#like. random shelves and bits inside the fridge are broken too

[tonyglowheart]

last night in this house... sleeping on air mattresses... still have leftover bits of stuff to move out in the morning.... so odd

[itstommie0]

Imagine:

you go to your best friend's house to celebrate his birthday and surprise him with a cake only to find out that he is a serial killer and a cannibal that they talk about so much on the local news 🧍🏻‍♂️

TW: Murder, dismembered body, poor grammar and poor English.

You rang the bell but no one answered. He probably went shopping or something, it's ok! You know where he hides the key! You've walked in without asking many times, he always lets you-

The key is not there.

That is a bit.... strange. The key is always there, why would he take it? He probably just forgot to put it away and took it with him... that's ok too! You can open the door with a pin! He certainly won't be offended if you break into his house just to leave a birthday cake for him and decorate the place, you just want to be a good friend, he will understand! You just need to put the pin into the lock correctly.... There we go! That was easier than you thought it would be. You walk into the apartment and you are faced with a disgusting stench. Ew! You knew your bestie was a little weird and lazy and nerdy (And no one at school liked him (and some people avoid him like the plague)(And there are rumors about him)) But damn! He can't live like this! You start looking for the place where the smell is coming from and you notice that the entire apartment is terribly untidy. I guess you will have to clean the apartment for him before before you prepare the surprise party (Party = you and your best friend eating the cake you brought)

After an hour of vacuuming, washing windows, washing furniture, dusting and trying not to vomit because of that disgusting smell, you managed to clean the apartment! Yay! However, something was still wrong... Oh that's right!

Your bestie is still not home but the smell is still here.

Wonderful.

You're not very worried about it. Maybe he has something to do and that's why he's still not here?? Or the bus on the way back has broken down?? Or he was killed by that freak they're talking about on TV- No. Stop. I'm sure he's fine. I'm sure there's another explanation why he's not home. If something happened to him, you would hear about it on TV, after all, they report new victims. You decided to turn the TV on. You'd rather be sure that this monster didn't attack anyone today-

-Breaking news! In the last 2 hours, police discovered another body. The victim was identified as 24-year-old [random fem name]. The woman was going back home when the still unidentified attacker decided to end this woman's life. the body cut into pieces and without limbs was found by-

You turn the TV off.

Well, This didn't help your worries. I'm sure he's fine. He'll definitely be back soon. You better finish cleaning up. You still need to find the causes of the stench. You checked behind the wardrobe, the bed, the chests of drawers, you even dug through all the drawers but you didn't find anything that could emit this smell. So there's only one place left that you haven't checked... The fridge! You start taking food out of the fridge one by one, throwing away the Moldy and expired food one by one and putting the good food on the shelves. You only have one drawer left in the freezer but... It won't open.It's as if something was stuffed inside, blocking the drawer.... Theoretically, you could have leave the drawer as it is.... After cleaning the fridge, the smell stopped, but....you started cleaning so you have to finish...right? You pulled the drawer very hard, and again, and again, until it finally opened! There was a plastic bag inside and something big inside. You decided to check out what that, But when he started unrolling the plastic bag... You heard the door to the house open. You quickly started to unroll the bag, just take a look at what's inside before the beast sees that you even looked inside. It's not your fault that you're curious. I wonder what's in there. It was long and hard.. maybe it's a bone for that dog you saw at the shelter a few days ago! Such a cute puppy. It was so nice of your friend to think of him. You put your hand into the bag and quickly pulled it out to see the snack for the pup-

. . .

Your heart stopped. You felt your hands shaking. You lowered it to the ground, jumping back and staring at the object. Arm. Human arm. You looked at it and noticed a tattoo. The same as the tattoo of the woman who died today.

- Dude! You can't just come into my house! We've already talked about this- Oh.... - He said and stopped mid-sentence. It's him. Your best friend. He came back home

He knows what you found in the freezer.

It was supposed to be a short text of an idea that came to my mind and it ended up being this 🙏🏻 😭 This is my first time posting, please be nice

[pizza-soup]

Found a new abandoned place this afternoon while looking for more produce. At first I thought it was occupied, just because the front door’s wide open doesn't mean noone’s around, I leave my doors open too. I called out a few times, waited, rung the doorbell, knocked, looked through the windows...

I hesitantly stepped inside and was met with the smell of animals. There was poop on the floor along with towels, clothing and various items. Looking in the bathroom, feathers on the ground from some birds that got in. Yeah, this place was occupied but not by humans. There was a washing machine with clothing on the top, as well as a little crochet doll. There was a staircase leading to the second story above me, but I didn’t go up it. I wandered around to the kitchen, the backdoor was wide open, leaves and dirt were carried in from the wind and weather, the wood was warped. The kitchen looked like a time capsule, old appliances like a very 50s two burner stove, old cookies jars looking like they came from the 70s, a microwave straight out of the early 80s. The place was very much the home of a hoarder though. Things piled on things, tons of knick knacks, closets packed to the brim with shoes and clothes, tons of photos on the wall and shelves.

There was a small hallway leading to what I assume was a master bedroom with a large bathroom and shower, then a much smaller one near the back of the house with handles on the sides. There was still water inside the commode which was odd, normally these places were dry and sometimes held terrible surprises from previous visitors. I walked a short way to a bedroom on the left, no mattress, just random items on the ground, clothing and a broken closet door. The hall opened to a living room with a view of the front yard. This confused me. This wasn’t the same front door I came through yet it opened to the front. So this place had two front doors? Weird. I heard a hiss of water come from the toilet. There was water in the tank?

I had a mini panic attack. Did I just break and enter into someone’s home? What if they just stepped out for a bit? Because hoarder houses can ‘look’ abandoned after all. Another terrible thought came to mind, a situation I’ve read about online from other urbexers. Coming across the deceased. It happens. Sometimes seniors who live far from family or have no family, will pass away and not be discovered for months until a concerned neighbor comes by. But urbexers stumble upon them too, and it has caused many of them to not explore anymore because of how it affected them. Finding the body of a senior brings to mind a beloved grandparent, and since I was the one who found my great aunt, I really wasn’t ready to relive that again. I’d probably breakdown. But that's one of the risks of this hobby, and with current events going on it’s an even bigger possibility. After all, this world is dying with two viruses back to back.

I walked only just a few feet to that bedroom door, and saw some writing on the door in black sharpie. It was an obituary. Someone had died here but the bedroom itself was piled with items much the rest of the house. And there were..cats! I smiled. They owned cats. Or maybe these were feral cats from the farms. They were all sleeping on the bed, there was a broken window where they were coming in and out of. One of the older cats was pregnant, she hid under the bed, but a few curious little kittens were checking me out from a shelf and dresser. This is funny, as I thought they were cat figurines at first. They were so tiny they looked almost doll like.

I went back to the kitchen, to see if there was any cat food but there was nothing. They were probably hunting birds and getting water from the still working toilet. Three kittens followed me from afar. I caught sight of a tiny Siamese kitten, almost blending in with the ground. I was going to pick one up but they dashed away. Yeah, they were ferals, which was a shame, if someone could socialize them, they'd be good pets. I did mange to grab a tiny black kitten and fell in love with her. She didn’t fight me, probably was too young to know what a human was, she had the softest little mew, but she was so painfully thin, I could feel her ribs. She also had fleas.

I wondered how long ago this house was abandoned. Why did it still have running water but no electricity? I looked through the mail for answers. The home belonged to a senior lady named Kathrine, one of her bills read 2018 March, so her passing wasn’t even that long ago, her family likely hadn’t shut off the utilities yet, meaning technically I was still trespassing and could get into a lot of trouble. But I was still worried about the kittens. It didn't feel right to leave them, and the mother should be fixed to prevent more ferals. I saw a few numbers on the wall by an old phone jack and decided maybe I should call around, maybe get in contact with her family, and tell them that I saw the cats from a window or that a neighbor gave me their number?

I decided to leave. Part of me was already on edge that someone would come up the driveway, find me in here and call the police. I closed the doors and the windows. I filled a lot of large bowls with water in case it eventually got cut off. I looked in the fridge, it smelled. The milk jug was bloated and open, eggs rotten, something had gotten inside, probably mice. I looked through the pantry and found a few cans of chicken in water, they were still good, I gave it to them and they seemed to warm up to me, probably understanding I meant no harm.

My heart was still stolen by the tiny black kitten. I really had to fight the urge to take her, but then realized I couldn’t walk that long way back with her, she’d probably wiggle away, escape and get lost. If I was going to take her, I'd do it the right way, get a hold of someone, ask them and if it was a Yes, I'd take her in a carrier. I made a mental note to ask a neighbor near by if they knew the owner, people are close knit around here, maybe they could contact the owner’s family or maybe they were family to them. That would be the best case scenario. I’ll have to wait and see.

I’m hoping things fall into place, because I know some people who will gladly come by for the rest of the kittens. They rescue animals, they can socialize the kittens, find them homes, as well as get the mother fixed. She will likely be too wild to be a house cat, but my neighbors are always looking for barn cats, and she will be guaranteed food and warmth.

[tiptapricot]

Okay uhhhh fanfic request. Batman Beyond where Terry ends up getting a Robin, (either Miguel from the episode Unmask, or Dak from Where’s Terry) and Matt finds out, that a) his big brother is Batman, and b) Terry got ‘some random kid’ to be Robin and not him, his own little brother.

Thanks for the request anon! You can find this on AO3 here. Enjoy!

Matt was home alone when it happened. Terry had gone out to run errands for Mr. Wayne and their mom had gone shopping for dinner. It wasn’t anything unusual. The same exact thing happened every few weeks. Matt had the TV to keep him occupied and there were snacks in the fridge if he wanted anything. The evening had been going as per usual, and Matt had even managed to dig out one of the boxes of Valentine's chocolates Terry never ate, when he had heard something from down the hall. He had turned down the volume of the TV and gotten up, walking as slowly and quietly as he could towards the sound. 

