#I get it my social life is trash and has been snowballing but PLEASE let me have ONE THING

[kavehater]

You know? Life is so exceptionally unfair.

[artificialqueens]

More Than You Know, Ch 1 (Trixya) - Joanne Elizabeth

Summary: “When has it ever worked out well for the LA lesbian to lie to her conservative mother in the midwest about a fake woman?” Trixie and her girlfriend are invited back to Wisconsin for her sister’s wedding… Except Trixie doesn’t actually have a girlfriend. She does, however, have a best friend who will do anything for her.

AN: I started this fic in the middle and have been adding in random scenes as motivation strikes. It’s finally big enough to start sharing!

“Oh, and Trixie?” Maggie, Trixie’s sister stopped her as Trixie was trying to end the phone call, “Mom told me about your girlfriend. She’s more than welcome to come. Seriously, I know you, and I know you’re worried about it, but I’d really like if she came. All the other bridesmaids will bring their partners, and no one will blink an eye at her.”

“Oh! Uh, I mean, she’s probably, um, busy?” Trixie stuttered, heart in her throat. Maggie knew about the girlfriend too? How many people had her mother told? This was getting out of hand.

“Trix, please,” Maggie whined, “I want you to feel comfortable around me and Ryan. Part of that is bringing your girlfriend to the wedding. It would mean a lot to me, and everyone else, to see you happy. You deserve to be happy.”

“I’ll ask her,” Trixie sighed, “But seriously, I’m in the parking lot. I gotta go.”

“Okay, I’m taking that as a yes and adding her to the seating chart!” Maggie made kissy noises into the phone before hanging up.

“Fuck.” Trixie let her head fall to the steering wheel.

~

“I’m screwed, I’m screwed, I’m screwed,” Trixie chanted while washing her hands in the sink next to Kim, her best work friend.

“What’s wrong?”

“My sister wants me to bring my girlfriend to her wedding,” Trixie groaned. She slipped the black apron around her waist, rummaging through the pockets to make sure her tools were there.

“What girlfriend? What? Have you been hiding something from me?” Kim stepped towards her, her big ballooning skirt pushing into Trixie’s space.

“I haven’t been hiding anything from you,” Trixie began, taking a deep breath, “But I may have lied to my mother about having a girlfriend and apparently now my whole family thinks I’m in a serious relationship.” Kim’s jaw dropped, but her lips twisted into a smile.

“What kind of romcom juice have you been sipping?” Kim laughed, “When has it ever worked out well for the LA lesbian to lie to her conservative mother in the midwest about a fake woman?”

“Okay, I definitely haven’t seen that movie.” Trixie shoved her aside and walked towards the main floor of the shop.

“So what are you going to do? Craiglist a date? Tell them she died?” Kim was still trailing after her, despite having passed her station.

“I don’t know, Kim!” Trixie barely restrained herself from snapping, “Can we just work for a second while I think about this?” Kim’s narrow eyes went even more narrow.

“You are not getting off the hook with this. I’ll see you at lunch.” She turned and marched back to her station. Trixie sighed and snapped the lights on at her station before checking the ipad on the stand for her first appointment. She didn’t have anyone for another half hour, so she snuck her phone from the pocket of her apron and pulled up her messages

Trixie: Mother, I’m pushing my friends away againnn.

Katya: I’m still here, Barbara.          What’s going on?

Trixie: I snapped at Kim because she kept asking me questions.          Also, this might be the worst day of my life.          So, if I finally bite the bullet, make sure Kim does my makeup for the funeral.          You’re not allowed to pick out my dress but please help yourself to my wardrobe after I’m gone. Lord knows you need it.

Katya: What’s wrong mama? I’m booked all day, but we can go to ice cream tonight if you want.

Trixie: It’s literally the world’s longest story.           Ice cream does sound good though.           Eight?

Katya: See you then. And remember, Jesus doesn’t exist and his love for you wouldn’t brighten your day anyway.           But I do and I love you.

Trixie: xoxo

Trixie smiled surreptitiously at her phone before pocketing it. Katya never failed to make her laugh. Which was probably one of the reasons she found herself in this predicament. She groaned and threw her body into the chair, waiting for her client.

~

Lunch snuck up on Trixie, and before she realized, Kim was hovering beside her station with expectant eyes.

“Chipotle?” Trixie suggested, with the grim resignation that she wasn’t going to get out of this conversation. Kim nodded and extended her elbow. Together, they breezed through the doors of their shop, across the shopping center lot, and ordered their food, swapping stories about their clients from the morning.

“Okay, enough distraction, Mattel,” Kim said, mouth full of food.

“Fine,” Trixie groaned, “So I let my mother think that I had a girlfriend, because she was really worried about me being lonely and dying surrounded by cats. But I didn’t start the lie! It just sort of snowballed from assumptions she’d made, and by the time I realized what she was assuming, I couldn’t, like, correct her because she was really happy for me. And she’s never been supportive of my relationships or sexuality and I couldn’t help it! So fine, I’ve let it go on for too long and now my whole family must think I’m dating someone and I am expected to bring her to the wedding in a few weeks, and I’m going to die of embarrassment either way.”

