1653/Locking In Romance

From United Heroes MUSH
Jump to navigation Jump to search
Locking In Romance
Date of Scene: 14 July 2017
Location: The Hyperion
Synopsis: Sam Winchester brings Fred Burkle an unusual gift and they spend a sweet evening together hours before the Winter Soldier takes him.
Cast of Characters: Sam Winchester, Winifred Burkle




Sam Winchester has posed:
Friday the 14th, 2017, 1:18 PM

(Several hours before the Winter Soldier abducts one Sam Winchester).

Sam arrives at Fred's room at her "abandoned" hotel bearing a pair of plastic bags. One is from a convenience store. One is from a hardware store.

He's dressed in the black jacket he's adopted lately, a black and blue plaid shirt and a black t-shirt, all over crisp, new jeans. He looks far more himself this way than he looked in his suit when he was making an effort for tacos. Subsequently, he's far more relaxed as well...the second date (or the third, if one counts the vampire rescue, weirdly, as the first)...is always easier than the first.

His long hair is still neatly combed however, and the smell of aftershave lingers on fresh-shaved cheeks. He's still making an effort.

He knocks thrice, grinning that bright, boyish grin of his...he has a notion this isn't the kind of date she'd normally get, and he has a further notion that it's exactly the sort she's going to like. Or...he at least hopes she will. It could backfire. But he feels mostly confident it won't. He allows himself the positive attitude even as he worries for Dean, even as he worries for James Barnes, even as he feels a stab of guilt for the case he couldn't find today, even on SHIELD's behalf. Today, things are quiet.

A stab of guilt, but not enough to make him back down on his commitment to recognize those moments where literally nothing can be done on anything, and to use those moments to spend time with this Huntress who seems to be so thoroughly capturing his heart...a minor miracle, considering he had spent the past year truly believing he'd never love anyone ever again, would never be able to bring himself to /endanger/ anyone ever again.

Winifred Burkle has posed:
The Hyperion, while no longer a functioning hotel, still has the old Hollywood feel of one. The lobby is colored marble and there are comfortable round couches in the center. Up the stairs and down a hallway with multiple doors that look exactly the same, Sam finds Fred's room.

The door opens and Fred is dressed for the occasion as well. Her long brown hair is pulled into two braids and she's wearing another sun dress. "Well hey there," she grins at Sam, leaning forward to give him a peck of a kiss. Then, she glances at the bags he's brought with him. "Oo, I'd hope those're more tacos, but Ace Hardware Store doesn't sound like much of a taco place to me. 'Course it could be and they might be the best ones we've had yet!" It's possible Sam might get sick of tacos the longer he dates Fred.

She doesn't hesitate to invite Sam in, thinking nothing of inviting the man she's been seeing into what is essentially both her room and bedroom. It's neat, with quite a few large books stacked on the dresser. There's a made bed and a few comfy chairs - what one might expect of a nice room in an old hotel.

Sam Winchester has posed:
Fortunately, Sam grew up in hotels, and they don't necessarily have certain connotations to him. He's been pretty much a gentleman-- perhaps uncharacteristically so-- deciding, as he has, that she ought to take lead on when or even if they take things further than they have. Much as he left that first kiss, in many ways, up to her. Conscious of her 5 years in a horrible place, but also feeling the need to set her apart from the admittedly short list of lonely one-night stands he indulged in on the road.

It's a courtesy not even Jess Moore got, really, because he launched his relationship with her after a party at Stanford. It had begun physically casual and moved on to something more emotionally serious.

He finds he doesn't need to rush. He just likes spending time with her. For him, the arc of this relationship is taking a wholly opposite trajectory. It's already emotionally serious to him, and thus everything else can wait. Thus, he heads for one of the comfy chairs after lightly kissing her lips in turn, reaching out to tug gently on one of her adorable little braids before he sits.

He digs out a beer and offers it to her, and then displays the bag which has ice cream sandwiches, /and/ ice cream tacos, in it. Two of each, and the Choco-Tacos are clearly for her, whereas the more conventional ice cream sandwiches are his. He offers the Chaco-Taco out with a wink.

