1003/Patch the Woobie

Patch the Woobie
Date of Scene:	15 June 2017
Location:	The Belugi Motel, New York
Synopsis:	Fred Burkle retrieves a wounded Sam Winchester in the aftermath of his encounter with The Winter Soldier, and calls Claire Temple to help. The conversation takes an unexpected turn.
Cast of Characters:	Sam Winchester, Winifred Burkle, Claire Temple

---

Sam Winchester has posed:
Directly after calling her from his position inside of the remains of a hollow log, Sam asked Fred to just bring him back to his room at The Belugi Motel. He is speaking mostly in a whisper because his throat's a freaking mess of bruises. He could have, if he'd been feeling like disclosing anything that happened to the government, called May and gone straight to a SHIELD facility. That's definitely what May would have preferred, and will probably gripe about when he finally shows up for a little accelerated healing. But he's got his reasons for wanting to keep this encounter from his new...allies? Sometime bosses? Whatever they are?

It's interesting, staring at a phone screen, figuring out the names on that screen that one really trusts, and figuring out it boils down to two. And that one of those names belongs to a girl he barely knows, and who thinks he might be a serial killer.

The motel room is not very pretty. Orange coverlets, some sort of decorative green-painted leaf ironwork thing in the middle of the room to kind of sort of divide it from the kitchenette area in a very half-ass fashion, peeling orange and green and white striped wallpaper that someone, really, should have been shot for choosing. He was happy to lay there quietly on the sort of depressing bed, panting and sweating in pain. And when Fred called Claire and she actually agreed to come, he felt a burst of raw gratitude.

Once Claire is here too:

"Thank you again, Fred, Nurse Temple," he whispers earnestly. "I," he winces as he shifts minutely and ends up grating bone on bone, "really appreciate it."

Winifred Burkle has posed:
When Fred got Sam's phone call, she was a bit startled. She hadn't heard from the Hunter since his last run in with the man who has a metal arm in the hospital other than to hear that he was out. The call is met with wide eyes and then a determination that crosses her face at the very offset of his greeting. She takes Angel's car keys with barely an explanation and is off to the location she was given by the taller Winchester brother.

It takes her a little while to find Sam in his hiding place. "Sam?" She calls out, a flashlight scanning across the terrain. When she sees the bruises on his neck, there's a look of concern that crosses over her features - easily readable in those large brown eyes of hers. She's dressed in jeans and a bright red shirt...not exactly stealth material, but she's here. Her long brown hair is pulled into two loose braids. Tentatively, she reaches out to try and help Sam up to his feet and to the black convertible she's driven here to fetch him.

The motel is looked about with a bit of a raised eyebrow at the orange coverlets and the green ironwork. Skepticism, easily seen in her expression. She insists on calling Claire for her to look at his wounds and bruises, doing so with barely a question to Sam. "Should we call your brother?" she asks, remembering how worried the other Winchester was when they were in the hospital last.

His thanks is met with a smile. "You've seen my business card. We help the helpless." And, really, with the last few times she's met Sam he certainly seems to fit the bill.

Claire Temple has posed:
After that quick call into the front desk of Metro-Gen, and some very desperate negotiating with a friend who owes her one (and her excuse is that her mother is sick, seriously, of all the lies, Temple, you tell one that legitimately makes you feel ill) --

-- Claire has three trains to conceive, gestate, and nurture the ONE HELL OF A LECTURE that is growing inside her.

Only in through the door of the motel, after her fast, urgent knock on the door, does she give birth to --

"What did I say? What did I /say/ the last time I saw you, Sam /Doe/. What the hell did I say!" Setting her messenger bag down and stripping off her coat -- she's still wearing her scrubs from her shift, no time to change -- Claire marches in, sharp-eyed and self-righteous, all the glower of a woman who knows God is on her own. And common sense. And NOT BEING DUMB.

"Did I say something to the ends of: yeah, please do, go after Mr. Embassy Bomber, because that sure went well /last time/. And damn straight you better appreciate it!" The rant is endless. At least the glance Claire flicks Fred is gentler -- she is absolved, she's not the one /lying on a bed in pain/, sort of a combination 'hello' and 'sorry to meet you again in this way', as she rounds to Sam's bedside, looking down on him. Already the anger is ventilated from the nurse, who just looks tired, weary, and strangely guilty. "Let's see where's the worst of it."

Sam Winchester has posed:
Sam flashes a quick smile as Fred calls him helpless, wry and self-depricating. "You do a great job of it," he whispers. "But don't call Dean, not yet. He's on a hunt, I couldn't get through to him earlier and he's..."

