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monsters-demons-and-ai-oh-my · 5 years ago

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What We Lost and What We Have

Chapter 7: Toddlers, tantrums, and a cartoon octopus

In which Dean broods petulantly, Castiel continues to scream internally, and Sam really hates Dora the Explorer.

TW’s for this chapter: Toddlers?

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AU somewhat inspired by Episode 2x20 - What Is and What Should Never Be, and the season 14 storyline concerning Jack’s illness.

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March 22, 2002

Thirty-Nine days and counting.

And Sam was counting.

Thirty-Nine days left until Sam turned eighteen, until he instead of the courts could choose where he spent his days.

His mother and John’s divorce had been mostly cordiale. Mary hadn’t wanted to make things hard on her boys by drawing things out, she’d just wanted to move on, and John didn’t have the balls to fight her on that.

‘Or maybe he just knew if he made Mary fight him, after what he did… he’d be the one to lose everything.’

Part of Sam wished she had taken John for all he was worth, he’d betrayed them all. If wasting years and years of their lives building a family meant nothing to him, maybe taking his money or his shop would have.

At then at least Sam wouldn’t have to spend time at their old house, doing… this…

- I don’t get paid enough for this, - He texted Dean.

- Dad pays for babysitting? Shit wish I knew when you were a brat.-

Sam rolled his eyes, glancing over to make sure Jack was still preoccupied watching Dora and munching on goldfish or his fingers.

- It’s spring break and I’ve got like two months left of school, I should be out at the lake with friends or working on my senior paper. -

Dean seemed largely unsympathetic, - Neerrrddd. -

Sam violently snapped his phone shut as if Dean could feel his irritation through the screen and tossed it aside on the couch cushion.

Sam wasn’t even supposed to be here, he was only staying with John this week because Mary had some special teacher’s training during the break.

He did not agree to babysit the… well, baby, willingly, but Missouri Mosley had gone on vacation with her son’s family and John had guilted him into it.

John kept going on about how “he could stay home with Jack and not work all week, because shutting down a business was obviously better than leaving a toddler alone because his own brother refused to watch him.”

‘As if John could say shit about abandonment’

Jack wasn’t his “ brother ” he was a baby, all twenty-two-month-olds did was eat, sleep, and chew on their hands.

All Jack did was make the occasional not quite humming noise as he ate goldfish and mimick Dora’s “map!” a hundred times, interrupting Sam’s research.

‘John didn’t even have a computer with the internet or Encarta he had to do all his senior paper research with library books.’

“Am, am am!” Jack babbled around his fingers.

Sam did his best to ignore him and read more about solar powered lights.

“Am! Am!” Jack insisted. Sam heard him get up and stagger away from the tv toward him. Sam felt two sticky hands on his knees and jumped looking around his book. Blue eyes looked up at him expectantly from a face covered with orange cracker crumbs.

“What?” Sam huffed in irritation.

“Ora gone!” the baby guestured back to the tv looking alarmed.

“Then watch Oswald I’m busy…” Sam pulled his book back up and resumed reading.

He heard Jack’s footsteps prattle off again in the direction of the TV.

"Thirty-nine days…" Sam muttered to himself.

All was quiet for a few minutes except the noise of the overly condescending octopus on the TV.

Too quiet, there was no sound of goldfish munching or babbling Jack noises.

Sam looked up and with a jolt realized Jack's little plate of goldfish was abandoned in front of the TV.

"Jack?"

He dropped his book back onto the couch and looked around for where the toddler could have gotten off to.

He ended up almost tripping over the toddler when he stood up.

Jack had gotten into Sam's open backpack and gotten his tiny hands on one of the smaller library books, pulling it open and leaving orange crumbs on the now rumpled pages.

He quickly pulled the book away from Jack who just giggled.

"What are you even doing," Sam sighed harassed dusting the book off and smoothing back out the pages.

"Am!" the toddler chortled.

Sam rolled his eyes sticking the book back in his bag and scooping Jack up, "okay, you know what, no more tv for you, you are just going to have to take a long nap until dad gets home."

“No!” Jack grumbled kicking at Sam's chest.

It actually kind of hurt, little kid shoes driven into his ribs without any regard for his own strength, making Sam cringe in annoyance and irritation.

"Stop it! Jeez…" Sam groaned holding him a little tighter before climbing the stairs, "do you want me to accidentally drop you?"

"Nooo!" Jack continued to complain, not listening.

Sam huffed and rolled his eyes carrying the toddler to his crib in Dean's old room.

Aside from a few scattered boxes filled with toys and diapers it still looked like Dean's room. Dean's old bed was pushed into the corner and any crap he hadn't taken when he moved out was just piled on top.

There was an orgy of evidence the room was never really meant to be a nursery, all the needed baby junk much like Jack himself just kind of shoved into their lives with little notice or time to prepare.

Almost as soon as Sam put Jack down and pulled up the side of the crib Jack was back on his feet tugging at the bars and looking at Sam like he’d just locked him in a cage.

"Nooo…" Jack cried attempting to wiggle away as Sam reached through the bars to remove his shoes.

"Yes," Sam insisted tossing the shoes in an open box and starting to walk away. Jack’s fussing just grew louder and by the time Sam was halfway down the stairs the toddler decided it was best to just start screaming.

Sam's frustration rose to a boiling point. This wasn't fair, none of this was fair. Sam had a life and college applications and finals to worry about, his dad had no right to force him to take care of problems that were his fault in the first place.

Sam huffed and trudged back upstairs.

The baby was still standing clutching the bars his face bright red and teary bottom lip sticking out.

"Why can't you just go to sleep?" Sam said exasperated pulling back down the crib bars to try and convince him to lay down.

But as soon as Sam got back near Jack he decided he no longer wanted to grab at his older brother and demand to be let out, he instead plopped down on his butt and scooted as far away from Sam as his crib would let him.

"No!" Jack pouted.

Sam rolled his eyes, "come on Jack it's nap time…"

"No! No Am!" Jack insisted kicking his blanket and glaring at Sam petulantly.

"Tell you what, one month and they’ll be no more ‘Am ever again." Sam spat frustration finally getting the better of him. "I'll leave stay with my Mom until I graduate and you'll never have to deal with mean old 'Am' ever again, how about that?"

