United Heroes MUSH - User contributions [en]

2591/Pawns and Wagers

2017-10-02T21:55:20Z

Feigenbaum:

{{Log Header
|Date of Scene=2017/09/15
|Location=South Dakota
|Synopsis=Fred returns Dean's amulet to him.
|Cast of Characters=160, 306
|Tinyplot=Blood on My Name
|pretty=yes
}}
{{Poses
|Poses=:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' It has been a little while since the ragged crew limped their way into the South Dakota arm of SHIELD. Fred stayed with her parents exclusively until she learned that her father would pull through and that her mother woke up. There were quite a few tears and apologies on either side, both attempting to tell the other it was not the other's fault. It was strangely reminiscent of their reunion after her return from Pylea. It's a little while after that, however, that she feels comfortable to leave her parents' room. The demon's ward pendant that Sam gave her is secure over her father's neck. That with the Sharpie drawings should ensure his safety. Her own temporary tattoo is sharply visible on her wrist. The physicist has a very specific destination in mind now and has asked Sam to stay with her parents - still not quite willing to leave them alone - as she takes care of something. That something becomes crystal clear when there is a knock on the door to Dean's room. Then, it slowly opens and only the head of Fred peeks through. "Hey Dean?" Her voice is soft, trying not to disturb, but wanting to disturb. "It's Fred. Gotta second? Or, really, more than a second. This is already more than a second and is this. That could go on awhile. What I really mean is, can you talk for a little bit?" 

:'''{{#var:306|Dean Winchester (306)}} has posed:''' Dean is probably supposed to be resting. He should be asleep. He should be happily hooked up to the IV that SHIELD insisted he be on. Instead? He's pacing the room. He doesn't have the wherewithal to sit still. He'd spent days with someone else controlling his mind. And he doesn't want to lie dormant anymore. Instead he wants activity; he longs for it. He's already disappeared from his room for an extended period of time wherein he went drinking with his brother and then found a quiet corner with Jo. He's got priorities, there's no question. His wellbeing just isn't one of them. He perks at the sound of his name, turning towards the door when she asks the question. "...hey." There's an awkwardness to the greeting and a stilted turn to the word. "Uh. Yeah. Come in. It's not..." he runs his hand through his hair. "I mean, it is," he shrugs, "what it looks like. I'm not sleeping or anything. Unless this is a dream, in which case dreams are no longer going in the direction expected." 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' Awkwardness is certainly something that Fred understands. That's generally how she lives her life. Once he doesn't tell her to get out or to get lost, she slips inside and shuts the door behind her. "Thanks." She has half expecting him to send her away or to ignore her. The fact that he's invited her in is already a better start to the conversation. That gives her a little bit more of a steady position, whatever that means. His stopping and starting sentence is met with a slight tilt of her head. For that moment, she looks almost like a bird that has heard a call she knows. If Fred knows anything it is that things don't look like what they might be."What's it not look like?" She's not even sure. Then, he explains. "Oh! I can help you figure that out!" Stepping forward, she attempts to pinch him quickly on the arm. Then, she pinches herself. "Look, I'm certainly not dreaming. Are you? Pinching's what gets you out of it." 

:'''{{#var:306|Dean Winchester (306)}} has posed:''' Dean squints at Fred when she pinches him. "Ow!" he's been possessed, cut, and generally damaged, but he complains at the pinching. His lips hitch up on one side into a crooked smile. "...thanks." They quirk again into something far easier. It's his grifter's smile. Practiced. Together. Everything about it might fool most skeptics. He motions for a chair. "If you want to sit, feel free." With a shrug he takes a single step back towards the bed, but opts to continue pacing instead. He shakes his head and then falls into paces again. "So." He can feel his lips tighten. "What's up?" There's another pause. "I mean... besides the obvious." His lips turn down again. 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' As Dean squints at her, Fred pulls her hand back quickly and sheepishly says, "Sorry!" She's not, really, though. She's helping! The thanks is met with a matching grifter smile. It's not meant to put Dean at ease, instead it is just a smile to show that she means him no ill will while not actually being in the best mood. Fred isn't most skeptics. She not even most people due to her years in a Hell Dimension. But she will take Dean's smile at mostly face value. As much as she takes anything from Dean at face value right now. It's not the words Alistair made him say that leaves Fred wary, it's what Dean - unpossessed - told her at the Crossroads that keeps her on the wary side. "I'm okay," she says to the seat. Instead, she doesn't pace but stands nearby the door. A hand reaches up to her collar bone and she touches something there before pulls the cord around her neck and pulls it out from under her shirt. It's the necklace that Alistair as Dean gave Fred. "I just...I came here to give you this back. It's yours." 

:'''{{#var:306|Dean Winchester (306)}} has posed:''' The smile fades. The chain causes Dean's every muscle to sag. Everything about him enters a temporary state of defeat. It's been a trying few days and as much as he's insisted he remembers nothing, he remembers all of it. Every detail wears on him. He nods towards her as he reaches out his hand to accept the amulet back again. He inhales a long breath and he can feel a dull ache in the centre of his chest. His jaw tightens. "...thanks." His hand rubs the back of his neck. And then, finally, he tugs the cord over his neck. "Wasn't sure where it went," he lies easily while he eyes narrow. "Glad that someone still had it and it wasn't lost to the road or something. Demons are bastards." 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' Fred can see the reaction the pendant has on Dean. This is not what Fred expected. She thought Dean would be very happy to see it again. It was in a safe place. Maybe he would be upset that Sam gave it to her instead of keeping it himself, but she wasn't expecting such an expression. Thought Dean is quite a grifter, such a violent reaction is something even Fred cannot misread. "Of course. It's yours," she reiterates. "I'm sorry I had it so long and, you know, like that. Sam told me how it was a gift to you." And how the fact that it was used against Dean must hurt him. Demons are bastards, Dean says. "Yeah. They are." Fred frowns, trying to bring up things, not sure how to do so. "They..." she closes her eyes. "I had this rabbit. My dad gave it to me when I was a weird kid. And then he gave it back after I came from Pylea. They..." she swallows. "It means a lot to me, that rabbit. They tried to tell me...they tried to make it..." She doesn't know what Dean is going through, what he remembers, what he doesn't. Her mother seemed to remember some horrible things. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to keep it. I know how much it means to the both of you." 

:'''{{#var:306|Dean Winchester (306)}} has posed:''' There's a lot of silence when Fred explains herself. Dean maintains that quiet when she speaks her truth. And it's only once he's convinced she's done that Dean speaks this time. "It's all lies you know," he knows the irony of his lie. "Demons, they twist something they know people care about and turn it into a lie." A flicker of a smile follows, "Probably best you know that now instead of down the road." He inhales a long breath. "Whatever they said about your rabbit is bullshit. It had enough truth to make it plausible, but they tried to destroy you with it. It's what they do." He actually shrugs at that. "They mine people's thoughts and use their own energies against them. Any fleeting thought or incline? A demon can exploit it." "And you don't need to apologize about keeping it for awhile. Like I said, just glad it wasn't lost to the road or something." He sniffs again. "It's fine. Honestly. I hadn't been without it in a long stretch is all. Get used to things like that, I think." 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' "Is it?" Fred asks Dean, both hopeful and skeptical when he tells them it's all lies. "I get that." Without either necklace about her neck now, she idly crosses her arms and rubs her arm. "That's good." Unable to help herself, she asks, "So, you don't think I replaced you, right?" Fred is not exactly the most subtle person. Sometimes she can drag that out of her, can keep things hidden. On matters like this? She can't. She's an open book. "My dad didn't think I was pathetic and gave me Feigenbaum because I couldn't make friends?" There are so many tiers of her question here. "Sorry, I'm..." this isn't fair to Dean. She shouldn't be asking this. "No, sorry, ignore me." She shakes her head, looking up at him, searching, trying to find the truth of this situation. "Are you? After everything? You're okay?" A tilt of her head again, perhaps not getting the context. "You get used to being possess by demons who try to use your family and relationships?" She's not being facetious, she is truly trying to understand. 

:'''{{#var:306|Dean Winchester (306)}} has posed:''' "Normally," Dean replies in earnest for once. "There's truth in what they say, but it's not The Truth. Not properly, anyways." He manages a vague smile while he mirrors her posture, crossing his arms over his chest. But the pointed question causes Dean's smile to falter some. "I don't know what he said to you," he lies, "but a lot of things replaced me in Sammy's life." There's nothing angry about the words, just the strange truth of the matter. "It wasn't all at once." The smile tightens, becoming guarded. "There might be an iota in the lie, but we do things for people we love because we love them. Not for some vindictive purpose. Demons just twist it." His lips purse. "I'm fine. I'm dehydrated, exhausted, and starved, but I'm fine." He tacks on, "I don't remember anything. There's different kinds of possession. Sometimes a demon wants the host to see it all. Other times? Nothing. They go dormant in their own minds. I'm happy to say I was the latter." The last has his eyebrows lifting, "No. This is the first time I've ever been possessed, Fred. Don't intend it to happen again." 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' "Ah. Okay. I think I get that." Fred's eyebrows crease as she thinks it through. It's not that she doesn't actually get it, nor does she think Dean is lying to her. She has little experience when it comes to possession. She knows that it happens and that a demon can walk around in a dead body and that a person can prevent a possession with a symbol. The specifics? The nitty gritty? That's all things she's still learning. "That's just it. I don't think anything could replace you." Fred's own voice is similar to Dean's. There's no anger or sadness there, just an observation as she's seen it. She knows how important Dean is to Sam as fact, she knows how important Sam is to Dean through his actions. When he says that he's fine, she can't help but give a soft shake of her head. "Y'know, Sam says that a lot, too. How he's fine." And that generally means he's not fine. With a frown, she looks a bit to the side, shifting topics just slightly, though keeping on the same subject. "I think my parents remember. What happened. They've been...it's been hard for them. I think they feel guilty. Which is funny, I guess, 'cause I'm the one that feels guilty about getting them into this and not telling them just what they could be getting into. They knew about things, before. But nothing like this." 

:'''{{#var:306|Dean Winchester (306)}} has posed:''' Undeniably, there's an air of skepticism at Fred's assertion. Dean's vision cuts downwards. His eyes hone in on the floor in front of him as he nearly bashfully turns downwards. He takes a step back, and seems to use the moment as an opportunity to tread back towards his bed. Which he sits on. That's the reason his vision moved at all. Slowly, in a near-defence, with all the markers of it, his arms cross lightly over his chest. "I'm not so convinced," he finally offers. "Look, I know Sam cares. It's not like..." his head turns towards the window. "...like I think he's forgotten about me." He finally attempts to meet Fred's gaze again. "But history and time suggest things won't be like they used to." He shrugs. He's trying to make light of that. Whether Fred believes or not, it's the story he's sticking to. Dean hums at the mention of Fred's parents. "Just remind them that they didn't do the things that their occupants did. They couldn't have stopped it. They couldn't have prevented it. It just was." His eyebrows lift and he shoots Fred a faint smile. "And don't feel guilty either. This one's on me." He shrugs at that. "A demon took up residence and took what they wanted. Your parents wouldn't have been on the radar if not for my brain. Just sayin'." 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' Fred's chin turns back to Dean as she sees him move back to the bed to sit out of the corner of her eye. Her head tilts just slightly as she takes in what he's saying. "Maybe it'll be different. I don't know. I don't really know what it was like before, though I've heard a bit about it." A lot of Sam's past is talked about in snippets and glimpses of the open road, a neglectful father and a watchful brother. "And if you'd've seen how worried he was on our way here...I dunno. I think you'd see." See what? It's hard to put into words, but she's hoping it gets across. The advice is taken with her own shrug of her shoulders. The messy braids her hair is currently pulled into jostle just slightly. "Then it's really not your fault, either. Only way they couldn't have gotten something is if you didn't have a brain." It's not an insult, nor is it joke, even. It's her attempt to be reassuring. Fred reassurance is sometimes very different from everything else. "Sam blames himself for a lotta stuff, too." 

:'''{{#var:306|Dean Winchester (306)}} has posed:''' Dean levels his gaze at Fred. He inhales a long breath. "Yeah, I know Sammy cares. I do." His lips twitch into a smile. "He's my brother. We only really had each other," increasingly it's a fact that Dean can't deny. John wasn't there. Isn't there. "So it's not like I think he doesn't care." He sucks on the inside of his cheek, "It's that the things he cares about shift. Maybe that's true for everyone, but it's..." he pauses to think of the right word. Instead of finding it, he lands on, "...something," not at all descriptive, "to be in the shuffle. You're an only child, right? I think it's probably what parents experience when the nest clears." He shrugs at that. The last warrants a tight smile. "Nah. I knew better. Your parents didn't. You didn't. I also pushed hard on this case when I probably should've talked to Sam or May about it sooner. That's all." 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' "I know." If Fred knows one thing about the Winchester dynamic for sure, it is how much John Winchester left his children on their own. "Alright." If Dean keeps saying that he knows Sam cares about him, that Fred hasn't replaced him, she'll leave it lie. It's unclear how much she believes him at the moment. The question about being an only child is met with a nod. "Always wanted a brother or a sister, honestly. There's a lot of big families in Texas and I was always just..." she can hear her father say what she's about to in that sneering tone. There's not exactly a bitter laugh, but the short 'ha' that comes out of her mouth has no humor. "...lonely." Moving away from that, she shrugs. "Probably a part of growing up, yeah. My parents didn't want me to move to LA, thought I was gonna get taken in by a cult or something. Instead, I fell into a portal. Then, they didn't want me to stay in New York at the Hyperion and they got possessed. Things might've been a lot easier for them if I'd listened." As for knowing better, she shakes her head. "They didn't, but I did. Y'know, when I met Sam, I was working a case on a possession. I didn't really know much about these kinds of demons, but I had one of Wesley's big Latin books. Saw what they could do firsthand and I didn't tell my parents 'cause I thought it'd worry them. So, I did know better. I think just 'cause we know better doesn't really mean much. I know better than to forget to include units in my equations, but I'll still do it every now and again." A situation that she is sure to be relatable to Dean. 

:'''{{#var:306|Dean Winchester (306)}} has posed:''' Dean can feel the weight on his shoulders at the mention of feeling lonely. It's a sensation he knows well. He can't talk about it. Won't talk about it. But loneliness has been his friend since Sam left. The Impala wasn't worth the price of admission. Fatherly pride wasn't worth his own ghosts. But despite all of the heaviness he feels, it translates into that same grifter's smile. His head ducks towards her. "Changes things," is what he lands on. "People grow up. Been told they move on. Eventually everyone leaves," Zachariah's words have been seared into his mind. Everyone will leave him. That's his lot in life. Getting attached, even to family, has no merit. His eyebrows draw together, he clears his throat, and shakes his head to lose the thought. Mostly it looks like he's getting fatigued. It's fortunate. He casts a glance at Fred and nods. "Yeah, but I should've been wearing something anti-possession. Should've gotten a tattoo years ago." Still afraid of needles. "So. Things." His eyebrows lift. "Just don't wear it." The mention of equations mostly sees his eyebrows knitting together tighter. "Sure. Units." What. 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' "I don't know if growing up means moving on and leaving. Doesn't for everyone. Know a lot of people who still live in Dallas." Fred doesn't know Zachariah's words or even Dean's own feelings of loneliness without Sam. In fact, she might not even know that the smile he puts on is a fake. The man is good at hiding his emotions to skilled people readers and after five years alone, she is certainly not one of those. She wasn't even one of those before Pylea. She always tended to prefer science and books to close friends and people. Seeing that Dean's starting to get tired, though, she takes a step back toward the door. "Maybe, but I still don't think that means it's on you." Seeing that Dean does understand about the fact that even knowing better doesn't always equate to doing that thing, she gives him a ghost of a smile. Hers, at least, is genuine. She's given back the amulet, she's attempted to talk to Dean. This is one of their conversation that hasn't ended in a fight or in them really arguing with each other. That's a win, right? "I should let you rest. If you need anything, I'm in the room about two down from you with my parents. They'll want to meet you, since we're all gonna be getting tattoos together." 

:'''{{#var:306|Dean Winchester (306)}} has posed:''' A nod follow Fred's word about leaving. Dean does feel tired. Rest would be wise. Plus it'll mean no more talking about whether Fred has replaced him. He hates that Alistair knows he thought that. He hates the Alistair knows how much Zachariah got to him. He's not even sure which is worse: that Zachariah could get to him so easily or that Alistair knows about it. His weaknesses have been laid bare. By his own damned mind. It's a conundrum that he's been wrestling with since he got his brain back. But despite all of this, his lips quirk into a tight smile. "Thanks for," he touches the amulet against his chest. It belongs close to his heart. He swallows hard. "Appreciate it. And thanks for keeping it safe. Just glad it didn't end up somewhere on the highway where I'd never have found it." He shifts on the bed to lay down, lightly lidding his eyes. And as he does so, he can't help but wonder how he became such an unlucky pawn in some battle between heaven and hell. 
}}

2591/Pawns and Wagers

2017-10-02T21:55:02Z

Feigenbaum: Created page with "{{Log Header |Date of Scene=2017/09/15 |Location=South Dakota |Synopsis=Fred returns Dean's amulet to him. |Cast of Characters=160, 306 |Tinyplot=Blood on my Name |pretty=yes..."

{{Log Header
|Date of Scene=2017/09/15
|Location=South Dakota
|Synopsis=Fred returns Dean's amulet to him.
|Cast of Characters=160, 306
|Tinyplot=Blood on my Name
|pretty=yes
}}
{{Poses
|Poses=:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' It has been a little while since the ragged crew limped their way into the South Dakota arm of SHIELD. Fred stayed with her parents exclusively until she learned that her father would pull through and that her mother woke up. There were quite a few tears and apologies on either side, both attempting to tell the other it was not the other's fault. It was strangely reminiscent of their reunion after her return from Pylea. It's a little while after that, however, that she feels comfortable to leave her parents' room. The demon's ward pendant that Sam gave her is secure over her father's neck. That with the Sharpie drawings should ensure his safety. Her own temporary tattoo is sharply visible on her wrist. The physicist has a very specific destination in mind now and has asked Sam to stay with her parents - still not quite willing to leave them alone - as she takes care of something. That something becomes crystal clear when there is a knock on the door to Dean's room. Then, it slowly opens and only the head of Fred peeks through. "Hey Dean?" Her voice is soft, trying not to disturb, but wanting to disturb. "It's Fred. Gotta second? Or, really, more than a second. This is already more than a second and is this. That could go on awhile. What I really mean is, can you talk for a little bit?" 

:'''{{#var:306|Dean Winchester (306)}} has posed:''' Dean is probably supposed to be resting. He should be asleep. He should be happily hooked up to the IV that SHIELD insisted he be on. Instead? He's pacing the room. He doesn't have the wherewithal to sit still. He'd spent days with someone else controlling his mind. And he doesn't want to lie dormant anymore. Instead he wants activity; he longs for it. He's already disappeared from his room for an extended period of time wherein he went drinking with his brother and then found a quiet corner with Jo. He's got priorities, there's no question. His wellbeing just isn't one of them. He perks at the sound of his name, turning towards the door when she asks the question. "...hey." There's an awkwardness to the greeting and a stilted turn to the word. "Uh. Yeah. Come in. It's not..." he runs his hand through his hair. "I mean, it is," he shrugs, "what it looks like. I'm not sleeping or anything. Unless this is a dream, in which case dreams are no longer going in the direction expected." 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' Awkwardness is certainly something that Fred understands. That's generally how she lives her life. Once he doesn't tell her to get out or to get lost, she slips inside and shuts the door behind her. "Thanks." She has half expecting him to send her away or to ignore her. The fact that he's invited her in is already a better start to the conversation. That gives her a little bit more of a steady position, whatever that means. His stopping and starting sentence is met with a slight tilt of her head. For that moment, she looks almost like a bird that has heard a call she knows. If Fred knows anything it is that things don't look like what they might be."What's it not look like?" She's not even sure. Then, he explains. "Oh! I can help you figure that out!" Stepping forward, she attempts to pinch him quickly on the arm. Then, she pinches herself. "Look, I'm certainly not dreaming. Are you? Pinching's what gets you out of it." 

:'''{{#var:306|Dean Winchester (306)}} has posed:''' Dean squints at Fred when she pinches him. "Ow!" he's been possessed, cut, and generally damaged, but he complains at the pinching. His lips hitch up on one side into a crooked smile. "...thanks." They quirk again into something far easier. It's his grifter's smile. Practiced. Together. Everything about it might fool most skeptics. He motions for a chair. "If you want to sit, feel free." With a shrug he takes a single step back towards the bed, but opts to continue pacing instead. He shakes his head and then falls into paces again. "So." He can feel his lips tighten. "What's up?" There's another pause. "I mean... besides the obvious." His lips turn down again. 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' As Dean squints at her, Fred pulls her hand back quickly and sheepishly says, "Sorry!" She's not, really, though. She's helping! The thanks is met with a matching grifter smile. It's not meant to put Dean at ease, instead it is just a smile to show that she means him no ill will while not actually being in the best mood. Fred isn't most skeptics. She not even most people due to her years in a Hell Dimension. But she will take Dean's smile at mostly face value. As much as she takes anything from Dean at face value right now. It's not the words Alistair made him say that leaves Fred wary, it's what Dean - unpossessed - told her at the Crossroads that keeps her on the wary side. "I'm okay," she says to the seat. Instead, she doesn't pace but stands nearby the door. A hand reaches up to her collar bone and she touches something there before pulls the cord around her neck and pulls it out from under her shirt. It's the necklace that Alistair as Dean gave Fred. "I just...I came here to give you this back. It's yours." 

:'''{{#var:306|Dean Winchester (306)}} has posed:''' The smile fades. The chain causes Dean's every muscle to sag. Everything about him enters a temporary state of defeat. It's been a trying few days and as much as he's insisted he remembers nothing, he remembers all of it. Every detail wears on him. He nods towards her as he reaches out his hand to accept the amulet back again. He inhales a long breath and he can feel a dull ache in the centre of his chest. His jaw tightens. "...thanks." His hand rubs the back of his neck. And then, finally, he tugs the cord over his neck. "Wasn't sure where it went," he lies easily while he eyes narrow. "Glad that someone still had it and it wasn't lost to the road or something. Demons are bastards." 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' Fred can see the reaction the pendant has on Dean. This is not what Fred expected. She thought Dean would be very happy to see it again. It was in a safe place. Maybe he would be upset that Sam gave it to her instead of keeping it himself, but she wasn't expecting such an expression. Thought Dean is quite a grifter, such a violent reaction is something even Fred cannot misread. "Of course. It's yours," she reiterates. "I'm sorry I had it so long and, you know, like that. Sam told me how it was a gift to you." And how the fact that it was used against Dean must hurt him. Demons are bastards, Dean says. "Yeah. They are." Fred frowns, trying to bring up things, not sure how to do so. "They..." she closes her eyes. "I had this rabbit. My dad gave it to me when I was a weird kid. And then he gave it back after I came from Pylea. They..." she swallows. "It means a lot to me, that rabbit. They tried to tell me...they tried to make it..." She doesn't know what Dean is going through, what he remembers, what he doesn't. Her mother seemed to remember some horrible things. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to keep it. I know how much it means to the both of you." 

:'''{{#var:306|Dean Winchester (306)}} has posed:''' There's a lot of silence when Fred explains herself. Dean maintains that quiet when she speaks her truth. And it's only once he's convinced she's done that Dean speaks this time. "It's all lies you know," he knows the irony of his lie. "Demons, they twist something they know people care about and turn it into a lie." A flicker of a smile follows, "Probably best you know that now instead of down the road." He inhales a long breath. "Whatever they said about your rabbit is bullshit. It had enough truth to make it plausible, but they tried to destroy you with it. It's what they do." He actually shrugs at that. "They mine people's thoughts and use their own energies against them. Any fleeting thought or incline? A demon can exploit it." "And you don't need to apologize about keeping it for awhile. Like I said, just glad it wasn't lost to the road or something." He sniffs again. "It's fine. Honestly. I hadn't been without it in a long stretch is all. Get used to things like that, I think." 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' "Is it?" Fred asks Dean, both hopeful and skeptical when he tells them it's all lies. "I get that." Without either necklace about her neck now, she idly crosses her arms and rubs her arm. "That's good." Unable to help herself, she asks, "So, you don't think I replaced you, right?" Fred is not exactly the most subtle person. Sometimes she can drag that out of her, can keep things hidden. On matters like this? She can't. She's an open book. "My dad didn't think I was pathetic and gave me Feigenbaum because I couldn't make friends?" There are so many tiers of her question here. "Sorry, I'm..." this isn't fair to Dean. She shouldn't be asking this. "No, sorry, ignore me." She shakes her head, looking up at him, searching, trying to find the truth of this situation. "Are you? After everything? You're okay?" A tilt of her head again, perhaps not getting the context. "You get used to being possess by demons who try to use your family and relationships?" She's not being facetious, she is truly trying to understand. 

:'''{{#var:306|Dean Winchester (306)}} has posed:''' "Normally," Dean replies in earnest for once. "There's truth in what they say, but it's not The Truth. Not properly, anyways." He manages a vague smile while he mirrors her posture, crossing his arms over his chest. But the pointed question causes Dean's smile to falter some. "I don't know what he said to you," he lies, "but a lot of things replaced me in Sammy's life." There's nothing angry about the words, just the strange truth of the matter. "It wasn't all at once." The smile tightens, becoming guarded. "There might be an iota in the lie, but we do things for people we love because we love them. Not for some vindictive purpose. Demons just twist it." His lips purse. "I'm fine. I'm dehydrated, exhausted, and starved, but I'm fine." He tacks on, "I don't remember anything. There's different kinds of possession. Sometimes a demon wants the host to see it all. Other times? Nothing. They go dormant in their own minds. I'm happy to say I was the latter." The last has his eyebrows lifting, "No. This is the first time I've ever been possessed, Fred. Don't intend it to happen again." 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' "Ah. Okay. I think I get that." Fred's eyebrows crease as she thinks it through. It's not that she doesn't actually get it, nor does she think Dean is lying to her. She has little experience when it comes to possession. She knows that it happens and that a demon can walk around in a dead body and that a person can prevent a possession with a symbol. The specifics? The nitty gritty? That's all things she's still learning. "That's just it. I don't think anything could replace you." Fred's own voice is similar to Dean's. There's no anger or sadness there, just an observation as she's seen it. She knows how important Dean is to Sam as fact, she knows how important Sam is to Dean through his actions. When he says that he's fine, she can't help but give a soft shake of her head. "Y'know, Sam says that a lot, too. How he's fine." And that generally means he's not fine. With a frown, she looks a bit to the side, shifting topics just slightly, though keeping on the same subject. "I think my parents remember. What happened. They've been...it's been hard for them. I think they feel guilty. Which is funny, I guess, 'cause I'm the one that feels guilty about getting them into this and not telling them just what they could be getting into. They knew about things, before. But nothing like this." 

:'''{{#var:306|Dean Winchester (306)}} has posed:''' Undeniably, there's an air of skepticism at Fred's assertion. Dean's vision cuts downwards. His eyes hone in on the floor in front of him as he nearly bashfully turns downwards. He takes a step back, and seems to use the moment as an opportunity to tread back towards his bed. Which he sits on. That's the reason his vision moved at all. Slowly, in a near-defence, with all the markers of it, his arms cross lightly over his chest. "I'm not so convinced," he finally offers. "Look, I know Sam cares. It's not like..." his head turns towards the window. "...like I think he's forgotten about me." He finally attempts to meet Fred's gaze again. "But history and time suggest things won't be like they used to." He shrugs. He's trying to make light of that. Whether Fred believes or not, it's the story he's sticking to. Dean hums at the mention of Fred's parents. "Just remind them that they didn't do the things that their occupants did. They couldn't have stopped it. They couldn't have prevented it. It just was." His eyebrows lift and he shoots Fred a faint smile. "And don't feel guilty either. This one's on me." He shrugs at that. "A demon took up residence and took what they wanted. Your parents wouldn't have been on the radar if not for my brain. Just sayin'." 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' Fred's chin turns back to Dean as she sees him move back to the bed to sit out of the corner of her eye. Her head tilts just slightly as she takes in what he's saying. "Maybe it'll be different. I don't know. I don't really know what it was like before, though I've heard a bit about it." A lot of Sam's past is talked about in snippets and glimpses of the open road, a neglectful father and a watchful brother. "And if you'd've seen how worried he was on our way here...I dunno. I think you'd see." See what? It's hard to put into words, but she's hoping it gets across. The advice is taken with her own shrug of her shoulders. The messy braids her hair is currently pulled into jostle just slightly. "Then it's really not your fault, either. Only way they couldn't have gotten something is if you didn't have a brain." It's not an insult, nor is it joke, even. It's her attempt to be reassuring. Fred reassurance is sometimes very different from everything else. "Sam blames himself for a lotta stuff, too." 

:'''{{#var:306|Dean Winchester (306)}} has posed:''' Dean levels his gaze at Fred. He inhales a long breath. "Yeah, I know Sammy cares. I do." His lips twitch into a smile. "He's my brother. We only really had each other," increasingly it's a fact that Dean can't deny. John wasn't there. Isn't there. "So it's not like I think he doesn't care." He sucks on the inside of his cheek, "It's that the things he cares about shift. Maybe that's true for everyone, but it's..." he pauses to think of the right word. Instead of finding it, he lands on, "...something," not at all descriptive, "to be in the shuffle. You're an only child, right? I think it's probably what parents experience when the nest clears." He shrugs at that. The last warrants a tight smile. "Nah. I knew better. Your parents didn't. You didn't. I also pushed hard on this case when I probably should've talked to Sam or May about it sooner. That's all." 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' "I know." If Fred knows one thing about the Winchester dynamic for sure, it is how much John Winchester left his children on their own. "Alright." If Dean keeps saying that he knows Sam cares about him, that Fred hasn't replaced him, she'll leave it lie. It's unclear how much she believes him at the moment. The question about being an only child is met with a nod. "Always wanted a brother or a sister, honestly. There's a lot of big families in Texas and I was always just..." she can hear her father say what she's about to in that sneering tone. There's not exactly a bitter laugh, but the short 'ha' that comes out of her mouth has no humor. "...lonely." Moving away from that, she shrugs. "Probably a part of growing up, yeah. My parents didn't want me to move to LA, thought I was gonna get taken in by a cult or something. Instead, I fell into a portal. Then, they didn't want me to stay in New York at the Hyperion and they got possessed. Things might've been a lot easier for them if I'd listened." As for knowing better, she shakes her head. "They didn't, but I did. Y'know, when I met Sam, I was working a case on a possession. I didn't really know much about these kinds of demons, but I had one of Wesley's big Latin books. Saw what they could do firsthand and I didn't tell my parents 'cause I thought it'd worry them. So, I did know better. I think just 'cause we know better doesn't really mean much. I know better than to forget to include units in my equations, but I'll still do it every now and again." A situation that she is sure to be relatable to Dean. 

:'''{{#var:306|Dean Winchester (306)}} has posed:''' Dean can feel the weight on his shoulders at the mention of feeling lonely. It's a sensation he knows well. He can't talk about it. Won't talk about it. But loneliness has been his friend since Sam left. The Impala wasn't worth the price of admission. Fatherly pride wasn't worth his own ghosts. But despite all of the heaviness he feels, it translates into that same grifter's smile. His head ducks towards her. "Changes things," is what he lands on. "People grow up. Been told they move on. Eventually everyone leaves," Zachariah's words have been seared into his mind. Everyone will leave him. That's his lot in life. Getting attached, even to family, has no merit. His eyebrows draw together, he clears his throat, and shakes his head to lose the thought. Mostly it looks like he's getting fatigued. It's fortunate. He casts a glance at Fred and nods. "Yeah, but I should've been wearing something anti-possession. Should've gotten a tattoo years ago." Still afraid of needles. "So. Things." His eyebrows lift. "Just don't wear it." The mention of equations mostly sees his eyebrows knitting together tighter. "Sure. Units." What. 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' "I don't know if growing up means moving on and leaving. Doesn't for everyone. Know a lot of people who still live in Dallas." Fred doesn't know Zachariah's words or even Dean's own feelings of loneliness without Sam. In fact, she might not even know that the smile he puts on is a fake. The man is good at hiding his emotions to skilled people readers and after five years alone, she is certainly not one of those. She wasn't even one of those before Pylea. She always tended to prefer science and books to close friends and people. Seeing that Dean's starting to get tired, though, she takes a step back toward the door. "Maybe, but I still don't think that means it's on you." Seeing that Dean does understand about the fact that even knowing better doesn't always equate to doing that thing, she gives him a ghost of a smile. Hers, at least, is genuine. She's given back the amulet, she's attempted to talk to Dean. This is one of their conversation that hasn't ended in a fight or in them really arguing with each other. That's a win, right? "I should let you rest. If you need anything, I'm in the room about two down from you with my parents. They'll want to meet you, since we're all gonna be getting tattoos together." 

:'''{{#var:306|Dean Winchester (306)}} has posed:''' A nod follow Fred's word about leaving. Dean does feel tired. Rest would be wise. Plus it'll mean no more talking about whether Fred has replaced him. He hates that Alistair knows he thought that. He hates the Alistair knows how much Zachariah got to him. He's not even sure which is worse: that Zachariah could get to him so easily or that Alistair knows about it. His weaknesses have been laid bare. By his own damned mind. It's a conundrum that he's been wrestling with since he got his brain back. But despite all of this, his lips quirk into a tight smile. "Thanks for," he touches the amulet against his chest. It belongs close to his heart. He swallows hard. "Appreciate it. And thanks for keeping it safe. Just glad it didn't end up somewhere on the highway where I'd never have found it." He shifts on the bed to lay down, lightly lidding his eyes. And as he does so, he can't help but wonder how he became such an unlucky pawn in some battle between heaven and hell. 
}}

Meet the Parents

2017-10-02T06:27:31Z

Feigenbaum:

{{Log Header
|Date of Scene=2017/09/14
|Location=SHIELD Facility - South Dakota
|Synopsis=Fred stays with her parents while waiting for them to wake up. Sam keeps her company and they discuss the previous events as well as his blood addiction.
|Cast of Characters=294,160
|Tinyplot=Blood on My Name
|pretty=yes
}}
{{Poses
|Poses=:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' Sam actually was considerate enough to text Fred that he was taking Dean for some drinks. This seemed like a totally reasonable thing to do to him apparently. Winchesters. He’d also said he’ll be in to see her and her parents shortly. He maybe had the update that Mr. Burkle was still alive from other sources, because he also texts that SHIELD doctors are the best in the world, a form of reassurance, he hopes, that Roger will pull through. But he had to heal this relationship with his brother. Still, he doesn’t get too drunk and he doesn’t wait too long. It’s almost impossible to tell he has been drinking, other than the scent of hard whiskey on his plaid shirt and flak jacket. He knocks gently on the door of the room that has been assigned to Fred’s parents. 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' Fred has been with her parents ever since they collapsed on the yard of Bobby’s house. She knows that Dean is in dire straits, but he’s also with Sam. She knows he’ll ensure his brother is safe and right now her place is with them. If she’s upset that he’s not with her, that doesn’t show at all. The text from Sam is quickly read, but she has too much nervous energy to reply back in a timely manner. There’s some relief to know that if Dean is well enough to slip out to go drinking, that he’ll pull through. In the sterile, white SHIELD medical room, Fred sits down for a few minutes before getting up and pacing. The beeps of the machines monitoring her mother and father almost echo in the silence. She’s not sure what else to do. Writing on the walls here is not going to fly, she knows that. However, she did manage to get some sheafs of paper and a pen. In an attempt to occupy her thoughts, she’s just started to write down Pi to the last decimal she can remember. The document is impressively long, even considering that it gets paused every now and again so she can pace. Buried deep down in her worry is her guilt. This is her fault. She did this to her parents. And now her father is barely surviving and her mother has been badly injured, too. The knock on the door causes her to swing about, a bit wild eyed until she realizes that most evil things don’t knock. She makes her way to the door and opens it to find Sam there. There’s a soft exhale of relief and almost immediately she moves to wraps her arms around him in a fierce hug. 

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' A lot of people think the jury is still out on that evil thing, but Sam knocks. He catches her in his arms and holds her close and tight, exhaling sharply. He strokes her hair, and a rush of feelings he wasn’t feeling come barreling in. He could have lost her. She could have lost her parents. He kisses her too, so glad is he to see her. It’s probably more than parents want to see, but he’s just suddenly so relieved. Delayed reactions are a thing. He’s a little pale and a little peaked, and he sure does taste like Jack Daniels, but he doesn’t seem drunk and he doesn’t seem too deep in withdrawal yet. The time is coming, but for now he holds it together. It’s been almost a day though. Sam had fallen asleep in the chair by Dean’s bed. His four to six hour dosage schedule is off. His fault, for not thinking to grab a supply, but rescuing Dean had been all that was on his mind. Truthfully he could have stopped to grab other allies too, but… Well. All’s well that ends well. If it does. “How are they?” he asks her in a soft whisper, smoothing some of her hair back from her face. 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' Delayed reactions are certainly a thing. Throughout the ordeal and afterward, Fred kept the worry about Sam and Dean to a lower pitch. She had her parents to think about, so it was a bit easier to do. Now, though? With Sam there, the rush hits her all at once. He could have died, they could not have been able to rescue Dean. So many things hung in the balance that they are now dealing with. As such, Fred merely holds tightly onto Sam. Eagerly, she kisses him, unembarrassed by the fact that her parents are resting behind her. She certainly tastes the Jack Daniels, but he told her he was going drinking with Dean, so that is not exactly a surprise. The question is met with a moment where she tries to gather her thoughts. “Mom is doing better. She doesn’t have any lasting injuries. Dad is still…” she rests her head against his chest. “He’s still in bad shape. They think he should make make it, but he was…” it’s hard to say. “He was under longer. More malnourished.” These demons certainly didn’t expect to care for the people they were wearing for long. “It takes a toll.” Her voice is soft, pained as she says it. “They couldn’t have prepared for something like this.” 

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' “The good news is if the vessel doesn’t die from shock directly after exorcism the survival rate is high.” Words like ‘vessel’ may seem like callous choices, but Sam’s words are very gently put and even gently meant. It’s just...terminology that he’s used to using. The less robotic-version follows anyway. “He’ll pull through, Fred. Truly, these doctors are incredible here. They once healed my broken arm in 4 weeks instead of 6; that’s unheard of. They will take care of your Dad.” He is loathe to let her go, so doesn’t, resting his forehead against her forehead. “You were brilliant,” he murmurs. “Fierce, brave, and amazing.” He knows to his toes she probably doesn’t /feel/ that way, but it doesn’t change the fact that she /was/, and he thinks nobody ever suffered from knowing they were fierce, brave, and amazing. “I love you so much.” 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' A shiver goes down Fred’s body as Sam tells her that if her father didn’t die from shock immediately, he has a high chance of survival. She knows he’s trying to help, trying to assure her the the worst is over. She can still hear her father’s voice taunting her in a tone that is certainly not his own, feel the pressure as she is pressed against the car. He’ll pull through. That’s what she’s been clinging to this whole time. “It’s still my fault,” she says, softly, wracked with guilt. “I shoulda...I shoulda told them, warned them. Maybe they coulda stopped it.” Sam’s quite right in thinking she doesn’t feel fierce or brave or amazing. She feels guilty, horrible. A part of her wishes to pull away, to sequester herself away again, away from everything and everyone. “I love you, too.” It’s the truth, murmured against him. And so, she stays. Still tense under his arms, but there. She can’t describe to Sam right now how unlike a fierce, brave woman she feels, so she instead asks, “How’s Dean?” 

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' He puts his hands on her shoulders and looks down at her solemnly. “No. It was Azazel’s fault. It was Alistair’s fault. Never yours. You had no way of anticipating that. Don’t do that to yourself. And we’re going to make sure it never happens again. Hope your parents are up to getting some ink. And you, for that matter.” He smiles ruefully at her. “In the meantime, mind if I draw on your parents in Sharpie? I’ve warded this building, but I’m not interested in taking chances.” She asks how Dean is, and his face softens. He smiles. “We talked,” he says. For them, that’s huge. Maybe it says everything it needs to say. But some of the raw guilt and pain that has literally haunted Winchester the Elder in regards to his brother has lifted. It seems almost unfair, as guilty as she feels. He withdraws his Sharpie. “I wanna draw on you in Sharpie too. I’m feeling very mature.”

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' Rationally, Fred knows that it is not actually her fault. She wasn’t the one to possess her parents. However, she does still feel the stab of guilt in knowing that this never would have happened if the demons weren’t trying to get to her, to break her. The kernel of it is that they were hurt because of her. She knows what she would - and has - told Sam in situations like this. It feels so hypocritical to now not accept the same logic. Yet, she can’t help that feeling. “It never even occurred to me that they’d take them. They’re not a part of any of this, not anywhere near it. They wouldn’t’ve even seen it coming, had no way to prepare.” They might not even have known why they suddenly couldn’t control their own bodies. “I was so stupid.” And she’s not used to being stupid. Being drawn on in Sharpie is met with a surprised blink. “If Sharpie’ll work, okay.” The last thing she wants is for any of them to get possessed ever again. Hearing that Sam and Dean talked is met with just as surprised a look, truthfully. She knows exactly how little the brothers tend to talk to each other about feelings or matters such as this. It’s something she’s yelled at both of them about. “That’s good,” she says softly, meaning it. “I’m glad. Will he be okay?” 

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' He takes her arm and begins gently drawing the anti-possession ward on her right wrist. He’ll save the lecture on /why/ this works for later, though it might make good car talk. A whole delve into the collective unconscious and the theories on why hedge magic works for anyone. He draws as he listens to her. Sometimes logic isn’t enough. He decides to answer her question first, then circle back around. “Okay is relative for us,” he says, pretty matter-of-factly. “But he’s tough, and he’s bouncing back.” Now for this other thing. Okay is relative for Fred now, too, he suspects. And for her parents, maybe. “Nobody who gets into this life asks for it. Nobody who gets touched by it asks for it. You can’t stop evil from touching people. All you can do is resist it, and then move forward when it does. I’ll make them a copy of my journal, and they’ll have Supernatural 101 to read through. It will help them make basic preparations, teach them how to defend themselves. You told me your Mom once ran over a giant bug with a VW, so...my guess is they’re damned tough, and they’d be pretty upset that you’re blaming yourself. They seem to be good parents, and they probably feel just as guilty about you falling through a portal to another dimension. You’d be sad if they blamed themselves for that.” He doesn’t lift his head through all of this, concentrating on drawing the ward just right.

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' As Sam pulls away to draw on her arm, Fred tries to keep her arm steady and turns it wrist up. It tickles just slightly, but she manages to not pull or twist her arm too much. She knows it’s important that he gets all the little pieces and drawings just right for it to have any sort of potency. Okay is relative. That certainly seems like a motto for the Winchesters at times. The kidnapping and possession of her parents - and near death of her father - has been particularly rough on Fred after the events of the Hydra base. She was just starting to get a sense of safety when something else was proven to be unstable, able to be exploited. It’s, again, left her feeling a bit adrift. Her eyes continually shift from the Sharpie drawing Sam’s etching on her arm to his face as he concentrates. “He is. I’m glad he’s doing better.” Despite all this and despite their drag-out fight at the Crossroads, that’s a point of fact. She’s sure what the brothers spoke about was personal, so she doesn’t yet pry into their topics of conversations. Whatever it was eventually ended in some hard liquor, it seems. That’s, hopefully, a good thing. By Sam’s demeanor it certainly is. As Sam continues to reassure her, Fred’s attention is drawn to the bed where her mother lays, still. “It was actually a Greyhound bus,” she says softly in remembering, almost smiling. “Not a VW bus. My mom’s a bus driver, so she used what she knew.” That might be just where Fred gets her adaptive and innovative drive. She exhales. “None of us knew about portals when I fell through. How could any of us have known that was even a possibility? No one was at fault for that. It was just something that happened. But these demons? We fought one the night I met you, I knew just how nasty they could be. I should’ve...I don’t know. I should’ve kept them more up to date, but I didn’t want to scare them.” The mention of a journal to help with preparations and to make sure this never happens again is met with a resolute nod. “That’ll be a good start. Thanks. For everything. For saving my mom.” 

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' “You’d have saved her if I didn’t.” He finishes up. Mischievously, he blows on it a little to tickle her, giving her his most impish grin, tilting his eyes up to see her reaction. It’s a point of fact that humor is something he uses to try to make people feel better, whether it’s Dean or Fred or James Barnes. He learned to act the clown early, because sometimes it even broke up John Winchester’s rages. He doesn’t rely on it exclusively, but it is a tool in his toolbox. He takes her palm and kisses that, then goes to sit by Mr. Burkle’s bedside. He took the worst, so he gets the first temporary ward. “Hope he doesn’t choose right about now to wake up,” he says, as he starts to color, flashing Fred a grin. Sometimes talking it out isn’t the same as communicating. Sometimes addressing the issues directly doesn’t solve them. Sometimes just acting a little bit normal does that. “Can you imagine? Hello, Mr. Burkle, it’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Sam Winchester, dating your daughter, drawing on your arm…” Sometimes there’s only moving forward, and doing so confidently. She can go round and round and round in circles. He has a feeling she’ll forgive herself only when they wake up. 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' Unable to help herself, Fred laughs pulls back from Sam. The sound breaks some of the tension in the room. She stands a little easier. A hand reaches out to touch the temporary tattoo that has been drawn on her - but she hesitates at the last minute, not wishing to smudge it. Instead, for a few moments, she merely studies it. Though she’s seen the tattoo on Sam’s chest, it’s a bit different to see it on her own wrist. That first laugh already broken, a second joins it. Moving over to Sam, she leans against the back wall and watches this drawing happen as well. Almost ruefully, she reminds him, “You did want to meet my parents one day.” Shaking her head, she imagines that conversation. It might be a strange way for her father to wake up, but that also means he’d be awake. She’d take that. She’d take an awkward first meeting if that meant he woke up, she knows that. Outloud, she says, “Y’know, I can’t tell if he’d be upset or amused. Probably just confused.” Especially since she’s sure the last time he was in control of his own body he was in Texas, not South Dakota. “ Probably’d try and tell a lame joke. He’s fond of those.” Fred looks down at her shoes, words still spilling out of her mouth as usual. “I told them, when I was about to move out to LA for that graduate program, I promised them I’d be boring and dull. They were so worried. Thought I’d get taken in by some drug dealers or pornographers. They must’ve been terrified when I disappeared for those years, thinking the worst. And even when I came back, I didn’t go back to Texas. I sent them a letter to let them know I was okay, but I didn’t go home. Didn’t visit. I couldn’t. I couldn’t let them see me. Even though I tried to keep my promise, everything went bad. They hired a PI to find me.” She pauses, gathering the story about her as she tries to tell it. “And y’know my first reaction on seeing them? I ran. I ran so fast. I tried to skip town, get away from them, but they followed me. They saved me. I didn’t really get over Pylea till they came for me. It didn’t matter that I got trapped, that I ran from them. They’re so...they’re so good, Sam. And what happened to them? Look.” A hand reaches up to press against her face, the tears now spilling down freely against her cheeks. 

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' Sam gets the first ward does while he’s listening to her, but he puts the Sharpie down to go fold her in his arms when she starts to cry. He strokes her hair and just holds her there for a little while. “I already knew they were good. They raised you,” he says quietly. “You’d been through something horrific, Fred. I think running sounds pretty natural. I think in your shoes I’d have run too.” He can imagine the feelings of shame and panic she must have been feeling. It’s one of the basic unfairnesses of life that traumatized people tend to blame themselves first and their captors second, if ever. But he decides she might just need to cry it out, so he leads her over to a chair by the bedside, gently coaxes her into it, and kneels beside it so she can lean on him while he wraps his big arms around her. 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' There’s embarrassment in her crying. They all went through horrible things. Jo’s mother was taken, Sam’s brother and yet she seems to be the one - again - ill equipped to emotionally handle it. “I’m sorry,” Fred apologizes as she cries against his chest. “I shouldn’t…” She shouldn’t cry, shouldn’t interrupt his drawing of the wards. “I’m such a mess.” Despite that, she allows him to guide her to the chair and sits down onto it. There, she leans forward one hand on her face and the other resting on Sam’s shoulder as he wraps his arms about her in comfort. “I don’t know what I’m doing.” Even though Sam has readily given her a place to cry herself out, she tries to rein those tears in, to stop herself. “I keep doing this, keep breaking down. I don’t mean to.” 

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' She apologizes, and he shakes his head. “There’s nothing wrong with emotions.” He’ll probably need the reminder himself, at some point. “You’re not breaking down, you’re processing. It’s healthy.” He takes her hand. “There’s no standards here. There’s nobody out there handing out prizes for the person who cries the least when horrible things and people do horrible stuff to you and the ones you care about. You are allowed to have any reaction you want to have. I promise. And though I wouldn’t have thought any less of you if you had, you definitely didn’t break down when it counted.” He pulls back, but only so he can take her hands. He squeezes. “You walked right in there with me, Fred. And if you hadn’t been that brave, your parents might not be okay right now. Because I’d have had no clue who they were, do you understand me? I needed to know who they were. It’s something that shouldn’t have mattered, but right then it did. Because it made me think twice. You saved them. By doing nothing more than saying no way, Sam, we go together. Do you know how courageous that makes you?” He rests his forehead against hers again. “Do you know how rare it is, to be there for someone like that?” 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' “What about walk it off?” Fred asks, hand slipping from her face to rest in her lap. It’s the thing she’s heard him say so many times. Of course, she has also attempted to get him to not do that every time it has come up, but she can’t help but ask the question. His words of comfort slow the tears. She’s been crying in front of him a lot lately and she wishes she were stronger. After scrubbing at her eyes, she watches him take her hand and tell her that she didn’t break down when it counted. Remembering her mother’s screams and her father’s taunts, she shakes her head a little again. She’s not actively attempting to dismiss that line of thought, but she also isn’t sure she’s ready to accept that what she did was at all connected with strength - to her it was all pure survival instinct. When Sam takes her other hand to explain just exactly how else she contributed, she keeps her focus on their held hands. “I wasn’t gonna let you go in there alone.” That’s a simple fact to her, a truth of which she wouldn’t consider the opposite side. The assertion that Sam knowing Roger and Trish were her parents saved them is met with a shake of her head. “You wouldn’t have hurt them,” she says, firm in her belief in his goodness and wish to save others. She hasn’t actually seen Sam extract the demon blood that he injects and she certainly did not see him drink from a gash in his brother’s leg in order to gain the amount of power needed to expel Alistair. What she does think on, though, is how weak her father is now and how any wound from a shotgun shell filled with salt or draw of blood might have tipped the scales against him surviving the exorcism. She can see her father attempting to subdue Sam and him needing to drive him back, had she not been there. The thought of it makes her wince. “Even if…” She can’t quite say she would be okay with Sam hurting her parents in any way, but she also understands to a certain extent. “I know it was dire circumstances. We had the shotguns filled with salt, we had the bomb. Any of them might have...” might have been too much for Roger. Even if she can’t say that thought aloud. As she presses her forehead against his, Fred closes her eyes. She takes a breath, circles back to another topic. “I’m not sure I could’ve saved my Mom if you didn’t,” she says softly. “I couldn’t open my eyes after the first exorcism. I couldn’t bear to see if I’d exorcised him and all that was left was…” nothing, a body. “By that time, it felt like my head was being crushed. I don’t think I could have remembered all the right words.” 

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' ‘What about walk it off?’ He looks down. “Our father taught us a lot of messed up stuff. Some of it spews out of even my mouth sometimes without examination. Walk it off is one of those things. Just...please be patient while I try to root that stuff out of my head, okay? I don’t really believe that ‘walk it off’ is a standard we should be trying for. Even if I sometimes try to apply it to myself.” It would also be very easy. To be very dishonest. That’s his impulse. That’s what he was taught. His knee-jerk reaction is to keep things hidden. But that’s just shutting people out, cutting them off, running away. The thing he just asked Dean to stop doing. “Maybe,” he says, quietly, doubtfully. “I was pretty desperate. I think Alistair set it up that way to make me berserk out. Make me attack all those demons for their blood so I’d have enough juice to shove him out of my brother. Because if I’d killed your parents, and Ash, and Ellie, and all those other people just to save Dean, I would have truly become the monster he wants me to be. And I think it would be...hubris. To assume I don’t have that in me somewhere.” 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' “Okay,” Fred says, simply. She can give him that - time to work through his own thoughts. She certainly knows that she needs her own when it comes to big thoughts as she has recently. “I will.” There’s a sigh. “I just wondered if it was...better.” Better than breaking down into tears, better than feeling wrung out and weak, like she feels right now. As they talk and Sam is honest, telling her exactly what he was thinking in that moment, there’s a prolonged silence. It’s certainly a charged subject, even though it shouldn’t be. This should be how she would react should he tell her that he might kill a random innocent person; however, the horrible truth is that it holds even more weight in the fact that her parents were the ones that were in the balance. Beneath his arms, Fred tenses at the thought of it. That he could have killed her parents to save Dean. A part of her understands and yet another rages at the idea that he could have killed her parents for Dean. That trade seems so personal, the way it should have before this. “Is that…” she trails off, unsure what to say, how to phrase this. “Is it the blood that makes you think that? Or is that you?” She needs to know. It is a question born of need to know rather than judgement, reflected in her voice. “Do you know?” 

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' He feels her tense, and he stands up. Under the cover of getting the Sharpie and going to her mother’s bedside, he puts distance between them. It is for his sake as much as for hers. He has been honest, but he has also admitted the darkness inside himself. She has reacted in wholly reasonable ways. “The blood can’t make me into anything I’m not already. It can make it easier to give way to my worst impulses, but I wouldn’t be capable of expediency with it if I weren’t capable of it without it. I think we all are. I think it boils down to choice.” A pause. “I hope it does.” He sighs, carefully creating the protective sigil, refusing to look at her. “And berserk is...berserk. It’s snapping and going nuts and-- I don’t think I would do it as a calculated thing, if that’s what you’re asking. I just think knowing made a difference. It made me stop and think. Hold myself back. It was-- Alistair is--” 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' As Sam stands and makes his way to her mother’s bedside, Fred remains in the chair. Even as he puts a little distance between them, he’s ensuring that her mother can’t be possessed by drawing on her in Sharpie. Again, she feels guilty, feels as if she’s pushing him away and that’s the last thing she wants, even with this latest insight. “I think it does,” she tells him as to choice mattering. “You’re a good man, Sam. I’m sorry, I’m doing this all wrong.” Fred sighs and runs a hand through her long hair, grabbing a handful of it and tugging at it idly. “I don’t think you’re a killer.” Even though he says the possibility is still there within him, she doesn’t see him that way. His mention of berserk is what spurs her next string of words. “When you get angry, when you think someone you love is in danger? Sometimes your eyes change. It happened when the Soldier tried to kill me. It happened when you were talking to Alistair on the phone when he had Dean. Your eyes go black. Not entirely, not like...it’s just your irises.” She pauses, trying to gather her thoughts, then continues. “And I understand that. I think about what that thing did to my parents, what it did to you and Dean and I want...I want to make it suffer. I don’t know what it would take to hold me back from unleashing all manner of inventions and bombs against it.” Finally, she stands and then moves behind Sam. She doesn’t reach out to him just yet, as he’s paying attention to the ward on her mother and as he has yet to look at her again. Yet, she still stands there. 

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' He doesn’t draw away from her closeness. He welcomes it, though he doesn’t stop what he’s doing now that he’s doing it. It’s still a spell, and if it’s one he can do with a minimal amount of focus he still needs some. He’s listening to her, but it’s clear by the slight tic in his cheek and the fearful swallow he hadn’t known that. “Demon eyes,” he murmurs. He swallows. “I’m getting off this stuff, Fred. Soon as I can. Alistair wants me on it. No powers, no matter how good, can be worth playing into his plans. I’m terrified I won’t have what I need to bring about a good outcome without it but I can’t…” He shakes his head roughly. “I trust Claire. Claire can help me with this. If it can be done, Claire can do it.” Memories of Hell dance in his mind. He stares grimly back at them, and colors away. 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' Of course, Fred doesn’t attempt to interfere with Sam’s work. Instead, she stays close by. His immediate thought on the matter is met with slight shake of her head. “Not exactly,” she tells him in a soft voice, but also observationally. “Not fully black eyes.” It’s more than a minor relief that Sam says that he’s going to get off of the demon blood. She knows how powerful a hold it has on him, how he has been using it to help people, but she does not like it. It seems to be hurting him and turning him toward something Alistair wants him to be, which they both do not want. Without hesitation, she puts a gentle hand on his shoulder. She doesn’t want to interrupt him, but she can’t help but reassure him. “It’ll be enough,” she says, sure of herself, of him. “You’re a good man and a good hunter.” His choice of help in getting him to detox is met with a nod. “If anyone can help, I think it’s Claire.” She doesn’t know the nurse incredibly well, but what she saw made her trust. 

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' There is some relief for her clarification. The slight shift of his body welcomes the fall of her hand. It would be so easy not to disclose. She clearly missed his desperate third option. But the honesty they are developing between them is valuable to him. “It’s going to be harder. I took blood from Alistair instead of from our people. His was…” He lifts the pen briefly to avoid fouling his work to the slight shaking of his hand. It was incredible. It was a rush of pleasure unlike anything he had ever experienced. It was feeling strong and powerful, free from fear. He clears his throat and says, just a little bit hoarsely: “Potent.” Like all he can think about, like he could all but summon Alistair just to fall to his knees and beg for more… He looks up at her, and then, rapidly, away. He returns to his work. It is not just anger that brings the black eyes it seems. Other darknesses, other needs, can transform them. This one can make the desperation and need all but shine from them. And the sick sensation of a self-loathing that was always present, but which has found a great deal more fuel for the fire of late. 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' Fred certainly did miss Sam’s third option. There was quite a lot going on and her attention was almost immediately grabbed by the possession of her parents and they managed to certainly keep it through most of the showdown. The worry and the fear gave her a bit of a narrowed view of the yard and so the desperate drink of blood from his brother and Alistair’s blood to ensure he could banish the demon. The hand still stays there after she learns of his desperate ploy. She knows that he injured his brother to ensure that he didn’t hurt her parents and that means quite a bit to her. Briefly, she dips her head to kiss Sam on his forehead when he pauses, noticing his shaking hands as he describes why this will be more difficult after the events of earlier. Part of the reason it will be harder on him was a choice he made to help her. “We’ll help,” she tells him softly. When he turns to look at her, eyes changing color, she doesn’t pull away. “However we can.” Gently, she bends over to rest her cheek against gently against his head. “Thank you. For doing that instead of the alternative.” 

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' He turns briefly to bury his face in her stomach, just wanting to hide there. He feels the urge to cry suddenly, but he doesn’t want to. She needs him, not the other way around. His eyes remain dry, but his shoulders slump. It should not have mattered who it was, but it did matter, and that is perhaps the thing which frightens him most of all. His mission is to save people, not to sacrifice them. He takes a few deep breaths and lets them out again, noting that she’s starting to accept him how he is now, to be more matter-of-fact about it. He’d be hard pressed to explain why all the long, worried looks from his friends have driven him so batshit. But they do. He can handle just evaluating the situation and making decisions in response to it. He can’t handle all those weighted, worried looks. At last, he pulls back. He has a ward to finish. He smiles at her, a boyish grin that doesn’t quite touch his (hazel, again) eyes. “So. Care to help me find a tattoo parlor that plays Zeppelin? I think we need a giant ward party. And Dean won’t do it unless they are, and I quote, not hippies who don’t even know who Zeppelin is.”

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' Unfortunately for Sam, Fred will worry. It’s in her nature to care and worry for the people she loves, especially after living so long without anyone. Having people who care about her tends to bring out a fierce sort of protection and loyalty. Worrying about those people comes along with that. When he presses his face against her stomach, she adjusts. Her arms wrap around his shoulders and she keeps her own head bowed over him. She can feel his shoulders slump and worries that she has disappointed him somehow or made him feel worse. That’s not what she wants. For the moments that he stays there, she holds him tightly and quietly against her. After he pulls back, she returns the smile in much the same manner that he does. “Are there a lot of hippie tattoo artists? I always thought of them to be like bikers and stuff.” 

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' “That’s what I thought too,” Sam says, in an airy fashion that says he knows damn well most are. “But apparently I was totally wrong on that count.” But he won’t /tell/ on Dean by saying that he’s afraid of needles. He just enjoys the joke. He squeezes her again, and exhales. She’s better than he deserves, and he feels an overwhelming surge of love for her at that moment. He doesn’t want to let her go-- But he has to see to her mother. So he murmurs, “Don’t go far, you,” while he turns to do that. And then, “Unless you think it’s going to be super awkward for her to wake up and see that,” he says. Then again this whole situation might be mildly to moderately awkward for a whole host of reasons. Why not that one? He just wants her close. 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' “Huh.” Fred takes that mostly at face value, but there’s a bit of skepticism. It’s not exactly important as to why Dean is so adamant on finding a tattoo place with Zeppelin, after all. They just need to do it in order to ensure Dean will get the tattoo. “Okay. We can find one.” She’s reluctant to let him go, too. For a quick moment she squeezes him tight. It’s when he turns back to finish the ward on her mother that she pulls back. There’s a soft laugh when he asks if it will be awkward for her parents to wake up and see her holding him. “No, I don’t think so,” she says and wraps her arms around his shoulders while he works. She stays close by, comforted by his presence, resting her cheek against him.“Or, if she does, it’s okay. She might be pleased. For awhile she was telling me all about these eligible bachelors from back home. Might be pretty pleased to see a big handsome man like you here.” 

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' A duck of Sam’s chin and a flash of that boyish grin. His long lashes flutter down to conceal his eyes. He’s flattered. He even preens a little. This man likes being told how handsome he is. It’s one of his faults. It’s not going away anytime soon. It doesn’t hurt that once he was a scrawny kid with floppy hair, and nobody would have called him handsome. He still remembers being that kid. He got in the habit of wearing multiple shirts and a big jacket over that to make himself look bigger. Ironic as that was. Of course. Kids always did get surprised when he turned out more than capable of beating the shit out of them despite his small size and depressingly round face. He finishes the ward and finally caps the sharpie, then leans his head back against her, closing his eyes for a moment and smiling. As with Dean, he’s going to steal a happy moment while he’s got it. “I am crazy in love with you,” he says, and though he says it before, he’ll say it again. “So all those bachelors are just going to have to run away and be sad.” 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' “I love you, too,” Fred replies against him. Once the ward is finished, she shifts. Still keeping her arms about him, she circles him until they’re facing and then kneels down. Folding herself more tightly against him, she finally starts to relax some from all the adrenaline and fear that has filled her for so long. She grins at the idea of the long line of bachelors her mother has discussed with her running off. “Those poor young men, so callous about their feelings!” she teases. “How’re they ever gonna recover from that?” The worry about her father’s condition remains near the forefront of her thoughts, but now that Sam is here and helping, things seem a little more manageable a little less dire. A tiredness starts to wash through her and she’ll attempt to move Sam so that they can sit down on the floor and lean against the wall and then she can curl against him. If her parents wake up to see her and Sam like that, she certainly doesn’t seem like she minds. 

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' He has a better idea. As soon as he realizes what she wants he just scoops her up. It’s like she weighs next to nothing to him, which may or may not be true. He retreats to the “concerned loved one’s chair” at the side of the room. Since it’s a SHIELD medical facility and not a cheap hospital the thing is plush and well stuffed, if vinyl. And slate grey. Because SHIELD and its obsession with branding. He hooks the ottoman with one foot, dragging it closer, then settles down with her in it. He settles her into his lap and wraps his broad arms gently around her, then starts stroking her hair. “There,” he murmurs. He is behind this plan. And if they do wake up, well, Roger’s probably in no shape to punch him in the nose. He’ll have time to win them over with charming smiles maybe. “If you need to catch some shut-eye go right ahead. I can wake you when they wake up.” Dean needed to get out, to go drink, to hit the road for a little while, if only for 40 minutes or so. Fred might need someone to stand sentry for her, to give her back that sensation of safety. Fortunately he’s well equipped for both sorts of comfort. 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' As Sam scoops her up, Fred gives a soft surprised sound. However, she gives no struggle or noise of protest against his thought. Instead, she rests easily against him. Once he settles them down on the concerned family chair, she lets out a breath. The fear, the worry, they’re still there. Now, though, she finally feels as if she can relax with Sam there and looking out for her. Much as he’s already suspected, he makes her feel safe and that’s exactly what she needs at this moment after the demons demonstrated just how vulnerable she can be. So, she rests her head against his chest, murmuring as he starts to stroke her hair, “Mm, no, I don’t need to sleep. Just...lie here for a bit..” Her words are spoken sleepily into him, contradicting herself even as she says them. Indeed, it takes little to no time for her eyes to shut and her breathing to even out. A few minutes after settling, she’s asleep. 

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' He’d chuckle fondly at this display. But it might shake her awake. Instead, he swallows it back, hazel eyes twinkling, and just stays right where he is, stroking her hair and holding her for however long she needs. 
}}

Meet the Parents

2017-10-02T06:26:53Z

Feigenbaum: Created page with "{{Log Header |Date of Scene=2017/09/14 |Location=SHIELD Facility - South Dakota |Synopsis=Fred stays with her parents while waiting for them to wake up. Sam keeps her company..."

{{Log Header
|Date of Scene=2017/09/14
|Location=SHIELD Facility - South Dakota
|Synopsis=Fred stays with her parents while waiting for them to wake up. Sam keeps her company and they discuss the previous events as well as his blood addiction.
|Cast of Characters=294, 160
|Tinyplot=Blood on My Name
}}
{{Poses
|Poses={{Log Header
|Date of Scene=2017/09/14
|Location=SHIELD Facility - South Dakota
|Synopsis=Fred stays with her parents while waiting for them to wake up. Sam keeps her company and they discuss the previous events as well as his blood addiction.
|Cast of Characters=294,160
|Tinyplot=Blood on My Name
|pretty=yes
}}
{{Poses
|Poses=:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' Sam actually was considerate enough to text Fred that he was taking Dean for some drinks. This seemed like a totally reasonable thing to do to him apparently. Winchesters. He’d also said he’ll be in to see her and her parents shortly. He maybe had the update that Mr. Burkle was still alive from other sources, because he also texts that SHIELD doctors are the best in the world, a form of reassurance, he hopes, that Roger will pull through. But he had to heal this relationship with his brother. Still, he doesn’t get too drunk and he doesn’t wait too long. It’s almost impossible to tell he has been drinking, other than the scent of hard whiskey on his plaid shirt and flak jacket. He knocks gently on the door of the room that has been assigned to Fred’s parents. 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' Fred has been with her parents ever since they collapsed on the yard of Bobby’s house. She knows that Dean is in dire straits, but he’s also with Sam. She knows he’ll ensure his brother is safe and right now her place is with them. If she’s upset that he’s not with her, that doesn’t show at all. The text from Sam is quickly read, but she has too much nervous energy to reply back in a timely manner. There’s some relief to know that if Dean is well enough to slip out to go drinking, that he’ll pull through. In the sterile, white SHIELD medical room, Fred sits down for a few minutes before getting up and pacing. The beeps of the machines monitoring her mother and father almost echo in the silence. She’s not sure what else to do. Writing on the walls here is not going to fly, she knows that. However, she did manage to get some sheafs of paper and a pen. In an attempt to occupy her thoughts, she’s just started to write down Pi to the last decimal she can remember. The document is impressively long, even considering that it gets paused every now and again so she can pace. Buried deep down in her worry is her guilt. This is her fault. She did this to her parents. And now her father is barely surviving and her mother has been badly injured, too. The knock on the door causes her to swing about, a bit wild eyed until she realizes that most evil things don’t knock. She makes her way to the door and opens it to find Sam there. There’s a soft exhale of relief and almost immediately she moves to wraps her arms around him in a fierce hug. 

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' A lot of people think the jury is still out on that evil thing, but Sam knocks. He catches her in his arms and holds her close and tight, exhaling sharply. He strokes her hair, and a rush of feelings he wasn’t feeling come barreling in. He could have lost her. She could have lost her parents. He kisses her too, so glad is he to see her. It’s probably more than parents want to see, but he’s just suddenly so relieved. Delayed reactions are a thing. He’s a little pale and a little peaked, and he sure does taste like Jack Daniels, but he doesn’t seem drunk and he doesn’t seem too deep in withdrawal yet. The time is coming, but for now he holds it together. It’s been almost a day though. Sam had fallen asleep in the chair by Dean’s bed. His four to six hour dosage schedule is off. His fault, for not thinking to grab a supply, but rescuing Dean had been all that was on his mind. Truthfully he could have stopped to grab other allies too, but… Well. All’s well that ends well. If it does. “How are they?” he asks her in a soft whisper, smoothing some of her hair back from her face. 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' Delayed reactions are certainly a thing. Throughout the ordeal and afterward, Fred kept the worry about Sam and Dean to a lower pitch. She had her parents to think about, so it was a bit easier to do. Now, though? With Sam there, the rush hits her all at once. He could have died, they could not have been able to rescue Dean. So many things hung in the balance that they are now dealing with. As such, Fred merely holds tightly onto Sam. Eagerly, she kisses him, unembarrassed by the fact that her parents are resting behind her. She certainly tastes the Jack Daniels, but he told her he was going drinking with Dean, so that is not exactly a surprise. The question is met with a moment where she tries to gather her thoughts. “Mom is doing better. She doesn’t have any lasting injuries. Dad is still…” she rests her head against his chest. “He’s still in bad shape. They think he should make make it, but he was…” it’s hard to say. “He was under longer. More malnourished.” These demons certainly didn’t expect to care for the people they were wearing for long. “It takes a toll.” Her voice is soft, pained as she says it. “They couldn’t have prepared for something like this.” 

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' “The good news is if the vessel doesn’t die from shock directly after exorcism the survival rate is high.” Words like ‘vessel’ may seem like callous choices, but Sam’s words are very gently put and even gently meant. It’s just...terminology that he’s used to using. The less robotic-version follows anyway. “He’ll pull through, Fred. Truly, these doctors are incredible here. They once healed my broken arm in 4 weeks instead of 6; that’s unheard of. They will take care of your Dad.” He is loathe to let her go, so doesn’t, resting his forehead against her forehead. “You were brilliant,” he murmurs. “Fierce, brave, and amazing.” He knows to his toes she probably doesn’t /feel/ that way, but it doesn’t change the fact that she /was/, and he thinks nobody ever suffered from knowing they were fierce, brave, and amazing. “I love you so much.” 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' A shiver goes down Fred’s body as Sam tells her that if her father didn’t die from shock immediately, he has a high chance of survival. She knows he’s trying to help, trying to assure her the the worst is over. She can still hear her father’s voice taunting her in a tone that is certainly not his own, feel the pressure as she is pressed against the car. He’ll pull through. That’s what she’s been clinging to this whole time. “It’s still my fault,” she says, softly, wracked with guilt. “I shoulda...I shoulda told them, warned them. Maybe they coulda stopped it.” Sam’s quite right in thinking she doesn’t feel fierce or brave or amazing. She feels guilty, horrible. A part of her wishes to pull away, to sequester herself away again, away from everything and everyone. “I love you, too.” It’s the truth, murmured against him. And so, she stays. Still tense under his arms, but there. She can’t describe to Sam right now how unlike a fierce, brave woman she feels, so she instead asks, “How’s Dean?” 

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' He puts his hands on her shoulders and looks down at her solemnly. “No. It was Azazel’s fault. It was Alistair’s fault. Never yours. You had no way of anticipating that. Don’t do that to yourself. And we’re going to make sure it never happens again. Hope your parents are up to getting some ink. And you, for that matter.” He smiles ruefully at her. “In the meantime, mind if I draw on your parents in Sharpie? I’ve warded this building, but I’m not interested in taking chances.” She asks how Dean is, and his face softens. He smiles. “We talked,” he says. For them, that’s huge. Maybe it says everything it needs to say. But some of the raw guilt and pain that has literally haunted Winchester the Elder in regards to his brother has lifted. It seems almost unfair, as guilty as she feels. He withdraws his Sharpie. “I wanna draw on you in Sharpie too. I’m feeling very mature.”

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' Rationally, Fred knows that it is not actually her fault. She wasn’t the one to possess her parents. However, she does still feel the stab of guilt in knowing that this never would have happened if the demons weren’t trying to get to her, to break her. The kernel of it is that they were hurt because of her. She knows what she would - and has - told Sam in situations like this. It feels so hypocritical to now not accept the same logic. Yet, she can’t help that feeling. “It never even occurred to me that they’d take them. They’re not a part of any of this, not anywhere near it. They wouldn’t’ve even seen it coming, had no way to prepare.” They might not even have known why they suddenly couldn’t control their own bodies. “I was so stupid.” And she’s not used to being stupid. Being drawn on in Sharpie is met with a surprised blink. “If Sharpie’ll work, okay.” The last thing she wants is for any of them to get possessed ever again. Hearing that Sam and Dean talked is met with just as surprised a look, truthfully. She knows exactly how little the brothers tend to talk to each other about feelings or matters such as this. It’s something she’s yelled at both of them about. “That’s good,” she says softly, meaning it. “I’m glad. Will he be okay?” 

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' He takes her arm and begins gently drawing the anti-possession ward on her right wrist. He’ll save the lecture on /why/ this works for later, though it might make good car talk. A whole delve into the collective unconscious and the theories on why hedge magic works for anyone. He draws as he listens to her. Sometimes logic isn’t enough. He decides to answer her question first, then circle back around. “Okay is relative for us,” he says, pretty matter-of-factly. “But he’s tough, and he’s bouncing back.” Now for this other thing. Okay is relative for Fred now, too, he suspects. And for her parents, maybe. “Nobody who gets into this life asks for it. Nobody who gets touched by it asks for it. You can’t stop evil from touching people. All you can do is resist it, and then move forward when it does. I’ll make them a copy of my journal, and they’ll have Supernatural 101 to read through. It will help them make basic preparations, teach them how to defend themselves. You told me your Mom once ran over a giant bug with a VW, so...my guess is they’re damned tough, and they’d be pretty upset that you’re blaming yourself. They seem to be good parents, and they probably feel just as guilty about you falling through a portal to another dimension. You’d be sad if they blamed themselves for that.” He doesn’t lift his head through all of this, concentrating on drawing the ward just right.

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' As Sam pulls away to draw on her arm, Fred tries to keep her arm steady and turns it wrist up. It tickles just slightly, but she manages to not pull or twist her arm too much. She knows it’s important that he gets all the little pieces and drawings just right for it to have any sort of potency. Okay is relative. That certainly seems like a motto for the Winchesters at times. The kidnapping and possession of her parents - and near death of her father - has been particularly rough on Fred after the events of the Hydra base. She was just starting to get a sense of safety when something else was proven to be unstable, able to be exploited. It’s, again, left her feeling a bit adrift. Her eyes continually shift from the Sharpie drawing Sam’s etching on her arm to his face as he concentrates. “He is. I’m glad he’s doing better.” Despite all this and despite their drag-out fight at the Crossroads, that’s a point of fact. She’s sure what the brothers spoke about was personal, so she doesn’t yet pry into their topics of conversations. Whatever it was eventually ended in some hard liquor, it seems. That’s, hopefully, a good thing. By Sam’s demeanor it certainly is. As Sam continues to reassure her, Fred’s attention is drawn to the bed where her mother lays, still. “It was actually a Greyhound bus,” she says softly in remembering, almost smiling. “Not a VW bus. My mom’s a bus driver, so she used what she knew.” That might be just where Fred gets her adaptive and innovative drive. She exhales. “None of us knew about portals when I fell through. How could any of us have known that was even a possibility? No one was at fault for that. It was just something that happened. But these demons? We fought one the night I met you, I knew just how nasty they could be. I should’ve...I don’t know. I should’ve kept them more up to date, but I didn’t want to scare them.” The mention of a journal to help with preparations and to make sure this never happens again is met with a resolute nod. “That’ll be a good start. Thanks. For everything. For saving my mom.” 

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' “You’d have saved her if I didn’t.” He finishes up. Mischievously, he blows on it a little to tickle her, giving her his most impish grin, tilting his eyes up to see her reaction. It’s a point of fact that humor is something he uses to try to make people feel better, whether it’s Dean or Fred or James Barnes. He learned to act the clown early, because sometimes it even broke up John Winchester’s rages. He doesn’t rely on it exclusively, but it is a tool in his toolbox. He takes her palm and kisses that, then goes to sit by Mr. Burkle’s bedside. He took the worst, so he gets the first temporary ward. “Hope he doesn’t choose right about now to wake up,” he says, as he starts to color, flashing Fred a grin. Sometimes talking it out isn’t the same as communicating. Sometimes addressing the issues directly doesn’t solve them. Sometimes just acting a little bit normal does that. “Can you imagine? Hello, Mr. Burkle, it’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Sam Winchester, dating your daughter, drawing on your arm…” Sometimes there’s only moving forward, and doing so confidently. She can go round and round and round in circles. He has a feeling she’ll forgive herself only when they wake up. 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' Unable to help herself, Fred laughs pulls back from Sam. The sound breaks some of the tension in the room. She stands a little easier. A hand reaches out to touch the temporary tattoo that has been drawn on her - but she hesitates at the last minute, not wishing to smudge it. Instead, for a few moments, she merely studies it. Though she’s seen the tattoo on Sam’s chest, it’s a bit different to see it on her own wrist. That first laugh already broken, a second joins it. Moving over to Sam, she leans against the back wall and watches this drawing happen as well. Almost ruefully, she reminds him, “You did want to meet my parents one day.” Shaking her head, she imagines that conversation. It might be a strange way for her father to wake up, but that also means he’d be awake. She’d take that. She’d take an awkward first meeting if that meant he woke up, she knows that. Outloud, she says, “Y’know, I can’t tell if he’d be upset or amused. Probably just confused.” Especially since she’s sure the last time he was in control of his own body he was in Texas, not South Dakota. “ Probably’d try and tell a lame joke. He’s fond of those.” Fred looks down at her shoes, words still spilling out of her mouth as usual. “I told them, when I was about to move out to LA for that graduate program, I promised them I’d be boring and dull. They were so worried. Thought I’d get taken in by some drug dealers or pornographers. They must’ve been terrified when I disappeared for those years, thinking the worst. And even when I came back, I didn’t go back to Texas. I sent them a letter to let them know I was okay, but I didn’t go home. Didn’t visit. I couldn’t. I couldn’t let them see me. Even though I tried to keep my promise, everything went bad. They hired a PI to find me.” She pauses, gathering the story about her as she tries to tell it. “And y’know my first reaction on seeing them? I ran. I ran so fast. I tried to skip town, get away from them, but they followed me. They saved me. I didn’t really get over Pylea till they came for me. It didn’t matter that I got trapped, that I ran from them. They’re so...they’re so good, Sam. And what happened to them? Look.” A hand reaches up to press against her face, the tears now spilling down freely against her cheeks. 

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' Sam gets the first ward does while he’s listening to her, but he puts the Sharpie down to go fold her in his arms when she starts to cry. He strokes her hair and just holds her there for a little while. “I already knew they were good. They raised you,” he says quietly. “You’d been through something horrific, Fred. I think running sounds pretty natural. I think in your shoes I’d have run too.” He can imagine the feelings of shame and panic she must have been feeling. It’s one of the basic unfairnesses of life that traumatized people tend to blame themselves first and their captors second, if ever. But he decides she might just need to cry it out, so he leads her over to a chair by the bedside, gently coaxes her into it, and kneels beside it so she can lean on him while he wraps his big arms around her. 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' There’s embarrassment in her crying. They all went through horrible things. Jo’s mother was taken, Sam’s brother and yet she seems to be the one - again - ill equipped to emotionally handle it. “I’m sorry,” Fred apologizes as she cries against his chest. “I shouldn’t…” She shouldn’t cry, shouldn’t interrupt his drawing of the wards. “I’m such a mess.” Despite that, she allows him to guide her to the chair and sits down onto it. There, she leans forward one hand on her face and the other resting on Sam’s shoulder as he wraps his arms about her in comfort. “I don’t know what I’m doing.” Even though Sam has readily given her a place to cry herself out, she tries to rein those tears in, to stop herself. “I keep doing this, keep breaking down. I don’t mean to.” 

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' She apologizes, and he shakes his head. “There’s nothing wrong with emotions.” He’ll probably need the reminder himself, at some point. “You’re not breaking down, you’re processing. It’s healthy.” He takes her hand. “There’s no standards here. There’s nobody out there handing out prizes for the person who cries the least when horrible things and people do horrible stuff to you and the ones you care about. You are allowed to have any reaction you want to have. I promise. And though I wouldn’t have thought any less of you if you had, you definitely didn’t break down when it counted.” He pulls back, but only so he can take her hands. He squeezes. “You walked right in there with me, Fred. And if you hadn’t been that brave, your parents might not be okay right now. Because I’d have had no clue who they were, do you understand me? I needed to know who they were. It’s something that shouldn’t have mattered, but right then it did. Because it made me think twice. You saved them. By doing nothing more than saying no way, Sam, we go together. Do you know how courageous that makes you?” He rests his forehead against hers again. “Do you know how rare it is, to be there for someone like that?” 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' “What about walk it off?” Fred asks, hand slipping from her face to rest in her lap. It’s the thing she’s heard him say so many times. Of course, she has also attempted to get him to not do that every time it has come up, but she can’t help but ask the question. His words of comfort slow the tears. She’s been crying in front of him a lot lately and she wishes she were stronger. After scrubbing at her eyes, she watches him take her hand and tell her that she didn’t break down when it counted. Remembering her mother’s screams and her father’s taunts, she shakes her head a little again. She’s not actively attempting to dismiss that line of thought, but she also isn’t sure she’s ready to accept that what she did was at all connected with strength - to her it was all pure survival instinct. When Sam takes her other hand to explain just exactly how else she contributed, she keeps her focus on their held hands. “I wasn’t gonna let you go in there alone.” That’s a simple fact to her, a truth of which she wouldn’t consider the opposite side. The assertion that Sam knowing Roger and Trish were her parents saved them is met with a shake of her head. “You wouldn’t have hurt them,” she says, firm in her belief in his goodness and wish to save others. She hasn’t actually seen Sam extract the demon blood that he injects and she certainly did not see him drink from a gash in his brother’s leg in order to gain the amount of power needed to expel Alistair. What she does think on, though, is how weak her father is now and how any wound from a shotgun shell filled with salt or draw of blood might have tipped the scales against him surviving the exorcism. She can see her father attempting to subdue Sam and him needing to drive him back, had she not been there. The thought of it makes her wince. “Even if…” She can’t quite say she would be okay with Sam hurting her parents in any way, but she also understands to a certain extent. “I know it was dire circumstances. We had the shotguns filled with salt, we had the bomb. Any of them might have...” might have been too much for Roger. Even if she can’t say that thought aloud. As she presses her forehead against his, Fred closes her eyes. She takes a breath, circles back to another topic. “I’m not sure I could’ve saved my Mom if you didn’t,” she says softly. “I couldn’t open my eyes after the first exorcism. I couldn’t bear to see if I’d exorcised him and all that was left was…” nothing, a body. “By that time, it felt like my head was being crushed. I don’t think I could have remembered all the right words.” 

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' ‘What about walk it off?’ He looks down. “Our father taught us a lot of messed up stuff. Some of it spews out of even my mouth sometimes without examination. Walk it off is one of those things. Just...please be patient while I try to root that stuff out of my head, okay? I don’t really believe that ‘walk it off’ is a standard we should be trying for. Even if I sometimes try to apply it to myself.” It would also be very easy. To be very dishonest. That’s his impulse. That’s what he was taught. His knee-jerk reaction is to keep things hidden. But that’s just shutting people out, cutting them off, running away. The thing he just asked Dean to stop doing. “Maybe,” he says, quietly, doubtfully. “I was pretty desperate. I think Alistair set it up that way to make me berserk out. Make me attack all those demons for their blood so I’d have enough juice to shove him out of my brother. Because if I’d killed your parents, and Ash, and Ellie, and all those other people just to save Dean, I would have truly become the monster he wants me to be. And I think it would be...hubris. To assume I don’t have that in me somewhere.” 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' “Okay,” Fred says, simply. She can give him that - time to work through his own thoughts. She certainly knows that she needs her own when it comes to big thoughts as she has recently. “I will.” There’s a sigh. “I just wondered if it was...better.” Better than breaking down into tears, better than feeling wrung out and weak, like she feels right now. As they talk and Sam is honest, telling her exactly what he was thinking in that moment, there’s a prolonged silence. It’s certainly a charged subject, even though it shouldn’t be. This should be how she would react should he tell her that he might kill a random innocent person; however, the horrible truth is that it holds even more weight in the fact that her parents were the ones that were in the balance. Beneath his arms, Fred tenses at the thought of it. That he could have killed her parents to save Dean. A part of her understands and yet another rages at the idea that he could have killed her parents for Dean. That trade seems so personal, the way it should have before this. “Is that…” she trails off, unsure what to say, how to phrase this. “Is it the blood that makes you think that? Or is that you?” She needs to know. It is a question born of need to know rather than judgement, reflected in her voice. “Do you know?” 

