#Colorado Brick Staining

[beautifullydisasterouskae]

Kae: The landing in Denver had been smooth, the landing gear rolling us toward the awaiting dock and deboarding tunnel. My nerves over Havyn’s apprehension with flying had abated after we’d left the airport terminal. We’d made our way to the rental car I’d set up for our arrival and slowly made the travel toward my Colorado home. Daughtry’s Home greets our ears as I crank up the ignition in the small new model sedan. I smile to myself and back out with one arm slung over the passenger seat Havyn is buckled into with an excited gleam in her emeralds. Luna and Spaz’s carrier had been collected and secured in the back seat. I smile warmly over to my right, Havyn so enthralled with the passing scenery, the Rocky mountains majestically looming in the background.

We’re almost there!

I bounce some in my seat impatiently, the steering wheel turning into the driveway beside my brick warehouse residence. The weather was warmer than I expected close to noon as I shrugged my coat off after setting the brake, unfastening my seat belt to slide out and begin to unload our furry feline friends from the back seat. Their whines grow louder when they see we’ve finally made a stop.

Havyn: The cool air hits me as soon as we step outside but that doesn’t bother me as we get into the red rental car. Everything is so different from LA; the trees and the freshness of the air. I look out the window with amazement. I never knew that the world was like this as I had never left the City of Angels. I look over at Kaela excitedly when she tells me that we are almost there and flash her a huge smile. Looking back out the window, I touch the glass as we make our way through the streets. Kaela turns into a driveway next to a brick building. I unbuckle my seatbelt, letting the strap slide slowly back through my fingers. The soft click of the backdoor opening catches my attention and I quickly step out of my seat and on to solid ground. My friend is unloading the cats and I take Spaz’s carrier, lifting it up to peer inside and softly speak to him.

It’s okay baby. You’re fine. No more moving car.

I set the carrier on the ground as Kaela opens up the trunk so we can grab our luggage. I throw the strap of my sky blue carry on over my shoulder and lift the other one matching one up by the plastic handle. Setting it down on it’s wheels, I wait for her to get hers and close the trunk before picking up my feline’s carrier and roll on up the driveway to the door.

So, this is your home here. It’s beautiful, Kaela.

Kae: I grin broad and pearly, boot heels clicking together as I spin and snap out the handle of my rolling luggage. I glance up with honey eyes, tinted sunglasses shading my view of the neutral toned brick face of my home.

Thanks, Darlin’, yes, this is home or was...might be the better word before relocating on the far side of the mountain.

I wrangle free the keys from my pocket, the cool metal clinking against the other keys hanging off my key fob and unlock the door with a quick twist. A rusty squeal sounds free when I crack the door ajar and my lightly painted lips quirk to the side at the ear screeching noise. I prop the heavy honey varnished wood and ornately decorated glasswork door to allow my guests to pass through. The multihued stained panes cast rays of bright colors over the worn wood flooring.

I pull free my shades from the bridge of my nose, keen sight taking in the months long vacant home’s condition. The antique navy shelving over the left side of the storefront of the old warehouse was covered in dust and fine spun silvery spider webs nestled in the high corners. A fleeting thought scrambles through my head along with a small shake as I drop it from my shoulder and chide myself for not being better prepared for this trip.

Welcome to our home. Please excuse the mess.

I laughed short, teeth clamping over my full lower lip as I rolled my luggage case over the small hump in the entryway. I pass by Havyn’s side and crotch down to set Luna down, the front of her carrier unlatched and she springs free with a low bowing stretch, paws extended one after the other with sharply curled clear claws retracting as she straightens up, licking along the pink pads before moving to rub along Spaz’s case.

Luna cakes, your friend is just fine. See?

I laugh as Spaz steps out of his own travel carrier and moves into an instinctual reassuring nuzzled rub along Luna’s stark white broadside.

I’ll grab them some water. They must be dehydrated from the trip.

I wring my hand gently, stepping toward the kitchen with one hand dropping to delve into my pocket in search of my cell. I’d not heard any word from Nathaniel since our landing and I was having a creeping feeling rise up with sudden worry that maybe he wasn’t interested in a visit from a hybrid from his past. Would he even care that I was in town? I pull open the cupboard to hunt down a few bowls, and frown at the bare pantry when my stomach rumbles out. The apple didn’t hold up for very long and my hunger was making itself evident.

We were going need to stock up on supplies if we planned to eat any time this week. Thinking of food brought the feeding to the forefront of my mind. It had been awhile since Havyn’s had blood and I wondered if she’d like a bite some time soon. I hum as the tap is twisted out, the aged pipes in the building groaning with a hard knock as they spring to life after sitting for so long. Rust clears quickly leaving a clean stream to fall into the bowls. My sigh falls over to my cell phone again and I had to wonder if Mike would have any friends who might like to spend some time with a couple of hot single vamp gals. I return to the front area where I’d last seen Havyn and the kittens, smiling as I find them in the living area.

If you’re not too tired from our travel I’m thinking of making a run to the market. You’re welcome to stay and settle in or feel free to join. It shouldn’t take too long.

I set the water bowls over the wood flooring, Luna and Spaz padding over for a tentative drink, Luna’s ears twitching in every direction as she takes in the familiar living area of the warehouse.

Havyn: I step through the doorway and move to the side to let Kaela through. I carefully place Spaz’s carrier on the wooden floor and take a look around. The dark shelves are sprinkled with dust and I can see some fragile spider webs in the light filtering in. I shudder. I am petrified of spiders. I wheel my suitcase further inside before placing it somewhere out of the way and drop my carry-on off my shoulder. Kaela had mentioned the mountains and there is a certain longing within me that I wish I could visit them. They looked so beautiful raising in the distance with their snowy caps. Majestic is the only word I could use to truly describe them. I turn my attention back to my friend, sweeping my sunglasses up to band across the top of my head so I can see better.

No, your home is lovely, Kaela. It’s just a little dust; easily taken care of.

Luna is let free, her white, furry little body taking off over to Spaz’s own little spot and I laugh. Unlatching the metal gate in front, I watch as my kitty touches noses with Luna. They begin to rub each other’s bodies together and I raise a brow. My stomach rumbles and those little bags of peanuts on the plane did nothing to curb my hunger, not to mention my other hunger. I should’ve fed before I came here. I chide myself for still not being able to get over my abhorrence to taking blood from an unwilling victim, even though they do not remember afterwards. I nod at Kaela when she mentions getting them water. Wandering around, I find the room with a couch and chair but decide to I sit down on the wooden floor to play with the cats for a little bit. That is, until they grow bored of me and decide to wander over to their own little corner. I look up as Kaela comes back in with a bowl of water for them. Their little kitty paws scamper over to start lapping up the clear liquid. I’m curious about the rest of the home. Standing up, I dust the back of my jeans off and turn to my friend.

You used to live in the mountains?

I make idle conversation as she begins to show me around the home.

Kae: I give Havyn a tour of the different levels of the warehouse, climbing up to the rooftop overlooking the almost ghost light fogged mountain range in the background. I softly share my story on how I’d briefly stayed with a friend who owned a home on the mountains.

I’m hoping we can make a visit with Nathaniel before we leave back to California.

We pivot back to head downstairs, down to the bedroom suites to unpack before venturing out into the late afternoon. We enjoyed more small chats about the town, passing by my old book haunt Mr. Faber’s book stop, before heading into the small corner market. We made quick work picking up ingredients for the week’s meals.

Havyn: I don’t ask many questions even though I have a million in my mind. Who is this Nathaniel? What is the mountain home like? I just decided to look out the window, looking at all the businesses passing by. We had stopped by a food market to buy some edibles as well as food for the cats. I have a huge smile across my face. I am already enjoying this experience outside of LA. I had wrapped my long sweater around me as we had walked back to the car, not used to the cool air. The cats were happy to have their food and had their fill before heading to the little cat bed that we had unpacked for them. I threw some of the little mice over to the felines’ corner before turning to Kaela.

Do you think we will see your friend sometime soon?

Kae: I laugh whole heartedly from the kitchen, watching the cats pounce the catnip stuffed mice, rolling around as they swat at them with their paws.The lights around the lofty space were illuminated as the sun lowers on the snow capped horizon. Brilliant hues of tangerine dip below the dark mountain range for the evening. I’d still not heard any word from Nathaniel, Havyn’s question was lingering in the air as I chop some tomato, cilantro, jalapenos, and onion for the pico de gallo. I’d called Mike while she was unpacking and he was more than keen to meet up with me and my friend. He was to call me back once he rallied up another friend and stop by to help both Havyn and I with our other hunger pains along with supplying some much needed Colorado’s finest herbal refreshments to loosen us up.

I hope so. He may be out of town. I worry my lower lip at that, my mind growing troubled thinking I may have held too much hope that this trip would help Havyn with her memories. I may have to wait for my next visit. I switch the subject up, nerves making my stomach churn tight. What if this was all a mistake?

How about we do some sightseeing tomorrow? Is there anywhere you’d like to visit here in Colorado?

Havyn: I’m preoccupied with watching the cats play around, their furry little bodies jumping here and there with the catnip filled mice. I grab one to dangle in the air and Spaz pounces up to grab it with his claws and I let it go before I get scratched. Getting up off the floor and dusting off my butt, I turn to where the delicious scent is coming from, wandering into the kitchen area. She is chopping up some vegetables, but she is also chewing on her lip, seeming deep in thought. At the sound of my footsteps, she looks up at me and asks if I’d like to go sightseeing.

I’d actually love to see the mountains; they look so lovely. And then whatever you enjoy seeing. I don’t know what is in Denver.

Reject: After meeting with Athena, I returned to Past World with the overwhelming weight of responsibility on my back. After being instructed to bring in two new members to Zodiac, I didn’t feel much relief in having time traveled to the future to meet with my patriarchal, pain in the ass guide. I check my phone for the first time since I’ve been in Denver, the scent of my homeland still clinging even after five days of scrubbing my skin raw in the shower. I thought I’d return, speak with Rain, and fly out to Malibu to mend our unpredictable marriage, but upon finding no notifications from him on my lock screen, the remaining alerts became fucking uninteresting. Now, I realize I missed a voicemail from an old friend. My thumb taps over Kaela’s message, the sounds of her voice spilling from my speakers as I drop the Android device to my bed while I change.

So she’s in Colorado.

Interesting.

It’s been fucking long since Half Blood showed her face in these parts, her bedroom neglected but intact after over a year of the space being occupied. I didn’t think I’d hear from my old friend any time soon - not after she departed from the country to travel - and out of the blue, she wants to have “dinner.” I snort a laugh before picking up my phone again, one arm through the sleeve of my T, the other half of my shirt bunched up over my left shoulder. The phone rings. And rings. I wait for Half Blood to answer the phone while shoving my feet into some Jordan sandals.

Kae: I pull free the bowl of flank steak marinating in the fridge, ready to start grilling the seasoned beef over the iron grill pan when my phone starts chiming it’s ringtone. I set down the bowl, hands rinsed quickly as my eyes skirt over to where Havyn was. I initially thought the call would be Mike returning my earlier inquiry but the corners of my lips turn up in a hesitant smile seeing the display with Nate’s name. I swipe over the screen, stepping to the side for a little privacy.

Hello Vamper, I was wondering when you’d return my call. How have you been?

My voice is laced with amusement, face heating as anxiety crawled up my neck to flush the apples of my cheeks hoping all was well.

Reject: “I’ve been the way I always am: busy as fuck.” Responding to Kae’s voice makes the mood lighter. It’s not often I have interaction with others outside the Coven unless they’re my husband. Communication with my meals is often limited, and while my staff of domestic help is conversational enough, it’s just not the same as it is when dealing with others who more intimately relate to what the fuck I am. “My apologies for the late response,” I tell Kaela. “Was gone for a while, but I’m here. You’re looking to come over, are you?”

Switching the phone between my hands, I push my left arm through the short sleeve that’d been scrunched up over my shoulder. The shirt loosely hugs my upper torso until I snatch it down over my abs.

Something about the contact made makes me wonder if I should indulge or ignore the warning signs going off in my head. Being an unpredictable clairvoyant by birth makes such decisions difficult. However, I can sense that there’s more to this than a simple “dinner” knowing Kaela and her lifestyle. From the day we met in the presence of her spirit board, I’ve never deemed Miss Half Blood innocent.

Kae: I listen with a gentle laugh hearing Nate’s responses, tense shoulders growing lax some at his easy going attitude and tone. My worries silence for a moment as my delicate fingers pick at a loose thread fraying at the end of my shirt tail as I dip my head slowly with a roll of my eyes behind my lids thinking he couldn’t very well see my nod of response.

I’m in town for a short visit with a /friend/… I draw out the word friend, smiling with a tiny gulp. I think someone you may be interested in meeting. Do you think you’d have time in your busy schedule for us to stop in for a visit? Are you still at the mountain residence? I tap the foot of my shoe along the wood floor, glancing over my shoulder for any sign of Havyn.

Reject: Mountain residence. I loose a light laugh, thinking the young woman sounds about my age with her choice words. “A ‘friend’, huh?” Licking over my teeth in the mirror, I imagine the prospect of such a meeting. “Someone for me to eat? I’m always interested in new blood in my fucking mouth.”

Making my way down into my lair, I do the 15th sweep of my private quarters to make sure each futuristic dollar is indeed gone. The money-growing plants have been safely returned to my best friend - if one should call #Maththias that - but some residual anxiety about any clues Rain can find remains.

“I’m interested in meeting this friend. I’m still at the mansion; come at sunset. If you’re bringing dinner, though,” I add with a sharp grin, “make sure she’s clean. I don’t want drugged blood tonight.”

Kae: I give a light fruity laugh, shaking my head. I’m not inviting my friend over for your dinner, Nathaniel. Please keep some corks on those fangs and let the gargoyles know we’ll be stopping in. I don’t plan on being their dinner tonight. I sighed out another laugh, combing back my dark locks before repositioning the phone over the shell of my ear. We’ll be by soon, Vamper. I lower the cell, ending the call before skipping over to find Havyn after stowing away the steak in the fridge.

Havyn darlin’, we’re going to the mountain!

Havyn: I hear Kaela call out that we were going to the mountain from the kitchen area. I had gone back to the living room to go play with the cats more. I pause in my teasing of the little felines, still laughing, and go the kitchen. My boots click on the hardwood floors as I make my way over to the tiled kitchen. The chopped vegetables are now put away and she is cleaning up the cooking area. I plop down into a chair and look at her.

Are we going to go see your friend, Kaela?

I’m excited to be going into the mountain area but a little nervous about meeting her friend. I’ve not met many people, aside from the customers. But, to actually /meet/ someone on a personal level makes my stomach flutter. I take a deep breath. Stop it Havyn. You need to get out into the world sometime. You can’t stay a recluse forever. I nod to myself and straighten my spine, raising my chin. Yep. I’m going to meet this person and not be intimidated. I stand up and fix my ponytail.

Okay, let’s go then.

Kae: I smile bright, keeping it on my lips as I answer Havyn that we were indeed stopping in for a visit with my friend. I could tell she was steeling herself as we dressed for the trip up the mountainside. The lights flicker past the rental car’s windshield and side windows, the lamp posts growing further and further apart as we leave the densely populated area of Denver for more rural roads winding up the side of the mountain toward Nathaniel’s estate. We reach the mansion, the tall looming figures of menacing shadow cast gargoyles sitting tall on the roof. I offer Havyn a lopsided smile as I slide free from the driver’s seat, rounding the front end of the sedan to meet up with her before approaching the front door.

Don’t be nervous. He won’t bite. I laugh lightly, swallowing down as I secretly hoped Nate wouldn’t sink his fangs into my friend or even worse his shadow fiend scare the bejeebers out of her. I give a gentle rap of the door knocker waiting alongside Havyn as she takes everything in.

Reject: When the vehicle pulled up onto my property, I was in the spellroom. Now, I stand at the doorway, a fragmented second having passed in the time it took to zip from my lair to the foyer. Scents of the stranger suffocate Half Blood’s familiar smell, though both females are clearly detected even through the wood door. I pull it open. There across the threshold are my guests, and neither look like food.

“I see you made it.” Unabashedly, I give the stranger a once over. Young. Strange aura. Possibly magick, unless I’m scenting Kaela’s practice on the female. “And you brought me an enigma.” Sliding my gaze over to Kaela, I cock a questioning brow. Will this “dinner” become laborious? Of course it will.

“Come in.” Stepping aside, I allow passage to the visiting ladies outside my door. Is she a Vampire? Something about this one’s hard to read. My curiosity is fucking swollen, however, having this pair here. “Is she short enough?” I ask Kaela, though my eyes are on the one whose name I still haven’t learned.

Havyn: I get out of the rental car, following Kaela to the front door of a huge mansion. I look it over, noticing gargoyles on the rooftop. It’s beautiful. I turn my attention to my friend using the knocker on the door and stand next to her. It is quickly answered and I find myself staring into a wall of a body, my diminutive form so tiny that my eyes have to travel up and up. My eyes slide up into the face of a male with icy blue eyes and dreads. My eyes widen and I gulp. I’m intimidated as hell. I somehow summon up the courage to step through the door, passing by him. I’m so nervous I can’t even speak though I know that I am being rude by not introducing myself. I look at Kaela, practically asking her for help with my emerald eyes looking into her own honey ones.

Kae: I snort out catching Havyn’s reaction to Nate, flicking my eyes to the wood beams above us as we pass through, my heels clicking over the flooring.

Thank you, Nathaniel, this is my friend Havyn. Havyn, Nathaniel. I lace my arms over my chest, watching as Nate takes us in, I’m sure with all his magick he’s able to more perceptively sense Havyn’s otherness than I. I slide my honey eyes back over to my friend, stepping beside her to offer her some comfort as I see the slight overawe lying just under her gaze. I slide my hand over her back, the heat of my hand I hoped gave her some strength not to freak out meeting such a strong presence as Nate.

An enigma that she is, please be kind, she’s not use to others like us. I speak low, trying to encourage Havyn to speak up.

Havyn?

Havyn: I hesitantly bring up my arm to hold out my hand to this overwhelming male standing there. My voice soft, barely able to get it out of my throat.

Hello Nathaniel, I’m Havyn.

