#WAKE UP BOYS WE GETTIN FED TONIGHT

[spectra473]

Bullet points I made as I read

Damn, rat bastard bouta pop a vessel. Man goin insane.

Whoever that blue angler fish lookin guy is, love him!

YOOOO that's Viktas, Kyia's character! My baby boy! He's so cute!

Love how Cuda's pupil kinda breaks into squiggles like that when he gets upset. Might try to see if I can try that with some of my characters.

Green pentagon goober looks familiar.

SAM! SAM! SAM AND HIS MELONS- THE MAN AND HIS MELONS! HE GRACES US WITH HIS PRESENCE!

NOOO WTFFFFFF- MAN DIDN'T DO ANYTHING! Leave him and his melons alone! Pay him baaaack! TmT

Gotta love the tiny background details, it kinda feels warm and cozy to me. Even the sign writing is just a chef's kiss. You can tell how much heart was put into this.

Rat finna kill someone, grabbin the popcorn. Kinda love that stance, idk why.

The way the pannels are layered is SCRUMPTIOUS.

Wh- okay damn! Pop off! Flaunt that plot armor! Really cool page there!

Man now owns the place, give him the deed.

AWWW! That white square guy is too cuuuute! Wanna know who made him. Don't recognize any of the two yellow ones in the back, but they also look very adorable.

Oop, another dorito man, nacho cheese flavored. LOOOVING that outfit design, who made that? Also, a doctor and a broadsword… Those are two VERY different things… a little sus. Whats going on there??? I don't even remember the man getting injured. Buuut, will we finally get to see him fight with a sword?! Hhhhhh I've been waiting for this!!!

There they are! Soulofzurvan, Raisa-drawz, and Deltaqui! Amazing to see them here too!

Who's that fluffy orange guy at Sam's stand? Lil plushie guy!

CURTIS! THATS ME! THATS MY BABY- HE'S HERE! Aww- hi man! Oh my god he looks FUCKING ADORABLE in your art style! Love how you did his eye! My lil blue hexagon maaaan! THE POINTERS- AUGH HE JUST SO CONFUZLED- MY INNOCENT CHILD! You even shaded hiiiim! I actually adore this! Thank you so muuuuuuch!!! <3 <3 <3 <3

Who's the white triangle with the strange paper hat? le goober.

Aaaaand cue the regal piano track, my man moves with that sauce!

Oop- okay- real right time!

Hound getting in on it too? Yaaaayyyy!

NOOOOO NOT THE SQUEAKERS! THEY CAN FEEL TOOOO! THE CHILDREN-

…Yeah, lesson of the day. Don't fuck with Blix. Understood? Yea-

Love how you draw big cat's action poses. He's just so fluid and agile- pleasant to look at.

Old man in UNIFOOOOOOORM! And lil boat! Awwwww!

Pft- LYCAN! Why does he have the best sense of humor?! I mean, lookit him! Goofy goober!

Cube being a badie, as always~! My girl thrivin! Slaaaayyyy!

Deadpan blix moment O-O

Watching these guys open up is so refreshing! Its like… Eating a lemon candy. Sure, it was sour at first, but now its just so sweet and warm! Gah- just some amazing writing! Worth the wait.

Poor Hound, not this again! He already feels bad enough!

Okay, Ly just keeps getting better. He's a WINGMAN too?! The best kind of silly! Awwww!

Our king's gracious toothy smile -w-

Cube is confirmed to be the best mom friend.

For an autism creature, man gives really good motivational speeches. I wanna pet him.

Nvm Hound did it for me lets gooo!

Pft- LY! STAHP!

Aaaaand that's it. Basically my thought process while reading it. Sorry if its too long. This part was so worth the wait, so good to see everything come together like this! Once again, thank you so much for including one of my characters! It really means a lot to me. Keep up the amazing work Pink! Can't wait to see where this goes next!

A storm arrived at their doorsteps.

< Previous Chapter

<< Read from beginning

(Hi! Again, if you see your character in this chapter, feel free to point them out, but also please say something else about the chapter as well, other than “look at my character.” Your kind gesture will be appreciated!)

woo I worked hard on this one. It’s a shorter chapter, and is more of a chill lighthearted one to give the heroes a break from the angst and let them bond. But this is the first full chapter I’ve made while in college, so while it might not be the coolest one, it’s taken way more effort and I’m proud of myself :]

All background characters belong to their respective owners! (The grey flower is mine, a character named Atlas Iwasaki.)

the green pentagon is, again, Lium, belonging to my friend @iso-draws , only pinging them because he has a speaking part :]

[meowdymista]

An Interestin’ Fella in the Swamp

Word Count: 1454

Warnings: Swearing, mention of rape

Notes: I feel like there’s more to Bill than we see in the game, and this is to fix that

Masterlist

***

Finally. Bill was wondering when he would show his face in camp again. Taking a swig from the beer bottle, he watches Arthur dismount out the corner of his eye. He’s fussing over his horse, feeding it sugar cubes from the palm of his hand as he pats the thick sturdy neck.

