#and saw her hitting her head on the table probably 50 time before I stan

[yoohyeon]

Just found out my XG bias is the one that slipped in that one video… it’s Jinsoul vs table all over again BFKSBDJD

[extremelyblackandwhite]

handmaid - prelude

PAIRING: mob!sebastian stan x ingenue!reader

WARNINGS: age gap

A/N: i’m so excited to be starting this fanfic a bit sooner than expected, but i’ve been outlining it since i finished the outline and end for the unseen one and decided to go ahead with it when i saw a nice pink aesthetic board. i hope you enjoy the prelude, let me know what you think xx

NEXT CHAPTER

handmaid: a female servant, a subservient partner or element.

The lights were unusual shades of blue, green, and red. That was the first thing she noticed as she walked inside the club Genevieve had picked for her last night of freedom, as she called it. Of course the lights weren’t the only thing that was bothering Y/N: the loud music which made it impossible to have a civil regular conversation, the heels that were too tall and did not belong to her, the equally borrowed tight see through black dress, the long earrings that got tangled in her hair whenever she slightly turned her head to the side, the constant on/off rhythm of the lights and the need to squeeze between a sea of people to get anywhere were some of the things that made her want to return home, curl in a nice thick cozy throw and watch TV until her eyes were too heavy to remain open.

Nevertheless, she was to be constantly by Genevieve’s, or Gwen as she preferred to be called, side, mostly by her father’s orders. Therefore, here she was in a Friday night, dressed in mostly Gwen’s hand me downs that would normally lay in a cardboard box in the back of her wardrobe. Soon enough, Gwen had found herself a nice booth, after all being the daughter and apparent heir to the west mob family had its perks. Sometimes, even more perks than dangers. 

       - Oh, Y/N this is Nathan. - Gwen introduced her to one of the man that were sat at her booth. He was the picture perfect look of man she normally surrounded herself with, the type of man you would see in a teen sitcom with plump skin and a Californian-like vibe to them. It wasn’t exactly a hard job for her to attract them either as the young heiress was, in a word, stunning. Her unruly red locks were constantly slicked back in a straight hairstyle, dark makeup and a red pout constantly got her whatever she wanted. However, tonight she was kissing all of that goodbye as first thing in the morning, she would finally be formally presented to that who was to be her husband. 

It had been arranged way before Gwen had even been born and despite the glamourisation and complete debauchery seen in most mobster movies Y/N had grown up watching, most weddings occurred that way, planned. This one in particular was a special one considered the Stan family mafia and Gwen’s had been sworn enemies until the day she was born when her father signed her hand away. It was mostly a tactic to unite both families in a way that was very permanent. Y/N had learned not to be shocked about it, however, she still didn’t like to think of two grown men deciding the future of a unborn baby girl as if she were currency. Yet again, she was a woman and since she had an older brother, who despite working as a doctor and giving up on the lifestyle ages ago was still pretty much the one expected to take on the mob boss title, she was either to life in complete bliss or to get married. 

Her betrothed however was a completely different story. Gwen wasn’t much to talk about either, saying that they had met once when she was eighteen at a formal her father had thrown and that he had pretty much ignored her the whole night, so most of what Y/N knew about him came from rumours. The Stan mob family had quite a reputation, specially when it came to hits and their associates, however they were always somehow shrouded in mystery. Sebastian Stan himself was one to adore that sort of aura, so much that despite it all, Y/N had never seen him or knew what he looked like. She knew him to be older than Gwen, with a sharp tongue and a certain allure that attracted bottom feeders, but other than that, she knew nothing.

      - Gwen, we should probably go home. - she urged, constantly checking her phone and watching the hour number increase as if time was nothing. However, the young girl had no absolute interest in going home, specially when she had found herself a rather interesting company. - Gwen, your father is gonna be mad. 

      - If you’re so worried about my father then don’t question me. - Gwen returned to her flirtatious conversation with the blonde boy, leaving Y/N to huff, grab the pink sugary drink she’d been drinking for the past two hours, and venture herself in the club, they sure probably had a smoking lounge which led to some sort of air she could inhale. In all honesty, even inhaling smoke sounded better than inhaling the smells of the main floor. 

Weak on her feet due to the oversized and worn out heels, she made her way through the crowd, her eyes paying no help at finding any sort of stairs of doors that would led to some sort of freedom due to the constant blinking lights. Defeated, she decided it would be better to return to Gwen before she decided to abandon her for Malibu Ken however, Y/N quickly found herself in the middle of the dance floor being pushed from side to side. Whenever she tried to walk some way, the sea of people would make her walk the other way like some helpless puppet until she hit something rock hard, spilling her drink and sending her crashing to the floor. She felt her chest hit the coloured blinking ground hard, and had it not been for her own hands holding onto the floor, her head would’ve ping ponged off the pavement too. 

Nevertheless, none of that mattered because what first came in sight as she looked ahead were what looked like a very nice pair of leathered shoes which made her face pale and her heart stop. She had spilled her drink on someone. No, not just someone. Someone either rich or with enough connections to get inside one of the most elite clubs of all of New York. 

Y/N looked up, not completely being able to make up every single feature of his face but being able to make up that it was a man, a much taller man who probably did not have a smile on his face. At the thought of being screamed at or thrown out, she immediately rushed to her feet, noticing the big pinkish stain spreading on what looked like a pristine crisp cotton dress shirt. Her hands flew to the napkin holders in one of the tables, immediately grabbing enough tissues to clean a whole country only to dab the drink out of his shirt, her heart racing as nothing came out of it. 

     - I’m so sorry. - she probably said for the 100th time, tissues bunched in her hands as she finally got a good look of his face. He had an unreadable look on what she thought was probably the single most gorgeous face she had ever seen in her whole entire life, and that was something coming out of someone who had met half the models at Paris Fashion Week with Gwen. It was somehow being stoic and classic, like a 50′s mysterious Marlon Brando. He stopped her motions, grabbing the tissues from her hand and placing it at the bar. That was it, this is how I die, Y/N thought to herself. - I’m so sorry, I’m ... I can pay for the shirt, I really didn’t mean to spill it on you. I just wanted to get some air but everything is confusing here and ...

     - It’s alright, angel. - the man raised his hands, showing no harm but still maintaining an aura of mystery, almost as if she wasn’t supposed to be talking to him. 

     - I have to return to my friend. - she stumbled onto her feet, praying not to fall in front of anyone else as he looked at her leaving. She was just a doll and he couldn’t help but observe as she got lost in the middle of the crowd like a sheeps in a wolf’s den. He was hypnotised by her figure in that god awful oversized dress, thinking about how beautiful it would look draped on his floor, how radiant her eyes appeared looking up at him ..

    - Everything alright, boss? - his view of the crowd was obstructed, the clear sight of her disappearing and being replaced by the ugly mug of one of his men. Had he had his gun with him, he would’ve been laying on a pool of his own blood right now. - We saw the girl and ...

    - And now you’re gonna go fucking look for her. Invite her to the VIP room, don’t keep me waiting. - he watched as they rushed into the crowd like headless chickens looking for a girl they barely got a look of. He snickered, taking a step forward to return to the only place where it didn’t stink of cheap liquor. He stopped, noticing he had stepped on something and slowly moved his feet away to see a small dainty necklace with a pendant that looked like some sort of bird. The man scrunched his face as he lowered to grab the chain, probably some cheap metal, before sticking it in his pocket, taking a quick look of the crowd.

Y/N meanwhile was being dragged out of the sleazy club by Gwen who was no longer interested in her boy toy. The girl couldn’t lie, she was happy she was being dragged away from the club, however, rushing down the street in oversized heels. Due to the rush of exercise and adrenaline coursing through her blood and turning her rather breathless which led to her putting her hand over her chest and noticing the lack of her necklace’s chain.

      - Wait, Gwen. - she stopped the heiress before they could get inside the car where the chauffeur had been patiently waiting their arrival. - My necklace, I don’t have my necklace.

      - Maybe you didn’t bring it, Y/N. - the redhead spoke up, already inside the car, phone in hand. - C’mon, it’s probably home. 

      - I’m sure I brought it.

      - You’re worrying too much, c’mon. - Gwen patted the leather seat of the car. The young girl took a long full look at the club, Gwen was probably right, maybe she didn’t bring the necklace. With a quick motion, she closed the door of the car, watching as the club became more and more distant. 

A memory.

[nataliedanovelist]

GF - All Star

Summary: A deep, dark secret about Ford is slowly revealed to his family, and he’s not ready.