Kim’s burrito was frozen halfway to her mouth. Trixie slurped loudly on her drink, waiting on a reaction. Kim merely laid down her burrito, daintily wiped her hands on a napkin, and extended one across the table to grasp at Trixie’s.

“Your mom will not think you are going to die alone if you tell her you dumped this girl. Or that, like, she can’t get off work.”

“That’s the problem, she knows she’d get off work.” Trixie saw Kim do a double-take as she blurted that out.

“What do you mean? Did you make up a job too?” Kim went back for her burrito, laughing slightly.

“No, she’s,” Trixie paused, “Fuck, Kim. She thinks my girlfriend is Katya.” Trixie was so distraught that she couldn’t even muster a laugh as Kim dropped her burrito onto the table.

“What? Trixie, what?” Kim stared at her incredulously.

“I didn’t tell her we were dating!” Trixie practically shouted, “I didn’t even realize she thought that until a few months ago! She just like, saw pictures of us and heard me talking about her and just assumed!” Kim burst into hysterical giggles. Trixie reached across the table to slap her on the arm.

“Ow, stop.” Kim’s giggles died down. “So, what now?”

“I guess I either ask Katya to go with me, or say we broke up. Even though the only reason my mom thought we were together was social media, so it probably wouldn’t even work.” Trixie picked through her burrito bowl, spearing the black beans on her fork.

“Trixie, why don’t you just tell them she can’t come?” Kim said slowly, as if trying to speak to a child. Trixie shrugged and continued to poke at her food.

“Do you want her to go?” Kim gasped, “Oh my god you want her to go!”

“Shut up!” Trixie’s face was screwed into a scowl, “Not like that. I just… I want my mom to be happy.” Kim leaned forward to hear the last part, because Trixie was muttering.

“So ask her,” Kim shrugged, “She’d probably rob a bank for you - a trip to Wisconsin can’t be that bad.”

“But that’s so weird! Come be my fake girlfriend and hold my hand in front of my homophobic family even though we are very platonically not dating.”

“Mmm, would we say very platonically though?” Kim teased. Trixie huffed and stood to throw her trash away.

“C’mon, I have a two o’clock, so I need to get back.”

~

Trixie waited at their table of the ice cream shop’s patio that they had gleefully discovered was exactly the same distance from both of their apartments. She had considered ordering Katya’s usual, but knew the girl would more than likely be late. Trixie played around on her phone while she waited, uploading an outfit picture she had taken this morning to Instagram and decidedly ignoring her sister’s text of “Is your gf veg too? Making a final count for dinner :)”

“Hello you gorgeous, angelic, polite and well-adjusted woman,” Katya called, still on the corner of the block. Trixie giggled and tucked her phone into the pocket of her shorts. Katya had on a black scuba skirt and a slinky white collared shirt. Trixie guessed that she had come straight from the art gallery.

“Bad day?” Trixie guessed, as Katya immediately slumped into her arms.

“Why can’t people just be nice?” Katya mumbled into Trixie’s shoulder. “You smell different.” She pulled back to look at her. Trixie watched as the blue eyes darted around her face and hair, which she’d pulled into a side ponytail to get it off her neck on the summer evening.

“New clothes smell,” Trixie grinned, spinning to model her shirt. It was just a simple pale pink crew neck, but the fabric was so soft that Trixie had to get it when she saw it.

“C’mon, I need the processed sugar before we mutually rant about how everyone on this planet sucks except for the two of us,” Katya stated, interlacing her fingers with Trixie’s and pulling her inside.

Trixie insisted on paying for Katya’s (one scoop of birthday cake in a waffle cone coated in chocolate and sprinkles because “It’s always someone’s birthday, Trixie”) and her own (a strawberry milkshake that, no, she didn’t just get because it was pink, thankyouverymuch) orders. They took them to the patio where the sun was still hanging on in the horizon, staining the sky bright orange and light pink.

“You first,” Katya said, cheersing Trixie’s cup to her cone.

“No, I want to hear about your day. My stuff can come after,” Trixie insisted, leaning forward on her elbow to fully immerse herself in the art of Katya’s storytelling.

“It’s nothing really, I’m trying to leave all that stuff at the door, because it doesn’t matter, y’know? Like the only thing that matters when I’m there is my art, but I worry that my people skills at the desk will affect how people perceive my art, so then I sit there anxious all day, and ruin every interaction I have with people, and it is a cycle. But I’m leaving it at the door.” Katya shook her blonde hair wildly, as if freeing the thoughts from the tangles.

Trixie made a sound of compassion, lips tight around her straw. Katya laughed, throwing her head back.

“Whatever, mama. Seriously, I’m a lot happier now that I’m away from that place.” Katya lightly kicked her foot against Trixie’s shin. “So what’s got you so bad that you’re willing away your closet to me?” Trixie sighed, setting her cup down. She had decided with Kim that she would ask Katya, but now that it was time, she couldn’t calm her racing heart down to get the words out.

“Well, my mom might think that I have a girlfriend, even though I clearly don’t,” Trixie said slowly, eyes glued to the table.

“Uh huh,” Katya encouraged.

“And with Maggie’s wedding, they want me to bring her,” Trixie continued. Katya nodded sagely. “But, uh, she doesn’t…”

“Exist?” Katya finished.

