#anyway i messaged the local radio station and called them out and they ignored me

[smileandasong]

the DJs of my local alt rock radio station were giddy as hell yesterday. about trump's victory, and they were talking about it on the air. and this station plays bands like green day and rage against the machine all the time. it always baffles me how people can call themselves fans of punk music, and then go and be supports of conservative and authoritarian politics. how do you miss that irony??? how do you not realize that YOU are what they are singing about in these songs!?!?

[monabela]

hey uhh..... advent denest!! this is just the first chapter, every day from now until christmas there will be a new one featuring a christmassy/wintery prompt for that day, but I won’t bother you with that here--check out the ao3 link! :D (maybe I’ll get some other chapters on here too, just to remind everyone, but I’ll think about that)

--

Snowfall Music

pairings/characters: Denmark (Søren)/Estonia (Eduard), mentioned Finland (Tuomi)/Sweden (Torbjörn), Sealand (Peter), Ladonia (Lars), Vietnam (Vinh), Czechia (Kveta) word count: 4782 summary: Eduard has enough to occupy him this December without having to look after his young cousins, or trying to organize events on his radio show, or having to field strange phone calls day after day, but it seems the end of the year has it out for him.

And somehow, Søren manages to brighten every dark day. Hopefully, he'll stick around for a while.

also on AO3 - further chapters posted there!

--

“Today on Radio 8, I have some pretty special guests on the show. Now, this was a surprise for me as well—” Eduard opens the audio channels of two of the other microphones in the studio— “but I’m excited they’re here, so welcome to my cousins, Pete—”

“Once removed,” Lars interrupts, raising his eyebrows and wrinkling his freckled nose as if he thinks Eduard is a bit dim. He probably does, come to think of it. The boy is just at that age.

“Alright,” he amends anyway, “my first cousins once removed, Peter and Lars. They’re my first cousin Tuomi’s sons. Is that better?”

“Yes,” Lars replies imperiously. Peter is rolling his eyes, and Eduard has to stifle a laugh while he turns on some background music.

“Their parents are on a trip out of town for the week, so Peter and Lars have been entrusted to Uncle Eduard for the time being—first cousin once removed Eduard, I know, Lars, but I’ll start saying that when you start calling me that.”

“I will.”

“I don’t doubt it. Why don’t you two introduce yourselves, and then you can think of a song you’d like to hear.” He prays Tuomi hasn’t managed to instill too much of his taste in music in his sons just yet, because although they’re ostensibly a rock station, he doesn’t think his listeners are quite ready for metal that heavy.

“I’m Peter,” Peter all but shouts into his microphone, so Eduard lowers his volume slightly. “I’m twelve, and I, ah, I play hockey, I guess?”

That sounds about right.

“And Lars?”

“Well, I’m Lars, I’m also twelve, and I have a podcast.”

“A podcast, really? What’s it about?”

“School and things,” he replies, and nothing else.

“That’s great,” Eduard enthuses anyway, because he does think it is. “You must be excited to visit the studio, then. Would you like to work in radio someday?”

Peter is shaking his head quite frantically and making slashing motions with both hands, but the damage is done, as Lars huffs, wrinkling his nose again and leaning in close to the microphone.

“Radio is very different from podcasts. You just talk around the music.”

Eduard blinks. “I’m going to take that as a compliment.”

“It wasn’t.”

Eduard looks helplessly over at his production assistant, who seems uncharacteristically amused by the whole exchange, her eyebrows twitching ever so slightly.

“Where did you get that sass from?” He knows it must be Tuomi, unless his husband, Torbjörn, has very deeply hidden depths. And, before Lars can actually reply, “Peter, what should we listen to? What music do you like?”

Lars is opening his mouth, but Peter forestalls him, yelling, “Imagine Dragons!”

So Eduard starts a jingle as he lines up an Imagine Dragons song from the station’s playlist and an older rock song to play after that, pushing the slides for the microphone channels down. When he looks at Lars, the boy is just glancing away, attempting to seem disinterested in everything going on by crossing his arms and pressing his lips together. Eduard shakes his head fondly as he scrolls through some of the messages people have sent the show, including some asking if his cousins will help him judge his weekly dumbest pun contest, which he doesn’t imagine will benefit the already low bar for that one, so that’s perfect.

When he asks the boys about it, Lars starts to say something undoubtedly disparaging about how his podcast never has puns, but Peter quickly interrupts again. Eduard is around them enough that he knows this has been their usual behavior for the past few years, and more often than not, the brothers remind him strongly of himself and Tuomi at their age. They always were more like siblings than cousins, and when their older cousin Erzsébet was asked to babysit, she never seemed inclined to stop them.

Granted, he wasn’t doing podcasts when he was twelve, but he does remember using the house phone to call the local radio station multiple times until his parents started threatening to take the phone bill out of his allowance, and then how was he going to buy CDs? The radio show hosts actually wondered what happened to him after a couple of days without word and his parents had to call in to explain. It’s a fond if embarrassing memory.

The show continues in a slightly messier fashion than usual, mostly due to Peter’s attempts to interrupt every single sentence his brother starts to say and Lars stubbornly talking over him, but it’s fun. Eduard reminds himself to make a compilation or something to give Tuomi and Torbjörn when they get back home.

He lets Lars pick a song as well, as his afternoon show nears the end of its first hour. While the mildly surprising requested obscure progressive rock plays, he becomes aware of movement out of the corner of his eye.

Turning, Eduard huffs a laugh when he spots the sheepish-looking freckled face peering through the studio’s windowed door.

“Boys,” he says, ignoring that Lars just glares at him for daring to interrupt his very intent listening, “looks like your uncle finally showed up.”

Peter’s face lights up when he sees the man on the other side of the door, waving enthusiastically. Søren waves back, face splitting in a grin. Although he is Torbjörn’s brother and not a cousin, he doesn’t bear much more resemblance to his brother than Eduard does to Tuomi. He’s tall, but not as tall as Torbjörn is—or Eduard, for that matter—and his eyes are a darker blue pronounced by nearly-black eyebrows that don’t match his coppery hair at all. Eduard has always thought of him as not handsome necessarily, but definitely interesting, and he’d be lying if he said he minded having to look after his cousins with the man.

They’re not close, but he and Søren have spent some time together, albeit mostly when Tuomi and Torbjörn needed someone to look after their sons for a while.

Now, Peter is moving his hands in a flurry of signals Eduard can’t make much of, except that he points at him at the end, and Søren is quickly signing back, his eyebrows jumping wildly.

“He can come in, you know,” Eduard tells Peter, slightly bewildered. He ignores the annoyed look his production assistant is giving her soundboard. At least, he thinks it’s annoyed. It can be hard to tell, with Vinh.

Peter dashes to the door to let in his uncle, who ruffles the boy’s unruly blond hair, waves at Lars—who ignores him—and grins at Eduard with a sheepish edge to it.

“Hey,” he says, “thanks so much for looking after ‘em! Sorry I couldn’t get there in time. Hope they didn’t cause too much trouble for you.”

“Lars is having loads of fun,” Peter declares, then proceeds to duck out of the way when Lars throws a wad of paper at his head. Eduard shrugs at Søren.

As Lars’s song ends, a commercial break begins, and Vinh wanders away to grab some tea and probably gossip about him with the other hosts, so Eduard puts his headphones down and turns his attention fully to Søren. The man is dressed in the same leather jacket he always seems to be wearing and a T-shirt, but doesn’t appear to be cold in the slightest. He has stuck both hands into the pockets of his jacket, but he still moves them wildly when he speaks. A backpack is slung over one shoulder.

“Thanks again. I really couldn’t get out of work, so I’m glad you could take the boys to yours.”

“Of course, no problem.” Eduard pushes his glasses up. “We did have fun, right, boys?”

Predictably, the response is lackluster, since Peter and Lars are too busy swatting at each other with Eduard’s papers.

“I promise we did,” he tells Søren a little forlornly, receiving a full laugh in response, blue eyes glittering in the studio’s bright lights and crinkling up at the corners.

“One day, they’ll learn to appreciate us, Eduard.”

The dubious expression he pulls in return must be funnier than he imagined, because Søren laughs again, extracting a hand from his jacket to clasp his shoulder. He smells pleasantly like the winter air outside, and like hair gel.

“I aspire to help ‘em keep as many secrets from their parents as possible, so they’ll be forever in my debt.”

“You have to wonder if that’s worth incurring Tuomi’s wrath.” Eduard turns back to his soundboard and patches the newsreader in from another location.

“I can take Tuomi.”

“I think that’s your brother’s job.”

Søren makes a strangled sound that might be a laugh and that makes Eduard grin, shaking his head.

“Are you staying for a while? The boys have a pun contest to judge, and I’m sure my listeners would like to hear from you.”

“Sure, sounds great,” he says, his grin softening surprisingly. “I just gotta ask you to keep the background music to a minimum, if you can.” He gestures vaguely at his ear, and Eduard remembers something.

“Right, you don’t hear so well, do you?”

“Practically deaf without my hearing aids, kind of a bummer when you’re on a radio show, I imagine.” He smiles, his eyes crinkling up.

“That’s why pa taught us sign language,” Peter pipes up. “Dad is so bad at it. Uncle Søren, I’d like it if you stayed.”

“Sign language,” Eduard repeats, because of course that’s what that was, but also, how has he never realized that before now? He’s more-or-less known Søren for over fifteen years by now. “Well, I’ll watch the music. Let me know if it still bothers you.”

Vinh returns just as the short second commercial break is ending, inclines her head towards Søren, who waves and does not seem the least perturbed by her lack of outward response, and they set off on the second hour of the show. Eduard lowers the volume of the background music to nearly zero, gesturing at Vinh to leave it.

“While we were away, my first cousins’ once removed actual uncle finally showed up, after he promised he’d pick his nephews up from school—”

“Hey,” Søren interrupts, “you’re painting me in a bad light here, and I don’t appreciate it.”

“It’s the light of truth.”

Astonishingly, Lars snickers at that. He apparently doesn’t care who gets made fun of as long as it’s not him.

“Well, he’s here now, so hello, Søren. He works for the same company my cousin does, so… Is it your fault that we’re saddled with these kids now?”

“Well, I did introduce their parents to each other, so I suppose…” Søren winks at Peter, who sticks his tongue out. “Hey, Eduard, I hear these two got to pick a song to listen to. Do I get a go at that?”

Eduard laughs. “No, no. You need to do a better job of picking them up from school for that. Maybe next time. Actually, I think we’re overdue for some Christmas music. It’s December, after all!”

Peter crows triumphantly. Søren just grins, shaking his head at Eduard, who shrugs in turn, amused.

The hour goes by fairly quickly. Søren animatedly asks the boys questions about their school day during songs that even Lars answers sometimes, and Vinh doesn’t seem to mind him, which is high honor.

By the time the host of the early evening show has arrived and is setting up her stuff while the last song of Eduard’s show plays, he has received quite some messages asking if his cousins or their uncle, who, according to one of his frequent listeners, ‘sounds like a rad dude’, will return. He gestures Søren over from where he’s now already making merry conversation with his colleague, who looks more bewildered than anything.

“What’s up?”

“Well, it seems my listeners like you more than they like me.” Eduard gestures at his computer screen, and Søren grins as he leans over next to him to read the messages. He’s taken his leather jacket off. There are freckles on his bare arms too, and he is making Eduard cold just by looking at them.

“Y’know, the only way to make ‘em rethink that is if I do come back, ain’t it? I can just be an all-round terrible co-host.”

“I like that idea,” Eduard replies, before turning his microphone on as the song ends. “Bruce Springsteen and Born to Run, and it’s the end of another afternoon. Kveta just got here—” he turns his attention to the next host, who nods— “Kveta, anything we can look forward to today?”

“No family members, I think, unless anyone wants me to prank call my stepbrother again.” She laughs. “I’ve got some great new tracks, and there might be some live music going on.”

“Very nice.”

“Of course. So, Eduard, are your family members coming back?”

Søren, who is still next to Eduard, pokes him in the side, then leans further forward to speak into his microphone.

“I’ve always dreamed of being a radio star.”

“I think he’s coming back to usurp me.” Eduard turns to Søren, almost poking his nose into the man’s spiky hair. “He’s already using my mic. And who knows what Peter and Lars will do, they’re twelve.”

“I guess that’s true,” Kveta replies. “Wow, Eduard, he’s really up in your face. I feel like someone should be shielding your cousins’ eyes.”

Peter laughs from where he’s now standing next to Vinh, peering at her screen. Vinh raises her eyebrows at Kveta, who smiles, bites her lip, and looks away. Eduard has to smother a laugh.

“Again, they’re twelve. And I think it’s time we all start heading home, so I’ll leave you to it, Kveta. Please don’t bother your stepbrother too much.” He tilts his head towards Vinh, quirking his mouth, and Kveta glares but sounds upbeat as ever when she replies.

“Can’t promise anything. Now, next hour, we’re starting off with some new music, so stay tuned. Eduard will be back tomorrow afternoon at four.”

The commercial break starts, and Eduard sets about packing up his things, gesturing Peter away from Vinh so Kveta can talk to her a bit before her own production team takes over. Most days, he’d stay at the studio for a while, but he decides to go home right away—Lars and Peter left some of their school supplies at his house that they’ll probably need tomorrow. So, after saying goodbye to Vinh and Kveta, he herds his cousins and Søren out of the studio and towards the elevator, which they ride down to the parking garage. Søren swings his backpack around and pulls out a knit red scarf.

When they reach the garage, the man grasps Eduard’s shoulder as they exit the elevator, stopping him in his tracks. The boys are already racing towards the car, which Eduard also wouldn’t have taken on most other days, preferring to use the bus, but he figured it’d be smarter to take his cousins that way.

“Hey,” Søren is saying, “I biked here, so—”

“In this cold? Do you want a lift?”

He blinks. Scratches his temple.

“There’s a bike carrier on my car,” Eduard adds. “It’s pretty new, I—”

“Uncle Eduard!” Peter calls, waiting by the back door of the car. Eduard holds up a hand—while Lars reminds his brother it’s first cousin once removed Eduard—and pulls the key fob out of his bag to unlock the door for him, then turns back to Søren.

“It’d be no problem; I could take you all over to your place after we stop by my house.”

“We should do dinner,” Søren says, à propos of nothing, his face bright in the gloom of the garage. “Yeah? I owe you one. What kinda food d’you like?”

“I… No, it’s fine, they’re my cousins, it was no trouble at all! I don’t need anything, Søren.” Eduard laughs awkwardly, fiddling with his glasses and looking towards his car. Peter is peering over the backseat.

“We could take the boys out somewhere—this weekend, maybe, before Tuomi and Torbjörn get back. Doesn’t have to be anything fancy.” His hand, still on Eduard’s shoulder, squeezes gently with every other word as if Søren is trying to get his usual gestures across that way. Or, now that he thinks about it, those are probably actual signs. He smiles.

“Well, maybe. I don’t have a show on the weekends.”

“Yeah?” When he pulls his hand back, Søren’s fingers glance off Eduard’s neck. They’re warm. “I’m sure we can find something even Lars will approve of.”

That sounds dubious, but Eduard will hold out hope. Søren agrees to a lift, though, and they figure out how to put his bike on the carrier without difficulties before piling in and driving over to Eduard’s house.

Søren traipses inside after Lars and Peter, peering around curiously.

“Nice place,” he tells Eduard, who waits in the hall while his cousins collect their things. And, “Hey, you should stay for dinner at mine.”

“Søren…”

“Just sayin’, why eat here all by your lonesome when there’s plenty of food at mine? You gotta go there anyways.” At this, he pokes Eduard’s arm gently. “I mean, if you need some alone time after dealing with those two, I ain’t judging.”

Huffing a laugh, Eduard shakes his head. “I don’t know how Tuomi and Torbjörn do it.”

“Together, and with practice, I guess. Wanna come?”

Eduard contemplates it for a moment, looking into the living room and thinking about the leftover spaghetti he has in the fridge.

“Alright. Thank you, Søren.”

Søren smiles, softer than seems to be the norm for him, his cheeks dimpling gently. It’s like a little ray of sunshine on a December day.

“Boys!” he yells, clasping Eduard’s shoulder again when he winces. “Sorry. I’m no good at regulating my own volume.”

Lars is glaring at his uncle, having already been standing in the doorway to the living room with his school bag in hand and having heard him loud and clear.

“Sorry,” Søren repeats, this time signing it as well, putting his hands together as if in prayer.

“What?” Peter yells back from somewhere else. Seconds later, he skids into the hall, his sneakers leaving black marks on the wood floor. “What.”

“Eduard’s coming over for dinner. Got everything?”

They both nod, and Peter claps Eduard on the back as they all head back out. Søren laughs. He takes his scarf off when he gets into the car this time.

“Hey, are you allergic to anything? Or vegetarian?”

“I’m not, don’t worry.” He checks over his shoulder that his cousins have their seatbelts on, then starts his car. “I mean, I don’t eat a lot of meat these days, but I won’t say no.”

“Hm, yeah, that’s good. I oughta be better at that.”

With Søren’s instructions—gestures included—Eduard finds his building on the outskirts of one of the older suburbs easily. Søren tosses Lars the keys to his apartment and the boys run off while Eduard helps him get his bike down from the car, then waits while he parks it somewhere in the shared storage space.

“Alright! C’mon, Eduard, I don’t really want ‘em to break my kitchen down.”

After taking the stairs, they reach Søren’s apartment on the second floor. The door has been left open, and little lights twinkle around the frame.

“Hey!” Søren says, surprised, as Eduard curiously looks around the narrow hall. It’s much neater than he somehow expected, probably just because of Søren’s slightly chaotic mannerisms. Since he sees that his cousins have lined their shoes up by the door, he takes his own off as well, putting them next to Peter’s.

Entering the living room, he understands Søren’s surprise. Peter and Lars are rushing to set the table, apparently trying to outdo each other in speed. There is a tiny Christmas tree on a dresser that suddenly seems quite precarious.

“Be careful,” Eduard says, a little feebly, and Peter grins at him, his hands stacked with far too many plates for four people. It seems to be going alright for now, so Eduard leaves them be to seek out Søren.

“Uh, Søren?” He walks into the kitchen. It’s a surprisingly large space, and Søren already has some pans out and is reaching up for a cutting board. He doesn’t appear to have heard Eduard over the clattering happening in the living room.

“Are you sure about… That?” Eduard asks, when the man has a hold of his cutting board and spots him.

“What, the boys? They’ll be fine.” Something crashes loudly, and Søren pulls a rueful face at the door. “I jinxed it.”

“We’ve got it, Uncle Søren!” Peter yells.

“I’m gonna just… Hey, Eduard, can you get some water boiling while I go check on that?”

“Of course,” he replies, holding a thumb up. Søren pauses on his way out of the kitchen and smiles.

“Of course,” he repeats, moving his hand forward while he first holds just his pinkie up and then opens his whole hand. He does it again, slightly slower, and Eduard tries to replicate the sign. “Hey, great!”

Before he rushes off to assess the damage, he makes an okay sign with one hand.

Eduard fills a pan with water, assuming it’s for the rice Søren’s put on the counter, and turns the stove on to heat it. Søren returns quickly, carrying almost all of the plates Peter was hauling around.

“I think Tuomi and Torbjörn are raising ‘em too well,” he says, putting the plates away. “I don’t think I ever voluntarily set the table until I moved out. Can you slice these peppers?”

Eduard can, while Søren pulls some chicken out the fridge to fry it.

“They’re just hungry. Besides, didn’t they just break a plate?”

“Just the one, it’s fine. I definitely wouldn’t have done a chore if I was hungry. Gotta wonder how Torbjörn turned out so decent.”

“Keeping you in check?”

Søren laughs heartily at that, leaning his hands on the counter so that his shoulders shake visibly. He’s just in his T-shirt again, and Eduard can see now that it is merch of a band he plays sometimes and likes well enough, although he wouldn’t call himself a fan. He slices the bell peppers and some cauliflower, and smiles as a delicious spicy scent fills the kitchen a while later.

Peter sidles into the kitchen as Søren covers the pan to let it simmer for a while. He looks like he’s about to lift the lid again.

“Hey, hey, watch out,” Søren says, pulling his hand away. “That’s hot.”

“I just wanna see.”

He’s always done that, as far as Eduard knows. He can clearly recall a load of pictures of toddler Peter pressed up against the glass of ovens and washing machines and microwaves. He wonders when he’ll grow out of it, or if he’ll be like Tuomi, who still watches whatever he’s cooking for at least ten minutes, but then Tuomi is bad at cooking and might just be making sure it’s not going to explode.

Peter stubbornly crosses his arms and stares at the pan.

“Are you planning on staying there?” Søren asks.

“Probably,” he replies brightly, turning his head to address his uncle. Søren throws a fond smile at him and ruffles his hair before he can duck away.

“Eduard, by the way, I still think we should get dinner this weekend,” he says, pointing a finger at Eduard, who accepts that with a helpless gesture, mostly aimed in an amused Peter’s direction.

“Is that where you get that stubborn streak from?” Eduard asks him, and both Peter and Søren burst out laughing at that.

“It’s like you’ve never even met his parents!”

“Pa says no one is allowed to play Monopoly anymore.” Peter shrugs. “Not that I wanted to, Monopoly’s boring, but Lars got real upset about it.”

“Dad stole all my hotels!” Lars yells from the living room, sounding extremely indignant. Tuomi really is that sort of person, Eduard thinks, glancing at Søren in amusement, but Søren is narrowing his eyes and looking at Peter questioningly.

“Dad stole Lars’s hotels,” the boy relays, and Søren nods, now returning Eduard’s look.

“No Monopoly, got it. I’m sure I got some other games, though, we’ll check it out later.”

Peter grins, nodding. Eduard fears that both his cousins have inherited Tuomi’s competitiveness.

Dinner is good. Eduard is used to eating by himself, or sometimes with Vinh or another coworker, often the early afternoon duo—he tends to spend that time looking at his phone, or, in the latter case, trying to mediate yet another argument between them. It’s nice to have someone to talk to instead of just listening to music or reading news articles.

Søren still gestures wildly while he’s eating, cutlery and all, sometimes even half-forming signs, but he somehow manages to avoid flinging any food as he does so. He says it’s an acquired skill, then launches into a story about throwing soup into Torbjörn’s hair when they were teenagers that has Peter laughing so hard he nearly chokes and Lars, in turn, yelling at him not to throw up or he’ll kill him.

“I’m not,” Peter replies, glaring fiercely even as he breaks out in a hacking cough again, and then quickly signs something at his brother that makes Lars glare back. They definitely inherited that from Torbjörn. Eduard gently claps Peter’s back, and even though he doesn’t think it’s helping much, Peter eventually quiets. His breathing settles back into a normal rhythm, and he takes a large gulp of his water.

“Peter, don’t confuse your cousin,” Søren says, making a downward slashing motion with both hands.

“Sorry, Uncle Eduard,” Peter tells him. He picks his fork back up.

“It’s fine,” Eduard replies, after realizing Søren is talking about Peter using sign language, which he doesn’t understand. Lars, on the other side of the table, rolls his eyes and touches his hand to his shoulder, which makes Søren sigh and shake his head at him.

“It is difficult, Lars.”

Eduard gestures for him to leave it be—wondering as he does so what his gesture might actually imply—and Søren doesn’t say anything else about it, but he does grumble, later, while they load the dishes into the dishwasher, that he knows his brother made it a point that they shouldn’t use sign language to exclude anyone on purpose.

