Spending all of brunch talking to a "Vulcan" and pretending he was just as much of a hardcore fanboy as Spock was one way to start a day
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It looked like he recognized her, too. Cool. Yuffie made it her business to recognize names and faces; that kind of thing was invaluable for a ninja. With a grin, she raised the disc in a salute, "Same old, same old," she said. And then she looked at him a little more closely, dark, bright eyes blinking once. "Geez. How much trouble can one guy get into, even in a dump like this? Last time I saw you, you were hobblin' around on crutches."
In contrast, Yuffie herself was entirely unscathed. Physically, anyway. It wasn't as though she knew Dean well; they'd barely spoken at all, just long enough for her to get a preliminary impression of him. He looked decently capable, but maybe he'd actually turn out to be some reckless guy who couldn't tell your run of the mill small-fry from a Dark Dragon.
Flipping her wrist, she sent the disc spinning in a straight, tight arc, straight up. It dropped back at an angle, and she caught it effortlessly on one finger -- which she used to keep it spinning. All casual, almost absentmindedly, since the Frisbee was right there and she just couldn't resist playing around a little to spice things up. It wasn't like it was a distraction to her, the ninja who'd been tossing discs since she'd had the motor-control to hold them.
He'd gotten his ass kicked here practically every night running now, and while that was crap luck, even for him, he hadn't ever got stuck on crutches in at least several months. According to Sam, he'd only been out of it for that one night (and last night, too), and even if he'd been on them while possessed, why would he? It didn't matter to a demon if the host body was injured to keep it walking: they just kept trucking like nothing was wrong and you might not know the host was injured until the demon left the body. Looked like the demon theory wasn't gonna cut it here. Dean still didn't know who she was or how she could've known who he was. There wasn't really any other choice but to keep going along with it and see where it got him. Unlike dicking around with "Spock", this was a lot more serious, especially when he was the one at the disadvantage here.
Dean's eyes followed the Frisbee up and then down as she easily caught it.
"I'm a real popular guy," Dean said dryly. That or just a magnet for this sorta thing. "I'm better now though," he said with a shrug, hands still in his pockets as if it wasn't a big deal. "Makin' new friends, stuff like that."
He glanced around the field. Some people were actually exercising, making laps around the field or doing what looked like martial arts. There was no sign of Slappy or "Indy" (they were probably tryin' to keep them away from him, considering how it ended up those times), and no sign of Sam either. Still, could be worse. Frisbee Chick was pretty cute, even if he was still bugged she seemed to know him more than she should've, and he probably would've tried some lines on her another time and place. Dean turned back to Frisbee Chick, deciding if he was gonna talk to her, he might as well talk to her about last night, since it seemed like that was as good a subject as any.
That and it barely even happened to him, so he could actually be learning something. It might not be Sam-level of research, but it still counted. "Last night was pretty crazy. Think they were really zombies?"
Yuffie couldn't put her finger on it exactly, but it probably had to do with him not asking anything about her. It really had been ages since they'd last spoken, and while it was no skin off her back, she'd at least have expected -- something. "Making friends with what?" She asked with a flash of a grin, flicking the disc into position for a basic backhand throw. "Fists and brick walls?"
An expert snap of the wrist sent the Frisbee soaring away. On the backswing, she didn't grab, instead tapping it just so to send it into another arcing loop, this time at a higher angle. Things were quiet for a few seconds, so she just kinda half concentrated on the disk, and half concentrated on everything else. Which is why she didn't lose her combo--throw number five, this time involving a triple spiral--when Dean spoke again.
Huh. Actually, that wasn't a bad question.
"Now that I really think about it," said Yuffie, switching seamlessly to right-handed throws, "I can't say for sure. They looked liked walking corpses, moved like walking corpses, and they definitely smelled like walking corpses…" She shrugged, bouncing the disc off her foot, back up to her hand, and into the air again. "If they are, it almost sounds like Landel is just mass-producing the freaks and -- disguising 'em 'til nightfall." What a horrible way to live! Yuffie's sunny expression hadn't changed, but her eyes hardened. If you could even call that living.
The sad part was she wasn't too far from the truth there. Maybe he hadn't exactly run into walls (yet), but he'd been hit with just 'bout everything else out there, from magic hypothermia to a friggen flashlight (to make it worse, his own flashlight), and he'd apparently been in a fist fight he didn't even remember. He'd had trouble breathing after waking up no longer possessed, having taken a good slug on the nose. At least it hadn't been broken, the throbbing dying down by now. Again, all stuff he didn't want to broadcast when he had no idea who (or what?) he was dealing with.