Then, he reaches into the pocket of his jacket and brings out a small package, neatly wrapped in silver paper with a couple of little white ribbons criss-crossing it. On the very, very few occasions when the Winchesters bothered with presents-- and when they did, it was mostly because they happened to be visiting Bobby on an appropriate holiday or birthday-- the wrapping had always fallen to Sam, who had figured it out with the help of a third grade teacher who had insisted he make and wrap a Christmas ornament for his Dad during a school project. As far as Sam knew the ornament had gotten promptly lost three towns later, shoved in the bottom of a suitcase and forgotten until it finally got eaten by the road, but the skill had remained.

"For you," he tells her, a hint of mischief in his eyes. Already, this might make it clear that he's not bringing her, say, an expensive piece of jewelry. The hardware store bag remains closed, for the nonce.

Winifred Burkle has posed:
Fred never had an apartment of her own, either. She went from living with her parents to living with a parent's friend to living in a cave in a Hell Dimension to the Hyperion. So, she doesn't seem to think anything of the invitation to have she and Sam spend some time in her room where there happens to be a bed. It's not that she's innocent of the implications, but that she doesn't think that Sam will try and take advantage of them.

Her own relationships were simple college things before she was a PhD student and then she was entirely focused on her thesis with no room for boys. Then, of course, there was Pylea and after that? Well, she only had eyes for Angel for awhile and then she was more interested in Angel Investigations than a romantic relationship. Her own attachment to Sam so quickly is both a surprise to her, though as he gently tugs on her braid and presents her with chocolate tacos it also seems not so hard to understand.

Fred takes the beer, but also reaches out for one of the chocolate tacos. He had to see that coming, right? "Chocolate tacos! I didn't think dessert could've gotten any better, but here it is! In taco form." And then Sam hands out a small silver wrapped package and she looks at it with curiosity and anticipation. "What's this?" she asks. "For me?" Her hands are currently full, but she sets down the beer and - luckily unwrapped dessert - to take the present from him. "You'll spoil me and make me feel bad. I haven't gotten anything for you!"

Ever the explorer, she shakes it gently to see if it'll rattle or slosh. Then, she moves to one of the chairs to sit down and start unwrapping it.

Sam Winchester has posed:
Sam chuckles and says, "You're not allowed to feel bad. In a way I'm breaking all the gifting rules on this one."

Inside the package is a simple black case, with a full lock pick set inside. Interesting fact: it's possible to just buy one, though one has to be in a state (which New York, and New Jersey are not) where you don't have to be a licensed locksmith to get a set. This set, along with the second set Sam kept for himself, was purchased in Arkansas long ago.

The mischief blooms into a grin on his face. "I couldn't help but notice, after all, that you're great whenever the lock is high tech, but low-tech locks are still giving you problems."

Granted. He sort of has the opposite trouble. He couldn't do much with an e-lock except swipe the code from someone else, or swipe a keycard. He's a bit dodgy on combo locks-- hit and miss, usually just resorting to a cutter when he needs to deal with one of those. But a surprising number of people still use good old fashioned locks, as opposed to smart locks of any kind.

"And...for tonight's date...everything a girl might need to practice, as well as?" Here, he indicates himself with a sort of teasing-modest gesture, "a teacher.

Here, he opens up the Ace Hardware bag, displaying a huge assortment of padlocks and even deadbolts, which can certainly be locked and unlocked without being attached to a door. Doorknob locks, too.

Winifred Burkle has posed:
As Fred carefully unwraps the package in a way that means she can save the wrapping paper and ribbon - once a scavenger, always a scavenger. The wrapping paper could come in handy later, as could the ribbon. Turning the black case over in her hands, she opens it and her eyes widen when she realizes what is there. "You get me the sweetest things," she tells him, clearly amused by this present despite its unconventionality.

