Travelling Riverside Blues

Travelling Riverside Blues
Date of Scene:	11 September 2017
Location:	On the Road
Synopsis:	Fred Burkle and Sam Winchester race to South Dakota in the hopes of driving the white-eyed demon out of Dean's body.
Cast of Characters:	Sam Winchester, Winifred Burkle
Tinyplot:	Blood on My Name

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Sam Winchester has posed:
The GPS helpfully told them how long they had to get there.

19 hrs and 28 minutes. They’d been on the road for an hour.

Sam grips the steering wheel so hard his hands surely hurt. The knuckles are white. For once he does not bother with the backroads. He got right on I-71 South an hour ago, and has been passing cars on the Interstate like an old pro. Just because the Winchester family typically preferred the back roads didn’t mean they didn’t know how to get around a semi at 80 mph.

He doesn’t speed too much. He doesn’t want to explain the stuff in the trunk to any cop.

His neck muscles are so hard and tense that veins are standing out around his throat. His mouth remains caught in a tight, grim line, the proverbial expression that ‘got stuck that way.’

He hadn’t done much speaking over the past hour. But at last, he does, giving voice to one of the waking nightmares that had been playing behind his eyes since he got off the phone. Hazel eyes again, the darkness fled from them, if not from his heart. “I shouldn’t have brought you. He might cut you. He might burn you.”

Winifred Burkle has posed:
The conversation with the police about the stuff in the trunk would certainly be awkward and best avoided. Fred sits in the passenger seat, keeping the silence that Sam set as precedence. She’s not been idle, though. She’s keeping track of their progress on her phone as well as re-reading the exorcism words, just to make sure she has them memorized properly. The last thing she wants is to mess up a pronunciation and blow their only chance at getting that demon out of Dean.

It’s also a helpful distraction. The world is still rather large and overwhelming to Fred. She hasn’t been outside the Winchester apartment in a little over a week. Seeing cars and buildings whisk by them on the Interstate is a little too much like falling through a twisting portal.

Every now and again, she’ll cast a worried look at Sam: the white knuckles, the tightened neck. The worst part of this is the waiting, the knowledge that in the hours it will take them to drive to Bobby’s they don’t know what is going on or what the demon might be doing.

When Sam finally speaks, she lowers the phone and shifts in her seat to better talk to him. “He could do the same to you.” There’s a reason why that demon wants Sam and it could be to torture him - not just psychologically, but physically. “I wouldn’t let you do this on your own. You know that.”

Sam Winchester has posed:
“I know. And I love you for it. And I need you. And I’m scared.”

They come in staccato, these expressions of his feelings. Sam, for all that he is an expressive guy by anyone’s standards, is still a man who was taught a host of expectations about how men should act. He may have rejected many of them. He may be too naturally empathetic to live up to most of them. But even so, when he does get around to expressing how he /feels/ he does so in short bursts.

Four little sentences.

He offers her a quick, tight smile before passing a WalMart truck, slamming the accelerator hard when the stupid trucker nearly drifts into his lane. He gets around it and slows down again. He drives with the surety of one for whom driving requires no conscious thought. The smile, as it is, doesn’t get turned to her directly; he keeps his eyes on the road.

Winifred Burkle has posed:
“I know,” Fred echoes his sentiment. She knows all of those things: that he’s scared for Dean and about bringing her to a dangerous situation. That he loves her and that she wouldn’t allow herself to be left behind - cupboard or no. She feels the same. This demon wants to hurt Sam and that both worries and scares her.

First, it was Hydra, now demons. That and the way his eyes turned black in anger leaves a cold grip on her stomach.

The acceleration and slowing is met with a momentary pause, a hand steadying itself on arm rest by the window. Fred’s own driving skills are not as good as Sam’s. He lived much of his life on the road, while she didn’t drive for half a decade due to Pylean circumstances.

Once past the truck, she turns her attention back to him. “We’re going to get him back,” she tells him. It’s more than just hope or reassurance, there’s conviction there.