“Probably ‘cause our parents had the same rule,” he explains, leaning back against the counter and crossing his arms. His T-shirt stretches across his shoulders, quite nicely, Eduard thinks. “Although that was mostly ‘cause we were better at it than them. Still are, and my mom would still put me in timeout too, 39 years old or not.”

“That sounds fair. I really didn’t mind, though.”

“It’s the principle of the thing, y’know?”

There is a ruckus from the living room. Søren raises his dark eyebrows questioningly.

“They’re, ah… They’re arguing over which game they want to play.”

“Yeah, that seems about right. Are you staying longer or are you heading home?”

“I should probably be going, I like to do some preparations before I go to sleep.” He adjusts his glasses. “Thank you for dinner. You’re always welcome at mine, too.”

“Might take you up on that, Eduard.” Søren runs a hand over his hair and pushes away from the counter. “I’ll probably see you around before the end of the week, I need your help with those kids.”

“Like I said, their parents do it together too.”

That gets him a lopsided grin and a wink that he doesn’t know what to think about but quite likes anyway. Eduard goes to collect his coat and shoes, bids his cousins a good night before they both try to convince him their choice of board game is the right one, and heads out. Søren walks him down to the parking lot.

“I’ll see you, then,” he tells the man, biting his lip when he gets another lopsided smile.

“See you ‘round, Eduard.” He waves shortly when Eduard pulls up in his car, illuminated for a moment by the headlights as he turns off the parking lot. Still just in his T-shirt.

Back home, Eduard leans over to get his papers out of the glovebox, and his hand brushes against something soft. Blinking, he picks it up from the passenger seat and lets the soft wool run across his hands. Søren’s scarf, he realizes, and takes it inside with him.

He’s sure he’ll have the opportunity to return it soon enough.

[anxiouslymalicious]

Losers Club Plus One

Richie Tozier x daughter!reader series

A/N: Hi there! I’m so sorry I haven’t posted in a long while, but writing became more of a duty than something enjoyable so I took some time off and did some shit. I’m feeling really fucking good now, ready to get back into writing. I’m kind of nervous to post this because this is my first time writing for this fandom and the characters and I’m not sure if this is good, but it’s fun to write so I hope you guys stick with me. 

This is going to be as close to the movie as possible, but there will be inserts of the book, maybe even of the 90ies movies if I feel like they would work better with the slightly off plot that I’m creating. Anyway, I hope you enjoy! Oh, and the usual warnings for cursing, death, mentions of blood and alcohol etc. apply. It’s IT so shit is going down.

I hope you enjoy!

“Dad? Are you alright?” asked a small voice behind Richie as he was still in utter shock. Well, the owner of the voice wasn’t exactly small anymore, but it sounded so hesitant and broken, it might as well had been a little kid trying to catch his attention. His throat was still burning, the foul taste of bile laid heavily on his tongue. Richie’s face scrunched up in disgust as another wave if nausea hit him.

“Yeah, yeah I’m good- “ He started, but was interrupted by himself as he leant over the railing and more of his stomach’s content escaped. The young girl stepped closer to her father, lying her hand on his back in a comforting manner before a group of people busied her father again, giving him booze and water before his show.

“Be good, little one.” Richie rushed out as he passed his phone to his daughter who would take it to his dressing room where it wouldn’t be any more of a distraction than it had been so far. The girl nodded and sent a smile his way, but he didn’t catch it anymore as he stormed out onto the huge stage, greeted by cheers. The smile was quickly wiped off the girl’s face as she made her way through the narrow hallways filled with too many people for her liking. Ducking under equipment, dodging people in suits who were too busy looking at their phones to realise where they were going and ignoring the voices of people telling her that she was not supposed to go into certain areas. She was, they just didn’t know, so she showed them her backstage pass and kept walking until she saw the door to her safety. Once she stepped into the stuffy room that reeked of cigarettes and alcohol, she closed the door behind her, locked it and made herself comfortable on the little couch.

Her father’s phone was buzzing in the young girl’s pocket, catching her attention. Who in hell had called and what did they say to throw her father so out of track? Judging by the nervous voices around her in the hallways, she was sure that her father wasn’t off to a good start for the show, something that hadn’t happened in ages. Not since his first actual show.

The girl was absent-mindedly biting her nails before another buzz of her father’s phone pulled her out of it and she decided to have a look. Richie’s phone was blowing up with messages from his manager, which she decided to ignore as she checked the calls. It hadn’t taken her long to figure out that Richie had been called by someone from Derry, Maine, but a bit of deeper digging told her that it was actually the local library’s number. Rather than reaching the sweet relief of knowing, she felt her insides churn with fear and confusion, feeling restless until she heard the familiar ruckus that ensued when her father was close to finishing a show.

It had felt like literal ages since Richie had left for the stage and the young girl was eager to ask her father about what was going on. Especially after that whole library-thing. Obviously, she had checked several times that she got the number right, and she did. Was her father throwing up because he was so nervous over a few overdue books from years ago?

The whole time she spent waiting, the girl tried to figure out whether her father had been on tour in Derry, whether he had even mentioned Derry ever before, but she was sure that, in her years of living with her father, she had never so much as heard him utter the word ‘Derry’ ever before.

Quickly, the girl moved to unlock the door so her father wouldn’t run into the door again like he had many times already, then sat down on the couch again, her leg bouncing nervously as she mindlessly tapped her fingers against the phone in her hand.

It wasn’t long until Richie stormed into the room, locking every unnecessary person out and turned to his daughter, drink in hand, holding his other hand out for her to pass him his phone. She did, following their usually so quiet routine. After spending more than an hour talking endlessly about whatever jokes they had put into the set, he was grateful when he could spent a few minutes not saying anything, just listening to the voice of his daughter telling him about what had happened in school that day, telling him what stupid things someone backstage did or what she and her friends were up to. It was relaxing to him, knowing that she was there, and her life was going somewhere.

But not this time.

“Dad why did the Derry library call you?” she asked with the calmest voice she could muster, although her voice was shaking with fear. Of what, she didn’t know, not yet, but she knew it was something big. Something bigger than her or him. Something bigger than overdue books and the terrifying old ladies that would scold you and make you feel like crying even when it had only been a day overdue.

“It wasn’t the library, it was,” Richie sighed before taking another sip of his drink, “It was an old friend of mine. Mike Hanlon. We made a promise when we were kids and now, I need to go back to Derry.” Richie mumbled into his glass. Nonetheless, she understood every single word he said.

“We.” She said, crossing her arms in front of her chest as she got up from where she was curled up on the couch.

“No. Definitely not. You’re staying here.” Richie said before downing the rest of his drink and looking through the cabinets for a new bottle.

“On my own? Or with my non-existent mother who left me at your door, remember? Or with the neighbours? The creepy ones with all those fucking life-size dolls?” she asked, her voice growing louder.

“Oh, fuck off, you’re lucky you’re my daughter, Y/N.” Richie said before letting his own body drop to the couch she had previously occupied. “Shouldn’t have let you watch my shows. Big Bill is going to love you.” Richie grumbled, rubbing his face. A grin spread on Y/N’s face as she sat next to her father, lightly leaning her head against his shoulder. Automatically, Richie’s arm spread over her shoulder, pulling her closer, trying to keep her safe from what was about to come. From the inhuman atrocities she was about to witness. Keep her safe from IT.

“When are we leaving?” she mumbled into Richie’s shoulder. Another sigh escaped his lips.

“As soon as possible.” He told her and, so, she found herself in an airplane not much later. They would fly as close to Derry as possible before taking a rental car to drive to the Derry Town House where they would be staying.

“What was Derry like? And your friends?” Y/N asked curiously as they found their seats on the plane. She watched as her father stared straight ahead for a few seconds, eyebrows furrowed, as he was deep in thought.

“I- I don’t- I can’t fucking remember. I honestly can’t remember shit, Y/N.” Richie mumbled, followed by a groan as an indescribable pain shot through his eyes. He closed them tightly, his hands flying to the armrests, fingernails digging into the material. Y/N watched on, shocked to say the least. Shaking her father, she tried to find out what was wrong with him, but as suddenly as this burning pain in his eyes, behind his eyes, had appeared, it had also gone.

“Don’t worry, I’m fucking fantastic.” Richie grumbled towards his worried daughter as he leant back in his seat, trying to remember where that came from, why it felt so familiar.

After many tiresome hours that were mostly spent sleeping, with rare exceptions of Richie mumbling to string his memories together, using her as some kind of journal to keep track of what he remembered and how his memories were connected, the father-daughter-duo found themselves just outside the airport, looking for the car they rented, on wobbly legs. The sunset was about to start, the sun lazily rose, turning the deep dark blue into a pale, greyish-blue colour that slowly but surely turned into a pinkish hue.

“Did you fall asleep standing or are you just being the same lazy ass as always?” Richie screamed, standing in front of the car that seemed to be theirs. And, for the first time in many hours, Y/N could see the outlines of a genuine smile growing on her father’s face. And she couldn’t help but smile with him.

“Just wanted you to do all the searching, old man.” She grinned as she took her bag to the car and got in. Richie, obviously, searched for a radio station that played some good old rock’n’roll to distract him for the fear rising in the pit of his stomach. He was scared, but he wouldn’t admit it to his daughter. Because he wasn’t only afraid of IT and the things IT might do not only to him, but also his friends or, worst of all, his daughter, but Richie was afraid of facing his old friends. Or more those who would appear. He didn’t have high hopes for them, expecting that maybe three of them would appear and he would be able to take his and his daughter’s ass out of the town first thing after the lunch because they were not enough to defeat IT.

That thought kept Richie sane as he walked up the scarily unfamiliar yet strangely street towards the Town House. Shivers ran up and down his spine and he felt Y/N’s comforting hand on his back, trying her best to ground him. And, just like her father, Y/N wouldn’t admit that she was scared. She hadn’t seen what he had, she didn’t know what she was facing, what was so chilling about this town, its residents and its sewers, but she had never seen her father this quiet before. And that scared her.

Once they arrived in their small room, the duo sat down on the edges of their beds, silence taking over. The sun had meanwhile risen higher, clearly visible and warming the cool streets.

“Maybe we should order breakfast or nap a bit?” the young girl broke the unbearable silence, pregnant with unspoken opinions. Richie still thought she shouldn’t be here with him, but in their house back in LA. Y/N, however, was convinced that her father needed her support with whatever he was about to do. He still refused to tell her about IT, still hoping that they would be gone in a few hours and she didn’t need to be scared of something they couldn’t do anything about, something they didn’t need to fight.

Richie nodded, kicked off his shoes with a sigh and laid back on his bed. His daughter grew irritated.

“Maybe you can order something while I’m taking a shower. Maybe then you’ll have your panties untwisted.” The girl said before stepping into the small room, closing and locking the door behind her. What she didn’t expect, though, was to come face to face with a boy her age. He looked like a normal kid, soft curls surrounding his face, but there was something off about him.

“I see, the loser’s newest addition finally made it to Derry. And she has just as many secrets as all the other losers.” Said the boy with a chilling smile on his thin lips.

“What the actual fuck are you doing here and how the fuck did you get in here? You know what? Doesn’t matter right now. Just please get the fuck out.” She growled, puzzled at how neither she nor Richie had noticed a teenage boy hiding in their bathroom. Hadn’t her father used the bathroom when they first entered?

As she turned to unlock the door, an ice-cold hand laid itself on her shoulder, pulling her back into the cold body behind her. She now squirmed, trying to unlock and open the door rather frantically, desperate to get away from whatever ghostly being was behind her, but no matter how hard she tried, which way she turned the key, it did nothing to open the door.

“Dad!” she yelled, hammering her hands against the wood. “Help me! Some creep is in here and I can’t get out.” Richie was up in a flash, his heart feeling like it just dropped to his stomach, and ran to the door, yelling his little girl’s name in despair and banging his fists against the old door.

“Y/N, whatever you’re seeing is not real. Don’t be scared, it’s not real!” Richie screamed, his voice clear but shaky. The girl was confused at his utterances.

“How is he not-“ she started, but stopped when the boy was grinning at her, now looking older than before and covered head to toe in blood that was streaming from the huge cuts on his lower arms. “WHAT THE FUCK?!” she forced out instead and tried to get as far away from the being as possible.

“Don’t worry, Richie. She will float with all the other children and your dirty little secret will remain uncovered.” It said in a high voice that didn’t fit the man in front of the girl before trying to grab her throat. Y/N tried to duck away, but she felt her body being pushed forward against the sink, her head crashing against the mirror, breaking it.

“Y/N! Try to hurt it! It’s not real! Not real, it’s not real!” Richie kept yelling through the door as he kept kicking and throwing his whole body against the fragile wood. Although his words were meant to comfort his daughter, it sounded more like a mantra he was using to comfort himself. The girl listened to her father, picking up some of the shards that were now in the sink. With a swift movement, she sunk the shard into the older man’s face, pulling it down as hard as she could. A huge gash was on the man’s bloody face, but instead of more blood, some black mass seeped out of the wound, but whatever it was that was standing in front of the teenager, it didn’t seem too phased. An angry expression formed on its face before it leaped for her, grasping her throat and pushing her up against the wall. She was gasping, desperate to fill her lungs with the oxygen they were already lacking, but not yet screaming for. She squirmed, hammering the shard in her hand against the thing, successfully hurting it. It let go of her, dropping her into the bathtub below her before fleeing through the toilet.

Richie finally managed to break down the door, falling into the room only to find his daughter shaken up beyond belief, curled up in the bathtub. Unshed tears glistened in her eyes while blood streamed down her suddenly paler than usual complexion from an open wound on her forehead. She didn’t look like she had seen a ghost, she looked like she was the ghost.

“Oh god, come here. I- fuck. It’s alright, it’s over. You’re alright. Fucking hell, you’re alright.” Richie mumbled as he crawled into the bathtub with her, pulling his little girl into his arms, tightly pressing her shaking body into his chest. Soft whimpers escaped her lips against her will. Richie spread out a little, legs hanging out of the bathtub as he just tried to comfort her while trying not to lose it and leave immediately. Back to LA, where IT couldn’t reach them.

[kingofbr00klyn]

Newsies prompts! Yeah! Um... 1. Jack being a big brother to Race. 2. Crutchie and Racetrack getting into some trouble together. 3. Jack and Spot caring for some of the littles. Pick one or write them all idc. Can’t wait to read!

Hi this took me like 4 days to write, I thought it was longer than that but okay, I have loads of other stuff in the works, this is just the first one I finished. Sorry for the wait. So this is for the prompt we’re Crutchie and Race get into trouble.

I tried to mix both 1992sies and livesies in this, but I don’t think it really comes across. Also, this story is ever so slightly exaggerated, but oh well. But it’s been a while since I’ve written anything, so this probably isn’t the best.

This will also be found on my AO3 account.

"Remind me ta never listen ta you again."

"How was I'se suppost ta know this would 'appen?"

"Well, I dunno. But now I’m in trouble because a�� summing I didn’t even do."

“Oh c’mon! Nuthin’ bad happened. I came out worse than you did. You get to go home scot-free.”

“But still. This is all your fault an’ I’m gonna make sure everyone knows it.”

"Wow, Crutch, whatta' way to throw a pal under da bus."

"You'se deserve it."

Race rolled his eyes and sulked further down into his chair, only to regret it when the hard plastic rubbed uncomfortably into his back. He glanced at his companion, who looked just about as shit as he felt. Crutchie kept nervously running a hand through his hair and fidgeting with the helm of his shirt, he looked like someone who had just been caught doing something illegal. Oh wait, that's because he had. Let's take a step back, shall we?

2 hours earlier.

Crutchie stood outside his door step, awaiting Race's arrival. The two had decided to spend the evening together, since none of their other friends were available. Race had said he would pick him up at 6. After Crutchie's watch ticked 6:15, Race's old TP Cruiser pulled up. He wore a bright, cheeky grin as he leaned over to open the passenger side door. "Get in loser, we're going shopping!" Crutchie gleefully obliged, grabbing his crutch and sliding into the front seat.

"Are you ready for the funnest night of yer life?" Race asked, a unlit cigar hanging loosely from his mouth.

Crutchie laughed. "We'se just goin' ta the diner on 4th, ain't we?"

"Nope," Race grabbed something from the cupholder beside him and handed it to Crutchie. "Just got this from my guy. Thought we'd treat ourselves tonight." It was a fake ID.

Antonio Higgings

11/12l1997

XXX XXXX XXX

XX/XX/XX

XX/XX/XX

"Yer guy?" Crutchie snorted, handing the card back. "You'se mean Albert."

"Maybe I do. Anyway, I'm low on cigs and shit, so I thought we'se stop by a corner shop and see how well this baby works." Starting the engine, Race pulled out of Crutchie's drive and set off for the nearest place that would give them what they wanted.

"What if we'se get caught? I don't wanna be done just because you'se got a nicotine addiction." Crutchie offered, messing with the diles for the radio.

"Then I punch Albert in the face," Race resorted. That drew a snicker from the blonde. "But seriously, don't worry 'bout it. Everthin's gonna be a-okay!"

Spolier altert; it wasn't.

After 10 or so minutes of driving, Race pulled to a stop and poorly parked the car. "Eh, good enough." He got out, with Crutchie tailing right behind him.

"You don't gotta come in. Ya know, cuz yer so scared of gettin' caught." The taller boy mocked.

Crutchie retaliated by hitting Race in the leg with his crutch. "I'm comin' wit' cha so you don't get punched in the face." Race forged offence, but waved off the comment.

The shop was small, just your regular off-licence, cheap booze with an even cheaper taste, the perfect thing to fuel Race's needs. A little bell rang as they opened the door, there weren't many people inside the shop, Crutchie noted the few middle aged men who were likely in there for similar reasons as themselves. Race swaggered to the front counter, an air of confidence around him. The shop clerk, a young man with a stoic expression, rolled his eyes at the tall blonde.

"What can I get you?" The clerk's tone was as cheerful as expected.

Race grinned cockily. "A smile would be a start, sweetheart," The shop clerk didn't respond, but continued to glare the boy down. "Okay then… A box o' ya finest Corona's and summa that scotch ya got up there." Race slapped $50 on the counter, along with his fake ID.

The clerk picked the card up, eying it suspiciously. Crutchie had a feeling this wouldn’t end well. “Yah think you’re funny, kid? Think I don’t know what a fake ID looks like?” The clerk said. “I’m gonna have to call the cops, you know.”

Race’s expression floored. Disbelief and fear quickly made itself at home. Crutchie felt a similar dread rise up in his stomach, he looked to Race for an inkling of what to do next, but the tall boy just continued to stare dumbly. Until he finally said, “I’m gonna fuckin’ kill Albert.”

As it turns out, the shop had an undercover officer outside the shop to deal with instances like this. The clerk called him in, and he escorted Crutchie and Race to the local station. Luckily, they had pretty much just been given a slap on the wrist and a call home. Except, since this wasn’t Race’s first offence, so he had also been slapped with a $50 fine.

The boys anxiously awaited the arrival of the parents. Race had already had a million and one messages from his brother, Jack. The sonva’ was having a field day with this. Text after text about how much trouble Race would be in, how he was grounded and how much shit Jack’s going to give him for this. Race ignored his brother, instead opting for spamming Albert with a variety of angry messages in all caps.

GottaGoFast - RedHeadHoe

19:05

GottaGoFast: ALBERT FUCKING DASILVA

GottaGoFast: U FUCKING BITCH

GottaGoFast: IM SO GOING TO KILL U

RedHeadHoe: ???

GottaGoFast: im at the police station

RadHeadHoe: oh what did u do now???

RedHeadHoe: OH

RedHeadHoe: YOU GOT CAUGHT

RedHeadHoe: HA

GottaGoFast: YEAH AND ITS ALL UR FAULT

RedHeadHoe: how is it my fault???

GottaGoFast: BECAUSE UR THE 1 WHO GAVE ME THE ID

RedHeadHoe: dude u didnt have to use it

RedHeadHoe: also i dont make them so it aint my fault

RedHeadHoe: blame my guy

GottaGoFast: ur guy?????

RedHeadHoe: ye

RedHeadHoe: skittery

GottaGoFast: ok but ur still dead

RedHeadHoe: cool

GottaGoFast: dentys gonna be here soon so gotta go

RedHeadHoe: good luck my dude

GottaGoFast: fuck u

RedHeadHoe: :)

Race slipped his phone into his pocket, just in time to see some familiar faces walk though the station door. Bryan Denton, Race’s foster father, walked up to the receptionist desk, before being pointed towards where the boys were sitting. Race looked at Crutchie, before straightening his back and putting on his most charming smile. "Heya Denty!" Race beamed, hoping to the gods above that this would go in his favour. Bryan didn't look particularly mad, but Denton never really got mad. It was like the man was incapable of it, it was great, and Race had done a lot of things that would cause any parent to flip their shit.

"Race," Bryan started, calm and collected as always."What were you thinking?" Okay, maybe it wasn't as great as Race thought, Denton's tranquill state was quite unsettling at the moment, Race had no idea what he was thinking.

"We'se just wanted to have a bit a' fun, ya know, teenage stuff," The blonde rubbed the back of his neck nervously. "Did they'se tell ya 'bout da fine?"

"Yeah, they told me over the phone," Denton said. "I'll pay it and then we'll go home. Jack's waiting for us in the car.”

Race rolled his eyes. "Oh yay."

Crutchie didn't really pay much attention to the scene in front of him, he was too caught up in his own head. Fear and worry filled his thoughts, his grandmother wasn't the most forgiving then it came to things like this. Crutchie remembered once when he was 7 and snuck out of his room in the middle of the night to get one of the freshly baked cookies his grandmother had made that day, the elderly woman had found out about his midnight snack and boy was there hell to pay. She wasn't particularly mean or nasty, she could just be strict at times.

Times like these, Crutchie thought as he saw his grandmother barrel towards him with an expression that would make the toughest of men wet themselves. "Charles Andrew Morris! You are in so much trouble, young man!" Oh no, she used his full name. He really was a goner.

"Race, I don't think I'm comin' outta this alive…” Crutchie said.

Race snorted. "Don't worry, my dude, I got this." Crutchie didn't have time to ask what 'this' was, as Race stepped in front of him and greeted his grandmother.

"Mrs Morris, so good ta see ya 'gain," Race started. That diverted the woman from her path of destruction, as she instead gave the blonde a striking glare. The Italian tried not to shrink under her gaze, opting to continue with his sentence. "So um, ya see, Ma'am. It wasn't actually Crutchie's fault, it was mine. So, err, don't punish him for my mistake."

What?

Crutchie was in complete disbelief. And he wasn't the only one, Bryan shared a similar expression. While Race was a good friend, he was also a bit of an asshole, so him taking all the blame for this (even though it was his fault), was a surprise.

Crutchie’s grandmother eyed the boy suspiciously, before she turned on her heels and walked away. “Come on, Charlie, it’s time to go home.”

Crutchie was slightly dumbfounded, but didn’t question as he hugged Race. “Thanks man.”

Race winked and smiled. “No problem, Crutch. Text me if you ain’t dead!”

“Will do!”

RiceCrutchies - Racer

21:35

RiceCrutchies: Guess who aint dead :)))

Racer: yayyyy

Racer: so what happened

RiceCrutchies: Gran wasn’t very happy but she wasnt too mad

RiceCrutchies: Im grounded for 2 weeks tho

Racer: oh well at least we had 1 last night of fun before that

RiceCrutchies: Yea so how’d it go with Denton???