And then.

Sudden. Furious. Claire.

"...going...to...be...pissed?"

His eyes widen, and he raises his good hand as if to defend himself from the sudden barrage of words. He glances to Fred, as if seeking her help. He acts like many men act in the face of ANGRY FEMALE. He freezes like he's a deer in headlights and he looks completely overwhelmed.

Then she is telling him to show her the worst. "My arm's broken," he whispers. "And a rib. Or two? The rest is just bruised bones I think." He hesitates, then unbuttons the plaid shirt he's wearing, figuring she'll need to see. Right now, this is not an exercise of showing off his sculpted chest. He looks a lot like pulped meat. It's purple and yellow and angry red and blue all the way.

"Winchester," he adds softly. She's come to his aid here, and has covered for him at the hospital. Fred already has his full name. Claire deserves it, too.

And then he offers a quiet defense of himself. "I didn't have any choice. He was going to kill someone. I had to stop him. That's what I /do/, guys." There's a note of pleading in his whispered tone. "I save people."

Winifred Burkle has posed:
There's a clear look of either disbelief or disapproval when Sam tells Fred not to call Dean. "Are you sure? Maybe just a message..." She's about to say something more to that end when there is a knock on the door. "That should be Claire."

Opening the poorly painted motel door, Claire enters in a whirlwind. Fred gives a bit of a smile and starts to speak, "Th--" that's all she gets out before the nurse is through the threshold and immediately yelling at Sam. There's a few blinks as she then gently shuts the door and puts the chain on, just in case.

A few times in Claire's rant, Fred holds a finger up and opens her mouth to counter or just get a word in edgewise, but it is useless and the finger then slowly will deflate back down, her mouth shuts again. When Sam looks to her for help to soothe the angered Temple, she can only get him a bit of a bewildered shrug of her shoulders. What can she, a mere mortal, do in the face of such a tempest?

Finally, there is a bit of silence. Lamely, she says, as she started to at the door, "Thanks for coming, Claire," she says. "I know it was out of your way." Sam's argument that this is what he does is met with a bit of a look. "You should have called..." it sounds as if she's about to say us, but then she looks at Claire and adds shortens, "...me."

Claire Temple has posed:
The anger leaves her as quickly as it came. Claire Temple, of the quick emotional processing.

Claire Temple, of the vast and endless /guilt/. Because most of this, if not all, has to be her own fault, her own doing -- keeping secrets that should have been told, dangerous secrets, /fatal/ secrets, and here that Sam Doe is back again --

-- and looking like he lost round two with the Winter Soldier. She's amazed he's even /alive/.

Fred helps dispell her temper, looking a little taken aback, enough to make the nurse feel briefly self-conscious of her outburst. Sam's proffered last name too. Looking between them, Claire frowns to herself, then reaches to pull her dark hair back over her shoulders. Her mouth presses into a thin line.

He was going to kill someone. Did she do this? Was it pulling him out of that machine only to lose him shortly after? Did those men find him again? What the hell is it she's not doing to /fix/ this?

"It's not out of my way," she concedes, because she's here, and this is what she does -- who she is -- looking down with assessing, apologetic eyes on Sam's injuries. Goddamnit. This is her fault. Accessory to battery on top of murder --

She leans down, and with a far more gentle, "Breathe slowly, I need to check for internal damage," she braces one hand on his shoulder and moves the other over his bruised abdomen and up his sides, applying careful pressure that aches like hell but is necessary for her to take count of his organs, see if there's dangerous swelling. "You really need an X-ray. Is someone going to tell me, from beginning to end, what the hell happened?"

Sam Winchester has posed:
Caught between two disapproving women for a moment, Sam only nods fervently when Fred asks if he's sure. There are things he's not ready to try to tell Dean yet, and the only explanation he has for how he came to be battling the Winter Soldier in suburbia is all wrapped up in those things. He looks away though, her disapproval enough to make /him/ look a little ashamed now.

When she says he should have called her, he hesitates. "I didn't want you to get hurt," he admits. It's that little chauvanistic streak again. It's not as bad in Sam as it is in his brother, but it's there, the macho-Marine ethic that he was taught running deep, the one that says that it's his job to stand and be pummeled in place of any womenfolk who happen to be about, especially womenfolk one might care about.

That, and the fact that Sam doesn't want to see Fred pinned to a ceiling, her life bleeding out as fire erupts...

He shudders and banishes the image. It might be mistaken for a shudder of pain.

And then Claire is telling him to breathe deep.