For Skaleigh, wherever she may be...

~~~~~~~~~~

A few days after Weirdmegeddon, Ford was exiting the basement, taking a break from cleaning it out today. Stan had been recovering from his memory loss beautifully and so Ford decided to get a certain chore done on this rainy day. He could hear something, however, that made him freeze as a shiver ran down his spine and his race turned as red as his sweater.

“... start coming and they don't stop coming,

Fed to the rules and I hit the ground running.

Didn't make sense not to live for fun.

Your brain gets smart but your head gets dumb.”

Recognizing who’s voice that was, Ford began to relax. The sweet smell of vanilla and sugar graced his schnoz and he followed the music to the kitchen. There, Mabel was in her little pink apron over her sprinkle-sweater, dancing around the kitchen as she mixed icing with food coloring in little bowls. The radio was playing on the kitchen table, a little dirty with flour, and the whole kitchen was a mess, but Ford couldn't help but smile at his beautiful niece as her hair flew everywhere as she danced and sang her heart out. When the chorus came, she banged her head and put the bowl of light-blue icing on the counter to dance more freely.

“Hey now, you're an all-star, get your game on, go play!

Hey now, you're a rock star, get the show on, get paid!

And all that glitters is gold!

Only shooting stars break the mold.”

At the words “shooting stars”, Mabel attempted a flip and fell on her face, just like she did at the dance party at the beginning of summer. Ford winced and made a move towards her, slightly emerging from his hiding spot at the doorway, but stopped when Mabel sprung up, unhurt, and declared to herself and the kitchen, “I’m okay!” Her eyes landed on her uncle and she grinned. “Grunkle Ford! Whatcha doin’?”

“I thought I would take a break from cleaning.” Ford explained casually with a shrug while Mabel turned down the radio a little so they could talk better. “Having fun?”

“Yeah!” Mabel pointed to the twelve cupcakes that were cooling on the stove and said, “I’m making everyone a snack. Want one?”

“I would love one, my dear. Thank you.”

“Ah, ah.” Mabel wiggled a finger at him. “You have to do something for it, first.”

Ford raised an eyebrow at her and held his cleft chin. “Oh?”

Mabel opened the drawer she knew Ford kept his apron in and pulled out his old My Other Oven is a Bunsen apron. “You have to decorate the cupcakes with me.”

Ford grinned and happily accepted the protective clothing against stains. “Well, I suppose it’s only fair that I help you if I’m going to have one. Do we have to share with Stanley and Dipper?”

“Nope!” Mabel giggled. “We can eat them all ourselves! Six each!”

Ford laughed alongside her and she gave him a small bowl of white icing to color however he wanted. He carefully added a few drops of green, seeing how Mabel had already made blue and red and was working on yellow, and she began to dance a little again and she jumped into song.

“Somebody once asked could I spare some change for gas?

I need to get myself away from this place.

I said ‘Yep what a concept,

I could use a little fuel myself,

And we could all use a little change.’”

Ford chuckled, mixing the icing, and he couldn’t help himself; he made himself jump in.

“Well, the years start coming and they don't stop coming,

Fed to the rules and I hit the ground running.

Didn't make sense not to live for fun.

Your brain gets smart but your head gets dumb.”

Mabel gasped in shock for a number of reasons. A) She had never heard Grunkle Ford sing before. 2) She didn’t think he would know this song, let alone the words. And D) His voice was actually very pretty. Mabel grinned and they happily sang together until the song changed to a commercial for Cam’s Camshafts and they began to decorate the cupcakes.

~~~~~~~~~~

Stan yawned as he stretched his tired limbs. He had been sitting out on the deck of the Stan O’ War II, watching the sun set, and he was now in a sleepy trance. Time to put on some warm, fuzzy pajamas and turn on the little TV in the kitchen.

Stan went into his shared bedroom and stopped when he accidentally walked in on Ford in a towel, his back to the entrance and unaware of the intruder as he dug through his drawer for new clothes. Stan was careful to be quiet and give his jumpy brother some space, planning on leaving him alone, but something caught his eye.

During the Stanswitch, Ford insisted on Stan turning away, uncomfortable with what his twin might see. Despite Stan’s insistence that it wasn’t anything he hadn’t seen before, Ford practically begged him not to look, so Stan went along with it until he had shed his suit, leaving only his dark pants and undershirt, and he turned to switch clothes, but he found Ford bent over, his back littered with dozens of ugly cars, trophies for surviving out in the Multiverse for thirty years. Stan had thought that this was the reason for Ford’s modesty and thick sweaters (and okay, sure, the guy had always been a little chilly), but maybe there was another reason.

Stan grinned. No. Way. He slipped away, deciding he would enjoy making fun of Ford when he would least expect it, and he immediately left for the kitchen silently and quickly texted Dipper and Mabel.

A few weeks past since Stan knew Ford’s secret and he had pocketed it away as his “secret weapon”; of course, Dipper and Mabel knew and Stan wished he could have seen the looks on their faces or heard them laugh, but oh well. The kids swore to keep it between the two of them, but Stan wouldn’t be surprised if all of Gravity Falls kenw at this point. Something to look forward to this summer.

Stan had half-forgotten about Ford’s secret until they were at a small shop in Liverpool, England and something jogged the old conman’s memory. A CD was sitting in a 50% off bucket and Stan could have sworn a beam of light from Heaven was shining on the little box. Stan snatched it and hid it in his jacket for later.

The next day Stan couldn’t wait any longer. They were gently coasting on the Irish Sea, the spring weather being warm and calm and pleasant. Ford was out on the deck, reading a map, and Stan sat their radio down, the disc already in place. “Hey Sixer,” It took everything in Stan to hide his snicker. “Mind if I play some music?”

Ford hardly looked up from the map. “Huh? Oh sure, Stanley. Go ahead.”

With the biggest grin Stan had probably ever made in his life, he pressed play.

SomeBODY once told me the world is gonna roll me,

I ain't the sharpest tool in the shed.

Ford’s polydactyl hands clenched the map so tightly it nearly destroyed the papered material. He lowered it as his face blushed so furiously it matched his maroon sweater perfectly. Sweat was dripping from his forehead profoundly, his eyebrows were nearly hidden in his fluffy hair, they were so high, and his eyes were as wide as dinner plates.

Stan snorted, trying to contain his laughter just a little bit longer. “You like this song, don't you? Oh man, here comes my FAVORITE part!” And to make sure he could embarrass his brother as much as he could, Stan sang along.

“Hey now, you're an all-star, get your game on, go play!

Hey now, you're a rock star, get the show on, get paid!

And all that glitters is gold! (I like gold.)

Only shooting stars break the mold.”

And then Stan couldn’t hold it any longer. He busted into a huge fit of laughter, holding his ribs and wheezing as Ford sheepishly lowered his head into the map and hid in shame. When the song was over and Stan was slowing down in his laughing, Ford snapped and spun around, crumpling the map down and scowling.

“How did you find out?!” He demanded, still incredibly red in the face, even his ears were pink.

“I’m your twin, Genius,” Stan huffed, whipping his eyes dry of tears. “I’m bound to notice a couple of things when stuck on a boat with you. I gotta ask, though, why in Moses’ name…”

“It wasn’t intentional, I can assure you of that.” Ford said to try to preserve his dignity. “I had fought a battle alongside a tribe of octopus-armed warrior piglets since they shared their food and water with me. They were quite friendly, unlike the gang of penguin-finned lizards we encountered. It is customary for their tribe to have a grand party after a battle is won in which they all get tattoos. I had misjudged how… erm, intoxicated their drinks would make me, and when it was my turn to get a tattoo of my choosing, I had a certain song stuck in my head and sung it out loud, so the artist delivered my drunken request."

Stan burst into another fit of laughter, one that oddly sounded friendlier than the last one. Like, Ford was supposed to laugh with him. Ford, despite still being very red and embarrassed, couldn’t help but smile. “Oh, man! That’s gotta be your best story from out in the Multiverse yet!”

Ford saw that as a challenge and sat in one of the chairs to get comfortable. “I can think of at least five better stories.”