Racer: not too bad

Racer: im also grounded but they took my cigs at the police station so i need to get more from Albert

RiceCrutchies: You think you would have learnt your lesson but ok

Racer: 👌

Racer: i gotta go crutch see you in school???

RiceCrutchies: Yeah, see you and try not to do anything illegal between then

Racer: no promises

RiceCrutchies: 🤦‍

[queenbirbs]

threshold | Ethan Ramsey x MC

AN: A canon-divergent AU from chapter 15 and onward. Part three of the metaphor series, part 1 and part 2 are here. Title taken from The National’s Oblivions.  

WC: 5,970 Rating: Explicit Warning(s): NSFW, some alcohol consumption 

+

He isn’t even in the city when it happens.

Ethan is as far down and as far east as the Massachusetts state line will allow, holed up in a little seaside shack in Eastham, perched on an uncomfortable barstool, and drinking the finest liquor Josie’s Bar and Grill has to offer. Which isn’t really saying much, given the paltry choices and the unmistakable grime of seaspray that coats every glass.

Why Naveen came out here to die is a mystery to him.

His mentor sits to his left, facing the large windows that overlook Samoset Beach and, beyond that, Cape Cod Bay. Outside the minimal protection Josie’s split-shake walls offer, the waves are a noisy, angry mess. A late summer storm roils towards them from the west, turning that deep, coastal blue into an unsettling gray. Wind knocks at the tacky decorations nailed to the walls, the chipped fenders and plastic seahorses and rusted anchors clanking against the clapboard paneling.

There’s a television above the bar, where a looping clip of a home run plays next to a grinning news anchor.

Ethan chooses to watch the liquor in his glass as he swirls it, before picking it up and taking another sip. He’s lost count of how many he’s ordered, but the bartender hasn’t cut him off yet, so he must not be that drunk yet. Which is unfortunate, really -- because that would make this a hell of a lot easier.

“I still think--” he starts, but he’s quickly cut off.

“Oh, yes, I know. That is the root of all of your problems, I believe.” Naveen tilts his head to grin at him. “You think too much. Sometimes, it’s important to let your brain rest.”

“So, what -- you let yours rest and it somehow convinced you that giving up is the best option?” Ethan mutters. Tossing back the rest of his drink, he sets it down none-too-gently against the gritty bartop and motions for another.

Next to him, Naveen sighs, the line of his shoulders easing.

“This is where you and I part ways. I don’t see it as giving up. I see it as fate handing me the most ironic of cards to deal.”

Ethan shifts in his seat, uncomfortable with the dreamy tone to Naveen’s voice.

“I think it’s time to settle your tab.”

“I’m not intoxicated. My two beers don’t hold a candle to your eight rounds, anyway.” Before Ethan can object to the number (though the numb feeling in his lips tells him it’s likely an accurate count), Naveen continues. “I don’t want to spend the rest of my short time drunk. I want to see the world with clear eyes, take in the beauty it has to offer me.”

Twisting to glance over his shoulder, Ethan takes in the stormy scape that he’s watching and snorts.

“Doesn’t seem like much to me.”

“That’s because you’re viewing it with your eyes closed, my boy. You expect the worst, so you see nothing. Your pessimism has put a knife on the things that held you together, and you have fallen apart. There is beauty in everything, though -- the white petals of the waves, the rolling current, the sound the rain makes atop the water. You see a nuisance; I see a force of nature.”

Across from them, three of the bar’s seven patrons toss back shots of cheap tequila, their University of Delaware T-shirts a searing shade of yellow. The other two patrons are seated at the end of the horseshoe-shaped bar, picking at a plate of mozzarella sticks, disappointment visible in the turn of their frowns.

That Doctor Naveen Banerji, esteemed diagnostician and saver of thousands of lives, would choose such a locale to spend his last days on earth is so depressing a thought that Ethan tosses the fresh glass of scotch back and signals immediately for another one. “Oh, now, that’s a poor response to my waxing poetic to… oh, goodness.”

He looks up just as Naveen’s hand comes to settle on his wrist, squeezing it tightly as he stares just over Ethan’s right shoulder. Turning his head sharply, he searches for what’s brought such concern into Naveen’s gaze. It doesn’t take long to find it.

On the television, a reporter stands at the intersection of Nashua Street and Route 28, her eyes wide and face pale under the camera crew’s bright lights.

A growing horror paralyzes Ethan as he takes in the scene behind her, lit up by the emergency lights. Two subway cars lie on their sides, smashed into the pavement. A third car dangles over the side of the elevated track, clinging to a fourth car that’s crushed between a pillar and the station. Concrete slabs and metal sheeting litter the asphalt from where the cars broke through the station’s barrier. The taillights of two automobiles, their cabins crushed underneath the fallen train, reflect the incessant pulse of police lights. Blue tarpaulin sheets cover the windows of the subway cars, hiding the gruesome scenes inside from the public eye.

Dozens injured in Green Line train derailment, the white text in the lower third reads.

The bar’s music is too loud for him to hear, but the closed captions across the bottom of the screen do little to alleviate his worries, especially when death toll remains unknown tickers across.

“That’s the station most of the employees use, correct?” Naveen asks. But his voice sounds as if he’s speaking through a wall. Ethan can only hear the distinct noise of his heartbeat in his ears that blocks everything else out.

“It is,” he chokes out, his hands immediately scrambling for the phone in his pocket.

It’s the station Sloane uses religiously, despite another being closer to the hospital, because she gets to enjoy a scenic walk down Thoreau Path. The same path she followed him down when he quit, demanding he stop and talk to her. Which he ignored and kept on walking, leaving her behind (and then leaving her in every other sense of the word and god, what an idiot he was for thinking that was for the best). Every ounce of injured pride and disappointment in himself as a doctor pales to the hot twist of nausea he feels as he looks over the accident scene.  

Tapping her name, he brings the phone to his ear and waits with bated breath as it rings. There’s no relief, though, when the call rolls to her voicemail. Her cheery tone promises that she’ll return his call just as soon as she can.

“It’s Ethan,” he says after the beep. “I’m out of town with -- I, please call me back and let me know you’re alright. I saw the news about the subway accident and I just… I need you to call me back. Please.”

Naveen’s grip tightens on his arm. Behind them, the storm rages closer; the windows rattle in their panes, the rain pelts at the glass.

“She’s okay, don’t worry.”

Ethan shakes his head, dragging in a strangled breath as panic sinks its claws into him. Dialing the hospital next, he realizes by the sixth try that he’s not going to get through to anyone there -- the lines are too clogged with loved ones, demanding to know if their spouse or sibling or best friend has been admitted. When he tries to access the day’s shift schedule, his work email throws up an error message, notifying him that his account has been deactivated and to contact his network administrator for help.

Text me back. I need to know you’re okay, he sends her, staring at the screen in hopes the three little dots will appear.

No reply comes.

Unable to sit there and wait patiently, Ethan moves down his contact list, worry outweighing the awkwardness of texting colleagues that he left high and dry with his sudden departure. He sends a text to Zaid and Ines and even one to Harper, requesting for them to let him know if all staff are safe and accounted for.

It’s a pointless move, though, given that such a situation would call for an all-hands-on-deck in the ER. And when ten more minutes go by with no responses, he signals for another round.

“If I know our Doctor McTavish, she’s certainly too busy helping out to bother with the likes of you,” Naveen points out, a small smirk lifting the corner of his lips.

Ethan ruminates on his recent track record: losing Dolores, failing Naveen and letting him walk away from a possible cure (that he’s yet to find). It wouldn’t be such a leap to follow the pattern that his life has taken recently and assume the worst with Sloane.

“I want to share your optimism, but I -- I seem to carry bad luck around with me lately,” he mutters. His gaze is set firmly on the television screen, not daring himself to look away in the event they reveal any sort of clue. They wouldn’t announce casualties, not this soon and not without notifying family first. It’s the only solace he can take right now.

“No,” Naveen corrects, patting him gently, “you carry a bad attitude. There is a difference.”

Before he can start up a speech on looking at the bright side and other empty phrases of comfort, the power flickers once, then twice, before succumbing to the storm and winking out entirely. Darkness soaks the bar. Shouts of alarm from the college kids soon grow to rough peals of laughter as the bartender cracks a joke. The only light comes from what little evening sun makes it through the thick clouds, mottling the gray sky with a tinge of bruised yellow.

There’s a flurry of movement as staff search and retrieve candles, setting them on the bartop. Someone hauls out a Coleman lantern and a crank radio and the disappointed couple even joins in, offering to buy everyone a round. Raucous shouts of praise come from the college kids over the snappy vocals of Eddie Rabbitt, professing his love for a rainy night.

It’s the kind of scene that Sloane would insist on joining, would demand he get off his barstool and dance with her, would croon along to the song in that terrible singing voice of hers. The one Ethan only knows about because of the many mornings he’s driven the both of them to work, when it’s gotten too late for her to bother heading home after a night of research (among other things) at his place, when he acquiesces to her demands to play something other than the local classical station.  

The thought of never hearing her off-key singing, or never experiencing the comfort of her giving into sleep and leaning against him on his couch, or never waking with her next to him -- it’s a little too much for him and his eleven rounds to handle.

Dropping his phone onto the bar, Ethan covers his face with his hands and tries to shove away the emotions that threaten to make their way to the surface. He pushes them down, stuffing them into the dented suitcase that is his heart and he’s too drunk for this, for thinking in metaphors, for thinking of Sloane behind those blue tarps, bloodied and bruised, far too injured for help, being passed over by paramedics when they realize the same thing, leaving her alone to--

“Oh, Ethan,” Naveen is saying, his palm moving in soothing circles against his back. “It’s going to be alright.”

There’s movement to his left, a pained grunt as Naveen moves to stand, his hand never leaving his back. The bartender comes over and the two talk in low tones about the tab, and then a taxi. Some undetermined amount of time passes, which Ethan spends thinking more terrible thoughts while Naveen murmurs placating words. Then he’s being hauled out of the bar and under the front awning, where a tremendous downpour and a yellow cab arrive simultaneously for them.

He spends the short ride with his eyes firmly shut, listening to Naveen’s soft conversation with someone named Ninut, who promises to call him back if they can find out if Sloane is on shift. Then there’s a tastefully-decorated coastal bungalow and a cream couch with entirely too many throw pillows, the latter of which Naveen leads him to and demands for him to lie down on. Given how hazy everything looks in the lamplight, Ethan follows his orders.

Disappearing around the corner, Naveen bangs about in the kitchen -- opening and closing cabinets, running water, knocking a spoon against glass -- before he shuffles back into the living room. He pushes a glass of water into Ethan’s hands.

“What’s in this?”

“A physician-certified hangover cure.”

He takes a sip, then another, but can taste nothing around the lump in his throat.

“It’s just water, isn’t it?”

“A physician never reveals his secrets.”

“We’re not magicians,” Ethan scoffs.

“No?” Naveen settles onto the couch and tips his head to the side, his eyes softening as he looks over his protégé. “I thought you believed yourself to be one, seeing as you’ve been trying to treat something incurable for the past two months.”

In lieu of a response, Ethan takes another drink of water. Across the room, sliding glass doors frame an image of the bay, where storm clouds still circle overhead. “Go to sleep. Things will be better in the morning.”

“I’m… not sure I want to,” Ethan admits, damning the weak state of his voice. “Things might be different when I wake up and I don’t… I’m not sure...”

Right now, he’s stuck in the metaphorical waiting room, waiting to hear if Sloane is alive, and he suddenly doesn’t want those double doors to open. If they do, it could be the Bad News. If they stay shut, if he never hears back from her, then he could exist here in this limbo, where he’s free to hope for the best outcome.

He thinks of her on that rooftop earlier this year, of how she’d told that man about how important it was to say goodbye. And now he may never get that chance.

This is all a simple overreaction, brought on by the distance between them (the literal and figurative -- both of which are his fault) and his own insecurities. There’s no proof she was on that train or that she was even working today. But he can’t trust being positive -- it’s a viewpoint that’s let him down too many times this past year. So, he considers the Worst Possible Thing and picks at it like a scab.

“When are you going to tell her?”

Ethan can’t help the dry chuckle that escapes him as he shakes his head at the question.

“I almost did, months ago. And now, with everything else... never.”

“That doesn’t seem fair -- to you, or to her. She deserves to know, and you deserve to tell her.”

“It probably isn’t that serious,” he says (lies). “It’s simply a release of dopamine and serotonin, an attachment formed over a high-stress field of work. It’s a normal reaction--”

“Frailty, thy name is Ethan,” Naveen mutters with a sigh. “This isn’t an NBIO class. This is your life.”

He’s too far gone to withhold the wince at Naveen’s words.

“A life I walked away from,” Ethan points out. “I left her, didn’t bother to return her calls, knowing she would eventually stop.”

“And did she?”

“No,” he admits, dragging in a breath at the admission. Staring up at the ceiling, he listens to the rain as it pounds against the back deck. “So why now… this time -- why hasn’t she called me back?”

The cushion next to him rustles as the older man stands, casting a look over him. Ethan resists the childish urge to tug the blanket up over his face when Naveen reaches down to pat his cheek, a fond grin on his face, embodying an optimism that Ethan can’t trust himself to feel.

“You wouldn’t have fallen in love with her if she were the type of doctor to shirk her duties, now, would you?” Before he can come up with a retort for that, Naveen continues. “Now, listen to your teacher. Go to sleep.”  

With that, he moves to switch off the nearby lamp and continues on down to the hall. Ethan can hear the muffled noise of him getting ready for bed, and then nothing but the rain. It never slows, instead continuing its steady beat against the house. Eventually, the warmth of the liquor in his stomach and the white noise of the rainfall pulls him into a reluctant sleep.

Forty minutes later, tucked between his fingers, his phone vibrates steadily against his chest once before the battery gives out and the screen goes black.

+

He wakes to coffee.

Not the smell of it, but a white container of it, the green mermaid coyly smiling up at him from the wicker coffee table. In black marker, Evan is scrawled across the negative space, the boxes all marked correctly.

Sitting up, he takes a sip and tries to will away the immediate throbbing in his head. Outside, the morning is bright. The only evidence of the night’s storm is the color of the deck, still damp and colored a deep burgundy. He makes his way over to the doors to pull the blinds across when a bright spot against the deck catches his attention. It’s a pair of sneakers, a teal-blue, save for the little pink check marks on the side.

Shoving the door across its track, Ethan stumbles out and looks right -- where Sloane looks up from the view she’s enjoying, her own coffee poised at her lips. She’s sprawled in one of the Adirondack chairs, a towel between her and the wet wood.

“Good morning,” she greets.

“What the hell are you doing here?” The words are out of his mouth before he can consider them.

For her part, Sloane simply raises an eyebrow at the rough tone.

“Wow, all right, Naveen was right. Hungover Ethan is not a morning person.” She pushes up from the chair and makes her way over to him as she talks. “I got your text -- and your twenty-eight missed calls -- once my shift ended. I tried calling you back, but it went straight to voicemail.”

He retrieves the phone from his pocket, palming the black screen that refuses to wake at his touch. The phone he forgot to put on charge, given how inebriated he was. “So,” she continues, “I called Naveen, who sent a car for me this morning. He’s gone, by the way -- he left shortly after I arrived, said he was heading for warmer waters in Fort Lauderdale. He instructed me, and by extension you, I presume, to enjoy the house for the remainder of the weekend.”

When he says nothing in return and continues to watch her with that same bewildered expression on his face, Sloane shifts her stance, then shifts again. “I’ve been suspended, for what happened with Mrs. Martinez, and I don’t know if I’ll have a job come Monday, and after yesterday -- or last night, or whatever,” she waves a hand in the air, still foggy after catching five hours of sleep, with one of those being in the car ride across the bay. “And even though I wasn’t sure where we stood exactly, you were the only person I wanted to see after… all of that.”

She stops talking, giving him an opening.

And still, nothing.

Down at the water’s edge, seagulls call out to one another, bobbing up and down on the waves. To the north, the shore curls back towards them, the shadowed land a deep blue. Boxes of white and gray and blue sit atop the sand. Strips of high grass create a frame for the beach homes, the green fronds rippling in the wind coming off the water. Puffy clouds loom to the southwest, a promise of more rain.  

“I thought you died.”

The sudden admission from him brings her up short.

“I was working triage for eleven hours. You expect me to pull out my phone and keep up with snap streaks at a time like that?”

His brows furrow at the term he can’t place.

“I don’t know what that means.”

“I know. It’s probably one of those weird things I like about you, but it still doesn’t--” she pauses when Ethan steps closer. He grasps her shoulder, his other hand tipping her chin up to meet her gaze.

“What I meant was that I thought I’d lost you before… anything could really begin.”

Sloane brings her hand up to cover his where he cradles her cheek, gently shaking her head.

“We already had something. And then you quit. You left.” She bites at her lip, silencing the rest of what she wants to say, but they both hear the addition she doesn’t voice: you left me. “And then when I hear from you again, it’s a slew of voicemails of you drunkenly demanding to assure you that I’m alive. Which I understand, but I was hoping you would want to talk to me about what happened. That you would want to talk with me because you wanted to, not to make sure I hadn’t been crushed to death in a subway accident.”

Her harsh phrasing causes him to wince, bringing forth smudged memories of last night’s dreams, of his hands covered in her blood, of her begging him to just hold her hand because there was nothing else that could be done for her.  

Unable to stop himself, he leans down and drops a kiss to her forehead.

“I’m sorry,” he tells her, trying to convey so much into such paltry words. “I am. I was selfish. I walked away from Edenbrook because I don’t deserve to call myself a physician, but I… I shouldn’t have walked away from the most important thing: us.”

Stretching up on her toes, Sloane presses her lips against his cheek. His eyes flutter closed at the familiar touch, cursing himself for what an idiot he was to walk away from this woman.

“I still don’t agree with your reason for quitting, but I can’t claim that I wouldn’t have done the same thing in your position, given your history with Naveen.”

“He’s taught me everything I know.” Ethan sighs, tipping his head down to rest against hers. Her arms encircle him, pulling him into an embrace. “The most important of which is that not everything is under my control. Applying and understanding that notion, however, is the real problem.”

He feels her sigh against him, the sound of it a balm to his nerves. How he could’ve ever blamed the love he feels for her on nothing more than neurochemicals causes a bolt of shame to course through him.

“It’ll take time,” Sloane says. “I may understand the reason behind your sudden… departure, but it doesn’t excuse how you went about it. I get the need to burrow into yourself and have some time alone to figure things out, but you can’t shut me out completely in the process. I’ll be right here to help you, but only if you let me.”

Swallowing around the tight feeling in his throat, he murmurs another apology and kisses the crown of her head, ruffling her hair with his next question.

“Promise?”

“Promise,” she assures, humming contentedly as she tips her head up to meet him for a proper kiss.

It’s a catalyst, a spark to the overwhelming need in the both of them. Ethan moves; his fingers card through her hair, hanging onto her for dear life as he backs her up against the door, his lips only parting from hers when his lungs demand it. Taking the detour that the curve of her throat offers, he nips at the skin there, pleased when it flushes pink from his attention. That base, human need to have curls up in his belly and spreads outward, warming his limbs and singing in his blood.

Sloane whimpers under the warm swipe of his tongue as he soothes the rosy skin he’s bitten. Her hands aren’t idle, though; she moves up between them to unbutton his shirt, her deft fingers making quick work of it.

Inside his head, he’s telling her how much he needs her, how much he wants this, wants her, wants them for as long as the foreseeable future allows (and forever beyond that, if that’s something she wants, too). What he says instead is her name, rasping it out when she takes control and pivots them, forcing him up against the house. The shingles dig into his back but he can’t bring himself to care as Sloane makes her own path down his chest, shoving his shirt panels aside and rounding on his nipple. The sudden warm heat of her mouth against the chill morning air is enough to remind him of where exactly they’re trying to have each other.

“Wait,” he croaks out, reaching for her as she pulls away, “not here. Someone… the neighbors, they might see.”

A slow smile spreads across her face, her eyes sparkling as she holds out a hand and wiggles her fingers.

“Come with me, then.”

He takes her hand and lets her lead him through the living room and down the hall, where he teases her that she doesn’t know where she’s going, which she proceeds to prove when she opens the closet door and then the guest bathroom.

They eventually make it to an actual bedroom, where he closes the door while she wanders over to the patio doors. Throwing open the white curtains, she lets natural light fill the space. Outside, the hazy blur of rain has moved closer, hovering just off shore. The clouds mute the harsh light of the sun, softening the lines of the room, lengthening the shadows that play across the hardwood.

Drawn to her, Ethan slides his arms around her waist and tugs her into his chest, enjoying the little hitch in her breath. Her fingers dig into his arm, keeping him there (as if he’d go anywhere else).

Dipping his head down, he trails lazy kisses down her neck. The flimsy cardigan she wears falls away easily, slipping off her shoulders. A ragged breath from her urges him on. His lips explore her newly-exposed skin, where clusters of freckles form constellations along the curve of her shoulder. His hands move underneath the blouse she wears, his fingers grazing the warm skin of her hips. She reaches up towards the ceiling, letting him pull the shirt up and off.

And, as always, she’s five steps ahead of him and already wiggling out of her jeans before he can work those off her.

“I’ve waited two weeks -- I’m not really interested in taking things slow this time,” she admits, glancing back at him with that smug look of hers.

He can’t help but mirror her grin as he unhooks her bra.

Frustrated with his slow teasing, Sloane tosses the garment to the floor and starts to turn around when he stops her with a firm grip on her hips, holding her in place. Keeping his movements slow, he gathers her hair and sweeps it over her shoulder. Planting a hand on the arch of her spine, he nudges her forward until she’s forced against the door. She hisses as her chest presses up against the cool glass. Her palms flatten across the smooth surface, her nails trying to dig in for purchase. Starting at the base of her neck, he moves down her vertebral column, his teeth skimming along her skin. More freckles rest along the stretch of her back, fading as they drift towards her spine. Ethan follows their path with his mouth, pleased when he feels her shiver, when he sees the goosebumps that appear in the wake of his wet kisses.

Leaning back, he takes a moment to admire the view she presents, flushed and arched and waiting. For him, he reminds himself as he presses the heel of his hand against his groin, desperate for friction.

Sloane grumbles his name, glaring at him over her shoulder, those pupils of hers blown wide. Her hips do an impatient little wiggle. He strikes, gripping them tight and holding her fast against him. Tracing the edge of her underwear, he slides his fingertips down the lacy fabric, pleased when he finds it damp. This time, his name comes as a groan as Sloane spreads her legs to give him better access.

The sight of her is almost too much. Attempting to expel the need to have her right then and there, he detours -- nipping at her shoulder before stroking her through the lace. A whine escapes her as she tips her head up and all that auburn hair falls like a wave down her back. It brushes his chest and the flowery scent of it combined with the salty taste of her skin is more potent than any tumbler of top shelf liquor.

He works his fingers against her, fast, and then faster, circling her clit. Her hips make aborted little thrusts; her breath fogs the glass in short, heady pants. She’s so wet against his hand, which he can’t help but whisper against her ear, grinning at the shiver that runs through her, knowing that she’s close.

Then he drops his hand and steps back. Before she can voice the words of protest he sees building in her eyes, he spins her around and crowds her up against the glass.

“You’re such an ass.” Her lips brush his as he kisses her once, then again, so he can feel the smile on her face as she says it. His nerves hum with anticipation as she runs both hands up his chest and across his shoulders, grabbing two handfuls of his shirt and stripping it from him.