My small, delicate hand is engulfed in his large one. I let out a breath as I peer up at his eyes again, and my nervousness turns into curiosity as I hear Kaela’s words. He’s a vampire too?

Reject: Hello Nathaniel, I’m Havyn. The words ring in my ears as my mind imprints the stranger to my permanent memory.

Taking the offered hand in mine, I give Havyn’s hand a shake. “A pleasure,” I say, words trailing when her pulse thumps against my palm. The vibration travels up my arm toward my shoulder before disappearing at my throat. I slide my hand from hers to shove both in the deep pockets of my dark Levis.

She’s not a Vampire? I pin Kaela with a look that says to explain whatever the fuck this is all supposed to be, ignoring the sudden thirst burgeoning. With my foot, I nudge the front door closed. The three of us are shut away inside, and the night’s peculiar events are thus protracted by the finality of it.

Kae: I huff impatiently, the introductions going agonizingly slow and I was ready to blurt out about needing a favor, one with recovering Havyn’s long lost memories. Could Nate be the answer to taking the block away that was holding back the key to her memory? I swallow down the boulder that grew in my throat when he pinned me with a look that made my knees quake. All I can spurt out is a weak “What’s cooking?” Heat spreading over my nape and shoulders, as we make our way toward the dining area. I knew I had to explain things to both my friends, Havyn’s somewhat lost look causing me more worry. I step beside Nate speaking softly.

The reason I wanted to visit was… I hold my breath, getting it all out in a rush on one long exhale. I need your help with Havyn’s memories.

Reject: When Kaela’s body language belies her calm demeanor, I fold my arms. She steps toward me to stand at my side, and I discard my interest in her friend enough to grant the Half Blood my full attention.

“I knew you were up to something.” Looking down at Kae, I shake my head. My eyes are friendly enough. I think. “What’s wrong with her memories. Or,” I begin as I return my line of sight to Havyn, “should I just ask you?”

It’s not uncommon for supernatural beings to lose memories. I think of my own time without any knowledge of myself after being Faded by Hades’ realm. The bright green drained from my irises and my hair underwent an extreme transformation, but otherwise, there’s nothing about me that remains lost. What the hell happened to Havyn, though?

Havyn: So this is why Kaela brought me to meet her friend. I look over at her, shock very apparent on my face. I didn’t know that there could be someone that would possibly be able to help me with my lost memories. I’m speechless again for a moment, grateful that my friend brought me here to meet Nathaniel. My gaze slides to him as he speaks to me.

I’ve lost a portion of my life that I need to get back. I want to know what happened to me. Please, if you can help me…

My voice trails off as my throat constricts. My heart pounds in my chest. So many questions that could be answered. Maybe even everything. I look straight into Nathaniel’s eyes, holding my breath for his answer.

Kae: When Nate’s voice booms louder than the soft tone I was trying to keep sounds out I drop into one of the empty seats around the dining table. He knew I was up to something? I let out a strained groan, thankful Havyn wasn’t shooting daggers out at me with her gaze as she answered Nate’s question. I keep quiet allowing Havyn and Nate to converse. It was more for her, my seeking him out, and I knew she was wanting to find out what had happened to the memory of her life before Zakradark and her original origins.

Reject: Defeated, Kaela drops to a seat nearby my dining table after Havyn reveals the details of her lost recollections. I hum thoughtfully.

“I don’t see any luggage.” Looking between the two of them, I wonder if either knows the possibility of detriment when fucking with the mind. Then again, Kaela brought Havyn to me, though that doesn’t speak to her awareness of the dangers of mind games - it more so reveals that Half Blood trusts my experience as a lifelong Witch. “This isn’t gonna happen overnight. Have you tried to unlock her memories with your power of manipulation as a Vampire, or is that capability weakened by you being Between?” I clear my throat of the taste of futuristic speak. “Hybrid, I mean.”

There’s a ton of things I can do to fix this shit. However, I know nothing about Havyn aside from these details afforded; what she may and may not be able to handle has yet to be unearthed. “I could try that,” I offer, “or a spell, if it doesn’t work. Which I doubt it will.”

Kae: I stiffen in my seat. Would a spell truly be able to crack her mind? I never tried mind tricks with my abilities.

I-I’ve never attempted mind manipulation past wiping. What do we need to do, and do you think you can help her?

Reject: “It’s not a matter of thinking I can help.” I level a cool look on Havyn. “It’s more of how long it’ll take. If my magick will work on her at all. She smells magick herself, or is that you?” I ask Kaela. Who fucking knows what Havyn is enchanted with because she sure as hell may not with us being in this situation. If she’s like me, she’s protected by a sum of charms. But then no one’s like me, since I’m not from this time.

“Kaela has a room here. You can both stay as long as you like, though Havyn, once I start this, I advise you stay put a while. You don’t wanna find yourself out somewhere with a foggy brain.”

My phone vibrates in my back pocket. I steel myself against the desire to check it, hoping - wondering - it’s Rain. “I’ll look through my Book of Shadows and see if I have some shit in there already about mind magick and memories. Until then, if you both eat food, there’s plenty in both kitchens. Help yourself.”

I excuse myself from their company a hand in my dreads to keep them from my face as I near my den. Athena had said to add two members to Zodiac Coven, but it can’t be this fucking easy.

[jomyersrealestatelistings]

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[destielkilledcw]

A Dean Winchester Grief Fic I Wrote:

(Find it here on AO3) Let me know what you think!!

Big ol trigger warnings for suicide, alchohol abuse, and just a lot of anger and sadness so fic below the cut

When he was a kid, after his mom died and his dad set out to find the thing that killed her, Dean didn’t talk. The doctors and the few friends John Winchester had chalked it up to post traumatic stress. He’d get over it, they said. Kids are resilient, they said. He remembers spewing that line to that Andrea girl, when her son Lucas wouldn’t talk. He remembers the way the words felt like venom on his tongue, sucking the air out of his lungs and making his blood run cold. “Kids are resilient.” What about adults? Are adults resilient? Dean doesn’t feel too resilient, not now. It’s been over a year since Cass- It’s been over a year. He didn’t speak for the first 3 months. Sam kept looking at him like he was broken, like he was some child that needed to be watched over. He wasn’t broken, he was just… He wasn’t broken. It wasn’t until month 4 rolled around when Dean could finally speak again. Month 4 was when Jack showed up in all of his godly glory saying he doesn’t think there’s a way to bring Cass back from- Dean simply said okay. He didn’t stop to see Sam or Jack’s reactions, he just walked out the door and started driving. He didn’t come back until month 6 when Sam and Eileen were threatening to send the feds after him. Month 7 came and went in a blur. He was drunk half the time and when he wasn’t drunk he was hunting. The only time he could feel alive during month 7 was when there was a gun in his hand. Month 8 and 9 weren’t much different, except the gun in his hand was pointed at his head and the alcohol was the only thing that kept him from pulling the trigger. His hands were too shaky now, if he tried to pull it he’d end up missing. Month 10 was different. Dean got out of bed one morning. He went to the kitchen, joked with Sam and Eileen and ignored their concerned glances, drank coffee instead of whiskey, and slept well for the first time in months. Then month 11 came. Dean found himself in a back alley way with some guy he met at some broken down bar in the middle of nowhere Colorado. He was tall with dark hair and blue eyes and if Dean closed his eyes tight enough he could pretend it was- Now he’s here: Month 13. He’s in the dungeon of the bunker. His back is aching from the bricks pressing into his back, but he can’t find it in him to care, not anymore. His bloody-handprint stained jacket is clutched tightly in one hand while the other lifts the mouth of the bottle to his lips. He closes his eyes and tries to remember Cass’s face, before the Empty had taken him, after he said “I love you.” He tries to remember how Cass’s voice sounded when the words rolled off his tongue, he tries to remember how Cass’s hand felt on his shoulder. He tries to remember but he can’t. The tears are flowing before he can stop them and he’s not sure he wants to anymore. Before he knows it he’s screaming and sobbing and begging and there’s glass shards on the floor. His vision is blurry and he feels like this will be the end of him, part of him hopes it will be. The last thing he remembers before he passes out is Andrea and Lucas, and he realizes the gut-wrenching truth: Kids are resilient, but adults are not.

[denvertow777]

Denver Botanic Gardens

​Denver Botanic Gardens

Established in 1951, Denver Botanic Gardens (DBG) has grown from a little group of horticulturally minded citizens into a serious civic organization. Wif a prominent conservatory and core city gardens complemented by a 750-acre suburban campus at Chatfield, DBG has become the nation’s most-visited botanic gardens, consistent with CEO Brian Vogt, fulfilling its stated mission “to connect people with plants, especially plants from the Rocky Mountain region and similar regions around the world.” From an ingenious collection of mostly native plants, it's expanded to incorporate material from everywhere on the planet in addition to forty different gardens. Behind the scenes, DBG is additionally a search institution with scientists using the collections and field studies to find out more about topics like biodiversity, conservation, and sustainability.

Built on a Boneyard

BG's main York Street site occupies the previous area of the first city cemetery’s Catholic section. William H. Larimer, Jr., who founded Denver in 1858, established the cemetery a year later. The town acquired most of the cemetery in 1872 and ran it as City Cemetery. Within the late nineteenth century, City Cemetery increasingly lost customers to newer Riverside (1876), Fairmount (1890), and Mount Olivet (1890) Cemeteries. In 1890 the town converted much of the location to Congress Park, the larger western portion of which was reorganized in 1910 as Cheesman Park. Mount Calvary Catholic Cemetery continued to work until 1950 when the town of Denver bought the eighteen-acre site and agreed to get rid of its roughly 6,000 bodies.

An estimated several hundred bodies still lie under the gardens and neighboring Cheesman Park. During recent construction in and around the gardens, about fifty bodies are unearthed and respectfully reburied.

Birth of the Gardens

Incorporated February 3, 1951, just like the Botanical Gardens Foundation of Denver, DBG was a consolidation of existing horticultural groups. Under the direction of leading nurseryman and naturalist George W. Kelly, DBG initially planned its gardens within the southeast a part of City Park. In 1952 Gladys and John Evans II paid local landscape gardener Saco Rienk DeBoer $10,000 to plan 100 acres of gardens there. In 1956 DeBoer laid out a rocky canyon simulating a high mountain canyon, which has been restored in recent times. A stream flowing through the canyon led to an outsized lily pond. DeBoer donated forty-seven flowering crabapple trees, whose blossoms his experiments showed to be hardy enough for Denver’s late frosts, while the Denver Rose Society gave 4,000 roses in beds maintained to the present day.

In 1957 DBG leased from the US Forest Service the 169-acre Mt. Goliath Alpine Study Area on the Mount Evans Highway about fifty miles from Denver. A two-mile nature trail meanders through a rare forest of 1,500-year-old bristlecone pines, a major timberline attraction to this day. The trail is known for Michael Walter Pesman, a landscape gardener, author, and teacher who helped found the DBG and championed native plants.

The Gardens

In 1958 Ruth and James Waring purchased the mansion at 909 York Street to offer to DBG as its headquarters. Designed by Jules Jacques Benoit Benedict, the massive two-story residence was originally inbuilt in 1926. The house features grey stucco walls trimmed with stone and brick beneath a steep, green terra-cotta roof.

Next to the new headquarters, in 1958 DBG began to rework the city-owned grounds of the Old Catholic cemetery into gardens. Nationally prominent San Francisco landscape gardener Garrett Eckbo planned the gardens with water features and plantings that have grown to incorporate Colorado high plains, rose, and vegetable gardens also as Saco DeBoer’s Rocky Mountain Garden. DBG also boasts North America's largest collection of plants from cold climates around the world. The Japanese Gardens, designed by Koichi Kawana, opened in 1979. The adjacent Bill Hosokawa Bonsai Pavilion, honoring a Denver Post editor and leader of the Colorado Japanese community, opened in 2012. A Home Demonstration Garden offers suggestions for home gardeners, while the world's first Xeriscape Demonstration Garden opened in 1987 to showcase low-water gardening.

Boettcher Conservatory and Center

The Boettcher Foundation, whose money came in large part from the perfect Cement Company, funded much of DBG’s construction and encouraged the utilization of concrete throughout. Even the ground’s lamps are concrete “trees” with globe lights posing as fruits.

Concrete is employed most notably within the gardens’ signature building, the Edna C. and Claude K. Boettcher Memorial Conservatory. Opened in 1966, the conservatory was designed by Denver architects Victor Hornbein and Edward D. White, Jr. Their highly original design uses faceted Plexiglas panels between interlaced, cast-in-place concrete arches soaring fifty feet above tropical trees. The panels are sloped to stop condensation from raining on visitors. Inside, during a humid, warm climate, some 600 species are cultivated amid waterfalls and pools constructed during a sloped, naturalistic environment. The raw concrete edifice features finely detailed flagstone paving and trims, oak doors in steel frames, and geometric stained and leaded glass doors and windows. The conservatory complex includes greenhouses, storage, and laboratories. Hornbein also designed the Bromeliad House, added to the West End of the conservatory in 1981 for its namesake tropical flowering plants.

A spacious new building, Boettcher Memorial Center, opened on the northeast side of the conservatory in 1971. Designed to architecturally blend in with the conservatory, the newer building opens into a spacious stone-floored lobby wif a waterfall, pools, and lots of plants. The building originally housed a 400-seat Horticulture Hall, three classrooms, meeting rooms, a plant prep room, the Kathryn Kalmbach Herbarium, and therefore the Helen Fowler Library. 

Please visit the business of one of our regular supporters.

Denver Tow Truck Company (303) 732-8102 DenverTowTruck@gmail.com 

 Be sure to check out this attraction too!

[katehuntington]

Title: Three Days Ago Fandom: Supernatural Characters: Reader, Dean Winchester (Sam Winchester & Castiel mentioned) Pairing: Dean x Reader Summary: Dean and Y/N finally decide to settle down. But before they do, they take on one more case, which will turn out to be their last. Warnings: ANGST with a capital ‘A’! Canon typical violence, description of blood and injury, panic, major character death, grief. Seriously, do not read in public if you don’t like crying in a crowd. Word Count: 3514 words Author’s note: Grab your tissues, hurdle up in a burrito of sadness, because this is gonna be sad. @kittenofdoomage said: “Well, that was rude,” @wingedcatninja: “HOW. DARE. YOU.” and @winchest09 asked: “Why? Why do you do this to me?” So on that note, I hope you all enjoy!

     Three days ago, you and Dean had the talk. About quitting the job, about getting your own place, maybe even start a family. It has been occasionally discussed before over the years, but always jokingly, always the sarcastic ‘as if’. Dean and you are both realists. You know you will most likely die in armor. There is no happy ending in the cards. Every time the hunters took out an enemy, new ones would arise. The war never seemed to end, you were always covered in blood and bruises, always neck deep in trouble, fighting some impossible greater power that was way above your pay grade. And so you both laughed at the idea, like neither of you could picture it, while deep down both longed for that kind of peace. 

     One time, while driving through the night with Sam fast asleep in the back seat, the two of you fantasized about living a normal life. How it would be to have a home that isn’t a bunker, with windows that would allow sunlight to peek through the curtains. A house where the floors creak and the roof tiles tick when autumn rain pelts down. Maybe a house with a porch or a deck, with a view over a lake, so that Dean could spend his retirement fishing. A house like the cute cabin in Grand Mesa, Colorado, that you spotted on a real estate website. Dean doesn’t know, but you’ve been keeping an eye on the property, feeling a hint of relief every time you went online and found it to still be for sale. Even though the chances of ever living there are slimmer than winning the lottery, you couldn’t help yourself. 

     That is, until the final big bad was defeated. All there is left now are the little cases. The little cases that other hunters would have no problem with, the little cases that aren’t worth dying for. After decades of fighting a battle against what hides in the shadows and threatens mankind, you and Dean have decided the time has come to lay down the weapons. Your hunting days will soon be over, you were finally going to settle down with the man you love. So when Dean came across a suspicious news article and convinced you to work the case, you promised yourself: one last job. 

     Three days ago, the two of you went on that final hunt, having no idea that this case would end so much more.

      “Dean!”

     The damage is done before you can blink, let alone prevent it from happening. With a gun trapped and steady between both hands, you hurry around the corner and enter a dark alley in one of the neglected neighborhoods of Chicago. The hunter you care so much for comes into view, pushed against the brick wall by the shapeshifter that’s wearing your skin. Making a split second decision, you fire two silver bullets. Both hit the shifter in the chest, one piercing its heart. When the creature turns to you, horrified, the light coming from the lamppost on the corner of the street hits its eyes, igniting them to flash abnormally bright one last time. Then the spitting image of yourself crumbles to the ground, a fist clasped around the handle of the knife, pulling the weapon from Dean’s chest. 

     Every detail is clear, your senses heightened by the adrenaline. It all happens so fast, yet you are very much aware of every detail of what’s playing out in front of you. The fresh crimson on the blade, the gasp that escapes from Dean’s lungs as the knife is roughly drawn from his flesh, your racing heartbeat drumming in your ears, triggering a crippling state of inner panic. You lower the gun, big eyes watching him in shock as he turns his head to meet your gaze. A desperate, hopeless shade of emerald green, begging you silently to catch him before he collapses.

     You start to run towards him, but his legs give out. Unable to stay on his feet Dean slides down against the brick wall, but before he tumbles over to the side, you grab him and keep him vertical. 

     “I got you. I got you now. Hey hey hey…”       You force him to look into your eyes, your hand firmly on the back of his neck, holding him upright. Damn, he took a good punch. Two nasty gashes on his brow and cheekbone allow blood to drip down his face, but the red substance that is pooling on his bottom lip and starts to drip down his nose is not just a result from the beat down. It’s coming from deep within, filling his lungs, creeping up his throat. 

     You hastily shrug off your flannel shirt, first one arm, then the other, so that you can keep him steady. After folding it into a ball, you move his denim jacket aside to witness the stabwound between his ribs. For a short second you just stare at the stain that evens out the colors of his plaid shirt in one dark tone of red, growing larger with each passing moment. The image translates in your mind, setting it in overdrive. 

