#there's definitely context missing at the beginning that you're just supposed to roll with

[allsassnoclass]

cactus and papyrus xoxo

hello hello @clumsyclifford thanks for stopping by!

cactus ⇢ something you’re currently learning (about)? I am currently learning about how money and banking works! because it is my job. i work at a credit union and i need to know stuff in order to answer questions but i also don't know much so i am constantly learning. i will be honest it is difficult.

but also! i am currently watching the untamed so i'm learning a lot about how different names work there? like. there's this character named wei wuxian. and sometimes people call him wei wuxian but some people call him wei ying and family members might go for a-xian or a-ying and it's all very confusing because everyone in this show has multiple names depending on who is talking to/about them, so i'm learning a bit about those classical name conventions because which names are used always reveal a bit about the relationship between the two people

papyrus ⇢ if you put your ‘on repeat’ playlist on shuffle, what’s the first song that comes up? what do you like about it / associate it with? ah it gave me Doom Days by Bastille! which i associate with my fic but also with megs because i think she's the one who suggested that song for the fest, and even if she wasn't she's associated now there's no going back! i like the vibe of the song a lot. i'm not sure how to articulate what makes the vibe likable to me but i do really like it, even though i feel like it isn't my usual musical vibe exactly.

random get-to-know-me ask game

[mysticgalaxychaos]

"In depth" analysis (commentary) on Mcs vs Yaha dialogue (part 2)

This is the continuation from the previous thing he said and now he downright flirts with Nowe in a very very creepy way. This phrase can be read so wrong and I guess it's meant to be that way. Again with the weird word choice! Is "look into my eyes" that bad? I mean we all know you're trying to smash so why be weird about it?? And that tone!! So horny!

Imma assume this one is referring to Nowe too and there is just nothing I can really say. I guess the battle got him in the mood for flirting and... Other stuff... Ngl tho those horror-fied slowed down roblox death sound effects set a pretty good mood!

*Ah yes! Nothing gets you going like watching your pact partners, whose existence your life depends on being slaughtered!*

Now the focus turns to Urick and we also move to different footage because the other one had the order mixed up (apparently these quotes appear in a certain order but it depends to the time you take and finishing the fight quickly cuts out some important ones). Here Yaha talks about "the old good days" when he and Urick were... Friends?? (A couple??). This tells us that Yaha up until this point had hopes of them going back to what they used to be which is a bit of a sad thing considering how they were friends and Yaha was trying to change the relationship into a romantic one. Him wanting to at least be friends again is pretty sad... (Urick's just heatless man!)

This is also a very weird line! On the surface it just seems like it's the first line that reveals Yaha's feelings for Urick... and that's why I've went out of my way to overanalyze the shit out of it, so LISTEN! This will tie to later quotes as well (of course) but not in the way that you might think. This does seem to be a question, askig Urick and assuming that he did know about Yaha's feelings but the way that "Right, Urick" is spoken kinda gives a vibe of "Right, Urick? We were FRIENDS, RIGHT??? Friends? Were we FRIENDS Urick? Were we really friends, though???" But this is kinda contradicted by the "you must have known". I think it would be more appropriate to say something like "You knew" or "You did know"

Now, now, NOW this is a bit of a ground breaking quote, and given the context, it seems like it's addressed at Urick. From what I've seen, if the gameplay goes by quickly you get this like after the "Come now, I'm waiting" line which makes this seem like it's about "General Oror" but this is an idea I am not willing to entertain so for our sanity's sake we will take Urick as a fact here. Now the first time I watched a gameplay of this game, I missed this quote completely, but it affects the story quite a bit mainly for one reason, we don't know what he's talking about! Is this "exquisite moment" that day he met Urick at the orphanage? Was it the day he discovered Lord of the Rings is a thing? Was General Oror really that good?? We don't know? But considering the context and Yaha's perceived personality (both before and after pact deal) we can safely assume that General Oror is in fact really THAT good that this was an incident involving Urick and Yaha. This is the "event" I talked about before. My interpretation is that something (probably sexual) happened between them (It could have been romantic but judging by how much emphasis is put by both Urick and Yaha on the fact that he lost his ability to feel *sexual* pleasure, we can see they are both very sex oriented). Also we know this thing happened before the pact deal both from something that's said later on and from the fact that if this was a sexual experience, he seems to have enjoyed it which he wouldn't be able to do after the pact deal (*Dramatically looks down*). Either way, Yaha here talks about what appears to be a very big moment for him, probably involving Urick

This is were Yaha goes off and begins telling us the story of his life (not really, his pact deal) and it kinda messes up the narrative of what we've had so far. Because if this "exquisite moment" he talked about before was something that happened between them that would render them "more than friends" this takes us back to square one ("The friendzone"). A bit random, but this quote also makes me sad. If you think about it, the man sacrificed a part of himself (all be it not a super important one) for Urick and it still didn't work for a completely uncknown reason. The mention of the word "finally" implies he tried to "get" him using other means to, but it could just mean he waited for super long, even though again, given the context, it doesn't look like it. Urick hates this poor guy for a reason, that reason, though uncknown, could very well be Yaha's attempts to get Urick to date him.

:(... He sounds so heartbroken... But, as sad as this is, it gives us what might be the most important piece of information we've had so far, that being that Urick rejected Yaha. Not only that, but "rejected me then" implies that Urick had rejected him before. This tells us that Urick didn't want a romantic relationship, that Yaha probably made multiple attempts to get him and that Urick is (drum roll, important plot hole incoming) immune to Yaha's charm! YEP! The supernatural charm he paid with his (*dramatic gasp*) ability to feel pleasure!!! (*Dramatically faints with arm on forehead*). Also, this tells us Yaha hadn't been the most loyal to his love for Urick, as Urick was "The only one" who wouldn't go with him. That does have a couple of scary implications given the rest of the cast, but we won't judge Yaha's taste (or lack thereof) in men now. The phrasing used here also gives the impression that Urick was never involved with Yaha in any way that was not friendly which makes the other quote ("I want to relieve that exquisite moment") super confusing... Guess we'll have to assume it was about General Oror after all...

