#we drove out to watch the sunrise like three nights in a row

[maysthoughts]

Pula, Croatia 2022

was anyone ever so young?

[lady-divine-writes]

Kurtbastian - “Always and Forever”

Summary: After the death of their daughter Grace, Kurt and Sebastian drift apart. Kurt wraps himself up in his grief so tightly he starts to push Sebastian away, and Sebastian, feeling himself shoved aside when he needs Kurt most, cheats. They make the decision to start over, to leave New York City and their pain behind, and start over again in a house Upstate. Sebastian buys Kurt a "fixer upper" and gives him free reign. While redecorating the room that will be his studio, Kurt comes across something interesting underneath the wallpaper. It starts to become an obsession for Kurt - an obsession that begins to replace Kurt's love for his husband, which Sebastian is holding on to by a thread. Can Kurt and Sebastian break through the pain and the hurt and find a way to fall in love again?

Notes: Inspired by the Klaine advent drabble prompt "ache". So this is a story I started a while ago, but stopped after chapter 4 because it started to get a little too real. But I’ve started revising, and now I’m ready to finish it.

Chapter 1 (3197 words)

“God! That traffic was insane, wasn’t it?” Sebastian complains, pulling off the highway and onto the less congested road that leads to the heart of Manhasset.

Kurt mutters in agreement, but he barely noticed. His right temple has been glued to the passenger side window the entire trip. Eyes pointed skyward, he watched the clouds pass by as they drove, counted the trees, followed a flock of birds as they flew off to warmer climes far, far away.

Away from here, the way Kurt wishes he could.

“I called ahead to turn the gas on. And the electricity... ” Sebastian has been rambling about nothing for the whole hour and forty-five-minute drive, filling the tense air of the Navigator with verbal static. “We’re gonna want to air the place out for a few hours. The realtor told me it stinks like mold but that there isn’t any actual mold in the house. I hired two separate contractors to go through the place anyway and make sure. I wasn't going to take the guy's word for it. He struck me as a sandwich short of a picnic. I mean, you should have seen him, Kurt! He was wearing a purple paisley tie and brown loafers with a grey suit. And not like royal purple. That would have worked. But puce! Jesus Christ!” He chuckles. It bleeds into a nervous cough. “I didn’t say anything, but it would have been nice if you were there to give him some subtle pointers. Or not so subtle. You know how much I love seeing you in action. Oh, and we'll have to go over our insurance policy. I’m having a second independent appraiser… ”

“Are we there yet?” Kurt interrupts, preferring to focus on how the changing leaves mute the skyline than on a single word coming out of his husband’s mouth. Not that he could catch a one the way they’re sprinting off his tongue like lemmings off a cliff.

The trees soothe Kurt, smooth the rough edges of this bumpy ride. They grow differently out here than in the city: springing up in rows, displaying their fall colors, blending one into the other like an ever-changing river - red tree, yellow tree, brown tree, gold tree… 

Their daughter Grace would call out the colors on their long car rides Upstate, conjuring rhymes where there were none. They roll through his memory in her singsong voice.

Green tree… uh... lean tree!

Kurt smiles, clutching on to the sound of her voice.

He's terrified of the day he'll forget what her voice sounds like.

“Just… uh… just a few more blocks,” Sebastian replies, his attempt at chitchat cut short by his husband’s impatient tone. Despite his infinitely expressive voice, Kurt only uses three tones nowadays - angry, impatient, and indifferent. Sebastian hasn’t learned how to avoid any of them, but he hates Kurt’s indifferent tone the most. “Not too far.”

“Good. Because I’m tired of sitting in this stupid seat.” Kurt switches positions, massaging his hip for emphasis. 'Tired of sitting in this stupid seat.' That's what he said. But he meant, 'tired of being stuck in here with you.' 

And Sebastian knows it.

Sebastian turns down two streets that spiral together tighter and tighter until he and Kurt are locked in to their new neighborhood.

Locked in to their decision to move here.

“Here it is.” Sebastian pulls up to the curb at the point before the street turns into a cul-de-sac.

Kurt sits up slowly to accommodate his stiff spine and numb ass. Looking around, he sighs in frustration. “Here what is? There are five houses on this block. Which one is it?”

“Guess.” When Kurt sighs again, Sebastian says, “I’ll give you a hint – it’s one of these three,” and motions to the houses on Kurt’s right. Kurt rolls his eyes but turns to the houses closest. They all appear relatively identical – three floors with a pointed roof and a square porch, reminiscent of a gingerbread house. They probably have basements – a huge selling point in this vicinity. But they don’t call them basements Upstate. They call them cellars. Somehow, the word cellar is more refined, and therefore more acceptable than having a dull, run-of-the-mill, drafty basement.

Need that cellar so you can have the most expensive cabernet on the market on hand in case we need to drunkenly judge Sally Jones’s latest highlight fiasco.

“She should have gone with lowlights, Sharon. (sip) Haven’t I been saying that, Kayla? (sip) Haven’t I been saying that she should have stuck with lowlights? But only around her face. (sip) Ha-ha-ha-ha! Please, pass the brie.”

Kurt spent a good portion of his life living in a basement bedroom, so he’s not above the word. But he remembers a time back in high school when he thought that was the person he would grow up to be. He’d start out as one of the New York elite, then become an Upstate snob. When his kids (two of them – a boy and a girl) were grown and gone, he’d start an artists’ colony. He'd retire to a lighthouse, isolate himself in obscurity while being ironically jaded at the world.

Well, he's nearing forty, and he is jaded, but for entirely different reasons.

The house at the curve in the cul-de-sac is painted a sea green Kurt isn’t thrilled with. But that can be remedied with a bucket of paint and some elbow grease. From its position, it probably gets the bulk of the noon sun. 

There goes their electric bill. 

Kurt knows Sebastian doesn’t care about trivial things like finances, but just because they have the money to spend doesn’t mean they should shovel it out the window. Plus, there's their carbon footprint to think about. But more importantly, there goes his fair skin, which will freckle at every meal while he does nothing other than sit at the kitchen table.

No, thank you.

The house beside it is in a better position, slanted away from direct sunlight. But it’s painted a slate blue that comes across as too harsh considering the neighborhood’s neutral color scheme. Sebastian should know better than to see that house and say, “Yes. That’s it. That’s the one,” unless the inside looks like the Palace of Versailles.

The last house is also blue, but this blue borders on pale grey, a similar shade to his father’s house in Lima. A maple tree has grown through the pavement in front, shading the house and shedding its red-gold leaves all over the front yard. 

And this house has a porch swing. 

He and Sebastian used to talk about owning a home with a porch swing. It became a prerequisite for the home they wanted to retire in. Kurt pictured sitting on their swing side by side in the early mornings, sipping coffee and watching the sunrise.

Sebastian, on the other hand, talked about having sex on the thing and scaring the neighbors.

Same planet, different worlds.

“It’s this one,” Kurt guesses, gesturing to the blue-grey house. “The one with the swing. Isn’t it?”

“Don’t sound too excited,” Sebastian jokes but warily, afraid of what the fallout might be if Kurt doesn’t like it. Sebastian has been climbing a tenuous ladder to make his husband happy. One misstep and he'll plummet back to the bottom, with no certainty that Kurt will let him try to climb up again. It’s his own damn fault, Sebastian reminds himself as they get out of the vehicle. He did this to them, so he’ll let Kurt lash out, let him bare his teeth and his claws, let him dig in with both hands and rip.

Sebastian deserves it.

He leads Kurt up the walkway in silence, past the tree and the swing. He unlocks the front door and pushes it open, standing back so Kurt can be the first one over the threshold. Kurt takes his time, poking his head in first, then taking a hesitant step. This is an all-or-nothing moment for him. In his heart, once he walks inside, there's no turning back.

He sets his foot down, rests his weight on it, and a dozen memories come flooding back: the house he lived in with his mom and dad, the house he and his dad moved into when his dad remarried, the dorm rooms he suffered from high school to college.

The first night he spent in Sebastian's penthouse, the excitement of feeling like he'd found his true home.

The house he dreamed of raising Grace in. 

In the end, they stayed in the penthouse for convenience. He regrets not getting her an actual house with a yard and a swing.

Like this one.

The irony.

The room lists, Kurt's head swims, but he wraps his arms around himself and doesn't let it show. He focuses on the here and now. He's taken a step. He just needs to take another. And another. Keep going. Keep moving forward, or else he'll crumple to the ground.

And Sebastian will rush to catch him.

Kurt would rather bury himself under the porch.

Kurt breathes in through his nose and out through his mouth, relies on a cold and detached demeanor to help him instead of the strong arms of his husband.

This house has a different feel from the open floor plan of the penthouse they've been living in since college. It's cramped around the corners, with a lot more shadows and a lot less noise. Sebastian likes that better. He’s an Ohio native, same as Kurt. But unlike Kurt, he considers himself a country boy. Even though Sebastian built his identity around becoming a state's attorney like his father, he loved the quiet life: wide-open spaces, blue skies, unhurried, and just plain normal. 

Kurt saw Ohio as a cage he couldn't wait to break free from.

Sebastian could have bought Kurt any house he wanted. In that vein, Sebastian feels like a heel for jumping on this one without consulting Kurt first. He reasoned that he'd been the one house hunting, not Kurt. So when a contact told him that the owner of this house, a house Sebastian had had his eye on for a while, was finally selling, it seemed too perfect, especially considering the timing.

Sebastian bent over backward to rescue it from escrow.

Kurt didn't want to leave the city, but it was full of too much pain for him to handle, too many memories, friends and acquaintances who had yet to hear the news, and those who constantly offered their condolences. Few people greeted him anymore without their smiles dropping and the words, “I’m so sorry,” coming out of their mouths, as if joy shouldn't exist around him anymore. 

It made his head, his heart, and his soul ache.

Kurt loved New York City, but there was nothing left for him there but the constant hollow thud he felt whenever he saw something that reminded him of their angel Grace. School would be starting soon. All of her friends will be moving on to the fifth grade. But his daughter...

Life ended for her too soon.

“Here.” Sebastian reaches for Kurt’s hand, but Kurt reflexively pulls it away, slipping his hands into his pockets to cover for his flinching from Sebastian’s touch. Sebastian should be used to it by now, but he isn’t. “Let me show you why I think you’re going to love this house.”

Sebastian jogs up the stairs to the next level. Kurt follows a few steps behind. When he reaches the top, he sees three doors. They pass the first two without mention. Sebastian opens the last.

“Here.” Sebastian crosses to the opposite side and throws open one of two windows, filling the musty space with the crisp bite of autumn. “I thought this room could be your new studio.”

Sebastian knows him too well. The room is perfect. Even at dusk, it’s flooded with natural light. It looks out over the rooftops of the other houses, giving him a view of the surrounding forests and orchards stretching way past the highway. With a little TLC, it could look just like his studio in their penthouse.

Or he can turn it into something new.

Start with a clean slate.

“What are the other two rooms?” Kurt asks offhandedly. He doesn't need to. 

He knows what the other rooms are. 

There are only two rooms they can be.

“A bathroom and the master bedroom,” Sebastian answers, watching his husband stroll across the floor.

“So this would have been… ?”

“A spare? A guest room?” Sebastian shifts his weight from foot to foot, unable to find an easy groove to stand in.

Kurt frowns. No. It would have been Grace’s bedroom if she were still with them. Kurt was trying to get his husband to acknowledge that. Cruelly. But if she were with them, Sebastian wouldn’t have cheated, their marriage wouldn’t be falling apart, and they wouldn’t be running away from their problems.

“I guess I could put a foldout bed in here,” Kurt throws out as he estimates the space.

“You can if that’s what you want,” Sebastian agrees. “Or you’re just saying that to hurt me, which, if you are, you’ll be happy to know, it’s working.”

“I’m not saying that to hurt you,” Kurt eloquently lies. “I’m being practical. I’m not going to have easy access to the Vogue workshop if I live two hours away. If I expect to get a new line started, I’m going to have to pull long hours.”

Sebastian scrutinizes his husband, who’s doing his best to avoid looking at him. “You’re… thinking of starting a new line? You didn’t mention that.”

Kurt shrugs. “Did I have to?”

“No. I mean, I wasn’t sure that you would go back to designing so soon after.” 

"After?" Kurt tilts his head inquisitively but still makes no eye contact.

"After... moving. There's going to be a lot to do here. I thought you'd give yourself a year. Maybe more." Sebastian answers so quickly, Kurt wonders if he'd practiced. They talk in code, this whole conversation a carefully choreographed tango through a labyrinth of knives.

Sebastian didn't mean after moving. He meant after the death of their daughter. Kurt practically spent every spare second he wasn’t designing for work designing with her. Kurt has been a designer since high school. Aside from music, it's his passion.

Sebastian feared Grace's death might sever those harp strings.

"I think you underestimate me. Besides, you’re considering going back to working in the city after… ” 

Pivot, walk walk, close.

The dance changes. They switch places, and Kurt leads.

Kurt isn't talking about them moving or Grace.

Kurt means after Sebastian cheated. 

Kurt only agreed to move out of the city and live in a house he's never seen to keep Sebastian away from the man he's convinced will become too big a temptation to resist the next time they get into any kind of argument. Granted, it took their daughter dying for Sebastian to cheat, but Kurt figures it’ll keep getting easier from now on to come up with an excuse. 

Can't agree on where to go for dinner? Have a huge blowout over which cards to send out for Christmas? That's it! I'm sticking my dick in someone else!

“Anyway, I wouldn’t want to wake you by crawling into bed at four in the morning, not when you have to be at work at six,” Kurt finishes when he’s let that dig soak in long enough.

“I’m not going back to work for a while, remember? That’s what a leave of absence is. And even if I was, why would I mind you waking me?” Sebastian risks a grin. “In fact, I was thinking that it might be nice to get back to what we used to do in the mornings before work. I miss that.”

Sebastian holds his breath while he sees how that remark lands. He waits for Kurt to look at him. Kurt hasn’t been able to look at him, really look at him, since hungover Sebastian came home in a taxi the morning after, clothes ruined, their marriage officially in the gutter. Grace passed away six months ago, which means he’s been waiting for a while. 

He’s still waiting. 

“This isn’t all about you,” Kurt reminds him, raising his eyes to the ceiling.

Kurt didn't yell. But that doesn't mean he's not furious.

“I know,” Sebastian says softly. He rubs his cold hands together, wishing he could stick them underneath his husband’s thick, button-down sweater, and press his palms against Kurt’s skin. A year ago, Kurt would have squealed, “Bas! Your hands are freezing!” But he would have wrapped his arms around himself and held on, would have let Sebastian lean in for a kiss, would have fallen for the line, “Now that my hands are warm, maybe you can help me warm up a few other things.”

Then they would have made love on the wood floor with the door open.

If only he could make Kurt laugh the way he used to.

Then maybe Kurt would love him again.

But going by his husband’s expression, dreary as the olive sweater he holds closed with one hand at the neck, Sebastian knows that now is not the time.

“Is this what you need to make you happy?” he asks. If only it were that simple. If only a house, or a car, or a vacation could turn back the clock and erase everything that happened.

Erase everything Sebastian did, and bring their daughter back.

Kurt doesn't answer right away. He's not purposefully keeping Sebastian in suspense. He couldn't care less what's going on in Sebastian's head. This is his future he's considering. 

He's going to take his time.

He circles the room, contemplating the echo of his footsteps on the roughly finished wood, debating whether or not it's a sound he wants to hear for the rest of his life. If not, is it worth putting in the time to fix it? 

He traces the path of sunlight as it travels across the wall. That brings a new detail to his eye - a torn corner of wallpaper above the open window revealing a word underneath.

Darling.

Kurt eyes it from a distance, tries not to pay too much attention to it in case Sebastian is behind it. It doesn’t look like it was written recently. It's more than likely part of the pattern underneath. But leave it to Sebastian to try to woo his husband back with something syrupy like that. 

Something hopelessly romantic.

Something he thinks Kurt will fall for.

“No,” Kurt answers honestly, re-examining the fading wallpaper, the scuffed floors, the peeling ceiling. His gaze glances his husband’s face and settles on the dust-streaked window. He stares out at the sky, the clouds, the trees, the birds flying wild and free. He’s never going to be able to fly away like that, so he might as well accept this cage he's been given. It's what he's supposed to do, after all. “But it’s worth a try.”

He has little else left to lose.

[werezmastarbucks]

portland

honeymoon masterlist

word count: 2731

music: silently by axel flovent, tear in my heart by twenty one pilots

You got tired of driving at around two in the morning. Somehow Kennewick did not satisfy neither of you in terms of sleeping. Perhaps it was the road, nervousness of traveling, and Kai’s indifference about the current situation you got stuck in, but as soon as he snuggled against you at eleven o’clock, you felt all the sleep has escaped you like a butterfly that leaps away. He was already deep in sleep, when you decided you wanted to drive at night, and Parker was sorely unhappy about getting out of bed. While you still had moral high ground as leverage on him, while it worked, you elected to use it. Then, a couple of hours later, the tiredness returned in full swing, and you stopped in the middle of the highway (the liberating truth was that you could now stop at any point while driving, without even thinking) and made him switch seats with you. 

The portable loudspeaker he had manufactured out of a big boombox was incredibly loud and workable, and you prepped it just below the windshield. As you drifted into sleep you were thinking about how practically useful this boy can actually be, and how underrated his skills were back in the real world. Even without magic he was extremely handy. He was an amazing cook, he was insanely masterful with electronics, he was more savvy about the internet than you, the child of the web world...

You woke up because he whispered right into your ear, the most gentle order you’ve ever received in your life,

“Wake up now”.

Your neck ached, crooked unnaturally, but, as you opened your eyes, you saw what he woke you up for. Kai seemed relatively unaffected, probably having seen this a million of times; perhaps there was already an alarm clock in his head going off when it was the time for sunset. It was a first for you, though. You were already in Portland, and the car was lazily crawling along the street as the sleepy houses passed you by. Bright pink and raspberry was blooming in the sky indicating the new day, again. The light was so intense that, when you caught the reflection of yourself in the rearview mirror, you saw the shade of red on your own face. Your eyes looked sleepy and foggy. 

“Are we there yet?”

“Yeah. Are you hungry? It’s almost time for breakfast”.

You looked at the electronic wristwatch you nicked from an Epson store. It was a real nineties neat cute wrist watch, and it had lighting button which drove you insane. 

“It’s not even five yet. You’re always hungry”.

“I’ve been driving for nearly three hours. It’s draining. You fell asleep in my car, I drove the whole time, but that’s okay, I’ll just avoid the holes, so you sleep fine”, he declared. You couldn’t hold back a chuckle. He gestured towards the speaker.

“That was a good song”.

“It’s my car”, you argued benevolently, feeling very kind after three hours’ sleep. Due to the fact that Kai has been decent enough to just drive the car without waking you up. And the fact he even turned down the music a little.

“I stole it”.

“You didn’t steal it. It had no owner”, Kai replied. 

He stopped the car in a romantic gesture, and you two drowned in the morning silence, ever quieter than it even was before. The wind lay still, and no bugs buzzed in the grass. You left the car just to be in the moment, to step on the ground and feel its matter, and raised your face to the sky. This was all for you and you only, and that was the first time you asked yourself,

why do they even consider this torture?

The Parker house turned out to be more like a palace. Your head swung back and forth comparing Kai with the wedding cake looking family dwelling, trying to picture him on the porch. There was a traditional old oak that yearned swings, and the big lawn, greener than that of the Salvatore’s possession. There was whiteness of the façade and the depth of the invisible basement.

Soon Kai crawled up the stairs, and sighed, in the yellowish glow of the waking skies. 

“Welcome back home”, he murmured. You tried reading his face to see if it’s hard for him, but then reminded yourself he’s been here already, probably many times.

He’s been suspiciously tolerable these first days, you thought to yourself quietly as you wandered wordless through the living room. The first red flag fluttered in your mind when you threw a look at the banisters of the stairs leading up, and saw two ropes tied to them; they hung down, empty, with loops, like dead cat tails.

“Kai, why is it here?” you asked. The boy was already head first into the fridge in the kitchen.

He walked back to you, and sighed knowingly.

“Oh, yes. They kept the house as I left it at night. As a reminder. Go up the stairs, there’s still blood on the walls, and everything. Let’s go”.

He suddenly grabbed your hand with determination, and you sensed, on the run, like he needed to hold it. Not to guide you. You ran up the stairs, and you threw a quick look at the living room, amazed at the normality of it. One would think Malachai Parker’s house would look horrific, but his tragedy was very American. Pretty cover, bloody insides. The living room had two big couches (big family, it used to be), a very curious L shaped coffee table, and a fireplace. On the shelf above, there was a neat row of photographs of the family: everyone but Malachai, of course. They wished to forget he existed, for one reason or another. Kai’s hand led you on and you went into the long, spacious wooden hall of the second floor out of three: the blood on the walls was fresh, it glistened in the first cloud light. The patterns were thick and wide, like Kai’s been deliberately pouring it around; on the floor, there was a faint trace of his bloodied steps and something else, like he was dragging... a baseball bat? with him.

You tried not to step on the blood. The little window at the end of the hall was covered with a curtain, so it was bleak. 

“Here”, he said enthusiastically. It was obvious Kai has been psyched that someone would share the whole thing with him. No matter what part of prison it was: whether the beautiful sunrises of Washington, or the evidence of the massacre he conducted in his own house.

“Wow, whose room was it?”

“The twins. Luke and Liv”, he pushed the door to let you in. The bed was turned on the side, and there was a puddle of blood under it. The wardrobe was thrashed. 

“This is where I stabbed Jo. She hid them from me with the cloaking spell. I made her talk...” Kai muttered. His eyes were opaque, and he was focused on the memory. His sight shifted under the window.

“The-ere it is”, the witch stepped to the dark spot and picked up the bat, wrapping his fingers around the handle. There was blood on the tip of it. He swung the bat in the air in a motion that made you understand he could be a baseball star. Could have been. 

“And the banisters? Who was there?”

“I hung Ashley and Sam”, he said, putting the bat back against the wall. You observed the room. His siblings, they all had names. Ashley, Sam... those who made it to the future, the twins and his own personal enemy, Josette, felt more real because you have met them. You were there when Kai merged with Luke, you witnessed his death. But to think that some of the Parkers were left in the ninety-four, hung down from the stairs, and they were children who had names... Ashley and Sam. You didn’t even know whether Sam was a boy or a girl. You asked him.

“They were best friends, Sam and Ash. Samantha was two years older than Ashley, and she was so uptight I think somebody would have killed her one way or another. She was unbearable. So bitter she didn’t have a twin, she told everybody Ashley was her age, and that they were twins, although everyone in the coven knew they weren’t”.

“She was just a child, Kai. She wanted to be a part of this important thing, too”, you shrugged.

“Yeah, so did I. You wanna see my parents’ bedroom?”

He probably saw it in your eyes that you were slowly growing anxious about the whole murder night replay. 

“What did you do to your mom?”

“I stabbed her in the throat. She had to go first, she was a very powerful witch”, Kai said quietly, watching you closely. He was cruel in a way, leading you deeper into the bleak reality of his, trying you, curious as to how much you can take. 

“I made a mistake with dad. Should’ve stabbed him, too, but I thought I’d be untrivial, and I poisoned him. Which obviously backfired right into my face”.

Kai put his hand through his dark hair, and you realized his eyes are glowing nervously.

“What made you snap?”

“When our birthdays were coming up, I realized they’d never let us merge. Even Jo herself didn’t want it. Just so you understand, merging and even dying, as a Gemini twin, is the biggest event of your life. Even if you lose, you’re not gone. You live through your twin. You give them your power”.

You weren’t saying anything. He went on,

“You think I’m inherently evil?” there wasn’t a trace of indignation in his voice; just sheer curiosity. He never had a chance to ask that anybody. He never had this conversation. He just didn’t know at all. “They always told me I was”.

“There’s no such thing as evil, Kai. It’s a tale created for kids, to make them afraid of giving in to their instincts. There’s only pain and its consequences”.

You looked away not to seem too invested. You wondered how one can let a fellow human go on for nearly fifty years with such a grave misconception about themselves; how one can allow such violence upon their own child. Violence and negligence so intense it makes them act out so aggressively, so loudly. Every single blood stain, every broken wooden thing, every swing of a bat in the hands of now twenty-two year old Malachai, was a cry, not a roar of evil deed. He was so disfigured. He was so wounded he had to inflict pain on others to be heard. And yet they didn’t hear anything except their own screams. 

You wanted to ask him the same question, am I bad for liking you so much? But you knew he had no answer. Kai was very knowledgeable about many things; he understood many things you didn’t, but he knew nothing about the philosophy of morale. He had no deep feelings, he had no deep core in him. It was burnt clean long time ago. 

Am I evil for not feeling sorry for the kids you hung from the banisters? 

Am I bad for rooting for you when you were merging with Luke?

Am I bad for siding with you against my oldest friends?

Am I bad for being the only one who gave you the benefit of the doubt, just for the sake of being the only one?

After all, it takes just one person to keep someone from breaking. But when Malachai finally killed his family, when he reached the breaking point to never be innocent again, you were still a month away from being born. 

“Take the books outside”, you asked him.

Kai looked up from the table. He was reading diligently, not skipping pages, and watching him got tedious after three hours. While he was on it, you trod through the front and back yard; made sandwiches; studied the pictures of the kids; sneaked into the basement and got horrified at the sight of Kai’s ‘room’ there. 

(Yeah, it became my room for a while, he yapped from the kitchen. He laughed at your eyes, widened in horror, yeah, it was real pain. They kept me there when they had people over... pretended I don’t exist)

His real room used to be upstairs, underneath the roof, but it became Jo’s space eventually, and there was no trace of Malachai there. It was sad how there were so very few signs of the oldest child in the house. No posters, no shoes at the door, no jackets, no used tissues, no sports awards. No clothes, no mess, no boy things, no magazines, no CDs, no skateboard. There was a TV in the basement, and a bed, a nightstand, and a couple of comic books in the drawers of it, and you felt there was a huge chunk of Kai missing, as if they had got rid of all the things reminding of him, as if it was him who died. 

“Take the books outside”.

“Why?”

“I’m tired. I want to sleep. Let’s go into the city, find a hotel or a big house, and you can read there”.

