837/Pills

Pills
Date of Scene:	04 June 2017
Location:	Metro General Hospital
Synopsis:	The hospital calls one Fred Burkle because she's Sam's only emergency contact. Claire Temple covers for him and his unexplained injuries. Claire is rattled when Sam mentions his vendetta against the man with the metal arm.
Cast of Characters:	Sam Winchester, Winifred Burkle, Dean Winchester, Claire Temple

---

Sam Winchester has posed:
It's several hours before Melinda May will come stalking into the ER like a whirlwind. Sam was operated on first, given emergency surgery for the rather nasty stab wound. Then he was finally processed and sent into a room. They went looking for emergency contact information.

All they found was Winifred Burkle's cards.

No cell phones. No phone in his room. No ID. Sam would be going crazy except...wow these drugs are great. He's sort of got the dopey pain drug look as he reaches to his left for the third time. Oh yeah. These are the crappy rooms. For people without insurance. No bedside table. No phone. He's just got to call Dean though. His phone is in his pocket. Wait. He has no pants. Well there's got to be a phone beside the bed, right? Reach for the bedside table.

Rinse. Repeat.

Has it been mentioned yet that these are REALLY good drugs?

Winifred Burkle has posed:
Fred was out of town for a little bit on a mission with Jillian Holtzmann. It involved portals, she almost had a panic attack having to deal with them, but everything's fine now. She thinks - she hopes! When she returns to the hotel, she's barely put all of her things back into her room before there's a knock on her door. There's a phone call? From the hospital?

Running down the stairs, she takes the call. What she gets is a confusing string of words to her. Someone had her card and was in the hospital? No name, no phone number. Badly injured. What? A brow creases her forehead. She hasn't really given her card out to many people. It's generally just the generic Angel Investigations one, not one that specifically has her name on it. Her thoughts drift back to the crazy tall guy who helped her with a demon. He gave off a bit of a possible serial killer vibe, but he also gave off a very sensitive and caring one as well. Either way, she has to follow up.

Grabbing her coat, the physicist hurries her way to the ER and then to the front desk. "Hi, my name is Winifred Burkle? I was called about a stabbing victim with no name? I'm here to..." what? ID him? Check on him? She's not sure what to say, it just trails off for awhile before she adds, "...check him out." That was weird, wasn't it? "Not of the hospital, of course! He's been stabbed, he should probably stay here. And, uh, not in a sexy way. That would be very inappropriate. Because of the aforementioned stabbing." Her words string together in a fast jumble. "That is, check to see if I know him. Impossibly tall? Long hair? Flannel shirt? Maybe?" There's a long pause. "Uh, that is, do you have a room number?"

Dean Winchester has posed:
Sam and Dean have a system setup when they are in one of their 'constantly getting in trouble' states. Like now. Separated, at least getting a message to one another at certain intervals so that they know the other is alright. A missed message? Means trouble. And Sam is late for his check-in. One of the habits you form when so used to working alone- just the two of you.

So set Dean on his mission: 'Prank call' the police for a few aliases he knows his brother would give, check a few other 'turn in' areas, hotels, hospitals for likenesses of ER turn ins....

And bam. A hit. Doesn't make him feel any better they have him listed as a Jonn Doe- pending identification.

Doesn't take him long to get dressed and armed to the teeth (though generally hidden items in his jacket. A hidden gun tucked in the waistband on his pants beneath said jacket. Ready for anything he can think of...) All to head to the local hospital in question to check up on this 'John Doe', just to see if its a real lead or not.

And so, the older Winchester wanders down the hallway, stomach in knots and his face serious as he goes towards Sam's room to see if its really him or just a look-a-like. ... Don't laugh, its happened.

Sam Winchester has posed:
"The beefcake?" The desk nurse asks Fred. "That's room 3, ma'am."

The man in Room 3 is definitely Sam Winchester. He is staring confusedly at the covers. "I can't find my phone," is his first complaint, to anyone who happens to walk in first. "I can't find my pants," is his second.

And his third? "I think I got stabbed."

He's alive and well, he just hasn't bothered to share his name. They keep asking. And he keeps saying, "John Doe is fine," in dreamy tones. They can't tell if he's being serious or if he's actually named John Doe or if they really just need to wait for the drugs to wear off.

He sounds a bit put out really. Of course, he had a building dropped on his head in addition to being stabbed so...really...can he be blamed?

Winifred Burkle has posed:
There's a surprised look at the nurse from Fred. The beefcake? Huh. Either way, she's gotten the room number and the waifish brunette charges her way down the hallway, destination Room 3 to inspect this...beefcake.

