#instead of just trying to jerk off the most in the “woke” contest

[sensitivegoblin]

Stupid vent

[bakulova]

Comfort

Young!Carol Denning X Reader

Hope You Enjoy!

Today just wasn’t a good day.

 You woke up to your period deciding to make a surprise visit. You didn’t have enough time to eat breakfast so you were starving till lunch. While walking into school you slipped on ice and fell with people laughing at you. Your butt was now all wet from the snow and ice. Carol wasn’t at school again.

 The popular girls came up and pushed you around asking where your “guard dog” was aka Carol. Usually Carol would be by your side looking mean and just unapproachable but you didn’t have her so those hoes made their move. They taunted you for a little while longer while you kept telling them to fuck off and pushing them off you before the warning bell rang for class. 

You sat through the most boring class aka English. You walked home from school because your parents were at work so of course your walking through the nasty sluggy snow and it’s getting in your shoes which annoyed the hell out of you. When walking up the steps to enter your house you tripped and almost fell down. When you finally got in and to your room you threw your backpack into a corner and looked around trying not to cry. 

You quickly change out of your clothes and jump into bed tears starting to run down your face. You refused to wipe your face and decided ‘fuck homework’ and nap time was now in session. While you were taking your nap, Carol stopped by pounding on your front door and calling out for you only for your neighbors to ask her “politely” to shut the fuck up. She gives up on your front door and walks over to your bedroom window and starts pounding.

You wake up startled and look around trying to find where it was coming from. You groan and get up going to your room door, you don’t find anyone. The pounding doesn’t stop. You stood still heart pounding and ears hurting then you hear a familiar voice “Y/N! Let me in!” You whirl around and walk towards your window. Opening the curtain to see your girlfriend smiling, she waves gesturing for you to open up the window. 

You glare while flipping her off. She stops smiling real quick and pounds on the glass again “y/n open the window now!” You shake your head still flipping her off. She glared at you but you only smirk and mouth “Fuck you”. You guys stare at each other for a few more minutes. While staring she tries using her puppy eyes on you and think for a split second about opening the window and letting her but you decide not to considering she didn’t come to school. You curl you lip up and close the curtain and jump back on your bed. You lay down and look up at the ceiling. She pounds on you window a couple more times then it just stops. You sigh in content and get comfortable again and go back to sleep.

The next day of school arrives and you only feel a little better. Taking that much needed break away from the rest of the world was refreshing. Your teachers were annoyed that you didn’t do your homework but once you explained that you weren’t feeling good they got off your back a little bit. Today Carol was actually at school looking frustrated and annoyed. You try to sneak pass and not make eye-contact hoping she doesn’t see you but of course she does. All you heard were shoes stomping towards you, someone grabbing your arm and dragging towards the empty part of the school. She slams you into the wall and growls out. 

“What the fuck was yesterday about?” You keep your eyes down only for her to grab your jaw and force you to look at her. “I’m gonna ask you again... what the fuck was wrong with you yesterday?” you mumble some words but she couldn’t hear you so she jerks her head forward close to your mouth and glares at you “speak louder bitch” you sigh and yell out “I wasn’t feeling good yesterday and you coming over didn’t make me feel any better” she curls her lip upward and pushes your face away from her. You groan and rub at your jaw knowing damn well that it’s gonna bruise. 

“Thanks for the bruising Carol” she doesn’t answer you instead stands there glaring at you. After a few minutes of a glare contest you decide it’s no longer fun to glare at her and get ready to leave. You pick up your backpack that magically found it’s way to the floor probably when she was throwing you against the wall. You give her one last look and scoff “Just stop Carol” you walk away but not without hearing her kick or punch the wall but that didn’t matter you didn’t want to deal with her right now. After getting through the rest of the day which honestly wasn’t bad. You had to walk home again but without less of a problem. Once you got in your room you threw your backpack on the floor and jump into bed again. Apparently someone followed you home because once you got comfy on your bed someone jumped on top of you and pinned your hands down. You look up alarmed and saw a familiar face. 

You slowly calm down and start talking “What the hell Carol! You can’t sneak up on people like that! You at least need to make yourself known!” She doesn’t listen to you at all. She still looked pissed from earlier when you pretty much told her to go fuck herself.  She moves closer to your face and stops when the tips of your noses are touching “Are you done with your bitching?” you look around and notice her hands are bruised and bloody. “Did you punch the wall earlier?” she also looks at her hands “Yeah because of you, you cunt” she leans back away from you and just sits on you. She cradles her hands and inspect them. You grab her hands and bring them closer. 

“Jesus Care” she pulls her hands away and moves from sitting on you to sit next to you. “It’s not that bad and don’t think you’re off from your little drama queen bullshit form earlier” You roll your eyes “Carol you were the dramatic one I mean look at your hands!” she grumbles and throws herself down beside you. You both sit in silence before you huff and grab her by her bicep and drag her to your bathroom. You push her onto the toilet and look around for your first aid kit and a rag. Once you find both items you dampen the rag and grab her hands and start dabbing off the old blood when your finished with that you give gentle kisses to all her knuckles. She smiles but quickly wipes it off her face before you can notice. Carol won’t tell you but she loves when you baby her since her parents never did. 

You grab some disinfectant and start to gently rub it on. She winces in the certain spots but she sucks it up because she doesn’t want to seem weak. You of course notice and kiss her on the cheek every time she winces. Even after you  wrapped a little gauze around her hand she keeps wincing. You look back at her with a questioning gaze before realizing that she wants more kisses so you roll you eyes and grab her face and give one big kiss. When you pull away she tries to go in for more but you stop her and laugh “Carol no” she glares and pulls you in again smashing her lips into yours. She smirks once she pulls away. 

“Carol...” she tilts her head and raises her eyebrow. You huff and drag her back to your bed and push her down and cutely yell “GIVE ME LOVE” and jump on her. she grunts on the extra weight but quickly gets comfortable while kissing your head. A few minutes into the cuddle session she whispers “So why were you ignoring me yesterday?” You pull away from her neck “I was having a real bad day yesterday and you not being there made it worst” Carol smacks your head gently “I was... at your window in which you REFUSED to let me in” “I meant at school AND I was angry at you and I still am!”.

 Carol snorts “Well sorry for having more important things to do than be at school” you pull away from her to a sitting position on top of her. “Those Roxy and her bitches came at me yesterday because they saw you weren’t there” Carol shrugs “I shouldn’t always have to protect you hun” You glare “But your my girlfriend?” “Yeah girlfriend not a security guard” You pout and get off her while flicking her off. “Hey come here I’m not done” you ignore her and we all know Carol hates being ignored.

[frightgothcar]

Gayrea 51 Chapter 2: Not the weirdest thing I’ve heard this week.

Hey yall, thanks for the great feedback on chapter 1 of this fic, I’m super motivated and excited to write this for yall!! Thanks to everyone who’s encouraged me to work on this! It’s been a tough couple of weeks with me, so this chapter is a little late, but I hope you enjoy! (You can also read it on ao3 here)

Previous / Next

“Nice to meet ya, Wes. How about you go ahead and pull that lever so I can get out of this hell-hole.” Danny gestured to the control panel Wes was admiring earlier. 

Wes’ hand drifted towards the lever, trembling ever so slightly. “Wait a minute,” He stopped and lowered his eyes at Danny, “How do I know you’re not just trying to trick me?” 

Danny groaned and pressed his face up against the glass. “You have my word as a government experiment?” He fluttered his pure white eyelashes. “What, do you need a please too?”

“... Yes.”

“What?”

“I’ll only let you out if you say please.”

“Aw c’mon, that’s so stupid-”

“Or, I could just alert the guards right now.” He glanced at the control panel again before deciding on a large red button.

Danny snorted and raised an eyebrow, “You realize you’ll be in even worse trouble than I will if you do that.”

“You think I care if I die? Ha! Do you really want to squander your one chance at escape because you didn’t want to say please?”

Danny scowled then grinned, “Damn, Wes, I’m impressed. Alright. May I please be let out?”

Wes pulled down the lever before he had a chance to hesitate. All the lights in the hallway began flashing red. An alarm blared from the intercom. Danny reached through the glass, grabbed his arm and yanked him into a wall. Oh god, was this really how he was gonna go? Beaten to death by an alien? He held his breath and waited for the impact, but it never came. He cracked open an eye and realized they were outside. Danny grinned up at him. 

“Surprise!” he exclaimed before his eyes rolled into the back of his head and he slumped against Wes’ chest. 

“Oh, god what just happened?” Wes whispered to himself, his arms instinctively catching Danny and shifting his unconscious form into a bridal carry. The alarm was still blaring, it was only a matter of time before someone realized what was happening and took him out with a well-placed shot. Without giving the situation a second thought he took off, towards the gate. As he got closer to the front of the building he realized something seemed off. The previously endless rain of bullets had stopped, the noise replaced by the triumphant shouts of the mob. The gate was ripped off its hinges as more and more people flooded into the compound, destroying everything that stood in their way with sheer force. 

It was almost beautiful, the chaos of it all. But Wes didn’t have time to admire the sight. He shifted Danny in his arms and began pushing through the mass of people, most of which made way after seeing what (or rather, who) he was carrying. He felt as though he was back in school almost, moving through the desert like pushing through droves of Freshman on his way to class. The crowd finally began to thin out, giving Wes enough space to break into a sprint. His mind was so focused on getting out of there he barely even reacted when he reached his truck, automatically unlocking the doors and settling Danny inside. His door wasn’t even shut all the way when he peeled away from his parking spot, weaving through parked cars and coolers to the main road. He barreled down the stretch of concrete, at least 20 miles over the speed limit. His only thought was to get as far away from there as possible. 

Once he reached the freeway he began to calm down. He turned on the radio and fell into a sort of lull as he drove. His mind remained on autopilot, stopping to get gas once then driving through the night. Every once in awhile a memory of bloodsoaked hands or flashing lights would try to get through but he shut them out, instead focusing on the road and the static-y pop music blaring from the radio. A hand landed on his shoulder and he jerked to the side, almost veering off the side of the road. He pulled into the shoulder and glared at his passenger with bloodshot eyes.

“What?” He hissed.

“Are you okay?” Danny asked, his sarcastic demeanor was gone, replaced with genuine worry, “When did you last sleep?”

Wes shrugged and closed his eyes to shut out the rising sun, “Does it matter?”

“Well, duh. You look like shit and I’m pretty sure you shouldn’t be driving if you’re… compromised.”

“What do you know, Alien?” 

Danny rolled his eyes, “Clearly more than you, Human. Why don’t we take a break and then you can take us- Where are we going?”

Wes shrugged and dragged a hand across his face, “No fucking clue.”

Danny groaned, “Great. Out of all the people that could’ve busted me out it had to be you.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” He shot back. 

“It means,” Danny propped his elbows up on the center console and stared into Wes’ eyes, “That you are fucking stupid! What kind of idiot breaks into a highly guarded government facility without a fucking plan?”

Danny collapsed back into his seat, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring out the window. The sun was just beginning to come up, sending a pale orange light across his face, emphasizing his cheekbones. It was almost enough to make Wes forget about the angry words he’d just said to him. Almost.

“Not very fucking grateful, are we?” He bit back, “ I saved your goddamn skin and I don’t even get a fucking thank you?”

“Considering you’re probably going to get us killed, no.” 

“Great. Fucking great. Well then, what’s your brilliant plan, Mr. Smartass?”

Danny turned back to Wes and shrugged. All the anger drained from his face, leaving him with a more neutral expression. “I dunno, believe it or not, I’m not exactly an expert with the outside world.” 

Wes sighed, “I suppose that makes sense… you’re right. I should get some sleep, I’m sure this whole situation will make more sense in the morning.”

“Afternoon.” Danny corrected.

“Huh?” 

“Well, it’s already morning, so if you sleep the typical 8 hours, you’ll be waking up in the afternoon.”

“Pretty bold of you to assume I have a normal sleeping schedule. See you in the morning.” Wes reclined his seat and turned on his side, facing the door.

“So that's just it? You’re leaving me, a guy you met like 3 hours ago alone in your car for an undetermined amount of time with no guarantee that I’m not gonna just drive off without you?”

“That depends. Can you drive?”

“Well, no, but-”

“Cool. Try not to die without me, see you in the morning.” Wes began fake snoring obnoxiously loud, his eyes squeezed shut. 

Danny rolled his eyes, making a mental note to get back at him for their whole exchange and looked out the window. It had been a while since he’d seen the sun, and he’d really forgotten how beautiful it was. The pictures online never really did it justice. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Wes woke to a knocking on his car window. A police officer stood on the other side of the glass. A scowl painted her face, her eyes were covered by dark sunglasses, but if Wes had to guess he’d say they held the same disdain. He sat up his chair and rolled down the window. 

“How can I help you, officer?” He said, anxiety twinging his voice.

“Are you aware that you’re parked illegally?” She looked him up and down, sizing him up.

“Um, well, uh-” He stuttered. 

“Actually, Ma’am, our engine shorted out,” A voice came from behind him. Wes’ eyes went wide. Not only were they parked illegally, but he was harboring an alien prisoner. They were so screwed. “Me and my friend here were on our way to a cosplay contest and got a little lost. We’re waiting on triple-A, but they’re taking a while. W- William decided to take a little nap to keep his energy up while I waited on them.”

Danny handed the Officer Wes’ phone that he had somehow managed to not only steal but unlock in the short time Wes had been asleep. She lowered her glasses to the bridge of her nose and glanced at the screen. 

“Everything seems to be in order,” She nodded begrudgingly, “Do you boys need a lift?”

“No thank you, Ma’am,” Danny smiled warmly, showing off a pair glistening pair of white fangs “We’ll be fine.”

They waited for the officer to get back into her patrol car, talk to her partner, then drive off before talking again.

“What the fuck was that?” Wes glared.

“Gee, thanks for saving our asses, Danny, you’re so brave and handsome-” Danny imitated Wes in a squeaky voice.

“Yeah, sure, thanks for almost getting us killed!” 

“Oh, really, and you had a much better plan than me how?” 

“I dunno! But you didn’t have to talk to her! You should’ve hid, I’m surprised she didn’t kill us! After what happened yesterday we have to be careful, there's probably a fucking SWAT team after you!” Wes shouted.

“As far as I’m concerned, there is no ‘us’.” Danny crossed his arms, “Plus they wouldn’t kill me. I’m too valuable. Maybe you, but not me.”

“How reassuring,” Wes said dryly. 

“Now, let's get out of this godforsaken desert!” He commanded.

“It’s too fucking early for this.” Wes groaned and hit his head against the steering wheel with a soft thunk.

“Oh, no, you are NOT falling asleep on me again!” Danny scolded, “We are going to eat some food and then we’re gonna go our separate ways. Sound good to you?”

Wes nodded, slowly raising his head and starting the car. “But before we go anywhere, you’re gonna need a change of outfits, my friend.”

“What’s wrong with what I have on?” Danny asked.

Wes drove onto the freeway, “Other than looking like you just escaped space prison, nothing.” 

“Well I don’t see how a costume change will make all of this,” he gestured to himself, “less suspicious, but by all means, try.”

“You really have no faith in me, huh?”

“Nope,” Danny said, popping the p. 

Wes pulled into the next exit, stopping at a Shell station. The neon sign flickered, as if it was winking at them, warmly inviting whatever visitors happened to pass through the abandoned stretch of road. He climbed out of the cab of his truck and stretched, his bones cracking loudly. Danny followed suit, swinging open the passenger door and planting his bare feet on the hot pavement, then immediately yelping and retracting them, opting to instead float a few inches off the ground. 

“What the fuck?” he murmured, staring at the ground.

“Oh, right, shoes. Add that to the list.” Wes remarked, reaching into the bed of his truck and pulling out a black duffel bag. He slung it over his shoulder and walked towards the small convince store. The glass door swung open with a cheery little jingle. Wes held open the door for Danny, placing his arm around his shoulders and gently pushing him so his feet touched the white tile floor.

