#Memory Care Services in Omaha

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Top Memory Care Services in Omaha at CountryHouse Residence

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[cheemscakecat]

Emesis Blue Soldier’s Nightmare

So I’ve theorized that Emesis Blue was a shared nightmare, but I’ve neglected to talk about poor Solly in detail until now. I’ve mentioned what I think his nightmare was about, but not with evidence and important details.

TW: Angst, death, Soldier’s hypothetical trauma. [War is Hell for a reason]

So here’s what I think Soldier was afraid of, and why.

#1: Bad leadership

Unlike our boy RED Soldier, who was never allowed to join the military, BLU served in WWII. He’s an actual veteran that served in the army, not the Navy.

The American army that stormed Omaha beach had to make their way across Europe, and trench warfare was employed.

So we know Solly wasn’t lying/implanted with a false memory about military service.

That being said, a soldier is right to be afraid of bad leadership. If you have someone who cares more about the end goal than the men under him, or is too incompetent to come up with a good strategy, soldiers die. More than needed to, and the worst is when the leader is convinced he’s smarter than the people who have to follow his command.

He got chewed out in the sewer via grown man tantrum and blamed for literally everything that went wrong to that point. Even though Spy is arguably the one at fault for 85% of the bad plays.

And every time Solly does something really competent, that should show Spy that he’s a valuable, loyal teammate? It doesn’t matter. It falls on deaf ears and he’s still considered stupid, useless, and cowardly.

It never mattered how well Soldier did, Spy wasn’t going to respect it. And you never want a person like that leading other people to their deaths.

That being said, if Spy is afraid of becoming the worst version of himself like I theorize, then that would mean he was left open to serving the role of bad leader in Solly’s nightmare. They amplified each others fears and didn’t know it.

#2: America was never “the good guy”

The Tf2 comic takes place in 1972, and I place the shared nightmare after the unknown resolution to the 7th issue. That means the Vietnam war is still going on and being televised.

WWII was an anomaly of a war: there was a clear good side and bad side. In a lot of conflicts, both sides do terrible things at a pretty much equal rate, and the whole thing started over power or land disputes. WWII Germany was an anomaly in that it was clearly an evil power, and everyone could root for the other side.

And then it was followed up by the Cold War, and smaller proxy wars like Vietnam. It was televised, and the people of the USA saw in real time that the government was lying to them, that they weren’t “the good guys”. The grisly footage did not add up with the lies spread by the US government. The American soldiers of that war returned defeated and hated by their own civilian population.

It’s three years before the end of the war. BLU Scout may well have joined the mercenary team to avoid service in Vietnam instead of going to Canada.

Maybe Soldier didn’t feel ready to hang up his helmet, and wanted to at least know what he was getting himself into. BLU and RED don’t pretend to be fighting for a good cause, you get money for fighting some other guys so you can respawn and do it all over again.

It’s better to use a rocket launcher on a random RED merc who’ll be alive in an hour than to do what the American army was commanded to do in Vietnam. To civilians. Which was then televised and wised up the public about the truth. To this day, Americans don’t trust the government like they did pre-Cold War. You’re telling me Soldier wasn’t one of them?

Solly is a WWII veteran. He’s pretty likely to try to keep up with what’s happening in the Cold War. Watching that footage made him doubt that America was ever “the good guy”. That he and his fallen friends were ever really heroes.

This other soldier could be one of the fallen WWII friends from Doe’s Platoon, but I thought of another possibility. He’s a German soldier that our guy killed, wearing the American uniform. Because that death would be permanent, and if America was never really good, they’d have a lot more in common than Solly used to think.

Either explanation would explain why Jane keeps freezing up every time he sees the guy. But the fact that he befriended an enemy Demoman and the elongated Scout situation could both give credit to the German theory.

Demoman represented the fact that sometimes the enemy is not really an enemy, and you could have been friends under different circumstances. Elongated Scout represented the fact that war is kill or be killed, and sometimes you have to trade an enemy’s life for your own. Even if you really don’t want to. Everything was warped and staticky when the Elongated Scout was alive and chasing Soldier, and went clear again the second he was gone.

He also died twice to head wounds. The other soldier in American uniform had empty bleeding eye sockets. Soldier might have shot the German in both of his eyes during the war, and now he can’t forget the man’s face. Because at the end of the day, that guy was still a person, and they might have even gotten along if they’d been on the same side. [An actual story from a WWII veteran along the same lines of what I think Em Blue Soldier is dealing with]

#3: Russian Red Army

Stalingrad coming back over and over, scarier and colder each time could be the manifestation of Soldier’s feelings about Russians. In WWII, they were allies and in the Cold War both countries were using bloody proxy wars to try and avoid the nuclear option. But the Red army was brutal, and Soldier would know that from his time on the warfront.

The Germans tried to push their way into Russia to conquer it, committing unspeakable crimes on the way. The Red army pushed back and committed revenge crimes on their way to take Berlin. You can see why an American would be scared of what Russians are capable of.

That’s why by the end of the movie, Stalingrad is burnt and still trying to get revenge on Soldier. RED Heavy is anti-communist, but we have no idea what BLU Heavy believes. If he is a pro-Russia Communist, it would explain why Spy and Soldier planted him as a traitor in the early scenes of Emesis.

I think Soldier knowing firsthand how the Russian troops act would explain why he distrusts them while still questioning America’s honor. He got to see more of them because they weren’t shooting at each other during his war, unlike the German soldiers he had to kill. I think he also knows why America was the country that German POWs wanted to be sent to, and Russia was the absolute worst option for them.

[jungle-angel]

The Greatest Memories (Rhett Abbott x Reader)

Summary: You and Rhett leave a special little something for those who gave everything

Warnings: Mentions of passing, war, military service, cancer, parenthood etc.

Tagging: @floydsmuse @bradleybeachbabe

It was the sunniest of May days so far, not a cloud in the sky and the grasses rippling in the breeze. The birds were singing high in the trees above the Teton Mountain Cemetery while wildflowers were blooming in the woodlines near the plot.

You and Rhett walked the loping footpaths that led to a familiar plot that you had visited time and again, every year in May and again in June to leave flowers. The lilac bushes had already bloomed near the headstones, casting its cool shade over the graves and releasing its heady scent throughout.

"Amy c'mere," Rhett called to the four year old running around the truck.

Amy darted right beside you and him as you carried the flower boxes to the two headstones that lay side by side with each other. Both were marked with the names of Royal's parents, his mother and father who had passed not too long before Amy had been born. The white marble appeared brand new, much as it had the day the two had been placed side by side, just as they had been in life.

River John Abbott

Born January 24th, 1928

Died June 5th, 2016

1st Marine Division, Korean War and Vietnam

Beloved father, grandfather and great-grandfather

Rhett brushed a few loose strands of freshly mown grass off the second, revealing the name that he missed just as much as Grandpa River along with the Lorraine Cross beneath.

Heidi Brunner Abbott

Born May 24th, 1930

Died June 5th, 2016

Member of the French Resistance, WWII

Beloved mother, grandmother and great-grandmother

Rhett kissed the headstones belonging to his grandmother and grandfather. Though it had been close to eight years since they had passed, the wounds were still fresh. River and Heidi had been married for sixty-six years, enduring unimaginable turmoil as young adults. Oma Heidi had been fourteen when she had joined the Resistance before leaving her native Switzerland and had seen things that no child should have ever had to see. Grandpa River had been the same, seeing the ranch through one drought after another, having to take care of his own ailing father and helping provide for the family all through the Depression on top of going to school. He had met Heidi while the two had been at the University of Wyoming, the two of them having gotten married young and him having been shipped off to Korea after their honeymoon. Rhett still remembered the little slip of paper in his grandmother's trunk, a little note from River that said only three words....."wait for me".

Up the path came two familiar faces, Joy and Martha with Rosie in tow. "Mornin," Joy greeted. "Didn't think we'd see you two here."

Rhett laughed a little bit. "Just payin a visit Joy."

"Oh you too?"

Rhett nodded.

Out of her pocket, Joy pulled a small feather, a white one with black streaks along the tip. "Here," she said. "I meant to leave that the other day."

"Joy ya'll didn't have to," Rhett told her.

"It's alright," she promised him. "I already left one for Gramps anyways."

You and Rhett followed Joy and Martha down the path a bit of a ways to a hill where the mountains were in full view. Rosie excitedly pointed to the stone belonging to her great-grandfather, proudly showing Amy and the others.

Robert "Red" Hawk

Born July 4th, 1923

Died August 18th, 2017

US Army Infantry, Shoshone Code Talker, Omaha Beach Veteran

Beloved father and grandfather, tribal elder of Shoshone First Nations

"Amy honey, do you and Rosie wanna help put the flags out?" you asked.

