#also need him to move the next appointment by a day or something cause it falls RIGHT on my group therapy day

[moodr1ng]

waiting for my post-op appointment except i was super early (bc i have to come by train so i cant rly time my arrival any closer) + my doctor is 15 minutes late already + i have a headache and feel sick ever since i took the train so basically im dyingggg and this appointment better be useful or i will kms if i did all that just to get told that i just have to keep changing bandages and ill be fine

[vibraniumavenger]

Collision

TW/CW: Car accident, injuries.

Pairing: Evan Buckley x Diaz!Reader

You smiled to yourself as you walked beside Christopher, your nephew. You had watched him in the morning while your brother was working, and Carla was attending an appointment. You didn’t mind though, you absolutely adored him, and he enjoyed spending time with you. 

You had an hour to kill before dropping him off to Carla, and heading off to work yourself, so you decided to swing by the station to have lunch with the team. It was quiet when you arrived, indicating the team were on a call. You took it upon yourself to make lunch for everybody, knowing it would be a relief to them when they got back. Chris was sat at the table on his tablet, in a world of his own, allowing you to focus on the food. You couldn’t help but smile to yourself as the sound of the shutters opening filled the station followed by heavy boots thudding against the floor as each firefighter jumped out of the truck. The footsteps got closer, the faint smell of smoke mixed with a familiar aftershave filled your nostrils and you instinctively lean back into the body that is now behind you as arms snake around your waist. “Isn’t this a nice surprise?” 

You turn towards the voice, and smile, “Apparently, I can’t seem to stay away.” You lean up to kiss Buck, causing Chris to pull a disgusted face. This seemed to amuse Buck, and he kissed you again. Eddie appeared in the kitchen, and made his way over to his son, visibly happy to see him. “Come on guys, get a room.” You rolled your eyes playfully at your brothers comment, and pulled away from Buck. 

You dished up the food for the team and took a seat, eager to hear about the call they had just been on. You listened intently as you ate, your complete focus on Buck as he spoke passionately about the call. Your heart warmed as you watched his face light up, he loved how much you genuinely enjoyed hearing about the calls, and how his day had gone. Chimney was the next to speak up, “It was a good call, except the part where Buck was playing hero and nearly got himself killed.” Bucks eyes widened and he turned to look at Chimney, giving him a look that immediately stopped him talking. Chimney, trying to help, began speaking again, “Don’t worry, it’s nothing out of the ordinary. It wasn’t any more dangerous than a simple call, the risk is always there. Besides, it was probably one of the safer times Buck tried to save the day, you should’ve seen him on the call last week.” 

“Chim, stop talking.” Buck, who was now visibly on the spot, turned to face you. He studied your face, working out how to approach this. He opened his mouth to reassure you, but you beat him to it, “I thought we spoke about this…” Buck knew you understood that no day was guaranteed, and that saving people on calls was something he would always try to do, even if it put him at risk. He also knew that he had a habit of jumping the gun and putting himself in dangerous situations without thinking it through. “I’m sorry…” 

You checked your watch, and stood up. “I just wish you’d be more careful, Buck.” Chris stood up and hugged Eddie goodbye, and you did the same. “Later bro.” You said goodbye to the team and walked back to the car with Chris by your side. The breeze hit you, and you took a deep breath. Maybe you were overreacting, maybe not but you just needed a moment. You helped Chris into the car and got in yourself, turning on the radio. The short ride to Carlas mostly consisted of Chris laughing as you sang along to the music, and the occasional conversation when Chris wasn’t overly engrossed in his phone. Carla was there to greet you when you pulled up on her drive, Chris was extremely excited and practically jumped out of the car to hug her. Carla gave you a hug, “Y/N, it’s so good to see you!” You smiled and hugged back, “It’s been a while, huh? Life has been hectic.” Carla laughs at this, “You’re telling me, your brother told me all about you and Buck. Moving in together? That’s a big step!” 

“We were practically living together anyway, and if I’m being honest, Eddie is probably just relieved to have his couch back. I was starting to get on his nerves.” You explained to Carla, and she chuckled. “Well, I wish you all the best. I’m gonna get Chris inside, and I’ll let you run off to work. It was lovely seeing you.” You hug Chris goodbye and bid farewell to Carla before getting into your car and beginning your journey to your place of work. In front of you, the amber light turned to red and you stopped. You could see that traffic was beginning to build up on the other side of the junction, and you didn’t want to be late. You sighed, and made the decision to take an alternate route, so when the light turned green, you indicated and pulled out to begin taking your turning. You let out a sudden gasp before you could even properly register the car coming towards you. All you could do was attempt to brace for the impact, and so you did. 

A loud crunching sound surrounded you, followed by the feeling of being thrown as your car was barrelled into. You closed your eyes tightly, scared of what was next. You didn’t have the courage to open them again until the car steadied. The first thing you could see was the airbag in front of you, despite not feeling it deploy moments before. You could smell the burning of the tyres, outside of the car, you could hear the panicked voices of bystanders, but all you could focus on was the blood that was now spread across your arms, unsure of where it was actually coming from. You weren’t in pain, at least you couldn’t feel any in that moment. Is that what shock feels like? You couldn’t think, but your eyes got heavy and you fought your hardest not to succumb to the darkness. 

Back at the station, the call was only just coming in. The alarm blared throughout the station, alerting the team to the call. They were quick to jump into action, grabbing their gear and piling themselves into their assigned trucks. Eddie and Buck sat beside each other, speaking casually between themselves about what had happened earlier. “Just give her some time, she’ll come around. For her, two of the people she loves most are at risk everyday, you’ve gotta imagine it can’t be easy. It’s a risky job as it is, and when you put yourself into riskier situations without needing to, it decreases the chance of making it home at the end. She’s scared. Just talk to her.” Eddie attempted to reassure Buck, who was feeling terrible. He couldn’t shake the image of your face from his mind, the face that showed disappointment in his actions. Before Buck could respond, the truck halted and the team jumped out, ready to give help where needed. Buck stopped in his tracks as an all too familiar car was crushed before him. He tried not to panic, hoping that his suspicions were wrong. His eyes flicked to the number plate and his heart stopped. His feet were moving before his mind could catch up. He shouted your name, drawing Eddies attention. It took Eddie a few seconds to process what was happening. You had not long left the station, it couldn’t possibly be you. Right?

Buck arrived to your car first, nausea washed over him as he caught sight of your injured body. “Y/N? Hey, it’s me. I’m here.” You weren’t completely aware of what was happening, your eyes opened with a struggle. Your movements were weak as you turned your head to look at him. “Buck?” You spoke quietly, not completely aware of the situation at hand. “Don’t move, try and keep still.” He tried to remain as calm as he could, he didn’t want to scare you any more, he was terrified himself. Eddie ran right over to the car, his heart racing as he feared what he would find. His first instinct was to check the back seat, relief finally washing over him as he saw no sign of Christopher. Still, he needed to make sure, “Y/N, was Chris in the car?” 

You shook your head, “Carlas.” Eddie felt a weight off his shoulders, knowing his son was safe. The weight soon came back when he saw the condition you were in. Your eyes rolled back, and you fell into unconsciousness. Bobby was running the scene, assigning Hen and Chim to medically assist you, and he grabbed the gear to support Buck and Eddie in freeing you from the car. Buck didn’t want to let go of your hand, but he knew he had to in order to get you out sooner. The team worked tirelessly, ensuring to be as careful as possible. Bobby handed the halligan to Buck, “Buck, you focus on getting the doors open. Diaz, grab the saw and be on standby.” 

Buck groaned as he tried to pry the doors open, with no results, “Roofs too dented Cap, I can’t get it open.” Bobby nodded, and turned to Eddie, “Saws it is. Get in there Diaz, Buck, you too.” The roof was off in no time, Hen and Chim jumped straight in and equipped you with a neck brace, and got the back board in place to move you. Hen checked your vitals quickly, trying to make sure you were steady enough to be moved. “I’ve got a faint pulse, we gotta move.” They moved you out of you car quickly, and transferred you to the ambulance. “Trauma to the abdomen, possible internal bleeding. I’ll let the hospital know we’re en route.” Buck jumps into the back of the ambulance with Chimney, and instantly takes your hand in his. Hen places herself into the drivers seat, putting the ambulance into 911 mode and begins the journey as fast as she can to the nearest hospital. 

Buck hated seeing you like this. He was filled with anxiety, the nausea constantly there as he studied your visible injuries. His heart sank with every second that went by, the more he thought about you laying there almost lifeless, expecting you to flatline any second now. “I’m sorry baby, we can’t leave things like this. I need you to get through this so I can apologise to you. I know I’m not the easiest person to love, and I also know that I’m the biggest pain in the ass, but I love you, and I need you. Please.” Buck sobbed as he held your hand tighter. Time seemed to be going extremely slow for Buck, yet moments later Hen was pulling up at the hospital. You were rushed in, Hen spewed all your information to the nurses as you were wheeled in and handed over. Buck, Hen and Chimney stood there as you were wheeled out of sight. One of the nurses stopped Buck from running after you, and he sat defeated in the waiting room. The rest of the team arrived soon after, Eddies face was similar to Bucks. Eddie spoke first, “Any update?” The lack of response from Buck had him on edge, fearing the worst. Luckily, Chimney filled the silence. “There’s no update, but no news it almost always good news.” 

Eddie placed his hand on Bucks shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze before sitting down next to him. “How’re you holding up?” Buck didn’t look up, instead he kept his head in his hands. He couldn’t respond, he couldn’t trust his voice not to give out. His leg bounced anxiously, and despite not talking, his feelings were painfully obvious. Eddie could empathise, he knew exactly what was going through Bucks mind. It was happening to him too, but he concealed it as much as he could, knowing Buck needed him. “You know, each time we’re sat in these chairs, it never gets easier. You don’t have to talk, I get it. I think you should know that I’m right here for you, I understand. Y/N is going to be okay, that I have no doubt about. She’s my sister, and us Diaz’s, we don’t back down. We fight.” Eddie continues talking, and he’s not sure whether he’s trying to convince Buck or himself. 

A few hours go by, and the team are waiting as patiently as they can for an update. Maddie had arrived some time ago, and was sat with Buck. She was not only there to support her brother, but also her brothers girlfriend, who Maddie had claimed as her best friend shortly after meeting her. Bobby hands a coffee to Buck and Eddie, who hadn’t moved from their seats since arriving. This changed moments later as a nurse approached, making them stand. Buck felt as if his legs were going to give way any second. The nurse cleared her throat, “She’s stable. She’s incredibly lucky to have made it out with the injuries she did, it could’ve been a lot worse. She’s awake, if you’d like to go see her.” 

Buck didn’t stick around to hear whatever else the nurse had to say, he darted through the corridor until he got to your room. He stopped to take a deep breath, and stepped inside. He was scared to look at you, all he could picture was you covered in blood still. His head shot up as he heard a voice, your voice to be exact, “Buck?” 

He was by your bedside in a blink of an eye, taking your hand in his. His eyes wandered over your body, taking in each of your injuries. His heart broke a little more with each one. He finally looked you in the eyes, and that’s when it hit him. His eyes filled up with tears, “Y/N…”

“Hey, don’t cry. I’m fine, see. I’m right here.” You gave his hand a squeeze, trying to give him the reassurance he needed. Buck took a seat close to your bed, your hand in his and against his lips. You move your hand up to his cheek and wipe his tears, Buck practically melted into your touch. “I really thought I had lost you.” 

“I’m right here, I’m not going anywhere. I need to apologise for my reaction earlier, that could’ve been our last conversation earlier and left without saying goodbye, or telling you how much I love you.” 

Buck shook his head, “You have nothing to apologise for, I’m the one that owes you an apology. I’m sorry that I’m not more careful when I’m out on a call, I shouldn’t be that reckless. I’m sorry that I can’t promise to walk through that door every night, safe and unscathed. I can appreciate how you feel now, and I promise I’ll try my hardest to be more careful. I love you, and I don’t want you ever feeling anything close to what I’ve felt today.” You wince as you sit up, making Buck panic. You push through the pain, and pull Buck to you. “Come here.” He stands from his chair and leans down to kiss you quickly. He carefully moves your hair from your face, ensuring he doesn’t touch any of your cuts or bruises. 

“I love you too, and even though I’m petrified that you won’t make it home one day, I trust that you’ll try everything in your power to make sure you do. I’m proud of you, Evan.” As you spoke, Buck smiled to himself. A sense of relief washed over him. Before he could respond, you continued. “So… does this mean I can finally get a new car now?” 

Buck chuckled, “You’re a pain in the ass, Diaz.” 

“Takes one to know one, Buck.”

A/N: So, I think I rewrote this like 10 times. Its been a while since I've done any writing, so please bare with me while I figure out my writing style again. Any criticism is welcome, I appreciate the feedback.

[thelastspeecher]

Weird Little Critter - Chapter 4: Transitions, Part 1

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 AO3

You may have noticed this is a "part one". Well, @elishevart and I were working on Chapter 4, and then realized partway through we'd have to split it into two. And by the time we finished, we realized we'd have to split it into three. So keep an eye out for the next two chapters!

——————————————————————————————

              “You’re making pancakes wrong,” Stan said to Angie.  Angie pointed the spatula at him.

              “You don’t get to have an opinion on this.  You ain’t cooked a single meal since ya moved in.”

              “Yeah, ‘cause I don’t know how to cook anything except for breakfast!”

              “The pancakes ‘re perfectly fine!” Angie snapped, gesturing to the stack cooling on a plate on the counter.  Stan picked up the mason jar full of dried crickets Angie kept by the stove.

              “You put bugs in them!”

              “Only in Stanford’s!”

              Ford tuned out Stan and Angie’s bickering as he chewed his final bite of cricket chip pancakes.  He idly played with the new blue streak in his hair and sighed. 

              Now that Stan had officially moved in and wanted input on how things were run in the house, he was constantly butting heads with Angie. It seemed like the only time they weren’t arguing was when they were sleeping. Though Ford walked past Angie’s room the night before. She talked in her sleep almost every night, but last night, her sleeptalking had been a rehashing of an argument she’d had with Stan earlier that day.

              The phone rang.  Ford swallowed the last of his breakfast and stood up.

              “I’ll answer that,” he said to Stan and Angie.  Whether they heard him or not was up in the air.  He sighed and walked into the living room.  He picked up the phone.  “This is Stanford Pines.”

              “Oh, hello, Mr. Pines,” said a voice Ford recognized.  “This is Dr. Roberts from the Gravity Falls Pet Clinic.  Is Angie there?  We got the last of the results for Tubbs.”  Ford closed his eyes.

              Fantastic.  He leaned against the wall.

              “Angie and I share ownership of Tubbs,” he said.  “You can tell me the results and I’ll pass it on to her.”

              “Really?  Let me check here…”  There was some rustling.  “Yes, your name is on the paperwork as well.  All right, I can tell you.  Everything on his bloodwork seemed normal, other than a strange high amount of silver, which could cause some neurological issues.  When we drew some more blood during the appointment to remove his cast, however, the silver was gone.”

              “I see…” Ford mumbled.

              Silver, huh?  Perhaps that could be related to why I took so long to return to human form.

              “The x-ray looked fine other than his broken leg.  On the ultrasound, though, we found something interesting,” the vet continued.  Ford straightened, suddenly curious.  “Tubbs was sexed as male, and he does have testes.  However, he also has ovaries.”  Ford’s jaw dropped.

              “What?!” he shouted.  The bickering from the kitchen stopped.

              “Don’t worry, he’s fine.  It’s surprisingly common for amphibians to have both male and female reproductive organs.”

              “Will- is- can he-” Ford stammered.  He was too terrified of the answer for the question to fully leave his mouth.  However, the vet understood what he was unintentionally dancing around.

              “I suspect that he could both fertilize eggs and lay fertilized eggs himself,” the vet said.  Ford slumped against the wall.  “I won’t know for sure without running some more tests.”

              “There’s no need for that,” Ford said, pinching the bridge of his nose.  “Though…can I come by to pick up some printouts of the test results?”

              “Of course!  Bring some ID so that we can verify your identity.”

              The security at the vet is higher than some doctor’s offices I’ve been to.

              “Understood,” Ford said.

              “Great!  We’ll see you in a bit when you come to get the results, then!”

              “Yes.”  Ford hung up the phone.  Someone cleared their throat.  Ford looked over.  Angie and Stan stood in the entryway that led to the kitchen, watching him curiously.

              “What was that about?” Stan asked.

              “Oh, uh, the doctor called with the results of my medical tests.”

              “You mean the vet called,” Stan said.  Angie elbowed him roughly.  Stan winced.  He looked down at her with a scowl.  “You’re so bony it’s like you fucking stabbed me!”

              “Oh, hush,” Angie snapped.  She turned to Ford.  “Did they have some concerns?  The way ya shouted, it sounded like ya were spooked by somethin’.”

              “No, not really,” Ford said quickly.  Judging by the expressions on Stan and Angie’s faces, they didn’t buy it.  “Apparently my bloodwork showed significant levels of silver.  That was what took me by surprise.  I suspect that may be the reason I was unable to return to human form for so long.”  Stan still didn’t look convinced, but the doubt on Angie’s face faded somewhat.  “I’m going to go to the office to pick up the test results to look them over myself.”

              “You might be able to find somethin’ related to bein’ stuck fer days as a salamander,” Angie said.  Ford nodded, seizing the lie.  “Be polite to the folks at the vet, okay?  They don’t know any of what yer goin’ through, so lashin’ out at ‘em would be completely pointless.”

              “Of course,” Ford said firmly.  “I understand that.”

              “Good.”

              “Hey, uh, while you’re out and about,” Stan said cheerfully, “maybe pick up some chocolate chips?  That way Angie can make some decent pancakes?”  Angie elbowed him again.  “Oof!”  Ford grabbed the keys to the pickup.

              “I’ll see what I can do,” he said dryly.

-----

              The clock on the oven declared that it was past midnight.  Ford rifled through the pages of Tubbs’s medical results under the soft yellow glow of the kitchen light.  When he arrived at the vet, they had happily handed everything over to him, even taking the time to annotate the results, labeling structures on the x-ray and ultrasound, pointing out what levels were healthy for the various analytes in his bloodwork.

              I didn’t expect to need their notes, but I clearly overestimated my ability to read medical results.  Ford frowned at one of the ultrasound images.  I would have no idea what I was looking at if they hadn’t labeled it.

              “Yer up late,” a soft voice said.  Ford jerked in surprise, one of the ultrasound pictures falling to the floor.  The speaker, Angie, walked over and picked it up.  Ford’s heart began to race.

              “Well, uh, I could say the same about you,” he managed weakly.  “I thought you went to bed hours ago.”

              “I did. I got up to get a glass of water.”

              “Ah.”  Ford held out a hand.  “Don’t let my late night studying delay you.”  His heart sank.  Angie wasn’t giving him the page.  She was looking down at it with a small frown.  “Angie, that is my private medical information.”

              “Is this why ya got so worked up durin’ the phone call earlier?” she asked quietly.  “And why you were actin’ a bit off the rest of the day?”

              “I- I don’t know what you’re-” Ford stammered.  Angie placed the page on the table, image up.  Painfully visible red marker circled and labeled “Ovaries” and “Testes” on the picture.

              “It ain’t uncommon fer this sort of thing to happen in what we call ‘lower vertebrates’,” Angie said.  “Amphibians are included in that group.  Though I mostly hear ‘bout it in frogs, rather than salamanders.”

              “By ‘this sort of thing’, you mean…”

              “Havin’ both ovaries and testes,” Angie said flatly.  Ford closed his eyes.  “This ain’t somethin’ to be ashamed of!”

              “How?” Ford snapped.  “How could I not be ashamed?”

              “Look.”  Angie sat at the table across from Ford.  “This happens!  In humans!  Non-cursed humans!  I learned ‘bout it in school.  Durin’ egg production, sperm production, fertilization, gestation, sometimes development goes left when it was s’pposed to go right.  Folks wind up with reproductive systems or- or sex hormones outside the norm.”  Angie smiled.  “It’s just another way of bein’.”

              “I suppose you would have a less negative viewpoint of this, given where you’re from,” Ford muttered.  Angie’s smile faded.

              “What’s that s’pposed to mean?”

              “Abnormalities and disorders are common in isolated rural communities.”  A shadow crossed Angie’s face.

              “That was uncalled for,” she said in a low tone.  “All’s I’m doin’ is tryin’ to comfort ya!”

              “Maybe I don’t want comfort!”

              “You want to wallow?”

              “Perhaps,” Ford said tartly, fully aware that he was purposefully being contrary at this point.

              “Lord above.”  Angie rubbed her eyes wearily.  “This don’t change anything.  It ain’t like ya were plannin’ on reproducin’ in yer cute salamander form anyways.”

              “What about my human form?” Ford asked.  Angie frowned at him.  “The axolotl I spoke to at the pet store told me even when I appear human, I’m still an amphibian.  Does that mean I-”  Ford swallowed.  He hugged his sides, choking out the words with difficulty. “Does that mean I have ovaries right now?” he croaked weakly.  Angie stared at him.  After a moment, she sighed.

              “I don’t know.”  She leaned back in her chair.  “And…I know ya don’t want to hear this, but it’s a possibility, so I have to get it out there.  You never had an ultrasound ‘fore ya got cursed.  It’s possible you’ve always been like this and didn’t know.”

              “Yes,” Ford said quietly.  “That is a very real possibility.  Polydactyly sometimes is tied to genetic disorders, after all.  My doctor tested me for everything he could think of when I was a child.  But it’s possible something was missed.”

              “That- I weren’t tryin’ to tie it to yer polydactyly,” Angie said, sounding impatient.  “I told ya, folks what have no symptoms can discover their reproductive systems developed in a weird way durin’ a routine exam or puberty or when they’re strugglin’ to have children.”  Ford nodded.  “The way I see this sit’ation is that we ain’t quite reached the bridge we need to cross yet.”

              “What do you mean?”

              “Like I said, this don’t change anything,” Angie said.  Her tone had eased from irritated to gentle.  “If ya start, I don’t know, developin’ breasts or experiencin’ weird hormonal swings, we’ll deal with it then.  If ya want to have a child with someone and are strugglin’ to conceive, we’ll deal with it then.  Those are the bridges we’ll cross.  But we ain’t reached ‘em.”  Ford let Angie’s words sink in for a few moments.  He nodded slowly.

              “You are correct.  We have new data, but nothing it can be used for yet.” He slumped on the table, resting his head on his arm as he idly picked up another note. 

              “Exactly.”  Angie yawned, politely covering her mouth while it was open.  “And I know how ya work, so please don’t try to sneak somewhere with an ultrasound to get yourself checked out in human form.  Ya won’t be able to operate the dang thing right and I’ll just have to bail ya out of jail.”  Ford managed a small smile.

              “Noted.”  Angie yawned again.  “Angie, you look exhausted.”

              “It’s the middle of the night.”

              “Yes, but you’ve been looking tired in the middle of the day as well,” Ford pushed.  Angie shrugged.  “I think you may be slipping into bad habits and pushing yourself too hard.”  Angie rolled her eyes as he closed his own.  “I recognize it is slightly hypocritical of me.”

              “It is,” Angie said.  She shifted in her seat and looked away.  “But…I have been feelin’ a bit like a cub scout den mother tryin’ to manage both you and Stan.”

              “I’m sorry.  Is there anything I can do to help?”

              “Since yer back to yer normal self, I’d appreciate ya doin’ more stuff ‘round the house.  Maybe wrangle Stan every now and then.”  Angie yawned for a third time.  “All right.  I’ve got to get back to bed.  I’ll talk to ya in the mornin’.”  She got up from the table.  She clumsily exited the kitchen, bumping into the doorjamb on her way out.  Guilt formed a painful pit in Ford’s stomach.

              She really has been acting as our manager for far too long.  A yawn escaped from him.  I should go to bed as well.  Ford began to gather up the paperwork.  I’ll have to figure out a way to make it up to Angie for all her help.  Perhaps I can purchase a gift of some sort for her.

-----

              “I can’t believe he brought us here.”

              “I can’t believe he suggested it.” 

              Ford cleared his throat, drawing Stan and Angie’s attention.

              “Well, we have been cooped up in the house and more importantly I was stuck in my tank for most of last week, so an outing seemed appropriate. Besides...” He turned to Angie. “I thought we all could use the distraction.”

              Angie nodded knowingly. To Ford’s relief, the bags under her eyes weren’t as prominent as they had been a few days ago. After their discussion in the kitchen, he had decided to seek out an activity to improve her mood and energy. Thankfully, he stumbled across this activity the three of them could enjoy, a town over.

              “Yeah, but why a zoo?” asked Stan as they stepped toward the archway entrance.

              “It’s actually a sanctuary for unwanted animals,” Ford explained. “The animals here are generally exotic pets that the owner couldn’t take care of, old circus or zoo animals, and rescued wild animals that couldn’t be released after being healed.”

              “Why not an amusement park? Or a fair? Or even, I don’t know, the lake?”

              “Are ya serious?” sighed Angie. 

              “What? It could- oh right. Yeah, after you got nabbed there, the lake might not be a great idea.” Stan looked away, scratching the back of his neck. Ford walked up to him and patted his shoulder.

              “It doesn’t matter. I admit that I might, ah, not yet be ready for the lake, but what happened is in the past.”  He offered a reassuring smile. Stan returned the expression.  Angie stood on her tiptoes to swing her arms across the twins’ shoulders, a grin of her own spread across her face.

              “Then let’s get going, boys!” she exclaimed as she gently pushed them toward the entrance. 

-----

              The start of the sanctuary visit went smoothly. They began with the big outdoor animals. The place was clean and had undergone a recent makeover, as a volunteer explained to them. The enclosures holding the animals they oohed and ahhed at were now bigger and offered more stimulation and enrichment. 

              There was a bit of everything. Raccoons and skunks that people thought would make great pets. A bobcat that had been caught in a trap and lost a leg. An old retired elephant. A trio of young brown bears whose mother had sadly perished a few months prior. A pond with crocodiles that made a voice in Ford’s head tell him to stay clear. They were even given the opportunity to feed some of the giraffes and birds. 

              Ford couldn’t remember the last time he had seen Angie this happy and excited. He smiled at his friend, then glanced at his twin. Stan too had a broad smile and a spark in his eye.  A spark that Ford recalled well from when they were younger. He smiled back and kept walking with them. 

              Everything was going great.  The trio was headed to the final stop of the tour: the reptile room. Angie’s smile got twice as big as she rushed for the door. Both twins were right behind her. 

              As soon as Ford crossed the double doors, he was assaulted by an onslaught of tiny voices talking all at the same time. 

              “Food! Dislike strangers. Want water. Too cold. Too hot. Sleepy. Bored. Like strangers. Strangers fun! Look at me! Don’t look! Look! Look! Sad. Happy!”

              Stanford looked for the crowd of people that clearly had to be in the reptile room.  But he, Stan, and Angie were the only ones there.  All he could see were the many aquariums housing reptiles and amphibians. His ears started to ring. A muffled voice came from his left.

              “Ford, are you all right?”

              He spun around to see his companions watching him with worried expressions on their faces.

              “How are you so calm?” he asked.  “Can you not hear it?” His own voice felt distant and overshadowed by everything around him. 

              “Hear what?” asked Stan. Ford opened his mouth to respond, but the voices were increasing in volume, overwhelming him.  He covered his ears in vain. His breath came in and out faster, on the brink of hyperventilating. He closed his eyes, trying to reduce some of the stimulus overtaking him.

              “Oh my gosh! Stanley, help me get him out of here now!” Angie shouted. 

              Soon, Ford felt two hands on his arms guiding him somewhere. He was too overcome to fight as he was led away. Fresh air hit his face.  Ford opened his eyes.  They were outside.  The cacophony of voices was slowly starting to die down. Stan lowered him to the ground, his back leaning against a wall. 

              “All right, Sixer, deep breaths, take it easy,” said his twin as Ford gasped for air.  Stan rubbed slow circles on Ford’s back, but despite their close proximity, he still sounded distant. “What happened back there?”  Ford shook his head, unable to say anything.  Thankfully, Angie spoke up.

              “A few weeks ago when we went to a pet store, he talked with an axolotl there,” she said.  “I’m guessin’ he heard all those critters in there.  All at once.  Which would be a lot.  Am I right, Stanford?”

              “I believe so,” Ford croaked. He could feel bile rising in his throat and swallowed to keep it down. 

