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dianawinchester03 · 5 months

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Season 1, Episode 17 - Hell House

Series Masterlist

Third Person POV

Dean is driving down Interstate 35, Y/N is fast asleep in the back seat after beating Sam in rock paper scissors for it, while Sam is fast asleep in the passenger seat with his mouth open. Dean smirks mischievously at the two, taking up an old spoon he found in the car and shoving it in Sams mouth gently.

Then taking a pen from his jacket pocket, and gently shoving it in Y/N's nose. He smiles proudly, flipping open his phone to take a picture of Sam and then one of Y/N. He then turns the radio up that's playing Fire of an Unknown Origin by Blue Oysters Cult. "A FIRE OF UNKNOWN ORIGIN TOOK MY BABY AWAY!!" Dean sings along loudly, drumming along to the beat in the steering wheel.

Sam jumps awake along with Y/N, panicking when he feels something foreign in his mouth, spitting the spoon out. "What the fuck!?" Y/N yells, startled when she feels something foreign in her nose, pulling the pen that's stuck in her nose out. Sam wipes his mouth as Y/N rubs her nose.

"Ha-ha, very funny" Sam says dryly as Dean chuckles, laughing hysterically. "Sorry. Not a lot of scenery here in east Texas. Kinda gotta make your own" Dean chuckles. "And my nose has to suffer for your boredom" Y/N scoffs, rubbing her nose. Dean smiles at her through the rearview mirror as she rubs her nose like a puppy. His heart flutters at how cute she looks.

"Man, we're not kids anymore, Dean. We're not gonna start that crap up again" Sam says annoyed. "Start what up?" Dean feigns confusion. "That prank stuff. It's stupid and always escalates" Sam snaps. Y/N chuckles a bit at a memory, "Awww what's the matter, Sammy. You afraid you're gonna get a little Nair in your shampoo again, huh?" Y/N teases her best friend.

Dean laughs hysterically at the memory of a bald soapy hair 13 year old Sam, running out of the bathroom, butt ass naked, screaming in terror like he's in a horror movie after Y/N put Nair in his shampoo because he made cookies and replaced the sugar with salt, then offered it to a innocent Y/N. She's the way with cookies, the way Dean is with pie. You don't mess with her cookies. "Alright. Just remember, you two started it" Sam challenges.

"Oh no no noooo. I am not getting involved in your weird sibling rivalry. I always get caught in the middle of it. No thank you." Y/N protests, shaking her head and crossing her arms over her chest Dean smirks at her through the rearview mirror. "Wuss" He snickers and Y/N glares at him, flipping him off. "Bring it on baldy" Dean chuckles looking at Sam. "Where are we, anyway?" Sam asks him.

"Few hours outside of Richardson" Dean tells him. "Give us the lowdown again" Y/N asks Sam to explain the case they were working. Sam pulls out his file, "Alright, about a month or two ago, this group of kids go poking around this local haunted house-" Sam explains but Dean cuts him off to ask. "Haunted by what?" He asks.

"Apparently, a pretty misogynistic spirit" Sam responds and Y/N groans. "Just wonderful" She mutters sarcastically, rolling her eyes. "Legend goes, it takes girls and strings them up in the rafters. Anyway, this ground of kids see this dead girl hanging in the cellar." Sam continues. "Anybody ID the corpse?" Y/N asks, leaning forward in the backseats between the boys.

"Well, that's the thing. By the time the cops got there, the body was gone. Some cops say the kids were just yanking chains" Sam tells them and their eyebrows shoot up at this. "Maybe the cops are right" Dean suggests. "Maybe, but I read a couple of the kids firsthand accounts. They seem pretty sincere" Sam says. "Where did you read these accounts?" Y/N asks him curiously.

He chuckles lightly, a bit ashamed to answer her question, "Well, I knew we were gonna be passing through Texas to go to Y/N's safehouse. So, uh, last night, I surfed some local...paranormal websites. And I found one" Sam says lowly. Dean smirks as Y/N shakes her head, knowing what this might mean. "And what's it called?" Dean asks his brother. Sam chuckles again before sheepishly answering,

"HellHoundsLair.com". Dean scoffs laughing as Y/N chuckles, "Let me guess, streaming live out of moms basement" She jokes, making both boys erupt loudly with laughter. "Yeah, probably" Sam agrees laughing. "Most of those websites wouldn't know what a ghost was if it hit 'em in the 'persqueeter'" Dean chuckles. "Look, we let our dads take off, which was a mistake, by the way. And now we don't know where the hell they are, so in the meantime, we gotta find ourselves something to hunt" Sam suggests.

"You're right I guess. There's no harm checking this thing out" Y/N shrugs agreeing. Dean sighs, "Alright, so where do we find these kids?" He gives in. "Same place you always find kids in a town like this" Sam says as if it was obvious.

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Richardson, Texas

A couple hours later, the trio pulls into the parking lot of the local diner by the name of Rodeo Drive to question the teens from the police report.

Boy 1: "It was the scariest thing I ever saw in my life. I swear to God."

Boy 2: "From the moment we walked in. The walls were painted black"

Boy 1: "Red."

Girl: "I think it was blood"

Boy 1: "All these freaky symbols"

Boy 2: "Crosses and stars, and.."

Boy 1: "Pentagons"

Boy 2: "Pentecostals"

Girl: "Whatever. I had my eyes closed the whole time"

Boy 1: "But I can damn sure tell you this much: No matter what anybody else says-"

Girl: "That poor girl"

Boy 2: "With the black..."

Boy 1: "Blonde.."

Girl: "Red hair, just hanging there"

Boy 1: "Kicking"

Boy 2: "Without even moving"

Girl: "She was real"

Boy 1: "It's 100%"

Boy 2: "And kind of hot...well you know in a dead sort of way"

"Okay!" Y/N exclaims, chuckling a bit awkwardly. Disgusted by the last comment. She and the boys, sitting across from the three teenagers in the diner. "And how did you find out about this place, anyway?" Sam asks them, the trio confused by the inconsistencies in the stories.

"Craig took us" The three teenagers respond in unison as the three hunters share a look.

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The three hunters enter the record store after asking where the Craig guy could be found. "Gentlemen and Lady. Can I help you with anything?" A young man working in the store asks them, carrying a box of records to the register. "Yeah, are you Craig Thurston?" Sam asks him.

"I am" The young man confirms. "Well, we're reporters with The Dallas Morning News. I'm Dean, this is Sam and Y/N" Dean lies on spot, covering as reporters. "No way. Yeah, I'm a writer too. I write for my schools lit magazine" Craig chuckles, boasting a bit. "Ahh, well good for your Morrissey" Y/N jokes, Dean snorts at the reference.

"Um, we're doing an article on local hauntings and rumor has it, you might know about one" Sam says casually and Craig's face drops. "You mean the Hell House?" He asks them. "That's the one" Dean says smiling. "I didn't think there was anything to the story" Craig says. "Why don't you tell us the story, hun" Y/N says sweetly. Craig puts the record in his hand down and sighs.

"Well, supposedly back in the 30s, this farmer, Mordechai Murdock, used to live in the house with his six daughters. It was during the Depression, his crops were failing, he didn't have enough money to even feed his own children" Craig explains, sighing. "So I guess that's when he went off the deep end. "How?" Sam asks curiously as Dean checks out the records.

"Well, he figured it was best if his girls died quick, rather than starve to death. So he attacked them." Craig further explains, the three hunters listening intently. "And they screamed, begged for him to stop but....he just strung em up, one after another. And then when it was all finished. He turned around and hung himself" Craig finishes.

"Now they said that his spirit is trapped in the house forever, stringing up any other girl that goes inside" He adds. "And where did you hear all this?" Y/N asks him, cocking her eyebrow. "My cousin Dana told me. I don't know where she heard it from...You gotta realize. I didn't believe this for a second." Craig defends.

"But now you do" Sam says. "I don't know what the hell to think man" Craig responds lowly. "You guys, I'll tell you exactly what I told the police, okay? That girl was real, alright? She was dead. This was not a prank. I swear to God, I don't wanna go anywhere near that house ever again, okay?" He assures them fearfully.

Y/N cocks her eyebrow at his claims. Not fully convinced but she decided to go with it. They share a look before turning back to him, "Thanks" Dean says gratefully and they all leave the store.

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Later the boys and Y/N ask around and found the location of, Hell House. Now walking down the path to the abandoned house. "Can't say I blame the kid" Sam says. "Yeah, so much for curb appeal" Dean agrees. Sam and Y/N walk around the side investigating while Dean pulls out his EMF that begins to make some noise.

"You got something?" Y/N asks him. "Yeah, but the EMFs no good" Dean responds, tapping it. "Why?" Sam asks confused. "I think that things still got a little juice in it. It's screwing with all the readings" Dean says, pointing to the power lines. "Yeah, that would do it" Sam says, looking up at it. "Yeah" Y/N sighs and Dean turns to her.

"What about you?" He asks her. "Huh?" She says confused. "You know....your whole ESP thing" He says, pointing to his head and she rolls her eyes. "1, I'm not ESP." She says firmly making him chuckle. "And 2, I actually don't feel anything" She says, crunching her eyebrows.

Knowing normally she feels a heaviness around areas where people have died violently, etc. "Really? No, 'I see dead people'? What about you, Sammy?" He smirks, teasing the two, now turning to his brother who is glaring at him. Y/N shoved him lightly making him laugh loudly. "Come on. Let's go" Y/N ushers the boys towards the house, them following behind.

Dean whistles lowly as they close the door behind them at the state of the house. It was completely trashed, most likely by stupid teenagers. With a bunch of weird symbols all over the room. "Looks like old man Murdock was a bit of a tagger during his time" Dean says, his eyes on the reverse cross painted on the wall.

Y/N notices that some of the symbols are relatively new. "And after his time too" She says, nudging Sam. "The reverse cross has been used by Satanists for centuries" He says pointing to cross. "But this Sigil of Sulfer didn't show up in San Francisco until the 60s" Sam finishes pointing the Sigil.

Dean stares at his brothers blankly, "This is exactly why you never get laid" He deadpans while Sam rolls his eyes, taking a picture of the sigil. "Hey! I get laid" Y/N says defensively. "Yeah, because you're hot. Sam's not" Dean blurts out, shocking the Sam and Y/N, their mouths agape. Only realizing what he said, after it escaped his lips. "You think I'm hot?" Y/N smirks, her tone teasing.

Dean freezes in his tracks as he was walking to the other side of the room. He looks back at the two, Sam with a smug grin on his face, wiggling his eyebrows at his elder brother suggestively, making mock kissy faces in Deans direction. Y/N with her arms crossed over her chest, an amused grin on her face, her back turnt to Sam, so she's oblivious at what Sam's mocking.

Dean clears his throat and gulps. Heat rising to his face. His eyes shifting between his bratty brother and even the brattier women he's in love with. "I- Shut up and work the case!" Dean retorts lamely as the two best friends burst out laughing. Y/N's heart skips a beat at the fact that she's sure now that Dean finds her attractive. Dean then notices a weird looking symbol on the wall, "What about this one. You seen this one before?" Dean asks them, tilting his head a bit to look at the symbol.

The symbol looking somewhat familiar. It was practically an upside down question mark with three lines going out the side of the dot. One on top and two on each sides. Y/N walks next to him and tilts her head also to look at it. "Nope" Sam responds, taking a picture of it. "I have...Somewhere" Dean says in recognition. "Yeah...me too. I don't know where" She agrees.

Y/N then leans forward to touch the symbol, the color of the paint staining her fingers. "It's paint" She informs them, showing them her stained finger. "Seems pretty fresh too" Sam points out. "I don't know, guys" Dean sighs. "I mean, I hate to agree with authority figures of any kind...but the cops might be right on this one" Dean says.

"Yeah, maybe" Y/N agrees. The suddenly, they hear rustling in a nearby room. They share a look before going to the door and pressing up against it on either side, Y/N next to Dean and Sam on the other side. They all nod before bursting in, only to be startled by lights shining in their faces by two guys, Ed and Harry, screaming in fear.

One with a camera and one with a bright studio light. "What the.." Y/N mutters as they all share confused looks on their faces. "Cut. Just a couple of humans" Ed scoffs as Harry switches the camera off. "What are you guys doing here?" He asks the boys annoyed, his eyes settling on Y/N, looking like he's practically in love. "What the hell are you doing here?" Dean asks them, just as annoyed.

Ed clears his throat, his eyes shifting back over to Dean, "We belong here. We're professionals" says cockily, shrugging as if it's obvious. Y/N cocks her eyebrow at this, "Professional what?" She asks them. A smirk rises on Ed's face, "Paranormal investigators" He boasts, pulling out three business, handing it to her. "There you go. Take a look for yourself, gorgeous" He winks at her.

She rolls her eyes, taking the cards from him. Dean glares daggers at Ed, his nostrils flaring. "Oh, you gotta be kidding me" Dean groans as he looks at the business card Y/N handed him and Sam. "Jesus Christ" Y/N groans in annoyance. "Ed Zeddmore and Harry Spangler. HellHoundsLair.com" Sam looks up as them. "You guys run that website?" Y/N asks them.

"Sure do, gorgeous." He winks at her again and she cringes. "What? Was Venkman and Stantz taken?" She retorts snidely, making them glare at her, a cheeky smile taking over her face. "Oh, yeah, yeah. We're huge fans" Dean says sarcastically, going over to the cabinet, rummaging through it. "And uh, we know who you guys are too" Ed says. "Oh, yeah?" Sam responds as Ed clears his throat cockily.

"Amateurs. Looking for ghosts and cheap thrills. Yeah" He says. The three hunters hold back a laugh at his cocky nature, sharing a look that says 'get a load of this guy'. "So, if you guys don't mind, we're trying to conduct a serious scientific investigation here" Harry finally chimes in. Their amused faces don't falter.

"Yeah? What do you got so far?" Dean asks them snidely. "Harry, why don't you tell them about EMF?" Ed says. Y/N decides to have a little fun with this, "EMF? What's that?" She feigns confusion, scrunching her eyebrows. Dean chuckles lightly at this, shaking his head. "Electromagnetic field" Harry responds smugly.

Turning around to go into his bag to grab his EMF. Sam has a small grin on his face. He and Y/N share an amused look as they begin to explain, "Spectral entities can cause entertainment fluctuations that can be read with an EMF detector. Like this bad boy right here" Harry shows them the EMF that begins going crazy.

"Whoa. Whoa. That's 2.8 MG" Harry points out. Dean and Y/N glance at each other, holding back snickers. "2.8!" Ed exclaims as Dean whistles lowly. "Wow" Sam says in a fake impressed tone. "Huh. So have you guys ever really seen a ghost before or...?" Dean asks them, putting on a curious face as Ed takes the EMF off.

"Once" Ed responds, turning to him. "We were uh investigating this old house..." He begins to explain taking a deep breath. Dean crosses his arms over his chest nodding as if he's shocked. "...and we saw a case fall right off the table" He finishes. "By itself" Harry adds in a low tone, "But we didn't actually see it...but we heard it" Ed explains, Dean looks down shaking his head in disgust.

Sam and Y/N roll their eyes. "And something like that...it changes you" Ed whispers. "Yeah, I think I get the picture" Dean says nodding, walking back to Sam and Y/N. "We should go, let them get back to work" Y/N adds sarcastically. Ed flashes her a wink. "Yeah, you two should go." He says to Sam and Dean. "You could stay, gorgeous" He grins widely at Y/N.

Deans head snaps in his direction, his jaw clenching. A laugh bubbles in Y/N's throat, amused at the fact that Ed thinks he has a shot, "Never gonna happen" She laughs at his lame flirting walking out the door, the boys following behind her. Ed's eyes fall to her hips as we walks away, trailing down. As she walks out, she gets the sense that Ed was staring at her ass, which he was.

"Stop staring at my ass, Venkman!" She shouts, making Sam and Dean laugh. Deans genuinely relieved at the fact that she wasn't into Ed, not that she would be. But the sight of Ed flirting with her just amped up and fueled his jealously.

I need to get laid and get these thoughts out of my head. Dean thinks to himself.

Yeah, sure. Like that's gonna help.

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Sam and Y/N walk out of the Colin County Public Library, "Hey" They hail Dean. "Hey, what do you guys got?" He asks them. "Well, we couldn't find a Mordechai, but we did find a Martin Murdock who lived in that house in the 30s" Y/N explains. "He did have children's but only two of them. Both boys. And there's not record he every killed anyone" Sam adds.

"What about you?" She asks Dean. "Well, those kids didn't really give a clear description of that dead girl. I did hit up the police station. No matching missing persons. It's like she never existed" Dean tells them what he found. "Guys, come on. We did our digging. This one's a busy" He says to them.

Y/N sighs, agreeing. "For all we know, those Hellhound dorks made up the whole thing" She says. Sam sighs, "Yeah, alright." Dean says. "I say we find ourselves a bar and some beers and leave the legend for the locals" Dean suggest, giving Y/N a wink before jumping into the Impala. "Amen to that" She laughs, jumping in shotgun.