Fingers reach out to run over all the different tools inside the case. "Where'd you get one in New York? I thought they were illegal here." Not that she seems to be chastising him for having an illegal set of lockpicks or even giving them to her: she's more interested in how he got them.

Leaning over, there's a laugh as he shows her all the different kinds of locks in the bag he opens for her. It seems as if she enjoys the idea of this unusual date. "Is the beer to test the locks under different mental circumstances?" she asks, clearly believing it to have been a tie in to the entire date. "And the ice cream with sticky hands! Or for sweets, I guess." Leave it to Fred to assume that their refreshments have a clinical purpose.

Sam Winchester has posed:
"That's where the broken rules of gift giving come in," Sam says sheepishly. "That's actually one of my sets. The better one," he hastens to assure her. "Well, actually they're both identical, I got them at the same time, but they were the ones I've used the most so they're more broken in...not that I'm sure how much that matters. Bought them in Arkansas even before I went to college. I know you're not supposed to give people old things, but in this case?"

But then, she's saving every scrap of wrapping paper, so maybe she'll in fact appreciate why in this case, this was the better answer.

He laughs at her 'scenario' guess, and says, "Well...I gave that zero thought but yeah, I've had to pick them with bloody, sticky hands before. I think we could hurt ourselves trying to simulate every circumstance you'd ever have to pick a lock in...kind of extreme for basics. In this case, the Choco Taco is just a Choco Taco."

He brings his own set out of his inner pocket as well. "Inside each lock you've got a series of pins on springs, all set to different heights. Keys are cut to effortlessly push those pins up above what's called the shear line. Basically, they have to get high enough for the lock to turn, and they're set at different heights in every lock...thus the different cuts of keys. Our job is to push all those pins up and keep them up, then to get the lock turned before allowing any of them to fall back down again. There are a couple of ways to do it...some people like bumper keys, or pick guns...but I like the good old fashioned tension wrench and pick rake method. Especially with these sets, which are made out of titanium and are unlikely to ever break off in the lock when you need them."

He picks up the tension wrench to point it out to her, so she can immediately distinguish it from the pick rakes.

Winifred Burkle has posed:
"You're giving me one of your old sets?" Fred looks to Sam as she understands now what he meant by an unconventional gift. However, far from looking upset that this might be technically a 'regift', her expression is one of touched surprise. A hand reaches out for his at the knowledge. "Thank you," she tells him sincerely. "That's really thoughtful."

Realizing that she over thought the beers and the ice cream, she blushes a bit and smiles. "Sorry, I tend to let my head run away with things," she grins with a shrug. Should there ever be cause to pull at the paint on the wall, Sam would see the wall covered in equations and drawings that she drew there in the months after her return from Pylea. Math was her way of trying to understand the new world around her. Her crazy is a bit more matter of fact now - Pylea a painful, but interlocking piece of her life. "I never turn down a taco. And chocolate ones are doubly hard to let go!"

Once Sam starts his teaching, Fred leans forward, intent in her study of both the lockpicks and his explanations. One thing that can be said of Fred is that she is an incredibly quick study. The waifish Texan has an incredible intellect and while that is generally put to use with physics or inventions, tonight it is toward mechanics: which is really what lockpicking is about.

At each appropriate point, Fred nods, picking up the tools after him. She gestures for him to show her how to use each of them with the various locks, as in lieu of a textbook, seeing him work is the best way for her to learn. As he does so, her head is practically resting on his shoulder, though through the focused way she is studying his hand movements it's not simply a romantic gesture.

Sam Winchester has posed:
For a moment, Sam just stops. There's Fred's head, on his shoulder, and though it's as much vantage point as snuggle position it still warms him until his heart aches.

When she came to his rescue he realized she was an equal worth taking a risk on.

This is the moment where he realizes he's in love with her.

His breath catches when the realization hits him. He has to clear his throat, get himself back on track. It's too soon to start making professions. He holds the knowledge close and tight in his chest. But he shifts, just a little, to make sure she's a little more comfortable, to bring her just a little closer. He pauses to warmly press a long kiss to the very top of her head, closing his eyes.