              Another “fantastic perk” of my…condition.  After a few minutes of breathing in the fresh outdoor air, Ford had calmed enough to regain control.

              “How are ya feelin’?” asked Angie. Ford glanced up to see his friend looking at him, her blue eyes filled with worry. 

              “Drained and exhausted.” Stanford sighed. “It feels like my head is about to explode.”

              “All right, I think we’re gonna cut our trip short,” declared Stan. He lifted Ford’s arm, helping him back to his feet. “Come on, Ford, let’s get you home.”

              “And get ya somethin’ to drink when we get there,” Angie added.  Stan looked at her with interest.  Angie rolled her eyes. “I was referrin’ to water, not alcohol.”  Stan rolled his eyes right back at her. 

              Ford grumbled, upset to be leaving so soon, but obeyed, even as his legs threatened to buckle at any moment. Stan supported him as they slowly trekked back to the car. When they got to the car, Ford leaned heavily against it until Stan unlocked the doors, then crawled into the back seat.

              “I’m sorry,” he mumbled. 

              “About what?” Angie asked as she sat next to him. 

              “I ruined our outing because of my…episode.”

              “Don’t worry, Sixer,” Stan said with a shrug. “It could have happened to anyone.” He turned the engine on and slowly drove them away. 

              No, it couldn’t. Ford leaned his head on his hand and watched the scenery pass by. Only my curse could have ruined such a perfect outing. 

-----

              The light of the first full moon since Stan had come to stay lit a path for Ford to follow home.  There was a bounce in his step as he walked.  He had heard about the legendary underground black market for magical creatures in Gravity Falls, called the Crawlspace.  In fact, it was one of the first things he learned about the magical creature culture when he started his research.  But humans were not allowed, and the ban was strictly enforced.  Now, however?  He had been able to locate the market and walk in without a problem.

              And I finally got Angie that gift she deserves. It, along with something Ford had purchased for himself, was nestled snugly in a crossbody bag Angie had given him before he left for the Crawlspace.  Ford was nervous about trying the potion he’d got for himself.  Though part of me is excited to see what it will do.  Ford arrived at the house.  He opened the front door.

              “Hello?” he called tentatively.  The Stanmobile wasn’t in the driveway, so Stan was presumably out.  But Angie was more of a homebody, so she wasn’t likely to have left with Stan.

              “I’m in the living room!” Angie’s voice called.  He walked into the house and made his way to the living room.  Angie was sitting on the couch reading a book.  As Ford approached, he could make out the title: Journey to the Center of the Earth.

              “Why are you up late reading Jules Verne?” Ford asked.  Angie chuckled.  She patted the couch cushion next to her.  Ford climbed up.

              “I’m actually quite the fan of science fiction,” she said, sounding almost shy.

              “I had no idea.  I always see you reading field guides or other informative literature.”

              “That’s fer research.  Lately, I’ve been too busy to read fer reg’lar enjoyment.  I decided to get some fun readin’ done while Stan was out of the house.”  Angie slid a bookmark into the novel and set it aside.  “Did ya find the watchacallit?”

              “The Crawlspace?” Ford asked, amused.  Angie nodded.  “Yes, I did!”

              “Oh, excellent!”  Angie clapped her hands.  “Did ya enjoy yourself?”

              “Yes, it was most informative,” Ford gushed.  Angie beamed at him.  “I’m glad to have finally found a silver lining for the thundercloud that is my curse.”  Angie stroked the top of Ford’s head.

              “I knew you’d find a benefit somewhere.”  A twinkle entered Angie’s eye.  “Since it’s a market, did ya do some shoppin’?”

              “Yes.”  Ford smiled at Angie.  “And yes, the bag you gave me came in handy.  Thank you.”

              “I’m glad.”  Angie leaned in.  “What did ya buy?”

              “I’ll show you!”  Ford opened the bag and took out the two potions.  They were in nearly identical dark green bottles, as Ford had procured them from the same seller.  But Ford knew which one was which.  He handed over the one he had purchased for Angie.  “This is for you.”

              “Aw, you didn’t need to get me anything!”

              “Yes, I did,” Ford said firmly.  “You have been a rock as of late.  This is the least I can do.”  Angie smiled.

              “Thank you.”  Angie looked down at the label, written in the language of the magical creatures.  “Uh, what is it?”

              “It relieves muscle aches and cramps,” Ford said.

              “Oh, that’s perfect, I been strugglin’ with that,” Angie said softly.

              “It’s also apparently a sleeping elixir.  It should give you peaceful, dreamless sleep,” Ford continued.  Angie set the potion by her book and wrapped her arms around Ford.

              “Honey, that’s exactly what I need right now, thank you!”

              “It’s no problem,” Ford said, returning the hug.  Angie squeezed him, then let go.  “You should get some rest.”

              “I don’t know.”  Angie looked over in the direction of the front door.  “Stan ain’t back yet.”

              “I’ll stay up for him.”  Ford patted Angie’s hand.  “Go to bed.”  Angie chuckled softly.

              “All right, all right.”  Angie kissed the top of Ford’s head.  “I’m goin’ to try this here potion out and get some shut-eye.”

              “Good night.”

              “Good night.”  Angie got up from the couch and departed for her room, leaving her book behind.  Ford pulled his potion out of the bag.  He stared at it.

              No.  I should wait.  After a moment, he shrugged and picked up Angie’s book, opening it to the first page.  The font was maddeningly blurry with his poor amphibious eyesight.  …Never mind.  Ford looked around, spotted the TV remote on the back of the couch, and grabbed it.  Television it is.

-----

              “Is the coffee done yet?” Stan asked tiredly.  He yawned.  “I really need a cuppa.”

              “It should be ready soon,” Ford replied, stifling a yawn of his own.  He was feeling the effects of his late night.  “Is Angie still asleep?”

              “Dunno.”  Stan stretched.  The motion pulled the edge of his T-shirt up past his belly button.  “If she is, that’s weird.  She’s usually up at the ass crack of dawn.”

              “Yes, well, she comes from a farming family,” Ford mumbled.  Stan grunted wordlessly.  There was a shout from upstairs.  Stan and Ford locked eyes.  “That came from Angie’s room.”

              “But that wasn’t Angie,” Stan said.  “That was a guy.”  A second passed.  The twins abruptly bolted from the kitchen, coffee forgotten.  They sprinted up the stairs to the attic.  A strange man stood in front of Angie’s mirror and dresser, staring at his reflection.  He looked at the two.  Ford came to a stop.  The man looked eerily familiar.

              “Fiddleford?” Ford asked.  The man, panic in his eyes, looked over at the mirror again as though not familiar with his reflection.

              “I- I reckon I look awful sim’lar to him,” the man said in a quavering, heavily accented voice.  “But I-”  Whatever he was about to say was cut off by Stan slamming him against the wall.  “What in the sam hill-”

              “Who are you?” Stan snarled.

              “I’m-”

              “What did you do with Angie?”

              “What?” the man asked, sounding both perplexed and terrified.  Ford glanced over at the dresser.  A dark green bottle sat next to Angie’s moisturizer and sunscreen.  Ford frowned.  He picked it up.

              “I’ll ask a second time, but I won’t ask a third,” Stan ground out.  “Where.  Is.  Angie?”

              “I’d tell ya if ya let me get a word in edgewise!” the man snapped.  Ford read the label on the bottle, his mouth silently forming the words.  He felt the blood drain from his face.

              “Talk faster, then!” Stan shouted.

              “Stan,” Ford croaked.  Stan looked over.  “Stan, leave him alone.”       

              “But-”

              “Come here.  You need to read this,” Ford said firmly.  Stan shot a glare at the man, but let him go.  He stalked over to Ford.  Ford held out the bottle.  Stan squinted at the label.

              “What the hell does this say and what does it have to do with some guy in Angie’s room?” Stan asked.

              “I forgot you couldn’t read the language of magical creatures,” Ford mumbled.  He adjusted his glasses.  “This is a potion I purchased in the Crawlspace last night.  One of two, actually.  I bought one for Angie as a pain and cramp reliever.  I bought the second one to, ah, study at home.”

              “Which one is this one?” Stan asked.

              “Not the one I intended to give Angie.”

              “So it’s not to help with pain,” Stan said.  Ford shook his head.  “What does it do?”  Ford rubbed the back of his neck.  “Stanford,” Stan said, a dangerous edge creeping into his voice, “what potion did you give her?”

              “It- it purports to be a, ah, transformative elixir,” Ford stammered.  “It can transform men into women.”  He winced.  “And it can also do the reverse.”  Stan and Ford looked at the strange man.  The man blushed, his entire face beet red.  He was wearing Angie’s typical choice of pajamas: an old T-shirt and athletic shorts.  Though he was holding up the athletic shorts, as they were loose on his narrow hips.

              “…Angie?” Stan asked.  The man somehow turned even redder.

              “Y-yes,” he squeaked out.  Stan pinched the bridge of his nose.

              “Holy Moses, Sixer.  You turned her into a guy!”

              “I know, I-” Ford started.  He took a deep breath.  “I must have mixed up the bottles.  My vision in my other form is too poor to make out small lettering.”  He looked at Angie.  “Don’t worry, we’ll figure this out.”  Angie nodded.  “Get dressed, then you can meet us downstairs.”  Angie glanced over at his closet doubtfully.  “Ah, get dressed as well as you can.”

              “We’ll get you something to fit you better later,” Stan added.  He shot Ford a look.  “Ford’s paying.”  Ford resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

              “S-sounds good,” Angie mumbled.  He cleared his throat.  “K-kindly leave so’s I can, uh, get- get ready ‘n whatnot.”

              “Yes, of course,” Ford said with a nod.  He grabbed Stan and pulled his twin downstairs.  When they got to the ground floor, Stan looked back up the stairs, a pensive expression on his face.  “What?”

              “Is it just me, or does Angie make a damn cute guy?” Stan asked softly.  Ford thought back to the brief glimpses he’d gotten earlier.  His ears grew warm.

              No, it’s not just him.

-----

              “I still can’t believe you turned Angie into a guy,” Stan muttered as he flipped a pancake on the stove.  Ford sighed.

              “It was an accident and I’m incredibly distressed this happened as well.”  There was a polite cough.  Stan and Ford looked over.  Angie stood in the doorway.  While his shirt was the appropriate size, if fitting oddly, the jeans he wore were a few inches too short and loose around the hips, needing a belt.  “We need to get you some new clothes.”  Angie’s face fell.

              “I’m guessin’ that means ya won’t be able to get me back to normal any time soon,” he said softly.  While lower than before, his voice was still higher than average for a man, and had a melodic lilt to it, likely due to his accent.

              “Unfortunately, no,” Ford confirmed.  Angie sighed and sat next to him at the table.  Ford silently noted, to his amusement, that despite Angie’s visible distress, he had made sure to follow his regular morning hygiene routine, with his face clean and his hair carefully styled.  “I looked more closely at the label and instructions.  You drank enough of the potion to keep you in this form for three days.”  Angie stared at him.

              “Three days?!”

              “Don’t worry,” Ford said quickly, holding up his hands.  “I’ll return to the Crawlspace tonight and speak to the seller.  He may have something to reverse the effects of the potion early.”

              “I’m comin’ with.”

              “Humans aren’t allowed.”

              “I can wear some of those Star Trek ears ya got in yer closet and pretend to be an elf,” Angie scoffed.  “Maybe throw some pixie dust over me to get that supernatural sparkle.”  Stan snorted.  Ford frowned.

              “I suppose that could work.  But why do you want to come?”

              “Ya mixed stuff up from yer bad axolotl vision.  I don’t want to risk another mixup.”

              “Ah.”  Ford shifted uncomfortably in his seat.  “…Fair.”  Angie sighed.

              “I weren’t tryin’ to hurt yer feelin’s…”

              “No, I’m- I’m fine,” Ford said quickly.  Angie gave him a look that suggested he didn’t buy it.  Stan cleared his throat.

              “By the way,” he drawled, “I heard the toilet flush.”  Angie covered his face with his hands.  “Whattaya think of the new…equipment?”

              “You don’t need to answer that,” Ford said quickly.

              “Oh, I weren’t plannin’ on it,” Angie said, his voice muffled by his hands.  “Stanley, ya can’t just ask someone that!”

              “Aw, come on.  We’re all guys here!”

              “Stan…” Ford said in a warning tone.

              “Fine, fine.  I’ll shut up.”  Stan placed a plate of pancakes in front of Angie.  “Eat up, Angie,” he said.  He frowned.  “Uh.  Should we call you something else until you’re back to normal?”

              “That sounds like a good idea,” Angie said.  He rubbed the back of his neck.  “It- it feels awful odd to be referred to as Angie when I’m, um, this.”

              “Banjo, perhaps?” Ford suggested.  Angie nodded slowly.

              “I like it.”  Angie- Banjo looked at Stan with a frown.  “Somethin’ wrong?”  Stan was watching with a frown of his own.

              “Why the hell did Ford suggest Banjo and why the fuck did you agree to it?”

              “Oh, that’s right, I ain’t told ya what Angie is short fer yet,” Banjo said.

              “I thought it was short for Angela.”

              “No.  It’s short fer Banjolina,” Banjo said, beginning to cut up one of his pancakes.  Stan raised an eyebrow.

              “What the hell kinda name is Banjolina?”

              “A McGucket one,” Ford and Banjo said together.  Banjo shot a grin at Ford.  Ford felt butterflies in his stomach.

              Oh, no.  Please don’t let this be a pattern.

-----

              Banjo laughed goodnaturedly.

              “No, I ain’t wearin’ the hat!” he said, playfully shoving Stan.

              “C’mon!” Stan wheedled.  “I paid for it with my own money!  You’ve gotta wear it!”

              “I believe I was the one to pay for it,” Ford said.  Stan rolled his eyes.

              “You pay me, so I paid for it.”

              “That’s not how it-”  Ford cut himself off, shaking his head.  “Stop bothering Banjo.”

              “He’s laughing, he’s having a good time.”

              “I ain’t annoyed, Stanford,” Banjo said.  “I’ll let Stanley know if I reach that point.”

              “Hmph.  Very well,” Ford muttered.  After breakfast, they went shopping for clothes for Banjo.  At first, Banjo insisted that they spend as little time as possible out and about while he was in his current form.  But once he was wearing clothes that fit him, he calmed down significantly, even allowing Stan to talk him into going out for lunch and walking around Main Street after.  Now, Stan was desperately trying to convince Banjo to wear the cowboy hat he had Ford purchase a few minutes ago.

              I didn’t even realize there was a western store in town.  But they had passed it while walking down Main Street, and when Banjo slowed down to admire the clothing in the display window, Ford insisted they go inside and find something for him.  I feel like I need to make up for what happened.  Though he seems remarkably unperturbed by this experience.  A tendril of frustration began to uncurl in Ford’s gut.  Why is he so blasé? 

              “You already got me to wear the cowboy boots,” Banjo said.

              “But your jeans completely cover them up!” Stan protested.

              “You should’ve considered that when ya told me to wear ‘em now,” Banjo retorted with a grin.  Stan huffed.  Banjo tossed his head, laughing.  His caramel-colored hair bounced from the movement, drawing Ford’s eye.  It was agonizing how much Banjo resembled Fiddleford.

              I didn’t realize how much I missed F until I was reminded of him every time Banjo did something.  Hopefully, the painful reminders would slow, now that Banjo was dressed.  His fashion sense was different from Fiddleford’s, other than the same predilection for flared jeans.  At the moment, Banjo was wearing a green flannel shirt with a simple orange undershirt.  A far cry from F’s flamboyant tops.

              “I reckon we should head back soon,” Banjo drawled.  He tucked his hands into his back pockets.  “The full moon will be risin’ ‘fore we know it.”

              “Please, we’ve got plenty of time,” Stan said dismissively.  “I think we should go get a drink.”

              “Hmm.”  Banjo titled his head and smiled at Stan.  “I don’t know ‘bout that.  I ain’t in the mood to deal with two drunk fellers on my own.”

              “You don’t drink?”

              “No, I do.”  Banjo’s smile broadened.  “I do it very well.”

              “Oh, I get it.  You think you could outdrink me.”

              “Wrong.”  Banjo leaned in.  Thanks to his new height - which he seemed very pleased with - his face was mere inches away from Stan’s.  “I know I can outdrink ya.”  A goofy grin spread across Stan’s face, accompanied by a faint flush.  Ford recognized the expression.  It was the same one Stan made every time Carla McCorkle ran her hands through his hair or kissed him on the cheek.  Ford thought back to what Stan had said earlier that day.

              “Is it just me, or does Angie make a damn cute guy?”

              Oh, no.  No.  Please tell me Stan isn’t developing a crush on Banjo!  Sweet Moses, this could turn messy fast.  For one thing, he won’t stay Banjo, he’ll return to being Angie!  Ford cleared his throat.  Banjo and Stan looked at him.

              “I believe we have enough time to make one more stop before returning home,” he said.  Stan punched the air.

              “Yes!  We can get wasted.”

              “No, we cannot,” Ford said firmly.  Stan blew a raspberry at him.

              “Killjoy.  What are we gonna do, then?”

              “There’s a bakery a few blocks from here,” Banjo suggested.  Stan perked up.

              “Bakery?  Hell yes!”  Stan sped up his pace eagerly.  Banjo chuckled.  He and Ford fell into step alongside each other.

              “That brother of yours is quite the character,” he said with a smile.  “Luckily, he’s the kind of character I tend to be fond of.”

              “Really,” Ford said flatly.  With the continuation of Banjo’s casual attitude, the frustration Ford felt earlier was beginning to fester.  Banjo looked at him, bemused.

              “Somethin’ wrong?”

              “I’m just-”  Ford took a steadying breath.  “I’m just perplexed at how easy going you are being about- about-”

              “About bein’ Banjo?” Banjo asked.  He frowned.  “Look, I ain’t happy ‘bout it.”

              “Could have fooled me,” Ford said under his breath.  Banjo ignored his comment.

              “I just reckon it’d be a waste of my time ‘n energy to be overly upset,” he continued.  “I can’t do anything ‘bout it right now, so why get all worked up?  At least, now that I’ve had some time to adjust.”  Banjo put his hands on his hips.  “And what’s with that lil remark ‘bout me not seemin’ unhappy?  Didn’t ya hear me shout this mornin’?  Didn’t ya see how distraught I was?”

              “And yet you don’t appear upset at all,” Ford said snidely.  Banjo clenched his hands into fists.

              “It’s called actin’, Stanford!  Actin’ like I’m fine to make sure the boat don’t get rocked!  It’s a skill I’ve developed while I take care of you ‘n Stanley!”

              Ford scowled at him. “We don’t need babysitting,” he said shortly.  Banjo stopped walking to face Stanford squarely.

              “Really? Might I remind ya of the argument you and Stanley had not a month ago?” he retorted.  Ford’s brow furrowed further.

              “I was stuck as an axolotl for a week at that point! I had been to the vet on two separate occasions and was completely useless at home! I was getting frustrated and needed to vent!”  As he spoke, his voice rose without his noticing it. 

              “So what’s frustratin’ ya now?! Yer not an axolotl and ya won’t be for another hour, so what’s eatin’ at ya?”  Banjo’s voice was beginning to rise as well. The few passersby slowed down to stare, bewildered by the odd conversation.

              “YOU are INFURIATING me!” shouted Ford. “For Pete’s sake! You’ve been a man for less then a day and are already comfortable in your new skin! You’ll be back to normal in a few days while I’ll still be cursed to be an amphibian for the rest of my damn life!”

              An eerie silence circled them. 

              “Son of a-  I’ve been cursed for half a year and I’m still uncomfortable in my second skin! I have to eat bugs! I have to sleep in water! My skin itches! I hate it! And here you are in the middle of town having the time of your life!”  Ford was panting by the time he was done, looming over Banjo.  Waves of heat washed inside of him, crashing against rising shame.

              “Stanford?” came Stan’s voice behind him.  He must have come back after he realized Ford and Banjo weren’t following him anymore.

              “What?”  Ford turned around to face his twin.  He didn’t want to look at Banjo, not with the mist in the other man’s eyes.  Stan gestured to the sides of his head.

              “Um, your, uh, your gills are- are out.”

              Panic washed over Ford as he raised his hands to the side of his face.  He could feel the gills, six in total with three on each side, squirming.  His ears were already gone. He then heard it before he could feel it. There was a pop and rip followed by a burning sensation at the base of his spine when his tail, big, round, and pink erupted.  Ford fell to his hands and knees.  The entirety of his body was aching and tingling.

              What’s going on?  The full moon hasn’t risen yet!  A new worry filled Ford with horror.  We’re in public!  People could be watching!  He looked around, but already his vision was worsening. Soon he felt his glasses slipping as his nose disappeared.  From what he could make out, it appeared that only Stan and Banjo were currently present.  But they were on Main Street.  At any moment, someone could stumble across them.

              “Banjo, what should we do?” Stan asked.  Banjo stayed silent.  “Banjo?”

              “The two of ya can figure it out,” Banjo said, his voice thick.  “I’ll meet ya back at the car.”  Ford watched Banjo’s blurry figure walk away.

              “...Great,” Stan sighed.  He looked down at Ford on the ground.  “I’m gonna, uh, move you out of the way, okay?”  Ford nodded weakly.  Judging by how loose his clothes had gotten, he had already shrunk to half his size.  This conclusion was proven accurate when Stan picked him up and carried him into a nearby alleyway, both of them ducking behind a large dumpster. As soon as Stan dropped him to the ground, Ford fell on his side, his body continuing to morph into a new form. He struggled to his shifting feet.

              “How are we going to get back to the car?” Ford asked, his voice breaking into a higher pitch. He hugged his sides and hissed through his teeth as waves of heat washed over his body. His tail curled around him, grazing his calf.

              “Uh.”  Stan looked around.  “There’s a big box here.  It looks clean enough.  Once you’re done, you can climb inside and I’ll cover you with your clothes.”

              “Okay.”  Ford grunted as he felt his bones shift.  “I really wish I wasn’t transforming in a dirty alleyway.”

              “Eh, I’ve seen worse places to turn into a giant salamander,” Stan said with a shrug.  He scratched his chin.  “You- you really tore Banjo a new one back there.  What was that about?”

              Despite the pain, Stanford felt his whole body freeze in place. 

              “How much of the argument did you hear?”

              “Only the end of it, really.  Something about him having the time of his life?”

              “I…”  Ford sighed.  “I let my temper get the better of me.”

              “No shit.  I figured out that much on my own,” Stan scoffed.  “Why were you angry at him?”

              “I’m just…frustrated.  He’s doing perfectly fine right now, and I- I’m not.”

              “What are you talking about?” Stan asked quietly.  “You think he’s doing fine?”

              “He’s joking and laughing with you.” Ford hissed as a particularly painful shift rearranged his jaw. 

              “Yeah, but it’s mostly anxious laughter.  He’s had that scared deer look in his eyes all day.  And he starts shaking if we stand still for too long.  My guess, Banjo’s roughly one dropped ice cream cone away from having a nervous breakdown.”  Stan looked over at Ford.  “You really didn’t notice?”

              “No!  I- I thought he was taking his current circumstance in stride.”  Ford winced, both from the pain of his transformation and the sting of just how poorly he had read Banjo’s body language.  “I should have consulted you earlier.  You were always better with people.”

              “Eh.  Neither of us have ever been good at the whole communicating thing,” Stan said.  Ford sighed.

              “Correct.”

              “So, uh, are you done?” Stan asked.  Ford moved his body tentatively.  His legs, arms, head, and tail responded.  The prickling that accompanied the end of his transformation had faded.  And he could barely see a few inches in front of him.

              “It appears that I am.” His voice was completely changed. 

              “Good.  Step outta your clothes while I get the box.”  Ford did as instructed and shimmed out of his now oversized sweater.  When Stan came back with the box, he climbed inside.  Stan covered him with his clothes.  “Eugh, they got all slimy!”

              “I produce a mucosal secretion from my skin during times of high stress,” Ford mumbled automatically.  It was one of the things Angie had noted during her time studying Ford’s amphibious form before Stan joined them.

              “It’s gross,” Stan said firmly.  Ford felt the box rise off the ground.  He curled up, his stomach churning from distress as he was carried back to the car.  After a few minutes of Ford bouncing and sliding around in the box, Stan came to a stop.  “Hey, Banj.”

              “Banj?” Banjo’s voice said.  Ford covered his eyes with his paws, overcome by guilt.  Banjo’s voice was weak, as though he had just been crying.

              “Short for Banjo.”

              “Banjo’s already short fer my proper name.”

              “Someone can have two nicknames.”

              “Hmm.  Fair enough,” Banjo said.  Ford mustered some courage and poked his head up through the clothes.  Banjo, blurry, stood a few feet away, leaning against the Stanmobile.  “Hello.”

              “Banjo, I-”

              “I’m goin’ to act as though the last fifteen or so minutes didn’t happen,” Banjo interrupted.  “At least, fer now.  We’ve got to head back to the Crawlspace to see if anyone can get me back to rights.”  Though Ford couldn’t see Banjo’s blue eyes, he could still feel them boring into him.  “Will you agree to act that way as well?”

              “Yes,” Ford squeaked pathetically.  Banjo nodded.  Stan unlocked the car and slid the box holding Ford into the back seat.  Ford waited for Banjo to sit next to him.  His heart sank as Banjo opened the passenger’s side door and sat up front with Stan instead.  Even without saying a word, his change in behavior spoke volumes. Ford curled up tighter, a soft whimper escaping from him.

              He’s furious. With me.

[genshin-scenarios]

Anemo androids with a reader whos slowly dying? Could be a good chance for both fluff and angst

Or alternatively, I raise you...

anemo androids who lost their previous user

Ever since, they've wandered around alone as independents, before running into you.

Content warnings: angst. death by natural causes (Heizou), death by illness (Venti, Wanderer), hospitals + grief + accidents (Kazuha).

Not specified or gone into detail, but thought I'd give a heads up! The guys are… very traumatized.

Characters: Xiao, Wanderer, Venti, Kazuha, Heizou

Xiao, whose user was working a risky job. Everyone knew that shorter lifespans were common in their line of work, considering how many enemies they could make - but that never stopped them from greeting each day as if it was the most beautiful morning they've seen.

Xiao expected them to appoint him to work, doing tasks that regular humans would avoid if they could. While they did ask him to help, they'd always put themselves on the front line instead. He never understood it - still doesn't. And it's arguable that Xiao also doesn't get why their last command to him was to live like a human.

He tries, truly. But he's quite sure he's lost his purpose after his user was gone; that is, until he ran into you.

You're a person with a pretty domestic life (domestic by his standards at least, which wasn't saying much). He's not sure if one can describe it as a crush, but Xiao finds himself visiting the places where he first ran into you in hopes he'd see you again. And then... maybe start a conversation. Or if you were in trouble or had too many bags to carry, he might offer his assistance.

He thinks it's just a passing interest until you thank him with a smile that has him blurt out a question, asking if you'd need more help in the future.

You exchanged phone numbers and promised to contact him soon. Xiao thinks that's the most he's spoken in a long time - and there's an odd feeling in his chest that might be the equivalent of grief and butterflies, finally fluttering out of the sea of autumn leaves that have dried against the forest floor.

Wanderer who unfortunately, has went through 3 users before you, if that's what you could call them. The first was a guardian who needed an assistant for her work, before she eventually tried to set him free. Little did she know this felt like abandonment more than liberation to the android.

Next was a well-meaning person whom he considered a friend, but wasn't aware of his nature as a droid and eventually moved away from the city. And the third...

...forget it. It was brief: a child who couldn't see him anymore once their parents realized Wanderer was an independent android. He's sure the kid's doing fine though, getting the medical care he needs.

Wanderer expected himself to learn his lesson: don't get attached to anyone, as they'll never stay or need him for long. That is, until he sees you; too kind for your own good despite his sharp personality, offering him a role at the cafe you owned. 'If you truly have nothing to do, perhaps you could join us here?'

A cafe. How ludicrous. He's worked in high-profile science labs, and now he's a cashier and waiter in an unsuspecting part of the city. You say he has a talent for beautiful plating and latte art. He holds back from telling you that as an android, of course he'd reach perfection more easily than humans.

...But, you seem like you need the help. And you're not as annoying as other people - so maybe he'll stick around. Just until you try to get rid of him (you never did.)