Dean just shrugged again without explaining himself, giving a crooked grin.
Frisbee Chick was pulling some serious Xena moves as they talked, the Frisbee flashing up in the air, and he swore she wasn't even looking at it when she caught it easily, bouncing it up like she'd been born to throw the damn thing. Dean could safely say he'd never seen anyone use a Frisbee like this girl was; it was almost distracting, which was sayin' a lot when he still had no clue who she was or if she was dangerous.
Dean tore his attention from the Frisbee. "I'm still workin' over the fact we had a town-wide Thriller goin' down. Wonder how he pulled it off." Dean paused, raising an eyebrow at her, "You don't sound too freaked out. What's your secret?"
For having been surrounded by zombies, Frisbee Chick took it pretty well. Dean knew he and Sammy had the excuse of having dealt with this crap since day one (well, maybe not Sam technically, but you wouldn't know it hanging around the kid) but for a girl who might or might still be in high school - which made this even more awkward, the hell had he been doing when he'd been outta it? - he'd been expecting some screaming, maybe a lot of awkward clinging. Clinging, Dean didn't mind normally; he did mind, though, when he was supposed to be backing up Sam on a hunt and it was hard to shoot over a civilian's head when she was practically climbing over you.
It was kinda one of those times when getting a face full of boobs wasn't something to shoot for.
He still wasn't sure what was up with Frisbee Chick and the longer he was in the dark about this, the more it bugged him. Not only did she actually somehow recognize him, but she was taking this better than normal people were supposed to and as far as he could tell, she wasn't using Star Wars or Star Trek to cope, which should've made him feel better but didn't. Dean just felt wary. At least he thought he knew where things stood with Ron and "Spock". Running into someone like this who didn't sound scared or shaken was a big flag.
It did seem like she was telling the truth, though. It lined up with what Sam told him, so he'd just have to assume that at least everything she was telling him about the zombies last night was all true.
Truth was, what Yuffie really wanted to do with the disc would probably get her sedated for a year. She knew she'd be able to do it. But she couldn't, not here and now, so she was just kind of -- working out the kinks, with play on the side. It'd been way too long since she'd been able to do anything like this. That… That night didn't count.
Besides, she just couldn't resist showing off a little.
… Or a lot, if Dean's attention was anything to go by. Nar har har, et cetera.
She put a little more spin on her next throw, sent it off in a wider arc, and decided to work on her catches for a little. Even the trick catches--behind the back and around the body--she tried blended seamlessly into the rest of the routine. Good; she wasn't losing her touch. That'd be embarrassing. "I dunno how he pulled it off, but freaking out in the middle of a horde like that is a great way to get yourself killed," Yuffie answered, letting the disc fly far again. She glanced at Dean. "When you've been at this for as long as I have, you just learn to, y'know, roll with it. And to just kill the suckers before they start tryin' to send you for the dirt nap."
Monsters were monsters. If a monster went for you, you killed it. If a monster went for somebody else, you killed it. They didn't know pity, or kindness; they weren't altruistic, and they lived to kill. That was all the justification Yuffie needed. She'd fight to survive, and so that others could survive. All without turning into some kind of monster herself; peace was her goal, not -- not a bloodbath.
The price you pay, huh? I wonder if we'll ever catch a break.
But sometimes, the lines blurred. Sometimes, it got complicated. And--Frisbee! Almost a second too late, Yuffie turned her lapse into another trick catch, this time with a little spin on her part. Oops.
It almost sounded like she was a hunter. The thing was, being a hunter didn't mean you had to be born into it: all you had to do was, for some reason or another, get an up close and personal introduction to what was really out there and instead of freaking out, you instead got it into your head to hunt those evil sons of bitches down. Hell, Bobby was technically a late starter and he'd probably been doing this longer than Dean had even been alive (probably).
Okay, so he could deal with the possibility Frisbee Chick might be a hunter. He'd been pretty sure Angel and Ron were, after all. It didn't explain why she knew who he was and if she'd been a hunter, he would've definitely recognized her. Hunters were out there, but he could still count on one hand the number he'd actually met face to face, and he'd know for sure if Frisbee Chick was one of them. It was possible she could've been just passing over at the Roadhouse, back when it was still standing. It was still hard to accept it was just a pile of smoking rubble, and while he'd seen his far share of corpses, searching the scorched bodies that day, trying to find out if Ash or Ellen were there, hadn't been easy.
