#with a few twists and one being caleb is obviously alive

[ticklytums]

HELLO ALL! I have been busy as hell, and just not feeling like being here BUT

I have been reinvigorated with muse, especially for my Little Firefly au fanfic that is a slightly different ending of Luz going back in time and seeing Philip that is going to focus heavily on the Wittebane brothers and Evelyn, and other characters,

I’ve been wanting to write this for like two years now honestly?? but I think the uncertainty of how much canon might alter things kept me from it. Now that we have all the information I know exactly how to spin canon with my au! So if you enjoy the Wittebane brothers and Luz and Philip throwing shade at each other stick around 😂 

(yes it’ll definitely have a lot of tickles. Philip is a grumpy boi and his brother knows how to get that smile to turn upside down 😏 and Caleb is absolutely a giggly boy that Evelyn turns to squealing putty under her fingers)

[phantom-curve]

45 from the prompt list please for juke, happy Birthday to you!!!

Thank you! I clearly have not tortured these two enough so please enjoy this angsty Juke whump that ultimately has a happy ending because what other type of ending is there?! Set in a post-canon AU where Julie brings the boys back to life.

#45: feeling their temperature

Julie had been learning a lot about how to deal with various phantom related issues in the last few months. She had learned that the boys needed constant touch and reassurance that they were somehow solid to her, mostly in the form of Luke pulling her into a hug at the end of practice or Reggie throwing himself on top of her while she was sprawled out on the couch doing homework or Alex’s fingers just gently running across the back of her shoulders or the skin of her elbow when she would walk past him at any given time. She had learned that Luke missed meatball subs more than anything, and that Reggie was still sad that that one pizza place on the pier had shut down, and Alex secretly wished he could eat cheese one last time despite the way it had always made him sick when he was alive. She had learned that in the aftermath of their literal magical hug the boys had started getting tired enough to occasionally sleep again and sometimes they didn’t quite phase through things the way they used to and for some reason their poofing had become a touch unreliable.

She was trying to roll with it as much as she could, which was actually a lot given she’d kinda just been rolling with it ever since they appeared in her mom’s studio and turned her life upside down in the best way. But something she hadn’t planned for was illness.

It didn’t make sense, after all. They were ghosts. There was no reason they should get sick, especially given the fact that they weren’t, ya know, real physical entities unless she was touching them. So, it didn’t make sense that they were able to get fevers or sore throats or be congested. She hadn’t planned for it, had written it off as a definite impossibility. Until Reggie half-poofed into her bedroom, flickering in and out slightly so she only caught every other word.

“Julie! ...quick...Luke...not...good...need...help...please!”

And she went immediately, racing down the steps and out the back door to the studio before Reggie had a chance to appear in her bedroom again.

The boys looked absolutely exhausted as she crashed into the studio, Reggie collapsed in one of the chairs breathing heavily and Alex pacing so fast she was sure he was going to wear a groove into the concrete floor. Luke was stretched out along the couch, his face red and sweaty, and he was the only one that looked unhappy at her arrival.

“Julie, thank God,” Alex breathed out, his steps slowing ever so slightly as he made eye contact. “Luke is...sick? Do ghosts get sick? Is that possible? I tried to poof up to you but...it wouldn’t work. Why wouldn’t it work? Reggie said he kept flickering? Did you understand him, or did he just disappear? Oh God, why doesn’t the afterlife come with rule books!?!”

Reggie, bless him, tried to fill in some of the gaps.

“I dunno how much I was actually able to say up there, but something is wrong with Luke. We’re pretty sure he’s sick.”

“Am not!” Luke tried to yell from his spot on the couch, but he barely managed to get the two words out before he was doubled over gasping for air. As if any of them were actually breathing.

“He’s been like this all day.”

It didn’t take a genius or supernatural expert to see that Luke was not his normal bouncy self. Julie approached him slowly, not wanting to make things worse but desperate to affirm for herself that he was still here with her and would be okay at the end of whatever this was. Obviously, none of them actually knew if he would be, but at least if she was touching him, she would have the physical reassurance of his presence. She lowered herself next to his head, resting on her knees beside the couch. He turned glassy eyes her way, groaning and twisting over on his side so he was as curled into her space as he could be while still on the couch.

“Luke...?”

She tried desperately to keep the fear from her voice. The last thing the boys needed was for her to lose it, but she wasn’t sure she managed it. Losing the boys, losing Luke, was her number one fear since she had realized how much they all meant to her. It was a fear that had become even more real when she had watched them be nearly jolted from existence thanks to Caleb, her touch somehow being the one thing that had managed to save them. As if spurred on by that memory, she reached out to let one hand trail across Luke’s forehead and down to rest against his cheek. His skin was like fire beneath her touch.

“You’re burning up. Have you been hot like this all day?”

One side of his mouth tipped up, a half-hearted smirk curving his lips.

“I’m always hot, Jules. Didn’t think you’d ever notice.”

It took everything in her not to roll her eyes. But then Luke gasped and coughed, the sound deep and throaty in a way she hadn’t experienced since the time Carlos got pneumonia when he was little. She fluttered her fingers above him, not sure where her touch would be helpful or comforting. Luke reached up to snag her hands within his own, pulling them close against his chest. Julie tried not to focus on the way his skin seemed to be boiling beneath her.

“That cough doesn’t sound good. Have you taken anything? Ibuprofen, Tylenol, ice cold water??”

She was grasping at straws here. Whatever was going on with Luke was completely out of her wheelhouse, but she would be damned if she let some weak human virus or bacterial infection be his downfall. She had saved him from a goddamn demon’s curse, she could save him from this.

“No, Julie, I’m fine. I swear.”

His promise was cut off by another hacking cough. Julie tried to pull her hands back, if only so that she could use them for something other than just grasping onto Luke’s, but his grip held firm.

“Luke,” she tried again, pushing the tears she felt clogging her throat back, “you’re not fine. Please, I just...I need...there has to be something I can do.”

Their eyes met and held. She watched the way the emotions swimming in the sea of Luke’s gaze shifted and changed. Felt it deep within her soul when he decided to give up the façade and let her in.

“I don’t...it doesn’t feel right, Jules. It’s not like I’m sick, not like...”

Not like when he was human. The words hung unspoken between them. Julie felt her heart dive straight into her toes.

“Can we just...can you just...hold me?”

Luke’s voice came out in broken starts and stops, like the request was being dragged from his bones in a last-ditch attempt at satisfying a final craving before the very end. Julie thought her heart might explode, especially when her eyes searched his face and found nothing but longing and love etched into the pained lines there. It hit her then. He didn’t think this was something survivable. He didn’t think he was going to come back from this. Luke was facing the end, the actual end, and he wanted her at his side and in his arms when he went to meet his maker. The very idea ripped her soul in two.

“No, no, no. No, Luke, no. This isn’t...you’re not...no. You don’t get to do this to me. Not now. Not after...no.”

Julie felt the tears well up and spill over, wet tracks inching down her cheeks in the worst kind of betrayal. Not after everything she had done to save him. Not after she realized she loved him. It wasn’t fair. Luke didn’t get to just leave her like this. She wouldn’t allow it. Luke’s own eyes flooded, the two of them so in tune that when she blinked again her tears traced down her face in the same pattern that his did.

“Julie...please...”

He was pulling on her then, using their conjoined hands and his superior upper body strength to drag her up and onto the couch. Julie did her best to wedge herself into the space beside him, but Luke was having none of that, dropping her hands so he could twist his fingertips into her belt loops and haul her body on top of his. It was the kind of intimate cuddling she had been dreaming about for months, even before she had been able to touch him. Her head was tucked securely beneath his chin, cheek resting above the space his heart had once occupied. His arms were locked around her waist, hands solid and reassuring against the small of her back. She let her hands slip past the worn cotton of his cut-up band tee to rest against his ribs, the tears flowing fast and hot from her eyes to soak the material beneath her head.

She wasn’t sure Luke would even notice the difference. His temperature had to be sky high, every inch of his body where it pressed against hers engulfed in flames. Without realizing it, she began to hum the chorus to Edge of Great. She had been using it recently as a way to hype herself up when she started doubting something, the song never failing to remind her of Luke’s unbreakable belief in her. She felt it when Luke smiled, his head leaning down to rest against her own, voice blending with hers in a perfect harmony.

“We were pretty great, huh?” Luke’s voice was hushed as his lips moved across her scalp. “The band...the boys...us. We went right over the edge together, didn’t we? We’re just one dream, away from who we’re meant to be.”

Julie lost the melody as her quiet cries shifted to sobs. This couldn’t be it. They hadn’t even achieved half of the things they were meant to. Luke’s hum picked up where hers had dropped off, shifting slowly into the bridge of Finally Free.

“You’ll always be a part of me. Now ‘til eternity.”

Luke’s words were quiet and soft, melodic, as if he was still following the lines of the song in his head. There was a kind of peace to them that Julie hadn’t heard before, not since that awful night where he had stood before her and said there was no music without her. Not since the last time he thought she was going to have to watch him die. Not since the last time he had tried to say goodbye.

She couldn’t let him go like this. She had to fight, somehow, some way, to keep him where he belonged, right here next to her. She didn’t know what was happening, didn’t know how to fix it, but she could give him this. She could tell him how much he meant to her. She could hope that it would maybe be enough. Just like last time.

“Luke...I can’t...I’m not...” Her chest constricted, cutting off her words. God, how did it already hurt so much? “I’m not ready to lose you. I can’t lose you. I love you.”

Luke convulsed slightly underneath her, the movement moving from the tip of his head all the way down to his toes. Julie hugged him close, terrified. She wasn’t sure if that type of reaction was a good thing or a bad thing, and she wasn’t fully ready to find out. Beneath her, Luke’s body began to rapidly cool. That had to be a bad sign, right? A fever like that wouldn’t just suddenly break, not unless...not unless...Julie couldn’t even make herself think it. She pulled herself tighter against Luke’s chest, leveraged every inch she could get against him as her hands flexed against his back. A strange noise sounded from deep within his chest.

“Luke? Please, Luke, no. Please don’t leave me.”

Julie clutched herself as close as possible, the feeling of Luke’s arms slackening on her back twisting her stomach. Her sobs were borderline uncontrollable now, breaths coming in painful gasps as she pushed her face deeper and deeper into the fabric of Luke’s shirt. I love you, I love you, I love you. Her mouth formed the words over and over again until she felt them stitch themselves into the lining of her soul.

The noise sounded again, louder this time, directly underneath the spot where her cheek rested against his left pectoral muscle. And then she heard it again, and again, and again, slowly repeating until it picked up a slight rhythm. Slow at first and then explosively fast all the sudden. It sounded...like a heartbeat.

“Luke, oh my God, Luke, please, please, oh my God, please.”

Julie had no idea what she was even pleading for. A sign, a glimmer of hope to hold on to, another miracle that would save the boy she loved and bring him back to her, fully this time. It was too much to ask for, right? Too much to put faith into. The sound, the heartbeat, within Luke’s chest began to echo even louder. Julie forced herself to be brave. Forced herself to lift her head and look at Luke’s face. She told herself she could handle it. She told herself she had to do it.

Luke’s eyes were open above her. He looked just as bewildered as she felt, but his eyes were open and she could see his nostrils flaring as he sucked in a breath, and she felt the lungs in his chest expand beneath her and he was alive. He had to be alive, right? That was the only explanation here.

“Julie...?”

“Are you...?”

“I feel...”

“Alive.”

They said it at the same time, voices blending together the same way they did on stage, perfectly matched as if the universe itself had made it so. Julie pressed one hand against his cheek, his normal temperature cheek, and the other against his chest, directly above his heart. She felt the steady thump of muscle against her palm, felt Luke’s lips stretch into the widest grin she had ever seen. His own arms tightened around her waist again, forcing her to collapse against him as he squeezed. His heartbeat, his heartbeat!, roared strong and steady beneath her. His lips were in her hair, the only part of him that was still hot, moving against her curls in a way she didn’t have to hear to understand. I love you, I love you, I love you. Tying them together, heart to heart, the knowledge of that truth undeniable and overwhelming. He was alive. He was alive. Luke was alive, at her side, alive alive alive.

“Hey guys?”

Reggie’s voice, strained and aching. Julie had forgotten about the other boys completely. She turned her head, new tears overflowing when she caught sight of them. They looked like Luke had when she entered the studio. But instead of feeling scared, an immense wave of relief crashed over her. She could do this. She loved them. She could bring them back. Julie disentangled herself from Luke, crossing the room to pull the other boys close. Luke followed, his arms encompassing hers, Reggie and Alex safe within a never-ending circle of love. They burned hot and quick, fevers rising and crashing in a wave faster than Luke’s, heartbeats returning just as swiftly. They all cried, limbs overlapping in a heap on the floor. And when Julie met Luke’s eyes above the backs of the other boys, a moment passed between them. A moment that promised a lifetime together, every day beginning and ending with love and them.

“Now that we’re alive again, can we please get something to eat?”

Luke pulled Reggie into a noogie, but Julie just laughed, her heart soaring high as she thought about the endless future stretched out in front of them. A lifetime of forevers, starting that very day.

[the-kaedageist]

“I can’t keep kissing strangers and pretending that they’re you.” [what else could this be but widomauk?] xoxo

God, what a beast you spawned with this prompt. I haven’t even written Widomauk before!

Widomauk, #31: “I can’t keep kissing strangers and pretending that they’re you.” (1,928 words because WHAT)

The tavern was in a secluded part of Rosohna two blocks away from the Xhorhaus, sheltered in between a blacksmith’s shop and a large building that looked like it fulfilled some sort of need for municipal bureaucracy. Mollymauk located it at the end of his first two weeks of returning to the loving arms of the Nein, noting its presence on some sort of errand he was running with Beau, and within three days he found himself sitting at the counter, halfway to the bottom of a bottle of wine and trying not to think about red hair and blue eyes.

The first thing Molly had noticed was that Caleb was different. The whole group was, of course; they fit together like a puzzle, the sharp edges sanded down. The Nein felt like a family, and Molly wasn’t sure that there was still a place for him among their ranks, not anymore. Caleb’s changes weren’t even the most profound – that award obviously went to Veth, with her mischievous halfling smile and her avoidance of alcohol – but it was the change that went straight to Molly’s gut. Caleb smiled more. He was clean and had grown his hair long. He was as handsome as Molly had suspected, so long ago. However, past Caleb had been too much of a mess to be worth pining after.

This time, Molly was drinking his weight in wine, glancing around the bar looking for someone to take him home and distract him.

It wasn’t just Caleb, of course. It was resurrection – the last thing he’d wanted – and the avalanche of memories that had returned with the reawakening of his body. It was being whisked halfway across the continent by Caleb’s magic to a city shrouded in darkness, the Nein’s new home, brought to a house filled with memories of him and a hot tub named with his initials.

It was realizing the person they remembered wasn’t quite the person he was, and worrying what they would do about that once they figured it out.

