#gods you do not want to see the revisions Nightmare's Dream has gone through

[bittybattybunny]

You give good writing advice, and I was wondering if you could help me with an issue I have with a story Im writing. What advice cab you give me if Im struggling to decide which plot should I stick with? You see, I had a story/events all written out, but one day BOOM another idea appeared in my mind (you can say I have the same problem that you with creating AUs with my characters) and I love this one so much that Im considering into making it canon but the other idea also had good stuff

I don’t know if I have good writing advice---

But here’s my advice on this as someone who does this all the pecking time

write them both out.

Then decide what fits better. what is more fun. Sometimes you do have to let go of things you really really really wanted to put in.

Like for Moonguaridan my AHIT fancomic, it actually used to follow a vastly different plot back when I was starting chapter one but it’s grown and changed.

I type out chapters as fic chapters before I think of the comic. I have a few I’ve written that will never see the light of day. like there’s a few that seem almost identical but they are different in the way Snatcher/Prince interacts with HK and BK and I’m not sure I’ll even keep that in fully.

Even TLC has a few longgg chapters I’m cutting and never posting because they no longer fit the flow (will I put the ideas back? a few) Like fun fact: Eclipse was meant to reveal she’s a werewolf far sooner than she does (originally the fic was meant to be shorter. But I like building the relationships). However, I like the plot trouble it makes the longer she doesn’t say it. So those chapters need to be severely edited.

Sometimes you let go of an idea and can use it in another spot or for another character down the road. For example I have a set of characters from my first ever story named “Blood Pools” who i stopped work on that project as I was like. 14 and it was a bad supernatural detective story. But I still was attached to the characters and that world. Recently I decided they are gonna show up in Bone Stealer as their worlds are very similar. That’s almost 12 years I had them sitting around (i did draw them a few times but yeah)

But writing it out can help you figure it out.

Sometimes too it’ll help get ideas out that, while cute or angsty or fun, really won’t work even if they seem they will.

I’ve written several “curse” scenes for the nutcracker au that aren’t going to be real; I just love the angst and fluff they can give. I even wrote a scene of Snatcher trying to kiss Eclipse and breaking her nose that won’t go.

I even have entire AUs I’ve scrapped but I wrote them anyway. Or at least scenes. Like my FNAF fic you guys will never get to see.

I call this “exorcising my brain demons”

Also if you are like me for the love of god title things and use folders sob

I’m struggling rn to find a scene i wrote of Snatcher and the minions cussing Vanessa out across the broken bridge and cannot find it.

tl;dr

Just write them both then figure which has the more impactful storytelling. You can reuse the other down the road in another project or work it in somewhere else. If not you at least wrote it and know it won’t work or will work.

Also here’s a snippet from a scrapped version of a chapter of Moon Guardian:

The girls stared up at the prince who was simply smiling and waving until the rift walker was out of sight. He knelt down, “So girls what should we do while we wait for her to return? hmm? Tea? Cookies? Contracts?”

The girls both tensed looking to those shining yellow eyes. They gulped as he kept that, warm, inviting smile on his face as he waited on their response.

“You…” Bow started but he cut her off as he stood up, that smile falling off his face as he inspected his hand.

“Yes. me.” he repeated with a sneer, “I would very much like to know how you managed to shove me back into this.. Flesh suit.” He grimaced, looking down at himself disgusted. “Ugh. I can hear my heart beating and my feet hurt.” he grumbled rubbing his neck. He glared down, “I thought you said it was a walk in the park?”

“Well it is. For us. We don’t exist here.” Hat shrugged, avoiding his gaze, “I mean how would we know you’d.. Become you.” she gestured, “We didn’t think you'd just become some.. Some twink!”

“Excuse me?!” he shouted, causing a few people to turn to the trio. He gave that sweet prince smile, waving at them, “Sorry, Excuse me!” he ushered the girls off to get some privacy, leaning on an alley wall.

He groaned and crossed his arms with a glare, “So how do we fix this without Eclipse learning of my. Humanity?” he asked with a snarl.

The girls gave a confused shrug.

“We’ve never dealt with this!” Bow admitted frazzled, “We’re just time jumpers! We just collect timepieces! Unlike Eclipse we can’t just open and walk through these things!”

He groaned, holding his head in his hands. His perfectly styled hair getting messed up, “This is the pecking worst kiddos.”

I’ve mentioned before there is a chapter where Snatcher does get stuck as Prince again. The actual version is a lot more.. Subtle about how he reacts but also 200% fluffier.

The prince returned and seeing the cream on her face, wiped it off with his hand and a sigh, “Honestly you chide the children for eating messily and yet here you are.” He licked it off his thumb as he watched her change to a bright red.

“D-Don’t do that!” She fumed, “W-what if someone saw?! If Vanessa.” she paled, “D-Do be careful about your actions around women!” She fretted. She wiped at her face, licking the remaining cream from her hands, “L-Let’s go!” She stood up abruptly, redder than a tomato.

He chuckled. Yes, that reaction to the ‘prince’ was a good one. It only proved she couldn’t. Shouldn’t feel anything towards him as Snatcher. He held his chest, trying to calm his heart once more.

So yeah hope this ramble helps

[aethylas]

For anonymous: a series of answers/clarifications/amendments on The Goldenrod Revisions! (I've answered these all in one post just to make it easier). Thank you so much for the asks, this helped me a) clarify my thoughts b) solve some canon continuity issues so I really appreciate them!

THANK U for agreeing to answer my questions! I'll have to ask them separately so they're not in 1 super-long impossible-to-read ask. I have 3 about 15x19, 1 about 15x20, 2 about 15x21, 2 about 15x22, and 2 about 15x23. quick disclaimer: i don't mean any offense at all by my question count! I didn't even notice these oddities the first time I read this; once I read it and accepted it as the true canon, I took a closer look and then noticed. but plz don't think these made your fic any less great!!

No worries anon! It is literally my pleasure to answer them and I am VERY very happy to find discrepancies with canon in the fic - then I can hopefully fix them and make the fic better :) Also I really appreciate the very systematic way you laid all these out, it really helped me reply, and also subsequently make a couple of edits to the fic!

For 15x19:

1. Why did Chuck trust Michael with the task of killing Jack? As God he should know Michael betrayed him in 15.08; did he expect Michael to disobey him again?

I think in this case we're/Chuck is relying on knowledge from the canon 15.19, i.e. Chuck would assume the outcome predicted by the show - that Michael WOULD betray the Winchesters/the world in order to please his father. So God assumed Michael would act the way he did in Inherit The Earth. But additionally, Chuck isn't actually very keyed-in to his own characters' motivations (esp. when love is involved) or very attached to certain results - he basically sends Michael and Lucifer to kill Jack because he figures it will entertain him no matter what happens - whether Michael and Lucifer kill each other, whether they kill the Winchesters/Jack, etc. - either Jack dies this way or Chuck will think of another way to do it.

2. How was Sam able to kill Lucifer? It was said only an archangel could kill another archangel with the archangel blade; was this a total lie or could Sam do it since he's Lucifer's true vessel? (plz don't change it to have Michael kill him; Sam being the one to do it was perfect, I just wanna understand how he could do it).

So glad you raised this because I honestly totally forgot! But now that you have, I have corrected that lore continuity with a line about biblical metaphors.

3. How is Rowena alive? She said she was dead in 15.08, so I initially assumed as a witch and the Queen of Hell she found a way to travel between Hell and Earth despite being dead. But then Sam says "Michael could've killed you" and then Chuck kills her twice in 15.21, both of which indicate she's alive here - does this mean Michael resurrected her when she summoned him?

God okay this is like - please call me out if this is incorrect or still confusing - but it's kind of like, based on the very inconsistent and confusing lore of the SPN afterlife that I assume Rowena is 'dead' but also 'alive' in the sense that Crowley was 'alive' and is now 'dead'. Does that make sense? She's not 'alive' as a human but rather as a demon (or something like it). So as Queen of Hell and a presumably demonic-adjacent entity, when she's 'killed' she gets sent to the Empty now vs. being 'killed' as a human and going to Heaven/Hell. (Based on when we see her in Hell, I assume she possesses her own body? Unclear. Just go with it. They've never been great with what it means to show vessels in Heaven/Hell etc.)

4. I thought asked all I wanted to know about Goldenrod but I just thought of 1 more thing: I don’t get why some dialogue implies Michael was dead? He mentions how he “found himself back on Earth” and tells the Empty it couldn’t stop Chuck from resurrecting him & Lucifer, but prior to 15.19 we last saw Michael leaving the bunker with Adam alive and well in 15.08, and it seemed like he was gonna stay on Earth for Adam’s sake. So what happened to him?

Oh that's a great point! I think that is actually just a confusing choice on my part that Chuck killed absolutely everyone including Michael/Adam in 15.18 Despair and THEN chose to resurrect Michael (but not Adam) alongside Lucifer when he was bored/wanting to kill Jack. I made some slight adjustments in-text to hopefully make it less confusing because I know that's different to the lore of canon 15.19 Inherit the Earth.

For 15x20:

1. How did the angels and demons in the Empty wake up? Did Michael use the last of his grace to wake everyone up? Were they already awake thanks to Jack blowing up in 15x18 or did they somehow sleep through that? (Not expanding on the Empty's claim that "you made it loud" is one of countless things I'll never forgive the actual show for, so THANK YOU for taking the show back to the Empty in the first place; I was just curious about this one element.)

So the Empty was already 'loud' according to canon, but since canon is vague on what exactly that means (thank you writers!...) I got the impression it meant the Empty wasn't 'peaceful' anymore but still powerful enough to suppress the beings inside, like the beings in there were awake and suffering but unable to rebel. Sort of what we see with Cas in this version of 15.20. Maybe like, additional suffering in sleep paralysis? Regardless, Michael does expend his grace to weaken the Empty enough that other beings wake up and/or are able to fight back and exist outside their own personal nightmare chamber. So whatever your impression of 'loud' is with regards to the other beings in there, assume Michael was able to free them from the Empty's control.

For 15x21:

1. Having Jack & Amara take out Hell & Purgatory was a BRILLIANT idea; I love that they ended all the places of suffering and changed the system. I just wonder - what happened to the souls and the demons still in Hell at that point, and the Leviathans and other monsters still in Purgatory? Were they just wiped out completely and sent to the Empty? Or did Jack turn them human and add them to the cycle? (I don't think the show clarified whether or not Leviathans have souls, so...)

No matter whether they were monster or demon or even angel, they would eventually be given human life. I broke it down to 'human enough souls' vs. 'not human enough souls'. Human-enough were immediately brought to life with memories and versions of their original bodies, and not-human-enough were sent to the Soul Queue to be born as infants. I assume Leviathan and most demons fall into 'not human enough', therefore, whatever tiny microbe of personality/soul they had was added to the cycle of rebirth and would be translated to a new human soul. Of course this might have a WILDLY different impact on the world depending on how many people go to hell in this system, how many people were 'human enough', etc.... But we're basically fudging those numbers a bit one way or another just to give certain characters the revival they deserve haha.

2. Did Cas drown and die after Chuck threw him in the lake and Jack left their limbo-dream world? If so, did he go through the same question-&-answer situation with Death that Sam & Dean did? Or was he with Jack & Amara when they rebuilt the world?

Cas was already dead/dying even when he was talking to Jack, he was sort of in a different version of the 'Veil' per se. VERY wishy-washy, but basically he and Jack were on a different dream-plane that they were jolted to in the chaos of the disorganised no-Death world.

I think Cas, Rowena, Lucifer, Michael, etc. as beings who were killed after the snap is a bit ambiguous. Rowena and Lucifer, I think, as entities who were demonic-dead or Empty-level-dead pre-Snap probably went through the reincarnation Yes/No Death questionnaire. Cas and Michael might not have since they were technically 'alive' and human before the Snap. Regardless, I think they probably wouldn't remember the interaction even if they had it.

The reason the question happened to the Winchesters AND that they remember it is Main Character Syndrome... they were the only people left alive when Jack and Amara did a hard reset, and that honestly Death took time to chill/exposition at them because he likes them. Really. Despite all appearances. Or respects them enough to let them know what's gone down, anyway.

Metatextually, it was really just to reaffirm to the audience that Dean (and Sam) want to live, in contrast to 15.20 Carry On 😅

3. Did all the snapped people (Eileen, Adam, the Waywards, etc.) also go through the Death question-&-answer process but not remember it, or did Jack & Amara just send them back?

Snapped people were reset automatically! Normally the new-humans also wouldn't remember their interactions with Death/reapers, just like in canon lore when someone like Dean has a near-death experience.

I realise this whole section and various other lore reformation parts of the fic aren't SUPER clear on specific logistics but on some occasions I'm like, I've done enough info-dumping, I don't want to overwrite exposition. But if you think it's worth clarifying certain points let me know and I can try to do so!

For 15x22:

1. The twenty something blonde guy in sunglasses getting hot tea, is that Belphegor? sure sounds like it but I wanted to confirm.

Yep!

2. Since Death mentioned that Jack only resurrected the angels, demons, and monsters from the Empty who had enough of a soul, and since all the human souls from the Veil went to Heaven as confirmed by Kevin's presence, how exactly are Anna's human parents and Bela alive now?

Great question - 1) I SOMEHOW FORGOT ANNA'S PARENTS DIED? Complete screw up on my part, I don't know how that happened. I fixed this so it's her grandparents now. 2) Bela was sent to Hell as part of her deal, so I was assuming she was a demon by this point in canon (since it would be... MANY Hell-years since she died.) Therefore she had a 'human' enough demon soul to be put back as a human.

3. Oh, and the tall woman with the flyer in 15.22; who is this supposed to be? Hannah I’m guessing?

To be honest I didn't have anyone in particular in mind for that scene; it was kind of a catch-all for missing characters like, it COULD be Hannah. It could be Raphael. Hell, it could be Abbadon. I didn't want to do a full shot of every single person missing from the cast who had died (esp since like - we wouldn't know who they were anyway! Their bodies would be different). So this one is literally just fill-in-the-blank. But if I had to assign a character there I'd say it would probably be one of the more arrogant angels like Raphael or Uriel.

For 15x23:

1. How is Bobby in the Roadhouse with the gang? 10x17 seemed to imply the angels were about to throw him in the dungeons to punish him for helping Cas; did Ash hack him out of prison, or was he never imprisoned at all? Also, is Jack not surprised to see another Bobby in Heaven because the boys already told him there was another Bobby besides the one he knows from Apocalypseverse? (I was half-expecting him to comment about that and confuse Bobby).

Oh that's a great point! I think that's another sort of fill in the blank since it's been five years since 10.17... even if he was in prison of some kind, I think it's likely either Ash helped him get out in the same way he helped everyone else, and since the angels were extremely short-staffed I doubt getting Bobby suitably imprisoned/punished was their top priority. But honestly I'm not super clear on how the angels intended to punish Bobby, I don't think canon is clear either... like, We Just Don't Know.

Finally I'd like to know, has Sam proposed to Eileen yet by the end of the final episode? The script doesn't mention a ring on her finger, and as Sam's fiancee, I'd assume she'd also have carved her name on the table. Sam mentions the innuendos Dean has said "in the past year," so it's been a while since Jack's prayer scene, yet Cas says Dean & Claire's argument was the last time they spoke, and it doesn't seem likely to me that Dean wouldn't call Claire in a year given how close they are...

Nope! I think Sam is saying 'I'm going to marry her' as a declaration of certainty of his feelings and faith in the future, not neccessarily as something that immediately happens. With regards to 'in the past year', that referred to the period when Eileen was alive during s15 as well! I assume Dean did teasing off-screen (and I mean, he did plenty on-screen too.)

I honestly think that Sam and Dean are just very very busy in the aftermath of the events of the 15.20 reset, like they have to deal with the new world AND try to wrangle all these hunters into this new system of collaboration. I didn't put Eileen on the table because she isn't there in the finale and because I do think the Sam/Dean/Cas/Jack family unit was a bit more central and important to the show, but maybe they add her (and any possible kids, if they have any) later on. God, imagine generations of hunters and/or Winchesters carving on that table. Sacred Artefact...

(1) Ok that's all the questions I have. Again, so sorry to blow up your inbox - I really appreciate your willingness to clarify these things! If there are some things you'd rather not explain and leave ambiguous, I totally get that. And in spite of these aforementioned confusing parts, I still ADORE your fic and will continue to read it whenever I feel like re-"watching" how Supernatural really ended! Thank you so much!! .... (2) I’m SO sorry to overload u! I know I asked a lot and I didn’t mean to sound like a hater saying “none of ur story makes sense”; that’s not what I meant at all! If this was a regular good ol fix it fic I wouldn’t have said anything but since u said u wanted it to wrap up the show as replacement canon, I thought maybe I should point out places that didn’t line up. But take as MUCH time as you need! Good for you working to meet your deadlines; I hope you succeeded!! And again I really appreciate you taking the time to answer whenever you have time—absolutely no rush!! Have a GREAT Memorial Day Weekend!!!