Somehow the demons heard Ash's call. Dean didn't know if one of the hunters there had been possessed or if someone ratted on them. He didn't have some romantic notion that all hunters were saints - people could be dicks and it didn't take much to have someone change sides without black smoke making up their mind for them. Being a hunter didn't mean he trusted them any more than anything else these days. It just meant they were capable, which made them more dangerous to Sam and him.
Dean was still guarded, still putting on a friendly face for now.
"So how long've you been doin' this?" Dean asked. The Frisbee kept getting thrown into the air, but he ignored it aside from a quick glance: it was suddenly starting to make sense why she was so good at throwing it. "Didn't think they taught zombie killing in high school, or I was takin' all the wrong classes."
High school for him had basically just been a place he got stuck in while Dad was off hunting and doing the real work that needed to get done. Sam actually tried in his classes - and did well - in 'em, but him? Dean hadn't really bothered, 'cause what was the point? They'd just end up moving to another town as soon as the hunt was over and he didn't really need to read up on All Quiet on the Western Front to be able to get by. It wasn't gonna help with learning how to hunt with Dad, and back then, he'd just handed off his books to Sam.
Doing what, exactly? Getting herself kidnapped by evil megalomaniacs with god complexes and horrific insane asylums from the depths of science fiction hell? Yuffie figured that he probably meant the whole 'killing monsters' gig, so. "Never went to high school," she answered. "Got what I needed at home, and the rest of it was spent learning how to kick some serious ass without going nuts in the process." She grinned, completely at ease with it all. Maybe she wasn't telling the whole truth, but she wasn't lying. Yet.
Something about Dean was still bugging her, but… Now wasn't really the time to try finding out; the timing would be way awkward. "How 'bout you?" She added, almost as an afterthought. Dude looked like he could take a few good punches, if not more.
Her little exercise came to a halt with one last trick catch and a flourish. Yuffie stretched, from the tips of her toes to the tips of her fingers, before flicking another long, considering glance Dean's way. The Frisbee sat loose and easy in her grip. Hmm. Could he catch?
Despite himself and everything he didn't know about her, Dean was starting to actually like Frisbee Chick: it sounded like she'd basically had the same experience he had, getting home schooled right from the get go about hunting. She understood what it was like, in a way Sammy didn't quite get. Or at least, she probably did, 'cause while he wanted to buy she was a hunter just like him, he didn't have much proof aside from just talk. It wasn't like he could plop down a basilisk in front of her and ask her how you really killed one of the little buggers. There were ways of proving that, though, without a personal demonstration.
"I watched a lot of crappy Bruce Campbell movies. Picked a few things up here and there," Dean said, as if that was supposed to explain everything. He didn't want to reveal he was a hunter too unless he knew for sure she was one. It was bad enough she knew his real name and face: he had no idea if she might take it a couple of steps forward if she found out about Sam or if he didn't have to worry about her goin' all Gordon Walker on him.
Looked like she was bored with the Frisbee: for the first time since they'd met, it was back in her hands and not going all over the place in ways he wasn't even sure a Frisbee was meant to be thrown.
"So you know how to take down zombies and ghosts right? Must be a pain in the ass to carry around those proton backs everywhere."
Dean wasn't even sure if she'd get the reference - she looked seriously too young to have seen one of the Best Movies Ever - but so long as he got called out on it, it wouldn't matter if she was missing out on the 80's and Bill Murray in his prime.
Crappy -- what? Yuffie blinked, kind of like a person blinked if they just found themselves getting whacked by Magic Hammer, or if you told them that, yeah, those cute rabbits you can find in the Icicle Area are out to get you. Fluffy target practice from hell, seriously.
Did he really think she knew what he was talking about? Bruce Campbell? Oooo-kay. Lame name, apparently lame movies. Check. Yuffie snorted, which was really an eloquent way of saying 'bullshit'. Without actually saying it. He'd get the idea, and she made a note to ask somebody--Miku, maybe--if they knew who this Bruce Campbell was supposed to be. "Personally, I usually go for setting the bastards on fire," she said, thinking back to the Gi Spectors in Nanaki's basement. There were quicker ways to take 'em out, and Phoenix Down was an easy-peasy insta-kill, but fighting icky undead things that cast Death Sentence and tried to steal her life force -- well, it made a ninja a little itchy for some payback. She heaved a dramatic sigh, swinging her arms to loosen them. "Last night would've been a cinch if I hadn't been stuck with a couple of rocks and a bunch of kitchen knives, lemme tell ya. The stuff I had back home--"
-- "Well, it would've been kickass," she finished. What she wouldn't have done to get her hands on a mastered Fire, or a Contain, or… or any of her stash. Yuffie knew that she should be wishing for curatives, for restoratives, but sparkles and starshine didn't always make for the best stress relief.