Then? He continues.

"First, you're going to insert the tension wrench, like so.You're going to use it to apply some pressure on the lock plug so you can feel it when the plug starts to shift. Also so you can let the plug itself catch each pin as you get it up with the pick, keeping it up past that shear line." His voice has taken on a softer, more gentle quality too. "It's all about feeling...you feel the pins lift, you keep applying pressure, and you do it till the whole thing has turned. You gotta do it in the same direction you'd turn the key if you have it, but don't over do it. Too much pressure will jam the lock."

He pulls one of the picks. It's got a series of ridges. "This one's the Bogata rake," he says, with a flash of a grin. "The ridges are really helpful; it's one of the most versatile and successful picks. You don't just put it in and wriggle it around, it's a sort of back and forth, up and down motion which will basically allow you to set each pin one by one until you're done. If you start to feel it sticking you need to basically start all over again, let everything reset."

He demonstrates for her on one of the deadbolts, taking it pretty slow. Then he uses the key that came with the lock to lock it again, and passes it over to her. "Your turn!"

Winifred Burkle has posed:
When Sam stops when she rests her head on his shoulder to watch him more closely, Fred freezes. "Oh, sorry, is this getting in the way? I just wanted to see better. Don't let me interrupt!" It looks as if she's about to move away when he, instead, shifts so that she's closer and presses a kiss on top of her head. She tilts her chin upward and grins at him and his gesture. "Don't let me distract you, either, professor. It's important to learn how to break into people's houses," she teases him gently.

With a grin, she nudges him slightly with her knee and then the lessons begin again. Closely studying his movements and which tools he's using, the former physicist absorbs all this information readily.

Once it's her turn, she points to each tool, like a good student, and names them outloud to make sure she knows them all properly - that she certainly has down. Then, she picks up the Bogata rake and takes the deadbolt from Sam. Her eyes narrow in concentration as she applies the tool to the look in generally the same way as he did. It takes her much longer than Sam and the pick sticks quite a few times. However, with a triumphant click, the lock opens. Beaming, she holds them back out to Sam. "Look! I can now burgle their house! Or, snoop about for suspicious things. That's more what we'd be doing."

Sam Winchester has posed:
His chuckle is low and rich as she teases him about not getting distracted. He is patient while she works the lock, wrapping an arm around her shoulders, watching. Eventually he remembers his ice cream is melting, so he carefully reaches over to get one of his ice cream sandwiches. He unwraps it and is careful not to let the vanilla drip into her hair.

"You got it," he says, approvingly. He pulls over one of the big padlocks and says, "Now...someone's shed. And...well. Sometimes we burgle. I mean if I had to rob a house to get a cursed object out of there, thus saving the lives of the inhabitants, I'd do it."

And he's stolen more cars than he can count, but he won't talk about that. There's no way around that one. Until recently, people were definitely filing some insurance claims when Sam Winchester rolled into town. But now he has his own, so that, at least, has stopped.

"Pretty much all there is to it is practice," he says. "I hear they make some locks that are transparent for practice, but I've never found any. Pretty much just practice in the field. Or...just like this, really. This is how my Dad taught me, when I was a kid. A big bag of locks and my first set."

It is one of his few fond memories of his Dad, but it /is/ a fond one, if his half-smile is any indication.

Something occurs to him. A question he has never asked her before.

"Fred? Do you have any family?"

Just because she was gone for 5 years doesn't mean she doesn't, but...here she is, in an abandoned hotel, and the team at Angel Investigations.

Winifred Burkle has posed:
It's a testament to how interesting Fred finds this whole lockpicking endeavor by the fact that she's left her chocotaco to melt where she left it on the table. Once she's succeeded in picking the deadbolt, she notices that Sam is eating his ice cream sandwich and immediately reaches forward to grab her chocotaco to finish it before it melts all over her carpet.

She watches Sam bring over the large deadbolt and then leans against him to eat the rest of her slightly dripping ice cream while he finishes his, too. The memory of his father is one that she smiles. From his stories, she knows he had a rough childhood and the fact that he has - at least - some good memories of it is heartening for her to hear. The question as for her own family is met with a nod.