“Exactly.” Trixie looked up cautiously at Katya. She was chasing drips of ice cream around the cone, lapping like a dog, but she was listening intently.

“And um,” Trixie ripped up a napkin in her lap, “I know it’s dumb, but I want to make my mom think I’m happy out here, so I told-”

“Do you want me to come? I could easily get off work,” Katya interrupted, leaning forward, “It’ll be fun! I could meet your family! We could milk cows and pick corn from the thingie and eat it and wear overalls with no shoes!”

“Oh my god,” Trixie laughed, “I’m not that country, thank you very much.”

“Seriously, if it means that much to you,” Katya was suddenly serious, grabbing Trixie’s hand, “I’d go with you.”

“Uh,” Trixie wasn’t sure how to continue, “You would?”

“Of course! Trix, you’re my best friend. I’d do anything for you.” Katya’s thumb was still stroking Trixie’s hand.

“Uh, okay,” Trixie clapped her hands together, successfully dislodging Katya’s from her own, “Well, I’d really appreciate it. It’s not for like, another month.”

“Do you need me to do anything? Change anything on facebook?” Katya asked.

“No, that’d just confuse our friends, please don’t,” Trixie rushed. “I don’t think you need to do anything, except for like, come on that weekend.”

“Deal. I’m buying overalls.” Trixie groaned.

“Trixie, I’m having a crisis. A clothing crisis,” Katya’s voice rang through the speaker. They’d successfully avoided talk of the wedding until just yesterday when Katya had a meltdown at the idea of meeting Trixie’s family.

“Katya, I don’t know what to tell you.” Trixie juggled her phone between the red bull can and her purse strap, digging for her keys. “All of the pictures you sent me were fine. There’s not really time to go shopping. Just bring clothes and wear them.”

“I want to make a good first impression!”

“You know you’re not really my girlfriend and this does not affect our relationship, right?” Trixie dropped her bag on her kitchen table and listened to the other line - silence.

“But they don’t know that!” Katya finally replied. Trixie shot the rest of her red bull back.

“You want me to come over, don’t you?” Her eyes flitted around the apartment to be sure she’d completed her own to do list before she went to help Katya with hers. Bags packed, plants slightly over watered, dishes done, trash taken out - she was good.

“Please mama,” Katya whimpered. Trixie sighed and grabbed her purse off the table again.

“Order pizza, I’ll pick it up on the way.”

~

At Katya’s, there were clothes strewn everywhere. Her suitcase was lying open on the coffee table, and Lana Del Rey was playing loudly from the bedroom. Trixie pushed aside a brightly colored dress on the kitchen table to put the pizza down.

“You’re aware our flight leaves in like twelve hours, right?” Trixie called.

“Crisis!” Katya responded. Trixie laughed and brought a piece of pizza into Katya’s room.

“You don’t have to change anything. Just maybe leave the eyeball necklace behind, and I don’t care what you bring,” Trixie assured.

“You haven’t seen me in nice clothes! What if you hate it? What if your sister doesn’t let me in at the church?” Katya was spiralling, which wasn’t new to Trixie. Trixie held the pizza out to Katya, who began frantically chewing on a bite.

“First of all, it’s not in a church, so we won’t have to worry about you catching fire. Secondly, I’ve seen you in some fucked up outfits, but it’s not that hard to put together a few good ones. I’m here to help, but I need to either focus on your clothes or the crazy, I can’t do both.” Katya nodded silently and took a seat on the floor.

Trixie began rooting through the piles Katya had made on her bed.

“Like, realistically, you’re a lesbian artist and yoga instructor, they’re expecting eccentric. It’s fine.” I’m a Barbie girl in a Barbie world echoed in from the kitchen “Christ, would you go get that?”

Katya came back in holding the now silent phone gingerly on her palm. “Your mother called.”

“Why didn’t you answer it?” Katya cut her a panicked look. “Oh my god, you’re meeting her tomorrow.” Trixie snatched the phone and hit redial, going back to her task of folding a dress neatly.

“Hi mom, sorry, Katya was too nervous to answer the phone for me,” Trixie teased, her tongue poking through her teeth slightly. Katya mouthed “what the fuck” at her.

“Hey, I’m going to forward you the email about the hotel, but I wanted to update you,” Trixie’s mom said over the phone, “Maggie is going to pick you up instead. I’ll be busy at the house.“

“Okay, cool,” Trixie shrugged, “I’ll send her the flight info then.” She held up a strappy red dress to Katya, who immediately shook her head no.

“Why not?” Trixie whispered, over her mother’s story about a dress fitting.

“It’s too slutty!” Katya whispered back.

“I like it when you’re slutty!” Trixie insisted, a bit too loudly.

“Well, Trix, sounds like you’re busy with Katya,” her mother laughed. Katya slapped her hand to her forehead in a way that made Trixie laugh even harder than she was at her mom.

“Yeah, I came over to help her pack,” Trixie explained. Katya snatched the red dress and threw it into the depths of her closet.

“Don’t stay up too late! Robert is planning on barbecuing tomorrow night for a little welcome home party.”

“No worries, I’ll probably head home in half an hour,” Trixie assured, tucking the phone between her shoulder so that she could hold up a skirt and shirt combo to Katya, who nodded.

