#and i’ve never been in an accident (knocking on wood a hundred times) except for when i spun out taking an exit too fast once after rain

[speedlimit15]

when i was younger and fully unhinged i would drive so fast on the highway at night to the mad max fury road soundtrack and feel every emotion simultaneously

[five-rivers]

Stars Aligned Chapter 2

Here’s the thing.  Danny knew this was a dumb decision.  At least as dumb as stepping into the ghost portal (but at least he’d gotten some nifty powers out of that, hey?).  Whatever reason his bio-dad had for chucking him out the door within days of his birth couldn’t be good.  Putting himself within reach of the man…  Yeah.  Not his brightest thought.  

(Not to mention the wizards.  And witches.  That was so weird, how they had two different names for essentially the same thing. Then again… actor, actress…  Why were people so weird?)

On the other hand, twin brother.  Twin brother who had to live with aforementioned baby-abandoning bio-dad.  Twin brother who wasn’t allowed to visit America.  Or, Danny suspected, a family of squibs.  

Yeah.  

Yeah.  

So, here he was.  Getting everything in order for a wizard passport and wizard international travel, because bio-family refused to even look at an airport.  

Danny had a suspicion that, based on how they spelled the word and a few other comments in that particular letter, that they weren’t entirely clear on what an airport was.  

Fun.  

On the other hand, in comparison to the actual, normal, legal passport he’d gotten, just in case bio-family left him somewhere, wizard passports were much, much easier to get.  The wait times were practically nonexistent.  He could, in theory, get the passport on the same day he traveled.  All that was needed was proof he was a wizard and his adoption papers.  

Of course, ‘proof he was a wizard’ actually meant ‘wand.’  Wands being something they used as personal ID, despite the fact that they were a) sticks, and b) didn’t actually carry any personally identifiable information.  Sure, Jack said that they were somehow connected to their owners, but unless there were, like, giant books of details about everyone’s wands at every place that would, conceivably, need ID, and had people trained to identify all those tiny little characteristics…  Danny just couldn’t see how it would work.

Danny’s current theory was that all wizards were just insane, which meant that his twin would most likely fit right in with the rest of Danny’s family, right as soon as Danny figured out how to legally kidnap him.

(No, Danny didn’t have a ghostly Obsession, and it definitely wasn’t family related.  He was only half-ghost, after all.  Why do you ask?)

Anyway.  Wizard passport.  Wizard ID. Wizard sticks.  

Wands.  

Wands meant a nerve-wracking trip to the nearest wizarding town with Jack.  Evidently, he’d lived there a couple of years after his parents sent him away from Britain when he was around fourteen because of ‘the war.’

Abruptly, many of Jack’s stories about his childhood made more sense.

(It had always been something of a joke between Jazz and Danny to try and figure out what ‘the war’ was supposed to be, and if Jack’s parents had just… Conned him into thinking he’d eaten horse meat.  For some reason.  Even if the Fentons hadn’t seemed like that kind of people, no matter how eccentric.)

(Also, evidently Jazz and Danny had never met Jack’s biological parents, who were not named Fenton, although his adopted mother was also a witch.)

(Why was everything so complicated?)

 The “wizarding community” was a small town accessible only by a train line invisible to ‘no-majs.’  And also flying brooms.  Which wizards used.  Danny had seen the train before, not realizing that he wasn’t supposed to. Several times.  Usually while flying to Wisconsin to deal with whatever Vlad had done that week.  

If Danny was a wizard, was Vlad?  Was being half-ghost somehow tied up in being magical? What did that mean for Dani?

(Hey, maybe this whole affair could be used to bring Dani into the family safely.  Who was to say that he didn’t have a secret twin sister?)

Danny could admit that the town itself, which had almost a Ghost Zone vibe with how all the architecture seemed to be from fifty plus to a hundred years ago and also the physics breaking magic, was sort of cool. It was… cute, he guessed.  He didn’t really like how everyone was staring at Jack, their clothes were just as weird, but it wasn’t a new thing.  People always stared at Jack.  

That’s what happened when you wore hazard-orange jumpsuits twenty-four seven.  

The shops all had names out of a fantasy novel, and at one point they got turned around and wound up on a residential street where they had to ask for directions, but eventually they made it to ‘Willoughby’s Wand Emporium.’

The interior of Willoughby’s Wand Emporium reminded Danny strongly of a shoe store.  The shelves were all lined with boxes of approximately that size, and the employees all carried measuring tape.  It also smelled like a shoe store: musty and dry, with a hint of polish.  Or maybe it was wood varnish?  Or some kind of paint.  

A young woman bounced up.  “Hi, how can we help you today?  Replacement wand?”

“First time, actually,” said Jack.  

“Oh, I’m sorry,” said the woman.  “You’re just so tall for your age.”

“I’m fourteen,” said Danny.  

The woman began to turn red.

“He was missed,” said Jack.  “It happens.”  He smiled, but it looked far more strained than usual.  

“Oh,” said the woman.  “Ahem.  Well, if you’ll come right this way, I can start taking measurements, and start trying out wands.  The wand chooses the wizard, they say!”

“Okay,” said Danny, shrugging.  That was… interesting.  Were the wands sentient?  Did that somehow make them acceptable IDs?

Seemed really weird to keep sentient things stored in boxes.

… Said the kid who stored sentient beings in a soup thermos.

A really high-tech soup thermos.

Didn’t make it better.  

Except he didn’t keep them in the thermos indefinitely.  Except for Dan.  

Danny didn’t know if the wizards kept the wands in boxes indefinitely, either.  Maybe he should stop assuming things.  That had gotten him in trouble with ghosts more than once.

The woman took her measuring tape from where it hung around her shoulders, held it out in front of herself, and promptly dropped it. It did not fall.  

As basic as levitation was for ghosts, it was really weird to see a human do it.  (Especially when it always took so much concentration for him to levitate things other than himself—Hence why he never really used the ability in battle.)

The measuring tape flitted around Danny’s head, shoulders, arms, and body, taking measurements.  He had to sit on his reflexes hard to prevent himself from trying to catch it or knock it out of the air.  

He was so nervous.  Was it normal to be nervous?

The measuring tape snaked back through the air to the woman, who smiled.  “Alright,” she said, “we can start with that.  Uh, to explain the process, we usually start out with wands in the appropriate size range and try and zero in on the ones that respond best to you from there.”  She flicked her own wand, and several thin boxes slid themselves off the shelves.  “We use a wide variety of wand woods from a variety of wandmakers.  Just about any tree that grows in North America is probably represented here.” She paused.  “Except for palm trees.”

“That makes sense,” said Danny.  Palm trees were quite different from other trees.  

“Alright.  Let’s start with pine.  The core of this one is dragon heartstring—Harvested humanely, of course!”

“Core?” said Danny, latching on to the familiar word even as he regarded the wand itself dubiously.  

“Yes.  As with our woods, we also stock a wide range of wand cores.  Each wand has a core made of a small part of a magical creature.  Dragon heartstring, unicorn hair, and phoenix feather are the standard ones…  But that standardization is rather British.  We have a few others available.  Thunderbird tail feather—Only taken during molt.  Wampus cat hair.  Dittany. Rougarou hair.  Jackalope antler…  Those are the more common ones, though we do have others.  Even some kneazle whisker, although most people don’t want those.”

“Why not?”

“Ah, they tend not to be very strong.  But sheer power isn’t everything.  Some prefer control, need lower power output…  or are worried about accidents while they’re learning.  We do see some adult learners every now and then.”

That actually sounded sort of appealing to Danny, but he supposed he’d better go about this normally.  At least at first.  

He picked up the pine wand and immediately dropped it.  

“Ow,” he said.  

“Ow?” repeated the woman.  “Oh,” she said, catching sight of the burn on his hand.  “That’s… not supposed to happen.”

“Y’know,” said Danny, conversationally, “I’ve only held, like, two magical things in my life, and both of them have damaged my hands. Is this, like, a common thing, or am I just ridiculously unlucky.”

“Second one, I think,” said the woman.  “Cynthia’s good at minor healing charms.  I’m going to go get her.  Okay?  Okay.”

Shortly thereafter, phoenix feather wands were also eliminated as a possibility, not because they burned Danny, but because they seemed intent on burning everything else around him.  Pine wands were also a definite no-go (“Don’t worry about the lifespan thing,” said the woman, “that’s a myth.”).  As was everything but elder, apple, pear, hornbeam, thorn, and yew (this list got another mention of myths from the shop assistant).  

At this point, the shop owner, Mrs. Willoughby, was drawn out from the back room to observe the mess Danny was making.  

“My,” she said, “I haven’t seen anyone have this much trouble in a while.  Heather, why don’t you go get some of the specialty cores.”

“I thought the unicorn was working well,” protested the woman who’d been helping Danny so far.  She winced as Danny picked up a new wand and exploded a light.  “Comparatively.”

“Yes, we could probably eventually find a unicorn hair wand that would work for him, but all things considered…  I feel like we should explore other avenues.”  She sniffed.  “Nothing associated with fire.  Perhaps kelpie mane?”

“I’ll check,” said Heather.  

.

Kelpie mane, it turned out, did the same sort of thing as phoenix tail feather when it came to Danny.  Only with a lot more water involved.  

“I didn’t think that would work, anyway,” said Mrs. Willoughby.

“Then why,” said Danny, wringing water out of his shirt, “did you have me try it?”

“Oh, cases like you greatly improve our understanding of wandlore,” said Mrs. Willoughby.  “You’re not likely to have noticed this yet, but the population of wizards and witches is so small compared to the no-maj population that everyone who gets very far in a profession has to be a bit of an innovator.  I’m recording this for future reference, and I’ll be looking forward to seeing what you do in life.  If anything.  It would be very helpful to me if you became famous.”