The girls excitedly said yes as you, Rhett, Joy and Martha swapped stories about your loved ones, the girls picking lilac sprigs to sprinkle over the graves.

"God I'll never forget the story Dad told us when Marty and I got married," Joy chuckled. "Grampy supposedly stole a bunch of horses while he was in Europe and had them shipped back to the states."

You and Rhett laughed at the tale. "Oh God that reminds me of when Papa stole a bunch of cattle from an enemy camp in Korea. Them and the guys from the South Korean army ate pretty damn good for the next couple of months."

You all shared some good laughs and a few emotional moments along the way before having to head back home. On the way back, you and Rhett held each other's hands, enjoying the sunshine and the heat of late May as the radio played.

"You think they're still with us?" you asked him.

"I don't doubt it darlin," Rhett said, smiling a little. "Oma and Papa are definitely along for the ride, no matter where we go."

You rested your head against your husband's shoulder, squeezing his hand a little bit, perfectly at ease and content with the world.

[lyledebeast]

The Women at Home Vs The Women back Home in Robert Rodat's War Movies

Since I realized that Saving Private Ryan (1998) was written by Robert Rodat the same person who wrote The Patriot, I've been curious about how the two films would compare, but it wasn't until this past weekend that I finally rewatched the first. I've compared The Patriot to a lot of other vastly less-related things in the interim, probably because Saving Private Ryan was the first R-rated movie I saw in a theater, and I remain scarred by it. The violence, particularly during the landing on Omaha Beach, is so harrowing it makes The Patriot look almost kid-friendly by comparison. That is not the only respect in which Rodat's 1998 film is more grounded in reality than his 2000 one.

When I first connected the two Rodat movies, I vividly remembered the frame narrative of old James Ryan visiting a Normandy cemetery where Captain John Miller, one of the men who gave his life to save him, is buried. At the end of the film, he turns to his wife with tears in his eyes and says, "Tell me I lived a good life." It's a demand, not a question. She, of course, provides the required assurance. Charlotte Selton provides a similar assurance, unprompted, when her brother in law arrives unexpectedly with his children and absolutely covered in another man's bodily fluids. "You've done nothing to be ashamed of." Apart from the fact that Mrs. Ryan actually knows what she's talking about--she has adult children with this man and knows what kind of life he's had; Charlotte was certainly not in the woods when Benjamin Martin took his literal blood bath--the two women play very similar roles. The differences, though, overwhelm the comparison. Mrs. Ryan has spent many years with James, but they are entirely off screen. She only occupies about five minutes of total screen time, most of it observing her husband weeping at the grave of a man she's clearly never heard of. Charlotte's first appearance is about ten minutes into The Patriot's run time, and she is in its final scenes and a number of important scenes in between. She is there, and yet she has roughly the same amount of depth and development as Mrs. Ryan.

Women occupy two different roles in Saving Private Ryan: French victims displaced by the horrors of war that seek assistance and protection from American soldiers and symbols that represent the pleasures of civilian life. A majority of the main characters in the movie have a story involving a woman. One is the carelessly treated victim of a prank Ryan pulled on one of his three brothers killed in the Normandy invasion. Another is the objectified patron of Reiben's family's clothing store. Then there's the hardworking and unappreciated mother of Wade, on whom he calls as he's dying from a gunshot/morphine overdose, a callback to the unnamed American soldier who calls for his momma with his intestines spilled out on the ground during the Omaha Beach invasion. All of these women are individually important only to men who evoke their memories (Ryan's Alice Jardine isn't even that!), but they are collectively important for what they represent.

These stories about women ultimately tell us much more about the tellers than the subjects. For all we know, Alice Jardine is back in America living her best life as a factory worker, experiencing for the first time being regarded as something other than an easy lay, a girl who "fell out of the ugly tree and hit every branch on the way down." Other stories reflect the men's desires and regrets from the lives they led prior to service. The one that stands out most is Captain Miller's vague description of his wife "pruning roses in my work gloves." Women wearing their husbands' clothing often carries sexual implications, but Miller's wife is her using them to care for something that belongs to her. Even sweeter is Miller's protectiveness of his wife's memory. When Ryan asks to hear more about the wife with the roses after his incredibly sexist story about Alice, Miller declines: "I keep that for me." I get the sense that he's protecting her from more than just Private Pervert. He's protecting her from Robert Rodat, whose only interest in women is what they reflect about men. What else would we expect from America's sweetheart, Tom Hanks?

There is no such protection for women in The Patriot. Apart from Charlotte Selton and Abigale, the two caretakers of Martin's children, all of the adult female Patriots are dead by the end of the movie, most of them in the church fire Colonel Tavington's men set. These women are not relegated to an idealized "back home;" they are the line of defense between the South Carolina militia and the Green Dragoons. it is only after the church burning, far too late for protection, that the militia directs any violence against the dragoons. The French women in Saving Private Ryan are presented as something of a nuisance and do not occupy a main focus, but we see some women displaced by the destruction of their homes walking tiredly alongside the Airborne unit Miller's company encounter, and Caparzo is killed by a German sniper while trying to help a French family by taking their daughter, who reminds him of his niece. The American' GIs do more to protect French women and children they have never met and will likely never see again than the militiamen do to protect their own wives and children. Moreover, the only person in Miller's company who is fighting for vengeance is Mellish, and there is a vital difference between him and the militiamen. Jewish American GIs could not have prevented the Nazis' systemic violence against European Jews.

In both of these films, women have far more value as symbols than as people, but in The Patriot they are part of the main action, portrayed by flesh and blood actresses who spend most of their screentime watching men ride away. There was ample opportunity to make them nuanced characters with hopes of their own for America's future, but Rodat and Roland Emmerich chose not to take it. The most striking similarities between the two films come in their final scenes. Martin watches the construction of his new home with his wife and children standing silently behind him, and Ryan cries over Miller's grave with his children and grandchildren standing silently behind him. Apparently for Rodat, the accumulation of silent women is the ultimate proof of a successful life.

[parsonshouseseniorliving]

Specialized Alzheimer Care in Omaha, NE

https://parsonshouseseniorliving.com/memory-care/ - Parsons House Assisted Living and Memory Care provides specialized alzheimer's care in Omaha, NE, fostering a supportive environment tailored to individual needs. With a focus on dignity and comfort, we offer comprehensive services for those navigating memory-related challenges. Contact us today!

[disneyshuttleparis]

Paris Airport Transfers

Paris Airport Transfer

Disney Shuttle provides best airport transfer service across all major airport in Paris, including CDG ⇔ PARIS, CDG ⇔ DISNEYLAND, ORLY ⇔ DISNEYLAND, ORLY ⇔ PARIS, BEAUVAIS ⇔ DISNEYLAND, BEAUVAIS ⇔ PARIS, CDG ⇔ VERSAILLAIS, ORLY ⇔ VERSAILLAIS, CDG ⇔ LA DEFENSE and ORLY ⇔ LA DEFENSE

What We Do DISNEY SHUTTLE

Disney Shuttle is one of the cheapest Private Shuttle Services in Paris. We mainly provide its services in Paris City, Disneyland Paris. It is given Major transport in between from Charles de Gaulle airport, Orly Airport, and Beauvais Airport to Paris.

Disney Shuttle has fully insured vehicles and passengers. We supply you with an economic, reliable, efficient, safe & affordable service.

 

We will pick you up from the door of the hotel, residence, or airport and take you to your destination and also proposes Paris City tours (Such as Mont Saint-Michel, Historical Versailles, the Loire Valley Castles, and The Historical Normandy, Omaha Beach) & other excursions.

Disneyland® Paris Transfer

Do you prefer spending a day at Disneyland® Paris? Disney Shuttle offers private shuttle services to Disneyland Paris parks in a minivan. We provide private shuttle services in between major Airports of Paris to Disneyland Paris and also the taxi service From Paris, Versalles, and other cities to Disneyland Paris transfer

Smooth Transfers from Disneyland Paris: Your Gateway to Magical Journeys

The Convenience of Disneyland Paris Transfers

When planning a trip to Disneyland Paris, ensuring a seamless transfer from the airport to the park is essential for an enjoyable vacation. With Disney Shuttle, you can experience hassle-free and comfortable transfers that set the tone for a magical adventure ahead.

Discovering the Magic of Disney Shuttle

Disney Shuttle offers a convenient and reliable transportation service that caters to the specific needs of Disney visitors. By booking a transfer with Disney Shuttle, you can relax and focus on creating unforgettable memories, knowing that your transportation needs are well taken care of.

