2413/Lab Partners

Lab Partners
Date of Scene:	11 September 2017
Location:	The Triskelion
Synopsis:	Sam Winchester reports to FitzSimmons to try to tackle his demon blood problem. Things get uncomfortable.
Cast of Characters:	Sam Winchester, Leo Fitz, Jemma Simmons
Tinyplot:	Blood on My Name

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Sam Winchester has posed:
Sam spent his morning in the WAND libraries, running several searches at once. One to try to tell him what that //spell// was supposed to accomplish, had anyone accepted the Faustian bargains on offer. The other to try to tell him more about crossroads demons and their deals. The next? A search that was meant to pinpoint cases. He had gotten the hang of the various algorithms and tools relatively fast, self-teaching rather than signing up for training which, while useful, seems a less-good use of his time than actually accomplishing things that are worth accomplishing.

But sooner or later he got the memo that R&D was ready for him.

It's with some trepidation that the tall, earnest young man arrives. He knocks on the doorframe and sticks his head in with a soft, "Uh. Hello?"

In a suit, with his trainee badge on, he could be anyone in this place save for his height, really. His eyes widen a little as they track over all this super-sophisticated equipment. Up until now, he hasn't been allowed anywhere //near// this domain. He'd known, of course, from his various get-hurt, get-patched jobs that SHIELD //Medical// was crazy advanced, but this seems to take advanced and square it. He is duly...and quite obviously, from the look on his face...impressed.

Leo Fitz has posed:
"Here's the thing, Jemma," a Scottish young man clad in gingham, khakis, and a tie peeks at a brunette working next to him, "we're built for the lab! Just look around. I can't imagine a helicarrier could outfit us nearly as well as all of this!" his hands display the entirety of the lab to her.

"Plus if we were up in the sky flying all the time, we'd be flying //all the time!// When we came back to land we'd have land sickness! Forget motion sickness, imagine full time illness if we ever decided to take a holiday. Like if we wanted to jump across the pond to visit home, we'd have be sick the whole time. Just imagine the nausea. And I don't care what those homeopaths say, magnets don't help," he adds the last bit flatly. "That's just poor research and poor advice cradled in some odd form of strange witchcraft."

He frowns slightly and his eyes turn to the door to see the trainee. Immediately his eyes widen with panic and he tries to close the distance, "Don't touch anything!"

Jemma Simmons has posed:
Jemma Simmons, dressed primly in a pair of slacks and a polka dotta'd shirt does not have her eye protection or even her lab coat on at the moment. Instead, she's eyeing forms that have what might be impervious numbers and equations and compounds spread out across it. Without even looking upward, she replies in a prim British accent that matches her outfit, "Fitz, of course we were built for the lab, that's all we've done ever since the Academy." Finally, she sighs and looks up, pushing a lock of gently curled hair behind her ear as she does so. "But, don't you ever want //more// than the lab?"

She turns to him, both exasperated and fond. "There's more to this than just, well, this!" she gestures her hand similarly to Fitz's own take of the lab. It's not mockery, instead it's more like synchronicity. "We could do real good in the field. I believe we could help people all over the world. And we could //see// more of it, rather than just here all the time." There's a familiar smile, a bit of a tease, "If you're so worried about motion sickness, I'm sure I could concoct something for you. What is motion sickness but an imbalance of the inner ear? Between the two of us, I am certain we could come up with something better than magnets."

Fitz's immediate warning causes Jemma to look toward the door and her eyes land on Sam - impressed by their lab and looking a bit like a lost puppy. Blinking a bit, she clears her throat. "Mr. Winchester?" she assumes. "You're here for a physical of a sort, yes? I'm Agent Simmons, please come in."

Sam Winchester has posed:
Told not to touch anything, Sam Winchester raises his hands a little in a gesture of peace, not even touching the doorframe. He offers a sheepish smile and tells Fitz, "Sorry," even though he hasn't really done anything yet.

He sort of...keeps them up...as Jemma welcomes him into the lab. Clearing his throat he says, "Uh. Yes. I'm Sam Winchester."