“Hard pass on that,” said Danny.  

“Or at least come back at some point.”

“I’ll consider it,” said Danny.  “But, like, we were really hoping to do other things today, so maybe…”  He made a circular motion with his hand.  “Or at least, ugh, I don’t know.  I feel like everything you give me is trying to kill me.”

It was a very familiar feeling, and a very unwelcome one, nonetheless.  

“We really aren’t,” said Mrs. Willoughby.  “But perhaps… from now on, we’ll limit to the woods to the Rosaceaes.  The others tend to be called unlucky.  Well, except for the hornbeam.  Is there anything you’re singularly passionate about?”

Singularly passionate?  “Not really,” said Danny, who did not think about ghosts or helping people or space. He shifted, uncomfortable, and squelched.  

Screw it.  He was supposedly a wizard, now, right?

He phased the water off himself.  

“Oh my god!” shouted Heather.  “Did you do that on purpose?”

“Uh,” said Danny.  “No?”

“Calm down, Heather.  Don’t act like you’ve never seen accidental magic before.”

“Not with a teenager doing it!”

They were now attracting a crowd.  Yay.  

“He’s not trained, yet,” said Mrs. Willoughby, unconcerned.  “Don’t be rude.”

“Yeah, can we get back on track, here?”

After a few more tries, Mrs. Willoughby had determined that the wood that reacted the least badly to Danny was hawthorn.  Then she sent Heather into the storage room to fetch more.  

“I don’t know why we even have these,” said Heather, under her breath, carrying several boxes marked with stamps that read ‘THESTRAL.’

“Because some people have trauma, Heather.”

“He’s a teenager.  I seriously doubt he has deep personal experiences with death.”

“Wow, way to assume, Heather,” said another shop assistant, who was passing by with a far-too-curious customer.  

“Here,” said Mrs. Willoughby, handing Danny a box.  “Try this one.  It’s hawthorn.”

With some suspicion, Danny slid the cover off the box and gingerly picked up the wand inside.  

It didn’t do anything like what the other wands had. Instead, the slender length of wood gave him a faint echo of the feeling he got when he was on an emotional high and engaging in either extreme mischief or obsession-adjacent activities (because he did not have a real, ghostly, capital-O Obsession).

Danny declined to hold it with all five fingers, lest he be overcome with mania.

Yes, he was paranoid.  But when touching things can go as badly for you as they did for Danny, paranoia was justified.  

“Oh, it looks like you’ve found your match,” said Mrs. Willoughby, clapping.  

With the ease of practice, Danny did not let any trace of horror or unease show on his face.  He ignored the surge of glee from the wand, and carefully placed it back in the box.  

Yeah.  He needed a wand for passport purposes, but there was no way he was going to use that.  He’d just fake magic with ghost powers.  It had been working out okay so far.  

What was the worst that could happen?

A rather relieved Jack paid for the wand, and they made their way, slowly, to the government building.  

“So,” said Jack.  “You want to save getting those beginner magic manuals for another day?”

“Absolutely,” said Danny.  He wondered if his twin had gone through anything even remotely like this and if it was really worth all this trouble to meet a person he would have basically nothing in common with other than blood.  

Blood that likely meant less than usual, considering that his was diluted with ectoplasm.  A fact he would have to hide.  With no allies or back up.  In England.

(Again, this whole endeavor was not his greatest idea.)

.

Draco supervised the house-elves as they cleaned out the room next to his own, feeling rather blank.  He had campaigned vigorously for his twin to come, but now that he was…

The boy, for all that he was as much a Malfoy as Draco, was an American for all intents and purposes.  What did Americans even like?  What did they call their bastardized version of Quidditch?  Would Deneb even know about wizard games?  According to the woman from the agency, he’d been raised as a muggle by those squibs he’d been placed with.  

Slowly but surely, Draco’s heart sank.  He had no idea what his twin would be like.  Deneb, despite being his brother, would essentially be a stranger.  

He was beginning to understand why his mother was so angry at his father.  

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Please Don’t Let Me Drown

Introduction | Siren Song | Cries | Here | Not Sure | Draw Blood | Fish | Signs | Stop | Something New | Help | Please Don’t Let Me Drown 

CW: Drowning, some dehumanization, references to drugging and torture

BAHRAM’S NOTES

December 11th, 20XX 4:45 am Mer in Residence: 58 Days

خدا را شکر که من نمرده ام

I should be. I should be dead.

I mean, I’m probably not out of the woods? I need to see a doctor, this cough still sounds nasty and my chest feels… awful, sort of rattle-y. Heavy, when I take in breaths, but air feels so good I can’t stop trying to breathe deep anyway. 

The mer is watching me from inside his tank, in-between eating.

I’m stretched out on the couch in basically just my underpants with a bunch of blankets and Miah and I both pretending I am more clothed than I am, not that you can see anything with the four blankets Miah has put on me. I keep telling her the water wasn’t that cold, but she can’t stop herself, I think.

She feels guilty that she had her back to me. It’s not her fault, not like she could have heard a damn thing even if she was just looking down at a book, and I told her, I said, there wasn’t much splashing to see, people don’t drown like they do on TV, but I don’t think she felt better about that at all.

Instead, she got back on the computer.

We called Dr. L and Anders. In about an hour or two, I’m going to ‘accidentally’ get pulled in by a riptide down at the beach during an early morning swim, then head to the ER. We’re going to drive me down there, I’ll show up wet with beachwater and with sand caked to me. It’ll be a good enough explanation, and my chest still hurts, I still feel like there’s water in my lungs. 

Dr. L won’t let me go to the ER unless we make up a fake story about what happened, because telling a bunch of nurses and doctors the mer pulled me into the tank and the mer saved me and by the way, the mer is bloody fucking illegal and we’ll all go to prison now, apparently isn’t her idea of a great way to spend a Thursday.

I don’t like to think I’m stupid, but I guess… I mean, I understand NDAs and corporate secrets and all that nonsense. I didn’t realize just how many laws we’re breaking here, but I’m in it up to my neck, now, aren’t I?

Dr. L says so.

Honestly, I should quit this stupid job, but what happens to the mer if I do that? Miah can help out, but…

You’re justifying, Bahram. You started typing this to try and write down what happened tonight, so stop it. Stop justifying and think it through. You’re writing this so you can have some kind of note on the other thing. 

Miah keeps coming over to check on me while I type this on my phone, and I keep telling her I’m texting Maman and Baba, but I’m not. I mean I did, I texted Maman that there was a problem at work and I’m fine, but I might sound sick and had to go see the ER.

I don’t think it’s going to reassure her when she wakes up. Haven’t lied so much to my Maman since I was sneaking out in high school.

Miah’s back.

Okay, she’s gone again.

Miah apparently read something about ‘dry drowning’ on google and she’s being fussy and worried in a very Miah way, which is to say she keeps tapping me on the shoulder and making me talk to her, which means putting my phone down to free up my hands. So this is probably disjointed.

She keeps asking if I want tea. I think the panic short-circuited her. The panic, and… and what happened between the three of us when I was in the tank.

I don’t understand how it happened, how I fell in. Dr. L thinks he did it on purpose, that I didn’t fall but was pulled, but I think if the mer wanted me dead, he would have killed me when he had the chance. Once I was in there, he wasn’t muzzled and those teeth are monstrous. Or he could have dragged me to the bottom and held me there. If he was pulling me in to kill me, he would have killed me. 

He looked surprised. I think it was an accident, I do. I got the muzzle off, I let go of him, and I believe one-hundred-percent that he didn’t mean to grab me, because he was as shocked as I was.

When I hit the water, I thought to myself, you can do this, Bahram, you’ve gone under before, it’ll be okay. Except that I’ve never gone into the water in a full sweater and heavy pants and boots to ward off the cold in the tank room. 

I’ve always been cold-natured, my maman says my blood was made for warm places, and usually California suits me fine, but Dr. L keeps the lab chilled except for the heat lamps over the tank itself. 

So. I had my feet hooked to hold myself, and then his claws caught on me - but they’re blunted, he never closed his hand all the way, I know he didn’t do it on purpose, I know it.

I slipped off the fucking platform and knocked my head on it going into the water. Just this flash of disorientation, not even a concussion, I don’t think, but I guess we’ll figure that out at the ER.

Tell them I hit my head on a rock. I have to ask Miah if that story’s remotely believable. I can’t believe I’m bloody lying about my injuries because I’ve committed a crime. A whole bunch of them, apparently. 

Let me just say God might forgive me but my Maman definitely won’t, if she learns I dropped out of school to pull myself together just to end up some kind of corporate criminal abusing an innocent animal. This isn’t bloody science.

We’re interrogating it, that’s what. We’re torturing him for information, and it’s information Miah and I have now, isn’t it? Information we know, totally by accident, but Dr. L…

Anyway.

Chest hurts worse. I can’t tell if I pulled something maybe, or if I should be really worried. I mean I’m worried about my whole life right now, let’s add my lungs in, toss them in. Bonus worry.

My head hurts like hell, too.

Miah was cataloging blood and skin samples when I went in, and you know, I sort of thrashed but Miah couldn’t have heard me anyway. I never realized how heavy clothes are in the water. Once my sweater was soaked, trying to raise my hands to tread water or even wave to try and catch her eye, it felt like lifting weights.

My arms moved, trying to splash, but I sank like a stone.

I caught a breath before the water lapped at my mouth, covered my nose, left my glasses spinning slowly down to the fake ocean floor we built him when we thought it would be enough.

What the fuck were we thinking? He needs to feel alive. Nobody’d feel alive with all that false shit around him. I’m going to put in real plants.