“Humans don’t float,” he whispered.

Danny shifted uncomfortably, rising onto his tip-toes to regain some of the height he’d lost, “Fine.”

Much to Danny’s annoyance, Wes kept his arm around his shoulders as he guided him effortlessly past the lone employee, who clearly wasn’t getting paid enough to deal with the rather strange pair, and into the bathroom. Once the door was locked, he unceremoniously dropped his bag to the floor. He spent a few minutes scrubbing his hands and arms clean of the blood from the previous day off, which felt almost as good as a shower. Once he had dried himself off he knelt down to go through his clothes.

“I’m kinda broke, so you’ll have to borrow some of my clothes for now,” Wes said, unzipping his bag and pulling out a pair of wrinkled jeans for himself, pulling them over his shorts as he continued talking. “Though, baggy clothes might work better, considering the whole blue skin thing.”

He dug through the bag for a few seconds, then handed Danny a Black hoodie, blue jeans, and a pair of well-worn flipflops. 

“I’m gonna give you some privacy, open the door when you’re done, okay?”

“Huh? What, why?” Danny asked as Wes reached for the door handle.

He turned back toward Danny, “Because you’re changing?”

“Oh, this is a cultural thing, got it.” Danny nodded, grinning like he knew a secret, “I was worried you didn’t want to see me naked there for a minute.”

“And that’s my cue to leave.” Wes slammed the door shut behind him, his face dusted with a soft pink blush. He didn’t have to wait long, not even 5 minutes had passed when the door cracked open. He walked into the bathroom, the door automatically locking behind him as it shut. 

“Need any help?” he asked, trying his best not to stare at Danny’s bare legs. Apparently the jeans hadn’t been a good fit, hopefully, he was wearing underwear.

“This is stupid.” Danny groaned from under the hood of Wes’ oversized jacket. The garment covered him like a cloak, drooping around his shoulders and falling about to his knees. The heavy black material held a fairly unpleasant smell of Cheeto dust, sweat and an excessive amount of deodorant, as if someone had worn it for a few days without washing it. His antenna were tucked behind his ears, his eyes glowed softly under the hood. Even the way he walked was distinctly non-human, he almost glided across the ground, though a bit more clumsily than he had before in a pair of much too large dollar store flip flops. “Nobody is ever gonna buy this.”

Wes adjusted the hood to cover a bit more of Danny’s face, “Oh, trust me, if they’re as ignorant as the people in my hometown, nobody’ll bat an eyelash.”

He raised an eyebrow, “And if they aren’t?”

Wes shrugged, “That whole cosplay excuse was pretty smart, we could just use that again.” He paused for a minute, “Hey, come to think of it, how’d you even learn about cosplay? Aren’t you supposed to be some sort of Super Solider?”

“I wouldn’t say Super Solider, however flattering that is,” Danny’s eyes seemed to flash a tad brighter when he rolled them, “And, even though it’s none of your business, I have an internet connection. I know things.”

“Huh. Not the weirdest thing I’ve heard this week.” He shrugged. “So, uh, the pants didn’t fit?”

“I think this is as good as it gets. Wanna grab some breakfast?”

“Not until you put on pants.” 

Danny huffed, not in the mood to argue, he grabbed the jeans off the floor and pulled them on roughly, one leg at a time. He was definitely not wearing underwear. He held them up around his hips to stop them from falling down. 

“Ok, I can deal with this.” Wes thought out loud, digging through his bag and pulling out two long ratty shoelaces knotted together. “Alright, so if I just…”

He strung the dirty yellow chord through Danny’s belt loop, pulled it tight and tied it in a bow in front of his stomach. “Here, you can let go now.”

Danny released the faded blue denim, allowing the hoodie to cascade back down to it’s resting place right above his knees. The pants slid down to his hips, but didn’t sag any further. The pant legs ballooned over his feet, making him look vaguely like a toddler in footie pajamas. Wes squatted down and rolled the legs up to Danny’s ankles, leaving them still covering most of his feet, but not as much of a tripping hazard. 

“That's about as good as it gets,” Wes said, standing up and looking Danny up and down. “Ready for some food? Actually... come to think of it, what do you eat, anyway?” 

“I’m not entirely sure. I have pretty large canines, so maybe meat? I doubt nutrition sludge is very popular among the populace.”   

“You’d be surprised,” Wes deadpanned, “Ok, I have…” 

He dug through his pocket, depositing a five-dollar bill, two ones, and six pennies. “Oh, score! I think there’s a McDonalds around the corner, we can get whatever looks good to you, yeah?”

“Sounds fine,” Danny responded, pulling open the door to the single-stall bathroom and stepping back into the gas station convenience store. The attendant didn’t even glance up from her tabloid as the two of them walked out the door, only looking up once they’d left, catching a glimpse of Danny’s feet hovering about a half-inch over the parking lot. 

Wes slung his bag into the back of the truck, got into his car, and put his key into the ignition. 

“Shit!” He swore, “We’re almost out of gas. Shit!” 

Danny’s stomach grumbled loudly, “Can’t it wait? I think my stomach is eating itself from the inside out.”

Wes groaned, but got back out of the car, locking it behind him and taking his duffel from the bed of the trunk. He opened the passenger door for Danny and led him across the street. He didn’t bother to look both ways, a bad habit picked up from growing up in the calm neighborhoods and safe streets of Amity Park. 

Entering the McDonalds was like entering another dimension. Although the sun shone brightly outside, none filtered in through the large windows. The room was lit by yellow LED lights, the ones by the bathrooms flickering menacingly. A chill went down Wes’ spine. Something felt off about this place. Danny pranced inside, seemingly oblivious to the eerie atmosphere in the restaurant. 

“What’s that smell?” Danny asked dreamily, following his nose up to the counter. 

“Uh, food,” Wes answered, shaking his head to snap himself out of his trance. “Go ahead and order, I’m gonna go check something.”

Wes pressed the wadded up bills into Danny’s hand. Danny giggled like a toddler and began muttering to himself while studying the glowing menu above the counter. Wes followed, looking behind the counter suspiciously. Nobody was in the restaurant, the kitchen was completely empty. Actually, he walked towards one of the gaping windows and surveyed the parking lot. Nothing. The only car in sight was his red truck and what he assumed was the gas station attendant’s blue jeep. 

“Hey, Danny,” Wes said, turning around, “I don’t think-”

Danny was sitting on one of the tables in the kitchen, scarfing down a hamburger. He paused mid-bite and looked at Wes. 

“Whha?” His voice was muffled by the food, the action sent soggy morsels flying everywhere. Wes held up a finger, getting ready to tell Danny off when he decided, to hell with it. He had already broken the law once (or twice) today, what could a little food heist hurt? He vaulted over the counter and pulled another cheeseburger from where it had been abandoned. It seemed like the employees had left in a hurry, half-filled out orders sat in rows on the prep table. Some of them were still warm. Wes selected a two double cheeseburger meal and hoisted himself up on the table next to Danny, who had finished his burger and was starting on a large fry. He was eating it like it was all one thing, holding the wrapper and biting all the fries at once. 

“Have at least a little class!” Wes said, grabbing Danny’s wrist, “What kind of sociopath eats fries like that?”

“Me,” Danny answered, spraying flecks of fry all over Wes’s face, “Now hand ‘em over, I’m hungry!”

“Not until you start acting normal!” Wes snorted, plucking one of Danny’s fries from the container and chomping down on it. 

Danny made a screeching noise, not unlike an angry seagull and dove for the food. Despite only weighing somewhere in the low hundreds, Danny was crazy strong, easily pinning Wes to the floor and snatching his meal. He leaned into Wes’ face and hissed, showing off the chunks of food stuck in his teeth. He went back to sitting on the table, his legs crossed and one of his clawed hands clutching Wes’ burger. He stuck his tongue out as Wes got up, dusted himself off, and sat back down on the table, then took another bite of the fries. Wes stuck his tongue out in return and grabbed the second burger, wolfing it down in record time.

A siren shrieked in the distance, Wes flinched. “What the fuck is that?”

Danny shrugged as he ate a chicken nugget, “Who cares?”

Another bout of piercing sounds broke out, louder now.

“I dunno Danny, it sounds like it’s getting closer, I’m getting a bad feeling. Let’s go…” Wes began shoving food into a bag, resisting the urge to cover his ears with his hands.

An impossibly bright light pierced through the window, another siren began, right outside this time. Danny shoved another handful of chicken nuggets and grabbed Wes’ arm, pulling him towards the employee’s entrance. As they stepped back into the heat Danny’s form began to flicker, eventually turning entirely transparent. Wes decided not to ask questions, instead allowing the (invisible) hand to continue pulling him away from the restaurant, looping around about 20 black cars pulled in a circle around the McDonalds. His legs began to falter as he saw armed men climbing out of the cars, surrounding the building. One man began to shout into a megaphone. Wes’ blood rushed in his ears, his vision was blurring in fear. Danny might’ve been see-through, but there was no guarantee Wes would be getting out of this alive. 

“C’mon, Wes, pick it up, do you want to die?” Danny hissed, yanking Wes’ wrist, forcing him to take another step. 

“He’s not in there!” A voice sounded, “The tracker’s pointed over here!”

Wes froze. The man was pointing straight at him. He lifted his gun. It was at that moment he knew, he was going to die.

[unityghost]

To Slip and Fall

Part 9 of my never-ending angst-fest Post-Asmodeus Sabriel Feels. The stories aren’t necessarily in order because occasionally someone will ask me to write a story that takes place later or earlier.

This was written for @commonercommenter (happy birthday! :D), who expressed an interest in the theme of self-harm or threatened self-harm in response to feelings of worthlessness.

Also posted on http://archiveofourown.org/users/unityghost

WARNING: This story contains a brief reference to sexual assault.

It was becoming a little easier to venture outside. Becoming a little easier to accept the reassurances he kept getting from Sam, Dean, and Castiel that if he stepped into the open air, he wouldn’t be in any more danger than they would.

Not that that was saying a whole lot, because the Winchesters were the Winchesters.

Still, Gabriel would take what he could get. He wasn’t exactly prepared to deal with what was routine for them, but it was better than remaining convinced he’d be targeted.

Besides, it was nice to at least imagine that he was moving forward. Gabriel figured he wasn’t too annoying as long as he was making even a half-hearted attempt to be less … what he currently was.

Typically it was Sam who offered to take him out for a meal, or coffee, or whatever Gabriel was up for (usually just coffee. Eating wasn’t his favorite pastime after being force-fed miscellaneous substances, including his own viscera, for over eight centuries). But Castiel, too, was overwhelmingly thoughtful after too many years as a default Winchester, and even Dean had softened since Gabriel was rescued from Asmodeus.

His forays with Dean were the most challenging. Gabriel liked him, but talking with Dean was like talking to pieces of himself that were long dead: raucously hedonistic inclinations, a little bit of a temper, enough snark to burn down a small village. Now, after his escape, Gabriel was afraid of what he’d once carelessly pursued. Sex reminded him too much of his most degrading moments in Hell, and alcohol threatened to lower his defenses. Becoming openly angry or defiant was liable to get him punished, and he had the sense that his wit - if not totally eradicated - had been blunted.

Really, Sam was the easiest. He was less reserved than Castiel but more tactful than Dean. He didn’t forget to ask if Gabriel was okay with being touched. He didn’t push too hard for Gabriel to eat, even though they were both well aware that food and sleep could help Gabriel get his grace back more quickly after all those years of having it torn out.

But more important than Sam’s caution and understanding was his patience.

There had been so many nightmares. So many moments of panic. So many flashbacks powerful enough to shove Gabriel into a corner, curled up and hyperventilating even as Sam tried to coax him back into the present. And more times than he could count, Gabriel had become so trapped in memory that he’d made himself sick - losing consciousness or throwing up so forcefully he couldn’t stand without assistance.

Assistance that usually came from Sam.

So, unsurprisingly, Gabriel had developed a decided preference for Sam. But that afternoon, it was Dean who took him out for coffee.

The morning had been cold and rainy, and the bunker was still littered with wet footprints. Now, however, the sky was clear and the temperature mild.

In a strange way, calm weather disconcerted Gabriel after all his time in Hell. The tenderness of early spring made his rescue seem less real. While the bunker was comfortable, it was also closer to what he was used to - and therefore less likely to be taken away. Less likely to remind him of him of what had come before, to taunt him with the specter of who he used to be.

“I hope the coffee helped you feel a little more alive,” Dean said as they shut the door to the bunker and began descending the stairs. “Heard you walking around sometime between when bars close and when triathlon contestants start drinking their eggs.”

“Sorry if I woke you up,” Gabriel replied, avoiding the subject of his almost complete inability to rest when the world was quiet.

“Hey, not a single person in this bunker is out before 2:00 A.M. And frankly, even if you did wake us up, it’s only because we’re used to paying attention to every little - oh shit, Gabriel!”

With a cry of shock, Gabriel slipped in a puddle on one of the stairs and plummeted down the remaining steps, smacking his face on the floor when he landed. He had a split second to feel sour over the fact that he couldn’t heal himself before he heard Dean scurry the rest of the way down. Then Gabriel was hauled to his feet.

“You okay?” Dean demanded, inspecting him for injuries. “Crap, we should’ve dried the stairs, man, I’m sorry.”

Gabriel shook his head, pulling away. “It’s all right.”

“No it’s not; you’re shaking like someone just pointed a gun at you. Are you hurt?” He reached out and, before Gabriel could protest, lifted the hair that had fallen into Gabriel’s eyes to examine where he’d rammed himself into the floor.

Gabriel stepped back. “No, I - I’m not hurt. I didn’t really hit the floor that hard. Probably looked worse than it felt.”

He wished Dean would stop worrying over him. It was nothing like the Dean he knew, and Gabriel certainly didn’t want to look as fragile as he did when he was with Sam.

One receptacle for his neurosis was degrading enough.

“Please,” he said to Dean, “Don’t touch me again.”

“Oh - ” Dean looked uncomfortable. “That’s right, I forgot about - ”

“Not your fault.” Gabriel cleared his throat, trying to strengthen his voice. “It’s all fine. Aaaaalllll fine. I’m fine. I’m a hundred percent. Not made of glass. Besides, I’ve had worse.”

Dean hesitated. “I know how little things can set you off, so …”

Gabriel cringed. “Don’t say it like that.”

“All right, all right. I just wanted to make sure. Glad everything’s okay.”

There were a few moments of silence. Then Gabriel said, “I’m gonna hang out for a little while. In my room. I’m tired. But uh, thanks for the coffee.”

“Sure thing.” He clapped Gabriel on the shoulder.

“Dean - ”

“Sorry, sorry! I don’t know why I can’t get that through my head. I’ll see you later.”

When he left, Gabriel turned towards the room in which he’d been staying over the past several months.

But there was a weight inside of him that made it hard to move, made him feel as though he’d gained several pounds over the last five minutes.

Made him feel as though he were taking up space that wasn’t rightfully his.

He wrapped his arms around his abdomen, trying to shrink himself. He shouldn’t be here. Not in the bunker. Not anywhere.

Gabriel sat down on the bottom step, suddenly too heavy and sick to move. He knew he should at least head into the bathroom if he was going to throw up. But he couldn’t bring himself to get to his feet.

He wasn’t sure how much time passed before footsteps interrupted the silence. Alarmed, Gabriel jerked his head up.

“Hey Uncle Gabriel,” chirped Jack.

Gabriel’s shoulders loosened and he gave an uncertain but sincere smile. “If it isn’t my favorite nephew.”

Jack looked wary. “How many nephews do you have?”

Gabriel thought about leading him on, asking why Sam and Dean hadn’t told him about the renegade nephilim living in the storage room, but decided that would have been borderline cruel. “It’s just something people say. You’re my favorite specifically because I have no other options.”