“Oh, I would have thought you’d be staying there,” Trixie’s mom trailed off. Trixie’s eyebrows raised in alarm. Was her mother insinuating that she’d approve of her sleeping with Katya?

“Nope,” Trixie said awkwardly. Then, pulling the phone away from her mouth, “Where’s that tuxedo looking thing? I like it.”

“Butch realness,” Katya teased, turning towards her closet.

“Alright, well I will see you tomorrow night!” Trixie’s mom chirped, “I’m looking forward to it. I can’t remember the last time we talked this often.”

“Probably when I lived there,” Trixie spat before thinking, “Sorry, I’m looking forward to it too. I gotta go help Katya though. Love you.”

“I love you too, Trixie.” She sighed and tossed the phone on the bed.

“You okay?” Katya asked, offering the shirt she’d asked for.

“Does it make me a bad person if I don’t actually like most of my family?” Trixie gritted her teeth.

“No, that makes you a normal lesbian,” Katya giggled.

"Like, I love my mom, and everyone else I guess. I’m just not used to interacting with them?” Katya made a sympathetic noise and pulled Trixie in for a hug.

“Whatever, it’s fine, go find some shoes to go with that navy dress,” Trixie pushed her off, going back to business, ignoring the way her skin tingled where Katya had touched her.

Within 45 minutes, Katya was fully packed, the pizza was gone, and Trixie was yawning.

“Listen, you have to be at my apartment by 9:30 tomorrow,” Trixie reminded her as Katya lightly pushed her to the door.

“I know, mom,” Katya sighed, “I won’t be late.”

“And I mean it, don’t bring weed in your suitcase. They totally have dogs for that.”

“Okay mom, bye.”

“Bye girlfriend,” Trixie teased, kissing her hand with a smack.

[lawlliets]

personal post / dont feel the need to read or reply im just venting abt myself and my life and my head and its super super SUPER SUPER long and i have nowhere else to vent besides this website and if youre wondering its just me venting about my anxiety and my life and myself, nothing else

[rainygalaxynerd]

Brave New World - Chapter 52

Warnings: Canon typical stuff. You know, supernatural interference, codependency, guilt trips, ancient languages, stuff like that.

Word count: App 3.000

Summary: It’s time to open up.

This is part of a chapter story. Here is the link to the mobile friendly master list.

A/N: Sorry for keeping you guys waiting. I’ve been writing today as well. Had to deviate from my neat and perfect outline leading to the end of the story to beat a bit of writer’s block. No telling what will happen now, dangit.

Tagging: @kbrand0  @jotink78 @winchesterprincessbride @fangirling-instead-of-working @vibou25 @jencharlan @deandoesthingstome @mrsjohnsmith @littlegreenplasticsoldier @twenty-onepages

Charlie gave him a confused look. “Wouldn’t I be using the cot?”

Dean looked at her and the closed bathroom door. “She seems to like you, so I’ll just…”

Charlie crossed her arms over her chest. “That girl is head over heels for you, you daft man-child.” She pointed toward the bathroom and continued: “She’s really awesome, dude, and if I had a snowball’s chance in Hell, I’d be all over her. But my gaydar works just fine. You’d take it up the ass from Star Trek Trench dude before she’d even consider having sex with me.”

Charlie left the room before Dean had time to close his open mouth. Sam followed her hurriedly, giving Dean a cheeky grin over his shoulder as he shut the door behind him.

Dean was still analyzing all the ways Charlie’s words were dead wrong when Caitlin exited the bathroom.

“All yours,” she smiled and gestured behind her.

Dean stared at her. She didn’t notice, simply crawled into the bed and burrowed into the pillow, content. If she felt any disappointment that she’d be sharing the bed with him and not Charlie she hid it incredibly well. Dean rubbed his eyes one-handed and went to brush his teeth.

As soon as he lay down, Caitlin snuggled in close, throwing an arm across his stomach. She sighed and mmh’ed and pecked his cheek before closing her eyes and relaxing.

Despite his exhaustion, it was a long time before Dean fell asleep.

Chapter 52 - Dangerous Knowledge

Caitlin woke with her nose squished against Dean’s armpit. She sucked in a breath and scrunched her face. Super concentrated essence of Dean gone slightly sour was more of a stink than a scent. She untangled herself and paused before leaving the bed. Dean was snoring lightly; you’d think a man his size would make more noise. She watched him for a little while but for once, he seemed to sleep soundly without nightmares. She collected clean clothes from her bag and went for a shower.

Dean still slept when she came back; he hadn’t even moved. She crawled back into bed with him and nestled against him. She planted little kisses on his torso and shoulder and idly began to trace the tattoo over his heart with a finger.

Dean went instantly from sleeping deeply to fully alert. That wasn’t new. That it wasn’t an ominous sound preceding the need to fight for his life, to protect Sammy; that was new.

He blinked his eyes open against the fair amount of light streaming through the inadequate curtains. He met Caitlin’s soft gaze and swallowed hard. His enthusiastic morning wood throbbed at the sight of her, hair wet and disheveled from lying down after being combed, her nipples perked up under her clingy, white t-shirt. Fuck, I’m so in over my head.