It's possible she either brushes right past Dean or enters the room right after he does. The woman is intent on her mission. The door is pushed open and all the fiery fierceness of a wayward physicist that spent five years in a hell dimension is on display. And immediately melts a little when Sam's complaint is that he can't find his phone or his pants. The resolute shoulders drop a little and she looks at the incapacitated Sam Winchester in his bed and most likely on a lot of good drugs. So, it is him, the guy from the demon case.

"Sam?" There's a questioning tone to her voice. However, she adds to try and fill in some of the gaps in his memory, "Yes, you were stabbed. What happened?"

Dean Winchester has posed:
And the tiny woman who brushes by him so quickly barely registers until he sees her turn right into the room he was after. He's just barely to the door when he hears her say Sam's name and the knot twists more.

Dean steps into the room, giving Fred a once over before putting on a forced smile for the both of them. Seeing Sam in such condition is... disheartening. And pisses him off. But instead starting with the usual line of questioning, not knowing who this chick is, he can't help but quip: "Man, 12 hours, no phone call and you've already got yourself a girlfriend and landed in the hospital. What party did I miss?"

Despite the attempt at humor, the actual amusement is rather lackluster as he moves closer to Sam's bed. The burning question in his eyes though say one thing: 'So... Who do I go kill?'

Sam Winchester has posed:
Sam looks from Fred to Dean, from Dean to Fred. "Dean, this is Fred. She's not my girlfriend but she //is// very pretty and her Latin?" He mouths A+ the way Dean often mouths something about a woman's...other assets. The way to Sam's heart is through nerdery, not through said other assets. Great Latin pronunctiation. It's sexy! Of course, he's doing this right in front of her, isn't he? Drugs, man. He grins in goofy fashion.

"Fred, this is Dean. He's my brother." Introductions made, he smiles blearily at them both. Then tracks back to...no phone call. He scowls. "They made the phone disappear," he complains, pointing accusingly at nothing at all-- right where the bedside table should be. "I been looking really hard though."

And then...who do I go kill. Something about that makes him really upset, makes his face fall into sadness. "Monster assassin," he tells Dean softly. "He tried to kill an ambassador today. I couldn't stop him. He blew up the embassy."

He looks away. Drugged up or not, that won't leave him feeling silly at all.

Winifred Burkle has posed:
"Girlfriend? You have a girlfriend? Why didn't they call her?" Fred asks Sam, confused, looking between the two of them with confusion on her face. "Oh! That's right. They didn't know your name or contact, which is why they resorted to a business card with my phone number. Do you want me to call her for you, though?" The mention of being very pretty and good Latin is met with a bit of a bashful shrug of her shoulders and a smile. "Aw, well, Latin's easy if you just remember that just about any language could be a dead language if everyone stopped speaking it and, y'know. The whole Texas thing, there were a lot of churches! I usually just imagine togas and Julius Caesar and start reciting!"

The introduction to his brother is met with a blink. "Oh! Well, hi Dean. I'm Fred. I'd say it's nice to meet you, but these aren't really nice to meet you circumstances. They're the 'I met this crazy girl in a hospital after my brother was stabbed' stories. Sam helped me out on a case I was on. Or, maybe I helped him with one of his? I don't know really how one call dibs on things like that."

The mention of a monster assassin is met with a blink and her rambling stops. Instead, she turns to look at him. "A monster assassin? Was he actually a monster? With, you know," she mimics pointy teeth by putting her hands in front of her face and pointing her fingers as if they're a mouth filled with pointy teeth.

Dean Winchester has posed:
"No idea where they put your pants, but I'll forgive you this time." Dean smirks a little at Sam, the amusement showing through at his drugged up brother gushing over the girl. Well, this is a switch. A very amusing one. "Nerd." He shakes his head.

Though as Fred starts just spewing, he stares at her. Not to mention, the whole girlfriend thing flew over her head like a jet going mach 5. "You... really know how to pick 'em..." He half mutters.

"Yeah, nice to meet you.. Fred." Thats a guys name. And unless he missed something...

The mention of Assassin draws his attention back to Sam, but Fred asks all of the... important questions. "What were you doing at the Embassy?"

Sam Winchester has posed:
"You can have the case," Sam says, magnanimously, as if he is offering Fred a gift. It is Her Case. He reaches out to try to boop her nose while she does all those things where she mimes the monsters.

He even puffs up a little when Dean says he knows how to pick them, giving a bright, boyish grin. He does, doesn't he? Wait. That wasn't a compliment, was it? He furrows his brow. Then he makes The Face at Dean. Because that wasn't nice.

But then there's the issue of the assassin. "Simple warding job. The ambassador was very smart. He felt threatened so asked for general wards in advance. I mean who does that? That's pretty awesome. He did not wait for a ghost to freeze him to death or a wendigo to eat his face or a demon to fling him into a wall and snap his neck or the necks of all of his staff members. He just said nope, I need some wards. I wish all the people were like that. We'd have a whole lot less corpses everywhere."