As they jump in, Sam has a devious smirk on his face. Dean then starts the car, Sam leans down to see their reactions and instantly salsa music starts blurring from the radio and the wipers on the windshield start moving, scaring the crap out of him and Y/N. "WOAH!" Dean yells turning off the wipers. "DAMMIT!" Y/N screams, quickly turning the radio off.

They hear Sam laughing as he jumps in the backseat. He licks his finger, putting up a one and pointing to himself with a smug look on his face and they glare at him. "That's all you got? It's weak" Dean scoffs as Sam laughs, closing the door. "That is bush league dude" Y/N adds as rolls her eyes.

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Y/N's POV

The next day, the boys and I find out that there was a dead girl found this time in the Murdock house. Police are currently taking pictures and reports of the incident as we're walking towards it. "What happened?" Dean asks a man who was at the scene. "Cops say that poor girl hung herself in the house" He tells us.

"Suicide?" I ask him shocked. "Yeah. And she was a straight A student with a full ride to UT too. It just don't make sense" He says sadly before walking away. "What do you guys think?" Sam asks us as they're wheeling the body out. Dean turns and looks at us, "I think maybe we missed something" He says.

Later that night, the three of us are crouched behind a bush, waiting for the police to leave so we can go investigate again. But they haven't left yet which is strange. "I guess the cops don't want anymore kids screwing around in there" Sam huffs. "Yeah, but we still gotta get in there" Dean says. I then hear some whisper not too far from us.

I turn my head to see Ed and Harry with their geek equipment, trudging through the woods. "I don't believe it" I groan, rolling my eyes. Sam and Dean turn their heads also. "Those idiots are gonna get themselves killed" Sam grumbles. "I got an idea" Dean says, getting up slowly, he cups his hand to his mouth and yells loudly.

"Who you gonna call?!" I bite back a laugh at his Ghostbusters reference. "Hey, you!" A police officer spots Ed and Harry. They panic when they see the officers, "Freeze!" The officer yell, running after them. They begin running away, their equipment partially slowing them down. "Get back here!" They yell at them.

"Come on, don't leave me here!" I hear Ed plead with Harry who's running quicker than him. They boys and I take the clearing to run into the house quickly through the backdoor without them noticing, we shut the door behind us. Sam drops the bag, taking out three rocksalt shotguns, handing one each to me and Dean.

We cock our guns as I shine my flashlight around the house. The light lands on the symbol and I try to remember where I've seen it. "Where have I seen that symbol before." I grumble as I point my flashlight to it. "I know right, it's killing me!" He exclaims. "Come on, we don't have much time" Sam says to us.

We nod and move towards the next room. Walking down into the basement, Dean goes up to a shelf that has a bunch of jars with a weird looking red liquid inside as Sam and I check out the other side. Picking it up, he smirks, "Hey guys, I dare each of you to take a swig of this" Dean says to us, we look at him like he's crazy. "What the hell would we do that for?" Sam cocks his eyebrow.

"I double dare you" He smiles, wiggling his eyebrows at me. I give him a blank stare and shake my head. We then hear creaking by a nearby cabinet, giving each other a look. Me and Dean cock our guns at the door as Sam moves next to it, on the count of three. He quickly opens it and some rats run out squealing.

I grimace as Sam laughs and Dean shudders in disgust, "Ugh. I hate rats" He groans. "You'd rather it was a ghost?" I ask him chuckling. "Yes" He says and I shake my head smiling. Then suddenly I feel the familiar chill run up the back of my neck and I turn my head quickly to see the shadow of a man in a cowboy hat, his wrists slit, holding an axe, ready to chop me.

"Fellas!" I scream, ducking before he can chop me and the boys spin around in an instant, shooting him but he doesn't budge. Disapparating into a black smoke "What the hell kind of spirit is immune to rocksalt?!" Sam yells. "I don't know" Me and Dean respond. "Come on, come on, come on" I grab them to run out of the room.

But the spirit destroyed the shelf of jars and it topples onto me and Dean, throwing us to the ground. The spirit tries to hit Sam but he breaks with his shot gun, "Go! Get out of here!" He yells at me and Dean. Then kicking Murdock in his stomach, we all run up the stairs and bolt for the front door that was board up.

We all crash our bodies through it, breaking it on impact, we fall off the porch and through the police tape. When we get up, we see Ed and Harry with their cameras, "Get that damn thing out of my face!" I yell at them angrily, shoving Ed roughly. "Go, go, go!" Sam shouts. "Get out of here!" Dean shouts at them warningly as we make a break for the Impala.

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After fleeing for our lives, we are back at the motel. The next morning after getting some rest, Dean is on his bed with his sketch pad, doodling, while Sam and I are at the table doing research. "What the hell is this symbol. It's bugging the hell out of me" Dean says frustrated. "This whole damn jobs bugging me" I agree with him, shaking my head, already fed up.

"Tell me about it, I thought the legend said that Mordechai only goes after chicks." He says. "It does" Sam says. Dean nods, twirling his pen in his finger. "Alright, I mean that explains why he went after you and Y/N. But why me?" Dean mutters, scratching his head. I snort a bit at his burn and Sam's eyes snap over to Dean, glaring at him.

"Hilarious" Sam deadpans. "The legend also says he hung himself. But did you guys see those slit wrists?" I ask them. "Yeah" Dean responds. "What's up with that? And the axe too" Sam points out. "Ghosts are usually pretty strict. Following the patterns over and over" I add as I scroll on the HellHounds website.

"But this mook keeps changing" Dean says. "Exactly" Sam sighs, handing me the book he was reading. I take it from him and hand him the laptop. He then begins scrolling on the website as he rubs his eyes from exhaustion. "Im telling you. The way the story goes...wait a minute" Sam goes to say but pauses, turning the laptop to me as he's found something.

"What?" Dean asks him from his bed. My eyes cork up as I quickly read the new post. "Someone added a new posting to the hellhound website" I tell Dean. "Listen to this: 'They say Mordechai Murdock was really a satanist who chopped up his victims with an axe before spitting his own wrists. Now he's imprisoned in a house for eternity" Sam reads the article out loud.

"Where the hell is this going?" I mutter. "I have no idea" Sam mutters back. "I don't know. But I think I might have just figured out where it all started" Dean says, pointing to his doodle of the symbol. He gives us a smug smile before getting up and grabbing his jacket.

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We all enter the record shop we were at earlier after Dean explained to us what he figured out. I gotta give it to him, he's smarter than he makes himself out to be. "Hey Craig, you remember us?" Dean calls out to Craig as we enter. From his body language alone I could tell he was annoyed. "Guys, look. I'm really not in the mood to answer any more of your questions, okay?" He says exasperated.

"Oh don't worry, hun. We're just here to buy an album, that's all" I tell him and he sighs relieved turning back. I give Dean a look and he smiles at me as I shuffle through the records and hand him the Blue Oyster Cult album. "You know, I couldn't figure out what that symbol was. And then I realized it doesn't mean anything" Dean says with a smug tone as we walk towards Craig.

"It's the logo for Blue Oyster Cult" Dean calls him out on his bullshit. Craig freezes, instantly giving himself away. "So tell me Craig, you into BOC or just scaring the hell out of people" I narrow my eyes at him and Dean hands him the album which he takes. "Now why don't you tell us about that house. Without lying through your ass this time" I say in a snarky tone.

I could see a smirk rise on Deans face at the corner of my eyes as Craig sighs heavily. Panicking. "Alright. I- My cousin Dana was on break from TCU. I guess we were just bored, looking for something to do. So I showed her this abandoned dump I found. We thought it would be funny if we made it look like it was haunted. So we painted symbols on the walls. Some from some albums. Some from some of Dana's theology textbooks." He begins to explains.

"Then we found out this guy, Murdock, used to live there. So we-" He pauses, taking a deep breath. "So we, made up some story to go along with that. So they told people who told other people. And then these two guys put it on their stupid website" He adds rolling his eyes as we listen intently. "Everything just...took on a life of its own. I mean. I thought it was funny at first, but...now that girls dead" He says, absolutely horrified.

I sympathize with him because he's a stupid kid that didn't know any better and was just looking for a kick. They don't know about what's out there but at the same time. It created a mess. "It was just a jokes. You know, I mean, none of it was real. We made the whole thing up. I swear" He stresses, tears forming in his eyes.

The boys and I nod understandably as he sniffles back his tears, "Alright. Thanks" I say to him calmly, offering him a small smile which he returns lightly. The boys and I turn to walk off, "If none of it was real, how the hell do you explain Mordechai?" Dean questions as he walk out. Me and Sam sigh, shrugging. Absolutely stumped.

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Later, me and Sam are at the motel room while he's taking a shower, I'm by the window smoking a cigarette, waiting for him to finish so I can shower. Dean walks in and throws his keys on the table, a mischievous look on his face. "Hey Princess" He smiles at me, closing the door behind him. "Hey charming..." I cock my eyebrow suspiciously as he pulls out a little familiar looking baggy.

His head pans over to me slowly, before bringing a finger to his lips, "Shhh" He shushes me with a smirk on his face. I shake my head as I take I drag from my cigarette, chuckling lightly. "Hey I'm back!" Dean announces his arrival to Sam as he rips the bag open. "Hey! Where were you?" Sam asks him from the shower.

"Oh I went out!" Dean responds as he throws the itching powder all over Sam's pants and boxers. "Seriously dude. Itching powder?" I grumble at him, dusting my ash into the ashtray. He just winks at me. "Game on, sweetheart" He whispers back, a smirk on his face, blowing me a kiss. I roll my eyes chuckling. "So me and Y/N may have a theory about what's going on!" Sam says from the shower.

"Oh yeah?" Dean questions, still throwing the powder on Sams clothes. ""Yeah, what if Mordechai is a Tulpa?" I suggest. "Tulpa?" Dean questions. Sam then opens the door, walking out from the shower as Dean quickly hides the powder in his powder. "Yeah, a Tibetan thought form" Sam says as he walks out of the shower, naked from the waist up, a towel around his waist.

Dean scratches his head, trying to mask his mischievous actions. I shake my head, holding back a snicker as I crush my cigarette in the tray. "Yeah, no, I know what a tulpa is...Hey, why don't you get dressed. Me and Y/N can go grab something to eat" Dean says quickly, pulling me by my hand before I can protest.

He grabs my leather jacket before giving Sam a cheeky smile, closing the door behind us. "He's gonna kill you" I snicker as he helps me put my jacket on, pulling my hair out from behind it. He smiles at me, flashing me a wink. "Wait till you see what I got in store for later" He brags, I just roll my eyes chuckling. "Boys" I scoff.

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Third Person POV

They're all now at a diner in town, "There you go, love" The kind man at the counter hands Y/N and Dean their trays of food. "Thank you" She says sweetly, taking her tray as Dean takes his. Y/N turns around as they're walking to a table to see Sam itching away at his pants. Y/N and Dean share a look of amusement as she bites back a snicker at this. "Dude, what's your problem?" Dean asks Sam feigning confusion.

"Nothing, I'm fine" Sam tries to brush it off, still itching. "Yeah?" Y/N asks him innocently. "Yeah" He assures them. "Alright? So uh, keep going. What about these tulpas?" Dean asks me as they take a seat at the table. Sam rests his bag down as he takes a seat. "Okay, so there was this incident in Tibet in 1915. A group of monks visualize a golem in their heads. They meditate on it so hard, they bring the thing to life" Y/N explains while she pops the lid off of her coffee and stirs it up, taking a sip.

"Out of thin air" Sam adds. "So?" Dean questions, taking a sip of his coffee. "That was 20 monks. Imagine what 10,000 web surfers could do" Sam says, pulling his laptop out of the bag. "I mean, Craig starts the story about Mordechai, then it spreads, goes online. Now there are countless people, all believing in the bastard." He says, typing on his laptop.

Sam cringes in discomfort, still scratching his legs. "Okay, wait wait wait. So you're trying to tell me that just because people believe in Mordechai, he's real?" Dean cocks his eyebrow. Y/N and Sam shrug. "I don't know, maybe?" Sam says, typing on his laptop, grimacing from the itching. She bites back a smirk as she eat her fries at his discomfort.

'I feel a bit bad for the kid but I'm not saying anything because I'm not trying to be pulled into this.' Y/N thinks to herself.

"People believe in Santa Claus. How come I'm not getting hooked up every Christmas?" Dean says sarcastically. "Because I'm pretty sure you're the first name on Santas naughty list" She shoots back with a cheeky smile. Dean glares at her a bit but a slight smirk rises on his lips.

"I'll show you who's on the naughty list" He whispers to her lowly in a husky tone so Sam wouldn't hear. But he damn well heard, rolling his eyes at their stomach churning flirting, he's too irritated by the itching in his pants to care. A blush rises on Y/N's face but she covers it up with a stunned look. She then raises her foot, kicking his shin below the table with her boot.

Dean huffs a "Ow" as she shoots him a warning look. Dean snickers at her reaction, pleased. "Don't test me, Winchester" She flirts back, matching his tone. Deans smirk grows wider. He seems pleased with her response, she takes notice of the way his chest heaves.

'The things I would do to this breathtaking women. Son of a bitch.'

Dean thinks to himself as he pulls his lower lip in between his teeth, causing her stomach to flutter, a familiar heat rising in her southern region.

'Fuck, what I would do just to get a taste of his lips. Oh god, not now. Seriously y/n? The dudes biting his lip and you're turnt on? Get a grip girl! Thirsty ass bitch.'

Y/N practically mentally reprimands herself for feeling so flustered by Dean.

'Hey God? It's Sam again. Please, I'm begging you. Just make these too lovesick puppies fuck already for Christ's sake.'

Sam internally groans.

Y/N's POV

"Here, look at this" Sams voice breaks us out of our heated gaze. "Hmm?" We both say innocently as Dean clears his throat, Sam then turns the laptop to us, showing us a picture of the symbol we found. "That's a Tibetan spirit sigil. On the wall of the house" Sam says. "Craig said they were painting symbols from a Theology textbook. We're thinking they painted this, not even knowing what it was" Sam explains to Dean, cringing from the itching again.

So I decide to take over. Dean bites back a smirk when he realizes the itching is getting worse. "What Sam's saying, That sigil has been used for centuries. Concentrating meditative thoughts like a magnifying glass. So people are on the Helldweebs website, staring at the symbol, thinking about Mordechai" I add as Dean nods. "I mean, we don't know, but it might be enough to bring a tulpa to life" I say, taking a bite of my sandwich.

"It would explain why it keeps changing" Dean agrees, taking a sip of his coffee as Sam continues to scratch his legs. "Right. As the legend changes, people think different things, so Mordechai himself changes. Like a game of Telephone. That would also explain why the rock salt didn't work" Sam says, pointing to the laptop with one hand, grimacing as he itches.

"Yeah, because he's not a traditional spirit, per se" Dean says. "Yeah" Sam huffs, cringing still itching. "Okay, so why didn't we just uhh... get this spirit signal thingy off the wall and the website?" Dean suggests and I shake my head as I wipe my mouth. "It's not that simple. You see, once tulpas are created, they take on a life of their own" I say. Dean sighs, wiping his nose.

"Great. Alright, so if he really is a Thought-form. How the hell are we supposed to kill an idea?" Dean asks a bit frustrated. "Well it's not gonna be easy with these guys helping us" Sam says, me and Dean roll our eyes at the thought. "Check out their home page" Sam turns the laptop and pulls up the helldorks page to the video they posted of Mordechai. "Holy shit" I gasp in shock as I look at the views.

"Yep. Since they posted the video, the number of hits have quadrupled in the last day alone" Sam stresses, nodding at my reaction. "Huh. I got an idea. Come on. You done?" Dean asks me quickly. "Yeah, I'm finished. Where are we going?" I tell him, gesturing to my empty tray as we pick up our coffees and Sam closes his laptop.

"We need to find a copy store" Dean tells us. Sam gets up, still itching his legs. Shakily putting his laptop into his bag. "Man, I think I'm allergic to our soap or something" He groans. I can't hold in my amusement anymore so me and Dean begin laughing hysterically at this. "You two did this?" Sam asks us shocked. I shake my head and point at Dean with my thumb.

"It was all him" I snort as Dean continues walking away laughing. "You're a frigging jerk!" Sam shouts at Dean who's still laughing. "Oh yeah!" Dean retorts back chuckling.

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The boys and I pull up in the trailer park, near Ed and Harrys trailer. "Gosh, can they get anymore geeky" I cringe as I step out of the Impala. "You guys ready?" Dean asks us. "Like Freddy" Sam nods with a smirk. "Let's punk some dorks" I snort. I knock harshly on the door, I'm pretty sure I heard someone squeak. "Who is it?" Harry asks fearfully. The boys snicker at his reaction, "Come on out here guys. We hear you in there!" Dean bellows.

