Owner	Pose
Dean Winchester	It had been a quiet couple of days on the Winchester front. Dean hadn't objected to his convalescence and had actually taken a rest for once. Sam had been keeping his brother's vigil. So when Dean's request to speak to May came upstairs, it may have come as a surprise. When she arrives, it's clear he's being relatively compliant all things considered. Dean has mostly listened to the advice of the medics around him. He sits on the bed rather than in it, fidgeting with his cellphone. There's an oddness to his movement, a kind of edge that punctuates each and every touch of his fingers to the keys. But when he sees the woman he requested meeting, his eyebrows lift and the phone is cast to the side. "Hey," he says with an up-nod towards the Agent. And then with no lack of humour and a curl of his lips he motions to the room, "Welcome to my humble abode." He smirks. He does that a lot.
Melinda May	Filling out reports is a necessary evil in SHIELD. And calling for medical extraction is among the most evil of evil. But, May diligently fills out the requisite forms on behalf of the Winchesters. She's fairly certain that eventually Sam will want to fill them out for himself. He seems the sort. Thus, when the request to speak reaches May, she's inwardly a bit surprised -- heaven forbid it show on her face -- but she goes to speak with the young man the first free moment she has. At the very least she can let him know that his car is safely in the garage here waiting for him. "Homey," she offers in reply to his greeting. "How can I help you today, Dean?" She stays by the door rather than venturing in further since he didn't actually invite her to do so, and watches the man alertly for any non-verbal clues as to his reasons for sending the request. She's expecting anything from 'stop interfering with me and my brother' with the grammar intentionally incorrect through 'why the HELL didn't you warn me that Scotty would be doing the transport' to 'don't expect me to ever ask for help again'.
Dean Winchester	Dean's green eyes watch May carefully as she lingers at the door, prompting him to sit up a little taller and then squint for a moment. He glances around the room--a habit he's developed over a lifetime of watching himself before finally requesting, "Can you come in and," his neck cranes to peek as far as he can into the hall, it's one of the rare moments his brother hasn't been seen at his bedside, "... can you close the door?" His tongue rolls over his lips and he manages a small smile that doesn't reflect in his gaze when he motions to the large easy chair with the ottoman--Sam's spot. May may as well have a seat. "Nice digs," he remarks with that trademark flash of teeth. His eyes turn upwards to the ceiling and he inhales a long breath, "So," his nose wrinkles, "what are the chances I'm only talking to you here, Agent May?" The smile falters some with a wrinkle in his chin and a matching one in his eyebrows.
Melinda May	May nods and closes the door before walking over in her usual near-silent manner and sitting straight-backed on the edge of the easy chair. No, it's not actually because she's got a stick rammed up somewhere. She's got a small arsenal hidden in her jacket, and at the very least the butterfly swords sheathed parallel to her spine make slouching uncomfortable. At his roundabout question about the room possibly being monitored, she replies calmly, "Very good, but if you want to erase any doubt, I can ensure it." One hand touches the commlink in her ear and she says just as evenly as everything else, "Ops, this is May. I'm going radio silent and setting Medical room H-2 dark until further notice." She waits for a moment, apparently getting a response from the other end of the comm link before she pulls the little device from her ear and sets it on the ottoman and then pulls a Zippo-sized device from an inside pocket of her jacket and offers it to Dean. "This is a scrambler. Zero signals will be allowed to enter or leave this room while it's on." It seems simple enough, just a single button next to a small, currently-off LED.
Dean Winchester	The scrambler is taken and Dean flicks it on. He ducks his head in a nod of appreciation at the effort. His hand rubs the back of his neck and his eyes find the wall in front of him. The blank wall yields some semblance of peace as he tries to draw his thoughts together. And then, with a small shake of his head, he begins. "So... uh..." his eyebrows knit together tightly. "First, I want to thank you. For getting me out of... well." He manages a near-smile--a marker of self-deprecation that tugs every corner of his face. "It wasn't nothing." His expression changes some, and he presses his hands to his eyes. "Second, I... well..." he blinks hard. "I have a request. And it ain't small. But, Agent May, Sam can't know about it. Any of it. I don't know many people who can keep a secret, but while I've been," his lips curve upwards at the ends, "an ass," he actually rolls his eyes at that, "it wasn't without cause."
