#BUT IF YOU EVEN THINK OF HURTING MY LITTLE PEW PEW BABY I WILL HUNT YOU DOWN

[alias-b]

Nothing Lasts Forever.

Summary. The town of Derry changes people. Sends them running away. What it draws in is arguably worse. Humans create the hate and evil monsters come to feed off of. Eleanor Baker knew that well at a young age when she stumbled upon a painted figure in the distance. Pennywise never forgot the girl without fear. It’s possible that they haunted each other.

AN: I take no responsibility for this. Me flexing some horror and hopelessness bc I have nothing left to lose here. Wrote this to work through some things and sorta in love with it. TW: Should be obvious. Trauma. CSA mention. Abuse. S*xual references. G*re. S*icidal thoughts.  Death. Pennywise F*cks and it’s canon. Sorry, Mr. King.

Pennywise x OC Eleanor Baker ~ Also on my ao3

   They say she saw It first.

   They say she smelled the circus. Sugary sweet and the rusting of metal.

   They say she heard the bells toll soft. Once. Twice for her.

   They say she felt no fear.

   A branch cracked under pristine shoes, distracting a clown in the midst of hunt. The prey; small and blue eyed, barely five years old, ran into safe arms where their family set up camp for a weekend by the lake. 

   Body twisting around, It saw her last. Six years old. Curious green eyes shimmered even under grey skies. Pigtails. Feet behind her, father was hunched over to change a tire with mother beckoning from the window. Pulled over to the side of the road near a Derry forest. The Baker family. Well known and beloved because they had money.

   “Eleanor. You’ll ruin your new shoes. We can’t be late for your recital. It’s going to rain!” Mother’s voice went under heard. Leaves rustled while the clown made a path to slink toward her. Her lips parted, eyes fixated and unblinking. Yellow eyes faded to baby blue like the pretty jewels her mother wore. Safe.

   They were face to face. Drool dripped to hit her once untouched shoes. Those bejeweled eyes surged from that delicate blue back to a hungry orange, glowing brighter and yet he smelled nothing. 

   She had no scent. No fear. A deep, wide nothing. Vast as the ocean could reach. There was no advancing, no will to bring forth the deadlights. She’d probably think they were pretty stars watching over her. Cinderella wishing for a fairy godmother and a prince to whisk her away. He could only watch her make an utter fool of him. Somehow that charmed.

   “Eleanor, now!” Came the shout from her father. A drop of red emerged from the trees. Shiny and terrible. “Where did you get that?”

   A red balloon skimmed against the breeze.

   “From the clown.” She said, getting into the car. “He gave it to me.”

   “Enough playing around, Nell.” Father pressed her inside. The grip was lost along the tangled string. That spot of blood floated up toward the endless sky. Became a floating star too. She wished to float with it. 

   Eleanor danced her little heart out. Prima Ballerina in the making. Perfection was not everything, it was the only thing. She gazed into the audience beyond the balmy stage lights. Rows and rows of orange eyes. Glowing into her. No fear to be cast. Not for any of them. This world didn’t deserve it.

   She saw It again that same week. When they attended a big family reunion. Picnic and all. And her uncle pulled her into the closet full of coats and old board games that were gathering dust. He called this a game too. A secret game. 

   After he’d decided the game was over, a pang snatched his heart to squeeze. Gushing. Eleanor saw those glowing eyes from the shadows. Thought for a moment it was the old cat who roamed the grounds.

   Her uncle asked for help with no breaths left. Tore her frilly dress clutching at her. Hit the hardwood with a finishing crack. Blood pooled.

   Nell didn’t want it to stain her shoes or Mother would be upset.

   That white face bent down toward her. Spine curving to push out against skin. Utterly inhuman.

   “Can you smell the circus, Nelly?” Painted lips full of clustering teeth rumbled. She blinked. White cheeks threatened to tear open with the grin curling.

   “Yes.”

   Little, pretty bells chimed in the ruffles of his garment as he laughed. Soft and sweeter than any sound in this world.

   "Who are you?"

   "Pennywise. The dancing clown." He caught her looking at the body behind his feet.

   Big eyes full and empty.

   “Oh, don’t worry about him, he won’t float.” The clown paused. “You’re a little wonder, aren’t you?”

   She said nothing to that.

   “Go on, grow and see if the world devours you. Tumble back to the weeds where I'll find you again.” His own curiosity was a growing sickness. This fragile human. Unbreakable. 

   The thing about Pennywise was he never considered himself the villain. He only came to feed when that evil and hatred humans brought this world was potent. Natural order. Clockwork. Wolves feed on sheep. The worlds spun on.

   Predators tore into prey, he wouldn’t apologize for that. He didn’t create the hatred, just fed from it. Didn't stop it either. Little dash of fear did a body good. Gave it a sweeter taste.

   Fear was painfully human. A trait that tore us open to display the soft underbelly because it betrayed us down to the core. Granted us something to overcome. A test of endurance. Truly let our true colors pour fresh and obscene. Beautiful. Even when it overcame.

   Pennywise gave her head a pat, leaned down to whisper into her ear.

   “I see into your blackest heart of hearts, Nelly, deep down you’ll know. You'll always know.”

   The door opened. Tiny footsteps away from the dark and the figure there always watching her. Like the stars above in a black sky.

   “You’ll know.”

   Eleanor walked downstairs. Out into the sunny day full of festivities and family. Asked her aunt for another piece of cake. Frosted with yellow buttercream flowers. They discovered her uncle in that closet at the same time the flies found him too.

   They found the cloth clutched into his meaty, stiff hand and began to ask questions. She didn’t want to talk about the secret games he played when she was in that house. They sent a bolt of thunder rattling into her brain. Unraveled the synapses.

   Her mother burned the cloth. Vowed to never speak of it in hopes she would forget. Children forgot things all the time.

   Nell never forgot. Not for a moment. Not her uncle or her festering relatives who seemed to easily put her in the back of their memories.

   She wanted them to always remember too. If anything, they owed her that much.

   The pictures her mind fleshed out with crayons were not what children should be drawing. Twisted bodies sometimes. Other days, it was those eyes. Molten lava. Mother and father decided this wasn’t something they could deal with. Seeing her looking so still and motionless around the house like a ghost was too much. Knowing they failed their daughter was just too much. A lock clicked.

   They put her in a place that watched over mistakes of all ages from rich families. Paid it well. They told Eleanor it wasn’t her fault and yet, she was the one locked away in a tower for it. She was the one ignored and doped up.

   Ten years and she gave them nothing. Years of homeschooling. Counseling. Medications. Years of sticking her tongue out to swear she’d swallowed her pills. Years of giving them nothing. No laughter or tears. She never hurt a fly and she was the monster.