"Yes ma'am," Sam says, and he proceeds to breathe as indicated. His eyes tighten as her fingers bring him pain, but he doesn't complain. He breathes like one infinitely used to it, his compassionate eyes taking in some of the changes of expression on the nurse's face. The abdomen tightens his mouth, too. She asks for a full explanation. He opens his mouth to give it, knowing Fred really can't, but that's not what really comes out. Because he's not ready to tell them about visions either, and because...he's got something more important to say.

"The Winter Soldier," he says, using the official name, because SHIELD. It might sound like a flippant answer-- from start to finish, The Winter Soldier happened. Which would be Basically Accurate (TM). Save for his next words.

"I don't think he's a monster anymore. I think..."

They're going to think he's so /stupid/. He cuts a glance to Fred, for some reason, willing her to understand that he is /not/ stupid when he says, "I think he's someone who might need help."

Winifred Burkle has posed:
The woman did not exactly intend to deflate Claire's anger with her words, but Fred does tend to have a bit of an innocent way about her that tends to put people off guard or diffuses certain situations. As Claire checks Sam's injuries, the woman clearly turns her head a bit to the side as he reveals his impressive abdomen, though one that is now covered in ugly bruises. It's only polite to not look while he's being medically checked out (and not the ogling kind of checked out).

The fact that he doesn't want her to get hurt is met with a creased eyebrow and despite her polite turn away, she wheels back. "Hey now!" She tells him, Texan accent becoming a little stronger as she is angry. "I can handle myself, Sam Winchester. It's not that I don't appreciate a sentiment of not wanting people to get hurt, but you already've been hurt by this guy before and going in alone just got you more so! You coulda used some back up! I helped you with that demon before, didn't I? I've whupped demons and vampires and once a large bug creature! It was kinda gross, but it actually had a sweet ending. It was just a hive of large bugs lookin' for their babies." She's getting off topic. "What I mean to say is, I can help!"

Then, she looks at Claire, a bit of an apology at her own outburst. Only for her to look back at Sam incredulously. "//Help//?" Her voice goes a bit higher at that. "He beat you within an inch of your life! Twice! He killed an ambassador! The help he needs is to help himself into a jail cell!" She frowns, gesturing at his state. "Look what he did to you! How d'ya think he needs help?"

Claire Temple has posed:
"Because he does," comes a thin, brittle answer. And from Claire Temple's lips.

The nurse has been painfully silent through Sam and Fred's tense back-and-forth. Her refusal to interrupt, however, is not entirely borne of etiquette. Claire, with her hands reflexively feeling out the state of the man's pancreas, spleen, liver, intestines, and the swell of his lungs -- checking apologetically whether his broken ribs have punctured anything fragile within -- lets her mind wander and think and finally decide.

"Because I tried already. And it was too big for me." The nurse averts her eyes a moment, downcast, before she looks up -- not resolved, but ready to face consequences. Ready to own up to her own gravity of withholding secrets. "Because I know who you're talking about. Metal arm. I know him by another name -- Yasha. I pulled him out of this -- machine. People had him in. Sticking needles into his head. Cuffing him down. Making him scream. I got him out of it, but I lost him. I guess you found him, Sam Winchester."

Her mouth tightens into a brief, tired line. "He needs help. He needs... something."

Sam Winchester has posed:
Winnifred starts telling Sam all about how she can handle herself, and he holds up his hand again. "That's not the point, you-- I-- you can, but-- I-- okay. You're right. You're a hunter too."

Apparently Fred has just harrangued him into promising to take her as back up, at least when she's available. "But why would you want to risk yourself for m-- " You know, that seems like a question that's likely to get him slapped, so he clamps his mouth shut. And then she starts questioning his assessment. He doesn't look surprised by her objections.

He /does/, however, look surprised by Claire's agreement. He shuts up, now, to listen to his story.

"I guess I did," he agrees.

He looks over at Fred. "I'm alive because he just suddenly stopped. Grabbed his head. And told someone to shut up. A month ago I'd have just said 'possession' but-- I guess there's a new piece in what Claire just told us. Yasha's not a name in any of the l-- well, not lore. Information. I got. But he's old. Decades and decades old. But I saw his face. His face looks young. I //seriously// would normally think possession but...I have a feeling if I tried to shove a bunch of salt down his throat he'd just vomit it up and break my face."

He looks over at Fred. "If we could have saved that demon's vessel, the night we first met, instead of simply doing the best we could for her body after that exorcism, wouldn't you have wanted to do that? It...feels the same. Even if it's not."

Winifred Burkle has posed:
Fred's a hunter too! There, vindication. "Well, really I'm a physicist that helps a private investigator help people who might otherwise be considered crazy. But, I think this might be one of those six of one, half a dozen of the other designations, don't you think?"