Anon thank you SO SO much for all these questions, as you can see it really helped me identify problems or straight up errors in my work wrt continuity and I'm so happy that means I can improve it. If any of the answers weren't clear or you think I should modify the fic to make certain things clearer than they are right now (other than the things I said I'd fix in-text for sure) let me know! It's really been a pleasure answering them too, I'm sorry it took me so long to get around to it, I actually went back and proofed/edited the whole fic as part of adding some of these corrections in (and that took like... three weeks...) and as you said, it's very important to me to get it as true to canon as possible so - yeah, just, once again, thank you!! You're wonderful! ♥♥♥

[amidalasmistress]

All Hell Breaks Loose || Chapter Eleven:

warnings; mentions of sex & swearing

a/n; I apologize for not posting last week. I had to revise some parts of the last few chapters and I didn’t want to post unless I was somewhat satisfied. Enjoy! <3

-

Walking into the house, Y/N could already hear the voices of many spirits. They were either conversing with each other or curious as to who the newcomers were entering the house. It was strange for her. She couldn’t see anyone but, she definitely heard them. She heard their pain and, for some, their evil. This was already a place Y/N didn’t want to stay in but, she trusted Michael’s word. They needed a safe haven from her brother.

The door had shut behind her and Michael as they stepped further into the home. They turned around to see a man. Y/N could tell he was dead. He had the sorrowful, lifeless energy surrounding him. Michael looked at him like he knew him.

“Hey, Dr. Harmon,” Michael shrugged.

“Michael,” the ghost man froze, staring at Michael as if he were seeing a ghost. How ironic. “You-You shouldn’t be here. Constance-“

“I was just with her,” Michael took a step towards him. “She hates me. She’ll always hate me. We just need a place to stay. This is the safest option.”

The man looked to Y/N, “And who is we?”

“Y/N Campbell,” she reached a hand out to him. “It’s a pleasure.”

“I wish I could say the same,” the man looked back to Michael, ignoring Y/N’s gesture. “Listen, I don’t want any trouble. Neither does anyone else in this house. So, it’d be smart to take you and your girlfriend out of here and never come back.”

“But-“ Michael began.

“Let them stay,” a girl chimed in from behind them, making herself known as she walked to join the man’s side. “I’m Violet Harmon,” she reached a hand out to Y/N. “I’m Michael’s half-sister.”

“Violet,” the man looked at her like she was crazy. “We can’t welcome him here. Have you seen-“

“Dad,” she rolled her eyes. “Clearly, you haven’t been around the evil in this house. Michael used to have that same darkness but, look at him,” she gestured to her brother. “He’s completely harmless.”

“Stay out of matters that don’t concern you, Violet,” the man snapped. Ignoring her suggestion.

“Please,” Y/N finally spoke up. “We just need a safe place to stay. We don’t want any trouble.”

A maid had appeared next to Y/N. She was an elderly woman with saturated, red hair. Her eyes mismatched but, it suited her. The maid uniform fitted loosely on her as she held a feather duster in her hand.

“You both can stay,” she breezed past both Y/N and Michael to stand in front of the man and Violet. “Just stop with this bickering nonsense.”

“Thank you, Moira,” Michael spoke again then turned to Y/N. “Come upstairs with me.”

Y/N looked to him and then back to the others. Only to find that they had vanished. She took a step back and Michael laughed at her reaction to their disappearance.

“Come on,” he said, reaching a hand out for her. “It’s time to christen this hellhole.”

She knew exactly what he meant so, without questioning, she had followed him up the stairs. This all felt strange to Y/N. Not only was she still wrapping her mind over the ghosts she had just met, she couldn’t help but feel as if people were watching her. Like there were eyes everywhere. Michael went through this place like a breeze though. As if he were at home. He seemed more on edge at Constance’s.

They had reached the master bedroom and Michael let go of her hand to take off the white sheet covering the bed, “I’m guessing no one has been here since before I died.”

“Wait, Michael,” Y/N looked around at the empty, yet aged room. “How many ghosts are in this house?”

“You expect me to count them?” Michael looked at her like she had asked him to shoot the moon. “There’s a lot of spirits here, Y/N but, they can’t harm us.”

“I don’t know,” shivers ran down her spine as she crossed her arms. “I’m not really getting the ‘safe’ part of this place.”

Michael crossed the room to wrap his arms around her, pulling her into his towering frame, “Trust me. We’re safe here. I won’t let anything bad happen to you. I promise.”

Y/N had wrapped her arms around his waist, her fingers gently brushing against the skin of his lower back. She had trusted his word just as she had trusted him with her life. Michael was the only person, besides Cordelia, that had given Y/N someone to really lean on and trust that they wouldn’t let her fall.

Michael’s hand trailed up Y/N’s back and he slid two fingers under her chin, gently tugging up so she was now looking into his eyes, “Now, place a protection spell on this house so I can fuck you with no worries.”

Y/N started laughing as she pushed him away so she had enough space to perform. It didn’t take her long. A few incantations and there was an invisible wave flowing throughout the house. Michael was so eager for her though. Instantly throwing her onto the bed once she had turned to him.

“How do you know what you’re doing,” she hummed as he started kissing down her neck. “I thought you were a virgin.”

“I was,” Michael breathed. “But, I was also the Antichrist. I just, sort of, picked up on everyone’s desires and used them on you.”

“Thank god for the Antichrist,” she giggled.

“No,” Michael bit her lip once. “Thank the devil.”

-

Y/N and Michael had spent nearly two weeks in the home Michael had brought her to. Y/N had continuously practiced every spell she had been taught while Michael had given her some insight on tackling the Antichrist. Devan hadn’t made any new moves but, she had placed the house under the same protection spell every morning. As much as the house had creeped her out, it was growing on her. She had befriended Violet and met Michael’s father, Tate. That was an awkward experience. He wanted nothing to do with her and Michael unless they somehow convinced Violet to take him back. Every now and then a ghost would jump out in front of Y/N in an attempt to scare her off but, she had Michael. As long as he was still with her, she wasn’t afraid of anything.

The amount of times they had sex while staying in the house seemed endless. If she wasn’t gathering intel or preparing, they were making love. It was addicting. Michael’s touch, his breathing, and the sweet sounds he made while fucking her into oblivion made her weak in the knees.

It was morning. Michael was still fast asleep. He looked so peaceful, beautiful. Y/N couldn’t help but just watch him as his eyes moved under their lids. She had wondered what he was dreaming about. Surely it wasn’t a nightmare. He had stopped having those after they had started sharing a bed. Which, Y/N felt proud of. That was her intent when she had first crawled into bed with him.

The overwhelming feeling of hunger crept into her belly, making her roll out of bed gently so she wouldn’t wake Michael. She smiled back at him once she got to the bedroom door. Proud of herself for not waking him up and also admiring him before she went down the stairs. Y/N kept her eyes open for any of the spirits that weren’t fond of having her and Michael in the house. It was when she had gotten to the fridge that she had realized that there was no food left. Nothing. Were she and Michael so distracted by each other and the mission to stop her brother that they hadn’t ordered anything?

“Looks like it’s time to head to the grocery store,” Moira entered the kitchen.

“No,” Y/N closed the refrigerator door. “It’s too risky.”

“I think it’s about time to get out of the house,” she ran a finger along the countertop to check for dust.

“Why do you clean all of the time?” Y/N leaned back near the sink area. “Aren’t you…You know?”

“Dead,” Moira looked down hopelessly at the floor. “You can say it, dear. It won’t change anything. Someone must keep this house in tip top shape.”

“What about when the house gets new owners?”

“I come with the house,” Moira smiled at her, a slight shrug in her shoulders. “As their housekeeper.”

Y/N felt bad for Moira. She had a sad look in her eyes. No matter how much she had smiled. Out of all of the spirits, aside from Violet, Moira was always there for her and Michael. She’d even warn them about the other spirits.

“Do you ever leave the house?” Y/N asked.

“I can’t ever leave,” she sighed, glancing down at her toes. “I am bound to this house and I always will be.”

“Surely there must be something you can do,” Y/N stepped closer to the woman. “You don’t deserve this, Moira. You deserve to be free. Or some place where you’d be happy.”

Moira shook her head slowly before her vision snapped back up to Y/N, “There is…one thing. I couldn’t possibly ask it of you though.”

“Moira,” Y/N grabbed a gentle hold of her hand. “I’m here to help.”

-

An hour of intense digging had gone by. There were so many bones. Y/N couldn’t help but think of how right Michael was about how many spirits are bound to the house. Y/N had finally found Moira’s bones. Covered in dirt and shreds of grass, she went into the house to Moira.

“Found them,” she breathed, throwing herself to lean on the counter to catch her breath.

Moira had gone to her side, grabbing the bag of bones sitting on the countertop, tears filling her eyes, “I-…I don’t know how I could ever thank you.”

“Is Michael awake?” Y/N’s eyes grew wide. If Michael had woken up, her plan to release Moira from the prison she was in would be ruined. There was no way he’d let her leave the house.

“No,” Moira composed herself. “Young Michael is still fast asleep.”

“All right,” Y/N straightened herself up. “We have to go now and we have to go fast. If Michael wakes up before I’m back, who knows what will happen.”

“Thank you, Y/N,” Moira pulled her in, hugging her tight. For a spirit, you’d think Y/N wouldn’t feel anything but, she did and it was warm and wholesome.

Y/N couldn’t help but hug her back, “You deserve to be with your mother, Moira. You deserve peace.”

-

It had only been half and hour since Y/N had reunited Moira with her mother. Watching them as they rekindled and embraced one another before walking into the afterlife. Y/N sat at the grave sight crying. Tears upon tears upon tears. She couldn’t help but think of her own mother. What if she never sees her again? What if Devan was successful? What if he had killed their parents?

The realization that she had waited long enough for the ultimate battle had hit her all at once. Giving her nothing but irritation and rage from having to run and hide from her own brother. Even if it was for her, and the world’s, own good, she had enough. It was time to be a woman. Devan will not break her. Devan will not weaken her. If anything, his petty attempts and dark acts only made her powers strong with fury. As much as she hadn’t been looking forward to meeting with the Antichrist, her brother, again, it needed to be done. And the sooner, the better.

Y/N stood on her feet, wiping the tears from her eyes before she began to concentrate on her brother. Where he was, what he was doing. She felt for his aura, finding him at Miss Mead’s. Enjoying lunch with her. It was when he had dropped his fork that she had realized that she was now connected to him mentally.

“Oh, little sister,” Devan spoke from deep within his throat. “Have you missed me?”

“Enough with the teasing,” Y/N raised an eyebrow, knowing full well that he could see her in his mind. “How old are you anyway?”

“Much, much older than you, sister,” Devan smirked. “To what do I owe this invasive pleasure?”

“I’ve had enough, Devan,” she snapped. “You and I both know that this game of good versus evil must come to an end.”

“Who is the evil one?” Devan pretended to be offended. “I just want to bring change to this unholy world. Create a new one.”

“Would you shut the fuck up and let me speak?” Y/N exclaimed and Devan gestured for her to continue. “We need to meet. Face to face. And if there is to be a fight, so be it but, we have to meet somewhere that won’t experience any sort of damage.”

“I have just the place,” he flashed her and evil smile. “I’ll give you my memory of it. Surely you can find it from a mental image.”

“Yes,” she rolled her eyes. “Just give it to me now so I can track it.”

An image of a field had appeared in her mind, “Now, I know it’s not much but, trust me, this is the one place you’ll love to be buried in.”

“I’m glad you think so,” Y/N crossed her arms. “Now I don’t have to worry about relocating your body. I’ll give you two days to find your best suit, brother.”

With that, Y/N removed herself from his mind. Lucky for her, the block is still on her mind so she doesn’t have to worry about Devan surprising her like he did at Miss Robichaux’s.

The potential battle was now set in place. All Y/N had to go was inform Cordelia and the others so they could attend the meeting. As for Michael, Y/N didn’t want to risk anything happening to him but, knowing Michael, he was going to be at her side anyways. That was something she couldn’t avoid.

Y/N swallowed back the dryness in her throat at the awareness of it all ending. Everything she had trained for has led up to this point. It was then that she had realized that, in two days time, she’d have to kill her brother.

[prairiedust]

The Folklore of Supernatural

Part two of a series I started with this post.

I’m reposting this as the second installment of my midseason hiatus “The Folklore of Supernatural” series, even though it was originally written as kind of a long cracky way of looking at the “sleeping beauty trilogy” of episodes in season 14 (The Scar, Mint Condition, and Nightmare Logic.) The original question I was tagged into was “Is Dean actually dreaming?” and I can not find the original post about this, so I won’t tag anyone in particular (you know who you are and I love you because this was fun to write.) I posted it once in the dead of night with no tags, but I’m republishing it as part of my larger take on folklore as a theme in season 14 of Supernatural. Bear in mind that this was written before Optimism, when it became clear that these were not part of an extended dream-sequence, BUT ALSO before The Spear when it was revealed that Michael could repossess Dean. (I’m going to talk a little bit about timing and writing meta, further on.)

I want to say a couple of things before the cut, too. This is a big old Sleeping Beauty post. I know there’s a lot of SB ideas out there in the metasphere but I’ve deliberately avoided them because I wanted to get my thoughts out here and I am Very Slow. Feel free to tag me into other posts, send me asks, whatever, because I think it’s fun to talk about. However, just because this is a “sleeping beauty” meta does not mean I want to go all the way to the end of that metaphor in this series. This particular post is general audience meta. I can’t tell anyone who might read this that no, you aren’t allowed to see a DeanCas parallel in a meta which relies heavily on a romantic fairy tale and one that was a destiel fandom in-joke after Cas died, at that. I will say, though, that I see it, so if you want to duck out now because I’m a lowkey shipper feel free. Also, I can’t endorse predictions based on meta, either, even my own, even when I think there is a big neon “Texan Star” sign saying “destiel goes here;” there is absolutely nothing stopping anyone involved in the show from making a hard left when the signs said we were going right. So rather than seeing this as a defense of DeanCas subtext, let’s call it an experiment in close reading. If nothing else, it will be fun. (Bear in mind that I am a massive dork so my definition of fun involves Charles Dickens.)

Aaand... here we go.

Is Dean asleep, and have the last three episodes (The Scar, Mint Condition, and Nightmare Logic) been a dream? How can we possibly “answer” that question at this point in the show?

We’re trying to speculate about a text that is a constantly moving target. If, for instance, you start to read the novel Their Eyes Were Watching God by Zora Neale Hurston, and you know from a blurb on the back of the book that she was an anthropologist who collected African-American and Caribbean folklore, and you get to the place where the protagonist Janie’s second [redacted] ends, but there are a lot of pages left ahead of you, and you think, wow if this happens a third time, I have a theory that the third [redacted, go read this book] would be special based on what I know about folklore and the “rule of three,” well by the end of the book you will know whether or not you were right. Janie either finds a third [redacted], or she doesn’t, and it’s either special, or it’s not.

Supernatural has not ended, so there is no way of saying “Oh, the main theme we are supposed to take away from this show is ____.” I mean, we can put big money on “family” but still. With a television show, it’s hard to even say, “The over-arching themes in this season are____” until the season finale, because it is a text that is being written, filmed, and published serially. The fluid nature of subtext in serial literature was something I studied under a Brit Lit professor– she said, when we set out to read David Copperfield, that sometimes themes in Dickens concluded early or evolved late, or didn’t pan out, because Dickens changed his mind or was pressured by readers to maintain a character that he hadn’t planned to keep around (I think that character was Micawber but I can not find a shred of evidence anywhere, even in my notes from my Brit Lit class, because she kind of mentioned it in passing and I didn’t like Dickens very much when I was younger, so obviously I didn’t learn it well.) And even when you get to the end of a Dickens serial, you still might not get closure– he totally rewrote the conclusion of Great Expectations because his friends wanted angst with a happy(ish) ending.

But this particular “sleeping” symbolism that has been pointed out is really, really structurally sound and can be very well supported. What it means is (shrug emoji)

Going back to the first post in this series, the support for this reading comes from an understanding of folk tales. I’ll be primarily using European Sleeping Beauty stories, as that is what is most accessible to an American/Western audience. And, it was deliberately alluded to in the text of the show. But first let’s talk about formula tales in more depth because that is what sets this theme up in the very first episode of season 14.

Michael met with three different beings in the season opener Stranger in a Strange Land and asked each of them “What do you want?” This is in no uncertain terms a formula tale found in folklore all over the world, and you know about the rule of three even if you’ve never actually acknowledged it. In Goldilocks and the Three Bears, for instance, Goldilocks tries two bowls of porridge before finding one to her liking. She tries two chairs before settling on Baby Bear’s chair. She tries two beds before falling asleep in the one that was “just right.” There were three challenges, two of which failed and one that satisfied her. Goldilocks is an original work (and please read the Wikipedia article, it is fascinating how many revisions this story has gone through, and in fact “Goldilocks” wasn’t even the original main character) but it was based on a folk formula and has entered American oral tradition. Similarly, in the German folk tale The Three Little Pigs, the first pig’s house is destroyed because it was made of straw, the second house failed because it was made of sticks, but the third house was made of brick and withstood the huffing and puffing of the wolf. So the pattern in the rule of three is often two challenges that fail or are flawed and one that finally succeeds or satisfies the necessary conditions. For short, I’m going to call this grouping 2/1. In the Michael story, 2/1 is human, who fails, then angel, who fails, then monster, who Mikey likes. In addition, there is a primer to the rule of three in that first scene, just to make absolutely certain that the audience notices it-- Michael has Jamel guess his identity three times.