   Sometimes, it was easier to become the monster they wanted, she supposed.

   Eleanor got out and married the first man who smiled at her. Called her pretty. Just to be away from mother and father. They’d rot in the weeds soon enough. The rest of her family dwindled. Terrible accidents. She vowed to never reproduce to spite them.

   Husband played games too when dinner wasn’t just right or when she dressed just a little against his wishes. Seven miscarriages. Too many broken promises. A car accident pulled his body apart. Left her with some money to return home. 

   Mother and father needed her now, sick and dying in their lavish beds. Life always went on in Derry. Father went still snug in his tomb a month later. Few more weeks and mother’s harsh insults became apologies.

   This girl she ignored was all she had left.

   “Nell, I hope you can forgive us.” Her mother croaked one day.

   “You’re free to do that, mama.” She’d turned and came to sit on the bed.

   “Do what, my dear?”

   “Hope.” Eleanor tucked some brittle hair from mother’s face. Made room for the pillow she pushed into place. Eight minutes and it was over. Twenty seven years and members of her family dropped like flies. She told herself it was a curse. Or fate.

   Bloodlines dying had never been so beautiful. Not built to last forever. Not at all. There was justice in that much.

   Both Eleanor’s parents became ashes in two ornate urns. She drove them out to the Barrens and poured them into the festering waters. Stinking of Derry’s rotten bowels. Wind swept. Picking up green and brown leaves. Wading the waters to give them some appearance of peace.

   Nell didn’t smell the stink of death. She smelt the circus. Hot buttery popcorn and cotton candy. Twang of metal from the old, rusted rides whirling all directions. A child’s laughter echoed out from the giant pipe ahead. Covered in sludge and moss. 

   She followed the lively sounds. Enticed. No long holding to this world. Another one awaited. It always had. Marked with two glowing orange eyes.

   Reminded her of the lights twinkling every Halloween. Jack-o-lanterns you couldn’t blow out before midnight because it was against the rules and would bring you bad luck.

   Through watery rot and dead leaves, Nell went into the pipes. Caught glimmers of light between cracks. Felt her way. Heard the uttering of the seven children she lost beckoning her home.

   Down.

   Down.

   Down.

   Ruined her clothes in the trance. Clawing for more because the world couldn’t hope to deliver. Into a massive nest with a skylight. Candlelight danced. She heard the trill of a music box until the room came alive. Whirled from rust and rot to marble and gold.

   Prettier than her wedding day. A church with decorated pews of red taffeta. White roses hanging from every corner. Petals crying into the cherry wood floors.

   A man smiled at her who wasn’t Husband. Sharp, brooding face. Swept brown locks slicked like Clark Gable. Pink lips curled and crystalline eyes gave a twinkle. A white suit and one red rose at his breast.

   She came to him when he reached. Body heavier because a dress dragged behind her. Full skirt of those same delicate white roses. Tight bodice that twinkled under candlelight. Nell smiled too. Utterly lost and found all at once in this room that smelled like decadent caramel apples. 

   A gloved hand curled into hers.

   “Am I dead?” She asked.

   “Oh, yes. For twenty seven years now. You wandered the Earth. But, you're home now.” That voice. All shivers. Chilling until the candles started to snuff out. “That was not life, Nelly. You existed by a thread.”

   “Nelly.” She mused in her deepest dream of dreams. The hate and the neglect and the sheer evil brought by humans who were supposed love and protect instead tore her soul far asunder.

   The man leaned in near her hair. Inhaled.

   “Nothing. Even still.” He recounted the memories. All those times he tried and failed to devour her. “Little wonder.”

   "Pennywise." She puffed, barely audible.

   “I watched you dance. All those years. You can dance down here too in the dark."

   Nell realized as he brought her out for a romantic spin. She’d been seeking him out all her life. All the decay and twisting vines in her soul. Begging to just cross over and stop this pain. But, he wouldn’t finish it because she had no fear. So she danced until the room began to peel. He wiped his cheek on one sleeve. Peachy makeup smeared the fabric to display that red smile upon white skin. 

   She pushed off him. Watched blood rain and melt the rest of it away. This place. A nest. A stomach. A pile of trash and metal twisted up toward the sky. Gouging. Figures floating around it. Waiting. Sleeping soundly because evil couldn’t touch them anymore. At the very least. They fueled something brand new.

   No cry. No scream. Nell succumbed. Stumbling back into a worn mattress as the clown crawled up toward her at some inhuman speed. Slapped his hands on either side of her head. They just breathed.

   Existed together in one space.

   Sometimes good and bravery didn’t blossom from overcoming fear. Sometimes you still wanted to die because enduring a lifelong ache was not growth. It just hurt. There was power in it, but it fucking ached.

   It burned. Plenty of things in her life burned. The scorn of her parents. Her uncle's games. The rotten nurses tossing her around. Husband's hands indenting skin.

   But, Pennywise didn’t. He just showed up to watch the fires grow hot and breathless into a black sky. The terrible view was still a breathtaking thing. Something shattering to become a supernova. Rebirth.

   Enduring pain was worth it. That sick curiosity that there was something more to life. It was worth it. So, fight. Endure. Ache. Be human while you have the chance in an inhuman world because it needs you.

   Gloves opened her dress. Tore layers of tulle and chiffon. Slashed silk. Hands pressed against his chest. Not pushing or pulling. Just holding. Shifting over thick, stitched cotton. Ruffles swayed. She felt a heart beat so hard there under her palm.

   He was alive. Something brand new. Not of this world.

   “Am I like you?” She begged finally. Years of searching and asking why. He stopped to see her green eyes. Glowered. One blue, one orange.

   “Not yet.” Was the truest answer he could form. Fingers gripped his fabric sleeves. Twisted just to hold onto something tangible for the first time in all her existence. Alive at last in this place. Water droplets echoed distantly. “You cannot last forever. Nothing lasts forever.”

   Except love, she thought. Except desire.

   Pennywise seemed to hear it even still. Felt the truth of it carve out his heart that was still beating powerfully. Profoundly.

   Something flayed her open. Pushed inside. Made her moan deliciously until two gloved fingers touched her mouth. Bodies connecting. Moving together.

   There were hands everywhere. Stroking soft caresses up and down her naked flesh. It felt like a million little pieces of candlelight were swirling up her body. Those same orbs that had been following her around for too many years shined behind his eyes. Resonated. Beautiful.

   She made out parts of him between thumps. Orange hair. Pristine paint. His mouth on her skin. A heart that was pumping vigorously. Low rumbling growls. Nell felt she’d been starved all her life and was finally feeding. Finally letting the ache flood out that she’d held onto for too long. Finally alive. Feeling. Deep down and drawing in it.