Melinda May	Within a second of the device being activated, every wi-fi device in the room -- and several hard-wired -- start to signal communications errors. At Dean's thanks, May nods solemnly. "I promised I would do anything in my power to help you and Sam, and I meant it." Though, Liam really deserves more thanks in this case, and May has every intention of tracking him down for that exact reason. "Just don't make me have to do that again. I'd rather you take backup and not need it than the other way around." His declaration that Sam can't know about whatever this is earns him a raised eyebrow. "Keeping dangerous secrets never ends well even if you have the best reason in the world." Probably why he's opted to tell her instead of Sam. Which she already disapproves of, but she's keeping that to herself until she hears what this dire secret actually is.
Dean Winchester	Dean's eyes clamp shut. "There'd be no good telling Sam," he offers in return. "Not anymore. Not ever." His eyes open and seek out May's much darker ones. "Look, my brother and I have been at this a long time. We're not new to this demon hunting, monster-defeating game. We were born into it. We were abandoned for it. We were told that this, all of this, was some kind of warped birth rite." A chuff of air emits from the back of his throat. "And even as kids we were damned good at it. Well," his lips hitch up on one side into a lopsided grin, with all the hallmarks of self-deprecation, "as good as kids could be at it." His eyes glimmer with unbridled mischief that fades as they cut down towards the floor. "Dad went away a lot. And I only ever had one job. I had to take care of Sammy." Those green eyes seek out May's, "I know I haven't been easy," his hand rakes through his blonde hair, "but that's because I needed to know." He blinks hard and pinches the bridge of his nose. And in an instant all of the good-humour drains from his eyes, the smile is lost to utter seriousness, and honesty prevails. "I had you pre-programmed in my phone when I went after the Soldier. Not Sam, //you//. I have tested and pushed every button I could imagine to see if you, as a handler could handle it. I needed to know if you could do this--if you can do this. And if you'd take it as damned seriously as I have." His tongue wets his lips and for a moment he silences before finally making his request, "I need you people to take care of Sammy. He can't look out for himself. I thought by now that I would've raised him well enough that he wouldn't hold on to such hopeless cases. I didn't." There's another pause. "Dad is unfindable." And after another few beats of silence and Dean's gaze cutting downwards, comes the clincher: "And I'm a dead man walking."
Melinda May	The first part, May had already kind of guessed about. The brothers are too well-practiced at this to have just started on this path. It's sad and infuriating seeing that they were conscripted as children soldiers in their father's war against the supernatural, but what's done is done. She doesn't have a TARDIS. She can't change the past. Well, at least that explains why he's been such a grade A ass from the get-go, though her eyebrows draw together in disagreement when he says that Sam's can't look out for himself. But, she still refrains from verbally interrupting. And then he drops the clincher on her and she openly frowns. "Explain this last statement to me. Medical would know if you were terminally ill, and while your eating habits certainly won't do you any favors in the long run, I'm almost positive that's not what you're talking about."
Dean Winchester	A smirk follows the remark about eating habits and Dean offers, "Why worry about cholesterol when you aren't going to have a future?" The smirk fades though as he presses a hand to his forehead. He studies May and attempts to read each of the small nuances of her expression, unsure of himself as he straightens in the bed. "I'm not sick. That wouldn't have such definite timeline." But his jaw works around the story that he's never spoken--the one that he's never told a single soul. His eyes find comfort in the blanket on the bed and train there as he finally speaks the one thing he's always forbidden himself from saying: "It all started nine years ago." His lips purse like he's sucked on a lemon. He's never relived this memory. And its sting still sears like burning embers in the middle of flame. "Dad was off on a hunt. I was in charge, feeding us peanut and butter and jelly three times a day. And kids were going missing." And then, as if to put some perspective on this, he clarifies, "I was sixteen. Sam was twelve. So when kids were going missing, we're not talking about underaged people going missing. We're talking about friends." He finally looks up at her, and obvious fondness enters his tone, "Sammy made fast friends everywhere we went." His head shakes, "Not the case with me." It might not seem like an important detail, but it is. "Sammy lost at least one friend to whatever it was." He chuckles mirthlessly, "And Sammy was such a frigging smart ass back then. He spent days combing the tomes to figure out why the kids were going missing--what happened to his friend." His eyes lid and he inhales a long breath. "Bäckahästen. A brook horse from Scandinavian legend. I never knew the word before Sam spoke it. I've never forgotten it since." His eyes lid and he visualizes the story. "It was a foggy night and Sam wanted to pursue this motherfucking brook horse. It drowned kids. Befriended them and then took them for a ride..." his voice cracks "...to the river's depths." "So we hatched what would amount to the worst thought plan we've ever had," he stares at May. "And it went badly when one of Sam's friends was with the horse and he knocked her off... and got stuck." And for the first time since they've met everything about Dean's demeanour changes. His eyes clamp shut and he can feel the intense burning behind them. His shoulders tighten. His chin tucks to his chest. "Sammy drowned," his mouth feels dry; his throat raw. "I kept swimming in the water..." his voice cracks again "...diving... diving..diving... I couldn't... fuck, I almost didn't find him. I couldn't save him." A single tear trails down his cheek. He banishes it with the back of his hand, sniffs, and forces his eyes open to meet May's. "Sam died."
