#joseph n. welch

[byneddiedingo]

Joseph N. Welch, Lee Remick, and George C. Scott in Anatomy of a Murder (Otto Preminger, 1959)

Cast: James Stewart, Lee Remick, Ben Gazzara, Arthur O'Connell, Eve Arden, Kathryn Grant. George C. Scott, Joseph N. Welch. Screenplay: Wendell Mayes, based on a novel by John D. Voelker (as Robert Traver). Cinematography: Sam Leavitt. Production design: Boris Leven. Film editing: Louis R. Loeffler. Music: Duke Ellington

An exceptional film, far more deserving of the year's best picture Oscar than the bombastic Ben-Hur (William Wyler), Anatomy has a lot of great things going for it: the wonderful courtroom conflict between old Hollywood pro James Stewart and Method-trained newcomer George C. Scott; the tension and volatility of Ben Gazzara as the defendant; the presence of such scene-stealers as Arthur O'Connell and Eve Arden in the supporting cast, along with other character actor stalwarts like Murray Hamilton, John Qualen, Orson Bean, Howard McNear, and Jimmy Conlin. And even the "stunt casting" of non-actor Joseph N. Welch, famous for the integrity he showed in his confrontation with Senator Joseph McCarthy during the Army-McCarthy hearings five years earlier, pays off handsomely, with Welch bringing both gravitas and humor to his role as the trial judge. The soundtrack by Duke Ellington also adds a touch of greatness to the movie, which  David Thomson calls "magnificent." Where I think it falls short of magnificence is in the treatment of the rape victim played by Lee Remick. There is, of course, some ambiguity remaining in the film as to whether she was in fact raped, but the part as written by Wendell Mayes and the performance as directed by Preminger treats the presumed victim as an air-headed sex kitten. It's possible that Hollywood, so long precluded by the Production Code from even treating the subject of sexual assault, hadn't yet developed a grammar and vocabulary for dealing with the subject. Remick was a fine actress, and she does manage to show moments of vulnerability in her performance, but the general impression of the character given by the film verges on the despicable "she was asking for it." Preminger had been flouting the Code since The Moon Is Blue (1954) and The Man With the Golden Arm (1955), challenging the strictures on language (the words "virgin" and "seduce") in the former and drug use in the latter. Anatomy continued Preminger's assault on prudishness, though few who watch it today will be shocked by its rather clinical discussion of whether Laura Mannion was indeed raped, or be inclined to sniff daintily, as Time magazine did in its review, that the film "seems less concerned with murder than with anatomy."

[doctorbitchcrxft]

Pilot | Supernatural Series Rewrite | Dean Winchester x Reader

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader (Eventual)

Warnings: canon violence, canon gore

Word Count: 4833

A/N: This is gonna be the slowest of burns. Every Saturday, these will publish at 3:00 PM CDT! I hope you all enjoy. Taglist/Requests are open!!

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A trail of men disappearing spanning decades had brought you to Jericho, California. It seemed it would be a pretty standard hunt. From the moment you arrived, though, you knew this would be different.

You’d run into other hunters on jobs before, but none as strange and belligerent as John. John was all you knew him by. He was rough around the edges, and in all honesty, a complete dick. You had unintentionally gotten into an unspoken race with him to see who could finish the hunt first. Both of you refused to back off and go find another job; you just out of spite and him… you had no idea why a guy old enough to be your father was being so petty and territorial about this hunt. And perhaps that’s what fueled your fire to finish this hunt before John could. You thought maybe he knew something you didn’t about the hunt, and you were desperate to find out. But then… he disappeared. 

About a week into the “competition” you were having with John, he disappeared. You didn’t see him around Joseph Welch’s house, the Breckenridge Road home, or the Centennial Highway Bridge. It was completely puzzling. He didn’t seem like the type to up and leave in the middle of a job, but you brushed the unsettled feeling you had aside to keep pushing through your hunt. 

You had torched the body of Constance Welch the same night you guessed John left. You were just about to leave town, and then, Troy Squire ended up dead by what you assumed were Constance’s hands. 

You pulled up to the Centennial Highway Bridge in yet another stolen car. 

‘One of these days I won’t keep putting a neon sign on my back by stealing cars and actually find a way to buy one,’ you thought.

Almost as if on cue, another car pulled up next to yours. Except this car— a black 1967 Chevy Impala— was way nicer than the shitty sedan you’d copped for the time being. 

Two young men in the most layers you’ve ever seen anyone wear in the California sun stepped out on either side of the car. You pushed aside the thought of how attractive the shorter of the pair was and kept walking toward the taped-off part of the bridge where a few officers were milling around a crashed car. 

“Is that Troy’s? Oh, my God,” you shook your head, making sure the officers could hear you. 

“Ma’am, you are not supposed to be here,” an officer told you, trying to keep you from walking any closer to the car.

“I know, I know, I’m sorry, I just—” you sniffed, “—I’m his cousin. We were really close growing up, and I, uh, just had to see this for myself, um, do you have any idea what could’ve happened?”

“We were wondering the same thing,” a deep voice called from behind you, making you wheel around.

‘Fuck. The Impala dudes.’

“And who are you?” the officer you’d been speaking to asked.

“Federal marshals,” one said, flashing a badge.

‘Goddammit, more hunters.’ You held back an eye roll, doing your best to stay in character.

“You two are a little young for marshals, aren't you?”

The one you’d found attractive initially flashed a smile. “Thanks, that's awfully kind of you. You just had another one just like this, correct?”

The officer you’d been speaking to didn’t seem too convinced by their story, but replied anyway. “Yeah, that's right. About a mile up the road. There've been others before that.”

“Any connection between the victims, besides that they're all men?”

“No. Not so far as we can tell.”

“So, what's the theory?” the taller guy asked. 

“Honestly, we don't know. Serial murder? Kidnapping ring?” The officer seemed to remember you were standing there as he spoke. “Ma’am, I really do need you to go.”

“I was just about to—” you started, before the shorter guy cut you off. 

“What kinda crack police work are you doing; talking about sensitive information in front of townies?” He was cut off with a grunt; apparently the other guy had stepped on his foot. 

“Thank you for your time,” you told the officer, suddenly feeling very awkward. You turned on your heel, hurrying away. 

***

After the bizarre incident with the other two hunters on the bridge, you went down to a local diner to get something to eat. You were puzzled as to why Constance was still around after you torched her bones. You flipped through a few pages of your journal when you saw the two hunters from the bridge walking in with two goth chicks. 

‘What the fuck. First John, and now this.’

The shorter one of the pair caught the glare you threw their way over your shoulder. He had a smug look on his face you couldn’t quite read as he sat down in a booth with the girls and his partner. You did your best to listen in on their conversation as you sipped your drink. 

“I was on the phone with Troy. He was driving home. He said he would call me right back, and...he never did,” you heard one of the girls lament. 

You recognized the voice of the taller one. “He didn't say anything strange, or out of the ordinary?”

“No. Nothing I can remember.”

“I like your necklace.”

“Troy gave it to me. Mostly to scare my parents—” the girl laughed, “—with all that devil stuff.”

“Actually, it means just the opposite. A pentagram is protection against evil. Really powerful. I mean, if you believe in that kind of thing.”

“Okay. Thank you, Unsolved Mysteries,” the other guy’s voice broke in. 

You held back a small laugh. You hated to admit it, but he was pretty funny. 

“Here's the deal, ladies,” the pretty one said, “The way Troy disappeared, something's not right. So if you've heard anything… What is it?”

Your eyebrows drew together, your back still turned to the group.

“Well, it's just... I mean, with all these guys going missing, people talk,” a new voice chimed in. 

“What do they talk about?” the two boys said in unison.

It got a little harder to hear as one of the girls quieted her voice. “It's kind of this local legend. This one girl? She got murdered out on Centennial, like decades ago. Well, supposedly she's still out there. She hitchhikes, and whoever picks her up? Well, they disappear forever.”

‘Yeah, yeah, I already know that. They are way far behind me in the process.’

“Well, thank you for your time, ladies,” the voice of the taller one spoke amidst some rustling. You figured they were getting up to leave. 

You dropped a twenty on the table, let the door shut behind the group, and stood to follow the boys out. You hung back a little while you watched them head to their car. 

“I know you’re back there, sweetheart,” the pretty one called without turning around.

“I know you do. I was just testing you,” you said, walking closer. “Look, I’ve already got this one covered. You guys should find something else.”

“Not a chance,” the pretty boy replied. 

“Look, man—” you started. 

“We’re just looking for our dad,” the taller one cut you off. “We think he’s working this same job.”

“Wait, is your dad’s name John?” you asked, surprised. 

Both of them started toward you, their shock and confusion evident. “How do you—”

“Whoa, easy,” you giggled. “He was here a few days ago and then he just, pfft,” you imitated a puff of smoke, “disappeared.”

The pretty boy ran his hand through his hair, looking frustrated, while the taller guy continued talking to you. “Was he working with you?”

“Hardly,” you scoffed, “we were kind of in an unspoken competition to see who could smoke this bitch first when he disappeared. And then, Troy ended up dead a day later. I thought maybe he was connected to Troy’s death some kind of way.”

“I don’t think so,” the taller one answered. “I’m Sam, by the way. This is my brother, Dean.”

“Nice to meet you. I’m (Y/N),” you shook Sam’s hand. When you reached for Dean’s, though, he rolled his eyes at you without taking it. 

“Oh-kay,” you muttered. 

“Sorry about him,” Sam told you. “He’s—”

“A bit touchy?” you smirked.

“Yeah,” Sam laughed. 

“I can hear you two, y’know,” Dean snarked. 

“I know,” you quipped. “So, what’s your theory on your dad?”

“We have no idea,” Sam said. “We were hoping you might know.”

“I have nothing for you,” you shook your head. 

“Well, do you know anything about the case?” 

“A lot, actually. Chick’s name is Constance Welch. She’s a woman in white. She lives at the end of Breckenridge Road. I talked to her husband, and he definitely cheated on her. He buried her in a plot behind her house. I went there and torched her. I was just about to leave town when your dad disappeared, Troy wound up dead, and you two showed up.”

“Then, there’s gotta be something else keeping her here,” Sam told you.

“Okay, then what?”

***

“So this is where Constance took the swan dive,” Dean said. The three of you looked over the railing of the Centennial Highway Bridge. Sam had been nice enough to force his brother to let you tag along. 

“Okay, so now what?” Sam asked.

“Now we keep digging until we find Dad. Might take a while,” Dean responded.

“Dean, I told you, I've gotta get back by Monday—”

“What’s Monday?” you asked. 

“I’ve got an interview with law school.”

“Oh, shit, no way!” you smiled. 

Sam smiled back at you before Dean cut in. “Yeah, I forgot. You're really serious about this, aren't you? You think you're just going to become some lawyer? Marry your girl?”

“Maybe. Why not?” Sam cut back.

“Does Jessica know the truth about you? I mean, does she know about the things you've done?”

“No, and she's not ever going to know.”

“Well, that's healthy. You can pretend all you want, Sammy. But sooner or later you're going to have to face up to who you really are.” Dean kept walking down the bridge. 

“And who's that?”

“You're one of us,” Dean said. 

Sam hurried around him. “No. I'm not like you. This is not going to be my life.”

You felt really awkward doing what felt like intruding on a private moment. Your eyes began to scan the railing of the bridge opposite you.

“You have a responsibility to—”

Sam cut his brother off. “To Dad? And his crusade? If it weren't for pictures I wouldn't even know what Mom looks like. And what difference would it make? Even if we do find the thing that killed her, Mom's gone. And she isn't coming back.”

You were doing your best not to listen in on their conversation when Dean grabbed his brother by the collar and shoved him against the bridge railing.

“Uh, guys—” you started, your eye caught by what looked like Constance standing on the railing of the bridge.

“Don't talk about her like that,” Dean grumbled at his brother; ignoring you.

“Guys!” 

“What?!” Dean turned to face you, stopping when he caught sight of Constance. Constance then stepped off the railing. 

The three of you broke off in a sprint toward the spot she’d leapt off. You searched the water below. “Where'd she go?”

“No idea,” Dean answered. 

Your visual search was interrupted by a bright light coming on in the corner of your eye. Dean’s Impala’s headlights. 

“What the fuck—” Dean trailed off.

“Who's driving your car?” you asked him. 

He responded by pulling the keys out of his pocket and jingling them. 

“Oh.”

The car jerked to life, heading straight for you and the boys. You broke into a sprint yet again, doing your best to outrun the car; a task that proved impossible. 

“Jump!” you screamed, and the three of you threw yourselves over the side of the bridge. You thankfully caught a bit of the bridge that jutted out over the water and pulled yourself back up, groaning.

‘My arm’s gonna be sore as a bitch in the morning.’

“Dean?” Sam yelled down to the water below. “Dean!”

“What?” came his aggravated response. 

You looked down to see a mud-covered Dean crawling out of the water. You couldn’t hold back a laugh upon seeing him.

“Not funny, sweetheart,” he called up to you.

“My name’s (Y/N),” you answered. “Don’t call me sweetheart. It weirds me out.”

“Sure thing, sweetheart.”

“Guys, you can argue later. You okay?” Sam called down to Dean.

“I’m super,” his brother responded.

You and Sam climbed back over the railing of the bridge while Dean made his way up to you. The car had stopped only a few inches from where the three of you dove over. Dean busied himself inspecting the engine while you sat with your back leaned against the passenger’s side door. 