“How can a man - a real man, ah mean - truly express his passion wi’ such delicate creatures?” Mac had slurred one night. Bill remembers the heat of the whisky in his cheeks as he drank in the gleam of red in the Scot’s stubble. “Ah’ve never understood the appeal.”

“Me neither,” he had replied, surprised by his own sincerity. “Them boys gettin’ distracted… it’s unprofessional. There ain’t time for love in this game. All you can hope for is one good fuck, y’know? When it takes me, I want to be able to lose myself in it. I want to fucking fuck, for fuck’s sake! Not worryin’ about messin’ her hair, or whether or not she’s gonna slap me afterwards.”

Mac had looked up at him then with heavy lidded eyes. “Ye ever fucked a man, Williamson?”

Tossing his bottle aside, Bill strolls up to the campfire where Arthur is helping himself to a bowl of stew. The only other man in camp with a temper like his own (besides Micah, of course) - he doesn’t understand how he’s never put it together before.  Women have always looked so small - so comically fragile - besides his thick build and broad shoulders. 

“Bill,” he greets with a nod.

Bill suppresses a smirk. Better practice my name, cowpoke, ‘cause I’ll have you screaming it tonight. He shakes himself mentally. No, he tells himself. Keep to the facts.

“I met an interesting fella in the swamp,” he says coyly, “Real interestin’.”

“Did you?”

Mac had known plenty of interesting fellas - years of discreet probing had paid off with connections to previous finds. The more Bill had tested the waters, the better he learned how to maneuver through them, and with Mac he had been able to spin a web of various “interesting fellas” across various states. Of course the web wasn’t made to spread this far west, but an introduction with that Alden in Rhodes proved fruitful. With a couple of helpful hints, Bill had found himself out in the Bayou, accepting the dinner offered by a fella called Sonny.

“Ain’t this a fine place? An interesting place, the best of places. Is it land, or is it water? Can’t make up its mind, no siree… I can’t make up my mind about things neither.”

“Sure! He seemed to know all about you!”

Arthur doesn’t react. His skills of discreet probing have been gathering dust since that first night with Mac, but he’s already started the ball rolling. He can’t walk away.

“I mean -” He clears his throat. “-all about you.”

“Get outta HERE.”

He chuckles quietly, holding his hands up in mock surrender, ready with his smooth speech about how men gotta do what they gotta do, but a second look at the man is a punch to the gut. His eyes are cold grey steel - and the look is all too familiar.

He hasn’t seen such venom in months except in the wake of Micah’s taunts. It is barely bridled fury - the last warning before the bull is released from the pen to wreak havoc. They were the eyes of man scorned - a hetero on the defence.

Bill drops his arms to his sides and walks away. He braces himself, but no hit lands. He’s grateful for that at least... but also disappointed. A fist fight was his favourite way to get the blood pumping, especially when it was to decide who would dominate. Fellers around here were too submissive.

“I’m peculiar. Folks always say so.”

Well, interesting fellas always were peculiar in some way. “Queer”. Didn’t that mean strange?

“You wanna- you wanna play with Sonny? I like playin’.”

He risks a look back over his shoulder. The tin bowl lies face down, it’s contents splattered over the grass. Arthur is nowhere to be seen.

“I’ve always wanted a friend like you… and I can tell you want a friend like me... ain’t that so?”

Taking up guard duty, he keeps a cigarette between his teeth until dusk. When Javier turns up to take over, he can’t help but ask - “Hey, you seen Arthur?”

“Why? What shit you started now?”

“Who said I started shit?” he snaps.

“Tilly said he didn’t look too happy when she saw him earlier. Karen said he almost sent Mary-Beth flying he marched off so fast.”

“Why’s that my fault?”

“They said he was fine ‘til he spoke with you.”

“What hae ye said tae Mac, Williamson?” Davey grabbed him by the lapels and shook him. “Ye talkin’ shite aboot us?”

“What are you talkin’ about?” he growled, shoving the younger brother off him.

“Th’ two o’ ye hae bin actin’ weird ever since ye got back fae scoutin’ New Austin! Dunnae lie!” The infamous vein was popping in his neck. Other members of the gang stopped their chores to see who picked the latest fight with the honey badger brothers - and not for the first time, found Bill on the receiving end.

“I don’t know what you mean.” His heart fluttered nervously in his chest as he caught the eyes of onlookers. He couldn’t lose this gang - the tribe of Van der Linde’s meant more to him than his life ever had. He could live with the taunts of being slow and dimwitted, but not this. Not something so fresh and vulnerable as the truth. “Davey,” he added quietly. “I would never talk shit about neither you Callender boys. Anything I have to say, I’ll say to your faces-”

“What secret are you sharin’ then, Williamson? Cuz we never keep anythin’ fae t’other.”

