raw throat. The empty bottle is replaced on his desk and he finally gets up; might as well get in bed since she's obviously not leaving him be.]

You're right. I wouldn't. And I am. But you're the sick one. I'm not.

[ She watches him glug the water down and frowns, thoughtfully. She brought some tea with her, originally to help her relax at night, but she's more than willing to share. Besides, he needs it more than she does. ]

... Do you want some tea? I can go start a pot of water... Might feel nice.

Yeah, and I'd rather it stay that way.

[He flops down on his bed and God - lying down sure feels nice. His arm goes up to cover his eyes, protect them from the light.

Maybe a nap isn't such a bad idea. And neither is tea.]

That actually sounds really good, if you don't mind.

I'm not going to get sick. Slayer immunity, remember? [ And while it's not the total truth she feels no guilt telling him she'll be fine. Even though she could catch it just as easily, she really isn't sick, and she probably won't. There's no sense in him worrying for no reason.

Buffy tugs at his covers and draws them up to his chest, smiling, and runs a hand over his hair. ]

Okay. I'll be right back. Don't you dare get up, Sam Winchester, or I'll knock you out and force you into sleep.

[ And with that, she disappears from his room . It doesn't take her long, only ten to fifteen minutes or so, and when she gets back she has a pot full of hot water and a cup full of teabags with some extras on the side in case he drinks the whole thing. She's also got honey and lemon wedged under her arm, in case that's his thing. ]

Tea time!

Yeah well, this is a freaky world with freaky viruses. It doesn't hurt to be careful, right?

[But still, he smiles when she covers him, and moves his arm to look at her.]

Stay put til you get back, I got it.

[He rests his eyes while he waits for her, but any attempt of actual sleep is interrupted by a cough or a need to blow his nose. He really does hate being sick. He pulls himself up to a sitting position when she returns, smiling a little, gratefully.]

Thanks - wow you - really went all out.

[He was expecting just a cup with a teabag and hot water.]

Sam. I'll be fine. Really.

[ She smiles down at him, fondly, more than just fondly... She knows better, but she's glad to see him resting. She trusts him to not to do anything dumb while she's gone. When she gets back, she wanders over toward his bed and sets the pot and cup down on the table next to it, sitting on the side with one knee balancing her. ]

Well, I mean -- I wasn't sure how strong you liked it, or if you wanted anything in it. So...

[ She reaches over and pushes a strand of hair away from his face, off his forehead, holding him in her gaze for an elongated moment - just one - before she quickly turns back to the tea. ]

So, how strong, and whatcha like?

[He watches her as she moves towards his bedside table, and his eyes end up fixed on the steam that escapes the pot.

That heat is looking more and more tempting by the minute. He looks up at her when she speaks, smile widening a little when she pushes his hair back.

It's nice to have someone to take care of him when he's sick. It seems he's always lucky that way - he moved from Dean, to Jess, to Buffy.]

Uh, you can just, leave the bag in. And, the lemon would be nice. Thanks - seriously - you don't have to go to so much trouble -

[ She wants to take care of him. She'll never admit it out loud but she's kind of forcing this on him because she needs to feel needed and this is very good for that. She pops the tea bag into the cup and pours the hot water over it to steep. She squeezes the lemon into obliteration in the cup, then sits it down to let the flavors ruminate. ]

It's not trouble, Sam. I want you to feel better. If it were trouble, I wouldn't bother. You're the opposite of trouble. You're trouble-free.

[It's hard not to take that in that certain way that brings color to his cheeks. Thankfully, that color could be explained by his fever, and doesn't really stand out too much in his already flushed face.

He coughs into his arm again, and reaches for the cup, sighing happily as the heat sips into his hands. It's scorching, but right now scorching feels good. He leans it against his legs.]

Try telling my brother that.

Your brother is a dope. [ She doesn't mean it in the affectionate way, either. She thinks Dean is way too hard on Sam, and it makes her mad. Like. Really mad. But she pushes away the anger and smiles at him anyway, watching how he drinks the tea and glad to see it taking some sort of effect. ]

Don't burn your mouth.

True -

[He shrugs it with a smile, entirely meaning it in the affectionate way. His brother is everything to him, and there's not a soul on this world or any other he wouldn't sacrifice for him.

It's saddens him to feel it doesn't go both ways anymore. The chasm between them is immense and he doesn't know how to bridge over those years.]

I'll do my best - [he blows on the tea several times before taking a small sip.

And it's scolding heaven, the warmth spreading through his body.] you -- make good tea.

[ She studies him carefully and reaches out to run a hand over his hair, comfortingly, smoothing gently. ]

I used to make it for my mom a lot. When she was sick.

[his eyes fall shut and a content murmur escapes his lips; it feels nice. He wonders briefly if, had she lived, his mom would have done that for him.]

She'd be proud of you, I bet.

I hope she would be. But I'll never really know for sure. All I can do is try to be as close to what I think she'd want me to be as I can. [ This is a topic she didn't expect to linger on. She lets herself get a little lost in taking care of him, the way his hair is soft even when he's slick with fever. ] You need to get some sleep soon, Sam.

From what you told me about her, I'm sure she would be.

[He knows she's right. But the nightmares have been plaguing him mercilessly as it is and as pathetic as that makes him feel, he's afraid of what his feverish mind might make of them.

Maybe he would get lucky. Maybe he'll have dreamless sleep.

Oh who is he kidding, he's never lucky. He just takes a sip of his tea instead of answering.]

Thanks.

[ She just watches him carefully, trying to see if maybe, just maybe, he'll at least try. ]

... I'll stay with you. If you want.

It's ok - you've got things to do. I'm a big boy - and yeah I know that's too easy.

[he smiles, trying to make her more at ease with a joke.]

I want to make sure you get the rest you need, Sam. You're sick. [ Please let her stay? ] I even snuggle if it's needed.

I know you have your slayer immunity but -- we'd better not temp fate.

[And he's just grateful for the fact that his cheeks are already flushed so she can't tell he's blushing at that thought.]

[ She heaves a sigh. ] Fine. I won't snuggle. But I'm staying to make sure you sleep. I mean, I'll knock you out myself if I have to.

Got it, you're gonna make sure I come out of this with brain damage.

[Smile? It's a joke.]

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words of peace, they fall from you freely. ;; [ CLOSED ]

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