His mom had always told him to be careful of intruders. They had good locks on their windows and doors, but like she always said, you could never be too careful in Gotham.

As Matt got closer, he realized the sound was voices, two of them, coming from Terry’s room. Of course, his first thought was that Terry had snuck Dana into the house, and he was getting ready to throw open the door and tease them, when he realized that the second voice didn’t sound like Dana at all, it sounded like a little boy.

“You can’t just follow me home! How am I gonna explain this to my folks?”

“I wanted to see where you live. It’s been almost two months now and what do I get? Your name. I don’t even get to see your face, and it’s really starting to get on my nerves. You know how much a name means in Gotham? Nothing! There are like, what, a million Terrys? And what kind of lame name is ‘Terry’ anyways? I mean you can’t blame me for—”

 “Okay, okay, you can come over for a bit, but as soon as my mom and brother get home you leave, okay?”

“Yeah, whatever.”

There was a slight shuffling sound, and a bump that sounded like someone falling over, before the voices picked up again.

“This is your room?”

“Yeah, yeah it is.”

“It’s lame. Do you not like pictures or something?”

“I don’t exactly spend a lot of time in here you know?”

“So do I get to see your face now or what?”

Matt pressed his ear closer to the door. What on earth was going on?

“Only if you promise not to make my life hell if you see me in public.”

“Hey! You know me. I don’t snitch.”

“Fine. There, happy?”

The kid laughed.

“You’re just as lame as your name. You look like one of the pretty boy biker kids in my neighborhood.”

“Gee, thanks. Now remember what I said, my mom and Matt are out shopping right now but they should be back soon. The second the car rolls up you’re right back out that window. Understand?”

“I’m not some dumb kid, man, I know what I’m doing.”

“Right, because you totally knew what you were doing when those dregs beat your ass tod—”

Matt almost fell over when the door opened in front of him. He stumbled and jumped back, eyes wide as he came face to face with a great, big bat symbol.

“Holy…” he breathed. 

“Matt?” Terry’s eyes went wide. “What are you doing here? Didn’t you go out with mom?”

He couldn’t… Terry couldn’t be Batman. Batman was strong and schway, like the schwayest hero ever, and Terry… Terry was just his lame older brother. He wasn’t special, he was a huge jerk if anything. A boring guy who never made time to spend with his family. Because he can’t. Because he’s Batman. He’s standing right there, he’s wearing the suit, he’s Batman. 

Matt took a step back, then two more. Terry followed, still trying to come up with an explanation.

“I— it’s not what it looks like I swear it’s just a, it’s a…It’s a school project! One of my friends made this for me and I was just… I was just trying it on!”

“What’s goin’ on Terry?” The other voice came from inside the room and the kid himself followed.

Robin.

It had been a media sensation when Robin had first been sighted a few months before. Matt had gotten all the toys that had burst onto the shelves. Robin had quickly become his hero, almost more than Batman was. He loved to tell his mom “He’s my age! I could be a hero like him, just watch!” And now here the kid was, standing in the middle of his brother’s room like it was the most normal thing in the world. He was a bit taller than Matt, and he’d pulled back his mask to reveal a round faced kid with dark eyebrows and a permanent smirk.

“Woah…” Matt looked between the two of them. Batman. Robin. Terry. Robin. Terry. Some random kid.

“You’re Batman?!” He didn’t mean to yell. He also didn’t mean to trip over himself as he ran for the living room. Some kind of trick, it had to be. Maybe Spellbinder, or some new villain that messed up what you saw.

“Woah woah woah, hey Twip, where’re you going?!” A pair of smooth black arms wrapped around Matt’s stomach, hoisting him up into the air. The texture felt so wrong. It was soft, almost like skin, but it was too smooth, too cold, too firm.

“Let me go!” He tried to wriggle free but the arms were too strong. Too strong to be human.

Definitely Spellbinder. Or something worse.

“I said let go!” Matt twisted around and hit Not-Terry as hard as he could. Not-Terry let go of him with a grunt of “What the hell Mattie?” And then Matt was running for the door again.

It wasn’t Terry. It wasn’t Batman. It was something, someone, who had broken into their house or was making him see things or…

“Hey bud, can you please look at me?”

“No.” Matt tried to open the door but it was locked. His mom must’ve locked it when she left. He didn’t turn around, he just pressed his face into the door and crossed his arms.

The voice, the voice that sounded so very much like Terry, but that couldn’t be Terry, laughed.

“What are you doing Mattie?”

“You’re not Batman. You’re not Terry.”

“Oh bud. I wanted to tell you. Could you turn around, just for a second, and let me explain?”

Matt pressed his forehead even harder into the metal of the door, counting to ten.

One.

It wasn’t Batman because Terry wasn’t Batman.

Two.

Terry wasn’t Batman because Batman was a hero.

Three.

Terry wasn’t a hero, not really.

Four.

He made Matt laugh and he hugged him a lot, but he always left.

Five.

Just like dad.

Six.

Dad left and Terry came back into his life like he hadn’t been gone for nearly three years.

Seven.

Terry never had fun, he was too tired and too serious.

Eight.

He didn’t want to do things with Matt, even though he wasn’t that much older than him.

Nine.

Terry wasn’t schway or strong, he couldn’t do cool flips or fly a jet or beat up bad guys.

Ten.

So Terry wasn’t Batman, and the person behind him wasn’t Terry.

So who was he?

“Mattie, please?”

“Your brother’s acting like a big baby.” Anger flared in Matt’s chest.

“I am not!” He spun around without a second thought.

The kid, the kid that looked like Robin but wasn’t Robin, just smiled.

“Not now Dak.” Not-Terry hissed. He looked back and met Matt’s eyes. It was a look he’d seen a few times, like when he’d come home after Batman had saved him from Stalker, or after Matt had scraped his knee at Cheesy Dan’s. It was the look that Terry gave him that was soft and worried and… and Not-Terry looked so much like Terry.

“You… you are Batman.” Matt’s eyes widened, then went wider, his fingers reaching out to touch the red of the symbol covering his brother’s, his actual brother’s, chest.

“I didn’t think I’d have to tell you like this, and I definitely didn’t expect you to run.”

Matt was speechless. He guessed he finally understood what people meant when they said the word starstruck.

It wasn’t an illusion. Terry, Terry his brother, was Batman.

“Schway.” he whispered.

“Are you done freaking out now? I tell you, none of my friends would react like that. That was real weird.”

Terry glared at the kid. What had he called him? Dak? What kind of name was that anyway?

“Listen, I guess I better go. See you when something interesting happens and we can kick some butt. Thanks for finally letting me see your face by the way.”

Dak pulled his mask over his eyes and walked back into Terry’s room. Matt heard the click of the window lock and a whoosh of air and then there was silence.

“So… I guess we need to talk.”

***

Terry got a call when he was changing in his room. He was trying to talk quietly but Matt heard him loud and clear.

“Yeah I know, but some stuff came up okay? Tell the commish I’ll be there in half an hour or something.”

“...”

“No it can’t wait.”

“...”

“Uh… Mattie found out.”

“...”

“Yeah I know but I can’t erase his memory or anything! He saw what he saw and now we have to deal with it!”

“...”

“Yeah I’m gonna talk with him right now. Right. See you later.”

Terry came out of his room a few minutes later dressed in his normal clothes. He was carrying the batsuit, folded up nice and neat in a little square with the cowl pinched between his fingers.

The shock still hadn’t fully worn off, and it was still weird to see the costume sitting in his brother’s lap when he joined Matt on the couch, but at the same time, Matt was excited. He was talking to Batman for Pete’s sake.

“What’s it like to fight bad guys? How did you become Batman? Can you show me any moves?” It all tumbled out like a dam breaking.

“Alright Twip, calm down.” Terry was smiling, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Before anything you gotta promise me you won’t tell Mom about this, okay?”

“Yeah yeah, whatever.”

“Or any of your friends.”

“Okay okay I get it!” Matt reached over to feel the suit again. It was still that weird texture, almost like silk skin.

“Alright then. What do you want to know? One question at a time.”

Matt opened his mouth but paused for a moment, thinking. He wanted to ask a lot of things but… there was one question he had to ask.

“Is this why you’re always gone?”

Terry blinked owlishly.

“I—uh yeah it’s a pretty time consuming job bud.”

Right. Batman had to fight bad guys and Gotham had a lot of bad guys. Still…

“Mom wishes you were home more y’know. I’ve heard her talk to her friends about it.” He tried to be casual about it, staring intently at the red and black material of the suit. That was all he could really focus on, it was weird to look Terry in the eyes.

He heard his brother sigh and felt him lean back into the couch cushions.

“Yeah I know. I’m working on that. You’ve been a real help, I’ve heard her talk about that too.”

“You’ve been gone even more recently, I think she’s starting to worry. Is it some big thing? Like when the Joker came back last year?”

“No, no, I’ve just been busy training Dak. He’s the new Robin, that kid that was with me just now.”

“Yeah Terry, I know. I’m not blind.” Matt picked a piece of dust off the suit.

“Oh… right.”

“How hard can it be though?”

“You mean besides the fact that he never listens and my boss has us training almost 24/7?”

“I’d listen. I bet I could be a great Robin.”

“Sure bud.” The way Terry said it was so off handed, almost joking.

Matt felt his face heat up, the anger from before resurfacing.

“I could! And you know me already! He’s just some random kid!”

“Woah hey. I’m not saying you wouldn’t be a good hero, but Dak needed Robin, just like I needed Batman.” Terry was using the calm voice, the one he used to get Matt to listen or do what he wanted, but it wasn’t going to work this time.

“How? How did he need Robin?”

Terry sighed again, pushing the hair out of his eyes.