   Her voice came to beg for more of him. Hands grasping to touch him back. To delve into this earth and just feel. He touched her everywhere. Lips and neck. Down her breasts. Between spread legs.

   The combined sensations made her cry out for him to never stop. A gloved hand on her jaw brought their eyes together. Hot, wet touch. Boiling. The peak shattered them both. Nell fell to shuddering pieces. Curved up. Moaning and shameless. Weight fell into her body so lips could touch her own. Once. Just once while they were warm.

   Pennywise lifted off fully to see her eyes. Inhaled again and got what he’d sought too. Years and it was finally there.

   Those green eyes glimmered at him. A waft of sweet candied apples bubbled with heat. Fear. Clear as a crystal, dewy morning. It was the most beautiful thing in the world.

   There was finally something found that could be lost. Something she sought out and held and hoped for.

   And the fear of losing it was almost too much to bear.

   One gloved finger caught a tear that trickled out from the corner of her eyes.

   “Please.” She said, unable to find much else. Like she wanted him and nothing else for the rest of these long days. Do it. Just do it. Nell’s hand lifted. Gentle fingers drew lines along his face. "Pennywise. Please."

   It was a soft prayer.

   He lunged down. Sunk teeth into her tender neck. Tore the scream out before she could hope to give it. Nell choked there. Made an odd sound like she was laughing. It bubbled. Claws grew out from those gloves. Shoved forth into her raging heart. 

   A squelch.

   Her lips were still upturned when it was done. Green eyes pointed on him. Peaceful and bloodied. Naked under the moonlight. Dripping rubies.

   He tossed his head back and wailed. Teeth sharp and bared. Bloodied. Lost. A shattering sound that bent time and space apart. Pennywise plucked her up. Climbed high and vast to the very top of the twisting pile. Watched the dead children float like little falling stars. Something to make wishes upon. Peaceful for only a second in this life.

   He placed her there in a sheer drape. Closed her eyes. Let the deadlights swelter above them. Spinning all directions. 

   A scar thickened.

   Three days passed. The deadlights danced high and wide. Fluttering like a swarm of butterflies. The world spun on a new axis. Pennywise sat below upon his stage. Curved over in wait. Marble statue. 

   A low rumble like a purr erupted. Dainty feet came to him with a newfound grace. Little dancer. Deadly ballerina all porcelain and blushed. Blood red shoes made soft taps across the stage.

   A white hand touched his shoulder. His little wonder. Bells tolled distantly three times.

   “Can you smell the circus?” Her voice poured white hot. Purring louder so he'd feel it vibrate his own chest.

   Lips curled wide. Split. Pennywise rose to see her in the light. Perfection. Those green eyes shimmering like emeralds. Haunted. Totally alive and willing.

   “Yes.” He hissed. Cupping her face to see the angles. Not ruining the permanent brushstrokes that came with her rebirth. “Yes, I do.” A bond struck.

   I do. I promise. We'll float. Always.

   Nell smiled to match him. Totally and irrevocably his equal. A pulse of light drew them together. She granted him a single kiss, tasting candied. A new horror in this world hungry for the evil it would always bring.

   “We were built to last forever.”

[shadowofthelamp]

The Smeetening

This was a kofi commission for @lovelycoris! And the title comes from her tag.

Summary: Zim has been gone for four and a half months, and Dib was not expecting what he found when he got back.

Warnings: Mpreg mention

Wordcount: 1920 

Dib had to admit, when Zim had been gone for four and a half months, he’d figured he was off in space doing training or something like that. Invaders would do that, right? (He’d told Dib he was going to be gone, but not that it was going to be this long, and to be honest, Dib was getting more than a little twitchy. Skool was so boring without Zim, although he had managed to stake the vampires hunting behind the Krazy Taco.) Or maybe he’d be catching up with old alien friends, if he even had any.

Not…. this.

Dib had picked the lock while his EMP shorted out the gnomes. He’d been doing that about twice a month to see if Zim was back yet, but before now there had been nothing. His motion sensors had caught activity twenty minutes ago from the Voot instead of a random squirrel, and he had to know what had taken so long.

There was a lot of noise coming from the living room, but the curtains had been drawn, and honestly, Gir watched so much garbage TV that pretty much anything could be excused until he actually opened the door to see it. He was almost done when the door swung open by itself. He looked up and heard the computer say “-get it.”

With a full visual of the inside of the base, what he saw was quite possibly the furthest thing from ‘normal’. (Man, Zim really had been here long enough to settle a baseline of ‘normal’, hadn’t he? Time flew...) Zim had on a frilly pink apron, but more importantly, he was hovering over several tiny irkens that were crawling around on a blanket. A particularly dark green one was in Zim’s hand, and he was licking their antennae as they squirmed around, making some noise Dib couldn’t quite hear. That was mostly because one with curly antennae was screeching their absolute lungs out, and Dib slapped his hands over his ears.

“Zim, what the hell is going on?” 

Zim looked up, before grinning. “Ah, Dib-human!” He stood up, carefully weaving through the tiny aliens (‘tiny aliens!’ Dib’s brain screamed at him, ‘right in front of you!’) to hold up the one he’d been licking. (Grooming?) “Behold!”

“I’m beholding,” Dib said numbly as he reached up a hand to tentatively hover over them. “Where did you get them?”

“I made them, of course! Hoo boy is that a funny story-”

“You made them?” Dib looked over Zim’s head to see them crawling over each other. “I didn’t even know you could do that.”

“There’s a lot you don’t know, Dib. Secrets of the mighty irken race that I’ve been able to keep secret from your prying-”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re superior and all that.” Dib stepped around him to crouch down in front of them. “So you were pregnant?”

“Eh?”

“Pregnant. Or your partner was, whoever they were.” Dib made a rounded motion over his stomach, freezing when one of the babies grabbed his hand. Zim didn’t start screeching at him to let it go, so he carefully settled on his knees to lift it up, cupping his palms. It made a chirp that sounded almost like it came from an old video game. It was a mixture of clicks and of a ‘pew pew’ sound, and was possibly the best thing he’d heard in his entire life. 

“Yes, I was. I had the smeets a week ago, and here we are!” Zim settled down cross-legged. “That’s Vi in your hand. She’s one of the quiet ones.”

“Hi, Vi,” Dib said as the baby (smeet, Zim had said?) yawned, showing off her gums. “You’re the quiet one, huh? That’s weird, considering your dad.” He looked up. “So who’s the- er, other dad?”

“Other dad?”

“You know, who helped make them? Unless irkens reproduce asexually, which would be pretty weird for a species as advanced as yours. And besides, they all look kind of different.” Dib looked over the smeets on the blanket- except for maybe one, they all had something that distinguished them from Zim, either in color, antennae, or eyes. Zim cleared his throat.