This 2/1 formula could be just something Dabb did because he wanted to do it. It’s ancient, and Michael is an ancient being. But. Can it also mean that “folktales” is a theme on the show now?

As the saying goes, “Once is an occurrence, twice is a coincidence, three times is a pattern.” Folklore continues into the season in many different ways.

In Gods and Monsters, the scene where Dean shakes loose and punches the mirror probably lit up everyone who saw it with “mirror mirror on the wall” vibes, from the story of Snow White. The enchanted mirror is such a common “trope” in folklore that it has an index number that folklorists and others use to refer to it in their scholarship– it’s Aarne-Thompson index number D1163. So, another solid subtextual reference to folk tales. There is so much more in that episode about storytelling and retelling and  the concept of sequels, but that’s for another discussion.

We get to The Scar and Jack mentions Sleeping Beauty and no lie I ascended for a full minute. “Sleeping Beauty” is Aarne-Thompson-Uther Classification of Folk Tales number 410 because this is another story that is found freaking everywhere. (I have to make an aside about the use of the term “folk tale” just because it is in my nature not to leave things like this ambiguous– it isn’t completely certain that the Sleeping Beauty we know of Brothers Grimm and Disney fame is 100% for shore an oral tale, or at least isn’t a tale that got a little finessed when it was first written down. See, a guy in pre-Renaissance Naples named Giambattista Basile included a version of it in a collection of child’s tales hundreds of years ago (it’s horrifying btw, cw for non-con at the very least if you go looking for it) then Charles Perrault (of Puss in Boots fame) got hold of it and rewrote it in French, and folklorists are pretty certain that the story of “Briar Rose in the Forest” that the Grimm brothers collected was the Perrault story that had made its way back into oral tradition in Germany. And, like, it’s not a huge reach to say that the history of the Sleeping Beauty story that is explicitly mentioned in the show’s dialogue by Jack is more subtext about how stories are transmitted, how they are told, what happens when they get loose in the wild, etc. That’s how allusions work, and that’s coming up in my third post.)

So, three times means green light to consider “folk tales” an official thing this season, at least for a while. And the cherry on top is that Sleeping Beauty was the third story referenced. It’s neat.

But NOW. On to THE question the OP posed:

Have the last three episodes been Dean’s dream?

I’m going to pass up surface mentions of dream states and solely focus on the actual “sleepers” in these episodes in order to get at the allusion’s architecture.

In Nightmare Logic, the sleeping beauty OP has identified is Sasha’s father, who is locked in a dream-state by a djinn. In Mint Condition, the sleeping beauty is Stuart, who is in a mysterious coma-like sleep after an attack by a possessed chain-saw. In The Scar, Lora is in a sleep-adjacent death-state after being hexed by a witch. (I saw that her name on the iTunes subtitles is “Lora” which is a variation of Laura but spelled this way evokes “of lore” and that was pretty neat. Another tiny detail that bolsters the theme.)

Is Lora really a sleeping beauty, though, and why is that important?

Remember our rule of three pattern that we were given in the premiere– 2/1. Two people in this group will be more similar to each other than to the third. Both Stuart and Sasha’s father are alive, while Lora is technically all the way dead when she is in the sleep-like state. Superficially, Stuart and Sasha’s father are men, whereas Lora is a woman. Just throwing that out there. If I were writing this post for a grade, that right there is called “padding for word count.” But it is also a valid point, so we’re going to use it. Neither Stuart nor Sasha’s father are shown to resume consciousness by the end of their episodes– Stuart not at all, and Mr. Rawlings only stirs fitfully. Lora is revived when Jack breaks the spell. On the other hand, Stuart is never in continued danger in Mint Condition after his “touch and go” operation (he’s presumably safe inside the salt circle) and is expected to recover naturally, whereas both Mr. R and Lora will die/stay dead if the threat against them isn’t neutralized. Mr. Rawlings is similar to Lora because they are both under “medical care”– Mr.R is ostensibly in hospice and Lora is in the Bunker’s sick bay, and to top things off Stuart is the only one who was treated by an actual doctor: Mr. R‘s nurse was a djinn and Cas is not a doctor he just played one on TV.

The thing about close readings is that anything you can argue is probably valid, but one thesis might be better supported than another. I’m really really tired and there might be more differences and similarities that I am missing. But when you’re gathering the evidence to support a theory about a text, you can end up going a bridge too far and you’ll find yourself staring into the void, completely unable to make any progress, so at some point you just have to stake out your foundations and start digging. (Yeah, I mixed metaphors, I mixed three of them, it’s awesome, get off me.)

So. There is more evidence that Stuart and Mr. R are more similar to each other than either one is to Lora. If we apply the 2/1 template, Lora is the character who satisfies the parameter of being “odd man out.” That still might not make her a sleeping beauty for the purposes of answering the “Is this Dean’s dream” question, and here’s why.

(This is the speculation part. I love this stuff, but again I offer the caveat that using subtext to make plot predictions in Supernatural is like trying to write on a cloud with smoke. Anyway.)

If she’s the sleeping beauty, the subtextual message is that Dean might actually be dead (or might have to die to satisfy the condition that Michael is destroyed.) That possibility was brought up in both 14x01 and 14x02, before Dean came back. And eugh no one wants that. It also means that we had to have read these three episodes backwards to find the character that fits the template, because if Lora is a sleeping beauty, and if she is “the” sleeping beauty for subtextual purposes, she actually came first in the series, and you have to run the episodes backwards to get to the 1. That is subverting the trope. However, if you get the thing you want the first time why go on to the other two challenges? There is a lot in this season about calling back to earlier parts of the narrative to contextualize the present– for instance, in Gods and Monsters, Michael says to the werewolf, “You think you were picking me up in that bar?” or something to that effect and then revealed that he was, in fact, the one stalking her. In Mint Condition, we are introduced to the Janitor Victim as a Dean mirror, but we do not know for certain yet that Hatchet Man is a post-Azazel John Winchester mirror, so that scene is given greater meaning by information that is revealed later in the episode. Structurally speaking, it would be fair to say that the information we have now, that Lora the dead girl is “the” sleeping beauty, based on having seen the other two candidates, means a dead Dean reveal has been primed by the subtext. And like, no thank you?

The other possibility is that Lora, since she was dead and not unconscious, is not “the” sleeping beauty. The third “sleeping beauty” (IF there is one) would show up in 14x06 Optimism. (That title is really stressing me out.) Why would that be Dean and not some other random character? Because if we exclude Laura, the pattern resets from 1/2 to 2/1 beginning with Stuart. Stuart is a Castiel mirror, though, which is not quite right. Mr. R is a John mirror (although that episode is a lot murkier and I’ve said before if someone wants to say he’s a Dean mirror because of the djinn connection I’d agree, in which case BLAM we already have a winner.) [editor’s note, I only left Jack out because we already knew he was dying and thought this subtext was priming a twist, more at ten, this aside has been brought to you by the letters LOL.]

But then, where have the last three episodes come from? If he is dreaming, it could be one reason why the djinn couldn’t wring a nightmare out of him, and that the moment before he killed the monster with a bookend was his subconscious trying to signal to him that something is wrong…

I have said a couple of times that subtext isn’t always predictive. Some authors will have multiple subtexts or will use subtext to straight-up fool you (*waves to thriller writers.*) But the exception proves the rule here– we as readers/viewers rely on subtext to prepare us for what might be coming next. Subtext helps provide that slow build to climax that makes, say, Neville Longbottom’s absolutely stunning house cup win in The Sorcerer’s Stone such a stand-up-and-cheer moment, or that makes Harry Potter’s realization that it is his patronus, not his father’s, that saves his past self in the Prisoner of Azkaban so satisfying. Lack of subtext is the reason there is so much grumping over Mary/Bobby. I mean, they what? Had a walk in the woods together? She called him “old man” once, is that even a term of endearment??? [full disclosure I never liked those two together until after Nightmare Logic.]

And scene!

That up there is where I stopped, and now it’s clear that the person who all this was pointing at was Jack, who fell into a dramatic swoon at the end of Optimism. There were two “sleeping beauties” in that episode, too in the 2/1 pattern of the folktales we’ve discussed– the zombie, who is in sort of a dream state, and Charlie, who is knocked out by fly guy. (Again, fully dead is a red herring and doesn’t count. That’s some positive subtext.) That was basically a lot of words to be able to summarize that, yes, sleeping beauty and dreamstates is a thing so far, but where it was going was hard to predict.

There is something really important that can be taken out of this close reading, though, that is carrying throughout the season.

Jack was the character who actually said the words “Sleeping Beauty.” Jack sort of volunteered himself as tribute. Another theme this season that was made explicit by Subtext Primer aka Mint Condition is that the words characters are saying are more important than they ever have been.

AND ONE MORE THING! The above was written before Unhuman Nature and Byzantium and The Spear! Dean has been put back to bed by Michael! But but Castiel stepped into the Sleeping Beauty deal! Where are we going! There’s no earthly way of knowing, which direction we are going…

Anyway in the next installment of this really long meta that will probably never end I want to explore what the history of the Amero-European Sleeping Beauty brings to bear on this season.

[redditnosleep]

Chocolate Is Rocket Fuel For Nightmares

by TheColdPeople

My wife, Faye, has an undiagnosed sleep disorder. I knew about it long before the events up on Pike’s Peak. When we first started dating, she recounted a few of her memories of sleepwalking at a young age, and one of them always sticks out in my mind. When she was a child, she climbed out of bed and crawled across the floor, growling like a rabid dog, and hid in the darkness while her older sister watched late night TV. Faye watched her for several minutes, fixated on her sister's throat, then suddenly came to. She could not explain why she’d felt compelled to do that. As a fan of all-things horror, Faye’s sleep disturbances fascinated me.

Early in our relationship, it did not occur to me that she suffered from night terrors until I began sleeping over at her house. Night terrors are different from nightmares; they are prolonged, intense hallucinations that persist even after the person’s eyes are open. The fantasy does not end upon awakening – instead it pours into reality. These phenomena occur at a different level of sleep from the one that produces bad dreams.

Each night is a new adventure when my wife and I go to bed. Typically the strange behavior occurs when she’s under extreme stress from her job, or when she’s jet lagged. Sometimes it happens when we’re staying in a new place, like at a relative’s house or in a hotel. Any sudden changes to her life can trigger one of these incidents – but chocolate seems to compound the issue dramatically.

The first time I noticed this was on Halloween in our senior year of college. We munched on some leftover candy from a party we had thrown, then went to bed. In the middle of the night, Faye sat up slowly, ran her fingers across my cheek, and said, “I want to wear this.” She started laughing, then slumped over snoring.

Another time, I woke up to Faye holding a hand straight up in the air, snapped her fingers over and over.

“Babe?” I asked, “what are you doing?”

She shushed me and motioned down toward the floor.

“There’s a snake under there,” she whispered. “Huge. All coiled up in the bed frame. It’s got a human head.”

There was one occasion that really scared me. A week straight, Faye would wake up and ask me if I could hear a child singing in the dark. I always told her no, but she persisted in her belief that there was a little kid somewhere in our house, singing about teddy bears.

Faye’s night terrors started to become far more acute about a month after she and I moved in together. And, of course, chocolate was the catalyst.

It was October. My birthday is on the 30th, so most people have come to associate it with Halloween. Because of this, I always receive a windfall of chocolate chip cookies and candy as gifts, and the stockpile usually lasts several weeks. Faye and I would munch on the mountains of home-baked cookies and candy bars with reckless abandon, disregarding its propensity to make her into a midnight psychopath.

After a few nights of gorging, Faye began to talk in her sleep. This wasn’t unusual; she did it from time to time, but normally it’s just babble about work or giggling. However, on this night, she said something about a man.

“Go away,” she mumbled, slowly moving her head back and forth on the pillow.

I was awake, as usual, writing beside her on my laptop. I reached over and stroked her back until she fell into a deeper slumber. But about an hour later, just after I had dozed off, she called out into the dark.

“Leave us alone.”

As far as my fiancée’s night terrors go, there are a few omens that a serious episode is approaching. One of them is clearly enunciated words. If she’s talking like she’s awake, it’s bad. If she’s actively addressing someone, it’s worse. And if, God forbid, she gets upset, there’s going to be a hurricane.

I snuggled up against her and said, “Everything’s alright, sweetie. Go back to bed.”

She exhaled sharply, eyes still closed, and responded, “I don’t like him.”

The next morning, as we ate breakfast, I asked my fiancée if she remembered what she had dreamed about. She couldn’t recall, so I dismissed the event and didn’t bring it up again. It’s better not to prod Faye about her sleep disturbances in detail, because she occasionally gets embarrassed. It also runs the risk of causing more of them. So I went about the day without saying anything else, and hid the cookies in the back of the pantry. I had to deliver a lecture early the next morning, so I needed a good night’s rest.

That evening we went to bed early. Faye watched a rom-com on her computer while I graded a few papers, and by the time I came back from brushing my teeth, she was fast asleep. As I leaned over her to turn off the light, I saw a Snickers wrapper on the floor below it.

“Dammit, Faye,” I said, rolling my eyes. I turned over and went to sleep.

It was about 2:00 AM when I woke up to her talking.

“Why?” she said, after a string of words I was too groggy to make out.

I rolled over to see her sitting straight up, strawberry locks cascading down her bare back. She stared past the foot of the bed.

“Faye—”

“Shh!” she hissed. “Can you hear it?”

“Honey,” I said, “go to sleep. I really need to get some rest.” I gazed up into her eyes and saw that they were closed. She looked down at me, right at my face, and said,

“Tell the man in the bathroom…he can’t come around anymore.”

The hair stood up on my arms. Faye always said stuff like this, but it still creeped me out. I looked across the darkness to our bathroom. The light was on inside, barely lighting up the edges of the door. Faye was an expert sleepwalker, so I reasoned that she had gotten up to use the bathroom, forgot to turn off the light, and then dreamed that someone was in there.

I gently laid her back down, then shambled to the bathroom. The light stung my eyes as I pushed the door open. Of course there was no one inside. I flicked the light off and stood there in the dark for a moment, rubbing my tired eyes, then went back to bed.

“Is he gone?” she muttered, falling back to sleep.

“Yeah, babe. Took care of him.”

I dragged myself through the next day. I’d struggled to fall back asleep after the bathroom ordeal, so when I got home I expressed to Faye that I was upset with her for eating candy in bed. She had just returned from the gym, and her petite figure was wrapped in curve-hugging spandex.

“Do I look like I need to watch what I eat?” she laughed, leaning against the kitchen counter and stirring a protein shake.

“That’s not what I mean and you know it,” I said. “You’ve been keeping me awake. I’m just asking you to cut the chocolate for a few days.”

Faye walked over and threw her arms around me.

“I will, Poptart,” she said with a big smile. “As soon as we run out.”

Things got a lot worse that night. I hid the candy with the cookies and searched our bedroom for a hidden stash. I found nothing.

“I haven’t had anything,” she said flatly. She crawled under the sheets and buried her head in the pillows. I shut off the lights, closed the door, and joined her. As I climbed into bed I glanced out the window. It was starting to rain.

I don’t know how long I slept.

At some point I jerked from a dead slumber to hear Faye shouting in the dark,

“Stay out of there!”

She was sitting halfway out of bed, feet on the floor, staring at the door that leads into the hallway. My protective instinct surged, so I got out of bed and investigated the hall.

Nothing. Faye murmured behind me.

“What?” I asked.

“The man in the hall...He’s ruining my wallpaper. Spreading his filth.”

“Okay,” I said, closing the door and walking back to the bed. I was exhausted and getting sick of this, but I always tried to be patient with her.

“Get out!” she screamed at the top of her lungs.

I shook her awake.

“Faye!” I snapped. “Keep it down! You’re going to wake up the damn neighbors.”

She came to and looked around with tired eyes.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, confusion in her voice.

“No. More. Chocolate,” I replied. I got into bed and yanked the sheets up over my head, then fell back to sleep. The last thing I heard was,

“I’m not a fucking child, Felix. Don’t treat me like one.”

Faye was already gone when I woke up. It was my day off, so I napped half the day, and intermittently caught up on my grading. When she finally got home, we had dinner together. She accepted my apology for parenting her, and acknowledged that she had been inconsiderate about my lack of sleep.

When 10 PM rolled around, Faye passed out right away, but I didn’t even feel tired. Instead, I stayed up writing, but this time I did it downstairs on the couch so as not to provoke any dreams. Any noise made while Faye was asleep could potentially lead to a night terror. Rain splashing against the window could conjure up a creature tapping on the glass. A movie playing on my computer could manifest people inside the room. I had to become a ninja each time she went to bed.

I sat there on the couch, wrapped up in a blanket, sipping on honey tea and revising a draft of a story. The little lamp next to me was just bright enough to cast eerie shadows all over the far end of the house. At about midnight, I heard a noise upstairs. It sounded like muffled footsteps. Someone was walking across the long throw rug in the hall. I quietly headed up there, intending to stop Faye from sleepwalking right off the staircase. But when I got to the top of the stairs, no one was there. The door to our bedroom was closed. I crept toward it and peeked inside.

The bed was empty.

“Faye?” I called out, flipping on the light.

She was standing by the bathroom door, lifting up one of the large framed photos that hung on the wall. It was a picture of a stream. Another frame laid on the floor nearby.