“That’s a big question bud. It’s a long story. Dak helped me out of a sticky situation a while back. I didn’t see him for a long time, and then a few months ago I was beating up a gang and he stopped one of the guys from hitting me with a pipe. He got knocked out though, so I tried to bring him home. Turns out his folks died in a house fire while he was at school. My boss knows a thing or two about that kind of stuff, and told me it might be a good idea to take him on. I was the hesitant one at first, if you can imagine, but in the end it was the best option. He’s with a foster family now, and he works with me as Robin on the side. If I hadn’t given him that… who knows where he’d be now.”

Matt was mistaken. The excitement he’d felt earlier had just been anger.

“But what about me? I lost someone too, I lost Dad! Why don’t I need Robin? Why is he so special? Why didn’t you ask me?” Feelings were hard sometimes. Sometimes they were big, too big, for Matt to handle. He was standing before he knew it, his feet sinking into the cushions, his finger pointing accusingly at Terry.

“Oh Mattie it’s not like that.”

“Yeah? Then what is it like? You chose some street kid who you barely know over me!”

“Matt—”

“I need help too! You think it’s been easy? Everyone’s already moved on but I haven’t! I still miss Dad and I—” he didn’t mean to start crying, “and I—I… I can’t remember his face that well anymore, Terry. I can’t rem—remember what he looked like.” A hiccup interrupted the sentence, sounding much closer to a sob than he wanted it too.

“Oh bud I’m sorry.” Terry pulled him into a hug and Matt heard a dull thump as the costume slid onto the floor. Terry’s arms were solid and warm, his fingers combing comfortingly through Matt’s hair.

How did feelings just do that? How did they change so fast? From so big to so small, so angry to so sad? Matt pressed his fists against Terry’s chest and cried harder, his voice wobbling and cracking and shaking like a bowl of jello.

“Hey, I’m here. I’m sorry I haven’t been, and I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner, but I’m here now, Mattie, okay?”

Matt nodded into Terry’s shirt.

“I love you bud.” Terry said, pressing a kiss to the crown of his head.

They sat like that for a few minutes, Matt’s sobs slowly quieting, the tears drying in sticky tracks down his face. Terry didn’t move, he continued to hold Matt tight and rub his shoulders, and they just sat like that.

“Can I… can I be Robin someday?” Matt finally asked. “I think I need it too.”

He could feel Terry smile against his hair. “We’ll see. I don’t want you getting hurt, and Robin’s taken right now, but maybe you can be someone else, okay?”

Matt looked up at Terry and smiled.

“Okay.”

Terry gave him another kiss on the forehead and got up. He stretched, groaning, and made his way to the kitchen. “I have a thing I need to get to. Wanna come with?”

“What kind of thing?” Matt scrubbed at the tears on his cheeks, wiping his hands on the couch cushions. 

“Hero stuff. It’s about a case but it’s nothing major.” Terry started rummaging in one of the drawers.

“What about mom? We can’t just leave.” 

“I’ll leave a note, say I’m taking you to Cheesy Dan’s for a bit or something.”

“Okay.”

Terry paused when he pulled out the sticky notes.

“Hey Matt?”

“Yeah?”

“You know you’ll always be more important than any Batman business right?”

Matt stared. 

He stared at his brother, still tall, maybe a bit less lanky than he’d been before, more muscle, his hair falling thick and dark in front of his eyes. He stared at that dimple on his chin that Matt had always wanted, and he realized that it was the same brother he’d always had. 

He stared at Batman, the hero who was standing in his kitchen, who had saved people countless times on TV, who had saved him more than he could count. He stared at the way Terry held himself, just a bit differently than he remembered, at the way his eyes looked tired but aware, and the bruise that was becoming more visible on his jaw. He stared and he realized that Terry was Batman. He stared and he realized things weren’t the same, and maybe they hadn’t been for a long, long time.

He stared and he thought about those words. He thought about the boy in the Robin costume who was not him and who needed the suit. He thought about how he didn’t understand his feelings, and about how things were confusing and he didn’t know if they would ever stop being that way.

“Yeah. Yeah I know.” He said after a moment. And he meant it. 

Sometimes things were simple, sometimes they weren’t. Sometimes people were there, sometimes they weren’t. Sometimes Matt was alone and sometimes Terry was dragging him into a clean limousine and driving him to a big house and dragging him down a secret passage and introducing him to a legacy.

Sometimes there was Batman, and sometimes there was Terry.

And that was okay.

And Matt was okay.

[septic-dr-schneep]

JSE Fanfiction - In Time of Need (Part 16: Illusion)

Summary: Jameson does his best to cope with everything that’s happened in the past few days. As he explores his emotions and his surroundings, he unfortunately stumbles upon a secret that the others have tried to keep hidden away.

Once the portal slammed shut behind him—likely with more force than it was intended to—Jameson stumbled, reaching out a hand to catch himself on one of the nearby metal support beams and earning a stinging shock of pain for his troubles.

“Mercies!”

Biting his lip, he hugged his arm close against his side, only slightly relieved that none of the others had been here to see that. Now that he had left them behind for the ABOP, sheer silence settled down over him, a staleness in the air and a chilly poison in his bones—and the greatest of irony was that he was the only one in the group who couldn’t fill it. Old tears pricked freshly at his eyes thanks to that thought but he hurriedly fumbled with his handkerchief to dash them away. He thought he had gotten used to this by now; it must just be the emotions running high today.

He was here to check on Sam, he reminded himself, venturing toward the tank that took up the far middle of the room. The soles of his shoes scuffed loudly against the floor and as soon as he started to lower his head and look, he had to close his eyes. A weighty shudder passed through him as he finally registered the lingering scent of Chase’s blood. No one had been here to clean the past couple of days; Signe wouldn’t have known to and Robbie—

He probably would have liked it.

Snapping teeth, wide, feral eyes, arms crashing down on top of him again and again and again, bringing too much pain to register all at once as he skidded across the floor, all senses ablaze, his only thoughts fear and escape—

Exhaling harshly, Jameson clenched his eyes shut and pressed his hands against his ears long enough that the memory could fade into the darkness behind his eyelids. Once the tinny buzz that had accompanied it receded, he gradually became aware of the muffled thump against the glass from the inside of the tank.

Relief spilled over him as he lifted his head and found Sam gazing back at him, tail waving back and forth hesitantly and kicking up bubbles. The little one was dilated and bloodshot but otherwise he seemed alright; there wasn’t any other indication that he’d ever been bleeding.

Jameson’s speech slide flickered to greet him…Then it died away. What could he say? What was he here for? Yes, he’d used Sam as the excuse to come but had his sole motivation really been to make sure he was recovering? He was ashamed to admit it but…no. He had wanted something the others couldn’t give him: escape. That was what Jameson Jackson did best, after all; he stepped out of the way while the more experienced, more accomplished Egos did what had to be done.

Anger, guilt, and a sense of utter uselessness struck simultaneously at that thought and he grit his teeth, a fresh speech slide startling Sam as it burst out in front of him. “What am I, Sam? What am I if not just a waste of space and resources—a waste of Seán McLoughlin’s thought? I’m not brilliant or crafty in any sense. I couldn’t gather the wits to answer a blasted telephone! The undead was more use than I was!

“I’m no warrior. I couldn’t defend myself or any of the others when they were down, wounded; I let that Glitch threaten to snatch them away! I cowered against the wall like a child! The others have fought him time and time again, but I would have let him—I would have let him destroy my loved ones. I would have done nothing and he would have killed Chase before my very eyes.”

Nausea surfaced with those words, a stunning dizziness as he realized just how close he’d come to losing him. He couldn’t begin to imagine the horrors of seeing what Anti would do to him; his stomach wouldn’t allow it but after seeing Schneeplestein when he first came home after nine months of it, he had an inkling that was more than enough. The twisting and tumbling of his insides only worsened as he thought of how quickly Anti had tried again at the hospital.

The others turned to Jack for their hope. Jameson turned to Chase. Over the course of getting to know him, he’d learned of things that no one should have to go through. He’d done nothing to hide his disbelief and distress as Chase stared off toward the wall and described his divorce and his journey with depression, as if he were reading it in the distance—as if it had happened to someone else. Divorce itself was a foreign and disturbing concept to the youngest Ego, but to hear how much Chase had suffered for it…

Even so, Chase had insisted that he needed to know. “I know your story, Jem, how you became you,” he reminded him with a wan smile that didn’t reach his eyes by a long shot. “It’s only fair that you understand in case I snap at you for no reason or don’t leave my bed for two days. I don’t wanna do that to you and I’ll do my best not to, but if I do…you need to know why.” He’d taken a breath, lowering his gaze from the wall to his hands and squeezing them together until his knuckles turned white. “So I took my gun—”

That was about the time that Jameson had burst into tears. It took Chase a moment to realize what was happening, given that JJ didn’t make a sound because of it, but as soon as he glanced over and saw the tears, he panicked, throwing himself sideways to wrap around Jameson’s shaking shoulders.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Jem. I’m sorry…”

He had relived that very same panic when Chase had begged him not to let the doctors operate. As soon as he had been pushed out and the door had slammed behind him, Jameson had rushed down the hall, stumbling and skirting past strangers in the hallway until he found an empty room where he could hide, calm himself. It had taken longer than he cared to admit.

The operation had gone well, thank heavens, but their reunion had still been far too short-lived to give Jameson any sense of closure. He hadn’t wanted to part with Chase for a second, much less for two days, but Dr. Iplier and the Host were watching over him. He was in good hands, wasn’t he? Jameson wasn’t exactly sure what their ranges of abilities were but judging by the way the Host had taken down Robbie, he was no stranger to violence.

Anti was no stranger to it either.

What on earth am I doing here? I ought to be back at the hospital with him…I should never have left him.