He didn't know how much Jack understood of what he said, most likely it was just his tone, but the toddler went quiet after Sam’s outburst pouting and sniffling at him.

'Thirty-nine days'

Sam repeated the mantra over and over again to cover his guilt.

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April 23, 2017

Dean got an early start working in the garage, five-thirty in the morning wasn’t hard to manage when you’ve been up since three.

He enjoyed the work, on the best days the cars and trucks he had up on the lift were an interesting puzzle to solve and even on the worst days the routine monotony of replacing brake pads and rotating tires was at least soothing.

Today the prospect of rebuilding an engine block was… exhausting.

Castiel was starting a pattern of dropping bombshells before the asscrack of dawn between his two am call the day before and his text of… basically, “they’re transferring Jack because his organs are frying” this morning.

Thankfully Dean had his own patterns to fall back on, he hoped carefully reassembling an engine block required just enough concentration to keep out the unwanted thoughts that kept him from falling back to sleep.

‘Fuck, the kid just couldn’t catch a break could he?’

He hoped the doctors figured out whatever the hell was going on with Jack he really did, kids… didn’t deserve this kind of shit. But getting involved was like watching a shitty Hallmark movie about a dying cancer kid on purpose. Like a weird middle-age soccer mom trying to feel something by forcing herself to get weepy. Jack wasn’t his problem or his kid, he was Castiel’s more than anyone else’s.

And that meant Castiel for all his bitchiness had the right to call the shots with the teenager, and he made it pretty clear what he wanted from Dean and Sam.

So Dean buried himself in grease and gaskets and continued rebuilding the engine like he promised Cesar and Jesse he would.

Or at least he tried until around eight o’clock on the dot.

“You’re going to head to the hospital like that?” Sam’s voice popped up behind him, making Dean jump about a foot in the air, the hand with the wrench swinging out on instinct making Sam jump back alarmed.

Dean dropped the tool almost immediately heart still racing, “Way to sneak up on guy, say something or… call next time, I could’a clocked you...”

‘Shitty hybrids and their silent engines, he hadn’t even heard Sam pull up.’

Sam huffed a laugh still holding up his hands in false surrender, “well you didn’t answer your phone and you weren’t at the house, so I figured I’d find you’d be here.”

Dean patted down his pockets with his cleaner hand, ‘shit… he must have left his phone in his hurry to get out of the house that morning…’

“Yeah well you found me,” Dean muttered bending down to pick up the wrench and returning to bolting on the head assembly.

He felt Cesar’s old jeep shake slightly as Sam leaned against it. “So you’re going to head to the hospital in a t-shirt stained with… monkey grease?” Dean could feel his brother looking him up and down making him roll his eyes.

“Yeah well… I have a job Sammy and like I said last night I have to finish this engine today…” Dean said not looking up. “Don’t you have to get back to your job at Douchebag INC.?”

Sam was quiet for a long moment, “Well… paperwork can be done from pretty much anywhere with a computer and secure wifi. Besides… family emergency kinda trumps finishing a job. I’m sure whoever’s Jeep this is would understand if they knew your younger brother was in the hos-…”

Dean’s head finally snapped up and he resisted the urge to slam down the lid of the Jeep, “Okay, well, maybe half-assing your job would fly in LA, but I have one job and one garage, I’m not part of a small army of suit monkeys who can throw money at whatever pisses them off me keeping my word actually matters.”

Sam blinked at him in disbelief, “First of all, I don't live in LA, second what the hell’s gotten into you today? Did a bug crawl up your ass or something?”

“What’s ‘gotten into me’,” Dean snorted, “yeah, like you would know…”

Dean could feel the indignancy rolling off Sam in waves.

“You’re my brother I’d like to think you didn’t just suddenly turn into a massive douchebag without warning, turning your back on family? This isn’t like you Dean.”

Dean actually laughed, “because you care so much about family…”

Sam had the decency to look abashed.

“Before all this stuff with Jack, aside from our yearly little shindig in the graveyard, which by the way I haven’t forgotten you lied to me about, when was the last time we talked? Christmas? Mom’s birthday? We haven’t been close since you left for college,” Dean didn’t even have to raise his voice to make Sam wince.

Sam studied the Jeep’s side mirror, “Fine whatever, What does that have to do with Jack? What the hell does that have to do with anything?”

Dean went back to ignoring him walking over to the sink to scrub the engine grime off his hands, he could practically feel Sam’s self-righteousness seething over his shoulder as he trailed behind him.

“I thought you were going to help? Whatever happened to ‘being there’ for Jack, was that all bullshit?” Sam demanded.

“Oh I’m here, I’m right here, they know where to find me if they need me,” Dean smiled over his shoulder at Sam, the grin only making it halfway up his face.

“That’s not…” Sam sighed kneading his forehead with one hand in exasperation, "so you have no intention of going with me to the hospital?"

Dean shrugged, "do you know if they want us there?"

"Castiel said Jack was still asleep when I called this morning but I asked him to ca-…" Sam trailed off at the nonplussed look on Dean's face.

“What?” Sam half spat in frustration.

“That’s not what I mean… at all…” Dean said flatly.

“Then what the hell do you mean?” Sam said exasperated, “because I’m tired of playing twenty questions and you’re acting like a twelve-year-old.”

Dean took his time drying his hands on a paper towel and lining up his shot for a basketball toss into the trash before repeating himself.

“Do. you know. If they even want us there?”

There was a long silent moment before Dean continued.

“Because it seems to me like things are getting bad with the kid, and Castiel… uptight ass that he is has other things to worry about other than strangers barging into their lives when things are already going to shit.”

Sam took a moment to let that sink in, face changing from annoyance, to anger, to shame, before settling back on denial, “we’re not strangers Dean he’s…”

Dean cut him off, “he’s what? Our brother? Since The last time I checked, not counting yesterday I’ve spent a grand total of maybe forty-eight hours with the kid and you used to spend every moment you were forced to be around him bitching and moaning about how you’d rather be anywhere else!”

Sam seemed to sway back before landing his own defense angrily, “I was a kid, and I was pissed at Dad, not Jack.”

‘Could have fooled me…’

“Yeah well, result is still the same, isn’t it?” Dean said. “You don’t know him. And I’m sure that probably makes you sad, makes you feel a little pit of woe and worry in your tummy because that’s just like you, but maybe, just maybe, now is not the time to force all that baggage on someone else.”