“Your car okay?” Sam asked. 

“Yeah, whatever she did to it, seems all right now.” Dean shut the hood. “That Constance chick, what a bitch!”

You chuckled to yourself at his antics. “Alright, well, I don’t think the bridge is what’s tying her here. What now?”

Dean raised his hands in frustration, flicking mud off his hands in the process. 

Sam caught a whiff of his brother. “You smell like a toilet.”

***

Your next stop was a motel. When you went to check in, the clerk informed Dean that another man under the last name on Dean’s card had bought out a room for the whole month. And so, you and the boys went poking around John’s room. 

Every surface was covered in newspaper clippings, magazine articles, photos, hastily scribbled notes, and bits of red tape tying some of them together. 

“I knew John was weird, but this is a whole new level,” you commented, slightly in awe of the frantic scribblings covering the wall. 

‘'Don’t talk about him like that,” Dean grumbled. “I'm gonna get cleaned up.” He started toward the shower. 

“Hey, Dean?” Sam stopped him.

His brother turned around. 

“What I said earlier, about Mom and Dad, I'm sorry—”

Dean held up a hand, cutting him off. “No chick-flick moments.”

Sam laughed. “Alright, jerk.”

“Bitch.”

“You guys are strange.”

Dean rolled his eyes at you before disappearing into the bathroom. 

You started looking around John’s room. A closer look at the walls of information revealed pages on demons, witches, possession, and other bits of newspaper referring to mysterious deaths unlike anything you’d heard before. One was an obituary clipping from 1983; taking you aback. The picture was of a gorgeous blonde woman named Mary Winchester who died in a house fire. Her picture was surrounded by other house fire deaths and linked by red thread to multiple of the demon and witch articles. You walked over to his dresser where there was a picture of a much younger John holding two boys who you assumed were Sam and Dean. 

“You guys were cute kids,” you told Sam, showing him the picture.

He smiled sadly at it. 

After a brief melancholy pause, you spoke up. “So, what’s your deal? College? Law school? Part-time hunter? That doesn’t add up.”

“My, uh, my dad raised us as hunters after my mom passed,” he explained. 

“I’m sorry,” you told him, sitting on the bed next to him. “Was her death the reason your dad became a hunter?”

“Yeah. I’m not exactly sure what happened; I wasn’t even a year old yet. Dean remembers way more than I do, but he said our dad was never the same. Anyway, two years ago, dad and I got into a fight. I wanted to go to school, and he wanted me to stay and hunt. So I left.”

“Dean said you got a girl now? Was that the voicemail you were listening to a few minutes ago?”

“Yeah, actually. Jess. She’s— she’s amazing. I’m excited to get back to her.” You could see how much he loved her just in how his face lit up talking about her.

“I’m sure you are,” you smiled. 

“So, what about you? What’s your story?” he nudged your shoulder with his. 

“Meh, not much to tell.”

“Aw, come on—” Sam rebutted. 

“I’m serious!” you laughed. “I’ve just always hunted. Never knew anything different.”

“I know that’s difficult.” His tone became serious again. 

“Nah, it’s not so bad. I enjoy it. Brings me a little peace, y’know?” you shrugged.

“You sound like Dean.”

“Speaking of which, he’s taking forever and a day in the shower,” you joked. You bounced over to the bathroom door, leaning your ear on it about to knock. “Hey, princess—” 

You were cut off by the door opening and stumbled into Dean’s chest. 

He caught you by the shoulders. “You were saying?” 

You shoved off him, annoyed by his smug smile and quirked eyebrow. “Sorry.”

“Anyway,” Dean began, “I'm starving, I'm gonna grab a little something to eat in that diner down the street. You want anything?”

“No,” Sam said.

“A burger would be great,” you told him. 

“Wasn’t asking you,” Dean said. 

You stuck your tongue out at him. “Aframian’s buying, anyway, so what difference is it to you?”

“Nothing, it’s just fun to rile you up.” He winked and smiled at you, amused at your aggravated expression before closing the door behind him. 

You shook your head. “Dick.”

Sam laughed. “You get used to him.” He went back to his phone, relistening to his girlfriend’s voicemail. He furrowed his brows before pressing it to his ear. “What?” He stands up, catching your attention. “What about you?” He huffed when he hung up the phone, rushing over to the closed curtains to peek out. 

“What, what is it?” You crossed your arms.

“Police got Dean. We need to leave.”

“Shit.”

Sam quickly pulled away from the window which you understood meant you had company. You hid under the bed, anxiously waiting to see the officer’s boots make their way into the bathroom. You began scooching yourself out from under the bed frame, and when he’d slammed the door to the bathroom open, you and Sam snuck out of the room. Thankfully, Sam had Dean’s keys, and the two of you sped away from the motel in Dean’s Impala.

“Well, shit,” you breathed, your heart still beating quickly.

Sam huffed out a laugh, still recovering from the adrenaline.

***

You and Sam were headed to Breckenridge Road to hopefully figure out how to stop Constance. Since you had torched the body, then maybe something in her house was keeping her alive. 

After Dean’s arrest, the two of you were intent on getting Dean and getting the hell out of Jericho before anyone else had a run-in with the cops. 

Sam’s phone rang, and he answered quickly. “Hello?” He tossed a look your way. “Actually, it was (Y/N)’s idea.” You had no doubt he was referring to the fake shooting you’d called in to the police department so Dean had an opportunity to escape. You motioned for him to give you the phone.

“You’re welcome, by the way,” you told him once you had the phone to your ear. 

“Yeah, whatever, sweetheart,” Dean’s gruff voice responded.

“I told you not to call me that.”

“And I’ve made it pretty clear I’m not going to listen. Hey, give the phone back to Sam. I gotta talk to him.”

“And why can’t you tell me? Don’t you trust me? I’m offended, babe,” you quipped. 

“Don’t objectify me.”

“Hey, you started it with the whole ‘sweetheart’ thing.”

“C’mon, (Y/N), give him the—”

“Shit!” you screamed, dropping the phone as the car came to a screeching halt. “What the hell, Sam?”

“Constance,” he replied coolly. He kept a level head despite the tense situation. 

You looked up at the rearview mirror to see her in the backseat. “Fuck.” 

Constance’s hauntingly beautiful voice melodically flowed from the backseat. “Take me home.”

“No,” Sam answered. 

You saw her glare as the doors started to lock themselves. You whipped around to start trying to reopen them. The car began jerking forward. 

“What the hell, Sam? Stop!” you told him. 

“It’s not me.”

You looked over to see him holding his hands up. The steering wheel was moving itself. You turned back to the door, struggling to get the lock open. Eventually, you wound up at Constance’s abandoned Breckenridge Road house. The car’s rumble quieted and the headlights turned off. 

“Don't do this,” Sam pleaded, still holding his hands up. 

The ghost flickered, sounding sad. “I can never go home.”

‘That’s it.’

“You're scared to go home,” you realized. When you turned around to look at her, she had disappeared. Before you could even turn back around, you felt the bench seat reclining forcefully. 

“Sam!” 

Constance sat atop him, begging him to hold her. 

“You can't kill me. I'm not unfaithful. I've never been!”

“You will be,” she hummed. “Just hold me.”

You fumbled for your gun hidden under your top. Before you could fully aim at her, you felt your back make brief contact with the Impala’s door before flying through the air. You barely registered Sam yelling your name as you groaned in pain on the dead grass beneath you. 

You rolled around, trying to regain your wits and recover when you heard the sound of multiple gunshots. 

“Sam!”

“It’s me, (Y/N), stay down!” Dean yelled. 

Suddenly, Dean’s car burst through the front of the abandoned house. You pushed yourself up off the ground; your joints and back aching in protest. 

“Sam! Sam! You okay?” Dean called after the car. 

‘I’m fine, Dean, thanks for asking,’ you thought. 

The two of you climbed over the rubble to the passenger’s side window. 

“I think,” Sam responded weakly. 

“Can you move?” you asked.

“Yeah. Help me?” He reached out to his brother. 

Dean pulled Sam through the window of the car. “There you go.”

You turned to see Constance looking sadly at a picture she was holding before slamming it to the floor. She glared at the three of you harshly, forcing a bureau across the floor to pin you to Dean’s car. 

You groaned in pain once again as Dean struggled to push the furniture off. You stopped your struggle at the lights flickering and the sound of water rushing down the stairs. 

“You've come home to us, Mommy,” the echoey voices of Constance’s children sang. They appeared behind her, hugging her as she screamed. In a surge of energy, Constance and her children began melting to the floor. Constance’s resounding scream seemed to get louder and louder with each passing moment, the flickering of the lights becoming more and more intense. You squeezed your eyes shut until the screaming subsided, suddenly feeling the pressure on your stomach relieved. All that was left of Constance and her children was a puddle of murky water on the floor. 

“So this is where she drowned her kids,” Dean said while you rubbed your stomach, recovering from the pressure of the bureau. 

Sam nodded. “That's why she could never go home. She was too scared to face them.”

“You found her weak spot. Nice work, Sammy.” Dean slapped his brother on the chest where he’d been injured by Constance.

Sam laughed despite the pain. “Yeah, I wish I could say the same for you. What were you thinking shooting Casper in the face, you freak?”

“Hey. Saved your ass,” Dean commented, starting to look over his beloved Impala. “I'll tell you another thing. If you screwed up my car? I'll kill you.” 

You giggled at Sam and Dean’s banter. Sam and Dean started to get back into the car, and you idled awkwardly. 

“Whatcha doin’? Let’s go.” Sam looked at you expectantly. 

“Go where?” you asked, feeling stupid. 

“I think we make a pretty solid team. You should tag along.”

“What?” Dean asked while you started shaking your head. 

“No, no, I shouldn’t—” 

“You should. I’m going back to school, and I know Dean’s gonna be lost without me trying to find my dad.”

A slow smile crossed your face. “Thank you. That’d be nice, actually.”

Dean rolled his eyes, but didn’t say anything to the contrary. And with that, the three of you set off to drop Sam back off at college. 

***

The thing Dean so desperately wanted to tell Sam that he couldn’t tell you earlier was that his dad had left coordinates to a place called Blackwater Ridge, Colorado in the journal he’d left behind in Jericho. John was getting weirder and weirder by the minute. 

“AC/DC. I like it,” you said from the backseat. 

“Thanks.” Dean cracked what seemed like a genuine, lopsided smile at you for the first time in the rearview mirror. “Sam thinks it’s mullet rock.”

“Yeah, well, it’s better than Kiss and Poison.”

“True that.” Despite the fact that he was agreeing with you about something as mundane as music, his tone was still guarded.

“How far is Blackwater Ridge?” you asked Sam, who was looking over a map. 

“About 600 miles,” he answered.

“Hey, if we shag ass we could make it by morning,” Dean cut in. 

Sam suddenly looked uncomfortable. “Dean, I, um…”

The older brother deflated. “You're not going.”

“The interview's in like, ten hours. I gotta be there,” Sam tried to reason.

Dean nodded, disappointed, and returned his attention to the road. “Yeah. Yeah, whatever. I'll take you home.”

The mood in the car had turned tense, awkward, and sour, and remained that way for the rest of the drive back to Sam’s college.

“Dude, you go to Stanford?” you asked incredulously.

“Yeah,” he nodded, sheepishly.

“Alright, smartass, look at you.” You nudged his shoulder with your balled fist. 

Dean rolled to a stop in front of Sam’s apartment complex. 

You and Sam got out of the car. You gave him a quick hug goodbye before climbing down into the front seat. 

Sam leaned into your rolled-down window. “Call me if you find him?”

Dean nodded. 

“And maybe I can meet up with you later, huh?”

Despite Sam’s chipper tone, Dean’s disappointment was clear. “Yeah, all right.”

Sam patted the car door twice before turning away. 

“Sam?” Dean called before his brother could get too far. “You know, we made a hell of a team back there.” 

You felt a pang in your heart at Dean’s indirect attempt to try to convince Sam to stay. 

Sam nodded with a half-hearted smile. “Yeah.” 

Dean then began to drive off. 

The two of you didn’t get any more than five minutes down the road before you felt something was off. You could no longer hear the steady ticking of Dean’s watch breaking through the almost awkward silence. Sure enough, when you looked over at the wrist he had perched atop the steering wheel, the watch was stopped. 

“Dean,” you said. You tapped his watch’s face with your fingernail. 

He matched your worried glance, immediately turning the car around.

The car had barely stopped before you and Dean were leaping into action. You let Dean take the lead in rushing up to Sam’s apartment. 

Dean kicked the door to the apartment open, calling out to his brother in the process. You gasped when you caught sight of flames licking at the ceiling coming out from what you assumed was Sam’s bedroom. 

You heard Sam’s voice weakly calling his girlfriend’s name as you rushed to get him out of the smoldering room. You just barely caught sight of a body bleeding from the stomach burning on the ceiling before you and Dean dragged a screaming Sam out of his bedroom and away from the fire. You fought him every step of the way out of his apartment complex. 

It didn’t take long for the fire department to show up and the police to start asking questions. A small crowd had gathered to gawk at Sam’s smoldering apartment. Your face was steely as you watched the firefighters carry Jess out in a body bag. You and Dean took the brunt of the questions the police had, allowing Sam as much space as he needed. 

You and Dean soon headed over to the Impala where Sam was packing up the weapons cavity of the trunk. Both of you seemed too scared to ask Sam what was running through his head, and neither of you had any idea what to say. 