He had told Marvin not to bother fetching him any time soon, however, which meant that he had no way of knowing how long his stay would be.

For all he knew, the others may very well forget about him.

“At least I still have you,” he mustered weakly, peering up at Sam and rubbing his arms gingerly in an attempt to slough off the sudden loneliness that reminded him just how isolated he’d become.

The cot that he kept here for overnight stays was just where he’d last placed it, shoved against the wall on his right by a small mini-fridge—the only clean appliance to grace the vaulted room—and a row of dusty wooden cabinets that held shelves with all sorts of metal scraps and debris. When he was bored, he often reorganized them or tried to fit pieces together at random, to see if they had once made up something usable. With the mood he was in now, he felt a rather unhappy kinship with them. None of those knickknacks had found their place either.

Even so, he couldn’t afford to be lost in those feelings. He had asked for this, he had come here willingly, and now he needed to live with it.

Sam pulsed a small, concerned glow as he watched Jameson wander away his tank—not toward his cot but toward the other side, where several larger piles of machinery sat under tarps and shadows. Where some of the tarps had been eaten at by time and moths, he could see small lights blinking and flickering through. This was an area that he hadn’t explored yet; maybe it could entertain him until he went to the small cold storage for dinnertime. The gentleman only paused for a moment as Sam hurriedly swam after him, hitting the thick glass with a thunk and flicking his tail back and forth.

“No need to worry after me, Peeper,” he assured him, waving a placating hand as the mascot tapped the glass a second time. “I won’t disturb anything that seems too delicate; I certainly wouldn’t want to be taken right back to the doctors because of any foolish clumsiness.”

As it turned out, several of the piles were too delicate to disturb; he nearly jumped out of his skin as he lifted the edge of one tarp from the dusty floor and old springs and screws scattered around his feet as the weight of the covering was lifted. He could already foresee the disapproving stare that Sam was giving to the back of his head. Without acknowledging the glower pinned on him from behind, he innocently nudged the spilled parts back under the tarp with his foot and moved to the next.

There were old television boxes and computer shells tangled up in their own wiring, glass from their broken screens littering the floor around them. Other parts of the mess were indecipherable; they didn’t look like any kind of technology he had been introduced to yet.

Among the rest of the selection were old radios, dented speakers, knotted cables…It was a graveyard of parts. He did have to wonder why the others had kept all of these things instead of disposing of them, but some of the contraptions still had a half-life to them which came out in bits and spurts of static or crackling.

After the first three or four times of being startled by the sudden noises and flashes of black and white on the cracked screens, Jameson’s jumpiness gradually receded. He paced slowly back and forth in front of the rows, making guesses about what lay under the tarps he hadn’t removed and curiously following cables of various colors to see where they led.

“Now what could I uncover here?” he mused to himself, laying a hand on his hat to keep it on his head as he tilted it back and peered up at the largest of the tarps. “Tall, angular…A set of speakers, perhaps?”

With careful intent he reached out to brush against the tarp, taken aback when he felt a warm thrum of power under his fingers. “Why, this is still operational! Did it reactivate after it was discarded or has it had power all this time—and if it’s the latter, why discard it?” Behind him, Sam was rapping against the glass more insistently, more urgently, but he was too caught up in his exploration to hear.

This tarp was much heavier than the rest, he noted as he gathered up the excess folds of its edge, digging in his heels as he dragged it away. He had to step back several yards before the whole contraption was revealed, but once it was, the covering promptly fell through his fingers. It was an entire display of computers suspended in a frame with a broad silver desk as a base, edged in chrome.

“Oh, my…This is quite the modern system! Each of these looks like the computer Jackieboy uses when he—” Jameson stopped up short there, his awe and wonder briefly punctured as he remembered the hero’s current state. Swallowing dryly, he stepped over the heaps of canvas to approach the desk, swiping a few fingertips over its smooth, glossy surface.

This display had a layer of dust much thinner than the rest, so it must not have been here as long. Why was it here in the first place? Standing on tiptoe with an added push with his hands on the desktop, he peeked into each of the dark screens in turn, seeing nothing but his own inquisitive reflection despite the tangible power coursing through them.

“There’s no visible damage to them,” he remarked in puzzlement, lowering himself back to the ground. “They simply don’t project pictures like most—”

With a sputtering whine and the sizzle of electricity, the screen on his lower right came to life and he lurched, taken aback. The picture was black and white, marred by static but slowly gathering itself, clearing and sharpening. It was a kitchen, he realized, brows knitting. Why would someone be monitoring a kitchen?

Another beat later, the screen just above it came online, revealing a long, cluttered corridor. He had only seconds to process the sight before the one at the top of the row appeared, followed by the top center and the top left. The rest came into view in rapid succession, casting long shadows over him as they flickered and flared.

“What is this?” he questioned in a disbelieving whisper. “I’ve never seen these places…” There were no people he could see, no matter how long he stared at them. The longer he did, however, the more enveloped he became in them. For as many moving pictures as the others had showed him, there was nothing like this. They were simply rooms with labels, but there was something about them that was both foreign and familiar.

Eventually his eyes glanced and held on the conference room. There was a monitor in the room itself, a screen within a screen, and within that was nothing but static. His eyes pricked with moisture and pain as he stared at it for too long, but every time he considered looking away or even blinking, he felt that he couldn’t—or shouldn’t.

Ever so distantly, far beyond the ringing in his ears, he heard a series of dull thuds, like a consistent drumbeat from the inside of the tank that was staggered between his heartbeats. Sam. Sam was somewhere behind him, wasn’t he? How had he forgotten…?

Before he had finished forming the question, it swirled away somewhere to the back of his mind. Confusion rose after it and a deep, unsettling ache rose after that, pulsing somewhere behind his eyes as they were dragged slowly back and forth over the screens. This was wrong somehow, this was innocuously wrong but as he told himself to step back, to look away, to muster some kind of response, he was rooted there—watching and waiting for something.

The anticipation of its presence crawled into him, unwanted, tingling through his skin and stirring fresh pain in the bones Robbie had fractured. Trembling faintly, Jameson drew in a breath that never seemed to reach his lungs; the faster he breathed, the less air he kept. His train of thought was swerving down a broken track, grinding to a halt. Instead of his own thoughts, he heard whispers, thousands of them, hoarse and thick, wet and dry against his ears.

“What is this? I have no idea what’s going on!”

“Somebody explain!”

“We’re here for Anti.”

“He’s toying with us!”

“He hasn’t appeared for a long time now.”

“Please, let me sleep! C’mon, Jack, I’m begging you!”

“It has to be pre-recorded.”

“I’m doing my best to keep up with everything—”

“Did you guys see that?! I saw something in the kitchen!”

“What is that?!”

“Anti! Is that Anti?! He’s got a knife!”

“What is he doing?”

“What is happening?”

“Is anyone recording this?!”

“I’m sorry, guys, I just—I can’t stay any longer. Keep the watch for me!”

Unable to keep his legs underneath him any longer, Jameson buckled under the strain of the voices, sinking backwards into a desk chair that certainly hadn’t been positioned behind him before. It was the farthest question from his mind, however, as he stared openmouthed up at the monitors. Whatever this was, he couldn’t walk away from it. The voices had fallen in number, softening ever so slightly, but they were still there, drowning out all other thoughts, drowning out the desperate knocking of the mascot on the other side of the room.

Was there an end to it? He had to know if there was an end…

He had to wait. He had to watch.

There was a great chance that he’d be here overnight.

[ruffsficstuffplace]

And The AWRD Goes To... (Part 29)

Note: Extra long chapter, before I take a short break to assess other writing projects before the year ends.

An hour earlier, at a house that looked like a combination between a hunting lodge, a field laboratory, and a remote storage facility for old records and equipment, situated high up on the side of a mountain by the town of Hoshiko…

Inside of a large closet turned bedroom, its walls decorated with several Rune Rangers posters; calendars and planners covered in multi-coloured ink and childish doodles; and collectible figurines and manga on shelves, an alarm clock started beeping.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Laying sprawled out on her stomach in her bed, Silsa “Snowie” Schnee groaned, and put her pillow over her head. The alarm gradually kept on getting louder and louder, till no matter how many of her many pillows she packed over her ears, there was no blocking out the sound.

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

Snowie just groaned, resigning herself to an unpleasant, sleepless morning, laying in the comfort of her own bed. The beeping switched to a pre-recorded message in Nick’s voice, spoken in Vox:

“Snowie, sweetheart, come on: get up. There’s shit to do, love to give and get, and a brand new day to meet, kiddo.”

Underneath her pillow reinforcements, Snowie smiled, but still stayed in her bed in the silence that followed. Her alarm switched to a different pre-recorded message, this time in Freya’s voice, but also spoken in Vox:

“Silsa! Get up, right this instant! You have chores and duties to attend to, and you better be sick, bedridden, or dying for you to be ignoring this!”

Snowie groaned, and started slowly pulling her pillows off her head, throwing them into space on her wall painted in black and yellow hazard lines. When all of them were piled up or otherwise out of the way, Snowie slowly rolled over onto her side, off the bed and onto the waiting carpet below.

Thump.

Sprawled out on her back, she stared up at the Solitan saying on her ceiling, painted a bright, gaudy pink, contrasting with the earthy browns of Mistralian hardwood:

“Good day or terrible day, you will see it to the end.”

She smiled, before she punched the pressure plate just above her head, shutting off her alarm. That done, she rolled over to her stomach, pulled out the items underneath. First, she took out her pill organizer and a water bottle, took her three daily doses. Then, she pulled out a notebook covered in incredibly tough, worn leather binding, opened it and pulled out the pen inside.

She marked three X’s on the boxes next to that day’s date, started slowly going down the list of things she’d written down the night before, before she flipped to the inside of the cover. Among other things, there was a small sliding chart with pictures of her family, and a free space with silhouettes adorned with question marks.