Seamless Disney Shuttle Booking Process

Booking a transfer with Disney Shuttle is a simple and straightforward process. With just a few clicks on the user-friendly website, you can secure your transfer and receive instant confirmation, allowing you to plan the rest of your trip with ease.

Comfortable and Safe Private Transfers

Disney Shuttle prioritizes the comfort and safety of its passengers. You can expect clean and well-maintained vehicles, courteous drivers, and adherence to high safety standards throughout your journey, providing you with peace of mind during your transfer.

Disney shuttle Personalized Service

What sets Disney Shuttle apart is its personalized approach to customer service. From accommodating special requests to ensuring timely pickups and drop-offs, Disney Shuttle goes above and beyond to make your transfer experience exceptional and stress-free.

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Despite the premium service it offers, Disney Shuttle provides cost-effective transportation solutions that fit various budgets. By choosing Disney Shuttle for your transfer needs, you can enjoy luxury transportation without breaking the bank.

Making Every Moment Count

Your journey to Disneyland Paris is more than just a transfer – it's the beginning of a magical adventure. With Disney Shuttle, you can make every moment count by starting your trip on the right note and immersing yourself in the enchanting world of Disney from the moment you step off the plane.

Embrace the Magic with Disney Shuttle

Embark on a journey full of wonder and excitement with Disney Shuttle as your trusted transfer partner. Experience the magic of Disneyland Paris right from the start and create memories that will last a lifetime, all while enjoying a stress-free and seamless transfer experience.

[stormsolutionspecialists]

Total Roof Repair Services: Protecting Your Home with Storm Solution Specialists in Bellevue, NE

Your house serves as a haven for you and your loved ones, giving you safety and comfort. It's a location where treasured memories are created. So what happens when a leaking roof threatens to endanger your sanctuary? Many people underestimate the harm that even a little roof leak may be able to do. The air quality and general health of your house might be compromised as a result of those small, apparently unimportant leaks over time. In addition, prolonged exposure to moisture can cause wood to decay over time, endangering the structural integrity of your cherished home. Thus, it is imperative to quickly and effectively fix any roof leaks.

At Storm Solution Experts in Bellevue, Nebraska, we recognize the value of a roof that is maintained and free from leaks. With our comprehensive roof repair services, we work to safeguard your house from the harm that water intrusion may do. Our team of expert roofers is committed to providing top-notch services that go above and beyond your expectations.

Reduce future costs Homeowners frequently ignore little leaks because they believe they are not important enough to require immediate care. But ignoring even little leaks might eventually result in more serious damage and expensive repairs. You may avoid further costs and protect your home's value by swiftly fixing any roof leaks. No matter how little a leak may seem, our team at Storm Solution Experts is prepared with the knowledge and equipment to evaluate and fix it.

High-Quality Solutions and Repairs Following the assessment, our staff will create a personalized repair strategy catered to your unique requirements. We are committed to providing superior solutions that last. We only utilize the best products and tried-and-true methods, whether we're replacing shingles that are damaged, fixing flashing, or taking care of gutter concerns. Your roof will receive the greatest maintenance possible because to our commitment to quality, giving you long-lasting peace of mind.

Quick and Effective Service When it comes to roof repairs, Storm Solution Specialists is aware that speed is of the importance. Our staff is dedicated to provide timely, effective service while minimizing any disturbances to your regular schedule. Throughout the repair process, we place a high value on clear communication and openness, keeping you updated at every stage. In order to guarantee your entire satisfaction with our services, we strive to not only meet but also surpass your expectations.

The significance of swiftly fixing roof leaks cannot be emphasized, to sum up. Even the slightest leak may do serious harm over time and jeopardize the structural integrity of your house. Your go-to roofing business for all your needs about comprehensive roof repair is Storm Solution Specialists in Bellevue, Nebraska. Our team of professionals is committed to providing top-notch solutions and making sure you are completely satisfied. Contact Storm Solution Professionals right now to safeguard your house from the harmful impacts of roof leaks before it's too late.

Storm Solution Specialists

3410 Hancock St, Bellevue, NE 68005, United States

(402) 291-4040

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[14karatomaha]

Revitalising Memories: Omaha's Premier Jewelry Repair Services

Jewelry is an essential accessory in our lives. It adds elegance, beauty, and charm to our outfits. However, just like any other item, jewellery can get damaged or broken, and it is essential to know how to repair it. In this post, we will discuss the jewellery repair process, including the tools needed and the steps to follow.

As a jewellery enthusiast, you may have experienced the frustration of damaging a beloved piece. Fortunately, there are several types of jewellery repairs available. The most common repair is resizing rings to fit a different finger or to accommodate weight changes. Additionally, broken chains or clasps on necklaces and bracelets can also be fixed. Earrings can be repaired by replacing lost backs or fixing bent or broken posts. Loose stones in rings or earrings can be replaced or tightened, while pearls or beads can be restrung. Tarnished or scratched metal can be polished or cleaned. Complex repairs, such as engraving or resetting stones, should be entrusted to experienced and reputable jewellers. With proper care and maintenance, your cherished jewellery pieces can last a lifetime.

To effectively fix your jewellery at home, having the proper tools is essential. Pliers are a versatile tool that can bend and shape wire, open and close jump rings, and tighten clasps. For precision adjustments, a set of jeweller's screwdrivers in varying sizes are necessary. Wire cutters are also helpful for cutting and trimming wire. A magnifying glass is recommended to clearly see small details. Additionally, a polishing cloth is necessary to buff and shine your jewellery. With these tools, you'll be equipped to handle basic jewellery repairs with ease.

The following steps are involved in jewelry repair in Omaha:

1. Assessment and Inspection of the Jewelry 

2. Cleaning and Polishing 

3. Repair of Broken or Damaged Pieces 

4. Replacement of Missing Parts 

5. Re-Sizing or Re-Shaping 

6. Final Inspection and Testing

[omaha-ne]

Places to visit in Omaha, Nebraska

Found in the midwest, Omaha, Nebraska is a wonderful town that provides a range of enjoyable and enjoyable things to do. There are additionally lots of parks to appreciate. The Omaha location has lots of events and events, making it a wonderful area to visit in the summertime and also winter.

The city's Old Market area is a great area to shop, consume, and learn about Omaha's rich history. The community has been provided on the National Register of Historic Places, and contains shop shops as well as restaurants. Several art galleries are additionally found in the neighborhood, making it a fantastic place to check out. There are additionally numerous historical walking tours to take.

The Bemis Center for Contemporary Art is a special location that is house to a number of different exhibits. In addition to irreversible art screens, the structure organizes a number of immersive curricula throughout the year. The museum additionally has a permanent global artist-in-residence program. This gallery includes revolving screens, which are commonly based upon Omaha's rich history. Several of the past displays have included dinosaurs, music instruments, as well as the Byron Reed Collection.

The Henry Doorly Zoo and also Fish tank is one of the top zoos worldwide. It's huge and also features several displays. This zoo is regularly rated among the Top 5 zoos in the world. You can additionally see the Dome Desert as well as Existed Forest, which are 2 of one of the most prominent destinations. It's an excellent area to invest a day with your household. The park has two miles of treking routes and also is home to a tiger and also cheetah breeding center. The zoo is certified by the Organization of Zoos and also Aquariums.

Omaha's very own amusement park, Fun-Plex Waterpark & Rides, is additionally an excellent place to spend the day. The park has flights as well as waterslides, along with a tiki bar. You can likewise participate in bumper boats and go-kart racing. The park is open from Memorial Day to Labor Day. You can likewise enjoy the wave swimming pool and Lazy River. Omaha also has an interior amusement park, the RiverFront, which is a public-private effort that is a three-park development.

The Durham Museum is an outstanding means to learn about Omaha's history. It's an interactive experience that consists of a large version train and also old-fashioned soda fountain. It has turning exhibitions, along with traveling special exhibitions. You can find a variety of historical items, such as old railway cars and also a replica of a turning rope bridge over a tropical jungle.

There's additionally an authentic soda fountain as well as a sundae store. There are additionally several historical buildings as well as train cars and trucks on screen. You can additionally participate in a few totally free activities, such as scavenger hunts and walking scenic tours. For art enthusiasts, there are a number of museums in Omaha, including the Joslyn Art Gallery.

The Omaha Children's Museum is a hands-on center for children. It lies in the Old Market District. It has loads of exhibitions and is suitable for families to appreciate. There are special events, programs, and birthday event choices. There are a range of long-term and also rotating exhibits concentrating on zoology, science, as well as creativity.