He furrows his brows. "Am I rambling? I'm rambling, aren't I?"

He didn't even get to the part where he explained the Monster Assassin's unique qualities yet.

Winifred Burkle has posed:
Fred gets a lot of people misinterpreting her name. It's something she's so used to, that the pause before 'Fred' is basically ignored. She knows it's short for Winifred and just assumes that everyone else will make that same leap with her. She also does not hear the muttering. "So, you do all this demon stuff, too, right? The finding people, fighting things, hiding bodies?" This is how Fred generally makes conversation: either straight to the point or incredibly long rambles.

The case being given to her is met with a bit of a smile. "Thanks." She'll accept the gift for what it is. And then he boops her on the nose while she's asking him questions. The woman pauses, hands still up to her mouth as she blinks a few times at Sam, trying to interpret what that means. Is it the drugs? She thinks it must be the drugs.

"Warding? Like, you know, circles on the ground and stuff?" While Sam might be rambling, she doesn't seem to notice. That's just generally how she communicates. In fact, she tells him, "No, you're not rambling."

Dean Winchester has posed:
'The Face'. The delay in that coming is just surefire proof of how out of it his brother is. Dean can't help but chuckle. "Damn, man, what the hell did they give you?" But he openly continues to... "Yes, dude. Your rambling." A lot.

"Uh, yeah, something like that." Though a glance given to Sam more to the line of 'how much did you tell this chick...?'

"So a simple job got all pear shaped." Though by his tone, he isn't exactly happy. "How'd this Ambassador find you anyway?" He isn't pressing for details on his assailant just yet, as he figures Sam won't be able to say anything actually wholly usable until he regains his senses.

Sam Winchester has posed:
"No circles, sigils on the windows and doors," Sam replies to Fred "Silver and iron shavings in white paint, configured in the right...configurations... for a vast array of creatures. I guess you could use circles, but those are harder to hide...meant to stay there awhile..."

He seems like he could nerd out on sigils vs. circles for awhile, but then Dean is asking him how he got the Ambassador's number. "It was a May. You were out with Aspen and it seemed pretty straightforward so I took it. Figured I'd just pop in, pop out, maybe get the first check, maybe like...take us all out to dinner or something."

He at least has the sense not to start rambling on about SHIELD in a mixed setting. He starts trying to sit up. Then he groans, "Ow," and lays back down again, grimacing as he does so.

Winifred Burkle has posed:
"More demons, less bodies? More bodies, less demons?" Fred is trying to get a feel for what exactly is going on at the moment. She's only met Sam the once and she's still trying to figure out what exactly his knowledge entails. It seems similar, but very different.

As the question about simple jobs going pear shaped is asked, she - again - switches her attention between the two Winchesters. "Sigils?" That's not something she's familiar with. "I'll have to ask Wesley about that." She looks to Dean, as if confidentially, "He's our book guy. He used to be a Watcher, you know." She assumes that will mean something to him, whether it does or not.

As Sam attempts to sit up, Fred moves forward, wincing a bit in sympathy pain. "Don't sit up! You were stabbed. That means you have to stay in bed for awhile. Those are just the rules."

Dean Winchester has posed:
A lot of what he rambles about fades into the background as soon as he says 'May'. "May?" He looks... pissed.

"A watcher?" There is a series of really bad jokes on the tip of his tongue for that one, but considering he's got the burning fires of hell for wheover sent Sam on this 'easy job' chokes it quick. May.

Dean steps forward to touch Sam's shoulder. "Lay down, get some rest." With Fred mother henning enough for the both of them, Dean has a little room to .. fume. He crosses to plop down in one of the chairs, running a hand over his face in light exhasperation. He knew this would happen.

Though belatedly it rather hits him: "Why the hell did they call you, anyway?" This- To Fred.

Sam Winchester has posed:
"Less bodies. Less people getting hurt because we usually only get there after people get hurt."

Sam looks at Fred very earnestly. And then he does the Thing.

"Saving people! Hunting things! The family business!"

He spreads his hands very wide. He's super happy about this. Totally heedless of poor, beleagured medical professionals who might end up having to hear this nonsense.

Dean makes a disgusted noise, mutters something about giving Agent May a piece of his mind, and digs out his phone as he stalks into the hall. Sam gives him a little wave. Poor Dean.

And then the rest of it filters through. "A Watcher like the angel type of Watcher?"

Oh. Rules. Right. Fred admonishes him to lay back, and the big mooselike man does.