Thankfully, before Mollymauk could get too maudlin, a handsome drow entered the tavern. He was a tall man with the muscles of a soldier, distracting Molly away from his existential angst with a coy look. He took his wine and his low spirits and joined the man at his table, and banished all thought of existential despair – and attractive redheads – from his mind for the rest of the evening.

A week later, he was back. He didn’t drink as much, that time – Jester had teased him a bit about having to cure his hangover, and Molly didn’t want to risk the group thinking he hadn’t grown along with them. Another drow caught his eye this time, with an androgynous haircut and elegantly bejeweled ears, and Molly distracted himself quite heartily with them, not stumbling back home to the Xhorhaus until the early hours of the morning.

Caleb was waiting up, sitting out in the front of the house, his profile lit gently by the string of lights from Caduceus’s tree.

“Beau was worried,” Caleb said, his face unreadable.

“I’m fine.” Molly brushed past him and into the house, which was quiet and dark. Soft footfalls signaled that Caleb was following, and a moment later, three globes of light swirled in the air around him, lighting the downstairs interior.

“You keep leaving,” Caleb said stubbornly. “You didn’t even tell us where you were going.”

“I can take care of myself,” Molly told him, not appreciating the reminder that the rest of the team was now double his strength. He quickly climbed the stairs to the “guest room” which had become his own before Caleb could continue his scolding and was unconscious only a few seconds before his head hit the pillow.

The third time, he didn’t have the opportunity to pick up anyone.

“So this is where you go,” said a familiar accented voice as Molly glanced forlornly into his stein of ale. A moment later, Caleb seated himself heavily beside him, his hair gleaming almost too-bright in the candlelight. Molly looked away, catching the eye of the bugbear who was bartending. The bugbear, who had heard a bit too much about Caleb to make Molly completely comfortable, raised his eyebrows and brought Caleb some of the same ale without being asked.

“This is where I go,” Molly said awkwardly as Caleb took a sip of ale.

They drank comfortably in silence for a few moments, giving Molly time to study Caleb out of the corner of his eye. Caleb was comfortable, now, clever and confident and far more alive. He still wore trauma like a second skin, but it was also clear that being with the Nein had started him along the path of slowly healing. Molly wanted to watch him constantly, cataloguing all the ways he was different – and he wished he’d been present to watch the transformation in real time. Instead, he was still the same shitty charlatan, low-level and up to his ears in lies and bullshit memories.

It wasn’t until he’d finished his first ale and started on a second that Caleb turned to speak. “What is wrong, Mollymauk?”

“I’m surprised you didn’t send Caduceus out to fetch me,” Molly said, staring into his stein. “Isn’t that his role in the group? He sorts the rest of you out?”

“We are all capable of sorting the others out,” Caleb said, a hint of a grin at the corner of his mouth. “We just, most of the time, choose not to.”

Molly didn’t want to think about the fact that he’d died and been replaced by a competent cleric who was clutch in battle. He drained his ale to the bottom of his stein and held it up. The bugbear bartender, by now a dear friend, gladly filled it back up and took the proffered coin.

“Are you going to tell me?” Caleb asked. The strangeness of it – Caleb trying to help, Caleb here next to him, dressed in Xhorhasian fine clothing with his hair drawn back into a soft ponytail, Caleb’s body thrumming with power even beneath the surface – struck Molly all at once, and he took in a deep breath for courage.

It would be so easy, to turn around and look Caleb deep in the eyes and be honest. To tell him he was feeling out of place, broken into tiny pieces, empty once more. To flat-out admit that he didn’t know if he was really the person the Nein had remembered for all this time.

Instead, he chose the easy way out, because it was what Mollymauk Tealeaf did. Oh, he put on a good show, putting on a saucy pout and trying to slur his words more than necessary, but he still made a choice not to confront the real elephant in the room.

Instead, he steeled himself and said, “I can’t keep kissing strangers and pretending that they’re you.”

He watched the gears turn behind Caleb’s gaze. This was it. Caleb would give him a look of disgust or sadness and leave him to his own pity party. Caleb, whose boundaries were practically an armored bastion, would never let this sort of comment pass.

Caleb was staring at him, mouth agape. He shook himself slightly. “You’ve been…kissing strangers, pretending that they’re me?”

It wasn’t a lie, but the dumbfoundedness seemed a bit over the top. Caleb was stupidly hot. Was it that hard to believe? “It’s been difficult. You don’t really look like a drow.”

Caleb wheezed a bit beside him, and it took Molly a minute to realize he was laughing.

He didn’t even think he’d seen Caleb laugh, before.

“I’m sorry,” Caleb said, waving a hand in his direction. “I’m not laughing at you. I just…yes, I can imagine I do not look like a drow.” He met Molly’s gaze with some intensity, surprising him. “I’m also sorry you have felt the need to…play make-believe.”

Something bitter twisted inside Molly, his expression growing sour. “You don’t have to patronize me,” he muttered, dragging his gaze away. He took one last gulp from his ale and set it down. “I’m sorry you drew the short straw and came to fetch me. I’ll let you finish your drink in peace.” He started towards the door, fully intending to stumble out into the night and go find another tavern to drink in. Maybe he’d go dancing.

A hand caught his around the wrist, stopping him in his tracks. He turned to find Caleb watching him. “I did not draw the short straw,” Caleb said, his voice quiet but intense. “You mean a lot to all of us, Mollymauk. I have been worried about you. I have been through much, but I have never been dead and brought back to a world changed.”

Molly didn’t meet his eyes. “It sucks,” he said.

“I dreamed of you,” Caleb said conversationally. “For months, afterwards. You haunted all of us, but me, especially.” He gently tugged Molly back in to sit on the barstool on his other side, facing him. “I never—I was not in a place, where I could have—but I think I knew.” Despite the incoherence of his words, there was a confidence in his shoulders as he leaned over and pressed his hand to Mollymauk’s heart. It was beating so intensely that Molly was sure that Caleb could feel it through all the layers of clothing. “There was a connection, between us.”

“There was,” Molly said faintly. Gods, how the tables had turned.

Caleb gave him a wry smile. “I spent months thinking how to give back the gift you gave me,” he said. “Now, we have gifted it back ten times over. We have all grown and changed, surpassed the people we were originally and become something more. And you are one of us, as you always have been. You will have your chance to grow into us too.”

Caleb grasped Molly’s face between his own and Molly’s mouth went dry. For a moment, he thought Caleb was going to kiss him, and those blue eyes did stray momentarily to Molly’s mouth as though he was thinking about it. Instead, Caleb leaned over and pressed his lips to the center of Molly’s forehead, a parody of a moment long ago, in a mineshaft in the Marrow Valley with flames all around them.

“You’re one of us,” Caleb said, “And I don’t know the person you’ll become, but I am interested to find out.”

Molly felt his eyes fill with tears, unbidden and unwanted. He quickly blinked them away.

Caleb released his face, leaning back on his stool and studying him. “If you are still looking for people to kiss,” he continued slowly, as though he couldn’t quite believe the words were leaving his mouth, “I do not think you will need to pretend, any longer.”

Mollymauk stared at him, barely able to hear the sounds of the other patrons of the tavern over the hammering of his heartbeat.

He swallowed hard. “Well then, Mr. Caleb,” he said, the old playful nickname tasting almost foreign on his tongue. He leaned forward on the barstool, knocking their knees together and slowly leaning his forehead against Caleb’s to give him time to move away if he chose. Caleb watched him with wide eyes, but didn’t flinch. Instead, he glanced back down at Molly’s mouth, licking his lips.

“Yes, Mr. Mollymauk?” he asked, a bit of a waver in his voice.

“You talk too much,” Mollymauk said right before he kissed him firmly.

Give me a dialogue prompt!

[winchesterbrotherstan]

Supernatural- Asylum (1.10)

Pairing: N/A, Olive Winchester (OC)

Summary: The siblings are sent on a hunt by an unknown number, a crazy doctor gets his hands on Sam, and things go downhill for Dean and Olive very fast

Warnings: mental asylum, crying, cursing, guns, threats, etc

Word Count: 7385

“No. Dad was in Cali last we heard from him. We just thought, since he goes to you for munitions…” I sighed deeply. “Maybe you’d heard from him in the last few weeks… Just… please call us if you hear anything.”

“Will do.”

I sighed again. “Thank you.”

“Yeah, you bet.”

“Caleb hasn’t heard from him?” Dean looked up as I flipped the phone shut.

“Nope. Sams?” I turned to him, tears welling in my eyes.

Sam only shook his head. “Neither has Jefferson. Or Pastor Jim.”

“De, what about the journal? Any leads in there?” I tried to hold back my breath.

“No. Same as last time I looked. Nothing I can make out… I love the guy, but I swear, he writes like frigging Yoda.” Dean scowled.

Sam sighed and put his arm up, offering the space. I ignored him, instead standing at the base of the bed, arms crossed over my chest.

“Maybe we should call the Feds.” He sighed. “File a missing person’s report.”

“We’ve talked about this.” Dean shook his head. “Dad would be so pissed if we put the Feds on his tail.”

I scowled, tears now dropping down the curve of my nose. “You know what Dean, who cares anymore?”

His phone buzzed, but I kept going.

“After what happened in Kansas? He should’ve been there, Dean! You even said it yourself!”

“Ollie, I know!” Dean scoffed as he rummaged through his duffel bag. “Where the hell is my cell phone?”

“You know, Olive’s right. He could be dead for all we know.”

“Don’t say that!” Dean turned, angry. “He’s not dead! He’s-he’s…”

“He’s what, Dean? He’s hiding? Busy?” I shouted, seeing spit fly out.

“Olive, stop!” Dean screamed back at me, chest heaving with his phone in his grip.

My shoulders fell and I let myself cry. Dean’s face softened and he sighed, shaking his head, trying to say something. I sighed, staring at Dean and feeling betrayed.

“Dean, where the hell is he?” I sniffled. “Where’s the hell’s Dad?”

Dean sighed. “Ollie, I don’t know.” He shook his head. “I don’t know, but he isn’t dead.”

He flicked his phone open, looking away from me. I dropped onto the floor, leaning back against the bed. Sam came to the foot of the bed and gripped my by the waist, pulling me onto the bed with him.

“It’s okay.” He whispered.

I snorted before leaning against him.

“Huh.” Dean scoffed. “I don’t believe it.”

“What happened?”

“It’s, uh… it’s a text message. It’s coordinates.”

                                                         ***

“Do you think Dad was texting us?” I whispered.

I was sitting next to Dean. I hadn’t raised my voice above a whisper since this morning. I was stressed and sad, and I missed Dad and I wanted things to go back to normal. Dean was still angry, upset with me because I had lost it, because we said Dad could be dead.

“He’s given us coordinates before.”

“The man can barely work a toaster, Dean.”

“Sam, it’s good news! It means he’s okay. Or alive at least.”

“Was there a number on the caller ID?”

“Nah, it said unknown.”

I sighed. “Well where do the coordinates point?”

“That’s the interesting point. Rockford, Illinois.”

“Okay, and that’s interesting how?”

“I checked the local Rockford paper. Take a look at this.” Dean shifted the computer toward us. “This cop, Walter Kelly, comes home from his shift, shoots his wife, then puts the gun in his mouth, blows his brains out. And earlier that night, Kelly and his partner responded to a call at the Roosevelt Asylum.”

Sam and I looked at each other, confused.

“Okay, I’m not following. What does this have to do with us?”

“Dad earmarked the same asylum in the journal. Let’s see…” Dean flipped through the pages. “Here. Seven unconfirmed sightings, two deaths-till last week at least. I think this is where he wants us to go.”

I took another deep breath and sighed. “This is just another job. Dad just wants us to work a job.”

“Well maybe we’ll meet up with him. Maybe he’s there.” Dean offered.

“Maybe he’s not, Dean. I mean, he could just be sending us there. By ourselves, to hunt this thing.”

“You know what, Olive? Who the hell cares? If Dad wants us there, it’s good enough for me!”

I rolled my eyes, and Sam stepped in.

“This doesn’t strike you as weird? The texting? The coordinates?”

“Guys! Dad’s telling us to go somewhere. We are going.” He hissed. “End of fucking story.” He slammed the laptop shut and stormed into the bathroom.

Sam and I looked at each other again. I sighed and sunk into my seat.

“This is fucking bullshit, Sam.” I rubbed my face.

“It’s gonna be okay, bug.”

                                                           ***

“We’ll be back soon, okay?” Sam brushed my hair behind my ear.

“Keep the doors locked.” Dean ordered as he slammed his door.

I sighed. “Be careful. Please.”

Sam nodded. “Always.”

                                                           ***

I watched as Dean stormed out of the bar. I sighed and got out of the car.

“No Dad?”

He sighed and shook his head. “No Dad.”

“Dean, I’m sorry.” I shuddered out.

He sighed and his shoulders dropped. He shook his head.

“No, I’m sorry.” He held his arms open. “I’m so sorry, baby.”

I wrapped my arms around him and whimpered.

“I’m sorry, De, I’m just scared. I’m so fucking scared. It’s just that Dad’s never gone this long, a-and Sam’s right. It feels like something really big is starting. I’m so scared.” I let out a sob.

“It’s okay. It’s alright. You didn’t do anything wrong. I’m sorry I yelled.” He brushed a hand through my hair. “I’m so sorry.”

“I love you.” I whispered. “It’s okay.”

He squeezed me. “I love you too.”

I shuddered. “Aren’t you cold?”

He snorted. “Yeah. Let’s get in the car.” He pressed a kiss to the top of my head.

                                                          ***

“Shoved me kinda hard in there, buddy boy.” Dean scowled as Sam ducked into the car.

“I had to sell it, didn’t I? It’s method acting.” Sam shrugged.

“What?” I asked, confused.

Sam shook his head. “Never mind.”

“What did you find out from Gunderson?” I asked, shaking my head.

“So, Walter Kelly was a good cop. Head of his class, even-keeled, he had a bright future ahead of him.”

“What about at home?” Dean asked.

“He and his wife had a few fights, like everybody, but he was mostly smooth sailing. They were even talking about having kids.”

I snorted. “Alright, so either Kelly had some deep-seated crazy waiting to bust out, or-”

“Something else did this to him.”

“Exactly.”

“What’d Gunderson tell you about the asylum?”

Sam’s eyes widened. “A lot.”

                                                          ***

I sighed as we stared up at the fence.

“Okay. I’m not gonna lie. This is a terrible idea.” I shook my head.

Dean shrugged. “Best we got.”

Sam shook his head and got on one knee. “Alright, bug. Up you go.”

                                                          ***

“So apparently the cops chased the kids here… into the south wig.” Sam pointed to the door labeled.

“South wing, huh? Wait a second. 1972. Three kids broke into the south wing, only one survived. Way he tells it, one of his friends went nuts and started lighting up the place.” Dean read from the journal.