The Bob Kerrey Pedestrian Bridge is just one of the many lovely sights in Omaha. It is completely complimentary to walk throughout and looks splendid in the evening. Situated near Omaha Plaza, the bridge expands a number of thousand feet in addition to is outstanding for cycling or walking.

Another location that is delightful for member of the family is the Omaha Farmers Market, which includes a substantial range of vendors and a historical sensation. It's additionally a superb area for relaxing and also buying.

Found in the Omaha location, Heroes Lawn Care is a property and commercial landscape design as well as lawn service firm. They are a reliable company that takes pride in their services, that makes them the obvious selection for any kind of Omaha house owner looking to maintain their yard looking top notch.

Picking Heroes Lawn Care of Omaha for your lawn-care demands will certainly ensure you have the tastiest, most weed-free, greenest lawn around.

Heroes Lawn Care 402-933-1985 https://heroeslawncare.com/omaha-ne

[wr1t3w1tm3]

May I please add:

Has a huge family - like all midwesterners. Like 7+ siblings and so many aunts, uncles, neices, nephews, and cousins.

Grew up in a small town that's a bit of a drive from Omaha but he doesn't like getting the constant "huh?" stare cause no one knows his hometown so he just says he's from Omaha cause it's easy. That's part of why his call sign is Omaha (in my opinion).

He graduated grade school in a class of 26 and highschool with a class of 45.

He played football, basket ball, and ran track. He also was in the band for two semesters because he needed a fine arts credit. He played clarinet.

He's a younger child. Definitely not youngest, but probably 2nd to last.

He and Halo are thick as thieves because she is also from the Midwest, (small town in Kansas, specifically. Again, this is a headcanon)

He grew up Christian, but now he only goes to service to get himself a couple free hours on Sundays. Been doing it since basic.

Did ROTC in college. His degree is in agribusiness.

He did 4H as a kid you can't tell me he didn't raise a sheep and cry when it was auctioned off to be sheered or when he raised a cow and it was auctioned off to be slaughtered!

Has received exactly 6 care packages from various younger cousins/nieces/nephews classes on Memorial day because of his being in the Navy. He still has some of the snacks and they are definitely expired.

If anyone gifts him another "funny military t-shirt" for Christmas he will be throwing hands.

History is his passion. This man's parents have all his historical books locked up in their attic and he's got hundreds off books. Mostly on the American Wild West and the Civil War and Reconstruction. If he goes back to school he'll get a major in education and teach history.

Dagger Squad Random Headcanons: Neil “Omaha” Vikander

YOU KNOW WHAT’S REALLY DISAPPOINTING? THERE’S NO OMAHA CONTENT ANYWHERE. WE’RE FIXING THAT RIGHT NOW BECAUSE THAT’S A DAMN TRAVESTY, LET’S GO

Partly because this dude looks like a corn-fed giant from the Midwest, partly because we Navy folk are wildly uncreative, his callsign is Omaha literally because he’s from Nebraska. That’s it, that’s the story.

Dude is a practically a living Jack Kerouac character

If he’s not cruising around in his Mustang, then he’s definitely cruising around on a Triumph motorcycle

Has ridden previously-mentioned Triumph motorcycle from one end of the US to the other

Total desert rock aficionado

Raised on a steady diet of Kyuss, Brant Bjork, and Queens of the Stone Age

Him and Bob are definitely bros on the Kyuss/Queens of the Stone Age front

The other musician of the squad - guitar, specifically

Plays in a local band with other aviators/Navy people and it’s definitely a desert rock band

Most definitely NOT dating or casually spending time with his WSO (he totally is)

[countryhouseresidenceomaha]

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[96thdayofrage]

Even among the hundreds of videos capturing the violent police response to Black Lives Matter protests last year, this one stood out.

A muscular male officer, in a navy blue shirt with “NYPD” across the back, lunged at a young demonstrator, shoving her several feet and sending her crashing to the ground on a street in Brooklyn.

In a video shot by a reporter and shared widely on social media, the woman, Dounya Zayer, can be seen clutching her head and writhing in pain after she tumbles to the asphalt.

The mayor called the officer’s actions “absolutely unacceptable,” the police commissioner said internal affairs was investigating and, 11 days after the incident, the district attorney announced criminal charges against the officer, Vincent D’Andraia.

Zayer, 21, went on to file a lawsuit alleging that D’Andraia had violated her right to free speech, and last month, the city’s Law Department, which almost always represents officers sued for on-the-job actions, told D’Andraia it wouldn’t defend him in court.

It looked like the city was cutting the cop loose, a step rarely taken in the hundreds of lawsuits filed every year against NYPD officers. But while a city lawyer won’t be representing D’Andraia in court, it turns out New Yorkers are still paying the law firm that is representing him in the case.

That’s because every year, the city treasury effectively bankrolls a union-controlled legal defense fund for officers. The little-known fund is financed in part by a direct city contribution of nearly $2 million a year that is expressly intended to pay for lawyers in civil cases like D’Andraia’s, where the Law Department has decided an officer’s conduct is essentially indefensible. Or, as the police union’s legal plan puts it, “when the City of New York fails or otherwise refuses to provide a legal defense.”

The money isn’t supposed to be used by the union, the Police Benevolent Association, “in any action directly or indirectly adverse to the interests of the City,” according to a 1985 letter memorializing the deal that established the annual taxpayer contribution. But the agreement doesn’t define those “interests,” and the city is typically a co-defendant in such cases, as it is in the lawsuit by Zayer. So even as the city might distance itself from an officer, it could still argue that the government’s legal interests are best served by its employee having robust legal representation.

“It’s not bad public policy to invest and make sure that all sides have adequate representation,” said Zachary Carter, who ran the Law Department from 2014 to 2019.

But critics say that subsidizing such defenses could undercut police accountability by sending a message to officers that the city will back them no matter what.

“The bottom line is this is scandalous,” said Joel Berger, a lawyer who specializes in police abuse cases and who, in the 1990s, served as a senior official in the Law Department who decided when the city should withdraw representation of officers. “It was a sweetheart deal with the union and it should never have been agreed to.”

Neither the mayor’s office nor the Law Department would address detailed questions from ProPublica about the fund, including how the city squares paying for the defense of officers it won’t represent with the provision stipulating that the money not be used for any purpose “adverse to the interests of the City.”

The Legal Services Fund of the Police Benevolent Association has in recent years paid for the representation of an NYPD officer accused in a lawsuit of slamming a 75-year-old man with Parkinson’s disease against the hood of a car after the man talked back to the cop, and has paid to defend another officer who court papers charge tackled an unarmed, chronically ill, 4-foot-8-inch, 85-pound man and shocked him with a stun gun.

The message to officers, said Zayer’s lawyer, Tahanie Aboushi, is that the city will help shield them from some of the consequences of even their most egregious conduct.

“Maybe you’re going to be disciplined,” said Aboushi, who is a candidate in the race to be the next Manhattan district attorney, “but getting a lawyer, paying for a lawyer, understanding the accountability that comes from a lawsuit — they’re completely insulated from that.”

It is the sort of protection that, in the last few decades, has proliferated in police labor agreements across the country, often negotiated behind closed doors, with little attention paid to the public policy implications.

But in the reckoning that has followed George Floyd’s killing, many Americans are rethinking how the country is policed and unions are facing particularly pointed questions, not just in Minnesota or in New York, but also in city halls, in state legislatures and at negotiating tables across the country.

“There is a whole set of what I’ve labeled ‘special privileges’ that employees in other contexts don’t enjoy,” said Samuel Walker, an emeritus professor of criminal justice at the University of Nebraska at Omaha and a national expert on police accountability. “It’s been a very secretive development, and the lack of any organized opposition until just recently has kept it secret.”

The violent police response to many Black Lives Matter demonstrations across the country in the weeks after Floyd’s death only intensified calls for sweeping changes in American policing.

In New York, the furor after Floyd’s death pushed through the long-sought repeal of a state law that made police disciplinary records secret. And last month, the city beat back a legal challenge by the PBA and other unions that had sought to block the release of those records.

But Mayor Bill de Blasio, who campaigned as a champion of police reform, has been criticized for his embrace of the NYPD, particularly during the Black Lives Matter demonstrations. As he prepares to leave office at the end of the year, many of the leading candidates to succeed him have promised a new approach to policing.

Still, it’s a long way from the campaign stump to the negotiating table, and even after the events of the last year, the police unions — and the power and protections entrenched in their contracts — will pose a formidable test for the next mayor. The PBA’s contract expired in 2017 and will remain in force until a new one is approved, so it will almost certainly fall to the new administration to negotiate the next labor deal and to decide whether to take on sacred cows like the legal defense fund.