Snowie sighed—red bars for everyone but Whitley. She forced herself to get up, walked over to her door, and reviewed the laminated pictures on it:

Her three prescription bottles.

A journal covered with bullets, of the “firearms” variety.

Clothes, a shirt and a pair of pants, with a plus sign between them furiously scribbled in black marker.

Satisfied she’d assessed all of them, she stepped out of her door, and headed to the kitchen. Whitley was already seated at the table, eating a bowl of Starlight Crusader Crunchies, and reading something on his scroll at the same time.

“Good morning, Whitley!” Snowie said as she stepped up behind Whitley’s chair, hugged him and kissed the top of his head. “How are you feeling this morning?”

“Extremely glad it’s the weekend, and I have a two days reprieve from being tossed around in the Thunderdome that is Sanctum!” Whitley replied, looking up from his scroll long enough to smile at her. “How are you feeling, mother?”

“Like complete and absolute shit, as usual!” Snowie chirped happily as she stepped to the fridge, got herself a bottle of ginger ale. “I’m hungover, definitely had too much Steinbier last night, and overindulged in fanfiction shortly thereafter, but hey: at least it’s the weekend for me, too!” she said as she started taking slow, careful sips.

“Any plans for when Akko, Diana, and Ruby come over?”

“Already way ahead of you!” Snowie said, smiling and shooting Whitley a finger gun. “Got the perfect recipes already in mind, just gotta bike to Hoshiko later, get all the prep work done, put most of it in the fridge, then remember to toss the rest of the shit in the slow cooker before I pass out tonight!

“Then, come morning, I only need to toss it in the oven for like half-an-hour or unplug the crockpot, it’s gonna be delicious, and more importantly, it requires the least amount of active input from me possible, which minimizes the chances of me screwing it up!

“Unless Ruby and Diana have serious food allergies or aversions to literally everything I can buy at Hoshiko, there’s no way this can go wrong!”

Whitley put his spoon back into his bowl, and looked up from his scroll once more.

Snowie calmly took one more drink of her ginger ale, and carefully put it back down on the counter. “I fucked up and wrote ‘Sunday’ instead of ‘Saturday,’ didn’t I?”

Whitley nodded. “Yes. Yes you did, mother.”

Snowie began to make a long, continuous noise, starting as a quiet whine, gradually growing louder and louder to a wail of pure anguish, occasionally broken by hysterical sobbing.

Whitley sighed as he put his scroll down. “Mom, you’re going to be fine, we’re going to be fine.”

“No, no we’re not!” Snowie wailed as she started pacing about in the tiny kitchen, her hands gesturing wildly as she spoke. “Ruby and Diana are going to go in through that door, see how much of a fucking disaster this house is, and because we’re the only ones around to handle them, they’ll probably silently promise never to come back here again, and just stay at the inn at Hoshiko if circumstance ever drives them back here!”

Whitley turned around in his seat to look at her, Snowie held up both her palms, before she made the time-out sign. Whitley shut his mouth, Snowie gripped the counter as she took long, deep breaths, in-and-out, in-and-out.

“…We need to clean this place up…” Snowie said as she let go of the counter, noticeably calmer. “Cook breakfast… a socially acceptable one you can offer guests… and I need to bathe, because I smell like beer, ugly crying, and nervous sweating!”

“Okay, that last one certainly is a priority, and the second would be nice, but is the first really necessary?” Whitley asked. “I mean, we’re both exhausted from school starting up again—your struggling to be here all alone all day on weekdays, Weiss’ clearly less-than-ideal first week in Haven, and my being back in Sanctum.

“Not to mention, the limited square footage of this house hasn’t made it physically impossible to get that dirty—our crap’s just more densely packed and space-efficient,” he said, gesturing to one of the shelves and containers close to the ceiling and crammed into the nooks and crannies of the house, all overflowing with random crap.

Snowie scowled. “Look here, you little shit: Ruby and Diana are going to be stuck with Weiss and Akko for the next four years, and we need to—hmnnnn…!” she balled her shaking hands, and took in some more deep, calming breaths, before she uncurled her fists. “… Sit down, like reasonable, responsible adults, and we are going to discuss our response, or lack thereof, to Weiss’ and Akko’s team coming here today.”

Whitley put his spoon back into his cereal, shut off his scroll, and set them both to the side. “You have my attention, mother. Would you like to start?” he asked, spreading his hands open in front of him.

“Yes, yes I would, actually, Whitley, thank you,” Snowie said as she sat in the seat opposite his, pulling out the chair with one hand before she summarily parked her butt on it. “I would really like you to please help me clean up the house and cook a decent breakfast for three, because as you know, I’m pretty usele—“ she winced “--unconfident in my abilities and competence…!”

Whitley nodded. “I understand why you would want my help with this, and I also understand the motivation and the reasoning behind making a good first impression for Weiss and Akko’s teammates, but I will counter with this:

“Mother, throughout all my years of living in this house, I have come to the conclusion that we as a family are totally incapable of keeping any sense of normality, order, or decency for any prolonged periods of time.

“However well we can clean up this house and whatever we can whip up on short notice to give the impression that life here is generally at this level of ‘Nice,’ I am absolutely certain that within the hour of AWRD sans Weiss arriving, all of our hard work will be undone, and whatever positive assumptions or beliefs they had from said first impression will swiftly be totally, brutally erased and readjusted to fit the reality that they will be exposed to later today, and indeed, however many times her other two teammates return here afterward, if they ever do.

“In short: I believe that the effort and the stress of cleaning up and pretending we are even the slightest bit normal is not worth the very, very temporary, possibly even counter-intuitive rewards. Why should we even bother…?”

“Because, Whitley, we need to at least look like we give a shit.”

“An excellent point!” Whitley said, pointing at Snowie. “However, I remain unconvinced, and I am still not yet even partially recovered from the hellish events of this week, and thus will be returning to my cereal and fictional lesbians now,” he said as he pulled his scroll and breakfast back to him.

Snowie scowled and slammed both her hands on the table. “Okay, you know what? Forget it!” she knocked her chair back as she shot up from her seat, caught it and threw it back down to all four legs as she walked away. “I’ll just do this all by myself!”

“I wish you the best of luck, mother, really I do!” Whitley called out, idly shoveling some cereal into his mouth as he returned to his reading.

Snowie ignored him as she went to her “Instructions To My Future Self” file cabinet in the living room, situated just by the stairs leading upwards. She pulled out the master list from the top drawer, found the one for “First Visit By AWRD,” and proceeded to unfold a gigantic flowchart decorated with stickers, symbols, cryptic code, and a system of arrows and nodes that seemed to go every which way.

Snowie flipped it over from the “If Drunk” side on the front to the “If Sober” side at the back, read the slightly more legible and better organized version of the flowchart, then got to work.

She began with the cleaning, picking up empty beer bottles, random junk, and discarded clothes scattered wherever there was space; crusty plates and utensils that had been left abandoned over the week; and all manner of takeout napkins, butcher paper, and obsolete print-outs that were adorned with Snowie’s doodles, writing, and random, sometimes illegible scribbling.

When all of that was shoved into her bedroom, and the door securely braced to prevent any sort of mortifying avalanche if it all spilled out, she went back to the kitchen, pulling out Freya’s homemade cleaning supplies. After strapping on a mask, gloves, safety goggles, and an apron loaded with pockets akin to a military vest, she wielded two modified combat-grade chemical sprayers in both hands, their revolvers gleaming in the light.

“Seal the kitchen, Whitley, mommy’s going on a germicidal war!” Snowie cried as she ran out, putting the safeties off.

“Way ahead of you!” Whitley said, using his scroll to activate the emergency air-vents, doors coming down from the ceiling and sealing off the entrances.

Snowie slid out into the living room on her knees, guns akimbo and firing cleaning solutions loaded with acetic and citric acids, specially engineered and cultivated bacteria and enzymes, her mother’s dirt-and-dust-eating concoctions, and water to make sure the various mixtures weren’t too concentrated.

She got back up on her feet, still firing like mad, spraying thick clouds of disinfectant everywhere, switching firing modes to suit the job: pressurized bullets to shoot up into the ceiling and hard to reach nooks; explosive, short-range gobs to dislodge stubborn stains; and continuous streams to wear down some of the most egregious splatters and spots from who-knew-what from however long ago.

No surface remained uncovered, Snowie’s hands flying every which way and whatever angle she needed to, twisting, spinning, and even bending backwards to eradicate every last stain.

Those that still refused to disappear were quickly set upon with much more dedicated, close-range physical assault with brushes, sponges, and cleaning cloths, Snowie scrubbing as vigorously as it took to eradicate them, the sturdy furniture and materials her parents’ preferred for everything barely affected.

She ran up to their bathroom, pulled out a grenade from her apron pocket. She opened the door, pulled the pin, tossed the bomb in, then shut the door.

Slam.

Shortly after:

Boom.

Snowie waited a few moments, before she opened the door, bluish mist pouring out the crack. She peered in, and satisfied that the bathroom-bomb had done its job well, scrambled up the stairs to the second floor. She was happy that she didn’t need to clean her parents’ room or their indoor workshops/laboratories, but there was still one more massive, difficult job waiting for her:

Her kids’ room.

It used to be a rather spacious guest room for cramming all the people Nick and/or Freya needed to absolutely have in their remote, intentionally isolated home, but now it was cramped with four bunk beds, and an excess of storage and shelving that made it possible to store more items than should have probably been physically possible in that space.

Weiss and Akko’s things were for the most part gone, moved to Haven or back to the latter’s home in Hoshiko, but there were still all the belongings they had had chosen to leave behind, not to mention Whitley and Winter’s possessions.

