#you can trust her and her inanimate artifact hand

[mmag-translations]

Diabellze the Original Sinkeeper - Character sheet

[pftones3482]

Sometimes Stupid

Commission for @randomfandomfan from one of their many prompts they gave me. Took forever bc of work and life and also???? Now I have a cat??? So that's fun. But this was fun to write. Read it here on AO3

Set post TLO and pre HOO (and a little bit post HOO). Under a cut for length.

~~

Contrary to popular belief, Leo Valdez was not stupid.

He was an idiot, at times – for instance, maybe running away from his seventh (fifteenth? He’d really lost track at this point) foster home wasn’t the best decision he could have made, especially given that it was the middle of summer and oh, also, hurricane season. And okay, maybe he should’ve taken more with him than a single change of clothes, a box of Ritz crackers, a pocketknife, and a water bottle that had definitely seen better days, but he was in a rush, okay?

But he wasn’t stupid.

When he ran away from his foster homes, Leo tended to stay away from people where he could. And if he had to be around them, he cleaned up, smiled brightly, “Yes ma’am”ed and “Yes’sir”ed to an obnoxious point, and lied his pants off. People were less likely to call the police on a Hispanic kid if they thought he was just a darling little angel waiting for mom at the grocery store, and the last thing he needed was the cops in his business.

Not that it hadn’t happened, of course. He’d dealt with cops of all kinds – nice cops, bad cops, black cops, white cops (WAY too many of those, in his opinion), the occasional cop who would speak Spanish with him, cops who were just there to write a report and move on with their days – cops.

He tried to stay away from them.

Which meant sticking to beaches and forests, lakes and campgrounds, middle of nowhere places with no people for miles. Leo was good at disappearing. Hiding.

But there were always times when he needed an adult. When he needed to hitchhike, or when he needed food to the point of near passing out. Once for serious medical attention. There was a system to what adults you could trust.

Never cops. You could never trust the cops, no matter what naïve white parents thought. Leo had been in cuffs enough to know that was false.

You also couldn’t usually trust priests. They meant well, sure, but they always ended up calling the authorities in the end. That, or they tried to convert Leo to Catholicism, and while one of those encounters had ended with a swiped bottle of watered-down red wine and a night that made him vow to never drink again, he wasn’t trying to contact the church.

(THAT night, Leo would say he had been stupid. He could admit that)

Homeless people were usually okay. While a lot of them were very suspicious of everyone, almost every homeless person he’d ever met would point him in the direction of food, water, free showers, free clothes, or a library (his saving grace during the heat of the summer and the cold of the winter). The times when he came across gay homeless people were when he felt safest – they especially never pressed him about his background. Ironic, really, that he felt safer with strangers on the street than his foster homes.

Moms were sometimes okay. Especially if they were Hispanic, or black, or just anything but white. They, at least, wouldn’t call the cops on him. But they were also hit or miss – sometimes they helped in way of a meal, or a new bottle of water. One mom even took him to the store and got him new socks and underwear (he had cried that night). But other moms rushed him away from their precious babies. Some moms called him ungrateful for the “space he had.”

Dads were a never. Leo never went to men if he could help it, even if they had children with them. He didn’t trust them as far as he could throw them, and that wasn’t very far.

But it was hurricane season. And he was on the coast. And it was downpouring, and he was starving, and the only people he had seen for miles were a white couple, a man and a woman, standing on the porch of a somewhat rundown shack that Leo would’ve probably thought was abandoned if he hadn’t seen them there.

The man was tall, peppered hair that was shifting more to salt, with a rough beard and a pair of glasses perched on his nose. The woman at his side was short, probably Leo’s height, with dark curly hair and vibrantly blue eyes. It was streaked with gray, but she was, admittedly, a very pretty woman. Something about her smile put Leo at ease.

He clutched his backpack tighter in his fist and stumbled over the sand towards the shack, ankles rolling uncomfortably on the wet ground. He was sure he looked atrocious, sure that the moment they spotted him, they’d shriek and cuss him out and lock the door.

But then he coughed, hard, his shoulders shaking, and the woman whipped her head around. He watched her eyes widen, watched her tug at the man’s sleeve, and then she was bolting – barefoot, Leo noticed – down the steps and over to him.

He flinched when she wrapped an arm over his shoulders, jolting out of her grip more from habit than anything else. She froze, holding both hands up and relaxing her stance. “Hey, honey. It’s okay. It’s okay.”

Somewhere deep down, Leo’s brain was scoffing at the patronizing words. But on the surface, he focused on the words, and then sharpened his eyes onto the man as he approached, phone in hand. “I-I c-can’t-”

The woman looked back, down at the phone, and her shoulders stiffened. “Paul, put the phone away, please.”

Her voice held an intonation that Leo couldn’t decipher, but the man – Paul – instantly shut the phone off and pocketed it. The moment it was gone, Leo let his shoulders loosen, and he looked at the woman anxiously. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I-I just…”

“Hey.”

Her arm was more cautious this time, sliding around Leo’s shoulders with a pace that would let him move if he wanted. He didn’t, just let it happen, and then the woman was easing him over the sticky sand and up the steps of the shack, Paul close behind them. He stopped at the door, pushing back hard against the woman’s guiding grip. “I don’t want to ruin your house,” he managed.

The woman’s laugh was…well, to be perfectly honest, it made Leo feel warm. Like she could never hurt him.

Those are usually the most dangerous people, his mind tried to reason with him.

“Sweetheart, it’s just a rental cabin. Besides, I’ve had far worse than a little sand and water on my floors before.”

Before he could wonder at that sentence, she opened the door and nudged him inside. The second that Paul closed the door, the sound of the wind died down and the chill in the air evaporated. Leo realized he was shivering.

The woman’s hands were warm on his cheeks. “My name is Sally, hon. You are-?”

He usually gave a fake name, but – “Leo, ma’am.”

“Don’t you ma’am me,” she scoffed, her voice easy as she helped Leo to the couch. “I’m not that old, am I Paul?”

Paul put his hands up. “I abstain from answering.”

Sally scoffed and pressed a cool hand on Leo’s forehead. “Can I take your backpack, sweetheart?”

Something like panic flared in Leo’s chest, and Sally must have seen it, because she pulled her hand back and held it up. “I’m not moving it far, I just want Paul to dry everything out for you, okay?”

Fingers shaking, Leo shrugged off his bag – the one he’d been carrying for nearly three states – and passed it over to her. She took it like it was a priceless artifact, and handed it to Paul with more tenderness than Leo had ever seen given to an inanimate object. “I think my son might have left some clothes here while he was with us last week,” she said, voice soft. “He’s a little older than you, so some things might be big, but is it okay if we give you some of his clothes while we dry out yours?”

Leo swallowed around the lump in his throat. “Um. Yeah.”

She stood up and left with Paul, giving Leo a moment to be alone and take in the cabin around him.

It was old, but obviously well taken care of, with weathered planks of wood gracing the walls and the floor. He was in the living room, full of mismatched couches and chairs and a bookshelf stacked full of books and games. He didn’t see a TV in sight, but he wasn’t expecting to find one. He stood shakily, suddenly very aware of how wet he was getting the couch, and wrapped his arms around himself as he explored the rest of the main room.

The kitchen was small and cramped, but he could smell something full of tomatoes and spices in the oven that made his tastebuds water. He didn’t dare look for fear of getting caught, so he stepped away and into the tiny dining area. There was sand on the floor, spread thin and fine, and it was such a small thing, but it made Leo relax even more – Sally meant it when she said she didn’t care about him ruining her floors.

But she and Paul had been gone for a while, and Leo wasn’t stupid, okay? It didn’t matter how well intentioned someone was, they always thought they knew better, and if they were gone too long, it meant they were trying to decide for him. So he crept towards the hallway they’d vanished to, praying that he didn’t step on a squeaky board. Old homes always had them in the most inconvenient places.

“-not answering?” he picked up Paul’s voice saying.

“No,” Sally said, a sigh in her voice. “He did say he and Annabeth were on a date, but I didn’t expect them to be in Paris of all places. How did they even-?”

“Can you get ahold of Chiron?”