ProPublica pieced together the origins of the defense fund by reviewing tax records, studying labor agreements and examining other city documents obtained through the Freedom of Information Law.

Like anyone charged with a serious crime, an officer facing criminal prosecution has a right to a defense lawyer. But the deal establishing the city’s contribution to the fund was specifically designed to pay for defending officers in civil litigation, where an officer could face a substantial monetary judgment.

The deal, struck by the then-police union head and the city’s top labor negotiator, created what has become an annual taxpayer contribution that amounts to $75 per officer. The legal services fund takes in another $3.7 million every year from the union’s health and welfare fund, a city-funded entity that provides health insurance and other employee benefits. That portion of the defense fund can be used for legal representation, too, though not in those lawsuits where the city has said it will not represent the officers.

All told, the defense fund takes in about $5.5 million a year, which the PBA pays to the Manhattan law firm of Worth, Longworth & London to represent officers, tax filings show.

A spokesman for the PBA, which represents about 25,000 rank-and-file officers, didn’t respond to detailed questions about the fund.

While the PBA was the first to secure the city contribution, the annual $75-per-member taxpayer funding for civil defense has been replicated in the contracts that cover thousands of NYPD sergeants, lieutenants and captains.

The union representing the 9,000 jail guards who run the violence-plagued Rikers Island complex and other city jails secured a $75-per-member city contribution to their defense fund as well. Correction officers are frequently sued over allegations of prisoner abuse and neglect in New York City, suits that have led to multimillion-dollar settlements and, in recent years, a federal investigation and monitoring agreement. And the union representing jail wardens, deputy wardens and assistant deputy wardens gets a $189-per-member contribution for civil defense, according to their contract.

New York City’s mayoral primaries are on June 22, and de Blasio’s staunch support for the NYPD has made police accountability a key issue in the race to succeed him, especially among candidates with their own ties to oversight and reform of the department.

Candidate Maya Wiley, once a close adviser to de Blasio and later the chair of the city’s police oversight board, said she would renegotiate the police union contract to ensure better accountability. A Wiley spokesperson said the taxpayer money going to officers’ civil defense should go to gun violence prevention or “a dozen other, better ways to ensure public safety.”

Another mayoral candidate, Comptroller Scott Stringer, plays a key role in police accountability, reviewing and approving every settlement reached in civil cases brought against police officers. But a campaign spokesman said Stringer wasn’t familiar with the defense fund provision of the PBA’s contract and that his policy staff was now looking into it. Mayoral hopeful Eric Adams was for many years a prominent reform voice within the NYPD, rising to the rank of captain and co-founding the group 100 Blacks in Law Enforcement Who Care. But Adams, now the Brooklyn borough president, didn’t respond to questions.

In New York, the rare rollback of police union protections has typically come only when a case of police brutality seized the public conscience and compelled political leaders to act. Even then it can take years.

For decades, NYPD officers involved in shootings or other incidents of potential wrongdoing had two full days to consult with lawyers before being questioned by internal affairs investigators. But after officers sodomized a Haitain immigrant with a stick in the bathroom of a Brooklyn police station in 1997, the so-called 48-hour rule emerged as a key obstacle in the investigation.

In negotiations to settle his lawsuit against the city and the police union, the man, Abner Louima, and his lawyers called for the rule to be scrapped. It wasn’t until 2002, during labor negotiations with the police union, that city officials moved to extract the provision from the agreement, asserting that the police commissioner had broad authority to oversee disciplinary matters. That prompted a yearslong legal battle, which the union ultimately lost in 2006.

Removing a union benefit that has been renewed for decades is possible, but it’s hard to do, said Victor Kovner, who served as the city’s chief lawyer under Mayor David Dinkins in the early 1990s. “And hard doesn’t begin to suggest how challenging it would be,” he said.

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The assisted living is home when you get professional care. Your elderly parent share propels at the time might not able to do most things on their own. This is why, as the name suggests, they ah veto be assisted; the home provides trained professionals who understand the mind of the old and what they want. They can tell when they are happy and why they are not. These communities will, therefore, work found the clock to ensure you get the right compassionate care. This might include bathing, hygiene, medication, and proper assistance in any means. Click here: https://espritwhisperingridge.com/memory-care-omaha-ne/ for more information about assisted living facilities.

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[cherry3point14]

Driving Home For Christmas

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Warnings: Brush your teeth after reading.

Word Count: 8,972.

Summary: You’re on a case all by your lonesome up in a small town in Wisconsin. When it snows you’re more concerned with keeping warm than getting out of dodge which means someone gets snowed in on her own for Chirstmas. Or so you think.

A/N: Basically like there’s fluff, gruff and festive stuff. Enjoy.

Ao3 if you prefer Series Masterlist

“Calm down. The ghost is all taken care of and the very grateful Crewes family even gave me a candy cane for my trouble.” Sam laughs at you down the phone knowing that you probably asked for the candy cane. You did, but he doesn’t need to know that, they were more than happy to share after you saved their lives and all.

“When are you coming home?”

They’d been working a case out East and had finished up a day early. They were already back in the bunker, safe and warm. You, however, had taken a salt and burn up in Wisconsin. Except it turned out to be a cursed object since the guy was already cremated and, well, it took you an extra day to figure out what the damn thing was. Which was fine, really, except now you’re still in town when a snowstorm hits. Not that you’re telling Sam that. They’d both worry about you but really the snow isn’t that bad. Berta, the owner of the motel you’re staying in, brought you a space heater and extra blankets the day before. Because you’re the only dummy staying this close to Christmas. She’s literally giving heaters and blankets away since you're her only clientele. So, you have a plan. You’re going to build a hot box and wait it out, you’ll be back on the road in the morning. No need to concern their pretty little heads about a few flakes.

“It’s too late to drive anywhere after a long day saving lives and being a hero. I figure I’ll make a day of it tomorrow.”

Adding the joke means Sam doesn’t notice your worried tone as you peak out of the curtain at the powder piling high around the tires of your car. God, you were going to have to shovel that in the morning. Great.

“Ok, well get some sleep or something and call me before you leave tomorrow.”

His mother hen nagging comes from a place of caring so you don’t tease him as much as you normally might. Not when he doesn’t even know the reason he should be rightly worried.

“Sure, sure. Night Sam.”

“Night Y/N.”

As soon as the line goes dead operation get-this-chill-out-of-your-goddamn-bones begins. It starts by kicking the heater to life until it’s buzzing away and emitting a dangerously orange hue. Then you start the layering. First leggings with a long sleeved thick cotton shirt tucked in. Over the top of that a pair of sweats you stole from Dean a long time ago, along with a sweatshirt that drowns you. Thick, fluffy socks get slipped on and tucked in before the blankets start getting piled high. By the time you’re done the bed looks akin to a childlike fort but then you crawl inside, wrap yourself up and realize the comparison is all wrong. What you’ve actually built is a cocoon and you might never emerge from it.

Even with all the layers it still takes a while, maybe twenty minutes, to warm up against the chill of the snow as it seeps through the too thin walls. But when you do feel warmth sweep over your skin it all becomes worth it. If an extreme temperature is going to kill you in the night it’ll be heat, and what a way to go in a snowstorm.

When you open your eyes you’re still swaddled like a giant baby in your endless blankets. You’re warm, toasty and although you’re there’s a tacky film of sweat covering your body it’s still preferable to the temperature you know exists outside of your bed.

But sweat is not what woke you up. Neither is the encroaching cold. It’s your phone.

It’s buzzing away on the bedside cabinet as if it’s angry. It stops before you untangle yourself enough to stick an arm out but considering the ten missed calls on your phone someone certainly seems to be frustrated.

The small draft of cold air you let in by moving is refreshing against the heat of your skin. You’re considering unfurling yourself completely when the phone rings again, this time in your hand. His name pops up for what must be the eleventh time and you let out this resigned sigh. Dean doesn’t call this many times in a row unless it’s important, and at this point, he probably thinks you’re dead so maybe it would be kind to put him out of his misery.

“Hello?”

You can hear his relief as you answer, there this big exhale that’s rattled down the line, but then he obviously remembers why he’s calling and allows himself to circle right back around to frustrated. “What the hell? You ever heard of answering your phone?”

“Good morning to you too grumpy.” He won’t see your grin but you know it’s there.

“I’ve been calling for an hour.”

“I was sleeping.” He huffs at that and you can understand his annoyance. You normally only sleep so soundly in your room, shrouded in the safety of the bunker. Not at a motel in bumfuck nowhere.

“When were you going to tell me about the snow?”

