Sam is a confused puppy. He showed up, out of the blue, and that in itself was confounding. What truly is perplexing is, somewhere in his travel, he lost a shoe. If only he could say this hasn't happened to him.
Spoiler: it has.
He's scratching the back of his head when the redhead in question is marching right past him. Far be it for him to interrupt a woman clearly on a mission, but he is a caring puppy. Not just confused. "Uh... miss?" he asks, motioning to the comforter in question. "Do you need some help with that?"
She's vaguely aware of a man standing vaguely near where she's about to walk, but Rachel's plan is to just ignore him and keep moving. But then he has to go and speak. Argh.
She looks up and bites back the sharp words that were ready to come out of her mouth--look, maybe Sam's a confused and caring puppy but he's also an impressively big puppy. Rachel's generally of the school of thought that says don't antagonize people approximately twice your size or who look like they could otherwise mangle you without breaking a sweat.
She blinks up at him, and then asks, "Help with what?"
And then she decides that makes her sound pretty dumb, so she looks down. Her fly isn't open, she hasn't lost any articles of clothing, she's not injured, her stuff's all-- oh. Wait. The comforter.
She's going to need another hand to deal with that, so she thrusts the toilet plunger at this gentleman--look, he wants to be helpful, right? "Hold this. Please."
Listen, Rachel. Sam is being a Good Samaritan here. It is the right thing to do. An angry redhead marching right past him, looking like she's had the kind of day he's had, with her comforter seconds from giving her another reason to be upset is something he can't ignore.
Sam also apologizes she has to look up and then up some more.
He ate a lot of veggies as a child.
Shut up, Dean.
Sam diligently takes the toilet plunger she hands him. There isn't much of another choice, okay. "Sure. Far be it for me to state the obvious, but... bad day?" he asks, his voice as sympathetic as he can make it.
It's about the time he takes the plunger that Rachel thinks, hey, maybe that's rude or gross or something. It's a clean plunger and all--she's a neat person and she rinses those things well, you know. But it's still a toilet plunger.
But he accepts it with grace and sympathy and after raging at her now-former landlord and stomping all the way from the rooming house to here, she's a bit out of steam. And she can't really justify raging at someone who can take a toilet plunger like it's no big thing and still ask about her day.
"Pretty bad," she admits. "I kinda just flounced from the place where I was living."
Sam does not think either of those things, but he's admittedly relieved when she answers him instead of taking the plunger back and hitting him with it. One never knows, and Sam's kind of day would just lend to that kind of thing. Fighting with Dean doesn't put him in the best mood.
The fact he isn't where Dean is and can't find him might have made him lose his own steam.
"I'm sure you had good reason. Sure you don't need some help there?" he asks, motioning to what she's carrying. It's not like he has anything else to do at this point, and maybe she knows where they are.
He's the first person who's been nice today (out of the two she's dealt with, hush, it still counts) and she doesn't have it in her to refuse. She nods and hands over the rolled-up comforter.
She still leaves him with the toilet plunger, though. Look, clearly he doesn't mind.
And once she isn't encumbered by the blanket, she looks down. "...Where's your other shoe?"
Sam will be able to both handle the plunger and the comforter, okay. He's a giant, both in height and in hands. Ahem. It isn't in him to be cranky at her when she looks like she's had a worse day than him.
"... I lost it," Sam says with a sheepish expression on his face. Sam scratches the back of his neck and the sheepishness deepens.
"I suddenly found myself here and without the shoe. My life is weird."
And that just takes the rest of the wind out of Rachel's sails, and makes her feel a bit bad to boot. Okay, so a ceiling fell on her head today, capping off a two-month ongoing series of skirmishes between herself and her now-former landlord, but at least she's been here a few months, and she still has her stuff, and she still has her shoes.
And she kept both her shoes when she appeared here. Poor guy. And who could be upset with a face like that?