Not the police, then, Leo reasoned, unless they knew an officer by that name. He leaned a little closer.

“No – I try not to call the camp unless I need to. Phone lines and all that, you know?”

Paul huffed. “I know. And Rachel is at art camp, right?”

“Yup,” Sally said, and Leo heard a sound like a blowing raspberry. “He clearly isn’t aware of anything, Paul. He’s terrified.”

“Probably a runaway,” Paul hummed, and Leo flinched at the damning statement. “Met a couple kids like that teaching.”

He looked like a teacher. You couldn’t trust most teachers either, Leo had learned. They were just like priests. Tried their best, but they always inevitably called someone.

“What did you do? Who did you call?” Sally asked, and Leo stiffened. Here it comes, his brain taunted.

“No one,” Paul said.

Leo blinked, taking a slight step back. What?

“Kids don’t run away for no reason, Sal. Especially not kids like him. Perce taught me that. I mean, maybe in my early days of teaching, I might have called the authorities, but ever since this summer I…how could I risk that? Even before then, I mean…the stories I’ve heard from some of these kids I’ve talked to. We don’t know anything about him. If he ran away, all this way, in this weather? It was bad, love.”

Leo’s throat ached.

He’d never, the whole time he’d been in foster care, ever heard an adult admit that they were wrong to call the authorities on him. Never heard an adult take his perspective into account, especially without even knowing him. Never had an adult admit that his life could be anything other than ideal.

He took another step back and oh shit, there it was, the cursed piece of wood in every old house to ever exist. He cussed under his breath and ducked his head as Sally stepped into the hallway. He refused to look up at her. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “You were just gone for a while a-and I thought you might be calling someone.”

No verbal response. Instead, a soft bundle of fabric was pressed into Leo’s hands. He startled, gripping onto the clothing, and looked up at Sally and Paul with wide eyes. Paul shook his head. “We’re not calling anyone, son. Not if you don’t want us to. But we do ask that you get cleaned up, before you catch pneumonia.”

Sally tilted her head towards the door across the hall. “Let me know when you’re done, I’ll toss your clothes in the dryer. Paul was just finishing up dinner when you came along. Do you like lasagna?”

Leo’s mouth watered at the thought of eating any kind of food that wasn’t stale crackers and canned tuna. “Yes ma’am.”

“What’d I say about that ma’am nonsense?” Sally scolded.

Leo ducked his head, trying to press down the tears. “Yes, miss,” he chuckled.

Sally laughed as Paul headed for the kitchen. “It’s a start, love.”

~~

Sally’s son’s clothes were soft, well loved. They smelled like sea water and lavender detergent, and though the t-shirt was a gaudy orange with letters so faded that Leo couldn’t read them, he sank into the fabric with a sigh. Sally had also passed him a pair of sweatpants, and Leo hoped that her son wouldn’t be mad if he ever found out that some random foster kid had borrowed them.

If he was anything like Sally, though, Leo had the feeling he’d like him.

His hair was still wet, but this time from a shower, and Leo couldn’t remember the last time he’d gotten to stand under an actual stream of hot water without people literally timing him to make sure he didn’t take too long. He stood in front of the mirror, sighing a little at how skinny he’d gotten. He’d always been small – being skinny only made him more of a punching bag for the bigger foster kids. His hair, untamed from weeks of running, hung in his eyes, and he wondered briefly if Sally might have a hair tie he could borrow.

He left the bathroom and crept into the dining room, where Sally was setting the table and Paul was pulling one of the most beautiful lasagnas he’d ever seen out of the oven.

“-texted me, said they’d be back tomorrow morning. He offered to come back sooner,” Sally was saying as Leo stood in the doorway, “but I know he and ‘beth haven’t really gotten to go on any non-monstrous dates recently.”

She blinked when she saw him standing there, and her smile softened into something warm and inviting. “Come on, hon. Paul was just getting dinner out.”

Maybe it was the malnourishment, or Paul’s cooking skills, or Leo’s exhaustion, or a combination of the three, but Leo had never tasted such good Italian food in his life. He downed one, two, three pieces and a full salad before he finally slowed down. To his relief, neither Paul nor Sally gave him any grief about how many pieces he took. Honestly, he thought he watched Paul actively make his slices bigger than theirs.

They’d clearly been talking about their son when he came in the room. This guy was in Paris, on a date with his girlfriend, and he was coming back tomorrow. Leo wondered just how rich this family was – the dad was a teacher, but Sally hadn’t said what she did, and Leo was a little afraid to ask.

When Paul brought out a pie for dessert, Leo almost cried. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had any dessert fancier than a stolen Ding Dong from a corner store. Paul definitely gave him a larger slice than them, and as he ate it, Sally poked at her own pie.

“Leo, we’re not going to pry,” she started, gentle. “Your story is yours, and I know how tricky it can be to share yourself and your past with new people.”

The sad smile Paul shot her didn’t go unnoticed by Leo, and he internally bristled at the thought that this wonderful mom in front of him could understand anything about how he felt, because that meant that she’d gone through shit she didn’t deserve. He said nothing, though, just nodded.

Sally eyed her pie thoughtfully, stabbing a blackberry that had escaped the crust. “But I feel like…well, I feel as though my son especially can relate to how you’re feeling, or at least some of it. If you’d be willing to wait for him to come home, maybe we can figure some things out together.”

Leo felt lost. He’d been lost a lot before, but this was the first time it was mental and not physical. “What?”

Sally looked up, seeming to realize that she’d baffled him. “I mean…”

She looked at Paul, and Leo looked between the two of them, tightening his grip on his fork. They were having a silent conversation. Leo hated when adults did that. “You mean you want to wait until I’m asleep so you can call the cops o-or foster services or-or just wait until your son gets back so he can tell me to get out.”

He shoved his chair back from the table, tears prickling at his eyes. Every time. Every time. He always got his hopes up, always thought he’d found the perfect people, people who got it, and every fucking time, he-

Hands settled on his shoulders, and he ripped away, scowling at Sally. Her eyes were sad, and Leo felt an unwelcome stab of guilt in his chest. “That is not what we were suggesting, ever, honey. I would never call foster services, first of all. They’re atrocious, especially for kids of color.”

Leo jolted back. He’d never had a white woman actively acknowledge his race so bluntly before – it was usually partnered with some demeaning comment about “his kind” of people. He eyed Sally warily.

She lowered her hands, keeping them on her hips where he could see them. “Second, I’d never call the police either. You’re not a problem, and my son has had enough unfortunate encounters with them for me to…distrust them severely, to say the least.”

Her son had-?

“I just…we know a place. Where you would genuinely be safe, hon. No foster homes, no cops, with people who get it.”

She was lying. She had to be lying, no matter what Leo’s heart said. But she wasn’t going to let this go, and he knew it. So he sighed, fidgeted with his fingers. He wished he had something to build. “Okay. I’ll wait for your son to get home.”

Sally relaxed, and Leo gave her a thin smile.

He helped her and Paul clean up the kitchen, put away the leftover lasagna. Sat with them and did a puzzle, played a game of Clue with them. Fixed their radio for them, much to their surprise, and then watched with a small smile on his face as Paul and Sally danced around the living room together. They tried to get him to join, but he’d never been much of a dancer, so he declined.

They bid him goodnight around 11, and he shut the door of their son’s room, let the hours tick on.

At three am, he got up, changed back into his own clothes, left the borrowed ones folded neatly on the foot of the bed. He took a flashlight from the bedside table and slid it into his backpack, stepped out of the bedroom and avoided the squeaky floorboard.

The tool kit from fixing the radio was still on the coffee table, and he picked it up with only the slightest feelings of guilt. Went through the cabinets and pulled out sleeves of crackers, a box of granola, eyed the leftover lasagna with a sad gaze. He found a roll of toilet paper under the sink, a bottle of hand sanitizer in a junk drawer.

He paused by the game of Clue, left out on the table from their match, and let his fingers trace over it sadly. His gut screamed at him to leave. His heart screamed at him to stay. He wasn’t stupid.

Leo had always trusted his gut.

He pocketed the candlestick piece and turned for the door, flinching the second his eyes landed on Sally.