Wait, so. Back to what happened. There’s so little of this I can put in my notes that Dr. L sees. I guess I just. I want there to be some record that I wasn’t a heartless piece of shit. At least not for long.

Right. 

So, drowning is fucking awful, turns out.

I went down and down and the tank’s not big but it felt like a bloody fucking lake. I had air burning in my lungs to be let out and I could see Miah’s back sort of through the water, so close but she hadn’t noticed me falling.

Then the mer, turning me to look at him, these big green eyes. He must have heard the splash, scented blood in the water from my head, I’ve got a cut on the back where I hit it that I didn’t notice at all at the time but it burns like hell now. 

He cocked his head and he was surprised. 

I know he was. He whistled at me when I broke above the water again, fighting to tread water. I yelled, I don’t know why. The mer whistled again, matching the tone of my yelling, and tried to talk to her, I think, I don’t really remember. 

Some of this is already graying out. Adrenaline, I think - the trauma response, a brain pushing back the panic now that it’s over. I read somewhere that the reason you’re supposed to give a statement as soon as possible after a car accident is because by two days later you’ve already forgotten big parts of it.

I want to write this down before I forget it all, or even some of it.

I tried to tell the mer that Miah can’t hear, but I just ended up back under the water again. I don’t have any idea whether he understood what I said. He’s picking words and signs up fast but… still.

I remember choking on saltwater. 

I remember it burned the whole way down.

I felt these weird pulses through the water, heard the mer clicking, and I thought, I was so sure he was just going to swim off and eat his stupid fish. Not that I’d blame him. But I just, I was barely keeping my mouth above water to get a breath. I can swim a little, but not in heavy-as-stone clothes I can’t. Must have doubled my weight, or it felt like it did. 

I tried to grab the mer and just barely caught his arm. The mer looked back at me, those big green eyes unbothered under the water, and its brow furrowed a little, like it was confused. 

He moved his hands together, in front of himself, and around to the side. Then again, and again, and I knew the motion but I’ve never seen it made by anything that wasn’t human.

Swim, the mer was telling me. Swim, swim, swim. He let out a short, staccato burst of whistles. Distress call, I remember thinking. He’s in distress.

No, that was compassion, I know it. He was upset because I was in distress. 

My hands moved like molasses in the water. “I can’t,” I signed, bringing one index finger down on the other. I caught a breath above the water but my arms were burning and I kept getting saltwater and sinking again.

I had to let the air out. Water was coming in if I did. I had to breathe. 

I had no idea if he even knew the fucking words I was saying, but I swear his eyes widened. 

Swim, he told me.

I kept signing, “I can’t, I can’t, I can’t.”

My clothes were too heavy and my heart was beating and my lungs were burning and I couldn’t remember anything but bringing my fist into my palm and moving it up, again and again, as I kept sinking.

“Help me,” I signed, praying we’d taught him that one. “Help me, help me, help me.” I signed, “Please,” circling my hand over my heart, and at first he just looked at me.

Please don’t let me drown.

Wouldn’t really have blamed him if he had, honestly.

But a second later, just when I couldn’t stand it any longer and I had to open my mouth and let the water in, I felt… something. Something utterly inhuman, a series of thoughts that moved around and over my own, processing information in ways my brain isn’t designed to.

 I felt his compassion, and something like affection.

Breathe.

It wasn’t my voice, or a voice at all. Just an awareness, a thought in my head that didn’t belong to me. I had to open my mouth and the water rushed in but I felt his arms close around my waist and push me up.

The surface.

Air.

Breathe.

The thought again, but I couldn’t, and I tried to tell the voice I couldn’t, too much water in me, I was choking even above the water, coughing on it trying to expel it from my lungs. I could feel the heat from the sun lamps but my body was shaking like I was freezing, muscles locking, pulling me back down.

The mer tightened his arms around my waist and started to pull me through the water, and I kept hearing the voice in my head, over and over. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.

Can’t, I thought back to it, and felt… alarm run up my spine, like I was scared for someone else and not myself. 

Breathe air.

Water in my lungs, can’t-

The mer’s eyes widened, and it let out a distress call again, and I had this bizarre thought that Dr. L would have really liked to record that one, it was so perfect, such a perfect example, and fuck me, the mer was worried about me.

I’ve helped her cut him up and dig around his scales and strap him down and shove needles in his arms and he’s worried about me. He kept watching me, and then looked over his shoulder towards Miah, still on the computer I guess.

Here’s where it happened. The thing I think I’m supposed to tell Dr. L about. 

The thing I can’t tell her about.

He looked back at me, then back at her, then back. He let go of me and I scrambled to grab onto him, his skin feels sort of thick like rubber and smooth, and he put his hands on either side of my face.

Then I was sitting at a computer and there wasn’t any sound at all. I was looking at something I had typed, looking at a keyboard, purple fingernail polish. Pure silence. I started coughing again but I couldn’t hear myself cough, only feel the vibrations through my chest. I could see a chat program up and I was typing into it but then I could see the program that runs analyses on the skin samples and I realized I was Miah.

Miah and myself, both at once.

I started thinking, just fucking thinking as loud as I could. I can’t breathe I’m in the tank I’m in the tank please God I don’t want to die please please God someone help me I can’t breathe I can’t breathe I can’t breathe-

I went under the water again - I think the mer was having trouble doing both at once, holding me up and trying to whatever he was doing, but he pushed me back up and he looked right at me and moved his mouth, trying to speak, saying, “Mmmm, hhhh-puh. Mmmmm hhhh-puh.”

Miah help.

I heard a hoarse sort of strangled low sound and realized I wasn’t Miah anymore, I was just me and I think the mer still, because I kept hearing it, kept seeing my own face like I was looking through a totally different set of eyes. The sound was Miah trying to tell me she was coming, I think, but I remember it sort of bouncing around inside and outside my head.

The mer’s hands pressed palms against my neck, on either side, and I was clinging so hard I’m sure my nails dug into his skin, just trying to stay above the water. 

Breathe, Bahram.

“T-trying,” I managed, coughing again, and the mer clutched me close to him, clumsily swimming toward the big fake rock he can sun himself on in the center of the tank. He got my laid out onto it, and I stared up at him and thought as hard as I could, water in my lungs. Miah, water in my lungs.

The mer stared at me, and I took his hand and put it over my chest, then coughed and felt saltwater like acid come out of me onto the rock, burning my throat. Think I cried for a while.

Miah had to look up the instructions for the bloody lift, and the mer is terrified of it. He’s always tranq’d when he gets put in it, who can blame him? But he just flattened his earfins a little and watched it with his big eyes and I could see it through my eyes and his, at once. 

I don’t remember getting out of the tank.

Miah says that the mer lifted me into the hammock we always put him in, and that he kept signing, “B, help, please,” to her. “Help B, please. M help B.” 

Bahram, breathe. First time he’s said my name, right? I think he tries but they don’t speak like we do, although they have the vocal chords… vestigial, Dr. L said. But here he was speaking into my fucking skull like a sci-fi story. I can’t remember being lifted, but I can remember his voice. Bahram safe. Be safe. Bahram, breathe.

Who are you? What the goddamn hell are you?

Kima. I am Given.

I missed some stuff again. I just. It’s just flat gray in my mind. I stopped hearing the other thoughts in my head, I guess, it’s just me in here now. At some point I was back on the cold concrete floor, shivering, and I looked and saw the mer zip through the water.

Eating his fucking fish.

Miah helped me get out the water, as much as we could, and got my clothes off as the cold started to settle in, got me onto the couch. Miah’s just.

She’s pretty great.

I asked her, signing hesitantly, “Did he talk to you?”

She shook her head and replied, “I was you. He showed me you, in my head.” She tapped on the side of her head, looking pale and scared, and we both turned back to look at the mer, who was making quick work of fish he’d caught.

Remind me not to watch him eat the damn things when he’s in the water all smug and proud of himself. It’s not pretty.

He looked at us, along the side of the tank, big round eyes and blood round his mouth. Then… I think he tried to smile.

I signed, “Thank you, K-I-M-A,” and heard him whistle and then he disappeared back and away into his cave.

Miah made a weird face and tapped on my arm, signing, “K-I-M-A?”

“I asked who he was. He said Kima.”

Miah sat back and stared towards the mer. “I called him that. It’s a word for ‘fish’. I was being funny. I didn’t think he could understand me.”

“Don’t think he got the joke.” 

We didn’t ask how it’s possible, how any of it could be possible, because it doesn’t matter if it’s possible, does it? It happened. She texted her dad, who called Dr. L, and they both were here by like 3 am. 

Dr. L came up with the plan and the story, and then…

Then she asked me if I got any feelings like I wasn’t alone in my mind, or if I felt someone try to speak with me telepathically. She was looking at the mer while she asked. I opened my mouth to answer and caught Miah, where Dr. L couldn’t see her, shaking her head just a little.

So I said no.

She asked how Miah had known I needed help and Miah said she’d gotten up to get some Coke from the vending machine and realized I wasn’t up on the platform. I don’t know… I don’t know how we did it but we made up a story on the spot, between us. I don’t know why I lied, but I’m glad I did.

Dr. L just said, “Damn,” to herself, in this low emotionless voice. “I thought pain and discomfort would do it. Bahram getting pulled in didn’t do it. What else?” I don’t think she knows she said it out loud, because when I said he didn’t pull me, she looked surprised. Then said, “Of course he did,” and stopped saying anything more, really. She’s talking to someone on the phone over in the exam room now.

I thought pain would do it.

I’m not the smartest man on earth, but I get that loud and clear.

She’s been torturing the fucking thing to try and make it do what it did today to save my life, and I’ve been helping her do it.