“There’s windows behind these,” she said, voice trembling with fear. “That’s how he got in.”

I rushed over, worried that the frame would fall on her head and shatter. I gently pulled her away from it, then led her back to the bed and tucked her in.

“There’s no one here, sweetheart,” I said, rubbing her back in a vain attempt to get her to go to sleep. “Just me.”

“Not here,” she replied, face half-buried in the pillow. “He went downstairs.”

Just as she finished her sentence, there came a thump from far off in the house, as if someone had bumped into a wall in the dark. I turned and looked over my shoulder at the door – it was closed. I thought I’d left it open when I came in. I left the room, then turned on the hallway light and stood at the top of the stairs, listening. Rain battered the house, and nothing else made a sound.

Maybe a tree branch fell on the house? I thought. After all, the storm was getting worse.

The lights were off downstairs, including the lamp I’d kept on while writing. Only my laptop glowed on the sofa now.

“Is someone here?” I called out, trying to keep my voice down. Only the rain replied. I made my way through the entire bottom floor, flipping on each light and looking around. As I entered the kitchen, I found an empty thermos with chocolate stains inside. It was Faye’s protein shake.

“For God’s sake,” I mumbled. I turned off the kitchen light and grabbed my laptop, then went upstairs to bed. I felt like an idiot for playing into my fiancée’s dreams.

Sleep came quickly, but nightmares came with it. The same one, over and over. There was a man in our house, standing at the bottom of the stairs, wreathed in shadow. He didn’t feel like a person, but more like a husk. A thing imitating a human. He was no doubt the consequence of my listening to Faye’s sleep-talk over the past few nights, but he scared me to death, and the dreams woke me up all night long.

I was an exhausted wreck the following morning. I called out sick from work and once again stayed in bed, intermittently seeing the shadowy figure in my dreams. Faye called to check on me twice, and told me that she would come home early to make me soup and grilled cheese – my favorite “at home sick” meal. Secretly, I wished she’d stay at work late. In fact I wished I could spend the night somewhere away from her.

That night, Faye was kind enough to offer to sleep on the couch. I reluctantly obliged, knowing that I’d be in serious trouble if I missed another day of work. We took extra blankets out of the closet and got her all set up, then she came upstairs to tuck me in.

“I’m sorry about all this,” she said, kissing my forehead as I lay in bed. “I don’t understand why I’m like this. You should find a less creepy girl.” She smiled, then I smiled.

“It’s not all bad,” I replied, pointing at the framed artwork for my first book. “You’re pretty good inspiration.”

“Okay, Poptart.” She left the room, closing the door behind her. The rain pounded rhythmically against the window, lulling me to sleep. It hadn’t stopped all week. It took only a few minutes for me to drift off.

The shadowy man appeared again in my dreams. This time he stood at the top of the stairs, looking down the hall at our bedroom door. He called out my name. I jolted awake, nearly leaping straight up into the air. I opened my eyes to see the ceiling, dimly glowing in the moonlight. The raindrops running down the window cast their silhouettes upon the surface, making it wriggle and writhe.

I took a deep breath, trying to calm myself.

The second I looked down, my heart knotted up in my chest. A lightning bolt of fear zapped through every nerve in my body. He was there, at the edge of my bed, holding tightly onto my foot through the blankets. I screamed in terror and pulled my legs up to my body, cowering in a ball against the headboard. “Who are you?” I yelped. I reached over and yanked the pull chain on the lamp beside me. Light flooded the room, revealing Faye, standing there with her eyes rolled back in her head. She was sleepwalking.

“Faye!” I shouted. “You scared the f—”

She silenced me with her hand, then put her finger to her lips.

As she did, the unmistakable sound of someone moving around downstairs met my ears. The bedroom door was open, so I could hear it clearly: a long scraping sound, like a hand dragging on a wall. A thud. A chair sliding on the wood floor.

“He’s here,” Faye whispered, repetitively clawing a circle on the bed.

I got out of bed and stood there next to her, straining to hear more.

A door creaked open.

Another thud.

Slow, uneven footsteps on the carpet.

“Who is he, Faye?” I whispered. She didn’t respond.

“Faye…where is he?”

She turned her head slightly. Only the whites of her eyes showed. She slowly pointed downward. “Basement.”

I leaped out of bed and stormed down the hallway in my boxers, ready to maul anybody I found in my house. As I jogged down the stairs, something caught my eye. Someone was sitting at the dinner table. Sitting in the dark. Terror iced over my hands, compelling them to shake as I reached for the light switch at the bottom of the staircase. The chandelier flashed on above the table, revealing four empty chairs – one of them slightly out of place.

“Who’s in here?” I shouted.

The sound of bones crackling beneath skin echoed through the dining room. It came from the short hall that led to the basement. The image of a man shuffling around my house, popping his knuckles and neck, arose in my mind. Maybe he was some drug fiend looking for pills. I grabbed the ancient flashlight from the kitchen, then made my way to the basement door.

It was open slightly. Faye and I always kept it closed to block the cold drafts that might otherwise pour in from the uninsulated basement. I poked my head inside and peered down the stairs.

There, at the bottom, was a face, looking back up at me. It was so wreathed in darkness it appeared disembodied. I couldn’t discern any of its features – only an outline – but it seemed to be looking at me. I shook so hard that the batteries in the flashlight audibly clattered. Without taking my eyes off of the face, I reached over and pulled the light string, but it would not turn on. The stale air went even colder.

The face retreated into the darkness, and again, the sickly sound of bones popping echoed all around me. I turned on the flashlight and directed its beam down the wooden stairs. Its pathetic glow barely reached the bottom; I probably hadn’t changed the batteries in a decade. The tiny circle of light illuminated only a few boxes and a broken vacuum.

I slowly walked down the stairs. They moaned under my feet, joining the symphony of disturbing noises that emanated from the dark. I reached the cold cement and rounded the corner, scouring the walls with my flashlight.

A box fell to the floor. I whipped the light toward the sound, and there he was. A man, facing away from me, hunched over and sliding his hands across the concrete wall. He was feeling his way around. As the light moved over him, that terrible dread from my nightmare once again took hold. I was overcome with the sense that this was not a person at all. His skin was gray and pallid, and his bones poked against it as if trying to escape. He looked like a skeleton draped in rotten ham. Big, festering sores pocked his back and arms. He was naked.

“Who…” the words bubbled up from my throat and dribbled off my lips, “who are you? What do you want?”

The man turned his ear toward me, listening for my voice.

“I’m lost,” he whimpered. His voice was impossibly raspy. There was not a drop of spit in his mouth. “Help me.” He turned his bald head in my direction. The skin on his face was taut and dry, clinging to a pair of sharp cheekbones. Where his eyes should have been, black divots yawned.

A frantic scream came rushing out of my mouth. I stumbled backward, falling onto a pile of boxes, and dropped the flashlight. It rolled away. The room went pitch black.

“I’m in the dark,” he said, shuffling toward me. I could hear him bumping into all the clutter. “I’m lost!” he cried, rage building in his voice. “Give them back!”

“Leave us alone!” I shouted back. I tried desperately to hoist myself off of the boxes, but the man fell on top of me and grabbed me by the throat with hands as cold as death. His face pressed against mine, and his waxy lips brushed my ear.

“Give them back,” he whispered.

In a burst of panic-induced strength, I threw him off of me and scrambled up the stairs. As I reached the top, I yanked the pull string one more time, and blinding light flooded the basement. I waited there, listening, but no more sounds of movement came from below. Against every instinct in my body, I descended a few steps and peeked into the room again. The man was gone.

I raced out of the basement and slammed the door shut. Terror compelled me as I made my way upstairs; every shadow in the house seemed to come alive around me. The horrible man could be standing in any of them, waiting to reach out and pull me in. The light was off in our bedroom, and when I pushed the door open, I was shocked to find Faye sleeping soundly in a pool of pale moonlight. The storm had lulled, leaving the house eerily silent. The blankets on her chest rose and fell. Her breathing was soft and slow.

“Faye,” I said, taking a seat on the bed and shaking her.

“Hm,” she grunted.

“Faye,” I repeated, “who is the man?”

“The what?” she asked in a sleepy voice.

“The man in our house.”

“Mm,” she replied, her eyes still closed. “He watches…you sleep. Stands right there…every night.” She pointed a lazy hand at the ground next to the bed. “So I took them. I don’t like it… when he watches.”

“Took what, Faye? What did you take?”

She yawned and rolled over.

“His eyes.”

[feroluce]

TakeRitsu Week Day 1: Horror

aka RiMomo, aka Peach Sorbet, aka Feroluce continues her fond tradition of beating the tar out of Ritsu. 

Warnings: swearing, kinda sorta kidnapping, body horror (eyes), a knife, and spooky evil spirit shenanigans. Overall rated T for Teen. Its not particularly plot important, but Ritsu is in his first year of high school and he goes to the same one as Tokugawa and Kamuro. Mob and Momo are second years and they go to a different high school nearby.

Related hcs: Momo doesn’t actually have an aura/barrier. He can be possessed by force, but he’s so powerful that they get kicked out automatically. He’s probably been almost possessed NUMEROUS times in his life without realizing it, because he can’t actually see/sense spirits. (He can Hear them, though, if they want him to.) He would have to be very weak for it to succeed...

Momozou has been acting strange. For the past couple days, he's been oddly twitchy. On Wednesday he seems anxious and keeps close. On Thursday he keeps periodically looking behind him, to the point that Ritsu gets jumpy as well.

On Friday there is no student council, thank god, because Ritsu isn't sure how much more he can watch Kamuro and Tokugawa make out with their eyes across the table. They were far more tolerable in middle school when they were just childhood friends.

"Ritsuuu!" Oh, god, no.

Momozou comes trotting from around the school gate with one arm waving above his head and the other holding...are those flowers? Ritsu can feel his face deepening from peony pink to rose red.

"Momozou, what the hell are you doing?" He has a reputation to keep around here, dammit!

"Being a good boyfriend." His cheeks are slightly flushed, but he's obviously enjoying himself, the handsome bastard. He must have run from his own high school instead of waiting and meeting at a halfway point as usual. He probably cut his last lesson again just to make it right when class gets out, too.

"Oh, but you're always such a good boyfriend, Momo." The smile Ritsu gives is saccharine sweet, sugar added in excess to hide the bitter taste beneath it. Two can play at this game.

It works, much to his delight. Momozou’s face develops a petal of dark red that bursts and blooms towards his ears and down his neck.

"Kageyama, please remember that high school still has rules on PDA. You, too, Takenaka." Ritsu quickly wipes the smile from his lips as he turns to face none other than Kamuro and Tokugawa themselves. Are they giggling at him?

"Of course, President and Vice President. I wouldn't dream of subjecting other students to such a thing. Especially other council members." He really hopes they get what he's hinting at. The four of them walk together until they separate at the sidewalk. Kamuro wraps himself around Tokugawa's arm as though it were a trellis almost as soon as they step outside the gates. Ritsu and Momozou both make gagging noises once they're out of hearing range.

"They absolutely knew what you were hinting at, by the way. They just don't care," Momozou speaks up eventually. Dammit. He's going to start putting rude anonymous notes in the comment box next week.

The two of them stay out until almost dark, meandering around the quieter parts of the city, with Ritsu watching and observing the entire time. He picks out several incidents where Momozou acts as though he's Heard an unpleasant thought, or turns and looks over his shoulder for something that isn't there.

Ritsu has a lot of homework (well, they both do, but whether or not Momozou will do his is questionable), so he figures they'll see each other Saturday night after he's done. Sunday, at the latest.

He doesn't hear from the other at all over the weekend. Not so much as a text message. Shige tells him he wasn't even in school on Saturday. This is highly unusual, at least for this amount of time. On days when Momozou's headaches get too bad, when his skull starts to feel like cracked glass, he can't bear to look at a back-lit screen and will let social and educational obligations slide. It's never gone on for two days straight, though, even during large public events where crowds gather like dumb birds around shiny coins and their thoughts crow just as loudly.

On Monday Momozou still isn't in school. Not even the disbanded telepathy club members or his older brother have heard from him. Class lets out and he decides to try to call one last time. It goes to voicemail. Again.

Ritsu can almost physically feel the uneasiness welling up around him, a dark and sticky pool slowly growing deeper and deeper. The longer he thinks and stews in his own muck, the worse it gets. They've been going out for a few months, but they've been friends for much longer, would it be too pushy to show up at his apartment? What if Momozou is just avoiding him? But his mom is also gone for the week, so he's home alone. What if something's really wrong? What if he goes over there and finds a body-

That's enough of that. Ritsu takes all of the images his own traitorous mind has conjured and tamps them down tightly into a neat little box before taping it shut. It'll be fine. He'll get Momozou's homework from his high school as an excuse to show up and his boyfriend will answer the door and give some explanation and everything will be fine.

(Unless he doesn't and-)

Ritsu lights the damn box on fire.

No one comes to the door and he sinks deep enough that the uneasiness forces it's way through his mouth and settles into his lungs, threatening to drown. There's something really wrong here, he's sure, he just doesn't know what yet.

Now what should he do? There's a balcony with glass doors in the kitchen and Shou never seems to have trouble getting into Ritsu's room through the same set up, so... After making sure no one is around to see, Ritsu levitates himself around the corner of the apartment building and onto a tidy landing with potted plants. The doors stay shut at first, but just as he's wondering if he should jam open a window, there's an ominous click. They're unlocked now.

His barrier manifests itself unprompted in shards of color as he cautiously steps inside. The air feels thick and oppressive, weighing heavy on his limbs and clogging up his throat.

He nearly drops his bag when a voice filters from down the hallway, quiet murmurs slipping beneath Momozou's bedroom door. The thudding in his chest starts to go faster, knocking his breathing into something quick and shallow.

"This time I've gone all the way without you. There's nothing more I can say..."

It sounds painfully weak and wispy and yet its still familiar from days spent in each other's quiet company. Ritsu’s feet carry him to the door.

"So maybe I took a little too much. Maybe life didn’t want this part of me. If it helps to know, I never let you go. I'm sorry, but I lost my mind..."

It sounds wrong, wrong, wrong, because Momozou usually only sings to himself like that when he's desperately trying to block out something terrible and Ritsu is the only one here. (Isn't he?) The door eerily creaks open before he even touches the handle, inviting him in.

"So maybe I took a little too much. Maybe you sucked the life right out of me. I should have let you know I never meant to go. Sure, I lost my mind, but I never really Meant to Die..."

It sounds like a swan song.

Ritsu steps into the room and nearly trips over something heavy and solid. He looks down and the box from before flies open, spewing ash and soot and thick black smoke everywhere.

Momozou is laying curled into a ball on the floor, arms wrapped around his head and pressed hard against his ears. He's staring up with his sunken eyes blown wide and glassy, looking at Ritsu like he's not sure whether he's even real or a hallucination.

"Ritsu...?"

His eyelids slowly sink shut. The shadows beneath them have never been worse.

"Help..."

Everything goes still.

Time stops and stretches into something almost infinite until Ritsu dives down and grabs ahold of a wrist to check for a pulse. This isn't real, it's a nightmare, he probably just ate too many sweets before bed again-

The hand he's holding suddenly grabs back, tight enough to pop his knuckles, as the body in front of him jolts. He's ecstatic for all of two seconds until laughter starts to fill the air, because that is definitely NOT Momozou.

Ritsu throws himself back out into the hallway, scrambling to get up on his feet as the thing in front of him rises. There's a physical sense of revulsion boiling in his gut at the way Momozou's body moves like it's being pulled upward. It's still laughing.

"Well, well, well! If it isn't the little brother! How sweet of you to save me the trouble of finding you."

The sound is an all out assault on his ears, it's Momozou's voice, but it's not at all the way that he usually talks. His posture and the way that he carries his long limbs is slouched where it shouldn't be. The sneer on his lips and the slant of his eyebrows has gone outright manic and murderous. Most startlingly, the whites of his eyes have turned a bright noxious purple.

Ritsu is made to revise that statement when more eyes appear over every exposed inch of skin, lining his arms and giving a spider-like appearance where they dot his cheeks and forehead. All of them are that same toxic shade.

"I was getting pretty impatient. It took three days to possess this body! Three days! Do you have any idea how boring it is to watch a kid either lay around or drive himself up the walls for three days straight in one tiny room? The answer is pretty fucking boring." There's a short pause as it stuffs Momozou’s hands in his pockets. "…OK, it was a little funny." The thing giggles again and it grates like nails on a chalk board.

Ritsu snarls as he raises his hand, aims straight ahead and lets loose his powers. Momozou's body is engulfed in color before it all suddenly disperses, flying at the walls in ripped apart chunks of blue and green and pink. Shit.

"Adorable. Alright, kid-" Another blast, stronger this time. Same result. "Awww, aren't you cute? Well, go ahead, then. Third time's the charm, right?" Ritsu grits his teeth as he forces his body to double the output. His aura whirls like a tornado with Momozou's body at the eye of its storm, but even still its sent flying back at him. "You done now? I suggest you quit." As if Ritsu would take advice from some evil spirit. He can already feel the pressure building up inside of him for another offensive. The thing just smiles and rolls Momozou's eyes and pulls something out of his sweatshirt.

A pocket knife.