Venti was a companion droid for a boy with an illness. He was a friend and caretaker who'd make sure the child's vitals were alright, and would be able to call for emergency aid or apply it himself if something were to happen.

Venti was surrounded by a family full of love, and just as equally the despair of knowing that their time together was limited.

The boy passed after he graduated highschool. His parents had since given Venti his independence, saying he had the freedom to decide what he wanted to do next.

He knew that they saw parts of their son in him. So as an android who was always a little too kind, Venti left soon after he paid his respects to the boy. He pursues a dream that was both his user's and his own - shared hopes that were supposed to be debuted by a pair, rather than one.

He becomes quite a successful singer. Venti's no celebrity (maybe an internet idol at best, though he doesn't post his appearance without a mask or wig), but he's popular enough to live on his own and donate his profits towards causes related to his past user.

Eventually, you come into his life as a housemate - he'd accepted the idea on a whim, seeing as you just needed a quiet place to live in the city for your new job. It was only then when Venti realized how much he missed having someone to return to at the end of the day.

Was it possible for an android to have more than one dream? He must be greedier than he gave himself credit for.

Kazuha is still at a point of recovery, after his previous user's passing.

It'd all happened too fast; an accident right when Kazuha wasn't with them, realizing it was too late by the time he rushed to the hospital. He was a complete mess, panicking and standing there numbly as he processed the announcement made by the doctors. No tears could shed, for androids couldn't cry.

He still keeps their apartment tidy, seeing as his user's relatives were still in grieving as well. He goes on his usual chores, everything except the laundry and cooking. The pet cat feels grief too, finding comfort in Kazuha as it nuzzled into him. It grounds him a little.

Days, weeks, and months pass. After enough time, Kazuha's taught himself how to manage his grief, thought part of it still clings to him like a ghost. The first time you met Kazuha was when he'd pulled you out of the way of a speeding car that rushed the traffic lights. You're shaken by the near-accident encounter, but Kazuha even more so.

You see the worry in his eyes and the way he grips onto you so tightly, it was as if he'd be willing to use his body to shield yours to prevent another tragedy.

When you gently ask Kazuha if he was okay, he stiffly nods, before allowing you to pull him aside to a nearby bench to sit down.

...Ah, he was supposed to be a companion droid that comforted others. But you didn't seem to mind even if you noticed the slight scratches on his synthetic skin, left uncared for after a while of living through an isolated season.

It was safe to say that you brought the sunlight back to him again, little by little. Kazuha doesn't know how to thank you enough for that.

Heizou was bought to accompany an elderly couple who had a bit too much saved for retirement. They brought him onto their holiday trips, thinking of him as a son of sorts that they doted on - not that he allowed them to do so without doing anything in return. He'd make sure the house was in good shape, that they were healthy, and operated the electronics needed for them to call their loved ones.

He can't exactly be mad about how old age took them in their sleep. Ridiculously enough, they'd tried to fit him into their wills during their reading, which he pushed back against until a small fortune was given to him in cash. He had to open a bank account after that. He wonders how different things would be if that elderly couple had actual children to spend their time on. He's sure they would've been very happy.

Heizou goes on to become a detective; he's good at it, and they'd always joke that one day, they could see him helping a lot of people. Passing off as a genius detective, Heizou presents himself as a human and works at an agency. His boss and closest co-workers know he's an android, after dangerous missions where he threw himself in front of them and survived an otherwise fatal wound to the chest. He finds a family of sorts there - people who'd have his back despite how he likes to tease them.

You're a client that walks into the agency one day with a sensitive case. Perhaps it's because two lonely souls found comfort in each-other, but Heizou immediately forms a connection with you as he tries to make you more comfortable around him. You're not opposed to his charming jokes either, even expressing your thanks for his help when the job was done, and asking if he'd like to get coffee together sometime.

Heizou simply wanted to cheer you up at first. But at this point, it was safe to say that he's grown a little more attached than he intended to. (He'd love to get coffee, but would need to get around the fact that he couldn't actually consume drinks.)

[randomshyperson]

The List - Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Summary: Wanda shouldn't be sneaking off to your bedroom during the farewell party, and she certainly shouldn't be reading a list of pros and cons about the women you care about. Inspired by ‘Friends’ but make it Ross’s list something actually thoughtful.

Warnings: (+16) Some implications but nothing explicit, very brief angst of relationship going wrong and other lovers, implied friends to lovers, some Yelena x Reader and Vision x Wanda ‘cause they made bad choices, drinking, feelings talks, making out, getting back together, attempt to poetry and a hella of self-insert stuff. | Words: 3.052k.

A/N-> The author should be working on the last two Skam series but is doing midnight one-shots instead (self-criticism). This is short and dramatic and I just wanted something about one of the most popular scenes in Friends. Hope you like it.

General Masterlist | AO3 | Wattpad

--//--

A full tower meant Wanda would be locked in her room. Or at least, that's how it used to be.

Tonight, however, there is a 'Good Voyage' banner in the middle of the room filled with friends and guests, each with their own glass of drink, wanting to celebrate your last night as an Avenger. Technically, this party was also for Wanda. In official terms, she didn't leave the team, but she had a room booked at the Harkness Residence and no belongings in her old room. For the two of you, this was the last night in the tower.

This is why Wanda was wearing a party dress and wasn't locked away from the celebration as she would have been years ago when she was a new recruit and you would sneak out of appointments to keep her company.

She tried to avoid staring so much. Whether it was the lost smiles between you and Yelena, or the lingering hugs and complicit whispers. There was nothing official, yet Natasha had commented that you had been sleeping in Lena's apartment for many weeks and that you were probably the only number saved on her secure cell phone beside the older widow. 

"Would you like me to get you something to drink, Wanda?" Vision's voice made her jump in fright softly. She stared at him, and for a moment couldn't say anything, still getting used to the synthesizer's new appearance. Sometimes she missed the red, it was less intimidating than the full white.

"N-no, Vis. Thank you." She manages to reply when he looks at her curiously towards the silence. Wanda risks diverting her attention to you again, catching the moment when Yelena entwines her arm with yours and rests her head on your shoulder. It is so domestic that she feels sick. How many times has she made the same action? Swallowing dryly, she lets the robot beside her know, "I need some air. "

She left him before he could say anything else; and missed the moment he exchanged a glance with Natasha across the room as if asking her oldest friend for some kind of assistance.

Wanda lied - It wasn't her intention, she thinks, but her feet made their way alone. She went up the elevator in silence, offering nothing but forced smiles to any stray guests she met in the hallways to your old bedroom.

The place was dark and full of boxes ready for the move. All your belongings would be shipped the next day to somewhere in Europe, where you and Yelena continued on the mission to free the rest of the Black Widows, the personal operation that had to be paused for a few months with all the problems the Mad Titan brought to earth. With the victory of the Avengers, who were outnumbered for some time, everything needed to undergo some kind of reform. No one ever wanted to be caught as unawares as when Thanos appeared, and everyone had work to do. Wanda, and her growing magical power, included.

She let her fingers trace through the closed boxes, a red sparkle doing the work of turning on the lights at the entrance. Her mind was haunted by memories of a friendship long forgotten, glimpses of movie nights under those covers, stolen touches at breakfasts, and promises sealed with kisses that would be forgone and impossible to keep when reality fell on your heads.

When Wanda thought of you, she felt a pang in her chest. Missing you hurt her physically, and even with only a few rooms between you now, she felt as if the distance she had placed was much greater. She knows she would start to cry if she kept thinking about it, but there was no avoiding it, not when there were still some of her belongings scattered on your study desk and some of these were polaroids taken by Peter Parker with his intention to keep memories of his adventures with the Avengers.

She traced the photographs of younger versions of herself smiling beside you, but at the current moment, her smile was much more whiny than happy. She took her attention away from the pictures to the computer that turned on as soon as it recognized movement, and let her fingers play with the keys for a second.

"Welcome." FRIDAY's sudden greeting made her eyes widen softly at the fright. "Little witch."

She bit the inside of her cheek at the nickname she hadn't heard in a while. She lifted her finger to touch the colorful stickers you pasted on the device but bumped into the screen and was surprised by the automatic unlock. Her shock at still being allowed to access your belongings had to be forgotten because the open file was much more relevant than overthinking about this.

There were two columns in one document. Her name and Yelena's, below each a list of items. 

The witch swallowed dryly and turned her face to the door. A peek at something that contained her name couldn't hurt...

Wanda.

‘Complicated. 

Complicated friendship.

Complicated everything.’

Frowning, the witch felt something in her stomach sinking. When she read Yelena's first item 'It happened as it was supposed to' she understood that it was a list of pros and cons and she immediately regretted starting to read this at all.

But there was no stopping herself now. She needed to know where this was going.

Wanda.

‘Just because she was my first love, she doesn't have to be my last.’

Sniffling slightly, she looked at the next item on Yelena's list.

‘I don't have to fall in love with her just because everyone else thinks it makes sense.’

Wanda froze. A mixture of conflicting feelings surged through her chest. She wanted to be only upset by how distressed you felt, but she couldn't help the thread of hope arising from hearing your doubts regarding your feelings for Yelena.

Clicking to advance to the next lines, she held her breath without realizing it. The formatting of the list changes, taking away the bullet points for paragraphs that pull and bring the air out of her lungs with each sentence.

“Wanda only wakes up after all the alarms have gone off, I can always watch her sleep because of this.

Yelena never sleeps, and I can never fully relax knowing she's awake and haunted by horrors I can't take away.

They're both shorter than me, and they look adorable when they ask for help picking up something high up. Yelena kicks my ankle if I get too cocky about it. Wanda slides her hand under my clothes and turns me into a complete mess at her mercy, taller or shorter, she’s the boss.”

She pauses in her reading, a smile playing on her lips. She remembers doing the latter so many times. The memories hit her hard, and she had to take a deep breath to push them away and focus on reading again.

“Wanda feels so much that she explodes.

Yelena sometimes thinks the Red Room just left an empty cocoon behind.

I think I'm in the middle.”

Wanda pauses, thinking she hears someone approaching. With her heart racing with guilt and fear of being caught, she checks the door, but it's just her mind playing tricks on her.

“Wanda invades frequently. Privacy is a problem, especially because of her telepathy. I can never keep secrets from her, much less emotions. She gets so close that sometimes it suffocates.”

The witch pauses the reading with tears in her eyes. Guilt and shame burn her chest, and she takes a deep breath. She wonders how old the list is, or if the version of her that you have of it in your head is just the young girl who tentatively stumbled over her own feelings and traumas and hurt you even though she had no intention of doing so. 

She sniffles again and controls the threat of crying before reading the next item.

“Yelena goes so far away that sometimes I wonder if she was ever here at all.”

The witch needs to stop; She has for a moment, the realization that perhaps, you are better off alone. For the way she and Yelena, even if in different ways, hurt you.

And the next part of the list does not make her feel better about this. In cursive letters, and repeated for three more paragraphs, there's the name of the person responsible for putting an end to the fragile relationship that you and she used to have.

“Vision.

Vison.

Vison.

She notices a machine but she cannot notice me. 

She loves a piece of tin, but not the one who finds pairs of socks for her cold feet at night.

She loves the tin-man who signed the agreements that say she should be locked up, and not the person who would fight the whole world for her.”

Wanda sobs, and has to sit up in her chair to keep from falling to the floor. She cries for a moment, all the emotions that seem to have built up since the whole impasse with the Avengers two years ago hitting her all over again. 

You've got it all wrong. If there was a way, she would have gone back and done everything differently. She would have told her stupid young self that you were hurting like her, and that you always noticed her like she pretended not to be doing. 

That forcing yourself to invest in Vision was hurting you like it was hurting her.

Taking a deep breath, Wanda tries to stop crying to finish the list at once. It seems to be ending at least.

There is one note crossed out, and she needs to make a change and remove the underline to read it.

“Yelena never seems as happy with me as she is around Kate Bishop. She always diverts from the subject when I try to bring it up. It reminds me of Wanda when I would ask about him, and she would say they were just friends.

I wonder if I will ever be someone's first choice.”

Wanda shakes her head in indignation. You are her first choice. And her second and third. You are everything. You've always been too precious to risk losing. How can you not know this?

"People say that Yelena and I are very similar while Wanda is my opposite. Peter has been helping me try astrology and everything from Hogwarts houses to numerology.

I liked the phases of the moon where Yelena matches mine while Wanda is the part I am missing.

While Yelena mirrors me, Wanda completes me.

They say that the former is more important: That real, routine life is better with someone who resembles you. Yelena and I like the same pizza and the same movies. We never fight over silly things.

Every time I argue with Wanda I want to make her scream for another reason. She always looked so pretty moaning my name-”

The witch jumps to the next item, her face burning just like under her dress. She clears her throat quietly, fighting other memories that try to rise into her mind and which most likely would take away her ability to read anything.

‘I could write pages and pages of this, but this would be just me, running away from the truth. There is only one answer to your question, Captain Rogers.

Yelena can read me like a book, but Wanda is the only one who can edit the words.

I will meet a hundred people, and none of them will be like Wanda.

You told me that in order to make this decision, I needed to think about something simple. Who would I miss more if I had to lose in life, Wanda or Yelena? It was not so simple.

Because Wanda left me first and I had to get used to the pain day by day. But Yelena will never let me in enough to miss her. Not when she also knows that I'm always looking back, just like a little kid, waiting for the moment when Wanda Maximoff will have a spare piece of attention to trade with me.

I know I can survive missing her in my life because it is a feeling I am used to.

I just don't want to lose her again. I don't want to survive without her, I want to live with her.

I will tell her. 

I will.

I-”

"Having fun, Maximoff?" The witch jumps out of her chair at your sudden arrival. It is a mixture of shock and embarrassment, she cringes like a child being caught and her face burns even more at your relaxed posture, waist resting on the doorstop and arms crossed. Her favorite smile on your face.

"I-I was just..."

"Snooping." You complete, but you don't sound the least bit angry, just provocative. You uncross your arms to reach for the cell phone in your jeans pocket. "Yeah, I got a notification of a small change in my drive. I guess I was right about the boundaries issues topic..."

Wanda steps forward, almost desperate. "I didn't mean to! I-I accidentally clicked on it, and when I saw my name, I couldn't help it-"

You chuckle, nodding in her direction as a sign that it was okay. "Relax, I'm just teasing you." 

Wanda chuckles nervously, aware that you were getting too close. She holds her breath but you only lean toward the computer, humming in confirmation that it is indeed your list that she has spent the last few moments reading before turning your attention back to her.

"I'm really sorry." She murmurs embarrassedly, looking down at her own feet. Wanda really expects you to yell at her, to be angry at her for breaking your privacy and invading what is clearly a very personal vent. But you just stare back at her, and completely tear her apart as you take one of your hands to her hair, gentle fingers tracing the loose strands behind the nape of her neck to the front.

"I didn't get a chance to say that red really suits you." 

"T-thanks." She risks a look into your eyes, and her heart explodes at the intensity she finds.

"Actually I didn't get a chance to say much at all." You continue, a small smile appearing on your lips. Wanda tries to focus on your next words and not on your hand playing with her hair. "You ran out of the party. I was planning to ask you to dance."

She swallows dryly, trying to calm her own nerves. She's tired of games; they've hurt you both enough.

"I don't understand your list." She retorts in an affected voice, her gaze in a mix of hope and fear. "You say...you say you're going to tell me, but you're leaving-"

"We both are." You retort as if you are reminding her. Without stopping smiling, you use your free hand to search for something in your coat pocket. "It turns out, Nat and Lena really do have a lot of time catching up to do. And well, I know you do magic portals now, but I still trust planes."

In your hand are first-class tickets to Central-Southeastern Europe. You let Wanda hold them, appraising the item in shock as you clarify:

"Agatha mentioned that you need to find out more about yourself, and I thought, there is no better place than where it all began. Unfortunately, Sokovia no longer has an airport, but we can stay around. And get a car..."

She looks at you with watery eyes. "And y-you want to come with me?"

You smile at her so tenderly that she would have burst into tears if she weren't already doing so. Your hands find her cheeks, gently wiping away her tears as you clarify:

"Isn't it clear yet, Wanda? I'll go wherever you want me."

Something mixed between a sob and a relieved laugh escapes her; You have a very similar expression, and as you wipe away her tears, you kiss her cheeks and the tip of her nose to reassure her.

Wanda sighs, closing her eyes for a moment. 

"Detka, I'm so scared." She confesses in a whisper. "We've hurt each other before. I don't want to ever hurt you again."

You nod and wait for her to stare you in the eyes. 

"There is no such thing as a perfect relationship, Wands." Your tone, while firm, is also tender. "And we're both complicated. But I want this, us because I'd rather work on our differences than start anything new with someone else. You're the only one I want."

She stares at you trying to absorb all the sincerity in her words. For a second, even with the list, she takes a chance:

"But Yelena?"

You give her a small smile, holding her hand in yours at the height of your heart. "She could tell even before me that there was no one but you. Lena will continue the mission with Natasha, as it should be. And I will stay with you if you choose me."

She laughs tearfully, nodding. "Of course, I choose you, idiot." She assures. "I love you." And Wanda repeats and repeats until you kiss her.

It seems ridiculous that Wanda has gone without it you when your lips meet again. The worst part is that she only realizes how much she has missed you once you touch her again. The needy sounds that escape her are almost desperate, full of passion, and tugging at your clothes, trying to bring you closer than is humanly possible.

You give her everything. Your mouth, your tongue, your hands. She is pressed against the table, kissing you as if she wants to make up for all the time wasted in a single night.

There is a ripping of clothes, her dress will end up in a pile on the floor. No hesitation: Wanda gives you the green light as she snaps your belt off. There’s a promise of a future together that she can’t wait to live in the way you worship every corner of her body that night.

[aristia-pjoheadcanons]

can i request hcs of jasón w a fem reader who gets easily jealous? maybe he left her behind at camp jupiter when hera took him. he’s not dating piper, but she doesn’t know that. ty!

He comes home

pairing: Jason Grace x female!reader

warnings: none

author's note: Let me just say that if my man was talking came back with a girl next to him and he was almost acting normal, I would rip my hair out.

The reader would be seething, clenched teeth, hot cheeks, and everything.

He disappears out of nowhere, which you probably understood wasn’t his fault. You’ve been there from the very start since he came to Camp J. He had fully booked appointments with quests, no wonder he was gone one day: but you realized that it wasn’t the same. You felt this anxiety pooling in your chest, you knew this wasn’t the normal disappearance.

When he arrives with his so called “crew” you didn’t like either Piper or Annabeth. But you knew Annabeth wasn’t someone that would do anything, since she was Percys.

But even so, the thought of Jason settling down with others for six-fucking-months, made you want to absolutely go ballistic.

But you knew deep-down that he didn’t do it on his own, it was the same situation as Percy – it was against his will, and he had lost his memories.

But does he remember you?

That thought washed away when you saw the way he was acting stand-of-ish when he saw Reyna. So, he does remember, he remembers you.

It gave you some relief. But how were you going to make up for the time he was gone?

Based on the ever-so-serious facial expression on his face, the quest was not over. Not even close. You wanted to sigh and almost act immature about it, but it would do you no good.

Maybe even the reader would do impulsive things just tog et his attention. Jason is very analytical with his feelings, to the point where he rationalizes them – so he wouldn’t react much after the first time, its almost like he shuts off his emotions just to protect himself.

But he would have to take the convo private and talk to !reader, to get a clearer understanding of the situation but also your feelings present.

He wants you to be the feeler in the relationship. While he is the cool-headed one, he can’t let himself get too caught up in his feelings – so when you express yourself hate, love, happiness he feels good. He feels safe to know that there is someone there to express and project my feelings for me. You are not just a person to him, but something essential for him to feel human, a person that isn’t just a tool or a weapon for the Gods.

He would definitely understand your point of view and make it very clear that he did not leave on purpose and that he is not in any romantic or close relationship with any girls. He got some of his memories back, but part is still left out. Even so, he would try his best to explain that his feelings are still very real but if you want to break things off, he will let you.

The last statement might cause an argument, because why would you want to leave him? No, you’re angry because he left, and you spent months without knowing if he was really safe.

One hour later, Jason is holding your hand when he introduces you to the rest of his crew. You’re happier but can’t help but feel needy in a way.

Jason would let you hold his hand and put an arm around you, but he gets distracted and ends up moving away from you just to talk a little about the next step for their quests.

In order for your relationship with him to work, you will need to agree to let him go when he wants or needs; also, be comfortable with him being around others for long periods of time.

But Jason would know of your jealousies already and would know the perfect way to make you feel better: spending time together and some wholehearted apologies.

Lets say he didnt come back, you would go on a search for him and maybe even treathen a couple of minor gods just to find him.

[dwaekkistar]

The Appointment

Summary: Sujin gets a little shaken up at a doctor's appointment

Additional Tags/ Warnings: Mentions of memories with SA, OC having a panic attack

          Felix, Hyunjin, and Sujin make it back home via a taxi, as they don't want to bother Chan to come back to the mall and pick them up. They all removed their shoes at the front door, The blonde alpha causing the omega to burst into soft giggles as he constantly threw out jokes, and the taller alpha held Sujin from behind while holding some of the shopping bags. They continued their shenanigans well into the living, gaining the attention of everyone already home.

        "You guys seem to have had fun," Minho softly interjected as his arms wrapped around Jisung sitting beside him.

        "Sorry, we were teasing Sujin about something he did at the mall." Felix chuckled a bit.

        "Yeah, who knew Sujin would get so messy trying to eat a corn dog!" Hyun-jin chimed in happily. " He had mustard everywhere!"

         "Stop," the omega whined with soft giggles as he softly squirmed trying to get out of the alpha's hold, "this is embarrassing!" But Hyunjin seemed to hold onto the omega even tighter, causing Sujin to blush deeply. The omega honestly couldn't place why he was so giddy and shy but he had to assume it was the doing of the pet names both long-haired alphas kept doting on him while at the food court.

       Jeongin who was on the living room floor happened to look up, only to take note of the choker now wrapped around Sujin's neck.

        "That looks pretty on him," the younger beta said rather quickly while pointing, Chan and Changbin came into the room a few seconds later, following the direction of his hand.

         "That does look pretty on him..." Changbin mumbled softly.

         "Did you guys get that at the mall?" Chan asked curiously, his eyes squinting slightly to get a better look as he got closer. He stood in front of Sujin and softly cupped the pendant of the choker with one hand. "This fits him if we are being honest, yeah? " He then shot the omega a smile.

            Hyunjin finally released the omega deciding that maybe the younger had enough of his hold. "I'm gonna head upstairs and put these shopping bags in Sujin's room and then go paint if you need me."

          While mostly everyone was telling Hyunjin they would see him later, Chan and Changbin quietly led the omega to Changbin's bedroom. They both carefully sat on the ground, Changbin softly patting the empty spot next to him for Sujin. He carefully sat next to the muscular alpha, a look of confusion building up on his face.

           "Is there something wrong?" the omega asked anxiously, he was unsure why they'd need to bring him here. He hoped he hadn't done anything to upset them on his second day here. That would be a new record for him.

             "No nothing's wrong... we just wanted to talk to you about some things... and update you," Chan replied softly as he moved closer to the younger, encasing Sujin between him and the other alpha in the room. "Uhm We both talked with Seungmin... again... and we sorted some things out so he shouldn't be bothering you."

            "We also set up a doctor's appointment for you...just in case you do decide you want to be a part of our pack when the year is up," the alpha tilted his head with a concerned look, "Is that okay with you?" Sujin slowly nodded his head in response, after the day he had with Hyunjin he was sure he wouldn't be leaving the pack any time soon. The two long-haired alphas had made him quite happy and it was the most fun he had in a long time. The two alpha's engulfed him in a huge hug, that left the omega giggling as he tried to squirm his way out.

          "Oh no you don't" Chan chuckled softly, " you're stuck with us!" The alpha then began to tickle Sujin as Changbin held him down causing the omega to yelp as he began to laugh immediately.

          "WAIT... No, let me go, please!" He whimpered in between his laughs as he squirmed out of their hold. They went on like that for a few more minutes until Changbin decided they should call it quits seeing how red the omega had turned. Sujin quickly squirmed out of their hold and ran to his room wanting to unpack his shopping bags. But when the omega got to his room he was surprised to see that the shopping bags had been unpacked now that he was looking at the now beyond-full closet and dresser. He pulled out his new phone and was also surprised to see there was a text from Hyunjin.

Hyunjinnie: I put away your things for you so that you didn't have to. ♥︎

Sujin: thanks Jinnie ♥︎

            The omega then set his phone down on his nightstand, picked out some random combination of pjs he bought, and headed to the bathroom. He took a quick warm shower and headed to bed as the day was finally taking its toll on him, the exhaustion finally setting in. He quickly climbed into bed, sleep starting to take over.

          The next three weeks went by in a blur, as Sujin spent most of that time bonding with the pack, albeit Seungmin seemed to be keeping his distance. The omega didn't mind as long as it meant he wouldn't have hurtful things hurled his way. But it did kind of hurt that the beta didn't want to positively interact with him. He couldn't help it that he was sensitive, it was ingrained in his personality at this point. He had fun these last few weeks but it was now the day of his appointment, and little did he know that the pack leader and 3rd oldest themselves were planning to use it to find out a little more about the omega.

         The omega groggily woke up and dismissed the alarm he had set the night prior. He slipped into some basic sweats and put on the black and white pair of sneakers Hyunjin and Felix got him. He learned that the rest of the pack seemed to like those sneakers as they wore them a lot as well. He headed downstairs because he knew he wasn't allowed to eat before the appointment, but he also needed to stay hydrated because he was sure they would want a pee sample. He quickly went to the kitchen fridge and pulled out a bottle of water. He swiftly opened the bottle and took a decent sip of the water sitting on the couch as he waited for the others to come downstairs. He pulled his phone carefully out of his pocket, scrolling through random apps to occupy himself until he finally heard footsteps coming down the stairs. When he looked up he was surprised that not only had the two muscular alphas made their way downstairs but Seungmin was following them.

         "Why's he coming?" Sujin spoke genuinely confused, and at most a bit anxious. He kinda feared that if Seungmin tagged along the beta would say something that would make him feel even more conscious about his body than he already did. The last thing the omega needed was to spend his time crying after a doctor's appointment because someone decided to berate him and his body.

        "Uh, he has something he needs to do, and the place is near the doctor's office," Chan said as he anxiously rubbed at the nape of his neck hoping the omega wouldn't call his bluff, " I figured I would just let him tag along so that he doesn't have to take transportation alone."

         "Oh okay..." the younger said quietly as he stared down at his water bottle. While everyone started making their way out of the house Sujin downed the rest of his water bottle and threw it out. He quickly headed to the garage where everyone was waiting for him in the car. He shyly got into the car and wrapped his arms around himself after buckling his seatbelt. He stared at something off somewhere outside the window, not wanting to put his attention on the fact that he was in the same space as Seungmin, little did he know the beta was sneaking glances at him. Seungmin couldn't help it but the guilt from his past behavior and having to avoid interactions with the omega was killing him. What would happen if the lab tests came back and he was indeed an omega... and a luna at that? Seungmin was sure he'd never be able to forgive himself for it, despite having his reasons for acting the way he did.

         They eventually reached the doctor's office and quickly signed in as they had to fill out the paperwork with info about the omega. They take about half an hour filling out all the paperwork with the known info the alphas and omega had on themselves. When they finished up, Chan quickly shuffled his way over to the secretary and handed her the stack of papers. He made his way back to his pack members and Sujin and swiftly pulled out his phone as they waited for the omega's name to be called. Meanwhile, the omega was shyly staring at the ground in the waiting room. He felt extremely nervous and unsure of what was to come, and it honestly didn't help having the cold beta next to him. He quietly fidgeted with his fingers, when Changbin carefully stretched his hand out toward him intertwining their fingers before giving it a gentle squeeze as he released just enough calming pheromones to put the omega and beta's nerves at bay. Not only was Sujin anxious, but the beta was too because this appointment would force him to take so much accountability for what he put Sujin through since meeting him.

         Another 10 minutes went by and Sujin was eventually called in with Chan following behind him. They sat in the little room waiting for the doctor to show up. The entire time they stayed, Chan wasn't letting up on the calming pheromones, he didn't want to stop for fear that the omega's anxiety would spike at any moment. The doctor finally came in, running his normal check-up routine and collecting blood samples for lab testing, he would give the alpha and omega results by the end of the visit. By the end of the check-up, he deemed Sujin perfectly healthy and could deem that the omega was indeed a luna based on the lab testing that was done, but he had one minor feedback he wanted to give.