But I can’t stop helping, either, or I’ll be summarily fired and replaced.

So… I asked Miah to do some of her computer shit and figure out what it is we’re not supposed to know about this project. I want to know what Dr. L isn’t telling me and I want to figure out what it is she knows about mer that we don’t.

Then I guess I need to figure out how to be less of a fucking bastard to the mer who saved my life.

Kima, the Given. That’s not a bad name at all.

 I need to figure out what Given means.

Miah brought me more tea, and my sopping fucking clothes to put back on. It’s almost 6 AM now, time to hit the beach to fake drown to cover up the part where I nearly really drowned. 

I’m going to be a pretty good liar by the time this is over with, aren’t I?

I hope so.

---

@astrobly @burtlederp @finder-of-rings @slaintetowhump @moose-teeth @misspelledwitch @whumpfigure @whumptywhumpdump @boxboysandotherwhump @whumpywhumper @yet-another-heathen @fanmanga1357-blog  @justabitofwhump 

[ineffably-good]

Prompt: Home

This is part of the Good Omens 30th Anniversary celebration prompts! Click here to go read all of the ones I’ve completed on AO3. 

Summary: Aziraphale realizes something important about the concept of home on the night before they switch bodies. My imagining of a missing conversation. 

_________________________

The Garden was home, first. Not for long, of course – he barely had a week in it, then another little while closing it up. But the right place has a way of seeping into your soul no matter how long you are in it. He had seen it over the years, Aziraphale thought – that certain feeling you get walking into a set of rooms or a library or a small shop where some ineffable combination of elements just curled up inside you immediately and took residence. Was it the light, the warmth, the combination of colors, a particular pleasant smell or inviting hearth? Whatever it was, the heart happily murmurs the word ‘home’ in its presence, and it is never mistaken.

It was years after the Garden before he felt it again. He had many places he sheltered, and some of them he cared for very much, but the true homes were fewer – one in Ninevah, a simple hut but one which suited him very dearly. One in Thebes with its warm breezes and love of learning. A fresco-painted monastic cell in Rome, before he was forbidden re-entry to the Vatican ever again. (And believe him, that still rankled.) A gamekeeper’s cottage in the North of what was now England. A hut in the Bavarian woods. A very small handful of others throughout the ages. He could still recall each of them in fond detail, despite the long or short length of time he had stayed in each.

But honestly, he’d never been in one as long as he had been in the bookshop. Over two hundred years in one place? It was a luxury he’d never dreamed of. Empires rose and fell in that kind of timespan. Wars were fought and won, kings and queens came and went, neighbors lived, neighbors died, and somehow Aziraphale was still there. Inside the same four walls, under the same glass rotunda, living his life. He’d never grown so attached to a place.

Which meant, of course, that it made him vulnerable; he had something to lose, something very valuable, and if his enemies were clever (which fortunately, they rarely were), they had a place to hit him where it would hurt very badly.

It didn’t happen until the almost apocalypse, and then he wasn’t even around to see it. It was up to Crowley to break the news to him, twice. It hardly penetrated the first time. “It burned down,” the demon said to him.

“All of it?” he said, brought up short -- but then there was the discovery that the book had survived, and the need to find a body and stop the end of the world, and that was the end of that. He didn’t think about it again for what felt like days but was truly only hours, until they were sitting on the bench at the bus stop, waiting for a ride back to London.

“It burned down, remember?” Crowley said again, peering at him gently.

This time there was nothing to cushion the blow. He’d relinquished his sword yet again, he’d lost and regained his body, the devil was gone to who knows where, and reality was returning to normal – but his shop, his home, his haven of two hundred and nineteen years, was no more. He kept his face as blank as he could while he reeled inside from the pain.

“How – how did it burn?” he asked later, as they sat on the white leather couch in Crowley’s living room. It wasn’t a pleasant couch; it didn’t invite lounging and reading the way the Chesterfield in his office had. But with Crowley there and a few glasses of wine and a throw or two, it somehow became much more hospitable.

“I don’t know,” Crowley admitted. “Didn’t smell like hellfire, although I couldn’t tell that at first. Thought it had been Hastur or someone, for a while.” He paused to take a deep breath and stuff that feeling down deep. “It wasn’t.”

“Accident, then?” the angel suggested. “I was speaking to the Metatron when I got discorporated. So, there were candles about.”

“The Metatron discorporated you?” Crowley shouted. “That son of a bitch! I’ll fucking murder him!”

“No, no,” Aziraphale said, laying a hand on Crowley’s arm.  “It wasn’t him. It was a human. Caught me in the act with the Metatron, so to speak, and assumed I was conjuring demons. I was trying to prevent him from stepping into the circle himself and being harmed when I accidentally crossed the boundary and was sent back to Above.”

“Who?” Crowley growled.

“Never you mind,” Aziraphale said gently. “It was my fault and not theirs, and I won’t have you administering demonic justice on anyone on my behalf.”

Crowley scowled into his wine for a few minutes. “So probably the force of you ascending bodily into heaven knocked over a candle or two and that was that.”

“Most likely,” Aziraphale nodded.

They drank quietly for a few minutes after that, both lost in thought. Aziraphale knew Crowley was thinking about the retribution that was likely coming to them, and he ought to focus on that too – they desperately needed a plan. But his mind was distracted, pinging off random thoughts about the bookstore being gone and particularly about something he did not understand – why was he not feeling as bad as he ought to?

He should be devastated. It was gone, all of it. The culmination of centuries of book collecting, the best nest he’d ever formed, all of it evaporated in the blink of an eye. And it did hurt, like a punch to the chest, but he wasn’t as levelled by it as he would have expected. Instead, he felt – well he felt surprisingly safe. Warm. Cared for. He was with Crowley.

A thought came to him with a sudden shock, and he gasped in spite of himself.

“What?” Crowley said, startling upright. “Do you have an idea for what we should do?”

“Yes, yes, possibly, or the start of one,” the angel said, “but this is something else. Something just occurred to me.”

Crowley raised an eyebrow. “Do tell?”

“You visited me in Ninevah, didn’t you? At the small hut I kept there?”

Crowley frowned. “Multiple times. Our time there overlapped by about two years. Introduced you to date wine and all kinds of depravity.”

“And Thebes?”

Crowley thought for a moment. “That tent you kept outside of the temples? I think I spent about a month there with you, off and on, recovering from that near-discorporation when the camel spit on me and I fell off right next to the cliff and ended up – oh you know, right?”

Aziraphale remembered that. Crowley had never truly forgiven camels after that. Not that he blamed them. Horrible creatures, camels. If he weren’t commanded to love all of Her creatures, he would have made an exception for that one.

“But were you in any of my homes between the two?” he asked, deep in thought.

Crowley narrowed his eyes. “What’s going on?”

Aziraphale waved a hand. “Just humor me. I know you have a prodigious memory.”

Crowley thought back. “I don’t think so. We saw each other a handful of times, but it was always in transit – while we were travelling, or at an oasis, or during a battle. I can’t remember seeing any of your homes in between those two periods.”

“And in Rome, remember that one time when I smuggled you inside the monastery to see the frescoes? Fra Mitti was doing such astonishing work, and there was the one fresco that included a painting of the serpent of Eden, and you insisted on seeing it?”

“Didn’t even burn my feet,” Crowley said, laughing. “Living quarters weren’t consecrated enough. Liked that serpent though.”

“Oh my good Heavens,” Aziraphale said. “It’s you. It’s not the places themselves, it’s the places that you’ve been in.”

Crowley blinked, utterly lost. “What is it you’re trying to say, angel?”

Aziraphale blushed, aware he had revealed more than he had intended to. “Oh, it’s just that I’ve been thinking about the places that I’ve lived and what differentiates them. You’ve lived in a number of tents and huts and houses and manses over the years – you certainly know how some of them are just places to sleep to you and some of them have a different feel to them, like something makes them feel like a true home? Almost something alchemical, the way they morph into something with meaning?”

Crowley nodded. Most of his hadn’t, to be honest. He’d tried not to put down too many roots. Hell frowned upon it, and there was always some rogue demon showing up to visit with him and destroy his belongings for fun anyways, and the few places he had cared for and protected early on had ended up sacked or destroyed in wars and fires, and after a while he had given up on trying to embue his surroundings with a sense of safety. What was the point? The only safety for him was and had always been the angel, anyway. It didn’t matter where he slept.

After the events of the day, finding themselves on their own side, Aziraphale just couldn’t be bothered to hide his true feelings anymore. In for a penny, as they say, in for a pound.

“I just realized that all of the places that have truly become a home to me are places that you have visited,” he blurted out. “It’s not the places themselves, it’s you.”

Crowley looked deeply embarrassed, and also slightly flattered. It was, in a word, adorable, the angel thought.

“Nahhhh,” the demon drawled. “Not me. I mean, maybe I played a part in it. Added some wine and the occasional tchotchke I picked up on my travels. Kicked up the décor a notch or two. But maybe you just only shared the places with me that already felt that way – didja ever think of that?”

Aziraphale smiled fondly. “So, you think I just didn’t invite you into the more horrible places I lived?”

Crowley nodded. “Yeah. Like you only brought me over to the good ones. Because you’re – you know, what did they use to call it? House proud.” He grinned. “Fussy.”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes mildly. “If I were truly fussy, I’d have gotten a demon friend with better manners, my dear.”

Equilibrium restored by that slight insult, they both relaxed back onto the seat cushions and sipped their wine. Aziraphale smiled into his cup, though; he knew he was correct in this realization, and he knew why he didn’t feel completely devastated at the moment. Sad, yes, hurting, yes, worried about the future and what they would make of it. But the bookshop, while a blow, wasn’t an immeasurable loss. The things he had loved and gathered were gone, but he was still at home in the world, as long as Crowley was here. As long as they were safe and together.