There was really no way a civilian could jump to "fire" as a conclusion for taking out a ghost, even if she'd been dicking around and referencing movies back at him. The spirit itself you couldn't do much against, except either get outta the way or stall it with salt, but salting and burning the corpse was permanent, as far as he could tell.
So it looked like she was telling the truth about being who she said she was. The problem was he still didn't know who she was aside from she probably knew her stuff and could handle herself if she'd lasted this long already on the job. Hunters didn't make it if they folded at the first sight of a monster charging at them, or at the down and dirty parts of the gig. It sounded like Yuffie knew what she was doing, even if she didn't seem to care if she outed herself as a hunter.
Although she had a funny idea of what was kickass.
Don't get him wrong, there were days when he loved the job, but when you got right down to it, it was a messy, extremely gross job where you saw a lot of corpses and blood and guts in just about every state you could even imagine. Dean had long gotten past the point where he got nauseous, and maybe he'd missed all of last night being cracked out thanks to that bitch, but he wouldn't call getting zombie gore all over him "kickass", especially if all you had was a lot of really close range weapons and these things were really rotting. Well, at least she wasn't squeamish, he thought, which was a start.
"Sounds like it's a full time job for you," Dean said. He wasn't sure yet if he wanted to reveal he was a hunter too, not until he knew what Frisbee Chick really wanted with him. Right now she seemed to be bragging, which was great when you wanted to learn about someone, not just from what they said but how they were saying it. "Is it your whole family that's badass or is it just something where you're from?"
Normally, this wasn't something Yuffie really minded, since obviously any time spent talking about herself was time well spent. Unless it was, like, about her deepest heart or inner, squishy feelings or whatever. Yeah. No way. "If you think that one hot night entitles you to all the juice," Yuffie said, tossing the disc back over to her left hand, "you've got another thing comin'. A girl has to keep some secrets, right?" Her stance remained loose, haphazard to anybody without an eye for these things. Cocky, casual, and very, very her.
Gawd, this was on helluva long long-shot, but maybe it'd pave the way to getting some things straight. Lucky that she wasn't a stranger to using her gender and cute face to her advantage, though the potential grossness-and pride-factor put a (really, really) huge limit on how far she'd go.
Now Dean knew he'd been up to something when he got his ass ridden by a demon nights ago, but what exactly had he been doing? Now it sounded like maybe he'd been taken for a spin around the block after all. Had the demon run into this chick hunter and instead of doing something like slitting her throat, instead thought it'd be a fun idea to get laid before moseying off to some demon conference outside? Dean would've had to applaud the bastard for sheer balls and serious style, except for the part where the chick he apparently slept didn't even look legal, which was making this about ten kinds of awkward right now. It did explain why she was acting all familiar with him and why she knew his name. Dean didn't have to like it, but it suddenly started making sense, clicking in a way he wished it didn't.
As much as he dug cheerleaders, he kinda preferred the type to be, y'know, not total jailbait. Dean chewed the inside of his lip as he glanced at Frisbee Chick, but, like everything else that night, she didn't ring any bells at all. Just like attacking Sammy. It was like it didn't happen, except here was some really skeevy proof right in his lap.
Dean spread his hands as if he was surrendering.
"Okay, y'got me," Dean's grin was shameless: he thanked God he'd plenty of practice. He wished he knew just how far he'd went with Frisbee Chick. She wasn't exactly cluing him in and if he didn't know better, he'd say she was enjoying stringing him along. "I was tryin' to pick up some trade secrets. That obvious, huh?"
How old was she, anyway? She didn't even look over sixteen to him, which was raising all kinds of hairy questions. Did it count if you weren't even conscious for it?
It was enough to tell Yuffie that he was playing along with her -- pretending to remember something that he didn't, pretending to know her when he didn't. Why, though? The same thing--she was assuming that it was the same thing--had happened to her, and she hadn't felt the need to fake her way through meetings. "I was startin' to think you'd gone and forgot." She returned his grin, easily keeping out any incriminating traces of triumph and 'dude, you're a dumbass'. "It hasn't been that long."
Nine days wasn't a long time at all, even if this place made it feel like a year.