“I don’t see why that should matter, they’re here now.”

Vi squeaked in his hands and turned, reaching out for Zim, and Zim scooped her out of Dib’s hands. “It’s alright, mean stinky Dib won’t hurt you when Zim’s around.”

“Hey, I didn’t do anything!” Dib planted his hands on his hips before there was a tug at his pant leg. Another smeet- this one with eyes that looked frighteningly like Zim’s- had gripped it, staring up at him. “You really made all of these?”

“Why else would they be here?”

“I don’t know, I wouldn’t put it past you to steal a bunch of babies. You’re weirdly maternal when you get in the mood.” Dib carefully picked the smeet up and it cooed happily, making more of the beepy noises. 

“I wouldn’t!” Zim gasped, aghast. “Besides, why would I take this many smeets that weren’t mine? One or two would be perfectly fine, but only I could make nine perfectly healthy ones at one time, thank you!” 

Dib petted at the antennae of the one in his hands, and they kept making happy sounds, so he assumed he was doing something right. “So you had all of them at once? They are pretty small, but- geez, how big even were you?”

“None of your business!” Zim snapped as Dib squinted, trying to mentally shove all nine of the smeets back inside of him. Yeesh, he must have been a complete ball. Dib wished he could have gotten a picture. Now that he was really examining him, though, he could definitely see that Zim looked softer than before. His uniform top was just a bit tighter around the middle, and as Zim shifted, his hips looked larger than usual. Huh. So Zim wasn’t just pulling this out of his ass, he really had…

“Wait, how long even is irken gestation? You were gone for four months and seventeen days, how on Earth-”

“It wasn’t anywhere on Earth,” Zim scoffed. “And it was long enough, obviously.” 

“There wasn’t anyone on Earth, right? Skoodge left a while ago, didn’t he?”

“Yes, he stopped living in my base. That was years ago, Dib, keep up.”

“Ga!” The smeet reached up for Dib’s mouth, curling surprisingly tight fingers around the bottom lip. Dib tried to gently pull it away, but it just clung tighter. As if on cue, two more of the smeets started crawling on top of him, like he was some kind of human jungle gym for them. Zim started snickering.

“It seems that Jash likes you, Dib-worm.”

“Ah tol’ ‘ou- ey!” Jash’s grip tightened as one of his siblings started flicking the buckle on the front of Dib’s boot. The other was just staring up at him and using his pant leg to stand on wobbly legs. They had wide, fascinated eyes, and Dib couldn’t help but feel a little twinge in his chest.

Dammit, why did baby aliens have to be the cutest things ever? He was only a mortal man, and he wasn’t made of stone, no matter how much he tried to remember that they were Zim’s and were thus at least 50% pure hellion.

“Keep this up and I might bring out the freeze ray to make a Dib-statue and let them learn motor skills.” Zim was still grinning, with the smeet with curly antennae had been screaming in his hand. He was running his thumb up their belly and they were making the same happy-noises as Jash had been. Huh, maybe they had just really wanted attention. He knew he’d hate to be one of nine siblings, Gaz was more than enough.

“Hey, one just crawled under the- come on!” Jash grabbed his glasses in an attempt to climb up his face and nearly pulled them off before Dib adjudged them. “What do you want, huh? Huh, little guy?”

Jash lifted his hands up, opening and closing his fist. “You’re already up, what do you- oh, okay, you’re climbing on my face again.” Dib pulled Jash away from his nose before he stuck a hand up it, setting him on top of his head instead. The smeet started batting at his hair lock, and it kind of tickled. 

“I’ll have to clean him,” Zim said, clicking his tongue as he reached under the couch, cheek smushing the tile before pulling one of the smeets out by the scruff of their neck. “That is, unless you’ve improved in your bathing habits since I’ve been gone.”

“Hey, I’m getting better about that! I think!” Dib protested, looking down without turning his head to see that the same smeet as before was still playing with his shoe buckle. “How long are they going to be this size?”

“Eh, ten to fifteen years, give or take a few months?”

If Dib had been drinking something, he would have spat it out. “What?”

“They’ll be speaking within the next few months, of course, and it will be nice to have some intelligent conversation besides you.” Zim was intently watching the group on the blanket, blowing raspberries at a little gaggle of them. They let out high-pitched laughter, especially when he lifted them one at a time to repeat the action directly on their bare bellies.

“Oh, right, Paks probably speed things up, huh? You’re going to have your hands full, though. And I thought Gir was enough. Where is he, anyway?”

“In the lab. He isn’t allowed near the smeets until I can make sure he won’t hurt them. And I can handle anything, I am Zim!” 

“You’ve somehow survived six and a half years on a planet that actively tries to kill you, so you probably can,” Dib admitted. Jash started squeaking, so Dib carefully pulled him off his head and set him down next to the one messing with his boot. After staring at each other a moment, Jash started tugging on their antennae instead, and they began rolling around, pulling at each other’s mouths, arms, and antennae. Their beepy sounds were excited and when they fell apart, they had big baby-grins on their faces. 

Dib scooted a little closer to the blanket, and one with purple eyes stared up at him. Their antennae were curled- maybe they were female? That could be a sex-linked trait, Tak had had curly ones too, hadn’t she?- and they set a hand on his foot before smiling.

Yep, there went his heart. Melted right out of his chest and into a puddle on the orange and red tile.

“I wouldn’t mind babysitting, you know.”

“I told you, I can handle anything! And if you start poking and prodding at them-”

Dib made an ‘X’ over his chest. “Cross my heart, I won’t hurt them. You can even tell the computer to watch to make sure I don’t do anything, but nine is a lot. I can’t imagine irkens raised their kids completely alone. I’m not going to hurt kids.”

Zim narrowed his eyes, but when the one at Dib’s feet chirped up at him, he tapped his chin.

“Perhaps. But I’ll be watching you.”

Dib carefully stroked a hand over the surprisingly flexible antennae of the one at his feet, a smile growing on his face. He knew he was probably signing up for disaster, but hey, what was life without a little chaos? “That’s fair.”

[justjessame]

The Deal Chapter 21

Finding a cabin as we hear gunshots fired felt lucky. Unlucky was that it was already inhabited, by someone talking on a walkie to others. Carol and Tyrese held the man at gunpoint, as I carried Judith inside and leaned back against a wall, with a view out a covered window. While they urged the man to give them information, I watched, making sure that our new friend’s friends didn’t come for a visit. Judith seemed to be as intent in her focus on my shirt collar as I was with the view.