This is Yaha's quote when you defeat all his gnomes and the gnome king (?) appears. It doesn't have any plot relevance, but the phrasing is interesting. Yaha's described the battle as "playing" before and addresses his gnomes as "children". I honestly have no clue what this means or why he does it, it just kinda makes him sound super innocent and child like, which I think the devs were kinda going for with his voice and everything. Which is just really weird... Cause he's a massive pervert who might have fucked every single adult male character we know... I really don't understand what they were going for. Maybe some short of subverting expectations/stereotypes kinda thing, like "Look! He's an elf! You know how elves are in fiction, pure. And look at how innocent he sounds and how he addresses these gnomes as children and... Oh look! We tricked you! He's actually a creepy prevy guy!!!¡¡" On the other hand, he is supposed to be an illusionist so I guess it might make sense...

Here is where the bosse's helth begins to get kinda critical and Yaha begins to realise that he might die, so he starts talking about it, trying to get who I will again assume to be Urick to maybe spare him (spoiler alert, Urick is a heatless rock of a human being and he won't spare anyone). Again I have to point out this part because they just keep giving us contradictory statements!! Here Yaha is trying to convince Urick (and Urick's friends) to not kill him, and his argument is "I will die and the crystal will be destroyed", but here, the crystal really doesn't make for a convincing argument. Urick (or his friends) isn't attached to this crystal, so Yaha's argument here really is something along the lines of "Urick if I die you ain't getting none". Really he is using his "beautiful body" to get Urick to spare him. It's either that these two really, REALLY don't understand each other, at ALL, or that something has happened in the past that would lead to Urick not wanting to loose Yaha's "beautiful body". Interesting word order there as well. "YOU would let THAT happen?" instead of "Would you let that happen". Placing emphasis on "You" reinforces this idea. Also that final line sounds kinda mocking.

And this is Yaha's final quote before he dies and we go into the cutsceen. As you can see he's fully gone insane, presumably because of the extreme levels of power given to him by the Hogyoku in a short amount of... Wait, what am I even writing about?? Yaha's definitely kinda loosing it there and I can't make sense of this at all... In what way is this romantic? Unless it's meant to be ironic.

"Oh, so you're killing me! Yes, Urick this is the perfect ending to our date! You are SUCH a romantic guy!!"

[lifeisdabubbles-undersalmondean]

La Pomme ~ Chapter 10

Pairing: Sam x OC (eventual Dean x OC and Dean x Castiel. And I mean eventual.)

Series summary: George is a casual French-Mistake-universe Supernatural fan living in no-COVID 2020, who's life is upended when she's suddenly launched between realities, two years into the boys' past (S13E22). What begins as an insane, immersive fan experience turns into more when Jack goes missing and George offers up her AU information to help track him down. Soon it's discovered that she and Sam may actually have history. But that's impossible, right?

Word Count: 4,500

Warnings: {smut, fluff, angst, show level violence, swearing, mentions of suicide} ***Detailed warnings will be tagged for specific chapters.

A/N: Following the events of my prequel Paradise and second story From My Eyes Off. Reading those first gives context but isn’t necessary to start this one.

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

About 4 hours later, George stirred awake as she began getting hit in the face with the bright morning sun. She was surprised to find Sam driving, with Dean passed out next to him. Castiel looked like he hadn't moved an inch since she'd closed her eyes and she smiled at his resolve. When she finally shifted, she noticed a large unfamiliar, tan jacket laying across her lap.

Reaching up to lightly touch Sam on the shoulder, gently alerting him to her presence, she whispered, "What time is it?"

"Hey, morning. A little after six. You doing OK? Need to pee?" He teased gently and she smiled.

"I'm alright at the moment, though I wouldn't turn down a chance to stretch my legs." She sat up in her seat, stretching as much as she could without invading Cas' space. Sam watched in the rear view as she crossed her arms above her head and arched her back for a stretch. He caught himself admiring the way the fabric of her shirt lifted up just enough for him to catch a fleeting glimpse of the skin on her waist. There was more bright ink peeking out from the top of her khakis, he noticed. She released the stretch much too soon in his opinion and then leaned over to pick up the jacket that had fallen off of her lap. She held it up questioningly to Sam and he adjusted himself in his seat, clearing his throat.

"Oh, that's, uh-mine." He stuttered, reaching back and taking it from her outstretched hands. "The backseat can get cold."

"Mm," She smiled and nodded appreciatively. "Thanks. How long have you been driving?"

"Just about 3 hours. I could use a stretch myself; I think there's a rest stop ahead a few miles." She nodded lazily, still brushing off the sleep, and looked over at Cas.

"You been keeping a weather eye out, Castiel?" She asked teasingly.

"Yes ma'am. Can never be too careful with these two." As nervous as she made him, he actually liked George. She eagerly included him in conversation and car games, which he wasn't used to. He also enjoyed her attempts to banter with him and he was getting better at deciphering them and even participating.

"Good man." She patted his shoulder appreciatively.

Cas nodded in solidarity, then he raised an eyebrow at her inquisitively. George smiled and raised both her eyebrows in response, waiting for him to speak. Based on his expression, she assumed he wanted to ask her a question. When he didn't speak, she raised her eyebrows more to encourage him. He darted his eyes to Sam; his face dropped quickly.

George followed his gaze to Sam and was startled at the daggers he was staring at Cas. She asked, "What? What's with the eyes?"

When Sam noticed her looking, he dropped his angry face and shrugged, "Nothin'? No eyes." Cas shrugged awkwardly in agreement. George looked between the two of them skeptically. She knew what she saw.

Narrowing her eyes, she demanded, "What?"

"Nothing," Cas stated with an incredibly unconvincing tone. George's head whipped to look at Sam as he rolled his eyes at Cas before he could stop himself.

She was annoyed now, "Seriously, guys-what?! Do I have a zit? Was I drooling in my sleep or-?" Her face fell suddenly and she winced, "Did I say something embarrassing?" She'd had partners mention her sleep talking once or twice and she'd been having a strangely vivid dream about Sam just before the sunshine woke her up. Considering the content, she prayed she hadn't said anything.