     “Cas!!!” you yell up to the sky.      You know he can’t hear you, you know Castiel doesn’t have the power to heal Dean either, not at this moment anyway. Still, you hope for a miracle, looking up at the tainted clouds above, painted in a hue of purple from the city lights. You call out for the angel again, but nothing happens, and so you return your teary eyes back to the hunter. The look he returns petrifies you to a degree that it can be felt in your deepest core, because besides the mixture of fear and pain, you notice something else. Sympathy for having to leave you for good this time. Acceptance of the inevitable fate that lies before him. Then you know. Dean is going to die tonight.

     You could give up. Now that you realize all hope is lost, you could stop fighting. But you can’t. You can’t give up on him. Not now, not ever. The small voice that tells you to stop your attempt to save the man you love, causes your hands to tremble and your heart to race, but you are calmed by the strong minded will that wants to keep him alive.       “This is going to hurt a little,” you warn, before you press the bundled fabric against the injury, doing your best to stop the severe bleeding.       Dean groans in agony when you apply pressure, grinding his teeth in the process as he does is very best to keep pulling in breaths.      “I know, I know. I’m sorry. Shhh…” you hush him, pulling out your phone and dialing 9-1-1.      “Y/N… don’t bother,” he says.      “Don’t say that. Don’t you dare say that,” you return, stern yet broken. “We’ll do this the old fashioned way, alright? All we gotta do is get you to a hospital and they will fix this. You’re gonna be fine. You're gonna be just fine.”

     You’re not just trying to convince him as you keep repeating the mantra in your head, but who are you fooling? Certainly not Dean, who watches you with empathy as you press the cellphone between your shoulder and your ear. The operator asks what your emergency is.       “I need an ambulance! M-my boyfriend just got stabbed in the chest and he’s - he’s losing a lot of blood. You’ve gotta send someone quick,” you tell the woman on the other end of the line, trying your best to get the message across best as you can.      “Okay, m’am. Help is on the way. What’s your location?”      You quickly glance at the corner of the street, trying to find a street sign. There isn't one, but years of experience in hunting and tracking pay off. You only need a fraction of a second to determine where you are, going on observations and memory of your chase that led you in this dark and empty street.       “I'm in a back alley of N. Morgan Street, right next to the ‘L’,” you explain, returning your focus to Dean.      “I’m dispatching units to your location right now. Is your boyfriend responsive?”      “Yes. Yes, he is,” you reply. “He's conscious.”

     You observe the oldest Winchester, witnessing how the flare in his eyes slowly starts to die down. He has a calm over him that seems foreign, at terms with the inevitable. Dean, who never backs out of a fight, who keeps throwing punches no matter what, has accepted his fate. The sight causes tears to fill your eyes again, desperately clinging to your lashes. You can't let them fall. If the tears fall, you will acknowledge it. If the tears fall, you will admit that you are about to lose him.      “What’s your name?”      You snap your attention back to the operator, who tries to gain more information. For a second your mind rushes through your aliases, deciding which one to give the woman on the phone, but then Dean’s head slowly dips in your hand as his eyelids become heavy.      “Dean? No no no no. Stay with me now,” you respond panicky, quickly dropping the phone to the concrete in order to hold him up.      “Look at me. Look at me. Dean?!”      Frantically you cup his face, trying to get him to focus on you again. Your thumb rubs his scruffy cheek lovingly as you pray for him to hang on. Someone seems to listen to the request, though, because his eyes flutter open again, able to take you in once more. 

     “They’re on their way, Dean. You just have to hold on a little bit longer, alright?” you say, emotion thick on your voice. “Tell me something.”      “Tell you what?” he asks, weakly.      You shrug, because honestly, all you want is to hear his voice.      “Anything. A stupid joke, a funny story. Just keep talking to me.”      A small smile appears on his lips while thoughts form in his head. Something in his warm eyes changes as he seems to figure out what to say to you. You can tell it’s a message he needs to get across, last requests and pleas for promises.      “W - will you do me a favor? Sammy, he's gonna be devastated--”      “- Dean,” you object, knowing where this is going.      “Y/N, please let me say this,” he whispers, weakening by the second. “I'm not sure how much time I've got here.”

     You want to interrupt him, yell at him to stop talking like he is going to die. Because you still want to believe that he isn't. You still want to believe that the two of you will have your happy ending. But you let him continue, as the tears finally fall. Reluctantly admitting, acknowledging, the last spark of naivety slipping away.       The hand that is clenching the piece of clothing against the wound, hesitatingly loosens grip on the fabric. Eventually you let go completely, allowing the dam to break. Dean sighs relieved when the painful pressure is taken away from his chest and then looks into your glistening eyes. Despite his deteriorating condition his hand now reaches for yours, rubbing his thumb over your bloody skin comfortingly, then gripping it tight.

     “Promise me--” He inhales sharply, trying to get enough air in to deliver his message. “- that you will look after my little brother. Make sure he doesn't do anything suicidal... And let him look after you too. Don't go through this alone, okay?”      A burn ignites in your chest, the hurting flames firing up your throat as you lower your gaze, unable to hold yourself up. Actual physical pain, caused by heartbreak. Nonetheless, you promise with a nod.       “One other thing. Now this… this is important.”       His voice gains a little strength, drawing your eyes back to his. His pupils are dilated slightly, the darkness of the alley surrounding them this dreadful evening, but the beautiful shade of jade that has always captivated you is still noticeable. You take him in, trying to look past the blood, past the bruising.      “Promise me you'll quit hunting.” Dean pleads.

     Your jaw lowers a little as you stare at him. Not nearly confident enough to take a leap that substantial, especially now that you are going to have to make it on your own, you shake your head frantically, and look down again.       “Dean, I can't,” you resist.      “Yeah, you can,” he pauses, trying to catch his breath.      You watch him struggle, blood coloring his teeth red as it gathers in his mouth. Despite that the shadows are closing in on him, he clears his throat.      “You’re talented, Y/N. You’re capable of so much more,” he says, smiling lovingly as he watches you. “Go get that degree you’ve always wanted, buy that little house by the lake that you’ve been checking on for months now. But don't dwell on revenge, okay? Leave this life behind.”      “How the hell am I supposed to do that without you, huh?” you reply, whimpering.       “It’s gonna be easier to move on from being a hunter now that I won't be there to slow you down.”

     As he swallows apprehensively, he glances down at his hand on yours. The message shocks you at first, but quickly transforms into compassion when the true meaning of his words settles in. Moved, you run your fingers through his hair as you support his head, trying to get through to him.       “You picked me up when I was at my worst, you took me for the mess I was and you made me into a better person. So don't you dare think that there has ever been a moment in my life that you were a burden, you hear me?” you say, the words coming out strong, contradicting the tears that stream down your face.      For the first time you witness a glazed fog in his eyes, not caused by the pain he is suffering from, but surfaced by your moving words. You know he needed to hear that, because he would never be able to convince himself of that fact. The guilt doesn't leave his weary mind completely, though.

     “I - I’ve done many stupid things in my life, but you know what I regret most?” Dean continues.      You shake your head, waiting in suspense as he coughs violently. He settles, though, and you wipe the blood away that drips from the corner of his mouth.      “Not settling down with you,” he continues. “Not taking the chance that was right in front of me. I waited too long, and I - I was too damn scared to let my guard down, that I drove right by the exit…”      You hush him, trying to ease the man who carries so much on his shoulders still.      “Hey hey… It’s alright,” you say, softly. “You know why? You didn't have to take that exit. I was right there on that highway trying to hitch a ride. Look who stopped and let me in, huh?”      You smile through the hurt and Dean mirrors your expression as he blinks slowly.      “It's been one hell of a ride,” he whispers, his flooding lungs making it difficult to speak.      “It sure has,” you chuckle, trying to mask a sniffle. “And I wouldn't have missed it for the world.”

     Fingertips try to break the trail of blood that has come down his handsome face when he closes his eyes again, pulling in a shallow breath with difficulty, trying to cope with the pain. It kills you to see him like this, to watch him stall, trying desperately to stay with you for a little while longer. He’s living on borrowed time.

     “You need to know something, too,” you start, steadying him with both hands now, cupping his face.       His eyelids part again, but he can barely focus. He is beginning to weigh heavily on you and it is petrifying to see how the strength oozes from his body. As his heartbeat slows to a worrying low pace, yours speeds up. Tears have now carved shimmering lines in your cheeks as you tremble, not ready for the moment that is about to come.      “I love you, Dean. You know that, right?” you say, falling apart.      Going on fumes, he looks up into your eyes, as the corner of his mouth twitches. There is no actual answer to your insecure question, but the line parting his lips growing further into a small smile says it all. Pupils bouncing over your features, trying to imprint this image in his mind, so that he can take the memory with him to wherever he will go in the afterlife. It’s the last thing he is going to see.       “Kiss me,” he breathes, barely audible.

     You lovingly stroke his cheek with your thumb as more tears spill from your eyes. Willingly, you come closer until you’ve closed the gap between the two of you completely, pressing a gentle kiss on his mouth. You are the one who he wants to feel in his final seconds. You are his last wish.      As his lips move over yours, dwelling in the moment, you understand that this is his way of saying ‘I love you, too’. His taste that is so familiar to you, has mixed with the metallic flavor of blood, but you try not to think of that matter. Memories of all your epic moments with him flash through your mind, and God, how beautiful those memories are. 

     4th of July on an empty desert road on the hood of the Impala, beer instead of champagne, shooting stars instead of fireworks. Driving across the country for a Bob Seger concert and ending up right in front of the stage, you dancing freely and him singing along every word. The first time he took your hand in his while riding down the 101 in California, finally allowing himself to fall for you. The first time you kissed him under the traffic lights, stretching the moment until the lights turned green and the cars behind you started honking, but neither of you cared. All you want is to make more of these memories, for those intimate moments to carry on. But they will not. This is going to be the final moment you will share. So you put all the love you carry for him in this last kiss, just like you did in the first.

     You feel his last breath on your lips without realizing it. It’s only when he fails to respond to your touch, that you freeze. Paralyzed, you wait as fear of your worst nightmare coming true begins to crawl up your throat, closing it off. You slowly remove your lips from his, not ready to look at his motionless face that you still hold in your hands.       “Dean?”      His eyes are closed, like he’s sleeping and could wake up at any second, but the silence is horrifying. Frightened by what is right in front of you, your fingers slip down to his neck, desperately trying to find a pulse. You relocate your fingertips on his artery in denial, looking for a heartbeat, a breath, any sign of life.       “No no no no…” you speak again, repeating his name more forceful. “Dean!”

     Unable to accept what has in fact become reality, you shake your head as you keep holding Dean up, unable to bare feeling him slip from your hands. Desperately, you try to force him to feel your touch once more, running your fingers through his hair, caressing his clammy skin, as you whisper to yourself in order to keep calm. This is not happening. This can't be happening. This must be a very, very twisted dream. This is not real, this is not real, this is not real.

     But it is. It is real. And just like that, your light is gone.

     Your breath hitches in your throat and the confirmation hits you like a freight train. You let his lifeless body slip against your chest as you fold your arms around him, letting his head rest on your shoulder. A heart wrenching cry reverberates through the back alley. Unable to breathe you struggle to let the cool air fill your lungs, so unsettled by the loss of the man that you love, that you can’t imagine yourself ever getting up again. As sirens approach in the distance and echo between the concrete of Chicago, you hold Dean close, your tears mixing with his blood, your wailing breaking the silence.

     Three days ago, you were faced with a choice and made the wrong one.      Three days ago, you could have decided to spend the rest of your lives in peace, but you promised yourself, one last job.       Three days ago, it wasn't Dean who drove past the exit. It was you.

Thank you for reading. I appreciate every single one of you, but if you do want to give me some extra love, you are free to reblog my work or buy me coffee (Link in bio at the top of the page).

This work is written by me, Kate Huntington, and it is under no circumstances allowed to copy my work.

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[grim-faux]

24 - Morphogenic Engine

“The Engine.  The Morphogenic Engine.  It gets in my head like a song you can’t stop humming.”

The air is cool and fresh, filled with the scent of fallen rain.  Dusk is fast approaching and the lights from the lamp posts burn with a clarity I’m not accustomed to.  I take a breath smelling the moist soil, pine, soggy leaves.  I stare at the edifice before me, my adversary, a world of untold horrors, consuming nightmares as they manifest in fractured minds.  I couldn’t know any of this staring at the covered windows, the compliant walls.  The wind picks up and I pull the collar of my coat closer to my neck. That sense of foreboding returns. The place was unnatural, but I couldn’t decide how. It was just a tall building of brick and wood, with the mountainous region backdrops. The tall buildings thin spires stretched high overhead into the heavens, where men once flew to touch the sun. It was hard to imagine the warmth of the sun with the chilled air swarming. In my ears was a humming. It had always been present, unending and livid with cadence. But I had ignored it. Ignored it like I had ignored my instincts about this terrible place. Something was in the air, a charge, a warning. When did it become so thunderous in my ears? Or was that my heartbeat? I ran my thumb along the inside of my palm counting my fingers. When I reached the fourth digit I turned my head down and stared at my shoes. It buzzed in my bones, until my outer extremities were numb. My skin and muscles felt hot and cold all in the same sensation. It was too much. Or was it the sound? That persistent din, rising above the still forest and jagged mountains that surrounded me. Driving into my skull until I could hear nothing but the booming howl in my ears. I felt my consciousness waver, it was impossible to stay upright. Where did that sound come from? Who was making that noise?! Why?! Why did it follow me!? My lips pulled back over my teeth as my jaw clenched.  Why?  Why any of this?  Moisture rolled down my cheeks, a few drops hit my coat turning the brown into a black spot.

A sudden presence is at my back.  I could hear his breathing, soft but ragged.  I jerk my head up terrified to turn, frightened by what would be there, what I would see.  But the fear fades when the actions fails to come, and once again I was staring at the Engine of nightmares.  Mount Massive Asylum.

“Little ghost.” The voice crooned behind me.  “Little ghost.  Time to wake up.”

My eyes open a crack and I found the edge of my face pressed into my bloody shoulder.  Where Trager had clipped me.  The fabric of my coat felt sticky against my cheek, though the blood had dried hours ago.  I exhaled slowly letting myself reacquaint with the pain, my reluctant return to the muggy and distorted world I had come to inhabit.  A ghost to pragmatism.  It took a brief moment for my mind to catch up, reload the most recent events.  What had I been doing?  It was painful to recall.  How long had I been unconscious?  Enough to help me carry on.  I had no choice, there was no telling where Billy was.  I would get moving and leave the nightmares far behind. The air felt cold and my shoulders shook.  Needed to move.  Needed to get up. As I used my hand to brace my body up and leaned forward, I looked to the sheet of paper set on the computer desk beside the keyboard.  It was a single page, stained with a ring of coffee.  I focused on it reading through the lines over and over, even when I had it memorized.   Please find attached the “Permission to Proceed” form for patient William Hope, of the Murkoff Charitable Psychiatry program at Mount Massive Hospital in Colorado (USA). The form is standard, and all relevant lines have been signed. It appears Billy is unaware of his mother’s recent guided cardiac arrest. He is submitting to the experiment with the understanding (unfounded) of financial remuneration to his mother and a charitable contribution to her church. Wernicke, having read the boy’s dream reports, believes he has enormous therapeutic potential. Was Billy’s ‘success’ as an experiment, because he refused to die?  I couldn’t say.  He took the therapy they gave him, he bought their bullshit, and now he and his mother were no better.   Damn you Murkoff.  Damn you for this.  You reap what you sow, now choke on it. A drop of water stained the page, and I quickly rubbed the dampness from my face.  Carefully, I folded the sheet up and inserted it into a clean space of the notebook.  Not as evidence, I’m not sure what to call it.   I didn’t bother to zip the pocket shut.  I pressed my hands to the terminal as I straightened my back, working the stiffness from my muscles and feeling that piercing tingle in my ribs.  My feet felt firm under me but my heart was aching.  I was hollow and lost, despite the resolve that had solidified in me, for what must be done.  One task left to remedy, then I could wash my hands of this place. Aside from the alcove with the desk of computer terminals, there was no other space to explore, but for a short catwalk beyond the desks.  The grate extended out above the cavernous expanse of E Block, below extended the catwalks and paths I had dragged my broken body up.  The present lamps anchored to the walls gleamed with ferocity, I squinted my eyes against them as I stared out over the open gap I had thrown myself across.  The pain flared through my chest and I exhaled that stale coppery taste.  It barely registered in me that I had been up here for god knows how long, unconscious and Billy had an abundance of time to finish me off.  My dire state was somehow lost to my sense of self preservation, or maybe I was too focused on the humming of the generator.  I told myself Billy was weakened when his anesthesia was cut off, I had the advantage.  He was forced to wait.  Bide his time and wait for my return, and that was when I would fear for my life.  That was when I would run.  When that eerie shriek reached me.  Until then. Until then…. I checked through the cameras feed to view what was visible in the thick fog gathering.  The Morphogenic Engine must have been overheating, that’s the only explanation I could conclude for the condensation.  I bit my lip as the image in the visor flashed.  The power in the camera itself was getting low, and that could further contribute to its failure.  But there wasn’t much more of this to endure.  Another white lie to keep me going. The catwalk ended beside metal cabinets built into a cement shed, which extended from the floor somewhere below and up into the ceiling overhead.  This was it, it had to be this.  The generator for the Engine.  I was a bit shocked that it wasn’t more impressive, but perhaps I was only seeing the surface of it.  There would be a panel, a door to open and access the wires.  I secured the camera as I fumbled with the other hand, it was difficult to see but I attributed that to the steam.  One panel had a set of hinges along the crease in its side.  This was it.  There was no visible latch so I just gave the panel a good smack and the door popped open, allowing access to several large bundles of cables hooked into a transformer.  Which ones did I pull?  It was always a good policy to start with the middle of anything, if you’re not certain.  I took the middle bunch and put my other hand up.  It shouldn’t spark if I was careful, and don’t hold it too tight.  I winced as I snapped the clamp free.  Nothing happened.  Good.  I popped the rest free with reckless abandon.  