The two open the door and I snort when I see the shelf behind them. "Oh look at that. Action figures in their original packaging. What a shock" I say sarcastically as Dean snickers. I notice Ed biting his lips as he looks at me and I cringe. "Guys, we need to talk" Sam says. "Yeah, um, sorry guys. We're a bit busy right now" Ed says smoothly as they step out of their trailer.

Busy my ass. I roll my eyes, "Yeah, well, we'll make it quick. We need you to shut down your website" Dean says plainly with a fake smile which Ed finds funny for some reason. "Man, you know, these guys get us busted last night. We spend the night in a holding cell" Ed laughs while Harry looks annoyed. "I had to pee in that cell, in-front of people. And I get stage fright" Harry complains. "Why should we trust you?" Ed narrows his eyes at us.

"Look guys, we all know what we saw last night. What in that house. But now that's to your website, there are thousands of people hearing about Mordechai" Sam says. "That's right, which means people are gonna keep showing up at the Hell House, running into him in person. Somebody could get hurt" Dean warns them. "Yeah?" Ed smirks. "Ed, maybe they've got a point" Harry interjects.

"No" Ed shakes his head. "Nope" Harry suddenly says. Jesus, Harry's practically this dudes Yes Man. "Okay, we have an obligation to our fans, to the truth" Ed says cockily. I chuckle annoyed at this, "Well I have an obligation to kick both your asses right now-" I snap angrily, fearful looks taking over both their faces but Sam and Dean cut me off.

"Y/N/N, hey. Just forget it, alright?" Sam says calmly. "These guys. You could probably bitch slap them both" Dean adds, making the two idiots chuckle arrogantly. I narrow my eyes at them. "I could probably even tell them that thing about Mordechai..." Sam adds suggestively, Ed and Harry becomes a bit intrigued by this. "But....they're still not gonna help us" Sam sighs.

"Let's just go Princess" Dean says, giving me a knowing look. I get where they're getting at and nod. Putting the plan into action. "Yeah you two are right" I sigh and we begin walking off. The two following behind us like lost puppies. "Woah woah woah. Wait wait" "Hold on a second here" Harry and Ed stutter in unison.

"Yeah, what thing about Mordechai, you guys?" Harry asks us as we walk away, a slight smirk on my face. "Don't tell them, Sam" I say lowly, staying in character. "But if they agree to shut the website down, guys" Sam fake protests. "They're not gonna do it! You said so yourself" Dean denies as we continue walking, the two following behind us. "No, wait wait! Don't listen to them, okay? We'll do it" Ed finally agrees.

We all share a amused look before turning around to them. "It's a secret, Sam" Dean adds, fueling the act. Sam sighs, "Look, it's a pretty big deal, alright? And it wasn't easy to dig up" Sam says. "So only if we have your word you'll shut everything down" I add, pointing at them firmly. "Totally" Ed smirks at me, his eyes scanning me up and down. I cringe at this.

"And wipe that look off your face, not even an ocean could quench your thirst dude" I snap at him and he looks down guilty. "Yes ma'am" He salutes, causing me to roll my eyes. "Alright" Sam says, pulling a paper out of his pocket. "It's a death certificate from the 30s. We got it at the library" Sam begins to feed them the fake story as Dean hands them the paper we printed at the copy shop.

"Now according to the coroner, the actual cause of death was a self inflicted gunshot wound" Sam tells them as they look at the paper, then up at us. "That's right, he didn't hang or cut himself" Dean says. "He shit himself?" Ed asks us, shocked. "Yep. With a .45 pistol. To this day, they say he's terrified of them" I respond nodding.

"As a matter of face, they say if you shoot him with a .45, loaded with these special wrought iron rounds. You'd kill the son of a bitch" Dean adds. The two look at each other in glee. Harry then runs to the trailer. Presumably to post the story. "Thanks gorgeous" Ed winks at me. I scoff as he runs behind Harry. "Harry. Slow your roll, buddy. They're gonna know we're excited" He calls out to Harry lowly.

I notice Deans jaw clench whenever Ed flirts with me. "Dorks" I snort as we walk back to the Impala. "I think one of those dorks has a thing for you, sweetheart" Dean snickers, his jaw still clenching. I roll my eyes as Sam laughs at this. "Please, y/n/n's standards aren't THAT low" He snorts. I shove him lightly as Dean laughs. "I hate you two" I grumble chuckling, causing Sam to laugh more.

________________________________

Due to Deans never ending hunger, we're now again at a diner. Sam on my laptop searching the website, while I'm reading a book about tulpas. I'm next to Dean while Sam is on the opposite side of the booth. Dean, being the man child he is, is currently playing with a string machine that's next to up on the wall.

Where when you pull the string, a man plastic man with a fish in his hand, starts laughing. This has been going on for about five minutes and it's getting annoying. Sam pulls the string, stopping it while we both glare at Dean. "If you pull that string one more time, I'm gonna kill you" He deadpans. Dean stares at him blankly. I look back down at my book and pulls the string again, making it laugh.

My head snaps up so instantly raise my foot and kick him in the shin under the table with my boot. "Ow!" He exclaims, a smile on his face. Sam pulls the string to stop it, glaring at Dean who chuckles at the both of us. A cheeky smile on his face. "Come on, guys. You need more laughter in your lives. You know? You're way to tense" Dean chuckles as Sam sips his beer, annoyed.

"I'm fine, thank you" I grumble. "Yeah, sure you are" Dean snorts, making me glare at him.

"Did they post it yet?" I ask Sam, who then turns the laptop with the article to me and Dean, picking up his fork and stabbing his pancake. "We learned from reputable sources that Mordechai Murdock has a fatal fear of firearms." Dean reads off of the site as Sam nods.

"Alright. So how long do we wait?" I ask them as Sam chews his pancake. He shrugs, shutting the laptop. "Long enough for the new story to spread and the legend to change" Sam suggests, picking up his beer in a toasting manner, "I figure by nightfall, iron rounds would work on the sucker" He smirks, me and Dean pick up our beers and cheers with him. "Sweet" "Hallelujah" Me and Dean say in unison, picking up our beers and gulping them down.

When I go to rest it down I realize it's stuck to my hand, my face contorts to confusion until I see Sam with a smirk on his face, bursting into a fit of laughter, clapping because Dean couldn't put his down either. I clench my jaw in annoyance, "You didn't" Dean says. "Ohhh, I did" Sam laughs, holding up the super glue. I groan, "Dammit man, I didn't do you anything. Why did I get superglued!?" I exclaim. Sam laughs shaking his head

"You saw him throw that itching powder in my clothes and kept your trap shut, you're in this whether you like it or not crackhead" He smirks, sipping his beer. I narrow my eyes at him, "Oh, you're on dipshit" I challenge him, glaring at him. He laughs, pulling the string on the machine, as it blurs out it's annoying ass sound, laughing along with it as Dean and I try to get the bottles off our hands.

________________________________

After practically having to pry our hands off of the beer bottles Sam glued ours to. We stole that weird ass noise making machine that Dean loved playing with at the diner and turned it on outside in the woods for the cops to go looking for the noise, stalling a bit so we can run in, kill Mordechai and shag ass out of town.

The boys and I creep into the Hell House, shining our lights and aiming our guns around after bursting open the door. "I barely have an skin left on my palm" Dean complains. "Quit whining, you started this stupid prank war" I grumble back at him. "I ain't touching that line with a 10-foot pole" Sam retorts as we move into the other room. Scanning it, Dean then kicks the door to the basement down, we all file in carefully.

"Well, you think old Mordechai's home?" Dean asks us. I shrug. "I don't know" Sam responds. "Me either" A voice behind us says, scaring the tartar sauce out of me. We all quickly turn around, aiming our guns in the direction just for it to be those Hell Dorks with their stupid equipment on. "WOAH WOAH!" They both scream, putting their hands up in surrender.

We draw back our guns, "What the hell are you two dumbasses trying to do!? Are you trying to get yourselves killed!?" I yell at them angrily like a disappointed mother. "We're just trying to get a book and movie deal, okay?" Ed says shakily. Then suddenly the sounds of an axe sharpening comes from the door behind us and we all aim our guns at it

"Oh, crap" Harry mutters. "Uh, guys, you wanna...You wanna go open that door for us?" Ed asks us fearfully from behind us, gulping. "Why don't you?" Dean retorts, absolutely fed up. The door unlocking alone scares them and then, Mordechai comes bursting through the door yelling. The boys and I empty our clips into the bastard who screams in pain and disapparates into a black smoke.

Dean nods at us, giving us a look. We return the nod, "Sam, upstairs, I'll take the rooms, Y/N, stay with dumbledorks" Dean orders as they begin the check the rest of the room. "Oh, god. He's gone, he's gone" Ed gasps in shock. "Did you get him?" Harry asks him. "Yeah, they got him" Ed responds, still frightened. "No, on camera. Did you get him on camera?" Harry asks him shakily. Ed begins to fidget with the camera.

"Well, I...uh..." He tries to look but Harry grabs the camera. "Let me see it, let me see it" That's when Mordechai appears and knocks the camera out of Harry's hand. "Fuck!" I yell startled, ducking when he tries to chop me, disappearing into a black smoke again. They boys enter back the room, "Mordechais still kicking fellas" I inform them.. "Didnt you guys post that bullshit story we gave you?!" He bellows at Ed and Harry.

"Of course we did" Ed says. "Yeah but then our serves crashed" Harry adds and I roll my eyes annoyed. "So it didn't take?!" I ask him. "Uhhhh-" They stutter. "So these- These guns don't work?" Dean asks. "Yeah" Ed answers guiltily, I angrily toss my gun aside. "Great, just great" Dean mutters sarcastically.

"Fellas? Any ideas?" I ask them a bit panicked, they both give an 'I don't know' expression. "We are getting out of here" Harry says, rushing off but Ed is stuck in place. He runs back and grabs Ed. "Come on, Ed" He drags him out in a hurry. Then we hear Ed and Harry screaming. "Jesus, he's gonna kill them" I mutter, Sam goes to play hero.

Running in to save them. "Let's torch this sucker" Dean suggesst, "Yeah, fire always works" I agree nodding, we rush into the kitchen to get lighter fluid, dousing the ground it in. "Dean! Y/N!" We hear Sam yell. I grab an old can of bug spray and a lighter. "Hey!" I yell at Mordechai who has Sam up on the wall with his axe, choking him.

Igniting the lighter with the bug spray. "Go! Go!" I yell at Sam who breaks out of Mordechais hold. "Come on" I help him up, grabbing him to run over to Dean. "Look, if Mordechai can't leave the house and we can't kill him" I say quickly. "We improvise" Dean adds. He then lights the lighter and throws it where we doused the place in lighter fluid.

The whole room sets aflame. Sam looks baffled but we all run out of the house and into the bushes as the whole house sets on fire. "That's your solution? Burn the whole damn place to the ground?" Sam asks us. "Well no one will go in anymore" Dean defends "I mean, look. Mordechai can't haunt a house if there's no house to haunt" I say. "It's fast and dirty but it works" Dean adds. "What if the legend changes again and Mordechai is allowed to leave the house?" Sam says baffled.

I pause. Why the fuck did I not think of that? "Well, then we'll just have to come back" Dean shrugs. Sam looks at us in disbelief, breathing heavily, "Kind of makes you wonder, out of all the things we've hunted. How many of those things existed just because people believed in them" Sam wonders out loud and I can't help but agree with him as we watch the house burn.

________________________________

The next evening, the boys and I are hanging out on a picnic table at the trailer park as Ed and Harry walk out towards their car that's attached to their trailer, holding grocery bags. "I was thinking that Mordechai had a really super high attack bonus" Ed says to Harry. "Dude, I got the munchies right now" Harry snickers.

"Gentleman and gorgeous" Ed greets us, a wide smile on his face. "Hey guys" Sam responds back. "Should we tell them?" Harry asks Ed. "Eh, might as well. They're gonna read about it in the trades" Ed says boastfully. Me and Sam share an amused look as they begin to brag. "So, this morning we got a phone call from some important Hollywood producers" Harry brags as we follow behind them.

"Oh yeah, wrong number?" Dean retorts with a snort. "No smartass" Ed glares at him. "He read all about the Hell House on our website and what a to option the motion picture rights. Maybe even have us write it" He says boastfully as he puts the bags in their car. "And create the RPG" Harry adds.

"The what?" Dean cocks his eyebrow in confusion as me and Sam bite back laughs. "Role playing game" Ed says as if it's obvious. "Right" Dean says, still confused. "Just a little lingo for you. Anywho, excuse us, we're off to La-La Land" Ed smirks, his eyes panning over to me.

"Well, congratulations guys. That sounds really great" Sam says sarcastically. "Yeah, that's awesome. Best of luck" Dean adds, snickering. A smug look takes over Eds face. "Oh yeah, luck. It's got nothing to do with it. It's about talent. You know, sheer, unabashed talent" He says as Harry nods proudly.

Ed then bites his lip and I roll my eyes, bracing myself. "You're welcome to jo-" He goes to flirt again. "I'd rather eat my own filth, Venkman" I snap back, narrowing my eyes at him. He shrugs nonchalantly, "Your loss, gorgeous. Later" He winks at me before giving us a peace sign, jumping into their car. Cocky bastard.

I scoff at this, not feeling bad whatsoever for setting them up. We watch as they drive off. The boys and I share an amused look as Dean mutters "Wow", while we walk back to the car. "We have a confession to make" Sam breaks, holding back his laugh. "What's that?" dean asks us, looking down smiling.

"We uh- we're the ones that called them and told them we were producers" I admit. Me and Sam chuckle as Dean looks at us shocked. Turning back to look at their car, bursting into hysterics. "Well, I'm the one who out the dead fish in their back seat" Dean confesses. I laugh loudly along with the boys. "I knew I smelt something!" I laugh as Dean grins proudly.

"Truce?" Sam ask Dean. "Yeah, truce. At least for the next hundred miles." Dean says, getting into the Impala along with Sam. "Don't worry, Princess. We won't drag you into it this time" Dean assured me, starting the car as I'm still outside. Too late for that, darling. I take a step back from the car and then BOOM!

The second the ignition starts, flour explodes inside of the Impala. Coating them all over, inside of Baby. They both cough, glaring at each other angrily. "You said truce!" Dean growls at Sam. "I didn't do this!" Sam exclaims. Their gazes snap over to me as I laugh hysterically, bending over, clutching my stomach. I pull out the flour bag from my jacket and wave it in the air victoriously.

"You didn't!" Sam exclaims. "Ohhh, I did" I mock his words from earlier when he stuck our hands to the beer bottles. Jumping in the back seat, “Victory is mine!” I claim proudly, grinning at them. "This is gonna take me forever to clean dude!" Dean groans in annoyance. "Maybe next time don't drag me into it" I shrug innocently, smirking as the boys glare at me.

This makes me laugh even more. “Awwww, turn those frowns upside down fellas. At least for the next 100 miles at least" I tease them, leaning over to fix Deans frown with my fingers. I notice he holds back a laugh, Sam shakes his head in amusement.

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Authors Note: Hiiiii, sorry this one took be a bit longer. I went on a trip recently so I’ve been pretty busy but I hope you guys enjoyed this one. This chapter is unedited but I do plan on coming back and editing it so just ignore any mistakes. Just a little insider, Y/N’s flour prank was symbolic to Sam’s cookie prank when they were 13. Let’s just say, she’s still salty about that one LOL. Make sure to leave your honest comments and thoughts, I look forward to them, love y’all😘

Xoxo

#dean winchester #sam winchester #spn #supernatural #dean and sam #sam and dean #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean x reader #supernatural reader insert #supernatural fandom #supernatural tv show #supernatural fanfiction #dean winchester x female!reader #supernatural series rewrite

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mommymidwife99 · 7 months

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Kate & Jack ( from Lost)

Kate and Jack

The last thing they ever expected was to have another baby on the island.

Jack absolutely would never have agreed to anything other than a hospital birth, but on the island their options were, beach, jungle or cave.

At this point, Kate was opting for cave, at least it was a bit more private and quiet than the other locations. She’d been having contractions for nearly two days but her progress was painfully slow. She was only 4 centimeters yet her contractions were coming every 5 minutes.

Kate anxiously paced the cave, stopping to lean on a wall or curl around Jack with each contraction that furiously gripped her body.

Jack was growing more and more restless with each contraction that wracked Kate’s body. He held her close, applying strong counter pressure to her hips as she groaned. “ Kate.. I think we should break your water..” he suggested a bit shyly

“ are you sure?” Kate asked surprised by the idea

“ I’m sure” Jack answered more confidently “ you and the baby can’t keep this up for too much longer”

Jack helps Kate lay down on the bed they’d set up a few days earlier. She pulls her knees up as Jack moves her sundress up over her rounded belly. He slowly slips one hand inside her and grips her bag of waters.

She gasps and her face twists in discomfort as his large hand stretches her tight hole a bit.

