#his mother telling him that someone desecrated his grave not long after he died by digging it up

[lassieposting]

Concept:

Post-tadpole, Tav offers to help Astarion find a way to walk in the sun again, and she starts by going to different libraries and repositories and archives around the city to look for books that might be relevant. Astarion, obviously, has to stay in the rental room with the shutters closed during the daytime, so he can't come with her.

At some point, this takes her up to the posh part of the city, where the fancy ✨ scholarly ✨ archive is. She remembers most of the walk - it's not too far from the graveyard Astarion took her to, in the neighbourhood where he once used to live.

And like, it's never actually occurred to her that he could still have Actual Blood Relatives still living? It's not a topic she's ever thought to raise with him. But she has to sign in and out of the archive, and she just happens to notice the name three or four lines above hers: an initial and a surname she recognises.

Ancunín.

The same name from Astarion's gravestone.

A parent? A sibling?

A niece or nephew Astarion has never even met?

Thus begins a secondary quest of trying to reunite a broken family. Astarion is willing enough to talk about the few memories he still has of the thirty-nine years he had with his family before turning - a drop in the ocean compared to the 200 years spent suffering under Cazador - but he shuts down when she nudges him towards the likelihood that Mr & Mrs Ancunín are still alive. He retreats back behind the selfish, catty survivalist he was when she first met him and claims he has no interest in ever reconnecting. The pain in every clipped syllable says drop it, so she does.

But then he asks her, very quietly, several days later, what the initial was. He doesn't really react when she tells him - there's no obvious recognition, and he doesn't ask any follow-up questions or try to discuss it further. He just goes back to his book. She watches him out of the corner of her eye though, as she skim-reads her own giant tome of magical artifacts. A very long time goes by before she sees him turn a page.

For a good long while, the family issue gets put firmly on the back burner. They have other shit going on. Sometimes, it's following promising leads on a possible workaround for Astarion's sunlight allergy. Other times, it's the kind of ugly, ragged-edged breakdown that so often follows a period of relative safety and stability after a major trauma. He's been running in survival mode for two centuries, and now he's finally starting to feel secure enough for the rest of his mind to come back online, and all the trauma he couldn't handle at the time, all the pain and fear and tangled emotions survival mode was protecting him from, is catching up to him. During those sporadic episodes, trying to keep him from falling apart is her top priority and, well, time gets away from them and by the time he brings up his parents again, months or more have gone by, and they have a fairly good idea of what artifact of daywalking they need to find.

By the time it comes to actually meeting with them, still more months have passed, and they have already found it.

It's horrible, and heartwarming, and heartbreaking, and healing, and hurting, and so many other conflicting things that for a while - a long while - Tav doesn't know whether she actually did the right thing encouraging him to reach out to long-lost loved ones. It's a mess of moments that makes her heart ache for a dozen reasons. She finds out that Astarion looks most like his mother, but has his father's nose. She holds him for hours while he shakes and sobs into her shoulder because they never even left the city, they were here the whole time, and they never found him - and he's so angry and full of grief he doesn't know what to do with himself. She accompanies him to the home he was raised in, and the once-familiar surroundings jog memories he thought lost for good - he's glassy-eyed, recounting them to her, but she's fairly sure it's the good kind of glassy-eyed, so she doesn't mention it. She tries to make conversation at family dinner while he stares at his hands in his lap, dissociated, looking even more uncomfortable than she feels, utterly lost in a world that once fit him like a glove. There are a lot of feelings to try and mediate. They are all hurt, all damaged, all afraid, all looking for the ghost of a loved one in the face of a stranger.

But, eventually, there is a day where she overhears Astarion having a conversation with his father, and he sounds like himself - not the persona he puts on in public - and his father laughs at something he says in a way that's entertained rather than awkward. There is a day where his mother reaches out and he doesn't shake his head or step away - he lets her hug him goodbye. They have not slipped back into the graves they crawled out of in each other's lives - they are all very different people now - but they are learning new ways to fit together, and he seems to be pleased about it.

So she thinks, yeah, it was worth it.

[inessencedevided]

There's been a lot of cql/mdzs atla-au posts going around lately and I need to add my take.

Because I think a lot could be done with Wei Ying as the avatar.

Imagine the story goes similarly as in canon. He is the son of traveling benders. Maybe Cangse-Sanren is a firebender and Wei Changse a waterbender. They get killed on some mission and he gets taken in by his father's old friend and leader of the Yunmeng water tribe. (This reminds me a lot of kyoshi's backstory, too.) He raises him a long his own children, his daughter who takes to healing more than fighting, and his son who likes nothing more than fighting.

Wei Ying already showed signes of being a waterbender, so they train him, even though he is the son of a former servant. He is, of course, more talented than any other of their students, even Jiang Cheng. Madam Yu still hates him for it.

At some point, they let all the children of the sect take the Avatar test. He passes. Occurs, they don't tell him until he is 16, so he doesn't know. Madam Yu dies though and her hatred for him for upstanding her son only grows. But Wei Ying is happy and loves them, much like in canon and, much like in canon, he is also convinced that he is deeply indebted to him and always brings more trouble than he is worth.

When they tell him he is the avatar on his 16th birthday, he is shocked and scared of his responsibility, but doesn't show it. He laughs it off and tells everyone he is glad because that means he can see the world and doesn't have to annoy madam yu anymore. He only shows cracks to his cheerful facade when they tell him that he has to leave the very next day. That means he will miss Jiang Cheng's birthday. When he tells Jiang Cheng's this, he gets angry and tells Wei Ying that clearly he is very important now and why not run off to the other sects, see if they will put up with him. He refuses to say goodbye after that, so it's just jiang yanli and Jiang fengmian seeing him off.

He goes to king Nie first who is the most renowned earth bending master of their time. He is unyielding and harsh, but unbelievably fond of his younger brother, who mostly uses his bending to sculp intricate and detailed statues. Wei Ying likes him instantly.

Next is fire. He doesn't like the fire lord who greets him and treats him like he is royalty himself, but in a way that makes Wei Ying's skin crawl. He does like the shy boy in his group lessons and his older sister. Wei Ying is good at firebending, even though it should be his natural enemy. Maybe it's his mother's side showing itself though.

Then of course, to complete his training, he needs to learn air-bending. He gets to Gusu and immediately dislikes it there. They are monks and they live like it, too. There are rules regulating every waking moment and the sleeping ones too and he vows to break at least half of them. By now he us 20 and he'll be damned if he lets himself be bossed around like he's 12 again.

He is greeted by their unusually young leader and his uncle and brother. He expects the uncle to be his teacher, but no. Lan Xichen explains that the honor of training the Avatar will go to the youngest air bender to ever become a master, his brother, Lan Zhan.

Okay, Wei Ying thinks, he can live with that. At least a teacher close to his own age should be fun, right?

Wrong!

Lan Zhan is strict, reticent, unyielding and punishes him for every single infringement of the 3000+ rules. He scolds Wei Ying for not taking the enormous responsibility of being the avatar more seriously. He never smiles and never praises him with more than a "passable".

But he is a challenge. One he is good! The best opponent in a fight Wei Ying has had since he was 14. And there is something so fun at making him react in even the slightest way! Also, his ears blush when he is angry and it's cute!

The first time, Wei Ying uses something other than air bending in their training fights, Lan Zhan is furious (Undisciplined!). But tge second time he grots his teeth and fights, really fights Wei Ying. He holds his own again a 3/4s-trained avatar for more than 30 minutes until Wei Ying let's him get swallowed by a whole in the ground that he than seals with a thick layer of ice that will take him way to long to slice open with air bending.

After that, their relationship evolves. It's more of a mutual rivalry, rather than just Wei Ying needling his air bending teacher until he snaps. After a few months, once Wei Ying has progressed beyond the basics (he can fly now! He loves flying! How can the Lans be so serious all the time? They can fly!!!), Lan Zhan introduces him to musical air-bending. Through bending, they can use the sounds to heal and to hurt, amplify them at will or direct them to a specific direction. Lan Zhan demonstrates some techniques on his guqin and then plays a song, though he refuses to tell Wei Ying its meaning.

Wei Ying picks a dixi. He takes to music like a fish to water and soon he is declared a fully trained air bender. His last night in Gusu is when it happens. News reaches them that Yunmeng is under attack from the Wen sect, who have been annexing more minor territoires for years. By the time Wei Ying gets there Lan Zhan at his side, Lotus Peer is burned to the ground. They barely get Jiang Cheng and Jiamg Yanli out, helped by Wei Ying's old friend, Wen Ning. They make it Wen Qing, who takes one look at Lan Zhan and tells him to go because Gusu is next.

(The wens knew where the avatar was abd where he wasn't abd chose their attacks accordingly)

Lan Zhan rushes back (alone. Wei Ying has brother to get back from the brink of death) but he us too late, too. Cloud Recesses is burned, his father dead, his brother missing and he is taken prisoner.

The war happens almost like in canon. The other heirs are taken hostage and given lessons as to how to behave towards their occupiers. They escape through the stupidity of Wen Chao.

I don't think that there'd be a burial mounts though, nor an equivalent to the list golden core. you can take someone's bending but i want Wei Ying to remain the avatar because:

In his desperation to beat the seemingly almighty Wen and his grieve for the Jiangs who took him in, he devices a plan. A) he goes to Lan Zhan and asks him if musical cultivation might help him to learn how to control the avatar state. He says they can try. They do try and after a while, Wei Ying reaches that state. And B) he rensacks the world for scrolls on blood cultivation.

When they advance on nightless City, he is ready. No one kniws his plan. Even Lan Zhan only knows of his having learned to control the avatar state. He needs the element of surprise and he needs it when he stavds in front of Wen Ruohan.

So he waits. By the time he stands face to face with Wen Ruohan and his army, the floor us littered with corpses.

Wei Ying, in front of his brother, Lan Zhan, everyone goes into the avatar state and with the power of all his former incarnations, bebds the blood of every single corpse, as well as every single Wen soldier to turn on Wen Ruohan and then each other. It's a massacre.

When he comes to it again, there is silence. And then cheers. Everyone cheers for him, even though blood bending has veen outlawed for ages. He won them their war though.

Everyone cheers, everyone but Lan Zhan.

They fight after that, a lot.

(I helped you enter the avatar state. You could have died! - my problem, not yours! - You desecrated the dead! What about their spirits? - what about their spirits? I'm the avatar, i can deal with them! - the avatar state is the sacret link to your past lifes ... - My past lifes, yeah Lan Wangji! Let me decide what to do with them. - Wei Wuxian! - Lan Wangji.)

They part on bad terms more often than not.

So when knews reaches that the Jins, a notoriously rich noble family in some corner of the earth kingdom, has taken Wen citizens, civilians mostly, for slave labour, he goes alone. He is furious, more so when he realises that his friends are among them. He enters the avatar stare involuntarily and has the blood of all present Jin soldiers boil in their veins. Wen Ning is almost dead, but he uses his bending to circulate his blood in his body until he can get him to his sister. She is in Lanling after all, having married their heir.

Now because I love Jiang Yanli, in this au, she plays a bigger role. She saves Wen Ning and shows them out of Lanling.

They flee to a part of Qishan that was all but destroyed during the war and then used as a mass grave for the Wens wei ying himself killed, the ones whose spirits Lan Zhan had warned him about.

And the workd turns on it's Avatar.

The avatar is supposed to bring Peace, stand for balance and justice. Not choose a handful of people to protect at all costs.

But Wei Ying thinks, this is just! The world is full of greedy rich people trying to outdo each other for power, so isn't protecting those who suffer from it through no fault of their own justice?

Now, this could go two ways. Either, in a plot more similar to mdzs, the spirits Wei Ying disturbed abd that he is now living on top of, betray him when the rest of the world finally comes to ambush him (cue Lan Zhan trying g to protect him abd falling from grace himself. And the eternally yearning because he list his chance. the avatar is reborn ofc and Lan Zhan vows to protect them because Wei Ying is still a part of them, but they aren't Wei Ying. They are a completely different person and Lan Zhan never loves again.) DEPRESSING

So, let's go the atla route. Wei Ying goes through a spiritual journey, similar to Korra, gets the Wen remnants rehabilitated, makes the right people see sense and basically does the whole Avatar shitck of first finding peace within himself in order to bring peace to the world. *waves hand*

He confesses to Lan Zhan. They adopt A Yuan. Cue kiss in front of a glowing sunset and "The End" displayed to soaring music.

Admittedly, the second ending needs more flashing out, but it's late,so if anyone wants to have a go, feel free :D

[6v6taeminisloveshineeworld]

Homme Fatale -Dentist!Vampire!Taemin X Reader

homme fatale 

i. e. An undoubtedly seductive and dangerous man. One with a smile that would be too cruel not to kiss and a cherubic face with a temperament that’s anything but innocent. 

Summary: He was cloaked by the smell of death and wore it as armor. His life had little meaning, he pillaged through the world only to beguile and destroy as his veins hummed with bloodlust and selfish need. Nocturnal creatures should not be swayed by the beating hearts of the living but when Taemin catches a glimpse of you, a mortal in possession of a treacherous supernatural gift, he is faced with the temptation to claim you as his own. At his mercy, you discover a darkness in yourself that you’ve never dared to explore and you never imagined it could taste so sweet.

Genre: Smut, Romance, Dentist AU, Vampire AU, Supernatural, Horror, Lyric fic inspired by WANT MV and other Taemin song lyrics (easter eggs abound)

Rating: M for sexual content, death, and blood

Pairing: Taemin x Female Reader

Word Count: 5.5k+

You’d always had an unhealthy fascination with death. With autumn winds and the way the colors seemed even more vibrant just before everything fell and turned cold. When you were a child you’d been scared of the dark just like everyone else, until the day that same darkness befriended you. 

Your parents always said you’d had an overactive imagination growing up. That you’d kept invisible friends far longer than your classmates and that maybe this was due to the fact that they had never given you any siblings but they were wrong. Your friends were not imaginary, they were just unable to communicate with anyone else. 

It was on your tenth birthday that you first had a full conversation with a ghost. The little girl with blonde hair and green eyes was named Pomona and she seemed to like the same games and books you did. She loved building tree houses in the woods even though she couldn’t carry anything herself. She took sips of the green tea you served her by leaning into the cup with her tongue. 

Even though your visitor glided through walls with ease she was still able to keep down a meal. You’d laughed at her manners and held her hand. To your surprise, you felt the touch of her smooth skin as you never had been able to before. It was then that you knew you were truly different, you would never be able to unsee the spectors that appeared every day before you walking in the streets beside you. Not only was the veil lifted from your eyes unlike others around you but you seemed to be a part of their world as well and it had made Pomona’s departure from you as she ascended to join her family that much harder. 

When your parents had died in a car crash right on the outskirts of town you had thought that maybe this was why you’d been born with these gifts, that maybe your life of living like a pariah was all so that you could have this chance to communicate with your parents even in the afterlife. But there was no apparition. No voices that called for you from the curtain that separated the living from the dead.  And with that hope of communication gone you were left with a gaping hole inside of you but you continued on living in the world as invisibly as you could. It wasn’t hard to do in the small town of Ampleforth where everyone knew their neighbors but still kept to themselves and their clicks. The crowd around your age kept at a distance and the elders that passed you by in the grocery store looked at you with sympathy or rather through you at the poor orphan who never made friends easily. 