She clasped her hands behind herself, Frisbee included, and shifted her weight as though actually staying still for five seconds was a feat far beyond her. "We should do it again sometime," she added brightly. "Especially the bit with the dynamite and the chocolate sauce, and the sparkly purple unicorn that dropped by to bless us at the end."
Dean rolled his eyes. He got enough mouth from Sam, he didn't need some teenage girl getting sarcastic at him like it was goin' outta style.
"Okay, I'll come clean," Dean said. He still wasn't sure if she'd been possessed too or had just rolled with it when some strange guy offered himself to her, but she didn't seem to be taking the other night badly, which was weirding him out a little. "Don't kick my ass, but I totally forgot your name. I've been calling you Frisbee Chick the whole time in my head."
Dean didn't apologize, instead just giving his best smartass grin. Apologizing worked for Sam, especially when he'd pull those puppy eyes or however the hell he got people to trust him like he'd been a family friend the whole time. Dean? Dean found out that acting sheepish didn't work for him. If you just smiled and waved it off, people usually didn't get a chance to run too far with getting caught red-handed.
Okay, so he was a bit slow on the uptake and a bit of a dick, but maybe not completely hopeless. Not everybody had that quick a recovery time. "Thought so," said Yuffie, smug. Until he popped out with that. Frisbee Chick? Seriously? "That," she said, bluntly, "has to be the lamest nickname I've ever been graced with. I'm almost embarrassed for you."
She brought the disc back around in front of her, tapping it against her leg. "I know what it's like, though. Happened to me, too -- the other thing, not the gross lack of creativity when it comes to nicknaming habits. Speaking of," her grin, which had faded, slid easily back into place. "The name's Yu--"
-- Epic bad timing on the Institute's part. The shift came to an end, and Plucky the nurse was fast approaching. "Yuffie," she finished, with a longsuffering grimace. Great, it was time for 'visitors' again. For a moment she was tempted to cut her losses and run, or maybe to just throw caution to the wind and make proper use of her Frisbee…
"Hanna!"
Pfft. "Catch you later," she told Dean, flicking her Frisbee in a gesture somewhere between a casual salute and a wave. She sauntered away, until she got bored of sauntering and launched into a set of cartwheels instead.
In contrast, Yuffie herself was entirely unscathed. Physically, anyway. It wasn't as though she knew Dean well; they'd barely spoken at all, just long enough for her to get a preliminary impression of him. He looked decently capable, but maybe he'd actually turn out to be some reckless guy who couldn't tell your run of the mill small-fry from a Dark Dragon.
Flipping her wrist, she sent the disc spinning in a straight, tight arc, straight up. It dropped back at an angle, and she caught it effortlessly on one finger -- which she used to keep it spinning. All casual, almost absentmindedly, since the Frisbee was right there and she just couldn't resist playing around a little to spice things up. It wasn't like it was a distraction to her, the ninja who'd been tossing discs since she'd had the motor-control to hold them.
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Dean's eyes followed the Frisbee up and then down as she easily caught it.
"I'm a real popular guy," Dean said dryly. That or just a magnet for this sorta thing. "I'm better now though," he said with a shrug, hands still in his pockets as if it wasn't a big deal. "Makin' new friends, stuff like that."
He glanced around the field. Some people were actually exercising, making laps around the field or doing what looked like martial arts. There was no sign of Slappy or "Indy" (they were probably tryin' to keep them away from him, considering how it ended up those times), and no sign of Sam either. Still, could be worse. Frisbee Chick was pretty cute, even if he was still bugged she seemed to know him more than she should've, and he probably would've tried some lines on her another time and place. Dean turned back to Frisbee Chick, deciding if he was gonna talk to her, he might as well talk to her about last night, since it seemed like that was as good a subject as any.
That and it barely even happened to him, so he could actually be learning something. It might not be Sam-level of research, but it still counted. "Last night was pretty crazy. Think they were really zombies?"
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Yuffie couldn't put her finger on it exactly, but it probably had to do with him not asking anything about her. It really had been ages since they'd last spoken, and while it was no skin off her back, she'd at least have expected -- something. "Making friends with what?" She asked with a flash of a grin, flicking the disc into position for a basic backhand throw. "Fists and brick walls?"
An expert snap of the wrist sent the Frisbee soaring away. On the backswing, she didn't grab, instead tapping it just so to send it into another arcing loop, this time at a higher angle. Things were quiet for a few seconds, so she just kinda half concentrated on the disk, and half concentrated on everything else. Which is why she didn't lose her combo--throw number five, this time involving a triple spiral--when Dean spoke again.
Huh. Actually, that wasn't a bad question.