Awkwardly, he lowers his right hand, keeping his left one up, and extends it in Jemma's direction, since she's the one waving him in. "It's uh. It's nice to meet you."

On the subject of field work vs. motion sickness he wisely keeps his mouth shut. Still, a brief flash of a smile, almost painful, crosses his lips. There's synergy here. A pair of people who know each other so well that working together is effortless and the arguments are as well worn as old tracks in the dirt. Whatever the rest of the nature of their relationship he knows the shape of that much well...

And the one person in the world who is like that for him is...Somewhere. And the longer he is Somewhere, the more anxious Sam gets. Fred's vision hit her right away...

His creeps up on him, a slow anxiety that makes him wonder if Dean is //missing//, and not just Off The Grid.

Still, he shares none of this with the lab team, turning quickly to offer the hand to Fitz as well as soon as it seems socially appropriate to do so.

Leo Fitz has posed:
While Leo continues to move towards Sam, he doesn't skip a beat in the disagreement over the helicarrier. "Because being eternally drugged for motion sickness is a good use of our talents and energies," Fitz replies with just a hint of sarcasm. "It's not a solution, Jemma. And I like the lab! I was trained for the lab. I know what every day is going to look like barring something doesn't take a sharp left! And even if it does, I know how to deal with that, yeah?"

Leo leans against the lab bench he just instructed Sam not to touch and, with an exasperated sigh, his shoulders sag. "I wasn't built for field work. I //build// things for field work. And name them." There's a pause. "I still think sleepy-time gun was a better name."

But he lets that go and he awkwardly accepts the extended hand when it is extended towards him. "Fitz," he introduces himself. "Uh... Agent Fitz?" he actually squints. And then with a hint of resignation and a shake of his head, he corrects, "Just Fitz." Because everyone calls him Fitz.

And then, in repetition of his earlier sentiment, he adds, "Don't touch anything, yeah? Even fingerprints can mess up an experiment. Simple oils change chemistry." He actually shrugs at that and straightens from the lab bench. "This one needs to be cleaned," he adds dryly.

Jemma Simmons has posed:
Simmons shakes Sam's hand readily and with a welcoming smile. "Welcome to SHIELD R&D. I'll be in charge of your physical. I'm sort of the biochemist around here. Don't mind Fitz, he's attempting to convince me that staying in the lab is preferable than to actually doing things out in the Field. So, I believe you are here for more blood work, as well as a Field competency physical. Is there anything else? If you're so inclined, I'm sure we could also figure out your blood type if you don't know it already." Simmons grins, attempting to put Sam at ease in the lab. She's not exactly a doctor, but she certainly knows her bedside manner.

To Fitz, she shakes her head. "It's more than just being drugged." There's a bit of exasperation as she attempts to explain things. "Didn't you ever wish to be an astronaut when you were a child? Yes, we build things for the field, but we could also see how they //work// there. Think of all the good we could do if we were actually in the field, able to repair and invent for a team as they need it."

Unfortunately for Sam, the pair seem determined to have this argument as they continue. Simmons goes about looking for her supplies. "I don't wish every day to be the same as the last, Fitz! I want to do more than the every day."

Sam Winchester has posed:
"Oh hey," Sam says, a smile blooming over his face as he takes in Fitz. "You invited the ICERs? I //love// those. I got a chance to use them in the field myself, they were fantastic. It was nice to not have to kill //everything// I hunt, especially not the magic using humans."

He seems unaware of the fact that talking about this might just make him sound like some sort of psycho, but does genuinely love the pistols.

But then Jemma is going on, and he says, "Uh...um sure. I don't actually know what it is. My blood type." Going to doctors was a rare event for the Winchester boys as it was, and they sure weren't donating blood.

He just sort of...tries helplessly to figure out a) where he should go and b) how he can do that without touching anything at all.

He still seems determined to stay the hell out of this argument. Dean did not raise a fool.

Leo Fitz has posed:
"I really didn't," Fitz replies to Simmons thoughts about being an astronaut. "I wanted to be a physicist and engineer." He actually smiles at that. "Why? Did you? I thought you wanted to be a doctor. We're doing good //here//. You see that, right? And we have a team that actually listens to us now. Mostly. When Director Fury isn't here."