‘The kid is sick, it was becoming clearer and clearer now that no one knew exactly how sick, but he had to be scared, and Castiel… Castiel was showing emotions he normally kept locked securely behind about ten layers of bitch face. Emotions Dean hadn’t seen since the very first time he’d met the man, right after his sister died…’

‘It made everything in Dean want to turn away… But Sam.’

“What if this is the only time we get Dean?” Sam said quietly.

Dean’s mouth opened and closed.

“Now you’re just being overdramatic,” Dean snorted, shaking his head and pushing away the stubborn tightness in his own chest.

Sam didn’t drop it, “Fine, let’s say you’re right, lets say Jack is fine, he recovers from whatever terrible bullshit he’s going through right now and he and Castiel go back to their lives in Indiana without a hitch. Then what? He thinks we didn’t even try to be there for him? Yet again?”

“Maybe what he thinks about you isn’t what matters right now,” Dean said simply, “he has Castiel, what makes you think he wants or needs either one of us. Because from where I’m standing, it seems like this isn’t about Jack, this is about you needing to play the hero and needing to make up for the past because you feel bad.”

Sam’s eyes narrowed and flashed before he huffed a petulant laugh, “Maybe you were right about us before, because you certainly don’t know me anymore if you honestly think that’s how I feel...”

Dean tasted bitterness on the back of his tongue, he swallowed and crossed his arms, “You know what, do whatever you think is right, you’re a grown man Sam that’s your prerogative… You know where I’ll be, right here, minding my own damn business…”

Sam shook his head, “Is that what you think you’re doing? Really Dean?”

Dean shrugged, “You see that’s the great thing about having already explained myself, I’ve already explained myself…”

Dean turned back on the tap of the work sink and began scrubbing the grime from under his fingernails, after a few more minutes, Sam left without another word.

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Jack hadn’t woken back up since doctor Hannah administered the sedative in the night, Castiel figured it might be better that way, he still didn’t know what he would tell Jack when he did wake up.

Jack at least sounded peaceful while he slept, his breathing was easier, and there were no uneasy hisses of pain.

‘One glance over would show the tube still snaking across Jack’s face and the bruise turning a darker purple as it oxidized.”

The doctor told Castiel Jack was stable. Whatever had been sending the teenager’s body into a nosedive the last few days at least wasn’t any closer to shutting down his organs, at least… not for now…

‘It felt like they were just waiting around for the next thing to go wrong with no answers or solutions for what had already gone wrong in sight.’

‘At this rate...’

Castiel closed his eyes and sighed, pushing away the thought before the implications could scrub him raw..

The doctors were doing their best. They seemed to be drawing enough blood to supply a small red cross branch, and they kept coming it with more and more paperwork, tests they wanted to run, transfer orders, insurance questions.

Castiel tried to keep track of everything the doctors were saying and doing to Jack, what they were testing for what the results were. But things were quickly stretching above and beyond what he’d learned from his stint in nursing school.

That didn’t mean Cas wasn’t trying everything he could. He had run through every cough, nosebleed, and bruised knee he could remember in the last sixteen years of Jack’s life, hell he’d even been through everything he’d remembered from his sister’s childhood that he thought might be remotely relevant.

‘These things take time…’

But it felt like nothing the doctors were doing had a straightforward point or purpose, at least… not that he could see. It felt like they were still grasping at straws, rapidly running through and running out of obvious causes, ready to pass Jack off to other doctors in hopes they could do better.

Somehow the closer they got to noon and Jack’s transfer to Kansas University hospital the worse Cas felt. Even if the other hospital had better resources and going there was best for Jack part of him still didn’t want to accept that things had already gone far enough for that to be necessary.

‘He just wanted Jack to be okay…’

“Mr. Kline?” a cautious voice called him from his thoughts, doctor Hannah stood on the far side of the bed. Castiel hadn’t even heard the door open.

“We’re getting ready to move Jack,” she said gently.

Castiel blinked tiredly, “I thought we were… it’s only…” he fumbled for his phone.

Eleven Thirty-eight blinked back at him and he sighed rubbing at his face, “right… sorry, do I… do I need to sign anything else?”

She smiled kindly pulling the stethoscope from around her neck, “No, I just have to check on him and give the final okay for him to be moved.

‘That confirmed about five things at once.’

“So… we’re going through with it? There haven’t been signs of improvement?”

“The last blood tests we got back where the ones we took last night and they’re… unchanged,” she said carefully, listening to Jack’s heartbeat and breathing through the stethoscope her expression carefully schooled calm, “the ones from this morning won’t be back until late afternoon.

Castiel nodded understanding, mostly, “but you still don’t know what’s going on?”

She sighed looping the stethoscope back around her neck, “the university hospital has many more specialists and specialized care we can’t provide here.” She made sure to meet his eyes looking earnest before continuing “I did my residency there myself and I truly think they’ll have a better time making sense of what’s going on.”

‘Before things can get any worse…’

Castiel just nodded again and she moved on in her examination. When she reached to wrap the blood pressure cuff around Jack’s arm he twitched, face screwing up as he pulled away slightly.

“Jack?” Castiel called cautiously, not sure what kind of state the boy would wake up in. It took a minute, but Jack gradually woke up, eyes scrunching up before slowly, sheepishly opening fully.

“How… how are you feeling Jack?” Castiel asked cautiously, putting a hand on his shoulder, “do you need anything?”

Jack continued to look confused clearing his throat and cautiously pushing himself up on his elbows, “I’m kind of… I’m… hungry?”

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Oof sorry this chapter is about a month late it's been a nightmare of a month, a lot of really awful stuff happened in my personal life and I was sick to boot which didn't help anything. :P

Hopefully, we will be back to regularly scheduled programming soon as I am returning back to my old writing pattern.

Please let me know what you think if you have the time :)

#SPN #Supernatural #Castiel #Sam Winchester #Jack Kline #Dean Winchester #fanfiction #whump #humor #illness #family drama #kylermalloy #toddler!jack

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tyrwinthyr · 6 years ago

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Episode 1, part 2

Sheila shivered in the thin police issue blanket she’d been given.