Winifred Burkle has posed:
As Dean fumes and Fred attempts to make sure Sam doesn't pull any stitches, the trio attempt to figure out what exactly is going on here. She's generally a very smart person and so, she should be able to do this with little problem. However, this family dynamic involving names and words she doesn't know is a bit puzzling, even when attempting to solve for X and Y.

What she can answer, though, is why they called her. "Oh! I met Sam a little while ago and gave my card. I work for an private investigator. I guess they didn't have anyone else to call." Once she's done talking, Dean digs his phone out of his jacket and makes his way out to the hall. Her mouth opens to say something, finger raised to make a point, but they both deflate once he's gone. Turning to Sam, she says softly, "He's //grumpy//." Luckily, she's used to working with Angel, so is Head Grump, so it does not seem to phase her.

Then, though, Sam's drugged up words catch her attention "The Angel type of Watcher?" Fred blinks a few times as she watches Sam. Does Sam know Angel? Why didn't he say so before? "I mean, Angel isn't a Watcher. That's Wesley. Or, he was. But, Angel's an investigator. He's my boss. That's why we're called Angel Investigations!"

Claire Temple has posed:
Minutes into what's going to be a helluva long shift, Claire begins her rounds the same way as usual: mainlining the first of tonight's seven coffees and going over the recent intake lists.

Not something she needs to do, but it's become a recent habit of hers in the past many months: gives a sense of what happened, who's been admitted into emergency, and, most importantly --

-- who may or may not be on the level.

Tonight's John Doe, checked in with a gunshot wound, is a bullseye. Claire bites pensively down on her bottom lip. If that's not a vigilante's calling card.

So she finds the assigned nurse, does that friendly thing that makes her famous among the staff at Metro-Gen, says she's looking awfully tired and offers to cover her rounds for a quick break.

Funny how overworked and underpaid nurses never seem to turn that down.

Claire Temple passes the exiting Dean in the hall obliviously, though she double-takes and ass-checks the man with an approving hum. Nurse Timmins passes her by with a mouthed 'do you see that?!' and a subtly-flashed OK-hand. Looks like it's beefcake hour at Metro-Gen.

Unable to hide her grin, she at least tames it in time to something gentler and far more wry by the time she snaps back the curtain. And standing there, clad in her blue scrubs, chart in hand, Claire's eyebrows shoot up at -- beefcake number two. "John Doe?" she asks, amused. Then her dark eyes feint over onto the will-o'-the-wisp of a woman visiting him, and she offers Fred similar, amused judgment. "And Jane Doe, I take it?"

Sam Winchester has posed:
Winifred takes him on a dizzying tour of angels, and Sam looks at her with increasing confusion. By the time she's finished outlining the angels on first he's just slow nodding like he understands any of it. Someone named Angel who might or might not be an Angel, and Wesley who is a Watcher which might or might not be a grigori. Finally he does this thing. She seems to like pantomime. He'll do some.

"I mean angel, like with the..." And here he sticks his hands behind his ears. And flaps them. Like wings. He's seen her do a lot of this hand gesture thing. Maybe that's the best way to help her understand what he means by things. She //was// in a Hell dimension after all. Maybe it scrambled her communication skills.

Sam regards the nurse with with a happy grin. Because drugs! He offers Claire a thumbs-up, too, at his name. John Doe. Yep. Also because drugs. Of course, whether or not he's going to get to stay John Doe is anyone's guess. "Yes ma'am," he says, because he does try very hard to be polite.

Winifred Burkle has posed:
What a sight these two must be for Claire to enter into. Sam, drugged to the gills and pantomiming wings behind his ears. Fred nearby the bed trying to explain a private detective agency to beefcake number 2. A lot of this might be chalked up to the primo drugs that Sam is on, however, with Claire's life, who knows.

"With //wings//? You mean, like, actual biblical, heaven angels?! Those are //real//? Oh my goodness, are they like I read about in Wrinkle in Time? Do they have tons of wings and eyes and look like they would scare the living daylights out of a shepherd? That sounds //awesome//." These are the things that poor Claire has to generally deal with when she checks in on things like rogue stab wounds for possible vigilantes.

As the nurse enters the room, she straightens and smiles at Claire, waving a hand, confused a bit. "Oh! No. We're not related. I'm Fred Burkle."

Claire Temple has posed:
Truth be told, Claire Temple has entered into some odd as shit conversations. Even before the night she pulled her first vigilante's dumb ass out of a dumpster and changed /everything./

Night shift in an emergency ward meets-and-greets you with some weird shit.

Even then, passing mention of 'angels are weird' merits a hike-up of her eyebrows and a considerably long, long stare. Claire stares there, dead silent, perhaps contemplating a permutation of the universe where that is indeed possible, and --

-- nope, nope, no time, not even going to go there. She files /that/ one away under 'kid's on some good drugs.'

