#sam deferred to dean (only he gets to call me that) and dean instead of recognising they're a unit is like

[mpregspn]

"remind me to beat the buzzkill out of you later" the way he HAD to put sam down in front of his new hunter buddy

[incesthemes]

this is the exact halfway point in 1.20 dead man's blood. it's also the first time we see dean stand up to john in any capacity. from here on, too, dean continues to hold his ground against his dad, and his defiance grows more confident and definitive.

the first half of this episode therefore represents the "status quo" of their family dynamic: sam is angry and defiant, dean is blindly loyal, and john is domineering. we get a sense of what life was like for them before the series began and how the family functioned. the second half, then, represents sam and dean's development. sam and dean are working more as a unit, and they demand to be treated as equals not only among each other but to their father as well. this half shows sam seeming to get meeker in a way now that dean is defending him (sam deflates falls back into a comfortable routine with john, his yessirs a vast contrast to dean calling him out and an even vaster contrast to his own shouting matches with john in the first half of the episode)—this is the dynamic they're working toward and have been working toward this whole season.

but this halfway point is so cool. because right after this moment, dean is left helplessly torn between two options:

sam gets in the impala, and john gets in his truck. the two vehicles become physical manifestations of the choice dean now has to make: john or sam? status quo or development?

he gets in the impala. he chooses sam.

but the cool thing about it is that the impala is dean's car. of course he was going to get in his own car. it's a no-brainer. but at the same time, this doesn't stop the impala from representing sam in this moment. what this means, then, is that dean never had a choice in the matter: he was always going to choose sam.

dean lacks narrative agency for the majority of season 1. he constantly defers to sam's decisions, and even when he does make decisions that would lead to significant development for himself (see 1.11 scarecrow, where he chooses to let sam have his independence instead of clinging onto him, signifying a massive step forward for his own sense of self and independence), sam inevitably shapes the outcome of those decisions, leaving dean in a position where he isn't actually choosing things for himself (and sam returns at the end of the episode, preventing the possibility of his growth and keeping him defined by his place in his family).

this moment in dead man's blood is symbolic of that lack of agency. dean is tied to his brother, doomed to choose him because it's the only real option presented to him. this isn't to say that's a bad thing by any means obviously, just that it's an interesting setup for his narrative arc. dean is set to spiral straight into sam's orbit, helpless to stop it or escape, and frankly he doesn't want to, either. sam is the center of his universe, after all, and choosing sam was what he was raised to do. sam is his everything—including the master of his story.

so when dean chooses sam and gets into the impala, there was never any other option for him. dean was always going to choose his brother, was always going to stand up to john and defend sam and himself, was always going to get into his own car. unlike sam, whose season 1 conflict is between his fate and his family, dean's fate in many ways is his family, and he has nothing to convince him off that path (indeed, the one time he does falter in this during season 1 is because he's again deferring to sam's decision to leave him).

and the best part about all of the whole metaphor, to me, is this:

sam is the one driving the car.

[rainsongmp3]

heaven as a bureaucracy is so fundamentally boring to me. angels are fundamentally inhuman, ethereal, incomprehensible being are you’re telling me that they work like a corporation?? corporations are a very human invention. it simply makes no sense for them to behave like one. also, if we’re talking about a God who has abandoned heaven, that makes the whole concept even more boring. they call God their Father, but act like he was their CEO?? no. God as an absent father is vastly more compelling. angels as a extremely fucked up celestial family is so very interesting. i want to know how daddy issues impacted a being of pure energy and light. i don’t care about how a CEO took an extended vacation. the CEO narrative is literally just ok the big boss is gone we just defer to the second in command until he comes back and we continue to function normally. the absent father narrative allows for nuanced and complex individuals. you get to examine how each angel deals with the void of a father and how this impacts their relationship with obedience, humanity, and faith.

in season 4 alone, we get zachariah, uriel, castiel, and anna who each have their own views and motivations. uriel sees God’s absence as proof that he never cared, never loved them (the angels or the humans) so he follows in lucifer’s footsteps. anna is doubtful and falls not because she has issues with The Absent Father, but because she doubts the chain of command without him. she wants love and emotion so she chooses to become human to find the things she was lacking as an angel. castiel has unwavering faith in The Absent Father throughout season 4. his doubt is in the chain of command and their purpose. but unlike anna, he doesn’t want to become human. he wants to watch over them and protect them as he believes his Father would’ve wanted. zachariah is so interesting in season 4 because he’s nothing like the other angels we’ve seen before. he doesn’t doubt. he doesn’t rebel. he arguably doesn’t even have faith. he doesn’t care that God is gone because that void leaves room for him. he puts michael into the Father/God position, but not out of faith or love. it’s out of an odd convergence of duty and lust of power.

in season 5, this becomes even more interesting because of the introduction of the archangels and cas’s continued rebellion. (i’m not going to get into how michael and lucifer are direct mirrors for sam and dean and how this correlates to the absent father parallels between God and john because that is an entirely separate deeply compelling topic.) michael is set forth as the good son, the good soldier who is entirely driven out of love and loyalty to a Father who abandoned him. he steps up to fill the void, but it’s not about power for him; it’s about duty. lucifer doesn’t experience The Absent Father, but his actions are all in direct response to his father. lucifer was the favorite. he had a real, close bond with God. according to him, he was cast out of heaven because he loved his father too much. it’s that rejection that drives him. he’s fundamentally a petulant child doing anything to get his daddy’s attention. his tantrums just involve a lot more bloodshed. gabriel, in my opinion, has the most interesting feelings about The Absent Father. gabriel loves his family very deeply and watches it be torn apart which just completely wrecks him. when lucifer falls, gabriel loses a brother who he still loves even if he hates his choices and actions. he loses a father presumably soon (for an angel) after that. (if jesus doesn’t exist in the supernatural universe at all, then it’s very possible that God leaves directly after lucifer falls. if jesus does exist, then God probably leaves very soon after jesus’s death and resurrection. but most likely, jesus exists in the supernatural universe, but he was never resurrected. this is another separate issue but it’s based on how salvation and sin is treated in the show. very compelling, but once again not what i’m supposed to be talking about.) all of this loss is so much for gabriel that he leaves. he does the exact same thing that was done to him. gabriel is an archangel. he’s powerful. he’s up there in all of this. and he leaves too. that is so interesting because it begs the question: did God do that too? gabriel runs away from responsibility and pretends that he just doesn’t like it, it’s not his style, but it’s really out of a very deep wound that never healed. he resents his Father for leaving and he resents that he’ll have to watch his brothers fight to the death and presumably pick a side. gabriel was the mediator who bailed. he runs always from his problems instead of dealing with them and ends up carrying all of his pain with him. he fills this up with sex and fun and booze and tricks and pretends to be happy. when he finally confronts his issues, he’s killed!! murdered by the brother he loves!! so maybe, abandoning your family is the only way to survive. we never get to see much of raphael’s views even though he’s a main antagonist in season 6. but we get a little of it in free to be you and me. out of all the archangels he’s the most removed from the idea of God. he truly believes that God is gone. he might be dead. he might not care. he might never come back. it doesn’t matter to raphael. God is gone so the archangels should be in charge and rule heaven and earth as they see fit. he wants the apocalypse, but not out of love or faith. for him, it’s just what should be done.

season 6 begins to move away from angels as a family and God is an absent father. it’s more political. heaven is engaged in a civil war while raphael and cas campaign for the ultimate political office. godstiel is very interesting in relation to God is an absent father. cas is put forth as a rebellious angel, yet he is also the most loyal to God’s intentions (love humans more than angels live Him). he originally wants nothing to do with power, but he eventually begrudgingly accepts it because he has faith in his beliefs and The Absent Father. then, absolute power corrupts absolutely. cas declares himself the New God. he demands the angels follow him and slaughters those who do not. he even takes it as far as to proclaim himself their Father. this character trajectory is influenced by cas’s views on fate vs free will, paranoia, and his relationship to God. this power hungry, possibly manic, walking blasphemy version of cas can’t exist without God as the absent father.

after season 6, we really lose the family dynamics feel of the angels. season 8 is espionage. season 9 is angel politics. the later seasons have heaven function as a bureaucracy with the occasional mention of the archangels as brothers. it’s also vastly more interesting for the angels as soldiers interpretation if they are also a very fucked up family. sibling order is taken literally and to the extreme. the older siblings command the younger siblings as superiors or commanders. the Father is sending his children off to fight wars in his name.

a lot of the nuance is lost in the bureaucratic heaven. it takes away from the complexity and otherworldliness that is supposedly inherent to angels.

[mego42]

207 Discussion Q’s

shout out and thank you to @pynkhues for putting these together even though she wasn’t gonna be here this week

1. What was your favourite scene of the episode? Tell us why!

obvs the dubby but underrated fav is Ruby and Jane in the closet, idk exactly why but I am starved for the families interacting with each other content (screw the timeline, the most unrealistic aspect of this show is that they aren’t constantly in and out of each other’s houses with ben and sara continually being called on to babysit) so this little snippet makes me levitate

2. Was there any scene that missed the mark for you? And if so, how?

the annie and noah scenes for sure. I mostly feel betrayed bc I really liked them the first time I watched (i have a lot of built in affection for sam huntington let me live) and now I’m like BEGONE FOUL BETRAYER and feel pre-emptive fatigue over annie’s taste in men and how that’s not going to get better any time soon

3. I know time does not exist in the Good Girls universe (or in reality anymore), but let’s start with a timeline question! The implication of the opening montage is that a bit of time has past since Beth strongarmed the partnership with Rio at the end of 2.06. How long do you think it’s been? And more importantly, what do you think these early days of their partnership looked like?

I tend to lean towards at least 2 months, maybe more based on:

the number of shoeboxes and how many times Beth’s shown making a closet deposit

how lived in their annoyance over Beth’s dividing her time and Rio pushing back feels

the implication (at least how i read it) that Rio’s annoyance stems from having to track Beth down which presumably implies they’d grumbled their way into a semi-functional working relationship prior (supported by their ease with each other in 208) and if the montage has only been a month, that would be a maximum of 4 meetings and I don’t particularly think that’s enough time for them to get over being extremely prickly with each other

the fact that Beth goes to Rio for help when Jane’s missing (again, to me implies a longer period of time to get over some of their antagonism than a max of 4 meets)

I imagine their initial partnership went something like Beth being a smug brat about forcing her way in, Rio being deliberately unhelpful and trying to force her to admit she’s in over her head (while still keeping enough of an eye on things that his money isn’t jeopardized), Beth stubbornly refusing to and finding ways to rise to the occasion, Rio being grudgingly impressed, Beth being annoyed with herself for how pleased she is over that. Lather, rinse, repeat until they’ve worn a cantankerous but bizarrely comfortable groove into each other.

meanwhile, Mick, Annie and Ruby are absolutely disgusted by everything happening in front of their eyes.

4. The first scene between Ruby and Turner in this episode is a really dynamic one! It’s pretty clear that Ruby’s afraid of Turner, but what do you think Turner thinks of Ruby?

I think he sees a big cartoon canister labeled "Beth Boland Bait"

5. Taking the kids to the drop was a pretty big mistake! What do you think Beth should’ve done in this instance? Do you think saying no again to Rio was an option?

CALLED BEN OR SARA FOR A BABYSITTING ASSIST. For fucks’ sake.

And yeah, I think she could’ve said no to Rio but he would’ve kept her cut of that drop and, even worse, would’ve been able to hold the fact that she didn’t deliver that one time over her head forever more.

6. The krav maga teacher offers some sage advice telling Dean to not order the hit and instead just divorce his wife, haha. Do you think that he thought the baby hitmen would come through for Dean? Or do you think he was deliberately setting Dean up to get robbed?

I choose to believe the krav maga teacher knew exactly what kind of an idiot Dean was and set him up because the dude clearly had at least two brain cells to rub together and anyone with two brain cells to rub together would never get tangled up in a murder plot with Dean standing on the street corner telling random bystanders in detail how he wants to kill the guy that fucked his wife what do you mean established means and motive Boland.

7. During Ben and Annie’s tense conversation, Ben tells Annie that she’s hard to keep track of - she’s parent mom, cool mom, sketchy mom. In a lot of ways, this feels like a parallel to Ruby talking to Beth in the last episode and calling her ‘drug Beth, gun Beth, human trafficking Beth’. What do you make of this? And how do you think it relates to the show’s themes?

I defer to @foxmagpie’s answer because I like it a lot. 

8. The scene with the girls in the house! Tell me all your thoughts please!!!

I love this scene a lot

Beth’s channeling Rio in general but also specifically in 201 you will never ever change my mind

Sometimes I lie awake at night wishing Rio had seen it

Prayer circle that he sees a version of it in s4

Can you imagine the nightmare level of boner he would get? The sheer narcissism!!

Ruby’s obvious wish for new friends is The Most Valid

I really love the main drug den guy, I love Blake Shields’s energy, it makes the scene crackle, and I wish they’d bring him back purely bc he’s gr9

9. Annie meets Noah in this episode! What do you think of their introduction to one another? And how would you rate Noah on the scale of ‘Garbage Annie Love Interests’?

at least he’s not her therapist I guess

10. Beth has two pivotal and emotionally revealing fights this episode - one with Dean and the other with Rio. How do these fights compare? And what do you think they tell us about her respective relationship with them?

