Winifred "Fred" Burkle (i_figure) wrote in we_coexist, @ 2013-01-13 00:21:00 |
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Entry tags: | sam winchester, winifred burkle, zz:status complete |
Clean up on aisle 9 (Fred/Sam log, complete)
Everything was ready. She had programs running through her tablet that connected her to the Tower computer room; it was still hard to be in there for very long. She had books around her, and she was waiting for more information. While she waited, Fred thought she’d get a little side work done. A favor for a friend while she was saving the world, that was okay wasn’t it?
So, she had settled down at the receptionist desk, seeing as it had a little more room on it. The book was open before her, and there were notes everywhere as she worked on a translation. There were also a few other books that were assisting her in the texts.
“Only when it’s complete?” Her nose wrinkled as this didn’t seem to make sense. Not hollow, not empty. Full. It made sense, but it didn’t. She tapped the pencil against the notebook. She wasn’t sure why Dean had her looking into the book, but he wanted it translated, or the bits about Alastor translated.
----
Sam stopped into the office every so often to see if Fred had new hunts for him. While he liked working alone and without attachments, he couldn’t deny that the woman was good at attracting leads. He supposed it was the whole ‘we help the hopeless’ crap. Sam didn’t much care for the whys as long as she pointed him in the direction of things that needed to be ended.
Today was different, however. She was reading. That by itself wasn’t different, but there was something familiar about one of the books spread in front of her. Sam moved a little bit closer, surprise hitting him when he realized which book she was reading.
He didn’t know why she would be looking at that or how she’d even gotten it, but he was sure as hell going to find out.
“What’s that?” he asked innocently, pointing at the book. “Another case?”
----
Fred had glanced up and given Sam a smile. Dean hadn’t said keep this on the qt, so she didn’t think to hide it away or cover it up. It was simply something she was helping him out with. Her head tilted as she looked up at Sam again.
“Mm, it’s a text. Dean asked me to do some translating.” She shrugged. “Something about making sure things were done right. He really does want to make sure things are dead, doesn’t he?” She laughed softly.
“I have found some interesting bits about this demon thing. Not your guy, but this other guy. Girl. It’s more of an it really.” She turned back to the translation before her. Her nose wrinkled a little. “Did you work on this one?” She meant the translation not the case.
----
Dean wanted to make sure things were done right? That was unfortunate news indeed. Sam frowned. If Fred translated things and repeated that to Dean, things were going to go very badly indeed. His mind raced. He needed to contain this and now.
A fire in the office-one that just happened to tragically take the life of their sometime collaborator-that would do it. But Sam wanted to make sure that she was dead before he set fire to anything. He had to make sure that she didn’t have the chance to escape.
But first, Sam had to know how much Dean might have told her. Which meant keeping her talking. He pulled up a chair and looked over the text.
“It looks familiar. We looked at so many books, but I think that’s one of the ones I translated. What did Dean say he was concerned about exactly? Making sure that Alastor stayed dead?”
----
“Yeah, just making sure y’all did it right.” Fred smiled at him. “I think he just needs to get back into that Winchester swing or something. Which sounds odd.” She thought about it and soon shrugged it away, going back to the text. She could multitask.
“He said that one of the people you meant to save had died. I’m sorry.” She looked up at him again giving him a soft smile. “It’s always awful when you can’t save them. Are you okay? He said you were the one who was closest? Did you know the person? Though does it really matter if you know the person? Preventable death is always sad. Then again so is unpreventable.”
She sighed and wrote a few more lines down before sitting back to look at him. So, she did have some manners.
“I’m confused though. This bit. It seems to say that Alastor was weakest on a full tum. I mean, who doesn’t feel like a little snoozy after chowing down? But, the way Dean said it, you headed in after he did, so how did your lady die? I mean, when did she? Cause Dean’s didn’t?” She certainly looked confused. “And you killed Alastor? Did I translate this wrong?”
----
“He knocked me around when I got in there. Huh. I don’t remember it saying that. Maybe you missed a word somewhere.” Sam said, inching his chair closer now and feigning that he was looking over Fred’s shoulder to read the text.
As he did so, he slowly pulled out the knife that was hidden under one of his sleeves. He was moving slowly, careful not to give her any idea of what he had in mind.
Once the knife was free, Sam reached over to grab the brainy hottie and pressed it to her neck.
----
Fred didn’t mind how close Sam got. It wasn’t that she wanted him close, but she didn’t have a large amount of personal space when it came to certain people. Sam just happened to be one of those people. She hadn’t been around him long enough to know that this wasn’t at all her Sam, so the knife to her throat was certainly unexpected.
Her eyes went wide, and somehow she managed to keep her reaction to only an eep of surprise. She closed her eyes and didn’t let the shock and fear overcome her. She had to think, or react. Which was it she was supposed to do?
“Wh..what are you doing?” She didn’t have to pretend the wavering in her voice. Her eyes opened slowly.
----
Sam started to slide the knife down her neck, cutting into the skin just a little bit. He didn’t need to play with the things he killed, but for some reason he paused at her question.
“Can’t have you telling Dean about this,” he said.
His hold tightened on her. He wasn’t going to let her get away. Not now.
----
Fred’s eyes narrowed as she came up with a plan. She wasn't bad at coming up with a plan. She hoped.
Elbow to the solar plexus.. That was her first attack. She liked Sam, so it wasn’t an attempted shot to the crotch. Plus, that wasn’t so guaranteed to work. Then again neither was her current plan of action.