“Here,” the officer had said, tossing it at her. “You’ll catch a cold in that belt of a dress you’re wearing.” He’d left her uncuffed in an interview room with one large mirror across a wall, and another smaller mirror on the far side of the room. The smaller of the two was obviously old; some of the silvering having flaked off at the corners. Mirrors like that, backed with real silver, had made a comeback since the Fae were exposed.

It was a while before anyone else entered the room, long enough to make her drowsy. She knew better than to fall asleep. Criminal justice classes in college had said plainly that sleeping meant guilt. An innocent woman doesn’t rest easy in prison, however, so she refused to give them the satisfaction of seeing her relax.

So she paced, blanket pulled tightly around her shoulders. When the officer – no, detective, he wore a suit -- opened the door, she almost breathed a sigh of relief. They hadn’t forgotten her or thrown away the key. A swift step took her over to drop into the chair while she assessed the man.

He was a tall human, salt and peppered, dressed in an older blue suit. Maybe he’d been a lady’s man in his youth, with blue eyes, thick chin and dark hair, but now he seemed worn. There was strain around the eyes, a tightness at the temple: his soul was as threadbare as his suit.

When he glanced into the older mirror, Sheila couldn’t help her smirk. Humans.

“Protocol,” he acknowledged, sitting across from her. “Liminals can’t use glamour… better safe than sorry, though.” Her spine stiffened at the words. That wasn’t ‘human’ knowledge.

“Lieutenant Zbrozek, Bureau of Nonhuman Crimes,” he continued, settling some folders in front of him. Sheila had always known the agency as ‘BoNC,’ but also knew full well to say ‘BNC’ in front of them. She’d been interviewed by plenty of them, as well as other branches the same organization. Not a one had a sense of humor about their name.

“I hadn’t expected the BNC to get involved in something so small,” she admitted, watching his face intently.

“An assault in a public place by one of you is usually pretty cut and dry, yeah,” he said, removing a bit of paperwork from a folder. “You’ll be CCC’d, and that would be that.” Sheila flinched at the reminder of her fate. After the war, the human army had dreamed up a quick way to deal with Fae. First was the tranquilizer, followed by iron nails in their ears and not-so-surgical removal of anything that looked like a weapon (horns, tails, claws, etc), then finally a box for transportation. Captured, Clipped, Carted. Sheila had a picture in her purse of a clipped faun. Looking at his broken horns, shattered hooves and sliced ears reminded her she was fighting the good fight.

“Am I going to the guillotine?” she said, trying her best to mimic the chill she is running beneath her skin.

“Standard issue dehorner… eh,” the man shrugged, reading whatever was on the paper in front of him. “Seems unnecessary. The crowd outside insists you were defending yourself, going so far as comparing grabbing your horns to consent violations.”

“Who…” she started, wondering who might be speaking up for her. When the police were taking her away, she remembered seeing many of the club’s inhabitants speaking angrily to them. At the time, she thought they were just adding fuel to her pyre.

“Guy trying to post your bail said it was essentially rape.”

Sheila wondered a moment about that. Gaspar knew from previous interactions that bail would never be set, not for someone who could ‘walk’ anywhere she wished.

The lieutenant looked up from the paper, “Not going to go with that excuse?” He asked with an eyebrow raised quizzically.

“I work in human/Fae relations,” she explained, keeping her voice as close to level as possible. “I know the laws.”

“Then you knew butting him was a bad idea.”

She chewed her lip a moment, collecting her thoughts before answering. When she did, it was on a sigh. “Some guy grabs your dick in a bar. You hit him, or do you worry about the law?”

That earned a smile from the detective, however short-lived. He slid the paper he was reading back in with the others, piled up the folders and pushed them to the side.

“Your father is an important Fae,” he said, licking a finger to try and clean an ink smudge from his jacket sleeve. “You don’t look like a hart, though… and definitely not a Whitehart.” Looking up at her, he tapped the files with his ring finger. “That part isn’t in my files.”

“My mother was a fau… satyr,” she replied, correcting quickly. Lying here wouldn’t go over well. “All Fae babies are the species of their mother. We retain some traits of our father, of course.” Other liminals, beings who combined the form of two or more different animals, would have been sent to live with their mother’s kin. No such luck for the Whitehart’s daughter.

“Ah,” he said, nodding thoughtfully. “That explains that bit. Did your father pass down his ability? Are you a trod walker?” Her face drew taut, closing off from the conversation, until he held up a hand. “I’m bound. Enchanted, actually. Your secrets are safe.”

That explained the bit with the mirror earlier, so she relaxed a little. It was a little like her relationship with Gaspar. She had never gone so far as enchanting him though. It was bad enough he was saddled with her secrets. She wasn’t going to expose him to the invisibles as well.

“Yes,” she replied, glancing over at the silvered mirror. “Only good thing I’ve ever gotten from the bastard.” She left out the remainder of her birthright: humiliation, anxiety, depression, and a centuries old curse.

“You could have walked out at any time, then,” he said, withdrawing a silver pen, deliberately letting her see him place it on her file. “Why are you still here?”

“It’s true,” Sheila took her hands off the table, placing them in her lap. “I could have opened a trod to anywhere, but… if you can’t control us, you put us down, right?” She caught his eye as she said that, her own green unblinking. “Besides,” she relaxed into her chair, if only a little. “Escaping would make me guilty of something I shouldn’t even be blamed for. If it was one of you people, we’d be discussing community service and a fine.”

He didn’t argue, and that endeared him to her. Slightly. “You people.” He shook his head, bemused, “Ten years ago that term meant something very different, but the intent was just the same.”

When she didn’t respond, he leaned back in the chair, one knee over the other. He folded his fingers behind his neck, head tipped to look up at the fluorescent lights above.

“When I was growing up, Greek mythology was my favorite. Not the gods, mind you, but the grittier stuff. Heracles crushing the Nemean lion with his bare hands. Perseus duking it out with Calibos. Nymphs and satyrs at a bacchanal, up to all sorts of shenanigans…” He paused there and looked back down at the satyr in front of him, expression wistful. “If you told me then that I’d ever be sitting across from one, I’d have called you crazy.”

Sheila tilted her head to the side, as if seeing him from a new angle would help her understand the point.

“Sorry, waxing lame.”

“It’s okay,” she said, trying to smile, but not doing it well. “I liked those tales too, of…”

“I can’t let you go,” he cut her off sharply.

“What?” she said, blinking.