Jack looked hurt. “What if you did have other options?”

“Don’t worry about that, kiddo. I’m pretty sure you’d still be at the top of the list.”

Jack peered more closely at him. “Are you okay? Dean said you fell. And now you’re not moving.”

“Oh, he told you about that, huh?” How long had Gabriel been sitting there? “I’m just taking my time.”

“Why? Do you need help getting up?”

“I’ll be tip-top in a few minutes. I was startled is all. You ever fallen down a flight of stairs, Jack?”

“Once, but Castiel caught me.”

“Yeah, my brother can be all right sometimes.”

“I like him. I’ve always liked him. He’s my family, you know.”

“I could tell by the way he looks at you. And by the way he talks about you like a mom parading around her kid’s Ivy League acceptance letter. You two are a good match.”

Jack smiled with something like pride. “You really think so?”

“Sure. Your compassion, your courage, your social awk - your social curiosity; it’s all pleasant to watch.”

“Well, you know what it feels like, don’t you?”

Gabriel frowned. “I know what what feels like?”

“Family.”

Gabriel blinked. “Is this a trick question?”

Jack looked puzzled. “Wouldn’t you consider us family?”

Gabriel’s stomach went cold. “I, uh ... I try not to.”

“What? But why not? Not even Sam?”

Gabriel shut his eyes, ran a hand through his hair. “Listen kid, if it’s all the same to you, I’d rather not get into this.”

“Oh. But I … well, all right. I think I understand.”

Neither of them spoke for some time, and Gabriel started to wonder why Jack wouldn’t take the hint to leave.

Instead, Jack kept going. “One day Castiel told me I looked pale.”

Gabriel looked up. “And did he take you out to get some sun? Dad knows you could use it.”

“No, he thought I was ill. He told me that being pale is a sign you’re getting sick. You look pale. Are you getting sick?”

Maybe now was the time to be direct about wanting solitude.

But Gabriel simply replied, “No.”

“Do you want me to get Sam?”

It was the wrong thing to ask.

“Uncle Gabriel?”

Gabriel lowered his face back to his lap.

Jack moved nearer, studying him. “What’s wrong? What did I say?”

Gabriel just shook his head, pressing both hands to his face..

“It’s okay, Uncle Gabriel.” Jack sounded slightly panicked now. “I’m going to find Sam. Wait here.”

Gabriel didn’t have the strength - or the dignity - to protest.

A few minutes later - Gabriel was still having trouble keeping track of time - two pairs of footsteps drew near, and he looked up because he didn’t want to be surprised by somebody touching him.

Jack had followed Sam to the foot of the stairs, looking unsure.

“I got him, Jack,” said Sam. “Thanks for letting me know.”

Jack glanced at Gabriel. “Can I do anything? Uncle Gabriel, what would help you? I’ve never seen you cry before.”

“I’m gonna take care of him,” Sam said. “Don’t worry, all right?”

Jack stood there, helpless. “It’s my fault. I was talking to him and he - ”

“No it’s not. I promise.” When Jack appeared unconvinced, Sam added, “Trust me, Jack, you did nothing wrong. Go ahead and relax for a while. I’ll give you an update later, all right?”

Jack hesitated, but then offered a reluctant nod. “Thank you, Sam. I hope you feel better, Uncle Gabriel.”

After Jack made his exit, Sam sat on the step beside Gabriel. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Gabriel muttered.

Sam folded his hands around his knees. “So, uh ... is this because you fell down the stairs?”

“Of course not.” Gabriel swiped at his face. “That had nothing to do with anything.”

“Then what?”

“Something stupid. I know, I’m shocked too.”

“Whatever happened, it wasn’t stupid.”

“No, it was. I was fine like half an hour ago. And then …” But he paused, afraid to tell the truth.

“Yeah?”

Gabriel bit his lip. “Your brother. He was …”

“Oh crap. What’d he do this time?”

“Nothing! I mean he didn’t - he didn’t realize what he was doing. If I were normal it wouldn’t have been a problem at all.”

“Huh. Yeah, he can actually get pretty touchy-feely when it suits him. I’ll tell him not to - ”

“It wasn’t that. I wasn’t scared of him touching me.”

Sam raised his eyebrows. “That’s new.”

“Well, ever since he freaked out and I …” Gabriel bit his lip. “Anyway, he’s been a superstar since then.”

Sam knew what Gabriel was referring to. A couple of months back, Dean had exploded into a fit of temper brought on by sleep deprivation and a difficult case. Gabriel was terrified, and Dean had regretted his actions so much that he’d been going out of his way to help Gabriel feel less threatened.

“Then what?” Sam pressed.

Gabriel lowered his head again. “He was scared I’d been hurt. He looked me over and got all flustered and I - I just don’t want - ”

Understanding dawned on Sam’s face. “Because you still believe you don’t deserve anyone being nice to you.”

Gabriel jerked back up. “It’s not a matter of belief, all right? Come on, you know that. Somewhere in your mind, you know that. I keep telling you and wondering how the hell you got into a school like Stanford. Either you’re stupid or stubborn, Sam, and I know it’s not the first.”

Sam cast him a knowing look. “I’m not as stubborn as you are. No one agrees with you about this. Especially not me.”

“Yeah, because Dad didn’t screw your head on straight. I’ve already told you, your tolerance is so wrong it’s almost offensive. I’ve said that again, and again, and again. And now I’ve got both my brother and yours mimicking your completely useless altruism. When it stops - ”

“It won’t, though.”

“When it stops, I’m gonna wish I was back with Asmodeus.”

Sam tensed. “Don’t say things like that.”

“It’s the truth, and if you can’t handle it - well, then all the more reason to get rid of me. Besides, I told you, Sam, I can’t just push myself back into the real world. Much as I want to. If I had even a fingernail’s worth of common sense, I would’ve been gone months ago. But you’ve got me stuck here with your Mr. Rogers routine. And what does that do for me, huh? It’s like - it’s like going to the spa before someone throws acid on your face and snaps your spine.”

Sam closed his eyes, and Gabriel could see that he was frustrated. “I don’t know how to make you see this the right way.”

“I don’t know how to make you see this the right way.”

“Gabriel, you think I’m doing too much but I don’t think I’m doing enough!” Sam was definitely irritated now. “Not if you’re still caught up in this idea that we shouldn’t be doing anything at all! Why are you so committed to thinking no one wants you in the bunker? If we didn’t, we’d have made arrangements for you to leave. Look” - he gestured around the room - “there’s too much space in here anyhow. Especially since the refugees left to fight back in their universe. Anyway, you’re good company. We all like you.”

Gabriel sprang to his feet. “That’s the problem! You know that’s the problem! That’s why I don’t want you to help me when I get hurt, or when I have a nightmare, or - son of a bitch, how many times do I have to - Sam, it’s not worth it for you, for any of you, and it’s just making things harder for me. It makes me more afraid! More afraid of what’ll happen when you - ”

“Gabriel,” Sam interjected, his features softening, “Please let me - ”

“No! I don’t understand you! I don’t understand any of you! I don’t want it, Sam, so please just stop!”

“No,” Sam replied calmly.

Gabriel flushed with rage. “All I do is -”

“We’ve been through this before. I’m just gonna say the same stuff.”

“For your own sake, you need to let this go! This is time I’m taking away from your life, Sam! You’ve had to skip hunts because of me and that’s not - ”

“I never had to,” Sam corrected, “I still went when Cas couldn’t take my place.”

“You should be going on every single one, every time your brother needs you. Every time, Sam! Not just when it’s convenient for me! I’m screwing with your life, with all of your lives, demanding everything of you when I spent centuries locked away, completely incapable of getting out, or fighting back, or being okay when I finally escaped.” Gabriel’s voice began to quiver. “Don’t you see? If I’m good for nothing, if I can’t even save myself, if I did something bad enough to land in there and then have him - have him do what he did, then you shouldn’t be taking care of me! Dean should have pushed me down those stairs! I don’t want any of you trying to help, not anymore. I want you to do what’s right! I want you to get it over with! I want you to do what you should’ve done the second I got here!” He took a step towards Sam. “I’ll lie down on the floor right now and let you do whatever you want to me. I’ll freakin’ hand you that archangel blade. I’ll brew whatever poison you want, however many times you want. But I’m done with having you treat me like I’m worth anything to you. Like I’m worth anything at all.”

Sam stared up at him in shock. “Gabriel, why would you - ”

“Because I hate lies! And you make it so tempting to lie to myself. To get comfortable with your spiel about how much you care. That’s dangerous territory, Sam. And I want out before I step on a landmine.”

“Gabriel, please - ”

“Shut up, Sam!”

“You need to - ”

Gabriel threw himself back down on the step, then seized Sam’s wrists and maneuvered them until both hands were settled on either of Gabriel’s shoulders. “Do it. Hurt me.”

Sam’s eyes widened.

“Do it,” Gabriel repeated.

Sam shook his head but didn’t remove his hands.

Gabriel held his gaze, not blinking, not breathing.

“You know what - ” Gabriel tore himself away. “Would it be easier for you if I got you started? Huh? Where’s that archangel blade, Sam? Where’d you and your brother stash it away? Whatever blood you want, whatever grace you want - ”

“Gabriel, no!”

“Well then I’ll find it!”

Sam grabbed him by the shoulders once more, but this time his grip was firm. “What do you want to do to yourself?”

“Oh, I don’t want to do anything to myself. I want you to do it. But since you’re not going to, then - ”

Sam wrenched Gabriel to his feet. “Come with me right now.”

Gabriel was too startled to react. Sam half-dragged him down the hall until they’d reached Sam’s bedroom.

Sam pushed Gabriel inside with more violence, more anger, than Gabriel had ever seen him express.

Gabriel felt sick with fear as he realized that this was exactly what he had been trying to persuade Sam to do.

But he had no right to be afraid.

Sam slammed the door shut. “Sit on the bed.”

Gabriel froze.

“I said sit down, Gabriel!”

Gabriel complied, keeping his eyes on Sam all the while. His breathing was tight and shallow.

Sam towered over him. “You’ve told me you want to suffer about a hundred times, and this never came up. Not even once. You’ve got a lot of explaining to do.”

Gabriel shivered. “Didn’t I just explain everything?”

“No. No, Gabriel, you didn’t. What you told me is that you’re so set on getting what you think you deserve that you’re willing to - to do whatever it is you’re planning on doing.”

“I’m not planning anything. I’m just sick of waiting.”

Sam’s face contorted with fury. “You know what? I’d rather you drive yourself insane waiting for the other shoe to drop than lay a finger on the archangel blade! You’ve said a lot of things, Gabriel. A lot of completely pointless things. You know what you’re doing? You’re - you’re living in a world of fiction. Where you’ve been written as the bad guy.  And yeah, okay, you’re upset because I’ve been patient. But now? You don’t have to be upset anymore. Because I’m out of patience.”

Gabriel looked up at Sam, whose head blocked the glow of the overhead light, whose nostrils were flared, whose eyes had grown bright and still.

And for the first time - the first time ever - Sam made Gabriel feel threatened.

There was a ringing in his ears, a blackness in his mind, the sensation of falling.

He’d pushed and pushed for exactly this, and yet it was like being thrown into one of his bad dreams. It was like shrinking down to something small and slimy and clumsy, something that could be crushed underfoot until its guts were thick upon the ground.

Until it stopped squirming for a life that had never mattered.

Gabriel knew he deserved this, but he didn’t have to like it.

And then, dimly, as if through paper-thin walls, he caught Sam’s voice.

“Oh god, Gabriel, oh my god …”

He felt Sam’s hands on him and flinched away, prepared for agony but not ready, never ready.

“Gabriel? Look up, please look up.”

No. He couldn’t. He could take the pain, but he wasn’t going to look up. Feeling what was about to happen was one thing; watching it was quite another.

“Gabriel, I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I just don’t want you to do anything to yourself. Gabriel, please look up.”

No. Because he’d get more pain if Sam saw that he was crying.

“Gabriel, it’s just me. I won’t do anything to you. I wasn’t going to, I promise. Come here.”

He pulled Gabriel against him, holding gently. Gabriel shook so hard his muscles began to ache.

“No,” he croaked into Sam’s chest. “No.”

“I’m sorry,” Sam whispered.

“No,” Gabriel repeated in a strangled, high-pitched voice.

“I’m sorry, Gabriel; I scared the crap out of you. Oh god, I wasn’t thinking. It’s just that - what you told me - ”

Gabriel moaned.

“It’s okay now; it’s okay. Oh my god, I’m so sorry.”

Gabriel could hear Sam’s heartbeat.

“It’s okay, Gabriel. Everything’s okay. Oh my god.”

Gabriel let himself tremble, let all the thoughts of terror and memories of Hell flood his mind.

“Sam,” he choked. “Sam, I - ”

Sam hugged him more tightly. “I’m not mad at you. I’m not mad. I made a huge mistake. I just didn’t know what to do, that’s all. It’s okay; everything’s okay.”

“Sam!” Gabriel squeezed his eyes shut. “I’m going to be sick.”

“Okay. It’s okay. Come on.” He lifted Gabriel to his feet and helped him kneel in front of the wastebasket. “God, Gabe, this is my fault. I didn’t think. You should be throwing up on me.”

Gabriel retched before he could answer, glad Sam wasn’t touching him anymore, and heaved the coffee from his one-on-one time with Dean into the wastebasket. The image of Sam’s rage was too powerful for Gabriel to get control of himself, so that he threw up until he was dizzy and his throat hurt.

“All right, easy,” Sam said quietly. “It’s okay. I’m not gonna hurt you. No one’s gonna hurt you. It’s all over, Gabriel. I’m not mad, not even a little. I was just scared.”

Gabriel dry-heaved over the wastebasket for several minutes.

“Oh god, Gabriel,” Sam whispered.

Gabriel spat, breathing hard, still shivering.

“Can I help you back to the bed?” asked Sam.

Gabriel shook his head. “Let me stay here.”

“What do you need?”

Hesitantly, Gabriel turned around to look at him. “I - I need you never to do that again.”

Sam had had every right. Sam had made a mistake by not doing anything to harm him.

But it was too much.

Sam looked pained. “Of course not. Like I said, I … I just went a little overboard. I would never do anything like what he did. I shouldn’t have made you feel like you weren’t safe.” He paused. “Are you scared of me?”

Gabriel looked at him, read the fear and remorse in his eyes, studied the fine lines of his face. “I don’t know.”

“What can I do? Should I …” Sam gestured to the door.

“No, don’t leave.” Gabriel felt his throat close up again. “I’m not afraid. But I’m not … I can’t get it out of my head; I … you looked like you were going to …”

“I know. I know. Oh - ” Sam suddenly extended a hand and Gabriel jerked backwards. “No no no, hey, I’m not gonna do anything. I’m not gonna touch you unless you say I can. But Gabriel, do you remember when you first got here?”

Gabriel swallowed, still tasting bile. “Too well.”

“You let me hold your hand.”

“Yeah, my pride was in the same state as your trash liner.”

“But it showed you that I just wanted to help. It showed you that you were out of there. That you were with us.” He locked eyes with Gabriel. “And that I wasn’t him.”

Gabriel glanced down at Sam’s hand and thought about the moment Sam was referring to - a moment in which the certainty of being tortured had become cloudy, in which he had recognized Sam’s touch as one that might not leave bloodstains.

Instead of reaching for Sam’s hand, Gabriel collapsed against him, limp with exhaustion.

Immediately, instinctively, Sam enveloped him. “Listen … Gabe, do you know why I got so …”

“Yeah. Yes. I do. I didn’t mean to rattle you up that bad.”

“No, no, I’m the one who threw a fit. Besides, I’m glad you told me; it’s just - I don’t love the idea of you going off to look for the archangel blade. Or doing something else if you can’t find it.”

