milliways_bar | (no subject)

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As soon as the shower had started running in the motel's bathroom, Sam had seized his chance. He yelled something indistinct about lunch, grabbed his laptop and messenger bag, and headed straight for Milliways without waiting for Dean to answer.

Now he's sitting at a booth, the laptop open in front of him, staring at something on the screen.

(From time to time he stares at a note, instead.)

Either way, it doesn't look like he's making much progress.

[ooc: open until it scrolls, with a break at 9 MT for tonight's episode of Supernatural.]

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He doesn't quite startle, but it's a near thing.

"You." Sam stares at her. "What are you doing here?"

She gives him an innocent shrug and an accompanying wide-eyed look.

"What, can't a girl get a drink and maybe a plate of fries at the end of the universe once in a while?"

... in fact.

She flags down a waitrat and does just that.

Sweetly: "Did you want anything?"

"Yeah."

He shuts the laptop and eyes her over the top of it.

"I want to know about that knife of yours."

She simply shrugs as the waitrat takes that as its cue to go off and retrieve her order.

"Well, it sure comes in handy when I have to save the damsel in distress, doesn't it?"

For an instant he looks as sour as though he's bitten into a lemon, but shoves it aside.

There are far more important things at stake than his pride.

"You killed demons with it." A beat. "Where did you get it?"

"Skymall."

Yeah - do you really think she's going to tell you, Sam?

The waitrat returns with a plate of salted fries, a bottle of ketchup and a tall glass of Coke. (It's really not an Atlantean time.)

"Oh, good. Food's here."

"Uh-huh."

He leans back in his seat a bit, studying her, then leans forward again.

"Why are you here? And don't tell me it's just for the fries. I'm not buying that."

A beat.

"Are you following me?"

She's a tad bit preoccupied with squeezing a mountain of ketchup at the side of her plate.

When she looks up, her smile is perfectly harmless.

(And maybe a bit amused.)

"Maybe. Maybe not." She picks up her first fry, dunks it into the pool of crimson red, and takes a bite. "Y'know what, Sam? Maybe it's that I'm interested in you."

He blinks, looking startled, and a little wary.

"Why?"

"Because you're tall," she answers easily. "I love a tall man."

She glances at him, head cocked slightly.

The smile is still in tact for a moment longer.

"And ... well, then there's the whole Anti-Christ thing of course."

He goes from startled to suspicious in a heartbeat. Sam's expression hardens and closes off, fast.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh, come on, Sam. You're really going to sit there and tell me you have no idea about the big Celebrity Death Match?"

She has the grace not to let out an incredulous laugh. She does allow that skepticism to show through, though.

"Yellow Eyes rounding you psychic kids up, you duking it out and coming out the sole survivor?"

"I know about it, yeah." Sam gives her a thin smile. "After all, I was there."

Beat.

"The question is, how come you do?"

"I'm a good hunter."

Y'know, in the loose definition of the word 'hunter'. But it's all she's going to say on that matter.

She picks up another fry, gives it a good swirl in ketchup, then takes another bite.

"So. Old Yellow Eyes had some pretty big plans for you, didn't he?"

"Doesn't matter," he points out, without missing a beat.

"Seeing as how had's the operative word there."

She waves a hand.

"Oh - yeah. That's right. 'Ding dong, the demon's dead' and all. Good job with that, by the way."

The remark is so matter-of-fact, it's hard to tell whether Ruby really gives a crap about Azazel's untimely demise.

"It doesn't change the fact that you're special," she says knowingly. And now she's looking a little more directly at him. "You know, in that Anthony Michael Hall ESP visions kinda way."

Sam shakes his head.

"It does, though. Because I'm not. That stuff's not happening any more."

"No?"

She feigns a surprised look. It's actually pretty convincing.

"Either way," she says with a shrug, "I'm thinking you're still a pretty big deal. I mean ... after all that business with your mom?"

"My mom?"

He sounds like a damn parrot or a skipping CD, he knows, but he can't help it. He's off balance, and frankly feels as though he has been throughout this entire conversation.

"What about my mom?"

Well, that's to be expected.

Besides, it's kind of cute in a dumb, innocent puppy kind of way.

"You know -" And here's the important part. "- what happened to all her friends?"

Sam just stares at her.

Oh, and her look now is sympathetic.

"You - don't know." An exhale. "It seems you've got a little bit of catching up to do, my friend. You should look into your mom's pals."

"Wait. Wait."

He shakes his head as if trying to clear it, and stares at her again.

(He has no idea how it makes him look a little lost.)

"I don't get it. How do you know anything about my mom? Who are you?"

His stare is met with hers.

She leans back, arms crossed over her chest.

"I already told you," she reminds him. "I'm -"

"--a good hunter, yeah, right, I got that part," he interrupts.

"It still doesn't explain it."