“I’ll make it up to you,” he promises. Before she can ask just how he plans on doing so, Ethan drops to his knees.

Sloane cards a hand through his hair, humming at the sight of him. Leaning forward, he mouths at the lacy edge of her underwear; it tickles his tongue as he presses a lazy, wet kiss against her through the fabric. Peeling her underwear off, Ethan drapes her left leg over his shoulder and rubs his stubble along her inner thigh. Like a Pavlovian response, she tilts her hips upwards, silently begging for his touch.

Having mercy on her, he caves, licking a long stripe across her folds. Arousal pools low in his belly at the taste of her, at the clench of her grip in his hair as she guides him to where she needs him most. His gentle grazes along her sex quickly give way to a full-on assault; his fingers part her wider and his tongue flattens against her clit, increasing the pressure as she voices her need for it.

Their gazes lock and he’s overcome with the image of her above him, backlit by the milky light of morning, her skin flushed, her lips parted; his Epione, a Greek goddess come to life.  

“Oh, fuck,” Sloane groans, her breath stuttering as she ascends to her peak. The glass squeals under her sweaty palm as she tries her best to keep upright, her other hand holding him steady so he can continue fucking her with his tongue. “Ethan, please, I--”

Cresting, she breaks apart, shuddering as an orgasm floods through her. He guides her down from her high with gentle kisses across her thigh and then up, trailing along the curve of her hip bone. Following the lines of her body up with his hands, Ethan gets to his feet. Where he’s quickly pulled into a messy kiss, the low thrum of his arousal swelling when her tongue peeks out for a taste of herself on his lips.

“I want to fuck you here.” His cock strains against the confines of his clothing. Nipping at the flushed skin of her throat, he groans when she reaches down to cup him through his pants. “Is that okay?”

“More than okay,” she tells him, using that medically-trained efficiency of hers to strip him of his remaining garments. Dancing her fingers up his length, she circles a thumb across the head.

Against his neck, Ethan can feel the bloom of her grin as he bucks up into her touch. His hands wrap around her thighs and lift her until she’s pinned between him and the glass. Here, he considers as Sloane tightens her legs around his waist, as she swipes her tongue at his bottom lip, encouraging him to open up to her for a deeper kiss -- here is where he should say those three little words, stitch them all together into a coherent phrase. Not a half-assed admission after watching her nearly be pulled to her death, or a terrified mantra in a nightmare as her eyes dull and her hand loosens in his.

But now -- now she’s biting at his lip and writhing against him, her breath hot on his skin and it’s all too much to consider anything else but having her. Gripping his cock, he lines himself up at her entrance and drives into her. His hips roll up into hers, pleasure coursing through him as she meets his thrusts, her sweat-slicked thighs clenching around him.

In all his dreams, he’s forced to let go -- he holds on for dear life, now -- now that she’s here and real and begging him to fuck her.

Just beyond the door, they can hear the rain. It draws closer; that soft, gentle hiss drumming against the sand and then the deck and then the glass. The steady noise of it acts as a buffer between them and the rest of the world. The beach and the bay, their worries and their responsibilities -- all of it dulls to a distant blur, leaving only the two of them.

“Sloane,” he calls out her name with a groan.

“I’m here,” she tells him, without him ever realizing it was a question he needed answered until then. “Oh, god, Ethan -- I’m…”

“Come for me,” he hisses, meeting her for another bruising kiss.

Her breathing stutters for a moment, then -- fireworks, explosions, an entire galactic collapse plays out in her heavy-lidded eyes. The feeling of her is too much -- she’s a cocktail of pleasure and adrenaline straight to his heart, leaving him breathless and dizzy as he follows her over the edge.

Gathering her close, Ethan carries her over to the bed and crawls in to rest beside her. She rolls to lay against his chest, one leg draped over his. His breath hitches when Sloane drops a kiss to his chest, right over where his heart pounds.

He opens his mouth to tell her.

“Sloane, I--”

“Oh, shit,” she says suddenly, lifting off his chest to turn her concerned gaze to the patio door. “I left my coffee out there.”

It’s the unexpectedness of it (and the fact that she cut off his admission of love to her to bemoan the loss of her beverage) that draws a chuckle out of him that she joins in on.

“I’ll buy you another when we go into town later for lunch.” He seals the deal with a kiss. “Much, much later,” he amends as he cups her bare bottom. Sloane works herself closer to deepen their kiss.

“What were you going to say, before I interrupted?”

Ethan drags in a breath and swallows back every insecurity-laced deflection that his brain immediately concocts.

“That I love you.”

“Oh.” This time, he gets to see that smile of hers bloom across her face. “I love you, too.”

And outside, the rain beats steadily on.   

[antiquechampagne]

Beastly Kingdom - CH15 - The Road Home

Liz sat outside the buzzing courtyard in a chair William had brought her. Facing the battlefield, she sipped some irradiated water and watched. Her body was healed enough that she didn’t need to worry about bleeding out, but everything felt like it was being held together by 200 year old bubblegum and duct tape. Any more stimpacks and she risked getting sicker than she already was. Anyway, others needed them more than she did. So she sat, her arm resting in a ratty sling and let the rads do their work.

Groups of prisoners, their hands raised over the heads or shackled, shambled past surrounded by grim and bloodied troops. Liz wasn’t really in the habit of taking prisoners, but that was the General’s call, not hers. They were his problem now. Every now and then, the gunfire echoed across the field. From the best she could tell, most of it was coming from the ruined airport.

Footsteps approached her from behind, but she didn’t turn around. The steps were heavy but confident. The General’s steps. Besides, William was keeping a close eye on her from the side of the building. She took another swallow of poisoned water.

“Looks like you won your war, General,” she quipped.

“In no small part, thanks to your help…” he paused, “Literally. Just for the record, though, maybe look into taking the stairs.”

Liz chuckled. “You may have a point. I don’t think I’m too eager to repeat that swan dive again.”

Nate shuffled uncomfortably. “Look… I just heard on the radio that that deathclaw of yours is making it really hard for our guys to clear the interior of the airport. Do you think there is any way you could… you know… call her back or something?”

Liz leaned forward in her creaking chair. Of course, he would ask her to get up now, wouldn’t he?

“Tell your guys to clear out of the way of the exits. I’m not responsible if someone gets in between a deathclaw and where she wants to go.”

Nate nodded and headed back inside. Liz gave him some time to relay the orders. She stretched her limbs, sluggishly ambling forward onto the now silent battlefield. After a minute, she put a pair of fingers in her mouth and released an ear-piercing whistle. Then, she waited.

A few moments passed by before she saw a glowing blue mass come bounding out of the building, racing pass the wreckage of Liberty Prime and through the gaping hole in the wall. Liz couldn’t help but smile. Mama reminding her of some giant irradiated puppy being called back home for supper.

No sooner had this thought bloomed in her mind than it was ripped away in a fiery flash. As Mama sprinted over a fallen heap of power armors, an explosion shredded the ground, throwing her to the side.

“Damn it!” Liz spat, racing as best she could across the uneven field, pocked marked from the day’s events. William ran to her side, quick to help if her leg or balance faltered. She waved him off indignantly, even though she could feel edges of her wounds grow angry and hot. Mama regained her footing and limped towards her, closing the gap between them. Liz could see countless scorches and lacerations crisscrossing Mama’s hide, but it seemed the cobbled together armor had shouldered the brunt of the damage. What she was really worried about was her right front paw, which Mama was purposely hiding as she shuffled about sniffing and licking Liz.

“Knock it off.” Liz gently scolded. “Show me your hand. Come on!” She pulled her arm of the sling and put her open hand out, palm up. “Show! Now!” she said a bit more sternly.

Reluctantly, Mama lifted her bloody limb and placed it in Liz’s hand. In the middle of the scorched and blackened paw, a piece of wicked shrapnel had embedded itself, poking out painfully. Blood ran freely over her fingers.

“Oh Mama, you need to be a bit more careful where you step. Landmines are nasty little shits, aren’t they?” Liz turned to William, who staying just out of Mama’s arms reach. “Give me your blade,” she demanded. William obliged. As she reached for the blade, she realized she still held the bottle. Placing it on the ground, she took the knife. Liz looked deep into Mama’s glowing eyes and held them. She hoped that her message would get through. If not, and she lost Mama’s trust...

“I need to get this out. It is going to hurt, probably a lot. But you need to stay still.”

Carefully, she began to tease out the shard, trying hard to dislodge it without making the wound worse. Mama snarled and gnashed her teeth, growling viciously inches from Liz’s ear. Liz ignored her, focusing at the delicate and dangerous task at hand. Slowly, the flesh released its grip on the twisted metal and it slid silently out of the wound. Mama began to pull her hand away.

“Not yet, Mama.” Liz warned. Mama stopped. Liz picked up the irradiated water. She gently rinsed Mama’s wound, her blue blood washing away cleanly. Liz watched as Mama’s flesh began to knit back together.

“That’s a good girl.” Liz released her paw and patted her forehead.

The rest of their time was consumed by the logistics of caring for the wounded, stripping the airport of useful scrap and splitting the spoils. The day was just starting to turn when they started heading back home, their pace slow but steady.

Nate had joined their rabble; saying there was kind of some final details that needed ironing out, so he tagged along. Everyone nursed their wounds as they walked, drinking and laughing, surprised by the fact that anyone had actually made it through the fight.

Dusk painted the sky as they neared the Nuka-World main gate, the low clouds a mix of purples and reds reminding Liz of puffy bruises. Liz was joking with Mason, elbowing him in the arm and laughing when he dropped his shotgun. Mags put a hand on her shoulder.

“Boss? You seeing this…”

Turning around, Liz stopped in her tracks. The silence hit her. No greetings from guards or banter from people hanging around the market. Only the sound of the wind greeted them as they stepped through the turnstiles.

“Holy fuck,” Mason whispered under his breath.

Before them lay bodies piled in bloody heaps on the steps leading to the park map station. Liz spotted Pack members, Operators and locals as she walked up the slick concrete stairs. Familiar faces hung by ropes in front of the giant maps. Liz could feel her blood boil as the flies buzzed by her ears. Someone behind her wretched. Reaching up, she plucked a folded paper with the word TRATOR scrawled in large letters pinned to Dr. Mackenzie’s chest with a stiletto. Time stopped and her blood froze in her veins as she read the words inside.

With out a word, Liz dropped the paper and bolted. She ran fast, beating it over the broken pavement, ignoring any pain coming from her recently reknitted muscles and bones. She passed more bodies as people yelled behind her. She ignored everything, focusing solely on reaching Kiddie Kingdom as fast as possible. The barricades in front of the gate were broken, streaked with scorch marks splattered with blood. Liz sprang over the corpses of the guards laying in the entryway, upsetting the last bit of stability of the wooden boards, sending them loudly clattering to heap the ground. Frantically she scanned the empty queues and still rides for any sign of Louis or Oswald. All she found were feral ghoul corpses, their colorful faces now painted in their own blood.

A distant pop of a handgun pierced the air, followed by a muffled scream. Again, Liz shot off. She rounded a corner and stopped, unprepared for the scene before her. Oswald lay crumpled in a fetal position at the bottom step of a dilapidated tower. Green glowing blood oozed between his clenched finger and pooling around him.

He gasped as he saw her. “Liz! Get back…” His voice was weak, his warning trailing off.

At the top of the stair stood Gage, an icy cold glare bore down on her. His pipe gun turned and pointed at her, but Liz ignored it. Her eyes were locked on Louis. Her son writhed in Gage’s iron grip, his fist clutching the chest of Louis’ dirty striped shirt in a tight ball even as the feral boy tore and bit at his skin.

“LOUIS!” she gasped, and then growled. “Let him go, Gage!”

“There you are, Boss.” He leveled the gun at her. “I was starting to wonder if you would ever show up for the fun!”

“Put him down!” she screamed again. Her mind raced, trying to calculate any way to get either Louis or the gun out of Gage’s hand. She stood frozen in place, anything that might have been able to leverage too far out of reach to be of use. All she had was her wits. “What the fuck have you done?”

“What have I done? What the fuck have YOU done, Boss? I brought you into the outfit, and you are gutting us!” Gage’s one eye never wavering its hateful and deadly glare.

“What the hell are you talking about? I’ve done EVERYTHING for Nuka-World! All we had to do was take out those fucking Brotherhood bastards and we were golden! We can just sit back and watch the caps flow in!”

“WRONG!” Gage spat. “You slaughtered the Disciples! You cut our forces by a half!”

“Is THAT what this is about? Nisha and them were a bunch of homicidal maniacs! There was NO WAY they were ever going to get on board with the plan! Can’t you see that?” Liz inched a half a step towards Gage as she spoke.

“NO!” he screamed. He roughly wrapped his muscular arm around Louis, drawing him to his chest. Louis spat like a trapped animal, his legs kicking wildly. Liz stopped. “You tried to make us tame, to tempt us into a life of servitude to Commonwealth assholes with caps… a pet of this General to get fat off his shit! You forgot what we ARE! What we were. But I’m not going to forget. I’m a MOTHER-FUCKING RAIDER!”

Before Liz could react, Gage placed the muzzle of the gun against Louis’ head and pulled the trigger. Time stopped.

The flash.

The flying bits of skull and brain.

The smell of blood, gunpowder and sugar.

The evil smirk on Gage’s twisted lips.

Everything detail burned into her brain. Her mind spun and ground against itself. The gears of her mind stripped themselves in a futile attempt to comprehend what she was witnessing.

“LOUIS!” she screamed. Her son’s name was the last word that would ever pass through her lips again.

[stayextrafrosty]

Clarity

Request: Hey can you do a joe trohman x female reader where it’s like a charmed au and it’s a piper/Leo type of deal. If you don’t watch charmed it’s like a forbidden love between a guardian angel and a witch.

I really hope I did this idea justice. It’s so cute! (Please keep in mind I have never seen this show and only did a little bit of research so it’s mostly my own take on the idea.)

Part 1 (I’ll get to part two as soon as possible)

Masterlist

Warning: some cursing but nothing too bad

Words: 6508

-

I stared at the little candle intently. I couldn’t quite piece together why this was such a problem for me. I just needed it to light. One little flame. It’s not hard.

I closed my eyes and concentrated. I tried to imagine the warmth. The soft glow. A little plume of smoke rising from the flame. I could feel it. The burning in my fingertips. I peeked through my eyelid and threw my arms up in frustration.

“Are you fucking serious? Not even a little spark?” I let my head fall onto the table repeatedly. I was so useless. Fire was a specialty of my coven and I couldn’t even light one measly candle. I’m beginning to think I’m adopted.

I picked up the candle and slumped back to my room. Didn’t want my mother to see me failing. She would surely scold me. I set the candle back in its proper spot on my nightstand. I stared at the various pictures of my friends. My mother didn’t like that I hung out with humans but she couldn’t do anything about it.

I just wanted to finish my last year of high school then move out and never have to think about this witch stuff again. I would meet a nice guy who would be perfect for me. And finally, things would go right.

-

I rushed through the school, trying to get out before all the busses left. I agreed to meet up with Maddie after class but of course she was running late. I stood by my car tapping my foot, watching as the busses filled with students. I glanced at my phone, seeing Maddie’s message to me.

Sorry! Had to talk to my teacher about a grade.

I rolled my eyes and sighed as the busses started to pull out. I saw her tiny form running towards me. I couldn’t help but laugh as she struggled to carry a backpack that was almost her size.

“I’ve told you before to take it easy on yourself with classes,” I said as she stopped in front of me, panting.

“Can’t let up on classes if I want scholarships. You’re lucky you get to take over a family business.” The small shop my coven owned was mainly for other witches who were passing through the area. But of course, humans walk through and pick up random charms simply because it’s trendy.

“You act like it’s something I want to do. I would much rather travel and meet people.” Maddie climbed into the passenger side of the car.

“You’re such a romantic, (Y/N).”

“And even that isn’t helping my love life. So, I may as well experience things on my own.”

I turned on the radio in to car to the local rock station. They seemed to be running a throwback marathon of alternative music from the early and mid-2000s. I was unseasonably warm, even for California. So, we rolled the windows down and blasted the classics.

We pulled into the Starbucks parking lot, still managing to get a spot before the rest of the high schoolers appeared. We grabbed our backpacks and shuffled inside behind an older couple who were complaining about “kids these days.”

Maddie and I shared a look. Wonder what they aren’t trying to understand this time. Both of us had our fair share of older people looking down on us just for being young. It was super common in my coven. I was one of the youngest. Once you hit your high school years, you’re expected to devote all your time to magic.

I guess I kind of understood. I thought back to my inability to light a candle. My mother said magic was connected to strong emotions but I’ve been beyond pissed and it still wouldn’t work. Fingers snapped in front of my face and I jumped.

“Welcome back to the land of the living. What were you thinking about this time?”  Maddie raised an eyebrow at me. I shook my head and smiled.

“I don’t know to be honest. Just all the expectations that older people have for us I guess. Hope they’re prepared for disappointment.” Maddie chuckled as we moved up to the counter.

We had our drinks in hand and started toward the table we saw earlier only to find a group of kids from our school sitting there. They were some of the so called “popular people.” I noticed Maddie’s bag moved to the middle of the floor nearby. I groaned at her quietly and she rolled her eyes at them. They laughed as we walked up to them.

“Hey, we were sitting there. I can tell you saw the bag.” The head girl scoffed. Ella.

“So? You don’t own this spot.” The table laughed and the guy sitting next to her wrapped his arm around her shoulder. I couldn’t remember his name.

“Maybe, but it’s really rude to move someone’s stuff.” I didn’t want to back down. Ella and her little group walked all over a lot of people. It was weird how accurately she fit the stereotype of the head cheerleader.

“Oh, save it for someone who cares. Why not just go back to your witchy little shop and sell rocks?” I clenched my fists. She came in with her friends a couple weeks ago while I was working. They made fun of everything we had and completely wrecked a display of crystals we had. I told my mom we should repurify them. She scolded me for being rude.

“Let’s just go (Y/N). They ruined the atmosphere anyway.” I nodded and we turned to the door.

“If you need a table you can take this one. I’m leaving.” We turned toward the voice. A tall guy with short, curly brown hair and the most stunning blue eyes I had ever seen smiled gently at us. “Of course, I don’t blame you if you want to leave after interacting with that bitch.”

Maddie snorted and tried to stifle her laugh. I heard Ella say something from behind me but I just smiled at the guy. This couldn’t be real, right?

“Yea. But we appreciate the concern.” He wore a plain black t-shirt with some khaki jeans and black converse. He might as well be an angel. Certainly looked like one.

“Don’t ignore me. It’s incredibly rude to call a girl a bitch. Not to mention sexist.” The guy looked over my shoulder with a bored look on his face.

“It’s not any ruder than you were to her. You moved their bags into the middle of the floor where someone could have tripped on them. Don’t fling the word ‘sexist’ around when someone points out something shitty you did.” I chuckled at the stunned silence.

“Well we’re going to head out. Let’s go (Y/N).” I agreed and we headed out, the guy following us out.

“Thank you…” I trailed off, not knowing his name.

“Joe. And forgive me for eavesdropping but did I hear that you work for a place for witches?” A blush rose to my face.

“It’s a family business. Not very interesting. I never really believed in that stuff, ya know?” I pushed a small rock around with my foot. I hope he wasn’t one of those hipsters just looking to visit all these shops.

“Well I think it’s interesting. Maybe I’ll stop by sometime.”

“Let me guess, you just want to see her again?” Maddie crossed her arms and stepped in front of me slightly. Joe smiled, laughing.

“Yea. Something like that.” I looked away from him, tucking a piece of hair behind my ear. Then he waved and headed to his car.

“Don’t you dare tell him anything. That’s how you get stalkers.” I rolled my eyes at Maddie.

“I don’t think he’s that kind of guy. And the likelihood of ever seeing him again is super low. Just let me pretend he’s my guardian angel or something.”

-

One Week later

I was sweeping around the shop because of the lack of customers. Business had been slowing down. We might have been mildly annoyed at regular humans coming in and buying our stuff but the extra sales certainly helped. We still had rent like every other business.

“(Y/N), darling. Have you been practicing your magic at all while we don’t have customers?” My mother stood at the bottom of the stairs to our apartment.

“Uh, no. What if a normal person comes in and sees it?” She sighed and shook her head.

“Just pull out a tea light and work with that. From what I’ve seen, you still haven’t been able to light it. I’m not too worried about a human seeing it.” I gripped the broom and nodded. She made her way back upstairs.

“Ouch. That was harsh. She always like that?” I took a breath and turned toward the voice. Witches tended to be quiet when they entered another witches store. It was a respect thing. I almost jumped at the familiar face that greeted me.

“Joe! Uh, sorry. My mom is always talking nonsense.” I chuckled nervously. He smiled and shoved his hands in his pockets.

“Didn’t sound like nonsense. Seemed rather clear. So, you need some help with your magic. What witch doesn’t at some point.” I raised an eyebrow at him. He knew? About Witches?

“How do you—”

“I was sent by the Higher Powers to look after you. Though I’m not quite sure why.” I blinked.

“Wait. So, you’re an actual guardian angel?” He nodded. I can’t believe my stupid joke was accurate. My mother appeared at my side. I jumped when she spoke.

“So, Joseph. They never told you why they were sending you? And you didn’t think to ask?” I stared at my mom wide eyed. She was the one who told me you shouldn’t speak to the Higher Powers and their angels rudely.

“I’m sorry ma’am but we don’t question our duties. We keep the peace.” He was polite but the smile directed at my mother was less than friendly. I shivered at the tension.

“And you’re suggesting that my daughter is somehow a threat to that peace.” I saw his jaw clench. He glanced at me.

“If you want to know more information, you’ll have to inquire from the Higher Powers yourself. I told you what I know.” His way of speaking was so different now. I suppose even the angels have to adapt.

“Leave my shop and stay away from my daughter.” It was like he vanished. There one moment and gone the next. I looked to my mother, confused.

“What just happened?” Her clenched jaw and grip on my arm didn’t let up.

“He won’t listen to me. If you see him, just leave. Don’t trust an angel. They always know their assignments. They just refuse to tell you. Your grandmother was sent a ‘Guardian angel.’ Then she disappeared. The Higher Powers thought she was going rogue. Teaching magic to humans. Their claims are baseless.”

Joe didn’t really seem like that kind of person but I trusted my mom. As much as she frustrated me, I trusted her.

-

Another few days without incident. I haven’t seen Joe since then but I was always looking over my shoulder. Maddie even took notice.

“What’s got you so fidgety?” She bit into her carrot as she stared at me.

“It’s nothing. I guess just a sense that someone’s watching me,” I said.

“Maybe you’re not wrong. Psychology does say that we can tell when someone is looking at us. But it’s a school cafeteria. The worst thing here is some gross boys high on their testosterone.” I laughed and my shoulders relaxed. She was right. I was safe inside the school.

It killed me not being able to tell her about the whole guardian angel thing. About how the guy that helped us was trying to abduct me. How I was somehow a danger to the peace and balance of the earth.

“So, are we still going to the library after school today? I need your help with my religion project.” I nodded.

“Yea. Still don’t know why you think I would be any help.”

“I told you! I’m doing my project on Wiccans! You know all about that. Isn’t your mom one?” It’s what I told her. But I wasn’t too familiar with the practices themselves. I sighed. I’ll have to do some research on the subject in my other classes.

-

The library was loud, filled with kids doing their after-school activities. We pushed slowly through the waist high see of children. I tried to keep a smile on my face even though none of them looked where they were going and I almost tripped on a few of them.