Sam Winchester has posed:
And the sad truth is…

It will probably always be someone. For the rest of his life, however long that is. If not because of strange apocalyptic schemes because of the many, many enemies he’s made and keeps making.

She speaks with conviction, and he gives another tight smile. He appreciates it, but of course he doesn’t share it. They might get Dean and Bobby and Jo to safety, and Fred, but he’s not that sure about himself.

And none of it matters. He’d subject himself to an eternity of torture for them. He just hadn’t seen it when he was busy trying to be ‘normal.’ /Never again,/ he promises himself, if he even has that chance. He’s so done with that. SHIELD is a compromise, but he’ll throw that on the pyre too, if he has to.

“I should have gone after Dean. The demon was right. I shouldn’t have ‘given him his space’. I was worried about Claire, but…”

Winifred Burkle has posed:
The tight smile is one she expects. Fred realizes how worried Sam is as well as his tendency to imagine the worst scenario. It’s possible it’s already too late - she also knows that. However, she has to state it and - more than that - she has to believe it. Otherwise, the next hours would go by in grim silence. Even when things look hopeless, dwelling on it only leads to despair. She knows that for a fact.

If she somehow knew what Sam was thinking about sacrificing himself for Dean and the rest of them, she would certainly have some words about that as well. Instead, she tackles what she just heard.

“You’re not a mind reader, Sam.” Fred folds her hands over her phone in her lap. At least, she’s pretty sure Sam isn’t a mind reader. He’s been exhibiting some very strange and powerful powers lately, after all. “The last time we talked to Dean he drove off and left us outside the city. He definitely acted like he needed some space and didn’t want anyone to follow him.”

Sam Winchester has posed:
“Yeah.”

He had, but Sam didn’t feel absolved. And in that one word probably clears up the mystery of whether he’s become a telepath /too/. That, at least, hasn’t happened yet, which is probably all to the good.

He grimly changes lanes again before he speaks. Finally he says, “A demon took him in my vision, too. I let myself get distracted by other things. Things I thought were more important.”

He has been notoriously unwilling to speak about that vision, saying only that it was “nothing” and “kind of par for my course.” But the parallels between that vision and what’s happening now are twisting him up inside.

“Is that all that’s going to happen? In any reality? He gets hurt for me, again and again, and I fail him, again and again? He lost his mother because of me, he lost his freedom because of me, now he’s lost his body. /Because of me./”

Winifred Burkle has posed:
A demon took Dean in Sam’s vision, the one from the Hydra base. The reveal of that lifts Fred’s eyebrows just slightly. He had avoided talking about what happened to him there, despite a few gentle questions to try and get him to open up about it. She didn’t push too hard; she was also attempting to get over her own experiences.

“You couldn’t have known,” is what she tells him now, gently. “That spell...it took some of our darkest fears and tried to trap us in them.” It’s clear that one of Sam’s worst fears involves losing Dean. It’s not exactly a surprise. “It wasn’t real and it wasn’t a prophecy.” He was the one that helped her come to that conclusion, after all.

“And you didn’t fail him. Dean’s made a lotta choices on his own that put him on that radar.” She sighs, her heart aching to hear Sam blame himself for his mother’s death and Dean’s contract. “None of that is your fault.”

The fact that his vision is starting to come true now? That this might just happen no matter where they are? She doesn’t really have any answers for that. “Dean didn’t do those things ‘cause you failed, Sam. He did it ‘cause he loves you.” While she doesn’t have much insight into the mind of Dean Winchester, she does know what she saw during the fight in the Crossroads and what that adds up to.

Sam Winchester has posed:
She’s not wrong, and he knows she’s not.

He swallows. He can’t stop the tear that rolls down his cheek. “I’ve never done anything to deserve it though.”

He sniffles back, trying not to let anything more than that fall. He’s been under more stress than usual to be sure, but that’s just unacceptable. Everything’s ratcheted so far past the boundaries of ‘normal’ hunts. All the revelations and issues and troubles are hitting them both hard, and right about now part of him wishes /he/ had a cupboard to crawl into.