"I'm so sorry," she says softly. "It sounds like you're having a bad day, too. Probably worse than me. I'm Rachel, what's your name?"
"To put it lightly," Sam answers with a small, breathless laugh. There isn't any amusement to be found in the sound, and he juggles with the toilet plunger and the comforter to be able to reach out with a hand.
"I'm Sam. Sam Winchester. It's nice to meet you, Rachel. Despite less-than-ideal circumstances."
...Wait, no, she needs to stop. The poor man's already holding her comforter and her toilet plunger, and he's minus one shoe. The last thing he needs is to have to stand there while she pervs over him, no matter how mild said perving is.
"Hi, Sam," she replies with a smile. "It's nice to meet you too. Sorry it had to be like this, but, hey. What're you gonna do, right? So did you, like, literally just get here?"
Spoiler: it has.
He's scratching the back of his head when the redhead in question is marching right past him. Far be it for him to interrupt a woman clearly on a mission, but he is a caring puppy. Not just confused. "Uh... miss?" he asks, motioning to the comforter in question. "Do you need some help with that?"
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She looks up and bites back the sharp words that were ready to come out of her mouth--look, maybe Sam's a confused and caring puppy but he's also an impressively big puppy. Rachel's generally of the school of thought that says don't antagonize people approximately twice your size or who look like they could otherwise mangle you without breaking a sweat.
She blinks up at him, and then asks, "Help with what?"
And then she decides that makes her sound pretty dumb, so she looks down. Her fly isn't open, she hasn't lost any articles of clothing, she's not injured, her stuff's all-- oh. Wait. The comforter.
She's going to need another hand to deal with that, so she thrusts the toilet plunger at this gentleman--look, he wants to be helpful, right? "Hold this. Please."
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Sam also apologizes she has to look up and then up some more.
He ate a lot of veggies as a child.
Shut up, Dean.
Sam diligently takes the toilet plunger she hands him. There isn't much of another choice, okay. "Sure. Far be it for me to state the obvious, but... bad day?" he asks, his voice as sympathetic as he can make it.
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But he accepts it with grace and sympathy and after raging at her now-former landlord and stomping all the way from the rooming house to here, she's a bit out of steam. And she can't really justify raging at someone who can take a toilet plunger like it's no big thing and still ask about her day.
"Pretty bad," she admits. "I kinda just flounced from the place where I was living."
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The fact he isn't where Dean is and can't find him might have made him lose his own steam.
"I'm sure you had good reason. Sure you don't need some help there?" he asks, motioning to what she's carrying. It's not like he has anything else to do at this point, and maybe she knows where they are.
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She still leaves him with the toilet plunger, though. Look, clearly he doesn't mind.
And once she isn't encumbered by the blanket, she looks down. "...Where's your other shoe?"
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"... I lost it," Sam says with a sheepish expression on his face. Sam scratches the back of his neck and the sheepishness deepens.
"I suddenly found myself here and without the shoe. My life is weird."
To put it lightly.
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And she kept both her shoes when she appeared here. Poor guy. And who could be upset with a face like that?
"I'm so sorry," she says softly. "It sounds like you're having a bad day, too. Probably worse than me. I'm Rachel, what's your name?"
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Look at this face. So precious for the world.
"To put it lightly," Sam answers with a small, breathless laugh. There isn't any amusement to be found in the sound, and he juggles with the toilet plunger and the comforter to be able to reach out with a hand.
"I'm Sam. Sam Winchester. It's nice to meet you, Rachel. Despite less-than-ideal circumstances."
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...Wait, no, she needs to stop. The poor man's already holding her comforter and her toilet plunger, and he's minus one shoe. The last thing he needs is to have to stand there while she pervs over him, no matter how mild said perving is.
"Hi, Sam," she replies with a smile. "It's nice to meet you too. Sorry it had to be like this, but, hey. What're you gonna do, right? So did you, like, literally just get here?"
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