Kai looked around as if saying, isn’t it the house enough?

You didn’t know how to explain to him that staying in this place was terrible. Kai clearly missed this place although you didn’t know what he was holding on to. The family he missed was clearly an illusion. He craved the real bond, the concept of loving community, not the actual Parker people. 

“I want to burn down this house”.

He tilted his head and his mouth twitched. 

“Have you ever done it?”

“Why would I burn my own house?” 

“You’ve spent eighteen years here, and...”

“Look”, he put up his palms defensively, “obviously, you are a very creative individual with a different way of thinking, and I haven’t done half of the things you come up with, while I was here, but if you’re gonna ask me this question every time you have an idea...”

“You know fire is cleansing, right? You should know, you’re able to control it. Isn’t fire an important element of witchery?”

“Mhm”.

He wasn’t offended by the idea. He was just a little susprised. 

As Kai stepped outside, bringing the last books into the trunk of the (ugly) Buick parked in the driveway, you watched him there on the lawn. Maybe he really was the cancer his family made him to be. He looked like a hyena looking around for a dying animal to chew on. He despised this place, and its lightness, and the fact his surviving relatives thought of the exquisite way of reminding him about what he’s done. And he went around busily, like a bee mama, at the same time.

The house still reeked of blood, and frankly, you didn’t know how he could even think about sleeping here. 

You threw a match on the couch, and another one down into the basement. You knew the house would restore as soon as midnight comes, but by that time you’ll be far away from here. Wherever the books send you to. 

You’ve never seen a house on fire so close. The heat was burning your face, and you knew it burns Kai, too, so you pulled on his hand to make him step away. 

“What sucks the most is that I had every right to merge with her”, Kai said suddenly. You had to step closer to hear him over the immense screech and cracking of the house.

There was deep, pure hatred in his voice as he spoke about his sister. You realized that his bitterness about her betrayal is still fresh, and the merge did nothing to heal it. It was personal. She was his to kill.

“I would’ve shown her if she only had given me a chance. You know? Nobody believed I could win, because I’m a siphoner. But if they only gave me a chance, I would’ve tried my best and I would’ve been a good coven leader”.

“You are already”, you said. Kai squeezed your fingers with his stiff palm.

“Once we get out”, he said, dead eyes staring into you, “there’ll be no coven. I will end every single one of them”.

[spn-safeandsound]

18. Ways to Grieve

Safe and Sound

Dean Winchester x Original Character

Episode: 2x02; Everybody Loves a Clown

Word Count: 11,378

Warning(s): Mature language, canon violence + gore, grief, mentions of sexual activities

Author’s Note: Here’s Abby’s first hunt with Julia and the boys! I hope you like the chapter. Let me know what you think. Make sure to reblog and like!

Masterlist in Pinned Post!

Julia was tossed onto the bed by Dean—he was careful of her healing wrist—her semi-naked body bouncing a couple times. She gasped and lifted her head, watching with dazed eyes as Dean pulled his t-shirt off his body, throwing it in the corner of their temporary room at Bobby's house.

"Uh-uh," Julia clicked her tongue, eyeing his jeans.

Dean rolled his eyes and unbuckled his belt, sliding it from around his waist and letting it drop to the floor. "I was getting there."

"Sure."

"Keep talking," Dean stepped out his jeans and eagerly crawled onto the bed and over her. "I might have to punish you."

"Is that a promise?" she teased him; she reached up with her good arm and hooked around his neck. Pulling him only two inches away from her lips, she whispered, "Dean."

"Hmm?"

His green eyes were on her swollen lips, where his own had been only a moment before. She could feel his erection against her stomach and she hardly felt his bare chest against her.

She arched her back, pressing her breasts against him. "Fuck me, Dean."

Dean buried his face in the crook of her neck and groaned, pressing an open mouth kiss against her sensitive flesh. She could feel his rough hands trailing from her ribs to her thighs, spreading them so he could fit between them. "With pleasure, shortcake."

Julia rolled her neck under the warm spray of the shower, trying to relax her muscles. Last night had been another night of rough sex and while she enjoyed it just as much as all the sex she had with Dean, so many nights in a row were killing her body in the mornings before she could get it warmed up with yoga or a run.

This morning was one of those days; she had woken up at five o'clock and met with Sam so the two of them could take a run while the sun came up. Sam would talk about John, airing all the grief and regret he had about his dad and Julia would listen and comforted him when he needed it, just like a best friend should do.

It had been a week since John Winchester died and they'd been at Bobby's ever since so Dean could work on his car. Beth, Taylor, and Lizzie had stayed for a couple of days, too. They picked them—and John's body—up at the hospital and drove straight to Bobby's house, staying at one of the motels in town while Julia, Dean, and Sam stayed with Bobby. Sam was a wreck, though having Lizzie there for a couple of days distracted him from his grief, and Dean was worse.

It wasn't that he was having crying meltdowns—come on, it's Dean—but instead, he had stayed stone quiet at any mention of his dad. He didn't talk about John and he would walk away if anyone mentioned him—especially Sam.

Not that it matters, but that's what would lead to the rough sex Julia and Dean had been having. He took all of his frustrations out on her—being careful not to hurt her, of course—and Julia would let him. John had just died and if sex is what would make Dean feel better, she was all for it. Of course, she wished he would just open up but Dean wasn't that kind of guy. She stood by his side, though, doing whatever she could to help him process his grief.

When Julia and Sam were done with their jog at six, Dean was already up working in the junkyard. He had been getting up earlier than usual to fix up the Impala. It had been absolutely wrecked in the accident—and according to Bobby wasn't worth the time to fix it—but Dean was determined to fix Baby back up. Both of them muttered a good morning to Dean, but he just grumbled back, sliding under the car to fix whatever damage had happened there.

From there, Julia and Sam separated. Sam went up to the guest shower to wash off and after he was down, Julia would get a turn. While Sam was taking his time in the shower, she would make breakfast just as Bobby would wake up. It had been their schedule since they arrived a week earlier.

Hearing her stomach growl, Julia rinsed out of the rest of conditioner in her hair and turned off the water. She stepped out of the shower and dried off, inhaling deeply to get a whiff of bacon once again. She quickly dressed in some leggings and a long tank-top before heading downstairs.

Dean was still outside but Bobby and Sam were seated at the kitchen table, eating their breakfast with vigor.

"How's the breakfast?" she announced her presence as she walked into the kitchen, heading straight toward the cheddar and bacon quiche with a biscuit crust she had made.

"This is great, sweetheart," Bobby smiled at her as she served herself a piece and sat in her usual seat between Dean's chair—it was empty at the moment—and Bobby's chair. "Thank you."

Julia waved him off with a sheepish smile.

"Yeah, thanks, J, it's good," Sam added.

"Thank you," she took a bite of her quiche and sighed, enjoying the flavor. "Did Dean eat?"

Bobby nodded. "He shoved a slice down his throat and went back outside. He told us to tell you thank you."

"Did he say anything else?" she prodded. "Maybe about John or how he's feeling?"

"No," Sam answered her this time. "But I found an old voicemail on Dad's phone and I think it's something we could check out. I'm gonna go talk to him after I finish eating."

Julia nodded. "Okay. What did the voicemail say?"

"It was a voicemail from Ellen," Bobby told her, giving her a pointed look.

"Ellen Harvelle? As in Jo Harvelle?"

Bobby nodded.

"So you know her, too?" Sam turned to Julia with curious eyes; Julia nodded. "How?"

"I've never met them personally but Abby talks about them all the time," she explained. "Abby hooks up with Ellen's daughter, Jo, from time to time, so—"

"Abby hooks up with the daughter?" Sam asked, eyebrows raised. "I didn't know she was bisexual."

Julia shrugged, knowing that some people may judge her sister for her sexuality but she wasn't one of them. People could love the people that they loved; she wasn't bothered by it and she proclaimed herself a proud ally for her sister. "She doesn't hide it."

"Oh," Sam hummed before shrugging casually. "Anyway, do you know why Ellen would call my dad?"

"I have no idea," Julia's eyes flickered over to Bobby. "Don't they own that bar?"

"The Roadhouse, yeah," Bobby finished the rest of his food and stood up, taking the plate to the sink. "I'll get you the address."

"Thanks, Bobby," Sam gave the older man a grateful look as he left the room; he then turned back to Julia. "I'm going to talk to Dean. Want to come with?"

"No, it's okay," Julia insisted. She wanted the brothers to have a minute by themselves; usually they were together all the time and she knew that the Winchesters needed a break from her once in a while—the same went for her, too. "You go on."

Sam nodded and went outside to talk to Dean. Even from the kitchen, where she finished her meal and started the dishes, she could feel Sam and Dean's energies clashing together. Sam was sad for his father and annoyed with Dean while Dean was guilty and angry. Each boy had more than two emotions racing around in their auras but these were the two that she could feel the strongest.

Three hours later, they were on the road in one of Bobby's cars—a minivan that hardly drove past sixty miles per hour, which was a nightmare to Dean, and had no backseat so Julia had to sit on a sheet on the dirty floor.

-

For some reason, a five-hour trip turned into something much longer. They arrived at the Roadhouse a little before sunrise the next day and by the time they parked out in front of the run-down bar, Dean was severely annoyed with the van and so on edge that Julia and Sam felt like if they said one word, he'd blow up—it wasn't the best way to travel.

Dean turned off the van with a huff, got out of his seat and opened the sliding door so Julia could get out (the sliding door happened to not have a handle on the inside, which aggravated the crap out of her). "This is humiliating!" he slammed the sliding door shut once Julia was safely out of the way. "I feel like a fuckin' soccer mom!"

Julia exchanged a half-amused, half-annoyed look with Sam as she adjusted her Nike shorts. She didn't understand how Sam and Dean could wear multiple layers of clothing in the hot weather and not die of heat exhaustion.

Sam tried to placate his brother. "It's the only car Bobby had running."

Julia stuck next to Dean in the front of the building as Sam wandered to the side.

"Hello?" he called. "Anybody here?"

Dean rattled the doorknob and when it wouldn't budge, he turned to Julia. "Shortcake, do you have the—"

"Yup!" Julia exclaimed, digging her hand into her drawstring bag and pulling out one of their beloved lockpicks.

Dean gave her a grateful smile and a promising wink as he took them from her. Julia could practically feel the flush in her cheeks, though the hot air around her made her feel the same, temperature wise. Dean finished up picking the lock and handed the tools back to her as he cautiously opened the door.

Julia hadn't seen many bars at the side of the road but the Roadhouse met her expectation of what they would be like. It was an open room filled with dark, dusty wood—tables, chairs, the bar—a pool table, and a jukebox in the corner by the door. Somehow, it was still cute and homey.

Julia let the door close behind her and followed the Winchester brothers further into the large room, looking around at the bottles of alcohol on the shelves behind the bar, the numerous tables, and...yeah, there was a guy passed out on the pool table.

"Hey, buddy?" Sam tried to wake him up as they all drew nearer; the man simply snored, unaware of the three people watching him. "Yeah, I'm guessing that isn't Ellen."

Dean scoffed under his breath. "No kidding."

Julia wandered off and Sam joined her while Dean stuck near the pool table. She had just walked off the mini platform that the table was on when she felt the head of a gun prod the small of her back.

"Dean," she squeaked. "Please tell me that it's you behind me and not a rifle."

There was a second of silence and then there was the cock of a gun behind her. Okay, shit, it was a rifle.

"Okay, we're not breaking in—I mean, we did break it but it's for a good reason—"

"Don't move," a woman's voice came from behind her.

"Yeah, okay, I won't move," she agreed quickly.

From his place next to the pool table, a knife pressed against his throat and a warm body against his back, Dean shook his head. He'd have to give her some more training on hostage situations. She was talking too much—as usual—and playing right into the kidnapper's hands.

He looked over to Sam, who was being held by another woman—this one older than the blonde that held her gun against Julia's back—and then back to Julia. "Jules!"

When she looked over at him, he silently tried to tell her to do the move he showed her a couple weeks ago, but he didn't need to. A familiar voice spoke behind him. "Jules, is that you? Can somebody turn on the damn lights?"

Julia recognize that voice anywhere. "Abby," Julia sighed as Abby let go of Dean; he sent her a glare and quickly took the knife from her hand, earning himself an apologetic look. "Thank God."

"Wait, this is your sister?" the older woman behind Sam asked. "Then the boys must be Sam and Dean Winchester."

"Yes, I'm Julia, Abby's younger sister, and that's Sam and Dean," Julia said quickly. "So, can you please put down your guns?"

The girl behind Julia dropped her rifle and walked to the nearest light switch, bathing the room with light. Julia first looked over at her sister—who was standing beside Dean wearing only a camisole and boy shorts—then at the blonde—who was only a couple inches taller than herself and wearing pajamas like Abby—and then at the older woman—who was lowering her gun from behind Sam's back.

"Son of a bitch," the older woman mumbled, putting the gun back on safety and setting it down on the board. Her mood lifted as she chuckled, introducing herself to Julia, Sam, and Dean. "Hey, I'm Ellen and this is my daughter, Jo."

Julia smiled at her in greeting and then turned to Jo. Jo was one of Abby's closest friends. They hooked up a bit and she had heard her sister gush over her all the time. By the way Jo was giving her an apologetic look, she assumed she had a good heart—and she was super pretty, too.

"I'm Julia, Abby's younger sister," she introduced herself, pulling Jo into a hug that made her stiffen in shock. "Sorry, most of my family are huggers," she let go, not wanting to make the blonde uncomfortable. Then she gestured to her sister, "Except that one."

"It's nice to meet you," Jo smiled softly. "Abby talks about you all the time."

"Yeah, I've heard a lot about you, too," Julia laughed and then turned to her sister, who was apologizing to Dean about something; then she saw the nick on Dean's throat. "Excuse me for a second," she told Jo before walking over to her boyfriend and sister. "Abby, what the hell?"

Abby put her hands in the air, defensive. "I didn't know who he was!"

"You've known Dean since you were born," Julia pointed out. "How do you not recognize him?"

"It was dark?" Abby's statement came out as a question. "Look, it was an accident."

Julia rolled her eyes at her sister—she was so much like Dean; shoot first ask questions later—and grabbed Dean's hand, squeezing it tightly. He returned her action as she dragged him over to where Sam and Ellen were talking. "Hi, ma'am, I'm Julia. It's great to meet you."

"You, too, sweetheart," Ellen smiled down at her.

"Do you happen to have a first aid kit?" Julia wondered, gesturing to Dean, who was holding his hand against the small cut on his throat just above his collar bone.

"Of course."

Within minutes, Dean and Sam introduced themselves to Ellen and Jo, they had sat down at the bar, and Julia was cleaning up Dean's cut and sticking a bandage over it.

"So," Dean turned to Ellen for answers about the voicemail she left John. "You called our dad, said you could help. Help with what?"

"Well, the demon, of course," Ellen shrugged casually. "I heard he was closing in on it."

"What, was there an article in the Demon Hunters Quarterly that I missed?" Dean asked, scoffing in annoyance; he didn't like to have his business out there so everyone could know. "I mean, who are you? How do you know about all this?"

Julia spared at look at Abby, who smiled mischievously at her. Abby had always loved when Dean lost his temper for whatever reason. It just always brought a smile to her face; Dean absolutely hated when she did it and would just get angrier, which led to more amusement on her part. It was an endless routine that always had Julia annoyed. But, at that moment, Julia took Abby's smile to mean that she was the one who told Ellen what John and Luke were up to.

Julia shook her head at her.

"Hey, I just run a saloon," Ellen held up her hands, showing she meant no harm. "But hunters have been known to pass through now and again. Including your dad a long time ago. John was like family once."

"Oh, yeah?" Dean snarked back at her. "How come he never mentioned you before?"

Julia elbowed his bicep, whispering sharply, "Dean!"

He didn't really relax like he usually did; he kept his sharp eyes on Ellen, watching as she shifted uncomfortably.

"You'd have to ask him that."

Dean fell quiet for a second, looking back at Julia with sad eyes. Julia softened the annoyed look on her face and gave him a sympathetic look; he was lashing out because his dad was gone and suddenly there was a lady out of nowhere that knew his dad without him knowing it.

Dean's lips quirked at her before he turned back to Ellen. "So, why exactly do we need your help?"

"Hey, don't do me any favors," Ellen sassed back. "Look, if you don't want my help, fine. Don't let the door smack your ass on the way out. But John wouldn't have sent you if..." she trailed off in realization. "He didn't send you. He's all right, isn't he?"

It was quiet for a second before Sam spoke, "No, no he isn't," he told her while Julia took Dean's hand. "It was the demon, we think. It, um, it just got him before he got it, I guess."

Ellen frowned sadly. "I'm so sorry."

"It's okay," Dean told her gruffly as Julia rubbed the back of his hand with her thumb. "We're all right."

"Really, I know how close you and your dad were," Ellen said somberly.

"Really, lady, I'm fine," Dean bristled, his voice hardening.

Ellen didn't seem to mind his attitude for the moment but that didn't mean that Julia or Sam wanted Dean to continue to make things hostile.

"So, look," Sam changed the topic of conversation. "if you can help, we could use all the help we can get."

"Well, we can't," Ellen glanced at Jo before looking back at Julia, Sam, and Dean. "but Ash will."

Julia furrowed her eyebrows. "Ash?"

Ellen nodded and raised her voice. "Ash!"

The man who was still passed out on the pool table jerked awake, shaking his head—his blonde mullet swishing with every move—before turning around to look at Ellen. "What?" he grunted loudly. "Closing time?"

Julia looked back at Jo, Ellen, and Abby. "That's Ash?"

"Mmhm," Jo nodded while Abby smirked. "he's a genius."

-

Sam dropped the thick file—the one full of information that John and Luke had gathered on the yellow-eyed demon within the past year—on the bar in front of Ash. Julia watched Ash as she sat in between Abby and Sam at the bar, examining his energy—it was full of light with a happy-go-lucky attitude. Meanwhile, Dean stood on the other side of Sam, his arms crossed over his chest as he stared down at Ash.

"You've gotta be kidding me," Dean scowled. "This is guy's no genius. He's a Lynyrd Skynyrd roadie."

Ash chuckled at Dean. "I like you."

"Thanks."

Julia rolled her eyes at Dean's flat tone while Jo moved from her place at the side of the bar, where she was filling up glasses of water, and brought them over to Sam and Julia.

"Just give him a chance," she advised Dean.

Dean hesitated and Julia caught him looking at her. She pointedly moved her eyes toward Ash and cocked her head only a little but Dean got the gist; he sighed and sat down next to Sam, facing Ash.

"All right," he pushed the file over to Ash. "This stuff is about a year's worth of our dad and Luke Alexander's work. So, uh, let's see what you make of it."

Ash didn't respond to Dean's challenging smirk. Instead, he opened up the file and quickly started sorting through the papers. "Come on," he shook his head. "This shit ain't real. There ain't nobody who can track a demon like this."

"They could," Abby assured Ash while Sam and Dean exchanged a proud look. Ash cocked his head thoughtfully. "My dad is an expert in demons. Runs in the family."

"These are nonparametrics, statistical overviews, cross-spectrum correlations. I mean...damn," Ash said in appreciation. "They're signs. Omens. Uh, if you can track 'em, you can track this demon."

"Like crop failures and electrical storms?" Julia hummed curiously.

Ash looked over at her and winked. "You ever been struck by lightning?" he asked her, a twinkled in his eyes. "It ain't fun."

Seeing the way his brother stiffened, Sam got Ash back on track. "Can you track it or not?"

Ash nodded. "Yeah, with this, I think so but it's gonna take time. Uh, give me..." he paused to think, one of his eyes closing. "uh, fifty-one hours."

Julia smiled appreciatively. "Thanks, Ash."

"No problem, sweetheart," Ash stood from his stool and started heading to the back, where Abby told her the bedrooms were located.

"Hey, man," Dean called after him, voice tense, causing Ash to turn around to face him. Dean faltered, seeing that the man had no true intensions with Julia, "I, uh, dig the haircut."

"All business up front," Ash pointed to the short hair toward the front of his head before flicking the longer hair from his shoulders. "party in the back."

Julia giggled when the door closed behind him. "I like him."

"Ash is, like, a ditzy lab with amazing tech skills," Abby nodded in agreement.

Julia hummed and hopped off her stool. "I'm gonna check out the jukebox."

Abby waved her off and she wandered away from the bar and to the jukebox in the front. She flipped through the tiles, smiling and gasping excitedly when there were a couple of eighties love songs she liked, as a warm hand slid around her waist.

"Find anything good?" Dean asked as he looked down at the jukebox screen.

"A couple," Julia looked up at him with a sweet smile that he returned. "All Out of Love, Faithfully, Can't Fight This Feeling..."

Dean's smile slipped, turning into a small grimace when she listed some of the titles. He was fully aware that Julia liked the cheesy love songs from the previous couple of decades. They were all on her iPod and she played them once in a while when Dean allowed her to pick the music—he didn't like them but he sure did love the way her face light up when she listened to them. Her favorite of the songs was, of course, Hungry Eyes. The girl watched Dirty Dancing every week without fail.

But it was kind of funny to him that she liked Hungry Eyes the most. It described the two of them and their relationship pretty closely. Whenever he looked at Julia, he got hungry eyes—whether it was sexual, loving, or emotional, it didn't matter. He always wanted Julia in every way.

"No Hungry Eyes?" he clicked his tongue, faking his disappointment.

"Nope," she didn't catch onto his acting. "Don't worry, though, I can just sing it. I've been meaning to tell you! I've got this feeling that won't subside—oof!"

Dean had put his hand to her mouth, cutting off any more lyrics that trembled in her not-so-amazing singing voice. He laughed when she giggled and pulled his hand off, kissing his palm before dropping it.

"Oh, so you're ashamed of my singing, huh?"

"Not just your singing, shortcake. I'm not so hot at it, either," Dean reminded her; it was true and if she really got going, he wouldn't be able to resist joining in with her.

He hated to admit it but the song was kind of catchy.

Back at the bar, Sam and Abby—who moved over to Julia's seat—spoke quietly, were catching up. She had just been telling him about the picture Beth emailed her from the Fourth of July, when his gaze fell to the police radio behind the bar, a thin folder beside it. He quickly apologized to Abby for changing the subject and then caught Ellen's attention.

"Hey, Ellen, what is that?"

Ellen followed his gaze. "It's a police thing," she told him, continuing to fill up the containers of salt for the tables. "We keep tabs on things—"

"No, no," Sam interrupted politely, pointing to the file. "The folder."

Ellen hesitated for a second then walked over folder. "Uh, I was gonna give this to Abby..."

"He can take a look at it," Abby smirked, knowing that Sam was terrified of clowns. She took the folder from Ellen and slid it over to Sam. "Let me know what you make of it."

"Thanks," Sam opened the folder as Abby slipped away from the bar to where Jo was wiping off a table.

Sam went through the contents of the file, quickly skimming over each paper he picked up. When he finished, he called out for Dean and Julia, who were still by the jukebox, heads close together as they laughed. "Dean, J, come check this out!"

At the sound of her name, Julia pulled away from Dean and looked over at Sam, who was waving at them from the bar. She ignored Dean's sigh with a light smirk and linked their hands, pulling him over to see what Sam was looking at.

"Yeah?" Dean grumbled.

"A few murders, not far from here, that Ellen caught wind of," Sam informed them, showing them the research. "Looks to me like there might be a hunt."

"Yeah," Dean raised an eyebrow. "So?"

"So, I told her we'd check it out—"

"And you're not going without me," Abby interjected, bounding toward her little sister and the Winchester brothers. "Let me pack my stuff and we can go."

Dean grimaced. "Yeah, let's not—" he grunted when Julia poked him in the ribs, glaring up at him; Abby sent him the same look. "We'll wait outside."

"Good. We'll take my car."

-

"A clown?" Julia clicked her tongue, taking the file that Sam handed back to her and opening it up. "A killer clown?"

"I'm pretty sure that's what I said, Jujube," Abby rolled her eyes from the driver's seat of her Ford Explorer before focusing back on the road. "He left the daughter unharmed and killed the parents. Ripped them to shreds."

"And this family was at some carnival that night?" Dean asked.

Julia's eyes flickered to the top of the printed article she was reading. "Cooper Carnivals."

"So, Gail, how do you know we're not dealing with some psycho carnie in a clown suit?"

Abby glared at him through the rearview mirror. "Don't call me that, Deanna."

"Hey, now!"

Julia rolled her eyes and though she couldn't see Sam, she knew he was, too. Abby and Dean were never best friends growing up like she and Sam were. They acted like siblings who couldn't stand one another. It came from love, sure, but it could be a little annoying sometimes.

"The cops have no viable leads, Dean," Sam sighed before they could really get going. "and all the employees were tearing down shop."

"Alibis for each of them."

Sam agreed with Julia while Abby added, "Plus, this girl said she saw a clown vanish into thin air. Cops are saying trauma, of course."

Dean hummed. "Well, I know what you're thinking, Sam," he chuckled. "Why did it have to be clowns?"

"That's right!" Abby exclaimed, joining Dean in laughter. "Oh, my God, do you remember that time we went to Mickey D's and Ronald McDonald came out to visit the kid's play place and Sam peed his pants?"

Seeing the severely annoyed look on Sam's face, Julia had the sense to hold in her laughter. Her stomach hurt and her eyes stung but she did it. Dean, however, was howling with gut-bursting laughter. It was nice to see that bright smile on his face.

"After that, he'd burst out crying every time he saw a McDonald's commercial!"

"Oh, come on!" Sam protested weakly; when Julia couldn't help but join in, he shot back, "At least I'm not afraid of flying, or spiders," he pointed at Julia and then Abby. "or horses."

"Planes crash!"

"Spiders are poisonous!"

"Wait, wait," Dean caught up, shaking his head. He leaned forward and dipped to the side so he could see Abby's face from his spot next to Julia. "You're afraid of horses?"

Julia snickered while Abby scoffed. "We were talking about Sam's ridiculous clown phobia, remember?"

Julia shook her head and patted Sam's arm soothingly. "Don't worry, S, your phobia is valid. Apparently clowns do kill."

"Thank you, J," he gave Dean a pointed glare which had his brother chuckling again.