Stan quickly sat in the other chair like an excited child for a new movie and Ford dove into telling of some of the more fun-filled adventures he had experienced.

~~~~~~~~~~

Summer of 2014 was upon them and the Pines couldn’t be happier. The kids were joyous to be where they felt at home, and even though the old sailors were living the dream, it would be nice to take a three-month break and see their favorite pair of twins.

About two weeks after an emotional reunion, the kids were gently reminded of something they had on their Summer bucket-list.

Much like Stan, they planned their little attack carefully so they may truly enjoy their uncle’s misery. The gift shop was open, but slow. Wendy was behind the counter, Soos was reading a comic book and sitting on a closed barrel, and Dipper and Mabel were grinning like crazy on the porch, the screen door wide open. Mabel popped the CD in the radio and turned up the volume.

SomeBODY once told me the world is gonna roll me,

I ain't the sharpest tool in the shed.

She was looking kind of dumb with her finger and her thumb

In the shape of an "L" on her forehead.

Mabel immediately jumped into rap-like singing, dancing around the porch. Dipper chuckled, hands in his pocket and tapping his foot, but Soos laughed, put down the comic, and took Mabel’s hands to dance. They giggled as they tried to sing along, and at the chorus they stopped dancing so they could sing the lyrics as loud as they could.

“Hey now, you're an all-star, get your game on, go play!

Hey now, you're a rock star, get the show on, get paid!

And all that glitters is gold! 

Only shooting stars break the mold.”

Wendy was banging her head, red hair flying everywhere. Stan suddenly showed up in his boxers and slippers, grinning, and said over the music, “I was awoken by the sound of mockery through pop music! I want in!” He bumped his hips against Dipper to make him move and he danced obnoxiously, making his nephew laugh and dance a little more enthusiastically. 

A little later, at the halfway point of the song, Ford stood at the screen door with a puzzled look. “What’s going on…?”

“Hey now, you're an all-star, get your game on, go play!

Hey now, you're a rock star, get the show on, get paid!

And all that glitters is gold! (I like gold.)

Only shooting stars…”

Ford looked like he had a sunburn on his entire face. He swallowed, making his Adam’s Apple bobble, and his jaw was tight. Stan laughed at his face and hollered, “THERE’S the man of the hour!”

“Come on, Stan Two, you love this song, right?” Wendy teased.

“Oh no…”

“C’mon, Dr. Pines, wanna dance?” Soos asked, still dancing with Mabel.

“Oh, here comes my favorite part…” Mabel chimed in.

“Hey now, you're an all-star, get your game on, go play!

Hey now, you're a rock star, get the show on, get paid!

And all that glitters is gold!

Only shooting stars break the mold.”

Ford slammed the door shut. The five were as still as statues, wincing a little. “Did we take it too far?” Dipper asked.

“Ah, let the big baby be mad for a minute if he wants to.” Stan said, ruffing up his hat. “I’ll go talk to him in a minute…”

But then the door was kicked open by Ford’s boot and his friends and family were startled to find him heavily armed with water guns. “ONLY SHOOTING STARS BREAK THE MOLD!” He sang, and then shot everyone with water.

Everyone broke into hefty laughter and ran for it. The old scientist was hot on their tails, but Mabel managed to slip away to the closet filled with emergency water-guns and balloons. She hurried back to the battle and tossed everyone some weapons, and soon it was a confused mess of soaked clothes, loud laughter, and exploding balloons.

At one point during the fun fight, he paused to take off his glasses and wipe the water from them. Mabel accidentally bumped into his leg and smiled sheepishly at him, expecting to be sprayed without mercy, but Ford hoisted her up in his shoulders and they worked together. Up three feet higher than she was used to being, Mabel could see things she normally couldn’t. Like a certain tattoo barely poking out of the turtleneck, only visible because Mabel’s weight was pulling the sweater down enough. 

She smiled at it, finding it very pretty, and in the midst of the chaos, considered the idea of one day getting one herself.

[hippychick006]

5.05 - Fallen Idols

I’ve not manged to get one of these done for a while.  It could be that I sub-consciously remembered this was the Paris Hilton episode and I needed to work up to it.   But it’s probably more that it’s painful to watch the earlier seasons (even with their problems) and then switch back to Dabbernatural.  I still intend to complete my analysis of all the showrunners, it’s just going to take longer than I anticipated.

This is essentially a MOTW episode and although it’s not one of the best, it’s not one of the worst either. Given that, it can be easy to overlook this episode and not have it on a re-watch list.  That would be a huge mistake because it’s actually a very important episode.  It’s the brothers first hunt together since their separation and we see how that dynamic is going (not well as it turns out). There’s a difficult scene between them around the middle of the episode, but I think in terms of where they come out of it at the end of the episode, it’s the start of the turnaround of their broken relationship so they can start to move forward on an equal footing (with some missteps along the way.  Dark Side of the Moon, I’m looking at you with trepidation!).  So, if you watch nothing else in this episode (though you’re missing out on some things), don’t skimp on 22:45 to 25:50 as this is one of the most important and honest discussions I think the brothers have had to date and 35:50 to the end of the episode which is the follow on to that conversation.  It’s really worth a look at the whole episode if you haven’t watched in a while. This is really long again so I’ve put under a cut.

The episode opens on two men squeeing over a silver convertible.  This particular model is a Porsche 550 Spyder, labelled “Little Bastard” which belonged to the actor, James Dean, who was killed while driving it.  When one of the men (Jim) goes to get a camcorder to record this historic moment, the other (Cal) waits in the car. We see cold air when he breathes out, which alerts us that something isn’t right, then the car radio switches on and starts hopping through radio stations.   We switch to Jim who is setting up the camcorder and hear tires screeching and glass breaking.  He goes to investigate while recording and we see some of the next scene through the camcorder lens which is a good shot.  We switch back to normal view and see that Cal has crashed into the windshield and is very much dead.  

Dean is driving and Sam asks about the case, which unsurprisingly turns out to be the death we’ve just witnessed.  Sam thinks they have bigger problems with the apocalypse and finding the colt than hunting right now.  Dean disagrees and even though Sam tries to push, Dean says, “This is what we’re doing! Okay? End of discussion.”  

I like this scene for giving us insight to where the brothers are since they got back together.  I like that Sam is not afraid to put his views across or question things, but it does looks like he’s being careful not to be seen to argue with Dean.  Dean is willing to converse only so much before he pulls the big brother card.  The effect on Sam is immediate, he looks away and sighs.  It’s this that causes Dean to relent a little as he explains to Sam his reasoning:

Dean: It’s just that this is our first real case, back at it together. You know, I… I think we ought to ease into it, put the training wheels back on.

Sam: So, you think I need training wheels

Dean: No, “we” need training wheels, you and me.  As a team.  Okay?  

Sam nods and says okay, but I don’t think he’s fully agreeing. It’s more his “okay” when he doesn’t want to argue anymore.  Dean sees this and continues: I really want this to be a fresh start, you know?  For the both of us.  

They look at each other and Sam nods and says okay again, and this time we can see he’s more on board with it, so I’m glad that Dean took the time to explain what he’s thinking, because open and honest communication is really important for them moving forward and healing their relationship.  

Sam and Dean posing as FBI Agents Bonham (Led Zeppelin) and Copeland (The Police) are at the Sheriff’s office.  He guesses they are there on account of Cal’s death, but says they already caught the guy that did it.  

Sam and Dean are confused at this (given they think it’s something supernatural) but they sit with the sheriff and watch the video that Jim recorded in the opener.  The sheriff believes the case is open and shut; that Jim killed Cal and taped it. Sam and Dean look at him in disbelief. Dean asks: How exactly did Jim slam Cal into a windshield with all the force of an eighty mile per hour crash? The sheriff blinks: drugs maybe?  He tells them that it isn’t brain surgery, whatever it looks like, that’s what it usually is. The boys are not impressed and ask to speak to Jim.

They interview Jim and ask him to tell them what he saw.  He says he didn’t see anything, but heard tires squealing and glass breaking and says it was the car that did it.   Sam and Dean raise their eyebrows.  Jim goes on to explain that he heard about the curse, but just thought it was a load of crap.  Dean asks what curse.  Jim says: The car, Little Bastard.    

Dean: Li… Little Bastard?  As in the Little Bastard?

Sam: Wait, wait, wait, uh, what’s Little Bastard?

Dean: It’s James Dean’s car.  It’s the one he was killed in.

Jim confirms that’s the one and Dean leans down to Sam (who is sitting at the table with Jim, while Dean was standing behind him), “Oh, we are definitely checking this out.”

Sam and Dean are walking around Little Bastard.  Dean with reverence and Sam not really being that interested.   Sam asks, “So, what, this is like Christine?”  Dean shakes his head, “Christine is fiction.  This… this is real.” Sam asks for Dean to enlighten him and Dean explains the deaths associated with the car.  The first that James Dean’s mechanic bought the wreck and fixed it up and it fell on him. The second being that Troy McHenry was killed when it locked up on the race track.

