1812/The I-Hate-Bucky-Club

The I-Hate-Bucky-Club
Date of Scene:	04 August 2017
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:	Winifred Burkle, Dean Winchester
Tinyplot:	Tayaniye

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Winifred Burkle 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."

Dean Winchester 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."

Winifred Burkle 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?"

Dean Winchester 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.

Winifred Burkle 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."

Dean Winchester 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.

Winifred Burkle 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."

Dean Winchester 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."

Winifred Burkle 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."

Dean Winchester 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."

Winifred Burkle 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."

Dean Winchester 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?"

Winifred Burkle 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."

Dean Winchester 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."

Winifred Burkle 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.

Dean Winchester 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?"