"Do you really think you can threaten me with something like that?" Ritsu switches the charge to defense, shards of light glittering as his barrier comes into being around him. Momozou is taller and has a longer reach, but Ritsu has better stamina. As long as he can keep out of range, he should be OK.

"Oh, I think I could. You're not the one I'm threatening, though." Then the knife is pointed right at Momozou's throat and its as though a vacuum has sucked all the air out of the room, out of the apartment, directly out of his lungs. The uneasiness he'd been choking on before is drained and replaced with panic and cold fury, because how dare this thing go so far?

"There we go, now I think you understand. I'm gonna need some cooperation out of you later and if you don’t, well... This is a veeeeeeery nice vessel. I've never seen such a powerful telepath! But I just need it to be able to use its powers. It wouldn't hurt anything if I broke it a bit." The entire time it's talking, it's waving the knife around casually and Ritsu flinches whenever it gets too close to Momozou’s face or especially his eyes.

He should have known something was wrong earlier in the week. He never should have left him alone.

"You, on the other hand..."

Momozou's body lunges forward, slamming a fist against the wall that Ritsu only barely dodges.

"You're only the bait! It doesn't matter what I do with you!"

Part 2 goes up on Day 3: Action! @takeritsuweek2017

[sabansbabes]

The Breakfast Club

~Power Rangers AU~

“I still can’t believe that you would do something so stupid.”

Jason’s father had finally reached the end of his seemingly never-ending rant about how his son had thrown away his life and Jason thanked god that it was over.

He already knew he fucked up, big time actually. And he didn’t need his father reminding him of that every five seconds.

“I’m gonna be late” he muttered weakly before slamming the door open and hopping out before his dad could say anything else. A jolt of pain ran up his knee at the swift action but he ignored it and continued his trudge toward the school’s library. The detention room was overcrowded so he and five other unlucky souls were being sent to the library, with Rita.

She was a stone cold bitch and ever since freshmen year, Jason’s been convinced the she has it out for him.

He decided to take the short cut, considering the fact that the media center was all the way across campus and his leg injury ensured he’d never make it on time otherwise.

And that meant he’d have to walk through the football field.

The one place that he’d been avoiding since…..since the accident.

He took a deep breath before making his way towards his former place of glory.

The anxiety in his stomach grew with every step. His chest felt tighter than normal but he brushed it off.

‘This is nothing man, just a field’

His thought weren’t convincing enough but he pushed onward, ignoring the unsettling feeling in his gut.

It was easier than he thought, well walking into the place. But once he’d entered the stands he felt like he was gonna crumble into a million pieces. He could still hear the chanting of the crowd, his name spilling from each and every one of their lips.

He remembered the overwhelming feeling of victory for a moment. The feeling of being on top of the world as the whole school, no the whole town congratulated him on leading his team to another win.

A sick feeling of nostalgia washed over him as it all came rushing back.

Every memory that he wanted to leave on the field washed over him like a dream turned nightmare.

The crushing feeling of defeat after games,

The crushing feeling of defeat,

The crushing feeling…..

His hand drifted to his bad knee as memories of the crash hurtled into him like a speeding bullet. His chest tightening as the flashing of lights and the feeling of glass seeping into his skin as the impact of the wreck pressed against his leg. He remembered the pain, the fear, the loss, all at once.

His chest tightened, dizziness flowed over his mind and he wanted to throw up. That sick feeling of nostalgia was turning into just a sick feeling. The nostalgia was gone.

“Hey Jason, are you um…. are you okay?”

He whipped his head around and breathed for the first time in what felt like hours. It had really only been a few seconds.

“Yeah, I’m good. Thanks man.”

“For what?”

Jason looked closer at the guy and realized it was Billy Cranston. They had second period English together. He seemed nice, a bit shy, but still, a nice kid.

“The distraction, I guess”

Billy nodded before looking to the ground nervously. Jason took note of the fact that he was carrying a few colored pencils in his right hand and a notebook in the other. He must like to draw.

“Hey, do you wanna walk with me to the library ? That is if you’re going that way, I could use the company” Jason asked and the brown boy looked up hopefully. The prospect of a new friends excited him.

Billy nodded and awkwardly made his way over to where Jason stood. They walked in silence for a few minutes, but once they were halfway across the field Billy noticed Jason’s muscles tightening the way they had when he’d found him.

He needed to distract him again.

“If you didn’t know, my name’s Billy Cranston by the way. They used to call me Billy Cramston because there was a rumor that I crammed a ton of crayons up my butt. Which I don’t really think is physically possible? To cram all those crayons up ones butt and it staying there. The nickname is quite clever but still inaccurate. But no ones has called me that in years except for Bulk and Skull but there jerks and incredibly ignorant.

I’ve always wondered what drives someone to become a bully, I’ve always assumed that it has something to do with their childhood and home life. Maybe there the victims of neglect or abuse, I’ve read about children and young adults who suffer from these things and take their feelings of abandonment and pain out onto their peers.

But that doesn’t excuse someone’s hateful behavior, at least that’s what I believe. If they are going through those issues they should consult an adult and reach out for help. I suppose there are situations where one might not feel comforabl-”

“Is this what runs through your head all day Billy?” Jason interrupted and Billy looked over at the blonde and shrugged.

“I think a lot, about a lot of things all the time. Its because I’m on the spectrum, I read about it when I was younger, a little after I was diagnosed with autism. I’m sorry if my rambling bothers you, it bothers a lot of people.”

Jason really didn’t know how to respond. He had never met someone who was so forward and honest.

It was refreshing.

“Nah, it’s cool. I don’t mind it.”

He hadn’t even noticed they were out of the field until then. Jason turned to Billy

grateful for what he had done for him but he was already gone. He looked over to see him already walking into the library.

Jason sighed but didn’t speed up, he didn’t need to strain his knee even more than he’d already had today. 

The library was freezing, like usual and Jason clutched his jacket tighter to his body. His eyes scanned over the place, he recognized Kim and Billy of course but the other three people were strangers.

Jason didn’t even think they went to this school.

He made his way to the only other empty desk in the room, across from the ex-cheerleader and in front of Billy.

He slung his bag on the desk and pulled out his notebook and a pencil. Jason didn’t really have a plan on what exactly he was going to do all day. His dad had forced him to do all of his homework as soon as he got home.

No breaks, whatsoever.

The man actually sat there for six hours until his work was finished, checked it and then made Jason sit there for another two hours revising it all. He’d figure he just draw for a bit and keep his head down.

At least that’s what he’d hope would happen. But knowing his luck, it would all be downhill from here.

(chapter two coming soon)

[dickie-gayson]

Mori Shej; Litost pt.1

After a month of hiding out, Jason thinks he might be able to sneak away without getting caught. Naturally, he was proven wrong. There must be some sort of cosmic laugh track for whenever Dick shows up to mess with his plans. How exactly did he go from trying to kill Dick to comforting him? He really needs to look over his priorities.

Characters: Jason Todd, Dick Grayson

Warning: Mentions of rape

Pairing: None

Genre: Angst? Hurt/Comfort?

Words: 9,301 (e n d  m e)

Other Parts: one

ALSO: I take prompts and requests -finger guns-

Notes: I am not pleased with this. It is garbage, but hard-worked garbage. Maybe you’ll enjoy it lol There will be another part to further explore their issues and really discuss them. This was just dragging on and I didn’t only want it shoehorned in, you know? 

After his assault on Dick, Jason had to lay low to avoid being found. So low, he was almost surprised he didn't run into Brendan Fraser at the center of the damn Earth. Sure, he may have gone a bit overboard in his subterfuge, but one could never be too careful when it came to running from the Bats. It took every trick in his arsenal to keep the steadily growing clan off his back. His paranoia had reached its peak. For weeks, he monitored the hero community and tracked their movements. Jason wouldn't even leave his hideout without watching the security feed and, hell, even the nearby traffic cameras first. Even still, he had a few close calls.

Funnily enough, he was nearly caught by those outside the family. He had been so focused on evading their techniques and methods that he forgot to account for the other heroes he managed to piss off. When he hurt Dick, nearly killed him, Jason brought himself under the hero community's scrutiny with laser-like intensity. He honest to God debated on plating his temporary hideout with lead to keep the Supers from finding him. Then, he realized that'd probably be a little obvious and they'd just figure it out anyway. At least, if he gets caught by them now, he'll have saved himself the trouble and money.

What a shitshow his life has become. Damn near every single one of his plans had to be scrapped. All because he couldn't go through with the first step. Now, he was forced to hide in a fucking bunker, eating canned food and staring at monitors until the heat was off him. Still, he wouldn't change his actions. Well, okay, he'd change the fact that he beat the shit out of Dick. He'd go about everything differently. There didn't have to be blood.

God, there had been so much blood.

He still saw it when he closed his eyes. Saw the broken form on the floor, begging and pleading. Saw him leaning on the door frame, barely breathing. Saw the red on the pacifier, staining the clothes. In his dreams, the red spread and spread and spread. In his dreams, he didn't stop kicking. Sometimes, it changed. They would be in a warehouse. He would hit the downed man over and over. There would be a crowbar in his hands and in the background there would be laughter, high and shrill and so grating. There would be a baby shrieking somewhere in the darkness. And there would be a song, softly coming from the broken man. It wouldn't end. He'd hit and hit, screaming for silence but the song wouldn't end. It wouldn't end until he did. Until there was no more sound. No more swinging, no more laughter or screaming. Nothing but blood. So much blood.

Those dreams left him coated in a cold sweat, heaving with nothing to come up. He'd shake in his bed and press the heel of his palms to his eyes to try and erase the lingering memories. If only things had gone differently. If only he hadn't lost his mind, been dunked in the Pit, gone to Ethiopia. If only, if only.

From there, he'd rise and check his security before watching the monitors. Depending on his stock, he might test his luck and traverse the city in civilian gear. Sure, he should be perfectly fine walking unmasked around the city without anyone catching on to who he was, but still. These were heroes, Bats, and if there's one thing they excelled at, it was doing the fucking impossible. He wasn't keen to be caught just yet.

Except, there was a tiny part of him that did want to be caught. Wanted to face what he'd done. He also wanted to see their expressions when they realized who he was. Sure, Jason regretted what he'd done to Dick, but that didn't mean he suddenly felt love for Bruce and the replacement. They still made his stomach churn and the haze creep to the edge of his mind. He might not hate Dick as much as he thought he did, but he sure as shit still hated the others.

Since he was being honest with himself, he also wanted to see Jaye again. He wanted to get to know the little girl carrying his name; wanted to be a good uncle. But, he destroyed that chance, just as he ruined everything else he touched. Maybe it was for the best. She didn't need to know the fuck up that was 'Uncle Jason'. Let her live and be raised with the glorified version of himself she'd no doubt be told. At least, then, she'd hold a little pride in her name. What right did he have to ruin it for her, especially after what he'd done?

He sighed to himself at the thought. Really, he would have loved to play the role of Unce Jay. It may surprise some, but Jason got along with children better than he did most adults. Did he want kids? Yeah, he honestly did. But, that wouldn't happen. He couldn't let it happen. If he couldn't control himself when he got too emotional, then how the hell could he ever hope to raise a child? Even more of a reason to stay away from Jaye. He couldn't risk her safety like that.

Shit, he made it sound like he even had the chance to be around her. After what he did? There was no fucking way he'd be allowed within a hundred-foot radius of the little girl. That stung a little more than he'd like it to. It made the little plush elephant in his inner pocket seem to weigh a million pounds. The stuffed animal was an impulse purchase. He seen the little patchwork toy and immediately thought of the baby with the acrobat dad. Too bad she'd never get to play with it. But, he did this to himself and he'd live with the consequences.

A startled noise got caught in his throat as something made heavy impact with his helmet. Immediately, he flung himself backward, shook the sluggishness from his mind, and pulled out his pistols. 'Who the-'

Dick.

Of course. Because Jason's life wasn't fucking ridiculous enough. It was one disaster after another, wasn't it? He raised his pistols to keep the costumed vigilante at bay. Jason couldn't help the almost queasy feeling he got from aiming the weapons at the hero. In his mind, all he seen was the steady spread of red. Dick outstretched one hand and caught the ricocheting escrima stick without so much as turning to look at the weapon. His attention was undividedly on Jason. That...was not good.

What was he going to do now? This was the first night he came out in his Red Hood gear since that night. He figured over a damn month would be enough time hiding to be able to sneak away. Clearly, he was wrong. Jason didn't want to fight Dick. He really didn't. But, if push came to shove, he would. He couldn't let Dick get him. That would mean being thrown in Blackgate or, and this gave him nightmares, Arkham. Or, even worse, Bruce would show up. He...he couldn't handle that. Not right now. He needed time. Needed to recuperate and revise his plans. He needed to escape.

"Now -'

Jason didn't let him finish his statement. He made a wayward shot at Dick's feet as a distraction. While the black and blue clad hero was busy avoiding the clumsy attack, Jason ran. Okay, so, maybe running hadn't been his best plan, he'll admit it. Being up high, in the air, was Dick's forte. Not to mention he was fast; faster than Jason was. There was also the fact that this was Nightwing's territory. Jason may have been hiding here for a while, but that's nothing on the years Dick had to memorize the city, top to bottom.

He made it an admirable four buildings down before something, presumably Dick, sent him to the ground. Jason immediately started to struggle and buck against the weight that pinned him down. Being constrained like this only made Jason want to flee more. The panic was starting to set in. His chest heaved and, was it just him, or was someone laughing? No, no, he had to keep his head straight. There was no laughter. That was only in his mind. There was no reason to panic. It's only Dick, he won't hurt Jason. He won't do that.

...But what if he did? What if wanted retribution for what Jason did to him, in his own home, no less? It's what Jason would do. He needed to get out of here. It was hard to focus on his training when his own brain kept trying to drag him back to bound chairs and closed caskets. There was a sudden pressure on the underside of his jaw. It forced his head back and he had to look at the cold face that stared at him. Dick was using his escrima in the same manner Jason had used his gun to control him. Ordinarily, a stick wouldn't scare him, but he was very well aware of the high-voltage taser they doubled as. That was something he wasn't keen on experiencing.

So, he laid there and stared in silence. Mentally, he counted and tried to keep his breathing even. The anxiety and fear was still there, but he couldn't let himself focus on that. Instead, he focused on the quiet vigilante that held him captive. 'It's just Dick. He won't hurt me. It's just Dick.' He repeated that mantra in his head in time with his breathing. It helped a little, but couldn't stop the slight shaking that took over his hands. Jason curled them into fists in an effort to try and hide the tell. Before Dick had a chance to begin his interrogation, Jason spoke.

"I'm sorry."

The words seemed to spill from his lips without his permission. The tone of his voice, even modified, was downright pathetic. He squeezed his eyes shut and swallowed thickly. That wasn't what he intended to say. Hell, he hadn't planned on speaking, period. But, apparently, his guilty conscience got the better of him. Dick had gone almost frighteningly still above him, and Jason was almost afraid to look. When he did open his eyes, he was greeted with a carefully blank expression. The pressure on his jaw did not lessen. Dick's voice was just as pointedly neutral as his face.

"Why?"

Shit, there were a million and one answers to that question. It was like a grab bag of fucked up. Rather than pick and choose which interpretation of the question to answer, he decided to ask for clarification.

"Ya gotta be a little more specific than that. Why what?"

The weapon was pressed just a bit harder into his flesh. It forced his head to tilt at an even more awkward angle. 'Ow, okay, this is getting uncomfortable.' Dick opened his mouth, as if to answer, but no words came out. He seemed to flounder for a bit. Maybe he was struggling with the situation as much as Jason was. Strangely, there wasn't much comfort to be found in that. Who would have thought.

"Why did you come after me? Why do you want to kill me? Why didn't you kill me? Why call for help? Why...why comfort my daughter? Why?"

The more he spoke, the worse his voice became. He looked borderline broken, worse than the night he actually did get broken. This wasn't right. He shouldn't be losing his composure so quickly over this. Jason knew Dick was better at keeping it under control. Yeah, he knew the older vigilante had some anger issues, which of them didn't? But this...this fragile state, this breaking apart, it wasn't right. There's no way Jason was the only cause. He couldn't be. Bats were better than this. Dick was better than this. He was the perfect fucking Golden Boy. It didn't make sense. And damn, it sent a feeling of unease slithering around his gut. He went to shift, but a firm press of the escrima ended that. Talking was getting a little difficult with the angle his head was at, but he'd endure. If Dick could do it, so could he.

"Well, damn, start with the hard questions, why don't ya? You sure you wanna hear the answers on a rooftop in the middle of 'Haven? Who knows who might be listenin'."

It was only partially a joke. One that fell rather flat, at that. There could be a whole list of people skulking around to hear this and Jason really didn't want that. Especially since Dick was notorious for having morally ambiguous people after him for one reason or another. Jason did not want to get caught up in that weird web. No thank you, check please. Hell, he's been laying low and he's still hearing gossip from the criminal underground about 'Nightwing's ass' this and 'Nightwing's skin tight suit' that. Jason would have lost his shit ages ago.