That jarred a thought in his head, and he reached into the inner breast pocket of his jacket to pull out the singed piece of paper that they had been puzzling over earlier in the evening. It was all related, he thought – home and safety and ensuring that each other was present, and feeling as at home in each other as they did in their own skins.

A light clicked on in his brain and he was suddenly, utterly sure that they were going to survive this, whatever retribution Above and Below had planned for them.

“Crowley,” he said, “I’ve had the most brilliant, wicked idea…”

[sunagitsunee]

Achilles Heel

Hurt / Comfort, Levi Ackerman x Hanji Zoe

POST 115 FIC

ALSO IN AO3

The patterns of the exposed beams of the ceiling were suddenly the most interesting thing in the room.

Levi had been past his major self-loathing stage, one that immediately kicked in after his stupor post the explosion. He’d been through despondency and helplessness after realizing the mishap took out parts of him that were necessary for battle. Denial was there, too, with the fact that he was a diminished version if himself after the accident—that he might not be the strongest one anymore.

What was eating him away was the guilt: survivor’s guilt. Or more so, having to bide his time until he could fully recover just so he could return to the battlefield.

Basically, he had to stay put, bathe in peace, while their allies were dying by the minute. 

To him, it was an indirect murder by his hands, because he failed.

Once more he was unsuccessful in fulfilling his promise to his previous commander, just because he was being uncharacteristically reckless. And to make it worse, his current commander was stuck nursing him back to health instead of watching over the poor kids left to finish what they had started.

It was all fucked up.

No—scratch that. It was beyond fucked up.

Levi had already faced all kinds of defeat ever since his memory had afforded to remember. And he thought losing his mother, his dearest friends, his own squad, and even Erwin, were already the peak of the damnation of his existence. He was clearly mistaken.

Because this time, he had lost a little more than himself, and gained back one thing he had forsaken a long time ago.

Well, he had spent the last decade redeeming himself from the clutches of the underground. Humanity’s Strongest Soldier, that was what everyone called him. He walked and talked the reputation. He devoted himself to his host and to the cause of saving humanity that the supposed burden became his second skin, to the point that his emotions got in the way—so he got rid of it.

As they say, they had to become what they wanted to kill. And he, including several other members of the original Survey Corps, became monsters to eradicate other monsters. Living with the armor of ferociousness for so long made him forget what it was like to feel despair. People had died left and right and tears came out reservedly, away from a mere human being’s gaze. No big deal.

Before the accident that rendered him catatonic for days, he had the impression that he would outlive everyone, so he had no problems of thinking about who would die next. Normally, his soul would be crushed and be forced to move on the next second because everyone counted on him to carry on the will of the dead.

However, the brush with good old death had changed things drastically.

He can die, alone and powerless. The truth was cold and unforgiving. It hit him like a brick wall. And he hated it.

Years and years of bravado and confidence had led up to this point. And the biggest problem was, who will carry on his will and those who died before him once he is gone? Who was strong enough to bear all the weight he carried in his back? All the lives which were sacrificed, if he couldn’t let them live on through someone else, would they have been wasted all for naught?

Who would care to remember him if he was to suddenly disappear, and no one else was around?

That was not even the worst.

The most fucked up thing that ever happened in that incident was being in the brink of oblivion, almost fading out, but then meeting the gaze of someone else that was filled with terror and sadness over the fact that he was, in fact, perishing.

It stung so bad, that it made him cower at the thought of biting the dust just like that.

He had never thought about it before, to be honest. But back then during his last breaths, when he had the sliver of chances to look upon the face of the person who was calling him back to reality: he saw that expression. Anguished was not even enough to describe what he witnessed. Fear, confusion, resolve, despair, longing… hundred more waves broke through his savior’s—Hanji's—facade while they held him gently, while he clung to that warmth as if it was his lifeline.

Which was stupid. Because they aren’t normally like that. They’d laugh and shout but not once did they throw those sentiments at him without holding back. They were strong like him. They’d lost people too, but they stood up and fought on.

So why, why did the glimpse of their face in sorrow made his wounds ache a thousand times more than they should?

Pathetic. Levi had convinced himself over these past few days that it should be the last time that he’d let them go through that. He wouldn’t go out like that. He’d never want to see Hanji’s eyes, the most vibrant pair he’d ever met, be clouded again in his dying moments.

He would have to make do of what’s left of him to push through, no matter how lamentable the outlook seemed.

 “Knock, knock.”

As if on cue, his rumination was disrupted with the voice that retrieved him from the underworld. The door revealed Hanji’s resigned frame, and light steps against the wood followed after as they approached his rigid figure in the tub.

Levi slowly turned his head towards them and took note of their sullenness behind the pretentious but affable smile.

“What? Don’t tell me you wanna take a bath with me?”

“Maybe. But I suck at doing it. You blasting me with water is still the best way to do it.”

Scoff. “It’ll be a different experience since I have less fingers to blast you with.”

He watched how they winced for a split second, probably a knee-jerk reaction after being reminded of his current setbacks. Hanji finally let out a sigh after holding their breath for several seconds before setting by the floor, absentmindedly playing with his bath water by dipping an entire arm.

“I talked with our hosts. The Azumabitos are displeased with how we are doing. Understandably so. But they are willing to hide us until you’re fully on your feet. Thanks to them, I’ve sent a coded message to Mikasa for our current status.”

“Yeah. And are they still all alive?”

“Presumably. Eren was dead for some time, but as expected of shifters, they can transfer consciousness and heal.”

“Fuck those shifters.” Good thing the kids were still kicking, but man, fuck Zeke and his existence. He spearheaded all this fuckery. And he’s still out there thanks to him.

“Our forces have withdrawn for the meantime… They have control over our new recruits, and most of our leaders have been transformed to…titans… I’ve instructed Jean to gather our remaining allies and rummage for whatever is salvageable. I'm—”

Hanji paused and bit their lip before punching the edge of the tub with their other hand, so hard that he felt the tremors from the impact. Levi knew them all too well, they were frustrated, more so with themselves rather than anything else.

“Damn… We’ve lost so much. I was never suited to be this. I’m such a fucking mess. Erwin would have pulled a miracle out of our asses by now. You know that. I’m sure you think the same way.”

NO! Obviously! Erwin was gone, right? And Levi chose it to be that way. He still doesn’t regret the choice of letting him rest, keeping him safe from this abhorrent world. Except that seeing Hanji at the end of their wits was every bit of torturous for him, too. But still…

“You said it before, Hanji. Outcomes aren’t determined by a single choice. Don’t take all the blame.”

Another fist hit the keg. “But I am at fault. I failed to draw a good gamble, and I got you injured by a flaw in the weapon that I made. I’m… I’m sorry, Levi. I’m not even sure if that amounts to anything anymore….”

Jeez.

Hanji was at it again. His guilt was already a thing, but theirs were like a second punch in the gut. They needed to be coherent as soon as possible for all their sakes, and Levi was one of the handful who could knock some sense into them.

“That’s the fiftieth goddamn apology you’ve managed to spew, and as far as I know, you aren’t supposed to be a deprecatory ass.” He spoke a little louder, making sure to emphasize every word. “Maybe if you stopped gambling and living in Erwin’s shadow and be precise like you used to be, those words would actually bear something.”

They went silent for a while, with only the drops from the faucet accentuating the stillness. Hanji was crouched away from his sight, probably pondering on their shortcomings, wallowing on the hurt from his statements, or perhaps repeating his harsh preaching like a mantra until they were consequential.

In the first place, they were the only person who could read between the lines no matter what foul words he spat out.

What he meant, anyway: Hanji had always been the better person, and if there was anyone who could get their stride back, it was them. They just had to get out of their slump, and they need to be back to their usual self. That he trusted them, and that he would do anything for them.

His speech seemed fruitful, much to his relief. When they straightened up, there were less shadows on their face, albeit the weeks of sleep deprivation and stress made the frown lines seem permanent.

Hanji tapped the surface of the water, purposefully splashing on his body, and some, hitting his face.

“Asshole,” they said. Levi kicked lightly and the ripples overflowed until they got into their clothes, too. He got a stifled gasp as a response.

“That’s the shitty glasses that I know.”

They chuckled but stopped abruptly to move closer until their faces were the same level. Their chin rested against the tub and their fingers hovered on the new scar that adorned his visage.

Caressing without touching, that is. For some reason it relaxed Levi; it was as if they were accepting his impairments instead of intruding upon him. It was their usual dynamic, one that went off-track when the war had started.

A thorn got dislodged from his heart knowing their thing was finally back.

“I’m sorry, Levi. Just this once, I say not as your commander. I truly am sorry.”

He shifted fully to his side so their good eyes could meet. There was something thick building up in his throat; he could have ignored it but decided against it. If he didn’t say it on the spot, he may never have the chance to do so.

“Thank you. And this is personal. You could’ve left me there. A dead man served no purpose to your goals, but you ended up putting your life on the line as well. You’re that dumb, but you saved me. I owe you. Everything.”

Hanji smiled and let their touch graze his jaw, right where the gash ended.

“I will admit, I was being selfish in that one. I could have let you rest, but I was scared. I… couldn’t let you go in the end.”

His chest drummed at their words and how they rolled off from their tongue.

“Scared, huh.“

He was, as well. Openly. For the first time. And if the situations were reversed, he’d risk his life to save them, too. Maybe the fear of losing them was a big part of his weakness now, but it’s a weakness he’d have to live with moving forward. "Maybe we are humans after all…”

“Yeah, you monster… I… just realized I needed you. Only humans do that kind of thing, I guess…?”