"All right," Dean calmed down. "So, these types of murders, have they ever happened before?"

"It's in the file," Abby told him, turning on the windshield wipers as they drove into some light rain. "Take it away, Julia."

"Yeah, the file says it happened in 1981," Julia hummed. "at the Bunker Brothers Circus. Same M.O. Three different times, three different places."

Dean furrowed his eyebrows. "That's weird, though. I mean, if it is a spirit, it's usually bound to a specific locale, you know? A house or a town."

"So, how's this one moving from city to city, carnival to carnival?" Sam wondered.

"Maybe it's a cursed object," Abby chewed on her lip. "A spirit attached itself to something and the carnival carries it around with them."

"Great. It's a paranormal scavenger hunt."

"This case was your idea," Dean reminded his brother. "By the way, why is that? You were awfully quick to jump on this job."

Julia wrinkled her nose uncomfortably and faced her foggy window. She was all for the brothers sharing how they felt with each other but lately, Dean had been too irritable. He didn't like those kinds of chick-flick moments, anyway, but after his dad died, he'd been avoiding them more than ever. Especially because Sam kept pushing him about dealing with his grief.

Abby kept quiet as well, not wanting to intrude on the brothers' business.

Sam shrugged. "So?"

"It's just not like you, that's all. I thought you were hell-bent for leather on the demon hunt."

"I don't know, I just think this job...it's what Dad would have wanted us to do."

"What Dad would have wanted?" Dean scoffed, looking at Sam in disbelief.

Oh, God, please don't let this turn into another fight, Julia pleaded mentally.

"Yeah, so?" Sam looked back at him, daring him to say something."

Dean shook his head and turned away from his brother. "Nothing."

-

Julia rubbed her nails over Dean's scalp, making sure that the shampoo she had applied for him was getting his hair nice and clean. They struggled in the small shower-bathtub combo and Dean had to get on his knees in order for her to even reach his hair in the first place, but they made it work.

"It's what Dad would have wanted," Dean repeated Sam's words with a scowl, holding onto her hips for balance. "He didn't give a fuck what Dad wanted a week ago."

Julia hummed to show that she was listening as she went toward the front of his head, rubbing the soap into his sideburns.

"He didn't even want to hunt," he went on. "He got out and he said he wanted to get out again! What, Dad dies and now he's wanting to carry on the family business all of a sudden?"

"I don't think that's it, babe. Here, lean your head back," she gestured toward the water; Dean did as he was told and rinsed his hair. "Sam's grieving just like you are. If hunting is what helps him deal with the fact that your dad's gone, then let him."

"I know," Dean grumbled, getting to his feet and switching places with Julia. "No, no, you need to stand—yeah, that's fine—I get it but it just bugs me."

Julia frowned sympathetically and rinsed the conditioner out of her hair. "I'm sorry that you're going through this, Bean."

The corner of Dean's lips quirked only a little. "It's not your fault, shortcake," he murmured, bowing his head to press a soft kiss on her bare shoulder. It wasn't sexual in nature, just loving. "You're helping me."

Her heart melting, Julia grinned when she saw that he had some excess soap on his nose. She stood on her tiptoes to wipe it off. "You're adorable."

"I'm not adorable," he pouted, making her giggle.

"I beg to differ, hotshot."

After Julia and Dean were dried off and dressed, they met up with Sam and Abby in the room next door before heading over to the local fairgrounds, where Cooper Carnivals was located for the week. Detectives were already on the scene when they arrived, forcing them to rethink their plan of faking police.

Dean went to talk to the detectives, so Julia, Sam, and Abby waited by the Tilt-a-Whirl that was being set up. A short woman dressed as a clown had walked by and she and Sam had the most awkward—and hilarious—showdown with their eyes . It lasted what felt like a whole two minutes, with Julia and Abby snickering at Sam, before the woman smirked at him and walked away.

Dean, who was walking back to them, had seen the whole thing. "Did you get her number?"

Sam scowled at him while Julia wheezed, her chest aching from lack of breath. Abby slapped her arm to get her to stop, a cheesy grin on her face, and addressed Dean, "Were there more murders?"

"Two more last night," Dean confirmed. "Apparently they were ripped to shreds and they had a little boy with them."

"Who fingered a clown," Sam assumed.

Julia quirked an eyebrow and shared a look with Dean and Abby.

"What?"

"Nothing," Dean told his brother. "anyway, the clown apparently vanished into thin air."

Abby hummed thoughtfully, biting her lip. "Looking for a cursed object is like trying to find a needle in a stack of needles. They could be anything."

"It's bound to give off EMF," Dean said distractedly, looking around nearest carnival trailers. "We'll just have to scan everything."

"That's nice and inconspicuous."

Dean didn't respond to Sam's sarcasm with any of his own. "I guess we'll just have to blend in."

-

"You boys picked a hell of a time to join up," Mr. Cooper, the owner and boss of Cooper's Carnival, led Sam and Dean into his trailer. It was a tiny little thing with half of it being living space and the other half office space. Mr. Cooper gestured to his desk, where two chairs were waiting on the other side. "Take a seat."

A grin started to stretch across Dean's face as he took in the chairs; one of them, the closest to the door, was decorated to look like a clown. He didn't bother looking at his brother and rushed to the normal chair, pushing Sam away as he attempted to avoid the clown chair.

Dean smirked at Sam as Mr. Cooper finished, "We've got all kinds of local trouble."

"What do you mean?" he turned his attention back to the older man.

"Oh, a couple of folks got themselves murdered. Cops always seem to start here first," Mr. Cooper said casually. "So, you two ever worked the circuit before?"

"Uh, yes, sir," Sam confirmed solemnly, disturbed by his chair. "Last year through Texas and Arkansas."

Dean gave Mr. Cooper a fake smile. "Yeah."

"Doing what?" Mr. Cooper asked skeptically. "Ride jockeys? Pull shoot? A-and-S men?"

Dean had absolutely no idea what any of those jobs were. He bet that Abby or Julia would know, though. The Petersen women were smart like that. Unfortunately, it wasn't very realistic for four people to apply for jobs together as a group so they had to stay on the sidelines at the moment—Abby wasn't very happy about that.

"Yeah," Sam cleared his throat uncomfortably. "it's, uh, little bit of everything, I guess."

Mr. Cooper cocked his head knowingly. "You two have never worked a show in your lives before, have you?"

"Nope," Dean didn't try to bullshit his way around this. "but we really need the work...oh, and, uh, Sam here's got a thing for the bearded lady."

He chuckled to himself but quieted down when Sam gave him a what-the-fuck-are-you-doing look.

"You see that picture?" Mr. Cooper pointed to a framed photo on the top of the filing cabinet next to his desk. "That's my daddy."

The guy in the photo looked exactly like Mr. Cooper. Too much like him, if you asked Dean.

Sam noticed the likeness, too. "You look just like him."

"He was in the business. Ran a freakshow until they outlawed them in most places," Mr. Cooper informed them. "Apparently displaying the deformed isn't dignified. So most of the performers went from honest work to rotting hospitals and asylums. That's progress, I guess."

Honestly, if Dean was born different like that, he wouldn't do either. Two negative choices on either end didn't sound like a good way of living. Choosing between being laughed at for money or rotting away in a hospital? No, thank you. He was good.

"You see, this place is a refuge for outcasts. Always has been for folks that don't fit in nowhere else. But you two?" Mr. Cooper leaned forward in his seat. "You should go to school. Find a couple of girls. Have two-point-five kids. Live regular."

Their lives weren't normal and they would never be. Julia and Sam? They were the lucky spectrum of hunters who had a taste of a normal life. Most of them lived and breathed hunting and that included Dean. He didn't know how to do anything else.

He had a girl and Julia was one of the two most important people in his life. He was lucky to have her because most hunters aren't able to find a significant other who even understood the life, let alone someone who lived it. And kids? He still thought about the dream he had of Peter and Jonah but it was just that—a dream.

Even if he wanted that apple-pie life, it wouldn't happen. It wasn't in the cards for him.

He went to tell Mr. Cooper that but Sam beat him to it. "Sir, we don't want to go to school and we don't want regular. We want this."

Dean looked at Sam in complete shock. Sam had told him before their run-in with Yellow-Eyes and the death of their father that he intended to go back to Stanford when everything was over. Sam didn't want to hunt for the rest of his life, he made that clear. Now, all of a sudden, he didn't want to go back?

Dean stared at the gravel under his feet as he and Sam walked away from Mr. Cooper's trailer, contracts of employment in their pockets. "Huh."

"What?"

"That whole, uh, I-don't-want-to-go-back-to-school thing," Dean gestured to the trailer behind them. "Were you just saying that to Cooper or were you, you know, saying it?"

Sam hesitated.

"Sam."

"I don't know," Sam looked away from him, looking around at the rides that were now up and running for the day.

"You don't know?" Dean scoffed. "I thought that once the demon was dead and the fat lady sings that you were gonna take off, head back to Wussy State."

Sam stopped walking only a few feet from the parking lot where Julia and Abby were waiting for them in the Explorer. "I'm having second thoughts."

"Really?"

"Yeah," Sam nodded. "I think Dad would have wanted me to stick with the job."

That made Dean pause. Sam had spent most of his life fighting with their dad and had taken off for almost four years, without any contact, and now he wanted to join the family business for good. Just because their dad died. It infuriated Dean that Sam was only now wanted to do what John had wanted him to do. It was too little, too late.

"Since when do you give a fuck what Dad wanted?" his voice hardened as he questioned his brother. "You spent half your life doing exactly what he didn't want, Sam."

"Since he died, okay?" Sam admitted. When Dean nodded knowingly; he must have had an irritated look on his face because Sam bristled. "Do you have a problem with that?"

"Nah," Dean lied. "I don't have a problem at all."

He continued walking without another word, heading straight to Abby's vehicle. Julia rolled down the passenger window as he approached and he leaned his arms on it as he greeted them.

"Did you get the job?" she asked him with happy eyes.

He wished that he could maintain a quarter of the happiness that Julia always had within her. Maybe he wouldn't be a dick most of the time. Maybe he'd handle his dad's death better. Maybe he'd be actually able to talk about how he felt instead of keeping it bundled inside of him until he blew up. He wasn't that person, though, and that was okay. Julia was his person and she could be happy enough for the both of them.

"With benefits," he forced a smirk onto his face. "We start at noon."

"Nice," Julia smiled and leaned toward him. "Hey, did you happen to see if they had funnel cakes?"

"What's a carnival without funnel cake, Junior?"

-

-

It was hard to walk around the crowded carnival with full hands and eat funnel cake at the same time but somehow, Julia managed. With a yellow balloon tied around her wrist, a blow-up baseball bat and a small stuffed lion in the crook of her arm, and her cell phone pinned between her ear and shoulder, she was able to stuff the sugary deliciousness into her mouth while keeping an eye out for any suspicious clown activity and keeping in contact with Abby.

Half of Sam and Dean's shift had already gone by and none of them found anything. Sam and Dean had the EMF readers out and going while they picked up trash from the carnival goers but, according to Dean, they had canvased half the fairground and there was zip to show for it.

There was only so much to do at a carnival and Julia had done it all. She rode all the rides, going for the Tilt-a-Whirl and spinning strawberries five or six times, played a bunch of games while only winning twice, and had eaten at three different booths. Don't get her wrong, carnivals were exciting and she loved them as much as the next person but she was by herself after she and Abby split up in the second hour and now, she was growing bored.

"I'm passing the frozen lemonade stand now," Julia informed her sister, who was looking to meet up with her, as she passed the crowded booth.

"The one next to the deep-fried twinkies, the chili dogs, or the turkey legs?"

"Turkey legs—wait, there's deep-fried twinkies?" she wanted one of those. "Where?"

"By the Ferris wheel," Abby told her. "I don't think you need one of those, Jules."

"Sure I do," Julia didn't understand why she didn't need one. She liked snack cakes and if it was deep-fried? All the better. "I'm headed toward the Ferris wheel."

Before she could even turn back the way she came from, a calloused hand grabbed her elbow. She jumped and whirled around, about to drop her prizes and funnel cake to beat the person's ass, but faltered when she saw that it was Dean. He looked so cute dressed in his red carnival jacket.

"Oh, Dean's here," she said to Abby. "I'll call you back."

"Ugh, fine."

Dean grabbed the phone from in between her shoulder and head with a small smile, ending the call for her. "You look like you've been busy," he shoved the phone in his jeans so he could take a piece of her funnel cake. "Having fun?"

"I'm getting bored," she confessed. "Oh, I got you something."

Dean smirked teasingly at her. "Look at that, my girl won me a prize," Julia laughed and handed him the little stuffed lion. "Oh..."

Julia wrinkled her nose as she studied the almost blank look on Dean's face as he held the stuffed lion. "You can put it on your dashboard or, uh..." she hesitated. "or I can take it back if you don't want it."

"Of course I want it," Dean grinned at her and stuffed the lion into his jacket pocket. "I love it."

"You do?"

"Yes," Dean was careful not to jostle her enough so that she could drop her funnel cake or inflatable bat while he pressed his lips to hers quickly. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," Julia gave him another kiss before he could pull away fully. "So, have you found anything yet?"

"I haven't but Sam has," Dean told her. "Apparently there's a human skeleton in the fun house."

Julia raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Any EMF?"

"No, but I was on my way to check when I ran into you," Dean gestured behind him with his thumb before grabbing another piece of her funnel cake. "Wanna head there?"

"Sure," Julia agreed.

Before they could even start walking in the direction of the fun house, they were stopped by Papazian, the blind knife-thrower that had teared into Dean while he was asking for directions for Mr. Cooper's trailer earlier that morning.

"What are you doing here, kid?"

Dean and Julia shared an alarmed look.

"I'm...I was just, uh, sweeping and taking my break," Dean struggled to answer him.

"Bull," Papazian wasn't having Dean's nonsense. "And what were you two talking about? Skeletons? What's EMF?"

Julia furrowed her eyebrows while Dean looked at him in surprise, "Dude, your blind man hearing is out of control."

"Hey, we're a tight-knit group, we don't like outsiders," Papazian proclaimed. "And we take care of our own problems."

Julia stiffened when she felt the man's aura pulse angrily and darken drastically. Something was off about him.

Dean sized him up, finding an issue of what Papazian did say, rather than what he didn't. "We got a problem?"

Another flare of anger.

"You tell me, you're the one talking about human bones."

Dean hesitated for a moment, and then asked, "Do you believe in ghosts?"

"What?"

"My brother, me, and our girlfriends—" Abby would get a kick out of that, Julia was sure. "—we're writing a book about them."

Papazian seemed to except that and went on his way. Julia stared after him, not liking his aura or the vibes he was giving off. He certainly didn't feel like a normal human being; he was dark and had a severe hunger.

Without noticing, she and Dean ended up at the funhouse, where Sam and Abby were waiting for them.

"What took you so long?" Sam asked Dean.

Dean grimaced. "Long story."

"Mommy, look at the clown!" a chirpy voice that could only belong to a little girl came from only a few feet away from them.

They all turned their attention to her, watching as the mom questioned where the clown was and when the little girl pointed to nothing, she hurried her daughter toward the parking lot. Once they were gone, Julia, Dean, Abby, and Sam exchanged knowing looks.

-

Julia finished typing her email to Beth, giving her a brief summary of how the boys were dealing with John's death and making sure to include video of her and Abby that told her, Taylor, Lizzie, and Maggie that they missed them. Once the email was sent, she started looking up supernatural creatures that dressed up as clowns.

She didn't think this was a spirit for two reasons. One, Sam and Dean had found no EMF, even on the skeleton from the fun house. And, two, something about Papazian gave her a bad feeling. Like worse than a common spirit usually did.

She shared her thoughts with Abby, who had stayed behind with her when Sam and Dean went to watch the little girl's house��in a totally not creepy way—and was currently cleaning her weapons on her and Sam's bed.

"All right, tell me again—"

"I told you, Abby," Julia rolled her eyes and looked away from her laptop. "I had a bad feeling about Papazian."

"So, what, you're Luke Skywalker now?" her older sister joked; Julia gave her an unamused look. "Okay, sorry. So, if you think that Papazian is behind this people-eating clown, what do you suppose it is?"

Julia grimaced. "Honestly, I was hoping you would know."

Abby shook her head with a laugh and climbed off her bed to settle next to Julia on hers. "Let me show you something."

Abby grabbed the computer from her pajama-clad lap and onto hers. She went to PSC's website and went to the employee section. That led them to another site where she maneuvered her way to a page where one of the links under IT tech brought them to a private website that they had to use a username and passcode to get in. It was that website that amazed Julia.

Similarly set up to PSC's website, this one had hunting items for sale like silver bullets and particular knives that a hunter might need and so on. There was a forum where hunters could post information that they've come across on hunts or if they needed a partner for a hunt, they could search there. And there was an online encyclopedia that was Julia's favorite, where each letter in the alphabet had sections that would list creatures under that letter and could lead you to more information.

She had no idea that the website had ever existed.

"How do I get in?" Julia asked. "Like, how do I get my own username and password?"

"I'll give Frank a call and have him add you, Dean, and Sam," Abby said casually. "He's the IT guy where you get the link."

"He works for us?" the picture of Frank made him seem like a very grumpy man who didn't play well with others.

"Kind of. He runs this site and he makes sure it's secure but he's pretty much a recluse," she hummed. "I think he knew Nana Rachel and Papa Isaac."

"Huh," Julia's maternal grandmother, Rachel, had died before she was born but her Papa Isaac was a great man. He was gone now, having died only a few years before her mother went.

Abby laughed lightly, rolling her eyes at her younger sister. "All right," she moved off of Julia's bed and went back to hers, starting up her own laptop. "Let's start narrowing down possibilities."

-

-

The sun had finally risen after two hours of hiding in a stolen car in the middle of nowhere, covered by a thicket of bushes so the police wouldn't be able to spot them. Their whole night blew; the mysterious apocalyptic clown had turned out not to be a spirit and it had definitely gotten away when the little girl screamed at their attack, alerting her parents to the fact that two strange men and a murderous clown were in their house.

They had run out quickly after that and had found a spot just out of town to stay hidden until dawn. Luckily, Dean wasn't left alone with Sam—well, he was but they were also on the phone with Julia and Abby in order to find out what this clown really was. All they knew so far was that the creature was corporeal, wasn't affected by salt, and could make itself invisible. So, thankfully, there was no talking of any kind about the death of John Winchester.

Unfortunately, now that Sam and Dean were beginning their trek heading back to the outskirts of town so that Julia and Abby could pick them up, they had plenty of time to talk. Unluckily enough for Dean, Sam did just that.

"Hey, uh, you think that Dad and Ellen ever had a thing?"

Dean was in no mood to talk about his dad—even if it wasn't about the subject of his death. It was hot out, the sun was searing the back of his neck, he was tired, and he was definitely hungry. The last thing he wanted to do was theorize about his father's flings.

"Nah."

"Then why didn't he tell us about her?"

Dean shrugged. "I don't know, maybe they had some sort of falling out."

That was something that John was actually consistent about; he always fell out with other hunters—Bobby wasn't the only one and if John was still alive, he certainly wouldn't be the last.

"Yeah," Sam sighed. "You ever notice how Dad had a falling out with just about everybody?"

Dean nodded his head noncommittedly. There wasn't a need to answer. They both knew it was the truth and there wasn't a reason to hash out the fact that their father was a stubborn asshole who always thought that he was right.

Just thinking of John that way—even though he had those kinds of thoughts a lot while he was alive—made him nauseous. His dad was dead and here he was, thinking bad of him. This was why he didn't want to think about John. Because there was too much to think about. If he thought about how his dad treated him while he grew up, or how he didn't have a childhood because of him—or how he missed out on so much in life, the suspicion around his restored health just before his dad died, or about the last words John said to him—he would break down. And he couldn't. He wasn't that person.

He wouldn't be that person.

Sam noticed his melancholy mood. "Well, don't get all maudlin on me, man."

Dean shot him a look. "What do you mean?"

"I meant this strong-silent thing of yours. It's crap and I'm over it—"

"Oh, God," Dean expressed his irritation before Sam was finished speaking.

"This isn't just anyone we're talking about, this is Dad," Sam said, annoyed. "I know how you felt about the man."

"You know what, back off, all right?" Dean snapped at him. "Just because I'm not caring and sharing like you want me to—"

"No, no, no," Sam objected, cutting him off. "that's not what this about, Dean. I don't care how you deal with this but you have to deal with it, man. Listen, I'm your brother, all right? I just want to make sure you're okay."

Dean clenched his jaw. "Dude, I'm okay!" he raised his voice. "I'm okay, okay? I swear, the next person who asks me if I'm okay, I'm gonna start throwing punches. These are your issues, quit dumping them on me."

Sam stopped walking and turned to Dean with a bewildered look. "What are you talking about?"

"I just think it's really interesting, this sudden obedience you have to Dad," Dean shot straight, unable to hold back his opinion of Sam's change of heart. "It's like, oh, what would Dad want me to do? Sam, you spent your entire life slugging it out with that man. I mean, fuck, you picked a fight with him the last time you ever saw him."

Sam grimaced and yeah, Dean felt a little guilty about his heated words but if Sam wanted him to share his feelings, he was going to do it.

"And now that he's dead, now you want to make it right?" he continued. "Well, I'm sorry, Sam, but you can't. It's too little, too late."

Sam's hazel eyes sparkled with tears. "Why are you saying this to me?"

"Because I want you to be honest with yourself!" Dean exclaimed. "I'm dealing with Dad's death. Are you?"

Sam pressed his lips together and clenched his jaw, obviously fighting back the anger he felt at Dean. Dean wished that he wouldn't; maybe he wanted to get Sam mad, wanted him to fight back. Maybe physical pain would take his attention away from all that he was feeling.

"I'm going to call Abby," Sam finally said.

It was only when Sam had slumped away from him that Dean started to feel guilty. This was his little brother; he was supposed to protect him, not make him feel worse.

Twenty minutes later, he and Sam were sliding into the backseat of Abby's car, relaxing as cool air surrounded them. Without a word, Julia—who was taking the opportunity to sit shotgun—had handed them each a breakfast sandwich and some hash browns. Of course, it was McDonalds; Dean wasn't a fan of them but Julia loved their breakfast, especially the sausage, egg, and cheese bagel. He wasn't surprised to see that she had her bagel sandwich in her lap.

He smiled at her in thanks and immediately took a bite of his own sandwich.

"All right, so, I'm pretty sure this thing is a rakshasa," Abby spoke up as she started driving back to town.

"What's that?" Dean asked around a mouthful of food.

"It's a race of ancient Hindu creatures," she told him and Sam. "They appear in human form, they feed on human flesh, they can make themselves invisible, and they cannot enter a home without first being invited."

"So, they dress up like clowns and the children invite them in," Sam assumed.

Both Abby and Julia nodded in response.

"Why don't they just munch on the kids?"

"No idea," Abby sighed, answering Dean's question. "Maybe there's not enough meat on their bones."

"Abby," Julia gave her sister a disapproving look, her face paling a little.

Abby shrugged nonchalantly.

"So, what else did you find out?" Sam wondered.

"Apparently, rakshasas live in squalor," Julia answered this time, wiping her mouth with a napkin. "They sleep on a bed of dead insects. And they have to feed a few times every twenty or thirty years."

"That makes sense," Dean nodded. "I mean, the carnival today, the Bunker Brothers in '81."

Sam agreed, "Right, and probably more before that."

"All right," Dean clicked his tongue and looked toward the front of the car. "So, did the lore say how to kill this bastard?"

"A dagger made of pure brass," Abby smirked, tapping her fingers against her steering wheel, the red polish on her nails gleaming brightly in the sunlight. "Luckily, I have one in my collection."

"Good," Dean said decidedly. "Let's go gank the blind guy."

-

-

Julia didn't particularly like being in a bar full of other hunters. Something about it just made her stomach twist. Maybe it was because she hadn't worked with other hunters except Sam, Dean, Abby, John, and her father...or maybe it was because of the leering looks they gave Jo as she wandered around, giving them the pints of beer that they ordered. Honestly, she felt bad for the blonde; she had been on the receiving end of disgusting leers but never everyday all day. It had to be tiring.

Jo was a spitfire, though, and she could totally handle herself. That was what Julia liked the most about her, other than the fact that she was funny and easily kept up with Abby's banter. Abby wasn't the type to settle down with a boyfriend or girlfriend, but if she did, Jo had Julia's vote. The blonde was special and so was Ellen. They'd fit into the family great.

Ellen came over to her with a bottle of beer and a glass of soda in her hands just as the familiar weight of Dean's arm slid around her waist. He sat on the bar stool next to her and accepted the beer from Ellen with a grateful smile.

"You guys did one hell of a job," the older woman praised one half of their quartet.

Julia smiled at her and accepted her cola. "Thanks, Ellen."

Ellen backed off with a smile and went to dry some glasses. As soon as she was out of earshot, Dean turned to her with a mischievous grin on his face. "I think your sister is chatting up Sam."

"Oh?" Julia gave him an excited look, though it was more for his benefit. She didn't really know how to feel about Abby and Sam hooking up. It wasn't because she didn't think they wouldn't make a great pair but Abby was a player and she didn't want her sister to hurt Sam, who was more emotionally intense when it came to stuff like that.

Dean nodded excitedly. "And I don't think she's the only one."

Julia gave him a confused look and glanced over his shoulder; at the other side of the bar, Sam sat with Abby and Jo on either side of him, both wearing flirtatious smiles.

Oh.

Julia coughed uncomfortably and placed her attention back on Dean, who still had that shit-eating grin on his face. "It's very weird that you're so excited about Sam's possible hook-ups."

Dean shrugged. "It's good to see him get back on the horse—or horses—heh-heh."

"Please don't refer to Abby and Jo as horses, D."

"Sorry," Dean shrugged, his eyes locking on the door that led to the resident area of the bar. "Look, there's Ash."

Ash walked over to them and set his laptop on the bar next to them. "Jules, Dean," he nodded at them and waved Sam over; Sam excused himself from Abby and Jo. "Where have you guys been? I've been waiting for ya."

"We were working a job, Ash," Sam came to stand behind Julia. "Clowns."

