sometime after day 5

[sizeofyourbaggage]

[ Sam’s never really reached out to the Nest in general like this before, but at this point - well, he’s running out of options. The work he’s done on his mental walls has paid off, and nothing escapes his thick cloud layer except his words, and the soft hint of wind and feathers that flavors his mental link. ]

( Seems like we got a bit of down time, and I’m looking to put it to good use. I’m getting better with my symbiote ability, but I need someone who’ll let me practice it with them.

Simple explanation is that it’s healing, with a side effect that means it’s gonna hurt. Most likely for me. I can get into specifics if you’re up for it. ) [ If it doesn’t bother them or they’re willing to overlook that it means Sam getting hurt, he means, but seeing as he’s communicating with the Nest in general, he’s not gonna say that.

He already knows more than who person who is bothered by it and never seems willing to let Sam use it on them. ]

( I’ll take as many as I can get, more training can’t hurt. )

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[sizeofyourbaggage]

[ At first, Sam doesn't regret this. The shock of cold hits him so hard he almost finds his teeth chattering, but he just responds with more warmth, spilling it out over the mental link the way he's done when trying to help Bucky combat the programming in his mind. Sam has more than enough to give, he can pour warmth mentally into the guy at the same time as he pushes himself physically.

It's... not quite the same as when he'd tried to heal Loke. There'd been more of a struggle then, and he suspects it has to do with the fact that the man wasn't a Host, that there was nothing that called at the symbiote inside Sam, nothing that urged it to protect.

Even when he feels his ability start trying to slow down, he doesn't regret it. It's still easier than when he'd tried to push it with Loke, and this is exactly what he needed this practice for. He needs to push himself so he can figure out what his limits are, so he can push them, and this is it. His vision starts to blur a little, and the dizziness he starts to feel makes him glad he's kneeling down, but still he stubbornly keeps going.

Then he gets a good look at the void. Then his skin starts to crackle and burn, and blood drips steadily from his nose. He's put enough of himself into Zhukov that there's no barrier between him and the abyss staring at him, and he realizes that no matter how much more of himself he gives it will never be enough. Sam can barely breathe, and he can hear the echo of his own heart pounding beneath his ribs, desperately trying to pump blood that feels sluggish and thick.

The feedback blasts through his walls as he pulls his attention from keeping them up, focusing everything on - shit he doesn't even know anymore, is he trying to push or pull away, to give life or stay alive? It's too hard to think, he can't - There's a brief surge of fear as he wonders if his symbiote would allow him to die over this, and under that a sense of calm familiarity that probably says more about him than he'd like.

He's too out of it to realize that his symbiote answers that question for him: it shuts off as soon as he collapses. ]