They don’t really make ‘em big enough for Sam, but it is what it is.

The lump in his throat won’t quite go away though, and another quick one drops down his cheek. He wipes them in irritation. This is no way to lead someone into battle. Maybe he should have called May, maybe he should have called Mercy…

But what if doing so just hands them to the demon? The demon has already touched Fred and passed her by, at least. And he still has a cold sensation about bringing her along, a cold fear that she’ll bleed, that she’ll burn. In his mind’s eye all of his friends are bleeding and burning.

“Sorry,” he says, hoarsely.

Winifred Burkle has posed:
That sentence just breaks Fred’s heart.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, an angry speech is being written to be tossed in John Winchester’s face along with a slap, now that she knows his name. How could raise his sons to think they needed to do things like sell their souls to prove they should be loved?

However, she quells that anger because it’s not going to help anyone right now. Instead, she reaches a hand out and puts it on Sam’s leg. He’s driving, so now’s not the time for any other gesture of love. “Sam, you don’t need to do anything to deserve it.”

The sorry is met with a shake of her head. She wants to say ‘it’s okay’, but she also knows that it isn’t. “And you don’t need to apologize.”

From her seat, she keeps her hand there as a small reminder that she’s here for him. “We’re going to find this thing and we’re gonna whup it for what it did.”

Sam Winchester has posed:
“How do I balance the scales of what he’s done for me? How do I even begin? At the very least maybe not let him get worn like a suit by horrible creatures.” But he is quelled a little, at her touch. He drops one hand down to cover hers. It’s broad, but cool to the touch. Right now his body temperature is very low thanks to the dark emotions sweeping through him.

But she has him talking.

“I went to the SHIELD R&D labs today,” he says. It seems like it’s unrelated, but it’s all one. His words hitch in his throat; actually saying everything that’s on his mind is hard even for him. Dean just shuts down. Sam lets stuff escape, then the gates slam shut again, and then he has to lean on the gates to let more escape.

He won’t let go of her hand, even now. He needs it, needs that physical connection, that grounding touch, that reminder that he’s...that he’s more than shit on toast.

Winifred Burkle has posed:
Fred’s fingers curl around Sam’s hand as he covers hers with his. The cold hand is, again, worrying, but right now he’s opening up and she’s not going to interrupt.

The question as to how to balance the scales is given a moment of thought. “It’s not about balance, I don’t think. Just be there. We’re gonna figure this out and that’ll certainly be a start.”

She knew that he had to go into SHIELD, but she didn’t know it involved their R&D. The thought of Sam around so much interesting and new tech is something that would generally excite her, would get her to ask a million questions as to what he saw there. The fact that he is bringing this up now, though, means this is not a non sequitur. This ties into everything else.

“For some new equipment?” she prompts to get him to continue to talk.

Sam Winchester has posed:
“No. May wanted to find out if they could make a synthetic for the demon blood.”

He swallows. “The doctor was horrified about collapsing veins and my general health. Her other half, the engineer, he just kept asking me what I wanted. Do I /want/ to get off demon blood, what did I /want/, he couldn’t help me if I couldn’t say what I /wanted/. And I know the right answer is, of course, detox me, let’s get off that stuff. But I couldn’t bring myself to say it, Fred.”

His hand tightens. “Because maybe it’s something I can’t get away from, and maybe trying balances the scales somewhere else and someone dies. Because I look at what I’ve been able to do, how these abilities have helped, and I wonder who dies if I give them up. In the vision-- when I reached for them-- the white-eyed demon said he accepted my choice. And that let me save Dean, at the expense of someone else. So if I turn my back on them, does that mean Dean dies? Maybe my vision was a little different. Maybe demonic forces chose to piggy back on it so they could have that conversation with me.”

He half shakes his head. “I told them to work on the synthetic, but I just wanted out of there. I don’t know that I should be there. I still don’t know what Hydra wants. I don’t know anything. All I know is that it’s dangerous, chasing things based on /want/. Commitment is okay,” he says, because he doesn’t want her to lump herself into that. “Love is okay. But want? Want is not enough.”