After digging around camp, he finally finds Arthur resting on the shore, twitching the fishing rod and cursing the lack of bites. Suddenly, he picks up a large stone and lobs it into the water, his throw too dull to skip it as it plops under the surface with a large splash.

“Ar-Arthur?”

His head snaps around, blue eyes still blazing as he scoffs. “Bill.”

“Arthur, I’m- I’m real sorry.”

“What for now?” he grunts, reeling in the line impatiently.

“About Sonny. The feller in the swamp?"

“You know a momma gator eats her babies? My momma never ate no baby…  Your momma ever ate a baby?”

“He was…" Bill forces a laugh, trying to reduce the tension in his shoulders, before sighing heavily. "I'm sorry. It was none of my business. I didn't expect you to… to take it like you did. An' for that I'm real sorry."

"How else was I s'posed to take it?"

"Shit, Morgan, I don't know!"

"Just how the hell you meet that creep anyway?" he demands, turning to face him as he puts his rod away.

"Same way as you! I was just passin' by-"

"Same way as me?" He scoffs again, spitting over his shoulder. "Yer a damn liar, Williamson. How'd you meet him? Really?"

"What? I can't speak to strangers now?"

Arthur's eyes flash. "If you met him the same way I did, you'd have a lump the size of an egg under your hat."

He doesn't know what to say to that. The sad, embarrassed shake of his head tells him there wasn't a reply worth making. "I'm sorry, Arthur. I didn't know that he'd- I thought that you'd- that it was-"

"I know what you thought." He sighs heavily, turning to watch the sun set under the water. "At least I'm alive, I s'pose. Better'n bein' found by you.”

“I’m gonna go back, teach him a lesson for messin’ with yer when you didn’t- well. When you wasn’t-”

“I already fed him to the gators,” states Arthur, his mouth twisting like the words taste sour on his tongue. “I… I can’t say I regret it. Maybe I was too hasty-”

“He was a strange one, Morgan. No one will miss him.”

“Yeah, well, it also didn’t feel enough.” The glint in his eye is simmering now. Not an infuriated bull but a snake sizing up its victim - and then he takes a deep breath. “I shoulda taken him up to the Skinners, but they’d’ve recruited the bastard most likely...”

“I ain’t gonna say nothin’ to no one. ‘Bout all this?” Arthur nods in agreement. “An’... I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell anyone about… y’know.”

“I know. I know, Bill.” A weight lifts off his chest as the blond pats his shoulder on his way past. “Ain’t nobody’s business but ours. Stay safe, Williamson.”

[novantinuum]

A Tale of Two Trollhunters (Ch. 1)

AO3

Fandoms: Gravity Falls, Trollhunters

Rating: T

Words: ~2800

Summary: Glass Shard Beach, 1967. When the trollhunter Kanjigar perishes years before he was supposed to, the amulet of daylight finds its next champion in a seventeen year old Stanley Pines. Now essential in the destiny of both the trolls' subterranean world and the human one above, Stan, along with his twin brother and girlfriend, must fight to protect both worlds from the dark forces creeping in at the edges.

But destiny has a way of being unpredictable.

A Gravity Falls/Trollhunters fusion AU. Kind of a drabble series?

Note: Little to no knowledge of Trollhunters is required to understand this, I think, since Stan is going to discover this world for himself.

