#i need to watch or read something set in a small town (the most decrepit hovel of a small town) for inspo

[kikuism]

the reason the kaname doc is taking forever is 1) i don't know if i want the story to be lush and meandering or fast and punchy and 1) i don't know if kaname is an unstoppable force or immovable object

[goodlucktai]

the ship sways but the heart is steady

chapter two: how the light gets in 

the untamed pairing: jiang cheng & wei ying, lan zhan/wei ying word count: 3713 summary: Wei Ying’s friends are at rock-bottom, and Wei Ying puts his life on hold to help them put theirs back together. To absolutely no one’s surprise except Wei Ying’s, his family goes with him. read on ao3

x

“We’re here,” Wen Qing says, bringing Jiang Cheng out of an involuntary doze. He realizes that the car has stopped.

He can’t see much of the estate through the glare on the windshield, so he glances into the backseat. Wei Ying is still very much dead to the world, and still sprawled against Lan Zhan, who is playing what sounds like Candy Crush on Wei Ying’s phone. Wen Ning is fast asleep on Lan Zhan’s opposite shoulder with the rabbit crate nestled safely in the loose loop of his arms.

It can’t possibly be comfortable for any of them, except maybe the rabbits.

“I’ll extract you in a sec,” Wen Qing says.

“Take your time,” Lan Zhan replies peacefully.

Rolling his eyes, Jiang Cheng drags himself out of the car. The dry heat smacks into him like a solid wall. Stretching stiff muscles, he gazes across the overgrown yard. It’s—alright, it’s a lot.

The whole property is clearly old farmland gone to seed. There’s some rusted equipment all choked through with weeds sitting off to one side of a dirt road, which wings around to a distant structure that must have once been a barn. Goldenrod is growing all over the place, and with the late afternoon sun baking overheard, it really adds to the illusion that everything has been bathed yellow.  

The villa itself is both better and worse than Jiang Cheng was expecting. It has exterior walls, at least. And most of a roof. Maybe once, it might have been someone’s pride and joy.

Wen Qing leaves the engine running, circling around the front of the car to stand next to Jiang Cheng. Her eyes look ancient with fear.

“I don’t know if we can do this,” she says. She’ll only say it now, where her brother and her best friend can’t hear. She’ll be strong all the rest of the time.

Jiang Cheng can’t begrudge her this important, much-needed moment of weakness. He bumps their shoulders together. He lets her lean on him for a bit. Jiang Cheng isn’t either of his siblings—he doesn’t know how to be a voice of comfort. The best he can do is just be here.

“What’s that stupid thing you and your siblings always say before you do something that almost gets you killed?” Wen Qing asks suddenly.

Immediately defensive, because he’s the one who started it back when he was like seven and Yanli and Wei Ying thought it was adorable and wouldn’t let it die, Jiang Cheng snaps, “It’s not stupid. It’s fucking—motivational.”

“It can be both. You’re living proof.”

“Oh, fuck you.”

She sighs, that familiar laughing sound that defangs Jiang Cheng in one fell swoop.

“‘Attempt the impossible,’” he recites grudgingly.

The sun is steadily sinking lower through the sky. All the daytime color is deep and rich now with the promise of evening, everything on the brink of shadow. A breeze rolls through the yard, catching Jiang Cheng’s hair and tossing it into his eyes. It carries smells he can’t recognize, smokey and woodsy, a little floral, clean.

There’s no smog, no oppressive diesel or baked garbage smell, no heavy industry works bleeding its fumes all over the place. It smells the way summer smelled in the books A-Li used to read to him.

He’ll get used to the heat, Jiang Cheng thinks. Summer has always been his favorite season. He doesn’t know if he’ll get used to the smell.

“Did you ever manage it?” Wen Qing asks quietly. “The impossible?”

Jiang Cheng can’t help but smile, half a dozen memories crowding forward in the space of a heartbeat. Him, and his brother, and his sister, always together. Never apart. Keeping each other safe, and even more importantly, keeping each other happy.

“All the time,” he says.

It must be the right thing to say. Wen Qing stands a little taller. Her expression goes so firm with resolve that Jiang Cheng would never have believed that she’d wavered if he hadn’t seen it for himself.

This was right, he realizes. It finally quiets the uncertain voice still loitering around in the back of his mind. Coming here for her was right.

#

Wei Ying is much more enthusiastic about the decrepit property than Jiang Cheng and Wen Qing combined, and for the life of him, Jiang Cheng can’t decide how much of it is an act to make the Wens feel better about their circumstances. It seems largely genuine.

“Can you believe how huge this house is?” Wei Ying says gleefully, somewhere in the middle of his third lap around the property. “Babe, the dining room is as big as our entire apartment!”

Lan Zhan smiles at him, likely just because he called him ‘babe’. Jiang Cheng is going to throw up on both of them at least once.

The inside is not actually quite as depressing as they feared. There’s old furniture stacked up in most of the rooms, each individual piece moldy and cobwebbed and not likely to support anyone’s weight without breaking in half, and collections of miscellaneous things, like ten-thousand stacks of newspapers in the study, and just as many empty wine bottles out on the back porch.

But there’s something to it, Jiang Cheng can’t deny that. Some sort of presence to it. A history, maybe, that haunts all these empty spaces that used to be full and busy and lived-in. It makes him linger over an old console table at the end of the second floor hallway, with a dusty jewelry box sitting on top. There are someone’s ruined treasures inside. This was someone’s home.

Maybe it could be that again.

“We’ll have to drive into town for dinner,” Wen Qing says, surveying their progress in the living room. They’ve set up camp there, since they’re losing too much light to do much else. “And flashlights. The electric company promised they’d have an inspector out here in the morning.”

Wei Ying collapses onto a dusty sofa, which is probably actively infested with something, or at the very least was at some point, and pats at the cushion next to him until Lan Zhan unfolds himself from his seat on a wine crate and joins him there.

“This place really isn’t that bad, A-Qing,” Wei Ying says. “You made it sound like they’d gutted it down to the studs.”

“That’s how it was described to me,” she says. She seems a lot firmer on her feet, now that she’s walked the length of the place and knows firsthand that it probably isn’t going to collapse on top of their heads at a moment’s notice. “What was it our cousin called it, A-Ning?”

“A rathole,” Wen Ning says helpfully, feeding the rabbits bits of dried rosemary out of his hands. “He said he was glad it was our problem and not his.”

“He’s probably just angry it wasn’t left to him in nainai’s will,” Wen Qing says.

“Is this your cousin who got kicked out of school for driving his professor’s car off a bridge or the one who was arrested for breaking and entering?” Wei Ying asks.

“Same cousin,” Wen Ning says. “He’s not very nice.”

Jiang Cheng doesn’t have a leg to stand on when it comes to asshole relatives, so he stands up and says, “Let’s get a move on. We’re already gonna be coming back in the dark. A-Ning, put the rabbits away. Lan Zhan, stop mooning over my brother.”

“If it’s gonna be dark by the time we get back anyway, there’s time for mooning,” Wei Ying grumbles.

He squeaks and scrambles over the back of the sofa when Jiang Cheng advances on him, and Wen Qing berates them for trying to break what little furniture they have three minutes after they fucking got here, and for a few minutes the old house is packed to the rafters with shouting and laughter as they jostle each other out the door.

It already feels a little fuller than it did when they arrived, in a way that has nothing to do with the suitcases stacked in the hall.

#

Jiang Cheng gets up the morning feeling unfairly jet-lagged. Everyone else is awake already, sitting on the floor of the kitchen, eating dry cereal because the fridge isn’t running yet and things like milk are still only a distant dream. They greet him with a round of sleepy but sincere hellos and Wei Ying passes him a box of Lucky Charms. 

Lan Zhan, who bought a camping generator and a power strip when they went to town the night before, holds his hand out for Jiang Cheng’s phone. Jiang Cheng surrenders it so it can be charged and refuses to admit out loud that he’s glad that Lan Zhan is marrying into his family.

By the time the inspector arrives, they’re picking their way through the junk in the kitchen. “Start with one room,” Wei Ying says, likely repeating the helpful Youtuber whose DIY videos he paid an obscene amount of his fiance’s money on the in-flight WiFi to watch. “Make it ours.”

So they’re clearing out cabinets and removing ancient rodent carcasses and sorting dusty glassware into possibly-salvageable and definitely-garbage piles when a loud knock draws their attention down the hall to the foyer where a friendly-looking, if bemused, man in a hard hat is standing on the threshold of the open front door.

Wen Qing shoves a blender into Jiang Cheng’s hands that probably hasn’t blended a damn thing in thirty years and pats as much dust off of her person as she can.

“You’ve got this,” Wei Ying says with enough belief to power a small aircraft. “And if you need me to flirt with him for any reason, just say the word. Lan Zhan will understand.”

Lan Zhan won’t understand, if Jiang Cheng is as good at reading his mico-expressions as he thinks he is. The inspector, who could clearly hear Wei Ying’s voice from like ten feet away, is already grinning when Wen Qing introduces herself.

Ultimately, after a walk around the house, the inspector has good news and bad news. He starts with the bad news.

“It could be a lot worse,” he says frankly. “But this building is practically an antique, and it hasn’t been upgraded in two decades, at least. We might be able to get away with a partial wiring, but anything less than a full one would leave you at a real risk of an electrical fire.”

Wen Qing’s whole body goes stiff. Wen Ning steps up beside her, taking her hand in one of his bandaged ones.

“A full rewiring then,” he says, firm in the way he only is when someone else needs him to be. “We’ll figure it out.”

Apparently sympathetic, the man nods. He imparts the good news. “We’ll get started on the repairs right away. I can probably get some guys out as early as this afternoon, and it shouldn’t take longer than a week.” After a beat, he adds, “We can arrange a payment plan when all’s said and done. I’m not going to hound you about a lump sum up front. We’re a pretty close-knit community out here, pretty neighborly. Don’t be surprised if you’ve got people poking their heads in at you soon.”

Wen Qing, who grew up in LA, seems to need a minute to digest that. Wen Ning seems automatically delighted.

“Hey, thanks for everything,” Wei Ying says when the inspector starts to head back to his truck.

The inspector grins and taps his hard hat in reply, looking amused. Jiang Cheng doesn’t have to search farther than two inches past Wei Ying’s shoulder to find out why.

“Jesus Christ, Lan Zhan, they’re not going to elope,” Jiang Cheng says, shoving him back towards the kitchen. “Wei Ying has literally never looked at another human being since the first time he looked at you.”

“Aww,” Wen Ning says.

“Shut up, that wasn’t—it’s annoying! Not cute!”

“It can be both things,” Wen Qing says dryly. She’s smiling.

#

Through some grace of god, the plumbing is sound. Unlike the wiring, the pipes were replaced recently enough that they’re not made of lead or polybutylene or anything else that will make them violently sick from bathing or drinking out of the tap.

This leads Jiang Cheng and Wei Ying on an expedition to the basement in search of the hot water heater. Jiang Cheng could fucking cry when they find out it’s one of those huge gas-powered tanks. Wei Ying looks up how to turn the gas on without exploding the place into tiny pieces, because of course he has data out here even though no one else does, and it’s as simple as turning a valve they find in the middle of some big fuck-off spiderwebs.

“Hot showers tonight!” Wei Ying sings when they make it back upstairs, significantly more dusty than they were when they descended. Wen Ning gazes at them with such open admiration that Jiang Cheng doesn’t want to admit there was literally no skill involved in the process at all.

The electricity inspector is proven right about curious visitors exactly four hours after he said it, as a warbling little voice calls, “Hello?” from the front porch.

The kitchen is in the middle of a thorough scrubbing, and Wen Ning isn’t allowed to put his hands anywhere near chemicals or heat or anything, really, aside from the lazy rabbits, so he pops up to his feet and scurries to the front of the house in a desperate bid to do something productive.

“A-jie,” he calls a moment later, in a tone that gets Wen Qing’s attention faster than a fucking lightning bolt from the sky probably would have. Her urgency is distracting. The rest of them don’t want to keep cleaning cabinets while Something Is Happening, so Jiang Cheng, Wei Ying and Lan Zhan get up and follow after a minute of pretending to work.

There’s a little old woman, probably well into her seventies, holding one of each of the Wen siblings’ hands and talking warmly. A little boy is clinging to her leg, peering up at them with wide eyes.

Granny, as she insists they call her, has lived in this town her whole life, and was a close friend of Wen Qing and Wen Ning’s grandparents.

“I heard about the fire,” she says, clutching their hands, “and I want you to know that I’ll help you however I can. There’s not much heavy lifting I can do, really, but—cooking and cleaning, I am more than capable of!”

Jiang Cheng, who had respect for his elders literally beaten into him growing up, would sooner walk into traffic than he would let this kind old woman clean for him. The sentiment is clearly echoed on all of his friends’ faces, and his brother steps forward to look at her with big, liquid eyes.

“Granny, you’ll stay and keep us company even if we don’t have any interesting stuff for you to do, won’t you? Even if all you do is sit here in the shade and chat with us for a bit? It’ll break my heart if you don’t, it really will.”

This earns Wei Ying a fond pat on the cheek, as he’s adopted by Granny on the spot. She does stay for a few hours, and they make a meal out of some day-old donuts and chips and sunflower seeds. Jiang Cheng watches Granny visibly come to the conclusion that they’re all incapable of feeding themselves, and something needs to be done about it, even if she politely declines to say it out loud.

Her grandson, A-Yuan, has picked his way cautiously to the little makeshift enclosure they’ve constructed for the rabbits, and crouches next to it to look in at them with wide, wanting eyes.

“Do you want to pet them?” Wei Ying says. The answer is obviously yes, no matter that A-Yuan shyly ducks his head and doesn’t answer, so Wei Ying lifts the white rabbit out and places it carefully in the child’s lap. “This is Bao. She’s my favorite. Don’t tell Pidan.”

A-Yuan giggles, carefully petting Bao’s velvety ears with the tips of his fingers. Bao is content to just sit there and soak up the affection until the end of days, the most laid-back creature on the planet.

“Pidan?” A-Yuan asks, glancing inquisitively at the black rabbit, who is chewing noisily on a piece of cardboard.

“Her sister,” Wei Ying says, lifting the black rabbit out and putting it next to Bao. A-Yuan is laughing fully, now, gifted with too much rabbit for his tiny arms to contain. “She’s silly and annoying and a trouble-maker. For some reason, she’s Lan Zhan’s favorite. Don’t tell Bao.”

“For some reason,” Lan Zhan intones solemnly. He’s looking at Wei Ying the way he’s always looking at him.

“I can’t stand this,” Jiang Cheng says to Wen Qing. “There has to be something else for me to clean, far away from them.”

“Have you seen where you are? There’s a million things for you to clean.”

But she gets up when he does, and they wander through the mostly-clean kitchen and into the pantry, where the shelves are nearly fully-stocked with foods at least ten years past their expiration. Sighing, Wen Qing ties back her hair. The curve of her neck is disarmingly delicate.

Jiang Cheng glances away quickly and refuses to think about why.

#

There’s a spigot in the conservatory that refuses to work. There’s a wall dividing the dining room and the living room that just doesn’t make sense. There’s broken windows and holes in the roof. Wen Ning walks across the second floor balcony to release an angry squirrel that they found in a wardrobe and nearly falls over the edge when the wrought iron railing bends beneath his weight. The yard and the grounds are an outright disaster.

The plot on the west side of the house was once home to a small vineyard, which explains some of the tubing and big gallon buckets they found in the conservatory. The original owners must have made their own fruit wine. The land by the barn is fenced off in a way that suggests a vegetable garden, and the rest of the considerable acreage is eaten up by the edge of a big lake, the remains of a dock leaning out over the water.

It’s all neglected, overgrown, untamed.

But, Jiang Cheng thinks, almost a month after they arrived, it’s getting there.

The last time it rained, he and Wei Ying and Wen Ning ran through the house looking for leaks, and couldn’t find a single one. For some reason it was so fucking exciting to have a roof without holes that they called people about it.

Yanli was ecstatic. Lan Huan, who, Jiang Cheng thinks, still doesn’t fully understand why his brother and future brother-in-law disappeared to California to begin with, was bemused but very happy for them. Granny brought over a strawberry sponge cake in celebration.

She’s been spending more time at the villa, anyway. One of the guest rooms has become hers, for those nights that dinner runs late and Wei Ying employs his wide gray eyes and convinces her not to drive home in the dark. All of them are more than okay with it, because otherwise she would go home to an empty house with no one for company but a four-year-old, and that makes Jiang Cheng’s stomach feel sour.

Granny says that A-Yuan has gotten attached, but she doesn’t specify what he’s attached to. It could be the bunnies, it could be all the wide open space to run around in, and it could just as well could be Jiang Cheng’s idiot brother, who carries A-Yuan around on his shoulders or under his arm tirelessly and threatens to plant him with the radishes every time he misbehaves.

They returned the rental car because someone in town had an old truck they didn’t mind parting with. There’s no A/C, but it’s not exactly a hardship to crank the windows down and drive really fast instead. Jiang Cheng usually volunteers Wei Ying for trips into town with him, because, even though he would die before he’d admit it out loud, it’s nice to have his brother to himself for a change.

If Yanli were here, he thinks, trudging through the little grocery store and deflecting most of Wei Ying’s attempts to sneak stupid shit into their shopping cart, it would actually be perfect.

#

They’re piled on the new second-hand sofa and a couple salvaged leather armchairs in the living room, watching a Dreamworks movie with A-Yuan on the satellite TV that Lan Zhan’s fuck-off bank account secured for them, when Wei Ying’s phone rings.

Wei Ying is sharing one of the recliners with Lan Zhan, tucked into his fiance’s lap with his legs draped over the arm of the chair and his head tucked into Lan Zhan’s shoulder, and it looks as though it would take an act of god to move him.

“Here,” Wen Qing says, amused, and leans over to pass the phone to Jiang Cheng.

“What are you good for if you won’t even answer your own phone?” Jiang Cheng grumbles without heat.

“Eye-candy,” Wei Ying says shamelessly.

“Hello?” he says loudly into the phone so he won’t have to spend a second thinking about what his own brother just fucking said to him.

“A-Cheng,” Yanli says.

“Oh, A-Li,” Jiang Cheng says, smiling automatically. “You didn’t call this morning. I meant to call you after dinner, but my phone died, because someone hogged the charger to play Candy Crush all day.”

Lan Zhan gazes at him serenely.

“A-Cheng,” Yanli says again, very gently. “Are you with A-Ying?”

“Yeah, of course,” Jiang Cheng says. His smile is fading. After a life spent reading verbal cues from his siblings, something about Yanli’s tone has his stomach doing somersaults. “He’s right here. What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Wei Ying sitting up. A-Yuan’s bright little voice is asking what’s wrong, and Wen Ning is shushing him. Wen Qing’s hand covers Jiang Cheng’s free one, as light and insubstantial as a bird landing on a telephone wire, until the second he needs a firmer hold.

“Of course I am, I’m okay.”

“A-Li,” he says, feeling light-headed. “What’s wrong?”

With a deep, shuddering breath, she tells him.

[adventuresinfarming]

A Story a Day Series - Chapter 3

A Story a Day Series ~ Chapter 3 Spring 3, Year 1 Word Count: 2,340 Summary: Avian learns about geodes and the library/museum.  A weird noise creeps her out.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ (WEDNESDAY) SPRING 3, YEAR 1 And just like that – she woke up with the most brilliant idea – why doesn’t she make a Field Snack? She was mad at herself that she didn’t bring that survival book with her – if she even still had it.  But she had thought she read it before: Pine Cones, Maple Seeds and...what was the last thing? OH YEAH! Acorns!  If you mashed them together, it was a surprisingly good source of energy.  She didn’t want to forget this and scrawled a quick note on the notebook besides her bed to put into the blueprint binder for later.

She didn’t even need to look out the window to know it was raining outside.  She was pretty exhausted from the past two days so she figured what’s another hour to sleep in?  However just as she rolled over and got comfortable, there was a knock at the door.

She signed and quickly threw on whatever clothes she had nearby and opened the door an inch.  A taller man with brown hair and brown goatee wearing a heavy apron stood outside the door under an umbrella.

“Uh…Hi there.  Good morning,” he began.  “Welcome to the Valley, I’m Clint – I run the blacksmith shop in town.  Uh, I apologize for the early morning visit but I noticed that you’ve been breaking some rocks open and finding ore – that’s good!  If you want to get the mo-“

“Huh?” she interrupted.  “I’m sorry -  Clint, was it?  I haven’t broken any rocks?” she was so confused, she didn’t remember breaking rocks – aside from the small stones on her property that is.

“You haven’t?” he also seemed quite puzzled.  “You mean you haven’t come across any small orange-looking stones?” he stopped to think for a moment.  “Or maybe you fished some up?  They’ve been known to get hooked on bottom-feeder fish lately.” Now that jogged her memory – she remembered getting something like that in a chest attached to a fish yesterday.  “Oh yeah, now that you mention it, I did catch a fish with some yesterday!  Sorry for the interruption.” She gestured that he could continue.

“No, that’s okay – uh, anyway if you want to get the most out of the ores you find, you’ll need a furnace.  Just happens I had an extra set of blueprints lying around.  Here, I want you to have them.”

With this, she opened the door wider.  “Really?  That’s awesome!  I’ve been wondering if anyone had extra blueprints I could add to my binder,” she hooked her thumb over her shoulder back towards her table.  “I really appreciate you sharing these with me.”

 He looked down, almost embarrassed, his face growing just the slightest shade of pink.  “Y-you’re welcome…just in case you don’t know, it allows you to smelt metal bars.  The bars can be used for crafting, construction and tool upgrades.  When you’ve smelted a few copper bars, consider having me upgrade one of your tools.  It can make your work a lot easier.  Well, okay.  I’m heading home now.  Take it easy and stop by my shop any time!”  He took his leave after this, Avian watched him go.  Kind of a strange man but he seemed nice enough.  As he passed the shipping bin, she completely forgot about her shipping!  She grabbed the umbrella that sat in a box (she had yet to finish finding a place for everything) and ran out to see if anything was still there.

She looked into the shipping bin and found a note and a small pouch.  Written in the same hand as her earlier note from Mayor Lewis, was an itemized list of everything she had put into the bin the night before along with an amount that she received for each item.  Huh, 596g – Not too bad!  She stuffed the note and pouch into her pocket as she ran back inside to properly get ready for the day.

She checked the TV – sunny tomorrow and mildly perturbed spirits today...she still didn’t understand what that meant but oh well – before sitting at the table to examine her new blueprint and thought about what it’ll take to upgrade her tools.  Would be nice, they were so worn and she really needed to lay into the tool in order for it to work properly – she was using too much muscle.  But then again, it might not be a bad thing to bulk up a little.  She chuckled to herself, envisioning herself looking like a bodybuilder in a few years if she didn’t get these tools upgraded.

Clint didn’t really explain how to get ores other than breaking rocks (and fishing them up) so maybe she’d pay him another visit today for more information – hey, maybe he knew what those 2 oval rocks were too?  Since she didn’t need to water her crops today, she gathered some things into her rucksack, grabbed her umbrella, then went to go find Clint’s shop.

***It was a longer walk to Clint’s than she had expected not realizing he lived on the complete other side of the town and but as she got closer, she followed the racket that radiated from the massive machine behind his shop.  Although it didn’t open for another hour so she decided to do a little fishing in the mean time but she fished up more trash than fish (and of course, this had nothing to do with juggling a fishing rod and holding an umbrella)

 Once 9am rolled around, she went right in.  It was a larger shop which made sense as she saw the Blacksmithing forge at the back of the shop with the billows working keeping the flames alight. A large selection of hammers and other types of tools were hanging on the wall beside it.  “Hi Clint!” she said cheerfully as she walked up to his counter and started digging through her bag. ***

“What are you doing here? Er, I mean..Welcome.  How can I help you?” he looked nervous as she walked up to him.

“After your visit this morning, I was wondering if you knew what this was?” she pulled out the oval rocks she had found yesterday.

“Of course I do.  Those are Geodes.  They typically have some kind of gems or materials inside them.  I can easily break them apart for a small fee of 25g each.  Is that something you’d like to do?” he held up one of the geodes, examining it as best he could with the limited light in his shop. “Yeah, why not?”  She took out the amount he mentioned and followed him over to his anvil as he placed the geode on it and went to the wall to select a large hammer from the wall.  He gestured for her to stand back as he swung the hammer, demolishing the hardened material to reveal granite, Jagoite and Orpiment.

“That was awesome!” she exclaimed as he picked up each one to look at them.  “Now what?” she asked.

“Uh, well..you can do whatever you want with them.  I thought I heard something about Gunther  looking for things like this so maybe check with him?

“Who?”

“Oh Gunther.  He’s the curator that runs the Library and Museum in the building south of here”

She thanked Clint for his help and exited his shop to pay this Gunther a visit.  No one was at the counter as she walked in but she heard a voice coming from further in the building. 

“Abysmal…” a voice trailed off.  She walked past a couple of large book cases and found a dark haired man with a goatee and bright blue uniform was muttering to himself.  He was standing amongst a large collection of empty tables.  “Not a single piece in the entire collection.” “Hi…I don’t mean to interrupt but Clint said you might be interested in these minerals?” Avian spoke softly, as the acoustics of the empty room caused her voice to echo.

“What’s that?  You found something?  Let me see it!” She pulled out the items that were hidden inside the geodes and laid them down on the table in front of him.

He picked one of them up immediately and started examining it intently. “Remarkable!  This is very old.  I’d love to study these in greater detail…but they are yours. Hmmm…” he handed them back to you and tapped his chin in thought for a moment. “I’ve got a favor to ask you.  Would you consider donating any new artifacts or minerals that you find? We could make a groundbreaking discover together!  Oh, and who knows…if you keep donating I might come across some interesting items to send your way.”

She didn’t even need to think about it and agreed immediately.  “Of course I’ll donate them – I don’t know what I’d do with them otherwise!” she handed the items back to him.

“Oh thank you! You’re doing a great thing for science.  Once I examine these, I’ll have a description of them so please come back to find more information on your extraordinary discoveries.  Actually, to thank for your donations so far, please take this.”  He reached into his pocket and handed you 250G. Avian stared up at him in amazement.  “Just like that?” she asked. 

“Just like that.” He replied.  “And remember, we could discover other useful items that would be worth more than that!” ‘Thanks! Yeah I’ll bring anything else I find to you.”

She left the shop and wondered what she should do now.  She had more room in her rucksack so she decided to grab some seeds as she was close to Pierre’s then fish a little bit more.  Plus it was raining a bit harder now so maybe by the time she was done choosing seeds, the rain would die down a little.

However, she tried to open the door to Pierre’s but it just didn’t budge.  She pulled back a bit before seeing the sign that says “Closed on Wednesdays”.

Well, crap. She thought.  Guess she’d just skip to fishing then. She thought she heard mentioned that there was a lake in the mountains and even though it was raining, that sounded like a really relaxing place to spend the rest of the rainy afternoon.

She followed the path North East towards the mountain, passing a large decrepit building that looked like it was on the verge of collapsing.  It had a weird, calming aura about it, though.  She continued on the path, finally coming to a large house and realized that this must be Robin’s!  She didn’t really feel like talking with anyone so she continued on and saw the lake not too far away. 

There was a nice little island that looked cozy but the wooden planks leading to it looked suspect and slippery so she stayed on regular land and cast the line into the water.

It was actually quite a great fishing day – got a ton of fish, plus some interesting some items in chests like rice shoots, more squiggly worm bait and coal.  Her rucksack was full to bursting and unfortunately, it was getting a bit dark.  She started to head back the way she came before she saw a guy standing underneath the eaves of Robin’s house.  He was in all dark clothes and she couldn’t see him that well.  Cigarette smoke hung in the air as she stopped a little ways from him.

“Hi, I’m Avian – I just moved here.” She called from beneath her umbrella. “Do you by any chance know if there is a shortcut back to the farm?  I don’t really want to have to walk all the way back around in the dark.”

“Oh, you just moved in?  Cool.”  He sounded bored and took another drag of his cigarette before continuing on, his voice taking on a sarcastic tone.  “Of all places you could live, you chose Pelican Town?”

Kind of taken aback by his comment, she tried to defend herself.  “Well...yeah, I’m continuing on my Grandfather’s legacy…is there something wrong with that?”

“No.” he said simply and threw the cigarette butt to the ground before stepping on it.  “If you continue back this way, there’s a path to the left that’ll lead you directly to your farm.” Without another word he went inside the house, leaving her alone in the rain.

What was with the crabby people in this town?  She didn’t even get his name to add to the crabby list alongside Abigail and Shane. How many more people even lived here?  She was annoyed by his comment but she just shrugged it off.  She took his instructions up around the mountain house and easily found the path that lead to the left.  It was so dark though and she wished she had a flashlight with her.  Luckily the path was easy to follow as it turned south to an overpass across the road that lead to the bus station and realized that was the entrance to her farm was right there – good to know she had a path that lead directly to the mountains behind her property. 

Just as she got to the entrance, the frog and insect songs that had accompanied her throughout the day, suddenly stopped.  The complete silence (other than the rain) was eerie as an otherworldly sound echoed around her a moment later.  She’d never heard anything like it…it wasn’t like it was close to her but it seemed to echo all around her, stretching throughout the entire valley.  To be quite honest, she nearly jumped out of her skin and flat out ran the rest of the way, barely throwing her haul into the shipping bin and slamming the door behind her and triple checking it was locked.

~~Throughout the night, her dreams were filled with fish.  Different techniques of casting, reeling in…a variety of fish that inhabited the various  waters in the valley…then it came to her.  She finally understood how to craft the perfect squiggly bait.  Oh wait..no.  The perfect contraption for trapping crabs, snails, lobsters and prawns..no wait..the most delectable ‘Dish o’ the Sea’… ~~

[themockingcrows]

Companionship Through Circuitry Ch. 4: Treasures New and Old

This chapter is SFW This chapter available on my AO3!

From weaponized Furbies to old school prewar technology, Bro is finding his hands in many pies. Hal wishes he'd leave the pies the fuck alone for the most part.

     The small wheels of the Furby were sturdy enough to handle the terrain inside of the building with ease, so long as the bigger debris was avoided. These weren’t monster truck wheels, after all. Every so often a ping would be sent back to Bro’s location in the stairwell where he was secured out of sight, ready to be back up once Hal was done exploring and mapping out the place. He’d already covered significant ground, only needing assistance when it came to changing floors, and was holding his own against some of the mutated pests that had taken up residence in the various empty rooms.

     The modified laser was perfect for quick shots, and most of the critters seemed to be expecting humans or at least food they could smell. The small mechanical device wasn’t very appetizing looking, more of a curiosity. Bro was pretty sure he’d never seen giant insects that close up before unless they were dead, the radiation having done a number on their dna sequences since the war. Their protruding eyes were kind of fascinating to see up close, though Bro was content to watch from his distance rather than get hands on.

     I don’t appreciate this, you know

     “Don’t appreciate what,” Bro said into his end of the walkie talkie. “Freedom to move around? Weapons to protect yourself with?”

     I don’t appreciate being stuffed into this toy and you damn well know it.

     “Cry me a river and check the next hallway, I’ve got a feelin’ there’ll be somethin’ good there.” 

     There were other toys there. You could have put me in something useful. Something sturdier. Something-

     “What the fuck is that thing?”  said a voice from further down the hallway Hal was trundling down. A human who’d been living rough for some time, with attitudes that were even rougher judging from the wild clothing they wore, came into view. A man, when he got close enough to be seen clearly. A raider, if some of the markings on his clothes were authentic and not just slapped on for fun. Great, just what he fucking needed, a pack of wild men to deal with.

     “Find something to eat?” called another voice. Bro quietly grunted and got up out of his hiding spot to go get ready. Humans could be destructive with shit they didn’t understand, and the last thing he wanted to do was lose Hal. He’d become pretty attached to the AI by now, and losing him wasn’t an option anymore, not with the end goal being so interesting to him.

     “Nah, just found… something. I don’t know what this thing is,” the first man admitted, reaching down to snatch the Furby off the ground after a few attempts, the small wheels motoring this way and that to avoid being picked up. “Some kinda toy?”

     “What, find a new teddy bear?” joked the other voice out of view.

     “Nah. This thing’s cute though,” he chuckled, touching the spinning wheels and the moving beak before setting it back down on the ground. The Furby failed to move. “Hey, c’mon over and get a look while it’s still.”

     The second man finally appeared, itching his back with the baseball bat he held, hair tied back into a messy bun. He popped a squat in front of the still Furby and smirked.

     “Aw. Lookit the lil shit, it’s cu-”

     Zap.

     The laser was probably overkill as far as power went, but Bro was proud of the addition and how stable it proved to be. The fact that Hal was a killer shot was just a bonus, landing the guy right between the eyes before the guy could get the word out all the way, dropping him like a sack of potatoes. The first man panicked and jumped back as the Furby zoomed back to life and backed up several paces.

     Bitch.

     Bro was able to take a shot towards the man’s shoulder with his sword  before turning and cracking him upside the head with a fist, sending him down in a bleeding pile. Nothing like a small fluffy creature buzzing on the floor after firing a deadly laser to act as a distraction for a 6’6 man with a sword creeping up on ya. It probably would have been more prudent to use long range… but sometimes he just needed to have an excuse to clean his sword off rom residue that wasn’t radroach or abomination. 

     “Y’know, you could’ve just singed him and he might’ve run. I was on my way,” Bro said, nudging the dead fellow with a toe of his boot. “I don’t think he even has anything interestin’ on him.”