You shoot upright like the question was shouted at you from across the room instead of echoed down your phone. You’re half expecting to see him standing there with coffee, breakfast and a scowl. He’s not.

“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You stutter out the lie unconvincingly.

He barks out this sarcastic laugh. “Take it you haven’t looked out of the window this morning then?”

Just like that, you don’t have a secret about the snow anymore, he does. You want to take that power away from him as quickly as possible so you roll out of bed and stumble to the still closed curtains. The line where the curtains meet gets brighter and whiter with each step. In reality, you’ve taken seconds to haul ass across the room but in your head, the hand that reaches for the material and pulls it back is achingly slow. A fittingly dramatic reveal for the amount of snow covering every surface outside. It’s easily 12 inches, maybe more. Probably, definitely more. There’s not even a flicker of childlike wonder in your eyes as you look out because your immediate reaction is how screwed you are. Your car, as beat up and shitty as it was, is fucked. You can only just about tell the general shape now. Not that you know where the road is. Where you could previously see it in your roadside motel now there’s just a postcard blanket of undisturbed snow.

“Fuck.”

“Yep.” Dean hums all too smugly reminding you that he’s still on the phone.

Your calves hit the bed as you drift backward, like moving away from the window will make the scene outside somehow different. “Shit. I guess I’m stuck here.”

There’s a flurry of emotions going through you faster than the snow that's blocked you in. You’d actually been looking forward to Christmas this year. Last year all three of you had been on a hunt, spending the 25th culling a werewolf pack. This year was going to be your first one without them tiptoeing around you. For once you don’t want to spend it alone and wrapped up in painful memories. And yet, you don’t really have a choice now.

“...you’re not getting away with it that easy.” Dean is rambling away in your ear and you haven’t listened to a word he said.

“Sorry, what?” That’s when you notice it, the rumble of Baby in the background.

He huffs and you can hear the sarcastic annoyance on his dumb face, “I said, don’t worry about it.”

Your tongue seems to have doubled in weight for how thickly you swallow, “Dean… where are you?”

“Passed Omaha about thirty miles back.”

“Dean.” The word carries a stern warning. You won’t be saved like some damsel in distress. You’ll be fine holed up in this motel room for a few days till your car, hopefully, reveals itself. Lonely and chilly but alive.  

“Y/N,” he replies, mocking your tone.

“I’ll be fine. There’s a gas station not far from here. I’ll make the walk there, stock up on food and wait until it melts enough for me to drive. Turn around and go home.”

Even as you’re saying it you’re dreading the idea of going outside. Unfortunately, Dean knows you too well, much better than you realize. “Open the door, sweetheart.”

“What?”

“Just do it.”

You want him to turn around so you play along. You whip the door open and close it just as quickly but it’s enough for crisp winter air to attack your face like thousands of pinprick needles all at once. “HOLY FUCKING SHIT.”

“Yeah, thought so.” He sounds satisfied that he’s made his point. “You’re not going anywhere. Get whoever owns the joint to get you some food, pack your shit and stay inside.”

“It’s a twelve-hour drive each way. And what am I supposed to do, just leave my car? I know you’re not going to drive Baby through this.” Even to your ears, your excuses sound pathetic and half-assed, but goddammit you’re trying.

“Good thing I drive fast. Your car was already junk, if you miss it that much I’ll bring you back when the snow melts. I’ve got it covered.”

Before you can say anything else the line goes dead. You know it’s not a service problem, he’s hung up. Probably with a self-satisfied grin and some comment to his empty car about him always being right.

He definitely knows how to piss you off before a twelve hours car ride together.

A deity somewhere is looking out for you, enough that the pipes aren’t frozen over and you’re able to have a shower so hot that your skin is scalded red. You dry your hair, make a big song and dance about getting dressed and then, as instructed, ‘pack your shit’.

As if she knows the exact moment you’re clothed and presentable Berta, the sprightly old woman that she is, knocks on the door.

“Oh good, you’re not dead!”

“Probably wouldn’t be opening the door if were.” The master key in her hand gets quickly stuffed back into her large coat pocket with your answer.

“Since you’re not dead, which I’m very pleased about, I wanted to invite you to spend Christmas with me,” her eyes have that softness people spare for the truly pathetic. “I know, I know. You were leaving today but by the looks of your car I’m guessing we’re gonna have a cozy little Christmas together.”

You could imagine Christmas with Berta. She’d probably out drink you and then start telling stories about the swinging sixties, scaring you for life. You’d have to extra nice to Dean when he gets here and saves you from the required therapy. “I appreciate the offer Berta but I’m still leaving today.”

“But-”

“My friend is coming to get me. He’ll be here later.”

She purses her lips suspiciously which makes the wrinkles around her mouth deepen, “a friend?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Coming to get you?”

“Yep.”

“Didn’t you say you live in Kansas?”

Too late you figure out where she’s going with this but you can’t think quick enough to back-pedal the conversation. “Yeah. I did.”

“So, you mean to tell me that a male friend of yours is driving all the way from Kansas, and back, on Christmas Eve no less, to pick you up during a snowstorm?”

You put your hand on your hip and shake your head at the meddling old woman, “it’s not like that, Dean’s just a friend.”

“Ohhhh,” she’s coos sounding like a police siren, “his name is Dean, huh? Dean’s coming to get you is he?”

Berta has been this forward since you got here. The night you checked in she asked you if you had a boyfriend because she has this nephew that you’d absolutely love. The first time you go and extend your stay she claps that you’ll still be in town and offers a date on his behalf. Now she’s got her talons caught into something else altogether.

“Yes, his name is Dean. He’s just a friend. I told him not to come but he’s about as stubborn as you are, so you can imagine how well that went down.”

She flashes you this toothy, knowing smile, “oh honey. That boy must have it bad.”

Berta doesn’t know what she’s talking about because Dean treats you like the sister he never had. But confused or not she's hit a nerve so you react with a lump in your throat and a hard set to your jaw, “goodbye Berta.”

“Yeah sure. Let me know when Dean shows up!”

She starts shuffling away, apparently completely unphased that you rejected her Christmas invitation. You shut the door before she comes back and makes you play truth or dare. It’s only in the warmth of the room that you notice how hot your cheeks are.

You’d been reading a list of top twenty Christmas movies on your phone when there’s a second knock at the door hours later. You snap your head up when, almost immediately, the wood is banged again. Harder and more urgently.

“Y/N!”

Your whole body breathes a sigh of relief, for you are saved.

Jumping up you pull the door open with a wide grin. He looks tired and frustrated with a thousand things, probably yourself included, but he still smirks at the sight of you.

“You came.”

“Told you I would. But we’ve gotta haul ass to make it back in time.”

You’re about to ask what schedule you’re on. Christmas starts when you’re all there and arguing over pancake syrup, so you can hardly miss it, but the question never leaves your lips. He strides past you and picks up your packed duffle, casts his eyes around the room to make sure you didn’t forget anything and starts leaving again. “Come on, we're burning daylight.”

His quick movements lull you out of the stupor you were momentarily in, “sure, right, let me drop the key in and I’ll meet you at…”

The word ‘Baby’ was on the tip of your tongue just as you look over his shoulder to see this truck. Big enough to be menacing, snow chains wrapped around the tires and, most importantly, a large bearded man in the driver's seat.

“What?”

He smiles, amused at the worry on your face, “Baby is ten minutes out of town since they haven’t plowed all the roads yet. Can you believe it, his name is fucking Michael?”

“Mike it is.” You wink at him before beginning the treacherous walk to the little office. The snow that has settled under the covered walkway outside your door is beginning to turn icy. Not all the way deathly yet but there’s a very real risk of falling on your butt in front of Dean, and now Mike, so you tread carefully.

Berta is relieved that you’re getting out in time for Christmas and she’s not shy about sticking her neck out to try and catch a glimpse of the fabled Dean. She hums approvingly and winks at you, which you roll your eyes at. She’s awful in that harmless interfering aunt kind of way and you play along, only because she’s agreed to keep an eye on your car till you make other arrangements.

Checked out you start trudging through the powder. In the parking lot where everything is still fresh the snow is deep enough to almost reach your knees. It doesn’t take long for a shiver to creep up your spine. The air is cold enough that every breath has an edge to it, a frosty after burn in your lungs. You focus on Dean standing by the truck waiting for you. He is the promise of escape from this frozen, lonely hellscape. Dean is snow free open roads and a milder Kansas winter.

Sure a lot of people would love a white Christmas, yourself included. But not to this excess. Not to the point where the weather becomes a prison.