Finally, Carol took charge. She planned on going in alone, even though Ty wanted to argue. A glance at me and Judith, and he was more agreeable to staying behind. While he stood guard, Carol took our buddy’s ample supply of fireworks, and with a smile and nod, she was off.

I can see the walkers coming, and as I tell Ty, the idiot that we were holding hostage grabbed me and Judith, and threatened Ty with our deaths if he didn’t walk outside into the mass of biters. Sharing a look with my reluctant protector, he doesn’t fight it. He goes, and then, within minutes, he ambushes the idiot when I feign shock at what I’m seeing from my view and position near the window.

Tyrese had killed an entire horde of fucking walkers with his bare hands, and killed the moron who took a look at me and Judith and decided we were fair game.

When Carol returns, she isn’t alone. And seeing Dad and Carl rush forward to wrap me and Judith in their arms has me crying in happiness. They survived. They were alive and here and kissing my cheeks and head. And Dad, after checking every inch of exposed skin on me for signs I was hurt, took Judith from me and did the same with my baby sister.

I watched him, and Carl take over the care of Judith, if only for a short while, and then I see HIM. Daryl. Alive and safe. And his arms are around me and his face is buried in my hair, and I relax, fully for the first time since I left the prison behind. Because he was in front of me, and he was alive.

As we leave, Dad takes a moment to “fix” the sign urging people to come to Terminus for safety. “No Sanctuary”, far more truthful than what had been. And hopefully keeps far more people safe.

We had new members. Short introductions. Abraham, the soldier with a mission. Eugene, the mullet that swore he knew a cure for the dead rising. Rosita, Abraham’s second, and possibly lover? And Tara, someone that had apparently been with the Governor at his final stand.

I nodded through the introductions, feeling the exhaustion that had been building since I’d walked away from the prison into uncertainty catching up. But there wasn’t time. We had to put distance between us and what Daryl mentioned was a place full of cannibals. Great. And he seemed preoccupied. Beth had been with him when we all got separated, and now she was missing too.

We rested, eventually, and I found out that Michonne was without her katana. And seeing her without it, it was like seeing Hershel without his leg at first. She was still a badass, but something was clearly missing.

And Hershel? He hadn’t made it. Philip had killed him. And I was happy to hear that good ol’ Phil had met his fucking maker too.

Dad and Carol seemed to make peace. And I watched as Daryl and Carol took a moment to themselves.

I felt that I should feel content. We were together again. Most of us. I knew that Daryl wouldn’t rest until he found Beth. I knew that Carol was still a little bit cagey, which I understood. I knew that our new members were adamant that they had to find a vehicle and head north. Get the prize that was mullet man to his lab, was the mission, apparently.

So while I knew what I should feel. I couldn’t make myself feel it. Not when I knew that Daryl would rush off to play hero. That Dad would make it his mission to find us another safe place. That I would once again be relegated to the middle of the pack peacekeeper. It was the same, but it wasn’t. And I couldn’t put my finger on why, at this point in my life, that it bothered me.

Before he can rush off to play hero, Daryl does run off, but he kisses me awake and smiles down at me to let me know he’s going hunting. He doesn’t ask me to join him. I haven’t hunted with him for so long he doesn’t even bother.

I don’t bother telling anyone else. I just assume that the rest would realize that Daryl would go hunting. He had his precious crossbow. We were surrounded by forest. What’s so surprising? But I should have, because everyone is still twitchy and the poor man of mine had to hold up his line of squirrels when he came back to his own group prepared to take him out because he made a little noise in return.

“We surrender,” he says, and I bite back a laugh.

We find a minister, stuck on a rock of all places, and surrounded by walkers soon after. Honestly? I’m thinking as our group takes care of the danger and the holy man, Gabriel, tries to make jokes about stealing Daryl’s squirrels. Dad gives him the questions and I listen as the answers are no, no, and because God doesn’t abide violence. Well, he’s going to last a long time, I think, shaking my head and waiting to learn our next move.

Gabriel’s church is nearby. Dad, Michonne, Carol, and Glenn clear it before the rest of us enter. Abraham notices the church bus and once again reminds us of the importance of getting Eugene to Washington. Michonne, glancing at me and the clear vision of complete exhaustion that I must be wearing, says we need supplies and rest. I close my eyes and nod my thanks. And nearly fucking cheer when Dad agrees with her.

Gabriel tells our group about his own survival tactics, and something rings strange to me, but I’m so tired that I can barely stand. Carol and Daryl have gone to fill our water bottles and containers. Dad has Michonne, Sasha, and Bob come with him and Gabriel, clearly not trusting the good man of the cloth. And Maggie, Glenn, and Tara decide to loot for weapons. Before he leaves, Dad thanks Tyrese for keeping his girls safe and takes Carl aside.

Tyrese leads me to one of the church pews and takes Judith from my arms. “Lay down, Jessi, rest.” He commands, and before I can argue, my body takes the command to heart and I’m out.

I wake up before our group returns. Carl is standing over me and I blink to make my eyes focus on him. He glances at Tyrese and asks me to come outside with him. Outside he shows me deep scratches along a window and a horrible message dug into a wall. “You will burn for this.”

I share a look with my little brother and nod. He has to show Dad. And we have to find out just what the hell Gabriel’s story really is.

There’s a celebration later that night. One that I feel is premature at best, and tempting fate at worst. Abraham, using my little sister to support his mission’s end game, tries to sell us all the pipedream of Eugene the man who could save us all. Judith, a baby, coos and Dad takes it as a sign. And so, we have a new purpose it would seem.

I don’t notice Carol slipping out. I don’t see Daryl follow. But, as the hours pass, as more horrors show up on our doorstep, I realize that once again, he didn’t take the time to say goodbye.

[authoraveryann]

That’s Not My Type

“Sir? Sir?! I don’t think he can hear us—someone work on getting an airway!”

No. I can. I can hear you. But please…. please, I can feel it burning. Wait. WaiT. WaIT WAIT WAi—

Oh. Oh that feels better.

“Check under his nose. Good? Thank God; Sir?”

Thank you… but please, it still hurts. 

“I’m still not getting any reactions, let’s get a neuro check and see if we can stop this bleeding.”

Bleeding? I… I’m bleeding? Am I? No, that doesn’t make sense, I don’t remember bleeding. I don’t remember but—

Oh. Oh… 

I am bleeding. 

“Daddy?”

I never used a gun. Never, even when my father tried to take me hunting on Thanksgiving. I’ve never touched one. Never, even during my eleventh grade year, when it dropped from Simon Pernicks hand when the police apprehended him, and slid only a few feet from me. 

You became a cop three years after our eleventh grade year; and you brought me along as you were training at the local gun range. I never held one. And I never shot one.