“So whatever's going on, the south wing is the heart of it.” I sighed.

“But if the kids are spelunking the asylum, why aren't there a ton more deaths?”

Spelunking? What is this, a 90s sitcom with an angry dad?

I blinked as Sam looked around and tutted.

“Looks like the doors are usually chained. Could’ve been chained up for years.”

“Yeah, to keep people out.” I shrugged.

“Or to keep something in.” Dean raised his eyebrows.

We sighed as we looked at each other. Dean pushed me closer to Sam, keeping himself behind me. Sam opened the door and we followed him through.

                                                          ***

“Let me know if you see any dead people, Haley Joel.” Dean teased.

“Dude, enough.” Sam scowled.

“I’m serious. You gotta be careful, alright? Ghosts are attracted to that whole ESP thing you got going on.”

“I told you, it’s not ESP! I just have strange vibes sometimes. Weird dreams.” Sam hissed.

I giggled. “Sammy’s got bad vibes.”

“Yeah, whatever. Don’t ask, don’t tell.”

“You get any reading on that thing or not, Ol?” Sam asked, nodding to the EMF meter in my hand.

I shook my head. “Nah. Doesn’t mean nobody’s home though.”

“Spirits can’t appear during certain hours of the day.” Sam shrugged.

“Yeah. The freaks come out at night.” Dean snorted.

Dean grabbed my arm and I froze, fully attentive. He nodded toward Sam.

“Hey Sam. Who do you think is the hottest psychic? Patricia Arquette, Jennifer Love Hewitt, or you?”

Sam rolled his eyes and pushed Dean into me. Dean snorted a laugh and I squirmed away from him and to Sam’s side, clinging to his arm.

                                                          ***

Sam pushed a door open, and the rusted hinges screamed. I flinched, and Sam sighed as he led the way through. Dean was right behind me, and he let out a sharp breath through his teeth.

“Man. Electro-shock. Lobotomies. They did some twisted stuff to these people. Kinda like my man Jack in Cuckoo’s Nest.” Dean made another reference I was too young to understand as he made crazy eyes at Sam.

Sam ignored him and Dean dropped his smile, now pouting.

“So whatcha guys think? Ghosts possessing people?”

Sam shrugged. “Maybe. Or many it’s more like Amityville, or the Smurl haunting.”

I shivered. Amityville scared the hell out of me, and I was never sold on the Smurl haunting.

Dean nodded. “Spirits driving them crazy. Kinda like my man Jack in The Shining.”

Sam sighed. “Dean. When are we gonna talk about it?”

“Talk about what?” Dean looked around, confused.

I sighed. “He means that Dad’s not here.”

Dean snorted from the back of his nose. “Oh. I see. How ‘bout… never.”

“I’m being serious, man. He sent us here.”

“So am I, Sam. Look, he sent us here, he obviously wants us here. We’ll pick up the search later.”

I sighed. I could feel the tension in the air rising, and I knew what was about to happen. Dean would imply Sam leaving because of Dad, he would mention that he didn’t try as hard, Sam would get pissy and say he wanted answers and it wasn’t his fault for wanting to have a normal life. It would turn into a war, and Dean would be Dad’s loyal soldier while Sam would go rogue.

“It doesn’t matter what he wants.” Sam hissed again.

I sighed again. Here it went.

“See. That attitude right there? This is why I always get the extra cookie.”

“Dad could be in trouble. We should be looking for him! We deserve answers, Dean. I mean, this is our fucking family we’re talking about.”

“I understand that Sam, but he’s given us an order.”

Sam scoffed. “So what, we gotta always follow Dad’s orders?”

“Of course we do.”

Sam opened his mouth to rip something else out, but Dean turned around, ending the conversation.

I sighed a third time, feeling my nose and eyes burn.

“Sanford Ellicott…” Dean read off a sign. “You know what we gotta do. We gotta find out more about the south wing. See if something happened here.” He shoved the sign into Sam’s hand and pranced away.

I wrapped my arms around myself and sighed. Sam was angry, lip raised into a snarl and nose twitching.

“Let’s just go.” He scowled.

                                                          ***

“Let me do it.” I perked up.

Dean and Sam turned to me, confused. Ellicott’s son was a therapist nearby. We needed to get more information, and undercover as a patient was the best shot we had.

“Are you sure, baby girl?” Dean’s eyebrows furrowed.

I nodded. “Yeah, I can do it. I-I’m just a kid. They can take me in with your consent because you’re basically my dad, but it might be a little more difficult with Sam.”

“Olive…” Sam trailed off, concerned.

I grinned. “I can do it, Sams. I promise.”

                                                          ***

“Olive Winchester?”

I looked up from the magazine. The door was open, and a man with glasses was standing in it with a clipboard.

“That’s me.” I stood.

“Come on in.” He stepped aside, letting me follow him into the room.

“Thank you so much for seeing me last minute.” I sat down on the couch, looking around the room. “Dr. Ellicott. Ellicott… that name. Wasn’t there a… a Dr. Sanford Ellicott? Chief psychiatrist somewhere.”

He nodded. “My father was a chief of staff at the old Roosevelt Asylum.” He tilted his head. “How did you know that?”

I shrugged. “My older brother is sorta a local history buff… Hey, wasn’t there… an incident or something? In the hospital, I guess. In the south wing, right?”

“We’re here on your dollar, Olive. We’re here to talk about you.”

“Actually, we’re here on my brother’s dollar.

“So. How’s things?”

“Ah…” I sighed. “Things are good, doc.”

“Good.” He nodded, crossing one leg over the other. “What have you been up to?”

I shrugged again. “Same old. On a road trip with my older brothers.”

“Was that fun?”

I cracked all my knuckles and blew air from my mouth. “Lots. Um… you know, we uh… we met a lot of interesting people.” I let my inner child out and blew a raspberry. “Yeah, no, I’m sorry. What was it exactly what happened in the south wing?”

“Look, if your brother is a local history buff, he knows all about the Roosevelt riot.”

“The riot… No, he never told me. I’m curious.”

“Olive. Let’s cut the bull, shall we? You’re avoiding the subject.”

“What subject?” I tilted my head.

“You. Now I’ll make you a deal. I’ll tell you about the Roosevelt riot if you tell me something about yourself. Like, uh, these brothers you’re road tripping with. How do you feel about them?”

I scratched at the back of my neck. “Uh… well, let’s see… I was like… less than a week old when my mother dropped me on a motel doorstep. Sam was… seven, and Dean was eleven.” I chewed my lip. “Dean didn’t ask for me… and neither did Sam. My dad least of all. Anyways,” I shrugged. “He’s been missing for a while, and maybe it’s my fault, but-”

“Your father’s missing?”

“I love Dean. He raised me. I mean like, technically so did Sam, but mostly Dean.” I sighed again, now upset. “Dean’s sad. He misses our Dad. I hate it when he’s upset.”

“Olive, would you say you have a high dependency on your brother?”

I nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, Dean’s my entire life.”

“And would you say this dependency extends to Sam too?”

I took a breath. “No. I mean, don’t get me wrong! I love Sam to death, but it’s not the same with him as it is with Dean.”

“If I can speak bluntly…”

“Go ahead.”

“It sounds to me like you have a dangerous dependence on Dean.”

I blinked.

Yeah. Probably.

                                                          ***

“Baby!” Dean perked up as I walked out of the door. “You were in there forever. What did you talk about?”

I pulled him into a hug. “The hospital. You and Sam. My mom leaving me. Dad being gone… a lot.”

Dean only blinked, and Sam grinned. “And what’d you find out?”

“Oh, the south wing! It’s where they housed the real loonies. The psychos, criminally insane.” I huffed.

“Sounds cozy.” Dean dropped his chin onto my head.

“Yeah, and one night in ‘64, they lost their shit. Attacked staff. Attacked each other. So many fucking people died.”

“So the patients took over the asylum?”

I nodded. “Apparently.”

“How many deaths?”

“Uh, upwards of a few dozen. Some patients. Some staff. It was super gory. Most of the bodies were never even recovered, including Doc Elliot.”

Dean pulled back. “Never recovered? The hell’s that mean?”

“Cops scoured every single fucking inch of the place.” I shook my head. “Nothing. Guess the patients must’ve stuffed the bodies somewhere.”

“That’s grim.” Sam shivered.

“Yeah. So they transferred all the remaining patients and shut the hospital down.”

“So to sum it up, we’ve got a bunch of violent deaths and a bunch of unrecovered bodies.” Dean huffed.

“And an assload of angry spirits.”

“Good times.” Sam tutted.

“Let’s check out the hospital tonight.” Dean squeezed me tightly before sighing.

We piled into the car.

                                                          ***

“Getting readings?” Sam asked as he shuffled through the doorway.

“Yeah, big time.”

“This place is orbing like crazy.” I mumbled as I swept the video camera around.

It would be easier for the boys to look down to see it than Dean and I stand on our toes to see it in Sam’s grasp.

“Probably multiple spirits out and about.”

I shivered. “And if these uncovered bodies are causing the haunting…”

“We gotta find ‘em and burn ‘em. Just be careful though. The only thing that makes me more nervous than a pissed off spirit is the pissed of spirit of a psycho killer.” Dean grimaced.

Sam shook his head. “Let’s just keep moving.”

                                                          ***

Sam stayed with me as Dean split into the next room. He held his shotgun up and moved at the same pace I did as I swept the camera around the room.

“Anything?”

“Nah.” I mumbled before bringing it back around to do a second sweep.

This time I could see an old woman, white hair crazy, with one eye hanging out of her head. She was moving toward us, slowly and calmly. She wasn’t trying to hurt us. I tilted my head.

“Dean? Dean!” Sam shouted as he pulled the trigger and nothing happened. “Shotgun!”

“Sam, Ol, get down!”

Sam yanked me down as Dean shot, leaving the woman to burst into a cloud of dust.

“That was weird.” I pushed myself to my feet and brushed myself off.

“Yeah, you’re telling me.” Dean snorted as he held a hand out for Sam. “Since when don’t spirits put you on the defensive?”

“No De, I mean… it was that she didn’t attack us.”

“Looked pretty aggro from where I was standing.” Dean shook his head as he picked at Sam’s shotgun. “Clip got stuck.” He slammed his hand against it, a satisfied grin on his face. “Fixed it.”

“Olive is right. She didn’t hurt us. She didn’t even try.”

“So if she didn’t wanna hurt us, then what did she want?” Sam and I asked at the same time.

There was a scratching metallic noise and I jumped a foot in the air. Dean pushed me between him and Sam as he raised his shotgun. Sam flicked the flashlight and shined it into the room. There was a bed on its side, covered in ratty sheets. The top of a blonde head was peeking out from above it. I propped the video camera up against my cheekbone as Sam and Dean nodded to each other.

Sam reached out and tipped the bed onto all fours, and the head turned out to be a girl. She spun to face us, horror clear on her face as she gasped.

“Hey, it’s okay. We’re not going to hurt you. What’s your name?” Dean asked, shotgun down.

“Uh, Katherine.” She shook her head. “Kat.”

“I’m Olive.” I piped up, letting the camera go slack at my side. “This is Dean, that’s Sam.” I gestured.

“What are you doing here?” Sam asked, eyes wide.

“Um. My boyfriend, Gavin.”

The boys and I looked at each other, same expression copied onto our faces.

“Is he here?”

“Somewhere. He thought it would be fun, try and see some ghosts. I thought it was all just… you know. Pretend. I've seen things. I heard Gavin scream and…” 

“Alright. Kat?” Dean asked and she nodded. He put out a hand to help her stand. “Come on. Sam's gonna get you out of here and Olive will stay with you while we find your boyfriend.”

“No! No. I'm not going to leave without Gavin. I'm coming with you.” She shook her head and crossed her arms over her chest.

Dean scoffed. “It's no joke around here, okay. It's dangerous.”

She nodded. “That's why I gotta find him.”

Dean and Sam looked at each other. Sam shrugged and I snorted as Dean turned back to Kat.

Alright, I guess we’re gonna split up then. Kat stick with me, Olive, you’re with Sam.”

I nodded and hooked a finger onto one of Sam’s belt buckles. He patted my head with a smile.

“Let’s move.”

                                                          ***

“Sam.” I patted his arm and pointed to the unconscious boy on the floor.

Sam nodded and stepped in front of me before crouching to shake the boy. His eyes opened and he freaked out.

“Hey, it’s okay!”

“Gavin, we’re here to help.” I coaxed as I squatted next to Sam.

“Who the hell are you guys?” Gavin sat up.

“My name is Sam, that’s Olive.”

“We um, we found your girlfriend?”

“Kat?” Gavin moved to stand. “Is she alright?”

Sam nodded. “Yeah, she’s okay. Just worried about you. Are you okay?”

“I was running. I think I fell.” Gavin rubbed his forehead.

“Running from what?”

“There was… there was this girl. Her face. It was all messed up.”

“Okay listen, did this girl… did she try and hurt you?”

“What? N-no, she uh…”

“She what?” I pressed.

“She… kissed me.”

Sam and I looked at each other, and I blinked. Sam held back an annoyed snort and eye roll combo. 

What the fuck?

“Uh… um… but… but she, she didn’t…” Sam trailed off, blinking as he looked at me, confused.

“She didn’t physically hurt you, did she?”

“Dude!” Gavin snorted. “She kissed me. I’m scarred for life!”

Sam and I looked at each other again, blinking furiously.

What the… fucking hell?

“Well, trust me… it… it could’ve been a lot worse.” 

“Now do you remember anything else?” Sam asked, blinking.

“She actually, uh, she tried to whisper something in my ear.”

“What was it?”

“I don’t know. I ran like hell.”

Sam and I looked at each other again and sighed.

This is fucking pointless.

“Let’s get back to Dean and get them the hell out of here.” I mumbled.

                                                          ***

There was a shrill scream that rang off the metal of the building. Gavin jumped and Sam flinched. My chest clenched and I gasped.

“Dean!”

I burst into a full out sprint, boots pounding on the floor.

“Dean!”

“She’s inside with one of them.” Dean grabbed me by the shoulder the second I reached him, pointing to the rusted door.

“Help me!” She shrieked, and Sam and Gavin got to us, panting.

“Kat!” Gavin began to panic, and Sam’s fists clenched as he shut his eyes.

“Get me out of here!”

“Kat, it's not going to hurt you. Listen to me. You've got to face it. You've got to calm down.” Sam huffed.

Dean blinked as he turned to Sam. “She’s gotta what?”

“I have to what?” Kat echoed.

Sam sighed. “These spirits, they're not trying to hurt us, they're trying to communicate. You gotta face it. You gotta listen to it.”

“You face it!” She spat back.

“No!” Sam hissed. “It’s the only way to get out of there.”

“No!” Kat fought.

“Kat, just look at it! Come on, you can do it.” I leaned against the door.

There was silence and Gavin called out to her. Dean sighed and ducked his head.