        "It seems like Sujin is not going into subspace as frequently as he should..." the doctor started as his voice was laced with concern, "is there anything you know that would be causing that or anything that could potentially be causing him to not feel safe enough to enter it ?"

         Chan tilted his head trying to process the question before looking over at Sujin, in case the omega wanted to answer for himself. But Sujin just looked back up at Chan, nervously biting his lip, now that the alpha wasn't focusing on releasing calming pheromones.

        "I mean he's just recently moved in with us.." Chan spoke as he kept an eye on Sujin hoping the omega wouldn't slip into a state of panic, " so I would assume it had something to do with the previous pack that he was with..."Chan quietly thought to himself as he continued. "either way I think we can fix that issue with the minor concern of his age regressing.." the alpha added.

      "Oh? he experiences age regression?" the doctor asked curiously wanting to understand how drastic the condition seemed to be for Sujin.

      "Yes... b-but it's rare.." the omega finally spoke up with a nervous stutter, "It only happens when I feel extremely angry, sad, hurt, or on the verge of a panic attack which isn't frequent.."

       "Do you know why it started?" the doctor asked a bit more quietly, almost as if he didn't want anyone outside of the room to hear. The doctor had enough medical knowledge to know that sometimes things like this occur when the person experiences some form of trauma no matter the level of extremity.

        "uhm..." The omega started off looking at Bang Chan before looking back at the doctor with a deep pit of anxiety settling in the bottom of his stomach, " It s-started after... my u-uncle s-sexually.. assaulted me at 15... I usually regress to a period before it happened... with minor behavior traits from a younger age, I can't help it..." As he finished his sentence the anxiety settling within the omega began to consume as he became overwhelmed with thoughts. Does Chan think he's broken? Would they still want him part of the pack knowing he's not pure? He remembers his Dam and Sire telling him no one would want a tainted omega upon finding out his uncle had touched him, they didn't care because they didn't want anything to do with him specifically. But they for sure protected all their other children from the uncle going forward, and that left a stinging pain in Sujin's heart to see that he wasn't important enough to be protected. Maybe The Bang pack would deem him not important enough to protect and therefore not worth being in the pack. The omega was so deep in his thoughts that he hadn't realized his scent was souring drastically, his strawberry and honey aroma becoming very rotten as he slipped into a panic attack.

       The doctor and Chan quickly realized the omega was at the beginning of a panic attack so the alpha worked quickly to push his calming pheromones out as he carefully wrapped his arms around the younger hoping it would calm him down. Sujin began to cry as he roughly gripped his thighs trying to ground himself. He felt like utter shit knowing how much worry he was causing as he was engulfed in a mixture of both the calming pheromones of the alpha and worry laced in the latter scent but he couldn't help it. It was as if trauma after trauma kept resurfacing from this chest locked away in his subconscious, all because he decided to bring up this one unspoken memory for the sake of his health. His inner omega, albeit a faint bond due to him never having a healthy pack life, couldn't tell which part of Chan's scent he needed to hone in on, and that quite literally only frustrated Sujin even more. He took a deep breath before deciding the logical thing would be that he needed to focus on the part of the scent that would help all his anxiety and mental torment go away, he couldn't finish the appointment if he couldn't get through a panic attack... That would only make things worse.

     He took a deep breath, focusing on taking in the pheromones of Chan's meant to calm him. He took another one as his heartbeat returned to its normal pace, tears slowly drifting down his face as he silently sat there.  Once Sujin's scent returned to normal, Chan gently released the omega and rested his hand on the latter's shoulder.

    "I'm sorry about that... " The doctor anxiously interjected as he continued to stand in front of the two, "Had I known that was a triggering topic for you I would have just referred you to a therapist for this portion of the appointment ahead of time.." The doctor had honestly looked quite concerned in Sujin's eyes, making him feel a huge pang of guilt. It's not like he could control his reaction to such memories, especially when he hadn't healed from them either.

      The doctor then looked toward Chan and let the alpha know he would be putting a referral in the system for the omega to get some kind of therapy before dismissing them.

       Sujin shakily got up, heading towards the door as Chan followed suit, sending a quick text message to a group with the entire pack minus sujin, confirming that the omega was indeed a Luna. That text seemed only to send the pack into chaos as Chan could now hear all of them mentally talking amongst each other. It left them confused as they wondered why Sujin's old pack would just "throw away" such a powerful omega. What key information were they missing? Why would his parents neglect him to the point that he hadn't experienced a sub-drop? And why hadn't they protected him from his uncle? What other abuse did he experience at the hands of his family pack?   It hurt Chan a little to think about as he delved deeper into the whys and hows, and he vowed that he would eventually find out and help the omega. He hoped that by helping the omega to love himself, and become more in tune with his inner wolf, he would eventually choose to stay with the pack permanently. Chan couldn't understand why at the moment, but his wolf felt a strong pull towards the younger, and he was beginning to become very fond of the latter.

      They finally regrouped with Changbin and Seungmin, guilt lacing the beta's face as he regretted doubting the omega's sub-gender for far too long. The beta sneaked a look at the omega and could easily see something had the latter shaken, but he didn't know how to begin comforting the omega let alone approach him after all he put the omega through. Seungmin knew it would take months and a miracle for the omega to trust him ever again. 

Taglist: @missrandomheart @galaxycatdrawz @hydrawaterdragon

[lacontroller1991]

Next Door Neighbor (Edward Teller x F!Reader)

Main Master List || MISC Master List

Requested by @mariedork : I don't know if you're still writing for the fandom/taking requests, but I'd love to request something about Teller and fem. reader. maybe something like reader is helping Teller with research at Los Alamos (I know the real teller was married but oh well) you're both into each other but trying to be professional, maybe use the prompt "we're in public you know"

Summary: You and Teller often butt heads until one night the tensions tip over and feelings are revealed.

Author's Note: This is clearly based on Benny Safdie as Edward Teller from the movie. If you do not like, do not read. Also sorry if I butched the Hungarian. I do not speak it and I tried my best with the translator.

Warnings: Smut 18+, p in v, penile penetration, enemies to lovers, language, orgasm, female anatomy, male anatomy, slight misogynistic tone

Word Count: 4.2k

----------

The car ride is long and boring. Even the cheerful music from the radio couldn’t lift your spirits, not when you are being more or less shipped away to Los Alamos from your home in Berkeley. You suppose you should be grateful for the opportunity to work in close proximity to some of the greatest scientific minds of your time, but you would prefer it if you could stay in Berkeley and work under your doctoral advisor. 

Seeming to sense your remaining frustration, Ernest Lawrence looks over to you, closing the folder in his hands and setting it in his lap. “You know, the more you frown, the more you’re going to get wrinkles,” he chuckles, poking your cheek causing you to frown even more.

“I still don’t know why you picked me over Lomanitz. Wouldn’t he be better at this?”

“Nah, I trust you more. Besides, you have better political ties than he does. You won’t be an issue.” He turns back to his dossier as you huff, looking out the window and watching as the brown landscape passes by.

After hours of driving, the car slowly comes to a stop, jostling you awake. Lawrence is the first to get out, moving towards his friend. Picking up your stuff, you manage to stumble out of the car, your legs miserably sore from the constant sitting. 

“Physics side New Mexico, huh? My God, what a trek.” Lawrence smiles as he shakes Oppenheimer’s hand.

“That’s why you need a liaison,” Oppenheimer replies while Ernest tilts his head toward you.

“I’m appointing (Y/L/N).” Oppenheimer looks at you and smiles softly before gesturing to the driver to get your bags. 

“You’re going to be okay.” You nod your head as Oppenheimer tilts his head. “Come now, we have much to discuss.” You and Lawrence follow Oppenheimer inside the building and you can’t deny how impressed you are at all of the different things going on inside. You watch in silence as Lawrence greets General Groves while Oppenheimer throws a couple of marbles into a glass bowl, causing the crowd to clap. Looking around the room, you note some familiar faces. Richard Feynman, who you’ve run into a couple of times. Of course Robert Serber, whom you’ve worked with and surprisingly Edward Teller, though you doubt he notices you. You remember bumping into him on a day that he was visiting Berkeley and then him immediately (and assumingly) exclaiming curse words in Hungarian before noticing you and shutting up. Gulping, you set down your jacket on a chair and hang in the back, out of site and out of mind.

“Well, here’s where you’ll be staying. I know it’s not much, but it does the job. Don’t mind your neighbor. We’ve gotten several complaints about him playing the piano late at night, so if it does disrupt your sleep, just let us know, we’ll figure something out,” the usher comments as you look around the bland room turning back to look at Lawrence in annoyance and even the ever so optimistic Lawrence looks like he shares some of your pity. The usher quickly leaves you and Lawrence alone.

“You owe me Ernest.”

“I promise. But you’re going to be fine. You have Oppie. He’ll help you!” Lawrence pats you on the back with a smile before looking around the barren room. “I think you can definitely spruce it up.” His comment isn’t appreciated and he can tell. Frowning, he slowly backs out of the room. “Well, do good. Don’t mess up and don’t make me look bad. Good luck.” He darts out of the room before you have the chance to say anything else. Dropping your bags, you let out a huff of annoyment. 

“Just be thankful. Just be thankful.”

—-------

The days go by faster than you initially thought. Work is hard, sure, but working with several of the smartest minds helps the work go by quickly. The nights, on the other hand, are a completely different story. Since the night you got there, you’ve been tossing and turning in your bed, slowly drifting to sleep only to be woken by the slamming of a piano. Each night this happens, and each night you only get a few hours of sleep. 

The piano slams again, causing you to let out a loud sigh of discontent. Throwing back your blanket, you swing your legs out of the bed and put on your robe, intending to give your neighbor a piece of your mind.

Walking out into the cold desert night, you stomp over to the house and knock sharply against the door, hearing the piano stop and chair scraping against wood, you tap your foot against the patio and wait for your neighbor to answer the door. What you don’t expect, however, is to see Edward Teller on the other side; and based on his reaction, he wasn’t expecting to see you too.

“What do you want?”

“I want to sleep, but your piano playing is preventing me from getting any,” you comment, your arms wrapped around your body as he raises an eyebrow in amusement. 

“And that’s bothering you? Tünj el!” You can tell that he is annoyed by your comment, but you frankly don’t care.

“No. It’s the slamming the keyboard that is annoying me. It’s not hard playing Bartók.” You can see his eyes widen at the mention of the composer, almost as if asking ‘you actually know him?’. “And for the record. I do know him.” Teller stiffens, looking more intimidating by the second.

“Alright, if you know so much about Bartók, why don’t you play.” His Hungarian accent is thicker than it was a few seconds ago. Not being one to back down from a challenge, you brush past him into his house and sit down at the piano, aware of the holes that Teller was drilling into your head. Reading the sheet music, you let out a little scoff as you turn back to him.

“What about this is confusing you?” Silence. “Well?”

“Just play.” Shrugging your shoulders, you turn back to the piano and place your hands on the keys. As if it was instinctual, your fingers dance across the ivory keys, playing note for note Allegro Barbaro while Teller watches on in amazement, though he will never admit that. Finishing the piece, you sit at the piano for a few seconds before turning around to face the physicist. 

“Satisfied?”

“Are you like this with your studies?”

“Naturally.”

“No wonder why they call you Lawrence’s protégé.” The comment causes you to blush. Of course you and Lawrence work closely together, and you guess you could say you’re one of his best students, but that doesn’t mean you’re a protégé. Nodding your head, you quickly stand up and fix your robe.

“Right. Well. Now that you know how to play it, please don’t slam the keyboard. It wears the piano down.” Teller furrows his brows and tilts his head, taking a step closer to you. Maybe it’s lack of sleep, or maybe it’s loneliness, but you feel a pull towards him and you don’t know what to make of it. He takes another step closer until you can feel his breath on your face and it causes your heart to race. “Well, I- I should probably get going,” you stutter out, dipping away from his body and rushing out the door, unaware of the way his eyes follow.

—-------

After finally being able to get some sleep, you wake up in the morning refreshed. By the time you get to your lab it is already bustling with personnel. If you thought that the Rad Lab in Berkeley was always busy, it really doesn’t compare to this.

“Ah, there you are,” you jump in surprise and turn around to Oppenheimer, hands clasped behind his back. “Lawrence called last night and asked me to pass along these measurements,” he hands you a piece of paper with writing on it. Clutching it in your hands, you nod in thanks, turning to leave but his hand reaches for your wrist. “Wait.” 

“Yes Dr. Oppenheimer?” He lets go of your wrist and leans back on his heels, rocking back and forth.

“How are you finding it here? I haven’t seen much of you around and Lawrence asked me to keep an eye out for you.” Smiling softly, you turn your body towards the physicist. 

“It’s alright. Nothing like Berkeley. I have finally been able to get some sleep.”

Nodding his head in response, he lights a cigarette and huffs it a couple of times before offering it to you, which you decline. “Good, well, keep up the good work.” He doesn’t say much else before skirting away. Shrugging your shoulders, you look down at the piece of paper, trying to make out what Oppie wrote before getting to work.

—-------

The sun has well past set in the sky by the time you gather your things. You suppose one of the good things about working here is that you can make your own hours versus the 22 hour days Lawrence would occasionally have you pulling. Shutting off the lights, you walk down the hall, noting that most of the staff has left by now, except for a room emitting a soft glow. 

Peering your head into the room, you see Teller standing at a board, chalk scribbles scattered across and his suspenders down with his shirt untucked. Assuming the lack of assembly in his dress, he’s probably not having much luck with his work. Setting your coat and bag on a chair, you walk over to him and the board, getting a much better view of the problem. 

Hearing your footsteps, Teller quickly turns around and lets out a stream of curse words at your presence. “Nice to see you too,” you quickly fire back, stopping at his side and crossing your arms, eyes gazing on the board.

“Now what do you want?” You can tell that he is annoyed, but you frankly don’t care. 

“I was planning on going home but I saw the light in here was on so I was wondering who is doing what. So, what are you doing?” 

“I’m trying to find another component to make this more powerful than Oppenheimer’s bomb,” you don’t know if it’s frustration or tiredness, but his accent seems to get heavier the more you hear him talk.

“What have you got so far?” He looks over at you and scoffs, turning back to the board.

“A student like you wouldn’t know.”

“Try me.” 

“Deuterium needs to react with something else to ignite the fusion process, but I can’t seem to think of one that would work.” He runs a hand through his hair and you can’t help but to notice how handsome the Hungarian actually is and it has your heart racing.

“What about deuterium AND tritium?” His head slowly turns to you as if saying ‘are you serious?’ “What? Try it.” He scoffs but still inputs tritium into the equation and after a few minutes, he leans back, his face red. “Well?”

“Don’t play smug,” he quickly grabs his stuff and pushes past you, rushing out of the door, leaving you to stare at the board.

“I didn’t actually expect that to work,” you laugh to yourself before grabbing your stuff and heading in for the night.  

—-------

The cyclotron hums softly in the background and if it wasn’t for people bustling around you, you’re sure you would’ve fallen asleep. Leaning back in your chair, you stretch your body with a yawn, cracking your neck from the stiffness. Scooting your chair back, you fix your outfit before heading out and walking down the hall where you know the coffee will be, but your name being said stops you in your tracks. Following the sound of the voice, you creep towards an open room, staying out of the doorframe and straining your ear.

“I can’t have her here. She is compromising my work!” Ok, so it’s Teller, but who is he talking to?

“It seems she’s helping you more than she’s compromising. Lawrence wouldn’t have sent her here if he didn’t have faith in her, and I trust Lawrence,” Oppenheimer comments as you creep closer. It’s pretty obvious that they’re talking about you, but why?

“A girl shouldn’t be working here, it’s too dangerous.” You jolt your head back in confusion. Sure, you knew that Teller probably hates your guts, but you didn’t think he would hate you this bad. 

“Edward, she is just as good, if not better, than half of the scientists here. I am not going to get rid of her just because she ‘insulted’ your work.” You can distinctly hear Teller cursing before he’s walking out the door and right into you. His hard features soften upon seeing your eyes, slightly glossy, but it’s clear that you’re hurt by his words. Instead of speaking to you, he just dips his head and moves around you, rushing away leaving you standing there with an empty coffee mug. “I wouldn’t take it to heart, he doesn’t think that 90% of the staff should be here,” Oppenheimer comments from behind, causing you to jump in shock. 

“It’s stupid, we’re all here for the same thing. We’re all here because we’re good enough AND smart enough to work on this project, no matter our gender.” Robert nods his head in agreement, inhaling smoke from his pipe. 

“Just ignore him. Works for everyone else here.” He pats you on the back before moving to leave 

“Hey, Robert?” He turns around to face you. “Thank you.” Robert nods his head before walking away.

----------

The clock reads 11:04 by the time you wrap up your work for the day. You knew that the days were going to be long before you came here, but you didn’t expect them to be this long. “God I’m so hungry.”

“It’s a good thing I brought some food.” His voice carries through the room, causing you to whip your head through the door only to spot the Hungarian physicist standing in the doorway, a paper bag in his hand.

“What are you doing here? I thought that you don’t want me here, let alone bring me food.” You can see his cheeks blush crimson ever so slightly as he makes his way over to you, sitting in the chair opposite of the control panel but still in your sight. 

“I wanted to apologize. I shouldn’t have said those things.” His apology has your eyebrows raising in shock.

“Edward Teller? Apologizing? What world am I living in?” 

“Don’t make me take it back,” he warns before scooting his chair next to yours, opening the bag and pulling out the contents. “I made some pörkölt. As an apology.” He pushes the tumbler towards you with a spoon and you’re not really sure how to react. After a moment, you take the spoon and bring a mouthful of the stew to your mouth. You don’t know what you were expecting it to taste like, but you definitely weren’t expecting it to be good. 

“This is actually prett-” you can’t finish your sentence before you feel a pair of lips against yours, causing your eyes to go wide. After the shock factor dissolves, you quickly push him away, confusion written all over your face. “What the hell?”

He pulls back in confusion as well, his bushy eyebrows furrowing over his blue eyes. “Have I been reading you wrong? Are you not into me?” You have to resist the urge to slap him. Instead, you rapidly stand up, pointing a finger at him.

“Do you seriously have the audacity to ask me that? You keep me up at night with your piano playing, and then get mad when I try to help you. Then you get mad when I help you with your project. Then you insult me, talking about me behind my back, and you think that I like you? Why on earth would I be into you?” He knows you’re lying. He can tell by the way your chest raises up and down and pupils dilate. Chuckling, he stands up from his chair and steps in front of you with slight hesitation. 

Grabbing a hold of your biceps, his blue eyes peer into yours. “I know you’re lying.” He doesn’t say another thing before he’s dipping his head down and pressing his lips against yours. You try to fight back, but deep down inside you can’t deny how right it feels. Giving in, your arms come up and wrap around his shoulders, anchoring him to you as you walk back until you’re pressed against a wall. It’s a minute before you break away, both of you gasping for air, his body heat radiating to you and it makes you nervous. 

“We shouldn’t, we’re in public you know.” He scoffs and looks around the room, especially the dark windows and dark hallway.

“No one is here,” he replies as his hands drop to your hips, his thumbs brushing your skin underneath your shirt. “If it’s that much of a problem, we can go back to my place.” His offer has you pausing for a minute, but if you’re being honest with yourself, you don’t mind getting down and dirty in the lab. Shrugging your shoulders, your hands push off his jacket as he lets it fall to the floor, his head slotted between your head and shoulder. 

“I think I’m good here,” you can feel the smirk of his lips against your neck as his teeth drag across your skin, causing your eyes to flutter shut. Pulling you into him, you’re completely enveloped by his warmth as his hands creep lower, one hand resting on the small of your back and the other on your ass, fingers flexing as if he wants to do more but there’s still some hesitation. “Teller…”

“Edward, please.”

“Edward, you know you can touch me,” the confirmation is all he needs before he’s hoisting you into the air and carrying you over to a desk, placing you down and slotting himself between your legs. You watch as he breaks away from you, shoving down his suspenders and loosening his tie. Reaching between your bodies, you pop the buttons of your shirt off and chuck it to the floor, exposing your breasts which catch his attention. Wasting no time, his hands find themselves on your breasts, squeezing firmly, causing arousal to pool in between your legs. It’s been a while since you’ve been with a man. Working in the Rad Lab under Lawrence doesn’t really give you much of a life, let alone a love life, so just having another man touch you is really enough to send you spiraling. “Edward, I can’t wait,” you whine, your hands finding his belt as he lets out a huff of amusement. 

“That impatient, hmm?” You nod your head in response, hopping down from the table to remove your skirt and underwear as he works on his slacks, pulling out his member with ease. Shoving his hand out of the way you take hold of his growing arousal and flick your wrist up and down in languid motions, causing him to let out a low moan. Despite the fact that your hand is jerking him off, it is odd to you to see the impersonal Edward Teller so vulnerable.

Deciding that enough was enough, Teller gently removes your hand and picks you up with ease, placing you down on the desk as he slots himself between your legs. “You ready?” Nodding your head, your heart races with anticipation. You can hear soft Hungarian coming from his lips as he guides the head of his shaft between your folds before slowly pushing in, him grunting softly and you squeezing your eyes shut, trying to relax your body as much as possible. “Are you okay?” His blue eyes peer down to yours as his thumbs softly run across your hips.

Swallowing down any pain, you nod your head, wiggling your hips as you stretch around him. “Yeah, I’m fine.” He hesitated but nodded his head, a strand of his dark hair falling on his forehead as he slowly moves in and out of you, his brows furrowed in concentration. After a minute of him holding himself back, pleasure starts replacing the pain and it has your toes curling. He feels.. just right, you think to yourself as your eyes find him as lust taking over. “You can go faster.” It’s all the instruction he needs before his pace picks up and it causes you to snort. Who would have thought that Teller can actually take direction?

“What’s so funny?” His voice stirs you back to the reality of him above you, hands digging into your hips and you don’t doubt that it will leave a bruise or two. Reaching up, you thread your hands through his soft hair and pull his face down to yours, your lips meeting halfway with his as the desk creaks underneath you. The already stiff room slowly starts to swelter as sweat begins to glisten both of your bodies. Breaking away from the kiss, Teller places his head between your shoulder and neck, biting down on your exposed flesh as he thrusts into you rapidly. Your legs wrap around his hips, bringing him in impossibly closer and it causes you to let out a loud moan and you can feel his lips twitch upward against your neck.

“That’s right, keep making sounds for me édesem.” You’re not really sure what he’s saying,  but you’d be lying if you said that it didn’t turn you on, and he notices. Straightening his posture, he looks down at you with a smirk as his hips rock against yours. “Does me speaking Hungarian turn you on édesem?” You clench around him, accidentally proving your point and you cringe before he leans back over you, his member hitting a deeper angle that has your eyes rolling in the back of your head. “Micsoda mocskos lány.” He whispers against your ear, one hand reaching down between your bodies and finding your clit causing you to whine. “Alig várom, hogy elélvezz nekem.”

“Edward.” Your moan echoes in his ear as his fingers deftly rub your clit. 

“Fogadok, hogy tetszik. Ugye, mocskos kislányom?” You hate to admit it, and you’ll probably deny it, but hearing him speak in his mother tongue has your orgasm nearing. 

“Please,” you beg, your nails scratching against his back. “I need to cum.” Nodding his head, his hips shallowly grind against your, his dick dragging against your velvety walls as his fingers continue to rub your bundle of nerves. 

“Cum nekem, Szerelmem. Cum for me,” the switch back to English sends you toppling over the edge and you clench around his member, your orgasm crashing through your body as he continues to thrust in and out of you despite his hips beginning to falter. “Bassza meg, olyan gyönyörű vagy.” He grunts, his thrusts becoming erratic. “Where?”

“On me.” Nodding his head, he quickly pulls out with a moan and shoots his spend all over your stomach, his chest heaving up and down as his eyes flutter shut in relief for a second. After he comes down from his high he looks down at you with a smile. 

“Olyan gyönyörű vagy alattam.” He grabs a couple of napkins from the bag and wipes your stomach as you prop yourself up on your arms, body glistening with sweat.

“What were you saying?” He smiles before helping you down from the table as the two of you start redressing. 

“Nothing important, édesem. We should probably clean up,” he gestures to the floor around you littered with papers. When did they get knocked off?

“Huh, I don’t remember them falling off,” you comment, kneeling on the ground with shaky legs and picking up the papers, Teller helping you before a throat clears in the hallway, causing the both of you to look up.

“If you guys are going to fuck, please keep it out of the lab,” Oppenheimer comments, puffing his pipe before walking away causing you to tilt your head in shame and Teller to quickly stand up, his face beet red.

“You do this too! Seggfej!” The room falls quiet as tension grows between you and Teller stand awkwardly across from each other. 

“So.” 

“So.”

“What did this mean?” You ask as you turn away, placing the papers back on the desk and fixing them, trying to avoid his gaze in case he rejects you.

Teller takes a step towards you as his hand cups your face and turns it to him. “It means that I like you. I know it doesn’t seem like that, but I do. You challenge me in a way that not alot of other people can do and I want that in my life. I want you in my life. If you want to be?” A smile graces your face as you nod your head.

“Yeah, I think I’ll like that.” Teller smiles in response, dropping his hand from your face and gathering his things.

“Good, would you like for me to accompany you home?” 

“We’re heading the same way, so sure,” offering him a smile, you flip off the lights to the lab and take his hand in yours, “next time though, let’s do it somewhere else.”

[maggyme13]

Moving atop the Underworld (11/?)

Ellie just moved into a new flat. Introducing herself to her downstairs neighbor with a cake she did not realize what the future held for her and him. And what had an asshole coworker to do with it?

AN: welcome welcome to a new chapter :P

Don´t like-> Don´t Read, Minors DNI

Warning:

Wordcount: around 1.9k

Masterlist

Series-Masterlist

Part 10

“You wanted to speak with me Mr. Silver?”, Ellie announced her arrival with a knock, her voice weak even though she tried to be strong.

“Yes, Mrs. Syverson. Please take a seat. Would you like something to drink?”, the Mafia boss hummed with a smile, offering her a seat opposite his table.

“No, thank you, Sir. What can I do for you?”

“I wish to apologize. What happened to you should not have happened. No harm should have come to you under this roof. You are married to one of my best men and you work for me directly. Also, you have never given any reason for mistrust. Unfortunately, I cannot change what has happened, I can only ask for forgiveness and redemption. Seeing that Captain already avenged you, I wish to offer you a favor for each day you have been tortured. You can use these favors for anything, but leaving. I am sorry, but once in this life, one can only leave in the Reaper's arms. As long as the favor is within the realms of doable it will be granted.”

“I- thank you.”, she answered stunned, Mr. Silver sounded sincere and deeply sorry.

“It´s the last thing I can do. I have another job for you as soon as you feel ready to return.”

“What would that be, Sir?”

“An entire executive office floor for one of my firms. My office, the front room and lobby for the secretary, the meeting room, and a restroom interior.”

“Deadline?”

“Thanksgiving, if possible.”

“Wood?”

“Bog Oak, European Chestnut, and silver highlights.”

“Everything?”

“Yes. Table-legs will be metal with black mat finish.”

“Blueprints and floor plan?”

“Over there.”

“With these specifications, I´ll need to go to the wood trade.”

“Say a time and I will have a driver and assistant to go with you.”

“I will need at least two days for a quick planning to see how much material I´ll need.”

“Someone will get you to the Trade on Thursday. I´ll have my secretary make an appointment.”

“Thank you, Mr. Silver.”

“I have also ordered your workshop to be moved to the empty barn in the garden. It has a separate little office area and more room for working and the machines.”

“Oh, I´ll take a look then.”

“Go ahead. I´ll be waiting for your designs and ideas.”, he dismissed her with a short kind gesture.

“What did the Boss want?”, Sy asked the second she met him in his room. He sounded on edge and ready to rip him a new one if he had upset her enough to endanger any progress she had made the last couple of days.

“He… apologized for ...what happened, and gave me three favors that he owes me. I also got a new job. An executive floor. I´ll be going to the wood trade on Thursday. Oh, and did you know they moved my workshop? It´s now in the barn. I did not know there was a barn.”, Ellie explained, frowning at the last part, at the same time wondering just how big the property was.

“He did? The old barn is on the other side of the Property, right next to the shooting range and training grounds. So right next to my area.”