UUUNNNNNFFFFFFFF

I L O V E how hard the show goes on Dean’s obsession with Beth and Rio as the primary source of his angst

the fact that he’s trying to rope Stan into murder while looking for Jane who isn’t even MISSING but Dean had NO IDEA bc instead of giving a shit he went straight to HOW CAN THIS BE THAT GUY’S FAULT

I love how clearly they delineate that it isn’t about Beth but specifically about someone else ~*~taking~*~ Beth from him and how emasculated that makes him feel (something something something the storyline opens with the krav maga guy choking him out and then telling him to divorce her and Dean being like I reject your rational and logical solution bc it doesn’t punish the man who touched my property, idk i have a half baked thought there but i can’t pull it out of my brain)

and then it’s all underscored how little Dean’s worried about Beth and her safety by him bringing her work up specifically as a gotcha (which, unless I’m forgetting something, is p much the only context Dean ever brings it up in besides maybe the sit down fight but that’s again, about Beth acting out vs genuine concern)

Meanwhile, this is contrasted with:

Beth flipping tf out at the mere suggestion Rio would ever hurt her children, showing how deeply and instinctively she trusts him in regards to her children aka what’s been established as her Most Important Priority over and over (in the same breath that she rips into Dean for losing Jane in the first place)

which is doubled down on her immediately going to Rio for help

and he is FURIOUS at her, but the thing he leans hard on isn’t how she could have jeopardized the business deal (aka his money, what’s been established as his Most Important Priority over and over) but how she jeopardized herself and how badly she can fuck up if she doesn’t take this seriously

putting himself in a vulnerable position (presumably burning a connect, letting on that Beth means something to him beyond business) to look out for Beth’s emotional well-being

And then, just to drive it home a little further, @sothischickshe pointed out the Beth and Rio fight over Beth’s self preservation is directly paralleled with Stan freaking out at Ruby over the IA stuff because he’s worried about her and I had to go and stare at a blank wall for a few minutes to calm down.

anyway, draw your own conclusions.

11. Ruby takes Jane being missing as an opportunity to try and find evidence on Beth for Turner and, in the process, finds Jane too. How do you think this scene captures Ruby’s moral dilemma? And do you think it’s a satisfying turning point in the Ruby-Turner arc?

I struggle a lot with the Turner and Ruby plot specifically because I HATE that Turner’s ruthlessly leaning on Ruby as the weak link but I’m also ferociously attracted to him so I’m less bothered by it than I feel like I should be so mostly I just try not to think about any of it.

Idk, I see it in some ways as a continuation of Ruby’s fight with Beth and Annie in s1 where Annie said she isn’t blood. They put Ruby on the outside but when push comes to shove, Ruby still puts the two of them above her own family. As far as I’m concerned, Annie still owes Ruby a massive apology for that. Beth I let off the hook a little because by the end of the season she’s ready to turn herself in to make it all go away for all of them (I think, unless I’m misremembering, which is entirely possible bc I don’t think I’ve ever rewatched all of 213)

12. RIO GETS BETH THE DUBBY!! That’s it, that’s the question. Please discuss.

I think a lot about how the gesture is so baldly honest neither one of them can face it either at all (Rio) or without taking a shot first (Beth) which, now that I’ve typed it out, is also an interesting flip of their general MO bc under normal circumstances I’d put Rio down as the one that, of the two of them, is more willing to face stuff whereas Beth’s the one that hides from it.

[owl-quill]

Random Supernatural x Once Upon A Time Crossover.

Hook catches the Winchester brothers sneaking around his ship, Emma catches Hook probably planning some vigilante justice.

Just some fun crackfic.

Content notes: just some kidnapping and general threatening behaviour

----

“Well. I guess if any boat here is haunted, it’s that one.” Dean pointed out a tall ship with three masts, standing out from the small yachts and fishing trawlers like a yeti at a dog show.

“Huh.” Sam was unconvinced. It was an unusual sight, true, but nothing supernatural. “Let’s not skip ahead, though, in case the guess is wrong.”

They did walk past all ships at the nighttime-deserted piers, Dean keeping his attention on the EMF meter, Sam on the surroundings, in case anyone showed up. No sign of either human or ghost activity, until they got near the tall ship. “It’s not strong, but there’s something.”

“Let’s check more closely, then.”

They walked up the gangplank as quietly as possible, and after a last look around, Sam pulled the sawed-off shotgun loaded with rock salt out of his jacket. Neither of them considered that there might be a living soul on board.

The EMF meter kept an unusually steady readout, leading Dean to give it a few sharp taps in case it was somehow stuck.

After walking to the stern and bow and back to the main deck again, and short, quiet deliberation, they decided to check below deck. The stairs below were only just visible in the lights of the harbour, and once they were below they would be able to use flashlights without having to worry too much about passers-by getting suspicious.

The second Dean was distracted fumbling the flashlight out of his pocket, there was a thump from Sam’s direction, followed by Sam’s body tumbling down the stairs, crashing into Dean’s legs and throwing him off balance. He hit the deck, flashlight and EMF meter scuttering away, and tried to turn on his back and go for his gun. There was a figure practically flying down the stairs, and the last thing Dean registered was a boot to his head.

***

“Hey, mate, time to wake up!”

With someone’s hand grabbing his face and shaking him, Sam was conscious very suddenly, head spinning. Trying to sit up and push away whoever it was did not work so well, what with his hands and legs tied. Also, “What the hell, where are my clothes?”

“I have confiscated your personal effects, seeing how you boarded my ship with obvious ill intent, and a considerable number of weapons.” The guy got up to hang up the lantern - one with a candle in it - he was holding, giving Sam a moment to take in his getup. A leather coat, black, with matching waistcoat and pants, and when he stood Sam got a pretty good look at the steel hook he used for his left hand, leaving no doubt he was not merely holding it. Great, unless this was an unusually solid ghost, he had been found by a weirdo who liked to dress up as a pirate. And they hadn’t even agreed on a cover story for sneaking onto a ship. Damn.

“Where’s my... partner?”

“Alive,” came the cool answer. “For for the moment. And now I believe you should answer some of my questions. Who are you, and what were you doing on my ship?” He fixed Sam with bright eyes, a slight smile on his lips.

“I’m... we were looking for...” Dammit, his head was still spinning.

“If you’ve lost your memories I guess I have no further use for you.” He drew some kind of curved sword, was that a cutlass?

“Whoa, wait, wait.” With the pressure of the blade tilting up his chin, he spoke quickly, giving the alias they had used when checking in to Granny’s. “We were looking for ghosts, OK? We didn’t mean to cause any damage or harm, really.” The wannabe pirate let the blade droop.

“Ghosts? And why would you think there were any ghosts on my ship?”

“The EMF meter, it--”

“That’s the beeping, blinking thing your ‘partner’ carried?”

Sam nodded. “It detects electromagnetic fields. You get electromagnetic fields were there are no electric cables, you probably have a ghost, and it did indicate something on this ship.”

“So some weird contraption being noisy makes you think you have a right to invade someone else’s ship, and incidentally home, yes?”

“Ah... We didn’t expect anybody to be here... or live here.”

The pirate chuckled, and with a grin and a raised eyebrow asked, “So you were planning to shoot ghosts with that gun of yours?”

Oh, what the hell. He didn’t have to believe in ghosts, he just had to believe Sam believed what he told him. “It’s loaded with rock salt. A hit briefly banishes a ghost.”

He squatted to get down to Sam’s eye level. “And doesn’t usually kill humans, just hurts like fire. That’s interesting.”

With a sinking feeling the guy might be crazy enough to use him as target practice to test that theory, Sam swallowed hard, and tried to control his breathing. “Sir, I’m sorry, you’re right, we shouldn’t have been here. But we really meant no harm, and you’ve given at least me a good scare, so how about we call it even? We can check your ship over to make sure there’s no supernatural danger, or we can leave, which ever you prefer. Or you can hand us over to the authorities, of course.”

“Oh, I’m not planning to trouble the Sheriff with you two. I’d like to have some fun for myself.” He ruffled Sam’s hair, grinning wickedly.

Humans. Humans were the worst. Too damn unpredictable.

***

By the time someone approached Dean, he had been awake long enough to come to terms with his situation, including the fact that he probably was not getting out of the manacles - manacles, not handcuffs, for chrissakes! That did not mean he was happy about it.

He glared at the costumed weirdo. “Where’s my brother, you sunnuvabitch?”

“You might want to pretend a little more respect.”

“Or what, you--” He swallowed the rest of the sentence at the sight of Sam’s shotgun pointed right at his face. After a second, he caught himself and looked the weirdo in the eyes, instead of keeping his focus on the muzzle, and went back to glaring.

“Your brother is alive, and not seriously hurt. I’m still trying to decide what to do with the two of you. Why don’t you tell me who you are, and why you are here?”

With no agreed-upon cover story, Dean reached for the same solution as Sam, giving his alias and otherwise telling the truth, curtly. The gun was lowered gradually.

“So this--” the weirdo pulled the EMF meter out of his pocket “--can detect ghosts, yes?”

“Yeah, believe it or not.”

He switched it on and watched the steady readout for a few moments. “Are you sure it detects ghosts in particular?”

“Or, like, electric cables, but this ship looked rather low-tech.”

“Maybe. But what about other supernatural... energies. Magic, perhaps?”

“What? You’re saying your ship is magic?”

“That she is. What would you do about it?”

Dean looked at him in confusion. The moment was interrupted by the noise of something hitting the hull of the ship. In a flurry of coattails, the pirate disappeared.

***

Hook cursed once again his lack of a crew. Not even one reliable man to leave on watch. It was maddening.

“Hey, Hook! We need to talk!” Emma’s voice. With a sigh, Hook revised his plans for his two guests, and hurried to get a rope ladder. He could see a sail peeking over the rail of the Jolly Roger. “You hear me?”

“That I do. Just a minute!”

One she was on deck, Emma got right to the point. “Do you have the two outsiders here?”

“May I ask what led you to that suspicion?”

“Their car is parked near the habour, Ron saw them sneaking around, and this morning there was no trace of the guys or the Jolly Roger, so, call it a wild guess.”

“All right. I have indeed taken prisoner two men who invaded my ship. Would you like to join me in the interrogations?”

“Hook, what were you planning to do to them?”

“I hadn’t decided yet. Under the circumstances, I shall defer to your judgement.”

“The circumstances being, being caught, eh?”

“Among other things.” He dropped his playful amusement and looked at Emma seriously. “They actually believe in supernatural things and might be a danger to Storybrooke. So I’m not sure what you would consider appropriate.”

Emma cursed. “Good to know. Yes, I need to talk to them.”

“Keep them separate, or gather all together?”

“All together. I want this over with.”

Hook led the way into the main hold and bade Emma to wait.

“Uh, hi,” said Sam, flashing a nervous smile.

“Hi.” Emma raised an eyebrow seeing the prisoner stripped down to his boxers, and sent a ‘what the fuck’ look after the captain’s back. When he came back manhandling someone else in the same state, she asked, “You stripped them? Really?”

“Before you judge, let me show you their personal effects.” He deposited Dean next to his brother, catching the look and nod they exchanged. Before getting the stashed items, he made sure that Sam’s hands were still bound tightly.

He fetched the shotgun he had left near the stairs earlier, put it on top of a crate, and pulled a bundle out of one of the lockers. Unrolling the set of clothes revealed a collection of weapons, two small bottles, and a small leather bag, which Hook laid out neatly. “That’s his.” He pointed at Sam.

“Look, I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but it is wrongful imprisonment.”

“Seems more like a citizen’s arrest to me.” Emma put her hands on her hips, making sure the lout saw the sheriff badge pinned to her belt. Hook grinned with delight; It was always nice when the two of them were on the same side.

He continued with Dean’s arsenal, which included two of those modern repeating pistols, several knives, and a beautiful set of lockpicks.

“They also carried this—” Hook added the EMF meter “—and claim it told them there might be ghosts on the Jolly Roger.”

“Jolly Roger? Seriously?”

“Shut up, jerk!”

“Oh, come on, we go looking for ghosts and find some wannabe Captain Hook? What the hell!”

“That’s enough of that!” Emma cut in. “Names. Full story. Now.”

“I’m agent Mercury, this is my, uh, half-brother and partner agent May, with the FBI, we—”

“Yeah, right, and I’m Roger Taylor and he’s John Deacon. Try again.” She sat down on a locker so she could watch them and pulled a cigar box out of her satchel. “I guess if whatever you say is in here, it’s fake.”

“What’s that, Swan?” He looked over her shoulder at a collection of cards with writing and the prisoners’ faces on them.

“Fake IDs. Lots of different names, lots of organisations... They also had an even bigger and weirder arsenal than what you found. They might be more crooked than you were. Are. Whatever.”

Sam heaved a sigh and let his head drop back as far as it would go.

Dean had other priorities. “You broke into my car!”

“Yep.”

“I swear, if you hurt my baby, you’ll regret it!”

“Baby?” The man didn’t strike Hook as the fatherly type, but then, he hadn’t seen him at his best, probably.

“His car,” Sam explained tiredly. After a moment, Hook nodded. Not the pet name he’d pick for his Jolly Roger, but it made sense in principle.

“I asked for your names, guys!”

“Winchester. I’m Sam, he’s Dean.”

“And you are in Storybrooke because...?”

“There’s something off in the area, and we were trying to figure out what. There have been reports of people disappearing, or changing their personality overnight. We... investigate paranormal phenomena.”

“With a whole lot of guns and knives.”

“OK, you won’t believe this, but we’re hunters.” Dean obviously agreed the time for beating about the bush was over. “We hunt ghosts, werewolves, vampires, demons... anything supernatural that’s a threat, we eliminate it.” He held Emma’s eyes for a moment. “Go on, laugh.”

Hook was indeed tamping down an extended chuckle. “What do you say, Swan?”

“This is complicated.”

“It’s all the truth?”

“Absolutely.”

“So why not return the favour?”

“Hook—”

“At your service, your highness!” He swept her a bow.

“What the hell is wrong with you people?”

“Well, he is actually Captain Hook. The real deal. Getting us to believe in supernatural stuff? Nnnnot as tricky as it might be.”

Dean closed his eyes. “We’ve fallen into a vatload of crazies!”

“Dean?”

“What?”

“Remember Dorothy?”

Everyone was quiet for a few moments, then Emma asked, “You met Dorothy Gale?”

“Yeah.”

“All right!” Hook exclaimed. “Now that everybody believes everybody else, all that’s left is deciding what to do with those two dangers to the secrecy of Storybrooke.”

“I can’t decide that alone. Or just with you. How about you take us back to shore?”

“As you wish.”

***

Once Hook had left the three of them below, Sam asked, “He’s... more chipper than I expected from Captain Hook. Is he always like that?”