"I'm an only child, but my parents live back in Texas." There's a pause. "Didn't see them for years, of course. I thought they were going to be real disappointed in me when they saw me again after everything...but they weren't. They wanted to take me back home after it all, but this is where I belong: helping people, doing what we do. My mother hit a large bug with a bus once, so she understands."

She looks up at him with a bit of a smile, some of the chocolate smudged on her cheek just slightly. "There were a lot of times I wanted a sibling, like you had with Dean. Someone who had my back."

Sam Winchester has posed:
"Like a giant bug?" Sam asks, after a moment of trying to picture it. At first he sees a knuckle-sized bug, but then he realizes that doesn't make any sense. In his mind, the bug makes some successive changes: cat sized? Horse sized? VW bug sized?

He imagines someone who looks like an older Fred determinedly killing a monster bug after commandeering the bus, some sort of maneuver that starts to look like it came fresh out of the movie /Speed/. Pop quiz, asshole!

"I'm glad they understand," he says. He also goes quiet, thinking about Dean. "Dean all but raised me," he admits. "So our relationship probably is a little different than most brothers. But he does have my back, 100. I'm...maybe not as good at having his. I got really selfish for a long time there."

That's how he characterizes his time at Stanford now...an episode of unforgivable selfishness, even if Dean has forgiven him.

"Do you go see them often?" he asks, watching her work at that second lock. "Your parents?"

Winifred Burkle has posed:
Sam's image is not far off, however Trish Burkle was far more like an elder Fred in her joy in saving her family and her newfound friends and generally doesn't take kindly to swears. She instead bounded off the bus she commandeered yelling, 'Did I get it ya'll?!'

The clarification on Dean is met with an understanding nod, even if she doesn't know what it's like to have an elder sibling practically raise her. "Selfish?" She's unsure as to how someone like Sam could describe himself as such as she finishes the remains of her chocotaco, but remains leaning against the taller man next to her.

As for seeing them, she shakes her head. "Not as much as I'd like. We talk every week or so. They tell me how Texas is and I tell 'em what vampires I fought or how Angel's doing or how I joined a ghost fighting agency and they'll tell me how they're proud of me." Her voice is a bit softer as she says that, as she knows that Sam didn't exactly have the best relationship with his father and never knew his mother. But, she's also not about to lie to him about her parents or how she relates to them.

Sam Winchester has posed:
He doesn't seem jealous. A little wistful, maybe. But not jealous. "Someday, I'd like to meet them," he says, with no particular push...this isn't him trying to advance the relationship faster than it should be advanced, but just...a sincere desire to meet people important to Fred. The difference comes across mostly in the tone, the body language, the face.

"You can talk about them," he says with a smile. "You're not going to upset me, talking about them. I asked, remember?"

But she asks him about his selfishness, and he pauses to compose his thoughts.

"For the longest time all I wanted? Was to be normal. I wanted to go to one school-- not a different school every other week, or, sometimes, no school at all. I wanted friends. Thanksgiving dinners and real family Christmases. For Dad, for Dean? They were on a quest for revenge. For me? I just didn't remember the person we were supposed to be avenging. But...Dean and I had become this unit, right? I mean when we fight together it's just better."

He hesitates, and says, "But...Dad and I fought all the time, you know? And they seemed fine. Dad never thought I was a good Hunter to begin with and...I had met this high school teacher who encouraged me to follow my dreams. I applied to Stanford, and thanks to my SATs, got a full ride. And so I went. I just left. Just left them both behind."

Winifred Burkle has posed:
When Sam says that he'd like to meet her parents, Fred isn't taken aback or weirded out. In her mind, who wouldn't want to meet her parents? They fought super-sized bugs and won, they accepted her for who she was and after the trauma of Pylea, they simply loved her. They're people to meet. "Sure. Next time they're up, I'll let you know. We'll all go out." There's no hesitation there.