“Oh.”, she breathed, at least muscles won´t be far if needed.

Deciding to ignore the sound his wife had just made he took in every little twitch of her muscles.

“Do you know who will escort you to the Trade?”

“No. Mr. Silver only said someone would come with me. Why, is there someone who should no-”

”No. Escort missions are only done by me or my people, in certain instances, Alejandro and his second give a helping hand. So whoever goes with you, I trust. I am only asking ´cause there a some who mentioned they were interested in learning more about your work. So it would make sense to send one of those with you.”

“Okay.”, Ellie breathed again staring out of the window, eyes unfocused on the large garden, “Do you know if the office Mr. Silver mentioned is finished? I need to start a rough plan to see how much I need. I would rather avoid going there more than necessary.”

“It should be ready. We simply moved your old setup there. IT is already waiting for the parts of your new PC, once they are delivered you get a new setup. Give me a moment to change and I will show you the way.”

“Thank you.”, she whispered with a sincere smile, Ellie knew how much Sy was doing for her, but sometimes she wondered if he was neglecting his duties for her.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

“Mrs. Syverson, I need to take this call. I will just be around the corner over there. Please wait for me before continuing.”, Xander (short for Alexander Alexandrovic how he had introduced him earlier, but everyone called him Xander to avoid confusing him and Syverson) stated, noticing the name on the screen of his smartwatch.

“Of course. I´ll be here and take a closer look at those slabs of European Chestnut.”, Ellie told her companion for that day.

The owner of the Trade had just excused himself a minute earlier to (presumably) scream at a poor worker in the other warehouse who had to unload a huge load of new lumber that was delivered wrong.

Mesmerized by the black and dark brown veins the heartwood had developed over the long ages the prior tree had grown, reminding her of some areas of marble, the woodworker did not notice the stranger's approach.

“Mrs Ellie Syverson?”, a low and slightly condescending female voice caught her attention.

“Yes? How can I help you?”, she continued, now looking at the newcomer who was clad in a casual dark suit-like uniform. Not something someone would wear working at a wood trade and knowing of the ´way of thinking´ by the owner, no female office worker would be allowed to dress this masculine.

“Detective Susan Stahl. You recently got married to Mr. Alexander Syverson. Am I right?”

“Yes?”, Ellie answered with an unsure expression. Why was she being questioned? Should she ask for a lawyer? But that would cause suspicions, right?

“How did you meet if you don´t mind me asking?”

“I moved into the apartment above his.”

“In that case you must have fallen head over heels for him, considering you lived there for what… six months tops before tying the knot?”, the detective's eyes bore into her, as they were trying to dissect her every thought.

“It felt right, for the two of us, so we decided we could not wait. None of us could take time off work, so we simply did the bureaucratic part of the wedding for now and will do the celebratory and honeymoon part next year. We are currently deciding on where to go.”

“Are you. Well, each their own, right? So what brings you here today?”

“Looking for some wood I need for an assignment.”

“For yourself or?”

“No, for a Customer of mine. And before you ask, Detective, I cannot tell you the names of them, they are prestigious and do not wish to be mentioned or talked openly about. I just started freelancing, so I cannot risk losing a possibly good customer.”

“I – have a nice day Mrs. Syverson, and well wished for that project of yours.”, Detective nodded and disappeared as fast as she had appeared. Much to Ellie´s confusion, she figured out her sudden departure when she saw Xander and the Owner returning.

“Apologies again, but good workers are hard to come by.”, the owner sneered.

“I will take these 10 slabs of European Chestnut as well as the 15 slabs of the Bog Oak you showed us earlier. I also take another 10 slabs of 65mm and 10 Slabs of 45mm oak with only small branches.”, she stated, “Please have your men gather my order. Someone will come by tomorrow and get it.”

“My pleasure. I just need some information for the invoice.”

“Here is the information you need. You may also call the number if you need anything else.”, Xander piped in then, handing over a business card, “Now please excuse us, we have more business to attend to.”

“Of course.”

“Mrs. Syverson.”, the man then motioned for her to follow and she happily obliged.

“I don´t like that man. Never have, never will.”, she shivered as soon as they were seated in the car, “Do you know if Mr. Silver is at the Villa today? I need to speak to him, as well as my Husband.”

“Because of that woman that showed up as soon as she thought you were alone?”

“Yes. Wait, you saw her? I thought you had left.”

“Would not be a good escort if I left my detail out of my sight. Captain´s orders are clear for situations like that. I also noticed her lingering around earlier. At no moment you were in any danger. I assure you.”

“I- would you mind if I make a quick call?”

“Of course not. Go ahead. Would you like to make another stop before returning to the Villa?”

“I´ll let you know after I spoke with Sy.”

“What´s wrong?”, her husband´s voice rumbled almost as soon as she had called him.

“I- A Detective Susan Stahl approached me, asking questions about -us.”, she admitted with a heavy heart and worry gnawing at her innards, the strong look Xander sent her through the mirror had her gulp.

“I´ll let Boss know. Have Xander drive you to other appointments to make sure you don´t look suspicious. Visit a hairdresser, get a massage, and something to eat. Take a least three hours.”, he continued with a heavy sigh, “I am sure you did your best in that situation, so do not worry too much.”

“O-okay, I will tell him.”

“I have to hang up now. Bye.”

“Bye, Sy.”

“New orders?”, Xander piped up from the driver's seat.

“Yes, Sy wants you to drive me around, to do my hair, get a massage, and something to eat, for at least three hours.”

“I know just the place for a good massage, what would you like to eat?”

“Just a coffee shop or small bakery is enough I think.”, any appetite she might have had was going through her nervousness.

“Do you have a hairdresser you frequent?”

“Not really.”

“Then I will drive you to the one that did your heart for the celebration. Unless you don´t want them?”

“No, they were rather nice when they did my hair back then.”, she mumbled.

.--..-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

“Smart thinking with the recording, but Boss is right: Next time give them the number of the attorney we just gave you. Why did you record it thought?”

“That man caused me a lot of trouble in the past. Delivered shitty wood and I got blamed. I record meetings with him ever since.”, Ellie explained.

“No matter the reason: I am proud of you.”

Part 12

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[thebuginthecornerofyourroom]

Imagine you're a peasant in a fantasy world round 40-45 years old definitely mature and you live in your village and life is kind of chill you have a farm and some crops and they yield enough that the money is not much but never a problem and you're also somewhat lucky cause you are in an acceptable shape because of working the farm and have never caught any disease and life is calm you hear sometimes news of the stuff that happens in the cities and the magic and adventures and the heroes and stuff and you kinda wanna go there and adventure yourself but you're kinda old and somewhat tired it would be too long a trip and you don't really feel like actually do it and one day you wake up and the air is kinda gloomy like when they said there was a war and some dark magic some years ago and some person in a robe appears in the village and finds you and says he's som archwizard from the capital and some other stuff and asks for your help because you've been appointed by the gods as the next hero and you call them on their bullshit because every hero since the golden ages has been some 18-21 kid with energy and youth power and whatnot and you're a grown ass man that gets pain on his hip when it's going to rain and they break character really quick and they confess that the actual hero is dead because the gods are not very catholic lately and they just appoint idiots that get given some divine power and think they're immortal and invincible and immediately get stomped by a giant or jump to a volcano or just dumb stuff so the gods made a list of backups just in case and things on the capital seem to be very dire because they're there and you're fucking 40 and these kids are so posh and stupid so you sigh and accept whatever power they wanna give you and you don't really feel very different but get given some magical hero weapon which ends up being some retractable pocket knife because you're not really a soldier but them knife cuts very well and peels apples in one go which is impressive to be fair and you get onto this adventure and any and all encounters with monsters and mages and whatever is disappointing because none of these people know how to fight and the heroes just threw themselves to danger stupidly like the giants left you alone after you shared a joint with them and the goblins ended up gathering around the fire to hear stories and the orcs just needed a hand in their farm and the elves let us through after some grown up conversation and you get to the castle and the fucking thing is half ruins and you start to get the idea that the good gods are not very good lately at choosing but the evil gods are shit at it either because this is no dark lord but some kid that found a book and summoned some demons that follow him more for magic mandate than pleasure and curse a couple of pigs and so you go up to him while he's monologuing because of course he does and kick him in the balls and take the stupid book from him and you end up dispelling the demons which are relieved to be fair cause they weren't too keen on going around causing more trouble than necessary and get them kid and the cursed pigs and say you're gonna move to my village and you these pigs and I we're gonna move all this library of stuff you have here and you're either gonna learn to work the farm or be a fucking librarian because this dark magic nonsense cannot continue no more young man and he reluctantly agreed and the mage is baffled because they had not a single fight during the whole trip and you go back to your farm and the kid is calm now he does stuff for the farm and has a school for children and he's kinda happy and the pigs help also and some idiot from the capital came with something about a knighthood and a ceremony and whatever you told him to either buy some produce or to fuck off and he bought a pumpkin and things are good now and you feel kinda fulfilled and nice about the whole thing somehow.

Imagine that.

[nrdmssgs]

A wall of silence

Masterlist with OCs AN: My friends @sofasoap @siilvan and @gamergirlbonestaskforce141riot inspired me for a tiny backstory to a A heart full of pity. This happens a day before the main story.

Characters: Lieutenant Olga (not yet Zhar) Samoilova and Doctor Heather Green (an OC of @gamergirlbonestaskforce141riot)

As usual, Olga came exactly 3 minutes earlier for their appointment.

"Doctor Green, Lieutenant Samilova re-"

"Cut it, Olya, how many times do I need to ask you." Heather stood up from her desk and moved a chair closer to the one, on which her patients would usually sit.

For many years Heather monitored the now so-called Task Force and some things never changed. Soap turning their sessions to a little stand-up of John MacTavish, Ghost sharing much more with Price than with her, Gaz balancing between the calmest logic and a raging storm of emotions. And Olga, trying to be the quiet, the 'i'll cause no problem', the 'please don't banish me' one. It felt as if she knew, how every answer should sound in order to make a perfect report.

No matter, how hard Heather tried, she couldn't get into Olgas ears - to her psychologic evaluations were not an instrument to help her, but an endless test, she had to pass with flying colors in order to stay in Prices group.

So without any big hopes Heather asked, how Olgas week went so far.

"Great! The mission planning is almost done, I'm waiting for the Captain to give me all clear, I also controlled the amount of resting hours as you advised, here is my report, I also sent a copy on your email address..."

Heather listened patiently as Olga recited an obviously prepared in advance answer. Behind all the razzle-dazzle, her patient tinkered till the last smallest detail, Heather still saw a very scared girl, who was willing to do anything to stay in the Task Force. If Heather was honest - she didn't want to corner her own patient, when she already was in a survival mode for a long time. But there was no other choice.

"Tell me about the last Sunday."

"Had a nice training session with the Sgs, worked on reports, had a walk, about an hour long. Then there was some gathering in one of the hangars, but I left early. Read a book, not a work-related topic, as you suggested. And thats about it!" Despite Heathers concerns, Olga didn't tense up. The same smile was plastered upon her face as she reminisced on her weekend.

"And what made you leave the gathering early?"

Olga looked down for a moment and sighed. "Gaz? Or Soap?"

"Olya, darling, don't get the wrong picture of it: nobody in the 141 is trying to find any imperfections in you, or make you go. They are worried about you. One of their own makes you frustrated, there is something going on between you two, and they want to help." Heather reached out to Olga, touched her shoulder, but her patient just froze and looked back with an unfocused gaze. Trying to guide her out of the blackout, Heather added, "you can always tell if you're uncomfortable. With me or with Nikolai."

"Nothing is going on between me and Nikolai." Lieutenant came back to senses. "I joined the gathering, I left early, because I got a new idea for the mission plan, that's the story. We didn't say a single word to each other - there was no conflict, doctor."

"Darling, it was a gathering to celebrate Nikolai coming back to our base after a long leave. And you stood up and left the hangar the very next moment after he entered it. This doesn't scream 'nothing is happening' to me. And I`m afraid, that you look at how everyone appreciate him, and hide something, that makes you so distant. You see, how we greet him every time and think that nobody is going to take your side once you reveal the reason behind your reaction to him. I want you to know, it's not like that."

"Doctor Green, it is not my place to lecture you." Olga leaned back, defending herself from any possibility of a physical contact with Heather. "But it takes a very special personality to serve, where that man served. I know, you all believe that ultranationalists are the worst, that they represent everything thats wrong with Russia. But I assure you, they are just kids in comparison to what beasts are lurking in Kremlin. And that man served them. Maybe he still is."

Heather understood that their time was almost up and made the last attempt to make her point.

"Olya, I can't manipulate on Nikolais background. I won't deny, he worked for the FSB, but I can't draw a conclusion from my or your emotions. But what I can do is to analyze the facts. You see a monster right there, and you feel like you are the only one, who sees his real nature. Neither I nor anyone from the Task Force can change your perception. But I can share, what personally see, when I look at him."

When Olga hesitantly noded, Heather went on.

"I see a guy, who cares for his friends, even when it remains unnoticed. A guy, who found out, one of the TF was on the brief medical leave for a minor reason and his very first question was 'do they need any medication or anything?'. A guy, who is always asking if every member of 141 is ok. A guy, who looks at somebody, he cares for, and smiles broadly even though they don't have an opportunity to touch base with each other."

"Doctor, I'll stop you there. I am aware of Nikolai's and our Captain's friendly bond."

"I'm talking about Price, Olya. Everything, I just told you, was about Nikolai and you."

In a dead silence infesting the room, Lieutenant shook her head. The last words that reached Heather were muttered quietly.

"He is lying. Lying to you all."

***

Price came half an hour after Olga left: Heather wouldn't want them to stumble upon each other in the hall. Doctor Green still had a small hope, that Captain would change his mind about Olgas upcoming mission. But when Price asked her, if his Lieutenant was ready, that hope was forgotten.

"John, she hates him."

"That I know." Prices deep voice echoed in the walls of her office. "My questions was, is she able to work with him. This mission is critical, if Olga makes it - we are promoting her. So, please, give me a sign."

Heather took a pause. She didn't want to torture Olga, when she's already living in constant stress. At the same time she understood how much this mission might serve Olga and the whole Task Force. Heather didn't like, what she's about to do, but something told her, it's the right thing. So she finally answered Price.

"She will do anything for you."

[storiesforallfandoms]

small ~ jim hopper;stranger things

word count: 1958

request?: yes!

“Oh my fucking god, I’m not the person who asked for Hopper but holy fucking shit balls. Maybe like you and Hopper go out one night just to get drunk and you do the like hand comparison thing and he just absolutely wants you then and there. But like his pov with a side of inner turmoil because he’s nervous about what would happen afterwards? I don’t really know, so basically anything, there’s not enough Hop on here.”

description: when they go out for a couple of drinks after work, neither of them expected it to end the way it did

pairing: jim hopper x female!reader

warnings: swearing, drinking, hinted smut but nothing detailed, slight age gap (hopper is mid 40s, reader is late 20s) and slight power imbalance (hopper is police chief, reader is newly appointed officer)

masterlist (one, two)

My usual drink was waiting for me in my usual spot as I entered the bar. I knew that should’ve concerned me, but it was yet another long day and I needed something to take the edge off. So I sat up on the stool that became my “regular spot” and took a sip from the beer that had become my “regular drink”.

I usually drank alone on nights like this, but this particular night a familiar voice asked, “Mind if I join you, chief?”

I looked over my shoulder to see our new rookie, (Y/F/N). She was still in her uniform, likely also just off from her shift. I hadn’t had a lot of interaction with her since her promotion, but I remembered her being an incredible trainee in her early days.

Not to mention she’s cute.

“Of course,” I said, gesturing to the empty stool next to me. “It’s a free country.”

She sat up next to me and ordered a pint of beer for herself. I glanced over at her as I raised my drink to my lips. There are certain ways to tell when a cop is new to the force and that is by how young they appear. (Y/N) still had that beautiful, youthful look to her. She had yet to face anything to cause the lines to form on her face or for streaks of grey to appear in her hair.

“Hard day, chief?” she asked.

“You can call me Jim, (Y/N). We’re not on the clock,” I told her. Not that many people ever actually called me by my first name, on or off the clock. I just wanted to hear how it sounded coming form her mouth. “And every day is a hard day on the force.”

She didn’t respond. I didn’t blame her. How are you supposed to respond to the off duty police chief having yet another existential crisis?

“It’s not that bad,” I admitted. “When you’ve been a cop as long as I have, you just see things you can never unsee. But you’re also protecting people and saving lives. That’s worth something.”

“I know. My dad was an officer, actually. He’s told me all the stories.”

“Really? Would I know him?”

she shook her head as she took another sip of her pint. “I’m not from Hawkins. I moved here after I finished police school. It was...well, it was the only place looking for new recruits.”

She could’ve been a big, hot shot cop in a big city, but instead had to settle for our small town. That’s how dreams die.

“But I like it here,” she added. “I do. Hawkins is a nice little town and the people here are...”

“Nice?” I offered.

She chuckled. “Yeah, I guess so.”

When I noticed her drink was almost empty, I ordered her another one on my tab.

We were there for a few hours, drinking the night away. (Y/N) could handle her alcohol a lot better than I thought she could. She was easily keeping up with me and only started to show any signs of inebriation when I started to feel my own beer hit me.

“One more for me, bartender,” she said, raising a hand to get the bartender’s attention. Her words were slightly slurred as she spoke.

“I think you’ve had enough,” I said, reaching out to lower her hand. “You need some water before you go anywhere.”

She looked at my hand on hers. I could feel her skin warm against mine. I should’ve let go. I didn’t need to be holding her hand for this long. But her hand was so warm and so soft. I didn’t want to let go of her.

A small smile spread across her face as she slipped her hand from mine just long enough to hold up her open palm. She took the hand that was just holding her own and placed it, open, against hers. A drunken giggled escaped from her lips as she looked at the juxtaposition between the size. 

“Your hand is so much bigger than mine,” she said. “You could fit, like, both of my hands in one of yours.”

Her hand was much smaller than mine. Her fingertips just barely reached the second joints of my fingers. Actually, she was a lot smaller than me in general; her entire stature was much smaller than I was. I could likely hold both her hands effortlessly in one of mine.

Which made me picture both of her wrists locked in one of my hands. My larger body towering over her smaller one. My name coming from her lips in between a string of moans and whimpers. That warm, soft skin pressed against my - 

I quickly pulled my hand away from hers and turned to the bartender to order a water for (Y/N).

I couldn’t have those thoughts about her. There was so much wrong with that scenario, namely the fact that I was her superior and over a decade older than her. It was wrong, those thoughts were wrong. But now that I had gotten them in my head they wouldn’t go away. I couldn’t even look at her without those images flashing before my eyes.

“Did you drive here?” I asked her. She nodded as she started gulping down her water. “Listen, I don’t feel comfortable with you driving home in this state, even if you sober up a little, and I don’t want to leave you drunk at a bar on your own. I’m gonna drive you home, and you can come back to get your car in the morning.”

“But you’ve been drinking, too,” she pointed out.

“I’m much more sober than you are, honey,” I assured her. She didn’t make a comment on the pet name, and I hoped she’d be too drunk to even remember it later on.

I paid for our drinks despite her protests and guided her out to my car. She didn’t seem too drunk while walking, which made me wonder if I should’ve just let her drive home on her own. I didn’t lie when I said I didn’t want her to drive home after drinking, but I also wanted these last few moments together before I had to force things back to normal the next day.

“I appreciate this, Jim,” she said after giving me her address.

“What kind of police chief would I be if I let our rookie drive home drunk?” I asked, a light tone in my voice.

“The kind who drives after he’s already been drinking?” she offered.

I chuckled. “Okay, touché.”

She rested her head against the window. Her face lit up as we drove under the street lights. As we would approach another light, I couldn’t help but glance over to get a glimpse at her beautiful face.

God, I’m helpless here. How do I stop myself from doing something I’ll regret?

“Are you from close to Hawkins?” I asked, trying to make small talk. “Originally, I mean.”

“About a five hour drive away,” she responded.

“So not close at all really. Do you  get to see your family a lot at least?”

She nodded. “My parents drive in every other weekend. We talk on the phone all the time, too. They miss me and they wish I had gotten a job at our local department so I was closer to home, but they’re proud of me.”

“As they should be. Becoming a cop isn’t easy, as your dad probably knows.”

“School was tough, and I’m kind of worried about the first day I see something traumatizing, but it’s like you said: we do good, too. I just hope the good outweighs the bad.”

“It does. Eventually, it goes.”

“Do you have any kids, Jim?”

I felt myself tense at the question. My blood ran cold and my grip on the steering wheel tightened until my knuckles were white.

“I used to,” I said, my voice icier than I meant it to be.

She looked at me with wide eyes. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry. I knew that. I should’ve have said...I should’ve remembered...shit, Jim, I’m so sorry.”

I shook my head, focusing my attention on the road. “No, don’t be sorry. It was years ago and...and you’re drunk. You weren’t thinking straight.”

“It’s still not easy to lose a kid, though.”

We were silent the rest of the way to her place. I felt a sense of dread as I pulled into her driveway. I really did not want this time to end, but I had no other reason to keep things going. Once she got out of my car and went inside, she’d fall asleep and wake up sober. When I saw her at the station the next day, she’d be referring to me as Chief Hopper again, and I’d just be stuck with the memory of tonight being a far away fantasy I could never have again.

“Are you still with your wife, Jim?” she asked.

The question took me by surprise. “Uh...no. We...we divorced a long time ago.”

She was slowly unbuckling her seatbelt, her gaze slowly drifting to me as if she were contemplating what I had said. Suddenly, she was out of her own seat and on my lap. Her lips were roughly pressed against mine, her hands around the back of my head, holding me to her. Instinctively, arms went around her waist and I began to kiss her back. It was the one thing I had wanted to do all night and now that it was finally happening, I wasn’t sure if I was dreaming or not. If this was a dream, I never wanted to wake up.

Her hips moved down so her crotch brushed against mine. I groaned in pleasure at the contact and she used this to her advantage by slipping her tongue into my mouth. The taste of alcohol on her tongue was enough to snap me out of my trance and to realize what was happening. I pulled away from her. She tried to move with me, but I put a hand against her shoulder to move her away from me.

“Shit,” she said, her face flushed with embarrassment. “Shit, I’m sorry. That was way out of line, I shouldn’t have done that.”

“You’re drunk. It’s fine,” I assured her.

She shook her head. “No, no I’m not drunk. I haven’t been at all. I was a bit tipsy back at the bar, but I haven’t gotten further than a light buzz.”

I was shocked at her revelation. “But...you were okay with me driving you home. I thought you were too drunk to drive.”

“I wanted to be alone with you.”

I almost laughed I was so shocked. This entire time I was having these thoughts and telling myself I wouldn’t be able to act on them, and it turns out she was having the exact same thoughts, too.

“Did I make a total fool of myself?” she asked. “I can just go, we can just forget this ever happened.”

In response, I put a hand on the back of her head and pulled her towards me to kiss her again. I could feel her body relaxing against mine.

I couldn’t let the kiss be long lived, though, as I reluctantly pulled away again. “Go inside and get yourself sober. If you still feel like this in the morning when all the alcohol is out of your system, we can try it again.”

She smiled brightly at me. “Don’t be surprised if I kiss you the minute I see you tomorrow, then.”

I smiled back at her. “I’ll be waiting.”

[strangelypenned]

Hello All! I figured since ao3 is down I’d post the first chapter of my fic Heavy Metal Healing here for those looking for something to read! I hope this helps you get by in the drought. If you enjoy this check me out on ao3 under the same username. The next three chapters are up there whenever the site comes back online. Enjoy! 💜

Summary:

When rockstar Eddie Munson and the battle-scarred Steve Harrington collide their journey begins with pain, but quickly turns into something extraordinary. As Eddie embraces his dominant side and Steve explores submission, their connection becomes a steamy oasis of healing and love. Amid pleasure and pain, they rewrite their stories in a harmonious and unconventional embrace. And let's not forget the party and Robin, who never miss a chance to tease them along the way! It's a provocative tale where hurt transforms into hope, and two hearts find solace in the most unexpected places. Get ready to feel the heat!

Chapter 1:

There were a thousand other ways Steve could be spending his Friday night. He had two papers due within the next week, a birthday party to plan, and a doctor’s appointment he was dreading. Yet here he was, allowing Robin to repeatedly stab him in the eye with an eyeliner pencil. Eyeliner he really didn’t even want to be wearing. Going to a show he was about 75% sure he wasn’t going to enjoy.

“Quit blinking Dingus. Unless you want to lose an eye." Robin barked as she jabbed the flat end of the pencil into his ribs.

"I'm only blinking 'cause you're stabbing me in the eye with a sharp object. Also, how much longer is this going to take? If we want to get to Indi on time we need to leave in like 15 minutes." He glanced at the clock over her shoulder. They had been playing dress-up for over an hour and a half now, and the venue was roughly that far away. If they didn't leave soon they'd likely miss the show altogether.

"Fine. Fuck, we'll just call this good then. I got what I wanted mostly done anyways. " She was franticly throwing stuff in her small makeup bag, finally releasing the iron grip she had on his chin. Standing on sleep numb legs Steve took a look at himself in the mirror.

He almost didn't recognize the person looking back at him, Robin had outdone herself. He was wearing her clothes for the most part. A pair of black jeans that fit a little too tight. He remembers watching her cut the holes into them a few weeks ago in a bored crafting fit. A faded black t-shirt that fit a little bit snugly around the biceps. A large golden sun painted across his chest. It matched the yellow polish on his nails, painted by a smiling Jane earlier that week.

What stood out the most though were his eyes. The dark liner drawing attention to the warm hazel. She had even done his hair, It floated around his head softly, looking fluffier than normal. Yes, Robin had certainly outdone herself.

"How do you feel? I didn't overdo it did I? I know it's different than what you usually wear, but you went on that tangent the other day about wanting to change your look. And I know you don't want to touch your move-out savings to do so so I thou-" He caught her eye in the mirror.

Turning he placed his hands on her shoulders, her outfit was a reflection of his. The differences were the denim vest she had covered in pins and patches, and her shirt being actual merchandise for the bad they were seeing. A large 'CC' was pained across her chest above a flaming coffin.

"Robs I love it. You did a great job. It's definitely different, but I wanted that. Now can we please get out f here before we miss the show?" She nodded her head enthusiastically as he tied his favorite yellow sweater around his waist.

"Normally I would harass you about bringing the comfort sweater, but It kind of works. That, and I know I'm pushing you pretty hard already taking you to a metal show and all." She threw the words over her shoulder as they trudged down the stars. Making sure to stand closer to his good ear.

" Well, you've been talking about this group nonstop for like three months now. So I might as well give them a chance. Plus the volume may ring through my thick skull a bit better." His doctor had mentioned something about music with heavier tones being easier to enjoy. Something to do with the base and the vibrations. It was one of the few reasons, other than making Robin smile, he agreed to go. Smiles didn't come as easily after their final round with the upside down.

"I really think you'll enjoy yourself if you give it a chance Steve. She gave him a knowing look as she buckled herself in. Probably picking up on his thoughts with that freaky telephony thing they seemed to have ever since the Russians.

"I promise I'll give it a chance Robbs. God knows I could use some fun," he mumbled the last part as he backed out of the driveway. She laughed at his words as they coasted up the street, hopefully heading for a much-needed night of fun.

🎸

According to Robin's hour-and-a-half-long lecture about the band, they were extremely lucky to be seeing them at this venue. Normally they played for significantly larger crowds, but this is where they had done one of their first shows. They tended to perform here whenever they were in town for nostalgia's sake. It being such a small place meant tickets were normally gone in a flash. Robin, the lucky bird, had won some radio contest. So not only did they get to go to a sold-out show, they got to go to a sound check and a meet and greet post-show. Truly the pinnacle of luck.

He was glad they would be arriving early. This would allow him the chance to survey his surroundings before the crowd set in. His nerves being shot ever since the final battle, as the kids had started calling it. Either way, being able to spot all of the exits before the show started and the people packed in helped. He felt some of the ever-present tension in his body abate at the thought.

He allowed himself to be tugged along by Robin who was all but skipping in excitement. It was nice to see her so amped up. Her excitement tugged at the corners of his lips, and he caught himself chuckling as they grew closer to the venue. The place was a converted bowling alley that still had a few lanes for guests to use before and after shows.