During your teenage years you’d had your share of otherworldly lovers. They came eagerly when you called to them while your parents refused to answer you from beyond. It didn’t matter how many candles you lit in your loneliness or how many beautiful fantoms kissed you with lips cold as hell. You never let them possess your soul. You never gave away the reigns of control to anyone.

That isn’t to say you hadn’t tried making living friends. However, most people in Ampleforth didn’t want to think about anywhere beyond Lastshire the next town over. You wanted to travel, you believed that to see the world was to live and you wanted to leave once you had enough money to do so. The townspeople were stuck in their roots and their old ways and even technology was a bit rustic. You often found yourself using the library wifi outside laying on the lawn with Emma, the only friend who really understood you even without knowing your secret in full beyond your morbid curiosities. And today, like any other Friday night was no exception. 

You looked away from your book to glance at her as she laughed aloud and continued to scan her phone. You bookmarked the page where Mr. Rochester disguised as a gypsy woman tells Jane her fortune for what must have been the tenth time you’ve read it over the years and move closer to Emma. 

“What are you reading?” You asked her curiously. “Fanfiction of course,” Emma said smiling. You joined her, reading along and smiling at the fact that someone was so comfortable around you even when you remained silent. 

The graveyard was especially chilly at sunset. You placed your freehand in your pocket to warm it and clutched the bag of glazed donuts and bouquet of white lilies to your chest with the other. Your parents graves resided on the grounds of St. Samael church, though the grounds hadn’t been tended in ages. After enemy troops from the Battle of Cymadd two-hundred years before took refuge in its walls it was seen as a sacrilege to worship here. Your mother and father however had lovely memories of picnics and stolen kisses on these grounds where no one would look for them and so when their will had stated that they were to be buried here in the desecrated church you hadn’t batted an eye though the tongues of Ampleforth had wagged.

You knelt before their graves and blew off the dried leaves. You divided the flowers evenly between them and placed a donut on each of the stones as you sat beside them and ate the rest. The anniversary of their death always washed you with a flood of anxiety. It was foolish to think that maybe on this day the abyss driven between you and them would be broken and they would appear before you. On the other hand you chided yourself for such selfish wishes. They were happy in their own paradise and only an ungrateful daughter would wish them to visit the earth once more, even if it was to say goodbye. 

The tears came then, unbidden. You lay on your back and shut your eyes. Shutting the pain away simultaneously for crying never could erase the scars.  At least here in the darkness you knew yourself even when your own thoughts were frightening and loud to your own ears. 

Your mind was filled with the epitaphs of the graves that stood tall here around you, phases passed your eyelids like shooting stars.

Life is but the whisper of death, in sleep we are merely participants of a new condition. 

To have loved and lost I know this, there is no greater torment than to love that which parishes.

Just as the last strokes of light were painting the sky you felt the cold hands of death embrace you at your shoulders. You opened your eyes quickly to find a young girl looking down at you in concern. Her wide blue eyes fringed by long lashes reminded you of a porcelain doll. The frigid bite of her fingers and her flawless features confirmed she was a ghost and one most likely buried here in St. Samael by the look of her outdated lilac petticoats. A giant bow rested at the back of her head, holding her raven hair away from her face as it cascaded over her shoulder. 

“I miss my parents too.” the girl said quietly.

“What’s your name? What’s keeping you from passing on and joining them.” You ask softly.

“My name is Callitae, and I stayed so that I could visit my father who still roams this earth visible to the living.”

“That’s not possible, if your father were still on earth he would be a ghost same as you.” You said in confusion.

“My father is very much dead but it is not his time to turn to dust either. However, the wheel of time seems to be running quickly for you, it comforts me to know that in your heart it is not death you fear but loneliness.” And with those bleak words she vanished into the mist of dusk.

You made your way along the path to your car, careful not to trip over rocks and the overgrowth of the untamed forest as all the while you felt the eyes of an unfamiliar presence upon you wolflike in its intensity. You moved a little faster and didn’t look back.

~ One Year Later ~

 Aldermire castle was at the very edge of Ampleforth, it was so named for its seemingly endless grounds of alder trees that swayed in honeyed light green shades against the sun. It was more of a manor than a castle but according to gossip that became legend, the man who once lived there with his wife and servants had the tastes and charisma of a king. He’d been a general during the battle of Cymadd with many honors to his name praising his valor and ferocity on the fields. This granted him favor in the eyes of many of the council but some were wary of him for he seemed to possess an almost inhuman tolerance for pain. 

He’d survived the torture masters of the enemy when he was captured and taken prisoner as none before him had. When he’d come back home to Aldermire and his wife he’d seemed like a living corpse. He recovered quickly under his wife’s care however, and by spring their first and last child was born for the mother died soon after. 

The master of Aldermire grew more reclusive in his grief and never took in visitors. He raised his daughter on his own but she was a delicate creature born before her time and prone to sickness easily. When she died of the plague that ravished Ampleforth faster than forest fire he lost the last anchor to life that he had and in his sorrow, it was said that he burned the castle locking himself inside as well. Even so, Aldermire was spared complete collapse as servants rushed to put out the flames but his body had never been found. 

As you drove past the alder trees and took in the overgrown vines that clung to the castle like the brambles of Thornfield Hall in Jane Eyre, a sense of excitement washed over you. You’d tried to catch glimpses of the castle before in your childhood but the forest had been so thick and the barbed wires attached to ‘no trespassing’ signs had looked so menacing you’d given up until that morning when Emma had called to say that “the creepy castle” you’d always wanted to explore as a child was now sold to the new dental surgeon in town who had renovated it as his clinic. 

It seemed the surgeon had appeared overnight, so quick were these renovations and appointments from patients in towns even farther than Lastshire but supposedly he’d been fixing the place a year in advance before ever stepping foot in Ampleforth. You supposed it was quite odd for a man of his profession to move so often but really what did you know of wealthy people and their judgment. 

The grounds were beautiful with crimson roses and golden apple trees. It was like something out of a fairytale when you pulled up at the driveway and walked up the stone path. You knocked on the heavy wooden door with its brass knocker, your heart racing all the while as you tidied your appearance and took in the words in bronze lettering in Latin above the door that read: VENI, VIDI, VICI. I came, I saw, I conquered.  An intriguing surgeon indeed.

A  middle-aged woman opened the door with a smile, her red heels and black mini skirt made you feel a bit self-conscious in your jean shorts and white blouse as you followed the sway of her hips inside. You noticed the white gauze bandage at her neck and wondered at if for a moment before turning your attention to the interior of Aldermire. 

 You were happy to see that though the new owner had renovated the castle for a clinic he seemed to want to keep the atmosphere of what the estate might have been like before. While some rooms had been entirely rebuilt to resemble a white-walled art studio, others seemed untouched by time and filled with bookshelves, upholstered chairs, and artwork against the old stone walls. 

You stopped in the hall to look at the paintings. All of them were memento mori’s displaying the reminder of mortality in its depictions of flower-filled vases, candles, fruits, and skulls. 

You peeked into room after room till you came to one with a small shooting range. The door was wide open as all the others had been. It seemed the owner loved showing his collections to the public though you felt that this room should surely be locked. Guns lined the far wall along with other combat gear. Well, at least the weapons seemed secure behind the glass cases. 

“The master of the house is an excellent hunter,” The receptionist said, turning to look at you. “I do believe it is one of his favorite hobbies.” You nodded, taking one last look at the room before continuing to follow her down the hall to yet another room with stark white walls.

“You may wait in this room,” the receptionist said with another bright smile as she motioned you forward into what looked like a surgical lounge chair with mirrors facing you on all sides. Before you could protest that you weren't planning on having any teeth extracted she was out of the room, shutting the door firmly behind her. 

The room was far too cold. You shiver under the thin material of your blouse as you take in the smell of cleaning chemicals and fruity furniture spray. Your spine tingles at the waft of air that assaults you from the vent above your head, the metal chair you are seated in presses against the back of your thighs like ice. 

 Along the walls of the room were bookcases, carefully filed papers, a small world globe, and to your trepidation an entire metal table covered in a white cloth that was filled with instruments. Some of which you wondered if they really were for teeth or something else entirely. Your stomach twisted with apprehension as you took in the empty syringes but before you could make your way to the door you heard footsteps approaching and you quickly sat down again.  

The door rattled open and you shifted your attention to the man who walked in. To your amazement, he was younger than you imagined. He in his mid-twenties maybe. He was very attractive which was not to be taken lightly in your mind for you had seen a great deal of beautiful spirits and judging by the way he held himself with such confidence in his stride he full well knew it too. 

If you’d seen him anywhere else you would imagine he was a model or singer instead of a dental surgeon. He was dressed in the most strikingly bright red suit you had ever seen and his blond hair was combed back revealing his forehead in a contradictingly neat but disheveled manner as if he had just run his hand through it before walking in.

 “Hello, are you Dr. Lee?” You said. 

His smile was bright enough to be plastered on every teeth-whitening poster in the lobby. “Please call me Taemin,” he said with a pronounced accent. You remember reading that he had transferred ownership of his successful clinic in South Korea to travel abroad setting up clinics from state to state and renting out large houses. Again you wondered why a surgeon as successful as he would travel so much. But then maybe he just liked the change of scenery. Certainly if you had the opportunity to see the world you would take it. Your brain was trying to piece the whole thing together rationally but under his very direct gaze, you felt exposed and flustered as you never had before. 

“What is your name?” He asked as he went to a drawer at the side of the chair and pulled out a white apron that fastened at the hips. His leg brushed yours as he closed the drawer and you shifted in your seat. His proximity making you nervous and excited even. The way his familiar blue eyes seemed to pierce you as he asked such an ordinary question made you wonder if what he really asked for was so much more. Where had you seen eyes like his before? You felt a bit lightheaded the more you tried to remember. 

At this moment you believed that if this total stranger asked anything of you, you’d give in without hesitation. There was something captivating about his aura, possessive even. For the first time in your life, you found yourself enjoying the feeling of being so inexorably won over, it was more than a little intoxicating. 

You mumbled your name aloud, thankful that your voice didn’t shake.

Taemin proceeded to put on elbow-length black gloves made of soft glittering velvet. Definitely not something anyone would want to use on a patient, you thought. They were more fit for a goth cinderella at a Halloween mask ball than anything else. This image would have made you laugh if it wasn’t for the fact that he looked so damn sexy putting them on. He held one of the gloves between his teeth as he pulled the fabric slowly up his arm.

When he finished he came so close to your ear you could smell his cologne full of spice and gardenias as he whispered, “I think you know I’m not the kind of dentist you’re used to” his hot breath against your earlobe and his words made your heart race and your legs squeeze together. Your curiosity overriding your fear as you answered,

 “I’m more than okay with that.”

He pulled back and smiled warmly, seemingly satisfied by this answer. He brought his gloved fingertip to your collarbone and moved his hand slowly till his fingers clasped your chin pulling it up to look at him. His eyes changed from blue to crimson and before you could fully process the fact that yet another one of your lovers was undoubtedly inhuman, his plump lips were at your neck kissing a trail down your chest as he effortlessly unbuttoned your blouse and unpinned your bra, throwing each to the floor. 

Your entire body was on fire now and he hadn’t even begun. You felt your body arch into his kisses on your skin and you gasped as you looked down to see him unzipping your jeans with his teeth. He pulled the material past your ankles and tossed them aside as well.

His gloved hands spread your knees apart as if you were a book he so desperately wanted to read. His lips moved to the inside of your thighs, nipping at your skin lightly as he went and purposely skipping over where you craved him the most. It was torturous till he blew on your already embarrassingly wet underwear, sending a shiver through you. 

“You have no self-control,” He said with amusement. “We can change that,” he lifted your hips and removed the last article of clothing before kneeling before you. And then he was painting butterflies against you with every skillful stroke of his tongue. Your small whimpers escalated to moans as you disheveled his hair further. 

“You want it more, don’t you?” Taemin said, pulling away and licking his lips. “And you’ll always be left wanting more, thirsting for more of me.”

“Yes, I do want you,” you said boldly surprised by your own shameless actions as you pulled him closer. 

  “My patients are usually so boring,” he said with a devilish laugh. Handsome devil. You thought as he continued. “Usually a syringe of blood is all I take and I tidy their minds so that they forget any unpleasant feelings but with you, no. Compulsion is not necessary, I want you to savor every moment till you fall for me without limit, beyond all instinct or reasoning just as I have fallen for you.”

 He moves to your neck again and this time you could feel sharp teeth graze your skin. He gripped your shoulders before piercing your flesh with his fangs. Your initial gasp of pain soon turns to pleasure as he drinks heavily from you. In a world overrun by ghosts why did the existence of vampires surprise you? You gazed into the mirrors that surrounded you and watched as blood trickled across your skin. Taemin’s reflection was nowhere to be seen, light seeped through him as if he wasn’t there at all.  An airy groan escapes you again when he pulls your hair back to allow better access to your neck. 

You move from the chair to stand and raise one leg to his hip. He loosens his grip on your hair then, taking you by the waist and lifting you effortlessly,  mounting you against him. “What sweet forbidden fruit you are.” He says as he licks the droplets of blood left on your neck and circles the two small punctures with his tongue so harshly you’re sure it will bruise. 

“I’m all you will see now, I’m your new world,” Taemin said before sealing that promise with a kiss. His lips claim yours hungrily and you responded just as fiercely, your tongue probing his in a battle for dominance as you moved against him. The taste of him and the mingling coppery trace of your blood made you realize you’d been starving and only he could satiate you now.

He carried you across the room, opening a door in the back that led to what must have been his bedroom. He gently set you on the floor and you took in the room. It was dimly lit with beautiful candelabras, an armour, and several paintings. The bed with its intricately carved mahogany headboard and satin white sheets was at the center. 

“Get on the bed, love.” He says as he moves towards the corner of the room.

You do so nervously, laying back against the pillows and watching Taemin open a cage. Your eyes widen as black snakes slither free. They seemed to stop and look to him for guidance and Taemin looked them in the eye and said, “be gentle with our new pet.” 

Your heart beats wildly as the snakes come toward you but you dare not move. This was some sort of test you knew and even though a small part of you wanted to bolt, a larger, more insistent thrum of curiosity and anticipation overwhelmed you. The snakes were each quite beautiful in the way that some lovely things are terrifying. Their glossy scales shone under the candlelight as two furled around your ankles and two more held your wrists bound against the bedposts. They were long enough that their bodies circled the posts several times. Their pink forked-tongues seemed to taunt you as they watched you squirm. Another glided up your stomach and between your breasts only to coil itself around your neck and fall asleep against the warmth of your skin. 

“You are a prisoner to it all now, my love,” Taemin said as he removed his right glove with his teeth and slipped two fingers inside you. You engulfed him greedily, blissfully surrendering to the slow movements of his fingers and the way you lost control of your hips as you writhed against your restraints. “You’re a prisoner to this heat, to my touch, and to my voice.” He said in a singsong that encompassed your senses. 