Next chapter

It all started a lifetime ago... in a place called Glass Shard Beach, New Jersey. The beachside town’s name preceded its reputation, its shorelines covered in the razor sharp, glittering remains of broken beer bottles. Scattered among the glass, a diligent child might occasionally find a shard of quartz or another translucent mineral, but regardless it’s recommended that one doesn’t dare romp along the shore barefooted, least they slice the bottoms of their feet raw. This was the warning delivered to a young Stanley Pines every time he and his twin brother left their apartment to spend the day at the beach. Predictably, he ignored his mother’s words entirely. He liked feeling the rough gristle of sand between his toes, and a little glass wasn’t about to scare him away from that pleasure. Since, wasn’t glass just superheated crushed rock anyways? He wiggled his bare toes in the wet sand, watching as the horizon over the ocean became darker and darker, the sun setting behind him. “Hey Stan, come here,” his brother called, waving at him from the underside of the docks, right where they jutted out from the busy boardwalk. “Have you seen this?” He pulled himself to his feet with a grunt, and traversed the perilous dunes with a studied precision, nimbly hopping from one safe spot to the next. Tonight he hadn’t stepped on any glass at all, at least not yet. Finally, he reached his brother, who stood next to a large pile of rubble. Rubble. Oh boy, he knew where this conversation was going. He crossed his arms, feeling a chuckle bubbling up inside him. “That’s a pile of rocks,” he stated glibly, watching his brother’s face closely. “Yes, and there’s markings, perhaps even runes on them,” Ford exclaimed, picking up a chunk of rock and running his fingers across its smooth surface. “Ford, come on, I know you like your spooky conspiracy theories and everythin’, but,” he said with a heavy sigh, picking up a split piece and bouncing it in the palm of his hand, “we all know there’s no such thing as rock people.” His twin shook his head, winds of denial stirring around him in the air. He knelt next to the odd crumbled formation, squinting at the rubble through thick lenses. He splayed his fingers, all six, across an unusually smooth section of the rock, and deep down Stan knew this was indeed why Ford found himself so invested in the theory of unusual creatures and anomalies in the first place. “No, no, no, look, really look at the curvature of this,” he said. “It looks like part of a shoulder. It’s buffed too smooth to be a mere coincidence of nature.” “Okay, so,” Stan shrugged, “maybe it’s just a statue, y’know? Somethin’ from town. Kids steal stuff and smash it on the beach all the time.” Ford rose to his feet, desperation reflected in the width of his eyes. He held the broad shoulder piece to his chest, mouth pressed into a thin line. “I know what I saw this morning, Stan! There were two of them, fighting near these docks-“ “And I’m tellin’ ya’, it was still pretty dark. I’m sure what you saw was just two large guys duking it out, all right?” Stan grabbed the edge of the dock, used a stray nail sticking out of the post as a foothold, and boosted himself up. He swung his other leg onto the wooden deck. “Listen, Sixer, I think your theories are real interesting, okay? They’d make really good stories, I honestly think that.” With a grunt, he used his hands to push his full body weight onto the dock, letting out a breath of relief when he was settled. “But you can’t just yell it to everyone you see, else they all gonna think you’re crazy.” He offered a hand to his brother. With a huff Ford declined, opting to climb up the stairs a few feet to their left. When he met up with Stan on the dock, the teen was cradling his foot, prodding at callused skin. “Youch,” he muttered, and as he took his finger away Ford could see a small spot of blood. “Should’ve known the nail was a bad idea. Welp, I’ll patch it up when we get home. You ready?” Ford nodded, still carrying the chunk of rock. “I’m not crazy,” he said quietly, taking one last glance at the stony formation on the shore. “I know I’m not crazy.”