I knew nothing about them, except for tales of the jerking shocks it sent back through your wrists as you fired it; the gunpowder that stained your fingers and hands when the bullet released; the deafening bang that’s shrouded by the headphones they make you wear. I knew how to.

I never used a gun.

“His eyes are open. Sir? We have your wife and daughter in the waiting room, can you try and blink for me?”

I don’t think so. 

“Sir?” 

Please… I’m tired. And the pain… maybe it isn’t so bad now.

More… more like pressure… like someone pushing down  and   p r e s s i n g

“His heart rate just spiked—someone bring me a sedative!”

Oh. 

It’s dark again.

“Daddy?”

You became my wife next; my best friend, my partner, my love. I’d never been this before. A friend, a boyfriend, but never a husband. But I would be the best for you. As easy as I’d said it, however, it was so much harder than what I’d thought. Because I never had that; someone to see being a husband. Only my father. And no mother. 

You believed in me though. Kissed my cheek, and held my hand, only adding more to all the things you’d already been teaching me over the course of five years.

You got promoted to Detective the following week, and when you were dispatched to your first shootout, we both went to bed with thoughts of Simon Pernick. 

“Let’s try again. Sir? Your family is here, can you try and squeeze my hand?”

Am… am I doing it? Please, I must be, it burns so much.

“Still nothing…”

No. I have to be doing it. I have to be.

“Sir, I’m going to bring in your wife and daughter now.”

Please don’t. They’ll be so scared. They don’t want to see me burning.

“Daddy?”

I was turning twenty-seven, same as you, when there were a series of doctors appointments added to our calendar. Dr. Mary Kohn. I always liked the name Mary; reminded me of Christmas, though I wasn’t a practicing catholic. I stopped after the eleventh grade. 

I still remembered though, everything I’d learned from previous Sunday School activity.

My father wasn’t too pleased with my decision afterwards, and still believed I follow him once a week for sunday. So I sat in the church pews, with my hands folded neatly in my lap, standing and sitting, rising and falling, and pretended to listen.

People prefer when they can pretend; it’s why we have actors, and movies, and television. 

Dr. Mary Kohn. OB-GYN.

It’s funny, the things we remember.

“Ma’am, I’m afraid he hasn’t been responsive. It doesn’t mean he’s dead, because there’s still activity being monitored, and he can breathe on his own… but he doesn’t seem to recognize anything. At this time, we can only assume it’s because the positioning of the bullet.”

Bullet?

Like… from a gun? Oh—oh no. No. Oh God. Oh God… a bullet? What—

OH. Oh God! Please! PLEASE! It’s back! Oh God it BURNS! Please!

“Pressures dropping—his lung is collapsing, it must have aggravated his lung tissues when it shot through his chest—someone get a chest tube in case we need to intubate, and let’s get him stabilized NOW!”

“Daddy? Daddy please?”

She was born on a Wednesday, an oddly clear memory. It was raining outside, and the view from the window was level to the city-scape, the clouds shining an allusion through the rain and making the buildings glare with sunlight.

Although the weather was gloomy, the day was beautiful. 

She was born late in the morning, appearing tiny and pink. Until she wasn’t. 

Not until she was rushed away, that we realized she wasn’t crying. 

Then three hours later, after we’d cried, and slept and cried some more, Dr. Mary Kohn came back into the room, with our baby girl, and placed her your arms, with a little tube coming out from her nose, and a pink hat nestled around the small tufts of hair that she had.

Then you called her ‘Hope’. 

And ‘Hope’ was beautiful.

“Welcome back Sir, we almost lost you for a minute. There might be some discomfort around your chest, but we’ve given you some medication to ward off the pain.”

Pain… that’s familiar… but why? 

Oh. I got shot… I forgot for a moment. And… everything feels tired and heavy. And…. Hope. 

Hope was here. But it burned.

And then Hope was gone.

“Daddy?”

You thought she was sick. Because she wasn’t walking yet. I remember being told that I crawled until I was a year and a half, but that didn’t seem to aide your anxiety. I’m so sorry, looking back. I tried to be better… but maybe I wasn’t. 

We took her to a pediatric nurse at the walk-in, who told us that she was probably just a late bloomer. I was fine with that, but you still weren’t fully convinced.

Two weeks later, she walked to you for the first time, and you were so happy.

This was the reason I didn’t tell you that she actually walked three weeks earlier.

Because her Mommy never got to saw.

“Sir? He’s still unresponsive… what were his last vitals?”

Tired. My vitals are tired… and everything feels so heavy… 

“...ok, I want us to get another set done in fifteen minutes. How’s his wife and daughter?”

Hope… 

“Let’s give them another update, let them come in and sit while you do the vitals.”

“Daddy?”

Today. Or yesterday. 

You were out, and Hope and I were home making dinner; Kraft Dinner and hot-dogs; and watching Dora the Explorer reruns. We left the back door open, because Mickey kept running in and out into the backyard. 

So I didn’t notice when an armed man came in, and raised his arm, calling out a warning.

Mickey attacked first; grabbing onto his leg. The man lost his control on the gun, and that was when I threw myself in front of Hope.

“He’s crashing! We need more B Negative!”

No… no… 

That’s not my type.

[killian-whump]

OUAT 2x11: Rewatch Blog

Alright, everybody. Buckle yourselves in, because this is gonna be one WILD ride of a Rewatch Blog right here. Today’s episode is “The Outsider” - also known as “The Episode Where Killian Jones Is Attacked with a Bookshelf, Beaned with an Oar, Knocked into the Hold of His Own Ship, Beaten with a Cane, Almost Straight-Up Murdered, Slapped and Demeaned, Having Just About the Worst Day Humanly Possible... Then Gets Hit By a Car”.

There’s going to be a lot of flailing. There’s going to be a lot of GIFs.

And you’ll probably never see another Rewatch Blog from me, because I will be blogging and reblogging content from this episode for the rest of my life, because the sheer quantity of whump in this one episode is mind-boggling.

At any rate, let’s get on with the show!

You know, it’s a good thing Mr. Gold shelled out the money for a nice luxury car, because that trunk space seems to really come in handy for him.

Smee bondage and whump, if anyone’s into that ;)

Oh no, is this the episode with the Mogwai that isn’t actually a Mogwai, but I always think it’s a Mogwai because that’s the name that sticks in my head? I’m terrible at knowing which episode is which unless it’s cataloging Killian whump, then I know all. Anyway, this title card is kinda unimpressive.

Aww... It’s a funeral :( Sweet words from Snow, but I keep wondering who the poor sap is that’s actually buried in that coffin... and did they dig him/her up later and give them a proper burial under their own name? Or just figure, “Eh, that’ll do” and just forget about it?