"I know," Fred says, looking down at her legs as she says it. "I just... I don't want you feel like I'm flaunting them or something. I had this totally normal childhood and it was only after I went to grad school that everything went all upside down. It's not fair you didn't get something like that, too."

After Sam explains how he thinks he was selfish, Fred listens and pauses to gather her own thoughts to reply. Generally she just speaks without thinking, but this is important and she doesn't want to say the wrong thing, like she can without realizing. "'Course you did," Fred starts. "I think every kid wants to be normal. You just had...a bigger gap between normal than usual. Trying to go to Stanford wasn't selfish, I don't think. You just wanted a life you got to define on your own."

Coming to the next conclusion, she asks, "Why'd you leave? Stanford, that is."

Sam Winchester has posed:
"Uh, well, on the bright side nobody threw me in Pylea," Sam points out, shifting so he can wrap both arms around her, as if he is trying to protect her from ever going through something so terrible ever again. The man has a great imagination, and the bits she's sketched for him make his soul ache for hers. He rests his chin on her head, beer and everything else forgotten.

He hesitates before he answers. He hesitates for a host of reasons. But in the end, he just tells her.

"The Demon with Yellow Eyes, the one that killed my mother? Killed my fiancee the same way. I went home one night and there she was. Vivisected on my ceiling, just before it burst into flame. He'd forced her to dress the same way too. White nightgown."

He hesitates, and adds, "It's...why I really hesitated to reach out to you until-- well, until you showed up and staked a bunch of vampires. Why I tried to be so protective. It still terrifies me that I might lose you too, but...at least I know for sure you can handle this life. It's not going to leave me alone. Not ever. So?I had to embrace it. Being a Hunter. I sought out my Dad and brother directly after, but...they'd both gone missing. That was a year ago. Dad's still missing. Dean--"

He hesitates again. This maybe isn't stuff he should share. "You can't let on you know," he decides at last, "but...he got taken. Brought to the sea people, imprisoned for a year. They...hurt him. The whole time. And he got out on his own, without me. It was all over by the time I found him. We ran into each other at a diner, of all things."

He suddenly winces, realizing he's just going on and on here, and he falls silent, keeping her tight and close in the circle of his broad, strong arms.

Winifred Burkle has posed:
"That's true. I guess there's that," Fred replies to Sam. "Nobody should have to go there." When he shifts to wrap both of his arms around her, she snuggles into his chest and puts her arms around his waist as well.

As it becomes abundantly clear, they both have traumatic pasts to draw upon for both nightmares and sympathy for the other. Sam's story is told without any interruption from Fred. Instead, she holds him closer for each horrible thing she hears - and there are quite a few in his recollection.

There is a lot to unpack there. Sam had a fiancee, one that died by the hand of the demon that killed his mother. Dean was tortured for a year under the water. There is so much pain there that she wishes he never had to endure.

"I'm so sorry," she says softly, first. It's inadequate, nothing, a pittance to all the pain he has suffered. "That's all so horrible." What else can she say about a murdered fiancee? Especially now when she feels such comfort in resting against him, with his arms fit snugly about her. Her only way to assure him is as such, "I won't let that happen to me," she says firmly. "I lived for five years on a Hell Dimension. I'm not gonna let a demon with yellow eyes put me on a ceiling. I'm not going anywhere."

The information about Dean is met with a nod. "I won't tell him," she agrees. There's a silence as she attempts to figure out what else to say. For once, she has nothing to ramble about. Instead, she gets a bit of courage to ask, "I'm sorry about your fiancee. What was her name?"

Sam Winchester has posed:
"I believe you," Sam murmurs, tilting his head down so he can steal a kiss from her. A real one, this time, long and slow, eyes closed, not the little pecks they exchanged earlier. He needs to kiss her, needs to show her that though there are sad things in his life, there is happiness /now/. Needs her to know, too, that this other woman's memory won't come between them. He's here. In the present.

He does believe her, too. He has a feeling Yellow Eyes would be a dead demon if he tried it. He finds the thought to be an immensely cheering thing.