Snowie calmly sucked in a breath as she flipped open both her sprayers revolvers, tilted the almost-to-completely spent cartridges into her apron, before loading them with fresh ammo using two speedloaders.

She snapped the revolvers back into place. “Let’s fucking do this,” she said, spinning the sprayers in her hands before she holstered them.

Sheets were pulled off. Pillows were thrown out to the hall. Dirty clothing was thrown into the Starlight Crusaders hampers in the corner. Physically printed doujin and manga (Winter’s especially) were put back into their respective bookshelves, and their owner’s preferred method of discrete storage, such as trap doors underneath the beds, camouflaged shelves, or hidden nooks in the ceiling.

Every moisture-sensitive item back into its place, or otherwise sheltered and shielded from potential harm, Snowie whipped out her sprayers, and started fumigating once more.

A minute later, she staggered out of the room, heaving and sweating as she felt her mask’s filters finally begin to reach their limits. She took a brief reprieve by an open window to feel the rays of the rising sun on her face, breath in fresh air, wipe the sweat off her skin, and switch out the air-filters for fresh ones.

She was tempted to look at her scroll, before she stayed the hand reaching into the pocket containing it. “No, Snowie, no...” she whispered in-between pants. “… As soon as you open decantr… it’s all over.” She reached instead to the one with a bottle of water, chugged it, before she shoved it back into her apron, then bolted for the fireman’s pole that was in the center of their winding staircase.

She leaped towards it with a proud grin on her face!

Her outstretched hand missed it, Snowie hit the bar full-force, her aura preventing any physical damage, but not the uniquely unpleasant sensation of accidentally throwing yourself into a solid metal pole.

Tung…!

The pole vibrated slightly from the impact, Snowie’s other hand reflexively gripped it, slowing her descent back down to the living room, still holding onto it as she carefully lowered herself down to her butt, before she let go, fell backwards, and let out a quiet, agonized gasp of pain.

A glyph appeared underneath her, glowing the same shade as Whitley’s eyes, before it exploded in a flash, Snowie’s body now glowing with the slate blue of her Aura. She sighed as she felt the pain disappear and strength flood back into her body.

“Thanks, Whitley!” Snowie called out, still on the floor.

“Don’t thank me yet!” Whitley yelled back from the kitchen. “Akko and the others managed to hitch a ride with Owaka’s airship—he’s dropping them off somewhere down the road, and they’re going to be here any minute!”

Snowie scrambled back up to her feet, spewing the vilest curses she knew in Vox, rapid-fire. “… rat-dicked motherfucker!” she finished as she began to stagger to the kitchen. “I have to get cooking—Whitley, please, just distract them until I can--” she stopped, and sniffed the air. “Wait, are you cooking something…?”

“Quiche, two of them!” Whitley replied. “Better pray neither Ruby nor Diana hate or have severe allergies to eggs, milk, spinach, bacon, and/or nuts, because otherwise we don’t have anything else in the fridge right now!”

Snowie blinked, before her eyes watered. “Whitley: have I ever told you that I love you...?”

“Yes, mother, very many times...” Whitley replied. “Mostly whilst drunk and/or sobbing hysterically, and as always: I love you too.”

Snowie sniffed, before she wiped the tears from her eyes. “I’ll just be sneaking out the back entrance and taking a bath in the river, Whitley!” she called out. “But first, I’m going to have myself a celebratory beer for being fucking awesome,” she said to herself as she reached into a small drawer right by the front door, the empty and full Mantle Steinbier bottles inside clinking noisily.

Snowie picked one up and popped the lid off with a smooth, almost uninterrupted motion; she took a swig of freezing cold beer, shivered in pleasure as she pulled it away from her lips.

Their door rang, a series of different sized bells chiming in a melody. Snowie nearly jumped, shut her front door beer drawer, fixed her appearance in the mirror on the wall opposite it, before she peered out the peephole.

Akko’s smiling face took up the entire view, standing right in front of the door as usual.

Snowie smiled too, and didn’t hesitate to pull open the door. “Hi Akko!” she greeted warmly. Her smile remained plastered on her face as her eyes grew wide. “… Akko’s teammates! Ruby and Diana, right…?”

The two of them were about to smile and greet her back, before all three of them noticed the freshly opened beer in Snowie’s hand, frost still pouring out the mouth of it. Still smiling, Snowie slowly reached for the beer drawer again, pulled it open, put her bottle back in, and closed it, its contents clinking noisily the whole time.

Just then, the short-range communicator by the door activated. “Air-Med to Snowfall, Air-Med to Snowfall: come in, Snowfall, over.”

All of them looked at it in confusion, before Snowie held up her hand to Akko and co, and quietly picked up the receiver with the other. “Snowfall to Air-Med, Snowfall to Air-Med: we read you, but where are you from, and what the hell are you doing here, over?”

“Ōkuninushi Medical, bringing a patient plus guardian back home, Snowfall. Over.”

“Wait, Weiss...? I thought they said she’d be at the hospital for a week, at the minimum…? Ah, over!”

“Doctor’s changed their mind, Snowfall; guardian wanted the early discharge it to be a surprise. Anyway, requesting clearance for landing, over.”

Snowie looked at the others, a mix of expressions on their faces, cast a glance at Whitley looking in from the kitchen with a spatula in hand, before she returned to the receiver. “Circle for five minutes, Air-Med; it’s been a while since we had a landing, getting it ready might be a while. Over and out.”

“Roger willco, Snowfall, over and out.”

Five minutes later, the roof of the house was transformed into a landing pad, sections of it becoming part of the runway or giving way to the sturdy materials that had been folded up inside. The gears, motors, and assorted machinery groaned and churned from lack of use and maintenance, but it was still enough for the airbus to land safely.

“Mom! Whitley!” Weiss cried as she was rolled out to the runway, Freya trailing beside her. The smiles on both their faces stayed as they noticed the three other faces carefully peering out from the trap door that lead out to the landing pad-roof. “… Akko, Ruby, Diana…!

“… What are you three doing here…?” Freya continued, a tremour of nervousness in her voice.

“We ran into an issue with Akko’s studying back at Haven,” Diana replied as she and the others sheepishly climbed out. “We thought we should go back here and study Akko’s old reviewers, try and recreate it once we get back to Haven...”

There was a moment of silence as all of Team AWRD, the other Schnees present, and the paramedics in the airbus all looked at each other.

“Well, this is horribly awkward!” Whitley said, breaking it. “Who wants to have breakfast before we all talk about this later, in private groups, or all at once? I made quiche—bacon or spinach, both with eggs and milk so apologies for intolerance to any of those!

“We can even use Blubbermouth.”

“Blubbermouth…?” Diana asked.

“It’s a plushie we all use when we need to talk about difficult things to each other...” Weiss said as a paramedic continued to wheel her in. “Very useful for things like a conversation we should have had about a certain condition of mine...”

Akko’s eyes widened. “Ah, yeah about that… sorry Weiss, but I kinda… told Ruby and Akko after we met up at the hospital. Just them, though, and we all promise we haven’t leaked to anyone else!”

Weiss’ eyes widened, before she sighed, resigned. “It’s okay, Akko… I would have done the same then if I could.” She sucked in a breath, and looked at Ruby and Diana. “Look, I know Akko probably told you everything you needed to know about it and then some, but I trust you still have questions she couldn’t answer, and, well, I kinda need to explain it myself, too.”

“So… Team AWRD to breakfast, then my room to talk about my Depression...?” she asked, smiling hopefully as she carefully raised her hand into the air.

“To breakfast, then your room!” Akko said, striking a pose.

“To breakfast, then your room!” Ruby said as she did the same.

Diana looked at the three of them, before she sighed, imitated the pose, and then said, “To breakfast, then your room...”

Whitley smiled and teared up. “I’ll moderate,” he said as he wiped his eyes on the back of his hand. “It’s the least I can do for that reference.”

The airbus took back off to Mistral, team AWRD and the Schnees headed back down inside for breakfast, then a much-needed talk in Weiss’ room afterward.

Note: There’s the big reveal. Did you guys not notice that the answer was in the AO3 tags the entire time…?

[decarabiacampaign]

The residence of Professor West Basement

Basement - Secret Lab

The lab contains homonculi, sauhagin in an aquarium, flesh golems, and other weird experiments. The party may also have to  deal with hostile Modrons.

The lab is divided into an east and west section, which connect at the rear. The western section has reinforced doors barred shut to prevent monster escape.

1 - Elevator

The brass elevator descends down many feet into an underground bunker, illuminated by a dim light that flickers on and off before eventually flickering off. The area rocks erratically as it descends.

2 - Entrance Hall (CR 2)

This spartan entrance hall is guarded by a two-headed and quadrupedal beast that looks stitched together and rotten (a Death Dog,) which rushes the party as soon as it detects an unfamiliar scent. The corridor is in darkness, the only light burned out, and only faint illumination from a far door's window. An arm of a strange fish-beast lies on the floor nearby a blanket, perhaps as a crude bed, and the floor has scattered flecks of blood

The doors split the path forward to the left and right; the right a metal door barred by wood on your side, and the right a glass and brass door with a golden light beyond.

(Right leads to the Aquarium, and left to the Greenhouse)

3 - Aquarium (CR 4)

This large aquarium is under a dim, red light. The water beyond the yellowed glass is murky and oceanic; any creatures inside hidden by seaweed.

Three Sahuagin experiments are inside the aquarium, though only two will attack; they are violent and hostile. A Perception of 16 reveals them inside, otherwise they attack as soon as they see the party. One will stick to the aquarium; using the glass as cover and tossing weapons overtop at the party, the other leaps out and attacks manually.

A rusty metal walkway (CR 2) stands above the aquarium, allowing access to it. The third Sauhaguin lurks far in the back of the aquarium, and will strike if the party enters the water; the rear of the walkway is only meant to support West's Skeletons and will drop any characters into the water as it breaks (CR 1/4, perception 15, disable device 20. Reflex 20 avoids) inflicting 1d6 nonlethal damage.