____

“Hey, Dad,” Stan greeted with a hesitant grin as he edged through the side door of the pawn shop. “Just, uh- just gettin’ a bandaid, so-“ “Haven’t we warned you about walking over the glass without shoes?” he father muttered, surely leveling him the look from behind his tinted glasses. “Yeah, well it wasn’t glass this time, it was a nail on the docks,” he said, opening the nearest drawer and rummaging through its contents. “Don’t be a smart ass. You know what we mean.” His dad picked up a weathered cardboard box from the floor, filled to the brim with old artifacts and jewelry. The shelves were bare, items carefully placed on a side table. He must be taking time to organize and dust the pawn shop, which he only really did when he obtained something special and new. Stan found the box of bandages, and unwrapped one for his foot. “D’ya get anything cool in today? Anything worth a buck?” he asked, plastering it over his wound. “Actually, yes,” his dad nodded, and walked over to the table of goods. His hand wrapped around a circular object, a metallic disk. “Someone came by and sold this just this morning. I’ve never seen anything quite like it, or the kind of symbols written along the side.” Stan squinted at the writing on the disk his father displayed to him. “Is that some sorta... Russian?” “Cyrillic, son,” he corrected him with a frown. “And no. I’ve appraised enough old family heirlooms to recognize most forms of writing. I don’t recognize this at all. In that case, it might be an artifact rare enough to actually be worth something.” “Huh,” Stan muttered, appraising the object himself. It was fashioned from a shiny, blemish-less metal, with the unknown script carved all the way along the rim. Some sort of shimmering blue crystal was inset in the middle, along with a series of metal dials and rings. It reminded him a little of the gears in his great aunt’s grandfather clock. The blue crystal softly glowed as he grasped it in his palm. “Stanley Pines,” a gruff, commanding voice whispered. “Yeah, Dad?” he asked, swinging around. His father blinked in confusion. “I- didn’t say anything.” “But, you called my name? I just heard you.” “Wasn’t me,” he shrugged, pulling down the brim of his hat. “Perhaps it was your mother. In fact, go bother her instead, Stan. I’ve got work to take care of before I close.” “Fine,” he said hollowly, retreating up the steps and into the apartment. He kicked at the doorpost, bottom lip jutted out. He saw how it was. After all, it’s not like his father was particularly affectionate or agreeable in manner. Least, not with him. Now seventeen years old, Stan sometimes feared his dad would never see him as anything else than a directionless bum. And the worst part? Maybe he was right. ____ Stan lay in his bed buried in the folds of his blanket, back ramrod straight. On this fateful night, he straddled that dreadful line between complete exhaustion and yet inability to rest. The reasoning? Far too much was on his mind- from his conversation by the docks with Ford earlier, to the date he had later this week with Carla, to his father’s hurtful dismissal, and now… “Stanley... Stanley Pines...” That weird glowy amulet thing. Stan pressed his hands flush against his face, and groaned in frustration. Oh, who was he kidding? There was no way he was getting any sleep tonight. At least, not with that creepy, low voice constantly calling out his name. He rolled over, further tangling himself in his sea of blankets until he was comfortable, and drank in the sound of his brother’s quiet snoring from the bunk above.   “Stanley Pines...” A strange sense of connection- of belonging- strummed in his heart like the discovery of a harmonious chord. No matter what distractions he fed himself all he could think about was that amulet, about its warmth when he held it yesterday evening, its blue, pulsing glow. Somehow it felt as if... something within it was reaching out towards him, electrifying his nerves and latching onto his very core of being. He scratched at his armpit. The thought made him kinda itchy, to be honest. What on earth was he even thinking? Was this the first sign he’d truly and finally cracked? Or perhaps it was just the memory of Ford’s fairytales eating away at his mind, siphoning his imagination, making him see and feel things that couldn’t truly exist. “Stanley Pines!” the call tugged at him. “Okay, okay, I’m listening!” he hissed under his breath. “What d’ya want?” Stan knew what it wanted. Or at least, he knew what he wanted, deep down. He could practically see its location, down to the very space on the shelf Dad had relocated it to last night. He felt driven to... to hold it. He breathed in deeply. “What’s gotten into you, Stan?” he muttered to himself, wrestling his way out of his soft cottony bindings.  Finally free, he swung his feet to the floor and stood up. The bed posts creaked at his movement. He froze, holding his breath. His heart thrummed a warrior’s beat in his chest. Seconds of his life stretched into centuries. His brother didn’t wake, however- instead merely letting out a sleepy sigh and rolling over. Relief filled his chest. Taking the edges of the floorboards to avoid the particularly squeaky sections, Stan crept through the apartment, swiping the key to the pawn shop off the kitchen counter. This was perhaps the stupidest thing he’d ever done. If Dad found out he’d been in the shop at three in the morning he’d whoop at his ass, but- he had to know. He couldn’t bear the thought of lying still another moment without understanding what this amulet was, and why it called to him so fervently. With a flick of his wrist, he unlocked the door to the shop. He wrapped his palm around the knob, twisted it. The rusty hinge gave a sour note, Stan cringing as he pushed the door ajar. His line of sight immediately locked on the amulet located across the room, glowing blue with a vibrant intensity. “Stanley Pines,” the voice said once more, this time almost in greeting. “Okay, geeze, I’m here,” he huffed, pacing across the pawn shop to the far shelf where the disk perched on its stand. Standing on his tiptoes, he wrapped his fingers around the amulet and pulled it off the shelf. Its glow pulsed as he came into contact. He gently rubbed his finger against the metal, peering at the strange object. What was the point of all this? What did it want? “You’re crazy,” he whispered to himself, clutching the thing in clammy fingers. “You’ve officially lost it, congrats. ____ The teen took the strange amulet to the beach so he could puzzle over it in privacy, without worrying about his dad waking up. He lay relaxed on the deck of Ford and his’ boat, the one they’d been refurbishing over the last five or so years with their spare pocket cash. Dawn was fast approaching. The sun lapped at the edge of the horizon, beginning to overpower and diminish the pinpricked light of the stars. A gentle ocean breeze dusted his cheeks. “What are you?” he muttered, turning the amulet in his hands. Suddenly, the strange runic writing around the rim flickered, changing to what he recognized as Chinese characters. His eyes widened. It changed again to a few other written scripts, before eventually settling in English. As dumb as it sounded, magic or aliens were the only rational explanations he could think of to explain the amulet’s behavior. Well then, maybe some of Ford’s kooky theories were closer to the truth than he originally gave him credit for. He peered closely at the readable script around the edge of the casing. “For the glory of Merlin,” he read to himself quietly, brow furrowing, “daylight is mine to command.” All was still for a moment. The winds ceased. The first direct rays of sun broke out over the horizon, framing Stan’s features in tones of red and gold. Then, some glowing spherical body shot out of the disk, startling him to attention. He shot to his feet, holding the amulet up to the sun so he could see what on earth was going on. His hand nearly shook, current mood locked somewhere on the spectrum between slack faced shock and curiosity fueled exhilaration. After all, what was one supposed to feel when some glowing blue speck- yes, that’s what he’d refer to it as from now on- decided to float through his chest, making its home within him? He gasped at the intrusion, splaying his hand over his heart where they entered. Another slurry of glowing specks released themselves from the amulet, and suddenly Stan found his toes leaving the deck. Whatever exclamation he felt compelled to make as this strange magic pulled him skyward was lost in the confusion of what happened next. Silver metal materialized in the air around his limbs, fashioning itself into armor. He hung there a moment longer in the wake of iridescent blue, sections of armor weaving into solid plates and gauntlets around him. The amulet floated out of his hand and fastened into place over his heart. Then just as quickly as he was lifted, his rebellion against gravity ended and Stan fell back to deck. He stumbled backwards, trying not to tip over from the imbalance of the bulky armor. Just as he was about to question the ungainly size of this armor’s chest-plate, (not to mention the existence of this armor in the first place), the amulet’s crystal pulsed brightly, and the armor shrank to fit his body. “Holy shit,” he exclaimed, holding his arms out to admire the intricate decorative grooves carved into the arm brace and wrist guard. He flexed his fingers, clinking the metal fingertips together. This was... this was wild. Unbelievable, really. Man, Ford was going to flip when he showed him what he found! His palm glowed a dazzling white, and from this point grew- as if fashioned from the very morning light he was illuminated by- the hilt and blade of a long, mighty sword. His jaw dropped. This was literally the coolest thing that’s ever happened to him, better than winning the boxing class final match, or even when he and Ford found the bones of their ship as kids. It was the likes of which a younger him might have daydreamed about. His lips stretched into a grin. Paired with an experimental lunge in his armor, he tried to swing his new weapon. Unfortunately however, the sword was far, far, too heavy. Stanley grimaced, wrapping his other hand around the hilt to try and stabilize it. There always had to be a catch to these wish fulfillment sort of things, didn’t there? Or maybe the last guy to use this magic-y object was just a pretty bulky, strong guy. “Come on, shrink like the rest of it,” he begged quietly, scraping the point against the wood. Either his words were well timed, or the whole warrior’s ensemble listened to his very desire, because the sword did just that. He held it up to the air, finding his grinning reflection in the polished surface. Confidently, he gave the blade a wide test swing... ...and promptly lodged it into the mast. “Whoops,” he said sheepishly. ____ In the far distance, a tall, six-eyed figure watched intently from the mouth of a cave. He witnessed everything, from the moment the boy took the amulet from the shop, to when he read the inscription and successfully activated it for the first time. There was no doubt about it- the amulet didn’t make mistakes. It belonged to the boy now. He nervously clasped both sets of hands together, determining what actions he might take next. “By Deya’s grace,” the troll exclaimed, peering towards the wide world beyond the shadows. “The next trollhunter... is a human!”