Sam threw a shotgun into the weapons box before muttering, “We got work to do,” and slamming the trunk shut.

You threw a look at Dean, who shook his head in response. Biting the inside of your cheek, you followed the boys into the car. As the three of you left Sam’s apartment in the rearview mirror, you realized the course of your formerly relatively boring life was changing very quickly. 

‘Damn you, John. Wherever you are.’

[avelera]

"Weirdness", Decency, and the Historical Echoes of Walz's tide-turning call-out of MAGA

At the risk of writing a high school paper about American politics in 2024, I think there's a historical echo that I'd like to add to the conversation of why Walz calling MAGA people, "weird" seems to finally armed Democrats with a line of personal attacks against MAGA that resonates with voters and seems to have overall broken the spell on this, well, weird behavior by them.

I think the one line of discussion that I haven't seen explored as to why the "weird" attack seems to be working to call out this aptly-named behavior by the far right in America is its similarity to the end of another far right movement in America: McCarthy's Red Scare.

It is popularly attributed that the moment, the quote, that brought about the end of the Red Scare was this:

"Until this moment, senator, I think I never gauged your cruelty or recklessness . . . . Have you no sense of decency, sir? At long last, have you left no sense of decency?"

Special Counsel for the U.S. Army Joseph N. Welch confronting Sen. Joseph McCarthy (source)

Many historical accounts will say this is the moment the spell broke with McCarthy. That this is the moment when Americans looked around like the naval officer at the end of Lord of the Flies and basically said, "What the hell is going on here?"

I think Walz's "weird" quote is this moment.

I've been waiting for this moment to occur with MAGA for some time. It did indeed feel as if no amount of pointing out the lunacy, the absurdity, of the movement was enough. I think other commentators might be right when saying that appealing to how dangerous they are, how scary they are, wasn't working. I could speculate on a variety of reasons for this, like that people like to be part of the winning side and being "scary" can feel good. Or that because of Godwin's Law it's nearly impossible to impress upon people how serious and swift the rise of fascism can be even when it's right in front of you, because no one wants to believe that "our sort of people" would do that sort of thing.

But calling out the MAGA movement as "weird" seems to be working because it echoes Welch's "decency" attack. It is treating childish behavior with the response it deserves. It's huff of exasperation, it's the admonishment of the social choir saying, "What the hell is wrong with you? Why do you care about other people's personal lives so much? Why the hell are you trying to ban books like the Nazis did? Why are you going after women and immigrants and trans kids? Why can't you just be a good neighbor and leave people alone? At long last have you no sense of decency?"

We're tired of it. The MAGA movement has gone too far beyond the wishes of the moderate "silent majority" (such as it is and that's its own topic of debate) and is now obsessed with its own culture war issues that have grown increasingly detached from anything anyone really cares about day to day except for their die hards. And those die hards are so out of touch they don't realize it happened.

If I may end on one last rumination, I think that part of the reason the MAGA movement has lost touch is because of Trump's skill at marketing. Now, I loathe pretty much every aspect of the man, I struggle to think of any point on which I don't, but there is one thing, one thing I'll give him credit for which is being an arguably generational talent at marketing, branding, and self-promotion. He's good at getting his name on things and making them all about him (before he inevitably runs them into the ground).

But the thing is with marketing, you do a thing called A/B testing. You see which message resonates the most. And if a feel-good ad gets you 30% response and a misogynistic ad gets you 60% response, you go with that misogynistic one because the numbers support it (I actually saw this happen with an ad campaign so it's based on personal experience).

Now, if you notice that 16 year old boys really like your product and if you sell to them, you move more product, even if you lost the interest of everyone else, you're still doing a good job at moving your product (see Hollywood for the last few decades). Because a large, certain audience is better in marketing than trying to achieve broad but tepid appeal.

But the thing in politics is that you actually do have to expand your appeal. You have to get over 50% in the US. That means expanding the coalition, appealing to more people. But that runs counter to the way a lot of product marketing would work, where you'd single out your best audience and market aggressively to them because you'll get a better return. That, I think, is why Trump risks losing the middle even as he has the right locked down. He is a marketer, not a politician. He has his reliable audience. But that reliable audience isn't enough to win office. It's just enough to get reliable buyers of his product. And he doesn't know how to expand beyond them.

To bring this all back to "weirdness" and "decency", I think this too plays into what we're seeing. The MAGA movement has turned in on itself through its constant marketing to itself, always seeking a bigger outrage, a bigger sequel to bring people to the theater. That has put it out of touch with the wider mainstream. It's made them weird, a weird subculture within America that is not in touch with what most people want out of their government.

At least, that's what I hope. We'll find out in a few months now, won't we?

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

N Scott Momaday, a Pulitzer prize-winning storyteller, poet, educator and folklorist whose debut novel House Made of Dawn is widely credited as the starting point for contemporary Native American literature, has died. He was 89. Momaday died on Wednesday at his home in Santa Fe, New Mexico, publisher HarperCollins announced. He had been in failing health.

“Scott was an extraordinary person and an extraordinary poet and writer. He was a singular voice in American literature, and it was an honor and a privilege to work with him,” Momaday’s editor, Jennifer Civiletto, said in a statement. “His Kiowa heritage was deeply meaningful to him and he devoted much of his life to celebrating and preserving Native American culture, especially the oral tradition.” House Made of Dawn, published in 1968, tells of a second world war soldier who returns home and struggles to fit back in, a story as old as war itself: in this case, home is a Native community in rural New Mexico. Much of the book was based on Momaday’s childhood in Jemez Pueblo, New Mexico, and on his conflicts between the ways of his ancestors and the risks and possibilities of the outside world.

“I grew up in both worlds and straddle those worlds even now,” Momaday said in a 2019 PBS documentary. “It has made for confusion and a richness in my life.” Like Joseph Heller’s Catch-22, Momaday’s novel was a second world war story that resonated with a generation protesting the Vietnam war. In 1969, Momaday became the first Native American to win the fiction Pulitzer, and his novel helped launch a generation of authors, including Leslie Marmon Silko, James Welch and Louise Erdrich. His other admirers would range from the poet Joy Harjo, the country’s first Native American to be named poet laureate, to the film stars Robert Redford and Jeff Bridges. “He was a kind of literary father for a lot of us,” Harjo told the Associated Press during a telephone interview on Monday. “He showed how potent and powerful language and words were in shaping our very existence.”

[aspenmissing]

𝙿𝚒𝚕𝚘𝚝 (𝙿𝚝 𝟹)

Sam has caught himself on the edge of the bridge and is hanging on. He pulls himself up onto the bridge and looks around.

"Dean! Y/N!" Below, a filthy and annoyed Dean crawls out of the water and onto the mud, dragging an equally filthy and coughing Y/N beside him, both panting.

"What?"

"Hey! Are you two alright?" Dean holds up one hand in an A-OK sign, and Y/N just sticks her thumb up.

"We're super!" Sam laughs in relief, and he scoots away from the edge.

==

Dean shuts the hood of his car and leans on it, with Y/N sitting on top of it.

"Your car is all right?"

"Yeah, whatever she did to it seems all right now. That Constance chick, what a bitch!"

"Well, she doesn't want us digging around, that's for sure. So, where's the job going from here, geniuses?" Sam settles on the hood next to Y/N, who has sat up and sat between the boys. Dean throws up his arms in frustration and then flicks mud off his hands. Sam sniffs, then looks at Y/N. "You both smell like a toilet." Dean looks down, and Y/N sniffs herself, recoiling at the smell.

==

"One room, please." Dean is standing at the motel check-in desk, still filthy, with Sam and Y/N, also still filthy, right beside him. The clerk picks up the card and looks at it.

"You guys having a reunion or something?"

"What do you mean?"

"I had another guy, Burt Aframian. He came and bought out a room for the whole month." Dean looks back at Y/N and Sam.

==

The motel door swings open. Sam is on the other side, having just picked the lock. Sam hides the picks and stands up. Dean and Y/N are just outside, playing lookout until Sam reaches out of the room to grab their shoulders and yank them in. Sam closes the door behind them. They look around; every vertical surface has papers pinned to it: maps, newspaper clippings, pictures, and notes. There are books on the desk and assorted junk on the floor and bed, including something with a hazardous materials symbol.

"Whoa!" Dean turns on a light by the bed and picks up a half-eaten hamburger sitting there. Sam steps over a line of salt on the floor. Y/N goes over to the desk and looks at the books. Dean sniffs the burger and recoils.

"I don't think he's been here for a couple of days, at least." Sam fingers the salt on the floor and looks up.

"Salt, cats-eye shells—he was worried. Trying to keep something from coming in." Dean looks at the paper covering one wall. "What have you got here?"

"Centennial Highway victims," Sam nods. The victims seen on the wall include Mark somebody, William Durrell, Scott Nifong, who disappeared in 1987 at age 25, and somebody Parks. Mark, Durrell, and Nifong are all white males, judging by the photos.

"I don't get it. I mean, different men, different jobs," Y/N says. Sam crosses the room. "Ages, ethnicities. There's always a connection, right? What do these guys have in common?" While Y/N talks, Sam looks at the papers taped to the other walls.

There's something about the Bell Witch: two people being burned alive, a skeletal person blowing a horn at several scared people with the note 'MORTIS DANSE', a column about 'Devils + Demons', another about 'Sirens, Witches, the Possession', a wooden pentacle, and a note that says 'Woman in White' above a printout of the Jericho Herald article on Constance's suicide. Sam turns on another lamp.

"Dad figured it out." Dean and Y/N turn to look.

"What do you mean?"

"He found the same article we did. Constance Welch. She's the woman in white." Dean looks at the photo of Constance's victims.

"You sly dogs," Dean says, turning back to Sam. "All right, so if we're dealing with a woman in white, Dad would have found the corpse and destroyed it."

"She might have another weakness."

"Well, Dad would want to make sure," Dean crosses to Sam.

"He'd dig her up. Does it say where she's buried?" Y/N asks.

"No, not that I can tell. If I were Dad, though, I'd go ask her husband." Sam taps the picture of Joseph Welch. The caption says he's thirty; the article dates to 1981, so he must be sixty-four. "If he's still alive..." Sam goes to look at something else. Dean looks at the picture below the Herald article of a woman in a white dress.

"All right. Why don't you two, uh, see if you can find an address? I'm going to get cleaned up." Dean starts to walk away. Sam turns.

"Hey, Dean?" Dean stops and turns back. "What I said earlier about Mom and Dad. I'm sorry." Dean holds up a hand.

"No chick-flick moments!" Sam laughs and nods.

"All right. Jerk."

"Bitch" Sam laughs again. Dean disappears, presumably into the bathroom.

"I'm going to break into the next door's bathroom. Dean's going to take hours. If he annoys you, just tell me, and I'll sort him out." Y/N heads out the door, closing it behind her.

Sam notices something, his smile disappearing, and crosses over for a closer look. A rosary hangs in front of a large mirror, and stuck into the mirror frame is a photo of John sitting on the hood of the Impala, next to a boy in a baseball cap who is presumably Dean, a girl next to Dean with a baseball glove on who is presumably Y/N, and a younger boy, presumably Sam, on John's lap. Sam takes the photo off the mirror and holds it, smiling sadly.

==

Sam paces, holding his phone, and sits down on the bed with a now-clean Y/N beside her, reading one of the journals they had found on the desk. A voicemail message is playing.

"Hey, it's me. It's about ten-twenty Saturday night." Dean, who is also clean, comes out of the bathroom and grabs his jacket. He shrugs it off on one shoulder as he crosses the room.

"Throw me the keys." Y/N, without looking, takes the keys out of her jacket and throws them at Dean, who catches them. "I'm starving; I'm going to grab a little something to eat in that diner down the street. Do you want anything?

"No," Sam says.

"Yeah, just some chips and a milkshake," Y/N says, and Dean nods, turning to look at Sam.

"Aframian's buying," Sam says, shaking his head.

"Mm-mm"

==

Dean leaves the motel room. He gets the jacket the rest of the way on as he crosses the lot. He looks over and sees a police car, where the motel clerk is talking to Deputy Jaffe and Deputy Hein. The clerk points at Dean, who turns away and pulls out his cell phone. Sam is still sitting on the bed, still listening to the message, and Y/N is sitting cross-legged, still reading the journal.

"So, come home soon, okay? I love you." Y/N's phone then beeps in the pocket of her jeans. She takes it out and answers it.

"Yes? Hello?" Outside, the deputies are approaching Dean.

"Dude, five-oh, take off." Y/N stands up, followed by Sam.

"What about you?"

"Uh, they kind of spotted me. Go find Dad." Dean hangs up the phone as the deputies approach. He turns and grins at them. "Problem, officers?"

"Where's your partner?"

"Partners? What, what partners?" Jaffee glances over his shoulder and jerks his thumb towards the motel room. Hein heads over there. Dean fidgets. Sam sees Hein approaching, and he grabs Y/N's hand, darting away from the window, making Y/N drop the journal she was reading.

"So, fake US Marshal. Fake credit cards. You got anything that's real?"

"My boots!" Dean grins. Hein slams Dean over the hood of the cop car.

"You have the right to remain silent."

==

Sheriff Pierce enters the room, carrying a box. He sets the box on the table at which Dean sits and goes around the table to face Dean across it.

"So, you want to give us your real name?"

"I told you, it's nugent. Ted Nugent"

"I'm not sure you realise just how much trouble you're in here."