     I hold no apologies for being called ‘cute’. 

     “You’re right, you’re adorable. How dare they.”

     Laser has entered the cooldown period. You’re lucky.

     “Your own fault for shootin’ full force, if you want to roast me you’re gonna need to learn your limits first Hal,” Bro said as he abandoned the toy and walked ahead to peek in different doors. Big fat load of nothing… till he found the place the second man had come from. Paydirt. A temporary camp site, complete with food and water. Packaged food, no less, prewar and sturdy enough to last ages thanks to its healthy doses of preservatives. Giving a pleased whoop of joy, Bro took off his bag and took to stuffing what he could carry into it, taking his time to look around for other important looking things. Keys, cards, electronic tidbits that might be useful, ammunition. Bandages. Christ could he use some bandages, or disinfectant, he’d forgotten to stock up on extras at the last place they’d stayed and it was going to bite him in the ass, he could just feel it.

     While he found some disinfectant in the form of a high octane liquor, the bandages were at least sanitary looking and standard. Eh. A drink and something to clean with. It’d work. Otherwise interestingly he found a notebook, one with most of the pages in it no less. Perfect. He’d be able to write Dave again tonight and send the letter off when they hit a trader or a town next. Right on schedule.

     ...Or maybe too much of a schedule. Kid was probably being inundated with letters and not sure what to do with them since he couldn’t write back. If he even wanted to.

     Bro paused for a moment before grabbing the notebook and stuffing it into his bag after all. If Dave read his letters or threw them in the trash, at least he was reaching out on his end and showing he was willing to talk. It was the best he could do, he supposed. Be there and be ready for replies if they came.

     You’re going to get fat if you eat all that processed garbage. Why did junk food survive but next to none of the decent food survive.

     “Preservatives and chemicals for flavorin’,” Bro said, snapping out of his thoughts. The one man was only knocked out, after all, not dead. He’d be coming to eventually, best to be long gone by then. “When there’s more chemicals than food in the package, the food’ll last through goddamn anything.”

     I’m starting to think that if you encountered a fresh vegetable you would collapse inwardly like a dying star.

     “Everything I’ve ever come into contact with had some traces of radiation in it, it’s part of the post-apocalyptic lifestyle, Hal. It’s just a waitin’ game to see how much will make you sick and how much just adds a zesty aftertaste.”

     ...I’m unable to tell if you’re joking or not and that is concerning for my future mobility. I can hear the atherosclerosis from here.

     “All you can hear are the dulcet tones of my voice, admit it,” Bro said, giving one last look around the room before reaching for Hal. The laser fired a small zap, stinging his hand and making him yank it back, watching the toy zip around in circles teasingly. “Ah c’mon, don’t be a lil shit. I was gonna put you back in the glasses. Don’t you like the glasses more than the Furby?”

     I like many things more than the Furby.

     “C’mere then,” Bro said, reaching down to snatch the toy up by its fuzzy body, the weight more substantial now than it had been fresh out of the box. The skin was stretched taut over all kinds of goodies now, and he was careful as he plugged the shades into the side of the Furby by way of the metallic port, waiting and watching as the small loading symbols flickered in front of his eyes. Once again, Hal’s eyes opened in front of his own, pupils dilating briefly in recognition before they flickered away and he was left with the usual interface once more.

     “There. Better?”

     If you really loved me you’d have built something better with all those spare parts.

     “I don’t love you. I tolerate you.”

     Frankenfurby is a token of your affections as surely as your letters to your spawn are.

     “Those’re different,” Bro murmured, tucking the doll away carefully in his bag and securing it closed. He wasn’t sure if he could hear groaning or was just paranoid, but better to leave than to find out. Slowly, he backtracked down the hallway past the felled men before speeding up to the stairwell, hurrying down and out of the building while he could. All in all a successful scavenge, his luck was really holding out now that he had his new toy.

     Friend.

     … Yeah, he’d call Hal a friend now. Maybe prematurely, but it was hard not to bond with someone whose sense of humor was so similar to his own, bot or not.

     Are we still on target to approach where my body was last being kept?

     “Should be. I’m only swervin’ once in a while to find places to stay, or to get goodies after all. There’s a few places I’d love to hit between here and there, though it’d be too rough goin’ for the furb to be active.”

     What are these locations you are wanting to go to and why.

     “Well, one of’ems a vault. I know if there’s people in it they’d be good for tradin’ with and prolly have somewhere to stay or know where it’d be good to stay in the region. If it’s a decrepit one it’d prolly been picked clean… if you give up after the first few areas,” Bro smirked. “Dig deep and pick enough locks, know how to sweet talk the electronics, and usually you’ll find a treasure trove of some kind. Or at least so I’d assume, given that I’ve not exactly crawled my way through enough to formulate a mean average on accessibility to the damn things.”

     Hal whirred briefly as if thinking before speaking up. What kinds of things would you be hoping to obtain from there that you cannot obtain from elsewhere that we’ve been going into? These ‘goodies’ you mention.

     “More prewar things mostly,” Bro said as he sized up a slope and skidded down it with his feet turned. He had to sit down once, scuffing his ass, but he made it to the bottom without falling at all. A quick dust, and he was back en route. “Food, ammunition. Weapons. Medical supplies is a big important one. Old prewar tech is like findin’ the needle in the haystack, but once you find it it’s sweet.”

     Old prewar tech like what, more odds and ends?

     “Sometimes. Sometimes it’s more like findin’ entire bots untouched in their charging bays,” he explained, eyeing the surroundings cautiously. He was more exposed out here, and he didn’t exactly enjoy it, but sometimes it was a choice between being exposed and being boxed into an area chock full of super mutants.

     No thank you, he’d take his chances out here thanks. Could hear and see shit coming that way while he was awake.

     Would these untouched bots have data cables perchance.

     “I’m not uploadin’ you into a Gutsy, Hal.”

     I’D BE SO MUCH MORE USEFUL, YOU’D BE MISSING OUT!

     “I like you bein’ portable. I also like you not bein’ capable of friendly fire. No, I didn’t forget that laser earlier, you fuck, my hand still stings from it.”

     Okay, what if instead of uploading me into a Gutsy you uploaded me into the mainframe computer? reasoned Hal. I could manually override everything in place since lockdown, and likely would be able to communicate with you through various data ports.

     Bro’s steps slowed a bit. That, he liked the sound of. Just need to make it to the overseers office and make sure it was clear before uploading him… or maybe even uploading him from another unit, if it was still functional.

     “If you ever got stuck in there, would you be patient and wait for me to figure out how to get you out?”

     And give up the God like control I would have over the giant rodent population? You tease me.

     “I’ll take that as a yes, and an Okay for where to head to next,” he hummed.

     If he could make it out of there with enough swag, he could sell the extra and have plenty to spend till the end of the mission. ...Was that what this was now? A mission? A mission to get to an AI’s body that may or may not even exist...for what. There was no guarantee Hal would even want to stay with him at the end of all of this. Odds are he’d get freedom and go running with it like Dave had, leaving Bro on his lonesome again.

     The thought put an unpleasant knot in his stomach. No, Daave hadn’t run away, he’d grown up and left the nest like everyone else did eventually. And even if Hal DID leave him behind, so what? He’d have had a bit of an adventure, restocked his cash supply, probably gotten more things to keep himself busy with. There’d be more stories to tell over a few shots of booze, more things to write to Dave about, and more things to remember when he was old.

     Nothing happened without a reason. This wasn’t a fruitless venture, he’d already had more fun than he assumed was possible.

     Are you okay? Hal asked suddenly.

     “Huh? Yeah, why.”

     Your eyes looked pensive and you seemed miles away. No reaction to the mole rat coming in from the left.

     Cussing, Bro turned and whipped his sword out, raising it up to-

     “...Hal. Where’s the mole rat,” Bro asked, scanning around in circles with his weapon raised.

     It’s fictional, but you proved my point about being distracted quite well.

     “Hal. I’m gonna bust you into twenty pieces if you keep that shit up.”

     Do you wish to talk about it? The things that were catching your thoughts.

     “You my therapist now?”

     Curiosity has captured me and you’re the nearest target.

     “I was thinkin’ about the nearest vault and what we might find in it,” he lied. Hal’s loading screen flashed in front of his eyes again before the outdated map appeared like a hazy display over reality.

     If we continue at the current ambling pace it would take till tomorrow evening to reach the nearest vault, given that nothing between here and there has become too irradiated to support living creatures or has become irradiated enough to support terrible living creatures.

     “One way to find out, huh.”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

     The vault was an opened one, leaving the usual rundown of various critters to deal with near the entrance. Pests. This was his pearl to unearth, not theirs to eat. They could have the leftovers, maybe he’d crumble up a bag of chips and leave’em nearby as a peace offering or something, not that the dumb animals would understand or appreciate it at all. As it was he took potshots at some of them and just stomped on the insects before they could be a problem, wiping goo off his shoes on the metal rack steps inside the big steel door. It smelled damp somewhere, made sense. The rest of the air just smelled old and musty, rusted. Worn down. There was still electricity though, these bastards really were meant to last.

     Bro made his way through a few doors before finding his way to some signs, following them to the main recreation area. Graffiti tagged the walls with various people he’d never heard of and probably never would know of, and most of the things were picked over or left broken open to rot. Raiders. Messy fuckers, lived somewhere for a while then moved on when the supplies ran out.

     Just meant there was probably gold in there further than the numbskulls could reach, and he just had to be patient.

     Paydirt came when Bro finally found a computer monitor that was not only unbroken but accessible to the main system, taking a seat to toy with the keys for a while. He spent some time reading old logs, scouring it for data that might be useful, keys being left somewhere or security being heightened in different areas. Not much to work from, though. He pursed his lips and made a soft tutting sound before shaking his head and standing.

     Aren’t you going to upload me?

     “Not here, no. If I find a security terminal maybe, or if I can get to the Overseer’s office, that’d be the best shit. You’d have access to a wider percentage of the place, if not all of it once the override’s overridden.”

     You underestimate me, I could probably reach there before you.

     “You could also get firewalled by some shit you’re encoded with because you’re still an AI tryin’ to hack somethin’. ‘Sides, I’d rather have the company for now,” Bro chuckled.

     At least the scenery is interesting. I believe the last three dicks on the walls were larger than the first three dicks on the walls.

     “We’re in the tainted parts,” Bro said, hopping a barrier to reach the first locked door they’d encountered. Smirking, he pulled off his bag and got a few small tools out, sparking the data screen back to life after a few minutes of jimmying the wires. He made quick work of it, letting the door open before allowing the charge to drop, rendering the door permanently open.

     “Child’s play,” he said softly, putting the tools into his pocket in case they were needed sooner rather than later before letting himself walk through and down the much better conditioned hallway. There was no graffiti here, but the smell of mildew was still strong, meaning there must have been a leak somewhere. Internal leak was one thing, an external meant radiation. “Hal, keep a geiger check goin’, warn me if we’re gettin’ anywhere too hairy.”

     There are elevated levels, but they’re within the safe amount so long as you don’t do something foolish like sleep back here.

     “Figured. Don’t worry, I don’t feel very tired right now.”

     If anything he felt alert, awake, ready to fight. He almost wished something would lurch around the dimly lit corner thirsting for his blood so he could decapitate it. Stress presenting itself in violent ways was just a part of life here, and fuck could he use some stress relief before the night was up. Getting here had been more stressful than he assumed, involving some stealthing past massive horned abominations with razor sharp claws and dealing with some leatherbound fuckheads who just HAD to decide he was worth heckling.

     Another bit of wandering, most rooms not holding anything useful or worth lugging out of there, Bro finally hit jackpot. The overseers office wasn’t locked down, it seemed. The bloodstain on the wall gave a few clues to why that may be, but the lack of a skeleton to follow up with made the guessing game all the more interesting in his opinion. Hopping into the creaking leather seat, he rustled for the connection cable from his bag.

     “Ready, Hal? I want you to light the place up, unlock shit, and see if you can access the sound system,” Bro rattled off, instructing the AI as if those weren’t the things he was already planning to do.

     I’ll send feedback to these monitors as well, no doubt there are some cameras still working, Hal promised, eagerly awaiting the moment of plugin.

     Briefly, Bro was concerned he’d caused a power outage. The room went pitch black, as did the rest of the vault that he could see from the rounded window and doorway, save for the monitor in front of him.

     “Hal? Fuck.”

     The screen flashed green, before taking on a red hue as pixels fell by the wayside. A small loading screen image appeared, same as in the glasses.

     Loading. Loading. Loading, came a voice from the sound system around him, soothing and methodical. In the distance, however, Bro heard unworldly screeching and hisses, and his blood ran cold.

     “Lights back on any time, Hal.”

     Loading. Loading. Loading.

     More hisses and screams, this time closer, reacting every time they heard a voice on the speakers.

     “Haaaaaal. Any time now would be pretty fuckin’ sweet,” Bro hissed, slowly sinking down below the desk and pulling his weapon out, hiding but prepared as he waited.

     The lights flickered back on, too bright and intense enough to sting his eyes before lowering back down to the softer indoor degree. Bro scooted out and lifted up enough to look at the screen, smirking when he saw a small, digitized version of a human with red eyes and white hair doing a bouncing dance in the corner. This wasn’t a simple data upload, it was practically a hijacking.

     “...Hal? Can you hear me?”

     No response. Frowning, Bro looked up to the corners to find the cameras, repeating himself.

     “Can you hear me?”

     No. But I can see you. I can see a lot of things.

     “Show me,” he mouthed towards the cameras before looking to the displays once more. It was like he’d feared: those hisses weren’t just in his head. The place was lousy with feral ghouls, and fuck if that was one thing he hated dealing with. Normal ghouls? Chill folks. Feral ghouls were a goddamn mess that didn’t stop hitting and they were smart enough to run while aiming for the soft bits. At least they weren’t infectious like in those old books he’d seen. Prewar people had been obsessed with the idea of the living dead. Well, congratulations fuckers: you were the reason they existed now.

     He assumed his sword could get through most of them, the rest he’d need to aim for the head to take down. Biting his lip, Bro stood up and took the chair once more, typing to get a more detailed message across to Hal in case the simplistic lip reading couldn’t carry over. 

     Can you unlock the doors?

     Done and done.

     Is there a path towards the medical bay or security room that isn’t littered with ghouls?

     Negative. Your new friends are everywhere and they don’t seem very happy to hear me.

     “God damn it, of course, the two places I wanna hit and they’re crawlin’,” Bro hissed in disgust. 

     Do you have a clear view of these areas?

     Absolutely, Hal said before the camera views changed, showing different hallways and signs, then finally the interior of the medical bay and the security office. Each had its own ghouls, but even from there Bro could see enough treasure that his mouth watered. Treasure in ammo boxes and containers that weren’t rusted and permeated with water. Treasure in medical cabinets, maybe even some chems. Bro was absolutely not above using chems if the need arose in a fight or the interest was high enough in a calm moment, but the thought of having prewar chems that not only were in good condition but plentiful?

     “Lock and load, Hal.”

[clumsydarknut]

The Spirit of the Hero - Chapter 5

My take on the AU by JoJo over @linkeduniverse . Posting this in celebration of finally acquiring a NES and SNES plus the gold cartridges of Zelda I and Zelda II. Took me a little longer to get a good handle on this one. Longest chapter yet. Enjoy.

Beginning | Previous | Next | Most Recent (More to follow!)

               The morning air was crisp and cool, frost glistening on every surface. Though the sky was still dark and the forest almost black, Link – now named Courage – knew the sun was up and simply hidden by the mountains to the east. It would be at least another hour before the sky lit up, and another hour beyond that for the light to penetrate the towering trees. Still, their party needed to set out.

               The night before had been an interesting one, to say the least. Setting aside the strange revelation that he now traveled with eight other variations of himself, the discussion on why they were brought together, how they ended up here, and what exactly is going on was plenty for his mind to chew on. Despite all their theories, they had only been able to determine one thing: someone was in danger, and a lot of it. The rest, Time had said, they couldn’t figure out without more information. It was agreed they would head to Castle Town – hopefully to speak with the Royal Family – and that they would break camp as early as possible the next morning.

               Courage took another breath, enjoying the near-silence of the sleeping woods for a moment longer. I’ll have to wake them. We can’t afford to wait for true daylight. He stood and looked to the fire where Light sat. They had kept it going for the sake of their islander, who couldn’t manage to keep warm without it. Wind was curled up in three extra blankets not a foot from the firepit and still shivering. Courage had done plenty of travel and was very used to acclimatizing quickly, but to live your whole life on a warm, tropical ocean and then be dropped in the middle of a pine forest at the start of winter? That would test even his abilities.

               “It’s time, then?” Light asked softly.

               “From the looks of it,” Courage replied, then gestured to the quivering bundle, “Wake him last, though. Doubt he’s had enough rest in this cold.”

               Light nodded and stood, making his way to the next-closest bedroll. Courage knelt next to Wild and put a hand to his sword before nudging the man gently.

               Just as he expected, Wild jolted awake and drew his sword halfway before realizing who was there. Courage smiled. I suppose we all have that in common. He motioned for Wild to sheath his sword and to try to stay quiet, nodding his head in the direction of Wind. Wild nodded in return, calming his pant and setting to preparing breakfast.

               The others awoke in a much similar way. Most started to draw swords and rose with a burst of adrenaline. Light almost had an ear taken off when he nudged Twilight, for which Twilight apologized profusely. Courage approached Legend with that reaction in mind, but to his surprise Legend didn’t stir after a first, second, or third nudge. It wasn’t until Wild sprinkled some pine needles over his face that the man showed signs of life, and those signs were… less than ecstatic.

               Once Legend was awake and no longer bloodthirsty, they set to breaking camp. Light and Courage were already fully equipped, having been on watch, and most of the others only had to strap on their weapons. Time and Warriors, however, had opted not to sleep in their armor. The time it took Warriors to don his vambraces and Time his plated cuirass allowed for Wild to roast some of the frozen boar, which, when Wind awoke, he found he desperately needed.

               “I c-can’t believe how w-well this is warming me up,” he chattered from inside his blanket cocoon.

               “Pink safflina does that,” Wild stated through a mouthful, “as do sunshrooms, if you cook them. Handy in a pinch.”

               “These will help, too.” Light held out a pair of boots. Wind dropped his breakfast and shoved them onto his feet.

               “Ohhhh man that’s so much better,” he sighed, flopping back on the forest floor.

               “I’ll need them back eventually,” Light intoned. “You can probably get your own when we get to Lehara.”

               At that Wind heaved himself back into a sitting position, shoved the rest of the boar steak into his mouth, and leapt to his feet. “Weshl ngu bem!” In one motion he had his gear off the ground and on his back, and without another word was headed down the road. The other Links exchanged surprised looks and hastened to get going themselves. Courage quickly rolled up the abandoned blanket cocoon and stowed it in his enchanted pouch, jogging to catch up with his lobster-shirted friend.

               Courage had expected the journey to be less quiet than it had been with only five of them, but he was soon proven wrong. While Legend’s occasional cursing was joined by Wind humming here and there, no one said a word. Rather than tense, though, it seemed peaceful. I suppose, Courage thought, we all have probably spent a fair amount of time alone. He certainly had.

               Courage’s mind drifted to his time in the labyrinths. He’d been so young then. How old had he been? Could he even remember? Maybe somewhere around thirteen, fourteen? That time was so foggy. Even if he had known how old he was when he encountered Impa, the ancient underground of Hyrule didn’t show the passage of time. Devoid of light, warmth, and populated only by monsters, the months he spent there – or perhaps years; he did not know – had left him without a lot to say. When your lantern went out and all you could do was feel your way along the walls, silence was survival.

               More than that, silence was safety. In the dankness of a decrepit dungeon, it gave him comfort to hear all that was going on in a room. To know with a surety that nothing could sneak up on him. To always have the upper hand. Silence gave him that. In silence there were no surprises, and when surprises included blades to the gut, it was better that you didn’t encounter any. Whether or not the other Links shared his reasoning, he had no doubt that they had their own.

               The walk went rather quickly, for being so quiet. Midday came and warmed their skin as they paused to pass out some of the deer jerky, then passed quickly into dusk as they came up on the town. The forest gave way into outlying farms leading up to a mess of buildings set on a river. Lehara was less of a town and more of a small city. Courage hadn’t seen many of this size, and felt something twist in the back of his stomach looking at the complicated streets. It made him uneasy, being only able to see where the town began and not where it ended. Too much potential for surprises.

               “Courage?”

               Courage gave a start and turned to Time. “Hm? What?”

               “He asked if you were alright,” Legend sighed, tilting his head. “’Courage’ is seeming less and less like a fitting name. You look like you could be sick.”

               Courage gave him a short glare and turned to answer Time. “I’m fine. Just got a bad feeling is all.”

               Time nodded. “Let’s find an inn quickly. A heavily armed group of our size is sure to draw attention.”

               “I need my own boots, still,” Wind piped up. He kicked the toe of one foot into the ground and looked sheepishly at Light. “They’re, uh, a bit small.”

               “All the more reason to find an inn,” Warriors put in, stretching his arms over his head. “The innkeeper – if he’s worth his salt – can tell us where the best cobbler is.”

               The group set off into the town at a quick pace. The streets were nearly empty, with only a few stragglers rushing about their last-minute errands. Courage noticed suspicious glances being cast out from under the awnings of roadside stalls and windows that quickly slid shut. The feeling of mistrust wasn’t new to him – in his time the people were necessarily suspicious of everyone – but feeling it on this scale was something else. I guess I am traveling with some pretty conspicuous partners. He generally didn’t wear much chainmail and blended in well with any crowd of travelers; Time’s full suit of armor, however, did not.

               “Mommy,” a little boy squealed, clutching his mother’s apron, “Is that man a soldier?”

               The boy’s mother patted his head and glanced warily at the group. “I’m not sure, sweetie, but it’s rude to point like that. Come along.”

               Time chuckled as the woman scurried away, herding her son along in front of her. “I forget how extravagant this armor is.”

               Warriors raised an eyebrow. “Is that not your usual garb?”

               “I wouldn’t say that it is,” Time replied, examining the back of his gauntlet. “I’ve certainly used this equipment before, but not often, and not for a very long time.” He laughed. “I suppose, though, that even if I were dressed more plainly, your fine tunic and pauldrons would still draw the same attention.”

               Warriors chuckled. “You’re right, but in my case that’s what they’re meant to do.”

               “Over there!” Twilight rushed to the front of the group, pointing down the street. Courage quickly found what he was looking at – a carved hanging sign of a gluttonous cyclops with the name “The Drunken Hinox” embellished in tarnished silver underneath. On the street below was a barrel with a plank leaning against it that read “Lodgings Available” in a messy scrawl. The Links exchanged nods and pushed open the door.

               The bottom floor – as expected – was a tavern of sorts. Considerably larger than the one at Beaverville, the spacious room held a dozen tables and had a small stage on the opposite wall from the bar. Courage breathed a sigh of relief at seeing most of the tables full and hearing raucous singing fill the air. Their party would likely go unnoticed, even with their heavy gear. Assuming they didn’t stir up any trouble, of course.

               “G’devening, young masters.” A short, round man with a shiny bald head and scraggly red mustache called to them from behind the bar. “Here for a drink? Finest ale in all of Hyrule is served right here!”

               “Actually,” Legend said, stepping up to the counter, “we’re here for the ‘inn’ part of your fine establishment. How much is one night?”

               The man looked at the party and stroked his chin. “Nine of you, eh? Well, each of my rooms only has two beds, but I suppose if you paid for four I could give you three and haul an extra mattress into each of them. That’d run you… 800 rupees?” The man ignored Legend’s dumbfounded face and picked up a stein and a washcloth. “No, 850 with a ninth breakfast thrown in. I can discount you on the rooms but my wife’ll have my head if I discount her work in the kitchens.”

               Courage could barely believe his ears. 850 rupees? He’d never so much as seen that much money, let alone spent that much on a room. Based on the expressions the other Links bore, he wasn’t alone in that. What kind of economic boom is Hyrule in right now that an inn warrants that kind of pricetag?

               Light choked out a cough before cutting in. “Sir, I’m sure this town has many other inns where we can find a better price. Surely you can cut that down a little further?”

               The man smiled. “Now, son, I know what you’re thinking. ‘He’s taking us for fools and raising the price for us cuz we’re from out of town’, right?” The man knocked on the sign above the bar with the back of his fist. “I don’t roll that way, young master. My prices are set right here. Lehara gets enough travelers for me to make a living without that kind of dirty work.”

               Courage squinted at the board, and sure enough, his prices were listed there, however faintly. 200 still seems ridiculous, especially where one night was only 30 in the next town over.

               Wild laughed suddenly, startling the other Links out of their stupor. He sauntered up to the bar and leaned over it, turning his back to the rest of the tavern and blocking any strangers view of the three, shimmering gold rupees he placed on the counter. Courage could barely believe his eyes.

               “900 rupees for nine travelers in three rooms seems a fair price,” Wild hummed, “wouldn’t you say? ”

               The shock that overtook the Links was nothing compared to that which hit the barkeep. Courage nearly jumped out of his skin when the stein the man was cleaning hit the ground with a loud clatter. It wasn’t loud enough to draw the attention of the whole room, but a few drunkards down the bar glanced their way. Exactly what we need.

               The barkeep stammered his reply. “Y-you don’t seem to have much sense for bargaining, son, I wasn’t asking for that much.”

               Wild slid the shiny gold gems discreetly across the counter. “Oh I know, but decent people deserve decent rewards. I can’t imagine it’s easy to compete in a hub town like this with a policy of honesty.” The long-haired man took on a sly grin. “It’s not like I’m short on cash anyhow.”

               The innkeeper’s eyes were nearly as round as his figure now, but he took the jewels and nodded. “R-right this way, young masters…”

               Wild sauntered after the man much more confidently than his awestruck fellows. Is he really that naive? Courage kept his hand on the hilt of his blade as they followed the pudgy little man out of the room. This is the second time he’s flaunted something valuable within earshot of others. Doesn’t he know that makes him a prime target?

               “Here you are, sirs,” the man said, gesturing to the three doors at the end of the first floor corridor, “I’ll have my staff bring you those cots right away.” He pulled two large key rings out of his apron pocket and fingered through the heftier. With a changle he unhooked three marked keys and handed them to Wild, gave a casual salute, and waddled back to the tavern.

               Wind clapped Wild on the back with a whistle. “Wow, Wild, didn’t know you carried that kind of cash on you.”

               Wild smiled and examined the keys with fascination. “These are high-quality keys. I sure hope he didn’t give us his best rooms.”

               “Oh shut up,” Legend growled, snatching them from his hands. “I hope to the Hylia he did. We’ll need them with the giant, flashing ‘rob me’ sign you just hung on our backs!”

               Wild looked taken aback. “’Rob me’ sign? What?”

               “He’s right,” Light sighed. “You really shouldn’t flaunt your wealth like that.”

               “Flaunt?” Wild scratched his head and looked at Wind, who was equally confused. “I wasn’t- I just- the man’s a nice guy!”

               “Unfortunately,” Time added solemnly, “I don’t think the innkeeper was the only one privy to our conversation.”

               “And even if no one else heard exactly what was going on,” Twilight added, “I’m pretty certain the people down the bar picked up on the fact that something interesting happened.”

               Wild opened his mouth to respond, but Courage couldn’t stand to let tensions rise any higher – he may agree with the others, but berating Wild now wouldn’t change what happened.

               “Making a scene like this isn’t going to help,” he cut in, passing a level stare around the circle. “We have more pressing matters than a few thieves in a random tavern. Let’s just settle in for the night.”

               “You’re right,” Warriors said firmly. “We need to focus on the big picture right now.”

               The men shared uncomfortable looks but all hummed in agreement. Courage felt a twinge in his gut. He still couldn’t remember what had happened after he began his toast at the feast. Is she safe? Is she even alive? Dear Farore please let her be alive.

               Sky broke the tense silence with a change of subject. “Let’s decide on rooms. That’s a good place to start.”

               “I call Twilight!” Wind shouted excitedly.

               Courage felt himself relax. She’s fine. I’ll take care of this mess soon enough and then I’ll be back. He put a hand to the lump in his pouch and smiled. I’ll be back soon, Zelda.

               Wild rolled over uncomfortably on the feather cot. It was well past dark now – likely past midnight – but he still couldn’t sleep. Not that taking one of the nice, plush beds would have helped; he took the cot on purpose since he knew it wouldn’t matter. He hadn’t slept comfortably since… since before he could remember. Sure, there had been the occasional specialty bed at an inn or spa somewhere that made it so he could at least dream something, but even that hadn’t been deep or particularly restful.

               He chuckled to himself. He had tried a Zora waterbed once, but if one even so much as wiggled a toe the watertight mattress would tremble and make all sorts of noise. When he had finally drifted off, he shifted his arm, startling himself awake and leaping off the bed with a screech, sword in hand. He grinned at the memory. That poor innkeeper nearly had a heart attack.

               Luckily he didn’t usually need much sleep, either. He hardly slept the night before in their camp, and didn’t feel particularly tired now either. Did he even remember what a good night’s rest felt like? He couldn’t recall. He’d never really wanted one anyhow. At least, not more than to see what the difference was. Was there a difference? Would he function better with more sleep?

               A knot formed in his stomach and his smile faded. He ran his hand over the web of scars on his arm. Did I function better? Something tugged at the back of his mind – a gnawing feeling he couldn’t place, but couldn’t ignore. Impressions trickled into his consciousness. Complete blackness. Water. He was underwater. Weight on his chest. Couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think.

               He shook his head and pulled his hand away, rolling onto his stomach and shoving both fists under his pillow to stop himself from tracing the wounds. I don’t need to think about that.

               That was one disadvantage of not sleeping much – it left one far too much time to think. In his opinion, though, there were far more advantages than disadvantages. You didn’t absolutely need it, for instance. If you were in a rush, you didn’t really have to stop for camp. You were also less likely to get caught off guard. You could be your own watch when you camped on your own, and an extra set of ears when you had companions. In general he considered it a blessing.

               Sky shifted in his bed, shaking Wild from his thoughts. He listened as the man’s breathing fell back into the slow rhythm of sleep. Courage lay in the other bed, his breath almost imperceptible. Wild was glad these two were the ones rooming with him. The others had all gotten so upset with him earlier. Had it really been such a big deal that they had to go and lecture him on it? He had been discreet, hadn’t he? At least he wasn’t actively showing it off!

               He frowned. So I’m being obvious, but Time and Warriors with their expensive armor aren’t? Time’s pauldrons have gold inlays! And Legend’s got like, 30 shiny jeweled rings on each hand. Why are they so worried about me making us a target? Honestly if any of them are half as good at swordplay as I am we really shouldn’t have to worry about bandits at all.

               Almost as if summoned by his thoughts, he suddenly felt a hand grab his hair and yank his head off the down pillow. He gasped as a sliver of cold metal met his throat.

               “Where’zzz yer wallet?” a raspy voice slurred quietly into his ear. Wild felt a boot press down on his back as the man pulled harder, and he swallowed the cry that attempted to escape.

               “C-cabinet…” Wild breathed. The man didn’t seem to hear and yanked harder, and Wild hissed.

               “Where’z yer wallet?!” the man said louder. His breath smelled of booze and the way the knife wobbled against Wild’s skin said he was very drunk, never mind the fact that he was no longer maintaining any semblance of stealth. “Tellme whereitiz! I’llzzslit yer throat!”

               Wild heard feet hit the floor as the man started to scream. Courage’s voice started to call out to him but the man drowned it out.

               “Donnntry it, boy!” the madman shouted. “Whozzzzswordoyou think’m using, huh?” Wild felt the steel sliver into his skin just a hair as the man cackled maniacally. “Damn, kiddo, if I didn’know yer friend’ad sucha hefffty wallet I mightajustaken thizzz beaut!” He leaned into Wild’s back and gave a tug. Wild couldn’t stop the yelp.

               Footfalls sounded in the next room and Warriors’ muffled but commanding voice penetrated the wall. The bandit tensed and pressed the sword closer.

               “ShhhhhhhhhhhhhHHHHHH!” he demanded, “Dammmmmitnow there’zzzno clean getaway. I tol- told you to be quiet!” The man removed his boot and yanked Wild to his feet, keeping the blade against his neck. If Wild weren’t so preoccupied with his life hanging in the balance he might have stopped to admire Courage’s ruby-encrusted blade – or the miraculous fact that the inebriated bandit hadn’t slit his throat by accident already. Instead, now that he could somewhat see the dark room, he searched desperately for a solution.

               His own sword was tucked under the cot on the opposite side from where Courage now stood. Courage had the sense not to go for either of their bows, which were locked safely in the cabinets with their other possessions. Even if he had a weapon, though, the drunkard had Wild safely caught as a hostage – even if the others burst into the room right this second that wouldn’t free him from his grasp. He doubted he could overpower the man without getting cut in the process – any movement would drive the pristine blade edge right through skin and into his trachea. And most amazingly, how was Sky still asleep?

               “Put down the sword,” Courage urged calmly, “We’ll give you our wallets, just let go of my friend.”

               “Hellllyou will!” the man jabbed back. “Gimme the cashhhfirst!”

               “Easy, easy,” Courage continued, inching toward the cabinets. “Give me a second to get them.”

               The man quavered and wobbled slightly as Courage turned to unlock the pine cupboards, barely visible in the dark. The click of the key in the lock made the man flinch and Wild inhaled sharply as the blade jolted slightly. Courage exhaled and wrapped his hand around the brass doorknob.