I love how Pongo doesn’t actually seem sad, too. Easily ignored on first viewing, but on second viewing, he totally looks like, “Dudes... Why are we here?”

Mmm... I love it when Colin’s being aggressive and wicked <3

“I only have enough of this potion for one object.” And I don’t suppose you could, like, make more of it or anything XD This show is so silly sometimes.

Oh, it IS the Mogwai-that-isn’t-a-Mogwai episode. Know how I know? Here’s how I know: That’s the episode Belle makes this epic face in:

I feel you, Belle. I feel you.

Yaoguai. Yaoguai. NOT a Mogwai. Give me 20 minutes, it’ll be a Mogwai again.

“No man has been able to kill it.” Oh, I’ve heard THAT before.

La la la la la, Happy Day, Happy Morning, Happy Library.

OH SHIT, THERE’S A HOT PIRATE IN THE LIBRARY.

Aaaaaaaaaand there’s some improper usage of library resources. Incidentally, this is one of my favorite Hook bestings, because not everyone can say they were bested by a librarian with a cart of books.

Action Hook! Leaping and running...right into that door. Not his best moment. Oh, I know. Let’s hit the door. That should help. (Spoiler: It doesn’t.)

Umm... Convenient cell phone issues, ahoy! That’s always annoyed me.

“I trust you’ve seen one before.” Kinda snarky for someone setting out on a quest with the guy, I mean, at least try to make friends?

Nevermind, that dude’s an asshole. Although to be fair, she was rude first.

“It’s taken me weeks to track the Mogwai Yaoguai here.” “Yeah, I found it in a day.” Seriously, Belle? Seriously?! Tact.

‘I just can’t understand why people are being so mean to me...’

See, I don’t understand the convenient cell phone outage, when Gold’s just going to rush right over and find her and get the whole story from her anyway. Like, what purpose did that odd snafu cause? She could’ve just as easily gotten the message across on the phone or simply said, “Rumple! Help!” and explained more when he got there, and we wouldn’t have to suspend belief that her cell phone just mysteriously stopped getting reception right when she needed it.

Every time I watch this episode, they always leave out the best part.

“I managed to wrangle up a Pop Tart.” Emma, you culinary genius.

“No one is here.” “Yet.” FORESHADOWING!!!!

“This is really not your concern.” HE JUST STRAIGHT UP TRIED TO KILL HER, RUMPLE. I think that makes it her concern. “He attacked me. It most definitely is my concern.” See?! Even Belle agrees with me.

“She died. That’s all that matters.” Ummmmmmmmmm...

Surprisingly good plan, actually. And it makes sense how Smee would know all of this (although how he knew about the shawl is a mystery). I would’ve liked to have seen Smee and Hook reunite, though :(

Wow, Gold... Kinda being a major jerk right now. “How exactly are you gonna help me?!” I mean, it’s a valid question, but seriously. TACT, people.

“Promise me that you going after Hook is just about getting the shawl back.” AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAA, no. Kudos to him for not lying here, though.

“Wait, you’re a-” “Yeah, I know.” Heehee! :D

Oh no, the Monkey’s Fist that launched a million headcanons...

To be real, I don’t really buy into the headcanons, since a Monkey’s Fist is a ridiculously common knot and one used as a counterweight on sailing vessels, but I’m always a fan of painful headcanons, so I like it, anyway.

That said, I don’t even know why it was necessary. I mean, he’s a pirate. Seems like a no-brainer that he might’ve come to this realm with, you know, a ship. It just seems like a convoluted way to have Belle be able to use her book smarts to solve a mystery that shouldn’t be a mystery at all.

Awww... Smee is cute as a rat :D

LOL, I love the way Belle walks with the gun, swinging it like it’s a handbag or something. Haha. Gun safety classes. Pronto.

See, now THAT was clever sleuthing, hearing the ship, seeing the birds landing on something that isn’t there... and especially tossing the sand.

Action Belle! Rescuing Archie! Woowoo!

...straight into dish drying. Seriously, the segues on this show...

Umm... Listening in on extensions isn’t really cool.

“How did he get in here?” He pushed the door right open. We watched him do it, like, 5 seconds ago. You didn’t lock the door, obviously. DON’T YOU KNOW YOU LIVE IN A TOWN WITH EVIL VILLAINS RUNNING AMOK? Although, to be fair, those villains aren’t the kind who let door locks stop them, so why bother... but then don’t act surprised when dogs push your front door open!

...Also, giving your kid a dog without asking the people you live with if that’s okay is also not cool. Just saying, haha.

You know, I’d question the likelihood of Hook hiding the key to a locked box literally right next to the box in question, but this is a man who also hid the Shears of Motherfucking Destiny in a tool box in the shed, so...

“That doesn’t belong to you.” Like that’s gonna work, haha.

I knew she shouldn’t have set the gun down.

“You are.” “Me?” Yes, you and your fantastic cleavage.

To his credit, he didn’t just blow her head off right here, when he easily could’ve.

Aaaaaand now it’s time for ridiculously sexual conversating.

Aw, random Millian feels T_T “Because she made it.” T_T

“Died. Like it was some kind of accident. Is that what he told you?” That really was a pretty massive whitewashing Rumple did right there.

“His heart is true... and yours? Yours is rotten.” Okay, Jan.

Heeeeeeeeeeey, that’s not Colin!

No matter what the occasion or the peril, it’s always a good time for puns.

HOOK WHUMP HOOK WHUMP HOOK WHUMP YAAAAAY

“You may want to turn away, Belle. This isn’t gonna be pretty.” I beg to differ. This scene is beautiful, actually. All kinds of blood and pain and wavering voices and begging for death and slapping and humiliation... Yum.

I did warn you guys there would be flailing.

WHY WOULD YOU CUT AWAY FROM THAT SCENE. THIS IS WHY THE MOGWAI ANGERS ME. DON’T CUT AWAY FROM HOOK WHUMP FOR SILLY MOGWAIS OR WHATEVER THEY ARE *flail*

Also, he should’ve been naked. I mean, it makes sense. And... naked.

“Do it! Do it! Kill me! He has to show you how powerful he is. Rip my heart out. Kill me like you did Milah, and then I’ll finally be reunited with her.”

THAT HURTS ME, GUYS. IT HURTS ME T_T My baby...

Rumple’s response makes me laugh every time, though.

‘I MEAN, COME ON, NOW I LITERALLY HAVE TO.’

Oh gods, guys, that slap is my favorite Hook slap ever. It’s just so patronizing and insulting and... AHH, I’M ALIVE.

...and that tiny smirk at the very end. Homeboy’s not done with yoooou :D

Domestic issues over house hunting in aisle three.