When he finally breaks it he realizes she's asked him a question. "Her name was Jessica Moore," he says. "I-- I hope I didn't-- " Now it's his turn, truly, to wonder if he's said something that might make her upset. His face works in awkward frustration as he tries to find the right way to express his concern. The kiss might have done it, but...words are important too.

"You're important to me, serious to me, special to me, in your own right," he tries, instead. "I'm not-- using you as a replacement for her or anything. It's been a year. You were very different women, and I've had a lot of time to grieve."

He looks at her a bit helplessly, uncertain if he's managing. Uncertain if she understands him. Unwilling to let her go, even, his arms still curled tightly around her, long legs pressed into hers as he holds her close. He smells a bit like his aftershave, like soap and clean, herbal shampoo. And a bit like gun grease and GSR, to be honest; he cleaned them a bit before he came over here. And beer, though he's only had the one.

Winifred Burkle has posed:
The kiss is eagerly met from Fred. As he leans down, she presses herself against him, arms tightening about his waist. While he is attempting to prove to her that he is happy now, that she means something to him not in spite of - and because of - his past, she is tries to show him that she knows. That he means something to her and that everything that happened to him matters, but doesn't hinder.

In the long moments after the kiss, she smiles gently, arms still wrapped around him. "No. It's...I'm glad I know. I never had a relationship like that," she tells him, resting her forehead against his. "Just 'cause she's important to you doesn't mean I'm not. I get that. It's like Angel." Wait, hear her out. "That's real different in that we weren't even a couple let alone wanting to get married, but he saved me from Pylea. He's an important part of my life and always will be. But, you're special to me, Sam. I'd do anything to make sure you stop getting hurt." Which he tends to do a lot.

As he looks at her helplessly, she pulls him closer again for another kiss. Much like his instinct, before, she decides the best way to exhibit that this conversation has made her feel closer to him rather than put off is to show him.

Sam Winchester has posed:
He'll take it. He cradles the back of her head and kisses her with the sort of intense, focused passion that only someone who can really concentrate on one thing at a time can manage. He closes his eyes, letting it linger, bringing in several more kisses without getting too feisty about it, still very conscious of the fact that she may not be ready for more.

But her words have still produced something that he has to say, and he pulls back to look into her eyes, his own hazel eyes solemn. And if he has no idea how true this is about to be, it is nevertheless an overarching theme of his entire life that he has to share.

"Getting hurt is the life we live," he says quietly. "I'm going to get hurt. Sooner or later, you will too. It's going to rip us both apart inside, but it's going to happen. You can't chase the things we chase and try to solve the kinds of problems we try to solve without pain. That's why most people don't do what we do. And why most people who do ended up facing the pain anyway, so they had no other choice."

He can't let her go into this with the notion that she'll somehow spare him every hurt.

"We can protect each other, watch one another's back. I'd do anything to spare you even another ounce of pain too. But...we'd both have to quit, run away, and ward a cabin somewhere for bear to even go a few years without pain. And it would work. Till it all caught up with us again. I think once the supernatural touches you, you're just...you're just marked. Marked to either be a victim or a protector. We've chosen the other way, and it's hard."

Winifred Burkle has posed:
As Sam leans back, but still holds her close, Fred pulls her legs up to to rest across Sam's own. The words he says are met with an almost solemn return gaze. She doesn't look away from him, instead focused on his face and how close it is to hers while he tries to tell her that she can't keep him from being hurt.

It's an undeniable fact that Sam has done this longer than Fred has. He knows more and has seen his fair share of horrible things happen to both him and those around him. "I know," she tells him, softly. "Doesn't mean I won't stop wanting to make sure you aren't bloodied on the side of the road again and doing whatever I can to make sure that doesn't happen." They both know it's impossible for that to become a reality, but just because they know that doesn't mean they have to accept it.

"Neither of us are about to quit, but you're right. We can have each other's backs. If you're ever in trouble again, you know I'm going to come for you. And I know you'll do the same for me."