Her hair was done up in a braid, her pajamas wrinkled, and the moon shining through the window reflected the sadness in her eyes. Leo opened his mouth, but couldn’t find it in him to speak – the lump was back.

She stepped forward and he shut his eyes, expecting a lecture. Instead, her hand cupped his cheek. Her other hand pressed into his, and he gasped as he felt the telltale touch of money in his fingers. He looked down at the wad of cash – he couldn’t see how much it was, but he knew that he didn’t deserve it. He looked up at her, panicking. “I can’t-”

“Stay, I know,” she whispered, and that wasn’t what he’d been planning to say, and he knew that she knew that. “I understand, Leo. I understand, sweetie.”

The sob slipped out before he could stop it, and Sally’s eyes softened. She bent at the hip, pressing a soft kiss to his curls. “When you end up meeting my son,” she murmured, “come visit, okay?”

Leo had no idea what that meant, but he nodded, if only to appease her. “I’m sorry,” he croaked.

She squeezed his shoulder. “Nothing to be sorry for, honey. Be safe.”

Sally watched him go, watched him shut the door behind him, and he looked down at the money in his hands with a choked feeling in his chest. It was more than he’d held in his entire life. He couldn’t take it, but he knew she’d be upset if he didn’t. And if there was one thing Leo refused to do, it was make Sally more upset than he already had.

So he pocketed it and, with an aching heart, stepped off the porch of the cabin. The storm from earlier had died down, and, fingers tight on his backpack straps, he started making his way up the beach.

~~

Percy was bouncing up and down at the entrance to Camp Half Blood, fingers curled around Annabeth’s hand. “Do I look okay?” he asked for probably the thousandth time that morning.

Piper rolled her eyes. “Percy, it’s your mom. She doesn’t care what you look like.”

Percy shot her a mock glare. “I haven’t seen her in over a year, McClean, sue me.”

“You look fine, Perce,” Annabeth laughed, kissing his cheek. “She’s gonna mostly care that you’re alive.”

“Okay but this tattoo-”

“Sorry, you vanished on me for over a year, crossed the globe, and you got a TATTOO?” came a very scolding, very obviously Mom Voice, and Leo snickered, turning to see who was about to absolutely whoop Percy’s ass.

And he stumbled on his own feet, lips parting as Sally (Sally Jackson, his unhelpful brain mocked) appeared at the top of the hill. Her hair was a little grayer than it had been when Leo met her, her hips a little wider, but her smile was the same, her laugh as Percy launched himself at her the same peal of delight Leo remembered on his toughest nights, and when she caught his eye over Percy’s shoulder, her smile only widened.

Okay, so sometimes Leo Valdez was kind of stupid.

[morporkian-cryptid]

Last supernatural au for the day:

jigens eyes are wholly reflective like a silver mirror, a fairly nonhuman feature he tends to cover up with a hat or his hair

Goemon can look pretty human but he doesn't have to bother around the gang so he looks all glowy and see through when its just them

I just imagined a sword sticking in the ground under a freezing waterfall, meditating

Lupins calling cards usually provoke the victim into inviting him (if that doesn't work he can always get invited in disguise. I just realized how annoying the invitation thing has to be for a thief. Lucky for lupin this seems to be a secret world type of situation so most don't think he needs an invitation)

I like the idea of fujiko, who uses her beauty as a weapon, having a terrifying inner self only for lupin and goemon (and jigen, but in a platonic sense) to look upon it, accept it and even find beauty in her true self not just her weapons

I like the idea of Jigen having unnatural eyes! Considering he's some sort of shadow being, I'd rather see him with, like, eyes that are just globes of smoke that's constantly moving. (I'm relying on the idea from Discworld that the eyes are the reflection of the soul, and no amount of magic or shape-shifting can change what your eyes look like) (also smoke eyes would just be really really cool)

That said, Goemon could have mirror eyes. Like very shiny polished steel. Same idea of "your eyes reflect your soul/your true form", Goemon/Zantetsuken being actually a sword made of meteorite steel.

And I also like the idea of Goemon not bothering with a fully human appearance around the Gang, because they know his secret and he trusts them. It's also interesting to think of how he ended up trusting them with what is basically his most important and vital secret. I'll try to come up with more ideas about that when I have the time.

Lupin would probably make a lot of jokes and cheesy pick-up lines about how Goemon is glowing, that he's the light of his life, or trying to use Goemon as a lamp.

Actually, you know what? I am going to talk about trust. It's extremely meaningful that Goemon/Zantetsuken (who in the eyes of most people is technically an inanimate object that can be owned, and who basically stole himself in order to reclaim ownership of his person), would entrust Lupin (the greatest thief of all times, a man known for trying to steal any artifact of great value or that can pose a challenge to him), with the knowledge that he is, in fact, a priceless artifact that can be owned and stolen. That would require an absolutely incredible level of trust in Lupin. Even more than what they typically share in canon. AAAAAAAAAAH I just LOVE the implications of this AU!!!

Oooooh my gods I hadn't thought of the "vampires need to be invited in" thing, but that would be SUCH a pain in the ass for Lupin! Perfect XD Although, there is a work-around: yeet Goemon in sword form through the window, and then have Goemon turn back into a human and invite him in. (or have Jigen use the mirror teleportation method, but yeeting Goemon is funnier). Although, I suppose he'd prefer to use ruse rather than have his partners do the work for him. On the one hand, the calling cards would put his targets on edge and they wouldn't let anyone in lest they be an intruder; but on the other hand, that gives him an excuse to be invited in while disguising himself as Zenigata (something we've seen him do multiple times in canon).

Once again, I LOVE the idea of Lupin seeing Fujiko's true form, and instead of being terrified, just getting even hornier. Okay, I know, that's not the point, the point is "her appearance doesn't matter, he loves her all the same", but still. It's very funny and very Lupin. It would be even better (and un-subtle) if Fujiko's monster form is a black widow spider (I was visualizing a tarantula by default until now).

Goemon would probably freak out the first time, and not understand that the spider is Fujiko, and probably try to kill her. Angst ensues, until he realizes who she is, and immediately shows no sign of being bothered by the fact that the most beautiful woman he knows is actually a giant fucking spider. (Goemon of all people would know that someone's physical appearance, whether their real supernatural form or their human disguise, doesn't dictate who they are)

[therikermaneuver]

Okay literally no one asked for this, but Night At The Museum Midam!au

Adam is a broke college student in his last two years of getting his MD and he really needs a job. He finds a position as a night guard at a museum in a nearby city, and it doesn’t seem like that hard of a gig, so he applies and he gets it.

Michael is part of an exhibit displaying ✨the angel tablet✨. It’s his responsibility to protect it, and to protect the inhabitants of the museum who come to life at night because of the tablet’s magic. He’s incredibly protective of he other exhibits. Whenever a new night guard is hired (which is frequently), he intimidates them and scares them to make sure they don’t try to hurt any of the museum exhibits.

He confronts Adam on his first night, trying to be as fear-inspiring and biblical as possible and Adam’s like “you know what, I’m not paid enough for this. If you want to run the show, go ahead, I won’t get in your way. Just tell me what I’m doing wrong and I’ll change.”

Michael is completely taken aback by his response, because that’s the first time he’s gotten respect from a night guard in his memory. He just nods and walks off to make sure everything is running smoothly.

They operate separately for the most part. Adam makes sure the building doesn’t burn down every night, and Michael makes sure all of the inhabitants are okay. This arrangement works well for a while.

One night, there’s an accident. One of the child wax figures falls down the stairs and her arm breaks. Adam is the first to get to her and he asks someone to go and find Michael. He focuses on keeping the girl calm, trying to assess the damage while doing so. Eventually, Michael shows up and while he’s also calm and authoritative, Adam notices that he seems upset. He keeps waving his hand over the broken wax, expecting something to happen, but nothing does. He keeps trying anyways. They manage to get her fixed and Michael disappears for the rest of the night.

It turns out that Michael really struggles with the fact that he’s just a statue and not actually an angel. He’s supposed to be Michael, commander of heaven, God’s confidant and right hand man, but he’s just... not. He tries to upkeep his self worth by taking care of the museum, but when he couldn’t do anything to help the wax girl, it got to him.