A soft whirring faded with the connection now severed, lights dimmed as emergency lamps activated in the same power shift.  Sirens chime a warning of the sudden interruption, the cavern groaned with the power loss as distant generators failed.  The experiment would perish, and the howl of something more rose up among the catwalks.  I couldn’t decide if the echoing call was the machine weakening, or the thing it kept alive.  I stood at the rail listening, as I poked my thumb into the cut in my coat sleeve.  Caused when Trager had endeavored to take my head off.   It was eerily silent, and wondered if at long last Billy would locate my position.  There was no doubt in my mind that I could reach the purge chamber before he reached me, but there was nothing.  No scream, no rippling distortions in the steam, no malevolent presence.  Only the soft chatter of the generator as it sputtered into silence.  I spun around and began my way back. That could have been it.  The memo did warn a possible interruption in the experiment, if sufficient distress was introduced.  The life support fluid and the anesthesia had been disabled, and Billy seemed unable to reach me despite my exhaustion.  Maybe cutting the power had been enough to stop him. I would still disable the Fail Safe.  That was the only assured way to terminate the Walrider swarm.  But that would be a simple matter once I reached the Morphogenic chamber.  It remained a ways on the other side of the facility, and I wouldn’t gamble that Billy wouldn’t be waiting on the other side of purge doors when they opened. My feet stumbled when I moved off the last step and crossed to the open doors, and the light within.  The purge doors gave a soft hiss as they shut, and I leaned on the wall as the mist filled the small space.  I was ready to bolt when the doors opened, my muscles were not ready to resume, but I wouldn’t stop.  I had to get around and keep going. When the panels scraped open, there was no shrill hiss to greet me, no vaporous form lingering beside the doorway.  I dithered, before I peered out with the camera.  I had to change the battery, but the replacement was full on power.  Enough to grant passage out of here. Nothing was there.  I made my slow trek through the corridor, unable to decide if there was this much blood when I first came through.  The pain in my skull intensified, I muttered something to myself.  I was trying to coax myself to keep moving.  It wasn’t much further, and then I could puke and pass out if I needed that.  I doubt it’d get me away from the pain for long. Despite the heaviness in my gut, my pace quickened.  Maybe that was it.  Maybe disrupting the life functions of Billy stopped the swarm.  It was too good to be true but I was making progress, as long as I didn’t let my guard down.  I didn’t need to get ahead of myself and fall into a trap.  That’s happened to me too many times.   The end of the corridor came into view and I slowed my pace to gaze out, straining my eyes to see through the blazing light in the damn visor.  Nothing to indicate the presence, no sound.  All was calm.  The visor did flash but it just did that.  I clasped a hand to my eye, that impossible pain.  Why my right eye?  Once I was moving again I could block it.  But why? As I began forward I hear it, very close.  That awful taste coated me throat, something about seizures.  And a light.  He wasn’t gone yet!  Where was it coming from?!  I spun about and saw the wavering ripples coalescing above the open expanse across from the catwalk, skimming towards me.  Shit.  Shit!  My foot caught on the rung of steps that elevated up to the grated walkway.  For god sakes Miles, PICK UP YOUR FEET! I shoved the knuckles of my camera hand into the gaps in the grate and pushed myself up, stumbling to get onto my soles.  Had to cut the corner, it was going to cut me off.  Gotta jump!  Secure the camera!  Gonna— jump— secure the camera! The edge of the walkway was under my feet and I launched off into open air.  I had no idea where I put the camera, couldn’t care in the moment.  It didn’t feel like I had enough momentum behind me when I jumped, but— I gave a sharp yelp when I was torn out of mid leap and dragged backwards.  I couldn’t overcome the terror that choked me, now that I was suspended high-high above a hard floor without a solid surface to latch onto.  And in so much pain!  My spine was somehow being flossed between my ribs.  I gagged and whimpered, Christ, the unnatural sensation!  My feet jerked beneath me and dangled, I couldn’t feel my toes.  My arms pin wheeled out from my body as I tilt backwards, disorientated by the violent movements I was being spun in.  The camera!  My mind automatically locked onto that.  I felt the cameras weight in my upper arms sleeve.  I found my camera!  It was safe! I snapped around and suddenly the apparition was at my face.  It was expressionless from what my distorted vision could make out, but I could FEEL it sneer.  Its anger.  I stare wide eye trying to take calm breathes, its ‘hands’ tighten around my chest and I let out a whimper.  The pressure was intense, digging through my coat and shirt and piercing into my muscles.  I couldn’t help but let out a pitiful sound. No.  No.  NO!  Guts and gore!  Liquefied Murkoff!  Chris’ final squeal of agony as his body scattered over white stone.  A blast of cold pulses through my body as I try in vain to kick free, but I can’t feel my legs. The Walrider fades and I give a short cry as I’m propelled backwards, my neck snaps back on my shoulders and the sharp pain flares through my skull.  I can’t see where the Walrider has gone, but I’m twirling through open air, falling past the rungs of the steps I had hobbled up earlier.  The light flashes over my eyes as I plummet, screaming as the ground is coming up fast.  For some reason I wonder if my camera will survive the impact. Then it’s there in an instant, I can’t keep track of what’s happening with my ears ringing.  One of my arms plasters to my side as the other flops out, searching for a balance, some sort of hold.  I can’t decide if I’m still falling or rising, but I open my eyes and to take in the light.  I squint against the bright lamps, and its then that I feel its arms digging into my midsection.  The cruel shriek blasts through my ear, as it flips me over.  The edge of the metal catwalk is right there!  I snap my eyes open and claw out for the metal edge, desperate and panicked.  I’m positive I could reach it!  An inch more!  Even if I don’t have the strength to pull myself up, I have to get free of its painful clutch! I yowl out as the Walrider constricts, I could picture my organs popping one by one under its ‘fingers’.  There was a sound, I’m unsure it if was the Walrider or me, but I’m flung away.  My heel smashed over something metal as I spiral, tumbling down through the muggy steam.  I see the light and shadows pulse by my eyes, mixing until I’m dizzy and sick.  I let loose a sob when I see the pallets and barrels on the floor below, come into focus.  NO!  NO!! Somewhere in the dark it snags me and I struggle wildly against its grip.  The cruel hands twist deep into my chest, its sharp fingers coil over my collar bone.  Ice.  It’s just like ice!  My jaw snaps loose and I gag, and howl, anything to drown out the pounding in my ears.  The electrical plague surging through my body.  Its hold loosened then, and I plummet through the dark before smashing into the light.  And the stone floor.  I try and brace my fall by throwing my arms up, to protect my head from the lamps.  Keep my teeth from scattering.  My elbows absorb some of the blow, and I hit with all my weight onto my bad side.   It probably wasn’t the best action, but I immediately thrust myself upright from my hands and try to stand.  To walk.  I moan in my throat as the world tilts, I can barely see with the way the colors distort in the light above.  My ribs shift back into place and I gasp, struggling to catch my breath without choking on my tongue.  God… can I walk?  Am I able to— Not done!  I’m not done yet!  I lean on my leg as I take a step closer to the stacks of bags on the pallet, covered in the blue tarp.  My body swings to the side, but I manage to stay upright.  It’s a massive accomplishment for the effort I put in, and I don’t want to fall again.  I plant my feet apart and scan my current whereabouts over.  The steam has gotten so thick, and it’s become hard to breath without choking. I’m across from the double doors that lead back to the Morphogenic chamber.  I stare at them groggily as I take a step, and promptly lose my balance.  I hit the tarp covered materials and sprawl over the blue surface.  I’m hurt bad, but not done, not by a long shot.  My breath wheezes and I barely get back up on my feet, ignoring the small wet patch of red I’ve left on the plastic cover. Somewhere overhead the Walrider shrieks.  Its hurt or it is dying at long last, one of the two.  If it wasn’t it would have killed me then.  If it has a second chance it will succeed. I manage to reach the doors and get one open.  I leaned on the doors edge as I pushed it open, then slumped on the cool metal panel as I force it shut.  I take a slow breath.  Pick up the pace Miles.  Almost done.  Promise. I pushed away from the door as the Walrider came into view below, driven by its unrestrained fury to paint the walls with my blood.  I took another breath, doing my best to ignore the pain chewing in my skin.  It’ll hold for a minute tops, but only concluding this would save my life.  I spun away and pushed myself into a steady jog, and blocked.  Blocked out the hum, blocked the pain.  I blocked out my humanity. The corridor seemed shorter, or maybe I remembered it wrong.  I skipped to a stop at the barrels and wedged myself through, and grunted through clenched teeth as my side rubbed on the rough pallet.  I dropped to my knees on the other side as my mind swam.  Pain.  Have to get up.  But the pain dragged me down.  A mere few feet away was the metal door, the Morphogenic chamber.  Everything I had wanted.  Everything I had tried to accomplish.  I pushed myself to my feet and gripped the handle, and used it to pull myself up until I was standing.  “Get this done.  Get it done, and I can leave it all behind.  All of it.” The inhuman cry of the thing from the dark followed me, echoing in my ears.  It was coming. I stumbled through one door and dragged it shut after me.  I tried not to cough on the thick vapor, as I staggered to the edge of the steps.  We’re good.  We’re good.  Keep it together, almost there.  I took a few deep breaths deliberately agitating my ribs, and focused on Wernicke’s machine.  This was it.  This was the end to all this madness.  Find the control panel.  Deactivate the machine.  Kill the creation. The chamber looked to be in distress, the air was now clogged with dark smog.  Lights flared across the ceiling, arks of electricity sparked over the dodecagon structure that dominated the center of the room.  Monitors for computers regulating the machine flashed errors, probably indicating the test subject.  Throughout the chambers panic, a siren blared to summon the doctors in and correct the error.  But all the doctors were dead, their remains scattered to the furthest edges of the facility.  There was no one left to hasten in and aid the experiment that had destroyed them. The stairs winding to the Engines base were excruciating to rush down, but I’d rather be on them.  I supported myself on one arm while the walls continued to tilt, the pulsing lights didn’t help either.  The camera stuffed in my shoulders sleeve was becoming obnoxious and I risked pulling it out, to have… in case.  I ignored the damp spot in my coat.  I’d be fine once this was done.  Like magic or something.  One choir I had to complete.  Billy’s pod was in fail safe mode, but I would fix that shortly.  I’d give him the closure he deserved and I could go on with my life elsewhere. Or what was left of it. I made it to the floor and stumble around the barrels situated by the copper tanks.  Immediately, I began hunting for the front of the machine.  The primary terminal regulating control over Billy’s pod.  The dull thrum bore deep into my brainmatter, but I only realized then that I’d left the sound behind in the corridor.  The white noise had followed me. I winced and held my chest as I scanned through the gray fog, struggling to stay on my feet as I sought both apparition and its control.  Embers shot off the metal plates of the Engine and I could smell burning.  God, I hated that smell, but I think it was the best thing I could have in my nose right now.  The Engine was overheating, it just might burst into flames when I shut down the systems.  Wouldn’t know until I initiated it.  I neared the front of the room with the glassed in upper floor.  Where the scientists monitored the Morphogenic Engine systems through the computers.  It was here, at the front.  I remember that much. When I escaped I’d have to find a safe place to lay low.  This was more than what I had bargained for.  With knowledge that Dr. Wernicke was alive and well following this, would only invite an unfortunate ‘accident’ for me in days to come.  Couldn’t risk losing my camera in the process, though it being so beat up might deter a theft.  But I needed to make copies of the files.  I needed medical attention foremost, someone I could trust.  I don’t know if I could make it that far.     Too much to think about.  Plan it as it came.  I located Billy’s pod at the front of Wernicke’s machine, and no more than three feet away the panel ablaze with sparks.  Frantic warnings all surging, demanding attention.  The experiment was doomed.  I dashed to it, jarred my side, didn’t give a fuck, and smashed the panel with my hand. Done and done.   The Engine gave a remorseful hum that rumbled through my body, as it clashed across the chiseled interior of the Morphogenic chamber.  It felt good.  I clasped the camera between my palms and leaned back as red warnings burned on the screen.  WARNING.  WARNING.  FAILSAFE SYSTEM OFF.   I shut my eyes against the offensive messages and gripped the camera a little tighter in my hands, focusing on the gaps between my fingers.  Like hell it was, let him die.  I braced my elbows on the panel and turned my head to witness as Billy began thrashing within his pod.  It looked painful.  As he withered the restraints in his chest and throat tore free, releasing his blood within the nutrient fluid.  I raised my camera to get all of this in, and exhaled a small breath.  It was over.  This nightmare was over and I could get the fuck out of here.  Nothing to stop me now. No more deformed giants, no more naked twins, no more fanatical priests.  Just the road ahead and me.  And my camera. The pod was turning black with blood and my stomach turned.  I looked away for a brief moment when something solid smashed into me from behind, causing my body to smack chest first into the pod.  My head was pounding and I felt the vision distort in my left eye.  My muscles stiffened, charged with energy and pain.  No.  No…  He was dead!  I tried to push myself back, while keeping in mind to LOCK my fingers on the cam— A powerful force wrenched me around and I let out a snarl as my ribs rubbed into my skin.  Staring me right in the face was the Walrider, or what was left of it.  The swarm was beginning to disperse, mutating the dark vapor into an insubstantial skeletal frame.  Each of its links and joints were exposed for scrutiny, even the network of miniscule tubes in the dark bone.  I couldn’t make out where its arms were but I could feel them dig through my coat, within my shoulders with needle like ends.  My vision flashed as it shoved me back against the pod, the back of my skull cracked on the hard surface and I saw a flash of red.  I smelt something odd, scorched cloth or blood.  Fluid dripped from my nose and slid across my lip.  The salty taste overwhelmed my senses. The swarm flashed out of sight and I found myself yelling, as I accelerated with alarming speed through the air by that piercing pain IN my arms.  A wall came into view through the steam, and I instinctively raised my arms before my skull could smash to bits.  I hit with such force my arms and coat sleeves barely absorbed my face.  My chest plowed HARD into the jagged stone, and an audible crack sounded somewhere in my muscle, over my strangled wail.  The Walrider vanished, for good I doubt.  I tumbled off the stone wall and hit the floor, rolling out of control.  The room was spinning, even when I came to a rest on my side.  I tried to hold my weight up off my tender ribs.  The plastic shell of my camera scrapped the polished floor as I shifted.  It was still in my grip…  This wasn’t over.  I needed to stash it somewhere safe.  I put my hand over it, feeling the fresh wet blood now spilling from the reopened wounds on my hands.  I needed to get away from here, get away from this area.  Who the fuck knew how long before the swarm dispersed completely. As I was getting off my knees, the insubstantial form materialized to some degree before me.  It gave a grinding hiss as it grabbed me by the shoulder, tearing into my muscles with its cold clutch and flung me high across the room.  I screamed as I sailed unaided through open air, until gravity delivered me to the floor and I flopped over and over.  Once the momentum abandoned me, I blinked and felt my consciousness dim.  ”Up Miles!  Get!  UP!” In my fall the cameras strap had loosened over my hand, I should try to fix that.  I braced my arms under my side and pushed up, and focused on the spherical pod full of dark matter.  Wasn’t that Billy’s pod?  It was getting hard to see because of the smog.  This is what I told myself.  In truth it was becoming difficult to see my hands beneath me.  It was because of what I’d done, but I had no choice. I had to fix their mistakes.  I had no idea how to finish it now.  How to kill Billy. I had only hurt him the worst way imaginable.  The only way he COULD be hurt.  I had become Billy Hope’s Nightmare.  I was now the Horerczy.  I was the only thing that could kill a Walrider. And he would prove to me, how wrong I was.

The shrieking wail shot through my eardrums, and the remains of the Walrider’s dark shape loomed over me.  The world became inaudible, in the one way I hated seeing the world.  Far away and under water.  I tried to focus on it and what it was up to, but all I managed was a wet cough.  This seemed to upset it, for when I looked up it had swept over the black pod and descended onto me.  It snared my midsection in its powerful grip and dragged me along the white floor.  I yowled and released the camera.  The bone in my finger tore at the cement as I tried to claw for a bump, a niche.  Enough to knock me loose!  Even if it descended upon me in the next moment and ripped me to pieces, I just wanted that one last second!  A pause in this torment! 

The Walrider ascended swiftly to a staggering height.  I gawped wide eyed and stared at the shrinking floor below, as I dangled upside down.  I moaned through my teeth as my weight bore down on its sharp form, and it repaid in kind by crushing my sides.  I felt something pop in my throat as I let out an agonized sob.  When we arrived at a desirable height I was flopped up, and crashed my back into the stone wall behind me.  My legs kick out seeking solid surface, some comfort that I’m not so high up.  In no way can I thrash free and dislodge my body from the unnatural grip tangled deep throughout my organs.  I lose some of my fight when the agony constricts my chest, and I give a weak twitch as this odd tingle works from my forehead down to my toes.  Death.  I’m dying.  I can’t believe I’m dying. 

The dimming form of the swarm pinned me here, and worked its hands into my chest.  I grappled with my coat, unable to feel or grip and dissuade its punishment.  Oh god, the sounds I made as its unnatural extremities wound through my cells and tangled with my nerves.  Pain.  Too much.  My legs kicked and twitched in a vain effort to dislodge my body.  The Walrider chattered and pressed deeper into my muscles.  No god, please….  I looked down to where it had buried its arms up to its elbows, and let out a choked sob.  No, please….  

”I don’t want to die…”

 The bloodshed throughout the Asylum, Chris Walker, ruptured corpses and scattered innards.  Everything I had been subjected to.  The images I had seen pulsed white hot, intensified in my mind like wild fire. Death, the insanity, the pain.  All of it burned through my mind as red soaked my memories.  How long ago had it been?  When was it last that I was alive? 

An anguished sound spilled from my throat as I was held there, suspended twenty feet above a stone floor. The swarm reinforced its inhuman grip on my sides, or slid deeper into my guts at its leisure.  Fuck, this was no damaged mind of a child.  This was a wild animal devoid of remorse.  This was pure evil. 

This… was my end. 

Gazing into the broken horror of science, my last sensations would be immeasurable pain followed by the release of the void.  I had fought this far, to die in the end.  What cruel irony.  With my fading strength I focused on its ‘face,’ and I swear there was a connection.  I don’t know if it recognized it, if Billy understood.  But I swear.  It was there. 