Winifred Burkle has posed:
A synthetic for the demon blood. Is that even possible? Would it work? Possibilities whirl about in Fred’s mind. Then, she mentally shakes herself. This isn’t about the science, this is about Sam.

The thought of his vision in the spell perhaps having some truth to it, a hint of prophecy is met with a neutral expression from Fred. She doesn’t immediately toss the idea out, because he has had visions before and perhaps the visions used this spell in order to give him another one. It’s possible, but she doesn’t want to believe that - possibly because that means her own vision might have a ring of prophecy to it, too.

Her eyebrows knit and she looks down at where they are holding each other’s hand. What does she say to that? “Maybe,” she says softly. “You saved my life with them, I know. But, if a white eyed demon wants you to have them?” She trails off at that. If one of those demon creatures wants him to keep the visions and powers, it means she can’t trust them. It can’t lead to any place good.

“I don’t know.” It’s complicated, she knows. Her other hand reaches up to lightly touch his arm, over his shirt and jacket to the place she knows he shoots up. Then, she lowers it to rest over the hand that holds hers. “It’s hurting you. The doctor didn’t like what she saw. The whole thing worries me.”

Sam Winchester has posed:
If he were less absorbed in his own fears right now he’d realize what he’s doing, but sometimes fear blathers out. Emotion takes the reins, the horses gallop. He’s holding on to some control, but the ability to think and choose his words with the kind of exquisite care her wounds deserve is missing now, washed away by the hostage situation.

“I got so angry at Fitz I was about to demand a detox then and there, but he said it would take 3 days. I need 3 days wherein everything is /not/ going to explode in our faces.”

So ambivalent. Synthetic, blood, or detoxification? He can’t find the answer. “I guess right this second it doesn’t matter.”

Back to what he knows. Compartmentalize. Straighten his shoulders. Deal with the here and now. “I’m sorry. I should stay focused.” Everyone is counting on him.

Winifred Burkle has posed:
A three day detox. Three days when things won’t go crazy. It’s possible, she hopes. Fred squeezes Sam’s hand. “We can find the time.” The way some couples discuss trying to find a night for a date, they talk about when they can schedule three days for Sam to detox from demon blood. It might be funny if it were not so worrying.

“You were angry that he told you that you needed to know what you wanted before detox?” She knows that he just discussed his thoughts on the fact that wanting isn’t enough, that there has to be something more. However, that something more has to start somewhere.

“It’s okay. We’ve still got a long drive ahead of us. Focusing on it too much will just wear us out before we’re even through the state.”

Sam Winchester has posed:
“I can’t describe why I was angry. He just kept asking the same question over and over again.”

Sam’s face crumples a little. He signals. Changes lanes a little too aggressively.

“Like he wanted me to tell the truth. The truth is part of me /revels in this shit./ The power. The rush.” He bares his teeth at the highway. “I mean, what was I supposed to say? That I’m at least half a monster now, and now that I’ve made the transformation, it feels /right/? That I’ve spent a whole life knowing I’m /unclean/, and to finally just acknowledge it, get it out in the open, to be whatever this is that I am feels better than continuing to hide from it and apologize for it?”

He grips the steering wheel all the harder with his free hand. “That I want to take it, and do good things with it, as a big fuck you finger to Azazel, and Hydra, and everyone who thought they got to /define me/? That apparently something being done /to me/ as a /baby/ was enough to damn me, so if I’m going to be damned, then why not damned on my own /damned/ terms?”

Another swift, aggressive whip around a car, engine roaring. “It’s like he knew. That fussy little engineer, who wants nothing more than to hide in his lab forever, /he knew/. And he poked, and poked, and poked because he wanted me to tell him that answer. But it’s not /his damned answer/.”

Winifred Burkle has posed:
This is not exactly what Fred was expecting when Sam started to open up. Perhaps a part of her should have. She’s seen his fierce loyalty and protection, it makes sense that his anger would be just as sharp.