“I’ll tease you slowly,” Taemin said as his gloved hand rubbed circles against you, the velvety fabric sending shockwaves coursing through your body to the tips of your toes as they curled. “-Until the only name you taste against that pretty little mouth of yours is mine.” Your shuddering climax is met with erratic breaths as you will yourself not to beg for more. Here you were bare and shaking sweatily before him as he stood, still fully clothed and collected looking down on you with that deceitfully cherubic face. It sent daggers to your pride and yet how willingly you accepted your fate. 

Sensing your thoughts he began to undress as calmly and languorously as he did everything else. He seemed to take delight in the show he was putting on for you. His eyes glowed with mischief as he undid the last button of his suit and you found yourself unable to look away. He was muscular yet grace filled his form. He was a walking paradox, lithe and powerful all at once.

“My very existence is a sin,” Taemin said as he climbed onto the bed. “An unholy predator whose thirst will never be satisfied. And you love, are my prey.” 

He kissed you again and suddenly you found that the world was no longer monochrome but dripping with color. You felt alive as you never had before. The grey world died as his naked body danced with your naked soul and you felt as if you were drenched in light. Vulnerable yet safe, adrift in a pure deep sea. You wanted to drown in this time with him, you crashed into one another as waves on a moon-white shore. 

You want to trace the valley of his arms, you want to touch him though you can’t reach him. That is when you feel the snakes release you. You embrace him fully and in this moment, words aren’t necessary. 

You surfaced breathless and entranced as you took in his eyes again, they melted into deep blue once more. Your hearts beat to the same rhythm as Taemin moved to lay beside you. It was at that moment as he held you in his arms that your memory resurfaced, his eyes were the same as the raven-haired girl’s in the graveyard you’d seen a year before. She had her father’s eyes you realized.

He seemed to read the question in your eyes for he said, “Yes, Callie is my daughter. She was born here and she died here within these walls just as her mother did. It was my fault she died.” He said, shaking his head. “My wife couldn't bear to see me suffer, when the enemy commander turned me into a monster I turned against them and after that massacre I refused to follow my new instincts and feed. I was stubborn and prideful and when I came back to her arms I was weak. She gave me her blood without care for herself and like a beast, I drained her slowly and gave in to what we wanted most: a child. She couldn’t have known how baring a Child of Night would cause her to suffer but I should have known better. If I hadn’t weakened her so, if-”

“Shhh,” You drew your fingers to his lips to silence him and pulled him to your breast, wrapping your arms around him firmly. “She loved you and she did what she wanted to do for you and for her beautiful daughter. I know that she wouldn’t have wanted anything more than to have her no matter the consequence.” 

He took your wrist and brought it to his lips, then he traced your blue veins with the pad of his thumb before he said, “I knew from the moment I beheld you laying in the graveyard under that brilliant amber sunset that your soul was seeking mine. I pursued you shamelessly afterward as if you were tethered to me and I couldn’t let you go. You haunted my thoughts and made me care as I never thought I could again. It is a lie that the Children of Night are soulless and heartless, ours are bound to this earth as much as any mortal and they burn just as brightly.”

You entwined your fingers with his. 

“In your eyes I saw that we both shared the same spirit.” Taemin said brushing a kiss to your forehead. “We both fear being trapped but most of all we fear the way we isolate ourselves, there is no life, no death for us but rather a long and lonely road filled with people who see straight through us.”

“I know what you mean,” You said. “We are alone in ways no one else can begin to understand and yet I want to know you better than I know myself.”

“I never want to lose the one I love ever again,” Taemin said earnestly, he took your hands in his and squeezed them. “Would you spend forever with me till the earth itself crumbles with the weight of falling stars? Would you give me your soul to hold as my equal? All that I ask of you is to love me, respect me, obey me and I will be your slave for all of eternity.” 

“Then I am yours completely, in heart, body, and soul, I am yours just as you are mine.” You said. 

“It won't be painless,” He said with worry written in his eyes.

“Death is earned is it not?” You said, looking at him confidently. “I trust you.” You said more quietly.

“You scare me a great deal.” He said. You laughed at that, raising an eyebrow quizzically.

“Why?” You asked.

“Because you make me want to be a better man. My love, I am no angel. I am devious.” He ran his free palm against your cheek and you leaned into his touch. “My hands are stained from murder, and yet you trust them completely. I am selfish to want you and cruel to take you into darkness with me. I am a demanding creature but I am your servant.”

He took off one of his rings and slipped it onto your finger. It was gold inlaid with sapphire jewels the color of his eyes in the shape of a laurel crest. “This will protect you from the sunlight once the transition is completed.” Taemin said, rubbing his thumb over your knuckles and over the ring. “Never take it off, promise me.” 

“I promise.”

He brought his right hand to his mouth, his fangs elongated once more as they had when he’d feed on you and in one swift motion he pierced his wrist. His deep purple-red blood spilled like wine across the sheets. He took the blood into his mouth before bringing his lips to yours. 

His blood scorched the walls of your throat and trickled at the corner of your mouth. It singed the skin of your heart till you felt so full of him that you didn’t know whose body belonged to whom anymore. It was a dizzying kind of love, hypnotic and consuming in its luster. Sometimes love is sweet, You thought. You were drunk on this emotion and the taste of him. He was under your skin, he was flowing through your veins.

He licked the blood that had dripped at the corner of your mouth clean and pulled away to look at you. “Until we meet again, love.” Taemin said, before placing a satin covered pillow over your face.

Sometimes love is brutally soft. You thought as you lost consciousness. 

~ Epilogue ~

His scent tickles your nose and calls your limbs to arise from the ashes of your former self. 

“Welcome to hell my queen.” 

The voice in the darkness was sweet to hear. Your eyes open, light purple and full of lethal newborn lust for the blood of your sire, your soulmate, your king who smiles above you.

The impulse to feed is like a maelstrom consuming your senses. All you want is him, his blood, and his body against yours. He lays on the bed beside you and tilts his head in invitation. 

You crawl towards him, straddling his hips and piercing your fangs to his throat eagerly. You nibble and mewl against his collarbone when his skin does not break beneath you. He laughs at your frustration and gently strokes your hair. He reaches for your chin, lifting it to eye level and brushing the pad of his fingers against your small fangs till the tiniest drops of blood fall and you lick his fingers clean. 

“You're like a newborn kitten,” Taemin says in your mind. His voice inside your head sends a ripple of joy through your body. You'd thought you’d learned what true unity felt like but you’d never experienced this, an all-consuming warmth and wholeness. “Try again innocent one, this time tilt your head upwards as you elongate your fangs.” 

Your desire to please him was almost as vigorous as your hunger. You moved to his neck again and did as he instructed. 

“That’s my kitten,” he said. You beam under his praise as you quench your thirst. You find it’s not enough and you move to his lips instead. You kissed him like nightfall devouring the sun, an eclipse under a diamond sky. You were dangerous now you thought with glee as Taemin pulled you closer, closer towards the whisper of forever. And then you smiled when he said in your mind, When we align, will you or I be the moon? You bit his bottom lip and tugged it playfully in reply. 

[winchesterbrotherstan]

SPN- The Usual Suspects (2.07)

Pairing: Olive Winchester (OC)

Summary: A case goes side-ways, Dean is left cornered, and it’s up to Sam and Olive to get him out of the mess. Olive falls fatally ill, and Sam must team up with a law enforcement officer.

Warnings: lots of coughing, blood, mentions of drug use, gun threats, uh ghosts and like... the usual??

Word Count: 8547

Baltimore, Maryland

Outside a motel room, a SWAT team gears up. It’s dark, and the few people outside have scattered. Someone stays closeby, but only their face is hidden. They’ve got their hood pulled up, one hand is in their pocket, and their other arm is in a makeshift sling. They’ve got a dog on a leash, and they do their best to stay in the shadows.

In a police station across the city, a sheriff enters an interrogation room and sits down.

“Well, first I thought you were just stepping up your game. Credit card fraud, breaking and entering, and this one…” he looks over the file with a sigh, “puzzled me. Grave desecration. But still, these are a long way from murder. Then we get a fax from St. Louis. Where you’re suspected of torturing and murdering a young woman. However, no one could prove anything, of course, because you died there. But I gotta tell you something. You look pretty healthy to me.”

The detective moves, sits on the table. “Now we know. Karen Giles isn’t the first person you’ve killed. But I guarantee you she’s the last.”

At the motel, the SWAT team stands outside a second floor room, ready. They knock the door down with a battering ram, and the person inside immediately puts their hands up. One of the detectives steps forward, keeping her gun on the person.

“Going somewhere, Sam?” She asks.

There’s a rifle ready to shoot the middle Winchester through the heart, and he swallows hard, eyes set in disgust as he looks at the woman.

In the police station, the detective shoots the prisoner a dirty look before getting up and walking out. The prisoner is Dean.

The person standing in the motel parking lot pulls their hood back, watching as Sam is dragged from the room. It’s Olive. She pulls the hood back up, turns on her heel, and walks off.

                                                               ***

The detective that cornered Sam enters his interrogation room. She places a coffee cup on the table, and Sam glances over, but continues to pace by the window.

“Thought you might be thirsty.”

“Okay, so you’re the good cop.” Sam assesses. “Where’s the bad cop?”

“Oh, he’s with your brother.”

“Okay. And you’re holding us why?”

“Well he’s being held on suspicion of murder.” The woman adjusts her sleeves and a look of shock washes over Sam’s face. “And you? Well, we’ll see.”

“Murder?” Sam repeats, leaning onto the table.

“You sound genuinely surprised. Or are you that good of an actor?” The woman smiles.

“Who is he supposed to have murdered?” Sam squints.

“We’ll get around to that.”

“Well, you can’t just hold us here without formal charges!” Sam is growing more and more upset.

“Well, actually, we can. For forty eight hours, but you, being a pre-law student, would know that. You see, I know all about you, Sam.” She picks up a file folder and opens it. “You’re twenty three years old. No job, no home address. Your mother died when you were a baby, your father’s whereabouts are unknown. And then there’s the case of your brother, Dean. Whose demise was, well, just a bit exaggerated. Feel free to jump in whenever you like.”

Sam leans against the wall and folds his arms over his chest.

“Shy?” She teases. “No problem. I’ll keep going. Your family moved around a lot when you were a kid. Despite that, you were a straight-A student. Got into Stanford with a full ride.”

Sam says nothing. They haven’t mentioned Olive, and he’s not sure whether he should be relieved or worried. His mind spins. There’s got to be a record of her somewhere out there. Sure, she wasn’t born in a hospital, and she almost never went to the doctor, and she went to school under fake names, but there’s gotta be something.

The woman closes the file. “Then about a year ago, there was a fire in your apartment. One fatality. Jessica Moore, your girlfriend. After she died, you fell off the grid. Left behind everything.”

Sam says nothing, but he looks up through his eyelashes. “I needed some time off. To deal. So I’m taking a road trip with my brother.”

“And your little sister.”

Sam’s blood runs cold.

“Don’t think we forgot about little old Olive.” She smiles. “Such a strange name.”

His nose twitches in anger. He picked that name. She smiles again, wider this time.

“Where is she? We didn’t find her in the motel room. The bathroom window was open, but she couldn’t have jumped. Two stories is too high, don’t you agree?”

Sam says nothing.

“Where is she, Sam?”

He leans further into the wall.

“How’s that road trip going for you guys?”

“Great.” Sam shrugs softly, then takes the chance to derail her. “I mean…” A smile grows on his face. “We saw the second largest ball of twine in the continental US. It was awesome.” He pulls up a chair and straddles it.

“We ran Dean’s fingerprints through AFIS.” The detective comes to the end of the table.

“Okay.”

“Got over a dozen possible hits.”

“Possible hits.��� Sam repeats. “Which makes them worthless.”

“But it makes you wonder. What are we gonna find when we run your prints?”

“Well.” Sam smiles and pounds his fist on the table, every movement dripping with sarcasm. “You be sure to let me know.” He points at the cup. “May I?”

She nods. “Please.”

“Great.” He takes the cup, smells it, and then takes a sip.

She leans over him, eyes intent.

“Sam. You seem like a good kid. It’s not your fault Dean’s your brother. We can’t pick our family. Right now, detectives in St. Louis are exhuming a corpse. They’re trying to figure out how your brother faked his own death.”

There’s a scream from outside, and against all common sense, on instinct, Sam’s head snaps up. It’s Olive’s scream.

“Get off of me!” She screams, squirming.

She’s dropped Jinx off at a safe place. The Richmonds will pick her up and take care of her until this is over. Olive is being dragged through the police station, kicking and screaming. She’s managed to nail two men in the crotch, and has sent a mug full of pens to the floor.

Back in the interrogation room, Sam’s face is pale. The detective turns back to him with a smile.

“Is that baby sister Olive?”

He glares.

“She’s sixteen, isn’t she? Has been for a little less than a month now. She can be tried as an adult. Look, Dean’s a bad guy. His life is over. Yours doesn’t have to be, and neither does Olive’s.”

Sam turns with a glare. “You want us to turn against our own brother?”

“No.” She shakes her head. “We’ve already caught him cold. Red-handed at the Karen Giles murder scene. We just need you to fill in some missing pieces.”

“Why would I do that?” Olive spits from her seat in a third interrogation room.

They’ve cuffed her down, and she knows she could break them, but that would lead to another issue they couldn’t solve without making an even bigger mess.

“Because we can talk to the DA for you, kid.” The detective who had talked to Dean sits across from her. “Dean’s gone. You don’t have to be.”

She grits her teeth, composes herself, and then spits in his face.

“Go to hell.”

The man wipes the spit from his face angrily and stands.

“Fine. Just remember, I tried to help you.”

Sam begins to talk, voice quiet. “My dad and Tony Giles were old friends. They were in the service together. We’ve known him since we were kids, you know? So we came as soon as we heard about his death.”

Cafe, Before

“Here.” Sam placed three coffee cups down and slid into his chair.

Dean handed him the newspaper he had been reading. “Anthony Giles.”

“Who’s Anthony Giles?” Sam squinted.

“Baltimore lawyer. Working late in his office, check it out.” Olive pointed at the article she and Dean found.

Sam scanned over it, mumbling out loud. “Throat slit, room was clean. Huh. No DNA, no prints.”

“Keep reading.” Olive grinned. “It gets better.”

“Security cameras failed to capture footage of the assailant.” He scoffed.

“So we’re thinking either somebody messed with the tapes-”

“Or we’ve got an invisible killer on our hands.”

“My favorite kind.” Dean smiles. “What do you think, Scully? You wanna check it out?”

Sam scoffed, and Olive snorted.

“I’m not Scully, you’re Scully.”

“No, I’m Mulder.” Dean fought back. “You’re a red-headed woman.”

“Hey!” Olive whined. “Can I be Scully? I’m a girl.”

Dean and Sam shared a look, and each broke out into a smile. Dean patted her head and Sam gave her hand a squeeze.

“You’re too little to be either, bug.”