“ nnngh” Kate grunts as her water pops and susequebtky soaks a large area under her. Jack removes his hand, wipes it off and helps Kate sit up. As she rises she’s immeasurably greeted by the strongest contraction she’s felt yet “ ooooh fuuuuuck “ she moans loudly, squeezing Jacks hands tightly.. she shifts her weight side to side moaning until the contraction ends. Then she returns to standing , using Jack for support. Her contractions quicken and she can’t help but moan loudly through each one. Jack does his best to ease some of the tension in her body, but it’s becoming more and more difficult.

Not long after sunset Kate starts to grunt as yet another wave wracks her body. “ fuuuuuck there’s sooo much pressure!” She cries digging her fingers into jacks shoulders. He grimaces and bites his lip

“ I need to push” Kate yells as the contraction peaks.

“ no! No, Kate just breathe!@ Jack says frantically “ we need to make sure you’re fully dilated first”

“ nnnngh!” Kate grunts but resists until the contraction ends. Jack kneels down in front of her, letting her keep her hands planted firmly on his shoulders. He rubs the underside of her firm belly with one hand as he inserts two fingers of the other. He doesn’t have to go far before he feels a hard wet mass. His eyes bulge and Jate catches his look of terror @ what?@ she asks anxiously.

“ I feel the head” Jack chokes out

Not a minute later Kate opens her legs apart wider and bends her knees into a slight squat as she bares down hard. She groans and shakes as she feels the baby descend deeper into her birth canal. Jack stays kneeling in front of her, one hand between her legs waiting to feel the head.

“ oooh my gooooood!! “ Kate yells as the babies head slowkybstarts to part her pulsing lips.

“ that’s it Kate! Just like that!” Jack yells excitedly as he watches the slightest bit of the baby emerge. As Kate grunts, her face turning red and dripping with sweat, Jack grows a bit frantic, noticing that the baby appears to be bald.

“ Kate ? Stop pushing!”

“ what? Why?” Kate growls in frustration “ pressure!!” She grunts.

Jack slips his fingers between the baby and Kate’s pulsing skin and confirms his fear

“ the baby is breech” he says, locking Kate’s gaze

Kate yells and pushes as hard as she can. Her legs shake an sweat

pours off her face. But the baby doesn’t move much.

Kate pushes for over an hour with no progress. Jack calls for Sawyer and Locke. Jack helps Kate to sit down on the cot. He sits behind her, wrapping his arms tight around her tired, sweat soaked body.he wraps his hands under her thighs and pulls her legs open wide. Locke sits at the foot of the cot watching to see if the baby moves as Kate pushes again.

Kate’s hands twist tightly around jacks muscular forearms land he winces as her nails slice his skin.

Jack looks answer and tell him to push on Kate’s stomach when she gets another contraction.

Kate groans and turns her face into Jacks chest. Sawyer puts his hands on her hard round belly and pushes downwards. Kate screams and tries to slam her legs closed as Locke slips his hands inside her pulsing hole. The baby moves down a bit, finally starting to stretch Kate’s tight skin open more.

“ come on Kate! You can do this!” Jack encourages anxiously. He can’t stand to see Kate in this kind of agony. “ OOOOWWW!!” Kate screams as she pushes, and the two men help the baby move some more.twenty torturous minutes later Kate’s vagina is stretched so wide she keeps screaming that she’s tearing. She thrashes around and yells at Jack for having done this to her. She wails as she bares down hard, fighting every signal in her body that tells her to turn away, and with Lockes’ help the babies middle pops out.Kate sobs as the rest of the baby is slowly tugged free of her tortured opening. Taking a long time to catch her breath as the baby lays on her heaving chest.

All three men are just stunned at their experience.

#birth fiction #labor kink #birthkink #birthfic #writing

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d7kyoshi · 3 months

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Here’s a snippet from one of the several one shots I have going on for @kyoshi-era-week-24 . This is from the prompt “Parental Figures” where Kyoshi and Rangi decide to leave a young Koko in the care of the Flying Opera Company while they go on a much needed night out together. Things get a little chaotic, naturally.

🪨🔥🌊💨

“You will not pass, evil Emporer Wong!” Koko yelled, standing on top of a small table.

“I believe you underestimate me, young Avatar! For I, evil Emporer Wong, have the power of Jinpa the Two-Faced Killer on my side!” Wong held both of his hands in the air while laughing menacingly.

Jinpa appeared from behind Wong, walking carefully backwards so that the evil face drawn on the back of his bald head showed first. “You will never make it through me!”

“Fools!” Koko declared. “I have Kirima, the greatest waterbender that ever lived!”

Kirima lifted a ball of water high into the air and roared loudly. “You are no match for me, Jinpa the Two-Faced Killer! You will not survive the powerful tides of my waterbending!”

They all stopped in their tracks when the door to the common area opened and Auntie Mui poked her head in. “Is everything okay in here? I heard some yelling.” Her eyes jumped from each person, a confused and curious look on her face as she took in the scene before her.

They all smiled and nodded while Kirima addressed the question. “We are good. Everyone say thank you for checking in, Auntie Mui.” The other three repeated the words, staring blankly at the middle aged woman until she slowly backed up and closed the door. Several seconds passed before they continued as if nothing had happened.

“Evil Emporer Wong, prepare to meet your DOOM!” Koko yelled before jumping off the table and charging at Wong with a toy sword. They fought hand-to-hand, Wong providing openings for Koko to take in order to defeat him in their fight.

Kirima and Jinpa sent small and well-contained water and air attacks back and forth at each other. The battles raged on until both Koko and Kirima were able to defeat their enemies. Wong slowly sank to the ground, the toy sword placed in his armpit. He groaned and drew out his final scene before succumbing to his fake death. Jinpa pretended to take an ice dagger to the chest, spinning around as he fell down dramatically.

The little girl and the waterbender cheered in triumph. “The Avatar saves the day again!” Koko announced.

#Kyoshi era 2024 #kyoshi #rangi #rangshi #avatar kyoshi #atla #flying opera company #fanfic

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gadriezmannsgirl · 1 year

Note

Gavi fluff where y/n gives him a haul after shoppping for the day and he gives her his full attention. 😮‍💨

Hi dear anon! Hope you like this, please, let me know what you think! Warning: A bit of suggestive content

Show -P.G

Summary: After a shopping day, you give your boyfriend a show

"TURN DOWN THE LIGHTS AND WATCH MY PRIVATE SHOW-AH!" You yelled coming out of your closet facing your boyfriend, Pablo sat on your bed flicking through channels

"Nice view" He whistled a bit, the TV already forgotten

"Hijo de-" You breathed out as Pablo laughed

"No, no, don't stop nena" He said shaking his head "My private what?" You rolled your eyes letting out a laugh

"You just come home, right?" You ask after feeling your heart beating again

"I've been here for a whole 30 minutes"

"Why didn't I listened?" You ask as Pablo lifts his eyebrows pointing to the speaker where your Spotify playlist was playing "Ah"

"Ah" He repeated with a smile "You looked really cute so I just let you be"

"You saw me?"

"I always see you, baby" You lifted your eyebrows "That sounded creepy"

"Yes it did"

"But you get what I meant" You laugh nodding walking over to him, you grabbed his face and kissed him sweetly

"How was your guys day?" You asked softly

"It was good, I ate everything and was just there watching them play, they said my ass can't bear another kick" You laugh

"Pedri should be nicer to you"

"Pedri wasn't the owner of the quote, this time was Balde"

"If I remind him I beat him last time" Pablo laughed

"You'd be my savior" You join Pablo's laughter "How was your day though? You did got some shopping done?" He asked softly as you sat on his lap, his hands inmediately going to your waist

You nod excited "I got some new stuffs and was getting old but good stuffs out to give them to someone who needs them" Pablo smiled

"That's nice" He kissed your neck lightly

"I finished that though, I'm going now with the new stuffs"

"Oh" He looked at the six bags of clothing on the end of the bed "Can I see them?" You nod searching to grab the bags and pull a nice red lace top out "I meant on you" Your eyes widened a bit letting out an 'Oh!'

"Yes, of course" You said smiling, you grabbed all six bags getting inside the bathroom, you lowered the volumen of your Spotify playlist and changed into the first outfit "Are you ready for the runway?!"

"¡Joder que sí!" He said making you laugh "Can't wait for you to get in your zone, we can go to any rhythm you want, we'll turn down the lights and I'll watch your private show!" He sang as you walked out making you double yourself in laughter "¡Eso preciosa! Give me a twirl!"

You composed yourself and acted like a runway whlist Gavi cheered and praised for you each outfit passing

"Which one is your favorite?" You ask as you finish your haul standing in front of him hands on your hips

"The red cargos make you look extremely beautiful, more than you already are" He stated quickly "And the white body" He hissed shaking his head "You are gorgeous" He smiled "The skirt made me go crazy and the sundress did as well" You got closer to him "But either way you drive me crazy with or without clothes" You laughed loudly sitting on his lap

"¡Ay, Pablo! I can't deal with you sometimes" He laughed a little "I still love you tho" His grip on you tightened

"Which reminds me..." He smirked "Didn't you said you would buy some lencería?"

°°° °°° °°° °°°

Taglist: @gaviypedrisbride @stuckinaf4nfiction

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marcspectorstannie · 5 months

Text

⁂Meet the parents⁂(Steven grant x f!AA! reader)

Summary: reader takes Steven to finally meet her parents for dinner and has to prepare him for what her family is like

Warnings: slightly cursing most likely, a little angst if u squint, black trauma

A/n: this is intended to be a female/feminine and African American reader so just a heads up! I've been thinking about writing smth like this for a while now

A/n2: this is honestly so fuckn long and I'm so sorry LOL

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"Now I have to warn you, my family is a bit...much." You both sat in the car in front of your parents house. The car was turned off so you were both is a weirdly comfortable silence. As much as you loved your family it was always rough bringing people to meet them as they always scared them away by being too loud or gossiping a bit too much. But Steven insisted on meeting them, even after your constant warnings.

"Your family can't possibly be that bad, love. I think you're just being a bit of a scaredy cat." Steven raised his eyebrows at you and tapped your nose playfully. You rolled your eyes and smiled a bit. He never met your family personally, he just knew the little stories that you would tell him that you remembered from your childhood. You closed your eyes and sighed softly "I'm not scared I have nothing to be scared of. It's just..." it was hard to tell him straight up that black families are a lot different from other families "they have their many differences to say the least, and I'm not even sure if it's just my mom and dad there or if they invited my cousi-." Cutting you off, your phone rang violently. It was your mother. Hesitantly you picked it up and placed it on speaker.

"When you gon' get here? This food gon get cold now." Your mother questioned, the pots and pans clattering in the background. "We're actually just looking for parking mama, we'll be there soon don't worry." You looked over at Steven with a nervous expression. "Aight now don't be making me wait for you and you bringing company ova to my damn house.. " You rolled your eyes at your mother's comment. "I'm not mama, I'll see you in a few." And before you could say anything else she had hung up. You sighed loudly once again and placed your head on the steering wheel. "I guess we shouldn't keep her waiting, might ring you again." Steven said softly. "Don't worry, this night will so swimmingly. " You smiled at his vocabulary and opened your car door. "Let's get this over with."

Soon enough you were knocking on the front door. Your mind was racing with all sorts of thoughts of what could happen throughout the night. "And when you're speaking to any adult just say yes or no sir or ma'am, you will quickly be called disrespectful. " You rushed out any last warnings to Steven at the door. Surprisingly he was the more calm one for once. "Breathe. I've got it. Besides,im always respectful." Just after he finished the door swung open and you both were greeted by your mother, wearing her good blouse and church shoes. "There's my baby! Come in, both of ya! " Your mother let you in and closed the door behind you. The house was exactly how it was after you moved out. That yellow-orange tint to the lighting and brown cabinets and floors. The scent of homemade food traveled through the whole house.

"Ray! Get in here, your daughter and her lil friend are here!" You'd forgotten what her yelling sounded like after so many years. She knew Steven was your boyfriend but still denys it, especially your father. You watched your father hobble into the living room with his patterned button up shirt and glistening bald head. "Though you had forgot about us, so busy thinking you grown and allat." You smiled and shook your head. You looked over at Steven at seen him picking his nails and examining the old house."Mama, dad. This is Steven." He finally looked at your parents after hearing his name and gave a small smile, sticking out his hand for them to shake. "Happy to finally meet you both,I've heard so many nice things about you." Your mom chuckled and shook his hand "Good things huh? Back then we were such awful parents to her apparently, couldn't wait to get out and live her own grown ass life." You smiled out of embarrassment "Mama I never said that at all." She put a hand on your back "Come, let's get to what y'all really came for, that good food. "

After a while of getting settled and your mom blurtting out your business to everyone, you all finally sat down in the to eat in living room. You had a kitchen and dining room, of course, but your mother would have lost her head if anyone got food in the dining room. Steven had helped your mother pass out the plates as you stayed and talked with your father on the couch.

"So tell us a lil bit about yo self, Steven. What's yo last name?" He felt his face get warm from embarrassment, "Grant, miss." Your mother turned to you with an eyebrow raise, "think you got a cousin with that name, think they up there with the Lord now though." Your eyes widened as she continued to eat as if nothing happened. "So what do you do for work, son? " Your father finally chimed in to speak after almost eating half his plate. You looked at Steven as he looked at you as well. You knew how this was going to end. "I used to work at a gift shop at a museum but I got um, fired.Sir." You saw him look down at his plate and tried to eat to distract himself from your parents reactions. "Don't be letting him use you for yo money, girl. Don't be hangin' 'round no bums." "He is not a bum, mama! How and why would you even say that?" You quickly shut down your mothers disrespectful comments. "Don't be getting smart with me girl! I can still whoop yo ass at yo grown age, don't phase me none." Your father placed a hand on your mothers shoulder, "Not in front of company, Jeanine." "I don't give a damn, Ray. I don't want my daughter with a bum. Ian saying that he is, I'm just lettin' her know to remember that."

You bit the inside of your cheek to hide your anger and you look over at Steven. He had his chin almost to his chest as he picked at his plate of food to distract himself from the argument happening in front of him. You grabbed his hand from under the table, causing him to pick his head up. "Wanna head out?" You whispered to him. He hesitated before he shook his head no,"I can handle it.." You pressed your lips together and squeezed his hand tightly. "Ok mama, I get it. Can we at least try and act presentable?" She shrugged and continued eating her food. "You watch football? Basketball? Anything like that?" Your father knew bringing up sports would annoy your mother, but it was better than the constant arguing. "No sir, I'm uh more of a cricket person myself." Steven gave him a small shy smile. "Ahh" he exclaimed "I just noticed you had that lil accent, where you from son?" "England, sir. I moved here about a year or two ago.Been trying to pick up on the american slang, so many different words."

Steven and your father talked for a few while you and your mother sat in silence. You didn't wanna say anything, the slightest thing said to you by her would be considered disrespectful and get the black slapped off you. She was silent until she suddenly let out a weird comment. "You know them British didn't like us black folks, we was slaves to them back in the day." Your eyes widened as she continued to talk "Had to follow what they said. Yo great grandmother was a slave to those British people until she was finally a free woman and had yo grandma, may her soul rest in peace." She drew the cross across her chest and pointed towards the sky. Your face was so scrunched up you almost couldn't see. Why would she bring that up, especially in front of company? It was like she wanted to embarrass you. Ever since Steven said he got fired your mother has been slick with her comments and disrespectful remarks. And of course, your father fails to do anything. You had to go home.

"You know what, it's actually getting pretty late. Think we should start heading out, he's got that job interview tomorrow." That last part was a lie, but you know your parents believed it. You just wanted to get out of there. "Lemme wrap that food up for y'all then, bring me yo' plates." Your father grabbed the plates and headed into the kitchen. Your mother didn't do anything but continue eating, not looking up once. It was like the memories from your childhood started to flood back to you just standing there. Steven took the 2 plates that your father had placed in a bag and shook his hand "Pleasure meeting you both, sir. Have a wonderful evening." Your father smiled and went to hug you. "Bye baby, sorry about your mother." You gave a fake smile to him and hugged him back before finally walking out the door. You didn't say anything until you finally got into the car and put your hands in your head.

"I'm sorry, love." Steven said quietly, placing the food on the floor of the car. "I should have insisted on meeting your family so much,this would have never happened." You felt your eyes began to sting as you quickly blinked them away. You removed your hands and shook your head, "Just wish she would change.Nothing changed since I left." You grabbed your keys and started the car before finally driving home in silence, thinking about your mother.

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#marvel #moon knight headcanon #moon knight #steven grant #moon knight x reader #steven grant headcanon #moonknight #moon knight comics #marc spector #steven grant imagine #steven grant x reader #steven grant x you #black reader

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cant-get-enough-btr-forever · 2 months

Text

"Big Time Amnesia"

Summary: One of the boys gets amnesia. Chaos ensues.

Notes: This is my alternate episode to “Big Time Interview” (which, frankly, wasn’t much of an episode). Also, I included the song “Show Me”, because I’m outraged that they never used it in the show.

Words: 9.2K (8 chapters)

Chapter 1: Big Time Bet

WHOOSH!