“What time is it?” Dean got up on his elbows and looked for himself, clearing his throat against the dry raspiness left by hours of sleep.

“Almost noon. Ah,” Caitlin gasped at a loud banging on their door. There was a quick movement next to her and then Dean had his gun aimed at the unknown threat.

“Hey, sleepyheads.”

Caitlin and Dean both relaxed at Charlie’s teasing words.

“Let us in, we bring food.”

Caitlin shared a grin with Dean and bounced over to open the door while he tucked the gun away.

Charlie and Sam entered, arms laden with food.

Soon they were all seated, Dean and Caitlin on the edge of the bed, Charlie in the chair, and Sam cross-legged on the floor (“Dude, I can see the top of your head,” Charlie exclaimed to everyone’s amusement) eating. They didn’t speak much, all casting frequent glances at the mysterious suitcase from the airport.

“Okay,” Sam said, finally, unfolding himself and collecting food boxes and trash in a bag. “We’ve slept, we’ve eaten. It’s time.”

Dean nodded. “Right. Charlie, Caitlin, you should go into Sam’s room, redo the salt line at the door and lock it.”

“What?” “Why?”

The two women spoke in unison, glaring at Dean.

“Please. We don’t know what it is. It could be dangerous.” His words came out strained. “Sam and I, we’re used to this stuff. Caitlin, you’ve seen some shit by now, but nothing like this has the potential to be. I don’t want you in here.” Dean’s shoulders tensed as he glared right back at Caitlin. Then he tilted his head slightly in Charlie’s direction.

Caitlin’s eyes narrowed. Then she glanced at Charlie. When Dick Roman had been headed Charlie’s way last night, Caitlin’s heart had hammered its way halfway through her chest and she had barely been able to breathe.

Caitlin’s shoulders slumped in defeat. “If we hear screaming we’ll come running anyway, Numbnuts.” She grabbed Charlie’s hand and dragged her toward the door. “Let’s leave the boys to their toys. Too bad we don’t have a hidden camera somewhere. I bet it’ll be better than an episode of Jackass.”

Charlie looked back at the brothers almost apologetically, as she was pulled out of the room. “You’re really letting him tell you what to do?” She asked Caitlin as she shut the door behind them.

“On the rare occasion that I understand his reasoning.” Caitlin hadn’t walked further away from the door, however. She put a finger to her lips, signaling Charlie to keep quiet.

Charlie nodded her understanding with a mischievous smile.

“Morgan speaking.”

“What, no greetings for your working girl?” Penelope’s teasing pout needed no video link to come through.

“Sorry, honey pants, you’re not the only one working.” If he could just believe that this was a social call, he might not have had to force himself to smile.

“Well, I have no doubts about that. I’m looking at some pretty impressive work right now, and I think I’m gonna have to hold you to your promise about an explanation. I trust you but this is… What the hell is going on?”

“Garcia… I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”

“The hell you are. You had me erase security footage of you with Sarah Mitchell before she was kidnapped. Then she’s rescued by mysterious vigilantes while you guys were in California and they contacted you. You tell me to dig deep on the Mitchells and their hideout and suddenly we’re hauling in human traffickers bordering on slave traders. And now? Now there’s a so-called CIA agent interested in the witness interrogation and the most impressive hack-job I’ve ever seen with a completely bizarre cover story for recent inexplicable events. Then I go and search the databases for this Agent Smith dude and guess who’s file shows up? Dean fucking Winchester’s, you hear? Only it’s Smith’s mugshot on it and not Winchester’s. And I can’t even find evidence that his file has been tampered with. We looked at it just last week, Morgan. We all know what the real Dean Winchester looks like so why has his picture been swapped out with Agent Smith’s? Who happens to be a Dean, by the way. You better tell me everything you know or my head will explode!”

“We can’t talk about this on the phone, Penelope!”

“Pff, I’m confused, not retarded. I’ve scrambled the hell out of this call, no one’s listening.”

“Didn’t expect anything less from you,” Morgan replied gruffly. “But I don’t want to have this conversation like this.”

“I figured. I’m heading up in a few hours. Gonna be helping with the pervs. So I’m giving you a heads up. Better be ready to spill everything tonight.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Derek ended the call with a soft smile.

“Cas, you here?” Dean looked around the room, squaring his shoulders.

Sam shook his head and shrugged.

“Castiel, Angel of the Lord, would you honor us with your presence or whatever the fuck we’re supposed to say to get some celestial superpowers at our backs?”

Cas materialized in front of Dean, a mere foot away, squinting intensely at his friend.

Dean gave a violent start. “Goddammit, Cas. Are you trying to give me a heart attack?”

“I believe that would be counterproductive. What do you want me to do?”

“Just… just stand there and look pretty when we open this thing and if something iffy comes out, make sure the girls are safe. They’re -”

“-right outside the door, eavesdropping. I shall do my best to protect all of you, if necessary.”

“Thanks, Cas.” Dean squeezed Cas’ shoulder as he stepped around him to grab the suitcase.

“Yeah, thanks man,” Sam chimed in, patting Cas’ other shoulder as he positioned himself next to his brother.

Dean frowned at him. “Dude. It’s not a lightbulb and I’m not Polish.”

Sam merely raised an eyebrow. “Neither am I, you should stand back a little.”