I researched these and neither story appears to be 100% true.  E.g. Troy was killed in a race, but he wasn’t racing Little Bastard, he was racing in a car that had spare parts from Little Bastard.  His car went out of control and hit a tree, killing him.  In the exact same race, another car locked up and rolled over going into a bend, injuring the driver.  The driver of this car was Dr William F Eschrich (who had purchased Little Bastard after the crash and had loaned Troy the parts).  Eschrich’s car also contained spare parts from Little Bastard. Most of the stories around the curse, appear not to be verified.   What I found most interesting while looking all this up, was that Sir Alec Guinness (Obi-Wan Kenobi) looked at the car, declared that it looked “sinister” and warned James Dean that if he drove it, he’d be dead within the week. And he was.  WTF Alec?

Anyway, I like how enthusiastic Dean was in telling these stories, culminating in Dean telling Sam that it vanished in 1970 and has never been seen since. Sam’s non-committal “hmmm” once again shows the difference between them in terms of their enthusiasm (or otherwise) for cars and I like the consistency in characters. Dean tells Sam the only way to know if it’s the car for sure would be to look at the engine number, which unfortunately would be underneath the car.  

Sam and Dean shed an entire layer each in the next scene (don’t get too exited, they are down to shirts and ties and not full suits).  The car is jacked up (but making ominous creaking noises) and Sam volunteers to go under, but Dean’s got this. And Dean’s got this, by talking to Little Bastard: “Okay, baby, I’m not gonna hurt you, so… don’t hurt me.”  Sam’s face during this!

Dean wheels himself underneath and the car starts creaking again which panics Dean.  He just about jumps out of his skin when Sam appears on the ground and asks if he needs a flashlight.   He tells Sam to go away and gets back to trying to get the engine number.  The car creaks again and Dean carefully takes a rubbing of the engine number then quickly slides out from under the car.  He breathes deeply to compose himself then hands the paper to Sam telling him to find out who owned it, “Not just the last owner, you gotta take it all the way back to 1955”

Sam (bitchface alert): That’s a lot of research.

Dean: Well, I guess I just made your afternoon.

Dean is at a tavern that wouldn’t look out of place in any English village.  He’s trying to pick up the bar tender that wants to be an actress by telling her he’s an agent.  And this is where I don’t understand his stans when they try to deny its canon that Dean has pulled these types of tactics to hook up with women.   I mean I love Dean, but yeah, he’s far from perfect in this respect.  Dean’s phone rings and it’s Sam, who starts to update Dean on the car’s previous owners, but his ears pick up the sound of pool balls being hit, and he asks if Dean is in a bar. Dean denies it and says he’s in a restaurant. Unfortunately, the bar tender at that point puts his requested beer down, announcing cheerfully, “Here’s your beer.”  Dean’s been caught so he says to Sam: “…That happens to have a bar.”  Sam’s not happy because he’s been working his ass off back at the motel.

Dean: Hey, world’s smallest violin, pal.  I spent the afternoon up Christine’s skirt. I needed a drink.

Sam tells Dean he didn’t (spend the afternoon up Christine’s skirt), that the car’s first owner was a cardiologist that drove it until 1972 so the car is fake.  They now need to figure out what killed the guy if it wasn’t the car.

We switch to a man (Mr Hill) sitting at a desk doing paperwork.  It’s dark outside and his maid (Consuela) comes to tell him she has finished for the day.  Mr Hill thanks her.  He returns to his paperwork and sighs, seeing cold air.  He hears a creak behind him and turns.  “Oh my god, it’s you.”  He stands up, “You’re dead, you’re supposed to be dead”.  Just as we wonder who it is, we see that it’s Abe Lincoln who snarls and advances on Mr Hill. Lincoln picks Mr Hill up with one hand around his throat and strangles him, spraying blood across a picture frame containing a copy of the Emancipation Proclamation.  Nice touch Supernatural.

The next day Sam and Dean turn up at the new crime scene and tell the sheriff they heard he had another “weird one”.  The sheriff admits the case is “a little strange on the surface, I admit, but, uh… you know, once you… you look at the facts…”

Sam (I am not here for your b/s) Winchester: William Hill died from a gunshot wound to the head.  No gun, no gunpowder, no bullet.

Ably assisted by Dean (founder of the sarcasm society) Winchester: Nope, nothing strange about that.

The sheriff insists: Well there’s gotta be a reasonable explanation. There always is.

Dean: Well, what’s your reasonable explanation?

The sheriff looks around and then whispers, “Professional killer.”

Sam: Come again?

Sheriff: Well, CIA, NSA, one of them trained assassins, like in Michael Clayton.

Dean (very slowly): Riiiight (and looks at Sam)

The sheriff continues they are welcome to look around “but these guys don’t leave fingerprints.”  Sam asks if they can speak to the witness and the sheriff is fine with that but she’s not making any sense “And she’s not making any sense in Spanish either.”

I love this next scene.  Sam and Dean walk outside, and see Consuela is talking to a deputy in Spanish. I don’t speak Spanish but I’m kind of getting something that sounds like I need my family.  And something like home in El Salvador, possibly going home to El Salvador.  

Dean introduces himself and asks her about what she saw. Consuela starts answering in rapid Spanish.  I’m as lost as Dean is when he looks at Sam, but luckily, we both have Sam Winchester, who sits down beside her and starts speaking to her in Spanish.  He’s not fluent, but he knows enough words to get by. He doesn’t know exactly what he wants to say at first and looks at Dean, while he’s trying to remember the words. He starts speaking to Consuela again and Dean is very proud of his little brother who explains, “Freshman Spanish”. Sam Winchester speaking languages, sigh.  Thank you show.  Sam translates the description of what Consuela saw to Dean; “a very tall man, very tall, with a long black coat and a…” he looks at Consuela and gestures to his chin, “a beard?”  She nods and adds “y un sombrero”.  Dean asks if the dude was wearing a sombrero.  Sam explains it means hat.  Consuela says “un sombrero alto.”  Sam checks, “a tall hat.”  Dean suggests “oh, like a top hat.”   Consuela shakes her head and repeats “un sombrero alto” and gestures very tall while saying “muy alto”

Dean: What, you mean like a – like a stovepipe hat.

Consuela: Si

Dean explains to Sam: Oh yeah, like Abraham Lincoln.

Consuela (sobbing): Si, El Presidente Lincoln

Sam and Dean look at her.

Consuela: Abraham Lincoln kill Mister Hill!

Sam and Dean look at each other.

Consuela (hopefully): So, I go home now?

Sam agrees and says gracias which Dean repeats, and he looks so pleased with himself while doing so. I just love the kick Dean gets out of learning something new.

Back at the motel, both Sam and Dean are researching on laptops. Not sure when they got one each?  Possibly Dean got one when he was separated from Sam?  Dean’s looking at Jim’s video and watches it frame by frame and sees a figure appear in one of the frames.  He shows it to Sam and asks, “Am I crazy, or does that look like James Dean?” Sam agrees that it looks like James Dean.

They sit discussing the information they have, and I love these moments, which show how well they work together, despite the trust issues between them right now.  Dean suggests famous ghosts which he himself immediately thinks is silly. Sam disagrees, “there’s a ton of lore on famous ghosts.” And is surprised they haven’t run into one before.  Dean thinks it’s unlikely they’d have two of them at once. But Sam tells him the ghosts are apparently ganking their fans as Professor Hill was a Civil war nut who “dug Lincoln” and Dean chips in that Cal must have been a James Dean freak since he spent 17 years of his life tracking down the guy’s car.  Dean says, “So you’re saying we’ve got two super-famous, super pissed off ghosts killing their… super fans?  Sam shrugs and says that’s what it looks like.

Dean: Well, that is muchos loco

Sam smiles at Dean and corrects him, “muy… not muchos”

They still don’t have an answer to the key question, what are the ghosts doing here, instead of haunting where they lived or spent time, so Sam keeps researching and we see on his face when he’s found something. He says, “You gotta be kidding me.” which attracts Dean’s attention from where he is (standing at the sink and drinking a soda) and he walks over to Sam and leans over to look at the screen, repeating Sam’s line “You gotta be kidding me.”

We don’t see what they are looking at, but the next scene opens with a waxwork of Abe Lincoln.  The camera pans round and we see it’s the “Canton Wax Museum”.  Sam and Dean are there looking around the exhibits, which in this section of the wax works appears to be politicians, with not just Lincoln, but John F Kennedy and Richard Nixon.  Dean stands in front of Gandhi and complains that he’s short.  I look up Gandhi’s height, and screw you Dean for saying that, dude’s an inch taller than I am!   Sam admonishes him and tells Dean that Gandhi was a great man.  Dean: “Yeah, for a Smurf”.

The museum owner appears and apologises for keeping them waiting, but it’s their busiest time of year.  Dean looks around the completely empty museum. “This is busy?”

Owner: Well, not right now, but it’s early.

Dean: It’s… four thirty

The owner asks what he can do for them and Sam says they are writing a piece for a travel Magazine.  Dean chimes in: “Yeah, on how, uh, totally non sucky wax museums are.”

The owner’s happy which makes me sad, because they aren’t really going to be writing an article on his museum and he’s likely going to go out of business soon.  

Sam continues that they are specifically interested in Abraham Lincoln and James Dean.  The owner says they are two of the museums most popular displays and that they have their regular visitors.  Dean asks if William Hill and Cal Hawkins were regulars.  The owner nods and says he heard what happened to them.  He asks for clarification that that’s not going to be in the article and Sam reassures him no.  

Dean says the Lincoln figure is so lifelike, that you could imagine him moving around.  “You ever see anything like that?” (oh Dean).

Owner (slightly worried): Uh… no

Sam rescues the awkwardness somewhat and asks if there’s anything that would make the museum unusual.  The owner says there isn’t another place like them, not anywhere.  Dean asks why.  The owner points at Abe’s hat and says that its Honest Abe’s real hat.

