#and i’d love to get in touch and then road trip it out to Minnesota and drop in for a few hours

[starbuck]

anybody else occasionally struck with the urge to track down their entire extended family and figure out what their Deal is?

[50-percent-winchester-sister]

Hidden Talents

Prompt: You hid something from them for quite a while, and they want to know what it is

Dean: 28

Sam: 24

Y/N: 17

feat. Castiel whos over 3.9 Billion Years Old

Word Count: 2,862

  Art isn't something you purposely hid from your brothers...well the only reason you 'hid' your drawings and paintings are because you didn't know how they'll react.

  You three are hunters, you kill things, normality isn't 'normal' to you guys. Sam kinda forced you to go to high school and is encouraging you to finish it, and now you're in 11th grade.

  You don't bring things home in a sort of 'fear' that they'll see it. So you keep it in the art room and you draw and paint every day before and after school, since you don't have any art classes during school, you're just in the art club

  "Y/N, come on we gotta go! Hurry up or we'll leave you here" Dean yells through the bunker, you, on the other hand, are running through the halls with your duffel bag in one hand and a notebook in another. You accidentally left your notebook on the couch and you're praying to Chuck Sam or Dean didn't look in it.

  "I'm coming hold on a sec!" You yell back. You throw your notebook on your bed and close your door. You're about to go down the stairs when you go down the first two steps and whoops, you fell all the way down to the bottom.

  Sadly enough you busted your nose on the floor and there's blood and comes in Sam, who runs towards you in a slight panic. "What happened? Are you okay? Where are you bleeding?"

  You smile a little and point at your nose, "fell down the stairs" you say while getting up. Sam helps you up, picks up your bag and throws it around his arm. "Ouch, your nose looks a little bruised, isn't broken though, go clean up and hurry, you know Dean doesn't like waiting."

  You thank him for him getting your bag and you run to the bathroom, you run past Dean and he stops you by holding onto your arm. "Hey, woah hold on there, what happened?" "Fell down the stairs, no big deal," you say as you lightly yank your arm back.

   He starts laughing at you and a few seconds later he adds, "Only you can do something like that" "Dean it's very common to fall down that stairs! I'm going to clean up, wait for me in the car."

  The blood was coming faster than you thought because you were starting to become light-headed and the pressure you are putting on your face to stop the blood is the painful kind of hurting. The lightest touch on your nose makes you flinch in pain.

  'Such a baby quit that' you thought. Leaning on the bathroom sink you almost yelled Sam or Dean's name but you knew he was in the car. Your phone was in your bag that Sam took so you couldn't do anything but hurry on to the impala and suck it up.

  Still bleeding, you run towards the impala when you suddenly got light-headed again and you leaned a hand on the car to keep steady when you look up and see Dean open the car door and say, "Hey hey hey no hands on my baby, get in."

  Rolling your eyes you open up the back door and go inside. Thirty minutes into the drive to Stillwater, Minnesota, and Sam is starting to realize you haven't talked in a while. He turns around asks "Babe, you okay? You look kinda pale in the face."

  Took you a couple of seconds to respond but you squeeze out a "What? Uhh yeah yeah I'm good," you say as you look absolutely stoned, a.k.a you look like you're about to pass out.

  "Dean, she looks like she's about to die, how about we take her back to the bunker." Sam says to Dean, looking a little worried." Dean, on the other hand, is confused. "What? Sam, she looks fine, we ain't leaving her." "Dean, I bet you Chuck's soul shes going to faint while on this hunt, turn around"

  You tried to disagree but Sam kept on telling you that you need to rest up and get better. Reluctantly you gave up fighting and when you three got into the bunker, Dean helped you unpack your things when he saw the notebook on your bed. "Whats that Y/N?" You look at what Dean is pointing at and subconsciously you pick it up and look through it. "Nothing, just something for school."

  You aren't completely lying, it is for the art club, but Dean wouldn't want to know that, right? Who gives a crap about 'your' drawings. "You sure? You look a little panicked there, Y/N"

  "Guilt trip, how fun. quit interrogating me and get outta here, Leave or the case will be closed before you even get there." Dean kisses your forehead before turning to leave your room. That is until he fastly turns back around and snatches your notebook out of your hands and runs out. "Wh-DEAN WHAT THE HELL!?"

  You start chasing Dean when you get in the living room, Dean throws the notebook towards Sam and yells "SAMMY GET IN THE CAR, RUN" "FUCK SAM, STOP." Great, now you're chasing an actual giant, by the time you get even one-inch closer, Sams already in the car and he locked all four doors. "Samuel William Winchester don't you even fucking think about looking in that and if you do I swear to everything that is holy I will make sure that the next hunters' funeral will be yours." You say in the darkest undertone ever, even Sam looked surprised. "I don't even know whats going on, but if Dean wants it then-"

  "I DONT CARE WHAT DEAN WANTS, ITS MINE" You yell and halfway though you see Dean walking towards your distance. You walk and stop in front of Dean and you pull out your pocket knife, point it at his throat and say "Dean I'm only going to say this once. Give me back my notebook, now."

  "You know, baby girl, you don't scare me one bit so," proceeding to snatch your knife too and points it at your throat, "If you feel like trying to cut my neck again after we get back, I'd be happy to help out," he says with a shit-eating grin. He puts 'your' knife in 'his' pocket and gets in the driver seat. "Oh, and don't worry Y/N, we won't lose this," He says hold up practically the only thing look forward to nowadays.

  "I fucking hate you two, you know," you whisper under your breath, luckily they were too far away and in the car to hear. They turn the corner and that when you bust a hard cry. You walk back into your room and practically scream into your pillow

'fan-fucking-tastic they're gonna see my drawings'

'Some of it are drawings of them, they'll think I'm creepy as hell, like a banshee'

'I KNOW they'll tell me to stop playing with 'crayons' and focus solely on hunting'

  At this point, you're having a full-on panic attack, hyperventilating and all and you can swear your heart stopped when you heard a few light taps at your door. "Y/N, its Castiel, can I come in?" 'Oh, its Cas' you think to yourself. "Yeah, come in, it's unlocked" you sniffled afterward. "Is everything okay Y/N? I heard you crying and I came to help you" "Its cool Cas, thanks but you can't help me, it's just the boys being... boys" you sigh in defeat.

  "What did they do?"

____________________________________________

  Sam and Dean are about 2 hours away from Stillwater, and being almost 11:30 pm, they decided to head to a motel, but before that, they decided what was inside the precious little notebook you always have your nose in on your spare time.

  "Sammy, check it out and I'll look at it when we head to the motel," Dean tells Sam while looking at the road. "Dude she's gonna be pissed, you saw the way she was acting before we left." "That's why he 'have' to look into it, what if there's something dangerous in there?" Dean asks Sam, and Sam looking into the notebook halfway through Dean's sentence.

  "Yeah? Dangerous as in drawings? Dude, I didn't even know she can draw, let alone draw beautifully. I mean look at this Dean, it's us," Sam tells and shows Dean. Dean stops at the motel parking lot and looks at the drawing. The drawing is of Sam and Dean just last year, a replica of a picture that you took of them in their FBI suits (without them knowing of course.)

  "Holy shit, that's good, and why doesn't she want us to see this? This is really, really good I mean Sam look, I'm hot." Dean comments.

  "Because Dean, Y/N thinks you two will make her stop drawing," Castiel says, popping up at the right time, what a coincidence. "Goddammit, Cas you scared the shit out of me, don't just pop up like that without telling us first," Dean says. Both Sam and Dean jumped a little when they heard Cas's voice.

  "She thinks we'll make her stop? Why does she think that?" Sam asks Castiel with a confused look in his face. "Because Sam, she also thinks that if you found out she doesn't mostly focus on hunting, you two will be mad at her. You two need to talk to her, I tried but she doesn't want to talk back." Dean talks to Sam and then to both of them. Castiel teleports away leaving a confused Dean and a worried Sam in the car.

  "Dean?" "Not a word about this until we get back to the bunker, you hear?" Dean tells Sam. The hunt took two days, it would have taken longer but it went faster than they thought it would be, and honestly, they think its because they wanted to see you so badly. You didn't pick up any of their calls and you left both Sam and Dean on read.

  

Thursday:

Sammy Pu: Y/N? 12:00 Am

Sammy Pu: Babe? 12:15 Am

Sammy Pu: Please don't do this babe, please respond back 12:36 Am

Friday:

Sammy Pu: I love you, Y/N, well see you as fast as we can okay? 7:18 Am

Sammy Pu: I really hope you don't hate us for taking the notebook of your drawings 8:22 Am

Samy Pu: They are really good by the way, beautiful really, I'm proud of you 10:45 Am

Saturday:

Sammy Pu: Good news babe, were coming home soon 2:09 Pm

Sam knows you're ignoring him and if Dean is trying to talk to you, you're ignoring him too. They honestly didn't know how much this would upset you, if they knew, Dean wouldn't be such an idiot and take it from you.

  This time, Sam got to drive since Dean got a sprained arm from the hunt and even Dean had to tell Sam to slow down a little bit because Sam was going 20 over the speed limit.

  A few hours later, they enter Kansas and they enter the bunker. You hear the bunker door open and you know that it's them. So you run downstairs and you stop and look at them. They see you with red eyes and messed up hair, looks like you've been up for days.

  You walk up to Dean and you give him a fresh, crisp, slap on the face and you slapped him as hard as you possibly can, and he even walked back a little. And with Sam, you smacked the back of his head so damn hard your hand hurt on impact.

  "We deserve that," They both said in unison. "Damn fucking right you do, now give it back," You say with a tired and unenergetic voice. "Will do, princess," Dean says while taking your notebook out of his bag and hands it over to you, and you practically snatch it out of his hand.

  "You look tired as hell, go to sleep for a while and come talk to us whenever you wake up, okay, Y/N?" Sam tells you, "...Whatever" you respond with, going back upstairs, throwing your notebook on your desk, and throwing yourself on your bed.

  ____________________________________________

  You walk downstairs and you walk and stop at the bunker to see them talking to Castiel, and its probably about the hunt they went to. You were so pissed at them, and you think you still are, but nonetheless, they wanted to talk to you so why the hell not.

  "Morning," You say with a rough, crappy voice. "Its 5:30" Sam says with a small laugh at the end.

  "So how long was I out?" You ask and you honestly don't give a crap who answers at this point.

  "About 48 hours more or less" Dean responds. "TWO DAYS? And none of you came and woke me up? Thanks" You says throwing your hands up in the air. "You needed the sleep, and we knew you would've woken up at some point so we knew you were okay," Dean says to you.

  Castiel left a few minutes later so it was just you and your brothers, Sam and Dean. "Y/N-" "No its okay, really" You quickly responded, "No it's not, we shouldn't have taken it from you, we're sorry," Sam says.

  "They are really good by the way, all of them. Which brings me to this question, why didn't we know you were so talented until now? And why did Cas come and tell us you think we don't want you to do this?" Dean asks. "Interrogating me again?" "No, just wanting to know is all" Sam adds.

  "Well-," You started off, "It's not a big deal anyway, I mean you two already seen them," you said to Sam and Dean.

   "They're not that good anyway, its just a thing I do at school-" "Wait, you do this at school?" Sam asks. "Well, I don't have art classes if that's what you mean" you respond with. "I'm just in the art club."

  "Since when?" Dean asks confusingly, no surprise, you never told them about anything. "Since the middle-ish of 9th grade," you said. "3 years?" They said in unison. "Yeah?" you said, is that a long time?

  "How did we not know this until now?" Dean says quietly, questioning himself. "This isn't even a big deal guys, its 'just' art, yall are acting like its the end of the world," You say sarcastically. "I mean come on, it's not like you guys kept secretes from me" You add on.

  "We are not acting like that-" Sam says, "You just never used to keep things from us, especially for this long." You have a face of surprise, you didn't expect that from him.

  "I'm 17 guys, I'm not as talkative as I used to be, girls gotta keep her secretes," You say and after you sigh in defeat. "We know, but you're our girl, our sister," Dean says, "We miss hanging out with you, Y/N."

  "I've always been here, I'm 17, but I'm not leaving any time soon, I don't think moving out is on my to-do list right now," You said with a small smile.

  "Good, and we don't want you to move out," Sam says with a smile. "And we would love to see more of your drawings if you're comfortable with that, Y/N," Dean says. "Y-you guys want to see more?" you ask with a shocked look. "Yeah if that's cool with you," Dean says. "So... you guys don't care if I keep on doing this?" You ask with a hint of worryness in your voice.

  "Of course we do, you're freaking amazing," Sam says, "Hell, you should do that as a freaking job, you can get gold from your art" 'Wait, what?' you thought, "What? N-no I'm not even that good honestly, they're just doodles I draw when I'm bored, trust me" You respond to Sam with. "That is not even remotely true, Y/N. Anyways this can be a good profession to branch out of-" Dean was saying before you cut him off. "No, I still want to hunt, and I still want to hunt with you guys, as I said, they're just doodles"

  A small sigh comes out of the both of them, most likely a sigh of annoyance or irritation. "If you really don't think you're that good, then keep on drawing until you get there," Dean says, and Sam adds on with "Keep on doing what you love to do, even if you don't think you're that good at it because the people that cant do what you can think you're exceedingly great at it. We do, we think you're damn amazing at it and we'd love to see more of your art."

  To say you're shocked is an understatement, you honestly didn't expect to hear any of that from Sam or Dean. The two who started and ended the apocalypse. The two who started and ended Amara, the Darkness. The two who practically raised you your whole life.

  "Guys..." You couldn't even finish your sentence because you were starting to bawl.

  "Thank you"

[myhockeyworld87]

Nervous Regrets - Tyler Seguin - Part 25

Word Count: 3129

POV  Reader

Warnings:  Language, fluff, mentions smut

Notes: Here’s the Christmas past finally. I hope you guys enjoy it. I probably won’t be posting another chapter for 2 weeks, as I’ll be out of town. Happy Reading!

READER’S POV

 It was hard to believe Christmas came as fast as it did. Tyler was on another long road trip after the Star’s family skate, so you were able to get the majority of your shopping and wrapping all done before the holiday. Technically this would be the first Christmas you spent away from your family, which felt odd. You had made the decision after your engagement that you wanted to start a new tradition with your own family; and that was making sure that you, Tyler and soon your baby, all be together for the holiday. Though your family was disappointed, you made plans to get together with all of them as soon as Tyler’s schedule permitted.

 Tyler’s family were all coming in on the twenty-second to watch him play on the twenty-third and then were all staying at the house for Christmas. Which is why you needed everything done before they came to town. Days were spent baking, wrapping and adding finishing touches on the decorations. By the time everyone flew in, you had the house looking like something out of a Hallmark Christmas movie. All the stockings were hung, one for both you and Tyler as well as each of the three dogs; you’d toyed with the idea of getting one for the baby, but then decided to wait until next year. Tyler’s mom had dozens of presents delivered to your house, and as you bowed them and placed them under the tree you noticed there were a few for Baby Seguin as well, which was awfully sweet of her.

 There was no way you could pick everyone up at the airport alone, as Tyler was in Minnesota when his family came into town; so you’d had to hire a car service for them. It felt so impersonal, but they didn’t seem to mind. You had cookies out on the island, as well as eggnog for when they arrived.

 “Oh (Y/N) the place looks so amazing,” Jackie said as she hugged you. “And look at you. You finally look like you’re going to have my grandchild.” An easy blush stained your cheeks, for in the last few weeks your baby belly had really begun to show.

 Cassidy came up to you then, placing her hands on your tummy as she said, “Hey little one, how are you doing in there?” The baby kicked in response, well maybe not in response; since he or she seemed to be doing a lot of kicking lately. “I’m gonna take that as pretty good.” She hugged you as well.

 As the rest of Tyler’s family filed in, you greeted them all. It was nice just sitting around and visiting with everyone. Everyone gathered in the living room to watch the Stars take on the Wild. The game going into overtime. Thankfully Rads was able to score during the three-on-three period, giving the Stars a win. As the night dwindled down, everyone headed off to bed. Tyler wouldn’t be home for a couple hours, so you decided to follow suit and just get up when he came home. It was about two in the morning when you heard him enter your bedroom. He’d been particularly quiet as to not wake anyone. Rolling over you greeted your soon to be husband. “Hey hun, good game tonight.”

 “Hi, babe.” He leaned over and kissed you. “Everyone get here ok?”

 “Yeah, we had a nice dinner and then watched the game.” You stretched as much as the dogs would allow you to before adding. “I think your mom wanted to wait up for you, but she eventually headed to bed.”

 “She didn’t keep you up, did she? You need your rest.”

 A laugh escaped you. “No, Ty she didn’t. Trust me, me and this little one are taking it easy.” He stripped out of his suit, throwing it and his bag in the closet; while you got up to head to the bathroom.

 “Babe, where are you going?” he whispered as he pulled you into his arms.

 “Your child is sitting on my bladder at the moment.” He let you go then but followed you in the ensuite.

 “So why is he or she my child when they are doing these things to you?” He chuckled as he started to brush his teeth.

 “Oh, that’s easy. I’m sure he or she got all their bad traits from you and not me. Besides, you get all the blame because you knocked me up.” He practically spit toothpaste all over the mirror, as he started to laugh.

 He rinsed his mouth out, before answering you. “Oh so you weren’t a participant at all then were you?” Setting the toothbrush down, he pulled you into him, rubbing his hands up and down your body.

 “Hmmm…I might’ve helped, but I’m pretty sure you instigated it.”

 “That so, huh?” You nodded your head. “Well then, I might as well start something right now with you.” He backed the two of you up until you were back in your bedroom.

 “Ty, your whole family is here. We can’t do this.”

 “I think they already know that we have sex (Y/N).” He kissed the crook of your neck. “This one right here gives that away.” His hands were on your stomach, caressing the baby through your nightshirt. He went to lay you down on the mattress when three sets of eyeballs all looked up at you at once.

 “I don’t think there’s room in this bed for what you have in mind.” You giggled softly.

 “Ok boys, get down.” They just stared at him, Marshall going as far as just laying his head back down on the bed. “Come on guys, get off the bed,” Gerry growled when Tyler tried to grab his collar and gently tug him down. “Great I’m getting cockblocked by my own dogs.” This only made you laugh harder. “If you weren’t seven months pregnant, I’d take you on the floor; but I’m a gentleman.”

  “Since when?”

 “Don’t start woman. Alright, guys at least move over, so we can sleep.” You crawled into bed, Tyler following behind you, as the whole left side was taken up by your furbabies. “Babe, can you scoot over anymore?”

 “Well Cash is kind of in my way.” Tyler tried to move the dog from behind you, which was quite comical. “God we’re a hot mess.” Cash finally got out of the middle of the bed, so that you could move over for Tyler. He wrapped his arm around you then, hand resting on your belly, while his leg came over the top of yours.

 “Mmmm much better.” He pressed a few kisses to the nape of your neck. “Night baby.”

 “Goodnight, Ty. Love you.”

 “I love you too (Y/N).” Despite the chaos that went on when Tyler came home, it was somehow easy to fall asleep. The next day was a whirlwind of activity. Tyler’s family was up early, waking both you and the dogs as he slept on. He and his sisters did some last-minute shopping before he had to head for the arena for the game. The rest of you following shortly thereafter. It was a tough loss, but it was made a bit easier by all his loved ones being around.

 Christmas Eve was spent, making a huge feast for everyone that night, as well as lots of laughter and fun. At one point you’d noticed that Tyler had slipped away, but as you and his sister’s put the finishing touches on the dining room table, he came strolling in, clad in a Santa costume. “Ho, Ho, Ho it’s Seggy Claus.”

 “Oh my god, you’ve got to be kidding me.” Cassidy burst out. You weren’t sure who was laughing harder you, Candace or Cassidy. Though you had to admit, he looked so darn cute though, in his white beard and red suit, carrying a matching gift sack on his back.

 “Oh, I see someone is on the naughty list this year.” He teased Cass. Tyler then bumped into Candace, “And what about you, have you been good this year?” She rolled her eyes at him, and before she even attempted to answer, he stopped her. “I can see you’ll be joining your sister on that list.” Finally, he made his way to you. “Seggy Claus has it on good authority that you’ve been an extra good girl.”

 The grin on his face was evident even through his removable beard. “I can’t imagine who told you that.”

 He dropped the bag, which clearly had gifts in it, and wrapped his arms around your waist. “Well, a little elf told me of course.”

 Raising your eyebrows, you quipped, “Hmmm…I don’t think that elf is little at all.” Noticing that his sisters had left, you slid your hands down to the front of his Santa pants and quickly stroked his cock.

 “Yes, you’ve been a very good girl.” He said, then in a more hushed tone. “So how about you and I go be naughty for a bit.”

 “Ty we can’t.” You whispered back to him.

 He pulled his beard down then and kissed you passionately; making you warm inside. “Isn’t there something you need at the store?”

 “No, I made sure we had everything we’re going to need.”

 He chuckled. “Umm, babe…I was saying that so we could be alone.”

 “Oh! But not everyone would have to go.” Even if you did makeup something that you needed from the store, it would only get one or two people out of the house.

 “No they wouldn’t, but just you and I could go.”

 “Ok, I’m blaming my pregnancy brain on not getting this strategy at all.” Now that your brain had finally caught up to Tyler’s, you needed to think of something that would get your out of the house. “I’m game, but what could we need?”

 “Ummm…I’m sure we can think of something. What about butter or milk?”

 “Nah, too obvious…but we could say I’m out of my prenatal vitamins or something. No one will question that.”

 He quickly kissed you, before letting you go. “Let me go change real quick.”

 Grabbing his wrist, you pulled him back to you. “Leave it on.”

 His brow went up. “Really? You gotta thing for Santa?” Instead of giving you a chance to answer, he entwined your hands and led you out to the kitchen. Where he let the lie you agreed to pass from his lips. His family seemed a bit skeptical but didn’t question anything, and when you both came back an hour later without any bags; no one said a word.

 Dinner was incredible and then you all settled in the living room to talk and enjoy each other’s company. Tyler’s mom insisted everyone open at least one small gift that night. She’d gotten you and Tyler matching pajamas, which were extremely cute. They were Christmas plaid pants and a cute little top that said Santa Baby on it. Tyler’s were identical, but his said Santa Baby Maker instead. To which he responded. “Hell ya!” He immediately changed into them, urging you to do the same. Of course, Cassidy documented the whole thing with a cute photo of you two in front of the tree with the dogs; Tyler cradling your bump in the picture. You had a feeling it would become one of your favorites.

 Everyone called it a night and headed off to bed shortly after that. When you walked into your bedroom, you headed straight for the closet. “Babe, what are you doing?”

 “I have to get all these presents out.” You had quite a few packages stashed in the back of the closet to put out.

 “What are you talking about? There are a ton of gifts under that tree.”

 “Well, I saved some back so it’s like Santa came.” It had always been your family’s tradition to do this, and you wanted it to continue with your new one. “Besides, you need to get used to doing a lot more than these, once the baby comes. Maybe you should put that suit back on.”

 “Oh, my kinky Mrs. Claus is back.” He went to grab you, but instead, you threw a couple boxes in his hands.

 “Ty, not now. Here take these out.” A groan of frustration left his mouth, as he headed out of the closet to take the gifts and put them under the tree. After about half a dozen trips of you both taking presents out of the bedroom, you were finally done. You stood back and looked at how beautiful your house looked with all the gifts under the Christmas tree.

 Tyler came up behind you, leaning his head on your shoulder. “What are you thinking about?”

 “How beautiful it all looks, and how I can’t wait until next year.” Rubbing your baby belly, your thoughts drifted to seeing your little one amidst the pile of presents, dogs surrounding him or her as well; their little hands reaching out and grabbing one of the bows. It brought a smile to your face, just thinking about it.

 He placed his hands over the top of yours, knowing where your thoughts had gone, he added. “Mmmm…I can’t wait to see the baby on Christmas morning too.” While you didn’t want to rush things along with your pregnancy, you were looking forward to all the firsts you were going to have next year. There would be first time rolling over, first steps, and first words; but first Christmas, you planned on making extra special. “Alright Mrs. Claus, let’s head to bed. Santa has some plans for you.”

 “Oh, really Mr. Claus?”

 “Yes really.” He took your hand, walking you backwards toward your bedroom.

 “Well, there might be a present in here for you to unwrap.” He barred the dogs from entry for the next hour, until you two were ready to fall asleep. Light streaming through the windows woke you in the morning, and you kissed Tyler’s sleeping form before heading out to the kitchen to start breakfast for everyone. Christmas carols played softly in the background as you cooked bacon and sausage for the entire family, the aroma wafting throughout the house. About halfway through mixing the pancake batter, Tyler woke up.

 He snuck behind you, making you jump. “Merry Christmas baby.” He nuzzled your neck, dropping kisses until you turned in his arms.

 “Merry Christmas my love.” Going up on your tiptoes, you kissed your fiancé passionately, right as his family came traipsing down the stairs, a chorus of Merry Christmases coming out of their lips.

 “Merry Christmas everyone!” You echoed back.

 “Wow, breakfast smells amazing,” Jackie commented.

 “It really does,” Paul added. “Anything we can help with?”

 “Absolutely, someone can make toast and I was just finishing up the pancake mix, then I’ll get to making them. Ty, honey, can you do the eggs?”