Dick didn't seem to find his joke very funny, not that Jason could blame him. From the way the older hero tensed minutely, he probably assumed that was a vague threat. Jason really wasn't good at picking his words, it seemed. Maybe he should just start speaking in Shakespearean quotes. That could be his gimmick. It'd probably work out better for him in the end, honestly. No, wait, Shakespeare was just as much a cocky shit as he was. An irritated sound coming from Dick brought him out of his musings. Damn, he was really not in the right state of mind for this. He blamed it on being alone for so long and not the copious amounts of trauma he was wrapped up in. Jason just made a little gesture with his hands to show he hadn't meant it as a threat. Was Dick's finger creeping toward the taser? Oh God, he did not want to taste 50,000 volts right now, or, you know, ever.

"Alright, alright, jeez. Sorry if this isn't exactly something I want getting around."

Just like the joke-that-wasn't-a-joke, his words fell flat. He wanted to diffuse the situation, get that damn fractured glass look off Dick. This entire fucking situation set his teeth on edge. He noticed it before, that something was decidedly wrong with Dick. But right now, with the look and tone of his voice, the way he was being way too serious with his threats, Jason knew he was right. How the fuck did it go from him trying to kill Dick to trying to comfort him? Was he really that starved for affection he'd latch onto the first person that might give it to him? ...That was a question he decided he didn't want to think about and simply ignored the blatantly obvious answer. Instead, he wet his lips and spoke. He hated how unsure he sounded.

"I...Shit...I meant to kill you. Had these plans and ideas. I was gonna send him a message. But I...I couldn't do it. If you didn't have that baby, I wouldn't have hesitated and...I'm...kind of glad I did. Don't get me wrong, I still want to punch you in the fuckin' face at least fourteen times but I-I don't want you dead. Fuck, this is all fucked."

For his part, Dick was quiet. It was actually getting very unnerving how quiet he was being. Dick was a chatterbox, this was a known fact. But the way he was just staring, blank and cold, was almost frightening. He wasn't supposed to look like a statue. Scratch that, he wasn't supposed to look like him. Bruce was the cold, quiet, unforgiving one. Not Dick. Dick was supposed to be his opposite; his foil. What happened? When he spoke, Dick's voice was low and, man, Jason couldn't even pinpoint the exact tone. It was like thin ice; cold but fractured.

"Who are you?"

At that, Jason was the one to go eerily still. Then, he began to squirm. Nope, nope, he was not answering that. Fuck it, he'll take the tasing if he got out of here with his anonymity. Suddenly, he felt the unmistakably sharp edge of a Wing-Ding (God, that was such a stupid fucking name. Of course, Dick came up with it) pressing against his neck. Great, make that a taser AND a borderline-knife to his throat. He stilled once more. The shaking increased to full body and he felt himself getting ready to really panic. The part of him that was keeping calm made note that this was also something Dick should definitely not be doing. Threatening people at Wing-Ding point (seriously, he needed to come up with a different name, this is just ridiculous) wasn't usually his style. Maybe he really did change since Jason's been gone.

"I can't...Please, don't make me answer that. I can't. Dick, I...I can't."

If he wasn't on the verge of a panic attack, Jason would have been mortified at the absolutely pitiful tone his voice took and the fact that he actually used Dick's name in the field. The sheer terror that took over his being seemed to catch Dick off-guard. The hero actually backed off a bit while surprise colored his previously frigid expression. Almost on instinct, Jason took advantage of the opportunity. He hit Dick in his midsection in an attempt to wind and distract the older man. Apparently, the wounds weren't as healed as Jason was led to believe. If they were, Dick wouldn't have yelped in pain.

As quickly as he could, Jason scrambled away from the momentarily stunned hero. Maybe he could get away this time. Dick was still injured and the previous chase had to have taxed him at least a little bit. It wasn't until he hit the edge of the building that he hesitated. Guilt chewed him up again. That was getting real old, real fast. Still, this might be his only opportunity and he had to take it. He turned and reached into his jacket. Dick was already on his feet and looked a little worse for the wear, if his slightly shaking shoulders were anything to go by. Fuck, why was he patrolling at all in his current state? Did he want to die?

Before he could think better of it, Jason tossed the small stuffed elephant to the hero who caught it effortlessly. He looked at the toy in both surprise and confusion before he turned his attention back to his apparent adversary.

"For her. You could let her know Uncle Jay misses her or something."

That was a decidedly stupid move on his part. Beyond stupid, really. Way, way, WAY beyond stupid. Something he was going to completely and thoroughly beat himself up over later. He took Dick's momentary surprise as a getaway. It wasn't even one full building over before he was knocked over again. 'Note to self: Running from Dick is a Bad Idea.' This time, however, it wasn't an escrima or tackle that brought him down. It was a small, explosive pellet thrown at his feet that did him in. Okay, so he should have been prepared for that. He knew Dick had those on him. However, he was way too distracted by what he just did and the fallout he'd have to deal with. Not to mention the creeping hysteria that flooded his veins. A sick feeling twisted in his gut. 'This is bad. This is bad. This is BAD.'

Before he could fully stand, a foot swung into his view and he only had a brief moment to try and block it. It still felt like getting kicked by a fucking horse. Honestly, Dick probably hit harder with his feet than his hands. Jason went sailing back to the ground with incredible force. Wow, if this is what it felt like when he was kicking Dick, then he felt significantly more sorry than before. Rather than pin his whole body, Dick chose to put a foot on Jason's throat and press down threateningly. There were several ways to get out of this position, but Dick was aware of every single one of them and Jason knew it. It was like he was waiting for Jason to try; waiting for him to give Dick a reason to stomp. This wasn't right.

"Now, you're going to answer my questions. This isn't up for negotiation. Did you or did you not just threaten my daughter?"

His voice, if Jason was being completely truthful, was fucking terrifying. There was something almost...unhinged about the way his voice dipped. Jason always wanted to see the Golden Boy lose it. He wanted to see Dick brought down to his level. Now that he's seen it? He isn't so sure he wanted it anymore. It was so unnatural. He could almost see Dick as a killer and that thought was horrifying. Trying to wrangle in a murderous Grayson would be a nightmare.

Jason felt an intense flare of indignation at Dick's accusation. Why the fuck did he think Jason was threatening Jaye? Nothing inherently malicious was mentioned. All he said was...Oh. Oh. That would make sense. Yeah, Jason was really not good at picking his words as of late. Then again, this would have been entirely avoidable if Dick knew who he was. But then that would mean he would find out because Dick was his fucking lapdog. Jason was not ready for that confrontation. Fuck, he thought he was ready for this confrontation but, obviously, he was wrong. If he couldn't handle speaking to Dick, then there was absolutely no way he could speak to Bruce. Not yet.

He debated for a moment the pros and cons of letting Dick just crush his throat. That would certainly save him some trouble, wouldn't it? As if he read Jason's mind, Dick applied a discomforting amount of pressure on his neck. Yeah, no, Jason was not feeling the whole 'crushed trachea' thing. He let out a frustrated sound before he spoke. It was clear he was not at all pleased with either his position or the accusation.

"No, that wasn't a threat, Dickhead. I was being nice. I'd never hurt a child."

Dick just stared at him with that wrong look.

"Take off the helmet."

Again, as if those were the magic words, Jason started to struggle. No no no no.

"Take it off or I break it off."

Jason's heart was speeding like a jackrabbit's as he stared up at Dick. There was no trace of the man he used to know. This one was entirely serious about his threat. Jason knew Dick could be brutal, downright vicious, but this was like staring at a stranger. Why that hurt as much as it did, Jason didn't want to think about. All he did know was something had happened when he was gone.

"...What happened to you?"

He felt like that little fucking fifteen-year-old again with the vulnerable tone. No, he couldn't get caught up in this. He had his own problems. Hell, he had a fucking mountain of issues to deal with. There was no way adding whatever baggage Dick was carrying with him to his own pile was a good idea. Still, seeing the way Dick seemed to seize at the words, didn't sit right with him. Whatever occurred really fucked up the seemingly untouchable hero. No, he had people he could turn to. Everybody loved him and he was a fucking blabbermouth. He could get his own help.

Shit, Jason already knew this was over for him. Dick was a Bat. That basically guaranteed emotional constipation and a tendency to self-destruct. Given Dick's penchant to blame himself for everything and that stupid hero-complex, Jason just knew he was stewing in this in total silence. Why did his compassion have to rear it's head now? Oh, who was he kidding? He was a fucking bleeding heart and he knew it. Jason would never admit it, though. He had some dignity left; not much, but some.

With shaking hands he didn't even try to hide anymore, he pulled off his helmet. His breath came to him short and sharp as he tried to keep himself calm. 'It's okay. Maybe he won't recognize me. He's not them. I'm fine. It'll be fine.' Dick just stared at him for a minute. It had to be the longest minute of his life. Well, his current life.

Jason could pinpoint the exact moment recognition hit Dick. The way he inhaled was so sharp and sudden that Jason almost felt bad for his ribs. He let his escrima drop to the ground as he all but jumped away from the downed man like he was a leper. Jason sat up against his forearms and watched as the older vigilante paled dramatically.

"No. No, not again. You're...you're not real."

Teal eyes widened as he watched Dick press his hands to his eyes, as if that could erase the situation they were in. Jesus, has Dick hallucinated about him before? Was it nightmares? Had his death really gotten to Dick that much? Sure, he named his daughter after Jason, but this? This was a whole new level of trauma. Dick continued to speak and Jason wasn't sure if it was to himself or not.

"Who...Clayface? Spinebender? Mirage? Damn it, WHO?!"

Alright, so Dick thought he was an imposter. Really, Jason shouldn't be surprised. He'd probably think the same thing, were he in Dick's position. This should probably get cleared up before Dick kicks his head clean off his shoulders. It looked like that was only about two seconds away from happening. God, he was an absolute wreck.

"Di- 'Wing, it's...it's really me. I swear."

Later, he'd really have to reflect on how everything kept getting turned around on him. First, he went to kill Dick only to save him. Then, he wanted to run away and keep his identity a secret, only to actually try and convince Dick it was really him. What even were his priorities anymore? His decision only felt a little more right when he saw the almost feral way Dick shook his head. Jason might want to stay hidden, but Dick was clearly falling apart at the damn seams and nobody else seemed to notice. Motherfucking bleeding heart.

"You're lying!"

Yep, that was definitely an angry and threatening walk. Dick approached him with quick, irate steps. Jason had to subdue the urge to skitter backward from the hero. No, he could do this. Fuck his fears. They won't control him. He won't allow it. Not anymore. That didn't stop his heart from jackhammering in his chest. His throat felt so dry all of a sudden.

"I'm not. I can prove it! You remember the cocaine lab? The first time we met? I nearly fucked up the whole thing. When we were done, you told me I needed to work on my sidekick. You...you gave me your Robin suit that day."

That stopped Dick dead in his tracks. If Jason were feeling funny, he would say that Dick looked like he seen a ghost, but he wasn't really feeling the humor right now.

"J-Jason?"

He sounded so hopeful. So broken. It made Jason's heart clench. There was no way he affected Dick that much. No, he couldn't have. He couldn't. Because...because if he did, then that meant Jason was wrong. At least, wrong up until a point. But that still meant he was wrong. God, he nearly killed Dick. And here he was, looking like the world was simultaneously handed to him and torn away. Dick had no reason to look at him that way. Not after what happened.

He was suddenly in front of Jason. His hands hovered like he wanted to touch but was unsure if he could. Maybe he was afraid Jason would disappear the moment they made contact. Is that what he dreamt about? Jason tried to swallow down the lump in his throat as he stared at Dick.

"Hey, Big Bird."

The air was almost strangled out of his lungs from the tight hug he found himself in. Dick was holding Jason like he was the only thing keeping the older vigilante together. His whole body shuddered from the sobs he tried to keep inside him. Just like that, Jason lost it himself. He wrapped his hands around his brother's torso and held on like his life depended on it. It was only a vague memory of what he did that kept him from squeezing Dick as hard as he wanted to. Enough damage was wrought by his hands. He didn't need to exacerbate the old wounds. Tremors racked his body. It felt like his heart was going to burst from the way it was beating and twisting with pain. Tears pricked his eyes as he trembled against the warm embrace. Fuck, he missed this, the affection, so much. He didn't deserve it.

That thought was almost enough to get him to pull away, but the tight grip Dick had him in left him without a choice. Beyond the guilt, he was perfectly content to endure the hug. Jason would deny all claims that he was affection-starved, even if it was true. Little gasps and sobs came from the two as they sat on the rooftop. Quiet 'I'm sorry's passed back and forth until it was uncertain who was saying it anymore. They sat like that until the trembling calmed its tempo but their grips never loosened. Finally, finally, Dick pulled back just enough to look at Jason's face again. Wonderment filled the anguished face once more.

"How...What happened? They..they said you died. Where have you been? Why...Why..?"

It seemed like he couldn't finish the question, but the pain twisting his features was enough of an indicator as to what he was asking. 'Why attack me? Why hurt me?' That sent a fresh wave of guilt surging through Jason. He let out a shaky breath before finding the strength in himself to speak.

"Can we talk somewhere else?"

Dick nodded rapidly but seemed unwilling to let go of his almost-death grip on Jason. After another moment, he backed off and stood up. Jason grabbed his helmet and followed suit with unsteady feet. There was a good deal of uncertainty in the look he gave Dick. Where would they go from here? He'd leave it to the black and blue clad hero. Dick ran a shaky hand through his hair before he seemed to remember something. He turned unexpectedly on his heel and jogged to the further edge of the building. When he returned, the small elephant was in his hands. He looked at it with a small, frail smile.

"Couldn't leave her first present from her Uncle behind, could I?"

The words wobbled slightly with unbidden emotions. If it's that hard to hide it all, then the sheer volume of emotions he must be feeling is staggering. Jason let out a breath of laughter, just as unsteady in tone as Dick.

"Yeah, can't have that."

They were both complete and total wrecks. This wasn't how Jason planned things. It's not how he wanted everything to go down. But, well, maybe this was how it should go down. He felt jittery and the anxiety still lingered in his nerves. It was going to be a long, long night. Still, maybe...maybe he could salvage this. Maybe this can end on good terms. God, did he hope it would end on good terms. But, something nagged at Jason. The ever-lingering fear that Bruce would find out. That Dick would tell him. It made the panic and haze want to creep in. To quell his own worries, he spoke up.

"Dick, you can't tell anyone. Not yet. Just, promise me you won't. Especially B-Bruce."

Saying the name out loud was so much more difficult than saying it in his head. It left a funny taste in his mouth. The man in question gave him a long, sad look before he nodded. Jason was willing to bet he'd agree to jump off the Empire State Building right now if Jason asked it of him.

"I won't tell. Promise."

As if to seal the promise, he took the comm from his ear and tossed it aside. Jason raised his eyebrows at that. It seemed a bit much, but he appreciated the sentiment. Plus, he knew how Bruce could be. It wasn't beyond the man to hack the others comms if he suspected something was up.

The trip was a silent one with Jason shadowing Dick's moves. The acrobat wasn't being nearly as, well, acrobatic as he usually was. There were no flashy moves or unnecessary flips. It was probably from his still injured ribs. Every so often, Dick would look back, as if to make sure Jason was still there and not a figment of his imagination. It made Jason a little queasy. Just how bad has Dick's mental state become?

Eventually, they got to an apartment just off The Spine. Jason politely ignored how long it took Dick to undo his own defenses. He knew from experience how frustrating it could be to undo such a thing with shaking hands. Dick slid the window open before suddenly going still. It made a spike of fear shoot up Jason's spine. Was something wrong? Did someone break in? Oh, God, don't say someone hurt Jaye. Dick just gave him a side-glance.

"Forgot about the babysitter. Wait a minute and I'll send them away."

Jason let out a breath of air he didn't even realize he was holding. He had to stifle the sudden urge to punch Dick for worrying him like that. Instead, he just gave a slight nod and watched the hero slip through the window. The solitude gave Jason a minute to reflect on the really bad decisions that led him to this moment. He was still weighing in on whether or not revealing his identity to Dick was one of those decisions when said hero stuck his head through the window and waved him in.

He swallowed down his anxiety and entered the sparse apartment. It only took a glance around to realize this was Dick's new apartment. The babysitter (and just who was babysitting for the hero, anyway?) should have tipped him off, but it really sunk in standing here. He didn't quite know how to feel about Dick bringing him back to where he lived after what happened in his last home. It almost felt wrong to be here. But the way Dick was looking at him, no mask to hide his eyes this time, squashed that feeling. The look he was getting almost made the tears return. Jason didn't deserve that look. He took off his own domino; the last thing between Red Hood and Jason Todd.

Dick stepped closer and stared at him with such sincere intensity, it nearly burned. He watched the mild confusion take over the other man's face. Jason knew why. Since his death and resurrection, he's changed. The Pit took some scars and tinged his eyes. They were greener than they used to be. It seemed Dick realized where the shade came from by the way the confusion morphed into shock and, this hurt a bit, horror. Jason just stepped back and lowered his eyes. He couldn't look at that expression any longer. His emotions were already scrubbed raw enough as is. That would do nothing but worsen the situation, he knew it.

Instead of the accusations he was expecting for someone dunked in the Lazarus Pit, he got a firm hand on his shoulder. Still, he didn't look up. Then, he was yanked into yet another fierce hug. Dick shoved his face into the crease of Jason's neck and shoulder as he trembled. Jason returned the hug again with as much intensity as he could without worsening the others injuries. When Dick spoke, it was muffled against his leather jacket, but Jason could still understand him.