Needed. By the way the russet in their eye glinted, he knew they meant it in every sense of the word, and he too, felt the same way. More than they could both comprehend. More than the bonds of the dying breed that they share.

It was needing in a much, much, intimate level. And it took that recent trip to demise to bring those feelings bursting to the surface.

Levi’s hand met theirs, and he immediately appreciated the familiar warmth in contrast with the cold water. He held it down by his neck and rested against their palm. Hanji lightly squeezed on his skin.

“Hey… Don’t die alone, Levi. Don’t die before me. Get our freedom in my stead if I go. Promise me.”

He could feel their breath grazing in his face, and it nearly wanted him to breach the small distance that kept them apart and catch their lips. But no, this was not the time for it. It was unfair. War had no space for such ties.

He decided he would do it when they’re finally free, only then, since they deserved the whole of him. They’d start a new life together, that was his new resolve.

Instead, Levi smiled and brought his handicapped grip to nestle on their cheek.

“Don’t be stupid. If you go down, I go down. If you live, I live. So do your damned best to survive, and I would keep at it too. That’s what I can promise.”

Hanji turned their head to press their lips longingly to his palm before speaking.

“Of course… that seems fair to me.”

[hunterenough]

Life Changes

Chapter 3: Responsible Adults

Summary:  Dean gets a look at the way a responsible adult actually lives, and he really likes it. (Or maybe he just likes the responsible adult attached to the house he's looking at...)

Dean’s morning seemed to drag by, probably because he was looking forward to meeting with Castiel and checking out his potential new living situation. He’d let Benny, his lead technician, know that he might be a bit late coming back. He’d set the map on his phone for Castiel’s address, and Google had informed him that it was a four minute drive. Wouldn’t that be a nice change from his current half hour commute.

He pulled into the driveway at 12:04 exactly. The house was white with a dark grey foundation and trim. The walkway was shoveled, and everything looked well cared for. Dean climbed out of his car with his folder of check stubs and headed for the door. He knocked quietly before noticing the bell. Shit, do I ring the bell? Should I wait? What if he didn’t hear me knock. His thoughts were interrupted by the door opening.

Holy fucking hell. This guy, the guy he might be living with, was everything Dean had wet dreams about. His faded Led Zeppelin t-shirt stretched softly over his tone chest, highlighted his biceps. His hands, huge hands , cradled a steaming white mug with a bright yellow sun grinning from it. His dark jeans barely clung to his narrow hips, but they sure fit his muscled thighs well enough to make Dean drool. The face though, his face...perfect chiseled jaw, straight nose, fucking chapped looking red lips, all haloed by the most amazing sex hair he’d ever seen. But it was the eyes that held his attention. Intensely blue, hundreds of shades of blue , just staring at him.

Dean realized the guy was probably staring at him because he was fucking staring. Like a dumbass. He cleared his throat, and offered his free hand.

“Dean Winchester.” Smooth. At least his voice didn’t crack.

The man quirked his lip and shook the offered hand.

“Hello Dean. Castiel Novak. Nice to meet you. Come in.” He stepped back from the door to let Dean enter. He closed the door behind himself, and Cas gestured behind it. “You can take off your coat if you’d like.”

The entry was as orderly as the yard had seemed to be. A series of hooks hung behind the door, two covered by coats, with a shelf of totes above. Under it, stood a shoe rack, half filled with shoes, on a shallow drip tray which currently homed a pair of wet snow boots. Dean toed out of his shoes, glad that he’d opted for the steel toed shoes instead of his normal work boots this morning, and lined them up on the tray. He offered the folder he’d been holding out to the other man before taking his coat off and hanging it with the others. The folder found a home on the small side table, next to set of keys and a bowl of change. Another door, presumably to the garage, was just past the table.

“So, a tour? The main part of the house is pretty open.” Castiel gestured widely with his free hand.

“Sounds great. I love what I’m seeing so far.” It looked like all of the walls were the same soft blue-grey color with creamy white trim. It was practical, he supposed, for the big open space. It looked...peaceful.

Castiel stepped into the living room, and Dean noticed his bare feet sink into the plush carpet. There was a huge sectional, facing a gas fireplace with a widescreen TV mounted above it and floor to ceiling bookshelves on either side, both nearly full of books, movies, and photos, though again, everything looked well organized. An ottoman occupied the space in front of the couch, and two comfortable looking chairs formed the fourth corner. Overall, it looked like a great place to relax after work. Dean nodded.

“I don’t spend much time here, really, except on the weekends. By the time I get home from work, I’m ready for a shower and bed.”

“Yeah, I know the feeling. You said you have a funky schedule?”

“I work on the oncology ward at the hospital. The afternoon shift is 2- midnight.”

“Long days doing that kind of work.” Dean’s days were generally at least the same ten hours, but he didn’t have to deal with sick people. He’d been in hospitals enough to know that nurses worked hard, and often the work sucked.

Castiel shrugged. “Could be worse. A lot of hospitals run twelve hour shifts now, and I’ve got seniority, so I get the Monday-Thursday schedule. Always a three day weekend. It helps that I love my job.” He walked around the couch as he was talking, and Dean followed. “This is the dining room. I use it even less than the living room actually.”  He bypassed the long dark wood table and chairs to move into the kitchen. “When I do actually sit down to eat, I usually eat at the island.”

The kitchen was gorgeous. Dean imagined it could be featured in one of those home-decorator magazines he kept in the lobby for his customers. There were miles of granite counter top over dark wood cabinets. A bank of upper cabinets was balanced on one end by the wide stainless steel refrigerator, and on the other by the professional looking stove and hood. A half-full coffee pot was set next to the refrigerator, but very little else cluttered the space.

“I cook a little, but cooking for one sucks. I want to get better at it though, it’s one of my resolutions.” Dean moved further into the kitchen.

“My cooking is generally limited to scrambled eggs, toast, cold sandwiches, and spaghetti with jarred sauce, so you’re probably ahead of me already.” He pulled open a narrow drawer on the island. “I’ve got menus for every delivery and takeout place in town though.” He grinned as he waved down at the collection. “I promise not to touch anything on your side of the refrigerator though. You don’t have to worry about me stealing your leftovers.”

“Noted. Definitely an improvement over my current roommate. I’m lucky if he leaves anything for me to eat, even though I do all of the grocery shopping.”

“Ahh, I had an ex like that. Always hungry, but never bothered to actually buy food.” He shook his head.

Dean just grunted in agreement, and they moved into the hallway.

“Unfortunately, there’s only one full bathroom.” He opened the first door on the left. “Fortunately, it is very well equipped.”

“No shit!” Dean had stepped into the huge room. “Sorry, it’s just, I’ve never seen a bathroom like this outside of a fancy hotel.” The shower was walled in pristine white subway tiles, the open side a wall of glass. Towel hooks were mounted to the front. He could count at least four shower heads, plus the rain fall head above. One of the two shelves in the shower was half full of bottles, but the other was empty.

“It’s probably my favorite room. Sometimes, after a particularly bad day, I like to take a soak before bed.” He gestured at the deep soaker tub.

“Oh my God, that sounds awesome.” After a day hunched over his desk doing paperwork, his entire back felt like one giant cramp.

Cas nodded, then gestured at the double sink. “This sink would be yours.” He indicated the one by the toilet. “It has a medicine cabinet behind the mirror.” He popped it open showing several empty shelves before closing it again. “I keep my towels and washcloths in the bottom drawer, and cleaning supplies under my sink, but you’re welcome to the rest of the space.

Dean smiled at the idea that he’d already been accepted. “Given our schedules, I doubt we’ll have much trouble balancing bathroom times. Sounds like I’m out the door before you’re up and you’re gone before I get home.”

“Yes. Should make it easy to keep from fighting over the shower.” He grinned over his shoulder as he stepped back into the hall.

“This is a guest bathroom,” he opened the first door on the opposite side of the hall revealing a toilet and small vanity, “So we really only have to share with overnight guests.” He opened the next door. “And this is the guest room. It’s a little small, but occasionally one of my siblings comes in for the weekend to visit. You’re welcome to use it for guests as well, if you’d like. Either way, it’s probably a good idea to put in on the house calendar so we don’t end up double booking.”

The guest bedroom, though Castiel had called it ‘small’ offered a queen bed, a wide dresser, and a double closet. It was pretty much what he’d imagined renting. Dean shrugged. “My family lives pretty close, so I don’t really have anybody who would need to spend the night. Unless, I become clinically insane and offer to have my nephews overnight, but I really don’t see that happening.”

“They’d be welcome on the weekend. How old are they?” He’d pulled the door closed again and moved further down the hall.

“Three and five. We’re celebrating full potty training and no accidents now. Very exciting.”

“Oh, that is!” His grin was something else, and Dean couldn’t help but smile back as he opened the door to the next room. “This is the den.” He stepped inside. It was clearly a converted bedroom, similar in size to the guest room, with the same closet. A desk sat on each wall, one with papers stacked on top, each with a plush rolling chair tucked under it. In the corner by the closet, there were two wide arm chairs and a coffee table. Castiel had moved to the closet and swung it open. “I actually have several nieces and nephews myself, so there’s a stash of stuff in here just in case.” Dean noted several labeled totes, ‘coloring,’ ‘blocks,’ and ‘vehicles’ caught his eye before the door was closed and Castiel was moving back to the desk. He tapped at a whiteboard mounted above it. “This is the house calendar. Basically, I just use it to organize bills, etc. But if we’re having guests, that’s probably a good thing to note as well. And I keep a running grocery list. I thought maybe we could take turns picking up the standard household things, toilet paper, coffee, etcetera, but if you prefer, we can do it a different way.”