But the mention of the ICER sparks Fitz's attention. Leo's eyes dance with unbridled enthusiasm, "I did! Jemma helped," he offers in return because Leo gives Kudos where they'er due. "We're trying to think of non-lethal ways to help our agents in the field. The name ICER," he cringes slightly. "I mean, it's oh-kay. But it's not as good as it could've been. The ice gun? Now that should've been called the icer," he looks towards Simmons at that. "Because it ices people. Literally."

But back on the topic of travel, "I don't need to travel. I have everything I want here. A state of the art lab. A top notch team. The ability to shut down the building if we need to. A..." he looks towards Simmons meaningfully "...best colleague who understands how to use the lab... why leave? Adventure isn't exactly calling. And, to be fair, I'd rather make sure the tech works and have time to test it before it gets field testing..."

Jemma Simmons has posed:
"A times," Simmons says a bit dreamily to the question as to whether she ever wanted to be an astronaut. "My father used to take me out to watch the stars and I always loved that time we had together."

The mention of the ICERs being something that Sam loves is met with a grin and nod. "See? What we've done is already helping people. Imagine what we could do if we were actually there to help in real time! We leave because we already have everything here. We should always be push and testing ourselves." With a grin, she adds, "And, honestly, we couldn't have called the ice gun an ICER because it still doesn't reliable ice anything other than everything."

Seeing Sam uncomfortable, she attempts to reassure him again. Reaching out a hand, she gestures for him to sit in the stool nearby the lab bench where she is standing. "Fitz was only joking, you can touch things." After pause she adds, "Except for that. And that, and that and that and almost certainly this," she points out a few random things about the lab that Sam certainly should not touch without dire circumstances. With a smile, she thinks that is all perfectly reasonable. "Otherwise, you are completely fine."

Pulling up a tablet, she taps a few things and her eyebrows raise. "I thought the name sounded familiar. I did a full work up on your blood a few weeks ago, I believe. The full spectrum without finding anything particular. Has something changed, Mr. Winchester?"

Sam Winchester has posed:
Back then, it's worth noting, Sam's blood type was B+.

He hesitates as he slowly sits down. These are strangers to him. He looks down and away, frowning. Disclosing to May is one thing. All his friends knowing? Uncomfortable enough, but tolerable. New people? Harder. He clears his throat. "Yes," he says, uneasily. "I..."

He can't meet their eyes. His long hair falls forward, shielding his face a little. "Um. Check my dossier."

It's easier to let them read that than it is to //talk// about it, and he knows May put every last scrap of the information about Azazel, Hydra, and demon blood in there. Somehow letting them just look at it, as if it were all about someone else, is easier. And he knows May put in that stuff about the synthetics as well.

A longing glance at the door. Suddenly he wants to bolt, and it's not because of the argument in process.

Leo Fitz has posed:
"I really wasn't kidding," Fitz corrects Jemma about touching things in the lab. "Don't touch anything. If you don't know what it is it might kill you. Or us. Or everyone in the building. Just... better safe than sorry, yeah?" He shrugs and shoots Simmons an earnest look. "Another point: in a helicarrier containing threats from others? That' going to be bloody hard. Close quarters."

He twists around to eye Sam at the mention of the dossier and his eyebrows knit together. Instinctively, he slides up behind Simmons to peer at the tablet over her shoulder. His arms cross comfortably over his chest and his eyebrows draw together sharply, silently assessing the words on the page.

"We try not to read files until we know someone. Just... good habit that." But it doesn't stop him from looking over Jemma's shoulder at the pseudo-invitation.

Jemma Simmons has posed:
"No, you should not touch things at random, Fitz is certainly right about that. At the same time, I doubt you would at that." Simmons continues to smile at Sam and then gives Fitz a 'be nice!' look over Sam's shoulder. Especially as he seems crestfallen at her typical doctor-like questions. Oh dear. As Sam's hair falls in front of his face and he insists that she look at his file instead of answer the question, her brow creases.

