1251/Aftermath - Soldier lost, Nurse saved.

Aftermath - Soldier lost, Nurse saved.
Date of Scene:	02 July 2017
Location:	NYC, a bad part of town
Synopsis:	"As advertised on the tin."
Cast of Characters:	Dean Winchester, Claire Temple, Sam Winchester

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Dean Winchester has posed:
It may LOOK clear... but Dean isn't stopping for heaven or hell until he is the HELL away from that clusterfuck. Like. Other side of town away. And then realizing he just left his car. Which leads a random: "FUCK!" as he punches the steering wheel. He can just picture the possible bullet holes of those asshats lighting it up.

So.. without anywhere else in mind to pull into, his first instinct is... to ditch the bullet-ridden monster truck. Which isn't hard, as he pulls into a seedier part of the city and back into an alley. "Either of you hit?"

Claire Temple has posed:
And the driver gets an answer: of a sort.

Because while neither of them have been hit, Sam Winchster is sure /getting/ hit, being committed a furious, snarling battery of Claire Temple's hands as she lashes open-handed strikes against his chest and shoulders, before she grips down, trying and failing to try to wrest his larger mass away.

"Turn BACK!" Claire shrieks, none of her usual, laconic patience here, nothing gentle about her hands, nothing wry about her eyes, just the wild, senseless panic of someone who has broken a promise. "Turn the FUCK back! He's BACK there! He's still back there!"

Sam Winchester has posed:
He's a big man. Strong and steady. Sam Winchester can take it. He bears the strikes with good grace, though he winces a little when they land on still-battered ribs. He tenses his big muscles against the blows, even as Dean asks if they've been hit. "We're fine, Dean. Are /you/ hit?"

He's definitely got a fine vantage point for determining that the fiesty Nurse Temple is 100% bullet-free.

He lets her beat at him, and beat at him, and beat at him, holds her hard, steady, and safe as Dean drives and finally stops, looking at her with eyes that reflect nothing but intense, deep compassion.

He waits until he thinks he senses the right moment. His voice bears the low, strong authority that it bore when he laid the plan out for Claire in the hospital. The voice of a man who might have made a rather outstanding lawyer had Fate had different plans for him.

"Claire."

It's all he says, much like he so often says 'Dean'. It's a voice with practice at slipping into a person's rage and diffusing it, a voice that is adept at opening the door so others can look through and see the sense of what's happening shining through, no matter how much they might hate it. A voice that is neverthless warm with the same gentle care on his face. A voice that says that if she needs to hit him a little more, well.

He won't resist.

Dean Winchester has posed:
"You know, if you really want him to listen aim a little higher." Dean says all calm... and waits for that telltale strike if she does smack his brother in the face (Really, he couldn't resist that one)... Before he whirls around in his seat to snap at the pair in the backseat. "I hate to break it to you, toots? But if we go back in there, you can kiss your ass goodbye and you would be -no- help to your friend back there. And I'm sorry, but I'm not risking my brother's life for a no-win situation."

He ignores his brother's asking if he's alright. He's got a fiesty little firecracker in the backseat they should calm down before her screaming brings in... weirdos from this bad part of town. Even though turned in the seat like he is, there is a bit of wet crimson on his jeans where the bullet is imbedded in his thigh- it wasn't a clear through since it hit the door first.

"We go back, we regroup, get some more help and then go in hell raising." He knows when they are in over their heads. And if that was any tell? THAT was way above.

Claire Temple has posed:
The wrath of Claire Temple puts firecrackers to shame. Simply put, this woman is a nuke, unskilled, untrained, and while there's no coordination in the ferocious pulls and strikes of her hands, there is a merciless intent behind them. A healer with the soul of a warrior.

And it appears all her fury has homed in on Sam Winchester, the largest and most apt target if there ever was one, and she seems set to punish every inch of his altruistic instinct to hold her down and shield her safe the entire escape drive out of that hell. "You left him!" she keeps snapping. "You /LEFT/ him!"

And then Dean turns back, and 'Toots' grants Sam the momentary reprieve from her anger because she's slipping the other Winchester a look that could strip the paint off this very truck. His logic is sound, but she's just not hearing it, just not /wanting/ to hear it, because all Claire can see -- burnt on the backs of her eyes -- is the way Bucky Barnes looked, dragged away.