Sam: It is?

Dean: Almost like his remains (Dean looks pointedly at Sam)

Owner (back to being worried): uh, I guess

Sam asks if they have anything of James Dean’s and the owner confirms they have a keychain. They’ve got Gandhi’s bifocals, FDR’s iron lung… He gestures to the leather jacket he’s wearing, and Sam asks who it belonged to.  

Owner: The fonz, Seasons 2 through 4 (does the fonz double thumbs up and grins).

Sam: Wow, yeah, that’s… that’s really cool… ish                                

The owner tells them he’s going to make wax museums hip again, bring the kids back.  He grins and gives the double thumbs up again.  Sam humours him by giving them back.

We next see a shot of Sam opening baby’s trunk and preparing a shotgun which presumably is being loaded with salt shells.  He goes back to the room and Dean’s got his back turned to the door and is on the phone to someone and is explaining about the case.  “Yeah, Abraham Lincoln and James dean, can you believe that?  Why so kill-crazy?  Ah, maybe the apocalypse has got ‘em all hot and bothered.  Yeah, well, we all know whose fault that is…Well, I’m sorry, but it’s true.”

Sam frowns (as do I) and slams the door closed to alert Dean he’s back.

Dean spins around and looks at Sam, but he doesn’t look in the least guilty that he’s been caught.  He tells whoever he’s on the phone to that he’ll call them later.  Sam asks what’s going on, but Dean ignores the question and asks if the trunk is packed.  Sam confirms it is and asks who was on the phone.  Dean tells him Bobby.

Sam: And?

Dean (shaking his head): Nothing

Sam: So…we’re just gonna pretend I didn’t hear what I just heard?

Dean shrugs: Pretend or don’t pretend. (he walks away) Whatever floats your boat.

Sam: This was supposed to be a fresh start, Dean

Dean: Well, this is as fresh as it gets.  Now are we going or not?

Sam watches Dean leave and sighs before he follows him.

Oh boys, I understand Dean’s hurt and anger, I really do, but when you make a decision to go in a certain direction, you need to commit to that direction and not keep taking several steps back.  That isn’t fair to either of them.

Sam and Dean are inside the museum after closing.  Dean takes off Lincoln’s hat while Sam gets a trash can. Sam turns back to Dean and bitchfaces. Camera moves to Dean and he’s wearing Lincoln’s hat.  He imitates Lincoln: “Four score and seven years ago, I had a funny hat”.

He does a good impression, but Sam’s still pissed from earlier and not in the mood for Dean’s humour. He puts the trash can on the ground and holds his hand out for the hat.

Dean: We can’t have any fun with this? (he takes off the hat and instead of giving it to Sam, he tosses it into the trash can.

Sam:  Let’s just torch the objects, torch the ghosts and get outta here, okay?

Dean says he’ll “go grab East of Eden’s keychain.”

Sam’s left alone and he scans the room.  He looks at Lincoln, narrows his eyes and looks closer.  I’m waiting for Lincoln to move, but he doesn’t.  The double doors to the room slam closed though and Sam spins around.  “Dean?” He goes over to the doors and tries to open them, but they won’t open.  “Dean?”  Sam is not happy at the pesky doors separating him from his brother, even if Dean was being a dick to him earlier.   He hears a noise and swings around, bringing his shotgun up into position as he looks around between Lincoln and Gandhi.  He hears a creak and turns.  The shotgun flies out of his hands.  Sam turns to look where the shotgun landed and gets attacked by Gandhi leaping onto his back. Sam slams Gandhi into a wall and he falls off.  They circle one another but Gandhi is wily and scrambles under Sam and jumps on his back again. Sam tries to throw him off again by crashing onto a table.   It works but Gandhi attacks a third time and tries to strangle Sam.  Big brother bursts through the doors.  

Dean: Is that Gandhi?

Sam (while being strangled): Yeah!

Dean (just watching Sam struggling): Dude, he’s squirrely

Sam: Get the…

He can’t finish but shakes his head towards Gandhi’s wax figure.

Dean runs over to it.  “Get the what?”

Sam: Glasses!

Dean grabs the glasses, throws them in the trash can and sets them on fire. Gandhi disappears and Sam gasps for air.

Dean: You couldn’t have been a fan of someone cool?

Sam glares at him.

Dean: Really, Gandhi?

I’m putting this next scene in its entirety because the first part is amusing, but the second part is very important for where they are right now and every line of dialogue in this scene is vital.  They are back at the motel and Dean’s packing to leave, asking Sam if he’s ready to go. Sam though is having doubts about the case being finished.  Dean’s not really interested, as far as he’s concerned, he torched, the ghost vanished.  Sam’s not letting it go though, “Yeah, but I…” he sighs, “Also, I feel like he was… trying to take a bite out of me.”

Dean: A bite?

Sam: Yeah, like he was hungry.  But the thing is, Gandhi – or the real Gandhi – he was a... (Sam hesitates to continue)

Dean: A what?... (Sam hesitates to answer again), …spit it out

Sam (answers reluctantly): He was a fruitarian

Dean laughs: Let me get this straight.  Your, uh, ultimate hero was not only a short man in diapers, but he was also a fruitarian?

Sam: That’s not the point

Dean: That is good.  That is… even for you, that is good.

Sam: Look, I’m just saying, I’m not so sure this thing is over.

Dean: It was a ghost… It was a weirdly super-charged fruitarian ghost, but it was still a ghost.  Now let’s go.

Sam: So first you drag me into town, and now you’re dragging me back out.

Dean: You ain’t steering this boat.  Let’s go, chop chop.

Dean grabs his bag to leave and Sam doesn’t follow him.

Sam: You know, this isn’t going to work.

Dean turns back: What isn’t?

Sam: Us.  You, me, together, I… I thought it could, but I can’t

Dean: You’re the one that wanted back in, chief

Sam: And you’re the one who called me back in

Dean: I still think we got some trust building to do.

Sarcastic!Sam alert: How long am I gonna be on double secret probation?

Dean shrugs: Til I say so.

Sam: Look, I know what I did, what I’ve done.  And I am trying to climb out of that hole, I am, but you’re not making it any easier.

Dean: So, what am I supposed to do, just let you off the hook?

Sam: No, you can think whatever you want.  I deserve it, and worse.  Hell, you’ll never punish me as much as I’m punishing myself, but the point is, if we’re gonna be a team, you and I, it has to be a two-way street.

Dean: So, we just go back to the way we were before?

Sam: No, because we were never that way before.  Before didn’t work.  (Dean frowns).  How do you think we got here?

Dean: What’s that supposed to mean?

Sam: Dean, one of the reasons I went off with Ruby (Sam sighs)… was to get away from you.

Dean: What?

Sam: It made me feel strong.  Like I wasn’t your kid brother.

Dean: Are you saying this is my fault?

Sam: No, it’s my fault.  All I’m saying is that, if we’re gonna do this, we have to do it different, we can’t just fall into the same rut.

Dean shakes his head: What do you want me to do?

Sam: You’re gonna have to let me grow up, for starters.

At that point Dean’s phone rings, which interrupts their conversation, but I loved that they had it.  I love Sam’s being honest and that he’s not willing to go on and accept things the way they are.  I love that Dean listened to Sam in the end and that he seems to be thinking about what Sam has said and I think that’s all we can ask for at this point.

The phone call has Dean listening to someone that we can’t hear, he looks at Sam, then away and says “Yeah, yeah, okay” to the caller before hanging up and turning back to Sam, “I guess you were right about this not being over.”

What else might Sam be right about Dean, hmmm?

They are back at the sheriff’s office and go straight to the sheriff asking him what happened.  I love the deterioration of the sheriff over this entire episode from his world having certainty through to pretty much this:

Sheriff: I, uh, uh… (he shrugs and shakes his head), I don’t know! (he gestures to two girls in a room)

Sam and Dean go to interview them.  The scene is actually quite funny as they try to get information out of the girls who are very upset. The upshot is that Paris Hilton took their friend.

Sam: I’m sorry?

Girl 1: She looked really good though

Girl 2: Skinny!

Girl 1: Skinny and fast!

Dean: What… wait… huh?

Sam and Dean ask to be excused for a minute and go to the doorway.  Dean asks for clarification that “Paris Hilton’s not dead as far as we know, right?”  Sam answers: “Pretty sure, no”, which means they don’t think they are dealing with a ghost anymore and it’s unlikely that Paris Hilton is a homicidal maniac.

We see Sam in blue scrubs so he’s at the hospital.  He’s looking through Cal’s file and frowns so once again we know that Sam’s found something of concern. We next see him cut into Cal’s body with a scalpel, and it’s cute that even after all this time, Sam’s still a little squeamish at this sort of thing. I’m reminded why I didn’t go to medical school as we hear squelching noises when Sam reaches his hand inside the body and pulls out 2 small ball things the size of cherries.

Sam meets back up with Dean outside and he’s angry at himself for missing whatever he’s found.  Dean asks for details and Sam says there was major blood loss with both victims, much more than the injuries should have caused. Dean comes to the same conclusion that Sam did; that something is feeding. Sam then shows Dean an evidence bag containing the cherry sized objects. Dean: “What are those, seeds?”  Sam says yes and that he found them in the victims’ stomachs.  Dean quickly removes his hand from the bag, “I hope you washed your hands”.  Sam says they are unlike any seed he’s ever seen before. Dean hides his pride of Sam’s nerdiness with sarcasm, “Wow, just when I thought you couldn’t get any geekier.”  

Back at the motel, Sam’s on his laptop trying to identify what type of seeds he has.  He discovers that the seeds are not in the US but from a forest in the Balkans that doesn’t exist anymore.  Dean: So? Sam explains that a local legend said the forest was guarded by a mischievous pagan god which could take on infinite forms.

Dean: And let me guess.  He liked to munch on his fans.

Sam confirms that yes, the god can only be appeased with the blood of his worshippers, after draining them, it would stuff their stomachs with the seeds. What’s most important is they find out how to kill it; chop off its head with an iron axe.