 “I’m on it, babe.”

 Cassidy wandered around the island and peered into the living room. “Where did all the presents come from?”

 Tyler nudged you. “Looks like Santa came last night.” A giant grin broke out across both your faces. After breakfast, everyone headed into the living room to open presents.

 “Here’s one for Baby Seguin from Santa,” Candace said, handing you over the package. You looked over at Tyler, who just shook his head no; but then when you saw his mom grinning you remembered it had to be her. Peeling the paper off, you opened the box to reveal a little onesie inside. It read, ‘I’m cute, Mommy’s cute, Daddy’s lucky.’

 “Really mom? I’m a little bit cute too…though I am damn lucky.” He leaned over and gave you a quick peck.

 “Jackie, this is darling. Thank you so much.” There were plenty more gifts for Baby Seguin, cute little outfits with puppies all over them, stuffed animals to go in the nursery and so much more. Tyler got a baby Bjorn to carry the baby around while he skated, which he was completely over the moon about.

 “I can’t wait to use this. Babe, how big does the baby have to be before we can take them out in this.” His excitement was contagious, but you had to admit you were a bit nervous about him skating around with your child. You now knew what he was feeling at the family skate.

 “Hold your horses there Daddy. Let’s get this little one out first.”

 “Speaking of being a Dad.” Cassidy interrupted. “Here’s one to Daddy…Love Baby Seguin.”

 Tyler looked over at you, a questioning look on his face. “Wait…what?...Babe, did you do this?”

 Feigning innocence, you answered. “Don’t look at me, the baby did it.”

 The smile that was on his face was enough to make you melt, making your excitement grow for him to open the gift you got him from the baby. Carefully he tore the wrapping off the box, then lifted the lid. You could see tears starting to form in his eyes as he read what was inside. “Ok, don’t leave us in suspense big brother.” Cassidy taunted.

 “It’s the baby’s first sonogram picture, which I never saw, and it says.” His voice got a little choked up as he read what was on the frame. “Daddy can you feel me, I wiggle and kick for you. I can hear you say you love me…Daddy, I love you too.” He took a moment to wipe away the tears that were now rolling down his cheeks; you did the same. “Very soon you’ll meet me, and kiss my little face…And I will feel your soft skin, and feel your warm embrace. Daddy are you ready, my life is about to start. I will hold your finger, but you will always hold my heart. Love Always, Baby Seguin.” He had barely got that last part out, and when you looked around the entire family were crying happily along with you both; even Paul was quickly wiping away a tear or two.

 Tyler leaned down toward the baby and placed both hands on your tummy. “Thank you so much little one. Daddy loves you more than you’ll ever know.” Then he placed a loving kiss on your stomach, before reaching up and kissing you on the lips. “I love you too Mommy. Thank you, but I feel like an ass. I didn’t get you anything even close to this.”

 “You already gave me the best gift I could ever ask for Ty.” As you spoke the words you caressed the baby that was growing inside you. “Besides, you’ve given me so much over these last few months.” It was your turn to kiss Tyler this time, and though it wasn’t heated; you poured all the love you felt for him into it.

[noladyme]

Skip To My Lou, My Darling - Chapter 5, Bloody Demons I

Disclaimer: I posted this story a few days ago, hating it, and regretting it the minute it was up. I re-wrote it, and hope you’ll like it.

The road so far…

Waitress. School teacher. Bartender. Hunter. Lulu has come a long way since she first met the Winchesters, including the father, John. Having left behind the occult for a life of peace, she was ripped out of it, when – once again – the Winchesters came in to her life. Realizing she is in the life now – for good – she also made a decision for herself. To live that life without the only man she has ever truly cared for. Both to keep him and his brother safe from leviathans, angels and demons; but also, because she doesn’t trust that her feelings for Dean are true – and not part of some higher plan set up by celestial powers.

Our story continues in season 8

Tag list (Let me know if you want to be added) @edonaspanca​ @wonderlandfandomkingdom​

I 

You’d be surprised how much info you can get in a library. This statement might seem ridiculous, because – of course – a library holds all the knowledge in the world. But there’s more than what you can find in books. There’s peoplewatching.

If you look at what people check out, you’ll learn a lot about them. That middle aged woman checking out a book on auto repairs – her car broke down, and he husband usually takes care of those kinds of things; but now he’s left her for a younger woman. The teenage boy with the masses of comic books in his arms – odds are there is at least one My Little Pony comic among them, that he’s too embarrassed to buy at a store; so he goes to the library to get it, hiding it among comics about big breasted women and superheroes. The woman sitting alone at a table with a massive paper cup of black coffee; surrounded by books on local history and papers and notes on the occult – if you came into the library on that specific day; that was me. And I was hunting a ghost.

I’d spent more than a year salting and burning my way across the states; avoiding any real fights, and sticking to the easier and more obvious cases, where all I needed was to open a grave, and take care of the bones. Managing to convince my ex, Pete – who was still reeling from the traumatic temporary memory loss he’d suffered, after being kidnapped by leviathans – to send my belongings to my friends in San Francisco; I was now free to disappear for good. No strings attached; save for the occasional call to Raul – letting him know I was alive, and still serving beer in Alaska. In reality, I was in Hartford, near Sioux Falls, South Dakota; having just picked up a box of old papers stood in the basement of a good acquaintance.

“How was your visit with the good sheriff?”, a female voice asked me. I jumped in my seat; having been deeply invested in a piece of paper scribbled over with rantings of what seemed like a madman – who’s every tenth word was balls. “Jesus Christ, Tamara”, I hissed. “You scared the crap out of me!”. My friend sat down across from me, and took the paper from my hand. “Bobby Singer… I still can’t believe what happened to him”, Tamara said sadly.

I rested my elbow on the table, and took a sip from my coffee. “When did you last see him?”, I asked. Tamara’s face was ghosted with sadness, before she met my eyes. “Years ago. Back when Isaac…”. She didn’t finish the sentence. “You never told me what happened to him”, I said. “I mean, you don’t have to…”. She smiled slightly. “It’s all right”, she said. “Demons. We were working on taking out a whole group of them, when… he didn’t make it”. She sighed. “Bobby was there; along with some younger lads… Sam and Dean Winchester. Heard of them?”.

It had been a long time since I’d heard those names. Even Jody didn’t mention them to me, when I checked in with her – as she’d insisted I do weekly, after that one time I called her from the ER, telling her about a tulpa in Minnesota; that I needed her to have the brothers check out. I’d had no idea what to do with it; and had ended up with a nasty gash down my ribs. She’d told me she hadn’t been in touch with them for months, and didn’t know how to reach them at the moment. I’d thanked her, but when she heard the sadness in my voice, she’d insisted on picking me up, and I’d spent a few days on her couch; eating lasagna and watching daytime tv. I’d been too afraid to decline, when she used her mom-voice on me.

I swallowed hard. “You worked with them?”, I muttered. “Only that once”, Tamara said. “Why, you know them?”. The corner of my lip twitched. “I saw that!”, Tamara gasped. “What?”, I croaked. “Which one…?”, she whispered. “Sam… he’s got that tall broody thing going”. She smirked at me as I looked away. “Oh… Dean… Sure you didn’t catch anything?”. “Tammy!”, I hissed. “Don’t you Tammy me!”, she retorted. “That car… is it to compensate; or does he not need that…?”. I met her eyes, and gave her a crooked smile. She grinned widely at me. I shook my head. “I have work to do”, I muttered.

Forcing myself to ignore the memory of Dean and his car – and Dean in his car; with me on his lap – I returned to the 1950 death of a young woman, who had ever since been seen, once a year, walking over a bridge near a lover’s lane. Tamara sighed. “I need to get to Kansas”. “That vampire nest?”, I asked, taking another large sip of my coffee. She nodded. “You sure you don’t want to join me? Girls trip?”, she asked. “You have all the help you need up there; and I never took down a vamp before. I’d just get in the way”, I answered. “But thank you for the ride here”, I added.

She stood up. “You, my friend, need a car!”. “Yeah… Digging up old graves and reading weird books doesn’t exactly pay well”, I muttered. The last car I’d had, had broken down three months earlier. She looked at me with worried eyes. “You can’t keep hitch-hiking across the country, love”, she said. “Bloody dangerous, that is”. “I’ll be fine. Really”, I smiled. I stood up, and hugged my friend goodbye; and promised to call if anything came up, she needed to help out with.

I took a bus back to my motel, and settled in for the night; with a beer and some day-old pizza. My burner-phone buzzed; and recognizing the number, I picked up. “Hey, Jody”, I said. “Did I forget something at your place?”. “Hey, sweetie. Uhm…”. “What? Jody…”, I demanded. “I just had a visit from a weird guy in a flasher-coat… he was looking for you”, she said. Castiel, I thought to myself – my heart leaping from my chest. “What did he… Did he hurt you?”, I asked; by instinct reaching for the angel sword. “No… But he wanted to know where you were”. She sighed. “Look, I don’t mind being your switchboard receptionist; god knows, things around here can get downright dull. But this guy…”. I chewed my lip. “I’m sorry, Jody… Did you tell him where I was?”, I asked. She scoffed. “You won’t even tell me yourself. How could I?”.

I sighed; unsure whether it was in relief, or something else. “You know, I’m aware you’re close by… I could just check all motels in a 40-mile radius for check-ins by classic rock superstars…”, Jody said, a smile in her voice. “Going full cop on me?”, I grinned. “I don’t use those anymore… too obvious”. “Burlesque names then?”, she said. “You caught me…”, I replied. As it was, I was checked in as Justinia Timberlake; going with boybands – for reasons I didn’t want to admit to myself. “Thanks, ma’…”. “Well, that makes me feel old… Anyway, he said he’d be back later tonight. Needed to find you. Do you want to be found by him?”.

I took a deep breath, pondering the question. No, I didn’t want to be found by the person who’d let leviathans loose on the world; causing me to be almost eaten by one 18 months ago. Yes, I wanted to see my friend; to know he was ok. He hadn’t hurt Jody to get to me, so maybe he was good Cass again. I sighed. “When he comes, tell him… Tell him I’ll be in the shower at the Motel 6 in Hartford. Room 13”. I’d know when he arrived if I could trust him. “That sounds… Ok, I’ll tell him. Be careful, Lulu”. “I will. Bye, Jody”. I hung up; and began preparations.

---

Bobby’s journal had helped me out quite a bit in the last year, helping me keep under the radar by pointing out which motels were off the beaten path; and which monsters to stay clear of. Even after it seemed the leviathans had disappeared, I still kept well away from anyone and everything that might put me in contact with angels and demons – and the Winchesters for that matter.

Another thing it had taught me was the sigil I was currently writing on the wall; while still wincing in pain from the gash in my palm I’d cut to draw blood. All my belongings were in my backpack – which I was wearing – and my sword was in my hand. I was ready to repel a crazy angel; and to skip town quickly. I took a deep breath, and readied myself.

After what seemed like forever – just standing next to a bloody scribbling on a wall – I felt a gush of wind; and Castiel stood in front of me. He was covering his eyes with one hand, and holding out a towel with the other. The sight brought joyous tears to my eyes.

“Cass…”, I breathed. The angel carefully parted the fingers over his eyes – and satisfied that I was indeed dressed – he dropped the towel, and smiled at me. “Lulu. It is good to see you”. I dropped my sword, and leapt over to embrace my friend. Castiel reacted as he’d always done when I showed him affection; by tensing up, and gently patting my head. He smelled like old librarian mixed with fresh air, and – for some reason – musk and gunpowder. He’d been with them.

I let go of him, and stepped back. “What happened? Are you ok?”, I asked. The angel smiled amiably. “Yes. I am… myself again”, he said. “I have to apologize for our last meeting. I was… different”. I gave him a crooked smile. “I wish I could say it was water under the bridge, but you did kind of bad-touch me”, I said. “Not sexually, I mean… but still”. Cass chuckled. It was a strange – almost human – reaction. “Yes, I carved words into your bones. It is also why I haven’t been able to find you”.

I took off my backpack, and got out the small first aid kit I had in it. Castiel frowned. “I’m sorry, but I can’t heal you. I need to save my strength”. I shrugged. “It’s fine. I’ve been taking care of my own wounds for over a year”. “Yes, that is what others have told us…”. My breath hitched, and I tried to seem indifferent. “Us?”, I croaked; and began running a bandage around my hand. “Yes”, Cass nodded. “Me, Sam… and Dean. We’ve been looking for you for a few weeks. We need… your book. Bobby Singer’s book”. Just the book. Of course, it was just that. “We are working on… something”. I let out a scoffing laugh. “Well call me not surprised”, I said.

Cass stepped towards me. “So… you’ll give me the book?”. I narrowed my eyes at him. “No”. “No?”, Cass retorted with a confused look at me. “That’s right”, I smiled. “It’s mine”. “But… we need it”.

I took a deep breath; and made a decision. “Where the book goes, I go… So, I’ll go with you”. Castiel’s eyes lit up. “You will? That’s… good. I think”, he smiled. “I can take you right away”. He stepped towards me. “Wait, stop!”, I said. Cass halted. “Where?”. “Lawrence, Kansas. It’s a safe place, don’t worry”, the angel smiled.

I looked down at my feet. I was wearing my boots; that was good. I packed up my backpack, and put it on my back. I picked up the box of Bobby’s old papers; but Cass took them from me, so I wouldn’t have to carry them. “Ok… let’s go”, I croaked.

Castiel lifted an arm, and walked towards me; putting his hand on my shoulder.

---

We were standing by a large mound with what looked like an old factory building seemingly growing out of it. My legs felt like jelly, and Cass grabbed my arm to steady me. “We’re here”, he said. “Where’s here?”, I asked breathily. “I’ll show you”, Cass smiled. We walked up a small road, and passed a black car I recognized from my past – and my dreams and nightmares. Cass led me to a metal door sprouting from the mound. “It’s inside”, he muttered, and opened the screeching door for me.

I stepped inside and was met by a dark spiral staircase leading downwards. Castiel walked ahead of me; which I was thankful for, as I didn’t trust my own legs, and would rather be caught by him, than fall and break my neck. Suddenly a warm light hit me, and I stepped out on a balcony overlooking a large room outfitted with a large table made out as a map. The scent of library hit me, and I understood why Castiel had smelled the way he did when I hugged him. The large room was warm and inviting; but also looked very official, with it’s filing cabinets, and papers on the table.

Castiel walked ahead of me down another flight of stairs, and put the box of papers on the mapped table. “I’m back!”, he called out. “About time!”, a voice that sent shivers down my spine growled. “Please tell us you got something. At least dinner”. “I’m afraid I didn’t have the time to get food for you”, Cass said, and walked towards a large archway leading to another room further inside the bunker – as I decided this place was. “Dude, I gave you 20 bucks for burgers!”.

I considered turning around and leaving. I screamed at myself internally to just haul ass up the stairs, and never come back. But I couldn’t.

Castiel stood in the archway, and looked up at me. “I brought the journal… And a guest”. “You shouldn’t bring people here”, I heard Sam’s voice. My heart pounded, as I heard footsteps across hardwood floor; and then my 6’4 friend stood in the archway with the angel; looking the direction he was. His jaw instantly dropped, and his eyes sparkled.

“I want my 20 bucks back, dude”, Dean said as he joined the other two. “I could eat a…”. He looked up. “Lou…”. Castiel frowned. “You can’t eat…”. “Shut up”, Dean croaked, stepping down the few stairs into the large concrete floored room.

I took a gasping breath; having to remind myself to breathe at all. “Hi…”, I rasped. Dean seemed unsure what to say. “Hey…?”. I began descending the stairs into the room; taking care to hit every step just so, so I wouldn’t trip. Before I hit the last step; Dean took four long strides towards me – and threw his arms around me – holding me tight against him. I put my arms around his neck, and he lifted me down the last steps. Musk, gunpowder, whiskey – Dean. My warm, constantly five o’clock shadowed, strong; yet so fragile, Dean.

I had to tear myself from him; taking short breaths, and trying desperately not to inhale him even further. It was agony. His eyes where as deep and soulful as ever, and the corner of his lip lifted; giving him an expression I couldn’t define as whether being relief, joy or pain – or maybe all three at once.

“Lulu?”, Sam croaked from behind me. I turned around, and threw myself into his arms, earning a spin in the air, as he lifted me. “Hi, Sammy”, I breathed. He squeezed me tightly. “Air!”, I gasped. “Sorry”, Sam chuckled, and put me down; before stroking my cheek.

All four of us stood for a moment, before Castiel cleared his throat. “Well, Lulu is here now. She has the book”, he said. “We can get on with our work”. “Just give us a moment here, Cass”, Sam said. “How are you, Lulu? We’ve been looking for you”. ”You shouldn’t have”, I muttered. “I know, you made that pretty clear last time we heard from you. But…”, Sam began. “We need Bobby’s book”, Dean said; having stepped up next to me. Right, the book.

I raised a brow at him. “My book. And you can’t have it”, I said. Dean frowned. “But… we need it”, he said. “So do I”, I retorted. He closed his eyes and shook his head. “Why does it feel like we’ve had this conversation before?”. “Because we did, agent Osbourne”, I chuckled. “Right”, he smiled.

Sam – who apparently just needed a bucket of popcorn for the entertainment he was getting from our conversation – stifled a smile. “Lulu, we’re working on something pretty big here”, he said. “What?”, I asked. “Saving humanity”, Dean said. “Again?”, I sighed. Sam let out a soft laugh. “Wouldn’t be us if it wasn’t, right?”.

I walked up the stairs into the other room, which walls were covered in filing cabinets and books. “What is this place?”, I asked, in awe. Sam followed me into the room. “This is The Men of Letter’s bunker”. “Who are they?”. “Us… now”, Dean shrugged. “We’re kind of like a secret society”. His smugness was tangent of embarrassing. “Look, we’ll fill you in on whatever you want…”, Sam began. Dean cleared his throat, and suddenly looked at his brother with hard eyes.

I rolled my eyes. “This again…”, I muttered. Dean frowned. “What?”. “We need to keep you safe. Keep your head low. Stay here. Go there”, I imitated his growling. “I don’t sound like that!”, Dean growled; proving my impersonation had been right on. He frowned at me, looking cute as a button doing so. I sent him a pouting smile. “Whatever. We need the book”. “And I told you. You can’t have it. I need it”. “For what?”, he grunted. “For jobs”, I replied.

Dean pursed his lips, and blew out a deep breath; clearly trying to control himself. “So you have been… doing jobs…”. “Of course I have”, I said. “What else am I supposed to do? Officially, I think I’m probably dead. There aren’t a lot of teaching gigs out there for dead chicks, who hit the road with fugitives”. He stepped over to me, and grabbed my hand. “And what’s this?”, he asked, pointing at the bandage on it. “A precaution”, I said. “Against me”, Castiel said. “Lulu was right to be careful. Last time she saw me…”. He looked down in remembrance; clearly still ashamed of his former actions.

Dean unwrapped my hand. “Sam, this needs stitches”, he grunted. I tore my hand from his grasp. “I’m fine”, I muttered. “You’re not fine, Lulu. You’re bleeding. Just let us fix you up”. I shook my head in surrender. “There’s a needle and some floss in my bag”, I said, and took of my backpack. “We have actual medical supplies now”, Sam smiled, and disappeared through a door.

Castiel slipped away as well, leaving me and Dean alone in the large room. I sat down at one of the large tables. Dean sat on the edge of the table. “So, hunting?”, he muttered. “How’s that treating you?”. “Well enough”, I said. He clenched his jaw. “Huh… How do you take down a werewolf?”, he asked. “Silver bullet”, I said. “Vampire?”, he continued, raising a brow at me. “Decapitation or fire”. “Shojo?”.

I let out a frustrated breath. “I have no idea, Dean. Never met one”, I said. “Never met a werewolf or a vampire either”. “Good, you’re not ready for any of that”, he said. “You shouldn’t even be here right now”. “It’s not safe”, I imitated him again. “Stop”, he grunted. “You have no idea how to be a hunter. Or what you’re getting yourself mixed up in by coming back here with Cass”. I clenched my jaw. “You’re right on one of those two accounts”, I said. “No, I don’t know what you’re working on, and it’s probably much to dangerous for me. But yes – I do know how to hunt. At least partly. And I’m learning as I go. Isn’t that what everybody does?”. He scoffed, and shook his head with a sarcastic smile. “In over your head, sugar”. “Screw you, Dean”, I growled.

I got of my chair; almost making it topple over from the force of my movement. “I have been working jobs all over for a long time now”, I hissed. “I’ve been playing it safe, yes; but what I’ve been doing, matters!”. Dean rolled his eyes. “Lou, you’re…”, he began. “A newbie. Unskilled, untrained; and with a desperate need for better equipment than the .45 you gave me 18 months ago”. I drew my lips back in a sneer. “But I’m not an idiot, and I don’t want to die. I’m not gonna throw myself at monsters I know nothing about, and can’t take down. But I have to learn to survive in this job, and I’m learning by working”. He shook his head. “You have no idea what you’re talking about”. “Then tell me!”, I yelled. 

Dean suddenly laughed. The gesture made me want to smack him across the face, but my hand still hurt from the cut. I snatched Bobby’s journal from my bag, and held it up. “You want this?”, I snarled. “Then you treat me with a little more respect for what I’ve been doing the last year!”. I grabbed my bag, and stormed towards the stairs. “Lou!”, Dean called after me. “Go to Hell…! Again!”, I yelled over my shoulder.

I heard him run after me, and he grabbed my arm. “I’m sorry”, he said. “Really…”. I turned around to face him. “I don’t need your permission to do something I’m actually kind of good at”, I said. “You don’t know…”. “You’re right. I don’t”, Dean said earnestly. “So, tell me… please. Maybe I… we can help”. I calmed my breathing. “Let go of my arm”, I croaked. He instantly stepped back.

Sam returned with a box. “We’re out of disinfectant”, he said. “Whiskey it is”, I muttered. “Please tell me you have that”.

---

Soon after, we were seated at the big table; as Sam was carefully stitching up my hand. “So, Ohio… ow! Bloody hell, Sam!”, I hissed, as he poked the needle through my skin. “New curse words, Lou”, Dean chuckled. “And fancy English ones as well”. I smiled. “Yeah, speaking of Ohio… ow”, I continued. “A crazy nurse had been killing patients in the 40’s; and the hospital was closing down – pissing her off something fierce… ow”. “Sorry”, Sam muttered, and pulled at the surgical thread. Dean poured me another drink. “Go on”, he said.

“She was suddenly nabbing pretty much every and any patient she could”, I said; before taking a sip of the whiskey. “I was looking up where they’d buried her after her execution, but it turned out she’d been cremated”. “What did you do?”, Sam asked. He made a final stitch. “Remind me to smack you across the face, when this heals up”, I muttered. “That hurt!”. He chuckled at me, and began wrapping up my hand in a clean bandage. “I found out from an old picture that she had a locket around her neck; which they took from her before she died. It was displayed at a museum in Dayton; and when I tracked it down, I met another hunter”. I looked up at Dean. “Tamara”.

Dean looked stunned. “Tamara? As in British Tamara?”. “Yeah”, I smiled. “She’d gotten there before me; and like me, suspected a strand of hair might be stuck in the locket. I distracted the security guy long enough for her to nab it”. “How?”, he frowned. I looked at him innocently, biting my lip. He looked at me exasperatedly. “You didn’t… Please tell me you didn’t…”. I rolled my eyes. “Sleep with him? No. I just flirted with him a little”. Dean swallowed hard. “You do that all the time”, Sam grinned. “That’s totally different!”, Dean growled.

Sam shook his head. “Then what?”, he asked. “Salt and burn”, I smiled. “Which is pretty much all I’ve been doing. I haven’t been taking on anything hardcore. Yet”. “Really?”, Dean asked warily. I grimaced. “Well… about 9 months ago I came across a tulpa. I thought it was just your every day ghost, and I was just checking out the house; when it attacked me. Salt didn’t work, or iron…”. Dean suddenly looked tense. “What did it do to you?”, he growled. I lifted my t-shirt slightly; exposing a mostly white scar down my ribs. Dean reached over the table, and made to touch it, but I dropped the fabric, and sat back in my chair; finishing my drink in one go. “I had no idea what to do about it, but Bobby wrote something about you guys taking one out some years back; so I called Jody”.

“I asked the sheriff to help me find Lulu”, Cass said, having reappeared with a bag of Mexican food. “I have… taquitos. And jalapeño poppers”, he added, with a soft smile in my direction. “Ranch?”, I asked. The angel nodded. “I love you!”. Castiel cleared his throat. “I have warm emotions towards you as well”, he said.

“So, you called Jody. Why?”, Sam asked; packing up the medical kit. “To get her to have you take care of it. But she said she couldn’t get in touch with you”. Dean scratched his chin. “Yeah, Cass and I were in Purgatory, and Sam hit a dog…”, he muttered. I shook my head. “Nothing’s ever easy with you guys, is it…”.

I opened the bag Castiel had put on the table, and dived for my poppers. “Yum. Extra cheese”, I hummed. I noticed Dean’s eyes warming almost endearingly; but when I licked my finger for a stray dollop of dressing, his gaze suddenly darkened into something else. He parted his lips, and his eyes fastened on my mouth. My breath hitched, and I shook myself – quickly wiping my mouth with a napkin. “I’m gonna go grab the beer”, Dean grunted; and left the room as quickly as he could.