“Hurry. Get upstairs before we drown in children.” Maddie laughed and we stumbled our way to the stairs.

We chatted leisurely up the stairs. I had walked up these a thousand times. I didn’t need to pay attention. We were nearly at the top when I noticed a guy standing there, smiling at me. Joe. I felt my heart skip. My toe caught on the step but when I tried to steady myself, I was falling backwards.

I yelped and squeezed my eyes shut. I wasn’t falling for long. A pair of strong arms wrapped around me. I looked up into his blue eyes and found myself entranced. It was like he had the abilities of a demon. Maddie clearing her throat brought me back to reality.

“Um, thanks. I appreciate it.” I turned from him and hurried up the stair, grabbing my friends arm along the way.

There was no way to explain what she just saw. He was behind me almost instantly when he was just ten feet away at the top of the stairs.

“I’m mildly insulted that you’re pretending to not recognize me.” So, he was following me now. “I just need to talk to you for a second.” Maddie yanked me to a stop before turning to face the angel.

“Look. She clearly wants nothing to do with you. Get lost.” For someone so short, she was certainly intimidating.

“I admire your willingness to protect her but I need you to leave us for a bit.” He smiled at her and then her eyes went blank. She nodded and started toward a table. The power of suggestion. I clenched my fists as he made his way toward me.

“Leave her out of this. I’m not afraid to fight you.” He closed the distance between us, a slight frown replacing his gentle smile.

“Look. Whatever your mom told you, it’s wrong. I’m not here to hurt you.” I glanced down at his human attire. White tee, black jeans and the same shoes. But now that I knew what he was, it all looked off.

“But you won’t tell my why you’re here. So, what reason do I have to trust you?” He sighed and scratched his head.

“I told you. They didn’t tell me why I needed to watch you. They just sent me.”

“Ok so tell me about your abilities. Obviously, suggestion is one. Entrancement another.” He rose an eyebrow.

“That’s an ability only held by demons.” Silence. The heat rushed to my face. God, I was so stupid.

“Whatever! Point is, I don’t know anything about you and you won’t tell me.” He chuckled slightly.

“You only just asked me now.”

“What and you’re going to tell me?”

“Sure.” I wasn’t expecting that answer. I placed my hands on my hips.

“Fine. I’ll hear you out. Just not right now. I’m busy.”

“We should probably do these introductions sooner rather than later. So, you can stop avoiding me.” I rolled my eyes and turned away from him. Well now I just wanted to avoid him out of embarrassment. I know demons are the only beings with entrancement. I can’t believe I said that to him. I looked over my shoulder but he was gone. I ignored the sinking feeling in my chest. I found Maddie at one of the tables, shaking her head.

“Ok you need to explain what just happened. One minute I was standing up for you, the next I’m over here. And what did that guy do? It was like he teleported or something to catch you.” I sighed and sat down across from her. I didn’t have the energy to lie to her anymore.

“There’s something you need to know.” She nodded and closed her book.

“Alright.”

“Well it starts with the fact that I’m a witch.”

-

Maddie took the information surprisingly well. Her only real concern was how I was supposed to help her with the project. I told her to do research like she was supposed to. I told her pretty much everything. Including the stuff about Joe.

No one could know that I told her this. I would be stripped of my magic for sure. I told her to never mention it to my mom and she understood.

It’s been a few days since then. Now I sit in the shop alone. Another slow day. We seem to be getting a lot of those. I wonder what was wrong. My paranoia started to kick in again and I sighed. I wondered where he was going to pop up this time.

Joe had this feeling. He always watched me before showing up. Sometimes he didn’t say anything but he always made sure I saw him. The feeling was almost familiar now. Comforting to know he was there.

“You know you don’t have to just watch. Not like there’s anyone here anyway.” I flipped a page in my history book. The counter creaked as he leaned on it.

“So, you can already tell when I’m around. Your senses are incredibly refined.” I raised an eyebrow and looked up at him.

“Thanks, I think?” He shrugged. “You just aren’t exactly subtle. I can feel you watching me. You angels have an extremely noticeable presence.”

“I don’t know how because I block it from witches. You seem to be the only one I can’t sneak up on.”

I scoffed. Pretty words from a pretty person. I had to remind myself regularly that he was an angel who wouldn’t tell me his reason for being here. I had to ignore the fluttering my heart did whenever he was around.

“Aw, so I’m special. How sweet of you to say. Is that why you’re watching me?”

“My answer is still the same. I don’t know why they sent me to watch you.” We sat there in silence for a few minutes. I let my history book fall shut and watched as Joe wandered around the store.

“You know, I think you’re the reason the store has been so empty. You give off this aura. Very scary.” He wandered back to the counter to stand in front of me.

“Again, you seem to be the only person who can tell.” My eyes drifted away from his and down the rest of his features. He was so relaxed all the time. “Can I help you with something?” I shook myself out of my trance.

“No, why,” I huffed?

“Well you like to space out when looking at me.”

“I do not!” He smirked slightly. He had to be a demon. I wouldn’t except any other explanation. He poked the space between my eyebrows.

“If you frown too much, you’ll get lines.” I rolled my eyes and smacked his hand away. He grabbed my arm. “See now look what you’ve done.” I sighed.

“Just let go of me.”

“If I don’t?” I stopped.

“Excuse me?”

“What’ll you do if I don’t? I’ve never seen you use magic before.” His voice was curious. Not intended to be mean or threatening.

“Because I don’t like using it on other people,” I bluffed. I was no good at magic. He knew that much but didn’t need to know I couldn’t do it at all.

“Well then I guess we’re just going to stay like this until you get over that fear.”

“What? You can’t just hold me hostage. What if someone comes in?”

“Better figure it out quickly then.”

Shit. He was testing me. He had his suspicions and needed them confirmed. I had to do something. Make up some lie. Tell him my mom has a charm on the shop so she’ll know if I use magic during business hours.

“I’m just not feeling up to it right now. I’m exhausted. I have you to deal with in addition to school.” He looked up at the ceiling, weighing his options.

“It should be easy. Your family is well known for being strong.” I clenched my teeth. Just give up already damnit!

“I’m pretty sure this qualifies as harassment.” I tried tugging my arm away again. A slight smile graced his face and he released my arm.

“You can’t do magic can you.” I scoffed and turned away from him. Fuck. I sighed. He knew now and all I could do was let him assume. “It’s not like it’s something to be ashamed of. So, you haven’t tapped into your source of power.”

I ran a hand through my hair. He wouldn’t understand the pressure of being in a powerful family. I’m a failure in their eyes. I picked up a small tea light and set it in front of him between us.

“You wouldn’t understand,” I mumbled.

I concentrated on the wick of the candle. My eyes drifted shut as I tried to access my magic. I cupped my hands around the little tea light. We were silent for a couple moments. I could feel the warmth against my palms. I wanted to peak but I knew there wasn’t anything there.

The was a light pressure on the back of my hands and I jumped slightly. I opened my eyes and looked down at Joe’s hands resting on mine. A blush rose to my face as I looked up at him. His eyes so blue I could drown in them.

“You’ll get it eventually. You’ll be stronger than any of them.” My eyebrows drew together. I wasn’t sure if he was trying to cheer me up or if he actually knew something. My eyes drifted down to the gentle smile on his lips.

“You’re doing that thing again.” He voice was gentle. Maybe even a bit curious. I glanced back up at him through my lashes. His head tilted slightly and his thumb ran over my hand. He leaned toward me…

My palms started burning and warmth touched my skin. I pulled away, startled and looked down. The little tea light glowed between my hands.

“Oh, shit!” I yanked my hands away and went to blow out the candle. God, it better not have made a mess. I picked up the candle, moving it to the counter behind me. I let out a sigh of relief when there were no marks.

“Only mildly cliché.” I could hear the laugh in his voice. My face was warm. The heat from the candle no longer disguised it.

“That was nothing. Just caught in the moment.” I turned only to find him directly behind me. He had me trapped. Cliché was right.

“I should let you know that any romantic involvement between a witch and an angel is strictly forbidden. So, I suggest you get over your little infatuation with me.” I scoffed in disbelief.

“You think I don’t know the rules? And I don’t have any sort of ‘infatuation’ as you put it. You infuriate me. Maybe you should remind yourself of that rule, too.” I crossed my arms and he glared at me.

“What are you talking about?” I rolled my eyes.

“As I recall, you were the one about to kiss me.” He laughed and shook his head.

“I could kiss you and it wouldn’t mean anything. I feel nothing but a sense of obligation to complete my task.”

“Yeah, right! You were just as into that as I was. Maybe it’s you who’s infatuated with me.” He grabbed my arms and shoved me against the counter. His lips were aggressive against mine. I could only kiss him back for a couple seconds before he pulled away.

“It’s nothing,” he whispered. But my god that didn’t feel like ‘nothing.’

“What is going on? I told you to stay away from her!” My mother was rushing toward us with a walking stick she sometimes carried with her. He vanished into thin air. My mother’s face was livid. She flipped the sign from open to closed without even glancing behind her.

I shrank back but she came around and grabbed my arm, pulling me upstairs. Her grip was sure to leave bruises. I nearly tripped over the steps.

“What did I tell you. You had one job and you couldn’t even do that! This is exactly what happened to your grandmother. She just couldn’t help herself. They tricked her and now you’re in that same trap!”

“Mom, stop! It was nothing! What you saw was nothing!”

“I know what I saw! And I know I taught you the rules when dealing with the Higher Powers.”

“What happened to my grandmother?”

“Just go to your room. I’m putting a charm on this place and not letting you leave.” She went to slam the door to the stairway. A wave of power washed over me and I flung it back open.

She turned toward me in shock. Her jaw clenched before she started to laugh. She shook her head and for the first time, I was scared of her.

“You’re just like her. Powers at their strongest when there’s someone you love.” I clenched my fists.

“What. Happened. To. Her.” A brief look of pity crossed my mother’s features.

“She was assigned a guardian angel. He made her fall in love with him. Then convinced her to break rules and used that as an excuse to make the higher powers get rid of her.” She made her way over to stand in front of me. “You might care for him, but I promise. He doesn’t give a shit about you.”

-

I just stared at my ceiling. I refused to let my mother trap me in this house but this was still one of the few places I felt safe.

My pale green walls hadn’t changed since I convinced my mom to paint them when I was younger. I even held on to most of my stuffed animals. My eyes had just started to drift shut when I felt it. Felt him.

I couldn’t shake the things my mom said out of my head. I shouldn’t trust him. But it was Joe. I felt like I knew him. A part of me still thought this was different. There was a light tap at my window. I jumped. He shouldn’t be able to get to my window. I sat up but didn’t see anyone. I made my way over and opened my room to the cold evening. Silence.

“Joe,” I called. A few moments later, he hovered in front of me. His wings just visible. They were almost translucent but occasionally caught the light so I could see the white.

“I’m still amazed you can sense me. Let me in?” I glanced over my shoulder. I know my mom didn’t trap me here. But that didn’t mean she didn’t put an alarm spell or something.

“I probably shouldn’t.” he raised an eyebrow.

“Well then come out here so you can tell me what happened after your mother so rudely came at me.” I wrapped my arms around myself. Was he really just playing me? “What’d she tell you?” His eyebrows drew together. He looked almost sad.

I saw his had offered out to me. I looked between him and his hand. This was a terrible idea. I took his hand slowly. He helped me climb so I was sitting on the edge of the window. I yelped as he picked me up bridal style. I wrapped my arms around his shoulders and squeezed my eyes shut. I was weightless for a few seconds before I heard the light thud of Joe landing.

“You can open your eyes now.” I cracked them open slowly. We weren’t at my house anymore. Instead, we were in a park a couple miles away.

“What the hell? Why are we here? How did you get here so fast?” I yelled at him as he set me on my feet.

“Chill. Just an angel perk. Quick travel.” He slipped his hands into his pockets. The wind made me shiver and I heard him chuckle. “Sorry, forgot you still get cold. Here.” He unzipped his bomber jacket and wrapped it around my shoulders. His warmth lingered.

“Why are you doing this?” I tugged the jacket closed. It was too cold to be worried about pride.

“I just want to know what happened after your mom came home. And what she told you to make you look at me like I’m a monster.”

“She just yelled a lot. Told me to stay away from you and such. Threatened to lock me up in the house.” I laughed awkwardly.

“What else? You’re obviously not telling me everything.”

“That all that happened! Really,” I lied. I turned away from him but he was in front of me again in a second.

“What’d she say about you tapping into your magic?” I crossed my arms over my chest. I couldn’t quite look him in the eye.

“It never came up.” He scoffed and shook his head.

“You’re such a bad liar. What happened?” I sighed. I didn’t have to tell him everything.

“I flung the door open when she tried to shut it. Apparently, she didn’t like the way I tapped into my magic. Said it was too much like my grandmother. That’s it. You’re caught up.”

“What happened to your grandmother?” I glared at him, though it was probably useless.

“None of your business.” He sighed and looked up at the sky.

“I’m sorry for earlier. I should have kept my emotions in check.” What was he sorry for? Other than being nosy.

“What are you referring to exactly,” I questioned? He looked down at me.

“For kissing you. I shouldn’t have let my pride get a hold of me. It didn’t mean anything.” He shrugged as if that was all he could do. I clenched my fists.

“Now you’re the one lying,” I mumbled, just loud enough for him to hear. He opened his mouth to speak but I cut him off.

“So, I guess you really are just playing with me then? That’s your big mission? Same as the one given to the angel that took my grandmother.” He raised his hands in surrender.

“What are you talking about?”

“My grandmother fell in love with her guardian angel and then he used it against her. Made her break rules. Then she was gone. Her magic was stronger because she loved him. And now I’m just like her! All because of you!” I was yelling and a few tears made their way down my face.

“But I just can’t accept that. I don’t believe that you feel nothing for me!” He sighed and ran a hand over his face. There was only the sound of the wind for a moment.

“Well this might be a problem.” I shoved him but he hardly moved. Why wasn’t he taking this seriously.

“You’re an ass!” I started to storm away. I wasn’t going to put up with him. My mom was right. I should just stay away from him.

“Hey! (Y/N)!” Just keep walking. No such luck. He grabbed my arm and pulled me against him. “At least let me finish talking.” His arms wrapped tightly around me. I could feel my heart pounding and I’m sure he could too. I struggled in his arms.

“You aren’t helping. Just let me go.” I placed my hands on his chest to try and shove him away again. But he held me tighter. I concentrated on putting up a barrier between us. I heard him say mine name again but I ignored him.

My eyes popped open when I felt his lips on mine. I was stunned and I couldn’t move. What was this? What was he doing? This needed to stop. I regained my mobility but he refused to let me go. Joe held me tighter, bringing his hand up to the back of my head and tangling his fingers in my hair.

I was kissing him back. My eyes fluttered shut again and I felt his grip on me loosen. I wrapped my arms around his neck. He was gentle with me and took my breath away. We parted for a moment.

“Fuck,” he breathed. I giggled at the irony. I prayed to whatever god was out there. This needed to be real.

Joe stepped away from me suddenly. I almost stumbled. He rubbed the back of his neck and looked around. As if someone was going to jump out any minute. I raised an eyebrow at him.

“What are you doing?” He looked back at me, the longing evident on his face.

“This ends now. This never happened. I’ll take you home.” My jaw hung open slightly. He couldn’t be serious. We were just going to ignore this? He shoved one hand in his pocket and offered the other out to me.

“What? No! You want to pretend like this is nothing?” He groaned and ran a hand through his hair.

“Please try to understand—”

“But I don’t understand! Clearly there’s something here and you want to ignore it? Fuck the rules,” I yelled. He grabbed me by the shoulders again.

“Because they will hurt you! Do you understand? They will hurt you! As much as I want to say, ‘fuck the rules’ with you, it’s just not possible.” The wind picked up around us. His hands cupped my face gently.

“I don’t want to be the reason you’re hurt or worse.” He took a deep breath and released me. “Now let me take you home before your mom kills me.” I nodded slowly and took his hand when he offered it to me again.

He lifted me into his arms as effortlessly as the first time. His wings returned and I finally took in how beautiful they were. We started to float and I forced myself to keep my eyes open. Of all the myths about witches, the one where we fly on broomsticks is the one I wish was real.

“Hey,” I said quietly. Joe glanced down at me. “Do you mind if we don’t use the angel quick travel thing.” A smile made its way onto his face.

“Learning to love flying, huh?” I rolled my eyes at him “Ok, just hold on. Don’t worry though. I promise I won’t drop you.” And off we went.

The wind burned my cheeks. Almost everything was dark except for the street lights and the cars that looked like oversized ants. The ride was over far too quickly and he was hovering outside my window five minutes later. Only problem. My window was now closed and locked.

“Try out that magic you claimed to tap into earlier. I bet you can open it.”

“I was angry then. It might have been a fluke.” He shook his head.

“If I know anything about you, it’s that you’re strong. Trust me.” The sad look had returned to his face. He knew something about me that I didn’t. But I did trust him. As much as I didn’t want to, I did.

I concentrated on the lock inside my window. I just needed to lift it. I closed my eyes. The second I did; Joe’s arms became the only thing I could focus on. Strong and steady. He’d probably never hold me again. For all I knew, he’d disappear after tonight. I jumped when I heard his voice in my ear.

“You can stop concentrating so hard, it’s unlocked. And open for that matter.” He was right. I couldn’t even tell I did it. I laughed a bit.

“It’s all thanks to you,” I half joked. I turned my head toward him but didn’t expect his face to be so close to mine.

Our noses bumped together and I could feel his breath on my lips. I wanted to kiss him again. And I know he wanted it too but he’s right. We can’t say ‘fuck the rules.’ Not right now. He cleared his throat and moved closer to the window to set me on the ledge.

“I hope you don’t get in too much trouble,” he said with a small smile. I grinned back at him.

“I’m always getting in trouble with you.” He hovered in front of me for a moment.

“You probably won’t see me anymore. I’ll try to keep my distance. I’ll make sure the Higher Powers don’t bother you. I’ll let them know you’re not a threat.” I raised an eyebrow at him.

“Why would I be a threat?” This was his mission? To report back to the Higher Powers?

“Late blooming witches tend to be the strongest. And most rebellious.” I nodded, but I didn’t fully understand. “Goodbye, (Y/N).” He turned from me.

“Joe, wait,” I called. He faced me again, wings glittering from the light of the moon. “Well don’t stay over there. Come here. I don’t want to yell too much.” He floated back over to me.

“What is it?” I grabbed his arm and pulled him toward me. I knew he couldn’t get to close to the building, so I jumped. He easily caught me and I wrapped my legs around him. “Are you crazy? Why’d you jump?”

“Kiss me.” He went silent, desperation taking over his features. He opened his mouth to protest but I cut him off. “Just one more. Before I can never kiss you again.” He held me just below my butt, as respectful as ever. I saw the surrender in his eyes.

I leaned my head toward his, our lips just brushing against each other. I let my fingers tangle in his curls. He pressed his mouth against mine softly. I could feel us start to float down slowly. The cold no longer affected us. He landed on the ground without breaking our kiss. I felt the rough bricks against my back as he pressed against me. This had to be heaven.

I sighed when he pulled away from me. I held on as long as I could but he set me down on my feet. He cradled my face in his hands.

“I’m so sorry. I wish the circumstances were different.” I nodded as a tear slid down my face. He lifted me one last time, back to my window. I climbed into my room.

My guardian angel; the love that awakened me, was gone when I turned around.

[iamcmims]

SUPERNATURAL: Olivia Parker: Asylum

Words: 8K

A:N: So sorry for this chapter to be posted this late! I hope you guys will like it!! 

Feedback is always highly appreciated! If you want to be tagged, just ask me!

Taglist: @ohsoevilsoul

Warning: Angst, blood, fight, ghosts.

Previous parts: Pilot — Wendigo — Dead In The Water — Phantom Traveler — Bloody Mary — Skin — Hook Man — The Fight — Home

Olivia and Levy were running in the church, looking behind them every two minutes. Levy takes Olivia's hand and takes her into a dark room, closing the door behind them. Two guards of Khogalla pass next to the door, ignoring they were inside. Levy looks at Olivia. "What's the plan?" Olivia looks around her then back at Levy. "We need weapons." Levy nods. "Of course, but, uh, we're in a church." Olivia nods. "I didn't say it was going to be easy, or remotely logical, or a good idea. Just stated what we needed. The how is another thing.", "Cool." Olivia sighs. "Let's just see what we have here."

In Rockford, Illinois, there is a deserted building. Inside of it, there is graffiti and rubbish everywhere. Torchlight moves along the walls, a chain across a door is broken. Outside, a police car pulls up. Two cops walk up to chain link fence surrounding the building. "Can't keep kids out of this place." States the first cop. "What is it, anyway?" Asks his partner. "I forgot! You're not a local. You don't know the legend.", "Legend?", "Every town's got its stories, right? Ours is Roosevelt Asylum. They say it's haunted with the ghosts of the patients. Spend the night, the spirits will drive you insane." The two police officers enter the building with flashlights. "Hello? Police officers." They see the broken chain on the floor. The first cop sighs, "you're telling me these kids brought bolt-cutters? Come on. Let's split up.", "Right."          The first cop's partner looks around, "hello? Hello?"          The first cop wanders into another room. Expression changes. "Alright, come on out." His flashlight reveals three kids sitting in the dark.          The second cop's flashlight goes out, and he shakes it. A door creaks open, something in this room looks at the officer. He slowly turns to look at the open door.          Outside, the first the officer watches a car drive off then reaches for his radio. "Kelly, you copy?" Kelly suddenly appears behind him, making him jump. "Jeez! Where the hell have you been?", "In there…", "What was it? See anything?", "Huh. No." They return to the police car. Kelly's partner takes the car radio. "This is patrol one four. We are clear and returning to the station." Someone on the radio answers, "Roger."          Kelly enters his bedroom. His wife is reading in bed. "Hey." Kelly ignores his wife and begins lining up his gun, keys, etc., on a chest of drawers. "So, what? You're still not talking to me? Walt! I said I was sorry about before — how many times do I have to say it?" Kelly picks up his gun. Three gunshots are heard.

Sam and Dean were in a hotel room. Sam was on the phone while Dean was on his computer. "No, Dad was in California last we heard from him. We just thought—he comes to you for munitions—maybe you've seen him in the last few weeks. Just, call us if you hear anything." Sam hangs up. "Caleb hasn't heard from him?" Sam shakes his head. "Nope. And neither has Jefferson or Pastor Jim. And you, anything from Olivia?" Dean shakes his head. "Nothing. She doesn't answer her phone. She's out of the radar. It's like she disappeared from the surface of Earth." Sam sighs. "She's somewhere. We're going to find her." Dean scratches his cheek and nods, still focusing on his computer.

Levy and Olivia were still hiding in the room. "I don't get it." Says Olivia, she looks at Levy. "Don't you have powers?" He nods. "I do. But apparently, they stayed in Khogalla." Olivia nods and looks away. "Balls." She stands up. Levy does the same. "All right. Do you know how to fight?" Levy grimaces, Olivia sighs. "Okay. Just stand back." He frowns. "For what?", "Security." She mutters, walking to the door. She opens it and coughs. The two guards that were searching for them ran to her. Levy's eyes got wide open, realizing her plan. After what seemed like the longest fight ever, Olivia knocked the two guards out. Her and Levy took the bodies inside the room with them and closed the door. Olivia looked at Levy, smiling. "Now we have weapons." Levy looks at her not smiling, she rolls her eyes and starts to take the weapons on the guards. "After we're done, tie them up." She takes the sword one of the guards had. Levy looks at her, "where are you going?", "I'm going to find her.", "She's probably not here. And you can't defeat her. You're not at full power.", "Well, at least I'm going to see if the church is clear." Levy nods.