Dean: All right.  Let’s go gank ourselves a Paris Hilton

They enter the wax museum after hours again.  Dean has the axe, Sam a flashlight. They walk past Abe Lincoln (who is now hatless of course). They split up and search different rooms, which is a little dumb, given Sam doesn’t have any weapon and he’s the one that comes across a door with a sign on it that indicates the place beyond it is closed for renovations.  Just as I’m about to mark a tick in the “dumb winchester’s column” of my analysis, he whistles for Dean who joins him and they break through the door into a part of the museum that’s decorated to look like it’s outdoors with a house in the woods. Looking around, Sam sees what we presume to be the girls’ missing friend, Danielle.  She’s tied to a tree.  Sam checks her pulse and she’s alive, but barely.

The axe suddenly flies out of Dean’s hand, like the shotgun did with Sam earlier in the episode. He turns around to find Paris Hilton in front of him. Paris is a mean fighter, easily taking down Dean and throwing Sam across the clearing, causing Sam to get knocked out.  Dean isn’t unconscious yet but that doesn’t last long as Paris stiletto’s him in the face. Ouch.

Our boys wake up almost at the same time, finding themselves tied to a different tree.  What probably woke them up was the sound of the monster’s nails being sharpened against the knife she’s holding. I’m wondering why the monster didn’t just kill them, but it helpfully explains that it’s been stuffing itself with too much fast food lately, so wants to take the time to do the ritual right.  “Prepare a nice, slow meal for a change.”  

Me: And you choose the best hunters on the planet to do that with? No wonder your kind are dying out rapidly.

I’ll spare you most of the villain monologue, it’s another god pissed that people no longer worship and adore them and throw themselves to their sacrifice “with smiles on their faces.”   The monster is tired of wandering hungry and scared, scrounging for scraps, and has taken advantage of the apocalypse to set up a permanent home, where adoring fans just stroll right in the door.

Sam: Yeah, but they’re not your fans

MOTW: So? They worship Lincoln, Gandhi, Hilton… whatever.  I’ll take what I can get.

Dean tells it that it’s not the first god they’ve met but is the nuttiest. The monster disagrees, says people are the crazy ones.  That they used to worship actual gods, but now… the monster indicates the Paris Hilton body: “This is what passes for idolatry?  Celebrities? What have they got besides small dogs and spray tans?

And kudos Paris, I like people that can laugh at themselves. Also, Sam and Dean’s expressions during this are great to watch.

MOTW: You people used to have old-time religion.  Now you have Us Weekly

Dean: I don’t know, I’m more of a Penthouse Forum man myself

Dean winks and clicks his tongue at the monster who gets up and walks over to him.  

MOTW (looking Dean up and down): Maybe, but…there’s still a lot of yummy meat on those bones, boy

Dean: Well, I hate to break it to you, sister, but uh… you can’t eat me. See, I’m not a Paris Hilton BFF.  I’ve never even seen House of Wax.

Sam looks at his brother and frowns, and it’s these moments I like; the little shout outs to Paris and Jared, both being in House of Wax.  It’s not pandering, it doesn’t impact the flow of the episode, it’s just a nice little mention that’s done well.

Anyway, the monster can read Dean’s mind, it knows who Dean’s hero is; Dean’s daddy.  She walks back over to the axe which is embedded into a tree. “And this belonged to him.  Didn’t it?  Poor little Dean. All you ever wanted was to be loved by your idol.  One distant father figure, coming right up.  

Dean’s been busy though, which is why villains should not monologue. Seriously, if I’m ever a villain, I’m shooting first, talking later.  He’s free of the ropes and tackles the monster, but as we saw with Sam getting beaten up earlier, this is no easy monster to take down and Dean’s soon getting repeatedly punched. Thankfully Sam’s also been busy, and he gets free a few seconds later, jumping over the two fighting and pulling the axe from the tree. Dean lands a punch throwing the monster off him and rolls to the side so that Sam can take the shot, which he does.  It’s a little bit like Mary Queen of Scot’s execution though as he has to bring the axe down several times to sever her head from her body.  And once again, Sam Winchester’s face is completely covered in blood.  (I should have started a count on this).  Sam turns to Dean who is still lying on the ground and grins at him.  Dean lifts a finger in warning. “Not a word.”

Sam (having too much fun): Dude, you just got whaled on by Paris Hilton!

Dean: Shut up (collapses back on the ground)

Sam and Dean are finally leaving the motel.  Dean is talking to the sheriff on the phone who tells them that Danielle is going to be okay and that he’s put an APB out on Paris Hilton.  

We get our final broment of the episode as they are putting their bags in the car, Dean’s been thinking about what Sam has said, about keeping too tight a leash on him.  Sam looks at Dean warily, not sure what Dean’s going to say.  I think he’s worried that Dean’s decided its best if they separate again.  

Dean: Hell, maybe you’re right.  I mean, look, I’m not exactly Mister Innocent in this whole mess either, you know.  I did break the first seal.

Sam: You didn’t know

Dean: Yeah, well neither did you (Sam looks away, and its painful that he is completely willing to absolve his brother of blame, but not himself).

Dean: I’m not saying demon blood was a great way to go, but you did kill Lilith

Sam: And start the apocalypse

Dean: Which neither of us saw coming.  I mean who’d have thought killing Lilith would’ve been a bad thing. (Sam looks away again).  Point is, I was so worried about watching your every move that I didn’t see what it was actually doing to you…. So for that I’m sorry.

Sam says thank you and I think some people might expect an apology in return, but Sam has already apologised multiple times for what he’s done and it’s not an appropriate point for him to do so again. Dean asks where they go from here.

Sam: The way I see it, we got one shot at surviving this

Dean: What’s that?

Sam: Maybe I am on deck for the devil, maybe same with you and Michael, maybe there’s no changing that.

Dean: Well that’s encouraging

Sam: But… we can stop ringing our hands over it. We gotta just grab onto whatever’s in front of us, kick its ass and go down fighting.

Dean considers that and nods: I can get on board with that.

Sam nods too: Okay, but we’re going to have to do it on the same level.

Dean looks at Sam: You got it.

Sam nods again and Dean says: What do you say we get the hell outta here?

Sam: Hell yeah.

They turn to go to their usual sides of the car, but Dean stops and looks down at the keys and says. “Hey.”  Sam turns around and Dean holds out the keys: “You wanna drive?”

Sam (looks at the keys and then at Dean: You sure?

Dean: Yeah, I could, uh… I could use a nap

Sam looks at Dean again and Dean hands him the keys.  They get into the car and Sam drives away.

Onwards to 5.06.  I believe the children are our future.  Aww, this is the antichrist one.  Where did Jesse go?

[were-cheetah-stiles]

The Recruit (Chapter 2) - Mitch Rapp

Author: @were-cheetah-stiles

Title: “Day 2″

Characters: Mitch Rapp, Stan Hurley & Reader/OFC

Warnings: Some violence, sort of, and slow burn..

Author’s Note: I have been quietly sitting back and reading basically every bit of fan fiction for a few weeks now that I can find pertaining to Teen Wolf/Stiles/DOB/Mitch Rapp, and I finally decided to throw my hat into the ring. I get so much joy from everyone else’s work and I just really hope you can all get the same out of this.

Summary: Mitch’s fiancee, Katrina, was brutally murdered in a terrorist attack a year and a half ago. He had been hunting the perpetrators by himself for over a year, but finally came across the radar of Irene Kennedy, the Director of the CIA. She sends him to Stan Hurley to be properly trained at becoming a covert assassin on behalf of the American government. When he agreed to all of this, he never expected to meet Y/N.

Chapter Summary: Mitch begins his training with a lesson in tracking people. He ends up getting to know Y/N better and begins opening up himself.

Chapter One - Chapter Two - Chapter Three

He pulled a pair of black, tinted safety goggles off the table and raised them over his eyes. Everyone at the gun range paused, and watched Mitch take an M16 semi-automatic rifle off the table behind him and begin checking and loading it, wanting to see what the new recruit had to offer in terms of marksmanship. 

You noticed a white cotton t-shirt sticking out slightly from under both ends of his dark gray, chunky sweater. You also noted him wearing a darker pair of jeans than the ones he had on yesterday, and then you realized that you were more focused on how his hair still looked good under his protective ear muffs, than what he was about to do with the high powered weapon in his hands. You heard the firearm go off in small spurts and watched as he hit dead on for his target, and the targets of the four guy’s next to him. The men murmured around the gun range, and then went back to their own shooting.

You picked up your Desert Eagle .50 Caliber Handgun and aimed it at his target, from seven rows away. He didn't notice where your gun was pointed, as he aimed a Glock at the head on his target sheet. Before he could press his finger against the trigger, his target sheet shook. He looked up and saw a new hole, square between the eyes. 

He looked behind him and saw Stan grinning and leaning against the equipment table, snickering and shaking his head. He leaned over the other way and saw you put down your gun and glasses on the table, and quickly raise your eyebrows at him, letting him know for sure, that it was you who shot his target.

"Can't ever let them get big heads, can you Y/N?" Stan said as you walked towards the exit. You shrugged nonchalantly, and Stan patted you on the back, as you walked out of target practice. Mitch went back to shooting until the exercise was over.

At lunch, Mitch glanced around the large dining room for an empty chair. He sat next to the two tall men, who he saw walking with you the day before. There was no sign of you however.

"Mitch, right?" The bulkier one asked, as he moved his food around his plate with his fork.