“Man, I hope you’re right about this.”

Sam huffed again. “Yeah, me too.”

I reached for Dean’s hand as we waited, silent and tense. He looked down at me and swallowed, pulling me closer to his side. Sam’s breath was the only thing I could hear. Dean squeezed my hand as the lock unclicked. I tried to steady my own breathing as the door slid open. Kat stood in the doorway, pale and drained.

“Oh, Kat.” Gavin grabbed her and she fell into him.

Sam dashed into the room, shining the light around. He made a grabby hand at me and I put the camera into the palm of his hand. He flicked it up and looked around.

“Anything?” I asked as he emerged.

He only shook his head.

“One thirty-seven.” Kat spoke.

Dean and Sam and I looked at each other, each blinking in confusion.

“Sorry?” Dean asked.

“It whispered in my ear. One thirty-seven.”

“Room number.” The three Winchester brains clicked as I ducked to squat, pulling Dean down with me, Sam following on his own.

“So if these spirits aren’t trying to hurt anyone-”

“Then what’re they trying to do?” I finished his question.

“Maybe that’s what they’ve been trying to tell us…” Sam shrugged.

“I guess we’ll find out.”

“Alright.” Sam huffed as the three of us popped back onto our feet.

Dean turned to the teenagers with a grin on his face. “So, now, are you guys ready to get the hell out of here?”

Kat snorted. “That’s an understatement.”

“Okay.” Dean nodded to Sam. “Get them, Olive can stay with them while I find 137.”

“No.” I reached for him again, latching onto his wrist.

“What?”

“I’m going with you. Sam can get them out on his own, but we shouldn’t leave one person alone in here.” I shook my head.

“Olive-”

“Dean, she’s right.” Sam sighed. “It’s dangerous.”

Dean blinked. “Fine. Keep the shotgun.” He pulled it off his back and held it out to Sam.

Sam took it and slung it over his back. “Be careful.”

“Always.” Dean grumbled back.

                                                          ***

“Found it!” I called to Dean as I stood in front of the door.

“Here, help me move this.” He pocketed his own flashlight and gestured to the fallen furniture in blocking the doorway.

I gripped my flashlight between my teeth as I anchored my feet on the ground and pushed against the wooden mess. Dean followed, his weight doing the job. I stumbled as the support of the cabinet gave way and he helped me stay steady by grabbing the back of my neck. I cleared my throat as Dean pushed the door open.

The room was a disaster. The walls were stained with what was most definitely blood and other bodily fluids, filing cabinets tipped over and papers strewn about. Dean pushed me behind him.

“You got the camera?”

I patted my sides and huffed. “No. We left it with Sam.”

He huffed. “Alright. Just stay close.”

I nodded. This room had bad vibes.

                                                          ***

I huffed from my spot on the floor. I was leaning against the wall, and I was absolutely leaning against blood, but I didn’t care.

“De, we’ve looked through every single paper here. Whatever we’re looking for, it’s not here. The spirits are wrong.”

Dean pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Ol, it has to be here.”

I rubbed the back of my neck and sighed.

“Fine. Then there’s a secret door or drawer or something. It’s not in this mess, not in plain sight.”

Dean blew a raspberry. “Fine. Fine, let’s try to pull the room apart then.”

I groaned as I got to my feet. “I wish Dad was here.”

He sighed. “Yeah Ollie, I know. I wish he was here too.”

I turned to face the wall and splayed my fingers out, running them across the wall as I started to circle the room.

“Here!” Dean piped up.

I blinked. “How did you find it so fast?”

He chuckled. “It was right in front of me.” He pried the floorboard up and tossed it aside.

I joined him, delighted to see a satchel that looked full.

“This is why I get paid the big bucks.” He pulled the satchel up with a grunt.

I pranced to the desk in the middle of the room and sat down. Dean pulled up a chair and laid the papers from the satchel on the table. I snatched the top half of the pile and pulled it into my lap.

“Holy shit.” I grimaced as Dean sat and took his pile.

Notes upon notes upon notes, medical instruments and procedures hand-drawn, it was insanity on paper.

“Hey Ol.” Dean mumbled.

I looked up from the papers, seeing that his expression matched how I felt.

Pure concern. Whatever had happened to Ellicott to make him do this must’ve been awful, and what he did to the patients must’ve been even worse.

Dean broke into a smile and I blinked, confused. Why was he smiling?

“Looks like all work and no play makes-”

“Dr. Ellicott a very dull boy.” I chimed in, finishing the saying with him as he chuckled and I giggled.

There was a thud and our heads snapped up.

“Sam.”

                                                          ***

We got shot at the second we rounded the corner. Kat had the shotgun, and thankfully, Dean reacted quicker than I did, pulling me down around the corner with him.

“Damn it, damn it! Don’t shoot! It’s us!” Dean shouted.

“Sorry!” Kat squeaked. Sorry.”

“Son of a-”

“What the hell are you still doing here? Where’s Sam?” I asked as I ran around the corner, seeing Gavin and Kat huddled together against the wall.

“He went to the basement. You called him.” Gavin spoke.

Dean and I looked at each other.

“I didn’t call anyone.”

“Not you. Dean.” Kat nodded to him.

Dean and I looked at each other again, increasingly confused and frustrated.

“His cell phone rang. He said it was you.” Kat shrugged.

“Fucking hell.” I hissed.

“Basement, huh?” The wheels in Dean’s head began to turn.

I sighed and looked around, picking up the first pipe I saw. I twisted it in my hands. It would be better than nothing.

“Alright. Watch yourselves, and watch out for us.”

“Be careful!” Kat called as Dean reached for my hand and led the way.

                                                          ***

“Sammy? Sam, you down here?” Dean called.

“Sams? Sammy!” I followed behind him, holding onto his jacket like a little kid.

The basement was creepy. There were desks and chairs thrown around, like Ellicott’s office but worse. I felt a step behind me and jumped as I turned, Dean immediately jumping in front of me with the shotgun up. Upon seeing that it was Sam, I sighed.

“Man, answer me when I’m calling you!” Dean barked, reminding me very quickly of Dad. “You alright?”

“Yeah. I’m fine.” Sam’s gaze seemed dead and it sent chills down my spine.

“You know it wasn’t me who called you, right?”

Sam nodded. “Yeah, I know. I think something lured me down here.”

“Probably Ellicott. That’s what the spirits have been trying to tell us. You haven’t seen him, have you, Sams?” I asked, still behind Dean, inching closer slowly.

“No.” Sam’s cold eyes went from Dean to me. “How do you know it was him?”

I flinched. How do you know and not why do you think. That was bad. It gave me a bad feeling at the base of my spine and in the pit of my stomach.

“Cause we found his log book. Apparently he was experimenting on his patients. Awful shit. Makes lobotomies look like a couple of aspirin.” Dean scoffed, unaware of the tension.

Sam kept his eyes on me. Something was wrong with him. “But it was the patients who rioted.”

“Yeah.” Dean snorted, and Sam’s eyes went back to him, face blank. “They were rioting against Ellicott. Dr. Feelgood was working on some sort of, like, extreme rage therapy.” Dean rolled his eyes. “He thought that if he could get his patients to vent their anger then they would be cured of it. Instead it only made them worse and worse and angrier and angrier. So we were thinking, what if his spirit is doing the same thing? To the cop? To the kids in the seventies, making them so angry they become homicidal?” Dean proposed, and Sam said nothing, still staring.

I huddled closer to Dean, clenching his jacket so hard my knuckles began to hurt. “Guys, let’s just go. We have to find his body and burn it.”

“How?” Sam quirked an eyebrow. “The police never found his body.”

Dean shook his head, shooting me a look over his shoulder. I looked up at him, terrified. Sam was not Sam right now, and I was hoping Dean would catch onto that.

“The log book said he… had some sort of-” He cut himself off to look back at me, confused. I shook my head and Sam cleared his throat. I jumped, feeling my skin crawl. This was hopeless. I pushed my face into Dean’s back and whined. His hand came back to my arm and I sighed. He had gotten the message.

“Uh… he had a secret procedure room down here where he’d work on his patients. So, if I was a patient, I’d drag his ass down here, do a little work myself.”

“I don’t know, Dean. It sounds kind of…” Sam trailed off, looking over Dean’s shoulder at me.

I squirmed, uneasy. “Crazy?” I proposed, and Sam’s eye twitched as he nodded.

“Yeah.”

“Yeah, exactly.” Dean grabbed me by the hand and pulled me out from behind him, to his side.

“I told you. I looked everywhere. I didn’t find a hidden room.”

My blood froze again. He hadn’t mentioned looking at all.

Dean chuckled. “Well yeah, that’s why they call it hidden.” He pulled me to follow him around, and I could feel Sam on my tail.

I closed my eyes, hoping it would stop. Ellicott must’ve done something to him. He was freaking me out.

“You hear that?” Dean asked, tilting his head to the ground. “There’s a door here.”

He dropped my hand to crouch, and Sam’s hand slammed over my mouth as the shotgun pressed into the base of my neck and I was dragged backward, away from Dean. I squealed, horrified and shaking.

“Dean.” Sam spoke, and Dean stood, eyes wide. He took a step forward, and Sam dug the gun into my skin. I whimpered, trembling like a chihuahua.

“Step away from the door.”

“Sam, put the gun down.” Dean tried to reason, putting his hand up.

“Is that an order?” Sam tilted his head.

Dean shook his head. “No. More of a friendly request. Let her go.” Dean squared his shoulders. “That was an order.”

Sam snorted. “Well I’m getting pretty sick of taking your orders.”

I bit down into Sam’s hand and the gun pressed harder, but I got my mouth free.

“De, I was right! Ellicott did something to him!”

“Oh, for once in your life, Olive, just shut your mouth.” Sam covered my mouth again.

“What are you gonna do, Sam? Shoot your little fucking sister? Gun’s filled with rock salt. It won’t kill her. Won’t kill me either.”

Sam huffed, and the gun left me. I sighed, but then he aimed at Dean and shot.

“No, but it will hurt like hell.”

I screamed as Sam put the gun down and dragged me across the room, tossing me into the corner. There were ropes right by, and I knew he had planned this. Dean had been blasted backward, through the door. He was strewn on the floor.

“Dean! Dean! Dean! Sammy, stop it! Sam, please! Dean!” I tried to kick Sam away, screaming and crying.

“Shut up, Olive! I’m tired of hearing you!” Sam hissed into my face as he tied my wrists together, then my ankles. “You ruin everything.”

“Sam, don’t do this.” I whined. “You don’t have to do this.”

“I know. But I want to.” Sam spat on me and I let out a whimper.

“Olive!” Dean’s voice was a howl, and then it turned into a bark. “Sam!”

Sam was now standing over him, a grim smile on his face. Dean was trying to back away so he could get to his feet, but it was clear that he was in pain and struggling.

“We gotta burn Ellicott’s bones and then all of this will be over, and you’ll be back to normal.” Dean panted.

I struggled against the ropes. He had made the mistake of tying my wrists in front of me and tying the rope on my boots and not above. Sam hissed at Dean.

“I am normal! I’m just telling the truth for the first time!”

His attention was fully on Dean. I slowly grabbed at the laces of my boots, undoing the knot.

“I mean, why are we even here? Cause you’re following Dad’s orders like a good little soldier? Because you always do what he says without question?”

I pulled down the zipper as he raised his voice. I tugged one boot off, grunting as the rope dug at my skin as it passed. One boot was off.

“Are you that desperate for his approval?” Sam laughed.

“This isn’t you talking, Sam.” Dean shook his head.

“That’s the difference between you and me! I have a mind of my own! I’m not pathetic, like you!”

The other boot slid off, leaving me in socks, wrists tied but functional.

“So what are you gonna do? Huh? Are you gonna kill me?” Dean challenged, seeing that I was halfway there.

“You know what? I am so sick of you telling me what to do!” Sam shouted, and I took the chance to get to my feet and tiptoe toward him. “We’re no closer to finding Dad today than we were six months ago!”

“Well then here!” Dean screamed louder than Sam had, giving me enough time to drag a chair behind Sam and step onto it. “Let me make it easier for you!” Dean held his Smith & Wesson out to him. “Come on! Take it! Real bullets are gonna work a hell of a lot better than rock salt.” He growled, and I took a deep breath as Sam hesitated. “Take it!” Dean spat.

Sam snatched it and pointed it at Dean’s face. I caught Dean’s eye and there was a twinkle of a smile before his attention reverted back to Sam. “You hate me that much? You think you could kill your own brother? Then go ahead. Pull the trigger.” Dean taunted him. “Do it!”

Sam pulled, and the gun clicked. I felt my eyes burn with tears, and I wasn’t sure if they were from fear or relief. He pulled the trigger again, but it would be of no use. The chamber was empty. Sam was confused. Dean nodded at me and I took the chance to leap onto Sam, hooking my tied wrists over his neck. He stumbled backward, trying to get me off as Dean struggled to get to his feet.

“Man, I’m not gonna give you a loaded pistol!” Dean shouted.

“Get Ellicott, I can handle him!” I squeaked as Sam grabbed my arms and tried to pull them off.

“Sorry, Sams.” I whispered as I tugged my arms back, elbows to my sides.

My wrists hit Sam in the throat and he gagged, thrashing about and trying to get free of me. I dug my heel into his side, and he hissed, falling to the ground. I shook loose and looked up to see that Dean had disappeared behind a pair of curtains.

The heel of Sam’s hand came up to my nose and I groaned, stumbling backwards.

“Sam, listen to me!” I howled, spitting the blood that traveled to my mouth.

“Why can’t you ever stay out of it, Olive?” He screamed at me. “Sometimes I wish you had never shown up!”

I sighed as he pinned me down, hands at my neck. He was gonna choke me out, and I would either pass out or die. I was scared of both. I tried to squirm away, but it was no use. I prayed another apology before bringing my knee up to his crotch. His arms lost their tension, and I looped my wrists around his neck, bringing his head down and slamming my forehead into his nose. His eyes rolled back into his head and he went limp. I huffed as I pushed him off of me and looked for his pulse. It was there. I sighed, dropping onto the floor.

“Olive!” Dean shouted and I struggled to get back up, panting.

Ellicott had Dean in the corner, hands on his face.

“Don’t be afraid. I’m going to help you. I’m going to make you all better.” Ellicott cooed, and Dean stopped struggling, staring into the doctor’s eyes.

I took a deep breath, gagging at the smell of a dead body, but also being washed in a sense of relief at the smell of salt and kerosene. I rummaged through my pockets to find a lighter. I heard Dean’s laugh as my fingers curled around the lighter. I looked up to see him coming at me, a horrifying grin on his face. I flicked the lighter open and threw it onto the body. Ellicott’s ghost began to crumble as the body burned, and Dean stopped right in front of me. His smile dropped and his eyes went wide at the fear on my face. He started to cry and he fell to his knees.