Inside the aquarium is a bit of random treasure the sauhagin have acquired

4 - Autopsy Room

A side room is refrigerated and misty, inside are two sauhagin bodies that have been cut open and with their flesh pulled back by tools; notes sit aside written in esoteric shorthand. One of the Sahuagin has a hand removed, and Masterwork Thieves Tools and a Healer's Kit can be found next to the bodies. The walls have shelves of malformed creatures pickled in brine, as well as several chemicals and potions.

A spellcraft check of 22 reveals that the on the False Life spell, which can be scribed into a book. The rest of the notes are dense on the study of organs and their functions; it seems the spell was used to keep these creatures alive during study.

The room also contains a Potion of Bull's Strength, Potion of Cure Light Wounds, Masterwork Thieves Tools, a Healer's Kit, and two doses of Drow Poison next to three empty vials.

5 - Disposal

The area contains stores of medical waste and cast-off corpses placed upon gurneys. It is kept cool by refrigeration, and so the area is misty and possesses the quiet hum of machinery buzzing nearby. Non-organic waste is stored in a nearby barrel, including broken tools, syringes, vellum sheets splattered with gore, and a shattered glass panel

A wall to the side contains a long, round tube leading to a cremation oven; a small side-panel allows access to the oven's mechanisms by crawling through a small hole. The temperature rises as you go father in, but although nerve-wracking, this is simply because of the lack of refrigeration. Amongst the soot is a charred ring that, if polished, is worth 250g

6 - Storage

A small hallway connects the operating room to the reinforced door to the Aquarium; beside it is a storage area.

The storage room contains a fridge, stacked texts, random furniture, and other items. On a wall is a Masterwork Handaxe next to a strange, bulky device crudely resembling a crossbow - West's Protector. A birdcage is also here, beaten with it's door broken open.

The refrigerator is full of body parts, including a still-fresh Hand of the Mage.

7 - Greenhouse CR 1 and CR 3

This room is wide and open, with a twisting path cresting around four terrariums. The air is moist and hot, water raining down from large sprayers at the high ceilings, and the spotlights above illuminate various plantlife with a dirty yellow aura. This seems to be a greehouse, albeit one where verdant wilderness is eschewed in favour of a dingy sterility that robs the plants of life.

The first terrarium contains a variety of tall-growing plants that bear wool and the half-formed faces of ewe. Periodically, you think you see the faces twitch. At least one has grown a full-size and complete sheep, periodically twitching as if ready to break off the stalk it's attached too. A label on the railing says "Barometz."

A homunculus hides among the plants here (Perception 22,) hostile to the unknown intruders and a former experiment in artificial humanoids by West. If not dealt with, it will open the second terrarium and unleash the Gas Spore on the party after they pass (assuming they don't trigger the encounter themselves!) to try and assist it's master

The second terrarium is hidden behind a crest of the wall, and surrounded by a yellow glass shutter that seems to obscure whatever is inside. You see a figure beyond, murky from the glass but casting a large roundish shadow that seems to hover above the ground. Beside this is a door with no windows, leading in.

The inside contains a Gas Spore (CR 3,) surrounded by poison mist and fungus. Because he uses undead servants, West has no issue with this but keeps it separate from the rest of the experiments to avoid contamination - And explosions. The Gas Spore looks like a beholder, but will explode violently if struck.

The Third terrarium is empty, but contains a wide steel pit sealed by a chipped glass ceiling; the spartan area has almost nothing inside it, as if whatever it is has been removed and the area is waiting new projects. It is labeled "Ochre Jelly"

The fourth terrarium contains one of the professor's experiments - A woman sits here unmoving and atop a pillow, surrounded by roses and plants. She has a glassy look in her eye, and moves in a slightly inhuman manner, but is courteous and friendly and will comment appropriately and kindly to whatever the players have just done. The railing says "Alraune Project"

The girl, called Alraune Project 15, uses the attributes of a Human Commoner. She knows almost nothing of the outside world or even the goings-on of this lab or her father. In truth, she is a plant-based clone and only a few months old, a prototype of her father's new body based on his studies of necromancy, human anatomy, and exotic plants. She knows little more than her immediate location, but she is tended to daily by skeleton servants and often finds companionship in the barometz growing nearby.

8 - Hallway

The hallway connects the operating theatre and study to the greenhouse and aquarium; the door the the Aquarium is barred from the hall, and the path to the greenhouse is locked

9 - Operation Theatre

This room is locked; West's skeletons come from this room a few times a day to check on plants and make notes on organ development.

The operation room itself is a wide, circular room with harsh light illuminating the center. Vines cover the room; at it's center is a partially-formed human torso sliced open and attached to various unknowable machines... It's eyes look out above, periodically blinking but responding to no stimuli.

The inside of the body’s chest contains a Healing Machine that glows with faint light; if hooked up to a creature using it’s wires, it casts Cure Light Wounds once/day and it’s light dulls until it can be used again.

10 - Study CR 4

The rear of the room is a study, but one indicative of a deranged mind. The walls are covered in occult imagery, notes on demons and angels, and multiple bulletin boards full of notes and obscure drawings detailing proposed conspiracies. The high-quality tables are covered in planar books, with various organs kept in bubbling jars nearby, and the floor is covered in tubing that pumps fluid about from a large device in the corner resembling a still. An area midroom is kept clear, with a table and couch sitting and gathering dust.

Two skeletons clad in long robes mill about, working silently at various tasks related to these bubbling jars. The scholar known as "West" is here - He has removed his brain and extended his life using advanced and arcane technology of his own design.

West attacks any intruders who make it this far, mistaking the party for "Worthless servants of Decarabia, Baphomet, Asmodeus, or Buer, that shall bend to my will." He will distract the party with his skeleton servants while dominating whoever looks the strongest physically and using his Telekinesis to pin whoever looks weakest. He can be talked out of attacking only with overwhelming proof that they are not part of a conspiracy, or if Elenor is mentioned.

The most valuable things in this room include West's spellbook, a revolver stored in a glass case on the closet, a library of notes that can be used to determine the clock issue if West is killed.

Afterward -

After West is calmed down or killed, the party can acquire the information they were looking for - Either collecting his esoteric planar notes, or the brain himself who will agree to visit the Academy. The information involves the goings-on of the blood war, and how the Black Lake area comtains a demonic power of significance that Decarabia is likely seeking.

The players may also have figured out that their choices are in some way tied into Decarabia's plans - Which Decarabia has deliberate kept secret. By clearing a path through the lab, they have also opened the path to Decarabia himself - And, the Rogue Modron can thus acquire certain secret information he needs because of this.

If the party has made allies with West, Decarabia attacks - He is a Pentadrone with a large group of Modrons. West will deal with the army, leaving the party to deal with Decarabia. Otherwise, Decarabia is content to leave the party to murder West.

Monsters -

Death Dog CR 2

https://www.d20pfsrd.com/bestiary/monster-listings/magical-beasts/death-dog/

Homunculus CR 1

https://www.d20pfsrd.com/bestiary/monster-listings/constructs/homunculus/

Sauhaguin CR 2

https://www.d20pfsrd.com/bestiary/monster-listings/monstrous-humanoids/sahuagin/

Skeleton Servant CR 1/3rd

https://www.d20pfsrd.com/bestiary/monster-listings/undead/skeleton-medium/

Ochre Jelly CR 5

https://www.d20pfsrd.com/bestiary/monster-listings/oozes/jelly-ochre/

Brain In A Jar CR 4

Libris Mortis book, page 90

Gas Spore CR 3

Lords of Madness, Page 148

---

Alraune Project 13

Humanoid Commoner 1 (CR 1/6)

LG medium plant

Init -1, Perception +3 (Low-Light Vision)

AC 9

HP 2 (1d6-1)

Fort -1, Ref -1, Will -1

Immune: Plant Traits

Speed 30 feet

No weapons

Str 7 Dex 8 Con 9 Int 8 Wis 9 Cha 12

BAB 0 CMB -2 CMD 7

Skills: Craft: Wool +3, Handle Animal +3, Ride +1

Feats: Animal Affinity

Langauges: Common

Plant Traits: As a plant, Alraune Project 13 is immune to mind-effecting effects, paralysis, polymorph, sleep, and stunning. She breathes and eats, but does not sleep

---

Treasure -

Hand of the Mage

Pearl of Power 1

Potion of Bull's Strength

Potion of Cure Light Wounds

Masterwork Thieves Tools

a Healer's Kit

two doses of Drow Poison

Charred ring

West's spellbook

Masterwork Revolver

Healing Machine

Aura: Light Evocation (healing,) CL 1, slot: none Cost 400g, weight 2lbs Machine found in the chest of a half-formed clone. Supplies a life force. If hooked up to a target (a full-round action) and activated (a swift action,) it heals the target 1d8+1 damage 1/day.

As long as the machine has charges, it emits light from a torch from a small lightbulb

West's Protector

Aura: Light Evocation, CL 2, slot: none

Cost 4000g, weight 20lbs

Crossbow-shaped device found in West's laboratory, made using his strange and arcane technologies for defence against his sauhaguin and plant monsters.

It can be used to emit a wave of frigid ice in a 15 foot cone inflicting 2d4 cold damage (Reflex 11 halves) as a standard action

[dontyoudarejudgemesworld]

The Apple Doesn’t Fall Far

Okay so this is basically a do over from a previous post I made for a Gravity Falls fanfiction I figured I’d just throw out there. The original post was so bad I decided to delete it and do it with some effort this time. So here goes nothing. 