Mitch nodded and bit into his sandwich, quickly washing it down with the water in front of him.

"I'm Rob, this is Julian." The bulkier one said, as he gestured to the man sitting next to Mitch, who quietly nodded his head Mitch's way.

"What's up, man?" Julian said rhetorically. Mitch nodded back, not entirely interested in making friends or conversation.

"You really know your way around a gun, man." Rob commented, before popping a potato chip into his mouth.

"Thanks." Mitch replied, quickly glancing up from his plate.

"Not so much around Y/n though." Julian chuckled.

"Nah, don't listen to him. Y/n has literally done that to everyone in this room, myself included and I'm like triple her size." Rob was referring to her takedown of Mitch in The Circle the afternoon before. "She's been here for almost three years and she is damn fucking good at basically all hand-to-hand."

"And shooting, apparently." Mitch commented, thinking back to her display of dominance at the gun range that morning.

"Yea, she's a real fucking treasure." The guy next to Rob commented sarcastically.

"Shut the hell up, Dan." Rob defended his friend. The man that Rob referred to as Dan, raised his eyebrows, with a satisfied smirk and went back to eating his food.

"RAPP!" Stan yelled, his head sticking out of the door to his office.

"Seeya." Julian said aloud, letting Mitch know that he was to go immediately when Stan called.

Mitch nodded at the two men and went to off to his teacher. Stan stood next to his desk, glancing at his open laptop with a straight face, before he finally looked up to see Mitch, standing in front of him. "Why are you here, Rapp?"

"To get good enough to kill the Bahji terror cell and Mansur, Sir." Mitch answered, matter-of-factly.

"What for? Why do you care about Mansur?"

"For my fianceé.. for revenge." Mitch answered again.

Stan shook his head. "That kind of shit is going to get you killed, Rapp."

"I think it's what's keeping me alive, Sir."

"You think you're special?" Stan asked, as he turned his laptop around to show Mitch a picture of Katrina on his screen. Mitch looked up and glared at Stan. "Never, ever let it get personal." He lectured the young man in a condescending tone. "Do you understand, Rapp?"

"Yes, sir." Mitch replied, seething with hatred.

"We meet back in the woods in three hours at 1700 for tracking. Get the fuck out of my office." Stan closed his laptop and sat down in his chair.

Mitch left the office and walked straight out the front door. He marched angrily into the woods and punched the underside of his fist against a pine tree. He growled and punched against the tree again.

"You'll do more damage if you use your knuckles."

Mitch looked up, wondering where the voice he just heard was coming from. He finally saw you, leaning up against a tree in a not too far off distance, the same paperback book folded in half in your hand. He walked over and stood over you.

"To my knuckles or the tree?"

"Both, probably." You smirked at him, and Mitch couldn’t help but feel suddenly enthralled by the smile he had been so curious to see.

"What are you doing out here?" He asked, trying not to let his emotions play on his face anymore than they already had.

You shook the book in your hand, and raised your eyebrows at him.

"Right, sorry to bother you." He nodded once, wondering what you were reading, but not feeling talkative enough to ask. He turned and began walking back to the house.

"No, stay... I'll go." You got up from the forest floor, dusted your jeans off, picked up your jacket and began walking away from Mitch.

He watched you, confused. "The Barn is the other way." He yelled after you.

"I know." You turned and flashed a smile so bright that it made the hair stand on his arms. You spun back around, hopping on the balls of your feet, and disappeared into the trees.

1700 hours rolled around and everyone was assembled where The Circle had taken place yesterday, except for you. Mitch noted your absence again, curious as to why you seemed to be exempt from certain things that felt mandatory for him and everyone else. 

Stan stood in front of the group of nineteen men, and spoke loudly, his booming voice echoing through the trees. "I've told you what you need to know about tracking a human, so... go find Y/n. She's in there with a bag full of the new keys to the front door. You can either retrieve them from her by 2100 hours and get to sleep in your own bed tonight, or you can not, and get them from me at 0900 tomorrow morning after target practice, and sleep out here tonight." Stan smirked as the group murmured to each other. He took note of Mitch already checking his surroundings.

Rob and Julian approached the new recruit, who was clutching a black, cable knit sweater in his hand, and looking off in the direction he saw you disappear into earlier in the day.

"Hey, Mitch, do you wanna come with Julian and I to find her? Work together and get back here sooner?" The six foot, six inches bulky man asked.

"I'm good." Mitch nodded, and pulled the sweater over his head, then went off into the woods on his own.

The sun was setting soon, and Mitch spotted a broken twig on the ground with the dimming light. He bent down and glanced at it, knowing where to go next. At 1745 hours, Mitch found you sitting cross legged on a tree stump, deep in the woods, reading your book with strained eyes, as the light lessened with each passing minute. You glanced up and shook your head with a smirk.

"I am somehow not surprised." You said quietly.

"What are you reading?" He finally asked, ignoring your comment and nodding at your book.

"Casino Royale..." You narrowed your eyes at him, the serious look returning to your face.

Mitch raised an eyebrow at you and you broke into a smirk once more. "You're reading James Bond at a CIA black ops training camp?"

You chuckled, and smiled. "Of course not. I'm fucking with you." You unfolded your book, your pointer finger holding your page, and showed him the blue and yellow artwork.

"The Great Gatsby.." Mitch recognized the cover.

"For the hundreth time."

"I've never read it." He confessed, still standing over you, staring down.

"That's a shame. It's a...." You stopped talking and looked off into the woods to your right. You heard a voice and snapped your focus back to Mitch. "Take your sweater off."

"What?" Mitch looked confused.

"Take it off, take it off." You stood on the stump, revealing a Ziplock bag of keys behind where you were sitting. Mitch pulled the sweater over his head and you snatched it out of his hands. You shoved your book against his chest, and he held it where his sweater had once been. He watched as you wrapped the bag of metal keys in the sweater, then took off your own jacket and wrapped that around Mitch's sweater. You were wearing black high waisted jeans and a black thermal that clung to your body in all of the right places.

"What are you doing?" Mitch said in his normal speaking voice, before catching a glare from you.

You spoke in more hushed tones. "Being tracked." You tucked the fabric wrapped keys under your arm and took off running. Your nimble feet making little to no noise at all. He couldn't hear the keys jingling together either. You had cleverly soundproofed them. You turned around, and looked at Mitch. "Are you coming?"

Mitch nodded and took off after you. Every few yards, you would pause and cover your tracks, or have Mitch stand still as you backtracked, creating a divergent, decoy path, then slowly making your way back to him. You both had been running for twenty minutes straight before you stopped and looked up. 

You unwrapped the keys and tucked them in your back pocket, a few finally jingling as you handled them. You tied Mitch's sweater around your waist, then slipped your arms through your jacket. He watched as you began scaling the tree in front of you with minimal effort. He watched your foot and hand placements and followed up after you, tucking your book in the waistband of his pants. More than half way up the trunk of the tree, Mitch lost his footing and almost fell. You reached down, grabbed his hand and helped to pull him up onto the high branch that you were perched on.

You stood on the questionably stable branch, untied Mitch's sweater, handed it to him, and finally pulled the keys out of your back pocket. You then sat with your knees pressed against your chest. "Sorry about that." He pulled the sweater back over his head, and watched as you shoved the bag of keys in your jacket pocket. "Don't let your legs dangle.. the whites on the bottoms of your shoes are a pretty good giveaway.” You said, as you glanced at his green and white Adidas.

Mitch smirked at you. "You're wearing a pink windbreaker." He didn't understand how his shoes were more of a giveaway.

"Yea, but I'm really good at this." You replied smugly, remaining nonchalant about the situation.

"Why did you run?"

"I didn't want them to find me yet." You whispered, looking off into the distance of the forest for anyone that could be approaching. It was 1830 hours, it had gotten dark and the temperature had begun to drop.

"But I found.." 

You leaned forward and pressed your fingers against his lips. You lost your focus as you felt his warm breath against your skin, and you began to tip off the branch. Mitch caught your wrist and kept you from falling. He began to hear the sound of crunching leaves beneath feet, as well. He pulled you close, tearing the pink coat off your body, placing it in a ball in his lap and pulling you against his body. He wrapped your legs around his waist and pressed his pale face into your hair. You both suddenly disappeared, in your black clothing, into the dark night. A man who Mitch recognized as Dan, the guy from lunch earlier, and three other men, walked carelessly with flashlights checking their surroundings, but not thinking to look up into the tree.

You breathed heavily into Mitch's chest as the men walked past the tree. You both listened as the footsteps grew fainter, as they got farther into the distance. You shivered when Mitch unwrapped his strong arms from around your body. He pulled the jacket out from between you, and draped it over your shoulders.

"That was good thinking.." You commented quietly.

"It helped that we were both wearing black." Mitch replied with a shrug. He glanced down at his watch. It was only 1900 hours, and you had two more hours out here before you could return to the house.