“No, that sounds fine. I usually shop on Saturday, unless something comes up in the meantime, and I don’t mind picking up whatever.”

They wandered back into the hall and to the final two doors, both open. “These are the twin masters.” He walked into the room on the right, indicating for Dean to follow. “This one is mine. Sorry, I haven’t gotten to laundry.”

The room was huge, with an unmade made king sized bed, a pair of dressers, and again, what looked like a very large closet. The mentioned hamper was tucked into the corner by the dressers, and that and the mussed bedding were about the only thing he’d seen in the house that was disorderly. Still, it was the little sitting area that caught Dean’s attention. Again he felt like he’d stepped into a high end hotel. A wide chair with a matching ottoman was tucked into the corner, flanked by bookcases, and a small rolling table was positioned over one arm holding a laptop.

“Judgement free zone.” Dean lifted his hands. “Besides, I was kind of starting to wonder if you kept a maid or something. The whole place is spotless.”

“It’s not too hard, since I rarely have time to mess it, but I do look forward to splitting the chores.”

“Is that the only reason you’re looking for a roommate? I mean I dated a nurse once, and he made as much as me at least.” Dean blushed a little, well, that hadn’t really been how he’d meant to bring up the fact that he was bi, but now that it was out, he supposed it would be good to know how Castiel would react.

“Honestly, that’s definitely part of it. I bought this house a couple of years back, with the intention of starting a family. My partner at the time, didn’t have the same ideas, which I found out when I found him in the hot tub with his assistants. Plural. I love the house, I really do, but it it’s just so big for just me. It gets...lonely.”

Dean huffed out a breath. OK, so he was either gay or bi himself, one thing less to worry about, but that sounded like a really rough breakup. “Man, I’m sorry. That really sucks. My last real breakup was pretty amicable, but I’d gotten pretty close to her kid, so that sucked. Still, at least you got to keep the house, and it really is awesome. I wound up in a shitty third floor walkup.”

“So did Fergus.” Castiel chuckled and led Dean back to the door. “This place was always mine. At any rate, this one would be yours. It’s the same as mine, just opposite. I didn’t ask, do you have furniture?”

The room looked even bigger empty. “I have some, but seeing your room, I think I might get some new stuff. I can call it doing something for myself and tag it as part of my resolutions.” He grinned at the other man. His bedroom set was nice enough, and he loved his memory foam mattress, but the idea of upgrading to a king sized bed, of actually having all of his bedroom furniture match, it was definitely appealing.

Castiel grinned. “I donated everything that was here when Fergus moved out. It was cathartic. New furniture for my fresh start. I wouldn’t mind going with you, it can be a little tedious on your own.”

“I have a feeling I don’t want to get on your bad side. I might come home to find all my crap on the front lawn.”

Castiel laughed out loud. “Don’t fuck your barely legal assistants in the hot tub, and we should be fine.” He turned and started back down the hall.

“I’d have bigger problems than you to deal with if I did that. Benny, my lead technician, has been married for a long time, and his old lady can be downright scary in that Stepford wife kind of way. Charlie, my left-hand girl, is a gold-star lesbian, and I’m pretty sure she’d kill to protect her record.” He was teasing, but both were facts he didn’t want to ever test.

“One less thing to worry about then. Emptying the hot tub is a bitch.” He opened a door in the entryway that Dean hadn’t noticed before, and flipped on a light before heading down a flight of stairs.

The basement, at least the half that he could see from the bottom of the stairs, was finished, and as well maintained as the upstairs, if a lot more industrial looking. At the bottom of the stairs, the laundry area occupied a length of the wall, with a matching high-efficiency washer and dryer set, a deep wash sink between them, a long stainless steel counter for folding, a bar for hanging clothes, and wall mounted drying rack and ironing board.

“I usually do my laundry on Sunday afternoon, but I don’t mind negotiating that. I could probably do it Friday while you’re at work.”

Dean shook his head. “No worries. I like to do mine in the morning, usually Saturday, but sometimes I slack until Sunday. I can have it out of the way by noon, no problem.”

Castiel nodded and gestured to the rest of the room. “The basement is sound proofed, so you don’t have to worry about making noise down here while I’m sleeping.” The rest of the room was clearly used as a home gym. The floor was covered in thick rubber mats, and there was a treadmill, an elliptical, a weight bench with a rack of weights, and an exercise ball. The other half of the room was clear except for a small tote, though there was a TV mounted on the wall surrounded by several full length mirrors. “You’re welcome to use any of the equipment of course. I practice yoga, so there’s blocks and straps and stuff in the tote if you’re interested. Otherwise, there rest of the basement is mostly unfinished. It’s sealed, but that’s about it. You can use it for storage if you want. I have Christmas stuff stuck in there.” Cas shrugged. “I guess that’s about it. Hot tub is on the back deck, the yard is fenced in and completely private. Oh, the garage. You run an automotive shop, I’m sure you’re interested.”

“You say that like you aren’t.”

“Well, I enjoy not having to scrape the ice off of my windows.” It was said with a small smile. He led them back upstairs and to the other door in the entry.

“This is the door I usually use.” He pulled it open and stepped down into the garage. There was a blue SUV parked in the spot closest to the door, with the area in front of the other door empty. The garage was deeper than he’d expected, probably big enough to park two cars lengthwise, though the area in front of the SUV was occupied by a large work bench. “I don’t really use anything in here except the freezer.” He indicated an upright freezer near the door. “You can use the workbench if you want. Unfortunately, the snowblower died in the middle of that last big storm, so we’re stuck shoveling.”

“Or, you tell your mechanic housemate that the snow blower’s broken, and he fixes it.” He was grinning like a clown, he was sure, but the place was perfect, close to work, amazing space, great housemate and a heated garage . Seriously, could it get any better?

“So you like it?”

“Dude, it is perfect. I’m not convinced you’re not a serial killer it’s so nice and the rent is so affordable, but at this point, I think I might be willing to help you bury a body or two for a chance to live here.”

“Awesome. You’re the first person that’s answered the ad that I think I’d actually like to share a house with.” He glanced at his watch “I really need to get ready for work, but I can give you a copy of the lease to read over, and you can text me with questions. I can’t always answer right away, but I usually get a few minutes here or there. When were you looking to move in?”

“Honestly, unless you ask for my firstborn as deposit, I’ll put notice in tomorrow, so within the next two weeks if that’s OK?”

Cas was nodding. “Anytime. We can work out the details this weekend.” They’d moved back to the front door.

“Thanks so much for showing me this place, Castiel. This is exactly what I was hoping for.”

Cas glanced at the contents of the folder Dean had given him earlier, and added a sheaf of papers, and waited until he’d put his shoes and coat back on before handing it to him. “My friends call me Cas, and since I’m looking forward to sharing a house with you, I’m hoping you’ll fall into that category.” He offered Dean a hand to shake.

“Can’t wait Cas. I’ll shoot you a text if anything comes up with the lease, otherwise, I’ll plan on giving you a call Friday after work. Sound good?” He didn’t really want to leave, now that he was here, but he had to get back to work as well. He took the offered hand, and shook if firmly.

“Sounds good. Have a great afternoon Dean.” He moved to hold the door open.

“You too Cas.” He waved as he headed to his car.

He was actually looking forward to canceling the other appointments he’d made. No way could he get a better deal than this.

More Notes:

Three chapters in, and they finally meet. Can you actually imagine a meeting between these two that doesn't involve some kind of awe on Dean's part?

P.S. The description of Cas was very inspired by this magnificent piece of art (https://www.redbubble.com/people/jackiedeeart/works/35675771-sunshine?c=408643-supernatural). That's a redbubble link because I firmly believe everyone needs this in their house.

P.P.S Sorry about the gratuitous amounts of house description. I'm hoping it will help in the coming chapters to know your way around.

[halothenthehorns]

QUIDDITCH

QUIDDITCH

I don't say it enough, but thank you all too every single person who reads and reviews this. The support honestly helps me so much!

"One chapter," Lily stated to the ceiling, "I just want one chapter where I don't feel like my head's going to explode."

Harry gave his mum a sideways look, considering how he felt right now. Content mostly, whereas before he'd felt some high tension in his gut. He certainly felt like something important was going to happen before Christmas, an important memory, but since he couldn't put a finger on what he just said, "let's just remember the good parts hu?"

"I'm feeling a bit peckish," Sirius said, eyeing the next chapter warily. He really didn't want to think of Harry going back to that dog, and his reaction wasn't exactly reassuring, so he stalled a bit, "anyone up for lunch?"

Lily was the only one who hesitated, she wanted to keep going, have a nice chapter without a panic attack, but since the boys were already getting up, she decided to follow them into the kitchen.

After a nice comfortable lunch, they were all feeling much better, and only then did Harry read on quickly.

November arrived upon the castle, bringing with it the Quidditch season.

"Yeah!" All four boys cheered.

Lily decided that a game of Quidditch, so long as nothing to bad happened, would be a welcome relief.

The coming up Saturday Harry would be playing his first live match in front of the school, pinning Gryffindor against Slytherin. If Harry's team won, they'd be in second place for their house.

"I don't like this," Lily said at once.

"Relax Lily," James brushed her off, "yeah I know, Slytherin isn't my favourite house, but Harry doesn't seem to have a grudge with any of them except Malfoy. I'm sure it will be a fairly simple game."

Harry wanted to disagree, he had a rather odd feeling that he was about to be tossed around by something, but his mom actually did relax beside him, so he decided to just keep reading.

Wood had tried to keep Harry's position on the team a secret, but somehow the news had still leaked out.

"Could it be that the Gryffindor team didn't have an official Seeker, and that Harry had been sent a broom?" Remus asked redundantly.