Gabriel closed his eyes.

“Gabriel?” Sam pleaded. “What are you thinking right now?”

“I’m thinking I was right. I was right that you shouldn’t be helping me like this.” Gabriel returned the embrace. “But I’m also thinking that I was wrong about actually wanting you to. Push comes to shove, I’d prefer this. I just don’t think I should have it.”

Sam held tighter. “Right, well, that doesn’t matter. Just relax if you can. Do you feel better? You’re not shaking as much.”

“I’m tired.”

“I know.” Sam hesitated, choosing his words carefully. “Hey, Gabe, I need to ask you something. Have you done … anything … before now? Something I didn’t see? Something you never let us know about?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.”

“Let’s keep it that way, yeah?”

“Mm.”

“If you ever - ”

“I’ll tell you.”

“And I won’t react like I did just now. Count on that, all right?”

Too worn down to speak, Gabriel nodded. His entire body hurt from shaking, and yet he couldn’t quite stop.

But he managed to mumble, “I want you to help. It bothers me that I want it. I don’t think I’m supposed to want anything.”

“We all want things.”

“I hate that word.”

“‘Want’? How come?”

“Because when things were so bad that I was reduced to a screaming, sobbing puddle for Asmodeus to splash around in, I’d get pretty straightforward. I’d tell him I wanted to go home, even though I wasn’t sure where that would be. I’d say I wanted him to stop. And then I’d start ranting about how I wanted my brothers and sisters, or my father. And the more I did that - the more I told him what I wanted - the more he hurt me.”

Sam let that sink in. “You can want something from me.”

There was a knock at the door, and Sam gently let go of Gabriel to go see who was there.

Jack stood in the doorway, looking lost.

“Hey kid,” said Gabriel.

“Hi.” Jack took a tentative step into the room. “I wanted to check on you.”

“Thanks. It was good of you to grab Sam here. He knows how to handle me at my worst.”

“I like Sam too. Here, I brought you something.”

Jack came closer, fishing around in his jeans pocket. “Dean told me you used to like M&Ms.”

Gabriel blinked at him, then accepted the little packet of candy. “How did he remember that?”

“He said sugar was your only food group.”

“Once upon a time,” Gabriel acknowledged. “Where did you find them?”

“I told Dean you were upset, and that I wanted to do something to help. So he took me to the store.”

Gabriel shook his head in disbelief. “That’s so sweet I almost forgot to be embarrassed about you telling Dean how much of a mess I am.”

“It’s okay,” Jack replied solemnly, “I think he already knows.”

Sam smothered a smile.

“Plus,” Jack added, “Candy makes me feel better too.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

Jack’s face suddenly lit up. “We should watch that movie together! The one about the golden tickets! I’ve never seen it but you guys have the DVD.”

“We could do that,” Gabriel agreed.

“Would you like to do it today?”

“Um. Yeah, sure, why not?”

“Great! Is there anything else you need?”

“Little man, this is more than enough.”

Jack gave a relieved smile. “Okay. I’m glad I could help. I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings earlier.”

“Those aren’t the rules of this game, Jack. Just because you’re in the same room as someone whose appendix bursts, doesn’t mean you were the one to inflame it.”

Jack threw a look of alarm at Sam, who assured him, “No one actually had their appendix burst.”

“Go find the DVD,” Gabriel said. “We can watch it.”

Jack turned to Sam. “You should come too!”

Sam shrugged. “I guess I haven’t seen it in a while. Gabriel, what’s your preference?”

“Please come,” Gabriel muttered out of the corner of his mouth. “There’s some scary shit in that movie.”

“I’ll wait for you guys, okay?” said Jack.

“We’ll be there in a couple minutes,” Gabriel replied, “And you can have as many M&Ms as you want.”

Jack grinned. “Those are for you!”

As they watched him shuffle back down the hall, Sam raised his eyebrows. “You know who’d be really messed up if you did anything to hurt yourself - ”

“Yeah, yeah.” Gabriel threw Sam a dirty look. “And I know exactly where he learned that stranded-kitten face.”

“Oh yeah? Because you’d be surprised at what Cas can pull off.”

“Would I though? I’ve known him for a lot longer than I’ve known you and he definitely gets the silver medal.”

Sam gestured to the packet in Gabriel’s hand. “At least now you have a reason to eat.”

“Maybe. You know, if you eat them then I can make Jack think it was me.”

“What was it you were saying about how you don’t like to lie?”

“Well I don’t mind lying when it’s necessary.”

Sam smiled, although it didn’t reach his eyes. “You don’t seem to love telling the truth when it’s necessary either.”

Gabriel pushed himself to his feet. “Can we take a break from therapy to go watch the Candy Man violate OSHA?”

“Yeah, sure; I’ll catch up with you in a minute, okay? Go teach Jack how to set up a DVD player.”

Sam waited for Gabriel to turn the corner before pulling his cell phone from his pocket and texting Dean.

Double-check the wards on the archangel blade. Make sure nothing’s missing.

Only after that did he leave his room to enjoy the movie.

[galacticcannibalisms]

So, I think I’m going to include a separate section to this blog under the tag “my writing”. I’ve been thinking about it since NaNoWriMo is coming up, and I’ve got some really cool ideas on how to keep the creative train chugging during finals. 

So, let’s start with a bit of creative nonfiction, a not so spoopy tale about my cat, who haunted me and comforted me for nearly eight years after she died. 

Happy Halloween!

It started Before.

Before I graduated high school.

Before the Divorce.

Before I understood why I felt the compulsion to peel away my own skin to find the true me underneath the blood and muscle and sinew.

Before, people were unappealing. I had no desire to be around them like the rest of my family, staying in to read great deeds made of paper and ink instead. But I did like animals, and I loved Baby, our long-haired queen of a cat that we guessed was the same age as my sister.

She died when Abigail was sixteen.

Before, when I was a pre-teen, my father became very angry with me. I don’t remember why exactly. Maybe I lied about food being in my room or eating said food in secret. Regardless, his temper ran hot, and it was turned against my bedroom. He trashed it, emptying the closets, overturning the bed, dragging out dresser drawers full of clothes. It took hours for me to put it together again.

The second time he broke the jewelry box. A present to me while we lived in Japan. A little piece of another culture I threw away months later, heartbroken because no one would help me fix it.

That first night, while nursing my terror and upset over the broken gift, Baby came to visit me. She wasn’t a cat for getting in people’s faces or for more than a couple quick pets over her soft, gray fur. She would circle my feet and lay at the foot of my bed, warming my toes until I fell asleep and she went off to do whatever it is cat’s do.

We had to put her down because she’d gone into renal failure and would hide under my parents’ bed all day.

My father never destroyed my bedroom like that again, though be it because he knew he’d gone too far or because I stopped being an obvious liar is up for debate. Tensions were high between me and my parents all the time. I began to sleep with my door closed because it felt safer that way, even with the rows of a more successful, charming daughter I was sure my parents would rather have staring me down whenever that door was shut.

It was after a fight, after one of many “I can get a drug test at CVS right now and we’ll really see if you’re high,” that Baby came back.

I don’t remember why I was awake so late at night. At the time, I’d been accused of smoking pot so much that I didn’t consciously wonder what was wrong with me anymore. Maybe I was reading. Or maybe I just couldn’t sleep, much like right now. But I was awake, and I could feel some small animal kneading the bed by my feet.

“Chase?”

Chase was supposed to be a birthday present to my mom, but I took him instead. I slept with him locked in my room at night, and he would sometimes jump into bed with me to take over most of the mattress space.

“Chase, c’mon, move.” I wriggled my toes to try and him off my feet, so I could turn onto my belly. As I tried to adjust, I let my hand dangle off the bed. The monsters were in the picture frames, not under the bed. My movement didn’t dislodge one very sleepy puppy, and now it was starting to hurt to have his weight against my curled toes. I slowly kicked up to try and dislodge the dog.

A wet nose brushed against my hand, startling me. I jerked back, very much awake now, and slowly peeked over the edge of the bed. Chase stared back at me. I looked quickly to the foot of my bed. It was empty, the pressure gone. But I never heard Chase jump down.

It happened again a few times. I graduated after the tornados hit Alabama, letting us out of school for over a week while we pieced the town back together. I enrolled in pre-med under the delusion that I didn’t have to be good at chemistry or physics to make it through the classes. I learned about the internet for the first time too, making a few of my first anonymous friends across the world.

I know I felt the weight at the foot of my dorm bed when an older man began to lead me by the nose to become jerk off fuel.

My delusions came to a halt my sophomore year. I had a complete breakdown, having been tasked to color-code my daily activities in fifteen-minute chunks and unable to keep up with the coursework of both physics and chemistry while working. The specter of organic chem haunted my spring semester and my suddenly vivid nightmares. One of my roommates hated me for no clear reason. I had a knife I kept in my car for safety.

The guy, whom I was convinced I was in in love with, threatened to message my mom on Facebook. It was late, I had the knife, I wanted to die rather than admit that my delusions had been just that. I eventually laid down in bed, the knife abandoned on my desk, and fell asleep talking to him on Skype. As I fell asleep, my toes were going numb from a familiar weight on them, keeping me in place.

I changed from pre-med to graphic design, but my mother talked me into not dropping either of the classes causing me so much grief.

Thanksgiving was terrible. My father berated me the entire time I was home, and I felt constantly in the way, relegated to an air mattress in the home gym because my bed had been given over to an exchange student. I had managed to win a small writing contest, but when I showed my parents the prize, my father treated it like a joke.

There was a time he told me that he was proud of me and apologized for treating me like shit all week. I went to bed feeling hopeful despite the weight against my feet. When I woke up, my mother told me that my father had gotten so drunk he blacked out and threw up in their bathroom and couldn’t remember the previous night.

I didn’t really look forward to Christmas after failing physics entirely.

My parents began to fight afterwards. Not because of me or my sister, but because their relationship had been falling apart for years. I learned my mother was coming to my college town three hours away from home, but not to visit me. I learned this wasn’t the first time she’d done that. I remember feeling Chase curled against my side and the weight on my feet as I tried to sleep and not feel used or worry about losing my scholarship and my ability to pay for school.

I remember the weight when my mother finally crumpled to his demands, but by then it was too late. Maybe he’d been cheating on her too.

I remember the weight on the foot of the armchair when I slept beside my mother in the hospital after the divorce, after my sister nearly died in a car crash.

And then After happened.

After the divorce.

After I discovered asexuality, gender nonconformity, polyamory.

After I came out and got thoroughly rejected by my mother but not my sister.

After I cut the cord with my father.

I returned to Alabama, found my own apartment, got my life together. Embraced myself, though there are too many times when the sun is bright and shows me every scar and imperfection, and I still can’t really look at myself in a mirror.

Baby doesn’t visit me anymore.

My new cat does, a small gray thing with short hair and the look of constant surprise. I’ve known her since she was three weeks old. In the mornings, she’ll jump on my chest and stare into my face, her whiskers brushing over my skin as she smashes my chest down the same way a binder does. She talks to me and gets in the way when I’m trying to put medicine in Chase’s eye.

Baby’s picture hangs on my wall. It’s a poor shrine, when I think about the ones I vaguely remember from Japan, but it keeps her memory alive.

I think she knew her time was over.

She died when she was sixteen years old. We had to put her down because her kidneys just didn’t want to work anymore. We buried her in the yard of a house my mother had hoped to grow old in. But she stayed with me until she was certain I could take care of myself.

Or, at least, was comfortable that I’d found a suitable replacement to fill her shoes.

[lickstynine]

When Even the Doctor is Low-key Judging You (Part 1)

This is a followup to @ocsickficsideblog​ ‘s eating contest piece that she did at my request. It’s set after Kit’s birthday, but before the earthquake. Collab obv. More to come.

Alistair woke late the next morning, weak and thirsty and still with a mild stomach ache. He groaned as he sat up, full of aches after sleeping for so long in an armchair. Kit was still out for the count, his snore even worse than usual when combined with the rattling of his lungs.

Alistair thought he should make an appointment with the doctor - but he’d never actually done that himself. He went looking for one of Kit’s staff who could do it for him, his legs still wobbly. There were plenty of servants wandering about, as there always were, and it wasn’t hard for him to find one. Alistair just asked the first one he found.

“Um, excuse me..? Who do I ask to make an appointment with the doctor for Kit?”

“Oh, any of us can do that. When do you want it for?” She asked.

“Today, hopefully. If that’s alright?” Alistair said. He didn’t actually know how making an appointment worked. Did you have to have more notice than that?

You did if you were poor. It didn’t seem odd to the servant, and she simply nodded. “I’ll call right away and get back to you, sir.”

“Thanks. And...you don’t have to call me sir.”

“Yes, s- okay. What should I call you then?” She asked.

“Just...Alistair. And you can tell me your name. You know, like humans. Equal humans.”

She paused for a moment before replying, “it's Emily.”

Alistair gave her a shy smile. “Hello, Emily.”

“Hello s- ah, Alistair.” She smiled back, slightly less robotic than her usual servant behavior.

“I’m sorry about having to ask you to make this call. I’d do it myself if I...knew how,” he mumbled, blushing. He frequently felt utterly useless in the world. He was sure he’d die without Julius looking after him.

Emily shook her head. “It's no problem. It's my job to take care of Master Kit.”

“Ha, Master Kit? I’m gonna call him that to annoy him. Thank you.”

“You're… welcome? I think.” She walked off to make the call. Alistair went back to the parlor (they passed out in there remember) to see if his cousin had stirred yet. Kit was still out cold and snoring like a chainsaw. Alistair gave him a poke, mostly just to shut him up at this point.

Kit blinked, groaning and curling up more rather than trying to get up. Alistair lifted Kit’s hair so he could whisper in his ear. “Morning, Master Kit. Better get up so your servants can wipe your arse for you,” he teased.

The older boy immediately jerked away, flailing his hand at Alistair until he felt it hit something. “You can fuck right off.”

“Well, are you getting up or not?”

“wasn't planning on it, no.” Kit grumbled.

“Well, we’re going to the doctor eventually. When Emily has made an appointment.”

Kit groaned dramatically. “I don't want to do thaaaat. I'd have to get up, and put on proper trousers.” at the moment, he was only wearing pyjama bottoms and a bathrobe, definitely not something he could leave the house in.

“You don’t have to put on proper trousers. I go everywhere in pyjamas in the mornings. You’re sick, they doctor isn’t gonna care.”

“Well I'm less of a mess than you.” Kit muttered, pushing himself up and swaying briefly before climbing all the way to his feet.

“Thanks a lot. Fine, put on pants. You should probably eat something before we go. I’m not eating though,” Alistair added quickly.

“Then why do I have to?” Kit grouched, slogging up the stairs as though it were the most laborious task any man had ever been made to endure.

Alistair followed him, almost as miserably, his legs still weak from the day before. “Because there’s no chance of you shitting your pants when you see the doctor if you eat something.”

The older boy rolled his eyes, discarding his bathrobe as he began to rifle through the shirts side of his walk-in closet. “ever considered maybe I'm just not hungry, and it's nothing to do with my arse being a walking time-bomb?” he asked, buried up to his shoulders in fabric as he leaned into the rows of shirts. He was looking rather thin, and it made it seem as though the tattoo roses wrapped around his waist were squeezing him like a corset.

Alistair winced. “Do you have to use phrases like that? Like, do you have to say it in the most embarrassing way possible?” He didn’t mention it yet, but he made a mental note to remember to tell the doctor that Kit had lost weight if his cousin didn’t say it himself.

“I do. It's my specialty.” Kit smirked devilishly as he popped out of the racks holding a shirt. It was a warm purplish grey, and when he put it on, he left the top few buttons open, whether out of laziness or slutty habit, who knows. Cuffing it neatly to free his forearms, he turned to the other side of the closet in search of pants, settling on a pair of dark charcoal grey slacks. A black leather belt and matching shoes finished off the look, and he flopped onto the small cushioned bench in the center of the closet with a sigh. “alright. I'm dressed. I'll need a bit to fix my hair, then we can go.”