Ash gave him a you-have-to-be-shitting-me look. "Clowns? What the fuck?"

"You got something for us, Ash?" Dean asked before he could go on a tangent.

Ash nodded and opened up his laptop, which was stripped down to wires, the hard drive, keypad, and screen. Julia guessed that he had built the computer himself because she was pretty sure you couldn't buy one of those. Jo did say he was a genius.

"Did you find the demon?" Sam asked.

"It's nowhere around," Ash answered gravely. "At least, nowhere I can find. But if this fugly bastard raises his head, I'll know. I mean, I'm on it like divine on dog dookie."

Julia quirked an eyebrow at him. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, any of those signs or omens appear, anywhere in the world, my rig will go off," Ash explained and turned the laptop, showing them the screen; there was some type of radar and database pulled up. "Like a fire alarm."

Dean's eyes lit up as he looked over the computer; he reached for it and Ash stiffened, cocking his head. "Do you mind...?"

Ash clicked his tongue and the hand that Dean had almost put on the mouse slowly retreated.

"What's up, man?" Ash lifted his chin in a swift nod.

Julia grinned at Dean's pout while Sam asked, "Ash, where did you learn to do all of this?"

"MIT, before I got bounced for fighting," Ash answered casually.

Sam quietly scoffed in disbelief. "MIT?"

Ash nodded. "It's a school in Boston."

"I like you, Ash," Julia laughed as she reached for a high five from the genius blonde. "You're the best."

Ash returned the high-five sluggishly, though the crooked grin on his face gave away his friendliness. "You too, sweetcheeks."

"Okay," Dean said all too quickly. "give us a call as soon as you know something?"

"Si, si, compadre," Ash confirmed, taking Dean's bottle from in front of him and gulping down the rest.

The three of them got ready to leave. As Julia paid their tab, Ellen spoke up, "If you guys need somewhere to stay, we've got a couple of rooms in the back."

Dean exchanged looks with Julia and Sam before answering, "Thanks, but no. There's something I gotta finish."

Hours later, as the sun set, Dean was crouched down in front of the back-right tire of his baby, tightening the bolts of the new tire until they were just right. When he heard the gravel shift to his right, he didn't bother looking up. He knew it was Sam just from the gait of his steps.

Great, he grumbled to himself, another pep talk.

He finished with the tire and only then did he look up; Sam was standing behind the newly restored trunk, kind of huddled in on himself.

"You were right."

Dean stood up straight and walked around Sam in order to set his wrench back in the toolbox. "About what?"

"About me and Dad," Sam elaborated. "I'm sorry that the last time I was with him I tried to pick a fight. I'm sorry that I spent most of my life angry at him. I mean, for all I know, he died thinking that I hate him."

Dean didn't respond; he had nothing to say.

"So, you're right. What I'm doing right now, it's too little, too late," Sam paused for a moment, his eyes filling with tears. "I miss him, man. And I feel guilty as hell. And I'm not all right. Not at all...But neither are you, that much I know...I'll let you get back to work."

Sam left and headed back into Bobby's house. Dean turned around, a mess of emotions brewing at the bottom of his stomach. It built and it built until it rested in his chest. There was anger and hurt and resentment, and oh-so much grief...And all of it was because of his dad.

His dad, who treated him like a little soldier. His dad, who taught him how to shoot a gun when he was way too young. His dad, who left his baby brother in his care when he was only five years old. His dad, who made him grow up much too soon. His dad, who made him feel safe even when there were beings that came out of his nightmares living in the world around him. His dad, who loved him and Sam so much. His dad, who was dead.

His dad was dead.

He hastily picked up the crowbar next to his toolbox and whipped around, slamming it into the driver's window of an old car behind him. Glass shattered onto his lower torso, legs, and feet but he didn't care. It wasn't enough, it wasn't enough to describe how he was feeling.

He smashed the crowbar into Baby's trunk; it bounced but didn't budge or break. He did it again and again, over and over, as his anger exploded from him like a bomb. At the moment, he didn't care that he was trashing his beloved car all over again; the Impala just reminded him too much of his dad.

His blood was pumping, he was sweating profusely, and tears had sparked in his eyes as he bashed Baby's trunk until there was a decently sized hole in the middle. Only then did he drop the crowbar, where it made it tinkling sound against the gravel. He turned in the direction of Bobby's house, as if Sam would be able to feel his angry glare from where he was standing, but he came face-to-face with Julia.

His beautiful Julia. Julia, who had been understanding throughout the week since John's death, letting him fuck his frustration out on her. Julia, who had been good about giving him space to deal with his grief. Julia, who was the sunshine in his dark and cloudy mind. Julia Ruth Petersen, who was too fucking good for him.

And there she stood, a small smile on her face that felt like home. There was love and understanding in her eyes as she waited for him to do something, anything, but it made his stomach turn. She was good and he wasn't. He would just bring her down.

He was poison; his dad dying had proved that.

So, even though Julia there, waiting to support him and love him, he walked away from her.

(Gif is not mine)

[twistednuns]

May 2021

Dreaming of a night of incredible birthday surprises. Long-forgotten friends from school and uni showed up (on their bicycles). I lived above a restaurant and our old cat Lili was there. It felt very special and cosy. Dreams are one of the few things that give me solace these days. Sometimes I sleep for hours and hours because being unconscious is so much more pleasurable and exciting.

Getting to know R. Talking on the phone until sunrise. Listening to a hobo reciting poems for us. Making a delicious pasta dish from scratch, hanging out on his sofa for hours, looking at the hotel's backyard. Touring the little theatre he's managing. Sticking masking tape onto the beer caps. Writing down imaginary things that'll happen to you when you drink from that bottle.

I had quite a few (and very late) side effects from my vaccination but they're finally gone.

More happy food: Making polenta with feta, fennel, lemon, dill, capers and cauliflower. / Roasted eggplant, sweet potato and halloumi with chili oil, pine nuts, coriander and yoghurt. / Fresh butter croissants. Greasy and crispy. / Indian food. It's all about paneer.

Sunshine (even though it doesn't correspond to my mood). Sprouting seeds on the balcony.

Finding a person who's smart enough to solve Crux crossword puzzles with me and really enjoys it. R. and me solved three in a row, down to the last letter. I don't know what it is with these things but I never get too far on my own. As soon as I have company it's a lot more managable (and more fun, too)!

Smelling the fresh morning air while lying in bed with the balcony door open.

Reading James Nestor's book Deep. It's about freediving, renegade science, marine creatures and the deep. It was so interesting, I think I learned something now on every single page? I love learning more about the ocean.

Falling asleep in a tight embrace. Have I ever managed to do that? I usually hate being touched when I'm supposed to fall asleep. Something must have felt very right there.

My birthday weekend! On Saturday I made a decadent strawberry coconut cake with raffaellos and prepared sushi with R. We played word games and drank a small bottle of champagne at midnight! And on Sunday we were 6 people in my tiny kitchen. We had cake and roasted veggies later, played board games, I got the weirdest present. It was the first time in a long while to be together like that and even though it was a little overwhelming (boy are we not used to this anymore) I had so much fun. And R. blended in just fine, it wasn't awkward at all. (my favorite CAH combo: "A latin lover with active listening skills!")

Spending an afternoon with Margit at IKEA / watching the new Disney movie on her sofa.

The day R. convinced me to go outside. I had the best day. I took the tram and felt like a tourist in my own city. It was sunny, I went somewhere I wouldn't usually go. And in the evening I went back to his flat. I like returning "home" and someone's already there, welcoming you.

I finally went to a bicycle store and tested different models. I even settled on a bike and preordered it!

Buying everything I wanted at iShop, a big Asian supermarket in Munich. I got Kewpie mayo, paneer, calpis... and felt like a child in a candy store.

Being on the upswing. Just a little. Feeling a tiny bit better about myself. Feeling a little more joy. Enough motivation to do chores. Cook a proper meal. Wear make-up. I'm really grateful for R. It's incredibly nice not to feel so alone all the time.

Sitting in the sun on the churchyard steps with breakfast from the Greek bakery. After our inital plan to go sailing didn't come through due to lack of wind we spontaneously rented a convertible and drove to a lake in the outskirts of the city, listening to Italian summer hits on country roads.

[ellidoesstuff]

“So What’s Band Like” pt. 2

aka random stuff people in my marching band have done but make it reminiscing on my freshman marching season edition and more focused on general events then what specific people have done

okay so like just to cover bases that one good percussionist from part one is the only percussionist that continued on into high school band

which is a fucking upgrade if you ask me

also i’m the only flute of my grade so i was flute baby™ last year

and then oboe baby when concert season came around

or as i like to call it

boboe™

oh and don’t fool yourself into thinking we have an oboe section either

it’s literally just me and my friend

anyway lets get deeper in to it then your boyfriend/S.O will ever be in you

or then you’ll ever be in your girlfriend/S.O

I ain’t gonna assume your situation

first band competition of the year we got stuck in a very hot band bus in a thunderstorm for like probably over an hour

we ended up being one of the only bands that actually stayed and performed which was cool 

what was also cool is that we sang the 99 bottles of beer on the wall song and actually made it to 0

i’m also proud to say that one of the people who started that was my crush at the time, and my boyfriend now

how chaotic of him 

but then again

he’s a percussionist

also my section leaders piccolo decided to just d i e and she couldn’t play for our entire performance at that competition

moving on

catch us drooling over a 200 plus member band at an away game with an elaborate Aladdin themed show

that same band played megalovania as a stand tune and when I say my band dropped all conversation and bopped to that shit I mean it

also the sunset that night looked like the teletubbie sunrise

when i informed my now boyfriend and my section leader of this they both looked at me like “why the fuck did you just ruin that beautiful sunset”

it is what it is

one time we had a flute hangout after school and before a Friday night away football game 

except make it like the flute section featuring the alto sax section leader and my now boyfriend (who if you don’t remember is a percussionist)

oh and also briefly featuring one of our drum majors from last year and a trombonist 

anyway we ate little caesars pizza at a playground in a neighborhood near the school

we also played on said playground

in the process putting my kermit plushie, who will most likely be a reoccurring character in this series, in the baby swing and pushing him

we then made friendship bracelets but my now boyfriend didn’t know how 

so i did what anyone who knows how to make friendship bracelets and who’s crushing on someone who doesn’t know how to make friendship bracelets would do

i taught him how to make friendship bracelets

we also sat on the band bus together to and from that nights away game where I continued to help him make a friendship bracelet and then we looked at memes on the way back

some of them were funny, some of them weren’t

i laughed at all of them 

why?

because i was and am…

a fucking simp

we hosted a competition the same day that we marched a two mile parade so basically everyone went home and crashed that night

Me, my friend, and my now boyfriend spent like over fifteen minutes trying to find this one band just so we could hand them a single candygram to give to some kid

that kid better have appreciated that candygram

My two friends and I also received a joint airgram from our moms so we all prompted to split the tiny piece of card stock into three and we each have a piece

It’s almost like a friendship bracelet

but one hundred times easier to loose

moving onto big boy competition territory 

aka the Atlantic Coastal Championships 

or at least i think that’s what ACC stands for 

We were the first people to perform that day so we had to wake up at the ass crack of dawn to get to the competition in time

Like legit imagine a bunch of tired band kids on a school bus at 6am

It was actually kind of nice and very quiet

My now boyfriend and I watched Coraline on my chromebook on the way there

We also watched Coco on the way back but we aren’t there yet

I brought my Kermit plushie, as I should’ve, but he did not escape unscathed 

My now boyfriend accidentally dropped him in his spilled chocolate milkshake which had made a fairly accurate rendition of Willy Wonka’s chocolate river on the stands

He was more upset about it then I was honestly and apologized a bunch while frantically trying to scrub the chocolate stain out of Kermit’s green plush flesh with his jeans

My now boyfriend also decided to spin Kermit up in the air like a helicopter and Kermit nearly flew over the back end of the bleachers since we were sat in the top row

Luckily he didn’t fly over but we quickly stopped throwing him around and Kermit promptly sat on the bleachers next to us for the rest of ACCs

Moving forward, I would highlight the game directly after I actually got together with my boyfriend but not a single fucking thing happened

Other then the fact that the concession stand ran out of hot chocolate 

But not before my boyfriend, our two friends, and I could get our hands on some

Flash forward, our football team, in an act of what was probably some form of witchcraft or just downright luck, qualified for playoffs and the first playoff game was a FOUR HOUR drive away

They really said “okay everybody lets travel to the other side of the state for a single football game”

And before you say “well it would take a lot longer to get to the other side of my state!”

pack it up west coast/midwest

I live on the east coast our states are  t i n y

we had to leave for this game in the middle of the school day right after lunch which meant i had to bring two separate book bags to school that day 

one bag for band and one bag for school

regardless we drove on the bus through mountains and trees for four hours before stopping off to have dinner at some rando restaurant

and no offense to old white people but like it must have been senior night or some shit because when I tell you the only people in that restaurant were like 70 to 80 band kids and a bunch of old white people I am not joking

It was terrifying

And I mean like I’m not inherently scared of old white people  

But what I am is non-binary growing up in a conservative area of a conservative state

And I was also holding the hand of my wonderful boyfriend who happens to be a person of color

I was scared I was about to be hate crimed 

Or he was about to get hate crimed

Luckily I think the fact that we were part of a flock of like 80 other teenagers all wearing red shirts and sweatpants scared them off

Or maybe they didn’t even notice and my social anxiety just said “they’re looking at you, love ;)” when they probably weren’t

We also ran the ice cream machine at that place dry

Anyway this was like November and it was super fucking cold outside so the home schools band invited us inside the school building when we got there since it was still a bit before the game

I got to talk to some of the flutes and they were super chill

We also made this weird ass dance circle where we went back and forth doing steps that I forget but remind me of the cotton eyed joe for some reason

Maybe that’s what we were dancing?

I don’t remember I just know like the entire low brass section plus a select group of the upper woodwinds/percussion were all in on it

I also remember what I think was one of the flutes looking at me and my boyfriend who was hugging me from behind and being very physically affectionate, as he usually is, and mentioning something about wondering what instrument he played

If in some miraculous event you are reading this mystery flute girl, he’s a percussionist 

you’re welcome

Nothing really stands out about the game itself other then how fucking cold it was and the fact that our football team won…

by a single point

We then all enjoyed the four hour ride back to the school

Most people spent it sleeping as it was like ten pm

Yeah you do the math we left at like 10pm

JK I’m not gonna make you do math we got back to the school at like 2am

Also notice how I said most people spent it sleeping

I probably would have been one of those people

However my lovely boyfriend, who again I do love, decided that a can of Mountain Dew at 10pm was a good idea

Baby, I love you, but why

10pm is too late for a Mountain Dew

We did end up sleeping for like an hour tho which was nice while it lasted

But then we had the glorious “Everyone we are about thirty minutes away from the school please call your parents to come pick you up” wake up call from our band director

And when I tell you that in that moment it felt like I was in between two different plains of existence

I am not kidding 

It is a very interesting vibe

Anyway I apologize for how painfully long that was but I literally could go into so much more detail. This is just grazing the surface of the experience that was my freshman marching season. However, I’m stopping myself here. If for some reason you want to read more of this and aren’t willing to wait for me to make the part three that will be directed toward this years socially distanced band season, you can read the first one of these which has a remarkably funnier collection of events and a lot less cussing. What can I say, I was an eighth grader in middle school band with an instructor who was very lenient on what we did when we weren’t playing. Until next time, this has been Elliot, signing off until i inevitably find something else interesting to share with the internet. 

[sailonsilver-girl]

stream of consciousness

On moonlit nights like these, I think of you, and a veil is lifted between your world and mine.

But the reflection of you always disappears -- like a stone into water, like a ghost in the night, like the smoke of each drag  that I take in memory of you.

Rest now darling, in peace amongst the stars.

Two years. It’d been two years since he first moved to this shadowed cabin by the lazy, murmuring river that locals called the Stream of Consciousness. All day and night, he could hear the whispers of this body of water, waking him at sunrise and lulling him to sleep come nightfall. Eventually, he couldn’t imagine life without the sound of it - this looming, endless song that seemed to wash away every troubled thought that entered his mind.

In fact, that’s why he’d moved here in the first place: to escape the noise that crowded his brain after the break-up. He and Aimee had been together since college - eight years of peaceful bliss, until one fateful day in December when it all finally ripped at the seams. He never imagined he’d one day live alone, but that’s what it had come to. And so it remained: just him, the trees, and of course, the stream. He had always been a methodical man. As soon as the sun came up, he’d rise. Take a shower, brush his teeth, eat a breakfast of slightly burnt toast and two lightly salted eggs. Every other day, he would go for an hour-long stroll through the forest, moving slowly and silently as he looked up at the trees and watched their leaves being shaken by the wind. He made his living as a freelance writer, and money was never an issue, nor was time.

So he kept busy. With writing, gardening, and going out to the stream to pluck smooth, small stones from the shore, which he kept perched around his front porch in straight, perfectly placed lines. He kept busy because too much headspace would mean an outpouring of Aimee - thoughts of her voice, or her hands, or the way her eyes glistened like a rippling pool of water the last time they said goodbye. It’d been two whole years since they ended things but somehow, the door to Aimee had never closed. Since he’d moved here, he’d only contacted her once. One drunken night in November, the first snowfall of the season. One glass of wine too many had launched him into a blue haze of text messages: I miss you. I’m sorry. I hope you’re happy. But his lonely screams only echoed through the forest, unheard and unanswered. After that, he deleted her phone number and vowed to never reach out to her again. Memories of their break-up hung around him like a fog, but he still couldn’t fully explain why it disintegrated the way it did. Visions of their last few months together came to him slowly over time. And each time a fragment resurfaced, the entire picture became more refined and clear, like the rough stones in the stream that were gradually polished by the tide. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Why were these the only words that could come to him now? He certainly didn’t feel sorry when they ended things. The day Aimee left their apartment, he wanted to spit. On her. On the boxes, weighed down with the last of her things. On the photo of them, smiling, that hung above his desk. A few months before that, she’d come to him with tears in her eyes. “I’m pregnant.” He sat in silence for a few moments, until he could muster a deep breath and murmur, “It’s going to be okay.”

What he really wanted to say was, “I’m not ready.”

And every evening, when night cast its shadow over the bed that he and Aimee shared, he found himself wanting to go back in time - to a time before they had ever met. But despite his secret longings, time only moved forward. And as the weeks passed, Aimee’s stomach tightened and grew, the new home of an unexpected life. “I think I want to keep it,” she murmured one night as they drifted off to sleep.

So for months, they prepared. Carved out a corner in their tiny studio apartment. A crib, a changing table, a small stack of children’s books from the Goodwill next door. As it all came together, the man’s heart even fluttered a little. Maybe this was what he was meant to be: a father. And though he didn’t feel ready yet, he wondered if anyone could ever feel ready for that kind of thing. Three months passed since Aimee first bestowed the news upon him, and he saw a deep glow growing within her, enlivening her with the promise of life. He even heard her humming in the shower every night, soft melodies she made up as she thought of names for their soon-to-be child. It was four AM on a Friday when he felt something shake him violently out of sleep. “I’m bleeding,” a hoarse voice croaked into the darkness. He jumped up and rushed Aimee to the hospital, sleep still crusted in his eyes. As he drove, the sun and moon both remained visible from the highway, hanging low on either end of the purple and orange-streaked sky. He gazed at Aimee as she sat on the hospital table. The glow of life was gone, and her face was as pale as the four walls that surrounded them. The doctor came in, his eyes turned toward the shiny linoleum floor.

And that’s when the fog began.

Aimee, Aimee, Aimee

The man did everything he could to keep that wicked name out of his head. But still, his mind wandered, to Aimee and her expanding stomach - the stomach that eventually shrank back down but was never again the same. Then he thought of his own stomach, how it sank into a pool of both sadness and relief when he and Aimee first saw the blood, speckled like tiny stars across the white linen sheets.

But why? Why was he so terrified to begin with? Why did the thought of that child, who was not yet even the size of his fist, make him want to shut his eyes and shrink into himself until all the world had disappeared?

He was frightened because he knew that when that life began, his as he knew it would end. And from then on, he would forever be responsible, for what he had brought into existence and could never, ever undo.

But could it be undone?

When Aimee lost the baby, he wondered if the angels were simply answering the silent, guilty prayers he’d been sending every night to the skies.

But if this was what I wanted, why does it hurt so damn much?

Another day, another breakfast, another stroll beneath the trees

The water, the water

Another row of stones, each one polished to perfection by the tide

Listen to the water and forget she ever existed

A sanctuary for the lonely, never to be discovered

And still, her name, it haunts me

Where you can forget the unforgettable, unsee what has been seen

Can you lose something that you never had? Grieve something that never was?   Last night, I had a vision and still, my life continues             while another is kept a standstill

We were sitting by a stream, and leaves were falling all around us like grey hairs from the trees

white noise                  ends untied                             unraveling,                                             unraveling

I was staring at the water, mourning everything that we had lost

I just want to stop remembering

And you were beside me, wordless and understanding

But the water remembers,                             it always remembers.

I slip into a dream in the hopes of finding you there. And you are, just as you always are: fast asleep with your hair moving like a wave across the pillow. Here, an impenetrable peace surrounds us. It’s the split second of calm you feel when you first wake up - when you have no concept of yesterday, today, or tomorrow; when all you know is the square of white ceiling above you, a virgin canvas unfettered by the pain of color or shape.

I want to live forever in that space. That sweet, vacant heaven.

Unfeeling, unknowing.

Just you and I.

[sweetdreamstrilogy]

Chapter 1

Once Upon a Time

…there was a stupid boy and his stupid name was Derrick. That’s me.  

I guess it all started when I first laid eyes on her, but it wouldn’t make sense to tell you that yet. We have to go back and talk about Chicago first. 

I had just turned seventeen and my junior year of high school was coming to a slow and restless end. It was nearly summer when fate intervened, on the best and worst day of my life. 

Angela was the catalyst - Angela who’d been my first everything. Angela who smoked and drank and partied, went home, got thrown around by her dad and then did it all over again. Angela who was always trying to destroy herself. Angela who was always trying to destroy me.

She called me at three in the morning that night, sobbing into the phone while a party raged in the background. “Something bad happened.” 

I was already out of bed and pulling on my jeans. “Where are you? What happened?” 

She didn’t answer. 

“Angela! What the hell is going on?” 

“It’s Dan,” She cried, but it almost sounded like laughter. I should’ve known then but all I could think was who's Dan? Where could she be? Who the fuck is having a party tonight? “He took advantage of me, I swear I didn’t do anything, I swear...” 

“What did he do?” It felt like an arrow thrummed through the air, straight into my chest. I knew this was gonna happen one of these nights, hanging out with these fucking people I didn't know, getting so drunk she couldn't see straight...

"I don't know..." She sobbed. In the living room, I tip-toed in the dark, searching the kitchen counter for my mom’s car keys. 

“It’s okay. I’m coming to get you, I’m on my way.” 

“No!” She yelped into the phone. I went still at the sound. “Don’t come, Sarah is taking me home.” 

“Dammit, Angela, tell me where you are.” 

But she’d already hung up. 

I stared at the dark screen of my phone for a minute, wanting to slam it onto the counter and break the damn thing to pieces. She was always doing this to me, calling with a crisis that kept me up all night, one way or another - worrying about her or coming to the rescue. I almost got in the car and drove to her house but...the last time I showed up while her dad was home she came to school the next day with a brand new shiner. I couldn't go there, risk him taking it out on her again. No, I'd have to wait to see her until school - if she even showed up - and that was still hours off. 

I thought about trying to go back to sleep but I knew I'd just lay there, wondering what happened, how bad it was. So, like many sleepless nights before, I climbed up to the roof of the trailer and waited for the sky to lighten. I tried calling her back, once, twice, smoked three cigarettes in a row waiting to see if she'd call back but she never did. Soon the golden rays of sunrise put the color back in the world, illuminating the trailer park in which I lived, the neighbor's overflowing trash, Cliff's rusty truck parked in the dirt, my mom's ancient looking Geo Metro next to it. Another damn day, I thought, looking at it all. 

Below me I heard them waking up and knew it was time to go. As I slid down off the roof, I realized my mom's keys were still in my back pocket and rushed to get back to the kitchen before- 

"Where you goin' so early?" There was Cliff in his yellowed wife-beater, bottom lip already puckered with chew. I grimaced at the sight of him. 

"Nowhere." 

He spat into an empty cup on the counter. "Not to save that little bitch again." 

"Cliff-" My mom had appeared behind him, her blonde hair a mess, grey robe hanging loose around her. Seemed like she was wasting away right before my eyes. 

"What? What else do I call her?" Cliff laughed, showing his blackened teeth. 

"Shut your fucking mouth." I pushed past him, heading for my room. 

"What'd you say?" 

He tried to grab my arm, pull me back around but I shrugged him off hard - hard enough that he had to take a step back not to lose his balance. "I said shut your fucking mouth." 

"Derrick-" My mom's voice matched her nightgown, faded and stretched thin, and that took all the fight out of me. I went for my room before he could say anything else, but not before catching her   exchange a nervous glance with his furious one.

Dammit, all I wanted to do was make a run for it, get to school early and catch Angela before homeroom but I couldn't leave them alone, not like this. No doubt she'd have new bruises by the time I got home from school, always "slipping" in those non-slip shoes of hers. No, I wasn't going anywhere until one of them left for work, so I just sat on my bed with the door cracked and tried not to listen. Course that's kinda hard when the walls are thinner than a sheet of paper. 

"Ungrateful little shit." I could even hear him spitting into his spit cup between clattering from the kitchen, where my mom was no doubt busying herself doing the dishes, making him a breakfast he didn't deserve. "Who the hell does he think he is? Talking to me like that, I'll give him a taste of his own fucking medicine..." 

I wished he would try but he knew better than that -  three years of hell and the only time my mom ever came close to leaving him was when he gave me those stitches. I traced the path of the scar across my eyebrow, a familiar habit now, a gesture that would always bring to mind the taste of blood and failure. I was the only one who remembered how easily she took him back. 