"What about the journal? Any leads over there?" Asks Sam. "No, same as last time I looked. Nothing I can make out —I love the guy, but I swear, he writes like frigging Yoda.", "You know, maybe we should call the Feds. File a missing person's.", "We've talked about this. Dad'd be pissed if we put the Feds on his tail.", "I don't care anymore." Dean's cell phone rings, he crosses the room, while Sam keeps talking. "After all that happened back in Kansas, I mean—he should've been there, Dean. You said so yourself. You tried to call him and—nothing.", "I know!" Dean rummages through his duffel. "Where the hell is my phone?", "You know, he could be dead for all we know.", "Don't say that! He's not dead! He's—he's…", "He's what? He's hiding? He's busy?" Dean finds and flicks opens the cell phone. 'Message. From: Unavailable. — Subject: Message: 42, -89 9:52' "Huh. I don't believe it.", "What?", "It's, uh—It's a text message, it's coordinates." Dean takes his laptop and types on it. "You think Dad was texting us?" Dean shrugs, "he's given us coordinates before.", "The man can barely work a toaster, Dean.", "Sam, it's good news! It means he's okay, or alive at least.", "It could be Olivia.", "No. It said 'unknown.' Olivia would've used her phone number.", "Well, where do the coordinates point?", "That's the interesting part. Rockford, Illinois.", "Ok. And that's interesting how?", "I checked the local Rockford paper. Take a look at this. This cop, Walter Kelly, comes home from his shift, shoots his wife, then puts the gun in his mouth, blows his brains out. And earlier that night, Kelly and his partner responded to a call at the Roosevelt Asylum.", "Okay, I'm not following. What has this had to do with us?", "Dad earmarked the same asylum in the journal. Let's see." Dean searching through the journal. "Here. Seven unconfirmed sightings, two deaths — until last week at least. I think this is where he wants us to go." Sam snorts. "This is a job. Dad wants us to work a job.", "Well, maybe we will meet up with him? Maybe he's there?", "Maybe he's not? I mean, he could be sending us there, by ourselves, to hunt this thing.", "Who cares! If he wants us there, it's good enough for me!", "This doesn't strike you as weird? The texting? The coordinates?", "Sam! Dad's telling us to go somewhere, we're going." Sam makes a bitchface and sighs. "What about Olivia?", "We'll keep searching at the same time. In this motel or another that doesn't change."          Walter Kelly's partner, Daniel Gunderson sits at a table in a local bar. Dean walks in front of him. "You're Daniel Gunderson. You're a cop, right?" Daniel nods, "yeah.", "Huh. I'm uh, Nigel Tufnel, The Chicago Tribune. Mind if I ask you a couple of questions, about your partner?", "Yeah, I do. I'm just trying to have a beer here.", "That's okay, I swear it won't take that long. I just want to get the story in your words.", "A week ago, my partner was sitting in that chair. Now he's dead. You're going to ambush me here?", "Sorry. But I need to know what happened." Sam comes in and pushes Dean aside roughly, "Hey, buddy, why don't you leave the poor guy alone! The man's an officer! Why don't you show a little respect!" Dean pauses, staring, then walks off. Daniel looks at Sam, "you didn't have to do that." Sam nods, "yeah, of course, I did. That guy's a serious jerk. Let me buy you a beer, huh?" Sam looks at the barman, "Two." Daniel nods again, "thanks."          Sam walks out of the bar to Dean who's sitting on the Impala. "Shoved me kind of hard in there, buddy boy.", "I had to sell it, didn't I? It's method acting." Dean frowns, "huh?" Sam shakes his head, "never mind.", "What'd you find out from Gunderson?", "So, Walter Kelly was a good cop. Head of his class, even-keeled, he had a bright future ahead of him."," What about at home?", "He and his wife had a few fights, like everybody, but he was mostly smooth sailing. They were even talking about having kids.", "Alright, so either Kelly had some deep-seated crazy waiting to bust out, or something else did it to him.", "Right.", "What did Gunderson tell you about the asylum?" Sam looks at Dean and raises his eyebrows, "a lot."

Olivia comes back into the room where Levy was hiding. He stands up and looks at her, "they're gone.", "She sent them there to get to you." Olivia sighs. "This is crazy. This—" Her phone rings one more time, she takes it and answers it. "Yes." She grimaces when she hears Dean's voice. "Okay, Dean, calm down." She looks at Levy, he could see she was pissed off by everything happening to her lately. "Could you just shut up for one moment and let me explain my goddamn self, Winchester?" Dean doesn't answer. "Thank you. Now. I couldn't answer your calls and messages because I had an unfortunate event happen to me. I'm taking care of something first and then I will be on my way, just send me coordinates or whatsoever." She answers with a few 'okay' and 'alright' and hangs up. Levy looks at her, an eyebrow raised. "You." She points at Levy. "…Yes?", "You figure out a way to get your mojo back, I take care of the bodies, I call the cops for Father Moore's body, and we're on our way out." He nods. She looks at the bodies and sighs. "Okay let's get rid of you two."

Sam and Dean jump over the tall chain linked fence at the asylum and enter. Sam indicates a sign over one door, "so apparently the cops chased the kids there—into the south wing.", "South wing, huh? Wait a second." Dean flips through John's journal. "1972. Three kids broke into the south wing, only one survived. The way he tells it, one of his friends went nuts and started lighting up the place.", "So whatever is going on, the south wing is the heart of it.", "But if the kids are spelunking the asylum, why aren't there a ton more deaths?" Sam looks around, he notices the broken chain. "Looks like the doors are usually chained. Could've been chained up for years.", "Yeah, to keep people out." Dean looks at Sam, "or to keep something in." They look at the door, then at each other, then back at the door. Sam slowly pushes the door open. They walk down a hallway. "Let me know if you see any dead people, Haley Joel." Sam rolls his eyes at Dean, "dude, enough.", "I'm serious. You have got to be careful, all right? Ghosts are attracted to that whole ESP thing you got going on.", "I told you, it's not ESP! I just have strange vibes sometimes. Weird dreams.", "Yeah, whatever. Don't ask don't tell." After a moment of silence, Sam looks at Dean and his EMF, "you got any reading on that thing or not?", "Nope. Of course, it doesn't mean no one's home.", "Spirits can't appear during certain hours of the day.", "Yeah, the freaks come out at night.", "Yeah." Dean looks at Sam, "hey, Sam, who do you think is the hotter psychic, Patricia Arquette, Jennifer Love Hewitt, or you?" Sam pushes Dean, who laughs.

"Okay." Olivia closes the door of her car and gets to the motel room she booked for her and Levy. Levy stays in the car, not knowing what to do. Olivia looks back at Levy and frowns, "Levy?" He looks at her but doesn't answer. She walks to the passenger door and opens it. He looks up at her, worries in his eyes, she smiles at him reassuringly, feeling his anxiety. "Come on, we're going to get cleaned up and rest a little before heading to were Sam and Dean are." Levy nods and gets out of the car. She closes the door, locks the car, and they enter their motel room. Levy looks around the room and stays up next to the door. Olivia gets two bottles of water out of the small fridge. She gives one bottle to Levy. "Levy, are you okay?" He frowns, "it's so different from Khogalla. I can feel the amount of evil in the area, I can feel your distress, and I can't help but think about the people that need me, need you, us, back in Khogalla." Olivia takes Levy's arm and sits him on the bed. She sits on the one in front of him, "we're going to save them, I promise you, Levy. But for that we will need Sam and Dean, you can trust them, they're—", "The best hunters. All of us back in Khogalla know them." Olivia smiles. "We will save Khogalla, Levy.", "I believe you." She takes his hand in hers and smiles. "Okay, now go get cleaned up, I'm going to grab some food." He nods, puts the bottle down and goes into the bathroom. Olivia takes a deep breath and stands up, leaves the motel room to get some food.

Sam and Dean enter another room and look around. Dean whistles. "Man. Electro-shock. Lobotomies. They did some twisted stuff to these people. Kinda like my man Jack in Cuckoo's Nest." Dean makes crazy eyes and grins at Sam. Sam ignores him and Dean's smile drops. They look around some more. "So, what do you think? Ghosts possessing people?" Asks Dean. "Maybe. Or maybe it's more like Amityville, or the Smurl hunting.", "Spirits driving them insane. Kinda like my man Jack in the Shining." Dean grins. "Dean." Dean looks at Sam. "When are we going to talk about it?", "Talk about what?", "About the fact that Dad is not here.", "Oh. I see. How about—never?", "I'm being serious, man. He sent us here—", "So am I, Sam. Look, he sent us here, he obviously wants us here. We will pick up the search later.", "It doesn't matter what he wants.", "See. That attitude? Right there? That is why I always get the extra cookie.", "Dad could be in trouble, we should be looking for him. We deserve some answers, Dean. I mean, this is our family we're talking about.", "I understand that Sam, but he's given us an order.", "So what, we've got to always follow Dad's orders?", "Of course we do." Sam gives Dean a frustrated Face. Dean stares at him then turns away, ending the conversation. Dean pokes around and picks up a sign. " 'Sanford Ellicott.' — You know what we have to do. We have to find out more about the south wing. See if something happened here." Dean walks away, leaving the sign with Sam, who stares down at it with his infamous bitchface.

Olivia and Levy were on the road. Levy didn't talk much, he was looking at the landscape they were passing, Olivia could see curiosity and fear were mixed up in his eyes, but she also could feel it in his heart. This feeling only reminded her of what Father Moore told her. 'You need to talk with your heart. He can hear you, but he can't find you. Your souls are bound, he's your other half. Talk to him with your heart.' So Olivia decided to try. She thought about a happy memory, making her smile. Levy looked at her and smiled. She looks back at him, "My father loved to take me out every Saturday. It was our father-daughter moment. I remember being impatient the whole week for this day to come.", "You two were close?" Olivia nods. "He was my best friend. He understood me easily. We had the same temper." Levy frowns. "You're talking in past sentence." Olivia sighs. "My parents recently died. A demon killed them.", "You're used to fighting." Olivia shrugs at Levy's words. "I've grown up this way. I got out. Out of the hunting life, I had a son and a husband. But, they also were killed.", "By a demon?" Olivia sighs. "I don't know that yet.", "You mean…?", "We didn't find it. All we know is the thing that killed my family is the one who killed Sam and Dean's mother and Sam's girlfriend." Levy sighs. "The Aurea war should've stopped this.", "Stop what?", "Evil. All of this Evil in this city.", "It's everywhere, Levy. It's a constant war, we win battles, but the war is far from being over. In fact, I can't help but believe she's just started. We're in for a long shot.", "Are you afraid?", "Always. And I use it, it reminds me I'm human, that I'm not what I'm fighting against. I use it to fuel my strength." Levy smiles. "You maybe don't remember Khogalla or me, but you're still the same. You're my Queen. You're this fighter who still believes in the good. Still believe that souls are born pure, that it's up to the people to decide what to make of it. How to use it.", "I might not remember all of this, yet, but I do know one thing, the connection we have? I feel it. And I will do whatever it takes to save Khogalla."

Sam sits on a couch, flicking through a magazine. A man comes to the open door. The sign on the door reads 'Dr. James Ellicott, Clinical Psychiatry.' "Sam Winchester?" Dr. Ellicott calls out for Sam. Sam raises his hand, "that's me.", "Come on in." They move into the inner room. "Thanks again for seeing me last minute." Sam looks around the room. "Dr…Ellicott. Ellicott, that name. Wasn't there a—a Dr. Sanford Ellicott? Yeah, he was a chief psychiatrist somewhere.", "My father was chief of staff at the old Roosevelt Asylum. How did you know?", "Ah. Well, I'm sort of a local history buff. Hey, wasn't there, an incident or something? In the hospital, I guess. In the south wing, right?", "We're on your dollar, Sam. We're here to talk about you.", "Oh, okay. Yeah, yeah. Sure.", "So, how are things?", "Ah, things are good, Doctor.", "Good. What have you been doing?", "Ahh, same old. I have just been on a—on a road trip with my brother and best friend.", "Was that fun?" Sam takes a long pause before answering. "Loads. Umm. You know, we—ahh—we—met—a lot of—interesting people. Did a lot of—ah—interesting things…You know? What was it exactly that happened in the south wing? I forget…", "Look, if you're a local history buff, you know all about the Roosevelt riot.", "The Riot. Well, no. I know. I'm just curious.", "Sam. Let's cut the bull, shall we? You're avoiding the subject.", "What subject?", "You. Now I will make you a deal. I will tell you all about the Roosevelt riot if you tell me something honest about yourself. Like, uh, this brother and the best friend you're road tripping with. How do you feel about them?" Sam looks a little bit freaked out.          Dean leans against glass windows next to the door, looking bored. Olivia's car parks next to the Impala. Dean frowns when he sees Levy coming out of the car. But worry hits him when he sees Olivia's bruised eye and cut lip. "What the hell happened to you?" Olivia sighs. Dean looks at her and frowns. He doesn't hesitate and embraces her. "I'm glad you're okay." Olivia closes her eyes. "But you will have to explain yourself." Olivia pulls away and nods, "I know. And I will." Dean nods and looks at Levy. Olivia shakes her head, "oh, sorry. Levy, Dean, Dean, Levy.", "Is he the friend you were helping out?", "No, he's the one who helped me out." Dean frowns again. "I will explain everything once we're in our motel room, Dean.", "Okay." After a moment waiting outside, Sam walks out. Dean growls. "Dude! You were in there forever. What the hell were you talking about?", "Just the hospital, you know. Hey Olivia." Olivia smiles. "Hey, uh, Sam, this is Levy." Sam smiles at Levy, Levy nods. Dean clears his throat and looks at Sam, "and?", "And the south wing? It's where the housed the tough cases. The psychotics, the criminally insane.", "Sounds cozy." Sam nods at Dean. "Yeah. And one night in '64, they rioted. Attacked staff. Attacked each other." Olivia grimaces, "so, the patients took over the asylum?" Sam nods, "apparently.", "Any deaths?" Asks Dean. "Some patients, some staff. I guess it was pretty gory. Some of the bodies were never even recovered, including our chief of staff, Ellicott.", "Wait," Olivia shakes her head and closes her eyes, then she looks at Sam, "what do you mean by 'never recovered'?", "Cops scoured every inch of the place, but I guess the patients must've—stuffed the bodies somewhere hidden." Levy was getting pale, but no one seemed to notice. Dean scoffs, "that's grim." Sam nods. "Yeah. So, they transferred all the remaining patents and closed the hospital down." Olivia sighs loudly. "So," starts Dean, "to sum it up, we've got a bunch of violent deaths and a bunch of unrecovered bodies.", "And a bunch of angry spirits." Olivia looks at Levy, he looks back at her and shakes his head. He walks away. Olivia looks at Sam and Dean. "Excuse me a second." She walks fast and joins Levy. Dean watches them while Sam was watching him, he clears his throat, Dean looks back at him. "I say let's check out the hospital tonight."

A torchlight approaches behind a door. The door creaks open, a young man and woman, university-aged, enter. "Check this out! Creepy—yet terrifying." States the man. "I thought we were going to a movie." Says the woman. "This is better. It's like we're in a movie." The woman huffs. "I can't believe you call this a date.", "Come on. It will be fun. Let's look around. Come on!" They move further along. The man jumps and swings around. "What was that?" The woman also swings around. The man pokes her, and she jumps, then hits him. He laughs. "Hey, look. Come on, let's check it out.", "I—don't want to. Let's just go.", "Come on!" They stare at each other. "Okay. Okay, you can wait here.", "W— Gavin. No.", "I'm just going to be a minute. Nothing is going to get you, I promise." Gavin moves into the next room alone. The door slams behind him. He looks at it, grins, and keeps going. In the doorway, a female figure with long hair is seen in shadow just as Gavin's flashlight fails. He shakes it. "Damn it." Gavin turns around, "Hey sweetie. Couldn't take it, huh?" The female figure moves closer and puts her hands either side of his face. "Hey." Gavin and the female figure start making out. In the distance, the voice of his girlfriend is heard, "Gavin? Gavin, where are you?" Gavin pulls back and freaks out.

Sam, Dean, Olivia, and Levy are in the Winchester's motel room. Olivia was explaining everything that happened to her up until the episode in the church. "When Levy arrived, we tried to convince Father Moore to go to the hospital, that's when at least ten guards came. At first, we fought, Father Moore wanted to help us, but one of the guards killed him. We fought some more, but they were stronger and armed. We didn't have any weapon on us. So we hid. The church was so big that it was hard to find our way anywhere we could hide, after a moment we found a room and hid in it. Two guards were close behind us, so we set a trap, knocked them out and took their weapon. By the time we were ready to fight them, the rest of the guards were gone." Sam and Dean frown. "That doesn't make sense." Levy stands up. Olivia looks at him, confused. "Olivia, where is your necklace?", "It's on my n—" Olivia touches her neck, but there was nothing. "It must have dropped.", "Or they took it." Adds Dean. "Oh, no, no, no, no." Olivia looks at Levy who was panicking, she stands up, "what?! What's going on?", "She has the other piece of the necklace, the one I have on me is useless! She's keeping you at your human strength.", "Well, I'm sorry, but for a human, I'm strong.", "Yes, I know, but that is not the point. She's not human, she's a witch, without you and your powers, she's the strongest witch. By keeping the pearls, the two necklaces separate, she's assuring her victory." Silence fell upon the room. Olivia sat back down. "Balls.", "Okay." Dean stands up. "Here's the plan, I have no idea what all of this means, but you will explain to me later. So you two you stay here, find a way, anything. While Sam and I will wrap up this case." Levy nods. "Okay, let's move." Sam and Dean leave the motel room.

Sam and Dean are standing in front of the Asylum entrance. Sam pushes open the door, Dean beside him. "Sam is holding a video camera and flashlight, Dean an EMF. "Getting readings?" Asks Sam. "Yeah, big time.", "this place is orbing like crazy.", "Probably multiple spirits out and about.", "And if these uncovered bodies are causing the haunting—", "We have to find them and burn them. Just be careful though. The only thing that makes me more nervous than a pissed off spirit—is the pissed off spirit of a psycho killer." Sam and Dean keep walking, missing a crazed-looking bald man strapped into a straitjacket in the corner.          Sam and Dean keep looking and move into separate rooms. After a minute Sam sees an old woman through the video lens; white-haired, one eye bloody and hanging out, walking toward him. "Dean? Dean!!" Dean runs into the room, rummaging through his bag at the same time. "Shotgun!", "Sam, get down!" Shouts Dean. Sam throws himself on the ground. Dean shoots the woman, she disintegrates. They both look around gasping. "That was weird." Says Sam. "Yeah. You're telling me." Dean starts moving out of the room. Sam follows. "No, Dean, I mean it was weird that she didn't attack me.", "Looked pretty aggro from where I was standing.", "She didn't hurt me. She didn't even try! So if she didn't want to hurt me then what did she want?" A noise comes from a room they are passing. Dean immediately raises his shotgun, and Sam flicks on the torch and shines it into the room. They approach a metal bed covered in a ragged shet, on its side. They see the top of a blonde head behind it. They brace themselves. Sam reaches out and tips the bed over. Gavin's girlfriend is crouched, facing the corner. She spins around, terrified and gasping. "It's alright. We're not going to hurt you. It's okay. What's your name?" Asks Dean, trying to reassure her. "Katherine. Kat.", "Okay. I'm Dean, this is Sam.", "What are you doing here?!", "Um. My boyfriend, Gavin.", "Is he here?" Asks Dean. "Somewhere. He thought it would be fun, try and see some ghosts. I thought it was all just—you know. Pretend. I've seen things. I heard Gavin scream and…", "Alright. Kat? Come on. Sam is going to get you out of here and then we're going to find your boyfriend.", "No! No. I'm not going to leave without Gavin. I'm coming with you.", "It's no joke around here, okay. It's dangerous." States Dean. "That's why I have to find him." Sam and Dean glance at each other. Sam shrugs. "Alright, I guess we're going to split up then. Let's go."

Olivia and Levy were in the motel room, books and papers were scattered all around the room. Olivia was on her computer while Levy was reading a book. Olivia sighs. Levy looks up at her. "Levy, this is going nowhere. There is no trace of Khogalla. We're wasting time, here.", "I know, but we can't do much." Olivia looks at the necklace then back at Levy. "Or maybe we can." Levy frowns.

Kat is with Dean. "Gavin…Gavin?", "I've got a question for you. You've seen a lot of horror movies, yeah?", "I guess so." Dean turns to face her. "Do me a favor. Next time you see one? Pay attention. When someone says a place is haunted—don't go in!" As they move on, a dark shape moves across the inside of the window Dean, and Kat passed.          Sam sees Gavin on the ground unconscious and crouches to shake him. Gavin wakes and freaks out. "Hey, Gavin. It's okay, I'm here to help.", "Who are you?", "My name is Sam. Uh, we found your girlfriend.", "Kat?" Gavin stands up. "Is she alright?", "Yeah. She's worried about you. Are you okay?", "I was running. I think I fell.", "You were running from what?", "There was—there was this girl. Her face, it was all messed up.", "Okay listen, did this girl—did she try and hurt you?", "What? No, she—uh…", "She what?", "She—kissed me.", "Uh—um—but—but she didn't hurt you, physically?", "Dude! She kissed me. I'm scarred for life!", "Well, trust me, it could have been worse. Now, do you remember anything else?", "She uh—actually, she tried to whisper something in my ear.", "What?", "I don't know. I ran like hell."          Dean and Kat were in another hallway, Dean leading the way. The flashlight fades. Dean shakes the torch. "You son of a bitch." He researches into his pocket. "It's alright, I got a lighter." Says Dean. Kat turns to look behind them. "Ow. You're hurting my arm.", "What are you talking about?" They turn to look at each other, realizing they're too far apart to be touching, they look down. A disembodied hand is clutching Kat's arm. Kat is dragged into a room, the metal door slamming behind her. Dean races to it and struggles to pull it open, Kat bangs on it from the inside, but it doesn't budge.

"Are you sure it's going to work?", "Well, Father Moore and you said that those pearls are the essence of me, right?" Levy nods. "Okay, so with one part of the necklace, and me doing the exact same thing I did to bring you here, but this time to go where the other half is.", "Which is probably in Khogalla.", "Where you will have your powers.", "Fighting Profeta in Khogalla, on our ground would be a plus for us.", "Or not. She could be waiting for us. She's been owning Khogalla for a long time now, she's more at ease back there than we would be. But no matter where we fight her, our chances are the same. Just a little bit stronger with us being in Khogalla. Not only it will not endanger innocents, but as I mentioned, you will have your powers.", "Well, I guess there is only one way to find out." Olivia shrugs. "Yup.", "You're sure you don't want to wait for Sam and Dean?", "What help would they be? Be honest.", "Back there? Nothing.", "Exactly. Let's get to work." Levy nods.