"We have to!" she keeps snarling, or maybe pleading. Maybe both. "They're fucking monsters! They're going to -- we have to go back! We can't! You fucking COWARDS just let me --"

Then Sam speaks her name, and it draws back Claire's eyes. She fixes him with a breathless, indrescribable look, noose knotted with rage and fear and sinking hopelessness. Her hand curls into a wringing fist, coiled back --

-- before it loosens, and she lets go, slumped back on the seat as tears streak from her eyes. The anger lets her go, and all that's left is just a woman, broken and blaming herself.

Breathing in deeply, rubbing the tears off her face, the familar shine of blood provides her with momentary distraction. "You're bleeding," she says in Dean's direction, her brittle voice that of someone trying to pull herself together.

Sam Winchester has posed:
Sam Winchester's hazel-eyed gaze is steady as Claire pulls back her fist. He is stoically prepared for her to deck him with all of her might if that is what she needs right now. He doesn't flinch away from her, doesn't release his grip until the moment the fist loosens. His look softens still more for her tears, but he gently lets her go, content that she won't do something crazy, content that she is no longer a danger to herself or to do them. Something had crossed his face when she accused them of being cowards, but the emotion is impossible to describe, there and gone again.

"Claire's a nurse," Sam tells Dean. "You wanna switch places? She can deal with that, we can get somewhere with a few more supplies."

He can hear May going on about SHIELD medical in the back of his mind, but /that/ is nothing that needs to happen right now.

Whatever he, himself, may think or feel about the situation is kept locked away for the moment, in favor of taking his customary role as a calm and calming presence between volatile personalities, focusing primarily on what needs to be done and nothing more.

Dean Winchester has posed:
"No, we need to ditch this truck and fast. We're driving around with a big ass bullseye on our heads. We're full of bullet holes. Change rides." See? Really. He's just trying to be practical. He'll take the full brunt of all her fury if he has to. Guess its what one might call paying it forward. He just had his hard blows against Natasha. Still sporting a bruise or two that haven't fully faded.

And if Sam even -thinks- of bringing up May's name right now, he might just punch him, himself. "Vehicle. C'mon. We may have already been called in." See? They are in the MIDDLE of a big damn CITY. Not a backwoods town. He's already starting to get out of the truck, tucking his gun in his waistband, like usual and favoring the leg that is shot- and yes, bleeding.

Claire Temple has posed:
This is all your fault, thinks Claire Temple, the accusation a dagger she sticks into her own gut. She should have fought harder. Considered this. Thought of something else. She never even got to tell him --

Let go by Sam, Claire offers no more fight or gives no attempt to force herself out of the truck. Forced to face facts, she straightens herself up, pushing both hands through her dark hair before she steals a glance down at her own palms.

Her heart beats painfully in her chest. Cowards, she'd accused them. She was really accusing herself.

But, at the very least, she's a big girl -- at least one who emotionally processes fast. It helps that seeing that blood darkening Dean's pant leg pulls Claire back to a safer mindset, and ever the nurse even now, she frowns against talk about ditching cars before getting his injury seen to. "Make it fast," she warns. "If they've nicked the femoral artery, you've got a good fifteen minutes."

It is fast -- almost immediate in the city to spot a car worth stealing. Her mind still awhirl with thoughts of Bucky Barnes, Claire quickly follows suit, stepping out of the now-stopped truck. She gives Sam a glance, her eyes almost apologetic, before her attention rivets back on Dean. And with the straightest of faces: "You should get in the back. Pants off."

Sam Winchester has posed:
Change rides, Dean says.

"Right," Sam replies, and he keeps an eye out, taking point on this because Dean is limping, seamlessly moving up to take action now that he's declared it. There are so many little silent agreements between the two, moments when actions pass between them like batons in a relay, without them having to discuss who does what because they simply know who should. He moves fast because of Claire's words. Nicked femoral arteries. 15 minutes. Claire shoots him that apologetic glance, and he shoots her a fleeting, forgiving smile, one he hopes is reassuring, one he hopes that communicates they haven't been knocked out of the ring yet. Not yet.

There are specific criteria for stealing a car without very specific tools. Sam prefers them in dark blue or black. They have to be old enough to hotwire...no fancy computer chips and anti-theft systems. They're in a good part of town for it though; the bad part. Soon, he's got his lock pick set in hand; he's got a door open, he's bent down to pop a panel and twist wires. He works so fast that to anyone watching it might well look like he'd just dropped a contact lens briefly in the front seat; he's up and the car is on. He slips into the driver's seat and closes the door behind him.

And as for Dean? He's just got one thing to say.

"You heard the lady."

And then, once they're all bundled inside, he eases them out of the neighborhood with intense and focused care. Shaking any pursuit and getting Dean fixed is step one.

They'll have to worry about step two later.