Adam learns this and assures him that he’s still incredibly badass. I mean, he’s protecting this artifact that gives life to things that never had it in the first place, and most importantly, he keeps them happy. He keeps them safe. Michael’s self-confidence is bolstered by this and he decides that he likes Adam.

After that, Adam and Michael start getting closer. Instead of doing their jobs separately, they start going around together (purely for educational purposes so Adam can understand the museum better 👀)

They end up being really close friends.

Then, Sam and Dean somehow find out about the tablet. They’re still hunters in this au and they decide that they need the tablet for their own purposes. Of course, Adam’s like “uh fuck that” and protects the museum.

He and Michael work together to make sure that the Winchesters can’t get in and that they can’t hurt the exhibits. Michael really starts to admire Adam at this point; this night guard college student, who has no relation to the museum in the slightest, is still defending it and protecting it with a ferocity that he hasn’t seen since his past life. It’s inspiring and it motivates Michael to work even harder to protect the museum... and Adam.

Hijinx ensue. The whole museum works together to set traps and distractions for the winchesters (most of which are highly embarrassing for the boys but Incredibly hilarious for everyone else), and Adam and Michael are at the head of it, together.

Adam essentially tells his brothers to fuck off before he calls the police and they scamper away.

Adam stays working at the museum until he graduates. He and Michael have this strange half-platonic half-romantic thing going on, which they’re too afraid to address because they know it’s going to end someday.

When that day comes, it’s hard. They knew it was going to be hard, but it’s more heartbreaking than they ever imagined. At the end of the night, just before the sun rises, all of the exhibits are back in place except for one. Adam and Michael are sitting together in front of the angel tablet, their knees brushing together, when Michael picks up Adam’s hand and gently kisses his knuckles.

Adam looks to the angel that he’s fallen for and sighs shakily. “I’ll come visit, you know. This isn’t goodbye, Mike, just... farewell, for now.” Adam squeezed Michael’s hand, and it’s warm. Michael is warm, despite the fact that his body is inanimate. Adam likes to believe that it’s his soul that warms him.

When Michael gets into position that night, his expression is sadder than normal. Before he freezes, Adam stands up on his tiptoes and kissed Michael’s cheek. Michael’s face is frozen between a look of shock and pure excitement. Adam smiles and takes a picture, making it the background on his phone.

One day, years later, Adam goes to visit the museum and Michael’s exhibit is gone. He immediately panics, assuming the worst; that Michael was transported somewhere where Adam couldn’t get to him, or that he was destroyed, or something that took his angel away from him.

He goes to the front desk and demands to speak to the museum director when he catches something in the corner of his eye. It’s... Michael, but he’s wearing everyday clothes and he’s alive during the daytime. Adam runs over to him and crushes him in a hug and he feels incredibly human within his arms.

Apparently, when Michael learned that his exhibit was being moved, he decided that it was his time to become human. He still knew how to read the tablet, despite not truly being an angel, and he found a spell (similar to the one Sam used to bring back Eileen in s15) that made him human.

Adam calls him an idiot (affectionate). Michael smiles and says “I trust you to be my guide,” fully confident that Adam would accept him into his life. He’s right, of course.

Adam takes him home and they spend the rest of their human lives together.

[toonqueen]

Duckvember 2020

PART 1 OF 2

Part 2 is Here

Frenemy AND Paramour

This is my Negaverse Gladstone (Grimstone) and Nega Magica in my 87/Comics headcanon. SHELDRAKE is @cataradical 's and he’s a cool jerk. Wheee.

THERE IS CUSSING and dirty things said. It’s the Negaverse that's just what goes down there. PG-13ish?!

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Sheldrake was glad to have a very easy mission this time. It was planned to be the typical “act natural at a party, steal a thing, and then slip out” kind of job. And it was a solo mission; no coworkers to be annoyed with him (and vice versa). To top it off, he was actually invited to this shindig. Well, his paladin sect received the invite, but that meant he didn’t have to sneak in. With everything added up, it was practically a vacation!

What Shel expected to be a boring hunters’ gala was anything but. The leaders of different groups were trying to appeal to a modern, younger crowd. Instead of a stuffy meeting with the typical job fair flair, it was a real, honest to God party. A full bar! And dancers in cages! Sheldrake couldn't help but chuckle at how hard old fogey hunters were trying to get new blood. Crimey.

The paladin went to the bar and ordered a drink. He sat on a stool facing the crowd, keeping an eye out for his target. 

"Well, hello there," a sultry voice greeted him. A tall redheaded duck leaned up against the bar beside him. She motioned to the bartender to get his attention. "I'll have what he's having."

Sheldrake wasn't caught off guard by the attractive duck's flirting. Despite his cursed energy that often drove others away or made them immediately dislike him, people that were intentionally and professionally deceptive could overcome it in an attempt to get something they wanted. Lord, it was a test, though.

The lady’s tight red dress and orange wavy locks were clearly up to no good. She was a literal red herring if Shel ever saw one. However, he played it cool.

"First hunter's gala?" He sipped his drink and gave the mystery woman a smile.

"Oh, I've been to a few--none quite like this though. Luckily I dressed for the occasion," she paused like she was turning a knob to up the seduction. She moved around, but kept looking back at Shel. "It would be even more exciting if I had one of those VIP passes I've heard others whisper so much about."

Sheldrake smirked. He knew this overtly sexy duck was trying to weasel her way to being a plus one on a special invite. However, he was curious as to why. "Yeah, it would be great to have one of those. But what is it even for? To join an exclusive party with more go-go dancers in cages?"

The redhead let out a giggle. A high pitched one, as if Sheldrake were just the funniest, most charming guy in the room. "I heard it was for a special auction. A bunch of rare items retrieved and uncovered by different hunters,” she replied. “My, I couldn't afford any of them, but I would love to look. Be some nice arm candy for a kind gentleman."

Sheldrake just chuckled before taking a sip of his drink. The lady hadn't touched hers yet. She watched him, slowly drawing her finger around the rim of the glass with a bewitching glow in her eyes.

Finally, Sheldrake said bluntly, "I'd give your performance a 9 out of 10. It might work on those first year hunters over there.” He waved vaguely to a group of younger bachelor-types chatting and laughing on the dance floor. “However, not quite buyin’ what you’re sellin’.”

The redhead shot them a quick look before turning back to Shel. "But they're not my type," she pouted. She leaned in a bit toward the paladin, and placed her hand over his on the bar. "I’d rather have someone more seasoned who can answer any questions I may have about the artifacts."

"Oh, I see, I see; switching gears, okay, okay. Stroke my ego first, then go for my intellect? If sex doesn't sell, then try brains? Gettin’ any warmer?" Sheldrake downed the rest of his drink in one gulp. "Well, this has been very amusing, and I wish you all the luck. Unfortunately, my VIP pass is just for me and doesn't allow a buddy. Boo dang hoo. Maybe try one of those light paladins in the white capes over to the left. They're way more sociable and have to travel in pairs." He gave another general hand wave… everywhere.

The redhead narrowed her dusky eyes. It was the first time she had shown any annoyance with Shel--ah, there it was, back to normal. The paladin slid off his stool, but before he could stand, the lady pressed her entire body flush against his side, beak in his head feathers..

Sheldrake expected a final desperate plea. Something to the effect of “I really need to see this event for my research,” or “please help me, I lost my own pass and my sect will be furious.”

Instead he got a low, unexpected voice. A familiar one that could be likened to Antonio Birderas' role in “Debate with a Vampire”, except if he were a white peking duck raised in suburbia with a twinge of a farmboy accent.

"Shel, I need to get into that auction to obtain a crucial item," Grimstone's voice whispered clearly out of this petite, curvy redheaded lady’s bill, "you have to give me your pass."

The paladin did not outwardly act surprised. He had 100% picked up the fact this woman was hiding something--more than the obvious. He did not expect, however, that Grimestone would be involved.

Shel hummed shortly. With a coy smile, he slid a hand around the redhead’s waist, whispered, "I didn't know you were so proficient in glamour spells."

"I'm not," Grimstone said, his voice reverting back to that soft, playful feminine tone, "my wife is one of the gentlemen servers."