"Did I tell you we even get two free drinks? The royal treatment I tell ya. Must remind you of the good ole days." alluding to the high school nickname he grew to detest with time. She knew better than to actually call him it though. Something about it rattled his heart in the most unpleasant of ways.

"You didn't mention the drinks bird brain. Here I thought I'd be shelling out for overpriced beers. " She gave him a dead look over her shoulder. Both of them knew that he hated the taste of beer and mostly drank it for appearances in school.

They stood in line behind a handful of people, a select few also had early entry tickets. They were snapping bright red bracelets on the wrists of those with VIP entry.

In what felt like the blink of an eye, they were standing in front of a long bar. Robin was shoving a brightly colored cocktail into his hands. He had checked out again. A gift left behind from his fourth concussion. He looked at Robin with a questioning frown.

"It was about ten minutes this time." She rattled off looking at the watch she had taken to wearing when the checkouts had started. That was shorter than the last one so at least there was that. He had grounding tips for when he was at home or driving, but they tended not to work when out and about.

He nodded sluggishly and began to look at his surroundings. Ten or so people were floating around the space while a few people tinkered with equipment on stage. There were doors that led to what appeared to be a balcony, probably a smokers section. The bowling lanes glowed in various neon shades of pink, blue, and purple. They weren't in use but still shined brightly to the left of the stage. And there was the exit, perfect. He felt the slight tremble in his hands ease up when he located the doors.

"Hey Robs I'm gonna go take a quick smoke break and I'll be right back okay?" She looked at him with a question in her eyes, 'Do you need me to come?" He shook his head softly and gave a tired smile before heading for the balcony. He had quit smoking for a while at one point. But after the final showdown, late at night when the sounds of the upside down were loudest in his mind's eye, he found relief in the smoke.

As he stepped outside he noticed the air had picked up a slight chill. He set his drink down and quickly tugged his yellow sweater overhead. The worn fabric brought a level of comfort he rarely found in his closet these days.

Tugging his cigarettes out of his pocket and placing one between his lips, he came to the abrupt realization he had left his lighter in the car. He let out a quiet 'fuck'.

"You need a light?" A melodic voice asked from off to the side of him. He felt himself flinch, he hadn't noticed anyone else outside.

The link since ao3 is now back online:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/48088879

[talltalesandbedtimestories]

Wash. RINSE. Repeat. - Dean x Reader/OFC

"Rinse" is Part 3 of the Wash. Rinse. Repeat. Series

Rating Mature

Dean x Reader/OFC

Tags: Canon-compliant (or trying to be), Season 3, Lots of Angst, Demon Assault/Attempted Sexual Assault (trigger), Show Level Gore/Violence, Language, Pining, Dean is infuriating at times, Sam is the sweetest, Main character death (offscreen; but, it's Supernatural, so you know, it's probably not sticking)

Word Count: 15,000

Summary: The boys stink. Something needs to be done about it.

The above summary was something I came up with when I thought this was going to be a fun little one shot. (hah! stupid writer and her stupid assumptions. how dare she think she can make plans and have Sam and Dean adhere to them.) It still applies to the beginning (and this sniff, sniff theme may come up again) but I'm going to add that this story is a first person reader insert that weaves in and out of show canon.

"Rinse" won't make a lick of sense if you haven't read the other parts. If you want to read the previous installments, you can find them on AO3 -- WASH -- PRE-RINSE

I'm participating in @jacklesversebingo and this part will fill my "Friends Becoming Strangers" square.

A huge thanks to @jacklesversebingo for allowing me to use one of my bingo squares in a part of a story I was currently working on. These bingo prompts have genuinely tested my creativity and provided some meaty plot twists. Thank you, thank you!

Rinse

~ Six Months Later ~

I bolt upright in bed, mid-gasp.

My heart pounds. Flashes of what caused my pulse to race appear in the curtain call of each blink.

Bobby. In the dark with a flashlight. In his house? Sneaking around, like he’s investigating an unfamiliar place. Then, he was attacked by something. Thrown to the floor in his kitchen. A blur of arms clawing. A screeching sound that wasn’t human.

What the hell? I shake the shiver out of my spine and glance over at the alarm clock. Fifteen minutes before it goes off. There’s no way I’ll get back to sleep. I resign myself to get out of bed and start the day.

It’s gonna be a busy one at Hoyt and Hagan. There are two client appointments on the calendar. I’ve got some note taking during and transcribing to do after each of them.

I debate with myself in the shower as to when I should check on Bobby. It’s still too early and he’ll only scoff in my ear at the unnecessary concern.

I decide I’ll call him during my lunch break, all nonchalant like. Hey Bobby, it’s your favorite psychic nut job, poking out of hunter hibernation for some updates.

Just to be sure he’s okay.

I grab a slice and a soda at Tony’s Pizza Parlor for lunch. The four block walk gives me a chance to stretch my legs and see if they’ll be short staffed over the next week. I need to bulk up my car maintenance fund. According to Nate at Carl’s Auto Shop, I will probably need to replace the brake pads in a few months. Before the squeaks turn into screeches at every stop.

Gary’s working the counter. I try not to fuss with my hair too much in his presence. His dimples drill into his cheeks with a bright smile. My stomach spins like it’s in a washing machine. I ask him how his Aunt Cheryl is doing. The swoony, sensitive six footer moved back to Matamoras when his only living relative, Cheryl Somers, fell ill and couldn’t take care of herself anymore.

It’s been five months since Gary arrived and became ubiquitous around this tiny town where you only have to breathe heavily to become the subject of juicy gossip. He works a variety of service jobs. I’m blessed that one of them is at Tony’s. My random shifts have intersected with his on occasion. I am also cursed because I still haven’t gotten the nerve to get past simple pleasantries. Mainly I worry I’ll slip about my personal details or he’ll ask me a question about my family. And, I’ll have to lie. Because he’d never believe the truth. The people that would understand are just as damaged as I am.

Playing at normal is tough.

I scoot into a booth that has a nice vantage of the counter so I can spy on Gary. I pry the greasy pepperoni one by one from the stringy mozzarella. The deconstruction exercise prolongs my excuse to hang around with my solitary slice. I mindfully chew. Taste buds light up with oregano, tomato sauce, processed toppings, and velvety cheese.

The one brain cell not focused on Gary reminds me about Bobby. I dab at my face with a one-ply scratchy napkin, then tap in the start of a phone number I know by heart on my cell. Bobby’s name appears from my contacts after the fifth digit.

I’m still miffed about Garth accidently dropping my old phone in the depths of the Delaware when he visited six months back. He felt so bad he drove me to the nearest cell phone store and bought me a new one right on the spot. He got me a newer and nicer model. It didn’t make up for all the contacts and messages I lost, though. It took me weeks to connect with almost everyone I could remember.

I wait for Bobby to pick up. It rings. And rings. And rings. The voicemail answers. “You’ve reached Bobby. You know what to do.”

I know what to do, but I hang up instead. I’m that person that hits redial and gives it another try. Bobby is prone to leaving his cell phone atop a stack of books or on the kitchen counter as he hops from room to room. So, there’s a chance he might…

“You’ve reached Bobby. You know what to do.”

I sigh and collect my words. “Hey, Bobby. It’s been a bit. Wanted to see how you’re doing. Nothing much new on this end. Give me a call, though, soon. Yeah? Been told my car’s gonna need new brake pads. Wanna make sure I’m not getting hosed on the cost to replace them. Okay? Thanks. Bye.”

“Who’s Bobby?” The voice drifts over my shoulder from behind me.

Oh God. Gary’s asking that question. I’m gonna have to turn and actually make eye contact and answer. I swallow and rotate in the booth a bit. He’s wiping down the table, tray filled with trash in his grasp. Wavy jet black bangs obscure his eyes for a brief second. It’s not enough time before his onyx irises gaze with interest in my direction.

“Huh?” I pretend I didn’t hear him.

“Who’s Bobby? He’s not the only guy that knows a thing or two about cars.” His smile is bright. “I could probably help you out. Take a look.”

“Oh.” I want to bang my head into the table to shake out any words that are longer than one syllable. “That’s… that’s…”

“He family? Bobby?” Gary stands beside my booth now.

“Yeah.”

Gary nods. “Well, offer’s available if you need it.” Someone, maybe Maribel, shouts his name across the restaurant. “Good luck.” He darts away.

“Thanks.” I groan at my suave communication skills.

~~~~

(Italicized Dialogue from S3, Episode 10, “Dream a Little Dream of Me” - Teleplay by Cathryn Humphris; Story by Sera Gamble & Cathryn Humphris)

Dean sat at Bobby’s hospital bedside. 

It’d only been a couple days since he got the call. A doctor had been looking for a Mr. Snyderson.

Bobby enjoyed informing Dean years ago of the name he would have to answer to if he received a call from someone in search of Bobby Singer’s emergency contact. 

“How the hell’d you get yourself into this mess, Bobby?” he asked aloud.

Dean wondered if Bobby had picked the name Edgar Snyderson so that would be all John’s eldest son would focus on. Not the fact that if he ever heard it uttered by anyone else, it would be because Bobby wouldn’t be able to call him a numbnut or an idjit.

Sam was due back any minute. Dean’d tasked Sam with the research part of this mystery, which included combing through the collage of pictures and news clippings hidden on the back closet wall in Bobby’s hotel room.

The room where his comatose body had been found.

Dean had gone to the university to dig up any information on a Dr. Walter Gregg, whose obit had graced Bobby’s case board. Finding out about unapproved dream studies led to the name of a test subject, Jeremy Frost. The college kid made it clear the doctor had been playing fast and loose with his research and the people involved. That equalled a whole lot of potential enemies and nefarious insinuators. Bobby was probably close to figuring out who the murderer was.

The machines whirred and beeped around the man he’d bet his life on, if he had much left of it to wager. 

Dean was shy of six months before his demon bill came due.

“I don’t need you rolling out the red carpet for me in the hereafter. Pretty sure you ain’t gonna be taking a sauna or walking over raked coals. But we don’t need you practicing your harp skills anytime soon, either.” He bit his tongue at the name that almost slipped out. He tried not to mention her if he could help it. The more time went on, the more he hoped it would stick; his nonexistence for her. “It’d kill her if something happened to you.” He nodded to no one. “We’ll figure this out.”  

As if on cue, his studious brother entered the room. “How is he?”

“No change.” Dean wiped a hand over his face and stood to meet Sam by the tray table at the edge of the bed. “What you got?”

“Well, considering what you told me about the Doc’s experiments, Bobby’s wall is starting to make a hell of a lot more sense.”

“How so?”

“This plant, Silene Capensis, also known as African Dream Root, it’s been used by shamans and medicine men for centuries.”

“Let me guess – they dose up, bust out the didgeridoos, and start kicking around the hacky.”

Sam scoffed. “Not quite. If you believe the legends, it’s used for dream walking. I mean entering another person’s dreams, poking around in their heads.”

“I take it we believe the legends.”

“When don’t we? But dream-walking is just the tip of the iceberg.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, this dream root is some serious mojo. You take enough of it, with enough practice, you can become a regular Freddy Krueger. You can control anything. You could turn bad dreams good. You could turn good dreams bad.”

“And killing people in their sleep.” Dean added the obvious.

“For example. So, let’s say this doc was testing the stuff on his patients Tim Leary-Style.”

“Somebody gets pissed at him, decides to give him a little dream visit, he goes nighty-night.”

“But what about Bobby? I mean if the killer came after him, how come he’s still alive?”

They both stared at Bobby.

“I don’t know.” Dean tapped Sam in the middle of his chest. “Come on. Man needs as much beauty rest as he can get before we wake him. And a kiss on the lips better not end up being the cure.” He strolled to the doorway and turned back in time to see Sam making his way to Bobby’s side.

“Wouldn’t be the worst thing we’ve ever had to do to save someone.” Sam chided in a soft whisper over his shoulder towards Dean. “Stay strong until we can figure this out, Bobby.” His gigantor hand gripped Bobby’s pale one.

Dean marched out into the hallway in wait. Something heavy lodged in the base of Dean’s throat. He swallowed but the fear wouldn’t loosen. The possibility of losing Bobby. The memories of his father in the hospital right before he died kept rising to the surface. He didn’t want to think about it anymore.

Sam finally joined him. They walked down the hall towards the nurse’s station and the elevators. Their steps got into that synced soldier rhythm they easily fell into often. Dean wished it would continue in silence. But out of the corner of his eye he spotted Sam’s mouth open and close. Trying out the lines in his head before he’d have to share what he was thinking.

With that much thought, Dean knew it wasn’t going to be anything good.

When it was only the two of them in the elevator going down, Sam spoke. “Am I gonna have to be the one that mentions the elephant in the room?”

Dean’s gaze lifted to the ceiling. He sighed.

“We gotta call her, Dean.”

“No. We don’t. We’re gonna handle it so she doesn’t have to ever know what kind of danger Bobby was in.”

“She deserves to know,” Sam mumbled. “Bobby’s important to her. Plus, all of this dream stuff…”

“Sam,” Dean started.

Sam got his hands and arms in the conversation now, waving them about. “She should be here!”

“No!” Dean huffed, raising his voice back at Sam. He glanced at the number display. “I still need to work this case with you. I shouldn’t even be in the same state as her, let alone the same room. We can’t risk that, Sam. Not again.”

“You of all people know what she’s capable of. She could get into Bobby’s head.”

“Yeah. You know it. I know it. Bobby knows it. But, as far as we know, Elena doesn’t. As long as she doesn’t remember me, she won’t be doing any ‘Wonder Twins, Activate’ shit. And we’re gonna keep it that way.”

“Dean!”

“No. Bobby’s been onboard with the plan, all of it, for the past six months. Last I checked, you were, too.”

“Not like you gave any of us a choice.” Sam snarked. 

Dean ignored the jab. “Bobby’d want us to exhaust every other option before we pull her into something like this. Again.” He pointed at the floor as the door’s slid open. “We find another way.” He waved a hand for Sam to exit first. “Let’s go, Sherlock.” They covered the distance quickly to another set of double doors. “So, how do we find our homicidal little sandman?”

“It could be anyone.” Sam stated, looking thoroughly exasperated.

“Yeah?”

Yeah.

Dean rattled off possible suspects. “Anyone who knew the doctor, had access to his dream shrooms.”

“Maybe one of his test subjects or something?”

“Possible, but his research is pretty sketchy. I mean, we don’t know how many subjects he had or who all of them were.”

Sam scoffed.

“What?” Dean asked.

Sam sighed, long and deep. “In any other case, we’d be calling Bobby and asking him for help right now.”

Dean halted, pulled at Sam’s forearm to stop his brother’s stride. “Know what? You’re right.”

“What?”

“Let’s go talk to him.”

“Sure. I think we might find the conversation a bit one-sided.”

“Not if we’re tripping on some Dream Root.”

“What?”

“You heard me.”

~~~~

There’s been no response from Bobby by the end of my work day.

Something was up. A car question always ensured Bobby would return a call within hours.

I call the other hunter who knows almost everyone’s business as much as Bobby does.

“Elle Woods.” Garth coos his nickname for me. I still don’t get how he made the connection between me and the fictional main character in Legally Blonde. “How’re you doin? To what do I owe this honor?”

“Hey, Garth. I’m trying to get a hold of Bobby. He’s not answering my calls.”

“Oh?” The one syllable expresses confusion.

“Yeah.”

“When’d you last talk to him?”

“It’s been about a month.” My face warms at the confession.

“Oh.” The one syllable is laced with judgment.

I let the guilt was over me as I wait.

“Hm. Well, I had to call him about a case I worked in Baton Rouge, Louisiana last week. There was this circus in town and a murder pinned on one of the performers. Killer clowns couldn’t turn their victims into a pile of green goo last I checked.” Garth chuckles.

I veer the conversation back. “Was he okay? Everything good at the salvage yard?”

“Oh, well, he wasn’t home. Was working his own case.”

My skin tingles at the news. It’s not surprising to hear. Bobby hunts on occasion. It’s more the reminder of the dream I had of him that morning that puts me on edge. “Where was he?”

Garth sighs. “If memory serves right, he was investigating something that happened at a university in, I think, Pittsburgh.”

“Okay, thanks Garth.”

“Sure thing, sweets. Want me to try and check in on him, too?”

I smile. “Appreciate it.”

“I’ll tell him to call you ASAP if I make contact.”

“Thanks.”

“No problemo.”

“Talk soon.”

I hang up. Pittsburgh. It’s clear across in western Pennsylvania. A good six-hour drive from me. Couldn’t be any farther from Matamoras and in the same state. It makes sense he wouldn’t bother to call me. Not like he could do a quick pop in.

Still.

I click my teeth. Moments later, I’m clicking away at the keyboard, searching anything weird over the wire that matches what Garth told me. Only one news headline has me screaming Yahtzee in my head. There’s mention of a university neurologist dying in his sleep. Cause: Unknown.

It’s not much. But, it would catch Bobby’s eye. And he’d do some digging. So, I do the same. The neurologist was the research head of a large, ongoing sleep study. And, another article hints that his death may have been the result of foul play.

I then do what Bobby always suggests I do when I can’t get a hold of him and he’s off on a case somewhere. I contact hospitals in the area.

By the third phone call, I’ve found him. All I can get out of the medical staff is that he’s unresponsive and been in their care for a few days.

An hour later, I’m on I-80, headed to Pittsburgh.

My brakes are squeaking big time.

~~~~ 

(Italicized Dialogue from S3, Episode 10, “Dream a Little Dream of Me” - Teleplay by Cathryn Humphris; Story by Sera Gamble & Cathryn Humphris)

My driver’s license (fake) gets me the information I need at the hospital. Next of kin and all that. A doctor runs through the updates on Bobby’s current medical state while we stand at the nurse’s station. It's good news. Bobby woke up a few hours ago.

The doc questions why I wasn’t listed as an emergency contact. He mentions that they had to call a Mr. Snyderson instead. I shrug, rattling off that my Dad probably doesn’t think I know how to manage an emergency.

I wonder who the hell Mr. Snyderson is as I get Bobby’s room number and am pointed in the direction to find it. Mainly I’m relieved that the closest thing I have to family - that hasn’t disowned me - is conscious and doing fine by all accounts.

I don’t even need to check the number, hearing Bobby’s voice drift out into the hall from a room just up ahead on the right. “We better work fast… and coffee up. ‘Cause the one thing we cannot do is fall asleep.”

I take a cautious step in and prepare to meet “Mr. Snyderson.” A very tall figure with expansive shoulders stands at the side of Bobby’s bed. His broad back is to the doorway. It’s the moppy head of hair that I recognize first. My brain swims with sudden knowledge and memory. I feel overwhelmed and a bit lightheaded.

Sam. Sam Winchester. A hunt. We worked a hunt together a couple years ago. Road tripped from Maine to California. I even remember spending some time with him at Bobby’s after a car accident he’d been in with his dad. I’m also struck with the fact that he lost his dad. The scattered moments don’t have any connective tissue that I can discern. They catch my attention like twinkling ornaments atop a Christmas tree. Each represents some commemorative event I need to be reminded of.

Bobby sees me in the doorway. His face runs a litany of emotions. Serious to surprised. Welcoming to worried. “L.” He whispers.

I smile. Sam spins. His rotation hints at the shape of someone sitting on the other side of Bobby’s bed. Sam settles with a stare at me and walls off the stranger for the time being.

Sam’s as cute as I remember. There’s a bit more mass to him. And then, I remember us bonding over his psychic abilities. It’s disorienting, the flashes and pops of life bursting out of hibernation.

“L?” Bobby asks. “You doin’ alright there, kid?”

I shake my head and manage a smile again. “Considering I’m visiting you in the hospital, don’t you think I should be the one asking that question?” I hesitate at the awkward glances Sam and Bobby shoot each other. I flap my hands at my sides. “Hey, Sam. How are you doing? Been a while.”

His eyes bug. “H-Hey Elina. Yeah. I’m, I’m doin’ pretty well.” A hand scratches the side of his neck. “How’s things in Matamoras?”

“Good. Doing my best to stay out of trouble.” I point a finger at him. “Are you Mr. Snyderson, who got the call about Bobby instead of me?”

“That’d be me.” There’s a terse answer from the other side of the room. The figure is still hidden by Sam. A scrape of chair legs follows.

Sam swallows. Hard. He steps to the side.

My gaze lands on a pair of bright green eyes staring back. The guy is male model attractive. My skin warms up in a reflexive response to all that pretty. “You can call me Dean, though.” He smirks.

“Dean?” The name registers instantly. “Sam’s brother?”

He nods and puffs his chest out. I can’t quite tell if it’s a smug posture or if he’s donning some invisible protective armor.

“He-” I start to fill the gaps in my mind as my mouth reveals the facts. “Sam’s mentioned you.” Older brother. Cocky. Pain in the ass. Overbearing.

I don’t get a response in return. Instead, Dean turns to Bobby. “We’ll touch base if we hear anything else.” He rounds the edge of the hospital bed and taps Sam on the arm. All I get is a quick nod from Dean before he disappears.

“See ya.” Sam smiles, lips scrunched tight. He stumbles past me out of the room, following his older, shorter brother.

Yeah, I’ve met my share of guys like that before. Bad boys have never done me any favors. Way more trouble than they’re worth. I keep reminding myself of that as I catch one last glimpse of Dean Winchester in the hallway before Sam shuts the door behind him.

When it’s only the two of us, I hurry over and give the old man a careful embrace. He taps my back in assurance. “I’m fine.”

I peel away and stand to squint at him. “Let me guess? Fine enough to hop back into solving whatever caused this.” I plant my hands on my hips. “Why can’t you fall back asleep? And why does that Dean dude rank as your emergency contact?”

He squints back at me. “The Winchester boys are family, too, L.”

“Sam’s what you’d call an absolute peach, Bobby, I’ll give you that. But, I don’t have any firsthand experience with Dean to make a judgment call.”

“Hm.” Bobby nods slowly. “Could’ve sworn you’ve met both of them.”

“Nope.” I definitely would have remembered Dean Winchester.

~~~~

I knock on the door to Bobby’s room at The Aviary Hotel.

There’s a delay. I can hear some cursing and arguing as I wait. The taller squatter opens the door part way in greeting. “El.” Sam smiles.

“Hi.”

“Everything alright?” A hand stuffs into a pocket and he leans against the door, filling up the space.

“Bobby’s probably getting released tomorrow morning.”

“That’s great news.”

“It is. I figured I’d grab him some clean clothes for his discharge.” I sweep a hand towards him. “Can I come in?”

“Oh, uh…” Sam stammers.

“For chrissakes.” Dean’s voice interrupts. An arm pushes Sam back into the room and out of the way. Dean grimaces at Sam before giving me a dose of all that attitude. “Listen, Elena, it’s great that you’ve decided to come all this way and play nursemaid. But, we’ve got actual case work to do. So, would you make it quick?”

I blink at the condescending tone. Bobby filled me in on the details back at the hospital. I had felt a little sympathy at the predicament Dean has found himself in. HAD. “Oh, of course. Certainly don’t want to interfere with all your great case work. Is there another suspect you need to give a DNA sample to?”

Dean’s irritation crumbles. He looks like a shamed puppy that’s peed on the carpet.

“Don’t mind him, El.” Sam pulls the door all the way open. “We’re all a little high strung at the moment.”

I scoot in between the brothers. The room’s wallpaper is a feathery explosion in blues, greens and yellows. “Well, the decor isn’t going to help calm anyone down,” I critique.

Dean flops in a sad looking armchair and grabs sheets of paper on a nearby side table to study with intense interest.

Hospitality must be Dean Winchester’s middle name.     

“Get you something to drink?” Sam strolls by Dean, backhanding Dean’s bicep along the way. Dean pays him no mind.

I wave a hand. “Nope. Just point me in the direction of Bobby’s stuff and I’ll be out of here.”

Sam offers a soft smile in apology and gestures to a set of louvered bifold doors. The room is crazy huge. A full kitchen and another door that must lead to the bathroom make up the other half. There’s a desk on this side of the living area. More papers litter its surface, along with a laptop that I recognize as Sam’s (various stickers are slapped on top).

Yep, the brothers have made themselves at home. The double beds have been slept in by the state of the sheets. I smell greasy fast food.

When I open the closet, Bobby’s entire wardrobe is hung up. I grab the empty duffle from the closet floor. “Was he planning on moving here?” I frown to myself. When I remove the first plaid ensemble from a hanger I spot the case board on the back closet wall. “Ah, of course.” I take my time and fold one shirt with care before packing it. Then another. Taking my sweet time as I take in all the information.

I decide to inquire with the friendlier Winchester. “So, Sam. Bobby told me what happened to him.” I turn to see him sitting at the desk. Dean’s in my field of view in the background as well, still reading. I attempt a poke. “That he was stupid enough to make himself a prime lullaby target of this Frost kid.” Dean’s mouth purses but he doesn’t look over. “Got any ideas yet on how he gets some shut eye without being murdered?”

Sam sighs. “No.”

I want to ask if he’s thought about using his powers while he’s asleep and under the influence of the African Dream Root again. But I don’t know how Dean feels about his brother’s powers. Or, if he even knows for certain. My memory is still hazy and I don���t want to risk outing him or stirring up a touchy subject. Something tells me Dean wouldn’t handle Sam’s powers well if he did know.

“Well, if you need me to try and make contact with someone on the other side, let me know. I mean I haven’t done it in a while, but I can always give Bobby’s friend Pam a call if I need some guid-”

Dean bolts out of his chair. Papers crumple in his tight fist. “We don’t need you to do anything.” The dismissive tone matches the inconsequential way he stares at me. “We don’t need anyone else fucking things up.”

Sam rotates in the seat, arm resting along the chair back. His bewildered and angry expression towards Dean is all I focus on. My cheeks warm at the berating from this stranger with a chip on his shoulder the size of the Grand Canyon. 

“From what I hear,” Dean continues, “you are giving the normal life the good ole college try back in Montezuma. I suggest you keep it that way. And get as far away from all this as you can.” His voice cracks at the end. That sound makes me dare to lift my gaze back to him.

He’s trying his best to be an all-knowing asshole. But something’s cracking the veneer. I don’t think he’ll be able to keep it up for much longer. For a moment, I want to march right into this guy’s personal space and slap him. Right before I hug him. But it’s a fleeting inkling. I nod at him. “I’ll get this stuff to Bobby. Sounds like the both of you can handle picking him up at the hospital in the morning.” I inhale and prop up a smile as I turn to Sam. It’s the only way I’ll keep my lips from quivering.

Sam’s brows angle down. “I’m sorry, El.” He whispers.

I shake my head. I can’t speak. If I do, I’ll cry. And I don’t fucking know why my body is reacting like this to the things Dean Winchester said to me. 

My heart is racing. I walk with lightning speed to the door.