The Walrider paused in its reprieve to confirm my comprehension, my reservation for the fate it had planned for me, as all of its victims shared.  It could make this last forever if it wanted.  To ensure I had learned my lesson, that I knew my place.  It would let me die only because it allowed it.  But maybe I had already suffered enough.  Then, it lurched, or that could have been me slumped in its grip.  I watched blearily as it dispersed, dissolving from sight.  I sobbed out in revulsion as I felt the chilling sensation of its presence grind through my bones, into my muscle.  I gained enough consciousness to seize at my chest in a futile effort to hold my innards together the moment before they were expunged outwards, off of my skeleton.  

I became aware that something had gone wrong about two seconds later, when I was howling against the sudden exhilaration that override the pain in my body… as I fell twenty feet to solid cement.

My shoulder hit first and my leg came down hard next, and I actually heard something snap.  I felt the pierce of pain through my spine when the bone cracked.  I was stunned when I couldn’t decide where the injury occurred, my entire body burned with raw agony.  And yet, I was still conscious and alive.  I lay for a moment groaning, my mind resetting slowly as everything cleared.  The alarms still wailed.  Flashing red and white swirled through the room, but it wasn’t the grinding howl that had pounded my senses.  My migraine had suddenly cleared!  Instantaneous relief flooded my skull like waking up in a soft bed, after a long, deep sleep.  What happened?  Why? Carefully, I propped myself up to look around, stunned yet amazed.  The air was thick with burning computer components, the smog was growing heavier.  But of the threat.… Nothing. There was no swarm.  There was no Walrider.  Only the barrage of warnings and system errors as the stasis pod failed, and within it, its prisoner.  Billy was dead. I had done it.  My mission was over.  I had succeeded in surviving my final errand.  Why didn’t I feel good about it? A few feet from where I had plummeted was my trusted confident, my camera.  Did it still work?  I don’t think it mattered anymore.  I attempted to rise, but a sharp bolt of heat traveled up my leg.  The break.  I turned with sluggishness to check it, and noted the large black spot along the side of my coat.  No doubt the rib was exposed, I had no idea how bad the lung was punctured but with heavy despair I tasted the copious stain of copper on my tongue.  I had to get out of here.  Had to get up! How easy it would have been to lie down.  I braced my elbows on the cement and inhaled a careful breath, then let it out.  The floor was cool to my fevered body, and all the aches and breaks could just fade away.  I might never wake up, but that seemed fine.  Doctor Wernicke himself told me, I was meant to die here.  The moment I set foot through the open window of the Asylum, had sealed my fate.  I would never be allowed to leave.  Billy had made sure of that. Braced on my elbows, I pulled my body over onto my good leg and rest my weight to the knee.  I repeated this process, shuffling little by little until I had reached my camera.  Everything was on this.  Everything that was done here.  I’d be damned if I didn’t waste some precious energy to ensure its safe extraction.  However far I…. I fumbled a bit with its options, while I collected my fractured mind.  The camera clicked and the image was a bit distorted, but it worked.  I assured myself that the vital operations would continue to function, and I could lift the images off…. later.  Evidence.  Proof.  It needed to be confirmed on camera.  I did it.  I had done this.  I braced my side with an arm and leveled the camera to capture an image of the murky pod, and the now deceased William Hope.   “Billy is dead, the Walrider, the swarm, whatever it is, unmade with him.  Whether I escape or die here, I am free.”  For a beat I paused to look up from my notes and gaze distantly on my surroundings.  Gone.  Everything the scientists had hoped to achieve, undone by their creation, and executed by my hand.  I felt no pride in this, I just wanted out.  Out in any manner fate saw fit for me.  It would be a long walk to the exit in Block… in Block…. Fuck.  I knew where it was, and that’s what mattered.  I’d find my way there eventually. I secured my camera in its pack and pressed my palms to the floor, then inched my good leg under me.  Satisfied with its stability I pushed up, stumbling as the world spun.  The winding coil of pain worked through my bones and buried deep into my nerves.  Even if my legs were chopped off, I’d still walk out on those stumps.  Fuck you Trager.  Fuck you.  I would stand up.  I would walk out of here. The ringing in my head was near silent, and I didn’t take this as a good sign.  It felt like preempt shock.  My body was steady enough to stay upright, but my metabolism was crashing.  I was poisoned by the chemicals in my head and I needed medicine, something to stabilize my body before it killed me. Once I had my bearings I turned, making a slow trek towards the steps that rose to the Plexiglas chamber.  Shapes blurred around me, but I was certain without a doubt those were the steps I had staggered down at the beginning of the mad race.  If they were not, I had plenty of time to reflect as I made my way to them.  One careful step after the next, just take it easy.  There was no hurry.   Only the outer bone of my leg must have snapped.  I could get some weight on it but very little.  It allowed me to shuffle along, without grieving my ribs any more than necessary.  If I stopped moving at this point I might not be able to rouse myself from passing out The floor along with the yellow rail faded and I collapsed over the steps, coming up short on the metal grate as I caught myself on my elbow.  The shattering pain that I had anticipated upon my fall was absent.  Perhaps my adrenalin was out of control.  My body was in survival, panic mode.  The chemicals in my blood were poisoning my brain, from the overdose of adrenaline to whatever infections I might’ve picked up in the hellish sewers.  I took a breath and winced, feeling the tickling itch in my side where the rib had breached the skin.  There was little hope in my mind that I was going to live to see tomorrow. But damn, I would not die here.  Not here!  Not in the sewers.  Not in the basement.  Not here!  I pulled myself up by the rail and put my foot under me, I braced my knee over the next step and forced my good leg to lift my body, to burden my weight.  These were the last steps I would have to deal with, I could get up them.  It wouldn’t be the last thing I do here.  My feet were heavy, but I managed to get them over each rung and reach the clear sliding doors.  I braced myself along the edge of the doorway, and stumbled into the Morphogenic Engines control room.  My good leg for no other reason but to spite me gave out, and I crashed against the nearest desk.  I wheezed out a pitiful breath, it tasted like copper and salt had stained my throat.   C’mon.  The exit isn’t much further. I wanted to believe that.  Shove hope down my throat.  The exit was just down the hall, through the next set of doors after the first.  Those horrible doors.  It was, how many?  Fifty steps.  Fifty short steps, I could make that.  The desk was so comfortable though, sturdy and solid, and real.  I looked down at my knee crumpled under me.  The room whirled around my head, far away.  Hushed.  Beyond my dazed senses.  I was breathing hard, and a thin trail of drool had soaked a black patch in my filthy jeans.  Red drops were falling from my nose, and I barely realized that my nose was bleeding.  I wanted to pretend it was only a broken blood vessel caused by stress, but that was another one of those white lies.  I needed to stop trying to fool myself with those. Fifty steps.  I could make fifty steps.  What was fifty steps to me?  I’ve been running around this Asylum all evening.  It wasn’t that much further. I told myself this.   I promised myself these things. I had nothing left to keep me going on. The bright lights of the hall would have been comforting, if I wasn’t so burnt out on the clinical and detached feeling of the lab.  My vision distorted as I slumped against the doorframe.  Take a breath, a little pause.  Let my senses settle into place.  I thought I saw Dr. Trager waiting by the door, running his mouth like only he could.  But he looked the way he must have before whatever happened to him, complete with a fine lab coat blotted with blood.  He did dress like a white collar business douchebag.  Instead of golf clubs he had a syringe, and directed its sharp end into the side of my neck. I brushed Trager aside and persisted, he couldn’t stop me.  No one could stop me.  I felt myself falling again, my legs dissolved under my weight.  When did I become so heavy?  I braced my arm to the floor and tried to stay off the camera, I was slipping down to my side.  To just give in.  To just sink into the sleep and never wake up. The lights dimmed to some degree, or my eyes were shutting, but the Walrider hoisted me up and we continued.  We were so close to the doors, they were a few steps and a stumble away.  The chiseled white walls of the corridor seemed brighter, but its luminous intensity didn’t burn my eyes as it had in my previous trip through.  The air was calm, almost alarming to my overtaxed mind.  I tried to remind myself this was the way it was meant to be, when you were not cowering under a massive migraine.  This was sweet liberation from the pain.  I was just exhausted. I was getting near the exit of the Morphogenic wing now, and a wave of relief enveloped me.  A deadly contribution to my sick mind.  My steps faltered and I dropped, managing somehow to hit my cheek on the cement floor without cracking a tooth.  The Walrider waited beside me as my scattered mind cleared.  I heard Father Martin whisper something into my ear, the same as when he first found me.  I wanted to ask if there was a heaven waiting for me.  He only smiled, and the buzzing in my limbs murmured something with great urgency.  I just wanted the world to stop. The lights faded before I blinked back into clarity.  No.  Don’t sleep, don’t fall.  Not here.  I’m so close.  A small red puddle had gathered under my cheek, and I gladly lifted myself from it.  I took a moment to pull together, and swallow down the blood that lined my throat.  No more fading, no more pauses.  It was obvious by now I could not escape my fate, I had been fooling myself from the beginning.  For me, nothing lay beyond this place but death.  But goddamn it, I was NOT going to die inside these cold labs where so many had perished in the name of science.  I would get outside and I would die bathed in the warmth of the sun, knowing that I had beaten them all!  With that resolve whirring in my head I put my weight on my fist and pushed, rising up one last time.  Once and for all, I would make it out of this fucked up place.  I felt a bit of my strength returning as I shuffled forward, maybe I had been out for a minute, or an hour.  However long was enough.  I wasn’t stopping until I was finally in the sunlight. I was reminded briefly of my mutilations as I reached for the handles of the doors.  My index finger on my right hand, and my ring finger were— A sudden gust of air swept over my face as the doors swung outward.  I was not processing what was happening, as the click of weapons primed for assault were shoved at me.  Guns.  Assault rifles.  Held by soldiers.  MHS.  Special tactical cops, the same as the one that had warned me away seconds before his death.  Dazed, I wondered if he was still dead.  It took a half second before the panic finally latched onto my mind, the realization that this was happening.  This was really happening right here.  They were in my way, and they were going to kill me. Not armed!  I wasn’t armed!  Did they think I was dangerous, had they mistake me for a variant?  True, I had forgotten how god awful I must have looked, but I couldn’t help it!  I could hardly stand!  I put out my hands and limped back trying to warn them, but all that came out was a spray of blood as I exhaled a pitiful sound.  I sniffled, trying to clear the blood in my nose.  No!  Don’t do this.  Not when I was so fucking CLOSE! Then I saw him.  That man, whose corpse I had promised to fix nicely with a hacksaw.  Dr. Rudolf Wernicke amidst these militants, and waiting patiently for my requiem.  I fixed him with my eyes.  A look of betrayal?  A look of bafflement?  Why, after everything I have done for you, would you end me right here, right now?  I wanted to die in the fuckin sunlight! The first bullet hit before the piercing resonance shattered my thoughts.  I spun on my good leg upon receiving full impact, and manage to stay upright.  My vision blurred but I didn’t feel the pain, it hadn’t been recorded yet in my nerves.  Then, I thought I saw, right there.

My shadow….

Without a word, the hall is filled with the magazine chatter as the lead soldier emptied his arsenal in me. I was only grateful as I dropped, that about a fourth of the expense had lodged into my torso and hip.  Not like a concussion; not like a splitting migraine.  I’m still me, I can feel it settle deep in my marrow. 

This time it didn’t hurt to collapse to my backside.  A splash of blood hit me in the face, from about a dozen severed arteries. I had this odd sense of vertigo, an out of body experience as the darkness pooled over my eyes. Dying.  God, my bodies dying.  I can feel it - sliding off from me.  This is real, this is happening… In the now.  It’s sinking in.  The futility of it all… death.  My death.  It’s just… I’m losing touch.  Everything stopped inside me, and… I can’t restart it. 

 No.

In my last moments, I can ponder over the cruel irony. That no matter my hopes, my aspirations tangled into this god awful place.  Even the soldiers with their guns could not steal it all away.

I am free.

My consciousness drained out, and coalesced… elsewhere.  It was all over.  I was done.  Lost.  My vision blurred, dimmed.  I’m too damned tired to resist any longer.  Give in.  Sleep.  The world became a far off impression, a recollection in a pool that I could gaze down into, and saw only my reflection. It was all I had come to expect in the end; ragged, soaking red, and broken.

Forget….

Somewhere.  Someone stuttered in utter disbelief, “Gott im Himmel. You have become the host.”

That hissing whirr.  The static in my camera that I had grown accustomed to, filled my skull. The sounds of gun chatter persisted, and the frantic shrieks of men met my dulled senses. This crushing thought came over me as I accepted the void, the shadow, the emptiness of my failure. There would be no light waiting for me on the other side. There was no afterlife, no rest for my weary soul. Instead, I only saw red.

[prairiesongserial]

8.1

Friday sat in the middle of the road, folding and unfolding her map, trying to figure out just where the hell she and Val were, anyway. The woods were long behind them, thank God, replaced with golden prairie grass that moved easily with the wind. Every bent blade of grass had Friday on high alert, and she kept getting distracted, losing her place on the map. But there was never anything there. At least not with the sun still high in the sky.

Another distraction took the form of Father Valerie Lecter, who was making shaky circles around her on the motorbike. The engine putt-putted in protest as he tried to keep the bike going at five miles per hour. Every few feet the bike would give a particularly jarring wobble, and Val would put his foot down, only to kick back off again. He was talking to himself, or possibly praying. Friday returned her attention to the map.

She and Val were clear of Colorado, now, and had made pretty good time. If John and Cody were still in one piece, they would be making their way through Texas. The route Friday had highlighted for John would have taken them south, almost hugging the Mexico line. Going south would have slowed John and Cody down, but northern Texas was well populated with small towns, and she knew Dallas, if only through Joey. It wasn’t the place for a couple of folks on the wrong side of Hemisphere. Dallas was the bounty hunting capital of the States, and Friday hadn’t liked John and Cody’s chances, making it through there in one piece.

Friday chewed a fingernail as Val completed another lap around her on the motorbike. If Friday was reading the map correctly, she and Val were sitting at a very important choice. Due east through Kansas, or southeast through Oklahoma. Friday didn’t know a thing about either of them, only that she and Val must be nearly caught up to John and Cody by now, and somehow, she was going to need to get down south to meet them. But where? As far as Texas landmarks went, her map was too old for any guarantees.

Val brought the bike to a clumsy stop in front of her. Right in her light.

“Where are we headed?” he asked.

“Great question,” Friday said, rubbing her temples. “We should go through Oklahoma, I think. Start heading south.”

Val frowned. “You don’t look happy about it.”

Friday sighed heavily as she got to her feet, her knees cracking. She handed Val the map.

“Now that we’re here, I don’t really know how to head John and Cody off. All I know is they’re going to the Mississippi, eventually. Doesn’t help us any.”

Val squinted over the map.

“I think Oklahoma is the way to go. As for meeting up with John and Cody…” Val folded the map and handed it back to Friday. “I’m for leaving it up to God’s Providence.”

“Jesus Christ, Val, you’re a card,” Friday muttered under her breath. She tucked the map back in her shirt and climbed on the bike in front of Val. “Let’s find out what’s in Oklahoma.”

The prairie stretched in front of Friday for as far as the eye could see. Without even a cloud in the sky, above and below were only mile upon mile of identical heaven and earth. Made it hard to draw the line between minutes and hours when the whole world looked the same. Made it feel like nothing was real, almost. Like Friday and Val were guests in a child’s drawing the size of a napkin.

Friday would be lost in thought one minute, then come to and wonder how long she had been remembering the stories Joey used to tell her about the burlesque scene in Dallas. The fights, the rich folk, the glass tower - something Friday found difficult to picture. Vegas had been built over again from the ground up, hardly nothing left from her great-grandparents’ time. Especially nothing so fragile as buildings made of glass. Now, Val’s stone church, that might have been around - but, of course, that was gone now, too.

Still, the prairie and sky continued on. Driving here was different from everywhere else. If the sun hadn’t moved across the sky, Friday really would have gone out of her head. The sun was well behind them when finally, she had to pull over.

Friday nearly tipped the bike over in her urgency to get off the damn thing, and Val yelped as it fell to him to keep the bike upright.

“Everything okay?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Friday said. She started doing jumping jacks. She felt like she had to get her heart pumping before the thing just fell out and rolled away.

“Gotta tell ya, Val,” she huffed, starting to break a sweat. “I’m real sick of Oklahoma.”

“It’s been…” Val glanced back the way they had come. “It’s been five hours.”

“Alright, fine, then. I’m sick of the road.” Friday stopped doing jumping jacks. She leaned forward and touched her toes, easily, letting her curly brown hair fall over her face. Her back popped in a very satisfying way.

“I’m sick of dust, too,” she added, as a few strands of hair accidentally touched the ground. “It’s in my shoes, and my socks, and it’s chafing under my sock garters, and if I could ride all the way to the Mississippi buck naked, I think I would prefer that.”

She was getting worked up over nothing, which she knew, but God, she was so tired.

“Alright, listen,” Friday said, stretching her hamstrings now. “I’m gonna run half a mile down the road, and you follow me on the bike, and then we’ll keep on.”

“Uh…”

“Oh, please Val. I can’t drive right now, and it’s stupid to waste daylight standing here. You need the practice anyway.”

Val gave her an incredulous look.

“Doesn’t it make you feel crazy?” Friday said, losing her patience. “Don’t you feel like we haven’t made any progress?”

Val furrowed his brow. He looked out over the calmly swaying grass and up at the empty sky. He looked the picture of relaxation.

“No, actually,” he said. “It makes me nostalgic.”

“What, you’ve been out here before?”

“Not here, exactly,” said Val. He stretched his arms over his head, cracking his back. “Alright, I’ll drive for a bit. But I’d rather you ride behind me. I don’t like thinking about what’s in this grass.”

Friday couldn’t argue with that. And besides, if Val was driving, maybe she would be okay. She could close her eyes, and when she opened them again, maybe the prairie would be behind them.

The bike stopped, humming expectantly underneath them. Friday had fallen asleep with her arms around Val’s waist, and now rubbed the sleep from her eyes. It was almost dark.

“Oh, good, you’re up. What do you think of that?”

Friday squinted into the grass. Val had stopped them at a turn-off, and down the road, she could just barely make out a shape in the low-light. It looked like a line of trees - not long enough to be a wood like the one they’d driven through in Colorado, but still, something that wasn’t empty prairie.