“No... I guess having someone to kick around put him in a really great mood. Sorry about the sticky situation... But we have an entire town to protect.”

“We have an entire world to protect,” Dean growled.

“We’ll work something out, I hope.”

“Could we please work out us getting our clothes back?”

Emma eyed the arsenal Hook had laid out. “I think I’d rather have some backup first.”

[masterpieceofturkeycleverness]

Teaser--Trials and Errors

Final grades are in, and I can write again!  I have the next chapter of Trials and Errors (explicit Sabriel A/B/O fic) already drafted, but it needs a /lot/ more editing before I can post it.  

However, I edited a short section of it so it was good enough for public consumption.  Here’s a teaser for you:

When he looked over at the Winchester brothers, Dean was arguing loudly that they go through with the test.  Gabriel expected Sam to be arguing just as loudly, but instead, he discovered that Sam was also watching the other people at the table--in fact, their eyes met, and the Alpha gave Gabriel a reassuring smile.  Damn, but it was a nice smile.  

Sam waited until the arguments had trailed off before clearing his throat to get everyone’s attention.  Suddenly, Gabriel wasn’t the only one watching him.  “While the ultimate decision rests with Mr. Penikett, the representative of the State, our options are limited by what Gabriel is willing to do, as I’ve already said I’m willing to submit to the defense’s test.”  He met Gabriel’s gaze again.  “So, it seems to me that it’s past time to ask him what he wants to do.”

Gabriel’s eyes widened.  An Alpha deferring to an Omega was rare, /especially/ when there was an Alpha who could represent him (Naomi) in the room.  Thankfully, he’d always been extroverted, and he’d sat through enough class discussions to know what to do when the teacher called you out like that--give yourself time to think by answering the question with a question.  “That depends--are you sure your nose is as good as you say?”

Sam didn’t seem to be upset by Gabriel questioning his abilities, although behind him, Dean made a disgruntled face.  “I smelled you in that van.  I’ll be able to smell you again if given the opportunity.  I wouldn’t say I could if I wasn’t absolutely sure.”  He met Gabriel’s gaze the entire time.  

Gabriel nodded slowly, convinced.  This wasn’t Alpha bravado; he was certain that Sam was telling the truth.  

Soon, my handful of Sabriel readers, soon.  

[lena-in-a-red-dress]

Lena & the Winchesters, Part 6a

Kara follows the woman to the diner. She doesn't go in, instead detouring to the coffee shop across the street and finding a corner to to hide in as she focuses her hearing on the single table in a crowded restaurant. As she tunes in to light hearted teasing and significant conversation, her fingers fly across her phone, sending a text to Alex. Kara: I need eyes on Lena. Now. Three voices hum in appreciation as burgers, steaks, and milkshakes are delivered to their table. Alex's response is swift. Alex: Secure in max. Alex: Whats wrong? Kara feels her stomach churn. Kara: Eyeballs or video? Alex: Stand by "What's the pie situation?" the woman asks, voice muffled by two walls and four lanes of traffic between. The lilting timber shoots a bolt of fire through Kara. Her hand tightens dangerously around her phone, making the casing groan in protest. "Pecan," one of her companions responded around a mouthful of food. The slurp of his milkshake grates on Kara's ears, but she doesn't dare tune it out for even a second. "Chocolate?" "Nah." A disgruntled hmpf follows, and then there's nothing else but the sounds of chewing. Kara's phone rings. "Is she there?" she asks breathlessly. "Yes. Our guy has physical eyes on her. She's in solitary, Kara, she's not going anywhere." She can hear Alex dismiss someone on the other end of the line. "What's going on?" Kara exhales. She was mistaken. It's like when she lost Krypton and she mistook an FBI Agent for her mother. She's just seeing things. There's a smack of skin on skin across the street, and Kara snaps her attention back to the diner, where the woman has caught her companion's wrist in one hand, inches from her plate. "Reach for my bacon again and you'll wish you hadn't." Crazy. She's going crazy. "Kara!" "It's nothing. I think. I'll let you know if that changes. Thanks." She hangs up before Alex can ask anything further, and silences her sister's attempts to call back. Then she waits. As their meal draws to a finish, the taller man at the table brings up a new subject. "So," he says in a low voice, "I found the warehouse. It's just inside the town limits in a secluded area. Doesn't look like anyone's been there in a while, so I figure if we wait until dark before making our way over we'll avoid most attention." "Then we get in, get out," the bacon-thief chimes in. "No funny business." "Why are you looking at me when you say that?" the woman drawls. "Because you're the wildcard." The tall one grimaces sympathetically. "He's kind of right..." "So not my fault." "Not the point. We need to be careful. We have no idea what might be waiting for us." Maybe it's the mysterious, unspoken intent of their visit to this unknown warehouse. Maybe it's the audible wariness-- a marked departure from their light hearted dinner talk. Or maybe it's the heavy pall that follows that urges Kara to follow. Whatever the reason, follow she does. She tracks them with blocks of buffer space, just to ensure they don't spot her. She doesn't recognize the men, but the woman... It can't be Lena. It can't be.

 And yet... Her face is more relaxed than she ever remembered Lena's being. Her smile comes so effortlessly that it takes Kara's breath away. Her shoulders are unbowed by the burden of responsibility, and her companions treat her with none of the careful deference the rest of the world treated Lena. There's not a single shred of the manic intensity that lived in Lena for months before her arrest. She doesn't bear much resemblance to that Lena. This woman looks like Lena after their last wine night-- more than a year ago now. She looks like the morning she woke up after falling asleep on Kara's couch, boneless and smiling. She looks like the part of Lena that used to bleed away as the sun rose higher, pulling the world and all its troubles into their momentary haven. But that Lena never went sneaking to creepy abandoned warehouses in the dead of night. This one, this not-Lena, does. Kara tracks them to the warehouse. She hovers high above out of sight, until she hears the tell-tale chime of breaking glass. Taking her cue with practiced ease, Kara slams into the ground hard enough to dent the dirt under her boots. 

Three guns swing towards her, but then swivel away as soon as the beams of their flashlights illuminate the symbol on her chest. Kara smirks.

“Evening,” she greets sharply. “Forgot your keys?”

The stockier of the two men creases into a disarming grin, lowering his gun entirely. “Yeah, actually. Our uncle owns the property and asked us to pick up some things now that he’s in hospice. Of course, the key isn’t where he said it was, so--”

The words roll off his tongue like syrup, but Kara knows better.

“The cops are on their way,” Kara gives a fib of her own. “If you don’t fancy a night in the town jail, you should turn around and go home.”

Kara has to admit his grin is charming. “Wow. That’s pretty generous.”

“It is. You should take advantage of the offer before it expires.”

“Right.” He almost turns to leave, then shakes his head. “I’m curious though-- does National City’s resident superhero have jurisdiction all the way up here?”

His companion steps between them, her eyes flashing in the dark. “Dean? How about we don’t antagonize the woman who can heat vision you a new haircut.” She turns then to Supergirl. “Look, I’m sorry. We’re not here to make trouble.”

“So that window was just asking for it?”

“No, but-- it’s hard to explain. I’m not even sure if you’d believe me.”

Kara regards her for a long moment. She can see more differences now, more things that set this woman apart from the one she’d apprehended almost six months ago. The dusty boots, the denim jeans stressed and worn at the pocket corners.

The knives in her sleeve, waistband, and bootleg.

“What’s your name?” Kara asks finally. She picks out the sound of her heartbeat, and listens carefully.

“Lucy,” comes the swift reply. The pulse in Kara’s ears remains steady. Truth. “Lucy Campbell.” The hitch is nearly imperceptible: Kara can barely hear it. But she does. False.

Real first name, fake last name.

“These are my cousins, Sam and Dean.” Sam gives a stiff wave, while Dean clicks his tongue and gives an expressive shrug of his eyebrows.

Also a partial lie. Whether the lie is their names or their relation, Kara can’t tell.

She sighs. “And what does Lucy, Sam, and Dean have to do with a rundown warehouse in Midvale?”

Lena glances at her ‘cousins’; they exhange their own pointed look, then with a myriad of microexpressions, yield control to Lucy. She turns back to Kara. “We think something bad happened here,” she says, words slow and deliberate as she strings them together. “We’re trying to find out what.”

It’s a deliberate truth, and therefore not the whole truth. But it’s the truth.

“Okay,” she says finally. “Let’s check it out. If you’re telling the truth, I’ll put a good word in with the sheriff. If not, you’re on your own.”

All three nod their agreement. Kara breaks the rusty lock with a single tug, and superspeeds to the switchbox anchored to the nearest upright. The lights flicker and hum, then groan to life as Lucy, Sam and Dean cautiously enter behind her.

There’s nothing. It’s just a normal warehouse. Kara supposes some secrets might be hidden among the dusty old papers strewn across the floor, but the others were apparently expecting something more forthright. From the corner of her eye, Kara sees Lucy’s shoulders slump-- from relief or disappointment, it isn’t quite clear.

Dean shoots Sam a silent, pointed glare.

“This is the place, Dean,” his cousin argues.

“You’re really going to say that with a straight face?”

“Yeah? I think I’d remember where we picked up a--”

“Dude!”

“Boys!” Lucy’s shout cuts though the budding shouting match and silences them instantly. It doesn’t stop the glares or rude gestures. Lucy doesn’t notice. She looks back at the door they entered from, then to the far wall.

Wheels turn behind her eyes, and her expression is the same as Lena’s when she’s puzzling over a new prototype. It clues Kara in to the odd space around her, and it clicks instantly.

“The room is too small,” she says. Lucy nods. Kara scans the wall, trying to peer beyond it. She can’t. “It’s lined with lead.”

“This place is old,” Sam says, “but not that old.”

“Only that wall is leaded.”

Kara speeds across the room, and punches through the wall. On the other side she immediately scans for danger, but comes up with nothing but odd shapes and-- oh. “You guys should see this.”

Three bodies pile in after her, blinking through the dust with hands on their weapons. As the air clears, Sam scoffs a laugh. “Think we found it.”

Pages and pages of notes and calculations plaster the walls, newspaper clippings announcing decades old comet sightings interspersed between bizarre iconography painted in bold, dark swipes. Some were painted with brushes, but others look messily smeared by fingers and hands. Eerier still are the candles that cover every flat surface, white and blood red, all burned low with blackened wicks. Then there’s the altar, improvised from an old table saw with the blade removed.

The center of the table is devoid of candles, and Kara belatedly realizes that the negatives spaces forms the vague outline of a person lying prone.

Someone had lain on that table, surrounded by open flame and dripping wax like some sort of sacrifice.

Or honored celebrant.

“Luce?” Dean’s voice turns sharp. Kara pivots to see Lucy’s face eerily devoid of tension, eyes unfocused even as they scan the room. Her heartbeat is loud and erratic in Kara’s ears, and jolts again when Dean calls out once more. “Lucy!”

Blinking, Lucy turns towards Dean as he closes the distance between them. His hand brushes the outside of her arm, gentle with concern. “Need some air?”

“No,” she responds, just as soft. From the way her eyes flash to Kara, it’s clear she hasn’t forgotten that superhearing is one of Supergirl’s many skills. “I’m good.”

“You sure? If you want to wait outside, Sam and I can--”

“We both know I need to be here, Dean.”

Kara turns her gze back to the room as Dean nods and draws away. He resumes his slow walk to inspect the room, but keeps one eye on Lucy as she does the same. Kara joins them.

There’s something familiar about the symbols on the walls. Kara stares at them for long, frustrating moments before it falls into place.

“This is Enochian.”

The others freeze, and three pairs of eyes turn to stare at her. Sam is the first to break the silence. “Excuse me?”

“Enochian,” Kara elaborates, gesturing to the closest sigil. “It was a precursor to Kryptonian. Well, not a precursor. It’s foreign to Krypton, and completely dissimilar. But we found markings like this alongside our earliest known writings. Fully developed, while we were still establishing an alphabet.”

Kara doesn’t remember much about them-- she was too focused on moving forward, moving into the Science Guild and too intent on taking it to new heights to even consider looking that far to the past. She isn’t sure there was even that much to remember.

“Enochians… were-- are-- aliens?” Sam reiterates.

Kara nods. “Yes. What few mentions of them we could find referred to them as visitors. They weren’t of Krypton.”

Silence answers her. When she turns from the markings to face the cosuins, she sees shock, awe, and fear. Lucy swallows. “Dean…”

“CAS!” he bellows, booming in the confined space. “Get your feathery ass down here!”

“Dean!” Lucy’s harsh scold catches in her throat, as she and Sam brace themselves for something-- or someone to appear. Kara tenses in readiness, but nothing happens.

Sam rounds on Dean. “Are you out of your mind?”

“Don’t start with me, Sam--”

“She just told you Enochians are aliens! Don’t you think maybe we should stop and think before we call one down here?”

“Well what else did you have in mind?”

“I dunno, man… but can we just tap the brakes for a second?”

Dean’s mouth opens to fire back, but once again Lena stops the racket with the gentlest of voices.

“He touched me, Dean.” Dark green eyes lift, riveting Dean in place. “He called himself an angel and went rooting around inside me, looking for a soul. He says he didn’t find one. What would have happened if he had?”

He doesn’t have an answer.

“Until we know more, no one prays, summons, or invokes angels. Got it?”

Sam nods readily, followed shortly by Dean.

Kara stares between them all, dumbfounded.

“Who are you people?”

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Interlude, Part 6b

[mittensmorgul]

Dean frowning hard and rubbing his hands over his face, Sam doing his wait WTF :o expression while Cas wearily attempts to slog through 2 pages of narrative exposition IS ME WATCHING EVERY BUCKLEMING EPISODE EVER. #sneakpeak #13x13

Yeah, I know. There’s something incredibly distasteful in feeling so talked-down-to by every last one of their episodes. They like to think they’re so clever, while meanwhile we’re all rubbing our temples and cringing our way through their dialogue.

BUT!

My personal specialty is Unfucking the Bucklemming.

Because their episodes are usually so entirely unsubtle and on the nose, they leave plenty of room for us to imagine what they SHOULD’VE written instead...