The puck sliced through the balmy air, zipped past Goalie James, and hit the back of the net. He groaned loudly—if he’d just dove a microsecond earlier!

“WOO!! Eat my dust, fellas!” Carlos rejoiced, waving his hockey stick around like a victory flag.

It was a cool Tuesday morning. Big Time Rush was playing a friendly game of hockey in Palmwoods Park. They were split into two teams: Logan and Carlos, James and Kendall.

“Face it, boys—I am the reigning King of the Rink, and I always will be.” Carlos gloated merrily.

“Okay, but do you really have to say it every time you score?” Kendall complained.

Logan smirked at the glowering James and Kendall. “Now do you see why I wanted to be on his team this time?”

James retrieved the puck and gave Carlos a long look. “You know what? It’s the helmet.”

Carlos narrowed his eyes. “What does that mean?”

“Your helmet is your crutch. Without it, you wouldn’t be nearly as confident. Or nearly as good.”

Kendall stood next to James and nodded. “It’s true, man. You couldn’t take that thing off if your life depended on it.”

Carlos jutted out his bottom lip. “That’s just your jealousy talking. Admit it.”

James crossed his bulkily padded arms, the corners of his mouth curling. “No, you admit it. You couldn’t go a day without that chunk of plastic.”

Carlos folded his own arms defensively. “Oh, really?”

Kendall inhaled a heavy, exaggerated sniff. “I smell bet.”

James continued, “How about this: If you lose this round, you can’t wear your helmet for the next two days.”

Carlos sucked in a breath; this was unthinkable to him. Still, the guys knew him all too well—he had never been the kind to pass up a bet. They took full advantage of this whenever possible. “Okay...but if you lose, you can’t use your lucky comb for two days.” he countered smugly.

James shrieked, a very high, very “James” shriek. He quickly collected himself and smiled challengingly. “Fine. You’re on.” To seal the deal, they shook on it—awkwardly, as they were still wearing hockey gloves.

…..

“Agh!” Carlos yelled, throwing down his hockey stick. He couldn’t believe it—he’d actually lost.

“Uh-oh! Looks like someone’s gonna be walkin’ around bald for two whole days.” James teased. He high-fived Kendall, their gloves making a ridiculous smacking sound.

Carlos gave him a look that, if looks could kill, would’ve incinerated him. “Yeah, yeah.” He grudgingly pulled off his precious helmet and sighed. “Until next time, mi amigo.” He brushed the dirt off before setting it on the grass.

“Man, you are such a drama queen.” James laughed as he watched this sentimental parting.

“First of all: Look who’s talking.” Carlos mocked. “And second: My papi gave it to me when I was six, after my first pee-wee hockey win. It’s like a part of me already—I feel like I just ripped out one of my eyeballs or something.” He gingerly crept a hand over his head, thinking about how strange it was to feel nothing but hair.

“Extreme object attachment,” Logan stated as he made his way over. “It is a thing, guys. Not that I support it, of course.”

Kendall rolled his eyes. “Dude, it’s just two days. It’s no big deal.”

Carlos held up his hands. “Hey, all I’m saying is, I am not the same person without it.”

James sighed and took off his own headgear. “Would it make you feel better if we all took off our helmets?”

Carlos watched as Logan and Kendall followed suit, removing their helmets as well. His moue dissolved into a smirk. “I guess that’s fair.”

James shrugged. “Gives me the chance to show off these immaculate waves, anyhow.” He produced his ever-present mirror from some unknown place, eliciting bewilderment from the others.

Kendall clapped his gloves together, wrenching James’ attention away from his reflection. “Okay! How about another helmet-less game?”

The guys cheered and got into position. Kendall dropped the puck, and there was instant pandemonium. Dirt sprayed in all directions as he, Carlos, and Logan battled for dominance—a three-person duel with wooden sticks.

In an unexpectedly wild burst of energy, Logan’s stick came back and whacked the puck—

—and sent it soaring into a tree.

“Aw, come on—really?!” Kendall exclaimed.

“Uh. My bad.” Logan said sheepishly, clutching his stick against himself.

The four looked up at where the puck was wedged between two thin branches. Kendall blew a gust of air through his lips. “Welp, who’s gonna do it?”

Carlos let his stick fall to the ground and ripped off his gloves, grinning. “Step aside, boys. This is my territory.” He clambered up the tree, demonstrating all the monkey-like skills he'd developed over the years. The guys intently watched him swing onto the branch. It had to be at least 20 feet up.

“Okay—almost got it—come here, little puck—” he grunted as he inched across, straining to touch the runaway object.

James noticed something. “Uhh—Carlos?” he called, worry growing in the pit of his stomach.

“Can’t—talk—right now—James—!” Carlos gritted through clenched teeth. His fingers were just barely skimming the puck.

James nudged his friends. “Look!” He pointed at the branch. There appeared to be a crack originating in the center, where it thinned out.

Now all of them began shouting Carlos’ name, desperately trying to warn him of the impending danger. He made a frustrated noise. “Guys! I am getting it! Be patient!” He scooted forward and risked a last, determined grab. This time, his grip closed around the puck.

“Ha-ha! Gotcha!”

Snap.

The three stared in horror as the branch finally lost its strength, taking a screaming Carlos along with it.

…..

“Carlos! Dude, are you okay?!” James cried as they gathered around their semi-conscious friend.

“Carlos, say something, buddy. Anything.” Kendall begged.

Logan stuffed his gloves under Carlos’ head and grabbed his wrist. “His pulse is weak, but he’s regaining consciousness.” He gently shook his shoulders. “Carlos. Can you hear me?”

Carlos slowly blinked. He looked curiously at the three ashen-faced boys frowning down at him.

“Eh—I say, what happened, lads?”

“Oh, thank goodness you’re talking. You fell out of the tree, and you probably have a concuss—” Logan stopped dead. “W-Wait. Did you say ‘lads’…?”

Carlos propped himself up on his elbows. “Of course. That is what you all are, is it not?”

Logan exchanged a very confused look with James and Kendall.

James gulped. “Okay, please tell me a British accent is a good sign.”

Chapter 2: Big Time Doctor

Carlos stood up, brushed dirt and grass off his jersey, and smiled.

The other Big Time Rush members gave him the once-over. Logan cleared his throat. “Um, listen...” he began, choosing his words carefully. “Do you remember your name?”

Carlos nodded. “Certainly! My name is Carlos Geraldo Garcia the Fourth.”

“The Fourth? Wow, heh, that’s impressive. Sounds very, uh, royal.” James remarked, forcing a laugh.

Carlos chortled, shrugging. “I suppose so. But enough about me. What titles do you gentlemen go by?”

Their stomachs dropped simultaneously. The severity of his condition was growing more and more apparent.

“Uh, well, I’m Kendall Knight...the...the First.” Kendall ventured.

“I’m James Diamond. And, well, I’m always the first. At everything.” James chuckled, earning hard jabs from his friends’ elbows.

Logan wore his most composed smile. “And I’m Logan Mitchell. We are your friends, and we’re in a band together.”

“A famous band.” James made sure to impart.

“Called Big Time Rush.” Kendall piped up.

Carlos frowned. “Oh...I’m a singer, then…?”

Logan gently placed his hands on his shoulders, guiding him along. “Yes, but we can talk about that later. We have more important things to think about. You hit your head pretty hard just now.”

Carlos didn’t seem flustered by this; he merely nodded. “Ah, I see...”

“So, you should just sit here...” Logan led him to a park bench, “...and try to relax, while I discuss your, er, situation with these guys.” Carlos nodded again and observed the people walking past.

Logan immediately went serious as he turned to the others. Kendall threw his hands up. “Okay, Doctor Mitchell, diagnosis? Please?”

"Doctor Mitchell" puffed out a breath. “He appears to be suffering from a certain type of retrograde amnesia. Namely, he’s experiencing a sort of dissociative fugue. He’s overwritten some of his existing memories with new, completely fictitious memories.”

Kendall and James’ faces could not have been blanker.

“Logan, could you repeat that in Lebanese? I think we’d understand it better.” James snarked.

Logan turned his eyes towards the sky. “Carlos bonked his head so hard that he thinks he’s a British dude.”

The two boys nodded, finally getting it. “So now what?” Kendall inquired.

“Well, uh, we need to tell Gustavo and Kelly. Which, by the way, I am not looking forward to.”

They turned. Carlos had plucked a small yellow flower by his feet. He gave its petals a deep sniff and sighed happily.

Kendall snorted. “And say what? Carlos fell out of a tree, and now he thinks he’s a refined English gentleman?"

…..

“Guys, Carlos fell out of a tree, and now he thinks he’s a refined English gentleman.”

Gustavo smashed a loud, obnoxiously discordant note on the piano. Beside him stood Kelly, who was holding some papers (which now fluttered to the studio’s floor).

“That was a joke, right? Please say that was a joke.” Gustavo growled.

Kendall sighed. “Believe me, I wish it were.” He gestured to Carlos, who was standing between Logan and James. Carlos stepped forward with a smile, hand extended.

“Hello there! I’m chuffed to meet you—though, according to my mates here, this wouldn’t exactly be the first time.”

“Oh, well, uh...we’re very...‘chuffed’ to meet you, too!” Kelly tittered, nervously accepting the handshake. Carlos offered his hand to Gustavo, who regarded it with a cold stare.

He awkwardly retreated and tucked his arms behind his back. “Bit of a disagreeable sort, that one.” he whispered to James and Logan.

“But, hey, at least he still remembers his name!” Kendall quickly added.

“Carlos Geraldo Garcia the Fourth.” Carlos smiled, bowing.

Everybody cringed. Gustavo slowly rose, fingers kneading his temples. “Your next tour starts in less than two months. You haven’t even begun rehearsing. And now you’re telling me that Carlos has been bodysnatched by the PRINCE OF WALES?!?!”

“Gustavo, calm down.” Kelly said firmly. “It was just an accident. A very...inconvenient accident.”

“Inconvenient? No. A zit is inconvenient. Athlete's foot is inconvenient." He flapped his hands in Carlos' direction.

"This, THIS is a catastrophe. Just wait until the public sees!” he ranted, his complexion growing ruddier by the moment. “Actually, scratch that—we cannot let any of the fans see him. We’ll be the laughingstock of the entertainment industry!

“Not to mention Griffin. Oh, that man would just love to shred me to pieces over something like this.”

Logan spoke up. “He’s hurt real bad, Gustavo. He needs to see a doctor.”

Gustavo’s eyes lasered into him, causing the boy to instantly quail. “Gustavo Rocque Rule Number One: DO NOT tell me what to do!” He rounded on his assistant. “Kelly, Carlos needs to see a doctor. Take him to Doc Hollywood, STAT.”

…..

Kelly and the boys waited on pins and needles in the pristine doctor’s office. Carlos sat on the examination table's edge, his intertwined hands resting atop crossed legs. He was glancing inquisitively at the many black-and-white celebrity headshots adorning the walls.

Doc Hollywood entered the room, sighing heavily. He was carrying a large white poster board. "I am so sorry about the wait, guys. I just finished an agonizing procedure. It's never easy, but someone has to do it."

He wore latex gloves. Everyone's eyes widened—they were smeared a dark red.

"Oh my gosh—are they alright?" Kelly gasped.

He paused in the middle of peeling off a glove. "If by 'they' you mean the letters on my new sign, then yes, they are fantastic. Much better than the old, fading sign, if I do say so myself."

He spun the poster board to face them: In dark red letters, it boasted, "DOC HOLLYWOOD: DOCTOR TO THE STARS."

"It was agonizing work for me to paint them, though!" he continued, totally oblivious to their perplexed expressions.

"Now," he announced after tossing out the gloves, "what can I do for you guys?"

Kelly rubbed Carlos' shoulder. "It's Carlos. He has a head injury."

Once again, Carlos stuck out a hand. "Pleased to meet you, Doctor. I must say, that is a smashing shirt. Custom tailor, I presume?"

Doc Hollywood gladly returned the smile and handshake. "As a matter of fact, yes! Harold's Stitches, across the street. His prices are unmatched, too." He looked at the rest of the group and shrugged. "Seems fine to me."

Logan rolled his eyes. "Fine? He's completely forgotten who he is!"

The doctor let out an understanding chuckle. "Ah, well, we all need to be reminded of who we are sometimes. You know, I was originally a doctor of philosophy..."

Kelly shook her head in exasperation. "He has amnesia." She drew out each syllable, as though speaking to a toddler.

"Oh! It is serious, then." he exclaimed. He gently cupped Carlos' head, studying it. "And how did this happen?"

"It's all my fault. I hit the puck into the tree, and he had to climb up after it." Logan said, guilt visible on his face.

James shook his head. "No, no. It was my fault. I'm the one that made him take off his helmet, remember?"

"Well, yeah, but I think it's actually my fault." Kendall insisted. "The whole stupid bet was my idea."

Somehow, this snowballed into a mini argument. Kelly squeezed the bridge of her nose. "Guys!" she shouted, ending the bickering in its tracks. "It doesn't matter whose fault it is, okay? What matters is that Carlos gets better." The guys nodded and looked dolefully at their friend.

"She's quite right." Carlos agreed. "I hate to see you lot get so wound up over a thing like this."

Doc Hollywood affectionately smiled down at him. "And are you sure you really want to change him back? I mean, he's so darn polite!"

Just like that, he became the target of four withering glares. "YES!" they yelled, scaring the grin right off his face.

"Okay, okay..." he muttered meekly, holding up his hands. "Well. I happen to watch medical dramas—very informative stuff, by the way—and they all say the same thing: Unfortunately, amnesia has no surefire cure. He'll have to regain his memory on his own."

They traded worried looks. “So there’s nothing at all that you can do?” Kelly said sadly.

The doctor replied, "You want my professional opinion? I’d suggest skydiving. That adrenaline rush should jog his mind, keep him sharp." He snapped his fingers. "Ooh, or dirt biking! Dirt biking always cheers me up."

Out of all of them, Logan looked the most flabbergasted. "Or...maybe he just needs to take it easy?" he proposed, his voice dripping with “duh.”

Doc Hollywood shrugged. "Eh, I think my opinion is better. But, hey, it's worth a shot!"

Chapter 3: Big Time Charm

Everyone (minus Carlos) was seated at breakfast the next morning. Even though they were trying to converse normally, the pink elephant loomed in the corner: Poor Carlos had amnesia, and it was up to them to heal him.

Mrs. Knight was the first to offer comfort, as usual. "Look, guys. I know you're worried about Carlos. I am, too.” She refilled glasses of orange juice. “But all we can do right now is let him rest. I told him he could sleep as late as he wanted, if it meant he would feel better.”

Katie stirred her oatmeal, deep in thought. “You know, back in Minnesota, there was a kid in school who got amnesia after a snowboarding accident.”

The guys’ ears perked up. “Really? What happened to him?” James asked.

She paused. “Last I heard, he ended up in Duluth’s best asylum, where he apparently commits arson every time it snows.”

Logan choked on his cereal. Mrs. Knight shot her a scolding look, to which she averted her eyes and gulped a big spoonful of oatmeal.

“Well, that’s not gonna happen.” Kendall declared, waving his own spoon for emphasis. "I'm sure he's better already, and life will be back to normal in no time."

Carlos emerged from his room. As if on cue, everyone's mouths fell agape. Katie's spoon landed on the table with a clatter.

He was decked out in a charcoal gray cardigan, crisp white button-down, and pressed khakis. A black tie sat neatly below his collar. To top it all off, his dark hair was perfectly coiffed, with the faintest sheen of gel.

"Good morning, all!" he greeted, as cheery as ever.

Logan’s eyes looked as though they would pop. "Is...that one of my cardigans?"

Carlos glanced down and grinned apologetically. “Ah, yeah...sorry, mate. I riffled through my entire wardrobe. Didn’t much care for it. What was I thinking?” His gaze wandered over the table. “Anyway, what’s for brekkie?”

Mrs. Knight gave everyone a look that plainly said, “stop staring.” Once they had focused their attention back on their food, she smiled at him. “Good morning, sweetie! What are you in the mood for? Just name it.”

He thought for a moment. “Have you got any baked beans? Or some roasted tomatoes, perhaps?”

Her smile faltered ever so slightly. She shared a puzzled look with the others. “Uh...sorry, honey. No beans. Or, er, tomahtoes. Just oatmeal and cereal.”

She cracked open the bread box sitting on the counter. “But, uh, we do have...um...” She presented a plastic-wrapped package to him. “...English muffins.”

He examined the little round morsels and beamed. “Oh, that’ll do just fine! Thank you, Mrs. Knight.”

She breathed a silent sigh of relief as he sat down. “I’ll make you some scrambled eggs to go with them.” She hesitated. “That is okay, right?”

He nodded as he munched on his muffin. “That’d be brilliant. Could I have a spot of Earl Grey, too, please?”

Befuddled looks once again abounded across the table. Carlos chuckled nervously. “Uh, actually, orange juice will do.” With a sympathetic smile, Mrs. Knight nodded and began tinkering in the kitchen.