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' He feels her tense, and he stands up. Under the cover of getting the Sharpie and going to her mother’s bedside, he puts distance between them. It is for his sake as much as for hers. He has been honest, but he has also admitted the darkness inside himself. She has reacted in wholly reasonable ways. “The blood can’t make me into anything I’m not already. It can make it easier to give way to my worst impulses, but I wouldn’t be capable of expediency with it if I weren’t capable of it without it. I think we all are. I think it boils down to choice.” A pause. “I hope it does.” He sighs, carefully creating the protective sigil, refusing to look at her. “And berserk is...berserk. It’s snapping and going nuts and-- I don’t think I would do it as a calculated thing, if that’s what you’re asking. I just think knowing made a difference. It made me stop and think. Hold myself back. It was-- Alistair is--” 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' As Sam stands and makes his way to her mother’s bedside, Fred remains in the chair. Even as he puts a little distance between them, he’s ensuring that her mother can’t be possessed by drawing on her in Sharpie. Again, she feels guilty, feels as if she’s pushing him away and that’s the last thing she wants, even with this latest insight. “I think it does,” she tells him as to choice mattering. “You’re a good man, Sam. I’m sorry, I’m doing this all wrong.” Fred sighs and runs a hand through her long hair, grabbing a handful of it and tugging at it idly. “I don’t think you’re a killer.” Even though he says the possibility is still there within him, she doesn’t see him that way. His mention of berserk is what spurs her next string of words. “When you get angry, when you think someone you love is in danger? Sometimes your eyes change. It happened when the Soldier tried to kill me. It happened when you were talking to Alistair on the phone when he had Dean. Your eyes go black. Not entirely, not like...it’s just your irises.” She pauses, trying to gather her thoughts, then continues. “And I understand that. I think about what that thing did to my parents, what it did to you and Dean and I want...I want to make it suffer. I don’t know what it would take to hold me back from unleashing all manner of inventions and bombs against it.” Finally, she stands and then moves behind Sam. She doesn’t reach out to him just yet, as he’s paying attention to the ward on her mother and as he has yet to look at her again. Yet, she still stands there. 

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' He doesn’t draw away from her closeness. He welcomes it, though he doesn’t stop what he’s doing now that he’s doing it. It’s still a spell, and if it’s one he can do with a minimal amount of focus he still needs some. He’s listening to her, but it’s clear by the slight tic in his cheek and the fearful swallow he hadn’t known that. “Demon eyes,” he murmurs. He swallows. “I’m getting off this stuff, Fred. Soon as I can. Alistair wants me on it. No powers, no matter how good, can be worth playing into his plans. I’m terrified I won’t have what I need to bring about a good outcome without it but I can’t…” He shakes his head roughly. “I trust Claire. Claire can help me with this. If it can be done, Claire can do it.” Memories of Hell dance in his mind. He stares grimly back at them, and colors away. 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' Of course, Fred doesn’t attempt to interfere with Sam’s work. Instead, she stays close by. His immediate thought on the matter is met with slight shake of her head. “Not exactly,” she tells him in a soft voice, but also observationally. “Not fully black eyes.” It’s more than a minor relief that Sam says that he’s going to get off of the demon blood. She knows how powerful a hold it has on him, how he has been using it to help people, but she does not like it. It seems to be hurting him and turning him toward something Alistair wants him to be, which they both do not want. Without hesitation, she puts a gentle hand on his shoulder. She doesn’t want to interrupt him, but she can’t help but reassure him. “It’ll be enough,” she says, sure of herself, of him. “You’re a good man and a good hunter.” His choice of help in getting him to detox is met with a nod. “If anyone can help, I think it’s Claire.” She doesn’t know the nurse incredibly well, but what she saw made her trust. 

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' There is some relief for her clarification. The slight shift of his body welcomes the fall of her hand. It would be so easy not to disclose. She clearly missed his desperate third option. But the honesty they are developing between them is valuable to him. “It’s going to be harder. I took blood from Alistair instead of from our people. His was…” He lifts the pen briefly to avoid fouling his work to the slight shaking of his hand. It was incredible. It was a rush of pleasure unlike anything he had ever experienced. It was feeling strong and powerful, free from fear. He clears his throat and says, just a little bit hoarsely: “Potent.” Like all he can think about, like he could all but summon Alistair just to fall to his knees and beg for more… He looks up at her, and then, rapidly, away. He returns to his work. It is not just anger that brings the black eyes it seems. Other darknesses, other needs, can transform them. This one can make the desperation and need all but shine from them. And the sick sensation of a self-loathing that was always present, but which has found a great deal more fuel for the fire of late. 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' Fred certainly did miss Sam’s third option. There was quite a lot going on and her attention was almost immediately grabbed by the possession of her parents and they managed to certainly keep it through most of the showdown. The worry and the fear gave her a bit of a narrowed view of the yard and so the desperate drink of blood from his brother and Alistair’s blood to ensure he could banish the demon. The hand still stays there after she learns of his desperate ploy. She knows that he injured his brother to ensure that he didn’t hurt her parents and that means quite a bit to her. Briefly, she dips her head to kiss Sam on his forehead when he pauses, noticing his shaking hands as he describes why this will be more difficult after the events of earlier. Part of the reason it will be harder on him was a choice he made to help her. “We’ll help,” she tells him softly. When he turns to look at her, eyes changing color, she doesn’t pull away. “However we can.” Gently, she bends over to rest her cheek against gently against his head. “Thank you. For doing that instead of the alternative.” 

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' He turns briefly to bury his face in her stomach, just wanting to hide there. He feels the urge to cry suddenly, but he doesn’t want to. She needs him, not the other way around. His eyes remain dry, but his shoulders slump. It should not have mattered who it was, but it did matter, and that is perhaps the thing which frightens him most of all. His mission is to save people, not to sacrifice them. He takes a few deep breaths and lets them out again, noting that she’s starting to accept him how he is now, to be more matter-of-fact about it. He’d be hard pressed to explain why all the long, worried looks from his friends have driven him so batshit. But they do. He can handle just evaluating the situation and making decisions in response to it. He can’t handle all those weighted, worried looks. At last, he pulls back. He has a ward to finish. He smiles at her, a boyish grin that doesn’t quite touch his (hazel, again) eyes. “So. Care to help me find a tattoo parlor that plays Zeppelin? I think we need a giant ward party. And Dean won’t do it unless they are, and I quote, not hippies who don’t even know who Zeppelin is.”

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' Unfortunately for Sam, Fred will worry. It’s in her nature to care and worry for the people she loves, especially after living so long without anyone. Having people who care about her tends to bring out a fierce sort of protection and loyalty. Worrying about those people comes along with that. When he presses his face against her stomach, she adjusts. Her arms wrap around his shoulders and she keeps her own head bowed over him. She can feel his shoulders slump and worries that she has disappointed him somehow or made him feel worse. That’s not what she wants. For the moments that he stays there, she holds him tightly and quietly against her. After he pulls back, she returns the smile in much the same manner that he does. “Are there a lot of hippie tattoo artists? I always thought of them to be like bikers and stuff.” 

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' “That’s what I thought too,” Sam says, in an airy fashion that says he knows damn well most are. “But apparently I was totally wrong on that count.” But he won’t /tell/ on Dean by saying that he’s afraid of needles. He just enjoys the joke. He squeezes her again, and exhales. She’s better than he deserves, and he feels an overwhelming surge of love for her at that moment. He doesn’t want to let her go-- But he has to see to her mother. So he murmurs, “Don’t go far, you,” while he turns to do that. And then, “Unless you think it’s going to be super awkward for her to wake up and see that,” he says. Then again this whole situation might be mildly to moderately awkward for a whole host of reasons. Why not that one? He just wants her close. 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' “Huh.” Fred takes that mostly at face value, but there’s a bit of skepticism. It’s not exactly important as to why Dean is so adamant on finding a tattoo place with Zeppelin, after all. They just need to do it in order to ensure Dean will get the tattoo. “Okay. We can find one.” She’s reluctant to let him go, too. For a quick moment she squeezes him tight. It’s when he turns back to finish the ward on her mother that she pulls back. There’s a soft laugh when he asks if it will be awkward for her parents to wake up and see her holding him. “No, I don’t think so,” she says and wraps her arms around his shoulders while he works. She stays close by, comforted by his presence, resting her cheek against him.“Or, if she does, it’s okay. She might be pleased. For awhile she was telling me all about these eligible bachelors from back home. Might be pretty pleased to see a big handsome man like you here.” 

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' A duck of Sam’s chin and a flash of that boyish grin. His long lashes flutter down to conceal his eyes. He’s flattered. He even preens a little. This man likes being told how handsome he is. It’s one of his faults. It’s not going away anytime soon. It doesn’t hurt that once he was a scrawny kid with floppy hair, and nobody would have called him handsome. He still remembers being that kid. He got in the habit of wearing multiple shirts and a big jacket over that to make himself look bigger. Ironic as that was. Of course. Kids always did get surprised when he turned out more than capable of beating the shit out of them despite his small size and depressingly round face. He finishes the ward and finally caps the sharpie, then leans his head back against her, closing his eyes for a moment and smiling. As with Dean, he’s going to steal a happy moment while he’s got it. “I am crazy in love with you,” he says, and though he says it before, he’ll say it again. “So all those bachelors are just going to have to run away and be sad.” 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' “I love you, too,” Fred replies against him. Once the ward is finished, she shifts. Still keeping her arms about him, she circles him until they’re facing and then kneels down. Folding herself more tightly against him, she finally starts to relax some from all the adrenaline and fear that has filled her for so long. She grins at the idea of the long line of bachelors her mother has discussed with her running off. “Those poor young men, so callous about their feelings!” she teases. “How’re they ever gonna recover from that?” The worry about her father’s condition remains near the forefront of her thoughts, but now that Sam is here and helping, things seem a little more manageable a little less dire. A tiredness starts to wash through her and she’ll attempt to move Sam so that they can sit down on the floor and lean against the wall and then she can curl against him. If her parents wake up to see her and Sam like that, she certainly doesn’t seem like she minds. 

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' He has a better idea. As soon as he realizes what she wants he just scoops her up. It’s like she weighs next to nothing to him, which may or may not be true. He retreats to the “concerned loved one’s chair” at the side of the room. Since it’s a SHIELD medical facility and not a cheap hospital the thing is plush and well stuffed, if vinyl. And slate grey. Because SHIELD and its obsession with branding. He hooks the ottoman with one foot, dragging it closer, then settles down with her in it. He settles her into his lap and wraps his broad arms gently around her, then starts stroking her hair. “There,” he murmurs. He is behind this plan. And if they do wake up, well, Roger’s probably in no shape to punch him in the nose. He’ll have time to win them over with charming smiles maybe. “If you need to catch some shut-eye go right ahead. I can wake you when they wake up.” Dean needed to get out, to go drink, to hit the road for a little while, if only for 40 minutes or so. Fred might need someone to stand sentry for her, to give her back that sensation of safety. Fortunately he’s well equipped for both sorts of comfort. 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' As Sam scoops her up, Fred gives a soft surprised sound. However, she gives no struggle or noise of protest against his thought. Instead, she rests easily against him. Once he settles them down on the concerned family chair, she lets out a breath. The fear, the worry, they’re still there. Now, though, she finally feels as if she can relax with Sam there and looking out for her. Much as he’s already suspected, he makes her feel safe and that’s exactly what she needs at this moment after the demons demonstrated just how vulnerable she can be. So, she rests her head against his chest, murmuring as he starts to stroke her hair, “Mm, no, I don’t need to sleep. Just...lie here for a bit..” Her words are spoken sleepily into him, contradicting herself even as she says them. Indeed, it takes little to no time for her eyes to shut and her breathing to even out. A few minutes after settling, she’s asleep. 

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' He’d chuckle fondly at this display. But it might shake her awake. Instead, he swallows it back, hazel eyes twinkling, and just stays right where he is, stroking her hair and holding her for however long she needs. 
}}
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2645/(Un)Invited

2017-10-01T06:42:53Z

Feigenbaum: Created page with "{{Log Header |Date of Scene=2017/09/28 |Location=The Winchester Apartment - Hell's Kitchen |Synopsis=A bloodied Dean returns late and calls for the help of Castiel. Fred attem..."

{{Log Header
|Date of Scene=2017/09/28
|Location=The Winchester Apartment - Hell's Kitchen
|Synopsis=A bloodied Dean returns late and calls for the help of Castiel. Fred attempts to help, too, with mixed results.
|Cast of Characters=306, 1086, 160
|pretty=yes
}}
{{Poses
|Poses=:'''{{#var:306|Dean Winchester (306)}} has posed:''' It's crack o'clock in the morning. No one should be awake in the Winchester residence. The apartment is dark. The streets are weirdly quiet. Everything has settled down for a (relatively?) quiet night in Hell's Kitchen. The door to the apartment flings open and Dean stomps (rather loudly) into his apartment. Jo is likely asleep. Sam and Fred are likely asleep. This doesn't change the fact that Dean drips blood across the threshold before collapsing into the armchair. He literally trips over it, crashing against the floor while the gash across his head pools blood on the floor. "Dammit," he murmurs. Dizzily he looks towards the bathroom. He should try to retrieve the first aid kit. "Fuuu--" he can't even finish the swear as he collapses against the floor again. His eyes lid and he shakes his head. "Uh..." he doesn't know how this works. "Cas..." He frowns. "Now I lay me down to," he presses a hand to his head, it's wet with blood. His eyes roll, "...sleep... Castiel, can you get your feathered ass down here?" And then for good measure he adds, "Please?" because that makes up for the rest. 

:'''{{#var:1086|Castiel (1086)}} has posed:''' It's all interminable waits with the angel. Though, this time, for once, his response time is quick. Almost as if he were waiting for this. Or perhaps he's just nearby.. It's all releative, one supposes. His entry is a silence. No flutter of wings. No whoosh of sound. Nothing worthy of bad television special effects. Just one moment not there; the next: present. "You.." The angel gets no further. The gash on Dean's forehead, the trail of blood and the now pooling puddle where the man lies - all of it stop Castiel in his tracks. All snark and acidity cast aside as he moves closer to his charge, kneeling beside him, hand outstretched to touch Dean's forehead. Brows a craggy furrow of concern as his touch begins to do its thing, healing the man's wound. 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' It's not unusual for Winifred Burkle to sleep at the Winchester Apartment these days. For quite a few weeks she was there exclusively, getting over the Hydra spell and then the possessing of her parents. After that it was a crapshoot as to whether she was there or at the Hyperion. Tonight? She's at the Winchester Apartment. Fred is a light sleeper - she had to be in Pylea and she's never shaken the habit. The slamming door and the crash to the floor is more than enough to wake her. Grabbing a shirt - it happens to be one of Sam's larger flannels - and pulling on a pair of pants, she all but stumbles into the living room as he calls for someone she's never heard the name of. What she sees is a man in a trench coat standing over a bloodied Dean. He has a hand on his forehead. After the events of South Dakota, her mind jumps to certain conclusions. Grabbing the nearest thing she can find - with the Winchesters it is no surprise that it is a beer bottle - she immediately chucks it right at Castiel's head. "You! You get away from him!" It might not be the best aim, but she grabs another as she rushes forward to try and get him away from the Elder Winchester. Her mother will almost certainly cross herself to know that her daughter is tossing beer bottles at an Angel of the Lord, but Fred only worries this is another demon come to harass them. "Go back to the snake-oil salesman you call a boss! I don't know if he actually sells snake oil, but I wouldn't be surprised!" 

:'''{{#var:306|Dean Winchester (306)}} has posed:''' Dean actually groans when Castiel says anything. Mostly because the world spins and moves and he's struggling to maintain his consciousness. He inherently knows that Crowley will resurrect him but he's not keen. Not remotely. Dying hasn't been pleasant. His own face scrunches as the angel leans over him to touch his forehead, but then Fred is freaking out. And beer bottles are being thrown. "Geeeeez, Fred," he croaks. But it's not easy to react or stop the pain and throbbing with the blood still pooling around him. This was a bad idea. Maybe he should've called sooner. But he didn't want to bleed on the upholstery. 

:'''{{#var:1086|Castiel (1086)}} has posed:''' In the grand scheme of weaponry, beer bottles are not in the top ten. Not even the top twenty. Unless you break one off at the neck, in which case, they're probably good for position nine. However, Winifred isn't so lucky, or isn't trying that hard. If he //were// a demon, he'd be laughing now. Instead, the man scowls, his gravelly voice lifted to snap at the girl. "You are not helping matters." His charge, however, still has the bulk of his attention. And much as he appreciates that Dean is certainly more honest and talkative when in the state of inebriation, mostly comatose isn't helpful. Which is the only thing that prompts the angel to deal with that matter as well, his laying on of hands clearing the toxins of the alcohol from Dean's system, and in an act of supreme (and unwarranted) mercy, deals with what should be a doozy of a hangover as well. All of which leave the angel vulnerable to Winifred's safeguarding of the Winchester apartment. 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' No one seems to be of the information divulging type at the moment. And so, Fred continues to believe that Castiel is an intruder in the Winchester's abode. The bottle smashes against the wall instead of against the man keeping a hold on Dean. Luckily, as she wasn't exactly sure that it would work, she's continues to stride forward. "//Helping//?" Who the hell is this guy? What she wouldn't give for one of her sleepytime bombs right now. That would take a bit more rummaging and it doesn't look like they have that kind of time. "Since when do //demons// help." With her momentum, she attempts to shove the trench coated man off of Dean. Dean's own croak of her name is met with a sigh and a bit of a look. Is he drunk? He looks like he's drunk. Drunk and bleeding. What in the world did he get himself into? She doesn't have salt or holy water at the moment, but she'll make do with what she has. "Get out or I'll exorcise you." 

:'''{{#var:306|Dean Winchester (306)}} has posed:''' Clarity begins to enter Dean's mind as his eyes find focus again and the bleeding seems to cease. "Fred, he's not," but coming back from injury still has a dizzying effect and he doesn't quite catch p to himself. With a heavy sigh, he slowly draws himself to a sit. "This is Cas," he finally introduces with a faint roll of his eyes. There's an assumption that follows--that Fred knows who Cas is. Or at least WHAT Cas is. This is... not likely the case. 

:'''{{#var:1086|Castiel (1086)}} has posed:''' There isn't an iota of budge from the angel. Seemingly unphased by the avenging Winifred. "Demons do not help," Castiel rumbles softly, his attention still on Dean, clearing the last of the man's problems away. Making certain all is well. The comment is typical, the angel failing to grasp that a more helpful answer would have been that he was not a demon. However, there is little of lasting harm she can do to him, so for the moment, the woman is ignored. She is safe. Dean is.. a danger to himself. 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' "Yeah, that I've got a tattoo of to prove," Fred tells Castiel even as she attempts to dislodge him from Dean. It's an annoyingly futile effort and the physicist looks to Dean. Neither are explaining themselves properly and no one has told her that a being such as Castiel has appeared in the mix. And so, she starts to try and exorcism him. Something already doesn't feel quite right. This demon hasn't tossed her against a wall or taunted her other than by being frustratingly obtuse. It's only a few lines through the incantation that she realizes that it has absolutely no effect on the man in front of her. Usually by now demons would be fighting, attempting to get away. Is he not a demon? What is he? Wary and upset, she takes the beer bottle that she had taken up and brandishes it - not yet bringing it down against him just yet. "What'n the hell is a Cas? What the hell is going on, Dean?" 

:'''{{#var:306|Dean Winchester (306)}} has posed:''' "Cas is Cas," Dean murmurs wearily with a roll of his eyes. Undoubtedly, thanks to the sudden appearance of the angel and the angelic efforts, he's feeling better. He shoots Castiel a flicker of a smile while he peels himself off the floor to tread back to the kitchen. To go to the fridge and get a bottle of beer. "Anyone want a cold one?" he looks between them as his eyebrows furrow. "Cas is an angel. I... needed a hand. So I called him." He shrugs and reaches into he fridge to extract a bottle of beer for himself. The bottle opens with a fizzing sound. "Didn't feel like dying today." He takes a long swing of his beer. 

:'''{{#var:1086|Castiel (1086)}} has posed:''' Castiel remains in his hunker beside Dean. Winifred's incantion tumbling from his lips in a gloriously smooth rendition of latin, lent force by the small matter of his angelic nature behind it. It's like listening to a choir in a perfectly acoustically appointed church. When Dean finishes the introduction proper and gets up, the angel rises to his feet, assuming his most usual stance. Feet shoulder width apart. Shoulders back. Head at *just* a titch of an angle. Hands shoved deep in trench coat pockets. "Dean," he warns when the other heads straight for another beer. 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' There's a startled expression as Castiel not only rebuffs but recites the same incantation in that otherworldly manner. It only grows as Dean says that he's an angel. Fred's eyes move quickly between the two people in this apartment as if processing an incredible fact. She's an incredibly smart woman, but this is not what she was expecting. Somehow, she understood demons. That made sense to her. Angels, though? That's something else entirely. "Angel," she repeats. "Like, angel angel. Not Angel from the Hyperion." The bottle remains raised at Castiel. She's not quite off her guard just yet, instead it has increased. "As in, Biblical angel? Gabriel, Michael, Raphael?" She squints at Castiel. "No, sorry, you don't have enough eyes. Or wings. You're supposed to be a body of eyes and wings and wheels. If I were a shepherd on a hill I wouldn't be afraid right now. You look like you're a guy from the street that's gonna tell me about the end of the world." Much like Castiel, though, she gives him a bit of a look. "Dean," she almost echoes the angel's own warning with concern of her own. 

:'''{{#var:306|Dean Winchester (306)}} has posed:''' "Is that a yes, Cas?" Dean pretends to be obtuse as he grabs another bottle of beer which he tosses towards the angel. "Never say I don't share," his lips curve up on one side. "Fred?" she never said whether she wanted a beer and he's not about to leave anyone out if they don't want to be. "Yeaaaah. As in an angel. But they're dicks. So. Don't think of him as anything beyond Cas. It makes it easier to, you know, cope." There's little question that something is off. "Full name Castiel. Sam said his name means God's shield. Or something. Claims to be our guardian." His eyebrows lift, "Not particularly good at it, but pulled a win here. So," that's a plus. 

:'''{{#var:1086|Castiel (1086)}} has posed:''' Winifred's disbelief seems at thing Castiel is comfortable with. Or used to. the woman is given a brief glance before his attention turns back to Dean. "Paul was an ass," he remarks blandly. There's a long pause of thought before he adds, "So is Michael." The moment could almost be missed, though, as Castiel narrows his gaze down upon Dean, his eyebrows a thick line of displeasure across his brow. "You have had enough." There's the small matter of being handed a beer, though, Castiel's hand reaching automatically for the bottle, and the angel being left in a state of confusion as to how to proceed next as the vessel's inclinations and the angel's immediate nature war. "What happened?" In the war over what to do about the beer, there is no immediate clear winnner, the bottle held at an awkward angle to Castiel's body, the rest of him stiff and still as always. 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' "Wait, we're all okay with angels?" Fred gives Dean a particular look at this. Of course Castiel is okay with being an angel, that's what he says he is. "Dean, //what is going on?//" To Castiel, she blinks a few times. "You're saying you knew Paul. Paul the Apostle. Saint Paul who wrote most of the New Testament. And he was an ass." There is so much to process here, to discuss, to ask questions about and Dean seems so blasé and ready to pass out beers. For now, she can't explain it, but the empty bottle is put down and she reaches out for one that is actually filled with beer. The Winchesters will make an alcoholic out of her. "Guardian..." the Winchesters have a guardian? There is too much going on and Fred has never really been good at words. Usually, it is because she says too much of them at once and they all become a jumble. At time like this, though? It is that she cannot handle all the implications and needs straight answers. Point blank, she looks to Castiel. "What are you doing here?" 

:'''{{#var:306|Dean Winchester (306)}} has posed:''' Dean's eyebrows lift at the assertion. "Dunno about that, Cas. Pretty sure I'm ready for more," thanks to Castiel's trick, "Feeling alive and hearty and ready to party," he lifts the bottle in the air in a /cheers/ motion. The question as to what happened meets another lift of Dean's eyebrows. For a second it looks like he might answer, but Fred's questions work well as a means to distract and refocus on other important things. The thought of being okay with angels actually prompts a squint and vague frown. "Angels are dicks. We're not okay with them, they're--" he shudders. He remembers Zachariah. He remembers what happened so many years ago. "...dicks. Honestly. Real genuine dicks." His eyes flit towards Cas. "Cas seems okay though. So far." It's then that Dean seems to notice the pool of his blood on the floor. "Huh," he mutters while he grasps several towels from the kitchen to mop of the blood pools on the floor. He gets on his knees and begins to absorb the red fluid from the floor. 

:'''{{#var:1086|Castiel (1086)}} has posed:''' Castiel's brows remain that displeased line. "I would not have been so kind had I known," he rumbles at Dean who has now fully resumed his alcoholic binge. when he's declared 'okay' 'so far' there's a low rumble of sound from the angel. "Damned with faint praise." He allows a drift of attention to Winifred as Dean stoops to clean the mess left from his wound. "Paul was an ass," he reiterates, voice confident. Sure. He doesn't immediately answer her question, though, standing there, watching her. Or it appears he's watching her. He does have an unruly habit of deep silence before his utterances. "I chose to come," is his answer. Cryptic, as always, and perhaps not unexpected from Dean's point of view. Winifred, however, has just met the man. He's an acquired taste, Castiel. 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' Ready for more. Fred is not at all sure what exactly Castiel just did, but there is still blood everywhere and Dean seems fine. The bewildered brunette takes a beer, pops the top and takes a long swig. She's not really much of a beer drinker - or a drinker at all, really. Still, she drinks a good few swallows. The occasion seems to call for it. "Lemme get this straight." Fred is nothing if not a stickler for facts. They help when nothing else makes sense. "There are angels and they're dicks. St. Paul was an ass. This man is an angel named Castiel and is okay so far." She needs more alcohol for all of this. There's a very confused expression on her face. "I think my Sunday school teachers would have had a field day with this." As Castiel watches her, Fred can't help but notice it. She's generally observant with people watching her - apparent or otherwise. His cryptic words are met with a furrowed brow. "Sure, okay. I chose to walk out of the room to see what happened out here, but why did you come?" 

:'''{{#var:306|Dean Winchester (306)}} has posed:''' "And here I thought that was high praise," Dean counters to Castiel with a crooked curl of his lips. He takes another swig of his beer and casts a glance towards the one in Castiel's grasp. "Not in the mood Cas? No problem, toss it back, I'll return it to the fridge." Dean's nose wrinkles at that. He's his own acquired taste. The blood has been mopped up, and Dean treads to the garbage, towels in hand. He tosses the remnants of whatever happened into the garbage can, tugs the strings of the bag, and tightly ties it, sealing it. With the bag in hand, Dean opens the window and tosses the bag out into the dumpster outside. He takes another swig of his beer. He's just taken out the trash; time for reward. Green eyes look between the pair. With another smirk, he settles at the kitchen table and extracts The Colt from its holster. He opens the weapon to check each of its parts. He's not going to test it. With five bullets and five bullets only, he's not going to waste one just to test it. 

:'''{{#var:1086|Castiel (1086)}} has posed:''' Castiel's eyebrows refuse to unknit themselves, even for the woman. His regard seems ready to settle firmly upon her for the moment as she, again, presses for an answer. "Beer bottles?" The question is marked with gravelley disdain. "Who taught you?" The vessel seems to have won out, as, in a gesture that he doesn't seem entirely aware of, the angel tucks the bottle under the sleeve opposite the hand holding it, and with the protection of the cloth beneath, gives an opening twist. The cap is given a casual flick towards the trashbin, missing Dean by mere inches in a motion that may or may not have been deliberate. Though, to date, Cas has taken no actions that would suggest he'd do such a thing. "Never." The single word is ennunciated for the woman, to give it its full weight and meaning. "Stop an incantation mid-stream. You would do well to remember." His words are a dismissive scold that is followed up by a swig of the beer he holds. A long moment of silence before the body remembers the requisite followup, a singular, "Ah.." as the angel wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, then gives Winifred a smile that only reaches his eyes, the blue of them gentled past the scolding he's just given. "You worry about him." For the moment Dean is utterly ignored by the man. 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' Dean getting an angel to drink is something Fred can't help but find strange and possibly distasteful. That might get more of her attention if Dean hadn't brought the Colt onto the table and start to check it. "Why did you have a revolver with you? What happened?" The blood, the drunkenness, it starts to solidify into something a little less like a bar fight and something more serious. Castiel's undivided attention is met with a few blinks. "I have a holy water molotov cocktail in the other room." For this moment she feels the need to defend her honor against the thought that she cannot defend herself. "I taught myself." Of course, others helped, but that seems the truth of it. If she thought it strange that Dean was goading an angel to drink, it's even stranger to see one pop a beer bottle so easily as Cas does. What is this evening, even? "I stopped because it didn't have an effect," she counters, as if trying to defend her thesis against a professor. The sudden observation that she worries is met with a few blinks. "Dean? Of course." She gestures to the blood that's on the floor, the beer bottles, generally everything. How could she not? There are things to worry about. Plus, she knows how much Dean means to Sam and through that has her own sets of worries. 

:'''{{#var:1086|Castiel (1086)}} has posed:''' When Winifred says she has a holy water molotov in the next room, Cas's brows knnit closer together. When she says she taught herself, he just looks pained. "Always finish," he snaps. "They bring friends." The implication being if it doesn't work on one, it very may well on the things she hasn't noticed yet. Dean is given a growl, "She's a Hunter?" The question more of an accusation. Much on the lines of /And you let her out alone?/ The angel watches at Dean methodically and meticulously deals with the Colt. "Good to see you didn't waste any." His chin makes the barest movement, an implication of an approving sort of nod. Whatever Dean's failings this evening, he did one thing right. Another swig of beer is taken, this time without the accompanying 'Ah' of pleasure. And for the moment the question of why he's here has been forgotten or avoided. 

:'''{{#var:306|Dean Winchester (306)}} has posed:''' Fred's thoughts about The Colt earn her a vague nod. "Nothin'. Just a token Sam recently received." He doesn't offer more than that. Whether it has anything to do with the bleeding on the floor or not seems to be something he's not offering easily. Lazily, he rests his elbow on the table and his chin atop his hand. He takes a long drink of his beer but then Castiel seems to be accusing him of something. "Dude. Fred," he motions with a thumb towards Winifred, "is Sam's girlfriend. I don't have any influence over that," he attempts to think of a semi-polite phrase, "situation." He seems satisfied with his word choice. It's probably not actually all that satisfactory. A long breath follows the mention of not wasting bullets and Dean simply holsters the gun again. "No point," he replies. "Got one with Azazel's name. One with Alistair's. And three extra. Would rather save them for something more important." But Fred worries about him. His eyebrows draw together and he allows his eyes to flit between them. "Don't bother," he gruffly asserts. "It's a waste of your energy. I don't need your worry. Save it for Sam," he points towards his brother's room. "Save it for your parents. Save it for your own damned hide. I'm fine," even if he's supposed to be in hell in a year. 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' Castiel's observations about her are met with furrowed brows. "I can handle myself." Fred might otherwise get a more detailed explanation as to why exactly she feels like she can handle herself in most circumstances, but she doesn't just yet. There seems to be more about this gun than she knows and that, undoubtably makes her curious. It's in her nature. Frowning, she is unsure whether she is more unnerved by the angel enjoying the beer or the bullets. However, her attention is pulled by the fact that Sam got it recently and she had no idea about it. "What?" That is even before she is called a 'situation' that Dean has little influence over. There are implications there that might not have been meant, but certainly reverberate. A hurt expression crosses the brunette's face. Any other questions about the Colt are quelled. Perhaps that is what Dean was wishing, though Fred is not well versed enough in deception to realize that now. The hurt is laced through her voice as she defends her words. "Worry isn't something finite," she tells Dean, words a bit heated. "And, obviously?" she gestures to the blood on the floor that he just cleaned and then the hand moves to the //literal// angel he needed to call. "It's not a waste of energy. The way you've been acting? Seems pretty necessary." Strangely, she looks to Castiel for backup, despite her words earlier. 

:'''{{#var:1086|Castiel (1086)}} has posed:''' Castiel's response is a very simply stated, "He is an idiot." 

:'''{{#var:306|Dean Winchester (306)}} has posed:''' "Thanks," Dean glances between the pair. He slides away from the table, beer in hand, before adjusting his collar and turning towards the door. "The vote of confidence is overwhelming," his voice takes on that same gruff edge. "From both of you." He issues them a two fingered salute. But something about what Fred says gives him pause. "Way I've been acting?" His eyebrows draw together and something about the assertion is funny to him. "You don't know me well enough to even make a judgment on that." Another flicker of a smile follows, but it subdues as something becomes clear to him: Fred really has no idea what kind of mess she got herself into by stepping into their lives. And in that moment, even though she probably wouldn't want it, Fred finds his pity, indicated through the very faint softening of his eyes. 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' Fred has stepped right into it. She doesn't know the well trod arguments of the Winchesters, nor does she know their exact pratfalls. Dean is quite right in saying that she doesn't know them well enough to judge. The statements bring about a bit of a frown, a questioning moment of herself. Coming into an apartment bloodied with a revolver is not the proper way to act, right? Even as a hunter? Sometimes thoughts and norms blur together for Fred and she wonders if she truly has made a faux pax. No, that doesn't seem right, though. This is strange all about. "Do I need to know you to think coming home bloody with an angel warrants worry?" Even the angel seems to think he's acting weird. And he's an angel! Much like Dean supposes, she doesn't want pity. However, the softening of his eyes do not exactly read as such to her. Not just yet. 

:'''{{#var:1086|Castiel (1086)}} has posed:''' Winifred's question of Dean holds the right of it, and for a moment, the angel regards the man at the table with a placidly patient gaze. "He does not believe he deserves better," the angel remarks. It's a rather keen observation, but Castiel has spent time with the man both drunk and sobre now, and listened to a litany of sins. And if there is one thing that the angel does understand, it's guilt. That, and something of what May had said to him has settled and begun to make sense: regardless of the reason, Dean does not take help lightly. All the reasons are not clear, but those two things fit his understanding of matters. The older brother taking upon himself that the younger need not. It smacks of a morality tale of epic proportions. That, and he'd talked with Crowley at the Crossroads. His brows have unknit themselves from the dark, disappointed line by the time he considers Winifred again. "You are not prepared," he states with certainty. She threw beer bottles. It was tantamount to tossing rocks into the sea, trying to force the waves back. Whatever she thought she was ready for, the woman was mistaken. And Castiel had a better idea than most of what was likely to come. 

:'''{{#var:306|Dean Winchester (306)}} has posed:''' "That's a hunter's life," Dean replies to Fred's questions. "I come home bloody a lot. So does Sam. It's occupational hazard." His green eyes follow Fred thoughtfully. "And believe me, I called Cas because it seemed better than the alternative," dying and letting Crowley resurrect him. Again. For no reason. Dean's eyes roll and he takes another swig of his newfound beer. "What don't I deserve better than, Cas? Than showing up bloody? Hunter. Life." He exhales a long breath. He looks towards Fred, "And don't let him or Sam fool you." He doesn't deserve much. He knows what happens in his mind. He knows the things that he's done. He knows the decisions he's made. "I'm a survivor. I do what I have to in order to save people. To take care of me and mine. So yeah, I probably deserve far worse." Pointedly he looks between them. "We reap what we sow. And I been sowing some nasty stuff for a good long while." He winks to punctuate the point. 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' Castiel's observation rings true for Fred. She watches Dean with a bit of a frown on her face. She doesn't know the worse alternatives because Dean has never divulged them. Much of the Winchester's life remains wrapped in a fog of mystery. There are times when she can peel it away, but for the most part it remains shaded. "I don't think so," she tells Dean very distinctly, but she can't argue more than that. He doesn't seem willing to listen and he doesn't seem likely to take what she says to heart. So, that is all she says in that matter. Cas' expression is met with a studying - almost annoyed - expression of her own. She is used to taking care of herself and doesn't like to be told she is not prepared for something. "Fine," she tells him in a manner very similar to how Dean told them he was fine. It seems she's picked a few things up from her time with the Winchesters. 

:'''{{#var:1086|Castiel (1086)}} has posed:''' Winfred's look of annoyance is totally ignored - if it even registers with the angel. "As you wish." His attention returns to Dean, the man given a long, searching appraisal. "We," he remarks quietly, "Are not through." That he intends on paying a visit to a certain bossy female of his late acquaintance to discuss matters may play a lot into why the angel is willing to let things go. Another swig of the beer is downed, with a complaint, "There should be whiskey." Louder, "If we're done?" Since the man is being stupidly stubborn, and the woman.. well.. She's regarded again. And added to the list. The growing list. She just doesn't know it yet. 

:'''{{#var:306|Dean Winchester (306)}} has posed:''' /We are not through/. "Are we ever?" Dean asks with a smirk towards Castiel. He looks back at Fred, and even if Castiel isn't done, there are definite markers that something has succeeded here. A vague glance turns to the once-bloodied-now-cleaned spot on the floor where he'd laid. All's well. Or, at least, well enough. "No one was keeping you here, Cas." Dean is casual about it. Like he'd invited Cas for the game rather than resolution to a fight that should never have been. A fight he needed Sam to know nothing about. His eyebrows draw together and he finishes the beer, leaving the bottle on a nearby bookshelf before slowly retreating to his room, lifting a hand as a kind of farewell. 

:'''{{#var:1086|Castiel (1086)}} has posed:''' That's all the permission Castiel needs. One minute there. The next gone, beer bottle and all. Leaving poor Winifred alone in the livingroom. 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' The way that Dean discards his bottles, it's no wonder Fred was able to find an empty beer bottle to toss at Cas. Even if it caused ridicule from the angel she was attempting to bean with it. There should be whiskey? Angels drink whiskey? The brunette is confused. She opens her mouth to answer Castiel, but in a moment, he is gone. There are quite a few blinks as she looks about the now empty room. Her own barely touched beer remains in her hand. "O-okay," she says to no one in particular as she drinks it down by herself. 
}}

Travelling Riverside Blues

2017-09-20T05:43:59Z

Feigenbaum:

{{Log Header
|Date of Scene=2017/09/11
|Location=On the Road
|Synopsis=Fred Burkle and Sam Winchester race to South Dakota in the hopes of driving the white-eyed demon out of Dean's body.
|Cast of Characters=294,160
|Tinyplot=Blood on My Name
|pretty=yes
}}
{{Poses
|Poses=:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' The GPS helpfully told them how long they had to get there. 19 hrs and 28 minutes. They’d been on the road for an hour. Sam grips the steering wheel so hard his hands surely hurt. The knuckles are white. For once he does not bother with the backroads. He got right on I-71 South an hour ago, and has been passing cars on the Interstate like an old pro. Just because the Winchester family typically preferred the back roads didn’t mean they didn’t know how to get around a semi at 80 mph. He doesn’t speed too much. He doesn’t want to explain the stuff in the trunk to any cop. His neck muscles are so hard and tense that veins are standing out around his throat. His mouth remains caught in a tight, grim line, the proverbial expression that ‘got stuck that way.’ He hadn’t done much speaking over the past hour. But at last, he does, giving voice to one of the waking nightmares that had been playing behind his eyes since he got off the phone. Hazel eyes again, the darkness fled from them, if not from his heart. “I shouldn’t have brought you. He might cut you. He might burn you.” 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' The conversation with the police about the stuff in the trunk would certainly be awkward and best avoided. Fred sits in the passenger seat, keeping the silence that Sam set as precedence. She’s not been idle, though. She’s keeping track of their progress on her phone as well as re-reading the exorcism words, just to make sure she has them memorized properly. The last thing she wants is to mess up a pronunciation and blow their only chance at getting that demon out of Dean. It’s also a helpful distraction. The world is still rather large and overwhelming to Fred. She hasn’t been outside the Winchester apartment in a little over a week. Seeing cars and buildings whisk by them on the Interstate is a little too much like falling through a twisting portal. Every now and again, she’ll cast a worried look at Sam: the white knuckles, the tightened neck. The worst part of this is the waiting, the knowledge that in the hours it will take them to drive to Bobby’s they don’t know what is going on or what the demon might be doing. When Sam finally speaks, she lowers the phone and shifts in her seat to better talk to him. “He could do the same to you.” There’s a reason why that demon wants Sam and it could be to torture him - not just psychologically, but physically. “I wouldn’t let you do this on your own. You know that.” 

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' “I know. And I love you for it. And I need you. And I’m scared.” They come in staccato, these expressions of his feelings. Sam, for all that he is an expressive guy by anyone’s standards, is still a man who was taught a host of expectations about how men should act. He may have rejected many of them. He may be too naturally empathetic to live up to most of them. But even so, when he does get around to expressing how he /feels/ he does so in short bursts. Four little sentences. He offers her a quick, tight smile before passing a WalMart truck, slamming the accelerator hard when the stupid trucker nearly drifts into his lane. He gets around it and slows down again. He drives with the surety of one for whom driving requires no conscious thought. The smile, as it is, doesn’t get turned to her directly; he keeps his eyes on the road. 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' “I know,” Fred echoes his sentiment. She knows all of those things: that he’s scared for Dean and about bringing her to a dangerous situation. That he loves her and that she wouldn’t allow herself to be left behind - cupboard or no. She feels the same. This demon wants to hurt Sam and that both worries and scares her. First, it was Hydra, now demons. That and the way his eyes turned black in anger leaves a cold grip on her stomach. The acceleration and slowing is met with a momentary pause, a hand steadying itself on arm rest by the window. Fred’s own driving skills are not as good as Sam’s. He lived much of his life on the road, while she didn’t drive for half a decade due to Pylean circumstances. Once past the truck, she turns her attention back to him. “We’re going to get him back,” she tells him. It’s more than just hope or reassurance, there’s conviction there. 

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' And the sad truth is… It will probably always be someone. For the rest of his life, however long that is. If not because of strange apocalyptic schemes because of the many, many enemies he’s made and keeps making. She speaks with conviction, and he gives another tight smile. He appreciates it, but of course he doesn’t share it. They might get Dean and Bobby and Jo to safety, and Fred, but he’s not that sure about himself. And none of it matters. He’d subject himself to an eternity of torture for them. He just hadn’t seen it when he was busy trying to be ‘normal.’ /Never again,/ he promises himself, if he even has that chance. He’s so done with that. SHIELD is a compromise, but he’ll throw that on the pyre too, if he has to. “I should have gone after Dean. The demon was right. I shouldn’t have ‘given him his space’. I was worried about Claire, but…”

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' The tight smile is one she expects. Fred realizes how worried Sam is as well as his tendency to imagine the worst scenario. It’s possible it’s already too late - she also knows that. However, she has to state it and - more than that - she has to believe it. Otherwise, the next hours would go by in grim silence. Even when things look hopeless, dwelling on it only leads to despair. She knows that for a fact. If she somehow knew what Sam was thinking about sacrificing himself for Dean and the rest of them, she would certainly have some words about that as well. Instead, she tackles what she just heard. “You’re not a mind reader, Sam.” Fred folds her hands over her phone in her lap. At least, she’s pretty sure Sam isn’t a mind reader. He’s been exhibiting some very strange and powerful powers lately, after all. “The last time we talked to Dean he drove off and left us outside the city. He definitely acted like he needed some space and didn’t want anyone to follow him.” 

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' “Yeah.” He had, but Sam didn’t feel absolved. And in that one word probably clears up the mystery of whether he’s become a telepath /too/. That, at least, hasn’t happened yet, which is probably all to the good. He grimly changes lanes again before he speaks. Finally he says, “A demon took him in my vision, too. I let myself get distracted by other things. Things I thought were more important.” He has been notoriously unwilling to speak about that vision, saying only that it was “nothing” and “kind of par for my course.” But the parallels between that vision and what’s happening now are twisting him up inside. “Is that all that’s going to happen? In any reality? He gets hurt for me, again and again, and I fail him, again and again? He lost his mother because of me, he lost his freedom because of me, now he’s lost his body. /Because of me./” 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' A demon took Dean in Sam’s vision, the one from the Hydra base. The reveal of that lifts Fred’s eyebrows just slightly. He had avoided talking about what happened to him there, despite a few gentle questions to try and get him to open up about it. She didn’t push too hard; she was also attempting to get over her own experiences. “You couldn’t have known,” is what she tells him now, gently. “That spell...it took some of our darkest fears and tried to trap us in them.” It’s clear that one of Sam’s worst fears involves losing Dean. It’s not exactly a surprise. “It wasn’t real and it wasn’t a prophecy.” He was the one that helped her come to that conclusion, after all. “And you didn’t fail him. Dean’s made a lotta choices on his own that put him on that radar.” She sighs, her heart aching to hear Sam blame himself for his mother’s death and Dean’s contract. “None of that is your fault.” The fact that his vision is starting to come true now? That this might just happen no matter where they are? She doesn’t really have any answers for that. “Dean didn’t do those things ‘cause you failed, Sam. He did it ‘cause he loves you.” While she doesn’t have much insight into the mind of Dean Winchester, she does know what she saw during the fight in the Crossroads and what that adds up to. 

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' She’s not wrong, and he knows she’s not. He swallows. He can’t stop the tear that rolls down his cheek. “I’ve never done anything to deserve it though.” He sniffles back, trying not to let anything more than that fall. He’s been under more stress than usual to be sure, but that’s just unacceptable. Everything’s ratcheted so far past the boundaries of ‘normal’ hunts. All the revelations and issues and troubles are hitting them both hard, and right about now part of him wishes /he/ had a cupboard to crawl into. They don’t really make ‘em big enough for Sam, but it is what it is. The lump in his throat won’t quite go away though, and another quick one drops down his cheek. He wipes them in irritation. This is no way to lead someone into battle. Maybe he should have called May, maybe he should have called Mercy… But what if doing so just hands them to the demon? The demon has already touched Fred and passed her by, at least. And he still has a cold sensation about bringing her along, a cold fear that she’ll bleed, that she’ll burn. In his mind’s eye all of his friends are bleeding and burning. “Sorry,” he says, hoarsely.

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' That sentence just breaks Fred’s heart. Somewhere in the back of her mind, an angry speech is being written to be tossed in John Winchester’s face along with a slap, now that she knows his name. How could raise his sons to think they needed to do things like sell their souls to prove they should be loved? However, she quells that anger because it’s not going to help anyone right now. Instead, she reaches a hand out and puts it on Sam’s leg. He’s driving, so now’s not the time for any other gesture of love. “Sam, you don’t need to do anything to deserve it.” The sorry is met with a shake of her head. She wants to say ‘it’s okay’, but she also knows that it isn’t. “And you don’t need to apologize.” From her seat, she keeps her hand there as a small reminder that she’s here for him. “We’re going to find this thing and we’re gonna whup it for what it did.” 

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' “How do I balance the scales of what he’s done for me? How do I even begin? At the very least maybe not let him get worn like a suit by horrible creatures.” But he is quelled a little, at her touch. He drops one hand down to cover hers. It’s broad, but cool to the touch. Right now his body temperature is very low thanks to the dark emotions sweeping through him. But she has him talking. “I went to the SHIELD R&D labs today,” he says. It seems like it’s unrelated, but it’s all one. His words hitch in his throat; actually saying everything that’s on his mind is hard even for him. Dean just shuts down. Sam lets stuff escape, then the gates slam shut again, and then he has to lean on the gates to let more escape. He won’t let go of her hand, even now. He needs it, needs that physical connection, that grounding touch, that reminder that he’s...that he’s more than shit on toast. 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' Fred’s fingers curl around Sam’s hand as he covers hers with his. The cold hand is, again, worrying, but right now he’s opening up and she’s not going to interrupt. The question as to how to balance the scales is given a moment of thought. “It’s not about balance, I don’t think. Just be there. We’re gonna figure this out and that’ll certainly be a start.” She knew that he had to go into SHIELD, but she didn’t know it involved their R&D. The thought of Sam around so much interesting and new tech is something that would generally excite her, would get her to ask a million questions as to what he saw there. The fact that he is bringing this up now, though, means this is not a non sequitur. This ties into everything else. “For some new equipment?” she prompts to get him to continue to talk. 

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' “No. May wanted to find out if they could make a synthetic for the demon blood.” He swallows. “The doctor was horrified about collapsing veins and my general health. Her other half, the engineer, he just kept asking me what I wanted. Do I /want/ to get off demon blood, what did I /want/, he couldn’t help me if I couldn’t say what I /wanted/. And I know the right answer is, of course, detox me, let’s get off that stuff. But I couldn’t bring myself to say it, Fred.” His hand tightens. “Because maybe it’s something I can’t get away from, and maybe trying balances the scales somewhere else and someone dies. Because I look at what I’ve been able to do, how these abilities have helped, and I wonder who dies if I give them up. In the vision-- when I reached for them-- the white-eyed demon said he accepted my choice. And that let me save Dean, at the expense of someone else. So if I turn my back on them, does that mean Dean dies? Maybe my vision was a little different. Maybe demonic forces chose to piggy back on it so they could have that conversation with me.” He half shakes his head. “I told them to work on the synthetic, but I just wanted out of there. I don’t know that I should be there. I still don’t know what Hydra wants. I don’t know anything. All I know is that it’s dangerous, chasing things based on /want/. Commitment is okay,” he says, because he doesn’t want her to lump herself into that. “Love is okay. But want? Want is not enough.”

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' A synthetic for the demon blood. Is that even possible? Would it work? Possibilities whirl about in Fred’s mind. Then, she mentally shakes herself. This isn’t about the science, this is about Sam. The thought of his vision in the spell perhaps having some truth to it, a hint of prophecy is met with a neutral expression from Fred. She doesn’t immediately toss the idea out, because he has had visions before and perhaps the visions used this spell in order to give him another one. It’s possible, but she doesn’t want to believe that - possibly because that means her own vision might have a ring of prophecy to it, too. Her eyebrows knit and she looks down at where they are holding each other’s hand. What does she say to that? “Maybe,” she says softly. “You saved my life with them, I know. But, if a white eyed demon wants you to have them?” She trails off at that. If one of those demon creatures wants him to keep the visions and powers, it means she can’t trust them. It can’t lead to any place good. “I don’t know.” It’s complicated, she knows. Her other hand reaches up to lightly touch his arm, over his shirt and jacket to the place she knows he shoots up. Then, she lowers it to rest over the hand that holds hers. “It’s hurting you. The doctor didn’t like what she saw. The whole thing worries me.” 

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' If he were less absorbed in his own fears right now he’d realize what he’s doing, but sometimes fear blathers out. Emotion takes the reins, the horses gallop. He’s holding on to some control, but the ability to think and choose his words with the kind of exquisite care her wounds deserve is missing now, washed away by the hostage situation. “I got so angry at Fitz I was about to demand a detox then and there, but he said it would take 3 days. I need 3 days wherein everything is /not/ going to explode in our faces.” So ambivalent. Synthetic, blood, or detoxification? He can’t find the answer. “I guess right this second it doesn’t matter.” Back to what he knows. Compartmentalize. Straighten his shoulders. Deal with the here and now. “I’m sorry. I should stay focused.” Everyone is counting on him. 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' A three day detox. Three days when things won’t go crazy. It’s possible, she hopes. Fred squeezes Sam’s hand. “We can find the time.” The way some couples discuss trying to find a night for a date, they talk about when they can schedule three days for Sam to detox from demon blood. It might be funny if it were not so worrying. “You were angry that he told you that you needed to know what you wanted before detox?” She knows that he just discussed his thoughts on the fact that wanting isn’t enough, that there has to be something more. However, that something more has to start somewhere. “It’s okay. We’ve still got a long drive ahead of us. Focusing on it too much will just wear us out before we’re even through the state.” 

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' “I can’t describe why I was angry. He just kept asking the same question over and over again.” Sam’s face crumples a little. He signals. Changes lanes a little too aggressively. “Like he wanted me to tell the truth. The truth is part of me /revels in this shit./ The power. The rush.” He bares his teeth at the highway. “I mean, what was I supposed to say? That I’m at least half a monster now, and now that I’ve made the transformation, it feels /right/? That I’ve spent a whole life knowing I’m /unclean/, and to finally just acknowledge it, get it out in the open, to be whatever this is that I am feels better than continuing to hide from it and apologize for it?” He grips the steering wheel all the harder with his free hand. “That I want to take it, and do good things with it, as a big fuck you finger to Azazel, and Hydra, and everyone who thought they got to /define me/? That apparently something being done /to me/ as a /baby/ was enough to damn me, so if I’m going to be damned, then why not damned on my own /damned/ terms?” Another swift, aggressive whip around a car, engine roaring. “It’s like he knew. That fussy little engineer, who wants nothing more than to hide in his lab forever, /he knew/. And he poked, and poked, and poked because he wanted me to tell him that answer. But it’s not /his damned answer/.” 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' This is not exactly what Fred was expecting when Sam started to open up. Perhaps a part of her should have. She’s seen his fierce loyalty and protection, it makes sense that his anger would be just as sharp. It’s a lot to hear Sam describe himself as a monster, as someone who enjoys the power rush of using his powers and wants to use it, to not have to apologize. She gets that, to an extent. Falling into the belief of always being on Pylea was a relief. She was stuck there forever, but there was nothing else. No Earth to pine for, since it never truly existed. The acceleration of the car, the poison in Sam’s voice, it causes her to grip Sam’s hand tighter in response. His anger, the speed, the aggressive changing of lanes...it scares her. Much like the wilderness of Pylea, though, when Angel attempted to vamp out and instead turned into a much different and violent creature, she remains calm. “Sam…” she says. “Please...slow down.” It’s not raising a blood covered hand to lead a vampire away from danger, but it is an entreaty. 

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' He realizes in that moment that he’s scaring her, and remorse floods his face. It screws up into something grief-stricken and confused, but he eases off the gas. A moment later he sees a rest area come up. He slides into the exit lane, his body shaking, his muscles rock hard beneath her hand. He parks. “Take the wheel, please,” he says, reaching out to cup her face briefly. It’s not her he’s angry at. It’s himself. It’s the demons. It’s Hydra. It’s maybe the whole fucking world, who sees fit to go to bed at night feeling comfy and warm, to live and make families and build little box houses and pretend there’s nothing in the night. People can do that because of people like /them/, never knowing the cost. And the fact is, he says yes to that cost every day, because the cost of not doing it is higher than the cost of doing it… But it’s still a matter for rage that these things must be bought at all. 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' Despite the panic induced calm Sam’s vitriol and driving inspired, Fred doesn’t let go. The firm grip that at first was there in fear remains. She doesn’t pull away from him. However, she also doesn’t say much else until they are safely parked in the rest stop. Once there, she uses her free hand to unbuckle her seatbelt. Then, bringing her knees up onto the seat, she leans forward, wrapping her arms around his shoulders, head brushing the inside top of the car. She’s smaller than he is, so she knows it’s not going to give the same feeling of protection and safety that she feels when he does this to her. Hopefully it’s not the mass, but the sentiment that will seep through. “You’re not a monster,” she tells him firmly. “And even if you are, I don’t care.” 

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' It’s the sentiment. His tension all but floods away under the force of that hug. His eyes brim over, and he lets out a soft sob. “I never asked for any of this,” he whispers. Which is so unfair, talking to her, because she never asked for any of this either, not Pylea, none of it. Nobody ever asks for any of it. But in the moment, that’s the emotion, raw and shared; he wraps his big arms around her in turn, hating himself for needing this moment, hating himself for allowing Dean to suffer even a few more seconds than necessary. But if he doesn’t deal with this, he might not think clearly when he needs to think clearly. Even he knows he’s prone to making bad, rash decisions right this second. So he takes the shelter, the comfort, and allows himself that one moment of grief and fear, allows her to tell him that no matter what, she’s with him, monster or man. She sees a man. 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' Fred holds Sam, arms tight about him as he briefly sobs against her. There is no judgement from her. Instead, she smoothes his hair in an echo of how he helped her after the visions of Pylea. They still have hours to go before they reach Kansas and the demon is still out there. She knows that, but she also knows that this is necessary. Isn’t it better to take a moment now to avoid an even bigger mistake in the future? Of course he never asked for any of this. Who would? The brunette physicist rests her cheek against Sam’s head and tells him, “I know.” 

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' Some of the tension eases out of him. Her presence, her closeness. /I need both of them. Both. Is that so wrong? I need Fred, and I need Dean. I need Dean, and I need Fred./ He closes his eyes. There’s an ache behind them, a growing headache that isn’t helping. He holds her close and says, “If I end up having to give myself up to save him, it is only because I trust you and him to get me back out of there.” This bears saying here, and now, because the truth is he can see that as one of the potential outcomes. Right now, this demon holds all the cards. All out assault with exorcism, salt, and holy water could win the day, but the demon has to know he’s coming with all of these things, and has prepared for them. He is in Dean’s /mind/. He knows. He wasn’t fooled by Sam’s act in the least. Which means the only way to save Dean may be to let Hell have him. But he won’t do that without leaving a back door. Fred has got to be that back door. 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' As Fred keeps her arms around Sam, she can feel some of the tension leave him. His words, though, cause her to tighten her grip. The fear sets in. “No,” she says softly, immediately. “You can’t.” She knows how much Dean means to Sam, how he wouldn’t do this if he saw any other way out. Still, she can’t allow it, can’t condone it. “I can’t lose you, Sam. I’m not like you and Dean. I don’t know how to bring someone back from that.” To her, a death like that is permanent. She can attempt contracts, devil bargains, but that leaves all of them right back where they started. She might just do it, though, to rescue Sam. She knows that. “We can save him without that.” 

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' “Good thing this guy doesn’t want me dead then,” Sam says, with impeccable logic. “If he wanted me dead, he would have eaten pizza with you in our apartment, used the element of surprise to attack me and killed us both. He would not have tried to break your mind again. He wouldn’t have tried to hit my psychological weak spots. He wouldn’t take three people I care about hostage. He’s got Bobby too. Bobby’s...if anyone other than Dean could be said to be my Dad…” He closes his eyes and exhales. “No. He said I was his favorite. He wants me for something. Hell invested in me, feeding me this blood, turning me into whatever I am now. What they want is for me to play ball. He might hurt me, but he won’t kill me.” Humorlessly. “Or. If he does. He’ll just resurrect me.” He exhales. “But you? Dean? Bobby? Jo Harvelle? Disposable.” 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' With that same logic, Fred retorts, “He’s not going to take you unless he thinks we can’t get you back.” Slowly, she keeps her arms around Sam, but sits backwards on her haunches so she can look at him while they discuss this. “It looks like he’s doing all this to hurt not just you, but Dean. If he wanted to capture you, like you said, he could’ve just stayed in the apartment with me and then used me and Dean to try and make you his prisoner.” There’s a shake of her head. “There’s more to it than that. I think it has to do with the both of you.” She’s not sure why she feels that way, but she does. “Maybe we are. But, just giving yourself up doesn’t work for me, either. We’ll save them. We’ve gotta. I’m just not willing to let you go to save everyone else. I’m sorry.” 

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' There’s that Fred-stubbornness. She’s showing more spirit and backbone than she has in days, and Sam can’t help but smile over it. It’s a gentle, bashful thing. He is seized with the need to kiss her, and he does. Then he lets her go, and gets out so she can take the wheel. “Well,” he says with fond resignation. “We have...18 hours, 59 minutes according to our GPS to come up with something suitably brilliant.” It’s conceding the point to her. Sacrificing himself is off the table. If it’s even an option. Because she’s right; all of this is...elaborate. Elaborate in a way that makes zero sense to one Sam Winchester. 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' Fred is not exactly surprised when Sam kisses her. There’s enough warning that she kisses him back. It’s a brief moment of stability in their chase to rescue Dean. It might be easier for her to get out of the car and switch places, but she instead climbs over the middle partition and gets into the driver’s seat that way. There’s relief when Sam gives up the idea to sacrifice himself for Dean. She knows he wants to balance the scales, to prove to Dean he’s willing do the hard thing to save him, but she’s selfish in her need to ensure that he stays alive and with her. “I think we can conjure some sort of plan in that time.” Fred waits till Sam is back in the passenger seat and then turns the engine back on and angels the car back onto the Interstate. She is certainly not as good of a driver as Sam is, but that doesn’t exactly matter. She can and will drive the rest of the way to South Dakota, even if it is mostly without passing and stubbornly keeping to the speed limit. 
}}

Travelling Riverside Blues

2017-09-20T05:38:18Z

Feigenbaum:

{{Log Header
|Date of Scene=2017/09/11
|Location=On the Road
|Synopsis=Fred Burkle and Sam Winchester race to South Dakota in the hopes of driving the white-eyed demon out of Dean's body.
|Cast of Characters=294,160
|Tinyplot=Blood on My Name
|pretty=yes
}}
{{Poses
|Poses=:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' The GPS helpfully told them how long they had to get there. 19 hrs and 28 minutes. They’d been on the road for an hour. Sam grips the steering wheel so hard his hands surely hurt. The knuckles are white. For once he does not bother with the backroads. He got right on I-71 South an hour ago, and has been passing cars on the Interstate like an old pro. Just because the Winchester family typically preferred the back roads didn’t mean they didn’t know how to get around a semi at 80 mph. He doesn’t speed too much. He doesn’t want to explain the stuff in the trunk to any cop. His neck muscles are so hard and tense that veins are standing out around his throat. His mouth remains caught in a tight, grim line, the proverbial expression that ‘got stuck that way.’ He hadn’t done much speaking over the past hour. But at last, he does, giving voice to one of the waking nightmares that had been playing behind his eyes since he got off the phone. Hazel eyes again, the darkness fled from them, if not from his heart. “I shouldn’t have brought you. He might cut you. He might burn you.” 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' The conversation with the police about the stuff in the trunk would certainly be awkward and best avoided. Fred sits in the passenger seat, keeping the silence that Sam set as precedence. She’s not been idle, though. She’s keeping track of their progress on her phone as well as re-reading the exorcism words, just to make sure she has them memorized properly. The last thing she wants is to mess up a pronunciation and blow their only chance at getting that demon out of Dean. It’s also a helpful distraction. The world is still rather large and overwhelming to Fred. She hasn’t been outside the Winchester apartment in a little over a week. Seeing cars and buildings whisk by them on the Interstate is a little too much like falling through a twisting portal. Every now and again, she’ll cast a worried look at Sam: the white knuckles, the tightened neck. The worst part of this is the waiting, the knowledge that in the hours it will take them to drive to Bobby’s they don’t know what is going on or what the demon might be doing. When Sam finally speaks, she lowers the phone and shifts in her seat to better talk to him. “He could do the same to you.” There’s a reason why that demon wants Sam and it could be to torture him - not just psychologically, but physically. “I wouldn’t let you do this on your own. You know that.” 

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' “I know. And I love you for it. And I need you. And I’m scared.” They come in staccato, these expressions of his feelings. Sam, for all that he is an expressive guy by anyone’s standards, is still a man who was taught a host of expectations about how men should act. He may have rejected many of them. He may be too naturally empathetic to live up to most of them. But even so, when he does get around to expressing how he /feels/ he does so in short bursts. Four little sentences. He offers her a quick, tight smile before passing a WalMart truck, slamming the accelerator hard when the stupid trucker nearly drifts into his lane. He gets around it and slows down again. He drives with the surety of one for whom driving requires no conscious thought. The smile, as it is, doesn’t get turned to her directly; he keeps his eyes on the road. 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' “I know,” Fred echoes his sentiment. She knows all of those things: that he’s scared for Dean and about bringing her to a dangerous situation. That he loves her and that she wouldn’t allow herself to be left behind - cupboard or no. She feels the same. This demon wants to hurt Sam and that both worries and scares her. First, it was Hydra, now demons. That and the way his eyes turned black in anger leaves a cold grip on her stomach. The acceleration and slowing is met with a momentary pause, a hand steadying itself on arm rest by the window. Fred’s own driving skills are not as good as Sam’s. He lived much of his life on the road, while she didn’t drive for half a decade due to Pylean circumstances. Once past the truck, she turns her attention back to him. “We’re going to get him back,” she tells him. It’s more than just hope or reassurance, there’s conviction there. 

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' And the sad truth is… It will probably always be someone. For the rest of his life, however long that is. If not because of strange apocalyptic schemes because of the many, many enemies he’s made and keeps making. She speaks with conviction, and he gives another tight smile. He appreciates it, but of course he doesn’t share it. They might get Dean and Bobby and Jo to safety, and Fred, but he’s not that sure about himself. And none of it matters. He’d subject himself to an eternity of torture for them. He just hadn’t seen it when he was busy trying to be ‘normal.’ /Never again,/ he promises himself, if he even has that chance. He’s so done with that. SHIELD is a compromise, but he’ll throw that on the pyre too, if he has to. “I should have gone after Dean. The demon was right. I shouldn’t have ‘given him his space’. I was worried about Claire, but…”

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' The tight smile is one she expects. Fred realizes how worried Sam is as well as his tendency to imagine the worst scenario. It’s possible it’s already too late - she also knows that. However, she has to state it and - more than that - she has to believe it. Otherwise, the next hours would go by in grim silence. Even when things look hopeless, dwelling on it only leads to despair. She knows that for a fact. If she somehow knew what Sam was thinking about sacrificing himself for Dean and the rest of them, she would certainly have some words about that as well. Instead, she tackles what she just heard. “You’re not a mind reader, Sam.” Fred folds her hands over her phone in her lap. At least, she’s pretty sure Sam isn’t a mind reader. He’s been exhibiting some very strange and powerful powers lately, after all. “The last time we talked to Dean he drove off and left us outside the city. He definitely acted like he needed some space and didn’t want anyone to follow him.” 

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' “Yeah.” He had, but Sam didn’t feel absolved. And in that one word probably clears up the mystery of whether he’s become a telepath /too/. That, at least, hasn’t happened yet, which is probably all to the good. He grimly changes lanes again before he speaks. Finally he says, “A demon took him in my vision, too. I let myself get distracted by other things. Things I thought were more important.” He has been notoriously unwilling to speak about that vision, saying only that it was “nothing” and “kind of par for my course.” But the parallels between that vision and what’s happening now are twisting him up inside. “Is that all that’s going to happen? In any reality? He gets hurt for me, again and again, and I fail him, again and again? He lost his mother because of me, he lost his freedom because of me, now he’s lost his body. /Because of me./” 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' A demon took Dean in Sam’s vision, the one from the Hydra base. The reveal of that lifts Fred’s eyebrows just slightly. He had avoided talking about what happened to him there, despite a few gentle questions to try and get him to open up about it. She didn’t push too hard; she was also attempting to get over her own experiences. “You couldn’t have known,” is what she tells him now, gently. “That spell...it took some of our darkest fears and tried to trap us in them.” It’s clear that one of Sam’s worst fears involves losing Dean. It’s not exactly a surprise. “It wasn’t real and it wasn’t a prophecy.” He was the one that helped her come to that conclusion, after all. “And you didn’t fail him. Dean’s made a lotta choices on his own that put him on that radar.” She sighs, her heart aching to hear Sam blame himself for his mother’s death and Dean’s contract. “None of that is your fault.” The fact that his vision is starting to come true now? That this might just happen no matter where they are? She doesn’t really have any answers for that. “Dean didn’t do those things ‘cause you failed, Sam. He did it ‘cause he loves you.” While she doesn’t have much insight into the mind of Dean Winchester, she does know what she saw during the fight in the Crossroads and what that adds up to. 

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' She’s not wrong, and he knows she’s not. He swallows. He can’t stop the tear that rolls down his cheek. “I’ve never done anything to deserve it though.” He sniffles back, trying not to let anything more than that fall. He’s been under more stress than usual to be sure, but that’s just unacceptable. Everything’s ratcheted so far past the boundaries of ‘normal’ hunts. All the revelations and issues and troubles are hitting them both hard, and right about now part of him wishes /he/ had a cupboard to crawl into. They don’t really make ‘em big enough for Sam, but it is what it is. The lump in his throat won’t quite go away though, and another quick one drops down his cheek. He wipes them in irritation. This is no way to lead someone into battle. Maybe he should have called May, maybe he should have called Mercy… But what if doing so just hands them to the demon? The demon has already touched Fred and passed her by, at least. And he still has a cold sensation about bringing her along, a cold fear that she’ll bleed, that she’ll burn. In his mind’s eye all of his friends are bleeding and burning. “Sorry,” he says, hoarsely.

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' That sentence just breaks Fred’s heart. Somewhere in the back of her mind, an angry speech is being written to be tossed in John Winchester’s face along with a slap, now that she knows his name. How could raise his sons to think they needed to do things like sell their souls to prove they should be loved? However, she quells that anger because it’s not going to help anyone right now. Instead, she reaches a hand out and puts it on Sam’s leg. He’s driving, so now’s not the time for any other gesture of love. “Sam, you don’t need to do anything to deserve it.” The sorry is met with a shake of her head. She wants to say ‘it’s okay’, but she also knows that it isn’t. “And you don’t need to apologize.” From her seat, she keeps her hand there as a small reminder that she’s here for him. “We’re going to find this thing and we’re gonna whup it for what it did.” 

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' “How do I balance the scales of what he’s done for me? How do I even begin? At the very least maybe not let him get worn like a suit by horrible creatures.” But he is quelled a little, at her touch. He drops one hand down to cover hers. It’s broad, but cool to the touch. Right now his body temperature is very low thanks to the dark emotions sweeping through him. But she has him talking. “I went to the SHIELD R&D labs today,” he says. It seems like it’s unrelated, but it’s all one. His words hitch in his throat; actually saying everything that’s on his mind is hard even for him. Dean just shuts down. Sam lets stuff escape, then the gates slam shut again, and then he has to lean on the gates to let more escape. He won’t let go of her hand, even now. He needs it, needs that physical connection, that grounding touch, that reminder that he’s...that he’s more than shit on toast. 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' Fred’s fingers curl around Sam’s hand as he covers hers with his. The cold hand is, again, worrying, but right now he’s opening up and she’s not going to interrupt. The question as to how to balance the scales is given a moment of thought. “It’s not about balance, I don’t think. Just be there. We’re gonna figure this out and that’ll certainly be a start.” She knew that he had to go into SHIELD, but she didn’t know it involved their R&D. The thought of Sam around so much interesting and new tech is something that would generally excite her, would get her to ask a million questions as to what he saw there. The fact that he is bringing this up now, though, means this is not a non sequitur. This ties into everything else. “For some new equipment?” she prompts to get him to continue to talk. 

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' “No. May wanted to find out if they could make a synthetic for the demon blood.” He swallows. “The doctor was horrified about collapsing veins and my general health. Her other half, the engineer, he just kept asking me what I wanted. Do I /want/ to get off demon blood, what did I /want/, he couldn’t help me if I couldn’t say what I /wanted/. And I know the right answer is, of course, detox me, let’s get off that stuff. But I couldn’t bring myself to say it, Fred.” His hand tightens. “Because maybe it’s something I can’t get away from, and maybe trying balances the scales somewhere else and someone dies. Because I look at what I’ve been able to do, how these abilities have helped, and I wonder who dies if I give them up. In the vision-- when I reached for them-- the white-eyed demon said he accepted my choice. And that let me save Dean, at the expense of someone else. So if I turn my back on them, does that mean Dean dies? Maybe my vision was a little different. Maybe demonic forces chose to piggy back on it so they could have that conversation with me.” He half shakes his head. “I told them to work on the synthetic, but I just wanted out of there. I don’t know that I should be there. I still don’t know what Hydra wants. I don’t know anything. All I know is that it’s dangerous, chasing things based on /want/. Commitment is okay,” he says, because he doesn’t want her to lump herself into that. “Love is okay. But want? Want is not enough.”

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' A synthetic for the demon blood. Is that even possible? Would it work? Possibilities whirl about in Fred’s mind. Then, she mentally shakes herself. This isn’t about the science, this is about Sam. The thought of his vision in the spell perhaps having some truth to it, a hint of prophecy is met with a neutral expression from Fred. She doesn’t immediately toss the idea out, because he has had visions before and perhaps the visions used this spell in order to give him another one. It’s possible, but she doesn’t want to believe that - possibly because that means her own vision might have a ring of prophecy to it, too. Her eyebrows knit and she looks down at where they are holding each other’s hand. What does she say to that? “Maybe,” she says softly. “You saved my life with them, I know. But, if a white eyed demon wants you to have them?” She trails off at that. If one of those demon creatures wants him to keep the visions and powers, it means she can’t trust them. It can’t lead to any place good. “I don’t know.” It’s complicated, she knows. Her other hand reaches up to lightly touch his arm, over his shirt and jacket to the place she knows he shoots up. Then, she lowers it to rest over the hand that holds hers. “It’s hurting you. The doctor didn’t like what she saw. The whole thing worries me.” 

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' If he were less absorbed in his own fears right now he’d realize what he’s doing, but sometimes fear blathers out. Emotion takes the reins, the horses gallop. He’s holding on to some control, but the ability to think and choose his words with the kind of exquisite care her wounds deserve is missing now, washed away by the hostage situation. “I got so angry at Fitz I was about to demand a detox then and there, but he said it would take 3 days. I need 3 days wherein everything is /not/ going to explode in our faces.” So ambivalent. Synthetic, blood, or detoxification? He can’t find the answer. “I guess right this second it doesn’t matter.” Back to what he knows. Compartmentalize. Straighten his shoulders. Deal with the here and now. “I’m sorry. I should stay focused.” Everyone is counting on him. 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' A three day detox. Three days when things won’t go crazy. It’s possible, she hopes. Fred squeezes Sam’s hand. “We can find the time.” The way some couples discuss trying to find a night for a date, they talk about when they can schedule three days for Sam to detox from demon blood. It might be funny if it were not so worrying. “You were angry that he told you that you needed to know what you wanted before detox?” She knows that he just discussed his thoughts on the fact that wanting isn’t enough, that there has to be something more. However, that something more has to start somewhere. “It’s okay. We’ve still got a long drive ahead of us. Focusing on it too much will just wear us out before we’re even through the state.” 

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' “I can’t describe why I was angry. He just kept asking the same question over and over again.” Sam’s face crumples a little. He signals. Changes lanes a little too aggressively. “Like he wanted me to tell the truth. The truth is part of me /revels in this shit./ The power. The rush.” He bares his teeth at the highway. “I mean, what was I supposed to say? That I’m at least half a monster now, and now that I’ve made the transformation, it feels /right/? That I’ve spent a whole life knowing I’m /unclean/, and to finally just acknowledge it, get it out in the open, to be whatever this is that I am feels better than continuing to hide from it and apologize for it?” He grips the steering wheel all the harder with his free hand. “That I want to take it, and do good things with it, as a big fuck you finger to Azazel, and Hydra, and everyone who thought they got to /define me/? That apparently something being done /to me/ as a /baby/ was enough to damn me, so if I’m going to be damned, then why not damned on my own /damned/ terms?” Another swift, aggressive whip around a car, engine roaring. “It’s like he knew. That fussy little engineer, who wants nothing more than to hide in his lab forever, /he knew/. And he poked, and poked, and poked because he wanted me to tell him that answer. But it’s not /his damned answer/.” 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' This is not exactly what Fred was expecting when Sam started to open up. Perhaps a part of her should have. She’s seen his fierce loyalty and protection, it makes sense that his anger would be just as sharp. It’s a lot to hear Sam describe himself as a monster, as someone who enjoys the power rush of using his powers and wants to use it, to not have to apologize. She gets that, to an extent. Falling into the belief of always being on Pylea was a relief. She was stuck there forever, but there was nothing else. No Earth to pine for, since it never truly existed. The acceleration of the car, the poison in Sam’s voice, it causes her to grip Sam’s hand tighter in response. His anger, the speed, the aggressive changing of lanes...it scares her. Much like the wilderness of Pylea, though, when Angel attempted to vamp out and instead turned into a much different and violent creature, she remains calm. “Sam…” she says. “Please...slow down.” It’s not raising a blood covered hand to lead a vampire away from danger, but it is an entreaty. 

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' He realizes in that moment that he’s scaring her, and remorse floods his face. It screws up into something grief-stricken and confused, but he eases off the gas. A moment later he sees a rest area come up. He slides into the exit lane, his body shaking, his muscles rock hard beneath her hand. He parks. “Take the wheel, please,” he says, reaching out to cup her face briefly. It’s not her he’s angry at. It’s himself. It’s the demons. It’s Hydra. It’s maybe the whole fucking world, who sees fit to go to bed at night feeling comfy and warm, to live and make families and build little box houses and pretend there’s nothing in the night. People can do that because of people like /them/, never knowing the cost. And the fact is, he says yes to that cost every day, because the cost of not doing it is higher than the cost of doing it… But it’s still a matter for rage that these things must be bought at all. 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' Despite the panic induced calm Sam’s vitriol and driving inspired, Fred doesn’t let go. The firm grip that at first was there in fear remains. She doesn’t pull away from him. However, she also doesn’t say much else until they are safely parked in the rest stop. Once there, she uses her free hand to unbuckle her seatbelt. Then, bringing her knees up onto the seat, she leans forward, wrapping her arms around his shoulders, head brushing the inside top of the car. She’s smaller than he is, so she knows it’s not going to give the same feeling of protection and safety that she feels when he does this to her. Hopefully it’s not the mass, but the sentiment that will seep through. “You’re not a monster,” she tells him firmly. “And even if you are, I don’t care.” 

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' It’s the sentiment. His tension all but floods away under the force of that hug. His eyes brim over, and he lets out a soft sob. “I never asked for any of this,” he whispers. Which is so unfair, talking to her, because she never asked for any of this either, not Pylea, none of it. Nobody ever asks for any of it. But in the moment, that’s the emotion, raw and shared; he wraps his big arms around her in turn, hating himself for needing this moment, hating himself for allowing Dean to suffer even a few more seconds than necessary. But if he doesn’t deal with this, he might not think clearly when he needs to think clearly. Even he knows he’s prone to making bad, rash decisions right this second. So he takes the shelter, the comfort, and allows himself that one moment of grief and fear, allows her to tell him that no matter what, she’s with him, monster or man. She sees a man. 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' Fred holds Sam, arms tight about him as he briefly sobs against her. There is no judgement from her. Instead, she smoothes his hair in an echo of how he helped her after the visions of Pylea. 
They still have hours to go before they reach Kansas and the demon is still out there. She knows that, but she also knows that this is necessary. Isn’t it better to take a moment now to avoid an even bigger mistake in the future? Of course he never asked for any of this. Who would? The brunette physicist rests her cheek against Sam’s head and tells him, “I know.” 

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' Some of the tension eases out of him. Her presence, her closeness. /I need both of them. Both. Is that so wrong? I need Fred, and I need Dean. I need Dean, and I need Fred./ He closes his eyes. There’s an ache behind them, a growing headache that isn’t helping. He holds her close and says, “If I end up having to give myself up to save him, it is only because I trust you and him to get me back out of there.” This bears saying here, and now, because the truth is he can see that as one of the potential outcomes. Right now, this demon holds all the cards. All out assault with exorcism, salt, and holy water could win the day, but the demon has to know he’s coming with all of these things, and has prepared for them. He is in Dean’s /mind/. He knows. He wasn’t fooled by Sam’s act in the least. Which means the only way to save Dean may be to let Hell have him. But he won’t do that without leaving a back door. Fred has got to be that back door. 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' As Fred keeps her arms around Sam, she can feel some of the tension leave him. His words, though, cause her to tighten her grip. The fear sets in. “No,” she says softly, immediately. “You can’t.” She knows how much Dean means to Sam, how he wouldn’t do this if he saw any other way out. Still, she can’t allow it, can’t condone it. “I can’t lose you, Sam. I’m not like you and Dean. I don’t know how to bring someone back from that.” To her, a death like that is permanent. She can attempt contracts, devil bargains, but that leaves all of them right back where they started. She might just do it, though, to rescue Sam. She knows that. “We can save him without that.” 

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' “Good thing this guy doesn’t want me dead then,” Sam says, with impeccable logic. “If he wanted me dead, he would have eaten pizza with you in our apartment, used the element of surprise to attack me and killed us both. He would not have tried to break your mind again. He wouldn’t have tried to hit my psychological weak spots. He wouldn’t take three people I care about hostage. He’s got Bobby too. Bobby’s...if anyone other than Dean could be said to be my Dad…” He closes his eyes and exhales. “No. He said I was his favorite. He wants me for something. Hell invested in me, feeding me this blood, turning me into whatever I am now. What they want is for me to play ball. He might hurt me, but he won’t kill me.” Humorlessly. “Or. If he does. He’ll just resurrect me.” He exhales. “But you? Dean? Bobby? Jo Harvelle? Disposable.” 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' With that same logic, Fred retorts, “He’s not going to take you unless he thinks we can’t get you back.” Slowly, she keeps her arms around Sam, but sits backwards on her haunches so she can look at him while they discuss this. “It looks like he’s doing all this to hurt not just you, but Dean. If he wanted to capture you, like you said, he could’ve just stayed in the apartment with me and then used me and Dean to try and make you his prisoner.” There’s a shake of her head. “There’s more to it than that. I think it has to do with the both of you.” She’s not sure why she feels that way, but she does. “Maybe we are. But, just giving yourself up doesn’t work for me, either. We’ll save them. We’ve gotta. I’m just not willing to let you go to save everyone else. I’m sorry.” 

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' There’s that Fred-stubbornness. She’s showing more spirit and backbone than she has in days, and Sam can’t help but smile over it. It’s a gentle, bashful thing. He is seized with the need to kiss her, and he does. Then he lets her go, and gets out so she can take the wheel. “Well,” he says with fond resignation. “We have...18 hours, 59 minutes according to our GPS to come up with something suitably brilliant.” It’s conceding the point to her. Sacrificing himself is off the table. If it’s even an option. Because she’s right; all of this is...elaborate. Elaborate in a way that makes zero sense to one Sam Winchester. 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' Fred is not exactly surprised when Sam kisses her. There’s enough warning that she kisses him back. It’s a brief moment of stability in their chase to rescue Dean. It might be easier for her to get out of the car and switch places, but she instead climbs over the middle partition and gets into the driver’s seat that way. There’s relief when Sam gives up the idea to sacrifice himself for Dean. She knows he wants to balance the scales, to prove to Dean he’s willing do the hard thing to save him, but she’s selfish in her need to ensure that he stays alive and with her. “I think we can conjure some sort of plan in that time.” Fred waits till Sam is back in the passenger seat and then turns the engine back on and angels the car back onto the Interstate. She is certainly not as good of a driver as Sam is, but that doesn’t exactly matter. She can and will drive the rest of the way to South Dakota, even if it is mostly without passing and stubbornly keeping to the speed limit. 
}}

Back in Black

2017-09-20T05:35:48Z

Feigenbaum:

{{Log Header
|Date of Scene=2017/09/11
|Location=Winchester Apartment - Hell's Kitchen
|Synopsis=After Dean and Fred's contentious conversation, Sam returns home and realizes that something is not right with his brother.
|Cast of Characters=160, 294, 306
|Tinyplot=Blood on My Name
|pretty=yes
}}
{{Poses
|Poses=:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' The Winchester Apartment, as Sam left it, was mostly clean. It was just as he remembered it. As he might turn the key, though, he sees the carpet that covered the demon trap on the front door is moved. The floor is slightly warped. For the past week, Fred has been staying in the apartment. Mostly, she has been in Sam Winchester’s room with him. Tonight, however, Sam went to talk to SHIELD. It was a necessary step and Fred urged him to do so. Now, though, as he returns, it’s a toss up as to whether she is writing on the walls, under the bed, or asleep on top of it. Right now, she is none of those things. Instead the apartment is quiet. There is nothing out of place outside of the mat and the floor drawings.

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' “Fred?” Sam is calling her name the moment he comes through the door. He’s got a bad feeling. It’s no vision, but it’s a bad feeling. He pauses at the carpet, the warped floor. He kneels down to investigate it, feeling cold. His instincts ramp up into high gear. Anything that suggests a demon trap problem is a bad scene right now. He flips the rug up and out of the way, studying it. “Winifred?” This time there’s not just more urgency in the tone. There’s her full name, a measure of how worried he really is. What if she’s not here? Eyes scan the entire apartment warily. He picks out other details. Such as Dean’s missing phone. The sight of that thing has been burned into his mind and worry for weeks now, after all. “Dean?”

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' Fred is hidden, a little like a Where’s Waldo, under the counter in the kitchen. As Sam calls out for her, the words hitch in her throat. Then, he calls out for Dean. The physicist stays where she is, holding the necklace that Dean gave her. She knows Sam is looking for her, but she is also worried. What can she tell him of her interaction with Dean? It’s a long few moments, but Fred responds to Sam. She can’t stand the idea of him looking for her. “I’m--I’m here,” she calls out. But, she does not move from her hiding space just yet. Nor does she give up the necklace that Dean gave her. In fact, she tucks it into her pocket, knowing as soon as Sam sees it that it might mean something to him. What it might mean is up to interpretation, but she knows it means something. In the past few days, Fred has hidden under multiple surfaces, has written on Sam’s walls. It’s entirely possible this is just another line in her coping mechanisms.

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' Very possibly. He notes the break in the demon trap. Could Fred be possessed? He reaches out with his power. Looks for the little sensation of something /foreign/ inside her, something which must needs be pushed /out/ and /away/. He finds nothing. One of the huge benefits of the powers he’s contemplating giving up. The ability to tell, with a little bit of effort, if someone has been possessed. He feels nobody and nothing else in this apartment. He swiftly pulls out a black marker and restores the trap, then flips the rug back over it. It’s small wonder he’s little concerned with her writing on his walls. He’s sort of painted all over his ceilings and floors and doorframes and window frames. As long as her equations don’t bust up his wards. That done, and feeling a little of the pressure inside his chest abate, he crosses into the kitchen and crouches down to the cabinets, marveling that she can fold herself in there. Sometimes he forgets how charmingly /little/ she is. It would be adorable if it didn’t all point to what might be a worsening of her mental state. Maybe today was the wrong day to go into...to go into /work./ He reaches out with one tentative hand, not trying to draw her out of there yet. He just takes her hand inside of that cabinet. “I’m so sorry. I should have demanded a few more days.” That may not be what is going on here, but he feels the need to offer it anyway.

