Who: Pam and Sam Wilson What: run-in/drinks Where: Off Broadway Taproom When: Mon evening Warnings: TBD Status: closed/g-doc
Sam had to admit the drama from the network had given him a headache. And, he didn’t like how many unsavoury people seemed to now be in town. Did he have the suit and shield laid out on his bed if needed? Yes.
But, he needed to eat food and today Sam didn’t feel like cooking. At all. But a bacon cheeseburger with fries and a beer? Who could say no to such a delicious combo? Off Broadway would offer all of the above, so he made his way there.
When he eventually found a seat at the bar, he asked the bartender for a moment. Mostly, he wanted to figure out his beer options. Yes, he liked a good craft beer now and again.
John Winchester and Lucifer showing up at the same time boded nothing good, and Pamela was fresh out of werewolf boyfriends. She knew she could probably turn to Logan’s pack for shelter, but she didn’t want to push herself in on them. They could be dealing with their own issues. They didn’t need hers on top of things.
So what did a blind psychic do when she was feeling a little vulnerable and didn’t want to admit it? She went to a public place to drink because why not. It made sense to her. Or it could have been her psychic stuff guiding her. Anything was possible.
Pamela fake tapped her way into Off Broadway and on up to the bar. The good thing about being a hot blind chick was that people, men especially, gave way. She used that to her advantage, shamelessly. So when she reached the bar she had a good seat vacated for her.
She smirked as she slid onto the barstool then picked up on something from the guy next to her. “Try the IPA.”
Sam startled for a moment wondering if he’d said something out loud. But, no, the blind woman appeared as if out of nowhere and he felt pretty certain that he hadn’t said anything out loud. He’d been lost in thought and hadn’t heard her use her cane.
“Thanks.” He noticed her facial expression and it definitely read as stressed and possibly concerned? Worried? “Can I buy you a drink? I’ve been told I’m a good listener.” Sam’s job was to listen to people and try to provide therapy as needed.
Pamela chuckled, unaware that any of her anxiety showed. Usually, she was better than that, but with Lucifer in town, well it wasn’t surprising that she gave something away. But her fears weren’t what made her grin.
“You keep talking to me and I’ll let you buy me drinks all night.” He had a nice voice. Calming. Soothing. Attractive.
Sam thought she looked attractive and it wasn’t like he had someone special waiting for him back home. “Deal. I’m Sam.”
But he had to ask, “How did you know about the beer thing?” The bartender walked over and Sam ordered the IPA and “whatever the lady wants to drink.” Chivalry wasn’t dead yet, at least.
“Whiskey and a stout,” Pamela ordered. She liked strong liquor and to be able to chew her beer. Don’t judge.
She turned her attention to her drinking partner. “Pamela,” she supplied. “I’m psychic. Best damn one you’ll find here or anywhere.” She tapped her temple next to one white orb. “I don’t need eyes to see.”
Sam liked a woman who knew what kind of drink she wanted. Actually, Sam liked anyone who knew what drink they wanted. He didn’t judge anyone’s drink of choice, because he didn’t like to judge people in general.
“Nice to meet you, Pamela. I’ve never met a psychic before.” The fact she was blind didn’t throw him for a loop or anything, although he wondered if she actually needed the cane she carried.
No. No she didn’t need the cane. Not one bit. But whenever she walked around without it people freaked out thinking she was going to walk into traffic or something. It was fun to blow people’s minds.
“I am one of a kind,” she said as their drinks arrived. Pamela lifted her whiskey toward her drinking partner. “May all your ups and downs be beneath the sheets.” She winked one white orb then drained her glass.
“Oh I needed that.”
Sam laughed at the toast. “I haven’t heard that one in quite some time.” He found himself liking the woman. He took a gulp of his IPA.
“Agreed. This is exactly what I needed.” He signaled to the bartender for a whiskey too. “What brings you out tonight?”
Pamela chuckled after she drank. “Grandpa married Irish. Whenever Grannie got a few drinks in her we heard the best stories. Great education.”
She folded up the cane to hand it to the bartender without looking. It was a good example of her heightened senses that she caught the guy as he walked by. This way, she wouldn’t lose it…or be tempted to use it on someone’s head.
“Not ashamed to say I’m hiding in plain sight.” She still smiled but that tension came back to her expression. “Some rough people came through recently that I would really not want to run into.”
Sam laughed. “I could see that. I’m glad you got good stories out of them.” Inwardly, he missed his family, but this didn’t seem like a place for the boys. They loved the ocean too much and he wouldn’t want his nephews parted from said ocean.
After watching the interaction, Sam grinned. “You’ve definitely aware of your surroundings.” Sam appreciated anyone’s observant skills.
“I’m sorry. Somehow I missed out on this bit of Dome madness. Anything I can do?” He noticed the tension and wished he could help, in his usual Sam fashion. She seemed like someone he’d like to get to know more.
“The cane is only for show, really.” She grinned. “Keeps people out of my way. Lets me jump to the front of the line. And my choice of seating at the bar.” Pamela winked.