She rolled her eyes with a huff. “Fine, fine. Let’s go check this out.”

Second Interrogation Room, Present Day

“Would’ve been kind of hard for Dean to kill Tony, considering we weren’t in town at the time.” Sam is still straddling the chair, hands in his lap.

“So tell me what happened next.”

“Okay, uh, that when we went to see Karen.” Sam sighs. “She was barely holding it together. We just wanted to be there for her. You know?”

Giles House, Before

Karen sat on the couch, on the verge of tears. She flipped through the forms the siblings had handed her and sighed shakily.

“Insurance. I totally forgot about the insurance.”

“We’ve very sorry to bother you right now, but the company is required to conduct its own investigation. You understand.” Sam smiled sympathetically.

“Sure.” Karen nodded, pushing her glasses back up.

“Okay. Um, if you could just tell us anything you remember about the night your husband died.”

“Um… Tony and I were just supposed to have dinner. He called and said he was having computer troubles, and that… that he had to work late.” She sniffled again. “That was it.”

“Do you have any idea who could’ve done this to him?” Olive’s voice was sympathetic.

“No.” Karen shook her head. “No, it’s like I told the police, I… I have no idea.”

“Did Tony mention anything, you know, unusual to you? In the days before his death?” Dean asked.

“Unusual…” Karen trailed off.

“Yeah, like strange.”

“Strange?” She repeated.

“You know, weird. Weird noises, uh, visions, anything like that?”

Sam cleared his throat and glared at Dean, and Olive sent him a similar look.

Could you be any less subtle?

Karen turned to glance at Sam and Olive, who immediately switched back to the looks of concern and pity. She looked down again, and the two younger siblings shot him a look again.

“He had a nightmare the day before he died.” Karen shrugged.

“What kind of nightmare?”

“Uh, he said that he woke up in the middle of the night and there was a woman standing at the foot of the bed. He blinked and she was gone, I mean… it was just a nightmare.”

“Did he say what she looked like?”

“What the hell difference does it make what she looked like?” Karen spat.

Dean squirmed, and Olive leaned forward, voice gentle.

“Our company is just very thorough. I understand this is an upsetting process, but we just need to ask a few more questions, and we’ll be on our way.”

Karen nodded. “Okay. I’m sorry. He said she was pale, and that she… she had dark red eyes.”

The siblings nodded as they each made a note.

Second Interrogation Room, Present Day

“So I gave Karen a hug, told her to call me if she needed anything, and that was it… end of story.” Sam shrugs.

“Sam, I am trying to help you here.” The detective hisses. “But you have got to be honest with me. Now, we have an eyewitness. Someone who saw two men and a young woman fitting you and your siblings’s descriptions breaking into Gile’s office.”

“Okay.” Sam sighs. “Look, Karen called us later, said that there was some stuff that she wanted from Tony’s office. But the police weren’t letting her in. Like, a picture of the two of them in Paris, and some other stuff. Look, it was wrong to enter a crime scene, but she gave us the key!” Sam puts his hands up in protest.

Giles’ Office, Before

Dean picked the lock, and he ducked in first. Olive followed, and Sam went last, shutting the door behind themselves. Each ducked under the police tape with ease. Sam shone his flashlight on a pool of blood on the floor.

“Hey. Giles’ body was found right about here.”

He rummaged through his jacket pockets and pulled out the newspaper from earlier. “Throat slit so deep part of his spinal cord was visible.”

Dean let out a low whistle. “What do you guys think? Vengeful spirit? Underlining vengeful?” He emphasized.

“Yeah, maybe. I mean, he did see that woman at the foot of his bed.”

Dean picked a paper off the desk. “Look at this.”

Olive took the paper and held it where Sam could see it too. danashulps was written all over it, in small print.

“Dana Shulps. Name?” Sam suggested.

Dean picked another paper off the desk. “I dunno, but it’s all over the place.” A grin broke out on his face. “Well, all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.”

Sam shone his flashlight over the glass table and paused. Olive looked up at him.

“What is it, Sams?”

“Do me a favor, breathe onto the table.”

She eyed him, but did as he asked, pulling away when she realized that danashulps was written all over it.

“What the fuck?”

“Well, I’d say we’ve officially crossed over into weird.

“Maybe Giles knew her.” Dean suggested.

“Or!” Olive perked up. “Maybe it’s the name of our pale, red-eyed mystery girl.”

“Alright, let’s just see what we can find.”

                                                              ***

Dean let out a loud groan, and Olive sighed from her spot on the couch. Sam was at the desktop computer, typing away.

“There’s not a single mention of a Dana Shulps anywhere. There’s not a D. Shulps. Or any other kind of fucking Shulps.” Dean complained.

“Great.” Olive huffed. “I can’t find anything either. Sams, what about you?”

“Nothing. No Dana Shulps has ever lived or died in Baltimore in the last fifty years at least.”

“So what now?”

“Well, I think I’m pretty close to cracking Giles’ password. Maybe there’s something in his personal files, you know?”

“By close, you mean?”

Sam shrugged. “Thirty minutes, maybe?”

Dean glanced down at his watch and sighed. “Awesome, so I guess I just get to uh… hang out.” He sighed, then grumbled something under his breath.

Olive got up from the couch and sat in the other red chair, watching as Sam worked. Dean began to click his tongue, and both younger siblings turned with similar looks of annoyance.

He paused, and once they both looked away, he started to make fart noises with his mouth. Olive stifled a giggle, and Sam sighed.

“Dude, seriously!”

“Alright, I’m gonna go talk to Karen again, see if she knows anything about this Dana Shulps, huh?”

“Great.” Sam huffed.

“Be careful.” Olive smiled at Dean as he stood.

He leaned down and kissed the top of her forehead, then shone his flashlight at Sam. “Keep going, Sparky.”

Third Interrogation Room, Present Day

“Then Dean went back to Karen’s place to check up on her. I mean, you know, she had obviously been upset earlier.” Olive huffs.

“So why didn’t you and Sam go with him?” The one from before, who Olive’s figured out is named Sheridan, asks.

Olive half shrugs. “I had to take care of some lady things. Sam came with me to the motel.” She pauses. “How did you know he was there, by the way?”

“We found the motel matchbook on Dean when he arrested him. Now-”

“How’d you know where to find me?” She questions.

“Let’s quit dicking around. Now you two were with Dean the whole time you were in Baltimore. Why separate now? Because your brother left you. To go kill Karen.”

“He didn’t kill anyone!” Olive shouts.

The anxiety is ramping, and it’s making her fractured arm hurt.

“I heard the 911 call!” Sheridan slams his fist on the table. “Karen was terrified! She said someone was in the house!”

Giles House, Before

Karen was on the couch in her pajamas, crying. The TV was on, but low. She wasn’t watching. She blew her nose, and heard something as she did. She took her glasses off to rub her eyes before quickly putting them back on. She noticed a figure in the mirror across the room.

She let out a frightened yelp and stood, turning the lights on. There was nobody there, but she turned into the bedroom and shut the door. She dialed 911 and put the phone to her ear.

“Hello, emergency services.”

“Hello? I think I saw someone in my house.”

“What’s your address?”

“It’s 421 Clinton Avenue. Please, can you-”

A click, and the call was disconnected.

“Hello?”

The printer on her desk flicked on and began to rapid-print sheets with the same thing from Tony’s office.

danashulpsdanashulpsdanashulpsdanashulps

Karen fumbled around for a flashlight, and finally turned. She turned to be face-to-face with the ghost. She screamed.

                                                              ***

Giles House, Before

Dean knocked on the door. “Karen, you in there?”

He got no answer. He looked around before bending to pick the lock. He opened the door and tried the light in the entryway. It didn’t work. He shut the door behind himself and ventured further into the house. He went up the stairs and turned into the bedroom. He pushed the door open to see Karen lying on the floor in a pool of blood. He turned and noticed the printer pages.

“Seriously, what the hell?” He grumbled.

He knelt by Karen’s body, noticing bruises on her wrists. He slowly picked up one of her hands.

“Freeze.”

Dean cursed to himself. Behind him, two cops had their guns trained on his head.

“Stay on your knees. Hands where I can see them. Now!”

He complied.

First Interrogation Room, Present Day

Sheridan sits in an observation room, where he can see Dean, who is handcuffed to a table. The detective that had been with Sam, Ballard, enters.

“You getting anywhere with him?”

“No. Just a lot of wise-ass remarks.” He grumbles.

“What about the girl?”

Sheridan rolls his eyes. “Nothing. Her story matches his down to the last detail. You?”

“Same with Sam’s.”

“Hmm. Yeah, well, these guys are good. I’ll give them that.” Sheridan crosses his arms over his chest.

Ballard sighs. “If we don’t get Sam or Olive to flip, we have nothing but a lot of circumstantial evidence.”

“Hey. We’ve got Dean at the crime scene with blood on his hands. And we caught Olive trying to steal a car. Juries have convicted for less.”

“Yeah, but…” Ballard sighs. “I mean, where’s the murder weapon? What’s the motive? You talk about reasonable doubt.”

“Diana.” Sheridan leans in and touches her face. “Do you have reasonable doubt? We keep leaning on these three, one of them will tumble. And don’t forget about St. Louis. I’m telling you. This Dean guy is our guy.”

Ballard sighs. “I know Tony Giles was a friend of yours.”

“Yeah.” Sheridan nods. “He was, he was a good friend.”

“Look, and I know you just want to clean this mess up quick, but some on. Tony knew a lot of criminal types, I mean… maybe we’re just-”

“Criminal types?” Sheridan cuts her off with a snarl. “He was a defense lawyer, for fuck’s sake. Of course he knew criminal types.”

“Alright.” Ballard sighs. “Let’s get back at them.”

“No, you know what? Let em stew in their juices for a bit.” Sheridan glances around to make sure nobody is nearby. “Come here.”

He pulls her into a kiss.

In the interrogation room, Dean huffs.

“Dana Shulps, Dana Shulps, Dana Shulps. Dana- Dana Shulps.” He mumbles to himself, eyes closed.

He’s stiff cuffed to the table, and he’s got his hands laced together as he thinks.

Sam, hands free, pulls a pad of paper and a pen to himself. He writes Dana Shulps in print, frowning as he thinks.

Olive is still cuffed to the table in her interrogation room. Her wrists are beginning to hurt, and her leg is bouncing up and down, shaking the entire table. She mutters curses as she looks around, in thought.

“It’s not a name, it’s not a name, it’s not a name.” She squeezes her eyes shut.

Sam huffed as he got to work. “Anagram, maybe?”

Dean continues to mumble to himself, looking up when there’s a knock on the door.

“Mr. Winchester?” A middle aged man pokes his head in.

“Yeah.” Dean grumbles.

“Hi, I’m Jeffrey Kraus.” The man walks in. “I’m with the public defender’s office. I’m your lawyer.”

Dean deadpans. “Oh. Thank god. I’m saved.”

Kraus sits, and Dean leans forward. “Hey, could I uh, steal a pen from you? Maybe some paper?”

“Sure.” Kraus hands the items over to Dean, who goes to town. “Uh, well, the police haven’t found a weapon yet. So that’s good. But uh, they got your prints. And well,” the man chuckles, “literally blood on your hands. And with your police record, uh…” he trails off when he notices that Dean isn’t paying attention.

“Mr. Winchester?”

Nothing.

“What are you doing?”

“I think it’s an anagram.” Dean grunts.

“A what?”

“Same letters, different words.” Dean explains as he continues to scribble.

The paper now reads:

dna shulps

dan shulpas

land pushas

supash land

push landas

plush danas

He pushes it over to Kraus. “Uh, do me a favor? See if you recognize any of these words. You know, local names, places, anything like that?”

“Do you understand how serious these charges are?”

“I’m handcuffed to a table.” Dean scoffs. “Yeah, I get it. Humor me. Take a quick look.”

Kraus sighs and pulls the pad of paper over to him. “Well, I don’t know about s-u-p, but Ashland is a street name. Not far from here.”

“A street.” Dean repeats.

He takes the pad back, tears the paper off, and begins to scribble again.

“Let’s start with where you were the night Anthony Giles died.”

“Can you get in to see my brother and sister?” Dean looks up quickly.

“Mr. Winchester, you could be facing the death penalty here.”

“Hey, thanks for the law review, Matlock. But, if you wanna help me.” Dean holds up the two scraps of paper he’s written on. “I need you to see my brother and sister.”

Third Interrogation Room, Present Day

Olive unfurls the note and snorts.

Lil,

Ashland Street

Call richies if you’re alone

-Phil

“I hope that means something. He was adamant I get that to you.” Kraus sits across from her.

Olive rolls her neck. “Yeah, thanks. How far exactly is Ashland Street from here?” She crumbles up the note and looks up, expectantly.

“Uh, maybe a ten minute drive. Miss Winchester, if you don’t mind, I’d really like to-”

“No.” Olive shakes her head. “I don’t need a lawyer to talk me through this. They think Dean’s a killer, they found me stealing a car, and they’re gonna pin Sam and I as accessories. They’re gonna bring up everything we’ve ever done, gonna bring up the fact that our dad is gone, gonna say Dean had blood on his hands, and that’s gonna be the end of it.”

Kraus sighs. “You’re sixteen-”

“They’re gonna try me as an adult, I know.” She nods again. “Look, Matlock, why don’t you go talk to Sam? He’s prelaw, full ride to Stanford. I’m sure he can help you work out a strategy for us.” She smiles a sickly sweet smile, but it’s full of anger and poison.

Krau sighs a third time before getting up and exiting the room.

Second Interrogation Room, Present Day

Sam reads over the note Dean sent.

Hilts-

It’s a street

Ashland

-McQueen

Kraus sighs. “I hope that’s meaningful. But I’d like to discuss your case now.”

Sam gestures to the chair in front of him. “Sure thing, Matlock.”

Kraus sighs again. “You three really are siblings, aren’t you?” He sits. “Now, as you know, the DA might be interested in-”

A knock on the door, and then Ballard barges in.

“We need you.” She looks at Kraus. “With the other one.”

Sam stares at the door after they close it. He huffs. Several people have crowded outside Dean’s interrogation room, watching as the digital camera is set up across from him.

“Counselor?” Sheridan grins. “Your boy decided to confess.”

“Mr. Winchester?” Kraus warns. “I’d strongly advise against that.”

“Talk directly into the camera, first stating your name for the record.”

Dean clears his throat and sits up. He leans forward and looks into the camera. “My name is Dean Michael Winchester. I’m an Aquarius.” A smile begins to creep onto his face. He knows that if Sam and Olive were to see this, they would roll their eyes and break into a cackle, respectively. “I enjoy sunsets, long walks on the beach, and frisky women. And I did not kill anyone.” His smile drops. “But I know who did. Or rather, what, did. Of course, it can’t be for sure because our investigation was interrupted. But our working theory was that we’re looking for some kind of vengeful spirit.”

“Excuse me?” Ballard spits.

“You know,” Dean shrugs. “Casper the bloodthirsty ghost?”

People in the observation room begin to laugh.