“So, what are you working on?”, my voice broke. “We found a tablet”, Sam said. “The word of God”. My eyes widened. “The actual word of God?”, I breathed. “What?”. “We’re going to use it to seal Hell. For good”. I nodded. “That sounds like an awesome idea!”, I smiled. “How can I help?”.

“You can’t”, Dean grunted, returning with three beers, and a bottle of seltzer for Cass. “This isn’t on you”. “But you need my book”, I said. “And you’re not getting that without my say so”. He tilted his head, and gave me his trademark smirk, sending electric jolts straight to my core. “We could always take it from you”. With bated breath, I put my sword on the table; keeping my hand on the hilt. “I’d like to see you try”, I croaked. “All right, you know…”. Dean clenched his fists, before rolling up his sleeves. I stood up. “We gonna dance now?”, I said; trying for menacing – and failing miserably. “Let me just get my NSYNC-album”, he snarled.

“Ok, guys! Stop!”, Sam called out. “Lulu, Dean’s right. This is a pretty dangerous operation we’ve got going on here. You shouldn’t get involved”.

I clenched my jaw, and took a deep breath to calm myself. “Tell you what… I’ll go back to my own work; and you three can figure out how to save the world without Bobby’s journal”, I said; beginning to put my jacket back on. “When you decide to stop acting like dicks, and let me in on why you’re trying to mess up my job, by taking away my research…”. “It’s Bobby’s research”, Dean snarled. “That he left for me!”, I yelled. “And it has my additions”. I went to grab my bag, when Dean snatched the journal from it, before I could reach it. He held it over his head, as he had my sword, years ago. “Don’t do this…”, I hissed. “I watched plenty of roller derby games, sweetheart. I know your moves”.

His smug smile lit a fire in me, like none other I had never felt before. I ran at him, throwing my shoulder against his chest, making him stumble backwards, and knock over a chair. The journal fell from his hand, and slid across the floor; and I threw myself after it. Dean grabbed my ankle; and I fell to the floor, on my stomach. I tried to kick myself free from his grasp – and reached the book; clutching it to my chest under me. Dean straddled me – his strong legs keeping me in place – and he twisted my body around by my shoulders. We wrestled for the books, and when Dean grabbed my wrists – forcing them over my head – I finally had to let go. He looked at me with hard eyes. “Take it”, he growled; still holding me in place. “Dean…!”, Sam yelled; running over to us. “Take it, Sam!”, his brother roared. Sam took the book from the floor, and looked at me with sad eyes. “I’m sorry, Lulu”, he muttered.

Dean stayed on top of me – holding me down. His weight on me made my body scream for his touch; at the same time as I wanted him to let me go, and to never touch me again. He looked enraged; but then a thought seemed to cross his mind – one that made him realize what he was doing. He let go of my wrists, and I pushed at his chest hard; making him get off me. Castiel came over, and helped me to my feet.

I stormed out of the room, and down a hallway of doors with numbers on them. Once I found number 13, I opened the door, and stepped inside; slamming it shut behind me.

I took deep breaths – fighting tears and hiccupping sobs. Looking around the room, I tried to focus on what I was seeing, to distract myself. Damn self-help books, I thought to myself. Please help me now. Five things I could see. A bed, a desk, a chair, a book on 1920’s psychiatry, and a dresser. Four things I could touch. I stood up. The floor, the wall, the comforter on the bed, and the gun in the back of my jeans. Three things I could hear. The clock ticking over the door, the drips from the faucet on the sink, and my own footsteps. Two things I could smell. Gunpowder and musk. Dammit. One thing I could taste. The whiskey I’d had earlier.

With one final breath, I felt my heart settle – before it sprang up in my throat again, when the door knocked. “Lou…? Can I come in?”. I stood with my back to the door, not answering. “I know you’re in there. Table 13; always table 13, right?”.

Dean opened the door, and stepped inside, closing it behind him.

“I’m sorry, baby… I didn’t mean…”, he began. “I still… It hurts… even being in the same room as you”, I croaked, and a tear fell down my cheek, as I turned around – making Dean’s face fall into a pained expression. “I keep trying to get over you… Hunting, drinking… sex”. He winced at the last word. “I tried it all, Dean, but it never works”. “I know…”, he breathed. He might as well have added an I feel the same – his eyes gave away the words. “Why doesn’t it work?”, I whimpered.

He stepped towards me, but I held up my hands to stop him. “Don’t… please”. I balled my fists up – forcing my body to stay in place, and not walk into his arms. “You can use my book. You have 48 hours, then I want it back”. Dean nodded solemnly. I closed my eyes. “After that, I’m gone. For good”. I crunched up my brows, and opened my eyes again, looking at Dean with as much determination I could muster. “You don’t look for me, don’t ask for me – pretend I’m a stranger if you hear my name”. Dean’s lips parted, but I continued before he could speak. “I’m done. I can’t… see you. It hurts to much”.

Dean’s eyes watered. “Lou, please… don’t do this”, he breathed. “Don’t throw me away like this”. “I’m sorry”, I rasped. “This isn’t real. If they hadn’t planned it, we would have never gone beyond that first kiss; you know it as well as I do”. He shook his head, and a tear escaped his eye. “I lo…”. “You don’t”, I said. “You think you do; but it’s only because I was made for you. I have to be my own. And I can’t, if you keep popping up in my life”.

Dean closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. When he looked at me again, I saw complete defeat in his gaze. I’d just broken his heart. “Ok. If that’s what you want”, he whispered, a tear escaping his eye. I wanted to say It’s not. I want you. I want us. But I needed a clean break, and I believed Dean needed that as well. “48 hours. Give me back the book, and you’ll never have to see me again. It’s better this way. For both of us”. Dean nodded. “You can stay in here, if it’s easier than being around me”, he muttered; eyes on the floor. “I’ll stay away”. “Thank you”, I croaked.

He left the room, and I closed the door behind him.

---

I stayed in the room for hours, curled up on the bed. At one point, there was a knock at the door; and when I opened, there stood a tray outside, with food and a bottle of seltzer. I sent a warm thought to Cass, and took the tray inside; eating my meal in peace. There was no entertainment in the room – save for the outdated book on psychiatry – and after finishing my meal, I was going stir crazy.

I tried to catch a little sleep, but couldn’t rest properly; and decided to leave the room. Avoiding going in to the library, I snuck down the hall; and examined my surroundings. I found a large kitchen, outfitted to serve a large amount of people. The fridge was filled with leftover fast food and beer; making it clear that the Winchesters had yet to become all the way domesticated. Down a smaller hallway was a large storage room, with things I was quite sure I shouldn’t be touching. I left the room as quickly as I had entered.

Passing another few numbered doors, I went past number 21. The door was slightly ajar, and inside, Sam was bent over Bobby’s journal, seemingly enraptured by what he was reading. He looked up, and met my eyes – sending me a crooked smile – before I hurried away, to avoid conversation. He didn’t follow.

I found what looked like an old-fashioned gym; and my eyes widened in glee. Here, I felt at home. The punching bags and boxing gloves reminded me of my sessions with Raul. I took off my boots, and grabbed a pair of gloves that seemed to fit my hands – turning my attention to one of the bags.

Punch, punch, kick. This I knew. All my frustrations – the pent-up emotions – I let travel through my arms and legs; as I attacked the bag. “You’re angry”, Cass said; having appeared in the doorway. “I’m… no”, I said. “You’re distraught”, the angel tried. “Something like that. I’m sad. Frustrated…”. I punched hard at the bag. “Tired”.

Muscle pain was building up in my shoulders, and I took off the gloves; dropping them on the floor next to me. “I thought you would be happy to see your friends”, Castiel said. I was thinking of a good way to explain my emotions to him. “I can’t… be happy. Not now”. “Why?”, Cass asked. I chuckled. “Talking to you is like talking to Rain Man”, I said. Castiel grinned. “I’ve seen that movie now. Uh oh, fart…”, he chuckled. “But I would like to understand”.

I punched the bag hard with my stitched-up hand; wincing from the pain. I held it up for Castiel to see. “This – pain – I can feel it. It’s real”, I said. “Impact… physical reaction… It makes sense”. “And happiness doesn’t?”, Cass asked. “No, because I can’t trust it… it’s not real”. Castiel looked like he was pondering my words. “But your physical interactions with Dean… those make sense, don’t they?”. I groaned. “Me and Dean… Is… was, more than physical”. “Yes I know”, the angel said. “You have feelings for each other”. “But they’re not real”, I explained. “Why not?”. “You should know”, I scoffed. “Angel…”.

Castiel seemed even more confused. “I’m not following”, he said. I shook my head. “I… just can’t do this anymore”, I breathed. I put my boots back on. “I’m going back to my room. You have about 40 hours left with my book”. I left the room and the angel behind.

I was feeling sweaty, and decided to search for a shower. The many hallways were confusing; and I finally caved, and decided to ask Sam for help. Arriving back at room 21, the door was closed, and when I knocked there was no answer. I opened the door to see if he was inside, but all I found was a made bed, and some clothes over a chair. I walked back towards the kitchen, and bumped in to Dean; who was leaving the room with a mug of coffee in his hand.

“Sorry”, I muttered, as I noticed his coffee having spilt slightly over the floor. “I’ll clean that up”. “Don’t worry about it”, he said quietly. “I got it…”. “Ok”, I nodded. “I just…”. He looked at me hopefully. “I was looking for a shower”. Dean nodded. “Down the hall, to the left by my… by room 11”, he said. “Thank you”, I whispered; and scurried off.

Finally finding the showers, I got undressed, and turned on the water. The water pressure and temperature were amazing; just like everything else in the bunker. So far, everything I had seen here was perfect. There were clean rooms, a well-stocked library, access to training equipment and weapons, and my friends were here. And Dean. I could stay here, and be happy. But it wouldn’t be real.

As I let the water drip over my naked body, I leaned against the wall. I began questioning my choice to continue hunting. I’d have never started in the life, if I hadn’t met the Winchesters – if angels hadn’t put me in their path. Maybe angels had sent the maren after me to begin with. Maybe I should quit.

The thought was comforting and terrifying all at once. I’d have to start over – again. Be a teacher or tend bars; that was all I knew, other than what I had been doing the last year. And I loved hunting, I helped people; even if I never let anyone know why their houses stopped having flickering lights; or why hospitals stopped losing patients who had only minor injuries. I stayed quiet about what I did; didn’t need the glory.

Turning off the water, I realized I hadn’t brought clean clothes into the bathroom; and wrapped myself in a large towel – slipping quietly down the hall to avoid meeting anyone. I passed room 11, and heard voices from inside.

“She doesn’t really want to be here, Cass”, Dean muttered. “Why? I don’t understand. You two…”, Castiel began. “Because it’s not real!”, Dean growled. “Your… ass-butt brothers made her specifically for me. It’s not real, it’s forced on me… and her”. “Dean…”. “Find some way to break this bond we have. It’s not fair to her…”, Dean said. “I can’t do that…”, Cass said quietly. “Why?”, Dean roared. There was no answer. “Cass… just get out”. The door began opening, as if someone was pulling at the knob, and I ran for room 13; closing and locking the door behind me.

Good. He was on the same page as me. And maybe there was a way to break our bond; and make me free of these feelings. Maybe Cass just didn’t know how to, and I just had to find another angel – or whatever – to help.

My phone rang – distracting me from my thoughts. “Yeah?”, I answered it. “Lulu. It’s Tamara”, my friend said. “Hey, Tammy. What’s up?”. “I need your help. My partner didn’t show up; and this nest isn’t a one-woman job”. I sighed. “Tammy…”. “I know, I know; but I really need you on this one. Think of it as a learning experience”. I frowned. It would be a good way to learn, I agreed – and I trusted Tamara knew what she was doing. On top of that, I needed to be as far away from Dean as I could. “Give me the address…”.

After Tamara had let me know where to meet her, I got dressed quickly, and put on my jacket. Almost running through the library, I saw Sam now bent over a strange looking rock, by the mapped table. “I’m going out. I’ll be back for my book”, I muttered, and went to get my backpack, when I realized it was missing. “I packed up a bag”, Sam said. “It’s got some better equipment for you; if you’re gonna keep up hunting”. I looked over my shoulder at him. “Thanks”, I muttered. “Welcome”, he said.

He handed me a canvas backpack, with a little more weight than my own. I opened it, and saw bullets and a large knife, and a machete in a leather sheath. “Silver ammo, iron knife; and there’s a zippo in the side pocket”. “Weres, witches and vampires. Got it”, I said; and put on the bag. Sam frowned. “Where are you going?”. “Just… out. Meeting a friend”, I said. “Do you have a car I can use until I get back?” He threw me a set of car keys. “There’s a Dodge parked a little way down the road. Take it. And uhm… my number. Just in case”. He scribbled down a number on a piece of paper, and came over to hand it to me. I smiled warmly, and pocketed the keys and the note. “How long will you be gone?”, Sam muttered. “As long as it takes. That’s how the job is, right?”, I shrugged. Sam’s face dropped. “What job?”, he demanded. I sighed. “Don’t worry. Your care-package here will keep me safe”, I smiled. “I’ll be back before you know it. Maybe you’ll even have a few extra hours with my book”. “Lulu… what job?”. I got on my toes, and kissed his cheek. “Bye, Sammy”. I ran up the stairs, and exited the bunker.

I found my “new” car half a mile down the road. It was rusty and sad looking; and fit my state of mind perfectly at the moment. I got settled in the driver’s seat, after having set the Dodge up the way I wanted it. Surprisingly, the engine started without trouble; and I turned on the radio. Dean must have driven the car before, because a tape began playing Girls Girls Girls. I was smiling sadly to myself, as I drove the car out on the road at the bottom of the mound.

---

[katehuntington]

Title: My Brother’s First Hunt Fandom: Supernatural Timeframe: Pre-series (1993) Characters: Dean Winchester (POV), Sam Winchester, John Winchester (mentioned), Jessica Moore (mentioned) Pairing: Dean & Sam (platonic) Summary: Fourteen year old Dean takes his younger brother on a simple salt and burn, but soon regrets his decision when the hunt goes sideways and Sam finds himself in harm's way. Warnings: angsty, canon typical violence, swearing, mentions of smoking. Further than that Weechester feels and brotherly love. Word Count: 2427 words. Author’s note: I love to write these little insights of their lives before 2005. Thank you so much @littlegreenplasticsoldier for beta’ing this one shot! I gave it a once-over before posting, though, so all errors still in there are on me.

    “Wait, I thought you were supposed to bring that.”

    My ten-year-old brother Sam stared at me with wide open eyes, curtained by his fringe. He had frozen mid-action, holding the jerrycan over the six-foot deep hole in the ground as the last drops fell. Beneath our feet, the remains of Josephine Henrey were bared for the stars above to see for the first time in over a twenty-five years. Gasoline shimmered upon the bones, and enough salt to keep the road to Hell from freezing over covered the body like snow on a winter’s day. Because on my first hunt without Dad, I just had to be safe. I’d stuffed enough supplies in my backpack to light up this entire graveyard... If I only had a lighter.

    “Why am I supposed to be the one with a lighter, Dean? You’re the one who smokes!”, Sam returns annoyed.    “I do not!” I denied, lying through my teeth.     “Do too!” Sam countered, triumph in his stance. “I saw you with Jenny under the bleachers after practice.”     “That was one time!”     “Uh-huh.”     I glared at him, not too happy with the attitude my little brother was giving me. Maybe he wasn’t as tall as me just yet, but the days I could have fooled Sam were in the past.     “Fine. So maybe I do. But don’t even think about snitching on me and telling Dad, because I’ll kick your ass,” I warned him.     “Is that really the point now? Because we just dug up a body of an angry spirit without anything to start a fire,” my clever brother reminded me.

    He had a solid point. The fact that this situation was going from bad to worse became clear as soon as the atmosphere around us changed. A cold wind sent shivers down my spine and the temperature dropped below freezing point in only a few seconds. Suddenly the local cemetery did not seemed like such a peaceful resting place anymore. The pitch black shadows of the trees and crypts drew long silhouettes, creeping closer, like they were trying to gulp us down. Something was coming, and we had to hurry.

    “Dean?” Sam whispered, scanning his surroundings.     “Don’t worry, we’ll figure this out.”     I kneeled down next to the backpack, pulled out an iron steel pipe and started searching the extra pockets for anything that could ignite the fuel. My little brother held the flashlight above me so that I could see what I was doing, his unsteady hands giving away his fright. Truth be told, he wasn’t the only one, because I was scared shitless, too.

    At the age of fourteen I’d had a couple of hunts under my belt, always with Dad. He would track the thing, he would figure out what it was, he would kill it. I was just there to watch and learn, maybe assist if it was easy enough. Never had I ever hunted on my own, but when I read a suspicious newspaper article in the local newspaper, I was crawling the walls of that motel room. Dad was on a job in Minnesota and was gone for at least three weeks, so I couldn’t wait for him to get back. Something had to be done. I lasted one day after reading that article. My old man was going to kill me, that was a sure thing, but I couldn’t let anyone else die.

    Research turned out to be tough, and that’s where Sammy came in. In no time, he’d figured out whose ghost was haunting the old warehouse and where she was buried. But now that he’d had a part in the case, the little pain in the ass wanted to come along. I was gonna get in a lot of trouble for hunting solo at the age that didn’t even allow me to drive a car, let alone if I took a ten year old with me on the job. But Sammy begged, gave me that puppy dog stare that I have always been a sucker for.

    Those same eyes shimmered fearfully now, trying to read in mine if I had a plan to get us out of here. Boy, little Sam must’ve been regretting this field trip. The beam from the torch began to flicker and soon our only lightsource died. Sammy slammed the flashlight in the palm of his hand a couple of times, but it wasn’t faulty batteries, nor the wiring, that caused it to fail. I stood up, my brother mirroring me, as we alertly scanned the cemetery. Suddenly Sam yanked the sleeve of the leather jacket that Dad gave to me, and stared at a dark figure about thirty yards away; a bony old woman with dark messy hair hanging in front of her face. I gulped, my eyes widening, but before I could respond, the image vanished into thin air.

    Seeing her was scary, but not knowing where she was now ignited a whole new level of anxiety. Shit! This was so not how I planned this. For a few terrifying seconds the spirit was gone and I gripped the pipe.     “Listen to me, Sammy,” I said, keeping my voice down. “I need you to think of everything that Dad taught us so far. Don’t be scared, okay? I’ve got your back. We need to keep our heads together now.”     He only nodded, jaw clamped shut as his eyes darted from shadow to shadow. Then, out of nowhere the elderly woman flicked into my sight, right behind Sam, claws out to get him.

    “Sam, get down!”

    Without hesitation he dropped as I swung the iron bar over his head, tearing through the spirit of Josephine. She dissolved into smoky fog and reappeared, obsessively focusing on Sam again. Then I remembered the connection the victims had: all were younger siblings. In shock, I watched my little brother stumble back until he tripped over the backpack at the edge of the grave and fell.     “Sammy!”

    The helplessness, the desperation; I could see it in his eyes. Even at ten years old, the little guy knew he was facing death. No way in hell I was gonna let that bitch touch my brother, so my instinct kicked in. Every fiber in me suddenly knew exactly what to do. I had to fulfill the task Dad gave to me when I carried my baby brother out of the fire ten years ago. I had to protect him, with my life if necessary. That urge pushed all the fear that I carried for this supernatural being out of the way and I marched on the ghost, my weapon above my head as I lunged at her. Furious, the spirit threw me off her back, but I got on my feet and held the line.     “You wanna kill someone that bad? Pick someone your own size!” I challenged her, arrogantly spreading my arms.

    A frightening hissing murmur erupted from her throat. Her eyes sank deeper into the dark holes of her sockets and her mouth opened so wide that I heard her jaw crack. Moving faster than my eyes could register, the spirit sped towards me and then froze. Suddenly I was lifted from the ground like a feather and I found myself in mid-air, being thrown several yards away. My course of flight was interrupted by a tree and I hit it head first. A sharp pain shot through my skull, a wave of nausea disorientated me. The impact made me lose long vital seconds.

    Sammy? Where’s Sammy? It was all I could think of. I had to make sure the ghost kept her focus on me, I had to give Sam a fair chance to get away. Fighting to keep my ground I sat up at the roots of the tree, trying to blink the black spots and odd colors from my blurred vision. By the time I’d managed that, the spirit of Josephine Henrey was hovering over me and there was no way I could escape her grip. She placed her hand on my chest and I felt every muscle in my body tense, my heart rate increasing to a pace that was just plain unhealthy. The pain was unbearable and I cried out as her nails penetrated my skin. This is it, I realized. My first solo hunt was destined to be my last, I was going to die.

    Then without a sign, the ghost backed off, arching her back as she let out a horrifying scream. Flames engulfed her until there was nothing left but a few burning embers that twirled up the night sky. Unsure of what just happened, I laid my head back against the bark, out of breath as the discomfort wore off. Then my eyes caught Sam, standing next to the grave from which an orange light shimmered on his features. His innocence didn't seem compromised by the setting nor by his actions, but nevertheless he looked years older. His hair, due for a haircut was messy, and the hoodie I used to wear got muddy at the cuffs, the sleeves too short for him now. Although my brother was only ten, right there on the spot I became aware of how fast he was growing up. That growth wasn't just physical, it was his bright mind too.

    Sammy’s hazel eyes now jumped to me, still wild.     “You okay?”     “Yeah, yeah....” I muttered as I got to my feet. “What took you so long?”     “You try starting a fire without a lighter or matchsticks with a angry spirit looking over your shoulder,” Sammy scoffed.     He crouched down, collecting the empty jerrycan and his flashlight from the ground. After testing my balance first, I approached the fire pit slowly, feeling my forehead.     “How did you light up Josy anyway?” I wondered.     Sam picked up two pieces of rock and showed them to me.     “Two strike stones. Oldest survival trick in the book. Dad taught us, remember?”

    That he thought of Dad’s survival lessons was impressive, but how he stayed calm enough to get a spark while I was under attack by that spirit, I didn't know. I was sure, though, that Sam had what it took to become exceptionally good at this job. He would fill Dad with as much pride as I carried in that moment. Sammy was an outstanding hunter in the making. I smiled at my brother, but masked my true feelings with my usual bullshit.     “Awesome. But then, of course, you had all the time in the world, while I had that ghost on my ass.”     “No, I didn't,” Sam objected, as we started walking back to the road. “You would have been dead if I hadn't been so fast.”     “I was handling it,” I shrugged.     “Really, huh? Yeah, you dad everything perfectly under control.”     “I did!” I kept it up, resting the wooden handle of the shovel on my shoulder.     “Sure. You weren't scared either.”

    Sammy now glanced up at me, victory shining in his eyes. Of course, I wasn't going to admit that I was so frightened I nearly pissed my pants when that spirit worked me over. Fact is, though, that I love my little brother, and  it unleashed a new form of bravery I never thought I had. Fear never stood a chance.     “I wasn't,” I returned, cocky.     “Why did you scream like a girl then?”     “I didn't scream like a girl!”     “You so did.”     “She was trying to rip my heart out, jerkface!”     “You still screamed like a girl.”     Bickering, we strolled down the path, our walks synchronized like siblings often do. When we arrived at the main road, the lamppost shined a light on my brother much like one does now on Halloween night in Palo Alto, California, twelve years later. Sam is taller, he even outgrew me, but he still has the same hair, the same lean posture and that same innocence. These days he wears clothes that fit him, not my hand me downs. He’s his own person now.

    We just wrapped up a case considering a Woman In White, but since we didn't find our Dad like we set out to, I’m forced to drop him off at campus. An interview tomorrow morning is the reason our paths separate once again and there is nothing left for me but to face the road alone.

    From behind the wheel of my car I watch him walk away towards the apartment he shares with his girlfriend Jessica and I sigh as I lay my arm on the back of the seat. The passenger’s side already seems cold and empty and a tightness in my chest brings to mind how badly I want him to get back in the car and help me find Dad. But I can’t, I can't expect him to. This is the life Sam wants. A normal one, without monsters, weapon training and shitty motels. How many hunters get out? How many hunters get to go to university and live a normal, apple pie life? Few, but Sam is one of them. And if there is anyone who deserves that chance, it’s him.

    “Sam?” I call out.     He turns around, questioning eyes meeting mine. There’s a breath that escapes his throat when he sways and shifts his balance, a trace of annoyance, even though he tries to hide it and be patient with me. His body language makes me hesitate, but I tell him either way.

“Y’know we made a hell of a team back there.”     Sam keeps a hold of my gaze, then nods slightly as a small smile forms on his lips.     “Yeah…” he acknowledges.

    I grant him a few seconds to change his mind, but then I straighten my back, put the car in ‘drive’ and steer the Impala back onto the road. I bite down the frustration, my jaw flexing as I do so, doing my best to cast out my emotions. I've been here before, when Sam left for Stanford in the first place. An uneasy feeling settles in my stomach now that we’re apart, torn between what I’m supposed to do and what I truly want. Pain stings my heart now that I find myself alone, without my brother by my side. And as I drive off only accompanied by old tunes on cassette tapes, I don't see that Sam watches me leave. I don't hear the shuddering sigh that leaves his lips as the rumble of the engine fades in the distance. 