[agj1990]

Not All Cute Smiles and Hugs

Summary: Dean makes a bet with Sammy that he can take care of their little sister for one night. Sammy leaves something important out. 

10:00PM        

It was ten o’clock at night, and Sam had finally gotten seven month old Evy down to sleep. As he prepared to go to bed himself, Dean came in the room. Much to Sam’s dismay, he immediately flipped on the light and loudly threw his boots next to the bed.

“Dean!” Sam whispered loudly.

           But it was too late. Evy was awake again. Thankfully, she wasn’t crying, just staring at Sam with a trembling lip. Sam shot death glares at Dean.

“I’m gonna kill you.” Sam said.

           He said it in such a matter of fact tone that for a moment Dean was startled. Sam was normally pretty laid back and gently, but lately he seemed to be on edge. Dean looked at Evy, who was now sitting up and looking between the both of them.

“What? She’s not crying.” Dean said. He walked over and scratched underneath her chin. “Yeah, you’re not crying, are you, sweetheart?”

“She’s also not sleeping, Dean.” Sam pointed out. “And she might not be crying, but she is tired.”

“So she’ll go back to sleep in a few minutes. Stop whining about it, Sam. She’s the easiest baby ever.” Dean said, turning around to start getting into his pajamas.

This gave Sam an idea. “You really think that?”

Dean turned around and looked back at Evy, then at Sam. “Yeah.” He said, shrugging. “She hardly ever cries.”

Sam grinned. “Alright. You think that, you take her for tonight.”

“What?” Dean asked.

“You take her.” Sam said. “I go sleep in the other room. You take care of Evy tonight.”

Dean laughed. “Are you making a bet?”

“Yeah.” Sam said. “I am.”

“Alright. You’re on.” Dean said.

“Fine.” Sam checked the clock. It was 10:15. “You take care of her for eight hours starting at 10:30. 6:30 tomorrow morning. If it’s really as easy as you say, I’ll do all your chores for a month. But if it isn’t, you do all of mine. Starting tomorrow.”

“Okay. Any rules?” Dean asked.

“Yeah.” Sam said. “You can’t wake me, Dad, or Bobby up for help unless it’s an emergency. An actual life or death emergency. She starts crying, you handle it on your own. And you can’t give her anything to make her sleep.”

“Deal. This’ll be a piece of cake.” Dean said, looking down towards Evy. “We’ll have a good night, won’t we, kiddo?”

           Evy gurgled at him, and Sam noticed that her bottom lip was trembling. Perfect, he thought. This’ll be a piece of cake, alright. Sam picked up Evy, who cuddled close to his chest.