               Just as he moved to swing the doors open, the other Links crashed into the room holding lamps and swords. Courage jerked around and started to shout a warning and the bandit screamed at the sudden interruption. Wild felt the steel shift and he sent one final plea to Hylia. Please, let Zelda be happy.

               Everything went quiet. Time came to a halt. No pain. No hurt. Just silence.

               And then, a gurgle of blood.

               Wild opened his eyes slowly and registered a few drops of crimson trickling down his bare chest. The thick liquid was sticky and warm, staining his skin and scars. But, still, the pain didn’t come.

               Wild turned to look at the bandit and suddenly realized why. He was an ugly man, with a ratty brown beard and wild eyes. Eyes now open in horror as he choked on his own blood, coughing and bubbling more up over his lips. His sword arm lay severed on the mattress below, and through his torso was run a very familiar blade.

               Sky pushed the man off the sword with a grimace, hefting it in his hand and frowning down at the dying drunkard. Even covered in blood, the sword glowed like a star. The holy light of the blade shimmered off the gem set in the deep blue hilt, which was carved in the shape of Hylia’s sacred bird. At the base of the blade was inscribed the most ancient symbol in Hyrule – the crest of the Triforce.

               The Master Sword.

[starsinursa]

7 & 8 for your ask game!

Soulmates + Amnesia

(I, uhhh, used the prompt for ‘amnesia’ kinda broadly. Hope it’s still okay! Thanks for the ask!)

__________________________________

If there’s one thing Dean hates, it’s being bullshitted.

Sure, he’ll make jokes about being an Aquarius, but he’snever put any actual stock into things like Zodiac signs. The ruling planet forAquarius is Uranus, for fuck’s sake, how is he supposed to take that seriously?So when Charlie reads his horoscope out loud from the campus newspaper, herolls his eyes. When the cute girl behind the Panda Express counter gives himextra fortune cookies with his take-out, he winks at her but shoves them in hispocket for Sammy. And don’t even get him started on those psychic lines,charging poor saps by the minute to call in for false hope about a promotion ora break-up.

Dean believes in things he can see, hear, or touch. Hebelieves in evidence. Not in superstition or the supernatural.

So when Charlie drags him off-campus after his World Litclass and hauls him up the front steps of a house with a sign in the frontwindow reading, ‘Missouri Moseley – psychic readings’, he feels distinctlybetrayed.

“You said we were going to get pie at the Roadhouse,” heaccuses, leveling a finger at her.

“And we are,” Charlie pauses in front of the door. “After.”

It doesn’t even look like a psychic lives here…although Dean’snot entirely sure what a psychic’s house is supposed to like look. Haunted?Decrepit? Set against a stormy background of perfectly-timed lightning strikes?This house just looks…normal. The front steps aren’t even creaky. It’s kind ofdisappointing, actually. 0/10 for aesthetics. Would not approach in trepidationagain.

“You know this kind of thing is a crock of shit, right?Psychics aren’t real,” Dean insists. He’s had this argument with her a thousandtimes, but he has to try.

Charlie rolls her eyes and knocks on the door. “Would itkill you to stop being a party pooper for five seconds?”

“It could,” he mutters, but he shoves his hands in thepockets of his jacket and begrudgingly waits while she knocks again.

“Oh, lighten up, Negative Nancy. If nothing else, we’ll geta good story out of it. ‘This one time at a psychic reading…’”

“A good story? If you’re paying for it, you better get adamn good story. Hell, let’s just skip the psychic crap and buy fifty bucksworth of tequila, I’ll give you a greatstory.”

Charlie glances over at him and wrinkles her nose. There’sbeen no answer to her knock and she raps on the door again. “Yeah, but I’m bettingthe psychic won’t take off her pants,sing bad karaoke to Taylor Swift, and rant for an hour about how The Original Series is the bestgeneration of Star Trek.”

“That was one time, and if you start up that Next Generation bullshit again-“

He pauses when a distant-sounding voice inside the housecalls, ‘Come in!’. Charlie glances at him and shrugs, pushing open the door andleading them inside.

The inside isn’t much different than the outside – that isto say, kind of boring. They’re standing in a front hallway with hardwoodfloors. There’s a doorway leading into another room, probably a living room,but Dean can’t tell, and there’s a staircase at the back of the room leading upto a second story. A wooden bench is set against the bottom of the stairs,probably for clients to sit while waiting.

Dean glances around curiously, but doesn’t see anyone else.Charlie is grinning again.

“Do you think she’llbe able to tell me where I lost my Organic Chem book?”

“If we came to a psychic so she can help you find a textbook,we’re not friends anymore.”

“That thing cost like $200! Plus, I’m also hoping she’lltell me that Saoirse Ronan is the love of my life.”

Dean raises his eyebrows. “Huh. Think we can ask for thewinning lottery numbers?”

“That would be highly unethical,” a low voice says behindthem.

“Fuck!” he swears, making Charlie jump too. Jesus, he hadn’theard a thing. His heart’s doing a quick trot and he tries consciously to slowit down, hand to his chest, shooting a glare at the guy standing at the bottomof the stairs.

The guy is watching them calmly. He’s doesn’t look phased byDean’s outburst at all – in fact, he looks a little stoned, and he’s got someserious stubble and bedhead going on. There’s a ring pierced through the centerof his bottom lip and the remnants of smudged eyeliner around his eyes, whichjust makes them seem unfairly blue. He’s wearing a faded KC Royals hoodie, hands shoved in the front pocket. There are holesin the knees of his jeans.

“Not that I particularly care about the ethics,” the guycontinues as if he hadn’t just scared Dean half to death. “I would tell you thenumbers if I knew them, but I don’t. At least not yet, but maybe they’ll cometo me. Who knows?”

Well, that answers Dean’s question about whether this dudeis their supposed psychic.

The guy tilts his head and starts towards the doorway of thenext room. “This way, please.”

Dean shoots Charlie a pointed look, eyebrows raised, butfollows. The guy isn’t even wearing shoes, Dean notices suddenly, and thatexplains how he’d crept up on them so friggin’ quietly. The sounds of his barefeet are practically nonexistent on the hardwood floors. Meanwhile, Dean soundslike he’s a stomping giant in his boots.

They duck around a curtain of beads in a doorway and into asmall living room. There’s a squashy couch, two armchairs, and a wooden coffeetable in the middle.

“Please, have a seat.”

The psychic sits down on one end of the couch and gestures. Deanhesitantly takes an armchair. Charlie sits in the other one on his left.

“Would you like something to drink? There’s tea availablefor guests,” the guy says, gesturing to the coffee table in front of them, andDean notices a pitcher and some cups for the first time. The guy picks up thepitcher and starts filling up several cups without waiting for an answer,handing one across the table to Charlie and then to Dean.

Dean takes it warily and holds it up to his nose. “Thisisn’t some kind of drugged hippie tea that’s gonna get us high and make us morelikely to believe the crap you say, is it?”

“Dean!” Charlie scolds, but the psychic doesn’t lookoffended. On the contrary, he seems interested for the first time since they’vearrived, blue eyes suddenly sharpening and fixing on Dean. He smiles, and it’sall teeth.

“I don’t need to drug my customers,” he says, voice rumblingand low – and shit, had it sounded that low a minute ago? – but amused. “It’sjust iced tea.”

“Oh.” Dean breaks theguy’s gaze and takes a sip of his tea.

“You don’t look like a Missouri,” Charlie says finally,clearing her throat.

The psychic smiles, finally looking away from Dean and over to Charlie, and Dean feels like he can breathe again.

“No. My name is Castiel.”

“So where’s Missouri?” Except apparently Dean’s mouth is incapableof shutting up today, and he’s not quite why – he just knows he feels a strangeurge to press this guy’s buttons. “Isn’t she supposed to be the psychic on thesign out front?”

“She’s out of town visiting her granddaughter. But I’m herapprentice. Sometimes I fill in.”

Dean snorts. An apprentice?He didn’t even know that was an actual thing, he thought it was just a crappyTV show.

“Castiel?” Charlie says, testing the name.

“It’s Biblical.” Castiel’s tone makes it sounds like he’sused to the question. He probably is, with a weird name like that. “I was namedafter the Angel of Thursday.”

“Oh, so you were born on a Thursday,” Charlie nods. “That makessense.”

Tilting his head to the side, Castiel gives her the the mostbaffled look Dean’s over seen, like she just spoke in Farsi or something. “No. Iwas born on a Monday.”

…god, this guy is weird.Dean opens his mouth to say so, too, but Charlie reaches over to swat him onthe arm.

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Castiel,” she says quickly. “I’mCharlie and this is Dean-”

Dean can’t resist. “If he’s psychic, shouldn’t he alreadyknow that?”

He’s expecting more of a reaction this time - for Castiel togive him a dirty look or something - butinstead the guy just glances at him sideways, eyes lidded in the most predatoryfucking look Dean’s ever seen in his life, and winks at him. Fucking winks at him.

“- and we’re here for readings,” Charlie carries on,reaching over to hit Dean’s arm again.Whose side is she even on? “How exactly does this work? Do you see into thefuture, or…?”

“Psychic abilities tend to have a will of their own,” Castielsays, setting down his cup of tea. “They don’t always work the same way. I cansense thoughts and energies in a room, but the strength and clarity vary.Sometimes I’ll hear a sentence word for word, and other times I only get thevaguest sense of someone’s intentions. The same goes for projecting into thepast or the future. Sometimes I can see pieces of someone’s past or future, butI don’t always choose what pieces I see. You can ask specific questions andI’ll do my best to answer them, but I can’t make any promises.”

“That doesn’t sound like a very dependable gift,” Deanpoints out, taking a pointed drink of his iced tea.

“Concentration and focus help make it more accurate, andalso practice. That’s why I’m apprenticing.”

“So what happens if you don’t ‘see’ anything worthwhile?”

“Then you don’t have to pay me,” Castiel says easily, shrugging,as if he couldn’t care less about the money. Dean wonders how his boss Missourifeels about that.

“Not a very lucrative way to do business.”

“That’s because you’re assuming I won’t see anythingworthwhile.” Castiel’s slow smile gives Dean the bizarre urge to shiver. “You’renot the first skeptic I’ve met, Dean, and you won’t be the last.”

“And what’s wrong with being a skeptic?” Dean demands. “Ibelieve in things I can see. Not in superstition or religion, and not inpsychics.”

“If God were alive today, he’d be an atheist,” Castiel murmurs,shaking his head.

Dean almost chokes on his tea.“That– that’s Vonnegut,” he coughs, because what the hell, this guy just quoted Vonnegut. Dean is planning his friggin’ thesis about Vonnegut.

Castiel just smiles. “Now, Dean, as the skeptic - wouldyou like your reading first or last?”

“Oh, do him first!” Charlie chimes in, sipping her tea withobvious relish. She’s settled back into the armchair and crossed her feet up offthe floor, apparently making herself comfortable for a long stay.  Dean glares at her, trying to communicate hisbetrayal while simultaneously ignoring the innuendo in her words.

Castiel chuckles. The hair on the back of Dean’s neck andarms does not prickle just a bit at the sound.

“If you say so,” Castiel says, and then he fucking leansover the coffee table and reaches out his hands to Dean. “Give me your hands please.”

“Uh.” Dean freezes, gripping his cup of tea in a vice, but Castieljust waits expectantly, hands turned palms up above the table. Like he justexpects Dean to hands holds with him and then they’re going to, what, sing Kumbaya or something?

“What, how’s this work? No crystal balls, or smoke andmirrors, or what?” he says instead, bidding for time.

“No crystal balls or mirrors,” Castiel says cheerfully. “And especially no smoke, because if Missouri catches yousmoking inside her house, she’ll hit you with a spoon. And that’s not a psychic vision, I just know from experience.”

Dean is at a loss. With a sigh, he sets down his cupon the coffee table. “Fine. Let’s just get this over with.”

He reaches out his hands and cautiously grasps both ofCastiel’s palms. They’re large – a little bigger than Dean’s hands – and warm,gripping lightly. Across from him, Castiel closes his eyes. After shooting onelast uneasy look at Charlie, Dean hesitantly follows suit, shutting his eyes aswell.

He only manages the silence for a few seconds before he’sfidgeting in his chair. “So this, uh, hand-holding thing… it helps you get abetter read, or what?”

Castiel’s voice is low and amused. “No, not at all. In fact,it’s entirely unnecessary.”

Eyes snapping open, Dean snatches his hands away like he’sbeen burned, only to realize too late that Castiel is laughing. His blue eyescrinkled at the corners, smiling wide, and even Charlie is cracking up, doubledover in the chair next to him.

“Just for that, I’m not paying,” Dean says petulantly.

Castiel just keeps chuckling and stretches out his handsagain.

“I apologize, Dean. Seriously this time. Please give me yourhands,” Castiel says. When Dean raises his eyebrows and folds his arms acrosshis chest, Castiel actually rolls his eyes, but he’s still smiling. “Myintentions are honest, I promise. Physical contact actually does help me to getbetter readings.”

With a sigh, Dean holds out his hands and lets Castiel take them again.Castiel’s eyes slide shut, but Dean keeps his eyes open this time. He waitsimpatiently, expecting Castiel to make another sarcastic comment or startstroking his hands or do something else strange, but none of that happens.

Castiel actually seems to be taking it seriously this time, holdingDean’s hands in a light, loose grip. His long fingers are warm around Dean’s,fingertips just barely brushing against Dean’s wrists in a way that he triesnot to focus on. Instead, he watches Castiel’s face, which is set in a look ofquiet determination, eyebrows just barely drawn together. After a couple ofminutes when nothing happens, Dean feels himself start to relax.

That’s when Castiel has to talk and ruin it, of course.

“You have a beautiful soul.”

“Uh.” Dean blinks, resisting the urge to pull his hands awayagain. What the hell is he supposed to say to that? Thank you? Is that somethinghe can even take credit for? He knows the guy is just trying to make him react.

Luckily, Charlie seizes the moment.

“You can see souls?” she asks eagerly, leaning forward inher seat.  

Castiel answers her patiently without opening his eyes orreleasing Dean’s hands. “Not quite, but I can sense auras to an extent, whichare extensions of the soul.”

“Wow,” Charlie breathes. Then she grins mischievously. “AndDean’s is beautiful, huh?”

“Oh yes,” Castiel says, and Dean’s not sure what to think about the tone of Castiel’s voice.

He clears his throat. “Anyways, that’s great, but it doesn’ttell me anything. No one else can see souls, you could be just making it up. Stillgot no proof here, man.”

“Of course,” Castiel rumbles, and he’s silent for anotherlong moment before starting to speak slowly. “You were…born and raised here inLawrence. You’re a…Literature major. You’re a big brother.”

Okay, it’s a little eerie, but still. “Dude, anyone couldguess those things within the first five minutes of meeting me. Try again.”

Nodding, Castiel’s look of concentration gets more serious,his lips pressed together in a line. Then his eyebrows pinch together above hisclosed eyes, and he says the absolute worst thing he could have said.

“I’m so sorry about your mother, and the fire.”

“Don’t,” Dean chokes out, because he needs Castiel to stop right now. There’s a quiet gaspfrom Charlie on Dean’s left, but he doesn’t look at her. “Not that. Anythingbut that.”

His heart is hammering a mile a minute, hands suddenlyclammy with sweat. Because if Castiel knows about that, knows about that part of Dean’s past that he’s only everdiscussed with Sammy, then…then Castiel must be telling the truth. He must be thereal deal, an actual psychic, or something like it.

And son of a bitch, if that thought isn’t terrifying. He’snot sure he wants to hear another word that comes out of Castiel’s mouth.

Castiel’s face actually looks remorseful. “I apologize. Ididn’t mean to bring up painful memories, it was just…a very powerful one, hardnot to see.”

Dean has nothing to say to that, so he waits in silence,trying not to panic at the fact that he may need to reevaluate his entire worldview in his apartment later tonight.

After another few moments, Castiel frowns to himself, a quickdownward quirk of his lips that Dean’s draws eyes despite himself, and then he fuckinglicks his lips, tongue flashingbriefly over the ring in his bottom lip. Dean tries to remind himself that he’sgoing to get caught staring in a moment, but just as he thinks it, Castielopens his eyes and meets his gaze. He beams, but doesn’t let go of Dean’shands, and Jesus Christ, this is probably the longest that Dean’s ever heldhands with someone in his life.

“It’s very good to see you again, Dean Winchester,” Castielsays, fondly.

“I didn’t tell you my last name,” Dean says, stupidly.

Castiel chuckles again, that low sound that makes Dean’sskin want to prickle, and now he’s rubbing his thumbs lightly over the backs ofDean’s hands, what is happening. “No,but it seems we’ve met before.”

“Dude, I’ve never met you before in my life,” Dean protests,and finally he tugs his hands away. Castiel doesn’t protest, letting him go easily.

“In this life. We’ve never met before in this life. But apparently, we know each otherquite well in another life. In many other lives, actually.”

Dean gapes at him. “There’s no way you saw that.”

“I did, I received very distinct impressions, although the details and timelines were a bit jumbled. There’ssomething here,” Castiel says, and he gestures between himself andDean. “It seems we have a knack for finding one another, in every life.”

“That’s a load of crap.”

“It’s not,” Castiel insists. “Why would I lie about this? We have a…profoundbond, you could say.”

“Oh my god, they were soulmates,” Charlie whispers.

Dean, after jumping in his seat because he’d forgotten allabout her, gives Charlie the dirtiest look he can muster. It’s a realstink-eye, that’s for sure. Sammy definitely would’ve been cowed. 

But Charlie doesn’teven have the good grace to look ashamed, just beaming at Dean and lookingabout two seconds from leaping out of her seat to envelop him in a hug.

“You have a soulmate!” she exclaims.

How is this his life, Dean thinks somewhat hysterically. Hewas promised pie and somehow ends up with a psychic claiming to be his soulmate.

At least Charlie was right. This is definitely gonna make one hell of a story.

[freelancer-chronicles]

A story about someone new! And a nice nod to our Season of Skull hoods in the image lol

Kiir adjusted the magnification on her visor and peered at the almond-shaped karrid leaf. Its jade-green shine was marred by a dusting of white frost — the gift of an early Icetide.

The frost didn’t concern her. Instead, she peered at the lightning bolt of pinkish, luminescent crystals that struck diagonally across the leaf’s surface. Where the strange accumulation met the green flesh, odd aberrations swirled. Veins knotted into geometric patterns. Cell structures exploded.

Ember bloom. Chimeric mutations.

Kiir dropped the leaf and looked up at the karrid tree. Two parallel slashes of pink ember had crosscut its rugged bark. These crystals were much bigger, as large as her hand, and had formed into the typical square-based pyramid with the points shaved off. But the light within was rosy. Simmering with power.

Unlike any ember known.

Excitement surged in her. Triggering the jets in her suit, she leapt into the air and surveyed the valley from on high. It was typical of the Sundric lowlands. Here, the mountains of Heliost gave way to soggy heath. Thick fog blanketed the land, punctured by distressed trees and crumbling castles. All of this terminated at the Sundric Sea, a silvery expanse about ten leagues north. Beyond that, Stralheim — a strangled signature on the far horizon.

Ice crystals on the wind. And something else… an unfamiliar tang.

The sensors in Kiir’s interceptor whispered. They drew her attention to a northwestern promontory overlooking the valley. Tuning up her optics, she saw peaked roofs and a palisade wall. Both played ghost games in the fog.

She returned to the ground and hooked the air sled to her suit. Spying a decrepit castle outside the village, she rocket-jumped clear across the valley and landed amid its crumbling ruin. There, she hid the sled, packed with her weapons and camping gear, taking only her SMG and dagger.

She walked straight through the swirling ice fog towards the village. The palisade wall emerged. She leaped over it and landed noiselessly in an alley between two wooden buildings. Arabesques of pink crystals snaked across the walls on either side. She followed them into a wide plaza.

All around her — devastation. Peasant dwellings blasted to ruin. Bodies frozen in the mud. A Sentinel watchtower broken off at the third story, its upper ramparts smashed across the street.

Crystals everywhere. Etched in curious double rows across the ground and walls. Looming over the town like blushing titans hewn from pink gemstone. Erupting from the skulls of victims. Hissing their little ember song.

The echo of the Anthem.

The wailing again pierced the silence and it drew her to the town’s edge. There, a village girl, some twelve winters old, wept near a quintuplet of recently dug graves: her peasant clothes, tattered and burnt; the snowy ground, stained with blood.

Such unchecked grief was hard to watch. And yet...

A smile itched at the corner of Kiir’s mouth.

Yes. Yes, it was here.

***

She set camp in the exposed third floor of the Sentinel tower. From there, she could see all around the town and across the valley, antics of the fog permitting. She’d brought a suspension tent, a tripod for her spyglass, a notebook, and a small armory: sniper rifle, hunting rifle, two SMGs, a bolt lance, and the Leach, her signature nine-inch, green-glowing, poison-seeping dagger. Everything needed to execute her hunt.

Then she exited her javelin and checked it for damage. It was a custom-fitted Interceptor, decked out in metallic black plating and fireproof muslin half-cape, hood, and trailing skirt. She checked the ember rings on all the joints; the pin-thin orange hoops glimmered reassuringly in their ceramic fittings. The sigil of the Princess Zhim, her patroness, etched in silver along the jaw of her faceplate, reflected the falling snow.

Then she flew a recon pass over the valley. In summer, this was a verdant but cool paradise fed by a river from the Helossar glacier. Now, frozen falls crowned the southern end of the valley, and two hilly ranges extended outward like a “v.” There were five rugged peaks: two on the left, three on the right, with the village below the first peak on the left. Between the ranges: a vast wilderness of frosty muskeg, lake ice, and snow-blasted forest.

It would take days to search it all.

When the white sun touched the horizon, she returned to camp, lit a fire, and waited. Wolven lingered at the forest edge; their blazing, yellow eyes betrayed their intent. With her scope and hunting rifle, she killed five in one breath and stacked them beyond the fire’s heat, to freeze.

While she roasted one, the rest of the pack receded into the dusk.

Daylight began to dim. She ate the cooked wolven, the stiff scars on her face resisting the simple act of chewing.

For a long time, she sat. Listened to the sounds of the wilderness. Of the village ruins creaking in the wind. Watched as the sky turned violet, then indigo, then black. As the constellations emerged and recounted the legends of old.

Gods and monsters. Hunters and prey. The deeds of mortals engraved in the heavens, with stars for words.

She swallowed hard and drew a pinch of grey dust from the pouch around her neck, tossing it in the fire. A blast of sparkling silver figures and prismatic symbols erupted upward, writing their own mysteries against the twilight.

She scanned the obscure imagery for meaning. Attempted to divine a prophecy of what her hunt may bring. Glory? Fortune? Perhaps contentedness to come? A return to joyful days long submerged in a life of misdemeanor?

Kiir sighed and closed her eyes. She could not read Shaper words — no one could. They were the musings of beings far greater than anything left alive on Coda today. But she held out hope that somewhere, someone, something knew she was there. Validating their great works.  

In return, she asked for the one thing she needed most.

Salvation.

***

The next day, she drew a rudimentary map in her notebook, jotting down all relevant landmarks: the village, the five peaks, the frozen falls, the coastline, two large frozen lakes, a scattering of lagoons. At the same time, she tracked the rosy, parallel trails of ember. They jagged and snaked all over the valley, sometimes congregating in snarled knots, sometimes running for leagues and terminating for no apparent reason.

Twice that day, she saw the survivor girl gathering berries from the mander bushes. Many the child ate voraciously; many more she carried through the snow back to the village. Later, Kiir spotted her entering the Sentinel barracks, one of the few buildings left standing after the attack.

Through her spyglass, Kiir watched as the girl nursed a wounded Sentinel. He was unconscious. Suffering. Still locked in the towering javelin of his order, propped up against a column inside the barracks. She fed him berries with gentle desperation.

After almost an hour of hand-feeding the dying man, the girl went about various tasks: propping up a wall on the verge of collapse; patching wind-torn gaps in their ravaged shelter; tending her meager fire. Kiir rubbed her jaw and frowned. Despite the hard work and singular focus, the girl’s situation was dire. The winter was young, and the wolven were starving.

Later, when the girl left again, Kiir entered the barracks and stood over the Sentinel. Something in the room smelled worse than decomposition: floral and acrid, like fermenting perfume.

The man’s head was a horror. A chimeric mutation had overtaken the left side of his head, the flesh bubbled and sculpted. Erupting from the centerline of the infected area was a ridge of that unreal pink ember: flat-pointed pyramids, glowing and humming, apparently anchored to his very skull. A wound on the man’s neck and collar had been bandaged by an amateur.

She avoided the ember wound and stripped the bandages off his collarbones. The whiff of rotting flowers rose like a cloud — not like any infected wound she’d known. She swallowed her nausea and peered closer.

Blood pumped easily from four deep, ragged tears below his neck.

An animal wound. Certainly fatal.

She dropped the bandages on the dirty ground and shook him. When he didn’t respond, she touched the freezing Leach to his neck. That brought him around.

“Who…?”

“What attacked you?”

His eyes drifted over her javelin. “You Corvus?”

“Did the creature make you smell like this?”

He took a long breath and seemed to grow suspicious. “Help her first.”

Kiir raised her faceplate to reveal her maimed and wretched leer.

All hope drained away. His voice quavered with disgust. “Regulator.”

“My questions first. Then I save you and the girl.”

But the Sentinel’s integrity was intact. He looked away from her and spoke no more.

***

Later, Kiir sat by her bonfire on the watchtower roost and rubbed at the stiff scars on her face. She’d picked off another half-dozen wolven during the day and one was nearly done roasting on a spit.

Meanwhile, the girl crept near. Her grubby feet picked over the rubble. Never taking her eyes off the black-clad hunter, she sat by the fire and shuddered with relief.

Kiir watched as the girl cautiously inspected the hunter’s possessions: the tent, the air sled, the tripod and spyglass, the array of modern weapons. Finally, she stared wide-eyed at the roasting wolven. After a moment, a question began to form on her lips.

But Kiir turned to reveal the injured portion of her face. Its ghastly texture rippled in the firelight, like molten metal. And so the girl’s question died right then and there.

Kiir smiled. Though the injury was truly disfiguring, she enjoyed its tendency to simplify discussions.

Instead, there was quiet for almost twenty minutes. Then, without warning: “Why did you come here?” the girl asked.

“I’m hunting.”

“For the mantikar?”

Kiir’s brow raised and a thrilled shiver ripped through her.

This is no legend. The mantikar is real to her.

“I didn’t see it. I was sleeping when it came. They said it was a young one.”

Kiir stared long at her, then sniffed and returned to the fire. “I would have traded you meat for that information. I couldn’t have known if you were lying.”

That didn’t faze the girl. “What do you want with it?”

“Can’t let a dangerous creature run around, terrorizing the folk.”

Silence and doubt.

“Okay,” Kiir grinned. “I’m actually just a wicked, greedy bitch. I’m gonna capture it and trade it to a crime lord to curry her favor.”

The girl pondered that and nodded.

Fourteen, maybe? Makeshift boots and nothing but a torn smock? Somehow still alive… everyone else dead. Kiir shifted and frowned at the fire, went back to rubbing her face.

“You won’t help him, will you.”

“Who, your Sentinel? He’s already dead. Or will be by tomorrow.”

“What happened to your face?”

Kiir snorted. “This? I did this on purpose. To scare children.”

“You’re not scary. You’re just old and ugly.” Then she got up and left without hesitation.

Kiir’s neck warmed with indignation. She suppressed the urge to shred the girl’s back with SMG fire. Instead, she snorted out a rough laugh, leaned her head back and closed her eyes.

But the laugh didn’t work. The girl had nicked something vital.

Doubts flowed up from below. Much closer to the surface than ever before. Dreads and regrets. Disappointments and betrayals. The threat of punishment if she failed. No… as redress for a long line of failures.

So many years since it all began. Zhim and Kiir. The girls who killed to survive. Now she’s a princess… and what am I? Barely her pitiful subject.

She swallowed hard and fished out a pinch of dust, flicking it angrily into the fire. In the blast of ethereal Shaper symbols, she hunted for a remedy.

But there was nothing. Just more Shaper nonsense. She kicked a burning log, erasing the ancient diagrams with a flurry of sparks.

***

On the third day, she went deep. Followed every trail. Roared through the forest, kicking up a wake of flurried snow, shattering the frozen trees with rocket wash and sending animals screaming into the underbrush.

The risk of failure nipped at her heels. Like a pack of starving wolven.

Late in the day, high on a rise leading to the third peak on the east side of the valley, under a vaulted cliff hung heavy with ice, she found it: a pile of frozen corpses. Nineteen wolven, three licked-clean arnisaur shells, a host of smaller wildlife, and twenty-seven humans — the majority of the village.

They were surrounded by a dizzying gallery of blushing ember striations, painted on the walls and ground, always in that perplexing parallel helix. The mantikar was definitely triggering these ember blooms. How was a matter for Arcanists.

And the smell... It was different here. Still floral but also deathlike. A mortician’s catastrophic mistake.

She fought through it and tried to get a sense of the animal. It was big, that was certain. Perhaps a cat-like quadruped. At least the length of two korox, end-to-end. Taller than a Sentinel. Maybe two heads taller than her diminutive Interceptor.

A young one, the girl had said.

She pondered this as she traced the ember up the flanks of trees, over and beyond cliffs, raking across the ground. Again, she noted how the crystalline lines sometimes terminated without leaving any trail. Almost as if —

As if it could fly. A winged predator stinking of necrotized aristocrat. As big as a strider cabin.

A primitive instinct made her take a step backward.

Should have brought the Colossus.

***

That evening, her state of mind was an even split between apprehension and glee. Some of the corpses had been fresh. She knew where the creature ate. She knew that it must return.

As she tore through a wolven leg and pondered the construction of a blind, a wail reached her on the wind. This time, it wasn’t the girl.

She leaned over the edge of the watchtower’s shredded ramparts and peered with the spyglass down through the hole in the barracks ceiling.

The Sentinel was dying now. With wracking seizures and giant white eyes. Absurdly, the girl was shaking him by the shoulders and holding his face. Crying the whole time. Wet streaks flowing down her cheeks. It did little good. In moments, his body stiffened. Then it went slack, for good.  

Kiir watched as the girl embraced the body for nearly an hour. Later, she roused herself and took a shovel outside the palisade. Heavy with grief and lethargy, the girl dug a sixth grave alongside the others.

Kiir watched as the girl struggled to part the Sentinel from his suit. As she dragged the body through the village to the gravesite. As she failed in her attempt. As she was too weak to continue. As she fell half on the dead Sentinel, half in the snow. And as she lay there, still.

This Kiir watched with a pounding heart. The sun passing behind the peaks and the sky turning purple. Suddenly, the girl arched her back and screamed skyward. With renewed life, shrieking like a dying animal, she heaved the body towards the grave.

And then… yellow eyes blazing at the forest’s edge.

They came low and silent, their protruding ribs and sunken bellies betraying a desperate bloodlust. The girl was unaware. Single-minded in her task. Perhaps delirious with grief. Exhausted and starving.

The pack jumped forward, snapping at her hands and hair. She swung the shovel in wild, frantic arcs, both feet planted over the dead Sentinel. But, though malnourished, the wolven were massive compared to her — the leanest was fully ten feet long — their skulls pitted with metallic accretions. No human could stand against even a single wolven. Not without a javelin.

One got hold of the dead Sentinel’s arm and tore the body out from under her. She landed hard in the snow and struck her head on the ice-packed ground. In a heartbeat, the pack ripped the dead Sentinel to bloody, shredded tatters.

Then they were on her. Leaping forward. Snickering and drooling. Baring their gleaming fangs. She couldn’t get her footing. She was in a daze, momentarily stunned by the fall.

Suddenly... a luminous tangle of green light scribbled over a whirl of black, like a murder of crows eating a swarm of fireflies. One wolven was cut nearly in half. Two more died in the split second that followed. Their senses soon caught up to what was happening, but three more lay dead before the pack fled into the forest and Kiir slowed to a visible speed. Her armored chest heaved with tension; her suit’s padding slithered with sweat.

***

The girl woke slowly. She found herself tucked under a blanket by a roaring fire. A spot on her head was oozing and red. A wolven was turning gently on a spit.

Kiir sat nearby. Her usual leer was fixed in a resolved grimace. She laid a plate of wolven meat down beside the fire. “Eat.”

The girl rose slowly and looked all around. At the meat. At the hunter.

“Eat. You’ll need it for tomorrow.”

“... Why?”

“We hunt mantikar.”

***

No one mastered a javelin in a week. But Kiir made the girl a promise. She would shoot. She would fly. She would hunt and defeat the mantikar. All that — in one week.

The Sentinel's suit was a Captain’s designation, possessed of a few special capabilities. The ember rings crunched slightly when Kiir inspected them, and a wisp of glimmering orange dust sifted out onto the ground. But she brushed it away and made the suit ready. There was no time for details; there was no proof the mantikar would remain in the valley for long.

In a day, the girl was shooting and reloading. In two, she was recharging her energy shields. In three, she could work the Sentinel barrier, protecting both herself and one other ally from a frontal attack. On four, she had the knack of the Captain’s lightning burst ability. Might come in handy, if she got close enough. Flight would be the challenge. It always was with beginners.

In the meantime, they built the blind. It had to be done carefully. Every time they visited the feeding grounds, new animal corpses had been added. The creature was so near.