    I don’t know that deep down, Sam feels it, too.

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed it. Feel free to send me a message or leave a comment!

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[puckinginsane]

Baby, It’s Cold Outside

Tyler Seguin Christmas one shot

When my boss told me I would have to be in Minneapolis for 3 days of meetings just a few days before Christmas I thought he was joking. I literally laughed right in his face until I actually saw his face and noticed he wasn’t laughing along. No, this was serious. We actually had to travel to Minnesota during the busiest travel days of the year to take in some meetings. He wasn’t happy about it either but there was nothing we could do to get out of it. Sales managers from around the country had been called in for these sets of emergency meetings. Nobody was happy but we sucked it up and made the best of it.

The company put us all up in cabins to feel like it was more like a vacation than a sales trip but it just turned out to be more frustrating than anything. The wifi was spotty, the bed was uncomfortable, and the water pressure in the shower sucked. I tried my best to stay positive but it wasn’t easy. I am so glad to finally be leaving this place and going home for the holidays. I can’t wait to see my family. It seems like as each year goes by I see them less and less but at least we always have Christmas together. I look forward to it. I love my family.

I have been getting weather advisory alerts on my phone all morning about a blizzard coming so I’m worried that my flight is going to be delayed or worse. I have to check out and get to the airport before it’s too late. When I get into the lodge I notice there is nobody else around. This can’t be a good thing. It’s Christmas Eve and there’s no one to be seen. I walk to the front desk and wait for the clerk to come out of the office to help me. Just as I check out I start getting more alerts on my phone. I step away from the front desk to check them. My flight is cancelled. All of the flights are cancelled.

No, no, no this cannot be happening. I can’t be stranded here. I walk back to the front desk. “I don’t suppose you have any open cabins,” I say to the clerk, knowing full well the answer is going to be no.

“No sorry, miss, we are all booked up. It is the holidays after all,” he replies.

“I know. I figured I’d try.” I grab my suitcase and walk over to one of the couches and sit down. There has got to be a way for me to get out of here. I look around on my phone to see if there is any other way to get out of Minnesota. The whole state is shut down. There is no way out at this point. I’m going to have to call my mom and let her know I won’t be home for Christmas. The phone rings a few times before my mom answers. “Hey, mom, it looks like I’m going to be stuck here in Minneapolis.”

“Oh no, sweetie, is everything ok?” she asks.

“It looks like a blizzard shut down the entire state. I haven’t been outside so I don’t know how bad it is.”

“Yeah, I’m watching on the weather channel right now. It does not look good.”

“This is what I get for taking an extra day to relax. Now I’ll never leave,” I complain.

“Do you have a place to stay?” she asks.

“No. And I don’t think I’ll be able to find a place either. All of the cabins here are booked. I guess I’ll just have to wait it out here in the lodge.”

“I’m sorry, that has to be rough. We will see you once you get home. Stay warm and stay safe.”

“Thanks, mom, I’ll keep you updated. Love you.”

“I love you too, sweetie.” My mom and I hang up and I stand up and walk to the window and push the curtains aside to see just how bad this blizzard is. The snow is coming down really hard and it looks pretty windy. There seems to already be a significant amount of snow accumulated on the ground. It did not look like this a few hours ago. I get a few more notifications on my phone. A state of emergency is in effect as well as a curfew. It just keeps getting worse. If I’m going to possibly find a place that has an opening, even if it’s a crappy motel, I am going to have to leave now.

I pick up my suitcase and start making my way across the lobby. “I don’t care what they say, I’m getting out of here,” I mutter to myself.

“I wouldn’t go out there if I were you,” I hear someone say to me as I walk passed them. I turn around to say something to them about minding their own business but when I see who it is my heart practically jumps in my throat. It’s Tyler Seguin from the Dallas Stars. I have such a big crush on him. I forgot that they had a game here last night. “It’s really bad out there.”

“I’m not getting stuck in this lodge. I need to see if I can find a place to stay.” I continue to walk towards the doors.

Tyler stands up and follows after me. “It’s pretty dangerous out there.”

I turn my head to look at him as I continue to walk. “I appreciate your concern but I’m leaving.”

He shakes his head at me. “You’re so stubborn.”

I roll my eyes and ignore his last comment as I open the doors and step outside. I’m immediately hit in the face with the brisk air and snow hitting my face. I push on through to where my rental car is parked. It’s hard to even tell where the car begins and ends. Everything looks like a blanket of white. I begin trying to dig my car out with my hands but as I dig in the snow more snow just fills in. It’s no use. I am really stuck here. Even if I did manage to dig my car out it’s not like I would really be able to get anywhere quickly. It looks like they have stopped trying to plow the roads. Everything is shut down.

I turn around to walk back into the lodge and Tyler is standing in the doorway leaning against the door frame with his arms crossed over his chest with a smile on his face. He chuckles as I walk passed him. “Well that was entertaining,” he says as he follows behind me as I walk to one of the couches. I sit down and he sits down on the couch across from me. Is this really happening right now? The one time I have Tyler Seguin all to myself and I am in such a bad mood. “It looks like we’re stranded together.”

“Yeah, it looks that way,” I say as I start sending texts to my friends letting them know my situation.

“What were you here for?” he asks.

“I was here for work. I was supposed to leave yesterday but I stayed an extra day to relax. I guess that was a mistake.”

“Same here. I stayed an extra day to get some last minute Christmas shopping done before going back home. My whole family is at my house right now and I’m here.”

“I can’t believe we are the only two idiots that got stranded.”

“I’m not an idiot. Speak for yourself.” He smiles a cheesy grin. “I’m Tyler, by the way.”

“I’m Amy.” I don’t know if I should tell him I know who he is. It could make things awkward. We are doing fine without him knowing I am a big fan of his.

“It’s nice to meet you, Amy. This isn’t how you thought you would spend your Christmas Eve I’m sure.”

“No definitely not.”

“What were your plans?” he asks as he leans his elbow on the armrest and rests his head on the palm of his hand and looks at me for my answer.

“I was going to go to my aunt’s house where my whole family always gathers. I haven’t seen them all year. I was really looking forward to seeing them.”

“That sucks. I don’t see my family much either. I was looking forward to some home cooked meals and spending a few days with them.”

The wind is so fast outside that you can hear the gusts outside the window. “It’s really coming down out there,” I say. I don’t know what else to talk about.

“I wonder if we’ll lose power. We may have to use body heat for warmth.” He smiles a big, toothy smile.

“Or sit by the fire,” I say as I point to the roaring fireplace across the room.

“Yeah but that’s not as fun.”

I can’t believe he’s flirting with me. Maybe he’s just overly friendly. I know he’s a pretty outgoing guy. I feel my cheeks getting warm from blushing but I try to play it cool. I shake my head as I fight a smile. “You’re terrible.”

He laughs. “So, Amy, where are you from?”

“New Jersey. You?” If I’m going to pretend I don’t know who he is I might as well go all in.

“Originally from the Toronto area. Living in Dallas now.”

“Oh a Canadian, eh?” I tease.

“Wow. You just did that.”

“I did.”

“I’ll remember that.”

I just smile. I’m thankful to be stranded with him. He’s making this enjoyable, well, as enjoyable as it can be. He’s kept my mind off the fact that I won’t be seeing my family at all this year. I can’t stop thinking about the fact that it’s Tyler Seguin and I am so calm about it. He seems really comfortable around me which makes me feel comfortable to be myself around him. I keep checking the satellite on my phone to see if there are any signs of this letting up but it looks like it’s going to be going on for a while.

There are no TVs in the lodge. There is a huge fireplace at the back of the room with chairs and couches scattered throughout. There is a coffee and hot chocolate bar off to the side of the front desk but not much for food, just little snacks. The lodge has high ceilings and it looks like an over sized, fancier version of a log cabin. They pride themselves on giving you an outdoor experience with a touch of luxury. I don’t even want to know how much staying here cost my company.

I look up from my phone to see Tyler watching me. I wonder how long he’s been staring. I have been so focused on what’s been going on on my phone that I hadn’t looked up in at least 5 minutes. I feel myself blushing again. He makes me so nervous although I think I have been doing a good job of hiding it. “Hi,” I say with half of a smile.

“Are you telling your boyfriend you’re stuck with some guy? Don’t tell him about the body heat thing.”

“I don’t have a boyfriend.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

“It’s fine. I know it’s hard to believe that all of this is single but it’s true.”

He laughs. “You’re funny.”

“Thanks.” I’m so embarrassed but I’m trying so hard not to look away. My cheeks and ears feel like they’re on fire. It’s probably obvious to him that I’m a blushing, nervous mess. I work in sales so usually I am self confident but this is Tyler Seguin. He makes me feel like a puddle of mush when he looks at me and now he’s complimenting me. I don’t know what to do with myself. I’ve had a crush on him for years and I’m just trying to keep myself together.

“You’re welcome.” He sits back on the couch and scratches the side of his face before crossing his arms over his chest. “It would be nice if they had a TV in here.”

“I have my laptop but I was having problems with the wifi. I’m sure the weather isn’t helping.” I don’t want to turn my laptop on anyway. Tyler is my desktop image and it would ruin everything if he saw that.

“We will just have to find other ways to entertain ourselves.”

I don’t even know what to say to that. He looks pleased with himself, like he knows exactly what he’s doing to me. He’s saying these things on purpose. I can’t even imagine how pink my cheeks are now. I get a text from my brother and open it. He sent me a selfie saying he wishes I were there. My brother and I are always sending selfies back and forth to one another. I want to take one and send it but Tyler is watching me. I know he likes taking selfies so I should just take one and not worry what he thinks. I hold my phone out in front of me and take a smiling selfie and send it off to my brother. I put my phone down on my lap and Tyler is smiling at me with his eyebrows raised. “My brother and I send selfies back and forth to each other,” I explain.

“That was cute,” he replies.

“I, uh, wow, thanks,” I nervously say as I look down at my lap. If it were possible to turn purple I’m sure that’s what color my cheeks would be at this point. Tyler Seguin just said I was cute. It’s a Christmas miracle.

“Why do I make you so nervous?” he asks, “your cheeks are so red.”

Like he doesn’t know the answer to that question. He has to know he’s attractive. I can’t be the first girl to melt into a puddle on the floor in front of him no matter how hard I try to fight it. “It’s hot in here. I need some fresh air.”

I stand up and walk outside. I take a deep breath and look up into the sky and let the snowflakes hit my face. My cheeks cool off with the touch of each individual snowflake touching my skin. It’s refreshing. Thump. I feel a snowball hit me square in the middle of my back. I turn around to see Tyler standing about 15 feet away with the biggest smile on his face. He starts cracking up as soon as we make eye contact. “I can’t believe I actually hit you!” he exclaims.

“Oh, you’re so gonna get it!” I yell as I start to run towards him. He starts to run away but I manage to catch up to him. I could pick up some snow and throw it back at him but instead I leap off of the ground and tackle him into a snowbank.

He opens his mouth wide, shocked that I just had the balls to tackle him. I’m a little surprised myself. “It’s like that now, is it?” he asks. I stand up and hold my hands out to pull him up. He holds onto my hands but instead of standing up he pulls me down and pushes me into the snow. “This isn’t over.”

“Cold! So cold!” I screech as the snow hits the skin on my back because my shirt rode up a little bit. He leans down towards me and his face is just inches from mine. Holy shit, is he going to kiss me? It seems like he’s going to kiss me. What the hell do I do if he kisses me? Will I even be able to kiss him back? I look at his lips and then into his eyes and back down at his lips. He smirks a little before closing his eyes, I close mine too anticipating his kiss. Instead of a kiss I get a handful of snow in my face. I wipe the snow as he laughs at me.

“You so thought I was going to kiss you,” he teases.

“You’re such a jerk!” I shout. That is so wrong on so many levels. I really was hoping he was going to kiss me. Now I just feel like a fool.

He continues to laugh at me. He holds his hands out. “Come on, for real, I’ll help you up. It’s too cold to be in the snow for this long.”

I grab a handful of snow and at the same time with my other hand I grab the waistband of his jeans. I pull them out just slightly and shove the snow down his pants. “Holy shit!” he shrieks as he grabs at the snow I left there and pulls it out. “I can’t believe you just did that.”

“You have no idea who you’re messing with,” I reply. I’m pretty proud of myself for coming up with that and following up. I just put my hand down Tyler Seguin’s pants. Oh my god.

Tyler holds his hands out for me one more time and this time I take them and he pulls me up and off of my butt. I brush myself off. I am soaked and so is he. We walk back inside dripping with melting snow. “We should sit by the fire to dry off,” he suggests.

“Yeah,” I agree.

We walk over to the couch that sits in front of the fireplace and sit down next to each other. The heat of the fire feels so good on my freezing cold skin. Now it’s just a matter of drying off. I still can’t believe I had the balls to put my hand down Tyler’s pants and he doesn’t seem to be mad about it. He still wants to sit next to me so that’s a good sign. He looks at me and shakes his head. “I can’t believe you did that. That took guts,” he says.

“Yeah I kinda can’t believe I did that either to be honest.”

“It was impressive.”

“That’s one way to describe it, I guess.”

“I deserved it.”

“Oh yeah, you definitely did.”

The crackling of the fire can be heard as both of us sit in silence as we continue to warm up and dry off. I was so mad I was going to be missing Christmas with my family but I get to spend it with Tyler instead. Not a bad trade off at all. We are sitting so close that our legs are touching. He hasn’t moved over and I am sure as hell not moving. I still can’t believe he was so close to my face. What if I went for it and kissed him thinking that’s what he was going to do? I would have made a fool of myself. Thankfully I usually wait for the guy to make the first move or I would have embarrassed myself even more than I already did. He knows I wanted him to kiss me. I closed my eyes like an idiot.

“I’m sorry I made you think I was going to kiss you. That wasn’t right,” he says after a few minutes of silence.

“It’s ok. I wouldn’t have known what to do with myself anyway,” I reply.

“Oh you mean you wouldn’t have stuck your hand down my pants? I guess it’s good that I didn’t then.” He looks at me and smirks. He’s such a flirt. I can’t handle it. “Oh, there goes those pink cheeks again.”

“Look who’s talking. Yours are just as pink,” I retort.

He looks away. I think I actually made him embarrassed. I get another selfie text from my brother. “You should send him one with the both of us in it,” Tyler says as he peeks over my shoulder.

“Hey! Nosey.” I put my hand over my screen.

He puts his arm around my shoulders. “Come on. You take one then I’ll take one on mine.”

“Ok.” I put the camera on and hold it out in front of us. He leans his head against mine and we both smile. I take the picture and send it to my brother.

“My turn.” He takes his phone out of his pocket and holds it out in front of us. Once again he leans his head against mine and takes the picture. “I don’t have a brother to send it to. I’ll just post it on Instagram. Is that ok?”

“Yeah, sure, it’s fine with me.” I have to act like it’s no big deal but I know that it is. He has hundreds of thousands of people who follow him and they’re all going to see it. This is crazy. He still has his arm around me as he types with his other hand on his phone. I’m starting to feel a bit too comfortable sitting here with him like this. I have to get up and walk around or something. I’m about to fall asleep. It’s been a stressful few days and I haven’t gotten much sleep. “I think I’m going to walk around the room or something. I’m starting to get sleepy.”

“You could use me as a pillow if you want. I don’t mind.”

“Are you serious?” I ask. There’s no way I can take him up on his offer.

“Yeah. Why not?” he replies.

“I don’t know,” I warily say.

“I’ll make up your mind for you.” He puts his hand on the side of my head and pulls it down onto his shoulder. “Sleep. I’ll wake you if anything exciting happens.”

How am I supposed to fall asleep when I have my head on Tyler Seguin’s shoulder? Why is he being so nice to me? I should stop questioning it and just take time to enjoy it. I take a deep breath. This just feels nice. I want to be stubborn and not sleep but my eyes are growing heavier and heavier and it’s beginning to be almost impossible to keep them open. I close my eyes and feel his head resting on mine before I fall asleep.

I feel Tyler shifting next to me and I wake up. I groan a little bit as I open my eyes. I don’t know how long I’ve been sleeping but I need to stand up and walk around. “How long was I sleeping?” I ask.

“I’m not sure. I fell asleep too. Sorry I woke you up. My arm was falling asleep.”

“It’s ok. I have to get up. My butt hurts.”

He laughs. “No comment.”

“That’s a first.”

“I figured I’d spare you this time.”

I stand up and stretch. “Why start now?”

“Smart ass.”

“I’m going to walk around a bit. Sitting in one place is killing me.”

The lodge isn’t entirely big but it’s enough where I can walk around and get the blood flowing through my legs again. I notice Tyler going over to the coffee bar to make himself some coffee. I take my phone out of my pocket and notice it has gotten pretty late. I guess I slept longer than I thought I did. It’s almost midnight already. Soon it’ll be Christmas day and it doesn’t look like the snow has let up at all. It just keeps accumulating and accumulating.

I look over at Tyler who is sitting back on the couch in front of the fireplace with his coffee cup in his hand. He is sitting there just looking into the fireplace. He’s so cute. It’s just a few minutes away from Christmas and I feel like I need to find something to give to Tyler as a present, even if it’s just a joke. I think it would be so cute if I went over there with a present for him. I’m sure it would cheer both of us up and he would get a big kick out of it. There’s just not much around here to go with. I wish I had something in my suitcase but I didn’t have time to do any kind of shopping while I was here. There has got to be something I can find to give him.

I don’t want him to see me sneaking around and looking for stuff so I have to keep an eye on him to make sure he doesn’t see what I’m doing. It looks like he’s deep in thought over there by the fireplace so I don’t think I have to worry about him. I walk past a few tables with vases with fresh flowers in them. I guess I could give him some flowers. I don’t see anything else in this place that I could give him so it’s going to have to be flowers. I grab one of the vases off of the table and pick out a single flower from it before putting it back down on the table. For some reason this is so amusing to me. I’m about to give Tyler Seguin a flower for Christmas.

I walk over to Tyler holding the flower behind my back. I sit down next to him and he looks at me. “It’s officially Christmas,” I say, “I got you something.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.” I pull the flower out from behind my back and he starts laughing as soon as he sees it. He takes it from me. “Sorry, it’s all I could find.”

“It’s perfect. Thank you.” He smells the flower before putting it down on the little table next to his arm of the couch. “Wow it actually smells really good.”

“I picked it just for you.”

“You are just the best.”

“I try.”

“I got you something too,” he says as he starts reaching into his pocket.

“You did?” I ask, surprised.

“Yeah,” he replies with a smile. He takes his hand out of his pocket and holds it over my head and I look up to see that he’s holding mistletoe. I look him in the eyes with my mouth hanging open. “Looks like you got some mistletoe over your head. Do you know what that means?”

I shake my head yes. “Yeah. I know.”

He scrunches his nose up. “I guess I have to kiss you now.”

“Those are the rules.”

He puts his hand on the back of my head and leans in to kiss me. His lips are soft and it’s a sweet kiss. He kisses my lips a few times before I get the courage up to kiss him back and I feel him smile before he starts kissing me some more. It’s slow and sweet and so amazing. I don’t think either of us want to stop. I kiss his bottom lip a few times before we slowly pull away from each other. “Merry Christmas, Amy.”

“Merry Christmas, Tyler.”

[araliyaintheskywithdiamonds]

Come Away, Forget With Me - A CrissColfer Fic

Summary: Of road trips and beaches and kitchen tiles. In other words, a much needed vacation. 

Word Count: 1207 AO3

Song: Nothing’s Gonna Hurt You Baby - Cigarettes After Sex

(made you smile and look away)

Darren is guitar riffs, faded t-shirts, and dark-rimmed Buddy Holly glasses. He’s beard burn on the soft insides of Chris’ thighs and coffee mug rings left on sheet music on the dining room table.

He’s green eyes in the morning and amber eyes in the evening, lit like candles in the darkness as they slow dance on the carpet.

Darren is “come away with me, darling” and “one kiss for no and two kisses for yes” and Chris is sort of, very much, helpless.

(as long as you're with me, you'll be just fine)

They leave the cat at a friend’s and take the dogs, back seats prepped with a mountain of dog blankets and precautionary plastic seat covers.

Before they leave, Darren pushes Chris against the car door, kisses him like a teenager after a dinner-date, and pops Chris’ sunglasses down onto his nose when he pulls away. “Ready when you are,” he says, and Chris can feel the warmth flooding from him like a hearth.

They take turns with their road trip playlists, blasting it obnoxiously loud or whisper-quiet, depending. Darren sings to Franki Valli and Chris sings to Angus and Julia Stone, and they both sing to The Smiths, crying please, please, please with their hands to their hearts.

When the dogs stop barking to every song they take a liking to, and the freeway opens up onto winding roads, they roll the windows down and let the warm evening air blow through.

Chris falls asleep to a band he’s never heard before, Darren softly singing over and over, nothing’s gonna hurt you baby. As his eyelids drop and his vision blurs, Chris believes every word.

(and we laugh into the microphone and sing)

Opening the door to Chris’ beach house unleashes a flood of technicolor memories.

He remembers coming here in search of escape once- when he hadn’t spoken to Darren for months- and not even lasting ten minutes. Everything, everywhere, reminded Chris of him.

The walls- (Darren at a little indie artist’s hole in the village, eyes alight as he gushed to the painter), the furniture- (sand everywhere as they wrestled wet clothes off their bodies, bumping hips and elbows into the hardwood), the bathroom- (messages written in shaving cream across the wide mirror and toothpaste-flavoured kisses), the bedroom- (cool white sheets and Darren’s olive-skinned limbs stretched out over them)-

Chris remembers stepping inside and barely getting past the doorway- Darren’s god-awful Dollar Tree flip flops had been tucked next to the doormat from the last time they’d been there.

Chris had taken one look at them, and fled.

“You’re thinking too loud,” Darren says, curling his body around Chris’ as they stand in the hallway. Chris melts into his touch, leans back a little, turns to kiss the side of Darren’s neck.

“Nothing big,” he lies.

And it is a lie. Those few months had, at the time, felt like the hardest of his life.

(when we dance in my living room)

Going to bed at seven thirty results in waking up at five, and they take their blankets down to the pier and watch the dogs get soaking wet in the sea spray.

As Cooper licks salt water off his nose and Fitz chases a hermit crab, Darren draws Chris close.

“When I was thirteen years old,” he starts to say, “I went to band camp for the first time. The cabin had three other boys, and I fell in love with one of them.”

Chris stares at Darren, who shrugs.

“Well, as in love as a seventh grader could get, I guess. I completely changed when I was around him. I smiled hard and I laughed even harder and I didn’t know why, but I wanted him to see me happy. I guess I wanted him to think that he’d be just as happy if he were with me.”

Cooper accidentally trods on the hermit crab and Fitz, mercifully distracted, sniffs at some seaweed.

“On the last night, we played seven minutes in heaven, and he spent a solid fourteen of them with a trumpet player from Minnesota in the laundry room. I went to bed early and cried a little, and that’s when I realised that I’d been in love with him.”

“What happened?”

Darren laughs softly. “Nothing. We went home, I wrote a terrible song about him, and that was the end of it. Completely forgot about him until I met you.”

Chris raises an eyebrow and Darren gives him a squeeze. “It’s how I realised I was in love with you. You did to me what he did, except infinitely more.” He pauses. “All I ever knew, in my stupid, newly-minted college graduate mind, was that I wanted you to be happy with me.”

“Darren-”

“Are you?” he asks quietly. His hair is windblown and his eyes are serious and Chris, for some reason, wants to cry.

“Just because it’s hard, it doesn’t mean I’m not happy, sweetheart. You- Dare, sometimes I don’t have words for how you make me feel. Do you have any idea how frustrating that is for me?”

Darren laughs, and the mood is lifted. “Well I’m sorry.”

Chris feigns reluctance as he kisses him. “You should be, asshole,” he murmurs, and they simultaneously duck and shield themselves when the dogs bound over to them, wet and covered in sand.

(nothing's gonna hurt you baby)

One afternoon, they end up on the kitchen floor, scooping nutella out of the jar with sundae spoons while they wait for their chocolate and banana toasties to bake.

Darren looks like the picture of contentment: hair wild and beard even wilder, his little belly poking out over the top of his shorts. He licks the front and the back of the spoon, once, twice, and grins over at Chris lazily.

They exchange a glance, charged and heavy, and Chris doesn’t have to think twice about crawling over to him on hands and knees. Spoons clatter to the floor and a glass jar is knocked aside and Chris ends up flat on his back on the kitchen floor, the tiles etching faint lines into his shoulder blades.

Darren is warm and heady all around him, all sticky fingers and sweet, chocolate-flavored kisses, and Chris loses himself in it.

In the gentle touch of palms skidding down his waist and thumbs touching and pressing and parting. In the hot, intense, throb as Chris breaks into two, as Darren tucks his face into the hollow of Chris’ collar- as he hears cries, loud and piercing and embarrassingly unabashed- only to realize that they’re his own.

In the cloying smell of sex and sweat and chocolate, heady and intoxicating around them as he and Darren lie there afterwards, until the tiles grow cold and sticky. 