Melinda May	If it were anyone else, May would call bullshit on this story. But she's learned how to tell when Dean's lying and when he's not -- mostly by watching Sam's inability to lie convincingly. Their tells are almost identical though Dean's are obviously much more subtle. And, know that this truly happened to him doesn't reassure May in the least. That was without a doubt worse on Dean than Bahrain was on her. If she were the demonstrative sort, this is where she'd give in to the inclination to give the kid a hug, busted ribs be damned. But, that's more Darcy's wheelhouse than hers. The best she can do is meet his eyes as squarely as she can, and hopefully the fact that she GETS IT is there in her eyes. Also, she knows there's got to be more to this story, because Sam is here and walking around and not craving brains.
Dean Winchester	The eye contact earns May a vague turn of Dean's lips. He sniffs again and then nods. "It was my fault. I was in charge. I was the one that was supposed to look out for him." He pinches the bridge of his nose again. "He was the good one. He was the one that had all the potential and the future going for him. I knew it then. Hell, everyone knows it now. And he died on my watch." Dean wets his lips again, "I took him back to the house we were staying and put his body on the couch... where the King of the Crossroads, Crowley came to me." He frowns at the next, "He told me he could bring Sam back. And that my twelve year old brother had been fed demon blood by..." and then there's another detail he hasn't told Sam "...someone he called Azazel. We just call him yellow eyes." His gaze darkens. "But because of the demon blood, my twelve year old brother wouldn't be in heaven. No, my precious Sammy was hell-bound," his voice cracks around the last. "How could I leave my brother there? Sam... " his lips part and his hands press to his face, "...he's good... " his lips quiver with emotion. He rubs the sleeve of his shirt across his face to catch any stray moisture. "But you and I know nothing is free." He sniffs again. "I got ten years to bring Sammy back. Ten years to raise Sammy and give him self-sufficiency. He's not there." He rubs his temples and lays back on the bed, finally having relayed the pertinent parts of the story. "I have one year left. I need someone to take over."
Melinda May	"You're right. Nothing is free. But you know better than I do if you just accept this path you're on that your brother is going to insist on following you, and there would be nothing that all of SHIELD or WAND could do to stop him. I think a better plan is to use this remaining year to plan and prepare and be ready for this Crowley." May is still looking at Dean squarely even as her voice actually softens a bit. "You couldn't handle his death," even though he was truly only a child at the time, "so what makes you think he'll be able to handle yours?"