At her question, Cas and Sam exchanged a confused look. They both shook their heads as Sam answered, "Nope, no drooling, no talking. And no zits," he ended with a smirk.

George looked relieved for a moment and then frowned, "Then what? Why are you looking at me like that?" She asked Cas and then looked at Sam, "And why are you trying to keep him quiet?"

Sam pulled an innocent face, "I'm not-"

"Save it, dude! I saw you," George laughed at his innocent-little-brother face. "What's goin' on?"

Cas folded, "We were just wonder-"

Sam cut him off with a "No!" so loud that Dean startled awake with a snort.

"The hell?" Dean grumbled. Sam sighed defeatedly. He knew it was too late to stop the inevitable now, but he'd really tried. This was going to be painful.

"I believe your thug brother is threatening Castiel into keeping secrets," George stated annoyedly, crossing her arms over her chest.

Wiping the sleep from his eyes, Dean responded with a confused, "Huh?"

Castiel explained, defensively, "I was just trying to ask George if she's a 'Deangirl' or a 'Samgirl'."

George's eyes went wide. Large, angry red splotches began to appear on her pale cheeks and a sweat broke out on her brow. Sam gripped the steering wheel tightly, clenching his jaw and looking mortified.

Dean let out a loud, "Ha!" Chuckling, he sat up right and murmured, "Definitely glad I got woken up for this."

"What?" Cas huffed, seeing everyone's reactions. "I know you said we weren't supposed to say anything when she woke up, but you two were having a lively discussion about it earlier and I j-"

George choked on nothing and sputtered, "The two of you were having a lively discussion about wheth-" Dean and Sam both pulled the same innocent expression, though Dean couldn't hide his glee.

Sam cut her off with a stutter, "We weren't-It-it wasn't exactly-there was no-"

Dean shook his head, cutting him off with a matter-of-fact, "We were just trying to explain to Cas more about the reality you came from-with the show and everything? Naturally the subject of the fans came up..."

"They weren't sure which 'girl' designation you fell into. I didn't see what the issue was with just politely asking?"

"It's not a polite question, Cas!" George snapped in humiliation.

"Oh…" He frowned, "why not?"

"Because!" She explained fully.

"There are just some things you don't ask a woman, Cas," Dean offered with a bemused chuckle.

Cas' brows furrowed, looking curiously at George, "Does this question somehow relate to your age or menstrual cycle?"

"Sweet Jesus," George laughed to keep from crying in embarrassment, hiding her face behind her hands. She knew this was how Cas was but she wasn't prepared to experience his naivete in real life. The Kegel comments she could handle but this was beyond.

Sam desperately tried to re-rail the train wreck that was happening, "Cas, what Dean meant to say was, there are some things you shouldn't ask people. Humans, in general. Private things."

"Mortifying things," George groaned from behind her hands.

Cas was still confused, "And asking someone whether they're a 'Samgirl' or a 'Deangirl' is private?"

George dropped her hands and nodded emphatically, "In the context of our current situation, yes!"

"Why?"

"Because!" When he looked at her with a patient expression on his face she realized he'd need more than that. "Because… because…" she looked to Sam and Dean for help but neither one offered any. "Ugh, because it's the same as asking... 'Hey, Cas, if you had to, who would you rather sleep with, Dean or Sam?'"

"Don't answer that," Dean said slowly, with a frown.

"Not so amusing now, is it?" George smirked triumphantly at him.

"Well, I don't sleep but if you're saying I have to, then I guess I'd rather not-sleep with Sam," Castiel determined, after some thought.

"What?!" Came a half offended, half surprised echo from the front.

George's eyes lit up with far too much glee, "Oooooh?"

"Yes, definitely Sam," He nodded, more sure than before. Seeing their expressions - George's filled with joy, Dean's slightly hurt, and Sam pleasantly shocked - he explained, "Dean is an angry sleeper. The risk of getting shot is high. Sleeping-or not-with Sam would be far safer."

"Oooh, darn!" George laughed disappointedly at Cas' unexpected-yet-entirely-expected literal interpretation. The brothers looked relieved and also mildly amused.

Cas was lost, "I fail to understand what this has to do with-"

Dean 'ughed' deeply before explaining, "It's about sex, Cas." Sam cringed, eyes focused on the road. George groaned painfully and turtled her head inside her shirt as much as possible. "You essentially asked George which one of us she'd rather have sex with. Which-while incredibly entertaining for me-is a personal question," he finished uncharacteristically kindly.

George peeked her eyes out, surprised to see the sincere look on Dean's face, "Hmm, that actually wasn't as bad as I thou-"

Sam cut her off with a quiet, knowing, "Wait for it."

Just as George made eye contact with Dean he added, "I mean, it's none of our business how much sex George wants to have with Sam."

"And there it is," Sam finished knowingly with a frustrated eye roll.

"Ass!" George shrieked and punched Dean in the shoulder before retreating back into her shirt. Dean laughed heartily, flinching a bit.

"So, anyway," Sam began helpfully, trying to change the subject. "I'm kinda curious how much the show-the one of us, in-in your reality-how much it matches up with our real lives?"

George slowly came out of her shirt, blinking quickly, and thought for a moment, "Uhm, well I don't really know. I mean I've watched the show but like I said before, I wasn't the biggest fan in terms of… for lack of a better term, 'the lore' of it. I know bits and pieces here and there, but I'm by no means an expert."

"But you don't have the books?" Dean followed up curiously.

"The books are in the show, but I'm pretty sure they aren't published in… my 'real life'-who knows what the hell that is anymore. If I understand correctly, each book was supposed to equate to one episode in a season of the TV show. The published books stopped when Dean went to hell right?" Dean grumbled a yes and George continued, "OK, for the TV show that's the end of season three."

"How many seasons are there?" Dean asked curiously.

"Uhh, I think fifteen, so far?" Had it been canceled? She couldn't remember.

"Fifteen?! People have been watching our lives for-" Dean cut off and took a breath. "I can't decide if I'm annoyed that people are watching our boring ass lives for that long or that our lives are dramatic enough to be a television show for that long."

"What season did we come to your reality?" Sam wondered. Dean 'ughed' loudly at the memory.