“Tony Giles saw it. I’ll bet you cash money Karen did too. But see, the interesting thing is the word it leaves behind. For some reason, it’s trying to tell us something. But communicating across the veil, it ain’t easy.” Dean shakes his head. “You know, sometimes the spirits, they, they get things jumbled. You remember redrum. Same concept. You know, it’s uh, word fragments, sometimes it’s anagrams. See, at first we thought it was a name. Dana Shulps. But now we think it’s a street. Ashland. Whatever’s going on, I’ll bet you it started there.”

Dean spreads his hands and smiles. His part is done.

“You arrogant bastard!” Sheridan shouts. “Tony and Karen were good people, and you’re making jokes!”

“I’m not joking, Ponch.” Dean’s lip curls up.

“You murdered them in cold blood! Just like that girl in St. Louis!”

“Oh, yeah…” Dean sucks in air through his teeth. “That wasn’t me either. That was a shape-shifter creature that only looked like me.”

He smiles at the camera again, and Sheridan snaps. He picks Dean up by the collar, which is no easy task, as he’s 6’ 2” and about 170 pounds. He slams him against the wall, and although Dean is uncomfortable, he doesn’t flinch. He keeps his cold front.

“Pete, that is enough!” Ballard pulls him off.

“You asked for the truth.” Dean speaks calmly.

“Lock his ass up.” Sheridan spits, dropping Dean to his feet.

Another cop takes over and shoves Dean face-first against the wall, cuffing him. Dean grunts, but a sense of calm washes over him. He did what needed to be done. Sam and Olive would fix it from here.

Sheridan storms into Olive’s interrogation room, only to find her gone. He lets out a frustrated scream and throws a chair across the room. A breeze blows through the window, and he sticks his head out. It’s a five story drop, and the fire escape is at least six feet away. There’s no way she could’ve reached it.

“Where is she!” He shouts.

Ballard comes running. “Sam’s gone!”

She blinks, noticing that Sheridan is the only one in the room. “What?”

“What did they do? The fire escapes way over there! For both of them!”

“These fuckers.” Ballard hisses, showing Sheridan the note left on Sam’s table.

“Hilts and McQueen? Lil and Phil?” Sheridan spits.

“Hilts is Steve McQueen’s character in the Great Escape.” Ballard sighs. “And Lil and Phil are from the Rugrats.”

Sheridan lets out another scream.

                                                              ***

Dean is cuffed once more, in a smaller room. Ballard enters, looking around, nervous. Dean huffs.

“Can we make this quick? I’m a little tired, it’s been a long day, you know, with your partner assaulting me and all.”

“I want to know more about that stuff you were talking about earlier.”

Dean hums. “Time Life. Mysteries of the Unknown. Look it up.”

She circles around to stand in front of him. “Let’s pretend, for the moment, you’re not entirely insane.”

Dean hums again. “What would one of these things be doing here?”

“A vengeful spirit?”

Ballard nods, and Dean pouts as he thinks.

“Well, they’re created by violet deaths. And then they come back for a reason, usually a nasty one. Like revenge on the people that hurt em.”

“And, uh, these things… they’re capable of killing people?” She asks, rubbing her neck.

Dean smiles, lining up his next smart-ass response, when he notices deep, dark bruises on her wrists, the same he had seen on Karen’s.

“Where’d you get those?”

Ballard sighs and pulls up her sleeves, seeing the bruises for the first time.

“I don’t know. It… it wasn’t there before.”

“You’ve seen it before, haven’t you? The spirit?”

“How’d you know?”

“Cause Karen had the same bruises on her wrists. And I’m willing to bet that if you look at Giles’ autopsy photos, he’s got em too. It’s got something to do with this spirit, I… I just don’t know what.”

Ballard turns away, looking into the mirror.

“I know. You think you’re going crazy. But let’s skip that part, shall we? Because the last two people who saw this thing? Died, pretty soon after. You hear me?”

She turns back to him, face drained of color. “You think I’m going to die.”

Dean sighs. “You need to go to Sam and Olive. They’ll help.”

Ballard’s shoulders fall. “You’re giving them up.”

Dean sighs again, looking away. “Go to the first motel listed in the yellow pages. Look for Jim Rockford and Angel Martin. It’s how we find each other when we’re all separated. Now, you can arrest them if you want.” He looks up at her. “Or you can let them save your life.”

Motel Room, Present Day

Sam sits at a desk, rifling through files. Somebody knows on the door, and his head perks up. The person knocks again, and this time Sam gets up. He tucks a handgun into the back of his jeans and looks through the peephole.

He throws the door open with a sigh of relief. Olive tumbles into his arms, shaking. He holds her, then realizes that her legs have given out, and she’s relying entirely on him. He picks her up by the waist and puts her down on the bed, kicking the door shut.

“Bug, what happened?”

She coughs, and a few specks of blood fly out. “I had to jump. I wasn’t gonna make it to the fire escape, so I just went straight down.” She groans. “I landed in a dumpster, my leg broke, and my lungs hurt. I’m mostly healed now, but… it still hurts.” She leans back onto the wall with a heavy sigh.

“Fuck.” Sam mumbles under his breath.

He sees the fear in Olive’s eyes and sits next to her, pulling her to rest in his lap. “Okay. Once we get all of this fixed, I promise we’ll go straight to Bobby. Okay?” He runs a hand through her hair.

She coughs again. “We’ve gotta get Dean.”

The door opens, and Sam whips the gun out, his other hand holding Olive protectively. It’s Ballard. She eyes the gun, and Sam hesitates. She gives a soft smile, and Sam puts the gun down. Olive doesn’t move. She’s scared she’ll cough up a lung, and she’s barely breathing as is. Sam notices Ballard’s eyes on her.

“You’ll have to sit here.” He gestures to the bed.

She does so. “I saw it.”

“What?” Olive speaks, then coughs again, ending with a groan.

Ballard eyes Olive again, then shows Sam her wrists. He takes her hands in his and winces as he looks over the pink skin.

“These showed up after you saw it?”

“Yeah, I guess.” Ballard sighs.

“Alright. You’re gonna have to tell me exactly what you saw.”

Ballard hesitates. “You know, I must be losing my mind. You’re both fugitives. I should be arresting you.”

“You can arrest us later.” Olive rasps. “After we get through this.”

“She’s right.” Sam sighs. “Right now you’ve gotta talk to me.”

Ballard nods.

“Okay. The spirit, what did it look like?”

“She was… um, really pale. Her throat was cut, and her eyes… they were like, this deep dark red. It appeared like she was trying to talk to me, but she couldn’t. It was just… a lot of blood.”

“Okay. There.” Sam points to the desk, and she rises, going to it. “I’ve been researching every girl that’s ever died or gone missing from Ashland street.”

“How’d you get these?” Ballard flips through the photos. “These are from crime scenes, and booking photos.”

“You have your job, we have ours. Look through them, tell me if you recognize anyone.”

She sits down and begins to look through papers. Sam turns back to Olive and presses a soft kiss to her forehead.

“I’m gonna get you some water. Okay, bug?”

Olive mumbles an agreement and lets Sam move her out of his lap. He goes to the bathroom, wets a towel, and brings it back, placing it on her forehead. He’s seen her sick like this before, but it’s never been this bad. Panic begins to grow in his chest as he fills a glass with water. He doesn’t know what to do. He needs Dean.

“This is her. I’m sure of it.”

Sam places the cup of water down on the nightstand and goes to stand at the desk with Ballard.

“Claire Becker. Twenty eight years old, disappeared about nine months ago.”

“But I don’t even know her. I mean, why would she come after me?” Ballard’s growing exasperated.

“Well, before her death, she was arrested twice. For dealing heroin. You ever work narcotics?” Sam suggests.

“Yeah, Pete and I did. Before homicide.”

“You ever bust her?”

Ballard shakes her head. “Not that I remember.”

“It says that she was last seen entering 2911 Ashland Street. Police searched the place, didn’t find anything. Guess we gotta check it out ourselves. See if we can find her body.”

“What?” Ballard squints.

“Salt and burn em. It’s the only way to put her spirit to rest.” Olive speaks, eyes closed and voice thin and scratchy.

The panic flares in Sam’s chest once more. He needs Dean. She needs Dean.

Ballard sighs. “Of course it is.”

“Sammy, I wanna come with you. I wanna help.” She starts to sit up.

“No, no, no, Ollie. I can’t let you.” Sam rushes to her side, pushing her back down. “No, baby girl. You’re too weak, you’ve gotta stay here.”

“But I wanna help save Dean.” She whines.

“I know, babes, I know. But I need you safe, and that means you have to stay here.”

“She should be in a hospital right now.” Ballard states.

“No!” Olive jumps, then proceeds to cough, spitting blood into the crook of her elbow.

Sam rubs her back and shakes his head. “No hospitals. She can’t do hospitals.”

“Why not?”

He sighs. “Family issue.”

Olive groans, then rolls onto her side, looking up at Sam with puppy eyes. He sighs again, pushing her hair behind her ear.

“I don’t wanna be alone.” She whispers.

Healing large injuries drains her more than turning itself does. A broken leg is no small feat, and she’s definitely injured her lungs. But she had to get out of there, so she forced herself to begin to heal. Once she’s started, she can’t turn the healing process back off. It’s killing her.

She doesn’t want to be alone when she dies.

They both know it.

He helps her sit up, and they both ignore the grunt of pain that escapes her lips. He holds her tightly, but gently.

“Okay.”

2911 Ashland Street, Present Day

Sam leads them down into a creepy warehouse. Olive has her finger hooked in his belt loop, and her feet are dragging. She’s getting worse by the minute, but she refuses to let her mind slip away, not until she sees Dean.

“So what exactly are we looking for?”

“I’ll let you know when we find it.” Sam whispers.

They split up. Sam and Olive start up a flight of stairs as Ballard continues on the lower level. She turns around a corner, and sees Claire, standing by a window. She gasps, and Claire moves towards her, trying to speak.

“Sam? Sam!”

Sam and Olive share a look. Olive lets go of his belt loop and nods, and he runs back down the stairs, toward Ballard. Claire disappears.

“Hey! Hey, I’m here. What is it, what happened?” Sam looks her up and down, noticing that she’s unscatched.

“Claire…”

“Where?” Olive croaks, making her way down the stairs.

“Here. She was here.”

“Did she attack you?” Sam asks.

Ballard shakes her head. “No,” she hesitates, “No, she was just like… reaching out to me. She was over there by the window.” She points.

Sam and Olive share a look before Sam moves the shelves away from the window. Olive squints as the words printed on the glass become clear.

Ashland Supplies

She snorts. “That’s the word.”

“Well, yeah, now the extra letters make sense.” Sam fishes an EMF reader from his pocket and slowly makes his way to the wall, where the words are perfectly shadowed.

“What is that?”

Olive stumbles to follow her brother as she clears her throat. “Spirits and certain remains give off electromagnetic frequencies.”

“So, if Clarie’s body were here, it would tell you?”

“Yeah, that’s the theory.” Sam mumbles.

The EMF meter begins to purr, and Sam turns back around to a brick wall. He sighs and looks around. Olive spots a rusted crowbar and drags it behind her as she follows Sam. He plucks it from her hand and begins to break through the wall. Olive coughs as dust and debris fly through the air. She slumps down against the staircase, coughing every so often. Her head falls back when she’s not struggling to breathe, and her eyes are beginning to roll into the back of her head.

“There’s definitely something in there.” Sam grunts as he continues to break through the wall. “You know? This is bothering me.”

“Well, you are digging up a corpse.” Ballard shrugs.

“No, no, uh…” Sam chuckles. “That’s pretty par for the course, actually.”

“Then what?”

“I mean, it’s just… no vengeful spirit we’ve ever dealt with wanted to be wasted… so why the hell would Claire lead us to her own remains?”

Olive lets out another cough, this one sounding loud and wet. Sam pauses and stares at her. Her head is back against the wall, her mouth is open and bloody, and her eyes are closed. She’s pale, sweaty, and barely breathing.

“That doesn’t make any sense.” Ballard shakes her head, snapping Sam back into reality.

He shakes his head, again glancing over his shoulder at the teenager sprawled on the ground.

“Here, gimme a hand.”

Together, they pull out a body that is wrapped in shrouds of cloth, and place it on the ground. Sam fishes out a pocket knife and cuts the ropes off, revealing the body. He sighs, looking back at Olive. Her eyes are shut, and her head is falling off to the side. Her chest heaves with each breath, and Sam can hear her wheezing. Ballard puts her wrists out, above Claire’s.

“Her wrists, yeah.” Sam turns back. “They’d be bruised just like yours.”

Ballard reaches out with a shaky hand, cautiously touching a necklace on the body. Sam perks up.

“That necklace mean anything to you?”

“I’ve seen it before. It’s rare. It was custom made over on Carson street.” Ballard’s hand goes back to her own neck. “I have one just like it.” She looks up at Sam. “Pete gave it to me.”

He huffs. “Now this makes sense.”

“I’m sorry?”

“She’s a death omen, not a vengeful spirit.”

“Excuse me?”

“Claire’s not killing people.” Sam sighs. “She’s trying to warn them. You see, sometimes, spirits, they don't want revenge. They want justice.” He nods to himself. “Which is why she led us here in the first place. She wants us to know who her killer is.” He pauses, and it clicks in his head. “Detective, how much do you know about your partner?”

“Oh my god.” Ballards face falls.

“About a year ago, some heroin went missing from lockup. Obviously, it was a cop. We never found out who did it, but whoever it was would need someone to fence their product.”

Sam snorts. “Someone like a heroin dealer. Somebody like Claire.”

Olive stumbles to her feet. Her lips are dry and her skin is devoid of color. Her fangs are peeking out of her mouth, and her eyes are watery.

“Dean’s in danger.”

Armored Van on a Highway, Present Day

“So I’m being extradited to St. Louis, huh?”

Dean gets no answer, so he tries again.

“And you just decided to transfer me yourself, eight hundred miles at two in the morning?”

Again, nothing. The hairs on the back of Dean’s neck begin to rise.

“This can’t be good.”

Baltimore, Present Day

“Okay. Thanks.” Ballard snaps her phone shut.

“What is it?” Sam asks, leaning forward.

He’s in the backseat with Olive. She’s in and out of it, and she looks worse every time they pass under a street light.

“Pete just left the precinct. With Dean.”

“What?” Olive forces her eyes open as she sits up, grunting.

“He said the prisoner had to be transfered, and he just took him. Dispatch has been calling but he won’t answer the radio.”

“Radio?” Sam repeats. “He took a county vehicle?”

“Yeah.”

“Well then they should have a lo-jack. We’ve just gotta get it turned on.”

Empty stretch of road, Present Day

The van pulls off onto the side of the road. Dean pushes the rising anxiety and leans forward.

“Pee break? So soon?” He taunts. “Might wanna get your prostate checked.”

Sheridan says nothing before he gets out. Dean listens as the footsteps circle around to the back of the van.

“Son of a bitch.” He groans to himself.

Sheridan yanks the backdoors open, and Dean inches away.

“Hey, man. I’m cool in the van. You go do what you gotta do.”