On the sixth day, the girl had the basic gist. Years more training was required. All Kiir could do was caution the girl against trying anything complicated. She’d seen more than one novice snap their spine while attempting a wingover.

But the girl was strengthening. Not only physically, but mentally. Her focus was inborn — that much was clear from the outset. But with the javelin under her control and a weapon in her hand, the focus was maturing into a dark resolve. Kiir recognized it well enough.

The power to fight back is the power to seize your destiny. To project your very existence into the future.

“He told me you were evil.”

They sat on a frosty bluff, overlooking the valley while resting from flight training. The girl’s silence had been growing.

Kiir smirked as she polished her SMG. “Who?”

“Sentinel Jenin.”

Kiir shrugged and went back to her work. “Smartest Sentinel I ever met.”

“So you are. Evil.”

Kiir frowned and looked up at the cold sky. “I’ve had my moments.”

“Did she make you this way? The... crime lord?”

Kiir put the gun away. “You speak of her Royal Majesty Princess Zhim. And no — we sort of did it to each other.”

The gap that followed would have normally suited Kiir. But something urged her to go on. “We were abandoned as kids. I’m told we met on a fishing boat. Gutting salt-larkins before I could even talk. That was out of Vadys, in The Reaches. You know where that is?”

The girl shook her head.

“Lucky. Most kids there are slaves. But when we were twelve, we decided slavery wasn’t really our thing.”

“What did you do?”

“Stole everything. Ate whatever we could scrounge. Traded things for favors. Traded those favors for friends.” Kiir paused and stared down the well of those long years. Through all the schemes and traps. Lies and poisonings. Four bloody hands and strangulations in the dark.

She sniffed and rubbed her jaw. “Things kinda escalated from there.”

The girl blinked heavily. “You killed people?”

“It’s how we survived.”

“But now you’re fighting?”

“Hm?”

The girl swallowed and selected her words. “With the Princess? You said you were hunting the mantikar to… ‘curry her favor.’”

Kiir looked sharply away. Sometimes this girl was too smart for her own good. It reminded her of Zhim.

It stabbed her square in the heart.

She stood. “Tomorrow, we go. Get yourself ready.”

***

They soared through the freezing air, rocketing towards the mantikar’s feeding grounds. Kiir pointed down at the overhang, at the concave dent in the hillside. The girl nodded. The blind they’d built was still there.

A cloud passed overhead. Something moved in her peripheral. She smelled it before it struck.

Death and flowers.

Her visor was blinded and every alarm in her suit blared at once. She was tumbling through the air and shouting inside her helmet. But there was no communication except in person; there was no cypher to relay those words.

Everything was dead. Her rockets became useless weights on her back. Gravity loosened its pull as her heavy steel body dropped like a stone amid the snowflakes. The world spun around and around, in total blackness.

A series of hard crunches. Everything gone still. She thought she was dead.

Then her faceplate blew off. The electrical system had sensed that she was running low on oxygen. But everything powered by the ember rings was offline. All her weapons had been flung away. All but maybe one…

White wilderness surrounded her. Snow fell in a lazy whirl. Not a thing stirred. All she could do was struggle hopelessly, and call for the girl.

If your suit dies, you die. One of the less cheerful Freelancer sayings. But it was true. A dead suit was just a lead-lined coffin.

She swore to herself not to panic. To breath and shout and hope the suit reset itself. But all she heard was the quiet clicking as the engines cooled and the metal contracted. And so the panic didn’t listen to her. It just did its thing.

Then the mantikar slammed down into the snow before her.

It was enormous. Like two ursix back-to-back. A cat-like body: long and low, with clawed feet, sinewy tail, and thick muscles. There, the similarity to back-alley fort cats ended.

It had a huge, heavy canine head with massive looping horns and a wide, thin-lipped mouth with multiple arcs of shining teeth. Its slate-grey body was covered in alternating rows of shining indigo scales and patchy fur. Five tiny. glowing pink eyes arranged in a diamond pattern on the front of its head. All five were looking right at her.

Kiir hollered for help as the beast stalked closer. The powerful odor intensified with every inch. Roses. Decaying meat.

But what she saw next was like something out of a Shaper myth.

Two pink tendrils — rope-thin and transparent — snaked out from the beast’s shoulders. They spiraled and twisted above it, forming into shapes. Diagrams. Figures.

Shaper words.

They wove and drifted as though underwater. And wherever they touched the ground, lurid, pink ember blinked into existence, fully formed.

She suddenly felt the suit twitch and the motors actuate. Like a dead body enslaved to a dying brain. The ember rings in her suit were hissing a screechy little song.

It’s talking to the ember.

In a flash of reason, she remembered the Sentinel’s crunchy ember seals. They’d been altered by the mantikar’s attack — probably warping and changing shape, grinding against the ceramic fitting. Even the slightest misalignment of ember could destabilize a jav. How could she have been so foolish as to have not seen this coming?

As if sensing this distraction, the mantikar growled and bowed its head low. Its hindquarters angled up and shifted back and forth. It would pounce next. Batter her body to death. Tear her out of the suit piece by piece, like a clam from its shell.

Assault rifle fire rattled out and a shadow landed nearby. The mantikar withdrew under a hail of bullets, the pink tendrils weaving themselves into a deflecting barrier. The girl in her Sentinel suit rushed forward and stood over Kiir, activating her shield barrier.

“Get up!”

“I can’t! Don’t let the tendrils touch you! They’ll glitch your suit!”

But the mantikar roared and leaped forward, drawing a double path of crystalline growths in the snow. It pounced over the barrier to swipe at the girl with a snarling, deep-gutted roar.

She dodged with incredible alacrity. Managed to flip the release buckle on the back of Kiir’s suit before drawing the beast off.

The suit unfurled. Kiir clambered out and grabbed at the suit’s thigh compartment. The bolt lance fell into her hand and she whipped it aloft. From the palm-sized cylinder, white lightning erupted from both ends, crackling with power. Then she took off through the snow, pursuing the two combatants.

The mantikar threw its flank towards the girl, deflecting all bullets with its indigo scales and snapping the gun from her hands with one swipe of its thick tail. All around them, pink crystals shot up from the ground, like geysers of frozen glass. The girl dodged another pounce, rolled in the snow, snapped up the gun, and came up at max boost. The deadly pink tendrils flung out at her, missing by mere inches.

In a flash of action, Kiir wound her body up like a piston and prepared to hurl the lance. But she hesitated; she would only get one shot — she had no suit to recharge the weapon for a second try.

The mantikar seized the moment. In a split second, the pink tendrils formed into wyvern-like wings, and the beast launched upwards.

The girl went after it, both of them rocketing skyward, disappearing into the clouds.

Kiir ran forward and looked above. The clouds thundered with blasts of pink, blue, and the stuttering flash of assault rifle fire. All she could do was watch. Listen with a heaving chest.

Suddenly, pink crystals pelted down all around, slamming into the snow with deadly force. Kiir ran for the trees. The creature had turned the clouds themselves into an ember hailstorm.

The mantikar punched out of the clouds and tore down through the deadly rain like a rider on the storm. It spotted Kiir and torpedoed straight towards her. The girl was in its claws, limp and lifeless.

Kiir ran desperately into the forest, straight for the densest patch of trees. The mantikar followed at freefall speed, its tendrils releasing from the wing shape and instead dancing and raking across the ground and trees, decorating the forest with humming garlands of deadly crystals.

But the trees did their job. The mantikar crashed headlong through them, snapping some in half and tumbling across the ground, kicking up a pall of whirling snow. The creature grew confused. It lost sight of Kiir. It did not notice her slip behind it. It did not notice her raise the lance.

A supernova of flashing electrical arcs, blasting snow, and erupting ember spikes suddenly consumed the creature. Kiir fell back and shielded her eyes.

When the storm quieted, she looked again. A crystalline garden of rosy ice had grown tall and expanded outward in rings to obscure all within; at the center, blue light and sparks zagged into the air. A low moaning ricocheted around the valley.

No sign of the girl.

Kiir walked carefully through the maze of standing, translucent stones, hands shaking from the battle, and beheld her quarry.

The mantikar was trapped in a glittering web of blue starlight. The blast from the bolt lance had condensed like a net around the monster, trapping its limbs and stunning it into a stupor. The tendrils floated lazily above, no longer under any conscious control. Its five eyes twinkled with sedate rage.

The girl was there. She stood over it, her suit steaming in the snow. The rifle was in her hand.

“You killed them,” she mumbled, as though in a surprised stupor.

Kiir knew what came next. The resisting pull of her own survival begged her to intercept. To stop the girl before the hunt fell to ruin.

“Everyone… everything I had.” She touched the barrel to the creature’s forehead, in the center of the diamond eyes. Pressed it down with the full weight of her body, as if to punch straight through into the creature’s brain. Her finger trembling on the trigger. Her face seized in the red heat of vengeance.

Kiir was paralyzed. She needed the creature alive. From the barrel of the girl’s gun, Kiir envisioned her future forking off into two very different directions.

But then the girl buckled. The gun tumbled from her grip and fell along with her knees into the snow. There, she wept, and the red heat washed away.

In Kiir’s eyes, she was again the wailing child at the village grave. Fighting with all her might against the cold dirt even as it drove her down into the earth. Next in line to join those who’d failed.

In that moment, Kiir knew this girl.

***

The fanfare blew and the page announced her entry. “The Lady Aushkiir.”

The “nobility” parted as the hunter — in her shining black armor, bristling with weapons — entered Zhim’s court.

“Well, well, well… the hunter returns from her legendary deed.” The lanterns waved in the cave wind, casting the princess in a shifting golden light. She smiled darkly, as ever.

Kiir glanced sidelong at those gathered and bowed. “Your Highness.”

Zhim smirked theatrically around the room as if playing hide and seek with a child. “What? No mantikar on a leash?”

The court tittered. Everyone knew the mission had been a sham to get rid of the Lady Aushkiir. A suicide mission. The hunter who had disappointed the Princess one too many times. The friend turned failure. “Instead, all I see is a bedraggled rat. And… phew!” she waved her hand before her nose. “One in need of a bath. I wonder where you shall ever find one,” she laughed, heavy with meaning.

But Kiir saw the tired resolve behind Zhim’s eyes. A commitment to her new “royal” role. Of the need to expunge any appearance of sympathy. Especially for an old friend who couldn’t pull her weight.

Kiir straightened up and produced an engraved box. The stink in the room grew exponentially. Even the Princess seemed to lose her sense of humor. For a moment.

“I found the mantikar — or one of them — in a mountain valley north of Helios. It had devastated a local village, killing all Sentinels, many villagers, and hunting the local wildlife near to extinction. I tracked it to its feeding lair and... it did not survive. I made a number of sketches for the Arcanists.” She produced a scroll case from her cape.

One of the Arcanists adjusted his spectacles and rushed forward to seize it. But Zhim held him back with a wave and a stern frown. “I wanted a pet. Not a picture.”

Kiir nodded. “On the hunt, I met the only survivor of the attack on the village. It had taken everything from her. Everything... but her will to survive.”

Zhim’s stare grew gloomy. It was a dangerous business this, cutting a crime lord to the quick.

“I gave her the mantikar, Your Highness. She needed it. More than us.”

Zhim stared at her in the face. Kiir felt it all hanging by a thread.

“As an apology, I brought a gift,” and she lifted the lid on the box.

Inside was an organ — some combination of starfish, mushroom, and squid — wriggling, squelching and smelling for all the world like a rose bouquet rolled in fermented carrion. “The pheromone sac of a young mantikar.”

Three nobles and the court Colossus vomited on the rugs. Most others bolted from the room. Soon, only Zhim and the Arcanist remained, the latter constrained by Zhim’s iron grip.

“I just felt you’d find a use for such a singular treasure.” And Kiir offered the box to the Princess.

Zhim smiled slow and wide. She closed the box and gestured at the Arcanist. He reluctantly took the box, snatched the scroll case from Kiir’s hand, and fled.

Then Zhim took her by the arm. “Aushkiir…” she spoke low and honestly. “You have reminded me that it is your gifts which I value most among all the treasures in our realm.”

Kiir breathed deep and started to bow. But Zhim denied her the motion and instead guided her into the tea lounge. “Now, about this mantikar. You must tell me everything. Spare no detail.”

They sat and drank. The tea disappeared and was refilled, accompanied by multiple plates of rare and imported delicacies. Kiir recounted the whole story — every detail. Zhim listened with growing attention. Soon they were laughing and reminiscing about other adventures from the long well of their years. And, for the first time in ages, Kiir felt content.

But, more than once, Kiir’s mind drifted back to the girl as she’d seen her last: standing on the bluff overlooking the shattered remains of her village. Clad in a bone-white javelin, the greatest weapon humanity had ever made. Projecting her very existence into the future.

With that image in her mind, Kiir smiled to herself and wondered if her quest would be told to children someday. The villain who came to capture a beast, but instead forged a hero.

On the surface, it seemed a tale worthy of a constellation. A story told with stars for words.

Special thanks to Jessica Campbell.

[whumpitgood]

Lay Your Weary Head to Rest

Title: Lay Your Weary Head to Rest Author: whumpitgood Fandom: Supernatural Relationship: gen Rating: T Word Count: 9,038 Warnings: major character death, blood, minor language Spoilers: none Summary:  Sam and Dean quit the family business.  This is Sam and Dean’s last hunt.  (Or, How their story should end when season 15 ends.)    Disclaimer: Supernatural and its characters don’t belong to me.  Just writing for fun. Note: 1) When they announced that the show ends with season 15, I tried to imagine how they could wrap it all up.  This is what my mind came up with.           2) This story contains death.  Don’t read it if that bothers you, but I promise it ends well.           3) Title inspired by “Carry On Wayward Son” by Kansas.

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

“Find anything?”  Dean slammed his book closed and rubbed his temples. He glanced over at Sam who sat across from him in the bunker’s library.

“No,” Sam sighed deeply. “Still nothing.  It’s been nearly two weeks and we still have no idea what’s out there, steadily wiping out half of that town.  We can’t keep sitting here doing nothing.  We’ve—“

“Hey, we’re not doing nothing.  We’re doing research.  Your favorite,” Dean said with a smile.  “Besides, I’m sure Cas has found something by now.”

Just then, there was a loud, metallic clanging as the bunker door was opened and shut.  Both brothers turned and watched Castiel walk slowly and somberly down the stairs before meeting them in the library.

“Speak of the devil. Here he is now,” Dean said, giving Cas a pat on the shoulder.  Cas looked at Dean, his eyebrows scrunched in confusion.  

“But, I’m not—“

“Never mind, Cas. What do you have for us?  You figure it out?” Dean asked.

“Sadly, I have not. Whatever this creature is, it continues to elude me.  I can’t find any lore on it, and my contacts were no help, either.  I’m afraid we still have no idea what’s killing all those people.”

“That’s it,” Sam said, closing his laptop lid with a sense of finality.  “We need to head out.  Let’s go there and track it down.  Maybe if we get a good look at it we can figure it out.”  He stood up and began putting his jacket on.  

“Let’s not be too hasty, Sam,” Cas stated, holding out a palm in a placating manner.

“No, he’s right,” Dean said, also getting to his feet.  “While we sit here trying to figure this out, more people are dying.  Let’s go find this ugly son of a bitch and see what kind of clues we can pick up about it.  Then we’ll have more to go on to figure out what it is and how to send its sorry ass to purgatory.”

“Coming?” Sam asked, slinging his bag over his shoulder.

“’Course,” Cas answered. ”I’ve got a couple more leads to follow up on and then I’ll meet you two there.  Is it alright if I take Jack with me?  He could be of some help.”

“Sure thing.  We’ll meet you guys in a couple of days, then. Keep in touch,” Dean said.

Sam and Dean gave Cas a pat on the shoulder as they passed by him to grab some things and then head out on their way.

The trip was long, but neither Winchester minded.  Music turned up, they sailed down the open road, taking it all in.  Sitting side by side in the Impala was where they belonged. The bunker may be where they lived, but Baby would always be their home.

They finally reached the small town some time later, or at least, they reached what was left of it. The majority of its residents had either turned up dead, missing, or fled in fear of being the next victim to whatever was plaguing them.  The few townspeople who remained watched warily as a shiny black car roared through their streets.  People had stopped coming to their town weeks ago, so they weren’t sure what to make of these new strangers.  

After checking into a hotel, the Winchesters began their search.  Most people wouldn’t talk, but they were able to gather a little bit here and there.  The deaths had been spread out over the last two weeks, the bodies showing brutal abuse before their deaths.  It wasn’t clear what was causing the damage.  There were no missing organs, bite marks, or any other telltale signs of what creature could be the culprit.  In fact, there weren’t many similarities other than being littered with wounds.  They were stumped.

The boys were just getting into the Impala when Dean’s phone rang.  Dean slammed his door closed before fishing it out of his pocket.

“Yeah?” he said gruffly, jamming the keys into the ignition with his free hand.

“Jack and I are almost there.  We shouldn’t be long,” Castiel said over the line.

“Good.  That’s good.  Did you guys find anything?”

“I’m afraid not.  I have a feeling that this may be something ancient.  We must be very careful,” Cas answered.

“Hm.  Probably.  Wouldn’t be the first time.”  Dean paused for a second, thinking.  “Well, anyway, me and Sam are about to head over to check out an old, abandoned house on the edge of town.  There hasn’t been any pattern where the bodies have been found, but there are rumors of strange things happening down in that area.  Thought we’d give it a look, see if there’s any trace of a creature squatting or something, “ he explained.

“I don’t advise that, Dean.  You two need to wait for Jack and me to get there.  Don’t go alone.  You guys need back up.”

“I’ve got Sam’s back and he’s got mine.  Relax, Cas. We probably won’t find anything, anyway. Just thought we’d give it a look before heading back to the hotel for the night.  Not a big deal,” Dean said casually.

“When is it ever ‘not a big deal’, Dean?  It’s never simple.  Just give us about a half hour.  Or we could get some rest and go in the morning,” Cas nearly pleaded.

“Nah, we’re already close by.  Our hotel is across town.  We’ll check it out and then meet you guys at the hotel,” Dean said, then added, “And while you’re at it, pick up some grub along your way.  There was a diner a few miles back.  Grab some burgers.  And pie. Don’t forget the pie,” Dean said with a small smile, tuning the keys and starting the engine.

Castiel sighed over the line.  “Okay.  Just be careful.  Both of you.”

“Yeah, yeah.   See you in a bit.”  Dean hung up and set the phone beside him on the seat.  He glanced over at Sam before backing out of his parking space and pulling onto the road.  “Cas and Jack will be here soon.”

“Good.  Maybe we can compare notes and figure this out,” he said, gazing out the window.  The sun was going down.  It would be dark soon.

A few minutes later, the boys pulled up to an old, rundown house.  No one had lived there in over a decade.  The large, two story was covered in vines and ivy all along its walls and the porch was caving in on itself in places.  There didn’t appear to be a single window still fully intact.

Dean shut off the engine and the two Winchesters got out of the car, slamming closed the doors with their signature squeak.  They rifled through the trunk, grabbing anything that they thought would be useful in case they came across some unknown threat.  With a flashlight in one hand and a knife in the other, Sam led the way into the decrepit home.

The old wooden floorboards groaned with the job of holding the boys’ weight.  Dust and dirt gave the floor a gritty feel as two sets of boots littered it with imprints of the bottom of their shoes.

They searched thoroughly, looking in closets and behind furniture, trying to find anything to help them figure out what had been killing people these last few weeks. After an extensive search of the first floor turned up nothing more than rat droppings and dust bunnies, they made their way carefully up the rickety steps to the second floor.  

They explored the rooms meticulously, double checking each room before moving on to the next.  Sam approached the last room down the hall while Dean checked out the room next door.  The door was closed, so Sam reached out a cautious hand and slowly turned the knob before giving the door a light shove.  

Dust swirled in the wake of the opening door and Sam held an elbow over his mouth and nose to block it from reaching his sinuses.  Even so, his eyes began to water and he internally groaned at the thought of getting hay fever from this.

He took a step into the room and stopped.  Something didn’t feel right.  He didn’t know what.  There was nothing to see or hear to suggest that anything was off, but his instincts were telling him to turn back around and get out.  They were rarely wrong, but he knew he couldn’t do that.  If he felt like he should leave, then he was in the right place.  This must be what they were looking for.

He used his flashlight to do a quick sweep of the room but didn’t see anyth…wait.  What was that?  Sam took a few steps into the room and swept the flashlight again.  Yes, there it was.  The light seemed to bend around the far corner of the room, like it couldn’t touch that area.  Something was going on.  Something was there, but he just couldn’t see it.

A whole list of possibilities was rushing through Sam’s mind too quick to keep up.  He thought he might have a vague idea of what this could be, even though that would be impossible.  He had only seen it mentioned a few times in the lore, but each entry was barely a mention.  From what he could gather, it killed in order to feed off of life energy to sustain itself. Not souls, fortunately (he’d had enough soullessness to last a lifetime).  It would mean that this thing was older than Chuck himself.  If he was right, then they were in deep trouble.

“Dean?” he called out not too loudly.  He didn’t want the creature to react to his presence, but he couldn’t not warn Dean. This was serious.

He took a few steps closer to try to see better, to try to reaffirm his suspicions, but in that same instant, a light exploded where the creature was.  There was a bright glow emanating from it, but its form was too indistinct to make out.  It seemed to undulate like that of a jellyfish, but without such a tangible body. It was large, nearly reaching the ceiling and occupying around a four-foot radius from the corner of the room.  It was also mostly translucent, like it was made of pure energy, but again, it was hard to really tell much about its appearance other than it was bright and it was undeniably beautiful yet terrifying all at the same time.

He wasn’t sure if calling out had startled it or if it had intended on preying on them the moment they entered the house, but at that moment, it didn’t matter.  In an instant, several things happened at once: Dean called Sam’s name as he neared the bedroom door at the same time Sam opened his mouth to tell Dean to stay away.  In that same moment, the creature glowed impossibly brighter for a fraction of a second as it released a toxic energy that visibly pulsed outward. There was a crack like thunder and then all was still once again.  The silence was deafening after the loud boom and the brightness dimmed to resume its ethereal glow.

The first thing Dean noticed afterward was that he was lying on the ground and any attempt he made to get up resulted in terrible pain.  One look at his hip and leg, though, showed that even if he did get up, he wasn’t going anywhere.  Whatever that blast was had knocked him into the wall with terrible force, causing pain all along the right side of his body.  His head also hurt and he could feel the blood flowing down the side of his face.

The next thing he was aware of was the half a dozen or so dead rats lying scattered around him. They hadn’t been there before, so they must have been tossed as he had been, but also perished in that blast. Dean’s mind was sluggish to realize that if that had happened to the rodents, then what had happened to Sam who was closer than he was to whatever the hell that blast was?

Scared, Dean began to half-crawl, half-drag his battered body over to his little brother.

“Sam!” No response. “Sammy!  Answer me, damn it!” he yelled through his fear.  He had to be alright.  He just had to.  Dean didn’t stop to think about the danger he might be putting himself in by going closer to the source of the blast.  He didn’t care.  He just needed to be near Sam.  

Dean ignored the sense of dread he felt as he crossed the threshold into the room.  He ignored how debris and furniture looked unaffected by the force that had shoved him hard enough into the wall to put a hole in the plaster, how the force only seemed to affect living creatures and not the furniture or other objects.  All Dean could see, all that consumed him, was the sight of Sam lying on his back so still, so unmoving on the hardwood floor. Cold unease flowed through him, his chest tightened, and his stomach was in knots.  It was like Cold Oak all over again.

Dean army crawled the last few feet and stopped beside his brother.  His heart clenched when he finally got a good look at him.  Sam had cuts and gashes along his hairline, his face, even along his chest, visible through the rips in his clothing.  Blood poured from them, his flannel already becoming saturated.  His chest looked uneven, undoubtedly due to broken ribs, and Dean noticed then how labored Sam’s breathing was.  He was barely getting any air in or out.  It was little more than a wheeze as his chest rattled with the effort.  Dean felt tears prick in his eyes from the sight.  He knew this was bad.  Worse than bad.

Propping himself up on an elbow, he reached his free hand over to his little brother and gently stroked his face, removing some blood soaked strands of hair from his eyes.  

“Sammy,” he said softly, giving his cheek a light pat.  “Sammy, I’m here.  Big brother’s here.  Open your eyes, man.  It’s okay.” Dean felt like a jackass for saying that.  Sam wasn’t okay.  This situation wasn’t okay.  Nothing about this was even remotely okay at all.  He just couldn’t bring himself to say anything to the contrary.  Sam needed him now more than ever.

Sam’s eyelids fluttered, then finally opened half-mast.  His pupils weren’t quite the same size and his eyes didn’t seem to fully focus, but they were open, so Dean would consider that a win.

“Hey, Sammy,” Dean said with a smile.  Sam’s eyes sluggishly looked around before settling on Dean.  Dean could tell that he was trying to focus and keep his eyes open. There were times when his eyes looked like they were going to roll up, but Sam stubbornly clung to consciousness and tried so hard to keep his gaze toward Dean.

“It’s okay, Sam. We’ll figure this out. Everything’s okay.”  Dean had no idea what to do or what to say.  He just kept talking because he knew Sam needed it.

Sam opened his mouth and Dean thought he was going to speak, but a cough tore through Sam instead.  It was a deep, hacking cough that rasped itself out of his chest.  Blood bubbled up his throat and spilled out the side of his mouth and chin, making it even harder for him to breathe.  Dean seriously worried he’d choke on it.

Carefully, Dean tilted Sam slightly on his side and pounded his back.  The coughs continued, but he wasn’t gagging on blood anymore.  Each cough took a toll on Sam and with each one, Dean worried he wouldn’t take another breath.  When there was a small puddle of blood on the floor, Sam was finally done, so he laid him gently back down, only then noticing the blood pooling on the floor around his other injuries, injuries he hadn’t even triaged yet. He sighed wearily.  Even without looking, he knew he couldn’t fix this. He felt it in his bones.  His gut churned with the thought.  

“There you go, Sam. That’s right.  Just breathe, okay?”

Sam’s tired eyes found Dean again, his face paler than any ghost they’d ever come across in their hunts. He opened his mouth again, but this time, he spoke.

“D-dean,” he said, barely a whisper, barely a breath at all and would have been missed had it not been for the rapt attention his brother gave him.

“I’m here, Sam, I’m here,” he said desperately, taking Sam’s hand and holding it in his own.  Sam was too weak to grip it back, but he could tell he appreciated it.

“’m s-sorry,” Sam continued. Dean had to read his lips to fully understand.  Air was barely passing through his lungs anymore.  

When Dean realized what he said, he felt like his heart had been ripped from his chest.  Leave it to Sam to feel guilty about dying, to always finding some way of blaming himself for something completely out of his control. If this was anyone’s fault, it was his own for not listening to Cas and waiting until morning, but that was irrelevant now.  This was happening and there wasn’t anything he could do about it.  Tears began flowing freely down his cheeks.  

“No, Sam.  I’m sorry.  I’m your big brother.  This should never have happened.  I should’ve protected you.  I should’ve—“ he cut himself off as a sob wracked through him.

“Dean,” he whispered. He let out a couple more coughs. More blood.  His next breath rattled and rasped into his abused lungs. Dean knew he was fighting to pull that air in with everything he had left.  Sam’s face scrunched with the effort, and Dean could see the pain written along each one of those lines etched there.  He hated seeing Sam suffer like this.

“Dean…love,” a pause as Sam tried for another breath, “…you,” he finished, reaching out his hand not clasped in Dean’s to reach out and touch Dean’s chest.  Dean suspected that he wanted to clutch his shirt in his fist, but lacked the strength to do so.  He held his hand there for a second before letting it fall.

“Sammy,” he sobbed. “Sammy, I love you.  So much, man,” he said through his tears.  Dean swore he saw a faint smile on Sam’s lips just before his eyes slipped closed.  “Sammy?”

The only response he got was a single breath rattling from Sam’s bloodied chest.  Dean paused and waited.  Waited.  Nothing. Sam didn’t take another breath in. Dean shook Sam, gently at first and then harder when he got no response.  Sam’s hand was cold in his own.  

Dean pulled Sam close to him and cradled his lifeless body to his chest.  He kept mumbling “no” and that he loved him.  He told him he was sorry for all the times he yelled at him and didn’t trust him, for not being a better big brother.  He hoped that somewhere, Sam heard him.  He regretted not saying it all earlier, when he had the chance.

When the tears ran dry, he carefully, gently, laid Sam back on the floor.  For the first time, he took a look around the room.  Something here killed his brother and he wasn’t about to let it go unpunished.  Putting thoughts of his own safety aside, he turned to the still-glowing presence in the corner of the room, which, until now, he hadn’t even noticed.

“Hey, you bastard!” he said from his seated position on the floor, still unable to get to his feet. “Why don’t you come fight me like a man!”  He reached for his gun and got a shot off before there was a deafening roar and he was pushed back by a wave of energy, a repeat of what had happened before.

When it passed, he felt unimaginable pain, but he didn’t care.  It barely registered to the pain he already felt squeezing his heart.  He used what little strength he had left to scoot his body closer to Sam.  He reached out and held his hand once again.  He could taste a metallic tang with every strangled breath he took, but it only made him smile.  

He looked over at Sammy as his vision dimmed.  “I’m coming, Sam,” he whispered, and let his eyes slip closed.

*

Sam found himself in a white space.  There was no floor, ceiling, or walls.  There wasn’t anything but whiteness all around.  He was confused.  Where was he? Was he dead?  Wait…yeah, he thought he probably was.  He shuddered as he thought of his last few moments.  If he was dead then this had to be, what, the Empty?  But he’d always assumed that the Empty would be darkness, like an absence of all things, but this place was bright.  Still, there was nothing, but it didn’t seem empty.

Sam felt a presence before it materialized in front of him.  Chuck stood there, smiling.  

“Hello, Sam.  We meet again,” he said, his eyes bright and cheery.

“Chuck?  What are you doing here…I mean, where are we?” Sam said in confusion, giving the place another once over.

Chuck held up his hands in a calming gesture.  “All your questions will be answered shortly.  We’re just waiting on one more arrival.  Shouldn’t be long,” he explained, glancing at his wrist, at a watch that wasn’t there.  

“One more arrival?  Arrival to where?  Death?” he paused.  “Is it Dean? Is he going to die, too?” he questioned, stressed.  He wasn’t sure how to feel about that.  As much as he didn’t want to be without his brother, he didn’t want his life to end, too. But, really, would Dean really want to live alone, without him?  Sam knew he wouldn’t want to live without Dean.  He sighed.

“Relax, Sam. Everything’s fine.”  Chuck continued to smile in such a way that appeared so genuinely happy that Sam couldn’t help but feel a bit calmer just by looking at him.

Just then, the air beside Sam began to shimmer, and a second later, Dean stood there, looking just as confused as Sam felt.

“Dean!” Sam exclaimed, wrapping his arms around his brother and squeezing him tightly.

“Sam,” Dean said softly. “Is that really you?” he questioned, gripping onto his brother as well.

“Yeah, man, it’s me.”

Dean felt lighter than he’d felt in a long time, like a weight had been lifted off of him.  Sammy was okay.  He was right here with him.  He hadn’t lost him, after all. Dean felt tears begin pooling in his eyes and he wiped them away as they began to fall.  He wasn’t embarrassed, though, because Sammy was back.

Chuck cleared his throat. “I hate to be rude and interrupt this family reunion, but I’ve got other things to do.  If we could just wrap this up, that would be great,” he said, the smile still firmly on his face.

Dean pulled away from Sam and noticed Chuck for the first time.  He wiped away the last of his tears.

“Chuck?” Dean asked.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s me,” he said, not quite annoyed.  “Anyway, you two bought the farm, again, and it’s time to move on.”

“Wait, no,” Dean said. “We’ve gone back before.  Just send us back.  I know you of all people can do that.  There’s a creature out there that needs to be put down.  We’ll figure out how, just put us back. Besides, Cas and Jack—“

“—Will be fine,” Chuck finished for him.  “That creature is not your responsibility.  They’ll work it out.  From this point on, guys…nothing is your responsibility.”

“Wha…what do you mean?” Sam asked.

Chuck sighed.  “Look, I know you Winchesters aren’t used to the idea of staying dead, but you do realize that it’s going to have to happen sometime, right?” he asked, looked at each brother, who nodded.  “Well, this is your time.  Those other deaths…you two still had business to do.  The world still needed the legendary Winchesters. Now it’s time for you two to be at peace.  The world will go on without you.  It will be okay now.  

“You two are heroes. You’ve saved the world repeatedly. You’ve sacrificed so much.  As hard as it may seem, your time is over. The world will adapt.  You two deserve more, but I think I’ve got a pretty good heaven set up for you guys,” he explained, getting excited.

“Wait, just like that, and we’re done?  Just…done?” Dean questioned.

“Yes, Dean.  Just like that,” he said with the snap of his fingers.

“We’ve made it to heaven?” Sam asked incredulously.  “But Billie said—“

“Forget what she said, Sam. I’m in charge.  I make the rules and I would never let you two spend eternity in the Empty,” he shuddered.  “Besides, you guys fixed my relationship with Amara.  I owe you guys.”

“What about Cas?  He can’t end up there.  He’s family,” Dean stated.

Chuck sighed again. “I know.  I figured that’d come up.  I’ll pull some strings.  Don’t worry about it.”  He put his smile back in place.  “Now, are you guys ready to come with me or do you want to continue admiring the scenery?”

Sam and Dean looked around again, seeing nothing but whiteness all around.  They nodded.  Chuck nodded in return, and then the three of them were gone.