"I'm sorry. Whatever happened, I'm sorry. I should have been there. I gave you the suit, I...I should have been there. God, I'm so sorry. I failed you."

Jason choked back a sob at the words. That's what he's been telling himself since his resurrection. Over and over, like a mantra, he'd tell himself that they failed him. They weren't there for him. It was their fault. But hearing it now? He wanted nothing more than to shake Dick and tell him he was wrong.

"Shut up, you masochistic fuck. It wasn't your fault...It, shit, it wasn't. Joker did this. And I put the suit on without your help. I blamed you for a long time. I did, but I was wrong. Dick, I was wrong."

That just caused the other man to cry harder and tighten his death grip. Saying it all was almost cathartic, but it still hurt. It left an aching, hollowed out feeling in his chest. His own tears slid down the black and blue suit as he buried his face into his brother's shoulder.

"I...I didn't even get to go to your funeral, Jason. He didn't even tell me."

Those words caused Jason to go stone-still. The absolute pain and betrayal that washed through him hurt. Jason backed up a bit, effectively putting an end to their embrace. Dick's face was splotchy and his eyes completely bloodshot. Jason doubted he looked any better.

"What?"

He really, really, really hoped he heard Dick wrong or misinterpreted him. Something. Because that...what he was saying was just ridiculous. There's no way...

"Bruce didn't even tell me you died! I was off-world for a mission when you...when it happened. He never told me. I found out when I returned and seen it in the database. I missed your funeral. I wasn't there again. I'm so sorry."

Dick seemed to hold himself as if that could keep him together while he shook apart. Jason's breathing started coming up short and fast. 'Bruce didn't even tell him. He didn't even tell Dick. I didn't even matter enough for my own brother to know.' He didn't even realize just how badly he was shaking until Dick tried to calm him down. Jason shoved him backward and looked around wildly. His eyes landed back on Dick. He looked hurt from the rejection. It made Jason close his eyes and try to calm his frazzled nerves before he blacked out again. This wasn't Bruce. Dick didn't deserve his anger. He had to remind himself over and over. It was Bruce, not Dick, who should get his wrath. Thoughts of the baby in the next room helped him strangle down the beast in him. He could do this.

 When he looked back up, he noticed Dick open his mouth, probably to apologize again. Jason didn't think he could handle that anymore. Instead, he just held up a hand to ask for a moment. He sucked in deep breath after deep breath. Finally, when he felt stable enough, he lowered his hand.

"The Pit, it...messed me up. I can't- I can't control myself anymore. Too many emotions and I just lose it."

Admitting his weakness was hard, but he had to get it out there. Dick looked like he wanted to engulf him in yet another bone-crushing hug but refrained. Instead, he just nodded with a look of agony on his face. Was he still feeling guilty? Then again, they were both mentored by the same man and self-blame seemed to be a sort of a staple in their lessons. The two of them alone could probably hold entire seminars about it. They'd be a therapist's dream.

"It'll be okay, Jay. We..we can work on it."

We. Even after everything, Dick still said 'we'. Said it like Jason hadn't explicitly stated he wanted to murder him. Like Jason didn't almost kick him to death. What is with that man?

"How can you say that? After what I did to you?"

The questions hurt to say and his voice only further illustrated that fact. He was terrified that Dick would suddenly come to his senses. He didn't deserve this kindness, but he didn't want to lose it either. He didn't want to lose his brother again. He didn't want to be alone.

Dick, for his part, looked equally scared. Why? He took a careful step closer to his newly rediscovered brother like he was a skittish animal. Honestly, Jason almost felt like a skittish animal. Everything in him was screaming to 'run' but he ignored all of it. He was going to see this through to the end, whatever that may be.

"I don't know why you did it, but you didn't let me die. You called Donna. You comforted Jaye. That says a lot."

Jason just shook his head in denial.

"Why are you trying to erase what I did? I was the reason Donna needed to be called. I was the reason Jaye needed comfort. I left you in a pool of your own blood. I almost killed you!"

It took real effort to keep from screaming at Dick. Why was he trying to make excuses for Jason? Why was Jason trying to sabotage this for himself? God, he just wanted the acceptance. He wanted to take the forgiveness and smother himself with it. So why, why was he fighting it? His hands found their way to his hair and he pulled as he fought to keep himself in control. It wouldn't be surprising if Dick could hear his teeth grinding from over there.

Suddenly, there were hands over his. They tried to gently ease his fingers of their death grip. Dick's voice was soft. He could feel the hands on top his shaking.

"I'm not trying to erase it. I'm trying to figure out what happened to my baby brother and help him. I'm trying not to lose you again. I don't want to lose you again."

Dick's voice cracked at the end from the torrent of emotions that bubbled within him. Jason was nearly gasping for air at this point. Hearing that...Jason hadn't even realized it's what he wanted, no, what he needed. Slowly, as if he was afraid Jason would push him away again, Dick pulled him back into his arms. His grip was softer but no less warm. Jason couldn't hold back the sob as he buried his face once more against Dick's shoulder. The tears came harder and the shaking more violent. He could feel Dick's own silent trembling.

"I don't want to lose you either. I need...I need help. Dick, I need you. I can't do this on my own. I can't."

His voice was hoarse and any pretense of control he had was so far gone, he doubted it'd ever come back. At the moment, he didn't care. It was like once the floodgates opened, they couldn't be shut. All the hurt and pain that built up over the years just came tumbling out. And Dick took it all with soft strokes against his hair and warm whispers. He could hear the hitching in Dick's breath as he tried to comfort Jason.

"I'm not going anywhere, Little Wing. I'll be right here with you. I promise. We'll figure this out. It'll be okay. You're strong, Jay. We can do this."

It sounded like he was trying to convince himself as much as he was trying to convince Jason. Still, it helped calm the distressed man somewhat. It didn't stop the pain completely. It didn't still the tears, but it helped. They stood there for a while and soaked up the comfort the other exuded. After he calmed a bit more, Jason pulled back just enough to look Dick in the eye.

"I'm not the only one who needs help."

His tone left no room for doubt. Jason knew something was wrong with Dick. From the almost frightened look that took over his bright blue eyes, Jason was downright positive about it.

"Jason, I-'

He cut Dick off before he could try and deny it all.

"I know something's wrong. You wouldn't threaten me the way you had, even with what I did. And...you're just not right. You look like you're a breath away from literally shattering. You want to help me? Well, I want to help you too."

Dick's lips trembled from the obvious effort it took him to hold back his emotions. Jason didn't know why he bothered at this point. They already crossed that uncomfortable bridge. It looked like he wanted to protest further, but he also knew Jason was equally as stubborn as he was. And maybe, just maybe, he wanted the help as much as Jason did.

"Jay, so much has happened. I don't even know where to start. Everything's just...it's all fallen apart. I don't know what to do anymore."

That brought a frown to Jason's lips. Sure, he had monitored the family and such, but he didn't exactly delve into everything they've done. Okay, so maybe he did track Bruce that closely. But Dick wasn't his main concern, so he didn't think to follow the going-ons of his life. He made a slight gesture to the seating off to his right. If they were really going to hash all this out right now, then they should probably get comfortable. Dick moved without hesitation or resistance and took a seat on the couch while Jason sat diagonal to him in an armchair.

He waited patiently for Dick to find his tongue. The acrobat ran a hand through his hair; a nervous habit. His leg bounced up and down rapidly in his distress. Speaking about their emotions was never a strong suite in their 'family'. Really, it was only moments like this, where they can't hold it back anymore and just explode, that they get anything resolved. Dick let out a heavy sigh and stared at his hands as he started to speak.

"Shouldn't we be talking about you? You're the one that came back from the dead. My issues aren't as pressing."

Jason didn't know whether to be amused or irritated at Dick's very transparent attempt at a changing the conversation. He let out a scoff and an exaggerated roll of the eyes.

"Please, I've had years to think about it. Whatever you've got going on is fucking you up and you're the one with a kid to take care of. We can focus on my mountain of issues later."

His effort to water down his own trauma was just as obvious as Dick's poor change of subject. For his attempts, he got a slight glare but there was no real heat behind it. Then, Dick dropped his gaze and his shoulders sagged.

"Alright, yeah, you're right. Jaye's more important than, well, everything. Guess I gotta suck it up, huh?"

It was a solid, but ultimately futile, attempt to lighten the mood. Jason doubted even God himself could achieve that at this point. Still, he flashed Dick a crooked grin to let him know he caught the effort. But in the returning silence, the smiles fell back to frowns and tremors returned to once calmed hands.

"I'm only gonna...I just..I don't want to get into it all. Not right now. I can explain some. The worst. But just not all. Okay?"

Despite the fact that he knew bottling it all up would only make it worse, Jason nodded. Really, he felt for Dick. Telling others the fucked up shit that hurt you was never easy. He hated it. It was partially why he suggested talking about Dick's problems instead. Cowardly? Yes, but he didn't care. He just wasn't ready. What he shared was already too much and, still, not enough. He remained silent to allow Dick time to put his thoughts into words and get them out. This was always the worst part for them. It took time and patience; things Jason was surprised but grateful he had right now.

"Blockbuster, you heard of him?"

The name rang a few bells. He was a major crime lord working in 'Haven. At least, up until his death. Jason heard more than a few tales about that freak. Tall, ugly, and could twist someone's head around in a full one-eighty. There had been ridiculous rumors that Nightwing shot him. Those rumors made Jason laugh out loud when he heard them. What idiots. At his affirmative nod, Dick continued on.

"He was mad at me for screwing with his business. For...for his mother's death. Real mad. He found out who I was. Found out I was Dick Grayson."

That was not good. At all. He was only a few sentences in, and Jason already knew this was going to get very, very ugly. It caused an uneasy feeling to curl up inside him.

"To get back at me, prove I was powerless, to punish me, he went after everyone I knew. He blew up my apartment building. Shot a reporter, Maxine Michaels, just because she was talking to me. He wanted to kill everyone I came in contact with. Any clerk who rings me up. Any kid who smiles at me. All because he could. Because it'd hurt me. He was going to kill them all because of me."

Dick was shaking harder now with the memories. Hearing it made Jason feel sick. This, this is why Bruce's way could never work. Look what happened when a criminal of Blockbuster's caliber was left alive. Innocent people died and innocent people suffered. No matter how right he was, his feelings just couldn't match it. Not right now. There was no smugness to be felt while Dick looked so close to completely coming apart. Jesus, to think he actually wanted this at one point. That made him sound like Blockbuster and the thought absolutely ripped at him. He wanted to make Dick suffer just like that monster had. It made him want to vomit. Any rebuke against Dick's self-blaming he had was cut silent as Dick continued speaking.

"He...he had Haly's burnt down around me. God, Jason, he burned it all down! There were so many people. I tried to save them all. I couldn't. I couldn't. It was all I had left. That was all I had left of my family and he took it from me!"

The air seemed to get caught in his lungs at those words. He couldn't imagine the toll that sort of personal attack took on the man. Jason's own mother betrayed him to the Joker and that left it's own special brand of trauma on him. But to have what little actually good memories of his family he had left torched around him? Fuck. Blockbuster was beyond lucky he was dead at this point because Jason was really not feeling charitable. What he would have done to that thing would have been downright sadistic. The shaking in his hands was for an entirely different reason this time. Dick must not have noticed the stiffening of his posture or the way his eyes seemed greener than they were just moments before because he continued spilling that which he had kept pent up for so long.

"-Tarantula appeared. I shouldn't have let her. But his words just kept ringing in my head. All those people. He wouldn't stop. Not ever. I..I let her shoot him. I let him die. How could I do that? His blood is on my hands. His blood and all the others. I told her no. She just told me to be quiet. I said no."

At this point, Dick's breathing had really picked up. There was a look in his eyes. Jason recognized it. He was caught in the past, reliving the events that hurt him so. Jason moved to try and bring him back to reality. Nobody should be caught in that sort of personal hell. Well, maybe some deserved it, but not Dick, no matter what he thought. However, as soon as his hand came close to contact, Dick all but froze. He even stopped breathing. A look of near-terror took over his face. Jason immediately yanked back his hand and mirrored Dick's expression. The trembling evolved into full-blown shakes for the panic-stricken hero. He was hyperventilating now.

Fuck, fuck. What was he supposed to do about this? Jason skimmed over the implication of Dick's sudden panic attack. He really couldn't afford to go down that path right now. No doubt, he'd absolutely lose it to the haze. Right now, he had to focus on calming Dick down. That was going to be a feat when he could hardly keep himself calm. When he spoke, his voice was just loud enough to get through to Dick without being overbearing. He kept his distance from the shaking man.

"Dick, listen to me. You need to breathe. Come on, do the count. Three in, four hold, five out. It's only me here."

He could see Dick try to maintain the meditative technique. Jason repeated the mantra over and over until it seemed like his brother was coming back to himself. Then, Dick blinked away the tears before he squeezed his eyes shut and pressed the heel of his palms to his eyes. He seemed to close in on himself.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm over here crying about my problems and you died."

The strangled laugh that came from his throat was almost hysteric. Jason frowned before he edged closer. He looked for cues to see if the advance was unwanted, but Dick seemed fine now. Well, 'fine', given the situation. This time, it was his turn to wrap his brother in a hug. Dick clung to him like a lifeline. How did it come to this? Jason closed his eyes and willed away the venomous green. Later. He can worry about this later. One thing was for certain, though. He was, without a doubt, paying a certain spider a long overdue visit after he leaves.

"Dick, our suffering isn't a competition. We've both been hurt. Bad. The best we can do is help each other. If we make it a contest of who deserves to cry or heal, neither of us will ever get better."

Saying it felt good, he'd admit it. Before coming to 'Haven, Jason was so hellbent on retribution and easing his own suffering that he didn't even think about what pain the others may have gone through. He wouldn't think about Bruce right now. That was a box of vipers he needed to tame on his own. Dick let out another choked laugh, but it was certainly more sane than the last one.

"Jeez, Jay, when did you get so wise?"

At that, he let out his own little chuckle. The haze still lingered like an ill-omen in the back of his mind. For the moment, however, he'd be okay. They'd be okay.

"Hey, last I checked, I was the bookworm here. I've always been wise. I've just been hiding it. No need for you to get jealous, now."

The trembling of Dick's shoulders seemed to stem more heavily from his amusement than his sadness this time. Jason would count that as a win in his book. There was still slight hitching in their breaths and the awkwardness might set in soon. The pain was still there. Their shaking hadn't fully subsided just yet. But for now, things were...better. Jason would take that.

"Yeah, I almost forgot you were a nerd. Thanks for reminding me, Little Wing."

Jason gave a snort and a playful nudge but didn't move from his position.

"Anytime, Big Bird."

-sad party horn noises- tada. Anyway, Jason will definitely be paying Tarantula a visit. I have so much salt about that ENTIRE thing and how it was handled. Lord help Mirage if ever finds out about her raping Dick too and how he got victim-blamed/slut-shamed for it. And how Bruce didn’t tell him about Jay. (that will also be more thoroughly gone through) My poor baby, someone needs to fucking help him. DC, you suck.

This was going to be more in depth and feely but this was reaaally dragging on and I figured I could continue on to the next part. After all, they can't solve all their problems in one night, that's just not gonna happen. -bangs fists on table- MORE BONDING MORE BONDING (also more Papa Dick and Tío Jay)

Yeah, Dick was acting weird here, but that's because he's really reeling from recent events. The baby being dropped on him unexpectedly didn't help that. He’s really teetering on the edge here. Jason also could have gotten out of those holds if he really tried but 1) he was borderline panicking and 2) he was also getting increasingly worried about Dick's mental state. No matter how much of a tough guy Jay acts, he's a fucking sap.

And Jason referencing to how they first met really did happen in-comic. Along with the Robin suit, that's when Dick gave Jason his number and is like 'Bro, call me whenever u want.' (im paraphrasing but w/e) There's such untapped potential between the two for bonding. I just want to shake DC.

[gulescamisade]

New York:  Day 1

[ Towers loom overhead, bright red thorny spires, bilboards plastered with brightly-illuminated advertisements for alien foods written in scrawling alternian scripts. All of them promising THE GREATEST TASTES, the ULTIMATE FOOD EXPERIENCE, TEN THOUSAND PERCENT EATS!!!! NONE HUNGER AND ALWAYS THE FEEDED! The urban sprawl seems to know no end, streets packed with despondant looking humans, some of whom have unhealthy, pale-gray skin and weird little growths on their foreheads. Somewhere in the distance, glamorous spotlights shine high into the night. A massive blimp hovers overhead. It reads: WELCOME TO FLAVORTOWN. ]

[ The experience is jarring and they are immediately struck by a wave of sensations. Bright lights, intense odors, and, soon enough, the feeling of being dumped onto hard, cold pavement. Rose, John, Kankri, Gamzee, Meulin, Jamison, Jolene, Dualscar, Jude and Joey all find themselves met with the same rude awakening, scattered down a block labeled in jarring neon lights, UMAMI. ]

JOEY: =oof!! It hasn't been one of her better landings...= 

JOEY: where the HELL are we?