It’s a lot to hear Sam describe himself as a monster, as someone who enjoys the power rush of using his powers and wants to use it, to not have to apologize. She gets that, to an extent. Falling into the belief of always being on Pylea was a relief. She was stuck there forever, but there was nothing else. No Earth to pine for, since it never truly existed.

The acceleration of the car, the poison in Sam’s voice, it causes her to grip Sam’s hand tighter in response. His anger, the speed, the aggressive changing of lanes...it scares her.

Much like the wilderness of Pylea, though, when Angel attempted to vamp out and instead turned into a much different and violent creature, she remains calm. “Sam…” she says. “Please...slow down.” It’s not raising a blood covered hand to lead a vampire away from danger, but it is an entreaty.

Sam Winchester has posed:
He realizes in that moment that he’s scaring her, and remorse floods his face. It screws up into something grief-stricken and confused, but he eases off the gas. A moment later he sees a rest area come up. He slides into the exit lane, his body shaking, his muscles rock hard beneath her hand.

He parks. “Take the wheel, please,” he says, reaching out to cup her face briefly.

It’s not her he’s angry at. It’s himself. It’s the demons. It’s Hydra. It’s maybe the whole fucking world, who sees fit to go to bed at night feeling comfy and warm, to live and make families and build little box houses and pretend there’s nothing in the night. People can do that because of people like /them/, never knowing the cost. And the fact is, he says yes to that cost every day, because the cost of not doing it is higher than the cost of doing it…

But it’s still a matter for rage that these things must be bought at all.

Winifred Burkle has posed:
Despite the panic induced calm Sam’s vitriol and driving inspired, Fred doesn’t let go. The firm grip that at first was there in fear remains. She doesn’t pull away from him. However, she also doesn’t say much else until they are safely parked in the rest stop.

Once there, she uses her free hand to unbuckle her seatbelt. Then, bringing her knees up onto the seat, she leans forward, wrapping her arms around his shoulders, head brushing the inside top of the car. She’s smaller than he is, so she knows it’s not going to give the same feeling of protection and safety that she feels when he does this to her. Hopefully it’s not the mass, but the sentiment that will seep through.

“You’re not a monster,” she tells him firmly. “And even if you are, I don’t care.”

Sam Winchester has posed:
It’s the sentiment.

His tension all but floods away under the force of that hug. His eyes brim over, and he lets out a soft sob. “I never asked for any of this,” he whispers. Which is so unfair, talking to her, because she never asked for any of this either, not Pylea, none of it.

Nobody ever asks for any of it.

But in the moment, that’s the emotion, raw and shared; he wraps his big arms around her in turn, hating himself for needing this moment, hating himself for allowing Dean to suffer even a few more seconds than necessary. But if he doesn’t deal with this, he might not think clearly when he needs to think clearly. Even he knows he’s prone to making bad, rash decisions right this second.

So he takes the shelter, the comfort, and allows himself that one moment of grief and fear, allows her to tell him that no matter what, she’s with him, monster or man. She sees a man.

Winifred Burkle has posed:
Fred holds Sam, arms tight about him as he briefly sobs against her. There is no judgement from her. Instead, she smoothes his hair in an echo of how he helped her after the visions of Pylea.

They still have hours to go before they reach Kansas and the demon is still out there. She knows that, but she also knows that this is necessary. Isn’t it better to take a moment now to avoid an even bigger mistake in the future?

Of course he never asked for any of this. Who would? The brunette physicist rests her cheek against Sam’s head and tells him, “I know.”

Sam Winchester has posed:
Some of the tension eases out of him. Her presence, her closeness.

/I need both of them. Both. Is that so wrong? I need Fred, and I need Dean. I need Dean, and I need Fred./

He closes his eyes. There’s an ache behind them, a growing headache that isn’t helping. He holds her close and says, “If I end up having to give myself up to save him, it is only because I trust you and him to get me back out of there.”