*

Castiel could feel dread and despair in the pit of his stomach.  He didn’t feel that way often, but when he did, he knew something was terribly wrong.  He’d never felt it this strongly before.  He was extremely worried for his friends.

Jack could pick up on Cas’s worry, but Cas refused to say anything when Jack questioned him on it. Cas just pushed harder on the pedal and flew down the highway, no regard to anything but getting there as soon as he could.  

When they pulled into town, Cas didn’t have to ask anyone where the strangers in the black car had gone. He could feel their presence and he followed his instincts to an old house on the edge of town.  

Sure enough, there was the Impala sitting there in the driveway.  He pulled up alongside it and quickly shut off the engine.  Throwing open his door, he raced out of the car, not bothering to close it or to wait for Jack to follow.  He raced up the porch steps and into the house, calling out to Sam and Dean as he went.  

Jack followed closely. He felt something was wrong, but he didn’t know what.  He knew Cas knew, too, but he would talk about it.  He felt confused and worried.  It wasn’t a combination of feelings that he liked very much.

Taking the stairs two at a time, the angel and the Nephilim quickly reached the second floor.  Cas didn’t bother searching each room.  He could feel a presence in the last room down the hall.  That’s where they needed to go.

Reaching the door, he froze, Jack nearly plowing into him.  

“No.  No no no!” Cas said in anguish, rushing to the brothers’ side.

Cas reached out to check their pulse, but knew from their cold skin that he wouldn’t find any.  He could clearly see that Sam went first by the way Dean cradled his hand in his own.  Tears burned in his eyes.  He was too late.  He wasn’t there for them when they needed him most.  

He reached out his hands again, placing an index finger on each of their foreheads, hoping beyond hope he could fix them, heal them, bring them back to him.  His fingers wouldn’t even glow.  Nothing happened.  They were gone.  If only he’d been a few minutes quicker and reached them before they passed he could have saved them, or at least eased their pain in their passing.  It was obvious that they had died very painful deaths and it tore his heart to know that.  

Jack, who lingered just outside the door, was afraid to enter.  He knew something was wrong, that something major had happened, but a part of him wanted to remain unaware to the events to save himself the stress, while the rest of him needed to know what had happened.

Deciding that it was inevitable, he stepped inside.  

Jack’s world spun.  He felt dizzy with surprise, shock, unimaginable sadness, and unquenchable rage.  Lying there were two of the three people who meant the most to him.  They were two of the few people in his short life that he had learned to trust.  They were people that he loved.

“NO!” he screamed, the single word tore through his throat in a bellow that physically shook the room.

“Jack—“ Cas, distraught, tried to calm him.

“NOOO” he shouted again.

The creature in the room, which had remained invisible up to this point, chose this moment to expose itself, giving the room an eerie glow.  

Jack’s eyes lit up yellow in response, seeing this creature as a target.  He squared his shoulders and curled his hands into fists.  Anger coursed through his veins.

“Jack!  Stay away from it!  We don’t know—“ Cas tried, but was cut off.

“YOU STOLE THEM FROM ME. YOU KILLED MY FAMILY!” he raged, shaking with the emotion.

The creature, this monster, glowed just a little brighter.  Jack closed his eyes, feeling the power surging through him and harnessed it, focusing it to his will.  His eyes opened and his fists glowed with power.  Taking a deep breath, he released it all toward the beast.  When it made contact, the creature exploded, blasting raw energy outward.  The whole house shook from the impact.  

When things settled down, Cas lifted his head.  A split second before the blast, he had wrapped his wings around himself and the Winchesters, knowing that Jack was unstable and there was no telling what would happen, especially with such an ancient creature.  

Surveying the room, he saw that the creature was gone.  There was no trace of it left and he had no doubts that it was really and truly dead. Next, though, he saw Jack.  His heart plummeted for a second time that day.

Jack lay on the floorboards, looking not much better off than the Winchesters’ bodies.  

“Jack!” He ran to his side, cradling his head on his arm and pulling him close.  “Jack, open your eyes,” he said, giving his cheek a pat.  

Jack complied, and looked up at Castiel’s face hovering over his own.  

“Did I kill it?” he asked in a soft voice.  He gave a small cough, which left his teeth coated red.

“Yes, Jack.  You killed it.”

Jack nodded. “Good.”  Another cough.  “Couldn’t let it get away,” he paused to breathe, “with taking them,” a couple breaths, “or let it hurt you,” he finished with a few more coughs.

Castiel smiled at him. “Of course not.”  He lifted his free hand.  “Now let me heal you.”

“No, Cas,” he said weakly. “I should go.”

“What?  Why, Jack?  They may be gone, but I’m still here.  We have each other.”

Jack shook his head. “I feel it.  My time.  Besides,” he paused, pulling in another painful breath, “my mom’s waiting.”

“No, Jack.  She’d want you to live.”

Cas reached his hand out again and touched it to Jack’s forehead.  This time, his fingers glowed, but nothing happened.  He frowned, sensing that Jack was blocking it with his own power.  He dropped his hand.

“Jack, please.  You can’t do this.”

“I’m sorry, Cas,” he said with another cough.

“Jack…you can’t.  You can’t leave me.  Don’t leave me all alone, Jack.  I beg you,” he pleaded, tears burning his eyes.

Jack reached a hand out and placed it on Cas’s forearm.  “It’s okay. I’m done, but you…still have…work to do…before you go.  You’ll be okay,” he said between breaths.

Tears streamed down Cas’s cheeks.  “Then let me help you,” he said as he sobbed.

He placed his hand to Jack’s forehead once again, and this time Jack didn’t stop him.  He allowed Cas to take away the pain.  Cas could see Jack’s face ease away from the discomfort, his body relaxing as he held him close.

“Thanks, Cas…for everything,” he said and his eyes fell closed.  Cas felt his body still and go limp.  

Cas wasn’t sure how long he sat there cradling Jack and being surrounded by the only people he’d ever really learned to love throughout all his countless years.  Just a couple decades ago, he wouldn’t have been able to describe what love felt like.  Not really. But now, not only could he describe love, but he could also explain happiness, a sense of belonging, and of heart-wrenching sadness.  He questioned whether it was worth it all, just to feel how he felt now.  Maybe it would have been better to never have met them.

He dismissed those thoughts. To have never met the Winchesters or Jack would have meant never having a purpose, never having a family.  He couldn’t imagine giving all that up, even if it meant experiencing the torture he now felt.  

He knew he’d eventually give the three of them a proper hunter’s funeral, but for now, he allowed himself the time to grieve.  

*

It had been 172 years, three months, two weeks, and two days since he’d watched Sam Winchester type away on his laptop while researching their latest case.

It had been 172 years, two months, three weeks, and four days since he’d watched Dean Winchester scarf down a double bacon cheeseburger.

It had been 172 years, four months, one week, and five days since Jack Kline bombarded him with random questions, the kid always being curious about the big wide world that he didn’t have the chance to fully explore.

It had been 172 years, five months, two weeks, and six days since they’d sat around eating pizza and binging Netflix in the bunker.

It had been 172 years, one month, three weeks, and four days since Castiel lost it all.

In most of his innumerable years, Cas had been alone.  He’d done his duties without thought, without question to anything else.  It wasn’t until he had others in his life, people to fill the void he didn’t know existed, that he understood the meaning of being truly alone.  He learned that being alone and being lonely were two very different things.  

On his deathbed, Jack had assured him that he still had a purpose in this life, but for the life of him, he didn’t know what that was.  He didn’t want to doubt the boy, but he wondered if Jack only said it to make him feel better.  Cas didn’t feel like he had anything anymore, no reason to keep going.

He gave up hunting. He couldn’t bear to do it without them. He never stepped foot into the bunker again, either.  He couldn’t. That place held too many memories. It would be far too painful.

Instead, he spent his time replaying and replaying the events of that night, wishing he could change things.  He knew it wasn’t helping, that it was an unhealthy habit, but he couldn’t help it. It was the single most worst thing that had ever happened to him in his whole life, and he was a celestial being.

He kept to himself, even turning off angel radio.  He didn’t want to be bothered with the problems of others.  He had his own.  Much like Metatron, he hid himself away from the world.

He knew that his pain and grief would keep the Empty from claiming him and he should be grateful, but there were times when he wished it would come and swallow him up, to save him from this agony.  But, he supposed, that was the point.  The Empty wanted him to suffer, and he was.  

Eventually, Cas decided that he needed to do something.  A couple decades after the incident, he began going out and helping others.  He’d find those who were on their deathbeds and ease the transition for them.  He’d take their pain away.  Could he have healed them?   Sure, but he knew that that wasn’t his place.  He targeted people whose number was up and helped them pass painlessly. It was the least he could do after failing his friends.  No one else should have to suffer like they had.  

Years passed.  There were those out there who knew what he did and spread rumors.  He became known as the Angel of Death.  They most likely didn’t know that he was an actual angel, so it was ironic, but fitting. He didn’t care.  

Some worshipped him. Others hunted him, not really sure if his intentions were as good as people claimed.  Some thought he actually killed people instead of helping them.  

The Winchesters’ name had become a sort of legend among hunters.  Some believed they were actual people once, but others believed they were just tall tales.  Either way, many knew their name.

No one knew at the time, but before his death, Sam had been working on an online database for hunters to keep track of their information.  It was a way for them to communicate, a way for them to post their journals online for everyone to take note.  He had hoped that it would help save people.  And it did.

After a month of Sam’s neglect on the program, the site had a built in command to go public, in the case of his death.  Only hunters could access it, having to answer a series of questions only a true hunter would know in order to get on.  

When hunters found it, they spread the word, connecting hunters from around the world and sharing the knowledge they’d learned on the job.  Some hunters spent their time mostly organizing the info gained, almost becoming modern-day Men of Letters, in a sense.  

The site made hunting much quicker and simpler.  Many hunters gained longer lifespans because of it.  

When Cas found out, he was proud of Sam, but not at all surprised.  That was just who Sam was, always using his abilities to help others and save lives.  Even in death, he saved people.

He logged on himself once, and searched the creature that had claimed the lives of those he loved. There was only one entry, made by Sam himself a couple years before he died.  It was vague, but it was unmistakably the same creature that they met face to face.  Of course Sam would’ve heard of it.

He wondered if Sam thought about that before his life ended, thought about the fact that he had found this ancient creature thought to be extinct.  He didn’t doubt it, even though he, himself, had never even heard of it, even in all his many years.

Cas took the time to add what he knew of the creature onto the page, how a Nephilim could kill them. Maybe the information could help someone someday.  He shrugged.

Castiel found himself squatting in an old cabin in the woods one night.  It was out of season for camping, so he figured no one would need it for a while.  He had just helped another soul cross over, so he felt at peace.  Not quite content or happy, but close enough.  

He grabbed some logs and placed them in the fireplace.  He was reaching for the matches when he heard a noise.  He halted and turned around.  His skills as a hunter had gone rusty and he no longer had any care for self-preservation, so he was unperturbed when he came face to face with a man holding a gun pointed to his chest.

The man stared him down, daring him to try something, to at least beg for his life, but Cas just stood there, waiting for whatever was going to happen.

“You just gonna stand there?” the man said gruffly.  He wore jeans and a button up, not dissimilar to what Sam and Dean used to wear.  He was clean shaven with messy dark blonde hair. He was middle aged and had a stocky build.  In addition to the gun pointed at him, he also carried a knife at his waist.  Cas guessed this man was a hunter.  

Cas just shrugged. “What would you like for me to do?”

The man narrowed his eyes at him.  “Don’t get smart with me.  I’m the one with the gun.”

“So I’ve noticed.  Are you here for a chat or can I go ahead and make a fire?  It’s a bit chilly in here,” he said conversationally, taking a glance around while rubbing his hands together.

The man just stood there for a second.  “So that’s it?  You’re not gonna put up a fight?  The great Angel of Death is just going to lay down and take it?  I expected more.”

Cas sighed.  “Would I be right in assuming I ‘hurt’ someone you loved?  I was wondering how long it would take for someone to catch up with me,” he said wearily.

The man’s face grew angry and red.  “You took her from me!” he yelled.  “You took my little sister!  Why? She never did anything to anyone,” he said more softly.

Cas took a moment to answer, thinking back.  “When was this, if I may ask?”

“Six years ago you killed her.  We were in an accident.  A deer ran out in front of us.  It was dark and raining and I tried to get away…hit a tree.  It took me a few minutes to come to, but when I did…I saw a figure bent over her.  There was a light and by the time I got out of the car, they were gone and she….” He paused and sniffed.  “That was you and you killed her!  You took her life away.  She was engaged.  Had her whole life ahead of her and you robbed her of it!”

Cas remained silent, let the man get his anger out.  After a while of silence, he spoke.  “Yes. I remember her.  She was a beautiful spirit.  Such a short life, but she had a good one.  She—“

“SHUT UP!  SHUT UP RIGHT NOW!  Don’t talk about her like you knew her!” he screamed, the gun in his hands shaking.

“But I do know her, just as I know you.  Her death destroyed you.  You blamed yourself.  But more so, you blamed me.  You heard about the Angel of Death online and eventually became a hunter.  You devoted your life to finding me and getting revenge. Is that about right?” he said calmly.

“Who are you?  What are you?”

“It really doesn’t matter. If you want to kill me, go ahead,” he said simply.

“What?!  No.  I want to know why you did it!  What was she to you?”

“She was suffering.  I only meant to take her pain away.  It was her time.  It wasn’t my place to restore her when she was destined to move on.  Is that satisfactory?” “You were trying to help her?  Why should I believe you?”

Cas shrugged. “Believe me.  Don’t believe me.  I don’t care.  I simply made it my mission to save people from suffering.  I didn’t want others to feel what my friends did.  I failed them.  The least I can do is help others.”

The man just stared at him. “Friends?  What friends could a creature like you possibly have?”

“I’m not a creature. I’m an angel of the Lord.  And my friends died many years ago.  They were hunters like yourself.  They were the very best.  Saved the world a few times,” he said proudly.

“What kind of bull is that? No one saves the world.  Except in those stories everyone likes to tell.  You know, those made up stories about those brothers.  The Winchesters.  Sa--”

“Yeah, Sam and Dean,” Cas interrupted, a fond look on his face.  “My friends.  My family. It’s been too long.”

The man laughed.  “You mean to tell me that they’re real?  Man, you’re crazy.  Next you’ll probably tell me that your name is Casteel.”

“It’s Castiel, actually. No one’s called me that in a long time.”

The man’s smile fell. “You’re not saying those stories are actually real…like they happened for real…” he trailed off.

“Oh, yes.  They were very real.”

“Like,” he stopped to think, “Sam jumping into the pit or Dean taking the Mark of Cain?” he said, nearly laughing.  

“Yes.  Poor Sam was soulless for a while after that.  And that Mark was nothing but trouble.  But we finally got it off.  It was actually the beginning to repairing God’s relationship with his sister.  It worked out quite nicely.”

The guy sputtered. “God, like God God?  And his sister?”

“Yes.  He has a beard.  His name is Chuck.  Nice guy,” Cas stated.

“Man, you must be losing it. That’s the craziest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“If I’m losing it, then how did I know all that about you and your sister?”

“Maybe you can read my mind or something.”

Cas paused, thinking. “Well, I could, but that would be quite painful.  I’m a celestial being.  I just know things about people.”

“If you’re so important, why don’t you smite me, then?”

Cas shook his head. “I have no reason to want to hurt you. You are grieving.  I understand that all too well.  I have been grieving for 172 years.  Besides, your gun wouldn’t hurt me.  You cannot kill me.  And if you tried, I wouldn’t stop you.  I have nothing to live for anymore,” he said seriously.

“You don’t want to help people anymore?”

“I’m tired, Ethan,” he said, then hesitated.  “Is it alright if I call you that?  I know you didn’t formerly introduce yourself.”

“Look, man, this is weird. I don’t know what to think.”  

“Then don’t,” he said, sliding an angel blade from his coat sleeve.  He handed it to Ethan.  “This will do the job.”

Ethan set down his gun and took it, looking it over in confusion.

“It’s an angel blade. It will kill angels.  And demons, too.  It’s very useful.  It’s all yours, just please give me this mercy.”

“Wait, you want me to kill you?” he said incredulously.

“Yes.  I have wished for death for such a long time.  Spending an eternity in the Empty will be preferable to this existence, I think.”

“Yeah, but…what about…”

“Didn’t you come here to kill me?  Wasn’t that your mission, your purpose in life since your sister’s death?  Then kill me, please!” Cas nearly shouted.

“But this isn’t what I’d expected.  This isn’t—“

Cas reached out and grabbed the man’s shirt collar in a strong grip.  “I killed your sister.  Avenge her!”

The man pulled back, wrenching off Cas’s grip.  “But, but you didn’t, you…”

“PLEASE!” Cas said emphatically.  “I have tried so hard to keep going.  Maybe helping people like your sister was my purpose like Jack said, but I can’t do it anymore!  I’m done! I need to move on.  The pain doesn’t ever go away.  I can’t stop replaying that night.  I need peace.  I need for it all to be over.  Help me like I helped your sister, Melanie.  Like I’ve helped so many others.  Put me out of my misery.  Don’t tempt me with death and not give it to me.  Please,” he begged.  

Ethan stood there, clenching the angel blade in his hands while he looked over at Castiel.  He noticed for the first time how haggard he looked, how pain seemed etched into his very bones.  Whether he really was who he said he was, this was a man who had been through a lot.  This was someone who had reached his limit and then some.  

He was right; he did come here to kill this man.  Even if this stranger was trying to be good and helped Melanie, he was asking for mercy now.  It didn’t feel right.  It felt less like revenge and more like killing someone who didn’t deserve it, but yet was begging for it.  

He felt something deep down, something he’d never felt before.  He didn’t think that he’d be able to just walk away, knowing he’d allowed this man to continue suffering.  His pain may not be something he could see, but this man was broken. He told himself it’d be like killing a deer that got hit by a car.  Sometimes it can’t be saved, but it shouldn’t have to suffer any more.  

“Okay,” he said quietly, getting a good grip on the strange weapon he’d been handed.

He saw the angel’s shoulders relax as if a heavy burden had been lifted from them.  He looked lighter, freer.  

“Thank you,” he said sincerely.  

The man just nodded, unable to form words.  He stared at the angel, unsure.  Cas nodded back at him, silently telling him to go on.  He got closer, held it to the angel’s chest.  Closing his eyes, he thrust it through his chest.  The angel fell, the blade falling from his hands and clattering to the floor.  

He looked down and saw Castiel, dead, the shadow of his wings spread out majestically on either side of him.  He would have regretted what he’d just done if he hadn’t glanced at the angel’s face. Although his eyes were hollowed out, there was a trace of a smile lingering on his lips.

*

Castiel found himself standing on a black surface.  He shuddered to think of an eternity stuck in the Empty, such a dark place, but he didn’t care.  It was better than being on earth and being reminded of those he’d loved and lost.

He looked up and his breath caught in his throat.  Surrounding him was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.  This was surely not the Empty.  This was something wonderful.  All around him were trees and grass, all so green and lush and beautiful.  Flowers of every color were scattered around the tall grass, and the sky above was the bluest blue he’d ever laid eyes on.  

Stretching in front and behind him was an asphalt road.  He didn’t know where it led, but he figured it wouldn’t hurt to find out.  Stepping forward, he followed it, taking in the sights and sounds all around.  The wind blew gently and the birds sung from the treetops.  

He didn’t know how long he walked.  It seemed long, but it wasn’t unpleasant.  Eventually, he came upon an old, two story home.  It had a nice wrap around porch with a swing, and each window had shutters on either side.  These details were great, but they weren’t what took his attention.  Sitting in the driveway was a pristine, black, 1967 Chevy Impala.  Baby.  

Cas ran to the front door, his blue tie flopping over his shoulder.  He pounded the door and rang the bell, feeling completely overwhelmed and impatient.

The door swung open, revealing Dean standing there, a beer in one hand as the other gripped the door.

“Hey, look who decided to show up!” he said, beaming.  

Sam approached, and his face lit up when he saw who it was.  “Cas!  You made it! You’re just in time, too.  We were just about to get started and everyone else is already here.  Just waiting on you, man,” he said, reaching out to engulf the angel into a hug.  

When they finally pulled apart, Dean reached out for a hug as well.

“I don’t…I don’t understand,” he said when they parted.  He stepped into the foyer and Dean closed the door behind him.  “Am I dead?  Where am I? Is this a dream?  Wait, no.  I don’t sleep, do I?” he rambled.

Dean laughed.  “No, you don’t, man.  And yeah, you kicked the bucket.  You’re in heaven.”  

Cas looked at him in confusion.  “But, angels go—“

“To the Empty, I know,” Dean finished.   “Chuck pulled some strings.  You get your own slice of heaven pie!” he said with a grin.

“This is our heaven, me and Dean’s,” Sam explained, “but ours are all connected.  I’m sure you have a house down the road.  Everyone else does.”

“Everyone else?  But…you seemed to be expecting me?  You knew I’d come?” he questioned.

“Nah, just a hunch. It just felt right.  Kinda how this place works or something,” Dean said. “Anyway,” he said, rubbing his hands together, “how ‘bout some grub?  I’m starving!”

Dean led the way to the backyard.  There was an insanely long picnic table set up with all kinds of food anyone could imagine. It was mostly barbeque, but with lots of sides as well, along with some fresh lemonade.  There was a general bustle as those seated around the table served themselves and passed platters of food down the row.  Cas realized that everyone was here: Mary, John, Bobby, Charlie, Kelly… everyone who’d ever made an impact on the Winchester’s lives.  

He saw Jody and Donna chatting away and Kevin helping himself to some fried rice, among others.

“Cas!”

Cas turned toward the voice. “Jack?!”

Jack ran over and gave him a big hug.  

“It’s been a while, Castiel. You took a while to get here,” Jack said.

“Well, it wasn’t really up to me, was it?  Besides, I’m here now, and that’s all that matters,” Cas answered.  Jack nodded with a big smile.

“Felix is here, too!” Jack said happily, indicating the red and black snake he had draped over his shoulders.  Cas heard Dean mumble something about snakes and heaven before walking away toward the food. “He’s much happier here, like I’d hoped he’d be,” Jack continued.

“Yes, he does appear quite content,” Cas replied.

“Well, come on, Cas. Dig in,” Sam said before joining his brother at the table.

Castiel took a moment to take it all in.  All his friends and loved ones were here in one place.  This really and truly was heaven.  Cas took his seat beside the Winchesters and dished himself up some food, more than happy to savor his slice of the heaven pie he was blessed to share with those he called his family.

[brushstrokesapocalyptic]

The Legend of Asriel PART 5 | THE GREAT FAIRY

chara experiences regret.

“So, what do we do?“

Chara makes a face. They’re far from Castle Town, Frisk having some impressive endurance for someone who still needs to breathe, and they’re currently splayed out beneath a tree with the remains of the Master Sword scattered across a cloth beside them.

“I’m not sure,“ Chara admits, using one hand to sign while they push around the metal shards and try to fit them together like the world’s most sacred jigsaw puzzle. “I honestly didn’t see any part of this coming. If Asriel’s been missing this whole time I don’t know how I could find him, and quite frankly the sword has me even more concerned.“

Frisk pushes themself up by their elbows. “So, what do we do about the sword? I’m sure you can’t just piece it back together like that.”

Chara carefully positions a sliver of steel between two larger chunks. “You would be correct in that assessment.”

“So, what do we do?“

Chara makes another face. They had thought Frisk would gather from the first face they made that that’s the worst possible question to ask right now, but apparently they’re duller than they thought. “I’m. Not. Sure.”

Frisk groans, dropping their head back to the grass. “You’re dumb and worthless.”

Chara reaches over to prod Frisk’s shoulder, waiting for them to look up again. “If that’s what you think, you’re more than welcome to pack up and return to your desert.“

“Heck no, I’ve seen enough sand for the rest of my life.“

“In that case, I suggest you stop pestering me about stuff I have yet to decide upon.“

Frisk huffs again, but their hands remain still as they watch Chara slowly piece the Master Sword back together. Occasionally they’ll reach over and point out a couple pieces that will fit together, but beyond that and the small nods Chara gives in response, they do not speak any further.

Then Chara pauses, staring at the nearly-complete (though still thoroughly shattered) blade, and they frown. “...Something’s wrong,” they mutter. Frisk tilts their head and they repeat in sign, “Something’s wrong, there’s a piece missing.”

Frisk tilts their head and glances across the reconstructed blade. Sure enough, there’s a noticeable gap right near the hilt, and every other piece has been slotted together perfectly. “We must have left it behind by accident.”

Chara takes a deep breath, then screams into their hands. “Of all the dumb things to mess up!” they sign, hands flailing a little in their frustration. “We have to go back.”

Frisk purses their lips. “No.”

“No?!“

“We literally just escaped after stealing something important, and they know we have it,“ Frisk explains. “Frankly, we shouldn’t have stopped like this. They’ll be looking for us in no time.“

“So?! I know all the ins and outs of that place, I could get you there and back in no time—“

“To look for a single piece of metal we don’t even know for sure is there,“ Frisk says, standing. “It’ll have to be reforged anyway. It’s only a single shard.“

“You don’t understand!“ Chara snaps, reaching out to grab Frisk’s wrists when they ignore them. “This is an ancient sword, crafted by the goddesses themselves— we can’t just change it, every inch of its design was forged for a purpose!“

Frisk stares at them for a long moment. Then they look back down at the sword. They kneel, folding the fabric back around it into a bundle, and they tuck it into their backpack. “Well,” they finally reply, “We’ll have to tackle that one as it comes.”

They pull their cloak back on over their backpack and start walking, eyes fixed firmly ahead. Chara takes a moment to follow. “Where are you going?” they ask, flitting into Frisk’s view.

“Dunno,“ they reply. “I was serious about not sticking around, so pretty much my only goal is away from there.“

Chara narrows their eyes a little, then sighs and flits back to Frisk’s side. “Go that way,” they say, pointing a little more to the left of Frisk’s current trajectory, towards the volcano spewing ominous clouds of smoke.

“Now you have ideas?“

Chara grimaces. “It’s a last-ditch effort, but I couldn’t think of anything else. So we’re asking someone else for help.”

“Who?“

Chara takes a deep breath to steel themself. “Have you ever heard of a Great Fairy?”

[ID: A simple sketch of a rough wooden sign hanging between two vertical surfaces. On the sign is some writing in Hylian script. End Description.]

“It’s...“

“Misspelled, yes.“

“You’re sure this is the right place?“

Chara’s smile grows strained. “Uncomfortably so.”

Frisk stares at Chara, then back at the wooden sign hanging in the doorway of this run-down cabin. GReT FARY FONTIN, it reads. give rupi p.

Chara places a hand on Frisk’s shoulder. “Listen. I understand if you have any trepidations about this. We can find another way, I’m sure once some time has passed the guards will relax a little and we can slip back in—”

Frisk puts a hand on Chara’s face and pushes them back. “Those are my words,” they say. “I’m not scared of a little decrepit house.”

“It’s not the house,“ Chara insists, hands snapping and eyes twitching a little. “It’s just— the Great Fairies are a lot to deal with, if you’re not absolutely sure you’re prepared...“

“I’ll be fine,“ Frisk says.

“Are you sure?“

Frisk ignores them. The sign is easily ducked under, and it only takes their eyes a moment to adjust to the darkness inside— and it’s really not so bad. A little dusty, and the floorboards shift underneath their feet as they pad towards the large, circular basin of water in the center of this building, but it’s really nothing to be afraid of.

They stop right at the edge, staring down at their reflection in the water. The surface is smooth as glass, and when they look around they see no one here but the ghost reluctantly following them inside. “Shouldn’t there be a fairy?” Frisk asks.

Chara glares at them and doesn’t reply, just drifts to a stop by Frisk’s side and closes their eyes. Then they open their mouth, and Frisk supposes they must be singing, based on how their lips are moving. Then Chara opens their eyes again and takes a large step back, lifting their arms over their face.

Frisk gets ready to ask them what they’re doing, and then water splashes over them in a wave, toppling them to the ground. Their eyes shut reflexively, and when they open again it’s like the room is totally restored— polished wood flooring, intricate patterns painted across the walls, and lights of all different colors hung up across everything in sight.

And also, hovering over the shimmering fountain, there is a weird cat-dog thing surrounded by fluttering fairies. It lifts a paw, opens its mouth, and says,

“HOi!“

“Oh, she comes with subtitles,“ Chara says out loud, and Frisk sees their words write themselves out in the air before them. “Aaand so do I.“

“Tem activated acessibiliti settings, yaya!“ the Great Fairy chirps, resting her paws on her chin. “Gots to be ready for all heroes, ya!“

“Not that I’m complaining,“ Chara says, putting their hands on their hips, “But you sure didn’t seem eager to do this kind of thing for me.“

The fairy laughs uproariously, rolling around in the air. “Silly silly human! U expect so much!”

“See, this is what I’m talking about,“ Chara says, looking over at Frisk. “Really, I shouldn’t have bothered—“

The fairy moves faster than Frisk’s eyes can follow, stopping inches from Chara’s face with a gust of wind. “You cannot begin to understand the nature of my existence, little ghost,” she says, face deathly serious. “Dismiss my advice if you please. Just remember which one of us has the unstoppable magic powers.”

The fairy backs off, trotting back to her position in the middle of the fountain. Chara says nothing, just floats back with a distinctly rattled expression.

“So!“ the fairy chirps. “Hoiw can I hoilp u?“

Frisk stares for a long moment, then lifts their hands to sign. “Um, first, who exactly are you?”

“Temmie is Temmie!“ the fairy chirps. “Hoi!“

“I’m told you’re a Great Fairy?“

“The GRETist.“

“Do you... help a lot of heroes?“

Temmie beams. “YaYa, lotsa heros!”

A moment of silence falls, and then Chara elbows Frisk in the side. “Sword,” Chara signs, and Frisk lights up.

Frisk hurries to swing their backpack off, tugging out the bundle containing the Master Sword. “This sword was destroyed,” they say, a little awkwardly around the bundle in their arms. “Chara thinks you can help, so— can you?”

Temmie hums and haws a little, putting her paw on her chin and tilting her head back and forth. “Tricky, tricky, thats VERy broken. Holy sords, very hard to fix. Esp like This.”

“How come?“ Frisk asks. “It’s a sword, right? It can be reforged.“

“Sure, u can make a new sord,“ Temmie says. “But ur missing sumtihng.“

“We lost a piece,“ Chara admits. “We can go back, we can find it—“

“O no, no!“ Temmie cuts in, waving a paw. “Not THAT, cutie ghostie. Doesnt matter how much old sord u use. Holy Sord is broken. You gots to make a new sord n make that holy.”

“And how do we do that?“ Frisk asks.

Temmie hums. “Well. First you gots to reforge it! That’s the easy step, tem can do that for u.”

Chara smiles. “Oh, that’s not so—”

“For ten thousand rupees.”

“Ah.“ Chara makes a face. “...Does it matter who reforges it...?”

Frisk raises a hand. “It seems like it’d be fine as long as it’s a sword?”

“Yaya, this hero gets it!“ Temmie says, clapping a little. “Of course, it’d be greatest if I do it! Only 20 thousand rupees!“

“Pass,“ Chara says, spinning on their heel and making for the door. “Come on Frisk, we have what we came for.“

“30 thousands,” Temmie offers.

Frisk gives her an apologetic smile. “Sorry, I’m a little short,” they say, backing up. “Maybe another time!”

“Aw, okay,“ Temmie says. “Boi then!“

As Frisk steps back outside, the cabin’s appearance shifts back into that run-down look, the lights inside flickering out. Chara says something, but no subtitles appear for Frisk to read.

Chara realizes this after a moment, and lifts their hands to sign with a chagrined look. “Well, you know the drill. We have to find a blacksmith.”

“Any ideas on where to look?“

“Yeah, actually,“ Chara says. They lift their arm to point up the side of the volcano. “Death Mountain.”

Frisk looks up at the volcano, then back at Chara. Their question goes unvoiced.

“It’s quite pleasant, actually.“

“Sure.“

[Next Part] [Index]

[thefilmsnob]

Dr. Sleep: *** out of 5

If you want to know if the latest Stephen King film adaptation, Dr. Sleep, is any good, you probably shouldn’t consult Stephen King. The prolific author famously disliked Stanley Kubrick’s adaptation of the The Shining, the new film’s predecessor which is widely considered a masterpiece…which it is. Nevertheless, he gave Dr. Sleep praise. The man might be an excellent writer, but perhaps he’s not the greatest critic. I’ll just say that if you’re expecting a ‘Kubrick’ going in, you’re quite the silly goose and I’ll just leave it at that.  

But, comparing writer/director/editor Mike Flanagan to possibly the greatest film maker of all time wouldn’t be fair. In his defence, Flanagan had to delve into three sources to create this one movie, painstakingly combing through text and image to amalgamate various elements of King’s two novels and Kubrick’s movie to appease all parties without stepping on any toes. What’s left is no masterpiece, but it’s no mere redundancy either.

That’s always an issue with sequels: are they necessary? I didn’t think so when I heard about this novel back in 2013. But, when you think about it, even though Danny Torrance (grown up now and played by Ewan McGregor) and his mother escaped from the haunted Overlook Hotel and their possessed patriarch in The Shining, there’s still a hotel brimming with evil spirits just sitting there and Wendy still has a little boy with mind powers. It’s reasonable, if not essential, to explore these elements further.