“Come on. Let’s go tell Dad about this.” Sam said.

“Come on, Sam. I won’t welch.” Dean protested.

“Nope. No way. If you’re so sure you’re gonna win this, what are you afraid of?” Sam said.

Dean sighed. “Fine.” He said.

           Sam carried Evy downstairs, followed close by Dean. They found John and Bobby in the study, going over details of the next hunt. Sam asked if he could talk to them both for a few minutes. When he told Dad and Bobby the details of their bet, John looked curiously at Dean.

“You sure about this, Dean?” he asked.

“Come on, Dad. I took care of Sammy, didn’t I?” Dean asked.

John nodded in agreement. “Yeah. That you did.” John regarded both the boys for a moment. “Okay. If you’re both sure. I’m okay with it.”

Sam cuddled Evy a moment before handing her over to Dean. “It’s 10:30, Dean. Have fun.” He said. “Good night, Cricket. Sammy loves you.”

Dean took Evy and cradled her in his arms, who just continued to stare at him, bottom lip trembling. “Come on, kiddo. Let’s go.”

           Dean headed up the stairs, and when they heard the bedroom door shut, Sam started laughing. Slowly at first, then more and more.

“Sam?” Bobby asked. “What are you laughing at?”

“You two, um…might need these.” Sam said. He reached in his pockets and pulled out two sets of earplugs, placing them on the desk.

“For what?” John asked, curious.

“I, um, might have forgotten to mention something to Dean about keeping Evy asleep at night.” He said.

           Bobby looked lost, but John picked up on Sam’s meaning, laughing almost as hard as Sam had a few seconds earlier. Rarely did John and Sam agree on anything, but John just nodded and winked at Sam, impressed with his youngest’s cleverness. Normally, he wouldn’t have liked Sam deceiving his brother, but he let it go this time. He knew that Sam did almost everything for Evy, including staying up all night with her most nights so that John and Dean could get some sleep. He had never admitted it to his father, but John knew Dean resented the fact that he now allowed Sammy to sleep in most mornings. Dean would now find out why. John wished Sam a good night, then turned back to help Bobby plan for the hunt.

12:00AM

           Dean changed into his PJs and started to climb into bed. He was grinning, feeling sure that he’d just suckered Sam into an easy bet. He had placed Evy into her playpen, and she’d laid down and closed her eyes. Dean had stayed up and read a comic book for the last hour, then started to get ready for bed himself. Just as Dean was about to go to sleep, a small whine woke him up. Dean looked over towards the playpen, and saw Evy sitting up staring at him.

“What’s wrong, kiddo?” Dean asked. Her whine steadily increased in speed and tempo, and Dean walked over to pick her up. “Come on. You wanna sleep with me?”

           When Dean picked Evy up, she stopped whining, so he carried her over to the recliner in the room. He laid down on the chair, putting Evy up close to his chest, like he’d done with Sam when Sam was a baby. It worked, and Dean smiled. He closed his eyes again.....only to be woken up exactly two minutes later. Not by a small whine this time, but instead a high pitched, shrill cry.

“What the…?”

           Dean stood up and flipped on the light. Evy was in full blown tantrum mode. Dean had never, ever seen her like this. And it seemed to come from out of nowhere. Dean checked the clock. It was 11:23. It was going to be a long night.

3:20AM

“Kiddo, please. I’m begging you. Stop crying!”

           Dean bit his bottom lip when he realized that he was whining now too. Evy had kept him up now for three and a half hours, screaming over seemingly nothing. Dean had held her, rocked her, sang to her, fed her, bathed her, changed her, sang to her again, and tried anything else he could think of. But Evy still cried, still wailed as if she was being murdered. Dean wondered briefly how the rest of the house was still asleep.

           Dean was man enough to admit that he’d lost this bet. He thought briefly about waking up Sammy and begging him to help. But, he thought, if Dean was having this hard of a time keeping Evy for one night, what did Sam go through with her? Dean realized that he admired Sam now. And he also realized why his dad let Sam sleep in most mornings. Damn it. The kid deserved it. So Dean turned back to Evy, and kept trying to comfort her. Evy was still crying, but there were no tears coming; she just wailed until her face seemed to turn an alarming shade of red.

6:10AM

           Sam rolled over in bed, feeling better than he had in weeks. He smiled; it was the first night since Evy had developed colic last month he’d slept longer than two hours without being woken up by her. Sam had gone to bed feeling slightly guilty. He didn’t want Evy feeling miserable for the whole night, crying and looking for him to comfort her. But he had decided after a few minutes that she would live. It was more important right now that he get some sleep. If Dad and Dean suddenly had to leave on a job, as had happened twice already in the seven months since Evy had been born, and he ended up being the one to take care of her, he needed his sleep. And it wouldn’t hurt Dean to remember that taking care of a tiny baby wasn’t all cute smiles and hugs.