“Olive, I’m so sorry.” He panted.

I fell to my knees in front of him and looped my arms around his neck as he grabbed at me, sobbing.

“It’s okay.”

“I’m sorry.” He shook. “I don’t want you to be scared of me, I’m so sorry.”

I giggled. “I’m not scared of you. Now let’s go. We have to haul Sam out of here somehow, and he’s massive.”

He pulled back and brushed my hair behind my ear. “I’m sorry.”

I shook my head. “It’s okay.”

He pressed a kiss to my forehead before getting to his feet and holding his hands out to help me. There was a groan and I looked over to see Sam sitting up, wriggling his nose.

Dean and I looked at each other.

“You’re not gonna try and kill us, are you?”

“No.” Sam cupped his nose.

“Good. Cause that would be awkward.” I huffed as I shuffled over to him.

                                                        ***

I took a deep breath of fresh air and sighed, leaning into Dean’s side as he wrapped an arm around my shoulders.

“Thanks, guys.” Kat sighed as we stood outside of the asylum.

“Yeah, thanks.” Gavin added.

“No more haunted asylums, okay?” Dean emphasized, and we watched as they walked toward their car.

“Hey, Dean? Ol?”

Dean and I turned to Sam, eyebrows raised.

“I’m really sorry, guys. I said awful things back there.”

Dean and I looked at each other.

“You remember all that?”

“Yeah.” Sam nodded. “It’s like I couldn’t control it. But I didn’t mean it. Any of it.”

“You didn’t, huh?” Dean eyed him.

“No, of course not!” Sam’s face became panicked, and inched away from Dean and to him, throwing my arms around his middle. He hugged back with a sigh. “Do we need to talk about this?”

Dean shook his head as he opened the car door. “No. I’m not really in the caring and sharing kind of mood. I just wanna get some sleep.” He got into the car and Sam sighed.

I pulled away and gave him a sympathetic smile. “He’ll come around. Ellicott just hit some sensitive spots, that’s all.”

“Olive.” Sam frowned. “I love hearing you talk. Y-y-you’re like… this little genius. You’re so smart and creative and funny, and you’ve never ruined anything in your life.” He sighed. “I’m so sorry.”

I smiled. “It’s okay. I know you didn’t mean any of it. And Dean knows too. He’s just…” I leaned in and whispered. “Insecure.” I cleared my throat. “Don’t tell him I told you that.”

Sam chuckled. “I love you, Ol.”

I grinned. “I love you too, Sam.”

                                                        ***

I yawned as I pulled my hoodie on. Dean was asleep in bed, and Sam had just gotten into the shower. I was about to crawl in next to Dean, and I was so tired I was sure that I’d snore louder than him.

His phone rang and I groaned.

“De?”

He didn’t move. I let out a whine and grabbed the phone. It wasn’t a familiar number, but we knew a lot of people.

“Hello?” I put it to my ear.

“Olive? Where’s your brother?”

My eyes bugged out of my head. “Dad?”

Previous Ep: Home (1.09)

Next Ep: Scarecrow (1.11)

[mnemememory]

silver cement

(or; the one where Yasha is kidnapped by mole people and put into manacles, and that isn't even the story).

“This isn’t funny.”

Beau is on the ground, hands clutching at her stomach, laughing like she’s just had Nott put a spell on her. She shakes her head and manages to gasp out, “It really is”, before dissolving once more into incoherency. Yasha can feel her gaze flatten out, lips pulling back into an aggressive snarl.

“Beau,” she says.

Beau grins up at her, bright and fierce. Any other time, Yasha would have been thrilled to have such a look directed her way, but at the moment she’s a bit – well, tied up. Being the subject for anything – though especially for amusement – has always been something of a spine-crawling experience, and this is only slightly more bearable than usual. The only thing that’s keeping Yasha in place and not curled up in a ball (with what was left of her dignity) was that Beau was the only one in the immediate vicinity. Yasha can hear the rest of them, rummaging around in the darkened background, but the cavern has a sharp twist about ten metres down that leaves her basically blind to the comings and goings of the group.

After a few minutes of Beau clearing her throat and gathering herself up, she straightens herself out enough to get to her feet. “Okay,” she says, snickering. “What happened to you?”

Yasha glowers at her.

Yasha’s hands are raised above her head, clad in two giant enchanted manacles that glow every time she strains against them. They haven’t burned her, which is a small blessing, so Yasha is free to exert all her fury against them for as long as it burns. Not an actual rage, which is disappointing on many levels, but it’s enough to work her down from any killing intent. Well, it had been, until Beau had come into the small cavern, taken one look at Yasha, and burst into laughter.

“Get me out of these,” she says, rattling the chains. Manacles. Why did it always have to be manacles? Yasha can go months on her own without seeing any sort of restraint – she doesn’t run into law enforcement nearly as much as the Mighty Nein seem to think – and the moment she comes back onto their radar, bam. Manacles. They’re cursed, is what they are. Yasha doesn’t know how to feel about the fact that she’s obviously been contaminated.

“But you look so pretty,” Beau says, blinking up at her from beneath smudged eyeliner and a mask of dirt. There’s blood drying close to the side of her scalp, and she’s been smeared liberally with – something that Yasha doesn’t really want to think about, considering she probably doesn’t look much better. The walls are coated with some sort of oozing substance that makes Yasha’s toes curl uncomfortably and fingers clench. It drips down from where the chains are secured to the roof, and every so often she gets a nice fat chunk of it slapping down onto the back of her neck. She is…uncomfortable.

“Get me out of these,” Yasha says, and she doesn’t like sounding desperate, but damn if she isn’t. “Please,” she adds. She looks into Beau’s eyes and tries to figure out how best to get out of this situation before any of the others show up. Molly is going to be laughing at her, too, she can just feel it. The others won’t, because they’re too polite, but Molly will.

“Fine,” Beau says, drawing it out. But she’s still grinning, so Yasha can’t have annoyed her too badly. “I still think it’s a shame, though, what with you being so –”

Yasha’s eyes widen, and her cheeks go a very dark red. “Beau,” she says quickly.

Beau laughs again, coming over closer to where Yasha has been secured. There isn’t anyone else in the small alcove – well, not anyone alive. Some bones rattling in the corner, and a dead man stripped bare and half-covered in the ooze plastered to the far wall. Yasha’s been ignoring him, for the most part. She has every confidence that given a few more days, she could have gotten herself out.

“Fine, fine,” Beau says. “You’re going to have to lean down, though. I can’t reach that high.”

Yasha quickly debates with herself. “I can’t,” she finally says. “The chains aren’t long enough.”

That makes Beau frown, and she paces back to get a better look at where Yasha’s been placed. After a few seconds, she moves back over so she’s standing right in front of Yasha.

“Okay,” she says. “I’m going to need to climb you.”

Yasha stares at her. “Alright?”

“Stay still,” Beau says, leaning her staff against Yasha’s shoulder. “And don’t let that fall. I’ve already cleared off most of this muck. I don’t really want to do it again.”

“Alright,” Yasha repeats, this time a little more certain.

Beau grins, and then takes a running jump off of the wall and onto Yasha’s back. Yasha grunts at the unexpected weight, but manages to stabilise herself with the hanging manacles without too much effort. Her shoulder joints scream as she puts more weight on them, but after a few moments to re-establish her footing she’s loose enough that it’s negligible. It’s all background pain, anyway. It barely registers past the warmth of Beau as she scrambles further up onto Yasha’s shoulders, hooking on leg over so that she’s sitting with her stomach pressed up against the side of Yasha’s face.

“Hold…still…” Beau says, tongue poking out slightly as she reaches up to tug at the manacles.

Yasha squints upwards suspiciously. “Do you know how to unlock these?”

There is a long pause.

“Beau?”

“Give me a second here,” Beau says. She tugs at the chain, but Yasha’s been tugging at these chains since she was brought down here, and it hasn’t done a damn thing. “I’m trying to figure this out.”

“Beau,” Yasha sighs.

There’s another long pause, as Beau uses the chains to lift herself off of Yasha and scramble up. Yasha hisses as Beau’s foot clips her left hand, skin rubbed raw and chafing. The blood’s been sealed away by the dried goo, but Yasha has been trying very hard not to think about what’s gotten into her system in the process of this whole debacle. Maybe Jester will know. It’s almost comforting, in a sense, to know that the rest of her group of friends (can she call them friends? Do they consider her a friend?) is here. Jester will heal her without any questions – assuming she’s got any spells left, of course. Healing is such a different process when she’s on her own.

Beau’s managed to mess up the delicate weight balance system that Yasha’s been working on, so Yasha is now leaning painfully to the left. She tries to straighten her self with a flex of her shoulders, but her footing isn’t good enough for this. While there is considerably less slime on the ground than on the walls, it’s stills slippery enough to be a hindrance.

“Okay, so I think you’re stuck,” Beau finally says.

Yasha closes her eyes and hands her head down, just a little. She breathes in through her mouth and out through her nose. “Okay,” she says. “Do you want to go get Nott?”

“…I think I’m kind of stuck, as well.”

Yasha looks up. Beau’s managed to glue herself to the left chain, knuckles white and legs hooked as she hugs it close to her chest, inspecting the manacle from an angle.

Yasha considers this for a second. “Can’t you just jump down.”

Beau demonstrates her predicament by attempting to pull her hands off of the chain, only to rattle the chain. Yasha groans as pain shoots through her left shoulder.

“…no.”

“Okay,” Yasha says.

They stare at each other for a long minute, before some light breaks its way into the otherwise darkened alcove. “Beau?” Molly’s voice echoes through, light and amused. “Have you found anything?”

Beau works her way up to it, clearing her throat a number of times before shouting: “Yes!”

Yasha glares up at her.

“I might need a little bit of help, though,” Beau hastily adds. “Bring Nott!”

Molly pauses. “Is it a treasure chest?”

“I mean,” Beau starts, and then winces when Yasha rattles the chain she’s currently perched on. “No! Just get Nott! And hurry it up!”

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Molly says. The light source comes closer. There are more footsteps than just Molly’s – from the light, Yasha has to assume that Caleb is with him as well. Yasha very briefly considers strangling herself with the manacle chains. “You don’t sound okay.”

“Get. Nott.”

Molly rounds the corner, Caleb a few paces away. They both stop and stare at where Yasha is chained in the middle of the room, the ends of the chains bolted to the ceiling. She glowers sullenly at them, covered in some kind of pastel-grey gunk that looks like clay but feels like something a lot worse. She’s been here long enough that it’s streaked its way across her face and her hair and her clothing, leaving her with very few patches of exposed skin.

“Oh,” Molly says. Yasha’s eye twitches.

“Yasha,” Caleb says. He sounds more surprised than Molly, which is at least something. “I did not expect to see you here, Yasha.”

That’s when they both notice where Beau is.

Yasha doesn’t even blink, and she still misses it – one moment to the next, and Molly is sitting on the floor and laughing as hard as anything. From all the laughter that’s been going on here, Yasha’s surprised that the rest of the group hasn’t shown up to watch the show. She makes another tug at the manacles, and they burn blue. Beau yelps.

“Oh, Beauregard,” Caleb says, staring up at the both of them. “That’s where you are.”

Beau glares at them. “Nott. Now.”

“Oh, okay,” Caleb says, and then turns on his heel and walks away, his floating globules of light drawing after him. Yasha narrows her eyes, but the chuckle she catches is so faint, she may as well have imagined it.

“You can barely open a door, Beau,” Molly says, when he’s sufficiently recovered. Yasha has decided that she’s just not going to talk until someone asks her a question. It seems like the safest bet. “How did you think you were going to get her out of these?”

Beau grumbles something indistinguishable from the clanking of the chains, rattling them bad-temperedly. Finally, she says, “It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

“Now, I know your knight-in-shining-armour complex can sometimes be overwhelming –”

“Knight in shining armour,” Beau squawks.

“Especially where Yasha is concerned,” Molly continues serenely, ignoring her outburst. “But really, this is a bit much, don’t you think?”

Beau gives him a nasty look. “Just get us down from here.”

Molly shakes his head. He doesn’t look much better than Beau – there’s less muck, but there’s also more blood, so it fairly evenly cancels the other out. His hair is perfect. Yasha kind of hates him for it. She can feel her own hair scratch stiffly against her back, sealed into a single, solid mass by the slime. She very, very badly wants a bath.

“Fancy seeing you here, Yasha,” he says, going back to ignoring Beau. “I must say, I’m a little startled. We haven’t seen much of you, these past few months. I was beginning to get a little worried. You are a very wanted woman, after all.”

“I can stay out of trouble,” Yasha says.

Molly gives the manacles and chains a very judgemental look. Yasha does not appreciate his judgement. Not when she’s seen the kinds of things he used to get up to in chains. Circus life was weird.

“See, for some reason, I don’t believe you,” Molly says. “Considering you were kidnapped by actual mole people.”

“Okay, okay,” Yasha says. “They are not mole people –”

“They dug this place out themselves, they are blind, they look like anthropomorphised moles they are literally the embodiment of mole people, why are you even arguing this –”

“They were mole people,” Beau chimes in, because Beau is a traitor.

Yasha doesn’t know which way to glare, so she settles for tucking her chin in dourly and staring at the floor. Caleb sure is taking a long time. Yasha is very read to be out of these manacles.

“There was a gladiatorial ring a little further on,” Molly says, though he’s a little more hesitant in this than he was with his teasing. “Did they…?”

“They were working up to it,” Yasha says. She doesn’t look at either of them. As soon as she was out of these manacles, she’s leaving. It’s been decided. Yasha is leaving and not meeting up with this group for another three months. Make it a year. Maybe two, if she times things about right. “I, uh, kept snapping their necks with my legs anytime they came to get me.” It had been a miscalculation on their part, not chaining her up proper when they had the chance. None of the poisons they had tried seemed to last long enough – her body had metabolised them faster than anticipated.

“That’s kind of hot,” Beau says.

“Oh, dear lord,” Molly says, putting a hand to his temple to rub off an incoming headache.

This is how Yasha is going to die.

Nott comes. Eventually. Not soon enough, in anyone’s opinion, except maybe Nott’s.

She’s drunk, because of course she is. She scrambles up Yasha’s side easily enough, and Yasha is kind of tired of being used as an approximation of a rope ladder, but then Nott is poking around at her right manacle and it’s gone, it snaps open, and Yasha’s arm collapses at her side like a dead thing.

“One down,” Nott says, stumbling her way to Yasha’s other shoulder. Yasha closes her eyes as the muscles pull unevenly, and then releases a long breath as Nott reaches up to the second manacle. Yasha is so close to being free. So close –

Something snaps.

“Uh-oh.”

“Nott, what did you do?”

They unstick Beau, and then set about chipping the chain out of the ceiling. Yasha drags it irately behind her as they make their way out from the underground and into the fresh air, the metal sparking off the ground.