Darren pulls Chris up by his hands and pushes back his sweat-slick hair. They don’t need to say anything- seven years of love and loss and joy and heartbreak will do that.

Instead, Chris pokes at Darren’s stomach, ducks out from underneath his grabby arms, and tries not to trip on stray dog toys as he makes a dash for the shower.

(nothing's gonna hurt you baby)

[whockeywhore]

Between Two Chapter 2

“So how long do I have you?” Jamie asked, leaning against my desk and watching me button my shirt. 

“You don’t. I leave for Washington in an hour.” 

“What?” 

I looked up and drank him in, arms crossed over his chest and his brow furrowed. He softened as I stepped closer, setting a hand on his shoulder to brace myself as I slipped my shoes on. He was smiling when I looked up at him and I let him pull me into a gentle hug. 

“I have to go back to D.C. tonight.” 

“Why?” 

“For my job.” He kissed my forehead and let me go and I could feel his eyes on mine as I puttered around the room, gathering his paperwork and slipping it into a manila folder. I gave myself a once-over in the mirror hanging over my desk before turning to him and nodding to the door. “You ready to go?” 

“You really can’t stay? I’ve got a new apartment to christen.” He raised one eyebrow and I shook my head, watching his face fall before he sauntered over to me. 

I wrenched open the door handle and jumped at Mark waiting on the other side, his hand poised to knock and his eyes wide. “Am I interrupting?” 

“Nope. We were just finishing up.” 

He stepped aside as we moved into the hall and I walked ahead of the two, listening to their conversation as I started towards the elevator. 

“How are you liking things man?” 

“Yeah, it’s great. Everyone’s really nice.” 

“Maybe so but you should keep an eye out for this one.” He cleared his throat and I looked at him over my shoulder, rolling my eyes when he chuckled. “Gracie’s a tough one, want to make sure you stay on her good side.” 

“How would you know anything about my good side, Mark? You’ve never been on it.” 

“I’m breaking you down though, right?” 

I pressed the button for the elevator and leaned against the wall, making a point of not answering him as he sidled up next to me. Jamie bore a wide grin and I melted a bit, grateful for the concrete behind me that held me up. 

“I’ll be sure to stay out of your way, Gracie.” He winked and I smiled. 

“I’d appreciate that. You’re fine with me as long as you’re not this guy.” I kicked my foot out and bumped Mark’s shin with a giggle. 

“Whatever. How’d the tour go? She take good care of you?” 

“She was amazing.” I blushed as he subtly adjusted his belt, my thoughts consumed by how the baby soft skin of his cock had felt on my tongue. He clenched his jaw briefly and I fought to keep from jumping onto him, the idea of him pinning me down and fucking me senseless drying my mouth out.  

“Yeah? Gosh Gracie, you may have a job as a tour guide if you ever decide to step down.” 

The doors slid open and Mark hopped in, Jamie staying put and holding his hand out with a nod. I smiled at his chivalry and the way he set his hand on my lower back, a brief warmth as I slipped past him before he caught himself. The ride was quick and quiet and we stepped out on the third floor. I followed Mark to the player’s suite and he unlocked the door for us, waiting outside as Jamie slid in. 

“I’ve gotta head down to the floor but Max and Ally should be up here soon, keep you guys company. What time does your flight leave?” 

I checked my watch and did the math. “I have to leave in ten to get to the airport in time.” 

“You have a ride?” 

“I’ll call an Uber.” 

Mark nodded and pulled me into a hug, taking a deep breath before he leaned back. “Safe travels, kiddo. Send my best to your father.” 

“Will do boss.” 

“How’s he doing?” 

My throat tightened and I nodded, swallowing hard and glancing down at my feet. “He’s... he’s okay.” 

“Any improvement?” 

“None yet but he hasn’t gotten any worse so I’ll take it.” 

He squeezed my shoulder and let out a heavy breath, forcing a smile as I looked up at him. “That’s good, right?” 

“I guess so.” 

“He’ll bounce back Gracie. He’s got the heart of a lion.” 

I blinked back tears and Mark turned to go, Jamie poking his head into the hallway a second after he left. His fingers brushed my arm gently and I looked up, clearing my throat. 

“What’s up?” 

“You okay?” 

I stepped into the suite and nodded, shutting the door behind me and closing the two of us off from the rest of the arena. I could see the seats starting to fill and I kept my eyes on the stands as he stepped up behind me, his fingers brushing mine as he did. 

I took a deep breath and shook my head. “I have to go.” 

“What? You’re leaving now?” 

“Yeah, traffic getting out of here is gonna be insane.” 

“Grace-” I pushed towards the door but he caught my arm. “Gracie, wait a minute! Will you talk to me?” 

I hesitated but obliged, looking up at him as I adjusted my purse on my arm. The look in his eyes gave me pause and I had to fight my instinct to fall against him, curl up in his lap and fall asleep with my head on his chest. “What’s there to talk about?” 

“I dunno... when are you coming back?” 

“A week or so.” 

“What are you doing until then?” 

I wracked my brain for a second before reciting my schedule. “Caps game and two days of shooting, a trip to New York for the Rangers’ Game, and then I have a meeting with Jack Lynch from the Central Division in Minnesota.” 

“And then you’re back here?” 

“Yup.” 

“For how long?” 

“Three days.” 

“Will you stay with me?” 

“Hmm, probably not. The company gets me a hotel when I travel.” 

“Well I could stay with you.” He leaned close and kissed my forehead, humming softly as his lips rested on my skin. I savored the touch and set my hand on his chest, feeling it rise and fall for a moment before he stepped out of my reach. 

My heart flipped as the door swung open and Ally met my eyes as she strolled in, a beer in each hand and a grin on her face. “What’s up? Am I interrupting anything?” 

A look of panic crossed Jamie’s face and I set my hand on his arm, turning to her and shaking my head. “We were just talking numbers. You were what, five in Dallas?” 

“Yeah, five.” 

“Well we don’t one of those yet. Could that- is that a possibility Ally?” 

She took a sip of her drink and shrugged, “I have no clue.” 

“Well, I guess you guys will figure all of that out soon. In the meantime, I have a plane to catch.” 

I flashed her my brightest smile and nodded to Jamie before I slipped out the door, pushing through the throngs of fans and running my fingers over where he’d kissed my forehead. The moment had felt so wonderful, so relaxed and loving, a stark contrast to what we’d shared so far. Meeting in random hotels on his road trips for a few hours of hot sex, one of us sneaking out in the middle of the night and waking up to a goodbye note. Falling asleep with my phone in my hand and his voice in my head, my fingers tucked between my thighs after coming hard to his dirty words. 

I didn’t realize I’d been holding my breath until I stepped onto the street, the cool air flooding my lungs as I looked around. Three years of living in this city part time and I still hadn’t gotten used to Pittsburgh at night, the mix of steel and concrete sitting in the golden haze of the streetlights. It was dizzying sometimes and I kept my eyes on the view as I slid into an Uber.

My thoughts were consumed by Jamie and I let myself feel giddy, excited at the idea of seeing him more than once a month. It had been two long years of skype sex and emails and I smiled to myself. 

“Someone’s in a good mood.” 

I met my driver’s eyes in the rear-view mirror and nodded. “My boyfriend just moved to town.” 

“That’s exciting. How long have you two been together?” 

“About two years.” 

“That’s exciting. How’d you two meet?” 

“We met at work.” 

I deflated as soon as the words left my mouth and my chest tightened, the realization dawning on me that Jamie and I were over. We had to be now that he was in my division, right? My stomach felt like it was full of rocks as we pulled to a stop in front of the terminal, the driver turning to me with a smile on her face. 

“Here we are! Do you need help with your bags?” 

I shook my head and reached for the door handle, frozen in my thoughts for a minute. “No, I’m- I’ve got it.” 

“Well have a good flight then. And congrats, that’s really exciting. You and your guy, good luck to you two.” 

“Yeah, thanks.” I mumbled, climbing out into the cold air and standing numbly with my bag in my hand. My head spun from the one-eighty I’d done and when I looked out at the city, it seemed dark and gloomy. I made my way inside and up to the security check, pulling everything out of my pockets to toss into the bin. 

My phone was flashing blue and I unlocked the screen to read my missed messages. Two from Mark, both about my father and memories he shared with him, and one from Jamie. 

I tapped the latter and my skin warmed as I scanned it. 

Seven days is way too long but it’s better than a month I guess. I can’t wait to see you again.

“Fuck my life...” 

[lobsters-on-their-heads]

Welcome to Clone Club Chapt. 4: Cosima’s parents

<i>Cosima inducts her parents into Clone Club.

Link to the entire work here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/12073659?view_full_work=true</i>

By choice, Sally and Gene lived as off-the-grid as possible when they were out to sea, which meant no internet and no phone calls except for absolute emergencies, which came in through their emergency cell. They had been out for five weeks this time, keeping in visual contact with a colleague's boat and studying marine habitats off the California and Oregon coasts. The trip had its bittersweet moments, as Gene's health was declining and they weren't sure how many more trips they could take. Sally had emailed Cosima a year ago, telling her about Gene's prostate surgery and how the doctors wanted him to stay closer to land because his blood pressure wasn't great and they worried about his heart. Cosima hadn't responded.

She's probably busy, Sally thought. She remembered her own graduate days – the sleepless nights in the lab, the last minute runs to the copy/print center, the camaraderie with other graduate students and younger professors. Maybe she has a new girlfriend. If she did, Sally hoped she was a good one. She'd lost count of the number of girls Cosima had dated, and those were only the ones Sally knew about. While a part of her applauded her daughter's romantic success, in recent years she had developed an on-going refrain: Just find a nice girl, Cosima. Find a nice girl who makes you happy for more than a couple of months. Someone you can settle down with.

It wasn't even about grandchildren. Sally's sister Margaret had five grandchildren now, and her brother had ten, but Sally had never entertained much hope of having any herself. Cosima was wonderful with children, but Sally suspected her daughter didn't want any of her own. Sally just wanted Cosima to have someone to take care of her, to give her the kind of life-long happiness and support that she and Gene gave each other. She wasn't necessarily worried about her; she just wanted the best for her.

A few weeks after emailing her, she called Cosima's cell phone, only to hear that the number was disconnected. She emailed again, this time sending the message to Cosima's UMN account as well as her personal account. Still, there was no response. This was unusual. Sally and Gene were not always easy to get a hold of, but Cosima usually responded to emails and phone calls within a couple of days. She's just busy, Sally told herself.She was so excited to transfer to Minnesota, she doesn't need her mother bothering her. And then she and Gene were out to sea again, off the grid.

For Thanksgiving, she and Gene went up to Sacramento to visit her sister Margaret's family. All three of Margaret's children were there, with their spouses and children, and all of them asked after Cosima.

“Oh, she's just so busy,” Sally said.

“We invited her to come,” Gene said, “but she never got back to us. I think she must've gotten eaten by the lab up there.” He laughed, but Sally knew he was worried.

Margaret's son Josh frowned. “It's not like her not to reply, though.” He and Cosima were born only a few weeks apart, and often joked that they should have been siblings. Once he could separate himself from the family crowd long enough, he took out his cell phone. Over his shoulder, Sally saw him checking Facebook, and she was about to scold him until he turned to her and showed her the screen. “Did Cosima delete her Facebook?”

“Oh, I don't know. You know we don't do social media.”

“Yeah, but she does. Or she did. She's not listed in my friends anymore, and there are no search results for Cosima Niehaus. I checked a couple mutuals, and she's not listed in their friends, either.”

“Well, you know, a lot of people are getting off Facebook these days. It's not healthy, I think, to be on there too much anyway.”

That night, in their bed at the Best Western near Margaret's house, Sally and Gene stared up at the ceiling. “Don't worry too much about her,” Gene said. “She's young. She's allowed to go wandering once in a while without telling anyone.”

She wondered how much he was trying to convince himself. “She's thirty-two,” she reminded him. “She's not as young as she used to be.”

“Thirty-two is still young. And she's curious. Maybe she found a great project that took her around the world, and she just hasn't gotten the chance to tell us about it, yet? Remember when she went off to Iceland for a semester, and didn't tell us until she came back?”

Of course she remembered. “What if something's happened to her, though?”

“If something really bad had happened, the school would have called us. We're listed as her emergency contacts. No news is.... not necessarily bad news.”

That was in November. In March they'd sent Cosima a birthday card with a check for $200, but the post office returned it. Now it was late July and Sally sat in her favorite cafe in Fisherman's Wharf, sipping a chai latte and eating quiche as she sorted through the hundreds of emails that had accumulated during their voyage. Most were garbage. A few were from past students, asking for recommendations or research help, which she was happy to give. A few more were from colleagues, co-authors, academic journals, and assorted scientists invested in her work. She had just deleted a few dozen emails when she paused, cursor over the little trashcan, when she saw the subject on the next email. Hi Mom. Suddenly wide awake, she opened the message and read it a few times, surprised by the tears pricking her eyes.

Hi Mom,

I'm sorry it's been so long since I've been in touch. Things have been pretty crazy here. There's a lot that I want to catch you up on, but I'd rather do it in person. I'm in Latin America right now, on a research trip, but I'll be in Toronto for Christmas. I'd love it if you guys could come up to see me. There's some people I want you to meet, too.

I hope to see you soon.

Love,

Cosima

A research trip in Latin America. Well, that was a thousand times better than all of the horrible scenarios Sally had played in her mind over the past several months to explain Cosima's silence, but it didn't quite match with what she knew of Cosima's PhD studies in evolutionary biology. Or did it?Maybe she's in the Galapagos, she thought, looking at tortoises. Or studying the physiology of remote tribes in the Amazon.

She emailed back immediately, saying that they would love to see her in Toronto for Christmas, and could Cosima please tell them which dates to buy the plane tickets for. Normally they spent Christmas with Gene's family in Orange County, but after not hearing from her daughter for a year and a half, and not seeing her in person for a little longer, Sally Niehaus would happily fly to eastern Canada in December.

* * *

They only got Cosima's new phone number the day before they flew out to see her. For all the months prior, Cosima insisted on communicating by email only, and in those emails she'd said next to nothing about herself or what she was up to these days, except that she was doing well. Sally's questions about what she was doing in Latin America, or Toronto for that matter, went unanswered, but Cosima said she was sorry to hear about Gene's health problems and happy to hear about their recent sea trips. Cosima said she missed them and couldn't wait to see them again. Anything else, Sally supposed, would have to wait.

The trip to Toronto was predictably miserable. The Niehauses were boat people, not plane people, and the changes in air travel since they'd last flown in the 1990s did not improve their feelings towards it. If they were flying for any other reason, Gene would have griped the entire time, and Sally might have found a way out of it, but on the trip, they just looked at each other, squeezed each other's hands, and smiled.

At the airport, they had to contend with hordes of other people traveling for the holidays or winter break, and by the time they'd gotten their luggage and passed through the doors warning that one could not re-enter except through security, they were emotionally cooked.

And then, standing there amongst the people holding signs with names or bouquets of Welcome Home balloons, was Cosima.

She wore her red wool coat she'd had in Minnesota the one time they'd visited her there. She still had dreadlocks, bound up at the crown of her head, and thick-framed glasses, and when she saw her parents she still gave that big toothy smile that Sally would know anywhere. They hugged and Sally kissed her cheek and Cosima took their largest suitcase, and soon they were outside in the frigid Toronto winter. Cosima had a car, a light blue Toyota Yaris, that they piled into and which Cosima did not seem totally comfortable driving.

“It's a rental,” she explained. “We just got back two days ago, and we're only gonna be here for a month or two, so we're just renting whenever we need to, or taking Ubers.”

We. Sally did not miss the plural pronoun, and from the look in Gene's eye, neither did he. Instead of asking about that, though, she asked, “Are you going back to Latin America, then?”

“Um, no, actually. Probably Israel. Maybe Morocco. We haven't decided yet.”

“I see...” She did not see. “What kind of research are you doing, exactly, that takes you all over the world like this? I hope you're getting some kind of funding for it.”

“Oh, yeah, we have a, um, a pretty generous donor. Money's not really an object, thankfully.”

The first question, Sally noticed, went unanswered. Was this going to be a trend, then? Cosima hiding things, avoiding topics, being vague? “What brings you to Toronto, then?” she asked. “Does Minnesota have a program up here?”

“Oh,” Cosima said, “it's not through the university.”

“Who is it through, then?” Irritation threatened at the front of her brain, but she reminded herself to stay calm.

“We, um...” Cosima scratched her head. She was focused on the road, but Sally got the feeling that she wouldn't have made eye contact even if she weren't driving. “We have a nonprofit foundation that handles the finances and administrative aspects.”

“Mmhm.” Sally turned to look at her husband in the back seat. He was frowning, watching Cosima drive.

“You're being awfully vague, Cos,” he said, not unkindly. “Don't think we haven't noticed.”

Cosima navigated her way through a brief construction zone before answering him. “I know,” she said finally. “There's a lot. A lot that I need to tell you guys. I just want to do it face-to-face, okay? Like, when I'm not driving.”

“Okay.”

“Whatever it is,” Sally said, laying her hand on Cosima's shoulder, “I don't want you to be afraid to tell us. We'll always love you, you know that.”

Cosima half-smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. “I know. I love you, too.”

* *

Their hotel was near a residential section of Toronto, near a park that must be beautiful in the summer. Cosima helped them carry their luggage up and waited while they settled into the suite that she had reserved for them. The suite had a couch, coffee table, and arm chair. When Sally emerged from the bedroom, Cosima was staring out the window, fidgeting with one of her rings and frowning.

“Gene'll be out in a minute,” she said, standing beside her daughter. “Is there anything that you don't want him to know just yet?” She kept her voice low, just in case.

“No,” Cosima said. “I want to tell both of you.”

They made some tea in the little pot they found in the kitchenette, then sat around the coffee table in the living area. Cosima was nervous; Sally hadn't seen her this nervous since high school. She reached over and took Cosima's hand and squeezed it. “Why don't you tell us what's going on? You'll feel better after you do.”

After a deep breath, Cosima began. “Do you remember,” she said, “when you got pregnant with me?”

Pregnant? Sally's eyes widened, and she nodded, still holding her daughter's hand. “Of course I do.”

“You got in vitro because you couldn't get pregnant, and you had to try a couple different clinics, or doctors or whatever.”

“That's right.”

“And they talked you through the whole process, about how they combined your cells in the lab and implanted them into you, and that I was just as much yours as if you'd made me naturally.”

“Yes....” If Cosima was trying to tell them that she was pregnant, she was doing it in an awfully round-about way. But maybe that wasn't what she was trying to say at all. She remembered then one of her last conversations with Cosima, before Cosima vanished into the ether and stopped returning calls and emails. Cosima had asked for more information about the clinic her parents had used to conceive her. She'd gotten blood and hair samples from both of them, saying she was going to run a genetic test. Sally squeezed her hand again. “You are ours, sweetie, no matter how... scientific the process of getting you was. You know that better than anyone, I would think, considering your background.”

Cosima looked down at the coffee table and scratched her forehead, then her nose, then her ear. “Yeah, that's kinda what I want to talk about.”

There was another pause. “We've told you everything we can about all that,” Gene said. “We can tell you again, but there's nothing new.”

“I found out something.” Cosima looked back up at them now, her jaw set. “Just before I moved to Minnesota. I found out that, when they said they used your cells to make an embryo, to make me, they lied.” Now she looked directly at her mother. “Whatever they did with your cells, they didn't put them back inside you. They used you as an unknowing donor in an illegal science experiment, and I was the result of that.”

Out of all of the things Sally had expected Cosima to say, that wasn't any close to any of them. “A science experiment?” she repeated.

“Yes.” Cosima took a deep, shuddering breath. “In human cloning.”

In the silence that followed, the heater turned itself on, filling the room with whirrs and clatters, and outside an emergency siren went by. Down the hall someone closed a door and called out to someone else. Cosima's parents just stared at her.

“I know it sounds weird,” Cosima said. “But it's true. I've seen all the evidence, I've run the tests myself, I've met the people who started the experiment and some of the ones who kept it going for years and years and years without making it public. I can prove it to you if you let me.”

Gene shifted on the couch, crossing and uncrossing his arms. “Human cloning? That's not possible. I've never seen any research that backs up that possibility. I mean, organs, maybe, but...”

“I know, and neither had I, because they kept it all under such tight wraps, but it was there. I've seen it.”

“So you're saying that you're a clone?” Sally asked.

“Yes.”

She took another moment to digest that. Whenever she imagined human clones, she pictures some science fiction android-type creatures who looked like lacked everything that made humans, well, human. That, or she imagined that terrible Michael Keaton movie from the 90s.

“And there are... others?” Sally ventured. “Other... clones?”

“Yes. There are 274 of us still living, that we know of. Some of them live here in Toronto; that's why I'm here, actually. We're, uh... doing Christmas together.” She smiled at that, and Sally imagined a room full of Cosimas sitting around a tree, with identical dreadlocks and red coats.

“You'll have to forgive me, sweetie,” Sally said, “but that does seem a little farfetched.”

“I know, I know. It's totally crazy, but it's true.”

“How did you find out about all this?” Gene asked. “If it's some top secret illegal experiment?”

Cosima sat up straight and adjusted her glasses, preparing to launch into a spiel. “Well, one of the clones here in Toronto, Beth Childs, contacted me about two years ago. She'd been contacted by a German woman who thought we might all be clones, so Beth ran a facial-recognition test though the driver's license records in Canada and the US. She found me and another woman living close to Toronto, and she contacted both of us. Once we'd met, it became pretty obvious that we were at least related, and I ran some genetic tests that proved that we were identical.”

That's why she wanted our hair and blood. She never said a word about this, though... “Two years ago? That's when you changed your research focus.”

“Yes. And that's why. I did the scientific work to find out where we all came from, Beth did the detective work, and Alison provided the funds.”

Another silence followed, and Sally looked over to her husband. By the frown on his face, she could tell he wasn't buying it. She remembered the episode of This American Life she'd heard, about people with delusional disorders. “But Cosima,” she said, “you look like me. Everyone says so.”

“I know, but that's... that's just chance. They probably chose you as a donor because you matched the physical profile. Plus, there's all kind of epigenetic and environmental factors that influence how we look and how we perceive each other and ourselves, and social expectations definitely play a role, too. People want me to look like you because I'm your daughter, and they see what they want to see. You see what you want to see.”

Sally leaned forward and looked at Cosima's face. Their eyes and hair were the same color, and her cheeks were rounded in the same way Sally's were. Even when she tried, it was impossible not to see a child that Sally herself had created when she looked at Cosima. She shook her head. “It's too hard to believe. I'm sorry.”

Cosima nodded. Maybe she had expected that response. “I understand. Are you open to some convincing, though?”

“That depends,” Gene said, “what kind of convincing?”

“Well, I'd like for you to meet my sisters.”

Sisters. When Cosima was born, Sally had been in her late thirties, and she'd spent nearly a decade trying to have a child. They'd been over the moon to have Cosima, but could not put themselves through any more stress to try having another child. It had hurt knowing Cosima would never have siblings. “Your sisters,” Sally repeated.

“Yeah, that's what we call each other. We're genetic identicals, so it fits, and we've gotten pretty close over the past two years.”

“All 274 of you?” Gene asked.

“Oh, no, just the ones who live close by. I mean, we're all sisters, but I was referring to just a few.”

They leaned back and thought about it. Looking at her daughter's face, Sally was reminded of when Cosima came out of the closet, aged fourteen, and so desperately wanted her parents to support her. They had, of course; there had been no surprise in her coming out. Sally leaned over and again took the hands of her daughter, now aged thirty-two, and repeated what she'd told her then. “No matter what, you are still our daughter, and we love you more than anything in this world.”

That afternoon, Cosima drove them several blocks east, into an old neighborhood of brick duplexes shaded by oak trees. The contrast in Cosima's demeanor between now and earlier in the day was striking. Where she had been stiff and withdrawn before, now she was relaxed and chatty. “Normally we'd be at Alison's house,” she said. “But they had a pipe burst a couple days ago, so we're celebrating at Sarah's house instead. It's actually a lot more convenient. Well, for us anyways.”

Cosima parked behind red minivan and they all got out. As they approached the house, they heard music playing and people talking, and suddenly Sally was nervous. “It's okay,” Cosima said. “You'll like everybody.”

The woman who answered the door was not Cosima's look-alike, and yet she was. Her face was shaped the same as Cosima's, but her expression was different. Her eyes had the wide-eyed wonder of a child, underneath a mass of curly blonde hair. “Hello Doctor and Doctor Niehaus,” she said. “Welcome to Christmas.” She stood aside to let them all in.

Cosima put her hand on the woman's shoulder and introduced her. “Mom, Dad, this is my sister Helena.”

Sally and Gene shook her hand and allowed her to take their coats. Cosima was beaming, like Helena proved the clone theory. Sally did not tell her that, based on appearance, Helena was probably just her regular sister at best, taken from a separate embryo created during their IVF process and given to another mother, but not her clone. They were ushered into the living room, where two more Cosima-ish women waited. There was Alison, with purple streaked hair and a fleece jacket Cosima would never be caught dead in, and Sarah, who admittedly did look quite a bit like Cosima.

“Well, it's very nice to meet you all,” Sally managed. Gene nodded and muttered something that might've been agreement.