This bears saying here, and now, because the truth is he can see that as one of the potential outcomes. Right now, this demon holds all the cards. All out assault with exorcism, salt, and holy water could win the day, but the demon has to know he’s coming with all of these things, and has prepared for them. He is in Dean’s /mind/. He knows. He wasn’t fooled by Sam’s act in the least.

Which means the only way to save Dean may be to let Hell have him. But he won’t do that without leaving a back door. Fred has got to be that back door.

Winifred Burkle has posed:
As Fred keeps her arms around Sam, she can feel some of the tension leave him. His words, though, cause her to tighten her grip. The fear sets in. “No,” she says softly, immediately. “You can’t.”

She knows how much Dean means to Sam, how he wouldn’t do this if he saw any other way out. Still, she can’t allow it, can’t condone it. “I can’t lose you, Sam. I’m not like you and Dean. I don’t know how to bring someone back from that.” To her, a death like that is permanent. She can attempt contracts, devil bargains, but that leaves all of them right back where they started. She might just do it, though, to rescue Sam. She knows that.

“We can save him without that.”

Sam Winchester has posed:
“Good thing this guy doesn’t want me dead then,” Sam says, with impeccable logic.

“If he wanted me dead, he would have eaten pizza with you in our apartment, used the element of surprise to attack me and killed us both. He would not have tried to break your mind again. He wouldn’t have tried to hit my psychological weak spots. He wouldn’t take three people I care about hostage. He’s got Bobby too. Bobby’s...if anyone other than Dean could be said to be my Dad…”

He closes his eyes and exhales. “No. He said I was his favorite. He wants me for something. Hell invested in me, feeding me this blood, turning me into whatever I am now. What they want is for me to play ball. He might hurt me, but he won’t kill me.”

Humorlessly. “Or. If he does. He’ll just resurrect me.”

He exhales. “But you? Dean? Bobby? Jo Harvelle? Disposable.”

Winifred Burkle has posed:
With that same logic, Fred retorts, “He’s not going to take you unless he thinks we can’t get you back.” Slowly, she keeps her arms around Sam, but sits backwards on her haunches so she can look at him while they discuss this.

“It looks like he’s doing all this to hurt not just you, but Dean. If he wanted to capture you, like you said, he could’ve just stayed in the apartment with me and then used me and Dean to try and make you his prisoner.” There’s a shake of her head. “There’s more to it than that. I think it has to do with the both of you.” She’s not sure why she feels that way, but she does.

“Maybe we are. But, just giving yourself up doesn’t work for me, either. We’ll save them. We’ve gotta. I’m just not willing to let you go to save everyone else. I’m sorry.”

Sam Winchester has posed:
There’s that Fred-stubbornness. She’s showing more spirit and backbone than she has in days, and Sam can’t help but smile over it. It’s a gentle, bashful thing. He is seized with the need to kiss her, and he does.

Then he lets her go, and gets out so she can take the wheel. “Well,” he says with fond resignation. “We have...18 hours, 59 minutes according to our GPS to come up with something suitably brilliant.”

It’s conceding the point to her. Sacrificing himself is off the table. If it’s even an option.

Because she’s right; all of this is...elaborate. Elaborate in a way that makes zero sense to one Sam Winchester.

Winifred Burkle has posed:
Fred is not exactly surprised when Sam kisses her. There’s enough warning that she kisses him back. It’s a brief moment of stability in their chase to rescue Dean.

It might be easier for her to get out of the car and switch places, but she instead climbs over the middle partition and gets into the driver’s seat that way. There’s relief when Sam gives up the idea to sacrifice himself for Dean. She knows he wants to balance the scales, to prove to Dean he’s willing do the hard thing to save him, but she’s selfish in her need to ensure that he stays alive and with her.

“I think we can conjure some sort of plan in that time.”

Fred waits till Sam is back in the passenger seat and then turns the engine back on and angels the car back onto the Interstate. She is certainly not as good of a driver as Sam is, but that doesn’t exactly matter. She can and will drive the rest of the way to South Dakota, even if it is mostly without passing and stubbornly keeping to the speed limit.