So yeah, the truth was it probably wouldn't matter if he beat me to death with his bare hands, she wasn't going anywhere. But he didn't know that and he wasn't gonna risk losing his caretaker, his punching bag. All I could do was keep hoping he'd go out like my dad did, crash into a tree some foggy night after too many drinks. Poof, gone from our lives forever. Maybe then we could go back to the way things were...she was happy once wasn't she? I tried to remember back before the relapses, before Cliff, before any of it but all I could find were the things I had to bury. 

"Breakfast is ready!" Her voice brought me back. 

"Not hungry!" I yelled back, even though my stomach felt empty. I couldn't stand the thought of sitting at the table together like some fucked up little family. Through the wall, Cliff was still complaining; 

"What is this crap, Marla? Burnt shit, your cooking's worthless as you are-" This brought me to my feet. Something crashed. 

Out in the living room he'd swept his plate off the table like a toddler throwing a tantrum and she was on hands and knees, picking up bacon and bits of egg from molding linoleum. I wanted to lunge across the table, bloody my knuckles until this feeling left me but one look at her reminded me every blow would hit her just as hard. I went to my knees instead, picking up the mess. 

"It's okay, Derrick, I got it. You get off to school now." She said, not meeting my eyes but I could see her hands were shaking. 

"Yeah, shouldn't you get walking?" Cliff sneered, looking down at us from his throne at the kitchen table. It took all I had not to yank him out of his chair.

"Can I get a ride?" I said to my mom, helping her to her feet. Cliff's grin fell. 

"Sure, honey. Just gimme a minute, gotta get dressed." 

She set the broken plate down on the counter and disappeared into the back bedroom, leaving Cliff and I alone, a rare occasion. He was watching me, I turned to face him. 

"You think you're something tough." He said with a chuckle, stuffing more snuff into his cheek. 

"I could kill you." God knows I'd thought of a hundred ways to do it but she'd just find someone else.  

"Huh, like to see you try." He spat into his cup and wiped the black drool off his chin with the back of a hand. 

"Maybe one of these days you will." I swallowed down wave after wave of rage, knowing that's what he wanted - an outburst, a reason to turn my mom against me, separate us more than he and the alcohol already had. And I couldn't let that happen, the thread was thin enough already, one more hard tug and it was gonna break for good. 

"You really think you can save her?" He said and I wasn't sure if he meant Angela or my mom. I ground my teeth together so I wouldn't take the bait. "You can't save nobody." 

The punch to the gut was that he was right. He knew it and I knew it. There was nothing I could do, there never had been, she was lost to me from day one and I was stuck in an endless loop, watching her kill herself slowly, slowly in any way she could, leaving me to do the same because I didn't know any other way. 

"You ready to go?" My mom emerged in her pin-striped dress and not-so-white apron, stained from two years running around in the same grease trap. 

"Yeah, one sec." I grabbed my backpack from my room and when I came back she was kissing him on the head like nothing happened and he was grabbing her waist with dirt under his nails and fingers blackened in every crevice and crease, stained in years of dirt and oil and grease. These were the subtle things that broke my back. The screen door shook as it slammed shut behind me. 

But outside wasn't much better, I could still hear every word. 

"-trying to break the damn door. I should kick his ass out, he can live on the street-" 

I almost started for the train-tracks, a familiar walk through tangled woods. I could always lose myself there, playing chicken with the train, walking for miles, knowing I was lost but also knowing that the tracks would lead me home. Problem was I never wanted to go home, if was up to me I would've spent every night lying in a field with only the stars and the crickets. It was peaceful there, nothing could go wrong. But before long I'd start to wonder what was happening at home, knowing every minute I wasn't there was another chance to lose it all. 

The screen door whined as it opened - too late to make a run for it - and my mom emerged a second later, looking stamped out like the butt of a cigarette. She didn't meet my eyes as she unlocked her car door and then leaned over to unlock my side. She turned the key, once, twice, trying to get the engine to start. On the third try it groaned to life and we started down the dirt road that would lead us out of here, if only we could just keep driving. 

We sat in silence but my head was busy thinking of a thousand things I could say to her. Problem was I'd said them all before and it never changed a damn thing, so I just kept my mouth shut for once, saving up my breath to waste on Angela later. 

"You working tonight?" My mom filled the tense silence as we turned out onto the main road, content to pretend like nothing happened as usual. 

 "Yeah, at five."  

"Well, I could see if anybody wants to give away a shift. Do a double, keep you company?" She said hopefully, her way of making up for this morning without saying a word about it. I wanted to tell her she should just go home and relax for once,  but the only way to make a Friday night shift longer would be standing there scrubbing dishes, wondering if tonight was the night Cliff lost his shit again, if tonight was the night she relapsed again. At least at work I could keep an eye on her. 

"Yeah, that'd be cool." 

She gave a faint smile. 

"Here." I slid a depressingly thin wad of cash out of my wallet and held it out to her. I'd been bussing tables after school almost a year and the money never got better, but at least it was something.

"Derrick, you keep it, it's your money. You worked hard for it." 

"I don't want it." I kept enough for cigarettes but the rest went to her, no matter how many times she tried to refuse it. I just hoped it was helping somehow and not contributing to Cliff's beer fund. "It's for you, for bills or whatever. The air conditioner. Tires." 

She sighed, tucking the bills into her apron. "Thank you." 

"I just wish I had more to give you." 

She squeezed my hand but still couldn't look at me. "I know the feeling." She put her hand back on the steering wheel and went quiet for a long moment, then said softly, "Sorry about this morning." 

I turned away from the window to look at her. She finally cast me a sorry glance and I almost let it go...but dammit, there had to be some combination of words that would convince her and I was never going to quit trying to find them. 

"It's not your fault, mom." Reasoning, the first stage. "It's him, he's the asshole, why can't you see that?" 

"He doesn't mean it." Her lips dug little graves at the edges of her mouth. "He's tired, he goes through a lot at work, you don't see that." 

There were a thousand cuts in every word she used to defend him. I sank into my seat. 

"He's a piece of shit." Anger.

"Derrick-" She sighed, lips settling into a thin stubborn line. “He agreed to go to counseling with me. At the church.” 

“Again? Yeah cause that worked so well the last time.” 

"Things are different now." 

“Since when?” More anger. “Since he dropped out of rehab? He still drinks every day. It's not good for you to be around that." 

"It doesn't bother me-" 

"Mom, he hit you, he made you relapse, he-" 

"That was my fault-" 

"No, it wasn't. Stop telling yourself that." She just stared out the windshield. Could she even hear me? I was already to begging. "Mom, I know you get lonely but you don't need him. We can leave, move back to the city-" 

She just shook her head no, like it was a sad fact of life, an immutable truth. "Someday you'll understand." 

"No. I won't." Depression. 

"When you're in love." 

I folded my arms over my chest, thinking about Angela. "Maybe I am." 

"You wouldn't say maybe." 

I shook my head, finally at the last stage - giving up - and punched the radio on. She kept on driving like nothing happened. I stared out the window as a train passed in the opposite direction and wished I was on the tracks. Soon McKinley High was looming on the horizon. She stopped the car in front of the main entrance and looked over at me, her mouth twisted up in resolute, weary sadness.

“Have a good day at school.” She said. I wanted to say something, to ease the tension between us, lighten the look on her face but I just nodded and got out of the car.  

The usual morning chaos dragged me through crowded halls, thrashing with a thousand sounds, voices, faces I didn't know that didn't know me but regarded me with eyes hostile or wanting or empty. I found Angela by her locker, looking hungover and despondent. She frowned when she saw me. 

"Ang, what the hell happened last night? Are you okay?" She just slammed her locker door shut and started down the hall, saying;

"It's nothing, sorry I even called." 

"What the fuck does that mean?" I wove through the chaos, trying to keep up with her. "Hey," I grabbed her hand and pulled her off to the side. "What happened? Tell me." 

She just shrugged, shaking her head. "I don't remember." 

"You said some guy Dan took advantage of you. Who the fuck is Dan?" 

She rolled her eyes. "Just this guy on the football team."

 "What did he do? I swear to God-" 

"Nothing." 

"Then why-" 

"I don't know, I was trashed."

"So nothing happened?" 

"I mean, we hooked up I guess-" 

"And you said no, you didn't want to?" 

"Of course!" She swatted my shoulder. "I'm with you, idiot. Look, I just wanna forget it-"  

"Fuck that, he's not just gonna get away with it." 

"Seriously, just let it go." The bell rang and she tugged on my hand. "Come on." 

My chance came at lunch. The football players were always hanging around under the bleachers smoking and that’s where I found him. 

There were three of them, passing around a cigarette. Anyone else would’ve walked away, waited until he was alone to start something. Not me. Not stupid Derrick. They didn’t even look up when I approached them.

’“Dan?” I said, looking between the three of them, hoping one of them would give me a clue. A stocky guy in the middle looked up, taking a drag of his cigarette. 

“Yeah.” He regarded me with lazy eyes and didn't have a chance to dodge when my fist collided with his face. His neck jerked back and with a crack blood began to gush from his nose. Then his friends were on me.  

Before long I was lying on my back in the damp grass, blood in my mouth, watching a cloud float by in an otherwise empty blue sky. My chest felt too heavy, I couldn’t take a breath or hear anything but ringing in my ears where one of them had socked me.  

I couldn't see them anymore so thought they might’ve left. No such luck. Two of them pulled me up and my knees flapped beneath me, useless. Dan came into blurry view. He was licking at his split lip, which made me grin, showing a mouthful of blood. 

“You piece of shit.” Dan wiped his face with the back of his hand. His knuckles came away bloody. “Angela is a fucking slut, you can have her.” 

“Fuck you,” I spat, lunging but the jackets held me back. “She told me everything, you asshole, she was drunk.” 

“Yeah, she was.” Dan smirked, “But I can promise you one thing,” He stepped closer to me, so close I could feel his breath on my face. “She wanted it.” 

His fist barreled into my gut, my knees gave out and struck the ground. The two jackets released me suddenly and I went face-first into the grass. A boot struck out and connected with my ribs - something cracked, I lost my breath. 

“Tell her thanks for a great night.” I flinched as warm spit ran down my cheek and watched their shoes stomp away in the grass. 

They didn’t get very far though. A fourth set of shoes had joined them on the horizon and these shoes were recognizably polished - the principal. Shit, what the hell was he doing out here? I pushed myself up to my knees and spat blood into the grass. 

“Help him up!” Principal Khol was saying to the jackets, who were looking sheepish now. 

“Don’t fucking touch me,” I growled, bringing myself to my feet at last. The world tilted precariously for a long moment and then fell into back place. 

“He started it!” Dan whined. “Look, I'm bleeding!” Principal Khol ignored him, surveying me with a disappointed frown. 

“Yeah, so is he. Do you need to see the nurse?” Principal Khol asked me. I shook my head, spitting more blood into the grass, where it congealed like some kind of macabre morning dew. “Good. You three, I’ll deal with you shortly. Derrick, in my office.” Dan and I exchanged a glare. “NOW.” 

I followed Principal Khol across the football field, where girls paused from their lunches to watch me, through the halls, where kids peered at me from behind their lockers, and into his office, where the receptionist shook her head at the sight of me. 

I collapsed into Principal Khol’s office chair, which I’d been in so many times it seemed molded to fit me. He sat across from me, shifting papers from one side of the desk to another so he had a place to fold his hands. 

“Derrick.” Principal Khol shook his head, looking disappointed. I didn’t see why, I wasn’t his kid. Sometimes I was his problem but definitely not his responsibility. If he wanted me to feel bad for bloodying the face of the guy who hurt Angela, then  he was going to be very disappointed. I only felt relief and a satisfaction that ran as deep as my bones. “There’s nothing I can do for you now but I need to know why.” 

“What are you even talking about?” I said, shaking my head. Things were swimming, I wondered if I had a concussion. One ear was still ringing. 

“I’m responsible for the kids here, you understand that much at least, right?” I had to stop from rolling my eyes. Now he was gonna be a condescending asshole, on top of everything else. “If I can figure out why you squandered all your potential for cigarettes and partying and fighting then maybe I can stop someone else from doing it.” 

“I didn’t squander shit.” I needed to spit blood again, it was welling up between my teeth. 

“You did and you are. Your scores when you transferred here, they were enough to get you into a four year college easily. You could’ve gone Ivy League if you’d tried.” Principal Khol shook his head. “Not anymore.” 

“Not this again.” I shook my head, swallowing blood. 

“No, not again. There’s nothing I can do to help you anymore Derrick.” He took a deep breath and looked at me. “You’re expelled.” 

For a minute I didn’t fully understand him. The words made it to my ears but not to my brain. 

“Expelled.” I repeated. 

“Yes. Kicked out, expelled.” 

“Can you do that?” 

“Yes. And I have to. This is your third strike and we have a no violence policy. I’ve told you that again and again.” 

“Hear me out! Dan took advantage of a girl, my girlfriend at a party while she was drunk! Is he going to be expelled too?”

“Dan is a separate matter that is none of your business. I assure you all of this will be investigated and dealt with. If you focused on your own business for once then maybe this wouldn’t be happening.” 

“Well…what the fuck.” 

“Language.” 

“Sorry. Fuck. Sorry. Do I have to go to another school?” 

“That will be up to you and your family.”

“Just my mom.” 

“Yes, you and your mother.” 

“Can I go home then?”

“Your mother is on her way to pick you up, Trudy called her already.” 

“Jesus is she on speed dial or something? I can just walk.” 

“She has to sign a few things before we can let you leave.” 

“I’ll bring the forms to her, I need to get out of here.” 

“Just sit Derrick, there’s something else you and I and your mother need to discuss.” 

“Fine, but can I go to the bathroom at least?” 

Principal Khol rolled his eyes, threw up his hands, given up. “Go for it.”

I stumbled out of the room and across the hall, into the nearest boy’s bathroom, which was blessedly empty.  I locked myself in the farthest stall, closest to the window and sat on the toilet. 

“Fuck.” I whispered to myself. What the fuck was going on? Expelled? I couldn’t think straight. My ears were still ringing and my head ached and my skin felt tight from nicotine deprivation. I pulled a squashed pack of cigarettes from my back pocket and withdrew the lucky, the only one that hadn't split. My hands shook as I flicked the lighter but the first inhale made me go still. 

Breathe. I inhaled again, exhaling in the direction of the cracked bathroom window. Breathe. It wasn’t so bad. I didn’t like school anyway, wasn’t any good at it no matter what Principal Khol seemed to think. Those scores were from years ago anyway - before weed and alcohol and one or two minor concussions. It wasn’t so bad. At least I would still have Angela, I wouldn’t see her at school as much but I hardly did anyway except during lunch. Maybe I could drop out all together, get a job and save up enough to get us a place in the city when she graduated, get her away from her dad, get me away from Cliff…

I made it halfway through my cigarette before the bathroom door squealed opened, followed by the patter of shoes which disappeared into a stall. I took one last drag of my cigarette and flushed the rest. Time was up. 

 Outside the stall a dirty mirror greeted me - I cautiously raised my eyes to look at myself. Well, I was still bloody and the bruises were starting to rise already, colorful little continents pushing their way up through my skin. I ran the tap and splashed it over my face, rinsed my mouth out, staining the sink in pink. I didn’t look much better but that was the best I could do. 

The halls were still empty. I started back toward the office but didn’t quite make it before I heard my name. 

“Derrick!” My mother called, her work shoes squealing on the linoleum as she broke into a jog toward me. I took two long steps forward and then she’d reached me and was holding my face, examining the bruises and shaking her head. “God, Derrick.” She’d come straight from shift at the diner - her eyes were all bloodshot and she smelled like sweat and grease. She started to choke up, looking at me.

“Mom, it’s ok, it doesn’t even hurt.” I lied, trying to crack a grin, hoping there wasn’t blood in my teeth anymore. She shook her head, exhaling loudly. 

“What happened?” The look on her face, her lips sewn together in a grim line, her eyes tearing, frustrated, made me go quiet. “You knew they weren’t gonna give you another chance!” She stamped a foot. “Dammit.” She rubbed her eyes. 

“I…I didn’t think, I-” It was true. The consequences of going after Dan had never crossed my mind. All I could think of was Angela crying into the phone, all I could imagine was what he might’ve done to her. The rest was simple. 

“Ah, there you are.” Principal Khol’s voice came from behind me. “Hello, Ms. Woods.” He said, nodding toward my mother. “Let’s take a seat in my office.” 

Both my mother and I followed him sheepishly, the screw-up kid and the screw-up mom bracing for a lecture. Principal Khol pulled out a chair for her. She sat, crossing her legs at the ankle, where a tear in her panty-hose was widening. There was silence for a long moment as everyone settled in. Principal Khol folded his hands on top of his desk, his eyes going between the two of us. He cleared his throat. 

“I’m sorry to bring you all the way down here, Marla.” Principal Khol said. “But if we’re going to go through with this, we need to act now.” 

“Is there still a possibility he could get in?” My mom asked him. I looked between the two of them - what the fuck were they talking about? 

“What are you talking about?” I directed this toward my mother, but she just stared pointedly at Principal Khol, who went on,

“There is. I’ve prepared all the paperwork but we need signatures,” He pulled a drawer open and thumbed through the files. “And we need to fax it off to them as quickly as possible, their deadline for the fall semester is rapidly approaching.” He produced a stack of papers and leafed through them, ignoring me completely. 

“What is all that? What’s going on?” 

No one answered. My mom was biting her lip. She and Principal Khol exchanged a look. 

“Listen, Derrick.” She leaned forward. “I…we…Mr. Khol and I discussed what might happen if you were to be expelled and we set up a…” 

“A contingency plan.” Principal Khol finished for her. “There is a very elite preparatory school in Kent, England and we may have found a way for you to spend your Senior year there.” 

My ears were ringing. Kent? England?

“What?” That was all I could manage.

“They have a special program…” My mom was trying to explain but she couldn’t seem to finish. The look of betrayal on my face silenced her. Principal Khol stepped in. 

“Yes, a special acceptance program designed to help you and other kids like you fulfill your potential. You meet all the requirements and I’ll be sending along a copy of your test scores, there’s no reason to think you won’t be accepted, although we will have to wait for an official response.” 

“You’re shipping me away?” I didn’t blink, didn’t take my eyes off her. “I bet Cliff is gonna love this,” A laugh started in my throat but got caught halfway up.

“No, Derrick,” The desperation in her voice sliced through me. “This is a chance for you to…” She was starting to cry, I could feel tears burning behind my eyes too. 

“Your mother is trying to do what’s best for you, this academy is a rare opportunity-” Principal Khol said sternly. 

“You went behind my back, you just assumed I’d fuck up again…” 

My face was hot. Of course I’d fucked up again, proved her right. A tear was catching the afternoon light on her cheek. I wanted to hate her - for being with Cliff, for moving me here, for this - but I just felt empty and stretched thin, a balloon ready to pop. 

“We wanted to make sure there was a way you could graduate, even if it can’t be here,” 

“Fuck graduating, I don’t care about that, I’m not leaving…”

“Just look at this,” Principal Khol sifted through his paperwork. He passed a shiny, folded brochure to me. I stared at it but didn’t pick it up. “You’d have excellent teachers and peers of your own caliber, the rooms are spacious and there’s plenty of extracurricular activities to keep you busy, they have every club you can imagine and…” 

All the sound in the room faded into the ringing in my ears. His mouth was moving but I couldn’t hear. He was unfolding the brochure and pointing at pictures of shiny, smiling teenagers in their pressed uniforms. England? I’d never left Chicago. It seemed impossibly far, out of the reach of my imagination, another world, another dimension. 

“-to a lot of trouble to arrange this for you.” Principal Khol was saying. “If you did well, there’s a chance you could be accepted into a good college.” He could see that I wasn’t listening. He sat up straighter and gave an exasperated sigh. “At the very least, consider it.” He slid the brochure further across the desk. He and my mother exchanged a long look and then their eyes settled on me, waiting for an answer. 

My mouth wouldn’t open. All I could see was Cliff’s smiling face when he finally got rid of me. Was that the real reason she’d done this to me? To make Cliff happy? The thought made my stomach turn so violently I actually tasted bile at the back of my throat. She was staring at me, her eyebrows knitted together in concern, as if she cared.

“I need air…” I stood before either of them could respond. 

“Derrick…” My mom called but the door was already swinging shut. Trudy glanced up at me with contempt as I fled the office. 

I didn’t make it far before the next lunch bell rang and suddenly the halls were flooded. Those nearest to me eyed my fresh bruises and glared as I pushed through the throng toward the exit. I needed a cigarette, and then another and another and another.

Outside the sun was clearing the sky of clouds and baking the skin of so many adolescent shoulders. The bleachers had already filled and that’s where I saw Angela. She was laughing with two other girls I sort of recognized. She looked so happy - the sun soaking into her pale skin, her laugh carried to me by the wind. 

I wanted to tell her what happened, what they wanted to do with me but somehow my feet wouldn’t move. They wouldn’t ruin her day with bruises and blood and ultimatums, like I wanted to. But it was too late, one of her friends caught sight of me and said something to Angela, who pushed her bleached hair from her shoulder and turned in my direction. I waved a hand sheepishly and she smiled, sending waves of warmth over me just to see something familiar and good. She nodded toward the space beneath the bleachers and we both started in that direction. 

“What the hell happened to you?” She asked, coming around the corner. I just shook my head, not even sure I wanted to explain. “You look like shit.” She was wiggled two cigarettes from her pack and handed one to me.

“Thanks…” I lit it and sucked in, my lungs hungry for the smoke. She watched me, smoking her own cigarette, waiting for me to talk. She shuffled her feet in the dirt, I said; “I’m getting expelled.” 

At first there was no reaction from her, except she narrowed her eyes and examined my bruised face. It must’ve dawned on her - the reason why - because her eyes widened and she stepped back, shaking her head. 

“Shit.” And then she started to laugh. It was a laugh that couldn’t be stifled, though she tried. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” She was saying, still laughing. I could only stare. I didn’t know what to think anymore, my mom was shipping me off to another fucking country and Angela, the only person I could say I was remotely close to, was laughing about it. “I’m sorry, I just didn’t think…” She inhaled on her cigarette, trying not to smile. “I didn’t think you’d really go after him.” 

“What are you talking about?” I couldn’t hold it in anymore, my voice rose. “Of course I went after him! He took advantage of you, I’m not just gonna let that happen!” She was staring at me, her eyebrows raised, a look of comic disbelief on her face. “He raped you!” 

“Derrick…” Angela shook her head, her blonde hair falling into her eyes. “No, he didn’t.” She said this like it was the most obvious thing in the world. 

“You called me at three in the fucking morning last night-” 

“I didn’t know how to tell you.”

“Tell me what?” 

“God, Derrick you really are an idiot…” She waited for me to understand, but still, I didn’t. “He didn’t rape me! For god’s sake, we had sex and I didn’t know how to tell you so I made that shit up but I didn’t think you’d go and get your ass kicked…” 

There was a long moment of stillness for me. I’m not sure how it felt to Angela, but to me time stretched and twisted like putty. A hundred possible reactions and paths opened up to me - I could run away or lose my mind or wrap my hands around her neck.

Then her lips lifted in a grin and the facade dropped, a curtain falling. Whoosh. I saw her how she must’ve seen herself - pale, skinny, make-up smearing, her natural dark hair eating up the bleach she’d smothered it with. A liar, a fuck-up, a worthless piece of shit. I’d always believed there was something more than that, something that she hid beneath sarcasm and bitterness. But now I knew there wasn’t. 

I dropped the cigarette under my shoe and crushed it. Angela was still staring with her lopsided grin.

“Derrick, come on.” She said, laughing. 

 I turned and started back across the field toward the school and that was the last time I saw her. 

Distantly I could feel my ribs aching, my face throbbing, my ears ringing, my stomach twisting. I could feel the chasm opening inside my chest, waiting for me to be alone so it could tug me in over the edge and into darkness. But this was all far away - inside me there was a still place, numb to the pain. 

Back in Principal Khol’s office they were chatting, having a polite conversation. My mom looked up when I entered, her face hopeful and sorry. I couldn’t look at her. 

“I’ll go.” I said, to Principal Khol. He nodded and motioned for me to sit. 

The next half hour was an excruciatingly slow blur of signatures and details. 

“We’ll know if you’ve been accepted by mid-June.” I nodded, over and over, hardly hearing him. “You’ll need to have your choice of classes in by the end of July, and make sure you choose from the requirements or they could kick it back.” The adrenaline or stillness or whatever was wearing off. I wanted to throw up or throw myself off a roof. I kept seeing Angela grinning behind my eyes, Cliff grinning. They’d gotten rid of me, they’d done me in.

“Extracurriculars aren’t required but I highly recommend you sign up with your other classes, they fill quickly.” The pain was starting to make everything blur at the edges. “Here is a list of recommended items to bring for your dorm room.”

At last, after signing and reviewing and faxing, Principal Khol stood and organized the papers into a folder. He looked down at me really sadly, like I was his kid again. “I wish you the best, Derrick.” He said. 

The folder found its way into my numb fingers. “Thanks.” I was too exhausted to really mean it. 

My mom and I walked silently through the halls, the only sound was her work shoes squealing on the floors. Everyone was in class and this was the last time I was going to walk through these halls. I didn’t care - I hadn’t made made a single real friend in my two years at McKinley. There were people that knew my name, people that waved to me in the halls, girls that wanted to hook up, guys that wanted to fight me or be me, there were people I bummed cigarettes from and people I felt bad for. But I didn’t know anyone, and no one knew me. 

In the parking lot, my mom’s car looked sad and rusty in the afternoon light. I wanted to walk home, be alone with my thoughts, maybe lie down on the train tracks but I was too tired to argue with her about it. 

The inside of the car was burning up. There were cigarette butts stinking in the ash tray. We both sat and waited as she cranked the engine again and again, wondering if this was the last insult of the day, until at last it came to life. We rumbled out of the gated parking lot in silence and out onto the street. 

“Derrick…” My mom started. 

“Don’t.” I said. I pushed the button for the radio and a crooning voice filled the car. The corners of her lips trembled and I felt a pang of guilt, but I couldn’t open my mouth. All my words, everything was being sucked into the black hole in my gut. So began the longest summer of my life.