The narrative, by turns illuminating and extraneous, picks up shortly after the end of the first instalment with Danny and his mother, Wendy (Alex Essoe), now living in Florida, which makes sense since it’s a stark contrast to the frigid Rocky Mountain setting of the Overlook. These characters are played by different actors, a pleasant respite from the controversial CGI facial wizardry of late. This goes for Dick Hallorann (Carl Lumbly) too, the former Overlook chef who continues to aid the traumatized Danny who’s still haunted by that rotting old woman from Room 237. Hallorann’s spirit teaches him how to ‘lock up’ these ghosts in mental ‘boxes’.

We’re also introduced to the True Knot, a group of supernatural beings who remain immortal by consuming the ‘steam’ of dying people who possess the ‘shining’ like Danny. Their leader is Rose the Hat (played by the ubiquitous Rebecca Ferguson), so named for her hat, a pretty great hat and a sexy one at that. Ferguson gives an intense performance, albeit a tad hammy at times, but still a relentlessly threatening presence, enhanced by her glowing blue eyes. This group isn’t a terribly frightening antagonist for a horror film; they’re more like a team of comic book supervillains in a story that’s more of a darker take on X-Men than pure horror. Thankfully, the jump scares are sparse, but so too are the regular scares.

We jump to 2011 where Danny, going by ‘Dan’, is an alcoholic, still struggling with his childhood trauma and using booze to cope and to suppress his shining. He tries to shape up: he moves to a small town, befriends Billy Freeman (a comforting Cliff Curtis), goes to AA meetings and gets a job at a hospice where he earns the nickname ‘Dr. Sleep’ for using his shining to comfort dying patients. Another jump to 2019 sees the True Knot in bad shape, desperate for more steam (yes, that does sound silly). It just so happens there’s a teenaged girl named Abra Stone (newcomer Kyliegh Curran) whose shining is even more powerful than Dan’s. They start communicating, the True Knot learns of Abra, Abra learns of the True Knot and you can guess where this is going.

The movie does take a long, winding means of getting there, with a 152-minute run time that doesn’t help. Midsommar, a horror film from earlier this year with a similar run time, had constant momentum. Here, the film struggles to press on with a few too many detours, often feeling more like a TV series. We didn’t need so many check-ins with the True Knot, scenes that do develop character but also try to humanize this group which is questionable considering their horrible actions; a scene involving a young victim is especially disturbing.

McGregor, whose career has been as difficult to define as this movie, does help guide us, providing something in which we can invest emotionally. He’s convincing as the timid and melancholy trauma survivor drifting through life. It’s hard to think of a McGregor performance that’s been truly outstanding--except perhaps in Trainspotting--and it’s par for the course here, but he’s still solid if a bit flat.

It’s not spoiling to mention Dan’s return to the Overlook Hotel, considering the resort’s appearance in trailers. This is the strongest section where the movie comes the closest to finding itself. It’s focused, exciting and suspenseful. It’s also a delight to see some meticulously recreated versions of iconic sets and images while witnessing a new story unfold within those decrepit walls. It is a spoiler to mention certain elements of this final act. Some are well-integrated, some clumsily so, but it’s always thrilling to anticipate what evil lies around the next corner.

Indeed, it’s far from a masterpiece, yet Dr. Sleep possesses an unidentifiable force like, say, the apparitions in the film, that pulls you along and entices you to remain intrigued. For those who haven’t seen or read The Shining, most of the story will be lost on you and it’s odd that you’re even watching it. But, for those well-versed in the famous horror story, it’s worth it to return to this chilling universe, birthed by King and immortalized by Kubrick.

[jinsoulsscalp]

selfpara;

short story adapted from fable ‘little red cap’ written for storytelling class. will be further adapted into a graphic novel. i think it’s semi-good so i figured i’d post it. keep in mind that (ir you read it) it’s a first draft, and also that it gets really gory (i didn’t mean for it to, but it did oops). 

the concept i had to start with was one of a role reversal, so i tried to stay somewhat true to the original plot while also adding a role reversal element. a lot of what is written will have to be cut and/or reformatted to fit a graphic novel format.

‘When you grow up wearing rose coloured glasses, all the red flags just look like flags’. It was a sentiment that Red wished she didn’t relate to as much as she did, but alas, it wasn’t like she could go back in time and change anything. It wasn’t as if any wallowing and brooding would bring back her innocence-- or her grandmother, for that matter. Those who knew her told her time and time again that there was nothing she could have done; that she didn’t know any better, and that she wasn’t at fault. The Wolves disguised themselves as men-- they could shift-- and they tricked her. But at the end of the day, Red had told them where to go. She had taken them for their word. She had shown kindness and vulnerability and it came to bite her in the ass.

And it wouldn’t ever again.

With a final grimace at the horizon, the woman sighed, heaving herself to her feet and slinging her bag over her back before making her way out of the forest and into the small, decrepit shack by the river; the one no one dared go inside. It looked condemned, like it would crumble on your head the moment you stepped foot through the door, but Red knew firsthand that looks could be deceiving. And, besides-- the outside looked a lot worse than the inside. She’d spent years reinforcing the walls and the roof to make sure it was safe enough. The best way to keep trespassers away was to make sure it kept looking disgusting.

The door creaked as she inched it open, stepping inside to find a large, hulking silhouette across the room. The Huntsman. “You’re late,” he growled, deep and guttural.

“Yeah, well. It’s not like you had anything better to do than to wait for me,” Red retorted, sarcasm dripping off her tone. “I’m here now. Let’s go hunting.”

--- SIX YEARS PRIOR ---

“You’re late!” a voice cried, worried and frantic, amidst the sounds of pots and pans hitting each other. Red’s eyes flew open as she scrambled out of bed, haphazardly making sure she looked presentable in the grimy little mirror she kept by her window before flying down the stairs. Red was typically quite punctual, but she’d been tossing and turning all night, unable to fall asleep due to pure excitement. Maybe they wouldn’t be seeing each other under the best of circumstances, but Red loved any opportunity she had to see her grandmother.

“Sorry, sorry! I’ll be sure to walk quickly to make up for it!” the girl replied, kissing her mother on her cheek as she began to lace up her shoes.

The haggard middle-aged woman’s brow furrowed sternly. “Now, don’t say that! If you jostle the basket too much, the bottle of wine will shatter!” she exclaimed. “You need to be careful, love; I know you mean well, but this is important.”

Red straightened her posture dutifully, composing herself with a nod. That was right-- her grandmother wasn’t young and spry anymore. She was getting old and had fallen ill. Red wasn’t going to visit just for a social call, either, but instead bringing wine and fresh baking and other supplies-- her grandmother didn’t have the energy to do as much cooking in the daytime, so this would have to tide her over until Red finished school for the year and could go and stay with her to take care of her. “I promise, you don’t have to worry,” she soothed her mother, standing up to take the basket. “I’ll get this to grandmother, and I’ll be back before sundown. You can count on me.”

--- PRESENT DAY ---

“You’re throwing off the whole schedule,” the Huntsman complained as the pair prepared their weapons. His face was contorted into a permanent scowl, years of hardships and discomfort making grumpy his default. “We can only hunt the Wolves at night, Red. Someone catches us killing a seemingly defenseless man in broad daylight, and we’ll hang for it. You know damn well that they have most of the town’s elite under their thumb.”

“The sun set less than an hour ago. And I’m efficient.” A bland reply, with no emotion behind it, no punch to her words. The silver blades in her palms felt like extensions of her own limbs at this point. She’d taken down plenty of the Wolves in the years since she’d lost her family to them, and she had no doubt she’d take down more tonight. She had a score to settle, and she wasn’t going to rest until all of them were dead.

When the pair was primed and ready, with their vital organs protected and extra weapons strapped to their limbs, Red and the Huntsman disappeared into the woods, exchanging whispered ‘good luck’s before they split up for the night. If they needed help from their companion, they could call and the other would come running, but they typically did their best work alone. Trauma was something one had to work through on their own, and both Red and her mentor had a great deal of weight on their shoulders. They had both lost so much to the Wolves, and dealing with their pain was a solitary activity.

Sometimes Red wondered what would happen when it was all over and done with. When the Wolves were dead, would they keep in touch? Or was their connection purely for convenience-- did they just share the same goals and that was all that kept them together? Red couldn’t say she had anyone else in her corner besides the man who had found her on the brink of death when she was fourteen, bloodied and haunted by the sights she had just seen. After watching the Wolves tear apart not only her grandmother, but her mother too, they had come for her. She wouldn’t even be alive if the Huntsman hadn’t heard her cries and come to her rescue. He had taken care of her until she was well enough to take care of herself; an orphaned teenager, living alone in the home she once shared with her mom, going through the motions to make it through another day. When she was older, and stronger, he’d offered her vengeance. He’d offered her training and guidance. And when she was old enough, he’d offered her a place at his side, hunting the Wolves that hid in the shadows, tearing into any sad sack who was stupid enough to travel alone.

Really, he had no use for her beyond helping him kill the Wolves. And she did best on her own anyway. If you didn’t care for anyone, you didn’t have anyone to lose, right?

Red let a little sigh go, taking her usual perch in a tree by the path. The Wolves frequented these parts-- visitors from other towns who didn’t know any better would pass through in the night, and they’d be ambushed by the men would could shift into beasts. Red just had to wait until someone came along.

--- SIX YEARS PRIOR ---

She was late. Red had always been absent-minded and easily distracted, and after a conversation with a neighbor that had gone on a little too long, she was running behind. If she was going to be home by that evening, she was going to have to take a short cut.

So that was what she had done, cutting through the forest instead of taking the well-travelled road that curved around it. There had always been rumors about people disappearing on this trail, but Red didn’t buy it. They were just tales told to children to keep them from running off into the woods. And if she went this way, she’d get to see her grandmother quicker.

She’d walked for hours without seeing another soul, protected from the sun by the large trees spreading their limbs across the path. She wished she’d brought some way of keeping track of the time with her-- by her approximation, based on the sun, it was nearly noon, but she had no way of telling for sure. Red was getting tired and hungry, though, so she sat on a log, opening her basket to indulge in the snacks her mom packed for her.

It was then that she saw him. Scrambling out of the trees and breathing heavy, face covered in gashes and sweat. He looked like he’d just seen a ghost, and his clothes were caked in mud. Red gasped as her eyes locked with his, hand coming to her mouth.

“Are…...Are you okay? What happened?” she asked, putting her basket aside so she could jump up and go to him.

“What is a nice girl like you doing out here all alone?” he wheezed out with a sly smile, scrawny, slimy hands coming to grip her forearm (for support, she assumed).

Red’s stomach sank. Her instincts were telling her to run. Telling her something was very wrong. But she associated that with the state of the man in front of her; surely she was just scared of what had done this to him. No matter how he looked, he was clearly in need, and what right did she have to ignore him just because he looked a little ragged? “I’m going to see my grandmother-- bring her some baking from my mother…..but, I-- you didn’t answer my question! What happened? Do you need help?”

She felt the man’s eyes study her face, dark pupils baring into her soul. “I need medical attention, my dear. I don’t imagine you have bandages in that little basket of yours.”

“No….No, I don’t but…..my grandmother surely has bandages in her home,” Red told him soothingly. He was shaking. Gently pulling her arms away from him, she went to get the rest of her sandwich, offering it to him. “Here-- please take this. I can’t go with you-- I have to be careful carrying the wine in my basket, but her cabin isn’t too far from here. The first house you come across. It’s blue, with a flower garden and a scarecrow out front. Hurry there, and just knock on her door and tell her that Red sent you. She’ll get you all the help you need.”

--- PRESENT DAY ---

It didn’t take much waiting for the first Wolf to show up. A homeless beggar came wandering across the path within minutes of Red taking her watch, and before she knew it, a scrawny, sick looking man began stalking behind him. He was without a doubt one of the Wolves-- torn clothes, covered in dirt, sickly skin. And they eyes. The beady, predatory eyes. No matter how they disguised themselves, you could tell by their eyes that they weren’t human.

Red jumped down from her perch, landing nimbly behind the beggar and the disguised wolf, dagger in her hand shimmering in the moonlight. “Run,” she advised the poor homeless man before lunging at his would-be attacker and pinning him to the ground. Before she could get him into a proper hold, he shifted, turning into a huge drooling carnivore, hungry for her blood, throwing her off of him.

Red rolled back onto her feet, eyes narrowing. With a skilled hand, she swiped at it, just nicking the creature, but that was enough. It’s reaction to the silver made it howl in pain, and she took that opportunity to jump forward, plunging her knife into the beast’s chest.

It was dead. She’d saved one more person from falling prey, but did it even matter anymore? It felt like she was fighting a hydra-- she took one wolf down, and two more sprung up in its place. She could kill all the wolves she wanted, but it wouldn’t bring her family back. It wouldn’t make her feel any more whole.

But at least this gave her purpose. Instead of drifting along, lost and alone, she was channelling her hurt and anger into something. And for now, that had to be enough.

--- SIX YEARS PRIOR ---

She’d been walking right into a trap. She was the world’s stupidest mouse, sauntering right in without a care in the world, and now she was going to pay.

When she’d finally gotten to her grandmother’s house, it had felt off. The front door was ajar. The curtains were drawn. And she could see blood on the doorstep.

She’d rationalized it all, though. Clearly the man she’d met on the path had arrived. He’d probably left the door open in his haste to get treatment, and the blood was likely his! And her grandmother was ill; perhaps the curtains had been drawn because the sunlight was bothersome. Red could explain everything away in her head. Nothing was wrong. Nothing was ever wrong, so why would that change now?

The sight she found once she was inside, however, wasn’t something she even knew how to process. The blood she’d seen on the doorstep had just been the beginning-- the whole cabin was covered in blood, cabinets and walls splattered in dark crimson like it was some sort of twisted Jackson Pollock painting for some sick fuck who thought himself edgy. The bed in the corner of the one-room home was empty, and there was a body on the ground. Face-down and unrecognizable; clearly it was the source of the blood. With a sinking feeling, Red had recognized the nightgown the corpse was wearing-- long, blue, and floral. It was her grandmother.

And sitting at the kitchen table, lounging with his feet up, was the man she’d met on the path.

She didn’t have time to scream or cry before he jumped at her, clapping a hand over her mouth, his other arm wrapping around her torso and keeping her from flailing her arms. A moment later, she’d been thrown across the room, blacking out when her head hit a wall.

When Red woke up, she was bound and gagged, sitting at her grandmother’s table. The man was still there, still watching her. He told her he was a wolf, and that the only reason she was still alive was because she was bait. “A sweet young girl like you?” he’d crooned. “Someone will come looking for you before long. I’ll have myself a feast when they come.”

He’d sat with her and waited as tears ran down her cheeks, sobs muffled by the gag. Evening turned into night, and while Red grew more and more tired, she couldn’t sleep. How could anyone sleep in a situation like the one she was in? She felt like if she fell asleep, she would never wake up again-- and considering her circumstances, that wasn’t necessarily an irrational feeling.

In the early hours of the morning, she heard the calls. Her mother’s worried voice, getting closer and closer. The man-- the Wolf-- grinned at Red, an evil grin, putting his finger against his lips mockingly. She couldn’t make any noise if she wanted to, and he knew that. This was just a game to him. The apex predator toying with his food. Having a little fun before his hunger was sated.

Red couldn’t look away. She couldn’t close her eyes. She was transfixed as the man shifted into his beastly form, digging his large, jagged teeth into her mother’s body as soon as she came into the cabin. Red thrashed around frantically. Desperately. She tried to scream or get free, ropes chafing against her wrists. She finally managed to get the gag loose, yelling and crying for help-- there were no houses nearby, but surely if she was loud enough someone would hear? The wolf turned his sights on her, the same beady eyes the man used to look her over on the path before, now being used by a wolf, appreciating its dessert.

The pain was unbearable. She’d gotten scrapes while playing outside before, and she’d broken an arm as a child when she’d fallen out of a tree, but this was so much different. Her entire body felt like it was on fire, and she could feel every spot where incisors punctured her skin.

And then, as quick as it had begun, it was over. The wolf slumped forward on top of her, making it all but impossible for her to breathe, but it had stopped. Opening her teary eyes, Red saw a man pulling the beast off of her. A real man this time-- eyes kind instead of dark and predatory. Before she blacked out again, she heard him whispering to her. Assuring her that she would be okay now. That he was there, and that the wolf was dead. That he would find her help. That was all she could remember before slipping unconscious once more.

--- PRESENT DAY ---

It was a successful night. By the time the sun began to rise, Red had killed four wolves, leaving their carcasses to rot by the side of the path. Anyone who knew what the Wolves were capable of would be grateful, even if the sight of the corpse was likely unbearable. Taking her time in the crisp early-morning air, Red walked back to the riverside shack. At first she assumed she was the first to get back (usually the Huntsman was in the common area waiting for her), but as she began to unstrap weapons from her thighs, she heard him. She heard low, muted sobs from the other room. No one else knew about this place. It could only be him.

Cautiously walking over to the back room, Red peeked her head in to see him, sitting on the ground, picture in his hand. It looked like a painting-- one of the ones families got commissioned, so that they’d have a portrait of their family. As Red came closer, she saw the people in the portrait; the man was obviously him (she could tell by the stature), but there was also a beautiful woman. And a little girl, no more than twelve.

Red had lost everything to the Wolves. And now she’d made the connection-- she wasn’t the only one.

Gently taking the portrait from the Huntsman’s hands, Red swallowed hard, giving her mentor a hug and rubbing his back comfortingly. For the first time in years, she let herself cry, and she whispered soothingly to him. “I’ve got you,” she murmured. “I’m here. It will all be okay.”

Maybe she didn’t believe everything she was saying. But, though she refused to admit it, this was her father figure. This was the man that had given her a future. And someday, she’d help him take his back.

[shootingstarcipher-blog]

The Runaway (Chapter 1: State of Mind)

He was older now, but not as much as he felt. He stood there in front of the mirror one morning – the morning he woke up to find his whole world had collapsed around him, leaving him hopeless, alone, and ultimately broken – and decided there and then that he needed to get away. From within his mind there came a laugh – a cold, derisive giggle of megalomania – and he stared back at his reflection with contempt. You’ll never get away, his mind shrieked, and his hand instinctively flew up to cover his gleaming yellow eye which always made his other one seem so dull and lifeless. His right eye was always yellow now – yellow and with a tiny black slit for a pupil. His left remained a permanent hazel.

It took a while for the laughter to die down but when it did, he looked back at himself in the mirror and smiled (only a small smile, which for most people would have been barely passable as an expression of emotion at all, but that was all he could muster). “I will get away,” he said sternly, more to himself than the source of the shrill laughter inside his head. “From you, and from all of this.” He pictured himself raising an eyebrow – for it was something he had never managed to do and could only imagine finally being able to do it – and tilted his hat on top of his head as he spoke. Then, glancing back at the mirror one last time, he turned on his heel and started to pack.

All he wound up taking with him was a few spare changes of clothes, all the money he had, some books he must have read hundreds of times and some emergency food and drink for the journey.

He paused to consider which of his two hats to wear and which to pack. This may seem like an unnecessary hurdle which should have been easy to overcome but, given the circumstances, to Dipper Pines it was a troubling and arduous task to accomplish. The first was a blue and white trucker hat depicting a Pine Tree that was important to his life than perhaps he even he himself had yet to realise. The other was grey and dog-eared, but sentimentally priceless nonetheless.

Both of them, at some time or another, had belonged to Wendy Corduroy.

In the end, he chose to where neither and pack both. It was a decision he half-expected to regret in the days to come yet simultaneously assured himself he was making the right choice.

The last time he had journeyed to Gravity Falls, it hadn’t been a pleasant trip. He still went every summer, ever since his parents had forced him and Mabel to stay with their great uncle Stan four years prior. But the last time hadn’t been for a holiday or for a visit to his great uncles and the friends who lived there; the last time he had gone for a funeral.

The bus was late but that wasn’t surprising. It was late every year. This time, however, he was on his own. That made it so much worse.

Although he hadn’t initially intended on getting off as the bus passed through the town, when he eventually got there he felt he couldn’t let the opportunity slip through his fingers – not after last year, not now he knew how fleeting life really was. His uncles were both in their seventies and though he could barely imagine anything attacking Grunkle Stan and getting the better of him, or Ford making a simple yet costly mistake resulting in his demise, imagining how hurtful it would be to lose either of them without taking the chance to see them one last time proved to be an even more difficult task.

As a twelve year old boy taking his first look at the business belonging to the so-called “Mr Mystery”, he had once thought that the Mystery Shack was just that: a dilapidated, run-down shack (the mystery being why anyone bothered to visit it). And in spite of his initial impression of the decrepit shack that had since become a second home to him and his sister, he had hoped and hoped that it wouldn’t have changed at all since the first time he’d been (after all, it had been just the same the last time he’d visited).

Now, as he stood there in front of it again – eyes squinted and one hand coiled into a fist, the other grappling for the strap of his backpack – he felt like he was being taunted. The voice in his head was quiet for once, but the feeling of a presence hiding inside his mind remained.

It wasn’t at all like he’d imagined – or how he’d hoped. Even more derelict than usual, the Mystery Shack was definitely on its way out. If he had thought it had been on its last legs before, then now it must have lost one or two those, balancing precariously on the weakest pair of wooden support beams ever recorded. He wasn’t sure if the voice was telling him this or if he was coming up with it himself, but a terrifying thought suddenly flashed through his mind – only for a moment, but the message was clear and one that had immediately engraved itself into his mind. If this is how bad the Shack looks, then what about Stan and Ford? After all, they were even older than the Shack.

It must have been at least twenty minutes before he could force himself to enter the house. He didn’t bother knocking; he never did – not here. There was no need for it here.

The first few seconds he spent inside the Shack answered none of his questions and created a thousand more. The house was a complete mess – and not just in Stan’s usual untidy way. Cracks in the walls, deep holes in the floorboards, smashed glass and broken bottles littering the floor in every room. And there was more. Family photographs had been savagely torn up, Stan’s chair had been tipped over and seemingly attacked – with bitemarks and long, fierce scratches tearing it to shreds – and the television set lay shattered on the living room floor. If Dipper’s common sense had overridden his curiosity, he would have left there and then and never looked back.

But then he would have had no hope of finding out what had happened. And what’s more, he would have regretted every second he spent not knowing whether his uncles were dead or alive.

He couldn’t have been sure that they were alive and he certainly didn’t think they were safe even if they had managed to survive the attack on their home, but he was determined to protect them if he could. They would have done the same for him, after all – and in fact they had, many a time during his and Mabel’s first stay in Gravity Falls.

The basement was where he headed next. If they were still inside the Shack, that’s where they’d be; he was completely certain of that. And so he quickly arrived at the conclusion that they had already left – either by choice or by force – as the basement was completely void of human life. Something was different than he remembered it, however. The portal that Ford had built at his enemy’s instruction, the one that almost destroyed the entire world, the one Dipper had watched his uncle pick apart piece by piece and demolish… That portal was standing there in the centre of the room, looking as if it had been stood there forever – as if it had never been taken apart and destroyed.

Yet it had. He knew it had. He remembered it so clearly. It had been Grunkle Ford’s life’s work – the masterpiece that marked his place as one of the world’s greatest minds and stood as testament to his genius – and Dipper had watched him tear it to shreds, unpicking and unwinding every inch of his greatest mistake. And now – as if by magic – it was back.

Curiosity and longing drew him to stand at the very edge of where safety ended and the unknow began, whispering to him from the depths of his mind, tempting him to step forward and find out just where that portal would take him. But curiosity killed the cat – and quite possibly his two great uncles as well – and although satisfaction brought it back, logic told him that there was no guarantee that he would be brought back to life by whatever lay beyond the line drawn across the concrete floor of his uncle’s basement.

He wanted to get away, but not like that. He wasn’t yet at the point where he’d willingly put his own life on the line without reason. Or anybody else’s, for that matter. Sanity had not completely deserted him yet.

And so logic and reason drowned out the curiosity and the longing, bringing him back to the front door of the Mystery Shack, which he then stared at for a considerable amount of time before deciding to continue on his way. Stan and Ford would be rescued. But for the time being, he had somewhere to be – somewhere he’d have an awful lot of time to figure out what might have happened to them.

He didn’t take the bus this time. He walked instead. It wasn’t far, anyway, and the peace and quiet gave him ample opportunity to think. But thinking wasn’t good for him. Thinking allowed buried memories to resurface and taunting voices to haunt him. His uncles were gone, they told him. He’d never see either of them again. Just like her. Just like all of them.

“I will,” he snapped as he pushed drooping branch out of the way and trudged past it, glad that he was alone so that nobody heard him talking to himself. “And don’t you ever talk about her. Ever. You didn’t deserve to know her.”

“I didn’t know her – not as well as you, Pine Tree.”

That made him stop. It sounded different this time, like it wasn’t coming from inside his head anymore. Like it was real. He had accepted long ago that voices speaking to him from within his own mind were nothing more than hallucinations, his memories confusing themselves with the present reality and manifesting as calls from beyond the grave – because Bill Cipher was in fact dead.

But that nickname. The voice had never – not even once – called him that since Bill Cipher’s reign of terror and madness had come to an end. It had always sounded the same but simply uttering those two words immediately confirmed that the voice did indeed belong to the monster he had witnessed commit countless unforgiveable actions at the expense and suffering of his friends and family.

He whirled round the instant he heard it, expecting to find the demon floating in mid-air behind him as had been the case so many times just a few years prior. All that greeted him was silence and empty air. Maybe his sanity really was slipping away. Maybe he shouldn’t have been alone in the woods at all.

[mustangsgloves]

Unspoken

Read on AO3

Alright, this is my second (my apology gift, really, it’s over 5000 words of fluff) for Shay, in which I attempt to tackle one of her favorite tropes (characters A and B have to stay at a hotel and there's only one room with one bed)...

once again - thanks to @the-musical-alchemist​ for listening to me flip out about how to write this, I appreciate it always, Gio ;-;

I said it already, but I’ll say it again - Shay, you’re one of the greatest people I’ve ever met, simply because of who you are - you’re always kind, passionate, thoughtful, and are extremely talented and witty.  In short, you’re just incredibly wonderful.  Thank you so much for being you, and have the happiest birthday possible.  Hey, now you can rent a car and come visit me!!!

“Are you kidding me,” Roy grumbles, tightening his grasp on his small bag as he stomps his snow-packed boots on the porch of the building.  “Of course Grumman sends us to the most remote town, in the dead of winter, splits up our team, and gets us reservations in what has to be the absolute filthiest looking place I’ve ever seen.”

“Relax, sir,” Riza responds.  She flexes her frozen hands to try to regain feeling in her numb fingertips as she switches her bag from left to right.  “You’ve seen the rest of this town; the entire place just doesn’t have a lot of money.  I’m sure the inside is nicer.”

“Whatever you say, Captain,” he retorts.  Riza sighs at his snarky-tone, but doesn’t challenge him, knowing that the last thing that she needed was to argue with her superior officer when they were both cold, hungry, and exhausted.

Riza follows as Roy enters the small hotel, and the door creaks shut behind them with a resounding thud.  Roy blinks as his eyes adjust to the dimly lit, and decidedly decrepit, lobby.

“Evenin’,” a gruff voice rumbles.  “Can I help ye?”

“Yes, please,” Riza replies civilly, despite the man’s less-than-warm tone.  “We have a reservation under Grumman.”

The man grumbles under his breath as he flips through a stack of cream-colored cards by the landline.  After a minute, he turns back to Roy and Riza.

“The room you reserved is 205,” he grunts.  “S’got a bed and a bathroom.”

Roy watches Riza as she frowns slightly, “room 205?”

“Room 205, bed and bath,” the man, Johnson – Roy reads on his nametag – replies.

Roy’s own eyebrows knit together in confusion.  “I’m sorry?”

“Can ye hear?” Johnson growls, “ya get room, 205, and is’got a single twin bed.  Is there an issue, mister?”

“Respectfully, Mr. Johnson,” Riza replies, her face the perfect image of patience.  “Our reservation is for two joined rooms, each with a twin –”

“Well ‘m afraid yer straight outter luck,” Johnson says with a sickly-sweet smile.  “your reservation is for one room, one bed.  And before ye ask, I have no other vacancies.”

Roy finds that hard to believe given the decrepit status of the ‘hotel,’ but he wisely keeps his mouth shut.

Johnson gives Riza a lecherous once over, despite the fact that she remains completely covered in her countless layers, and smirks.  “But if that’s too much of an isser for ya, ye could stay with me instead of that loser,” he says, jabbing a finger in Roy’s direction.

Riza’s previously calm demeanor fades, and she fixes the disgusting man with a dangerous glare, her eyes filled with a sudden anger.

“Excuse me?” she says, with false politeness.  Roy’s own anger bubbles up alongside uneasy concern – Riza’s patience may appear to be never-ending to most, but he knows better.

Johnson grins, revealing a mouth full of uneven, yellowing teeth.  “Ditch Mr. Tall-Dark-and-Brooding over there and get with a real man.”

Riza’s right index finger twitches – and, deciding that it’d probably be best if she doesn’t punch the man in the face, no matter how appealing it may sound – Roy wraps an arm around Riza’s waist and pulls her gently towards him.  He sees a split-second of confusion flit across her features before she relaxes into his hold, even reaching down to wrap her right hand around his own where it rests on her waist.

Roy sends the man what seems to be an apologetic smile, but he knows that Riza can tell it’s grossly insincere.  “I’m afraid you’ve misunderstood our relationship, Mr. Johnson.”  The way Roy says the title is almost mocking, and Riza bumps him slightly, a silent reminder him to keep his cool.

Roy clears his throat before continuing with the same smile.  “My wife and I were simply confused by the change, that’s all. There’s no problem.  It will work out perfectly, the other couple that was supposed to come – our friend Jean and his wife Rebecca – they couldn’t make it.”

He sees a quick ghost of a smile cross Riza’s face as he says the words.  Tactic wise it makes sense, the more detailed the explanation, the more reasonable…

Roy fleeting thinks of how lucky it is that he and Riza both still have their gloves on (consequently hiding their tell-tale lack of rings) as Johnson frowns.

The man seems to accept Roy’s words.

But it doesn’t keep him from continuing to show his repulsive personality as he slides them the single room key across the counter.  Johnson looks to Riza, twitching his face in a way Roy assumes was meant to be a flirtatious wink.  “My offer still stands, little lady.”

Roy fights down a smile as he feels Riza squeeze his hand and tap her index finger quickly against his knuckles, an odd habit she’s had for years that remains a clear sign of her agitation.

Then she does something that he is in no way prepared for.  Quickly twisting her body to face him, she brings up her free hand to guide his face down towards hers, and promptly presses her lips against his.

Roy feels his eyes widen, then remembers that since they were “married,” kissing her shouldn’t startle him at all, and quickly responds with enthusiasm.

Even though her lips are chapped from the cold, as he’s sure his are, they are warm and surprisingly insistent.  Roy finally feels his body relax, only for Riza to pull back, face red and lips still parted.  She’s clearly startled, despite the fact that she had initiated the kiss, and looks slightly embarrassed, but he sees her swallow and place a smile on her face that could only be described as completely and utterly in love.

She snuggles herself back into his side, and turns back to Johnson, who looks thoroughly schooled.  “That won’t be necessary.  Goodnight.”

Riza grabs room key, tugs on Roy’s hand – subsequently breaking him out of his shocked state, as well as simultaneously prompting him to grab their bags – and drags him towards the set of rickety-looking stairs that lead to the floor above.

Neither of them speak until they are in front of 205, though Roy does fleetingly note that Riza has yet to let go of his hand.

She finally does when she slips the key into the lock and swings the door open. When she speaks, it’s in the form of a quiet, “after you.”

Roy nods and acquiesces, silently entering the room.  Riza comes in after him and shuts the door.  He lets the bags drop.

Neither of them say a word.

The room was indeed meant for one occupant, indicated by its very limited floor space as well as a cramped looking bathroom, and perhaps the most problematic thing of all, a single twin-sized bed.

“You take the bed,” he says.  Riza gives him a look, but before she can retaliate, he continues, “that’s an order, Captain.”

She glares at him, before simply saying, “no.”

“Hawkeye please don’t start with this,” he replies, running a tired hand through his hair.

“I will ‘start this,’ General, because where the hell would you be sleeping?” She gestures vaguely around them, patience clearly waning (most likely almost completely exhausted by the lovely Mr. Johnson below).  “There is not a single other area someone could sleep, not even the floor.  There’s barely enough room for us in here as is.”

“What about the bathtub?” Roy counters.  Riza shoots him a withering look.

“There is no bathtub,” she retorts.

“Fine, then we just share.”

“It’d be inappropriate, sir,” Riza replies.

“Inappropriate?” he exclaims, frustration ratcheting upwards.  “You just kissed me, Hawkeye!  Sleeping in the same bed isn’t going to be any more inappropriate than that!”

Belatedly, Roy realizes the phrasing of what he’s said, but it’s too late.

Hawkeye visibly deflates from the challenging demeanor she’d been in seconds before, and looks at the ground.  “My apologies, General.

“Hawkeye I –” He cuts himself off.  He what, exactly?  Really and thoroughly enjoyed a kiss that he shouldn’t have?  Is becoming more and more convinced that he’s in love with his subordinate?  He swallows, fighting down his plethora of disjointed thoughts from erupting into dangerous words.

There’s a silence again, and for once in all his time with Riza Hawkeye, it almost feels awkward.