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' As Sam searches from Fred, he finds her in the cupboards. It’s not entirely different from her state before he left her. However, her hiding places were far more obvious before. While she does not move outward, when Sam finds her, she shakes her head. “No, it’s okay. You shouldn’t...it’s fine.” She doesn’t want to be the reason he doesn’t do anything else. However, now she is left in a strange place. Dean chased her under a cabinet, but also gave him his necklace and told her to look after Sam. He also told her that because of that, Sam would grow bored of her. There’s a long pause where Fred looks down. She doesn’t want to say this, doesn’t want to know what Sam will say to this. However, she has to tell him. She doesn’t want him to worried and wondering what happened to his brother. Softly, she tells Sam: “Dean moved out. I tried to stop him.”

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' The relief on his face is plain. Is that all? “Stopping Dean is almost impossible when he gets the bit between his teeth, honey,” he says gently. “Now that he’s got his phone I can call him and we can figure this out. I don’t know what’s rolling through his head right now, but this crossroads deal has got to be messing him up, and whatever actions he’s taking could be at the demon’s behest. I’ve got searches running at WAND about crossroads demons, just to see if I can shake anything out that’s worthwhile.” He frowns though. Still doesn’t explain the cupboard. It’s a frown of concern, not of anger. It’s not for nothing that he’s an investigator of sorts, but the best way to piece things together is to ask. “What happened exactly? Why did you end up hiding under here?”

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' There’s a long pause. The last thing Fred wants to do is be in the middle of the Winchesters. She loves Sam, she respects Dean. Because of that, she needs to deliver the message. The pendant she dropped into her pocket is held up and then presented to Sam. “He came back looking for you and that I should give this to you when I found you.” There’s a long pause. She doesn’t want to tell him what else he told her. That he believes she replaced him, that Sam will grow tired of her rather easily when he realizes he needs to get back on the road. So, she says nothing of that. Not yet. Not right now. “He said he was tired of pretending. That you’d know.” He’d know about leaving everything behind and going on the road. That she doesn’t state out loud. She doesn’t wish to say it. Doesn’t wish to try and make him choose. At that she holds the pendant toward him in her grasp, easy for him to take. Her eyes are cast downward at the offer.

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' He does take the pendant, and his mouth flattens into a tight, hurt, unhappy line. This hits him right in the gut to be sure. Pained, he gently does put it around her neck, tucks it into her shirt. “For safekeeping,” he explains. “If one person I love can’t wear it right now, it’s best held by another person I love.” /Which might just compound whatever the fuck Dean is thinking,/ Sam thinks, with an angry exhale. But wearing it around his own neck feels lame. He listens to the rest of what she has to say and looks down. “We’ll sort it out,” he says finally. /Your brother, Dean, is missing./ “I don’t know how yet,” he admits. “But we’ll sort it out. Was he a dick to you?”

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' As Sam takes the pendant, Fred looks slightly away. It seems almost like a personal moment. Then, though, he puts it over her neck and she looks to Sam with a curious and surprised look. “He gave it to you!” she tells him. Or, really, he gave it to Fred to give it to Sam. The pendant is already over her neck and a hand reaches up to hold the small charm beneath her shirt for a few moments. Was he a dick to Fred? There’s a tilt of her head. Dean has been a dick to her in the past. However, it wasn’t as malicious as it felt this time around. The Dean she drank with might not have trust her, but he also didn’t tell her that Sam could never love her. However, her most visceral memories of Dean involve him being a dick to her. Case in point: “The last time I saw your brother before this he told me that Pylea was unfortunate but didn’t really measure to his own pain,” Fred tells Sam truthfully, with a bit of pain still in her voice. “This time, though,” she sighs. “He said that you could never love me because you should be on the road. That you could never settle down.” She pauses. “Some of that’s paraphrasing. But, it’s the gist of it.”

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' Sam’s nostrils flare as his mouth settles into another one of those grim, tight lines. His jaw locks up, and a dark look passes over his features. He’s furious. But not at her. His furious look shoots at the door. “He’s jealous,” he concludes. “And no, Fred, I gave that pendant to him. When we were children. It was the first gift I ever gave him.” Her point is well taken though. Dean has been a dick to Fred for awhile now. Angry, in pain, and possibly jealous. It’s another angle to the mess, but no wonder she’s in such a state. He turns his attention to soothing her, even as something nags at him. It’s nagging good and hard. /The white eyed demon stood by the tree with a knife to Dean’s throat./ He squeezes her hand. “First, if I really wanted to go on the road, I have always just assumed I’d ask you to go with me and you would. SHIELD is more of a bar to that than you are. You’re a Hunter, like me, and self-employed.” SHIELD is really less of a bar to that anyway unless they get too shitty about his ‘in training’ status; the arrangement he has with May, who is, after all, still his SO, says he gets to work cases, but he logs them and gets paid for them, while working his training around things, and stays /available/ for cases they want him to do. “I’ve also assumed we’d just /drive back/ after any jobs. There is nothing about hunting that demands the lack of a home base. And I’ve assumed that if you didn’t want to go on a job, you’d just say so. Then I’d go work it, and come home. Did I assume any of that incorrectly? It’s okay if I did. We can talk about it. Work it out, figure out what works for both of us. I’m not sure how regular people do this, but I figure that’s how it works. Because I’m committed to you, Fred, and I felt ready for this relationship because I felt like you and I were basically alike, that none of this would be a real problem.”

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' For a little while, Dean and Fred were almost friends, bros even. It was the Crossroads fight that heralded a short downturn in their relationship. “I was trying to apologize about that fight we had,” Fred attempts to explain some more. She can’t exactly argue against the idea that Dean might be jealous, as he did intimate that very sentiment. “He wouldn’t listen. He said I replaced him.” Her eyes look downward at that and she briefly touches the necklace Sam gave her for safekeeping no beneath her shirt. “But that it’d only be a matter of time.” As for getting back on the road and taking her with him, Fred looks back up at him. There’s a touch of sorrow, but she’s also pleased he thought of them together. “I couldn’t leave Angel.” That’s also why she often insists they spend time at the Hyperion. While they might not always see the vampire, she feels better knowing he’s close by. The idea of a home base, though, that is something she can get behind. She nods a few times as he describes them going out on a Hunt or him leaving and then returning. “That sounds nice.” There’s a sigh and shake of her head as to if any of that is a problem. “No, you didn’t. I know. I don’t want to come between you two. And I have and I don’t know how to fix it. I don’t know if I can. I tried to stop him, Sam. I did. He just...he said those things and I panicked. He called me vanilla. And pumpkin.”

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' “Well, jealous people often say that the person they’re jealous over will swing back to them eventually, all while being pissed off over the necessity of that,” Sam says, with the logic that would have made him a phenomenal lawyer. He reaches out-- into the cabinet still-- to brush back some of her hair. “I’m committed to you,” he says simply. “And I am pretty sure he and Jo are together, he said something to me about her, so he’s not even being fair. We’ll work this out.” /Nothing good comes without a balancing of the scales somewhere. You know that./ Vanilla. Pumpkin. These are not terms Dean uses. Sam turns around fully to look at the door, something cold icing through his spine. “Fred,” he asks, with some quiet urgency. “Do you know if Dean was in Virginia?”

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' Fred leans into that touch slightly. There’s a slight nod at that. “Jo’s with him. Apparently she’s different. She knows everything about the deal and is along for the ride. I think that’s who’s been calling him all the time.” With a deep breath, Fred reaches out to put her hand on his. “I’m committed to you, too.” He has managed to keep her mostly sane after a mental trip to Pylea. His steadiness and care has helped her through the worst of it. Even now, he’s calmly helped her down from the fear that this fight with Dean will make him see her differently, that he would see her as someone he would grow tired of and leave behind. As Sam turns from her to look at the door, she peeks her head out from the cabinet to look there, too. She pauses before she answers that. Dean asked her not to tell Sam about Virginia. He also did just tell her a bunch of things that caused her to crawl into a cabinet. Finally, she answers. “Yeah. He had a court date there after something happened on a case. He asked me not to talk to you about that awhile ago. I didn’t mean to keep that from you, but there also didn’t seem to be a good time to bring it up.” Fred’s eyes move from the door to Sam. “Dean has his phone now, you could call him. He told me that you should if you wanted to talk.”

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' “In a minute,” he says, on the matter of contacting Dean. He doesn’t seem too upset. Getting angry that she held onto a secret at Dean’s behest would be the height of hypocrisy. And he’s distracted. “Fred,” he says, in those slow, even tones that say that he’s gone into full Hunt mode. “I need you to tell me if he did anything strange at the door. My devil’s trap was tampered with when I got home.” /I see your choice. And I accept./ He returns his gaze to her, mouth set into a tight, grim line.

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' Fred knows that tone of voice. It’s how he spoke when she first met him, back when she was attempting to brain him with a large tome of Latin. Her brows furrow and she watches him. “He wouldn’t come in at first,” she recalls. “He stayed by the doorway. For a minute, I was worried that he actually /couldn’t/ come in. A lot of things need to be invited in to come into a place.” She sighs and shakes her head. “He did come in, though, and I didn’t invite him.” As soon as he was inside, the visit almost immediately turned into telling Fred how he was leaving and how she had replaced him in Sam’s eyes. That distracted her from thinking he was anything else. There’s a frown as Sam says that the devil’s trap was tampered with. “It must’ve happened when he tripped coming inside. He spilled the glass of water I got him. That must’ve mucked up the trap.”

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' He stood at the door and asked for water, then spilled just enough to screw up the trap. “That wasn’t Dean,” he says, fear and fury warring for dominance in his tone. He stands and goes to a drawer. Rummaging around in it, he pulls out a necklace with the anti-possession sigil he has tattoo’d to his chest and offers it out to Fred. “Later it would be a good idea for you to get something more permanent,” he says grimly. “But this will do for now. Are you able to come out of there, sweetie? I’m going to need your help.” His heart pounds. Tension has corded up his neck muscles until they are standing out, visible. He’s sure angry now, but not at her. At this /thing/ which has taken his brother. Even so, he spares a thankful prayer to God and all His angels. The demon chose psychological warfare instead of physical warfare. The litany of awful things that could have happened to Fred rattles around the back of his throat, listed off in Volkov’s mad tones.

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' Wasn’t Dean? Fred’s confusion is clear for a moment until things start to fall into place. That wasn’t Dean and she didn’t even realize. It didn’t occur to her until after Sam vocalized it. For a few moments, she stares at the necklace Sam offers her. A part of her wants to crawl backward even further into the cabinet. She didn’t realize that a demon had taken control of Dean. It barely occurred to her. “Sam, I’m so sorry. I didn’t--I should have known. I can’t believe I didn’t know.” The list of awful things that could have been done to her before Sam returned does not yet occur to her. He asks her if she’s able to come out from under the counter. To be honest, she isn’t sure. However, he needs her and Dean needs both of their help. She needs to stand up, to get out from the cabinet. Grimly, her fingers wrap around the pendant and she pulls it over her head. This one she wears over her shirt - allowing the talisman to remain hidden. Then, with slow and deliberate movements, she starts to crawl out of the safe, dark space. “Okay. I’ll--I’m not sure how helpful I’ll be.”

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' “Do you have the exorcism ritual memorized yet? You were reading it from a book last time.” Sam pulls out his phone thoughtfully. /Note to self. Next time you are left with Dean’s phone for weeks, put a damned tracking app on it./ Inwardly, he’s a mess of anger and panic. Outwardly, he is all calm competence, as if his brother’s possession were an everyday occurrence. But then, danger and this sort of thing has been an almost every-week occurrence for most of his life, and he and Dean have alternately been ‘taken’ by a variety of things in a variety of ways, or threatened or otherwise menaced. He knows panic does no good. Only plans, and action. He goes to the fridge and pulls out the gallon of milk. He dumps it out into the sink and starts rinsing it. He saw the size of that omen. They’re going to need more holy water.

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' Fred watches Sam as he starts moving. He’s instantly in Hunter mode and asking her questions. The physicist watches him for a few moments, concerned. She doesn’t quite know what to do here. Vampires? She has that covered. Hell beasts? Sure. Demons that have possessed her boyfriend’s brother? That’s a bit shakier territory. “I think so,” Fred tells Sam about memorizing the exorcism. “I tend to pick things up pretty quickly.” Moving forward, she puts a hand Sam’s arm for just a moment, an attempt to be reassuring. “We’re gonna get him back.” It’s quick, her trying to tell Sam that things will be okay, that she’s here for him. Then, she moves toward his bedroom, back to business. “I’ll get some weapons. Do crucifixes stop them? Salt does, right?” And while she knows that trying to physically hurt Alistair will hurt Dean, going to find him unarmed also sounds like a bad idea.

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' “Crucifixes are useless in any direct sense, but if you have one toss it over here, I’ll need it to bless the water. Salt is good. I think there are still some salt rounds in my closet. Along with the shotguns that use them. Let’s grab two and load those up.” There’s some irony here. The demon tells Fred that Dean feels replaced, and now Sam partners up with her just like he does with Dean to go save...Dean. “Spray paint for devil’s traps. We have to be careful what we use, we could end up hurting Dean.” That’s where the fear slips into his voice. Right there. But then, that’s pretty much how they met, wasn’t it? Defeating a demon… And then disposing of the vessel’s lifeless body. /If Dean dies here though he’s fulfilled his deal, and if I could be brought back, he could be brought back. If a crossroads demon won’t make the deal...well. I still have a wish-granting psychopath in my storage unit./ But of course. It’s. Probably better to just. Not let Dean die. He blows out his cheeks, trying to figure out what he’s going to do when he calls the number in just a moment.

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' “I don’t tend to keep those on me,” Fred tells Sam a bit sheepishly. She does deal with vampires quite often, but she also lives in the same hotel as one. Having a crucifix on her at all times felt a bit offensive to Angel. “Do you have one in the closet?” While she is in there, she pulls out the shotguns, the salt shells and starts to gather a proper arsena - salt shells, shotguns, spray paint. She knows that the wrong thing will hurt Dean and not Alistair. Pulling what she has, she packs it up into a duffle bag and brings it back out to the kitchen. “Dean still has my bag of bombs from capturing Barnes after driving off with them from the crossroads.” It’s not just regrettable, but now that means danger. Alerting Sam to that immediately is better than when they’re arriving. It means they can plan. “It’s got one of the sleepy bombs, two of the molotovs and one of the magnets. We should be careful of that.” Setting the bag down, she watches Sam and hears the fear in his voice. Moving into the kitchen, she reaches forward to try and stop his preparations for a moment, to take his hand. “We won’t. You know what you’re doing and I’m here. We’ll get him back.” She remembers that poor girl, too. Her lifeless eyes still haunt her. Looking about at the kitchen, her eyes land on the empty beer bottles that line one of the counters. An idea forms. “We can fill a lot of these bottles with salt and holy water and toss them at him. The demon equivalent of a molotov.”

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' “Yeah, we’ve got them,” Sam replies. He looks momentarily frozen when she mentions the bombs. But. There’s nothing to be done. He takes her hand and squeezes, lowering his eyes. But she has good ideas, and he nods. “Alright.” He finds a crucifix in the drawer without losing her hand, and starts the blessing ritual. Prep work will pretty much be all he focuses on for awhile, blessing water so she can make bombs out of it. At length, he says, “Okay, there are three ways I can play this, and I’m not sure which is right. I can call and pretend I don’t know yet, try to get him to tell me to meet him somewhere. Or I can just throw the gauntlet down and let him taunt me where he wants me. Or I can try to plead for Dean.” Two plans where he admits he knows, one plan where he doesn’t. The demon took Dean, and made a point of visiting Fred and traumatizing her all over again. It doesn’t seem too big of a stretch to assume the demon wants something with him, Sam.

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' Bomb making of both the mechanical and metaphysical type seems to be what Fred leans toward when the going gets tough. Once the assurances are given, she squeezes his hand and then gets back to her own prep work. Bottles are rinsed out and stoppers are made for each. Once the holy water is blessed, she starts to fill them and adds some salt. Hopefully that will do something. Stoppers are put in place, but she pauses as she reaches the last few. Sam’s multiple plans are taken under consideration. “He really wanted to talk to you,” Fred says softly. The worry of that is plain in her voice. A finger plays at the label on one of the repurposed beer bottles. “I think calling him at all will be what he wants.” Thinking it over, she sighs. “Pretending like you don’t know anything leaves us with more options. Either he believes you and we have a bit of an advantage and surprise, or he doesn’t and you can try the gauntlet or the plea.” The bare need Demon Dean expressed in needing to talk to Sam remains a cold hand that grips at her stomach. If the attempt to mentally break her down was only in response to getting his hands on Sam? That’s even worse.

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' “Good point,” Sam tells Fred. He must see something on her face, for he reaches out to cup it with one broad hand. “The assholes,” he says solemnly, “will always try to use any bond of love against anyone else. Me, you, Dean, probably Jo later. May. It’s never the fault of the person who is getting targeted. It’s always the fault of the thing that’s doing the targeting. So don’t worry about it. We’re going to figure all of this out.” He keeps saying that, even with the echo of that vision taunting him, bothering him, making him wonder if it’s really true. But he says it like he believes it. He exhales and pulls out his phone, staring at it.

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' As Sam reaches out to cup her face, Fred’s unoccupied hand touches his, keeping it there. “I know,” she says softly. She knows that the easiest way to get to someone is through the people they love. A part of her is worried about that exact thing. The Demon Dean was attempting to implant seeds of distrust and while he did not manage that, he did instill the idea that she might be a liability to Sam, that people will try to get to him through her. Perhaps that was the idea that he was trying to inception into her head.That’s why Hunters don’t have loved ones or ties: they get used against them. Despite that, she presses the worries down. Fred loves Sam, she wants to help him and help Dean. That’s enough. As Sam looks at his phone, steeling himself to call the creature that is inhabiting Dean, she leans forward and kisses him, attempting to give him some sort of strength. “You can do this. If it helps, I’ll get back in the cupboard.”

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' “No, don’t get back in the cupboard. Let’s save the cupboard for when you really need it. All I see is this badass Hunter building me holy water bombs.” Hunters don’t have ties to the outside world. But they still have ties to /each other/. If anything, SHIELD is the thing that does not belong here, the thing that is not the same. But Sam shelves that thought for now. Of all the things he might have to sacrifice to get his life right, SHIELD is more than sacrificable. He dials Dean’s number. Waits for a demon to pick up. And steels himself for the sensation of hearing something that is pure evil using his brother’s voice.

:'''{{#var:306|Dean Winchester (306)}} has posed:''' What is a demon to do with a new suit? That’s the million dollar question. After getting out of SHIELD medical following a course of various treatment with refused painkillers had won the elder Winchester more than a few eyebrow raises, and questions about his past substance use. Not that anyone asked. If Dean had been an impersonal patient before, this time he was weirdly interested. In everything. And everyone. It had the desired side-effect of shutting down most conversations. Music blares in the background when the phone picks up. Sam gets far more of an earful than any normal person would allow before saying anything into the phone. It’s odd. //Back in black// //I’ve hit the sack// //I’ve been too long I’m glad to be back// //Yes, I’m let loose// “Sammy,” the name is too familiar and lacks its usual warmth in Dean’s voice. “Long time no talk,” the self-satisfied smile heard through the line extends with each uttered syllable. “Way too long,” he adds nearly smugly. “Get my message?”

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' Time to pretext someone with access to his brother’s read on him. He hopes Dean is in there, somewhere, fouling the waters. He puts on his meekest sounding voice, the one he gets when he forgets he’s a grown man and reverts back to being the son of Dean Winchester. Instead of his brother. Soft and worried and hurt. “Yeah, um,” he clears his throat. “You didn’t have to move out, Dean, I-- I thought you wanted me to put down some roots here. You rented this place, remember? Invited me to move in? I just don’t understand what’s going on, but I want to make it right. Where are you? We should talk about this.” He gives Fred an uneasy glance. He can hear the differences. They’re chilling him. And something… Something feels oddly familiar. Not familiar in the way Dean’s voice is familiar, as familiar as his own, but familiar for other reasons. Familiar in a way that makes him think Volkov only wishes he were as terrifying as this thing he’s talking to now, but why should he be scared? It’s just another demon.

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' “I’m not really a Hunter,” Fred tells Sam with a bit of a self-deprecating smile. She’s a scientist attached to a private investigator. She may deal with the same things, but she doesn’t see herself on the same level as Sam or Dean. “I do like building bombs, though.” That is just a verifiable fact. Sam dials Dean’s number and she reaches out to place a hand on his arm for support. She can read his expression, knows that something is up. Right now she can’t tell if it is the stress of talking to a demon that is wearing Dean or something else. Either way, she stands there, giving him silent support.

:'''{{#var:306|Dean Winchester (306)}} has posed:''' The sound of Sam’s voice, the way he takes on that child-like demeanour and the way he replies to Dean’s supposed message meet more music on the other side of the phone. //Back in Black// finishes. There’s something painfully calculating in the silence that grows. Or, perhaps, something else altogether. It’s hard to tell on the phone. Smarm that drips from Dean’s voice when he states, “Dean can’t come to the phone right now.” The smile grows. It’s not self-deprecating or good humoured. It’s grim. Sinister. Feline. “And don’t you snivel. I won’t tolerate that from one of my favourites.” A long contented breath emits through the phone. “It’s strange. The way he efforts so much that we don’t talk.” There’s no jig here, just pure demon having a conversation with Sam. “It’s like he wants Hell to stay away from you. Amazing really, even after what Crowley told him about you. It’s a wonder he’d negotiate for you after knowing… well, what he knows.”

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' Sam drops the act, and Fred will get to watch his eyes harden. He wraps an arm around her and snarls coldly, “You listen to me, you son of a bitch. You vacate my brother right now or I will make sure your fate is way worse than a standard exorcism. I’ll find a way to /end you/.” It’s not a good start. It’s not smart. But the fury that roars through him will not be denied. This thing doesn’t want him to snivel? He won’t snivel. Meanwhile, the demon is trying to catch him up with his dual nature. He so does not care right now. If it helps him get his brother back he’ll become something darker still. His eyes flash briefly black. The whites never fill when they do that. It’s just that his eye color becomes the black of the pit instead of his gentler hazel. His jaw firms, and his shoulders grow rocklike, tense.

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' Pretty immediately, it seems that they are moving onto the backup plan B, but without the ‘allowing’ him to taunt Sam. Fred keeps that hand on his arm as he talks to whatever demon it is that holds Dean. On this side of the phone, she can see the change - sees the pupils of his eyes turn black. It more than worries her, it scares her. Trying to keep herself unheard, she urges Sam to calm down. “Sam,” she says softly, tugging at his arm. This is not the way to get him to talk, to get a meeting. She gets the anger at the demon, but this was far more fury far too soon. She can’t hear the other end of the the conversation, doesn’t know just how expertly Sam is being taunted.

:'''{{#var:306|Dean Winchester (306)}} has posed:''' “Oh, big brother has had a taste of what I have in store for him,” Dean replies smoothly. “He was concerned about his pretty face for awhile. As he should be.” The thrum of a new song plays in the background, but it’s not as prominent or as familiar. “And for the blonde he’s spending time with. And, of course, you Sammy.” There’s another pause. “But you, //you// should be concerned with what I can do to him in the meantime. Did you know we can occupy living or dead? Makes no difference to us, really. I don’t need food in this state. No real need for water. I could’ve left Dean bleeding if I’d wanted,” which begs the question: why not? “No. I think you have more to worry about than my occupation of Dean. While I’m here, you don’t even know if my hostage is dead or alive. Enthralling, isn’t it?” He smiles again, this time more pleased with the position he’s in. “So maybe we should play a game?”

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' Sam’s heart sinks. He did, of course, know. He’d just shared that worry with Fred. He closes his eyes, lets her talk him down, but also finds he has no more defiance left. He feels defeated, pinned like a butterfly to a board. His throat closes. He manages to get two words out. “I’m listening.” He doesn’t even know who this is yet, but he knows even that Crossroads demon Dean was messing around with didn’t create this kind of omen. It could be Azazel. It could be worse. And either way, it doesn’t matter. Whatever it takes to get Dean back, he’s going to do. Just as Dean did for him. It might be an object lesson in the problem of Winchesters for poor Fred, too. He notes that Jo must be alive, but what state she’s in remains uncertain. It doesn’t matter...the demon has two hostages, and he’s lucky he didn’t take a third.

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' From her position, Fred watches as Sam move from furious to defeated. That doesn’t look at all good. Moving forward, she wraps her arms about him. There are no words for him at the moment - he is on the phone and she doesn’t want to alert the demon to her own presence here. Even though he must know she is there. For now, she is just there with silent support which she attempts to convey through her gestures.

:'''{{#var:306|Dean Winchester (306)}} has posed:''' “Listening or /listening/?” comes the sly question. Dean hums quietly. Is it Asia? //Heat of the Moment//? It’s definitely not what’s playing in the background. The humming stops. As randomly as it had begun. “They are different, you know. Of course you know,” he chuckles hollowly. “Tell me, do you remember our time together at all? Dean’s memories tell me yours was wiped.” His gaze turns upwards. “And, can you clear something up for me? What is the story of this ladyfriend in your apartment? I continue to be perplexed why you weren’t with dear brother when I nabbed him. He wasn’t unfindable. That agent woman, the one he thinks of as ‘Agent Mom’ found him. He had the pretty blonde with him. But you were painfully absent. Curious.” Like the demon doesn’t know. A likely thing. “But yes. A game.” His tongue clucks. “Where would someone wearing a Dean suit take him? Someone wanting to get their thrills. Someone who aimed not to feed, water, or generally care for the body they’re in.” There’s a long pause. “That’s where you’ll find me. I’ll be waiting.”

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' “I was trying to give him his space,” Sam says stoically, and that’s the honest truth. When a person straight up leaves their phone, walks out, has a giant argument with you and tells you to leave him alone, you maybe do that. Of course, that feeds into all his anxieties about Dean being /taken/ that Hydra stirred up for him. A nightmare that is now coming horrifically true. He buries his face in Fred’s hair for a moment. That old familiar sensation creeps over him. He makes life worse for everyone, just by existing. The demons, Hydra, they all have hopes for something they want out of him, and he’ll either become that and destroy them, or fight it and destroy them. They’d be better off without him… But then who would talk Fred back from the edge? “Do you have May hostage too? And no. I don’t remember you. I have no idea who the Hell you are. Azazel? Am I talking to the demon who killed my mother?” Where would someone wearing a Dean suit take him? Bobby’s, that’s his first immediate guess. Because thrills for Dean is a beer, a piece of pie, and a woman in his arms. Thrills for a demon is making Dean watch as the only father they ever had suffers immensely at his own hands. And if he plans not to care for the body, Bobby might well cause some damage before the demon overcomes him. The food and water bits are irrelevant, all he has to do is /not eat./

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' Fred can half hear what is being said on the other end of the line now - being this close to Sam. It’s muffled, but she gets the general gist. Her arms tighten about Sam. This demon is trying to goad him, she knows it. As he buries his face in her hair, she just holds onto him. They can figure this out, they can rescue Dean: she knows it. She tries to will this hope into him.

:'''{{#var:306|Dean Winchester (306)}} has posed:''' “Before or after John Winchester decked him?” the demon asks idly. “I can’t get the timing right. It’s all a blur. Checkmarks for Dean. Watch Sam demon-out? Check. Head to the Crossroads to summon Crowley? Check. Take the shit-deal to be Crowley’s bitch? Check! Get punched out by dear old Dad? Check.” The smile that follows is grim. “Don’t worry. Dean had it coming,” something Dean would probably have said himself if really pushed on the issue. “But maybe not from Dad.” He breathes out slowly. “It’s fun to loose these secrets.” Mention of May though has his tongue clucking. “What do you think, apprentice? Would it be wise to keep Agent Mom around?” And then he hmmms. “You’ve observed that you left Dean ‘space’. But did Dean ever want space? You left. You walked away from it all. Your choice.” There’s another pause, and Dean is humming again. The bars to Zeppelin’s //Rambling On// are distinct. But it stops again. “Did he always want you to go? Or was it inconsequential?” But as Deanmon talks, Sam’s phone pings. The text from Bobby is clear: //Something is wearing your brother.//

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' Sam texts back ‘I know. He’s got me on the line right now. I think he’s heading your way. Is he already with you? Where are you?’ He shows Fred the phone, listening to all of these barbs, these guilty things. His features darken. //Dad was here? That son of a bitch.// It ramps up his suspicion on what dear old Dad’s gambit must have been, but right now he has no time for it. So. He sent May on, because May is too badass to keep around. And because SHIELD would go looking. Fine, that’s good. “Who are you?” he asks again. “You don’t want to tell me? After asking me if I remembered and telling me I was your favorite and everything? And what do you want with me? You’re holding all the cards, so you might as well tell me.”

:'''{{#var:306|Dean Winchester (306)}} has posed:''' “I’m the thing nightmares are afraid of,” Dean replies easily with a laugh in his voice. “I’d hoped you’d remember on your own. And maybe you will.” There’s a continued laugh in Dean’s voice. But it’s not //Dean’s// laugh. It’s empty and hollow and cold. “So until then, Sammy, I will remain anonymous.” Sam’s phone pings again: //The kitchen. Trying to figure out how to get it in a demon trap without tipping it off.// “In the meantime,” Dean quietly hums again. //Travelling Riverside Blues//. His throat clears and he refocuses. “I have things to do. Fun to have.” The line goes dead.

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' ‘Get out of there. The omens following that thing are intense. I’m heading your way now. From NYC.’ Sam drops a quick note to May. ‘Emergency. Kansas. Back soon.’ He swallows. “He’s right,” he says, even as he starts picking up all those materials. “I never do right by Dean. No matter how hard I try.” But he’s still going to ride to the rescue. He hesitates. “Do you still want to come with? This could be...protracted. And...I don’t know that anyone caught up in this gets out alive, sane, or whole.” He’s just being honest. /What do you want?/ Fitz had asked him. The question floating up now makes him want to laugh hysterically. But he holds it together.

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' “Sam.” Fred doesn’t know what she can say to convince him that he does do right by his brother. There’s only so much she can say. However, she realizes one thing. It’s why Demon Dean went after Fred to hurt Sam. It’s why it went after Sam to hurt Dean. The Hunter code that love and ties can hurt you is turned back. It means if someone is trying to use those bonds, that there is a connection there. “If Dean didn’t love you, this demon wouldn’t try and break you down to hurt him.” The question as to whether she wants to come with is met with a bit of hesitation. The door. She hasn’t been out the door in a week. The Winchester apartment is safe, has Sam, ensures she won’t be tossed back into Pylea. However, like before, she knows that Sam needs her, that Dean has to be saved from the demon that possesses him. “I’m with you,” she tells him firmly. “I’m already not exactly sane.” A hand reaches to press first against the demon pendant and then Dean’s talisman. They’re both there - protection and reminder.
}}

Back in Black

2017-09-20T05:34:22Z

Feigenbaum:

Back in Black

2017-09-20T05:25:58Z

Feigenbaum:

{{Log Header
|Date of Scene=2017/09/11
|Location=Winchester Apartment - Hell's Kitchen
|Synopsis=After Dean and Fred's contentious conversation, Sam returns home and realizes that something is not right with his brother.
|Cast of Characters=160, 294, 306
|Tinyplot=Blood on My Name
|pretty=yes
}}
{{Poses
|Poses=:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' The Winchester Apartment, as Sam left it, was mostly clean. It was just as he remembered it. As he might turn the key, though, he sees the carpet that covered the demon trap on the front door is moved. The floor is slightly warped. For the past week, Fred has been staying in the apartment. Mostly, she has been in Sam Winchester’s room with him. Tonight, however, Sam went to talk to SHIELD. It was a necessary step and Fred urged him to do so. Now, though, as he returns, it’s a toss up as to whether she is writing on the walls, under the bed, or asleep on top of it. Right now, she is none of those things. Instead the apartment is quiet. There is nothing out of place outside of the mat and the floor drawings.

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' “Fred?” Sam is calling her name the moment he comes through the door. He’s got a bad feeling. It’s no vision, but it’s a bad feeling. He pauses at the carpet, the warped floor. He kneels down to investigate it, feeling cold. His instincts ramp up into high gear. Anything that suggests a demon trap problem is a bad scene right now. He flips the rug up and out of the way, studying it. “Winifred?” This time there’s not just more urgency in the tone. There’s her full name, a measure of how worried he really is. What if she’s not here? Eyes scan the entire apartment warily. He picks out other details. Such as Dean’s missing phone. The sight of that thing has been burned into his mind and worry for weeks now, after all. “Dean?”

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' Fred is hidden, a little like a Where’s Waldo, under the counter in the kitchen. As Sam calls out for her, the words hitch in her throat. Then, he calls out for Dean. The physicist stays where she is, holding the necklace that Dean gave her. She knows Sam is looking for her, but she is also worried. What can she tell him of her interaction with Dean? It’s a long few moments, but Fred responds to Sam. She can’t stand the idea of him looking for her. “I’m--I’m here,” she calls out. But, she does not move from her hiding space just yet. Nor does she give up the necklace that Dean gave her. In fact, she tucks it into her pocket, knowing as soon as Sam sees it that it might mean something to him. What it might mean is up to interpretation, but she knows it means something. In the past few days, Fred has hidden under multiple surfaces, has written on Sam’s walls. It’s entirely possible this is just another line in her coping mechanisms.

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' Very possibly. He notes the break in the demon trap. Could Fred be possessed? He reaches out with his power. Looks for the little sensation of something /foreign/ inside her, something which must needs be pushed /out/ and /away/. He finds nothing. One of the huge benefits of the powers he’s contemplating giving up. The ability to tell, with a little bit of effort, if someone has been possessed. He feels nobody and nothing else in this apartment. He swiftly pulls out a black marker and restores the trap, then flips the rug back over it. It’s small wonder he’s little concerned with her writing on his walls. He’s sort of painted all over his ceilings and floors and doorframes and window frames. As long as her equations don’t bust up his wards. That done, and feeling a little of the pressure inside his chest abate, he crosses into the kitchen and crouches down to the cabinets, marveling that she can fold herself in there. Sometimes he forgets how charmingly /little/ she is. It would be adorable if it didn’t all point to what might be a worsening of her mental state. Maybe today was the wrong day to go into...to go into /work./ He reaches out with one tentative hand, not trying to draw her out of there yet. He just takes her hand inside of that cabinet. “I’m so sorry. I should have demanded a few more days.” That may not be what is going on here, but he feels the need to offer it anyway.

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' As Sam searches from Fred, he finds her in the cupboards. It’s not entirely different from her state before he left her. However, her hiding places were far more obvious before. While she does not move outward, when Sam finds her, she shakes her head. “No, it’s okay. You shouldn’t...it’s fine.” She doesn’t want to be the reason he doesn’t do anything else. However, now she is left in a strange place. Dean chased her under a cabinet, but also gave him his necklace and told her to look after Sam. He also told her that because of that, Sam would grow bored of her. There’s a long pause where Fred looks down. She doesn’t want to say this, doesn’t want to know what Sam will say to this. However, she has to tell him. She doesn’t want him to worried and wondering what happened to his brother. Softly, she tells Sam: “Dean moved out. I tried to stop him.”

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' The relief on his face is plain. Is that all? “Stopping Dean is almost impossible when he gets the bit between his teeth, honey,” he says gently. “Now that he’s got his phone I can call him and we can figure this out. I don’t know what’s rolling through his head right now, but this crossroads deal has got to be messing him up, and whatever actions he’s taking could be at the demon’s behest. I’ve got searches running at WAND about crossroads demons, just to see if I can shake anything out that’s worthwhile.” He frowns though. Still doesn’t explain the cupboard. It’s a frown of concern, not of anger. It’s not for nothing that he’s an investigator of sorts, but the best way to piece things together is to ask. “What happened exactly? Why did you end up hiding under here?”

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' There’s a long pause. The last thing Fred wants to do is be in the middle of the Winchesters. She loves Sam, she respects Dean. Because of that, she needs to deliver the message. The pendant she dropped into her pocket is held up and then presented to Sam. “He came back looking for you and that I should give this to you when I found you.” There’s a long pause. She doesn’t want to tell him what else he told her. That he believes she replaced him, that Sam will grow tired of her rather easily when he realizes he needs to get back on the road. So, she says nothing of that. Not yet. Not right now. “He said he was tired of pretending. That you’d know.” He’d know about leaving everything behind and going on the road. That she doesn’t state out loud. She doesn’t wish to say it. Doesn’t wish to try and make him choose. At that she holds the pendant toward him in her grasp, easy for him to take. Her eyes are cast downward at the offer.

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' He does take the pendant, and his mouth flattens into a tight, hurt, unhappy line. This hits him right in the gut to be sure. Pained, he gently does put it around her neck, tucks it into her shirt. “For safekeeping,” he explains. “If one person I love can’t wear it right now, it’s best held by another person I love.” /Which might just compound whatever the fuck Dean is thinking,/ Sam thinks, with an angry exhale. But wearing it around his own neck feels lame. He listens to the rest of what she has to say and looks down. “We’ll sort it out,” he says finally. /Your brother, Dean, is missing./ “I don’t know how yet,” he admits. “But we’ll sort it out. Was he a dick to you?”

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' As Sam takes the pendant, Fred looks slightly away. It seems almost like a personal moment. Then, though, he puts it over her neck and she looks to Sam with a curious and surprised look. “He gave it to you!” she tells him. Or, really, he gave it to Fred to give it to Sam. The pendant is already over her neck and a hand reaches up to hold the small charm beneath her shirt for a few moments. Was he a dick to Fred? There’s a tilt of her head. Dean has been a dick to her in the past. However, it wasn’t as malicious as it felt this time around. The Dean she drank with might not have trust her, but he also didn’t tell her that Sam could never love her. However, her most visceral memories of Dean involve him being a dick to her. Case in point: “The last time I saw your brother before this he told me that Pylea was unfortunate but didn’t really measure to his own pain,” Fred tells Sam truthfully, with a bit of pain still in her voice. “This time, though,” she sighs. “He said that you could never love me because you should be on the road. That you could never settle down.” She pauses. “Some of that’s paraphrasing. But, it’s the gist of it.”

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' Sam’s nostrils flare as his mouth settles into another one of those grim, tight lines. His jaw locks up, and a dark look passes over his features. He’s furious. But not at her. His furious look shoots at the door. “He’s jealous,” he concludes. “And no, Fred, I gave that pendant to him. When we were children. It was the first gift I ever gave him.” Her point is well taken though. Dean has been a dick to Fred for awhile now. Angry, in pain, and possibly jealous. It’s another angle to the mess, but no wonder she’s in such a state. He turns his attention to soothing her, even as something nags at him. It’s nagging good and hard. /The white eyed demon stood by the tree with a knife to Dean’s throat./ He squeezes her hand. “First, if I really wanted to go on the road, I have always just assumed I’d ask you to go with me and you would. SHIELD is more of a bar to that than you are. You’re a Hunter, like me, and self-employed.” SHIELD is really less of a bar to that anyway unless they get too shitty about his ‘in training’ status; the arrangement he has with May, who is, after all, still his SO, says he gets to work cases, but he logs them and gets paid for them, while working his training around things, and stays /available/ for cases they want him to do. “I’ve also assumed we’d just /drive back/ after any jobs. There is nothing about hunting that demands the lack of a home base. And I’ve assumed that if you didn’t want to go on a job, you’d just say so. Then I’d go work it, and come home. Did I assume any of that incorrectly? It’s okay if I did. We can talk about it. Work it out, figure out what works for both of us. I’m not sure how regular people do this, but I figure that’s how it works. Because I’m committed to you, Fred, and I felt ready for this relationship because I felt like you and I were basically alike, that none of this would be a real problem.”

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' For a little while, Dean and Fred were almost friends, bros even. It was the Crossroads fight that heralded a short downturn in their relationship. “I was trying to apologize about that fight we had,” Fred attempts to explain some more. She can’t exactly argue against the idea that Dean might be jealous, as he did intimate that very sentiment. “He wouldn’t listen. He said I replaced him.” Her eyes look downward at that and she briefly touches the necklace Sam gave her for safekeeping no beneath her shirt. “But that it’d only be a matter of time.” As for getting back on the road and taking her with him, Fred looks back up at him. There’s a touch of sorrow, but she’s also pleased he thought of them together. “I couldn’t leave Angel.” That’s also why she often insists they spend time at the Hyperion. While they might not always see the vampire, she feels better knowing he’s close by. The idea of a home base, though, that is something she can get behind. She nods a few times as he describes them going out on a Hunt or him leaving and then returning. “That sounds nice.” There’s a sigh and shake of her head as to if any of that is a problem. “No, you didn’t. I know. I don’t want to come between you two. And I have and I don’t know how to fix it. I don’t know if I can. I tried to stop him, Sam. I did. He just...he said those things and I panicked. He called me vanilla. And pumpkin.”

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' “Well, jealous people often say that the person they’re jealous over will swing back to them eventually, all while being pissed off over the necessity of that,” Sam says, with the logic that would have made him a phenomenal lawyer. He reaches out-- into the cabinet still-- to brush back some of her hair. “I’m committed to you,” he says simply. “And I am pretty sure he and Jo are together, he said something to me about her, so he’s not even being fair. We’ll work this out.” /Nothing good comes without a balancing of the scales somewhere. You know that./ Vanilla. Pumpkin. These are not terms Dean uses. Sam turns around fully to look at the door, something cold icing through his spine. “Fred,” he asks, with some quiet urgency. “Do you know if Dean was in Virginia?”

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' Fred leans into that touch slightly. There’s a slight nod at that. “Jo’s with him. Apparently she’s different. She knows everything about the deal and is along for the ride. I think that’s who’s been calling him all the time.” With a deep breath, Fred reaches out to put her hand on his. “I’m committed to you, too.” He has managed to keep her mostly sane after a mental trip to Pylea. His steadiness and care has helped her through the worst of it. Even now, he’s calmly helped her down from the fear that this fight with Dean will make him see her differently, that he would see her as someone he would grow tired of and leave behind. As Sam turns from her to look at the door, she peeks her head out from the cabinet to look there, too. She pauses before she answers that. Dean asked her not to tell Sam about Virginia. He also did just tell her a bunch of things that caused her to crawl into a cabinet. Finally, she answers. “Yeah. He had a court date there after something happened on a case. He asked me not to talk to you about that awhile ago. I didn’t mean to keep that from you, but there also didn’t seem to be a good time to bring it up.” Fred’s eyes move from the door to Sam. “Dean has his phone now, you could call him. He told me that you should if you wanted to talk.”

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' “In a minute,” he says, on the matter of contacting Dean. He doesn’t seem too upset. Getting angry that she held onto a secret at Dean’s behest would be the height of hypocrisy. And he’s distracted. “Fred,” he says, in those slow, even tones that say that he’s gone into full Hunt mode. “I need you to tell me if he did anything strange at the door. My devil’s trap was tampered with when I got home.” /I see your choice. And I accept./ He returns his gaze to her, mouth set into a tight, grim line.

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' Fred knows that tone of voice. It’s how he spoke when she first met him, back when she was attempting to brain him with a large tome of Latin. Her brows furrow and she watches him. “He wouldn’t come in at first,” she recalls. “He stayed by the doorway. For a minute, I was worried that he actually /couldn’t/ come in. A lot of things need to be invited in to come into a place.” She sighs and shakes her head. “He did come in, though, and I didn’t invite him.” As soon as he was inside, the visit almost immediately turned into telling Fred how he was leaving and how she had replaced him in Sam’s eyes. That distracted her from thinking he was anything else. There’s a frown as Sam says that the devil’s trap was tampered with. “It must’ve happened when he tripped coming inside. He spilled the glass of water I got him. That must’ve mucked up the trap.”

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' He stood at the door and asked for water, then spilled just enough to screw up the trap. “That wasn’t Dean,” he says, fear and fury warring for dominance in his tone. He stands and goes to a drawer. Rummaging around in it, he pulls out a necklace with the anti-possession sigil he has tattoo’d to his chest and offers it out to Fred. “Later it would be a good idea for you to get something more permanent,” he says grimly. “But this will do for now. Are you able to come out of there, sweetie? I’m going to need your help.” His heart pounds. Tension has corded up his neck muscles until they are standing out, visible. He’s sure angry now, but not at her. At this /thing/ which has taken his brother. Even so, he spares a thankful prayer to God and all His angels. The demon chose psychological warfare instead of physical warfare. The litany of awful things that could have happened to Fred rattles around the back of his throat, listed off in Volkov’s mad tones.

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' Wasn’t Dean? Fred’s confusion is clear for a moment until things start to fall into place. That wasn’t Dean and she didn’t even realize. It didn’t occur to her until after Sam vocalized it. For a few moments, she stares at the necklace Sam offers her. A part of her wants to crawl backward even further into the cabinet. She didn’t realize that a demon had taken control of Dean. It barely occurred to her. “Sam, I’m so sorry. I didn’t--I should have known. I can’t believe I didn’t know.” The list of awful things that could have been done to her before Sam returned does not yet occur to her. He asks her if she’s able to come out from under the counter. To be honest, she isn’t sure. However, he needs her and Dean needs both of their help. She needs to stand up, to get out from the cabinet. Grimly, her fingers wrap around the pendant and she pulls it over her head. This one she wears over her shirt - allowing the talisman to remain hidden. Then, with slow and deliberate movements, she starts to crawl out of the safe, dark space. “Okay. I’ll--I’m not sure how helpful I’ll be.”

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' “Do you have the exorcism ritual memorized yet? You were reading it from a book last time.” Sam pulls out his phone thoughtfully. /Note to self. Next time you are left with Dean’s phone for weeks, put a damned tracking app on it./ Inwardly, he’s a mess of anger and panic. Outwardly, he is all calm competence, as if his brother’s possession were an everyday occurrence. But then, danger and this sort of thing has been an almost every-week occurrence for most of his life, and he and Dean have alternately been ‘taken’ by a variety of things in a variety of ways, or threatened or otherwise menaced. He knows panic does no good. Only plans, and action. He goes to the fridge and pulls out the gallon of milk. He dumps it out into the sink and starts rinsing it. He saw the size of that omen. They’re going to need more holy water.

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' Fred watches Sam as he starts moving. He’s instantly in Hunter mode and asking her questions. The physicist watches him for a few moments, concerned. She doesn’t quite know what to do here. Vampires? She has that covered. Hell beasts? Sure. Demons that have possessed her boyfriend’s brother? That’s a bit shakier territory. “I think so,” Fred tells Sam about memorizing the exorcism. “I tend to pick things up pretty quickly.” Moving forward, she puts a hand Sam’s arm for just a moment, an attempt to be reassuring. “We’re gonna get him back.” It’s quick, her trying to tell Sam that things will be okay, that she’s here for him. Then, she moves toward his bedroom, back to business. “I’ll get some weapons. Do crucifixes stop them? Salt does, right?” And while she knows that trying to physically hurt Alistair will hurt Dean, going to find him unarmed also sounds like a bad idea.

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' “Crucifixes are useless in any direct sense, but if you have one toss it over here, I’ll need it to bless the water. Salt is good. I think there are still some salt rounds in my closet. Along with the shotguns that use them. Let’s grab two and load those up.” There’s some irony here. The demon tells Fred that Dean feels replaced, and now Sam partners up with her just like he does with Dean to go save...Dean. “Spray paint for devil’s traps. We have to be careful what we use, we could end up hurting Dean.” That’s where the fear slips into his voice. Right there. But then, that’s pretty much how they met, wasn’t it? Defeating a demon… And then disposing of the vessel’s lifeless body. /If Dean dies here though he’s fulfilled his deal, and if I could be brought back, he could be brought back. If a crossroads demon won’t make the deal...well. I still have a wish-granting psychopath in my storage unit./ But of course. It’s. Probably better to just. Not let Dean die. He blows out his cheeks, trying to figure out what he’s going to do when he calls the number in just a moment.

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' “I don’t tend to keep those on me,” Fred tells Sam a bit sheepishly. She does deal with vampires quite often, but she also lives in the same hotel as one. Having a crucifix on her at all times felt a bit offensive to Angel. “Do you have one in the closet?” While she is in there, she pulls out the shotguns, the salt shells and starts to gather a proper arsena - salt shells, shotguns, spray paint. She knows that the wrong thing will hurt Dean and not Alistair. Pulling what she has, she packs it up into a duffle bag and brings it back out to the kitchen. “Dean still has my bag of bombs from capturing Barnes after driving off with them from the crossroads.” It’s not just regrettable, but now that means danger. Alerting Sam to that immediately is better than when they’re arriving. It means they can plan. “It’s got one of the sleepy bombs, two of the molotovs and one of the magnets. We should be careful of that.” Setting the bag down, she watches Sam and hears the fear in his voice. Moving into the kitchen, she reaches forward to try and stop his preparations for a moment, to take his hand. “We won’t. You know what you’re doing and I’m here. We’ll get him back.” She remembers that poor girl, too. Her lifeless eyes still haunt her. Looking about at the kitchen, her eyes land on the empty beer bottles that line one of the counters. An idea forms. “We can fill a lot of these bottles with salt and holy water and toss them at him. The demon equivalent of a molotov.”

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' “Yeah, we’ve got them,” Sam replies. He looks momentarily frozen when she mentions the bombs. But. There’s nothing to be done. He takes her hand and squeezes, lowering his eyes. But she has good ideas, and he nods. “Alright.” He finds a crucifix in the drawer without losing her hand, and starts the blessing ritual. Prep work will pretty much be all he focuses on for awhile, blessing water so she can make bombs out of it. At length, he says, “Okay, there are three ways I can play this, and I’m not sure which is right. I can call and pretend I don’t know yet, try to get him to tell me to meet him somewhere. Or I can just throw the gauntlet down and let him taunt me where he wants me. Or I can try to plead for Dean.” Two plans where he admits he knows, one plan where he doesn’t. The demon took Dean, and made a point of visiting Fred and traumatizing her all over again. It doesn’t seem too big of a stretch to assume the demon wants something with him, Sam.

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' Bomb making of both the mechanical and metaphysical type seems to be what Fred leans toward when the going gets tough. Once the assurances are given, she squeezes his hand and then gets back to her own prep work. Bottles are rinsed out and stoppers are made for each. Once the holy water is blessed, she starts to fill them and adds some salt. Hopefully that will do something. Stoppers are put in place, but she pauses as she reaches the last few. Sam’s multiple plans are taken under consideration. “He really wanted to talk to you,” Fred says softly. The worry of that is plain in her voice. A finger plays at the label on one of the repurposed beer bottles. “I think calling him at all will be what he wants.” Thinking it over, she sighs. “Pretending like you don’t know anything leaves us with more options. Either he believes you and we have a bit of an advantage and surprise, or he doesn’t and you can try the gauntlet or the plea.” The bare need Demon Dean expressed in needing to talk to Sam remains a cold hand that grips at her stomach. If the attempt to mentally break her down was only in response to getting his hands on Sam? That’s even worse.

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' “Good point,” Sam tells Fred. He must see something on her face, for he reaches out to cup it with one broad hand. “The assholes,” he says solemnly, “will always try to use any bond of love against anyone else. Me, you, Dean, probably Jo later. May. It’s never the fault of the person who is getting targeted. It’s always the fault of the thing that’s doing the targeting. So don’t worry about it. We’re going to figure all of this out.” He keeps saying that, even with the echo of that vision taunting him, bothering him, making him wonder if it’s really true. But he says it like he believes it. He exhales and pulls out his phone, staring at it.

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' As Sam reaches out to cup her face, Fred’s unoccupied hand touches his, keeping it there. “I know,” she says softly. She knows that the easiest way to get to someone is through the people they love. A part of her is worried about that exact thing. The Demon Dean was attempting to implant seeds of distrust and while he did not manage that, he did instill the idea that she might be a liability to Sam, that people will try to get to him through her. Perhaps that was the idea that he was trying to inception into her head.That’s why Hunters don’t have loved ones or ties: they get used against them. Despite that, she presses the worries down. Fred loves Sam, she wants to help him and help Dean. That’s enough. As Sam looks at his phone, steeling himself to call the creature that is inhabiting Dean, she leans forward and kisses him, attempting to give him some sort of strength. “You can do this. If it helps, I’ll get back in the cupboard.”

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' “No, don’t get back in the cupboard. Let’s save the cupboard for when you really need it. All I see is this badass Hunter building me holy water bombs.” Hunters don’t have ties to the outside world. But they still have ties to /each other/. If anything, SHIELD is the thing that does not belong here, the thing that is not the same. But Sam shelves that thought for now. Of all the things he might have to sacrifice to get his life right, SHIELD is more than sacrificable. He dials Dean’s number. Waits for a demon to pick up. And steels himself for the sensation of hearing something that is pure evil using his brother’s voice.

:'''{{#var:306|Dean Winchester (306)}} has posed:''' What is a demon to do with a new suit? That’s the million dollar question. After getting out of SHIELD medical following a course of various treatment with refused painkillers had won the elder Winchester more than a few eyebrow raises, and questions about his past substance use. Not that anyone asked. If Dean had been an impersonal patient before, this time he was weirdly interested. In everything. And everyone. It had the desired side-effect of shutting down most conversations. Music blares in the background when the phone picks up. Sam gets far more of an earful than any normal person would allow before saying anything into the phone. It’s odd. //Back in black// //I’ve hit the sack// //I’ve been too long I’m glad to be back// //Yes, I’m let loose// “Sammy,” the name is too familiar and lacks its usual warmth in Dean’s voice. “Long time no talk,” the self-satisfied smile heard through the line extends with each uttered syllable. “Way too long,” he adds nearly smugly. “Get my message?”

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' Time to pretext someone with access to his brother’s read on him. He hopes Dean is in there, somewhere, fouling the waters. He puts on his meekest sounding voice, the one he gets when he forgets he’s a grown man and reverts back to being the son of Dean Winchester. Instead of his brother. Soft and worried and hurt. “Yeah, um,” he clears his throat. “You didn’t have to move out, Dean, I-- I thought you wanted me to put down some roots here. You rented this place, remember? Invited me to move in? I just don’t understand what’s going on, but I want to make it right. Where are you? We should talk about this.” He gives Fred an uneasy glance. He can hear the differences. They’re chilling him. And something… Something feels oddly familiar. Not familiar in the way Dean’s voice is familiar, as familiar as his own, but familiar for other reasons. Familiar in a way that makes him think Volkov only wishes he were as terrifying as this thing he’s talking to now, but why should he be scared? It’s just another demon.

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' “I’m not really a Hunter,” Fred tells Sam with a bit of a self-deprecating smile. She’s a scientist attached to a private investigator. She may deal with the same things, but she doesn’t see herself on the same level as Sam or Dean. “I do like building bombs, though.” That is just a verifiable fact. Sam dials Dean’s number and she reaches out to place a hand on his arm for support. She can read his expression, knows that something is up. Right now she can’t tell if it is the stress of talking to a demon that is wearing Dean or something else. Either way, she stands there, giving him silent support.

:'''{{#var:306|Dean Winchester (306)}} has posed:''' The sound of Sam’s voice, the way he takes on that child-like demeanour and the way he replies to Dean’s supposed message meet more music on the other side of the phone. //Back in Black// finishes. There’s something painfully calculating in the silence that grows. Or, perhaps, something else altogether. It’s hard to tell on the phone. Smarm that drips from Dean’s voice when he states, “Dean can’t come to the phone right now.” The smile grows. It’s not self-deprecating or good humoured. It’s grim. Sinister. Feline. “And don’t you snivel. I won’t tolerate that from one of my favourites.” A long contented breath emits through the phone. “It’s strange. The way he efforts so much that we don’t talk.” There’s no jig here, just pure demon having a conversation with Sam. “It’s like he wants Hell to stay away from you. Amazing really, even after what Crowley told him about you. It’s a wonder he’d negotiate for you after knowing… well, what he knows.”

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' Sam drops the act, and Fred will get to watch his eyes harden. He wraps an arm around her and snarls coldly, “You listen to me, you son of a bitch. You vacate my brother right now or I will make sure your fate is way worse than a standard exorcism. I’ll find a way to /end you/.” It’s not a good start. It’s not smart. But the fury that roars through him will not be denied. This thing doesn’t want him to snivel? He won’t snivel. Meanwhile, the demon is trying to catch him up with his dual nature. He so does not care right now. If it helps him get his brother back he’ll become something darker still. His eyes flash briefly black. The whites never fill when they do that. It’s just that his eye color becomes the black of the pit instead of his gentler hazel. His jaw firms, and his shoulders grow rocklike, tense.

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' Pretty immediately, it seems that they are moving onto the backup plan B, but without the ‘allowing’ him to taunt Sam. Fred keeps that hand on his arm as he talks to whatever demon it is that holds Dean. On this side of the phone, she can see the change - sees the pupils of his eyes turn black. It more than worries her, it scares her. Trying to keep herself unheard, she urges Sam to calm down. “Sam,” she says softly, tugging at his arm. This is not the way to get him to talk, to get a meeting. She gets the anger at the demon, but this was far more fury far too soon. She can’t hear the other end of the the conversation, doesn’t know just how expertly Sam is being taunted.

:'''{{#var:306|Dean Winchester (306)}} has posed:''' “Oh, big brother has had a taste of what I have in store for him,” Dean replies smoothly. “He was concerned about his pretty face for awhile. As he should be.” The thrum of a new song plays in the background, but it’s not as prominent or as familiar. “And for the blonde he’s spending time with. And, of course, you Sammy.” There’s another pause. “But you, //you// should be concerned with what I can do to him in the meantime. Did you know we can occupy living or dead? Makes no difference to us, really. I don’t need food in this state. No real need for water. I could’ve left Dean bleeding if I’d wanted,” which begs the question: why not? “No. I think you have more to worry about than my occupation of Dean. While I’m here, you don’t even know if my hostage is dead or alive. Enthralling, isn’t it?” He smiles again, this time more pleased with the position he’s in. “So maybe we should play a game?”

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' Sam’s heart sinks. He did, of course, know. He’d just shared that worry with Fred. He closes his eyes, lets her talk him down, but also finds he has no more defiance left. He feels defeated, pinned like a butterfly to a board. His throat closes. He manages to get two words out. “I’m listening.” He doesn’t even know who this is yet, but he knows even that Crossroads demon Dean was messing around with didn’t create this kind of omen. It could be Azazel. It could be worse. And either way, it doesn’t matter. Whatever it takes to get Dean back, he’s going to do. Just as Dean did for him. It might be an object lesson in the problem of Winchesters for poor Fred, too. He notes that Jo must be alive, but what state she’s in remains uncertain. It doesn’t matter...the demon has two hostages, and he’s lucky he didn’t take a third.

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' From her position, Fred watches as Sam move from furious to defeated. That doesn’t look at all good. Moving forward, she wraps her arms about him. There are no words for him at the moment - he is on the phone and she doesn’t want to alert the demon to her own presence here. Even though he must know she is there. For now, she is just there with silent support which she attempts to convey through her gestures.

:'''{{#var:306|Dean Winchester (306)}} has posed:''' “Listening or /listening/?” comes the sly question. Dean hums quietly. Is it Asia? //Heat of the Moment//? It’s definitely not what’s playing in the background. The humming stops. As randomly as it had begun. “They are different, you know. Of course you know,” he chuckles hollowly. “Tell me, do you remember our time together at all? Dean’s memories tell me yours was wiped.” His gaze turns upwards. “And, can you clear something up for me? What is the story of this ladyfriend in your apartment? I continue to be perplexed why you weren’t with dear brother when I nabbed him. He wasn’t unfindable. That agent woman, the one he thinks of as ‘Agent Mom’ found him. He had the pretty blonde with him. But you were painfully absent. Curious.” Like the demon doesn’t know. A likely thing. “But yes. A game.” His tongue clucks. “Where would someone wearing a Dean suit take him? Someone wanting to get their thrills. Someone who aimed not to feed, water, or generally care for the body they’re in.” There’s a long pause. “That’s where you’ll find me. I’ll be waiting.”

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' “I was trying to give him his space,” Sam says stoically, and that’s the honest truth. When a person straight up leaves their phone, walks out, has a giant argument with you and tells you to leave him alone, you maybe do that. Of course, that feeds into all his anxieties about Dean being /taken/ that Hydra stirred up for him. A nightmare that is now coming horrifically true. He buries his face in Fred’s hair for a moment. That old familiar sensation creeps over him. He makes life worse for everyone, just by existing. The demons, Hydra, they all have hopes for something they want out of him, and he’ll either become that and destroy them, or fight it and destroy them. They’d be better off without him… But then who would talk Fred back from the edge? “Do you have May hostage too? And no. I don’t remember you. I have no idea who the Hell you are. Azazel? Am I talking to the demon who killed my mother?” Where would someone wearing a Dean suit take him? Bobby’s, that’s his first immediate guess. Because thrills for Dean is a beer, a piece of pie, and a woman in his arms. Thrills for a demon is making Dean watch as the only father they ever had suffers immensely at his own hands. And if he plans not to care for the body, Bobby might well cause some damage before the demon overcomes him. The food and water bits are irrelevant, all he has to do is /not eat./

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' Fred can half hear what is being said on the other end of the line now - being this close to Sam. It’s muffled, but she gets the general gist. Her arms tighten about Sam. This demon is trying to goad him, she knows it. As he buries his face in her hair, she just holds onto him. They can figure this out, they can rescue Dean: she knows it. She tries to will this hope into him.

:'''{{#var:306|Dean Winchester (306)}} has posed:''' “Before or after John Winchester decked him?” the demon asks idly. “I can’t get the timing right. It’s all a blur. Checkmarks for Dean. Watch Sam demon-out? Check. Head to the Crossroads to summon Crowley? Check. Take the shit-deal to be Crowley’s bitch? Check! Get punched out by dear old Dad? Check.” The smile that follows is grim. “Don’t worry. Dean had it coming,” something Dean would probably have said himself if really pushed on the issue. “But maybe not from Dad.” He breathes out slowly. “It’s fun to loose these secrets.” Mention of May though has his tongue clucking. “What do you think, apprentice? Would it be wise to keep Agent Mom around?” And then he hmmms. “You’ve observed that you left Dean ‘space’. But did Dean ever want space? You left. You walked away from it all. Your choice.” There’s another pause, and Dean is humming again. The bars to Zeppelin’s //Rambling On// are distinct. But it stops again. “Did he always want you to go? Or was it inconsequential?” But as Deanmon talks, Sam’s phone pings. The text from Bobby is clear: //Something is wearing your brother.//

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' Sam texts back ‘I know. He’s got me on the line right now. I think he’s heading your way. Is he already with you? Where are you?’ He shows Fred the phone, listening to all of these barbs, these guilty things. His features darken. //Dad was here? That son of a bitch.// It ramps up his suspicion on what dear old Dad’s gambit must have been, but right now he has no time for it. So. He sent May on, because May is too badass to keep around. And because SHIELD would go looking. Fine, that’s good. “Who are you?” he asks again. “You don’t want to tell me? After asking me if I remembered and telling me I was your favorite and everything? And what do you want with me? You’re holding all the cards, so you might as well tell me.”

:'''{{#var:306|Dean Winchester (306)}} has posed:''' “I’m the thing nightmares are afraid of,” Dean replies easily with a laugh in his voice. “I’d hoped you’d remember on your own. And maybe you will.” There’s a continued laugh in Dean’s voice. But it’s not //Dean’s// laugh. It’s empty and hollow and cold. “So until then, Sammy, I will remain anonymous.” Sam’s phone pings again: //The kitchen. Trying to figure out how to get it in a demon trap without tipping it off.// “In the meantime,” Dean quietly hums again. //Travelling Riverside Blues//. His throat clears and he refocuses. “I have things to do. Fun to have.” The line goes dead.

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' ‘Get out of there. The omens following that thing are intense. I’m heading your way now. From NYC.’ Sam drops a quick note to May. ‘Emergency. Kansas. Back soon.’ He swallows. “He’s right,” he says, even as he starts picking up all those materials. “I never do right by Dean. No matter how hard I try.” But he’s still going to ride to the rescue. He hesitates. “Do you still want to come with? This could be...protracted. And...I don’t know that anyone caught up in this gets out alive, sane, or whole.” He’s just being honest. /What do you want?/ Fitz had asked him. The question floating up now makes him want to laugh hysterically. But he holds it together.

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' “Sam.” Fred doesn’t know what she can say to convince him that he does do right by his brother. There’s only so much she can say. However, she realizes one thing. It’s why Demon Dean went after Fred to hurt Sam. It’s why it went after Sam to hurt Dean. The Hunter code that love and ties can hurt you is turned back. It means if someone is trying to use those bonds, that there is a connection there. “If Dean didn’t love you, this demon wouldn’t try and break you down to hurt him.” The question as to whether she wants to come with is met with a bit of hesitation. The door. She hasn’t been out the door in a week. The Winchester apartment is safe, has Sam, ensures she won’t be tossed back into Pylea. However, like before, she knows that Sam needs her, that Dean has to be saved from the demon that possesses him. “I’m with you,” she tells him firmly. “I’m already not exactly sane.” A hand reaches to press first against the demon pendant and then Dean’s talisman. They’re both there - protection and reminder.
}}

Back in Black

2017-09-20T05:22:20Z

Feigenbaum: Created page with "{{Log Header |Date of Scene=2017/09/11 |Location=Winchester Apartment - Hell's Kitchen |Synopsis=After Dean and Fred's contentious conversation, Sam returns home and realizes..."

{{Log Header
|Date of Scene=2017/09/11
|Location=Winchester Apartment - Hell's Kitchen
|Synopsis=After Dean and Fred's contentious conversation, Sam returns home and realizes that something is not right with his brother.
|Cast of Characters=160, 294, 306
|Tinyplot=Blood on My Name
}}
{{Poses
|Poses=:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' The Winchester Apartment, as Sam left it, was mostly clean. It was just as he remembered it. As he might turn the key, though, he sees the carpet that covered the demon trap on the front door is moved. The floor is slightly warped. For the past week, Fred has been staying in the apartment. Mostly, she has been in Sam Winchester’s room with him. Tonight, however, Sam went to talk to SHIELD. It was a necessary step and Fred urged him to do so. Now, though, as he returns, it’s a toss up as to whether she is writing on the walls, under the bed, or asleep on top of it. Right now, she is none of those things. Instead the apartment is quiet. There is nothing out of place outside of the mat and the floor drawings.

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' “Fred?” Sam is calling her name the moment he comes through the door. He’s got a bad feeling. It’s no vision, but it’s a bad feeling. He pauses at the carpet, the warped floor. He kneels down to investigate it, feeling cold. His instincts ramp up into high gear. Anything that suggests a demon trap problem is a bad scene right now. He flips the rug up and out of the way, studying it. “Winifred?” This time there’s not just more urgency in the tone. There’s her full name, a measure of how worried he really is. What if she’s not here? Eyes scan the entire apartment warily. He picks out other details. Such as Dean’s missing phone. The sight of that thing has been burned into his mind and worry for weeks now, after all. “Dean?”

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' Fred is hidden, a little like a Where’s Waldo, under the counter in the kitchen. As Sam calls out for her, the words hitch in her throat. Then, he calls out for Dean. The physicist stays where she is, holding the necklace that Dean gave her. She knows Sam is looking for her, but she is also worried. What can she tell him of her interaction with Dean? It’s a long few moments, but Fred responds to Sam. She can’t stand the idea of him looking for her. “I’m--I’m here,” she calls out. But, she does not move from her hiding space just yet. Nor does she give up the necklace that Dean gave her. In fact, she tucks it into her pocket, knowing as soon as Sam sees it that it might mean something to him. What it might mean is up to interpretation, but she knows it means something. In the past few days, Fred has hidden under multiple surfaces, has written on Sam’s walls. It’s entirely possible this is just another line in her coping mechanisms.

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' Very possibly. He notes the break in the demon trap. Could Fred be possessed? He reaches out with his power. Looks for the little sensation of something /foreign/ inside her, something which must needs be pushed /out/ and /away/. He finds nothing. One of the huge benefits of the powers he’s contemplating giving up. The ability to tell, with a little bit of effort, if someone has been possessed. He feels nobody and nothing else in this apartment. He swiftly pulls out a black marker and restores the trap, then flips the rug back over it. It’s small wonder he’s little concerned with her writing on his walls. He’s sort of painted all over his ceilings and floors and doorframes and window frames. As long as her equations don’t bust up his wards. That done, and feeling a little of the pressure inside his chest abate, he crosses into the kitchen and crouches down to the cabinets, marveling that she can fold herself in there. Sometimes he forgets how charmingly /little/ she is. It would be adorable if it didn’t all point to what might be a worsening of her mental state. Maybe today was the wrong day to go into...to go into /work./ He reaches out with one tentative hand, not trying to draw her out of there yet. He just takes her hand inside of that cabinet. “I’m so sorry. I should have demanded a few more days.” That may not be what is going on here, but he feels the need to offer it anyway.

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' As Sam searches from Fred, he finds her in the cupboards. It’s not entirely different from her state before he left her. However, her hiding places were far more obvious before. While she does not move outward, when Sam finds her, she shakes her head. “No, it’s okay. You shouldn’t...it’s fine.” She doesn’t want to be the reason he doesn’t do anything else. However, now she is left in a strange place. Dean chased her under a cabinet, but also gave him his necklace and told her to look after Sam. He also told her that because of that, Sam would grow bored of her. There’s a long pause where Fred looks down. She doesn’t want to say this, doesn’t want to know what Sam will say to this. However, she has to tell him. She doesn’t want him to worried and wondering what happened to his brother. Softly, she tells Sam: “Dean moved out. I tried to stop him.”

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' The relief on his face is plain. Is that all? “Stopping Dean is almost impossible when he gets the bit between his teeth, honey,” he says gently. “Now that he’s got his phone I can call him and we can figure this out. I don’t know what’s rolling through his head right now, but this crossroads deal has got to be messing him up, and whatever actions he’s taking could be at the demon’s behest. I’ve got searches running at WAND about crossroads demons, just to see if I can shake anything out that’s worthwhile.” He frowns though. Still doesn’t explain the cupboard. It’s a frown of concern, not of anger. It’s not for nothing that he’s an investigator of sorts, but the best way to piece things together is to ask. “What happened exactly? Why did you end up hiding under here?”

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' There’s a long pause. The last thing Fred wants to do is be in the middle of the Winchesters. She loves Sam, she respects Dean. Because of that, she needs to deliver the message. The pendant she dropped into her pocket is held up and then presented to Sam. “He came back looking for you and that I should give this to you when I found you.” There’s a long pause. She doesn’t want to tell him what else he told her. That he believes she replaced him, that Sam will grow tired of her rather easily when he realizes he needs to get back on the road. So, she says nothing of that. Not yet. Not right now. “He said he was tired of pretending. That you’d know.” He’d know about leaving everything behind and going on the road. That she doesn’t state out loud. She doesn’t wish to say it. Doesn’t wish to try and make him choose. At that she holds the pendant toward him in her grasp, easy for him to take. Her eyes are cast downward at the offer.

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' He does take the pendant, and his mouth flattens into a tight, hurt, unhappy line. This hits him right in the gut to be sure. Pained, he gently does put it around her neck, tucks it into her shirt. “For safekeeping,” he explains. “If one person I love can’t wear it right now, it’s best held by another person I love.” /Which might just compound whatever the fuck Dean is thinking,/ Sam thinks, with an angry exhale. But wearing it around his own neck feels lame. He listens to the rest of what she has to say and looks down. “We’ll sort it out,” he says finally. /Your brother, Dean, is missing./ “I don’t know how yet,” he admits. “But we’ll sort it out. Was he a dick to you?”

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' As Sam takes the pendant, Fred looks slightly away. It seems almost like a personal moment. Then, though, he puts it over her neck and she looks to Sam with a curious and surprised look. “He gave it to you!” she tells him. Or, really, he gave it to Fred to give it to Sam. The pendant is already over her neck and a hand reaches up to hold the small charm beneath her shirt for a few moments. Was he a dick to Fred? There’s a tilt of her head. Dean has been a dick to her in the past. However, it wasn’t as malicious as it felt this time around. The Dean she drank with might not have trust her, but he also didn’t tell her that Sam could never love her. However, her most visceral memories of Dean involve him being a dick to her. Case in point: “The last time I saw your brother before this he told me that Pylea was unfortunate but didn’t really measure to his own pain,” Fred tells Sam truthfully, with a bit of pain still in her voice. “This time, though,” she sighs. “He said that you could never love me because you should be on the road. That you could never settle down.” She pauses. “Some of that’s paraphrasing. But, it’s the gist of it.”

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' Sam’s nostrils flare as his mouth settles into another one of those grim, tight lines. His jaw locks up, and a dark look passes over his features. He’s furious. But not at her. His furious look shoots at the door. “He’s jealous,” he concludes. “And no, Fred, I gave that pendant to him. When we were children. It was the first gift I ever gave him.” Her point is well taken though. Dean has been a dick to Fred for awhile now. Angry, in pain, and possibly jealous. It’s another angle to the mess, but no wonder she’s in such a state. He turns his attention to soothing her, even as something nags at him. It’s nagging good and hard. /The white eyed demon stood by the tree with a knife to Dean’s throat./ He squeezes her hand. “First, if I really wanted to go on the road, I have always just assumed I’d ask you to go with me and you would. SHIELD is more of a bar to that than you are. You’re a Hunter, like me, and self-employed.” SHIELD is really less of a bar to that anyway unless they get too shitty about his ‘in training’ status; the arrangement he has with May, who is, after all, still his SO, says he gets to work cases, but he logs them and gets paid for them, while working his training around things, and stays /available/ for cases they want him to do. “I’ve also assumed we’d just /drive back/ after any jobs. There is nothing about hunting that demands the lack of a home base. And I’ve assumed that if you didn’t want to go on a job, you’d just say so. Then I’d go work it, and come home. Did I assume any of that incorrectly? It’s okay if I did. We can talk about it. Work it out, figure out what works for both of us. I’m not sure how regular people do this, but I figure that’s how it works. Because I’m committed to you, Fred, and I felt ready for this relationship because I felt like you and I were basically alike, that none of this would be a real problem.”

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' For a little while, Dean and Fred were almost friends, bros even. It was the Crossroads fight that heralded a short downturn in their relationship. “I was trying to apologize about that fight we had,” Fred attempts to explain some more. She can’t exactly argue against the idea that Dean might be jealous, as he did intimate that very sentiment. “He wouldn’t listen. He said I replaced him.” Her eyes look downward at that and she briefly touches the necklace Sam gave her for safekeeping no beneath her shirt. “But that it’d only be a matter of time.” As for getting back on the road and taking her with him, Fred looks back up at him. There’s a touch of sorrow, but she’s also pleased he thought of them together. “I couldn’t leave Angel.” That’s also why she often insists they spend time at the Hyperion. While they might not always see the vampire, she feels better knowing he’s close by. The idea of a home base, though, that is something she can get behind. She nods a few times as he describes them going out on a Hunt or him leaving and then returning. “That sounds nice.” There’s a sigh and shake of her head as to if any of that is a problem. “No, you didn’t. I know. I don’t want to come between you two. And I have and I don’t know how to fix it. I don’t know if I can. I tried to stop him, Sam. I did. He just...he said those things and I panicked. He called me vanilla. And pumpkin.”

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' “Well, jealous people often say that the person they’re jealous over will swing back to them eventually, all while being pissed off over the necessity of that,” Sam says, with the logic that would have made him a phenomenal lawyer. He reaches out-- into the cabinet still-- to brush back some of her hair. “I’m committed to you,” he says simply. “And I am pretty sure he and Jo are together, he said something to me about her, so he’s not even being fair. We’ll work this out.” /Nothing good comes without a balancing of the scales somewhere. You know that./ Vanilla. Pumpkin. These are not terms Dean uses. Sam turns around fully to look at the door, something cold icing through his spine. “Fred,” he asks, with some quiet urgency. “Do you know if Dean was in Virginia?”

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' Fred leans into that touch slightly. There’s a slight nod at that. “Jo’s with him. Apparently she’s different. She knows everything about the deal and is along for the ride. I think that’s who’s been calling him all the time.” With a deep breath, Fred reaches out to put her hand on his. “I’m committed to you, too.” He has managed to keep her mostly sane after a mental trip to Pylea. His steadiness and care has helped her through the worst of it. Even now, he’s calmly helped her down from the fear that this fight with Dean will make him see her differently, that he would see her as someone he would grow tired of and leave behind. As Sam turns from her to look at the door, she peeks her head out from the cabinet to look there, too. She pauses before she answers that. Dean asked her not to tell Sam about Virginia. He also did just tell her a bunch of things that caused her to crawl into a cabinet. Finally, she answers. “Yeah. He had a court date there after something happened on a case. He asked me not to talk to you about that awhile ago. I didn’t mean to keep that from you, but there also didn’t seem to be a good time to bring it up.” Fred’s eyes move from the door to Sam. “Dean has his phone now, you could call him. He told me that you should if you wanted to talk.”

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' “In a minute,” he says, on the matter of contacting Dean. He doesn’t seem too upset. Getting angry that she held onto a secret at Dean’s behest would be the height of hypocrisy. And he’s distracted. “Fred,” he says, in those slow, even tones that say that he’s gone into full Hunt mode. “I need you to tell me if he did anything strange at the door. My devil’s trap was tampered with when I got home.” /I see your choice. And I accept./ He returns his gaze to her, mouth set into a tight, grim line.

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' Fred knows that tone of voice. It’s how he spoke when she first met him, back when she was attempting to brain him with a large tome of Latin. Her brows furrow and she watches him. “He wouldn’t come in at first,” she recalls. “He stayed by the doorway. For a minute, I was worried that he actually /couldn’t/ come in. A lot of things need to be invited in to come into a place.” She sighs and shakes her head. “He did come in, though, and I didn’t invite him.” As soon as he was inside, the visit almost immediately turned into telling Fred how he was leaving and how she had replaced him in Sam’s eyes. That distracted her from thinking he was anything else. There’s a frown as Sam says that the devil’s trap was tampered with. “It must’ve happened when he tripped coming inside. He spilled the glass of water I got him. That must’ve mucked up the trap.”

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' He stood at the door and asked for water, then spilled just enough to screw up the trap. “That wasn’t Dean,” he says, fear and fury warring for dominance in his tone. He stands and goes to a drawer. Rummaging around in it, he pulls out a necklace with the anti-possession sigil he has tattoo’d to his chest and offers it out to Fred. “Later it would be a good idea for you to get something more permanent,” he says grimly. “But this will do for now. Are you able to come out of there, sweetie? I’m going to need your help.” His heart pounds. Tension has corded up his neck muscles until they are standing out, visible. He’s sure angry now, but not at her. At this /thing/ which has taken his brother. Even so, he spares a thankful prayer to God and all His angels. The demon chose psychological warfare instead of physical warfare. The litany of awful things that could have happened to Fred rattles around the back of his throat, listed off in Volkov’s mad tones.

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' Wasn’t Dean? Fred’s confusion is clear for a moment until things start to fall into place. That wasn’t Dean and she didn’t even realize. It didn’t occur to her until after Sam vocalized it. For a few moments, she stares at the necklace Sam offers her. A part of her wants to crawl backward even further into the cabinet. She didn’t realize that a demon had taken control of Dean. It barely occurred to her. “Sam, I’m so sorry. I didn’t--I should have known. I can’t believe I didn’t know.” The list of awful things that could have been done to her before Sam returned does not yet occur to her. He asks her if she’s able to come out from under the counter. To be honest, she isn’t sure. However, he needs her and Dean needs both of their help. She needs to stand up, to get out from the cabinet. Grimly, her fingers wrap around the pendant and she pulls it over her head. This one she wears over her shirt - allowing the talisman to remain hidden. Then, with slow and deliberate movements, she starts to crawl out of the safe, dark space. “Okay. I’ll--I’m not sure how helpful I’ll be.”

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' “Do you have the exorcism ritual memorized yet? You were reading it from a book last time.” Sam pulls out his phone thoughtfully. /Note to self. Next time you are left with Dean’s phone for weeks, put a damned tracking app on it./ Inwardly, he’s a mess of anger and panic. Outwardly, he is all calm competence, as if his brother’s possession were an everyday occurrence. But then, danger and this sort of thing has been an almost every-week occurrence for most of his life, and he and Dean have alternately been ‘taken’ by a variety of things in a variety of ways, or threatened or otherwise menaced. He knows panic does no good. Only plans, and action. He goes to the fridge and pulls out the gallon of milk. He dumps it out into the sink and starts rinsing it. He saw the size of that omen. They’re going to need more holy water.

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' Fred watches Sam as he starts moving. He’s instantly in Hunter mode and asking her questions. The physicist watches him for a few moments, concerned. She doesn’t quite know what to do here. Vampires? She has that covered. Hell beasts? Sure. Demons that have possessed her boyfriend’s brother? That’s a bit shakier territory. “I think so,” Fred tells Sam about memorizing the exorcism. “I tend to pick things up pretty quickly.” Moving forward, she puts a hand Sam’s arm for just a moment, an attempt to be reassuring. “We’re gonna get him back.” It’s quick, her trying to tell Sam that things will be okay, that she’s here for him. Then, she moves toward his bedroom, back to business. “I’ll get some weapons. Do crucifixes stop them? Salt does, right?” And while she knows that trying to physically hurt Alistair will hurt Dean, going to find him unarmed also sounds like a bad idea.

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' “Crucifixes are useless in any direct sense, but if you have one toss it over here, I’ll need it to bless the water. Salt is good. I think there are still some salt rounds in my closet. Along with the shotguns that use them. Let’s grab two and load those up.” There’s some irony here. The demon tells Fred that Dean feels replaced, and now Sam partners up with her just like he does with Dean to go save...Dean. “Spray paint for devil’s traps. We have to be careful what we use, we could end up hurting Dean.” That’s where the fear slips into his voice. Right there. But then, that’s pretty much how they met, wasn’t it? Defeating a demon… And then disposing of the vessel’s lifeless body. /If Dean dies here though he’s fulfilled his deal, and if I could be brought back, he could be brought back. If a crossroads demon won’t make the deal...well. I still have a wish-granting psychopath in my storage unit./ But of course. It’s. Probably better to just. Not let Dean die. He blows out his cheeks, trying to figure out what he’s going to do when he calls the number in just a moment.

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' “I don’t tend to keep those on me,” Fred tells Sam a bit sheepishly. She does deal with vampires quite often, but she also lives in the same hotel as one. Having a crucifix on her at all times felt a bit offensive to Angel. “Do you have one in the closet?” While she is in there, she pulls out the shotguns, the salt shells and starts to gather a proper arsena - salt shells, shotguns, spray paint. She knows that the wrong thing will hurt Dean and not Alistair. Pulling what she has, she packs it up into a duffle bag and brings it back out to the kitchen. “Dean still has my bag of bombs from capturing Barnes after driving off with them from the crossroads.” It’s not just regrettable, but now that means danger. Alerting Sam to that immediately is better than when they’re arriving. It means they can plan. “It’s got one of the sleepy bombs, two of the molotovs and one of the magnets. We should be careful of that.” Setting the bag down, she watches Sam and hears the fear in his voice. Moving into the kitchen, she reaches forward to try and stop his preparations for a moment, to take his hand. “We won’t. You know what you’re doing and I’m here. We’ll get him back.” She remembers that poor girl, too. Her lifeless eyes still haunt her. Looking about at the kitchen, her eyes land on the empty beer bottles that line one of the counters. An idea forms. “We can fill a lot of these bottles with salt and holy water and toss them at him. The demon equivalent of a molotov.”

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' “Yeah, we’ve got them,” Sam replies. He looks momentarily frozen when she mentions the bombs. But. There’s nothing to be done. He takes her hand and squeezes, lowering his eyes. But she has good ideas, and he nods. “Alright.” He finds a crucifix in the drawer without losing her hand, and starts the blessing ritual. Prep work will pretty much be all he focuses on for awhile, blessing water so she can make bombs out of it. At length, he says, “Okay, there are three ways I can play this, and I’m not sure which is right. I can call and pretend I don’t know yet, try to get him to tell me to meet him somewhere. Or I can just throw the gauntlet down and let him taunt me where he wants me. Or I can try to plead for Dean.” Two plans where he admits he knows, one plan where he doesn’t. The demon took Dean, and made a point of visiting Fred and traumatizing her all over again. It doesn’t seem too big of a stretch to assume the demon wants something with him, Sam.

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' Bomb making of both the mechanical and metaphysical type seems to be what Fred leans toward when the going gets tough. Once the assurances are given, she squeezes his hand and then gets back to her own prep work. Bottles are rinsed out and stoppers are made for each. Once the holy water is blessed, she starts to fill them and adds some salt. Hopefully that will do something. Stoppers are put in place, but she pauses as she reaches the last few. Sam’s multiple plans are taken under consideration. “He really wanted to talk to you,” Fred says softly. The worry of that is plain in her voice. A finger plays at the label on one of the repurposed beer bottles. “I think calling him at all will be what he wants.” Thinking it over, she sighs. “Pretending like you don’t know anything leaves us with more options. Either he believes you and we have a bit of an advantage and surprise, or he doesn’t and you can try the gauntlet or the plea.” The bare need Demon Dean expressed in needing to talk to Sam remains a cold hand that grips at her stomach. If the attempt to mentally break her down was only in response to getting his hands on Sam? That’s even worse.