I mean I’ve only partly jokingly speculated that it’s possible to watch all Bucklemming episodes with the assumption that they all take place in a slightly off-kilter parallel dimension that loops itself back into reality when the other writers pick up their threads. For the most part, it’s actually the most rational way to explain some of their fuckery.

That said, I really do enjoy attempting to make sense of their episodes. It’s like solving puzzles, or untangling knots.

What I’m kind of sick of is PRE-EPISODE wank in general, and not just where Bucklemming is concerned. We get these clips every week that are entirely out of context, that show us a tiny (less than a minute this time!) fraction of the entire episode, and somehow folks STILL try to analyze these out of context snippets as if they were somehow providing insight into the entire episode.

(or that entire Bucklemming episodes can’t possibly negate everything all the other writers are giving us throughout the rest of the season)

I’m probably gonna be all over the clunky dialogue, the eye-rolling wtf, and the fact that this is where they’re leaving the story off until mid-March because of the break for the Olympics... but I’m gonna wait until after I’ve seen the entire thing in context so I can at least wank accurately. :P

But since it’s practically all I’ve seen on my dash this morning, and it’s inspired this round of Bucklemming wank, I’d like to put forth a theory about Dean’s comment that he’d just talked to Cas, after two weeks of Sam being the Cas Point Of Contact (which was narratively useful at the time, because it was the SOMETHING IS WRONG KLAXON when Cas talks to Sam instead of Dean):

(with the standard disclaimer that THIS IS NOT META, this is headcanon, but it’s a nice headcanon...)

What if "Cas" really HAD been talking to Sam all along (just to speculate on nothing). As of the last episode Dean was still deferring to Sam's reasoning to wait for Cas to call THEM (typically Sam from what they made it sound like). And after the whole love spell thing, Dean was like FUCK THIS and called Cas himself? I mean, we haven't had any other clarification on that scene, and if we never get it, we are perfectly free to imagine... :P

This is the sort of headcanon that Bucklemming typically leave wide open for us to assume, because Dean DID express his frustration over waiting for Cas’s daily calls in the last episode. It’s almost like Yockey teed this one up for us.

What changed in the last episode, after several weeks of Dean grudgingly accepting the status quo? HE WAS KNOCKED LOOPY BY A LOVE SPELL. And suddenly HE’S the one talking on the phone to Cas again? After two weeks of Sam being the point of contact there?

HMMMMMMMM.

Is all I’m saying until after we see the episode, but I’d at least rather think THIS way than deciding to pre-hate everything. Because honestly? The fact so many people DO go into Bucklemming episodes expecting for them to suck entirely often shuts down the ability to take ANYTHING positive from their episodes.

Their dialogue and pacing might suck, their methods and plot points might leave us cringing, but thematically? They’re usually at least in line with the rest of the season.

[amanda-teaches]

Escaping the Island - Part 1

Series Summary: You’re in for the fight of your life, trapped on a deadly, ghost-filled island with no way out. The only way to survive is by unraveling a murderous plot. Can you figure out who brought you here and why before it’s too late? Or will you, Sam, and Dean all become their next victims?

Chapter Summary: You accompany your best friend to a mysterious dinner at a beautiful, island-based mansion. But, when you arrive, you find that there may be more to this dinner than you ever would have thought possible.

Characters/Pairing: Dean x Reader, Sam

Word Count: 3101

Warnings: an overaggressive, manhandling man who grabs the reader; sexy, protective Dean; not much so far

A/N: This is my first ever series! I’ve been planning this for awhile and I’m really excited about it. It was betaed by the fantastic @cyrilconnelly, who helps me so much. I also threw in the quote for @because-imma-lady-assface‘s 300 Follower/Birthday/Will and Grace revival/all around extravaganza celebration! My prompt was a Jack quote (my fav!): “Sarcasm noted and quickly forgotten,” and I thought it fit really well in here. I hope y’all enjoy the first part of this 10 part series! Feedback is much appreciated.

Escaping the Island MasterPost

“Come on, Y/N! You have to come with me,” your best friend, Annie Jackson, pleaded as she paced in continuous circles around the couch where you were sitting.

“No, thank you,” you replied, never taking your eyes off the magazine you held in your hands. As Annie continued her loop around the couch, you paid her little attention, only occasionally needing to move your feet off the coffee table to let her pass by. But, as soon as she was clear, your feet went right back to their previous position and your attention right back to your magazine.

Eventually, though, the pacing got to be too much. The sight of her in your peripheral vision was making you dizzy, and you were pretty sure she was going to wear a hole through the floor. You glanced up from your magazine and sighed heavily. “Annie, why don’t you sit? You’re not going to feel any better about this dinner if you exhaust yourself pacing.”

“Fine,” she groaned, flopping down dramatically on the couch next to you, “I’ll sit. BUT, that doesn’t mean you’re getting out of this, Y/N. I need you to come!”

“I can’t, Ann.”

“Give me one good reason why.”

You rolled your eyes. “Hmm, ok. Maybe because, I don’t want to? Besides,” you added before she could argue, “I wasn’t even invited.”

She waved her hand to dismiss that comment. “Oh, I’m sure they won’t mind another guest.”

“Annie…”

Suddenly, you were interrupted by Annie screaming your name so loud that you actually cringed at the high pitch. “Y/N, please,” she begged, looking at you with giant puppy dog eyes. “I can’t do this alone! Please, please, please! I’ll do anything!”

You studied her pleading face for a second before you gave in. “Fine,” you said with a laugh. “I’ll go. I’ll go.”

“Yes,” she muttered, sitting back with a triumphant smile.

You narrowed your eyes suspiciously. “You knew I’d give in, didn’t you?”

She shot you a look that had a certain gleam you knew all too well. “Well….we are best friends.”

“I knew it!” you cried, jumping up and pointing down at her. “I never should have fallen for the old puppy dog eyes trick.”

She threw her head back and laughed. “Well, it’s too late now. You’re going.”

“Fine, fine,” you muttered resignedly. You placed your hands on your hips and looked down at her. “But, if I’m going to this dinner party, I may as well know what it’s for. Who’s throwing it again?”

“I’m not sure,” Annie whispered. She picked the invitation up from the coffee table and glanced down at it. “It doesn’t say who’s throwing it. It just says I’m invited to a dinner to celebrate the memory of Jacob Dawson.”

“Your old boss? Didn’t he die like a year ago?”

“Yeah, but I guess they decided to finally have a memorial dinner. It’s going to be held at his old house, but it’ll probably just be friends and coworkers sitting around reminiscing about him. He didn’t have any family.”

“I have a question: why are they having a memorial dinner now instead of right after he died? It’s been a year.”

“Beats me,” she shrugged. “But, a free dinner’s a free dinner.”

“I guess,” you said, still a little unsure.

Annie stood up and grabbed your hands excitedly. “Oh come on, Y/N. Don’t look so nervous. It’s just dinner. How bad can it be?”

Five hours later, when you were standing on the edge of the dock freezing through the thin material of your evening dress, you were starting to think that “just dinner” could be pretty bad indeed. In fact, you were seriously starting to regret ever agreeing to come to this dinner with Annie in the first place.

“Uh, Annie,” you muttered, as you picked up the already wet hem of your dress from its place on the ground, “why didn’t you didn’t tell me this thing was on a freezing cold island in the middle of freaking nowhere?”

“You didn’t ask,” she said with nonchalant shrug before she took off down the path in front of you.

You quickly followed, glancing up at the imposing mansion that rested at the top of the steep, hilly path. You let out a low whistle. “Was I the only one who didn’t know that your boss was practically Bruce Wayne?”

“He wasn’t that rich,” she said, looking back over her shoulder with a smile. “At least I don’t think he was.”

You flashed her an expression that screamed of exasperation. “He owned his own island, Ann. His. Own. Island.”

She burst out laughing as the two of you came to a stop in front of the door. “Ok, fair point.” She turned to you and dropped her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Here, I’ll make you a deal. We go in now and you’ll be the first to know if I find any batmobiles.”

“Hahaha,” you muttered sarcastically before reaching out to ring the doorbell. But, before you could, the door clicked and slowly creaked open on its own. You looked inside to see who had opened it, but no one was there. “Yeah, that’s not creepy at all….”

“Oh, shush,” Annie said. She grabbed your arm and pulled you inside. “It’s probably just a motion sensor or something.”

“Yeah, sure,” you whispered. “Cause, that’s always what it is in horror movies.”

You walked cautiously into the house and, once you were inside, Annie dropped your arm. Seizing the opportunity, you took a quick look around the vast entryway you were standing in.

The sight momentarily stunned you. It looked like something straight out of a fairytale. Two giant double doors stood facing you, with ornate carvings adorning the edges. There was a grand, sweeping staircase that curved up one wall, around the room, and into the opposite wall, the balcony disappearing into an opening above you. The elegantly patterned tile floor underneath your feet practically gleamed, reflecting the gigantic, waterfall chandelier that hung from the ceiling.

“Wow….” you breathed out quietly. This was the kind of room that demanded a certain element of deference.

Annie, on the other hand, felt no need to be quiet. “Hello?” she shouted, her voice echoing throughout the foyer. “Is anyone here?”

The sound of her reverberating voice instantly brought your attention back to the situation at hand. “Oh, that’s a great idea, Annie. Let the creepy serial killer know we’re here.”

Annie continued to look around the foyer, not even bothering to look your way when she replied. “Sarcasm noted and quickly forgotten, Y/N.”

You sighed and rolled your eyes. “It doesn’t look like anyone’s here, Ann. Maybe we should just go. I don’t think….”

Before you could finish your thought, the massive double doors flew open and a well-dressed man came striding through. He was wearing a three pieced suit that reeked of wealth, his salt and pepper hair slicked back, framing an unpleasant face that was twisted with anger. He leveled a glare in your direction. “Well, it’s about time you showed up. We’ve been waiting here for over 20 minutes! You call that service?!”

“Excuse me?” You backed up slightly as he advanced, his anger startling you.

“When I accepted this ridiculous invitation, I expected a gathering worthy of Jacob’s memory, not this unmitigated disaster. Frankly, young lady, the help showing up late does not make a very good first impression.”

Annie hurried over to your side and held up her hands, stopping the man’s tirade. “No, no, no, Mr. Leder! Y/N’s not the help! She’s with me.”

Mr. Leder turned his glare on Annie. “Oh, Ms. Jackson. I should have known you’d be involved in this whole debacle. Just when I thought this night couldn’t get any worse.”

Annie closed her eyes and sighed heavily. “Nice to see you too, Mr. Leder.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” he sneered haughtily before turning on his heels and stalking back through the double doors. You stared after him in shock for a minute before turning to Annie.

“Well, he seems nice…”

Annie turned to you and scowled. “Haha, very funny.” Then, her face fell. “Man, if I had known he was going to be here, I never would have come.”

“Who was that guy anyway?”

“Harold P. Leder. He was Mr. Dawson’s old business partner and I was his secretary too. He didn’t, well, he didn’t exactly like me.”

“I gathered that much, Annie.”

“Yeah,” she muttered, although she seemed distracted, like her mind was somewhere else entirely. “Ugh! I can’t believe he’s here! He hated Mr. Dawson by the time he died. Why would he even come to this?”

“I don’t know, but we don’t have to stay here if you don’t want to. We can still leave.”

Annie smiled for a second, but then she heard Mr. Leder bellowing her name from the other room and her face fell all over again. “So much for that idea,” she muttered. “Let’s just get this over with.”

“Hey, now you sound like me,” you whispered playfully, drawing a small laugh out of your friend as you followed her over to the double doors leading to the room off of the foyer.

When you entered, you saw Mr. Leder right away. He was standing by the stately fireplace in the back of the room, with one hand on the mantle and the other hand waving around a tumbler full of scotch. He was talking, or rather yelling, at a beautiful, well-dressed woman standing next to him. She was middle-aged, although, she was the kind of woman that you could tell had been absolutely stunning in her prime.

You happily pulled your eyes away from the fighting pair and over to the couch in front of the fireplace, where another couple was sitting. They were younger, late 20s, maybe early 30s, and they definitely looked happier than Mr. Leder and his companion. The man had his arm around the woman and she was leaning into him familiarly as she chatted with another young woman, who was sitting across from her with her back to you.

Annie leaned over to whisper to you. “The man on the couch is Will McHale. He was Mr. Dawson’s attorney. I’m not sure about the woman next to him. But, I know the other woman. That’s Stacey Crane. She was Mr. Dawson’s girlfriend, if you could call it that. I like to think of her as the gold digger who just missed out on becoming a trophy wife.”

You laughed out loud, inadvertently alerting the people in the room to your presence. At once, they all turned to look you, making you feel instantly self-conscious. You cleared your throat and held up your hand. “Uh, sorry. Didn’t mean to interrupt your little Downton Abbey convention. As you were.”

You heard a deep laugh come from the other side of the room and instinctively turned to find the source, only to discover that it came from the most gorgeous man you had ever seen. He was leaning against the far wall, one ankle crossed over another, looking effortlessly sexy in his dark red flannel and faded jeans. When he saw you looking at him, he smiled and winked. You smiled back.

You glanced over at the taller man standing next to him, who was also intensely attractive in his own right. In fact, you were surprised it taken you this long to notice the two of them. They were both unbelievably sexy and irresistible. You shifted your gaze back to the first man just as the taller, longer-haired one leaned down to address him, making him pull his eyes away from yours, breaking your brief connection.

You were about to turn back to Annie and ask her who the men were when Mr. Leder distracted you by grabbing your arm.

“Ah, I see Ms. Jackson and her little friend have decided to stick around. Y/N, was it?”

“Yes,” you repeated fiercely, anger seething under the surface at the way he was treating you. Did this man have no manners? You tried to pull your arm out of his grip, but his grasp was iron-clad. “Is there a problem?”

“Well,” he whispered spitefully, leaning in close until he was just inches away from your face, “I don’t believe you were invited to this little gathering, Ms. Y/N, and I don’t take kindly to party crashers.”