It’s really sad when little boys want to build armories to protect themselves from their Other Mom :( Seriously, show. That’s a low blow :(

Well, here we are... Late night drive... Five minutes left in the show... Not like anything much is gonna happen here...

Oh, a random flashback... Evil Queen capturing Belle... Nice, nice.

Only three minutes left now, awww, Gold can leave town <3

Two minutes left now, it’s not like they have time to- OH MY GOD

OH MY GOD SOMEONE SHOT BELLE

OH MY GOD HE LOOKS HOT BLOODY AND FIRING A GUN

“Oh, fear not, she’ll live. She’ll just have no idea who you are.” “What you’ve done cannot be undone!!!” “Well, now you finally know how it feels!” I love that exchange. Really and truly <3

Only one minute to go, there’s no way there could be any more unexpected twists or turns or - OH MY GOD IT’S A CAR

OH MY GOD LOOK AT RUMPLE MOVE

OH MY GOD HOOK GOT HIT BY THE CAR

OH MY GOD LOOK AT THAT FUCKER FLY!

OH MY GOD I THINK HE’S DEAD D:

(Spoiler Alert: He’s not dead.)

OH MY GOD THAT’S THE END

OH MY GOD PEW PEW PEW PEW

[darkstar6782]

Fade to Black - 2.13: Houses of the Holy

Jim finds him in the sanctuary, sitting quietly in a pew, just staring up at one of the stained-glass windows—the one of the angel Gabriel bringing the news to Mary that she was chosen to be the mother of God’s son.

“Hey there, Sam. Everything alright? Dean’s been looking for you.”

He keeps his voice soft and level. He doesn’t know exactly why John came blazing through here and dropped both his sons off with hardly a word a couple of days ago, but ever since then, Sam hasn’t quite seemed like himself. It could just be early-onset teenage angst, though the boy is only nine, or it could be that the lifestyle he has been subjected to has started catching up to him. Jim knows he isn’t the first to voice his concerns about how John is raising his sons, but given that he’d like to stay in their lives and be a positive influence for as long as he can, he picks his words with care.

“Pastor Jim?” Sam’s voice is rough and shaky when he finally speaks. “Do you know about the monsters?”

Things start slotting into place then. “I do,” Jim answers honestly. “When did you find out?”

“Christmas.”

So, it’s been a few months, then. “What did your daddy tell you? Or was it Dean?”

Sam shakes his head, then shrugs. “I found Dad’s journal. Dean got mad, said I wasn’t supposed to know, but then he told me stuff. I’d read most of it by then, already. I know monsters killed my mom, and that Dad hunts them. Dean says he’s a superhero, that nothing will hurt him, but… but I think he’s just saying that to make me feel better. And Dad…” He reaches down and pulls up his shirt, and Jim almost recoils when he sees the gun tucked in the waistband of Sam’s jeans. “I got a nightmare last week, thought something was going to get him. Forgot he was home. I told him about my bad dream, and he gave me this to protect myself.”

Mentally, Jim growls at John. He’d curse, but he remembers where he is. “I’m sure your daddy thought he was doing right, Sam, but when you’re here, you don’t need that kind of protection, so why don’t we take that gun downstairs and put it in my safe for now, okay?”

Sam nods and hands the gun over to Jim without protest, and Jim is pretty sure he isn’t imagining the tension that bleeds from the boy’s small form as soon as the gun is out of his hands. He gets up to leave, to put the gun away until John shows up again—and he won’t be keeping quiet about this concern, that’s for sure—when Sam speaks up again.

“Pastor Jim, can you teach me how to pray?”

That stops him in his tracks, and he sinks back down into the pew. “I can answer any questions you may have about praying, Sam, but it’s not really something you can teach. Prayer is very personal; it comes from the heart, and it says and does whatever you need from it.”

“Do you pray a lot?”

“Yes. I  pray every day, often many times a day.”

“And what do you pray for?”

“Lots of different things. I pray for the health and peace of my congregation, for the protection of my family and friends, I thank God for his blessings and ask him to bring comfort to those in need, and sometimes I just pray because it’s nice to know that there is someone out there who will listen to my problems without judgment and absolve me of my faults and failings without asking anything in return.”

“So you think God is real? And angels too? Just like the monsters?”

Trust Sam to ask the hard questions. “I believe in God and the angels, yes. It isn’t quite the same as with monsters, because I have never seen an angel, or know of anyone who has, but I believe that, if demons and Hell are real, then there have to be angels and a Heaven too. There must be good to balance out evil, or else the world would not exist at all.” He almost holds his breath after that last sentence, waiting for the next difficult question, reluctant to elaborate further without one. Sam has seen a lot of terrible things in his young life, but he is still just a child, and it wouldn’t be good to overwhelm him with any of this.

“So, praying is just talking to God and hoping that he’s listening?”

That isn’t at all what Jim had been expecting, and he can’t help but smile. “Yes, for the most part.”

“Do you think that God could help me not be scared of the monsters anymore? Because I know Dad gave me the gun so I wouldn’t be scared, but it didn’t work, and I’m afraid to tell him ‘cause he might get mad, and I can’t tell Dean ‘cause he might laugh at me and call me a baby.”

“But you told me, and nothing bad happened,” Jim reminds him gently.

“Yeah,” Sam agrees, “but I knew you wouldn’t get mad or laugh at me, and I know I’m safe here because it’s hollowed ground, Dean says.”

“Hallowed,” Jim corrects with a smile. “That means that it is holy, and under God’s protection. Plus a few other things I added, just to be extra careful.”

Sam nods, and Jim can tell that he’s filing that knowledge away for later. Kid’s as sharp as a tack, and will be an amazing hunter one day… an amazing anything, to be honest, though Jim can’t see John being happy with anything except both his boys following in his footsteps. “But we can’t stay here forever,” Sam says, “and sometimes Dad leaves, and sometimes Dean does too, and I don’t want to be scared even when I’m alone. So, if God can protect this place, can he protect me too if I pray to him?”

Jim swallows the lump in his throat and reaches out to gently ruffle Sam’s hair. “He protects you whether you pray to him or not, Sam, I promise you that. But if you need more from him, all you ever have to do is ask.”

“Thanks, Pastor Jim.” This time, when Jim goes to stand up, Sam stands up with him, follows him down to the basement, and watches him put the pistol away in his gun safe. Then, he smiles. “I’m gonna go find Dean.” As Sam descends the church steps and runs across the yard in the bright sunlight, Jim can’t help but send up a little prayer of his own for the faith and innocence of a child who is growing up too fast, for the protection of the young man that he will soon become, and for the strength of the warrior that he will undoubtedly be molded into. Sam Winchester is a good boy, and with faith and love on his side, Jim knows that he will always be okay.