Sheridan grabs him by the jacket and hauls him out of the van, throwing him onto the wet ground. Dean lands with a grunt, squirming to sit up.

“You’re a cocky son of a bitch.” Sheridan spits. “You think those people in St. Louis are gonna buy that shit you’re peddling?”

Dean makes it to his knees and pants, staring at Sheridan.

“Here’s the thing. You’re not gonna make it to St. Louis. You’re gonna die trying to escape.”

Dean blinks, and Sheridan’s gun is out, pointed between his eyes.

“Wait!” Dean pleads. “Wait, let’s talk about this. I mean, you don’t wanna do something that you’re gonna regret later.”

Sheridan only cocks the gun.

“Or maybe you do.”

Olive growls from low in her throat, holding back a cough and the load of blood in her mouth. Sheridan turns at the noise, and Ballard puts her gun up. Sam tucks Olive into his side, shielding her from the gun. She’s shaking, and Dean’s eyes are glued to her.

His stomach drops. She’s dying. He knows it.

“Pete! Put the gun down.”

“Diana? How’d you find me?” The gun goes back to Dean’s head, and Olive feels bile rise in her throat.

Sam hugs her tighter.

“I know about Claire.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Sheridan shakes his head, gun still up.

“Put the gun down!” She shouts.

Sheridan drops the act, and a smirk grows on his face. “Oh, I don’t think so. You’re fast. I’m pretty sure I’m faster.”

“Why are you doing this?”

“I didn’t do anything, Diana.” Sheridan shakes his head.

“It’s a little late for that.”

“It wasn’t my fault.” Sheridan scoots closer to Dean, and another growl rips through Olive’s throat.

She swallows what she can and spits blood onto the grass.

“Claire was trying to turn me in! I had no choice.”

“And Tony? Karen?”

Sheridan shakes his head again. “Same thing! Tony scrubbed the money, he got skittish, and then he wanted to come clean. I’m sure he told Karen everything.”

Dean’s eyes go back to his younger siblings. Sam’s holding the entirety of Olive’s weight, and he’s looking at Dean with big eyes. Dean shakes his head, and Sam looks about ready to cry. Olive lets out a weak cough.

“It was a mess. I had to clean it up. I just panicked.” Sheridan shook his head.

“How many more people are gonna die over this, Pete?”

“There’s a way out.” Sheridan looks back at Dean. “This Dean kid’s a freaking gift. We could pin the whole thing on him. Right? No trial, nothing. Just… just one more dead scumbag.”

“Hey.” Dean fronts.

Sheridan puts the gun closer, and Dean backs off, shoulders falling.

“No one will question it. Diana, please.” Sheridan begs. “I still love you.”

Ballard puts the gun down with a sigh. Dean’s eyes fill with tears as Sheridan’s gun connects with his head. A loud growl tears through the trees, and Sheridan is tackled to the ground. Dean rolls out of the way, and Sam pulls him up. Ballard tries to get a shot, but she can’t.

There’s another loud growl, and the tangle of limbs stops moving. Sheridan is down, and Olive falls to her knees, coughing loudly and violently. Blood sprays everywhere, and the second she stops coughing she begins to throw up. Sam rushes over, holding her hair back. Diana unlocks Dean’s handcuffs, and he joins his brother, watching as Olive fights to breathe.

Blood continues to drip from her mouth as she wheezes, chest heaving. Dean pulls her into his chest, and she begins to shake.

“So now what, officer?” Dean asks, cradling Olive like a baby.

“Pete did confess to me. He screwed up all your cases. Royally. I’d say there’s a good chance that we could get them dismissed.”

“You’d take care of that for us?” Sam looks up.

“Yeah. But the St. Louis murder charges? That’s another story. I can’t help you. Unless…” Ballard sighs. “I just happened to turn my back, and you walked away. I could just tell them that the suspects escaped.”

“Wait, are you sure?” Sam’s eyebrows furrowed.

“Yeah, she’s sure, Sam.” Dean hissed.

“No, it’s just… I mean, you could lose your job over something like that.”

She shakes her head. “Look, I just want you guys out there doing what you do best. Trust me, I’ll sleep better at night.”

Olive lets out another strangled cough, and Dean pushes her hair from her face.

“Is she gonna be okay?” Ballard asks.

“I don’t know.” Sam whispers, in shock.

“Where’s my car?” Dean calls.

“It’s at the impound yard down on Robertson.”

Dean groans, shooting Sam a look. “We need Dad’s journal, it could have answers.”

Ballard shakes her head. “Don’t even think about taking the car. You guys have to get out of here. I have to radio this in.”

The boys nod and Dean hoists Olive up. Coughs continue to rack her body, and she’s spitting blood everywhere. Sam takes her from him and they start down the muddy road.

“Dean, what do we do?”

“I don’t know, I’ve never seen her like this before.” Dean hisses back.

“We’re miles away from Dad’s journal. We’ll never make it in time.”

Olive wheezes, then coughs again, choking on her blood and spit. Dean stops, panting. He shakes his head at Sam, who is staring back with wide eyes.

“Sam, we can’t do anything.”

Olive’s stomach heaves again, and blood is the only thing to come out. Sam sighs as he stops. The brothers kneel down, and Sam places Olive between them.

She stares between the two with tears in her eyes.

I’m sorry.

Dean pushes her hair out of her face with a soft smile. “We love you.”

Sam is trembling, enraged. He picks her back up and shakes his head. Dean follows, shouting Sam’s name.

“We have to be able to do something, Dean. I’m not gonna watch her die.”

“We don’t have Dad’s journal!”

“Then we call Bobby!”

“Sam, we don’t even know if Bobby knows.”

“We have to try!”

Dean swallows the bad taste in his mouth as he yanks out his phone and dial’s Bobby’s number. Olive coughs.

He puts it on speaker. “Hello.”

“Bobby!” Sam shouts.

“What’s wrong, kids?”

“Olive’s dying, we don’t know what to do!”

“What?”

“Bobby, we’ve gotta tell you something important.”

“You sister’s part Okami. I know. What happened?”

The boys blink at each other, but a groan from Olive snaps them back into reality.

“The healing process is killing her. What do we do?”

There’s a long sigh, and Dean watches the little color left in Olive’s face drain. Her chest heaves once more, and then she stops breathing. He drops the phone, snatching Olive from Sam’s hold.

“Olive!”

“Bobby!” Sam grabs the phone, in tears.

“Blood.”

“What?”

“She needs blood. Once a day, every day. It’ll make her stronger, she won’t get sick again.”

“Bobby, we’re not-”

“Gimme your knife.” Dean interrupts.

“What?” Sam’s eyes go wide.

“Give me your fucking knife!”

Sam doesn’t move, and Dean forces Olive’s mouth open. He slices his palm against her fang and groans as blood trickles out.

It falls in droplets, staining her teeth and her tongue. The phone call is long forgotten, and Sam is on his knees by their side. Olive’s eyes begin to twitch behind her eyelids, and Dean gasps. He squeezes his hand, bleeding harder.

A second passes, and Sam stares at Dean. Dean doesn’t look up from Olive.

Her fangs begin to recede, and Dean watches, shaking. A small cough moves her body, and then she begins to wheeze. Sam drops his head to her chest. He hears her heart and he lets out a loud sigh, resting his head against her.

“Boys?”

Her voice is soft and unharmed. She sounds like she just woke up from a nap. Dean pulls her up and hugs her. She sniffs, reaching up to rub her eyes.

“How?”

Sam lets out a weak laugh and brushes her hair back. “Dean saved you.”

She leans into her oldest brother and looks up with a soft smile.

“Thanks, De.”

He laughs and kisses the top of her head before pulling her back into a second hug. “Anything for you, baby girl. Anything for you.”

Previous Ep: No Exit (2.06)

Next Ep: Crossroad Blues (2.08)

taglist:

@i67​

[fancifulwritings]

The Song Remains The Same

Chapter Twelve

     They stood in that silence for a moment. Minutes felt like they turned to hours, and then days. This sort of silence was all encompassing. Jimmy, the evil genius he was, had finally managed to do the impossible. What did you do with this? What were the repercussions down the road?

     As far as Calypso, no one had ever come back to life, except for maybe Jesus, and certainly no one had ever de-aged. Did this count as desecration of corpse? Would they think that Bonzo had faked his death all those years ago? The other boys would be an even bigger problem. There was no way to explain this to people without telling them the whole truth. Therein laid the problem.

     Perhaps now was not the best time to worry about this. Other issues had to be dealt with. Calypso was jumping ahead. Those were problems they could figure out in the months to come. That is, if she got to stay. It was still unclear. Robert might not want her to stay and she didn’t want to just assume she would be welcomed in.

     “Well, shall you wake him or shall I?” Calypso asked in an attempt to break the silence. She held no intentions of waking John Bonham after a two-decade long nap.

     Given his reputation, she was sure the idea of the situation wouldn’t be weird. An unknown woman waking him, granted this time in a graveyard. Calypso was sure the initial part must has happened time and time again in the past. But, again given his reputation, Calypso didn’t want to be that woman, didn’t want to risk it. A friendly face would be better.

     John Paul would have to be that friendly face. No one else could be it. Calypso so wished that Robert would have come. He was the one that Bonzo was more likely to get in trouble with. This was a weird scenario. No, weird didn’t cover it. This was a downright bizarre place to be. Robert would make Bonzo question it a little less, at least for a bit. But, she understood why he had to stay back with Jimmy.

     “I can,” John Paul chuckled. He must have heard the nerves in her voice. “As pretty of a face as you are, I think it’s best if I handle it. Someone he knows might be best,” he said with a smile. She was just glad she wouldn’t be causing the scene.

     Jonesy’s eyes never seemed to leave Bonzo’s form. He walked over slowly, deliberately. He motioned for her to stay put and she just chuckled. Her last intention was to move. They would need a bit of space. She was sure of that. No need to crowd them around and rush into meeting Bonzo. It would be quite a moment.

     It was a moment to remember forever. Seeing someone after a long time was always exciting. Seeing someone after an impossibly long time? These sort of reunions only happened in heaven. Calypso couldn’t imagine the joy in Jonesy’s heart. She could only touch it with daydreams of reuniting with her mother. Simply being involved overwhelmed her.

     There was caution in the air, though. One wrong move and everything came crashing down around them. It was a sort of nightmare. Perhaps it was one that Jonesy had before. So close to waking his friend, saving him from the other side, only for him to disappear in the end.

     Jonesy crouched down next to Bonzo, who’s back was to him, and he simply sat there for a moment. Did he ruin it yet?

     His touch to Bonham’s shoulder was light. The mood shifted at once. This was all real. It was all real and none of it was going to melt away. “Hey Bonz,” Jonesy whispered. There was a familiar in John’s tone that touched Calypso’s heart. How long had he waited to say those words?

     “Hey, John, you gotta get up. I need you to get up now,” he said. He nudged a bit more at the drummer’s shoulder. Clearly he was trying to rouse Bonham, but a second fear seemed to be gripping Jonesy.  

     John was physically in front of them, there was no arguing that. Jimmy’s magic had worked. It had repaired John’s body and restored it to how he looked in 1973. But what if that was it? Just a physical restoration and nothing past. The magic had been strong enough for this, but had it been strong enough to return his soul?

     Bonzo’s eyes fluttered a little bit. That didn’t help Jonesy any, and the fear gripped him. Calypso thought for a second he might just slouch to the ground in defeat and despair. Bonzo shifted and turned toward Jonesy as his eyes opened.

     “Yeah, yeah, sorry ‘bout that mate. Morning and shit,” he mumbled. He propped himself up with his right hand and wiped the sleep out of his eyes with the other.

     The relief and joy on Jonesy’s face was clear and obvious. He had a grin painted ear to ear. For a second, it looked as if Jonesy might just grab Bonzo by the face and kiss him. Calypso prayed he didn’t.

     “Didn’t mean to worry ya, just out like a…” He cut himself short and looked around, before flinging himself backwards. It was clear he was confused and trying to make space between himself and Jonesy.

     Bonzo’s violent backward scoot stopped when he pressed himself against his grace. “Why the fuck do you look like nineteen seventy fucking two?” He demanded. He was frantically searching the area and clearly took in all the graves around him. He turned and looked at his own. From where Calypso stood, she assumed he could only make out his name and the day he died. That would be more than enough.

     “A grave? A fucking grave? This shit isn’t funny Jones,” he screamed. It was a primal sort of rage she had never seen before. He attempted to stand up. To both Jonesy and Calypso, it was obvious his body was stiff. And for good reason, after all. Bonzo had no idea why, though.

“What a sick fucking joke. I don’t know how Robert got you in on this, but don’t deny it. I know that smile,” he said as he pointed a finger. “Where’s Percy? Where’s the wee lad? I’m gonna kick his fucking ass this time.”

     “Hey John,” Jonesy said softly. Calypso was glad that John was the one handing this. It would have been too much for her to handle. Even as it was now, this was still too much. All she could hope was that she wouldn’t be noticed by Bonzo.

     She didn’t look like Robert’s ex-wife, she knew that. She was a little tanner than the average white person, but nothing past that. She certainly wouldn’t be mistaken for a middle aged Indian woman. Thankfully, she seemed forgotten for the time.

     “Hey, John,” Jonesy said softly. His hands were outstretched to help his friend up and to steady him. It was also not a bad point of control. Though, it wasn’t likely that the twig-like John stood a chance against the beasty John. “I need you to slow down, just listen to me, alright?” He kept his voice level and calm.

     “Just tell me where the fuck Perce is and then we can deal with anything else later,” Bonzo demanded.

     “There’s a lot we’ve got; I’ve got to tell you. There’s a lot,” he trailed off as he looked around.

     Was there more fitting of a place than a graveyard to be having a mental breakdown? Calypso couldn’t think of one. The one Bonzo might be leading himself into though? That was something that needed to be dealt with privately. She knew this wasn’t the place, and Jonesy seemed to be thinking the same. Bonzo was having none of it, his friend’s words going in one ear and out the other.

     “Just. Tell. Me. Where. Percy. Is.” Bonzo demanded. Calypso now understood why reporters hadn’t been allowed to look at him. “It can’t be that fucking hard, Jones.”

     “John,” he said with a warning tone, “I’ll explain everything in the car. Hell, I plan on bringing you straight to Robert. It’s his bloody car we’re in. Just trust me,” he said.

     There was a glimmer of fight in John. A waving that suggested he could go one of two ways. That fight was drowned out. By what, there was no way to know specifically. Something about Jonesy probably hit him, and Calypso understood now why Jonesy was the better choice than Robert. Would they both have just started fighting in the middle of the graveyard?

     “Yeah, fine, as long as you know I’m kicking Robert’s ass the second I see him,” he said with a glare.

     “Of course, whatever you want,” Jonesy said dismissively. He knew better than that. By the time they got back to Robert’s, Bonzo likely wouldn’t have any fight in him.

     “Yeah, yeah. You’re not sneaking me off early to the tour, though, are ya? Pat was pissed the last time you did that,” Bonzo said.

     “No, no tour this time Bonzo.”