"We talkin', like, misdemeanour kind of trouble or, uh, squeal like a pig trouble?"

"You got the faces of ten missing persons taped to your wall." Dean looks away. "Along with a whole lot of Satanic mumbo-jumbo. Boy, you are officially a suspect.".

"That makes sense. Because when the first one went missing in '82, I was three."

"I know you've got partners. One of them's an older guy. Maybe he started the whole thing. So, tell me. Dean" The sheriff tosses a brown leather-covered journal on the table. The journal that Y/N had been reading. "This his?" Dean stares at it. The sheriff sits on the edge of the table. He flips through the journal; it's filled with newspaper clippings, notes, and pictures, just like what's on the walls of John's motel room.

"I thought that might be your name. See, I leafed through this. What little I could make out—I mean, it's nine kinds of crazy." Dean leans forward for a closer look. "But I found this, too." He opens the journal to a page that reads 'Dean, Y/N 35-111', circled, with nothing else on that page. "I'm guessing Y/N is that girl you were with," Dean says, looking up at the Sheriff.

"She prefers Y/N." He speaks. The sheriff sighs.

"Now. You're stayin' here till you tell me exactly what the hell that means." Dean stares down at the page, then looks up.

==

Sam and Y/N see through the chain-link covering a grimy glass window and knock on the door the window is in. And the old man opens it, and it is none other than Joseph Welch.

"Hi. Are you Joseph Welch?"

"Yeah." A bit later, the three are walking down the junk-filled driveway, with Joseph holding the photo Sam found on John's motel room mirror. "Yeah, he was older, but that's him." Joseph hands the photo back to Sam. "He could have done it three or four days ago. He said he was a reporter.".

"That's right. We're working on a story together.".

"Well, I don't know what the hell kind of story you three are working on. The questions he asked me?"

"About your wife, Constance," Y/N says.

"He asked me where she was buried."

"And where is that again?"

"What, I gotta go through this twice?"

"It's fact-checking. If you don't mind."

"In a plot, behind my old place over on Breckenridge "

"And why did you move?" Y/N asks.

"I'm not going to live in the house where my children died," Sam says as he stops walking. Joseph and Y/N are following.

"Mr. Welch, did you ever marry again?"

"No way. Constance was the love of my life. The prettiest woman I knew".

"So, you had a happy marriage?" Joseph hesitates, and Y/N looks down.

"Definitely"

"Well, that should do it. Thanks for your time." Sam and Y/N turn towards the Impala as Joseph walks away. Sam waits a moment, then looks back up at Joseph.

"Mr. Welch, did you ever hear of a woman in white?" Joseph turns around.

"A what?" Joseph asks.

"A woman in white. Or sometimes weeping women?" Y/N replied. Joseph just looks. "It's a ghost story. Well, it's more of a phenomenon." Y/N starts back towards Joseph. "Uh, they're spirits. They've been sighted for hundreds of years in dozens of places, including Hawaii, Mexico, Arizona, and Indiana. All these are different women." Y/N stops in front of Joseph. "You understand. But all share the same story.".

"Girl, I don't care much for nonsense." Joseph walks away, and this time Sam follows, with Y/N trailing behind them.

"See, when they were alive, their husbands were unfaithful to them," Joseph says. "And these women, basically suffering from temporary insanity, murdered their children." Joseph turns around.

"Then, once they realised what they had done, they took their own lives. So now their spirits are cursed, walking back roads and waterways. And if they find an unfaithful man, they kill him. And that man is never seen again." Y/N says.

"You think that has something to do with...Constance? You smartass!"

"You tell us."

"I mean, maybe...maybe I made some mistakes. But no matter what I did, Constance, she never would have killed her children. Now, you two get the hell out of here! And you two don't come back!" Joseph's face shakes, whether from anger or grief; it's impossible to tell. After a long moment, he turns away. SAM sighs.

==

"I don't know how many times I have to tell you. It's our high school locker combo." Sheriff Pierce is still interrogating Dean over the 'Dean, Y/N 35-111' page.

"Why would you and your sister have the same locker combo?"

"I've told you already. We have the same locker combo because there weren't any other lockers, so we shared one."

"Are we going to do this all night long?" A deputy burst into the room.

"We just got a 911; shots fired over at Whiteford Road."

"You have to go to the bathroom?"

"No"

"Good." The sheriff handcuffs Dean to the table and leaves. Dean watches through the window in the door, ducks out of sight as the deputy approaches the door, and waits. Dean climbs down the fire escape, carrying John's journal.

==

Y/N is driving the Impala when her phone rings. She pulls it out and answers it. Dean is in a phone booth; apparently, his phone was confiscated, and he didn't take the time to steal it back.

"Fake 911 phone call? Y/N, I don't know; that's pretty illegal.".

"It was Sammy's idea."

"You're welcome," Sam shouts while leaning over to the phone and grinning.

"Listen, we gotta talk. Put it on speaker.".

"Tell me about it. So, the husband was unfaithful. We are dealing with a woman in white. And she's buried behind her old house, so that should have been Dad's next stop."

"Sammy, would you shut up for a second?"

"I just can't figure out why Dad hasn't destroyed the corpse yet."

"Well, that's what I'm trying to tell you. He's gone. Dad left Jericho".

"What? How do you know?" Y/N looks down and realises.

"His journal," Y/N whispers. "Dean, you have his journal, don't you?".

"Yeah"

"He doesn't go anywhere without that thing."

"Yeah, well, he did this time."

"What's it saying?"

"Ah, the same old ex-Marine crap, when he wants to let us know where he's going."

"Coordinates. Where to?"

"I'm not sure yet."

"I don't understand. I mean, what could be so important that Dad would just skip out in the middle of a job? Dean, what the hell is going on?" Y/N looks up and slams the brake, causing Sam to drop the phone. Constance appears on the road in front of them. The car goes right through her as Y/N brings it to a halt, smacking her head on the steering wheel.

"Sam? Y/N!" Inside the car, Sam breathes hard, and Y/N is lying unconscious against the seat, her belt the only thing keeping her up. Constance is sitting in the back seat.

"Take me home." Sam tries to shake Y/N awake.

"No!" Sam replies. Constance glares, and the doors lock themselves. Sam struggles to reopen them. The gas pedal presses down, and the car begins to drive itself. Sam pulls the wheel his way, but Constance is doing that too. "Y/N! Please wake up!" He shakes his head and continues to try to get the door open. In the back seat, Constance flickers.

==

A little later, the car pulls up in front of Constance's house and stops. The engine shuts off, and so do the lights.

"Don't do this." Constance flickers. Her voice is sad.

"I can never go home."

"You're scared to go home." Sam looks back, and Constance isn't there. He glances around and back and sees her in between him and Y/N. She climbs into his lap, shoving him back against the seat hard enough to recline the seat. Sam struggles.

"Hold me. I'm so cold.".

"You can't kill me. I'm not unfaithful. I've never been!"

"You will be. Just hold me." Constance kisses Sam as he continues to struggle, reaching for the keys. She pulls back and disappears, a flash of something horrible behind her face as she vanishes. Sam looks around for a moment, then yells in pain and yanks his hoodie open. There are five new holes burned through the fabric, matching Constance's fingers. She flickers in front of him, her hand reaching into his chest. A gunshot goes off, shattering the window and startling Constance. Dean approaches from the shotgun side, still firing at her. She glares at him and vanishes, then reappears, and Dean keeps firing until she disappears again. The engine of the Impala suddenly turned on, and Sam looked to see his sister smirking.

"I'm taking you home, bitch." Y/N drives forward. Dean stares after the car. Y/N smashes through the side of the house. Dean hurries through the wreckage to the passenger side of the car.

"Sam! Y/N! You okay?"

"I think..." Sam says. Y/N puts her hand up in an A-OK gesture, making Dean laugh.

"Can you move?"

"Yeah. Help me?" Dean leans through the window to give Sam a hand. Constance picks up a large, framed photograph. The woman is Constance, and the children are presumably hers. Dean helps Sam out of the car, then goes over to the driver's side and helps Y/N, who is still a bit dizzy from getting knocked out.

"There you go," Dean says, closing the car door. They look around and see Constance; she looks up. She glares at them and throws the picture down. A bureau scoots towards Sam, Dean, and Y/N, pinning them against the car. The lights flicker. Constance looks around, scared, as water begins to pour down the staircase. She goes over. At the top are the boy and girl from the photograph. They hold hands and speak in chorus.

"You've come home to us, Mommy." Constance looks at them, distraught. Suddenly they are behind her; they embrace her tightly, and she screams, her image flickering. In a surge of energy, still screaming, Constance and the two children melt into a puddle on the floor. Sam, Dean, and Y/N shove the bureau over and go look at the spot where Constance and her children vanished.

"So, this is where she drowned her kids." Y/N nods.

"That's why she could never go home. She was too scared to face them.".

"You two found her weak spot. Nice work, Sammy, Y/N." He slaps Sam on the chest where he's been injured, as well as patting Y/N's head, and walks away. Sam laughs through the pain while Y/N just groans at the headache.

"Yeah, I wish I could say the same for you. What were you thinking, shooting Casper in the face, you freak?"

"Hey. Saved your asses", 'Highway to Hell' by AC/DC begins to play. Dean leans over to look at the car. "I'll tell you another thing. If you screwed up my car?" Dean twists around to look at Y/N. "I'll kill you," she laughs.

"But you also know it's my car, dude; stop telling all the chicks it's yours," Y/N says, chuckling.

===

The Impala tears down the road; the right headlight is out. Sam had the journal open to 'Dean, Y/N 35-111' and a map open on his lap and was finding coordinates with a ruler and a flashlight tucked between his chin and shoulder. Y/N is lying in the backseat with her eyes closed, not sleeping, and an ice pack on her head.

"Okay, here's where Dad went."

"It's called Blackwater Ridge, Colorado." Dean nods.

"Sound charming. How far?" Y/N asks who's sat up, leaning over to look at the map.

"About six hundred miles," Sam says, looking at them and hesitating.

"Dean, Y/N, I, um..." Dean glances at the road and back, and Y/N looks down, knowing what he's going to say.

"You're not going."

"My friends are going to be there too."

"The interview's in like, ten hours. I gotta be there." Dean nods, disappointed, and returns his attention to the road.

"Yeah. Yeah, whatever." Dean glances at Sam and says, "I'll take you home." Sam turns the flashlight off. They drive on. Y/N puts her hand on Sam's shoulder and smiles at him.

"Thank you for at least helping us out with this; we won't bother you again." Sam just looks down, and Y/N lays down again and closes her eyes, relaxing to the sound of Baby's purr.

===

They pull up in front of the apartment, with Dean still frowning and Y/N sleeping in the back. Sam gets out and leans over to look through the window. "Call me if you find him." Dean nods. "And maybe I can meet up with you later, huh?"

"Yeah, all right." Sam opens the backseat of the Impala and leans down to kiss Y/N's forehead, making her smile and shift a bit.

"Sleep tight, Y/N," Sam quotes what she used to say when he was younger. He closes the door gently, patting the car door twice before turning away. Dean leans towards the passenger door, one arm going over the back of the seat.

"Sam?" Sam turns back. "You know, we made a hell of a team back there."

"Yeah," Dean drives off. Sam watched them go and sighed.

===

Sam lets himself in. Everything is dark and quiet. "Jess?" Sam closes the door. "You home?" Sam notices a plate of chocolate chip cookies on the table, with a note that reads, "Missed you! Loves you!". Sam picks one up and eats it as he sneaks into the bedroom, smiling. The shower is audibly running. Sam sits on the bed, shuts his eyes, and flops onto his back. Blood drips onto Sam's forehead, one drop, then another; he flinches and opens his eyes. He gasps in horror. Jess is pinned to the ceiling, staring down at him and bleeding from the belly.

"No!" Jess bursts into flames, and the fire spreads across the ceiling. Dean kicks the front door.

"Sam!" Sam raises one arm to shield his face.

"Jess!" Dean comes running into the bedroom, followed by Y/N.

"Sam! Sam!" Y/N looks up and sees Jess.

"No! No!" Dean grabs Sam off the bed and bodily shoves him out the door. Y/N, who walks out backwards, staring up at Jess sadly, then turns to catch up with the boys. Sam is struggling to get past Dean.

"Jess! Jess! No!" Flames engulf the apartment.

===

A fire truck is parked outside the building, and firemen and police are keeping back gawkers. Dean looks on, then turns and walks back to his car. Y/N is standing behind the open trunk, loading a shotgun. Sam is doing the same. Dean looks up at the trunk, then at Sam, whose face is set in a mask of desperate anger. Sam looks up, then sighs, nods, and tosses the shotgun into the trunk.

"We got work to do," Sam says, shutting the trunk.

[poppetsisters]

Hi, amateur Jack Kirby scholar here. While this is a great quote, I want to elaborate on Jack Kirby's political philosophy, because it's something I don't think anyone would've expected.

The quote this came from is Groth's legendary interview with Jack Kirby for The Comics Journal #134 (February 1990), published only four years before Kirby's death.

The context of the answer comes from Jack's opinion on the Senate Subcommittee Hearings:

GROTH: How did you feel about the Senate Subcommittee Hearings? Did you think that was a witch-hunt, or did you think there was any validity to the public’s concern? KIRBY: I didn’t feel one way or another about it. I was only hoping that it would come out well enough to continue comics, that it wouldn’t damage comics in anyway, so I could continue working. I was a young man. I was still growing out of the East Side. The only real politics I knew was that if a guy liked Hitler, I’d beat the stuffing out of him and that would be it.

