Day 56: North Street (Morning)
Maybe it was the sudden influx of normality (or what passed as such a thing here) along with the townspeople, but it barely took a few minutes before Hope couldn't stand to be walking along the shops down the street anymore. He didn't want to listen to people laugh and coo over gossip and shopping lists, with their smiles and happily ever after
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As grateful as he might have been for the stranger to not simply let him fall, Venom had never been known to respond well to others touching him. As quickly as possible, he pulled himself back to his feet (he'd slipped onto one knee during the fall. There was a sharp pain on impact, but he couldn't feel it anymore. Whether the snow had numbed it or it was just that insignificant would have to be investigated later) and took large steps back in order to reclaim his personal space. "I'm fine," he said without looking up, untangling his right arm from his scarf--
Where is...?!
That photograph had been in his hand a moment ago, he was sure. A mixed look of concern and panic struck the man's face from under his sunglasses, and mouth curled down into a barely open frown. Had he dropped it? He couldn't lose that, he needed--
Oh.
He gingerly pried the paper away as the stranger handed it over, expression fading back into practiced apathy. "Thank you." Now that he finally looked at him, the man's face was familiar--he was too tall to forget--though no name came with that recognition. They had met, he was sure, but he couldn't place when. So with all the grace and truthfulness of a born leader, Venom placed the picture back into his coat pocket and stared blankly up at his 'savior.' "I don't know who you are."
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Besides, he was curious now. That look on the man's face told him enough about how much the person in that photograph meant to him and he couldn't help wondering where the picture had come from in the first place. Personal items didn't circulate all that often. He remembered Peter had pulled out of a photo from Nathan's file, but that one had looked clinical. This one didn't. Who was it in that picture? Why had the man taken the photograph with him to town? He'd had it out to look at while he'd been walking, or he wouldn't have dropped it, so...
Maybe he could find out. It didn't hurt to try, right? His new companion didn't come off like the bubbly friendly type, but he wasn't hostile, either. Sam could work with that. He'd sure as hell worked with a lot worse, at least.
And yeah, he did count his brother on that list. Probably twice.
He'd had his hands in his jacket pockets, but he held one out now. "I'm Sam. We haven't officially met, but I." He paused. His polite smile turned sheepish with a touch of awkward. "Fell into your table last week. At the diner."
This week, Venom fell into him. He was starting to see the theme here.
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Oh, yes. He remembered now. It'd been raining that day, and the man-- Sam-- must have slipped on the wet tiles. Edward had reacted in a hostile fashion, so Venom made a quick exit from the vicinity: it hadn't been any of his business. He hadn't heard anything after the fact, so the situation must have defused itself.
The assassin's head tilted to the side as he put the information in the back of his mind. It hadn't been important then and, aside from the connection to the person standing in front of him now, it still wasn't at the moment. With some hesitation, he pulled his hand back out of his pocket and took the taller man's, shaking it firmly. "Venom." The moment the introduction was over it slipped back into his coat, thumb running along the side of the photograph still lying within it.
This wasn't what he'd planned to do with his time. "Thank you again," he repeated, and he bowed at the waist in repetitive politeness. "I apologize for disturbing you, but I have something I need to do. Excuse me." After straightening himself, he stepped to the side, fully prepared to leave.
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Sam blinked when Venom bowed, not quite expecting it, but he recovered soon enough to take a step forward when Venom started to leave.
"Wait," he said. "I'm sorry, I couldn't help noticing... That picture, are you looking for him?"
He wasn't sure if he'd be welcome, but it was worth a shot. He couldn't shake the feeling that maybe he could give a hand with whatever it was Venom needed to do and more than that, it'd been a long time since he'd done anything like that. He'd been so preoccupied with Dean, and God, it hadn't done much good in the end, had it? Not enough good, at least. If he couldn't help his brother right now, he could try it with someone else.
He wondered, too, if he was right about Venom searching for the man, what made him think his friend would be in town. Had he shown up as a visitor, then? Peter had said that Nathan had been brainwashed when he came by as a visitor, so it made sense that one would think the patients had to be staying somewhere nearby. The town was one place to start.
Though it raised the question of why some patients would be kept that way and others simply left to vanish. He kept trying to factor in the altverse aspect, but that didn't make it a whole lot easier to pull apart. All it did was introduce more variables.