"Now that I really think about it," said Yuffie, switching seamlessly to right-handed throws, "I can't say for sure. They looked liked walking corpses, moved like walking corpses, and they definitely smelled like walking corpses…" She shrugged, bouncing the disc off her foot, back up to her hand, and into the air again. "If they are, it almost sounds like Landel is just mass-producing the freaks and -- disguising 'em 'til nightfall." What a horrible way to live! Yuffie's sunny expression hadn't changed, but her eyes hardened. If you could even call that living.
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Dean just shrugged again without explaining himself, giving a crooked grin.
Frisbee Chick was pulling some serious Xena moves as they talked, the Frisbee flashing up in the air, and he swore she wasn't even looking at it when she caught it easily, bouncing it up like she'd been born to throw the damn thing. Dean could safely say he'd never seen anyone use a Frisbee like this girl was; it was almost distracting, which was sayin' a lot when he still had no clue who she was or if she was dangerous.
Dean tore his attention from the Frisbee. "I'm still workin' over the fact we had a town-wide Thriller goin' down. Wonder how he pulled it off." Dean paused, raising an eyebrow at her, "You don't sound too freaked out. What's your secret?"
For having been surrounded by zombies, Frisbee Chick took it pretty well. Dean knew he and Sammy had the excuse of having dealt with this crap since day one (well, maybe not Sam technically, but you wouldn't know it hanging around the kid) but for a girl who might or might still be in high school - which made this even more awkward, the hell had he been doing when he'd been outta it? - he'd been expecting some screaming, maybe a lot of awkward clinging. Clinging, Dean didn't mind normally; he did mind, though, when he was supposed to be backing up Sam on a hunt and it was hard to shoot over a civilian's head when she was practically climbing over you.
It was kinda one of those times when getting a face full of boobs wasn't something to shoot for.
He still wasn't sure what was up with Frisbee Chick and the longer he was in the dark about this, the more it bugged him. Not only did she actually somehow recognize him, but she was taking this better than normal people were supposed to and as far as he could tell, she wasn't using Star Wars or Star Trek to cope, which should've made him feel better but didn't. Dean just felt wary. At least he thought he knew where things stood with Ron and "Spock". Running into someone like this who didn't sound scared or shaken was a big flag.
It did seem like she was telling the truth, though. It lined up with what Sam told him, so he'd just have to assume that at least everything she was telling him about the zombies last night was all true.
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Besides, she just couldn't resist showing off a little.
… Or a lot, if Dean's attention was anything to go by. Nar har har, et cetera.
She put a little more spin on her next throw, sent it off in a wider arc, and decided to work on her catches for a little. Even the trick catches--behind the back and around the body--she tried blended seamlessly into the rest of the routine. Good; she wasn't losing her touch. That'd be embarrassing. "I dunno how he pulled it off, but freaking out in the middle of a horde like that is a great way to get yourself killed," Yuffie answered, letting the disc fly far again. She glanced at Dean. "When you've been at this for as long as I have, you just learn to, y'know, roll with it. And to just kill the suckers before they start tryin' to send you for the dirt nap."
Monsters were monsters. If a monster went for you, you killed it. If a monster went for somebody else, you killed it. They didn't know pity, or kindness; they weren't altruistic, and they lived to kill. That was all the justification Yuffie needed. She'd fight to survive, and so that others could survive. All without turning into some kind of monster herself; peace was her goal, not -- not a bloodbath.
The price you pay, huh? I wonder if we'll ever catch a break.
But sometimes, the lines blurred. Sometimes, it got complicated. And--Frisbee! Almost a second too late, Yuffie turned her lapse into another trick catch, this time with a little spin on her part. Oops.
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Okay, so he could deal with the possibility Frisbee Chick might be a hunter. He'd been pretty sure Angel and Ron were, after all. It didn't explain why she knew who he was and if she'd been a hunter, he would've definitely recognized her. Hunters were out there, but he could still count on one hand the number he'd actually met face to face, and he'd know for sure if Frisbee Chick was one of them. It was possible she could've been just passing over at the Roadhouse, back when it was still standing. It was still hard to accept it was just a pile of smoking rubble, and while he'd seen his far share of corpses, searching the scorched bodies that day, trying to find out if Ash or Ellen were there, hadn't been easy.
Somehow the demons heard Ash's call. Dean didn't know if one of the hunters there had been possessed or if someone ratted on them. He didn't have some romantic notion that all hunters were saints - people could be dicks and it didn't take much to have someone change sides without black smoke making up their mind for them. Being a hunter didn't mean he trusted them any more than anything else these days. It just meant they were capable, which made them more dangerous to Sam and him.