Tag List: @danielleslayer​ @writeblrconnections @thewriteblrarchives​

[cannedapricot]

Road Trip with! NCT Dream

the album,,,,,,, the mv,,,,,, i’m soft don’t touch me,,,,,,,,,,,, here’s a road trip au based on their mv to let my uwus out. also this gif makes me hella emo

hello

so i know school has started in most countries

but for this au, pretend that you’re still on summer vacation!!

aka what i wish i was on rn ugh

anyways!!

high schoolers! dream!!!

except-

mark’s already graduated high school

and will head off to his uni after the summer ends

then donghyuck, jeno, jaemin and renjun’s gonna graduate before next year summer

which really means

that it’s gonna be the last summer of your crew as high schoolers

this thought didn’t really go through your head until a week before school starts

when the 00 line fucking shows up at your door with their bags already packed

and bright smiles

you’re just like-

????when did we agree on a sleepover????

“hEY YOU UP FOR A ROAD TRIP TO COMMEMORATE OUR LAST SUMMER AS HIGH SCHOOL STUDENTS?”

“uh-”

“come on, dear y/n, it’s not like you were planning on doing anything else”

you eyes narrow 

becaUSE DID THEY JUST ASSUME YOU HAD NOTHING TO DO

i mean,,,, they’re right tho,,,,, all you’ve done all summer is laze at home because it’s way too hot outside,,,,,,,,but,,,,,,,,,,,,

“can,,,,, you even drive tho”

“hahHAHAHAHAHAH DONGHYUCK? DRIVE?” 

“i even don’t trust him with my fish what makes you think i trust him with the wheel”

“okAY JUST BECAUSE I FAILED MY DRIVING TEST TWICE DOESN’T MEAN YOU GUYS CAN BULLY ME”

fuck no one’s sane here

but what’d you really expect from two jocks and two art geeks

the same jocks and geeks that pushed you back into your own home and watched as you packed

wipes away tear

“why am i always forced to do dumb shit with you guys”

“whAT DO YOU MEAN????”

and so you were pushed out the door after having a word with your parents

who only agreed to let you go cause they deemed renjun trust worthy

because he’s the only one who at least acts normal around your parents

“whoSE CAR ARE WE EVEN U S I N G- oh”

right on the curb parked mark’s old and stuttering blue car.

on which he sat in the driver’s seat, trying to get the old thing to play music

“are you sure we’re not gonna die”

“nope, but it’s the only car we have available”

jeno whispered in response, throwing your bag in the trunk

“ah, y/n, i see you’ve been successfully dragged into hyuck’s dumb idea”

donghyuck climbs into the passenger seat next to mark, 

flipping his friend off in the proccess

“you are all here because we are all friends and we love each other”

you, being squashed in the back seat:

“no - not really”

“wtf jaemin there’s another row of seats in the back stOP TRYING TO PUSH ME OUT”

“BUT I WANNA SIT WITH Y/N????”

“fucking donghyuck”

“WHY ME???? WHAT HAVE I DONE????”

wow great start to your trip 10/10

picking up chenle and jisung literally took five seconds

they lived next to each to each other

and it only took one excited nod from chenle for jisung to tag along

and that’s the story of how you ending up being in a shotty blue car with seven teenage boys

miles from home on an empty ass road

screaming the lyrics to micheal jackson songs into the heat (thanks to dj haechan)

at least mark got the speakers to work again

“wherE ARE WE EVEN GOING???”

“IDK LOL”

“WAIT WHATTHEFUCJ-”

at one point, jisung and chenle at the back decided to sit up onto the car, with their legs on their seats

“I’M PRETTY SURE THAT’S ILLEGAL AND DANGEROUS”

“yOlO!!1!1!!!1”

“how the fuck do i disown them”

“push them off”

everything was going swimmingly

until the car breaks down in the middle of the road

“i knew this was gonna happen sighs”

mark then jumps out to check the hood

then immediately notices something wrong rip

“hyuck, pass me the box in the glove box.”

“you’re prepared???? does this happen often or????”

so mark tries to fix the car in the blistering heat with renjun nagging beside him, holding an umbrella to hide the two of them from the sun

whilst the rest of you start playing uno on the back of the car

multiple times, not once, buT MULTIPLE TIMES

CHENLE HAS LOOKED AT YOUR CARDS

HE’S DOESN’T EVEN TRY DEFEND HIMSELF WHEN YOU POINT IT OUT

WHAT A LITTLE SNAKE

“FOR FUCKS SAKE ZHONG CHENLE IF U DON’T STOP I SWEAR-”

jisung won every round 

which made the rest of you bond trying to break his win streak

“jeno do you have a plus four to screw him up with”

“i only have a green plus two if that helps”

and that kinda goes on until mark lee emerges from behind the raised hood, telling y’all to give the car a push

“yeah just a second, jisung’s finally losing-”

“hA YOU THOUGHT”

THROWS DOWN FIVE NINES

INFURIATING

everyone grumbles as they hop off and start pushing

“lets just put our rage into pushing this stupid car”

which ends up moving easier than y’all thought it would

so the seven of you stumble a little when the car started moving by itself

mark nearly drove away himself lmao

made the group of you chase after the car for a moment lmAO

you wished he did drive off though because the second the car starting moving with everyone back on,

he yells,

“lET’S GET IT”

“siri where’s the nearest bus stop to get home”

“HSEGFSUEF NO I’M SORRY :C”

then as the day slowly got darker,

your screams didn’t die down lol

the latest feud was over chocolate vs vanilla

and you honestly think about how you got stuck in a group of dumbasses

“remember when hyuck hated jaemin and jeno back in freshman year lol”

“nO SHUT UP RENJUN”

“LMAO DIDN’T HYUCK DISLIKE THEM BECAUSE THEY CHUCKED A BASKETBALL AT HIS HEAD”

“what you still remember that? i’m sorry hyuck :’cccccc”

“NO JENO I’VE FORGIVEN YOU AGES AGO- FUCKING RENJUN-”

the group of dumbasses did make you laugh though

so maybe it wasn’t so bad

night then came and the conversation finally started to tone down

mark pulls to the side of the road 

“let’s call it a night, yeah?”

the rest of you mumble in agreement

“our last summer as high schoolers huh”

you hum, running your hands through jaemin’s freshly dyed candyfloss hair

“but will anything change even if you guys graduate?”

chenle asks from the back, head on jisung’s shoulder

“not much, i don’t think. we just won’t see each other as much.”

it was a clear night, and the stars were brighter than ever

everyone was staring up at the night sky, enjoying the cool breeze

“we always have summer right?”

a round of agreement sounded before jeno cuts through-

“does this mean we’re going on another road trip next year?”

“way to ruin the mood jeno”

“oh please no, i don’t think i can handle another one with you dumb fucks”

lies

you loved every moment with them

“this is a cute moment and all, but can jaemin get off of us now?”

renjun asked, referring to the long boy sprawled on top of jeno, renjun and you

“i was planning on sleeping in this position tho-”

he didn’t get to finish his sentence before the three of you pushed him off

mark chuckled before leaving his seat to pull the hood over the open seats

“good night”

you were shook awake by mark the next day, greeted with a sky that wasn’t even awake

“what’s going on?”

“fancy watching the sunrise?”

turns out, mark woke up earlier than the rest of you and drove to an empty beach to watch the sunrise together :’)))))))

you stumbled out of the car, legs soft from sitting for too long, finding the rest of the boys sitting on the hood of the car and on the concrete in front

donghyuck pats the space next to him and you hop on top of the creaky car

“is this safe”

“probably not”

“ o h “

it’s all quiet before the sun starts coming up

then gasps were heard and wishes were made

and it was all heartwarming :”)))))

before all of you made a dash to the cold ass water

trying to chuck mark in

“whY ME????? I DROVE Y’ALL HERE”

“YOU’RE LEAVING THAT’S WHY”

“SBRGOSBEGOSBAE??????”

S P L O S H

chenle was screaming the entire time

then one idiot cough hyuck cough accidentally chucks sand into mark’s blue car

which then leads to mark pulling the squad into a self wash station

“come one guys let’s wash this car together!!1!1! wE’rE aLl In ThIs ToGeThEr”

“wow i suddenly dont know you”

then some idiot coUGH HYUCK COUGH starts chucking suds at everyone

AND JAEMIN’S LOWKEY TRIGGERED BECAUSE NOT HIS NEW HAIR

SO HE FIRES BACK

AND RENJUN WHO WANTED TO HOSE THE SUDS OUT OF HIS HAIR ENDED UP FIRING WATER AT CHENLE’S FACE

EVERYONE STARTED LAUGHING LIKE NO TOMORROW AND YOU GOT A GOOD VIDEO OF IT LMAO

AND EVERYTHING JUST ENDED UP WITH EVERYONE GETTING A FREE SHOWER AT THE STATION

and renjun getting pinned to the car by jeno but u h 👀👀👀👀👀👀 

y’all end up drying yourselves by sitting under the hand dryers in the bathroom

“at least we don’t have to worry about showering”

“hyuck you started this shut up”

hopping back into the small car, the group decides to start heading back

mainly because your snack supplies were running low

but also because you don’t think the car’s gonna survive any longer

but mostly because snacks were running out

“chenle ate all the fucking pocky”

“nO JISUNG DID”

“WTF-”

“i love best friends throwing each other under the bus”

taking a shorter route home, you stop at a basketball court to move a around for a while

“why is jaemin and jeno on one team, they’re the star basketballers of our school tf i call bs”

“you literally picked your own team-”

nomin vs the rest of u fuckers

no surprise, nomin won

now you guys owe them mcnuggets

“hA SU C C”

“let’s leave them behind quiCK TO THE CAR”

mark: trips over own laces running

in no time, you were in front of your own house again

unlike before though, you lowkey didn’t want to leave your friends

“i still can’t believe that we ran out of snacks in a day and a half-”

“blame chenle”

“hEY-”

renjun pats your shoulder as jeno and jaemin go get your bag for you

“we’ll be living and sleeping at mark’s place until he leaves. you’re welcome to join”

mark from the driver’s seat: what.

and as they drive away with mark questioning when this was decided,

you head back inside to restock you bag, leaving for mark’s house just a few hours later

when high school started up again, you weren’t surprised to see renjun having chensung in headlock in front of your locker

whilst hyuck just whispers-

“right in front of my goddamn salad” at the sight

creaking open your locker, the first thing you do is stick up a group photo taken on your trip

nomin lean on your shoulders, craning their neck to look at the photo

“we look dumb”

the picture was taken by mark setting a timer on his phone then running to join the picture 

everyone was lined up, leaning against the old blue car against the sunrise

but mark bumped into haechan who bumped into jeno, who bumped into jaemin etc etc

and the picture ended up coming out with everyone slanting as y’all fell in a domino effect

but the smiles on your faces were precious :’))))))))

“i think it’s cute” 

you say, closing your locker, ready to face another year with these fuckers.

hi i’m apri and i present to you yet another unedited piece of shit :’)

listening to the dreamies’ album while writing this made me really emo about mark’s graduation so it got really deep in the middle im s o r r y

[hemellassie]

Restless Days and Restless Nights *(*(*)*)*

Ch. 8 *(*(*)*)*

Photographs and Memories Pt 1

*(*(*)*)*

Rick shot up his bed, crying out, "Thomas!" He angrily swiped the tears from his eyes, followed immediately, by a shudder at the memories he'd just revisited in his nightmare.

God, what had triggered that particular memory? He despised that memory with a passion. Oh, now he remembered what triggered it. Well, shit on a shingle...time for a midnight visit to Magnum...why wouldn't Thomas ever just admit when he needed a helping hand? Rick knew he wasn't going back to sleep anyway, so he got up and dressed quickly. Grabbing his go bag, he went into the bathroom and washed his face then grabbed the 'special liniment' Shammy had given him to try, made sure the lid was on tight and added it to his go bag. Slinging the bag's strap over his shoulder, he headed out to his car in the parking lot to get going. He thought about giving TC a call, but decided this was his penance to pay, so why disturb the big guy? He had a tour at sunrise tomorrow.

That thought resolved, Rick slung the go bag into the backseat of his Porsche and began the drive to Thomas' place. Hopefully, he could get to the guest house without Higgy noticing...she didn't have to know every time he was there, did she? That's why he and TC each had their own codes. He drove towards Robin's Nest just over the speed limit until he escaped the city confines. Once out on the H3, he floored it. He'd pay the damn ticket if they caught him. He needed to get there and see just how much damage Thomas had actually done to himself this time. The needle on the speedometer crept up as he drove along the road. *(*(*)*)*

Earlier the same evening...at Robin's Nest

*(*(*)*)*

Magnum ambled out of the guest house, hands in the pockets of his swim shorts, whistling an off-key tune.

"Magnum, where are you going?" Higgins's voice, rather stridently, demanded.

Thomas paused in mid-step and turned towards the main house, reluctantly walking towards Higgins who was quick stepping towards him. They met in the middle. Kumu was behind her, making warning faces that seemed to indicate 'Don't rile her up; she is not in a good mood.'

"I'm heading out to go swimming, Higgy," Thomas replied in a calming voice.

"It's rather late for that, surely."

"Higgins, I've gone swimming in total darkness before and it's a good hour before sunset. I won't be gone long."

"Pardon me, if I am not certain, I believe that. I've known you to bloody well be out there three hours on your little swims. You are recovering from a concussion. I don't think you should go swimming without a swim buddy."

"Look, MOM, I'm a big boy...and a former Navy Seal. I have gone swimming with gunshot wounds, with concussions far worse and far fresher than the little knock on the head I got the other day, with broken limbs. I can handle myself out there." Magnum was getting a bit irate.

"Thomas, I'm merely concerned. Wait a moment. Why are you holding your shoulder so funny?"

"Huh? I'm not. I got hit in my head, not my..."

Juliet reached out and squeezed his shoulder and TM dropped to his knees, his face contorted in pain. She looked down at him. "You were saying?"

"Damn, Higgy...what the hell?"

She bent over and helped him up grabbing the other shoulder. "Come over here, right now!" She took him to a nearby lounge chair and pushed him down onto it. "Now, off with your shirt."

"We haven't even dated yet, Higgy." Kumu mimed slapping her own face and then his...mouthing, "Don't make her angry, you won't like her when she's angry." Thomas couldn't help the smirk that tugged at his lips.

Higgins slapped the back of his head lightly. Thankfully she missed the still tender part back there. "This isn't funny. Shirt! Off, now!"

"Okay, okay..." Thomas realized she wasn't going to take no for an answer and began unbuttoning his shirt. His shoulder really did hurt. He hadn't noticed it before this. What was going on? It was where his old injury from the camps was. Why was that acting up? He heard a horrified gasp from Higgins. "What, what's wrong, Higgins?" He started to turn his head to try and see what she was staring at so aghast, but she pushed his head back facing forward.

"What in the bloody hell did you do to yourself here?" The woman demanded.

"What are you talking about?" He again tried to turn his head, but Juliet grabbed both sides of his head and said. "Face forward, Magnum, damn it. Did you get this when you got hit on the back of the head?"

Thomas rolled his eyes and retorted testily. "As I haven't the foggiest idea what you are talking about, I can't really answer that question, now can I? However, so far as I know, the shovel hit me right in the back of my head, there was no other impact, but really, you would have to ask the kid who hit me as I was unconscious at the time."

"Kumu, would you please get me an ice pack?"

"You've got it. Be right back."

Magnum heaved a very put upon sigh. "What's the ice pack for? As we are talking about my body, I would like to know what you are seeing, please."

Juliet sighed. "You are definitely NOT going swimming this evening, Thomas. You have a massive bruise back here and your shoulder is extremely swollen. I think you need x-rays."

"What? No way...I'll swim it off. I am not going to the ER, Jules...it isn't needed."

"Will you bloody well listen to me for once, Magnum? I think something may be broken in here."

"Higgins, I think I would know if I broke my shoulder. I probably just aggravated an old injury I have in that area."

"The bruise indicates an injury, probably blunt force. The coloration tells me it is about as old as your concussion. I think the man must have hit you more than just once. Did Katsumoto take you to the ER after that happened?"

"No. I didn't think I needed it."

"Did he even examine you?"

"Why would he examine me? He's a detective, not a doctor." Magnum replied. "Jules, I'll be fine. Let me go back to my original plan and take a swim."

"Like hell, I will allow that to happen. This has to be hurting, Thomas." As Kumu handed her the ice pack wrapped in a dish towel, Higgins slapped it onto his shoulder, causing the man to jump though her hand on his other shoulder kept him seated. "You are staying right there for the time being if I have to restrain you." She realized she had said the wrong thing when she saw how pale he became. She walked around in front of this difficult man and knelt before him. "Thomas, I'm sorry, but I am genuinely concerned here. I must insist..."

Magnum shook his head. "Jules, I appreciate your concern, but it can't be that bad. I rowed this morning and, yeah, it twinged a bit, but not that bad. So it can't be broken again...I'd know."

"Again?" Kumu asked.

Magnum shrugged with his other shoulder. "It wasn't my shoulder but the...aw, I can't remember the name of it...the bone that runs from your neck to your shoulder got snapped by an AK-47 butt when we were in captivity. The scapula was broken, too. I remember the pain from that time and this is nowhere near as bad as that was."

"Perhaps you have built up a higher pain tolerance because of your time in the camps." Juliet offered, hesitantly.

"I don't think so," Thomas sighed. "If anything, I'm more of a wuss than I was back then."

"I don't believe that for a moment, Magnum," Higgins said seriously.

"This, from the woman who told me to man up after I was hit by a car?"

"You had scared me, Thomas...I tend to snap things out when I am frightened. I don't like being frightened, it makes me ..."

"Grumpy? Good to know." Thomas smiled at her. "Is there any way I can see what is going on with my shoulder here?"

Kumu silently handed Higgins two hand mirrors of the type hairstylists use to show you your haircut when it's done. Juliet smiled at the older woman. "I'll show you once that ice bag has been on for 20 minutes and not a moment sooner. Alright?" Her tone had become very conciliatory.

Magnum nodded. "Okay, Higgins. I'll be good. Do you have any ice cream?"

Higgins chuckled. "Ice cream, not a lollipop?"

Kumu offered. "A bowl of vanilla ice cream coming up, Thomas. Juliet, you want any?"

"I'll have a small bowl, please, Kumu."

As the older woman turned to go get the treats, Magnum called out. "Thank you, Kumu."

Thomas slowly tried to stretch without moving the injured side too much. "This is why I wanted to swim...I'm getting stiff."

"I shouldn't wonder...you were coshed on the head and fell to the ground, you probably have more than a few bruises to go with the spectacular one here on your shoulder. Thomas, you really need to take better care of yourself. Why in the hell didn't you go to the hospital after you were knocked out?"

Magnum shrugged, both shoulders, but reaching up with his right hand to hold the ice pack in place on his shoulder. "I was on a case...and it was important to Katsumoto. I really didn't think it was that bad."

Juliet sighed... "And I rest my case. I swear you need a keeper, Magnum."

"I'll second that emotion. What's with the ice on your shoulder, Thomas?" Detective Katsumoto asked as he came up the path from the gate.

Silently, Higgins lifted up the ice pack and showed the man Magnum's shoulder. "What in the hell - Thomas, you didn't tell me he hit you in your shoulder, too?

"God, everybody is going to see MY shoulder before I do."

Juliet glanced at her watch. "Just a few more minutes, Magnum."

Katsumoto gave a grumpy huff. "That's it. You are going to the ER - that looks awful."

"My body, my choice...and I say..."

Juliet, Gordon, and Kumu all said together, "You're fine."

"Yeah, Magnum, you are always fine. Your leg could be hanging on one thin strip of muscle, completely torn off otherwise, and you would still say you were bloody well, fine!" Higgins was seriously fed up.

Katsumoto made the mistake of cracking up at that line. Higgins did not look happy at that. Kumu handed Higgins and Magnum their ice cream and immediately asked the Detective. "Would you like some vanilla ice cream or water or something?"

Katsumoto smiled at the older woman and said. "Thank you, Kumu, but no. I just had dinner a while ago. I came by because, Thomas, Mrs. Tak would like you to come to the house on Saturday. Would you be okay with that?"

"Me? Why would she want me to come?"

"After you and Higgins came to the internment, she started asking a lot more questions about who you were, how I knew you...she really appreciates you helping me out on this case and she wants to get to know you."

Thomas blushed. "I don't know, Detective. The credit and stuff should go to you, I didn't..."

The detective snorted. "Forget it, Magnum. You are coming unless you wind up in the hospital with that shoulder."

"Oh for cry-aye! It's ..."

"not that bad!" The other three chimed in together.

"You can't see it, Magnum. It is that bad." Katsumoto advised him seriously. "Look, I'll pay if that's your issue..."

"It's not that," Magnum sighed. "They'll want to do surgery if I get an X-ray. I don't want that. I have an old injury there that didn't heal right from when I was in the camps; when I was a prisoner of the Taliban, but it would be weeks before I could get back to life, and I'm not going for it. I can't...it would be like being back there. I can't do it. NO!" He stood up and walked away. Juliet sighed and followed him, taking the empty ice cream bowl out of his hand.

"Thomas..." She said, gently.

He just shook his head and turned and went into the guest house, slamming the door, and she heard the lock click into place. She sighed and walked back to where the detective stood frowning. As she drew near, he asked her. "Is he alright?"

"I think he's a bit triggered by this injury, Detective."

"Call me Gordon. Do we need to call the guys?"

"Probably, but I don't think he'd be very receptive right now. He was at the King Kamehameha Club earlier, and, if I know those two, they noticed enough that they will show up on their own at some point during the night."

"What? Are they psychic?" The detective asked.

"They are something. He'll be having night terrors and they show up before we even call them. Those three know each other in a way that is almost beyond comprehension...and they must have subtle tells that they each pick up on. It isn't one sided either - them taking care of him, you know? He knows when Rick is having a rough time."

"Oh, I've been in on that, just recently."

"Really?"

"Yeah, I'll tell you that story another time. If they or you manage to talk him around to going to the ER, give me a call, okay? That injury is my responsibility. It looks really gnarly...I don't like that he won't go."

"Neither do I, but he is an adult."

"Yeah, well he's acting juvenile." Katsumoto snapped. "Sorry, he's just kind of got me worried. What if the concussion is worse than he thinks, too?"

Higgins sighed. "That thought had occurred to me as well. Let's not go borrowing trouble, Gordon. Sufficient unto the day..."

"Are the troubles thereof." The detective finished. "My auntie used to say that all the time." He smiled... "is it, Shakespeare?"

"The Bible actually...I believe it is from the Sermon On The Mount...Matthew 6:34...if I remember correctly."

"I didn't think you were the religious type."

"Oh, I'm not, but in my day, in English school, we got religious education as a part of our schooling. You see the Queen, in those days was - technically still, is Defender of the Faith. So we never had the complete separation of church and state that you have here in the states. Religion was taught in schools back when I was young. Now, they say if Charles ever makes it to the throne, he will be sworn in as Defender of Faith, not Defender of THE Faith. As Britain is much more multi-faith and multi-cultural these days, I don't know what they teach in school now...comparative religion?"

"I haven't the foggiest idea, Higgins. Back to Thomas, I really am worried. I feel responsible."

"He wouldn't want you to, you know. He'd say it's his choice."

Gordon frowned. "Not on my watch...he got hurt helping me. He didn't have to be there."

Juliet laughed. "Of course he did. There was a mystery to be solved. The man can't resist a puzzle. He even finished a jigsaw puzzle I had planned on working on for the next few weeks while I was out with Kumu at a function last week, a thousand piece puzzle. Although to be fair he bought me a replacement the next day and apologized."

"Wait. He actually paid for something?"

"Yes, Gordon. He does manage to pay for things occasionally." They smiled at each other.

Katsumoto shook his head, musing aloud. "Thomas Magnum is really something else, isn't he?"

Higgins smiled and looked towards the guest house. "He truly is - special in his own unique way, our White Knight. I'm still only beginning to get to know him, but he does grow on you."

The detective wrinkled his nose. "He's an acquired taste, but he does grow on you, like a fungus."

"And he's come through for both of us a time or two now, hasn't he?"

"Him and Rick and TC,…yes, they have."

"They are a matched set." Juliet agreed.

"You have my number?"

"It's in my phone."

"Call me whatever time it is, if someone convinces him to go to the hospital, okay?"

"You've got it, Detective Katsumoto."

"Thanks, Higgins. Good night, ladies." The detective turned and left. His car was parked outside the gate and Higgins opened the gate as he approached it.

"We never did show Thomas his shoulder…" Kumu pointed out.

"The stubborn fool lumbered off before I could."

To be continued…

A/N: At least one person has already seen and reviewed this. I wrote it today starting while I was up in El Dorado Hills, CA to see the movie, APOLLO 11. If you haven't seen it, I urge you to go and see it. It is much more than the old footage we have seen on History Channel and really excellent. I used to work on The USS Hornet, a retired Aircraft Carrier/museum down in the Bay area. I was one of many who actually helped save it from the scrapper's torch. The USS Hornet picked up Apollo 11 when they got back from going to the moon. My father also worked on the Apollo project in a distant, but vital way. He got to go to NASA before the rocket was assembled...he was a technical writer and wrote the technical manuals for the camera equipment that went to the moon. So between the connection to my Dad, long dead now...and my connection to the ship (when I was first aboard her after she was saved, my first job aboard I was trained to deliver the safety briefing.) Myself and my friend, Diana, were also trained to be the Apollo specialists to give folks tours of the Apollo exhibits on the ship and actually got to go inside the MQF on the ship with Buzz Aldrin, more than once. It was great to see that movie today. Well, night all...I am already writing the next section of this in my mind. Hope you all enjoy this first part.

[shallwedancetogether]

HEARTBEAT

Chapter Three

After a very long conversation with Katie, Hannah was still unsure if she should go to the concert or not. She definitely continued to drink throughout the evening, which probably didn’t help her emotional state. Or even leave early. So many memories were running through her mind that night, she barely slept. All she could think about was how much she had missed Harry and how much she longed just to hear his voice again—and not just at 2am while she’s drunk and could barely hold a conversation. Her mind was playing her entire relationship over again in her head; there was no way she was going to sleep tonight.