Dean Winchester	//Meanwhile// Omens. Omens make demons easy to find. Bad weather. Electrical disturbances. People losing time. A lot of it the symptoms people associate with "UFOs," only its not. Its demons. And Sammy, with his tablet, can find a demon if it's there to be found. A possession one town away drew him out of Dean's room with a promise to return. He was just going out to 'check in on Fred.' But he never got to Fred. He got to a two story house where he arrived dressed as a priest, where a possessed teenage girl was terrorizing her family. He got the mother to let him in, and he fought the demon, being careful of the body. It didn't look too destroyed to him. He got the mother to help him tie her own kid down. He'd stared down at the girl, his mouth opening to start the exorcism. But then the compulsion had come over him, too strong to ignore. As Dean and May speak, he withdraws it...the shining hypodermic needle, one used to take samples. It's good for stocking dead man's blood, for vampires, but it's good for this too. He estimates he can take a good 10 vials before he even hurts her. He takes them rapidly. Then he takes one more. She'll be left a little weak, but as long as the demon, who starts laughing maniacally with her voice, is in her, it's /demon blood/. He isn't even sure where he picked up the rubber touriquet he quickly wraps around his upper arm. He tests the vein thrice, then plunges the needle inside. He gasps with the sheer relief of it. The edge, the hunger, the craving, the /burn beneath his skin/ that has been plaguing him, now, for over a week, gone at last. He'd fought it as long as he could, but he knows now. He has to have it. He tilts his head at the girl on the bed. The standard exorcism can be rough on a body too, and he suddenly /feels something/ inside him. He splays his fingers over her, and forces the demon out with will alone. It leaves him gasping, reeling, his head throbbing, his nose bleeding. He didn't do it quite right, and he knows that now too...But the girl is fine. Blinking sleepily up at him. "Father...?" He slips the vials into the pockets of his robe and puts a comforting hand on her forehead. "Shhh. It's okay now. Let me get you untied." A small enough tax, for her life, isn't it? //Back at the Triskelion// Dean's eyebrows lift at the notion of being ready for Crowley, "And that's half the problem. Crowley gave a bonus. Sam has no memory of this." He swallows the growing lump his his throat, "I couldn't bear for a twelve year old to carry memory of hell around with him. I can't risk jogging that." He emits a soft breath, "If all goes as it should, I'll die naturally enough. No one is going to be able to break the deal; the contract was long and signed in my blood. I didn't even read it--" he sucks on the inside of his cheek. "--he already thinks he owns my ass. He's called me twice since I woke up here." His eyebrows lift. He doesn't have to look for Crowley; that guy is always nearby. "He didn't deserve hell. I was the brother who should be damned and it's already done. It was done nine years ago. I didn't even tell Dad."
Melinda May	Dean could we be right, that there's no way out of this. But May has never been one to give up without fighting for every last possible inch. "WAND has resources that even I'm not fully briefed on. If anyone has a way to get both you and your brother to the other side of this deal alive and sane, WAND is your best chance of figuring out who and how." She moves to stand. "Or would you rather just continue to let creatures try to kill you until this deal you made inevitably does?" Maybe, at the very least, she can get this kid to finally start accepting SHIELD and WAND resources to help him on his hunts.
Dean Winchester	"Whatever help WAND offers around this, I'm willing to think on. But Sam can't know about it. He'd just worry more. And maybe remember hell." Dean scratches his head and he emits a long breath, "But me accepting help openly? It can't be that easy." His green eyes flick towards May. "Sammy has to choose to become one of you. With or without me. I need someone to look out for him. That girlfriend of his would do it, but she'll tell him everything. All of it." His nose wrinkles. "I can't just flop. But I'll be... better." He curls his lips. "The creatures don't scare me. If they did I'd never go into water. Water spirits have a vendetta against me because I traded for Sam's life." He lifts a hand dismissively at that.
Melinda May	May nods. "I put in the request to have WAND pull all the research I can on this subject, and there's no reason that Sam would ever know it has any connection to you or him if he even finds out." Yes, she's already mentally percolating plans. "I'm going to need something from you in return, Dean. Your brother let us take a preliminary look at a notebook he had with him, but from what WAND's experts mentioned, it was not nearly complete, and it looked like it had been copied from another reference." She crosses her arms. "If we're to have any hint of a chance at making a difference here, whatever you know and whatever references you have access to are going to be invaluable."
Dean Winchester	Dean squints at the thought of the book. His eyebrows lift and he shrugs, "Dad's journal." His lips twist to the side, "You can have it, but Sam can't know I gave you what I have." His eyes narrow slightly, "Look, I know we're on the same side here, May," his lips curl upwards, "I just don't need Sammy knowing I know that. Not too quickly. He needs to believe all this." His palms rub together and he notes, "When I'm out of here, I'll arrange to get you a copy when he's busy with Fred." There's a knock at the door and Dean perks just before it opens, revealing a very leery looking SHIELD medic who glances between them. "Uh... Mister Winchester--" "--Dean," he interrupts for the umpteenth time. "...right. Dean needs his meds," she announces. "I'm going to have to stop the..." her eyes flit between them "...meeting?"