     “Well, then what the fuck was the point of rehearsals? Ain’t we got one in a month?” He asked. He turned to look at the grave. His eyes widened as he took in the details.

     “Oh, well of course John. We’re just not sneaking you out early. No point in that.” Jonesy laughed nervously. “No games or anything or the like.”

     Bonzo looked around again, locking eyes momentarily with Calypso. She held her breath, afraid he might say something about her. Would she refuel the fire? She was too afraid to blink for those few seconds, until he turned back to Jonesy, and then his gravestone.

     Jonesy, naturally, noticed this. The last thing he wanted to do was give him the talk here. At least a car was a partially controlled situation. “C’mon John, we gotta get going. We’re bound to catch a cold out here,” he said. He gently tugged on Bonzo’s forearm. Bonzo moved with him. Fight, for now, seemed to have left his body.

     Staring at one’s own grave easily silence a man, even if Bonzo believed it was a prank. Calypso felt like her brain had turned to soup. John was working on absolutely no knowledge of what was really going on. Waking up somewhere strange probably wasn’t weird. It came with the crowd. But this was a level of weird she doubted even Zeppelin could have touched back in the day.

     Bonzo’s eyes scanned wildly as he and John walked. He needed to take everything in. He needed to find some sort of clue as to what was going on. As they walked by Calypso, Jonesy motioned for her to fall behind them.

     “Who’s the lass following us?” Bonzo asked with a tilt of his head.

     “A friend of Robert’s,” Jonesy answered softly.

     “He’s keeping one in England now? He’s gotten daring, or he’s just fucking stupid. Especially finding one so quickly. She wasn’t with us last night, right?” Bonham continued. John Paul flinched.

     “No, no she wasn’t with us last night. I’m not sure where he picked her up,” John Paul replied. She couldn’t imagine having to play it off like this. It was the best for now. Telling him that last night was over two decades ago might not be the best in the middle of a graveyard.

“And she’s with you? You never let them near you.”

“Yes, well, I suppose I’ve given up. Percy’s gonna do what he’s gonna do, I suppose,” John Paul said with a shrug.  “Calypso, would you mind driving?” He asked her.

“I don’t mind at all,” she said with a smile. The idea of having to drive here unnerved her just a bit. She’d not been planning to. None of this was really anything she had been planning to do. Being stuck in the back of a car with John Bonham, freshly reanimated, wasn’t her idea of a fun day.

“I’ll tell you where to go its, just… best,” he said. He glanced at Bonham for a minute and she nodded. Thankfully, Bonham didn’t seem to notice. He was too focused on the car in front of them. He tossed her the car keys before she slipped into the driver’s seat.

“An American in London,” Bonzo chuckled. “He exporting them in too? You sure I’ve only been out in the graveyard a few hours?” He asked as he got in the car. Calypso was buckling herself as he spoke. Her stomach dropped. Without even knowing it, Bonzo had trapped Jonesy in the corner. His guts had to be spilled now, or somehow never.

They both slipped into the car, wordlessly. The uncomfort was obvious on Jonesy’s face. “John, actually, I think we need to talk,” he said softly. He never once glimpsed at Bonham.

“I’m only kidding, I know how long I’ve been out mate. I don’t have a drinking problem,” he said. There was a firmness in his voice. This was a conversation they had before, in the past. No doubt John Paul would try to get his friend to stop. John Paul, out of all of them, might have been the most levelheaded. He would have seen the writing on the wall.

“Actually, John, you did have a bit of a drinking problem.” Jonesy didn’t look at Bonzo when he talked. His eyes were starting to fill with tears. How do you tell someone about their own death? “Out of here, Calypso,” he said, his voice a bit more even. “You’re going to take the immediate right, and then go straight for quite some time,” he said.

Driving gave her something else to focus on, she realized. As much as she wanted to hear the conversation in the back, she knew that she couldn’t ease drop that much. The Johns would need a touch of privacy. She needed to make sure to stay on the left side of the road.

“We’ve gone through this Jones,” he said in a warning tone.

“No, John, there’s a few things you need to know before we get back to Robert’s.”

“What about Robert’s? We were at Jim’s last night, ain’t that where we’re supposed to be?” His tone was one still filled a bit with anger. More anger than Calypso felt totally comfortable with. Jonesy only seemed able to sigh.

“What’s today’s date, Bonz?”

“26th of September, unless I slept through more than a day.” Calypso couldn’t help the small chuckle that left her mouth.

“Oh, is it this right John?” She said, trying to play off her laugh. It was likely to only make Bonzo angrier.

“Yes, it is. This right and then there’s gonna be a left not long after, take that,” he answered before turning back to face his friend. “What year is it John?” There was a strain in his voice. He likely thought that this would be easier to do. Perhaps, in some odd way, John had hoped Bonzo would remember being dead, or at least not here.

“1980, like it has been all year, you twat,” Bonzo said with a roll of his eyes.

“Calypso, dear, would you mind telling me the year?” John asked without looking up to her.

“2007,” she mumbled gently. She didn’t want to be involved in this. It was the last thing she wanted to be dragged into. “December 12th, exactly if you want that too,” she said. She hoped this would absolve her from doing anything else.

“Very fucking funny,” John answer angrily. “She’s Robert’s girl, you can’t expect me to believe her, can you?” John talked with his hands. The movements seemed to get a bit jerkier and jerkier with every movement. Was this fear? Or was this him trying to restrain anger?

“Calypso, do you mind sharing your birthday? I know it’s not proper to ask a lady…”

“April 20th, 1986,” she said. Apparently there was no getting her out of this trap. Jonesy was going to drag her down the deep end with him. “This left, yes?”

“No, no, the next one. My apologies,” he said. “After that, you’ll just want to follow the road.”

“This isn’t a funny sort of joke, Jonesy. I don’t know what Robert set you up to do, but cut it out. Think you’re clever to get the girl in on it?” He rolled his eyes, glancing out the window. There was a pause for a moment.

“John Henry Bonham,” he said with a sigh, “you need to listen to me. You died, you died that night in 80. You choked to death on your own damn vomit.” Anger rose for the first time in John Paul.

Calypso couldn’t blame Jonesy. He had years and years of pent up emotions about Bonzo. They likely ranged anywhere from just pure sorrow to homicidal rage. With the man in front of him, how could Jonesy keep it together? How couldn’t he get mad at his friend who destroyed himself?

“If you don’t want to believe me, we can pull over and ask any damn person you want to. I don’t suggest that, but if you want it, by all means,” Jonesy said while shrugging. Calypso felt her stomach knot. The last thing she wanted to do was pull over in a car with two rock stars straight out the seventies.

“Because you don’t want to get caught in a lie.”

“No, because me and the other guys just had a gig last night, and those pictures are probably already everywhere, with pictures of us from back in the day. They might just recognize us now, and you’re not alive legally,” he said with a sigh.

“They won’t be in the press anytime soon. For that to happen, they’d have to go through Peter, and then the press still wouldn’t get them until tonight,” he said. It was clear that he didn’t want to believe this. Could she blame him? It was a line of thought that just didn’t seem possible.

“Grant can’t stop anything, Bonz. Peter Grant died in-“

“-1995,” John Paul and Calypso said together. She was already in the situation, and perhaps if they both knew that fact, he might just believe them. This back and forth would kill her. They just needed to get it over with.

There was a pause. An uncomfortable silence filled the car. Calypso would have fiddled with the radio to break the silence, but she didn’t know how to. Didn’t dare play around with things in Robert’s car. As it was, she had enough to focus on.

“Lass, what year did you say you were born in again?” Bonzo asked after a moment.

“86,” she said softly, “It’s this turn, right John?” She asked.

“Yes, this one. And then just keep going, I’ll tell you when the next turn gets close,” he said with a smile. From there, a silence once again filled the car. This one wasn’t uncomfortable, this one was heavy.

Peering into the review mirror, Calypso got a glimpse of Bonzo’s face. It looked concerned, angry, but mostly just extremely sad. It had to be a lot to take in at once for him. It seemed that perhaps now Bonzo was soaking in what was being told to him. Calypso let out a sigh of relief. John Paul looked just as relieved.

“So, this wasn’t some sort of elaborate joke put on by Perce? You swear?”

“I swear, Bonzo. You know I never side with him anyways,” he said. There was a sideways sort of smile on his face. “But, no Bonz, you’ve really been dead,” he said.

“That doesn’t explain all this, though. Doesn’t explain like we’re about to go record the third bloody album again,” he said. John hadn’t managed to see himself yet. Having seen John, he was a bit too scared to see what he looked like.

“John, I’m afraid straight isn’t an option anymore. Left or right?” Calypso asked gently. She hated to burst in. There was no other option, though. They needed to get home as fast as possible.

“My apologies, it’s the right,” he said. “After this, it really is going to be a straight away,” he said with a smile. “And Jimmy’s your explanation for all this, John. When isn’t he?” John Paul said with a smirk.

“He worked some sort of magic back in 73, after the filming to keep us there forever or something. Ask him when we get back,” he said with a shrug. He glanced at Calypso for a second. She prayed she didn’t mention anything about her right now. She couldn’t read John.

If John was angry about this, upset about it, then surely he would end up taking it out on her. She still blamed herself. At the end of the day, she was the magic switch that had set everything off. Jimmy set it up, but she was the first falling domino.

Bonham looked at her for a moment. She could feel his eyes on her. His mind was whirling, no doubt. Calypso just feared what he might be thinking. “Why now? What’s changed? Is it the lass?” He asked, cocking his head toward her for a second.

“Yeah, she and Robert are in love or something like that, something stupid,” he chuckled.

“And how’s his Mo feel about this?”

“They’ve been divorced forever, God probably since the 80s?” He said with a shrug. “It’s what they feel, I guess. And what Jimmy felt like doing,” he said.

“That little fucking,” Bonham mumbled. “I’m gonna throttle Jimmy when I see him.” There was no way of saying how genuine that was. Sure, it seemed like a mild inconvenience to everyone else. But Bonzo? Did he really have a leg to stand on when it came to being mad with Jimmy? Didn’t he have the most to gain from this?

“Hey, John, this looks familiar. Is it this right?” She asked softly.

“Yes, it is. This should be Robert’s house now, if I’ve remembered the right way.” He sighed before turning to face Bonzo yet again. “And if you could just calm down. It’s a long story, I’m sure he’ll be happy to give it you once we get back in,” Jonesy said.

“And your Mo, how’s she feel about this?”

“She’s just as young as us, I thought I woke up in a dream,” he said with a smile. He paused for a minute, clearly relieving it. To wake up not only young again, but to wake up to your loved one young as well? It seemed to be a fairytale come true.

Calypso drove slowly up the driveway, not remembering it being this long. As she glanced in the back, she couldn’t help but smile. It was written all over John Paul’s face how much he loved his face. To be so in love after forty something years of marriage? Calypso could only hope the same for herself.

“So my Pat?” Bonham’s voice was filled with hope. Perhaps for the first time since they had picked him up, he sounded something positive. Her heart broke when she knew what had to be said next.

“We haven’t heard from her,” John Paul paused. The hope and sheer love in Bonham’s eyes disappeared, fear and sadness replacing them. If Peter Grant could be dead, what of his Pat? “So we can’t know for sure. Jimmy has her contact information, though. So he might have a better answer for you,” he tacked on quickly.

“Do you mind if run on in head first, just to let them know we’re here and all?” She was sure that Robert had noticed the car. If she was them, she’d be sitting right by the window. Half the reason she had been happy to go was that she wouldn’t have to wait for the answer.

[allivegottodoislove]

The Song Remains The Same

chapter twelve! here it is! i hope everyone enjoys it!!!

They stood in that silence for a moment. Minutes felt like they turned to hours, and then days. This sort of silence was all encompassing. Jimmy, the evil genius he was, had finally managed to do the impossible. What did you do with this? What were the repercussions down the road?

     As far as Calypso, no one had ever come back to life, except for maybe Jesus, and certainly no one had ever de-aged. Did this count as desecration of corpse? Would they think that Bonzo had faked his death all those years ago? The other boys would be an even bigger problem. There was no way to explain this to people without telling them the whole truth. There laid the problem.

     Perhaps now was not the best time to worry about this. Other issues had to be dealt with. Calypso was jumping ahead. Those were problems they could figure out in the months to come. That is, if she got to stay. It was still unclear. Robert might not want her to stay and she didn’t want to just assume she would be welcomed in.

     “Well, shall you wake him or shall I?” Calypso asked in an attempt to break the silence. She held no intentions of waking John Bonham after a two-decade long nap.

     Given his reputation, she was sure the idea of the situation wouldn’t be weird. An unknown woman waking him. Calypso was sure this must has happened time and time again in the past. But, also given his reputation, Calypso didn’t want to be that woman. A friendly face would be better.

     John Paul would have to be that friendly face. Calypso so wished that Robert would have come. He was the one that Bonzo was more likely to get in trouble with. This was a weird scenario. No, weird didn’t cover it. This was a downright bizarre place to be. Robert would make Bonzo question it a little less, at least for a bit. But, she understood why he had to stay back with Jimmy.

     “I can,” John Paul chuckled. He must have heard the nerves in her voice. “As pretty of a face as you are, I think it’s best if I handle it. Someone he knows might be best,” he said with a smile. She was just glad she wouldn’t be causing the scene.

     Jonesy’s eyes never seemed to leave Bonzo’s form. He walked over slowly, deliberately. He motioned for her to stay put and she just chuckled. Her last intention was to move. They would need a bit of space. She was sure of that. No need to crowd them around and rush into meeting Bonzo. It would be quite a moment.

     It was a moment to remember forever. Seeing someone after a long time was always exciting. Seeing someone after an impossibly long time? These sort of reunions only happened in heaven. Calypso couldn’t imagine the joy in Jonesy’s heart. She could only touch it with daydreams of reuniting with her mother. Simply being involved overwhelmed her.

     There was caution in the air, though. One wrong move and everything came crashing down around them. It was a sort of nightmare. Perhaps it was one that Jonesy had before. So close to waking his friend, saving him from the other side, only for him to disappear in the end.

     Jonesy crouched down next to Bonzo, who’s back was to him, and he simply sat there for a moment. Did he ruin it yet?

     His touch to Bonham’s shoulder was light. The mood shifted at once. This was all real. It was all real and none of it was going to melt away. “Hey Bonz,” Jonesy whispered. There was a familiar in John’s tone that touched Calypso’s heart. How long had he waited to say those words?

     “Hey, John, you gotta get up. I need you to get up now,” he said. He nudged a bit more at the drummer’s shoulder. Clearly he was trying to rouse Bonham, but a second fear seemed to be gripping Jonesy.  

     John was physically in front of them, there was no arguing that. Jimmy’s magic had worked. It had repaired John’s body and restored it to how he looked in 1973. But what if that was it? Just a physical restoration and nothing past. The magic had been strong enough for this, but had it been strong enough to return his soul?

     Bonzo’s eyes fluttered a little bit. That didn’t help Jonesy any, and the fear gripped him. Calypso thought for a second he might just slouch to the ground in defeat and despair. Bonzo shifted and turned toward Jonesy as his eyes opened.