Immediately she looks to Fitz. 'Cease fire?' her look seems to state. This has become more than a routine physical - which is what she assumed this was when Sam entered. With a routine physical, arguments and joking can abound. With a man looking like he might want to bolt? That is another story entirely.

"I'm not sure I have clearan---" however as Simmons taps deeper into Sam's file, she sees the reports that May made. She does not hide it from Fitz - there is little she hides from him. They're a team, after all.

It's several awkward moments of silence as Jemma reads the full report. She skims over no details: she is a thorough scientist. Finally, she looks up at Sam, eyes filled with sympathy and also determination. She hands the tablet to Fitz for him to research more should he wish. To Sam, she says, gently, "I realize now that this is a sore subject, but to continue with the plan that Agent May has in place, I will need more blood. Is that alright?"

Sam Winchester has posed:
"Well, I've given you permission," Sam says to Fitz, just as gently as he's said everything else, just as politely even though everything about this is terribly awkward.

He keeps his hands, it's worth noting, gently on his knees, as if to emphasize his utter lack of plan or desire to touch anything in this lab ever. The awkward moment of silence stretches out-- as expected, really-- and then Jemma is asking for more blood. He nods his head in silent assent, and gently takes off his outer jacket so that he can start rolling up his sleeve. He hesitates, picking the one on the right. The one with fewer track marks. But they're still there, livid and purple and tiny, beaded with scabbed over blood.

He fixes the wall with a lock-jawed, resolute stare, straightens his shoulders suddenly, as if someone just told him to 'sit up straight and be a man, Soldier!' And, mentally, a hated voice just did, but one didn't just ignore that voice either.

"So how long have you two known each other?" he asks, as if now determined to make //them// more comfortable.

Leo Fitz has posed:
Fitz actually cants his head in silent agreement to the truce. All it takes is a single look and the pair are on the same page. There's a tuck of Leo's chin in silent agreement with Sam's statement. His cheeks puff out and he tucks his hands deeper into his pockets.

His eyebrows draw together as his eyes scan the document over Jemma's shoulder, but is given easier access when he's handed the tablet. Once more he casts Jemma a look, this one far more telling than the previous one, silently asking what he can do to help.

The tablet becomes relegated to the bench and Fitz eyes the track marks silently. "If it's any comfort," which he hopes it is, "Jemma has taken blood from me many times." And then as a vote of confidence he adds, "Last time I even slept through it. And I wasn't on a line or anything. We were just here working late and she needed a sample. It's pretty hard to take blood from yourself and I would've said yes. If I were awake," although there's just an edge in his voice that suggests she probably should've woken him up.

But even as Leo vouches for his best friend, he's working to help her, rifling through cupboards until he finds a sample kit which he sets on the bench. The question though merits a small twitch of his lips into an easy smile, "Since the Academy. And then with a laugh in his voice, he adds, "We didn't like each other."

Jemma Simmons has posed:
Much like their research, Simmons and Fitz are very in tuned with each other. As they both nonverbally agree to set aside their Field Agent argument, they start to move and talk in tandem with each other.

As Sam rolls up his sleeve, Simmons take the arm with a gentle touch. Fitz is already getting her bag and her vials ready as she does this. However, any trained doctor can notice a track mark when she sees one. She studies them for a few moments and then back up at Sam. This will be awkward, she knows it will be, but there is medical precedence needed for this. "I must ask, have the injections only been demon blood?" If he has introduced any other drugs into his system, she needs to know. Her voice is steady, unjudgemental - the tone of a doctor. "I know this is uncomfortable, but I need to know. This will effect both how I can process your blood and how I should take it. The last thing I wish is to collapse one of your veins."

With a sympathetic look, Simmons reaches a tentative hand out to place on Sam's shoulder. "I will do my best to help you, Sam." The assurance from Fitz is given an appreciative smile. "Yes, I thought him pompous." The hand pulls back and takes up the needle and the rubber tie to pull Sam's veins to the top of his skin. In this conversation, she attempts to distract him. "It was just that he was as smart as I was and I wasn't used to it. How long have you known Agent May?"