Mike, for all his faults, and it really seems like the only one he has is being named Michael, isn’t a talker. It’s nice. For the ten solid minutes that he drives you out of town, you allow yourself your only actual enjoyment of the snow. You get to watch the picturesque yet dangerous conditions knowing that you’re leaving them behind. And eventually the further south and out of town you get the less snow there is anyway. It doesn’t disappear completely but you find yourself at a point where it feels manageable.

Dean has parked Baby in this gas station just before the exit to the interstate, which he assures you is snow free. Mike gruffs when you wish him happy holidays but you think that might mean ‘you too’ in his vocabulary.

The moment that you slip into the front seat of the Impala is the moment you’re already home. It’s cold inside the car as it’s been sitting here for half an hour and yet somehow there’s the slightest hint of heat. Like it’s imprinted in the leather over however many hours it took Dean to get here.

He doesn’t say anything when he slides in and starts her up. The silence throws you. It makes everything feel a little uncomfortable. In the truck the silence had been golden, you’d assumed Dean hadn’t been talkative because of Mike, Mike hadn’t either. There had been music that filled the quiet then. But the Zeppelin thrusting it’s way out of the cassette player now is at a low level. It’s turned down as if he wants to talk and yet, he hasn’t said a word.

Normally it’s either or. The music is either thumping at a volume where you know there’s nothing to say or it's at the volume it’s at now, and he’s a chatty Cathy. As chatty as Dean gets anyway. Today he has you in this limbo. If you were standing you’d probably be shuffling side to side awkwardly before running away but you’re in the Impala, at the start of a very long drive, on Christmas Eve of all days. You’re trapped and will be for some time.

You can’t go on like this so you just had to break the silence, right? All you had to do was pretend that you don’t notice the awkward atmosphere as he accelerates onto the empty highway, you could do that. Just start a conversation, any conversation. “Sam said you finished up early with the Rugaru?”

“He also said everything was fine when he spoke to you last night, but we both know that’s not true.” He snaps like the argument was waiting behind his teeth for you to say something first.

“What?”

“The snow was already pretty bad last night, I checked.”

Ok, so he’s pissed. He’s clearly been getting more and more worked up about this on the drive here. All you had to do was calm him down. “It wasn’t that bad it was just normal snow, I had no idea that it would-”

“Get you snowed in? Right. Because you’d have been able to drive that shitty car of yours through any kind of snow.”

That ticks you off a little, whether it’s the implication that your car is worthless or your driving. He’s not wrong about your car but he didn’t need to say it. “Excuse me. Didn’t see you driving your precious Baby into town.”

That’s it, hit him where it hurts. His car.

“‘S different. She’d have been fine last night.”

You scoff unsure if you’re angry or actually shocked, “do you really think I got snowed in on purpose?”

“I think you could have told us about the snow last night. I think you were trying to avoid-” he doesn’t finish, instead expelling a big, frustrated sigh.

His grip on the wheel loosens a little, which gives you a chance to see how tightly he’d been holding on. White knuckling it even. Then you notice the empty coffee cups strewn on the backseat. You start putting a timeline together in your head. He must have been driving at least a couple of hours, maybe three, when he called you that morning. Slowly you work out that this idiot has easily been driving for over ten hours straight, without a break. And it’s all your fault.

You look around to check for any other traffic before you carefully put a hand on his shoulder. He’s tense under your fingers like an elastic band pulled too tight, “You’re right. I’m sorry. I’m an idiot. Please pull the car over.”

The muscle in his arm loosens a little at your apology and then he turns to you with a confused expression when you ask him to pull over.

“What the hell?”

“Pull the damn car over now or I’ll make you!” The soft apology of your voice is replaced with a hard demand.

His eyes flick to the mirror before he swerves onto the side of the road. The engine halts and he turns his body towards you, possibly expecting a continuation of your argument. That’s when you get out of the car.

On the highway, this much further south, there’s hardly any snow. Maybe a light dusting on the ground but the road itself is clear, just wet. It’s still cold though, enough that you shiver as you stomp around to the other side of the car. It’s just, you can’t falter because of the temperature, not when his eyes are on you for every step. His unrelenting stare has to be what keeps you going.

At the driver's side, you yank the door open and stare him down from your standing position, “move.”

He opens his mouth to argue, even starts it off, “if you think I’m letting you…”

“I get it. You don’t need to take a break because you’re Dean Winchester or whatever. But here’s the thing, by my calculations you’ve been driving since, what, four? If you can promise me you took a break on the way here then you’re off the hook. Otherwise move over because I said so.”

For not being a parent you’ve got a surprisingly authoritative mom voice and somehow it works. He begrudgingly slides over to the passenger seat, silently answering you. Probably got his coffee at drive-throughs on the way and didn’t even stop to drink them, lunatic.

“A few hours that’s it.” He grumbles, which might well be threatening if half the tension in his torso hadn’t melted away already.

“Sure thing. Just get some sleep and I’ll wake you in a few.”

It’s probably a testament to your relationship, friendship obviously, that he actually listens to you. You steal glances out the corner of your eye as he shimmies down the seat until his body is slung low, his legs crossed over each other and his head bent against the back of the seat. The position looks too awkward for sleep but you know getting him in the back would be pushing your luck, besides you’ve seen him sleep in more cramped quarters before. Worst case scenario he’ll be grumpy when he wakes up but that’s pretty true of any time he wakes up.

Even with how tired he must be you're still surprised with how quickly his eyes close. One second they’re open and warily watching you drive and in the next second, he blinks them closed. Somewhere on a straight of road, you take a hand off the wheel to reach in the back, blindly searching for the thick, wool blanket kept there. Like a game of buckaroo, you’re careful to put it over him, one hand still on the wheel as you gently cover him with it a little at a time. The whole thing probably takes ten minutes but he looks so much cozier after you’re done that you smile out to the road ahead, pleased with your progress.

You keep the music low as you drive and try to resist watching him out the corner of your eye for too long at a time.

“Rise and shine sleeping beauty!” You sing-song loudly as you cut the engine.

Dean startles awake in a way that tells you he was a little more asleep that he intended to be. It’s cute. Not that he’s cute or anything, it’s just you know him well enough to know that sleeping while someone else drives Baby is not a trust he affords to many people. You’re smart enough to appreciate that.

“Where the fuck are we?” His voice is groggy even if his words are angry and you have to resist thinking the word ‘adorable’.

“Since you asked so nicely,” he pushes the blanket off of him suspiciously as you answer, “we’re outside Fort Dodge, I think, anyway we’re about halfway and I need food.”

Dean grins with sleep still clinging to the crinkles at the corners of his eyes, “it’s like you read my mind.”

“You were dreaming of me waking you up outside a Wendy’s?”

“Something like that,” he groans as he stretches his muscles the best he can in the confines of the car.

It’s not that you get distracted watching him stretch and it’s not that you’re wondering what he was dreaming about. You’re distracted by both and neither at the same time. And Berta’s meddling voice pops up in your head.

Eventually, Dean clicks his fingers in front of your face. “You ok there sweetheart?”

“Yeah, yeah! I’m fine, it’s just…” your sentence drifts off into nothing. You don’t know what to say. There’s nothing to say. No matter how long you maintain his expectant eye contact. “I’ll go get the food.”

The inside of the Wendy’s is as dead and depressing as a fast food place can be at nearly eleven on Christmas Eve. You were honestly surprised they’re still open. Thankful because you needed food, but surprised. They have your order ready in record time because what else are they doing? It’s just that as you’re leaving again, arms full of paper bags you notice Dean in the front seat of the Impala. Not singing along or tapping his fingers on the steering wheel to a song you can’t hear. He’s on the phone, a serious pucker to his lips and concern festering in his shoulders.

That’s not even the worrying part. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time you’ve heard about a case this late. The suspicious bit happens when he makes eye contact with you coming across the parking lot. He hurries a stern goodbye and hastily puts his phone away.

“Who was on that?” you’re careful to keep your voice measured and casual as you take your place in the passenger's seat. You pull the blanket he rejected up over your legs before you shove a burger into his hands.

“Nobody.” He answers too quickly. So suspiciously in fact that he notices his own mistake and tries to fix it before you say anything else, “Sam. It was Sam. Just meant that it was nothing important.”

Apparently, there's a back and forth game between you both. Moments of weirdness that the other doesn’t observe too closely. But what could Dean possibly have to be weird about?

The rest of the drive is comfortable silence and you’re starting to think his anger and your weirdness had been hunger in disguise. Like small children, you just needed to be fed. At some point, he tries to convince you to sleep for a while and you tell him to stop telling you what to do. It’s not a witty conversation for the ages but it restores a sense of normalcy inside the bubble you both exist in.