“Honestly, look at you. You’re dressed like we’re off strutting down the catwalk,” Alistair grumbled, mostly annoyed because he knew he still looked pale from yesterday, his clothes crumpled and his hair a mess. He couldn’t measure up to Kit when they were stood together, even though they were cousins.

“This is just how I dress, Al. I don't really do casual clothing. And if you're feeling underdressed, you could always borrow something.” Kit climbed to his feet, making his way over to the bedroom vanity to brush his hair and tie it back. He did his best to sweep his bangs in a way that didn't let his roots show, but they were overgrown as hell and not terribly cooperative. He finally gave up, instead just grabbing his burgundy hairspray to cover up the orange.

“I’m not wearing your clothes. I’ll look like a mouse dressed up as a cat,” Alistair said. He just finger combed his own hair idly, sweeping the bangs forward so they could cover his eyes if he needed.

“You can at least borrow a jacket. It's freezing out. I plan to wear at least two.” content with his hair, Kit returned to the closet, grabbing a cardigan, a pea coat, an overcoat, and a scarf, along with leather gloves to match his shoes.

“Do you have anything else leather?” Alistair asked hopefully, trying to sound casual. He didn’t know enough about fashion to realise the coat Kit was wearing was incredibly expensive. Julius would have melted at the sight of it.

“Yea, should be a coat near the end of the rack.”

Alistair found the coat and slipped his arms into the sleeves, loving the feeling of the soft, supple leather. He didn’t realise he had a huge grin on his face. Kit smirked broadly. “You like it?”

Alistair tried to quickly straighten his face. “‘S okay.”

“Don't bullshit me. I saw you smiling. Maybe I'll get you one for Christmas. But you can't go all vegetarian righteous me about the leather.”

“Oh Jesus, don’t you start with that too. But wait...real leather is still made from animals?”

“Iit wouldn't be real leather if it wasn't, nitwit.” Kit rolled his eyes.

“Oh gross, really?” Alistair looked down at his jacket, trying to chose. Did he care about his morals or his image more? There should have only been one answer - but he didn’t take the jacket off.

Kit hid his amusement this time, instead turning to the door. “Should we go find Emily? See if the appointment is made?’

“Yeah, okay,” Alistair said, following him out of the bedroom.

Kit padded down the hall, still clearly sluggish despite his improved appearance. Emily was in the main hall, dusting the decorations. Alistair smiled at her but let Kit do the talking. He didn’t really like ordering the servants around. He’d hated watching the way his father used to call at them imperiously back in his own house.

Kit wasn't rude of course, he simply shuffled over and murmured in her ear, pulling out his notepad when she gave him the time. He then returned to Alistair, mumbling, “3pm. What time is it now?”

“Almost two. You took so long to get fucking dressed, princess.”

“Oh, forgive me for wanting to be presentable.” Kit huffed.

“We’re only going to the doctor. You’re not going to flirt, are you?” Alistair asked.

“No, I'm just terribly vain.”

“Well...fair enough. I did just choose to walk around in strips of withered cow because I like leather.”

Kit chuckled and nodded briefly. “Fair enough indeed. What shall we do until we leave?”

“Well, you don’t look too good… Do you want to rest?” Alistair asked, genuinely concerned.

“Sounds good, but I'm not going back up those fucking stairs.” Kit instead trudged to the parlor and dropped into his favourite armchair. Alistair squashed up beside him - with people he liked, he tended to be stuck in the stage a toddler goes through where they have no concept of personal space. Kit didn't seem to mind, using his cousin's shoulder as a pillow.

“What’re you gonna tell the doctor?” Alistair asked. He was used to planning conversations in his head a hundred times before he did anything.

“I dunno, I'll see what he asks and answer it.”

“Well, you can estimate what he asks and then plan it out.”

Kit looked up at Alistair with a puzzled face. “Why would i do that? I'll just answer what he asks, and approximate if I don't know the answer. It's not a play with specific lines I have to recite. And thank God it isn't, because I’d never remember them.”

Alistair shrugged, looking embarrassed. “Sorry, I thought that’s what everyone did…”

“Nah. I just bullshit everything as I go.”

“How do you...just talk to people like that? I can’t do it. All the words get stuck.”

“I used to be that way. Then I got drunk so that I would be more comfortable making conversation. And I gradually tried doing it while less drunk until I had the balls to do it sober. Not saying alcohol is the right answer, it’s just how I did it.” Kit shrugged.

“Right. I don’t think I can try that method. I worry Jules enough as it is.”

Kit shrugged again. “Dunno what to tell you, Al. Maybe just go outside, find the friendliest-looking person in the area. Talk to them. Repeat until you stop sucking at it.”

“That sounds fucking horrendous. Can’t I just always go out with you or Jules or someone who can do it for me?”

“If you never want to be a functioning adult, yes.” Kit replied flatly.

“They’re making me take pills for that,” Alistair grumbled darkly.

“Oh, what a tragedy.” Kit snapped back. “Doctors work for years to find ways to make your life easier, and you're the one who's suffering because you have to take a whole pill every day.” There was a surprising amount of venom in the older boy’s voice, like this had opened up some bigger issue.

Alistair scowled at him, looking rather hurt. “You don’t have to be a dick about it. Those pills freak me out.”

“What's so scary about them? That they help you? Not everyone gets help in time, why do you have to be so ungrateful that you do?” Though his anger had set off a coughing fit, Kit climbed to his feet, stifling the sound behind his fist as he stalked off down the hall.

Alistair ran to the door, his eyes flashing angrily. “Fuck you! You didn’t see me for seven years, you’ve no idea what happened then!” He slammed the door hard to make his point, gripping his shirt sleeves, his heart banging in his chest.

Kit didn't seem bothered by the decreased population of the house, or if he was, he didn't show it. Emily picked up a vase that had been knocked over by the force of the door, straightening it and dusting it again.

Alistair stood by the door, not sure what to do. He didn’t want to fight with Kit - he hated to fight with people he actually liked. He sat on the steps, his breathing fast and shaking, tears stinging his eyes. It wasn't long before a car pulled up outside, a middle aged-man climbing out and approaching the front door. He seemed a bit perplexed by the presence of Alistair, but eventually asked.

“Pardon me? Is Master Kit around? I'm here to take him to his appointment.”

“He’ll be inside,” Alistair mumbled, his voice wobbling.

The chauffeur nodded, awkwardly stepping around Alistair to get inside. When he opened the door to enter, coughing could still be heard echoing through the house, sounding worse than earlier if anything. The chauffeur went off in search of his boss, but to his surprise, the usually amicable redhead snapped at him to fuck off and leave him be. Rather taken aback, the older man simply headed back out to his car, lingering in the drive and unsure of what to do.

Alistair glanced up at him. “Couldn’t you find him?”

“I did. He… didn't want to be bothered?” The chauffeur seemed confused by it himself.

“Fuck… That’s my fault,” Alistair mumbled. He put his face in his hands, gripping his hair. “I should go back. I really don’t fucking want to though.”

“That's up to you, mate. I'm just here to drive.” The chauffeur didn't want to pressure Alistair.

“I should, shouldn’t I?” he sighed. He quickly wiped his eyes and went off to look for Kit. He wasn't hard to find, considering Alistair just had to follow the sound of coughing. The older boy had holed up in one of the old back rooms; it looked like it used to be a study, with a desk, bookshelves, and a big leather chair. Kit was sitting in the chair, knees pulled up to his chest, and still coughing his lungs out. As Alistair drew close, he could hear another, softer sound mixed in with the coughs: weak, raspy sobbing.

Alistair paused at the door. He knocked softly. “Kit..?”

“What do you want?” The older boy’s confrontational tone was ruined by how faint and croaky his voice was. Alistair wanted to run home and hide his shame there, but he knew he had to make it up with Kit - besides, if he did go home and told Julius they’d argued, the small boy would just send him right back to apologise.

Alistair slipped inside the room, his back against the door. “Are you okay?”

Kit shrugged. “I don't know anymore.” He mumbled,  ducking his head into his knees as he coughed again.

Alistair bit his lip. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, mentally cursing himself when his voice wobbled again.

“S’not your fault. I got mad at you for shit that's really not your problem. I was just drawing parallels and throwing a fit.”

Alistair paused. “Mother and father used to...give me something. When they wanted me to be quiet. That’s why...I don’t like having to take things.”

Kit sighed. “Yours did that, too? Ah, why am I even surprised…” He paused to cough before adding, “This is different, though. It's not some asshole who doesn't care about your wellbeing recommending it. It's doctors, and Julie. And me, for that matter. Our family is horrible, but that doesn't mean the whole world's out to get you, you know.”

“I know. I try to tell myself that.” He paused. “You were drawing parallels..? Are you okay?”

“I'm fine. It's just... frustrating... to me to see people turn their nose up at nearly miraculous medicine when my mother…” He sniffled, hiding his face behind his arms, “My mother would've done anything for a medicine to help her. We had all the money in the world, but the doctors couldn't do fuck all… and I just… I don't want to lose somebody else I love because they won't take the cure that's being handed to them!”

Alistair looked horrified. He dashed over to Kit, putting his arms around the older boy. “Fuck, I’m sorry… I’ll take them, I promise. You won’t lose me, I promise. I’m not even suicidal anymore, not since… It doesn’t matter. I’m sorry.”

Normally, Kit would've been embarrassed to be seen, even by Alistair, bawling like this, but he couldn't be bothered. He clutched desperately to his cousin's shirt, like a child on their mother's dress, sobbing and coughing and just making a right mess of himself. Alistair held him close, stroking his hair. He was so worked up that he started crying too. Kit eventually settled down, with the crying at least. He'd gotten off on another coughing fit and his lungs were rattling like the engine of a car about to die.

“We really should take you to the doctor,” Alistair said, scrubbing at his eyes.

“I can't… can't show up to the doctor in this state…” Kit groaned. His hair was disheveled, and his whole face was red and teary.

“You look perfect for the doctor. They’ll probably let you jump the queue, you look sick as a dog.”

Kit chuckled faintly. “There's no queue, he's the family doctor. He doesn't serve random patients off the street. But I suppose you're right. Help me up?”

Alistair took Kit’s hands, pulling him up. “Come on…”

The older boy tugged himself to his feet, trying not to lean on his cousin as they walked to the door. The chauffeur was still waiting out front, now just chilling in his car. Alistair pulled Kit along. “I know it’s not classy, but I need to get in the front. Otherwise I’ll puke in your car.”

The chauffeur just shrugged. “Go ahead, sir.” He got out to hold the door for both boys, and the inside of the car was remarkable. All sleek black leather, with heated seats to fight the chill outside. Rather than buckling in properly, Kit sprawled across the entire back seat with a rattling sigh, wondering if he could catch a nap on the way to the doctor’s office. Alistair was happily playing around with the heated seats, grinning.

“Jesus, I should travel with you guys more. Hey, if you want I could drive for a little bit,” he said eagerly to the chauffeur.

“No, sir. My duty is to drive, and this vehicle is my responsibility.” The chauffeur replied dryly.

“You don’t have to call me sir. Jeez, it’s gonna take me years to tell all the servants in your place not to call me sir, Kit. What’s your name?” he asked the chauffeur.

The man furrowed his brows, taken aback. It was several moments before he replied, “Thaddeus Bradley. But you can call me Taddy.”

“Cool name! That’s almost the kind of name you’d find in our fucking family.”

Taddy grinned. “Thanks. It was my father’s. Mum used to jokingly call him ‘Daddeus.’”

“How’d you get stuck working for our shitty family? I mean, Kit is the only good one,” Alistair said bluntly.

“They don’t actually pay attention to me. They sit in the back and drink champagne. And I enjoy driving. It’s honestly the easiest job I’ve ever had. I’m salaried, so there’s no chance of me going broke if they don’t travel much one year, and I rarely work more than ten hours a week.”

“That’s all? Huh, maybe I should do this as a job,” Alistair said thoughtfully, despite knowing he was not able to drive.

Taddy shrugged. “Maybe. You need extra licensing for it, though. To do it professionally.”

Alistair groaned. “Aww, really? I haven’t even got my normal licence yet.”

“Well, then you’ve got a ways to go.”

“Fuck that, then. I’ll do something else,” Alistair said. He paused, frowning. “There must be something…”

“You never did check back in with Osiris, did you?” Kit mumbled from the backseat. Alistair paused. Fuck.

“Yeeees.”

“Bullshit you did.” Kit knew better, and he'd told Osiris to call when Alistair got in touch.

“Alright alright. I will do it.”

“You'd better.” The older boy grumbled.

“Can’t he call me?” Alistair whined.

“No!” Kit snapped back. “Be a fucking adult, and make the call before I shove your phone so far up your arse, your colon dials it for you.”

“Jeez, you’re touchy today. Heard he snapped at you too,” Alistair said to Taddy, teasing Kit.

Taddy nodded briefly, “That he did.” He wouldn’t have said a word to any other member of the Raycraft family, but he knew Kit wasn’t a raging ass like his father.

“Oh, shut up Al. You try spending a third of your life ill and see how you feel.”

“I couldn’t even handle spending a third of yesterday ill.”

“Exactly. I have the right to be in a mood here and there.” Kit muttered, burying his face in the heated seat of the car. Despite his many layers, he was a little shivery.

“Yeah, I know. I was only teasing.”

Kit sighed dramatically. “Yea, well tease me later.”

“I’m allowed to tease. How much did you tease me yesterday?”

Kit didn’t reply right away, finally answering with, “Dunno, lost count.”

“Exactly. Only fair.”

Kit groaned, but didn’t speak up again the rest of the ride. Alistair was quiet too, fiddling with the radio and playing around with the seat warmers and the catches for the windows and all the different lights, just like a little kid on a car ride. Taddy didn’t seem bothered, and Kit was silent whether he liked it or not.

When they made it to the doctor, Alistair thanked Taddy and went to haul Kit out of the backseat. “You alive?”

“Barely.” Kit grumbled, stumbling to his feet. Alistair kept hold of Kit’s arm to keep him steady.

“Come on. Your appointment is in five minutes.”

Kit shuffled along, tugging his jacket tighter around him and trying not to shiver as they made their way inside. Alistair sighed and put an arm around him. “You’re always cold…”

“I know.” The older boy mumbled, coughing into his four-layers-thick-sleeve.

“I should get you one of those jackets they have for little shivering dogs.”

Kit huffed. “Shut up.”

He shuffled into the office, sinking into one of their sleek, fancy chairs with a dramatic groan. Alistair sat down beside him. He pulled a face at an old lady who was staring at Kit with disapproval, and she huffed irritably. Kit had only half noticed her, and couldn't tell whether she was judging his sorry state, or his dyed hair and metal-filled ears. Old people judged his tattoos all the time, but he was so bundled up they weren't visible right now.

Alistair nudged his cousin. “That old bitch is staring at you.”

“Why? You can't even fucking see my tattoos in this weather. That's normally what old bats get their knickers in a twist about.”

“God knows. Maybe your piercings.” Alistair stuck his finger up at her, and she hissed in outrage and stomped over to sit as far away from them as possible.

Kit scoffed, throwing a dirty gesture at her as well as she walked away. Normally he gave stuffy old people a lecture on minding their damn business, but today he was in a bad mood. He leaned against Alistair's shoulder with a yawn, allowing his lead-weighted eyelids to drop closed. Alistair idly plaited a long lock of Kit’s hair, waiting for his name to be called.

“Christian Raycraft?”

Kit sat up ramrod straight, immediately tense. Good things rarely followed when people used his real name. He had been half asleep and was noticeably shaken and disoriented. He stammered out a quiet, “H-here…” like a shy kid when attendance was called, stifling a coughing fit behind his hand as he stumbled to his feet.