Logan had a hefty medical tome splayed in front of him. “Okay, according to this, a concussion victim must spend the first couple of days avoiding any activity.”

James’ eyebrows shot up. “Any activity? Like, at all?”

“So no dancing or singing? Boy, Gustavo is really not going to like this.” Kendall noted.

Carlos scoffed around a mouthful of muffin. “Well, fortunately, I feel swell. You can tell Sir Cranky that he has nothing to fuss over. I shall not let a lump on my noggin confine me.”

…..

Carlos was mummified in blankets on the Orange Sofa.

His three friends stood over him, their arms folded. He rolled his eyes at them. “Really, lads, this is absolutely absurd! Believe me, I have never felt more fine and dandy.”

Logan shook his head. “No, man, you are not ‘fine and dandy.’ You are ‘fragile and disoriented.’”

James put in, “What you need is a good long dose of R&R. Logan’s nerdy book said so.” Logan whapped his shoulder with said book, prompting an agonized cry.

Carlos glanced at the TV remote, which sat at his immobilized feet. He shifted around, trying to dislodge his arm. “At least let me peek at the telly—”

Logan immediately swiped the remote. Carlos glared at him. “Oi! What gives?!”

“Carlos, I’m sorry, but you can’t watch TV. For the first 48 hours after your concussion, you need to avoid screen time.” Logan explained sternly. He really did look sorry, though.

“And definitely no dancing, singing, swimming, or hockey. Which is what got us into this mess to begin with.” Kendall elaborated. Carlos fell silent, but he was clearly pouting.

The boys used this moment to deliberate. They faced away from the sofa, so as not to disturb him further. “Alright. One of us needs to stay here at all times, to make sure that Carlos doesn’t overexert himself. And, also, to ensure that he’s properly hydrated.” Logan whispered.

James gave a soft snort. “No problemo! You’re talkin’ to a human surveillance camera.”

“Yeah. After babysitting Katie for three years, you become an expert at these things.” Kendall assured.

Behind them, the door slammed. The trio whipped around.

He was gone.

“Oh, no.” they moaned.

…..

The elevator opened, and out walked Carlos. He hummed as he moseyed through the lobby. Occasionally, he offered a “good day!” to a bemusedly smiling passerby.

He passed Mr. Bitters, who was listlessly clacking away on his desktop. “How are you today?” he saluted.

The hotel manager did a double take. Upon sizing up the well-dressed young man, his eyes narrowed. “Lousy as always...Carlos.” Bitters’ wary leer never left him as he continued on his way.

Carlos lingered at the pool entrance. As he surveyed the many pool-goers, his vision settled on three girls. With a little extra spring in his step, he ambled onto the damp tiles.

The other boys tumbled out of the elevator. “Carlos! Where are you, man?!” James spouted as they tore across the carpet.

"Hey, uh—did a Brit come through here?" Kendall panted to a young couple walking past.

Bitters rolled his eyes as they dogpiled in front of his desk. “He’s by the pool. At least, I think it’s him.” he told them, his voice monotone.

They made a beeline for the double doors and screeched to a halt. Sure enough, there he was.

Carlos approached the girls' table. One hand was in his pocket, while the other lightly gripped “his” cardigan, as though it were a suit jacket. “Hello, ladies.”

They lowered their magazines at the same time. “What do you want?” they asked in equally perfect (and irritated) unison.

His smile was soft as he continued, “I am terribly sorry for disturbing you, but I just...felt the need to say something to you all.”

“Then say it and leave. And drop the dumb accent.” the blonde girl snapped.

Carlos hesitated. “Alright…well, I couldn’t help noticing how positively radiant your hair looks this morning. It’s as though the angels themselves wove it from the sun’s rays.”

They froze for a barely discernible beat. The curly-haired girl was the first to regain her attitude. “Listen, Carlos, we know this is some sort of prank. You can’t fool us that easily.”

He looked confused. “A...prank?” He chuckled. “I beg your pardon, Miss, but I assure you: I treat matters of the heart quite seriously.”

The third girl, who donned bangs, stood up. “‘Serious’?” she scoffed. “There’s nothing ‘serious’ about you, Carlos. You could never be ‘romantic’ if you tried. End of discussion.” And she held her palm in his face.

He responded by gently curling his hand around hers, a sad sigh escaping his lips. “Well, maybe you’re correct. Perhaps I truly am not good enough for an epitome of feminine beauty, such as yourselves. I only hope that we can reach a civilized compromise and...be good friends?” He brought her hand up and brushed his lips against the back of it. His eyes twinkled as he smiled into hers.

In spite of everything, all three of the Jennifers blushed. The other two rose from their chairs, smiles playing about their lips.

“I think he’s finally lost it.” Blonde Jennifer remarked. “And I never thought I’d say this, but I kind of like it.”

Kendall, James, and Logan watched in awe as the Jennifers linked arms with their friend. The four of them walked out of the pool area.

“Unbelievable!” James groaned. “He bumps his head, and now all of a sudden he’s the Palmwoods Casanova!”

“Well, look at it this way: Maybe talking to more people will help him recover?” Kendall suggested, but he sounded very unconvinced.

Logan’s face suddenly lit up. “Hold on—Kendall, that’s it!”

Kendall and James looked at each other. “Uh—what’s it?” the two asked curiously.

They could practically see the gears rotating in Logan’s mind. “This is kind of a long shot, but it might work: We could try recreating some of Carlos’ old memories! Maybe if he actually interacts with the events he’s forgotten, he’ll remember who he is.”

Kendall grinned. “The Big Time Brain always comes through! And I know just the person who can help us.”

Chapter 4: Big Time Acting

Kendall rapped on the door of 4J.

A few moments later, it opened. Camille beamed when she saw the three boys standing there. "Oh, hey, guys! What's up?"

Kendall hurriedly spoke. “Camille, we are in dire need of your acting chops once again.”

“Yeah, Carlos fell out of a tree. It really messed up his brain. Now he has amnesia, and thinks he’s someone else.” Logan explained.

Camille gasped. “Oh, no, not sweet Carlos? That’s horrible!” Her forehead creased. “But...how can I help?”

“Well, we’ve compiled a list of Carlos’ most important memories.” Logan went on, brandishing a paper filled with text.

James added, “And we want you to help us recreate them for him, so we can get our little buddy back.”

“Our non-British little buddy.” Kendall tacked on.

She nodded quickly and took the paper. After scanning it, she pointed at one of the typed sentences. “I could have a go at this one. Shouldn’t be too hard.”

They looked at her forefinger’s place. “‘First date with Abigail Jones.’” Kendall read.

James smiled wistfully. “Oh, yeah, the eighth grade. Carlos really thought it was a good idea to take her to see the blockbuster of that year.”

Camille raised a questioning brow. “What’s wrong with that?”

“It was ‘The Return of Dollareyes the Clown.’” Kendall informed her.

She flinched. “Oh. I still have nightmares about that one...”

Logan suddenly chuckled—a strange, skittery laugh. “Uh, a-are you really sure about this, Camille? I mean, I know you’re a trained actress and all, but, uh, that might be kinda hard to pull off...”

Camille waved a hand and scoffed. “Please. I’ve tackled roles way more challenging than this. Besides, I’ll do anything to help Carlos. I want him to be back to normal just as much as you do.”

The boys (except Logan, who still looked a little uncertain) smiled widely. “Now,” she said, her eyes roving across the paper once more, “I just need the character profile, and we’re in business.”

…..

Carlos skipped along the freshly mowed Palmwoods Park lawn. It was a gorgeous Wednesday—azure sky, birds twittering, sunlight pouring through the magnolias…

...and, unbeknownst to him, his every move was being watched. Under the shelter of their trusty tree hats, Kendall, James, and Logan peeked through binoculars. Their bastion of choice: the park’s hedges.

“Lilac, I repeat, Lilac! Do you read me? Over.” Kendall whispered into a walkie-talkie.

Camille sat on one of the benches. A book laid open on her crossed thighs. Her dark brown hair was in a French braid, held in place by a small lavender bow. She wore a cream-colored blouse and purple plaid skirt. As Kendall’s voice crackled by her side, she sighed and held up her own walkie-talkie.

“Yes, I ‘read’ you. But do we really have to use code names?”

Kendall pressed the device’s button again. “Affirmative, Lilac. And you’re supposed to say ‘over’! Over.”

She groaned. “Fine, ‘Emerald.’ Over.”

Kendall huddled next to Logan. “Raven, is the parabolic microphone in place?”

Logan discreetly stuck the microphone inside the dense hedge. “Aye aye, Emerald.”

James spotted Carlos first. He fumbled for his walkie-talkie. “Lilac, Oxford Blue is approaching. I repeat, Oxford B—”

“James, I can see him, okay? Just stay cool.” Camille hissed.

“Hey, that’s ‘Rose Gold’, to you—!” Logan snatched James’ walkie-talkie, cutting him off.

Carlos passed Camille and immediately backpedaled. "Pardon, Miss. I don't mean to impose, but...have we met somewhere before?"

She looked up from her book, a perfect expression of surprise written across her face. "Oh! Um, I don't think so?" She held out her hand. "My name is Abigail Jones."

He smiled and shook it. "I am Carlos Garc—" He stopped. He seemed to be considering something.

She looked at him worriedly. "Are you good?"

He shook his head and cleared his throat. "Uh, it's nothing, Miss Jones. Your name, it...rang a bell, for some reason."

As these words came through the boys' microphone, they swapped excited glances. "That's it, Carlitos...come on, ask her..." Kendall said quietly.

Carlos smoothed his hands over his khakis, a seemingly anxious gesture. "Say...would you care to join me on my morning promenade?"

She stood up and smiled sweetly. "I have an even better idea. I hear they're showing 'Dollareyes the Clown: The Last Act.' Wanna go see it?"

He froze. The bells in his head were now ringing off the hook. "Ah...uh...certainly! That—that would be lovely." He offered her his arm, which she gladly took.

“We’re relocating to the movie theater. Move out, gentlemen!” Kendall announced. The three of them tiptoed away, tree hats bobbing over the hedges.

…..

Carlos sat bolt upright in the plush maroon seat. His eyes were wide and uneasy, transfixed on the enormous screen. He grimaced as the killer clown appeared, for what seemed like the twentieth time.

Camille winced as well, but she turned to him with a brave face. “You liking it so far?”

He swallowed. “Uh, well, I’m going to be perfectly honest: I’m not partial to horror films.”

The guys’ heads popped up two rows behind. “What?!” James hissed incredulously. “He once told us that ‘Dollareyes the Clown’ is the best movie of all time!”

Logan sighed. “James, he doesn’t remember that.”

Popcorn suddenly geysered all over the theater as a jumpscare flashed onscreen, accompanied by a very Carlos-esque scream.

“Now, that was more like the Carlos we know and love.” Kendall smirked. “I’d call that progress.”

…..

Later, Carlos and “Abigail” were walking back to the Palmwoods, hand in hand. The three guys followed cautiously, with Logan clutching the parabolic microphone. They hid behind whatever structure they could find—a tree, a mailbox, a parked car—while staying as close as possible. Every so often, Camille would toss an anxious glimpse over her shoulder.

As they peeked around a corner, Logan spotted something. “Check it out!” He jabbed his finger at an umbrella-shaded food cart up ahead.

“‘Willy Dilly Dogs.’ That’s where Carlos had his very first corn dog, back in Minnesota!” he reminded, showing them the list of memories.

Kendall swiped a pebble off the pavement. He flung it at Camille’s back, causing her to shoot him a questioning (and slightly annoyed) look. They frantically motioned for her to come over.

Camille sighed, plucked the little purple ribbon out of her braid, and dropped it down her blouse. Then, she put on her own frantic act. “Oh, dang it! I lost my bow.”

Carlos smiled chivalrously. “No worries, my dear—I can go back and search for it...”

“No!” she cried, flattening her hands against his chest. She caught herself with a flighty giggle. “Ah, I mean, let me do it, Carlos.” She speed-walked in the opposite direction, disappearing around the corner.

“What now?” she asked.

“There’s a food cart back there called Willy Dilly Dogs. That’s where Carlos ate his first corn dog. If their dogs don’t hurtle him back to reality, nothing will.” Kendall explicated.

“And, just so you know, you can quit at any time.” Logan added, evoking smacks from his bandmates.

Camille winked as she pinned her bow back on. “Got it.” She turned and walked back, her Mary Janes clicking down the sidewalk.

“What’s the matter with you, dude?” James rebuked, glaring at Logan.

“Look, I’m sorry, okay? It’s just—weird, you know?” he struggled to explain. “I mean, it’s my ex-girlfriend, and my best friend, who doesn’t even remember I’m his best friend...”

Kendall held up a hand, silencing him. “If it’ll get Carlos back, it’s worth it. Besides, this was your idea, remember? Now,” he ordered, “get that parabolic microphone ready.”

Chapter 5: Big Time Corn Dogs

“Found it!” Camille announced, flaunting her “salvaged” bow. “Hey, you know something? All this walking has worked up an appetite.”

She pointed at the food cart. “What do you say we grab lunch from Willy Dilly Dogs? I hear their corn dogs are amazing.”

Carlos regarded the cart for a moment. “Corn dogs?” He hesitated. “What are those, exactly…?”

Behind the corner, the guys facepalmed.

Camille was taken aback—he really was in bad shape. “Oh, um...well, it’s like a hot dog, but it’s...on a stick. It doesn’t really have corn, though.” She grabbed his hand, dragging him towards the cart. “You know what, just try one. You’ll see.”

She smiled at the man running the mini kiosk. “Hi! Two corn dogs, please.” After paying for them, she handed one to Carlos. “My treat.” she grinned.

Carlos evaluated the funny-looking food with something between curiosity and suspicion. He took a modest little bite.

And, somewhere in his muddled head, angels began to sing.

Camille chewed hers slowly, waiting. “Well…?”

He almost didn’t hear her. All he could think about was the symphony of deep-fried, hot dog-y goodness marinating in his mouth. “That...that’s...” His face broke into a huge grin. “That’s totally rad!”

The boys winced as their microphone whined feedback. But they were smiling. Had they finally unlocked a core memory?

Carlos’ eyes fluttered. “I—I apologize, Miss Jones. I...don’t know what possessed me just now.” He glanced abashedly at his wingtip shoes. The others groaned. Back to Square One.

Camille gave him a sad smile. “Hey, um, it happens to the best of us.”

He gazed at her intently. His face gradually moved closer to hers.

“Wha—wait, what is he doin—MMF!!” Logan’s yells were cut off by his friends’ hands, which had immediately clamped over his mouth and shoved his writhing form to the ground.

Once his lips were inches away from hers, Carlos paused. “Ah...listen, Abigail...”

Camille swallowed. “Are you okay, Carlos?”

“No...I mean, yes. I’m fine. But I think it would be best if we stayed as friends.” He bit his lip, anxiety darkening his features. “Please don’t be offended, Miss Jones. I wish I could explain why I feel this way...”

She shook her head, her smile rueful. “No, Carlos, it’s okay. I understand.”

They embraced tightly. Once he was far enough down the sidewalk, she sighed and trekked back to the corner.

“Well, that didn’t work.” she said unhappily. “He still thinks he’s British, and he just wants to be friends.”

“Good!” Logan blurted out.

They all stared at him. He cleared his throat. “Uh, it’s good that he sees her as a friend, because it means that he remembers her as Camille. Not Abigail.”

James frowned. “This is just great. What are we gonna do now?”

Kendall’s cellphone began sounding off the chorus of “This Is Our Someday.” He held it to his ear.

“Hello? Oh, hey, Kelly.” A few moments of silence. “Okey-dokey, we’ll be right over.”

He stuffed the cell back into his jeans and looked at the others. “Now, we are going to meet Gustavo in his office, for reasons that I don’t even want to imagine.”

…..

“Dogs. Status report.” Gustavo demanded the minute they’d stepped over the threshold.

“Carlos still has amnesia, and so far, none of our remedies are working.” Kendall said matter-of-factly.

“And neither is my band.” Gustavo snapped. “You three need to fix your friend ASA-Immediately, because Griffin wants me and Kelly to start adding tour dates. I cannot have one of my band members babbling the Queen’s English and waving crumpets in my boss’ face!”

“We just need a little more time, Gustavo.” Logan explained despairingly. He had his medical book tucked under one arm. Now, he began thumbing through it in a frenzy. “Here! It says that the majority of amnesia cases don’t last for more than a few days.”

“I’m gonna hold you to your little book, Doctor Geek.” Gustavo snarled. “In the meantime, none of us are going to breathe a word about this new setback to Griffin.”

“What new setback?”

The four of them jumped. There, in the doorway, stood none other than Arthur Griffin. Abdul, his deadpan assistant/servant, stood off to the side.

A panting Kelly appeared behind him. “I’m sorry, Gustavo...I told him you were in a meeting, but he insisted.”