With an amused shake of her head, she answered, "Season six, I think? Such a great episode! That whole season was pretty solid, actually. A great combination of funny yet emotionally gripping. I think that was also Cas and Meg kissing-" She looked at Cas earnestly and interjected into her own rambling, "That was awesome-and the posse magnet episode-which, btw, of course, people made shirts of that." For once in this conversation Dean looked happy, giving Sam a pleased expression, which garnered an eyeroll.

"If I'm not mistaken that was also the season with soul-" she was about to say "soulless Sam" but her heart twinged and she realized she couldn't be so flippant with the fandom created monikers anymore. These were no longer just characters, they were, inexplicably, very real people whom she now knew.

And cared about, she heard a tiny voice add.

"Er, it covered Sam's time after hell…without a soul," She grimaced a bit in sympathy, not knowing how best to fill in the blanks.

Sam's face went from startled to shame on a small delay. Further confirmation that she knew of the million awful things he'd done, he grimaced. If she knew everything it could not bode well. The thought filled him with a surprising amount of disappointment.

She'd seen the look on his face and quickly added with a hopeful smile, "And it also covered the time after you got your soul back! Which included the French Mistake!"

"The French Mistake?" Castiel asked.

"The one when they came to my reality!" George grinned and Dean made a yuck face. "You guys had so much great chemistry that episode. Making fun of their names and the alpacas, it was golden. Can't say enough about how hilarious that episode was. I was surprised by the dialogue about their tension on set because that's actually always been rumored to be true. It seems weird that they'd talk about it if it was true, though, so who knows what to think?" The men in the car certainly didn't but they nodded politely and let her ramble. "So, either it's all just stupid rumors and they find it funny or-HOLD ON!" Suddenly her face fell and she looked at Sam in shock upon realizing, "Did you sleep with Jared's wife?"

Three pairs of eyes were boring into Sam and he shrunk down in his seat, looking stunned and stuttering, "Er-I-Uh-You-you know abou-"

"You had sex with fake Ruby?!" Dean was beyond indignant.

"Who's Jared?" Cas asked.

Sam looked mortified and George instantly felt bad about starting them down this path. She hadn't meant to embarrass him, she just failed to think before she spoke sometimes. Especially after realizations like that. Obviously, this whole "Supernatural is real" had more ramifications than she'd realized.

Making a mental note to maybe ask him about it later, she quickly changed the subject, "They were filming the French Mistake when we lost Misha." Frowning sadly, she patted Castiel's knee, "I want you to know I was devastated about that. Misha was my favorite Castiel."

Castiel looked confused, glancing at Sam and Dean, "Thank you?" She smiled and squeezed his knee gently before letting go. "So, in your reality, I'm dead?" Castiel asked with a contemplative look.

"Well…" She paused, trying to think of how to explain it so he would understand, "you're not-er Castiel is not. But the actor who played the vessel you're currently inhabiting is."

"Jimmy Novak?" Castiel confirmed and George nodded a bit.

"That sounds right," She agreed; she'd only seen the episode once so she couldn't be sure. "When Misha died tragically in that horrible stabbing 'accident,' the writers were just going to write Castiel out of the show but the fandom fired upon them with the white hot rage of a Deastiel shipper left unsatisfied," Her eyes were wide with emphasis; Sam snickered, Dean huffed and Castiel was oblivious, "so they quickly brought you back in a new vessel a couple episodes later." {author's note: yes I prefer 'Deastiel', it makes the most sense for the mashup of both their names IMO and it's my story}

The three men considered the scenario for a minute. Sam seemed unsure, Dean wondered what the new actor looked like, and Cas paused, then nodded, "Well, I suppose that makes sense. If I could find another vessel willing and able to hold me I'd want to still be around to help." George smiled at his loyalty. She hadn't realized how much she'd missed MishaCas. The replacement actor was fine but to her, the chemistry was never the same.

George said absentmindedly, "As far as I can tell-though my knowledge is obviously limited-most of the rest of the story line from the show has been the same here? Castiel's the only major difference I recognize."

After a long, pregnant pause, Dean asked tentatively, "So… exactly, how much do you know about us?"

George squinted a little at him and asked, "What do you mean?"

"Well… like, do they show everything?"

George smirked and shook her head, "It's basic cable not HBO. Maybe a handful of shirtless scenes but nothing Game of Thrones graphic. The focus of the show is the supernatural-is you guys, hunting and saving and all that, so not really a lot of romantic, naked stuff. The focus of the fandom, on the other hand? Well that's a very different story," She cracked with a chuckle.

The next nine or so hours of their car ride passed fairly uneventfully as George rambled about the show, asking them questions and comparing notes about their lives. Dean took over driving after a pitstop and as the hours turned into nearly day(s), everyone-including Cas-started getting a little punchy, not to mention ripe. Nice, fun friendly games of I-Spy or the license plate game had dissolved into butt-hurt bickering and the silence that returned to the car for the last two hours had been welcomed by everyone.

Finally, though, George caught a road sign for Reno, Nevada - 30 miles and decided she couldn't take it anymore. She was sore, tired, tired of wearing a bra, in desperate need of a shower-or three, and she didn't know how much longer she could keep silently farting and blaming it on Cas. Luckily for her, he remained his usual indifferent self but Dean certainly seemed to be getting suspicious of the smells emanating from the back. She also made the startling realization that she had no change of clothes with her during one of her earlier daydreams about a long hot bath. Hopefully she'd made enough headway with Dean for him not to be too pissed when she mentioned it.

"Hey, I have a fun new game we could try." George paused to allow the three grumpuses to groan in unison before continuing, "it's called let's stop in a real town-say Reno!-and get some actual food and maybe a hotel room for some actual sleep for the first time in 24 hours! Any takers?" She tried to keep her expectations low. "Dean, I bet Reno has great pie."

"You know what George?" Dean began in a mock angry voice, pausing for dramatic effect. "They have some damn good pie in Reno. Remember that one place just off the 659, Sammy? That pie was orgasmic! What was that place called…"

"Brown Cub Diner?" George offered.

"That's it! How'd you know?"