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' “Good point,” Sam tells Fred. He must see something on her face, for he reaches out to cup it with one broad hand. “The assholes,” he says solemnly, “will always try to use any bond of love against anyone else. Me, you, Dean, probably Jo later. May. It’s never the fault of the person who is getting targeted. It’s always the fault of the thing that’s doing the targeting. So don’t worry about it. We’re going to figure all of this out.” He keeps saying that, even with the echo of that vision taunting him, bothering him, making him wonder if it’s really true. But he says it like he believes it. He exhales and pulls out his phone, staring at it.

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' As Sam reaches out to cup her face, Fred’s unoccupied hand touches his, keeping it there. “I know,” she says softly. She knows that the easiest way to get to someone is through the people they love. A part of her is worried about that exact thing. The Demon Dean was attempting to implant seeds of distrust and while he did not manage that, he did instill the idea that she might be a liability to Sam, that people will try to get to him through her. Perhaps that was the idea that he was trying to inception into her head.That’s why Hunters don’t have loved ones or ties: they get used against them. Despite that, she presses the worries down. Fred loves Sam, she wants to help him and help Dean. That’s enough. As Sam looks at his phone, steeling himself to call the creature that is inhabiting Dean, she leans forward and kisses him, attempting to give him some sort of strength. “You can do this. If it helps, I’ll get back in the cupboard.”

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' “No, don’t get back in the cupboard. Let’s save the cupboard for when you really need it. All I see is this badass Hunter building me holy water bombs.” Hunters don’t have ties to the outside world. But they still have ties to /each other/. If anything, SHIELD is the thing that does not belong here, the thing that is not the same. But Sam shelves that thought for now. Of all the things he might have to sacrifice to get his life right, SHIELD is more than sacrificable. He dials Dean’s number. Waits for a demon to pick up. And steels himself for the sensation of hearing something that is pure evil using his brother’s voice.

:'''{{#var:306|Dean Winchester (306)}} has posed:''' What is a demon to do with a new suit? That’s the million dollar question. After getting out of SHIELD medical following a course of various treatment with refused painkillers had won the elder Winchester more than a few eyebrow raises, and questions about his past substance use. Not that anyone asked. If Dean had been an impersonal patient before, this time he was weirdly interested. In everything. And everyone. It had the desired side-effect of shutting down most conversations. Music blares in the background when the phone picks up. Sam gets far more of an earful than any normal person would allow before saying anything into the phone. It’s odd. //Back in black// //I’ve hit the sack// //I’ve been too long I’m glad to be back// //Yes, I’m let loose// “Sammy,” the name is too familiar and lacks its usual warmth in Dean’s voice. “Long time no talk,” the self-satisfied smile heard through the line extends with each uttered syllable. “Way too long,” he adds nearly smugly. “Get my message?”

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' Time to pretext someone with access to his brother’s read on him. He hopes Dean is in there, somewhere, fouling the waters. He puts on his meekest sounding voice, the one he gets when he forgets he’s a grown man and reverts back to being the son of Dean Winchester. Instead of his brother. Soft and worried and hurt. “Yeah, um,” he clears his throat. “You didn’t have to move out, Dean, I-- I thought you wanted me to put down some roots here. You rented this place, remember? Invited me to move in? I just don’t understand what’s going on, but I want to make it right. Where are you? We should talk about this.” He gives Fred an uneasy glance. He can hear the differences. They’re chilling him. And something… Something feels oddly familiar. Not familiar in the way Dean’s voice is familiar, as familiar as his own, but familiar for other reasons. Familiar in a way that makes him think Volkov only wishes he were as terrifying as this thing he’s talking to now, but why should he be scared? It’s just another demon.

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' “I’m not really a Hunter,” Fred tells Sam with a bit of a self-deprecating smile. She’s a scientist attached to a private investigator. She may deal with the same things, but she doesn’t see herself on the same level as Sam or Dean. “I do like building bombs, though.” That is just a verifiable fact. Sam dials Dean’s number and she reaches out to place a hand on his arm for support. She can read his expression, knows that something is up. Right now she can’t tell if it is the stress of talking to a demon that is wearing Dean or something else. Either way, she stands there, giving him silent support.

:'''{{#var:306|Dean Winchester (306)}} has posed:''' The sound of Sam’s voice, the way he takes on that child-like demeanour and the way he replies to Dean’s supposed message meet more music on the other side of the phone. //Back in Black// finishes. There’s something painfully calculating in the silence that grows. Or, perhaps, something else altogether. It’s hard to tell on the phone. Smarm that drips from Dean’s voice when he states, “Dean can’t come to the phone right now.” The smile grows. It’s not self-deprecating or good humoured. It’s grim. Sinister. Feline. “And don’t you snivel. I won’t tolerate that from one of my favourites.” A long contented breath emits through the phone. “It’s strange. The way he efforts so much that we don’t talk.” There’s no jig here, just pure demon having a conversation with Sam. “It’s like he wants Hell to stay away from you. Amazing really, even after what Crowley told him about you. It’s a wonder he’d negotiate for you after knowing… well, what he knows.”

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' Sam drops the act, and Fred will get to watch his eyes harden. He wraps an arm around her and snarls coldly, “You listen to me, you son of a bitch. You vacate my brother right now or I will make sure your fate is way worse than a standard exorcism. I’ll find a way to /end you/.” It’s not a good start. It’s not smart. But the fury that roars through him will not be denied. This thing doesn’t want him to snivel? He won’t snivel. Meanwhile, the demon is trying to catch him up with his dual nature. He so does not care right now. If it helps him get his brother back he’ll become something darker still. His eyes flash briefly black. The whites never fill when they do that. It’s just that his eye color becomes the black of the pit instead of his gentler hazel. His jaw firms, and his shoulders grow rocklike, tense.

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' Pretty immediately, it seems that they are moving onto the backup plan B, but without the ‘allowing’ him to taunt Sam. Fred keeps that hand on his arm as he talks to whatever demon it is that holds Dean. On this side of the phone, she can see the change - sees the pupils of his eyes turn black. It more than worries her, it scares her. Trying to keep herself unheard, she urges Sam to calm down. “Sam,” she says softly, tugging at his arm. This is not the way to get him to talk, to get a meeting. She gets the anger at the demon, but this was far more fury far too soon. She can’t hear the other end of the the conversation, doesn’t know just how expertly Sam is being taunted.

:'''{{#var:306|Dean Winchester (306)}} has posed:''' “Oh, big brother has had a taste of what I have in store for him,” Dean replies smoothly. “He was concerned about his pretty face for awhile. As he should be.” The thrum of a new song plays in the background, but it’s not as prominent or as familiar. “And for the blonde he’s spending time with. And, of course, you Sammy.” There’s another pause. “But you, //you// should be concerned with what I can do to him in the meantime. Did you know we can occupy living or dead? Makes no difference to us, really. I don’t need food in this state. No real need for water. I could’ve left Dean bleeding if I’d wanted,” which begs the question: why not? “No. I think you have more to worry about than my occupation of Dean. While I’m here, you don’t even know if my hostage is dead or alive. Enthralling, isn’t it?” He smiles again, this time more pleased with the position he’s in. “So maybe we should play a game?”

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' Sam’s heart sinks. He did, of course, know. He’d just shared that worry with Fred. He closes his eyes, lets her talk him down, but also finds he has no more defiance left. He feels defeated, pinned like a butterfly to a board. His throat closes. He manages to get two words out. “I’m listening.” He doesn’t even know who this is yet, but he knows even that Crossroads demon Dean was messing around with didn’t create this kind of omen. It could be Azazel. It could be worse. And either way, it doesn’t matter. Whatever it takes to get Dean back, he’s going to do. Just as Dean did for him. It might be an object lesson in the problem of Winchesters for poor Fred, too. He notes that Jo must be alive, but what state she’s in remains uncertain. It doesn’t matter...the demon has two hostages, and he’s lucky he didn’t take a third.

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' From her position, Fred watches as Sam move from furious to defeated. That doesn’t look at all good. Moving forward, she wraps her arms about him. There are no words for him at the moment - he is on the phone and she doesn’t want to alert the demon to her own presence here. Even though he must know she is there. For now, she is just there with silent support which she attempts to convey through her gestures.

:'''{{#var:306|Dean Winchester (306)}} has posed:''' “Listening or /listening/?” comes the sly question. Dean hums quietly. Is it Asia? //Heat of the Moment//? It’s definitely not what’s playing in the background. The humming stops. As randomly as it had begun. “They are different, you know. Of course you know,” he chuckles hollowly. “Tell me, do you remember our time together at all? Dean’s memories tell me yours was wiped.” His gaze turns upwards. “And, can you clear something up for me? What is the story of this ladyfriend in your apartment? I continue to be perplexed why you weren’t with dear brother when I nabbed him. He wasn’t unfindable. That agent woman, the one he thinks of as ‘Agent Mom’ found him. He had the pretty blonde with him. But you were painfully absent. Curious.” Like the demon doesn’t know. A likely thing. “But yes. A game.” His tongue clucks. “Where would someone wearing a Dean suit take him? Someone wanting to get their thrills. Someone who aimed not to feed, water, or generally care for the body they’re in.” There’s a long pause. “That’s where you’ll find me. I’ll be waiting.”

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' “I was trying to give him his space,” Sam says stoically, and that’s the honest truth. When a person straight up leaves their phone, walks out, has a giant argument with you and tells you to leave him alone, you maybe do that. Of course, that feeds into all his anxieties about Dean being /taken/ that Hydra stirred up for him. A nightmare that is now coming horrifically true. He buries his face in Fred’s hair for a moment. That old familiar sensation creeps over him. He makes life worse for everyone, just by existing. The demons, Hydra, they all have hopes for something they want out of him, and he’ll either become that and destroy them, or fight it and destroy them. They’d be better off without him… But then who would talk Fred back from the edge? “Do you have May hostage too? And no. I don’t remember you. I have no idea who the Hell you are. Azazel? Am I talking to the demon who killed my mother?” Where would someone wearing a Dean suit take him? Bobby’s, that’s his first immediate guess. Because thrills for Dean is a beer, a piece of pie, and a woman in his arms. Thrills for a demon is making Dean watch as the only father they ever had suffers immensely at his own hands. And if he plans not to care for the body, Bobby might well cause some damage before the demon overcomes him. The food and water bits are irrelevant, all he has to do is /not eat./

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' Fred can half hear what is being said on the other end of the line now - being this close to Sam. It’s muffled, but she gets the general gist. Her arms tighten about Sam. This demon is trying to goad him, she knows it. As he buries his face in her hair, she just holds onto him. They can figure this out, they can rescue Dean: she knows it. She tries to will this hope into him.

:'''{{#var:306|Dean Winchester (306)}} has posed:''' “Before or after John Winchester decked him?” the demon asks idly. “I can’t get the timing right. It’s all a blur. Checkmarks for Dean. Watch Sam demon-out? Check. Head to the Crossroads to summon Crowley? Check. Take the shit-deal to be Crowley’s bitch? Check! Get punched out by dear old Dad? Check.” The smile that follows is grim. “Don’t worry. Dean had it coming,” something Dean would probably have said himself if really pushed on the issue. “But maybe not from Dad.” He breathes out slowly. “It’s fun to loose these secrets.” Mention of May though has his tongue clucking. “What do you think, apprentice? Would it be wise to keep Agent Mom around?” And then he hmmms. “You’ve observed that you left Dean ‘space’. But did Dean ever want space? You left. You walked away from it all. Your choice.” There’s another pause, and Dean is humming again. The bars to Zeppelin’s //Rambling On// are distinct. But it stops again. “Did he always want you to go? Or was it inconsequential?” But as Deanmon talks, Sam’s phone pings. The text from Bobby is clear: //Something is wearing your brother.//

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' Sam texts back ‘I know. He’s got me on the line right now. I think he’s heading your way. Is he already with you? Where are you?’ He shows Fred the phone, listening to all of these barbs, these guilty things. His features darken. //Dad was here? That son of a bitch.// It ramps up his suspicion on what dear old Dad’s gambit must have been, but right now he has no time for it.

So. He sent May on, because May is too badass to keep around. And because SHIELD would go looking. Fine, that’s good. “Who are you?” he asks again. “You don’t want to tell me? After asking me if I remembered and telling me I was your favorite and everything? And what do you want with me? You’re holding all the cards, so you might as well tell me.”

:'''{{#var:306|Dean Winchester (306)}} has posed:''' “I’m the thing nightmares are afraid of,” Dean replies easily with a laugh in his voice. “I’d hoped you’d remember on your own. And maybe you will.” There’s a continued laugh in Dean’s voice. But it’s not //Dean’s// laugh. It’s empty and hollow and cold. “So until then, Sammy, I will remain anonymous.” Sam’s phone pings again: //The kitchen. Trying to figure out how to get it in a demon trap without tipping it off.// “In the meantime,” Dean quietly hums again. //Travelling Riverside Blues//. His throat clears and he refocuses. “I have things to do. Fun to have.” The line goes dead.

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' ‘Get out of there. The omens following that thing are intense. I’m heading your way now. From NYC.’ Sam drops a quick note to May. ‘Emergency. Kansas. Back soon.’ He swallows. “He’s right,” he says, even as he starts picking up all those materials. “I never do right by Dean. No matter how hard I try.” But he’s still going to ride to the rescue. He hesitates. “Do you still want to come with? This could be...protracted. And...I don’t know that anyone caught up in this gets out alive, sane, or whole.” He’s just being honest. /What do you want?/ Fitz had asked him. The question floating up now makes him want to laugh hysterically. But he holds it together.

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' “Sam.” Fred doesn’t know what she can say to convince him that he does do right by his brother. There’s only so much she can say. However, she realizes one thing. It’s why Demon Dean went after Fred to hurt Sam. It’s why it went after Sam to hurt Dean. The Hunter code that love and ties can hurt you is turned back. It means if someone is trying to use those bonds, that there is a connection there. “If Dean didn’t love you, this demon wouldn’t try and break you down to hurt him.” The question as to whether she wants to come with is met with a bit of hesitation. The door. She hasn’t been out the door in a week. The Winchester apartment is safe, has Sam, ensures she won’t be tossed back into Pylea. However, like before, she knows that Sam needs her, that Dean has to be saved from the demon that possesses him. “I’m with you,” she tells him firmly. “I’m already not exactly sane.” A hand reaches to press first against the demon pendant and then Dean’s talisman. They’re both there - protection and reminder.
}}

2415/Homecoming

2017-09-12T04:34:54Z

Feigenbaum:

{{Log Header
|Date of Scene=2017/09/11
|Location=Winchester Apartment
|Synopsis=Dean returns from Virginia. Fred attempts to apologize, but it does not go well.
|Cast of Characters=160, 306
|pretty=yes
}}
{{Poses
|Poses=:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' It has been a few days since the rescue of Claire. Since that time, Fred has been staying at the Winchester apartment. She's close to being better, close to being able to leave the apartment, but the visions from the Hydra compound have left her practically unable to leave the apartment. Sam has been incredibly supportive, but also has to accommodate becoming a member of SHIELD - something she understands and supports. For now, Fred revels in baby steps. She's left Sam's room and is now at the apartment at large. This is still a place she feels safe, now. The devil traps, the place that this is where both Sam and Dean live? She can put her pieces back together here. For now, that means eating Chinese food leftovers from the cartoon underneath the kitchen table by one of the windows. The blanket from Sam's bed is wrapped around her. If one wouldn't know any better, she looks like a middle schooler taking time off from classes due to a sick day. However, she is no longer writing on walls, she has ventured forth. This is progress for Fred. 

:'''{{#var:306|Dean Winchester (306)}} has posed:''' The jingle of the keys in the door signals that it's being unlocked and someone who has keys is trying to get inside. The handle to the door turns, and a familiar figure lingers in the doorway. Dean Winchester looks worse for wear. He's bloodied. A deep gash along the side of his face is likely to scar. His clothes are drenched in his own blood. His skin has paled and his eyes are shadowed by long creases that demonstrate fatigue. He doesn't look good. A glance is given to the floor and Dean eyes the carpet. "...Sam?" he calls gruffly. Only to see the figure under the table eating Chinese. Who is not Sam. His lips quirk into a frown. "Sam here?" 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' From underneath the table, Fred perks. She assumes this is Sam. Dean hasn't been home in quite awhile. However, as Dean enters the apartment bloodied and looking the worse for wear, she puts the Chinese food carton down and scrambles upward. The blanket remains wrapped around her shoulders, but she pays it little mind other than to ensure that it doesn't fall. "No, Sam had to go do something with SHIELD," Fred explains. It doesn't take a genius to see the fatigue, the shadows under Dean's eyes. "What happened?" she asks, apprehensive. The last time they talked they did not end on the best of circumstances. "Are you okay?" Clinging the blanket closer to her, she takes a step forward to try and help Dean. No matter the words said between them, he is Sam's brother. She knows how much he means to the man she loves. "Look, I'm sure you're still mad at me, but I'm sorry. For all of it. Let me help you. At least until Sam comes back." 

:'''{{#var:306|Dean Winchester (306)}} has posed:''' Dean doesn't move into the room. He's still in the doorway staring at the floor that he's exposed with the movement of the carpet. Dean frowns as he scrubs his face. "I went for a walk," he answers vaguely. "A long walk," he offers as clarification. His lips curve upwards grimly. "I just need to see Sam," he repeats without treading into the space. He emits a long sigh. "I'm fine," he finally adds. "Had a court date in Virginia. Remember?" There's nothing warm or kind about Dean's face. Each corner itches with vague irritation that Sam isn't here. His nostrils flare and his hands remain stiff at his sides. "I should probably go... left Jo downstairs." His lips twist to the side and he considers something. "Could use a glass of water though," his eyes glimmer with... is it hope? 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' Dean remains outside. With the way that Fred and Dean left their friendship last, it's not exactly like she can blame him. They both yelled, he drove off, a brunette man was in the passenger seat. "A walk?" she looks at him, confused. The blanket wraps about her even still. "You've been gone for almost a week---what happened?" However, then he brings up the court date in Virginia. They did talk about that and that he wouldn't tell Sam, that he didn't want /her/ to tell Sam. Things start to piece together. A narrowed look is given to Dean. "You two just need to start /talking/ to each other," she tells Dean. Though she's worried, she goes to the tap and gets a glass of water. As she does so, she asks a few questions. "How'd that go" The court date. She's used to the general rules she knows: you need to invite evil in order for it to harm you. And so, she stays on one end of the doorway and hands Dean the glass of tap water. 

:'''{{#var:306|Dean Winchester (306)}} has posed:''' The question of //what happened// causes Dean's expression to change. There's something ironic in the expression. It's pleased. Too pleased. "John Winchester happened. He was here." There's a pause and he repeats: "Look I need to talk to Sam." He sniffs loudly. "I went for a walk." There. "And I picked up Jo. At the Roadhouse. Again. And I need to talk to Sam." His eyes narrow and he stares blandly at her. Thankfully he accepts the glass of water. He brings it to his lips and takes a single sip. His lips quirk and he nods once. His nose wrinkles. "Thanks. Fred." His smile turns nearly sinister and he lifts a single hand in thanks. He slides into the edge of the room, actually tripping as he does so, splashing the black symbol he's exposed not he floor. "Tired. Makes me clumsy." His eyebrows draw together and his eyes scan the walls. "So. You move in?" His chin lifts, "Wouldn't be surprised. Sammy needs you more than me now. Doesn't need his big brother at all anymore. Big brother is nothing but a third wheel in an apartment he doesn't even belong." 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' "John Winchester? Another family member?" Fred looks at Dean with a confused and curious look. She stays on this side of the doorway, watching Dean very closely. "I see." She does not know the name of Jo or the Roadhouse. Instead, she stands inside the doorway of the Winchester apartment, watching as Dean does not enter. In the back of her mind, that rings as something strange. Dean barged in and accused her of trespassing. However, then, he falls forward, spilling the water on the floor and apologizing. Things start to fall into place - especially him telling her that Sam needs her more than he needs his brother. Suspicion is pushed to the side. This is a worry that she has waited to have happen for awhile. As Dean starts to trip, Fred reaches forward to catch him. "Are you okay?" she asks. The blanket slips from one shoulder, but she is focused on Dean now. "Move in? No." She blushes. "I've just---I just needed to stay for a bit." Fred frowns, looking at Dean. "What are you talking about? Sam definitely needs you. I just...I just needed a place to stay for a little bit." 

:'''{{#var:306|Dean Winchester (306)}} has posed:''' "Typical," Dean offers with a wry mirthless smile. "It's how it starts. First an apartment. Then a girlfriend. Then a girlfriend moving into the apartment." He shoots her another stiff never-meets-his-eyes-smile. "There isn't room here enough for all of us." There's nothing in the smile that suggests Dean should ever smile or that he's ever experience real joy. Sadism, however, exists in droves. That feline edge turns up higher as he trails around the edge of the room. "I'm going to pack some things," he states as his eyes scan the expanse of the space. Again, he glances towards the floor. He treads towards his room and disappears through the door. Moments later he returns with a small bag on his back. Slowly, he tugs the amulet from around his neck, and, with a smirk, he offers it to Fred, hesitating just a moment before holding it out. "Guess it's yours now, kid." 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' "Typical?" Fred starts to follow Dean about the apartment, a bit like someone completely unsure of what is going on, unsure of her place in the situation and is attempting to find out what is going on. "I'm---I haven't moved in." There's a bit of panic in her voice. What if Sam thinks Dean moved out because of her? What if she is the reason for the fight between the brothers? She can't handle that right now. She knows how much Dean means to Sam. If Sam was forced to choose between them, she assumes he would pick Dean and she is not even angry about that. It just fills her with a sense of dread. "No, but, there is." There's a desperation as Fred attempts to block Dean from packing and leaving entirely. "Dean, look, I'm sorry. I'm sorry about what I said to you at the Crossroads. I was worried about Sam and I thought you might do something horrible that Sam might regret." She's aware that Sam might not have seen Dean yet, that she is the barrier that will help ensure Sam sees his brother again soon. "No, it's not mine. Dean, /please/ please don't leave." She pleads, she can't help it. Sam had done so much for her. "I'm sorry, how can I make this right?" 

:'''{{#var:306|Dean Winchester (306)}} has posed:''' "Keep it. It's not mine either," he replies coldly. "Sammy doesn't get a say in what I do," Dean replies evenly. He treads to the counter and plucks the phone that's been waiting there for weeks. "Never has." His head tilts to the side as the phone gets pocketed--put away for safe-keeping. He'll probably have to check the messages. For a lot of messages. That sadistic smile pulls at Dean's features again, "You can't make it right, Fred. Not even a little. It's already broken. Only came back for the phone. And my stuff," his eyebrows lift expectantly. "I'll get more later after Jo and I figure out what we're doing." His head turns towards the door. "If Sam wants to talk to me, tell him can call. I'm doing what I was meant to. Getting on the road again." But there's something in Dean's eyes that remains unspoken. Something weirdly convinced of some not-yet-revealed truth. "I tried this life for awhile, but it's not for me. And we all know he finds the life I lead so vile. I tried it his way. I don't belong here. I'm going to bide time until eternity knocks." 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' Fred isn't willing to let the pendant drop. Instead, she catches it, clutches it to her. Confused, worried, she clutches it to her chest, the leather cord falling down in front of her. "I'm not Sam," she tells him. That's true in both just true fact as well as her attempt to keep Dean to pack up and leave. "He's not trying to make you do anything." Him and Jo. That name again. Fred remembers it, but is unsure as to how to bring it up. "I'm not..." no, that is a lie, she is trying to make it right. "It's not broken." Shaking her head, she follows Dean, intent on stopping him. "No. You got this place for a reason. You're /here/ for a reason," she tells him. "It's more than just a phone." Why isn't Sam here? He'd do this better. Is this all her fault? "He doesn't find that life vile. Dean...please." As he makes his way to leave, she reaches out to snatch him, try to grab him before he leaves. "I"m sorry. I am. I didn't mean..." 

:'''{{#var:306|Dean Winchester (306)}} has posed:''' "All members of my family try to make me do a lot of things," Dean challenges in return. "All of them." His lips purse. "Except mom." His eyebrows tick upwards at that. Mom will always be special thanks to her untimely death. It's interesting how death does that. The mention of being here for a reason makes Dean's smile turn downright feline. "I got it to service some pipe dream that I could adjust to this life. I can't. The road is where I belong. The road is what I want. And the road wants me. I'm here right now for my shit. I'll be back again for more shit." He actually shrugs at that. His eyes roll at the mention of Sam not finding the life vile. "He did. And he does. He finds every single place he can to avoid it, to quit it, and to embrace something... normal. But we're not normal, Fred. We never were. Never will be. I can't pretend to be something I'm not anymore." And then as he traipses to the door, he adds, "Even if Sam can. He can pretend all he wants. But he doesn't belong here either. Mark my words." 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' "Sam's the only member of the family that I've seen," Fred retorts. Defiantly, but ineffectively, she pulls the draping blanket back up over her other shoulder and holds it against her. She is defiant, determined, but ultimately looks like a teenager playing at the grown ups game with her hair in two messy braids and the blanket wrapped about her. "If that's true, why do you keep talking about Jo?" She shoots, taking a leap. She doesn't know Dean very well, but she remembers the phone calls and the fact that he as brought up this person twice in their conversation. While still scarred, she is a smart woman. There's a recoil in Fred at Dean's insults. Sam tries to set down roots wherever he can. He wants normal, wants a steady life. The sting of those words prick her right in her heart. However, while the tears spring to her eyes, she tells Dean with as much conviction as she can manage, "I'm not normal." After all, he did enter the room with her eating Chinese food under a kitchen table. However, there is a kernel of truth she can feel there. The fact that the brothers must always be on the move, that they want a place to stay but cannot settle down. Is that why he keeps things from. her? No. That is what she attempts to fight against. 

:'''{{#var:306|Dean Winchester (306)}} has posed:''' "Because Jo is along for the ride," Dean answers flatly. "I've got a year. I bought some more time, but everyone knows I won't stay Crowley's," he doesn't even hesitate to say the name, "bitch long. Just long enough for him to destroy whatever is left of my soul." He smirks at that as if it's some hilarious joke. "So yeah, Jo knows how much time I have. She knows what a shit human being I am. That this vessel has become emptier and emptier with each passing year. And that I have the most goddamned thankless job in the country." "You're as vanilla as they come, sweetheart," he replies to her assertion that she's not normal. The conviction doesn't matter. The words are invalidated almost immediately. "So yeah. Keep the amulet. Tell Sammy to call if he wants to talk more about this, or really," his nose wrinkles, "anything. Okay, pumpkin?" his head cants to the side and he studies her from the frame of the door once again. 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' Along for the ride. What does that mean? Fred knows little of Dean, but she knows how much Sam loves and is willing to sacrifice for him. Something rebels, but then the rationalization of Dean sets in. He has a year to live it up. He is defying Crowley. //Crowley//. Finally. She has a name. She says nothing on that, pulling the blanket around her all the more tightly. Maybe she is vanilla. Sam had quite an eventful childhood. His first girlfriend was a sort of fox. Everything after that dealt with ghosts and demons. A woman out of a portal could simply be old hat. Who knows. All her hang ups did not seem to be a surprise. Perhaps she is vanilla, as Dean says. They might have dealt with a hundred damaged women from hell dimensions. On another day, at a different time, perhaps Fred would be feistier, more willing to engage. After the events of the Hydra base, however, some parts of her remained locked away. As such, she holds on to the pendant and watches as Dean leaves, his parting insult, the pet name of 'pumpkin' hanging in the air between them. She watches Dean leave, unsure of what to say. Instead, her face closes off and she shifts backward, toward another dark and safe place within the apartment. 

:'''{{#var:306|Dean Winchester (306)}} has posed:''' Dean shoots Fred another self-satisfied smile, far too pleased with himself. The smug reflection in his eyes and taut nature of his expression suggest he's extremely happy with what happened here. Or he's just that good at bluffing. The door closes behind him with a long creak as he calls, "Enjoy your solitude. Just you and the walls." But even as the swagger of Dean's body speaks to some outward delight, somewhere within the depths of his mind, Dean Winchester is screaming. 
}}

2415/Homecoming

2017-09-12T04:20:30Z

Feigenbaum: Created page with "{{Log Header |Date of Scene=2017/08/11 |Location=Winchester Apartment |Synopsis=Dean returns from Virginia. Fred attempts to apologize, but it does not go well. |Cast of Chara..."

{{Log Header
|Date of Scene=2017/08/11
|Location=Winchester Apartment
|Synopsis=Dean returns from Virginia. Fred attempts to apologize, but it does not go well.
|Cast of Characters=160, 306
|pretty=yes
}}
{{Poses
|Poses=:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' It has been a few days since the rescue of Claire. Since that time, Fred has been staying at the Winchester apartment. She's close to being better, close to being able to leave the apartment, but the visions from the Hydra compound have left her practically unable to leave the apartment. Sam has been incredibly supportive, but also has to accommodate becoming a member of SHIELD - something she understands and supports. For now, Fred revels in baby steps. She's left Sam's room and is now at the apartment at large. This is still a place she feels safe, now. The devil traps, the place that this is where both Sam and Dean live? She can put her pieces back together here. For now, that means eating Chinese food leftovers from the cartoon underneath the kitchen table by one of the windows. The blanket from Sam's bed is wrapped around her. If one wouldn't know any better, she looks like a middle schooler taking time off from classes due to a sick day. However, she is no longer writing on walls, she has ventured forth. This is progress for Fred. 

:'''{{#var:306|Dean Winchester (306)}} has posed:''' The jingle of the keys in the door signals that it's being unlocked and someone who has keys is trying to get inside. The handle to the door turns, and a familiar figure lingers in the doorway. Dean Winchester looks worse for wear. He's bloodied. A deep gash along the side of his face is likely to scar. His clothes are drenched in his own blood. His skin has paled and his eyes are shadowed by long creases that demonstrate fatigue. He doesn't look good. A glance is given to the floor and Dean eyes the carpet. "...Sam?" he calls gruffly. Only to see the figure under the table eating Chinese. Who is not Sam. His lips quirk into a frown. "Sam here?" 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' From underneath the table, Fred perks. She assumes this is Sam. Dean hasn't been home in quite awhile. However, as Dean enters the apartment bloodied and looking the worse for wear, she puts the Chinese food carton down and scrambles upward. The blanket remains wrapped around her shoulders, but she pays it little mind other than to ensure that it doesn't fall. "No, Sam had to go do something with SHIELD," Fred explains. It doesn't take a genius to see the fatigue, the shadows under Dean's eyes. "What happened?" she asks, apprehensive. The last time they talked they did not end on the best of circumstances. "Are you okay?" Clinging the blanket closer to her, she takes a step forward to try and help Dean. No matter the words said between them, he is Sam's brother. She knows how much he means to the man she loves. "Look, I'm sure you're still mad at me, but I'm sorry. For all of it. Let me help you. At least until Sam comes back." 

:'''{{#var:306|Dean Winchester (306)}} has posed:''' Dean doesn't move into the room. He's still in the doorway staring at the floor that he's exposed with the movement of the carpet. Dean frowns as he scrubs his face. "I went for a walk," he answers vaguely. "A long walk," he offers as clarification. His lips curve upwards grimly. "I just need to see Sam," he repeats without treading into the space. He emits a long sigh. "I'm fine," he finally adds. "Had a court date in Virginia. Remember?" There's nothing warm or kind about Dean's face. Each corner itches with vague irritation that Sam isn't here. His nostrils flare and his hands remain stiff at his sides. "I should probably go... left Jo downstairs." His lips twist to the side and he considers something. "Could use a glass of water though," his eyes glimmer with... is it hope? 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' Dean remains outside. With the way that Fred and Dean left their friendship last, it's not exactly like she can blame him. They both yelled, he drove off, a brunette man was in the passenger seat. "A walk?" she looks at him, confused. The blanket wraps about her even still. "You've been gone for almost a week---what happened?" However, then he brings up the court date in Virginia. They did talk about that and that he wouldn't tell Sam, that he didn't want /her/ to tell Sam. Things start to piece together. A narrowed look is given to Dean. "You two just need to start /talking/ to each other," she tells Dean. Though she's worried, she goes to the tap and gets a glass of water. As she does so, she asks a few questions. "How'd that go" The court date. She's used to the general rules she knows: you need to invite evil in order for it to harm you. And so, she stays on one end of the doorway and hands Dean the glass of tap water. 

:'''{{#var:306|Dean Winchester (306)}} has posed:''' The question of //what happened// causes Dean's expression to change. There's something ironic in the expression. It's pleased. Too pleased. "John Winchester happened. He was here." There's a pause and he repeats: "Look I need to talk to Sam." He sniffs loudly. "I went for a walk." There. "And I picked up Jo. At the Roadhouse. Again. And I need to talk to Sam." His eyes narrow and he stares blandly at her. Thankfully he accepts the glass of water. He brings it to his lips and takes a single sip. His lips quirk and he nods once. His nose wrinkles. "Thanks. Fred." His smile turns nearly sinister and he lifts a single hand in thanks. He slides into the edge of the room, actually tripping as he does so, splashing the black symbol he's exposed not he floor. "Tired. Makes me clumsy." His eyebrows draw together and his eyes scan the walls. "So. You move in?" His chin lifts, "Wouldn't be surprised. Sammy needs you more than me now. Doesn't need his big brother at all anymore. Big brother is nothing but a third wheel in an apartment he doesn't even belong." 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' "John Winchester? Another family member?" Fred looks at Dean with a confused and curious look. She stays on this side of the doorway, watching Dean very closely. "I see." She does not know the name of Jo or the Roadhouse. Instead, she stands inside the doorway of the Winchester apartment, watching as Dean does not enter. In the back of her mind, that rings as something strange. Dean barged in and accused her of trespassing. However, then, he falls forward, spilling the water on the floor and apologizing. Things start to fall into place - especially him telling her that Sam needs her more than he needs his brother. Suspicion is pushed to the side. This is a worry that she has waited to have happen for awhile. As Dean starts to trip, Fred reaches forward to catch him. "Are you okay?" she asks. The blanket slips from one shoulder, but she is focused on Dean now. "Move in? No." She blushes. "I've just---I just needed to stay for a bit." Fred frowns, looking at Dean. "What are you talking about? Sam definitely needs you. I just...I just needed a place to stay for a little bit." 

:'''{{#var:306|Dean Winchester (306)}} has posed:''' "Typical," Dean offers with a wry mirthless smile. "It's how it starts. First an apartment. Then a girlfriend. Then a girlfriend moving into the apartment." He shoots her another stiff never-meets-his-eyes-smile. "There isn't room here enough for all of us." There's nothing in the smile that suggests Dean should ever smile or that he's ever experience real joy. Sadism, however, exists in droves. That feline edge turns up higher as he trails around the edge of the room. "I'm going to pack some things," he states as his eyes scan the expanse of the space. Again, he glances towards the floor. He treads towards his room and disappears through the door. Moments later he returns with a small bag on his back. Slowly, he tugs the amulet from around his neck, and, with a smirk, he offers it to Fred, hesitating just a moment before holding it out. "Guess it's yours now, kid." 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' "Typical?" Fred starts to follow Dean about the apartment, a bit like someone completely unsure of what is going on, unsure of her place in the situation and is attempting to find out what is going on. "I'm---I haven't moved in." There's a bit of panic in her voice. What if Sam thinks Dean moved out because of her? What if she is the reason for the fight between the brothers? She can't handle that right now. She knows how much Dean means to Sam. If Sam was forced to choose between them, she assumes he would pick Dean and she is not even angry about that. It just fills her with a sense of dread. "No, but, there is." There's a desperation as Fred attempts to block Dean from packing and leaving entirely. "Dean, look, I'm sorry. I'm sorry about what I said to you at the Crossroads. I was worried about Sam and I thought you might do something horrible that Sam might regret." She's aware that Sam might not have seen Dean yet, that she is the barrier that will help ensure Sam sees his brother again soon. "No, it's not mine. Dean, /please/ please don't leave." She pleads, she can't help it. Sam had done so much for her. "I'm sorry, how can I make this right?" 

:'''{{#var:306|Dean Winchester (306)}} has posed:''' "Keep it. It's not mine either," he replies coldly. "Sammy doesn't get a say in what I do," Dean replies evenly. He treads to the counter and plucks the phone that's been waiting there for weeks. "Never has." His head tilts to the side as the phone gets pocketed--put away for safe-keeping. He'll probably have to check the messages. For a lot of messages. That sadistic smile pulls at Dean's features again, "You can't make it right, Fred. Not even a little. It's already broken. Only came back for the phone. And my stuff," his eyebrows lift expectantly. "I'll get more later after Jo and I figure out what we're doing." His head turns towards the door. "If Sam wants to talk to me, tell him can call. I'm doing what I was meant to. Getting on the road again." But there's something in Dean's eyes that remains unspoken. Something weirdly convinced of some not-yet-revealed truth. "I tried this life for awhile, but it's not for me. And we all know he finds the life I lead so vile. I tried it his way. I don't belong here. I'm going to bide time until eternity knocks." 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' Fred isn't willing to let the pendant drop. Instead, she catches it, clutches it to her. Confused, worried, she clutches it to her chest, the leather cord falling down in front of her. "I'm not Sam," she tells him. That's true in both just true fact as well as her attempt to keep Dean to pack up and leave. "He's not trying to make you do anything." Him and Jo. That name again. Fred remembers it, but is unsure as to how to bring it up. "I'm not..." no, that is a lie, she is trying to make it right. "It's not broken." Shaking her head, she follows Dean, intent on stopping him. "No. You got this place for a reason. You're /here/ for a reason," she tells him. "It's more than just a phone." Why isn't Sam here? He'd do this better. Is this all her fault? "He doesn't find that life vile. Dean...please." As he makes his way to leave, she reaches out to snatch him, try to grab him before he leaves. "I"m sorry. I am. I didn't mean..." 

:'''{{#var:306|Dean Winchester (306)}} has posed:''' "All members of my family try to make me do a lot of things," Dean challenges in return. "All of them." His lips purse. "Except mom." His eyebrows tick upwards at that. Mom will always be special thanks to her untimely death. It's interesting how death does that. The mention of being here for a reason makes Dean's smile turn downright feline. "I got it to service some pipe dream that I could adjust to this life. I can't. The road is where I belong. The road is what I want. And the road wants me. I'm here right now for my shit. I'll be back again for more shit." He actually shrugs at that. His eyes roll at the mention of Sam not finding the life vile. "He did. And he does. He finds every single place he can to avoid it, to quit it, and to embrace something... normal. But we're not normal, Fred. We never were. Never will be. I can't pretend to be something I'm not anymore." And then as he traipses to the door, he adds, "Even if Sam can. He can pretend all he wants. But he doesn't belong here either. Mark my words." 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' "Sam's the only member of the family that I've seen," Fred retorts. Defiantly, but ineffectively, she pulls the draping blanket back up over her other shoulder and holds it against her. She is defiant, determined, but ultimately looks like a teenager playing at the grown ups game with her hair in two messy braids and the blanket wrapped about her. "If that's true, why do you keep talking about Jo?" She shoots, taking a leap. She doesn't know Dean very well, but she remembers the phone calls and the fact that he as brought up this person twice in their conversation. While still scarred, she is a smart woman. There's a recoil in Fred at Dean's insults. Sam tries to set down roots wherever he can. He wants normal, wants a steady life. The sting of those words prick her right in her heart. However, while the tears spring to her eyes, she tells Dean with as much conviction as she can manage, "I'm not normal." After all, he did enter the room with her eating Chinese food under a kitchen table. However, there is a kernel of truth she can feel there. The fact that the brothers must always be on the move, that they want a place to stay but cannot settle down. Is that why he keeps things from. her? No. That is what she attempts to fight against. 

:'''{{#var:306|Dean Winchester (306)}} has posed:''' "Because Jo is along for the ride," Dean answers flatly. "I've got a year. I bought some more time, but everyone knows I won't stay Crowley's," he doesn't even hesitate to say the name, "bitch long. Just long enough for him to destroy whatever is left of my soul." He smirks at that as if it's some hilarious joke. "So yeah, Jo knows how much time I have. She knows what a shit human being I am. That this vessel has become emptier and emptier with each passing year. And that I have the most goddamned thankless job in the country." "You're as vanilla as they come, sweetheart," he replies to her assertion that she's not normal. The conviction doesn't matter. The words are invalidated almost immediately. "So yeah. Keep the amulet. Tell Sammy to call if he wants to talk more about this, or really," his nose wrinkles, "anything. Okay, pumpkin?" his head cants to the side and he studies her from the frame of the door once again. 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' Along for the ride. What does that mean? Fred knows little of Dean, but she knows how much Sam loves and is willing to sacrifice for him. Something rebels, but then the rationalization of Dean sets in. He has a year to live it up. He is defying Crowley. //Crowley//. Finally. She has a name. She says nothing on that, pulling the blanket around her all the more tightly. Maybe she is vanilla. Sam had quite an eventful childhood. His first girlfriend was a sort of fox. Everything after that dealt with ghosts and demons. A woman out of a portal could simply be old hat. Who knows. All her hang ups did not seem to be a surprise. Perhaps she is vanilla, as Dean says. They might have dealt with a hundred damaged women from hell dimensions. On another day, at a different time, perhaps Fred would be feistier, more willing to engage. After the events of the Hydra base, however, some parts of her remained locked away. As such, she holds on to the pendant and watches as Dean leaves, his parting insult, the pet name of 'pumpkin' hanging in the air between them. She watches Dean leave, unsure of what to say. Instead, her face closes off and she shifts backward, toward another dark and safe place within the apartment. 

:'''{{#var:306|Dean Winchester (306)}} has posed:''' Dean shoots Fred another self-satisfied smile, far too pleased with himself. The smug reflection in his eyes and taut nature of his expression suggest he's extremely happy with what happened here. Or he's just that good at bluffing. The door closes behind him with a long creak as he calls, "Enjoy your solitude. Just you and the walls." But even as the swagger of Dean's body speaks to some outward delight, somewhere within the depths of his mind, Dean Winchester is screaming. 
}}

2395/Solving for X

2017-09-11T05:45:37Z

Feigenbaum:

{{Log Header
|Date of Scene=2017/09/03
|Location=The Winchester Apartment
|Synopsis=After the events of the Hydra base in their rescue of Claire, Fred remains unconvinced that this is the real world. Sam does his best to convince her.
|Cast of Characters=160, 294
|pretty=yes
}}
{{Poses
|Poses=:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' September 3rd, 2025 4AM The rescue of Claire Temple was successful. That is, Claire Temple was rescued, but there is certainly quite a lot of recovery that she will need. Similar things might be said of those who rescued her, due to the magic trap that placed each of them in some form of dream state. Fred's own has reopened old wounds. Though she did manage to contribute the dropping of bombs on the Hydra base, the lingering feeling of questioning her world remains. After taking Claire to rest at Mercy's Garage, they were left more or less to their own devices. Between the choice of the Hyperion and the Winchester's apartment, Fred insisted they go to the Winchesters'. The last thing she wants is for Angel and Wesley to see her like this. The desire to hide under the bed is strong for her, but instead, she does the more normal thing and curls up on it. During the course of the night, Sam will wake up without Fred there. There's a soft muttering and the sound of sharpie against the wall, however. It seems that somehow Fred managed to climb the smaller dresser and perch there. A bloom of black against the paint now stains the walls. Math equations, drawings...they're mostly nonsense. In one corner, I divided by a drawing of a heart equals real. Below that rough sketch of the Hyperion, and next to it a long string of numbers and equations. All the while Fred mutters to herself as she does this. 

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' Sam is far more concerned about Fred than the contents of his nightmares. There are reasons for this. He saw Jessica die, and felt at fault. But he'd watched Jessica die before, and felt at fault. He saw the consequences of abandoning Dean to his own selfishness. But he has seen the consequences of abandoning Dean to his own selfishness. He got the memo that he was a hunter, but he'd had that memo. The new bit was feeling like there was any conscious choice behind all of this, as if there were transactions he made unconsciously that he should have been consciously aware of. The new bit was feeling like, too, that to choose Dean and Fred and his existing life he had to accept, just a little more, his own evil, his own imperfections, his own kinship with the demons who have intervened in his life, made him a part of them. And truthfully... None of that is anything he can't absorb within his own paradigm of 'It is a very crapsack world, and what you get out of this world is what you manage to carve out and protect, and sometimes you can't actually protect yourself, let alone anyone else, so you do the best you can and enjoy what you have while you have it.' No, it's Fred he's worried about. When she'd curled onto the bed he'd curled gently around her, hardly bothering to shower or change, only stopping to disarm and pull off his jacket and outer shirt so he wouldn't poke her with various and sundry guns. What he sees when he wakes is not even a surprise to him. And his first concern is honestly keeping her from falling off the dresser. He accepts her with all her hurts, all her flaws, and that includes being well aware that this is how she handles things when she's hurting the most. He steps up behind her, says her name very gently so as not to startle her, and then puts a broad hand at her back both to steady her physically-- to keep her from tumbling down like Humpty Dumpty-- and emotionally. Just to let her know that he is there. This. This, before anything else. 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' Fred can hear Sam get out of bed, move up to stand behind her. The writing does not stop. However, when he puts a hand on her back and says her name very softly, it does pause. The hand she had pressed against the wall for balance and to steady her writing curls just slightly and she glances a bit guiltily over her shoulder and then back at the wall. She knows how crazy this looks, how she's ruined the paint in here now. She's told him about Pylea, told him how she was for months after she got back, but there is a difference between hearing it and seeing it. "S-sorry," she says softly, looking back the wall and then downward at her hands. "I...I couldn't sleep. I didn't want to wake you." The hand with the sharpie lowers, leaving the long string of numbers behind for the time being. The other drops to her lap. "I just..." she doesn't have an answer to that just yet. She's not sure what she is 'just'. "I couldn't..." 

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' "That damned spell just took you to Pylea again," Sam says grimly, keeping his hand right on her back. "Honey, you don't have to apologize. If you need to cover the walls in sharpie, you go right ahead. I'll have the coolest decor in all Hell's Kitchen." And when does he ever sleep soundly anyway? He couldn't care less about his sleep, by the look on his face. He looks up at the equations, then back at her, and decides you know what? If this is where she's at, this is where he's going to be at too. "Can you walk me through these?" he suggests, gesturing up at the wall. Maybe if she talks through the thing she's trying to solve, he'll understand better, and can help more. It's a good sign, though, that she's responding at all. She's not catatonic. She's coping. It gives him hope that she'll find her way through this darkness. He just needs to help her find the path. 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' There's a wince when Sam guesses what happened to Fred in the spell and all she can do is nod. "Whenever I close my eyes..." she can see the cave again, feel the rags she wore, feel the loneliness and desperation and fear. A hand reaches up to where she can still feel the weight of cold metal where the collar about her neck sat for years. The question about the equations and gibberish is met with a pause. Fred looks over what is essentially stream of consciousness drawings and writings. "They're...it's a story..." It's hard to explain, really. There are words, but she doesn't know how they actually convey what they mean. "I had a cave I lived in and I was trying to get back. I didn't have any paper or anything, so I wrote on the walls. At first they were actual calculations, trying to figure out how to open up a portal back." She was desperate and she worked on them for at least a year. Closing her eyes, she can still see it. It's so real and that makes her shiver a bit. "But, it never worked. Eventually, I convinced myself Earth wasn't real. That I was born on Pylea, had always been there. But, I always knew that wasn't true, too. I started to write out Earth to try and stop thinking about it." Her eyes remain closed. "And then I was back there. It told me this was all just that dream again. I'd made it up and I believed that. Angel, the Hyperion...you...it was just another nightmare, another way cope." Her voice becomes higher, more panicked. "What if this isn't real, Sam? What if I'm still there. I'm always just /there/." 

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' Sam offers her a hand down. "It's real, and I'm going to show you why. I'm going to provide incontravertable proof. I just need you to come down from there. Will you trust me?" He really can't do it from where she's at. His eyes are earnest. The same earnest, empathy-filled hazel eyes that have convinced people to tell their tales across a dozen towns, effective because they're genuine. His mien, his face, is serious. He's not bringing her down for a kiss, or something equally trite. He has proof, he knows he has proof, he is rock steady in that proof, and he's going to share it. Black t-shirt and jeans though he may be wearing, he conveys himself at this moment like a professional, a loving professional, but a professional all the same. A sturdy oak tree in the face of the gale winds of her panic, not an old one, but a strong one all the same. Agent Sam, perhaps, if one were to put any name to it at all. He stands there patiently, hand out, giving her as much time as she nees to take it. Thirty seconds or thirty minutes, it's all one to all of him. He has all the time in the world. He will wait for her. 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' Fred opens her eyes, first seeing the drawings that she has done on Sam's wall. Gingerly - as to not fall off the dresser - she turns just slightly to look at Sam at his offer, his attempt to prove to her that where they are right now is real. There is still a slight shake in her hands as she watches him. The panic still has a very real hold on her, the fear that this is all some delusion she has done to make herself feel better about being trapped in a world in which there is no escape. However, much as he has done to countless people across the country, when Fred studies him she can see his earnestness and concern. He asks if she trusts him and she already knows the answer. She trusted in the idea of Sam even when in the Pylean nightmare, trusted and hoped that running toward him was the right way. Even through the panic she feels right now, she knows that she does trust him. Turning even more fully around on the dresser, she holds out the hand not holding the sharpie and puts it in his, allowing him to help her down from the dresser and back onto steady ground. 

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' Once she's there, he takes the hand that she's given him. He takes it, and he turns his left forearm up. Without fully looking at her, he gently puts the palm of her hand down on that spot. On the spot where he has collected the most track marks. He shoots up there, more than anywhere else, because he's got a good collection of veins there, because it's quick and easy. There are a few others, but this is it: the roughest, scabbiest, nastiest place on his body. Until now, when they've held one another, he has gone out of his way to keep this spot from her, minimizing its opportunities to contact her skin. But now he brushes her fingers deliberately over this, holds his hand over hers to keep her soft skin against this mangled skin, this evidence of self-mutilation. The tangible proof of his deepest flaws, his greatest shames, the spots of darkness that swarm through his light. "If you were going to dream up a lover," he says quietly, "you would not dream up someone so imperfect, so flawed. You wouldn't dream up someone who kept things from you sometimes. You wouldn't dream up someone who needs you quite as ferociously as I do. You wouldn't dream up an addict. When we make stuff up, we make up ideals. You could dream up someone that looked like me, talked like me, fought like me, that you trusted to protect you like me, but he'd be missing all but the most trivial of flaws. And that's how you know. Because I'm here. With you. Snarled up, fucked up, carrying enough baggage to fill a cargo hold. But real." 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' Once on the ground, Fred settles herself, still tense, still feeling the jittery panic from before. She's not sure how it is that Sam plans on proving their reality, but when he puts her hand on his scarred arm, she starts and blinks. The eyes that have been mostly downcast flick upward to his face in surprise. Then, down again at where her fingers touch his left arm, his hand over hers. She's known about his problem and they have discussed it, she has worried about it, they have argued and she's even witnessed and /done/ an injection of demon blood. Despite all that, this spot on his arm has been shielded from her and generally hidden through all their time together until now. The touch remains, not only because of Sam's hand keeping her there. There's a wince as she feels the scabs and the scars from all the injections in sympathy at the pain and the fact that he is still injecting himself. His words ring true. If she were to dream up The Perfect Sam to keep her company in Pylea, he would not be addicted to demon blood. Leaning forward, a few tears start to fall as she reaches out to hold him, the wash of panic subsiding to allow some other emotions to start flooding back. "I was so lost again. I thought...I thought I lost you, that I maybe never even had you." 

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' He wraps his arms around her in turn, cradling her, holding her close, sheltering her. He strokes her hair, quietly grim. If Volkov didn't die in those explosions, Sam Winchester will hunt him down and kill him. He's even the type of thing Sam normally goes after. But now is not the time for that. Now is the time to let Fred process all that has happened to her. He kisses the top of her head. "There's no dimension, no dream, no reality where I won't find you," he promises again, quietly. He can't do much about never having existed or never having been with her, other than to continue refuting that with his very presence. "If I ever leave you, it won't be willingly, and you can damn sure bet I'll be trying to get back. Or. You know. Waiting for you to come get me, which you're very good at." He kisses the top of her head again, letting her cry freely if she needs to. His shirt is 100% cotton. Very absorbant. When he speaks it's in those same tones of quiet, steady authority and assurance. 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' When Sam folds her into his arms, Fred starts to cry in earnest. The tenseness, the panic starts to wash away, leaving behind the fear and the shame of knowing that she could have ever thought that Sam could not be real. She wraps her arms around Sam and holds him tight as she cries into his shirt. It takes a little while before she is able to respond at all verbally to him. For that time, all she can do is hold him and cry as he strokes her hair. There's nowhere she can go he wouldn't find her - that echo from Mercy's garage, that shone though to her while in the nightmare Pylea make her hold him even tighter, though she is unable to tell him exactly how much those words meant and continue to mean to her. After awhile, the sobs start to slow and while she's still crying, she takes a few deep breaths to try and steady herself. "I--I know," she says softly, still against his chest. "I...I remembered you saying that before. There." There's another pause as she takes a few more breaths. "You helped me leave the cave." 

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' A stab of guilt hits Sam hard in the gut. Some remnant of him was there in her vision. He was off living some other life, with a dead woman. And though that life consisted of immediately basically blowing her off to go run after Dean and briefly being confused about the color of her hair, it still bothers him. He wonders what it says, about him, about them. Or maybe he's reading too much into it. Maybe it's just a matter of being presented, almost 100%, with an accurate timeline or close-to-accurate, possible timeline. Maybe all their shadows take different shapes. He still doesn't understand what it was all //for//, and while that irritates him thinking about that is easier than poking at questions he can't possibly get answers to. The latter? Different. He has all of WAND's libraries in addition to his own resources now. He makes a mental note to reach out to Bobby, too. For now, he continues to hold her and stroke her hair. If he were aware of her shame he'd try to talk her down from that, but he murmurs, "You just hold on to that whenever you're not sure, sweetheart." He finds himself uneasy again. He hasn't heard from Dean in awhile. Is he in Kansas? Is that where he went? Does a white-eyed demon have him? 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' After a moment, Fred continues, somehow needing to tell him the rest of the story. Her words are a bit faster now, if still soft. "I'd written about you and Angel and the Hyperion on the walls. Your story had a footnote saying that you loved me. It kept trying to tell me it wasn't real, that you weren't real and I believed them for awhile. I remembered you and Angel telling me how you'd always be there, would always save me if you could. I knew I loved you and I had to trust that. That's what got me to run." Fred doesn't know what Sam's own vision might have been. She's been so locked into her own fears and hurts that she hasn't asked him about his. In part because she is scared as to what she might find out while she is still attempting to deal with her own. Nor, does she think of Dean at the moment or even Sam's demon blood problems. All the real world and other fears will come back soon enough. For now, she holds onto him, the tears finally stopping for the moment. "I love you, okay? And knowing that helped me get through that place. I just...I needed to say that." I over heart equals real. 

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' I over heart equals real. That feels like something Sam will hold onto himself. "I love you too," he murmurs, reaching up with broad thumbs to wipe away her tears. He leans down to kiss her, feeling like being present, being //there//, being solid and real...all of these are things he just feels like she needs. He looks down into her eyes, then gently tries to pull the sharpie free from her other hand at last, feeling like maybe, just maybe, she might be in a position where she doesn't need it quite as much. But if she lets him take it, it won't go far. He simply caps it and puts it on the dresser. If she needs it again, it's there. No judgments. He's serious, he couldn't care less about the walls. It's enough to simply have some that are his. That are //theirs//, even though they bounce between their mutual homes right now. "Ready to come back to bed?" he murmurs. And then: "Or do you wanna hit that all-night taco place we found?" Cause if you can't find a 24/7 taco place in NYC, where can you find one? Well. Probably Houston. But also NYC. 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' As Sam wipes the tears away from Fred's cheek, her face leans into his palm and she kisses him back. Him being there for her has certainly steadied her, chased away some of that panic and she starts to feel the steadiness of not only this world, but of him. This is real, this is the real world. When he attempts to pull the sharpie out of her hands, there's a moment when she grips it harder, unable to let it go. It lasts for a moment and then, she allows it to slip free of her fingers. She watches it with a strange sort of interest, but she doesn't follow it with anything other then her eyes. The question as to whether she's ready to go back to bed is met with a nod. The question about going out, though, is met a quick shake of her head. While she may be feeling a little better and tacos are a nice thought, there is still a part of her that needs to remain inside in a place that feels safe and quiet. "Let's just stay here." Holding onto Sam, she rests against him. "Thank you." 

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' He leads her back to the bed and pulls the covers aside so he can cover them both up. He pulls them right up and over their heads, expertly leaving space. Young Sam Winchester made burrows in beds to make things seem less scary, but this is certainly a warmer and softer 'cave'. He wraps his arms tightly around her and whispers, "Always." He tucks a lock of hair behind her ear. He ought to have known she might not want to go out, but he supposes that's the function of asking in the first place. He's prepared to repeat any version of this ritual she needs to repeat. Briefly, in the darkness, his jaw firms. //You'd best be dead, Volkov. Dead and burned beyond returning. Or I'm coming for you. For this alone, I'm coming for you.// It doesn't even matter that it was never aimed, exclusively, at Fred. 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' As Sam leads Fred back to the bed, she follows. Lying back down, Sam pulls the blanket over them and she relaxes. It's a small, dark place and Sam is there. It feels safe and she relaxes into his arms. It is entirely possible that over the next few nights there will be a few times that he finds her out of bed and adding to the sharpie mural that she has started tonight and he will have to reassure her again that everything is alright. It might not take quite as much effort to talk her down as tonight, especially as she now does believe that this is real, that Sam is real. The next few nights it will be soothing her into believing it won't happen again. Or, if it does, she will survive it. Later there will be time to worry about everything else. They will find out if Volkov is alive, how to help Sam with his addiction, where Dean is. Tonight, though, she is wrapped and safe and she wants to stay there. 
}}

2395/Solving for X

2017-09-11T05:15:57Z

Feigenbaum:

{{Log Header
|Date of Scene=2017/09/03
|Location=The Winchester Apartment
|Synopsis=After the events of the Hydra base in their rescue of Claire, Fred remains unconvinced that this is the real world. Sam does his best to convince her.
|Cast of Characters=160, 294
|pretty=yes
}}
{{Poses
|Poses=:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' September 3rd, 2025 4AM The rescue of Claire Temple was successful. That is, Claire Temple was rescued, but there is certainly quite a lot of recovery that she will need. Similar things might be said of those who rescued her, due to the magic trap that placed each of them in some form of dream state. Fred's own has reopened old wounds. Though she did manage to contribute the dropping of bombs on the Hydra base, the lingering feeling of questioning her world remains. After taking Claire to rest at Mercy's Garage, they were left more or less to their own devices. Between the choice of the Hyperion and the Winchester's apartment, Fred insisted they go to the Winchesters'. The last thing she wants is for Angel and Wesley to see her like this. The desire to hide under the bed is strong for her, but instead, she does the more normal thing and curls up on it. During the course of the night, Sam will wake up without Fred there. There's a soft muttering and the sound of sharpie against the wall, however. It seems that somehow Fred managed to climb the smaller dresser and perch there. A bloom of black against the paint now stains the walls. Math equations, drawings...they're mostly nonsense. In one corner, I divided by a drawing of a heart equals real. Below that rough sketch of the Hyperion, and next to it a long string of numbers and equations. All the while Fred mutters to herself as she does this. 

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' Sam is far more concerned about Fred than the contents of his nightmares. There are reasons for this. He saw Jessica die, and felt at fault. But he'd watched Jessica die before, and felt at fault. He saw the consequences of abandoning Dean to his own selfishness. But he has seen the consequences of abandoning Dean to his own selfishness. He got the memo that he was a hunter, but he'd had that memo. The new bit was feeling like there was any conscious choice behind all of this, as if there were transactions he made unconsciously that he should have been consciously aware of. The new bit was feeling like, too, that to choose Dean and Fred and his existing life he had to accept, just a little more, his own evil, his own imperfections, his own kinship with the demons who have intervened in his life, made him a part of them. And truthfully... None of that is anything he can't absorb within his own paradigm of 'It is a very crapsack world, and what you get out of this world is what you manage to carve out and protect, and sometimes you can't actually protect yourself, let alone anyone else, so you do the best you can and enjoy what you have while you have it.' No, it's Fred he's worried about. When she'd curled onto the bed he'd curled gently around her, hardly bothering to shower or change, only stopping to disarm and pull off his jacket and outer shirt so he wouldn't poke her with various and sundry guns. What he sees when he wakes is not even a surprise to him. And his first concern is honestly keeping her from falling off the dresser. He accepts her with all her hurts, all her flaws, and that includes being well aware that this is how she handles things when she's hurting the most. He steps up behind her, says her name very gently so as not to startle her, and then puts a broad hand at her back both to steady her physically-- to keep her from tumbling down like Humpty Dumpty-- and emotionally. Just to let her know that he is there. This. This, before anything else. 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' Fred can hear Sam get out of bed, move up to stand behind her. The writing does not stop. However, when he puts a hand on her back and says her name very softly, it does pause. The hand she had pressed against the wall for balance and to steady her writing curls just slightly and she glances a bit guiltily over her shoulder and then back at the wall. She knows how crazy this looks, how she's ruined the paint in here now. She's told him about Pylea, told him how she was for months after she got back, but there is a difference between hearing it and seeing it. "S-sorry," she says softly, looking back the wall and then downward at her hands. "I...I couldn't sleep. I didn't want to wake you." The hand with the sharpie lowers, leaving the long string of numbers behind for the time being. The other drops to her lap. "I just..." she doesn't have an answer to that just yet. She's not sure what she is 'just'. "I couldn't..." 

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' "That damned spell just took you to Pylea again," Sam says grimly, keeping his hand right on her back. "Honey, you don't have to apologize. If you need to cover the walls in sharpie, you go right ahead. I'll have the coolest decor in all Hell's Kitchen." And when does he ever sleep soundly anyway? He couldn't care less about his sleep, by the look on his face. He looks up at the equations, then back at her, and decides you know what? If this is where she's at, this is where he's going to be at too. "Can you walk me through these?" he suggests, gesturing up at the wall. Maybe if she talks through the thing she's trying to solve, he'll understand better, and can help more. It's a good sign, though, that she's responding at all. She's not catatonic. She's coping. It gives him hope that she'll find her way through this darkness. He just needs to help her find the path. 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' There's a wince when Sam guesses what happened to Fred in the spell and all she can do is nod. "Whenever I close my eyes..." she can see the cave again, feel the rags she wore, feel the loneliness and desperation and fear. A hand reaches up to where she can still feel the weight of cold metal where the collar about her neck sat for years. The question about the equations and gibberish is met with a pause. Fred looks over what is essentially stream of consciousness drawings and writings. "They're...it's a story..." It's hard to explain, really. There are words, but she doesn't know how they actually convey what they mean. "I had a cave I lived in and I was trying to get back. I didn't have any paper or anything, so I wrote on the walls. At first they were actual calculations, trying to figure out how to open up a portal back." She was desperate and she worked on them for at least a years. Closing her eyes, she can still see it. It's so real and that makes her shiver a bit. "But, it never worked. Eventually, I convinced myself Earth wasn't real. That I was born on Pylea, had always been there. But, I always knew that wasn't true, too. I started to write out Earth to try and stop thinking about it." Her eyes remain closed. "And then I was back there. It told me this was all just that dream again. I'd made it up and I believed that. Angel, the Hyperion...you...it was just another nightmare, another way cope." Her voice becomes higher, more panicked. "What if this isn't real, Sam? What if I'm still there. I'm always just /there/." 

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' Sam offers her a hand down. "It's real, and I'm going to show you why. I'm going to provide incontravertable proof. I just need you to come down from there. Will you trust me?" He really can't do it from where she's at. His eyes are earnest. The same earnest, empathy-filled hazel eyes that have convinced people to tell their tales across a dozen towns, effective because they're genuine. His mien, his face, is serious. He's not bringing her down for a kiss, or something equally trite. He has proof, he knows he has proof, he is rock steady in that proof, and he's going to share it. Black t-shirt and jeans though he may be wearing, he conveys himself at this moment like a professional, a loving professional, but a professional all the same. A sturdy oak tree in the face of the gale winds of her panic, not an old one, but a strong one all the same. Agent Sam, perhaps, if one were to put any name to it at all. He stands there patiently, hand out, giving her as much time as she nees to take it. Thirty seconds or thirty minutes, it's all one to all of him. He has all the time in the world. He will wait for her. 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' Fred opens her eyes, first seeing the drawings that she has done on Sam's wall. Gingerly - as to not fall off the dresser - she turns just slightly to look at Sam at his offer, his attempt to prove to her that where they are right now is real. There is still a slight shake in her hands as she watches him. The panic still has a very real hold on her, the fear that this is all some delusion she has done to make herself feel better about being trapped in a world in which there is no escape. However, much as he has done to countless people across the country, when Fred studies him she can see his earnestness and concern. He asks if she trusts him and she already knows the answer. She trusted in the idea of Sam even when in the Pylean nightmare, trusted and hoped that running toward him was the right way. Even through the panic she feels right now, she knows that she does trust him. Turning even more fully around on the dresser, she holds out the hand not holding the sharpie and puts it in his, allowing him to help her down from the dresser and back onto steady ground. 

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' Once she's there, he takes the hand that she's given him. He takes it, and he turns his left forearm up. Without fully looking at her, he gently puts the palm of her hand down on that spot. On the spot where he has collected the most track marks. He shoots up there, more than anywhere else, because he's got a good collection of veins there, because it's quick and easy. There are a few others, but this is it: the roughest, scabbiest, nastiest place on his body. Until now, when they've held one another, he has gone out of his way to keep this spot from her, minimizing its opportunities to contact her skin. But now he brushes her fingers deliberately over this, holds his hand over hers to keep her soft skin against this mangled skin, this evidence of self-mutilation. The tangible proof of his deepest flaws, his greatest shames, the spots of darkness that swarm through his light. "If you were going to dream up a lover," he says quietly, "you would not dream up someone so imperfect, so flawed. You wouldn't dream up someone who kept things from you sometimes. You wouldn't dream up someone who needs you quite as ferociously as I do. You wouldn't dream up an addict. When we make stuff up, we make up ideals. You could dream up someone that looked like me, talked like me, fought like me, that you trusted to protect you like me, but he'd be missing all but the most trivial of flaws. And that's how you know. Because I'm here. With you. Snarled up, fucked up, carrying enough baggage to fill a cargo hold. But real." 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' Once on the ground, Fred settles herself, still tense, still feeling the jittery panic from before. She's not sure how it is that Sam plans on proving their reality, but when he puts her hand on his scarred arm, she starts and blinks. The eyes that have been mostly downcast flick upward to his face in surprise. Then, down again at where her fingers touch his left arm, his hand over hers. She's known about his problem and they have discussed it, she has worried about it, they have argued and she's even witnessed and /done/ an injection of demon blood. Despite all that, this spot on his arm has been shielded from her and generally hidden through all their time together until now. The touch remains, not only because of Sam's hand keeping her there. There's a wince as she feels the scabs and the scars from all the injections in sympathy at the pain and the fact that he is still injecting himself. His words ring true. If she were to dream up The Perfect Sam to keep her company in Pylea, he would not be addicted to demon blood. Leaning forward, a few tears start to fall as she reaches out to hold him, the wash of panic subsiding to allow some other emotions to start flooding back. "I was so lost again. I thought...I thought I lost you, that I maybe never even had you." 

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' He wraps his arms around her in turn, cradling her, holding her close, sheltering her. He strokes her hair, quietly grim. If Volkov didn't die in those explosions, Sam Winchester will hunt him down and kill him. He's even the type of thing Sam normally goes after. But now is not the time for that. Now is the time to let Fred process all that has happened to her. He kisses the top of her head. "There's no dimension, no dream, no reality where I won't find you," he promises again, quietly. He can't do much about never having existed or never having been with her, other than to continue refuting that with his very presence. "If I ever leave you, it won't be willingly, and you can damn sure bet I'll be trying to get back. Or. You know. Waiting for you to come get me, which you're very good at." He kisses the top of her head again, letting her cry freely if she needs to. His shirt is 100% cotton. Very absorbant. When he speaks it's in those same tones of quiet, steady authority and assurance. 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' When Sam folds her into his arms, Fred starts to cry in earnest. The tenseness, the panic starts to wash away, leaving behind the fear and the shame of knowing that she could have ever thought that Sam could not be real. She wraps her arms around Sam and holds him tight as she cries into his shirt. It takes a little while before she is able to respond at all verbally to him. For that time, all she can do is hold him and cry as he strokes her hair. There's nowhere she can go he wouldn't find her - that echo from Mercy's garage, that shone though to her while in the nightmare Pylea make her hold him even tighter, though she is unable to tell him exactly how much those words meant and continue to mean to her. After awhile, the sobs start to slow and while she's still crying, she takes a few deep breaths to try and steady herself. "I--I know," she says softly, still against his chest. "I...I remembered you saying that before. There." There's another pause as she takes a few more breaths. "You helped me leave the cave." 

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' A stab of guilt hits Sam hard in the gut. Some remnant of him was there in her vision. He was off living some other life, with a dead woman. And though that life consisted of immediately basically blowing her off to go run after Dean and briefly being confused about the color of her hair, it still bothers him. He wonders what it says, about him, about them. Or maybe he's reading too much into it. Maybe it's just a matter of being presented, almost 100%, with an accurate timeline or close-to-accurate, possible timeline. Maybe all their shadows take different shapes. He still doesn't understand what it was all //for//, and while that irritates him thinking about that is easier than poking at questions he can't possibly get answers to. The latter? Different. He has all of WAND's libraries in addition to his own resources now. He makes a mental note to reach out to Bobby, too. For now, he continues to hold her and stroke her hair. If he were aware of her shame he'd try to talk her down from that, but he murmurs, "You just hold on to that whenever you're not sure, sweetheart." He finds himself uneasy again. He hasn't heard from Dean in awhile. Is he in Kansas? Is that where he went? Does a white-eyed demon have him? 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' After a moment, Fred continues, somehow needing to tell him the rest of the story. Her words are a bit faster now, if still soft. "I'd written about you and Angel and the Hyperion on the walls. Your story had a footnote saying that you loved me. It kept trying to tell me it wasn't real, that you weren't real and I believed them for awhile. I remembered you and Angel telling me how you'd always be there, would always save me if you could. I knew I loved you and I had to trust that. That's what got me to run." Fred doesn't know what Sam's own vision might have been. She's been so locked into her own fears and hurts that she hasn't asked him about his. In part because she is scared as to what she might find out while she is still attempting to deal with her own. Nor, does she think of Dean at the moment or even Sam's demon blood problems. All the real world and other fears will come back soon enough. For now, she holds onto him, the tears finally stopping for the moment. "I love you, okay? And knowing that helped me get through that place. I just...I needed to say that." I over heart equals real. 

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' I over heart equals real. That feels like something Sam will hold onto himself. "I love you too," he murmurs, reaching up with broad thumbs to wipe away her tears. He leans down to kiss her, feeling like being present, being //there//, being solid and real...all of these are things he just feels like she needs. He looks down into her eyes, then gently tries to pull the sharpie free from her other hand at last, feeling like maybe, just maybe, she might be in a position where she doesn't need it quite as much. But if she lets him take it, it won't go far. He simply caps it and puts it on the dresser. If she needs it again, it's there. No judgments. He's serious, he couldn't care less about the walls. It's enough to simply have some that are his. That are //theirs//, even though they bounce between their mutual homes right now. "Ready to come back to bed?" he murmurs. And then: "Or do you wanna hit that all-night taco place we found?" Cause if you can't find a 24/7 taco place in NYC, where can you find one? Well. Probably Houston. But also NYC. 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' As Sam wipes the tears away from Fred's cheek, her face leans into his palm and she kisses him back. Him being there for her has certainly steadied her, chased away some of that panic and she starts to feel the steadiness of not only this world, but of him. This is real, this is the real world. When he attempts to pull the sharpie out of her hands, there's a moment when she grips it harder, unable to let it go. It lasts for a moment and then, she allows it to slip free of her fingers. She watches it with a strange sort of interest, but she doesn't follow it with anything other then her eyes. The question as to whether she's ready to go back to bed is met with a nod. The question about going out, though, is met a quick shake of her head. While she may be feeling a little better and tacos are a nice thought, there is still a part of her that needs to remain inside in a place that feels safe and quiet. "Let's just stay here." Holding onto Sam, she rests against him. "Thank you." 

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' He leads her back to the bed and pulls the covers aside so he can cover them both up. He pulls them right up and over their heads, expertly leaving space. Young Sam Winchester made burrows in beds to make things seem less scary, but this is certainly a warmer and softer 'cave'. He wraps his arms tightly around her and whispers, "Always." He tucks a lock of hair behind her ear. He ought to have known she might not want to go out, but he supposes that's the function of asking in the first place. He's prepared to repeat any version of this ritual she needs to repeat. Briefly, in the darkness, his jaw firms. //You'd best be dead, Volkov. Dead and burned beyond returning. Or I'm coming for you. For this alone, I'm coming for you.// It doesn't even matter that it was never aimed, exclusively, at Fred. 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' As Sam leads Fred back to the bed, she follows. Lying back down, Sam pulls the blanket over them and she relaxes. It's a small, dark place and Sam is there. It feels safe and she relaxes into his arms. It is entirely possible that over the next few nights there will be a few times that he finds her out of bed and adding to the sharpie mural that she has started tonight and he will have to reassure her again that everything is alright. It might not take quite as much effort to talk her down as tonight, especially as she now does believe that this is real, that Sam is real. The next few nights it will be soothing her into believing it won't happen again. Or, if it does, she will survive it. Later there will be time to worry about everything else. They will find out if Volkov is alive, how to help Sam with his addiction, where Dean is. Tonight, though, she is wrapped and safe and she wants to stay there. 
}}

2395/Solving for X

2017-09-11T05:14:36Z

Feigenbaum: Created page with "{{Log Header |Date of Scene=2017/09/03 |Location=The Winchester Apartment |Synopsis=After the events of the Hydra base in their rescue of Claire, Fred remains unconvinced that..."

{{Log Header
|Date of Scene=2017/09/03
|Location=The Winchester Apartment
|Synopsis=After the events of the Hydra base in their rescue of Claire, Fred remains unconvinced that this is the real world. Sam does his best to convince her.
|Cast of Characters=160, 294
|pretty=yes
}}
{{Poses
|Poses=:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' September 3rd, 2025 4AM The rescue of Claire Temple was successful. That is, Claire Temple was rescued, but there is certainly quite a lot of recovery that she will need. Similar things might be said of those who rescued her, due to the magic trap that placed each of them in some form of dream state. Fred's own has reopened old wounds. Though she did manage to contribute the dropping of bombs on the Hydra base, the lingering feeling of questioning her world remains. After taking Claire to rest at Mercy's Garage, they were left more or less to their own devices. Between the choice of the Hyperion and the Winchester's apartment, Fred insisted they go to the Winchesters'. The last thing she wants is for Angel and Wesley to see her like this. The desire to hide under the bed is strong for her, but instead, she does the more normal thing and curls up on it. During the course of the night, however, Sam will wake up without Fred there. There's a soft muttering and the sound of sharpie against the wall, however. It seems that somehow Fred managed to climb the smaller dresser and perch there. A bloom of black against the paint now stains the walls. Math equations, drawings...they're mostly nonsense. In one corner, I divided by a drawing of a heart equals real. Below that rough sketch of the Hyperion, and next to it a long string of numbers and equations. All the while Fred mutters to herself as she does this. 

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' Sam is far more concerned about Fred than the contents of his nightmares. There are reasons for this. He saw Jessica die, and felt at fault. But he'd watched Jessica die before, and felt at fault. He saw the consequences of abandoning Dean to his own selfishness. But he has seen the consequences of abandoning Dean to his own selfishness. He got the memo that he was a hunter, but he'd had that memo. The new bit was feeling like there was any conscious choice behind all of this, as if there were transactions he made unconsciously that he should have been consciously aware of. The new bit was feeling like, too, that to choose Dean and Fred and his existing life he had to accept, just a little more, his own evil, his own imperfections, his own kinship with the demons who have intervened in his life, made him a part of them. And truthfully... None of that is anything he can't absorb within his own paradigm of 'It is a very crapsack world, and what you get out of this world is what you manage to carve out and protect, and sometimes you can't actually protect yourself, let alone anyone else, so you do the best you can and enjoy what you have while you have it.' No, it's Fred he's worried about. When she'd curled onto the bed he'd curled gently around her, hardly bothering to shower or change, only stopping to disarm and pull off his jacket and outer shirt so he wouldn't poke her with various and sundry guns. What he sees when he wakes is not even a surprise to him. And his first concern is honestly keeping her from falling off the dresser. He accepts her with all her hurts, all her flaws, and that includes being well aware that this is how she handles things when she's hurting the most. He steps up behind her, says her name very gently so as not to startle her, and then puts a broad hand at her back both to steady her physically-- to keep her from tumbling down like Humpty Dumpty-- and emotionally. Just to let her know that he is there. This. This, before anything else. 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' Fred can hear Sam get out of bed, move up to stand behind her. The writing does not stop. However, when he puts a hand on her back and says her name very softly, it does pause. The hand she had pressed against the wall for balance and to steady her writing curls just slightly and she glances a bit guiltily over her shoulder and then back at the wall. She knows how crazy this looks, how she's ruined the paint in here now. She's told him about Pylea, told him how she was for months after she got back, but there is a difference between hearing it and seeing it. "S-sorry," she says softly, looking back the wall and then downward at her hands. "I...I couldn't sleep. I didn't want to wake you." The hand with the sharpie lowers, leaving the long string of numbers behind for the time being. The other drops to her lap. "I just..." she doesn't have an answer to that just yet. She's not sure what she is 'just'. "I couldn't..." 

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' "That damned spell just took you to Pylea again," Sam says grimly, keeping his hand right on her back. "Honey, you don't have to apologize. If you need to cover the walls in sharpie, you go right ahead. I'll have the coolest decor in all Hell's Kitchen." And when does he ever sleep soundly anyway? He couldn't care less about his sleep, by the look on his face. He looks up at the equations, then back at her, and decides you know what? If this is where she's at, this is where he's going to be at too. "Can you walk me through these?" he suggests, gesturing up at the wall. Maybe if she talks through the thing she's trying to solve, he'll understand better, and can help more. It's a good sign, though, that she's responding at all. She's not catatonic. She's coping. It gives him hope that she'll find her way through this darkness. He just needs to help her find the path. 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' There's a wince when Sam guesses what happened to Fred in the spell and all she can do is nod. "Whenever I close my eyes..." she can see the cave again, feel the rags she wore, feel the loneliness and desperation and fear. A hand reaches up to where she can still feel the weight of cold metal where the collar about her neck sat for years. The question about the equations and gibberish is met with a pause. Fred looks over what is essentially stream of consciousness drawings and writings. "They're...it's a story..." It's hard to explain, really. There are words, but she doesn't know how they actually convey what they mean. "I had a cave I lived in and I was trying to get back. I didn't have any paper or anything, so I wrote on the walls. At first they were actual calculations, trying to figure out how to open up a portal back." She was desperate and she worked on them for at least a years. Closing her eyes, she can still see it. It's so real and that makes her shiver a bit. "But, it never worked. Eventually, I convinced myself Earth wasn't real. That I was born on Pylea, had always been there. But, I always knew that wasn't true, too. I started to write out Earth to try and stop thinking about it." Her eyes remain closed. "And then I was back there. It told me this was all just that dream again. I'd made it up and I believed that. Angel, the Hyperion...you...it was just another nightmare, another way cope." Her voice becomes higher, more panicked. "What if this isn't real, Sam? What if I'm still there. I'm always just /there/." 

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' Sam offers her a hand down. "It's real, and I'm going to show you why. I'm going to provide incontravertable proof. I just need you to come down from there. Will you trust me?" He really can't do it from where she's at. His eyes are earnest. The same earnest, empathy-filled hazel eyes that have convinced people to tell their tales across a dozen towns, effective because they're genuine. His mien, his face, is serious. He's not bringing her down for a kiss, or something equally trite. He has proof, he knows he has proof, he is rock steady in that proof, and he's going to share it. Black t-shirt and jeans though he may be wearing, he conveys himself at this moment like a professional, a loving professional, but a professional all the same. A sturdy oak tree in the face of the gale winds of her panic, not an old one, but a strong one all the same. Agent Sam, perhaps, if one were to put any name to it at all. He stands there patiently, hand out, giving her as much time as she nees to take it. Thirty seconds or thirty minutes, it's all one to all of him. He has all the time in the world. He will wait for her. 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' Fred opens her eyes, first seeing the drawings that she has done on Sam's wall. Gingerly - as to not fall off the dresser - she turns just slightly to look at Sam at his offer, his attempt to prove to her that where they are right now is real. There is still a slight shake in her hands as she watches him. The panic still has a very real hold on her, the fear that this is all some delusion she has done to make herself feel better about being trapped in a world in which there is no escape. However, much as he has done to countless people across the country, when Fred studies him she can see his earnestness and concern. He asks if she trusts him and she already knows the answer. She trusted in the idea of Sam even when in the Pylean nightmare, trusted and hoped that running toward him was the right way. Even through the panic she feels right now, she knows that she does trust him. Turning even more fully around on the dresser, she holds out the hand not holding the sharpie and puts it in his, allowing him to help her down from the dresser and back onto steady ground. 

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' Once she's there, he takes the hand that she's given him. He takes it, and he turns his left forearm up. Without fully looking at her, he gently puts the palm of her hand down on that spot. On the spot where he has collected the most track marks. He shoots up there, more than anywhere else, because he's got a good collection of veins there, because it's quick and easy. There are a few others, but this is it: the roughest, scabbiest, nastiest place on his body. Until now, when they've held one another, he has gone out of his way to keep this spot from her, minimizing its opportunities to contact her skin. But now he brushes her fingers deliberately over this, holds his hand over hers to keep her soft skin against this mangled skin, this evidence of self-mutilation. The tangible proof of his deepest flaws, his greatest shames, the spots of darkness that swarm through his light. "If you were going to dream up a lover," he says quietly, "you would not dream up someone so imperfect, so flawed. You wouldn't dream up someone who kept things from you sometimes. You wouldn't dream up someone who needs you quite as ferociously as I do. You wouldn't dream up an addict. When we make stuff up, we make up ideals. You could dream up someone that looked like me, talked like me, fought like me, that you trusted to protect you like me, but he'd be missing all but the most trivial of flaws. And that's how you know. Because I'm here. With you. Snarled up, fucked up, carrying enough baggage to fill a cargo hold. But real." 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' Once on the ground, Fred settles herself, still tense, still feeling the jittery panic from before. She's not sure how it is that Sam plans on proving their reality, but when he puts her hand on his scarred arm, she starts and blinks. The eyes that have been mostly downcast flick upward to his face in surprise. Then, down again at where her fingers touch his left arm, his hand over hers. She's known about his problem and they have discussed it, she has worried about it, they have argued and she's even witnessed and /done/ an injection of demon blood. Despite all that, this spot on his arm has been shielded from her and generally hidden through all their time together until now. The touch remains, not only because of Sam's hand keeping her there. There's a wince as she feels the scabs and the scars from all the injections in sympathy at the pain and the fact that he is still injecting himself. His words ring true. If she were to dream up The Perfect Sam to keep her company in Pylea, he would not be addicted to demon blood. Leaning forward, a few tears start to fall as she reaches out to hold him, the wash of panic subsiding to allow some other emotions to start flooding back. "I was so lost again. I thought...I thought I lost you, that I maybe never even had you." 

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' He wraps his arms around her in turn, cradling her, holding her close, sheltering her. He strokes her hair, quietly grim. If Volkov didn't die in those explosions, Sam Winchester will hunt him down and kill him. He's even the type of thing Sam normally goes after. But now is not the time for that. Now is the time to let Fred process all that has happened to her. He kisses the top of her head. "There's no dimension, no dream, no reality where I won't find you," he promises again, quietly. He can't do much about never having existed or never having been with her, other than to continue refuting that with his very presence. "If I ever leave you, it won't be willingly, and you can damn sure bet I'll be trying to get back. Or. You know. Waiting for you to come get me, which you're very good at." He kisses the top of her head again, letting her cry freely if she needs to. His shirt is 100% cotton. Very absorbant. When he speaks it's in those same tones of quiet, steady authority and assurance. 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' When Sam folds her into his arms, Fred starts to cry in earnest. The tenseness, the panic starts to wash away, leaving behind the fear and the shame of knowing that she could have ever thought that Sam could not be real. She wraps her arms around Sam and holds him tight as she cries into his shirt. It takes a little while before she is able to respond at all verbally to him. For that time, all she can do is hold him and cry as he strokes her hair. There's nowhere she can go he wouldn't find her - that echo from Mercy's garage, that shone though to her while in the nightmare Pylea make her hold him even tighter, though she is unable to tell him exactly how much those words meant and continue to mean to her. After awhile, the sobs start to slow and while she's still crying, she takes a few deep breaths to try and steady herself. "I--I know," she says softly, still against his chest. "I...I remembered you saying that before. There." There's another pause as she takes a few more breaths. "You helped me leave the cave." 