He's obviously tripping on his last dosage of morphine, from what Claire checks wasn't too long ago, enough to clarify his 'John Doe' name, though the woman goes for honesty.

"Fred?" Claire repeats, with a hint of a tired smile. Odd name for a girl. "Well, nice to meet you. I'm Nurse Temple, and I'm here to check Mr. Doe here. And word to the wise, 'John', most people who are admitted here as John Does tend not to have very specific sorts of visitors."

With that, she invites herself in, pulling the curtain again shut after, changing out his emptied intravenous bag for fresh. "So what's this about gunshots?"

Sam Winchester has posed:
Kid //is// on some good drugs, because he nods to Fred about the wings. "Haven't met one yet but there's lots of lore," he explains...but seems willing to get off the topic now that the nurse is here. More than willing, in fact.

She doesn't believe he's John Doe. Well, does it really matter? "Sam," he offers, not offering his last name.

He clears his throat. "The gunshots were later, ma'am, none of them hit me. I got stabbed. The authorities-- SHIELD-- have already been notified. They were there on the scene. I was at the embassy that got bombed. I just was out cold, and my identification went missing during the event."

He clears his throat again. Even though he's telling the truth. The lack of a last name is enough to produce his guilty tic.

Winifred Burkle has posed:
"Well, Winifred. Burkle. But, I go by Fred." She's been getting a lot of questions via her name, though she's not exactly sure why at the moment. "Are you John---Sam's---nurse? Is he going to be okay?" She's unsure of what name to use for Sam. He's gone by both Sam and John and also helped stash a body at some point. She just doesn't want to get him in trouble.

SHIELD? That's a familiar name. "You work with SHIELD? That's the family business?" she can't help but ask that. She's not generally good with not asking questions when she's curious and needs to know.

When before she looked between Sam and Dean, now it's Sam and Claire.

Claire Temple has posed:
"Sam," Claire echoes, in that nice-to-meetcha tone. The look in her eyes, however, suggests a shrewdness that's easily reading what's unsaid between the lines.

She rechecks the chart after the clarification of stabbing. "So there were," she answers, frowning to herself, trying to get straight in her head some civilian getting messed up in some sort of embassy attack. For a civilian, he doesn't seem too traumatized about it either. Then again, drugs.

"Your boyfriend's gonna be just fine," Claire promises Fred, "but, just for now, I'm going to mark down a not-so-much on paper."

She starts snapping on a fresh pair of gloves. "See, how cops and secret service and others go -- in here, they play by our rules. So long as you're marked critical, they're not going to come in and bug me while I'm working. They're not going to be in, you know, asking questions. At least, not yet." Get me? asks her slanted stare.

Talk of SHIELD earns a look from her, but Temple doesn't immediately ask questions. Instead she orders. "OK, Sam Doe. Hike up the dress, lemme see how you're doing."

Sam Winchester has posed:
Sam clears his throat as Fred asks him about SHIELD. He...really shouldn't have said that. "Something like that? Not really. I'll explain later."

And Claire's laying it out for him. Now he's the one tilting his head. "That's very kind of you," he says slowly. "I appreciate that."

He's so startled by Claire's apparent willingness to cover for him that he just sort of...hikes up the hospital gown without much argument, displaying the nasty stab wound that he took from one Winter Soldier. And. You know. Maybe a few other things as well. Which they may or may not enjoy seeing.

Modesty? He didn't have that much to begin with, and the drugs...Yeah. Good drugs.

Winifred Burkle has posed:
"Boyfriend?" Fred blinks a few time, large brown eyes not catching Claire's meaning until a few moments tick by. "Oh! He's not--I--" She's not Sam's girlfriend. But, will they kick her out if she reveals that? As far as the hospital knows, she's just some random girl on a business card they called because they had no other contacts. They might just toss her out. Though, does a girlfriend have any better sort of visitation rights? She's also unsure on that count.

The eyes switch between Sam and Claire a few times more. The nurse is already explaining why she's marking him down as more critical than he actually is. Her eyes widen as she takes in that information: it's handy to know and Fred is a bit of an information sponge. "Thank you," she tells her. Sam's immediate regret in talking about SHIELD is met with a look. She's okay with not talking about SHIELD in front of the Nurse, so she just nods as he says he'll explain later. She'll take him at his word on that. However, as he says that the gown is being hiked up and Fred turns a bright red and quickly turns around. "He's fine!" she says, though she has absolutely no medical degree.

Claire Temple has posed:
Very kind of her.

"It's sure very something of me," Claire replies archly, but without any real heat to her voice. It's the only compensation she asks for putting her ass on the line for veritable do-good strangers: give her time and freedom to grumble all the way.