Hannah’s family had met Harry but only very briefly every single time, as he was only in town for a couple days at a time for dates with Hannah. So when Harry invited Hannah to spend Christmas with his family in England, she agreed. Harry’s sister Gemma came with him to pick Hannah up from the airport, and they hit it off immediately. She fell in love with Harry’s mum Anne, who immediately made her feel comfortable in Harry’s childhood home.

Over these next few days was when Hannah began to fall in love with Harry. Everything she felt suddenly seemed to be amplified. It was as Harry was explaining his thoughts behind all the presents he bought as everyone opened their presents on Christmas Day, watching him miserably fail at making mashed potatoes, walking around the small town as the snow fell. She was really falling for this man, but she wasn’t sure if he was quite there yet with her. She knew that before her he had an emotionally manipulative girlfriend who he dated on and off for a year, and there were moments that Hannah could tell Harry was guarded about himself because of his lifestyle. So she understood, and even though her feelings were bursting at the seams, Hannah decided to wait on saying the L-word.

On their last night together, Harry surprised Hannah with a trip. He informed her that he would be flying home with her back to Detroit to spend time with her and her family. He also gave her two plane tickets to New York for New Year’s Eve. He made plans for the two of them to meet some of Harry’s friends in an AirB&B he rented out right above Times Square. They’d stay there for a few days and watch the ball drop.

And so they did. Harry too hit it off wonderfully with Hannah’s family, even participating in a game of hockey on a frozen lake, to which he failed hilariously. But it’s the effort that counts, right? And on New Year’s Eve, they were settled into the rented penthouse suite, mingling with Harry’s friends. Harry even flew out Katie as a surprise so that Hannah could spend the vacation with her best friend. The night was magical and filled with alcohol.

Hannah and Harry set an early alarm to watch the sunrise from their balcony, and it did not disappoint. Wrapped in blankets and still in their pajamas, Hannah sat on Harry’s lap with his hands wrapped around her stomach as they watched the sunrise. It was the most beautiful thing to watch as the warmth of the sun’s rays hit their bodies.

Hannah was the first to break their comfortable silence. “Harry, you are so wonderful for everything you’ve surprised me with lately. I don’t know how I will ever repay you.”

He chuckled at her words, “Babe, you don’t ever have to repay me. I want to give you the world.”

He kissed her on the hand. And before Hannah even thought about it, the words were flying out of her mouth. “I love you, Harry.”

He was surprised, not knowing that they were there yet, but he knew that he had been feeling it for a long time now. Honestly, he was pretty sure he felt it on their second meeting, all those years ago when One Direction was still together on the On The Road Again Tour. “I love you too, baby.” He said with a smile, following with a kiss to her lips. “More than I have ever loved anyone.” New York could not possibly get any better than this moment right here.

Hannah couldn’t help but cry at the memory, the alcohol definitely being a factor. Eventually, she fell asleep. The next day at work was the worst. Her head was bobbing up and down because she could barely keep her eyes open. Katie convinced Hannah to go to Harry’s concert that night and without Ryan. Her nerves were high, and she felt sick to her stomach. She texted her best friend for help.

I don’t know if I can deal with all of this… I’m already so emotional just after a simple surprise dinner with Harry.

How am I supposed to be able to even enjoy myself in the slightest while I’m hearing Harry sing about our broken relationship?

Hannah and Katie always had a tendency to send several messages in a row to each other, resulting in their texts bombarding the other’s phone with messages.

The three bubbles in their iMessage chat kept popping up and down, assumingly because Katie, for once, didn’t have the right answer.

Well… it’s definitely going to be hard. That’s for sure.

But maybe it could be a good thing…?  

“Honestly, sometimes I feel like you never fully let yourself get over your relationship with Harry. It felt like you suppressed your emotions with boys and lots of alcohol.

And sometimes I feel like you rushed into this relationship with Ryan.

I know I didn’t deal with it in the best way, but for the most part, I feel pretty over him. Though I honestly don’t know if I’ll ever love someone the way I loved Harry.

I know part of me will always love him. He is like no other guy I have ever met, and I thought we were meant to be. But apparently not…

Let’s just take this one day at time, huh? Who knows what the future holds. You have no obligations to anyone but yourself.

Except for me, of course. I’m your best friend, and you’ll never be able to get rid of me.

Mostly because your parents pay me mwhahahahaha.

Hahahahahaha you’re the worst best friend ever. I want a new one.

Well that’s too bad! Sucks for you!

It’s been about 18 years, which is the longest relationship I’ve ever been in. And I’m not about to give up all the money your parents pay me ;)

Katie always knew how to make Hannah feel better, and vice versa. They knew each other like the back of their hands. Katie was basically the sister she never had, and Hannah was like Katie’s third sister, considering she already had two. They called each other’s parents their second parents. Every time Hannah walked into the Breton household she’d announce her presence and greet Mr. and Mrs. Breton with a “Hi, Mom! Hi, Dad!” They wouldn’t have it any other way.

So right after work, Hannah showered, and the minute Katie got home Hannah drove over. Luckily, they only lived a mile apart. Hannah brought several outfits to choose from. She wanted to look hot, still wanting to make sure Harry knew that he can look but not touch. And so, after an hour and a half of deciding, Hannah went with a blue and white striped jumpsuit with roses on it and some white heels to match. While driving there, Hannah realized that there were only three backstage passes at will call, and they needed four because Katie’s youngest sister Bailey and her best friend Stephanie were also going to the concert. Luckily, Hannah still had Harry’s manager Jeff Azoff’s number. She explained the situation, and he was happily convinced. Hannah made Jeff promise not to mention it to Harry.

*****************************************************************************************************

Masterlist

[venominyourcoffee]

My Dream Last Night

Stacy and I were vacationing in Europe, a lovely honeymoon to celebrate our three year anniversary. For three nights we watched the sunset and sunrise, the night sky filled with stars and I fell in love with her all over again. Seeing the sun shine in her eyes in the morning made my heart skip a beat as I loved her beauty in the morning sun. On the fourth day I was woken up early as Stacy gently caressed my face, whispering in her soft tone. “Wake up sweetie, come on, wake up baby.” I opened my eyes and smiled softly as I saw her gorgeous hair wave in front of her gorgeous eyes. However I was surprised when I saw her body decorated with a lace robe that was slightly see through, revealing she wasn’t wearing anything underneath. My eyes widened as my heart speed up, and a blush rose across my face. Stacy chuckled as she held my face in her palms. “Is my baby boy staring? Do you like mommy’s outfit baby boy? It occurred to me we haven’t had much play time since we got here. Oh don’t worry sweet boy, we’re not doing anything right now, but get up, we have some fun to do.” She smiled wickedly and kissed my cheek before she got up and walked away, swaying her hips and winking at me.

After we ate breakfast and got dressed, she handed me an umbrella and told me to fallow her. It was raining softly, it smelled wonderful and it made the quiet town feel so cozy. We got a cab and drove a few miles out of town until we went to a place I didn’t expect. See Stacy picked where we went and I didn’t question why she chose this town, however now I understand. It turns out we were a two hours drive from the infamous Red Light District. When we got out of the cab and under the large umbrella, I was blinded by the red neon, the sweet smell of wine and lines of gorgeous women and handsome men smiling and waving at me. Stacy smiled evilly as she held me close by my hip. She whispered in my ear. “Relax baby. Your mine remember? I’ll keep you safe and close.” She held my hand and lead me through the rain.

As we walked, I got cat called and waved at by women and men wearing practically nothing as I knew I was blushing as I felt my face burn. Stacy couldn’t help but smile and kiss my cheek. “Your so cute baby boy. So flustered~ so cute~ such a good boy.” Eventually we stopped walking and I found myself standing in front of a sex toy store. “We’re here baby. I figured what better place to buy new toys the The Red Light District? Come on baby boy. Let’s find some new toys for kitten and mommy~” I blushed so hard but I whined and nodded. We walked in and there was rows of toys. Mountable bondage rope, hard core fuck machines… it was so overwhelming, at least until Stacy held my hand and held my close. “Shhh, it’s ok honey. I won’t ask you to buy anything to serious. Let’s just see what you like.” I nodded and smiled a little. I walked up and down the isles, walking past plugs, vibes, lubes, you name it. Eventually I had three items in my basket. I new magic wand vibrator, some sensation lube and the one item that made me flustered and slightly embarrassed, a pair of adjustable nipple clamps. I walked to the counter to see Stacy as I could barley stop staring at the floor. I was slightly embarrassed until Stacy help my face in her hands and gave me a small kiss. “Hello sweetie. What did you get? Let’s see, some new fun lube, a vibe… oh my what’s this~”

My face was on fire as she picked up the packaged nipple clamps. “Awwwww. Your adventurous baby boy. You have good taste. I can’t wait to make my little plain slut feel so good.” I shuddered and whined at her words as I could feel myself feeling submissive. I looked at what she had gotten. Some bright pink and soft bandaged rope, some bullet vibes and a new strap on. My mind went wild as she put our items on the counter to be paid for. She snacked her hand to my thigh and held it and whispered in my ear as she kissed my neck. “Easy baby boy. Mommy’s going to have so much fun, toying with her toy. I can’t wait to hear your moans.”

We got back to our temporary apartment and I was immediately pushed against a wall and kissed hungrily. I whined and felt myself getting harder in my pants as she held me close. Eventually our lips separated and my mind was starting to get hazy. “Awwww, is my sweet little sub falling under my spell?” I whined as her thumb ran over my now lipstick stained lips. “Shhhh. It’s ok baby boy. Go to the bed, strip, and just relax.” I did as I was told and awaited my mistress with baited breath. Eventually she walked in wearing the same silk robe I saw that morning, and she wore nothing underneath. I was lost in her beauty as she walked to me, smiling. Before I knew it, my hands were being tied behind my back, as sweet praise was being whispered into my ear. “Easy baby boy. Relax for me. Let mommy take care of you. I’ll make you feel so good.” And soon my hands could not move.

She smiled as she gently pushed me down and smiled as she pulled out the nipple clamps. My eyes widened as I was slightly nervous but very excited. She smiled wickedly and adjusted the clamps to not be too harsh as she straddled my waist and pet my hair. “Now remember our safe word sweetie.” I smiled and nodded as she gave me a gentle kiss. She then gently placed the clamps on, the Instant sudden new pleasure made my mind swirled with new feelings and sensations. The pain hurt for a few seconds before it started to feel good as I got used to it. I couldn’t stop a guttural moan escape once the clamps were on. Stacy smiled wickedly as she ran a thumb over my lips. “Shhhh, it’s ok baby boy. Just breath. You sound so cute~ just breath and get used to the feeling. Color?” I whined and moaned a little as I smiled weakly and nodded. “G-green.” That was all she needed to hear. She leaned down to kissed me lovingly to calm me down. The nipple clamps were connected by a chain. Stacy smiled as she leaned up and hooked her finger in the chain and gently pulled on the chain which pulled a moan from me lips.”awwwww, so cute. Is my little boy a bit if a pain slut? That’s it baby boy. Moan for mommy. Do you feel good? Let’s tug a little harder.” And so she did which earned more moans from me as I pegged for more. Stacy smiles as she grabbed the bullet vibes and tied them to my cock and turned them low enough to excite me but not enough to make me finish and keep me in the edge. “There. You can’t cum just yet my good kitten. Keep moaning for me. Maybe if your a good boy I’ll let you cum. Maybe if your a good boy for mommy|”

[thehikingnerd]

Day 135 (9/29).

We woke up and picked up our trash that had been chewed on but surprisingly they didn't seem to touch my stuff only Butt'rs' ramen package from last nights dinner. In the early morning sunrise the clouds that were rolling in lit up and were pretty reflecting off the pond/lake. But they were coming in pretty quickly and it caused us some concern as today was Friday and everyone in Snoqualmie Pass was saying Friday was supposed to be the only bad day for weather and that it was supposed to be nice after that. We had, however, gone a bit further north and hadn't had much signal to look a the forecast. The lake we had intended to camp near looked even more beautiful and the colors of the day just kept getting better with deeper reds everywhere. It's really hard to describe how beautiful today was. But it did start to get colder and a little windy at times. We saw a huge mountain covered in fall colors on short shrubby plants. It was a ski slope and we were heading that direction. We eventually had to climb it the whole way up and it was really pretty, despite getting cold and not being able to stay up at the top very long. Too bad we had to leave the LTE behind but we were getting close to the road where we would be hitching into Skykomish. We finally got down off the slope and to Stevens Pass where we hitched into town. It didn't take very long before a guy in an old red Toyota stopped and picked us up just as it stated to sprinkle, perfect timing. He took us to the post office first so I could get my two resupply boxes and mailed off the bike helmet I had found on the side of the road about a week ago, was too good a bicycle helmet to just leave behind. It was good to get ride who was willing to wait and make more than one stop. I was excited because my shoes were destroyed after I had put about 750 miles on this pair, and I had a brand new pair waiting on me in the boxes my dad had sent. After the post office he then dropped us off at the Hitching Post which was a bar and restaurant. The first thing that we both did is order a Fresh Squeezed IPA and it felt good to take a drink of the cold beer in the warm dry bar. Then we both ordered the half fried chicken and jojo dinner, seemed like the most food and the best deal on the menu. After ordering I opened my boxes and sifted through the goodies. I had a ton of good food, and definitely too much over all, but I pulled out both of my new shoes and looked them over in all their glory: brand new size 14 Altra Superior III (this has become my favorite shoe over the course of the trail). I figured if they held up well, they should be the pair of shoes that I would finish the trail in. It was an exciting thought and feeling. I wanted to put them on but thought I'd wait until we got to the trail angel's place and had a shower and clean socks, just to make their newness, void of stink, last a little bit longer. I sat aside a few things I knew I wouldn't want to see if Butt'rs wanted them... namely effin' pop tarts and oatmeal (lol), there was just too much for me to carry I had really lost the taste for some of these things over the course of the trail. After eating and paying we walked up to the deli across the bridge and sat our stuff down and checked the place out. I got a 20oz latte and it was good. It felt great to sit on their porch with a hot coffee and watch it rain. We still needed to get to the Dinsmores' house in Baring which was 8 miles up the road. We wanted to hitch but didn't want to stand in the rain, and people tended not to stop if it's raining anyway from our experience. So we called the trail angles up to see if they would be making any trips out, they said no :/ So eventually we waited for a lull in the intensity of the rain and went to the road to hitch the last 8 miles. It took a while, but finally a guy pulled up and he worked for the forestry service, I believe, and he knew the Dinsmores and drove us the whole way there straight up to their door. We said hi and went in to claim a bunk bed and drop our packs in their garage-turned-bunkhouse. The place was pretty awesome, another hiker paradise like some of the places from early on PCT that I had liked so much but had not seen in so long. They had a shower, so I got a hot shower right off and they even had clean loaner clothes for you to wear while doing laundry. Then we started a load of laundry while we strung out our things all over the place to dry. After that we looked through the hiker box and dvds they had out while Butt'rs and the only other hiker there, a 19 yr old kid named Will, played guitar and hand-drums for a bit. Finally the owner of the place, Jerry, came in and said he would drive us all down for dinner if we wanted and we all said yes! So his friend Billy came over and he started right in bur-raiding us, and he was funny and pretty clever so it was pretty entertaining to hear this guy roll and talk to us like we were doing everything in life wrong (all satirically), hard to describe but we thought he was hilarious and liked him right away. He drove us down and we all went in to the local inn and restaurant. Service was slow in this tiny town and no one seemed in any kind of hurry, I settled in as I knew dinner would take a while. I had the Cadia Burger and it was huge and amazing. We ate and BSed for a while and after what seemed like a very long time, we stopped by the deli and convenience store we had been at earlier one last time on the way back... I wanted to hit up the ATM to leave this great place and great people a donation but the cash machine was broken. Once we got back we talked to Billy and he agreed to pick us up at 8am to take us back to the trail but still maintained that he thought we should wait the rain out which was supposed to rain for Saturday and Sunday before letting up on Monday. That was, unfortunately, just too much time for us to wait this late in the season and we all just had to prepare as best as we could and head back out. Each day we waited was one day closer to the snow storm that would stop us from finishing. So he went home and said he would be back there at exactly 8am. We went in and kept preparing while Butt'rs put the movie High Fidelity on the tv. I got all of my things dry and packed up and put the laundry in the dryer and went back to get it after an hour. Everything was meticulously cleaned, dried and placed in my pack with a dry bag for clothing and the sleeping bag inside a trash compactor bag used as a pack liner (twisted and rolled down to close the top) and then another final trash bag on the outside of the pack as a pack cover. Looked like overkill and kind of silly, but we weren't messing around after some of our recent experiences. I had my new shoes on that whole afternoon/evening with the arched insoles on and I just spent a little while breaking them in as I sat out my gaiters with a pair of clean dry socks and my Montbell rain suit all ready to go for a quick departure in the morning. I just wanted to wake up, unplug by phone, dress and be ready to go since we only had a half days worth of miles yesterday. the pressure to finish before winter conditions closed the trail was becoming very real very quickly at this point. We figured we could handle two days of rain in a row but three was pushing it (might sound odd, but each break down and set up of camp in the rain allows an inevitable amount of water and dampness into you system that only stays warm if its all relatively dry) and it was good to have a totally dry and well-prepared start into two days of rainy weather. The fridge they had in there buzzed and kicked on and off all night long and falling asleep took some time, but at least the bed was warm and cozy.

[followthatfreckle]

Holy Moses am I tired! Sleeping 2 hours a night and being on the move constantly is starting to wear on me. I suppose I can sleep when I’m dead.

For some reason I went to bed at one and woke up at three. Like, awake. So I tried to relax, go back to sleep, but ended up blogging a bit and thinking about sleeping. At 5:40 I get a ‘you up’ text. And not the kind the kids are sending these days. Carolyn remembered she wanted to find the ‘I love Tel Aviv’ sign, and since we had to leave at 8 sharp she thought we should go quick. She had the address, we asked the guys at the reception if they knew about it (they didn’t, but they do now), I ordered an Uber and off we went.

It’s on the way north side of town at the port. We were in the dark with no internet walking the pier while tons of runners passed us. I found a map and sure enough, it was close! We got a few pictures and went back to the main road to hail another cab since we didn’t have internet to use the app. Round trip we were gone an hour. Quite the adventure. When you travel you have to be flexible and ready to go when something remarkable pops up. It’s happened on multiple trips for me and is always amazing to watch it unfold.

Today was a long bus day and it was full on information. Our first stop was Caesarea. We walked around these ruins for awhile. Seeing the amphitheater where they would perform, the hippodrome, and putting our toes in the Mediterranean were some of the highlights. I don’t want to say that I don’t like seeing things like this, but it’s not my favorite. I’d rather see them all built up like it would have been instead of using someone else’s image of what it should look like. Just me, though.

We jumped back on the bus and then off again at the aqueducts that brought the water down the hill from the Carmel Mountains to Caesarea. These were really cool. A bunch of them are still intact and you can even climb up and walk along the tops. We were lucky to get there before the droves of people unloaded their buses!

Our next stop was the hanging gardens of the Baha’i in Haifa. They were incredibly beautiful, but you can only go down a couple of levels before you’re stopped by a large gate. You can see down into the rest of the levels and it’s very well manicured, even for winter. I had never heard of the Baha’i religion before this trip. I had to google them, so if you’d like to know more, I suggest you do the same! :)

Off we went again to the ancient city of Acre. Here we had a group lunch in a local restaurant. The meals here are always interesting, as they have appetizers or tapas sitting out when you arrive. Most of today’s assortment was just pickled veggies. They were, umm, interesting. I had schwarma in a pita. Quite delicious. I keep trying the hummus but unfortunately it’s brilliance falls short on me.

We walked through the crusaders fortress and saw the knights hall. I almost fell and punched a wall. If I’m being honest, most of the information was lost on me. There is so much history here that it can be easy to get lost and confused. Well first they were here, and then they were conquered. They lasted awhile before they were conquered. So on and so on.

After our tour we stopped at the El-Jazzar mosque. We put on our head scarves and got a good glimpse of the inside. A couple of people came in to pray while we were there. A father and what I imagined his son came in and it looked like the father was teaching the techniques? I honestly don’t know since I don’t speak Arabic or Hebrew. Not yet, anyway. The Muslims have 5 prayers a day. Sunrise, morning, afternoon, sunset and evening. They really aren’t supposed to miss one, so it seems they have all their ducks in a row, if you will.

We left Acre and headed towards Nazareth. We will stay here for a night before heading on. We pulled into town as it was getting dark, and I was exhausted, so I got to my room and took a nap. We had dinner at the hotel and then a few of us broke off from the group to play a game. Kind of a - get to know each other better - kind of thing. It was mostly us ‘youngins’ and aunt Nancy. She’s the best. The guides in Kenya nicknamed her mama safari, and for being almost 82 she plays quite well with us! We played Ellen’s game, Psych, for a bit while choking down some more Arak. Turns out it was only good the other night with the lemonade and mint. Yuck!

Well, another full day of adventure tomorrow. Thanks for following along! :)

[scullys-right-eyebrow-txf]

The Only Choice - Chapter 35

Previous chapters can be found on A03. 

Thanks to all of those who have been sticking with me through this story. I’m out of work due to Irma again tomorrow so maybe I’ll have another chapter soon! 

Set during the months of Mulder’s ‘death’ during the events of ‘DeadAlive.’ 

Chapter 35 – Back to Normal?

 Scully was surrounded by life-size pictures of pregnant women. Smiling, happy pregnant women.

 She hated them all.

 Knowing that if she saw another smiling face she’d scream, Scully kept her eyes trained on the rack of clothes in front of her. She mindlessly shifted through the hangers filled with ugly maternity blouses and concentrated on her breathing. It wasn’t going to happen here; she refused to have a breakdown in the middle of this store.

It had been two weeks since Mulder’s funeral. Some days were okay and some days were not. Today had started out alright, but was quickly descending to not-okay status.

 There had been days when Scully felt like an approximation of herself again. Days where she would shower and dress, sit on the couch and make polite conversation with her mother, and maybe even venture out for a walk around the block if she was feeling adventurous. But then there were also days where her one accomplishment was simply getting out of bed.

 There were also times where she went from perfectly calm to full out emotional breakdown in no time flat.  It happened once while watching ‘The Price is Right’ of all things. One moment she was simply remembering that Mulder always over-bid on the prizes and the next she was hyperventilating, overcome with thoughts about how scared he must have been, how much pain he must have experienced. Had he called for her? How had he felt when he realized that she wasn’t going to save him? Did he die painlessly or was he screaming in agony? That little episode earned her a house call from her therapist.

 But today had seemed tolerable so she had given in to her mother’s requests to go shopping for maternity clothes. She wouldn’t be able to wear stretched out sweatpants for the remainder of her pregnancy after all.  

 So they shopped. Maggie was still handling her daughter very delicately, and being sensitive to her emotional states, she could tell that Dana was quickly becoming overwhelmed.

 “Ok Dana, we’ve got you a pair of black pants, a skirt, a pair of jeans, a few tops, and a couple of bras. I think it’s a good time to call it quits,” Maggie said, taking her daughter’s arm and pulling her toward a row of chairs. “You just sit for a minute while I check out.”

 Scully only nodded, her eyes downcast but still feeling the taunting smiles of the models upon her. She didn’t even argue when Maggie paid for the purchases herself. They quickly left and were home in no time.

 After a light dinner, Scully decided to go straight to bed. It was still early but she had done something productive with herself and now she was physically and emotionally exhausted. As she shut her eyes, she focused her thoughts on his face and pretended that his arms were wrapped around her in sleep. She listened to herself breath in and out, synching her breathing to his phantom breathes. She let sleep slowly take her as she mentally checked off one more day that she had survived without Mulder by her side.

 Days passed much like this. She gave herself one task to accomplish each day, and for the most part she was successful. Then she moved on to two and three tasks. She finally came to the realization that although her heart was broken, she was becoming a functioning member of society again, and with that realization came a need to return to work.

 “Dana, I think it’s too soon,” Maggie stated emphatically after hearing of her daughter’s plans.

 “Mom, it’s been three weeks since the funeral. I’ve run out of bereavement leave and I’m now using my sick days which I think I should be saving in case I need to take extra time off when the baby comes. And truthfully, sitting at home all day isn’t helping me anymore. I need to work. It will help to be busy and get my mind off everything. And I’ve already talked to Skinner and he said that I can start with only half days.”

 Maggie sighed, “Well I can’t very well stop you once you’ve set your mind to something. Maybe you’re right, maybe it would help to have something to do. It did for me.”

 Scully reached over and wrapped her arm around her mother, giving her a squeeze. “If you’re willing to continue staying with me through the first week until I get used to everything again, then I think I’ll finally  be ready for you to move back home. We both know that you can’t stay here forever.”

 Maggie rested her temple against her daughter’s. “I could if you needed me to, but you’re much too independent for that.”

 Scully offered her mother a small smile. “Or maybe just too stubborn. But thanks for being here, Mom. I don’t think I would’ve made it without you.”

 “When will you start back?”

 “Monday,” Scully answered, already anxious about the upcoming week.

 *******************************

 Scully looked herself up and down in the full length mirror one more time. She was wearing a pair of black maternity pants but had opted for a slightly oversized sweater rather than one of the maternity blouses that made her condition way to obvious. Her matching blazer struggled to button, but she preferred to wear it open as it helped disguise her small baby bump.  

 She knew that she wouldn’t be able to disguise it for much longer, but she just wanted to make it at least a week before the rumors switched from the return of poor Mrs. Spooky to knocked up Mrs. Spooky.

 Perching on the side of the bed, Scully took a deep breath and reached over for the framed picture on her bedside table. The photo had been among those found by her mother in Mulder’s junk drawer. It was she and Mulder on the beach at Martha’s Vineyard. It had been early, just after sunrise, and their eyes were tired but happy. She was standing in front of him, incased in his warmth and her head leaned lazily against his neck. His arm that wasn’t holding the camera was wrapped around her stomach and his unshaven cheek was pressed to her temple.

 They had been so happy then. They thought that they had all the time in the world.

 Scully looked at the photo for just a minute more. There were days that she stared at it for hours, nights that she slept with it clutched to her chest, but not today. Today she had to step back into her “Agent Scully” persona, if only for a few hours.