In a little playpen were two baby boys playing with stuffed animals, and Sally skirted the awkward meeting by going over to them while Gene complimented the Christmas tree. Outside, there seemed to be more children playing in the back yard. Behind her, one of them women said, “Cosima, your parents are handling this so well. You remember what my mother said, don't you?”

“No, actually. What did she say?”

“Well, first she didn't believe you're my clone. She still says we're half-sisters. Then she said you were mulatto.”

Cosima laughed at that, and Sally felt her face burn.

A door in the kitchen opened up to the backyard and an elementary-aged girl stepped inside just long enough to see Cosima and her parents. Then she turned back and yelled, “They're here!” Soon the population density of the house doubled, with four children, three men, and a tall blonde woman who definitely wasn't one of Cosima's clones. They were all flushed and bundled from playing outside, and for a moment chaos reigned as children were told to take off boots, hats, and coats, where to put them, and everyone figured out where to put themselves without being in the way. Sally was trying to figure out which children belonged to which adults when one of the girls unwrapped her scarf, removed her hat, and Sally almost had to sit down. Standing in this stranger's kitchen was Cosima, twenty years earlier. She even had pigtails.

“Yeah,” Cosima said, seeing her mother's face. “That's Charlotte. She's the youngest one of us.”

“She looks just like you. I mean, exactly like you.” She reached out to touch the girl, but caught herself in time. This child was not Cosima, but she could definitely be Cosima's clone.

More introductions followed, and relationships were clarified. Oscar and Gemma, and their father Donnie, went with Alison. The babies went with Helena. The bubbly little girl with curly hair was Kira, Sarah's daughter. There was Sarah's brother Felix and his boyfriend Colin.

“And this is Delphine,” Cosima said last, “my fiancée.”

Before Gene or Sally to react to that, Alison spun around. “What?!” she shouted. “What, when... were you planning on telling us?”

Delphine smiled at Cosima and draped an arm around her shoulders. “Well, we wanted to tell you the other day.”

“But you had enough drama of your own,” Cosima finished. She was still watching her parents, holding her breath.

Sally approached her first, smiling broadly. “Well, Delphine, it's lovely to meet you. Finally, it seems.”

“Yes,” Gene chimed in, shaking her hand. “I would say welcome to the family, but that seems to be the other way around at the moment.”

Over a light dinner of sandwiches, Sally and Gene found themselves the center of attention. Charlotte and Kira wanted to know about their life at sea, Sarah wanted to hear about life in California, and everyone wanted to hear about Cosima as a child.

"It must be difficult," Alison said at one point, "to learn that she's not the child you thought she was."

It was a blunt was to put it, and a couple people raised their eyebrows at her. Next to Gene, Cosima looked at both of her parents, the anxiety creeping back into her face. Gene draped his arm over her shoulders, like he used to do when they sat on the couch together, looking at books. "It's unexpected," he said. "It'll take some time to wrap our heads around it."

"I think I would be angry," Alison went on. "I mean, I was angry when I found out that I was a clone. But in your position, I think I would be just..." She shook her head and drank some more wine, left speechless by the prospect.

Sally leaned around Gene to pat her daughter's back. "I'm not angry. I could be angry that they never told us. I mean, there could've been genetic issues that we wouldn't have known about, and genetic issues that we worried about without reason. But I'm not angry." She directed her next sentence to Cosima. "They gave us you."

All three of them had tears in their eyes. The larger family around the table gave them a moment before Felix scooted his chair back. "Well, that's about as much sap as I can handle in such a short time span. Anyone else want some of those Mexican chocolates this wonder child brought back for us?"

* *

After midnight, Cosima and Delphine sat wrapped in a comforter on Sarah's back porch, clutching hot mugs of cocoa with peppermint schnapps added. Cosima's parents were back in their hotel, and they had plans to get lunch, just the four of them, the next day, Christmas Eve. The Hendrixes had gone, the girls were in bed upstairs, Helena was taking care of the babies in the living room, and the back porch was the only place they could have any privacy.

“Well, I think that went well,” Cosima said.

Delphine tucked her hand between Cosima's thighs. “Yes, I think so.”

“They totally didn't believe me at first. Even after they met Sarah and Helena and Alison, it didn't really click with them. Not until they saw Charlotte.”

“It does make more compelling evidence. It will be strange when I finally see pictures of you a child, though.”

Cosima cocked her head. “You've never seen pictures of me as a kid?”

“No. I probably could have when I was at Dyad, but I never did.”

“Huh.” She drank some more schnapps cocoa and snuggled closer to Delphine. “Alison about shit herself when I called you my fiancée, did you see that?”

Delphine giggled. “Yes. I wasn't sure you would tell everyone like that, actually. She was more angry at Sarah, though, than at you.”

“Yeah, well, Sarah was just keeping her promise to let me tell everyone myself. She keeps her mouth shut when she needs to.”

“Certainly.”

They sat together in comfortable silence, listening to the breeze rustle the few remaining dead leaves on the trees and distant traffic going by. Cosima loved being with her sisters and her parents, but nothing was as good as being alone with Delphine. She toyed with her engagement ring. “Do you want me to change my name?” she asked Delphine.

“No? Why would I?”

“You know, when we get married. I could take your last name if you wanted me to.”

Laughter seasoned Delphine's words when she replied. “Do you want to have my last name?”

“I mean, I'd much rather have you, but I figured I'd put it out there.”

Delphine shook her head. “I want you to keep your name. Names are powerful, you know. They're a tremendous part of who we are.” After a pause, she asked, “Do you want me to change my name?”

“Nope. Then I couldn't call you Dr. Cormier anymore. Besides, there's already two doctor Niehauses, and if I finish my dissertaion, there will be one more. We don't really need a fourth one.”

[rilenerocks]

Choosing the beginning lyrics of a Grateful Dead song feels entirely appropriate in trying to communicate about my recent road trip. The second part of that song phrase is “feeling bad,” which I am not. The Dead were Michael’s favorite group and as most of the road trips in my life were with him, I’m not surprised that their music twitched around in my head as I proceeded with this one.

My son and I have left our 11th state in 12 days, heading for the 12th and last new one for each of us tomorrow morning. We will have  managed to see almost one-fourth of the continental United States in 15 days. About a year and a half ago, my kid offered me a trip of my choice for my birthday, an adventure we could share. After Michael’s death, all in my family are keenly aware of how fleeting time is and how daily life can swiftly be jerked from its moorings. Initially, he talked about going to Europe. I’ve never been to Greece and have been dreaming of a trip there since I avidly read Edith Hamilton’s Mythology many years ago as a teenager.

When I was in Europe at the tender age of 20, I didn’t have the vision to recognize that Giverny, home to Claude Monet and his beautiful gardens, was just an hour from Paris. I made the trip to Versailles but passed on the place that is the stuff of my lifelong dreams. Those two offers were on the table. But I’ve got a thing for road trips.

When I was 12, my family took the one real vacation of my childhood. My parents, my younger sister and I piled into the car and made our way north through Michigan to Mackinac Island. I remember everything about that trip. The inexpensive motels which felt exotic to me, and being served breakfast toast that was already buttered and so deliciously melty when you added a little jam. Then there were the fruit stands on the side of the road where you could buy giant juicy bing cherries that stained your fingers and everything else in the way of the gush when you bit them.

Being on an island where you couldn’t drive and where horse drawn buggies hauled you around to see the sights was pretty cool too. But what stuck with me was the road trip mindset. Getting into your rolling container and moving along for a few hours, getting out somewhere entirely new and absorbing all the things you’d never known or seen is my idea of a good time. I’ve taken a lot of those trips, most with Michael, but also a fun fishing excursion with friends to Minnesota and another, with my generous work partner, who went to visit Civil War sites with me after a disastrous attempt to do that with my mother and kids the previous year. So, despite the temptation of Europe, I opted for another one, with a certain degree of trepidation as I’ve never traveled with anyone for 15 days except Michael.

I always thought that traveling together provided a critical insight into whether a relationship could be sustained over a long time. Being with anyone round the clock is a challenge and if you wind up enjoying it, I figured you’d have a good life. Michael and I developed an easy rhythm from our earliest vacations forward. I wondered how my son and I would do, but for the most part, we managed well. A little bickering here and there, mostly about driving and navigation which was the worst of it. But everything else was good and a relief. I wanted to travel to the East Coast. I’d passed through a few states on my way to New York for a flight to Europe many years ago but I’d never been to New England. Michael had lived some early years in the east and never wanted to go back there. So I was aiming to knock a few more states off my goal of making it to all 50 before I check out of this planet.

My son was busy working before we left so the destinations and routes were left up to me. I pored over maps and tried to choose places that were both historically meaningful and alive with nature’s beauty. There are some cities I’d like to see but truly, after growing up in a large metropolitan area like Chicago and then leaving it behind, I knew I’d feel claustrophobic if we focused on places like Boston and NYC. My biologist son truly dislikes urban areas. So we passed through those or picked close sites where we could get a bit of their feel without the attendant hassles.

This from the intrepid planner who routed us through New York on a rainy afternoon, when all we saw were exit signs for Yankee Stadium and Palisades Park, the stuff of lore and old songs. This  ambitious journey, which round trip covered just under 3500 miles,  had three main destinations. The first was the home of an author whose books about collies were my childhood companions. For most of my life, I thought they were fiction but about 15 years ago, I learned that the man was a breeder who lived in New Jersey on Sunnybank Farm. All the dogs of my dreams were real and buried on what is now Terhune Memorial Park in Wayne, New Jersey.

I’ve been aching to stand on that land and to see the graves of those animals who influenced my pet owning decisions throughout my life. I was so moved, I wept as my mind rolled back to childhood years and then moved back forward to the memories of my beloved pets who all my life were versions of my book favorite, Lad. My son told me that at this point in his life,  he can’t think of places where he’d have such powerful feelings other than home. Let’s face it – Hogwarts is a fantasy, all theme parks to the contrary. I feel lucky to have the impact of books and my imagination still play a role in my internal life. 

Next, we spent a few days at Cape May on the Jersey shore. One of my oldest friends who grew up in Philadelphia always talked about going “down the shore,” and I wanted to do it. Any time spent oceanside works for me and as I gathered my shells and rocks, I was filled with the sense of well-being I get when contemplating the water and its magnitude and mystery. We were ahead of high season so we weren’t overwhelmed by crowds. Shore birds flew by and the waves rolled in. Perfect.

We stuffed in a few side trips to Philadelphia and Quincy, Massachusetts for some history. I loved Independence Hall and the Liberty Bell, along with John Adams Memorial Park and Homesteads. But mostly I was thinking of other things. I drive an older model car that doesn’t have the technology the new ones do. I always rent one for long trips to extend the life of mine. I didn’t know that CD players no longer exist in the new vehicles. I’d brought 10 books on CD that I thought we’d listen to along the way but that idea went the way of archaic things. From 8 tracks to cassettes to CD’s to internet everything. I’m fossilizing.

Fortunately, I’d decided to unearth Michael’s ancient iPod with its 2500 songs. I hadn’t touched it since 2016. Since we were limited to whatever podcasts we had on our phones, I plugged in the iPod and the car immediately “discovered” it. So there was Michael, the undercurrent of our trip, his musical choices eliciting all kinds of feelings from both of us. There were old favorites which we could sing along with in harmonies we’d developed over the years. Some songs were forgotten treasures and others were new to us. When he was teaching, Michael’s students got to share their favorites in class and he chose his new favorites from theirs which made their way onto the iPod. So we were getting an enhanced music education. Comedians and their best shticks are on it along with TV show themes and classic movie dialogues. My favorite is from Cheech and Chong’s Up in Smoke, followed by Abbott and Costello’s Who’s on First? Having Michael’s eclectic choices along for the ride felt just perfect. We barely made it through half of what’s on that old thing. Considering the short life of recent tech toys it was amazing.

As we inched our way along the eastern seaboard, I found myself entranced by bridges, architectural styles of the past and old cemeteries full of history and secret lives. Having fun and being reflective aren’t mutually exclusive. Travel expands our world-views and I was thinking about the need to repair infrastructure and the decline of small towns which had beautiful buildings and then the ones falling apart. As we avoided the interstate and drove the two lane highways, we passed a lot of those small towns. Most had churches, the most well-kept buildings, right at the edge of Main Street. So many churches in these little places. How much religious diversity there is off the beaten path is amazing.

And there’s so much empty, beautiful country. How do you protect that and yet have a functioning economy that prevents decay and breathes life into the places that aren’t major metropolitan areas? Big questions. We did find a Cabot Creamery in a small town. When we had dinner that night I ordered a cheese tray which had four different Cabot varieties. They were so fresh and subtle, a far cry from the Cabot white cheddar I can get locally. The Holsteins along the road into that place are doing a great job. When we rolled into Maine and Acadia National Park, the beauty was instantly striking. While soaking it all in, I was simultaneously worrying about climate change and environmental laws. I also was thinking about how unfair it is that to see these wonders, you have to be a person of certain means. Why can’t there be mandatory trips that take inner city people out to these places so they can experience nature at its most magnificent?

As a city kid who grew up in apartments with no green space, I well remember getting out into the country and seeing all this seemingly endless room out there. I find myself feeling guilty that I didn’t haul a bunch of underprivileged kids with me so their minds can stretch and consider unimaginable possibilities. Those experiences can be life-changing. We spent three great days in Acadia and Bar Harbor, Maine. We passed through three capital cities. We really packed a lot into a short time. 

On the way back home, we made a side trip to Niagara Falls which was a first for my son. Michael and I hit Niagara when we took a bucket list trip for him to Cooperstown and the Baseball Hall of Fame and Hyde Park, home of FDR. The majesty and power of the Falls is spiritual. Although the area is by necessity somewhat touristy, when you stand at the edge and watch the water, mesmerized, it’s really magic. So we did it. We made this long imagined trip and will treasure the memories that abound in any special shared experience. I’m thinking ahead to what’s around the next bend for me and how many more bends I may be lucky enough to have. I’ll be bringing Michael’s iPod on every one.

Going Down the Road Choosing the beginning lyrics of a Grateful Dead song feels entirely appropriate in trying to communicate about my recent road trip.

[awindowamirror]

Shai Hills

8/27/17

It’s been a very weekend-y weekend. On Friday night, I went out to Osu (the most popular clubbing area) with some friends and we had so much fun dancing and singing and meeting people. We were out sooo late though (most of you know I have the bedtime of a wise grandmother), so Saturday I was ready to just veg out. I started watching Game of Thrones while eating Digestive crackers loaded with Nutella, so rest assured I had a fabulous day. I also was able to talk to Sue for a while, which is no small feat considering the wifi connection here.

It actually was a very American feeling day—I had fries for lunch (with the extra sugar-y and delicious ketchup they have here), and then we ended up going to the movie theater to see Girls’ Trip. Excellent movie, by the way, it was so funny and surprisingly touching—I bawled my eyes out while eating an ice cream bar (a very pretty picture). It was a cool experience seeing a movie in a new place—almost everyone in the theater reacted very outwardly to the movie. If there was a funny part, everyone laughed their true laughs, no trying to stifle it so you’re not embarrassed. If someone in the movie said something rude, the audience would shake their heads and make noises of disapproval. When something good happened, people would yell “yes!” or “mmmhmm!” There was almost constant talking. I personally loved it because you knew everyone in the theater was feeling the same things, and that heightened the experience for me. When the mother-aged woman next to me doubled over laughing, that made the punch line all the more funny to me. It was really cool, and not something I would have thought about, but our theaters at home are really quite a different experience.

Today, some of us decided to go hiking. Thank goodness. The city has a lot to offer, but I have already found myself missing the fresh air and peace that the woods of Minnesota offer. It’s actually been a little difficult to feel entirely myself without being able to disappear in nature to recharge, even though it’s only been two weeks. So, I was really excited when a friend mentioned Shai Hills, a nature reserve about an hour or so away by trotro (that’s really not bad). It took a bit to figure out how exactly to get there, but trotro drivers know so much about the geography/roads of Ghana, so we were able to ask for directions every step of the way. We ended up having to take three trotros on the way there, and then from the headquarters of the reserve, we took a taxi to the various hiking points.

We found out upon arrival that you basically have to hire a guide, so we took off with our new and knowledgeable friend Greg to see the beauty of Shai Hills. It was so green. And so quiet. We could hear only each other and the birds (Dad, I guess I should have brought those African birding books) and it was so peaceful. Greg directed the taxi through various dirt roads, letting us off occasionally to see antelope or cool birds. We also were able to see ostriches and zebras, which was super cool. Neither are native to the area (ostriches used to be), but they roam free on the nature preserve. We got to feed an ostrich, and when I held up my hand, he gently pinched my skin in his beak. It was adorable.

Then we walked to see a Shai palace, where some of the Shai people lived until the late 1800s. The easiest schema I can use to describe it is a very large cave with several entrances. The preserve has added stairs (actually closer to a ladder, I’d say) that lead up to the top of the palace so that you can see the surrounding hills and plains area. I’m not the most comfortable with heights, but it was fun to scramble up the rocks and be rewarded with the view—green in every direction, and an excellent vantage point to see wildlife. At the top, I enjoyed some chocolate that my dad gave me before I left home, which was fitting considering this was a place my parents would both love.

We visited another bluff used by the Shai people as sleeping quarters, tried to see some baboons (no luck today), and then headed back to the main road. To get home was another taxi and long trotro ride (this one was very full so my legs both fell asleep), and then we were back in the bustle of the city.

It was such a nice break, and we all decided we should do little trips like this every weekend—what better way to spend time than traveling while traveling? Today gave me such an incredible morale boost, both because of the wonderful company and the time with nature.

The power has been out all day, which hasn’t happened yet while I’ve been here. A couple years ago, the power went out very frequently, but it’s really improved recently. It actually is not much of a nuisance here, it doesn’t seem to bother anyone like it would at home (GET THE CANDLES!! I NEED TO SHOWER!! MY PHONE IS ALMOST DEAD!! Etc.) The one thing that’s sort of inconvenient is that we obviously don’t have wifi, so it’s just difficult to communicate with anyone here or elsewhere.

We are technically going into Week 2 of classes tomorrow, although last week most of my classes didn’t happen because students and lecturers didn’t show up, so it feels more like the first week still. Send teaching vibes this way, please, maybe people will show up.

I become more and more thankful for this experience every day. There are many unique things about Ghana that are difficult to explain unless you feel them yourself, and there certainly is a different adjustment period than someone in Europe might go through, and these things make me feel very proud and excited to try to convey how wonderful less-seen areas of the world are. Anyways. I’m lucky to see what I’m seeing and learn what I’m learning.

Hope you all had a lovely weekend and have a good launch into the coming week!

[itsworn]

2006 Dodge Magnum SRT8: Power Lifting

Covertly chasing the title of the World’s Strongest Street Magnum

I grew up in NYC — a great city, but arguably the worst place in the world to be a gearhead. From high school on, I had to satisfy my hunger for horsepower with everything I could learn from books, magazines, and later, the internet, along with occasional road trips to a car show or the track. The upside of all that armchair enthusiasm was that when I relocated to Los Angeles three years ago, I knew exactly what I wanted in a project car — powerful, American, rear-wheel drive, all that for sure — but there were a few more X-factors I was looking for too.

Ever since I was a kid, I’ve been drawn to oddballs — the obscure comic book character that only appeared a handful of times, the underground metal band with only one EP. My taste in cars is no different, so it had to be something a little off the beaten path. I also wanted something that would spark gas station conversations with other gearheads, while remaining largely invisible to civilians. And it had to function as a daily driver and family car.

This is what 763 lb-ft of “rear wheel” torque does to 275/40R20 radial tires when Max Nichols rolls on the boost.

I’d loved the Magnum SRT8s since they first came out — that a mean-looking modern American V-8 wagon even existed was truly cool. The Magnum ticked all the boxes on my mandatory requirements list — with the added bonus of being based on a popular platform with lots of aftermarket support.

My concern was whether I could find a clean, low-mileage Magnum with no major issues after all these years. Poking around online, I stumbled across a well-cared-for example in my preferred color (black) with only 19,000 miles on the clock in Austin, Minnesota. After a couple phone calls with the owner, I took a leap of faith and soon the car was on a trailer headed to me in L.A. When it arrived, I was thrilled. The wagon looked even better than the photos I’d seen and was a blast to drive.

To all the world, this black Magnum SRT8 looks perfectly stock. We can tell you from experience, however, that this Magnum is far from original in terms of performance.

I started out doing all the things you do when you’re just dipping your toe in making a car your own — Mopar CAI, Corsa Xtreme cat-back and a DiabloSport 91 Octane tune. That was fun … for a while. A mechanic friend put me in touch with “Viper Dan” Cragin at Specialty Performance in Alhambra, California. Dan and I hatched a plan to wake things up a little. A Mopar transmission-programing upgrade and AMG blue-top solenoids made for some more lively shifting and a Wavetrac LSD with a 3.55:1 ring-and-pinion allowed for proper burnouts and a little more out-of-the-hole grunt.

The car remained in that state for a while, serving as my daily driver and providing a lot of smiles per gallon. My twin daughters have always liked calling cars by name, so the Magnum clearly needed one. My wife suggested Magnus — after Magnús ver Magnússon from the old World’s Strongest Man TV show — based on the similarity to Magnum and connotation with power. It stuck and that’s what my family calls the car to this day.

The striking Hemi Orange engine coloration continues from the factory coil pack covers to the 2.9L Whipple Screw-style supercharger that kicks out 812 rwhp. The underhood area is neatly appointed and stops traffic at the local Cars & Coffee when Max pops the hood.

I’d heard that if I wanted to make serious modern Mopar power in SoCal, Adam Montague at SpankinTime Motorsports was the guy to see. I drove from L.A. to his shop in San Bernardino to sit down with him and formulate a plan — the first of many such trips I’d make over the next couple years. We decided to go with a 2.9L Whipple twin-screw supercharger sitting on a custom-built 393 stroker with a Crower custom-grind blower cam, CNC-ported heads, a BBK 95mm throttle body and Driveshaft Shop 1,400hp axles.

This setup proved to be good for 717 rwhp and 673 torque on 91-octane pump gasoline with 12-psi boost. I ran 11.49 seconds at 124 mph at Famoso Raceway on street-legal drag radials — that’s a pretty solid effort for a full-weight family wagon and a lot better than the mid 13s the car ran from the factory.

Max’s Magnum isn’t just for the track. Whether he’s driving his twin daughters to their soccer games or headed for the track, everything he needs fits within the confines of this cool and very fast wagon.

Next, SpankinTime installed a Southern Hotrod War Viking NAG1 transmission, a ProTorque 3,000-stall converter, Fore Innovations fuel system, Black Ops 1,300cc injectors, and an E85 tune. Also added were a custom SpankinTime icebox for the supercharger, a Driveshaft Shop two-piece driveshaft, and a set of Race Star wheels wrapped in Hoosier rubber. This setup really tied things together. It dyno’d at 786 hp and 717 lb-ft of torque, and I ran 10.63 seconds at 133 mph on 15-psi boost.

To allow for more boost, Adam custom fabricated a stand-alone eight-rib belt setup, which runs the blower up to 17 psi. We also upgraded to the 102mm Whipple throttle body and added JBA mid-pipes to the otherwise stock exhaust. Following these most recent upgrades, the car dyno’d at 812 hp and 763 lb-ft of torque and ran a 10.27 at 137 mph at Famoso — driving there and back.

The factory suspension is great for Max’s daily drive, but to get the next level of performance, he has some plans in the works to drive this Dodge into the 9-second quarter-mile club.

What’s next? The car runs 10.2s on stock suspension, so it’s hard not to wonder if some help in that department might get it into the 9s. We’re going to add some Lakewood drag shocks soon and possibly a 15-inch rear brake conversion with a bigger tire down the road. We’ll see.

The exterior remains completely stock, as I dig the stealth-mode approach. Understanding that the car came with a 425hp rating from the factory, I think it can still be considered a sleeper. I’ve chosen to keep it as quiet as possible to continue the stealth theme. There’s a nice, low rumble when driving down the road and you can hear the cam, but I’m too old for a look-at-me obnoxiously loud vehicle.

Max retained the factory Magnum wheels, 9 inches wide and 20 inches tall for street driving.

I wanted the engine bay to feel like hidden treasure underhood, thus the Hemi Orange blower, the custom-painted coil-pack covers, and the Billet Technology billet accents. I’m particularly fond of the old-school hot rod lettering. It was hand-painted by sign painter Lorenzo Rams at Workhorse Sign Co. in Hawthorne, California. The quote is from Flannery O’Connor’s 1952 novel, Wise Blood, which was adapted into a film directed by John Huston in 1979. It’s the same line used by the band Ministry for their song, “Jesus Built My Hot Rod.”

This car is my true daily driver. I drive it to meetings, to pick the kids up from school, wherever. My now 8-year-old twins love it and have been known to say “Boost, daddy. Boost!” and I’ll give them a little taste to make them laugh. I like to joke that it’s for when you need groceries right now, and rest assured that my kids are never late for soccer practice!  —Max Nichols

When you’re making big power, the transmission can become the weakest link in the chain. The Southern Hotrod War Viking NAG1 five-speed transmission is a favorite with the fastest late-model Mopars today.