This leads Groth to ask about Jack's opinion on communism.

KIRBY: Oh, communism! That was a burning issue. It was an outrageous issue. To be termed a communist would damage your whole family, damage your whole world — your friends wouldn’t talk to you. I’m talking about other people — because I wouldn’t go near the stuff. Sure, I was against the reds. I became a witch hunter. My enemies were the commies — I called them commies. In fact, Granny Goodness was a commie, Doubleheader was a commie. GROTH: What was it about communism that you didn’t like? KIRBY: Well, it was a radical concept to me. Like any other American, I wasn’t sophisticated enough to study all its facets. All I knew about it was it was foreign to democracy. And here I was, I had been fighting for democracy and always aware of two political parties and brought up in that kind of atmosphere. Anything radical was dangerous to me, as it was to the average American. Nobody knew where a thing like that would lead and we were always afraid of chaos. So communism became the doorway to chaos, and the doorway to chaos was the doorway to evil. Your family might be hurt. Your friends might be hurt. You didn’t want to see a thing like that.

Something about Jack's answer fascinates me to no end. Clearly he's made his stance that he doesn't like communism, but the reason why is the kicker! He doesn't actually know what communism is, in fact he's very self-aware that he doesn't understand it. He only seems to hate communism because of what happened to people that believe in it, which sounds more like he has a problem with how his society handled communism than the philosophy itself.

In fact, he has a lot more negative things to say about the man who initiated the witch hunts in the first place:

GROTH: How did you feel about McCarthy? KIRBY: I didn’t like McCarthy. I didn’t like his methods. I liked this other fellow — he was a gray-haired man from Maine I believe. He sat opposite McCarthy and challenged him. Walsh was his name.

Jack is likely referring to Joseph N. Welch, who is from Iowa, not Maine. Welch's question "Have you no sense of decency, sir, at long last?", is seen as a turning point in the history of McCarthyism.

GROTH: Was he the one who asked McCarthy if he had no shame? KIRBY: Yes. He sounded more logical to me, more temperate. You didn’t feel like the stormtroopers were going to knock on your door the next day when you listened to this guy. When you listened to McCarthy, you knew they were going to drag you away, or your parents. McCarthy sounded like a threat, and if you didn’t fit certain specifications as an American —he laid down the specifications, he laid down the rules. That’s what put the fear into everybody, because all of us are afraid that we’re not going to fit certain rules. McCarthy put the fear of the devil into the entire public. When Walsh began to talk, he began to make sense. He talked not exactly like a statesman but a rational human being. McCarthy was a hunter. McCarthy didn’t care who he shot in the woods. But he was getting prestige. He wanted something, and he was going to get it any way he could even if he cut you down. Walsh wasn’t like that at all. Walsh was a man who discussed issues and who discussed McCarthy’s demeanor. Walsh was a guy who threw cold water on McCarthy and reminded him he was just a politician with just the ambitions of a politician, and he was never going to be a Hitler. It was reflected in the newspapers to me that the public was regaining its confidence because there was going to be chaos and that was a big fear.

It really does sound like Jack hated McCarthy more than he did Communism. Though Kirby admits to his lack of knowledge on communism, he has an excellent ear for fascism. I have to imagine Granny Goodness being a commie was more a reference to Joesph Stalin than anything else. In case there's still some doubt, Jack also drops this quote earlier in the interview

KIRBY: I knew this much — that everybody voted Democrat down my way. If you were poor, you voted Democrat and if you were rich you voted Republican.

So we've established that Kirby is, at the very least, left of centre, but Jack Kirby's production assistant and author of Kirby: The King of Comics, Mark Evanier, claims that he also had something to say about Objectivism.

This particular anecdote comes from the article A Failure To Communicate: Part Four by Mike Gartland, published in The Jack Kirby Collector #24 (April 1999):

According to Mark Evanier (based on conversations he had with Kirby), Jack originally intended for this storyline (Fantastic Four #67) to represent his take on the Objectivist philosophy. What Jack had read of Ayn Rand and had explained to him had gotten him to thinking about the philosophy and its pitfalls (some, of course, will dispute that there are pitfalls in it and that is their right), which led him to do a story about it. Jack probably did not consciously think, "Here's my answer to Ayn Rand"; his primary goal was, as always, to just write a good story. But in Jack's original story, the scientists are well-intentioned, with no evil plans. They are attempting to create a being totally self-sufficient, intellectually self-reliant; not encumbered by superstition, fear, or doubt; in short, a being based on Rand's absolutes. Of course such a being would be totally intolerant of those who created him; a truly Objectivistic being would not cope with the flaws in others.

As the article would go on to state, and what you would know from reading Fantastic Four #67, is that this plot never made it to print. To my knowledge, Kirby himself never confirmed nor denied the events described by Mark, but Evanier is one of the best secondary sources you could get on Jack Kirby's career, especially after 1969.

But nothing beats the man himself, and if you know Kirby, you know that he puts himself into his work constantly. Even if his words are edited by forces out of his control, his actions speak much louder. My advice: Find Kirby in his art, and the meaning between the panels.

[ulkaralakbarova]

Basket-case network news producer Jane Craig falls for new reporter Tom Grunnick, a pretty boy who represents the trend towards entertainment news she despises. Aaron Altman, a talented but plain correspondent, carries an unrequited torch for Jane. Sparks fly between the three as the network prepares for big changes, and both the news and Jane must decide between style and substance. Credits: TheMovieDb. Film Cast: Tom Grunick: William Hurt Aaron Altman: Albert Brooks Jane Craig: Holly Hunter Ernie Merriman: Robert Prosky Jennifer Mack: Lois Chiles Blair Litton: Joan Cusack Paul Moore: Peter Hackes Bobby: Christian Clemenson Bill Rorich: Jack Nicholson Martin Klein: Robert Katims George Wein: Ed Wheeler Gerald Grunick: Stephen Mendillo Young Tom: Kimber Shoop Young Aaron: Dwayne Markee Young Jane: Gennie James Jane’s Dad: Leo Burmester Elli Merriman: Amy Brooks Anne Merriman: Jane Welch Clifford Altman: Jonathan Benya Mercenary: Frank Doubleday Lila: Sally Knight Spanish Cameraman: Manuel Alvarez Guerilla Leader: Luis Valderrama Guerilla Soldier: Francisco Garcia General McGuire: Richard Thomsen Commander: Nat Benchley Date-Rape Woman: Marita Geraghty Weekend News Producer: Nicholas D. Blanchet Makeup Woman: Maura Moynihan Floor Manager: Chuck Lippman Paul’s Secretary: Nannette Rickert Edward Towne: Timothy W. White Tom’s Soundwoman: Peggy Pridemore Emily: Emily Crowley Newsroom Worker: Gerard Ender Donny: David Long Chyron Operator: Joshua Billings Technical Director: Glenn Faigen Technical Director: Robert Grevemberg Jr. Control Room Director: Richard Pehle Weekend News Director: James V. Franco Assistant Director: Jimmy Mel Green Assistant Director: Raoul N. Rizik Technician: Mike Skehan Audio Visual Engineer: Franklyn L. Bullard News Theme Writer: Glen Roven News Theme Writer: Marc Shaiman Lecture Host: Alex Mathews Aaron’s Cameraman: Steve Smith Aaron’s Soundwoman: Martha Smith Mother in Hall: Cynthia B. Hayes Young Tough: Dean Nitz Young Tough: Phil Ugel Young Tough: Lance Wain Ellen: Susan Marie Feldman Tom’s Female Colleague: Jean Bourne Carinci Cab Driver: M. Fekade-Salassie Uniformed Cop: Gerald F. Gough Defense Dept. Spokesman: Robert Rasch NATO Spokesman: Robert Walsh Angry Messenger: John Cusack Film Crew: Producer: James L. Brooks Production Design: Charles Rosen Casting: Ellen Chenoweth Editor: Richard Marks Director of Photography: Michael Ballhaus Unit Production Manager: David V. Lester Music Editor: Bob Badami Associate Producer: Kristi Zea Original Music Composer: Bill Conti Camera Operator: David M. Dunlap Co-Producer: Penney Finkelman Cox Foley Editor: Mark P. Stoeckinger Costume Design: Molly Maginnis Executive Producer: Polly Platt ADR Recordist: Charleen Richards Associate Producer: Susan Zirinsky Color Timer: Bob Hagans Boom Operator: Joseph F. Brennan Hairstylist: Colleen Callaghan Foley Editor: Cindy Marty ADR Voice Casting: Barbara Harris Still Photographer: Kerry Hayes First Assistant Editor: Karen I. Stern Stunt Coordinator: Jery Hewitt Construction Foreman: Steve Callas Sound Effects Editor: Patrick Drummond Supervising Sound Editor: Robert Grieve Makeup Artist: Carl Fullerton Property Master: Mark Wade Sound Re-Recording Mixer: Rick Kline Sound Re-Recording Mixer: Donald O. Mitchell Sound Re-Recording Mixer: Kevin O’Connell Dialogue Editor: Dave Kulczycki Location Assistant: Peggy Pridemore Script Supervisor: Mary Bailey First Assistant Camera: Gábor Kövér Dialogue Editor: Jacqueline Cristianini Dialogue Editor: Frank Smathers ADR Editor: Jessica Gallavan Construction Coordinator: Bruce J. Gfeller ADR Editor: Jeff Rosen Set Decoration: Jane Bogart Best Boy Electric: Jerry DeBlau Unit Publicist: Anne Marie Stein Gaffer: John W. DeBlau Sound Effects Editor: Linda Whittlesey Production Coordinator: Cynthia Streit Sound Mixer: Thomas Causey Supervising ADR Editor: Beth Bergeron Second Assistant Director: David Sardi Negative Cutter: Donah Bassett Key Grip: Dennis Gamiello Location Manager: Stuart Neumann Dolly Grip: John Lowry First Assistant Director: Yudi Bennett Se...

[brennerrama]

MOVIE QUOTE OF THE DAY:

“Now, Mr. Dancer, get off the panties. You've done enough damage.”

Joseph N. Welch in Anatomy of a Murder

#AnatomyOfAMurder #Preminger #OttoPreminger #JosephNWelch #WendellMayes #Moviequotes #MovieQuoteOfTheDay

[brookstonalmanac]

Events 6.9 (after 1940)

1944 – World War II: Ninety-nine civilians are hanged from lampposts and balconies by German troops in Tulle, France, in reprisal for maquisards attacks. 1944 – World War II: The Soviet Union invades East Karelia and the previously Finnish part of Karelia, occupied by Finland since 1941. 1948 – Foundation of the International Council on Archives under the auspices of the UNESCO. 1953 – The Flint–Worcester tornado outbreak sequence kills 94 people in Massachusetts. 1954 – Joseph N. Welch, special counsel for the United States Army, lashes out at Senator Joseph McCarthy during the Army–McCarthy hearings, giving McCarthy the famous rebuke, "You've done enough. Have you no sense of decency, sir, at long last? Have you left no sense of decency?" 1957 – First ascent of Broad Peak by Fritz Wintersteller, Marcus Schmuck, Kurt Diemberger, and Hermann Buhl. 1959 – The USS George Washington is launched. It is the first nuclear-powered ballistic missile submarine. 1965 – The civilian Prime Minister of South Vietnam, Phan Huy Quát, resigns after being unable to work with a junta led by Nguyễn Cao Kỳ. 1965 – Vietnam War: The Viet Cong commences combat with the Army of the Republic of Vietnam in the Battle of Đồng Xoài, one of the largest battles in the war. 1967 – Six-Day War: Israel captures the Golan Heights from Syria. 1968 – U.S. President Lyndon B. Johnson declares a national day of mourning following the assassination of Senator Robert F. Kennedy. 1972 – Severe rainfall causes a dam in the Black Hills of South Dakota to burst, creating a flood that kills 238 people and causes $160 million in damage. 1973 – In horse racing, Secretariat wins the U.S. Triple Crown. 1978 – The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints opens its priesthood to "all worthy men", ending a 148-year-old policy of excluding black men. 1979 – The Ghost Train fire at Luna Park Sydney, Australia, kills seven. 1995 – Ansett New Zealand Flight 703 crashes into the Tararua Range during approach to Palmerston North Airport on the North Island of New Zealand, killing four. 1999 – Kosovo War: The Federal Republic of Yugoslavia and NATO sign a peace treaty. 2008 – Two bombs explode at a train station near Algiers, Algeria, killing at least 13 people. 2009 – An explosion kills 17 people and injures at least 46 at a hotel in Peshawar, Pakistan. 2010 – At least 40 people are killed and more than 70 wounded in a suicide bombing at a wedding party in Arghandab, Kandahar.

[le-fils-de-lhomme]

Absolute genius move to get the most famous lawyer in America at that time, the man who shut down Joseph McCarthy to play the judge in your movie.