“You use the shower first, sir,”” Riza says quietly.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Hawkeye,” Roy almost snaps back – awkwardness forgotten. “You have fewer layers on than I do, and besides, my body is always warmer.”

He ignores the way her face flushes at that, and passes it off as her finally adjusting to the chill of the room.

“You shower, and then I will, and that’s an order.”

Riza sends him a scathing glare before relenting and grabbing her duffle and disappearing into the tiny bathroom.

As soon as he hears the rush of water from within the closed bathroom door, Roy plops down onto the decidedly cramped bed with a low sigh.  This, he thinks, has got to be the weirdest mission ever.

He runs a hand through his hair as he tries in vain to forget the feeling of Riza’s chapped lips pressing firmly on his own, and groans as he fails and he only thinks instead of her endearing quirk when angry or worried.

He swears he can still feel a ghost tap-tap-tap on his knuckles from where her right index finger – her trigger finger – had been drumming against only minutes before.  He tries not to think about the way she had fit into his side so seamlessly, and the way a blush had briefly painted her face as he had called her his wife.

His wife…

Shaking his head to try to clear the increasingly dangerous thoughts, Roy stands, and walks over to rummage through his small pack for something to sleep in.

He hears the faucet squeak off, and bites back a groan as he realizes that his one other t-shirt had been soaked through by the incessant snowstorm that raged outside.  He grabs his thankfully dry pajama bottoms, and his last remaining pair of boxers, and sits back on the bed.

It’s only a minute before Riza opens the door and emerges in a comforting shroud of warm steam.  Her hair is down, dripping wet, and she doesn’t quite meet his eyes.  He’s about to ask her what’s wrong when he swallows hard, noticing suddenly – and very unpreparedly – that she is only wrapped in her towel.

All at once his entire body feels too hot, the air too stuffy, despite the drafty walls of the room.

“My pajamas seem to have been soaked through, sir…” she starts, trailing off uncertainly.

Roy regains his bearings and nods.  Get a hold of yourself, Roy, he chides silently.

“You can borrow one of my shirts, Lieutenant,” he says, feeling his face begin to burn. “I’m afraid I don’t have any dry pants, but a dress shirt should fit you…”

He pauses.

“Oh – actually, you can use my pajama pants if you’d like, I – uh, have a, uh…” he doesn’t continue and instead gestures awkwardly to the pair of boxers he’s still holding in his right hand.

He watches Riza’s gaze follow the movement, and her face promptly flush a deep scarlet.

Damn, he thinks silently.  And here I thought we were adults…

“I, uh… I appreciate the offer, sir,” she manages.  “Thank you.  However, I’m sure the shirt will do just fine.”

Roy simply nods, and turns to rummage once again through his bag for the one dress-shirt that remained untouched.  He doesn’t meet his subordinate’s eyes as he hands her the blue fabric, but that doesn’t stop him from biting the inside of his lip as their hands meet briefly in the exchange.  He doesn’t miss the way they both jump apart, as if there’s a static buzz – which, Roy really wouldn’t be surprised if there was a physical bolt of energy, because that’s sure what it felt like.

“I’ll just go shower, then,” he mutters, walking past Riza to enter the cramped bathroom.

He shuts the door without looking back.

Riza sighs as she buttons up Roy’s shirt.  The way the cold piece of clothing hangs on her – almost like a dress – is somewhat comical, but Riza isn’t laughing.  Inside, she cannot seem to shut off the constant monologue of, “this is inappropriate…wildly inappropriate...”

She tells herself that her shivering is because of the cold, not the fact that she is wearing nothing but his shirt and her underwear.  But she knows, despite herself, that she’s not telling the entire truth.

Standing, she shuts off the overhead light and flicks on the bedside lamp instead.  In two steps, she crosses to the door and checks the lock – sliding the manual lock as well for good measure.

Sure, the town had seemed alright, nothing shabbier than some of the suburbs outside of East City, but the last thing they needed was their belongings stolen… or, if she was being more honest, for someone who knew they weren’t married to come and see them.

Riza shudders at the thought.  Just the fact alone that they were sharing a room could get them court-martialed… But pair that with sharing a bed, while being less-than-decently dressed… Not to mention the kiss from earlier… Oh god, that kiss.

Riza sits at the edge of the bed and tries to calm herself as she feels her heart speed up.

What exactly has she done?

Roy braces his hands on the tiny counter, gazing at his own frown in the mirror.  Thankfully, the pajama pants are much fuzzier than he was anticipating – a welcome surprise, unlike many of the other situations today.

His chest is painfully bare – his sleep shirt had been soaked through – and he can’t quite bring himself to exit the warmth of the steam…or see Riza.

But it’s been ten minutes, and he can’t hide in here forever.

Roy runs the piece of cloth that is supposed to pass as a towel over his damp hair.  Inhaling, he places his hand on the door handle.

Get a grip, he berates himself.  You are being completely childish…

Reasonably so, some stupid, unnecessary voice retorts.  She did kiss you – of course you’re freaked out…

“I’m not freaked out,” Roy mutters.  He sighs heavily as he realizes that he just had an entire conversation with himself over may be one of the stupidest reasons ever. Damn…

He opens the door…

And abruptly stops.

The clouds responsible for the snow swirling outside allow little light to enter the room through the small window.  In fact, the only thing preventing the entire room from being in complete darkness was the lamp on the bedside table.

But that’s not what makes Roy pause.

A soft glow illuminates Riza’s still-drying hair, causing a golden hue to fall across the rest of her body as she sat on the edge of the bed. Her back is to him, and her hands run through her long hair, absentmindedly braiding it as she gazes out past the limp curtain that she had seemingly dragged aside.

Despite the darkness, there’s a dark purple hue to the sky, and the ledge outside has a small, but growing, loft of snow on top of it. It’s quite peaceful, really, and extremely at odds with his thumping heart.

The golden aura extends down to the rest of her body, emanating from the shirt she wears (his shirt, too big, but fitting nonetheless), and down towards her legs. He tries to distract himself before his thoughts linger back to the kiss…

So, being the idiot he is, Roy clears his throat.

Riza jumps slightly at the sound, and turns sharply to face him.  He can clearly see her posture relax, even if just slightly, as she registers it’s just him.

It appears that this is one of the very few instances in which he had successfully – even if accidentally – snuck up on Riza Hawkeye.

He tries not to think about the fact that somehow she had been so caught up in her own mind (about what, he could only speculate, but he tries to ignore the rising suspicion that it’s maybe some not too different from his own) that he was able to surprise her.  The infallible Riza Hawkeye, startled by him simply stepping into a room.  It’s something that he could definitely let go to his head, but he doesn’t.

Instead he asks, “are you warm enough?”

She hesitates briefly before nodding, “yes, sir.”

He frowns.  “Hawkeye please.  We may as well be outside right now.  These walls are doing nothing to keep out the chill.”

“Right.”  Riza straightens, pulls back the thin-looking blanket, and slips underneath it.  She faces the window, subsequently turning her back to the door, and him.

Almost a minute passes before she realizes he has yet to move.  She looks over her shoulder, quirking one eyebrow in a silent question.

He clears his throat, “right, sorry.”  He shifts his weight from left to right and nods awkwardly.

He knows, rationally, that this isn’t a big deal. He knows that he shouldn’t be overreacting, but he can’t help it.  For so long he has fought back against Grumman whenever the old man mentions his granddaughter and ‘hints’ about her “being the future Fuhrer’s wife.”  Whenever Hughes would call on the phone, or drop a line about Roy “getting himself a wife,” Roy’s frustration would bubble up and he’d snap at his friend.

But this is a big deal.  Not because he thinks anything more than strictly getting some rest – even though it happens to be in the same bed – is going to happen, but because he’s rejected his own feelings for so long.  Feelings that, with the events of the past hour or so, had come back, relentlessly bubbling up to the surface of his mind.

Even before Riza became his subordinate, his adjutant, his left-hand, he had tried to navigate their relationship carefully as kids. Her father hadn’t been the most incredible man ever, despite his genius, and Riza had lost her mother at a young age. When a young teenaged boy had entered into her house, bursting with energy, curiosity, and a somewhat unrelenting enthusiasm, she hadn’t welcomed him with open arms.

Yes, Riza was polite, and respectful, but they hadn’t just immediately become friends.  It had taken weeks, hell, even months, of understanding, respect, and patience.  Roy had worked hard to make it so Riza felt comfortable and open around him, comfortable and open with him.

It had all been worth it, no question.  The years spent with her as his best friend had been some of the greatest of his entire life.  They’d become closer than either of them could have ever expected, and at some point, the friendship had given way to a more dangerous creature – one that reared its nervous head, finally, just before Roy had had to leave for the Military Academy.  One with an unspoken understanding of something more.

A creature that, despite everything, was finally peeking out again tonight.  It seemed to Roy that that simple action of a kiss (sure, paired with everything they’d gone through before, their encounter with Lust, countless missions that could’ve, and sometimes did, go wrong, the Promised Day) had coaxed this creature back out, given it something more concrete than it had had (or been allowed to have) for what seemed like ages.

Roy had fought down these feelings – anything more than a professional respect – to the best of his abilities for years, simply due to the fact that he felt that he didn’t deserve her.  Of course, Roy knows that despite all of his attempts, those exact same feelings, the ones more dangerous than professional respect, were clear to all of the men on his team.

How many times had Havoc given him that oddly knowing smile? Or whenever Fuery had a grin a bit too wide on his face during dangerous missions as he watched Roy and Riza interact, even something as simple as discussing strategies? What about the countless times that Breda had just a faint ghost of a smile as Havoc whispered something to him while looking at Roy when the team was at Christmas’s bar, after Roy had finally convinced Riza to have just one dance with him?  What about Falman, ever-silent, stoic Falman, whose eyes seemed to sparkle with amusement whenever Riza gave Roy that look when he was complaining about paperwork in the office that would shut him up and get him working?

Even Fullmetal, who had teased and antagonized Roy with a passion as his subordinate, had shared a few quiet conversations with the rest of the team and Alphonse.  Was it not Edward himself who had (on multiple occasions, even) told Roy to just “live a little”?

Roy fight’s down a huff of amusement.  What would his team say now, seeing their two superior officers arguably “scantily-clad” in the same hotel room and sharing the same bed?  No doubt something completely inappropriate if Havoc were there, and some sort of comment close to, “it’s about damn time,” from Edward.

He blinks, clearing the rush of thoughts from his head, and just stares at Riza.  Riza Hawkeye, the woman who, in spite of everything, was still by his side.  Roy feels his world tip just a little bit at that realization.

“Sir?” Riza asks.  Roy wonders how many times she’s tried to get his attention in the past minute.

“Hmmm?” He hums back, not quite trusting himself to verbally respond in fear of the uncontrollable waterfall of confessions that may come out instead.

“Are you going to go to sleep, or…” She trails off.

“Yeah.”  He still doesn’t move.

After a few moments, he sees a quick flash of frustration on Riza’s face before she sighs and says, “of for the love of –”

She scoots herself closer to the edge of the bed and throws back the covers to the space that remains open, for him.

“Just lay down.”

Roy forgets about everything he had just been debating and deliberating about in his head, and crosses the one step it takes to reach the small bed.  Before he can lose his confidence, he sits on the edge, still not looking to Riza, lays down on the cold sheets and pulls them over himself.

All at once he’s far too aware of the sound of Riza’s uneven breaths right beside him, and he feels what seems to be like a white-hot burn at every single point of contact between her body and his own.

Simultaneously they both mutter a quiet, “sorry,” and make to move away from the other – and barely stop in time to prevent falling off abrupt edge leading to a cold, hard, wooden floor.

Roy lets out a resigned sigh and turns to roll back to the middle of the bed…only to be met with Riza’s face just inches away.  He tries to speak, but his mouth just won’t form the words.  His heartbeat thumps uncomfortably – no, it’s oddly comfortable – and Roy watches as a blush crawls up Riza’s face, starting from beneath the collar of the shirt (his shirt), and covering her cheeks.

Has that dusting of freckles along the bridge of her nose always been there?

Roy can feel a warm puff of air on his face as she exhales, and his own breathing catches.

Neither of them speak for a moment, but then Roy feels Riza shiver slightly, and he realizes just how cold the room really is.

So, once again, he opens his mouth and speaks without thinking.

“Are you cold?” His voice sounds too loud in the silence of the room.

“No,” Riza says quickly.  Their faces are still too close, but he wouldn’t need to be close to her to tell that she was lying.

“Captain, please,” he retorts.  “I can feel you shivering.”

Her blush deepens, and she almost looks ashamed.  “Fine,” she gives him a half-hearted glare, “yes, I am.”

“Okay,” he says.

Without giving it a second thought, he acts on his instinct and pulls her towards him.  One arm around her waist, and the other cradling the back of her head, he presses her gently to against his chest and moves his chin to rest on her hair.

She stiffens, briefly, and asks, “Colo – General… what are you doing?”

“Keeping you warm,” he says, feeling his face flush. “Just…trust me?”

There’s a pause before her muffled response of, “okay.”

He’s suddenly very aware of the fact that his chest is completely bare, and that where Riza’s face lies, is significantly warmer than the rest of his torso.  He also remembers, as he pulls her barely closer (but still well within the realm of propriety, or as much as there could be given the current situation), that the feeling of cool, smooth, fabric between his fingers is, in fact, still his dress shirt.

They lay like that for a few minutes, wide awake, cold, slightly stiff from nerves, and far too hyper-aware of the other to relax…before Roy hears Riza sigh quietly.

And then – much like she did earlier when she pulled him to her and kissed him – she completely and thoroughly surprises him…by tangling her legs with his.

Roy fights down a surprised squeak, and takes a moment to process what just happened.

He leans back his head just slightly to gaze down at her face, and isn’t surprised to see it blushing deeply (he knows his own looks the same).  Her eyes flicks up to meet his for a split second before she closes her eyes and returns to resting her cheek against his chest.

“I, um…” for some reason he feels the need to speak, but can only stammer out in his shock.

“For warmth, sir,” she supplies.  There’s a long pause before she says, “just, trust me,” and presses herself impossibly closer to him.

This time, Roy doesn’t fight back his squeak of surprise, and feels Riza’s lips curve into a smirk against his chest.

He swallows, trying to calm his racing heart that lies just under her ear.  No need to let her know just how much his nerves had taken over.

“You know, Captain,” he says after his heart has slowed.  “If you wanted warmth, you could’ve just asked.”

He feels her release a huff of laughter, one that shakes them ever so slightly, before she responds.  “You are impossible, General.”

“Only with you,” he responds.  He realizes the tone of his words only after he says them, but this time, he doesn’t really care.

Riza doesn’t seem to catch the accidental…unprofessional implication…or at least doesn’t go to address it.

“Besides,” she says, picking up her previous train of thought.  “Given how long it took you to even get into bed, I’m sure I would’ve frozen by the time you actually got around to ‘warming me up.’”

He goes to look at her again, and this time Riza does the same, pulling her face away to look up fully at his.  They find themselves merely centimeters apart.

Roy searches her humor-filled amber gaze as he looks for words he’s pushed away for years.

 Instead of some heartfelt confession, he says, “I’m sorry I put you on the spot by calling you my wife, earlier.”

There’s a flash of what almost looks like disappointment in her eyes before she smiles softly and shakes her head.

“No need to be sorry, sir,” she replies.  “You read the situation quite well…as always.”

He smiles at her compliment and hums.  They remain close, studying one another with caution before Riza continues.

“I’m sorry I…” She swallows, and turns her eyes away from his own.  “I’m sorry I kissed you, sir.  It was well out of bounds and I –”

“Don’t apologize, Hawkeye,” he interrupts, “it’s like you were saying, you read the situation quite well, and acted appropriately.”

Roy pauses.  “And besides…”  Don’t say it, don’t say it, don’t be stupid… He ignores the rational voice that pipes up and continues, “it was…nice.”

Her eyes snap back to his with surprise.

“With all due respect, sir…that’s entering into rather dangerous territory,” she says quietly.

“I’m a dangerous man,” he replies.  He can see her fight down an eyeroll.  “But in all seriousness, Captain, who can hear us?”

Riza seems to accept his words and sighs.  “I…” She laughs softly.  “I guess you’re right.”

There’s a pause.

“And besides, I don’t disagree.”

Roy laughs and draws her to him, resting his chin, once again, atop her head.  He smiles as she relaxes and presses into him.  He can feel warmth spreading back into his body.

“Can you imagine if the team saw us right now?” He asks.

“Yes,” she replies.  “It’s not very fun for either of us.”

Roy snorts.

“Is Havoc making inappropriate comments?”

“Would you expect anything else?” She responds.

“Fair point,” he amends.

Sure, they know that in all seriousness, nothing has changed, but it’s no secret that they are both aware of their team’s thoughts and opinions.  Give the men a few drinks and they become very forthright with what they think exists between their superior officers…

Even Edward, embarrassed, awkward, Edward hadn’t been afraid to call it out to them both individually on various separate occasions.

Apparently, Roy had been blind far before the Promised Day.

Thinking back to their time in the hospital, when Roy had become accustomed to simply listening to his subordinate’s even breaths, he lets out a sigh. Following what had become routine then, he whispers, “goodnight, Hawkeye.”

He thinks she’s fallen asleep due to her lack of response before he hears a tired, “goodnight, Roy.”

A simple slipup – one, granted, he had scarcely heard since their childhood – but Roy feels some of his doubts from before fall away nevertheless.

Sure, things might remain unspoken, but that’s how they’ve always operated.

They didn’t need any extra words to communicate what they already knew.  And besides, Roy would never forget what Maes had once told him – actions speak louder…

So, keeping his best friend’s advice with him, Roy presses a soft kiss to Riza’s forehead as he drifts to sleep.

Maybe this mission wasn’t so bad after all.

[elizabethrobertajones]

9x20 rewatch

@justanotheridijiton sent me a reminder that there are at least some small ways this isn’t as terrible as it could be, I think:

(http://leethomson.myzen.co.uk/Supernatural/Supernatural_9x20_-_Bloodlines.pdf)  

Of course Mel could have just been tormenting me by making me read the whole script right after I watched this..

There’s no recap on this, and we jump right in with jazzy music and a city skyline. 

I think one thing that was interesting about this was that with the right premise, this could have been a pretty great way to branch off the show, by taking it into the city as a permanent location, since the source material is very very rural. Along the way in this rewatch (and bearing in mind that this episode was eventually coming) I’ve talked about how Taxi Driver and 8x15, among others but mostly Buckleming, fuck up the show’s aesthetic by going inner city or delving into settled subcultures of monster stuff or just generally bringing in an urban fantasy slant to what is basically a cowboys vs monsters show. It really doesn’t fit :P This could have been a fascinating way to explore how to make the same aesthetic FIT. But as I mentioned, the above episodes plus years of drifting since like, season THREE, have taken us so far from the show’s original aesthetic/genre it’s hard to analyse this as a shift and more like an inevitable grim outcome, which doesn’t taste as good at all, since there’s not much sense of subversion of the source material going on (because this needed to happen like 7 years ago at this point to work like that) and sadly even Dabb, who has been demonstrating with season 12 he CAN subvert the story from its origins, could not pull off the work needed to salvage this idea from the trainwreck concept...

Anyway before I dive in, all the dreading watching this episode made me think a lot about genre. There’s a difference between episodes which are set in cities (e.g. Dean going to Death to stop him wiping Chicago off the map, or the MotW we’ve seen that have city settings) ... Urban Fantasy had a big trend of popularity in mainstream culture, soaking up a lot of themes I noticed, which I guess was really hitting its stride around season 8 & 9 (this is based mostly off my window on the world but it did seem this was totally in line with the amount of urban fantasy I was seeing discussed or stories I came across - my friend who had been churning through dark fantasy romances started lending me urban fantasy novels instead :P). But yeah, not like this show hadn’t gone corporate or done stuff in cities before, but they didn’t really make a big deal of being in cities? This being filmed on location allows them to use the waterfront skyline as an establishing shot and to play with the city as a location, and to develop those urban fantasy ideas. 

Obviously, urban fantasy is popular and interesting and there are some brilliant stories in the genre. But it’s not Supernatural’s area and the best it does with cities is when they are a sort of landscape or vague presence, but the alleys and dark nooks and crannies and dank little hotels are the sort of ways they can use the city as a fairly “rural” setting in the sense that people aren’t around or it’s on the fringes without engaging. Even stuff like the Leviathan storyline is often dealt with by visiting warehouses and complexes which seem to be on the edge of towns - Charlie’s skyscraper job I think was the only time they actually went inner city, and again that was a change of genre to a heist movie one off (which worked well with the themes of the season but moving further and further from horror because even as a gimmick it’s dropping the format completely for a major plot episode) 

As soon as a city landscape is more than 1 lonely person walking in a dark alleyway with something bad following them, but starting to explore what the city MEANS or how the supernatural takes up residence in it as a sort of landscape feature instead of a horror that’s not meant to be there, we’re in to a sort of genre-shift where the themes of urban fantasy take over from the horror (and SPN really struggles with being a horror show still from season FOUR onwards, and from Carver era, basically just gives up anyway :P It has horror-y episodes within a different sort of framework entirely.) 

In Urban Fantasy it’s always about the people and cultures. The good stuff basically feels like it takes you on a walk around the city and shows you stuff you see all the time but with new eyes - turns random things like graffiti and gargoyles into fantastical elements and adds a mythology and magic to stuff you interact with all the time. It sort of invites you to go to the city and look around you and think that some magical underworld/otherworld is existing right alongside you. And it’s a LOT more about the sort of awe and intrigue of that and the normal coming up against the paranormal in an exploratory way. Including subcultures of monsters living among us or just out of sight or with a sort of speak-easy secretiveness of their lives. 

That is a major trope to mark the genre and as Bloodlines is a new show, basically, it actually does get to USE these tropes honestly. Like just looking at it as an urban fantasy, it does the job. It just happens to fit in a trend of pretty unlovable SPN episodes by Buckleming exploring deepest this genre shift in the Buckleming way of totally failing to sell it, so the history of urban fantasy on the show has been tainted by the only writers who actually were interested in it enough to start messing with genre in that way. It just... I don’t know, doesn’t *feel* good mixing with the other elements of Supernatural. This isn’t a formal essay :P

I still can’t think of other Urban Fantasy spn episodes that aren’t Buckleming, because they love their witches and messing around with developing that lore. I suppose season 10′s teasing of Men of Letters vs Grand Coven would have been a more urban fantasy story and stuff if there was any actual development of it like 8x12 also plays on these tropes, with a secret society in the middle of the city, so other MoL related episodes do similar (though, like, 9x16, Cuthbert’s house is in the middle of nowhere, deliberately). The BMoL’s little snippets of life in Britain are similarly in this trope so we have Urban Fantasy style enemies in season 12... Hm. Hi Dabb :P Anyway since Carver era the show’s completely shed its original genre save for in the MotW episodes, when it comes to format (I saw it best described as action-adventure) and setting (hi Bunker as a home base instead of Bobby’s or dusty cabins & decrepit houses) and feel (so garish) and I guess it’s interesting to look at the way this has changed. (I am not so fascinated with this idea that I’ll do the rest of the rewatch analysing everything by these standards, but I guess I’ll keep on mentioning it when the show goes in this direction and eventually have a clearer list of episodes with this feeling to explore...)

Back to Bloodlines... They make a good start by having an actual city here, and apparently meaning to film on location and to use it in the story. 

Sadly then pretty much everything else in the premise lets this episode down, as far as I remember, and, well, the entire world judged it when they watched it. :P I think I stumbled once across a confused and sad Tumblr user who really loved this episode and wished for more, and I think there’s some really good points like the main character being a black kid, that WOULD have made it a good show and worth a chance, but... eh, the story didn’t have any bite to it. It wasn’t picked up. And now it sits in the middle of this season like a lead balloon.

Starting with, the kid having his girlfriend fridged in the first scene in typical Supernatural style, because of clinging to the old tropes and trying to replicate the old show on top of the new one. This is something I saw described repeatedly as the biggest weakness with this episode - especially coming in season 9 carver era fatigue about the emotional loops (that will only get more tiring), people were just not interested in repeating the same old story over and over... When this aired I was still reading reviews and articles more than fandom to try and figure out what the reaction was supposed to be, but I seem to remember a pretty universal agreement here :P

This does, however, give us our first “in” on examining wtf Dabb is doing... He has been sitting fairly quietly since he joined the show and honestly when I joined fandom I saw posts explaining who he was and why he would have been the right pick to take Bloodlines away if it had been picked up (and no one had noticed he’d already written I guess at that point the second most number of episodes of anyone but Gamble, who he overtook some time in season 10 and is of course still going strong :P) - a lot of the writers like Robbie and Edlund and Carver were discussed fairly often as well as constant mentions of Kripke and Gamble. I found it pretty amusing that 3 years later people were still having to explain who Dabb was when he suddenly got handed the entire show, never mind any time one of his episodes came up and everyone was like !! who wrote this!!!!

Anyway, this is really giving us the example of how he works with mirrors and character re-use and basically repeating elements of the old story anew and as Mel says, “the only certain things in life are death, taxes and Dabb mirroring himself”.

And THAT is relevant to the story now, because now he has his hands on it, and ALL the story belongs to him, everything is picking up the old elements of the story and subverting them completely. The deeper we go into season 12 the more the old story is pretzeled in on itself... (I’m so in love with this article, and read the stuff after the initial episode recap, listing like 30 Cas episodes and how 12x10 references and subverts their themes and events...)

To get back to this fridging of Tamara, I don’t know if it was lesson learned here reading all the complaints about re-frying the show for Bloodlines, or he was just able to be more clever with the trope since it was already established and waiting to be flipped, but since Bloodlines starts with a fridging, Dabb era officially starts with the great un-fridging of Mary, which this moment is mirroring, by giving up a protagonist with the appropriate manpain to be a lead in a world running on Supernatural’s rules... 

Makes you wonder how Bloodlines would have gone if the woman hadn’t been "killed for narrative symmetry” but been allowed to be her own person - gone through everything with the guy, and generally existed alongside him subverting the rule that women are for manpain... >.> 

Having to use Home of the Nutty because I never downloaded this episode to have a personal copy to not have to fuck around with DVDs to get gifs and screenshots, but:

They have a blue and a pink screen above their heads, colour-coding them. It’s obviously hideously cishet to label them blue and pink for dude and lady, but with all the more subtle pink n blue colouring often around Dean (the wall in 10x05) or stuff like the blue and pink diner in 12x10 which I’m still chewing on, I kind of like the plain text version of this. Possibly because this episode is such a keycode to other things in the show like the ridiculous Destiel parallels, setting up basic visual information in Easy Reading mode is pretty amusing to me.

Ennis goes to talk to the restaurant guy to do the typical ring in the champagne thing. Despite seeming to know him, he’s brushed off rudely when some monsters show up and they’re going to their private section of the restaurant (a splitting of the two worlds - Ennis in the muggle one) and he sees a glimpse in the mirror of a monster (I assume the body guard is a wraith because mirrors and messed up faces). Mirrors also being the portal between worlds, and Ennis has had his first glimpse that something is not quite right - is now someone who is “marked” by the supernatural for having now been given his first little hint the world is not as it seems.

This actually reminds me of 6x01, where Dean was slowly eased back into being a hunter by hearing nothing more than a scream and going to investigate it - while doing so he passed through a lot of dust sheets which metaphorically stood for the same thing - the veil between worlds that Dean was going to move from the normal back to the supernatural

We then get the little intro to the supernatural as it exists in Chicago. They have an established subculture, various types of monsters all coming together to enjoy this goffik atmosphere. Enoby would love it here. :P There’s even a vampire biting a willing victim (dude vampire, lady victim. keep on playing those tropes literally straight) which feels right out the imaginings of a Twilight fan. This is also where RICH monsters go. I suddenly am thinking of a serious class divide - these are monsters who can afford to come to a fancy establishment, are probably all connected to these monster families who run the city some way or another and have the relative luxury to behave as themselves in large gatherings and to create a subculture. A LOT of the monsters Sam and Dean meet get by on very little, have abandoned places as hideouts and generally are grubbing around on the streets for a meal. These monsters can afford to cover up that they eat people, and can buy in to this society. Sleek clubs are a world of difference from the grubby bars that hunters make their homes away from home. 

So, again, feeling nothing like the show we normally watch, and many of the types of monsters prettied up. The shapeshifters use magic to change their appearance and it’s clearly a high society type of monster because they’re not messy, they can change at will in a very slick way and not depend on copying other people, so they are allowed a sense of self - a flexible one, but one that they can make their own, nonetheless. The alpha shifted this way, so I would suspect to even remotely try to connect them to the show’s lore, their family must be shifter royalty, close to the alpha in, well, bloodline, and clearly doing something to preserve that purity and magical transformation. They probably disown their kin who transform in the gross way - who knows, maybe some of the angry, violent shifters we’ve met in the past have been rejects from this family, angry about being shoved out into the world without any support? :P The first shifter we ever met back in 1x06 was particularly angry about rejection and lack of belonging and feeling like a freak. 

Anyway, just more ways in which these monsters are so far removed from the ones that made Supernatural what it is. They don’t have the sort of raw, honest angst and existential horror about their monstrous-ness that they should. They don’t personally FEEL monstrous, in that outcast and lonely way. I think the shifter, who DIDN’T have to kill to eat, but killed anyway, was a good way to explain a lot of the monsters on the show - any of the ones that embrace killing, even if it’s not overtly spoken, it’s because of the way they’re made to feel like monsters. Any that can get away with blending with humanity (I just watched 7x03 for example) have a choice to try and find a way to live within society (like the vampires in 2x03, all with night jobs, living peacefully) and even then being a monster sets them apart and presents them with difficulties, especially when hunters are drawn to them by accidents or carelessness and they have to defend their right to exist in society... 

In 12x09 I was flipping out about how Dabb is so great at establishing side characters (and I was thinking about a lot of the interesting ones I’ve passed in this rewatch as well) but yeah no not here. This shifter and werewolf are presented as jackasses and then everyone’s fighting because the slashy hand blade guy comes in (I can not remember which other fictional character he blatantly ripped off now but I remember seeing on my dash the comparison and it was embarrassingly direct :P) so there’s no investment here because, well, despite showing us there might be a more interesting world of monsters, these guys were not it. And now they’re dying and it’s like, so? 

Ennis attempts to propose to Tamara and it’s really sweet and pretty corny and typical romance. There’s not much reason to be invested in them either, which is all the more obvious when Tamara is literally a throw-away character as the bad guy chucks her aside and she bangs her head so it’s not even TARGETED fridging, like Mary and Jess were so obviously killed by whatever the main story would be.

Also because the last 2 episodes I watched were 12x09 and 12x10 I have now watched 3 episodes in a row where a black woman gets killed >.>

Ugh

Like, tiny good thing: if this had taken off, it would have been a show with a black lead. Who is really cute and giving it his all.

But. Meh. Fuck that trope >.>

Anyway, blah blah introducing the uninteresting shifter bloke who is the stand-in Dean. He’s at college but doesn’t feel interested in studying so he steals the answers - all laid back and fun until he gets a call that there’s been a death in the family to drag him back into all their drama. Sort of season 1 Dean swapped with Sam’s place, if you squint. Way too rich :P

Some shipping between Ennis and David would have been cool - Ennis has the mysterious last words from David’s brother to lead him to him, eventually, but there’s girlfriends everywhere, that message was ABOUT Violet.

Season 12 has laid it on thick with the inter-species forbidden love nonsense for angels, though, that this was originally paralleling Dean n Cas. Guess Dabb has a thing for it :P 

ENNIS I know what I saw.

DETECTIVE FREDDIE COSTA And you're sure? I mean...sure? 'Cause, what you're tellin' me... About this faceless whatever-it-is?

ENNIS That thing had claws.

FREDDIE Look, maybe you got confused. You know, maybe -- maybe it was some banger with a knife.

ENNIS I know what I saw.

FREDDIE I am trying to help.

ENNIS By calling me a liar?!

This exchange is pretty stupid when you consider a black kid being cross-examined by police. He does know them - the guy references his old man, and I’m vaguely remembering was his dad a cop? So he might be a bit more comfortable with them, but he’s still in a dodgy position, and arguing that it was a “thing” is a terrible idea to “invent” a monster because it just makes him look suspicious.

However it does fit the trope that Ennis is suddenly really credible to monsters after seeing a few things, and now is in that stage where he’s still freaking out about monsters maybe being real. He has to hold onto the memories of what he saw - he can’t question it or lie because he needs to preserve the memories properly, so he doesn’t think he’s gone crazy. Because he’s going to investigate further and he knows holding onto the monster thing is the key to finding out what REALLY happened, and the authorities dismissing it is dismissing the best lead they have.

This of course does fit with the season 9 theme of narratives and stories, because it turns the whole “non-existence” of monsters into a narrative people tell themselves to make them feel better, and certain people discover the “subtext” - the literal world of monsters living hidden beneath our own - and now read the world completely differently. People deny the monsters exist, don’t pick up on the clues, ignore the subtext... And people like Ennis who suddenly discover how to read into it, or the Winchesters who are always searching for cases intentionally reading between the lines to find monsters...

In this case the Urban Fantasy mode of hiding monsters overlaps completely with the horror way that Supernatural uses them, so these are compatible worlds. The genre shift is really like, looking at it through a different lens. Interpreting the same subtext in a different way, but still, importantly, seeing beyond the surface layer.

Blah blah Ennis has messed up history with his father, hey guess what fitting the profile nicely :P

Sam and Dean conveniently show up now we know everything we need to know about Ennis to let him interact with the bridge between 2 worlds. Dean dismisses the cop by telling him they just won’t tell him what they’re investigating - refusing to let him in on the story. 