"Oh, how cute," Sheldrake teased, pulling away from the duck.

"She doesn't like to be… flashy," Grimstone explained, a little defensive, looking over his luscious figure and tight-fitting dress.

"I get it, I get it. Taking one for the team, hm?" the paladin smirked as he sized Grimstone’s disguise up, "give my compliments to the caster, though.” He blew a kiss from his fingertips, as if praising a delicious gourmet meal. “Great job. Succulent, divine, mouthwateringly juicy."

Grimstone scowled, crossing his arms. "Sheldrake, the pass."

"Sorry. I have business here, too," the paladin disagreed, "why don't you try those frat boys I recommended earlier?”

"I’ve already tried. You were my last resort. Trust me, this is for the greater good," Grimstone explained.

Sheldrake put his hand to his chin, pretending he was thinking deeply. Grimstone and him had an interesting work relationship; they’d helped each other on several occasions in the past, but also had been on opposite sides a few times, too. Finally, after much consideration, he said casually, "Yeah, no. I'm sure you'll find another way."

Grimstone’s tiny manicured fingers curled into tight fists. "Is there somewhere private we could discuss this more openly?" he pressed.

"Man, this is a borderline orgy sex party. I'm sure there’s a room we can get for a half an hour," Sheldrake replied, then gave an obnoxious wink. 

Grim rolled his eyes. “I don’t have time for this. People have been dipping out to the stairwell to smoke. We’ll talk there,” the disguised warlock suggested.

“Sure. Sure. I take it your high school prom wasn’t that exciting,” Sheldrake taunted. 

Grim sighed and nodded to a waiter nearby before taking Sheldrake’s arm in his. “Let’s walk, then. Hopefully no one’s there at the moment,” he said. Despite the voice coming from the redhead being so playful and demure, Sheldrake could tell Grimstone was using his “I'm taking charge of this operation” tone. 

Sheldrake would normally roll his eyes when Grim spoke to him so seriously, as if he were one of his many wild rugrats. However, he played along, swaying off side by side with this very attractive lady.

Once outside on the desolate stairwell, Grimstone exhaled heavily. "There is a magical person of interest I’m here to free, and it's of the utmost importance that I do.” He spoke in an unusual voice; neither his normal voice, or his disguise’s. Rather, a unique combination; feminine, but more husky. Kinda cute, actually.

"And you don't think what I'm doing here isn’t important, too?" Sheldrake replied, loosely crossing his arms.

"I really *do not* have time for this Shel. I’m handling a case where a school of children were transformed into inanimate objects, and I need to free this woman known as the Brunswick witch who specializes in these curses and can break it,," Grimstone explained. He glanced cautiously at the stairwell window.

"And I have an out of place artifact from a different universe I need to win--or steal, if I have to. I can't give you my pass," Sheldrake insisted. He was going to add a flirty comment, but quickly saw the short nod Grimstone gave in the window’s direction before looking back at him again. 

Sheldrake sighed. "You're really going to fight me in a building full of hunters?” He leaned close, booping his beak against Grimstone’s. “*Really*, my guy?”

"I need the pass, Shel. You leave me no choice," Grimstone lamented, rolling his hands up his arms as if drawing back sleeves. Sheldrake expected a punch, but was instead tackled around the waist like a damn linebacker instead. 

Sheldrake would’ve had the wind knocked out of him if he hit the ground like Grim intended. Instead, he wiggled his shoulder and pulled an arm free, grabbing his attacker. With expert ease, Sheldrake pinned Grim down on his back with one knee in a partial straddle. 

Brushing loose bangs from his eyes, he looked down to see if Grim had slipped out of his glamour in the brief scuffle. Rather, Grimstone’s disguise was shifting, brows becoming thicker, body filling out, patches of feathers turning black.

Grimstone was trying to copy and transform into Sheldrake. 

“Aw,” Sheldrake chortled at the struggling duck, “well, they do say imitation is the sincerest form of flattery.”

Grimstone gave a distinctively annoyed “ugh” before ripping an arm free and grabbing Shel by the throat; however, he didn’t squeeze or attempt to choke him. "And I do often tell you to go fuck yourself."

"That… trying to be a badass line doesn't quite work in your position, buddy," Sheldrake added as he fought to keep Grimstone's hand down.

"I just have to,” Grimstone's voice dipped back down to his own before changing into one eerily similar to Sheldrake’s, "keep you talking."

"Hol-lee shit. Well, the glamour spell might’ve been the missus, but you're totally doing that all on your own. How quaint! I can't believe you've been holding out on me. I thought you told me *all* the tricks you could do," Sheldrake replied. Grimstone went to grab something, anything from Sheldrake’s pocket. “Oh, no, you don't! Don't get handsy with me."

"You didn’t have a problem with it before," Grimstone snarked at the comment. He continued flailing and clawing until Sheldrake eased back to elbow him in the beak. Just enough leverage for the warlock to free his second hand, grip Shel’s shoulder tight.

Grimstone snarled, twisting one of his leg's around Shel's until they switched positions, the paladin now pinned beneath the demonic duck.

"How is it that we're both expertly trained in hand to hand combat, but whenever we fight, it’s like we’re stupid little kids slapping each other on the playground during recess?" Grimstone grunted. He continued searching desperately for some personal item on Sheldrake while also trying to hold the speckled duck down. Shel managed to punch him in the jaw before Grim hooked his arm around Sheldrake's to pin it back above the paladin’s head.

"I just assume,” Sheldrake grunted, arm freed and throttling Grim, "I assume we don't really want to kill each other, so we do all this bullshit ass grabbing--"

The stairwell door abruptly and loudly opened. Both ducks stopped fighting, looking up with eyes comically bugging from their shocked faces.

A paladin recruit in their early twenties stared back at them, blinking. “Um…” he gaped.

Two almost identical dudes, possibly, maybe twins, with one wearing a sexy dress, wrestling on the stairwell. 

“Look,” the recruit grumbled, raising a hand, "I'm not judging whatever fetish is going on here, but please do it somewhere more, uh, private? Some of us need to vape.” With a grumble, he left, shutting the door behind him.

"Well, shit," Sheldrake snorted. Grimstone sighed. The two relaxed and unwound, sitting side by side.

"We need to solve this. Now," Grimstone said firmly. Sheldrake watched as he stood, offering his hand to help the paladin up. "I don’t want to fight you, but I need to save those children."

Shel blinked then finally conceded with a big, exaggerated sigh. "Okay, okay.” He took Grim’s hand. “... Actually... I think I have an idea."

-----

The third floor of the hotel was unsettlingly quiet. There was a low murmur of voices coming from the auction room, barely audible outside the door.

"Grim! Grim!" the blonde duck whispered harshly as she walked up to Sheldrake. The male server uniform Magica wore was baggy when she was out of glamour. She fixed the bun in her hair as she said, "You have to be careful. I overheard a few disturbing things about the auction… I'm worried some of the items could hurt you. Maybe… maybe I should go instead."

"It's fine, it's fine. I know what I'm doing. Besides, I'm the only one who could get his voice right,” Sheldrake--Grimstone--replied. He smirked, a slight leer on his beak. “But how about a kiss for good luck anyway?"

Magica glanced around the hallway; with the coast clear, she leaned in to peck the corner of Grimstone’s beak. "Please, please, please do be careful," she pleaded.

Magica turned to leave, then stopped; turned back around quickly. She took Grimstone’s face in her hands and pulled him into a deep kiss. He could feel her tongue shyly stroke his for a second, hands affectionately squeezing his cheeks, caressing the corners of his beak. 

The light witch broke the kiss when she heard a noise from down the hall. Luckily, they were still alone.

"I'm getting this foreboding feeling off you, Grim,” Magica said dubiously, “you sure you're full up on luck?" She let his face go and stepped back, slipping into the form of a masculine Borzoi waiter. 

The “paladin” restrained an amused grin. "Really, I'm fine,” he reassured. “You do your job, and I'll do mine.” He winked, then entered the ballroom.

Magica took the stairwell at the end of the hall to the lobby downstairs, only to be greeted by Grimstone a second later. She looked up, eyes wide; it was Grimstone’s voice, undeniably, but he was still disguised as Sheldrake.