But if it means she's going to attempt to stage an early release for whoever this Sam Doe is, she can't plausibly do it in good conscience before assessing his healing. So up with the skirts, sunshine.

And up. do. they. go.

'He's fine!' assesses Fred who isn't even casting eye on the goods.

"That he is," concurs Nurse Temple, hands on her hips, both eyebrows shot right up. Damn. But ever the professional, because apparently she's supposed to be one, she carefully extricates the wound's bandaging, giving the sutures and healing tissue her critical eye. Not bad work. No infection she can see.

"Like I said," Claire continues, "you're still critical. Says on this charts. Says so on everything official. So even though this looks like you'd be fine to be upright, even walking, say, tomorrow? You'll have to stay a few more days. Stay and heal and wait to be questioned -- and the police posted on this ward have a shift change at eleven p.m. Though it's not like you'd be leaving to even deal with that. Because critical."

She works on cutting and prepping fresh gauze, her eyes turning off Sam to cast another brief glance towards Fred, turned away and beet-red. Claire hides a half-smile. "So how'd you get stabbed, Sam Doe? Don't tell me you were being a hero."

Sam Winchester has posed:
This is where Dean would smirk. And say something hilarious and charming. And would likely be in bed with one of these exceptional ladies within the hour.

Sam...

Blushes.

He smiles uneasily. Clears his throat. And blushes. He doesn't exactly cover himself or anything, but he does cast his hazel eyes upward, fixing them on the ceiling, where he ignores all talk about his...assets.

"Yes ma'am, I understand," he tells Claire, as she very pointedly gives him the timeline for when he has to be the Hell out of there. (Little does he know that May is going to come in like a thunderstorm to take care of that detail within a few hours, but that's neither here nor there).

She asks how he got it though and he scowls in sudden fury. "I guess," he says. "I wasn't very successful. A killer with a metal arm. He went after the Ambassador //I// was sent to ward and protect." His fist clenches. Drugged or not, there is a mix of guilt. "He blew up the embassy. Killed a guard. I couldn't protect anyone."

His fists clenches firmly. "I won't let him get away with this either."

Despite being clothed only in a scrap of fabric and a flaming pentacle tattoo, he does manage to look like the sort of person who ought to be taken seriously when he says that. In spite of the drugs and comedy too. Unless, of course, one knows precisely whom he is furious at.

Winifred Burkle has posed:
As Sam's hospital gown remains completely lifted, the bright red cheeked Fred remains turned about. She is not a nurse or a doctor, she cannot help Sam in any way like that. Instead, she listens in to their conversation while turned about.

Claire is cheerfully administering to Sam and ensuring that his wound won't fester while also helping to make sure the police won't find him. It's remarkably kind of a person they just met. "Why are you doing this?" She asks Claire, as she's the one not on a lot of drugs and with all of her clothes properly in place. It seems like she should ask the hard hitting questions.

Then, though, a detail is mentioned and Fred turns about to ask Sam a question. "A guy with a metal arm tried to kill an ambassador?" she asks him, confused, forgetting for the moment that he is not really clothed. The pink cheeks spread till her entire face is bright red and she wheels around again, not looking. "Y-yeah!" she squeaks. "Not getting away with things! That's the way to go!!"

Claire Temple has posed:
And then Winifred Burkle, a woman of numerous questions -- asks a very, very good one.

Asked why she's doing this, Nurse Temple goes briefly quiet. Her dark eyes, mostly tired, but gentle enough, crease a little sympathetically at the corners. But she says, aloud, "What, me? I'm not doing anything. Just doing my job. Making sure Mr. Doe doesn't get infection in this wound and all those pretty abdominal muscles don't rot off." She pauses. "And they're not going to, promise. You're healing just fine."

But with an extra glance on Fred, something in Claire's face that's both sympathy and apology, she doesn't say anything more. At least out loud in a hospital. She's friends with a lawyer; she knows a few things about implication!

With the dressing changed, she helpfully pulls down Sam's gown before Fred has some sort of premature heart attack. Not his girlfriend, her ass. Claire can barely contain her amusement.

That is until she goes on to ask some questions of her own, listens to Sam's answer while writing his vitals down on her chart --

-- and her pen slips as he mentions a guy with a metal arm. Claire goes still, staring down at the papers, looking like she's suddenly very focused on John Doe's platelet counts. Bombed an embassy. Killed people.

"Metal arm?" Claire hears herself asking, trying to put on her best poker face. The one that one her a few Friday night hands back in Harlem with her uncle's old friends. She feels her heart sinking. "For real?"

Sam Winchester has posed:
Sam is a bit grateful to be so covered. And he's grateful that his pecs aren't going to rot right off. Both of these are good things. "For real," he says, in answer to both of their questions. "I shot him in the back and he didn't even flinch. He was tasered. He ripped the electrodes right out of his chest. I don't know if he's a monster, a mutant, or something else entirely, but I know he's a killer."