Gustavo briefly glared at her. Then, he gave his manager an extremely fake smile. “Griffin! Uh...new setback? Pshhhh,” He strained out a laugh, “who said that? What I said was, uh, ‘duet track.’”

Griffin’s knifelike gaze fell on the three boys. They nodded hastily, their smiles just as plastic.

“I was thinkin’ that, maybe, one of the songs—‘Show Me’—would sound better as a duet. Don’t know who to duet with, though!” he rambled on.

The older man’s smile was as sweet as battery acid. “Ah, yes. Because you are the one who makes the decisions, is that it?”

Gustavo’s grin slid off his face. Griffin stepped forward and continued, “We will have a duet when I say we can have a duet. And besides: Collaborations cost money. Money that could be invested in more important things, like Big Time Rush’s upcoming tour. Or Elvis Presley's secret stash of freeze-dried peanut butter bacon sandwiches."

He ignored their confusion to say, “Now. Where is Carlos?”

“C-Carlos?” Kendall squeaked. “Um, well, he’s...uh...”

“Taking care of an injured baby deer!” James blurted, a little too loudly.

Logan, Kendall, Gustavo, and Kelly threw him looks that screamed, “have you lost your mind?!”, but Griffin looked pleased.

“Oh? Well, good for him!” he praised. “We could use more Good Samaritans like that. I happen to love deer.”

Gustavo stared at the ceiling. “Let me guess: You have a pet deer?”

Griffin looked at him, brow lifted. “Oh, I didn’t mean as pets.”

Their aghast expressions also went unnoticed by the CEO. “Anyway, I just came here to get a status report. So,” His eyes drilled into the sweating record producer, “Gustavo. Status report.”

Gustavo met Kelly’s gaze, silently pleading with her to save him. She mustered her resolve and cleared her throat. “The boys will start rehearsing on Monday, Mr. Griffin. Gustavo just...needs to go over some moves with the choreographer. You know how detail-oriented he is.”

“Correction: The boys will start rehearsing tomorrow.” Griffin asserted, adjusting his striped tie. “And not a day later. Chop-chop, Gustavo! We wouldn’t want these boys to forget their responsibilities, now, would we?”

With that, he and Abdul left the office. Five pairs of horrified eyes stayed glued on their retreating forms.

Chapter 6: Big Time Call

“Okay, Carlos is listening to classical music in his room. Why did you assemble this super-important pow-wow?” Mrs. Knight asked as she entered the living room.

The “pow-wow” included the boys, Katie, and Camille. Except for Kendall, they were all gathered on the Orange Sofa.

“Because things are gettin’ desperate, Mom.” Kendall explained, pacing across the area rug. “Tour rehearsals start tomorrow, so Carlos needs to be himself again. Fast.”

“Yeah, and not his posh, scary-movie-hating, classical-music-loving self.” James chimed. He tipped his chin in the direction of Carlos’ room, where the muffled works of Bach were floating through the door. “He’s still having a diminutive fluke.”

“Dissociative fugue.” Logan corrected him with a lour.

“Well, seducing him with his old school crush failed.” Camille mused, her legs crossed Indian Style.

“So did feeding him Willy Dilly Dogs’ famous corn dogs.” Logan added, waving the sheet of memories.

“So...what are we missing? What did we forget?” Kendall griped.

Katie sat up. “Just think: What did the old Carlos treasure the most? More than anything?”

As if by a light switch, everyone’s collective brain cell shone with understanding. “His helmet,” they synced in a perfect six-part harmony.

“Of course! Remember what Carlos said yesterday, after taking it off?” Kendall said excitedly to the other two boys.

Logan’s eyes sparkled. “He said that his papi gave the helmet to him when he was six.”

“After his very first hockey win!” James nodded.

Katie smirked at her brother. “I think you know what you have to do now.”

Kendall made a finger gun at her, grinning. “Right.” He faced Mrs. Knight. “Mom. I need you to make a call.”

…..

The next morning, a black-and-white motorcycle rumbled into the Palmwoods’ parking lot.

Its stocky rider sported a shiny white helmet and black police uniform. He snapped the kickstand into place and dismounted, swinging one heavy black boot over the seat.

Kendall, Logan, and James were already waiting for him. He leisurely trod over to them, his mouth set in a rigid line. Once he reached them, he simply stood there, not uttering a word.

Without warning, his granite countenance crumbled into a sunny grin.

“Chicos! So, so good to see you again...been far too long…!” he exuberated, crushing all three of them in a fierce bear hug. When they started gasping for air, he reluctantly freed them.

“Thank you so much for coming, Mr. Garcia. I guess my mom already told you the bad news.” Kendall said sympathetically.

Mr. Garcia nodded, the grave look returning. “Yes. Flew down as soon as I heard. Mi hijo, been getting himself into trouble since he learned how to walk.” He paused, thinking. “Or crawl. So, how did it happen this time?”

Logan decided to answer. “It’s pretty silly, actually—he climbed a tree to go after our hockey puck.”

“Ah, well,” he laughed, his eyes crinkling warmly. “that’s my boy!”

…..

“That’s my boy?”

Mr. Garcia stood in 2J’s kitchen, not sure what to make of the sight before him. Carlos, looking preppier than ever in a white polo shirt (complete with a navy blue jumper tied around his neck) and tan chinos, was sitting cross-legged on the living room floor. A set of tiny metal jacks was scattered in front of him, and he held a small red ball.

“Oh, hello there!” Carlos beamed. “Just having a quick game of jacks. Really sharpens the mind, it does!”

Mrs. Knight leaned close to the bug-eyed father, her face full of pity. “Um...I left out a few details over the phone. We figured you needed to see it to believe it.”

Mr. Garcia slowly approached his son. “Carlos! How’re you doing, mi muchacho?”

After catching the little bouncing ball, Carlos stood up and held out his hand. “I’m just splendid! It’s lovely to make your acquaintance. What might I call you?”

Mr. Garcia’s smile faltered. “Carlitos...I am your padre. Your father!” He hesitated. “Don’t you remember me…?”

The boy’s face was a blank, nonplussed slate. Suddenly, he brightened. “Ah, of course, Father. My sincerest apologies. Please, won’t you join me for a game? Or rummy, if you’d prefer?” Seemingly out of thin air, he flourished a deck of playing cards.

“Ay, dios mio...” Mr. Garcia moaned.

Kendall took this opportunity to intervene. “Actually, we were thinking about a nice game of hockey, in Palmwoods Park.”

Now it was Carlos’ turn to waver. “But...I thought I needed to avoid such activities? With my head being barmy, and all...”

“Yes, but, it’s been 48 hours since your concussion.” Logan explained, sliding into view. “So, you are officially free.”

“Listen to your friends, son.” Mr. Garcia urged. “Exercise is good for the mind, too, you know.”

“Well, uh...I don’t...” Carlos stammered. Before he could object further, all three boys began to practically carry him out the door.

Mr. Garcia watched them vanish down the hall. Then, he turned to look at Mrs. Knight and Katie. His eyes were quizzical and, understandably, concerned.

“Don’t worry, Mr. Garcia.” Katie reassured. “We’ve got a plan.”

“They always do.” Mrs. Knight suspired.

Chapter 7: Big Time Hockey

Carlos stood by a tree, clumsily putting on his hockey gear. Meanwhile, Kendall, Logan, and James huddled together on the grass.

“Now, remember: Carlos can’t lose. We need to play as badly as possible, so he can win. Got it?”

“Got it.” Logan and James agreed.

Their audience consisted of Mr. Garcia, Mrs. Knight, Katie, and Camille, who were seated on benches. They clapped and cheered words of encouragement as the boys got into position. Camille nudged Katie and whispered, “Do you really think this is gonna work?”

To which Katie sighed and replied, “I’d give it a fifty percent chance of success.”

As always, Kendall dropped the puck. His, Logan’s, and Carlos’ sticks fought for power once again, but Kendall and Logan were clearly playing as lazily as they could. Carlos was, too—except he wasn’t acting.

James wasn’t diving or trying to guard the goal—in fact, he was hardly moving. He simply stood there, in the center, playing the role of the World’s Worst Goalie.

Carlos finally smacked the puck, hard...it skimmed over the ground, gained speed, rocketed towards the goal…

...and bounced off James’ stomach.

“Really? Really?” James shouted, holding up his arms.

Katie sighed again. “Make that forty percent.”

…..

Things were not going well.

No matter how poorly the others played, no matter how much space James gave him, Carlos could not make a goal.

During the fifth round, Carlos did not clearly see where he was aiming. He only realized where the puck had gone when he heard the pained yelp of a Yorkie. The hapless little dog zoomed off into the distance, leaving its frazzled owner to sprint after it.

During the tenth round, he shot the puck into the path of Buddha Bob’s riding mower. The apologetic maintenance man ended up returning what was left of their useless, mutilated puck (luckily, they had a spare).

During the eighteenth round, he slipped. This somehow catapulted the puck into the net’s metal frame, which caused it to ricochet off the trunk of a tree, which sent it whizzing into Carlos’ filthy white helmet. The poor boy toppled over and landed in a vat of mud. All the spectators grimaced at the resounding squelch.

“I can’t believe it!” Mr. Garcia wailed. “He hasn’t scored a single time! Back home, my boy was the best on his team!”

Katie sadly looked on as the dejected Carlos laid there in a muddy, pathetic heap.

She took a deep breath—drastic times called for drastic measures.

She planted one foot on the bench, hoisting herself up. “What’s the matter, Carlos?” she yelled. “Are you too much of a pansy to win one game?!”

Everybody turned to stare at her, wide-eyed. As her eyes met Kendall’s, she winked. He smiled and winked back, catching wind of her plan.

“Yeah, man, I didn’t think head trauma could turn you into a loser!” he called.

From his crumpled position in the slimy dirt, Carlos blinked. What was happening? Why were they all screaming at him?

Camille decided to get in on the act, cupping her hands around her mouth. “You’re a disgrace to the jersey, Carlos! We thought you were better than this!”

Mr. Garcia’s eyes darted from this spectacle, to Mrs. Knight, and back again. “Wh—What are they doing to my son, Jennifer? Carlos does not deserve this!”

She put a gentle hand on his arm. “It’s all part of the plan, Senior. Just watch.”

Before Carlos knew what was happening, he found himself being bombarded by a cacophony of insults. How could his friends do this to him? It wasn’t fair...he couldn’t just lay there and take this…

He rose up, a fire blazing in his chest.

“I’m not a loser...” he growled, seizing his stick as though it were a sword. “I’m the KING OF THE RINK!!”

With an earth-shattering war cry, he charged at Kendall and Logan, knocking them over like giant bowling pins. He danced the stick from side to side, expertly dribbling the puck along the dew-sodden grass. His grunt was almost animalistic as he flung the black disc with all his might—

—past an unsuspecting flock of pigeons—

—over a misting sprinkler—

—between James’ padded legs—

—right into the net.

There was stunned silence. Half a second later, everybody stood up and cheered.

Carlos straightened and spun around. Kendall and Logan were still flat on the grass, mouths agape. “Kendall…? Logan…? A-Are you guys good…?” he said anxiously.

“Carlos! Your accent is gone!” Kendall exclaimed, scrambling off the ground. James trotted over to them and joined in the chum-hugging, back-patting festivities.

A small, confused smile curved Carlos’ lips. “Uh, what accent?”

The others looked at each other. “You...You hit your head, Carlos.” Logan explained slowly.

“Yeah—and it, like, rattled your brain so much that you thought you were British, dude! You were stuck in a destructive fruit for days.” James elucidated.

“Dissociative. Fugue.” Logan gritted out.

“You really don’t remember any of it?” Kendall asked, surprised.

Carlos shook his head. “Nope! But I sure do remember that epic goal I scored just now!” He unleashed a loud, triumphant hoot.

James slapped a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Good to have you back, King!”

Shortly thereafter, a dazed but beaming Carlos was being swarmed by his friends and family. Before Mr. Garcia could smother his son in a hug, Kendall stopped him. “Here,” he whispered, handing him a small item. “give him this.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Carlos noticed his father approaching. He was holding something—something very, very familiar…

“My boy,” Mr. Garcia grinned, “I believe this is yours?”

It was his helmet. His black, shiny, beloved helmet.

He looked into his dad’s face, gaping. “Papi…?”

Mr. Garcia nodded, his eyes glittering. After ridding himself of his mud-splattered white helmet, Carlos set the spotless black helmet atop his head. The two Garcias shared a loving grin.

“RAHHHH!!” they roared, knocking their helmeted heads together. Laughing hysterically, Carlos propelled himself into his dad’s tight embrace.

Katie noticed Mrs. Knight dabbing at her eyes. “Mom...are you crying?”

Mrs. Knight tearfully smiled at her daughter. “Oh, uh...it’s just the pollen, honey...” Katie shook her head, but she too was smiling softly. It was hard not to be moved by the touching sight.

The Jennifers sashayed up to the crowd, cutting the emotional moment short. They cocked their heads and scowled at Carlos.

"Ahem." Jennifer with Bangs said curtly.

"We have a date today, Carlos. Or did you already forget?" Curly-Haired Jennifer accused, folding her arms.

Carlos fell from his father’s hold and rushed to them, his face a mixture of shock and joy. "Oh! Uh, no! Of course not!"

He cleared his throat, tugged at his soiled jersey, and rearranged himself into his idea of a "suave" pose. "So, ladies. I heard through the grapevine that 'Dollareyes the Clown: The Last Act' is in theaters. How about we check it out...from the back row?" He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

The girls' faces scrunched up, like they suddenly had manure under their noses.

"On second thought, the date's off." Blonde Jennifer snorted. "You haven't changed one bit."

Turning briskly on their heels, the Jennifers strutted away from Carlos' very puzzled face.

Mr. Garcia clapped his back. "Never mind 'em, son. They ain't worth it." Carlos smiled sheepishly, before engulfing him in yet another hug.

"And besides," Kendall said, stepping next to them, "we've got a tour to rehearse for."

Chapter 8: Big Time All Over Again

"I blaze the night, in harbor lights," Kendall crooned into his mic. "You dressin' light, it’s fittin' right..."

Big Time Rush was finally rehearsing on a small stage, in Rocque Records' studio. Standing by the stage was Gustavo, Kelly, and of course, Griffin. Gustavo and Kelly looked proud but anxious. Griffin was critically observing every dance move and vocal lilt, his arms crossed over his suit jacket.

"I, I, I, I wanna see you, you, you, you," Carlos sang (while proudly wearing his helmet), accompanied by Logan. "Telling me that, that, that you got what I need, do, pretty girl, don’t speak..."

All four combined their voices in pitch-perfect harmony: "Baby, show me, by the way you hold me, way that you control me, speed me up or slow me.

"Oh, when I’m lonely, full of stormy weather, can you make it better? I heard what you told me...so-o, oh, show me."

They ended the song with a classic "boy band" pose, mics lowered at their sides.

Griffin turned to Gustavo and Kelly. To their immense relief, he was genuinely smiling. "Gustavo, you have created four singing and dancing machines! I have to say, I’m impressed."

He faced the band with an even brighter smile. "Boys, I think All Over Again is going to be a bigger hit than your last album—and your world tour will be a smash! Where do you want Big Time Rush's first stop to be? Just name it."

The guys contemplated this for a bit. "How about...London?" Carlos tentatively suggested. Kendall, Logan, and James traded a private little smirk.

Griffin pursed his lips. "Done." He turned again. "Gustavo, you heard them. Make their first stop London...or else." He smiled pleasantly, while Gustavo made a strangled noise. Kelly laid a hand on her boss’ arm, trying to steady him.

"Um...we'll see what we can do." she chuckled awkwardly.

The boys let loose whoops of joy. "YEAH! LONDON, HERE WE COME!" Carlos exulted, throwing his hands up. As he did so, his mic flew above their heads and crashed into one of the spotlights.

Everyone tensed as the light made its slow-motion descent, lower, lower, and lower...

...and landed on Logan.

"Logan!" the guys exclaimed, almost in unison. Gustavo and Kelly dashed onstage. Griffin, in typical Griffin fashion, calmly trailed behind them.

Carlos shook his friend's shoulders. "Dude! You okay?"

Logan sat up groggily. The gang stared with bated breath, waiting for him to speak.

Instead, he grinned—a lazy, crooked grin. "Oh...howdy, y'all." he drawled.

Their jaws went slack. “Uh...‘howdy’?” said a flummoxed James.

"Y'all...?" added Kendall.

Logan mellowly scratched his head. "Well, yeah. This is Texas, ain't it? How do y'all 'spect a cowboy to talk?"

They hung their heads and released a collective groan. Incongruously, Griffin was still smiling. "I don't know about you, but I think a little Southern charm is just what this band needs!” he remarked. "Although, I would have preferred a refined English gentleman."

Gustavo, Kelly, and the three non-concussed boys froze. After exchanging some disturbed looks, Gustavo announced, "Alright, let's take the cowboy to Doc Hollywood!"

So, off to Doc Hollywood's they went, carrying the dopily smiling Logan like a sack of potatoes.