     “Yeah, yeah, sorry ‘bout that mate. Morning and shit,” he mumbled. He propped himself up with his right hand and wiped the sleep out of his eyes with the other.

     The relief and joy on Jonesy’s face was clear and obvious. He had a grin painted ear to ear. For a second, it looked as if Jonesy might just grab Bonzo by the face and kiss him. Calypso prayed he didn’t.

     “Didn’t mean to worry ya, just out like a…” He cut himself short and looked around, before flinging himself backwards. It was clear he was confused and trying to make space between himself and Jonesy.

     Bonzo’s violent backward scoot stopped when he pressed himself against his grace. “Why the fuck do you look like nineteen seventy fucking two?” He demanded. He was frantically searching the area and clearly took in all the graves around him. He turned and looked at his own. From where Calypso stood, she assumed he could only make out his name and the day he died. That would be more than enough.

     “A grave? A fucking grave? This shit isn’t funny Jones,” he screamed. It was a primal sort of rage she had never seen before. He attempted to stand up. To both Jonesy and Calypso, it was obvious his body was stiff. And for good reason, after all. Bonzo had no idea why, though. “What a sick fucking joke. I don’t know how Robert got you in on this, but don’t deny it. I know that smile,” he said as he pointed a finger.

     “Where’s Percy? Where’s the wee lad? I’m gonna kick his fucking ass this time.”

     “Hey John,” Jonesy said softly. Calypso was glad that John was the one handing this. It would have been too much for her to handle. Even as it was now, this was still too much. All she could hope was that she wouldn’t be noticed by Bonzo.

     She didn’t look like Robert’s ex-wife, she knew that. She was a little tanner than the average white person, but nothing past that. She certainly wouldn’t be mistaken for a middle aged Indian woman. Thankfully, she seemed forgotten for the time.

     “Hey, John,” Jonesy said softly. His hands were outstretched to help his friend up and to steady him. It was also not a bad point of control. Though, it wasn’t likely that the twig-like John stood a chance against the beasty John. “I need you to slow down, just listen to me, alright?” He kept his voice level and calm.

     “Just tell me where the fuck Perce is and then we can deal with anything else later,” Bonzo demanded.

     “There’s a lot we’ve got; I’ve got to tell you. There’s a lot,” he trailed off as he looked around.

     Was there more fitting of a place than a graveyard to be having a mental breakdown? Calypso couldn’t think of one. The one Bonzo might be leading himself into though? That was something that needed to be dealt with privately. She knew this wasn’t the place, and Jonesy seemed to be thinking the same. Bonzo was having none of it, his friend’s words going in one ear and out the other.

     “Just. Tell. Me. Where. Percy. Is.” Bonzo demanded. Calypso now understood why reporters hadn’t been allowed to look at him. “It can’t be that fucking hard, Jones.”

     “John,” he said with a warning tone, “I’ll explain everything in the car. Hell, I plan on bringing you straight to Robert. It’s his bloody car we’re in. Just trust me,” he said.

     There was a glimmer of fight in John. A waving that suggested he could go one of two ways. That fight was drowned out. By what, there was no way to know specifically. Something about Jonesy probably hit him, and Calypso understood now why Jonesy was the better choice than Bonzo. Why they both have just started fighting in the middle of the graveyard?

     “Yeah, fine, as long as you know I’m kicking Robert’s ass the second I see him,” he said with a glare.

     “Of course, whatever you want,” Jonesy said dismissively. He knew better than that. By the time they got back to Robert’s, Bonzo likely wouldn’t have any fight in him.

     “Yeah, yeah. You’re not sneaking me off early to the tour, though, are ya? Pat was pissed the last time you did that,” Bonzo said.

     “No, no tour this time Bonzo.”

     “Well, then what the fuck was the point of rehearsals? Ain’t we got one in a month?” He asked. He turned to look at the grave. His eyes widened as he took in the details.

     “Oh, well of course John. We’re just not sneaking you out early. No point in that.” Jonesy laughed nervously. “No games or anything or the like.”

     Bonzo looked around again, locking eyes momentarily with Calypso. She held her breath, afraid he might say something about her. Would she refuel the fire? She was too afraid to blink for those few seconds, until he turned back to Jonesy, and then his gravestone.

     Jonesy, naturally, noticed this. The last thing he wanted to do was give him the talk here. At least a car was a partially controlled situation. “C’mon John, we gotta get going. We’re bound to catch a cold out here,” he said. He gently tugged on Bonzo’s forearm. Bonzo moved with him. Fight, for now, seemed to have left his body.

     Staring at one’s own grave easily silence a man, even if Bonzo believed it was a prank. Calypso felt like her brain had turned to soup. John was working on absolutely no knowledge of what was really going on. Waking up somewhere strange probably wasn’t weird. It came with the crowd. But this was a level of weird she doubted even Zeppelin could have touched back in the day.

     Bonzo’s eyes scanned wildly as he and John walked. He needed to take everything in. He needed to find some sort of clue as to what was going on. As they walked by Calypso, Jonesy motioned for her to fall behind them.

     “Who’s the lass following us?” Bonzo asked with a tilt of his head.

     “A friend of Robert’s,” Jonesy answered softly.

     “He’s keeping one in England now? He’s gotten daring, or he’s just fucking stupid. Especially finding one so quickly. She wasn’t with us last night, right?” Bonham continued. John Paul flinched.

     “No, no she wasn’t with us last night. I’m not sure where he picked her up,” John Paul replied. She couldn’t imagine having to play it off like this. It was the best for now. Telling him that last night was over two decades ago might not be the best in the middle of a graveyard.

“And she’s with you? You never let them near you.”

“Yes, well, I suppose I’ve given up. Percy’s gonna do what he’s gonna do, I suppose,” John Paul said with a shrug.  “Calypso, would you mind driving?” He asked her.

“I don’t mind at all,” she said with a smile. The idea of having to drive here unnerved her just a bit. She’d not been planning to. None of this was really anything she had been planning to do. Being stuck in the back of a car with John Bonham, freshly reanimated, wasn’t her idea of a fun day.

“I’ll tell you where to go its, just… best,” he said. He glanced at Bonham for a minute and she nodded. Thankfully, Bonham didn’t seem to notice. He was too focused on the car in front of them. He tossed her the car keys before she slipped into the driver’s seat.

“An American in London,” Bonzo chuckled. “He exporting them in too? You sure I’ve only been out in the graveyard a few hours?” He asked as he got in the car. Calypso was buckling herself as he spoke. Her stomach dropped. Without even knowing it, Bonzo had trapped Jonesy in the corner. His guts had to be spilled now, or somehow never.

They both slipped into the car, wordlessly. The uncomfort was obvious on Jonesy’s face. “John, actually, I think we need to talk,” he said softly. He never once glimpsed at Bonham.

“I’m only kidding, I know how long I’ve been out mate. I don’t have a drinking problem,” he said. There was a firmness in his voice. This was a conversation they had before, in the past. No doubt John Paul would try to get his friend to stop. John Paul, out of all of them, might have been the most levelheaded. He would see the writing on the wall.

“Actually, John, you did have a bit of a drinking problem.” Jonesy didn’t look at Bonzo when he talked. His eyes were starting to fill with tears. How do you tell someone about their own death? “Out of here, Calypso,” he said, his voice a bit more even. “You’re going to take the immediate right, and then go straight for quite some time,” he said.

Driving gave her something else to focus on, she realized. As much as she wanted to hear the conversation in the back, she knew that she couldn’t ease drop that much. The Johns would need a touch of privacy. And she needed to make sure to stay on the left side of the road.

“We’ve gone through this Jones,” he said in a waring tone.

“No, John, there’s a few things you need to know before we get back to Robert’s.”

“What about Robert’s? We were at Jim’s last night, ain’t that where we’re supposed to be?” His tone was one still filled a bit with anger. More anger than Calypso felt totally comfortable with. Jonesy only seemed able to sigh.

“What’s today’s date, Bonz?”

“26th of September, unless I slept through more than a day.” Calypso couldn’t help the small chuckle that left her mouth.

“Oh, is it this right John?” She said, trying to play off her laugh. It was likely to only make Bonzo angrier.

“Yes, it is. This right and then there’s gonna be a left not long after, take that,” he answered before turning back to face his friend. “What year is it John?” There was a strain in his voice. He likely thought that this would be easier to do. Perhaps, in some odd way, John had hoped Bonzo would remember being dead, or at least not here.

“1980, like it has been all year, you twat,” Bonzo said with a roll of his eyes.

“Calypso, dear, would you mind telling me the year?” John asked without looking up to her.

“2007,” she mumbled gently. She didn’t want to be involved in this. It was the last thing she wanted to be dragged into. “December 12th, exactly if you want that too,” she said. She hoped this would absolve her from doing anything else.

“Very fucking funny,” John answer angrily. “She’s Robert’s girl, you can’t expect me to believe her, can you?” John talked with his hands. The movements seemed to get a bit jerkier and jerkier with every movement. Was this fear? Or was this him trying to restrain anger?

“Calypso, do you mind sharing your birthday? I know it’s not proper to ask a lady…”

“April 20th, 1986,” she said. Apparently there was no getting her out of this trap. Jonesy was going to drag her down the deep end with him. “This left, yes?”

“No, no, the next one. My apologies,” he said. “After that, you’ll just want to follow the road.”

“This isn’t a funny sort of joke, Jonesy. I don’t know what Robert set you up to do, but cut it out. Think you’re clever to get the girl in on it?” He rolled his eyes, glancing out the window. There was a pause for a moment.

“John Henry Bonham,” he said with a sigh, “you need to listen to me. You died, you died that night in 80. You choked to death on your own damn vomit.” Anger rose for the first time in John Paul.

Calypso couldn’t blame Jonesy. He had years and years of pent up emotions about Bonzo. They likely ranged anywhere from just pure sorrow to homicidal rage. With the man in front of him, how could Jonesy keep it together? How couldn’t he get mad at his friend who destroyed himself?

“If you don’t want to believe me, we can pull over and ask any damn person you want to. I don’t suggest that, but if you want it, by all means,” Jonesy said with a shrug. Calypso felt her stomach knot. The last thing she wanted to do was pull over in a car with two rockstars straight out the seventies.

“Because you don’t want to get caught in a lie.”

“No, because me and the other guys just had a gig last night, and those pictures are probably already everywhere, with pictures of us from back in the day. They might just recognize us now, and you’re not alive legally,” he said with a sigh.

“They won’t be in the press anytime soon. For that to happen, they’d have to go through Peter, and then the press still wouldn’t get them until tonight,” he said. It was clear that he didn’t want to believe this. Could she blame him? It was a line of thought that just didn’t seem possible.

“Grant can’t stop anything, Bonz. Peter Grant died in-“

“-1995,” John Paul and Calypso said together. She was already in the situation, and perhaps if they both knew that fact, he might just believe them. This back and forth would kill her. They just needed to get it over with.

There was a pause. An uncomfortable silence filled the car. Calypso would have fiddled with the radio to break the silence, but she didn’t know how to. Didn’t dare play around with things in Robert’s car. As it was, she had enough to focus on.

“Lass, what year did you say you were born in again?” Bonzo asked after a moment.

“86,” she said softly, “It’s this turn, right John?” She asked.

“Yes, this one. And then just keep going, I’ll tell you when the next turn gets close,” he said with a smile. From there, a silence once again filled the car. This one wasn’t uncomfortable, this one was heavy.

Peering into the review mirror, Calypso got a glimpse of John’s face. It looked concerned, angry, but mostly just extremely sad. It had to be a lot to take in at once for him. It seemed that perhaps now Bonzo was soaking in what was being told to him. Calypso let out a sigh of relief. John Paul looked just as relieved.

“So, this wasn’t some sort of elaborate joke put on by Perce? You swear?”

“I swear, Bonzo. You know I never side with him anyways,” he said. There was a sideways sort of smile on his face. “But, no Bonz, you’ve really been dead,” he said.

“That doesn’t explain all this, though. Doesn’t explain like we’re about to go record the third bloody album again,” he said. John hadn’t managed to see himself yet. Having seen John, he was a bit too scared to see what he looked like.

“John, I’m afraid straight isn’t an option anymore. Left or right?” Calypso asked gently. She hated to burst in. There was no other option, though. They needed to get home as fast as possible.

“My apologies, it’s the right,” he said. “After this, it really is going to be a straight away,” he said with a smile. “And Jimmy’s your explanation for all this, John. When isn’t he?” John Paul said with a smirk.

“He worked some sort of magic back in 73, after the filming to keep us there forever or something. Ask him when we get back,” he said with a shrug. He glanced at Calypso for a second. She prayed she didn’t mention anything about her right now. She couldn’t read John.

If John was angry about this, upset about it, then surely he would end up taking it out on her. She still blamed herself. At the end of the day, she was the magic switch that had set everything off. Jimmy set it up, but she was the first falling domino.

Bonham looked at her for a moment. She could feel his eyes on her. His mind was whirling, no doubt. Calypso just feared what he might be thinking. “Why now? What’s changed? Is it the lass?” He asked, cocking his head toward her for a second.

“Yeah, she and Robert are in love or something like that, something stupid,” he chuckled.

“And how’s his Mo feel about this?”

“They’ve been divorced forever, God probably since the 80s?” He said with a shrug. “It’s what they feel, I guess. And what Jimmy felt like doing,” he said.

“That little fucking,” Bonham mumbled. “I’m gonna throttle Jimmy when I see him.” There was no way of saying how genuine that was. Sure, it seemed like a mild inconvenience to everyone else. But Bonzo? Did he really have a leg to stand on when it came to being mad with Jimmy? Didn’t he have the most to gain from this?

“Hey, John, this looks familiar. Is it this right?” She asked softly.

“Yes, it is. This should be Robert’s house now, if I’ve remembered the right way.” He sighed before turning to face Bonzo yet again. “And if you could just calm down. It’s a long story, I’m sure he’ll be happy to give it you once we get back in,” Jonesy said.

“And your Mo, how’s she feel about this?”

“She’s just as young as us, I thought I woke up in a dream,” he said with a smile. He paused for a minute, clearly relieving it. To wake up not only young again, but to wake up to your loved one young as well? It seemed to be a fairytale come true.

Calypso drove slowly up the driveway, not remembering it being this long. As she glanced in the back, she couldn’t help but smile. It was written all over John Paul’s face how much he loved his face. To be so in love after forty something years of marriage? Calypso could only hope the same for herself.

“So my Pat?” Bonham’s voice was filled with hope. Perhaps for the first time since they had picked him up, he sounded something positive. Her heart broke when she knew what had to be said next.

“We haven’t heard from her,” John Paul paused. The hope and sheer love in Bonham’s eyes disappeared, fear and sadness replacing them. If Peter Grant could be dead, what of his Pat? “So we can’t know for sure. Jimmy has her contact information, though. So he might have a better answer for you,” he tacked on quickly.

“Do you mind if run on in head first, just to let them know we’re here and all?” She was sure that Robert had noticed the car. If she was them, she’d be sitting right by the window. Half the reason she had been happy to go was that she wouldn’t have to wait for the answer.