We see Sam and Dean from the outside eyes; if you never saw this show before they’d just be weird FBI agents with implausible names who swooped in, took a statement, and swooped out: the suspicious enemy who are probably going to cover it all up (if you still think they’re FBI and have those sort of resources :P) They also listen to what Ennis has to say but then dismiss his story too - “there’s no such thing as monsters” Dean tells him (which is ironic for where Dean is at too). Of course there’s the 2nd level at work that we all know who Sam and Dean are and that this is just drawing attention to the fact another story is at work, a knowing nod that there’s a subtext at work here. 

The next scene also establishes that the detective also knew about monsters, so now we know Ennis is being played by multiple sides, all telling him that there’s no such thing. All motivation that he has to get to the heart of it because he KNOWS he’s been lied to. The cover up of the world of monsters is the real plot tension at stake, because of course the first step for a muggle human hero in these sort of stories is the discovery phase, so he has to reach this sort of block at first, where he’s made to doubt.

I suppose it also makes Sam and Dean shown in a light where they’re no better than the monsters; everyone has a stake in keeping it from muggles - whether to protect them or to stop the monsters being exposed. 

MARGOT Yeah, you'll what? David, come on. You don't want this. You ran away to be a human. You always had a soft spot for 'em. Look, you're out. Stay out.

David being paralleled with all of TFW here. He leaves the family for several years and now the dad is dying... They’re trying to mimic Dean’s carefree yet sensitive swagger with him, and of course it wouldn’t be Supernatural if the “good monster” didn’t have a massive soft-spot for humans and wanted to be like them and live like them, so parallels that endgame for Cas.

In the love story he parallels Dean, though, while at the moment the Sam and Cas stuff is most obvious, of course he ends up mimicking the 6x20 scene from the Dean perspective. There’s a brief mention of her, establishing David was in an inter-species romance and that she’s now being married to someone else. At the moment in the end of season 9 Dean and Cas are in a weird place - I wouldn’t say a break up like some of their others, but Cas is also answering a call to help his family, gathering an army, and Dean is super weird about them. And of course, in a Dabb episode, building up to the “us or them” with Hannah, who was vaguely coded as a romantic threat to Dean in the love triangle - the jealousy was played off a lot more on his side than anything that happened between Cas and Hannah, in the long run. Anywho that’s all waiting to happen, so it’s paralleling Cas’s supposed split loyalty, which also, because of 9x18, we know he was already forced into.

I think the djinn should have been actually middle eastern but oh well way past the point of judging this episode - why am I even trying :P

Violet shows up wearing a heart pendant... wow subtle 

(Too much heart etc)

(Mary parallels? She used to have a heart pendant, right? Before she started wearing the ring instead)

She’s also wearing cream, which is beige-ish.

Just to establish these are not nice people, her brother(?) tells her her job is to be silent and pretty. A token figurehead - powerful but only as an image they wield. Which I think is sort of what Metatron does with Cas, because 9x14 showed him he couldn’t beat him down or have him subservient to another angel - he had to be in charge. But Metatron was in charge of the story, so Cas just had to look pretty, play his part, and Metatron would handle the rest >.> Cas is currently “ensnared” in this since he answered the call at the end of 9x18.

Ennis walks through the city looking around vaguely suspiciously - maybe wondering who is a monster or not around him. The whole transformation of the world part, where he learns to see it with new eyes and to open his eyes to the fact it could be more than he’s noticed before. Perception is the key, and this makes a GOOD follow up to 9x18 telling us how to read a story.

He goes for the gun, obviously already seeking revenge, and discovers silver bullets - his father kept them, a first sign that he is Right and monsters exist coming from an authority figure he ACTUALLY trusts. 

(And in the wider scheme, also reminds us that in this world there are a lot of law enforcement who one way or another learn about the supernatural and carry on enforcing the law but with juuust a little extra knowledge to help them out)

Unnecessary flashback of Tamara dying is unnecessary. Thanks Singer. This kid playing Ennis was selling it really well without that being randomly inserted in his Sad And Lonely Revenge Look

Do the authorities know about the massacre? Did they just... Ask the people at the restaurant what happened and they were like, nah, just that random guy who staggered around outside and died, nothing to do with us, and the police never investigated?

The owner comes in with a mop and bucket. No CSI for monsters :P

I like that Ennis has changed into a camo jacket - nice symbolism about becoming a soldier on the path to being a hunter and getting revenge.

Awww he wastes almost all of his dad’s silver bullets. They don’t work on vampires, mate.

Dean making fun of the food supplies they stock of parts of humans to eat. More monsters being normalised, having a structure to feeding and therefore a supportive subculture. It’s almost like how we eat meat without knowing the animals it came from personally. In both season 6 and 7 the idea of humans as herd animals for monsters to eat was a threat, briefly with Eve, all season with Dick. Turns out organised monsters in cities have been doing it all along. The difference is it’s already in place, instead of the potential horror of it being done. I’m really not a vegetarian but try looking at it from that perspective of a cow walking into a meat cold store :P

Blah blah getting the monsters talk from Sam and Dean. Dean is flippant about killing the vampire but doesn’t seem super weird about it because there’s no time for the Mark of Cain arc, Ennis just gets to think Dean is more of a dick than he might have 

Ennis now at a crossroads to become a hunter, do the whole revenge thing, or just go back to his regular life (which he says is ruined, in that whole “burn everything down to motivate the hero” way that, as I said, was really rubbishly done to be convincing here. Like yeah he lost his girlfriend but it’s not like how Sam got shoved onto the road :P Failing to match up to the original story by just being not very committed to character drama over world building... I also think there’s just no developing the dynamic of the characters soon enough - Sam and Dean were back on screen together almost immediately after the title card. They had the whole pilot to show us their development. Now we see tiny establishing scenes for each of the characters and even Ennis’s journey is pretty weak, and it’s just not enough)

SAM Ennis, listen. I get it. Believe me, I've been there. But what we do? It's messed up. So do yourself a favor and stay out. You can get hurt, too.

Wow. Powerful incentive. No showing, just telling :P

Anyway NOW Ennis and David are talking, or, Ennis is yelling and waving a gun. David is Mr Exposition so their actual character dynamic building is pretty low. I suppose it mirrors after Sam stops the “intruder” in 1x01 they have a good long talk about how their life works for the sake of exposition, but it felt much more natural than “what are you doing in my room” “there are 5 monster families running the city...”

David and Violet stand and stare at each other and get really sad.

VIOLET Is the real butler okay?

DAVID He's resting. Locked in a closet.

Thanks Dabb, yeah, this episode IS really heterosexual.

Thinking of which,

DAVID  And I was there. Where were you?

Casually throwing in that old 6x20 dialogue between Dean n Cas. I think this would be less suspicious if there wasn’t another chunk of receycled dialogue somewhere else in the episode...

Anyway it’s interesting because dialogue snatching aside, rather than the context of 6x20 they’re talking about running away together to start a new - human - life. Cas was human this year and Dean ran off to see briefly but in the end they never got their act together and Cas was dragged back into the mix. Likewise it parallels all the times Sam or Dean ran off and made a normal life with Jess, Amelia, or Lisa, and took themselves out of the world of hunting. I was saying 9x09 quietly teased the El Sol go someplace better poster behind Cas when Dean was talking to him at the bar - the last time Cas was human and Dean saw him. Their chance to be together now just a dream. And it would have been a human life together. 

This is actually effective subtext for this season on top of mirroring 6x20. Dabb IS good at this part :P

blah blah new characters save each other’s lives, still more concerned about girlfriends

“blah blah five monster families” (again)

*Dean makes fun of the concept*

DEAN And sometimes you got to work with the bad guys to get to the worse guys.

Oh hello the entire reason behind Dean’s downfall this season :P

Played straight here. Ennis is not in trouble like Dean is. We’re just ignoring the main plot.

I like that filming on location means that they can have exterior shots that capture the recognisable city skyline when they go to the grotty abandoned buildings places

DAVID I lost someone, too, okay?! But I'm trying here.

ENNIS I'm sorry about your brother. He spoke about you at the end. He said, "David, I'm sorry. I didn't have a choice."

DEAN All right, you guys can kiss and make up later. We got work to do. Come on.

I suppose Dean ships it. 

The whole “I don’t have a choice” theme coming back around here. Justifying really terrible decisions and in this case being the reason that het!DeanCas aren’t together. Which considering this entire season has been just “I did what I had to do” followed by terrible decisions that keep Dean and Cas from each other, yeah.

Those lights with the cages around them are in the creepy guy’s murder basement.

He’s also, of course, a blatant Metatron mirror, once more trying to construct a story, in this case using the Cas parallel character to kick off a war -

IRV Why should I believe you? You're dead. Tomorrow, they will find pieces of you all over town. Oh, won't the doggies be mad?

VIOLET That's what you want. You're trying to start a war.

He’s also dressing up as a monster (in this case, the “good” guys since he’s trying to disrupt a status quo which is the second best thing to “no monsters at all” :P) and mimicking their kills; Metatron cosplays as Cas briefly, and of course disguises a ton of angel deaths as Cas’s work.

Werewolves would be a lot better on this show if they weren’t terrible. I mean, just because their powers are rubbish and filming Violet attacking this dude was painfully bad fight choreography. She kinda slow mo leaped at him and then sat on him growling a lot. David power-of-love talks her out of killing the weirdo. I guess her being overcome with rage is also a Mark parallel since this will be kind of how Dean stabs Gadreel and has to be restrained except that moment had dignity and tension (though I think Dean stabbed him in slow mo too, at least it wasn’t AWFUL slow mo :P)... 

Anyway here’s a scene with a werewolf overcome with rage to go with the Garth story immediately after Dean gets the Mark, and 8x03 and 8x04 weirdly mirroring each other AND what is to come in a season and a half, and of course 10x04 being a back-to-business werewolf story. I can’t remember any others connected to big moments in this arc but I might have blanked them out, and there is a werepire right after Dean gets the Mark off and all that action dies down :P

Oh wow I forgot this ended with Ennis just shooting the guy. Yay revenge? There’s probably quite trite commentary here which this show dealt with years ago about actions defining what is monstrous and conveniently omits that Dean’s headed right into the cosmic toilet as a result of revenge missions, and there’s a very on the nose line:

ENNIS I only see one monster here.

The show always uses some other means to kill a human monster than a Winchester doing it (unless we’re going seriously bad places - Thinman anyone? :P) just on principle that killing humans is a bit more ethically dodgy; Ennis falls under that rule on THIS show but say this was the start of HIS show... already crossed a line. Oops. Seems like he’d also be falling in with the monsters anyway since this is a set up to be BFFs with Violet and David as the good monsters on his side who like humans and the natural order, buuut. It’s all pretty silly. These poor characters are under developed for the sake of later development, but don’t have any interesting hook to make them worth that development so they never got their show? I guess?

Ending all the actual drama such as it was with 6 minutes to spare, we now have the long conversation between Violet and David about their relationship. Here’s the bit where Violet shows up to run away with David wearing a trenchcoat. Subtle.

SAL 'Cause he's my little brother, Violet. It's my job to protect him. It's my job to keep our blood pure.

I somehow feel like this is calling out Dean somehow but aside from the obvious “big brother does terrible thing to protect little brother” that this season kicked off with that is being critiqued I’m not sure what the bloodline part could even be metaphoric for. Possibly you could ignore the “brother” part and look at it as Gadreel having Cas kicked out the Bunker (or, well, Dean doing it because Gadreel) to protect Sam, so he mirrors both characters here - the douchey big brother shifter, and being paired off against Violet with the romantic parallels. 

Also amused about the angel lore from 12x10 and that’s pretty obvious now, but also I guess, wondering what would happen if a werewolf and shapeshifter had a baby. Could the 2 meet without knowing it, hook up, and produce a mutant offspring? - I guess I was also right about the shapeshifters being weird about their bloodline because I’d guess they’re always one bad match away from the sticky gross shapeshifters :P

Blah blah “David wants to go straight” blah blah “i love him”

blaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah

VIOLET I don't know. I should go.

DAVID Sure, right. That's what you do best.

Sure wish Dean n Cas kissed like that after saying lines like that.

Well they’d probably have a ton more chemistry.

They last-minute reveal a sibling for Ennis just in case (hey, a sister, who we never will see :P).. Now we’re clear of actually having to WATCH this episode I do feel bad we don’t have a show for them, you know, if we started again from scratch, ditched the monster war thing, and let them figure out being hunters in the city together >.>

*Dean dragged away from this silly story by Cas* Thanks, Cas, you saved them more times than you can ever know. 

Always sad that was such a terse conversation but I guess Mark!Dean is the least likely version of Dean to answer the phone with an accidental “hey Babe” so there’s not much point lingering on their phonecalls.

Did they have to time that take waiting for a train, or was it just a coincidence? Train symbolism in season 9 is a thing.

Ennis goes off to get given a ton of main character nonsense heaped on him about starting being a hunter, wearing the ring of his dead partner around his neck, and since we weren’t done stealing elements from the early seasons, getting a mysterious phonecall from his (supposed?) dead father. I really feel sorry for that kid :P He did not deserve *gestures vaguely at everything*

[sorceresscrowe]

How Crowe Came Back to Life (updated)

There had been a sudden squealing of tires, and she was suddenly hit, her bike crumpling away from underneath her as she went flying off of the road. She laid there in the dirt for a moment, trying to process what had just happened. Without her helmet on, she had hit her head hard on the ground.

Reaching for her watch, she began setting it. She became aware of men approaching, blurry in her concussed state. She tried saying something—probably ask for help—but she couldn't get the words out. One yanked her up by the hair, and her vision started to improve.

“Luche?”

He stood in front of her. She registered the gun only a moment later.

“It's nothing personal, Crowe. We just can't have you getting in the way.” He pulled back the hammer. “I'm sorry.”

Then there was a gunshot and a sharp pain in her middle. Crowe cried out, but whoever gripped her hair kept her from falling over. Another shot came, and then it went dark.

It stayed dark and quiet for a long moment. It didn't take long for her to realize that she was dead, and she had failed her mission—the most important mission she could have ever had. Instead, she was dead on the side of the road, killed before she could even start it.

Something glimmered in the darkness, approaching her. It soon turned out to be a shining woman, overall bigger than herself. She gave a smile.

“Crowe,” She greeted, showing a brief look of pity. “Your actions would have changed everything to come, if it wasn't for the traitors in your midst.”

The reminder that there were traitors among the Kingsglaive was like getting shot all over again, but this time, Crowe was angry. After losing their home and fighting battles for their king, they had become like family. She sure as hell didn't have anyone else. Why would family kill her?

“Who are you?” She demanded, glancing around. Their surroundings were completely dark. The glowing woman was all that there was.

The demand didn't upset her, but a sad expression crossed her face. “The people of ancient times called me Etro, before Bahamut replaced me as the patron deity over the House Lucis Caelum. Did no one ever mention me?”

Crowe pondered the information, wondering whether to believe this strange woman or not. The Glaive hadn't been bothered with the history of the king's lineage. They just fought for him on the promise that their home would be free from Niflheim someday. With the treaty signing, though, they all realized that their king was letting them down. Maybe Tredd had been right; they were just used as soldiers in a losing war. Whether they lived or died didn't really matter.

“The powers your king granted you were passed down originally from Bahamut, and to take that away from you and make you start all again would be cruel.” Etro went on. “You are naturally gifted with magic.”

“What are you talking about?” Crowe made another demand. She didn't put much thought into gods; where were the gods when Galahd fell, or when she was exiled from her village when she was just a little girl? They may have granted magic to ancient rulers long ago, but they certainly didn't give a damn about the world now. Why should the world care about them either?

“You will return to life with my Blessing.” Etro explained. “I will not take you to the other side yet. You can still change what is about to happen. Your actions will make all the difference in the world.”

“How? What is that supposed to mean?” Crowe asked, then realized that the light around the larger woman was fading, as was she.

She gave a farewell smile. “Crowe, if I told you everything, then you wouldn't learn anything for yourself. Destiny isn't set in stone like you are taught to believe.”

Two faces appeared in the dark, fading with Etro's light. They were two dark-haired women, one of which was older and had blue eyes. The other was younger and with gray eyes.

“Find the others with my Blessing. Only together can you make a difference.”

And with that, everyone was gone.

Crowe opened her eyes to a dull gray sky, slowly turning pink. She propped herself up on her elbows to see the sun peaking over the horizon, which were some far off hills. Her surroundings were dirt, spotted with the occasional dry brush. There were decrepit buildings at the corners of the road, riddled with so many holes that they were easy to look through.

She stood up at one corner. Her bike was gone. There was no sign of the van that hit her, or the traitors that attacked her afterwards. She was the only living thing around.

The sunrise chased away all of the daemons of the night, but there were still wild creatures to worry about. Crowe couldn't see any kind of town; she had been dropped off far enough from the city that spies shouldn't have suspected a thing. However, now it made her unsure of which direction the city was in.

Should she return without Lady Lunafreya? Etro, if she was being truthful, said there was still time to see the mission through. Crowe must not have been dead that long. The other part—that of there being traitors within the Kingsglaive—was also a pressing issue that needed to be reported. She hoped Libertus and Nyx realized it and did something. With her own mission sabotaged by her teammates, Crowe could assume that the princess was in more danger than they all knew.

She picked a direction and began walking. She would find the closest town, and from there find out where she was. Maybe they'd even have bikes there. Though checking her pockets, Crowe realized that she didn't have any money on her.

It wasn't far into her trek that she saw something interesting in a nearby trash heap—her bike. It was mangled, with some parts having been torn off completely in the crash. The saddle bags hadn't been scratched too much. Crowe dug through them for her effects. Someone must have already did the same. There wasn't any money; all that was left was her Glaive uniform was still there.

Throwing the bags over her shoulder, Crowe continued walking up the road. It wouldn't fly if she returned with Lady Lunafreya, but not in her proper uniform. Everyone at the Citadel was huge on decorum. Crowe wasn't going to look like a fool in her moment of honor.

The sun rose quite high in the sky before she caught sight of an outpost. She had been lucky enough to be left alone by the wildlife. She considered trading in her uniform for money; she was starving and in need of a drink.

There was a lot more activity at the outpost than she would have thought. Crowds of people milled about glumly. A couple of buses were parked on the side of the road. Crowe observed them as she walked into the gas station. She could probably swipe a few things there, especially for how crowded it was.

Everyone standing by the front door seemed to be reading newspapers. Everywhere she looked, the front page was there: “Insomnia Falls”.

Forgetting about food, Crowe found the nearly-empty newspaper stand and picked up a copy for herself. She scanned the front page. Tempers flew at the signing ceremony, and it all spiraled into chaos from there. The wall fell at King Regis's death. Prince Noctis and Lady Lunafreya were also slain by Niflheim.

Crowe didn't bother flipping through the pages to find the rest of the story. She dropped the paper back into the stand and walked out of the gas station.

Her mission was all for nothing. Lady Lunafreya was dead. Drautos had said that she would be in Tenebrae, and while the Emperor wasn't looking, Crowe was to escort her to Altissia for her wedding. But the Emperor must have suspected something, taking the princess to Insomnia to tease the people, and then have her killed.

Crowe had been brought back to life just to fail all over again.

“Shit.” She swore to herself.

Everything was all wrong. It should have made sense by now that Niflheim would go back on their word. They endangered the princess so carelessly. And part of her own family had helped.

She felt helpless. There had been nothing about the Kingsglaive or the Crownsguard on the front page, other than to say that all efforts were overtaken. That couldn't mean that Lib and Nyx were dead too.

That was something Crowe could do. It was almost impossible to know who she could trust among the Kingsglaive, but she knew those two wouldn't betray the crown, no matter what Niflheim offered them. She just hoped they hadn't been killed in the cross fire. Nyx loved being heroic.

She walked into the diner then. Despite the crowded booths of refugees from Insomnia, it was quiet. Everyone seemed to be listening to the radio as it continued to report on the fallout of the treaty signing. Crowe listened for any word on the Glaive as she joined a line, shuffling along for the free meal promised to refugees. It wasn't her first time being called that.

Nothing was mentioned the entire time she was there. She took a small seat at a booth that was offered to her, squeezing in among strangers. A lot of people remained in the city until Niflheim's martial law. There was a resistance, and it would make perfect sense for Nyx and Lib to join it. But Crowe quickly realized that showing her face in the city wouldn't be a smart idea, after she had been killed. The king was gone, and so was the magic he granted to the Kingsglaive. In any case, it didn't sound as though anyone was allowed into the city while things were still so intense.

She considered going home, back to Galahd, before remembering that the resistance there made Niflheim keep a tight grip on the island. She couldn't imagine what it was like now after Insomnia fell.

Crowe could join this caravan of refugees to Lestallum, and hope to find friendly faces there. There were some Crownsguards here, but none that Crowe recognized. There were likely to be more at Lestallum, and they could tell her more.

But there was a stronger urge to see Insomnia for herself. Was everyone truly just gone like that?

The buses were preparing to leave as she left the diner. Crowe walked against the flow of the crowd. She found a bike, stole it, and sped towards the city.

[museoffury]

I awoke with the feeling of longing today to know a father I was never given the chance to meet. I thought about the deep and profound secret my Mother kept in her heart of something so significant and wondered why she didn’t want me to know. I started to write a song in Spanish about sadness and wishing.

I then decided that I could not put off the inevitable and so today would begin with a mundane task: laundry. Even that proves to be a significant experience here since most seem to wash by hand and hang laundry outside their window on a line. There didn’t seem to be a way to do that in this pad, and I’ll be quite honest: I really am not into that. Call me shishi, but I like my clothes blown dry. So, I looked up various Lavandarias and found one just 3-blocks up from where I’m staying–pretty cool being that I could only find six in all of Lisbon. This one named Lavandaria do Aqueduto seemed fitting. Aqueducts carry water over obstacles, right? My clothes had been through Zurich, Madrid, and a couple of days in Lisbon already. It was an easy-peasy walk up the hill and I found 3 washers and two dryers in a very clean, small laundromat with instructions in English in a 4-point font below the Portuguese words and if you push the correct combination of buttons, voila! it includes a detergent in the washing machine which begins from a controller on the wall for all the machines. Snap!  Since I had 30-min, I decided to head around the corner to a little cafe I had seen offering some quick “para levar” so that I could grab an espresso and a nibble. It was busy and the server was rushing about quite efficiently. When she came to ask what I wanted, I told her that she was impressive and efficient. She smiled and relaxed for a second:

“34-years of doing this makes it so. It’s better be fast.  I started here working for my grandfather when I had 18 years; now when my father dies, it will be mine. “

Wow! Impressive! I did some quick inaccurate math:

“We are the same age. I am 56 and…”

She interrupted: “I have 52-years.”

Me: “Oh, yes. Of course. It is fantastic that the business passes to you after all of your hard work. What is your name?”

She gave me my order and took the Euros and tip.

“Gabriella. Thank you for talking me. Have a nice day.”

 Here is her little spot in Lisbon where my Pastel de Nata and espresso sit in the middle. Mind you, there are thousands of Padarias and Pastelarias and Cafes everywhere you walk here. The reason I walked into this one is that I happened to be washing my clothes around the corner. 15-min in the dryer and I was on my way back to the pad.

By this point, it was 1:20p and I was ready to find some serious lunch. I’ve only been eating one meal out per day and want to stick to that since I have a little kitchenette here and have bought some essentials to keep at the temp homestead. I read about a cool place to eat lunch (even though it was already 2p) that wasn’t due to close like most the others I found that end lunch service at 3p. This one was open until midnight with no break. It was across town and would promise an exploratory plunge into the world of busses and trams here in Lisbon – a new adventure! Excellent, I love this part of a new city! When I clicked to go to GoogleMaps to see an overview of the location, my tab fell on a Chrome MomentumDash screen that always provides a relaxing picture, a quote, and some other productivity points.

Oh, yes. I feel balanced alright here on vacation. Thank you for the message, computer!

The restaurant description pointed out the location as the LX Factory and I had also seen it as a destination point on GoogleMaps. I wondered about it and researched further. I found this:

In 1846, a fabric production plant (Companhia de Fiação e Tecidos Lisbonenses) was created in Alcântara, Lisbon. The industrial complex spanned over a total of 23.000 m2 and was one of the most important undertakings the city had so far seen. Fifty years later, the company decides to move and, in its place, a succession of businesses such as industrial typographies took advantage of the unique location and facilities. Forward to the late 20th century and the location was an abandoned, run-down and decrepit inner-city area that desperately needed a makeover. A private investor decides to take on the challenge of creating something new out of almost one hundred years of history and the rest, as they say, is indeed history. Today, the space is home to more than 200 businesses ranging from cafés, restaurants, design houses, show-rooms, shops, offices, commercial spaces to other projects that link directly to the space’s unique cultural and artistic standing.

I’m going to provide some shots of my own soon, but these photos here on TripAdvisor say it all!

So, all I had to do was get there.

What did we do without GoogleMaps? Well, I’ll tell you one thing GM doesn’t tell you is which side of the street to wait for a bus and so goes my next 1.5 hours for a trip that should have taken 23-minutes according to my i-spaceship. I walked over to the huge Assembly of the Republic building. Yes, this is where the central hub of the Portuguese government meets and it’s quite a building.

When I got to the top, I thought I could find the bus stop as the little blue dot on GMaps was showing that I was quite close. I looked down:  Hmmm, somewhere likely down there. I’ll walk a bit and voila! The bus I wanted was just leaving, but alas, another one comes in 15-minutes. I waited, watched and listened to a bird in a cage hanging on a mini-patio just above the stop across the street. I looked down to see another bus of the number I needed to hop on going the other way. Shoot. Was I waiting on the right side of the street?  I looked at GMaps and retraced my steps…Ayii. It looks like I need to wait over there! I crossed the street and looked at the map. Yes, Cavalária is one of the stops. OK, phew.

One came 10-minutes later and I hopped on and took a seat. We traveled a mile or so when I realized that nowhere does it state the stop name so how would I know when we reached Cavalária? I could go ask the bus driver. Or, I could check the blue dot on my phone!  Uh-Oh, it shows I’m going further from LX Factory, not toward it. Damn. By now we were at the hundredth or so tall statue I have seen of men towering over squares and plazas–this one called the something de Pombra. So many famous men to put on pedestals! I hopped off the next stop and crossed the street to wait on the other side for the bus going the other way. OK, now I’ll be set. Two of the wrong number went by and then, finally! Here comes the 727, only it was going fast and wouldn’t stop! Um, Oh no: I’ve got to go to a different stop further up by the man on the pedestal!  Jesus! Who is that poor woman with her bare breast and arms chained above her head below the man on the pedestal? No time to check. I had to keep searching for the stop. I walked another 1/2-hour as the streets here are very wide and filled with taxis and buses all going somewhere very quickly. I walked down another street trying to follow the damned blue dot but I seemed to be heading off course again. OK, look for the street name. They are on the sides of buildings on each corner and do not have their own post like we have. I looked up and guess what I found?  Can you imagine? The word has re-entered from Madrid to Portugal. I smiled. There is a HOTEL Tranquilidade. I was reminded to just enjoy the ride of being lost and to maintain my balance. I walked another block and then circled back around the dude on the pedestal (again). This time, I heard American voices next to me. A Mom, Dad, and Daughter were looking up and all around like I had been:

Dad: “Jesus. I’m tired of going in circles. I can’t find anything here.”

Me: “Hey, me too! I’ve been trying to find a bus going to a certain place and it’s taken me an hour!”

Mom: “It took us 45-minutes to find the post office we were told was just up the block.”

Me: “I’m going to the post office too, and…

Dad: “Well, you’re going the wrong way, it’s behind us 4-blocks!”

Me: “Oh, I’m going to a different one near where I plan to eat lunch…well, now it’s dinner, I guess.”

Mom: “You mean there is more than one? We were told that there was only one and it’s behind us.”

Me: “Oh, there are a lot of post offices all over, but just not near each other.”

Dad: “I wondered why this huge city would have only one post office. People. Sheesh.”

All of us together: “Where are you from?”

Them: “We’re from Idaho and our daughter here has been serving in the Peace Corps in Mozambique, so we figured this would be a great place to meet all together.”

More chatting between us about the weather here in Lisbon (they are loving it as it’s below zero back home), etc. We walked up to my bus stop saying a quick goodbye and have fun as I hopped up on the bus of the number I was looking for only this time I asked the driver before paying: “Calavária?”  He then pointed across the street saying quickly in Portuguese that the bus to Calvário is on the other side. Well, 3rd time is a charm. Here I go. “Obrigado!” (Ooops, forgot the “a” again. I’m supposed to say “obrigada.”)

So there I was, 1.5-hours later going the right way to the Calvário stop where I would find (25-minutes later) both a post office (which turned out to be a post office, bank, and 4 shelves of  books for sale all in one) with the entrance to the LX Factory just a 3-min walk from the post-bank-books to the restaurant whose name I had already forgotten. Damn. I was famished and thirsty.

When I arrived, I found a splendid playground well worth the wait! I stopped at the first super fun/artsy restaurant I found and sat outside near a fab heat lamp and ordered a beer. WOOF, they brought me a beer!   Someone knew I was thirsty! Reward! Now here’s a pedestal I’d like to see with some females on it! Where are all the statues of the mulhers importantes in Portugal? I ordered the Praça burger (house special) that was heavenly with lots of different sautéed veggies on it (candied onions, mushrooms, zucchini, carrots) and pesto sauce along with their house-made chips that were a delight. YUM! ( I could not finish that beer after eating the meal but I got 3/4 through it.)

THEN I WALKED AROUND. WHAT A PLACE!

First I walked into the restaurant I had eaten at A Praça do Lisboa to use the loo and found the interior delightful.  And since I heard a band while I ate not far off playing covers from the 80’s and 90’s, I had to find them first to check them out:  The outside area was crowded with people sitting at tables talking and drinking beer and wine but the odd thing I noticed was when the band finished one of the songs, I was the only one clapping. Oh. They don’t clap for musicians here? Odd…  I walked on.

And then I came upon this! My favorite new bookstore in one glance: Ler Devagar Bookstore (check this out):

I looked around some more to walk off the meal noticing that a lot more people were arriving as this is obviously a thriving scene for a Friday night that is not the ordinary fare in Lisbon. Just as I found myself outside of the LX Factory at night wondering where to catch the bus and really not wanting to try to find a stop, I saw a man leaning against a TukTuk.  He extended his hand toward the vehicle saying, “Where would you like to go? Have you tried a TukTuk?” I had seen these all over town and wondered about them. They are literally a 3-wheel motorcycle with a plastic tent around them to keep you warm at night and likely out of the rain if the weather turns. I was hesitant. He explained that he could take me anywhere I’d like to go for 10-Euros which is far less than the normal price as he must put the TukTuk away in the garage in the next one-and-a-half hours. He could also show me some special places. Well, they are a licensed group. I know they are safe, and I really didn’t want to try the bus fiasco again. So, I hopped in. He zipped me all in as if we were camping with him in the front and me in the 2-seater bench in the rear with seatbelts.  “My name is Carlos. What is yours?” We chatted for a bit about San Francisco because he cackled when I said I was from SF: “San Francisco! It’s the same as Lisboa! Bridges! Hills! Lots of people!” But then added, “But America has gone crazy, no? What has happened to the brains of the people?” I explained that one of the reasons I was here on this trip was to find a new place to live (someday) and that Portugal is one of my top choices. He told me he knows people here who have homes to rent and sell. He will give me names. At one point he asked, “Are you in a rush? If not, I have a great pastelaria to show you!”

I was game. Let’s go! We stopped and had a Pastel de Natal (much more delicious than the one I had in the morning) which were made by the hour in the place he brought me to. I bought us both one and added an espresso to sip. The third bite in, he said, “Oh! You must meet my friend Claudia who owns a shop near where you are staying. Let’s go pay her a visit and then I take you home. She owns some properties.” I was still delighting in the custard pastry and one last sip of espresso. He was right. It was a treat! We then scooted a few more streets over (he was a deft driver at one point squeezing between a car and a truck in a space I thought far too narrow to get through with no problem.) He parked quickly and we hopped out. The shop was so beautiful, lit by amber light containing numerous wonderful old things everywhere. I stopped at a journal made of a vinyl record for the front and back cover. Oh, universe! What have you done? I looked at Carlos: “I am a huge fan of vinyl records, Carlos. How did you know?” As I looked at him smiling, I saw high above his head a wall covered with actual records that were artistically cut into various scenes: one of a silhouette of Alfred Hitchcock with an old movie camera next to him seated in a Director’s chair, several of iconic images of Lisbon, and one that caught my attention quickly– the silhouette of a saxophonist and guitarist jamming together.  I told Claudia that I have vinyl records all over the walls of my office at school. She said, “It seems you need one more to place with the others.” Indeed!

That’s Carlos Bonito and me with Claudia in the back. She doesn’t like being in pictures. And here are the (not one but two) pieces of cut vinyl I bought after Claudia explained the deep meaning of “saudade” which has no translation she said in any language but something like this: a deep emotional state of nostalgic or profound melancholic longing for an absent something or someone that one loves. (I found this online as she couldn’t quite find the words to express the depth of the meaning of the word.) It seemed the perfect bookend to the thoughts I had when I awoke this morning that felt so long ago. What a day and night in Lisbon!

Nine Hours of Exploration with Being Lost as a Theme I awoke with the feeling of longing today to know a father I was never given the chance to meet.