He turns the music up most of the way. The Impala cuts through the empty roads with a trail of guitar riffs following behind. Well, music and the rumble of the engine. If you were tired the combination might soothe you to sleep like it has before but all those hours stuck in that motel room felt like sleep, or sleepwalking. Even as it reaches the early hours of the morning you don’t close your eyes. You don’t want to miss a single mile marker.

About half an hour out of Lebanon is when Dean starts to get, well, twitchy.

First, it’s just his fingers. His index finger taps the steering wheel, annoyingly out of time to the song. It’s after four am though and he’s been on the road almost twenty-four hours at this point. You kindly ignore it no matter how annoying it is.

Then it’s these little noises he starts making. If you could squint with your ears then it might sound like the lyrics to a song. The kind of noise people make when they’re singing along and then they hit the second verse. Word adjacent noises. It’s just, again, not what the particular song playing sounds like.

You’re forgiving of these annoying ticks he’s apparently developed. Because that’s what you’re supposed to do at Christmas, or so the songs and TV specials tell you. Forgive and forget. Peace on earth. No matter how much you want to punch him in the arm and tell him to shut up, you probably shouldn’t.

Besides he’s just gone to extraordinary lengths to bring you home. Literally.

Finally, you reach a breaking point. His body seems to hum with broken energy when the sign for Lebanon shines under the headlights. You actually turn your head away from the window to look at him with a wary eye, like he’s a ticking time bomb.

“You doing ok over there?” the reference to his distance, all the way on the other side of the car, is more for your own benefit. Maybe the explosion won’t reach you.

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be? I’m fine. What about you?”

Maybe he drank too much coffee. He’s been driving too long too. Or as much as he loves his Baby maybe he’s been trapped in her too long.

And all of these are still your fault.

“I’m good. Think I’ll catch a few hours once we get in. We might even get four hours in our own beds.” You let your forehead fall back against the cold glass hoping that the promise of his memory foam is enough to chill him out.

It isn’t. When you reach the familiar stretch of road when the bunker is hidden he pulls in but puts the car in park outside the bunker door. It’s not unheard of for him to leave her there if he’s planning on driving early in the morning but you’d have thought after an entire day that he wasn't going anywhere else for a while.

Whatever. His car, his rules. As you get out and start towards the bunker door he half jogs in front of you, “let me just get that for you.” His words make it seem like he’s going to, weirdly, hold the door open for you. What he actually does is push in front of you only to open just enough for him to stick his head through first. His whole body relaxes with whatever he sees and then he finally pushes the door all the way open.

The bunker is empty, quiet, only the hum of the electrics but that’s just white noise. It’s what you’d expect at almost four in the morning. It’s so absolutely ordinary that it only serves to make Dean seem even more certifiable.

“OK weirdo. I’m going to go sleep for a little while. Please don’t take any more of whatever crazy you’ve been dosing.

You’d fallen asleep easily. It hadn’t felt like you’d resisted being tired in the car but as soon as your head hits the pillow you felt cozier than you had in your blanket cocoon at the motel. Now that you’ve woken up you feel bleary and disorientated, the kind of muddiness you haven’t felt since you were a child where you sleep so deep that don’t know what day it is. How long have you slept for? Was it an hour or a day?

A quick glance at your phone tells you it’s just after 8 am so you haven’t actually slept through the apocalypse.

You’re slow to get out of bed and your movements are still sluggish when you do. For all of the build-up, for it being the reason Dean came to get you, Christmas is the last thing on your mind. Instead, you pinball your way around your room looking for one thing after another. Hairbrush, thicker socks, a sweatshirt, before you wander casually to the bathroom to brush your teeth.

It’s a normal Sunday until you finally step into the library. Sam is sitting with Jack on the sofa stringing popcorn and telling Jack to stop eating it before he has to pop another bag. Which tell you they’ve probably already on bag number two. There’s this tree that’s maybe three foot with nothing but a string of Christmas lights wrapped around it. It’s both tired looking but also heartwarming somehow.

You wander over to lean on the back of the sofa, dipping your hand into the popcorn bowl yourself and grinning at Sam as you do. “Merry Christmas guys.”

“Y/N! Dean said you wouldn’t be awake for a while. We haven’t finished decorating.”

“And we never will if people,” he pointedly stares at you, “keep eating the decorations.”

You throw a piece at Sam at watch with glee as it gets caught in his hair, “so what if I’m awake, can’t I help?”

Jack’s brow creases worriedly, “no, this is supposed to be a surprise.” Sam glares at him like Jack has revealed a secret and Jack seems to realize his mistake, “sorry I forgot,” he apologizes to Sam and then looks at you with a face that could melt an ice queen. “Merry Christmas Y/N.”

If he thinks wishing you a Merry Christmas is enough to distract you from the fact that apparently everyone in the bunker has been sniffing glue, then he’s right. Or at least you’re not caffeinated enough to investigate yet. You’d be back with coffee though, they could count on it.

As you walk into the kitchen you’re apparently mistaken for someone else but in Dean’s defense, he’s not looking at you while he flips pancakes. “Did you get the potatoes Cas?”

The only rational thing to do is lower your voice as low as possible and answer him with your best Batman impression, “I’m sorry Dean, they were all out of potatoes.”

You get your first gift of the day when he spins around so fast that he’s probably given himself whiplash, “Y/N?”

Once he’s confirmed it’s you with a brief visual inspection his face quickly cycles through annoyance and defeat before he settles into a warm smile, “morning.”

“What’s going on with your little helpers in there?” You wander towards the coffee pot as you ask, sounding only vaguely interested in an attempt to trick the information out of him.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Really?” The hand not holding coffee rests on your hip, “because the littlest elf said something about a surprise and the much taller one gave him the look.”

You're watching Dean closely for the moment that he cracks. At first, you think it might not happen, he goes back to flipping pancakes nonchalantly. For a moment you wonder if you’re the crazy one because he’s that convincing. And then the word 'surprise' comes out of your mouth which makes his shoulders slump his head falls forward with a sad flop.

“I knew those idiots wouldn’t be able to keep their mouths shut.”

“To be fair Sam’s mouth was shut, it’s Jack, sweet and innocent cannot tell a lie Jack, that gave the game away. Come on, spill it.” You close the gap between you. Nothing to do with being near him. You like to be near the pancakes, and you have every intention of jabbing him in the arm until he tells you what's going on.

The secret is going to be some funny joke. Or a game. It’s not going to be a real thing. That’s why you keep rocking back and forth on the balls of your feet, impatiently waiting. It’s why you hum annoyingly and whine, “come on. Tell me.”

He very slowly puts the spatula down only to pinch the bridge of his nose, “the surprise is Christmas.” The confession comes out of him as more of a groan than words.

You still don’t understand what you’re missing here. “Christmas isn’t a surprise. It’s kind of this day every year.”

Another groan. You know he hates when you’re pedantic. He hates when Sam’s pedantic too but for some reason, you manage to tick him off that much easier. “I know.”

“So, it can’t be a surprise.”

“You said you wanted to do Christmas again so surprise we’re doing a Winchester family Christmas. My mom will be here later and there’s a ham in the oven and why do you think I drove eight hundred miles each way to pick you up yesterday?”

He makes some excellent points but you can’t make sense of them over the pounding in your ears. It takes a full minute before you realize it’s your own heart beating against your ribcage.

“I’m not a Winchester.”

“You’re as good as.” He answers quickly and sure of himself.

“A family Christmas?”

“You haven’t had one since you were a kid. We don’t exactly go caroling but we’ll eat.” A pancake is burning on the stove top but neither of you reacts. He’s turned his body towards you and you can’t stop looking at him, waiting for the punchline.

“You came to get me for Christmas?”

He nods, soft, slowly, “I’d do it again. Anytime, sweetheart.”

Your lips part if only a little. All the better to breathe and remember yourself. All the better to wake up from whatever dream you’re still having. Although, if it’s a dream…

You push yourself up onto the tips of your toes and press your lips to his. It’s quick and short. A second, maybe less, of feeling your mouth against his and then you fall backward, staring up at him with wide eyes. Shocked at your own behavior. The kiss is so chaste it could be familial, that’s what you’ll try to convince him off if you’ve misread this anyway, but then Dean stares at you like he’s forgotten his own name.

“I thought you were supposed to wait for the mistletoe?” Jack interrupts from the doorway.

Part Thee - Epilogue (coming 12/23)

5eva tags: @divadinag @darthdeziewok @fluentinfiction @witch-of-letters @supernatural-teamfreewillpage Dean babes: @thewinchesterchronicles @akshi8278