"I'm from Carson City; I grew up around here. Brown Cub Diner is famous in our area. Have you tried their pancakes? They have a special sweet cream batter and those flapjacks just melt in your mouth." She saw Dean's reaction and could almost taste the hot, bubbly bath water and nice soft warm (flat!) mattress. She pressed on, "I think we're only about 30 minutes from there?"

"Ya know Dean, we have been driving for about 24 hours. Obviously, we need to get to Jack but we're of no use to him if we're sore and exhausted. Wouldn't be such a bad idea to take a break, get some good food, take a shower," he gave an exaggerated, unpleasant smell look in George's direction and she swatted his shoulder, "and recharge before hitting the road for the last stretch?" George could have kissed Sam for the assist, even if he did use it as an excuse to call her funky. Rude.

"Fine," Dean huffed and everyone, well Sam and George, Cas was pretty indifferent, celebrated with high fives. "But we're getting pie-and pancakes-first!"

"Uh, if I could just interject one quick additional favor?" George asked, causing Dean to let out a low exasperated, yet questioning growl. "I literally only have the clothes on my back and seeing as how there also happens to be a Target just off the freeway on Sparks Blvd coming up in 2 miles," she pointed to the excellently timed street sign they were passing, "then perhaps we could make a super quick stop so that I could get a change of clothes or two?" It all came out in one breath and she stopped to catch her next. "Pretty please?"

Dean remained silent as he drove the next two miles and George was starting to feel deflated. But when he pulled off the Sparks Blvd exit, she wrapped her arms around his neck from behind for a thank you hug, causing him to swerve slightly and curse before gently sloughing her off. They arrived at Target and Dean parked toward the back, keeping his baby away from any other riff raff cars. Turning off the engine, he then produced a wallet from his back pocket. He dug out a small stack of $20s and handed it to her.

"We typically like to pay for things, Sticky Fingers." Dean began.

"With all your stolen money?" She asked cheekily, because she just couldn't help herself either. He was the quintessential big brother and it set her little sister mode on 11 every time.

He paused and gave her a squinted stare before continuing, "In and out in 30 minutes; those flapjacks are calling my name!"

She thanked Dean for the cash, promising to pay him back before realizing how impossible that was, and the three boys decided to wait in the car while she ran in.

Heading first for the toiletries for some personal essentials, she then doubled back toward the front where she picked up a generic pair of tennies-comfort and function seemed more important than style in her current situation-and a packet of white socks. Next she grabbed up two half-decent bras and a pack of underwear before crossing over to the racks of outerwear. She'd tried to work out in the car how many items she'd need and to keep things conservative she figured a two-three pair of pants and the same amount of plain shirts would suffice. She'd finally settled on two pairs of dark denim boot cut jeans and one pair of black cotton joggers, along with two fitted, v-neck, long sleeved t-shirts, one in navy, one in maroon, a black sleeveless undershirt, and couldn't help grabbing an oversized pink and black madres plaid button down. She also grabbed a black pull over hoodie with the Friends logo, since she knew that the redwoods could get pretty cold and she was stoked that Friends was still a thing in this reality. Lastly, she grabbed a pair of plain, flowy black PJ pants and a large men's pale blue v-neck tee for sleeping, and made her way toward the register.

As she waited in line with her cart, spacing out about whether or not she grabbed too much or not enough of each clothing item, she caught a glimpse of something familiar out of the corner of her eye. Three lanes away from her a short, chubby woman with mousy, short brown and graying hair, wearing a familiar pale green jacket was also checking out. From behind, the woman looked exactly like George's mother and she felt whiplashed back to her reality.

"Mom?" Her voice came out scratchy and quiet as she involuntarily called out to the woman. Part of her felt compelled to scream out, run over and grab her into a hug, listen happily as her mom comfortingly told George that everything was OK and she'd just been dreaming. But she was frozen in place by shock. Her heart pounded in her chest as she watched the woman-her mother! She was sure of it!-finish her transaction and head for the front door. George looked back at her cart and the money in her hand. She debated with herself for half a second before abandoning the shopping cart and bolting after the pale green jacket that had exited the store and disappeared from her sight. She made chase, stopping at the edge of the sidewalk in front of the store and frantically searching the parking lot for the woman.

When George finally spotted her unloading her purchases into a car she didn't recognize, George's stomach dropped. She could now see her face and it was very clear that the lovely middle eastern woman was not her mother. Tears began welling up in George's eyes, her face flushed red from emotion, and she walked over to lean on the building, trying to get a hold of herself.

Her mind was racing and she was trying to catch her breath in her panicked state. She had gotten so swept up in the adventure and insanity of this dreamlike experience that she'd forgotten about her actual life for the past 24 hours. But now that she thought about her old, boring normal life-a life where she wasn't crazy; where she wasn't feeling this constant, strange, unshakable feeling of inaccessible deja vu; where she wasn't carpooling with an angel to go rescue someone from potential death; where she wasn't conversing with Sam and Dean motherfucking Winchester-she wanted to run. All knowledge of how difficult and far-from-perfect her real life had been were forgotten in the moment. She glanced over toward the back of the parking lot where she could still see the Impala parked where she'd left it, then pulled the money out of her pocket, counting through it - $300.

As fate would have it, she spotted a taxi dropping a couple off near the corner of the building and jogged over.

"Are you taking fares?" She bent over to ask the driver as the couple walked away.

"Where you going?"

"Carson City?" George almost hoped the woman would turn her down.

"That's nearly 40 miles away, it's gonna be over $100?" The driver responded, questioningly. George shot one last guilty look back at the Impala before climbing into the back.

"Let's go." She crouched down low in her seat as they exited the parking lot and tried to ignore the intense guilt-nausea building in the pit of her stomach.

[builder051]

Hi! If you're still taking prompts, what about Steve getting a concussion on a mission that makes him really sick, but he manages to hide it until he gets home to Bucky?

Here you go!  I know, long wait, but hopefully it was worth it.  This is on the long side, about 3500 words.  When I write mission fics (which is not often), I feel the need to set up a decently plausible mission with plot and stuff…  So hopefully this works for you.

Somewhat-canon ‘verse.