ROSE: -she answers by way of promptly throwing up in the gutter.-

JUDE: -OH GOD OH MAN OH GOD OH MAN-

JAMISON: OOF, =still holding his babies and STANDS= WHAT THE JIMJAM FLIMFLAM IS THIS RASSAFRASSING TOMFOOLERY!??!

JAMISON: =scampers in place holding two grown adults.... oh there are others here= Everyone grab a rifle I've got plenty strapped to my body!

MEULIN: -YOWLS and sticks the landing on her feet, puffed up and claws out. WHO MUST SHE BRAWL.-

ROSE: -this city is sure hell for someone with a migraine. awesome.-

ROSE: -She's just gonna lay down and drape an arm over her eyes because this is way too much to process.-

ROSE: -she's CRACKLING A LITTLE with all kinds of weird energy right now.-

JOHN: mother....fucker. -grunts, rolling around a little because his knees are stinging. but he recovers quickly, floating up to his feet and whizing around.- hey, is everyone okay?

ROSE: I am going to take every liberty to not be okay right now.

ROSE: I'd really like that.

ROSE: For a second.

KANKRI: -Unceremoniously dumped into the street on the alien to him planet by a zap of green energy, its very alarming, hes frazzled, but the moment he hears John his head is snapping in that direction.-

JOEY: =To rose= heyyyy youre kinda staticky...

JOHN: yeah -blinking in the harsh light. ugh. this is tacky. earth has really gone to shit, hasn't it?-

JOHN: but i mean no one has broken bones or anything, right?

ROSE: I.

ROSE: I know.

ROSE: No, I didn't-- break anything.

ROSE: I just...

ROSE: Fuck.

ROSE: FUCK.

JOHN: -lands- rose?

ROSE: Do you recall a number of childish beliefs held by myself and perhaps others? That-- that I am some manner of machiavellian genius, carefully placing my pieces on a chessboard? ROSE: Because it's wrong. It's fucking wrong. We were used. I was used. She--

ROSE: God DAMN it.

JOHN: -just...keeps apparoaching her, not bothering to comment because he doesn't know what she's talking about. he just puts his hand on her shoulder, despite the sparks.-

ROSE: -she's kinda crying a little bit under that arm, turns out. She leans into John. A throbbing ache in her head, a deep pit of guilt in her stomach, and that inescapable feeling of betrayal. All of it. She eventually just clings to him, throwing her arms around his shoulders.-

JOHN: -Holds her tightly like 8( 'cause what else can he do? He glances around at everyone else for a moment and then focuses on patting Rose on the back as she sobs.-

JOEY: D:

KANKRI: -Oh, Rose looks in really bad shape. ):B -

[The faint smell of chipotle seasoning and deep fried fat waft through the air. The pale figures on the street seem anxious, but not at these strangers arrival. No, it's something more. Some wear fake smiles, painted into their faces, trying to seem joyous despite the nightmare everyone is in.]

JOHN: -At least comforting Rose gives him something else to focus on because this is REALLY DISTURBING.-

JOEY: um.... =pats Jude a bit urgently= um.... =points??=

JAMISON: =This is unsettling! He focuses on his glasses and IMMEDIATELY gets out his potato-zooka= Should we wipe out the left or right first?

JOHN: hey woah wait. they're not hurting us.

JOHN: -why are you always so TRIGGER HAPPY?-

JOHN: -still has Rose tucked in his arm.-

JAMISON: Can't say I'm so found of... pasty possible hostiles but I'll keep an eye on them..... =Squints=

KANKRI: -Hes eyeing Jamison so hard, he remembers this human, he does not like this man. Although yes, the sense of unease radiating from the people around them is quite terrible.- I d9nt 6elieve they are h9stiles th9ugh.

ROSE: -She sniffs, taking a deep breath.- ROSE: -Then she wipes at her eyes with her hands, messily.- ROSE: They look human enough.

KANKRI: In fact t9 them we might 6e the h9stiles c9nsidering we are the 9nes wh9 suddenly appeared 9n their sidewalk. -Looks around at their new surroundings again.-

JOHN: -studies them. He's been a doctor long enough to tell that they look unhealthy. Is it lack of nutrition combined with some sort of mutation?-

JOHN: poor guys...

MEULIN: -growling softly.- SOMETHING'S WRONG WITH THIS PLACE... IT SMELLS... WRONG.

JAMISON: =Rose looks sad.... he gives her a homemade shrapnel granade= Alright then.... I suppose the zombies have clearance....

JOHN: -takes a deeper whiff and sneezes-

JOHN: smells spicy!

JOHN: -pulls a multi colored chain of hankerchiffs out of his sleeve and offers it to Rose with the intent of cheering her up A LITTLE BIT.-

ROSE: -what the fuck, jamison-

ROSE: -ok-(edited)

KANKRI: -Zombies.... Please.- I d9nt think any9ne w9uld appreciate 6eing called that, dispite h9w 9utwardly appearing unwell.

JOEY: whatever it is my creep-o-meter is skyrocketing

JOHN: let's not argue over semanticss guys. we should focus on the big picture here.

JAMISON: =IT'S FOR COMFORT=

[ Overhead, and paying them no mind, robotic drones rocket with a piece of NEW construction. A large screen of some kind, already busily welding it to the side of a building. It flickers to life, soon cycling a brand new advertisement:  http://vignette2.wikia.nocookie.net/seriouslytheworst/images/f/fd/Banner2.gif/revision/latest?cb=20150919122657 ]

JOHN: -wrinles his nose at this rampant commercialism- ew....

JOEY: thats it 

JOEY: i must be dreaming

KANKRI: -John is this really what earth advertising is like?-

JAMISON: =SQUINTS???/?=

JOHN: -Well tbh...yes-

KANKRI: -Thats so sad... No wonder these mutated earthlings look tormented.-

[ YOU WON'T BELIEVE ]

ROSE: -She's sitting up and composed herself a little bit, now just sitting on the sidewalk.-

JOHN: -hovers around her because he feels protective but his general uneasiness wants them to get moving.. .SOMEWHERE instead of just standing here like sitting ducks- i guess we should try to find out where we are and maybe try to contact the others?

JOHN: does anybody's comm work? mine doesn't.

ROSE: I'm trying to think.

ROSE: I'm not sure. I might have fried it.

[IT'LL FIT RIGHT IN]

[FRIED THING!!!! $5.95!!!! FRY ANY THING THAT FITS IN THE FRIER! FRY YOUR BABY!!!!!! $5.95!!!!!!!]

MEULIN: RRR... SOMEONE CAN TRY MINE. -uncaptchalogues hers and holds it out to anyone-

JOHN: :/

MEULIN: I'M GOING TO K33P MY NOSE OUT.

ROSE: -she reaches for it, and checks it.-

ROSE: Oh.

MEULIN: -wrinkling said nose-

KANKRI: -Shuffles a bit closer to peep at what Rose is typing, and also just to be closer to john.- 9h, it d9es w9rk. Thats g99d.

JOHN: -also 👀 also hello Kankri he's going to sling his arm around your waist because this SUCKS BALLS.-

KANKRI: -Hes glued to your side now, John.-

JOHN: -It's fine. As far as tumors go, you're pretty benign. He peeps on what Rose is doing.-

JOHN: any luck?

KANKRI: -Tumors....-

KANKRI: -Yeah alright fair that is him.-

ROSE: Vriska stole the ship.

ROSE: Fairly incompetently.

JOHN: ...pfffft... WHAT? -LAUGHING-

ROSE: She's arguing with HAL, right now...

JOHN: oh my gosh. i am going to give her such a punch.

ROSE: And she is losing.

JOHN: can you pass that message on for me?

JOHN: right in the face. boom.

KANKRI: -Hes frowning.- 9h dear... that d9esn't s9und all that funny 9r like light hearted material c9nsidering 9ur situati9n.

JOHN: well i really do mean it. she is kidnapping my baby technically. but what else did you find out/

ROSE: I'd rate it as a three, compared to the seven that is a hamburger with eyeballs.

ROSE: Dirk is in Texas.

ROSE: And... other people are elsewhere. Information is still a bit disoragnized.

JOHN: -snorts again. Sorry guys. This is his reaction to pain.-(edited)

JOHN: i hope everyone's ..at least as relatively ok as we are.

ROSE: Relatively.

ROSE: ...See if Jamison or Jolene can't look at your coms. I think mine will recover when I can... get ahold of myself.

KANKRI: Again, an9ther p9sitive.

JOHN: things could be a lot worse! -gonna pass his comm along to Jamison-

JAMISON: =was already fiddling with things but he'll fiddle MORE and FIX UP John's comm=

JOHN: -sighs a little as he hands it over.- i hope jade is alright...and the babies.

JOHN: she was all...weird right before we teleported.

JOHN: growling and stuff.

KANKRI: Yes, indeed. -Hes also going to fish out his device and look it over to be certain it still is working.-

KANKRI: Als9 9h... Well ideally they all will 6e just fine.

KANKRI: -Hes so bad at comforting right now, hes a failure.-

JOLENE: -currently barking and flipping her shit, too busy to be helpful mostly because I'm doing too much at once-

JOEY: so i take it jade isnt normally like that

ROSE: No.

ROSE: She's not.

JUDE: -HOWEVER, he's grumbling something about kids being fine-

JOEY: ah

JUDE: -while hunched over his comm which does work-

JOHN: -rubs the back of his neck, frowning and looking around. he feels restless.-

JAMISON: =hands John back his comm GOOD AS NEW... maybe even better. Definitely better it has a GUN feature now=

JAMISON: There you go! :D

JOHN: -????????????-

JAMISON: =He had it for 2 minutes=

JOEY: =comfort pat on Jude's back???=

JUDE: -GOOD PLAN-

JOHN: -HE WILL PROBABLY NEVER USE THIS BUT HE SAYS THANK YOU ANYWAY. -

JOHN: -he'll get dirk to install a child safety lock when he gets back home >>-

JUDE: -STARES AT JOEY WIDE EYED- ... I...

JUDE: I told her... that the head set... -looks down at his comm again- I guess it doesn't matter now

ROSE: What?

ROSE: What are you talking about?

ROSE: -Sits up, from being all hunched over her com.-

JUDE: ... jane's head set

JUDE: I thought... because it was crocker corp technology

JUDE: they could use it to get to us somehow... track our location... or worse

JUDE: and worse happened

ROSE: -she just scowls.-

ROSE: Mm.

MEULIN: WAIT, WHAT?? -looks around for whoever's speaking. her sunglasses aren't exactly being clear on who this is yet.-

MEULIN: WHAT HAPPENED EXACTLY?

JOEY: :(

JOEY: jude was right...again

ROSE: You can have this back. -She holds the device over to her.- ROSE: We were used.

ROSE: I don't know if she was in on it somehow, or—

ROSE: I don't know. ROSE: This is too much.

ROSE: Everything is... too much.

JOHN: we can't think about that right now. -nudges her.-

JOHN: let's focus on what we can control.-

ROSE: Right.

ROSE: We need a way to get out of here. Meet up with the others.

ROSE: And we need a place to rest and take stock of what we've got.

MEULIN: -puts the device back up- THE SMELL OF THIS PLACE... IS GIVING ME A WICKED BAD HEADACHE. (^>ｪ<^)

ROSE: -She wipes her eyes one last time and rises to her feet.- It's pretty intense. And... sustained.

JOHN: -UGH YEAH ME TOO. it's actually worse than he wants to admit because of sensory stuff but HE'S STAYING STUBBORNLY. OPTIMISTIC. he uncapatchas a little tub of ....Vicks of all thing sand takes a BIG WHIFF.- mmm.....okay thats' better.

JOHN: -dabs it on his upper lip right below his nostrils-

KANKRI: Hm. D9 we even have any exact idea 9f where we are currently l9cated?

KANKRI: 6esides in an ur6an setting surr9unded 6y seemingly thrilled individuals, wh9 I d9nt necessarily 6elieve are as happy as they appear...

JOHN: yeah this is some 1984 bullshit if i ever saw it. looks like they're really on board with big brother.

JOHN: bitch couldn't even be original about how she fucked up my planet. -sighs-

JOHN: maybe we could ask one though?

ROSE: ...I...

ROSE: Don't think this one was ever on the maps, before.-

ROSE: -she points towards the sky, where the massive blimp looms, reading WELCOME TO FLAVORTOWN.-

KANKRI: 6ig 6r9ther... are y9u meaning t9 say and 9r ass9ciate it with the phrase that in turn means the "9ver watching presence" 9f a higher c9rp9rati9n 9r g9vernment, usually in a negative 9r c9rrupted light?

KANKRI: -Also looks where Rose is pointing and oh what do you know. They are in Flavortown.-

JOHN: well, apparently we're in flavortown, i guess. -rolls eyes-

JOHN: juts saying it makes me feel dirty.

KANKRI: -Side eyes John.- That is an 9dd reacti9n t9 have t9 a name 9f a city.

KANKRI: Alth9ugh I have t9 agree with R9se, I d9nt remem6er ever learning a69ut a city named as such in my studies 9f Earth. Alth9ugh I c9uld have easily missed it if its n9t m9re significant.

JOEY: im gone for what? ten years?

JOEY: everythings changing!

JOHN: i feel you, kiddo.

JOHN: i wanted to show you guys my room! my old psoters are still up in there.

JOHN: i think?

JOEY: =KIDDO....im almost 40= eheeheehee

JOHN: -he walks up to some of the advertisements, studying closely and trying to read some of the SIGNAGE. he can understand Alternian, at least if that's what the troll script is.-

JOHN: -he's hoping there's one of those cheesy maps with the YOU ARE HERE arrows or osmething.-

[ John does manage to see this ]

http://vignette1.wikia.nocookie.net/seriouslytheworst/images/1/1c/Chart-mooo.png/revision/latest/scale-to-width-down/640?cb=20150920192938

JOEY: RUMP!

[It doesn't seem as if anyone is interested in speaking to them, much less harming them. If anything, everyone around is too busy trying to look mirthful, as if they hope it's sufficient enough. The city streets aren't busy, but there are definitely plenty of alley ways, a couple even with barrel fires in them.]

JOHN: -HES' GETTING EDUCATED ABOUT MEAT BUT NOT WHERE THEY ARE, NECESSARILY-

KANKRI: -Barrel fires are not exactly safe. Someone could fall in or they could be knocked over or filled with dangerous burning products.-

JOHN: -don't worry kankri, he won't let anyone stuff you into a burning barrel.-

KANKRI: -WELL HE WASNT THINKING ABOUT THAT.-

JOHN: -okay well his comm is working. what if he just tries...Troogle Maps?-

KANKRI: -But that would be a concern.-

JOHN: -It's only an issue if you're tiny and perfectly barrel sized-

KANKRI: -John has thought about this too much.-

[If John checks Troogle maps, he will find that they are somewhere near the New York /Canada border]

JOHN: -Sighs, taking a screen shot so he doesn't have to waste so much battery. Then he shows it to Rose.-

ROSE: Oh.

ROSE: ...

ROSE: This is. Kind of near where I used to live.

JOHN: oh! wow! really?

ROSE: We're about six miles from Niagra Falls.

JOEY: =looks around, surprised= really??

ROSE: Yeah.

ROSE: That can't be right.

JOHN: how come?

ROSE: Because it...

ROSE: Just doesn't make much sense? I mean, I admit, my knowledge of this area is approximate and only half-remembered, but...

ROSE: Look at how far this city extends.

ROSE: Look at the size of these buildings! ROSE: There's no industry or exploitable resource here. The falls are a tourist attraction.

JOEY: because...! =gestures at....everything.=

JOHN: -bites his lip- extreme urban sprawl.

ROSE: Well, yes. To a cartoonish degree. Which I do admit is a bit... appropriate, in the presence of certain elements.

ROSE: -She poitns to another sign.- http://vignette1.wikia.nocookie.net/seriouslytheworst/images/9/97/YUMEE.png/revision/latest?cb=20150919122142

ROSE: But still.

JOHN: -he desperately wants to graffiti on all this crap. and maybe take a leak on it for good measure.-

JOHN: >:/

JOEY: you alright there john buddy

JOHN: oh yeah. i just got my dander up.

[And yet it exists. All of it. Spicily, and v eerily the buildings loom over them. An almost palpable haze of grease in the air. Not mention the numerous neon signs. A new one was being attached to an adjacent building right at this moment. An unsettling picture of Guy Fieri upon. GUYS BIG BITE. SEASON PREMIERE LIVE FROM FLAVORTOWN. Wednesday at 8pm est/7pm cst]

ROSE: -SQUINTS-

JOHN: -PARTICULARILY REPULSED BY THIS IMAGE.- it's like the batterwitch's floury fingerprints on everything.

JOHN: sliding down your back.

JOHN: -shivers-

MEULIN: .... WHO THE FURK IS GUY?(edited)

KANKRI: -Squints up at the billboard as well.- I am als9 c9nfused as t9 wh9 this is.

JOHN: -turns away from it pointedly.- so what do you think rose? is it worth it to try and find your old house?

ROSE: No.

ROSE: No, I doubt there's anything left.

ROSE: We should just find someplace to sleep where no one will ask us any questions.

ROSE: ...Not that they appear to be willing to.

JOHN: hmm. - scratches chin and troogle maps again. this times for subways... and not the kind that sell sandwiches. -

[Closed and currently being filled with buffalo wing queso]

JOHN: -he's mad because he's disappointed but that sounds delicious-