Sam Winchester has posed:
"I would not have guessed that," Sam says, in response to Fitz's final comment, allowing one of those fast grins to rocket across his face. Fast and boyish, there and gone.

Then Jemma is asking if he's introduced anything else into his system. "No, nothing else," Sam admits. "I mean the variety of demons has been a little different. Only one type-- a vengeance demon-- since I captured her, but before there was one blackeyes-- low ranking possession-happy type-- and one crossroads type. If that matters."

How long has he known Agent May? He chuffs. "I think three, four months. She arrested me. I shot at a superhero cause I thought he was a dragon. The firearm I used wasn't strictly legal."

Leo Fitz has posed:
"I thought her irritating," Fitz tacks on to Simmons's assessment of him. "We were competitors," there is the long and short of it. "But after awhile we realized that together we could do better work than apart. So. Here we are," he issues the others a small shrug followed by a grin.

He rubs his chin and considers the demons and type. "To be honest, demon blood isn't really something we cover in the Academy. We... may need a sample if we're going to be terribly helpful." His lips purse and he casts Simmons a long look. "Live subject would be best." Not that he really wants a demon in the lab OR a helicarrier.

"Based on your file--you know these things, yeah?"

Jemma Simmons has posed:
As for the flavor of demon he has been shooting up, Simmons gives him a bit of a look. It's possible the differences of blood have different reactions to his system. The fact that she wishes to study this and find out what that means frightens her a little. Instead, she nods. "I see."

Simmons doesn't know the differences bewteen different demons. She'll have to talk to Agent May about this to get a better understanding. This is why she wishes to be in the field, a point she will bring up to Fitz once their truce is over. For now, though, she looks at Sam with the reassurance and sternness of a Family Practitioner. "Then, we should be alright. But, I have to say, as a doctor, that you are running the risk of severe internal damage. Continually injections in your veins leads to collapses, to decreased lifespan, to increasingly dangerous places to shoot up as the high does not reach you."

Fitz's observations is met with a nod. "That is true. I can analyze your blood. However, having a sample of blood as a control would certainly help."

Sam Winchester has posed:
"That's not hard," Sam says thoughtfully. "Do you have a containment unit? I'll need to spraypaint all over the inside of it. I can't summon anything directly inside; a devil's trap blocks a demonic summoning, but I've already got searches running for demonic omens. I already see a lot of weird activity in Virginia, in fact. You can actually knock out a black-eyes in his or her vessel just like a human, so it would just be a matter of finding one, jumping him or her, and getting her back to the trapped containment unit."

And if all his talk of occult incidents and precautions is, in its own way, as much of a babble as their biology or engineering would be to him, he says it all with the same lack of basic awareness that not everyone speaks his 'language.'

But then Jemma is fussing at him, and he lifts both his eyebrows. "Sure," he says. "What would you like me to do about the fact that if I go too long without it I end up in so much pain I can't walk? I'm pretty sure I die without the stuff, but I don't want to collapse a vein either."

Is that slight hint of frustration in his voice an addict's defensiveness? Or is it frustration because someone //else// addicted him to something he never wanted, and now he's being forced to deal with it? Or frustration because now he's got to worry about collapses on top of everything else? Probably a little of all of it.

As it stands, Jemma might note one thing right off the bat though. His veins? Are also way stronger than when she last took blood from him. She doesn't have to work to find a good one. They're all good.

Leo Fitz has posed:
Fitz squints "...a black eyes," he casts Simmons a long look. "It is a different world," he offers while he begins to pad around the room. A hand scratches the back of his head in consideration. "Well, if we're going to test it well, we're going to need to get one in lab conditions. Don't imagine they'd just let us take samples though," he hums about that. "While I know they're demons..." he wishes they would be able to get consent. Even if it's just a little ridiculous.

Jemma's fussing also prompts a lift of Leo's eyebrows as well. His lips purse and he hums quietly to himself while pacing about the room again. "What kind of side-effects does it produce for you?" he asks lowly. "Your file suggests," but he waves a hand, he's not interested in the file. "It might give us insight into how we can help you." There's another pause. "This might seem like a ridiculous question, and I'm sorry if it is, but..." He swallows hard, "...do you want to give it up?"