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' A stab of guilt hits Sam hard in the gut. Some remnant of him was there in her vision. He was off living some other life, with a dead woman. And though that life consisted of immediately basically blowing her off to go run after Dean and briefly being confused about the color of her hair, it still bothers him. He wonders what it says, about him, about them. Or maybe he's reading too much into it. Maybe it's just a matter of being presented, almost 100%, with an accurate timeline or close-to-accurate, possible timeline. Maybe all their shadows take different shapes. He still doesn't understand what it was all //for//, and while that irritates him thinking about that is easier than poking at questions he can't possibly get answers to. The latter? Different. He has all of WAND's libraries in addition to his own resources now. He makes a mental note to reach out to Bobby, too. For now, he continues to hold her and stroke her hair. If he were aware of her shame he'd try to talk her down from that, but he murmurs, "You just hold on to that whenever you're not sure, sweetheart." He finds himself uneasy again. He hasn't heard from Dean in awhile. Is he in Kansas? Is that where he went? Does a white-eyed demon have him? 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' After a moment, Fred continues, somehow needing to tell him the rest of the story. Her words are a bit faster now, if still soft. "I'd written about you and Angel and the Hyperion on the walls. Your story had a footnote saying that you loved me. It kept trying to tell me it wasn't real, that you weren't real and I believed them for awhile. I remembered you and Angel telling me how you'd always be there, would always save me if you could. I knew I loved you and I had to trust that. That's what got me to run." Fred doesn't know what Sam's own vision might have been. She's been so locked into her own fears and hurts that she hasn't asked him about his. In part because she is scared as to what she might find out while she is still attempting to deal with her own. Nor, does she think of Dean at the moment or even Sam's demon blood problems. All the real world and other fears will come back soon enough. For now, she holds onto him, the tears finally stopping for the moment. "I love you, okay? And knowing that helped me get through that place. I just...I needed to say that." I over heart equals real. 

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' I over heart equals real. That feels like something Sam will hold onto himself. "I love you too," he murmurs, reaching up with broad thumbs to wipe away her tears. He leans down to kiss her, feeling like being present, being //there//, being solid and real...all of these are things he just feels like she needs. He looks down into her eyes, then gently tries to pull the sharpie free from her other hand at last, feeling like maybe, just maybe, she might be in a position where she doesn't need it quite as much. But if she lets him take it, it won't go far. He simply caps it and puts it on the dresser. If she needs it again, it's there. No judgments. He's serious, he couldn't care less about the walls. It's enough to simply have some that are his. That are //theirs//, even though they bounce between their mutual homes right now. "Ready to come back to bed?" he murmurs. And then: "Or do you wanna hit that all-night taco place we found?" Cause if you can't find a 24/7 taco place in NYC, where can you find one? Well. Probably Houston. But also NYC. 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' As Sam wipes the tears away from Fred's cheek, her face leans into his palm and she kisses him back. Him being there for her has certainly steadied her, chased away some of that panic and she starts to feel the steadiness of not only this world, but of him. This is real, this is the real world. When he attempts to pull the sharpie out of her hands, there's a moment when she grips it harder, unable to let it go. It lasts for a moment and then, she allows it to slip free of her fingers. She watches it with a strange sort of interest, but she doesn't follow it with anything other then her eyes. The question as to whether she's ready to go back to bed is met with a nod. The question about going out, though, is met a quick shake of her head. While she may be feeling a little better and tacos are a nice thought, there is still a part of her that needs to remain inside in a place that feels safe and quiet. "Let's just stay here." Holding onto Sam, she rests against him. "Thank you." 

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' He leads her back to the bed and pulls the covers aside so he can cover them both up. He pulls them right up and over their heads, expertly leaving space. Young Sam Winchester made burrows in beds to make things seem less scary, but this is certainly a warmer and softer 'cave'. He wraps his arms tightly around her and whispers, "Always." He tucks a lock of hair behind her ear. He ought to have known she might not want to go out, but he supposes that's the function of asking in the first place. He's prepared to repeat any version of this ritual she needs to repeat. Briefly, in the darkness, his jaw firms. //You'd best be dead, Volkov. Dead and burned beyond returning. Or I'm coming for you. For this alone, I'm coming for you.// It doesn't even matter that it was never aimed, exclusively, at Fred. 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' As Sam leads Fred back to the bed, she follows. Lying back down, Sam pulls the blanket over them and she relaxes. It's a small, dark place and Sam is there. It feels safe and she relaxes into his arms. It is entirely possible that over the next few nights there will be a few times that he finds her out of bed and adding to the sharpie mural that she has started tonight and he will have to reassure her again that everything is alright. It might not take quite as much effort to talk her down as tonight, especially as she now does believe that this is real, that Sam is real. The next few nights it will be soothing her into believing it won't happen again. Or, if it does, she will survive it. Later there will be time to worry about everything else. They will find out if Volkov is alive, how to help Sam with his addiction, where Dean is. Tonight, though, she is wrapped and safe and she wants to stay there. 
}}

Picking Up the Pieces

2017-09-04T06:29:35Z

Feigenbaum:

{{Log Header
|Date of Scene=2017/08/12
|Location=Hyperion Hotel, Fred’s Room
|Synopsis=After the incident with the Vengeance Demons, Fred and Sam discuss the past.
|Cast of Characters=160, 294
|Tinyplot=Blood on My Name
|pretty=yes
}}
{{Poses
|Poses=:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' August 12, 2025 After defeating the six demons at NYU, Sam had noticed that Fred seemed a little spooked. So he made an executive decision. He asked Dean to take him and Fred back to the Hyperion. If they hadn’t gorged themselves at the diner prior to now he might have asked for a taco drive thru run too, but...they did, and he can’t imagine that she’s any hungrier than he is. For one thing soot, blood, and general nastiness isn’t always great for the appetite. Now, safe in their hotel room, he gently folds Fred into his arms. “You okay?” he asks, with quite a bit of concern. “That one seemed to wig you out a little bit.” 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' “I’m okay.” Fred is easily pulled into Sam’s embrace, arms wrapping about him. She smells strongly of smoke from jumping into the burning building after Dean. Now that they’re back in the hotel, she does seem less jittery. The adrenaline of the hunt is gone and has left in its wake a slight weariness. Despite that, though, her reassurance that she is alright rings true. This is not an ‘I’m fine’ situation. “Just, I’m so bad at words usually. And those poor kids, they just were upset and angry. They had no idea what they were doing.” She knows a little something about saying the wrong thing and having to pay supernatural consequences for it. 

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' Sam breaks the embrace but doesn’t go far. He rubs his hands gently up and down Fred’s arms as he looks down at her with those intense hazel eyes of his. They radiate gentle compassion. He doesn’t answer right away, but when he does he leads her to the bed to sit her down. “I’ve never found you to be bad with words,” he says quietly. “You seem to have a knack for saying the exact things I need to hear, for example.” There’s more to address, of course, but he doesn’t want to overload her with too much, too fast. He sits down next to her, wrapping an arm around her once more. 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' Sitting down, Fred shrugs her shoulders and smiles when Sam tells her she always finds the right words with him. “Aw, no, that’s not on me. I just tend to open my mouth and whatever I’m thinking comes out. Usually gets me into trouble. Or weird looks.” Her expression is one of good-natured self deprecation. It seems that while she was a bit freaked out by the possibilities the vengeance demons presented, she’s feeling more normal now. “How about you, you alright?” When Sam wraps his arm around her, she leans against him gently, glad for his steady warmth after the events of the day. 

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' “Must be a sign I like your thoughts,” Sam murmurs, pressing a kiss to her temple. “The whole world doesn’t have to understand you, Fred, for what you’ve got to say to be valid, useful, and important.” He glances out the window, more musing than anything else, and adds, “We did what we could for those girls. We saved lives tonight, and they won’t play with that stuff ever again, I bet.” As for himself, a flash of guilt rockets across his mind even as a flash of a smile rockets across his face. “Me? Of course. I didn’t even get injured. You didn’t inhale too much smoke did you?” 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' Fred smiles against Sam as he presses a kiss to her temple. “I know,” she says. “There was just so long where words were just words and didn’t mean anything. Wasn’t anybody around except me, so I would just talk. Sometimes it was complete gibberish, ‘cause who cared, right? It was a lot of equations, a lot of trying to figure out my way back. If I’d’ve had a vengeance demon in front of me at the time...” At that, she leans her face more against Sam, shaking her head just slightly. “Some thoughtless words just got some poor kids killed.” Despite her assurances before, the fear returns again, the fact that something completely random and unintentional can have horrible and life changing repercussions. “And they’re going to have to live with that.” Just like she is still living with the fact that opening a book and reading a few words took away five years of her life. After a moment, she sighs, side of her face still pressed against him. “No, I’m alright. I used my sweater as a mask. It’s your brother that went leaping headlong into a burning building.” 

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' “Yeah, he can be an idiot like that sometimes,” Sam sighs, though for all his exasperation the love is obvious. And then, words he will have cause to regret in a few short days: “Even after all he’s been through, he thinks he’s immortal.” He is carefully considering the rest, knowing her history as he does, which is why he addressed Dean first. “You know so much more than you used to,” he points out gently. “You’re more careful now. And even if you do make a mistake...we will, both of us, sooner or later...you have people now, people who can help. Angel, Mercy, me, Dean.” 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' “Reckless for sure,” Fred agrees about Dean. “Tried to get me to go back to check on you.” Of course, she’s not the type to just let her boyfriend’s brother dive into a burning building without making sure he’s alright, so she ignored him. “I think he just does things without thinking if he thinks it’ll save people.” At least, that seems to be the case in the few times she’s gone into a fight: rushing the Winter Soldier, running back to hack at the hydra tongue, leaping into a burning building. It statistically leans to a pattern. As for knowing more than she does, Fred nods. This is helping, but that fear is still lodged in her chest a bit - rising with worst case scenarios and falling with Sam’s faith in her. “But, if things’re random and anything can happen, maybe how much I know or who I know doesn’t mean anything. Maybe no matter what I know…” The fear rises again and she presses her forehead against his chest. “I just picked up a book at a library and I disappeared for five years. I can’t ever go back there, Sam. Ever.” 

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' Sam takes both of her hands. He really gives that some thought, too. He wants to be careful, to avoid saying anything at all which may make anything worse. Trying to do as well for her as she has done for him. At last he pulls Feigenbaum out of his coat pocket and mines kissing her cheek with the bunny. He sets the bunny in her lap and smooths back a lock of her hair. “Things might be random,” he murmurs. “But they still have meaning, Fred. Did you find any meaning? From your time there?” 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' When Sam takes her hands, Fred holds them tightly. As a woman with a brain that goes a mile a minute, she tends to either think her way into or out of situations very quickly. It can be a boon when in a tight spot, but emotionally at times it means she leaps into what she sees to be an unsolvable problem. The appearance of Feigenbaum from Sam’s jacket is met with a bit of surprise and then a short - warm - chuckle as he kisses her on the cheek with the bunny and then puts it in her lap. Looking first to Sam and then the stuffed animal, she thinks for a moment. “In Pylea? No, not there. That’s where I got so lost.” And nearly didn’t come out the other side. “But, after Angel found me, knowing what I know now, helping people...I’m good at that. I like to build things just as much as I like the theories. I’d never’ve met Angel or you.” 

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' “I think anyone who wasn’t as brilliant or resourceful as you would not have survived her time there. Would not have come out of the other side of it able and willing to help others,” Sam says gently. “So you met us, and you help people, and those people would have died without you. So maybe it wasn’t exactly random. Maybe someone had to go to Pylea-- it was always going to happen that way; Chekhov’s Event, just waiting for someone to pull the trigger. And maybe some positive force in the universe says, look, there are 10 people who could pull that trigger, and only one of them is strong enough: Winifred Burkle. So maybe we let her pull it, because she’ll not only survive it, but she’ll bring good out of that evil.” He smiles at her and says, “And even if that’s not how it happened at all, you’re still a first-class bad-ass, and you should be proud of that.” 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' The hands tighten on Feigenbaum as he speaks. The connection to Sam - through the bunny - helps. Being told that she is strong, and his faith in her ability to survive horrible things helps, even as she looks at the familiar stuffed rabbit with the wire glasses in her lap. One of her hand reaches up to stroke one of Feigenbaum’s soft ears. “I’d never wish Pylea on anyone,” she says softly. “I’d rather die than go back there.” Maybe, though, she is stronger for it. Still broken, still scared, but she can also still recover. She’s healed quite a bit since her return, but some things still remain there: the fear, the desire to hide herself away. However, a hand reaches out to rest on Sam’s arm instead of pushing herself away to hide under the bed. Sam’s last assurance that she’s a world-class bad ass is met with a soft laugh. “Oh, I don’t know about that. Got lucky a lot, ironically. But, thank you, Sam.” 

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' “Didn’t you know? Luck is /the/ underrated secret bad-ass superpower,” Sam says with wide-eyed earnestness, though he’s grinning at her. Certain swear words sound patently ridiculous in his mouth; ‘ass’ as it happens, is one of them. He just doesn’t have the rough, tough delivery on most of them that Dean does. But sometimes only one word will do. He wraps both arms around her and smiles into her shoulder. He doesn’t see broken. He sees a survivor. Who has coping skills some people might find strange, but...he doesn’t, really. They make perfect sense to him. A retreat into the rational world of math. A sort of emotional insulation that she wraps around herself in a way that makes her seem out of it. Only she’s not out of it. She picks up everything important and uses it brilliantly. As it is, he has a feeling if ten women lined up right in front of her and someone said ‘you go or they do’ she’d go, because she’s got a hero’s spirit. But really, pushing that Pylea button anymore strikes him as a bad idea. Instead, he focuses on being that anchor for her, that physical presence. “But for all that, I think it’s your mind that carries you through, as much as the luck. You worded that wish just right to end things quickly, for example.” 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' Though generally not the swearing type, Fred doesn’t find Sam’s swearing ridiculous - it’s the juxtaposition of it along with his earnest expression is what tickles her a little. “My mama would make you put a nickel in the swear jar if you keep talking like that,” she teases just slightly - seemingly starting to feel better, on more solid ground. As Sam wraps his arms around her, she hugs Feigenbaum close to her chest and leans against him, resting her own head on his opposite shoulder. If posed with the question of going to Pylea again to save another person? She most likely would do it. It might break her, but she wouldn’t let someone else suffer what she went through if she could stop it. When told that she worded the wish right to end things quickly, she smiles. “I just thought ‘If I were a vengeance demon, what wouldn’t I want other people to wish for if I wanted to stay hidden?’ I’m glad it all worked out and I accidentally didn’t wish someone into the bottom of the ocean or something.” 

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' Sam digs out a nickel. Grins like a small boy about to do something naughty. And then carelessly pulls her shirt collar out a little so he can drop the nickel right into her bra, hazel eyes twinkling. Yes, he can be an ass sometimes. “If you had, it probably would have been Dean. He has a real...ocean issue.” Though he will have this answer in a few days, it is a puzzle to him today. “Rivers too. I am starting to think he picked up a curse somewhere and just doesn't realize it.” 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' Curiously, Fred tries to figure out what it is that Sam is doing with her shirt. Then, there is a soft yelp as she pulls back a little from Sam in surprise as the nickel slips down her shirt and into her bra. “Sam!!” she scolds, though she’s laughing as she does it. Pulling up at her shirt, she unabashedly fishes the nickel from her bra. “I’m not a swear jar! I barely even say damn!” Despite her attempts to discipline him, she’s clearly grinning. Feigenbaum remains tucked into her left arm as this goes on. The mention of sending Dean back to the bottom of the ocean is met with a slight wince. “Yeah, that seems properly cruel. ‘Course that means he’d’ve had to mistreated or jilted someone. Or, maybe they meant he’d’ve had to have jilted me, either way, I’m glad it worked out.” The fact that both oceans and rivers seem to have it out for Dean is met with a bit of a curious expression. “Maybe. Maybe he pissed off some sort of water demon.” She’s not exactly serious, but if all water hates him, that could be some sort of explanation. 

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' Sam starts laughing as Fred reacts so beautifully to his juvenile joke. “But you make such a beautiful swear jar!” He flops back on the bed, trying to pull her right down with him, though right now his intention is snuggling. That’s not to say he won’t get properly amorous eventually, but her company and conversation are making him happy right now. “Dean,” he says dryly, “Has jilted a /lot/ of women.” But his mind works on the problem, and he nods. “I’d ask him about it, but he’s being really cagey lately.” Because pot. Kettle. “I keep trying to introduce myself to Angel by the way, but I haven’t been able to catch him.” 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' Sam’s laughing reaction to Fred’s attempt to pull the nickel he slipped down her shirt is met with a wrinkle of her nose and a shake of her head. Perhaps there would be more of an argument, but the pull backward is met without any sort of resistance. Instead, she falls over, partly on top of him. She certainly doesn’t seem to mind this arrangement, curling more comfortably about him. “He mentioned before that you both have a bit of a type,” Fred says. Is that her prying just a little? Maybe. There’s not jealousy there, exactly, but curiosity. “He tried to re-introduce himself to me as an Agent Cooper after the hospital,” she tells Sam, somehow not getting the Twin Peaks reference. “Like I wouldn’t remember him. I have a feeling he might not start out with the truth a lot.” As for Angel? She nods. “He’s got cases sometimes. And, you know, the nocturnal vampire thing. You’ll meet soon. He might be trying to give us our space.” 

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' “Dean? No, Dean was taught-- I was taught-- that information is always on a need-to-know basis. That you hide it first, and reveal it only after a lot of careful thought.” He curls his arm around Fred, staring up at the ceiling. This topic has him very sober indeed. “Sometimes that was a straight up lesson, and sometimes it was more...indirect. He didn’t react well to things sometimes.” An understatement. His face creases into a smile as he detects that curiosity-- jealousy? “I haven’t dated enough women to have a type,” he says gently. “Jessica was very intelligent, but she wasn’t intelligent the same way you are. She was a business major, and more of an extrovert. Before that my first serious relationship was with a kitsune which really pissed Dad and Dean off, but she wasn’t evil, and she had to leave. And I was. You know. 14.” He squeezes her. “And a few one night stands,” he admits. “Probably, he’s just giving you a hard time for being really intelligent. He thinks I’m a raging nerd and wastes no opportunity to call me one. He might also have been complimenting you, in a way. Saying you were good for me. I don’t know, Dean can be an ass.” 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' They were taught that information was need-to-know. Though Sam doesn’t bring up his father, it seems pretty obvious from their previous conversations who it was that taught them that particular lesson. “I’m sorry,” she says, as that is the only proper answer she can think of to that. “I guess he thought he was protecting you.” By the tone of her voice she doesn’t seem to be trying to defend his father, just trying to understand the situation. He hasn’t dated enough women to have a type. For some reason, that reassures Fred. However, her forehead creases with a frown as he talks about the kitsune. She knew about Jessica, of course, but this is a new revelation. “A fox?” she’s more confused about that. As for Dean giving her a hard time, she isn’t sure if he would or wouldn’t do that. He did seem to say that after she talked a lot about science. “Maybe. At the time he seemed more worried than complimentary.” 

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' “Werefox,” Sam murmurs. “It was a long time ago, and I was young.” He doesn’t seem to realize that he’s young /now/, but there it is. Neither of them are exactly old. But. He was young/er./ But this idea of Dean being worried makes one of his dark eyebrows lift. “What was he worried about? Do you know?” Because that need-to-know thing often applies between the two brothers as well. Sometimes it takes a little digging to know what’s going on with Dean. 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' “I understand. Foxes are pretty adorable with those tails.” That might not actually be what a werefox is, but Fred is now just picturing a girl with a red tail. “What was he worried about?” Fred replies softly against Sam, shifting a bit. The answer comes immediately. “You. Last time we talked all alone, it was right before we came to rescue you. He told me he was Agent Cooper and that he’d been stuck on that case in Virginia, which is why he didn’t get any of my messages trying to find him while you were gone. We were both pretty frantic to find you.” 

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' Sam opens his mouth to explain the lack of tails, but he just leaves it. She’ll find out or she won’t, and Kaylee isn’t important right now. He is sober and quiet when he thinks about that. His brother, Fred, frantic. “I’m lucky to have people like you two in my life,” he says quietly. “Really lucky. You were both brilliant that night you came to get me. I’ll never forget that, how you’ve come for me twice now.” Even if they promised each other this was exactly what they’d do. It still means a lot to him. He takes a deep breath. “I’m-- really scared I’m going to do something to let you down. It-- seems to be a pattern with me. Letting people down, eventually. And then you’ll be thinking I wasn’t worth all that pain and risk.” 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' “We just care about you,” Fred says, automatically, warmly. She hasn’t said ‘love’ yet. Not just yet. However, the truth of that caring is easily heard in her voice. It’s not just the warmth of being wrapped up in his arms and Feigenbaum being close by that makes her respond this way. She feels safe with Sam - and the world at large generally does not feel safe to her. “I dunno about brilliant. I was almost eaten. But, we’d come for you. I’d come for you. I promised I would. I meant it.” It’s a promise she seems intent on keeping, not only for that time but moving forward. The fear of letting her down is met with a shake of her head. “It’s like you just said, Sam. We’re both gonna make mistakes. But, you’re worth it to me.” 

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' He opens his mouth. He almost finds it in him to /tell her/ about what he pulled tonight. But she’s shaken. She finally seems okay. This is not the time to drop this bomb. “You’re worth it to me too.” He hasn’t said the ‘l’ word since the dream, conscious of not pressuring her, or making things weird. A thing said in a dream while in a scary circumstance is not a thing that should be brought up again until she’s ready. If she ever is. It doesn’t change his feelings, but those very feelings make it possible for him to accept her right where she is. Instead, he shifts to kiss her in earnest, a hand cupping her face as he moves on from chaste and gentle ones to something considerably more passionate. He can’t banish the dark, but he can keep it at bay for awhile, he thinks. Tonight, that seems the right thing to do. There will be time enough to reveal that he’s sick. That he’s unclean. That he’s messed up in every way, and he has no idea what to do about it. He has no idea if he even wants to do anything about it anymore. He’s been fighting it all his life after all. Now it feels like an inevitability. But this? This is pure. This is clean. This is right. He can have this, can’t he? They both can. 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' From her state back on campus, Fred has calmed down significantly. Though that fear of being sent back to Pylea will never leave her, it’s been quelled for the time being. Instead, she smiles when he says that she’s worth the risk, worth the crazy, worth it. When Sam’s shift of attention turns more passionate, she does not pull away. Instead, she seems just as eager to banish the fears and the insecurities of her mind away. As he cups her cheek, she responds in kind. The fire and comfort sparked between them is quickly reciprocated. Those hands immediately start to go to work on the buttons of Sam’s flannel. Despite her rambling, her fractures, her fears of being too broken, Sam has moved through all that and settled in a place of safety and warmth. Maybe she should hide, shut herself off again. Instead, she wants to stay with Sam. That means something. In fact, she realizes, that means quite a bit. 
}}

Picking Up the Pieces

2017-09-04T06:22:01Z

Feigenbaum: Created page with "{{Log Header |Date of Scene=2017/08/12 |Location=Hyperion Hotel |Synopsis=After the incident with the Vengeance Demons, Fred and Sam discuss the past. |Cast of Characters=160,..."

{{Log Header
|Date of Scene=2017/08/12
|Location=Hyperion Hotel
|Synopsis=After the incident with the Vengeance Demons, Fred and Sam discuss the past.
|Cast of Characters=160, 294
|Tinyplot=Blood on My Name
}}
{{Poses
|Poses=:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' August 12, 2025 

After defeating the six demons at NYU, Sam had noticed that Fred seemed a little spooked. So he made an executive decision. He asked Dean to take him and Fred back to the Hyperion. If they hadn’t gorged themselves at the diner prior to now he might have asked for a taco drive thru run too, but...they did, and he can’t imagine that she’s any hungrier than he is. For one thing soot, blood, and general nastiness isn’t always great for the appetite. 

Now, safe in their hotel room, he gently folds Fred into his arms. “You okay?” he asks, with quite a bit of concern. “That one seemed to wig you out a little bit.” 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' “I’m okay.” Fred is easily pulled into Sam’s embrace, arms wrapping about him. She smells strongly of smoke from jumping into the burning building after Dean. Now that they’re back in the hotel, she does seem less jittery. The adrenaline of the hunt is gone and has left in its wake a slight weariness. Despite that, though, her reassurance that she is alright rings true. This is not an ‘I’m fine’ situation. 

“Just, I’m so bad at words usually. And those poor kids, they just were upset and angry. They had no idea what they were doing.” She knows a little something about saying the wrong thing and having to pay supernatural consequences for it. 

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' Sam breaks the embrace but doesn’t go far. He rubs his hands gently up and down Fred’s arms as he looks down at her with those intense hazel eyes of his. They radiate gentle compassion. 

He doesn’t answer right away, but when he does he leads her to the bed to sit her down. “I’ve never found you to be bad with words,” he says quietly. “You seem to have a knack for saying the exact things I need to hear, for example.” 

There’s more to address, of course, but he doesn’t want to overload her with too much, too fast. He sits down next to her, wrapping an arm around her once more. 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' Sitting down, Fred shrugs her shoulders and smiles when Sam tells her she always finds the right words with him. “Aw, no, that’s not on me. I just tend to open my mouth and whatever I’m thinking comes out. Usually gets me into trouble. Or weird looks.” Her expression is one of good-natured self deprecation. It seems that while she was a bit freaked out by the possibilities the vengeance demons presented, she’s feeling more normal now. 

“How about you, you alright?” When Sam wraps his arm around her, she leans against him gently, glad for his steady warmth after the events of the day. 

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' “Must be a sign I like your thoughts,” Sam murmurs, pressing a kiss to her temple. “The whole world doesn’t have to understand you, Fred, for what you’ve got to say to be valid, useful, and important.” 

He glances out the window, more musing than anything else, and adds, “We did what we could for those girls. We saved lives tonight, and they won’t play with that stuff ever again, I bet.” 

As for himself, a flash of guilt rockets across his mind even as a flash of a smile rockets across his face. “Me? Of course. I didn’t even get injured. You didn’t inhale too much smoke did you?” 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' Fred smiles against Sam as he presses a kiss to her temple. “I know,” she says. “There was just so long where words were just words and didn’t mean anything. Wasn’t anybody around except me, so I would just talk. Sometimes it was complete gibberish, ‘cause who cared, right? It was a lot of equations, a lot of trying to figure out my way back. If I’d’ve had a vengeance demon in front of me at the time...” At that, she leans her face more against Sam, shaking her head just slightly. 

“Some thoughtless words just got some poor kids killed.” Despite her assurances before, the fear returns again, the fact that something completely random and unintentional can have horrible and life changing repercussions. “And they’re going to have to live with that.” Just like she is still living with the fact that opening a book and reading a few words took away five years of her life. 

After a moment, she sighs, side of her face still pressed against him. “No, I’m alright. I used my sweater as a mask. It’s your brother that went leaping headlong into a burning building.” 

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' “Yeah, he can be an idiot like that sometimes,” Sam sighs, though for all his exasperation the love is obvious. 

And then, words he will have cause to regret in a few short days: “Even after all he’s been through, he thinks he’s immortal.” 

He is carefully considering the rest, knowing her history as he does, which is why he addressed Dean first. “You know so much more than you used to,” he points out gently. “You’re more careful now. And even if you do make a mistake...we will, both of us, sooner or later...you have people now, people who can help. Angel, Mercy, me, Dean.” 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' “Reckless for sure,” Fred agrees about Dean. “Tried to get me to go back to check on you.” Of course, she’s not the type to just let her boyfriend’s brother dive into a burning building without making sure he’s alright, so she ignored him. “I think he just does things without thinking if he thinks it’ll save people.” At least, that seems to be the case in the few times she’s gone into a fight: rushing the Winter Soldier, running back to hack at the hydra tongue, leaping into a burning building. It statistically leans to a pattern. 

As for knowing more than she does, Fred nods. This is helping, but that fear is still lodged in her chest a bit - rising with worst case scenarios and falling with Sam’s faith in her. “But, if things’re random and anything can happen, maybe how much I know or who I know doesn’t mean anything. Maybe no matter what I know…” 

The fear rises again and she presses her forehead against his chest. “I just picked up a book at a library and I disappeared for five years. I can’t ever go back there, Sam. Ever.” 

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' Sam takes both of her hands. He really gives that some thought, too. He wants to be careful, to avoid saying anything at all which may make anything worse. Trying to do as well for her as she has done for him. 

At last he pulls Feigenbaum out of his coat pocket and mines kissing her cheek with the bunny. He sets the bunny in her lap and smooths back a lock of her hair. 

“Things might be random,” he murmurs. “But they still have meaning, Fred. Did you find any meaning? From your time there?” 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' When Sam takes her hands, Fred holds them tightly. As a woman with a brain that goes a mile a minute, she tends to either think her way into or out of situations very quickly. It can be a boon when in a tight spot, but emotionally at times it means she leaps into what she sees to be an unsolvable problem. 

The appearance of Feigenbaum from Sam’s jacket is met with a bit of surprise and then a short - warm - chuckle as he kisses her on the cheek with the bunny and then puts it in her lap. Looking first to Sam and then the stuffed animal, she thinks for a moment. 

“In Pylea? No, not there. That’s where I got so lost.” And nearly didn’t come out the other side. “But, after Angel found me, knowing what I know now, helping people...I’m good at that. I like to build things just as much as I like the theories. I’d never’ve met Angel or you.” 

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' “I think anyone who wasn’t as brilliant or resourceful as you would not have survived her time there. Would not have come out of the other side of it able and willing to help others,” Sam says gently. 

“So you met us, and you help people, and those people would have died without you. So maybe it wasn’t exactly random. Maybe someone had to go to Pylea-- it was always going to happen that way; Chekhov’s Event, just waiting for someone to pull the trigger. And maybe some positive force in the universe says, look, there are 10 people who could pull that trigger, and only one of them is strong enough: Winifred Burkle. So maybe we let her pull it, because she’ll not only survive it, but she’ll bring good out of that evil.” 

He smiles at her and says, “And even if that’s not how it happened at all, you’re still a first-class bad-ass, and you should be proud of that.” 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' The hands tighten on Feigenbaum as he speaks. The connection to Sam - through the bunny - helps. Being told that she is strong, and his faith in her ability to survive horrible things helps, even as she looks at the familiar stuffed rabbit with the wire glasses in her lap. One of her hand reaches up to stroke one of Feigenbaum’s soft ears. 

“I’d never wish Pylea on anyone,” she says softly. “I’d rather die than go back there.” 

Maybe, though, she is stronger for it. Still broken, still scared, but she can also still recover. She’s healed quite a bit since her return, but some things still remain there: the fear, the desire to hide herself away. However, a hand reaches out to rest on Sam’s arm instead of pushing herself away to hide under the bed. 

Sam’s last assurance that she’s a world-class bad ass is met with a soft laugh. “Oh, I don’t know about that. Got lucky a lot, ironically. But, thank you, Sam.” 

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' “Didn’t you know? Luck is /the/ underrated secret bad-ass superpower,” Sam says with wide-eyed earnestness, though he’s grinning at her. Certain swear words sound patently ridiculous in his mouth; ‘ass’ as it happens, is one of them. He just doesn’t have the rough, tough delivery on most of them that Dean does. But sometimes only one word will do. 

He wraps both arms around her and smiles into her shoulder. He doesn’t see broken. He sees a survivor. Who has coping skills some people might find strange, but...he doesn’t, really. They make perfect sense to him. A retreat into the rational world of math. A sort of emotional insulation that she wraps around herself in a way that makes her seem out of it. Only she’s not out of it. She picks up everything important and uses it brilliantly. 

As it is, he has a feeling if ten women lined up right in front of her and someone said ‘you go or they do’ she’d go, because she’s got a hero’s spirit. But really, pushing that Pylea button anymore strikes him as a bad idea. Instead, he focuses on being that anchor for her, that physical presence. 

“But for all that, I think it’s your mind that carries you through, as much as the luck. You worded that wish just right to end things quickly, for example.” 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' Though generally not the swearing type, Fred doesn’t find Sam’s swearing ridiculous - it’s the juxtaposition of it along with his earnest expression is what tickles her a little. “My mama would make you put a nickel in the swear jar if you keep talking like that,” she teases just slightly - seemingly starting to feel better, on more solid ground. 

As Sam wraps his arms around her, she hugs Feigenbaum close to her chest and leans against him, resting her own head on his opposite shoulder. If posed with the question of going to Pylea again to save another person? She most likely would do it. It might break her, but she wouldn’t let someone else suffer what she went through if she could stop it. 

When told that she worded the wish right to end things quickly, she smiles. “I just thought ‘If I were a vengeance demon, what wouldn’t I want other people to wish for if I wanted to stay hidden?’ I’m glad it all worked out and I accidentally didn’t wish someone into the bottom of the ocean or something.” 

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' Sam digs out a nickel. 

Grins like a small boy about to do something naughty. 

And then carelessly pulls her shirt collar out a little so he can drop the nickel right into her bra, hazel eyes twinkling. 

Yes, he can be an ass sometimes. 

“If you had, it probably would have been Dean. He has a real...ocean issue.” Though he will have this answer in a few days, it is a puzzle to him today. “Rivers too. I am starting to think he picked up a curse somewhere and just doesn't realize it.” 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' Curiously, Fred tries to figure out what it is that Sam is doing with her shirt. Then, there is a soft yelp as she pulls back a little from Sam in surprise as the nickel slips down her shirt and into her bra. “Sam!!” she scolds, though she’s laughing as she does it. Pulling up at her shirt, she unabashedly fishes the nickel from her bra. “I’m not a swear jar! I barely even say damn!” Despite her attempts to discipline him, she’s clearly grinning. Feigenbaum remains tucked into her left arm as this goes on. 

The mention of sending Dean back to the bottom of the ocean is met with a slight wince. “Yeah, that seems properly cruel. ‘Course that means he’d’ve had to mistreated or jilted someone. Or, maybe they meant he’d’ve had to have jilted me, either way, I’m glad it worked out.” The fact that both oceans and rivers seem to have it out for Dean is met with a bit of a curious expression. “Maybe. Maybe he pissed off some sort of water demon.” She’s not exactly serious, but if all water hates him, that could be some sort of explanation. 

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' Sam starts laughing as Fred reacts so beautifully to his juvenile joke. “But you make such a beautiful swear jar!” 

He flops back on the bed, trying to pull her right down with him, though right now his intention is snuggling. That’s not to say he won’t get properly amorous eventually, but her company and conversation are making him happy right now. “Dean,” he says dryly, “Has jilted a /lot/ of women.” 

But his mind works on the problem, and he nods. “I’d ask him about it, but he’s being really cagey lately.” 

Because pot. Kettle. 

“I keep trying to introduce myself to Angel by the way, but I haven’t been able to catch him.” 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' Sam’s laughing reaction to Fred’s attempt to pull the nickel he slipped down her shirt is met with a wrinkle of her nose and a shake of her head. Perhaps there would be more of an argument, but the pull backward is met without any sort of resistance. Instead, she falls over, partly on top of him. She certainly doesn’t seem to mind this arrangement, curling more comfortably about him. 

“He mentioned before that you both have a bit of a type,” Fred says. Is that her prying just a little? Maybe. There’s not jealousy there, exactly, but curiosity. 

“He tried to re-introduce himself to me as an Agent Cooper after the hospital,” she tells Sam, somehow not getting the Twin Peaks reference. “Like I wouldn’t remember him. I have a feeling he might not start out with the truth a lot.” 

As for Angel? She nods. “He’s got cases sometimes. And, you know, the nocturnal vampire thing. You’ll meet soon. He might be trying to give us our space.” 

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' “Dean? No, Dean was taught-- I was taught-- that information is always on a need-to-know basis. That you hide it first, and reveal it only after a lot of careful thought.” 

He curls his arm around Fred, staring up at the ceiling. This topic has him very sober indeed. “Sometimes that was a straight up lesson, and sometimes it was more...indirect. He didn’t react well to things sometimes.” 

An understatement. 

His face creases into a smile as he detects that curiosity-- jealousy? “I haven’t dated enough women to have a type,” he says gently. “Jessica was very intelligent, but she wasn’t intelligent the same way you are. She was a business major, and more of an extrovert. Before that my first serious relationship was with a kitsune which really pissed Dad and Dean off, but she wasn’t evil, and she had to leave. And I was. You know. 14.” 

He squeezes her. “And a few one night stands,” he admits. “Probably, he’s just giving you a hard time for being really intelligent. He thinks I’m a raging nerd and wastes no opportunity to call me one. He might also have been complimenting you, in a way. Saying you were good for me. I don’t know, Dean can be an ass.” 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' They were taught that information was need-to-know. Though Sam doesn’t bring up his father, it seems pretty obvious from their previous conversations who it was that taught them that particular lesson. “I’m sorry,” she says, as that is the only proper answer she can think of to that. “I guess he thought he was protecting you.” By the tone of her voice she doesn’t seem to be trying to defend his father, just trying to understand the situation. 

He hasn’t dated enough women to have a type. For some reason, that reassures Fred. However, her forehead creases with a frown as he talks about the kitsune. She knew about Jessica, of course, but this is a new revelation. “A fox?” she’s more confused about that. 

As for Dean giving her a hard time, she isn’t sure if he would or wouldn’t do that. He did seem to say that after she talked a lot about science. “Maybe. At the time he seemed more worried than complimentary.” 

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' “Werefox,” Sam murmurs. “It was a long time ago, and I was young.” 

He doesn’t seem to realize that he’s young /now/, but there it is. Neither of them are exactly old. But. He was young/er./ 

But this idea of Dean being worried makes one of his dark eyebrows lift. “What was he worried about? Do you know?” Because that need-to-know thing often applies between the two brothers as well. Sometimes it takes a little digging to know what’s going on with Dean. 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' “I understand. Foxes are pretty adorable with those tails.” That might not actually be what a werefox is, but Fred is now just picturing a girl with a red tail. 

“What was he worried about?” Fred replies softly against Sam, shifting a bit. The answer comes immediately. “You. Last time we talked all alone, it was right before we came to rescue you. He told me he was Agent Cooper and that he’d been stuck on that case in Virginia, which is why he didn’t get any of my messages trying to find him while you were gone. We were both pretty frantic to find you.” 

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' Sam opens his mouth to explain the lack of tails, but he just leaves it. She’ll find out or she won’t, and Kaylee isn’t important right now. 

He is sober and quiet when he thinks about that. His brother, Fred, frantic. “I’m lucky to have people like you two in my life,” he says quietly. “Really lucky. You were both brilliant that night you came to get me. I’ll never forget that, how you’ve come for me twice now.” 

Even if they promised each other this was exactly what they’d do. It still means a lot to him. 

He takes a deep breath. 

“I’m-- really scared I’m going to do something to let you down. It-- seems to be a pattern with me. Letting people down, eventually. And then you’ll be thinking I wasn’t worth all that pain and risk.” 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' “We just care about you,” Fred says, automatically, warmly. She hasn’t said ‘love’ yet. Not just yet. However, the truth of that caring is easily heard in her voice. It’s not just the warmth of being wrapped up in his arms and Feigenbaum being close by that makes her respond this way. She feels safe with Sam - and the world at large generally does not feel safe to her. 

“I dunno about brilliant. I was almost eaten. But, we’d come for you. I’d come for you. I promised I would. I meant it.” It’s a promise she seems intent on keeping, not only for that time but moving forward. 

The fear of letting her down is met with a shake of her head. “It’s like you just said, Sam. We’re both gonna make mistakes. But, you’re worth it to me.” 

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' He opens his mouth. He almost finds it in him to /tell her/ about what he pulled tonight. 

But she’s shaken. She finally seems okay. This is not the time to drop this bomb. “You’re worth it to me too.” He hasn’t said the ‘l’ word since the dream, conscious of not pressuring her, or making things weird. A thing said in a dream while in a scary circumstance is not a thing that should be brought up again until she’s ready. If she ever is. It doesn’t change his feelings, but those very feelings make it possible for him to accept her right where she is. 

Instead, he shifts to kiss her in earnest, a hand cupping her face as he moves on from chaste and gentle ones to something considerably more passionate. He can’t banish the dark, but he can keep it at bay for awhile, he thinks. Tonight, that seems the right thing to do. 

There will be time enough to reveal that he’s sick. That he’s unclean. That he’s messed up in every way, and he has no idea what to do about it. He has no idea if he even wants to do anything about it anymore. 

He’s been fighting it all his life after all. Now it feels like an inevitability. 

But this? This is pure. This is clean. This is right. He can have this, can’t he? They both can. 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' From her state back on campus, Fred has calmed down significantly. Though that fear of being sent back to Pylea will never leave her, it’s been quelled for the time being. Instead, she smiles when he says that she’s worth the risk, worth the crazy, worth it. 

When Sam’s shift of attention turns more passionate, she does not pull away. Instead, she seems just as eager to banish the fears and the insecurities of her mind away. As he cups her cheek, she responds in kind. 

The fire and comfort sparked between them is quickly reciprocated. Those hands immediately start to go to work on the buttons of Sam’s flannel. Despite her rambling, her fractures, her fears of being too broken, Sam has moved through all that and settled in a place of safety and warmth. 

Maybe she should hide, shut herself off again. Instead, she wants to stay with Sam. That means something. In fact, she realizes, that means quite a bit. 
}}

2234/Point of Order

2017-08-30T04:02:36Z

Feigenbaum: Created page with "{{Log Header |Date of Scene=2017/08/29 |Location=Hyperion Hotel Lobby |Synopsis=Wesley returns from Council Business to Angel Investigations and is debriefed on the general go..."

{{Log Header
|Date of Scene=2017/08/29
|Location=Hyperion Hotel Lobby
|Synopsis=Wesley returns from Council Business to Angel Investigations and is debriefed on the general goings on.
|Cast of Characters=219, 160, 1327
|Tinyplot=Blood on My Name
|Tinyplot2=Tayaniye
|pretty=yes
}}
{{Poses
|Poses=:'''{{#var:219|Angel (219)}} has posed:'''     The day was long, and now it was night. Quiet. warm, amd summer, it was a night like any other. Angel is walking around the Hyperion Hotel as though he has something on his mind. Grumbling to himself a bit, he walks downstairs when the sun sets, and moves into the main hall of the hotel. His thoughts are on the Winchesters, the Winter Soldier, and the myriad of other things going on in this neck of the universe. 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' There has been quite a bit of activity within the Hyperion Hotel lately. There has been research, junkyard fights, talk of blood and addiction...things have been busy. Much as she has been when she's been in the Hyperion, she is either in or outside the office with all of the books she can find dealing with demons - reading through what she can. There are post-it notes sticking out of half a dozen books and hundreds of pages. Winifred Burkle is still a woman on a mission. She glances up at Angel as he descends the stairs. Her neck is still bruised from the Winter Soldier's deadly grasp, but it is slowly starting to heal. "Hey Angel," she greets with a smile. 

:'''{{#var:1327|Wesley (1327)}} has posed:''' Wesley Wyndam-Pryce has been gone for months. He has sent the occasional word that he's all right, but no more details than that. It started out as a favour to the Watchers' Council. A small task, at first, one that he didn't think would take more than a week. A week became two, and then several, and well, months. He hasn't dropped a word in several weeks. He shoulders open the door of the Hyperion, weighed down by a pair of bags, one fairly new, one that looks like it's been dragged through a jungle. There's a freshly dressed wound on his neck and he looks, well, like he just got off a red-eye flight from London. 

:'''{{#var:219|Angel (219)}} has posed:'''     "Hey Fred." Angel says with a nod, as he rounds the corner and sees her there. "Still working hard I bet. Sam and Dean are gone I suppose?" Angel nods, not hearing them...but hearing someone else.     Turning at the sound of the door, Angel regards Wesley for a moment, before smiling, and saying, "Mr. Pryce! You made it." Angel's eyes land on his neck and he moves forward to help. "Are you alright? What happened?" 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' "I haven't seen Dean for awhile," Fred nods. "Sam's..." There's a frown, a look down at the books. She has no idea what to say about Sam right now. "No, he's not here." That's the main thing. With a shrug, she smiles at him. "Yeah. Gotta figure this out, but I still don't really know a bunch of these languages. What we need is---" And then, her thoughts about what they need appears. Fred immediately perks up. "Wesley!" she greets with a smile and some relief. The notice of the bandage around his neck is met with some worry. Angel asks the question first and she nods in agreement of wanting to know what happened to him. 

:'''{{#var:1327|Wesley (1327)}} has posed:''' "Wyndam-Pryce. I know it's a mouthful but the whole thing //is// my name," says Wesley, but there's not really the heart there might have once been in it. He smiles wearily and lets his bags slide to the floor. "I'm fine. Things are finally sorted. Let's just say if there's anything we need from the Council for the next decade, we should be covered." 

:'''{{#var:219|Angel (219)}} has posed:'''     "What we need is Wesley." Angel finishes for Fred, as his eyes land on the man himself. ALthough he looks the worse for wear, Angel simply nods, and doesn't attempt any form of physical contact. "Wyndam-Pryce. Indeed. True." Angel allows him that. "Thank you for doing all that Wesley." 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' Pushing herself upward, Fred makes her way to Wesley to give him a hug. "Wesley!" Her relief to see him is evident in her voice. "That's not really an answer," she tells him with a smile, but she doesn't press. There's been quite a lot that she'd wished for Wes' insight on. "I'm glad you're back. We really need your help." 

:'''{{#var:1327|Wesley (1327)}} has posed:''' Wesley hugs Fred gingerly. When he pulls back, he frowns at her injury, "Fred, what happened?" Then he looks to Angel. When he speaks again, it's Serious Voice. "What did I miss?" Then, "I'll tell you all about my globetrotting adventures at some point. But the short of it is, the Council discovered a group of vampires and werewolves working together, with the assistance of witches." A beat, "...yes, and I do realize that sounds like some sort of Universal Movie Monster team-up." 

:'''{{#var:219|Angel (219)}} has posed:'''     Looking at Fred, and then at Wesley, Angel smiles and nods. "I am sure with the two of you working together, you can come to a solution for the several issues we currently have on the go." Angel smiles. "Welcome back Wesley. Your experience and knowledge were missed. And you missed...a few things." Angel looks to Fred and says, "Let me know if you need me for anything else. Just point me in the right direction, and I'm good to go." Wesley's words hit home. "Which adds up to something not good. As usual." Angel shakes his head. "Figures. It's never easy..." 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' "A metal arm assassin," Fred dismisses what happened to her with a bit of a shrug. Despite all that's happened, it's in the past and it didn't send her to a hell dimension. It's certainly a step above that, despite the worry that's still on her face. "There's been a lot. I'm glad you're back." As for vampires and werewolves, she smiles. "Oh! I've made friends with a mechanic who can turn into a coyote. She's lovely. I'm sorry your trip came with injuries." Angel's offer is met with a nod and a grateful smile. "Of course, I will. Thanks, Angel." He always seems to come through for her whens he needs him. "There's been a lot. There's been Hydra and an bestial hydra and some deals with demons and devils." 

:'''{{#var:1327|Wesley (1327)}} has posed:''' Wesley listens to what she has to say. He looks at her for a long moment, then inhales a sharp breath before speaking. "Fred, do you ever pause for a moment to reflect on the rather ridiculous and unbelievable scenarios we each find ourselves in?" He reaches to touch Fred's shoulder to guide her further into the Hyperion, leaving the bags where he dropped them. "Now, please tell me there's some terrible coffee available, and then tell me about what's most urgent, how about that?" 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' There's a bit of a smile. "There's always bad coffee," Fred assures Wesley. As for about their ridiculous lives, she tilts her head just slightly. "You mean like living a couple of years in a hell dimension and then being saved by a Champion Vampire and helping him help the helpless?" There's quite a lot about Fred's life that is ridiculous. As Wesley guides her further into the Hyperion she doesn't at all fight against it. Instead, she takes a breath. "Well. So. There's an assassin. He's called the Winter Soldier. Apparently he was brainwashed by Hydra, but I don't trust him. He's going to help us find our friend that was kidnapped. Right now, that's kind of under control. I think. But, right now my main problem is that someone I knew made a contract with a devil. We need to find a way out of it. I saw a card for some lawyers a little bit ago. I've been debating contacting them." 

:'''{{#var:1327|Wesley (1327)}} has posed:''' "And...like being raised from a young age to guide and in some ways, control a young woman with the destiny to save all humanity?" Perhaps they shouldn't compare their lives to ordinary people. Wesley takes in Fred's explanation despite the fact that he's weary and spent. "Unless the devil is employed by Wolfram and Hart, I don't believe a conventional lawyer would be of much use. Most of the contracts I've dealt with have been ancient, not built on torts and objections." 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' Perhaps they shouldn't. Fred doesn't exactly realize that Wesley is spent and weary. She's been keyed up for days. As a light sleeper and a woman been through a lot, sleepless nights are par for the course as far as she is concerned. "Wolfram and Hart! Yes, that's the card I saw. I thought they might be able to help. I know they're not exactly on good terms with Angel, but this is a contract. And who better to get someone out of it than someone used to contracts like this?" There's a bit of a frown and a nod. "I'm not sure what all the minutiae are. I do know that Dean sold his soul about nine years ago to save his brother. In about a year he'll be sent to hell. Now he augmented his deal to do favors for another devil. There's gotta be a way out of this, right?" 

:'''{{#var:1327|Wesley (1327)}} has posed:''' "I've had very little personal experience with demonic contracts, but I do know others who have." Wesley lowers himself into a chair. "Blood exchanges are notoriously tricky," By that he means, a life for a life. "Demons don't tend to enter into that kind of deal when there are any loopholes." He reaches out for the coffee, sniffs it, smiles a little at its awfulness, then pours himself a cup. "And very much like those creatures, Wolfram and Hart is not an organization you ask favours of lightly. Their advice might come at a cost too high in this instance." 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' "I haven't either," Fred replies with a sigh. "But, this is important and I need to find a way to break it." As Wesley lowers himself into a chair, she follows and takes a chair opposite of him. She needs no coffee. Instead, she pulls a post-it noted book and pulls it into her lap. "I'm not doing this lightly." She looks down at the book, frowning. "Sorry, Wesley, I know you just got here and I'm already trying to get you to fix things. But, if there's a price I can pay it. But, I need to know more about what's going on and if there's a way to do this." 

:'''{{#var:1327|Wesley (1327)}} has posed:''' As Fred speaks, Wesley yawns comically large. He tries to raise a hand to cover it, but the maw is too wide. He looks contrite and drops the hand. "I'm sorry, Fred. It's been a very long trip. I may need to rest before I can tackle this problem. I don't suppose there's a spare bed around here that I can..." here comes another yawn. 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' At the yawn, Fred gives a bit of a look, but then smiles. "It's a hotel, Wesley," she tells him with a bit of a laugh. "We have a a plentitude of rooms." AS for the apology, she nods. "It's alright. Just, think about it. I think I might go to Wolfram and Hart soon." Pushing herself up from the chair she grins. "I'll show you the most put together room around here other than mine and Angel's." 

:'''{{#var:1327|Wesley (1327)}} has posed:''' "Fred, please don't do anything rash until I've had a chance to look at this situation with fresh eyes. I understand that it's urgent, but these matters really are my bailiwick." Wes stands, weaves a little, then corrects himself. "Why don't you make a list of the books you've checked and leave out any of your research. I'll have a look once I've got my head back on." 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' "I'm not being rash," Fred defends, though the fact that she's being defensive might just give an insight. She looks about. "Anything with post-it notes Sam and I have looked into. But, we don't have your insight." She smiles and shrugs her shoulders. "This really is your wheelhouse." When he weaves, she reaches out a hand to steady him. "Sorry, I've been talking your ear off. Let's get you to bed, Wesley. It's real good to see you." 

:'''{{#var:1327|Wesley (1327)}} has posed:''' "When I've rested, you will have to tell me who all these people are. If they do deals with demons, I do not approve and will look at them quite sternly." That's Wes's way of making a joke, but it's so close to what he'd actually do - is it really a joke? He reaches out to squeeze Fred's shoulder. "Good to see you as well. Oh, by the way, if you smell something foul from the bathroom, it's me." He winces, when he realizes how that sounded. "...it's...a poultice I have for this wound." He points to his neck. "It's a rather long story and it exhausts me just recalling it." 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' There's a bit of a laugh. "Yes. We'll talk." There's a look as to him disapproving of Dean, but she can't say she disagrees. Fred doesn't agree with Dean's own choice lately - though his previous deal is much more complicated. The warning about the bathroom is met with a curious look and a bit of a blush. Then, though he explains. "I see," she laughs. "Don't worry. If you need help, let me know, too. If you're going to turn into a werewolf or a vampire, we've got contacts to help you out with that." 
}}

Let Me In

2017-08-28T01:18:05Z

Feigenbaum:

{{Log Header
|Date of Scene=2017/08/23
|Location=New York
|Synopsis=As Dean races away to forge his dark deal with Crowley, Fred confronts Sam about all the secrets he's been keeping.
|Cast of Characters=160, 294
|Tinyplot=Blood on My Name
|Tinyplot2=Tayaniye
|pretty=yes
}}
{{Poses
|Poses=:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' As the Impala reverses and the Bon Jovi blasts, Fred starts to move toward Sam. There’s nothing she can do now to stop the car, she knows that. Her own expression matches his - grim. The sudden appearance of the dark haired man in the passenger seat causes Fred to blink, studying that face with her own look of surprise. “Who is that?” she asks. She has a theory, of course, but she wants to know if Sam already knows the person who randomly appeared in Dean’s car. 

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' “No idea, but I aim to find out,” Sam says grimly. Of course. There’s no way to do that here, and now, and he hasn’t been too successful thus far, all things he’s well aware of as he steps off the road and sits down with his back to a tree. They’re stuck there till Dean remembers he’s basically stranded them. Until he’s done doing what he wants to do. His adrenaline was pretty high, and he is breathing a bit heavily, but he rests his elbows over his knees and looks down, shaggy long hair concealing his eyes. “This was,” he adds, “exactly what I wanted to talk to you about, yes.” He knows very well that he has fucked up. Capital F, capital U. 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' The pair of them are rather stranded until they can either hitch a ride - unlikely - or Dean returns for them. Following his example, Fred steps out of the road and moves to sit next to him. “I can see why,” she says softly. It’s hard to tell whether she can see why he concealed all this from her or whether she can see why he wanted to tell her. There’s a sigh, a lot of her earlier anger expended in her recounting of what happened to her on Pylea. There’s still frustration, there, though. There’s fear. “How long have you known about all this?” 

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' Sam half shakes his head. “I got it in pieces. I--” He tries to figure out how to explain it to her, how to put the timeline together. “I found out about Dean’s contract, that I died, right before we faced those vengeance demons. But you were so upset that night that I didn’t want to get into it then. The rest...sort of in bits and pieces. I never heard the name Azazel till tonight. I figured out what Hydra was injecting me with, and…” He lowers his head again. “Fred, all of this gets worse, and every time I tried to figure out how to put it into words I just felt so…” He shakes his head, but his body language perhaps says it for him, because he looks rather like someone who thinks he’s shit on the shoe of the world. 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' There’s a delicate line to be walked here. Fred sits next to Sam, looking first to him and then to the empty road in front of them. While she doesn’t lean against him right now, what she does do is reach out a hand, attempting to take his in hers. For the moment, she doesn’t excuse the concealing. Instead, she pauses. It’s so easy to see that he’s in pain and the last thing she wants to do is add to that. There’s not much she thinks she can say in order to assuage him. So, she simply says, “It’s okay, Sam. You can tell me.” 

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' Sam Winchester takes the hand of the woman he loves, and for a long moment that’s all he can do. He swallows and he looks out into the distance. “They were injecting me with demon blood, Fred,” he says. He shivers. “I started looking forward to them. Because they felt good. They washed pain away, they made me feel stronger, they made the hunger not matter as much. Gave me a rush of pleasure, like heroin. And it’s crazy, because that’s not anything demon blood does to people. You inject the average person with demon blood, they just...it’s nothing. It’s just gross and unsanitary. But the Yellow Eyed Demon...Azazel, I guess...did something to me.” He swallows. “After you guys got me I still didn’t know, but I started fantasizing about it. I couldn’t stop. And by the end of the week I was trying not to show it, but I was in terrible pain. Like every muscle was cramping up, like a full body migraine, like I was hungry but nauseated at the same time...so I found a demon, went on a hunt, got some and tried it and it...It was what I needed. It was fantastic.” He squeezes her hand in a way that warns there’s even more. 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' For a little while, the two of them just sit there, holding hands at a crossroads. When Sam finally does speak, she doesn’t say anything. There’s clearly surprise on her face and then a glimpse of anger returning, then shock. They injected him with demon blood. It does something to him, meaning whoever Azazel is changed something inside of him. The Winter Soldier not only took Sam, but they experimented on him. The anger returns, this time directed at the man chained up in Mercy’s garage. There will be words. She’s thinking through what can be done with that when Sam drops the last bomb. The shock is clear on her face as he says that he found a demon and then used its blood. That he is addicted to it. However, the hand doesn’t attempt to pull out of his. Nor does she look disgusted by him or like she is about to run away. When he squeezes her hand, she nods, not trusting herself to speak, but indicating that he should continue. 

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' Sam swallows hard. The fact that she accepts him means more than he can even express. It brings a few tears to his eyes, though they remain unshed. He drops his gaze again after a brief, sick, sad, and loving one in her direction. He exhales. “I captured one of those revenge demons instead of banishing it. As far as I know they only shape human bodies out of their magic rather than possessing one-- though my lore sources are fuzzy on that point-- and it seemed ideal. Because that way a human isn’t held captive right along with the demon. She gives me a.” He clears his throat. “Well. A predictable supply. She’s well secured, but…” But it’s sick, and wrong, and strange, and awful, and dangerous. And Sam knows it. Yet he doesn’t have a better solution, either. 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' The last bombshell that Sam drops is quite the doozy. For a long while Fred doesn’t speak, though she squeezes his hand. The surprise returns. She’d never expect him to do something like that. It’s...so cold and calculated. There’s silence as she tries to figure out what to say. “Sam…” she sighs, shaking her head. Her other hand reaches out to take his. “We’re going to figure this out.” Her words are a bit halting as she tries to think about what to say before she actually does so. “But...keeping a vengeance demon…” she trails off again, trying to say the right thing. “That’s not the way. You can’t do that. That’s not you.” Her voice remains soft as she continues, “I’m sorry I didn’t see you were in pain like that for so long. I thought you needed space after everything. I know you’ve told me that you were taught to hide everything, but I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me. You’ve gotta let me in.” 

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' “I told you I was fine 600 times, I don’t know why you’d apologize for believing me,” Sam says quietly. He plucks up some grass and tosses the stems to one side with his free hand, glancing up at the sky. “I’m trying, Fred. I’m letting you in right now. I’ve felt like there was something wrong with me all my life. Getting confirmation hasn’t been...easy.” He looks off down the road. “What Dean is doing-- it’s-- he shouldn’t have.” He looks back at her. “I was drunk that night,” he explains. “When I thought to summon the crossroads demon for myself. I was drunk, and all I could think was that all I’ve ever done is ruin everything for Dean, and that I was supposed to have died 9 years ago, and how much better off Dean would be on virtually every level if I were gone. But I was rash, and wrong, and I should have talked things out with you.” 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' “‘Cause I /didn’t/ believe you,” Fred tells him. “I knew something was wrong, but I thought it was...I know how it is, when something bad happens. Sometimes you need to be by yourself for a little bit, sometimes you need to lie to yourself. You can’t get through it ‘cause it’s too fresh. I thought you saying that you were fine was helping.” Fred continues to hold Sam’s hands and she squeezes them. “There’s nothing wrong with you,” she tells him. “Something was /done/ to you and we’re going to find a way to fix it.” As for Dean, she shakes her head. “He’s trying to protect you and he’s being a bullheaded jerk without thinking about any of the consequences.” The mention of the night he tried to trade his life for Dean’s is met with a look downward. “The pair of you,” she puffs out. “Both of you are just willing to jump in front of bullets for each other without thinking of pulling the other out of the way of it. As Dean’s said, I don’t really know him, but from all he’s doing I’m pretty sure his life wouldn’t be better without you and I know for sure my life wouldn’t be.” This wasn’t where she meant to say it or how, but it doesn’t seem to be doing anyone any good with her trying to find the right time. “I love you and I wouldn’t know what to do if you disappeared.” 

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' He swallows as she says the words he had actively refused to let himself think about hearing her say. “I’d jump in front of bullets for you too,” he murmurs, which is, at the moment, his way of saying ‘I love you too.’ Though he’s smiling, cause he knows two things: One, that she’d probably prefer he pulled her out of the way. And two… “Said it first,” he teases, even as he comes in for a kiss. It so doesn’t matter who said it first, but her saying that is the first bit of happiness he’s felt in days, and it comes out like sun darting out from behind dark and dire clouds. He wraps his arms protectively around her, even though right now there’s nothing in particular to protect her /from./ 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' “What’d I just say?” Fred can’t help but smile a bit at that. It’s welcome after such an intense few hours, a moment of levity. She readily turns her face upward for the kiss, conceding the fact that he did say the words first. However, as he pulls her into an embrace, she winces and pulls back a little - the wounds from being smacked away and then slammed against a car are twinged. “Sorry,” she says softly. Instead, she shifts a bit so she can lean against him while they sit and wait. 

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' “No, I’m sorry, I forgot how badly you got hurt,” Sam says softly. He looks back up the road, towards Mercy’s garage and rubs a hand over his face. It’s all a huge mess. The Winter Soldier, with Bucky Barnes buried deep within. His own changed nature. Dean’s by now completed deal, something that has to be dealt with at this point, rather than stopped. He keeps one arm wrapped loosely around her, but only loosely, adding, “It was less than an hour ago at that junkyard and I already feel like it was weeks ago.” That’s what happens sometimes when the world goes mad, he supposes. 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' “It’s alright,” Fred assures him. A bit tiredly, she rests against him. Now the the adrenaline is wearing off not only from the junkyard fight, but from the verbal - on her end - crossroads one, she’s starting to feel the ache, the pain and the exhaustion. “Time dilation,” she explains, thoughts immediately going to physics and math. “Observers of different points experience time at different rates even if time is moving at a constant. From the frame of reference of a moving observer traveling at the speed v relative to the resting frame of the clock...” She pauses, serious even after reciting parts of time relativity. “I know it’s hard, but you can talk to me, Sam. Don’t feel like you’ve gotta hide. My best friend is a vampire. That’s actually a good idea, we should talk to Angel about it.” 

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' His attempts to get off the subject have been called out, and Sam looks down again. “I can do a lot of good with this you know. I figured out I can force the smoke demons out of bodies. It is easier on the vessel than an exorcism, which means I was able to use it to save someone’s life. That telekinesis just saved your life. The precognition has saved several lives.” He frowns at the crossroads. “It’s not what I am that defines me, it’s my choices, right? So...maybe it’s not as big a deal as it seems. You all got me away from Hydra before they were able to make me use it to harm anyone, or whatever they were after. And I’m not trying to be-- calculating-- by hanging on to her. It’s just...If I’m going to die without that stuff, and that’s what it feels like, then it makes sense to have a reliable supply that doesn’t harm anyone else. And she’s evil so...I guess it’s not much different than taking a long swig of pig’s blood.” He shrugs uncomfortably, aware that there is both logic, and self-justification, in his tone. 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' Resting her cheek against him, Fred stares at the crossroads, too, while she listens to Sam. There certainly is logic there that she can hear. What’s happening to him saved lives - it saved her an hour ago. There’s a furrow in her brow as she starts, “I know it has…” helped people. There’s a sigh and she reaches an arm to wrap around him. “A demon’s not a pig, though. A pig can’t talk or ask to be let go. Maybe she’s evil, but that doesn’t mean she should be kept someplace and used as food. We can figure something else out. That’s why I want to talk to Angel - he had to do this, too. Keeping her....wherever you’re keeping her? That’s a choice, too.” That’s something they’ll have to talk about, too, where is he keeping this vengeance demon? Though she’s frowning, she holds tight to Sam. She’s worried, that’s clear, but she’s not running for the hills. “We’re not going to let you die and we’re not going to let you hurt anybody. I know you wouldn’t.” 

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' “Not willingly,” Sam says quietly, looking back in the direction of Mercy’s garage. He’s thinking suddenly about the Winter Soldier. About Hydra, subtly changing his name. “I don’t have any compulsions to hurt others, at least. I feel pretty much exactly the same as I ever did.” He leans back, placing his head against the tree he’d originally leaned against, and looks up into the branches. “They still want me, you know. The Soldier knocked me aside when he could have ended me then and there. That means they still have some sort of design. I don’t know how we’re going to navigate all this. Dean’s deal is already done, so he’s going to be forced into some terrible positions, Hydra’s still out there…” He exhales. Shakes his head. “I guess all we can do is keep tackling what we can. Moving forward.” Grimly moving forward without becoming too bogged down is one of his actual skills; compartmentalizing and working on one problem at a time has helped him before. He is worried about whatever Hydra wants with him: they did, after all, spark his transformation...but he can’t do anything about it now. His phone beeps, and he has a text. He looks at it. “Darcy Lewis of SHIELD is coming to pick us up. Don’t take anything she says seriously.” 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' “So, Dean’s not coming back?” That much is obvious if Darcy is going to pick them up. Fred sighs. Hydra still wants Sam. “I know,” she says softly. She knows they still want him, that he wouldn’t hurt anyone willingly. As he lists off all the things that they’re facing, it certainly does seem insurmountable when all laid out like that. There’s so much in front of them and none of it is small potatoes. It’s all large and twisted and worrying. In the face of it, she just keeps her arms around Sam, holding him - in her own ways trying to protect him from it all. “We’ll just...handle it as it comes up. First, the Soldier and while that’s going on, we’ll figure out how to break Dean’s contract. We can do this together. I know we can.” 
}}

Let Me In

2017-08-28T01:17:38Z

Feigenbaum:

1812/The I-Hate-Bucky-Club

2017-08-17T22:24:40Z

Feigenbaum:

{{Log Header
|Date of Scene=2017/08/04
|Location=Hyperion Hotel Lobby
|Synopsis=Returning from a case in Virginia, Dean finds the woman who has been leaving him multiple voicemails in the search for his brother.
|Cast of Characters=160, 306
|Tinyplot=Tayaniye
|pretty=yes
}}
{{Poses
|Poses=:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' A Series of voicemails on Dean Winchester's phone. The voice on the other end is friendly, with a Texan accent. It's possible he'll remember it from the weird girl in the hospital when he went to check on his brother. However, it's just as likely he has no idea who this is. July 15th: "Hi Dean Winchester? This is Winifred Burkle. We met at the hospital that one time? Sam gave me this number, I just wanted to know if you've heard from him since yesterday? Just, uh, let me know. Thanks!" July 18th: "Hi Dean Winchester? This is Winifred Burkle again. I think something's happened to Sam. Can you call me back please?" July 24th: "Hi Dean Winchester's phone, this is Winifred Burkle again. That metal arm guy definitely has something to do with this. I found this wizard in a phone book and I'm thinking about hiring him to help find him. I just realized if they have Sam they might've taken you, too, and I'm just leaving voice mails to nobody. Or I have the wrong number. If I have the wrong number, could the person who got these please let me know? Also, wizards aren't real. Promise." July 30th: "That metal arm guy is definitely involved. He's looking for you. I just installed a large axe device should he try and come after me again, but he did say he didn't know where you were, so that's one less thing for me to worry 'bout I guess." 

:'''{{#var:306|Dean Winchester (306)}} has posed:''' The door to the Hyperion Hotel opens and a very scruffy looking man in a t-shirt (that has seen better days), black jeans (with a rip in them), and a black flack jacket treads into the lobby. He tugs his sunglasses (that he's wearing to channel his inner terminator) from his nose and tucks them into the jacket pocket before walking up to reception. Nothing about his expression suggests joy, merriment, or other hints of warmth or softness. In fact, the cool detachment of Dean's green eyed gaze meets whoever stands behind the desk. "I'm looking for--" his lips turn downwards. He's already forgotten. With an irritated sigh, he raises his hand and looks at the name he'd inscribed on it before making the long drive from Virginia to here. "--Winifred Buckle." It's possible he misheard her name or his the ink on his hand has run together. "I'm special Agent John Connor." He swallows hard, "Here to discuss Sam Winchester's disappearance." 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' Luckily for 'Agent John Connor', Winifred Burkle is behind the desk at the Hyperion today. There's still a purple bruise on her cheek that she's poorly hid with makeup. It's fainter, but still easy to read for an observant investigator. There's quite a bit of things behind the counter that he can see once he approaches it. A wide array of weapons: axes, swords and crossbows with bolts are lain out as if being counted. Fred is currently bent over a small dome-like device that she is actively working on. A screwdriver is held in her hand and she has a narrowed focus on the screw she is twisting into place. A bullet with a blue tip sits in front of her. It looks like this chick is about to go to war of some kind. When she hears her name mispronounced, she looks up, blinking. Hair has escaped her hastily pulled back ponytail, but she stares at Dean for a few minutes as if processing. John Connor? But, it looks just like Dean. Is she misremembering? Is she disassociating? Oh no, is she going crazy again? Just hold on a moment. There might be a rational explanation for this. Ockham's Razor, Fred. Remember Ockham. "...Dean?" 

:'''{{#var:306|Dean Winchester (306)}} has posed:''' Dean blinks owlishly. His lips quirk at being so quickly called out, and his hands trail to his pockets out of sheer instinctual habit. Recognition frequently means needing to fight, especially when the recognizer bears so many weapons at their disposal. Despite this though, he answers with a small dip of his head, "Yeah. Dean. Dean Winchester." His eyebrows draw together sharply, and his lips pull back over his teeth in a strange grimace. And then he cuts through any pleasantries and gets to the heart of the issue without actually knowing that this is the woman he's looking for: "What happened to Sam?" His nostrils flare, his hands ball into fists while still tucked in his jacket pockets, and fire reflects behind those presumably calm green eyes. Undoubtedly, a temper burns bright and hot beneath all the cool he actively demonstrates. Equally to the point, he inhales a long breath and forces his hands out of his pockets. "He hasn't been home for weeks," his gaze darkens. "I can tell." And he got her phone messages, but that much is left unspoken. 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' Fred's own face mirrors Dean's a bit as she watches the man who may or may not be Dean Winchester stands in front of her. She's got a bit of the upper hand here, with the axes and crossbows and whatnot should this be something wearing a Dean suit or something similar. However, what with the way the Winter Soldier brushed her aside without barely a thought, she tenses a bit until he admits that he is who she thought he was. The shoulders relax, but she's still very tense. Setting the domed device down on the counter, she slips off the stool she was sitting on, but retains a hold on the screwdriver. It's possible she's forgotten it. "I'm so glad you're here," she says with a breath. "I thought for awhile that you were taken, too. He's got Claire and Sam and I thought you'd've gone after him or something and gotten all taken or killed, but the guy asked where you were, so I knew he didn't know. I was hoping you knew more, but I hadn't heard from you." Everything comes out in a bit of a rush. One might think she's hysterical, but her voice is calm - if a bit angry. This is just generally how Fred talks. At the end of that long speech, she realizes she didn't actually answer his question. Finally, she says, frowning. "The metal arm guy, the soldier, he took him. We're gonna get him back." 

:'''{{#var:306|Dean Winchester (306)}} has posed:''' Dean emits a huff of breath from the back of his throat. His nostrils flare again, and his fingers have balled into tight fists. "He didn't take me," he deadpans in a nearly tinny tone, but the mark of bitterness that lingers through it suggests something else kept him at bay. And then, equally to the point, his chin drops and he levels his gaze at Winifred, "Why hasn't SHIELD stepped in?" There's another faint quirk of his lips--a tell that perhaps the rage monster that is Dean Winchester has more than one emotional note about all of this--but its forced to neutrality almost as quickly as it'd appeared. "Barnes," he virtually spits the name, "will regret the day he looked at my brother." A vague pull at the corners of Dean's mouth punctuates the point, but nothing about the change indicates he's smiling, even if it almost appears that way. Finally, his hand lifts to extend his pointer finger to her cheek, "He give you that?" Pause. "The cyborg, I mean, not Sam." because details and clarity are important. 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' "I don't know if they can, or if they know where he is," Fred tells Dean. "There's an Agent that Sam knows. She gave Mercy some of these," she gestures at the blue tipped bullets with no name that Fred dubbed MSBs - Mystery Sleepy Bullets. "So, she's helping, but I haven't met her just yet." At the name drop, her eyebrows raise. "You know his name? I've been callin' him Metal Arm Guy! Or just Soldier. Angel said he read an article about how the guy was a soldier. Barnes." She says the name and it sounds angry, like she spit it. It seems like they certainly have something in common. "I've got a bomb with his name on it now." It does not sound like she is joking. And with the arsenal impressively laid out on the counter, she might know what she's talking about. As for the bruise on her cheek, she frowns and nods. "Yeah. He came here. That's how I knew you weren't taken by them. I tried to shoot him, but that didn't work. Made it real clear that the only reason I wasn't in a cell was 'cause it was worse on Sam to not know what'd happened to me or you." A pause, she can't help but bring up the science, "Also, I don't think he's a cyborg. I didn't get a look at his arm, but it sounded mechanical, but also not over most of his body. I think it's more of an enhancement of a sort. There might actually be an arm in there and this is like...a metal arm glove, otherwise it'd be too heavy to support at the shoulder." 

:'''{{#var:306|Dean Winchester (306)}} has posed:''' "A bomb is too good for him," Dean replies as coolly as he can manage. "Way too good," as if this clarifies his position on the matter. He reaches down to pluck one of the blue tipped bullets and examine it closely. "From SHIELD then?" His eyebrows draw together sharply, while the bullet rolls between his fingertips. Inspection seems apt. "Or from a mystery agent who might not be from SHIELD?" his eyes roll emphatically at that. "I knew that was a bad idea," he groans. Dean stares blankly at Fred's exposition about the science of the arm, almost like his eyes have glazed over. And then, with a vague nod, he observes, "Wow. You really are Sam's type." The full meaning is left to Fred's imagination. He pinches the bridge of his nose in exasperation before finally turning back to Fred. "There a plan to get him back or we just loading up the arsenal and firing at will?" his eyebrows lift expectantly at that. "In my experience, the former is the better choice." 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' There's a raised eyebrow as Dean agrees about the bombs and even goes further than that. For some reason, Fred wasn't expecting the bloodthirsty agreement. "Generally people're like, 'No don't resort to violence, Fred,' and 'Are you sure you really want to use the axe?'" she responds. She wants to resort to violence against the man that threatened her and currently is torturing Sam. The question about the bullets is met with a nod. "Yeah. From SHIELD, though what we've got is all we've got. Apparently they can knock people out. Mercy and I are currently making a few that'll hit a heated top so it'll hopefully turn airborne. Or it'll explode and we'll all be full of shrapnel." She's rather nonchalant about that possibility. Her talk of more explosives is stopped a bit short when Dean makes his observation. Her head tilts a bit to the side like a bird as she blinks. "Thanks? I think." It's unclear if she's thanking him for being told that she fits what he imagines Sam's into or is unsure of whether it was a compliment because that means Sam has a 'type'. Either way, she'll take it. "You definitely sound like what Sam said." As for the plan, there's a nod and a shrug. "The plan's find where they're holding Sam and Claire, take the arm outta action as best we can and get out. But the arsenal idea isn't a bad one far as I can tell." 

:'''{{#var:306|Dean Winchester (306)}} has posed:''' There's more owlish blinking at Fred's description of others' reactions to her more violent side. "He has Sam. He declared war," Dean offers blandly after rubbing his nose on his sleeve. His eyes attempt to catch Fred's gaze. "Sharpen the axe," he advises instead of asking whether she should resort to violence. The thought of bullets that can knock people out has Dean sucking on the inside of his cheek. "Alright. So. It sounds like the plan is that there is no real plan." He squints. "Do we think these bullets will work on him? Because maybe there's a way we can get a solid shot in. After we figure out where they are, of course." He rubs his chin. "Is metal man after anyone else? Might be worth using someone as bait so someone else can get a clean shot." He rubs the back of his neck. "Even if the bullets don't work as well on this guy than someone else, maybe they'll do enough to slow him down and buy us time to subdue him... at least enough." The notion of sounding like what Sam said prompts a vague frown that's followed up by a rather ironic, but low, "Thanks." 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' Funnily, Fred feels similarly about the fact that they declared war on them by taking Sam and Claire. Also, the breaking into her room and slapping her and threatening her. There's a lot that has to be answered. "There's a plan!" Fred counters a bit defensively. "We find him, we get together, we toss an EMP at his arm, which should short circuit it. There's also some magnet bombs we put together and now these things. We don't know if it'll actually knock him out just yet, but it's worth a shot. If we just toss all three at him, one of 'em has to take hold." At least, she certainly hopes so. As for giving someone up as bait, she frowns. "He mentioned you'n'me and he's been taunting Mercy. Any one of us could probably get his attention, but I that's gonna be pretty dangerous for the bait. I mean, that's what happens, the bait generally gets eaten. I think we should stick together. Power in numbers and all that." 

:'''{{#var:306|Dean Winchester (306)}} has posed:''' There's a long pause at the mention of the plan. "Oh.... kay." Dean's long drawn out agreement might send up red flags about his true feelings on the matter, but maybe he'll just run with it. He does want Sam home, after all, right? His lips twist to the side and he hums quietly before nodding once. "He's good. But based on your arsenal," his neck cranes to peek at the weapons, "I'm guessing you already know that." His lips purse into a sour near-scowl. "Well it's good to know that's how you think bait works." Dean's fingers clasp together and he hums again, seemingly indecisively. "So tactically, we're just going to run in there barrels blazing." His eyes turn upwards, "At least we know how we're going to die." And then as a kind of afterthought he tags on, "Again." Because death always seems imminent in their lines of work. "You think he expects us?" 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' "I guess getting a good shot in is a good idea, too, though," Fred acquiesces after Dean's drawn out non-agreement. While she may not be the most people savvy, she does get some sarcasm. "I think I've mostly been focusing on the weapons." Rather than the plan. "Bait, it's the thing at the end of a fishing pole to get a fish to bite. It gets eaten generally! I guess unless you're using one of those plastic ones that bob and wiggle." She thinks for a moment, eyes flashing as a bit of inspiration hits her. "Maybe we do that! Get a plastic one of us. Well, not really a plastic one of us, a that'd take awhile and generally you can tell, 'cause it doesn't move unless someone is moving it. But, maybe we find some sorta spell or something that can make a double of one of us. That might confuse him enough to get a shot in." She gives him a bit of a curious look after she pauses in her explanation of her thoughts - such as they are. "Again?" Is he expecting them, he asks. The curious look turns into something a bit grimmer. "Pretty sure he will be. He seems to know a lot." 

:'''{{#var:306|Dean Winchester (306)}} has posed:''' "A good shot that can at least slow him down," Dean adds for good measure. He levels a long gaze at Fred. "Look, I don't know," his eyes move to the weapons again and then the bruising on her face, "what kind of background you have with this kind of thing, but when anyone--animal, spirit, or man--feels encroached, it acts out. Hunting 101." There's a pause. "If you want to do it this way," he motions towards the array of weapons, "then I can't exactly stop you, but I think we can do better." His eyebrows lift at the notion of a plastic decoy. "Yup. Definitely Sam's type," he mutters quietly before pinching the bridge of his nose again. "Alright." He lifts his hands in a surrender movement. "Are you a good shot? I don't mean decent. I mean good. Good as in Han Solo rather than the Stormtroopers." The question of death isn't considered, and instead sees Dean skipping over to the last. "If he expects us then we need to find a way to interrupt the expectation. We need a distraction of some sort. Look lady, I get that you have some... resources. But this guy is good. Beyond good. We need to upset that balance if we hope to get both Sam and Claire." 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' "I know," Fred tells Dean very seriously about what something does when it feels encroached. She knows what a person will do under pressure very well. While she might not have given Dean all that much in the way of confidence in her abilities with her rambling and her diversions on plastic bait and people, there is a steel in her voice now. "I know I'm not as good at this as you both are, but I know some about what I'm doing and I promised him I'd come get him, so that's what I'm gonna do. I'm gonna bring everything and everyone I can and I'm gonna find him." Being a good shot? Fred shrugs. "I can dust a vampire with a crossbow, but I wouldn't stake mine or someone else's life on my one shot." Pun is either not intended or ignored on that one. "I don't work with guns a lot." They need a distraction and Fred's eyebrows furrow. "Well, we've got quite a lot of things that explode. Maybe we leave 'em somewhere and let 'em do what they do." Upsetting the balance? She's not exactly sure how to do that, but she's willing to try. 

:'''{{#var:306|Dean Winchester (306)}} has posed:''' Dean clears his throat, "Alright then." He blinks hard and inhales a long breath, "It's decided. I'll be bait. If you can dust a vampire, you can at least hit the broad side of a barn with a gun. Assuming these bullets work at all, it won't have to be that accurate." He manages a small quirk of his lips into a near-smile. "But you need to practice your shooting." His eyebrows lift expectantly. He scratches the back of his neck. "And no, I don't have some death wish--" his eyes widen slightly at the notion, particularly as maybe it speaks more volumes than he intends "--but if we can cause some semblance of surprise with you and Mercy," he shrugs. "Even if it's a brief distraction I can provide? That's a win." "Explosions could work. But if they're going to be effective, they need to be a surprise." His lips hitch up on one side as his eyes turn upwards, "You a fan of Queen?" 
}}

1995/Devil in the Details

2017-08-17T22:22:05Z

Feigenbaum:

{{Log Header
|Date of Scene=2017/08/14
|Location=The Winchester Apartment - Hell's Kitchen
|Synopsis=Fred and Dean have a one on one conversation about the Hunter Life and Sam.
|Cast of Characters=160, 306
|pretty=yes
}}
{{Poses
|Poses=:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' Fred and Sam have been spending quite a bit of time with each other. While they are not exactly 'joined at the hip' they have a habit of generally spending the night together. Either Fred comes to Hell's Kitchen or Sam stays at the Hyperion. Sam left early to 'check on something on a case'. While Fred offered to come and help, he insisted she stay and sleep. It didn't take a lot of convincing. While Fred is a generally curious woman, he was up a bit earlier than even she was used to. Instead she fell back to sleep and woke up an hour or so later. Dressing, she starts to gather her things and moves out to the apartment kitchen to make herself some coffee and some toast before heading back to Bludhaven. Hair messily pulled back into a sort of half bun, she glances about, unable to keep herself from nosily looking about to see how the two brothers tend to live together, now that she has a moment to actually study it unimpeded. 

:'''{{#var:306|Dean Winchester (306)}} has posed:''' In the centre of the kitchen table, Dean's phone buzzes angrily--evidently he remembered to turn the ringer off, but had left it on vibrate despite the fact its on the hard wooden table. Bzzzzt. Bzzzzt. Bzzzzt. It complains until it stops. A few moments pass and two pings indicate that the caller has left a message. The pattern repeats itself minutes later. Bzzzzt. Bzzzzt. Bzzzzt. It's then that the front door opens and Dean, wearing a grease stained jumpsuit walks through the kitchen. His chin drops to spy the phone which buzzes with another message before his lips purse with something akin to a frown. It's only after he opens the fridge and takes out and opens a bottle of beer that he turns around and catches sight of Fred. "Jesus! Freddie, don't sneak up on a guy like that." 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' The toast starts to heat up and the coffee percolates when the buzzing starts behind her on the kitchen table. Turning, she studies the phone for a few moments. It's not Sam's, it must be Dean's. The physicist looks about for the owner and doesn't see him anywhere. For a moment, she opens her mouth to call for Dean that his phone is ringing, but then she slowly shuts it. Sam did say that Dean was a late sleeper. Perhaps he left the phone out here so he would not be disturbed. It's not really her business, is it? However, she moves closer to the phone as it starts to buzz again. Then, Dean appears, not paying any attention to the room or her. He opens the fridge, gets a beer and then jumps. In return, she jumps as well, surprised that he is surprised. "I didn't! she defends. "I'm sorry! I was just standing here! Also, your phone was ringing. And beer is an afternoon drink!" 

:'''{{#var:306|Dean Winchester (306)}} has posed:''' "You did," Dean replies while he takes a swig of his beer. The notion of beer as an afternoon drink earns Fred a sharp lift of his eyebrows: "And I thought overnights typically involved staying with someone who, y'know, lives in the apartment." He swallows more of the beer. "Seems we were both wrong." His eyes narrow when they turn to the phone and he shrugs. "If it's important, they'll call back later." Because they will, probably. "But seriously, shouldn't you be gone if Sammy's gone? Isn't that how it works?" Not that Dean Winchester has ANY idea how a relationship works. His lips curl up on one side, "Lady comes home with dude. Dude and lady--" he lifts his hand rakes his fingers through his hair, as much as he's able to talk about sex, somehow talking to his brother's girlfriend about it means he needs to use euphemisms instead of bluntness "--make a magical sandwich. Someone goes home." He shrugs. "Or did you move in without me knowing?" Bzzzzt. Bzzzzt. Bzzzzt. He frowns and pockets his phone. 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' "If me standing still qualifies as sneaking up on you, that means you don't really have good sensory perception." The way Fred says that is not an insult or even a condemnation, it is a statement that is even tinged with a bit of worry. "I learned how to sense predators in the forest for a few years. If you need help on sensing people in the periphery, I'd be glad to show you. It helped keep me alive for five years." As for overnights generally involving people who live here, Fred - again - studies Dean as if he is the one who doesn't understand. "Sam lives here," she tells him firmly. "He went out to check on a case." On this form, Dean and Fred might be actually completely of the same maturity level. Fred has no idea what people in the adult world might view a relationship. Her last one was in high school and that is far different from this."I didn't move in, I was just getting some breakfast before heading home. Should I---oh, do you not want me to be here?" Dean's pantomime and vague words clearly confuse Fred as he tells her that she and Sam should make a 'magical sandwich'. Instead, she tells him, earnestly and without any form of humor: "Sandwiches are good, but I generally prefer tacos." 