Jester finds her sword with where all the other weapons are cached, and Yasha re-settles it against her aching bones, teeth locked against the pain. She slowly, deliberately walks out of the cave-system and then collapses face-first into the soft, soft grass.

“Yasha? Are you okay?” Jester says, kneeling next to Yasha and poking her in the forehead. Yasha groans, but doesn’t actually make any effort to move. As soon as she’s got her strength back, then she’s leaving, she promises herself. Just a few…more minutes…

Warmth suffocates her, and she opens her eyes to see the end of Jester’s healing spell bouncing off her fingertips. Jester pats Yasha on the head. “It’s okay. You rest. We’ll camp here for tonight.”

Yasha doesn’t even bother to nod, just lets herself sink down, down, down. The manacle is still a throbbing weight on her left wrist, the chain digging into one of her knees, but she can’t be bothered to care. She just lies there, peacefully, and lets herself drift off to sleep for the first time in almost a week.

 Beau is tending to a fire, when Yasha comes to.

The rest of the Mighty Nein are all curled up inside a clearing. A full, fat moon casts the trees into black relief. Someone – or, rather, several someone’s, considering how big she is – has moved her, so she’s not lying down in front of a massive hole in the ground. Yasha appreciates that more than she thinks they realise.

“You’re awake,” Beau says, coming over to where Yasha is slowly gaining her bearings. Yasha sits back, spine stiff, shoulders twin knots of pain.

“How long?” she rasps out, throat thick and dry, but Beau seems to get the message clear enough. She hands off a skin of water, and Yasha tries to grab it, only to fumble. Beau grins and holds it up to Yasha’s mouth. After a few seconds of thought, Yasha starts drinking.

“You’ve been out for almost two days,” Beau says. “Jester was starting to get worried.”

Yasha sighs, then nudges the skin away with her nose. Beau takes it back and buckles it to her belt.

“Hey, you hungry?”

Yasha falls upon the food ravenously, tearing it apart with little care for etiquette. It’s no rat, but it’s warm and its thick and it tastes nothing like slime, so she’s happier than she has been in a while. No, that’s a lie. Looking around, Yasha isn’t just happier because of the food. At the back of her mind, there’s still the half-formed plan to leave and just disappear, but there’s no thundering grown stabbing into her scalp, no gravelly urge to Go.

“Thank you,” Yasha finally says, when she’s finished. “For finding me.”

“I’m glad we did,” Beau says. They stare at each other over the fire, light burning shadows across Beau’s cheekbones. Her eyes look very bright. “Who knows how long you could have stayed there. Molly wasn’t kidding, you know. He was getting worried.”

“I can handle myself,” Yasha says, and then waits. Sure enough:

“Mole people, Yasha, that’s not –”

Before Yasha can talk herself out of it, she leans forward to kiss Beau on the cheek. Beau cuts off and stares at her. Yasha sits back with a half-smile, fingers fidgeting against the remaining manacle.

“Thank you,” she repeats. “For finding me.”

Beau’s mouth opens and closes like a fish.

“Wait,” she says.

“I am tired. I think I’ll get some more sleep, now.”

“Wait,” Beau says again. “Did you just – wait –”

“Goodnight, Beau,” Yasha says.

“Hold on a minute –”

Yasha leans back against the tree and closes her eyes.

[frolwriting]

Asylum Part 1

Hey guys!  I’m so sorry I’m getting this out late!  I worked yesterday and didn’t have my chapter on fan fiction done, so I had to do that today on top of homework.  This is here though!  I hope you guys enjoy the chapter!

Fandom: Supernatural

Series: A Whole New World

Episode: Asylum

Warnings: few cuss words, talk of death, mental institution, 

_______________________________________________________________________

After the case at the old Winchester house, the boys started treating me better. Sam and I grew closer than ever since he found out I liked to geek out as much as he does. Dean knows I never forget his pie, so he likes me as well. That case has been the best thing to happen since I've met these guys. At the moment, we are sitting in a motel room. Dean was reading John's journal, while Sam was talking to their friend, Caleb.

"No, Dad was in California last we heard from him. We just thought...he comes to you for 'munitions...maybe you've seen him in the last few weeks. Just, call us if you hear anything." Sam says. There was a pause. "Thanks." Sam hung up the phone.

"Caleb hasn't heard from him?" Dean asks.

"Nope and neither has Jefferson or Pastor Jim. What about the journal? Any leads in there?"

"No, same as last time I looked. Nothing I can make out...I love the guy, but I swear, he writes like friggin' Yoda." I let out a chuckle.

"You know, maybe we should call the Feds. File a missing person's."

"We've talked about this. Dad's be pissed if we put the Feds on his tail."

"I don't care anymore." It's been really hard to not tell them I saw John at Missouri's. I want to tell him he's okay. I want to tell them that he was so close to them. I want to tell them they will be getting a phone call from him soon. Dean's phone starts to ring. He heads over to his duffel bag. "After all that happened back in Kansas, I mean...he should've been there, Dean." He was, but I can't tell them that. "You said so yourself. You tried to call him and...nothing."

"I know!" Dean says as he struggles to find his phone. "Where the hell is my cellphone?"

"You know, he could be dead for all we know."

"Don't say that! He's not dead! He's-he's..."

"He's what? He's hiding? He's busy?" Sam is getting frustrated and angry. I probably would be if I was in there position. Dean finally finds his phone.

"Huh, I don't believe it." Dean says quietly.

"What?" Sam and I ask.

"Its, uh...It's a text message. It's coordinates." Dean then grabs Sam's laptop and searches the coordinates.

"You think Dad was texting us?"

"He's given us coordinates before." I say.

"The man can barely work a toaster, guys."

"Sam, it's good news! It means he's okay, or alive at least." Dean says happily.

"Well, was there a number on the caller ID?"

"Nah, it said 'unknown'."

"Well, where do the coordinates point?" I ask.

"That's the interesting part. Rockford, Illinois." Oh, I think I know what this case is.

"Ok, and that's interesting how?" Sam asks.

"I checked the local Rockford paper. Take a look at this." He says flipping the laptop around for me and Sam to see. I was correct on what we are about to do. We are about to go to an asylum.

"This cop, Walter Kelly, comes home from his shift, shoots his wife, then puts the gun in his mouth, blows his brains out. Earlier that night, Kelly and his partner responded to a call at the Roosevelt Asylum."

"Okay, I'm not following. What has this have to do with us?" Sam asks.

"Dad earmarked the same asylum in the journal. Let's see..." Dean says as he opens John's journal. "Here." Dean says showing us the page from the journal. "Seven unconfirmed sightings, two deaths-till last week at least. I think this is where he wants us to go." Sam snorted.

"This is a job...Dad wants us to work a job." Sam says crossing his arms over his chest.

"Well, maybe we'll meet up with him? Maybe he's there?"

"Maybe he's not? I mean, he could be sending us there, by ourselves, to hunt this thing."

"Who cares! If he wants us there, it's good enough for me!"

"This doesn't strike you as weird? The texting? The coordinates?"

"Sam! Dad's telling us to go somewhere, we're going." Sam makes a face and sighs.

"I agree with Dean. Even if we're not meeting with John, we're still going to take out some evil."

"Exactly, Sam. Come on. We need to pack up and go." We packed up and hopped into the Impala. The first place we go to is a bar, where we are told Kelly's partner hangs out. I go to the bar and order a virgin drink and wait for the boys to do their thing. I hear an argument and know that Sam is getting on the cop's good side. Dean walks over to me. "A virgin drink, really Kate."

"I don't drink, and you know that Dean." I said. This drink is so good.

"One of these days, I'm going to get you to drink a good drink." After a while, Sam walked over to us, and we head back out to the Impala. "Shoved me kinda hard in there, buddy boy." Dean says to Sam.

"I had to sell it, didn't I? It's method acting." Sam says.

"Huh?"

"Never mind."

"What'd you find out from Gunderson?" Dean asks.

"So, Walter Kelly was a good cop. Head of his class, even-keeled. He had a bright future ahead of him."

"What about at home?"

"He and his wife had a few fights, like everybody, but he was mostly smooth sailing. They were even talking about having kids."

"Alright, so either Kelly had some deep-seated crazy waiting to burst out, or something else did it to him."

"Right." Sam says.

"What'd Gunderson tell you about the asylum?"

"A lot." After that, we were ready to head to the asylum. We got there, and the guys had to help me climb the fence. Dean had gone first to catch me on the other side. Sam helped me climb since he is taller than Dean. Sam climbs over, and we head inside. This place is scarier than it looked on the television. "So apparently the cops chased the kids here...into the south wing." Sam said pointing to a sign over a door saying the south wing.

"South wing, huh? Wait a second." Dean says as he pulls out John's journal. "1972: three kids broke into the south wing, only one survived. Way he tells it, one of his friends went nuts and started lighting up the place."

"So whatever's going on, the south wing is the heart of it." I say.

"But if the kids are spelunking the asylum, why aren't there a ton more deaths?" Dean asks. Sam goes over to a broken chain that was on the south wing door. "Looks like the doors are usually chained. Could've been chained up for years."

"Yeah, to keep people out, or to keep something in." We look at each other, and Sam opens the door. We walk into the hallway and kept on the lookout.

"Let me know if you see any dead people, Haley Joel." Dean says.

"Dude, enough." Sam says.

"I'm serious. You got to be careful, all right? Ghosts are attracted to that whole ESP thing you got going on." Does that include whatever is going on with me?

"I told you, it's not ESP! I just have strange vibes sometimes. Weird dreams." Me and Dean exchange looks. We don't believe a word he is saying right now.

"Yeah, whatever. Don't ask, don't tell." Dean says as we continue down the hallway.

"You get any reading on that thing or not?" Sam asks.

"Nope. If course, it doesn't mean no one's home."

"Spirits can't appear during certain hours of the day." I say.

"Yeah, the freaks come out at night." Dean says.

"Yeah." Sam says.

"Hey Kate, who do you think is the hotter psychic: Patricia Arquette, Jennifer Love Hewitt, or Sam?" Dean asks turning to me. Sam pushes Dean, who laughs.

"I don't go for females, so I'm going to have to go with none of the above." I say jokingly.

"Hey!" Sam says faking being hurt. This caused Dean to start laughing harder.

"Alright, Sam you're the hottest of the list." I say nudging him. "Mainly because I like your hair."

"I'm not going to let you braid my hair, Kate." I snapped my finger.

"Darn it. One of these days I'm going to braid that hair Sam Winchester." We continued down the hallway until we came into a room with an operating table in it.

"Man." Dean says as he whistles. "Man, electro-shock, lobotomies, they did some twisted stuff to these people. Kind of like my man Jack in Cuckoo's Nest." Dean turned to us and made crazy eyes. I laughed. Sam just ignored him. That was odd. Sam usually rolls his eyes, scoffs, or rarely gives a chuckle. We look around some more in the room. "So, what do you think? Ghosts possessing people?"

"Maybe, or maybe it's more like Amityville or the Shining."

"Spirits driving them insane. Kind of like my man Jack in the shining." Dean says.

"Dean, Kate." We look at Sam. "When are we going to talk about it?"

"Talk about what?" Dean asks.

"About the fact Dad's not here." Sam says.

"Oh, I see. How about...never." Dean says as he goes back to whatever he was doing.

"I'm being serious, man. He sent us here..."

"So am I, Sam. Look, he sent us here, he obviously wants us here. We'll pick up the search later."

"It doesn't matter what he wants."

"See, that attitude? Right there? That is why I always get the extra cookie."

"Dad could be in trouble. We should be looking for him. We deserve some answers, Dean. I mean, this is our family we're talking about."

"I understand that, Sam, but he's given us an order."

"So what, we got to always follow Dad's orders?" I'm getting flashbacks to what will happen in season five. This is the reason they're chosen to be Michael's and Lucifer's vessels. I wonder how I'm going to fit in with that..

"Of course we do." I don't want to be a part of this fight. Sam looks frustrated. Dean turns away. After a while, Dean picks up a sign. "'Sanford Ellicott'...You know what we got to do. We got to find out more about the south wing. See if something happened here." Dean says. He handed it to Sam. Sam looks down of it looking slightly angry. I chuckle and follow Dean out of the asylum. We go back to the motel room and research as much as we can about this Doctor Ellicott.

"Check this out." I say looking at Sam. He comes over and looks at my laptop screen. "There's a psychiatrist named Dr. James Ellicott." Sam goes over to his computer and looks up James's information.

"He is actually the son of our Sanford Ellicott." Sam says. "Good job, Kate."

"Thanks." I say. Sam picks up his phone and starts dialing a phone number.

"What are you doing?" I ask.

"I'm going to get an appointment with Dr. Ellicott." He called the place and made an appointment for this afternoon. I was really surprised he got an appointment so early. Dean came in with our lunch. Sam explained what the plan was to Sam. After lunch, Sam and Dean take off to the office for Sam's appointment. I decided to stay back and do some researching.

[ashtail-scribbles-blog]

Found: One Stray, No Tags (Chapter Three)

Summary: Alfredo wants very few things in his life after his last gang falls apart. He wants a quiet life with his plants and his games. To make some connections. But Los Santos is a grinder, it takes people like him and twists them, bends them to its will.

He makes a mistake. He crosses the wrong people and now he has to serve in the most feared crew in an effort to avoid a harsher punishment. But in a world where magic is in half the population and there’s a family in the crew who holds his leash, maybe he can find a something a little better than debts paid.

Rating: M

Tags: GTA AU, Magic, Crew as Family, Found Family

Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence

At ten to ten the next morning, just as the orderly was settling Alfredo's arm in a sling, there was a knock. "Come in." He called out and a there was a brief hesitance before it opened to reveal a runty looking kid in slacks and a polo.

"I'm your escort this morning, Mr. Diaz. Are you ready to go?" Alfredo looked towards his orderly who nodded.

"You're as good as you're going to be, dude. I've put the pain killers and antibiotics in your pack. Caleb will be by nightly for the next week for some spot healing." He turned towards the escort and handed him a manilla envelope. "These are his care instructions. They're to go straight to Mr. Ramsey or Ms. Pattillo, whichever you see first." The escort nodded, though Alfredo swore he saw his face crease in annoyance for a minute before it smoothed back out into a mask of professionalism.

"Of course. Now, right this way Mr. Diaz. The boss is expecting us by ten-thirty and there's a little backed up traffic on our route." Alfredo grabbed his little pack of medical supplies and medications and followed the escort out of the facility to a sleek black SUV. It took a little bit of doing, and the escort was no help, but eventually he made it into the SUV and settled himself in.

He was seldom on this side of the city, so he tried to enjoy the sights of it, even as nerves built in his gut. While he knew he wasn't being driven towards his death, he was still understandably nervous. He was restricted in his activities for the next week, Caleb had said as much, but as soon as his spot healing was done, who knew what kinds of things they'd make him do.