"Love, there’s been a change in plans," Grim stated.

With a blink and *poof*, Magica changed back to her normal form. "Who... what...? I thought I just spoke to you a second… You were that paladin, but... How?" She squeezed Grimstone’s shoulders, scanning his eyes and face closely.

"I’m disguised as the paladin I told you about, yes. He’s agreed to help us; we need to wait by the fire escape in case he needs emergency back-up should anything go wrong," Grimstone explained.

Slowly, color drained from Magica’s beak.

“What is it?” Grimstone asked, concerned.

"N-Nothing!” Magic squawked. How could she have been so easily deceived-- “I'll explain later. Let's go help your friend." She quickly disguised both herself and Grimstone as canine servers. "We'll just… act like we’re taking a smoke break in the back."

"Good, I was thinking the same.” Grimstone frowned and looked away. “And he's not my friend…” he trailed off.

"But we can trust him to help us, right?" Magica asked in her own voice.

"Eh, we can trust him, but not *trust* him," Grimstone said vaguely, “if you get what I mean.”

Magica rubbed her temples. "We're leaving this mission to a paladin *you don't fully trust*?"

"Oh, I don't know. I seem to remember doing the same thing a long time ago, and that worked out just fine," Grim said with a half smile, squeezing Magica’s shoulder.

"That's different! I was a lightbearer. I--" Magica was interrupted by the opening of a stairwell door above them.

Grim took Magica by the arm. "Let's go take that smoke break," he said quietly, guiding her down the hall.

------

[andrea-lyn]

Okay, if you still have room for prompts, anything you'd like to write (maybe a couple of years in the future) for Maribel in Dr. Isobel Evans and the Fountain of Youth universe?

Every year on Maria’s birthday, Isobel gives her twopresents.Isobel’s finishing up the first present (with her tongue working very hard tomake sure it’s the best birthday present ever) when Maria tugs on her hair andbrings Isobel up towards her lips for a messy kiss. “I know what I want thisyear,” Maria says, a sparkle in her eyes, “for my special birthday present.”Every year after Isobel devotes hours to worshiping her girlfriend’s body, sheoffers one adventure into an old myth or artifact – Maria’s choice – which theygo chasing down after. Isobel’s had to put some restrictions on it because sheneeds to be able to actually find it, which is why she’s taken to giving Mariaher book of half-finished cases for Maria to slide through and pick.“Oh?” Isobel murmurs against the kiss, straddling her girlfriend so she canteasingly slide her fingers over her abdomen, toying and gently advancingtowards her breasts. “And what adventure are you dragging me on this year?”“Medusa,” Maria says, tugging Isobel down for another kiss.