Claire's quiet, yet rigid belief that this man can and should be helped is met with a look of surprise and confusion. "Wait, so you knew who he was when we were in the hospital last time?" Fred looks at Claire, frowning. "Is that why you've been helping us? To try and find this him?"

This time it's Fred who is met with arguments and agreements against what she believes is the proper and sane choice. Claire knows the man as Yasha. There's a frown as she looks first at Claire and then at Sam, trying to figure out what to say here. She sighs, lips pursing. Wouldn't she want to help the girl that attacked them? Not the demon inside, but the girl who was trapped in there? Of course she would. But, how can the be sure this is truly what this is?

Machines, a man who stops himself from killing someone despite voices in his head. It's possible there are explanations to this that she's heard. "For the record, I still think he's dangerous and that he should be locked up." But, she looks at Claire, "Do...do you know if he still has his soul?" It may sound like a flippant question, a rhetoric one of philosophy or religion, however she is serious. "Y'know, if someone removes your soul, you turn pretty evil and...murdery. I guess it's possible that's what happened. But, I don't know what the machine would be for. I was under the impression it was all done with spells."

Claire Temple has posed:
The initial reaciton is -- far more promising than Claire expects.

Given, she's not sure what she expects. An interrogation. An indictment for withholding information. Getting attacked by two strange, strange people who seem to think 'vampires' and 'demons' and 'no souls' is part of an adult conversation. But she's no longer protecting just herself here: she's protecting this errant 'Yasha' in a way, as well as trying to protect those who may well end up on the wrong side of his flesh-and-metal hands.

It puts Claire solidly in a precarious point. But not one she can continue backtracking on; withholding feels like medical negligence at this point. Especially if Sam Dumbchester gets his fool self killed.

Fred asks a great question. "Yeah, I did," Claire answers with rueful honesty. It's their choice to take that information and let it indict the nurse. She's not even sure if she regrets it; all she does is protect secrets nowadays. The act of doing so even for the Winter Soldier doesn't feel too wrong. "I've been helping you, though, because you two seem like good people. If not crazy, getting-yourself-killed ones. It's what I do. Finding him is less the job and more personal, I guess."

Then again, they start talking the more hokey side of things again, and somewhere between 'soul removal' and 'spells', Claire hits a diminishing point of returns. "Wait -- what? Listen. Whatever the hell you two are talking about -- and not sure I /want/ to ask -- it's not any of that. It's not spells or Hogwarts or souls or anything save from a couple of men putting another man in a /machine/ that was -- I have no idea." Yes, she does. She can guess. "I assume electroconductive -- shock therapy amped up to something sick and wrong. I found him being /tortured/. I got him out of it. And he -- took off on me. But it's not demons. It's science. They grafted a metal /arm/ onto him. Do you get how impossible that should be? Impossible like -- the fact I can't feel any hemhorraging inside you despite all he could have done."

She pauses. "Either you're twice lucky, or he was holding back."

Sam Winchester has posed:
"Luck, and lots of it," Sam agrees, because his powers activating when they did was certainly luck. "And training, a bit. I've kind of been doing the 'saving people' thing since I was a kid. On the road, with my Dad and my brother. He was a Marine. He put a .45 in my hand when I was 8, you know? We were looking for the thing that killed my Mom. So I'm no cream puff. He was also playing with me till I took his mask off. He didn't get really pissed off and really intent on trying to really murder me until I got it off him."

He turns solemn eyes on Claire. He is compelled to say: "Everything Fred and I are talking about is very real and very deadly...real, but...not particularly relevant right now, I agree. A man is being tortured, he's impossibly unaged-- through science, presumably, and his speed, strength, and ability to manage that arm are off the charts. Maybe the next step is to figure out who he is. If he went nuts when his mask got removed then his identity's got to be important, right? I've got access to a few resources. He was familiar to me for some reason. If you've seen Yasha's face, Claire, or you feel he'd let you, well...I can bring a big line up back to you and maybe we can get an ID and unravel this whole thing. And we gotta...keep him from everyone looking for him. SHIELD is, for sure, the government, whomever was torturing him. We gotta keep him hidden."

He looks to Fred and flashes a sheepish smile. "Out of our wheelhouse. But...that doesn't mean our wheelhouse can't help, either. Something's wrong with his brain. You seem to be just as good at hedge magic as I am. Could you put together the components for a dream walking potion, put it together for Claire? If Yasha trusts her, she might be able to get in there and help him out a little bit, or at least learn a little more."