"We're here, Mr. Diaz. You'll go in the front and the building secretary will let you up. I need to get the car put away and find someone to hand these documents off to." Alfredo sighed and grabbed his pack, shimmying out of the vehicle carefully. He hissed as his chest twisted a little. God this was so annoying. He felt like a kid waiting for his first day at a new school. Except with a lot more guns and explosions.

The lobby of the building was all sleek glass and silver metal and he felt out of place in his scrubs and looking beat up. Luckily, the front desk was easy to find and the secretary was warm and welcoming. She compared his face against an image one of the bosses had given her and then handed him a paper badge. It would get him in the penthouse elevator today, until a more permanent solution was settled upon.

And at last he was on his way up, the glass elevator giving him a fairly spectacular view of the city. Ten floors, twenty, up and and up and up until it dinged on the 70th floor. The penthouse. He swiped the badge and the elevator slid open, revealing a hallway. A very nice hallway. Soft cream carpets and dark wood paneling and various plants lent it a very nice look, and one would never guess that it was the entryway to the home of one of the most feared crews in the states. Scattered about were pairs of shoes and jackets, little touches that made it look lived in.

"You must be Alfredo!" He would never admit the noise that left him as he startled at the new voice and his head whipped in the direction of the voice. The woman the voice belonged to was reasonably tall, curvy, with long red locks falling around her shoulders. It took his brain a minute to put a name to a face.

Jack Pattillo, second in command and ace pilot of the FAHC crew.

"No need to be scared." At Alfredo's incredulous look she chuckled a little. "Well, not so scared anyway. Geoff had to deal with a last minute problem, so I'll be handling introductions today. Come on in for now. I just put breakfast on the table and the others should be waking up shortly." She turned around and started in, obviously expecting Alfredo to follow.

So follow he did. He paused just long enough to toe off the sandals the hospital had given him and then padded in after her. The penthouse was just as neat and modern as the hallway, but definitely looked lived in. It was open and bright, the carpet underfoot sinfully soft. Scattered around were books and games and hoodies and other odds and ends. It was a home. Did they all live here?

"It's nice, isn't it? Took a while to get everything right but we make it work." He nodded and followed her into what he guessed was a dining room. The table was dark wood and practically groaning under the weight of all the food that was on it. Eggs, bacon, toast, waffles and more. At his surprised look Jack laughed, the sound echoing in the bright room like bells.

"Geoff invited B-Team over as well, so you can meet everyone in one swoop. Even without them though the lads eat enough for double the people and Ryan's no slouch either." She settled herself comfortably at a seat to the left of the head chair and gestured to the chair next to her. "Help yourself while it's fresh and the hoard hasn't gotten to it."

He placed his bag under the chair and grabbed the plate. He was still on soft solids, would be for another week thanks to the combination of injuries and medications, but in this case he wasn't limited overmuch in his options. A piece of the lighter toasted bread with butter, a scoop of eggs and a smaller waffle drenched in syrup were placed onto his plate. He deliberated over a few other things before deciding against them. No sense in eating himself sick.

"You don't want anymore?" Alfredo shook his head. Even without his restricted choices, his appetite had always been weird when he was on anything stronger than tylenol. Instead of pushing it, as he feared she would, Jack merely smiled at him gently and dished her own plate. They ate in surprisingly comfortable silence, and while it didn't completely do away with his apprehension, it was nice.

Slowly, people began to filter in through the door. Most only spared him a glance before descending on the food and some not even that. By the time the table was full, lacking only Geoff and Trevor, Alfredo had been coaxed into a cup of tea by Jack and was watching as everyone slowly came alive. Conversation flickered to life around the table, never breaking a quiet murmur but there was a feeling of burgeoning chaos in the room, like they were just waiting for the thing that would set them off.

Finally, as most people were finishing eating, Jack sat forward in her chair. Instantly everyone's attention was on her and, by default, him as well. "So, as everyone knows, we've procured ourselves someone for the crew." That was...a nice way for putting it. "Everyone, this is Alfredo. Once he's healed up, he'll be driving and sniping for us, as well as some day to day errands." The table murmured greetings and Alfredo nodded, trying to look more confident than he felt.

"Alfredo, going around the table starting next you is Matt, Lindsay, Mica, Andy, Larry, Michael, Gavin, Jeremy and Ryan. You've met Geoff, Trevor and Caleb already. Matt, Mica, Andy and Larry are B-Team. Lindsay runs B-Team and they handle the minions, security and minor deals." He waved with his good arm and got assorted waves and grins back.

"Jeremy, Michael and Gavin do their own thing outside of heists, and they handle a lot of the mid-teir and high-end deals, especially with our subordinate crews. Ryan handles information and day-to-day enforcement." Alfredo figured he also handled gathering that information, using whatever means required but he wasn't stupid enough to do more than think that.

"Ryan's requested your help starting next week. You'll be helping me in the meantime, and we'll use that time to get you an ID for the building and get you geared up." As Jack was talking the others were leaving. Michael, Gavin and Jeremy hovered for a bit before Jack sent them a sharp look and they scuttled, all without saying anything. Ryan leveled him with a blue gaze, black hair cascading around his shoulders.

And then he smiled.

Alfredo startled again in his chair and Ryan's gaze turned amused and warm. This was the Vagabond. Why was he smiling at him?! Ryan rose from the table and started gathering up the dishes. "I'll handle this. You look exhausted. You should rest while you can. The Lads are...excited you're here and they won't be so easily cowed this afternoon." The man set about his work with a contented easiness and Jack seemed to agree with his sentiment because she grabbed his bag and began to usher him out of the dining hall.

"Caleb warned us you'll be easily tired for the first week, so this week is gonna be nice and easy. And he's right. I love those boys but they're not gonna be content until they've cornered you for a while, so the more rested you are the better." Cornered him? Oh he didn't like the sound of that really, but he doubted there was much he could do.

The hall split off in a couple directions. "Down the left and right halls are the bedrooms. You'll be on the same sides as the Lads, since it's the larger one. Down the center hall is the office, the planning room and a small armory. We own this entire building. On the floor below us is the gym and the entertainment area. Your pass will get you there as well, so feel free to come and go in your free time."

Her hand was gentle but firm on his back. They passed three doors, two across from each other and one by itself. Each had a sign painted on it, an emblem. There was the bear on one door and across from that the door was painted with a golden eagle. Down the hall a pretty decent way, almost startlingly so, was a door painted with a monster truck. The door across from the monster truck was blank but there they stopped.

"You'll need to pick an emblem eventually, but this is your room. There's some clothes in the en suite if you need them. Someone will wake you when they want you." Here she smiled, and it filled him with a lot of warmth as she handed him his pack. "I know there were some...concerns about your apartment, but I think you'll like this." She patted his shoulder and wandered off out of sight.

Alfredo didn't move at first, almost afraid to. What was he going to find behind the door? There was really only one way to find out, and he could already feel tiredness dragging at his body. He just wanted to lie down somewhere and sleep it off. He was due another dose of medication as well. Steeling himself, he opened the door and stepped in.

He stopped in surprise. The room was...nicer than he expected? He had been expecting something spartan, a place they would have him close at hand for when they needed him, but he hadn't expected them to do much beyond provide him a place.

The floor had that same sinfully soft carpet as the hallways in a soft slate gray and there were touches of seafoam and grass green and white in the bedding and the couch. It was bright and warm and he felt...not safe, because he didn't think he could ever feel safe this deep in enemy territory but, settled maybe? Less like he was under the gun and more like he was protected enough for the moment to wind down.

He looked around a little more, trying to get the lay of the land. His plants were here! Settled around the room his lovingly cultivated ivies and ferns were vibrant splashes of color, his little cactus sat on the bedside table and his succulents were in pride of place next to a sturdy looking desk where sat his laptop and the unmistakable shapes of his sketchbooks. There was a reasonably sized TV across from the couch and his game collection was neatly shelved.

It was all his stuff. Everything that had made his apartment home was here. Had they done this? Why? To make him feel welcome? Or to lure him into a false sense of security? Were they playing a long con here? Make him feel welcome, like he was part of the crew, one of them? What would happen then? Would Geoff call his debt paid and he'd find himself out on his own again, bereft of the people he had to come to-what? Protect? Call his own? Love? The trinket on his wrist tinkled as he tugged at his hair angrily. He pulled his arm down to look at his wrist and disgust, hot and suffocating, pooled in his chest. Collared. Like a fucking dog. This had to be a mockery of their tattoos, letting everyone know who owned him now, but making it obvious it was only temporary.

He groaned aloud and fished into his pack for his medicine and a bottle of water, with a handy flip cap for one-handed use, and he took his dose and growled softly to himself. He was so tired, and his chest was beginning to throb in time with his heartbeat. The bed looked amazing, huge and soft, with plenty of pillows. It was obviously going for welcoming, but all it did was cause Alfredo's head to churn with distrust. He stood there for a minute, oscillating between heading for the bed or the couch or even the floor but eventually exhaustion and pain and medication won out and he trudged towards the bed. He peeled back the covers and slid underneath, an involuntary happy sigh leaving him as he was cradled by plush blankets

He'd done this before, in the time before he clawed his way up the ranks of IGN. Been at the mercy of someone stronger than him, in a higher position of power than him. It was simple, when it boiled down to it. Keep his responses to "yes sir" and "no sir", eyes down, prepared to roll over and show his belly if it made his life easier, kept him out of danger. Back then it had been a matter of getting fed, of keeping himself out of the basement or the ring when the other kids couldn't or wouldn't cooperate. Now it was a matter of keeping himself alive, but the principal was the same. He could do this, just had to find that frame of mind again.

It took some doing to get comfortable, to get the disgusting amount of pillows present to cradle his injuries comfortably but soon, he was drifting off to sleep, his mind still a jumble and his gut still churning, but medicine and exhaustion won out in the end.

[enemyofvice]

A New Kind of Living - Edited

A door slammed somewhere in the house, and Sam bolted upright in bed, his heart slamming like a jackhammer against his ribcage. He quickly looked over to his brother’s bed, whispering in an attempt to get his attention. “Caleb?”

                                                           ~

This wasn’t the first, or the last time Sam Seabury would find himself in the waiting room of New Haven Correctional Center, sitting in a cold metal chair as he waited for his father to be allowed into the visitor’s area. That night was so long ago, and yet it was all that Sam could think about every time he was here. It played over and over in his mind, and it was almost a blessing when his father sat down heavily across from him.

Samuel Seabury Sr. was a heavyset man about the age of 40, although his sun kissed skin from years spent working outside made him look about 5 or 6 years older. His dark brown hair, although normally cropped just above his ears, was pulled back into a ponytail in an effort to remain presentable. He had a blossoming bruise on his cheek, as well as several other marks on the rest of his face and hands that proved his time in prison to be less than enjoyable. All of this, however, did not damper the shit-eating grin he seemed unable to wipe from his face; nor did he want to. He had everyone right where he wanted them.

~

“Always, always do as I say.” His dad chastised him, standing above Sam, who lay on the ground haphazardly. He wasn’t 100% sure how he had gotten on the ground, but he couldn’t help flinching when his father moved to pick him up. “I only want what’s best for you. Now go clean up your mess.”

~

Samuel Sr. had been in prison for a couple years now, and each and every visit with his son started out with the same couple words. “I can not wait to get out of here.” While his time in prison hadn’t the most cushiest of experiences, he always made it out to be worse than it was, no matter who he was talking to. He almost seemed to enjoy the look of guilt that passed over his son’s face every time he mentioned that he had been in another “fight”. Sam didn’t need to know that his father spent about an hour before their meetings making himself look worse for wear. All he needed to know was that his dad was still alive, and he wasn’t going to be free of him anytime soon.

Sam himself was dressed rather impeccably, his reddish brown hair freshly cut and styled back out of his face, and he was wearing what looked like a new blue and white checkered sweater vest, along with a white button-up and khaki pants. Someone might see him at a gas station and assume that he was on his way to some church service, but the reality was much harsher than that. His foster father had bought him the new outfit a couple weeks ago, and it had stayed in the box until this morning. Sam had wanted to impress his dad, and he didn’t have any newer or better looking outfits than this one.

Sam straightened his back when his father sat down, jerking suddenly and thankfully out of his thoughts, a small smile appearing on his face. He pushed his glasses up on his nose before folding his hands on the table in front of him. He’d already laid out a stack of papers on the table before his dad arrived, and had been anxiously working his way through a bottle of water before Samuel Sr. sat down. Now, he was watching his father as he silently looked through the pile of homework, waiting for him to speak first.

Instead of complimenting the good grades on top of his papers and tests, Samuel Sr. turned his sour gaze upon his young son, scanning him up and down as he looked for something to pick out. Finally his sourness turned into some kind of twisted smile as he finally found something.

“I didn’t buy you that vest.” Samuel Sr. said flatly, and continued before Sam could explain himself. It didn't matter that he hadn't been able to buy his son new clothes in almost two years. “I can only assume that Mr. Washington bought it for you. He really cares about you… You know, it’s been a long time. I hope you’re not trying to replace your dear old Papa.” He asked, and Sam quickly shook his head, shifting in his seat as he tried to defend himself.

“No-no, Papa, no. I hate it there. I hate him, he’s, ugh, he doesn’t really care. He just thinks buying me things will make me like him, or something. I told him not to buy the vest but he did it anyways.” He said, hoping that his father wouldn’t be too mad. “But I, you know, I thought- I know that it’s important to look nice, and make a good impression. And he did already buy it...” He said, hoping that maybe Samuel would let it slide, since he had fought against receiving the gift at all.

It was deadly silent for a moment, and Sam became hyper-focused on his father’s fingers tapping on the table, and when they suddenly stopped it took him a couple seconds to focus on his father’s voice again.

“.... right, Samuel.” His dad said, and Sam blinked a few times and leaned forward in an attempt to focus more. No matter how hard he fought against it, he couldn’t help disassociating when he was around the older man. “You’re old enough to get a job, nobody needs to be spoiling you anymore. You’re smart, so I don’t doubt that you’ll be able to find one by the time we meet again. And I expect you to keep up your grades without any trouble. Am I understood?” He finished, voice like a hammer on nails, and Sam nodded. He didn’t really want a job, knowing that he would only be burdened more by the work load. And his foster father probably wouldn’t let him get one anyways.

“Good boy, Samuel. Any father would be proud to have you as their son. Well, most of the time. You really need to work on your stutter.” He said, and Sam’s face lit up with the praise, almost feeling energized. He was good, he was okay, he was doing a good job, he was okay.

“I’m-I’m really trying, Papa! And I’ll get a job. And-and the lawyer, he said-” Sam’s ramblings, full of promises to continue doing a good job, were interrupted by his father’s hand slamming onto the metal table, reverberating throughout the room. Sam’s ears were jarred from it, and for a second he wondered if it had been him that was hit and not the table. He jumped in his chair as well, moving back away from him as he tried to calm down the beating in his chest.