Isobel drags herself away from the kiss reluctantly, but she needs to make sureMaria’s serious about this one. “You’re sure?”It’s not that she can’t deliver (she actually thinks she’s very close on thisone, to the point that she knows the exact location of where they need to go,even though when they get there is where the adventure truly starts). It’s thepart where it’s a dangerous case if the legends are to be believed. If Mariaand Isobel have learned anything over the years, it’s that most of the legendsthat they hear about are simply real things that got twisted into myths.Isobel has to wonder if there aren’t a few tall tales about her out there.(Privately, she hopes there are)“I’m so sure,” Maria promises, her breath hitching as Isobel’s long hands splayover her rib cage and those deep breaths send Isobel’s palms rising and falling.“Scorned woman who gets revenge on men?” She gives Isobel a confident littlegrin. “Sounds right up our alley.”She’s right about that.“Then we’re on the case,” Isobel makes her promise. “I’ll call in and give theschool my notice, book the tickets tonight. Hand me my phone?” “Really? You want your phone right now?” Maria tips her head to the side andflips them so that Isobel’s the one on her back. Maria begins to slowly inchher way gracefully lower, pressing slow kisses over Isobel’s skin as she goes.“There’s nothing I can do to convince you to hold that thought for tomorrowmorning?”Isobel’s back arches as Maria pushes her thighs apart and her curls tickle thesensitive skin there as she begins to be very distracting. Letting out ayelp and a pleading cry, Isobel tangles her hands in Maria’s hair, breathingraggedly as she decides that sure, tomorrow sounds like the perfect time to dothe work.“Fuck, Maria,” she gets out, her voice low and thick with need.“That’s next,” is Maria’s guarantee, but Isobel wants less talking and moreattention paid to her, so she uses her fingers to dig into Maria’s hair andguide her back to what she wants. It might be Maria’s birthday, but that’s no excuse for Isobel to go completelywithout pleasure tonight.And tomorrow, she’ll start planning a trip to go and search for the mythicalMedusa. *A week later, Isobel’s got their bags packed and is in her summer best – alinen white pantsuit and a large-brimmed hat. She hands Maria the planetickets, taking smug delight in seeing Maria’s face light up. “Greece?”“Sometimes, the myth’s not completely wrong,” Isobel says, wrapping herarm around Maria’s waist to guide her to the hired car that’s waiting. “I haveher tracked down to a small village in Greece. There are stories right up untila few months ago about lifelike statues of certain objects, including men,” shesays. “Whatever Medusa might have been once upon a time is still happening now.From my research, I think they’re aliens who pass their powers down to the nextgeneration,” Isobel shares as she helps Maria into the car.“So she’s real? Medusa is real?” Maria asks dubiously. “You’re the one who picked this case!”“I thought maybe it would be some kind of artifact that might touch you tostone. Maybe, I don’t know, a vase or a hairbrush.” Maria’s eyes are growingwider and Isobel recognizes that look. They’re not leaving Greece until theyfind this woman, so Isobel has to hope this isn’t a dead end.  “It’s a woman, a poor woman.” Her gaze growssteely and she turns on her seat to look at Isobel. “We’re going to rescueher.”“Yes, we are,” Isobel guarantees.The rewarding kiss that Isobel gets for her staunch determination is a niceincentive, even though it’s one she wouldn’t have needed. Maria has a habit ofpicking the most amazing cases for them to look into, and now that they’vedeveloped a routine, Isobel feels safe bringing Maria into the field with her. It's an easy trip to Greece, seeing as Isobel’s booked them in first class thewhole way there, which means that when they arrive, she’s feeling refreshed andready to go. She settles her satchel over her shoulder, sable fedora on her head, and linksarms with Maria as she brings them to the small coastal town where the trailhad gone cold. It’s a beautiful seaside town with mountains nearby, a placethat Isobel thinks could have been a romantic getaway even without theadventuring side-trip aspect.Isobel will focus on the beautiful sights around them later. Right now, she’s ready to go, eager, and they have a trail to pick up. “What doyou say we go talk to some locals?” Isobel suggests, once they’ve unpacked intheir hotel penthouse suite (because Isobel only travels in style and she lovessplurging on Maria). “I was thinking ouzo at the bar,” Maria agrees, with a flirty little smileIsobel’s way. She adjusts her wide-brimmed sun hat, leading the way in a shortlittle sundress that’s definitely going to get Isobel plenty thirsty soon. They’ve got work to do before they get to their celebrations. “Sounds like a plan.”It's a plan that gets them exactly where they need to be, as it turns out.Because the moment they enter the tavern, Isobel hears it. It’s a mournful wailing that can’t be ignored, something that only other alienswould be able to do. Isobel feels completely vindicated and despite theheadache she’s going to have, she’s smiling smugly. “What?” Maria asks, knowing her girlfriend well.“I hear her,” Isobel says, doubling back on the tavern to search for where thatcry is coming from. When she turns towards the mountains, it seems to amplify.“There,” she says, and tugs on Maria’s hand to get them moving that way. The ouzo is going to have to wait. Isobel follows the distressed psychic call in her mind, knowing with immenseclarity that Medusa isn’t just a real woman, but she’s an alien. She tugs onMaria’s hand to bring her along, towards the cavernous mountain complex. Asthey move, it begins to get louder, more like a scream than a piercingalarm, and she stops near a large mansion that sits on the mountainside.“Iz,” Maria murmurs, when Isobel stops in her tracks. “What is it? Is it here?”Isobel tries to sort through the screaming in her head, because it’s not comingfrom the house. She looks to the side, where there’s a grotto-like entrancenearby in the garden. Wordlessly, she begins to pull Maria with her, knowingthat the hairs on the back of her neck are standing on end and she should becautious, but she knows that this is the right way to go. Whatever is waiting for them is inside that cave structure. “Isobel,” Maria hisses, more worried now. “No, it’s okay,” Isobel promises, because the screaming is gone. She’s closedher eyes to send out a peaceful signal, that they’re here to rescue the woman,that they’re friends, and it’s going to be okay. “I promise, it’s okay,” sheguarantees, and advances towards the cave. It’s a deep structure, with limestone and labyrinthine twists and turns, but agentle slope downwards. Isobel creeps further into the cave, passing a manfrozen in time in stone form. She can hear breathing a little further and whenshe glances up, she sees a beautiful woman behind bars. There are no snakes inher hair, but it’s clearly matted. Not for one moment does Isobel fear avertingher gaze.Whatever happened to this man had been done purposefully, and Isobel trusts thesame won’t happen to them.“Oh, thank the heavens,” the woman sobs. “It’s been four days since I got soangry and turned him to stone and the last of my food ran out this morning. Ithought I was doomed, I thought I was done for.”That psychic resonance from earlier makes sense now. It had been a last-ditchattempt – a desperate wail to try and get another alien’s attention.Cautiously, she steps aside to gesture for Maria to come into the cave, stillwary, but trusting that they’re not going to be turned to stone.“I’m Isobel Evans and this is my girlfriend, Maria. We’re not here to hurtyou,” she says bluntly, wanting to make sure they’re all on the same page whenit comes to that.“I’m Marianna Méduse,” she introduces herself, but her smile turns wry andbrittle. “I think you already know what it is my family can do.”“How long have you been here?” Maria asks, her brow furrowed and her tonedripping with sympathy. Isobel almost tells her to roll it back, because pityisn’t something that a prisoner is probably after. Marianna doesn’t seem to mind, but she likely has other things that she’sworried about. “Only a few weeks,” she says, exhaling with dismay. “I’m normally so good atkeeping my powers contained. When I get so angry that they activate, it’s onlyanimals that I turned or inanimate objects. Then, a month ago in the local bar,some man grabbed by arm too tightly. I turned on him and it was instantaneous,like I didn’t even think about it. They locked me up here in this torture caveafter.”“Men,” Isobel says derisively, with all the proper hatred in her voice. Shefocuses on the lock, using powers that Michael’s been teaching her to unlockit, watching the door swing open. “The good news is that we’re here to rescueyou,” she says brightly. “And you can do whatever you want.”“You’re like me? An alien?” Marianna says, staring at Isobel.“I heard you,” Isobel says, which should give her the answer she’s looking for.“I’m like you, and if you want to come with us, we’d like to take you away fromhere, give you some security.” Isobel can only imagine that the town is nolonger a home for her. She can only imagine the spectacle of what must havehappened in the bar and the witch hunt that had followed to get Marianna lockedup like this.She lets her gaze slide between the two of them, clearly still nervous aboutthem, and unsteady about whatever decision she’s about to make.“Isobel means what she says,” Maria adds, stepping forward to hold out bothhands to her. It’s an invitation and an opening, showing that they’re allowingthemselves to be vulnerable to her. “We’ll take care of you, we promise. Thereare others like you back where we live. People like you, and you can beyourself.”Marianna glances to Isobel, like she’s waiting for her advice.“It’s your choice,” she says. “But I think Maria’s right. There’s a whole otherworld waiting for you and I’d like to show you that you can be an alien in thisworld and not be afraid.”Marianna steps forward, takes Maria’s hands, and sags forward with a relievedsob. Well, at least bringing a woman back home with them is going to be much easierto clear through customs than a cursed vase or statue. The logistics of whatthey’re going to do once she gets there is a little trickier, but Isobeldoesn’t care at the moment. They’ve rescued an imprisoned woman and are givingan alien a new chance at life.She’ll call that a successful mission any day.*“I still can’t believe you did that,” Michael mutters as he drinks his secondof the night, care of Mimi’s soft spot for him. Maria would never give him twoin a row so quickly (or for free), but Mimi’s been out of the hospital for afew days now and every time Michael smiles sweetly at her and reminds her thatAlex married him, she melts and pours him a new one.One day, that’s going to stop working.And one day, Isobel will stop being jealous that she doesn’t get the same eventhough she’s dating Mimi’s daughter (though maybe if she got off her ass andproposed, she’d get all the free drinks she wants).Isobel pries her gaze away from the booth at the back of the bar, even if it’snearly impossible to take her eyes off Maria when she’s wearing that gorgeous bluedress. “What?”Michael rolls his eyes. “Earth to Isobel,” he quips, snapping his fingers infront of her face. He gestures heatedly to the booth. “That!”Isobel looks back to try and understand why Michael’s so annoyed. Maria andAlex have got Marianna there with them, getting her acclimatized to life backin society. They’re starting with Roswell instead of a bigger city because theywant to make sure that she’s comfortable before she goes back out into theworld fully.Kyle’s also there, because Maria and Isobel had conspired to introduce Mariannato a few decent men.Oh.Well, that explains Michael’s annoyance. “He’s not the same asshole he used tobe, you know. Maria and I thought it’d be nice if Marianna met a decent guy.”Michael opens his mouth and Isobel rolls her eyes. “Alex is married and doesn’tcount,” she cuts him off, already knowing exactly what he was going to say.“I still think there are better men out there,” Michael grumbles, picking upthe beers so they can head back to that table. “You married the one you think is best,” Isobel counters. “Of course you do.”“Speaking of marriage…”Isobel’s on her feet, because she doesn’t need this grief from Michael, either.“Maria!” she says brightly, walking fast enough to get in front of Michael sohe can’t push a topic that she’s planning (she just needs more time).“How’s everything over here?” she asks, settling back into Maria’s arms. “Marianna and Kyle were just talking about how they both want to go on a roadtrip and how she’s always wanted to see California.” Isobel recognizes thatsmug note in Maria’s voice. She loves the thrill of the hunt, but she alsoenjoys meddling in the love lives of their friends (which is partially why sheand Michael get along, because neither of them can stop pestering the otherabout their relationships). “I was giving them some tips.”Michael puts the beer in front of Alex before he slides in beside him. “And if he turns out to snore in his sleep,” he jokes, “then none of us wouldmind a stone Valenti.”“It would immortalize his abs,” Alex says absently, sipping at his beer. “Giveus a chance to touch them more.”Kyle flushes furiously red, Michael lets out a jealous cry, and Isobel can’thelp laughing until she cries, loving how badly that’s backfired on him. Shecan tell Marianna is still slightly out of her depth here, but Maria’s betterthan all of them, because she’s the one who leans over and murmurs, “Take theroad trip,” in an encouraging tone, “and definitely get to see the abs.”“They’re an attraction of their own,” Isobel agrees, getting comfortable atMaria’s side as all hell breaks loose. She doesn’t care in the slightest. It’s been another amazing adventure andanother great year with her girlfriend. Better than that, Isobel’s alreadyconcocting a plan to make Maria’s birthday next year the best yet, because whatcould be better than a proposal and a honeymoon adventure?Nothing in the world, as far as Isobel’s concerned.

[chronicbatfictioner]

A Real Boy - Chapter 22

"So... King Kong is real, and even Solovar don't know what to do with it."

"Technically--" Barbara started, and then changed her mind. "Forget it. I can't even-- I don't even know what's real or not real but is... real, anymore."

Dick placed his elbow on the table and chin on his hand. "I'm with you in this. But if you're gonna say that 'technically Solovar of Gorilla City is King Kong', you're not wrong. Just... this King Kong is about three, four storeys' tall. And Solovar himself isn't even eight feet tall. He's like, seven-foot-two? Something?"

"I'm lost." Tim admitted, as he walked in to the room in the middle of the conversation.

"Hi, Lost--"

"Grayson, no dad jokes. You're not a dad, yet." Jason interrupted.

"Did my bike get home in one piece?" Dick turned to Jason.

"Definitely not, it's in approximately 142 pieces between here and Sprang Bridge." Jason replied insolently.