My brakes are squeaking big time back to Matamoras. 

~~~~

Sam’s tired. He should be the one sleeping in the back seat.

He’s the one that’s lived through and remembered hundreds of Tuesdays where Dean died. He didn’t have the blessing(?) of a memory wipe with every morning reset. Now, he panics when he stumbles upon a radio station playing the chorus of Asia’s most well known song. He woke up on so many Tuesdays to “the heat of the moment.” Those words grate like fingernails across a chalkboard every time he hears it. Hearing that music always makes him question for a couple seconds if he’s been dropped back into Groundhog Day Hell.

One Tuesday did have a Wednesday after it. Without Dean. 

Sam’s lived six months without Dean already. The Trickster showed him what life would be like without his brother. Sam spent those six months obsessed, determined to find a way to bring Dean back from the dead. He’d convinced the Trickster to snap his fingers and take him back to a Wednesday where Dean lived. Honestly, the Trickster probably got bored of Sam’s sulking and found another puppet’s strings to pull. But, regardless, Sam got his brother back.

He hasn’t bothered to share any of what happened during those six months with Dean (or that one of his deaths actually stuck). Not when they’re trying to prevent Dean from going to hell.

Sam’s need to fix messes could be considered heroic –maybe even to him– if he wasn’t the reason the messes were created.

Sam’s not sure how much one person is expected to withstand. If he and Dean are in some kind of tragedy endurance contest, he’d like to tap out, please, and wave the white flag in surrender. But, then, he thinks about Dean going it alone. When he decides that’s not an option, he straightens up, plants his feet, and braces for the next wave of sorrow to pummel him.

So, yeah, Sam’s tired. But still determined that his brother’s not gonna die. Not anytime soon. Not if he has a say in the matter. Especially when Dean’s no longer resigned to the inevitable of his demon deal coming to fruition.

Sam can push through the exhaustion and fight for Dean’s future because even Dean wants a chance at what’s possible for himself.

Sam saw it with his very own eyes in Dean’s dream. Not the dream Dean’s currently having in the backseat. In between snuffles and snores he’s mumbling nonsense (something about wrenches and spanners). No, what Sam witnessed in Dean’s dream months back proved Dean thinks about a future of what ifs.

The dream had occurred days after he and Dean had managed to wake Bobby from the nightmare coma courtesy of Jeremy Frost. Days after Dean found himself in grave danger of becoming Jeremy’s next victim.

Dean hadn’t slept for days. The threat of never waking up again meant classic rock on full blast in Baby. Gallons of coffee. A concerning amount of No-Doze pills that Dean most definitely wasn’t taking to cram for a college exam.

Bobby had kept himself awake researching with Bela. In between, he spent a lot of time fuming at Dean for the way he’d sent Elina packing. Dean brushed off Bobby's grumpy attitude and reminded him it was best for Elina.

Dean had eventually reached a breaking point, gave his safety a big ole’ “fuck you,” and decided sleep was worth the risk. He’d driven Baby to a clearing off the road, parked her, and leaned back to close his eyes.

Sam harvested some of Dean’s hair right off the scalp, insisting that if Dean was going under he’d need someone to watch his back in the dreamworld.

When they’d both roused from sleep in the Impala nothing had seemed off.

Until Elina popped up in the backseat.

“Finally!” Elina exclaimed.

Sam almost pogoed off the bench at the sound made by a person that most definitely could not be there.

She bopped first Dean’s, then Sam’s, shoulder with a folded up newspaper. “Geez, you two were really knocked out.” Her elbows and arms draped atop the front bench’s backrest. “I was gonna give you five more minutes of beauty sleep. I know you both need it.” 

Dean’s eyes widened, staring at her. His lips parted.

Sam dared to interact with the apparition. “El, what are you doing here?”

Her brows furrowed. She nodded in pensive thought. “I ask myself that question every day, Sam. What the hell am I doing with my life, hunting with the likes of you two?” She nudged Dean’s shoulder with an elbow and grinned at him. “Saving people: an absolutely non-existent way to earn a living, am I right?”

Dean nodded back and offered a confused smile. “R-right.”

Elina looked from Dean to Sam then back to Dean. “You okay?”

Dean nodded with increased fervor and turned in his seat to give her his full attention. “Yeah.”

“Better be. I think I found us a case.” She presented the paper to Sam. “Take a look.”

Sam took the offering and gazed at the front page. A jumble of letters littered the paper like a word search puzzle. “What are we looking at?” Sam bluffed.

“A man was found dead in the famous confectionery amusement park in Hershey, Pennsylvania. Police hadn’t released details of the death to the public.” She tapped the spot that appeared to be a headline. “An anonymous source talked to this reporter and said the guy that died had been literally encased in a chocolate mold. You know, like those chocolate bunnies? Only this was a gigantic chocolate dude. Impossible to create anything like that in the on-site factory.”

“Solid Milk Murder,” Dean mumbled. Sam watched his older brother fixate his gaze away on Elina’s face.

“Get this,” Elina continued. “This reporter did more digging into the victim’s life. Six months prior his father had died. Dad had been a supervisor at a candy factory in a Delaware beach town. He’d been pulled to pieces in a taffy stretching machine.” She scooted behind Dean and wrapped her arms around him. Dean stiffened in shock. “Sticky situation,” she mumbled into Dean’s ear and then pecked him on the cheek. Dean closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. A small smile lined his lips. When his eyes blinked open and Adam's apple twitched with a swallow, he appeared to relax into the embrace. “I say the Three Amigos see if this is our kind of thing.”  

Before Sam or Dean could respond a noise rattled outside of the car. Elina flickered out, gone in an instant. There’d been no time for either of them to discuss what had happened. They quickly exited the car to investigate.

Dean manifested Lisa next. The scene was the perfect slice of Apple Pie Life. A picnic in the park. Lisa had even told Dean she loved him before disappearing.

Things went downhill from there. But, they’d made it out of the dream alive. Jeremy hadn’t, thanks to Sam turning the tables.

Unfortunately, Bela had broken into the safe in the hotel room and stolen the Colt. Bobby left them with a promise to be in touch if he got a lead on her or the gun’s whereabouts. That was the only thing they thought could kill Lilith.

Sam finished packing back at the hotel. A heavy mix of anger and defeat hung in the air. Quietly writing, Dean hunched over the desk in an attempt at privacy while Sam bounced around the room grabbing all their items. Sam spotted names on the envelopes Dean stuffed into his bag when he was done. One read Lisa. The other, Elina. 

It wasn’t until they headed out to the car and tossed the bags in the trunk that Dean spoke.

“Hey Sam, I was wondering, when you were in my head what did you see?”

“Uh, just Jeremy, he kept me separated from you. Easier to beat my brains out I guess. What about you? You never said.”

“Nothing. I was looking for you the whole time.”

As easy as it was for Sam to withhold all the dream details, he was pretty certain Dean was doing the same. 

The car doors creaked and squeaked. When they settled in the driver and passenger seat, Dean said, “Sam…”

“Yeah.”

“I’ve been doing some thinking. And… well, the thing is… I don’t want to die. I don’t want to go to hell.”

“All right, yeah. We’ll find a way to save you.”

“Okay, good.”

Sam’s lived through his own hell since Dean confessed wanting salvation from an eternity of torture. With everything they have been through, they’ve got nothing to show for it. They still aren’t any closer to finding Bela and the Colt and the magic bullet that will put an end to Dean’s demon deal.

The last case in Milan, Ohio and the monster they encountered fed off Dean’s fear of dying. The crocotta had used its powers to mimic their dad’s voice and contact Dean through the phone. The monster, claiming to be John, told Dean he could help him locate the demon that held his contract.

Dean had opened up to Sam after they’d defeated the crocotta back at the motel room.

(Dialogue - in italics - from Ep. Long Distance Call; written by Jeremy Carver)

“I wanted to believe so badly there was a way out of this. I mean, I’m staring down the barrel at this thing. You know, Hell… for real, forever, and I’m just…”

“Yeah.”

“I’m scared, Sam. I’m really scared.”

“I know.”

“I guess I was willing to believe anything – you know, last act of a desperate man.”

“There’s nothing wrong with having hope, you know.”

“Hope doesn’t get you Jack Squat. I can’t expect Dad to show up with some miracle at the last minute. I can’t expect anybody to, you know? And the only person that can get me out of this thing is me.”

“And me.”

“‘And me’?”

“What?”

“Deep revelation, having a real moment here, that’s what you come back with – ‘And me’?”

“Do you want a poem?”

“Moments gone.” Dean turned on the television. “Unbelievable.” He passed Sam a beer and they drank in silence.

They’ve shaked and baked their way through a handful of demons since that case; trying to get any information on the real demon that holds Dean’s contract. But they keep hitting a brick wall. Whatever owns the agreement to Dean’s demise scares the holy hell out of every demon they’ve encountered.

Sam might have a lead on a novel way out of Dean’s contract. It doesn’t involve facing off with the Demon that makes every underling willingly choose an exorcism over betrayal. The solution may be wrapped up in the potential case they’re heading to in Erie, Pennsylvania. Sam knows it will be a hard sell if his hunch is right. But he’ll cross that bridge when he comes to it.

For now, anyway, Sam’s got another trick up his sleeve. He offered to drive from Ohio into Pennsylvania so Dean could get some shut eye. The trek had taken longer because he passed right on by Erie. On purpose.

Sam’s luck ran out about an hour from the destination when Dean stretched and sat up in the backseat.

Sam clocked Dean in the rearview mirror. He checked his watch. Eyes widened. “What the hell? Did you drug me? I’ve been out for like seven hours.”

Sam had thought about knocking his brother out. Thankfully, he didn’t need to resort to that. Yet. 

Sam shrugged. “My smooth driving lulled you to sleep.”

“Yeah, right.” Dean chuckled.

Sam’s jaw clenched as he passed a highway distance sign that displayed the city where they were headed.

“Sam.” The mirth in Dean’s voice disappeared. “Sam,” he repeated. “Are you lost? You better be lost.”

Dean has always looked out for Sam. Sam knows, deep down, Dean’s always wanted happiness for him. Sam wants that for Dean, too. If Sam can unload Dean off to someone that might be able to help him get happiness in whatever form - whether it’s the hunting life with Elina or the suburban life with Lisa - why shouldn’t Dean get the chance to try? 

“Pull over,” Dean ordered.

Sam shook his head. “Nope.”

“Bitch, what the fuck?”

“Consider this a proactive discussion prior to the demon deal dissolution.”

Dean groaned. His head flopped onto the backrest. “I’m so kicking your ass when you stop this car. And, you’ve gotta stop eventually.”

“It’ll be worth it.” The hesitance in Sam’s voice contradicted the certainty of his words.

Dean was directly behind him now. Sam could feel Dean’s warm breath on the back of his neck as he huffed, “Really?”

Sam swallowed hard. “Yep. We’re gonna find a way to save you, Dean. And, when we do, Elena’s gonna remember all of it.”

“You don’t know that,” Dean murmured.

“Well, if she doesn’t, then Bobby and I will tell her everything that happened.” 

Dean slapped him upside the head.

“Jerk! I’m driving!” Sam exclaimed.

“It won’t change anything.” Dean slid to the middle of the back seat. “It won’t change how I feel. She’s better off without me, Sam, and you know it.”

“No, I don’t. And how would she know it when she doesn’t even remember you? You got a shit deal and Elena got dragged in as a free gift with your order.”

“I didn’t ask for that.”

“I know you didn’t. But, Dean,” –Sam glanced at his brother– “Elena didn’t ask for it either.”

“She’s trying the normal life thing. That’s good. I’d just complicate it all again.”

“You could give the normal life thing a try, too, you know.”

“You aren’t gonna shut up about this are ya?”

“Nope. Come on, no time like the present.” Because there’s literally no time, Sam thought.

~~~~

Ugh. No time!

I rummage through the jewelry box. Again. My gaze darts to the alarm clock on the nightstand. I should have left the apartment five minutes ago if I wanted to appear fashionably late. 

The attempt at nonchalance is no longer an option. I will now have to text Gary. 

Running later than expected. Wait for me?

Thoughts claw their way up the curtains in my head when I rush like this. I can’t find my grandmother’s rose gold necklace. I know I didn’t lose it. At least I hope not.

Are the blouse and skirt not dressy enough for Bella Notte? I forgot to ask Gary if it’s a formal restaurant. If I send another text it will be obvious I’m obsessing way more than I should. Maybe the outfit is too much? If it is, I probably don’t need the necklace, too. But now that I went searching for it and it’s not where I expected it to be, I have to find it.

My fingers thread through my hair and grip my skull. I’ve gotta calm my ass down. 

The phone chirps with news of a Gary response.

Nowhere I gotta be but waiting for a beautiful woman. Just don’t stand me up, alright? 

Gary’s flirting. And even through the technical distance of texting this attention increases the beating of my racing heart. I steady my fingers to type.

Of course not.

Screw it. It’s taken almost a year for this first date to happen. I can tear the apartment upside down for the necklace I was going to wear when I return. 

I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the jewelry box mirror. I touch the soft leather cord around my neck. It doesn’t go with the blouse. But I promised Bobby I wouldn’t take the thing off when he gave it to me months ago. 

I sigh, thinking about the grouch in the hospital bed. Back then, he asked where the fire was that I needed to get to in such a goddamn hurry. I wasn’t about to tell him I was running away from an avalanche of attitude by the name of Dean Winchester. The passing thought of that guy still bristles my fur. What the hell was his problem?

Bobby ordered me to hand over his duffle I’d brought from the hotel room. It took him a couple minutes to sift through it as he grumbled about my packing job. Eventually, he pulled out a cord with a charm.

“Should have given you one of these years ago, L. They only gotta find a chink in your armor when you’re the most vulnerable. Lost. Without hope.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Demons, knucklehead.” He rubbed the scrap of hair atop his balding skull.

I frowned. “My place is warded to ‘Singer Specifications.’” I air-quoted. “Salt lines get redone on the windows and doors weekly with double-sided tape. I’ve got a spray bottle of holy water on the kitchen counter. You even told me you peeled the upholstery off the roof of my car to paint a Devil’s Trap under it.”

He cleared his throat. “Right, I forgot I did that.” He waves the cord at me. “Overkill? Maybe? But a lot of shit’s been stirred up lately. And there’s an increase in demon activity because of it. Humor an old man. Put it on and promise me you won’t take it off. Ever.”

“Ever?”

He nodded. “Shower with it. Sleep with it. The whole nine yards.” 

I’d kept my promise. 

But, tonight. Well, tonight, fashion sense beats common as I pull the cord over my head. Before I can drop it into my jewelry box, there’s a knock at my door.

I frown, stuff the cord and charm in my grip, and wonder who’s paying me a visit and how fast I can get rid of them. “Who is it?” I call out.

“Uh, it’s Dean Winchester.” The voice rumbles. “You probably don’t remember me.”

“Oh no,” I mumble and rush to the door. I’m face to face with him after a quick unlock and pull. “What happened?” The question spews out. I hear how frantic I sound.

His eyes widen and punctuate his already shocked expression. “What?”

“Bobby! What happened?”

“Nothing. Bobby’s fine. Back in Sioux Falls, far as I know. Talked to him just yesterday.” He raises a hand to apparently calm me.

The gesture has the opposite effect. From my limited encounters, any reaction from this man reeks of condescension. I lash out with what I think is biting sarcasm. “Good. Hopefully Bobby put me down as his emergency contact like I asked, Mr. Snyderson.”

He confuses me further with a smile.

I shake my head and try not to focus on how cute his smile is. Or how long his lashes are and how that only adds to the flirtatious vibes when his lids flutter over those green eyes. “Why are you here?”

“Sam and I were in the area. On the way to a case.” He rocks back and forth from heel to sole.

I peek past him to the staircase landing. No Sam.

“He’s waiting in the car, outside.” Dean clears his throat. “He figured it was better I do this alone.”

My hand lands on my hip as I try my best cool-and-could-care-less stance. “Do what?”

He sighs. “Apologize.”

I’m staring up at this guy. Not as tall and eclipsing as his brother, but still much taller than me. He’s wearing a leather jacket that’s a little too big for his frame. A fleeting thought has me wondering if it’s Sam’s. But that can’t be right. An older brother doesn’t get his younger brother’s hand-me-downs. There’s hesitation and uncertainty in his eyes. Their gaze flits from side to side. For a moment, he seems smaller.

And sincere.

“I’m on my way out,” I state. Then add, “but you can come in for a minute.” 

He tugs a smile up the corner of his mouth and hurries inside. My nose twitches at the odor of stale sweat and something metallic.

“This is a nice little place you got here. Just like I imagined it would be.”

Why the hell had he been imagining what my place looks like?

His hands disappear into his jacket pockets. He strolls into the middle of my apartment.

I close the door. “You mentioned apologizing.” I’ve got places to be, buddy.

Dean turns to stare back at me. He lifts a brow, then steels his jaw. “Yeah.” He rotates on his heels to face me full on. “I was a dick and you didn’t deserve any of my bullshit. I’ve been going through some shit for about a year… not an excuse, I know that. But, I figured an explanation to go along with the apology was in order. Trying to make amends to the people I wronged before I hang up my hunting license.”

“You’re quitting?” For some reason, the confession utterly surprises me. I know nothing about this guy. But, none of that lines up in my brain about him. “Getting out of the life?”

“Something like that, yeah.” He smiles. It’s forced and pinned high on his cheeks. “Got any tips?”

“Tips?”

“Yeah, how’d you do it?”

I shake my head. “Tips should come from someone who’s done it successfully. I can’t say I’ll never get wrapped up in a case again. It’s a work in progress.”

He shrugs. The long jacket sleeve almost swallows his clenched fist at the action. “I don’t know. You’ve got a job. Your own place. Sounds pretty successful to me.” He spins, slow and deliberate, taking in the details of my apartment.

It should feel intrusive. Privacy invading. But, I find myself taking advantage of the opportunity to study his mannerisms. His lids squint, then relax. He licks his top lip. There’s a slight nod to some steady bopping tune that might be playing in his head.

Dean halts and stares at something. He bends over and leans to the side. On his way to the dresser, he crouches with creeping steps. Investigation mode appears to be activated with a graceful squat. A hand sweeps along the wood floor out of my view. He hops up to standing. Something shiny dangles between his fingers.

I float over in adulation at the sight. “Oh wow, you found it!”

He grins and drops it into my open, waiting palm. “Pretty important?”

“A gift from my grandmother.” My gaze darts to the corner behind the dresser where it had been hiding. I connect the dots. “It must have slipped over the side.” I inhale and beam at Dean. “Thank you.”

“Glad I could help.”

I drop the anti-possession charm on the dresser and use both hands to put on Grandma’s rose gold necklace.

Dean points to the leather cord. “Don’t forget that.”

I shake my head. “Doesn’t go.”

The judgment in his eyes wipes away any mirth on his face. “Bobby gave you that, didn’t he? He’d be awfully disappointed to know you weren’t taking precautions. ‘Out of the life’ doesn’t mean you slack off on being careful.” He scoops up the cord and unties the knot. A nod precedes his order. “Hold your arm out.”

I’ve obeyed before I realize it. He wraps the cord around my wrist a few times, turning it into a bracelet. Warm fingers fumble against my skin to fasten the leather. They slide up my forearm just enough to tuck the charm under my cuffed sleeve. “There,” he states. “Don’t have to worry about clashing or demons tonight.”

I’m about to thank him again when his eyes do a double-take in the direction of my dresser. He stares in surprise. “You-uh-you collect a lot of cat figurines, huh?”

I huff out a laugh and joke, “Yeah, I’m easing into the crazy cat lady role.”

He picks one up from the dozen miniature cats without asking.

I smile at the little angel in his hand. “That’s my favorite one.”

Dean raises a brow. “Another gift?”

“No.” I shake my head. “Best guess is the people that rented the apartment before me forgot it in the dresser they left behind. I found it in the bottom of a drawer under my clothes one day.”

“Oh.” He nods. “Why’s it your favorite?”

“I don’t know. Just makes me smile.”

“Hmm.” There’s a far away expression on his face.

I suddenly remember I am now very, very late for a date. “Well, Dean, I appreciate you coming by to apologize. No hard feelings. I hope things work out for you. Really.”

Dean relocates the angel with care. He straightens and gains a couple of inches. “I can use all the hope I can get.”

I nod along with him for what seems like forever.

“Riiight.” He stretches the word. “Have a nice night.”

I trail him to the door. “Tell Sam I said hi?”

He turns and looks at me. “Will do.” A hitch of breath follows. I wait for him to say whatever it is he seems to be mulling over. He offers me a soft smile. “Goodbye, Elina.”

The door opens and closes in a second and he’s gone. I’ve been surprisingly affected again by one Dean Winchester. And even though the apology should make me feel better, I somehow find myself worrying about the mysterious and aloof hunter.

I sigh and choose not to dwell on it if I can help it. After all, I’ve got a date! 

I rush to the bathroom one more time.

~~~~

Gary’s lips are insistent. Not super rough. His hands curl about my waist. The door handle by the passenger seat presses into my lower back.

The front seat of my VW bug isn’t very roomy. But, here we are, parked at the Staircase Rapids Canoe and Kayak Launch along the Delaware River. The deserted pull off and the moonlight dancing over the water make for a decent and impromptu makeout location.

Dinner was nice enough. I thought my Fettuccine Alfredo was a little runny. But I kept those thoughts to myself.

Gary was a nice enough dinner companion – from the crusty Italian bread with the dipping oil to the Tiramisu we shared. After months of building Gary up in my head, I thought I’d only find more of him to be starry eyed about. Once we could finally talk uninterrupted, the only new thing I’ve found out is he’s very good at deflecting. He offered up short and stubby answers to most of my questions. 

I assumed a cool disinterest had crept up in him by the end of the night. He didn’t ask anything very personal. There was nothing deep and probing. Well, except for his tongue currently in my mouth.

As I rate his kissing technique (there’s too much swirl and suction for my liking) I’m also wondering what the hell is wrong with me. Why am I not able to let go and enjoy the closeness and warmth of this other person? It’s been way too long since I’ve experienced this kind of touch. I don’t need to calculate how long. My inner scorekeeper quickly reminds me. It’s been almost two years since my one night stand in Wildwood, New Jersey. 

I’m swimming in a haze of too much wine mixed with indecisiveness. His fingers skirt under the hem of my blouse and test the waters. When do I tell him that’s enough? Do I let him cop a feel over my bra? Despite his insistence to pay for my dinner, I slipped my credit card to the waitress so we could split the cost. I didn’t want to owe him anything.

I’ve done more for less attention and regretted it later. I shouldn’t care. Shouldn’t beat myself up for craving touch and fulfilling a basic human need.

It would be easy if I didn’t want more. And I’m realizing with every slip and slurp of Gary’s mouth that there isn’t going to be anything more than this. Whatever happens.

He whispers in my ear that I look incredibly hot tonight. I should gasp a thank you or toss him a complementary compliment. Instead, I’m reminding myself how expendable and forgettable I am. I’m tallying up how many people I expected to stick around –who displayed a modicum of care and interest– actually did.

Gary has been, well, nice enough. I recall how he offered to look at my brakes months back. Fixed them for me at cost at the garage where he moonlights.

All the chance encounters with this man have been thrilling and invigorating. After tonight, they could be embarrassing and stomach upsetting.

Cause this doesn’t feel right.

What the fuck is wrong with me? I finally get what I think I want… and… it’s not.

“Whatsa matter, baby?” he mumbles the question into my mouth.

I snatch at the opportunity presented. My hand rests atop his chest to push him away. I am done inhaling the red wine and cocoa on his breath. “I-I think it’s getting late.” His offer to drive me home in my car, after I had too much wine, is now an obvious problem. I scramble to sound invested in his well being. “You don’t want to call Jason too late for that drive back to the restaurant to pick up your truck, do you?”

“Sweet of you to worry, but I’m a big boy.” He combs some of my hair behind my ear. “You aren’t having a good time?”

“No,” I hurry out my answer. Gary’s figure is awash in the ashy gray of evening. His face, half in pitch black shadow, gives me little to read. The whites of his eyes are the only thing I can make out well. He blinks in wait. I continue. “I had a great time. But, it’s getting late.”

“We could have an even better time if you’d relax.” His thin lips curl up high into a smirk. Hands overpower with ease and clamp over my wrists. A push and I’m smothered between his chest and the door. He grapples my arms tight against my sides. His mouth latches onto my neck. “Isn’t this what you’ve been wanting?” His question vibrates under my skin.

My heart beats for release. “Gary, please…”

“Hm, begging for it already.” He chuckles.

“No.” I squirm. I shake my head, lift my shoulder in vain to detach his lips from me. “Take me home, please.”

He groans out an exasperated sigh. His bangs sweep over my lips. “For fuck’s sake. We could’ve had a good time tonight, El.” His teeth click. He launches backward into the driver’s seat.

I sit up and wedge farther into the little corner between the door and the seat. Where the hell can I run where he won’t catch me right away? There isn’t anything for five miles in either direction on this stretch of road heading back to Matamoras from Pond Eddy. I massage the skin of one wrist. Maybe I can convince him to drive me home? Promise to continue the fun at my apartment? I could hop out of the car and run to the 24-hour Smoke Shop a block away. 

When I switch to the other wrist I notice something’s missing.

Gary starts the engine. The dashboard illuminates and winks to life. He taps on the overhead light. My leather cord dangles from the tips of his fingers. He eyes the charm swaying back and forth. His lips peel back and display pearly whites. “Fuckin’ piece of shit,” he hisses. Under the engine hum a whirr accompanies the opening of the driver’s side window. With a quick slingshot, my necklace disappears into the darkness outside.

“What the hell are you doing?” I’m surprised at my ability to sound angry.

“What did Dean have to say when he stopped by earlier?” Gary asks and turns to look at me. I can see every inch of his face now but he’s not any easier to read.

Oh. Shit.

I grab the door handle.

But I’m not faster than Gary.

He cups the back of my head and slams my forehead into the curved outcrop of the dash. A shock of whiplash shuffles the contents of my skull. It’s followed by a ringing in my ears. Fingers weave into my hair and tug me to sit upright, tipping my head back like a Pez dispenser. I scream at the corkscrew twisting of his hand. Hundreds of strands yank out of my scalp. 

“The Winchesters.” Gary is calm and stone faced. He’s in my personal space, staring down at me. “Where are they headed?”

“I-I don’t know.” Balance upended, I’m woozy and confused. “How-, why-”

“Those two are stupid enough to get themselves killed if they aren’t careful, El. Help ‘em out. Tell me where they are going.”

“I t-t-told you. I don’t kn-”

I hear a crack, then realize it was the side of my head getting slammed into the car window. A dull, heavy pulse bangs against the kettle drum that is my brain.

“We gotta do it the hard way, huh?”

I slump against the glass and close my eyes. The surface is cool, slippery. Despite the pain radiating throughout my body, I could fall asleep.

Gears shift. The car judders forward in that familiar way when I give it a little too much gas. Then, it slows to a crawl.

“We’ve got a pool going, seeing how boring as hell it’s been topside lately. Pun intended, by the way.” Gary hums a little to the pop tune blaring from the radio. “Who’s Dean gonna run to before his deal comes due?” He announces the question like a game show host. “I had my money on you. Always thought you had an advantage over Lisa. I mean, yeah, there’s Ben. That meat stick has a soft spot for kids. But, you, I mean come on, you were in the life. You know what it’s like. You get him. Well, when you remember him.” Gary snorts. “You saved him for fuck’s sake!”

I force my lids open. Something sticky’s blurring the vision of my right eye. The headlights are creeping over a dirt path. Gary taps the steering wheel to the song’s beat. 

“Wha- talkin’ ‘bout?” I murmur.  

“You pulled out in the lead at the last minute. Spray a little scrubbing bubbles in there” – he presses a finger to my temple – “and I’ll get what I need, get out of this ass backwards town and onto bigger and better things. A promotion from Lilith. Maybe visit New York City. Get up to some trouble.” Gary turns to grin at me. I’m seeing double, his figure swimming in and out of focus. 

His eyes turn totally black.

I shake my head. The pounding only increases.

A demon. There’s a fucking demon driving my car.

“Gotta say I’m a little disappointed.” Gary slams the brake pedal hard. My body flails back into the seat. I groan as Gary continues talking, shifting into park while the engine runs. “Thought we could have some real fun before getting down to the doldrums of business. This wasn’t the way Gary wanted to end up inside you, either.”

I gotta get out of here. I reach for one of the door handles but I only fist at air. Beyond the car hood, I can only make out a sliver of the dirt path awash in high beams. Ripples of water, the color of black volcanic glass, sway and meet the edge of the earth. 

Sudden and abrupt, Gary’s palms cradle my head. A kaleidoscope of black-eyed masks circle in my vision. “Open wide so I can have a peek, baby.” His jaw unhinges. Smoke expels from between his lips. Onyx clouds hang in the air. Terror bubbles up and a pitiful yelp leaves me. His gaping hole of a mouth turns up at the corners in a sinister cheshire cat grin. 

The smoke appears sentient, swirling its form into a thread with a needle-like point heading right toward my mouth. Then, I feel the invasion. The alien gas slides down my throat. It violates and expands throughout my lungs and inflates in dominance. It’s rough, uncaring, pawing under my skin for control. My vision is gone, a complete blackout. I can’t stop blinking in hopes I will see something, anything. I gasp somewhere, far away, for breath. 

“There we go, baby.” It’s my voice, but I’m not saying the words. I’ve been amputated from the body I’m stuck inside. The prisoner part of me rattles around in my brain, beating against my skull. “It’ll be better if you don’t fight.”

My sight returns but it’s distorted. I’m peeking through a fisheye lens. My hand adjusts the rear view mirror - without any directive that’s mine - so I can stare at my reflection. Half of my face is smeared in blood. My blood. My fingers push matted hair off my forehead and cheek. My eyes leer at my own visage, lascivious and coveting. My tongue peeks out to lick the blood dripping from my nose.

“Oh, we’re gonna be able to get so much more done with this body.” Incorporeal fingers flip through my memory. “Hm. You weren’t lying. You don’t know where they went.” 

“Elina?” A hoarse voice mumbles out of Gary’s body slumped in the driver’s seat.

“All those naughty thoughts.” My voice holds a condescending, judgy tone, as I stare at Gary. “Maybe if you’d paid more attention to taking care of that sickly aunt you wouldn’t be in this mess, Gar.” One of my hands feels its way up Gary’s shirt and under his suit jacket. It finds something cool and hard inside the breast pocket. My other hand unceremoniously pulls the clear bud vase from the mount it resides in near the steering wheel. “Lilith appreciates your service.”

Gary stares at the folded hunting knife in my hand. A firm wrist whip releases the blade from the confines. He scrambles to sit up in the seat. “What-what are you-”

Gary doesn’t get to finish his sentence. I’m screaming in the cage of my brain. My hand slashes at his throat, plunging deep into the flesh and meeting the resistance of bone. My wrist twists. My other hand places the bud vase near the gaping wound. Blood gurgles and spurts into the receptacle as Gary’s head flops to the side.

I can’t stop screaming. 

“Hopefully that’s enough.”

My voice quips out some lines of Latin as my eyes stare hard at the tiny vase.

“Fuck. Well, guess that killing two birds with one stone saying doesn’t apply here. Not enough juice.” My hand tosses the vase into the back of the car. “We’ll just give Sam a ring and find out where he and Dean are. Find another warm body to make another call. Then we’ll update Lilith on our progress.” I see my lips scrunch up in the mirror’s reflection. “Gary’s gonna have to go for a swim.” My body expels an exasperated sigh.

I can’t stop screaming.

“Shut the fuck up. Or when we track Dean and Sam down, I’ll cut their tongues out and feed them to you.”

I gasp, stunned and muted by the threat.

“That’s better. Now where’s that cell phone of yours.”

Dropping the knife, my hand searches the footwell by my heels. The demon will secure my purse in moments.

Dean’s face flashes in my memory. I can use all the hope I can get.

“You get him. Well, when you remember him. You saved him for fuck’s sake!” Gary’s voice - the demon’s words - replay in my head.

Demons lie. 

But I remember Sam. Sam doesn’t deserve whatever this demon has in store for him. And, deep down, I’m pretty sure Dean doesn’t deserve it either.

From the periphery of my sight, I see blood seeping out of Gary’s fatal wound. The wound my hands created.

Demons kill.

The demon won’t hesitate to do this again to someone else.

Unless I fight back.

“You can’t fight me.” My voice sing songs. “You don’t get out of this until I say.”

I remember Sam. Sam was able to do things he hadn’t thought possible when something was important enough to try and save.

“I told you to shut up.”

I realize how similar my voice sounds to my sister’s when she used to tease and scold me.

I hated that.

The engine idles, a background hum to all of the crazy.

My hand flips my phone open and begins to tap through my contacts.

I won’t be used to hurt another person. Anger boils and the body I’m in heats up around me. My thoughts zone in on how the gear shift would feel in my hand. How I’d press on the brake while I switch from Park to Drive.

The pedal bears down and the gear shift clicks to R, N, then D.

“What the–?”

I imagine my foot lifting off the brake and slamming the gas.

The car hiccups forward, almost rearing up on its wheels like a horse being whipped. It’s only a few seconds and then it’s bobbing as if it’s been fitted with hydraulics. Gary’s lifeless body bounces in the driver’s seat.

“You psycho bitch!” My voice screams. “Your funeral, not mine!” I feel my jaw open wide, stretching muscles and tendons to their limits.

The lights flicker out in the car. I focus on the sound of water lapping against the exterior. Whatever is going to happen next, I hope it’s quick.

“What the hell?!?” My voice roars in the dark. “What did you do?!? Why am I stuck?!?” My head whips side to side with a feral intensity.

I imagine chuckling like a victorious villain. The Devil’s Trap on the ceiling. Bobby came through for me. Again. Even as my body shivers at the cold water surrounding my feet, I know I can do one last thing to make the man proud. After all, I aced my Latin class in college.

I thread the words of the exorcism together, echoing in my brain.

“No! Stop!”

My body is betraying me again, either because of the demon or because I might be weakening its hold and control over my flesh. I’m fading. Lids too heavy to keep open. 

Glass breaks behind me and water rushes in. The ice cold shocks my heart. Hands wrap around my waist and tug. I’m pulled through the water. This must be what dying feels like.

I break through the water’s surface. “El!” A hand wraps around my waist. A body tangles around mine in the river and drags me somewhere. 

Pairs of hands hold me down on hard ground.

“Fuck! Sam!”

The Latin chant spills from a familiar voice, fast and furious.

Sam.

The force of water and smoke expelling from my throat jolts me awake. My eyes flicker open.

I see them.

Sam and Dean stare down at me. A heavy full moon hangs in the sky behind them.

“Hold on, El!”

Dean. 

I can’t, though.