Jemma Simmons has posed:
Sam's immediate thought that it is not hard to capture one of the things tormenting him is met with a tilt of her head. "I am sure we can manage to proof the containment unit. It is rather adaptive, with or without spray paint." While she sympathizes with Sam, she is protective of SHIELD and their resources. After all, she and Fitz tend to responsible for most of them.

As Sam looks at her with that look, with his retort, Simmons returns his look with both sympathy and also a no-nonsense tone. "As your doctor at the moment, I would say that much like I would tell a heroin addict, your pain is horrible and real, but thinking you will die without it? That is the drugs talking to you. Withdrawal is horrible and painful, but it is necessary. Your brain will tell you things because it has come to rely on these chemicals, but once you are past them, you can truly be past it."

As she speaks, she starts to draw blood. As she does so, she notices the strength in Sam's veins, lips turning downward in that revelation.

The fact that Leo wants to bring a demon into the lab is met with a frown. "Fitz," She warns. "We don't even know the first thing about what bringing a demon in means."

Sam Winchester has posed:
"I need to put the devil's traps down," Sam says firmly. "Or the demon will just smoke right out of his host, and leave. But yeah. Of course it won't let you take samples. That's why we'll need to chain it down, or tie it to the chair. Gags are good too, they just spew all sorts of horrible things all the time, get in your head."

He is utterly serious.

Fitz asks the hard questions. Jemma insists he won't die without demon blood.

He doesn't answer right away. "Maybe you're right," he tells Jemma, slowly, answering her first. "And if that's what your analysis of my blood tells you, maybe we try that." Because that would be the responsible thing to do.

But Hydra's vision gives him pause, as does the prospect of just giving up the powers that have already been so helpful. "I'm not sure it's as simple as want though, to be honest." He looks down and away. "Sometimes when I try to deny things that I am it comes back to bite me. Hard. I'm not sure what I want has any meaning here. I'm not sure that I even know how to want the right things. It's more important to ask what needs to happen. What needs to be done. And that's not always the thing people think it is."

Leo Fitz has posed:
"But live testing is going to be necessary," Leo returns to Jemma with a levelled look. "This isn't some normal drug. We will need multiple samples. We'll need controlled laboratory time to see if they're spiking it at all or if it's variable depending on the... demon type?" it's a question thanks to Fitz's lack of understanding.

Sam's explanation though earns him a small nod. "Then maybe we should consider that." He looks back to Jemma and then to Sam and shakes his head. "I know that this is a ridiculous solution but simultaneously if we're going to be any good to anyone in the field, we'll need to see one of these things eventually. WAND definitely could use R&D help. Even if it's finding a better way to... devil's trap(?) them." His nose wrinkles and he frowns.

But the bit about necessity causes Fitz to frown. "So.. the answer is 'no.'" He actually shrugs. There's no outward judgment. "If you don't want to leave it behind, all of the work in the world can't help you. Addiction is hardly a science, but that's one of the few things we actually know. And it's not just wanting it. It's really wanting it."

Jemma Simmons has posed:
The more they talk, the more Simmons sees the logic in his argument. However, that doesn't mean she has to like it. She looks to Sam, knowing immediately that he will have to be SHIELD's lightning rod on these sorts of things.

She sighs. "Analysis of my blood will not tell me if this is the demon equivalent to heroin. There is no equivalent. What I am attempting to tell you is from observation. And it seems as if you are using circumstantial evidence in order to justify continued drug use. As far as demon blood could be considered drug use. In my opinion, it is."

Jemma frowns, attempts to reach out to Sam. "Many people believe that their course is the only way. We can help."

Fitz is given a look. "Maybe it seems hopeless now, but we can help you through it."

Sam Winchester has posed:
He doesn't think anything of Jemma reaching for him, does Sam, in part because Fitz is giving him a hard time. His nostrils flare a little, and his eyes harden. His mouth thins into a tight line, and his jaw firms. He doesn't rebut the engineer, but neither does he look particularly happy. How can he explain that in part, his hesitance has to do with a vision triggered by...