[vickyelizabethgalan]

Director Profile: Otto Preminger (1905-1986)

The artist is sometimes more important than the work of art. When you love a book, you should know who the author is. In that same light, when you love movies, it helps to understand a little about the cast and crew that helped bring that film to light. While doing research on the Hay’s Code, I came across an individual that I couldn’t help but write a spotlight post about: Otto Preminger. This director is credited as a major force behind the take down of the Hay’s Code. If we don’t take a moment to appreciate the films that brought about this take-down, well what kind of film-lovers would we be? So, here we go:

Mr. Preminger was born in 1905 to a Jewish family in what is present day Ukraine. In 1915, when WW1 began, Preminger’s family picked up and moved to Austria where his father picked up a snazzy position as a prosecutor in Graz. Everything went well for the Preminger family until one day, Otto’s dad was offered a wonderful position working as the equivalent of the attorney general. The only condition? Renounce the Jewish faith and convert to Catholicism. Otto’s father, Markus, refused and the family moved once again. 

Meanwhile, little Otto had dreams of being an actor and moved to America in 1935 where he found great success on Broadway. However, when Preminger was 17, his life changed forever when leading theater director Max Reinhardt assigned him a role in a production of Shakespeare's A Midsummer Night's Dream. Impressed with Preminger's talent, Reinhardt would turn over management of one of his theaters to Preminger just two years later. While all this was happening, Preminger had obtained his law degree at the request of his father, something he would never put to use. 

In 1944, Preminger’s career hit it big when he directed the film-noir Laura. The film was such a success that he is often credited with having begun the film-noir craze. Laura also won him his first Oscar for Best Directing. 

Despite having the reputation of being difficult to work with, Preminger used his success in order to get away with making films which challenged the then-oppressive Hay’s Code. Some of his notable films include: 

The Man with the Golden Arm (1955), famous for its detailed discussion of drug addiction, starring Frank Sinatra as a heroin addict. 

Anatomy of a Murder (1959), which gained controversy as one of the first mainstream Hollywood films to address sex and rape in graphic terms. Starring James Stewart, the film has since been described as "probably the finest pure trial movie ever made". 

Advise and Consent (1962), which referenced a homosexual affair and featured a gay bar (for the first time since WWII). Fun fact: This was Betty White’s debut film. 

On April 23, 1986, Preminger passed away of Lung Cancer and Alzheimers, leaving behind a legacy of fighting against censorship. Let Otto Preminger’s films always remind us to make (as well as watch) the films that touch our heart, no matter how difficult the subjects may be. Thank you, Otto.  

[carryonwaywardkansas]

Carry On Kansas

Chapter One: What Riley Saw (Part Five)

Summary: With Dean in police custody, Riley and Sam head to the home of widower Joseph Welch, in search of the final clue to the Woman in White. After their interrogation takes a turn Riley doesn’t approve of, the duo find themselves in the clutches of Constance Welch’s ghost.

Warnings: General Supernatural warnings apply. Read at your own discretion.

A/N: Definitely one more part after this.

As Sam drives the few miles from town to Joseph Welch’s property, he considers the way things have gone so far. He has no idea what he’ll say to get him to talk, Dean is much better at making things up on the fly. Unfortunately for him and Riley, Dean’s in police custody and won’t be helping them out any time soon.

He glances over at Riley in the passenger seat, she doesn’t look any worse for wear considering how close they came to being arrested. Something tells him she hasn’t allowed herself time to process what happened, instead choosing to lock it away for another time. He loves Riley, but he knows there’s no way he can truly understand what’s going through her mind. He’ll have to get her to talk.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” he tries after ten minutes have passed and she still hasn’t said anything.

“It’s nothing, Sam. Let’s just focus on figuring out how to get rid of Constance’s ghost so we can find your brother and get back home.” She still refuses to meet his eyes.

“You know I know you better than that. Talk to me, Tink.”

Riley sighes. “I knew your brother’s stupid credit card scam would spell trouble for us sooner or later. But I went along with it, for you, for him. Sam, you and Dean don’t have to deal with the kind of shit I do. You’re lucky enough to not have to pay close attention to your surroundings or to focus extra hard on someone when they’re talking to you or to be afraid that a timer is going to go off and you’ll miss it. But that’s my whole life, Sam. It has been for as long as I can remember, and it’s constantly getting worse. I’ve never had a problem with being Hard of Hearing, but other people do.

“It’s like they meet me and learn that I don’t have 100% of my hearing, and that somehow decides for them how they’re going to treat me. You’ve never had to worry constantly about missing when someone calls your name or having someone make fun of you because you sound a little funny when you talk. But I do, I always do. And do you know what scares me the most about it all? Not all cops are the understanding kind, they don’t all believe that everyone should be treated fairly. On the off chance that I get pulled over for something, if I’m not paying attention and I miss what they said to me, I can get in trouble for resisting arrest and it won’t matter that I couldn’t hear them.” As she finishes, Sam notes the tears that make their way down Riley’s cheeks.

“Riley, I’m― I’m so sorry. I had no idea how difficult it is for you on a daily basis.” He moves his right hand from the steering wheel, across the seat to squeeze her left one. “I promise you, nothing like that is gonna happen to you. Not while me and Dean are with you. Okay?”

She gives him a tight lipped smile and wipes her eyes as he pulls up outside of Joseph Welch’s house. There’s not much more either one can say on the matter that will make what happened go away. “So what’s our game plan, Mr. Aframian?”

Sam rolls his eyes, happy to see the smile return to his best friend’s face. “First of all, don’t call me that. Second, I’m just going to talk to him. Tell him the truth, sort of.”

The two get out of the car and make their way to the front door. Sam knocks a couple times and waits for an answer. He pushes what Riley told him to the back of his mind; he wants to talk to her about it some more but knows they need to wait until Constance’s ghost has been dealt with and they find his dad.

An older man opens the door and Sam gives him a friendly smile. “Hi, uh, are you Joseph Welch?”

The man looks between Riley and Sam carefully. “Yeah. What’s this about?”

“We’re looking for someone and we’re hoping you could tell us if you’ve seen him.” Sam hands Joseph the old photo of him and Dean as kids with their dad.

“Yeah, he was older, but that’s him. He came by three or four days ago, said he was a reporter,” Joseph says, handing the photo back to Sam. He leads him and Riley around the side of the house.

“That’s right, we’re working on a story together.”

“Well, I don’t know what the hell kinda you’re working on―the questions he asked me.”

“About your late wife, Constance,” Riley speaks up on the other side of Sam.

Joseph stops, looking at the two strangers in front of him. “He asked me where she was buried.”

“And―forgive me―where is that again?”

“What, I gotta go through these twice?”

“It’s fact-checking, if you don’t mind,” Sam says.

“In a plot behind my old place over on Breckenridge,” Joseph answers willingly.

“If you don’t mind me asking―why did you move?” Riley asks sincerely.

“I’m not gonna live in the house where my children died.”

Sam briefly exchanges a look with Riley, then turns his attention back to Joseph. “Mr. Welch, did you ever marry again?”

He shakes his head. “No way. Constance―she was the love of my life, prettiest woman I ever known.”

“So you had a happy marriage?” Sam continues, fishing for as many details as Joseph is willing to give.

“Definitely,” he assures.

“Well, that should do it. Thanks for your time.” Sam moves to the driver’s door as Riley walks around to the passenger side. He pauses, looks up at Riley before turning back to Joseph Welch, ignoring the warning look she throws his way. “Mr. Welch, you ever hear of a woman in white?”

“Sam!” Riley hisses quietly. She can’t believe he’s really going to do this.

Joseph turns around, confused. “A what?”

“A Woman in White,” Sam repeats slowly. “Or sometimes a Weeping Woman. It’s a ghost story. Well, it’s more of a phenomenon, really. Um, they’re spirits.”

“Sam, seriously. Back. Off.”

“They’ve been sighted for hundreds of years, dozens of places in Hawaii and Mexico, lately in Arizona, Indiana. All these are different women, you understand, but all share the same story.”

“Boy, I don’t care much for nonsense. Now, you should listen to your little friend here and get going.”

“You see, when they were alive, their husbands were unfaithful to them. And these women, basically suffering from temporary insanity, murdered their children.”

“Sam, fucking stop it.” Riley is fuming, she had no idea that Sam would stoop as low as to openly accuse someone of cheating on their wife. Dean, maybe, but not Sam. Never Sam.

“Then once they realized what they had done, they took their own lives. So now their spirits are cursed, walking back roads, waterways―and if they find an unfaithful man, they kill him, and that man is never seen again.”

Having heard enough, Riley gets in the car and slams the door. She looks on angrily as Sam finishes talking to old widower, his face twists in pain. He’s forced to confront the fact that he hurt his wife while she was still alive, forced to believe that he somehow was the catalyst to the death of his children. And for that, Riley isn’t quick to forgive Sam at all.

He joins her in the car with a deep sigh; his best friend has just witnessed him accuse another man of murdering his children by extension, and she is pissed. He can feel her staring daggers at him, can feel the anger and frustration rolling off of her in waves. Sam clears his throat and starts the car. “Do you wanna talk about it or let it go?” He looks over to see her seething, her mouth pulled into a hard scowl. “Look, Riley, you have to understand―”

“Oh, I understand you perfectly, Sam Winchester”―she turns her body to face him―“you pride yourself so much on being a different man than your dad or your brother, but what the hell was that? You know, the last two days you’ve been trying to convince Dean that you’re nothing like him, but that? Sam, that wasn’t you. It was all Dean, and it was totally uncalled for.”

When they make it back through town, Riley has settled on giving Sam the silent treatment. It’s childish and cruel, but his actions displayed him in a new light. If that’s what hunting turns him into, she’s not so sure she wants to be along for the ride. Unfortunately, she’s in this now and there’s no going back until they complete what they’ve set out to do.

The sun set hours ago, they’re driving down pitch black roads with nothing but the Impala’s headlights to guide the way. The tension between them is unbearably heavy; Sam’s said nothing else after Riley laid into him about his handling of Joseph Welch, and she’s grateful that he at least knows how to keep his mouth shut. She’s considering giving him a break when his phone cuts through the lonely silence. She reaches across the seat and answers it, putting the call on speaker.

“Fake 911 phone call, Sammy? I don’t know, that’s pretty illegal,” Dean’s says on the other end of the line.

“You’re welcome,” Sam chuckles. He glances at Riley but she refuses to look at him.

“Listen, we gotta talk,” Dean continues.

“Tell me about it. So the husband was unfaithful. We are dealing with a Woman in White. She’s buried behind her old house―”

“Sammy, would you shut up for a second?” Dean tries unsuccessfully.

Sam prattles on, “I just can’t figure out why he hasn’t destroyed the corpse yet.”

“Well, that’s what I’m trying to tell you. He’s gone. Dad left Jericho.”

“What? How do you know?”

“I’ve got his journal.”

“He doesn’t go anywhere without that thing.”

“Yeah, well, he did this time.”

As the brothers talk, a familiar cold presence prickles Riley’s skin. She lifts her hand to her face, the sensation of ice lingers on her left cheek. It’s then, she realizes, the temperature in the Impala has grown cold. . .colder than it’s been in days. She turns to look over her shoulder and meets the barely-visible apparition of Sam that she’s seen consistently over the last couple weeks. Its hair is disheveled, and it looks at her with sad, haunting eyes.

“What do you want from me?” she whispers, not wanting to draw Sam’s attention to it just yet.

The apparition sits stone-still, staring back at Riley unmoving. It’s right hand lifts to touch her cheek, and Riley sees five claw-like marks appear in the middle of its chest. She’s speechless, reaching back for it as it has her when Sam slams on the breaks and the Impala comes to a screeching halt.

“Sam, what the hell?”

He grips the steering wheel, panting heavily. When he looks over at Riley who is just as shaken up as he is, in that moment he forgets that they aren’t speaking to each other. His right hand moves across the seat for her cheek, a worried expression in his hazel eyes, the same look the apparition of him gave her.

“Are you all right?” He asks, studying her face.

It all makes sense to her then. Sam’s ghost came to her as a warning―so had Dean’s―to stay away, to be careful, to stay together. She doesn’t see ghosts because they’re dead, no, she sees them as a method of communication. As a way to make sure they stay alive.

“Sam, we have to go. We can’t stay here, we can’t do this without Dean,” Riley says, frantically looking around the car. Constance’s ghost is nearby, and Sam will be her next victim if Riley can’t convince him to leave. “Sammy, you have to trust me. Her spirit is coming for you, she’s been watching you―watching us this whole time. She thinks you’re cheating on Jess with me.”

“Riley, that’s insane,” Sam scoffs. He loves Riley, sure, but he loves Jessica Moore more than life. He wants to build his future with her, cheating on Jessica isn’t something Sam Winchester is capable of.

“I know, but Constance doesn’t. We ha―” Riley’s sentence is cut off, as a choking sob is ripped from her throat. She raises her hands to her neck, but there’s nothing there. She looks at Sam, panicked and helpless.

“Take me home,” a voice speaks from the backseat, Constance.

“Let her go,” Sam tells her defiantly. He stares at her reflection in the rearview mirror.

“Take me home,” she demands again.

“No. Now, let her go.” Sam’s eyes move from the mirror to Riley, her eyes shine with tears as she struggles to breathe. He can’t stand seeing her injured because of him when they’ve done nothing wrong. He vowed to get her home safely, and he intends to keep it.

The hold Constance has on Riley tightens until the young woman blacks out. She locks the doors, puts the car in gear, and presses the gas pedal to the floor. Constance has full control of the car, and is driving it to the house on Breckenridge.