“Screw that.” Dean scowled and then deftly picked the lock on the suitcase. “Ready?”

When both Sam and Cas nodded, he opened the lid. holding his breath. Inside was something vaguely rectangular wrapped in a white cloth.

Sam made a small protesting sound when Dean reached for the object and started unwrapping it.

Dean ignored his brother, too excited to worry about gloves. The last of the cloth fell away to reveal a red, clay square.

“The fuck is this?” Dean tapped it, testing the sound. “Sounds hollow.” Before Sam could stop him, he bashed the thing against the edge of the open suitcase. It shattered to reveal a stone the size of an Xbox. The surface was obsidian black, smooth and shiny, and every inch was covered in strange runes. Dean ran his hands over the stone, at once sleek and ridged. “This doesn’t look like much. Dammit.”

Behind him, Castiel dropped to the floor, unconscious.

XOXOX

Caitlin started guiltily at Castiel’s muffled declaration on the other side of the door. When the door wasn’t thrown open immediately, she sighed in relief.

She exchanged amused glances with Charlie at the brothers’ banter and then held her breath. When she heard the disappointment in Dean’s voice a bit later, she shook her head sadly.

Then there was the characteristic thump of a body hitting the floor (do I recognize it because of my medical training or because of this past month?) and Dean’s frantic shouts for Cas.

Without a second glance at Charlie, Caitlin burst into the room.

Dean kneeled next to Cas, patting his face repeatedly, Sam stopped his strides toward the door abruptly as Caitlin entered. She vaguely registered something black and heavy-looking in his hands, then she knelt across from Dean.

“What happened?”

“No idea, he just went lights out. We weren’t near him or anything.” Dean gave her a pleading look. “What’s wrong with him?”

Caitlin found a strong, regular pulse, somewhat faster than that of an average human being. The temperature was higher than normal but was that perhaps simply an angel thing? Castiel’s breathing was as normal and healthy as his pulse.

“Dean, do you happen to know if it’s normal for Cas to be warmer than humans? Do you know anything about angels’ heart rates? Because I don’t. I specialize in humans.” Her wide eyes and the tremor in her voice negated any hint of snark in her words.

Dean stared back at her, then down at his friend. “Come on, Cas.” He slapped Cas’ cheek slightly harder once, then fisted his hands in the trench coat above the angel’s shoulders and simply held on.

“Unbutton his shirt.”

Dean’s and Caitlin’s eyes shot up to Sam, a frown and a raised eyebrow mirrored their unvoiced questions. Dean’s gaze slid down to the black stone in Sam’s hands, widening at the sight of blood running across the inscriptions.

“Please, Dean.” Sam stood over them, impassive, ignoring the drops of blood splattering the floor underneath him.

The hairs on Caitlin’s arms and on the back of her neck stood. Bobby’s mirage flickered behind Sam, shoulders slumped and face stricken. Still, he nodded once as if approving Sam’s request. Caitlin opened the buttons, her hands shaking and clumsy.

Somewhere close to the door, Charlie whimpered softly and pressed her fist to her mouth to muffle the sound.

When Caitlin made room, Sam fell to his knees, hard. Clutching the stone in his left hand, he drew sigils on Cas’ chest and stomach with his bleeding right hand. Placing his palm in the middle of the scrawlings, he activated the sigil.

Castiel seized and coughed. He opened his eyes to find Sam’s bloody hand hovering over him, unblinking eyes staring but not really seeing.

“Sam,” Cas croaked. “Sam, what have you done?”

Sam’s vacant stare focused on Cas, a questioning frown wrinkling his forehead.

Cas pointed at the stone. “What did you do?”

“Bamesa, Castiel. Bamesa doalimni. Dooaip balatune, ciaosi canilu. Bamesa.” Sam’s words held a strange echo as if another voice spoke them simultaneously.

Cas made an agonized keening noise and hid his face in his hands. He stayed like that, half sitting, half lying on the floor, that heartbreaking sound from deep in his throat continuing.

Sam’s eyes widened in shock. “I can’t hear you. Cas, I can’t hear you.”

Dean was on his feet instantly, catching Sam just as his knees gave out. “It’s okay, Sammy. It’s okay. We’ll figure it out.” He half carried, half dragged Sam to the bed and got him to sit. Squeezing Sam’s shoulders, he repeated his promise. “We’ll fix it.”

Sam shut his eyes tightly then opened them again after only a few seconds, breathing fast. “I can’t hear anything. Just His voice. He drowns out everything else.”

Dean’s face fell, his entire body slumping. “Lucifer? You’re hearing Lucifer again?”

Sam frowned in concentration, eyes widening with recognition. “No.” He shook his head violently. “No, not Lucifer.” He screwed his eyes shut and put his hands over his ears. “I know, I know, I know!” After a few harsh breaths, he opened his eyes again, taking in Dean’s shocked expression. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “Yahweh.”

Sam’s eyes rolled back and he collapsed on the bed. A trickle of blood ran from his ears and stained the covers.

Dean stood frozen, eyes glued to Sam’s still form on the bed.

Bobby showed up next to him. “He’ll wake up. Probably.”

When Dean didn’t react, Caitlin spoke. “What happened?”