“Somethin’ odd about it,” Friday said, getting off the bike to stretch. “It’s trees, but...”

Val clapped her excitedly on the shoulder just as spots of yellow light appeared behind the trees. Not just trees, she could see now: trees planted in lines. An orchard.

“Let’s go,” Val said, kicking the bike into gear. Friday hopped back on, too tired to argue, even if she wanted to. She needed to sleep in a clean place with dust at an absolute minimum, and if there was a bed to be found, all the better.

She hadn’t meant to close her eyes again, but when she opened them, it was to the cacophonous rustle of leaves overhead. Val drove slowly, and Friday didn’t blame him. With trees lining the road on either side, the sun setting, the overpowering smell of apples in the air… Friday had never been anyplace so inviting.

The first houses began to crop up among the orchards, and soon enough, they were in the center of town. Friday disentangled herself from the bike while Val found a place for it by the well. There were other beasts of burden there, not just the kind that ran on gasoline - though theirs wasn’t the only motorbike. A mule chewed a mouthful of grass next to a shiny red bike that looked brand new.

Friday and Val were already attracting a lot of attention. The people in the square gave them funny looks - amused, maybe. The townspeople looked so ordinary, that Friday supposed a pair such as herself and Val - a dusty, scraped up woman and a priest in just as bad shape - would be cause to stop and stare.

A middle aged woman with a bundle of long prairie grass almost as big as she was tied on her back actually stopped, set her load down by the well, and held out her hand to Friday.

Friday hesitated, but took it. The woman gave her hand a firm shake.

“You folks’ll be wanting the hotel, I imagine?” she said. “I’m Lonnie Park. You’re in the right place - nothing good comes of sleeping on the main road.”

“Why’s that?” Friday asked, trying not to sound too suspicious.

“Oh, you hear terrible things, terrible things,” Lonnie said, finally releasing Friday’s hand. “And the hotel’s fair. Owner’s my best friend; we came up together. Here, love, let me help you find your way.”

Friday gave Val a questioning look, and Val nodded. Enthusiastically, even. The both of them were near their breaking point - whatever was wrong with this town, they’d figure it out in the morning.

Friday nodded back.

“Thank you, that would be lovely,” Val said. It was as if he could read Friday’s mind. He knew she was dead on her feet, and understood her silent plea to take the reins.

“In that case, loves, come along, grab your things,” Lonnie said. She took off quickly across the square, and Friday and Val struggled to keep up, laden under their baggage.

Soon enough, Lonnie stopped in front of an inviting building, gold light streaming from its windows. It was made of brick, as were all the buildings around it. And low to the ground, too, not like the Vegas buildings that usually had two levels. If not for the apple trees, the whole town could have almost disappeared into the tall grass. What really struck Friday was how clean it was. Even a new city like Vegas was stained with grime and smog. This hotel looked like it had popped out of the earth just yesterday.

Val eagerly forged ahead, opening the front door to the tinkling of a bell. Friday squinted through the windows, but she didn’t get a good look before Lonnie shepherded her inside.

“Well, I’ll be leaving you folks in the competent hands of the Grand Hotel,” Lonnie chirped. She turned to Friday, and gave her a little wink. “Welcome to Oklahoma City.”

epilogue 7 || 8.2

[beepbeeprichiellc]

It’s You and Me

Prompt: Hot/Cold/Seasons/Holiday

Ship: Reddie

Rating: E (some angst but mostly not) 

Warnings: None. 

And tag @itfandomweek

A03

Richie fell in love along with the seasons.

Summer was hot and lively, full fun and excitement. They were just kids, looking for shelter from the heat in various activities. Their favorite was the quarry, the cool water soothing their scorched skin, the weight of the word disappearing, allowing them to be free from the shackles of their shitty town. It was here the Richie first noticed the flutter of his heart, one sunny afternoon in the summer between his junior and senior year of high school. The losers had gathered as they did, splashing one another and yelling obscene things that would echo between the space where their friendship lay.

It was easy to forget the hormones and changes that ravaged bodies, the murky water hiding their lanky limbs and awkward teenage posture. Every now and then Richie would see it, whether it be the swell of Beverly's bosom, or the striations in Mike’s toned biceps, he would catch glimpses of their age, a fleeting reminder of the years spent together.

One by one, the others left leaving two lone Losers to their own demise. The sun was settling in the west, threatening to end their fun. Although never spoken, they knew neither of them wanted to return to their home for fear of the truth that stained the walls. Instead they stayed a little longer, laughing a little louder and floating a little closer. Richie would make a crude joke and Eddie would respond with a playful shove or an insulting remark. It was easy with Eddie, easier than the others and when their were alone it was as if the world melted away.

They finished the day by sitting at the edge of the quarry, feet dangling off the edge and shoulders touching. Silence stretched between them, comforting and welcomed. Every now and then Richie would steal a glance, admiring the way Eddie’s jaw sharpened just below his cheek or the way his neck met his shoulder. His stomach would knot whenever Eddie would catch him, both of their faces flustering from unspoken embarrassment.

“My mom wants me to stay in Derry after graduation.” Eddie muttered, the smile fading from his face. “Says if I move away she can’t take care of me anymore.”

“Well what do you want to do?” Richie asked, the hairs on the nape of his neck rising as Eddie licked his lips. “Do you want to stay in this shit hole after high school? Are you really going to deprive the world of the wonderful Eddie Spaghetti?”

Eddie bit the inside of his cheek, “You know I hate it when you call me that.”

“No you don’t.”

The small boy never corrected him, instead sliding his palm across Richie’s and intertwining their fingers. It hadn’t been the first time they had held hands, but this seemed more intimate, more precious even. This moment was just between the two of them and no one else, just Eddie and Richie sitting at the edge of their childhood unaware of the fleeting season that would leave them in a cloud of of unspoken feelings and lingering stares.

Because summer may be hot and lively, full fun and excitement but it was also fleeting and unforgiving to those who held on too tightly.

----

Autumn was calm and chilly, full of changes and new things. Richie spent his first day at UCLA alone and afraid. People here were different than the ones back home, more intimidating and confusing. He had gotten lost, missed the first half of orientation and managed to insult his roommate in the first five minutes of meeting him. Never had he felt so worried, he was confused by the adaptations that he never asked for in a University that he had dreamed of attending. All of the Losers had separated, Bill heading overseas, Mike to New Haven, Stan to Florida, Ben and Beverly to Colorado and Eddie to New York.

For the first time since he was five years old he didn’t have a single friend to meet up with, to complain to when times got hard. So that’s why he was currently sitting on his bed, phone in hand wallowing in his own self pity. Instinctively he dialed the number he had memorized on the plane ride here, his heart pounding along with ever ring. For a second he was afraid there would be no answer, but then-

“Hello?”

“Hey Eds!” Richie breathed, his stomach settling and chest aching. “Long time no speak!”

“I talked to you before I got on my flight ten hours ago.” Eddie shot right back, his tone unamused and flat. He sounded so tired, and Richie could tell that he was barely hanging onto the conversation. There was a yawn on the other end, “What’s up trashmouth? What’s wrong?”

Richie forced a chuckle, “How do you know there is something wrong?”

“Because I know you better than anyone else.” Eddie replied easily, the reality of his words making Richie’s breath hitch. “It’s your first day at college, I know for a fact everyone is partying and getting wasted and you are calling me instead. Don’t you have better things to do than to ring up little old me?”

Richie couldn’t stop the grin that began to curl at the corner of his lips, his hands gripping tightly onto his cellphone. “I will never have better things to do than to call my best friend.” And he meant it, truly and honestly. Leaving his friends was hard, leaving Eddie was agonizing. They were the final two to depart, spending the last of their time together, blissfully unaware of what was soon to come, or at least pretending so. There was another yawn on the other end and suddenly Richie felt guilty for calling his friend so late. “Hey Eds?”

“Yeah Rich?”

“Do you think-” He paused, the words teetering on the edge of his tongue, as if afraid to take the plunge. Releasing the breath he didn't know he was holding he rubbed the bridge of his nose, “Do you think we are all going to be friends, even after all this time apart?”

“What the Losers?” Eddie asked.

No. Us. “Yeah, the Losers. We are spread across the world now, how are we going to stay in touch, how are we going to see each other?” Breathing suddenly became hard, his lungs deflating and struggling to refill. The weight of the word was crashing onto his shoulders, his head was spinning and his mind was fleeting. “What if I made a mistake leaving, fuck I pissed off my roommate in only five minutes and I don’t have anyone to talk to and soon you are going to get new friends and you’re going to forget me and-and-and we are never going to see each other because we will have our own lives and I’ll be alone and we never got to-”

“Richie.” Eddie shouted through the receiver, stopping the vomited words that Richie didn’t know he had. “Take a deep breath.” Richie struggled with this, the air coming to him in ragged spurts. It was all too much, he tried to focused on Eddie’s soothing words, his instructions like bells to his ears. “That’s it, in and out. In. Out. In-good, that’s good.” Soon things began to calm down, the room cooled, the air thinned and he was brought above water. “Listen to me, and listen to me good Richie Tozer.” Eddie said sternly, unaware of the tears that were now streaming down the tashmouths face. “We will be friends no matter the distance or time. I could not talk to you for the next four years and I would still drop everything and meet you anywhere. What we have isn’t that fragile that it can’t take a hit like this, okay? Everything will be fine, it’s your first day so give it time. Soon you’ll be calling me about the girl you banged in the Starbucks bathroom.”

Richie laughed, wiping at his wet face. “I want to believe you Eds, it’s just-”

“Then believe me.” He cut, not harshly but rather sharp. “The Losers will still be the Losers, you will still be Richie and  no matter what, you will never be alone. Have I ever steered you wrong before?”

“Yeah when you got us chased by Mr. Johnson when he caught us stealing his garden gnomes.”

“Okay, have I steered you wrong in the past ten years?”

“No.” Richie breathed, biting his bottom lip. “No you haven't.”

“Exactly.”

“Eddie?” Richie whispered, his heart aching as he closed his eyes and let out a hot breath. For a single second it felt like he was there in New York, watching his friend pace the room while he spoke just like he always did. Any moment now he would drink his herbal tea and crawl into bed, sleeping in the fetal position with a pillow scrunched under his head. He knew Eddie better than anyone, and that was what hurt the most. “I love you.” The words were sweet on his lips, leaving a tingling sensation there. Everything was sore, including his bandaged heart. It took a few moments but Eddie’s response was there, clear as that memory of them at the quarry.

“I love you too.”

Richie cried.

Because autumn was calm and chilly, full of changes and new things but it was also distant and unkind to those who feared the reaper.

---

Winter was soothing and cold, full of wonderment and thrill. It was Christmas Eve and the Losers were crammed into Beverly and Ben’s one bedroom apartment, chugging eggnog and exchanging cheap gifts. Well, all of the Losers except one. Richie was having a hard time getting into the spirit of the season, the pressure of finals and expectations heavily weighing down on him. If he was being honest with himself, he didn’t want to be here, having bought his ticket before finding out his best friend wasn’t able to make it. Now here he was, around people who loved and cared for him and all he could think about was what was missing. Excusing himself he stepped out for a much needed smoke, walking out into the snowing Colorado street with a shiver and curse. It was beautiful out, even he had to admit, and yet he couldn’t muster an ounce of appreciation for it.

The nicotine soothed his jitters, filling his lungs with the deadly poison. It wasn’t enough, but Richie figured it would just have to do. Leaning against the brick wall he sighed, trying to remember a time he felt so lost. Nearly three years into his degree and he was now wondering if it was all worth it, if the studying and late nights would be worth the meaningless paper. Maybe, maybe not but he did blame it for the gaping hole in his heart. Lifting the death stick to his lips he inhaled, the smoke strialing form the end, dancing with the blistering wind before disappearing forever.

“You know smoking causes cancer right?”

Richie’s eyes shot open, surprised to see the small bundle standing before him. His nose was red, his eyes wide and judging. Those lips, plump and moist, were turned up into a knowing grin. He wore way too much clothing, including a puffy, adorable hat that hid his chocolate curls. Dropping the cig, Richie bolted forward and pulled the shorter boy into a bone crushing hug. “Fuck Eds, I didn’t think you were coming.” He whined into his friends jacket. “Bill said-”

“I was able to switch clinicals with another classmate and I caught the last flight out.” Eddie explained, his grip on Richie's leather jacket just as tight and needy, speaking volume. “I wanted to surprise everyone, did it work?”

“Shit yeah it did!” Richie replied happily, prying away and glaring down at those big doe eyes. “It’s a Christmas miracle!”

Eddie scoffed loudly, rolling his eyes. “Okay, I wouldn’t go that far.”

“I would.” He muttered, dropping his hold on his friend and placing a much needed step between them. Instantly he felt bare and exposed, wishing he could pull Eddie back in without drawing suspension to himself. Shoving his hands into his pockets he grinned, shaking his head and laughing. “Eddie Kaspbrak, in the flesh.”

“Richie Tozier, in the thinnest thing he could find.” Eddie shot right back, biting his bottom lip. “Honestly, don’t you own a hat?

“I live in California my dear, this is the warmest thing I could find. Typically I’m in shorts and a t-shirt.” There was a heavy implication that came with his explanation, something that tainted the air between them. Eddie was here now, but soon he wouldn’t be and that was the tragedy of the Christmas season. Swallowing his emotion he punched his friend in the shoulder, playfully lightening up the tension.

Eddie snorted, returning the banter. They stood there for a second, the tension like dust in the air. Looking up towards the lit window Eddie frowned, the snow gathering on his long lashes, and it took all of Richie's strength not to brush them away. “They are all up there huh? This will be the first time we have all been together since high school graduation.”

“I know.” And he did, because despite his best efforts this was the first time he had seen Eddie in three long years. Sure they called each other, texted every now and then but that didn’t replace actually being with someone, really being with them. It was like stepping into a dream and all he wished he could do was hold on forever. “It’s crazy right? We are all friends after everything is said and done.”

“I told you.” Eddie smugly said, shimming his shoulders. “I’m always right.”

“Yes, you are.” Richie whispered to the sky, smiling at the warmth in his chest.”Even I must admit.”

“So tell me Tozier,” Eddie playfully cooed, rolling on the balls of his feet and grinning. “You got a pretty little thing waiting back in Cali for you?”

Richie’s heart sank into the gathering snow below his feet, swearing the pain into the concrete. Dropping his gaze he fought the frown that threatened to end their easiness. Swallowing thickly he forced, “Yeah, I-uh actually do.”

Eddie blinked, his face faltering for just a second before turning upward into a forced emotion. “Oh really? Found someone that would put up with your bullshit huh? That’s awesome!”

“Uh-yeah her name is Christine, she’s a science major at UCLA” It all tasted sour on his tongue, so weighted and wrong. He shouldn’t be talking about this, this was small talk he made with meaningless people, not Eddie. Never Eddie. “We’ve been together for about a year now.”

“So it’s serious.” Eddie said, sounding surprised. “God damn, this woman must be pretty amazing to get Richie Tozier to commit.”

She has nothing on you, Richie wanted to say but knew he couldn’t. “She is, she wanted to come along and meet everyone but her parents have do a big thing for Christmas and you know how it goes.”

“Yeah, I do.” Eddie whispered, making Richie’s bones shake and gut knot. There was something else he was going to say, his mouth opening to speak but the words refusing to come. Slamming his jaw shut, he only shook his head, grinning mostly to himself. “God, Richie Tozier. I can’t believe it’s been this long.”

“Too long.” Richie replied..

The door swung open then, and there was a squealing noise as Beverly jumped the steps of her apartment and pulled Eddie into her arms. This was followed by the rest of the gang, essentially stealing the small Loser away from Richie. They wouldn’t get another moment alone the rest of the holiday and Eddie would leave without knowing the bitter truth that Richie held in his heart

Because winter was soothing and cold, full of wonderment and thrill but it was also lonely and depleting for those who seeked something untouchable.

----

Spring was warm and inviting, full of rebirth and overcoming. Even during one of the most important moments in Loser history Richie still managed to dig himself into a trench. There were voices on the other side of the window, talking and laughing about the upcoming events and all he wanted to do was steal a smoke. Sixteen hours in and the event was in full swing, guests arriving by the dozen, all flocking to the wedding of the century. It was only the rehearsal dinner, the pressure rising with the moon.

Breathing in the smoke he cherished the feeling, it had been over a year since his last cigarette and it didn’t remember it tasting this good. The kick had been a compromise with his girlfriend, a effort to ease their problems but it hasn't worked because they didn’t work. She was merely been a placeholder, someone to keep him warm at night while he sorted out his life. Two years out of college and he had landed the job of his dreams, essentially killing his relationship where it had stood. Christine had been good to him, but she wasn’t the love of his life.

That person had a hold on him that couldn’t be explained.

There was a slam of a car door, followed by a screeching, enraged voice. “-know what? Fuck you too asshole, take your money and shove it right up your homophobic sphenter!” Richie could feel his throat clench, the air in his lungs vanishing as he trudged through the brushes to get a better look.

Sure enough there was Eddie Kaspbrak, standing in suit and tie with his face redden in what could only assume to be anger. He hadn’t changed much, and yet all Richie wanted to do was memorize what hadn’t been there the last time he had seen him, over three years ago. The car sped away, it’s tires crying out while the short man shook his fist in the air and shouted absolutely obscene things.

Even flustered and pissed, he was still the most mesmerizing thing he had ever seen. With a huff and curse Eddie grabbed his suitcase and readjusted his tie, bouncing on the balls of his feet and glancing at the entrance with furrowed brow. He looked on edge, even from afar, the nervous tick Richie had grown to love coming into play as Eddie ran his slim fingers through his hair, ruining it forever.

It was all Richie could take and his feet carried him before his mind could catch up, stumbling from his place in the brush and onto to the black asphalt. Eddie stopped in his tracks, meeting Richie's gaze and stopping the world under him. They stood there for a moment, taken in one another until Eddie broke into an award winning grin making Richie’s blood run cold. “Well look what the cat dragged in, been spying on me have you?”

Automatically his mouth answered, “”I was just trying to get a better look at your mother.”