___________________________________

I get knocked down…but I get up again…you’re never gonna keep me down…

Steve’s flat on his back, and the words echo blankly in his head.

What the fuck?

It’s so dusty.

And he’s so…tired?

I get knocked down…

There’s…is that a hole in the ceiling?  Dilapidated rafters and corrugated metal sheets are busted out of the way to allow a view of the blue sky and a shaft of warm sunlight to hit the floor.

A little unorthodox for a skylight.

“Cap?”

Steve’s almost sure he heard the sound with his ears, but he can’t be positive.

Why is he lying on his back?

Steve pushes over to his side, then uses his arms to hoist himself up to seated.  Immediately the world shifts around him, and his hand slips against the dusty concrete.  The floor seems to have become the wall, but he’s still stuck to it…

I get knocked down…

Why is that damn song stuck in his head?

Isn’t he supposed to be doing something?

“Cap?  Steve?”

Yep, definitely supposed to be doing something.

“Hey, what happened?”  Footsteps echo toward him.  Nat’s face materializes upside down over him.  “You ok?”

“Yeah, sure.”  Steve raises himself up to a sitting position again, and the floor-wall miraculously returns to its original position, though it leaves Steve with a wave of dizziness reverberating through his skull.  Which hurts.

“Did you get hit?”

“Must have.”  Steve’s voice sounds oddly echoey.

“Must have, as in, you’re not sure?” Nat asks, her eyebrows going up.

“It was a pretty hard hit,” Steve admits.  Or at least that’s what he thinks he’s doing, as he still doesn’t remember it.  He picks himself up off the floor, automatically brushing dust from his deep blue suit and freshly polished shield.

“That’s what your helmet’s for, dumbass,” Nat teases him.  But her eyes flick from his face to his hairline, searching for a visible wound.

Steve doesn’t think there is one, but he runs his gloved hands over his head to be sure.

“Really, why’d you take off your helmet?” Nat asks.

Steve knows the answer to this.  He just can’t make it make any sense in his head because the context has evaporated.  “Better to talk to civilians without it.”

“Oh.  You found the hostages?”

Did he?  Steve glances around as quickly as he can, trying to get his bearings back without upsetting the precarious balance of his head on his shoulders.  The more he moves, the more it feels like a brass band it setting up shop in his skull.

The abandoned warehouse is starting to look more familiar now.  That busted-up sheet metal half-wall thing, that’s concealing the posts where the hostages are chained up.  Steve enunciates that to Nat as clearly as he can, then casually palpates the back of his head where it vaguely feels like he’s being smashed repeatedly with a hammer.

Now Nat’s saying something, and Steve’s missed the beginning of it.  “…when they’re coming back, but we need to move them now.”

“Huh?”

“Are you ok?” Nat asks, looking concerned again.

“Yeah,” Steve assures her.  “Just…still shaking it off.”  Although Steve’s sure that if he shakes anything, especially his head, he’s going to fall over.

“Ok, well, finish shaking and cover me.”  Nat draws a gun from the collection on her belt and starts across the warehouse.

Steve keeps pace with her jog, but clenches his teeth together as the motion jostles his stomach.  It’s as if wire-fine neurons have re-woven themselves to as to directly connect his head and abdomen.  One step equals one throb equals one swallowed wave of disgustingness.

The scruffy-looking group of coal miners chained up in the corner of the warehouse start whooping and cheering when they see Nat and Steve coming toward them.

“Shh, stop,” Nat commands them.  “They might hear you and come back.”

Steve’s just grateful it’s quieter again.  The sound had been wreaking havoc like drumbeats in his head.

“We saw you get slammed earlier, Cap,” one of the miners says with an Appalachian drawl.  “Didn’t know if we’d be lucky enough to see you come rescue us.”

“It wasn’t too bad,” Steve says, trying to convince himself that his words are true.  “You’re all ok?  They haven’t hurt you?”

“Not yet,” the miner replies.  “Kept threatening that we’d be the fuel in their new clean energy rig, but, honestly, we’re used to hearing shit like that.”

“Well, they probably meant it,” Nat says, using a miniature pulsar beam on her wrist to start cutting through the chains around one man’s wrists.  “HYDRA’s no joke.  But what the hell they’re doing out here in the middle of nowhere…It is more like a tease than a threat.”

“Hey, this isn’t nowhere,” the miner pipes back up.  “We live here.”

“Yeah, she didn’t…” Steve has to blink hard to ground himself and regain his train of thought.  “…didn’t mean it.”

“You gonna help or stand there?” Nat barks in response.

“Oh.  Help,” Steve replies.  He uses the edge of his shield to bash the chains holding one the nearest miner’s feet to the thick concrete post.  The resulting clang is enough to make Steve want to curl up with his hands over his ears.

“Yikes.  Maybe I don’t want you to help,” Nat says, cringing herself at the loud noise.  “Just stand watch and see if the creeps in the gas masks come back… oh shit.”

Steve follows Nat’s gaze and immediately lifts his shield in front of his chest.  Two black-clad figures with bulky masks over their faces are sprinting for the cluster of hostages.  They don’t immediately look harmful, but with the threat of alien tech and something akin to nuclear power, no chances can be taken.

Nat’s drawing another gun out of its holster, one that shoots paralyzing beams instead of bullets.  “I’m on ‘em,” she says.  “Keep working on the hostages.”

“Roger,” Steve replies.

The gun fires loudly, and as the sound reverberates through Steve’s head, his vision blurs.  He takes out a good chunk of the concrete floor before he’s able to adjust the edge of his shield and bust through more of the chains.

The second gunshot sends Steve’s hands to his knees.  He struggles to hold onto clarity as he swallows his stomach back down into its proper place.

I get knocked down…

Why is that stupid song still hanging around?  He’s got much more important things to think about…like trying his damndest not to barf, and cutting chains, and covering Nat’s six…

“They didn’t unleash some weird bio-weapon on you, did they?”  Nat’s at his shoulder, poking him back to standing upright.

“Don’t think so.”

“That’s good,” Nat says, going back to lighting up chains with her mini pulsar.  “But you’re acting weird, you know?”