~~~~

I wake up screaming.

Sam and Dean are gone.

No moon. No night.

I’m in a room. Yellow fluorescent light.

My heart races. Something beeps.

I stare at a drop ceiling.

“El!”

Pamela. Pamela’s here. I gasp for air.

“It’s alright, darlin’.” Her hand soothes a warm trail up and down my arm.

I slowly realize “here” is a hospital room. I am in a bed, sensors taped to skin and needles tapped into veins.

“Aw, sweetie. Everyone’s gonna be so happy to know you’re awake. Doctor’s gonna want to check you out and talk to you.” She sighs. “Unfortunately, so are the police.”

My mind swims with newfound knowledge. “Dean.” I croak out. “Where’s Dean?” I turn to see her watercolor blue eyes inspect me. The usual troublemaker grin is nowhere to be found.

She pats my hand. “Later, sweetie. Listen to me now.”

“Pamela…”

“Do you remember what happened to you? In the car?” She strokes the hair atop my head. “Do you remember what that thing did to you? Do you remember what it made you do to Gary?”

The knife in Gary’s throat. The blood. I nod. The tears flow.

Pamela nods back. “That’s what the police want to talk to you about,” she whispers. “But, if you claim it was self-defense-that he was gonna hurt you-trust me, it’ll be an easy sell. Those two lawyers you work for, Mitch and Ryan?” I nod as she continues. “They’ve been by to check on you and keep me informed of the investigation. Gary’s Aunt Cheryl’s been rotting away in the  basement of her house for months. Gary” –her voice even lower– “that thing joyriding him, it had you in its sights all that time, just waiting for the right moment, like a goddamn serial killer. Cops found photos of you all over the house and satanic” –she air quotes– “stuff in his room.”

My head spins. “Why? Why was it after Sam and Dean?”

A nurse pops in. Her face lights up. “Oh. How’s the patient?”

Pamela smiles and grips my wrist. “Sis just woke up.”

The nurse beelines to the side of my bed and checks the IV drip. Her gaze skirts over me and then at the monitor. “Dr. Wallace is making the rounds.” She clears her throat. “We’ve been given specific instructions to notify the police department as soon as…”

Pamela waves a hand, “Just do whatever you gotta do so we can get her out of here as soon as she’s able. Please.”

The nurse nods and zips out of the room.

“Sis?” I notice a dull throb from my forehead extends to the right side of my head. Oh, yeah, my skull met the dashboard and a window. The painkillers are obviously holding back a torrent of pain.

“Bobby needed one of your relatives to watch over you while he…” Pamela trails off.

“He’s with them, isn’t he? Sam and Dean?”

“What do you remember?”

It’s all a jumble. Memories and thoughts can’t reconcile themselves. “I remember knowing Dean, and then… not. And then, knowing him again.”

Her fingers rub circles atop my hand. “I don’t know all the details. Bobby’s a vault when he swears to secrecy. But, the long and short of it… this Dean Winchester made some kind of demon deal almost a year ago.”

I close my eyes. All I hear in my head is Dean.

I don’t like any of this, though, not one bit. I can’t keep literally dragging you into my shit.

Whatever this connection is, it’s obvious we don’t have any control over it. And that can go real bad, real quick.

You’re special. And I want you to stay that way.

“Oh, Dean,” I whisper. “What did you do?”

“Hey.” Pamela gives me a soft nudge. “This Dean sounds like a ton more trouble than he’s worth. You need to worry more about yourself right now, those police that are going to be by, and getting better. Bobby’s orders.”

~~~~ 

I was in the hospital for two more days under observation because of the head trauma I sustained. Once they ran me back and forth for numerous tests I finally got discharged with orders to rest.

I’ve been on lockdown for three weeks. I’ve also got security detail.

Not from the cops, mind you. I was convincing enough with my story. They bought that what I did to Gary was in self-defense. It wasn’t like I had to embellish much, just selectively omit some details. The demon had left a trail of crazy and murder that only supported my innocence.

No, I’m on lockdown with Pamela. And Garth, my security detail, has been ordered by Bobby to act as a sentinel outside my building. When he’s not in his car by the entrance during the day, he’s tucked into a sleeping bag by the threshold of my door at night. Pamela sleeps on the couch. I am within eyesight of either one of them in my twin bed. No one could ever claim this studio apartment is spacious.

It’s not so much about who might be coming after me, I suspect, as much as where I might run off to. Bobby called Pamela often. There’d been discussions, of which I’d not been allowed input, that maybe I should be moved. But the logistics and the where couldn’t be agreed. I couldn’t be taken to Sioux Falls. That meant Sam and Dean were there.

Garth had to get on the phone one night and offer, “Geez, Bobby. Law enforcement here is so on edge even the wind changing direction gets the third degree. No way anyone new or somethin’ out of the ordinary gets by them for quite a while. This is probably the safest place for El to be right now.”

That seemed to be good enough for Bobby, finally. Not for me. All I want are answers from Dean about why he thought wiping my memory of him was a great idea. More importantly, all I want to do is help him. Nothing involving a demon is good, I’m living proof. And anything involving a deal with a demon is a thousand times worse.

Pamela went out for food and supplies one morning while “cousin” Garth and I had a late Saturday breakfast. It was the first time we’d been by ourselves.

“You never met Sam and Dean Winchester?” I ask and slurp the sweet sugared milk from my cereal bowl.

“Nope.” Garth helps himself to another serving of the copycat Froot Loops.

I sit up and eye him as he digs in. “So, it was Bobby, then, that had you destroy my phone?”

He gasps, then coughs, mouth full of cereal. A little milk dribbles out of his nose. The features on his cue ball of a head scrunch in towards the center at his discomfort. “What?”

“Come on, Garth. Be honest with me.”

He wipes the mess off his face. “Alright, fine. Yes, Bobby had me do it.” He raises a hand. “And before you ask, I swear I don’t know why. He just told me you needed to be kept out of harm’s way and getting rid of your phone would help with that. So, I did.”

“I know why,” I mumble. “Erase any trace of Dean. It was probably Dean’s idea and Bobby just had you execute it.” I stand, itchy with irritation, and head over to the sink to deposit my cereal bowl. “Doesn’t it piss you off? The way Bobby doles out orders and we’re supposed to follow them without question?”

Garth blows his nose, I’m guessing to clear it of any residual milk. He flares his nostrils and does a little head shake. “Way I see it, Bobby’s survived this long on more than a little luck and a lot of praying. Like it or not, he’s usually right.” Garth looks up at me from his seat. His face wrinkles up into a thoughtful expression. “Bobby did tell me you got pretty close to those Winchesters. The Dean fella, in particular.”

I cross my arms, lean against the tiny bit of counter space that makes up my kitchenette. “I thought so.” I sweep my socked foot along the linoleum floor. My gaze lands on the cat figurine collection across the room on the dresser.

“Thought?”

I zone in on the cat angel. The one Dean got me. The one he picked up when he was here and trying to apologize when I didn’t remember everything. “Being close to someone means having faith in them. That’s how it goes for me anyway.”

“Faith is hard to come by for some people.” Garth shrugs. “You and I are close but it wasn’t always like that. I had to earn it. Look me in the eyes and say you have faith in everything I do with a straight face.” He raises his eyebrows.

I feel my mouth quirk up into a grin. “Fair enough,” I chuckle.

There’s a tell tale knock at the door. It’s the secret knock and I start for the door. But Garth raises a finger and sprints over before me.

Pamela breezes in with a couple bags. “Alright, I think I got everything on the list.” She drops them on the table and pulls out a newspaper for Garth.

“Thanks, Pammy. Gotta catch up on what Marmaduke’s up to.”

She smiles softly at him, then hands me a pile of envelopes. “Grabbed your mail.”

“Thanks, Pammy.” I parrot Garth.

I don’t get the same sweet smile at the use of the nickname. “I’m makin’ rice and beans tonight. Not up for discussion.”

“Hmmm.” Garth rubs his non-existent tummy and wades through the newspaper.

The two of them chatter. I walk to the couch and flop on it, flipping through the mail. Bill. Bill. Junk. But then there’s an envelope with my name and address handwritten on it. The print is haphazard and hurried. It’s postmarked from Sioux Falls from about a week ago. And in the top left corner are two letters.

D.W.

I purse my lips to hold in a gasp. Once I compose myself I announce, “Anyone gotta use the bathroom before I take a shower?”

“Nope,” Pamela states.

“I am A OK,” Garth replies. “Pammy, you like Garfield?”

I pull some clean clothes out of the dresser and dash into the bathroom while they discuss the merits of Odie.

It’s the only place I can get any privacy. I sit on the toilet, my change of clothes a heap in my lap, and Dean’s letter in my hands.

My entire body shivers. I inhale deep and slow to try and calm down, but it’s not helping. A finger inches under the flap and rips open the envelope. I unfold three pieces of paper that were inside. The first one is on stationery from The Aviary Hotel.There’s a crease etched in the middle, top to bottom, and a few left to right; it’s been folded into a smaller square at some point in the past.

The writing is tight and neat. Different from the one on the envelope.

I’m not gonna apologize for how I acted today, El.  What would be the point, anyway? You wouldn’t understand why I had to.  Take my advice and stay as far away from Sam and me as possible. –Dean

Short and not very sweet. But, I think back to the altercation I had with Dean in the hotel room with the loudest wallpaper I’d ever seen. It was when I didn’t remember, months back. Bobby had been in the hospital. I shake my head, even now, at how obnoxious Dean had been.

The fucker was doing everything in his power to make sure I wasn’t gonna give a shit about him. But why? Why the memory wipe? I tuck the page behind the others.

The next page is on very familiar stationery. I gave it to Bobby as a cheeky little gift one Christmas. He never uses it, but I know where he stashes it - in the right side drawer of the desk in his library.

Dean found that stationery and probably sat at that very desk to write what I’m now reading. The page has crinkles in it, like it was balled up and thrown out.

I let out a chuckle in nervous hiccups at Dean’s scribble right under the fancy font.

A bunch of BS from the desk of B.S. Ain’t that the truth!!! El, Bobby told me you remember everything. His friend Pamela told him that you’ve been asking about me. I don’t know why your memories came back. The deal’s not up yet. I’m glad you’re gonna get to go home soon. I’m so sorry you got caught in the middle of all of this ,. princess I always just wanted you safe. As much as I wish things could be different, nothing good comes from being around me. It kills me you had to find out the hard way with the demon riding that guy. All those times you saved me and didn’t give up on me, it kills me I’ll never be able to repay you proper. I’m glad you remember me now. Truth is, I didn’t think you ever would again.  It hurt to have to push you away all this time. To not reach out and tell you about the stupid thing I did when I was crazy in my head over losing Sam. He died, El. About a year ago.

I stop reading. Drop the papers in my lap. I recall the very healthy looking Sam I saw months back. And the one who helped rescue me only weeks ago.

I traded my soul to bring him back. But the crossroads demon only gave me a year before my bill came due. 

My heart beat increases, pounds in my head. Dean’s words trigger the pain from the assault, a deep ache in my bones. My skin prickles with anger. 

Sam died a year ago and Dean’s deal was for a year. 

No, Dean. No.

The bitch thought it’d be cute to wipe your memory of every little bit of me as part of the agreement. You gotta believe me, El, that’s not what I wanted. I may have thought it was better you’d never met me. But I never would have traded losing you for Sam. Me, that’s a no-brainer. 

I turn the page over and continue to read Dean’s words through my blurry vision. The other pages scatter onto the tile floor.

I want It just twisted the knife, having you look at me like I was a stranger. Having to tear into you hurt so fucking much. But it was all I could do to drive that urge to help out of you. You were a great hunting partner. One of the best. It’s selfish of me and dangerous for you, but I’ve thought about what it would be like having you hunt with Sam and me again. Like a team. And it feels right. I think that life, if the apple pie life was never in the cards for me, that would have been nice. 

But my time is almost up, so I’m gonna try to hold on to what might have been, wherever I’m going.  I just want to tell you that I love  need you to stay safe, alright. I need you to be okay when all this is over. And, I need you to be there for Sam. And maybe, maybe he can be there for you, when you want to remember me. Cause I’ll never forget you, Suds. -Dean  

Both hands cover my mouth. I stifle the sobs. It’s not helping and I’m only getting louder. Pamela or Garth will knock on the door soon. I lean to the left and twist the faucet knob. A spurt of water shoots out. A steady stream soon follows.

I wish he’d tried to tell me. That night when he was here. I would have thought he was crazy. But, still, I might have told him to have Sam come up and confirm. I might have called Bobby. I might never have gone to meet Gary.

I could have been with them all this time. Trying anything and everything to help. I grab the page again and look at that word he’s crossed out. Love. He could have written anything after that. He could have just wanted to remind me that he loves pie.

But somehow, I think not.

More tears come.

I flip the lever so water cascades out of the showerhead. I wipe my soggy eyes with the back of my hand and gather up the other dropped pages.

The last page wasn’t written by Dean. The print is large and loopy. Sam. 

Dean tossed both these letters out today. The first one he’d been carrying around in his bag for months in an envelope with your name on it. I saw him dump it in Bobby’s office along with the second note. I wanted to give you the chance to read them now, in case there’s time for you to reach out before we track down Lilith. Maybe give him a reason to keep fighting, El. Cause he’s tired of hearing me. He’s trying to hold on but the closer he gets to the clock running out… I can’t lose him, either. Sam.

I leave all the pages atop the sink. My gaze lingers on the phone number Sam wrote at the bottom of the note. It’s gotta be Dean’s. My brain and body go on autopilot. I cry as I shower, towel off, and then dress into my second set of pajamas for the day.

By the time I exit the bathroom, Garth is gone, and Pamela waits for me on the couch. She’s the best big sister I could ask for in that moment, opening her arms for me to collapse into and cry some more. She waits until I’m ready to tell her everything. When I’m done, she tucks my damp hair behind my ears and gives me a nod for courage.

“You do what you got to do, sweetie. I’ll be out in the hall. When you need me, that’s where I’ll be.”

I know he won’t pick up. And, I don’t know what I’m gonna leave on his voicemail. I stand up and walk over to the dresser. I place Sam’s note on top of it, by my cat figurine collection, and punch in the numbers. The ringing begins and I stare at the little cat angel, readying to say anything after Dean’s greeting.

“This is Dean’s other, other cell so you must know what to do.”

“Hi.” My voice eeks out, a whispery rasp. I clear my throat. “Dean. It’s me. El. I-I just wanted to tell you that I’m-I’m pissed. I’m pissed that you didn’t hang around at the hospital and wait for me to wake up. Cause, ah, I-I did think of a tip for you.” The lump in my throat makes my breath hitch. “Don’t quit the life. Not yet. And don’t wait so damn long to kiss me the next time you see me, Winchester. I’ll, I’ll be waiting.”

I circle my finger along the halo of the little kitty.

~~~~

I don’t sleep that night. I wait for his call. When my phone finally rings, it’s a little after two in the morning.

But the name on the screen is Bobby. He hasn’t called me direct since I’ve been out of the hospital.

I answer but don’t say anything. Just wait for the old man’s voice.

“I’m sorry, L. He’s-he’s gone.”

[michellemisfit]

Weekly Tag Wednesday

Thanks for the tag @deedala @darlingian @suchagallabitch @energievie @creepkinginc @lingy910y @gembu-tortuesouscafeine @mickeysgaymom

1. if you could switch bodies with anybody for only one hour who would it be and what would you do?

Hmmmm. If it was ‘anything’ I’d switch with something with wings. But if it has to be a person then I guess the next best thing? Like a Circe du Soleil arial performer? Yeah, I think that’d be cool, but also after an hour I’d be kinda done. Perfect.

2. whats your most trivial / dumbest hot take?

I don’t have baths after dark. No one should. The nighttime monsters are gonna get you, if you’re wet after sundown. I don’t make the rules 🤷🏽‍♂️

3. If you had to teach a college course what would it be in?

Something animal related. Or problem solving and problem prevention. Like, I always say you can’t teach common sense but… maybe I could try?? Cause I think I’d be pretty good at it! Maybe not college. Get them earlier. While they’re malleable. Teach them how to spot shit that’s about to hit the fan. And what they can do to prevent it! Teach them how to walk into a room and register the 13 things that need to be addressed / fixed / saved / cleaned before they walk back out of the room. Yeah. I’d be good at that.

4. season 12 of shameless is suddenly happening and you’ve been put in charge! what plot point(s) are you gonna make happen?

I want them all to be settled and happy. I don’t need life to be perfect. But just…

I like Lip being into the building and decorating, but he’s soon gonna miss using his brain, so I’d like him to move into either the architecture side of things or the business management and franchising side of things.

I love Ian & Mickey being happily married forever and ever, and they’ve gone through so much shit, they should just get to be happy, but! I hate that all mentions of Ian’s bipolar were cut from season 11. This doesn’t just go away. Show me how well they deal with it now, but also how it’s still hard, and how it touches a part of Mickey’s hurt and trauma that he doesn’t want to achonowledge, and how sometimes it makes Ian self-loathing and mean and Mickey scared and angry, and when they get like this they lash out at each other. And then show me how, even when things are hard, they continue to fight for each other and choose each others, because they will ALWAYS choose each other.

Sandy is going to come back and Debbie and her are gonna make a real go of it.

Carl is going to buy and run The Alibi and it’s going to be awesome.

5. who would be your godly parent? (can be any mythology).

The Black Rabbit of Inlé.

Oh, there's no more to fear in death than in the changing of the seasons.

You all know how some rabbits seem just to throw their lives away between two jokes and a theft: but the truth is that their foolishness comes from the Black Rabbit, for it is by his will that they do not smell the dog or see the gun…But the truth is — or so they taught me — that he, too, serves Lord Frith and does no more than his appointed task — to bring about what must be. We come into the world and we have to go: but we do not go merely to serve the turn of one enemy or another. We go by the will of the Black Rabbit of Inle and only by his will. And though that will seem hard and bitter to us all, yet in his way he is our protector.

6. what’s something you love about yourself?

I’m funny, kind, competent, hard working, and creative. I hate myself a lot, but I’m also pretty fucking awesome. Two things can be true at the same time. I contain multitudes. 🤷🏽‍♂️

7. describe your day in 5 emojis:

😭🥓🍳🥲🛍️

8. what shameless character do you think you could beat in a fight?

Jimmy-Steve, Liam, and Fiona. Tommy, Kermit, and Kate. Iggy and Walter Milkovich (if they’re high, which they will be). Also Karen, Ned, and Kash.

9. tell us 2 truths and a lie, we’ll try to guess the lie!

10. do you have a pet(s). if so how did they get their name?

Mouse was named after Michael ‘Mouse’ Tolliver (Tales of the City) by Ruth and after Mouse the Temple Dog from Jim Butcher’s Dresden Files by me. Full Name: Mouse McFeathers.

Howard was named after the foreman in charge of a big building project at the farm, at the time when we rescued him as a kitten. Howard Alan Crisp, giving his name to our three kittens Howard, Alan, and Crispy. Full Name: Howard ‘Bonk Bonk’ Bambino.

Wiggins was named after the cyclist Bradley Wiggins, because he was big at the time, and it was better than Froome, which was the other name on the table, and closest to Arthur, which is what I wanted to call him. In the end we let Mouse choose by writing all the names on pieces of paper, folding them up, and picking the one she swiped off the table. Full Name: Wiggins Dangerbean.

11. show us a meme (or picture) that captures your essence

12. whats your typical coffee / tea / beverage order?

Chai Latte

I would like to tag @suzy-queued @vintagelacerosette @sam-loves-seb @lupeloto @shameless-notashamed @transmickey @heymrspatel @gallawitchxx @francesrose3 @jademickian @sickness-health-all-that-shit @metalheadmickey @gardenerian @callivich @celestialmickey @look-i-love-u @rutherinahobbit @palepinkgoat @whatthebodygraspsnot @depressedstressedlemonzest @rereadanon @the-rat-wins @tsuga-of-mars @too-schoolforcool or just hand you a flower and let you pet a puppy 🐶

[mydemonsdrivealimo]

whats the cause of his cute lil mental break 🥺 and why is it ethan ramsey lol jk

no bc it literally was ethan. + a bunch of other shit but ethan was his breaking point <3

also answering for these two :)

@aces-and-angels

so to go WAY back to the origin (beyond his usual mental health struggles) he got into his motorcycle accident a montg before he was supposed to leave on a docs without boarders type of trip. on top of the physical pain (fractured humerus, mild shattered knee cap, broken wrist, and a shard of metal to his chest that nearly took out his lung), he was really upset that he couldn't go

healing was a LONG process. it took him a few weeks to get home, and then it was a lot of recovery and pt appointments after the fact. not being able to work/do things bothered him more than the physical pain

he was alone at his place most of the day which was rough, but bryce was sure to come over most nights and his friends would stop by here and there

he's finally cleared to go back to work (w the help of a knee and wrist brace). tobias had taken over the team while he was gone and jensen was fine to let him keep it while he was still getting back to 100%

things were okay but it was rough adjusting, and the whole time he was emailing w the people who ran the trip he was supposed to take, and they had no other openings for like,, two years. so that just kinda crushed him

ab a month after he gets back he tells tobias he's ready to take the team back, to which he happily agrees but made sure to let jensen know that he could let him know if he ever needed a break

not too long later jensen is in a meeting w some of the board + ethan + bloom and other higher up hospital people. he gets a little mouthy about some of the policies they were developing while he was gone, and some of the types of patients they'd be impacting (that they did not consider when developing it)

ethan pulls him aside after and starts comparing him to tobias. mind you tobias did not attend meetings like that since he was a temporary fill in, but as far as communication went he was much more simple compared to jensen. ethan started criticizing how jensen Always has something to say w stuff like that and meetings were perfectly pleasant without him

jensens already sensitive to the fact that he's taking over the dt for a second time, so to have ethan tell him that he'd rather not have him there is tough. he rolls his eyes and moves along like normal but it sticks

over the next month or two it's just more of that from ethan. jensens stressed w the dt workload plus pt appointments plus check ups plus trying to sort out legal stuff from the accident

the board ends up pushing through a policy that particularly impacts non english speaking patients, which puts more work onto jensen as a registered translator. he's constantly being pulled in like 12 directions, and i imagine their nursing staff got a system makeover which means nobody knows how to sort out any complications in scheduling for a bit, and constantly puts them behind schedule

jensen wanted to bring it up to some of the board members ab how it was a bad policy And bad timing but ethan approaches him on why that's not a good idea to bring up

during this time jensen had really been isolating himself just bc he didn't have the energy for his friends or anything aside from work

their argument turns into quite the spectacle. ethan lays into him on causing unnecessary extra problems when the hospital is already struggling w new changes and jensens ab to fucking kill him. jensen is not one to argue back, usually just quietly sits there and takes it, but he fucking blows up on ethan. tells him that he has no idea what it's like actually struggling w shit, how much hes dealing w from recovery to incompetent higher ups to the world falling apart and their political system going up in flames. he is so stressed about everything and ethan thinks it's a good time to ask him to "be pleasant" bitch please.

the argument happens literally in the middle of one of the busiest halls next to one of the nurses stations and it gets them both put on a suspension

jensen does not handle the suspension well. he hadn't been to therapy since before the accident and couldn't get a refill on his meds so he stopped taking them a few weeks ago. he hasn't talked to his friends in a month, and saw bryce maybe twice but bryce was also worrying ab his stuff for his boards so jensen wasn't going to bother him w it anyway

all of this = jensen being completely alone and isolated in his apartment for a week w no mental support after being completely overworked and overwhelmed for months and still getting used to the knee and wrist braces and coming to terms w the longterm impacts of the accident. thus ensues the mental break