“Get your hands off of her,” a deep voice boomed from behind you. You shifted your head slightly to see the man with green eyes stalking towards you at a fast speed. He looked downright murderous and you were relieved knowing that you weren’t the target of that anger: Mr. Leder was.

Mr. Leder quickly started backing away from the intensity rolling off of the stranger, but his hand remained on your arm. When the handsome man stopped beside you, he stared Mr. Leder down with a look of pure hatred. “I said, get your hands off of her.”

The woman Mr. Leder had been yelling at earlier rushed forward to diffuse the situation. “Oh, now, let’s not get carried away. There’s no need for fighting.” She turned to Mr. Leder. “Come now, Harold, stop scaring the girl.”

Mr. Leder wavered for just a second before he released your arm. The mystery man instantly relaxed, but he stayed right by your side with his fists gently clenched.

The woman who had calmed Mr. Leder down took the opportunity the silence presented to plaster on an insincere smile and hold out her hand to you. “I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced. I’m Gretta Leder. I would like to apologize for my husband’s behavior. He doesn’t always play well with others, but he means you no harm.”

You took a quick glance at the attractive man standing next to you, who was still poised for trouble, and decided to take the high road. “Um, it’s ok, I guess. No harm, no foul. I think we can all just move past it.”

“Sounds like a plan to me!” yelled the lawyer, Will McHale, as he stood up to join you. He excitedly clasped Mr. Leder on the shoulder. “All of you should just ignore little old Harold here. I know I always do,” he added with a laugh.

You caught the rage that flickered across Mr. Leder’s face as Will held out his hand to you. “I’m Will McHale, attorney at law. It’s nice to meet you, Y/N.” He gestured to the woman who he had left sitting on the couch. “That right there is my girlfriend, Abby Hallman, and that,” he said, pointing at the gold digger, “is Stacey Crane.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” you said politely. As he turned to talk to Annie, you twisted slightly to face your defender. “And how do you fit into this crowd?”

He looked down at you and laughed, the tension easing out of him as his eyes met yours. “I don’t. Actually,” he said, gesturing back at the tall man behind him, “my brother and I don’t even know any of these crazy people. We just met that Dawson guy right before he, um…Well, right before he died.”

“Oh,” you laughed. To tell the truth, you were relieved that he wasn’t associated with the other people in the room. They all seemed like stuck-up, rich snobs, and you couldn’t bear the thought that the man with the dazzling eyes and gorgeous smile was one of them.

His brother, who had curiously stayed out of the entire volatile incident, chose that moment to walk up and stand next to the two of you. “Hi, I’m Sam. Y/N, right?” You nodded and he gave you a warm, comforting smile. “It’s nice to meet you. I see you’ve already met my brother, Dean.”

“Yes.” Dean. His name was Dean. “Thanks for your help, by the way.”

“Not a problem. That guy had no business putting his hands on you.”

“Like hell I didn’t!” Mr. Leder bellowed, interrupting your conversation.

“Harold,” his wife warned, but he paid her no mind.

“I don’t care what any of these morons say. This woman has no business here. She didn’t even know Jacob.”

Dean started towards him. “You know what, you son of a…”

Before Dean could finish his threat, the lights started flickering, stopping him. In unison, everyone looked up and watched as every light in the room started flickering.

“Sammy,” Dean growled urgently as he moved back to stand protectively next to you. The flickering became more intense, and the room shook violently, compelling you to grab Dean’s arm to steady not only your balance but your rapidly beating heart. Suddenly, the lights gave out entirely, plunging the room into darkness. A shrill scream sounded out, echoing throughout the room, and you clutched Dean’s arm tighter.

Then, as quickly as it had started, it was over. The lights came back on revealing everyone in the room again. No one was missing.

“Alright,” Sam said. “Nobody panic. Everything’s going to be fine. Who screamed?”

Everyone shook their heads. Dean groaned angrily. “Well, somebody did. So, who was it?”

“I don’t care who it was,” Stacey cried, jumping up from her seat and pushing her way forward. “I, for one, am definitely not going to stick around to find out. This party is a disaster. I’m out of here.”

She stalked out the door and the group followed, Sam yelling after her as they did. “Ms. Crane, wait! This is serious. We need to stay together.”

“Not happening, handsome. I’m out of here.”

“I’m with her,” Harold Leder asserted, grabbing his wife’s hand. He followed Stacey out the door and into the foyer. Will and his girlfriend, Abby, followed.

Sam raced after them while you, Dean, and Annie entered the foyer at the back of the group. You watched closely as Sam tried in vain to stop the exodus. You started to lean over to ask Dean why his brother was so intent on stopping them from leaving, but you were interrupted by an ear piecing scream. You looked over to see Will’s girlfriend, Abby, frozen with fear. She was pointing just over your shoulder.

You spun around and what you saw in front of you stopped you cold. You heard Annie’s sharp intake of breath beside you, but you barely registered it. You were too focused on the apparition standing in front of you.

It was a honest-to-goodness ghost, and it was staring straight at you.

Keep Reading with Part 2

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[brotherlysoulmates]

Electric Love (6,191 words) by brotherlysoulmates Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Supernatural Rating: Explicit Pairing: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester Tags: stanford!sam, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamic, sa/b/o dynamics, omega!Sam, Alpha!Dean, Alpha!Jess, First Time, Phone Sex, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Sam in Heat, use of sex toys, mildly dubious consent if you squint really hard, Sibling Incest, Bad Parent John, Knotting, pining!dean, Implied Jessica Moore/Sam Winchester, no actual sex takes place between them, Scent Kink, Mating Bond, bond-bite Date: 2016-09-22 Summary: Sam is an omega at Stanford University, living with his alpha girlfriend Jessica. He loves her, and he thought that when his next heat came around that he would want to be mated with her, but he finds himself preferring to spend it alone instead. That is, until he finds a letter Dean wrote for him before he left for Stanford. He can't get his mind off of how Dean used to take care of him when his heats came up as a kid, but would never take advantage.And so he calls his brother.Dean comes running, like he always does.

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Sam Winchester had a love/hate relationship with Stanford University. He loved the fact that he was able to meet his girlfriend, Jess, who was pretty much the only alpha in California who didn’t treat him like a second-class citizen for being an omega. He loved the fact that his classes were challenging, and he loved the fact that he was learning more and more every day. He loved the fact that his friend Brady, a beta, was so extroverted in the ways he wasn’t, and that Brady pushed him to go outside his comfort zone, to try to socialize with people. And Sam was ever grateful for Brady’s presence as a silent protector until Jessica became that for him. At the same time, he hated the fact that being an omega meant he needed an alpha or beta to protect him. He hated that Stanford was such a chokehold of conservative views on relationships, that unmated omegas were openly sneered at, that mated omegas had to defer to their alpha partners in pretty much every aspect. He hated that he felt unsafe when going to the grocery store late at night by himself.

He especially hated Stanford’s view on hormone suppressants.

When Sam was living with his father and brother, John kept a steady supply of hormone suppressants so that Sam didn’t have to go through his heat alone or unmated.

Very rarely, he would miss a dose, though, and his heat would snap over him so quickly he didn’t have time to prepare. John avoided the room like the plague whenever that would happen, but Dean would stay. Dean would hold Sammy. He would let Sammy scent him. He would help his brother take cool baths to keep his temperature down. He would wrap him up in blankets and bring him food. He would bring toys of all kind from the local sex store and give him some privacy for a few hours, but he never left for long. He was always back to help clean Sammy up and get him back in bed until the heat ended. Dean also chased off any alphas drawn in by the scent of an unmated omega in heat.  He kept Sammy safe. Dean never touched his brother inappropriately, never even complained. Not once.

That happened a few times over the years, but for the most part Sam was diligent about taking his suppressants. He didn’t want to be a burden to John or Dean, and he knew how put out his father was about losing Dean’s help for the several days Sam needed it. As he got older, Sam got better about remembering, and at this point it’s just habit.

Except. Stanford doesn’t allow the use of hormone suppressants on campus.  

Sam tried to appeal the rule as soon as he found out about it. He raises protests, started a fundraiser for Omega Rights on campus, the works. Unfortunately, the population of Stanford, California was overwhelmingly alpha. The motion didn’t get enough support to get off the ground, and in the end it was resoundingly denied.

Jess stoically comforted him as he brooded in the defeat, and he was grateful, as always, for her unwavering support.

It wasn’t even a huge issue really, not until Sam counted up the days once and realized that his heat was coming up. Soon. Like, within a few days, soon.

He and Jess hadn’t talked about it. He loved her, and he had assumed that when his next heat came up, he would want to mate with her. To let her claim him. But the more he thought about it, the less interested in that scenario he became.

Sam was in the middle of stuffing clean laundry on top of the sex toys in his duffel, hastily packing as much as he could as quickly as he could when he heard the door shut with a soft snick . A small flare of panic had his heart beating faster, and he knew she could smell the guilt sharpening his scent as Jess walked into the bedroom. Her eyes went wide as she sniffed again, and Sam was a little startled at the way her face went slack with want. But he blinked and she had schooled her expression. Well. Mostly. Sam couldn’t help noticing the way her hands clenched tightly to either side of the door frame of the bedroom.

“You’re going into heat.” Jess’ words were quiet, but they fell on him like physical blows. There was no tone of accusation in her voice as she said, “you’re leaving,” and Sam thought the gentle resigned tinge to her statement was definitely worse. Her eyes were dark and unreadable, and Sam flinched at the scent of hurt that tucked itself into Jess’ usual alpha smell.

“I… uh… yeah,” Sam acknowledged with a sad smile, but quickly added, “Only for a few days though, and then I’ll be back.” When Jessica didn’t respond, just held him with that unreadable gaze, Sam sighed and sat on the bed.  After a few moments, Jess joined him, keeping a pointed foot of space between them.  “I’m sorry. I’m just not ready. I thought I was, but then it happened and I just… I don’t know. I’m not ready.”

“Don’t be sorry for not being ready, Sam,” Jessica growled in frustration, wincing when Sam flinched at the noise. “Shit, I’m sorry. It’s just- you just smell-” She took a steadying breath, and gently reached for Sam’s hand. He took it, trying very hard to ignore the way his skin reacted to the warm touch of an alpha.

“Look. Sam. I absolutely do not want to push you into something you’re not ready for.” Jess smiled sadly at him when he looked up from where their hands were joined. “Does it hurt to be rejected? Yes. Hell yes. But that’s my problem, not yours. I will never force you into anything, Sam, okay?” Her eyes were earnest, pleading, and Sam nodded mutely. He was so grateful to have met an alpha like her.  “I’ll be here when you get back, and we can talk.” She gave his hand one more squeeze, and then the contact was gone.  “Let me walk you out to your car, though, okay? You smell really strong, and I don’t want-” Sam frowned as a visible shudder snaked down her spine.

“Y-yeah, okay.” Sam nodded in agreement, not really thinking about the fact that she didn’t see it. “I didn’t really think about that. It’s coming on really fast.”

By the time they got to Sam’s car, both of them were practically vibrating with tension. Sam had been catcalled about a dozen times walking out of Jess’ apartment complex, and he kept having to suppress whines of arousal at each possessive growl that ripped their way out of Jessica’s chest when any alpha was stupid enough to actually approach them. She made it very clear that anyone laying a finger on Sam would not be tolerated.

She helped him put his bag in the backseat and backed away. They said their goodbyes from a distance, and Sam watched in his rearview as she stood rooted to the spot until he pulled onto the street and drove out of sight.

--

By the time Sam got to the hotel, he was really glad that he had made the reservation earlier that day because he couldn’t stand the thought of going into that lobby smelling like he knew he smelled. The hotel itself was built specifically for omegas like him, or couples who needed a space to deal with their partner’s heat in a safe environment.  He was especially grateful for this when he got to his room and was able to unlock the door with his phone. Once he made it inside, the door locked itself, and Sam made a mental note to leave a glowing review when this was all over.

He placed the bag gingerly on the corner of the bed and put his clothes in the empty dresser beside him. Once that was done, Sam lined up the sex toys in an orderly pile on the side of the bed he wasn’t planning to sleep on. Eventually, the bag was empty and Sam tossed it on the floor, going to pull his shirt up over his head. He froze when he saw something fall out of the upturned bag and onto the floor. Sam stood there for several moments, arms stuffed into his shirt awkwardly as he deliberated what to do.

Eventually, curiosity won out.

Sam discarded his shirt and quickly went back to the bag, reaching underneath it as his hand closed around an envelope. He sat on the bed and examined it, his breath punching out of him when he saw the handwriting.

for Sammy ~D

Sam’s eyes did not begin to water, dammit, and against his better judgment he pressed the envelope into his face and sniffed. The scent was faint, but familiar, and Sam’s knees wobbled tellingly.

“Dean,” Sam mumbled weakly, mostly to himself, and he opened the letter.

Sammy, I know you think I don’t approve of you leaving to go to Stanford. And that’s really my fault. I just worry about you. What if you get into trouble and me and Dad can’t get there fast enough? It’s not about not trusting you, Sammy, not at all. I’m sorry I made you feel that way. I’m so scared of losing you, little brother.  You are the most important thing to me and I’m so sorry that I could never tell you. I’m proud of you for getting into Stanford. I know it’s not easy, and I know you worked really hard.  What’s most important is that you’re happy, Sammy.  If you’re really, truly happier at Stanford, away from the hunting, away from dad…. Away from me. Then I’ll be okay. I’ll miss you like hell, baby boy, but you deserve a shot at normal. I’m honestly half-hoping you never find this, because you know how I am about chick-flick moments. But I still need to say it. I love you, Sammy. Please be happy.

Always yours, Dean

Sam couldn’t help the quiet, choked-off sob that forced its way out of his throat at the surprisingly verbose display of affection from his brother. How had he never seen this? How had Dean slipped it in his bag without him noticing?  

With unshed tears in his eyes and the letter mashed into his face, and a slow churn of arousal beginning to burn slowly deep inside him, Sam ripped his phone out of his jeans pocket and began dialing Dean’s number. He took a steadying breath, and then pressed the call button.

“Sammy? Are you okay? What’s wrong?”

Dean answered on the first ring, and Sam’s heart ached at that.