“You can’t go back to your old life, either. The BNC are required by law to report any aberrant behavior to your employer, as well as your landlord.”

Pulling her legs up under the blanket, she nodded glumly in agreement. She’d thought herself ready for whatever was going to happen. But hearing it said out loud so plainly was so much more startling than simply understanding it. Under the blanket she tugged the edges of her dress, trying to make it longer, wishing she had worn some leggings.

“Best you can hope for is iron nails and cages with no doors. Since that would take a lot of work, they’ll probably just execute you.”

Glare as she might, it was hard to hide the tremble of her lips. Did he have to be so blunt?

“Though…” he uncrossed his legs, leaning forward conspiratorially. “I have a better option for you.” He let the anticipation build before he finished: “You could come work for me.”

Sheila had seen enough television to recognize the emotional roller coaster ride he was putting her through to get the answer he wanted. But that knowledge didn’t prevent her from blinking stupidly at him.

“Wh… what?” she sputtered.

“Your father suggested it, as an alternative.” The lieutenant offered a printed email to her, which she didn’t take. She did lean forward to read it, though. It was a letter to Julien Golder, a carefully written missive advising the reader that Sheila Whitehart would work for the BNC. If this magical thing didn’t happen, even though the family had supported the agency for years, such support would no longer be forthcoming.

“Of course, he did,” she muttered at last, unable to prevent a partial sneer from coloring the words. Obviously, her father supported the same agency that helped keep her people down. Somehow, she had always known he’d be a traitor to his own kind.

“Look, you don’t have much of a choice here.” Zbrozek leaned forward, quieter now. “You think I like supporting an organization that treats my ancestors worse than animals? We can do good from inside, make changes. There are real issues to deal with, and I’d like your help.”

The sneer turned into a smirking glower; she had to turn it on someone and her father wasn’t there. “What help could I give you? Go buy a pooka. At least you know they have to help you.”

The detective immediately went to the door to say a few words to someone outside, who then walked in. Another man, of sorts, took up a position holding up the wall with his hands behind his back.

Sheila’s confusion was quite plain as she examined the man. He was a pooka, possibly some sort of weasel. It was there in the nose, whiskers and black eyes of his animal form, all visible even while parading around as a man. Instead of hair, he had short, dark fur, complete with rounded animal ears on top. She’d spotted more of it on his knuckles before he’d placed them behind his back. A long furry tail slashed in irritation against the wall. Wearing a standard issue blue suit like the detective made him look even more out of place.

“Great, see? You already own a Fae. What do you need me for?” The question was irritated, agitated, offered through gritted teeth.

“I don’t own him,” the lieutenant replied, seating himself once more.

“No one owns me,” the pooka chimed in, tail thrashing more severely now. Sheila examined him closer, and he held out his hands to her for proof. He was the first pooka she’d seen without the fancy bracelet they always wore, the one that bound them fully to their owner.

“Whipple earned his freedom in service to the Bureau.”

Sheila turned back to blink in disbelief at the detective. All her experience with BONC was the bad kind. As the strong arm of the Department of Nonhuman Affairs, they were the face the Fae saw when something went wrong. Pay your rent late, BONC is called. Bump into the wrong human, BONC arrests you. Too ugly a race to be in a fancy restaurant, BONC is waiting for you at your table.

“No matter what you think of us, I am here to save your life,” he continued, one hand held out, palm up, an imaginary olive branch in the center.

“Why, then?” she demanded, dropping her hooves down to the floor in a clatter. “Why save me?”

“He thinks satyrs are sexy,” the pooka teased, flashing a set of extremely long fangs before going back to his brooding.

“Stop it, not helping,” the man scolded, lips drawn thin. “I could say something like that, sure. I find your kind fascinating, and the beings I work with now aren’t quite my type.” He tried to smile, to make it a joke, but she gave him nothing, so he continued on. “I could say that we liked your work at human/Fae relations… but I’ll be honest with you, your correspondence looked like it was written by a teenager.” That didn’t crack her, either, though it did get a slow blink.

“Fine,” he threw up his hands. “Fine, fine… I need someone working with me that can manipulate the trods.”

That at least made sense. There were very few trodwalkers. Her direct family, some scattered cousins, and a handful of other liminals… but that was it. That an organization like the BNC needed one was believable.

“Must be hard trying to haul in fugitives who can simply walk through a door to anywhere in the world,” she allowed after a moment.

“Unbelievably hard,” he admitted. “There are other matters around them, of course… but, there it is, cards on the table.”

“Thank you for being honest with me. You could have led with that. Trying to terrify me was way out of line.”

“You know what?” he asked, “You’re right. I apologize. When I read your file, I thought you’d be a hard ass like your father.”

That got a quick snort out of the satyr, and a hissing chuckle out of the pooka. After casting a glare at the weasel, she returned to the topic at hand. “So, say I agree. What happens then?”

“You’d be given your freedom,” he started, shuffling through papers to find a drawn-up agreement. Behind his back, Whipple began to weave back and forth like a furry metronome, “You’ll get room and board, a modest salary, and amazingly rewarding work.”

Sheila reached for the papers he offered. “What’s the subtext? The fine print?”

“An oath of constraint.” The instinctual reaction to push the pages back towards him was stopped by his hand. “I have to prove you’ll stick around. They wanted bindings, or a greater pact, but I want you to work for me willingly.” He sighed in relief as she took the contract back. “They won’t approve your release without it.”

In her head, she began organizing the pros and cons.

Cons: Working for an organization that was holding her people down. If she agreed to this, she’d be a quisling. Plus an oath of constraint meant staying within a certain distance of Zbrozek. She wasn’t sure she liked him yet. He was on the same side as her father, apparently. Doing this would put her there too, and even further in his debt.

Pros: Not being CCC’d, or put down. Possibly being able to work from the inside to change things. Then there was not being CCC’d or put down. Not having to deal with Karen. ‘Amazingly rewarding work.’ Oh, yeah, also… not being CCC’d or put down.

“Where do I sign?”

“Whip,” was the first word the pooka uttered once they left the police station. It had all gone by so quickly after she had signed the paperwork. Lieutenant Zbrozek ushered her out of the building without handcuffs, flashing his magenta BNC badge at anyone who tried to stop them. After a short ride through town to a warehouse off the train tracks near I25, Sheila found herself in her new home.