:'''{{#var:306|Dean Winchester (306)}} has posed:''' Dean squints at Fred as she outlines in detail what kept her alive. Frowns when she asserts that Sam lives here. And arm-crosses when she asks if he doesn't want her here. And then she says she likes tacos better than sandwiches. The menacing Dean that had been standing attempts to conceal his expression and keep it stoic. His nostrils flare. His shoulders tense. And then they bob. The laugh actually has him bending over exploding with the laughter that he'd tried so earnestly to keep under wraps. When he straightens a mischievous smile tugs the edges of his lips. "You and me both, bro," evidently Fred has been upgraded to bro-friend. It's a wonder how long it will last. He takes a long swig of his beer, finishing the bottle when the buzzing--muffled thought it may be--continues from his pocket. He lifts his eyebrows when he extracts it and then returns it to the jumpsuit. 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' Fred, clearly, has no idea what exactly it is that made Dean turn from aggressive and defensive of his space to laughing and calling her bro. However, seeing the transition easily allows her shoulders to drop and her to smile, though she doesn't exactly know why he is laughing. She was serious: when offered a sandwich and a taco, she would take a taco every time. "Oh, okay, good! I missed them when I was on Pylea." The fact that she is now 'bro' does not exactly escape her. Being alone for so long in a cave in an alternate dimension meant she didn't get called 'bro' often - read at all. And so, this development in their relationship is met with a grin. "Your phone is still ringing. Bro." She'll try that out, too. He just called her bro, why can't she? "You said if it's important they'd call back and they seem to be doing so!" 

:'''{{#var:306|Dean Winchester (306)}} has posed:''' "Everyone would miss tacos," Dean snickers while his head ducks back towards the fridge. He takes out another beer. This one, however, is offered to Fred. The mention of his phone earns a faint shrug and a vague near-smile. "Right. But I know this caller. They'll leave a message if it's important and I'll get back to them." The phone pings with a new message. Dean's cheeks puff out with breath. "So... you have a day job?" because she's still around here. Although the question is substantially less aggressive. Bzzzzt. Dean sighs and he finally puts the phone to his ear. "Hello?" He pauses, "Oh the ringer was off. Didn't hear you or know you were calling," there's a cutesy tone in his voice. "Yeah, yeah... don't worry about it, I'll make the appearance... And I appreciated that... right, except... No." His fingers drum against the phone. "Nothing going on here except the usual... Any word on dad?... Yeah... Tell your mom I said hi." The call is brief and sees Dean hanging up without saying goodbye. His attention turns back to Fred, "So. Day job?" 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' "Right?!" Fred is excited that she has found someone who has the same excitement for tacos that she does. Of course, she is taking the conversation far more literally than Dean is. To Dean's ensured amusement, they are having two different conversations. "I'm so glad you agree. I think Sam just says he likes them sometimes because I do. But, that's really what I love about him. He tries to like what I like." The offered beer is taken with a bit of a blink. Her coffee has just finished, but Sam's brother is telling her to drink with him. Bonding! This is how one bonds, right? Popping the top of the beer, she takes a drink and her eyebrows wrinkles. It's clear she is not exactly a beer drinker. "I work with Angel at Angel Investigations It's not really a day job as morning, noon and night job. We help people with supernatural problems." The call is listened to - not just because she is there and nosey (which she is) - but because she is standing right next to Dean. "Who was that?" she asks, unable to keep herself from being nosy. "Sounded like you liked whoever was on the other end." 

:'''{{#var:306|Dean Winchester (306)}} has posed:''' "Oh, believe me, Sam likes tacos too. I mean, I can't say what kind of enthusiasm he likes them with," Dean's hand waves in the air. "He might like sandwiches too. Not sure which he would choose in a pinch--a sandwich or a taco. You should ask him sometime." And then as a kind of follow-up, he adds, "Make sure I'm there to hear the answer." His eyes gleam with unbridled mischief. He nods approvingly when Fred pops the lid off the beer. And even if she doesn't like it, he has an appreciation for the effort. "What do you do exactly? The same thing we do?" He shrugs. "It's a life not a job," at last that he can easily agree on. The last, however, has his expression softening. His chin drops to his chest and he becomes unusually shy. "Just a friend. Bailed me out of prison a few weeks back," and then, rather instinctively, he lifts a hand, "don't tell Sammy. Case'll get thrown out of court no problem. Just gotta make another trip to Virginia. Short trip." 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' Led along on the debate between sandwiches and tacos, Fred doesn't seem to think anything of it. "Sure!" She agrees to wait till Dean is there to ask about Sam's preferences between foods. Why not? As for what Angel Investigations does, Fred nods. "Sort of, yeah. We help find people who've been kidnapped by vampires or who've been haunted. Get demons to stop squatting in apartments. We help people who need helping." With a 'ding!' the toaster pops and Fred goes to pull out the toast, putting a bit of butter on it. Bread and beer, breakfast of champions. Fred's eyebrows raise. "You were in jail? Why were you in jail?" As for telling Sam or not, she frowns. It's not really like her to keep secrets: she has a pretty bad poker face. "I don't know...if you're going to have to go back down there, it might be better to have his help. He was applying for law school, after all. Wouldn't it be better to have someone with you who knows more about that?" 

:'''{{#var:306|Dean Winchester (306)}} has posed:''' "It's fine, and I've got it handled," because jail isn't that big a deal in Dean's world. "It's just part of the life we lead." If it's fine, it's a wonder why he doesn't want his brother to know about it. He brings the bottle to his lips and takes another long drink. "Just a misunderstanding about a case." His lips purse and he inhales a long breath. "It's why I didn't get your messages for a stretch. Case, jail--both kind of eat the cellphone time." He rubs his chin while setting the now-empty bottle on the table. "And good on you with that Angel Investigations group. It's good there's so many folks willing to hunt what's out there." That he does have an opinion on. His lips hitch up on one side. "Good to partner with some of them. Meeting some more of your people might be good for Sam. Glad that he's connecting with like-minded folks." 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' And Fred is exactly that kind of wonderer. She's not pushing, merely taking things to the logical conclusion as she sees them and stating them as facts as she sees them: "Sure, but if it's nothing, Sam'd understand that and wouldn't worry." As for why he didn't get her messages, she nods a few times. "What was the case?" It seems like an easy question to answer. As for the group, she smiles, unable to conceal the warmth she feels for her crew. "They're the good guys." It's not just that Angel saved her form a hell dimension, she genuinely likes them. Fred's own beer is barely touched. She takes another polite sip, immediately taking a bite of toast after it. "It's good to have him around," she agrees. "You're talking like you're not as like minded," she grins, gently attempting a tease. 

:'''{{#var:306|Dean Winchester (306)}} has posed:''' The question about the case has Dean rubbing the back of his neck. "A hellhound disrupting things in a small Virginia city." He shrugs, "I dealt with it. Found the source," he swallows hard at that, "and have it well in hand." At that he winks. Nothing like a wink to encourage confidence. He takes a few steps away from the table and then nods slowly. The thought of not being like-minded wins Fred a mischievous, nearly self-deprecating smile, "Nah. I just don't play well with others. Need to keep their hands off my toys." 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' "That's one of those things that nearly killed the boy at NYU?" Fred asks. It seems she hasn't dealt with those sorts of beings before. Continuing with her thinking, she asks a few more questions: "How do you get rid of those things without wishing them away? And how'd you get arrested?" The first is just for later knowledge; it's helpful to know how to deal with the multitude of baddies they find themselves facing. As for toys, she nods. "Oh, you mean like guns and axes and stuff? We've got a closet! Angel's pretty meticulous about keeping it organized." 

:'''{{#var:306|Dean Winchester (306)}} has posed:''' "...yeah. Hellhounds are impossible to stop. They're controlled by demons or... someone. The key is finding whoever does the controlling," Dean's eyes train on the table. "Arrested because of a misunderstanding involving dispensing of the hellhound's summoner. It's fine. Honestly, the charges'll be dropped. Especially with the whole SHIELD legitimacy." His eyebrows tick up at that, suggesting that even he knows legitimacy has its uses. "I mean Sam is the people person. People like him. I'm... rough around the edges. So it's not that we're so different in though, just it's good for Sam. In fact," his lips twist to the side, "if you could get him more involved with your end of things, bet that'd be good for both of you." 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' "Impossible to stop?" Fred doesn't like the sound of that. Her eyebrows furrow. "You don't have to kill the person who summoned them, do you?" While she's dusted vampires and taken care of demons, she has never killed a person - evil or otherwise. "Is that what happened? You had to kill the summoner and you got caught? How do you get out of that?" She's genuinely curious. Taking another sip of her beer, this one is a little bigger. She's either getting used to the taste or is distracted. "I see." There's a bit of a frown from Fred as he says that Sam should get more involved with Angel and possibly SHIELD. "And you don't want to be involved with that?" she asks, curious. It seems she's the kind of person that will ask a bunch of questions. 

:'''{{#var:306|Dean Winchester (306)}} has posed:''' "So far. Maybe there's a way out there somewhere, but," Dean shrugs. He doesn't know it. His expression turns grim at the notion of killing whoever summoned them. "Summoners who did it on purpose are trying to hurt people." He doesn't, however, answer the last about what happened. Instead, he switches tracks, "You ask a lot of questions." His eyebrows lift and his arms cross over his chest. "Not really used to ties. That's all. Not sure it's done any of us--Dad, Sam, or me--any favours, but this is the longest I've lived somewhere in a long time," and they haven't been in the apartment long. "Sam already seems taken with you. That's a tie. Should be easy to jump into more is all." 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' The frown continues on Fred's face as she thinks all that through, looking down at her barely touched beer in her hands. "I know," she replies to the idea that summoners do it to hurt other people. There is someone already she knows that she would almost certainly not hesitate to kill should the need arise. But, in the harsh light of morning the thought skitters a bit. Her eyes lift as he says she asks a lot of questions. With a bit of a self-conscious smile and a shrug, she nods. "It's the scientist in me. Can't solve anything if you don't ask the questions!" If he was hoping that switch in conversation would lead her away from the old one, he's correct. Something a bit more pressing starts to form in her head. "So, you want Sam to form some ties, but you're not up to it." She's more or less just restating what he just said. They haven't ever stayed in one place very long. "You're not thinking of leaving are you?" she asks. There's a bit of worry in her voice at that. Fred knows how important Dean is to Sam. If Dean leaves, she wouldn't be surprised if Sam followed, no matter how he might feel about her. 

:'''{{#var:306|Dean Winchester (306)}} has posed:''' Dean runs his hand through his hair and his green eyes squint at the latest question. "I think of a lot of things," there's a slight glimmer in his eyes. "Including what's best for my baby brother." His fingers reach for the cellphone he'd abandoned to the table. "I'm a hunter. I don't always get a say in my life and what I want. In fact, I rarely do." Pause. "But no, no plans to leave. Not yet." He knocks on the edge of the table. He manages a flicker of a smile, nearly sad in its inception, "Sam just needs folks to look out for him. One of us was semi-parented, it wasn't me. No, I got to be the parent," there's an oddity to his expression. And then with no shortage of bravado he adds, "Lack of ties means I look out for myself pretty well though. And I had to. No say in the matter." 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' There's a lot to think about on that. He doesn't have a say in his own life or what he wants to do since he's a hunter. It's a lot to digest. She doesn't know a ton about Dean's past - only what she's overheard and gleaned from Sam and his stories about their father and how Dean practically raised him. "If you want ties," she hazards at first, "I think Sam'd like that. We could all do something together." Taking a swig from her bottle of beer, she shrugs her shoulders a bit. "I lived alone for awhile and even when I got back I thought I should keep it that way. I was scared." Pausing, she takes another sip from her beer bottle. It has to be close to room temperature by now, but she doesn't seem to notice it tasting differently. "But, being a part of Angel Investigations? Being with Sam? Looking out for them and letting them look out for me? It's better than being alone." 

:'''{{#var:306|Dean Winchester (306)}} has posed:''' Dean arches a wry eyebrow at Fred's thoughts. His lip curls on one side. "I think it's good for Sam to start establishing some of that," he suggests as his hands drop to his sides. "We're not all wired the same. Not everyone is meant to be around others. Sammy is. Me?" His hand rocks in the air uncertainly. He issues her a vague shrug of his shoulders before stepping backwards towards the front door. "But it's good you found your niche." "Just keep an eye on Sammy, okay? Like I said, he seems to like you. Which is..." he rubs his chin, "different." He doesn't say whether it's good different or bad different. He inhales a long breath while his lips curve into a small frown. "Just keep an eye on him, alright?" 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' Fred listens to Dean as he tells her that he's not certain he's wired to be around others, but Sam is. She's not sure what to say about that. She doesn't know Dean that well. In fact, this is the longest uninterrupted conversation she's had with him. While he steps back toward the front door, she remains in the kitchen. "I think if you want to find out it'll surprise you," is all she can think to say about that. There's a crinkle of her eyebrows when he says that Sam liking her is 'different'. "Thank you?" she says, unsure of how to take that. For now, she is going to hope that different is a good thing. "But, I will. I don't want anything bad to happen to him." 

:'''{{#var:306|Dean Winchester (306)}} has posed:''' "....yeah. Neither do I." Dean shifts his weight from one foot to the other. His lips part for a moment only to press together again with a vague shake of his head. He turns on his heel and his hand turns the doorknob. He steps through the door, and from the hallway calls, "Take it easy Freddie." With that, the door closes. 
}}

1995/Devil in the Details

2017-08-17T22:20:13Z

Feigenbaum:

{{Log Header
|Date of Scene=2017/08/14
|Location=The Winchester Apartment - Hell's Kitchen
|Synopsis=Fred and Dean have a one on one conversation about the Hunter Life and Sam.
|Cast of Characters=160, 306
|pretty=yes
}}
{{Poses
|Poses=:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' Fred and Sam have been spending quite a bit of time with each other. While they are not exactly 'joined at the hip' they have a habit of generally spending the night together. Either Fred comes to Hell's Kitchen or Sam stays at the Hyperion. Sam left early to 'check on something on a case'. While Fred offered to come and help, he insisted she stay and sleep. It didn't take a lot of convincing. While Fred is a generally curious woman, he was up a bit earlier than even she was used to. Instead she fell back to sleep and woke up an hour or so later. Dressing, she starts to gather her things and moves out to the apartment kitchen to make herself some coffee and some toast before heading back to Bludhaven. Hair messily pulled back into a sort of half bun, she glances about, unable to keep herself from nosily looking about to see how the two brothers tend to live together, now that she has a moment to actually study it unimpeded. 

:'''{{#var:306|Dean Winchester (306)}} has posed:''' In the centre of the kitchen table, Dean's phone buzzes angrily--evidently he remembered to turn the ringer off, but had left it on vibrate despite the fact its on the hard wooden table. Bzzzzt. Bzzzzt. Bzzzzt. It complains until it stops. A few moments pass and two pings indicate that the caller has left a message. The pattern repeats itself minutes later. Bzzzzt. Bzzzzt. Bzzzzt. It's then that the front door opens and Dean, wearing a grease stained jumpsuit walks through the kitchen. His chin drops to spy the phone which buzzes with another message before his lips purse with something akin to a frown. It's only after he opens the fridge and takes out and opens a bottle of beer that he turns around and catches sight of Fred. "Jesus! Freddie, don't sneak up on a guy like that." 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' The toast starts to heat up and the coffee percolates when the buzzing starts behind her on the kitchen table. Turning, she studies the phone for a few moments. It's not Sam's, it must be Dean's. The physicist looks about for the owner and doesn't see him anywhere. For a moment, she opens her mouth to call for Dean that his phone is ringing, but then she slowly shuts it. Sam did say that Dean was a late sleeper. Perhaps he left the phone out here so he would not be disturbed. It's not really her business, is it? However, she moves closer to the phone as it starts to buzz again. Then, Dean appears, not paying any attention to the room or her. He opens the fridge, gets a beer and then jumps. In return, she jumps as well, surprised that he is surprised. "I didn't! she defends. "I'm sorry! I was just standing here! Also, your phone was ringing. And beer is an afternoon drink!" 

:'''{{#var:306|Dean Winchester (306)}} has posed:''' "You did," Dean replies while he takes a swig of his beer. The notion of beer as an afternoon drink earns Fred a sharp lift of his eyebrows: "And I thought overnights typically involved staying with someone who, y'know, lives in the apartment." He swallows more of the beer. "Seems we were both wrong." His eyes narrow when they turn to the phone and he shrugs. "If it's important, they'll call back later." Because they will, probably. "But seriously, shouldn't you be gone if Sammy's gone? Isn't that how it works?" Not that Dean Winchester has ANY idea how a relationship works. His lips curl up on one side, "Lady comes home with dude. Dude and lady--" he lifts his hand rakes his fingers through his hair, as much as he's able to talk about sex, somehow talking to his brother's girlfriend about it means he needs to use euphemisms instead of bluntness "--make a magical sandwich. Someone goes home." He shrugs. "Or did you move in without me knowing?" Bzzzzt. Bzzzzt. Bzzzzt. He frowns and pockets his phone. 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' "If me standing still qualifies as sneaking up on you, that means you don't really have good sensory perception." The way Fred says that is not an insult or even a condemnation, it is a statement that is even tinged with a bit of worry. "I learned how to sense predators in the forest for a few years. If you need help on sensing people in the periphery, I'd be glad to show you. It helped keep me alive for five years." As for overnights generally involving people who live here, Fred - again - studies Dean as if he is the one who doesn't understand. "Sam lives here," she tells him firmly. "He went out to check on a case." On this form, Dean and Fred might be actually completely of the same maturity level. Fred has no idea what people in the adult world might view a relationship. Her last one was in high school and that is far different from this."I didn't move in, I was just getting some breakfast before heading home. Should I---oh, do you not want me to be here?" Dean's pantomime and vague words clearly confuse Fred as he tells her that she and Sam should make a 'magical sandwich'. Instead, she tells him, earnestly and without any form of humor: "Sandwiches are good, but I generally prefer tacos." 

:'''{{#var:306|Dean Winchester (306)}} has posed:''' Dean squints at Fred as she outlines in detail what kept her alive. Frowns when she asserts that Sam lives here. And arm-crosses when she asks if he doesn't want her here. And then she says she likes tacos better than sandwiches. The menacing Dean that had been standing attempts to conceal his expression and keep it stoic. His nostrils flare. His shoulders tense. And then they bob. The laugh actually has him bending over exploding with the laughter that he'd tried so earnestly to keep under wraps. When he straightens a mischievous smile tugs the edges of his lips. "You and me both, bro," evidently Fred has been upgraded to bro-friend. It's a wonder how long it will last. He takes a long swig of his beer, finishing the bottle when the buzzing--muffled thought it may be--continues from his pocket. He lifts his eyebrows when he extracts it and then returns it to the jumpsuit. 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' Fred, clearly, has no idea what exactly it is that made Dean turn from aggressive and defensive of his space to laughing and calling her bro. However, seeing the transition easily allows her shoulders to drop and her to smile, though she doesn't exactly know why he is laughing. She was serious: when offered a sandwich and a taco, she would take a taco every time. "Oh, okay, good! I missed them when I was on Pylea." The fact that she is now 'bro' does not exactly escape her. Being alone for so long in a cave in an alternate dimension meant she didn't get called 'bro' often - read at all. And so, this development in their relationship is met with a grin. "Your phone is still ringing. Bro." She'll try that out, too. He just called her bro, why can't she? "You said if it's important they'd call back and they seem to be doing so!" 

:'''{{#var:306|Dean Winchester (306)}} has posed:''' "Everyone would miss tacos," Dean snickers while his head ducks back towards the fridge. He takes out another beer. This one, however, is offered to Fred. The mention of his phone earns a faint shrug and a vague near-smile. "Right. But I know this caller. They'll leave a message if it's important and I'll get back to them." The phone pings with a new message. Dean's cheeks puff out with breath. "So... you have a day job?" because she's still around here. Although the question is substantially less aggressive. Bzzzzt. Dean sighs and he finally puts the phone to his ear. "Hello?" He pauses, "Oh the ringer was off. Didn't hear you or know you were calling," there's a cutesy tone in his voice. "Yeah, yeah... don't worry about it, I'll make the appearance... And I appreciated that... right, except... No." His fingers drum against the phone. "Nothing going on here except the usual... Any word on dad?... Yeah... Tell your mom I said hi." The call is brief and sees Dean hanging up without saying goodbye. His attention turns back to Fred, "So. Day job?" 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' "Right?!" Fred is excited that she has found someone who has the same excitement for tacos that she does. Of course, she is taking the conversation far more literally than Dean is. To Dean's ensured amusement, they are having two different conversations. "I'm so glad you agree. I think Sam just says he likes them sometimes because I do. But, that's really what I love about him. He tries to like what I like." The offered beer is taken with a bit of a blink. Her coffee has just finished, but Sam's brother is telling her to drink with him. Bonding! This is how one bonds, right? Popping the top of the beer, she takes a drink and her eyebrows wrinkles. It's clear she is not exactly a beer drinker. "I work with Angel at Angel Investigations It's not really a day job as morning, noon and night job. We help people with supernatural problems." The call is listened to - not just because she is there and nosey (which she is) - but because she is standing right next to Dean. "Who was that?" she asks, unable to keep herself from being nosy. "Sounded like you liked whoever was on the other end." 

:'''{{#var:306|Dean Winchester (306)}} has posed:''' "Oh, believe me, Sam likes tacos too. I mean, I can't say what kind of enthusiasm he likes them with," Dean's hand waves in the air. "He might like sandwiches too. Not sure which he would choose in a pinch--a sandwich or a taco. You should ask him sometime." And then as a kind of follow-up, he adds, "Make sure I'm there to hear the answer." His eyes gleam with unbridled mischief. He nods approvingly when Fred pops the lid off the beer. And even if she doesn't like it, he has an appreciation for the effort. "What do you do exactly? The same thing we do?" He shrugs. "It's a life not a job," at last that he can easily agree on. The last, however, has his expression softening. His chin drops to his chest and he becomes unusually shy. "Just a friend. Bailed me out of prison a few weeks back," and then, rather instinctively, he lifts a hand, "don't tell Sammy. Case'll get thrown out of court no problem. Just gotta make another trip to Virginia. Short trip." 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' Led along on the debate between sandwiches and tacos, Fred doesn't seem to think anything of it. "Sure!" She agrees to wait till Dean is there to ask about Sam's preferences between foods. Why not? As for what Angel Investigations does, Fred nods. "Sort of, yeah. We help find people who've been kidnapped by vampires or who've been haunted. Get demons to stop squatting in apartments. We help people who need helping." With a 'ding!' the toaster pops and Fred goes to pull out the toast, putting a bit of butter on it. Bread and beer, breakfast of champions. Fred's eyebrows raise. "You were in jail? Why were you in jail?" As for telling Sam or not, she frowns. It's not really like her to keep secrets: she has a pretty bad poker face. "I don't know...if you're going to have to go back down there, it might be better to have his help. He was applying for law school, after all. Wouldn't it be better to have someone with you who knows more about that?" 

:'''{{#var:306|Dean Winchester (306)}} has posed:''' "It's fine, and I've got it handled," because jail isn't that big a deal in Dean's world. "It's just part of the life we lead." If it's fine, it's a wonder why he doesn't want his brother to know about it. He brings the bottle to his lips and takes another long drink. "Just a misunderstanding about a case." His lips purse and he inhales a long breath. "It's why I didn't get your messages for a stretch. Case, jail--both kind of eat the cellphone time." He rubs his chin while setting the now-empty bottle on the table. "And good on you with that Angel Investigations group. It's good there's so many folks willing to hunt what's out there." That he does have an opinion on. His lips hitch up on one side. "Good to partner with some of them. Meeting some more of your people might be good for Sam. Glad that he's connecting with like-minded folks." 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' And Fred is exactly that kind of wonderer. She's not pushing, merely taking things to the logical conclusion as she sees them and stating them as facts as she sees them: "Sure, but if it's nothing, Sam'd understand that and wouldn't worry." As for why he didn't get her messages, she nods a few times. "What was the case?" It seems like an easy question to answer. As for the group, she smiles, unable to conceal the warmth she feels for her crew. "They're the good guys." It's not just that Angel saved her form a hell dimension, she genuinely likes them. Fred's own beer is barely touched. She takes another polite sip, immediately taking a bite of toast after it. "It's good to have him around," she agrees. "You're talking like you're not as like minded," she grins, gently attempting a tease. 

:'''{{#var:306|Dean Winchester (306)}} has posed:''' The question about the case has Dean rubbing the back of his neck. "A hellhound disrupting things in a small Virginia city." He shrugs, "I dealt with it. Found the source," he swallows hard at that, "and have it well in hand." At that he winks. Nothing like a wink to encourage confidence. He takes a few steps away from the table and then nods slowly. The thought of not being like-minded wins Fred a mischievous, nearly self-deprecating smile, "Nah. I just don't play well with others. Need to keep their hands off my toys." 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' "That's one of those things that nearly killed the boy at NYU?" Fred asks. It seems she hasn't dealt with those sorts of beings before. Continuing with her thinking, she asks a few more questions: "How do you get rid of those things without wishing them away? And how'd you get arrested?" The first is just for later knowledge; it's helpful to know how to deal with the multitude of baddies they find themselves facing. As for toys, she nods. "Oh, you mean like guns and axes and stuff? We've got a closet! Angel's pretty meticulous about keeping it organized." 

:'''{{#var:306|Dean Winchester (306)}} has posed:''' "...yeah. Hellhounds are impossible to stop. They're controlled by demons or... someone. The key is finding whoever does the controlling," Dean's eyes train on the table. "Arrested because of a misunderstanding involving dispensing of the hellhound's summoner. It's fine. Honestly, the charges'll be dropped. Especially with the whole SHIELD legitimacy." His eyebrows tick up at that, suggesting that even he knows legitimacy has its uses. "I mean Sam is the people person. People like him. I'm... rough around the edges. So it's not that we're so different in though, just it's good for Sam. In fact," his lips twist to the side, "if you could get him more involved with your end of things, bet that'd be good for both of you." 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' "Impossible to stop?" Fred doesn't like the sound of that. Her eyebrows furrow. "You don't have to kill the person who summoned them, do you?" While she's dusted vampires and taken care of demons, she has never killed a person - evil or otherwise. "Is that what happened? You had to kill the summoner and you got caught? How do you get out of that?" She's genuinely curious. Taking another sip of her beer, this one is a little bigger. She's either getting used to the taste or is distracted. "I see." There's a bit of a frown from Fred as he says that Sam should get more involved with Angel and possibly SHIELD. "And you don't want to be involved with that?" she asks, curious. It seems she's the kind of person that will ask a bunch of questions. 

:'''{{#var:306|Dean Winchester (306)}} has posed:''' "So far. Maybe there's a way out there somewhere, but," Dean shrugs. He doesn't know it. His expression turns grim at the notion of killing whoever summoned them. "Summoners who did it on purpose are trying to hurt people." He doesn't, however, answer the last about what happened. Instead, he switches tracks, "You ask a lot of questions." His eyebrows lift and his arms cross over his chest. "Not really used to ties. That's all. Not sure it's done any of us--Dad, Sam, or me--any favours, but this is the longest I've lived somewhere in a long time," and they haven't been in the apartment long. "Sam already seems taken with you. That's a tie. Should be easy to jump into more is all." 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' The frown continues on Fred's face as she thinks all that through, looking down at her barely touched beer in her hands. "I know," she replies to the idea that summoners do it to hurt other people. There is someone already she knows that she would almost certainly not hesitate to kill should the need arise. But, in the harsh light of morning the thought skitters a bit. Her eyes lift as he says she asks a lot of questions. With a bit of a self-conscious smile and a shrug, she nods. "It's the scientist in me. Can't solve anything if you don't ask the questions!" If he was hoping that switch in conversation would lead her away from the old one, he's correct. Something a bit more pressing starts to form in her head. "So, you want Sam to form some ties, but you're not up to it." She's more or less just restating what he just said. They haven't ever stayed in one place very long. "You're not thinking of leaving are you?" she asks. There's a bit of worry in her voice at that. Fred knows how important Dean is to Sam. If Dean leaves, she wouldn't be surprised if Sam followed, no matter how me might feel about her. 

:'''{{#var:306|Dean Winchester (306)}} has posed:''' Dean runs his hand through his hair and his green eyes squint at the latest question. "I think of a lot of things," there's a slight glimmer in his eyes. "Including what's best for my baby brother." His fingers reach for the cellphone he'd abandoned to the table. "I'm a hunter. I don't always get a say in my life and what I want. In fact, I rarely do." Pause. "But no, no plans to leave. Not yet." He knocks on the edge of the table. He manages a flicker of a smile, nearly sad in its inception, "Sam just needs folks to look out for him. One of us was semi-parented, it wasn't me. No, I got to be the parent," there's an oddity to his expression. And then with no shortage of bravado he adds, "Lack of ties means I look out for myself pretty well though. And I had to. No say in the matter." 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' There's a lot to think about on that. He doesn't have a say in his own life or what he wants to do since he's a hunter. It's a lot to digest. She doesn't know a ton about Dean's past - only what she's overheard and gleaned from Sam and his stories about their father and how Dean practically raised him. "If you want ties," she hazards at first, "I think Sam'd like that. We could all do something together." Taking a swig from her bottle of beer, she shrugs her shoulders a bit. "I lived alone for awhile and even when I got back I thought I should keep it that way. I was scared." Pausing, she takes another sip from her beer bottle. It has to be close to room temperature by now, but she doesn't seem to notice it tasting differently. "But, being a part of Angel Investigations? Being with Sam? Looking out for them and letting them look out for me? It's better than being alone." 

:'''{{#var:306|Dean Winchester (306)}} has posed:''' Dean arches a wry eyebrow at Fred's thoughts. His lip curls on one side. "I think it's good for Sam to start establishing some of that," he suggests as his hands drop to his sides. "We're not all wired the same. Not everyone is meant to be around others. Sammy is. Me?" His hand rocks in the air uncertainly. He issues her a vague shrug of his shoulders before stepping backwards towards the front door. "But it's good you found your niche." "Just keep an eye on Sammy, okay? Like I said, he seems to like you. Which is..." he rubs his chin, "different." He doesn't say whether it's good different or bad different. He inhales a long breath while his lips curve into a small frown. "Just keep an eye on him, alright?" 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' Fred listens to Dean as he tells her that he's not certain he's wired to be around others, but Sam is. She's not sure what to say about that. She doesn't know Dean that well. In fact, this is the longest uninterrupted conversation she's had with him. While he steps back toward the front door, she remains in the kitchen. "I think if you want to find out it'll surprise you," is all she can think to say about that. There's a crinkle of her eyebrows when he says that Sam liking her is 'different'. "Thank you?" she says, unsure of how to take that. For now, she is going to hope that different is a good thing. "But, I will. I don't want anything bad to happen to him." 

:'''{{#var:306|Dean Winchester (306)}} has posed:''' "....yeah. Neither do I." Dean shifts his weight from one foot to the other. His lips part for a moment only to press together again with a vague shake of his head. He turns on his heel and his hand turns the doorknob. He steps through the door, and from the hallway calls, "Take it easy Freddie." With that, the door closes. 
}}

1995/Devil in the Details

2017-08-17T22:18:55Z

Feigenbaum:

{{Log Header
|Date of Scene=2017/08/14
|Location=The Winchester Apartment - Hell's Kitchen
|Synopsis=Fred and Dean have a one on one conversation about the Hunter Life and Sam.
|Cast of Characters=160, 306
|pretty=yes
}}
{{Poses
|Poses=:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' Fred and Sam have been spending quite a bit of time with each other. While they are not exactly 'joined at the hip' they have a habit of generally spending the night together. Either Fred comes to Hell's Kitchen or Sam stays at the Hyperion. Sam left early to 'check on something on a case'. While Fred offered to come and help, he insisted she stay and sleep. It didn't take a lot of convincing. While Fred is a generally curious woman, he was up a bit earlier than even she was used to. Instead she fell back to sleep and woke up an hour or so later. Dressing, she starts to gather her things and moves out to the apartment kitchen to make herself some coffee and some toast before heading back to Bludhaven. Hair messily pulled back into a sort of half bun, she glances about, unable to keep herself from nosily looking about to see how the two brothers tend to live together, now that she has a moment to actually study it unimpeded. 

:'''{{#var:306|Dean Winchester (306)}} has posed:''' In the centre of the kitchen table, Dean's phone buzzes angrily--evidently he remembered to turn the ringer off, but had left it on vibrate despite the fact its on the hard wooden table. Bzzzzt. Bzzzzt. Bzzzzt. It complains until it stops. A few moments pass and two pings indicate that the caller has left a message. The pattern repeats itself minutes later. Bzzzzt. Bzzzzt. Bzzzzt. It's then that the front door opens and Dean, wearing a grease stained jumpsuit walks through the kitchen. His chin drops to spy the phone which buzzes with another message before his lips purse with something akin to a frown. It's only after he opens the fridge and takes out and opens a bottle of beer that he turns around and catches sight of Fred. "Jesus! Freddie, don't sneak up on a guy like that." 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' The toast starts to heat up and the coffee percolates when the buzzing starts behind her on the kitchen table. Turning, she studies the phone for a few moments. It's not Sam's, it must be Dean's. The physicist looks about for the owner and doesn't see him anywhere. For a moment, she opens her mouth to call for Dean that his phone is ringing, but then she slowly shuts it. Sam did say that Dean was a late sleeper. Perhaps he left the phone out here so he would not be disturbed. It's not really her business, is it? However, she moves closer to the phone as it starts to buzz again. Then, Dean appears, not paying any attention to the room or her. He opens the fridge, gets a beer and then jumps. In return, she jumps as well, surprised that he is surprised. "I didn't! she defends. "I'm sorry! I was just standing here! Also, your phone was ringing. And beer is an afternoon drink!" 

:'''{{#var:306|Dean Winchester (306)}} has posed:''' "You did," Dean replies while he takes a swig of his beer. The notion of beer as an afternoon drink earns Fred a sharp lift of his eyebrows: "And I thought overnights typically involved staying with someone who, y'know, lives in the apartment." He swallows more of the beer. "Seems we were both wrong." His eyes narrow when they turn to the phone and he shrugs. "If it's important, they'll call back later." Because they will, probably. "But seriously, shouldn't you be gone if Sammy's gone? Isn't that how it works?" Not that Dean Winchester has ANY idea how a relationship works. His lips curl up on one side, "Lady comes home with dude. Dude and lady--" he lifts his hand rakes his fingers through his hair, as much as he's able to talk about sex, somehow talking to his brother's girlfriend about it means he needs to use euphemisms instead of bluntness "--make a magical sandwich. Someone goes home." He shrugs. "Or did you move in without me knowing?" Bzzzzt. Bzzzzt. Bzzzzt. He frowns and pockets his phone. 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' "If me standing still qualifies as sneaking up on you, that means you don't really have good sensory perception." The way Fred says that is not an insult or even a condemnation, it is a statement that is even tinged with a bit of worry. "I learned how to sense predators in the forest for a few years. If you need help on sensing people in the periphery, I'd be glad to show you. It helped keep me alive for five years." As for overnights generally involving people who live here, Fred - again - studies Dean as if he is the one who doesn't understand. "Sam lives here," she tells him firmly. "He went out to check on a case." On this form, Dean and Fred might be actually completely of the same maturity level. Fred has no idea what people in the adult world might view a relationship. Her last one was in high school and that is far different from this."I didn't move in, I was just getting some breakfast before heading home. Should I---oh, do you not want me to be here?" Dean's pantomime and vague words clearly confuse Fred as he tells her that she and Sam should make a 'magical sandwich'. Instead, she tells him, earnestly and without any form of humor: "Sandwiches are good, but I generally prefer tacos." 

:'''{{#var:306|Dean Winchester (306)}} has posed:''' Dean squints at Fred as she outlines in detail what kept her alive. Frowns when she asserts that Sam lives here. And arm-crosses when she asks if he doesn't want her here. And then she says she likes tacos better than sandwiches. The menacing Dean that had been standing attempts to conceal his expression and keep it stoic. His nostrils flare. His shoulders tense. And then they bob. The laugh actually has him bending over exploding with the laughter that he'd tried so earnestly to keep under wraps. When he straightens a mischievous smile tugs the edges of his lips. "You and me both, bro," evidently Fred has been upgraded to bro-friend. It's a wonder how long it will last. He takes a long swig of his beer, finishing the bottle when the buzzing--muffled thought it may be--continues from his pocket. He lifts his eyebrows when he extracts it and then returns it to the jumpsuit. 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' Fred, clearly, has no idea what exactly it is that made Dean turn from aggressive and defensive of his space to laughing and calling her bro. However, seeing the transition easily allows her shoulders to drop and her to smile, though she doesn't exactly know why he is laughing. She was serious: when offered a sandwich and a taco, she would take a taco every time. "Oh, okay, good! I missed them when I was on Pylea." The fact that she is now 'bro' does not exactly escape her. Being alone for so long in a cave in an alternate dimension meant she didn't get called 'bro' often - read at all. And so, this development in their relationship is met with a grin. "Your phone is still ringing. Bro." She'll try that out, too. He just called her bro, why can't she? "You said if it's important they'd call back and they seem to be doing so!" 

:'''{{#var:306|Dean Winchester (306)}} has posed:''' "Everyone would miss tacos," Dean snickers while his head ducks back towards the fridge. He takes out another beer. This one, however, is offered to Fred. The mention of his phone earns a faint shrug and a vague near-smile. "Right. But I know this caller. They'll leave a message if it's important and I'll get back to them." The phone pings with a new message. Dean's cheeks puff out with breath. "So... you have a day job?" because she's still around here. Although the question is substantially less aggressive. Bzzzzt. Dean sighs and he finally puts the phone to his ear. "Hello?" He pauses, "Oh the ringer was off. Didn't hear you or know you were calling," there's a cutesy tone in his voice. "Yeah, yeah... don't worry about it, I'll make the appearance... And I appreciated that... right, except... No." His fingers drum against the phone. "Nothing going on here except the usual... Any word on dad?... Yeah... Tell your mom I said hi." The call is brief and sees Dean hanging up without saying goodbye. His attention turns back to Fred, "So. Day job?" 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' "Right?!" Fred is excited that she has found someone who has the same excitement for tacos that she does. Of course, she is taking the conversation far more literally than Dean is. To Dean's ensured amusement, they are having two different conversations. "I'm so glad you agree. I think Sam just says he likes them sometimes because I do. But, that's really what I love about him. He tries to like what I like." The offered beer is taken with a bit of a blink. Her coffee has just finished, but Sam's brother is telling her to drink with him. Bonding! This is how one bonds, right? Popping the top of the beer, she takes a drink and her eyebrows wrinkles. It's clear she is not exactly a beer drinker. "I work with Angel at Angel Investigations It's not really a day job as morning, noon and night job. We help people with supernatural problems." The call is listened to - not just because she is there and nosey (which she is) - but because she is standing right next to Dean. "Who was that?" she asks, unable to keep herself from being nosy. "Sounded like you liked whoever was on the other end." 

:'''{{#var:306|Dean Winchester (306)}} has posed:''' "Oh, believe me, Sam likes tacos too. I mean, I can't say what kind of enthusiasm he likes them with," Dean's hand waves in the air. "He might like sandwiches too. Not sure which he would choose in a pinch--a sandwich or a taco. You should ask him sometime." And then as a kind of follow-up, he adds, "Make sure I'm there to hear the answer." His eyes gleam with unbridled mischief. He nods approvingly when Fred pops the lid off the beer. And even if she doesn't like it, he has an appreciation for the effort. "What do you do exactly? The same thing we do?" He shrugs. "It's a life not a job," at last that he can easily agree on. The last, however, has his expression softening. His chin drops to his chest and he becomes unusually shy. "Just a friend. Bailed me out of prison a few weeks back," and then, rather instinctively, he lifts a hand, "don't tell Sammy. Case'll get thrown out of court no problem. Just gotta make another trip to Virginia. Short trip." 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' Led along on the debate between sandwiches and tacos, Fred doesn't seem to think anything of it. "Sure!" She agrees to wait till Dean is there to ask about Sam's preferences between foods. Why not? As for what Angel Investigations does, Fred nods. "Sort of, yeah. We help find people who've been kidnapped by vampires or who've been haunted. Get demons to stop squatting in apartments. We help people who need helping." With a 'ding!' the toaster pops and Fred goes to pull out the toast, putting a bit of butter on it. Bread and beer, breakfast of champions. Fred's eyebrows raise. "You were in jail? Why where you in jail?" As for telling Sam or not, she frowns. It's not really like her to keep secrets: she has a pretty bad poker face. "I don't know...if you're going to have to go back down there, it might be better to have his help. He was applying for law school, after all. Wouldn't it be better to have someone with you who knows more about that?" 

:'''{{#var:306|Dean Winchester (306)}} has posed:''' "It's fine, and I've got it handled," because jail isn't that big a deal in Dean's world. "It's just part of the life we lead." If it's fine, it's a wonder why he doesn't want his brother to know about it. He brings the bottle to his lips and takes another long drink. "Just a misunderstanding about a case." His lips purse and he inhales a long breath. "It's why I didn't get your messages for a stretch. Case, jail--both kind of eat the cellphone time." He rubs his chin while setting the now-empty bottle on the table. "And good on you with that Angel Investigations group. It's good there's so many folks willing to hunt what's out there." That he does have an opinion on. His lips hitch up on one side. "Good to partner with some of them. Meeting some more of your people might be good for Sam. Glad that he's connecting with like-minded folks." 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' And Fred is exactly that kind of wonderer. She's not pushing, merely taking things to the logical conclusion as she sees them and stating them as facts as she sees them: "Sure, but if it's nothing, Sam'd understand that and wouldn't worry." As for why he didn't get her messages, she nods a few times. "What was the case?" It seems like an easy question to answer. As for the group, she smiles, unable to conceal the warmth she feels for her crew. "They're the good guys." It's not just that Angel saved her form a hell dimension, she genuinely likes them. Fred's own beer is barely touched. She takes another polite sip, immediately taking a bite of toast after it. "It's good to have him around," she agrees. "You're talking like you're not as like minded," she grins, gently attempting a tease. 

:'''{{#var:306|Dean Winchester (306)}} has posed:''' The question about the case has Dean rubbing the back of his neck. "A hellhound disrupting things in a small Virginia city." He shrugs, "I dealt with it. Found the source," he swallows hard at that, "and have it well in hand." At that he winks. Nothing like a wink to encourage confidence. He takes a few steps away from the table and then nods slowly. The thought of not being like-minded wins Fred a mischievous, nearly self-deprecating smile, "Nah. I just don't play well with others. Need to keep their hands off my toys." 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' "That's one of those things that nearly killed the boy at NYU?" Fred asks. It seems she hasn't dealt with those sorts of beings before. Continuing with her thinking, she asks a few more questions: "How do you get rid of those things without wishing them away? And how'd you get arrested?" The first is just for later knowledge; it's helpful to know how to deal with the multitude of baddies they find themselves facing. As for toys, she nods. "Oh, you mean like guns and axes and stuff? We've got a closet! Angel's pretty meticulous about keeping it organized." 

:'''{{#var:306|Dean Winchester (306)}} has posed:''' "...yeah. Hellhounds are impossible to stop. They're controlled by demons or... someone. The key is finding whoever does the controlling," Dean's eyes train on the table. "Arrested because of a misunderstanding involving dispensing of the hellhound's summoner. It's fine. Honestly, the charges'll be dropped. Especially with the whole SHIELD legitimacy." His eyebrows tick up at that, suggesting that even he knows legitimacy has its uses. "I mean Sam is the people person. People like him. I'm... rough around the edges. So it's not that we're so different in though, just it's good for Sam. In fact," his lips twist to the side, "if you could get him more involved with your end of things, bet that'd be good for both of you." 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' "Impossible to stop?" Fred doesn't like the sound of that. Her eyebrows furrow. "You don't have to kill the person who summoned them, do you?" While she's dusted vampires and taken care of demons, she has never killed a person - evil or otherwise. "Is that what happened? You had to kill the summoner and you got caught? How do you get out of that?" She's genuinely curious. Taking another sip of her beer, this one is a little bigger. She's either getting used to the taste or is distracted. "I see." There's a bit of a frown from Fred as he says that Sam should get more involved with Angel and possibly SHIELD. "And you don't want to be involved with that?" she asks, curious. It seems she's the kind of person that will ask a bunch of questions. 

:'''{{#var:306|Dean Winchester (306)}} has posed:''' "So far. Maybe there's a way out there somewhere, but," Dean shrugs. He doesn't know it. His expression turns grim at the notion of killing whoever summoned them. "Summoners who did it on purpose are trying to hurt people." He doesn't, however, answer the last about what happened. Instead, he switches tracks, "You ask a lot of questions." His eyebrows lift and his arms cross over his chest. "Not really used to ties. That's all. Not sure it's done any of us--Dad, Sam, or me--any favours, but this is the longest I've lived somewhere in a long time," and they haven't been in the apartment long. "Sam already seems taken with you. That's a tie. Should be easy to jump into more is all." 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' The frown continues on Fred's face as she thinks all that through, looking down at her barely touched beer in her hands. "I know," she replies to the idea that summoners do it to hurt other people. There is someone already she knows that she would almost certainly not hesitate to kill should the need arise. But, in the harsh light of morning the thought skitters a bit. Her eyes lift as he says she asks a lot of questions. With a bit of a self-conscious smile and a shrug, she nods. "It's the scientist in me. Can't solve anything if you don't ask the questions!" If he was hoping that switch in conversation would lead her away from the old one, he's correct. Something a bit more pressing starts to form in her head. "So, you want Sam to form some ties, but you're not up to it." She's more or less just restating what he just said. They haven't ever stayed in one place very long. "You're not thinking of leaving are you?" she asks. There's a bit of worry in her voice at that. Fred knows how important Dean is to Sam. If Dean leaves, she wouldn't be surprised if Sam followed, no matter how me might feel about her. 

:'''{{#var:306|Dean Winchester (306)}} has posed:''' Dean runs his hand through his hair and his green eyes squint at the latest question. "I think of a lot of things," there's a slight glimmer in his eyes. "Including what's best for my baby brother." His fingers reach for the cellphone he'd abandoned to the table. "I'm a hunter. I don't always get a say in my life and what I want. In fact, I rarely do." Pause. "But no, no plans to leave. Not yet." He knocks on the edge of the table. He manages a flicker of a smile, nearly sad in its inception, "Sam just needs folks to look out for him. One of us was semi-parented, it wasn't me. No, I got to be the parent," there's an oddity to his expression. And then with no shortage of bravado he adds, "Lack of ties means I look out for myself pretty well though. And I had to. No say in the matter." 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' There's a lot to think about on that. He doesn't have a say in his own life or what he wants to do since he's a hunter. It's a lot to digest. She doesn't know a ton about Dean's past - only what she's overheard and gleaned from Sam and his stories about their father and how Dean practically raised him. "If you want ties," she hazards at first, "I think Sam'd like that. We could all do something together." Taking a swig from her bottle of beer, she shrugs her shoulders a bit. "I lived alone for awhile and even when I got back I thought I should keep it that way. I was scared." Pausing, she takes another sip from her beer bottle. It has to be close to room temperature by now, but she doesn't seem to notice it tasting differently. "But, being a part of Angel Investigations? Being with Sam? Looking out for them and letting them look out for me? It's better than being alone." 

:'''{{#var:306|Dean Winchester (306)}} has posed:''' Dean arches a wry eyebrow at Fred's thoughts. His lip curls on one side. "I think it's good for Sam to start establishing some of that," he suggests as his hands drop to his sides. "We're not all wired the same. Not everyone is meant to be around others. Sammy is. Me?" His hand rocks in the air uncertainly. He issues her a vague shrug of his shoulders before stepping backwards towards the front door. "But it's good you found your niche." "Just keep an eye on Sammy, okay? Like I said, he seems to like you. Which is..." he rubs his chin, "different." He doesn't say whether it's good different or bad different. He inhales a long breath while his lips curve into a small frown. "Just keep an eye on him, alright?" 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' Fred listens to Dean as he tells her that he's not certain he's wired to be around others, but Sam is. She's not sure what to say about that. She doesn't know Dean that well. In fact, this is the longest uninterrupted conversation she's had with him. While he steps back toward the front door, she remains in the kitchen. "I think if you want to find out it'll surprise you," is all she can think to say about that. There's a crinkle of her eyebrows when he says that Sam liking her is 'different'. "Thank you?" she says, unsure of how to take that. For now, she is going to hope that different is a good thing. "But, I will. I don't want anything bad to happen to him." 

:'''{{#var:306|Dean Winchester (306)}} has posed:''' "....yeah. Neither do I." Dean shifts his weight from one foot to the other. His lips part for a moment only to press together again with a vague shake of his head. He turns on his heel and his hand turns the doorknob. He steps through the door, and from the hallway calls, "Take it easy Freddie." With that, the door closes. 
}}

1995/Devil in the Details

2017-08-17T22:15:30Z

Feigenbaum: Created page with "{{Log Header |Date of Scene=2017/08/14 |Location=The Winchester Apartment - Hell's Kitchen |Synopsis=Fred and Dean have a one on one conversation about the Hunter Life and Sam..."

{{Log Header
|Date of Scene=2017/08/14
|Location=The Winchester Apartment - Hell's Kitchen
|Synopsis=Fred and Dean have a one on one conversation about the Hunter Life and Sam.
|Cast of Characters=160, 306
|pretty=yes
}}
{{Poses
|Poses=:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' Fred and Sam have been spending quite a bit of time with each other. While they are not exactly 'joined at the hip' they have a habit of generally spending the night together. Either Fred comes to Hell's Kitchen or Sam stays at the Hyperion. Sam left early to 'check on something on a case'. While Fred offered to come and help, he insisted she stay and sleep. It didn't take a lot of convincing. While Fred is a generally curious woman, he was up a bit earlier than even she was used to. Instead she fell back to sleep and woke up an hour or so later. Dressing, she starts to gather her things and moves out to the apartment kitchen to make herself some coffee and some toast before heading back to Bludhaven. Hair messily pulled back into a sort of half bun, she glances about, unable to keep herself from nosily looking about to see how the two brothers tend to live together, now that she has a moment to actually study it unimpeded. 

:'''{{#var:306|Dean Winchester (306)}} has posed:''' In the centre of the kitchen table, Dean's phone buzzes angrily--evidently he remembered to turn the ringer off, but had left it on vibrate despite the fact its on the hard wooden table. Bzzzzt. Bzzzzt. Bzzzzt. It complains until it stops. A few moments pass and two pings indicate that the caller has left a message. The pattern repeats itself minutes later. Bzzzzt. Bzzzzt. Bzzzzt. It's then that the front door opens and Dean, wearing a grease stained jumpsuit walks through the kitchen. His chin drops to spy the phone which buzzes with another message before his lips purse with something akin to a frown. It's only after he opens the fridge and takes out and opens a bottle of beer that he turns around and catches sight of Fred. "Jesus! Freddie, don't sneak up on a guy like that." 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' The toast starts to heat up and the coffee percolates when the buzzing starts behind her on the kitchen table. Turning, she studies the phone for a few moments. It's not Sam's, it must be Dean's. The physicist looks about for the owner and doesn't see him anywhere. For a moment, she opens her mouth to call for Dean that his phone is ringing, but then she slowly shuts it. Sam did say that Dean was a late sleeper. Perhaps he left the phone out here so he would not be disturbed. It's not really her business, is it? However, she moves closer to the phone as it starts to buzz again. Then, Dean appears, not paying any attention to the room or her. He opens the fridge, gets a beer and then jumps. In return, she jumps as well, surprised that he is surprised. "I didn't! she defends. "I'm sorry! I was just standing here! Also, your phone was ringing. And beer is an afternoon drink!" 

:'''{{#var:306|Dean Winchester (306)}} has posed:''' "You did," Dean replies while he takes a swig of his beer. The notion of beer as an afternoon drink earns Fred a sharp lift of his eyebrows: "And I thought overnights typically involved staying with someone who, y'know, lives in the apartment." He swallows more of the beer. "Seems we were both wrong." His eyes narrow when they turn to the phone and he shrugs. "If it's important, they'll call back later." Because they will, probably. "But seriously, shouldn't you be gone if Sammy's gone? Isn't that how it works?" Not that Dean Winchester has ANY idea how a relationship works. His lips curl up on one side, "Lady comes home with dude. Dude and lady--" he lifts his hand rakes his fingers through his hair, as much as he's able to talk about sex, somehow talking to his brother's girlfriend about it means he needs to use euphemisms instead of bluntness "--make a magical sandwich. Someone goes home." He shrugs. "Or did you move in without me knowing?" Bzzzzt. Bzzzzt. Bzzzzt. He frowns and pockets his phone. 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' "If me standing still qualifies as sneaking up on you, that means you don't really have good sensory perception." The way Fred says that is not an insult or even a condemnation, it is a statement that is even tinged with a bit of worry. "I learned how to sense predators in the forest for a few years. If you need help on sensing people in the periphery, I'd be glad to show you. It helped keep me alive for five years." As for overnights generally involving people who live here, Fred - again - studies Dean as if he is the one who doesn't understand. "Sam lives here," she tells him firmly. "He went out to check on a case." On this form, Dean and Fred might be actually completely of the same maturity level. Fred has no idea what people in the adult world might view a relationship. Her last one was in high school and that is far different from this."I didn't move in, I was just getting some breakfast before heading home. Should I---oh, do you not want me to be here?" Dean's pantomime and vague words clearly confuse Fred as he tells her that she and Sam should make a 'magical sandwich'. Instead, she tells him, earnestly and without any form of humor: "Sandwiches are good, but I generally prefer tacos." 

:'''{{#var:306|Dean Winchester (306)}} has posed:''' Dean squints at Fred as she outlines in detail what kept her alive. Frowns when she asserts that Sam lives here. And arm-crosses when she asks if he doesn't want her here. And then she says she likes tacos better than sandwiches. The menacing Dean that had been standing attempts to conceal his expression and keep it stoic. His nostrils flare. His shoulders tense. And then they bob. The laugh actually has him bending over exploding with the laughter that he'd tried so earnestly to keep under wraps. When he straightens a mischievous smile tugs the edges of his lips. "You and me both, bro," evidently Fred has been upgraded to bro-friend. It's a wonder how long it will last. He takes a long swig of his beer, finishing the bottle when the buzzing--muffled thought it may be--continues from his pocket. He lifts his eyebrows when he extracts it and then returns it to the jumpsuit. 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' Fred, clearly, has no idea what exactly it is that made Dean turn from aggressive and defensive of his space to laughing and calling her bro. However, seeing the transition easily allows her shoulders to drop and her to smile, though she doesn't exactly know why he is laughing. She was serious: when offered a sandwich and a taco, she would take a taco every time. "Oh, okay, good! I missed them when I was on Pylea." The fact that she is now 'bro' does not exactly escape her. Being alone for so long in a cave in an alternate dimension meant she didn't get called 'bro' often - read at all. And so, this development in their relationship is met with a grin. "You're phone is still ringing. Bro." She'll try that out, too. He just called her bro, why can't she? "You said if it's important they'd call back and they seem to be doing so!" 

:'''{{#var:306|Dean Winchester (306)}} has posed:''' "Everyone would miss tacos," Dean snickers while his head ducks back towards the fridge. He takes out another beer. This one, however, is offered to Fred. The mention of his phone earns a faint shrug and a vague near-smile. "Right. But I know this caller. They'll leave a message if it's important and I'll get back to them." The phone pings with a new message. Dean's cheeks puff out with breath. "So... you have a day job?" because she's still around here. Although the question is substantially less aggressive. Bzzzzt. Dean sighs and he finally puts the phone to his ear. "Hello?" He pauses, "Oh the ringer was off. Didn't hear you or know you were calling," there's a cutesy tone in his voice. "Yeah, yeah... don't worry about it, I'll make the appearance... And I appreciated that... right, except... No." His fingers drum against the phone. "Nothing going on here except the usual... Any word on dad?... Yeah... Tell your mom I said hi." The call is brief and sees Dean hanging up without saying goodbye. His attention turns back to Fred, "So. Day job?" 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' "Right?!" Fred is excited that she has found someone who has the same excitement for tacos that she does. Of course, she is taking the conversation far more literally than Dean is. To Dean's ensured amusement, they are having two different conversations. "I'm so glad you agree. I think Sam just says he likes them sometimes because I do. But, that's really what I love about him. He tries to like what I like." The offered beer is taken with a bit of a blink. Her coffee has just finished, but Sam's brother is telling her to drink with him. Bonding! This is how one bonds, right? Popping the top of the beer, she takes a drink and her eyebrows wrinkles. It's clear she is not exactly a beer drinker. "I work with Angel at Angel Investigations It's not really a day job as morning, noon and night job. We help people with supernatural problems." The call is listened to - not just because she is there and nosey (which she is) - but because she is standing right next to Dean. "Who was that?" she asks, unable to keep herself from being nosy. "Sounded like you liked whoever was on the other end." 

:'''{{#var:306|Dean Winchester (306)}} has posed:''' "Oh, believe me, Sam likes tacos too. I mean, I can't say what kind of enthusiasm he likes them with," Dean's hand waves in the air. "He might like sandwiches too. Not sure which he would choose in a pinch--a sandwich or a taco. You should ask him sometime." And then as a kind of follow-up, he adds, "Make sure I'm there to hear the answer." His eyes gleam with unbridled mischief. He nods approvingly when Fred pops the lid off the beer. And even if she doesn't like it, he has an appreciation for the effort. "What do you do exactly? The same thing we do?" He shrugs. "It's a life not a job," at last that he can easily agree on. The last, however, has his expression softening. His chin drops to his chest and he becomes unusually shy. "Just a friend. Bailed me out of prison a few weeks back," and then, rather instinctively, he lifts a hand, "don't tell Sammy. Case'll get thrown out of court no problem. Just gotta make another trip to Virginia. Short trip." 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' Led along on the debate between sandwiches and tacos, Fred doesn't seem to think anything of it. "Sure!" She agrees to wait till Dean is there to ask about Sam's preferences between foods. Why not? As for what Angel Investigations does, Fred nods. "Sort of, yeah. We help find people who've been kidnapped by vampires or who've been haunted. Get demons to stop squatting in apartments. We help people who need helping." With a 'ding!' the toaster pops and Fred goes to pull out the toast, putting a bit of butter on it. Bread and beer, breakfast of champions. Fred's eyebrows raise. "You were in jail? Why where you in jail?" As for telling Sam or not, she frowns. It's not really like her to keep secrets: she has a pretty bad poker face. "I don't know...if you're going to have to go back down there, it might be better to have his help. He was applying for law school, after all. Wouldn't it be better to have someone with you who knows more about that?" 

:'''{{#var:306|Dean Winchester (306)}} has posed:''' "It's fine, and I've got it handled," because jail isn't that big a deal in Dean's world. "It's just part of the life we lead." If it's fine, it's a wonder why he doesn't want his brother to know about it. He brings the bottle to his lips and takes another long drink. "Just a misunderstanding about a case." His lips purse and he inhales a long breath. "It's why I didn't get your messages for a stretch. Case, jail--both kind of eat the cellphone time." He rubs his chin while setting the now-empty bottle on the table. "And good on you with that Angel Investigations group. It's good there's so many folks willing to hunt what's out there." That he does have an opinion on. His lips hitch up on one side. "Good to partner with some of them. Meeting some more of your people might be good for Sam. Glad that he's connecting with like-minded folks." 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' And Fred is exactly that kind of wonderer. She's not pushing, merely taking things to the logical conclusion as she sees them and stating them as facts as she sees them: "Sure, but if it's nothing, Sam'd understand that and wouldn't worry." As for why he didn't get her messages, she nods a few times. "What was the case?" It seems like an easy question to answer. As for the group, she smiles, unable to conceal the warmth she feels for her crew. "They're the good guys." It's not just that Angel saved her form a hell dimension, she genuinely likes them. Fred's own beer is barely touched. She takes another polite sip, immediately taking a bite of toast after it. "It's good to have him around," she agrees. "You're talking like you're not as like minded," she grins, gently attempting a tease. 

:'''{{#var:306|Dean Winchester (306)}} has posed:''' The question about the case has Dean rubbing the back of his neck. "A hellhound disrupting things in a small Virginia city." He shrugs, "I dealt with it. Found the source," he swallows hard at that, "and have it well in hand." At that he winks. Nothing like a wink to encourage confidence. He takes a few steps away from the table and then nods slowly. The thought of not being like-minded wins Fred a mischievous, nearly self-deprecating smile, "Nah. I just don't play well with others. Need to keep their hands off my toys." 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' "That's one of those things that nearly killed the boy at NYU?" Fred asks. It seems she hasn't dealt with those sorts of beings before. Continuing with her thinking, she asks a few more questions: "How do you get rid of those things without wishing them away? And how'd you get arrested?" The first is just for later knowledge; it's helpful to know how to deal with the multitude of baddies they find themselves facing. As for toys, she nods. "Oh, you mean like guns and axes and stuff? We've got a closet! Angel's pretty meticulous about keeping it organized." 

:'''{{#var:306|Dean Winchester (306)}} has posed:''' "...yeah. Hellhounds are impossible to stop. They're controlled by demons or... someone. The key is finding whoever does the controlling," Dean's eyes train on the table. "Arrested because of a misunderstanding involving dispensing of the hellhound's summoner. It's fine. Honestly, the charges'll be dropped. Especially with the whole SHIELD legitimacy." His eyebrows tick up at that, suggesting that even he knows legitimacy has its uses. "I mean Sam is the people person. People like him. I'm... rough around the edges. So it's not that we're so different in though, just it's good for Sam. In fact," his lips twist to the side, "if you could get him more involved with your end of things, bet that'd be good for both of you." 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' "Impossible to stop?" Fred doesn't like the sound of that. Her eyebrows furrow. "You don't have to kill the person who summoned them, do you?" While she's dusted vampires and taken care of demons, she has never killed a person - evil or otherwise. "Is that what happened? You had to kill the summoner and you got caught? How do you get out of that?" She's genuinely curious. Taking another sip of her beer, this one is a little bigger. She's either getting used to the taste or is distracted. "I see." There's a bit of a frown from Fred as he says that Sam should get more involved with Angel and possibly SHIELD. "And you don't want to be involved with that?" she asks, curious. It seems she's the kind of person that will ask a bunch of questions. 

:'''{{#var:306|Dean Winchester (306)}} has posed:''' "So far. Maybe there's a way out there somewhere, but," Dean shrugs. He doesn't know it. His expression turns grim at the notion of killing whoever summoned them. "Summoners who did it on purpose are trying to hurt people." He doesn't, however, answer the last about what happened. Instead, he switches tracks, "You ask a lot of questions." His eyebrows lift and his arms cross over his chest. "Not really used to ties. That's all. Not sure it's done any of us--Dad, Sam, or me--any favours, but this is the longest I've lived somewhere in a long time," and they haven't been in the apartment long. "Sam already seems taken with you. That's a tie. Should be easy to jump into more is all." 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' The frown continues on Fred's face as she thinks all that through, looking down at her barely touched beer in her hands. "I know," she replies to the idea that summoners do it to hurt other people. There is someone already she knows that she would almost certainly not hesitate to kill should the need arise. But, in the harsh light of morning the thought skitters a bit. Her eyes lift as he says she asks a lot of questions. With a bit of a self-conscious smile and a shrug, she nods. "It's the scientist in me. Can't solve anything if you don't ask the questions!" If he was hoping that switch in conversation would lead her away from the old one, he's correct. Something a bit more pressing starts to form in her head. "So, you want Sam to form some ties, but you're not up to it." She's more or less just restating what he just said. They haven't ever stayed in one place very long. "You're not thinking of leaving are you?" she asks. There's a bit of worry in her voice at that. Fred knows how important Dean is to Sam. If Dean leaves, she wouldn't be surprised if Sam followed, no matter how me might feel about her. 

:'''{{#var:306|Dean Winchester (306)}} has posed:''' Dean runs his hand through his hair and his green eyes squint at the latest question. "I think of a lot of things," there's a slight glimmer in his eyes. "Including what's best for my baby brother." His fingers reach for the cellphone he'd abandoned to the table. "I'm a hunter. I don't always get a say in my life and what I want. In fact, I rarely do." Pause. "But no, no plans to leave. Not yet." He knocks on the edge of the table. He manages a flicker of a smile, nearly sad in its inception, "Sam just needs folks to look out for him. One of us was semi-parented, it wasn't me. No, I got to be the parent," there's an oddity to his expression. And then with no shortage of bravado he adds, "Lack of ties means I look out for myself pretty well though. And I had to. No say in the matter." 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' There's a lot to think about on that. He doesn't have a say in his own life or what he wants to do since he's a hunter. It's a lot to digest. She doesn't know a ton about Dean's past - only what she's overheard and gleaned from Sam and his stories about their father and how Dean practically raised him. "If you want ties," she hazards at first, "I think Sam'd like that. We could all do something together." Taking a swig from her bottle of beer, she shrugs her shoulders a bit. "I lived alone for awhile and even when I got back I thought I should keep it that way. I was scared." Pausing, she takes another sip from her beer bottle. It has to be close to room temperature by now, but she doesn't seem to notice it tasting differently. "But, being a part of Angel Investigations? Being with Sam? Looking out for them and letting them look out for me? It's better than being alone." 

:'''{{#var:306|Dean Winchester (306)}} has posed:''' Dean arches a wry eyebrow at Fred's thoughts. His lip curls on one side. "I think it's good for Sam to start establishing some of that," he suggests as his hands drop to his sides. "We're not all wired the same. Not everyone is meant to be around others. Sammy is. Me?" His hand rocks in the air uncertainly. He issues her a vague shrug of his shoulders before stepping backwards towards the front door. "But it's good you found your niche." "Just keep an eye on Sammy, okay? Like I said, he seems to like you. Which is..." he rubs his chin, "different." He doesn't say whether it's good different or bad different. He inhales a long breath while his lips curve into a small frown. "Just keep an eye on him, alright?" 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' Fred listens to Dean as he tells her that he's not certain he's wired to be around others, but Sam is. She's not sure what to say about that. She doesn't know Dean that well. In fact, this is the longest uninterrupted conversation she's had with him. While he steps back toward the front door, she remains in the kitchen. "I think if you want to find out it'll surprise you," is all she can think to say about that. There's a crinkle of her eyebrows when he says that Sam liking her is 'different'. "Thank you?" she says, unsure of how to take that. For now, she is going to hope that different is a good thing. "But, I will. I don't want anything bad to happen to him." 

:'''{{#var:306|Dean Winchester (306)}} has posed:''' "....yeah. Neither do I." Dean shifts his weight from one foot to the other. His lips part for a moment only to press together again with a vague shake of his head. He turns on his heel and his hand turns the doorknob. He steps through the door, and from the hallway calls, "Take it easy Freddie." With that, the door closes. 
}}

2036/Catching Up

2017-08-17T22:13:11Z

Feigenbaum: Created page with "{{Log Header |Date of Scene=2017/08/17 |Location=Hyperion Hotel - Lobby |Synopsis=Angel and Fred discuss the rescue of Sam and hydras - both animal and organization. |Cast of..."

{{Log Header
|Date of Scene=2017/08/17
|Location=Hyperion Hotel - Lobby
|Synopsis=Angel and Fred discuss the rescue of Sam and hydras - both animal and organization.
|Cast of Characters=219, 160
|Tinyplot=Tayaniye
|pretty=yes
}}
{{Poses
|Poses=:'''{{#var:219|Angel (219)}} has posed:'''     Angel was watching as the shadows overcame the Hotel, a sign that it was time to get up and wander. Restless for some reason, Angel moves downstairs into the main area of the Hyperion Hotel. Moving to the main desk, he leans against it with a frown and a sombre look on his face. Looking at the door, Angel waits, just in case there was someone who needed his help tonight. Another night, another soul or two saved from darkness! 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' Fred has been splitting her time, lately, between the Hyperion and elsewhere in New York City. The days of her refusing to leave her room or the hotel unless under strict orders or duress is certainly over. Pushing her way into the lobby, Fred sees Angel at the counter and makes her way over toward him. "Heya Angel," she greets. "How're you?" 

:'''{{#var:219|Angel (219)}} has posed:'''     Angel stands up straight when he hears Fred's arrival, and with a nod of his head, moves from the desk a few steps forward. "Fred! It is great to see you," Angel says with a slight smile, "I'm fine." Another nod. "What's going on?" Angel looks at her carefully. "Have you any news in regards to your friends kidnapping and this soldier character with the metal arm? I heard through the grapevine that the battle is still going on." A pause. "Are you okay?" 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' Fred makes her way to the counter, leaning against it comfortably. She still walks with a slight limp but it is barely noticeable. "It's good to see you too," she smiles back. "I'm...okay. We got Sam back, but still haven't found Claire. We don't think she was where they were holding him." As for the soldier character, she shakes her head. "We're still looking for both of them. Metal Arm Guy - we found that his name is Barnes - he was there. He called up a hydra that nearly ate us. You don't happen to know anything about hydra, do you?" 

:'''{{#var:219|Angel (219)}} has posed:'''     "You are limping...you are hurt." Angel looks concerned. His eyes regard her thoughtfully for a moment, as she tells her story. "Claire...another friend I assume?" Angel nods, not interrupting, but filled with questions. As soon as she mentions "Barnes" his frown deepens. He's heard that name before...then..."A Hydra? Truly?" Angel pauses for a few seconds, and his eyes blaze in a distant memory. "Yeah. I've encountered one before. A Lernaean Hydra. Back i the Angelus days. Barely got out with my life. Our lives." Then he sees her expression. "Do you mean A hydra or HYDRA Hydra?" 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' "I'm alright," Fred assures Angel, giving him a smile to show that she's not actively in pain. "Apparently hydras have poison on their tongues. Got me around the ankle, but I'm okay. It's healing." During the actual fight it was less calm and more screaming. Now, though? there's still a shiver of fear in remembering the hydra yanking at her legs and pulling her off her feet, but she's alive. "Did you manage to kill it, though? We thought it was just a big snake until we blew up one of its heads and it came back with two. That shouldn't be allowed, it's not fair." The question about Claire is given a nod. "Claire Temple. She's a nurse. I think she got mixed up with Metal Arm somehow even before all this." She catches that darkened expression. "You're looking a bit more frowny than usual," she points out. As for a Hydra or HYDRA Hydra, there's a shrug. "Either. It seems like we're dealing with both." 

:'''{{#var:219|Angel (219)}} has posed:'''     Angel's look is one of disbelief that Fred is okay, but he doesn't press the issue. This time. "Fred. If you are injured or hurt, you should take care of you. You are...mortal, and can get in serious trouble. Healing takes time." Angel pauses, and says, "And we rely on you." We, not I. As Fred continues, Angel says, changing the subject with her, "Yeah, Hydras are deadly. They can only die if you burn where you cut off their head, and decapitate the "immortalt" or head...head." Angel blinks. "It's hard. You need someone who can dish out some fire and heat."     "A nurse." Angel nods. "Good. When we rescue her, she can take care of that leg." Angel nods towards Fred's injury. More frowny than usual. "Maybe." Angel crosses his arms across his chest. "I'm just concerned you are getting in over your head and I am not there to save you." Yes he said it. "The Hydra is tough but do able. HYDRA is a whole different story. Their organization runs deep." 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' "I've been keeping off of it," Fred tells Angel with a good natured roll of her eyes. "The most I've done is run toward a burning building. Vengeance demons." That should explain that as far as she's concerned. There's a kind smile for Angel as he tells her that the team relies on her. "Not as much as we rely on you. I'm just a crazy lady you found in a cave. But, don't worry, I'm being careful. I promise." How he killed the hydra before forces the smile to fade slightly. "We tossed a bunch of bombs down its throat and it still grew another head. Maybe they've gotta be more magical in nature. So, the original head head?" She seems to follow Angel, despite the non-descriptive descriptor. "We'll get her back and I think she's going to need a bit more nursing than I do when we do. They're not kind to the people they keep." There's a steeliness in her voice as she says that, thinking back to the torture that poor Sam endured before she catches the frown again and the crossed arms. "See!" she gestures toward him. "There it is again. Do you know something?" As for getting in too far over her head, she shakes her head. "We have to help her," she says, firmly. There's almost a bit of a smile when he says that he's not there to save her. Perhaps she's thinking back to the first thing she ever said to him. "You're not always gonna be there to save me, Angel. And that's okay, because I know you want to be and will be if you can." 

:'''{{#var:219|Angel (219)}} has posed:'''     Angel nods sagely. They all had some experience with Vengeance Demons after all. "You are more than a crazy lady Fred." Angel actually smiles. "Crazy yes, but more than just that." His eyes glint mischieviously.     "Yeah. Sounds like this Hydra was trouble. Could have been magically enhanced, but it does have an original head. The head head." Angel shakes his head. If anyone had been listening to their conversation they would have thought they were BOTH crazy, crazy. "I agree. I'm sure we'll get Claire back."     His arms were still crossed across his chest. "I know a lot of things Fred. Okay, maybe I need to meet this "Sam" character you keep mentioning. And his brother. I have to get a feel for them, make sure I can trust them." Angel looks at Fred. "You seem to."     Angel hears the timbre of her voice, and the passion in her eyes. "I respect that Fred. You want to help them, so I do too." Angel nods, and adds, "Well, I will always try to be there to save you Fred. Always." With that, Angel says, "So, let's get to work then. Hydra. Maybe there is something in the lore I have forgotten?" 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' The fact that Angel thinks she's more than a crazy lady makes Fred beam, despite their subject matter. "Thanks Angel," she says sincerely. To someone else that might have been worthy of a raised eyebrow, but to her it's a compliment. "I think you're better than crazy." When Angel says he knows a lot of things, she shakes her head - though still smiling. "I never doubted that. You've got a couple hundred years to learn and see things! Even evil things because you were evil for a little bit." She means all these things in a good way, even if it might not come out that way. "You should meet Sam. He's a good guy. I think you'll like him. Dean, too, though he's the kind of guy that runs into burning buildings at moment's notice. I haven't told Dean yet about the, uh," she puts her hands up to her mouth and points her fingers down to pantomime vampire. At the promise, she smiles. "And I'll be here for you, too. Maybe Wesley has some books somewhere on them. Maybe we can find something we're missing." 
}}

1812/The I-Hate-Bucky-Club

2017-08-04T22:39:07Z

Feigenbaum: Created page with "{{Log Header |Date of Scene=2017/08/04 |Location=Hyperion Hotel Lobby |Synopsis=Returning from a case in Virginia, Dean finds the woman who has been leaving him multiple voice..."

{{Log Header
|Date of Scene=2017/08/04
|Location=Hyperion Hotel Lobby
|Synopsis=Returning from a case in Virginia, Dean finds the woman who has been leaving him multiple voicemails in the search for his brother.
|Cast of Characters=160, 306
|pretty=yes
}}
{{Poses
|Poses=:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' A Series of voicemails on Dean Winchester's phone. The voice on the other end is friendly, with a Texan accent. It's possible he'll remember it from the weird girl in the hospital when he went to check on his brother. However, it's just as likely he has no idea who this is. July 15th: "Hi Dean Winchester? This is Winifred Burkle. We met at the hospital that one time? Sam gave me this number, I just wanted to know if you've heard from him since yesterday? Just, uh, let me know. Thanks!" July 18th: "Hi Dean Winchester? This is Winifred Burkle again. I think something's happened to Sam. Can you call me back please?" July 24th: "Hi Dean Winchester's phone, this is Winifred Burkle again. That metal arm guy definitely has something to do with this. I found this wizard in a phone book and I'm thinking about hiring him to help find him. I just realized if they have Sam they might've taken you, too, and I'm just leaving voice mails to nobody. Or I have the wrong number. If I have the wrong number, could the person who got these please let me know? Also, wizards aren't real. Promise." July 30th: "That metal arm guy is definitely involved. He's looking for you. I just installed a large axe device should he try and come after me again, but he did say he didn't know where you were, so that's one less thing for me to worry 'bout I guess." 

:'''{{#var:306|Dean Winchester (306)}} has posed:''' The door to the Hyperion Hotel opens and a very scruffy looking man in a t-shirt (that has seen better days), black jeans (with a rip in them), and a black flack jacket treads into the lobby. He tugs his sunglasses (that he's wearing to channel his inner terminator) from his nose and tucks them into the jacket pocket before walking up to reception. Nothing about his expression suggests joy, merriment, or other hints of warmth or softness. In fact, the cool detachment of Dean's green eyed gaze meets whoever stands behind the desk. "I'm looking for--" his lips turn downwards. He's already forgotten. With an irritated sigh, he raises his hand and looks at the name he'd inscribed on it before making the long drive from Virginia to here. "--Winifred Buckle." It's possible he misheard her name or his the ink on his hand has run together. "I'm special Agent John Connor." He swallows hard, "Here to discuss Sam Winchester's disappearance." 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' Luckily for 'Agent John Connor', Winifred Burkle is behind the desk at the Hyperion today. There's still a purple bruise on her cheek that she's poorly hid with makeup. It's fainter, but still easy to read for an observant investigator. There's quite a bit of things behind the counter that he can see once he approaches it. A wide array of weapons: axes, swords and crossbows with bolts are lain out as if being counted. Fred is currently bent over a small dome-like device that she is actively working on. A screwdriver is held in her hand and she has a narrowed focus on the screw she is twisting into place. A bullet with a blue tip sits in front of her. It looks like this chick is about to go to war of some kind. When she hears her name mispronounced, she looks up, blinking. Hair has escaped her hastily pulled back ponytail, but she stares at Dean for a few minutes as if processing. John Connor? But, it looks just like Dean. Is she misremembering? Is she disassociating? Oh no, is she going crazy again? Just hold on a moment. There might be a rational explanation for this. Ockham's Razor, Fred. Remember Ockham. "...Dean?" 

:'''{{#var:306|Dean Winchester (306)}} has posed:''' Dean blinks owlishly. His lips quirk at being so quickly called out, and his hands trail to his pockets out of sheer instinctual habit. Recognition frequently means needing to fight, especially when the recognizer bears so many weapons at their disposal. Despite this though, he answers with a small dip of his head, "Yeah. Dean. Dean Winchester." His eyebrows draw together sharply, and his lips pull back over his teeth in a strange grimace. And then he cuts through any pleasantries and gets to the heart of the issue without actually knowing that this is the woman he's looking for: "What happened to Sam?" His nostrils flare, his hands ball into fists while still tucked in his jacket pockets, and fire reflects behind those presumably calm green eyes. Undoubtedly, a temper burns bright and hot beneath all the cool he actively demonstrates. Equally to the point, he inhales a long breath and forces his hands out of his pockets. "He hasn't been home for weeks," his gaze darkens. "I can tell." And he got her phone messages, but that much is left unspoken. 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' Fred's own face mirrors Dean's a bit as she watches the man who may or may not be Dean Winchester stands in front of her. She's got a bit of the upper hand here, with the axes and crossbows and whatnot should this be something wearing a Dean suit or something similar. However, what with the way the Winter Soldier brushed her aside without barely a thought, she tenses a bit until he admits that he is who she thought he was. The shoulders relax, but she's still very tense. Setting the domed device down on the counter, she slips off the stool she was sitting on, but retains a hold on the screwdriver. It's possible she's forgotten it. "I'm so glad you're here," she says with a breath. "I thought for awhile that you were taken, too. He's got Claire and Sam and I thought you'd've gone after him or something and gotten all taken or killed, but the guy asked where you were, so I knew he didn't know. I was hoping you knew more, but I hadn't heard from you." Everything comes out in a bit of a rush. One might think she's hysterical, but her voice is calm - if a bit angry. This is just generally how Fred talks. At the end of that long speech, she realizes she didn't actually answer his question. Finally, she says, frowning. "The metal arm guy, the soldier, he took him. We're gonna get him back." 

:'''{{#var:306|Dean Winchester (306)}} has posed:''' Dean emits a huff of breath from the back of his throat. His nostrils flare again, and his fingers have balled into tight fists. "He didn't take me," he deadpans in a nearly tinny tone, but the mark of bitterness that lingers through it suggests something else kept him at bay. And then, equally to the point, his chin drops and he levels his gaze at Winifred, "Why hasn't SHIELD stepped in?" There's another faint quirk of his lips--a tell that perhaps the rage monster that is Dean Winchester has more than one emotional note about all of this--but its forced to neutrality almost as quickly as it'd appeared. "Barnes," he virtually spits the name, "will regret the day he looked at my brother." A vague pull at the corners of Dean's mouth punctuates the point, but nothing about the change indicates he's smiling, even if it almost appears that way. Finally, his hand lifts to extend his pointer finger to her cheek, "He give you that?" Pause. "The cyborg, I mean, not Sam." because details and clarity are important. 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' "I don't know if they can, or if they know where he is," Fred tells Dean. "There's an Agent that Sam knows. She gave Mercy some of these," she gestures at the blue tipped bullets with no name that Fred dubbed MSBs - Mystery Sleepy Bullets. "So, she's helping, but I haven't met her just yet." At the name drop, her eyebrows raise. "You know his name? I've been callin' him Metal Arm Guy! Or just Soldier. Angel said he read an article about how the guy was a soldier. Barnes." She says the name and it sounds angry, like she spit it. It seems like they certainly have something in common. "I've got a bomb with his name on it now." It does not sound like she is joking. And with the arsenal impressively laid out on the counter, she might know what she's talking about. As for the bruise on her cheek, she frowns and nods. "Yeah. He came here. That's how I knew you weren't taken by them. I tried to shoot him, but that didn't work. Made it real clear that the only reason I wasn't in a cell was 'cause it was worse on Sam to not know what'd happened to me or you." A pause, she can't help but bring up the science, "Also, I don't think he's a cyborg. I didn't get a look at his arm, but it sounded mechanical, but also not over most of his body. I think it's more of an enhancement of a sort. There might actually be an arm in there and this is like...a metal arm glove, otherwise it'd be too heavy to support at the shoulder." 

:'''{{#var:306|Dean Winchester (306)}} has posed:''' "A bomb is too good for him," Dean replies as coolly as he can manage. "Way too good," as if this clarifies his position on the matter. He reaches down to pluck one of the blue tipped bullets and examine it closely. "From SHIELD then?" His eyebrows draw together sharply, while the bullet rolls between his fingertips. Inspection seems apt. "Or from a mystery agent who might not be from SHIELD?" his eyes roll emphatically at that. "I knew that was a bad idea," he groans. Dean stares blankly at Fred's exposition about the science of the arm, almost like his eyes have glazed over. And then, with a vague nod, he observes, "Wow. You really are Sam's type." The full meaning is left to Fred's imagination. He pinches the bridge of his nose in exasperation before finally turning back to Fred. "There a plan to get him back or we just loading up the arsenal and firing at will?" his eyebrows lift expectantly at that. "In my experience, the former is the better choice." 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' There's a raised eyebrow as Dean agrees about the bombs and even goes further than that. For some reason, Fred wasn't expecting the bloodthirsty agreement. "Generally people're like, 'No don't resort to violence, Fred,' and 'Are you sure you really want to use the axe?'" she responds. She wants to resort to violence against the man that threatened her and currently is torturing Sam. The question about the bullets is met with a nod. "Yeah. From SHIELD, though what we've got is all we've got. Apparently they can knock people out. Mercy and I are currently making a few that'll hit a heated top so it'll hopefully turn airborne. Or it'll explode and we'll all be full of shrapnel." She's rather nonchalant about that possibility. Her talk of more explosives is stopped a bit short when Dean makes his observation. Her head tilts a bit to the side like a bird as she blinks. "Thanks? I think." It's unclear if she's thanking him for being told that she fits what he imagines Sam's into or is unsure of whether it was a compliment because that means Sam has a 'type'. Either way, she'll take it. "You definitely sound like what Sam said." As for the plan, there's a nod and a shrug. "The plan's find where they're holding Sam and Claire, take the arm outta action as best we can and get out. But the arsenal idea isn't a bad one far as I can tell." 