Bobby shook his head sadly. “Sam fucking Winchester happened. You boys,” he muttered darkly. “You always mess with things you don’t understand, never mind the consequences.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Dean turned to Bobby, eyes narrowed, his words more growled than spoken.

“Oh, he meant well. You always mean well. Idjits.”

Dean crossed his arms in front of him, the corners of his mouth turned down. “If you know what’s going on, then say it.”

“That thing you found? That’s the word of God.” Bobby pointed to the black stone that Sam still clutched to his chest even unconscious.

At the mention of God, Dean scoffed.

“It’s not written in Enochian or any other known language. Remember that movie we watched when you and Sam holed up after…” At the dangerous glint in Dean’s eyes, Bobby trailed off, the words ‘losing John’ unspoken. “The movie. Nerd and kickass hottie chasing after some biblical shit. The guy had that line, what was it.” Bobby rolled his eyes and made his voice higher. “I did it, I learned the language of the birds in two hours and I didn’t even use a Rosetta stone.” Bobby shook his head in disgust. “Worst bullcrap I ever heard. Your brother’s smart, Dean. He could’ve done it, too, deciphered the language on that thing. In a couple of decades, maybe.”

Dean opened his mouth to protest but Bobby cut him short. “You know the difference between fiction and reality, don’t make this about your brother. Besides, it’s irrelevant. Sam decided to take a shortcut.”

Caitlin had checked Sam’s vitals while Bobby spoke. The man might be dead but she agreed with his prediction - Sam would probably wake up, nothing seemed to be physically wrong, at least. Now, she went to Dean’s side and gently took his hand. She looked at Bobby expectantly. “How?”

“He used blood and power of will and prayer, I think. I’m not sure how it works or how the fuck he even thought of it.” Bobby eyed Sam’s unconscious form. “Now it’s bound to him. And he to it.”

Penelope Garcia stared at her friend and coworker open mouthed. “You bloody bastard! You teased the crap out of me for worrying that my new place was haunted.”

Derek ducked his head. “I’m sorry. But I did ask the Winchesters for help and we didn’t find anything.”

Garcia sputtered. “You... They… My home? You asked infamous criminals to break into my home?”

“They didn’t. I just borrowed their EMF-meter. And you gave me the key yourself, remember?”

Garcia opened her mouth again, index finger raised at Morgan but he cut her short.

“I had to look out for my girl, didn’t I?”

She sighed and shook her head sadly. “Why didn’t you just tell me?”

“If you had believed me, how many full nights of sleep would you have had since then?”

Garcia’s eyes widened in horror and she covered her open mouth with both her hands. “You’re right. Oh my God, you’re right. Christ, Morgan, why are you telling me now?”

He smiled softly and took her hands, gently removing them from her face. “We’ve both seen a lot since then, haven’t we? Been through too much shit to get scared of yet another boogeyman, dontcha think?”

“You’ve just insinuated that said boogeyman is real.”

“He is. But he is in no way scarier than the ones we deal with each and every day, Penny. Real monsters are dangerous because it’s their nature to kill but they’re no way near as frightening as humans choosing to become monsters.”

Garcia nodded solemnly. Then suddenly she started giggling. “I’m sorry,” she hiccuped. “But imagine Animal Planet covering monsters and their habits.” She made her voice a bit deeper and narrated. “Today we see the vampire Lestat, hunting the suburbs for easy prey. He ducks into the shadows as he spots a target meandering down the street.” She burst out laughing.

Derek merely responded with a pinched smile. “If Lestat had any brains, he’d eat the narrator and run off to another city.”

Penelope placed a hand over her heart and pouted. “You wound me, Derek. You wound me deeply.”

Derek shook his head at her antiques, smiling.

Penelope schooled her face back into seriousness. “Now, can you tell me how your statement that ghosts and monsters are real relates to the mess we’re in now?”

“Come on, Penny. You’ve seen the recording of Dean Winchester in Baltimore. You saw Gideon and Hotchner’s reactions to it. You’re smart. Figure it out.” Derek leaned back and waited.

Penelope’s eyes widened in shock. “The Winchesters aren’t delusional serial killers?”

“No, they’ve saved a lot of lives over the years. Mine included.”

“But what about all the times they’ve died?”

“It’s been impersonators that bought it while wearing their likenesses, like in St. Louis, when Dean got his first death certificate or this last time with all the black goo instead of blood. The serial killers earlier this year were shapeshifting monsters, too, not robots.”

“I want to believe you but it’s so farfetched…”

“I know. Do you want to meet them?”

“Meet them?” Garcia blinked and fidgeted a bit. “What if you’re wrong about them?”

“I’ve known them for a very long time, Penny. Longer than you and I’ve known each other. And some of the things they’re doing at the moment are way above my very limited hunting paygrade. I can’t explain things to you the way they can.”

He got to his feet and offered his hand to her. “Come on. They’re not far from here.”

Note: Sam’s weird words will be translated in the next chapter.