The End

#big time rush #my fanfiction #fanfiction #btrtv

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bcrgondy · 1 year

Text

closed starter for : @slccpover

" what are you doing ? " the question sprouts seemingly out of nowhere —- a wild weed , that’s what he is . that’s how he’s seen here , anyhow . he's sure many would like to see him pulled by the root and left to wilter , dave here included — unfortunately , that root happened to go around the very foundations of this building . dave shuffles with his papers , stuttering something near coherent , trying , he fathoms , to pretend he wasn’t completely enthralled in the sight of simone by the desk across the room . “ she’s single , you know ? ” sebastian pops the shiny lollipop out of his mouth as he states casually , cheek deflating as the candy leaves his tongue . “ you should ask her out , dave . i mean —- you’re pleasant enough to look at . your shoes aren’t . your tie is [ … ] a fucking atrocity . but you’re a nice guy , aren’t you ? women like that . i’ve heard . ” he doesn’t seem fazed by the gurgling noises of protest and excuses that try to bubble to the surface as he sneaks his long hands over the small slope of the man’s shoulder , fixing his tie rather abruptly . “ look , you’ve been staring for awhile now and it’s starting to stress me out so — here’s what we’re gonna do : you’re gonna walk over there and ask her out for coffee and see how it works out , or —- ” those broad hands come down harshly against his shoulders , turning him around to face the girl . “ i’m gonna yell really loudly that you were talking about her breasts . you have — 3-2-1-to decide go-go-go ! ” he shoves him like a bully across the playground —- but to his merit , despite how much dave seemed to be stumbling through words even from a distance , the conversation seems to go well enough ; look at him . his good deed of the day . “ wow , look at you [ … ] that was almost — not totally terrible . ” the blonde assistant chirps at him , causing his eyes to roll like shiny marbles . “ at least it would be if you weren't procrastinating and avoiding meeting your new boss . ” she punctuates with a cheery smile . “ —---- i am not — procrastinating , ” he most certainly was . the idea of being someone else’s assistant when his father owned an empire was humiliating but — he supposes , that is very much the point . “ i just don’t wanna meet some stupid , balding little middle-aged man called daniel — ” the blonde tries and fails to cut him off . “ sebastian . ” to no avail . “ — who’s gonna get off on making me go on coffee runs — ” she grits her teeth , widening her eyes and motioning with her head more intensely . “ sebastian . ” this time it looks like he gets the message , at least . “ [ … ] he’s standing right behind me , isn’t he ? ” she smacks her lips , nodding in resignation as she clutches to her files and makes a strategic exit. “ that wasn’t short daniel . you really gotta start reading , man . ” sebastian , with a visible crease on his forehead , sweeps around , and then looks down . “ oh . ” he looks surprised , but not unpleasantly so . “ well , i [ … ] got the little part right . ”

#slccpover #* register: sebastian .#* ft: danica.#* register: script.#i gotta start thinking of au titles #* verse: i'm gonna say things like ' shut up and kiss me ' .

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i-mybrunettelady · 7 months

Text

scenes of an arson site

Summary: Pact airships go down, taken by Mordremoth's vines. Elandrin is on one of them. Content warnings: mentions of violence and all around bad times. Spoilers: HoT

It starts with a headache.

Then there’s screaming. Thorns, so much fucking screaming.

And then the airships go down.

It takes him a minute to realize he’s conscious again. His eyes refuse to see clearly, so he closes them. He’s not in this primordial darkness anymore - there’s light, so much light around him, flashes of color, sounds he can’t parse out. His mind feels heavy.

A thud of footsteps. A person comes close. “Is he awake?” He can’t say who asks the question. It’s all a jumbled mess.

“Looks like it. He isn’t still anymore.”

“Maybe he lost his marbles, like the rest of them.”

“Spirits, no! Shut it! Arcanist Elandrin, are you with us? Can you hear me?”

Elandrin.. Elandrin.. That’s a cool name. He opens his mouth to speak, but no words come out. He squints at the all-consuming daylight and mouths the name again. Elandrin.. Elandrin..

Something in his mind tugs as realization sharply comes. Elandrin screams as he’s suddenly thrown back into his body that lays in his own sap, his ribs burn, and the tug holds for a bit until there’s a hand on his forehead and he slumps down again, panting like a sylvan hound.

“Told you he’s with us,” a norn woman voices. Elandrin looks at her. She has blood on her face. “Here, drink some water.” She makes a face. “Plants need water, don’t they?”

He swallows the cold liquid greedily and loudly. A bird screams above him. It smells like ash, blood, fire, and cooked meat. His hands scramble to get a hold of the flask as he downs the rest of it.

“What the fuck happened?” he croaks and frowns at how wretched his voice sounds. He’s covered in a blanket; he feels the remaining pieces of his torn homegrown clothes tickle his bare bark. He assumes the blanket is more for modesty than for warmth. Have these people never seen a dick before? He dares not laugh at their moral constraints, if only because he knows it’ll sound like he’s choking.

“Oh! You’re awake!” a human woman in Vigil gear turns with a disapproving face. “Are you one of them?”

“One of who, for fuck’s sake?”

“You planty fuckers all went insane on that ship and almost killed us all!” the human all but yells and Elandrin snickers.

“I am not fucking insane, you dimwit. I have no idea what’s going on, but I do know that my ribs hurt and that I need a mender.” He looks around and sees he’s the only sylvari in the camp. Aside from the yelling bitch, there’s a norn woman who gave him the flask, a bald asura with yellow eyes, and another norn, who’s cradling a broken arm.

“Go find one yourself, you wretched Mordrem,” she adds and Elandrin sits up harshly, only to bend forward as the sharp pain pierces his ribs. His mind aches with a new weight he knows hasn’t been there before. Part of him wants to be afraid, but he’s too offended to care about it.

Him, a Mordrem? Him, a sylvari, a Dreamer, secondborn of the Pale Tree, to serve Mordremoth of all things?! Him, an ugly monster?

“Juliana, stop,” the norn woman says wearily and extends her hands to help him lay down. He shakes his head and groans his way onto the ground. “He isn’t a Mordrem. He’s one of us. If he was, he would’ve killed us right away.” She laughs nervously. “Wouldn’t be an issue for an elementalist of his caliber.”

“What’s your name?” Elandrin asks the norn woman.

“Skadi. Skadi Runarskin.”

“Mm, and which order?”

“Priory, Arcanist. I.. I attended your classes on fire elemental magic techniques before the airships sailed.” He looks at her, and her big, wide eyes and the dark circles under them. Brown hair sticks to her forehead. Her face is utterly unmemorable.

“And where are the airships now?”

Skadi waves her hands. “Gone,” she says with a gravel in her voice. “Vines came from the sky and dragged us down. Sylvari on board, they.. They started screaming and attacking people. I don’t remember much.”

Neither does he. All he remembers is the falling and the screaming. “Huh,” he says. “Unless Juliana shuts her mouth up like a good little girl, I will start attacking too.”

Juliana growls. “If I ever see a sign, I’m killing you.”

“Just try.”

Oh, but his body’s tired. He lies back, feels his ribs throb, and blinks at the sun.

I can make it stop hurting.

The fact the voice isn’t his own should scare him. But he’s too tired to be scared. The tug lessens and he falls into a temporary, dreamless sleep.

III

The man with the broken hand is the first to go. His death was quick, or so Elandrin saw. They’d attracted a Mordrem ambush; thankfully, there were so few of them, now ashes on the sparkly, green grass, but they got the guy well before they could become so. All it took was one swing and he was gone.

He had no chances anyways.

They’re making a burial for him. Elandrin never really understood burials, the same way he doesn’t understand namedays or marriage. Or surnames. He chooses to sit while they recite some meaningless words for his soul, Skadi, Juliana and the asura, and watch. The dead norn’s gear is so ill-fitted that Elandrin can only steal the shirt that reaches his knees, but it’s solid gear. As solid as gear comes when you’re lost in the jungle, anyways.

“Raven guide your spirit, my friend,” Skadi whispers. Elandrin wonders why she’s sad. She hardly knew him. And even if she did, he’s a casualty of war. Grief has no place here. He thinks of Trahearne, and swallows a lump in his throat.

Where is his friend, anyway?

“They will find us here,” he says. Juliana looks at him. She looks like she wants to throw her helmet at him.

“This was our second ambush in a week,” she snaps. “You’re attracting them. You’re sending out pheromones, or whatever the fuck you plants have. They’re sensing you like a fucking dog.”

“Sylvari don’t have pheromones, not like you people do,” he replies and presses his hand on the ground to get up. His ribs haven’t stopped hurting, but he’ll be damned if he lets them see that. “Maybe they’re hunting you.”

I can make it stop hurting. Come to me.

The voice has been a constant, too. It came after the tug; he feels like it eats parts of his mind in morsels, like pieces of Elandrin-shaped fruit, a darkness he can’t shake off, no matter how hard he tries. It sends terror down his spine at night, when his glow is the only thing keeping him away from the darkness around him. It makes him curl in on himself, in spite of the pain, and breathe in the grass and the leaves and the blood to keep him from giving into it.

The voice promises freedom from that, too. But it doesn’t feel like his own, so he doesn’t trust it. He doesn’t trust Juliana, or Skadi, or the little armored rat. He doesn’t trust anything but the pain in his ribs, the pressure in his gut, the ache in his body, and what remains of his mind.

Get away from me, he says to the voice.

Then it roars and he has to bite down his hand to stop from screaming.

Mine, mine, mine, it roars, and he cries into the grass and the leaves and the grave of a dead norn.

“Go fuck yourself,” Juliana says.

I can kill her for you, if you’d let me.

Skadi cries later. Elandrin watches the light catch on her tears and feels the urge to lick them off her face. Does her blood taste sweet? His tastes like honey; his is a desert. Norn blood probably tastes like licking metal.

Be mine, Elandrin, and you won’t have to cry anymore. The world will be yours to burn.

He resists, and cries anyway.

The asura disappears next. Dead, alive, Elandrin doesn’t know; the fucking jungle wants to kill them, and they’re running for their lives, and his concentration is shamefully weak as is, so he’s too focused on the magical warmth on his fingertips to notice where small things are. It’s like a bug. He never bothered to learn their name either - asura names make him snarl as he’s saying them.

They’re irrelevant, just as the leaves he’s crunching beneath his feet are irrelevant. It’s getting harder to tell the difference anyways.

“We should go back for them,” Skadi says. Her voice sounds distorted, high, and her words are hard to make out. He’s squinting, trying to catch the features of her face. It reminds him of a tree - brown on brown on brown, like a sylvari he once knew. “They could need our help!”

“It’s no use,” Elandrin says. His voice sounds off to his own ears; he blinks himself awake from a stupor. Skadi’s face is long and scarred, she has overgrown eyebrows and dark circles around her bloodshot eyes. “The jungle has them already.”

“How do you know it, Arcanist?” Skadi cries, hitting her fist on the ground. “Eissa’s research isn’t yet finished! They studied dwarven magic. They had siblings back in Rata Sum. How are we supposed to go back to them and tell them Eissa is dead?”

Eissa can be reunited with their siblings when all is returned to me.

Elandrin digs his fingers in his ribs. The bark is dark, sensitive to touch and he growls - in pain, at the voice, he doesn’t know.

Go fuck yourself, I’m not becoming one of yours. He vaguely recalls that sylvari can become Mordrem. His chest tightens and he looks up at the sky, the clouds, the all powerful sun, and the endless expanse of tall trees and breathes.

He almost fits there. Those leaves up above look better than his foliage does now, decaying, half pulled out, struggling to glow the way it did. He wants to be a tree, he wants to not think, he wants to have beautiful leaves again. He catches sight of one half singed leaf and breathes out.

He wants to have beautiful leaves again.

“The same way we were supposed to go back to our siblings in the Grove and tell them our bodies are now their live experiment,” he says darkly. “They have to pay for that.”

Skadi swallows. Juliana sighs and pulls out a gun.

“I should shoot you,” she says. “You’re destroying yourself. You’re obviously deranged. Soon enough, you’ll be one of the Mordrem.”

Elandrin snarls. “Just try it.”

The asura can pay. Juliana can pay. Let me in, and they can all pay.

Elandrin gasps. Night spreads around them, big and tight and oppressive. His head feels like it’s about to burst. His mind feels like a half-eaten apple that’s home to a couple of worms. He bites his hand and cries when the pressure tightens and holds, and between the two sensations, he falls back into the refreshing pool of darkness beneath.

When he mercifully wakes up, he runs.

The jungle burns around him. The jungle burns, and his eyes prickle, and his skin feels like it’s on fire. He doesn’t know where he is, or what he’s doing; he watches the miserable, half-dead leaves on his head dangle before his eyes.

The struggle and the pain can stop, little one. All you have to do is let me in.

He roars and digs his nails into the ground. They break and he digs even harder, yells until his throat hurts, hurls sounds in the air as the dead remains of his enemies burn around him in a half-circle. Mordremoth screams, but Elandrin screams harder.

He’ll scream himself to death if he has to.

The ground shakes as someone approaches. Fire doesn’t seem to hurt them. There’s a hand on his face, and claws that don’t tear, and Elandrin stops screaming. His throat burns as he cries, and writhes in the corner, in the ashes of those that wanted to kill him, and he smells sap around him and is just aware enough to know it’s his own.

“Master has been looking for you,” the person says. “You’re still struggling.” They sound gentle and Elandrin sobs harder with as much breath as he has left.

“Please,” he rasps out. It all hurts. His head, his mind, his body, it’s all one big point of pain.

The person kneels down. Elandrin looks at them. Hands hold their face, and they’re big. It’s blurry, but it’s as if the fingers part and reveal the soft browns of what’s a sylvari eye.

“It can stop, the pain,” the person says softly. “Just let go.” And then, in a voice he thought long gone, “I hate seeing you in pain even now, El.”

He doesn’t know what it is. One last punch comes from deep within, from the memories he tries so hard to bury down, hazy in the smoke. He grasps it and holds onto it. The figure then leans in, licks his tears with his forked tongue, and presses his petal-soft lips to Elandrin’s forehead.

“Adryn,” Elandrin croaks. His whole body shakes. He loved Adryn, once. He loved their nights together. He loved the way Adryn laughed. He loved holding Adryn’s hand and making him fire constellations. He loved the way Adryn’s bark felt against his own, naked, his lips on Elandrin’s face, and the way he held him close, and he can almost hear himself laugh again the same way he did then. The sound comes distorted, off, and he can hear his own angry words and the tremble in Adryn’s voice.

He loved Adryn, once. But as he loves all things, himself included, that too ended up in flames.

“All you have to do is let go,” Adryn says.

Elandrin stares at the night sky, caught between death and life. The fire can’t catch him, but he hopes it will.

With one last push, he wishes the jungle would burn down with him.

“Arcanist Elandrin! We found him!”

“Is he dead?”

“Don’t think so! Come on, I need a hand over here! Hurry up! Do we have menders on the squad? I repeat, do we have menders on the squad?”

There are voices. Steps. Rustle of leaves. Pants of worry, and hurt. Metal against metal. Clinking of armor.

“Elandrin, are you with me?”

He struggles to locate the voice. His eyes might as well be sealed shut.

“I’m here. For fuck’s sake. Just listen to my voice, okay? I know you’re with us. Just listen to my voice, yeah. Good. Like that. I’m here. We have menders on the squad. We’ll get you up in no time. It’s just some healing magic. Feels a little invasive. Not much I can do about it. I’m sure you people have a better word for it.” There’s a hand on his face. He sighs as it guides him. The pain subsides. “Elandrin? Yeah, knew you were with us. Dwayna have fucking mercy on you. Who fucked you up like that?”

His eyes open slowly. There are claws on his face, but the face that greets him isn’t monstrous, nor the eye familiar. The face is pale, human, with bright, purple eyes.

“It’s me, Alysannyra. I know I’m not your favorite person, but who fucking cares right now. I’m healing you until the menders come. You’re not dying on me - you hear me? You’re not dying on the Pact. You’ll want to singe my eyebrows off later, but I’m not letting you die, you hear me?”

Alysannyra..?

“You’re coming to. Great. Glad to see you’re as destructive when you’re unconscious as you are when you’re awake. All this ash is very becoming of you.”

He raises a hand. It shakes but he holds it up. Alysannyra.. He can’t recall a single good thing about her, but right now, her body feels soft and safe. He touches her nose and his hand drops down again.

“Not a mordrem,” he says weakly, when someone else kneels down beside them.

“Good to hear. Thought I’d have to put you down if you suddenly go all monstrous on us.”

He shakes his head.

He made it. He’s alive. He could cry, if his body willed it.

Not a mordrem, he thinks to himself one last time before darkness takes him again.

But this time, the hands he falls into are safe.

#gw2 #inspo birb has come to town #elandrin aien #vague alysannyra #gw2 writing #gw2 fic #guild wars 2 #gw2 hot #heart of thorns #gw2 sylvari #gw2 mordrem #IT'S OUT IT'S OUTTT

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