 With a sigh she replaced the photo and gathered her things. After giving her mother one last assurance that she would be fine, Scully got in her car and drove to FBI headquarters for the first time in a month. Skinner met her in the parking garage and walked with her to the basement. Scully kept her gaze down, unable to meet the eyes of her fellow agents, and she was relieved once they reached the safety of the office. She had every intention of secluding herself down there for as long as possible; for the next four months if possible. She knew that it wasn’t healthy behavior, but she just didn’t know if she could handle the stares, the assumptions, or the pity.

 “Agent Scully,” Doggett said, standing as she enters, “it’s good to have you back.”

 “Thank you,” she replied quietly. “It was time.”

 After a short chat with both men, Scully settled in at her desk, Mulder’s desk. Her breath caught as she felt movement deep inside her. Although she had been feeling the baby move more regularly, it never ceased to surprise her, and she pressed her hand to her stomach tenderly.

 ‘This is where I met your Daddy,’ she thought to herself, tears filling her eyes. She hastily wiped them away before Doggett could see, but one glance his way told her that she had been caught. He offered her a sad smile before turning back to his paperwork.

 With a sigh, Scully turned on her computer, intent on catching up with a month’s worth of emails, hoping they weren’t all condolences. As the machine booted up, her eyes took in the office. Mulder’s basketball was still on the top shelf, his poster and newspaper clippings still hung on the wall, and if she dug deep enough she might just find some of evidence of his most unsavory habit buried in desk drawers.

 And on his desk, the picture of Samantha remained. She was so young, her smile so innocent. She was the reason for all of this. Most of their cases brought more questions than answers but they had helped people, they had saved people, and she was the reason for that. The photo remained and so would Scully. She didn’t know how much longer she would be on the X-files with the baby on the way, but for as long as she was there she would work to help people. For Samantha. For Mulder.

[stereksummerexchange]

Living That No-Neighbor Life

@braedens | AO3 - everybody probably knows by now that ace!Derek is my favorite thing, so bless you for giving me an excuse to write more of it ^u^

by @clotpolesonly

“So the real estate agent makes the assumption that their marriage involves sex. Most people do! Derek sees it on his face the second Stiles decides to be a dick about it this time, but he knows better than to think he can stop it. All he can do is pinch the bridge of his nose and brace himself as the bright, false smile lights up his beloved husband’s face.”

The first place was an apartment and it was too cramped. The second was a duplex but wasn’t nearly nice enough for the price. The third was a tract house that may or may not have been the set of a horror movie in the past, or if it hadn’t then it was missing its chance. By the fourth place, Derek was starting to lose faith in their frazzled but determinedly perky real estate agent.

“This next one is a real zinger,” she said after each flop. “Best of the bunch! I’ve been fighting people off with a stick!”

Stiles had snorted the first two times she’d said it, laughed outright the third, and by now he had resorted to mocking her under his breath and shooting exasperated looks at Derek.

Derek could handle the perkiness if he had to—that sort of attitude tended to deflate when it ran into his natural stoicism anyway, at least after a while—but Stiles’ tendency towards earnest-sounding sarcasm just added fuel to her fire when she didn’t recognize that it was sarcasm. She took it at face value and genuinely thought that he was as excited as she was.

With this mistaken camaraderie in mind, she seemed to have taken Stiles as more of a new friend than a client she needed to be professional with. She kept whispering asides to him conspiratorially, thinking Derek couldn’t hear her, which made the both of them roll their eyes as soon as she turned away to espouse the virtues of the newest property.

It was never anything bad or mean-spirited, at least. Just gossipy.

“No worrying about landlords here, no sir! Only so many times you can lie about the dog before you lose your mind, am I right?”

“The owner says these are the original floors, but between you and me? Definitely repanelled. Twice!”

“Hell of a catch you got with this one, kid. Hubba-hubba!”

That last one was a little cringe-worthy, but it was far from the first time Derek had overheard comments like that about himself. He was used to it, and even Stiles had taken that one on the chin with a smile and a “Yup, he’s all mine!”

But then they reached the seventh place on the agent’s never-ending list. It was a gorgeous two-storey house with an open floor plan, a backyard that bordered a small strip of woods, and an isolation that drove the price down where they could afford it without dipping into the Hale insurance money. Derek was smiling almost as soon as he got out of the car, seeing wide windows perfectly positioned to let in the kind of light he would need for his painting. Stiles bumped his shoulder on the way up the drive and took off to explore as soon as the agent got the door open.

“It’s a bit out of the way,” the agent said apologetically. “But the road’s got a straight shot into town and the school zoning is excellent, for whenever that comes up for you two. This house is definitely big enough for a few young ‘uns! Three bedrooms, three bathrooms, more than enough!”

“Der, this place has got a trap door to the roof. How cool is that?” Stiles called as he came clomping down the staircase. “You can see over the trees for like fifty miles in every direction.”

“Fifty miles?” Derek repeated. “Really?”

“Maybe slightly hyperbolic,” Stiles allowed, “but that’s totally not the point. There’s no one around anywhere.”

For a growing pack of werewolves with a penchant for getting into fights, that could only be a good thing. Fewer witnesses, fewer potential civilian casualties, fewer people to notice when the inevitable second generation started teething with actual fangs.

The agent though, humans as she was, set about apologizing again right away, listing all the compensating features ad nauseam. Derek was content to ignore her, focusing all his attention on watching Stiles flit around the spacious living room, running his hands over all the display furniture and poking his head out all of the windows.

But then the agent ended her sales pitch with a nudge to Stiles’ side and a sly, “And no nosy neighbors? No shared walls? That just means you can be as loud as you want in the bedroom, am I right?”

Derek saw it on his face the second Stiles decided to be a dick about it, but he knew better than to think he could stop it. All he could do was pinch the bridge of his nose and brace himself as the bright, false smile lit up his beloved husband’s face.

“Yes!” Stiles said definitively. “Yes, you are so right! God, Derek, that’ll be such a relief, won’t it?”

“Sure it will, honey.”

“Finally, we can put away the gags,” Stiles went on with an exaggerated sigh of relief. He leaned in toward the agent, whose mouth had fallen open in shock; she clearly had not expected him to agree in such sordid detail. “You know, our last neighbors hated us. You’d never believe how many noise complaints we got because of our sex noises. We just—”

Stiles stopped to scoff, his eyebrows doing a complicated wriggling motion that was probably intended to be suggestive. He sent Derek a commiserating look that didn’t falter in the slightest when Derek’s response was less than impressed.

“We just have so much sex!” Stiles said loudly to the scandalized agent. “Like, so much sex! Really, just, everywhere, you know? I’m so glad this place has three bedrooms, ‘cause we’re gonna need ‘em, you know what I mean? And don’t even get me started on that bathtub upstairs! That’ll be perfect for that thing we do every single night with the—”

“Stiles.”

“Won’t it, Der?” Stiles asked, undeterred. “No neighbors, Derek! Isn’t that great for all that sex we’re having? So much sex, I’m surprised we haven’t pulled a muscle, but we’re still young and there’ll be time for more sex-related injuries when we’re old and decrepit and still having sex, right?”

“So you, uh…” the poor agent started to say, but she was so shellshocked that it took her several seconds to rally herself. “So you…like the house then?”

“Of course we do, it’s perfect for having—”

“We like the house,” Derek said, firmly enough to put an end to it. “We’re going to look around a bit more today, if you don’t mind, but we’ll meet you back at your office to finish the paperwork at your earliest convenience. Thanks for your time.”

She bustled out the door without even a cheerful “have a nice day,” and Stiles was laughing the second she was out of hearing range, bent over with the force of it and braced on his knees.

“Aw, man, did you see her face?”

“Was that really necessary?” Derek asked, though the corners of his mouth were turning up no matter how hard he tried to pull them into something disapproving. He could never resist a smile when Stiles laughed like that, even after all these years.

“Sure it was,” Stiles said, straightening up and wiping tears from the corners of his eyes. “If people are gonna make assumptions like that, then they should be prepared to get confirmation of it. Don’t bring up sex if you don’t wanna talk about sex.”

“Assumptions like thinking a married couple probably have sex with each other?” Derek asked. “That’s not exactly out of the ballpark. It’s an assumption pretty much everyone makes.”

“Well, they shouldn’t,” Stiles said staunchly, coming forward to wrap arms around Derek’s waist and pull him close. “Just because we’re married, that doesn’t require sex. Asexuality is a thing and sex-repulsion is also a thing and—”

“And most people don’t know that.”

“They should,” Stiles repeated. “And I will mock them until they do.”

“I appreciate your oblique efforts towards educating the world about my orientation,” Derek said, half joking and half sincere, “but all that? Did you really have to traumatize her with graphic accounts of our fictional sex life?”

“She started it!” Stiles protested. “I just responded in kind. It’s not my fault she wasn’t prepared to hear the answer to her own question. What’s wrong with appreciating the irony here?”

Derek shook his head. “I don’t think that’s quite what irony is, babe.”

“Fuck if I know,” Stiles said with a shrug. “That one song really fucked up my understanding of the concept. If rain on your wedding day isn’t ironic, then what the hell is? Seriously.”

“Not this.”

“That’s very helpful, love, thank you for your input on the subject.”

Despite his snark, Stiles dropped a kiss on Derek’s lips before extricating himself from the embrace. He headed toward the back of the house instead, leaning out the back door to critically eye the yard and moving on to poke around in the kitchen. Derek was content to let Stiles take the lead on the in depth examination; they’d both already decided they were going to buy it anyway. This was just Stiles’ natural curiosity and nosiness at work.

“She was right about one thing,” Stiles said as Derek followed in his wake, already lost in imaginings of Stiles cooking here, bed-headed and in his pajamas, early on a Sunday morning with the sunrise gilding him through the east-facing row of windows.

“What’s that?” Derek asked absently. But his attention was caught fully when Stiles turned back to him with the most beautiful smile on his face, small and soft and brilliantly happy.

“It’s perfect for kids,” he said and Derek’s heart swelled almost painfully in his chest, crowding the sudden lump in his throat.

“Yeah,” he managed to say. “Yeah, it really is, isn’t it?”

“I can just see it,” Stiles said, staring out the nearest window with eyes unfocused. “A little girl with your dark hair, running around out there and clawing her way up trees, growling with her little toddler fangs.”

Derek could see it too. It brought back memories of his childhood, back when there had been half a dozen kids in the Hale family, always playing tag in the woods with his sisters and play-fighting his cousins until one of them tagged out and escaped up a tree just like Stiles was describing. For all that Derek’s life had been marked by tragedy over and over again, at least he could honestly say that he’d had a happy childhood. And he would make damn sure his kids got the same.

Stiles was still lost in his fantasizing. “Or maybe she’ll have Lydia’s hair,” he amended. “I don’t know how this whole suregacy thing works, really. I can never remember which set of genes is doing what.” He shrugged loosely. “Not that it matters. Your and Lydia’s baby is gonna be fucking stunning no matter how the chips fall there.”

Derek had to frown at that. “It won’t be my and Lydia’s baby,” he reminded him. “It’s ours.”

“No, yeah, I know,” Stiles said quickly, turning back to face him. “I can’t not know that, trust me. This may be Lydia’s test run for motherhood, but it’s the real deal for us.”

“Test run?” Derek repeated, eyebrow raised. “Is that what she’s calling it now?”

“Not in so many words,” Stiles said with a laugh, leaning back to perch on the thin windowsill as best he could. “But that’s totally what it is. I think she’s deemed the morning sickness and sore back acceptable, but the way people keep trying to do things for her and make her sit down might be a deal breaker on the whole pregnancy thing.”

“Allison can be a tiny bit of a worrywart,” Derek agreed, thinking back on the last time he’d seen the two of them. Allison had been insisting that she could carry seven bags of snack food from the car to Scott’s house by herself and without any help from her pregnant girlfriend who should really go inside and put her feet up.

“She’s not the least bit concerned about the actual birthing part,” Stiles said. “I’m pretty sure she’s just withholding her final judgment on the matter until she sees how we handle the first few months of newborn stress.”

“I can almost guarantee Cora will have identical findings,” Derek told him, but Stiles was already shushing him.

“No, don’t start saying stuff like that!” he hissed. “You’re gonna jinx it! She hasn’t officially agreed yet, remember?”

“But she will,” Derek assured him. He closed the gap between them until he could take Stiles’ face in his hands. “I know my sister, Stiles. She may be iffy on having kids of her own right now, but she wants me to be happy. And she wants to continue the Hale line as much as I do, one way or another.”

That was something they had talked about together. Theirs had always been a big family, and the thought of it being culled down to just the two of them hurt in more ways than just them missing the loved ones they had lost. Not to mention that the Hales had been one of the oldest, longest-standing born werewolf packs in the country. True strength ran in their blood, as well as a propensity for the full wolf shift. It was such a rare ability nowadays, he and Cora both agreed it would be a shame not to pass it on.

“Even if it means being my baby mama?” Stiles asked.

Derek snorted before he could stop himself. “If you ever call her that where she can hear, I guarantee she will call the whole thing off and also probably kick you in the balls hard enough to prevent you from ever having children with anyone, much less her,” he warned.

“Nah,” Stiles said, unconcerned, fingers finding their way naturally to Derek’s belt loops and pulling him in further. “She loves me almost as much as you do.”

Derek hummed in consideration before leaning in that last little bit to place a kiss on Stiles’ forehead. “I don’t know about that,” he said. “I set the bar pretty high.”

Stiles chuckled, his scent warm and spicy and positively reeking of affection, just as Derek was sure his was. Derek couldn’t help but breathe it in and revel in it, hoping to god that they kept hold of this giddy kind of love long enough to embarrass their children with moments like this.

“You know,” Stiles said innocently, glancing up at him in a way that was probably meant to be coy but was far too eager to manage it, “that bathtub upstairs really is perfect for two.”

Taking a bubble bath together, swaddled in intimate warmth and all wrapped up in each other, was a glorious idea, and one that they indulged in on a regular basis even though their current apartment really wasn’t equipped for it. There was just one problem that Derek felt obliged to point out: “I think it’s probably tactless to get naked in a house before even the down payment.”

Stiles’ smirk was completely unrepentant when he said, “I guess it’s a good thing I’m not known for my tact then, isn’t it?”

He shouted with laughter as Derek chased him up the stairs, the bright sound of it echoing loudly all around their soon-to-be home, and for once there were no grouchy neighbors to complain.

The first place was an apartment and it was too cramped. The second was a duplex but wasn’t nearly nice enough for the price. The third was a tract house that may or may not have been the set of a horror movie in the past, or if it hadn’t then it was missing its chance. By the fourth place, Derek was starting to lose faith in their frazzled but determinedly perky real estate agent.

“This next one is a real zinger,” she said after each flop. “Best of the bunch! I’ve been fighting people off with a stick!”

Stiles had snorted the first two times she’d said it, laughed outright the third, and by now he had resorted to mocking her under his breath and shooting exasperated looks at Derek.

Derek could handle the perkiness if he had to—that sort of attitude tended to deflate when it ran into his natural stoicism anyway, at least after a while—but Stiles’ tendency towards earnest-sounding sarcasm just added fuel to her fire when she didn’t recognize that it was sarcasm. She took it at face value and genuinely thought that he was as excited as she was.

With this mistaken camaraderie in mind, she seemed to have taken Stiles as more of a new friend than a client she needed to be professional with. She kept whispering asides to him conspiratorially, thinking Derek couldn’t hear her, which made the both of them roll their eyes as soon as she turned away to espouse the virtues of the newest property.

It was never anything bad or mean-spirited, at least. Just gossipy.

“No worrying about landlords here, no sir! Only so many times you can lie about the dog before you lose your mind, am I right?”

“The owner says these are the original floors, but between you and me? Definitely repanelled. Twice!”

“Hell of a catch you got with this one, kid. Hubba-hubba!”

That last one was a little cringe-worthy, but it was far from the first time Derek had overheard comments like that about himself. He was used to it, and even Stiles had taken that one on the chin with a smile and a “Yup, he’s all mine!”

But then they reached the seventh place on the agent’s never-ending list. It was a gorgeous two-storey house with an open floor plan, a backyard that bordered a small strip of woods, and an isolation that drove the price down where they could afford it without dipping into the Hale insurance money. Derek was smiling almost as soon as he got out of the car, seeing wide windows perfectly positioned to let in the kind of light he would need for his painting. Stiles bumped his shoulder on the way up the drive and took off to explore as soon as the agent got the door open.

“It’s a bit out of the way,” the agent said apologetically. “But the road’s got a straight shot into town and the school zoning is excellent, for whenever that comes up for you two. This house is definitely big enough for a few young ‘uns! Three bedrooms, three bathrooms, more than enough!”

“Der, this place has got a trap door to the roof. How cool is that?” Stiles called as he came clomping down the staircase. “You can see over the trees for like fifty miles in every direction.”

“Fifty miles?” Derek repeated. “Really?”

“Maybe slightly hyperbolic,” Stiles allowed, “but that’s totally not the point. There’s no one around anywhere.”

For a growing pack of werewolves with a penchant for getting into fights, that could only be a good thing. Fewer witnesses, fewer potential civilian casualties, fewer people to notice when the inevitable second generation started teething with actual fangs.

The agent though, humans as she was, set about apologizing again right away, listing all the compensating features ad nauseam. Derek was content to ignore her, focusing all his attention on watching Stiles flit around the spacious living room, running his hands over all the display furniture and poking his head out all of the windows.

But then the agent ended her sales pitch with a nudge to Stiles’ side and a sly, “And no nosy neighbors? No shared walls? That just means you can be as loud as you want in the bedroom, am I right?”

Derek saw it on his face the second Stiles decided to be a dick about it, but he knew better than to think he could stop it. All he could do was pinch the bridge of his nose and brace himself as the bright, false smile lit up his beloved husband’s face.

“Yes!” Stiles said definitively. “Yes, you are so right! God, Derek, that’ll be such a relief, won’t it?”

“Sure it will, honey.”

“Finally, we can put away the gags,” Stiles went on with an exaggerated sigh of relief. He leaned in toward the agent, whose mouth had fallen open in shock; she clearly had not expected him to agree in such sordid detail. “You know, our last neighbors hated us. You’d never believe how many noise complaints we got because of our sex noises. We just—”

Stiles stopped to scoff, his eyebrows doing a complicated wriggling motion that was probably intended to be suggestive. He sent Derek a commiserating look that didn’t falter in the slightest when Derek’s response was less than impressed.

“We just have so much sex!” Stiles said loudly to the scandalized agent. “Like, so much sex! Really, just, everywhere, you know? I’m so glad this place has three bedrooms, ‘cause we’re gonna need ‘em, you know what I mean? And don’t even get me started on that bathtub upstairs! That’ll be perfect for that thing we do every single night with the—”

“Stiles.”

“Won’t it, Der?” Stiles asked, undeterred. “No neighbors, Derek! Isn’t that great for all that sex we’re having? So much sex, I’m surprised we haven’t pulled a muscle, but we’re still young and there’ll be time for more sex-related injuries when we’re old and decrepit and still having sex, right?”

“So you, uh…” the poor agent started to say, but she was so shellshocked that it took her several seconds to rally herself. “So you…like the house then?”

“Of course we do, it’s perfect for having—”

“We like the house,” Derek said, firmly enough to put an end to it. “We’re going to look around a bit more today, if you don’t mind, but we’ll meet you back at your office to finish the paperwork at your earliest convenience. Thanks for your time.”

She bustled out the door without even a cheerful “have a nice day,” and Stiles was laughing the second she was out of hearing range, bent over with the force of it and braced on his knees.

“Aw, man, did you see her face?”

“Was that really necessary?” Derek asked, though the corners of his mouth were turning up no matter how hard he tried to pull them into something disapproving. He could never resist a smile when Stiles laughed like that, even after all these years.

“Sure it was,” Stiles said, straightening up and wiping tears from the corners of his eyes. “If people are gonna make assumptions like that, then they should be prepared to get confirmation of it. Don’t bring up sex if you don’t wanna talk about sex.”

“Assumptions like thinking a married couple probably have sex with each other?” Derek asked. “That’s not exactly out of the ballpark. It’s an assumption pretty much everyone makes.”

“Well, they shouldn’t,” Stiles said staunchly, coming forward to wrap arms around Derek’s waist and pull him close. “Just because we’re married, that doesn’t require sex. Asexuality is a thing and sex-repulsion is also a thing and—”

“And most people don’t know that.”

“They should,” Stiles repeated. “And I will mock them until they do.”

“I appreciate your oblique efforts towards educating the world about my orientation,” Derek said, half joking and half sincere, “but all that? Did you really have to traumatize her with graphic accounts of our fictional sex life?”

“She started it!” Stiles protested. “I just responded in kind. It’s not my fault she wasn’t prepared to hear the answer to her own question. What’s wrong with appreciating the irony here?”

Derek shook his head. “I don’t think that’s quite what irony is, babe.”

“Fuck if I know,” Stiles said with a shrug. “That one song really fucked up my understanding of the concept. If rain on your wedding day isn’t ironic, then what the hell is? Seriously.”

“Not this.”

“That’s very helpful, love, thank you for your input on the subject.”

Despite his snark, Stiles dropped a kiss on Derek’s lips before extricating himself from the embrace. He headed toward the back of the house instead, leaning out the back door to critically eye the yard and moving on to poke around in the kitchen. Derek was content to let Stiles take the lead on the in depth examination; they’d both already decided they were going to buy it anyway. This was just Stiles’ natural curiosity and nosiness at work.

“She was right about one thing,” Stiles said as Derek followed in his wake, already lost in imaginings of Stiles cooking here, bed-headed and in his pajamas, early on a Sunday morning with the sunrise gilding him through the east-facing row of windows.

“What’s that?” Derek asked absently. But his attention was caught fully when Stiles turned back to him with the most beautiful smile on his face, small and soft and brilliantly happy.

“It’s perfect for kids,” he said and Derek’s heart swelled almost painfully in his chest, crowding the sudden lump in his throat.

“Yeah,” he managed to say. “Yeah, it really is, isn’t it?”

“I can just see it,” Stiles said, staring out the nearest window with eyes unfocused. “A little girl with your dark hair, running around out there and clawing her way up trees, growling with her little toddler fangs.”

Derek could see it too. It brought back memories of his childhood, back when there had been half a dozen kids in the Hale family, always playing tag in the woods with his sisters and play-fighting his cousins until one of them tagged out and escaped up a tree just like Stiles was describing. For all that Derek’s life had been marked by tragedy over and over again, at least he could honestly say that he’d had a happy childhood. And he would make damn sure his kids got the same.

Stiles was still lost in his fantasizing. “Or maybe she’ll have Lydia’s hair,” he amended. “I don’t know how this whole suregacy thing works, really. I can never remember which set of genes is doing what.” He shrugged loosely. “Not that it matters. Your and Lydia’s baby is gonna be fucking stunning no matter how the chips fall there.”

Derek had to frown at that. “It won’t be my and Lydia’s baby,” he reminded him. “It’s ours.”

“No, yeah, I know,” Stiles said quickly, turning back to face him. “I can’t not know that, trust me. This may be Lydia’s test run for motherhood, but it’s the real deal for us.”

“Test run?” Derek repeated, eyebrow raised. “Is that what she’s calling it now?”

“Not in so many words,” Stiles said with a laugh, leaning back to perch on the thin windowsill as best he could. “But that’s totally what it is. I think she’s deemed the morning sickness and sore back acceptable, but the way people keep trying to do things for her and make her sit down might be a deal breaker on the whole pregnancy thing.”

“Allison can be a tiny bit of a worrywart,” Derek agreed, thinking back on the last time he’d seen the two of them. Allison had been insisting that she could carry seven bags of snack food from the car to Scott’s house by herself and without any help from her pregnant girlfriend who should really go inside and put her feet up.

“She’s not the least bit concerned about the actual birthing part,” Stiles said. “I’m pretty sure she’s just withholding her final judgment on the matter until she sees how we handle the first few months of newborn stress.”

“I can almost guarantee Cora will have identical findings,” Derek told him, but Stiles was already shushing him.

“No, don’t start saying stuff like that!” he hissed. “You’re gonna jinx it! She hasn’t officially agreed yet, remember?”

“But she will,” Derek assured him. He closed the gap between them until he could take Stiles’ face in his hands. “I know my sister, Stiles. She may be iffy on having kids of her own right now, but she wants me to be happy. And she wants to continue the Hale line as much as I do, one way or another.”

That was something they had talked about together. Theirs had always been a big family, and the thought of it being culled down to just the two of them hurt in more ways than just them missing the loved ones they had lost. Not to mention that the Hales had been one of the oldest, longest-standing born werewolf packs in the country. True strength ran in their blood, as well as a propensity for the full wolf shift. It was such a rare ability nowadays, he and Cora both agreed it would be a shame not to pass it on.

“Even if it means being my baby mama?” Stiles asked.

Derek snorted before he could stop himself. “If you ever call her that where she can hear, I guarantee she will call the whole thing off and also probably kick you in the balls hard enough to prevent you from ever having children with anyone, much less her,” he warned.

“Nah,” Stiles said, unconcerned, fingers finding their way naturally to Derek’s belt loops and pulling him in further. “She loves me almost as much as you do.”

Derek hummed in consideration before leaning in that last little bit to place a kiss on Stiles’ forehead. “I don’t know about that,” he said. “I set the bar pretty high.”

Stiles chuckled, his scent warm and spicy and positively reeking of affection, just as Derek was sure his was. Derek couldn’t help but breathe it in and revel in it, hoping to god that they kept hold of this giddy kind of love long enough to embarrass their children with moments like this.

“You know,” Stiles said innocently, glancing up at him in a way that was probably meant to be coy but was far too eager to manage it, “that bathtub upstairs really is perfect for two.”

Taking a bubble bath together, swaddled in intimate warmth and all wrapped up in each other, was a glorious idea, and one that they indulged in on a regular basis even though their current apartment really wasn’t equipped for it. There was just one problem that Derek felt obliged to point out: “I think it’s probably tactless to get naked in a house before even the down payment.”

Stiles’ smirk was completely unrepentant when he said, “I guess it’s a good thing I’m not known for my tact then, isn’t it?”

He shouted with laughter as Derek chased him up the stairs, the bright sound of it echoing loudly all around their soon-to-be home, and for once there were no grouchy neighbors to complain.