Dean was still guarded, still putting on a friendly face for now.
"So how long've you been doin' this?" Dean asked. The Frisbee kept getting thrown into the air, but he ignored it aside from a quick glance: it was suddenly starting to make sense why she was so good at throwing it. "Didn't think they taught zombie killing in high school, or I was takin' all the wrong classes."
High school for him had basically just been a place he got stuck in while Dad was off hunting and doing the real work that needed to get done. Sam actually tried in his classes - and did well - in 'em, but him? Dean hadn't really bothered, 'cause what was the point? They'd just end up moving to another town as soon as the hunt was over and he didn't really need to read up on All Quiet on the Western Front to be able to get by. It wasn't gonna help with learning how to hunt with Dad, and back then, he'd just handed off his books to Sam.
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Something about Dean was still bugging her, but… Now wasn't really the time to try finding out; the timing would be way awkward. "How 'bout you?" She added, almost as an afterthought. Dude looked like he could take a few good punches, if not more.
Her little exercise came to a halt with one last trick catch and a flourish. Yuffie stretched, from the tips of her toes to the tips of her fingers, before flicking another long, considering glance Dean's way. The Frisbee sat loose and easy in her grip. Hmm. Could he catch?
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"I watched a lot of crappy Bruce Campbell movies. Picked a few things up here and there," Dean said, as if that was supposed to explain everything. He didn't want to reveal he was a hunter too unless he knew for sure she was one. It was bad enough she knew his real name and face: he had no idea if she might take it a couple of steps forward if she found out about Sam or if he didn't have to worry about her goin' all Gordon Walker on him.
Looked like she was bored with the Frisbee: for the first time since they'd met, it was back in her hands and not going all over the place in ways he wasn't even sure a Frisbee was meant to be thrown.
"So you know how to take down zombies and ghosts right? Must be a pain in the ass to carry around those proton backs everywhere."
Dean wasn't even sure if she'd get the reference - she looked seriously too young to have seen one of the Best Movies Ever - but so long as he got called out on it, it wouldn't matter if she was missing out on the 80's and Bill Murray in his prime.
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Did he really think she knew what he was talking about? Bruce Campbell? Oooo-kay. Lame name, apparently lame movies. Check. Yuffie snorted, which was really an eloquent way of saying 'bullshit'. Without actually saying it. He'd get the idea, and she made a note to ask somebody--Miku, maybe--if they knew who this Bruce Campbell was supposed to be. "Personally, I usually go for setting the bastards on fire," she said, thinking back to the Gi Spectors in Nanaki's basement. There were quicker ways to take 'em out, and Phoenix Down was an easy-peasy insta-kill, but fighting icky undead things that cast Death Sentence and tried to steal her life force -- well, it made a ninja a little itchy for some payback. She heaved a dramatic sigh, swinging her arms to loosen them. "Last night would've been a cinch if I hadn't been stuck with a couple of rocks and a bunch of kitchen knives, lemme tell ya. The stuff I had back home--"
-- "Well, it would've been kickass," she finished. What she wouldn't have done to get her hands on a mastered Fire, or a Contain, or… or any of her stash. Yuffie knew that she should be wishing for curatives, for restoratives, but sparkles and starshine didn't always make for the best stress relief.
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So it looked like she was telling the truth about being who she said she was. The problem was he still didn't know who she was aside from she probably knew her stuff and could handle herself if she'd lasted this long already on the job. Hunters didn't make it if they folded at the first sight of a monster charging at them, or at the down and dirty parts of the gig. It sounded like Yuffie knew what she was doing, even if she didn't seem to care if she outed herself as a hunter.
Although she had a funny idea of what was kickass.
Don't get him wrong, there were days when he loved the job, but when you got right down to it, it was a messy, extremely gross job where you saw a lot of corpses and blood and guts in just about every state you could even imagine. Dean had long gotten past the point where he got nauseous, and maybe he'd missed all of last night being cracked out thanks to that bitch, but he wouldn't call getting zombie gore all over him "kickass", especially if all you had was a lot of really close range weapons and these things were really rotting. Well, at least she wasn't squeamish, he thought, which was a start.
"Sounds like it's a full time job for you," Dean said. He wasn't sure yet if he wanted to reveal he was a hunter too, not until he knew what Frisbee Chick really wanted with him. Right now she seemed to be bragging, which was great when you wanted to learn about someone, not just from what they said but how they were saying it. "Is it your whole family that's badass or is it just something where you're from?"