Alistair helped him walk, following the doctor to a consultation room. He was mostly just there for moral support - he didn’t want to talk unless he had to. Luckily, the nurse was directing all of her questions towards Kit, despite the poor boy being so hoarse post-coughing-fit that it must've been painful to answer.

“How long have you been feeling ill?”

“Dunno, maybe a month.”

“What are your symptoms?”

“I'm coughing, I'm tired, I'm fucking miserable.”

“Have you been ill much recently? I have records of you being admitted to the hospital both this summer and last winter.”

“Oh, that…. Those. Just accidents. Hypothermia, and… and drowning, while on holiday. I've only really had a couple colds this year.” Kit waved his hand dismissively, dropping onto the examination bench with a rattling sigh.

The nurse nodded, making notes and wordlessly taking his temperature and blood pressure. “Alright. The doctor will be with you shortly.” she walked off.

“She must think you’re a right mess,” Alistair pointed out. “You almost died twice in less than a year.”

“I didn't do it on purpose!” Kit whined.

“I know. Try not to do it again though. You’re all I’ve got.”

Kit nodded, coughing into the bend of his arm. “Wasn't on the agenda.”

“Do you think you need a chest x-ray or anything? I don’t know a fucking thing about this shit. I hated science.”

“They probably will, since they'll suspect pneumonia. I've spent a good third of my winters with pneumonia at this point.” Kit groaned.

“Can’t they do something to prevent that?” Alistair asked.

“Besides telling me to wear a surgical mask in public and me telling them hell no?” Kit shook his head.

“Isn’t there anything that makes your immune system better? Hey, you should meet Jules’s grandmother. Every time I get sick, even if it’s just motion sickness, she’ll give me a spoonful of fucking cod liver oil for my immune system. She’d have you drinking the whole bottle,” Alistair said, grinning.

“There’s only so much to be done, Al. It’s a legitimate immune deficiency. To treat it, I’d have to be getting regular, fuck what’s the word... immune… immuno…. immunoglobulin replacement therapy my whole fucking life.” Kit sighed. “It’s a right mess and I hate it.”

“What the fuck is that?”

“They literally have to replace part of your fucking blood intravenously. It’s hellish.” Kit glanced warily at his arm as if someone might go for it with a needle. Considering all his tattoos and piercings, it must have been remarkably unpleasant for him to mind.

“Ugh… How is that even possible?” Alistair asked.

Kit shrugged, “I’m no biologist.”

“Is it like...similar to how they do dialysis? Isn’t that replacing blood? Or doing something to it? I don’t fucking know.”

“Sort of, yea. I think so.” Kit nodded, looking up as the doctor came in the room.

“Ah, Mister Kit. It’s been too long. I’ve only seen you twice this year.” The doctor quipped.

Kit sighed, “Yea, well, here I am.”

“My nurse was saying you’ve got a bad cough?”

“That - ahem - I was - mm - yes.” Kit groaned, stifling a cough in his shoulder.

The doctor nodded, checking his clipboard. “I’ll need you to shed those jackets, I’ve got to listen to your chest.”

Kit’s fingers were clumsy and shaky, but he gradually managed to peel off his overcoat, his pea coat, and his cardigan, unbuttoning his dress shirt for the doctor. He shivered miserably as the cold metal stethoscope touched him, and the doctor’s brow furrowed as he ordered Kit to breathe.

“That doesn’t sound great… We’ll probably need a chest x-ray.”

Though he sighed, Kit didn’t seem surprised, dryly inquiring, “To the back?”

“To the back.” The doctor nodded, heading for the door and gesturing for the boys to follow.

“Do you have to hold a metal plate over your balls?” Alistair whispered loudly, his mind of course jumping to that point before anything else. Kit rolled his eyes.

“No, it’s a lead apron over your legs.” He mumbled, having had far too many chest x-rays over the years.

“Will they let me look at your lungs?”

“I don’t see why not.” Kit shrugged.

“Cool! Your doctor is way better than the one Jules drags me too. They wouldn’t even let me touch the bag when I had a blood test.”

Kit bit back several comments, simply following the doctor to the x-ray room, dropping onto the seat and calmly accepting his lead-legged fate. Alistair watched from the doorway, looking fascinated. The doctor scowled at the screen and sucked air in through his teeth. “As I’d suspected… your lungs are filled with fluid.”

“Fan-fucking-tastic.” Kit grumbled. “And what’s the tonic of the day? My thousandth round of antibiotics?”

“That was the plan, yes.” The doctor replied dryly.

“You must have created a ton of resistant bacteria in your body over the years, Kit,” Alistair called from the corridor.

“Probably. Or maybe it's an alien parasite slowly plotting my death. Who knows.”

“Just take the medicine, drama queen. I take mine, you take yours.”

“I wasn't planning not to.” Kit replied, following the doctor up front.

“Get this prescription filled as soon as possible, and I want to see you again in a week.”

Kit nodded, too busy stifling another coughing fit to talk. He put his jackets back on, slipping the prescription in the outermost pocket and shuffling for the door.

“Are we going to get the prescription then?” Alistair asked.

“Hell no. I'm going home to lie down. I'll send someone out for it.” Kit muttered, tugging on his scarf and gloves as he walked. The second the cold air hit him, he went from faintly shivering to shaking like a leaf, his teeth chattering loudly. Alistair tugged him back to the car quickly.

“Quick, get in. You really do need to lay down.”

Kit nodded, curling up on his side across the heated back seat. The exposure to cold air had set him off coughing yet again, and he halfheartedly covered his mouth with a gloved hand. The warm seat felt nice against his feverish cheek, as everything else around him was abominably cold. He slumped back against the leather, coughing and shivering and not talking to anyone. He hadn’t even remembered to give Taddy the prescription so it could be dropped off at the pharmacy on the way home.

Alistair prodded him from the front seat. “Kit, prescription.”

“Mm.” The older boy barely replied, fumbling in his coat pockets with gloved hands and tossing the paper vaguely towards his cousin. Alistair had to fumble on the floor for it, tutting, before handing it to Taddy.

The driver scanned it briefly as they stopped. “Right, I’ll drop this off soon as you two are home.”

“Thanks, mate. I’d do it myself if I could fucking drive.”

Taddy shrugged. “No trouble. Here we are.” He pulled into Kit’s drive, parking and getting out to open the doors for both boys. Kit didn’t show any interest in actually getting up, still curled up on the seat and shivering. Alistair rolled his eyes and opened the back door.

“Come on, Kit. You can get back in bed.”

“Don’t wanna move…” Kit grumbled.

“I think you’re a bit big for me to carry you to bed like we used to,” Alistair said gently. “Though I’ll try if you want.”

Kit shook his head. “I… I can get up. ‘M just moping.” He slowly sat up, rubbing his eyes and swinging his legs off the seat. It took several moments for him to clumsily crawl out of the back seat, but he managed to get to his feet and shuffle up the walkway towards the house. Alistair kept hold of him, starting to really worry.

“Are you going to be okay? Shall I call Jules? He’ll bring about a thousand things that I wouldn’t think of to look after you with.”

“You don’t need to bother him.” Kit muttered, promptly slipping on the slick pathway up to the house and falling in the thick snow coating the lawn. A small cloud of flakes were thrown into the air, trickling down on top of Kit as he struggled to get up. The exertion was causing him to cough, and not helping his efforts in the slightest.

Alistair helped haul him up. “Careful, it’s slippy,” he mumbled, like it wasn’t obvious now. “And Jules won't mind if you want. He likes you.”

Kit groaned, coughing into his shoulder and leaning on Alistair as he shuffled inside. “Are you sure?” He asked, dusting snow off himself.

“Of course. I’ll call him in a minute. Let’s just get you inside before you die in my arms,” Alistair said.

Kit laughed hoarsely, fumbling in his jacket for his keys before finally getting the door open. As soon as they got inside, he dropped onto the couch with a deep rattling sigh. Alistair grabbed a duvet from the closest bedroom, carefully draping it over his cousin. “I’ll call Jules, okay? He’ll actually know what to do.”

“Sounds good.” Kit muttered, curling up under the duvet.

[tysonrunningfox]

Relationship Challenged

I just...can’t wait, guys.  The Arvelia arc is gonna happen and I’ll post it and maybe it’ll even be better when shit is going down (because it’s gonna go down)  

But.  The baby boy still does not know how to girl.  And he should probably try soon.  

Tumblr | AO3

“Why’d you let the dragon go?”  Aurelia asks, leaning against Bang’s side and wiggling her stocking feet in front of the fire.  

“What dragon?”  I pick my head up off of Bang’s back to look at her.

“The scauldron, the one that destroyed the dock.  Why did you let it go?”  She turns towards me, tucking her feet under her and leaning a still cautious elbow along Bang’s back.  “Maybe if my dad had seen it he would have finally believed us about the dragons.”  

“It’s not that he doesn’t believe us,” I scoff, staring at my hands, “it’s that he thinks it doesn’t mean anything.  It’s like he doesn’t notice that it’s a week after Snoggletog and that’s the first wild dragon I’ve seen.”  

“But if you’d kept the dragon around, maybe we could figure out what’s wrong with them or—”

“Have you seen a full grown Scauldron?”  I snap and I feel bad about it but not enough to slow down.  “They’re not small.  And if they’re panicking and don’t want to do what you want them to do, they spray boiling water at your face.”  

“Yeah, but we train dragons all the time—”

“We?”  It comes out too harsh and I sigh.  “Sorry.”

“What’s got your too short pants in a bunch?”  She looks at the inch of my ankle that’s exposed above my socks with that Aurelia brand judgement that makes me forget she’s harmless and I tug my pantlegs down.  

“Nothing.”  

“You’ve been a jerk ever since you got home—”

“The chief was late and made me deal with all this shit on my own—”

“Wait, are you actually upset that he was late or are you upset about why he was late?”  She leans in slightly like she’s interested in something between the points I’m actually making and I shrug.  

“Both—”

“You know?”  She scoots closer, distracted enough that she doesn’t flinch when Bang’s scales ripple next to her.  That or she’s getting used to Wingspark and it’s carrying over, but I’d rather her be so enchanted with what I’m saying than think about her and Arvid right now.  My face is just feeling firm in all the right places again.  

“I know what?”  

“Wait, what?”  She shakes her head, “why are you mad at why the chief was late?  What is that why?”  

“That doesn’t make any sense,” I laugh, scooting away from her because this suddenly feels a little too much like an interrogation for my taste.  “But he stopped to invite Fuse without talking to me first—”

“Oh my Gods, that’s still a problem?”  She scoffs, “you haven’t talked to her yet?” 

“No!”  I throw my arms up and my head falls back against Bang, who groans with the impact, whiny ever since I made him work this morning. “Smitelout is taking forever with the baffle and at this point it’s been so long I don’t know how I can just…go talk to her empty handed.”  

“So what did you do?”

“I just…flew off.”  I shrug, face hot with embarrassment, because it sounds cowardly even though it’s not, not really.  “I—I just want to actually make it right, I don’t want to give her any other reason to be mad at me.”  

“Right.  A reason aside from a stupid metal thing you forgot to forge.  Because that’s why she’s mad but you won’t ask her and it’s been more than a week.”

“Is that sarcasm?”  

“What do you think?”  She rolls her eyes and drums her fingers against Bang’s side before seemingly realizing what she’s doing and very daintily curling her arm back into her chest.  “You should just talk to Fuse.  And you should also open your eyes, in general—”

“If I’m missing so much, why don’t you tell me what it is?”  

“Because I don’t have proof.”  She huffs, “and I don’t want Arvid’s head to get any bigger about it.”  

“I…” I sigh and cradle my head in my hands, “I’m just going to safely say I don’t want to know what you’re talking about—”

“I—Mom’s happy, right?” She rocks back onto her heels and stands up slowly, like she’s not sure she wants to have the conversation and I wishes she’d be a little more decisive about it.  Preferably before she tells me anything else about Arvid’s big head and I throw up.  “Or happier than she was.  Happier than I’ve known her.”  

“She’s seemed happy since Snoggletog,” I shrug a shoulder and look back at the fire, ear trained on her room in case she’s listening in.  “I think planning the feast was good for her, I—I don’t know.”  Calling her happy hurts, it makes me compare what I’ve seen of her recently to how she used to be and I don’t want to draw that parallel. It makes this feel even more permanent than it already is.  

“Yeah,” Aurelia sighs, “I’m going to go to bed.  See you tomorrow.”  

“Yeah, sure. Goodnight.”  I listen to her climb the stairs and I hear her door shut.  She doesn’t open her window, like maybe she actually has plans to stay here tonight and that, at least, makes me feel temporarily like less of a loser.  

00000

“Good morning,” Mom emerges from her bedroom long after I’ve already eaten everything in the house that was in a vaguely edible state for breakfast.  She sees the empty pots and baskets on the counter and shakes her head. “I see you were hungry.”  

“Yeah,” I shrug, “sorry.”

“It’s fine,” she laughs like she never used to when Arvid and I tore through all passable ingredients in the middle of the night.  Maybe there is something to being rich in that special chiefly way, maybe that’s why she’s not contesting it.  “Did Aurelia at least get some of it?”  

“She asked for bread but lost her appetite when I started cleaning out last night’s pan with mine, to be honest.”  

“So you are a late grower,” she scoffs, pulling the bag of flour out and getting started on another batch of bread.  I think about offering to help but that feels weirder than it used to, like now I’m almost part of a chief and if he came down to me covered in flour that would go away. “I kind of wondered about that, honestly.”  

“Because of the chief?” I try to sound angry but it doesn’t quite happen, because in my head he’s not just the guy who wasn’t there when a scauldron took a dock down, he’s also the guy who tried to teach his dad to train a Thunderdrum.  His dad, who was my grandpa, whose statue I’ve seen every day that I lived without knowing Eret the Original.  

“Because you never bit Arvid’s hand when he took food off your plate.”  She’s diverting, and I don’t mind, I like that she’s faking something, that there’s some plain I can interact with her on that’s not driven by abject, painful truth.  

“Not that you saw.”  

She laughs.  It doesn’t quite make me happy like it used to, because I’ve realized she might have been thinking of someone else making her laugh, and I try to act like I don’t notice.  

“Any reason you’re up so early?”  

“It’s not that early,” I look out the window at the sun creeping upwards, “it’s like mid-morning. The chief hasn’t even been down yet.”

“It’s early for you,” she points a clean spatula at me.  

“Maybe I’m growing up,” I get the feeling that I should just leave, that being here isn’t being helpful and I hate it.  I hate that helpful is the pivot that I’ve started to gauge myself around.  

“Not that fast.”  

“Maybe it’s my late growth spurt,” I stand up, the rare and foreign reality of being irritated with my mom overwhelming as I stretch, looking at the door like there’s anything more entertaining outside.  My mom always said I’d someday regret not having any hobbies except running around with Arvid and I guess that day is finally here.  “Should I go wake the chief up?  There’s got to be something I should go do.”  

“Eh, probably let him sleep.”  Mom goes back to rooting through the cabinets, “did you literally eat all the food?”

“It’s not like there was all that much.”  I cross my arms and lean back against the table, “I could go to the market, if you wanted.  I don’t know what all to buy but—”

“Where’s your sister?”

“Out.”  I shrug, I’m pretty sure she said something about meeting Arvid and I’m making that eternally hard choice to not think about it.

“She didn’t take Stoick anywhere?”  

“I don’t know.  I didn’t see her leave, I was giving Bang breakfast.”  

“Well he’s not hanging off of Bang so I’m assuming he’s not here.”  She says it like a joke and I don’t know why she’s not more concerned. It’s seemed like that a lot lately, honestly, ever since Snoggletog she’s been…almost serene.  It puts me on edge more than I could ever have imagined, honestly, because she’s always been the one on top of things, ready to appropriately freak out at a moments’ notice.  