“Pardon?” she asked as she walked around the small room. There were quite a few of these interior spaces -- some big enough to be buildings of their own! -- inside the warehouse. Other recruits, willing or otherwise?

“No one calls me Whipple,” he sniffed a bit. “Except for my brother.”

She didn’t respond right away. She was busy exploring the painted concrete that made up the side of the room. It was still a little tacky, but not enough to leave her fingertips the same beige color as the paint.

“So, you’re Zbrozek’s whip?” she asked at last, looking back at him. He showed her his sharp teeth again, hissing a mockery of a laugh.

“Very funny. No, like… fast, boom!” he clapped his hands together. The sound echoed like a shot against the concrete walls. “Like that. You were supposed to ask me about my brother.”

“Oh.” The satyr drifted to the other side of the room. Away from him, the way one does when confronted with the insane, “What about your brother?”

“He’s dead, okay! They’re all dead! Can I go now!”

Sheila brought her hands up in front of her when he started shouting. She was sure he was faster than she was, but if she could hold him off long enough, surely the Lieutenant would come running. For his part, Whip looked disappointed.

“Oh, man, surely you know that one?” His nose twitched a bit as he scratched between his ears. “Right? Aliens? The little girl?” When she shook her head, he made a sort of ‘heef’ noise across his tongue. “Damn. I was hoping you weren’t a norm, but…” he indicated her with both hands. “There you are, right?”

In all her life, she could not remember ever having been called ‘normal.’ Outrage rose, her mouth opened… the door opened. The lieutenant came in, followed very closely by an Asian girl. It wasn’t until that moment that Sheila realized just how tall he really was. The girl looked tiny compared to him, a delicate flower following a mountain.

She was pretty, the girl, with a round face and wide eyes. She made no attempt to hide the fact she was staring, so Sheila didn’t bother to look away either. The girl’s hair was long and straight, hanging to the waist of the flowered summer dress she wore. It made her seem even younger, an impression finshed by bare feet. Tucked under her arm was an Alienware laptop, shiny and chrome, with a Guy Fawkes sticker on one corner. She stepped up onto the table in the middle of the room. Like some tiny youthful zen monk, she folded her legs together, right there on the edge of the table, and proceeded to open her laptop.

“This is Fei, our IT guru,” Zbrozek introduced, seating himself in a chair. When the girl looked up, closer now that Sheila was moving to join them there, her eyes were the grey of storm clouds, “Hmmm… what should we call you?” The laptop stole her attention back again.

Fully seated, the satyr startled a bit, “Um, why not by my name?”

“We could do that,” Fei cut in, not looking up from her typing. Her voice seemed as delicate as the rest of her, melodic, a tone or two away from a sing-song chant. “If you don’t mind the Toothy Day interfering with your life.”

After thinking about it a moment, Sheila asked, “You mean the Tua…”

“Ah! No! Bad satyr!” the younger girl scolded, shaking a finger without once looking up. “We do not say their names, what they are… they are the Namers, so we don’t risk it.” Everyone knew the Tuatha De’, the lords of the Fae, were strong, but it hadn’t occurred to Sheila to worry how strong.

“They who must not be named,” intoned Whip, who caught a glare from Fei for it.

“No. This is not some fantasy high school, and it is not a joking matter.” With that, she went back to angrily clicking buttons on her laptop.

The lieutenant cleared his throat to get their attention. “We need to give you a code name, for our protection as well as yours.”

“Red,” the pooka offered immediately. “That’s my vote, because, well… she is.” Sheila couldn’t deny it while she was wearing the same red dress as the night before. Still…

“No.”

“Rojo,” he said, baring his sharp teeth at her in what passed for a grin.

“No.”

“Vermelho.”

“I don’t even know what that means!” She was losing the last shreds of her patience with him.

“It means red.”

“Then no!” Sheila’s voice was almost a shout. Close enough that Fei looked up from her screen.

“Okay, let’s… let’s think about this and come back to it,” interjected the Lieutenant. “It’s been a long night for some of us, so… let’s just call you Red for now, okay? We’ll come up with something better, I promise.”

“Seriously?” Sheila almost barked, then threw her hands up. “Fine, fine… whatever.”

“I’m going to call her ‘Rouge,’” quipped Whip, receiving a glare from all three of them. “What… it’s like a cooler spelling of ‘rogue,’ but it means red.”

“Stop that,” Zbrozek rubbed his head a bit, hair ruffled in the motion. “God help me, there are two more of you coming today.”

“Wait… more of you?” Sheila asked, motioning towards Fei. “So, she’s Folk? What are you?”

“I’m an IT specialist.” Fei clearly had that response prepared, not even bothering to hide the smirk that came with it. Going around the room, she pointed at each of them in turn, “He’s the boss, he’s the muscle, and that would make you…” she leaned forward, looking down at the satyr’s barely-there dress. “The streetwalker.”

Sheila stood up, the chair falling backwards behind her. The earlier outrage with Whip kindled into fury; the tips of her ears turned red as she fought to keep control. She could see Zbrozek’s hands raising slowly in her peripheral vision, no doubt remembering what she’d done to the guy at the bar. A shuddering breath came in… then out again. Instead of charging forward, she stepped away from the table.

“I obviously need some breakfast, and some sleep. Usually, I wouldn’t let half pint sake here get to me.” She ignored the quick offended exhale from Fei, looking down at the human in the room, “Can we do this later?”

After a moment of consideration, he nodded and stood up.

“Okay… I should probably debrief you all at once anyway. I was hoping to find some sort of common ground for the three of you.” He looked from one to the other. Only Sheila showed any sign of contrition. “So, we’ll pick this up this afternoon.”

As they walked away, Fei called after them, “By the way, Paddy McFire Crotch, I’m Chinese, not Japanese. Sake tastes like piss!”

As the lieutenant quickly closed the door, she could hear Whip’s barking laughter. It sounded so wheezy it was funnier than it was mocking, and Sheila found herself smiling a little.

“Paddy McFire Crotch better not become my handle,” she grunted at Zbrozek, smiling a little. Despite the last 12 hours, or perhaps because of it, she found herself laughing with the man as he showed her to her room.