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It was also starting to feel like fishing.
Normally, this wasn't something Yuffie really minded, since obviously any time spent talking about herself was time well spent. Unless it was, like, about her deepest heart or inner, squishy feelings or whatever. Yeah. No way. "If you think that one hot night entitles you to all the juice," Yuffie said, tossing the disc back over to her left hand, "you've got another thing comin'. A girl has to keep some secrets, right?" Her stance remained loose, haphazard to anybody without an eye for these things. Cocky, casual, and very, very her.
Gawd, this was on helluva long long-shot, but maybe it'd pave the way to getting some things straight. Lucky that she wasn't a stranger to using her gender and cute face to her advantage, though the potential grossness-and pride-factor put a (really, really) huge limit on how far she'd go.
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Now Dean knew he'd been up to something when he got his ass ridden by a demon nights ago, but what exactly had he been doing? Now it sounded like maybe he'd been taken for a spin around the block after all. Had the demon run into this chick hunter and instead of doing something like slitting her throat, instead thought it'd be a fun idea to get laid before moseying off to some demon conference outside? Dean would've had to applaud the bastard for sheer balls and serious style, except for the part where the chick he apparently slept didn't even look legal, which was making this about ten kinds of awkward right now. It did explain why she was acting all familiar with him and why she knew his name. Dean didn't have to like it, but it suddenly started making sense, clicking in a way he wished it didn't.
As much as he dug cheerleaders, he kinda preferred the type to be, y'know, not total jailbait. Dean chewed the inside of his lip as he glanced at Frisbee Chick, but, like everything else that night, she didn't ring any bells at all. Just like attacking Sammy. It was like it didn't happen, except here was some really skeevy proof right in his lap.
Dean spread his hands as if he was surrendering.
"Okay, y'got me," Dean's grin was shameless: he thanked God he'd plenty of practice. He wished he knew just how far he'd went with Frisbee Chick. She wasn't exactly cluing him in and if he didn't know better, he'd say she was enjoying stringing him along. "I was tryin' to pick up some trade secrets. That obvious, huh?"
How old was she, anyway? She didn't even look over sixteen to him, which was raising all kinds of hairy questions. Did it count if you weren't even conscious for it?
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It was enough to tell Yuffie that he was playing along with her -- pretending to remember something that he didn't, pretending to know her when he didn't. Why, though? The same thing--she was assuming that it was the same thing--had happened to her, and she hadn't felt the need to fake her way through meetings. "I was startin' to think you'd gone and forgot." She returned his grin, easily keeping out any incriminating traces of triumph and 'dude, you're a dumbass'. "It hasn't been that long."
Nine days wasn't a long time at all, even if this place made it feel like a year.
She clasped her hands behind herself, Frisbee included, and shifted her weight as though actually staying still for five seconds was a feat far beyond her. "We should do it again sometime," she added brightly. "Especially the bit with the dynamite and the chocolate sauce, and the sparkly purple unicorn that dropped by to bless us at the end."
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"Okay, I'll come clean," Dean said. He still wasn't sure if she'd been possessed too or had just rolled with it when some strange guy offered himself to her, but she didn't seem to be taking the other night badly, which was weirding him out a little. "Don't kick my ass, but I totally forgot your name. I've been calling you Frisbee Chick the whole time in my head."
Dean didn't apologize, instead just giving his best smartass grin. Apologizing worked for Sam, especially when he'd pull those puppy eyes or however the hell he got people to trust him like he'd been a family friend the whole time. Dean? Dean found out that acting sheepish didn't work for him. If you just smiled and waved it off, people usually didn't get a chance to run too far with getting caught red-handed.
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She brought the disc back around in front of her, tapping it against her leg. "I know what it's like, though. Happened to me, too -- the other thing, not the gross lack of creativity when it comes to nicknaming habits. Speaking of," her grin, which had faded, slid easily back into place. "The name's Yu--"
-- Epic bad timing on the Institute's part. The shift came to an end, and Plucky the nurse was fast approaching. "Yuffie," she finished, with a longsuffering grimace. Great, it was time for 'visitors' again. For a moment she was tempted to cut her losses and run, or maybe to just throw caution to the wind and make proper use of her Frisbee…
"Hanna!"
Pfft. "Catch you later," she told Dean, flicking her Frisbee in a gesture somewhere between a casual salute and a wave. She sauntered away, until she got bored of sauntering and launched into a set of cartwheels instead.
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