Well. By Hydra. The very people who did this to him in the first place. Looked at from that light...

"I meant your analysis of my blood," he tells Jemma gently, instead, even as he looks down again. "But May thought maybe a synthetic. I believe you can help. Oh, you asked what the effects were. Nothing much. It stops the pain. It allows me to use my powers. When I use them too much I feel the burn start, the cramps. When I go too long without injections... Migraines, cramps, vomiting, weakness, intense pain."

Leo Fitz has posed:
Fitz continues his pacing about the room. He takes a quiet turn, still thinking about things. "Look, I'm happy to provide help, but I'm not sure there's help to be had if you don't want it." He actually shrugs at that. "It's not that we aren't here to support you, it's that we're not sure what kind of help you even want." His expression takes on a pinched quality. "If you need helping finding a good vein to inject into--" he motions towards Simmons, "Jemma can do that. If you need access to clean needles, we can do that. If you want to get off this stuff, we can help you there. But honestly, Mister Winchester, this is about what you actually want."

His blue eyes stare at Sam intently. "We're here to support our agents. R&D is about finding solutions to problems. If we can make a synthetic, we'll try. But is that what you want us to do?" He runs a hand through his hair. It's unusual for him to take such a stance with someone he barely knows, yet he feels pretty strongly about it.

"You've got ample support here. Believe it or not SHIELD is pretty equipped and most of the people that work here care a lot about well... a lot. Present company wants to be here for you."

The mention of the cramps and migraines though has Leo's gaze turning to Jemma. "We can also help you treat some of the withdrawal symptoms if that's a fear. We're uniquely equipped to do it." He shrugs.

Jemma Simmons has posed:
"Your powers?" Simmons asks the obvious questions as she pulls four vials of blood from Sam expertly. As she does so, she sets them in racks and hands it to Fitz to put it some place safe. She's curious about what demon blood does to him. It's the scientist in her.

"We will help," she tells Sam firmly. As Fitz tells him similarly, she smiles at her partner in crime. "Yes, we will find an alternative. We can help you." She is completely convinced of this. The support, the combined genius of Fitz and Simmons? They will find a way to break Sam of his blood addiction.

"Yes, of course," she adds. "You heard how adamant I was about a motion sickness cure. Imagine me and Fitz working on something that is not Helicarrier related!"

Sam Winchester has posed:
"Visions that have helped me find kidnapped people. Telekinesis. The ability to-- well, a few more esoteric things." And maybe...something that makes his veins stronger!

He appreciates what Fitz is trying to do. He gives him a brief, quick smile to show it.

But his hazel eyes are troubled. Some of this is that he honestly isn't sure what he wants. He's not sure if getting off this stuff really will kill him. He's not sure, and he's suddenly on the spot, being asked to make a decision, when really all he thought he was doing was letting them poke and prod for the decision he'd already agreed to, which was synthetics. Now he's not even sure about that. He's been fussed at and questioned and it's just continuing.

He's getting overwhelmed.

His impulse, suddenly, is to do as he's taught. To drop off the radar. Maybe this was a bad idea. Maybe all he was ever doing was inviting the Government-- Feds!-- to scrutinize his life. And his own darkness and uncleanliness. Maybe Dean and Dad were right, and ties were a bad idea. Maybe credit card scams and fake names weren't so bad. They served him for years. This is all new.

The rush of anxiety is almost too much. Fitz is waiting for an answer, and getting impatient. And he keeps reading a challenge in the man's voice, one that makes him want to snarl, 'I can quit whenever I want' like the stereotypical alcoholic, and demand a detox, above and beyond what May suggested. Screw synthetics, he'll just get off the stuff. Fuck Hydra too!

There are things he needs to do, people he needs to see-- what's going on in Virginia? He doesn't have //time// for a detox, does he? He rubs a hand over his face. "How long would a detox take?"