But it's Sam who feels the guilt, for the people he couldn't save, for the one he shot while trying to take down the killer. He pulls his blanket up over his body, as if to add even more shielding between his various bits and Fred's virgin eyes now that the whole medical bit is done.

He runs his fingers through his hair. The drugs are wearing off, just a little bit. He's still not feeling any pain, but neither is he feeling so goofy, anymore.

But. He's drugged enough to miss the poker face, something he'd normally pick up on. Reading people is part of his schitck. Just...not today. Playing his cards a bit closer to his chest is also his schtick, and we see how this is going.

Winifred Burkle has posed:
"You're calling him in critical condition when he isn't," Fred points out to Claire. "Making sure he doesn't get questioned by the police just yet. And you were doing this before you knew he was associated with SHIELD!" There's a lot of questions that she has. She's a scientific mind, after all, she generally likes getting to the bottom of mysteries. "That's a pretty nice thing to do for someone just because they have a nice body." She plows right through that, not even acknowledging that she just declared Sam's body nice. That's not what's important right now!

As she's still turned around, she doesn't actually notice Claire's pen slip. Nor the pause and the look at the papers. Had she not been distracted by the possibility of a whole lot of Moose body, she might have questioned that, but she doesn't have any cause to do so at the moment.

There's a lot of rustling of cloth and the next time Fred dares to peek over her shoulder, Sam is covered by quite a few fabrics. The blush is still bright on her cheeks as she nods a few times. "If someone was trying to kill people, it's good you stopped them. But, a metal arm? How is that even possible? The weight alone! It would require either a magical binding or something similar to even be functional. If you'd put him in a pond, he'd sink! A non-buoyant assassin is not exactly the most practical in my opinion."

Claire Temple has posed:
Maybe, Claire Temple thinks, it's just another metal-armed man. Certainly not the one that helped himself that first night into her /home/ and, implied-but-never-actually-threatened her to help him. Certainly not the same man who saved her from a targetted hit squad by the Russians out to stop the nurse fixing the city's good guys. Certainly not the man she's found herself -- she doesn't know how to put it. The man she's letting complicate up her life.

He's certainly a killer, but she knows next to little about him -- but this? Maybe it's not so cut-and-dry. There has to be a reason why her gut keeps telling her something else. Her mother always keeps telling her to trust her gut more. Of course trusting her gut /started all this martyring bullshit/.

Goddamnit, is what Claire decides. Goddamnit.

So instead of saying what is sensible, like 'I think I know who you're talking about, I might be able to give you a lead', instead Claire trusts her gut and instead says, "From the look at this wound, Sam, you got off lucky. It'd probably be best to keep that luck on your side."

Then Fred's asking more questions. REALLY GOOD QUESTIONS. But still questions that have Claire staring at the woman a little helplessly like 'sister, ex-nay on the igilante-vay urse-nay!' Cringing around the corners, Claire quiets to sotto voce, and explains, "Listen, I keep my ear to the ground. The John Does that run by here are usually covering for masks their missing. Or capes. Or whatever bullshit they Batmobile around in. Get me? I'm a friend. But I'm also /at work/. The nice body is just a perk."

Head still reeling with thoughts of the Soldier, the man who calls himself 'Yasha', Claire frowns as she absently scrawls Sam's vital counts onto paper. She listens frowningly to Fred's scientific assessment of metal arm in water. "So," she grumbles absently, scathingly, "he's extremely dense."

Sam Winchester has posed:
Sam nods thoughtfully at Fred's assessment. "Maybe he does have a magical binding."

Hammers, every problem looks like a nail, etc. etc.

Claire issues his warning, and he gives a brief smile meant to reassure her. "I'll be fine. This is what I do. I just-- don't mess around with the capes bit. My brother would never let me hear the end of //that//. We just are us. Capes would get caught in stuff, and there are things that are better than masks."

"I wonder if we //could// lure him into a pond."

It's unlikely he's going to come up with his best plans right now. He turns his attention elsewhere. "I appreciate you doing this for me, Nurse Temple," he says solemnly, after a quick check of her hospital badge. "It's something I won't forget any time soon."

Winifred Burkle has posed:
There is no knowledge of the internal struggle of Claire. While Fred is great with scientific problems, those of people are a little bit more of a puzzle to her. Plus, she's still recovering from the entire 'saw Sam basically naked' thing that happened moments earlier. While not exactly as innocent as her actions generally make her out to be, that was not something she was expecting to happen today.