[jali-writes]

Welcome to a new decade

Personal update

I can’t believe I’m a month away from 33. I’ve been living in Toronto for 3 years now... Life just whizzes by you, sometimes. I wish I could say I feel optimistic, but... My depression has been really bad for the last 4 months now, affecting not just my creativity, but almost every aspect of my life. It’s been a super-combo hit of work stress, financial woes, stuff breaking or falling apart, my own insane perfectionism working me to the bone, and my already existing levels of anxiety and depression compounding these issues with poor eating, zero exercise, and irregular sleep. Everything just fell in on me and triggered some suicidal ideation after about 2 years of having things under control. No forward momentum on that, but knowing where my health used to be and where I’ve ended recently, this was a wakeup call.

I’ve taken these last two weeks and a bit off work to insulate and isolate myself from just about everything. Being left alone, getting off social media, and sleeping a lot has helped alleviate a lot of my stress, and recharge my batteries somewhat. I’ve had time and space to consider things. I’ve had to look at my problems dead-on and acknowledge that, despite my very best efforts, some things are out of my hands, and that’s not a reflection on me.

I’ve also taken a critical look at my lifestyle and realized I need to change. I am merciless with myself. I am brutal, and unforgiving, and abusive to myself. I want so badly to be everything for everyone, to be liked, to be wanted, to do well at my job, to make paying off my student debt look effortless, to create endlessly the same way I did back when I was 18, 24, 26. But in trying to be this... super-human creature, I’m killing myself. My creativity feels like it took a shuttle to another solar system. My physical health has been trash. Despite my best efforts, I got backhanded with a reality check at work. I’ve cancelled most all social engagements in the last 6 months.

I’m failing the people and places I wanted to please. Most importantly, I’m failing myself.

Writing update

Can I say that I’ve actually gone a full calendar year without creating anything new?

I’ve been slowly (excruciatingly slowly) doing a final edit to Roommates. My creativity, off god knows where, has telegraphed me ideas in shorthand. I’ve been jotting notes, making Pinterest boards, and talking to my soundboard friend about these ideas. Trying to make anything out of those ideas is so hard for me. I haven’t written a single thing. Every time I try to sit down, my brain turns into TV static.

Creativity, please come back from your intergalactic travels. I need you. I don’t want to be barren for the rest of my life.

Goals for 2020

Get my sleep schedule under control

Wake up early every morning to hit the gym. I know this will be difficult to maintain, but if I can do it for 1 week, I can do it for 2. If I can do 2, I can do 3. And then it’s a month. I just... have to start. I’m not trying to lose weight or get ripped. I just need physical activity right now.

Wednesdays are rest days. I’m not cooking, cleaning, shopping, going anywhere, seeing anyone, or doing anything at all productive besides going to work. The goal is to rest myself, turn my brain off, block out everyone and everything so I can make it through the next half of the week. Play some video games. Read in the bath. Catch up on shows. Watch cat videos.

Schedule writing every day (except Wednesdays). Just for an hour (but I’ll start with half to get me in the habit for the first few weeks). Set a timer on my phone, and when it dings, that’s it, I’ve done my work. Maybe I’ll build a character’s backstory; maybe I’ll outline a chapter; maybe I’ll worldbuild just one thing per week. Maybe I’ll write utter trash about nothing. Who cares. I need to not care, just write. 

Stretch. My work ethic is so mean to me, I’ve developed stabbing aches down my back and stiffness all over, just because I sit still and focus hard, and ignore my body telling me this is no good. Stretch every morning after workout, and every evening before bed. Find a quiet place in the basement at work to stretch during the day.

Schedule (and actually attend) a social event once a month. Fuck the cost, just do it. Either with friends, or with work people, or hell, find some meetup group in the city. Doesn’t have to be expensive or the same event or the same people every time. Connecting with people reminds me I’m not alone, gives me something to look forward to besides work as a reason to leave the house.

Stop treating myself like shit. If the order of this list meant anything, this should be first. I need to let myself feel things and then let them go instead of dwelling and obsessing and compounding thoughts into a snowball of horribleness. I need to take care of myself instead of cracking the whip until I mentally or physically collapse. I need to let go of trying to micromanage things that only time can alleviate. I am not the master of time. I need to stay in my lane and let time do his job.

Don’t lie in bed all weekend because I’m wasted from the week. Get up at a reasonable hour, exercise, tidy up the house, get groceries or whatever, do the laundry. This pendulum of extreme work followed by extreme fatigue and lethargy is fucking me up in so many ways.

Figure out my meals for the week. Stop eating reheated frozen lasagna 4 times a week. Make a stirfry instead of cheap instant ramen. Eat a fricking vegetable at least once a day. Cut back on the supermarket cake.

Drink more. Flavored water, tea, matcha latte, whatever, just drink more. 

I feel like the exercising will have a ripple effect on the food/water/sleep/fatigue situation. More healthy activity will release stress and help me sleep better, stimulate my appetite, and make me thirsty. That’ll help me get the rest I need when I need it, instead of crashing on the weekend.

Treating myself better, letting myself rest, and writing almost daily might take more time. But my physical state is more important than what I’m constantly outputting. I know this all sounds so “no shit, Sherlock” in writing, sounds like a simple no-brainer when you read it. I wouldn’t be writing it if I was already doing these things. I’m writing it to hold it up to myself, to give myself accountability, to make it real. The more I remind myself, the more I’m likely to act on it.

2020 has to be about me, about getting better.

Maybe then my creativity will come home from the space war.