#Satyr Pooka OC Original Content Writing Urban Fantasy Fae

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bloojayoolie · 7 years ago

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Being Alone, Andrew Bogut, and Animals: KING GEORGE 17729 2 years 10 months old, 42 lbs @Manhattan ACC Waiting 4 Luv WINNER ALERT!! Handsome, friendly, social, lovable, tail waggy, welcoming to everything on two and four legs, lived in harmony w/ an 8 yr old child, good leash walker, likely housetrained ie **** TO BE KILLED - 1/13/2018 **** WINNER ALERT FOR A HANDSOME, FUN & SUPER SOCIAL YOUNG MAN =D A volunteer writes: King George is mad...about you! Lovable, loyal and just the right amount of looney, our King isn't one to sit idle on his throne when visitors call. You'll find him waiting right by the door, tail wagging wildly in anticipation of adventures to come. George welcomes friends of every species, size or age with a bushel of enthusiastic cuddles. In his previous home he lived in harmony with an 8-year-old child, played respectfully with other dogs, and had no problem sharing his toys or food, either. Easy to leash and a fine walker too, George isn't bothered by the cold. When we hit the yard, he eagerly snuffles through snowbanks and bounces after a toy before running back to me for a well-earned body massage. If you want a pet who'll stick by your side (sometimes quite literally) no matter what, then George is the dog for you. Oceans rise, empires fall, but you'll see each other through it all, and when push comes to shove... he will kiss your friends and family to remind you of his love! A mighty spirit in a tiny package, King George can't wait to reign over your heart and home for many happy years to come. KING GEORGE@MANHATTAN ACC Hello, my name is King George My animal id is #17729 I am a male black dog at the Manhattan Animal Care Center The shelter thinks I am about 2 years 10 months old, 42 lbs Came in shelter as owner surrender Jan. 6, 2018 Reason Stated: Moving - No Pets Allowed King George is at risk for medical reasons, having been diagnosed with Canine Infectious Respiratory Disease Complex, which is contagious to other dogs. Behaviorally, we suggest that King George would be best suited to an experienced dog home. My medical notes are... Weight: 42.6 lbs L V T Notes Vet Notes 6/01/2018 Microchip: scan positive 981020017463019. Sex: male intact Age 2 years 9 months Eyes:wnl Ears:wnl Nose:no nasal discharge Teeth: mild dental tartar If abnormal BCS: normal 5/9 Hair Coat: flea comb negative- treated with 2.5cc of paradefense Any injuries: none seen Behavior: relaxed during exam Medication: n/a 7/01/2018 DVM Intake Exam Estimated age: Reported 2 years 10 months Microchip noted on Intake? Positive scan on intake, 981020017463019 History : Owner surrender Subjective: Alert Observed Behavior - Wagging tail, allows all handling Objective BAR, mm pink, BCS 5/9 EENT: Eyes clear, ears clean, mild serous nasal discharge, no ocular discharge noted Oral Exam: mild dental tartar PLN: No enlargements noted H/L: NSR, NMA, CRT < 2, Lungs clear, eupnic ABD: Non painful, no masses palpated U/G: Intact male - two scrotal testicles MSI: Ambulatory x 4, skin free of parasites, no masses noted, healthy hair coat CNS: Mentation appropriate - no signs of neurologic abnormalities Rectal: Externally normal Assessment: Apparently healthy Prognosis: Good Plan: Recommend neuter, adoption SURGERY: Okay for surgery 8/01/2018 3 episodes of blood in stool reported over the last 2 days S/O -BAR, appears friendly and excitable but also anxious, constant barking at front of cage -no nasal discharge, sneezing or coughing noted or reported -appears eupnic A 1. Blood in stool, suspect mild stress colitis P-metronidazole 250 mg PO BID x 7 days 9/01/2018 Hx: Bloody stool reported again today. Pt has been on metronidazole x1 day. Solid stool with drops of frank blood visible in kennel. S/O: BAR, tail waving, barking in kennel. A: R/O IBD, stress colitis, anal irritation P: Wait one more day - consider adding famotidine vs. diet change to I/D or Z/D if this continues 1088 9/01/2018 Hx: Diarrhea with blood for several days. Has been on metronidazole x1 day. This morning there is solid stool with a few nearby drops of frank blood in the kennel. S/O: BAR, barking, tail waving A: Diarrhea - R/O stress colitis, anal irritation, IBD, other P: Wait one more day - consider adding famotidine vs. diet change if this continues. 1088 10/01/2018 Blood diarrhea noted for several days, started on metronidazole on 1/8; a few drops of blood noted in kennel yesterday S/O -BAR, energetic and appears friendly but barking anxiously at front of kennel -formed stool in kennel with small amount of frank blood -excessive serous nasal discharge, sneezing -appears eupnic A 1. Bloody diarrhea, suspect stress colitis; appears to be responding to metronidazole 2. CIRDC P -move to isolation -doxycycline 200 mg PO SID x 14 days -cerenia 60 mg PO SID x 4 days -continue metronidazole Details on my behavior are... Behavior Condition: 1. Green Behavior History Behavior Assessment Upon intake, King George had a wiggly body and waggy tail. He allowed counselor to give him belly rubs, collar, and take his picture. Basic Information:: King George is about 3 years old, He is a male, large breed dog. Previous owner got him from a friend when he a puppy and has had him ever since. Unfortunately, previous owner has to surrender sue to moving somewhere that does not allow pets. He has no known health issues and was last at the vet in 2015. Previously lived with:: 1 adult and 1 child How is this dog around strangers?: King George is friendly and outgoing around strangers and plays exuberantly with adults. How is this dog around children?: King George lived with an 8 year old child and he was relaxed and playful with her. King George played exuberantly with her. How is this dog around other dogs?: King George is relaxed playful and respectful of other dogs. He plays exuberantly with them. How is this dog around cats?: King George has never spent time around cats. Resource guarding:: King George is friendly when his food, treats and toys are touched. Bite history:: King George has never bitten another animal or person. Housetrained:: Yes Energy level/descriptors:: high Other Notes:: King George may be anxious when left alone too long. He isn't bothered by thunderstorms or fireworks. He isn't bothered when he is pushed or pulled off furniture, held or restrained, disturbed while sleeping or having his nails trimmed. He enjoys baths and being brushed. He barks when a stranger comes to the door and is friendly when a stranger comes towards owner. Has this dog ever had