Eddie laughed, actually laughed at the overused joke lie if it was the first time hearing it. His lips curled over his teeth, the warm and inviting rumble coming from his chest and floating into the air like balloons. Richie wanted to pull him close, to tell him everything he had kept to himself over the years but kept his distance, knowing the moment they touched he wouldn’t be able to stop himself. “Jesus Eds, it’s not that funny.”

“It is because it’s really you.” Eddie replied, this laughter dying down into a small chuckle. “It’s you and it’s Ben and Beverly’s wedding and just-” He sighed, shaking his head in disbelief. “God damn I can’t believe I’m actually here.”

“I can’t believe you are here either.” Richie whispered, unable to hide the want in his tone. His heart ached, his stomach flipped and there was a second he thought his pulse had stopped. “I’ve missed you so much.”

That was when they were caught, pulled apart by Bill’s strong hug and Mike’s loud announcement of the last Losers arrival. Eddie was dragged inside to meet the rest of the group and that was the last time Richie was able to speak to him until after the bride and groom kissed, married after over a decade of love and commitment. It had been beautiful, absolutely breathtaking. Tears were shed, and cheers were shouted as the two ran down the aisle hand in hand.

The reception was decorated with freshly bloomed flowers, filling the room with their sweet scent. Bill made the best man toast, and Richie did his maid of honor duties and embarrassed his friend with horrific stories of their past. With the formalities aside, things began to lull into a sense of calm, people danced, drank and enjoyed themselves, all the while the trashmouth couldn’t take his eyes off of one very gorgeous groomsmen.

Music played in the background, a sweet serenade of their past and as Richie crossed the room he could feel his nerves shift under his skin. Eddie was talking to Stan and his new girlfriend, Patty was her name, his eyes sparkling in the dim light. He was perfect, so perfect that he could die happy knowing he had been so lucky to even know someone like Eddie. As he approached the conversation dulled and Richie couldn’t help the dryness in his throat.

Stan took the hint, wrapping his arm around Patty’s waist. “Come on sweetheart, let’s go congratulate the happy couple.”

Patty pouted, “Wait no, I wanted talk to Eddie about-”

“Later.” Stan whispered, winking in Richie’s direction. The two watched the couple leave, engulfed by the crowd, disappearing completely.

It was Eddie who broke the trance, “So where is Christine? I haven't seen here around and wanted to make the proper introduction since you are a bad boyfriend and refuse to do so.”

The sentiment made Richie smile, even when putting on a show Eddie knew to put others first. He was too good for this world, too good for him. “She’s not here, we broke up last week.” It was like a weight was lifted from his chest, freeing him completely. “She wanted marriage and kids and I guess I just didn’t want that with her.”

“Oh, I’m sorry Rich.” Eddie cooed, shifting his weight from one foot to another. “That’s terrible, you guys had been together for such a long time.”

“Yeah well-” Richie shrugged, smiling down at the confused look in Eddie’s eyes. “What about you? Finally found a man worth settling down with?”

“No.” The short man chuckled, “God no, I’ve been dating but everyone I meet can’t compare to-” He stopped short, the rest of his sentence catching in his throat. Clearing it, he shook his head and looked up to his old friend with hooded eyes. “I’m better off alone, never been one to commit.”

“You were.” Richie corrected, shaking his head. “Once upon a time.”

“Once upon a time is for children stories.”

The music changed, slowing down to an gentle pace. Richie couldn’t help himself, looking to the man before him and whispered, “Care to dance with this old trashmouth?” The words sounded much smoother coming out, sliding between them like honey.

This was their moment. After all this time.

“I thought you were never going to ask.” Taking his extended hand, Eddie allowed himself to be led to the dance floor, placing his hands round the trashmouths neck and shivering when hands were wrapped around his waist. It had been over eight years since they had been this close, touching each other tenderly, with nothing but love and admiration. The words to the song didn’t matter, all that mattered in that moment was the feeling that lingered between them and the moment Eddie laid his head against Richie’s sternum.

They swayed lazily, engulfed in one another wholeheartedly. Richie wanted to say so many things, apologize for lost time but those things never came, what did was Eddie’s soft voice against his ears. “You know I still love you right? After all this time, I have only loved you.”

Richie couldn’t stop the tears welding up in his eyes, his heart filling with happiness. “Oh Eds.” He cooed, holding the man tighter against him. “I never stopped loving you.”

Spring was warm and inviting, full of rebirth and overcoming but it was also frightening and chilly for those who refused to take the plunge.

Luckily, Richie wasn’t one of those people.

He fell in love along with the seasons, and during his favorite season he finally had it all.

[omgitsbettertodothantonot-blog]

Day 1 (5/2/2019) Friday

Im making these diary entries online because i feel to embarassed and dont trust my family to give me the some fucking privacy to write on a peice of paper. I guess this is to just vent and say some juicey shit about people around me. I am not doing this to hurt those around me im doing this to get some fucking sanity and not keeping it in. All name used shall be changed and any information that may lead back to me or those in a situation described shall be changed a bit for pricacy reasons. This could be a daily thing to do and its easier than writting on paper. 

Anyway this is my daily life, I wake up around 7am each moring and i have about a hour before the child i babysitt wakes up. Hes 2 years old, for his privacy ill be calling him bubbs. Hes a cool kid, he doesnt act out or have much tantrums, i learned to be thankful that i get to have a kid like him. Last month i went on a roadtrip with my aunt to Colorade, Denver. It felt like a total shitshow, but i often dwell on the negative alot of the time over the many positive times. Well on the entire way over he was crying and having alot of tantrums, oof. When we went the only states i been to were Arizona, and New Mexico, and the tip of Neveda (lol the tip hah). 

I shouldn’t look back with irritation, and restlessness and headaches caused by a crying child, another two children complaining, and staying in a 12 hour drive, and drinking a hell lot of redbull and monster drinks. But instead i should look back and remember the 2000′s songs that my aunt played on the radio that gave me alot of nostolgia, and the well written audiobook that i read (btw it wasn’t like freakin moby dick or tales of two cities, it was fanfiction). I remember how cold the air felt in the roads near the mountains in colorado, it was so cold that the water was freezing and so was the air. In Denver the streets were interesting. They had alot of small narrrow alleyways that were inbetween houses and shops. There were alot of small houses, and guess what? they had BASEMENTS!dd!!!! I think that was the first basement i was ever in. We stayed in my Aunt;s friends house for about 2 days. There was a wife and husband and 2 children, The girl was about 6 and the boy was like 3. The girl was well mannered and got along well with my neice( aunts daughter). The young boy was 3 and was always very energergetic, he played aroung with bubba (child i babysitt). They were a bit rowdy. 

Their house was beautiful, it had a wooden fence, and gravel in the front yard, It was a red brick house, with white borders and a patio with a roof. There were chairs, a bench, chak, and toys in the front.  They didn;t have a backyard, but they had a basement fillled with toys and internet, tv, and the disc of the new animated into the spiderverse movie, I loved the movie. The graohics were amazing, the anomation was on point, 

The restroom had a beautiful stain glass geometric window, a showerhead, and had a farmhouse door wirh a lock that you have in a hotel so noone knocks open you unlock your door to checks who there. They gave us a room that had a bunk bed a pull out matress and soft ass beds. 

AFter our vist with them we spent the night in alberquerque and it was a suite in a resort, it was a big room. it was like PRETTY WOMAN BIG. They had a fucking telephone beside the toliet. AND GET THIS the bathtub had jets inside them. and they had a cool flipping mirror and big mirrors with a on/off swith.And they also had a shower with cobbleston interior and a cool showerehead, The kitchen was styled like a bar and there was balconey, a jump from there would cause immediate death. 

On the way back i drank a unhealthy amount of cafffine and sugar, even for ME! I had about in total 1 starbucks carmel macchiatio venti , 5 redbulls, and 3 monster drinks, and another 1 cup of normal black coffee with a hint of creamer. 

On our way to Denver, Colorado we met another one of my Aunts dear friends, They were humble as fuck, and had great hospitality. They seemed very oped people, and they had a dog, a piano, a baby, and amazing food. Their Father was my Aunt’s 4th grade Creative Writting Teacher. He had gentle steel blue eyes, and he had a aura that was comfortabel yet defensive, and the Mother was the same. I belive that they didn’t want to be judged and hur by strangers by showing vunerbility. They have a daughter and a son that i met. Ther daughter grew up with my aunt in Ganado, Arizona, on the rez(servation). The mother i think was a nurse, and their son was very inviting and nice. Their son showed us the dog and was giving some commentary on the football game. The daughter was a singer and in a band called THE HAUNTED WINDCHIMES. They were very generious people, they gave us the pleasure of a homecookes meal, some coffee for the road, and offered us a room to spend the night in. They did all this for us, they faced many hardships in life, be what i can tell. They have a mentally challenged  son that is 28 years old. At first i thought he was a teenager. I believe thats why they were so defensive. I also have a mentally challenged sister, but not to the degree of their  son. I should give them a proper thank you for their hospitality when i see them again. 

Also the daughter has a baby thats very cute, she and bubbs bonded and the baby got some social contact and excercise. 

[coloradospringsstainedglass]

New Portfolio Piece: Sam Houston State University Staine Glass Replica

New Post has been published on https://www.coloradospringsstainedglass.com/2021/05/08/new-portfolio-piece-sam-houston-state-university-staine-glass-replica/

New Portfolio Piece: Sam Houston State University Staine Glass Replica

We are a proud member of the Scottish Stained Glass family of companies here at Colorado Springs Stained Glass. This allows us to take part in many interesting and amazing historical stained glass restorations, repairs, and, in the case of Sam Houston State University, recreations. This project is just the latest example of how our job is to breathe new life into structures like churches, synagogues, historic homes, and universities around the country.

Replicating Sam Houston State’s Historic Stained Glass Windows

Founded in 1879, Sam Houston State University is one of the oldest schools in Texas. The original campus was dotted with lovely brick structures, some of which had stained glass in soaring arched windows. these windows were iconic to the school and something they were proud of. Sadly, much of the cherished stained glass was destroyed in a fire in 1982. Recently SHSU chose to have one of the original stained glass windows recreated to commemorate their school motto “The measure of a Life is its Service”. They happily entrusted us with the honor of preserving the legacy of their stained glass and their amazing organization.

The First Challenge of Restoring Sam Houston State University’s Lost Stained Glass

Since the window they chose was completely destroyed–there were some inherent challenges in this project. We had nothing physical to replicate so we turned to historical documentation–of which there was very little. This meant we would have to innovate and work with what we had– a single color photo from a 1962 yearbook.

Modern Technology for Restoring Stained Glass

We used modern technology to get the design dialed in. We scanned the yearbook picture into the computer then printed it out full-sized. We then carefully traced each line. This allowed us to be very accurate to the original artwork. After this, we rescanned the drawing into our CAD program and doubled the size of the original, and printed it out again. Although it was a painstaking process, we find it is always worth it to give due respect to historical pieces of stained glass.

Restoring Sam Houston State University’s Lost Stained Glass

The second challenge we ran into was sourcing materials that were used over a century ago. They simply no longer exist. This was particularly a problem with colors. In order to get glass pieces that were very close to the originals, we tapped our conservation specialist. to help us. But for us, close was not enough would not do. So, we next entrusted our incredibly talented painted stained glass artists to paint over those very close hues to make them perfectly accurate.

The Results of the Recreated Commemorative Stained Glass Window

It took us almost a full year to complete this amazing stained glass recreation. In some areas, in order to create shadow and depth, we had to implement ten layers. Also, with a whopping 3,000- 4,000 pieces this replica is truly a feat of art and science. The entire university–from staff to students and board members, was delighted by a replication that was so beautiful and true to the lost original. The entire Scottish Stained Glass family was happy too! We take such great pride in giving respect to the artwork of old and preserving it for generations to come.

If you have a stained glass restoration or rebuild project we would love to speak to you about it too! Contact us at Colorado Springs Stained Glass today for a free consultation.

[blinds-couture]

Industrial Furniture and Decor Ideas for Your Home

The industrial style is something that is still quite an unusual set-up in our homes. Inspired by the warehouses and factory setting, this home-style presents the sturdiness and laid-back character of its owner. Decorations and exposed architectural structures like weathered wood and iron reinforcements that are available in furniture stores Colorado springs enhance the strong touches in the making, giving your space an industrialized touch. The American home furniture Colorado listed ways how to incorporate this design to any area in your home.

Color Palette Selection

An industrial design is usually composed of aged, battered, and worn tones, and these shades can be useful to your home. Monochromatic with organic or earthy accents can uplift your home design. Moreover, metal-based colors like steel and iron and oxidation reds and blues can bring an industrial ambiance as well. To further enhance these, you can balance these strong color palettes by softening it with whites and natural wood accents.

Industrial Style Elements

1. Metal

The main element in any industrial style, galvanized, corrugated, and even rustic metals are good options whether for any purpose or just a part of the design.

2. Wood

The presence of wood creates balance as it softens the intense features of the metal. Wood options in industrial style can be either refined or rough.

3. Bricks

Unlike other home styles, industrial types aren't the ones suitable for just painted walls. Bricks are another distinct feature in this design, bring more strong features in your space may it be stained or concrete.

4. Leather

Another thing that can balance the dominative aura of industrial design is the presence of leather. Settled between a strong and soft feature, leather provides a sophisticated and classy look that can be another counterpart of industrial design.

Industrial Accents

1. Rivets

From being an essential industrial tool for ages, rivets are now design options in creating an industrial look in your home.

2. Mechanics

Things like gears, bolts, and nuts create industrial features in your space. Its mechanical details can make the industrialized home more fascinating to look at.

3. Wires

Wires are always present in our homes, but for industrial purposes, it will be for aesthetic reasons. Things like cage lights and wire baskets can be put as finishing touches for your industrialized home style. Also, cage pendant lights are suggested to be put in areas where light bulbs need more protection.

4. Reclaimed Wood

These repurposed structures can still bring a better perspective to your industrialized design. Things like coffee and buffet tables can be produced from these already used woods. Repurposed wires are also recommended to use as well.

Living Room Industrial Ideas

Industrial living room design should create a cool and open aura since this is where people regularly meet and mingle. Open ceiling, exposed bricks, and visible pipes may be imperfect to look but this can best represent your openness.

1. Casters especially stripped-down metal casters

2. Oversized wall arts

3. Exposed air ducts and pipes

4. Club chairs

Kitchen and Dining Room Industrial Ideas

Commercialized kitchens that are filled with floating shelves, bars, and large islands are the best inspiration to achieve the industrial look in your home kitchens. With plenty of lights and seats, your kitchen will have a calm and collected ambiance.

1. Floating shelves

2. Kitchen bar

3. Pendant lights

4. Metal seats

Bedroom Industrial Ideas

In an industrialized design, bedrooms are more minimalistic yet the charismatic area of your home. Utilizing the existing materials can create a relaxing atmosphere that you surely need after a tiring day.

1. Edison bulbs

2. Bedroom desks

3. Minimal beddings

4. Rugs

[magickmoons]

patching up

based on the (accidental) line that Dean and Sam had seen each other two years prior to the pilot episode. Dean takes a trip to see Sam at Stanford. Things don’t go according to plan.

“Shit. Damn it!” Dean got both hands back on the wheel just in time to pull the Impala out of the skid she was heading for as he took a corner too fast.  As soon as she was righted, he went back to dabbing up the blood that dripped down the interior of the door. If Dad saw that, he'd take the car back for sure. But Dad wasn't ever going to know about any of this.

He glanced up at a street sign, trying to remember the directions he'd pulled off the library computer that afternoon. The couple/few shots he'd had the bar, combined with his head meeting a brick wall soon after, made his memory a little funny.

Stupid, Dean. Stop in for a little liquid courage, and then you just had to go and push your luck. Apparently, college boys aren't all that open and experimental, even in a hippie town like this.

He spat some blood out the open window and slowed the car, trying to read the building numbers. He had to be getting close to Sammy’s dorm. Half a block down, a car pulled out into traffic, and Dean slipped into the spot it had vacated with a grin. Finally, something was going right. He spent a minute wiping the obvious blood off his face and hands. Not that he gave a damn what Sammy's roommates thought about him, but he really didn't want to draw too much attention.

Stepping out of the car, he tried to focus on the building closest to him. The bricks moved disconcertingly, and he was already heading for the trunk for a weapon before he realized it was just another wave of dizziness. He felt along the back of his skull, wincing when his fingers found one hell of a lump. When he looked at his hand in the light of the streetlamp, his fingers were smeared and sticky with blood.

He walked two buildings in the wrong direction before turning around and finding the one that the student directory listed as Sam's residence hall. Putting on his most charming persona, the one that (almost) never failed to land him in bed with whoever he aimed it at, he caught up with a girl heading up the walk to the secured entrance.

“Chilly tonight, isn't it?”

She eyed his t-shirt and flannel combo appreciatively. Black t-shirts were excellent for hiding blood stains, especially at night. “If you say so,” she grinned.

He threw her his best Aw, shucks grin. "Hey, maybe you could help me with something. Do you know Sam Winchester?”

“Yeah, I know him. But I don't know you.”

“I'm Dean.” He waited, but no spark of recognition appeared on her face. He swallowed down the sudden lump in his throat and moved automatically into yet another cover story. “I'm an old friend of his from back home. Was just passing through and thought I'd surprise old Sammy-boy, but I can't remember his room number.”

She chewed on her lip as she evaluated him. Finally, she shrugged. "Guess you look all right. Sam's in room 617."

She pushed the door open, and he followed her through. As they stepped into the bright light of the lobby, and she got a good look at his face, she gasped. "Oh my god, are you okay? What happened to you?"

Well, crap. Didn't think it was that bad.

"This?" He chuckled. "This is nothin' sweetheart. You should see the other guy."

"Really?"

Dean inwardly rolled his eyes at the tinge of excitement in her voice. This was the kind of people Sammy had ditched them for?

She rode the elevator with him up to the fourth floor where she exited with a flirty grin, after writing her number on his palm. “Just in case Sam's busy,” she winked.

Dean slumped against the wall of the elevator with a groan as soon as the doors closed behind her. This is such a bad idea. His hand hovered over the panel; he could just head back down, leave, and Sam would never be the wiser, probably wouldn't care even if he knew. But damn it, Dean hadn't gone through all this just to walk away.