“Hey, hey. Riley, stay with me.” Sam swallows down the near blinding panic rising in his chest, he ant afford to make any mistakes and risk his or Riley’s lives any more than they already are. God, how he wishes Dean were here. He’d know what to do. He leans over and checks Riley’s pulse at the soft hollow spot beside her windpipe, it’s faint against his fingertips. . .too faint. There isn’t much else he can do as they speed down the road. He resists kissing the top of her hair. “I’m gonna get us out of this, Tink.”

The Impala comes to a stop outside of an old, abandoned two-story house―Constance’s resting place. The house is rundown, rickety, left alone after the violent deaths of its matron and her children. Sam looks back at her in the mirror. He swallows. “Don’t do this.”

“I can never go home,” she says.

“You’re scared to go home.” It’s a realization that none of them thought of. Sam turns to face her but the backseat is empty. He returns to Riley, only to be met with Constance between them. She lunges, sits in his lap and pins him to the seat. He lets go of Riley as he’s slammed back into the driver’s seat. “Leave her alone.”

“Hold me. I’m so cold.”

“You can’t kill me. I’m not unfaithful, I’ve never been.”

“You will be.”

Constance settles herself on Sam’s lap, leans forward slowly, and kisses him. It’s just as Riley said, just as she warned. The ghost releases her hold on Riley, and focuses solely on the man beneath her.

Sam fumbles blindly for the keys in the ignition as Constance sits up again, disappearing as quickly as she came. He shifts his gaze to Riley’s unconscious form, silently cursing himself for not leaving her back at the motel. What will he tell Jessica if he shows up back home without her? His thoughts end abruptly, searing pain tears through his chest. Unzipping his jacket reveals five finger-sized holes in the middle of his rib cage. Constance reappears with her right hand sinking into his chest directly over his heart; she no longer appears as the beautiful woman they encountered on the bridge, instead dead and decayed, and still just as angry.

Gunshots tear through the air outside the Impala, busting in the driver’s window and straight through to the passenger side. Shattered glass litters the seat and floor around Sam and Riley, Constance disappears and reappears again on his lap. She reaches over to grab Riley’s throat with her left hand. Dean fires off a few more rounds and approaches the car.

Sam sits up and turns the keys in the ignition, he puts the car into gear and steps on the gas pedal. “I’m taking you home.”

“Sam!” Dean’s shouts are drowned out by the roar of the engine, watching his brother drive the car through the front of the house. It crashes through the wall and stops in the front room. Dean carefully wades through the debris to the passenger side of the car. “Sam? You okay?”

“I think,” he calls out to his brother. He blinks his eyes as the dust settles; Riley remains unconscious. Panic begins to rise again. “Riley’s unconscious, Constance grabbed her before I could get her out.”

“She still breathing?” Dean asks, reaching through the window. He pulls Riley free and gently lays her on the floor. They never meant for her to get hurt. This is exactly why Dean didn’t want her here. He silently curses himself and his brother.

“Barely, but she’s still alive.”

“Can you move?”

“Yeah, help me.”

The brothers bend down and lift Riley from the floor, each one wrapping one of her arms around their shoulders. They look up at Constance’s ghost; she glides back away from them, sending a dresser forward and pinning the three of them against the side of the car. The boys grip tight to Riley’s waist, keeping her upright. They struggle against the dresser but it won’t budge. Electricity crackles in the lights around the room, water rushes down the stairs. Sam and Dean watch Constance move to the last step, staring up at the top. They see two shadowy figures standing at the top of the stairs, the ghosts of her children.

They speak to her softly. “You’ve come home to us, Mommy.”

The children appear behind her, they reach for her body. Constance screams. She falls to the floor in a blast of red and blue flames, her body burns, her spirit is ripped from the physical world before Sam and Dean’s eyes. With one final scream, Constance leaves for good.

Sam holds tight to Riley’s body as Dean pushes the dresser onto its back. He picks her up, cradling her body against his chest. She looks fragile this way, but Sam knows she’s so much more. The brothers head over to the spot where the Woman in White stood moments before, a puddle of water left behind in her place.

“So this is where she drowned her kids,” Dean deadpans.

“That’s why she could never go home. She was too scared to face them,” Sam confirms.

“You found her weak spot. Nice work, Sammy.” Dean pats Sam on his chest, hitting the spot where Constance plunged her hand into Sam’s ribs.

Sam lets out a pained laugh, shakes his head at his older brother’s antics. “Yeah, I wish I could say the same for you. What were you thinking shooting Casper in the face, you freak?”

“Hey, saved your ass.” Dean turns his attention to inspecting the Impala. “I’ll tell you another thing―if you screwed up my car, I’ll kill you.”

Taglist: @iwantthedean @nyotamalfoy @kazsrm67

[delux2222]

On June 9, 1954, Special Counsel for the U.S. Army Joseph N. Welch confronted Sen. Joseph McCarthy. McCarthy had attacked a member of Welch’s law firm, Frederick G. Fischer, as a communist due to Fischer’s prior membership in the National Lawyers Guild. The Guild was the nation’s first racially integrated bar association.

Welch was outraged:

"Until this moment, senator, I think I never gauged your cruelty or recklessness . . . . Have you no sense of decency, sir? At long last, have you left no sense of decency?"

[hqslegaciesarchive]

já lança um mw pra gente mod

eu tinha feito um mw gigante, mas meu celular fechou o app sozinho. vamos lá!

mwf: olivia holt, simone ashley, zendaya, ashley moore, laura harrier, ryan destiny, moon gayoung, madison bailey, madelyn cline, abigail cowen, tati gabrielle, melisa dongel, danielle rose russell, kaylee bryant, natasha liu bordizzo, amita suman, anya taylor-joy, ni ni, alba baptista, maude apatow, sadie sink, giorgia whigham, virginia gardner, lana condor, yara shahidi, zion moreno, cheng xiao, esther yu, amber midthunder, davika hoorne, medalion rahimi, lizeth selene, kang seulgi, ming xi, jessica alexander, noor taher, maddison jaizani, lili reinhart, kristine froseth, sophia ali, olivia scott welch, hailee steinfeld, bae suzy, bahar sahin, bruna marquezine, jenny boyd, vanessa morgan, peyton list, krystal jung, hunter schafer.

mwm: tanner buchanan, aubrey joseph (meu sonho!), keith powers, michael evans behling, song kang, tom holland, chance perdomo, yang yang, wang yibo, mena massoud, danny griffin, rege-jean page, avan jogia, alperen duymaz, cody christian, mason gooding, daniel padilla, alex fitzalan, booboo stewart, nick robinson, wolfgang novogratz, joe keery, maxence danet-fauvel, bright vachirawit, douglas booth, giancarlo commare, solomon park, evan mock, dominic fike.

deus me abençoe que fiquei 30 minutos nessa ask porque sou péssima em fc.

AH, e deixem eu compartilhar uma frustração com quem está lendo. gente, pesquisem no google tanner buchanan jim hawkins. eu quis chorar quando vi isso porque o jim do rp não tem filhos e nem é tão novinho assim pra ter usado de FC no NPC... tristeza. usem ele pra alguém que vivem falando que a mãe pulou a cerca n

[meetnategreen]

The More Accurate Headline Reads: 120 Retired Generals and Admirals Pledge Allegiance to a Failed Russian Asset and Swear Their Loyalty to Their One True Orange God.

Signed by: RADM Ernest B. Acklin, USCG, ret. MG Joseph T. Anderson, USMC, ret. RADM Philip Anselmo, USN, ret. MG Joseph Arbuckle, USA, ret. BG John Arick, USMC, ret. RADM Jon W. Bayless, Jr. USN, ret. RDML James Best, USN, ret. BG Charles Bishop, USAF, ret. BG William A. Bloomer, USMC, ret. BG Donald Bolduc, USA, ret. LTG William G. Boykin, USA, ret. MG Edward R. Bracken, USAF, ret. MG Patrick H. Brady, MOH, USA, ret. VADM Edward S. Briggs, USN, ret. LTG Richard “Tex’ Brown III USAF, ret. BG Frank Bruno, USAF, ret. VADM Toney M. Bucchi, USN, ret. RADM John T. Byrd, USN, ret. BG Jimmy Cash, USAF, ret. LTG Dennis D. Cavin, USA, ret. LTG James E. Chambers, USAF, ret. MG Carroll D. Childers, USA, ret. BG Clifton C. “Tip” Clark, USAF, ret. VADM Ed Clexton, USN, ret. MG Jay Closner, USAF, ret MG Tommy F. Crawford, USAF, ret. MG Robert E. Dempsey, USAF, ret. BG Phillip Drew, USAF, ret. MG Neil L. Eddins, USAF, ret. RADM Ernest Elliot, USN, ret. BG Jerome V. Foust, USA, ret. BG Jimmy E. Fowler, USA, ret. RADM J. Cameron Fraser, USN, ret. MG John T. Furlow, USA, ret. MG Timothy F. Ghormley, USMC, ret. MG Francis C. Gideon, USAF, ret. MG Lee V. Greer, USAF, ret. RDML Michael R. Groothousen, Sr., USN, ret. BG John Grueser, USAF, ret. MG Ken Hagemann, USAF, ret. BG Norman Ham, USAF, ret. VADM William Hancock, USN, ret. LTG Henry J. Hatch, USA, ret. BG James M. Hesson, USA, ret. MG Bill Hobgood, USA, ret. BG Stanislaus J. Hoey, USA, ret. MG Bob Hollingsworth, USMC, ret. MG Jerry D. Holmes, USAF, ret. MG Clinton V. Horn, USAF, ret. LTG Joseph E. Hurd, USAF, ret. VADM Paul Ilg, USN, ret. MG T. Irby, USA, ret. LTG Ronald Iverson, USAF, ret. RADM (L) Grady L. Jackson MG William K. James, USAF, ret. LTG James H. Johnson, Jr. USA, ret. ADM. Jerome L. Johnson, USN, ret. BG Charles Jones, USAF, ret. BG Robert R. Jordan, USA, ret. BG Jack H. Kotter, USA, ret. MG Anthony R. Kropp, USA, ret. RADM Chuck Kubic, USN, ret. BG Jerry L. Laws, USA, ret. BG Douglas E. Lee, USA, ret. MG Vernon B. Lewis, USA, ret. MG Thomas G. Lightner, USA, ret. MG James E. Livingston, USMC, ret. MOH MG John D. Logeman, USAF, ret. MG Jarvis Lynch, USMC, ret. LTG Fred McCorkle, USMC, ret. MG Don McGregor, USAF, ret. LTG Thomas McInerney, USAF, ret. RADM John H. McKinley, USN, ret. BG Michael P. McRaney, USAF, ret. BG Ronald S. Mangum, USA, ret. BG James M. Mead, USMC, ret. BG Joe Mensching, USAF, ret. RADM W. F. Merlin, USCG, ret. RADM (L) Mark Milliken, USN, ret. MG John F. Miller, USAF, ret. RADM Ralph M. Mitchell, Jr. USN, ret. MG Paul Mock, USA. ret. BG Daniel I. Montgomery, USA, ret., RADM John A. Moriarty, USN, ret., RADM David R. Morris, USN, ret. RADM Bill Newman, USN, ret. BG Joe Oder, USA, ret. MG O’Mara, USAF, ret. MG Joe S. Owens, USA, ret. VADM Jimmy Pappas, USN, ret. LTG Garry L. Parks, USMC, ret. RADM Russ Penniman, RADM, USN, ret. RADM Leonard F. Picotte, ret. VADM John Poindexter, USN, ret. RADM Ronald Polant, USCG, ret. MG Greg Power, USAF, ret. RDM Brian Prindle, USN, ret. RADM J.J. Quinn, USN, ret. LTG Clifford H. Rees, Jr. USAF, ret. RADM Norman T. Saunders, USCG, ret. MG Richard V. Secord, USAF, ret. RADM William R. Schmidt, USN, ret. LTG Hubert Smith, USA, ret. MG James N. Stewart, USAF, ret. RADM Thomas Stone, USN., ret. BG Joseph S. Stringham, USA, ret. MG Michael Sullivan, USMC, ret. RADM (U) Jeremy Taylor, USN, ret. LTG David Teal, USAF, ret. VADM Howard B. Thorsen, USCG, ret. RADM Robert P. Tiernan, USN, ret. LTG Garry Trexler, USAF, ret. BG James T. Turlington, M.D., USAF, ret. BG Richard J. Valente, USA ret. MG Paul Vallely, USA, ret. MG Russell L. Violett, USAF, ret. BG George H. Walker, Jr. USAR Corp of Engineers, ret. MG Kenneth Weir, USMCR, ret. BG William O. Welch, USAF, ret. MG John M. White, USAF, ret. MG Geoffrey P. Wiedeman, JR. USAF, ret. MG Richard O. Wightman, Jr., USA, ret. RADM Denny Wisely, USN, ret. LTG John Woodward, ret.

Everyone these white men has betrayed their country and their oath to protect the US Constitution and our democracy.

Under military law, they should forfeit their rank, their tax payer paid pensions and/or prepare themselves for the firing squad.

[saltandburnsis]

pilot, pt 2

Characters: Dean, Sam, Reader, townspeople

Age: 20

Warnings: None

Word Count: 2,820

Summary: With Sam finally on board, the three Winchesters begin their search for their father and the hunt in Jericho.

A/N: All dialogue taken from the show will be in italics.

~ ~ ~ ~

You left the gas station with Dean, your drink and bag of chips in hand. Sam was still in the passenger seat, looking through another one of the boxes in the car. You slid in the back and kicked your boots off, leaning back against the door and putting your feet up on the seat. One of Dean’s many, many rules of the car: no shoes on the seats. You grabbed the book you’d been reading during the drive and flipped through until you found the page you’d been on while Dean took the gas pump out of the car.