“Don’t talk about that! You don’t need to worry about the lawyer, or about me getting out of here. You’re not smart enough to understand it, and you’ll probably mess it up by being too.. Sensitive or stuttering or something.” He said, his lip twisting in anger, shaking his head and making a show of being disappointed. “All you need to worry about is keeping your grades up and getting a job. Do you understand?” He said, voice sharp, and it obviously took some effort to keep it lowered to an acceptable volume.

Sam nodded meekly, not daring to say anything, keeping his eyes trained on the table and his hands in his lap, still taking quick scared breaths as he tried to calm down. It was obvious that he was on the verge of having a full scale panic attack, and he dug his nails into the palm of his hand in an attempt to calm down.

~

    “Just close your eyes and hide under the blanket, alright?” Caleb whispered, crawling into Sam’s bed as quickly as he could and wrapping him in a protective hug, pulling the blanket over both of their heads in an attempt to block out the sound of their dad’s voice screaming at their mother from the living room. “Nothing can get to you, I promise.”

~

“Mr. Washington, why is it that I can’t have one single conversation with my son without the government’s favorite watchdog hovering over him?” His dad’s voice cut through his thoughts, and even though he was now paying attention to what was happening around him, he didn’t move or acknowledge the newest presence next to him in the slightest. If he had been looking, he would have seen his father crossing his arms over his chest and narrowing his eyes. While Sam was too far gone to really have an emotion other than thankfulness that his father had shown up out of the blue, he normally would have been annoyed. He had a tendency to view these small increments of time with his father as precious, and he didn’t want Washington to ruin them.

George pulled up a chair despite knowing how unwelcome he must have been, sitting down next to Sam and putting an arm on the back of his chair, making sure not to touch him. It was enough that Sam knew he was there and that he wasn’t alone, and although George wanted to pick him up and carry him away and never come back, he knew that it had to be done this way.

“I think if you could have a conversation without upsetting him, then we wouldn’t have a problem.” He said, keeping his voice as light as he could in a situation like this. “I’m sure that we don’t need to be reminded of the last time you…. Got out of hand.” He said, and a quick glance at Sam told him all he needed to know. It was time to leave, and to stop talking about this.

“A misunderstanding. I’m sure that Samuel explained it to you.” He paused, looking over at his son with something akin to affection, if the older man was even capable of it. “He fell asleep and hit his face on the table, it happens all the time with teenagers. Especially when they don’t have the right guardianship.” He said, and his voice was light as well, even with the heavy topic they were discussing.

“I think that it’s time to go.” He said, voice firm and directed at the man across from him, looking over at Sam and softening his tone as he continued. “Is that alright with you?” He asked, not wanting to force him into moving around when he wasn’t ready to.

“What, are you going to force him to leave early? To cut his already precious hours with his Papa short?” Samuel asked, obviously upset, leaning forward in his chair and raising his voice. “I never get to see him, just let me have this. Samuel, please, stay.” He almost took on a begging tone, turning his gaze to his son.

~

    Sam climbed the tree in his backyard, quickly trying to catch up with his much older brother, who was teasing him for not being able to tag him. They’d only been in the tree for a couple minutes before the back door opened and they both froze, listening to feet on the stairs. “Boys, it’s time to come inside and do homework, I’m counting to three.” Sam, still only on the first branch, quickly hopped down and ran inside, making it just in time. Caleb never seemed to make it on time.

~

George had spent a lot of time trying to help Sam learn how to work through his panic attacks, and he knew what it looked like when he wasn’t going to come down from one anytime soon; however, so did his father. And while Sam was used to someone knowing all of his ticks and issues, that didn’t mean he liked the feeling.

He turned to face Sam fully, forcing a smile despite the fact that Sam wasn’t even willing to look at him. It was something that he was used to, even when his foster child was calm. Sam seemed to be the dictionary definition of an angsty teen, fighting George on everything he could. But George hadn’t decided to become a foster parent because it was easy, and he didn’t make a habit of giving up on something once he’d started. “It’s time to get going anyways, Sam. We’re going to be late picking up your brother soon.” He said, standing and smoothing a hand over Sam’s shoulders, before shoving both of his own hands in his pockets ashamedly when Sam practically jerked away. Despite the movement, however, Sam stood, giving his dad a quick apologetic smile.

Samuel stood as well, taking a step towards Sam as if to hug him. He was obviously still angry that they were leaving, and it showed in the way his jaw was clenched. George was very quick to step between them, putting a hand on Samuel Sr.’s chest. He wouldn’t dare hurt Sam in front of George, but that didn’t mean George was just going to let the other man touch his foster child. It was all just a show, of course, to upset Washington. Samuel Sr. had never been a fan of hugging, but he was a fan of making the man who took away his child angry.

“Absolutely not. Even if the court allowed it.” George said, quietly enough that he thought Sam couldn’t hear, face deadly serious.

Samuel stepped back, pushing George’s hand away, and Sam peeked around his caretaker’s shoulder, biting his lip nervously. His cheeks were still coming back from the shade of ghostly white they had been earlier.

“I’m sorry, Papa. I love you.” He said softly, giving him a gentle wave as his foster father maneuvered him gently towards the door. He felt a little guilty, like he always did when they had to turn around and leave his father behind. Sam was worried that one day he’d show up only to find that his father had been let out or killed in his cell or something like that, leaving Sam all alone.

~

    The front door slammed shut, almost clipping Caleb’s heels, as if saying one last goodbye. Sam would get used to being alone.

~

As soon as they made it into the car, George let out a sigh, leaning back against the seat. “I’m really sorry that that happened.” He said, turning to look at Sam, only to find him unresponsive and staring out the window. “I mean, I’m sorry that I couldn’t get you out of there sooner.”

“He didn’t even do anything wrong, you’re just jealous that I like him better.” Sam retorted, and George couldn’t help how much that hurt. He thought that maybe he’d gotten somewhere with his foster son, but it was obvious that his work was going thankless as usual. “I don’t get why I can’t hang out with him for as long as I want. It’s not like he’d even do anything anyways.”

George sighed, running a hand over his face and putting the car in drive, not looking at him as he pulled out of the parking lot and onto the busy highway. This was an argument that they’d had many times. “Sam, you know why. I don’t have to remind you; and I don’t want to.” He said, voice soft. A quick glance at Sam, despite the traffic, proved to be more painful than it was helpful, watching as he reached up and skimmed his fingers over one of the scars that arched just above his collar, the skin twisted and painful-looking, and he seemed to wince almost from the memory. He’d hardly ever shown any part of his skin since George had known him, making sure to wear hoods and jeans, even in the summer. He knew that most of them were from his father, but it was no secret that he’d been stuck in some scary foster homes before coming to George’s house. George quickly looked away, not wanting to think about it, trying not to stare as he turned a corner.

[briannaslist]

Pretty Little Liars: Playtime

A Recap. I refuse to stylize the “a” in the episode title.

Let us hope that this recap goes by faster than the actual episode.

If it was ever in doubt, Spencer is alive. She’s being brought into the hospital while Aria, Hanna, Emily, and Ali do their usual thing of standing by and talking in quick, muted sentences about their latest lack of common sense. While they’re standing there (impeding traffic in the middle of the hospital hallway) they see Toby being brought into the ER as well.

Time Jump: One Week

Aria: So Aria met up with Toby to talk about how he’s doing and such. He’s clearly able to move around, but Yvonne is in a medically induced coma. Shame – she may have been one of the most innocent characters on the show. Aria goes up to Ezra’s apartment and has packed a bag and is walking out as Ezra walks back in. She said she didn’t know how long he’d be gone and if she should stay there. That was a pretty simple phone call or text though. Why assume? She was gonna let this man come home and think his fiancé left with no explanation? He takes her bag and brings it back to the room. Then they settle in for some exposition.

Aria updates him on all the latest incidents; I wonder if she mentioned Noel Khan getting decapitated in the most contrived and hilarious way ever. He tells her about the terrible shape Nicole is in and he says they haven’t had a chance to speak. Obviously.

Hanna: Hanna and Caleb are still a thing. He mentions something about her getting back to designing or something. I wasn’t really paying attention.

Emily: At Rosewood High, Emily has been given the position of varsity swim coach and Paige got the job of athletic supervisor. Ali comes into the teacher’s lounge and is quite unhappy to hear that Paige is working there. Because it’s necessary to hold grudges against people for five-eight years.

Spencer: Somehow a week after getting shot, Spencer is mobile. It looks like she got shot in the arm, so not the most critical place, but it still merits taking it easy, right? When she walks back into the barn, she sees that there’s a gift from AD. She calls all the girls and they all freak out because they really and truly thought all of this was over when Noel got killed.  

At this point you think that these girls would understand it’s never what they first think. None of them are nearly as smart as they think they are and they should just accept that. Knowing is half the battle. They open the gift, which is a board game designed like Rosewood, with the girls as the game pieces. I honestly thought it would have been Noel’s head. But I guess this works too. The name of the game is “Liars’ Lament” because of course it is. There’s a phone attached that lights up with “Endgame Bitches”.

Ali somehow is the most logical and suggests they just bring the game to the police. But Aria vetoes it saying that based on how things have gone in the past, it’ll probably blow up before they ever get it there. Though that would also eliminate the problem, wouldn’t it Aria. The real twist of the episode is actually right here – they expect us to believe these people have actually learned something from their past experiences. Immediately following that, they have Spencer explain that “endgame” means there’s a few more pieces left to play and then it’s all over. I don’t quite understand who the writers think the audience is. They either think we’re so intelligent that we’re supposed to just connect the dots and make sense of things that never actually linked or they think we’re so stupid that we literally need to be told what endgame means.

Aria decides that this is as good a time as any to air her concerns about her engagement to the only person patient enough to entertain it – Hanna. Hanna tries to reassure her about it. I only bring it up because this plot comes back around later. But we need to break to cover Hanna’s designing which is only important because it puts Mona back into the mix.

So Mona sees Hanna outside of a café (?) working on her design sketches. She asks to see the looks and is impressed, so she takes some pictures to send to someone to help Hanna out.

Aria and Hanna go to some wedding planning place at Hanna’s insistence. It’s there that they have a happy reunion with Holden, who is working there as a chef because it’s his sister’s business. But wait wait wait – who the hell is Holden? I’m guessing we’ve seen him before since Aria and Hanna excitedly hugged him? I swear I’ve never seen or heard of this person before in my life. You can’t bring back bit characters from season’s previous like this with no mention when he clearly has left no lasting impression. They’re catching up a little and he’s helping out with the preparations, when Hanna has to leave. But let’s close out Aria because this is her only storyline.

Holden gives Aria a ride back to her apartment since Hanna had to leave. While Aria and Holden are standing outside, they see Ezra. He tells Aria that he needs to leave for New York immediately because Nicole’s parents asked him to come back. He gives her a quick kiss and leaves. Holden asks Aria who Nicole is.

Hanna left the wedding planning center to meet with Mona who has linked her up with a senator’s daughter to wear one of Hanna’s designs to an event. They set up a later meeting where Hanna shows her a few pieces. She loves Hanna’s work and tells her to have the boss (Mona) arrange the rest of the details.

Naturally when Mona comes to talk to Hanna later, Hanna is very mad about the boss thing. Mona assures Hanna that she never meant to give off that impression and calls the senator’s daughter to straighten it all out. Amazing how quickly these basic things get resolved when they know they have a limited number of episodes left.

Emily is caught up in this weird position with Paige and Ali. She’s on a committee with both of them and another…teacher?, the principal?, vice principal? I don’t know who this woman is, but she’s also on the committee. Ali decides to start off with a backhanded compliment toward Paige. They go back and forth with little digs about each other’s previous transgressions while Emily tries not to get involved. Because who needs professionalism in the workplace?

After the meeting, Emily goes back to Ali’s house and asks her what all that behavior was about. But it’s Ali, so it’s not a productive conversation. So Emily asks Ali what her motives were with kissing her the other day. But Ali doesn’t have an answer for that either; Emily tells her not to kiss her again until she actually knows.

Then she decides to go apologize to Paige on Ali’s behalf, which Paige doesn’t even want to hear. She points out that Ali is always a victim needing to be rescued while Emily has a habit jumping in after the victim to take care of her.

Spencer somehow manages to have the most irritating storyline despite having the most valid reason for being a little off. She talks to Detective Marco about everything going on with the investigation. The gun that they found at the scene is not the same gun that shot her; so presumably there was more than one shooter and Jenna still is missing with a gun.

Spencer’s mom comes home and is understandably worried about Spencer’s well-being. Spencer’s dad had some issue with his passport, so he won’t be back until later. Spencer tells her mom that Mary Drake said she was her “real” mom. So we have to go through this whole story of how Spencer’s dad, years after fathering Jason DiLaurentis, went to a restaurant thinking he was meeting Jessica DiLaurentis, who was actually Mary. See, it’s already so fucking dumb! When Jessica found out about Mary’s pregnancy, she told Spencer’s mom, who decided to take Spencer in and raise her. Spencer is both mad at the fact that her mom actually stayed with her dad and then pulls out the “you’re not my mom” cliché. Just to add to the annoyance level of this storyline. It’d be easier to sympathize if Spencer was not an adult and if this “twist” wasn’t some ass-pull stupidity.

AD decides to take advantage of Spencer’s angst to get her to play the game. So Spencer decides to start and she gets “Truth or Dare?” Obviously Truth didn’t work (why go through the trouble of asking though) and it says to visit Toby for a reward.

Spencer sees Toby, who was filled in on what happened with the girls by Detective Marco. Toby naively hopes that everything is finally over now; he knows better, but he’s in a rough place so I’ll give him a free pass. Toby blames himself about Yvonne, even though it was just a regular accident; they hit a deer, that’s not something he could anticipate happening. Spencer reassures him and comforts him.

When Spencer gets back, the game rewards her with a puzzle piece and a letter from Mary, written while she was still pregnant. I can’t even really capture how stupid this entire letter is because she’s explaining that she was trying to punish both the Hastings and the DiLaurentises, but never thought that she would be bringing in someone innocent in the middle of it. Completely idiotic for two reasons: 1) Both of these families had young children, so you’re already causing an issue for innocent people and 2) she really didn’t think that revenge sex could lead to a child?

After playing the game, Spencer calls everyone over. Hanna is mad that Spencer played the game and points out the letter it gave her may not even be real. Hey guys, maybe next time don’t leave something like that to be watched over by one person? Hanna suggests they just destroy the thing and see what else is inside. She grabs a knife and lunges, but the others stop her and the game stops her too by showing a video of them digging up Rollins’ with a message saying they can’t stop playing and winner takes all.

The episode ends with Jenna asking some unknown person about the “game” and is given a binder in braille that Jenna reads as being “Endgame”. So I guess the episode just ends without any resolution or plot because we already knew there was a bigger plan, she’s part of it, and it’s an “endgame”. Basically, nothing happened. In the premiere for the last episodes.