Second hit if possible, elbow a little higher. She wanted to hit his nose. Noses hurt. But, she would be happy with a pop to the throat or right under his jaw. She just wanted to get away. Her mind worked through the rooms and buildings close by. She knew there were things downstairs, and unlike Sam, she knew the sewer. Or at least how to get down into it pretty quickly.
But, Sam wasn’t someone who’d just not follow, not chase, and he was stronger, bigger. She had to stop him. Right?
Fred moved quickly, getting the desk between them. She took the time to grab up the book that started this all. She looked around the office and started for the basement apartment. It wasn’t exactly the best, but she didn’t have a car. She couldn’t run from him, not flat out. She had to be sneaky.
----
Sam snarled as Fred attacked him unexpectedly. She’d come off as bookish and meek but apparently she had some fight in her. It didn’t matter. he’d fought much tougher things than her and he wouldn’t underestimate her again. She took off running in the direction of the apartment in back of the office. He knew that he could follow and catch up to her easily, but perhaps that was part of her plan. She was intelligent, after all.
Instead, he started to follow her. He pulled out his gun and started to fire as he ran.
----
Fred’s mind worked through all that she could do. If she could get him downstairs, there were weapons she could use. Maybe a good frying pan to the head. She wouldn’t want to addle his brain too much, but just a nice little concussion should do the trick. Something was wrong with him; she was certain of it. He didn’t do these sorts of things. Right?
She had thankfully left the door open to the stairs leading down to her home, and was working her way down them as quickly as possible without dropping the book or falling over herself. Just had to get down there, get something to use, and then deal with him. She could do it. She had gotten free after all, hadn’t she?
----
Sam stopped running because he wasn’t getting a clear shot with both of them moving. He held the gun up and aimed carefully to the spot that he thought she would move to next, allowing for the time that it would take the bullet to get there.
He wanted to make sure this was taken care of and quickly.
----
Fred thought of something bizarre; she couldn’t remember where she’d heard it, but she followed it as best she could. Zig-zag-zig-zag. It wasn’t easy to do on stairs; the rails limited the amount of play one had, but she did her best.
She held to the book, ducking down a little. Just get down and to the weapons, that’s all she had to do.
The brainy female made it to the final landing, nearly tripping. She had to take the time to right herself and keep the book.
----
Sam took aim again as she stopped on the landing. She should have been smarter than that. She should have realized that the book wasn’t worth her life. Then again, she was a bookwormy type and at this point whether she’d stopped or not, he was going to make sure she was dead. Once Sam got a target in his sights, it didn’t last long. He didn’t care what sacrifices needed to be made to stop it. All that mattered was stopping it.
He was no longer chasing her. He didn’t need to. He just took aim again from his vantage point at the top of the stairs. He was irritated that she kept managing to dodge bullets when usually he was a better shot than this.
----
Fred wasn’t expecting the shot. It was odd perhaps, but she wasn’t used to being shot at. She was used to being chased or sliced at, but shot? No, that was very different. She had been hurt various ways before, and she had even died from being shot. This was different.
The force of the shot swung her out of view, and papers went flying. This wasn’t good. She wasn’t prepared for the hit. Then again, who is prepared for that sort of thing? Other than people who got shot at on a regular basis?
Dinah had told her to focus, work through the pain on more than one occasion, seeing as Dinah actually landed more hits than even Fred’s pride cared for. So, after the first shock wore off - there would be more later no doubt - she heard Dinah telling her to get up and focus. Or maybe it was Angel. Cordy? It didn’t matter. She felt odd. Just get up.
“Just get up.” She whispered, not realizing it was her own very faint voice telling her to move on. She started crawling. There was an escape. She knew there was. She’d find it.
-----
She had scrabbled a bit when she hit the ground and then stopped moving. There was blood pooling around her head. The shot wasn’t clean, but he hadn’t missed. He didn’t have time to go and check her pulse, but he was relatively sure that he’d taken care of her. Now he had to move quickly and burn this place down. Someone might have heard the shots and called the police. He couldn’t be here whenever they arrived.
He had a lighter and so he rushed around for things that he could set on fire, things that would be flammable enough to spread quickly. He poured out some whiskey from the flask that he carried as he walked. That alone would add fuel to this fire.
Once that was done, Sam grabbed some paper off the desk and lit the corner of the paper. Then he tossed it on the line of alcohol before letting himself out the front door. The flames had already started to spread by the time he closed the door behind himself.
----
Maybe it was luck that had her down for a bit, or maybe Fred was aware enough to play possum. Probably more the former than the latter. She groaned softly, coming to. Had she been out, and why was the world starting to smell like burning?
“Get up.” They were talking to her again. “Get to the sewer.” She managed to keep from complaining about the germs that were in the sewer. They could get into her through...was that blood?
“Get up.” She crawled, managing to find her way to the trapdoor to get down to where she needed to be. Things were burning? And she was bleeding? And that sewer smelled familiar, homey in a weird way, and down there. “Get down.”
And down she went, or fell. There wasn’t much to land in, which meant a little more pain, but pain was good - meant she was still alive? She just had to get out of the sewer and sleep? It didn’t matter what she had to do next. Things were burning, and she had to find safety.
“And possibly stop bleeding.” Cordy could be funny. Or was that Charles? Wesley?
“I’ll get to it; I promise.” And, so the struggle to get out of the sewer and back to the surface had become Fred’s world.