“So, how’d you pay for that stuff? You guys still running credit card scams?” Sam asked after Dean offered him some of his food. You rolled your eyes. Who was he to judge what had been done your entire life? Sure it was illegal, but—

“Hunting ain’t exactly a pro-ball career,” Dean replied, vocalizing your thoughts.

“Besides, all we do is apply. Not our fault they send us cards,” you added. Sam scoffed, shaking his head.

“Yeah, and what names did you write on the application this time?” Sam continued his line of questioning while Dean walked around and got back in the car.

“Uh…Bert Aframian and his kids Hector and Bertha. Scored three cards out of the deal,” Dean smirked. Sam shook his head again.

“Sounds about right.” He dropped the tapes he was holding into the box. “I swear, man. You gotta update your cassette tape collection.”

“Why?” Dean asked, furrowing his brow.

“Well, for one, their cassette-tapes. And two—“ Sam began going through the tapes again while you and Dean looked on. “Black Sabbath, Motorhead, Metallica? It’s the greatest hits of mullet rock.” Dean grabbed the third tape from Sam’s hand and took it out of the case.

“House rules, Sammy. Driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his cakehole.” With that, Dean slid the tape into the car’s radio and turned the car on.

“You know, Sammy is a chubby 12-year-old. It’s Sam, okay?”

“Sorry, I can’t hear you. The music’s too loud.” Dean revved the engine before pulling out of the parking lot, speeding down the road towards Jericho.

————————

Apart from the music playing the speakers and Sam’s phone calls, the three of you rode in silence. You’d finished your book a few miles back and were trying to catch up on some last-minute sleep before you entered the town and began your work.

“Alright, so, there’s no one matching Dad at the hospital or morgue. So that’s something, I guess.” Sam informed you and Dean after hanging up the phone. Dean slowed as he approached the bridge riddled with police cars.

“Check it out,” he said, forcing you to open your eyes and sit up to see out the windshield. You went into your bag, grabbing your fake badge while Dean pulled the car over and parked it. He went into the glove box and got his own then turned back to you, holding his hand out.

“What?” You narrowed your eyes at him.

“Sam’s coming with on this one. Let him use yours.” Dean waved his fingers in a “hand it over” motion. Was he serious? Less than a day in, and he was already letting Sam take over your spot. The way things were done for four years now were being thrown out the window.

“No way, dude. Besides, how’s he supposed to get past ‘em when it’s got my picture on it?” Sam looked between the two of you, unsure if speaking up would do him any good with either of you.

“You know they never look that close at those things. Come on.” You narrowed your eyes but relinquished the badge to Dean.

“We’ll let you know what we find out,” Dean assured, handing Sam the badge. “Let’s go.”

“You better,” you warned, sitting back in your seat and crossing your arms as Sam and Dean got out of the car and made their way over to the officers. Of course, you knew that having Sam along meant you’d be sitting out a few interrogations. Hell, you’d be fine with sitting back and letting the two of them go ahead if you were given the option. But, that was the problem. There was no option this time around, no asking your opinion. You were used to Dean calling the shots, but he at least talked to you beforehand. And he’d never kept anything like this from you. You let out a long sigh and grabbed the case papers and notes. Might as well give them another read while you were stuck waiting.

——————

“I’ll bet you that’s her.” Dean pointed ahead at the girl with a stack of flyers in her bag while walking down the street, you and Sam in tow. You put your hand out to stop them and moved in front of them. They’d told you all about the cop’s daughter dating the latest vic on your way into town, and you’d be damned if they conned you out of another questioning.

“This I can do.” You spun on your heel and walked over to Amy. “Hey, Amy, right?” The girl looked at you suspiciously but nodded.

“Yeah.”

“Troy told me about you. I’m his cousin. I’m Y/N.” Your response didn’t seem to lower her suspicion much.

“He never mentioned you to me,” she replied, continuing to walk forward. You chuckled, matching her pace.

“Well, that’s Troy, I guess. I’m not really around much. I live up in Modesto. But, uh, we’re looking for him, too.” You gestured back at Sam and Dean. “The guys back there are my brothers, Dean and Sam, and we’re asking around.” You were interrupted by another girl running up to Amy.

“Hey, you alright?” She asked Amy, looking you up and down once before turning back to her friend.

“Yeah,” Amy nodded, looking down. You cleared your throat and waved your brothers over.

“You mind if we ask you a couple questions?”

——————

You were, uncomfortably, squeezed in the booth between Sam and the wall, Dean on Sam’s other side. Amy and Rachel were sat across from you, Amy relaying everything she knew from the last time she’d heard from Troy.

“I was on the phone with Troy. He was driving home. He said he would call me right back, and he never did.”

“He didn’t say anything strange or out of the ordinary?” Sam asked. Amy shook her head.

“No, nothing I can remember.” Dean leaned forward and looked between the two of them, and you took the opportunity to nudge Sam with your elbow, finally getting a little more space on the cramped seat.

“Alright, here’s the deal, ladies. The way Troy disappeared—something’s not right. So, if you’ve heard anything…” He trailed off. The girls shifted in their seats, turning to look at each other.

“What is it?” you asked. Rachel spoke up.

“Well, it’s just…I mean, with all these guys going missing, people talk.”

“What do they talk about?” You, Sam, and Dean asked in unison. Rachel took a minute to answer, seemingly unsure of how to explain herself. She played with her hands nervously, fidgeting through the tale.

“It’s kind of this local legend. This one girl, she got murdered out on Centennial, like, decades ago. Well, supposedly, she’s still out there. She hitchhikes, and whoever picks her up…well, they disappear forever.” Dean looked to you and Sam knowingly, earning a nod back from both of you.

———————

Dean began searching on the library’s computer, you seated on his left and Sam looking on from behind. He typed “Female Murder Hitchhiking” before searching, yielding zero results. He removed “Hitchhiking” and typed “Centennial Highway” before searching again. And again, he was met with zero results.

“Let me try,” you said, reaching for the mouse. Dean slapped your hand away.

“I got it.” He started typing again, but you pushed his chair away from the computer and moved yours in front of it. “Dude.” Dean hit your arm then moved his chair next to yours. “You’re such a control freak.”

“So, angry spirits are born out of violent deaths, right?” You started, ignoring his complaint. Sam leaned forward with a “yeah,” signaling for you to continue.

“Well, maybe it’s not murder.” You deleted the “murder” from Dean’s search and replaced it with “suicide.” The page took a minute to load, but you were met with a single result.

“Alright,” you said, clicking on the article. “This was 1981.”

“Constance Welch, 24 years old, jumps off Sylvania Bridge, drowns in the river,” Sam read over your shoulder.

“Does it say why she did it?” Dean asked.

“Yeah. An hour before they found her, she calls 911. Her two little kids are in the bathtub. She leaves them alone for a minute, and when she comes back, they aren’t breathing. Both die,” you summarized as you scrolled through the article.

“‘‘Our babies were gone, and Constance just couldn’t bear it,’ said husband, Joseph Welch,’” Sam read as you went the next page. Dean moved closer, looking at the large picture taking up the screen.

“That bridge look familiar to you?”

———————

“So this is where Constance took the swan dive,” Dean commented once you’d reached the spot on the bridge. He looked over the railing at the water below.

“So, you think Dad would have been here?” Sam asked, looking first at the rushing. water then at Dean.

“He’s chasing the same story, and we’re chasing him,” you replied, moving away from the railing and walking further down the bridge. Dean followed suit, matching your pace easily.

“Okay, so now what?” He asked again, trailing behind the two of you.

“Now we keep digging ’til we find him. It might take a while.” Exasperation was clear in Dean’s voice. Sam was getting impatient, all too eager to leave you and Dean in the dust once again in order to go back to his life. He wasn’t afraid to let it be known, either.

“Dean, I told you I’ve got to get back by—“

“Monday,” Dean interrupted him, turning around to face him. “Right. The interview. Yeah, I forgot… You’re really serious about this, aren’t you? You think you’re just gonna become some lawyer, marry your girl?”

“Maybe. Why not?” Sam was annoyed. You crossed your arms and stepped closer to him.

“Does Jessica know the truth about you? I mean, does she know about the things you’ve done?”

“No, and she’s not ever going to know,” Sam answered, mimicking your actions and taking a step closer.

“Well, that’s healthy,” you shot back. Dean stepped between you two but kept his eyes locked with Sam’s.

“You can pretend all you want, Sammy, but sooner or later, you’re going to have to face up to who you really are.” Dean turned away and started walking down the bridge again, you right behind him. Sam paused for a moment then followed.

“And who is that?”

“One of us.” Dean continued walking, not turning back to face the younger Winchester. Sam sped up and stood in front of the two of you, blocking your path.

“No, I’m not like you. This is not going to be my life.”

“No, you’re absolutely right, Sam. You’re not like us. Walking away is one thing. but we never would have turned our backs on the family as quickly and as easily as you did,” you were seething. “Regardless, you have a responsibility. We all do.”

“To Dad and his crusade? If it weren’t for pictures, I wouldn’t even know what my Mom looked like.”

“At least you had pictures! You get to know what she looked like and know what she was like. You think I don’t know how shitty it is to lose your Mom and not remember a thing about her? The only thing I know about my mom is how she died.  Finding the thing that took her away…you really can’t see how important that is? You’re really just going to throw away all the work that’s been done because we haven’t found that thing?” Tears began to fill your eyes, but you quickly blinked them away. You weren’t about to cry in front of him.

“What difference would it make? Even if we do find the thing that killed her, she’s gone, and she’s not coming back.” At Sam’s words, Dean grabbed the collar of his jacket and shoved him up against the side of the bridge. He was silent for a minute—eyes boring into Sam’s—before he spoke.

“Don’t talk about her like that.” Dean’s voice was quiet but intense. You’d only heard him use that tone a handful of times. He lowered his hands, but he and Sam continued to glare at each other. You looked down the bridge, body tensing when you saw the figure.

“Dean, Sam.” The two followed your gaze down the bridge and watched as Constance turned to look at you before jumping. You all ran to the spot and looked down.

“Where’d she go?” Sam asked.

“I don’t know,” you responded, continuing to look around until you heard the Impala’s engine roar to life. You all turned to look at the car, her headlights illuminating the dark bridge.

“What the—“ Dean was cut off.

“Who’s driving your car?” Sam questioned. None of your eyes left the Impala. Dean grabbed the keys from his pocket and held them up. A second later, the tires squealed as the car launched forward, heading towards you. You ran down the bridge on Sam and Dean’s tails. As the car got closer, the three of you turned toward the side of the bridge and jumped, sending yourself flying over the side and into the water below.

Sam pulled himself up to a sitting position on the bridge and looked down at the water.

“Dean!” He called out, looking around. Dean crawled out of the water, laying on his back. “Dean, are you alright?”

“I’m super,” Dean called back, weakly raising his arm to give a thumbs-up. Sam let out a sigh of relief but was soon hit with another wave of panic.

“Dean. where’s Y/N?” Sam asked. He didn’t see her in the water or on the shore.

“She’s up there with you.” Dean’s eyes were shut. He hadn’t seen you hit the water as he had, so surely you were safe, right?

“No, she isn’t.” At that, Dean shot up and looked around, calling your name. He was about to jump back into the water to find you when you finally crawled onto the shore and laid down, groaning. You’d hit the water hard, and every inch of you was muddy and sore. You finally opened your eyes to see Sam looking down from above.

“Aw, man. What the hell?” Why’d he get to walk out of this mud-free? Sam started laughing and climbed the rest of the way up onto the bridge while Dean helped you to your feet.

———————-

“Car alright?” Sam asked as Dean looked around under the hood. You finished wiping your face with a spare towel from the trunk and walked to the front of the car. Dean shut the hood and sat down.

“Yeah, whatever she did to it, it seems alright now. That Constance chick—what a bitch!” He yelled. You offered him a second towel and leaned on the car beside him.

“Well, she doesn’t want us digging around, that’s for sure,” you said, wringing the towel in your hands. Sam sat on the other side of Dean.

“So, where’s the trail go from here, geniuses?” Dean threw his hands up in the air in response to Sam’s question.

“Ditto,” you sighed. The three of you sat in the silence of the night before Sam turned to the two of you.

“You guys smell like a toilet.” You narrowed your eyes and threw the soiled towel at him, hitting him in the side of the face. Dean chuckled and finally started using his towel to clean his face off.

——————-

Dean put the card on the book of the motel clerk standing before him. “One room, please.”

The clerk looked back and forth between Dean and the card a few times before speaking up.

“You guys having a reunion or something?” You furrowed your brow and looked at the clerk.

“What do you mean?

“Another guy, Bert Aframian. He came in and bought out a room for the whole month.” You looked at Sam and Dean then got the room number from the clerk. Dean hastily led the three of you down the row of rooms until he found the right one. Dean and you stood watch for Sam as he got to work picking the lock. He was in the room in just under a minute. He stepped inside then turned, reaching out and pulling you and Dean inside behind him.

SPN rewrite taglist: @mrsfortune1306 @marvelous-glims

forever taglist: @griff1ndor @gothsatanicrapunzel @choosemyname @mersuperwholocked-lowlife @not-astounding @sassy-specter @vicmc624 @idksupernatural