"We should keep moving. I'm clearly a sitting target with this coat." You dropped the coat with the keys in the pocket onto the ground, wrapped your arms around the branch, and dropped your body over the side, hanging off the tree until you felt comfortable enough to jump the short distance. You landed on the ground with a grunt, and Mitch followed suit.

"Why'd we run and hide from Dan and his friends?" Mitch asked quietly as you both continued through the expansive woods.

"It's not supposed to be easy to find me." You replied, glancing up at him, examining the mole that fell just outside of his mustache, on his left cheek.

"You let me find you." Mitch challenged you.

You stopped, and Mitch turned to see what was wrong. "No, you followed my actual trail that I had been covering for three hours. You found it in forty-five minutes. Not even Stan can do that. I'm not even sure how you did it." You admitted.

"You left a couple of snapped twigs in your path." Mitch said, underplaying the techniques he used to find you.

You smirked at Mitch. "Well, that's why I didn't run. You deserve to sleep in your bed tonight."

"So, I get a key?" He asked, as you went back to walking beside him.

"Do you want it now?" You wondered if the disappointment you were feeling showed in your voice.

"No."

You smiled up at him, letting your guard down for a moment. "Yea, you get a key, Mitch." The handsome new recruit let the corner of his mouth turn up to smile back at you.

You both stopped several times and you taught him more of your techniques to creating dummy trails, covering his tracks, and leaving no trail at all. He could've gone back to the main house to relax at any point, but he was learning from you, and enjoying your presence.

"Y/n," Mitch broke the silence and caught your attention. "Why'd you shoot my target this morning?"

A small corner of your mouth curled up. "You're really pretty good with a gun, and you obviously made that clear, but you’re the new guy and I didn't want the other idiots to get pissed at you for shooting their targets." Mitch nodded, and looked down at his feet. He didn't know why you felt compelled to protect him, but he didn't mind that you had the compulsion, since he had obviously felt it too, up in the tree earlier in the evening.

"Thanks for showing me all of this. You're really good at it." Mitch said, glancing over at you as you both walked through the woods.

"I've been here long enough, if I wasn't good at tracking or being untraceable at this point, that'd be a whole other issue."

"I heard that you've been here for almost three years." Mitch said, watching as you nodded. "How old are you then?"

"I’ll be twenty-five in May. You?"

"I turn twenty-five in about a month. So they got you straight out of college?" Mitch wasn't usually this inquisitive about other people's personal business, but you were young like him, and he was curious since most of the other trainees did not look to be the same age as the two of you.

"Stan recruited me himself. Straight out of Columbia."

"You were Ivy League?"

"Try not to sound so surprised." You playfully chided him, with a smile.

"No, I'm just impressed. So are you from New York?"

"Originally. I moved to D.C. when I was nine though, then moved back up for college, and then back down here for this. What about you?"

"From McLean, Virginia, went to a few boarding schools, then I went to Syracuse for college."

"Oh you're big Orange, huh?" You laughed quietly. Mitch smiled softly and nodded. "What'd you go for?"

"International Business and French."

Your eyes perked up. "Parlez-vous français?"

Mitch see-sawed his hand back and forth. "I can get by. What'd you go to school for?"

"I double majored in History and Middle Eastern Studies, and minored in Political Science and Arabic."

"So you speak French and Arabic?" Mitch asked, impressed by your ambition and achievements.

"And Russian... and I technically took Spanish in, like, seventh and eighth grade, but all I really remember is 'where is the bathroom?'. So I don’t think that counts." You laughed quietly.

"You were basically designed for the CIA, what are you still doing here after almost three years?" Mitch asked, absentmindedly rubbing his fingers against the stubble on his cheek.

It drew your attention to his lips again, and took a deep breath in. Your first assumption about him through the window the day before was correct. He was very handsome. You shrugged, trying to play it cool. "I guess I'm still not quite up to par yet."

Mitch looked at his watch, and he noted that time was finally up. "Well no one else found you, so I think your skills are pretty up to snuff. They're all seriously going to sleep out here tonight?"

"You were supposed to be out here with them. No one was supposed to find me.” You narrowed your eyes at him and smiled suspiciously. “I swear, I still don't know how you did." You told him.

"Do you think Stan is going to think we cheated?" Mitch asked.

"No, I think Stan really likes you actually. He may not show it, but I haven't seen him this excited about a new recruit in a while." Mitch raised his eyebrows in response, surprised by your comment. "We should head in. It's time."

You and Mitch emerged from the woods to see all eighteen men, who had not found you, waiting on the dusty gravel driveway, in front of the main house, with Stan. You had given Mitch his key, and you had taken one for yourself, then you handed the bag to Stan.

"So did he find you like five minutes before?" Stan asked, surprised to see Mitch with you.

"No, she probably just wants to fuck him, so she let him find her." Mitch heard the guy who sat next to Rob at lunch, that afternoon, say to a friend under his breath. They both snickered.

"No, he found me after forty-five minutes." You told Stan, standing up next to him in front of the group.

"Nah man, they've been together for hours, she already fucked him." The friend replied, their snickers becoming more audible. Mitch thought about the ways that he could shut them up, but decided that it probably would just make things worse for you.

"You found her in less than an hour?" Stan seemed bewildered. "If the newbie found her in less than an hour, what the hell is wrong with the rest of you?” Stan stared at the quiet trainees. “What've you been doing the rest of the time?" Stan questioned Mitch, becoming suspicious.

"Learning, Sir." Mitch replied.

Stan rolled his eyes at Mitch’s short but sufficient reply. "Alright, let's go on up then. Enjoy your evening, gentlemen. See you all at target practice tomorrow at 0700. Try not to freeze." Stan went up the stairs first, and you and Mitch followed behind him. Stan locked the door behind Mitch, and grumbled his goodnights to the both of you.

Mitch grabbed a bite of dinner while you showered. He laid back in his bed and felt the book that you had given him hours ago pressing against his back. He pulled it out from his jeans and flipped through the pages, noticing certain lines underlined in pen, and thoughts scribbled in the margins. He got up out of bed to return the book.

He saw that your door was ajar, so he walked in. The room dimly lit by only your desk lamp, but he took in the sight of all of the books in the bookcase fastened to the wall above your desk. They were mostly classic novels and books on mythology and poetry, but there was one that caught his eye: A Concise History of the Middle East. He grinned at the fact that you had definitely kept one of your college textbooks. 

He continued through your room, and saw a picture on your dresser: a little y/h/c haired girl with her parents and older brother on the Staten Island Ferry, with the original World Trade Center buildings in the background. The little girl smiled from ear to ear as she hugged her brother, her face partially buried into her brothers chest. Mitch looked at your bed, thumbed the soft cover of the book and placed it on your pillow. He shut the door behind him, and went across the hall back to his room.

He yanked at his sweater, pausing as his head was still inside of it because it faintly smelled like vanilla. It smelled like you. He took one more deep breath in, then continued pulling it off of his body, his t-shirt yanking off with it, revealing a very muscular and toned young man. He pulled his trousers and boxer briefs off and wrapped his towel around his waist. 

The house was quiet enough that he heard your bedroom door open as he turned the water on for the shower. He let the water cascade down his body until he couldn't smell your scent on him anymore. He thought about Katrina, suddenly having a hard time remembering her face as clearly as he had been able to even just yesterday. He rubbed at his eyes and turned off the faucet. He dried off and re-wrapped his towel around his waist. He pulled his wet flip flops off as he stepped out of the tile of the bathroom and onto the hardwood floor that led to his bedroom.

He saw the light on under the crack of your bedroom door, and sighed. He closed his behind him and pulled a clean pair of boxer briefs out of his dresser. He pulled them up, snapping the band around his waist, and brought the towel up to run through his long wet hair. The sound of something scraping against the floor caught his attention and he glanced down to see a book being pushed under the crack of his door. He picked up the book and saw it was your copy of The Great Gatsby.

Mitch opened the door quickly and saw you about to close yours. You turned at the sound of his doorknob clicking, and gave him a good once over. Your breath sticking in the back of your throat as you saw the hair on his chest and under his navel, disappearing into his tight boxer briefs that accentuated his bulge perfectly. You examined his veiny muscles and shaggy wet hair, then tried to focus on his sleepy brown eyes.

“Everyone should read The Great Gatsby. It’s a classic.” You muttered.

He smiled softly. "Thanks." He lifted the book in the air.

"It's my favorite though, so I'll need it back when you're done." You told him with a genuine smile.

Mitch smirked, and nodded his head towards your room. "Did I not see like four copies of it in your bookcase?"

You snickered and shrugged. "When I see a copy, I buy it. Like I said, it's my favorite. Doesn’t mean you get a free book though."

Mitch nodded and gripped the book in his hand. "Goodnight."

"Night, Mitch." You closed your door.

Mitch closed his as well. He shut off all of the lights in his room, and shoved the book under his pillow. He fell asleep with it still clutched in his hand.

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