But now?  Stoick is apparently mysteriously absent and she’s raising an eyebrow at me like she’s only mildly worried and it’s mostly about my dead expression.  

“Should I go look for him?”

“If you feel strongly about it,” she walks over to where her axe is hanging on the wall, and I hadn’t even noticed it there.  That makes less sense than anything else, the fact that she’s not sleeping with it under the edge of the bed where she always used to keep it.  I remember Rolf stubbing his toe on the handle once and moping around for weeks that it could have cut his foot off, and now it’s just…twenty feet away from her, all night, like suddenly everything is safe in a way that she’s always told me Berk isn’t.  

Maybe it’s because we’re basically in the center of the village now, instead of on the quiet dark edge where an attack would most likely start, but I don’t want to ask about it. I don’t want her telling me that things are safer and happier than ever when I don’t even have anyone to complain to.

“I mean, I kind of feel strongly about my little brother being missing—”

“Oh my gods, it’s like you woke up angling for a fight,” she rolls her eyes like she wasn’t born angling for a fight and hands me a bag filled with more silver than I used to see in a year, “go to the market while you’re out freaking out about nothing.  Try and get at least everything you ate this morning.”

“You’re sending me to the market?”  I weigh the silver in my hand and it reminds me of Fuse for some reason, probably because she’s the only other person to ever have overpaid me by this much.  

If I go to the market, the chances of seeing Fuse are higher than I’d really like to think about and yeah, I could nag Smitelout about the baffle but that doesn’t feel like it’d be enough.  

“I’m sure you can handle it.”  

“Well, what are you going to do?”  I look around, “the house is clean, all the trees outside are chopped down.  What if I don’t know what to get or I get so much I can’t carry it—”

Fuse can’t kill me if my mom is there.  Neither can Arvid.  

“You have a giant helpful lizard who will carry whatever you buy,” she starts physically ushering me towards the door and I shrug her hand off my shoulder.  

“What if we haven’t spent any time together lately—”

“That must be why I’m so well rested.”  She opens the door and half shoves me out, “go, I’ll braid your hair and we can talk about boys when you come back.”  

“We could do that now.” I try to step back inside and she shakes her head at me and closes the door in my face.  

Stormfly squawks, pecking at my pocket like I didn’t feed her breakfast an hour ago and I scratch her chin.  

“At least you still like me.”  I pull my hand away before she can nip at my sleeve again. “I’m not getting any quality time with her either.  I’m assuming she’ll be out in a bit.”  

She chirps and I pat her beak, “you could come to the market with me—or that!”  I call after her as she suddenly takes off, flying to land on the chief’s roof and curling her wings under her to sit like the giant chicken I feel like, nervous to go into the village like it’s a year ago and my parents will get pissed at me for it.  

I start walking that way even though Bang tugs on my hand and tries to get me to fly.  That feels more public though, because the skies are slowly starting to fill again.  Most of the owned dragons are back from their Snoggletog adventures and a few wild dragons have trickled in over the horizon.  It’s not enough and I know it’s not enough but I haven’t mentioned it and no one has mentioned it to me.  I guess I’d tell Aurelia if she was ever around, but part of me wonders if she’d just start finding a way to prove that I’m wrong about it too.  

I haven’t been right much lately.  And maybe that’s normal, but it feels like it’s getting pointed out a lot more than normal.  

The main square is full of more people than I want to deal with right now and I cut across to the forge as quickly as I can, half hoping to see Gobber because at least he’ll have time to yell at me or something, but it’s just Smitelout.  She’s working on a war hammer and humming to herself and when I say her name she glares at me and at least that feels normal.  

“Not quite ready to kick your ass, Twerp.”  

“What?”  

“When I finish your little gift for Thorston, or whatever,” she gestures under the counter where I’m assuming she’s storing it, “or not so little.  That thing is fucking huge.”  

“I’m aware.”  

“What’d you do?”  She snorts, “and you know, the size of the gift doesn’t make up for how big of an idiot you are.”  

“I didn’t do anything,” I scoff, because Smitelout is the last person I’m ever going to admit a mistake to.  Her ego would swell so big that the roof of the forge would pop off and the chief would probably make me fix it.  “But are you going to be done anytime soon?  It’s kind of important.”  

“Yeah, and so is the rest of the shit I’ve got to do.”  

“I’m just asking when you think it’ll be done.”  I remember I’m not with the chief right now and I’m not doing anything he asked me to and that there’s really nothing stopping me from telling her exactly what I think of this situation.  But I also don’t see how that would help anything and again, I’m campaigning for the heavy, irritating title of Eret the Helpful.  

“I’ll let you know, alright?”  She gestures around the forge, “I’ve got orders out the ass for new kid saddles for when wild dragons come back and the little shits can all choose their lifelong companion, or whatever.”  

“Any idea when that’ll be?” I snort.  

“I keep hearing any day now but—wait, why are you asking it like that?”  

“Like what?”  

“Like you know something I don’t.”  

“I can’t imagine you’re used to any other tone—”

“That’s a real reasonable thing to say to the person making your girlfriend’s presents for you.”  

“She’s not my girlfriend.” I huff.  I’m not sure she’s even my friend after I forgot about her and I keep wondering if I made the right choice flying away from her at the dock.

“I literally could not care less.”  She raises her hand like she had an idea I care about, “oh wait, if I were dead. Being physically dead is the only way I could care less.”  She shrugs, “and you don’t have to tell me your probably lame reason for talking about the dragons coming back in that ‘I’m the chief’s son so I’m so smart’ tone—”

“That’s not a thing.”

“Uh yeah it is,” she snorts, “ask any Jorgenson for the last like, three hundred years about the chief’s kids’ tone.”  

“Not going to dig up your family crypt to get lamely insulted, but thanks for the offer.”  

“I’m just saying though,” she sets down her hammer and looks at me almost pensively, or maybe she has gas and isn’t quite sure what to do about it.  Either way, at least it’s quiet enough I can half believe she wants me to respond to whatever she’s about to say.  “Usually there are a bunch more dragons back by now.  Looking at Gobber’s books, you were swamped with saddles a week earlier last year.”  

“Yeah, it was earlier.” I look around and the dragons I see are all wearing saddles or harnesses or following people around.  

“That’s what I get expecting brilliance from a Hofferson,” she spits the name and it takes me a second to remember she’s talking to me.  About me.  

“Thought I was just the chief’s kid to you, wouldn’t that make me a Haddock?”  

“You’re nothing to me,” she goes back to swinging that forge hammer and it sounds like a memory of a simpler time when I was inside and Gobber was telling me what to do.  At least when I was doing what Gobber said, I always knew it was the easiest way through.  “But once a Hofferson, always a Hofferson.”  

“It’s been…well, it’s been like you’re a pain in the ass, or something.”  I pat my hands on the counter once more then turn to leave, “and I’ll consider paying you more if you finish that soon.”  

“I’ll take two punches for a late in project rush job.”  She waves me away, “I’ll let you know when it’s done.  Just leave me alone until then.  Seriously.  I mean it.”

“Cool, I’ll check in every day.”  I laugh at her red angry face and wave one as I take a few backwards steps before turning and pausing again at the crowd.  

I don’t see Fuse.  I hate that I don’t see her, because that means this isn’t over.  I don’t see Arvid either, which is good because the bakery happens to be on his side of the island and I don’t know if I can expect him to honor that or not.  I didn’t start anything on Snoggletog, but that could easily be considered an exemption given the fact he was attached to my sister’s face and that would have made it hard to only hit one of them.  

I buy bread.  I have no idea how much enough is, I only know that I put more silver down on the counter than I think I’ve ever spent in my life.  I guess I’ve traded labor in the forge worth more, but I don’t think I’ve ever just…set that much money down.  I’m not quite sure I’d call it a perk of being the chief’s son, it makes things feel fake, tilted.  Because I didn’t work for any of this and I hate how easy it would be to get used to not working for anything.  I hate how the most of myself I’ve put into anything in a while is arguing with Smitelout.

On my way out of the bakery, Mrs. Jorgenson sees me and rushes over and I wonder, for a second, if Smitelout is really enough of a brat to tell her mom that I was bothering her or something, but she doesn’t say anything about Smitelout and instead dives into the middle of some issue I haven’t heard anything about.  

“It’s weeks after Snoggletog and the roof is still leaking, it’s right over the cooking pit in the back of the hall and I can’t get anyone down to patch it, the chief said he’d send Gustav over but it hasn’t happened and today I started to notice the floor warping and we can’t make a fire in there without more snow melting—”

“Whoa,” I step back and shake my head, “I don’t know anything about this, Mrs. Jorgenson—”

“But surely you could do something—”

“I…actually don’t know if I can—”

“You could talk to Gustav for me,” she purses her lips like she’s tasting something sour, “he won’t hear it from me, says I don’t have the authority.”  

“I don’t uh…I don’t see why he’d think I did.”  I pause for a minute and she stares at me like I’m stupid, the resemblance to her daughter becoming apparent in a second.  Smitelout might look like Snotlout with less of a beard but that derisive look is all her mother.  “Because I walk around with the chief while he orders people around?”  I laugh.  She doesn’t.

“Could you give it a try? At least?”  She’s polite in a way I’m not used to, asking instead of telling, and I sigh.  

“Ok.  Sure.  I’ll go talk to him when I’m done shopping, my mom sent me—”

“There was supposed to be a feast tonight and I can’t get the fire going.”  She edges in front of me like I’ll feel physically blocked enough to do what she wants.  

“Fine.  I’ll go now.  I can’t promise anything but—”

“Thank you!”  She’s way too excited for someone trying to patch a roof and I get that same feeling from it as I do from Aurelia when Mom gives her a task and she buckles down with that whole-hearted commitment.  It’s the commitment of someone who doesn’t get tasked with many things and I have half a mind to offer Mrs. Jorgenson some of mine.  

“Sure.”  I take one of the pieces of bread out of the basket and start eating it like it’ll magically make me feel more capable.  

I should go find the chief, probably, but that would just make this take longer.  And I’d have to ask the chief for help, which isn’t my favorite activity even if I know he’d probably give it to me.  He’s been happy too.  Happy enough to make me feel defective for feeling miserable and weird and out of place in the first house I’ve ever lived in where everyone is related to me.  

Gustav opens the door on my first knock and stares at me for a second like if he pretends he doesn’t recognize me I can’t ask him to do anything.  

“Good morning, Mr. Larson,” I start and it sounds as fake as it always sounds to pretend I don’t know all of these people in the name of some messed up professionalism.  Somehow, when the chief gives people formal titles, it’s always like a reminder that he’s chief and they’re not, but when I say it, I sound like a child.  It makes me wish I hadn’t shaved, honestly, but by the time my bruises faded to yellow, the beard was long enough to be itchy.  

“You fling some other thing into my roof?”  

That was the day I promised to make Fuse the baffle.  The reminder stings in a way it shouldn’t and I want to go throttle Smitelout for taking so long or better yet, kick her out of the forge and do it myself.  Gobber said that he wouldn’t let me abandon projects, but I’m realizing he probably just said that to yell at me about forge stuff one last time.  

“No, not today,” I laugh because the chief laughs when he’s trying to make someone do something they don’t want to do, “it is about a roof though.  Mrs. Jorgenson was telling me about the leak at the great hall—”

“It’s not a priority.”

“Says who?”  

“Says me.”  

“Well,” I swallow, “I say it is a priority.  The floor is starting to warp and that repair is a lot bigger pain in the ass.”  I remember a second too late that I’m not supposed to swear while I’m trying to look official.  “Shit.  Or budget. Both.  Whatever.”  

“Mrs. Jorgenson tell you that?”  He raises an eyebrow, “I don’t know why we gave her this feast, it’s all going to her head—”

“Yeah, well, at least she’s using hers.”  It’s harsher than I want it to be but maybe my own ounce of half power is going to my head. Maybe my ego won’t fit in the forge anymore either and maybe it feels like the only thing I can lean on.  It’s less of an ego and more of a crash landing pad that I’m intentionally keeping fully inflated.  “Of course we don’t have the wood to patch the floor of the biggest building on the whole island while we’re expanding our storage.”  

“We’re expanding our storage?  I thought your mom shot that down.”  

“She just shot down the giant ‘S’ part of it, which, you know, fair.”  

He looks at me for a second before rolling his eyes and pushing past me on his way outside.  He whistles and Fanghook drops down off of his roof, sniffing at Bang and growling a low, intimidating growl under his breath. Bang doesn’t care, which is one of the most admirable things about him, and I wish I felt like battles were choices the same way he does.  

“Fine.  I’ll go do it now.  Tell Mrs. Jorgenson you had to give me more Hel than this though, honestly.” He grins as he gets onto Fanghook, “and tell your mom I’ll do whatever she says if the chief sends her next time.”

My fist clenches. That whole not swearing rule is ridiculous.  

“The chief didn’t send me and I’ll tell my Mom to widen her perimeter of avoidance around you.”  

“Funny,” Gustav shakes his head, “the kid is funny.”  

I want to tell him I’m not a kid.  And that I’m not funny, I mean it.  None of that makes it out of my mouth before he takes off and at least flies in the right direction.  

I’m just getting onto Bang to go home and tell the chief that he might want to go do his own job before people start expecting me to do all of it when Aurelia walks out from between the houses behind me, arms crossed and frowning.  I know that look.  It used to mean she was gearing herself up for a fight with the chief but lately it’s meant that she thinks I’m wrong and she wants to make sure that I know it.  

“You can’t let Gustav talk to you that way,” she scoffs, “now he’s going to fight you on everything.”

“What do you know about Gustav?”  

“I know he has to listen to you.  Hel, he has to listen to me, I’m still the chief’s daughter even if it’s less legitimate than it used to be.”  

“I think it’s plenty legitimate,” I look at her, red braid over her shoulder, sarcasm wielded like a knife.  The singular embodiment of everything I had that never fit in with my family.  

“Well, yeah, but you still can’t let people talk to you that way if you’re going to be chief.  I know my dad doesn’t.”  

“I thought you’d be glad for a slight change in regime.”  I want to tell her about Smitelout and the dragons and I almost think she’d let me but she cocks her other hip and crosses her arms more tightly, like she’s resolving herself against talking to me.  

I bet she talked to Fuse. I bet they’re both mad at me about whatever they wouldn’t tell me before Snoggletog.  

“I’m just saying, if you’re going to act like the chief, you can’t let people talk to you like that.”

“I don’t think you’re qualified to give advice on being chief.”  

“Fuse saw you, by the way.” She shrugs one shoulder like she’s sorry she has to say it, “in the market.  And she saw you fly away from the docks.”

“Why are you telling me that?”  

“You should talk to her.”

“The baffle is almost done,” I sigh, “I nagged Smitelout about it today—”

“It’s like you’re this stupid on purpose.”  She shakes her head like I’m beyond help and maybe she’s right, maybe Eret The Helpful is a thing because I need it the most.  

“I try.”  I look at the basket of bread on Bang’s back, “Mom sent me to the market with what looks like all the money.  Do you want anything?”  

“Nothing you won’t eat before I get to it.”  She shakes her head and at least there’s a shade of a smile there, like she doesn’t hate me entirely.

[kateofthecanals]

For The (Not)Watch: Episode 7.1

The Great YAWN Begins

For all the jokes I made about needing Xanax for this, what I really needed was a handful of NoDoz... PRO TIP: If you’re gonna write endless scenes with nothing but dialogue, try to at least make the dialogue GOOD?

Anyway, let’s get on with it...