:'''{{#var:306|Dean Winchester (306)}} has posed:''' There's more owlish blinking at Fred's description of others' reactions to her more violent side. "He has Sam. He declared war," Dean offers blandly after rubbing his nose on his sleeve. His eyes attempt to catch Fred's gaze. "Sharpen the axe," he advises instead of asking whether she should resort to violence. The thought of bullets that can knock people out has Dean sucking on the inside of his cheek. "Alright. So. It sounds like the plan is that there is no real plan." He squints. "Do we think these bullets will work on him? Because maybe there's a way we can get a solid shot in. After we figure out where they are, of course." He rubs his chin. "Is metal man after anyone else? Might be worth using someone as bait so someone else can get a clean shot." He rubs the back of his neck. "Even if the bullets don't work as well on this guy than someone else, maybe they'll do enough to slow him down and buy us time to subdue him... at least enough." The notion of sounding like what Sam said prompts a vague frown that's followed up by a rather ironic, but low, "Thanks." 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' Funnily, Fred feels similarly about the fact that they declared war on them by taking Sam and Claire. Also, the breaking into her room and slapping her and threatening her. There's a lot that has to be answered. "There's a plan!" Fred counters a bit defensively. "We find him, we get together, we toss an EMP at his arm, which should short circuit it. There's also some magnet bombs we put together and now these things. We don't know if it'll actually knock him out just yet, but it's worth a shot. If we just toss all three at him, one of 'em has to take hold." At least, she certainly hopes so. As for giving someone up as bait, she frowns. "He mentioned you'n'me and he's been taunting Mercy. Any one of us could probably get his attention, but I that's gonna be pretty dangerous for the bait. I mean, that's what happens, the bait generally gets eaten. I think we should stick together. Power in numbers and all that." 

:'''{{#var:306|Dean Winchester (306)}} has posed:''' There's a long pause at the mention of the plan. "Oh.... kay." Dean's long drawn out agreement might send up red flags about his true feelings on the matter, but maybe he'll just run with it. He does want Sam home, after all, right? His lips twist to the side and he hums quietly before nodding once. "He's good. But based on your arsenal," his neck cranes to peek at the weapons, "I'm guessing you already know that." His lips purse into a sour near-scowl. "Well it's good to know that's how you think bait works." Dean's fingers clasp together and he hums again, seemingly indecisively. "So tactically, we're just going to run in there barrels blazing." His eyes turn upwards, "At least we know how we're going to die." And then as a kind of afterthought he tags on, "Again." Because death always seems imminent in their lines of work. "You think he expects us?" 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' "I guess getting a good shot in is a good idea, too, though," Fred acquiesces after Dean's drawn out non-agreement. While she may not be the most people savvy, she does get some sarcasm. "I think I've mostly been focusing on the weapons." Rather than the plan. "Bait, it's the thing at the end of a fishing pole to get a fish to bite. It gets eaten generally! I guess unless you're using one of those plastic ones that bob and wiggle." She thinks for a moment, eyes flashing as a bit of inspiration hits her. "Maybe we do that! Get a plastic one of us. Well, not really a plastic one of us, a that'd take awhile and generally you can tell, 'cause it doesn't move unless someone is moving it. But, maybe we find some sorta spell or something that can make a double of one of us. That might confuse him enough to get a shot in." She gives him a bit of a curious look after she pauses in her explanation of her thoughts - such as they are. "Again?" Is he expecting them, he asks. The curious look turns into something a bit grimmer. "Pretty sure he will be. He seems to know a lot." 

:'''{{#var:306|Dean Winchester (306)}} has posed:''' "A good shot that can at least slow him down," Dean adds for good measure. He levels a long gaze at Fred. "Look, I don't know," his eyes move to the weapons again and then the bruising on her face, "what kind of background you have with this kind of thing, but when anyone--animal, spirit, or man--feels encroached, it acts out. Hunting 101." There's a pause. "If you want to do it this way," he motions towards the array of weapons, "then I can't exactly stop you, but I think we can do better." His eyebrows lift at the notion of a plastic decoy. "Yup. Definitely Sam's type," he mutters quietly before pinching the bridge of his nose again. "Alright." He lifts his hands in a surrender movement. "Are you a good shot? I don't mean decent. I mean good. Good as in Han Solo rather than the Stormtroopers." The question of death isn't considered, and instead sees Dean skipping over to the last. "If he expects us then we need to find a way to interrupt the expectation. We need a distraction of some sort. Look lady, I get that you have some... resources. But this guy is good. Beyond good. We need to upset that balance if we hope to get both Sam and Claire." 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' "I know," Fred tells Dean very seriously about what something does when it feels encroached. She knows what a person will do under pressure very well. While she might not have given Dean all that much in the way of confidence in her abilities with her rambling and her diversions on plastic bait and people, there is a steel in her voice now. "I know I'm not as good at this as you both are, but I know some about what I'm doing and I promised him I'd come get him, so that's what I'm gonna do. I'm gonna bring everything and everyone I can and I'm gonna find him." Being a good shot? Fred shrugs. "I can dust a vampire with a crossbow, but I wouldn't stake mine or someone else's life on my one shot." Pun is either not intended or ignored on that one. "I don't work with guns a lot." They need a distraction and Fred's eyebrows furrow. "Well, we've got quite a lot of things that explode. Maybe we leave 'em somewhere and let 'em do what they do." Upsetting the balance? She's not exactly sure how to do that, but she's willing to try. 

:'''{{#var:306|Dean Winchester (306)}} has posed:''' Dean clears his throat, "Alright then." He blinks hard and inhales a long breath, "It's decided. I'll be bait. If you can dust a vampire, you can at least hit the broad side of a barn with a gun. Assuming these bullets work at all, it won't have to be that accurate." He manages a small quirk of his lips into a near-smile. "But you need to practice your shooting." His eyebrows lift expectantly. He scratches the back of his neck. "And no, I don't have some death wish--" his eyes widen slightly at the notion, particularly as maybe it speaks more volumes than he intends "--but if we can cause some semblance of surprise with you and Mercy," he shrugs. "Even if it's a brief distraction I can provide? That's a win." "Explosions could work. But if they're going to be effective, they need to be a surprise." His lips hitch up on one side as his eyes turn upwards, "You a fan of Queen?" 
}}

1709/In Your Dreams

2017-08-04T02:37:32Z

Feigenbaum:

{{Log Header
|Date of Scene=2017/07/28
|Location=The dreams of one Sam Winchester
|Synopsis=Fred Burkle uses a dreamwalking spell to try to reach out to Sam Winchester in the hopes of gaining details about his location, captors, or anything else that can help.
|Cast of Characters=160, 294
|pretty=yes
}}
{{Poses
|Poses=:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' Fred has multiple different people on the search for Sam Winchester. It's a comfort to know that there are many groups on the look out for Sam for both his sake and their own reasons. The building with Mercy and the reassurances from Angel have been a steadying force in her own determination forward to find and rescue him. However, as a scientist and a stubborn woman, Fred is nothing if not persistent and a believer in multiple different tactics are necessary to find the proper path forward. There is Mercy with her scent, Angel with his investigations, Harry with his magic. Now it's Fred's turn to try something she saw in one of Wesley's magic tomes. A Dream Walking Spell is a difficult working and one that might be dangerous, but one she undertakes immediately and without second thought. It's taken her awhile to find all the ingredients and she has told no one about her intentions in case they might attempt to stop her, but finally the night has come. With the thick and waterlogged tome open on the floor in front of her, she pulls out and mixes all the different herbs, branches and stones that she has gathered over the course of the week in a bowl. Setting it down in front of her, she closes her eyes to focus for a moment. Then, she opens them and looks down to the book in her lap and starts to recite the words in Latin. As the spell gathers strength, she can feel the shiver of energy around and through her. Finally, the last words are spoken and she can feel the rush of power leave her. Her eyes flutter for a few moments and then she slumps to the side, fast asleep. Blackness stretches into the void for miles - or what might be miles, it's hard to tell in an astral space. But, then, things start to form, as if appearing through a dark mystical fog. The landmarks are hard to make out to her, but she walks forward, determined. "Sam?" she calls out, hoping this worked and that she hasn't just trapped herself in a sleeping world, unable to wake up. 

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' The darkness resolves itself into a hot, muggy night. A night with humidity deep enough and oppressive enough to feel like one is breathing through a wet blanket soaked in boiling water. Whirring cicadas forge a symphony in the air. There are no streetlights, but the wind whistles through cypress, pine, and oak. These trees crowd together, thick, oppressive, with roots rising through the ground. Somewhere, the smell of water is in the air, and dark curls of Spanish moss brush at Fred's forehead, looking like the hair of some old hag. And then the night erupts with calls, jeers, and cheers. A pack of something terrible, hunting. She calls for Sam, and he doesn't answer, but abruptly she sees someone running through the trees. The wind briefly splits the shifting shadows of the leaves to allow the moon to illuminate him. Floppy haired, tall and rangy, dressed...not much differently than he dresses now...but pale, scared, and young. This Sam can't be more than 15 or 16. He leaps over a fallen log with a machete in hand just in time for a vampire-- the teeth are fairly obvious-- to leap out and snarl at him. He grits his teeth and twists his body, slicing at the thing's neck. The head goes flying; he's covered in blood, and the kill does little to dampen his fear. There are more out there. The vampire head stares up at Fred. Lanky grey hair. A scarred face. Beard, and pale, watery blue eyes. The young Sam doesn't appear to see Fred right away. He looks left and right, snarls, withdraws a syringe of dead man's blood, and shifts directions like a Marine, clearly trying to turn the hunt on //them//. 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' The vampire head careens and lands practically at Fred's feet. This is not the vampires she is used to - the ones that turn to dust when staked or beheaded. There are bodies left behind, there are things to bury. A bitten back shriek is swallowed as Fred stares down at the lifeless eyes that look back up at her unseeing. This is what Sam talked about. This is what he dreams about - has nightmares about. Fred looks about her with a gulp, though her throat is suddenly dry. Through the moss and the humidity and the trees, Fred steps out and closer to the young Sam, hands up and trying to look as unthreatening as she can. In this, at least, she has an advantage. Her large brown eyes and Southern accent tend to make people think of her as a woman to be protected than one that has steel in her veins. "Sam?" she says again, this time from a short distance away. "Hey, it's...hey." She glances behind her to make sure the dream vampires aren't closing in. "This is gonna be a little hard to take right now, but you know me. And I can help you, okay?" 

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' "Fred?" Young Sam draws close to her, panting. His machete is dripping with blood, and then it's just gone. Something /hisses/ in the distance, and he shrinks, but the dead man's blood is gone too. He's not 16 anymore. He's 21 and he looks like crap. A scruffy near-beard has taken over the lower half of his face. Lank, unkempt, unwashed hair frames either side of it. His high cheekbones are a little more pronounced, and there are dark circles under his eyes. He's dressed in filthy jeans and a filthy t-shirt...the same stuff he was wearing when he left, only the plaid shirt and SHIELD-issued leather bulletproof jacket are missing. He looks like a mess of bruises. They march across his face and down his neck, they disappear under his shirt. They are layered. Red over purple, purple over green, green over yellow, yellow over blue. Trackmarks march up and down his arms too, livid. The moon illuminates them perfectly, and it suddenly turns cold. The bayou is replaced by stone. He rushes to her, hazel eyes wild with fear. "No, no we have to get you out of here, they're going to hurt you." He tries to gather her into his arms. "You can't be here, you /can't/, they'll-- " He can't even say it, what he fears they'll do. He just swallows hard, looks left and right, desperate to get them out. 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' The scenery changes and Fred glances about her as it does, unsure of what that means. However, then, Sam ages upward to the man she knows. He looks hurt and unkempt and it hurts Fred's heart to see him. There are trackmarks and who knows what else he has been through in this hellhole of concrete and torture. "Sam!" The relief to see him again is clear in her voice. Fred's eyes glass over with unshed tears. The woman he rushes toward feels real: he does not pass through her. She's solid and wraps her arms tightly about him in a tight and gripping returned hug. Thought this is a dream, there seems to be some substance here. "I'm not really here," she says, ashamed even as she says it, though that might actually be reassuring to Sam in this moment. "This is some sort of spell of I found in one of Wesley's books. We're in a dream. I've been trying to find you." There's no use to ask how he is, because she can see the wear of his treatment. There is a poorly hidden anger that seeths through her as she holds Sam close. "We're going to get you out of here, I promise. Gut we might need your help. Do you know anything about where you are?" 

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' "I know you can't be here," Sam says stubbornly. "I mean-- I know you're not here now, you just said so." He understands dreamwalking well enough, though holding on to such thoughts is hard. But he buries his face in her hair and holds her close, taking comfort in even this much. Tears roll slowly down his face, and dampen the crown of her dark waves. It's unbidden, the flicker of The Chair behind him, with its cruel shackles that collar even the throat. The sneering voice, shouting very dire, very specific threats. Threats against /her/. He snarls, and he tries to push her against the wall, tries to step in front of her. It's his dream, and while he understands it, he's still not entirely with it. There's a gun in his hand, but he's firing at nothing. He's firing blanks. They just disappear in the darkness, leaving him to gasp and pant. He's got one singular thought on his mind. "We have to get you out of here, before they find you." 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' The dream flickers, the chair appears behind him. The dream is unstable and, from what she read, that is either due to a mistake in the spell or the clarity of the dreamer's mind. Fred holds even more tightly about Sam, even though she knows this is just a dream - this is an astral version of the Sam she is searching to rescue. As the tears roll down his face and he holds her tighter, she doesn't flinch or gasp, she holds onto him. "I'm coming to get you Sam," she tells him, softly, assuringly. "We'll rescue you. I promise." The sudden movement happens and she is shoved against the wall, whispered voices threatening her in very specific ways. A shiver runs down her spine and she recoils a bit. How can she not be effected by that? However, she keeps a hand on Sam. "I'm not here," she reminds him, as gently but firmly as possible. "They can't get me. They're not going to get me, Sam." A hand reaches up to touch his cheek to bring it down toward her. "I'm so sorry. I'm sorry I haven't found you yet, but I will. You're going to be okay, okay?" Firmly, she recites his full name, something she's never done before. "Samuel Winchester. Listen to me." The other hand reaches up, attempting to cup his face, trying to calm him in his dreams even she can not yet reach him physically. "We're going to get //you// out of here. Don't worry about me. I can take care of myself and they haven't gotten me yet. They won't. Just stay strong for me." 

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' She says his name. There is power in Names. A great deal of power. Especially now, when someone is trying to demean him and belittle him by calling him other versions of his name, teasing him with the eventual loss of his own identity. She cups his face. She says his Name. He has not, like most supernatural creatures, thought to hide it. By chance or simply by virtue of the bond they are forming, she says it just right, every syllable correct, using Samuel, the name of his hunter-grandfather, instead of Sam or Sammy, hitting on every note. It makes his eyes widen, reverberates through his soul, snaps them into somewhere safer in the dream. It's a weird sort of safety. They're in the back of the Impala now. His arms are around her. He's clean, showered, shaved, fresh. They're at some sort of drive-in movie theatre, though nothing at all is playing, and nobody else is there. Nobody uses them anymore, but abandoned ones are still scattered about the country. They are safe places to park a car, to sleep, if one can't find a safe hotel or campground. Safer than a rest area. A little green army man is shoved into the doorframe, in the handle, wedged in, impossible to move. Someone has defaced its arm with a grey marker. For a moment he just holds her there, calmed by the scents of vinyl seating, of the Turtle Wax that first his father, then Dean, always insisted on using inside and out of the well-loved, well-cared for car. The only home he's ever known. "They have an army," he murmurs into her hair. "I don't know where I am. Somewhere cold. My Dad would call this a do-not-retrieve scenario." He's calmer now, though hints of despondency thread through his tone. "Even if I weren't scared for you, he'd call it that." 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' Again, the scenery changes. Now, she finds herself in an old car, an Impala. This is a new place for her: the set, the smell, the entire feel of it somehow conveying its personal importance despite her own ignorance of the significance of this space. Unlike the other shifts in the landscape, this was a blink. In one moment they were in the concrete room and now they are in the backseat of a car at an abandoned drive-in. For a brief and perfect moment, she returns the hug. Her arms tighten about him, forehead pressed against his shoulder. There's a deep intake of his shirt and cologne, if it even is cologne. He smells like firewood and car wax and gunpowder, even here. "We'll get through it. Mercy and I have been inventing." She doesn't pull away. Instead, her words might even be muffled against his shoulder as she holds him tight. "I don't care what your father might have called it. We're going coming to rescue you." She was hoping he might be able to give them some form of insight as to where he is, but the very fact that she has connected with him means that this spell has been a success in her mind. "Don't you dare give up." 

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' It is, as it happens, aftershave, brisk and simple and as woodsy as the firewood scent. The kind of thing that is ubiquitous in every CVS across America, easily obtained and easily forgotten. He keeps his arms tightly around her, taking forbidden solace in her unexpected presence. She tells him not to give up, and he remembers long hours, laying on the floor, regretting that he didn't say something when he had the chance. Fred has granted them that chance now. "I love you," he says. "I am one hundred percent, over the moon, crazy in love with you, Winifred Burkle. No matter what else happens, I want you to know that." His arms tighten around her, as if he could shield her from all the world, even as he finally remains calm enough to keep the dream steady and stable around them, keep them somewhere safe and meaningful, keep the horrors from creeping in. It means he remembers there's something else he needs to tell her, something important, but for the moment his thoughts are still sliding around in one's head as they do in sleep. 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' There's a silence. He loves her. Fred doesn't know what to say in response to that just yet. She cares so deeply for him and will go to extreme lengths to assure his safety. But love? That's a word she never thought she could even partake in for years. She does not yet vocally return the sentiment, she is not quite there yet in her own convictions. However, it is clear in the tightness of her hold and the kiss against his forehead that this is not a passing fantasy for Fred. In fact, she is protective and caring about him, enraged by the idea that she has not yet found and rescued him yet. Her own response to this confession is a soft and simple word. It's heartfelt and filled with caring: "Sam." The arms clutch about him and then she angles upward to kiss him. This is a dream, but people kiss in dreams! She knows this for a fact and his confession of love certainly spurs her forward, despite her own inability to say the words. She has no idea that he might want to tell her something else important. For now, she is only focused on keeping him bolstered, on trying to find him. "We're close. You just have to hold on. I can't lose you, Sam. I can't." 

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' It doesn't matter. It's not a thing that has to be reciprocated, and what she gives him is more than enough. Indeed, he'd rather she say it in her own time. He knows how he feels. The fact that she cared enough to run a dangerous spell just to talk to him says volumes too. He kisses her wildy, deeply, passionately, his fingers tightening in her hair, his eyes closing as he inhales her scent in turn. He kisses like he may never get to do it ever again. A slow tear rolls down his cheek. She's fiesty. She wants to find him. She's doing all she can. But what if he's not 'him' anymore, when they're reunited once more? He breaks the kiss as he remembers. "Fred. They have someone else. One of the women. I think it must be Mercy, or Claire..." 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' Fred reciprocates the kiss just as fiercely. While Sam fears hat he may never see or kiss her again, she is attempting to exhibit that she will never leave him there by himself. Even in the dream, Fred smells like lavender soap and ink and old books as she presses herself against him. She doesn't know what the are doing to him, doesn't know they are attempting to change him and that the torturing techniques have a very singular purpose. Instead, her focus is in him and his rescue once the pull slightly apart. "It's Claire," she tells Sam softly. "He texted us from her phone. We're coming for her, too." She assumes that Claire is in the same facility as Sam, of course. 

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' "Poor Claire," Sam says, his face collapsing into a look of pure empathy. Poor whomever it might have been. There was no good answer for that, but somehow it seems even worse, in that moment, that it's the healer of the little team. Guilt rockets across his face. He encouraged this nonsense. He should have gone straight to SHIELD. As it happens, Sam isn't even sure what's happening to him. He is no help on that front. He is, however, intent on inhaling the scent of old books and lavender soap on her skin. Smell is a powerful trigger of memory, and he wants to fix hers in his mind so he can recall it. He says no more on the matter of her reassuring him that they're coming. A shiver runs down his spine, and shadows cast across his eyes, cast over the car in a slow subtle chill, the jacket and flannel that he's wearing are gone once more, if clean, but he makes no more protests. It all feels of terror, approaching, impending doom, but he leaves it unspoken. And then, softly, "Dean? Is he still out of touch, in Virginia? They told me they were going to kill him." 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' Fred feels that guilt. Her focus has mostly been on Sam, despite the fact that she knows that Claire is also captured. Apparently she may have priorities that she may feel guilty about later. "I know," is her response. "We'll find her." Much like she is committed to finding Sam. The shadow cast over the car is felt through Fred. The shivers, despite herself and looks up at Sam in the backseat of the Impala. The doom, the fear, it's easily felt now. Even if Sam is attempting to leave it unspoken, it doesn't need to be said. It lingers. There's a shiver and it passes through her. Her shoulders shake for a moment, but she holds on to Sam. "I called him. He hasn't gotten back to me yet. I'm sure he will when he can" Kill him? She shakes her head. "As far as I know, he hasn't been taken." But then again, the man hasn't at all talked to her. It's entirely possible he's been kidnapped without her knowledge. There's a long pause, but she cannot help herself from asking, "Are you okay?" She knows they have been hurting him, she's seen the brusies. But, she has to ask. 

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' Sam is silent as she asks the question. He finds he wants to reassure her, hidden away in his dreams as they are. Ever since the Winter Soldier brought Vodka they haven't bothered with sleep deprivation, allowing for this one window in time to see her. He wants to reassure her, but it's ridiculous to lie to her. At last he says grimly, "I'm surviving. They don't want me dead. They want...something else from me. I don't know what." He curls in on her, holding her close, kissing the top of her head, taking so much comfort in her presence that the shadows are chased away once more, leaving only cheerful bugs buzzing in the inexplicable lights over the giant, quiet screen above them. "I may have given more information than I should have. I don't know. Everything they ask seems really inconsequential. It feels like they already know everything anyway. Maybe you should go to SHIELD, Fred. Maybe this is bigger than a bunch of scrappy street fighters and Hunters. Agent Melinda May." And then: "Are you? Okay? Are you taking precautions? They know about you, Fred, they might know the Hyperion, they might find you and take you." Anxiety makes the lights above pop, casting them in darkness once more. 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' As Sam nestles into her, Fred rearranges herself to make it easier for him to do so. "I'm sorry," she tells him, though she knows it is hollow. The only way she can make it better is by finding him in the waking world, to rescue him from this place. As for the information he maybe shouldn't have given, she shakes her head. "It's okay." Fred is certainly not about to give him grief about giving away SHIELD secrets. That's not a place she feels particularly loyal to. Between Sam and SHIELD? She would advise Sam to give up the information every time. "I'm okay," she reassures him. "Angel and I are on the case. We've also got a good invasion force." As for them knowing about her, a shiver runs through her shoulders. He can probably feel it, as pressed together as they are. However, she shakes her head at the notion. "I'm doing what I do. They haven't come for me. Even if they know who I am, they're gonna have to go through Angel. No one has even tried." 

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' It's not SHIELD, it's everyone else, but the truth is it wouldn't matter. He feels disloyal to any of them. Her apology creates a shake of his head, a mute denial, stubborn-- some of his strength coming back. "What the Hell do you have to be sorry for? You told me not to chase him. I did. You told me not to try to save him. I did. You weren't even there when it happened. You were 40 minutes up the road. Sorry for what? That you haven't yet outsmarted a group of international terrorists that have outsmarted everyone since the 1940s?" He's angry, but not at her. The anger makes red lines and hazes float across the outside of the Impala. It is an island in an emotional storm. Trees whip around, and thunder rolls above the theatre screen, but none of it touches them inside the car. This is his safe place: with her, in this car. Everything can rage outside, but it can't hurt them. In the dream, it's easy to feel that nothing but the love he professed is aimed at her, golden and warming his skin against hers. He's angry at himself, furious, angry at them, filled with deep shame and fear and helplessness he doesn't want to express. And there's something else, something lurking in the shadows, something that's been with them all along, watching them all along. She says nobody's even tried, though, and he relaxes, marginally, his arms tightenening as if by doing so he could make sure it stays that way. "I'm glad you have him," he says, impotently. The fear and despair are back; chilling rain falling outside the car, a hundred thousand droplets of anxiety all splashing on the gleaming black hood. 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' The storm passes around the Impala, Fred observes it, but does not yet comment. This is his dream and she intruded upon it. "Because I think I know you now and I know you'd still try to help him. Because I should have been there." Inside the car, there is peace, but she can witness the violent reactions to the environment about them despite their own sanctuary. But, she can still feel the rage, the emotion, the malice flying about outside the Impala, pressing up against the windows. The pressure is low, but affecting her ears like take off on an airplane. Something is there, trying to make her pop her ears. As rain now falls outside the car, rain droplets crashing against window and frame in a melodic sort of tune, she focuses on Sam. He's starting to grow a bit more faded now as she attempts to focus on him. "I'm glad to see you," she tells him, even if this is through some form of spell and magic. Even if this is not real. "I'll find you," She promises. 

:'''{{#var:294|Sam Winchester (294)}} has posed:''' "I'm glad to see you too," Sam says softly, realizing that it's coming to an end. Maybe it's the spell fading. Maybe it's the cold seeping back into his bones, forcing him to wake up, toss, turn. Maybe it's the subconscious awareness that they're coming to wake him with another kick or a punch. He grabs for her desperately, one more time, another kiss locking onto her lips. He kisses her until he's transluscent, then transparent, then an outline as ghostly as those things he has spent a short lifetime trying to put down. The feel of his lips linger even when he doesn't. And then he's simply gone, the dream fading all around her, all around the both of them. 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' Fred kisses Sam as much as she can and for as long as she can until Sam fades. He does so slowly. The dream moves away from her despite the fact that she attempts to cling to him. After awhile, Fred presses herself up off the floor after waking up and finding herself on her hotel floor and not the leathered backseat of an old car. There's a breath and another look of determination. 
}}

Winifred Burkle

2017-07-31T19:47:54Z

Feigenbaum:

{{CharacterNew
|NameOnMUSH=WInifred Burkle
|Color=#333
|Char_id=160
|Img=https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/236x/3a/6c/72/3a6c7235c88949389ae8eb9dd2419a4f--amy-acker-hot-actresses.jpg
|FullName=WInifred Burkle
|Gender=Female
|Species=Human
|Theme=Dark Horse
|Chartype=FC
|Active=Active
|Occupation=Physicist/Inventor/Investigator/Hunter
|Groups=Angel Investigations
|Quote="Can I say somethin' about destiny? Screw destiny! If this evil thing comes, we'll fight it and we'll keep fightin' it until we whup it. 'Cause destiny is just another word for inevitable, and nothing's inevitable as long as you stand up, look it in the eye, and say, 'You're evitable!'"
|PAge=23
|AAge=23
|DOB=August 29th, 2001
|Height=5'6"
|Weight=110
|Hair=Brown
|Eyes=Brown
|Actor=Amy Acker
|Song=[https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=T14ux2k7rk0 "Extraordinary Machine" - Fiona Apple]
|Profile=The only child of Roger and Trish Burkle, Fred grew up in a loving household in Dallas Texas. A smart girl, she sailed through high school as well as her bachelor's degree, never veering far from home. She even went to college at the Dallas State School so that she could stay close to her family. However, every bird has to spread it's wings, and Fred's time came when she found her calling to study physics. Accepted to the UCLA program in Los Angeles, she moved to the big city.

Excelling in all of her classes, Fred proved herself to be a bright, up and coming physicist. When she wasn't in the lab or studying, she was working at the Stewart Brunell Public Library. It was in this library that Fred came upon the ancient text that opened the portal to Pylea. Always curious, she spoke part of the ancient text aloud, which activated the portal and sucked her into the Hellish dimension without giving her any way of returning.

For five years, Fred survived Pylea. She worked as a cow with an explosive collar around her neck for two years before finally managing to disable it and escape into the woods. There, she found a small cave that she made her own and hid away from everyone and everything that could take her back to being a slave. Every once in awhile she would have to travel into town to steal food and sometimes her curiosity just got the best of her. Scribbling physic equations and pictographs on the wall in an attempt to both remember and forget her old life, she went a little insane. Using a defense mechanism, she convinced herself that LA and that dimension never existed - that this had always been her life. Still very smart and with amazing survival instinct, she managed to keep herself alive for years until luck sent Angel into Pylea. He rescued Fred and pulled her back to their proper dimension.

Once returned, she hid herself away, drawing on walls and generally terrified that at any moment, any action might bring her back to Pylea.

After awhile, she managed to crawl back to something approaching normal. Her family eventually found her and helped her recover. Eventually, she moved to Bludhaven in an attempt to use the knowledge that she knew to make a difference. While she is more stable than she has been in a few years, she still has some trauma she is working through.
|Abilities=GENIUS
Fred has a genius level intellect. She was well on her way to finishing her doctorate program far before her time. Able to think on her feet as well as comprehend complex problems and solve them on the run, her smarts are able to get herself and others out of multiple problems.

MAD SCIENTIST
Always an inventor, Fred is able to put together both complex Rube Goldberg-like devices under pressure as well as more delicate and finessed devices with time on her side. Her mind is always able to think outside of the box or take a rational leap in order to come up with solutions others would not have. She can build a device that could corporealize a ghost, or a large box that may make toast. With Fred, you can never really tell.

SURVIVOR
Fred does not give up easily. It does not matter how horrible the circumstances or how dire the outlook, she will face it and come out on the other side. She has already faced living alone in a hell dimension where the demons there captured, enslaved and killed humans and she escaped. The challenges she and the people she faces can be dealt with: she knows it.
|Skills=INVESTIGATION
Fred is good at research and science and math and helping find things out that way. People interviews and hitting the street is not so much her forte. While she is observant and smart, she also tends to be trusting - not the best suits in attempting to figure out if a suspect or a potential client is lying.

SCIENCE
In her former life, before being pulled into Pylea, Fred was a graduate student in Physics physics program of UCLA and was bright enough to make her professor jealous of her talents. While she no longer is going for her PhD, she applies the same testing and scientific mind to the supernatural and everything around her.
|Resources=FAMILY
Fred has two loving parents who are willing to support her no matter what she does. They supported her move from Texas to LA and then, after her return, they supported her when she decided to stay and study the supernatural. Their continued and utter support has helped Fred multiple times. Also, her mother will run over demon bugs with a bus.
|Weaknesses=A LITTLE CRAZY
Having spent a lot of time alone and on the run in a dimension she didn't understand and with little hope of returning to Earth, Fred turned inward. Since returning, she has gotten better, but she is still a little bit crazy. It can crop up at strange times and tends to make her awkward around other people.

FOOT IN MOUTH
Fred has the tendency to speak before thinking. This can lead to long, rambling speeches about science or possibilities. It can also mean that she says things that might offend or embarrass them or herself before she can shut her mouth.

TRIGGER
After being sucked through a portal into a hell dimension, Fred was quite broken. While she is generally okay with magic, porting magic will make her freak out again. The idea of being trapped in other dimensions will almost certainly get her writing on walls again.

UNFORGIVING
While Fred is usually a trusting person, once she learns that someone has abused or taken advantage of that trust, she will completely and utterly disconnect from them. If proper evidence is produced that incriminates someone as having caused her or her loved ones harm, she will not hesitate to retaliate against them.
}}

==Notes==
[[File:Fred monster.gif|frame|center]]

Winifred Burkle

2017-07-31T18:19:28Z

Feigenbaum:

{{CharacterNew
|NameOnMUSH=WInifred Burkle
|Color=#333
|Char_id=160
|Img=https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/236x/3a/6c/72/3a6c7235c88949389ae8eb9dd2419a4f--amy-acker-hot-actresses.jpg
|FullName=WInifred Burkle
|Gender=Female
|Species=Human
|Theme=Dark Horse
|Chartype=FC
|Active=Active
|Occupation=Physicist/Inventor/Investigator/Hunter
|Groups=Angel Investigations
|Quote="Can I say somethin' about destiny? Screw destiny! If this evil thing comes, we'll fight it and we'll keep fightin' it until we whup it. 'Cause destiny is just another word for inevitable, and nothing's inevitable as long as you stand up, look it in the eye, and say, 'You're evitable!'"
|PAge=22
|AAge=22
|DOB=August 29th, 2001
|Height=5'6"
|Weight=110
|Hair=Brown
|Eyes=Brown
|Actor=Amy Acker
|Song=[https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=T14ux2k7rk0 "Extraordinary Machine" - Fiona Apple]
|Profile=The only child of Roger and Trish Burkle, Fred grew up in a loving household in Dallas Texas. A smart girl, she sailed through high school as well as her bachelor's degree, never veering far from home. She even went to college at the Dallas State School so that she could stay close to her family. However, every bird has to spread it's wings, and Fred's time came when she found her calling to study physics. Accepted to the UCLA program in Los Angeles, she moved to the big city.

Excelling in all of her classes, Fred proved herself to be a bright, up and coming physicist. When she wasn't in the lab or studying, she was working at the Stewart Brunell Public Library. It was in this library that Fred came upon the ancient text that opened the portal to Pylea. Always curious, she spoke part of the ancient text aloud, which activated the portal and sucked her into the Hellish dimension without giving her any way of returning.

For five years, Fred survived Pylea. She worked as a cow with an explosive collar around her neck for two years before finally managing to disable it and escape into the woods. There, she found a small cave that she made her own and hid away from everyone and everything that could take her back to being a slave. Every once in awhile she would have to travel into town to steal food and sometimes her curiosity just got the best of her. Scribbling physic equations and pictographs on the wall in an attempt to both remember and forget her old life, she went a little insane. Using a defense mechanism, she convinced herself that LA and that dimension never existed - that this had always been her life. Still very smart and with amazing survival instinct, she managed to keep herself alive for years until luck sent Angel into Pylea. He rescued Fred and pulled her back to their proper dimension.

Once returned, she hid herself away, drawing on walls and generally terrified that at any moment, any action might bring her back to Pylea.

After awhile, she managed to crawl back to something approaching normal. Her family eventually found her and helped her recover. Eventually, she moved to Bludhaven in an attempt to use the knowledge that she knew to make a difference. While she is more stable than she has been in a few years, she still has some trauma she is working through.
|Abilities=GENIUS
Fred has a genius level intellect. She was well on her way to finishing her doctorate program far before her time. Able to think on her feet as well as comprehend complex problems and solve them on the run, her smarts are able to get herself and others out of multiple problems.

MAD SCIENTIST
Always an inventor, Fred is able to put together both complex Rube Goldberg-like devices under pressure as well as more delicate and finessed devices with time on her side. Her mind is always able to think outside of the box or take a rational leap in order to come up with solutions others would not have. She can build a device that could corporealize a ghost, or a large box that may make toast. With Fred, you can never really tell.

SURVIVOR
Fred does not give up easily. It does not matter how horrible the circumstances or how dire the outlook, she will face it and come out on the other side. She has already faced living alone in a hell dimension where the demons there captured, enslaved and killed humans and she escaped. The challenges she and the people she faces can be dealt with: she knows it.
|Skills=INVESTIGATION
Fred is good at research and science and math and helping find things out that way. People interviews and hitting the street is not so much her forte. While she is observant and smart, she also tends to be trusting - not the best suits in attempting to figure out if a suspect or a potential client is lying.

SCIENCE
In her former life, before being pulled into Pylea, Fred was a graduate student in Physics physics program of UCLA and was bright enough to make her professor jealous of her talents. While she no longer is going for her PhD, she applies the same testing and scientific mind to the supernatural and everything around her.
|Resources=FAMILY
Fred has two loving parents who are willing to support her no matter what she does. They supported her move from Texas to LA and then, after her return, they supported her when she decided to stay and study the supernatural. Their continued and utter support has helped Fred multiple times. Also, her mother will run over demon bugs with a bus.
|Weaknesses=A LITTLE CRAZY
Having spent a lot of time alone and on the run in a dimension she didn't understand and with little hope of returning to Earth, Fred turned inward. Since returning, she has gotten better, but she is still a little bit crazy. It can crop up at strange times and tends to make her awkward around other people.

FOOT IN MOUTH
Fred has the tendency to speak before thinking. This can lead to long, rambling speeches about science or possibilities. It can also mean that she says things that might offend or embarrass them or herself before she can shut her mouth.

TRIGGER
After being sucked through a portal into a hell dimension, Fred was quite broken. While she is generally okay with magic, porting magic will make her freak out again. The idea of being trapped in other dimensions will almost certainly get her writing on walls again.

UNFORGIVING
While Fred is usually a trusting person, once she learns that someone has abused or taken advantage of that trust, she will completely and utterly disconnect from them. If proper evidence is produced that incriminates someone as having caused her or her loved ones harm, she will not hesitate to retaliate against them.
}}

==Notes==
[[File:Fred monster.gif|frame|center]]

Winifred Burkle

2017-07-31T18:18:05Z

Feigenbaum:

{{CharacterNew
|NameOnMUSH=WInifred Burkle
|Color=#333
|Char_id=160
|Img=https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/236x/3a/6c/72/3a6c7235c88949389ae8eb9dd2419a4f--amy-acker-hot-actresses.jpg
|FullName=WInifred Burkle
|Gender=Female
|Species=Human
|Theme=Dark Horse
|Chartype=FC
|Active=Active
|Occupation=Physicist/Inventor/Investigator/Hunter
|Groups=Angel Investigations
|Quote="Can I say somethin' about destiny? Screw destiny! If this evil thing comes, we'll fight it and we'll keep fightin' it until we whup it. 'Cause destiny is just another word for inevitable, and nothing's inevitable as long as you stand up, look it in the eye, and say, 'You're evitable!'"
|PAge=22
|AAge=22
|DOB=August 29th, 2001
|Height=5'6"
|Weight=110
|Hair=Brown
|Eyes=Brown
|Actor=Amy Acker
|Song=[https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=T14ux2k7rk0|"Extraordinary Machine" - Fiona Apple]
|Profile=The only child of Roger and Trish Burkle, Fred grew up in a loving household in Dallas Texas. A smart girl, she sailed through high school as well as her bachelor's degree, never veering far from home. She even went to college at the Dallas State School so that she could stay close to her family. However, every bird has to spread it's wings, and Fred's time came when she found her calling to study physics. Accepted to the UCLA program in Los Angeles, she moved to the big city.

Excelling in all of her classes, Fred proved herself to be a bright, up and coming physicist. When she wasn't in the lab or studying, she was working at the Stewart Brunell Public Library. It was in this library that Fred came upon the ancient text that opened the portal to Pylea. Always curious, she spoke part of the ancient text aloud, which activated the portal and sucked her into the Hellish dimension without giving her any way of returning.

For five years, Fred survived Pylea. She worked as a cow with an explosive collar around her neck for two years before finally managing to disable it and escape into the woods. There, she found a small cave that she made her own and hid away from everyone and everything that could take her back to being a slave. Every once in awhile she would have to travel into town to steal food and sometimes her curiosity just got the best of her. Scribbling physic equations and pictographs on the wall in an attempt to both remember and forget her old life, she went a little insane. Using a defense mechanism, she convinced herself that LA and that dimension never existed - that this had always been her life. Still very smart and with amazing survival instinct, she managed to keep herself alive for years until luck sent Angel into Pylea. He rescued Fred and pulled her back to their proper dimension.

Once returned, she hid herself away, drawing on walls and generally terrified that at any moment, any action might bring her back to Pylea.

After awhile, she managed to crawl back to something approaching normal. Her family eventually found her and helped her recover. Eventually, she moved to Bludhaven in an attempt to use the knowledge that she knew to make a difference. While she is more stable than she has been in a few years, she still has some trauma she is working through.
|Abilities=GENIUS
Fred has a genius level intellect. She was well on her way to finishing her doctorate program far before her time. Able to think on her feet as well as comprehend complex problems and solve them on the run, her smarts are able to get herself and others out of multiple problems.

MAD SCIENTIST
Always an inventor, Fred is able to put together both complex Rube Goldberg-like devices under pressure as well as more delicate and finessed devices with time on her side. Her mind is always able to think outside of the box or take a rational leap in order to come up with solutions others would not have. She can build a device that could corporealize a ghost, or a large box that may make toast. With Fred, you can never really tell.

SURVIVOR
Fred does not give up easily. It does not matter how horrible the circumstances or how dire the outlook, she will face it and come out on the other side. She has already faced living alone in a hell dimension where the demons there captured, enslaved and killed humans and she escaped. The challenges she and the people she faces can be dealt with: she knows it.
|Skills=INVESTIGATION
Fred is good at research and science and math and helping find things out that way. People interviews and hitting the street is not so much her forte. While she is observant and smart, she also tends to be trusting - not the best suits in attempting to figure out if a suspect or a potential client is lying.

SCIENCE
In her former life, before being pulled into Pylea, Fred was a graduate student in Physics physics program of UCLA and was bright enough to make her professor jealous of her talents. While she no longer is going for her PhD, she applies the same testing and scientific mind to the supernatural and everything around her.
|Resources=FAMILY
Fred has two loving parents who are willing to support her no matter what she does. They supported her move from Texas to LA and then, after her return, they supported her when she decided to stay and study the supernatural. Their continued and utter support has helped Fred multiple times. Also, her mother will run over demon bugs with a bus.
|Weaknesses=A LITTLE CRAZY
Having spent a lot of time alone and on the run in a dimension she didn't understand and with little hope of returning to Earth, Fred turned inward. Since returning, she has gotten better, but she is still a little bit crazy. It can crop up at strange times and tends to make her awkward around other people.

FOOT IN MOUTH
Fred has the tendency to speak before thinking. This can lead to long, rambling speeches about science or possibilities. It can also mean that she says things that might offend or embarrass them or herself before she can shut her mouth.

TRIGGER
After being sucked through a portal into a hell dimension, Fred was quite broken. While she is generally okay with magic, porting magic will make her freak out again. The idea of being trapped in other dimensions will almost certainly get her writing on walls again.

UNFORGIVING
While Fred is usually a trusting person, once she learns that someone has abused or taken advantage of that trust, she will completely and utterly disconnect from them. If proper evidence is produced that incriminates someone as having caused her or her loved ones harm, she will not hesitate to retaliate against them.
}}

==Notes==
[[File:Fred monster.gif|frame|center]]

Winifred Burkle

2017-07-31T17:43:02Z

Feigenbaum:

{{CharacterNew
|NameOnMUSH=WInifred Burkle
|Color=#333
|Char_id=160
|Img=https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/236x/3a/6c/72/3a6c7235c88949389ae8eb9dd2419a4f--amy-acker-hot-actresses.jpg
|FullName=WInifred Burkle
|Gender=Female
|Species=Human
|Theme=Dark Horse
|Chartype=FC
|Active=Active
|Occupation=Physicist/Inventor/Investigator/Hunter
|Groups=Angel Investigations
|Quote="Can I say somethin' about destiny? Screw destiny! If this evil thing comes, we'll fight it and we'll keep fightin' it until we whup it. 'Cause destiny is just another word for inevitable, and nothing's inevitable as long as you stand up, look it in the eye, and say, 'You're evitable!'"
|PAge=22
|AAge=22
|DOB=August 29th, 2001
|Height=5'6"
|Weight=110
|Hair=Brown
|Eyes=Brown
|Actor=Amy Acker
|Profile=The only child of Roger and Trish Burkle, Fred grew up in a loving household in Dallas Texas. A smart girl, she sailed through high school as well as her bachelor's degree, never veering far from home. She even went to college at the Dallas State School so that she could stay close to her family. However, every bird has to spread it's wings, and Fred's time came when she found her calling to study physics. Accepted to the UCLA program in Los Angeles, she moved to the big city.

Excelling in all of her classes, Fred proved herself to be a bright, up and coming physicist. When she wasn't in the lab or studying, she was working at the Stewart Brunell Public Library. It was in this library that Fred came upon the ancient text that opened the portal to Pylea. Always curious, she spoke part of the ancient text aloud, which activated the portal and sucked her into the Hellish dimension without giving her any way of returning.

For five years, Fred survived Pylea. She worked as a cow with an explosive collar around her neck for two years before finally managing to disable it and escape into the woods. There, she found a small cave that she made her own and hid away from everyone and everything that could take her back to being a slave. Every once in awhile she would have to travel into town to steal food and sometimes her curiosity just got the best of her. Scribbling physic equations and pictographs on the wall in an attempt to both remember and forget her old life, she went a little insane. Using a defense mechanism, she convinced herself that LA and that dimension never existed - that this had always been her life. Still very smart and with amazing survival instinct, she managed to keep herself alive for years until luck sent Angel into Pylea. He rescued Fred and pulled her back to their proper dimension.

Once returned, she hid herself away, drawing on walls and generally terrified that at any moment, any action might bring her back to Pylea.

After awhile, she managed to crawl back to something approaching normal. Her family eventually found her and helped her recover. Eventually, she moved to Bludhaven in an attempt to use the knowledge that she knew to make a difference. While she is more stable than she has been in a few years, she still has some trauma she is working through.
|Abilities=GENIUS
Fred has a genius level intellect. She was well on her way to finishing her doctorate program far before her time. Able to think on her feet as well as comprehend complex problems and solve them on the run, her smarts are able to get herself and others out of multiple problems.

MAD SCIENTIST
Always an inventor, Fred is able to put together both complex Rube Goldberg-like devices under pressure as well as more delicate and finessed devices with time on her side. Her mind is always able to think outside of the box or take a rational leap in order to come up with solutions others would not have. She can build a device that could corporealize a ghost, or a large box that may make toast. With Fred, you can never really tell.

SURVIVOR
Fred does not give up easily. It does not matter how horrible the circumstances or how dire the outlook, she will face it and come out on the other side. She has already faced living alone in a hell dimension where the demons there captured, enslaved and killed humans and she escaped. The challenges she and the people she faces can be dealt with: she knows it.
|Skills=INVESTIGATION
Fred is good at research and science and math and helping find things out that way. People interviews and hitting the street is not so much her forte. While she is observant and smart, she also tends to be trusting - not the best suits in attempting to figure out if a suspect or a potential client is lying.

SCIENCE
In her former life, before being pulled into Pylea, Fred was a graduate student in Physics physics program of UCLA and was bright enough to make her professor jealous of her talents. While she no longer is going for her PhD, she applies the same testing and scientific mind to the supernatural and everything around her.
|Resources=FAMILY
Fred has two loving parents who are willing to support her no matter what she does. They supported her move from Texas to LA and then, after her return, they supported her when she decided to stay and study the supernatural. Their continued and utter support has helped Fred multiple times. Also, her mother will run over demon bugs with a bus.
|Weaknesses=A LITTLE CRAZY
Having spent a lot of time alone and on the run in a dimension she didn't understand and with little hope of returning to Earth, Fred turned inward. Since returning, she has gotten better, but she is still a little bit crazy. It can crop up at strange times and tends to make her awkward around other people.

FOOT IN MOUTH
Fred has the tendency to speak before thinking. This can lead to long, rambling speeches about science or possibilities. It can also mean that she says things that might offend or embarrass them or herself before she can shut her mouth.

TRIGGER
After being sucked through a portal into a hell dimension, Fred was quite broken. While she is generally okay with magic, porting magic will make her freak out again. The idea of being trapped in other dimensions will almost certainly get her writing on walls again.

UNFORGIVING
While Fred is usually a trusting person, once she learns that someone has abused or taken advantage of that trust, she will completely and utterly disconnect from them. If proper evidence is produced that incriminates someone as having caused her or her loved ones harm, she will not hesitate to retaliate against them.
}}

==Notes==
[[File:Fred monster.gif|frame|center]]

1725/Hello Little Girl

2017-07-30T05:48:43Z

Feigenbaum: Created page with "{{Log Header |Date of Scene=2017/07/29 |Location=Hyperion Hotel |Synopsis=The Winter Soldier visits Fred. |Cast of Characters=160, 229 |pretty=yes }} {{Poses |Poses=:'''{{#var..."

{{Log Header
|Date of Scene=2017/07/29
|Location=Hyperion Hotel
|Synopsis=The Winter Soldier visits Fred.
|Cast of Characters=160, 229
|pretty=yes
}}
{{Poses
|Poses=:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' Winifred Burkle has been a busy Angel Investigator. With a growing group of conspirators and helpers that are gathering together to rescue Sam and Claire, she's been traveling a bit. She's, actually, on her way back from Sam and Dean's apartment after breaking in to try and find some of Sam's hair for Harry's use. Unfortunately, she couldn't find any. Cursing Sam's neatness, she is returning to the Hyperion. As this was not an emergency, she didn't feel the need to borrow/steal Angel's car. Therefore, she's taken public transportation and walking back from the bus stop now. It's not exactly late at night, but darkness has fully fallen, the street lamps illuminating pools of sidewalk and street. The former PhD student is not hurrying, but there is a purpose to her steps as she makes her way to the old hotel that is now her home. A messenger bag is crossed in front of her chest and her hands hold at the strap as she walks forward. Her eyes are focused forward, though they scan toward the cars that pass. 

:'''{{#var:229|Winter Soldier (229)}} has posed:''' It's quiet despite the fact it's not really too late at night. This is a rather more residential part of town, and commuters have already gotten home for the evening. Such it is that Winifred Burkle has an uneventful walk back, getting in to her hotel without issue and ascending the stairs to her room. Top floor, but it's only five stories, so not that bad. There's a man in the hall when she gets up there, a nondescript-looking fellow in a leather jacket. Kind of warm weather for a full leather jacket, but maybe he's a biker of some kind: his jeans are heavy-duty enough for it, and he's wearing boots. He's seated by the window at the end of the hall, smoking peacefully where ventilation will carry at least some of the smell away. He doesn't spare Fred even one glance as she passes by. So far so good for Fred, on the getting home thing. Except-- when she reaches her door, her key won't work. 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' At her door, Fred stops and looks down the hallway. The hotel is not functioning any more and the people who stay here are those who work for Angel or those they know. The man at the end of the hallway is given quite a look. Who is he? Why is he here? It's possible Angel has given a room to the smoking man because he has nowhere else to go. A frown is given as an unbidden shiver rolls down her spine. Shifting the bag on her shoulder, she turns from him. Her keys are already in her hand and she quickens her steps to her doorway. Once there, she fits her key to the lock only to find that it will not turn. Her brow furrows. Pulling the key out, she looks at the key and then the lock. Fiddling with the knob, she inserts the key again and attempts to turn it. Why is this not working? Her key has always worked before. 

:'''{{#var:229|Winter Soldier (229)}} has posed:''' The man at the end of the hall seems peacefully indifferent to Fred's intense side-eye. He doesn't even look at her. Maybe he's a friend of Angel, or some other random vagrant someone felt sorry for. He certainly has that wanderer's air to him, a certain scruffy indifference to the world around him that suggests a man with no roots. His hair is long enough for it, shaggy and brown, scraping a jawline that shows a few days' worth of growth. He doesn't pay her any mind, in fact, up until her key fails to turn in the lock. "Having trouble?" The man perched on the sill at the end of the hall seems to have noticed her distress. He's looking at her now, head canted, the cigarette removed from his mouth to dangle between two fingers. 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' Standing against the door, Fred looks at the man now that he is paying attention to her. There's a frown on her face. The last thing she wants is to accept help from the man smoking on the windowsill. "Oh, you know, just a stuck lock. You know old doors and stuff. I'll be okay, thanks!" In fact, she has the lockpicks that Sam gave her in her pocket, however she feels uncomfortable bringing them out with a stranger nearby. "Not used to seeing other people in the hotel. Do you know Angel? Or are you here for someone else?" Her voice is curious as she starts to fiddle with the door and the lock without the picks in back pocket. Instead, she takes a card from her bag and tries to do this the old fashioned way even as she makes small talk. 

:'''{{#var:229|Winter Soldier (229)}} has posed:''' She asks who he's here for. He doesn't answer at first, and when he does, it's not the question she asked. Not at first. "Really," the man says instead, rising from his seat. The cigarette goes back in his mouth, his hands go in his pockets, and he starts to saunter closer. "No trouble for me to take a look." He comes in close, close enough she can smell the leather of his jacket. And something else beneath that. Something sharp and inhumanly metallic. He leans in at her shoulder, standing over her, and his left hand settles against the door with a heavy sound of contact. It's gloved. Who wears gloves this time of year? He pushes. His arm /whirs/. The door strains and pops open, drifting open an inch. "I'm here for you, in fact," he mentions. 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' The hairs on the back of Fred's neck rise. She remembers Sam warning her that they know about her, may know about the Hyperion. However, she settles. As the man moves up, she straightens, moving a bit to the side. He's too close for comfort as far as she is concerned. The gloved hand makes a heavy sound against the door. The gloves are strange, it certainly makes her wary and she does not like how close he is to her. Despite her shift, he is right there, over her shoulder. Then, the bomb drops. He is here for here. The shift in her demeanor is immediate and swift. The door pops open an inch and she tosses herself through it, grabbing the handle and throwing it backward against the leather coated man and holding her shoulder against it. This may be actually useless, but she doesn't know what else to do. A retreat through the hallway is impossible due to his boxing her in. 

:'''{{#var:229|Winter Soldier (229)}} has posed:''' The man's quizzical blue eyes watch her as she slides under his arm and through the opening door, whipping around behind it and shoving hard to try to push and barricade him out. She might as well be trying to push a brick wall over. His left hand lifts and the door slams against its palm. Her full weight and the weight of the door should have at least buckled his arm, if not sprained his wrist, but not a millimeter of him moves. It's like trying to slam a door shut on a steel bar. Fitting, given the fact that is literally what she is trying to do. "I've heard about you," he continues, as if she weren't putting up a struggle, "but I haven't met you. I thought I'd fix that. Express some appreciation. You're keeping Sam very well-behaved." He pushes on the door. His left arm spins up audibly like a piston. "What I'm not sure about is if I should reunite you both." 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' Fred shoves at the door and shoves at it, but it budges not one inch. There's a fierceness to it, her face a furrowed brow of determination and anger. "Metal Arm Man." She's not using the name that Claire used on him at the moment. She's keeping same well-behaved? That increases her rage meter just slightly. Seeing that she can't completely shut the door against him, she backs up quickly. A hand reaches into her nightstand drawer and a gun is pulled out, holding it up against the man who says he wishes to reunite her with Sam. "I've heard about you," she hisses at him. "Soldier." She doesn't actually know his codename, but Angel's description of him sticks in her mind. The gun is held competently, but she is shaking slightly. "Stop it. Just...just leave Sam alone. Please." 

:'''{{#var:229|Winter Soldier (229)}} has posed:''' The Winter Soldier looks around the edge of the open door to observe Fred's intent attempts to shut it. His expression is aloof and interested, the look of a cat contemplating the fluttering struggles of a bird. Metal Arm Man, she names him. /Soldier/. He grins, a crooked rakish smile that springs up from out of nowhere on his features; it looks more like it belongs on the face of a wholesome, all-American boy-next-door than it does on the face of an international Russian killer. His casual English, unaccented, just contributes to that oddity. She's heard of him. "I'm sure you have," he agrees, and a sharp whine of his arm heralds him slamming the door abruptly open. Lucky she backed up an instant beforehand, or she'd be thrown against the wall. She's gone for her gun and is holding it on him now, her grasp competent but shaking, and he pauses in the midst of entering the room. Just leave Sam alone, she demands. He shrugs eloquently. "Sam has had a lot of strange things happening to him lately," he explains. "In the end, he might thank us for providing some guidance on the development of his unusual qualities." His gaze flicks down to the muzzle of the gun. "Are you going to use that?" he asks, his lidded eyes bored. 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' The oddity, the All-American smile and accent on The Winter Soldier's face certainly unnerves Fred. This entire situation is nerve wracking. This is the man is someone she has planned EMPs and magnet bombs against. However, planning and actually being in front of the man of their plans is different. "You're //torturing// him," she hisses. "If there is anything strange happening to him, it's your fault." She certainly does not believe that Sam will thank them for what they are doing to him. "Where is he?" She's intent on that. Her focus is on finding where and how to help Sam. The idea that he might be studying her for some sort of reason is secondary to her. As for whether she is going to use the gun, it remains up and pointed at him. "I'll shoot you if you come toward me." Who knows if she will actually be able to make the shot, though. Frowning, she studies him. "People think you might be able to be saved, but this is who you are, isn't it?" 

:'''{{#var:229|Winter Soldier (229)}} has posed:''' Where is he? she demands. "Now why," the Soldier inquires reasonably, "would I tell you that? It's interesting that you seem real certain we're torturing him, though." His half-lidded blue eyes study her without blinking. "How would you know that?" She informs him baldly that if he approaches, she'll shoot. He blinks once. Then he closes distance with one, two long strides. His gloved left hand lifts smoothly into the line of her weapon's fire. If she pulls the trigger, the bullet will drive straight into his palm-- and deflect off, with a sharp sparking ping of metal on metal. Half a second later, his hand vises shut around the muzzle of her weapon. His head cants, the mechanisms of his prosthetic winch steel fingers indomitably shut, and he crumples the barrel of her weapon into uselessness. "You've been making plans, haven't you?" he asks. His voice is as harsh as the grinding of metal being crushed flat in his grip. "Let me tell you something. There's planning, Miss Burkle, and then there's execution. One is a lot harder than the other. So consider this your warning not to interfere." He's not smiling anymore. "I don't know what this obsession is that people have with 'saving' me, but you should all start thinking about saving yourselves." He stares at Fred a few moments more, as if silently mulling some decision. "Where is the brother?" he asks, presently. 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' "You're keeping him against his will and saying you are 'helping' him. That generally implies torture," Fred spits back at him. "Brainwashing, who knows what else. It's never anything good." As good as her word, when he steps forward, her finger pulls at the trigger and she shoots at the Winter Soldier. It's a straight shot, but he has ways of deflecting that. And then he closes the distance and closes his hand over the barrel of her gun, crushing it. She lets it go as he does so. This is her warning not to interfere in the rescuing of Sam Winchester. She no longer has a weapon or anything with which to counter the man in front of her, but she attempts to look defiant. The truth is, she is terrified: both for herself and for Sam. "I don't care about saving you," she tells him, the truth ringing in her conviction, the words hissed. "You are a menace and if I have to go through you to get to Sam? I will do it without hesitation." The question about Dean is met with a surprised look. They don't hvae Dean. It was a worry that festered in the back of her head. "He's looking for you," She tells him, even if she doesn't know that to be the exact truth. It might as well be. 

:'''{{#var:229|Winter Soldier (229)}} has posed:''' The Winter Soldier is silent in the wake of Fred's defiance. His gaze is faraway, absent with thought; his left hand lowers back to his side, now holding the remnants of her weapon. He came to assess her, and now he knows: she has nothing else to wield against him. He can smell the utmost degree of her fear hanging in the air. The kind of fear a person emanates when they have nothing left to their name but brave words. He has encountered it so many times, over the course of his long, long life, that he can instantly recognize it. I don't care about saving you, she snarls. And Dean? He's looking for you. The words bring a brief smile to his face. "I'm sure you will try," he says, of her threats to go straight through him to get Sam. He opens his left hand and lets the twisted shape of the gun, no more than a warped piece of metal now, drop at Fred's feet. "Well," he decides. "I think I'll leave you here, after all. The pining, it keeps him sad and docile." And with that, he turns his back to walk right back out the door. 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' The assessment on Fred's resources and state of mind is not wrong. He's done this for long enough to know exactly when a civilian like her has little to offer in the way of active resistance. With the gun crushed in his hand, she attempts to stand her ground, but when it drops with a muted clunk against the plush carpet at their feet, she can't help a small wince. That was her defense and he crushed it without a blink or a change of expressions. "I'll do more than try," she assures Bucky, though she is sure to him it sounds mostly like bravado. However, she is sincere in those thoughts. While she might have allowed him to leave, his parting words cause a snarl of rage to cross her face. She knows this has no point, that he is stronger than her in every way, but the instinct and the anger take over when he tells her how the have been using her to get to Sam. The threats against her have made it easier for them to hurt him and something inside her refuses to remain still. When he turns her back to her, she takes her thickest book - a veritable tome - and she lunges forward, attempting to brain him with it and also kick between his legs. 

:'''{{#var:229|Winter Soldier (229)}} has posed:''' He is more than half expecting her to try something. His turned back, after all, is a blatant insult and thus its own form of invitation. Such it is that when Fred loses the last scrap of her patience and lunges to attack, he seems prepared for it-- or at least braced against being struck. She strikes home, both times, though hitting him is like hitting a stone wall and not a human being, no give to him at all, little real effect yielded on his preternatural resilience. He staggers once, twice. Then, a deep growl emanating up from his chest, he turns sharply to backhandedly /bat/ at her with his left arm. It is not a hard hit, not by his standards, but behind it is strength sufficient to scoop a woman her size from her feet and send her into the wall. "Don't test me," he warns, before turning away again. 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' Fred is not a super soldier, nor is she a woman of boundless strength. Her attack hits home without seeming to do any sort of damage or even effecting the Winter Soldier. Then, the backhand hits her squarely against her face and she goes tumbling. With a crack against the wall, Fred slides downward. The book slips out of her hands, hitting the ground wth another soft slap. It might not have been strong for the Winter Soldier's standards, but it was certainly strong enough to curtail the expected attack from Fred as well as slow any other attempt. A bruise is surely already forming on her cheek and shoulder. However, she slowly pushes herself upward, almost as if she is intent on attacking again. Her room, though, is small and the determined stride of the Winter Soldier easily takes him out of her range before she can even push herself to a standing positoin. While she remains ready and poised for a few moments, she slumps back against the wall, a hand moving up toward her sore face. "We'll do this again," she promises. And next time? She'll be prepared. 
}}

1447/A Meeting

2017-07-29T21:09:12Z

Feigenbaum:

{{Log Header
|Date of Scene=2017/07/13
|Location=Hyperion Hotel - Lobby
|Synopsis=Angel and Fred catch up on what they have been doing lately.
|Cast of Characters=219, 160
|pretty=yes
}}
{{Poses
|Poses=:'''{{#var:219|Angel (219)}} has posed:'''     It was dusk around the Hyperion Hotel, and Angel comes out of his room and down to the lobby. Moving up to the main desk, he takes a moment to check and see if there was any messages from anyone who needs help, or from anyone that the team knows. Angel frowns, noting that there was no messages. "STrange, Buffy was supposed to give me an update on that thing...huh." Shrugging, he moves towards the door, as though he was going to head out into the night. 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' Right as Angel is moving toward the door, it opens in front of him - possibly right into him - as a bustling Fred comes right through it. She has her head down, glasses on, a thick book opened in her arms that she's partially reading out loud quietly as she does this. If she's been doing this the entire way here, it's entirely possible the entire block thinks she's crazy person. Oblivious, she takes another step forward, only to stop, start and yelp. Then, she blinks. "Angel! Goodness you startled me!" 

:'''{{#var:219|Angel (219)}} has posed:'''     "Whoa, Fred!" Angel pulls up short right before running into his teammate. "I can see that!" Angel smiles, and places his hands on his hips. "What has got you in such a hurry? You seem...pre-occupied." Angel looks down at the book, and back to Fred's eyes, admiring the intelligence behind them. "Is everything okay?" 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' The book, which Angel might be able to see the spine or the cover is: "The Mandela Effect?: A Thesis on Parallel Universes and Other Theories". Closing the book and hugging it to her chest, she shrugs her shoulders. "Oh this? This is just some light reading to take my mind off of things. Did you hear there's a metal armed assassin that's been trying to kill people around the city? There is. I sort of got all wrapped up in it, so that's why I've been a bit hassled and preoccupied. And also why I keep borrowing your car. I keep meaning to thank you for that. I was thinking blood cookies, but I'm pretty sure blood doesn't really bake well. Maybe blood pudding? You don't really have to bake that, it's more of a freezing thing, I think." 

:'''{{#var:219|Angel (219)}} has posed:'''     Nodding, Angel regards Fred thoughtfully before replying. "Light reading." Angel raises an eyebrow, his left one, in a quizzical expression. "A book on Parallel Universes? Huh." Listening further, as Fred continues, Angel shakes his head, "No I hadn't heard that." Not able to get too many words in edgewise as Fred explains what has happened to her, Angel waits patiently.     Finally Angel says, "Whoa!" Angel smiles again, and holds up his hands in surrendur. "It's fine Fred. I didn't...mind you using my car." His expression says otherwise, but he had to learn to trust when it came to his car. "As for thanks, your thanks are more than enough. Please don't bake me...those things. I expect they will not turn out well. Blood is a tough ingredient to cook with."     "Now what were you saying?" Angel pauses, and adds, "Take a deep breath, and tell me about this assassin? Is it taken care of or do we need to get involved?" Angel's expression reflects the eagerness that was expressed in his voice. He was ready to take on anything! Action was good, protecting the weak. 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' "Yeah! There's a thought that the reason why there are phenomena of multiple people remembering the wrong thing and that it might have to do with a parallel universe where that is true and it's possibly bleeding over. It's really fascinating! And it dovetails a little with my own thoughts on string theory." To Fred, this is fun reading that she does to relax. "But you do! You do that thing with your eyebrow when I ask you to take the car and so I'm glad that you did. I made sure to clean it, too. No blood on the interior! You know, that first time it was the first time I'd driven since before Pylea, can you believe that? And no scratches." Angel, it seems, has the right idea in waiting out the storm of Fred's rambles. "Which is why I wanted to do something nice for you! My first thought was tacos, but I know you don't eat those." As she's told to take a deep breath and tell him everything, she blinks a few times. Slowing her rapid-fire explanation down a touch, she continues, "Actually, I was hoping to talk to you about that. There's a guy with a metal arm that's been roaming about. He keeps attacking people and I think he killed a diplomat. He attacked Sam, uh, Winchester, the guy I had to go rescue with you car." She blushes a bit at that statement, but continues. "And then he disappears. The metal arm guy, not Sam. He's still out there somewhere and, well, we're a detective agency!" 

:'''{{#var:219|Angel (219)}} has posed:''' Angel blinks. Listening to everything she has to say, Angel notes several things, but doesn't interrupt Fred. When she gets on a roll, it was better to let her go so that she got the whole thought out. Angel crosses his arms across his chest, listening, and absorbing about a tenth of what she was saying. The important parts at least. Nodding at all the appropriate spots, Angel waits until she finished, and nods. "Well. Interesting." Angel hrrrms. "I appreciate you taking care of my care Fred. I wouldn't have leant it to just anyone. I knew I could trust you, and it appears I was right."     "No, no Tacos." Angel's rare smile appears again for the third time. "Winchester...did you say Winchester?" Angel blinks. Shaking his head, he comes back to what Fred was saying. "Well, absolutely we'll help find this metal arm guy as you put it so well." Concern appears etched on his face. "Winchester..." 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' Understanding a tenth of what Fred says is generally on the higher absorbency scale for most people. A lot of her statements only make sense to her. At the trust he put in her to take care of his car, Fred beams, hugging the book ever tighter. "Thanks Angel," she tells him sincerely, smile lighting up her face. "I really appreciate that. I'll always take good care of your car. Promise." As Angel blinks a few times and seems concerned about Sam, she tilts her head. "You don't have to worry about Sam, if that's why you made that face again. He promised he wouldn't stake you. He's a good guy." 

:'''{{#var:219|Angel (219)}} has posed:'''     "You are welcome." Angel nods magnanimously and says, Sarcastically. "That is good to know. No stakes allowed." A pause. "Interesting. Yeah, I have heard of them. A family of Hunters. Hard to do what we do and not hear things. I also heard they were good people if a little...eccentric." Angel was being polite. "If they were involved, or even one of them, it must have been serious." Angel frowns. "Well, I have to run out but we should continue this talk as soon as possible. If you need my help...if THEY need my help, than by all means, let them know. I am sure they would appreciate the help of a Vampire..." Was that humour? Dark humour maybe. "If you need me, call!" 
}}

1543/If You Build It

2017-07-29T21:08:37Z

Feigenbaum:

{{Log Header
|Date of Scene=2017/07/18
|Location=Mercy Thompson's Garage
|Synopsis=Fred and Mercy meet at her garage to start building an arsenal that might slow down the Winter Soldier with the help of Loki. The Winter Soldier taunts them.
|Cast of Characters=99, 160, 229, 138
|pretty=yes
}}
{{Poses
|Poses=:'''{{#var:99|Mercy Thompson (99)}} has posed:''' The meeting with Black Widow was both a good and bad thing. Good in the sense that Loki had his questions answered; even if they weren't the best answers. Bad in the sense that now, for Mercy at least, there's a real feeling of desperation here. Or perhaps not desperation, but a reality that they're all likely going to die. D-I-E. That particular thought and feeling is what now drives the mechanic to figure something out. As such, a request was put out via the group's communication lines for a partner in crime - someone who can help Mercy Thompson build a bomb - along with that request was a brief write-up of just what she wanted - just so people were prepared for Mercy asking the impossible. What was wanted was or rather is a small EMP grenade. The mechanic can create the shell, but the guts ... that's where Mercy needs help with. Once the request was answered Mercy set up a time and place for everyone to meet at; that time being now and the place Mercy's Garage. While the front door of the garage is locked up tight, with a 'Closed' sign hanging from it, the side entrance is quite open. The segmented garage door is raised upward allowing admittance inside, as well as a look into the interior of Mercy's main work area. Mercy, herself, can likewise be found inside, near those work benches. The surface of the nearest work benches are covered in an array of stuff. There's thin sheets of metal, spools of stripped and insulated wire, electrical components, batteries, tools, googles, heavy-duty insulated gloves and many other things beyond that. For Mercy, she's dressed in her mechanic coveralls, the thick and heavy cloth affording her protection against potential injury. She's currently fitting two half metallic spheres together, eyes critically assessing how the sides of each mesh against each other. 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' It's been days since she's heard word from Sam and Fred knows something is wrong. If he was going to go off the grid for a few days he would have told her. This? This is something dire going wrong. A frantic Fred has been attempting to track down Sam and anyone who might have any connection to him. She went to his and Dean's house (and broke in with her newfound lockpicking skills and set) to find it empty. She's tried calling him and Dean. The message through the grapevine from Mercy gives her a bit of hope. Not only is this something to take her mind off of the crushing worry about Sam while also helping the cause of shutting down the Metal Arm Man, Mercy might know something about what happened to him. The genius former physicist and current hunter/ghostbuster/helper of the helpless arrives at Mercy's garage right on time. The waifish woman's long brown hair is pulled back into a ponytail and she's wearing jeans and an old University of Texas shirt that looks like its seen better days. Peeking her head into the open door, Fred calls out a bit uncertainly, "Hello?" Curious eyes already start to pick out various pieces of mechanisms and bits and bobs that she'd like to get her hands on to build traps and gadgets. She steps a bit further in, but waits until acknowledged before going any further as she doesn't wish to startle the other woman. 

:'''{{#var:99|Mercy Thompson (99)}} has posed:''' While Mercy is somewhat lost in thought, or rather in this project, her sensitive ears do pick out the presence of approaching footsteps. That's enough forewarning for the coyote to drop her gaze away from the object she's holding and look towards the open garage door. So, when Fred peers inside, she'll find the mechanic already looking in her general direction. Which might be somewhat eery, or it might not. Perhaps Fred is used to such little oddities from her own life - Either way, upon seeing the other woman Mercy will discard the halved sphere, "Hello!" The coyote says, her words polite and while stress lines her features, Mercy still offers a welcoming smile to the other woman. "I'm Mercy." States the dark-haired woman, even as she picks her way across the garage, a hand extended to the other woman. "Come on in." And should Fred take that hand of Mercy's, she'll find an easy enough grip from the mechanic; neither too tight, nor too loose, just something friendly. "And thank you so much for answering my call for help too. I really appreciate it." 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' When not meeting someone in the heat of battle, Fred is a little more shy with new people. Seeing that Mercy is already looking at her when she greets, she gives a bit of an awkward wave, shifting the large bag she's brought with her to the other arm. Shy or not, polite is polite and a handshake is taken when it is offered. Her own shake is not weak, but it's a bit light. If Mercy has worries about what they're getting themselves into, the visage of Winifred Burkle in a beat up t-shirt and a large bag of who-knows-what and a light handshake is probably not at all a booster to the confidence scale. "Winifred. That is, Fred, everybody just calls me Fred. Don't know why I always start out with the Winifred when I just say Fred is what people call me. I guess 'cause I don't want people to think my parent's gave me a boy's name, not that that's a bad thing of course. Just what I go by." Fred also rambles when she is nervous. The desperation meter most likely keeps plummeting. "It's nice to meet you, Mercy. 'Course. Anything I can do to help. I like your garage. It's got a whole bunch of stuff I'd like to get my hands on to build." Taking a slight breath, she gives almost a pleading look at Mercy and asks the questions she's somewhat dreading to know. They almost bleed into her compliments of the garage as well as each other. "You know Sam, right? Sam Winchester? Tall, brown hair, fond of flannel? You haven't...seen him, have you? In the past couple of days?" 

:'''{{#var:99|Mercy Thompson (99)}} has posed:''' Help comes in many forms and Mercy understands this. Even the ones that look the most unlikely to be able to assist. The bag the other woman carries is given a curious look, but that's all, as Fred introduces herself. The mention of her nickname earns a nod from the coyote, and another smile even, especially when the younger woman seems to ramble so. Mercy can understand that. She a nervous rambler herself; though right now she's far from nervous. She's down right petrified. Or, at least, when she allows herself to think of the upcoming battle. Thankfully, right now, she can focus on other things. LIke building bombs ... grenades, weaponry, whatever you want to call it. "It's nice to meet you too, Fred." Is what the coyote finally says, "And thanks, I like my garage too." There's a hint of amusement there as Mercy starts to move back towards the work benches. Even as she goes back she'll make sure Fred follows, sensing the shyness about the other woman. "And anything here you see that you can use to help with this, please, take it. I bought everything I could think of that we might need, but -" She's worried she forgot something. Mercy is a builder, yes, but not necessarily an actual inventor. "- What do you think? Do you think we can do something with what we have?" And while she was about to say more, Mercy's words pause. It's a combination of the look within Fred's eyes, the dread upon her scent and that slight hitch of a breath - it tells Mercy something not good is about to be said. "Sam - yes, I know him." Begins the coyote, even as her expression turns worried as Fred continues to ask those questions of hers. "No, I haven't seen him lately, but that's not unusual for me. Usually we only meet up when there's trouble." A grimace at that and then it's back to Fred, "When was the last time you saw him? And I'm going to assume you've tried his cellphone and where he lives?" 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' As they walk forward, Fred takes in the work space and what's gathered. She knows exactly why they're here and she's brought a few things herself that will hopefully help. "When you said what you were thinking about building, I made some notes." And at that, she pulls out a large notebook and opens to a page literally filled with numbers and equations. This goes on for several pages. "It took me a bit to come up with a few things that could be stable, effective, compact and localized. It might take awhile and a few prototypes, but I think I've come up with something that shouldn't short out a city block, but should shut down a mechanical arm. I also, accidentally, came up with one that might metallically stick him to a wall, but it would also stick everything faintly metallic within 10 yards to it, too." Her eyes scan the various pieces that are assembled there. Also, when she puts her own bag down there's a faint metallic thunk that announces some more pieces of equipment that might help them, should Mercy not have those particular items. With that off her shoulder, she stands a little bit taller. Apparently, it was heavy. When Mercy affirms that she has no idea where Sam is, Fred's face falls a little. It's heartachingly easy to read. "Oh, okay." The questions of if she called him or checked out his home are met with nods. "He said he'd text me when he got back home, but he didn't. That was four days ago. It's not like him. Something's...something's wrong. I think something happened to him. I gotta find him." 

:'''{{#var:229|Winter Soldier (229)}} has posed:''' Mercy's phone buzzes. The number is Claire. But of course, it's not Claire. <<Are you missing something?>> 

:'''{{#var:99|Mercy Thompson (99)}} has posed:''' The book of equations, of thoughts and ideas and the clink of metal within the bag is ignored for a moment. The expression upon Fred's face is easy for the coyote to read, especially combined with the emotions lacing the other woman's scent. Mercy's own expression falls, a less extreme mirror of Fred's, as the mechanic says, "Four days missing -" That's far too long in Mercy's mind, something must have happened to Sam Winchester. And while Mercy doesn't necessarily say those words out loud, they hang there silently in the air between the two women. The coyote is fairly certain Fred is thinking much the same thing. "I might be able to help." States the coyote, her own troubled gaze still upon Fred's equally concerned expression. "I'm not sure how much you know of everyone in the group, or me, but I've better senses than your average person. If you can get me to his apartment I might be able to trace his scent, track him. I've found other people that way -" And here is where her voice trails off, since the last person she found was the Winter Soldier. There's irony there - a terrible irony. The rest of her words are once again cut off, but this time instead of some internal thought twisting her lips shut, it's the rabid buzz of her cellphone. Eyebrows pinching towards the midline of her face, Mercy steps over to her workbench. Her smartphone is picked and the screen looked at - And that's when Mercy's expression goes from concern to shock and more. While her skin holds a nice bronze cast to it, some of that color leaches out of her face now. Her head jerks upward, Mercy's gaze going to first Fred and then to the door of her garage. The unlocked phone will be tossed to a work bench as Mercy immediately hot-foots it over to her garage door. The button to automatically open or close the door is slammed brutally by the palm of the coyote's hand. Then her eyes close and all of Mercy's senses reach outward; hearing, smell, magical sense. All of it. But nothing can be found. Nothing. Which is both curse and blessing at this point. 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' As Mercy's words trail off about how long Sam has been missing, Fred looks at the other woman with a matching expression. Yes, they're thinking the same thing. It's been too long. Something terrible has happened to Sam. There's a glimmer of hope that crosses her face when Mercy says she can help if she can get into the apartment. "I can do that!" she says. Thanks to Sam, she is able to get into just about any building now, what with her technological know-how and now old fashioned lock picking skills. He'll have to worry about what he's wrought once he's found. "You can track him? Like, a werewolf?" It's clear she doesn't exactly know everyone's strong suits just yet, but she does know what werewolves are. "I have a friend helping out and I'm going to go try and hire this wizard I found in the yellow pages. He came recommended." With all of them, can find out what happened to Sam. There's a new - faint - hope that starts to rise in Fred's chest as she holds the notebook filled with equations close to her chest. Again, easily readable on her face. It seems Miss Burkle has not much of a poker face. When Mercy's phone buzzes and the mood suddenly shifts, Fred watches Mercy storm to the door of the garage and opens it. The anger that is suddenly there is mystifying and, unable to help herself, Fred peeks over at the workbench at the unlocked phone and the message lying there. Claire? Why is Claire asking if Mercy is missing something? And why is it getting Mercy so upset? Though she doesn't ask the question, she looks from the phone back to the mechanic, worried curiosity on her face. 

:'''{{#var:99|Mercy Thompson (99)}} has posed:''' Invisible hackles are up, at least for Mercy, as she searches for anything that might be the Winter Soldier. When nothing is found it's enough to cause Mercy to open her eyes. Her gaze is grim, the lines around her mouth deeper now, as she considers her phone and that text message. Is it a precursor to an attack? Or is he just being a jerk? She'll wait a few more silent seconds and when nothing more happens, the coyote finally transfers her attention back to Fred. "That message -" Begins Mercy, her feet carrying her back to the work bench and the phone. "- It's not from Claire. Claire was captured, kidnapped too and this is from him." No, she's not going to say that name out loud. "Missing something." Spats the coyote, anger lacing her voice, and yes, fear too. "That has to mean Sam. He knows I already know Claire is missing, so it has to be about Sam." Something close to an apology can be seen within Mercy's gaze now. "I'll still try to help find him though - and yes, like a werewolf." She adds, the surprise she felt earlier that Fred knows about werewolves lost thanks to the current emotions simmering within her brown-eyed gaze. "I'm just not a werewolf." Turning her gaze back to the phone Mercy will take a minute to text back, << Do you have Sam? Bring them both back! Stop playing this insane game! You really don't want to do this! >> 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' As Mercy explains, Fred's stance straightens. Claire is missing and the message is from 'him'. There is no definition necessary, she knows who that 'him' is. A flash of complete anger crosses the young - previously seemingly harmless - woman's face as all becomes clear. Metal Arm Man has Sam. Metal Arm Man not only has Sam, but is taunting Mercy with his absence. And, beyond that, there can't be a coincidence that he texted while Fred is here. Mercy didn't know Sam was missing until she arrived. On another night, she would ask Mercy all about what she means when she says she's like a werewolf but not a werewolf. Now, though? Her attention is incredibly focused. "Okay," she says, swallowing and setting her shoulders. "I can still get you into his apartment so you can try to track him." Then, she turns to her bag and dumps out its contents into the work bench in front of her. There are electronic chips and batteries of various sources as well as a multimeter. While Mercy texts, Fred turns to the proper page of her book, eyes dark and determined as she starts to work. If the Metal Arm Man has Sam, they're going to need every weapon they can muster and she is certainly going to make them. 

:'''{{#var:138|Loki (138)}} has posed:''' For once, Layla -- woman about town -- isn't dressed to the nines in a dress worthy of a high-profile exhibit opening or a press conference at the United Nations. Nor is she wrapped up with scarf and coat, but donning an actual t-shirt and jeans, happens to be fit for awesome. This matters. A girl dressed down in a t-shirt featuring a googly-eyed black raven and the stylized print //Don't quoth me on that!// hardly constitutes any sort of trouble. Even if she pretty much is trouble incarnate. For Layla's not merely some dark-haired, distant sister of Mercy Thompson, via the paternal side, but chaos incarnate. Perhaps those early fears quivering in Mercy's guts be mildly allayed. Perhaps she's feeling some invisible nail run down her spine. A closed sign normally could keep the likes of Layla out, waiting to rap her knuckles smartly on the front door. Maybe a buzz of some kind. Heaven forfend she dare to peek in the windows like some total rube. She wrinkles her nose and pokes at a slick little black glass device. "Come on, come on," she mutters, sauntering down the sidewalk two blocks over. "I'm /fashionably/ late, okay?" 

:'''{{#var:99|Mercy Thompson (99)}} has posed:''' Once the text is sent Mercy will slam the phone down atop the work bench. It's a good thing her cellphone has a case, otherwise it would definitely have cracked with the force she put behind that movement. She may not have super human strength, but she's strong enough to shatter the screen of a phone if careless enough. And clearly she's had enough. Seeing that same sort of anger wash across Fred, as well as within her scent, Mercy nods. She can easily sense the mood that's now overtaken the other woman. It's all business now. All business for the two. "I've already made the housings. Or, at least what I figured we could use for housings. You tell me what won't work and I can tweak." The shells will be brought out, there's only a dozen that have been pre-built. They're spherical in nature, with a hinge closure, a spot for a button primer versus a pin and a locking mechanism once the innards have been put in place. "You mentioned being able to magnetize things within ten yards? I like that idea. I've made some weaponized magnets to attach to his arm - if we scatter the magnets upon the ground and then use your weapon to attract them to him -" Well, it might help trip the Soldier up. "But really, I'm hoping we can get the EMP grenade working. I think that'll help us the most." Already other bits of metal and wire are being pulled free from the general pile of /stuff/. "What range were you thinking? I was thinking localized, otherwise we might take our own equipment out. Something that's large enough to encapsulate his form within the field, versus /everyone/. Perhaps a ten foot radius?" She hazards, even as she continues with, "Though that still leaves the person fighting him exposed to the EMP -" They could try to shield their equipment, yes, but with so little time, Mercy isn't quite sure they'll manage it. Shaking her head, the coyote turns her focus away from that particular worry for now. First, they have to actually create the weapon. And just like that /another/ phone offers a chime of attention, this one a rectangular black square and likewise upon the work bench. Yes, Mercy totally has two phones. While she doesn't necessarily start, her gaze does turn sharply to the black rectangle. Then she's reaching for it, accepting that call, her greeting is /automatic/ and also a warning to show she's not 'alone'. "Hello, Liam." A pity that name isn't quite the right gender for this situation. 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' Unaware of Layla's appearance outside of the garage, Fred is honed and locked into a task that she can accomplish, if with some intensive work. Mercy's information is met with a nod that shows that she understands what she's being given. Taking each housing she opens them, flips them over a few times in her hand and then nods. "These'll work just fine," she assures the other woman. Pushing over her notebook, she shows Mercy her workings - assuming that the mechanic will be able to understand them as she explains. "See here? I ran into a problem with making it smaller than 50 feet or bigger than a foot because of the proportionality of Ohm's Law and what is available to us. As soon as the conductor would hit, we would either get something too small or too large. However, I managed to bypass that with the conductors and a dampener, so we should be able to manage an effective and intense blast within five feet. It will take some testing." As for the magnets, she nods. "That is, actually, a much easier task." For Fred, perhaps. "With already weaponized magnets, our task is already half finished." 

:'''{{#var:138|Loki (138)}} has posed:''' Layla is already about to the door of the shop, crossing the road and headed straight for the door into Mercy's garage. Locks hardly constitute a problem, not when she turns the handle and just wiggles this and that to let herself in. Nothing like using a hairpin or the equivalent to let herself in, if she really needs to. "Of course, darling," she purrs into the square before shutting it down, the happy glimmer of lights forming a sphere that dies out. Sliding around the doorway, she almost pulls the shadows with her, their grip giving way with a jealous, nigh-audible snap. "How enchanting." She crosses her arms over her chest and leans at an angle against the wall. "So glad I wasn't late." Those precise words in her dusky mezzosoprano //are// English accented, which may be the only giveaway any ears get. "How's it going with the whole disarm the assassin thing?" 