           Sam stood up and took his earplugs out, only to be immediately assaulted by the sound of Evy whining in the next room. He laughed when he realized that not only was Evy whining, Dean was too. Sam quickly got dressed and headed down to the kitchen, where Bobby had made them all pancakes and eggs for breakfast. Both John and Bobby greeted him with a high five, and all of them waited with barely suppressed chuckles to see what Dean looked like when he came downstairs.

           Dean came dragging in a few minutes later. His eyelids drooped, and he carried a still tired and distraught Evy in his arms. She wasn’t outright crying, but was sniffling and whining, squirming in Dean’s arms. Dean walked over to the table and sat down, keeping one arm around Evy and using his other to hold his head up.

“Sam, you win.” He said. “You win, just please make it stop.”

Sam, who was sitting across the table from Dean with a big goofy smile on his face, “Do you give up?”

“Yes. Yes, I give, just please make her stop crying!” Dean begged.

“Alright.” Sam said, walking around the table towards Dean. “Give her here.”

           Dean gladly handed Evy off to Sam, who immediately cuddled up into his chest. Dean, Bobby, and John watched in fascination as Sam worked to calm her down. Sam reached one hand under the back of her shirt and gently started to scratch her back. Her sniffles and whines lessened, and she started to breathe more normally. Sam kept scratching her back, rocking her gently back and forth as he started to sing to her. “Don't you feel it growin', day by day, people gettin' ready for the news, some are happy, some are sad. Oh, we got to let the music play…”

           Evy continued to get less and less fussy as Sam sang to her. Her eyes got heavier and heavier, though she seemed to be hanging on for Sam to finish his song. “What the people need, is a way to make 'em smile. Ain't so hard to do if you know how. Gotta get a message, get it on through. Oh, now Sammy’s going to after a while…”

           At his improvised lyric, Sam smiled and Evy cooed. As Sam continued his song, John felt his heart twinge a bit. That had been Missy’s favorite song. She’d sung it to Evy all the time when she was pregnant. Over the course of the next two minutes, Evy’s eyes kept opening and closing, but Sam continued to sing. No one said a word, just watched Sam work his magic. “Like a lazy flowing river, surrounding castles in the sky. And the crowd is growing bigger Listening for the happy sounds, and I got to let them fly.”

           When he said fly, Sam spun around gently, making Evy giggle a bit. She yawned, and finally closed her eyes and kept them closed. As Sam sung the final chorus, his voice got lower and lower, and he laid Evy into her carseat gently. He buckled her in, and reached under the seat to flip a button. The carseat started vibrating gently. Sam wrapped her up and kissed her forehead.

“Good night, Cricket.” He whispered.

           Sam turned back towards his family. John was smiling appreciatively, Bobby was looking impressed, and Dean was standing at the stove with his mouth hanging open. Sam put a finger to his mouth and pointed to the library. Sam set the baby monitor next to the carseat, then walked out towards the library. The three older men followed behind, virtually silent. When they reached the library, Dean was the first to speak.

“That’s all it took?” he asked. “I was up all night!”

“Usually, yeah. It doesn’t work all night though, just makes her sleep for two or three hours.” Sam said. He couldn’t resist adding, “It also helps when you don’t make noise to wake her up.”

“How do you get any sleep?” Dean asked.

“I sleep when she does.” Sam said simply.

           For almost a full minute, no one in the room said anything. Dean was amazed that his little baby brother had become so nurturing. John was amazed, and more than a little guilty, when he realized that his ten-year-old son was a better father to his daughter than he was. Bobby was grinning looking at the dumbfounded faces of both John and Dean. He was not surprised at all. John and Dean routinely took advantage of Sam, and maybe now they would do it a little less.

“Sam, I think me and your brother both owe you an apology.” John said. “We wouldn’t be able to do what we do without you taking care of your sister like you do. Thank you, buddy.”

“Yeah. Thank you, Sammy.” Dean said.

           Sam moved his mouth up and down, but was unable to say anything. He was stunned. He loved Evy, loved her more than anything else in the world, but he resented never being told he was doing a good job. He often wondered if his dad or Dean noticed how he took care of her. Maybe now they did. Before he could respond, though, Dean couldn’t resist breaking the tension with a joke.

“So, now that I’ve thanked you, do I still have to do your chores?”

“Absolutely.” Sam said. “And since Evy’s sleeping, I think I’m going to…” Sam looked to his father for direction.

John shrugged. “You don’t have any chores and your sister’s asleep. It’s summer break, so school’s out. Go have fun, Sammy.”

           Sam immediately went upstairs to get dressed. John allowed Dean to sleep for a couple of hours before waking him up to finish the chores of the day. Evy slept peacefully until lunchtime, when Sam gladly took over again. He’d missed her, and when she opened her eyes and gave him a smile, Sam picked her up.

“Did you miss me, Cricket?” he asked. “Don’t worry, Sammy’s here.”