After an interminably long Previously On (which I guess is supposed to suggest that there are things that happened in previous seasons that will matter this season??), we get to our cold open. Why, WHAT THE HECK is Walder Frey doing there?? We just saw him killed I can’t possibly imagine what’s going on!! Fake!Walder has gathered his bros together to celebrate being total heroes and serves them all the finest arbor gold... all except for his new child bride, whom he says he doesn’t wanna “waste” good wine on. Everyone takes a good hearty gulp -- all except Walder GOSH IT’S SO WEIRD WHY WOULD HE DO THAT?? Then they start whooping it up about totally murdering the shit out of the Starks and everyone gets kinda awkward when Walder starts throwing some passive-aggressive shit out there about killing a pregnant woman, a mother of five, and violating Guest Right. Then it’s the Big Reveal -- as the Frey dudes start choking on their obviously poisoned wine, Walder's like

BECAUSE IT WAS REALLY ARYA ALL ALONG ZOMG!!! But she actually waits until they’re all dead before revealing this, which.... is even dumber and more pointless than serving Walder a Frey Pie he never actually eats. So, she saves the reveal for the wife only, which contradicts the earlier “spoiler” than Arya spares ALL the women, when, in fact, she only spares the child bride (who, admittedly, was in all likelihood blameless) in order to have someone bear witness. Arya then walks out of the room but not before doing the obligatory post-murder smug smirk that is mandatory of all female characters now.

So I GUESS this scene was supposed to be “dramatically satisfying”, but it left me cold, since (a) the Frey bros never actually got to know that they were being killed by a Stark, and (b) why does Arya have to always go for the most Extra™ method possible?? Oh that’s right, according to D&D, every decision Arya makes is based on “what's the most BADASS thing I could do??” Well, for starters, taking your Walder mask off BEFORE all his men died so they could see the true face of their killer would have been pretty badass, but what do I know, I never dropped out of Faceless Men School...

Credits roll, where they still insist that this is “Based on ASOIAF by GRRM”.

We then fade in to about 3 hours of a cold plain and a snowstorm, followed by a Wight Power March that culminates in learning that the Others have giants. Good to know.

Cut to Meera Reed and Bran ringing the doorbell at the Wall, where Edd answers with a couple bros in tow. He’s all “state your bizness” and Meera’s like “yo this is BRAN MUTHAFUCKING STARK” but Edd’s like “nah, prove it.” So Bran pulls down his breeches to show him the birthmark on his ass shaped like a direwolf. Just kidding, he goes full Miss Cleo on Edd and reads his diary out loud and Edd is like “sounds legit” and lets them pass. Not sure how that proves Bran is Bran though? Like, how does Edd even know that Bran is a greenseer? How does Bran saying “I know you fought at The Fist & Hardholme” prove he’s Bran Stark? Hello? Well, it doesn’t, but I guess it’s enough for Edd to know that Bran knows about the Night’s King. Though Edd would be a real shit to leave two kids on their own north of the Wall.

Then we move down to Winterfell where Prom King Jon is holding court, telling his peeps they gotta get theyselves some dragonglass to kill the white walkers. Then he announces that women and girls will be expected to fight as well cuz he #woke and Lyanna Mormont proclaims that she doesn’t “plan on knitting by the fire” while men fight for her -- another PRO TIP: if you’re a white male bro who wants to spew gross sexist rhetoric, just have a little girl say it and feminists everywhere will cheer! Anyway, let’s just hope SOMEONE is left behind to do some knitting, young lady, otherwise your sassy ass is gonna freeze to death. She then declares they’ll begin training every man, woman, boy, and girl on Bear Island... as if that’s something they don’t already do on Bear Island. Jon goes on to suggest that they need to man all the castles in the path of the white walkers, which Tormund is cool with but apparently Yohn Royce has something to say?? Uhhhh who let him in?? Sandra speaks up for the first time and Jon gives her a look like “bitch did I say you could talk?” Sandra thinks it’s a good idea to undermine Jon in front of the rest of the North, like yeah we get it he’s a usurper but can we save the bickering for later?? Basically Sandra wants all the Northern kids to pay for the crimes of their fathers and gosh hmmmmm where have I seen that before...?

So, cool, after absorbing Ramsay’s evil powers, Sandra seems to have taken on Joffrey’s as well...

Sandra then confirms that the Karstarks and Umbers died fighting for Ramsay; as we now know, the “original” ending to the Battle of the Bastards involved the Karstarks and Umbers turning on Ramsay but it was never filmed because D&D are hacks with no sense of realistic time management, so it appears that they just went ahead and officially retconned their own original intention and I guess it worked out well for them because it gives Sandra another thing to be a bitch about. Anyway, Jon’s like “I will not punish a son for his father’s sins and my decision is final GOT THAT SIS?” and to prove that everyone is cool now, he calls up Alys Karstark (why is she a redhead?) and an Umber kid (TinyJon?) and makes them swear fealty right there on the spot, which they do, and Sandra stares at them like she’s the witch from Hansel and Gretel... Insert random shots of Creepy Grinning Littlefinger and Slightly Concerned Davos.

Afterwards, Jon and Sandra go for a little stroll and, out of nowhere, Sandra invokes Godwin’s Law by comparing Jon to Joffrey --What??? Even Jon’s like “did you just fucking compare me to Joffrey?” And Sandra’s like “lol j/k you’re totes a good leader.” Then she goes on to drag Ned and Robb and outright calls them “stupid”.... Sigh. You know, if this show had GOOD writers, they could easily find a way to acknowledge Ned and Robb’s fuck-ups without having their daughter and sister call them stupid. Like, say, “Hey, Dad and Robb were great men but they made mistakes that we shouldn’t repeat. Let’s learn from them and do better.” Done, NO SLANDER NEEDED. Then Jon’s like, “You think Imma be smarter listening to YOUR crazy ass?” She says “Would that be so terrible?” YES, SANDRA, IT WOULD. Then Maester Whatshisnuts delivers a raven from Queen Cersei saying “come here and bend the knee, bitches” and Sandra’s like “yeah dummy, there’s a war to the South too!” Jon’s like “uhh I have bigger to fry” but Sandra insists that Cersei should be addressed because she’s found a way to murder all her enemies. Which, for some ungodly reason, prompts Jon to say “It sounds as if you admire her.” Which Sandra, instead of slapping him in his face for suggesting such a vile thing, replies almost wistfully “I learned a great deal from her.”

So add Cersei to the list of abusers that Sandra has decided to personify. #NOTMYSANSA

Speaking of, we jump to Cersei supervising the painting of a big floor map when Jaime comes in and she asks him if he’s afraid of her and his mouth says “no” but his eyes say “yes but it turns me on tbh”. Somehow she knows that Tyrion is Dany’s Hand and Jaime knows they will definitely land at Dragonstone, which apparently Stannis left unoccupied(!!?!?!). Cersei calls the girl whom not a minute ago we saw infer that she respected Cersei “that murdering whore Sansa Stark”, because Game of Thrones & Girl Power™. Cersei’s like “Literally everyone outside of the Red Keep is an enemy, how do we defeat them?” Jaime’s like, “Ummmm” and Cersei’s like “Nevermind, I have a totally awesome full-proof can’t miss idea!”

Very conveniently right at that moment, the entire Greyjoy fleet rolls up into the Blackwater. Jaime’s like “Seriously?? These jerks never keep their promises and always betray their friends” And Cersei is literally like, “Meh, everyone does.” (!!!!!???) Jaime’s like “No for real, the Greyjoys suck at life” and HE LITERALLY ADMITS THAT THE GREYJOYS DON’T GROW ANYTHING ON THE IRON ISLANDS AS THEY STAND THERE STARING AT A FLEET OF SHIPS THAT EURON TOLD HIS MEN TO “CUT DOWN TREES” FOR.

Cut to the throne room where Euron Both-Eyes proceeds to launch a thousand Twitter memes with his tight leather pants and guyliner, looking for all the world like a MCR reject. Or maybe I should say Mystery, as he attempts the Pick-Up Artist routine on Cersei. He and Jaime proceed to have a pissing contest involving faux-backstory (apparently Jaime was the reason Euron went into exile? lololol okay), and Jaime points out at that Euron kills his own kin as if that’s something that matters anymore. Euron’s like, “Cersei baby, I got a thousand ships and TWO GOOD HANDS!”

However, Cersei decides to play hard-to-get and is like “nah, you’re not trustworthy and you’ve broken promises and murdered your own brother and shit” and Euron’s just looking at her like “bitch didn’t you just blow up a church?” But Euron won’t be dissuaded! He says he’s gonna go out there and get Cersei a gift, a gift that she will be so HAPPY to receive that she will immediately divest her smallclothes. I WONDER WHAT IT COULD BEEEEE....

We then kick it Oldtown where Sam’s days are filled with books, shit, and soup. We are then treated to a soup-and-poop montage that lasted longer than Arya’s training at the HoB&W. (And no, D&D, the juxtaposition of books with shit was not lost on us, go fuck yourselves.)

Elsewhere at Hogwarts the Citadel, Sam goes to visit Professor Slughorn to ask him for access to the restricted section of the library (no, I am not making that up). Archmaester Slughorn (is this supposed to be Marwyn?) is like “sorry kid no acolytes allowed” so then Sam tries to sweeten the deal by revealing that he’s seen the White Walkers, and Slughorn quickly believes him and proceeds to pick up where the High Sparrow left off by launching into some long-winded nonsense that comes down to “don’t even bug about it, the Wall will protect us forever!” Sam doesn’t buy it, though, so that night he grabs his invisibility cloak and sneaks into the restricted area of the library!! And all I could think was, if Walder Frey suddenly pops up with a lantern complaining about acolytes being out of bed, I am gonna have a stroke.

We then jump back to Winterfell where Brienne is filling her 3-seasons-long wish of beating the snot out of poor Pod, which gets Tormund aroused (bleh). Speaking of creepy ships, Sandra is watching from overheard where Littlefucker comes up behind her and divulges how Brienne “beat the Hound in single combat” (how would he know that?), and Sandra’s like “Whoa she fought the Hound?? Is is okay?? OMG is he the ‘man’ that Brienne said was with Arya????”

HAHAHA just kidding she had no reaction at all.

So LF is basically like “pay attention to meeeeeeee” and Sansa is just like “creepers to the left please” until Brienne materializes and gives him stank-eye so he’ll leave. Brienne’s like “why the fuck is he even still here?” and Sansa says “we need his men” (by “his” I’m assuming she means Robin Arryn, Lord of the Vale??) and then is like “Littlefinger saved us! heehee” OMFG MAKE UP YOUR MIND, SANDRA.

Over in the Riverlands, Arya stumbles upon a free Ed Sheeran concert in the woods. Apparently, when it comes to mass murder, Arya is like a snake -- after a feeding, she’s good for like 6 months because girlfriend just rolled up on a handful of Lannister men just chilling and instead of immediately shanking them decides to hang out. Gee, D&D sure do like to show Arya bonding with Lannister surrogates, don’t they? And in the same episode where Sandra declares her respect for Cersei. Mixed messaging much...?

Anyway, Arya tells Sheeran his song is lit but she never heard it before and he’s like “just dropped my new single, download it on iTunes!” and then another guy offers her some rabbit. Turns out Arya happened upon the only decent Lannister men (or, MEN, period) in Westeros as none of them try to kill, molest, or bother her at all and are in fact very generous and sympathetic. Ooookay. They ask her why she’s going to KL and Arya “Faceless Men Dropout” Stark just casually states that she’s going to kill the queen, which they find hee-larious!

So, what exactly are we supposed to be taking away from this scene? On its own, it’s fine, but it lines up more with GRRM’s messaging than it does D&D’s and therefore feels out of place here. Which brings me to...

... the only scene in this episode I really give to shits about! So, while it’s brisk and sunny in Arya’s part of the Riverlands, it’s a goddamn blizzard over where Sandor and the BwB are journeying. Auntie Thoros is like “brrrr it’s cold!” and Sandor’s like “THANKS CAPTAIN OBVIOUS”. Thoros calls him a “grouchy old bear” and asks him why he’s always in a bad mood and Sandor’s like “um have you met me?” They then come upon a familiar farm that they think looks inviting but Sandor’s like “NOPE” and Thoros is like “what, are you SCARED?” and Sandor’s like “NO YOU ARE!!! AND YOUR TOP-KNOT IS STUPID TOO!!!” Thoros tries to entice him with the possibility of ale inside and Sandor’s like haha joke’s on you they have no ale cuz I fucking stole it all...

They make their way inside and Sandor sees the frozen corpses of the farmer and little girl he robbed back in Season 4 in a corner. Detective Dondarrion C.S.I. deduces that it was a murder-suicide and Sandor tries to brush it off, saying “It doesn’t matter now.” They sit down while Thoros builds a fire and Sandor points out that Beric is not special and actually kinda lame, so why did the Lord of the Light choose him when there are better men who deserve it more? Beric’s like “fuck if I know” but he knows that there’s a reason. Sandor’s like “why doesn’t the Lord of Light just tell you?” and again Beric has no answers. Sandor opines that it’s not fair that Beric is still alive but that little girl is dead...

Then Thoros is like “come stare into the flames with meeeee” and Sandor’s like “I don’t wannaaaaaaaa” but Thoros convinces him, and after a few moments of some skeptical squinting, Sandor’s like

And also a mountain shaped like an arrowhead. Sandor is SHOOK and Beric is like “TOLD YA.”

Later that night, Auntie Thoros wakes up to a ruckus outside, so he throws on his shawl goes out to see Sandor digging a grave for the farmer and the little girl. Yes, folks, after 2 seasons, we finally get The Gravedigger. Sandor is especially reverential as he lays the small bundle of the little girl into the hole. Thoros helps him fill the hole, then Sandor attempts to recite a prayer to the Seven but he doesn’t know the words. So he leaves it at a simple “I'm sorry you’re dead. Both of you. You deserved better.”

Am I... even watching the same show here?? I mean, aside from all the “cunting” and the “cocksucking”, this is the first time in a LONG time that I felt like we were seeing the REAL Sandor Clegane... the one from the books. The sequence by the gave in particular rang completely true for me. Now, as y’all know, I hate hate HATE that scene in Season 4 with a fiery passion, so I was actually glad to see some actual CONSEQUENCES being addressed. Yes, the same show where there is literally never any fallout for people’s shitty, nihilistic decisions, here we watch Sandor having to face the brutal reality of something extremely vile he did 3 years(?) prior. And not only did he confront it, he attempted to atone for it, of his own volition, in the only way he knew how. Here’s a man who realized his own hypocrisy in railing against an unjust system while simultaneously making these two innocent people a victim of it himself -- which, granted, NEVER should have happened in the first place, because Sandor would never do such a thing... but if the payoff for it was seeing this more compassionate, repentant side of Sandor, then I’ll take it.

Anyhoo, back at the Citadel, Sam is poring over some books with Gilly (why is she still there exactly?) when he flips a page and is like “EUREKA! Here’s a thing Stannis told me about 2 seasons ago that I conveniently forgot about until now!” Namely that Dragonstone is sitting on a goldmine of dragonglass. Sam immediately begins writing a letter to Jon.

Later on, Sam is on poop duty again and is cruising down the Hallway of the Damned when the busted arm of Jorah comes shooting through the wall. (Wow, somehow Jorah managed to get alllll the way to Oldtown but Dany’s not even to Dragonstone yet OH WELL!)

Speaking of which, AT LAST, 55 minutes in, we finally arrive at the location the entire episode is named for! It’s an extremely long, drawn-out sequence of Dany checking out her new digs, including the Stone Throne™, culminating with her running her hands all up and down the Westeros map table where Mel’s naked butt once was. Tyrion very generously allows her to have her moment and doesn’t get a single line. Then finally, Dany sits down at the table and asks the question I was asking the entire freaking episode: “Shall we begin?” YES, THAT WOULD BE NICE.

And there you have it. An insufferably boring beginning to what is supposed to be the penultimate GoT season. Just too bad they can’t afford to film in color anymore, otherwise this might have actually seemed rather grand...

Until next week!