“Dean.” His voice came out wrecked, and Sam let out a whimper at the slow creep of slick that was beginning to dampen his underwear. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Dean, hey.”

“ Heya, Sammy, ” Dean said quietly, and Sam could hear the soft smile in his brother’s voice. “ You okay, little brother? You haven’t called me since… ”

A pang of guilt shot through Sam as he caught Dean’s meaning. And it was true, he hadn’t called Dean since he left without a word six months ago.

“I, uh… I found your letter.” Sam went for honesty, feeling vulnerable as the palpable stillness from the other line settled into him like a weight. “Dean, did you hear me?”

“ Yeah, Sammy, I heard you. ” Dean sighed, and Sam could almost see him running his fingers through his hair. “ I was kinda hoping you wouldn’t find that, ” he admitted with a self deprecating laugh.

“I know, Dean. But I did, and I read it.”

“ ... yeah? ”

“Yeah. I…. I miss you.” The confession left him in a whoosh, and Sam could feel his ears turning pink in embarrassment.

“ I miss you too, little brother, ” Dean said, and Sam’s heart broke at how sad and small he sounded.  He felt so helpless, knowing that his alpha was hurting and he didn’t know how to help him.

Wait. My alpha? Sam’s body responded very strongly to that, and he let out a whimper as another wave of arousal slammed into him.  It was a quiet, broken sound, but Sam knew Dean heard it, if the quiet rumble of a growl that vibrated over the phone was any indication.

“ Sammy? ” Dean’s voice was full of confusion. “ What’s wrong, baby boy? ”

Sam couldn’t help the moan that escaped at Dean’s pet name for him. And he knows he didn’t imagine the answering moan that echoed on the other side of the phone.

“Alph- Dean ,” Sam hastily corrected, hoping to god Dean hadn’t heard him. “I’m going into heat, Dean. It hurts.”

Dean growled quietly into the phone, and Sam shrunk into himself, his body unhappy with his alpha’s apparent disapproval.

“ Suppressants?” Dean asked, his tone short. When Sam whimpered a no, he asked, “ And you’re alone? No alpha?”

Only you.

Dean made a broken, choked off noise, and Sam realized he said that aloud.

“Shit, Dean, I’m sorry, I-”

“ Hush, little brother,” Dean said soothingly, cutting him off. “ Are you somewhere safe?”

“Yes, Dean,” Sam replied, basking in the protective tone his alpha took.

“ Do you want me to come to you? ”

Sam was nodding his head fervently before Dean even finished speaking, another gush of slick coating his underwear.

“Dean, yes ,” Sam moaned quietly, squirming in his spot. He was getting flushed now, and his pants were starting to stick to him. He must have made an uncomfortable noise, because Dean’s voice was in his ear again.

“ Sammy, are you still wearing clothes? ” A pitiful noise of affirmation from Sammy had Dean going into full-protector mode. “ I need you to take off your clothes, Sammy, can you do that for me?”

“Yes, Alpha,” Sam breathed, groaning at the helpless noise of arousal his brother made across the line. He stood shakily, pressing his cell phone to his shoulder with his cheek while he clumsily stumbled out of his pants. Sam then hooked his thumbs under the waistline of his boxers and pushed them off his hips. They fell to the floor with a wet plop that even Dean could hear over the phone.

“ Fuck, Sammy, ” Dean moaned, and Sam let out a wordless noise of arousal in response. “ I’m packing right now, baby boy, okay? I’m coming right now. I’ll be there in a few hours."

Of course, Sam interpreted this as Dean hanging up, and he cried out in displeasure.

“Dean, no, don’t go please, I need you now ,” Sam half moaned-half whimpered from where he stood next to the bed.

“ I’m not going anywhere, little brother, don’t you worry.” Dean’s voice was a little bit muffled, and Sam could hear as Dean shoved stuff into a bag. The noises continued, but Sam couldn’t focus on them because Dean was purring into his ear. “ Sammy, do you have any toys? Did you bring any with you ?”

Sam nodded frantically, already climbing up onto the cool sheets of the bed. His knees were shaking, and he knew that the frantic lust of the heat would take over soon.

“Yes, Alpha, I have a lot.”

If Sam weren’t on the cusp of insanity already, he would be embarrassed telling his brother these things. But all he knew was that Dean was going to take care of him. His alpha was going to protect him.

“ Fuck, baby, ” Dean moaned softly. “ Grab your favorite one, okay? I want you to use it.”

“Yes,” Sam whined as his fingers closed around the base of a dildo. It was thick, realistic, with a knot at the base and a flare beneath it. Sam flopped onto his belly, putting one hand between his legs as the other continued to hold the phone to his face. He keened when the tip of the dildo caught against his hole.

“Dean,” Sam moaned breathlessly as the tip breached his entrance, and he slowly canted his hips up into the intrusion. The dildo stretched him almost painfully; he hadn’t used any fingers for prep, but he was so slick it almost didn’t matter. Sam kept slowly grinding into the toy, and when he got to the middle part of the shaft and it began to widen, Sam groaned out again, lower, rougher. “ Dean .”

“ Fuckin' hell, Sammy, ” Dean growled out, lust saturated in each syllable. “ You imagining that’s my cock, little brother?”

“Yes, Alpha,” Sam breathed into the phone, crying out thickly as he pushed the toy even deeper.

“ God ,” Dean said, a broken syllable of a word. “ I bet you’d be so pretty, spread out underneath me, Sammy. I’d ease into you inch by inch and you would take me so beautifully, wouldn’t you? ”

“Oh god,” Sam sobbed out in response, his dick twitching violently as he continued to slowly push the toy inside, centimeter by centimeter. “Yes, Dean, want that, want you,” he panted. “Need you splitting me open, Dean. Need you filling me up, stretching me. I know you’d feel so good, I know I could make you feel so good, Alpha.” Sam was babbling, just long run-on sentences of obscene filth that he didn’t know he even wanted until it came out of his mouth.

“ Yes, Sammy, yes, I would open you up so gently, I’d make you feel so good, baby,” Dean almost whispered, his voice rough with lust.  “ I would finger you open first. I’d start off with two, because I know you’re already aching for it, for me, and I would scissor those fingers inside you. I’d stretch you out, nice and gentle. I never wanna hurt you, Sammy, never. And when you were ready, I’d push in a third finger, and god you’d moan so pretty for me, baby. I’d fuck you nice and slow with those fingers until you’re rocking into my hand, pulling at me, begging me for more.”

“Oh god, Dean, please yes,” Sam whispered, letting out a hoarse shout as he finally, finally bottomed out on the toy.  “It’s in me, De, I’m flat against the knot.” Sam moans around the word knot and Dean swears. “Dean it’s so thick inside me. I’m pulling it out now, Dean,” Sam said breathlessly, groaning softly at the drag of the toy against his slick entrance.

“ Sammy, baby, fuck ,” Dean purred, and Sam moaned as he heard the distinct sound of a zipper. “ I’ve got my hand around my cock while I’m driving my way to you, Sammy. You’re wrecking me, baby boy.”  Sam yelped as his knee jerked, causing him to ram the toy inside him. It burned, but Sam loved that feeling, of being too-full.

“God, Dean,” Sam moaned thickly as he pushed the toy all the way back inside, inch by inch. “It feels so fucking good, Dean.” He pulled it out and pushed it back home, a little faster this time.

“ Sammy, god, yeah. Take it slow, baby. Don’t hurt yourself. ” Dean’s tone was authoritative, but Sam whimpered in displeasure. He didn’t want to let his alpha down, but he just couldn’t.

“Can’t, Dean, I can’t wait, need to be full,” he breathed, crying out brokenly as he slammed it home. “ Dean! Dean, please!”

“ Okay, baby, okay, ” Dean said reassuringly. “ It’s okay. Next time you can go slow. I want you to pretend that my hand is on the base of that toy, that I’m helping you fuck yourself on it, okay? You’re so good, Sammy, I’m gonna be there soon and I’m gonna fill you up. I’m gonna make you feel so much better .”

“Yeah, De, yeah,” Sam chanted, now having a steady rhythm set, the tip of the toy dragging across his prostate with every thrust. “Want you, Dean, need you. Need my Alpha inside me, claiming me, marking me.”

Dean gave a muffled shout, almost pained exclamations punctuating the air every few seconds, and Sam knew Dean had just come.

“ Dean, did you just-” Sam groaned, feeling his orgasm impending as he continued to piston the thick toy in and out of him. “God, that’s so hot.  Dean, wanna come, wanna come, need you, Alpha, please-”

“ Yes, Sammy, yes, you were such a good boy. I want you to come for me now, okay? Come for me, baby boy.”

And right on cue, Sam came, hard . He shouted Dean’s name into the phone, continuing his pace jerkily until he couldn’t take it anymore.

“ Slowly, baby. Slow your thrusts down. Come down slowly, it’s okay.” Sam shuddered, but followed Dean’s command, and he let his brother guide him slowly back down from the edge he had just so violently fallen from. “ You’re so good, Sammy. I’m so proud of you. When I get there, I’m gonna take good care of you.”

“Yeah, Dean, please,” Sam murmured, his limbs turning to lead in the wake of his orgasm. “Sleepy, Alpha.”

“ I know, baby boy. I’m gonna let you go now so I can drive and you can sleep, but I need you to text me your address. I’ll be there soon, okay?”

“Mmkay, Dean,” Sam purred. “Love you, De,” he said with a jaw-cracking yawn as he bunched up the sheets over his wet spot and laid down.

“ I love you too, Sammy ,” Dean replied fondly. “ Goodnight, baby. Get some sleep. I’ll be there soon. ”

The phone disconnected with a click, and Sam just barely had the presence of mind to text his brother the address of the hotel and the code for the room before he collapsed onto the mattress and fell promptly and deeply asleep.

His alpha would be here soon.

--

Sam was pulled to consciousness slowly, with a white hot fire slowly fanning in his groin. It stayed focused there between his legs for a while, but the more awake he became, the more the heat spread. By the time Sam was fully awake, his entire body was aflame, and he was painfully aware of two very important things; one, that he was surrounded by Dean’s scent, which was even better than he remembered, and two, that Dean’s thick, calloused fingers were scissoring him open.

“Dean,” Sam moaned thickly, the noise muffled by his faceful of pillow, and he lifted his head enough to get a look at Dean even as he ground his hips back into his brother’s hand.

“Heya, Sammy,” Dean said, signature grin sliding into place. It didn’t quite meet his eyes, and Sam shuddered as he saw the pure black irises having completely encased the stunning green. The grin didn’t hold, sliding away into a small “o” of arousal as Dean’s gaze slid to the sight of Sam’s hole greedily sucking up his fingers.

“ Dean ,” Sam moaned again as Dean hit his prostate just right, causing his vision to white out for a moment. Dean was everywhere. The only thing he could smell was the thick, spicy scent of him. He smelled like gunpowder and whiskey and home and safe . He smelled like arousal and need and something heavier that Sam was too strung-out to name.

The hand that wasn’t fingering him into oblivion was mapping every inch of Sam’s tanned skin. Sam couldn’t help but arch into every touch, the calloused fingers and rough hands playing him like a piano.

“God, you’re so fucking beautiful,” Dean rumbled, sounding so beautifully wrecked that Sam keened softly. “My beautiful boy.” His brother sounded so awed at the sight of him that Sam buried his head in the pillow again out of sheer embarrassment.

“De, please,” Sam protested weakly, rocking back on Dean’s fingers.  “Need you, De, Dean, fuck -” He cried out sharply as Dean found his prostate again. “Dean, god, please, Dean I need you inside me, need my Alpha-”

Sam was cut off as a possessive growl ripped its way out of Dean’s chest, and before Sam could even moan at the loss of Dean’s fingers, he’d been flipped over roughly, and Dean was claiming his mouth in a filthy, demanding kiss. Sam mewled into it, arching into every point of contact between their bodies. Dean’s hand fisted in his hair, pulling roughly and stopping just short of painful. Sam groaned into his brother’s mouth and ground his hips into whichever part of Dean he was able to, hands grabbing and clinging and scratching every bit of Dean’s flesh he’s able to touch, which is actually frustratingly little.

“Dean,” Sam said with a growl, “why are you still dressed ?” He tore at the shirt covering Dean’s torso, to no avail. Even more frustratingly, Dean pulled away . Sam grumbled and tried to follow him up, but a gentle hand on his chest had Sam sinking back down onto the mattress.

“I can smell her on you, Sammy,” Dean said quietly, his eyes sad.  Sam did his best to focus through the thick fog of heat wrapped around his brain. “There’s still time, little brother. I can- I can leave,” Dean’s voice broke on the last word. “I can go get her for you. It doesn’t have to be me, Sammy.” Sam’s shaking his head before Dean even finishes speaking, rejecting the words as much as trying in vain to clear the tinge of heartbreak he can smell in Dean’s scent.

“No, Dean,” Sam said just as quietly.  His eyes were clear, and shining with sincerity and emotion.  “I thought I would want her when it came, but it started all I could think of was you.  It’s only ever been you, De. I should have known it would be.” Sam sat up slowly, taking one of Dean’s hands in his own. “You always looked after me, Dean. Always. You took care of me when Dad couldn’t even look at me, and you did it all without complaining, without expecting anything . You’ve always been my Alpha, Dean,” Sam continued, slowly pulling Dean’s shirt over his head, and this time Dean let him. Dean’s gaze was locked helplessly on Sam’s, flitting through so many emotions Sam couldn’t keep track. “You’ve always been my protector, Dean.” Sam slid to his knees, never breaking eye contact with Dean even as his hands slid to Dean’s belt, slowly unfastening as he talked before moving on to the zipper, slowly pulling it down bit by bit. “You have always been my Alpha, Dean. My moving away was never gonna change that. It just took me a while to realize that.”

Sam stopped there, naked and thighs covered in his own slick, between his brothers knees and smiled. An ear-to-ear, honest, gentle grin that had Dean’s face softening, and his posture slowly relaxing.  He needed Sam to talk him into letting himself have this.  He needed Sam to convince him he deserved it.