any medical issues?: No Medical Notes: King George has no known health issues upon intake. For a New Family to Know: King George is a friendly, affectionate, playful, excitable. He has a high activity level. Previous owner enjoyed how playful and affectionate he is. His favorite thing to do is chew on water bottles. He will follow you around when you are home and loves to play with squeaky toys and rope toys. He enjoys playing fetch and tug. He is mostly indoors and sleeps in his crate. He eats beneful dry food and blue buffalo wet food. His favorite tretas are freese dried beef liver. He is house trained and may have accidents a few times a month . He also knows how to sue wee wee pads. HE is well behaved when left alone and may bark if left alone in a yard. He is crate trained and does well for 8 hours. He knows how to sit and stay and drop it. For exercise he likes to run with owner. He may pull hard on leash and when off leash he will wander but come when called. Date of intake:: 1/6/2018 Spay/Neuter status:: No Means of surrender (length of time in previous home):: Owner Surrender (In home for 3 years) Previously lived with:: An and a child (age 8) Behavior toward strangers:: Friendly and outgoing Behavior toward children:: Relaxed and playful Behavior toward dogs:: Relaxed and respectful Resource guarding:: None reported Bite history:: None reported Housetrained:: Yes Energy level/descriptors:: King George is described as friendly, affectionate, playful, and excitable with a high activity level. Date of assessment:: 1/7/2018 Look:: 1. Dog's eyes are averted, with tail wagging and ears back. Allows head to be held loosely in Assessor's cupped hands. Sensitivity:: 1. Dog leans into the Assessor, eyes soft or squinty, soft and loose body, open mouth. Tag:: 1. Dog assumes play position and joins the game. Or dog indicates play with huffing, soft 'popping' of the body, etc. Dog might jump on Assessor once play begins. Paw squeeze 1:: 2. Dog quickly pulls back. Paw squeeze 2:: 2. Dog quickly pull back. Flank squeeze 1:: Item not conducted Flank squeeze 2:: Item not conducted Toy:: 1. Dog settles close, keeps a firm grip and is loose and wiggly. Dog does not place his/her body between you and the toy. Summary:: King George quickly approached the assessor in the assessment room with a soft body. During tag, he began to mount the assessor, but was able to be distracted. He again mounted the assessor when the handling portion of the assessment was complete. King George allowed all handling. Behavior history around dogs was described as "relaxed and respectful" by the previous owner. Summary (1):: 1/7: When introduced off leash to the female greeter dog, King immediately rushed over to mount. He is difficult to interrupt and continues to attempt to re-approach and mount once again. Due to this behavior, King has not been a candidate for further off leash socialization. It is recommended King George be given time to decompress outside the care center before immediate follow up or introduction to other dogs. Date of intake:: 1/6/2018 Summary:: Upon intake, King George had a wiggly body and waggy tail. Date of initial:: 1/6/2018 Summary:: King George was relaxed. ENERGY LEVEL:: King George's previous owner described him as having a high level of activity. He is a young, enthusiastic, social dog who will need daily mental and physical activity to keep him engaged and exercised. We recommend long-lasting chews, food puzzles, and hide-and-seek games, in additional to physical exercise, to positively direct his energy and enthusiasm. BEHAVIOR DETERMINATION:: EXPERIENCE (suitable for an adopter with some previous dog experience, especially with the behaviors outlined below) Behavior Asilomar: TM - Treatable-Manageable Potential challenges: : Social hyperarousal Potential challenges comments:: Social hyperarousal: King George becomes over aroused in the presence of people, mounting them at times. Positive reinforcement, force-free training should be used to teach King George to remain calm when people and other exciting things are around. He should be reward with treats when calm. If he escalates to mounting, people should immediately walk away from and separate themselves from King George. * TO FOSTER OR ADOPT * If you would like to adopt a dog on our “To Be Killed” list, and you CAN get to the shelter in person to complete the adoption process *within 48 hours of reserve*, you can reserve the dog online until noon on the day they are scheduled to die. We have provided the Brooklyn, Staten Island and Manhattan information below. Adoption hours at these facilities is Noon – 8:00 p.m. (6:30 on weekends) HOW TO RESERVE A “TO BE KILLED” DOG ONLINE (only for those who can get to the shelter IN PERSON to complete the adoption process, and only for the dogs on the list NOT marked New Hope Rescue Only). Follow our Step by Step directions below! *PLEASE NOTE – YOU MUST USE A PC OR TABLET – PHONE RESERVES WILL NOT WORK! ** STEP 1: CLICK ON THIS RESERVE LINK: http://ift.tt/2ynocEZ Step 2: Go to the red menu button on the top right corner, click register and fill in your info. Step 3: Go to your email and verify account Step 4: Go back to the website, click the menu button and view available dogs Step 5: Scroll to the animal you are interested and click reserve STEP 6 ( MOST IMPORTANT STEP ): GO TO THE MENU AGAIN AND VIEW YOUR CART. THE ANIMAL SHOULD NOW BE IN YOUR CART! Step 7: Fill in your credit card info and complete transaction Animal Care Centers of NYC (ACC) nycacc.org HOW TO FOSTER OR ADOPT IF YOU *CANNOT* GET TO THE SHELTER IN PERSON, OR IF THE DOG IS NEW HOPE RESCUE ONLY! You must live within 3 – 4 hours of NY, NJ, PA, CT, RI, DE, MD, MA, NH, VT, ME or Norther VA. Please PM our page for assistance. You will need to fill out applications with a New Hope Rescue Partner to foster or adopt a dog on the To Be Killed list, including those labelled Rescue Only. Hurry please, time is short, and the Rescues need time to process the applications. Shelter contact information Phone number (212) 788-4000 Email [email protected] Shelter Addresses: Brooklyn Shelter: 2336 Linden Boulevard Brooklyn, NY 11208 Manhattan Shelter: 326 East 110 St. New York, NY 10029 Staten Island Shelter: 3139 Veterans Road West Staten Island, NY 10309 Available Animals Thank you for your interest in adopting from Animal Care Centers of NYC. Our At Risk List is posted each day (except Saturday) at 6:00PM and remains viewable until 12:00PM noon the following day. newhope.shelterbuddy.com

#funny #lol #humor #memes #meme #memehumor #dank memes #funny pics #rolf #lmao #Being Alone #Andrew B

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