Steve shrugs.  Through the fuzz in his head, he’s starting to suspect what might be wrong.  He doesn’t want to think about it, though.  He’d die of embarrassment if he had to go to a head injury safety lecture for forgetting to put on his goddamn helmet.

“Ok, that’s it, freeing up the last of them.  Two operatives incapacitated, doesn’t look like there are any more,” Nat’s saying.

Steve’s confused at first.  Then it dawns on him that she’s talking into her comm, probably with Fury on the other end.  But Steve should be on the call too.  He feels for it with clumsy fingers, but the little piece of metal and plastic that should be poised on the edge of his ear canal is gone.  It probably fell out when he hit the ground earlier.

“Alright.  We’re headed out,” Nat says.  She turns toward the group of rescued miners and informs them that there’s a cadre of police cars outside the warehouse and a little ways down the hill. They should be safe now, and the regular police corps will take over from here, helping the miners and arresting the injured HYDRA agents.

“And we’re done.  We’re leaving,” she adds to Steve.  “Did you lose your comm, too?  God, you’re a mess today.”

“Yeah,” Steve says absently.  He tries to plug his brain back in against the throbbing backbeat.  “That was it?  Just those two guys?”

“Looks like it,” Nat says.  “But with the lack of tech and stuff in their hideout, I’m wondering if they were just some weirdo sympathizers instead of actual HYDRA operatives.”

“Hm.”  The glossy black Hummer that’d driven them out of DC and into Appalachia is waiting, burning fuel as it idles in a gravel driveway.  Steve opens the door and flops gratefully onto the richly cushioned backseat.  The air conditioning is blasting, and Steve positions his head so he’s in the direct path of the breeze.  It dries the sheen of sickly sweat on his forehead, making him feel better for all of one moment.

The drive from rural Virginia back to the DC Metro area is set to take a couple hours.  At first the prospect of lounging across the roomy backseat is appealing.  All Steve wants to do is rest.  But when the Hummer starts bumping down the hilly terrain toward the main road, Steve has to clamp his teeth together so his head doesn’t flop off and start rolling across the floor.

Nat’s tapping on an iPad, getting a head start on the mission report paperwork and playing Angry Birds.  At least, that’s what Steve thinks she’s playing.  The squawking sound effects seem somewhat familiar.  Waves of sleepiness compete with nausea washing over Steve’s head and chest.  He leans the side of his head against the cool glass of the window and lets his eyes drift shut.

“You alright?” Nat asks, jolting Steve back into painful awareness.

“Hm?  Yeah,” Steve says, trying to swallow the vertigo that’s loping from his forehead down to his lap.  “Just tired.”

“I didn’t think it was that strenuous.”  She’s talking about the mission.  “Did you not sleep last night or something?  Bucky keeping you up?”

“Yeah,” Steve agrees, still trying to work out the shift in topic and decode what Nat just said.

“Good stuff or bad stuff?”

“Huh?”

“Were you guys boning or dealing with nightmares?”

“What the— geez, Nat, I don’t talk about that stuff.”  How the hell did the conversation morph to include his sex life?  He’s not firing on all cylinders.  Something’s definitely wrong.

Steve’s had a concussion before.  All this, the severe headache, the mental fog, the tiredness, the strong urge to puke, is dreadfully familiar.  There’s nothing to be done except lie down and throw up and feel stupid while someone asks inane questions about the president and the date and things Steve still has trouble with even when he’s feeling fine.  He just wants to go home.

Steve does his best to stay awake for the duration of the drive.  The sound effects from Nat’s game and his own nausea do a good job of keeping him from drifting off, but the soft rumble of the Hummer’s engine is a difficult lullaby to resist.  By the time they’re rumbling past the shops and neighborhoods of Falls Church, Steve’s barely holding onto his consciousness and his stomach.

He wants more than anything to be home, and it would be just too much to drive by the townhouse and go on to SHIELD.  “Hey,” Steve says, swallowing down bile and raspiness.  “Can we…can you drop me off at my house?”

The agent driving the Hummer turns his head to look at Steve, obviously perplexed by the unconventional request.

“Why?  You have to debrief, see medical, finish up the mission paperwork,” Nat says.

“Yeah, I…I’ll come back in a little bit,” Steve forces out.  “It’s just…Buck’s got an appointment.  I forgot about it till now.  He wanted me to go with him…”  It’s a complete lie, but Steve’s desperate.

“You are so weird today,” Nat sighs, shaking her head.

The driver seems to take pity on him, though, and asks where to turn off.  Steve directs him to the complex of townhomes, then lets out an exhale of relief when the huge, thundering car pauses at the end of his driveway.

“Thanks,” Steve says.  “I’ll, uh, see you soon.”  He had told Nat he’d come back, right?  He doesn’t exactly remember…

“You better,” Nat replies.  Then, somewhat softer, “I’ll call you.”

“Yeah, ok,” Steve mumbles.  He grabs his shield and opens the car door, gripping it tightly as he steps onto the concrete of the driveway, which may or may not be moving under his boots.

Steve fumbles in his pocket for his keys and shakily unlocks the front door.  The Hummer is speeding away down the road, and Steve’s relieved it’s going.  His stomach is wedged so far up his throat he’s not sure he’ll be able to hold it down for the next minute as he gets into the house.

Sweat beads up on what feels like every inch of his face and body.  Steve feels the knob turn in his hand, and he nearly walks into the flat of the grey painted door because he can’t get it open fast enough.

“Hey,” he hears Bucky call from somewhere in the vicinity of the kitchen.

Steve’s on the point of replying, but when he opens his mouth, a gag and a rush of undigested stomach contents beat down the words.  He reaches for the wall and braces himself, doubled over, as he vomits all over the doormat.

“The fuck?”  Bucky’s footsteps pound around the corner and into the entryway, and he’s quickly at Steve’s shoulder, supporting his trembling form.  “What happened?”

“God, my head,” Steve exhales, trying to push his stomach back down to its normal location.  He fails miserably and his throat goes into contraction again.

“Ok,” Bucky soothes, sidestepping the puddle of sick and peeling Steve away from the wall.  “Do you wanna come into the bathroom, maybe?”