Instead, Fred blinks at the sotto voiced Claire attempts to bring her into the fold of vigilante hospital justice. Things start to click into place and she slowly nods her head which then quickly picks up. "Oh! Okay! Yes! I see!" Does she see? It's entirely possible, though possibly a different kind of understanding than other people. "Thank you, then." How did she start to feel somewhat responsible for this large drug-addled hunter? It's hard to say. Possibly the abs had something to do with it? One can never be truly sure.

Unable to help herself, she gives a bit of an 'aww' at the idea of Sam in a cape. "Oh my gosh, capes!" It sounds like an idea she's behind for some reason. "Well, if his weakness is ponds, I'm sure he knows not to get near one. Maybe, if I could somehow actually disguise a large pond to lure him onto and see if he sinks due to his denseness...it would need some workshopping."

Claire Temple has posed:
"You're welcome," Claire replies Fred, with a bit of a strained smile, with the surprised gratitude of someone who is NOT TOLD THAT OFTEN.

And then Sam Doe, still stuck in his hospital bed, expresses appreciation. Claire's just one thank-you short of a hat trick, which might be the first she'd ever receive of her short and tiring vigilante nurse career. Looking between man and woman both, her eyes soften briefly. "It's fine. Just -- thank me by staying safe, all right? Don't... don't lure dangerous people who blow up embassies into ponds. You both seem like really nice people, so -- we'll just. We'll just not do that, OK?"

Claire Temple's face twists with a brief note of pleading.

She finishes her work here, and with clipboard cradled in one arm, the nurse steps back to linger. "I should be getting back to my rounds. Everything seems good here. Try to rest overnight, Sam, and don't try to catch any more knives with your abs until you get this one healed."

Her eyes then flick back to Fred, and Claire's tired smile hitches briefly wider. "FYI," she adds fondly, "only family's allowed as visitors. I'll say something to the unit desk to let you stay a bit longer. Make sure to thank them on your way out."

Sam Winchester has posed:
Sam studies Claire, and now he is catching some of those nuances. Enough to tell she does not get thanked often. He'll have to send her a thing. Like some chocolate in a coffee cup...they sell those right? Thank you things?

He'll go find one. He hasn't had much cause to purchase them, but really, she has been incredibly kind and accomodating. (In a few days Claire will indeed receive A Thank You Thing, in a coffee cup that says 'Thank You', with a Hershey's bouquet, signed only 'Sam.')

He says nothing about whether or not he is going to lure dangerous men who blow up embassies into a pond. Probably because...he's aware he needs a better plan. Missing the Point for $500, Alex.

He smiles briefly, uncertainly, at Winnifred, as if finally realizing, "You...kind of just got dragged down here, huh? You don't have to stay if you don't want to. I mean." He clears his throat. "It would be nice. But you don't have to. You've already been pretty put out on my account."

Winifred Burkle has posed:
"I don't plan on getting blown up. Of course, of the percentage of people who get blown up, I would say a good seventy percent of them are not planning on that happening. So, honestly, if we're going by game mechanic rules, if this metal armed guy comes back, it's actually statistically better for us to go after him, because while the probability of explosion increases, the awareness also helps decrease the risk slightly." This is what Fred tells Claire very earnestly in order to assure her that they are fine. It probably does not have its intended effect.

The warning about family members is met with a nod. "I was called 'cause they didn't really know who else to call, I think," she assures the Night Nurse. "But, thank you. And I'll thank them, as well." Sam's own smile and look is met with a bit of a smile. "It's alright. I'll go before it becomes a problem. I don't want to get Nurse Temple in trouble. But..I can stay for a little bit. I'll probably leave before Dean comes back. He seems like he needs something to calm him down."

Claire Temple has posed:
If anything stops Claire from her immediate exeunt, it's -- it's whatever comes out of Winifred Burkle's mouth. The woman goes into something about statistical increases of metal arms or probability of explosions and -- she's lost. Her dark eyes glaze over.

Apparently, she's supposed to be getting reassured. On the contrary, the nurse is withering a little inside. They are /innocent/. Absolutely innocent in all definition of the word. Whoever Sam Doe is, and his friend -- if they survived the Soldier and want to find some way back at him. Nothing good will happen. Nothing good /for them/. She'll have to find a way to keep them safe from him -- maybe convince him to lend some clemency or... or. Goddamnit, shit's complicated.

Not to mention, she's not going to have any peace until she confronts 'Yasha' about the bombing of an embassy. It's not going to be a smart thing, but --

For now, Claire just looks back on Sam and Fred both. Christ, they're both too sweet. Sweet enough she's scared she might see either or both of them back here in emergency. She'll have to find a way to protect them. "You won't get me in trouble, I promise. If anything happens -- and I mean... anything -- just call for me here. If I'm on shift, I'll find you."

With that, the nurse departs with a wan smile, pulling the curtain closed behind her.