:'''{{#var:99|Mercy Thompson (99)}} has posed:''' Even with the line open Mercy still keeps the majority of her attention on Fred. While she doesn't necessarily understand /everything/ the other woman says, she understands enough. The nearly black-haired woman gives an understanding nod, as she says, "I'll take five feet." She was hoping for ten, sure, but she'll take five. "Once we get the first one finished we can test it in the parking lot." Thankfully, Mercy's lot is the last one and the building secludes the one side enough to allow for some impromptu testing. And just like that Mercy's attention fully shifts away from the task at hand, as a woman's voice is heard over that phone. It's enough to cause surprise to flare across Mercy's features, so much surprise, but Mercy has been given a glimpse of that voice and its owner once before. When a certain shattered mirror was being quite reluctant to divulge any of its secrets. That's the only thing that saves Mercy from looking completely /gobsmacked/ at that voice, or when Layla finally makes her appearance within the garage. Straightening from her slight hunched over stance, Mercy can't quite stop the stare she has for Layla, but she doesn't quite trip over words. At least, not too badly. "It's going good." The coyote says with some hesitation, a question in that sharp gaze of hers, "Fred here is helping build the EMP grenades. If we can get those up and running it should take his arm out." Well, hopefully is what's unsaid there. And now Mercy just falls silent - perhaps pleading to some higher power to somehow survive this night now. 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' Fred turns as the third woman enters the garage. What with the previous anger Mercy held for surprises, that fact that this seems to be an agreed upon meeting causes the brunette woman to look at her bomb in the works and then back at Layla. She gives a bit of a smile toward the dark haired woman in the raven shirt in greeting. There's not a lot she can say about being late or not, so she turns back to the grenade. So focused is she on that task, that she certainly doesn't notice the very surprised expression or attitude that Mercy has toward Layla. There is a nod of greeting toward Layla as she's introduced. "Are you an engineer or an inventor?" she asks Layla, curious as to how she will also help. Then, she starts to pull a few things apart and then solder and push other things together in one of the housings. "I can try for ten, but I fear it will be too unstable or short out without much of an impact," she explains to Mercy. "It just means we will have to be incredibly precise in our throwing. If we've got some softball pitchers, that'd be perfect." 

:'''{{#var:99|Mercy Thompson (99)}} has posed:''' Inventor or engineer? That's enough to cause Mercy's expression to turn somewhat amused. Still, that question shakes Mercy out of her inactivity due to her surprise and with one last look, which is full of a PROMISE of questions, Mercy brings her attention back to Fred. And all their grenades. Still, SO MANY QUESTIONS, but again, the task at hand. "Let's keep it at five, then." Mercy states to Fred, her focus found again, "I'd rather not have these thing detonate in our hands and crash our gear." Which would be /terrible/ for them, though perhaps not Bucky and Hydra. "Also, instead of a pin I went with a button - if we can build a small timer into it that would be perfect. Ten seconds is probably long enough." And just like that the builder and the inventor go down a twisty path of wires, gears, cogs, equations, testing and tweaking until a viable grenade is created. Then it'll be a furious pace of building as many as they can. Even if it's only a half a dozen, that's more than what they previously had - - And even as their work likely goes into late night, Mercy will make sure to add, "We'll get Sam back. Claire too. I promise." 
}}

1705/Needle in a Haystack

2017-07-29T21:08:12Z

Feigenbaum:

{{Log Header
|Date of Scene=2017/07/20
|Location=Hyperion Hotel - Lobby
|Synopsis=Fred asks for Angel's help to find Sam.
|Cast of Characters=160, 219
|pretty=yes
}}
{{Poses
|Poses=:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' Thursday the 20th comes to a close. The sun sets, the moon rises and the lights of the street lights illuminate the night. Inside the Hyperion Hotel, Winifred Burkle paces. Then, she sits on one of the round sofas for a few moments, foot tapping against the marble floor, hands in her lap bouncing. A ball of nervous energy, she can only stay seated for a few minutes before she stands again and moves behind the counter. The physicist keeps looking toward the stairs and then the door to the basement and then the front door, waiting for a certain Brooding Vampire to make an appearance after sending him a message that she'd like to speak with him. 

:'''{{#var:219|Angel (219)}} has posed:'''     Walking down the stairs from his office is Angel. He pulls his overcoat up over his shoulders and peers silently outside, ensuring that it is night after all. With a wan smile, and a quick look towards the main area of the hotel, he notices the person he came to see. "Hi Fred. I got your message that you wanted to see me." His smile disappears, and he puts on a neutral expression. "Is everything okay? You seem...agitated." Angel moves to the centre of the room, and stops. 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' Hearing the footfalls down the stairs and then his voice, Fred quickly turns more fully toward Angel. "Angel!" There's a bit of relief in her voice now that he's come down the stairs. Instead of pacing, now she moves to him. "No. I'm...agitated. That's a good word for it." Her answer is rapid fire, much like her theories of physics that she's recited to him whether he's wanted to hear it or not. But, there's a forcefulness in her voice this time, a determination. "Worried's another. Angry, too. You know that guy I borrowed your car to go help out? He's missing. Hasn't gotten back to me in days. Something bad's happened to him. I'm pretty sure he's been kidnapped. I need your help to find him and then go get him. Remember that metal arm guy I told you about before? The one that killed the ambassador? I'm pretty sure he's got him." 

:'''{{#var:219|Angel (219)}} has posed:'''     Angel jerks a bit, surprised at Fred's quick movement towards him. Angel then relaxes, raising his hands up palms out, just in case. "I can see you are." Angel looks at Fred concerned. She is firing on all cylinders. "Worried...angry..." Angel frowns.     Angel crosses his arms across his chest, and nods. A few times. As Fred recites the situation. Angel waits until she pauses to take a breath, and he nods. "Of course Fred. Anything we can do to help, and I'm there." Angel gets a "thinking" expression on his face, as though deep in thought. "Metal arm guy...where have I heard that before? A soldier. I remember reading a newspaper about him. Interesting. Are you sure it's him?" 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' As Angel jerks back, Fred pauses in her approach. Perhaps she's coming on a little strong. Taking another step back, she wrings her hands a bit again. Knowing that he'll help and that he's already trying to think about solutions relaxes her shoulders just slightly. It's clear that her entire body is wired tightly, like she's a taut bowstring ready to fire. "Thank you, Angel," she tells him softly, sincerely. "That means a lot. I knew that if anyone was gonna find him, it'd be you." The question as to whether she is sure or not is met with a look he might not have ever seen on the face of the woman who hid in her hotel room for months after Pylea and drew strange equations on her wall. There's anger there, simmering - not at him, but directed at the metal arm man. "Yes. I'm sure. I was helping Mercy put together a small EMP that'll hopefully take that arm out once we find out where they are and she got a text from him taunting us." Wait, Fred's been building an EMP? What? "He's got another woman, too. Claire Temple. She's a really nice nurse that helped patch Sam up a few times. We need to help them both." The revelation that the metal arm guy might be a soldier is met with a nod. The more information they can gather on him the better. "A newspaper article? What'd it say?" 

:'''{{#var:219|Angel (219)}} has posed:'''     "Well, I will try my best Fred. I'm sure with all our resources we can find him and deal with the Metal Arm Guy." Angel smiles and nods. He then listens to Fred talk about an EMP, and he actually blinks. In puzzlement at first. "An...EMP?" Angel looks slightly confused and then hears Claire's name. "More innocents. A nurse even." Angel shakes his head, and frowns.     "The newspaper article said he was an assassin and had gotten into an altercation downtown in New York. That is a capable fighter, and that the situation was very combative." Angel's memory sometimes comes in handy. "Never said his name though."     "Maybe I have someone who can help us. A woman that I met a short time ago. She has a connection to a "wizard" and I hear he's a good guy. Maybe...hmmm..." Angel stops to think and says, "Do you have any other leads?" 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' "I know you will," Fred responds with conviction. It's clear she has complete and utter faith in Angel and his abilities. As for the EMP, she nods, earnest. "That arm's all metal and machinery. An electric overload should shut it down so he can't use it. Should come in handy should he try and attack us while we're getting Sam and Claire." No pun intended, of course. At the article information, she nods, ingesting that. "Claire was calling him Yasha. Don't know if that's actually his name or not, but she seemed to know about him. More than us, that is. Might be why he took her." If he's an assassin, having someone know about his personal details could be a liability. The offer of more help gives makes her look even more hopeful. "A wizard? That's great. I found one in the Yellow Pages, actually. Harry Dresden. Ad said 'Lost items found.' I was hoping maybe that could include people. Also, Mercy's got a good nose for finding people." Literally. "On Friday he was supposed to text me when he got home, but it was around 9 when he said he stopped to help a woman with a broken down car on the side of the road. After that I haven't heard from him. I tried retracing where he might've driven, but I didn't find anything. That's my only lead." 

:'''{{#var:219|Angel (219)}} has posed:'''     "Ah. EMP. Makes sense." Angel nods. He wasn't too up on his techie stuff. He was a brusier, that was it. Maybe a bit of a detective."Yeah, I think she said that was his name. She was supposed to call me to get her to help her out. You are welcome to come when she calls." Angel nods.     As for the rest..."Well, we'll have to take your info and the lead, and go from there." Angel adds, "Fred. Great work by the way. You are lucky to be okay, safe and sound, so you can help your friends get out of this mess." Angel nods. "I will help you out any way I can. First things first." Angel adds, "Don't worry Fred. We'll make sure everyone's safe and rescued. I promise." Angel was usually good at keeping his promises. Most of the time anyway. "The call should be coming soon." 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' There's almost something of a smile that crosses Fred's face as he tells her she did good work. His compliments still count for quite a bit to her. "I didn't even really do anything except for wait for a text message." She shrugs a bit self consciously. His reassurances also seem to calm her down, the tautness in her shoulders slightly relaxing. She's no longer pacing, though the hands are still clasped in front of her. She's still going to worry, but his steady demeanor does its job. "Thanks," she tells him, chin tilting up to give him a grateful look. "I really appreciate it, Angel." 

:'''{{#var:219|Angel (219)}} has posed:'''     "Anytime Fred." Angel smiles, and nods, "You underestimate how great you did and how awesome you are Fred. We'll get your friends back. And make the bad guys hurt. A lot." Angel smiles in reassurance. "After all, that's why we are here. Helping the helpless and all that." 
}}

1666/Follow up with the Goblin.

2017-07-29T21:07:51Z

Feigenbaum:

{{Log Header
|Date of Scene=2017/07/26
|Location=Harry Dresden's Office
|Synopsis=Sarah and Harry discuss the case with the Elder Demon and Sarah calls in some help in the form of Angel. Angel brings Fred, who hopes to enlist in more help to find Sam Winchester.
|Cast of Characters=36, 174, 219, 160
|pretty=yes
}}
{{Poses
|Poses=:'''{{#var:36|Goblin-Girl (36)}} has posed:''' It is wednesday, and Sarah has an appointment. She stops in an alley a couple of blocks away and changes her motorcycle and costume over to those of Goblin Girl. She checks the alley for cameras and peepers before starting the change and checks again with her auric scanner after. Once reasonably sure she has not een spied on, she dricers ofer to Dresden's office, knocks, and walks in. She says, "It is Wednesday, so what do you have for me?" 

:'''{{#var:174|Harry Dresden (174)}} has posed:''' Harry is just coming out of the back room as GG makes her appearance in his office, his eyes shifting over to her as he walks into the office proper. "Short story? We're screwed." Except he doesn't use the word screwed. "Long story is, from what I had been able to deduce, is that we have someone out there who bound an elder demon, is taking it's blood, and turning that blood into a drug. That drug in turn is turning others into lesser demons, and if my theory is correct he who controls the blood, controls them all. Basically put, the 'Hollow Man' as people have been calling him has been turning people into demons that he controls, in unknown numbers." 

:'''{{#var:36|Goblin-Girl (36)}} has posed:''' Goblin-girl says, "Presumably using the principle of contagion to induce the transformation and the principle of similarity for the binding...meaning as long as the people remain transformed they are bound by the same spell that binds the elder demon with relatively little additional input." Sarah is brilliant at research, she may not be a practiciung Wizard or the like, but she has learned a few things. 

:'''{{#var:174|Harry Dresden (174)}} has posed:''' Harry Dresden arches a brow at Goblin-girl. "Uh...yeah. Pretty much." Harry shakes his head and walks over to his desk, leaning his butt against the edge and crossing his arms over his chest. "Basically, if I am right, we need to banish the elder demon back to the underworld and that should free those that are transformed and under the binding spell. But in order to do that, we need to track the demon...which I might be able to do since I have it's blood, fight through any sub-minions that happen to be where the demon is being bound, fight the guy, or girl, who had bound the demon without getting our ass kicked. Unbind the demon, then kick ITS ass...etcetera, etcetera. So, as I said, we are screwed." 

:'''{{#var:36|Goblin-Girl (36)}} has posed:''' Goblin-girl notes, "I would not wear this costume if I were not pretty good at kicking tail. I will help whenever you are ready...and may be able to invite some friends." 

:'''{{#var:174|Harry Dresden (174)}} has posed:''' "Well far be it for me to refuse the offer of help. I plan on calling in all the markers I can on this one." says Harry with s smirk. "I may even have to get the Bat involved, loathe as I am to do it. The last thing I want to do is stroke that guy's ego." 

:'''{{#var:36|Goblin-Girl (36)}} has posed:''' Goblin-girl says, "As far as it goes, there are a lor of heroes out there who might object to someone using a drug to turn people into demons. The questin may be which ones could acually be helpful." 

:'''{{#var:174|Harry Dresden (174)}} has posed:''' Harry Dresden nods, "Oh, I am sure there are. But the Bat is the only one I know that tends to be a pain in my ass, or the one that tends to show up in my life. Knowing my luck, he will just show up during this whole thing." He sighs, "And then there is the GCPD. I know Renee isn't going to let this go, nor is Murphy. It's going to be hairy. Maybe I can reach out to Strange." 

:'''{{#var:36|Goblin-Girl (36)}} has posed:''' Sarah says, "I am pretty sure there may be some other magical types you could contact...but you are more likely to have ways of doing so than I do." 

:'''{{#var:174|Harry Dresden (174)}} has posed:''' "Likely. But if anyone has the most contacts it would be Strange. I will have to see if I can't get a hold of him. He isn't exactly the easiest person to reach." Harry says with a shrug. "You get your crew together, i'll get mine and we will see if we can't get a meeting of the minds. Or at least draw up a gameplan." 

:'''{{#var:36|Goblin-Girl (36)}} has posed:''' Goblin-Girl says, "I will try." She is not exactly a social butterfly, but she might contact Angel, he might be able to contact a few others. 

:'''{{#var:174|Harry Dresden (174)}} has posed:''' Harry Dresden nods. "Here." says Harry as he reaches for something on his desk. He picks up a pen and scribbles something on the back of a business card. "My home number, in case you need to get a hold of me to arrange a meeting or anything." He offers the card out to GG, "We shouldn't take too long trying to put this to bed. The longer we take, the more powerful this guy is going to get." 

:'''{{#var:36|Goblin-Girl (36)}} has posed:''' Goblin-Girl says, "Let me step outside a moment and call someone. He is a vampire, but a goog guy. He is called Angel. If that is OK with you?" 

:'''{{#var:174|Harry Dresden (174)}} has posed:''' Harry Dresden arches his brow and narrows his eyes. "I haven't exactly had the best of luck with vampires." says Harry with a cold tone to his voice. He thinks for a moment, and then sighs. "I suppose. I can always turn him to ash if he gets uppity." 

:'''{{#var:36|Goblin-Girl (36)}} has posed:''' Sarah steps outside the office so she can make a call with her cell phone, "Hello, Angel? Yes, it is Sarah, I am at Harry Dresden's place. Do you think you might stop by to consult on a case?" 

:'''{{#var:219|Angel (219)}} has posed:'''     "Hi! Sarah...right. I gave you my card...sure, I think I can do that. Text me the address, and I will head there as soon as I can. " 

:'''{{#var:36|Goblin-Girl (36)}} has posed:''' Sarah sends Angel the address...angel probasbly still does not know how to look it up on his phone. How long he takes to arrive will depend on how he travels. 

:'''{{#var:36|Goblin-Girl (36)}} has posed:''' Goblin-Girl steps inside and says, "Angel is on his way. Hopefully it will not take long." 

:'''{{#var:174|Harry Dresden (174)}} has posed:''' Harry Dresden leans back against his desk and sighs, muttering a word and waving his hands towards the front door to deactivate his wards...just in case. "As long as he doesn't try to eat me or any of my friends, we should be cool. If he makes a move, though. All bets are off." 

:'''{{#var:36|Goblin-Girl (36)}} has posed:''' "I have never seen him try to eat anyone, he seems to be about the nicest Vampire you could hope to meet," Replies Goblin-girl. Of course, he has not net her in this getup...but he does know about Sarah's powers... 

:'''{{#var:219|Angel (219)}} has posed:'''     The sound of a older model car arriving outside, then a knock on the door announces Angel's arrival. Waiting patiently outside, Angel waits to be allowed inside. 

:'''{{#var:174|Harry Dresden (174)}} has posed:''' Giving Goblin-girl a look for a moment, Harry sighs and looks to the door of his office as there is a knock. "Come in." says the wizard, as he leans against his desk, facing the door with his arms crossed over his chest. He looks a little tense, but trying to look relaxed. 

:'''{{#var:219|Angel (219)}} has posed:'''     Opening the door, Angel moves inside catiously, his eyes scanning every inch of the room. "Sarah?" Angel asks quietly, making sure he has the right place. Finally, his eyes find Harry, and he blinks. "I'm Angel." Angel waves over his shoulder, and says, "This is Fred. What can we do to help?" 

:'''{{#var:36|Goblin-Girl (36)}} has posed:''' Sarah is dressed funny, in a padded costume with a green scale pattern on the body suit, with a goblin masked helmet, and a purple long vest, gloves, boots, and hat. Her eyes on the mask are yellow (but not currently glowing). Still, Angel's vampire senses tell him it IS Sarah Osborn, no matter how she is dressed. Her scent is unmistakable as is the sound of her heartbeat. She says, "Come in Angel, and nice to see you Winifred, it has been a long time." 

:'''{{#var:174|Harry Dresden (174)}} has posed:''' Harry Dresden glances between Angel and GG, then back to the vampire. "Harry Dresden." he says as he looks at Angel, taking a deep breath and deciding to give the vampire the benefit of the doubt as he walks forward to offer his hand. "Thank you for coming. Goblin-girl over here says you might be able to help us with something we have encountered, it's not pretty." He looks over to Fred, and nods to her with a small smile. "I guess I will just come out and say it. We have someone who has bound an elder demon, has been syphoning and using it's blood to make a drug, which in turn has been turning the users into minor demons under control of the elder, whom is under control of whomever bound it. Fun huh!" 

:'''{{#var:219|Angel (219)}} has posed:'''     "Nice to see you again Sarah." Angel nods towards her, and notes that it is her. Angel then adds cautiously. "Harry. Dresden," Something about that sounds familiar. After a few seconds though, he shrugs and nods.     Angel peers at Harry carefully, sensing something...and accepts the welcome. When Harry explains why they are here, Angel says, "Now that sounds...interesting. I know that Fred has some things she would like you to help her with as well, so quid pro quo." Angel adds, "An elder demon. Forces no one should play with." 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' From behind Angel's shoulder is a slim waif of a girl. It was hard - if not impossible to see her behind the tall and imposing figure of the vampire in front of her. When she heard that Angel had a call involving the very Wizard she wanted to contact about a certain case, she all but insisted that she come along. Not that it really was much insisting rather than just asking Angel if she could. The brunette physicist clutches at her hands in front of her, nodding in greeting to both Sarah and Harry. Her mouth opens to start to ask about the quo to Angel's quid when Harry tells them that someone has been bound to an elder demon. Blinking a few times, she closes her mouth and listens. Despite her desperation in the moment, she looks between Sarah and Harry. For now folding her arms instead of holding her hands in front of her, as if physically trying to hold her own request inside. 

:'''{{#var:36|Goblin-Girl (36)}} has posed:''' Goblin-girl states, "I have seen this stuff in action. It apparently works like a normal addictve drug at first, but after a few hits it transforms you physically. Men get striong and armored, wemen less strong but really fast and agile. I say 5 victims, but they mentioned there were more somewhere else."" 

:'''{{#var:174|Harry Dresden (174)}} has posed:''' Harry Dresden arches a brow at Angel when he mentions Fred wanting to talk to him, and the taller than Angel man peers to where Fred is hiding, giving her a bit of a wave. "Miss. I'll talk to you in a moment, ok?" He looks back to Angel and nods, "Yeah, no shit. Nobody should be playing with demons at all, but an elder is about 10 times worse. And this guy has it bound. That means some scary amounts of power to be tossing around. Just be glad you didn't see the binding site, it wasn't pretty." Harry's face turns a bit green as he flashes back to that image, his wizards sight not letting him forget. 

:'''{{#var:219|Angel (219)}} has posed:'''     Angel nods, and crosses his arms across his chest. "I'm impressed Harry. You know your stuff." Angel does look impressed. He turns to look at Sarah, and nods, saying, "Interesting Sarah. Sounds like a darkness we need to take out." Turning back to Harry, Angel says, "I bet it wasn't pretty. Huh. Well, we will help in any way we can."     Angel looks back and Fred, and says, "If we can get their help for the other problem we talked about, great. And in return, maybe we can help them out?" Angel nods, and steps back. "Anything I can do, let me know. I'll let you guys talk, and we can go from there. Fred has my utmost confidence." 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' Stepping out from behind Angel a bit, Fred nods to Harry and listens to the explanation from Sarah. "Oh sure," she replies to Harry, waving one hand as she does it. "I get it. Elder Gods are bad news. One day you've got on guy going 'C'thulhu Fhtagn' and the next it's a whole mess of people in wet robes out int he ocean trying to get him back from R'lyeh. Not anything anybody properly wants except them, 'course." She hears about what's been done to four or five people and when Angel says they can help if Harry helps them, she nods. "'Course. If you can help, that'd be...I'd be grateful. If you can't, though, I'm not about to let some cultist run about out of spite." 

:'''{{#var:36|Goblin-Girl (36)}} has posed:''' Sarah notes, "Cultist may be the wront tem, from the sounds of it the summoner is in charge...in a cult it is usually the other way around." 

:'''{{#var:174|Harry Dresden (174)}} has posed:''' After giving Angel a 'Of course I know my stuff...hello, Wizard' look, Harry can't help but chuckle a bit at Fred. "Hell's bells! Elder demon, not Elder god. If this was an Elder god, I would just be bending over and kissing my ass goodbye without even trying to think of a strategy to defeat it. From what I can it is what GG said, one guy with a bunch of power. Stop him, stop the demon, save the city? World? How did that line go in that show?" He shrugs, "As far as helping you, what do you need?" A woman in trouble? This is Dresden, he can't say no. He just isn't wired that way. 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' "Oh!" Fred blinks a few times. "Demon, right, not God. And a summoner, not a cult." It's possible that she is distracted by her own reasons for being here. "That's a lot better, yeah. Though, probably still a lot of robes and chanting. Do you guys need us to help track 'em down?" She assumes that with a full blown Wizard the pair don't need the mystical help. Though, it's certainly possible. A glance is, again, given between the two in an attempt to figure out how she and Angel can help them. As for why she's here, her hands return to wringing in front of her. "I need your help tracking someone down. I've got Angel, and it's not that Angel isn't amazing at what he does, but I think we need all the help we can get. I saw your ad and thought, well, magic sounds like a good place to find some of that. Help, that is." She takes a breath, since that was a bit of a mouthful. She looks up to Harry, not exactly pleading, but certainly looking like a woman desperate for solutions. "Anyway, I need to find him. He was kidnapped by an assassin with a metal arm. I know he's in trouble and he needs help." 

:'''{{#var:36|Goblin-Girl (36)}} has posed:''' Sarah might be able to help, but right now se is not being asked, she does say, "I could probably find some relevant files on assassins with metal arms...was that an EXTRA arm or a replacement arm?" There is Sidearm for instance...who has extra arms, then there are others with one are replaced. 

:'''{{#var:174|Harry Dresden (174)}} has posed:''' "I'll use whatever help I can get. I don't know if I can handle tackling this summoner, and elder demon, and any lesser demons that may be around all by myself. I'm good, but I am not that good. I'm hoping to be able to track the demon by the blood sample I have, but if that doesn't work I might have to move to other options." He rolls a shoulder, before looking to Fred as she talks about the other issue. "Assassin. Metal Arm? Huh." Why does that sound familiar to him? Didn't Karrin mention someone like that to him? Maybe, he will have to ask her. "Yeah, of course. If you have something of his like hair, blood, or finger nail clippings, that will be the best way to locate him. Otherwise, an item of his that he is close to may work, or the blood of a relative if they are close." 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' "We could certainly help with that. Done more'n our fair share of hunting down and stopping creatures that are preying on folks. Helping the helpless and all." It's even on their cards! Fred's hands again cross instead of wringing, realizing it's not doing much for her 'ability to help image'. "If we get a starting point, we can figure that out...though first I gotta find Sam." Hunting down demons is beneficial to everyone, but she has a priority at the moment. "That would be great," Fred tells Sarah, eyes switching to her as she does so. "It's a replacement arm, I think. I actually never asked if it was an additional arm, though I woulda thought someone woulda mentioned it if he had three arms. 'Course, it's possible I just didn't ask the right questions. Sometimes I forget to ask about those details." Harry's willingness to help and seeming easy answer is met with a look of absolute and utter hope and relief. "I can get you something like that. I've been trying to get in touch with his brother. Would a brother's blood work? If not, I'm sure I could find some hair. And I've also got something of his he carried around for years. Would that work if I can't get any of the others?" 

:'''{{#var:36|Goblin-Girl (36)}} has posed:''' Goblin-girl comments, "I offered to pay Harry for his help, but he had another client already on the Demon case. He does need to get money coming in though, he has expenses like this office and is car repairs to deal with." 

:'''{{#var:174|Harry Dresden (174)}} has posed:''' "Familial blood could work. I know I have done it from mother to daughter, so siblings should have the same properties. I won't know for sure until I try...but yes, if that doesn't work something he carried around would likely be a good secondary option." says Harry with a nod as he thinks about it. He looks over to G kind of quizzically, "While I appreciate the sentiment, I can manage my own accounts payable." He smiles, "I'm sure Ms. Burke and I can come to an agreeable arrangement, though I believe that Mister...Angel..." he shrugs, "...covered that in the guid pro quo offer. They are going to help with the demon, I help with the tracking." 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' Fred blinks a few times at Sarah as she brings up the payment, cheeks blushing just a little. "Oh! 'Course. I thought Angel said it was all exchange. I've got some money saved away, Mr. Dresden, I'd be glad to pay whatever you want if I've got it. Otherwise I'll pay you back over time either with helping or with more money as I get it." After a moment, she adds as if hoping to assure him this is worth his while, "Sam's a Hunter and he's smart, he'd be able to help track and stop these demons once we find him." When she hears that both blood and the lockpicks will hopefully be sufficient, she exhales a bit, relieved. It would have crushed her to realize she found someone to help, but didn't have the right ingredients for him to actually do it. "Thank you, Mr. Dresden. Thank you so much." She beams from Harry to Sarah. "We'll be real helpful, too. Promise." As if not wanting to spoil that, she starts to pull Angel out the door, handing out the Angel Investigations card with her own phone number on it to both Sarah and Harry as she does so. "Thank you both. Call us soon as you need." 

:'''{{#var:36|Goblin-Girl (36)}} has posed:''' Sarah pens a number on the card fred giver Harry, "This is a pre-paid cell phone, not sure you will be able to call me, but if you can this is the number to reach me." She knows Harry has a magical problem with technology...though she is uncertain of the particulars. 
}}

1447/A Meeting

2017-07-29T21:06:38Z

Feigenbaum: Created page with "{{Log Header |Date of Scene=2025/07/13 |Location=Hyperion Hotel - Lobby |Synopsis=Angel and Fred catch up on what they have been doing lately. |Cast of Characters=219, 160 |pr..."

{{Log Header
|Date of Scene=2025/07/13
|Location=Hyperion Hotel - Lobby
|Synopsis=Angel and Fred catch up on what they have been doing lately.
|Cast of Characters=219, 160
|pretty=yes
}}
{{Poses
|Poses=:'''{{#var:219|Angel (219)}} has posed:'''     It was dusk around the Hyperion Hotel, and Angel comes out of his room and down to the lobby. Moving up to the main desk, he takes a moment to check and see if there was any messages from anyone who needs help, or from anyone that the team knows. Angel frowns, noting that there was no messages. "STrange, Buffy was supposed to give me an update on that thing...huh." Shrugging, he moves towards the door, as though he was going to head out into the night. 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' Right as Angel is moving toward the door, it opens in front of him - possibly right into him - as a bustling Fred comes right through it. She has her head down, glasses on, a thick book opened in her arms that she's partially reading out loud quietly as she does this. If she's been doing this the entire way here, it's entirely possible the entire block thinks she's crazy person. Oblivious, she takes another step forward, only to stop, start and yelp. Then, she blinks. "Angel! Goodness you startled me!" 

:'''{{#var:219|Angel (219)}} has posed:'''     "Whoa, Fred!" Angel pulls up short right before running into his teammate. "I can see that!" Angel smiles, and places his hands on his hips. "What has got you in such a hurry? You seem...pre-occupied." Angel looks down at the book, and back to Fred's eyes, admiring the intelligence behind them. "Is everything okay?" 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' The book, which Angel might be able to see the spine or the cover is: "The Mandela Effect?: A Thesis on Parallel Universes and Other Theories". Closing the book and hugging it to her chest, she shrugs her shoulders. "Oh this? This is just some light reading to take my mind off of things. Did you hear there's a metal armed assassin that's been trying to kill people around the city? There is. I sort of got all wrapped up in it, so that's why I've been a bit hassled and preoccupied. And also why I keep borrowing your car. I keep meaning to thank you for that. I was thinking blood cookies, but I'm pretty sure blood doesn't really bake well. Maybe blood pudding? You don't really have to bake that, it's more of a freezing thing, I think." 

:'''{{#var:219|Angel (219)}} has posed:'''     Nodding, Angel regards Fred thoughtfully before replying. "Light reading." Angel raises an eyebrow, his left one, in a quizzical expression. "A book on Parallel Universes? Huh." Listening further, as Fred continues, Angel shakes his head, "No I hadn't heard that." Not able to get too many words in edgewise as Fred explains what has happened to her, Angel waits patiently.     Finally Angel says, "Whoa!" Angel smiles again, and holds up his hands in surrendur. "It's fine Fred. I didn't...mind you using my car." His expression says otherwise, but he had to learn to trust when it came to his car. "As for thanks, your thanks are more than enough. Please don't bake me...those things. I expect they will not turn out well. Blood is a tough ingredient to cook with."     "Now what were you saying?" Angel pauses, and adds, "Take a deep breath, and tell me about this assassin? Is it taken care of or do we need to get involved?" Angel's expression reflects the eagerness that was expressed in his voice. He was ready to take on anything! Action was good, protecting the weak. 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' "Yeah! There's a thought that the reason why there are phenomena of multiple people remembering the wrong thing and that it might have to do with a parallel universe where that is true and it's possibly bleeding over. It's really fascinating! And it dovetails a little with my own thoughts on string theory." To Fred, this is fun reading that she does to relax. "But you do! You do that thing with your eyebrow when I ask you to take the car and so I'm glad that you did. I made sure to clean it, too. No blood on the interior! You know, that first time it was the first time I'd driven since before Pylea, can you believe that? And no scratches." Angel, it seems, has the right idea in waiting out the storm of Fred's rambles. "Which is why I wanted to do something nice for you! My first thought was tacos, but I know you don't eat those." As she's told to take a deep breath and tell him everything, she blinks a few times. Slowing her rapid-fire explanation down a touch, she continues, "Actually, I was hoping to talk to you about that. There's a guy with a metal arm that's been roaming about. He keeps attacking people and I think he killed a diplomat. He attacked Sam, uh, Winchester, the guy I had to go rescue with you car." She blushes a bit at that statement, but continues. "And then he disappears. The metal arm guy, not Sam. He's still out there somewhere and, well, we're a detective agency!" 

:'''{{#var:219|Angel (219)}} has posed:''' Angel blinks. Listening to everything she has to say, Angel notes several things, but doesn't interrupt Fred. When she gets on a roll, it was better to let her go so that she got the whole thought out. Angel crosses his arms across his chest, listening, and absorbing about a tenth of what she was saying. The important parts at least. Nodding at all the appropriate spots, Angel waits until she finished, and nods. "Well. Interesting." Angel hrrrms. "I appreciate you taking care of my care Fred. I wouldn't have leant it to just anyone. I knew I could trust you, and it appears I was right."     "No, no Tacos." Angel's rare smile appears again for the third time. "Winchester...did you say Winchester?" Angel blinks. Shaking his head, he comes back to what Fred was saying. "Well, absolutely we'll help find this metal arm guy as you put it so well." Concern appears etched on his face. "Winchester..." 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' Understanding a tenth of what Fred says is generally on the higher absorbency scale for most people. A lot of her statements only make sense to her. At the trust he put in her to take care of his car, Fred beams, hugging the book ever tighter. "Thanks Angel," she tells him sincerely, smile lighting up her face. "I really appreciate that. I'll always take good care of your car. Promise." As Angel blinks a few times and seems concerned about Sam, she tilts her head. "You don't have to worry about Sam, if that's why you made that face again. He promised he wouldn't stake you. He's a good guy." 

:'''{{#var:219|Angel (219)}} has posed:'''     "You are welcome." Angel nods magnanimously and says, Sarcastically. "That is good to know. No stakes allowed." A pause. "Interesting. Yeah, I have heard of them. A family of Hunters. Hard to do what we do and not hear things. I also heard they were good people if a little...eccentric." Angel was being polite. "If they were involved, or even one of them, it must have been serious." Angel frowns. "Well, I have to run out but we should continue this talk as soon as possible. If you need my help...if THEY need my help, than by all means, let them know. I am sure they would appreciate the help of a Vampire..." Was that humour? Dark humour maybe. "If you need me, call!" 
}}

1543/If You Build It

2017-07-29T21:05:17Z

Feigenbaum: Created page with "{{Log Header |Date of Scene=2025/07/18 |Location=Mercy Thompson's Garage |Synopsis=Fred and Mercy meet at her garage to start building an arsenal that might slow down the Wint..."

{{Log Header
|Date of Scene=2025/07/18
|Location=Mercy Thompson's Garage
|Synopsis=Fred and Mercy meet at her garage to start building an arsenal that might slow down the Winter Soldier with the help of Loki. The Winter Soldier taunts them.
|Cast of Characters=99, 160, 229, 138
|pretty=yes
}}
{{Poses
|Poses=:'''{{#var:99|Mercy Thompson (99)}} has posed:''' The meeting with Black Widow was both a good and bad thing. Good in the sense that Loki had his questions answered; even if they weren't the best answers. Bad in the sense that now, for Mercy at least, there's a real feeling of desperation here. Or perhaps not desperation, but a reality that they're all likely going to die. D-I-E. That particular thought and feeling is what now drives the mechanic to figure something out. As such, a request was put out via the group's communication lines for a partner in crime - someone who can help Mercy Thompson build a bomb - along with that request was a brief write-up of just what she wanted - just so people were prepared for Mercy asking the impossible. What was wanted was or rather is a small EMP grenade. The mechanic can create the shell, but the guts ... that's where Mercy needs help with. Once the request was answered Mercy set up a time and place for everyone to meet at; that time being now and the place Mercy's Garage. While the front door of the garage is locked up tight, with a 'Closed' sign hanging from it, the side entrance is quite open. The segmented garage door is raised upward allowing admittance inside, as well as a look into the interior of Mercy's main work area. Mercy, herself, can likewise be found inside, near those work benches. The surface of the nearest work benches are covered in an array of stuff. There's thin sheets of metal, spools of stripped and insulated wire, electrical components, batteries, tools, googles, heavy-duty insulated gloves and many other things beyond that. For Mercy, she's dressed in her mechanic coveralls, the thick and heavy cloth affording her protection against potential injury. She's currently fitting two half metallic spheres together, eyes critically assessing how the sides of each mesh against each other. 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' It's been days since she's heard word from Sam and Fred knows something is wrong. If he was going to go off the grid for a few days he would have told her. This? This is something dire going wrong. A frantic Fred has been attempting to track down Sam and anyone who might have any connection to him. She went to his and Dean's house (and broke in with her newfound lockpicking skills and set) to find it empty. She's tried calling him and Dean. The message through the grapevine from Mercy gives her a bit of hope. Not only is this something to take her mind off of the crushing worry about Sam while also helping the cause of shutting down the Metal Arm Man, Mercy might know something about what happened to him. The genius former physicist and current hunter/ghostbuster/helper of the helpless arrives at Mercy's garage right on time. The waifish woman's long brown hair is pulled back into a ponytail and she's wearing jeans and an old University of Texas shirt that looks like its seen better days. Peeking her head into the open door, Fred calls out a bit uncertainly, "Hello?" Curious eyes already start to pick out various pieces of mechanisms and bits and bobs that she'd like to get her hands on to build traps and gadgets. She steps a bit further in, but waits until acknowledged before going any further as she doesn't wish to startle the other woman. 

:'''{{#var:99|Mercy Thompson (99)}} has posed:''' While Mercy is somewhat lost in thought, or rather in this project, her sensitive ears do pick out the presence of approaching footsteps. That's enough forewarning for the coyote to drop her gaze away from the object she's holding and look towards the open garage door. So, when Fred peers inside, she'll find the mechanic already looking in her general direction. Which might be somewhat eery, or it might not. Perhaps Fred is used to such little oddities from her own life - Either way, upon seeing the other woman Mercy will discard the halved sphere, "Hello!" The coyote says, her words polite and while stress lines her features, Mercy still offers a welcoming smile to the other woman. "I'm Mercy." States the dark-haired woman, even as she picks her way across the garage, a hand extended to the other woman. "Come on in." And should Fred take that hand of Mercy's, she'll find an easy enough grip from the mechanic; neither too tight, nor too loose, just something friendly. "And thank you so much for answering my call for help too. I really appreciate it." 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' When not meeting someone in the heat of battle, Fred is a little more shy with new people. Seeing that Mercy is already looking at her when she greets, she gives a bit of an awkward wave, shifting the large bag she's brought with her to the other arm. Shy or not, polite is polite and a handshake is taken when it is offered. Her own shake is not weak, but it's a bit light. If Mercy has worries about what they're getting themselves into, the visage of Winifred Burkle in a beat up t-shirt and a large bag of who-knows-what and a light handshake is probably not at all a booster to the confidence scale. "Winifred. That is, Fred, everybody just calls me Fred. Don't know why I always start out with the Winifred when I just say Fred is what people call me. I guess 'cause I don't want people to think my parent's gave me a boy's name, not that that's a bad thing of course. Just what I go by." Fred also rambles when she is nervous. The desperation meter most likely keeps plummeting. "It's nice to meet you, Mercy. 'Course. Anything I can do to help. I like your garage. It's got a whole bunch of stuff I'd like to get my hands on to build." Taking a slight breath, she gives almost a pleading look at Mercy and asks the questions she's somewhat dreading to know. They almost bleed into her compliments of the garage as well as each other. "You know Sam, right? Sam Winchester? Tall, brown hair, fond of flannel? You haven't...seen him, have you? In the past couple of days?" 

:'''{{#var:99|Mercy Thompson (99)}} has posed:''' Help comes in many forms and Mercy understands this. Even the ones that look the most unlikely to be able to assist. The bag the other woman carries is given a curious look, but that's all, as Fred introduces herself. The mention of her nickname earns a nod from the coyote, and another smile even, especially when the younger woman seems to ramble so. Mercy can understand that. She a nervous rambler herself; though right now she's far from nervous. She's down right petrified. Or, at least, when she allows herself to think of the upcoming battle. Thankfully, right now, she can focus on other things. LIke building bombs ... grenades, weaponry, whatever you want to call it. "It's nice to meet you too, Fred." Is what the coyote finally says, "And thanks, I like my garage too." There's a hint of amusement there as Mercy starts to move back towards the work benches. Even as she goes back she'll make sure Fred follows, sensing the shyness about the other woman. "And anything here you see that you can use to help with this, please, take it. I bought everything I could think of that we might need, but -" She's worried she forgot something. Mercy is a builder, yes, but not necessarily an actual inventor. "- What do you think? Do you think we can do something with what we have?" And while she was about to say more, Mercy's words pause. It's a combination of the look within Fred's eyes, the dread upon her scent and that slight hitch of a breath - it tells Mercy something not good is about to be said. "Sam - yes, I know him." Begins the coyote, even as her expression turns worried as Fred continues to ask those questions of hers. "No, I haven't seen him lately, but that's not unusual for me. Usually we only meet up when there's trouble." A grimace at that and then it's back to Fred, "When was the last time you saw him? And I'm going to assume you've tried his cellphone and where he lives?" 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' As they walk forward, Fred takes in the work space and what's gathered. She knows exactly why they're here and she's brought a few things herself that will hopefully help. "When you said what you were thinking about building, I made some notes." And at that, she pulls out a large notebook and opens to a page literally filled with numbers and equations. This goes on for several pages. "It took me a bit to come up with a few things that could be stable, effective, compact and localized. It might take awhile and a few prototypes, but I think I've come up with something that shouldn't short out a city block, but should shut down a mechanical arm. I also, accidentally, came up with one that might metallically stick him to a wall, but it would also stick everything faintly metallic within 10 yards to it, too." Her eyes scan the various pieces that are assembled there. Also, when she puts her own bag down there's a faint metallic thunk that announces some more pieces of equipment that might help them, should Mercy not have those particular items. With that off her shoulder, she stands a little bit taller. Apparently, it was heavy. When Mercy affirms that she has no idea where Sam is, Fred's face falls a little. It's heartachingly easy to read. "Oh, okay." The questions of if she called him or checked out his home are met with nods. "He said he'd text me when he got back home, but he didn't. That was four days ago. It's not like him. Something's...something's wrong. I think something happened to him. I gotta find him." 

:'''{{#var:229|Winter Soldier (229)}} has posed:''' Mercy's phone buzzes. The number is Claire. But of course, it's not Claire. <<Are you missing something?>> 

:'''{{#var:99|Mercy Thompson (99)}} has posed:''' The book of equations, of thoughts and ideas and the clink of metal within the bag is ignored for a moment. The expression upon Fred's face is easy for the coyote to read, especially combined with the emotions lacing the other woman's scent. Mercy's own expression falls, a less extreme mirror of Fred's, as the mechanic says, "Four days missing -" That's far too long in Mercy's mind, something must have happened to Sam Winchester. And while Mercy doesn't necessarily say those words out loud, they hang there silently in the air between the two women. The coyote is fairly certain Fred is thinking much the same thing. "I might be able to help." States the coyote, her own troubled gaze still upon Fred's equally concerned expression. "I'm not sure how much you know of everyone in the group, or me, but I've better senses than your average person. If you can get me to his apartment I might be able to trace his scent, track him. I've found other people that way -" And here is where her voice trails off, since the last person she found was the Winter Soldier. There's irony there - a terrible irony. The rest of her words are once again cut off, but this time instead of some internal thought twisting her lips shut, it's the rabid buzz of her cellphone. Eyebrows pinching towards the midline of her face, Mercy steps over to her workbench. Her smartphone is picked and the screen looked at - And that's when Mercy's expression goes from concern to shock and more. While her skin holds a nice bronze cast to it, some of that color leaches out of her face now. Her head jerks upward, Mercy's gaze going to first Fred and then to the door of her garage. The unlocked phone will be tossed to a work bench as Mercy immediately hot-foots it over to her garage door. The button to automatically open or close the door is slammed brutally by the palm of the coyote's hand. Then her eyes close and all of Mercy's senses reach outward; hearing, smell, magical sense. All of it. But nothing can be found. Nothing. Which is both curse and blessing at this point. 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' As Mercy's words trail off about how long Sam has been missing, Fred looks at the other woman with a matching expression. Yes, they're thinking the same thing. It's been too long. Something terrible has happened to Sam. There's a glimmer of hope that crosses her face when Mercy says she can help if she can get into the apartment. "I can do that!" she says. Thanks to Sam, she is able to get into just about any building now, what with her technological know-how and now old fashioned lock picking skills. He'll have to worry about what he's wrought once he's found. "You can track him? Like, a werewolf?" It's clear she doesn't exactly know everyone's strong suits just yet, but she does know what werewolves are. "I have a friend helping out and I'm going to go try and hire this wizard I found in the yellow pages. He came recommended." With all of them, can find out what happened to Sam. There's a new - faint - hope that starts to rise in Fred's chest as she holds the notebook filled with equations close to her chest. Again, easily readable on her face. It seems Miss Burkle has not much of a poker face. When Mercy's phone buzzes and the mood suddenly shifts, Fred watches Mercy storm to the door of the garage and opens it. The anger that is suddenly there is mystifying and, unable to help herself, Fred peeks over at the workbench at the unlocked phone and the message lying there. Claire? Why is Claire asking if Mercy is missing something? And why is it getting Mercy so upset? Though she doesn't ask the question, she looks from the phone back to the mechanic, worried curiosity on her face. 

:'''{{#var:99|Mercy Thompson (99)}} has posed:''' Invisible hackles are up, at least for Mercy, as she searches for anything that might be the Winter Soldier. When nothing is found it's enough to cause Mercy to open her eyes. Her gaze is grim, the lines around her mouth deeper now, as she considers her phone and that text message. Is it a precursor to an attack? Or is he just being a jerk? She'll wait a few more silent seconds and when nothing more happens, the coyote finally transfers her attention back to Fred. "That message -" Begins Mercy, her feet carrying her back to the work bench and the phone. "- It's not from Claire. Claire was captured, kidnapped too and this is from him." No, she's not going to say that name out loud. "Missing something." Spats the coyote, anger lacing her voice, and yes, fear too. "That has to mean Sam. He knows I already know Claire is missing, so it has to be about Sam." Something close to an apology can be seen within Mercy's gaze now. "I'll still try to help find him though - and yes, like a werewolf." She adds, the surprise she felt earlier that Fred knows about werewolves lost thanks to the current emotions simmering within her brown-eyed gaze. "I'm just not a werewolf." Turning her gaze back to the phone Mercy will take a minute to text back, << Do you have Sam? Bring them both back! Stop playing this insane game! You really don't want to do this! >> 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' As Mercy explains, Fred's stance straightens. Claire is missing and the message is from 'him'. There is no definition necessary, she knows who that 'him' is. A flash of complete anger crosses the young - previously seemingly harmless - woman's face as all becomes clear. Metal Arm Man has Sam. Metal Arm Man not only has Sam, but is taunting Mercy with his absence. And, beyond that, there can't be a coincidence that he texted while Fred is here. Mercy didn't know Sam was missing until she arrived. On another night, she would ask Mercy all about what she means when she says she's like a werewolf but not a werewolf. Now, though? Her attention is incredibly focused. "Okay," she says, swallowing and setting her shoulders. "I can still get you into his apartment so you can try to track him." Then, she turns to her bag and dumps out its contents into the work bench in front of her. There are electronic chips and batteries of various sources as well as a multimeter. While Mercy texts, Fred turns to the proper page of her book, eyes dark and determined as she starts to work. If the Metal Arm Man has Sam, they're going to need every weapon they can muster and she is certainly going to make them. 

:'''{{#var:138|Loki (138)}} has posed:''' For once, Layla -- woman about town -- isn't dressed to the nines in a dress worthy of a high-profile exhibit opening or a press conference at the United Nations. Nor is she wrapped up with scarf and coat, but donning an actual t-shirt and jeans, happens to be fit for awesome. This matters. A girl dressed down in a t-shirt featuring a googly-eyed black raven and the stylized print //Don't quoth me on that!// hardly constitutes any sort of trouble. Even if she pretty much is trouble incarnate. For Layla's not merely some dark-haired, distant sister of Mercy Thompson, via the paternal side, but chaos incarnate. Perhaps those early fears quivering in Mercy's guts be mildly allayed. Perhaps she's feeling some invisible nail run down her spine. A closed sign normally could keep the likes of Layla out, waiting to rap her knuckles smartly on the front door. Maybe a buzz of some kind. Heaven forfend she dare to peek in the windows like some total rube. She wrinkles her nose and pokes at a slick little black glass device. "Come on, come on," she mutters, sauntering down the sidewalk two blocks over. "I'm /fashionably/ late, okay?" 

:'''{{#var:99|Mercy Thompson (99)}} has posed:''' Once the text is sent Mercy will slam the phone down atop the work bench. It's a good thing her cellphone has a case, otherwise it would definitely have cracked with the force she put behind that movement. She may not have super human strength, but she's strong enough to shatter the screen of a phone if careless enough. And clearly she's had enough. Seeing that same sort of anger wash across Fred, as well as within her scent, Mercy nods. She can easily sense the mood that's now overtaken the other woman. It's all business now. All business for the two. "I've already made the housings. Or, at least what I figured we could use for housings. You tell me what won't work and I can tweak." The shells will be brought out, there's only a dozen that have been pre-built. They're spherical in nature, with a hinge closure, a spot for a button primer versus a pin and a locking mechanism once the innards have been put in place. "You mentioned being able to magnetize things within ten yards? I like that idea. I've made some weaponized magnets to attach to his arm - if we scatter the magnets upon the ground and then use your weapon to attract them to him -" Well, it might help trip the Soldier up. "But really, I'm hoping we can get the EMP grenade working. I think that'll help us the most." Already other bits of metal and wire are being pulled free from the general pile of /stuff/. "What range were you thinking? I was thinking localized, otherwise we might take our own equipment out. Something that's large enough to encapsulate his form within the field, versus /everyone/. Perhaps a ten foot radius?" She hazards, even as she continues with, "Though that still leaves the person fighting him exposed to the EMP -" They could try to shield their equipment, yes, but with so little time, Mercy isn't quite sure they'll manage it. Shaking her head, the coyote turns her focus away from that particular worry for now. First, they have to actually create the weapon. And just like that /another/ phone offers a chime of attention, this one a rectangular black square and likewise upon the work bench. Yes, Mercy totally has two phones. While she doesn't necessarily start, her gaze does turn sharply to the black rectangle. Then she's reaching for it, accepting that call, her greeting is /automatic/ and also a warning to show she's not 'alone'. "Hello, Liam." A pity that name isn't quite the right gender for this situation. 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' Unaware of Layla's appearance outside of the garage, Fred is honed and locked into a task that she can accomplish, if with some intensive work. Mercy's information is met with a nod that shows that she understands what she's being given. Taking each housing she opens them, flips them over a few times in her hand and then nods. "These'll work just fine," she assures the other woman. Pushing over her notebook, she shows Mercy her workings - assuming that the mechanic will be able to understand them as she explains. "See here? I ran into a problem with making it smaller than 50 feet or bigger than a foot because of the proportionality of Ohm's Law and what is available to us. As soon as the conductor would hit, we would either get something too small or too large. However, I managed to bypass that with the conductors and a dampener, so we should be able to manage an effective and intense blast within five feet. It will take some testing." As for the magnets, she nods. "That is, actually, a much easier task." For Fred, perhaps. "With already weaponized magnets, our task is already half finished." 

:'''{{#var:138|Loki (138)}} has posed:''' Layla is already about to the door of the shop, crossing the road and headed straight for the door into Mercy's garage. Locks hardly constitute a problem, not when she turns the handle and just wiggles this and that to let herself in. Nothing like using a hairpin or the equivalent to let herself in, if she really needs to. "Of course, darling," she purrs into the square before shutting it down, the happy glimmer of lights forming a sphere that dies out. Sliding around the doorway, she almost pulls the shadows with her, their grip giving way with a jealous, nigh-audible snap. "How enchanting." She crosses her arms over her chest and leans at an angle against the wall. "So glad I wasn't late." Those precise words in her dusky mezzosoprano //are// English accented, which may be the only giveaway any ears get. "How's it going with the whole disarm the assassin thing?" 

:'''{{#var:99|Mercy Thompson (99)}} has posed:''' Even with the line open Mercy still keeps the majority of her attention on Fred. While she doesn't necessarily understand /everything/ the other woman says, she understands enough. The nearly black-haired woman gives an understanding nod, as she says, "I'll take five feet." She was hoping for ten, sure, but she'll take five. "Once we get the first one finished we can test it in the parking lot." Thankfully, Mercy's lot is the last one and the building secludes the one side enough to allow for some impromptu testing. And just like that Mercy's attention fully shifts away from the task at hand, as a woman's voice is heard over that phone. It's enough to cause surprise to flare across Mercy's features, so much surprise, but Mercy has been given a glimpse of that voice and its owner once before. When a certain shattered mirror was being quite reluctant to divulge any of its secrets. That's the only thing that saves Mercy from looking completely /gobsmacked/ at that voice, or when Layla finally makes her appearance within the garage. Straightening from her slight hunched over stance, Mercy can't quite stop the stare she has for Layla, but she doesn't quite trip over words. At least, not too badly. "It's going good." The coyote says with some hesitation, a question in that sharp gaze of hers, "Fred here is helping build the EMP grenades. If we can get those up and running it should take his arm out." Well, hopefully is what's unsaid there. And now Mercy just falls silent - perhaps pleading to some higher power to somehow survive this night now. 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' Fred turns as the third woman enters the garage. What with the previous anger Mercy held for surprises, that fact that this seems to be an agreed upon meeting causes the brunette woman to look at her bomb in the works and then back at Layla. She gives a bit of a smile toward the dark haired woman in the raven shirt in greeting. There's not a lot she can say about being late or not, so she turns back to the grenade. So focused is she on that task, that she certainly doesn't notice the very surprised expression or attitude that Mercy has toward Layla. There is a nod of greeting toward Layla as she's introduced. "Are you an engineer or an inventor?" she asks Layla, curious as to how she will also help. Then, she starts to pull a few things apart and then solder and push other things together in one of the housings. "I can try for ten, but I fear it will be too unstable or short out without much of an impact," she explains to Mercy. "It just means we will have to be incredibly precise in our throwing. If we've got some softball pitchers, that'd be perfect." 

:'''{{#var:99|Mercy Thompson (99)}} has posed:''' Inventor or engineer? That's enough to cause Mercy's expression to turn somewhat amused. Still, that question shakes Mercy out of her inactivity due to her surprise and with one last look, which is full of a PROMISE of questions, Mercy brings her attention back to Fred. And all their grenades. Still, SO MANY QUESTIONS, but again, the task at hand. "Let's keep it at five, then." Mercy states to Fred, her focus found again, "I'd rather not have these thing detonate in our hands and crash our gear." Which would be /terrible/ for them, though perhaps not Bucky and Hydra. "Also, instead of a pin I went with a button - if we can build a small timer into it that would be perfect. Ten seconds is probably long enough." And just like that the builder and the inventor go down a twisty path of wires, gears, cogs, equations, testing and tweaking until a viable grenade is created. Then it'll be a furious pace of building as many as they can. Even if it's only a half a dozen, that's more than what they previously had - - And even as their work likely goes into late night, Mercy will make sure to add, "We'll get Sam back. Claire too. I promise." 
}}

1666/Follow up with the Goblin.

2017-07-29T21:01:51Z

Feigenbaum: Created page with "{{Log Header |Date of Scene=2025/07/26 |Location=Harry Dresden's Office |Synopsis=Sarah and Harry discuss the case with the Elder Demon and Sarah calls in some help in the for..."

{{Log Header
|Date of Scene=2025/07/26
|Location=Harry Dresden's Office
|Synopsis=Sarah and Harry discuss the case with the Elder Demon and Sarah calls in some help in the form of Angel. Angel brings Fred, who hopes to enlist in more help to find Sam Winchester.
|Cast of Characters=36, 174, 219, 160
|pretty=yes
}}
{{Poses
|Poses=:'''{{#var:36|Goblin-Girl (36)}} has posed:''' It is wednesday, and Sarah has an appointment. She stops in an alley a couple of blocks away and changes her motorcycle and costume over to those of Goblin Girl. She checks the alley for cameras and peepers before starting the change and checks again with her auric scanner after. Once reasonably sure she has not een spied on, she dricers ofer to Dresden's office, knocks, and walks in. She says, "It is Wednesday, so what do you have for me?" 

:'''{{#var:174|Harry Dresden (174)}} has posed:''' Harry is just coming out of the back room as GG makes her appearance in his office, his eyes shifting over to her as he walks into the office proper. "Short story? We're screwed." Except he doesn't use the word screwed. "Long story is, from what I had been able to deduce, is that we have someone out there who bound an elder demon, is taking it's blood, and turning that blood into a drug. That drug in turn is turning others into lesser demons, and if my theory is correct he who controls the blood, controls them all. Basically put, the 'Hollow Man' as people have been calling him has been turning people into demons that he controls, in unknown numbers." 

:'''{{#var:36|Goblin-Girl (36)}} has posed:''' Goblin-girl says, "Presumably using the principle of contagion to induce the transformation and the principle of similarity for the binding...meaning as long as the people remain transformed they are bound by the same spell that binds the elder demon with relatively little additional input." Sarah is brilliant at research, she may not be a practiciung Wizard or the like, but she has learned a few things. 

:'''{{#var:174|Harry Dresden (174)}} has posed:''' Harry Dresden arches a brow at Goblin-girl. "Uh...yeah. Pretty much." Harry shakes his head and walks over to his desk, leaning his butt against the edge and crossing his arms over his chest. "Basically, if I am right, we need to banish the elder demon back to the underworld and that should free those that are transformed and under the binding spell. But in order to do that, we need to track the demon...which I might be able to do since I have it's blood, fight through any sub-minions that happen to be where the demon is being bound, fight the guy, or girl, who had bound the demon without getting our ass kicked. Unbind the demon, then kick ITS ass...etcetera, etcetera. So, as I said, we are screwed." 

:'''{{#var:36|Goblin-Girl (36)}} has posed:''' Goblin-girl notes, "I would not wear this costume if I were not pretty good at kicking tail. I will help whenever you are ready...and may be able to invite some friends." 

:'''{{#var:174|Harry Dresden (174)}} has posed:''' "Well far be it for me to refuse the offer of help. I plan on calling in all the markers I can on this one." says Harry with s smirk. "I may even have to get the Bat involved, loathe as I am to do it. The last thing I want to do is stroke that guy's ego." 

:'''{{#var:36|Goblin-Girl (36)}} has posed:''' Goblin-girl says, "As far as it goes, there are a lor of heroes out there who might object to someone using a drug to turn people into demons. The questin may be which ones could acually be helpful." 

:'''{{#var:174|Harry Dresden (174)}} has posed:''' Harry Dresden nods, "Oh, I am sure there are. But the Bat is the only one I know that tends to be a pain in my ass, or the one that tends to show up in my life. Knowing my luck, he will just show up during this whole thing." He sighs, "And then there is the GCPD. I know Renee isn't going to let this go, nor is Murphy. It's going to be hairy. Maybe I can reach out to Strange." 

:'''{{#var:36|Goblin-Girl (36)}} has posed:''' Sarah says, "I am pretty sure there may be some other magical types you could contact...but you are more likely to have ways of doing so than I do." 

:'''{{#var:174|Harry Dresden (174)}} has posed:''' "Likely. But if anyone has the most contacts it would be Strange. I will have to see if I can't get a hold of him. He isn't exactly the easiest person to reach." Harry says with a shrug. "You get your crew together, i'll get mine and we will see if we can't get a meeting of the minds. Or at least draw up a gameplan." 

:'''{{#var:36|Goblin-Girl (36)}} has posed:''' Goblin-Girl says, "I will try." She is not exactly a social butterfly, but she might contact Angel, he might be able to contact a few others. 

:'''{{#var:174|Harry Dresden (174)}} has posed:''' Harry Dresden nods. "Here." says Harry as he reaches for something on his desk. He picks up a pen and scribbles something on the back of a business card. "My home number, in case you need to get a hold of me to arrange a meeting or anything." He offers the card out to GG, "We shouldn't take too long trying to put this to bed. The longer we take, the more powerful this guy is going to get." 

:'''{{#var:36|Goblin-Girl (36)}} has posed:''' Goblin-Girl says, "Let me step outside a moment and call someone. He is a vampire, but a goog guy. He is called Angel. If that is OK with you?" 

:'''{{#var:174|Harry Dresden (174)}} has posed:''' Harry Dresden arches his brow and narrows his eyes. "I haven't exactly had the best of luck with vampires." says Harry with a cold tone to his voice. He thinks for a moment, and then sighs. "I suppose. I can always turn him to ash if he gets uppity." 

:'''{{#var:36|Goblin-Girl (36)}} has posed:''' Sarah steps outside the office so she can make a call with her cell phone, "Hello, Angel? Yes, it is Sarah, I am at Harry Dresden's place. Do you think you might stop by to consult on a case?" 

:'''{{#var:219|Angel (219)}} has posed:'''     "Hi! Sarah...right. I gave you my card...sure, I think I can do that. Text me the address, and I will head there as soon as I can. " 

:'''{{#var:36|Goblin-Girl (36)}} has posed:''' Sarah sends Angel the address...angel probasbly still does not know how to look it up on his phone. How long he takes to arrive will depend on how he travels. 

:'''{{#var:36|Goblin-Girl (36)}} has posed:''' Goblin-Girl steps inside and says, "Angel is on his way. Hopefully it will not take long." 

:'''{{#var:174|Harry Dresden (174)}} has posed:''' Harry Dresden leans back against his desk and sighs, muttering a word and waving his hands towards the front door to deactivate his wards...just in case. "As long as he doesn't try to eat me or any of my friends, we should be cool. If he makes a move, though. All bets are off." 

:'''{{#var:36|Goblin-Girl (36)}} has posed:''' "I have never seen him try to eat anyone, he seems to be about the nicest Vampire you could hope to meet," Replies Goblin-girl. Of course, he has not net her in this getup...but he does know about Sarah's powers... 

:'''{{#var:219|Angel (219)}} has posed:'''     The sound of a older model car arriving outside, then a knock on the door announces Angel's arrival. Waiting patiently outside, Angel waits to be allowed inside. 

:'''{{#var:174|Harry Dresden (174)}} has posed:''' Giving Goblin-girl a look for a moment, Harry sighs and looks to the door of his office as there is a knock. "Come in." says the wizard, as he leans against his desk, facing the door with his arms crossed over his chest. He looks a little tense, but trying to look relaxed. 

:'''{{#var:219|Angel (219)}} has posed:'''     Opening the door, Angel moves inside catiously, his eyes scanning every inch of the room. "Sarah?" Angel asks quietly, making sure he has the right place. Finally, his eyes find Harry, and he blinks. "I'm Angel." Angel waves over his shoulder, and says, "This is Fred. What can we do to help?" 

:'''{{#var:36|Goblin-Girl (36)}} has posed:''' Sarah is dressed funny, in a padded costume with a green scale pattern on the body suit, with a goblin masked helmet, and a purple long vest, gloves, boots, and hat. Her eyes on the mask are yellow (but not currently glowing). Still, Angel's vampire senses tell him it IS Sarah Osborn, no matter how she is dressed. Her scent is unmistakable as is the sound of her heartbeat. She says, "Come in Angel, and nice to see you Winifred, it has been a long time." 

:'''{{#var:174|Harry Dresden (174)}} has posed:''' Harry Dresden glances between Angel and GG, then back to the vampire. "Harry Dresden." he says as he looks at Angel, taking a deep breath and deciding to give the vampire the benefit of the doubt as he walks forward to offer his hand. "Thank you for coming. Goblin-girl over here says you might be able to help us with something we have encountered, it's not pretty." He looks over to Fred, and nods to her with a small smile. "I guess I will just come out and say it. We have someone who has bound an elder demon, has been syphoning and using it's blood to make a drug, which in turn has been turning the users into minor demons under control of the elder, whom is under control of whomever bound it. Fun huh!" 

:'''{{#var:219|Angel (219)}} has posed:'''     "Nice to see you again Sarah." Angel nods towards her, and notes that it is her. Angel then adds cautiously. "Harry. Dresden," Something about that sounds familiar. After a few seconds though, he shrugs and nods.     Angel peers at Harry carefully, sensing something...and accepts the welcome. When Harry explains why they are here, Angel says, "Now that sounds...interesting. I know that Fred has some things she would like you to help her with as well, so quid pro quo." Angel adds, "An elder demon. Forces no one should play with." 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' From behind Angel's shoulder is a slim waif of a girl. It was hard - if not impossible to see her behind the tall and imposing figure of the vampire in front of her. When she heard that Angel had a call involving the very Wizard she wanted to contact about a certain case, she all but insisted that she come along. Not that it really was much insisting rather than just asking Angel if she could. The brunette physicist clutches at her hands in front of her, nodding in greeting to both Sarah and Harry. Her mouth opens to start to ask about the quo to Angel's quid when Harry tells them that someone has been bound to an elder demon. Blinking a few times, she closes her mouth and listens. Despite her desperation in the moment, she looks between Sarah and Harry. For now folding her arms instead of holding her hands in front of her, as if physically trying to hold her own request inside. 

:'''{{#var:36|Goblin-Girl (36)}} has posed:''' Goblin-girl states, "I have seen this stuff in action. It apparently works like a normal addictve drug at first, but after a few hits it transforms you physically. Men get striong and armored, wemen less strong but really fast and agile. I say 5 victims, but they mentioned there were more somewhere else."" 

:'''{{#var:174|Harry Dresden (174)}} has posed:''' Harry Dresden arches a brow at Angel when he mentions Fred wanting to talk to him, and the taller than Angel man peers to where Fred is hiding, giving her a bit of a wave. "Miss. I'll talk to you in a moment, ok?" He looks back to Angel and nods, "Yeah, no shit. Nobody should be playing with demons at all, but an elder is about 10 times worse. And this guy has it bound. That means some scary amounts of power to be tossing around. Just be glad you didn't see the binding site, it wasn't pretty." Harry's face turns a bit green as he flashes back to that image, his wizards sight not letting him forget. 

:'''{{#var:219|Angel (219)}} has posed:'''     Angel nods, and crosses his arms across his chest. "I'm impressed Harry. You know your stuff." Angel does look impressed. He turns to look at Sarah, and nods, saying, "Interesting Sarah. Sounds like a darkness we need to take out." Turning back to Harry, Angel says, "I bet it wasn't pretty. Huh. Well, we will help in any way we can."     Angel looks back and Fred, and says, "If we can get their help for the other problem we talked about, great. And in return, maybe we can help them out?" Angel nods, and steps back. "Anything I can do, let me know. I'll let you guys talk, and we can go from there. Fred has my utmost confidence." 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' Stepping out from behind Angel a bit, Fred nods to Harry and listens to the explanation from Sarah. "Oh sure," she replies to Harry, waving one hand as she does it. "I get it. Elder Gods are bad news. One day you've got on guy going 'C'thulhu Fhtagn' and the next it's a whole mess of people in wet robes out int he ocean trying to get him back from R'lyeh. Not anything anybody properly wants except them, 'course." She hears about what's been done to four or five people and when Angel says they can help if Harry helps them, she nods. "'Course. If you can help, that'd be...I'd be grateful. If you can't, though, I'm not about to let some cultist run about out of spite." 

:'''{{#var:36|Goblin-Girl (36)}} has posed:''' Sarah notes, "Cultist may be the wront tem, from the sounds of it the summoner is in charge...in a cult it is usually the other way around." 

:'''{{#var:174|Harry Dresden (174)}} has posed:''' After giving Angel a 'Of course I know my stuff...hello, Wizard' look, Harry can't help but chuckle a bit at Fred. "Hell's bells! Elder demon, not Elder god. If this was an Elder god, I would just be bending over and kissing my ass goodbye without even trying to think of a strategy to defeat it. From what I can it is what GG said, one guy with a bunch of power. Stop him, stop the demon, save the city? World? How did that line go in that show?" He shrugs, "As far as helping you, what do you need?" A woman in trouble? This is Dresden, he can't say no. He just isn't wired that way. 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' "Oh!" Fred blinks a few times. "Demon, right, not God. And a summoner, not a cult." It's possible that she is distracted by her own reasons for being here. "That's a lot better, yeah. Though, probably still a lot of robes and chanting. Do you guys need us to help track 'em down?" She assumes that with a full blown Wizard the pair don't need the mystical help. Though, it's certainly possible. A glance is, again, given between the two in an attempt to figure out how she and Angel can help them. As for why she's here, her hands return to wringing in front of her. "I need your help tracking someone down. I've got Angel, and it's not that Angel isn't amazing at what he does, but I think we need all the help we can get. I saw your ad and thought, well, magic sounds like a good place to find some of that. Help, that is." She takes a breath, since that was a bit of a mouthful. She looks up to Harry, not exactly pleading, but certainly looking like a woman desperate for solutions. "Anyway, I need to find him. He was kidnapped by an assassin with a metal arm. I know he's in trouble and he needs help." 

:'''{{#var:36|Goblin-Girl (36)}} has posed:''' Sarah might be able to help, but right now se is not being asked, she does say, "I could probably find some relevant files on assassins with metal arms...was that an EXTRA arm or a replacement arm?" There is Sidearm for instance...who has extra arms, then there are others with one are replaced. 

:'''{{#var:174|Harry Dresden (174)}} has posed:''' "I'll use whatever help I can get. I don't know if I can handle tackling this summoner, and elder demon, and any lesser demons that may be around all by myself. I'm good, but I am not that good. I'm hoping to be able to track the demon by the blood sample I have, but if that doesn't work I might have to move to other options." He rolls a shoulder, before looking to Fred as she talks about the other issue. "Assassin. Metal Arm? Huh." Why does that sound familiar to him? Didn't Karrin mention someone like that to him? Maybe, he will have to ask her. "Yeah, of course. If you have something of his like hair, blood, or finger nail clippings, that will be the best way to locate him. Otherwise, an item of his that he is close to may work, or the blood of a relative if they are close." 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' "We could certainly help with that. Done more'n our fair share of hunting down and stopping creatures that are preying on folks. Helping the helpless and all." It's even on their cards! Fred's hands again cross instead of wringing, realizing it's not doing much for her 'ability to help image'. "If we get a starting point, we can figure that out...though first I gotta find Sam." Hunting down demons is beneficial to everyone, but she has a priority at the moment. "That would be great," Fred tells Sarah, eyes switching to her as she does so. "It's a replacement arm, I think. I actually never asked if it was an additional arm, though I woulda thought someone woulda mentioned it if he had three arms. 'Course, it's possible I just didn't ask the right questions. Sometimes I forget to ask about those details." Harry's willingness to help and seeming easy answer is met with a look of absolute and utter hope and relief. "I can get you something like that. I've been trying to get in touch with his brother. Would a brother's blood work? If not, I'm sure I could find some hair. And I've also got something of his he carried around for years. Would that work if I can't get any of the others?" 

:'''{{#var:36|Goblin-Girl (36)}} has posed:''' Goblin-girl comments, "I offered to pay Harry for his help, but he had another client already on the Demon case. He does need to get money coming in though, he has expenses like this office and is car repairs to deal with." 

:'''{{#var:174|Harry Dresden (174)}} has posed:''' "Familial blood could work. I know I have done it from mother to daughter, so siblings should have the same properties. I won't know for sure until I try...but yes, if that doesn't work something he carried around would likely be a good secondary option." says Harry with a nod as he thinks about it. He looks over to G kind of quizzically, "While I appreciate the sentiment, I can manage my own accounts payable." He smiles, "I'm sure Ms. Burke and I can come to an agreeable arrangement, though I believe that Mister...Angel..." he shrugs, "...covered that in the guid pro quo offer. They are going to help with the demon, I help with the tracking." 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' Fred blinks a few times at Sarah as she brings up the payment, cheeks blushing just a little. "Oh! 'Course. I thought Angel said it was all exchange. I've got some money saved away, Mr. Dresden, I'd be glad to pay whatever you want if I've got it. Otherwise I'll pay you back over time either with helping or with more money as I get it." After a moment, she adds as if hoping to assure him this is worth his while, "Sam's a Hunter and he's smart, he'd be able to help track and stop these demons once we find him." When she hears that both blood and the lockpicks will hopefully be sufficient, she exhales a bit, relieved. It would have crushed her to realize she found someone to help, but didn't have the right ingredients for him to actually do it. "Thank you, Mr. Dresden. Thank you so much." She beams from Harry to Sarah. "We'll be real helpful, too. Promise." As if not wanting to spoil that, she starts to pull Angel out the door, handing out the Angel Investigations card with her own phone number on it to both Sarah and Harry as she does so. "Thank you both. Call us soon as you need." 

:'''{{#var:36|Goblin-Girl (36)}} has posed:''' Sarah pens a number on the card fred giver Harry, "This is a pre-paid cell phone, not sure you will be able to call me, but if you can this is the number to reach me." She knows Harry has a magical problem with technology...though she is uncertain of the particulars. 
}}

1705/Needle in a Haystack

2017-07-29T20:58:17Z

Feigenbaum: Created page with "{{Log Header |Date of Scene=2025/07/20 |Location=Hyperion Hotel - Lobby |Synopsis=Fred asks for Angel's help to find Sam. |Cast of Characters=160, 219 |pretty=yes }} {{Poses |..."

{{Log Header
|Date of Scene=2025/07/20
|Location=Hyperion Hotel - Lobby
|Synopsis=Fred asks for Angel's help to find Sam.
|Cast of Characters=160, 219
|pretty=yes
}}
{{Poses
|Poses=:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' Thursday the 20th comes to a close. The sun sets, the moon rises and the lights of the street lights illuminate the night. Inside the Hyperion Hotel, Winifred Burkle paces. Then, she sits on one of the round sofas for a few moments, foot tapping against the marble floor, hands in her lap bouncing. A ball of nervous energy, she can only stay seated for a few minutes before she stands again and moves behind the counter. The physicist keeps looking toward the stairs and then the door to the basement and then the front door, waiting for a certain Brooding Vampire to make an appearance after sending him a message that she'd like to speak with him. 

:'''{{#var:219|Angel (219)}} has posed:'''     Walking down the stairs from his office is Angel. He pulls his overcoat up over his shoulders and peers silently outside, ensuring that it is night after all. With a wan smile, and a quick look towards the main area of the hotel, he notices the person he came to see. "Hi Fred. I got your message that you wanted to see me." His smile disappears, and he puts on a neutral expression. "Is everything okay? You seem...agitated." Angel moves to the centre of the room, and stops. 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' Hearing the footfalls down the stairs and then his voice, Fred quickly turns more fully toward Angel. "Angel!" There's a bit of relief in her voice now that he's come down the stairs. Instead of pacing, now she moves to him. "No. I'm...agitated. That's a good word for it." Her answer is rapid fire, much like her theories of physics that she's recited to him whether he's wanted to hear it or not. But, there's a forcefulness in her voice this time, a determination. "Worried's another. Angry, too. You know that guy I borrowed your car to go help out? He's missing. Hasn't gotten back to me in days. Something bad's happened to him. I'm pretty sure he's been kidnapped. I need your help to find him and then go get him. Remember that metal arm guy I told you about before? The one that killed the ambassador? I'm pretty sure he's got him." 

:'''{{#var:219|Angel (219)}} has posed:'''     Angel jerks a bit, surprised at Fred's quick movement towards him. Angel then relaxes, raising his hands up palms out, just in case. "I can see you are." Angel looks at Fred concerned. She is firing on all cylinders. "Worried...angry..." Angel frowns.     Angel crosses his arms across his chest, and nods. A few times. As Fred recites the situation. Angel waits until she pauses to take a breath, and he nods. "Of course Fred. Anything we can do to help, and I'm there." Angel gets a "thinking" expression on his face, as though deep in thought. "Metal arm guy...where have I heard that before? A soldier. I remember reading a newspaper about him. Interesting. Are you sure it's him?" 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' As Angel jerks back, Fred pauses in her approach. Perhaps she's coming on a little strong. Taking another step back, she wrings her hands a bit again. Knowing that he'll help and that he's already trying to think about solutions relaxes her shoulders just slightly. It's clear that her entire body is wired tightly, like she's a taut bowstring ready to fire. "Thank you, Angel," she tells him softly, sincerely. "That means a lot. I knew that if anyone was gonna find him, it'd be you." The question as to whether she is sure or not is met with a look he might not have ever seen on the face of the woman who hid in her hotel room for months after Pylea and drew strange equations on her wall. There's anger there, simmering - not at him, but directed at the metal arm man. "Yes. I'm sure. I was helping Mercy put together a small EMP that'll hopefully take that arm out once we find out where they are and she got a text from him taunting us." Wait, Fred's been building an EMP? What? "He's got another woman, too. Claire Temple. She's a really nice nurse that helped patch Sam up a few times. We need to help them both." The revelation that the metal arm guy might be a soldier is met with a nod. The more information they can gather on him the better. "A newspaper article? What'd it say?" 

:'''{{#var:219|Angel (219)}} has posed:'''     "Well, I will try my best Fred. I'm sure with all our resources we can find him and deal with the Metal Arm Guy." Angel smiles and nods. He then listens to Fred talk about an EMP, and he actually blinks. In puzzlement at first. "An...EMP?" Angel looks slightly confused and then hears Claire's name. "More innocents. A nurse even." Angel shakes his head, and frowns.     "The newspaper article said he was an assassin and had gotten into an altercation downtown in New York. That is a capable fighter, and that the situation was very combative." Angel's memory sometimes comes in handy. "Never said his name though."     "Maybe I have someone who can help us. A woman that I met a short time ago. She has a connection to a "wizard" and I hear he's a good guy. Maybe...hmmm..." Angel stops to think and says, "Do you have any other leads?" 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' "I know you will," Fred responds with conviction. It's clear she has complete and utter faith in Angel and his abilities. As for the EMP, she nods, earnest. "That arm's all metal and machinery. An electric overload should shut it down so he can't use it. Should come in handy should he try and attack us while we're getting Sam and Claire." No pun intended, of course. At the article information, she nods, ingesting that. "Claire was calling him Yasha. Don't know if that's actually his name or not, but she seemed to know about him. More than us, that is. Might be why he took her." If he's an assassin, having someone know about his personal details could be a liability. The offer of more help gives makes her look even more hopeful. "A wizard? That's great. I found one in the Yellow Pages, actually. Harry Dresden. Ad said 'Lost items found.' I was hoping maybe that could include people. Also, Mercy's got a good nose for finding people." Literally. "On Friday he was supposed to text me when he got home, but it was around 9 when he said he stopped to help a woman with a broken down car on the side of the road. After that I haven't heard from him. I tried retracing where he might've driven, but I didn't find anything. That's my only lead." 

:'''{{#var:219|Angel (219)}} has posed:'''     "Ah. EMP. Makes sense." Angel nods. He wasn't too up on his techie stuff. He was a brusier, that was it. Maybe a bit of a detective."Yeah, I think she said that was his name. She was supposed to call me to get her to help her out. You are welcome to come when she calls." Angel nods.     As for the rest..."Well, we'll have to take your info and the lead, and go from there." Angel adds, "Fred. Great work by the way. You are lucky to be okay, safe and sound, so you can help your friends get out of this mess." Angel nods. "I will help you out any way I can. First things first." Angel adds, "Don't worry Fred. We'll make sure everyone's safe and rescued. I promise." Angel was usually good at keeping his promises. Most of the time anyway. "The call should be coming soon." 

:'''{{#var:160|Winifred Burkle (160)}} has posed:''' There's almost something of a smile that crosses Fred's face as he tells her she did good work. His compliments still count for quite a bit to her. "I didn't even really do anything except for wait for a text message." She shrugs a bit self consciously. His reassurances also seem to calm her down, the tautness in her shoulders slightly relaxing. She's no longer pacing, though the hands are still clasped in front of her. She's still going to worry, but his steady demeanor does its job. "Thanks," she tells him, chin tilting up to give him a grateful look. "I really appreciate it, Angel." 

:'''{{#var:219|Angel (219)}} has posed:'''     "Anytime Fred." Angel smiles, and nods, "You underestimate how great you did and how awesome you are Fred. We'll get your friends back. And make the bad guys hurt. A lot." Angel smiles in reassurance. "After all, that's why we are here. Helping the helpless and all that." 
}}

Winifred Burkle

2017-07-29T20:45:04Z

Feigenbaum:

{{CharacterNew
|NameOnMUSH=WInifred Burkle
|Color=#333
|Char_id=160
|Img=https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/236x/3a/6c/72/3a6c7235c88949389ae8eb9dd2419a4f--amy-acker-hot-actresses.jpg
|FullName=WInifred Burkle
|Gender=Female
|Species=Human
|Theme=Dark Horse
|Chartype=FC
|Active=Active
|Occupation=Physicist/Inventor/Investigator/Hunter
|Groups=Angel Investigations
|Quote="Can I say somethin' about destiny? Screw destiny! If this evil thing comes, we'll fight it and we'll keep fightin' it until we whup it. 'Cause destiny is just another word for inevitable, and nothing's inevitable as long as you stand up, look it in the eye, and say, 'You're evitable!'"
|PAge=22
|AAge=22
|DOB=August 29th, 2001
|Height=5'6"
|Weight=110
|Hair=Brown
|Eyes=Brown
|Actor=Amy Acker
|Profile=The only child of Roger and Trish Burkle, Fred grew up in a loving household in Dallas Texas. A smart girl, she sailed through high school as well as her bachelor's degree, never veering far from home. She even went to college at the Dallas State School so that she could stay close to her family. However, every bird has to spread it's wings, and Fred's time came when she found her calling to study physics. Accepted to the UCLA program in Los Angeles, she moved to the big city.

Excelling in all of her classes, Fred proved herself to be a bright, up and coming physicist. When she wasn't in the lab or studying, she was working at the Stewart Brunell Public Library. It was in this library that Fred came upon the ancient text that opened the portal to Pylea. Always curious, she spoke part of the ancient text aloud, which activated the portal and sucked her into the Hellish dimension without giving her any way of returning.

For five years, Fred survived Pylea. She worked as a cow with an explosive collar around her neck for two years before finally managing to disable it and escape into the woods. There, she found a small cave that she made her own and hid away from everyone and everything that could take her back to being a slave. Every once in awhile she would have to travel into town to steal food and sometimes her curiosity just got the best of her. Scribbling physic equations and pictographs on the wall in an attempt to both remember and forget her old life, she went a little insane. Using a defense mechanism, she convinced herself that LA and that dimension never existed - that this had always been her life. Still very smart and with amazing survival instinct, she managed to keep herself alive for years until luck sent Angel into Pylea. He rescued Fred and pulled her back to their proper dimension.

Once returned, she hid herself away, drawing on walls and generally terrified that at any moment, any action might bring her back to Pylea.

After awhile, she managed to crawl back to something approaching normal. Her family eventually found her and helped her recover. Eventually, she moved to Bludhaven in an attempt to use the knowledge that she knew to make a difference. While she is more stable than she has been in a few years, she still has some trauma she is working through.
|Abilities=GENIUS
Fred has a genius level intellect. She was well on her way to finishing her doctorate program far before her time. Able to think on her feet as well as comprehend complex problems and solve them on the run, her smarts are able to get herself and others out of multiple problems.

MAD SCIENTIST
Always an inventor, Fred is able to put together both complex Rube Goldberg-like devices under pressure as well as more delicate and finessed devices with time on her side. Her mind is always able to think outside of the box or take a rational leap in order to come up with solutions others would not have. She can build a device that could corporealize a ghost, or a large box that may make toast. With Fred, you can never really tell.

SURVIVOR
Fred does not give up easily. It does not matter how horrible the circumstances or how dire the outlook, she will face it and come out on the other side. She has already faced living alone in a hell dimension where the demons there captured, enslaved and killed humans and she escaped. The challenges she and the people she faces can be dealt with: she knows it.
|Skills=INVESTIGATION
Fred is good at research and science and math and helping find things out that way. People interviews and hitting the street is not so much her forte. While she is observant and smart, she also tends to be trusting - not the best suits in attempting to figure out if a suspect or a potential client is lying.

SCIENCE
In her former life, before being pulled into Pylea, Fred was a graduate student in Physics physics program of UCLA and was bright enough to make her professor jealous of her talents. While she no longer is going for her PhD, she applies the same testing and scientific mind to the supernatural and everything around her.
|Resources=FAMILY
Fred has two loving parents who are willing to support her no matter what she does. They supported her move from Texas to LA and then, after her return, they supported her when she decided to stay and study the supernatural. Their continued and utter support has helped Fred multiple times. Also, her mother will run over demon bugs with a bus.
|Weaknesses=A LITTLE CRAZY
Having spent a lot of time alone and on the run in a dimension she didn't understand and with little hope of returning to Earth, Fred turned inward. Since returning, she has gotten better, but she is still a little bit crazy. It can crop up at strange times and tends to make her awkward around other people.

FOOT IN MOUTH
Fred has the tendency to speak before thinking. This can lead to long, rambling speeches about science or possibilities. It can also mean that she says things that might offend or embarrass them or herself before she can shut her mouth.

TRIGGER
After being sucked through a portal into a hell dimension, Fred was quite broken. While she is generally okay with magic, porting magic will make her freak out again. The idea of being trapped in other dimensions will almost certainly get her writing on walls again.

UNFORGIVING
While Fred is usually a trusting person, once she learns that someone has abused or taken advantage of that trust, she will completely and utterly disconnect from them. If proper evidence is produced that incriminates someone as having caused her or her loved ones harm, she will not hesitate to retaliate against them.
}}

Winifred Burkle

2017-07-29T20:39:22Z

Feigenbaum:

Winifred Burkle

2017-07-29T20:38:52Z

Feigenbaum: Created page with "{{CharacterNew |NameOnMUSH=WInifred Burkle |Color=#333 |Char_id=160 |Img=https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/236x/3a/6c/72/3a6c7235c88949389ae8eb9dd2419a4f--amy-acker-hot-act..."