2006 Dodge Magnum SRT8 Max Nichols, Pacific Palisades, CA

ENGINE Type: 393-cid Chrysler Hemi V-8 Bore x stroke: 4.070-inch (bore) x 3.7950-inch (stroke) Block: factory 6.1L block Rotating assembly: 2618 forgef CP Carrillo pistons, forged Molnar turbo connecting rods, forged Molnar crankshaft Compression: 9.5:1 Cylinder heads: modified factory 6.1L SRT8 Magnum cylinder heads, CNC-ported Camshaft: Crower custom blower camshaft, 0.585-inch lift, 226-degree intake duration, 228 degrees on exhaust side Induction: 2.9L Whipple twin-screw supercharger painted Hemi Orange, 102mm Whipple throttle body, SpankinTime custom 8-rib stand-alone belt system with 3.125-inch pull to generate 17 psi of boost, Fleetrunner eight-rib belt and Spankin’ Time custom intake icebox, Fore Innovations full return-style fuel system running E85 fuel, Five-O-Motorsports Black Ops fuel injectors Oiling system: Melling high-volume oil pump Exhaust: stock exhaust manifolds, JBA mid-pipes, Corsa 4-inch polished tips Ignition: factory stock ignition Cooling: factory original cooling system with Moroso aluminum coolant tank Engine/vehicle built by: Adam Montague, SpankinTime Motorsports, San Bernardino, CA,

The interior is very much as delivered with the factory gauges, console, and seating.

DRIVETRAIN Transmission: Southern Hotrod War Viking NAG five-speed automatic, one-piece Driveshaft Shop custom two-speed unit Shifter: steering wheel-mounted AMG paddle shifters Rearend: 2006 Dodge 215mm differential, 3.55:1 gearing, Wave Trac Posi, Driveshaft Shop 1,400hp axles

CHASSIS Suspension: factory original, front and rear Steering: stock power steering box Brakes: stock Chrysler Brembo disc brakes Paint: factory Black

WHEELS & TIRES Wheels: 20×9 SRT8 Chrysler wheels (street); 17×4.5 (front) and 17×9.5 (rear) Race Star Drag Stars (track) Tires: 255/45ZR20 (front) and 275/40R20 (rear) Nitto NT555 G2 (street); 27.5×4.5/17 Hoosier front-runners and 28×10-17 Hoosier bias-ply slicks (track)

Jutting from the back of the steering wheel and within easy reach are a pair of paddle shifters that ensure perfect shifts at exactly the right moment.

With the Hoosier bias-ply slicks in place, the quarter-mile times drop quickly. Note that the Race Star Drag Stars wheels fit neatly around the factory Brembo brakes.

Key to picking the Whipple supercharger was generating big power and keeping everything underhood. This looks like a factory installation — it’s just that clean.

This custom SpankinTime icebox keeps intake pressures cool, which is critical to making the huge power generated by this supercharged 393-cid Mopar powerplant.

Everything about this installation is well-thought-out, including proper fuel flow, oil pressure, and state of electronic engine tune

This custom bracket, built by Adam Montague of SpankinTime Motorsports, keeps the eight-rib serpentine beltdrive in perfect alignment to retain boost pressures even at high rpm. The engine currently sees 17 psi of boost.

Not visible to the naked eye are the Fore Innovations full return-style fuel system and the 1,300cc Black Ops fuel injectors.

Not only is Max the driver, he’s also the pit crew. Here he bolts up the Hoosier front runners in prep for a serious drag run.

With its racing shoes in place, the Black Magnum looks more the part of a serious muscle car than its usual daily driver role.

The Magnum exhaust is made up of factory exhaust manifolds with JBA mid-pipes. The only visible exhaust components are these Corsa 4-inch exhaust tips. This car is amazingly quiet at idle.

Black license plates are all the rage in California these days, a throwback to 1969, the last year they were issued until now. The classic plate on a black Magnum is a nice touch.

This is the side of the Magnum most stop light competitors will generally see. Max wanted his Dodge to retain the stealth appearance — that is until his “Magnús ver Magnússon” side comes out.

It takes merely the flick of a toe to send the factory radials up in smoke when you’re packin’ this kind of power.

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[theconservativebrief]

Four years ago, my fiancé, Colin, and I decided to move to New Mexico. We had been living in a secluded river valley in western Colorado, but both of us were venturing into self-employment and thought it’d be easier in a bigger town. So we rigged our pickup with a load the Beverly Hillbillies would have admired — furniture, lamps, buckets full of pottery glaze — and drove south. I was happy. I’d waited my whole life to make this move.

Every summer of my childhood, my family had made a similar migration, leaving our duplex in Illinois and driving west. We’d spend a couple of months in the scrappy adobe house on a hill in Santa Fe, where my dad grew up. Though we had a great life in Chicago, this house cast a spell on all of us. The hill’s edges looked soft and green from afar. Up close, the land was spiny and jagged, a pile of pinkish granite with squat trees and tough succulents. It seemed even then that though I didn’t live here, it was where I came from, the place I always wanted to get back to.

Colin and I are married now. Colin is generous and goofy, a self-taught professional potter with impossibly pale blue eyes. He grew up in Ohio and loves mountains and the space of the western horizon, but he doesn’t pine for the high desert. He notices with annoying frequency how little water Santa Fe has. He likes big trees and he likes to grow food, and he wonders if big trees and homegrown food will exist here in 50 years. Or in 20. Or in 10. These are reasonable concerns, I know. I’m a journalist who covers climate change, and I’ve written thousands of words about the Southwest’s hot, dry future. Yet whenever Colin fretted, I found myself punting, offering half-baked reassurances that we’d be fine.

And then this year, winter never came. I watered the trees in our yard in early February. On April Fool’s Day, I hiked to 11,000 feet without snowshoes. A friend and her husband who were planning a spring trip to Montana said they wanted to scope it out as a place to live. “We can’t have all our money tied up in property in a place that’s going to run out of water!” she told me.

I began to worry, too, that after a long and frequently distant romance, I’d married us to a town without reckoning with the particulars of its future. How likely is this place to become barren? How soon? Will we have the tools to endure it? We’d eloped.

Now, in this rapaciously dry year, a quiet question grew louder: What are we doing here? I felt a sudden need to understand what Colin and I stood to lose as the heat intensified and the world dried out. And I wondered if we should leave.

After our wedding, Colin and I planted an elderberry bush, his favorite plant, in our yard in Santa Fe. We had found a variety native to New Mexico, and our parents had added soil from their homes to the plant’s pot during the ceremony. Putting it in the ground was our first act as homeowners.

We had started to look at real estate soon after moving, though Colin was reluctant to make the financial and physical commitment. I had promised that our move to New Mexico didn’t have to be final. We’ll give it five years, we said. We looked at loads of houses before we found one: It was a bank-owned wreck with a leaky roof, a bathtub that drained into the yard through a haphazard hole in the wall, and a mess of once-wet dog food still caked to the kitchen floor. Yet it had “good bones,” as they say, and we knew right away that it fit. More than money, we had time and the innocent enthusiasm of first-time renovators.

We thought we’d move in within months. Instead, it took more than a year. I learned how to tile and chiseled fossilized gunk from the floors. And Colin got to entertain his fantasy of raising his own house, rebuilding walls, replacing windows, building a shower, plumbing sinks.

Neither of us slept as well as we used to. We were stressed by our irregular paychecks. We’d begun a splintered conversation about having children. Our house was on a well. At first, we thought this was a liability, but people told us it was an asset: In Santa Fe, city water is expensive and well water is free. We looked into hooking up to the city system anyway, but it would have been pricey, and the guy who replaced our sewer line advised us to just wait until our well ran dry.

Conversations like this felt like little warnings. One truism about the future is that climate change will spare no place. Still, I suspect the threat of warming feels more existential in New Mexico than it does in Minnesota, the land of 10,000 lakes. Drought has gripped the Southwest for 19 years, more than half my life. It’s been dry in two ways: First, less water has fallen from the sky. And second, it’s been unusually hot.

By the time we arrived in Santa Fe, the Jemez Mountains west of town had become an archetype of the murderous impact climate change will have on forests. Drought, heat, and insect outbreaks had killed 95 percent of the old piñon pines over large portions of the southeast Jemez. This year, the moisture in living trees in the Santa Fe National Forest has hit levels lower than those you’d find in lumber at Home Depot. The fire risk was so high by June 1 that the US Forest Service closed all 1.6 million acres of the forest to the public.

The forecasts for our water supplies are equally grim. The Colorado River’s flows are down about 20 percent since the start of the drought, and scientists believe the remarkable heat is responsible for up to half of the decline. By the end of the century, some say, the amount of water in the Southwest’s rivers could plummet by 50 percent.

We could see the power of the parched air and scorching sun in our own yard. Our elderberry seemed to melt in the midday sun. It sacrificed limbs, their leaves shriveling brown and crisp. Is it a bad sign if our wedding plant dies? We joked about it, but it felt like an omen. Last year, Colin divided its roots, and he transplanted part of it into the shade this spring, a kind of insurance against death.

Aridity, in one way or another, has pushed or drawn people to New Mexico for centuries. Pueblo peoples came in part because a punishing drought strained their societies in the Four Corners and it was time to start anew. In the late 1800s, white Easterners came because the aridity healed. These so-called “lungers” suffered from tuberculosis, and doctors believed dry air and sunshine could sap the damaging moisture from patients’ lungs.

In the 1940s, my dad’s parents, Polly and Thornton Carswell, were living in Carmel, California, a countercultural refuge from their buttoned-up hometown of Springfield, Illinois. Polly was a free spirit, a weaver, who kept a few demure beige dresses to wear back to Springfield. Out West, she wore flowing skirts, colorful aprons, heavy turquoise jewelry, and orange lipstick, and carried a basket instead of a purse.

A couple years after they moved to Santa Fe, they started a restaurant. They screen-printed the menus and hosted jazz concerts there, and when business was slow, they pulled the boys out of school and took road trips through Mexico. They bought the house on the hill and were laid to rest beside its back door.

Their story taught me about where I came from, both the place and the people: brave, adventurous, entrepreneurial folk who took risks and led lives that were, above all, interesting. Yet when I asked my family about this story recently, hoping to understand it better, another version emerged. Thornton told my Aunt Linnea that the family had moved to New Mexico in part for protection from Polly’s troubled mind. Once, when my dad was an infant, Thornton found Polly carrying him toward the ocean, intending to give him to it, to let the waves swallow his tiny body whole. In this version of the story, Thornton came here to escape the ocean, drawn by the sense of security that came not from what New Mexico had but from what it lacked: too much water.

As this spring wore on, though, the thirsty days piling up, this force that had lured my family here with its power to heal, and apparently, to protect, began to feel like a real threat. Halfway across the world, amid another deep, multi-year drought, the residents of Cape Town, South Africa, were anticipating “Day Zero,” when the city’s taps would run totally dry and residents would have to line up for water rations. Could that happen here? And if it did, what would become of this home we were building?

The house was our shelter, our first big project together, but it was also a foundation. We’d both chosen fulfilling careers that paid poorly, and if we wanted to travel, go out to eat, support a future child, make self-employment viable long term and generally not live in perpetual fear of our bank balance, we figured we should grow the modest money we made.

I got in touch with Kim Shanahan, the head of the Santa Fe Area Home Builders Association, to gauge how reality-based my fear was. It wasn’t that long ago that the developers and contractors he represents had faced their own demise. In 2002, a nail-bitingly dry year that followed several pitiful winters, Santa Fe’s aboveground reservoirs dipped precipitously low, and the city was draining groundwater through its wells at frightening rates. The city implemented water restrictions, and the citizenry aimed pitchforks at developers. If there wasn’t enough water for the people already here, they felt, there wasn’t a drop to spare for new homes. The city council debated whether to stop issuing building permits.

This year, though, for whatever reason, the city didn’t seem to be facing imminent crisis. Were water cuts or construction moratoriums on the horizon? Shanahan didn’t think so, and he told me something had changed: toilets. To deal with the water shortage and to avoid a building moratorium, the city purchased 10,000 low-flow toilets and offered them free to anyone who would replace an aging one. Then the city added a water conservation fee to utility bills that funds rebates for things like efficient clothes washers, fixtures, and rain barrels. The water saved through the program goes into a “bank,” and today builders have to buy offset credits from it so that water use doesn’t rise with new construction.

All this has allowed the city’s population to grow even as water consumption has declined. Combined with rules that limit outdoor watering and pricing that incentivizes conservation, Santa Fe has reduced its per capita consumption from 168 gallons per day in 1995 to 90 today. Crucially, it has also diversified its supply, piping water from the Colorado River Basin to the Rio Grande, allowing the city to rest wells and turn groundwater into drought insurance. So far, it’s worked.

“On a personal level, yeah, this is frightening,” Shanahan admitted. “I’ve never seen it so damn dry. But I’m feeling more bullish about our ability to be sustainable with diminishing resources.”

The city doesn’t have much choice but to try. An in-depth 2015 study of the risk climate change poses to Santa Fe’s water found that as the population continues to grow, the city and county’s supply could fall short of demand by as much as 3 billion gallons by 2055. That’s a lot — about equal to the city’s current annual consumption.

Strangely enough, though, learning all this made me less fearful. It helped to define the problem, and reminded me that we were agents in this mess, not blind victims. In that sense, the drought in Santa Fe had a strange upside: It forced the conversation. And the result so far seems to prove journalist John Fleck’s principle of water: When people have less, they use less. Even my husband was more adaptable than I’d expected, worrying as I had that the high desert would never satiate his desire for leafy canopies and grapefruit-size garden tomatoes. He told me recently that when we started looking at houses, he decided: Screw the consequences. “Look, if we all run out of water and lose everything,” he told a friend, “that’s just going to be part of our story.”

Colin had confronted the uncertainty by making peace with it. I was searching instead for objective information to confirm my fears that our move was misguided, our own act of climate change denial. But the question of whether we should stay or go was turning out to be complicated; even the angles that seemed straightforward weren’t. Shanahan pointed out that if water limited the city’s growth, the value of our home might go up.

That’s how supply and demand should work, Grady Gammage, a lawyer, water expert, and sometimes developer in Phoenix, told me. But the idea that there’s not enough water to build houses? “That’s going to scare people, so it might constrain demand.” Claudia Borchert, Santa Fe County’s sustainability manager, remarked over coffee that she’d just fielded a call from an anxious homeowner asking if his property value was safe. “Boy, in the short term, yes,” she told him. “In the long term, all bets are off. It won’t necessarily be that there’s no water, but will people want to live here?”

It occurred to me that the drought is a little like the Trump presidency. You know it’s bad, and that it could herald much worse. But in the present moment, life feels strangely normal. Sure, draconian water shortages and the demise of our democracy are real possibilities — not even distant ones — but you’re not really suffering. Not yet. It’s hard to tell how much you will. If this is your reality, as it is mine, you’re probably not an immigrant, or a farmer, or a tribal member, or poor, or sick, or brown-skinned. You’re lucky. The crisis is real, and it’s not.

In this limbo, I felt a melancholy that was both hard to identify and hard to shake. A hot day no longer felt like just a hot day, something that would pass. On a cloudless Saturday in May, shoppers at a plant nursery griped about how Santa Fe was becoming like Albuquerque, the sweatier city to our south. The heat seemed imbued with finality, a change that could not be undone.

My grandmother Polly died the year before I was born. After my dad’s birth, she suffered bouts of what the family calls “sickness.” Her illness was mental — schizophrenia, manic depression, or some other condition doctors didn’t understand. With her glasses on, she could see St. Peter. She wailed in bed. One night at the hospital, she continued to wail after doctors had pumped her full of enough sedatives to, as they told my parents, “kill a horse.”

My parents used to rent the house on the hill during the school year. Once, a renter abruptly moved out mid-lease, saying that Polly’s ghost had appeared over her bed in the middle of the night, growling at her to “get out.” As a kid, the haunting didn’t scare me. I thought it was awesome and hoped it was real. I secretly hated the renters: Nice as they were, I didn’t want them in our house or on our land.

My attachment to the place was always instinctual. My parents occasionally talked about selling it, daydreaming about what they’d do with the money. I reacted to these conversations defensively, like a coiled snake. I’m an only child, and I told them that when they died, it was what I would have left of my family. The house and the land would be my memory.

“Querencia,” the late New Mexico poet and historian Estevan Arellano has written, “is a place from which one’s strength of character is drawn. Folklore tells us that ‘no hay mejor querencia que tu corral,’ there is no better place than your corral — a typical saying that alludes to where someone is raised, the place of one’s memories, of one’s affections, of things one loves and, above all, where one feels safe.”

Staying put may not mean that Colin and I lose what we’ve put into our home, and it may not mean running out of water. But it may mean bearing witness to the slow death of the Rio Grande. It may mean biting our nails with the rest of the city every June, hoping this won’t be the year that a mushroom cloud of smoke rises from the Santa Fe Mountains, which are primed for a destructive fire. If the mountains do burn big and hot, and the tourists that are Colin’s customers stay away, it may mean recalibrating his business plan. It may mean more summer months when we can’t escape to the cool of the forest because the forest is closed. And it already means grappling with the more unsettling feelings that accumulate from these smaller worries.

In 2005, the Australian philosopher Glenn Albrecht coined the term “solastalgia” to characterize the peculiar modern condition caused by circumstances like these — “a form of homesickness one gets when one is still at ‘home.’” Solastalgia describes a loss that is less tangible than psychic. “It is the pain experienced when there is recognition that the place where one resides and that one loves is under immediate assault,” Albrecht writes. “It is manifest in an attack on one’s sense of place, in the erosion of the sense of belonging to a particular place and a feeling of distress about its transformation.”

When the drought began in the late 1990s, my parents and I had stopped spending summers in Santa Fe. A couple of years into the drought, my uncle called to report that the piñon trees surrounding the house on the hill were dying. The news of the tree die-off inspired apprehension and a kind of fear — my dad said he was afraid to go back.

The total transformation of landscapes — and of a community’s sense of place — isn’t an abstract possibility in New Mexico. It’s already happened to communities in the Jemez Mountains, where a series of wildfires have torched the forests. And so on a Sunday afternoon, I visited a woman named Terry Foxx at the home she’s evacuated twice during recent burns, interrupting her afternoon sewing to ask about the aftermath.

Foxx has studied the fire ecology of the Jemez since the 1970s, and after the 2000 Cerro Grande Fire, which burned more than 400 homes in Los Alamos, she also became something of a community therapist. She collected fire stories and published them in a spiral-bound book. She gave community lectures on how life returns to the forest, and about the spiritual toll of landscape loss.

“There was grief, just intense grief,” Foxx told me. “Some people would say, ‘I have no right to be grieving because so-and-so lost their home.’ I thought, wait a second, we have all lost something. It was that mountain that used to have trees on it.”

Some people in Los Alamos did flee, though. Foxx told me about one couple who left because they loved trees and couldn’t stand to look at a mountain of blackened sticks. They moved to Colorado, right back into the pines. Others rebuilt, the fire strengthening their resolve to stay. When we experience loss, Foxx said, “It’s like, ‘What can I do?’ You either feel a deep sense of depression or, if you can, you find some way to help.” Two men formed a group called the Volunteer Task Force that rebuilt trails, planted trees, and pelted the burn scars with golf ball-size mash-ups of clay and wildflower seeds made by schoolchildren, nursing home residents, and others. It gave people a sense of ownership, Foxx told me, and of hope.

“Don’t get me wrong,” she said. “I believe we need to be doing everything we can to prevent polluting and changing our area. But regardless of what we do, nature is here. I say nature adjusts to change easier than we as humans do.”

The answers I sought, I began to understand, could not be found in climate studies, water plans, or market analyses, because my questions, my doubts, weren’t ultimately about logic or pragmatism. They were about love.

After leaving Terry Foxx’s House, I drove to the forest and hiked to the edge of a burn scar. I sat below a gnarled old ponderosa that had survived the fire, facing a hillside that looked like a moonscape, and wrote Colin a letter.

Ecologists call wildfires “disturbance events.” In nature, disturbance often gives rise to new life. The large aspen stands in the Sangre de Cristos facing Santa Fe, the trees whose colors help us measure the seasons, are there because a fire raced over the mountain, killing conifer stands whole. My marriage had been through its own disturbance event. For months, our conversation about children had not gone well. I wanted a child, but the idea made Colin anxious. He wasn’t ready yet, and unsure that he ever would be. I was hurt by his reluctance.

One night, I blurted out a tearful and angry ultimatum, without knowing whether I meant it. It bruised him in a way that one apology, then another, couldn’t quite heal. Eventually, though, the difficult conversations grew more honest and empathetic. We turned toward each other, closing the raw space between us, and as we did, we felt more in love. Still, the issue was unresolved. Some days, I was fine with that. Others, I’d be struck by a sudden and profound sadness.

The night before had been one of those nights, so I decided to write what was hard for me to say. I told him that if we didn’t have a kid, I still wanted to buy the weedy dirt patch next door together and build a studio and make it beautiful. And if we did have a kid, I wanted Colin to teach them to make buttermilk biscuits, to hear them squeal as he chased them around the yard like a deranged zombie. He cried when he read the letter, and then he baked me a perfect apple pie.

I began to think that our relationships with places aren’t so different from our relationships with people. They are emotional and particular. Over time, there is tumult. That has been true for as long as people have lived on the side of volcanoes or in deserts or on top of tectonic faults. What’s both hard and hopeful about this new tumult is that, unlike an eruption, a natural drought cycle, or an earthquake, it’s not inevitable. The change is the result of the choice we are making to continue our carbon binge.

The disturbance in my marriage had ultimately deepened our commitment to our joined lives. And maybe the same should be true of our relationships with our places. A better response than running might be to spend more time walking the forests and canyons of the landscapes we love, even as they change, to engage more deeply, to fight for them. After all, leaving might not be a form of protection but just another form of loss.

After my parents retired a few years ago, their desire to come home overrode any fear of what they’d find there. They’re living in the Santa Fe house again — back in their “corral” — and the tree die-off wasn’t as bad as they’d feared. The junipers are toughing it out, and some piñons survived. A decent number of piñons are even re-sprouting in the shelter of old junipers.

There was something else, too: a weed that popped up near the front door. My dad didn’t recognize it, but he didn’t pull it up. Then one day, it erupted in purple flowers. It was a native wildflower called desert four o’clock, and he thought it might be Polly, signaling her approval that they were back. Every year since, it has returned. And every year, it has bloomed.

This essay is adapted from an article in High Country News.

Cally Carswell is a freelance science and environmental journalist based in Santa Fe, New Mexico, and a longtime contributing editor at High Country News.

First Person is Vox’s home for compelling, provocative narrative essays. Do you have a story to share? Read our submission guidelines, and pitch us at firstperson@vox.com.

Original Source -> Why are people still living in the western US with the constant threat of climate change?

via The Conservative Brief

[seniorbrief]

24 Stories About the Touching Kindness of Strangers That’ll Make You Tear Up

The Man at the Market

When the supermarket clerk tallied up my groceries, I was $12 over what I had on me. I began to remove items from the bags, when another shopper handed me a $20 bill. “Please don’t put yourself out,” I told him. “Let me tell you a story,” he said. “My mother is in the hospital with cancer. I visit her every day and bring her flowers. I went this morning, and she got mad at me for spending my money on more flowers. She demanded that I do something else with that money. So, here, please accept this. It is my mother’s flowers.” – Leslie Wagner, Peel, Arkansas. Here are 30 more acts of kindness you can do in two minutes or less!

Jim and the Job

My neighbor, Jim, had trouble deciding if he wanted to retire from the construction field, until he ran into a younger man he’d worked with previously. The young man had a wife and three children and was finding it difficult to make ends meet, since he hadn’t worked in some time. The next morning, Jim went to the union office and submitted his retirement paperwork. As for his replacement, he gave them the name of the young man. That was six years ago, and that young husband and father has been employed ever since. – Miranda MacLean, Brutus, Michigan. Make sure you know the powerful health benefits of being nicer to yourself.

A Family’s Food Angel

While going through a divorce, my mother fretted over her new worries: no income, the same bills, and no way to afford groceries. It was around this time that she started finding boxes of food outside our door every morning. This went on for months, until she was able to land a job. We never did find out who it was who left the groceries for us, but they truly saved our lives. – Jamie Boleyn, Emmett, Idaho. These 12 heartwarming stories will restore your faith in humanity.

Color Me Amazed

I forgot about the rules on liquids in carry-on luggage, so when I hit security at the airport, I had to give up all my painting supplies. When I returned a week later, an attendant was at the baggage area with my paints. Not only had he kept them for me, but he’d looked up my return date and time in order to meet me.  – Marilyn Kinsella, Canmore, Canada

Yasu + Junko for Reader’s Digest

Seven Miles For Me

Leaving a store, I returned to my car only to find that I’d locked my keys and cell phone inside. A teenager riding his bike saw me kick a tire and say a few choice words. “What’s wrong?” he asked. I explained my situation. “But even if I could call my wife,” I said, “she can’t bring me her car key, since this is our only car.” He handed me his cell phone. “Call your wife and tell her I’m coming to get her key.” “That’s seven miles round trip.” “Don’t worry about it.” An hour later, he returned with the key. I offered him some money, but he refused. “Let’s just say I needed the exercise,” he said. Then, like a cowboy in the movies, he rode off into the sunset. – Clarence W. Stephens, Nicholasville, Kentucky. Next, take a look at these incredible photos of heartwarming moments.