“Sammy,” Dean murmured, a reverent prayer of a name on his tongue, and Sam leaned into the contact as Dean’s thumb pressed against his cheek. “You sure?”

“Yes, Dean. I’m sure. “  Sam was pressing open-mouthed kisses against Dean’s denim-clad thigh, baring his neck in a way that could only be intentional, and Dean groaned, his cock thickening in his jeans. Sam could smell the spicy scent of arousal returning, and he grinned even as the fog of the heat began to rush back in quickly.

“But we’re brothers,” Dean said half-heartedly in protest as he let Sam pull his jeans down, hissing at each brush of Sam’s bare skin against his own as Sam pulled each leg off before pulling Dean closer to him. “You’re my little brother, Sammy,” Dean said weakly, head falling back with a curse as Sam pressed wet kisses along the line of his cock that was still, annoyingly, covered in fabric. He lifted his hips up briefly to allow Sam to peel the offending garment from his body.

“Fuck, Sammy,” Dean cursed as Sam pressed his face deep into Dean’s crotch and sniffed . Sam gulped big lungfuls of air, of Dean. The heady scent of Dean was strongest right there, and it made Sam’s head swim. Dean’s erection had only flagged a bit while they were talking, and now that Sam was touching him, it was hard and leaking.

“Dean,” Sam whispered before leaning up to capture his brother’s cock in his mouth, and he groaned heavily at the musky taste. Dean moaned in response and put his hand on Sam’s head. Sam thought he was going to push down, but Dean was content to just pet Sam’s hair restlessly as he watched his little brother swallow his dick.

“God, baby boy, you look so pretty with my dick in your mouth,” Dean purred, and Sam groaned again.  His mouth took in every inch of Dean’s cock until his nose was brushing the dust of hairs at the base. Sam held there, using his throat to massage Dean’s cock until tears started to form in his eyes. Dean gave a hoarse shout, hips slamming upward before he could stop himself and suddenly Sam was coughing.  “Oh shit, Sammy, I’m sorry, I just-” Dean’s eyes went wide as he smelled the sharp tang of arousal rather than hurt. “Oh.” A lascivious grin settled across his face, and Dean fisted a hand in Sam’s hair and pushed his cock into his brother’s waiting mouth, taking the hint.

“My Sammy likes being manhandled, huh?”

Sam could only moan in response as Dean began fucking his mouth in earnest, setting a brisk pace with his hips thrusting up into the wet heat. Sam moaned continuously as his alpha used him, hips grinding absentmindedly against Dean’s leg as he mindlessly sought friction.  He could feel Dean’s legs as they began to tremble, feel every velvety slide of cock against his tongue, every stutter of Dean’s hips as he chased his own pleasure. Sam’s head was spinning with want.

Eventually, Dean used his handhold in Sam’s hair to gently guide Sam off the ground, wrapping his arms around Sam’s waist instead and pulling his little brother into his lap. He ground their cocks together as he pulled Sam flush to him with one arm. The other had a hand splayed across Sam’s ass, fingering the slick entrance, and Sam’s head fell back with a mewl.

“Alpha, please,” Sam begged softly, baring his neck in a show of submission, and Dean shuddered.

“Please what, Sammy?” Dean said, his voice rough with lust and dark with intent.  His teeth ghosted over the beautiful bare skin of Sam’s neck.

Sam whined in response. “Need you, please. Claiming me, marking me, filling me up,” he pleaded, rocking back into Dean’s hand while pushing his neck against Dean’s mouth.  Dean succumbed with a groan, biting into the pliant flesh as he pulled Sam fully into his lap. Sam cried out in pleasure as Dean gave him his bond-bite, rocking into the sensation when Dean’s cock-head caught on the rim of his ass. Mouth never moving from where his teeth were locked into Sam’s flesh, Dean grabbed his cock and held it steady as Sam sunk slowly onto it.

They both groaned helplessly as Dean bottomed out, and Sam yelped when Dean finally released his neck. A few rivulets of blood seeped from the bite, but Dean swept his tongue over it as he grabbed Sam’s hips firmly and began thrusting up into him.  Sam’s entire world of focus narrowed down to where Dean was penetrating him, the hot and heavy glide of friction as his Alpha’s cock slid in and out of him. Dean controlled every movement with his grip on Sam’s hips, and eventually Sam gave up trying to rock into him to speed up the thrusts, throwing his arms around Dean’s shoulders and just lost himself in the sensation of finally being claimed and fucked by his Alpha.

“God, you’re so fucking perfect, Sammy,” Dean rumbled into his ear, and Sam responded bodily to the praise. Dean’s hips picked up the tempo slightly. “So fucking beautiful. You’re squeezing me so wonderfully, baby boy, I’m not gonna last long, Sammy.” Sam just moaned, tilting his head until Dean pressed their lips together, though they didn’t really kiss so much as trade oxygen. Sam was panting into Dean’s mouth, and Dean was mouthing filthy praise about his little brother. “Do you know how long I wanted to do this, baby? God, every heat you went through was torture . I wanted nothing more than to fuck you open and claim you. I wanted to make you feel so good, Sammy, I wanted to make you mine. But I didn’t, I didn’t, because you didn’t ask, god Sammy fuck -” Dean made a strangled noise as he pressed his forehead against Sam’s shoulder. “You smell so fucking good, baby, like books and leather and fucking mine .” Dean growled and began pumping into him even harder.

“Dean, Dean, Dean, DeanDeanDeandeandeandean,” Sam chanted his brother’s name, each utterance getting slightly higher pitched, slightly more desperate, until he was keening desperately, stretched taut like a piano wire for his brother as Dean fucked into him relentlessly. “Gonna - need to- ah fuck Alpha, please! ” Sam cried out, almost in pain from how close he suddenly was.

“Oh fuck Sammy,” Dean growled as his balls tightened and his knot began to swell as he jackhammered into his brother’s tight wet heat. “Gonna knot you, Sammy, gonna make you mine. Gonna fill you up. Everyone’s gonna know you’re mine, they’re gonna smell me for weeks on your skin, little brother.”

“Dean, yes!” Sam came with a sob, muscles fluttering around Dean’s cock, which was unbelievably slick. His cock bobbed sharply where it was stuck between their chests, and he coated them both in come. Dean’s pace never faltered, just dragged Sam from the edge of orgasm all the way to absolute and utter ruin. Dean slammed home and his knot finally slid in with an obscene squelching sound and another broken cry from Sam. As soon as it was in, Sam latched onto the meat of Dean’s shoulder helplessly, sealing their mating with a bond-bite. That was all Dean needed, and he promptly spilled himself into Sam with a strangled groan.

They both stayed as motionless as possible, with Dean’s knot buried firmly inside Sam, and Sam’s teeth lodged securely in Dean’s arm.  Sam kept shuddering in Dean’s arms, aftershocks rocking him every few seconds. When he finally let go of his brother’s flesh, lapping gently at the bite, Dean ground into him gently. Sam cried out weakly in protest, and Dean kissed his brother’s jaw in apology.  Their breaths came in harsh pants, and as they waited for Dean’s knot to deflate, Dean tenderly stroked his brother’s skin wherever he could touch. The aimless touches of his alpha were beyond relaxing to the poor, worn out omega. Sam’s forehead pressed into the crook of Dean’s neck, nuzzling absentmindedly.

“Love you so much, baby brother,” Dean murmured lazily into Sam’s hair, and he could feel Sam’s answering smile against his skin.

“I love you too, Dean,” Sam said, nuzzling his way up Dean’s jaw and slotted their mouths together, indulging in a lazy, exploratory kiss.  “My Alpha,” he whispered against Dean’s lips.

They had been so caught up in the affection that neither noticed Dean’s deflating knot until it slid out of Sam’s ass with an embarrassing, wet noise. They both hissed in surprise, and Dean seized the moment to maneuver them so they were both laid out on the bed, and Sam was grateful as he noticed that the alpha kept as much physical contact between them as possible. It would help with the pain when Sam woke up again from the heat.  He could already feel himself being pulled back into unconsciousness.

“Dean?”

“Yeah, Sammy?” Dean cracked one eye open to show he was paying attention. It was the most relaxed Sam had ever seen him, and that thought made his toes curl with happy warmth.

“I absolutely don’t regret this. I’m glad I’m yours.” The words were sincere, and he needed Dean to know it. Dean could be consumed with guilt while Sam was fast asleep, and he just wasn’t having that.

“I- Thank you, Sam.” Dean’s voice was suspiciously watery, but Sam didn’t comment on it.  They’d figure everything out later. He wasn’t sure what he was going to tell Jess, but he would figure something out. Sam didn’t want to think about that right now. He just wanted to drift off to sleep in his alpha’s arms. In his brother’s arms.

And sleep they did, though admittedly it wasn’t for long.

[thisdaynews]

What Adam Schiff Doesn’t Get About Watergate

New Post has been published on https://thebiafrastar.com/what-adam-schiff-doesnt-get-about-watergate/

What Adam Schiff Doesn’t Get About Watergate

Yet what many recall as an incisive, if not noble, question about the behavior of a president from Baker’s same political party was anything but. Rather, it was a shrewd and calculated attempt to stem the rising tide against Nixon. Nor was it even Baker’s first assault against getting at the truth of Watergate, and it would not prove to be his most cynical.

It is true that Baker’s behavior during the Senate hearings does not resemble in the slightest Republicans’ comportment so far. At every good opportunity, which is to say constantly, Baker, oozing border-state charm without being too obsequious, flattered Sam Ervin, the folksy, 76-year-old Dixiecrat from North Carolina who chaired the committee. “It has been a great privilege for me to learn from you and to go forward in this unpleasantness,” typified the remarks Baker directed at Ervin. But here’s the thing: Baker was a highly sophisticated, even Machiavellian, partisan. His genuine role was one of collusion with the White House ; followed by an attempt at a firebreak that failed ; and finally, in desperation, an embrace of conspiracy-mongering.

Much of what we know about Baker’s true role comes from three books: a memoir by Fred Thompson, the Watergate committee’s minority counsel (At That Point in Time, 1975); a memoir by Sam Dash, the panel’s majority counsel (Chief Counsel, 1976); and a comprehensive history based on primary documents by the late dean of Watergate historians, Professor Stanley I. Kutler (The Wars of Watergate, 1990). In addition to these books, a fine-grained picture of Baker’s behind-the-scenes behavior has emerged as more of the tapes surreptitiously recorded during Nixon’s presidency have been released and deciphered.

Schiff had just turned 12 years old when five burglars put the Watergate scandal in motion, so he can be forgiven for not recalling the nuances of what happened. But now that the California Democrat is one of the leaders of the impeachment inquiry—and will probably be one of the managers who presents the case to the Senate—it is incumbent on him, and Democrats in general, to purge their minds of Watergate fairy tales. And Baker as Watergate truth-seeker is as good as any place to begin. If the Watergate scandal is any kind of historical guide, the Democrats are going to succeed only if they stop hankering for a magical nonpartisan Republican and instead focus on building a strong, factual case against the president—one that convinces the American people on its own merit.

***

Baker’s perception of his roleon the committee was inextricable from his larger aims. Ervin had insisted that no senators with presidential aspirations be allowed on the committee. But that was interpreted to mean senators intending to run in the next cycle. Baker was looking further ahead, and in that sense Ervin’s edict was fortuitous. “Although senators are by definition politically ambitious,” Dash wrote in his memoir, “Baker was excessively so.” The Tennessean was a political boy wonder. Elected to the Senate in 1966 at the tender age of 41, after having not served in any previous office, Baker was the first Republican senator from Tennessee since Reconstruction, and an example of the great political realignment taking place in the South. He naturally harbored thoughts of running for president in the foreseeable future. Serving on the committee would burnish his credentials, particularly if he became renowned for stopping the Watergate scandal from metastasizing further and consuming a Republican president.

Baker had led the GOP in opposing a full-fledged Senate investigation of the 1972 presidential campaign, and then maneuvered to become the ranking Republican on the Watergate panel. Via Nixon’s trusted aide Charles Colson, Baker conveyed his reasoning. The senator had only accepted the committee assignment, Baker’s administrative assistant told Colson, to “go all the way … and defend you and the Republican Party.” He “wasn’t getting off the reservation.” The president was to disregard any seemingly critical comments Baker made in public, as well as any elaborate displays of deference to Ervin in the future. The only purpose behind these utterances was to maintain Baker’s credibility with Ervin in order to negotiate and “control him.” Baker, Colson was told, had to “act like one of the Senate club lest he destroy his effectiveness with Ervin.”

Shortly after his appointment to the Watergate committee, Baker also sought a secret meeting with Nixon to discuss the probe. From Baker’s perspective, the meeting would serve a twofold purpose. First and foremost, he wanted to reassure the president personally about his efforts and goodwill. But he also wanted to gather intelligence about what to expect from the upcoming testimony of all the president’s men, and needed guidance on where the White House intended to draw the line. The key question was whether the onus for the break-in would be placed solely on Nixon’s reelection campaign, or whether some responsibility could be traced back to the White House, if not the Oval Office itself. This same issue was a matter of keen interest for Baker too, for to a degree he had now tied his own future to the president’s protestations of innocence.

Baker insisted the meeting with Nixon be clandestine. It was arranged for a day when he was already scheduled to attend a large reception in the White House for supporters of the president’s Vietnam policy. Baker arrived an hour early, and was escorted to Nixon’s hideaway in the Executive Office Building.

Unfortunately, the recording of their meeting happens to be one of the Nixon tapes that is irreparably flawed. Baker just happened to sit as far away from the microphones implanted in the president’s desk as possible, resulting in a mostly inaudible recording. Moreover, while the meeting lasted 40 minutes, the tape recording is only eight minutes long. Still, the gist of some remarks can be discerned, and the president later described the discussion in subsequent conversations with John Ehrlichman, his top domestic policy adviser, Attorney General Richard Kleindienst and H.R. “Bob” Haldeman, the White House chief of staff.