“No, I’m…I’m ok,” Steve breathes heavily and squeezes his eyes shut, hoping he’s finished retching for the moment.

“Alright, well, at least come lie down,” Bucky says.  “Do you think you can handle the stairs?”

“Probably,” Steve says, trying to give off more confidence than he actually feels.

“Ok, come on.”  Bucky’s metal arm wraps securely around Steve’s waist, and they start slowly up the stairs.  Steve grips the railing tightly, and he feels the whole thing shaking with the tremor in his body.  Or maybe it’s just his unsteady brain playing tricks.

Once in the bedroom, Steve immediately flops onto the end of the bed, letting his body rest horizontally while his feet remain on the floor.

Bucky starts unlacing his boots, tugging gently and asking, “Alright.  What happened?  You were fine this morning.”

“I think I…got hit.  In the head,” Steve whispers, drawing his hands up over his face.

“What?  And medical released you, even though you’re barfing all over the place?”

Steve lets the words sink in.  “Sorry,” he rasps.  Then, “I…haven’t been yet.”

“Why?  You need medical attention.”  Bucky finishes removing Steve’s boots and starts looking for the zipper to release him from his suit.

“They’re not gonna do anything for a concussion…” Steve mutters, tossing his arm over his eyes to block out the light.  “Just need to…be sick for a couple hours.  I’ll be fine.”

“You’re concussed?” Bucky says, concern melding with surprise.

“I think so,” Steve replies.  He massages between his eyes, but it only succeeds in bringing the underlying current of nausea up to the surface.  “Buck, I’m gonna throw up again.”

“Hold on a sec,” Bucky says.  He sprints away into the ensuite and returns with the small trash can.  The world tips maddeningly as Steve heaves himself back to sitting and retches into the white plastic bin.

“God, I’m sorry,” Steve apologizes on a hitching breath.  He feels like a collection of parts strung together in the most illogical way.  The sweat dripping down his forehead makes his shoulder cramp, which brings an ache to his low back, and then forces another wave of stomach acid up his throat.

“It’s ok,” Bucky soothes, adjusting the trash can in Steve’s limp grip.  “But, are you sure you don’t want to go to medical?  I mean, I can take care of you and all, but…”  He trails off, patting Steve on the back.

“It’ll…heal itself up in a few hours.  I’ll be fine by tomorrow morning.”  He wipes his mouth on the back of his hand.

“Hey.”  Bucky softly swats Steve’s shoulder.  “Don’t do that.  I’ll get you something to clean up with.”

“Ok.”  Steve releases the trash can to the floor and watches it settle between his feet.

The washcloth is cool on his face and neck.  The breeze of the air conditioning bites into his clammy skin when Bucky helps him out of his suit.  The bed pillows are soft under his head, but there must be a rock or something right below them.  Perhaps it’s under the mattress, or pressing up through the foundation of the house…

“Hey, wake up for a second,” Bucky says.  He lightly massages Steve’s shoulder.  “How do you feel?”

“Nauseous.”

“Do you want to throw up, or try to answer some questions?”

“God.  Neither.”  Steve tries to turn onto his side, but his stomach threatens mutiny, and he stays stationary on his back.

“Let’s try for a couple questions,” Bucky encourages.  “Who’s the president of the United States?”

“Do you know who’s the president of the United States?” Steve hoarsely mumbles back.

“Yeah, I do, but I’m asking you,” Bucky laughs quietly.

“Uh…Truman.  I mean, Obama.  But, no, um…Donald…?”  Steve shuts his eyes and scrubs his palm over them.

“What year is it?”  Bucky asks.

The bed is a raft, floating on an angrily choppy ocean.  “I think…” Steve swallows thickly.  “I’d rather throw up.”

The next thing Steve knows, the phone is ringing.

“Hey, it’s Nat, do you want to talk to her for a sec?” Bucky’s asking him.

“No.”  Steve wants to go back to sleep.  Maybe take some Excedrin.  Or go to town on a bowl of peppermint ice cream.  His mouth tastes terrible.

“Naw, he’s ok.  Kind of sick and a little confused, but he’s already pulling himself back together.”

Steve blinks.  Or, at least he thinks he does.  The bedroom is much darker than it was, and the cool glow of moonlight sifts in through the curtained window.

Bucky’s lying on his stomach, his arm tucked around Steve’s chest and his chin resting lightly on Steve’s shoulder.  The strong scent of pine-sol hangs in the air.  “Hey,” he whispers when he sees Steve’s eyelids flutter.  “You were talking in your sleep a little bit.”

“Huh?”  Steve grunts.  “What about?”

“I get knocked down or something like that.”

“Oh.”  Steve can’t fight the smile that’s spreading across his face.  He presses his palm over his forehead, cooling the lingering headache and attempting to force his thoughts into an intelligible order.  “That song.  It’s been stuck in my head.”

“That’s funny,” Bucky chuckles.  “Only you’d be enough of a punk to get a concussion and start singing about it.”

“Shut up.”  Steve weakly shoves Bucky’s metal shoulder.

“You feel better?”

“Yeah,” Steve replies.  “Not completely great, but I don’t think my head’s going to fall off now.”

“Well, I guess that’s an improvement.”  Bucky laughs again.  “How’s your stomach?”

Steve considers for a moment.  The slightly seasick feeling that accompanies any bad headache remains pressing slightly into his temples.  But it’s such an upgrade from the gale force of sickly vertigo from earlier that it hardly rates.  “Pretty good, I think,” Steve says.  Then, “Sorry you had to clean up so much.”

“It’s no problem,” Bucky says.  “I’m just relieved you’re back in your right mind.  You had me a little worried there.”

“I’m ok.”

“Yeah.  Good thing, too,” Bucky murmurs, lifting his head up from Steve’s shoulder.  “Now, you wanna come downstairs and get something to eat, or are you gonna demand bedside service?”

“Well, you’re pretty good at the whole bedside service thing, but then you’d leave me up here…”  Steve ruffles his fingers through Bucky’s hair.

“I know you still don’t feel good,” Bucky says.  “You’re clingy.”

“Is that really a bad thing, though?”

“No,” Bucky smiles.  “Not at all.”