So this is my first time posting something on here so bare with me. This started as a small late night ‘hey what if' AU that kinda snowballed into a something that spans the series and moves beyond it. It started out simple but has evolved to include (but not limited to) the Whole Pines Family, Bill, Manly Dan* (because he’s a damned good character that has endless potential for development beyond just shipping with Tyler no matter how cute that is), and an endless list of other crazy random crap. So with that being said I decided to post it here just because someone might enjoy it. Please feel free to let me know what you think**. The first half of the first chapter was posted originally on Tumbler with the title 'I have no bloody idea what to call this; The Gravity Falls Fanfiction.'***

I’ll post the chapter here though it’s also  here on AO3  (<--click here for link) if you prefer with a better summary and tags and all that. So with out further a due I resent to you....

The Apple Doesn’t Fall Far

Chapter One: Harvest Season

Rating:Mature

Archive Warning:Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories:F/M, Gen,

Fandom:Gravity Falls****

Relationships:"Manly" Dan Corduroy/Original Female Character(s)Stanley 'Stan" Pines & Original Character

Characters:Original Female Character, Stanley "Stan" Pines, "Manly" Dan Corduroy,Ford Pines, Mabel Pines,Dipper Pines,Bill Cipher

Additional Tags: Pines Family ,Illegitimate Pines Child,Hurt/Comfort, Bonding,The Return of Bill,OC Insert into Series

Language:English

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

June 2009

 “...and remember no refunds,” Stan called as the last group of tourists left for the day. It was peak season for them and he’d made a killing in the last week. Closing the door to the gift shop he let out a long low groan as he stretched. Glancing over at the cash register he threw a half smile at the red headed girl who stood behind it. He’d hired Wendy Cordery at the beginning of the summer when he’d over heard her and complaining loudly that Dan had told her to find a job or he was sending her upstate to his brother’s logging cam. She was a hard worker and didn’t give him too much lip, he could see her working out well.

“Good work today kid. You better be getting home before it gets dark or yur Dad will come looking for me,” he told in a gruff but affectionate voice causing her to smile as she made a bee line for the door, “Soos come give Wendy a ride home then go home,” he called glancing out at the creeping twilight. He didn’t care if the girl had run wild in the woods her whole life he didn’t want her running around by herself at dark. It seemed the weirdness was always more active in the summer and that creepy moth guy had been around the shack the last few nights batting at the lights the marked the drive. Sure he seemed harmless enough but he didn’t want to risk it. Like magic his faithful man child appeared out of thin air.

“Sure thing Mr. Pines. See you tomorrow dude,” he laughed cheerfully as he too headed for the door. As the bell jingled behind the young man Stan let out another heavy sigh locking it. He should be heading down to the basement; he had found a cash of maps last week behind a pile of barrels that might give him a lead to the other books. Looking at the vending machine he decided he should at least eat something first; today had been long and tomorrow would be too.

Wandering into the kitchen he opened the door of the fridge and peered in. A handful of Pitt cola, a half empty bottle of ketchup, and a carton of take out from Greasy’s that was probably old enough to vote stared back at him from the shelves. Deciding that food was over rated anyways he moved a few cans before finding the last survivor of a six pack of Hairy Lager. Cracking the beer open he shuffled into the living room and flopped down in his chair. He’d just rest a minute before heading down he told himself as he leaned his head back and closed his eyes. Taking a drink he loosened his tie slouching heavily into the familiar cushions.

He wasn’t sure how long he sat but it felt like an eternity and an instant before his ears perked up. It was faint but the sound of the woods at twilight was broken by the rumble of a distant engine. It approached and he hoped it was just one of he local teens on a dirt bike but a moment later the engine cut off outside the shack. He heard the crunch of boots on gravel as who ever it was moved towards the door, he’d already shut the lights off and flipped the sign so he figured whoever it was would see that and turn around. His theory was disproved a moment later by three loud knocks. Growling he didn’t bother to move until the knocks came again a bit louder.

“WE’RE CLOSED!” he barked annoyed at the disturbance. A split second of silence came before another series of knocks this one heavier and more insistent. Growling he pushed himself up, he was in no mood for this. Turning to the door his hand went to his pocket slipping the knuckle dusters that rested there on just in case.

“I said we’re closed so go fu…,” he trailed off as he wrenched the door open only to fall silent at the woman he found there. She was tall for a woman and built like a brick house; broad shoulders and an ample chest that was all but spilling out of the dark colored tank top she wore. Black cargos were slung low on wide hips and he couldn’t help but notice that she had legs for days. Big green eyes stared at him with a gaze that was sharp and a touch shrewd as full lips the color of cherries pulled into a determined line. A mess of coal black hair was pulled away from her face in a sloppy bun giving him full view of high cheek bones, arched brows, and a strong jaw that tapered down into a point. Her nose was a bit pronounced but not in an unattractive way with a slender bridge though his years of boxing told him that it had been broken at least once.

In fact she looked a bit rough over all with a faint scar that looked like a bullet wound on hip peaking out from the sliver of exposed skin at her waist line and the sleeve of bright tattoos that covered her right arm. Over all she was a looker, a bit reminiscent of the pin ups from his high school days but with a harder edge. And too young for him to have any real interest besides looking. While she looked old enough to drink and maybe rent a car she didn’t look even half his age. And while he was a lot of things cradle robber wasn’t one of them. Shame in his younger days he would have killed to have such a woman knocking on his door at night.

“You Stanford Pines?” she asked the smooth southern drawl of her voice a bit surprising. His eyes narrowed suspiciously as he looked her up and down again. There was something about her that was almost familiar and that sent up a few more red flags along with her question.

“Who’s askin’?” he demanded and a slight smirk pulled at the corner of her lips as she took a deep breath as though to steady herself for something.

“I’m Billie…errr Willimina Pisano,” she told him in a matter a fact tone, “Your niece.”

“What?” he said dumbly staring at her. Shermie had one son and that was it. Not that his older brother had been the sort to sleep around (that had always been Stan if he was honest), and the idea that Sixer would have even taken the time to look at a woman let alone sleep with one was absurd. Given that he cocked a brow in suspicion as he looked down at her.

“I think you got the wrong guy,” he said and her jaw tightened a fraction.

“Look about 29 years ago your brother Stanley and my ma had a fling. Needless to say it didn’t last, and by the time she knew I was around..,” she rolled one shoulder in a dismissive shrug, “Let’s just say she had better things to do then bother with somethin’ as trivial as trying to let him know,” she finished a certain venom to the words. Not that he took much notice. If what she said was true then Ford was her uncle; except he wasn’t really Ford. Composing himself he crossed his arms to look at her coldly.

“That’s quite a calm, you got any proof?” he asked coolly even as panic lights and sirens went off in his brain. A sly smirk pulled at her lips that felt too familiar as she  jerked her head to the side in acknowledgement of his question.

“You’re some fancy scientist, right? There’s a specific recessive gene in roughly 3% of the population that can cause fully formed extra digits. The Pine’s family carries this gene. But you already know that, right Stanford?” she chuckled as she held up her left hand. A left hand that had six fingers splayed out for him to see. His eyes skipped over the digits counting them over and over again as his heart plummeted into his stomach only to crawl up into his throat and stick there. Giving him an uncomfortable smile she dropped her hand tucking it in her pocket as she continued.

“That aside your brother’s DNA was in the Feral System due to…extralegal activities. I know a guy who owed me a favor so I had it tested. I got a copy if you wanna see it,” she told him as she withdrew an envelope from her back pocket with her other hand and tossed it on the table inside the door. His eyes snapped from her pocket up to her face as she waited in stony silence. Staring at her wide eyed and slack jawed he realized what was familiar about her; she looked like his mother. And now that he saw it he couldn’t unsee it. And that meant…. Shaking himself he refused to finish that thought.

“Ho…why? Why are you here?” he stammered and she gave another half shrug.

“Well my kidney’s are failing and close relatives are most likely to be a match,” she trailed off and he felt the blood drain from his face. She stood for a split second staring at him before she let out a sharp bark of laughter. “Relax, I’m kiddin’. Look I don’t want nothin’ from yuh. I know Stanley died a few years after I was born in a car crash. I don’t expect you to do anything about this I just figured you might wanna know,” she told him calmly, “You know in case you need a kidney some day. Now given you look like yur about to pass out I’ll be takin’ my leave. I’ll be at the Twin Bed outside of town if you…y’know have any questions. If you don’t I understand, and you’ll never see me again,” she told him giving a half wave with her left hand before turning on her heel. His eyes followed her as she sauntered off the porch over to the bike he’d heard earlier, a Sportster from the 70’s he noted absently. Hoping nimbly onto it the machine roared to life and she took off like a bat out of hell down the road that lead to the Shack.

He wasn’t sure how long he stood in the doorway staring down the empty road but by the time he moved the sun had long vanished and the stars shone brightly over head. Closing the door he locked it and headed for the living room all thoughts of the maps gone from his head. His legs felt like lead as he returned to his chair sitting down heavily, only to quickly stand back up and snatch the envelope from beside the door. Retreating to his chair one more he all but ripped the paper out and read it. Then reread it only to repeat the process about a dozen times. Choking a little he slumped back into the cushions his eyes finally focusing on the lifeless TV. Staring at the blank screen he couldn’t manage to form a coherence thought as he reached over and brought his now warm beer to his lips. Swallowing the whole thing in three gulps he set it down heavily.

“Fuck,” he said to his reflection in the dark glass.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

*eventually. Like I said there's a fair amount that happens in the time line of the series and while Dan makes a few appearances the series era posts will focus more on the Pines family dynamics and the Dan OC story line picks up after the series

**Trolls and Flamers will be unceremoniously ignored, because I seriously have better things to do than feed you

***I said I'd get around to coming up with a better title and and I did...eventually. I have a million talents coming up with snazzy eye catching titles isn’t one. I'm not even 100% sure that the current title is all that great. Don’t judge me I'm and author not a Marketing person.

****Duh