Dean continues to struggle with the door. "Let me out! Please!", "Kat! Hang on!" Dean smashes at the door with a metal pipe, then tries to jimmy it open. Inside, Kat slowly backs up, looking at the door. Someone stands behind her, breathing heavily. When Kat spins around, there is no one there. Dean continues banging on the door. Kat turns again and sees the ghost. Tall, heavyset, long dark oily hair, his face a bloody mess. Kat screams and backs up to the door — and backs into him. She screams again. Sam runs down the hall to Dean, followed by Gavin. "What's going on?", "She's inside with one of them.", "Help me!!" Screams Kat. "Kat!!" Screams back Gavin. Kat slides down against the door as the ghost approaches. "Get me out of here!", "Kat, it's not going to hurt you. Listen to me. You've got to face it. You've got to calm down." Dean turns to Sam, astonished. "She's got to what?!", "I have to what?!", "These spirits, they're not trying to hurt us, they're trying to communicate. You have to face it. You have to listen to it.", "You face it!", "No! It's the only way to get out of there.", "No!", "Look at it, come on. You can do it." Kat, taking deep breaths, turns to face the ghost. He leans in close to her face. "Kat?" Calls out Gavin. "Man, I hope you're right about this." Sam nods, "yeah, me too." They wait outside the door in a tense silence. The lock clicks and the door slowly opens. Kat is standing int he doorway. "Oh, Kat." Sam goes inside to check out the room. He comes back out, shaking his head at Dean. "One thirty-seven." Dean looks at Kat. "Sorry?", "It whispered in my ear, One thirty-seven." Sam and Dean spoke in synch, "room number." Sam and Dean crouch against the wall where they can't be heard. "Alright. So if these spirits aren't trying to hurt anyone—" Starts Sam, "—Then what are they trying to do?" Finishes Dean. "Maybe that's what they've been trying to tell us.", "I guess we will find out.", "Alright.", "So, now, are you guys ready to leave this place?" Asks Dean to Gavin and Kat. Kat nods, "that's an understatement.", "Okay." Dean turns to Sam, "you get them out of here. I'm going to find room one thirty-seven."          Sam leads Kat and Gavin down a hallway. "So. How do you guys know about all this ghost stuff?" Wonders Kat. "It's kind of our job.", "Why would anyone want a job like that?" Sam huffs a laugh at Kat's remark. "I had a crappy guidance counselor.", "And Dean? He's your boss?" Sam looks down at Kat, "No."          Dean moves down a hallway and shines his torch on room one thirty-seven. He pushes against the door, using his weight to push aside the broken furniture blocking it. The place is a mess, filing cabinets pushed over, papers everywhere, the walls stained. He shines the torch around, flicks through some folders lying in a cabinet, and keeps looking.          Sam marches down a hallway and tries the door, but it's locked. He tries another one, also locked. "Alright. I think we have a small problem.", "Then break it down." Answers Gavin. "I don't think that's going to work.", "Then a window." Kat looks at Gavin, "they're barred.", "Then how are we supposed to get out?" Asks Gavin. "That's the point. We're not. There's something in here. It doesn't want us to leave." Kat looks at Sam, "those patients…" Sam shakes his head, "no. Something else."          Dean is still searching the room. He finds a loose panel and pries it off. Behind it is a satchel full of papers. "This is why I get paid the big bucks." Inside is a journal with many notes and hand-drawn pictures of medical instruments. Dean pulls up a chair and starts reading, looking concerned. "Well, all work and no play makes Dr. Ellicott a very dull boy." A noise makes him look up quickly.          Sam moves back down a hallway toward Kat and Gavin. "Alright, I've looked everywhere. There's no other way out." Gavin raises his eyebrows, "so what the hell are we going to do?", "Well, for starters, we're not going to panic." Says Sam. "Why the hell not!?" Panics Gavin. Sam's phone rings and he answers. "Hey. — Sam, it's me. I see it. It's coming at me. — Where are you? — I'm in the basement. Hurry up! — I'm on my way." Sam hangs up and looks at Kat and Gavin. "Alright, can either of you handle a shotgun?", "What? No!" Answers Gavin. Kat shrugs, "I can." Gavin looks at her in amazement. "My dad took me skeet shooting a couple of time.", "Alright, here. It's loaded with rock salt. It may not kill a spirit, but it will repel it. So if you see something, shoot." Kat nods, "okay.", "Okay."          Sam is searching through hallways and rooms. "Dean!" His flashlight flickers and fades. He shakes and taps it. A door behind him swings open. He raises his shotgun and approaches carefully. "Dean?" A shadow moves behind a ragged curtain, drawing his attention. When he pulls the curtain back, there's no one there. He then turns, and an old beaten up man with ragged hair and clothes grabs Sam's face, his hands start glowing.  "Don't be afraid. I'm going to make you all better."

Olivia and Levy were still in the motel room. Olivia sighs and puts her head in her hands. "I can't. I start to feel the connection to Khogalla, and then it goes away." Levy sits next to her. "You can do this. With or without powers, you're one of the strongest people I know. You can do this." Olivia looks at Levy and smiles. "Okay.", "Okay. Just take a deep breath, when you feel that connection coming, hold onto it." Olivia nods, she closes her eyes and focuses again.

Gavin paces, Kat crouches against the wall holding the shotgun. Kat sighs, "hey, Gavin?" Gavin comes to crouch beside her. "Yeah?", "If we make it out of here alive— we are so breaking up." Gavin stares at her. They hear a noise around the corner and both rise. Kat raises her shotgun, "did you hear that?", "Something's coming." Dean comes around the corner and sees Kat just as she pulls the trigger. He throws himself back around the corner, crouching against the wall. "Damn it, damn it, don't shoot! It's me!", "Sorry! Sorry.", "Son of a—" Dean comes round the corner and looks at the marks left in the wall. "What are you still doing here!? Where's Sam?" Gavin frowns, "he went to the basement. You called him.", "I didn't call anybody.", "His cell phone rang. He said it was you." Says Kat. "Basement, huh?" Dean looks around and grabs some extra weapons. "Alright. Watch yourselves— and watch out for me!"          Dean looks around in the basement. "Sammy? Sam, you down here? Sam? Sam!" As he turns, Sam is standing right in front of him. Dean jumps back, automatically raising his shotgun. "Man, answer me when I'm calling! You're alright?", "Yeah. I'm fine.", "You know it wasn't me who called your cell, right?", "Yeah, I know. I think something lured me down here.", "I think I know who. Dr. Ellicott. That's what the spirits have been trying to tell us. You haven't seen him, have you?", "No. How do you know it was him?", "Because I found his log book. Apparently, he was experimenting on his patients, awful stuff. Makes lobotomies look like a couple of aspirin.", "But it was the patients who rioted.", "Yeah. They were rioting against Dr. Ellicott. Dr. Feelgood was working on some sort of, like, extreme rage therapy. He thought that if he could get his patients to vent their anger, then they would be cured of it. Instead, it only made them worse and worse and angrier and angrier. So I'm thinking, what if his spirit is doing the same thing? To the cop? To the kids in the seventies, making them so angry they become homicidal… Come on, we got to find his bones and torch them.", "How? The police never found his body.", "The log book said he had some sort of hidden procedure room down here somewhere where he'd work on his patients. So, if I were a patient I'd drag his ass down here, do a little work on it myself.", "I don't know, it sounds kind of…", "Crazy?", "Yeah.", "Yeah. Exactly." Dean opens another door, looks inside, then gestures with his head for Sam to follow. Sam gives Dean a stealthy, sly look. They both enter the room. "I told you I looked everywhere, Dean. I didn't find a hidden room.", "Well, that's why they call it hidden." Dean hears a wind noise. "Do you hear that?", "What?" Dean looks around, crouches and holds his hand out. "There's a door here." Sam points his gun at Dean. "Dean." A trickle of blood runs from his nose. "Step back from the door." Dean raises to his feet, his eyes going from the gun to Sam's face. "Sam put the gun down.", "Is that an order?", "Nah, it's more of a friendly request." Sam raises his gun to point at Dean's chest. "Because I'm getting pretty tired of taking your orders.", "I knew it. Ellicott did something to you.", "For once in your life, just shut your mouth.", "What are you going to do, Sam? Gun's filled with rock salt. It's not going to kill me." Sam shoots Dean in the chest. The shot blasts him backward through the hidden door to fall on the floor. "No. But it will hurt like hell." Dean lies on the floor, gasping for breath. "Sam!" Sam stands over him. "We have to burn Ellicott's bones, and all this will be over, and you will be back to normal.", "I am normal. I'm just telling the truth for the first time. I mean, why are we even here? Because you're following Dad's orders like a good little soldier? Because you always do what he says without question? Are you that desperate for his approval?", "This isn't you talking, Sam.", "That's the difference between you and me. I have a mind of my own. I'm not pathetic, like you.", "So what are you going to do, huh? Are you going to kill me?", "You know what, I am sick of doing what you tell me to do. We're no closer to finding Dad today than we were six months ago.", "Well, then here. Let me make it easier for you." Dean holds his Smith & Wesson toward Sam. "Come on. Take it. Real bullets are going to work a hell of a lot better than rock salt." Sam hesitates. "Take it!!" Sam points the gun at Dean's face. "You hate me that much? You think you could kill your own brother? Then go ahead. Pull the trigger. Do it!" Sam pulls the trigger, but the chamber is empty. He tries again, and once more. Dean uses a right cross to knock Sam to the ground and struggles to get up. He moves to stand over Sam. "Man, I'm not going to give you a loaded pistol!" Sam stares up at Dean. Dean delivers a vicious right cross the knock Sam out, almost falling as he does so. He pats Sam's chest. "Sorry, Sammy."

"Okay, do you feel the connection?" Olivia nods. Levy takes her hand and closes his eyes. After a moment, the air changes, Olivia opens her eyes and realizes they aren't in their motel room anymore. She shakes Levy's hand, he opens his eyes and looks around. They stand up and look around. "Come on, let's go find somewhere more hidden than this." Olivia nods and follows Levy.

Dean begins looking around the room, pushing back ragged curtains with his pistol. Dr. Ellicott glides past, but Dean doesn't notice. He sees a tuft of something poking out of the corner of a closed cupboard and moves closer. He opens the door to find a mummified corpse and flinches back from the smell, gagging. "Oh, that's just gross." Dean salts the body. "Soak it up." Dean drops the salt container and grabs a small tin of kerosene, squirting the body. In the background his torch flickers, unnoticed. A gurney comes flying across the room and knocks Dean to the ground. Dr. Ellicott grabs Dean's face, and once again, his hands light up. "Don't be afraid. I'm going to help you. I'm going to make you all better." Dean struggles to reach his bag with one hand, finds his lighter, flicks it on and tosses it at the mummified body. Ellicott lets go of Dean as his remains start to burn. Dean crawls out of the way and watches ar Ellicott's ghost turns black and falls to the ground, crumbling on impact. Sam wakes up, and Dean looks over at him as Sam flexes his jaw painfully. "You're not going to try and kill me, are you?" Sam raises his hand to push at his jaw, "no.", "Good. Because that would be awkward."

"Okay. Give me your hand." Olivia grimaces and does as told. Levy takes a knife and cuts the palm of her hand. He drips some of her blood over the ground. "Remind me why you're drying me?", "Your blood here will help you having a stronger connection to Khogalla until we get the second part of the necklace back." Olivia nods. Levy wraps something around her now wounded hand. "Okay. Now let's go back to the motel. Just do whatever you did earlier but think of the motel." Olivia focuses and but couldn't find any connection. "Huh, Levy? I can't find the connection." Levy doesn't answer, this never happened. "Wait." Says Olivia. "Give me your hand." Olivia focuses back and feels the connection. The air changes again and when they open their eyes, they're in the motel room. Levy looks at her. "How did you do it?" Olivia scratches the back of her neck. "Well—I—I thought about Dean." Levy smiles.

Sam, Dean, Kat, and Gavin were outside the asylum. Kat smiles, "thanks, guys." Gavin nods,  "yeah, thanks.", "No more haunted asylums, okay?" Gavin and Kat nod at Dean. Sam and Dean watch Gavin and Kat walking toward their car, then they turn to the Impala. "Hey, Dean?" Dean turns to look at Sam but doesn't speak. "I'm sorry, man. I said some awful things back there.", "You remember all that?", "Yeah. It's like I couldn't control it. But I didn't mean it, any of it.", "You didn't, huh?", "No, of course not! Do we need to talk about this?" Dean moves to get into the Impala. "No. I'm not really in the sharing and caring kind of mood. I just want to get some sleep and figure out what the hell is happening to Olivia."

When Sam and Dean enter the room, Olivia felt the tension between them. "Is everything alright?" Sam looks at Dean who nods at Olivia. Olivia looks at Sam, worry in her eyes, Sam looks down and back at her. She sighs. Dean sits down on the bed. "Okay. Olivia. Now's the time for some explanation." Olivia looks at Levy, she sighs and sits down on a chair in front of him. "Okay. Well, I discovered not so long ago, like three days ago that, in my past lives, I was the Queen of some sort of magical kingdom." Dean holds up his hand, Olivia stops talking. He stands up, "what now? A magical kingdom?" Dean looks at Levy, "and who is he? I mean we don't know him, never heard of him, never saw him, and out of nowhere he's here, following you everywhere you go!" Olivia stands up, "Dean calm down.", "Calm down." He looked at Olivia and was about to answer when he saw how panicked she was. "Okay. Okay, sorry.", "The thing is, for me to be at full strength, and power, and to remember those past lives, we need the said necklace, the other half that the guards stole." Dean nods. "Profeta, an evil which is taking control over Khogalla. The kingdom was created on pure, blessed and good grounds, if she takes fully over it, she will be strong enough to take over our world, or to destroy it." Dean sighs loudly. "What's the plan?", "Well, earlier, I tried, with the half that we have to teleport to Khogalla, and it worked." Dean nods, slowly recovering from what Olivia was telling him. "So now that you're here, I say Levy, and I go back there, while you stay here and make sure no one comes to our world.", "Wait, you want us to stay here while you're somewhere only God knows?" Olivia sighs and looks at Levy. He nods. She looks back at Dean. "When I finally was able to go to Khogalla, the only way I found to come back here, was you. You being here was the connection I needed to find my way back."          After the discussion on the plan, Olivia didn't give Dean any choice but to stay there. Everyone was asleep. Dean's phone rings, waking Sam up. "Dean." Dean doesn't move. Frowning, Sam grabs Dean's phone from the end table and checks the number, then flips it open. "Hello." Sam sits straight up in bed. "Dad?"

[jarienn972]

The Right Place - Chapter 15

I want to first extend a quick, sincere apology to anyone who has been following this story. Getting this chapter to come together proved to be a bigger challenge than I'd expected as I needed to keep this somewhat believable, but not get too bogged down in procedurals. This obviously is not expected to be a true-crime drama, but I had to toe the line on keeping it realistic enough to balance the fairy tale aspects as well. (And there are definitely more of those coming!) In this chapter, I've set up the investigation into the Toliver brothers as Emma, McCallen and Haviland work to tie them to Donleavy.

AO3  FF.net  From the beginning on Tumblr: Prologue/1  2  3  4  5  6  7  8  9  10  11  12  13  14

Thursday morning, Downtown Portland

Earlier that morning, McCallen messaged the address of Leviant Construction's nearly-completed office tower in central Portland and Emma had agreed to meet both the deputy and Sergeant Haviland at that site at 11am, hoping to interview the younger of the unsuspecting Toliver brothers before the crew broke for lunch. She parked the Bug across the street from the contractor's entrance on a corner perpendicular to the guarded opening in the fence. She'd spotted McCallen's unmarked sedan just around the corner, partially shielded from view by a food truck positioned in front of the construction site that was clearly preparing for a busy lunch crowd.

"Stay here," Emma reminded her newly-sprung husband. "I'll be right back. I'm just going to go check in with McCallen but I don't see Haviland around anywhere yet."

"I'll be waiting right here, Love," he assured her but his voice dripped with sarcasm as he shifted around in the tight confines of yellow bug trying to make himself comfortable.

"I'll leave my phone here," she continued, ignoring the undertone of his statement as she pointed to the clutter-filled opening in the vehicle's dashboard where she'd tucked her cell phone to charge. "If you need anything, just call McCallen's number." Killian nodded in agreement but it was obvious that his attention was elsewhere. His blue eyes were intently focused on the chain-link fencing opposite him as he sought out any glimpse of his attackers.

Emma walked briskly over to McCallen's parked vehicle, regretting her decision not to grab her heavier leather jacket from the back seat as she wrapped her sweater clad arms around her chilled torso. She rapped lightly on the passenger side window to get the deputy's attention and McCallen immediately gestured for her to climb inside. She yanked the door open and flopped into the seat while craning her neck to glance back at the Bug, unsure whether her husband would keep his promise to stay put.

"Sgt. Haviland is running a few minutes late," McCallen informed her as she pulled the door closed. "I saw one of the Tolivers, Jackson, walk past the gate earlier but no sign yet of the younger brother or of Mr. Donleavy."

"The younger brother is probably here too and since they'll likely be breaking for lunch soon, we're going to need to get over there soon to question him," Emma stated.

"Agreed, and then we can hope that he runs to his accomplices during his lunch hour."

"We should decide now how we want to play this," Emma began. "We need to come up with a reasonable excuse to question Benjamin Toliver…"

"When I spoke to Sgt. Haviland earlier this morning, he suggested that you and I be the ones to approach and question Mr. Toliver. Maybe we could use something like DNA being recovered at the crime scene? You know - like spit or something? Maybe this guy will be clueless about things like that?" McCallen's thoughts brought a crooked smile to Emma's lips but she wasn't keen on a fake DNA evidence ploy.

"Interesting idea, but maybe we should go with something simpler like an anonymous witness account?" she suggested. "We do have a witness who can place Toliver there so it's not entirely a stretch. They just don't know that he survived."

"Think it would be enough to send him running to his cohorts?"

"We just need to plant a little seed of doubt in Toliver's head and hopefully, he'll do exactly what we want."

"You think so?" McCallen wondered, his own investigative inexperience prompting some probably unfounded doubt in his mind.

"Yeah, I do," she replied with a broad grin as she took another glance back toward her own car.

"Sheriff, is there something wrong?" a confused McCallen finally asked after watching her turning to look at her yellow Volkswagen twice now. He found himself slightly unnerved at her bizarre behavior. What did she keep staring at behind them?

"Sorry, I'm just trying to keep an eye on my husband so that he keeps his promise…"

"Your husband?" The deputy's bewildered face made her chuckle as she immediately realized she hadn't informed anyone that Killian had checked himself out. "Isn't he still in the hospital?"

"No," she replied with a slight grin despite the irritated tone of her voice. "He's sitting in the car. He insisted on checking himself out of the hospital this morning against medical advice so he was told he would have to wait in the car."

"I see…," McCallen responded without offering further commentary. It certainly wasn't his place to judge the man's decisions and clearly, it didn't seem as though Emma agreed with it.

"Well, I'd better head back to the Bug and keep Killian company until Haviland shows up."

"Okay, I'll call you if anything changes but if not, we can all get together when he arrives and put something into action."

**************

Haviland eased his sedan up to the curb behind Emma's Volkswagen approximately twenty minutes later. He may not have known the vehicle, but he recognized its blonde-haired driver and was slightly taken aback by the unexpected figure occupying the passenger seat. Was that actually her husband seated next to Sheriff Jones? What was he doing out here this morning?

The police sergeant took a quick glance around the busy downtown neighborhood as he turned off the engine wanting to ensure they weren't drawing any undue attention. Once he was confident that no one from the nearly completed but still fenced off construction site was paying any mind to vehicles parked across the street, Haviland exited his vehicle and strolled around to the passenger side of Emma's Bug then raised his hand to rap on the window but the pirate was already a step ahead. Killian found the handle on the inside of the door and rolled down the window while Emma's grin widened at Haviland's somewhat confounded expression at seeing her passenger.

"Mr. Jones? This is certainly a surprise…" Haviland greeted the unplanned fourth member of their investigative team.

"My apologies if I confused you with my presence this morning," Killian replied, "but I'd simply reached my wit's end with the confines of that hospital room and also felt I could be of greater assistance here."

"He's under orders to remain in the car though," Emma clarified so Haviland would be aware of the terms of their agreement. "Anyway, McCallen and I chatted a bit earlier and we're ready to go track down Benjamin Toliver and question him. Do we have any radios or anything to communicate back to you?"

"We'll have to improvise there," Haviland told her. "Why don't you dial my phone and leave the line open? I can mute it on my end so there won't be any sound feeding back to your end. It might be a little muffled from your pocket, but I should be able to make out enough of the conversation to proceed once you're done with the interview."

"Sounds good to me," Emma agreed as an eager smile stretched across her face. "I'll go get McCallen and we'll get this party started."

"If it's alright with you, Sheriff, I'd like to have your husband here join me in my vehicle," Haviland requested. "I've got binoculars so we can keep a closer watch on the site and I would like him to hear this conversation too – especially to confirm the voice and any details Toliver might accidentally reveal. Maybe we'll even get lucky and pick up some voices in the background to help identify Toliver's accomplice since the older brother is only tentatively suspected at this point."

"Sounds good," Emma replied as she pushed open the driver's door and stepped out into the street amidst a break in traffic. "Let's go find Mr. Toliver and see what he has to say…"

*************

A few minutes before noon, Emma and McCallen strode up to the guard shack at the construction site entrance. McCallen, in plain clothes today instead of his uniform, had his Deputy badge already in hand as they approached, surprisingly confident despite his lack of investigative experience. Emma remained a step behind the local deputy, pulling her leather jacket tighter around her chest and shoving her hands into her pockets as she found herself once again shivering against the chill of this dreary, overcast day. Her badge was clipped to the waistband of her jeans but she was fully prepared to offer her own credentials for closer scrutiny if asked. She was perfectly content with allowing McCallen to take the lead for now.

"Good morning," McCallen greeted the guard seated inside the tiny booth, extending his right hand which clutched his badge toward the young man who was bundled up in a heavy parka as the booth he occupied offered little protection from the elements. "I'm Deputy McCallen with the Cumberland County Sheriff's department. My associate and I are looking for one of the employees of Leviant Construction, a Mr. Benjamin Toliver. We need to ask him some questions and would like to know if he would be working today so we could talk with him for a few minutes?"

"Yeah, the guard replied," he's working today. Let me radio his foreman and see if he can round him up."

"Thank you," McCallen responded with a polite smile. "We'd really like to just get all of this done here today and not have to make him come into the station."

"Sure… I get it. You can wait for him in that trailer just to the right," the guard stated, pointing his index finger in the direction of a small, somewhat rusty single-wide trailer positioned just on the other side of the chain link fence. "Contractor isn't here today so you can use his office. Can't let you anywhere else on the site though without proper safety protocols."

"The trailer will be more than sufficient," McCallen assured the young man. "Appreciate it."

"Let me get the gate opened," the guard said as he pressed a button on the electronic panel in front of him which opened the rolling gate and allowed the two law enforcement officers entry. "Trailer should be unlocked. I opened it up earlier today for a meeting but I know they're all done."

"Thanks," Emma said with a little nod of her head before following McCallen through the now opened gate and up the three metal grated steps to enter the less than spacious trailer, finding that the interior was as spartan as the exterior. The space was furnished simply with a single industrial grey metal desk and faded black vinyl office chair that was scuffed and peeling. Two four drawer filing cabinets lined the wall to the left of the desk and three metal folding chairs leaned against the cabinet closest to them. An older space heater was positioned in the center of the floor but it wasn't turned on.

"Cozy," Emma stated sarcastically as she pulled the trailer's door closed behind them. "Quite certain this isn't any office Donleavy would use. No way someone like him would use a dump like this…"

"Who do you think it belongs to?" McCallen queried as he took up the task of setting up two of the folding chairs, unsure of how long they might be waiting while somebody tracked down Toliver. He had no intention of standing the whole time.