Baker stressed that he was intent on preventing a “fishing expedition.” While he expected the hearings to start with a bang, he thought public interest would taper off dramatically—and his goal was to help make that happen. Baker disclosed that the Democrats were hoping, as Nixon later put it, to first call “a lot of pipsqueak witnesses, little shit-asses over periods of weeks to build it up, the pressure.” Inside the committee, Baker was arguing for a different approach, one that would have all the president’s big men up there from the start to “prick the boil.” Then Baker could confront Ervin with the emptiness of their testimonies and cut off the inquiry, leaving it at the seven men already convicted of the burglary. As Nixon explained, Baker aimed to “choke the goddamn thing for the week, and after that people will be bored to death.” While this approach had its attractions, the president remained wary. He expressed the hope to Baker that through some combination of executive privilege, closed executive sessions or written interrogatories, the administration might avoid the spectacle of having its top men “dragged up” to Capitol Hill, testifying in public under oath.

When the senator gingerly hinted at the possibility ofWhite Houseinvolvement, the president denied the insinuation vigorously. But Nixon allowed that he was concerned about former campaign chairman John Mitchell’s role, thereby indicating to Baker where the line should be drawn if necessary: around the now-defunct Committee for the Re-election of the President (CRP). Indeed, as Nixon later recounted, he told Baker that if and when the time came for him to cross-examine Mitchell, the senator needed to bring out the facts about Mitchell’s “horrible domestic situation,” meaning his alcoholic wife, Martha.

I said [to Baker], Martha, you know, is very sick. And John wasn’t paying attention, and these kids ran away with it. … John Mitchell is a pure, bright guy who would have never done such a thing, but the kids ran away with it. And if John did lie [about CRP involvement], it was simply because he’d forgotten. Now whether that will wash or not, I don’t know. But I just want you [Baker] to know that [is what] I consider the Mitchell problem.

The next day, Nixon recounted the meeting to Kleindienst; the president now believed Baker would be working for him inside the committee. “Howard came down for the purpose of telling me what are his plans for the hearings … what he’s planning to do. What he’s going to do is … try to make it appear the Republicans are cooperating … [that] the hearings are honest and the administration’s cooperating.” There was a concrete reason for discussing the meeting with the attorney general as well. Baker had indicated he didn’t want to be seen talking to anyone in the White House from now on, so they had agreed that Baker’s liaison would be Kleindienst. He was to convey whatever inside information Baker had to John Dean exclusively, who would then take it to the president, and vice versa. Baker hoped the line of communication would run both ways, as he wanted a heads-up before the White House publicly stated its position on any of the contentious procedural issues that still had to be worked out.

In the 11 weeks that remained before hearings commenced, Baker, now assisted by Fred Thompson, his choice for minority counsel, labored to circumscribe the probe along the lines of Baker’s February 22 secret meeting. Truncating the witness list so that the hearings would be finished in one month was Baker’s top priority. One of his arguments was that Americans fixated on daytime soap operas would be upset by having their favorite shows preempted by long, drawn-out hearings. Ervin dismissed Baker’s proposal as preposterous, even if it risked provoking TV viewers’ ire. If accepted, Ervin argued, Baker’s scheme would make the committee an accessory to the White House’s obfuscations and falsehoods. Then, on April 30, the situation became immensely more complicated and the stakes exponentially higher. The White House announced Haldeman and Ehrlichman had resigned, that Dean was fired and Kleindienst had quit.

Now the question was not whether all the president’s big men would appear, but in what order. During a pivotal committee meeting on May 8, Baker lobbied for the burglars to testify first, followed by Mitchell, Colson, Haldeman and Ehrlichman, with Dean coming in last. This topsy-turvy approach meant that none of them could be asked about Dean’s accusations; the accused would be heard before the accuser, and everything could be wrapped up in 20 days. Baker also wanted senators to question witnesses first, before committee counsel did. That all but guaranteed the hearings could easily veer into incoherence and grandstanding, rather than fact-finding and narrative-building. Most tenaciously, and with uncharacteristic vehemence, Baker fought against giving Dean immunity for his testimony, echoing the then-prevailing White House line that Dean was “the most culpable and dangerous person in the Watergate affair.”

Baker did not prevail on any of these narrative-building issues, and his initial effort to collude with the White House was largely for naught. When the hearings finally commenced on May 17, the senator, exuding charm, assured his colleagues, along with a national television audience, that “this is not in any way a partisan undertaking, but rather, it is a bipartisan search for the unvarnished truth.” In reality, though, Baker was soon to embark on the next phase of his partisan effort to save Nixon’s presidency regardless of that truth.

***

The context of Baker’s famous questionmeans everything. Baker posed it to Dean after 3½ days of earth-shattering testimony from the former White House counsel—testimony that Baker readily agreed was “fairly mind-boggling.” Single-handedly, and in the space of a day, Dean had decisively shifted the committee’s focus from the initial crime, of which Nixon had no foreknowledge, to the cover-up. If the president committed just a few of the acts attributed to him, he had violated his oath of office. Nor were the president’s alleged misdeeds due to passivity, inattention or distraction. He had, according to Dean, abused his powers and actively conspired to obstruct justice.

Seen in its proper context, Baker’s question—“What did the president know and when did he know it?”—represented a shrewd defense from a highly skilled lawyer who recognized the inherent limits in Dean’s testimony. Baker intended to erect nothing less than an insurmountable firebreak in the conflagration that now threatened the Oval Office.

Dean had had almost no personal contact with Nixon for more than seven months after the June break-in. He could not offer direct testimony about what the president said and did in the earliest and most crucial phase of the cover-up. Dean’s first urgent, Watergate-related meeting had not occurred until February 27, 1973; only after that were there almost daily meetings with the president.

Repeating his rhythmic question over and over, Baker took Dean step by step through the key events beginning in June 1972 until Dean’s departure. At each important juncture, Baker depicted Dean’s account as based on hearsay or circumstantial evidence at best—meaning Dean was drawing unwarranted inferences about the president’s conduct. The strategy was supposed to result in an alternate narrative, wherein the president allegedly was unaware of the steps taken to hush the burglars, or supposedly ignorant about the pressure the White House exerted on the CIA to thwart the FBI from pursuing certain avenues of investigation. Ultimately, it would come down to Dean’s word and narrative against the president’s. And in fact, Baker’s firebreak did work as well as could be expected. By the time Dean finished his last day of testimony on June 29, the lack of independent corroboration of his allegations appeared to be an insuperable obstacle.

What Baker did not know at the time, of course, was that Nixon had done his immediate predecessors one better, and surreptitiously installed a voice-activated taping system that had been operational since February 1971. Two weeks after Dean’s last day of testimony, White House assistant Alexander Butterfield revealed the tapes’ existence. Suddenly, the recordings promised to resolve who was telling the truth. And just as abruptly, Baker’s calculated question transmogrified into a dagger pointed at the heart of the presidency.

As Stanley Kutler wrote, the “discovery of the tapes undid Baker’s careful handiwork. The tapes made irrelevant his question to John Dean . . . [Because now] Richard Nixon himself could answer Baker, and in indelible words.”

***

In late 1973, as the Watergate committee moved closer to its expiration date; while the legal battle over the tapes was winding its way toward the Supreme Court; and months before the House Judiciary Committee mounted its impeachment hearings, Baker turned desperately to a last resort—what would today be recognized as deep state conspiracy-mongering. Given his own direct knowledge from Nixon that only the CRP was responsible for the break-in, this last phase represented Baker’s most cynical tactic.

First, a little of the back-story is required.

The possibility of CIA involvement in the burglary had been an issue from the very start. Two of the five burglars arrested, and one of the masterminds who organized the illegal entry, had undeniable links to the agency. But then it swiftly turned out that one of the burglars, and both masterminds, had undeniable links to the White House or president’s reelection campaign. The FBI was initially flummoxed and investigated both possibilities. By mid-July 1972, however, the FBI investigation had “settled down.” Agents working the case knew the CRP, not the CIA, organized the break-in. The only remaining question was how high up in the CRP the conspiracy went.

This perception of culpability lasted until May 1973, when two new revelations caused allegations of CIA involvement to resume with even greater ferocity. It turned out that beginning in July 1971 the agency, at Ehrlichman’s behest, had given technical assistance (a wig, camera, voice-altering device and false identity cards) to E. Howard Hunt, one of the two Watergate masterminds, without knowing what it was going to be used for. And before the Democratic National Committee break-in, some of the items had been used in the burglary at the office of Daniel Ellsberg’s Los Angeles psychiatrist. Ellsberg was the Defense Department consultant behind the embarrassing leak of the so-called Pentagon Papers in 1971. Various House and Senate committees (there were no Intelligence Committees as such at the time) leaped into the fray and announced investigations. Perhaps envious of the attention the Senate Watergate committee was already generating, although it had yet to hold its first hearing, the House Armed Services announced a full-blown probe. A special subcommittee was hastily formed, and Representative Lucien Nedzi, a Democrat and University of Michigan Law School graduate, was appointed chairman.

Nedzi’s investigation proceeded rapidly. The first hearing occurred May 11, 1973, and by the end of July the special subcommittee had gathered statements or testimony from 26 witnesses. Nothing like this probe into the CIA had ever been conducted before, much less in full public view. Nedzi’s subcommittee (along with a much smaller Senate investigation that occurred in parallel) developed stunning new information directly related to the CIA and Watergate all right, but nothing proving foreknowledge of the break-in, much less that it was a CIA operation. Rather, the House subcommittee spent the majority of its time investigating the White House’s attempt, albeit unsuccessfully, to use the CIA to impede sensitive aspects of the FBI’s Watergate investigation over a period of two weeks right after the break-in.

The Nedzi subcommittee laid out its findings in a final report published on October 27, 1973. While the report criticized the CIA for bowing to White House pressure to help out Hunt in the first place, it correctly noted that the CIA had terminated the assistance in August 1971 because Hunt kept making new demands, and absolved the CIA of responsibility for the break-in. Nonetheless, 10 days later, Baker initiated his own investigation of CIA involvement with a letter addressed to the new director, William Colby. The agency responded by supplying Baker with many of the same documents it had already produced for Nedzi. Baker decided to plow ahead, and in January 1974 even set up a task force comprised of three Republican staff members from the Watergate committee, headed by Fred Thompson. For the next three months they reinvestigated what Thompson called the CIA’s “mystifying role,” often working 18-hour days.

Baker had no idea what was on the White House tapes and whether they would exonerate or implicate the president in the cover-up, or simply be inconclusive. But he did know that his famous question now threatened the president. Indicating the CIA had foreknowledge of the break-in would suggest that perhaps it was a CIA operation all along—and that seemed the most promising, if not only, way out for the president. In one stroke it would return the focus to who was responsible for the break-in, and render the cover-up almost moot. After all, Nixon could hardly be blamed for any measures he took in response to a charge he knew to be untrue. In this new narrative Nixon would be the victim of dark forces, rather than the culprit.

About halfway through Baker’s frantic, three-month investigation, the Washington press corps, thanks to Charles Colson—the only person in the White House to take a keen interest in the last-ditch effort—got wind of the task force. Reporters pressed the senator for some concrete results, but all Baker could offer in return was innuendo and unsupported implications. There were “animals crashing around in the forest” that he could hear but not yet see, Baker claimed.

Increasingly alarmed by what Baker was up to, the CIA became recalcitrant about responding to Thompson’s incessant demands. Journalists known for their ties to the agency, such as Tom Braden, a former CIA officer but now a syndicated columnist for theWashington Post, published articles that pointedly criticized Baker. Braden suggested Baker was pursuing a fruitless angle for transparent political reasons and harming the CIA in the process. Feeling the heat, and with nothing to show after three months of ceaseless effort, Baker ordered the task force to pull together whatever information it had developed and write a report.

Baker submitted what came to be known as the “Baker-CIA report” to Ervin for inclusion in the committee’s final report, to be published in mid-July 1974. But the chairman did not want to lend any dignity to the rump report and refused to include it in the main text. Rather than admit that there was “no there there,” after all, Baker insisted the report was merely “incomplete” and raised more justifiable questions than it answered. About two weeks before the committee’s full report became available, Baker and Thompson leaked their findings to the press, with modest results. The most newsworthy item was that the agency had learned via its grapevine, prior to the break-in, that E. Howard Hunt had been looking to hire a retired lock picker from a group of former CIA employees. The Baker-CIA report quickly fell flat, and Thompson recalled in his memoir that it was a “lonely time” for his boss. “Because of his persistent inquiries, [Baker] seemed to have placed himself at odds, not only with the CIA, but with the White House [sic], the press, and the rest of the committee.”

Three weeks after newspapers disclosed the Baker-CIA report, the Supreme Court issued its unanimous ruling that Nixon had to provide all the tape recordings demanded by the Watergate special prosecutor, not just transcripts the president unilaterally deemed responsive. And on August 5, the White House released what instantly and infamously became known as “the smoking gun” tape: an Oval Office conversation between Haldeman and Nixon on June 23, six days after the break-in, which provided the definitive answer to what the president knew and when he knew it.

***

Howard Baker’s reputation, perhaps surprisingly, perhaps not, suffered no lasting damage from his role on the Watergate committee. It was as if image, rather than substance, prevailed. As Kutler put it, Baker “projected extremely well on television, combing a boyish smile with the appearance of a diffident, nonpartisan pursuit of the truth.” When the senator’s devastating question was remembered, and it often was, it was misremembered because it was invariably taken out of context. Baker certainly exhibited no abiding impulse to correct the misunderstanding.

So for the Democrats to pine now for another Howard Baker is, at best, folly. Howard Baker was no Howard Baker, and any hope that a Republican champion will suddenly emerge and relieve Democrats from doing the necessary hard work that remains is a historical fantasy. The only sound course open to them is what the Watergate committee actually did: to continue to develop and compile the facts until they have exhausted them. Because it was the facts, gathered together to build the truth, that ground down Nixon finally, until he had no recourse except resignation unless he wanted the ignominy of removal. “Facts are stubborn things,” as one former president, John Adams, noted. Enough of them will either move public opinion and the political calculus, or appeal to Republicans of principle who still abide by their oath of office.

At least that was true in the past.

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