Then she went more serious. “Let me know if anyone’s paying more attention to me than just eyeing my rack.” Because Lucifer could get past her senses easily.
She was beginning to like this Sam. He seemed nice. Down to earth, but the hero type. Wasn’t full of himself. No ego to smack around.
He laughed at the ‘cutting line’ comment. “I think it’s brilliant. And lucky me for such a wonderful drinking companion.”
Sam managed to not check out her rack, but he looked around. “I can definitely help you with that task.” Nobody seemed suspicious or dangerous at the moment at least.
Pam’s description of Sam fit rather well. And he liked the funny and witty Pamela. Okay, she was hot too, but Sam removed the thought from his brain.
Pamela picked up her whiskey then turned on the barstool to “face” Sam. “And what reward does a would-be rescuer want?” She grinned. Obviously, she wasn’t put off by him in any way. Her senses said she could trust him. What was it about guys named Sam that made them Nice Guys?
Sam, being Sam, never considered sex because it didn’t occur to him to ask. Unlike most of his friends back home, Sam didn’t have any romantic entanglements with anyone. So, unless she mentioned it, it wouldn’t occur to Sam.
“I mean, a new friend is never a bad thing, right?” he asked with a smile. “I like to meet people from other worlds here. It’s one of the benefits.”
Oh god he was adorable. Pamela missed Logan. A lot. That didn’t stop her from having a trist or seven to ease the loneliness. She hadn’t touched Sam yet, so she had no idea how built he was or wasn’t, but based on what she heard he was a great guy.
“Friends then.” She smiled, not at all disappointed. Depending on how the rest of their night at the bar went she would definitely give him an invite. But Pamela would be content with just meeting someone new.
Pamela would not be disappointed if she saw Sam without clothes. Maybe not quite to the extent of Logan, but still. And Sam saw nothing wrong with hooking up as a way to get through feelings. He just wasn’t the type to hook up. Perhaps in this town he should give it a try?
Sam raised a glass. “To new friends.” He scanned the crowd and did notice one guy looking at Pamela, and he only felt 50% sure it might be to check out Pamela. But then the guy saw Sam, frowned, and turned his attention elsewhere. “I may be keeping you from a hookup,” he joked.
Pamela chuckled as she took a drink. “First of all, hookups are the all end all of hanging out at bars. Second, if all I wanted was a hookup I would have asked you to take me home and make my sheets all sticky by now.” No, she had no manners. Why do you ask?
“Something tells me you aren’t the bootycall type of guy, though.” She tilted her head in curiosity.
Sam did hookup on occasion, but it wasn’t his first choice. On the other hand, he rarely had time for an actual relationship.
He laughed at her response. “I like you, Pamela.” He considered her words. “I could be persuaded, but right now I am enjoying our conversation here.”
“To be honest, I am too.” Pamela gave a genuine smile. “I like you, too. Why don’t we hang out, talk, get to know each other and see what happens.”
It definitely sounded like a better night than she had expected which was a very good thing. She had expected to get jumped by Lucifer, run into Daddy Winchester or some other bit of unpleasantness.
“Works for me.” He smiled at his new friend.
Sam ordered another round of drinks. “So tell me about yourself. Whatever you want to tell me.” He scanned again and didn’t pick up anything. “Still good.”
“Whatever I want to tell you.” Pamela chuckled as she picked up her new drink without needing to search for it. “The psychic thing goes way back in my family, but I’m the most powerful. I lost my eyes by looking at the true form of an angel. Burned ‘em right out of my skull. But all that did was up my abilities.”
She paused to take another drink then grinned. “I have a tattoo that says Jesse Forever but it wasn’t.”
He listened intently. Sam sipped his drink as she spoke. “I definitely would guess you’re the most powerful.” The way she carried herself said a lot.
“That must have been quite the experience.” Sam couldn’t imagine losing his eyes by gazing at the true form of an angel. Or seeing an angel at all.
“And where is your tattoo?” He grinned and added “Poor Jesse.”
“Oh it hurt like hell having my eyes burned out.” Pamela somehow managed to chuckle about it, however. Now, anyway. She’d spent more than a little time with night terrors after seeing Castiel’s true form. But she adjusted like she always has.
A sly grin came to her face. “That…you’d have to find out for yourself.” Or whenever she bent over to pick something up and her shirt rode up.
Sam really did wince when she described it, more because she experienced it. It sounded like all sorts of hell. “I hope he at least apologized.”
At the sly grin he shook his head with a laugh. “Tramp stamp as the kids say? Or something more risque?” Did they say that anymore? He had no idea.
Pamela chuckled. No Cas hadn’t apologized. He had warned her not to get any closer. Of course, she hadn’t listened.
She shrugged a shoulder. “Only one way to find out.”
Sam considered her words and took another sip of his drink.
“Do you want to get out of here after we finish our drinks?” He liked Pam and found her attractive, so why not ask? If she said no, Sam would be okay with it.
“I thought you’d never ask,” Pamela said then pointedly drained her drink in one shot. She smirked as she lifted a brow for him to match her, then her place would do just fine.