"Probably doesn't belong to anyone," Emma replied as she decided to do a bit of snooping. "I assume it's used by the contractor and the foreman for meetings and the like." She tried to tug open the file drawers but found them all locked so she turned her attention to the desk but to her disappointment, found it contained only basic office supplies. Nothing here was likely to give them any clues about Donleavy and his business.

She'd just closed the top drawer of the desk when the trailer door flung open and a young sandy haired man entered. The face matched the photographs they had of Benjamin Toliver but in person, he had a slighter build than Emma had pictured. It was no wonder that Killian had been easily able to intimidate the smaller of his captors and she really couldn't picture the man before her as a construction worker. It seemed an odd career choice for the scrawny figure she was eyeing right now. Perhaps Benjamin Toliver's place here had more to do with older brother, Jackson, than they'd initially suspected.

"Um… Hi…," the young man stammered. "I'm Ben Toliver. I was told that somebody had some questions for me?" Emma could already spot the stress signs indicating how nervous he was. Despite the obvious chill in the air, Toliver was sweating and it didn't appear to be from manual exertion. He was blinking far more than would be normal in these light conditions. He was tightly wound and evidently very anxious - and that trait was precisely what Emma hoped to exploit.

"Mr. Toliver, why don't you please have a seat?" McCallen suggested, although it was really more of a veiled order as he made a gesture toward one of the folding chairs he'd placed opposite the desk. "I'm Deputy McCallen from the Cumberland County Sheriff's department and this is my associate, Sheriff Jones from one of our sister counties. We'd like to ask you a few questions today to see if you can help us out with a joint case we've been investigating. You're not under any obligation to talk to us today and we'd really prefer to keep this casual, but if you prefer, we could have you come back to the station where you could have an attorney present if you want." McCallen knew they were treading on tenuous legal ground here and wanted to proceed cautiously but he was afraid that a full Miranda warning would keep Toliver from talking.

"Uh, okay?" Toliver was hesitant to reply. "What would I need an attorney for? Don't really know what I could help with…"

"Were just trying to get some help investigating a local robbery and a missing person's case that appear to be connected," Emma explained, taking a seat atop the desk in front of Toliver, intentionally using the height difference to intimidate. "We have a few leads that seem to place you near the scene of the robbery so we thought we would find out what you might know."

"Robbery?" Toliver repeated nervously, shifting on the metal chair enough to make it squeak in protest. "What about a robbery? I've been here all morning…"

"Oh, this wasn't from today," Emma stated. "The robbery in question took place Sunday afternoon – right around this same time of day. Could you please tell us where you were Sunday between say 12 and 3?"

"Um…, probably at home. Didn't really go anywhere Sunday," Toliver lied, his left eye twitching almost imperceptibly as he made his statement.

"You're sure you didn't go anywhere?" she asked again. "I ask because we have a witness who places you at the harbor near the ferry terminal that day. You didn't go to the harbor? Maybe out on a boat with friends?"

"Uh…, no ma'am," the suspect fibbed yet again. "Haven't been out to the harbor in a while… I was working a lot of overtime last week so I was probably sleeping. Must have been somebody else they saw…"

"Any idea why someone might want to implicate you and tell us you were down there at the harbor?" McCallen inquired.

"Not really… If I wasn't sleeping, I was probably just hanging with my brother," Toliver stated and Emma noticed there was no twitch this time, indicating he was telling them at least a partial truth. He had been with his brother but wasn't being truthful about where they'd been hanging. It was so obvious that she didn't even need to rely on her superpower to figure this one out.

"Well, we were hoping you might have seen something that would have helped us," Emma said. "A man from my town was apparently taken hostage during that robbery which took at a shop on the harbor and now he's gone missing."

"Sorry, Sheriff," Toliver said with a shake of his head. "Wish I could help you, but whoever said they saw me down there was wrong."

"Well, sorry to bother you, Mr. Toliver," McCallen stated. "Appreciate you taking the time to talk to us though." He waited as Toliver stood, then escorted their suspect to the trailer door knowing that Sgt. Haviland who was watching and listening from across the street would take over surveillance from here.

"Yeah, sure… Happy to help," Toliver replied. "If that was all you needed, I've gotta get back to work…"

"Yes, that's all we needed," Emma replied, thinking to herself for now. "Thank you for your time." We'll be talking to you again soon, you little bastard…

Emma and McCallen waited until Toliver was well out of earshot to withdraw her phone from the right-hand pocket of her jacket and unmute it to check in with Killian and Sgt. Haviland.

"Did you guys get all of that?" she asked, hoping they'd been able to hear the conversation well enough when the phone was tucked away in her jacket pocket.

"Most of it," Haviland replied. "Your husband did confirm both the identity of the man who entered the trailer as well as the voice. Toliver is definitely involved so now we just have to identify his accomplices."

"Oh, I'm quite sure he was with his brother," Emma stated. "It's the one thing he didn't lie to us about."

"You're quite confident of that," Haviland responded, not yet as convinced as Emma may have been.

"Trust me, Mate," Killian insisted. "I assure you – she knows when someone's lying to her."

"I'll have to take your word for it then," Haviland stated. "Now, how about you and McCallen get back out here so I can take over when they break for lunch?"

[weloseeveryweek]

my football day

Jersey on, scarf above head and singing the football anthem at the top of the lungs with thousands of fans in the stadium. Nope. That is not really how my football day looks like. My football day or should I say football routine can sometimes start way earlier before the kick off day. It usually starts by searching for information of the fixtures and me with zero experience of playing football trying to be a football pundit. Time zone apparently a bigger enemy than the opponent as games can go from 10pm to wee hours. Being eight hours earlier than GMT which means dates posted in websites are confusing as hell. It can sometimes post a problem such as waking up at 2am just to find out that the game is on the next day. Yup. True story. But that did not stop a passionate fan from watching the beautiful game. Like all other Asian fans, I can assure you that we are probably the most passionate bunch of footie fans. I bet most of y'all from the west never had the problem of watching games at odd hours but we suffer this problem week in week out. The torturing of time zone is real but we still do it for football. And that is what I call dedication.

Sometimes the local radio station would pump us up as early as Thursday or Friday for the big matches but otherwise Saturday mornings are the start of the routine. Confidence can range from super confident to nail biting, depending on the opponent. As the game draws closer, the confidence level will go down from ‘We got this!’, 'I think we will win.’, 'Please win this, I beg you!’ to 'You better win this game or I will burn this merchandise!’. But thankfully the burn tally is still zero until this date thanks to my cheapskate self that never allow me to do so. Couple of hours before the game, it is the social media time. It is not much of gathering useful information of the game but mostly about stalking player’s Instagram and having playful bantering with friends. When the staring line up comes out, the football pundit in me begins to work again. If the line up consist of players perform constantly well throughout the season, the confidence level will rise like a firework. If it is someone that has been doing badly for the last two games, I will freak out and question the abilities of the coach.

The football routine is slightly different depending on who’s game I am watching and how big the game is. I don’t really have a fixed routine or ritual as I was never a superstitious person. But there are a few things that I enjoy doing just for the sake of it. I like to have an Auntie Anne’s pretzel before a German football game or some cookies from Mark and Spencer during an English game. I would drink beer during Premier League games too. But don’t worry, I’m over the legal drinking age. Otherwise I am fine with whatever snacks that I manage to salvage from the fridge. My team does not score more because of me snacking on specific items but I still do it anyway. Most of the time I just wear the same colours as the club jersey just to represent my team. Sometimes if I forgot it was match day until an hour before kick off, I just continue wearing whatever I already have but the very least, I will make sure I am NOT wearing the opposition’s colour. For big games, I would wear jerseys if I have them. They don’t bear any names at the back because putting a name on an overpriced T shirt is like getting a tattoo. You only have that one chance and the result is permanent. I love too many players and I feel that I would regret if I pick one. I will either feel bad for my other boys that I ignored or I would feel sick starring at a person’s name that I no longer like. Anyway, I have to be fair to everyone. Some would suggest putting our own name but that to me just seem too self indulgent and I don’t really want strangers to know my name. Truth to be told I only have National Team jerseys where I wear them during big games. I have still yet to own a club jersey as I am still not sure if spending on 50 pounds on a Standard Chartered T shirt is worth the money. But the 2017/18 home jersey looks tempting. Hmm.

For Borussia Dortmund games or any German related game, a German Shepherd plushie will accompany me throughout the game. I would also chat with two of my closest Dortmund buddies Ms A and Ms J (not the one from America’s Next Top Model) that I get to know through social media. As a female sports junkie living in a country with a mind set of the 50s, bless the internet for being such an amazing platform for me to meet people that lives on the other side of the world. I am very glad to have two wonderful ladies that I share the same passion and philosophies not only in football but in life as well. Ms A is the calm and mature one that always sometimes sprout out some words of wisdom. She always remain positive and cool. I love the fact that she roots for underdogs and dark horses. She is the one that I go to for comfort when I needed some. And then there is Ms J whom always nut with me before and during games. She is the one that gets me pumped up for the games and I will always be the one who comforts her. If the team wins, we would scream and shout for the rest of the week. If the team losses, we both cry to each other. Live messaging with Ms J during Dortmund games are probably one of the best part of football experience and I hope we could do it more often.

The Liverpool routine is a bit unique. It is the only time that I actually watch press conferences on a regular basis. And now, it has become a must watch even if I had to miss the actual game. I could not remember when I start youtubing the pre and post press conference of Jürgen Klopp but what I can assure you that this routine will not end anytime soon. Kloppo always has good things to say about the players and his positivity is infectious to the players and fans. He makes you feel better especially when we are down, which is essential for me before and after a match. Right before the game starts, I would have my Liverpool T shirt and scarf with me. Sometimes it is just the scarf. If the game is on Sunday night, I would visit the Liverpool shop that is coincidentally nearby the church. Window shopping in the shop has been a norm for me although there isn’t really much to see. Some of the stuff are 3 years old and those same Brendan Rodgers mini figurines are still sitting on the shelves. Don’t they understand nobody wants Rodgers figurines even if they are free? We want Kloppo! I am still waiting for the miniature Klopp figurine but they never sell it separately. They only sell it in a set with the starting 11 players. The big ones are available but it would cost an arm so that is out of the question. By the time I feel like buying the whole set of 2016/17 players, the set has already sold. Dammit.

If the games are on the same time, I have to choose which one to watch. Since dad only watches English Premier League among the club games, Liverpool games are mostly the ones I end up watching. He is my football companion for the English games which is both fun and frustrating. Dad claims to be a neutral football fan but there are some teams that he likes more than others. What I observed is that he likes Manchester City and a little bit of Liverpool. The heart breaking part is dad likes to pour cold water on my favourite team or player. And for some odd reason, Liverpool never fails to give us plot twists. However, both of us enjoy making fun of top teams especially Manchester United when they lose. I don’t really hate the club itself but somehow they managed to recruit a number of unlikable people over the years. Now Mourinho is there we drag them even further. I am not ashamed to say that part of the entertainment of football is the coaches reaction, especially Klopp, Mourinho and Guardiola. Klopp is definitely our favourite in a positive way. And Mourinho/Arsene drama is better than those soap operas.

Mom would sometimes join the group probably due to curiosity. She would ask questions and I would suddenly become a football professor. I am proud to share my knowledge even though I know she will forget everything on the next hour. Mom does not really follow sports but she does know a few household names. For tennis, she could name the top guns such as Federer, Nadal, Murray, Djokovic, Sharapova and the William sisters. She also knows the famous badminton players by face like Lin Dan and Lee Chong Wei. In Formula One she knows Schumacher and Räikkönen. But in football it is a different story. If you ask mom about Ronaldo or Messi she would reply you that she knows nothing about them. So apparently both of them are not popular enough for mom. The only player she knows is Manuel Neuer. She does not know him by name, but every time Neuer is on the telly she would become enthusiastic and say 'Hey, is that the German goalkeeper?’. Mom is frustrating at times too as she would sometimes root for the opponent. When I question her loyalties to her daughter, her answer is that someone needs to support the other team. And apparently it is a mom thing to support the opponent because Ms J’s mom is like that too.

Win, lose or draw is not the most important thing in the world. Life still goes on despite the results but the unique memories of watching the beautiful game will always remain in my heart. As the game ended, I start to youtube for the press conference and google search for moments of the match. I look forward to the next match and repeat the whole process again.

No, wait. Is it a Saturday or Sunday game again?

[mechanintendomaster]

Unused Mario and Bowser: Frenemies Forever 27

Unused Mario and Bowser 27

Chapter 27

Author note: Would have been in the place of what is actually Chapter 26. Mario, instead of Kylie would have done some  recapping and reflection before the race which is part of the actual story’s Chapter 26: More Karting With Bowser (The End?). I thought about it for a while and eventually the whole thing was done over with more emphasis on Kylie and her ‘detectives, spies, and plumbers’ tieing any loose ends. This version, while introspective just went on too slow. Enjoy!

8.00 am.

Mario slung his arm on the clock to end it’s torturous alarm. What day was it, he thought? Oh yeah, the of the next Mario Kart... He finally leaned up, feeling like an invisible weight was pushing him back in bed, and his covers became ever more inviting all over again. It had been an exhausting week after finding the cure, and now it had caught up to the seasoned hero. He gently sunk back down, on the verge of visiting Subcon again….

...Someone tall and slender crept through the bedroom door, holding a bowl of some steaming hot substance. With the other hand, he flicked on the light switch without hesitation. “Hey bro, you're up?!”

Mario yawned as he squinted to see his younger brother. Luigi was fully dressed and smirking for some reason. “Say, I didn't get hit by the Mushroom Bus last night, did I?” Mario mumbled.

“Umm...no? That’s what you get for staying up all night with Peach!”

Mario jolted up. “Luigi?! We were in a MEETING!”

Luigi flushed. “Did I say otherwise, bro? Either way, I got a good night's rest and you didn’t!”

Mario hopped out of bed. “Please, don’t act like I wanted to only get one measly hour of sleep. Besides, you didn’t come home with me and last I heard, you were with Boo. What’s with that​, little brother?”

Luigi dashed out of the room. “Not telling!’

Mario sat back down on the edge of the bed. “You win this time, Weegee…”

Rejuvenated by….whatever that was, Mario did his habitual morning stretches. Passing by the kitchen to go the the bathroom, he noticed Luigi at the table and the enticing smell of apple flavored oatmeal. Weird, he thought. Luigi said they were out of the oatmeal yesterday, or maybe he said that to keep him from eating it all, as Luigi often did when he didn’t want Mario eating up food in the house before their ‘shopping day’. “You got me again…” Mario mused.

Luigi looked up. “Huh?”

“Nothing…”

Next it was time for shower, shave, fix breakfast. Just for himself, rather. Mario found it weird not be the first person up, but in all fairness it had been a busier week for him than Luigi. After delivering the cure to the Toadley Clinic, things progressed even faster than the two days before. The cure was rushed to Mushroom Kingdom Hospital East by Dr. Toadley’s associates and by the next morning, everyone had the cure. Toad and Daisy recovered just fine despite being the worse cases and they were back in their respective castles two days later. Toad was lively as usual, but when no one heard from Daisy, it was assumed she was making a quiet recovery, especially since calls to her phone went straight to voicemail. Imagine their surprise when they found out that she’d been practicing non stop for the next tennis game. Her weary but relieved father spilled the beans once Peach got her own father to check up on the neighboring Sarasland. A direct quote from her was, “The next time I face Mario and Bowser, they’re going down!!” Reportedly, even Bowser shuddered at the thought.

Back on a serious note, Peach allowed Bowser make a new “message” briefly explaining that he was NOT the cause of the Mushroom Flu but that he was definitely still their number one nightmare and would be definitely be ruling the kingdom in the next decade or so. The general public were not surprised.

Other than that, Mario had to spend long meetings with Peach other officials discussing legal matters, criminal activity, and ways to prevent such a thing from happening again in the oft used castle courtroom. Larry Koopa was an unexpected (to Mario) guest, representing Bowser’s household as the public face of Koopa relations. Mario could definitely sympathize with him, as they were both kind of hanging around for arbitrary reasons. Larry’s cool and casual attitude didn't stop him from being helpful however. Since he was one of the few ranking members of Bowser’s Castle who never came under complete control of Z, he had a lot to reveal, though never enough to satisfy everyone. Everyone knew the culprit was Zoo Diddley, but since he’d disappeared it seemed that parts of the conspiracy would never be revealed, not that every local paper and news station didn't try to decode it anyway.

Mario also had to survive countless interviews once details of his adventure were leaked. Before long, the public had heard it all, even parts of his adventure that didn’t happen in public eye!

Maio finally set down at the kitchen table with a plate of bacon and eggs in hand as he dwelled on something. Wasn’t there someone at the hospital who telepathically communicated with Z? What if they just hired him?

Luigi got up and placed his empty bowl in the sink. “I have an uh...appointment. I’ll meet you at the track bro!”

Mario squinted at the tiny digital clock on the microwave. “But the race isn't until-” Luigi was off before Mario could say another word.

Now alone, Mario checked his cellphone to see a text message from the Koopa King himself, dated that morning..

“You’ll be dead meat at the race, plumber!!! (Followed by a ridiculous amount of ‘evil’ emojis such as skulls, devils, fire, and... clowns?)” Mario smiled weakly, the threat bringing back a warm sense of familiarity. Going through his contacts, he caught an idea. After a moment Peach answered the phone, and the two spoke for a while, sounding equally groggy.

“Yes. That's a great idea!” Peach spoke, livening up. “I'll tell him, and please come over this morning. Some people would like to speak to you before the race today.”

“Oh sure... Princess,” Mario answered. He just hoped he wasn't going to get rushed by reporters for the twentieth time that week.

………………….

At 10 am, Mario pulled up to Peach’s Castle on his Mach Bike. The entire area was quiet, no yard workers even in site. Alagold was yet again on the front porch with the Nintendo DS playing teenaged ‘guard’ not far behind.

“Hey buddy,” Mario greeted slyly, “are they gone?”

Alagold shrugged as he approached the motored bike. “Who?”

“Eh, nevermind. Guess I was paranoid over nothing. Who wanted to see me?”

“Oh that...Nobody!” Alagold chuckled. “Peach just wanted to get you over here for another cake. I can’t believe you fell for it!...”  

Once inside, Mario saw that his yellow capped friend was right and everything was normal inside Peach’s prestigious abode. His boots squeaked on the shiny floors and there was no dust on any of her decor, opposite of the dilapidated appearance from a week ago. Mario followed an enticing smell to the dining room were yet another cake awaited him on the long table. This one had white icing with light blue details, but Mario noticed something interesting. One might even say unusual. Something Peach would never do...

Bake a normal sized cake!

“Teehee, Mario! Over here!!” Peach called from behind it.

“This cake talks again,” Mario replied teasingly, even though he could clearly see her.

“Mario! Get over here!” she replied in kind.

Mario stopped in his tracks as he had an epiphany. Why recreate that morning?

Peach frowned. “What’s wrong, Mario? We have a busy week and now my presence palls you?”

“Of course not! I haven't rested well lately and then you call me here and do...this…” Mario sat down next to her.

“The cake? You know how often I bake my cakes,” Peach said with a hint of self awareness. Her radio started buzzing but she ignored it.

“But why a normal cake?”

Peach neatly cut herself a slice, revealing the chocolate inside with white cream filling. “I can't bake a petite version of my world famous, hand made cakes?”

“No…” Mario crossed his arms. “Besides, didn't you admit to following an old recipe?”

Peach swept her hair back and glanced away, as if a plan of hers had been foiled by whatever Mario said. “Okay fine. I didn't have time for a giant one. I do have to prepare for the race after all..”

“Now that I believe,” Mario chuckled, finally grabbing a slice for himself. “Don't ever get job where you have or lie, like a used kart salesman. Or a buffet waitress...”

Peach rolled her eyes. “Same for you, Mario… Wait, waitresses lie?”

Mario swallowed another mouthful of cake. “Mm hmm, or the buffet ones at least. They'll say I've been through the buffet line five times when I know it's only been four!”

Peach giggled before covering her mouth in a discreet princess like fashion. Mario was tickled by her prissy ways and joined her, their laughter echoing in the room before the doors abruptly swung open.

A green capped Toad in a dark blue business suit got pushed in with Buckenberry and Toadette close behind. Buckenberry looked normal but Toadette was dressed up in a burgundy colored dress suit. They followed the green Toad, who strolled casually closer to Peach and Mario, even idly swinging his small briefcase as he took in the sights of the castle dining room.

“Princess, you didn't answer your radio! This is the guy that just marched right in here!” Buckenberry barked.

Toadette nodded, trying to keep up in her matching burgundy high heels she clearly had little experience with. “Yeah, and he claims to be ‘important’!”

“This is Mr. Mitch Toadstool, who helped chase Z from the hospital a week ago. Don’t you remember, dears?” Peach reminded them gently.

“Rrrright...” Mario droned. “Well what’s he doing here?”

“It was your idea, silly! He’s going to be one of our new guiance counselors since he can detect extrasensory disturbances! Oh, and I just love his Mushroom Enquirer magazine!”

“Yeah, what the Princess said,” Mitch finally spoke, his voice deeper and raspier than what one would expect from a Toad.

Mario gave the dapper gentleman a once over again. He could understand the swooning, or was that jealousy, from everyone? “Oh yeah. Pleased to have you at the castle. Emery told me all about uh, whatever happened on the roof. Welcome aboard.” Mario got up and held out his hand.

Mitch shook it firmly. “Thanks, hotshot. I’ll root for you at the race, from the comfort of my jacuzzi that is. You have that here, right?”

“No!” Buckenberry answered.

Mitch helped himself to a slice of cake that was pre cut on a plate. Behind it was a plaque labeled “Toadsworth”. “Fine fine. Say, great cake you got here!”

“Hey that slice is reserved for-”

Peach cut Toadette off. “Thank you, tee hee! And maybe we should add a jacuzzi, hmm…”

Toadette and Buckenberry’s jaws dropped to the ground.

Mario picked up his own slice to go, seeing how this was about it get ugly. “See you later guys.” Mario left the dining room, no one even noticing his departure. As he was leaving, he saw Toad waiting around near the entrance wearing a red fancy looking tie.

“There you are!” greeted Toad.

“Hey. You’re racing too, right?”

Toad nodded. “And I’m coming with you because we need to talk,” Toad said in a more serious manner.

The smile dropped from Mario’s face. “Uh, okay..”

Toad lightly punched his shoulder. “Lighten up, I don’t mean like that. I just want to get caught up a on a few things. Like, we've barely even spoke in the past week!”

“Okay, but I was heading to the Kart garage.”

“Well you wouldn't mind giving an old pal a lift, right?”

Mario smiled. “Fine, but next  time I’m charging! By the way, what’s with that tie?”

Toad rubbed the silky dress accessory between his fingers as they left the castle. “This stupid thing? Mr. Toadsworth convinced Peach to change some policies and so now castle advisors and management have to ‘dress up’.” He unloosened it from his neck and instead tied it around his head like a bandana. “But screw that! We’re off duty during a Mario Kart, right? Oh, neat. You brought the Mach Bike!” Toad ran up to the parked bike, leaving behind Mario on the bridge over the moat. By the time Mario had reached it, Toad was already in the passenger side cart making playful engine noises.

“What would we do without ya, Toad?”

……….