"Oh, cool. Considering there are about 800 pieces on that thing, means the puzzle pieces that was my bike are still big enough to reassemble..." Dick responded idly.

Tim met Barbara's glare before simultaneously rolling their respective eyes.

"Uh, guys? King Kong?" Tim finally decided to press. "I know I'm not gonna like the answer. But I gotta ask, don't I?"

"Yeah, well, I didn't like it either, but I ended up facing it..." Dick replied, shifting. Tim finally noticed and realized that under the fitted V-necked shirt, there were parallel bulges. Slight enough to not be noticed, if Tim hasn't seen the sliver of white under Dick's collar.

"You're injured." Jason, who apparently noticed the same thing, commented first.

"Pretty much. Bruised ribs, several stitches--"

"Dozen. Several dozen stitches," Barbara corrected.

"--several dozen stitches. And they all came from a freakin' King Kong."

"Dick was the damsel in distress, shrieks and all. Only Kong wasn't looking to like, rescue him from the nasties that is Men's World, but rather to devour him or something." Barbara elaborated. "And I have the only unedited footage, complete with sound."

"Dibs on watching it!" Jason exclaimed.

"It squished me." Dick said, looking almost proud. "And I gotta say that was the first I've seen Kong vs Elephant."

"Zitka was... clearly unhappy and expanded herself to be bigger than the Kong. Rammed herself onto Kong and freed Dick. The others... Arsenal was then able to shoot it with enough tranquilizer to sedate... --uh..."

"Ten gorillas?" Jason's unsuccessful attempt to not smirk was all too visible.

"Yeeeah, thereabout. Probably closer to like, twenty gorillas from Gorilla City that are larger than common gorillas by default..." Dick concluded. "And then Donna Troy moved it from Downtown Manhattan to... I dunno where she brought Kong to." he admitted.

"Best to not know, really. It was re-shrunk into its ordinary size - which is, as anyone would suspect, that of a common silverback gorilla..." Barbara finished. "Sooo... you guys got Cthulhu, I've heard."

"What the hell's going on, anyway? We've got literal made-up creatures coming out the wazoo..." Jason groused.

"I thought Cthulhu was real...?" Barbara queried.

"It is - the species. But not as massive as the one we saw on campus. Just like your Kong." Jason explained. "So yeah, what the hell...?"

"Those creatures were made up. Man-made with... Well, I'd say Lovecraft probably had the better prosaic description of the one we saw. But a massive Kong was absolutely... unimaginative." Tim remarked. "I'm just hoping that whoever did this won't do Jurassic Park next..."

"I would probably roll my eyes so hard at the first live T-rex or velociraptors I see, shoot them damn things and make steaks." Dick growled. His eyes suddenly widen. "I am, however, hoping this person isn't a sci-fi fan..." he said dramatically, glaring alternatively at Jason, Barbara, and then Tim.

Tim groaned exasperatedly. "If I see a Jabba or an ewok, organic or not, I'm gonna change them back to plastic."

Jason gasped mockingly. "But Tim! There could be creatures like them anywhere else in the universe! It's like we're alone in the whole universe!"

"Oh shut up." Tim snarled at him. "Eh... wait..." a thought suddenly hit him. "They were all man-made, organic, and sentient."

"I seriously could see a lightbulb switched on in his head..." Dick remarked as Tim mulled his thoughts, which promptly changed into the thought of 'what if all humans or magi would have an image of a lightbulb getting switched on whenever they got a brilliant idea?'

Fortunately the split second question did not interrupt Tim's main line of thoughts at all.

"They weren't supposed to be alive, or sentient, or exist. Or organic. Sizes notwithstanding..." Tim muttered under his breath after the pictures of his thought lined up a little neater in his mind.

"The person has the same powers as yours?" Barbara hazarded a guess.

"I can't make living things out of inanimate ob--" Tim said, and stopped abruptly. "Where is Lex Luthor now?"

"Belle Reve, last I checked," came Bruce's voice. "he's constantly undergoing psychiatric evaluation on daily basis. He's still there and has no contact with either his former associates or employees."

"How well do you trust the staff at Belle Reve?" Tim insisted. "I mean, he managed to make Conner. He's the only one who had managed to turn an effigy - a statue - into a human being!"

Bruce glared at Tim contemplatively - at least that was what Tim hoped for, and not anger out of Tim's insolence in doubting him.

"The staff at Belle Reve is... commanded by Amanda Waller, a staunch proponent of controlling magickal abilities and artifacts for the good of humankind, regardless of their magickal abilities or lack thereof. She will not let Luthor meddle with anyone under her watch." Bruce explained. "Some things Waller has done that I... generally do not approve of. She is a warlock, you see. But like me, she had opted for protection rather than destruction. Her methods still made me cringe, sometimes. But it is... out of my jurisdiction."

Tim could see that Bruce was gritting his teeth for the last few sentences, and Barbara confirmed his suspicion by saying, "she's like, a government-sanctioned agent. She could and has actually applied the death sentence and perform... experimental methods upon her inmates."

"Oh," now Tim cringed, too. It was public secret that the government - their government - has agencies that were authorized to do things that would be frowned upon by general morality, and that was just Tim's brain being nice. Human experimentation - through magickal or other means - was at the forefront of the reasons. Not surprisingly, death sentence was far further in the list.

Still, there was a more important question in Tim's mind that was not answered by either Bruce or Barbara.

"But do you trust her enough not to use Luthor's abilities for her own advantage?" Tim insisted.

The quiet that followed was punctuated by a distant screech of a bat, as if mocking their sudden silence filled with blatant uncertainty.

"I do not." Bruce finally said after some good long seconds. "I should have given you excuses and reasons on why, but I cannot provide you with answers that will not sound like a cliché."

"Good to know that you're not a typical adult who'd say we youngins should trust our government implicitly and explicitly." Tim deadpanned.

"I wouldn't still be here if he's like that. I'll check if Waller is in any way complicit or in any way behaving differently in the past... well, through the times of the strange goings-on, really. You'll need a broad data points to see patterns, right?" Barbara asked, and Tim froze a little at just how easy it seemed for Barbara to offer an activity that would generally constituted to a 'Big Brother' type of thing. Barbara, probably sensing his uneasiness, smiled and added, "no, Tim, I don't watch her 24/7 deliberately. But we do live in a kind of Big Brother country, after all. She was the one suggesting that the government keep watch over all of its citizens."

"Barbara just figured out ways to keep certain people out of the loop, like - you know - what the government itself would do for their secret agents and CIA and stuff." Dick elaborated.

"But if she's like, out of the loop...?" Tim hesitated.

"That's what I did, she can keep the government watching common people and hide her own people - or people like her; but she can't hide from me." Barbara smirked. "The Oracle's Tiara made it possible for me to manipulate cameras and programs to literally show what is hidden. So no, there's no need for me to keep watch on people 24/7. I'm not that dedicated. Or have nothing better to do with my time..."

"Oh, cool," Tim was interested this time. "If, say, I want to know where Dick is at certain time and date, you can find that out." he ascertained.

"Yes, if I allowed you to. But no, Tim, I don't stalk Dick, either." Barbara chuckled.

"Yeah, no... that was just an example 'cause I think Dick and Bruce - at least - would've been hidden from the government cams, anyway. But... not your cams, right?" Tim spluttered. "I mean, I've made sure that all recordings of me would at least be distorted - if not destroyed - every time I did something magickal in public..."

"...and you've done a very good job that none of us even know of your existence. I figured that if you can hide that well, it shouldn't be a big trouble for you to figure out how to reverse engineer your trick to find what you want to find, yes?" Bruce hinted, not-so-subtly.

Tim glared at him, blinking owlishly, more lost in his own thoughts than anything else as methods after methods of reverse 'engineering' camera filters started spinning in his mind.

"Right," Bruce nodded. "Just let Barbara know what you need and how we can help." he decided.

"I haven't even say I'll do it!" Tim protested out of habit.

"Your mouth denies it, but your entire body language is already trying to figure out how to solve this, little Timmy!" Dick chuckled. "So let's! I want to know how King Kong came to happen and if I can use it to make a bat that I can ride on!"