Leo Fitz has posed:
Fitz's eyes roll at the mention of the helicarrier again. "I thought we decided we weren't doing that. Nausea. Land sickness. It's real. You'll feel like you're moving even when you're not. My uncle had it once. He needed to be in bed for weeks and felt like he was always on a boat rocking back and forth. Pretty vile really. Annoying to feel constantly rocked. Unless you're a baby, I suppose. Infants like that, don't they?" he looks towards Simmons for confirmation. Oh, right. They're not talking about land sickness.

His throat clears and he gets back on track away from the bunny hole of the helicarrier fight and back into the current discussion he actually wants to have. The question prompts Fitz to stare at Simmons. "Typical substances are three days and the worst of it is gone." That much he can say. He knows nothing of demon blood, but aims to find out. Once they get a demon. If they get a demon. It's possible Simmons will veto that decision still.

He hums thoughtfully. "We can take it slow though. We can get a demon and work on making a synthetic," he looks pointedly towards Jemma. "But again, this is about what you want, Mister Winchester. I don't live your life. I know nothing about these demons and it shows. It's easy for us to give recommendations, but at the end of the day if they don't fit for you, they don't fit." He shrugs. "But equipping you to be safer? Yeah, we can do that. Supporting you through this? We can do that. It's just a question of what you want."

Jemma Simmons has posed:
Simmons attempts to keep Sam calm. She knows that this is difficult time for him: she has read his file. She also knows what he has done to himself. While she may not be his doctor, she can't help but take a medical professional stance in regards to his treatment. "Perhaps you are able to do all these things, but you have also seriously damaged your health, Mister Winchester. Every time you inject yourself with demon blood, you are doing damage to your immune system. You have an incredibly resourceful immune system, but I have to warn you to not rely on it. Many people think they are invincible until they are incredibly not and the wake up call is incredibly unpleasant at times deadly."

With that said, she looks to Fitz. He's being more optimistic and helpful than she is right now. "However, yes, we can figure this out. We can find out a synthetic end to your problems." She does not yet answer the Helicarrier eye roll. That is for a later date. "An we can certainly help you in what you need as well as ensure that you are safe on your missions. In fact, if it would make you feel safer, we could do so in the field." Okay, so she didn't exactly let it lie.

Sam Winchester has posed:
'Man up. Men don't cry.'

He wants to cry though. Suddenly the stress of it is all hitting him left and right. Imprisonment. Interrogation. The way the shots felt, how they felt good. How they still feel good. How he simultaneously wants them and doesn't. The visions. Dean, still missing. Fred, writing on walls. The knowledge that Dean is in a horrific contract and it's because of //him//, the boy that should be dead. The stress of coming in and finding a much larger organization than May, all of a sudden, wondering if he can possibly do this, possibly fit with all of them, possibly function like this. The bare escape from that facility, with Claire.

Fitz keeps saying it's about what he wants. He wanted Stanford, he wanted Jessica, and look what happened.

Three days. Does he have three days? He needs to check in with Claire, with Bucky, with Mercy, he needs to make sure Fred's okay before he tries anything..."Synthetic. Good," is his taciturn response, even as a series of alerts beep on his phone. "I //want// you to start there, please."

There, he's delivered something he wants, and he's not sure about anything else. "I guess so I don't collapse veins, in pill form."

He digs out his phone.

They're alerts he's set up for various stories that hint at hunting patterns. He'd figured out he could fire WAND alerts to his e-mail, on all the searches he's running. A pattern jumps out at him. He frowns. Brings up something far less sophisticated but far more relevant. The Weather Channel app. Watches as storm patterns shift steadily from Virginia, to New York City, in an unnatural line of red and yellow swirling clouds that look damn near like an arrow.

Suddenly he knows exactly where his brother went. But is he back yet?

"I have to go," he says, and he's not just escaping the lab now. To the apartment, first, he decides. He has to go over this with Fred, and then he'll decide what else to do.

An unpleasant thought lingers in the back of his mind as he strides out of the lab like he was a Level 7 Agent instead of a trainee, adding only, "Sorry, work," on his way out. It does very much look like work though. The look on his face is grim and worried and tense.

The thought is this:

'That omen is way too big for a lower-tier demon. Something terrible is happening.'