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As they had during the collision, the paranoid thoughts rushed back; this time directed toward a victim other than himself. Venom's personal agenda was none of Sam's business--interfering was only foolish and particularly rude. He'd given no hints that he wanted to be helped. What right did he even have to look over the leader of the Assassin's Guild belongings? This man had no reason, none what-so-ever, to jump on board.
Unless...
They were only staying at the inn for the visit, Millia had said, and planned leaving the morning after. Waiting that amount of time suggested traveling a long distance. If it were that way, they very well could have arrived in the town the day before he actually saw them: the day he first met this stranger.
...had Sam seen him?
The irritation melted and he turned his head downward, casually wiping the remaining snow from the legs of his pants in an effort to appear nonchalant. "Yes." Despite all efforts, the word came slow and measured, as if it didn't want to leave his mouth. He had no idea what this man wanted him for. He could have easily just been curious. Whatever it is, that's all he needs to know.
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Still, as much as Sam wasn't one to pry, sometimes he...okay, under the right circumstances, he was one to pry. He'd say it came with being a hunter, but he knew that wasn't the only reason for it. He'd always asked too many questions and he'd apparently become immune at an early age to Dad telling him to keep his mouth shut and just do as he was told.
"You don't have to tell me anything about it," he said gently. "But if you wanted, I could help you canvass. No questions, I promise. I just wanna help."
There'd been a second when he'd debated telling Venom he'd had experience with missing persons cases, but he decided he probably shouldn't risk it if he didn't have to. He'd already played the college-student-on-an-extended-road-trip card (with a bonus during-which-my-brother-died in Peter's case) to enough people in the institute that he shouldn't break it if he could help it. He wasn't rolling from town to town here; swapping out identities wasn't the best plan.
Well. Hopefully, Venom would let him in. If not, Sam knew he couldn't press it any further. In the end, he'd just met the guy for about five minutes and there was a part of him that understood that his persistence wasn't just about Venom. It was about him, too. And he couldn't shove his issues onto a stranger like that. It wouldn't be fair.
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But the man seemed sincere, uncomfortably so. He couldn't understand why--by all accounts, they were strangers with one possible and, most likely, mutually strained connection. He never asked for help or signaled that he needed any. So why was he currently on the receiving end of a look a sad puppy would give? Why did Sam care?
Maybe he was just the hero type, compulsively swinging in the moment he thought someone needed assistance. Hmph. For the strange things he'd been through, Venom never assumed he'd find one of those types trying to help him.
In the end, he continued his previous task of walking around the man. "Follow me if you want," he called back, never actually turning to face the other side of the conversation. "Just keep your questions to yourself." It would be easier with two people. That was the only thing that mattered.
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As it turned out, Venom relented. He didn't look like he trusted Sam a whole lot, but Sam wasn't expecting him to. He knew that if someone had come up to him like this, chances were high he would've turned them away, but...you know. What did that make him?
Maybe he just liked to believe that most of the world had more faith than he managed after everything.
"Yeah, all right. No problem," he agreed simply. He slipped his hands into his pockets, away from the frosty cold, and fell into step beside Venom. There were a few seconds of silence. Then: "One of my friends, someone close to him went missing, too," he said. "I know he's still looking, so..."
Okay, he didn't know in the sense that Peter ever told him that specifically, but Peter didn't have to. They were brothers and the way Peter spoke about Nathan said enough. When it came to family, you didn't ever stop looking, even after you'd already buried the body.
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Despite his surprise, Venom never turned his head to face him, taking the sound of shoes crushing snow underfoot as proof enough. As they grew nearer and eventually came to a steady pace beside his own steps, he briefly glanced at the man out of the corner of his eye.
He was entirely too tall. He had noticed it before, but it was almost insulting, being so literally looked down on. It felt like being a child again and that was something he had no need to recapture any time soon.
He stayed silent as Sam spoke on, the slight tilt of the assassin's head being the only sign that he'd actually been listening (and not merely scrutinizing the man's height). Is that what he was determined to step in for? Perhaps he'd misunderstood the offer, then. It wasn't an act of heroics: it was only a selfish desire for answers and an opportunity to find them via a different source than expected.
That was far easier to swallow, really.
"That seems to be a reoccurring problem," he offered eventually, if only to not drive away the company through perceived indifference.
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