Sam Winchester has posed:
"Damn straight, and the thing or person who decided to mess with either one of us had probably better watch themselves," Sam replies, pressing a gentle kiss into her forehead as well.

He's reluctant to leave. He can see the afternoon cooling towards dusk, can see the hotel room clock telling him what time it is. The last thing he wants to do is entangle himself, but after a certain point it would only really make sense for him to stay the night. The other hotel rooms might be appointed too, he supposes, but the implications would still be there.

This is more enticement to stay right where he is than to go, he realizes. He allows his responsible side to spin out other reasons. It's Saturday, but SHIELD never sleeps. He has a WAND meeting in the morning, one he really ought not miss if he's going to be any use to them at all. And driving in the early morning would bite.

So, at last, he gives her one more long, slow kiss, then pulls back. "I should head home," he says, though he smiles and indicates the mess of locks. "Those are all for you, so practice. I had a lot of fun tonight. I'm glad we could steal another couple of hours."

Winifred Burkle has posed:
The good thing about living in an out of service hotel is that there are almost always other rooms for someone to sleep in. A lot of them are dusty and out of service, but there are still others that are cleaned up that Sam could stay in, should it be that Fred doesn't insist he stay with her.

In fact, it might seem as if Fred is gearing up to give the, 'sooo my bed is there' conversation before Sam says he should head home. Not one to push on the matter, she smiles, cheeks flushed from both emotion and the kissing. Unable to help herself, she swoops upward to peck another kiss on his cheek when he indicates all the locks are hers to practice. He can be sure she'll be doing exactly that for the next couple of days. She's nothing if not thorough in learning a discipline.

"This was the best date I ever had," she tells him sincerely. "Chocotacos, learning a new skill and you. Thank you." Reluctantly, she swings her legs off of him, though she still remains close. Leaning forward, she kisses him again, not in an attempt to get him to stay but to wish him a goodnight.

Sam Winchester has posed:
It's a good bet that on this count? Sam missed where Fred's head was going. Entirely. Because if he had? History would have turned out differently, at least today. He'd have gotten up at 5 AM to make that drive, and yawning be damned. Of course. That might have just meant he got snatched at 6 AM on the 15th instead, or that the Winter Soldier came and kicked down their hotel door and got them both.

Things happen for a reason.

Meanwhile, a scant hour before Sam receives some bad news in the form of a syringe in the neck, he receives some very /good/ news in the form of a compliment. To wit:

/The best date she's ever had?/

Sam's grin is bright and proud. He ducks his head and looks bashfully at her through those long lashes of his. He puffs up like a rooster. "Thanks," he says, pleased as punch. He draws her close for another long, passionate kiss...man, he's gotta stop, or he's going to lose control and he might hurt her by suggesting something she's not ready for?

He lets her go. "I'll text you when I'm home safe," he promises earnestly.

There's something warm, something unspoken, that all but lingers unsaid in the end of that sentence. But Sam fears it's way too early for that, too, and so he leaves it there.

Days later, he will lean against a cold, damp wall, one he's finally, desperately, licked for a bit of moisture. Days later, he will be in pain and restlessly fearful for her, trying hard to give his captors no trouble lest he inspire them to go get /her/ as they will threaten to do, lest he inspire them to hurt her in the very specific ways they have all but promised she will be hurt if 'Samoshka' doesn't meekly take his beatings and his mysterious shots and answer any question promptly.

Days later, he will have the thought over and over again, like a broken record, interspersed with thoughts of Dean, with fears that he'll wake up one morning and he won't be himself ever again. He'll be Samuil, he'll be Samoshka. He'd always wanted to be just like Bucky Barnes, but not like that.

Over and over again, the words skipping through his mental landscape like a scratched and broken thing.

/I should have told you I love you. I should have told you when I had the chance./

And:

/Please, please, Fred. Don't try to live up to your promise to me. Not here. Not with these people./

They dance together, these twin, painful thoughts, until his throat closes, until he has to fight the urge to shed tears.

/I should have told you./

And /please./