The doors opened on the sixth floor and Dean pushed off the wall with a grimace. His muscles were already stiffening up, and he could feel the warm trail of blood just above his ear. With no one in the hallway to impress, he let himself limp along to 617. Taking a deep breath, he steeled himself and knocked.

"Hang on!" Sam yelled from inside. Dean smiled at his voice. God, he'd missed the kid.

The door opened and there was Sam. He'd somehow grown another inch or two, apparently not content with just being taller than Dean; he was going for full-on Giant status. He'd grown into his height too, muscles starting to offset the teenage beanpole syndrome.

"Dean?" Sam stared at him in surprise. "What the hell are you doing here?"

Before Dean could answer, Sam pulled him inside, glancing up and down the hallway before closing the door. "What happened? What's after you?"

"Nothin's coming, Sammy. Stand down. It was just a bar fight."

"Really, Dean?"

Not here for thirty seconds and we've already got epic bitchface. Must be some kinda record.

"What, did you get caught hustling pool? Hitting on the wrong guy's date? Then you thought, hey, I'm near Sam. Let's go spread the joy."

Dean tried to protest, but really wasn't sure what he'd say. I came to see you, but stopped by the bar for a shot or two of liquid courage, got stupid and hit on the wrong guy and got my ass beaten by a bunch of homophobic pricks wasn't exactly how he wanted to come out to Sam.

"What were you even doing out this way? No, never mind. Just sit down and try not to bleed on the furniture." Sam tossed him a towel. "Stay here."

Sam left the room with a huff, and Dean settled into the desk chair. He draped the towel around his neck and looked around the room. Decent size -- better than some places they'd stayed, for sure.

Sam's side of the room was lacking character -- no decoration, pathologically neat except for textbooks and notebooks scattered across the desk. The photo of their parents stood on an otherwise empty nightstand next to the bed.

At least he hasn't completely left the family behind.

The other side of the room looked like Sam's roommate was working overtime to counter Sam's studious neatness. Unmade bed, a couple of beer cans on the desk, posters of half naked women stuck haphazardly to the walls. A TV and some kind of video game system sat on top of a stack of cardboard boxes at the foot of the bed.

"All right." Sam slipped back in. He put a bowl of water on the desk next to Dean and dug around in his closet, pulling out a first aid kit.

He efficiently assessed Dean's injuries, cleaning each, bandaging where needed. He kept coming back to the head wound.

"It doesn't need stitches, but it's not insignificant. Don't suppose I can convince you to go the hospital? Get a CT scan, maybe?"

Dean threw Sam a confused look. "Are you sure you didn't get hit on the head?"

"Yeah, okay. I guess not." Sam started packing away the unused supplies, separating out everything that could be cleaned and piling it in the bowl.

"You meeting up with Dad after this? Someone should keep an eye on you for a bit."

"Nah, Dad's working something with Caleb in Colorado. I'm on vacation." He tried not to sound too bitter at being excluded from the hunt -- and being prohibited from finding his own. Spent all of his childhood being told to act like an adult; now he's actually an adult, he can't get out from under Dad's thumb.

"All right, then. Brady's out of town for the night anyway. I guess you can stay here for a bit."

"Hey, don't do me any favors, man."

"It's just ... Dean, I need to be away from this, from all of it." He made a sweeping gesture from Dean's head to his feet. "Whether it's monsters or bar fights, I want out."

"Yeah, I get  it, Sammy." Dean pushed roughly past his brother. "I'll get out of here and let you get back to your nice, normal life."

"Dean, stop."

He paused facing the door.

Sam sighed. "I'm ... That was kinda harsh. I just wasn't expecting this right now. Why don't you stick around for bit? We can play some video games or something."

Dean turned around. Sam offered him a sheepish smile and a shrug. For just a minute, it was ten years ago, before Sam hated him, left him behind. Back when Dean's respect meant something.

"Well, if you're that desperate for company ... "

"Jerk."

"Bitch."

Sam shook his head and laughed. "Sit back down and prepare to have your ass handed to you." He tossed a controller to Dean as he set the system up.

Several hours and a few beers later, they had run through just about all of Brady's games and switched over to watching some late night show.

Stretched out on Brady's bed with Sam in his own on the other side of the room, it was almost like old times. Maybe it was that, maybe it was the beer, maybe it was just a random impulse, but Dean found himself saying, "I hit on the wrong person. He and his buddies were not too happy with me." He stared up at the ceiling, afraid to see Sam's reaction.

The bed creaked as Sam rolled onto his side to face Dean.

"Really? Damn. Fucking assholes like that make me sick."

Dean swiveled his head to see Sam's face full of concern and outrage.

"No, I was ... Sam, I ... " Damn it, why can't the kid just read between the lines? Gonna make me say it? "I was hitting on the guy, Sammy."

Sam nodded slowly. "Yeah, and?"

"What d'ya mean, 'Yean, and?'"

Sam blew out a frustrated breath. "I mean, you look like you feel even worse than when Dad needed the Impala for a hunt and you'd taken it to get lucky in the backseat. So, I'm waiting for the 'and.'"

A veil of numbness settled over Dean as he replied. "I hit on a guy, Sam. Don't you got something to say about that?"

"What, that you're bi?"

Dean swung up to sitting and spread his hands wide. "Yeah?"

Sam stared at him for a few seconds. "Dean, I already knew."

He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out so he closed it again.

"I've known for years." Sam sat up opposite Dean. "I thought you knew."

"No," Dean said faintly. "You never said anything."

"Neither did you. I just figured it wasn't a big deal -- didn't need to be spelled out. And, well, talking about it in front of Dad seemed inadvisable."

The numbness started to fade, leaving words crashing into each other in his head. Sam knew. Sam fucking knew and didn't care? He stared at his brother.

"I don't ... How'd you figure it out?"

Sam shrugged. "I'm observant."

"Yeah. So's Dad. Does he know?"

Sam's quick head shake quashed the idea that somehow Dad knew and was okay with it -- that this wasn't yet another way for Dean to disappoint him. He swallowed. Stupid to hurt over something that was exactly the same as it had been ten minutes earlier.

"Dad only sees what he wants to."

Sharp prickles spread from Dean's neck down his arms, a flush of anger had him spitting the words, "What the hell is that supposed to mean, Sammy?"

"You know exactly what it means, Dean. Everything's black and white for Dad, good or evil. And there's no changing his mind once he's decided what something is; he sees the facts that support his view and dismisses everything else."

"Nice to see college hasn't changed you. Still the same opinionated know-it-all brat."

Restless energy coursing through him had Dean on his feet. Sam stood too, almost looming over him, his face stormy. "Having an opinion that's different from Dad's is not automatically a bad thing, Dean. He's not perfect, and we're allowed to think for ourselves. That's supposed to be his job -- to help us do that!"

"He did help us. He kept us alive, safe from all the monsters out there!" Dean shoved his hands in his pockets, trying to keep from balling them into fists.

"Maybe we wouldn't have been in danger if he didn't go looking for them. Maybe he should have just left well enough alone."

Dean stepped back, his breath coming in jagged bursts, his arms aching from tension. He would not punch his brother.

"I'm outta here, man. I did not come all this way to see you just to have the same old argument. Let me know when you get some new material." He shoved past Sam, jostling him harder than was strictly necessary.

"You came here to see me?" Sam spoke quietly, and it took Dean until his hand was on the doorknob to process the words.

"Yeah." He was shaking -- anger and fear and disappointment -- and wasn't that always how it ended up for him?

"I thought ... I mean, I figured you were out here anyway, just ..."

"Well, I guess you don't know everything, huh, college boy?"

"Dean."

Sam's wounded voice called up a flood of memories. Fragments of their life

Dean, why is Dad always so mad? I'm hungry, Dean. Why do we have to leave again, Dean? I like it here.

Dean let his head rest against the cool door. He couldn't resist trying to help Sam when he sounded like that. But he couldn't make it better, not anymore. Sam had a chance here, and Dean wouldn't screw it up for him. This had been a mistake.

He cleared his throat and spoke to the door. "You were right, Sam. It's time for you to get away from all of that shit."

"No, Dean. That's not what I meant."

He could feel Sam standing about four paces behind him, stock still, waiting.

"S'ok, Sammy. I gotta head out and meet Dad anyway." He glanced over his shoulder, then wished he hadn't. Sam looked a little lost, yeah, but also more than a little knowing. "Yeah, anyway, thanks for patching me up."

Sam looked down at the floor, then back up. "Anytime, Dean."

"See you around then."

"See you."

In the elevator, Dean's finger hovered over the 4th floor for about one second before he hit the button for the lobby. He needed to get out of this damn town now. Do not pass Go. Do not collect $200.

And good riddance.

Author’s Note: This was actually supposed to be just a quick bittersweet interlude, where Sam accepts Dean as bisexual. Unfortunately, I forgot that they cannot communicate for shit in the early years (and by extension just a couple years before that), so.... argument.

[chip-mole]

5 Cliches About Concrete Walkway You Should Avoid

As a neighborhood, Northern Colorado concrete contractor, we source our supplies from the very best high-quality suppliers and don't Lower any corners, so that you can rest straightforward realizing the close product or service are going to be a thing you are proud of. 

Make contact with us these days To find out more about all the choices you've and schedule a no-obligation quote currently.

How Many Bag?: The concrete plant dispatcher will inquire you how many bag you need. They're asking the amount of bags of cement you need for every property. six bag is normal for exterior flatwork. 5 bag is often utilized for footings and foundations. So for your flatwork use six bag.

Location metallic edging in the bottom about the outside in the concrete and brick. Faucet it down which has a hammer, ensuring that it sticks up sufficient to overlap the bottom in the brick. Metallic stakes have the edging. Insert them into your edging anchor holes and tap them into the bottom.

The term “paver” refers to slim, flat stones made for use in paving projects for instance walkways, patios, and driveways. Both equally brick and concrete pavers are set up the exact same way, and both equally offer you several years of use and durability.

We take great treatment in tending to our lawns and gardens, and ensuring that we strike only the top perception on to start with sight, so Why don't you lengthen that sensibility on the walkway also? What carries you and your company into the front door really should be a year-round enjoyment, and since these top 60 most effective concrete walkway ideas hardly ever go out of fashion, you are able to be assured it will be a lifelong joy.  

one. Buying just enough. If you’re purchasing concrete, it’s far better to pay $sixty for an extra 50 % garden of concrete than to return up short. You don’t really have to use it all. The driver will haul absent the leftovers.

Before you decide to can use a company to begin pouring your concrete, you’ll first require a system. Considered one of The weather wherever several homeowners don’t spend plenty of time is driveway and walkway preparing.

A brush finish with stamped slate borders plus a proline compass was set up. It absolutely was acid stained with a number of shades. See much more pics from this contractor >>

It is important to understand that amongst the greatest charges connected with concrete sidewalks is usually that of labor. Although a lot of homeowners strategy outside the house decor from a DIY standpoint, Skilled function is often significant for more elaborate sidewalk jobs. Labor costs can range from $ten to $40 for every hour dependant on the intricacy and magnitude from the job.

Great facts..I’m seeking some extra concrete pavers that appear like your 1st concrete paver picture in the following paragraphs. I are in Houston but can’t discover them at any with the bathroom box stores or stone sites. Any Thoughts? I want these because I am matching One more spot which i already have them.

Prolonged sleeve shirt and trousers need to be worn when dealing with concrete to maintain the cement off of your skin. If garments will get saturated with liquid from concrete it will eventually transfer the acids to the skin and lead to irritation.

I’ve observed beautiful concrete pavers that seemed like organic stone, And that i’ve also worked with inexpensive kinds that crumbled and cracked just before I even got commenced.

If you already have a concrete walkway that’s in good form but feels a bit monotonous, take into consideration offering it a makeover with painted stencils.

[dagazspy-log]

How To Get Hired In The Best Colored Stamped Concrete Sealer Industry

Individual stone models aren’t the safest possibility in the metropolis like Christchurch which activities regular tremors. For the reason that our blend is light-weight and typically pinned by means of on the reliable structure (not just around the area) with the wall, merchandise may be set up at as many as 30mm in depth, and may be installed in excess of pretty much any surface area such as concrete, brick, gib-board, fibro-board or present tile. Also because of the depth it's utilized, it provides the installer the chance to carve and texture to excellent depth. It could be formed and coloured to look like stone, timber, deep rock textures and more. The works are then coloured and stained to simulate the looks of the actual point.

It really works superbly in applications in which more heat is desired.   The patio pictured over provides a broom end (no pattern) in addition to a firepit for entertaining. 

Use the form down below to filter by color or name. To distinct the filter, go away the sphere blank and click on the “Filter” button. Click on any color sample under to check out specific information about that pigment.

Stamped Concrete Designs recently re-did our total showroom ground. The final result was a gorgeous, cleanse seem that helped showcase our solutions and make us search past Expert. We'd advise Stamped Concrete Designs to any individual!

: Spot a 2 x four over the width of sort. All and sundry grasp 1 finish of your board and drag it gradually alongside the duration in the walkway to stage or “screed” the cement.

It is a decreased upkeep choice than some ornamental concrete options and paving but will deteriorate a good deal a lot quicker as It is just a A lot softer floor. This is a dim colour so blends in to most configurations.

Find the CCS number of substantial executing ornamental coatings, concrete security sealers and pigments, offered nationwide.

When crystal clear sealer peels off an improperly cleaned stamped concrete slab, it will take the excess antiquing release with it leaving a brighter location. This makes the general job search blotchy or perhaps even devoid of the secondary color in Those people bare spots. The end result is sure to be described as a call from the disgruntled homeowner who needs repair work performed.

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Our brick stamping tools develop that paved brick look for your entrances and driveways. We have now all sorts of concrete brick patterns for developing a standard really feel and search to a house.

Vertical Overlays are undoubtedly the hottest development in attractive concrete today. Attractive stamping and texturing adds astounding splendor and depth to concrete driveways, paths and store floors, but we will use very comparable techniques to vertical surfaces, which include aspect walls, fireplace surrounds, exterior or internal facades to your own home or area of business enterprise. Vertical overlays and fake stone absolutely are a amazing alternative to genuine stone. Since the blend is lightweight, and fixed on the wall and Solid as just one device, it is a safer choice to actual stone which happens to be major and time consuming.

It's possible if we connect with about for your few offers they will be able to reveal it lots greater, so we know which colors to settle on or if stamping will do the job better for our back again patio.

He indicates mixing two or maybe more powder releases in various percentages. "This could leave your Competitors baffled and permit you to match job features others might not be in a position to obtain," he suggests.

Concrete benchtops undoubtedly are a handmade alternate to other kitchen area surfaces that supply the chance to have whole customisation. With concrete you achieve features and a hard sporting workspace that you simply get from high-end stone but with the opportunity to cast massive or smaller pieces without seams.

[siren10101]

A Trip Back In Time: How People Talked About One Color Stamped Concrete 20 Years Ago

Labor is A part of this concrete leveling or slab jacking estimate. Selling price accounts for pumping slurry into drilled holes to lift standard of sunken concrete slab and stabilize subsoil. More cost for pouring new concrete, concrete removing, concrete demolition, or tree elimination.

Employee 2: Places the feel mats. The primary mat should be very carefully aligned, positioned and tamped in within the starting point of your project. Repeat the process by positioning the 2nd mat next to the initial.

The level of release agent imparted will differ with task web page ailments. The ultimate benefits will array concerning color of foundation concrete to that of your antiquing release, commonly landing somewhere between.

Now, to maneuver on to traits and best techniques. Stamped concrete colors tend to be picked to Mix with other architectural elements of the house or perhaps the organic surroundings with the assets.

: Position a 2 x 4 throughout the width of kind. Everybody grasp 1 end from the board and drag it slowly and gradually along the duration of the walkway to stage or “screed” the cement.

much less residual bond-breaker on to the area and necessitates considerably considerably less cleaning afterward. It really is one way to produce indoor stamped concrete.

Stamped colored concrete could produce cracks following the stamping process or right after lengthy publicity to traffic as well as other external components.

Unique stone models aren’t the most secure alternative inside of a metropolis like Christchurch which encounters frequent tremors. Due to the fact our combine is light-weight and typically pinned as a result of for the stable structure (not only on the floor) on the wall, solution may be installed at approximately 30mm in depth, and can be set up around just about any surface like concrete, brick, gib-board, fibro-board or current tile. Also due to the depth it's applied, it offers the installer the chance to carve and texture to excellent depth. It may be formed and coloured to look like stone, timber, deep rock textures and much more. The works are then coloured and stained to simulate the looks of the true point.

Around major of that,he sprayed a fern inexperienced antiquing acid and after that sealed these squares.He colored the remaining squares inside a like fashion employing a chemical spray and an amber antiquing acid.Then he oversealed all the things to get these showroom high quality outcomes.This floor graces the showroom of a celebration rental retail store.

Concrete Craft serving Colorado Springs can provide your property or company with personalized resurfaced concrete overlays for driveways, patios and walkways at 50 % the cost of other materials. Very pleased franchise house owners, Mark and Ramona Sisco, can completely transform your out of doors surfaces like walkways and driveways with gorgeous stamped, stained and resurfaced attractive concrete designs that happen to be sturdy and straightforward care.

When you’re considering a a single-of-a-type piece, it’s crucial that you select a qualified concrete contractor who may have a chance to function along with you to produce a design you’ll really like. When done tastefully, these exceptional items can even help Improve your home’s resale worth.

A popular texture especially when made use of with brick or tile grout lines. An integral color utilizing a rather darker eco-friendly or grey release powder to accentuate the sample might be pretty impact Wood Grain

Ken Freestone, director of complex engineering for Elite Crete Systems Inc. in Valparaiso, Ind., suggests lots of people are having far from mixing a color hardener using a powder release mainly because it's so time intensive and not incredibly sensible for interior Positions. In its place, They are turning to acid stains or styrenated acrylic for additional color.

Utilize a high-driven stress washer (3000 PSI is recommended, but watch out, concrete is often damaged) somewhere around 24 several hours after the concrete has obtained initial established. That is to get rid of extra release agent within the surface on the concrete.