The Little Lift

One evening, I left a restaurant just ahead of a woman assisting her elderly mom. I approached the curb and paused to see if my arthritic knees could climb it. To my right appeared an arm to assist. It was that of the elderly mom. My heart was so touched. – Donna Moerie, Goldsboro, North Carolina

Bounty For a Navy Wife

I was balancing caring for a toddler and working a full-time job, all while my Navy husband was on extended duty overseas. One evening, the doorbell rang. It was my neighbor, a retired chief petty officer, holding a breadboard loaded with a freshly cooked chicken and vegetable stew. “I’ve noticed you’re getting a little skinny,” he said. It was the best meal I’d had in months. – Patricia Fordney, Corvallis, Oregon. Here are 10 life-changing acts of kindness you can do right now.

My Granddaughter’s Dress

I saw a dress in a consignment shop that I knew my granddaughter would love. But money was tight, so I asked the store owner if she could hold it for me. “May I buy the dress for you?” asked another customer. “Thank you, but I can’t accept such a gracious gift,” I said. Then she told me why it was so important for her to help me. She’d been homeless for three years, she said, and had it not been for the kindness of strangers, she would not have been able to survive. “I’m no longer homeless, and my situation has improved,” she said. “I promised myself that I would repay the kindness so many had shown me.” She paid for the dress, and the only payment she would accept in return was a heartfelt hug. – Stacy Lee, Columbia, Maryland

Yasu + Junko for Reader’s Digest

White Shoulders

A woman at our yard sale wore a perfume that smelled heavenly and familiar. “What are you wearing?” I asked. “White Shoulders,” she said. Suddenly, I was bowled over by a flood of memories. White Shoulders was the one gift I could count on at Christmas from my late mother. We chatted awhile, and she bought some things and left. A few hours later, she returned holding a new bottle of White Shoulders. I don’t recall which one of us started crying first. – Media Stooksbury, Powell, Tennessee. Try these effortless ways to be nicer to people.

Breaking Bread

Last December, before work, I stopped at a deli and ordered an everything bagel with cream cheese. It was toasty warm, and I couldn’t wait to dig in. But as I left the store, I noticed an older indigent gentleman sitting at the bus stop. Knowing it would probably be his only warm meal of the day, I gave him the bagel. But all was not lost for me. Another customer from the deli offered me half of her bagel. I was so delighted because I realized that in one way or another, we are all looked after. – Liliana Figueroa, Phoenix, Arizona

“I Can Still Help”

As I walked through the parking lot, all I could think about was the dire diagnosis I had handed my patient Jimmy: pancreatic cancer. Just then, I noticed an elderly gentleman handing tools to someone working under his stalled car. That someone was Jimmy. “Jimmy, what are you doing?” I yelled out. Jimmy dusted off his pants. “My cancer didn’t tell me not to help others, Doc,” he said, before waving at the old man to start the car. The engine roared to life. The old man thanked Jimmy and drove off. Then Jimmy got into his car and took off as well. Take-home message: Kindness has no limits and no restrictions. –Mohammed Basha, Gainesville, Florida.  Start giving these 10 little compliments to people every day.

Top Note

When my husband died unexpectedly, a coworker took me under her wing. Every week for an entire year, she would send me a card saying “Just Thinking of You” or “Hang in There.” She saved my life. – Jerilynn Collette, Burnsville, Minnesota

He Kept an Eye on Me

Driving home in a blizzard, I noticed a vehicle trailing close behind me. Suddenly, my tire blew! I pulled off the road, and so did the other car. A man jumped out from behind the wheel and without hesitation changed the flat. “I was going to get off two miles back,” he said. “But I didn’t think that tire looked good.” –Marilyn Attebery, Spokane Valley, Washington. Being kind to strangers is great, but don’t forget these ways to be nicer to yourself.

My Commander’s Call

It was one of my first missions on a gunship during the Vietnam War. I was scanning for enemy fire when I spotted a bright object that looked as if it were coming straight at us. “Missile! Missile!” I shouted into my interphone. The pilot jerked the airplane as hard as he could, dumping guys from one side of the craft to the next. Well, turns out the “missile” was a flare we had just dropped. Suffice it to say, the guys weren’t pleased. Back at the base, my commander put an arm around my shoulder. “Sergeant Hunter,” he said, “you keep calling them like you see them. Better safe than sorry.” That kind act gave me the confidence to be one of the top gunners in my squadron. – Douglas Hunter, Fort Walton Beach, Florida

21 Apples From Max

When my grandson Max told his mother, Andrea, to donate any check she would give him for his 21st birthday, Andrea got an idea. She handed Max’s brother Charlie a video camera. Then she took out 21 $10 bills from the bank and bought 21 apples at the supermarket. When they spotted a homeless man, Andrea told him, “Today is my son Max’s 21st birthday, and he asked me to give a gift to someone to help him celebrate.” She handed the man a $10 bill and an apple. The man smiled into the camera and announced, “Happy birthday, Max!” Soon, they passed out their booty to men and women waiting in line at a soup kitchen. In a unified chorus, they wished Max, “Happy birthday!” At a pizza parlor, Andrea left $50 and told the owners to feed the hungry. “Happy birthday, Max!” they shouted. With one last $10 bill and apple, they stopped at Andrea’s sister’s office. Unable to contain her laughter or her tears, she bellowed into the camera, “Happy birthday, Max!” –Dr. Donald Stoltz, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. Don’t miss these 21 acts of kindness that changed these people’s lives.

How Did She Know?

I was driving cross-country to start a new job. What began as a fun adventure turned into a nightmare when I realized I had run through most of my money and still had a ways to go. I pulled over and let the tears flow. That’s when I noticed the unopened farewell card my neighbor had shoved in my hand as I left. I pulled the card out of the envelope, and $100 dropped out—just enough to get me through the remainder of my trip. Later, I asked my neighbor why she had enclosed the money. She said, “I had a feeling it would help.” – Nadine Chandler, Winthrop, Massachusetts Yasu + Junko for Reader’s DigestPhotograph by Yasu+Junko; Prop Stylist: Sarah Guido-Laakso for Halley Resources

Raised Right

Children were playing at the recreation area of an IKEA store when my five-year-old granddaughter motioned for a small boy to stop. She knelt down before him and retied his flopping shoelaces—she had only just learned to tie her own. No words were spoken, but after she finished, both smiled shyly, then turned to race off in different directions. – Sheela Mayes, Olla, Louisiana. Take a look at these 8 acts of kindness that turned into good karma.

Blanket Statement

When I was seven, my family drove to the Grand Canyon. At one point, my favorite blanket flew out the window and was gone. I was devastated. Soon after, we stopped at a service station. Moping, I found a bench and was about to eat my sandwich when a biker gang pulled into the station. “Is that your blue Ford?” a huge, frightening man with a gray-and-black beard asked. Mom nodded reticently. The man pulled my blanket from his jacket pocket and handed it to her. He then returned to his motorcycle. I repaid him the only way I knew how: I ran up to him and gave him my sandwich. Zena Hamilton, United Kingdom

Just Driving Through

When my friend and I were injured in a car accident, a family from out of state stopped to help. Seeing we were hurt, they drove us to the hospital and stayed there until we were released. They then took us home, got us food, and made sure we were settled in. Amazingly, they interrupted their vacation to help us. –Cindy Earls, Ada, Oklahoma. Check out this story of how this generous man let a stranger borrow his car.

Butterflies of Support

I was four months pregnant with our first child when our baby’s heart stopped beating. I was devastated. As the days went on, I was nervous about returning to work. I’m a middle school teacher and didn’t know how I could face kids. This past May, after four weeks of recovering, I walked into my empty classroom and turned on the lights. Glued to the wall were a hundred colored paper butterflies, each with a handwritten message on it from current and past students. All of them had encouraging messages: “Keep moving forward,” “Don’t give up on God,” and “Know that we love you.” It was exactly what I needed. Jennifer Garcia-Esquivel, San Benito, Texas

Twice as Nice

Two firefighters were waiting in line at a fast-food restaurant when the siren sounded on their fire truck parked outside. As they turned to leave, a couple who had just received their order handed their food to the firefighters. The couple then got back in line to reorder. Doubling down on their selfless act, the manager refused to take their money. –JoAnn Sanderson, Brandon, Florida. This is the nicest place in America! Hint: It’s a restaurant in Tennessee.

Designated Driver

I’d pulled over onto the side of a New Mexico road and was suffering a panic attack when a minivan full of kids pulled over. A woman got out and asked if I was OK. “No,” I said. Then I laid out what had happened: I was delivering books for a publishing company. My next stop was way, way up this long and winding and, to me, very treacherous road. I couldn’t do it. “I’ll deliver the books for you,” she said. She was a local, and the roads were nothing for her. I took her up on the offer and never forgot the simple kindness of a stranger. – Doreen Frick, Ord, Nebraska

A Christmas Story

In January 2006, a fire destroyed a family’s home. In that fire were all the belongings of a six-year-old boy, including his Christmas presents. A classmate from his school who had a birthday around then asked her parents if she could give all her gifts to the boy. That act of kindness will forever warm my heart because the boy is my grandson.  – Donna Kachnowski, Lebanon, Connecticut

She Gave Me Direction

As I left a party, I got on the wrong freeway and was immediately lost. I pulled over to the shoulder and called my roadside-assistance provider. She tried to connect me to the California Highway Patrol, but that call never went through. Hearing the panic in my voice, she came up with a plan B: “You’re near this office,” she said. “I’m about to go off shift. Stay put, and I’ll find you.” Ten minutes later, she rolled up. She guided me not only to the right freeway but all the way to the correct freeway exit. And then, with a wave goodbye, she drove back into the night. – Michelle Arnold, Santee, California. Next, check out these 50 random acts of kindness that don’t cost a cent!

Original Source -> 24 Stories About the Touching Kindness of Strangers That’ll Make You Tear Up

source https://www.seniorbrief.com/24-stories-about-the-touching-kindness-of-strangers-thatll-make-you-tear-up/

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Standing Rock Recap Part 1 (12/8-12/12)

So now that I am back in Cincinnati, and before I dive headlong back into my day-to-day business, I want to take an opportunity to reflect more thoroughly on my Standing Rock experience, to solidify it in my memory and begin to process the journey so that I can more fully integrate its lessons as I move forward. I kept some notes on my daily experiences so that I could write in greater depth later, so what I have not already journaled about in detail shall be expanded upon here. I’ve also included my posts from Facebook (in italics), as many of my more thoughtful reflections were shared there.

  8 December 2016

 Today I picked up my car—a Kia Sorento full-size SUV, AWD—loaded it up, and double-checked my packing list. I packed in a prayerful manner, a bit apprehensive about the journey ahead but repeating my mantras all the while.

I went to Thursday night dance class at Baoku’s Village. It was quite a joyful send off! I didn’t know many of the other people there, but they all thanked me for going and assured me they would keep me in their thoughts. After class, I rested for a little while before hitting the road around midnight.

The roads were a bit snowy and icy to start out, but North of Indianapolis everything seemed to clear up nicely. The 10-hour drive wasn’t so bad, after all. I sang, prayed, chanted, listened to the radio, and played songs from my iPod. I took naps when I needed to and stretched often. I was nervous but excited for what might lie ahead.

  9 December 2016

 Written about a short hike I took from a rest stop in Black River Valley, WI, which turned out to have a monument to one of the first sawmills in the country—undoubtedly erected in what had, up until then, been indigenous territory. “Mni Wiconi” and other phrases along those lines were scrawled onto the railings of the walkway that overlooked the valley.

 Good morning from Wisconsin!

What was promised as simply a "scenic overlook" turned out to be a half mile hike through the woods near a rest stop off Highway 94--and a much needed respite from the last 10hrs on the road.

I can still hear the trucks howling on the highway below, but up here I find peace in the beautiful morning sun. Also, there are reminders of the many who have journeyed before me. I send you my deepest gratitude, brothers and sisters.

Mni wiconi. This is my YES.

 I arrived in Minneapolis around noon. I had an extravagant lunch at an Indian buffet before checking into my Air B&B for a nap. I went to the Dustin Thomas concert that night. The club was really neat—it had a small concert venue and a larger dance club area. I think someone said it was Prince’s club?

The show was phenomenal! He played many songs I love but don’t usually get to hear when he does short opening sets. I met several really friendly people—Adam and Eric, who are also musicians, Jeremy and Anthony, who had recently been to Standing Rock themselves, and a fiercely loving mother named Julia Chavira. There was another wild young woman with a drum, but her name escapes me now…

I hadn’t had a night out in quite a while, and I had taken an Uber to the show, so I decided to indulge in some tequila—three glasses, which was probably a bit overboard. But all my best road trips usually involve a good hangover at some point, so be it. I danced my ass off that night, and sang along to nearly every song. The show went until 2 AM or so, which was later than I planned to be out but oh-so-worth-it.

I chatted with Julia, Anthony, and Jeremy after the show and traded contact information with them so we could stay in touch. I left there absolutely astounded at the friendliness and generosity of the crowd gathered there that night. Minneapolis, you sure made a great first impression.

  10 December 2016

 Post about a radio broadcast I heard on my way to MPLS:

This keeps nagging my conscience, so I will share:

On my way up to Minnesota, driving past Chicago around 3 a.m. I caught a broadcast by Thom Hartmann (amazing author too BTW, check out Last Hours of Ancient Sunlight). He was talking about our president elect and comparing his persona to that of Hitler and Mussolini. We probably have all heard that before, but he went into depth about the psychological tactics of a "leaders" such as them and it gave me a much deeper understanding of the validity behind those comparisons.

After his broadcast was over, I flipped to a Latino radio station (I like to practice my Spanish by seeing if I can figure out what the songs are about). They took a commercial break and this public service announcement came on. My Spanish isn't good enough to understand the finer details of the message, but it was something about people coming to your door and asking for your identification and your papers justifying your presence in this country, and under what circumstances someone can legally do that.

I felt a pang of fear in my heart. What a disturbing message to have to sit there and listen to! I realize this is a very real concern for America's international residents. They are truly fearing for their safety and freedom. This is not the America I was taught to love as a child. Shouldn't we all be concerned?

 I ended up staying in Minneapolis an extra day. With warnings of a blizzard in Standing Rock, it didn’t seem wise to drive up there just yet. Plus, I didn’t have a room at the casino until the 11th. I spent the day running around, picking up a few last-minute supplies, including a package full of long underwear and other winter gear that I had ordered from REI but which hadn’t arrived by the time I departed (ironically enough, due to the weather in the same region I was headed to, which held up shipping). Dad had to overnight it to me, which actually worked out really well. I also went to the Mall of America, which is apparently one of the major attractions in MPLS but which I had intended to avoid. However, Jason requested specifically that I pick up Alpaca wool socks, and MOA had an Alpaca store. The rest is history…

I also worked very hard to track down tire chains for myself and Lolly B. They weren’t as easy to find as I had assumed, but with Jeremy’s help I did manage to find a couple of pairs the following day.

Anthony had offered me a place to stay that night, and I was originally going to take him up on it, but as evening rolled around I was having trouble getting in touch with him. He said he wouldn’t be off work until 10…I had been running around all day with a hangover and had honestly hoped to be in bed by that time. So, I booked an Air B&B last minute (which was kind of a miracle in and of itself) and went to someone else’s house to hole up in a quiet private room for the night. The guys were disappointed I didn’t come over to hang with them, but I knew I needed the rest.

  11 December 2016

I woke up to about 4 or 5 inches of snow this morning. No sense in rushing out the door until the snow plows have had a go at the streets, I told myself. I took my time to reorganize my belongings and then set to work cleaning off the Kia, by which time snowplows were crisscrossing through the residential area I was staying in. Perfect.

I hit the highway behind another brigade of snow plows. The pavement was coated, but my AWD seemed to be pretty reliable. I was surprised how much traffic was on the road early that Sunday morning. That’s the difference between 5 inches of snow in Cincinnati and 5 inches of snow in Minneapolis—people don’t freak out about it up North.

Someone named Rosemary from the Medic and Healer Council, which had previously been unresponsive to my inquiries, called me a few hours into my drive. I guess it was the email titled “ARRIVING TOMORROW 12/11” that finally got their attention. She informed me that she had forwarded me “some orientation materials to review.” She also cautioned me about the importance of cultural sensitivity, having a camp “buddy” especially for actions, and “checking in with myself frequently.” She advised me to stop somewhere with WiFi along the way so I could download said literature “because the internet at the Casino is crap.”

I found my tire chains along the way at a place called Mills Fleet Farm (thank God!), and another Indian buffet in Fargo called India Palace, just like the one I had eaten at a couple of days before in St Cloud. After filling up on Indian food, I headed next door to Caribou Coffee to download the orientation stuff. I was overwhelmed by the herbal remedy guides, camp guidelines, medic council guidelines, hypothermia and frostbite treatment, lists of recommended equipment, suggested readings, and most of all the lengthy pamphlet on crowd-control tactics. The latter file included detailed descriptions of devices like pepper spray, sound cannons, heat rays, various “nonlethal” projectiles, water cannons, etc. I skimmed that last pamphlet in horror and prayed I wouldn’t need the information during my time at camp.

It was dark and temps were dipping below zero as I neared my destination. I started down highway 1806, the main road to Standing Rock and the casino, and was met by signs that the highway was closed. A detour was indicated, but the alternate route was unlit and covered with snow, whereas 1806 still appeared to be clear and moderately trafficked. So I continued down 1806 to see if I could get through. I’d tell them I was heading to the casino, I reasoned to myself, even as I passed more signs and a partial blockade warning, again, that the road was closed.

Then I arrived at the road block. Cement barricades created a zig-zag passageway only the most nimble of vehicles could navigate. Floodlights shone harshly against an otherwise starlit night, illuminating a small booth where a young man dressed in army fatigues was stationed. A couple of law enforcement vehicles clogged what little remained of the throughway. I rolled down my window as I slowly approached the blockade. The young man strode toward me and greeted me. “Good evening, where are you headed?” He asked politely. “To the Prairie Knights Casino,” I replied. “To the casino,” he repeated, “I’ll be right back.” He walked to the booth and reached inside. I thought maybe he was requesting clearance for me to pass, but instead he came back with a small square of paper. “Turn around here, go back 21 miles, make a left on 138. Take that road 3 miles to 6 South. Follow that road for another 18 miles to 24. Make a left on 24 and that will put you right back on 1806.” I looked at the directions, and then at my GPS. He couldn’t be serious—but of course he was. I was only 30 minutes from the casino, there at the blockade. It was dark and cold and I just wanted to get off the road. “Highway 138?” I asked. “I saw the detour sign back there, but that road looked like it was covered in ice and snow.” “Yeah,” the guard replied, “It’s a gravel road. It’s only 3 miles. If you’re not comfortable with that route, you can go back up to Mandan and get on 6 South from there.” He was artificially polite and matter-of-fact about the whole situation. In the intimidating glare of the floodlights, I didn’t feel that I had much room for negotiation. “Okay, thanks.” With a sigh, I rolled up my window and turned my vehicle around.

The blockade really weirded me out. For a while, I felt nervous that I was being followed by one of the law enforcement SUVs, but I think it was just another vehicle behind me that had been turned around also. I wasn’t sure yet what the relations were like between water protectors and DAPL affiliates, but I could assume it wasn’t exactly genial.

As it turned out, I arrived at the casino lodge sometime around 9:45, which I had intuited I might. In light of that, the whole roadblock experience made sense. It was too late and too snowy to venture into camp, so I unloaded my car and settled into my room for the night.

I had been in contact with the One Nation camp via my friend Jason, and I had some cash for them from a fundraiser back in Massachusetts. I let them know that I had arrived, and they headed to the casino to meet me. Just after I’d gotten all my supplies arranged there in the hotel room, there was a knock at the door. I opened it and was greeted by 4 beautiful young men from different reservations around the Southwest. I invited them in and they all introduced themselves. We sat and talked for maybe a half an hour. I was a bit self-conscious, a white woman with 4 Native men in my room who were practically strangers. I tried remember what little cultural advice I’d read so far, but also wondered how relevant that was to this younger generation. The leader of the group E’sha did most of the speaking. They had been talking about leaving camp since the ACOE denied DAPL’s permit and some authorities on the Water Protector’s side (including chairman of the Standing Rock Sioux Tribe) were advising people to vacate camp. However, I guess the most recent council meeting had renewed their enthusiasm for staying and at that moment they sounded like they intended to be around for the winter.

Eventually, I felt much more at ease in their company. I remembered the money for E’sha, but wasn’t quite sure how to present it. At first I pulled out the whole wad of cash, but then thought better of it and gave it to him in the money belt I’d stashed it in instead. They thanked me and took their leave for the night. We talked about meeting up again sometime later at camp or the casino, but that night turned out the be the first and last time I saw them.

I had toyed with the idea of studying some of the literature I was assigned by the medic council, but by the time they left it was all I could do to climb into bed.

  12 December 2016

 First day at camp. The roads were still snowy but definitely passable as I headed North on 1806 that morning. About 10 miles from the casino I started to see the tipis and flags off in the distance. Following E’sha’s instructions, I drove until I reached the south blockade on 1806 and turned right into the Oceti camp on the North bank of the Cannon Ball river. I asked the guard at the security booth where to find the medic tent, and he pointed me straight down Flag Road and assured me I’d see the sign on my left. Sure enough, I did.

I entered the tent and was greeted by a young woman with short blonde hair named Leah. I started to explain that I was there to volunteer and she began politely telling to me that they were no longer accepting volunteers and were in fact encouraging people to go home. “Oh,” I said, unshaken. “I spoke to Rosemary just yesterday on the phone and she didn’t say anything about not taking new volunteers. I supposed I can give her a call back and find out where the medic orientation is supposed to be.” “OH!” Leah exclaimed, “You’re here for medical? Well that’s a different story!” Still, there was no formal orientation at noon (as Rosemary has suggested the day before), but Leah, a PA, started to show me around the yurt. Next to the main “medical” (read: allopathic) yurt, there was a “wellness” (read: herbal medicine) yurt. Beside that was a tipi for mental health services. There was also a warming tent directly across from main medical where people could sleep or just hang out for a while to stay warm. It seemed brilliant to me, the way everything was arranged in one small hub. That way, we could conveniently make referrals to other services as necessary—which, of course, is how our larger medical system works in theory, although not so “conveniently” in practice. The small scale of this operation certainly appeared to help it function more efficiently.

After Leah showed me all she could think to show me, we asked around to try and find out if/when there would be a formal orientation. We finally came to the conclusion it would be around 5pm. It was only noon.

I decided to walk around and explore camp for a while. I was in awe of all the bright white and the snow-encrusted structures. But it was COLD, probably around 0 degree (Farenheit). The neck warmer I had pulled up around my mouth and nose to warm the air I was breathing became stiff with frost after about 15 or 20 minutes of me walking around camp. I could feel frost forming on my eyelashes where the steam of my breath had collected and frozen.

I returned to the medic tent to observe and orient a bit more. My instinct was to pitch in once I got a feel for the intake routine, but I was quickly warned by another physician not to touch a patient until I’d been oriented. So I hung back for a bit longer, but decided shortly thereafter to leave for a while, since it didn’t seem like I could be much help until I’d been formally oriented. Besides, I had plenty of orientation materials to review back at the casino. I told the rest of the team I’d be back around 5pm for the orientation, left them my number in case anything changed, then headed back to my car.

At the casino, I made myself lunch and started looking over the orientation materials. I also got in touch with Lolly B and invited her to my room to collect the money our friend Jason had sent and the tire chains I’d picked up for her. She showed up with a handsome man friend and they stayed and chatted for a while. She had started out on a road trip West, she explained to me, when she “heard about something going on in North Dakota.” She wound up staying for 4 months offering mental health services for the water protectors. She had been there through some of the most intense days of the entire movement. When I met her, she was on her way out. She wasn’t the first one to tell me they’d dropped everything else in their lives to be in service to this cause, and she wouldn’t be the last either. The power of this movement was finally sinking in for me. I was humbled and in awe at the reality of it, and would be struck with the same feelings again and again throughout my time there. I thanked her for her service and wished her well on her return home.

The rest of the evening was fairly uneventful. I got my orientation around 5pm, as planned. It was really pretty informal. A young wilderness medic named Harrison talked to us about serving Natives first, about being “fiercely pro-grandmother” (and thus against the patriarchal mainstream culture), and about practicing within our scope of experience and licensure. Those were the main highlights. I spent the rest of the evening in the medic tent helping with assessments, dressing changes, breathing treatments, etc. It really hit home for me to SEE the wounds caused by the bean bags and rubber bullets, to hand out medication to ease the symptoms of the colds brought on by water cannons and witness the labored breathing of elders and asthmatics irritated by the pepper spray that had been shot at their faces.

I watched one of the other RNs, Blaine, kneel down each time he spoke to a patient. That was so moving to me for some reason. What if Western health care providers knelt, or even got to eye-level with their patients, instead of standing over their sick clients who are often slumped in chairs or laying helplessly hospital beds? Again, speechless, humble awe. It still brings tears to my eyes to think of it.