"Yeah, but who could make that leap?" Sirius chuckled.

This managed to make Harry all the more nervous, unable to decide which was worse, whether people were trying to comfort him that he would be fine, or the mockery that he would fall off and they'd catch him with a mattress.

At Harry's grey pallor, James quickly reassured, "don't worry, you've shown nothing but natural talent. If you don't want to hear me say that you'll be brilliant, then at least let me tell you that I'm sure you won't fall off."

Harry actually laughed at this, looking relaxed again at once, thanking his dad.

"Besides," Sirius said brightly, "the student's aren't allowed to follow you around with a mattress. One year a group of Hufflepuffs got away with a net, but-ouch."

Sirius sat rubbing his arm while Remus looked quite pleased with himself. Harry decided to keep going before anyone else could try making him feel better.

Harry felt very lucky Hermione was now his friend, as she was a great help in getting him through his homework. She wouldn't let him cheat, but since she looked over it before he turned it in, he got the right answers anyways. She'd also lent him her copy of Quidditch Through the Ages, which he found an interesting read.

"Good," Sirius said, "though if we're being honest, you really should be able to quote that book before your ten."

"Does that have something to do with the fact you read him that as his bedtime story every time you babysit?" Remus asked slyly.

"To be fair, so do I," James laughed.

Lily couldn't help but smile at this, she could never begrudge her boys for this.

He learned some very interesting trivia, like there were seven hundred ways of committing a foul in Quidditch, each of which had been used in a World Cup during 1473,

"Now there's a time I'd like to be teleported back to," Sirius said in reverence.

Seekers were usually the most injured during the games,

"What?" Lily yelped. Considering she had stopped attending Quidditch matches after her first year, "I never realized that."

"Why?" Sirius snorted, "Weren't you at like, every game?"

"No," Lily snapped, "I went first year for the fun of the game, until James started using it as an excuse to sit by me. So starting second year I avoided the pitch at all costs. I only started going again in seventh year."

"In professional games," James began loudly, to explain Harry's very confused look, not realizing it was for the avoiding his dad comment, "Sure in the school's game the Beater's will try to knock them off when they get close to the snitch, but it takes years for Quidditch players to hone the skill of keeping an eye on all the players at once. Only the pro's notice the subtle ways seekers react, and then they attack preemptively, causing quite a bit of damage. Not even seventh years are quite that good."

Lily couldn't decide what impressed her more, James logic that actually made sense, or the fact that he was actually able to calm her down.

and though the players usually didn't die during the games, referees were known to disappear at random.

"Again, never happened at Hogwarts," Remus laughed.

"Sent a Quidditch Captain through a vanishing cabinet once, never found out where he ended up, but he did deserve it," Sirius said brightly.

"Please tell me he came back?" Lily asked.

"He might have," James said lightly, "why on earth would we know?"

Lily just sighed and decided to let it go for now, no way would they be acting so calm about it if anything too bad had happened.

Hermione had also been a bit more lax about breaking the rules.

"Well that's a relief," Sirius said brightly.

The day before Harry's first game, the three of them were out in the courtyard, and she had produced a bright blue flame that could be carried around in a jar.

"Wow," Remus laughed, "she's really already begun second year spells?"

Harry was smiling in fond remembrance at the memories of just hanging around with his friends, but there was something about Hermione and this blue fire he thought he should remember. Perhaps he had just been as impressed with the magic as the adults were?

They were all huddled around its warmth, pressed back to back with the heat in the centre, when Snape came limping across the yard.

"Why?" Lily asked lightly. She was still not very pleased about the way Snape had treated Harry his first potions lesson, but since none others had been mentioned since, she hoped that he had lessened the comments on her son.

"Oh don't start that," James groaned, "we've already got Remus asking those kinds of questions."

Lily huffed and politely asked Harry to go on.

The three students huddled closer together, not entirely sure if the fire was against school rules.

"Technically it is," Lily said, "you are allowed to practice on the grounds so long as you don't have to be in any classes."

Sadly something about them caught Snape's eye, and he came over to them. He didn't seem to notice the fire, but he seemed to be looking for a reason to tell them off.

"Now that, I remember," James muttered to himself.

Snape demanded to see what Harry had in his hand, which happened to be his copy of Quidditch Through the Ages. Snape took it from him and told him books weren't allowed outside the library, then deducted five points from Gryffindor.

"Then he should have been in detention every day of the week," Remus spat in disgust.

"That isn't even a rule," Lily snapped.

James and Sirius felt delighted that these two had been the one to point this out, since they felt that if they had, Lily might have snapped at them about it.

Harry grumbled that Snape must have made that rule up as Snape went limping away, then wondered what could have happened to his leg. Ron muttered that he at least hoped it hurt.

Not even Lily could muster up anger at Ron's comment, though she didn't go so far as to agreeing with him like the boys did.

That night as Hermione was looking over their homework,

"Good lord, that was a flash back to our school years if ever I've heard it," Sirius laughed.

Harry was feeling restless. He wanted his book back, hoping it would take his nerves off of tomorrow.

All three boys winced, not really wanting this awful reminder that Harry simply couldn't write to them and ask for a copy they knew one of them would have. Or, more preferably, they would simply march up to school and take the book back for Harry.

Harry decided he would try and ask for his book back, and stood up telling his friends that, who both responded better him than them. Harry wondered if Snape was perhaps in the staff room, thinking he may not be able to say no if other teachers were listening.

"No he wouldn't," James agreed happily, "because it isn't an actual rule."

"There's my smart pup," Sirius added happily.

Harry made his way down there and knocked, but no one answered. Harry wanted to check and see if maybe his book had been left in there, so he popped open the door and stuck his head in, to find a horrible sight.

"Was a student getting told off?" Remus asked with interest.

Snape and Filch were inside, alone.

"Conspiring to put the student body in detention I'm sure," James muttered.

Snape was holding his robes above his knees. One of his legs was bloody and mangled.

"Oh dear," Lily frowned, genuine concern lighting her features.

"Perhaps an accident in Potions class?" Remus speculated.

"Then why wouldn't he fix it himself?" Sirius rebutted, "he's not that incompetent."

"Again, one of the nicest things you've ever said about him," Lily said in approval.

Harry was frowning, rubbing his temple again. There was something he should remember about this. Something about the dog, he decided to simply read on rather than pressure himself again.

Filch was handing Snape bandages while Snape was grumbling about how you were supposed to keep your eyes on all three heads at once.

All four adults looked at each other, puzzled by that, but then Lily reminded them, "we never did find out why Snape was up there, but we did agree he was checking on the dog. Maybe things got out of hand?"

"Was he injured when he showed up in the bathroom?" James asked Harry.

Harry puzzled for a moment, trying to remember back, and saying slowly, "I think so, yeah. I wasn't exactly watching him walk, and he sat down ignoring me during all the classes afterwards. So I can't say for sure."

Lily nodded and decided that was good enough for her.

The other three just admitted they didn't have any other reasonable option.

Harry tried to sneak back out, but Snape caught sight of him. Harry took a chance and still decided to ask for his book back,

"Now that was very brave," Sirius laughed, "you caught him with his pants down, and still asked for your book."

Snape yelled at him at the top of his lungs to get out.

"Was a bit overly rude though," Lily huffed, that was quite the overreaction.

James was scowling at the thought of Snivellus yelling at his son like that. He wasn't feeling as much pity like he was earlier.

Harry went back to his common room, and told Ron and Hermione what happened. Then he continues speculating that Snape had tried to get past that three headed dog, that he must be after whatever that dog was guarding,

"After it," Lily spluttered, "now that's going too far."

Harry frowned over at her, still not able to understand why she seemed so defensive of Snape this whole time, then the boys backed her up, Remus saying, "Yeah, I've got to agree with her there Harry. Dumbledore trusts him, and despite his questionable past, I doubt even he would try to steal something from the school right under his nose."

James and Sirius shared a look, before verbally agreeing with their friend. They really didn't like him, and most likely never would, but even they couldn't see that.

Harry frowned, not really appreciating this, but as he had no hard evidence, and their reasons did make sense, he let it go for now.

then he said he was willing to bet his broom that Snape must have let that troll in as a diversion.

"Despite my evidence that he's got troll blood in him," Sirius said sadly, "again, I've got to say not. One Nimbus two thousand please," he even held out his hand towards Harry.

Harry actually laughed then, mostly because, he felt in his gut that Sirius was right. That feeling hadn't let him astray so far, and he trusted these people, why stop now?

Hermione tried to argue the point, saying that Snape was a teacher and he would never try to steal something away from Dumbledore, but Ron disagrees and instead wants to know what exactly that dog is guarding.

"A question I'd still like answered," they all agreed.

Harry went to sleep that night more wound up than ever, the twisted expression on Snape's face as he yelled at Harry lingering.

"His ugly mug will give anyone nightmares," James laughed.

"James," Lily snapped on instinct.

James surrendered at once, though still not fully able to hide his smirk.

The next morning Harry had to concentrate on other things though, as he wandered down to breakfast to the smell of food and a chattering crowd excited for a game.

"Why do we keep missing on all the good chapters?" Sirius groaned.

"I'll trade you Harry," James offered.

"No way," Lily said at once, "he's half way through."

Both boys huffed and crossed their arms in an almost pouting gesture.

Harry slumped into a seat and merely sat staring at the food, his stomach churning with distaste as Hermione tried to convince him to eat something. Harry was too nervous though, knowing he'd be out on the pitch in less than an hour.

"Maybe it's best you don't eat then," Remus agreed, "I'd hate for you to be sick."

"That wasn't comforting at all," Harry told him with a straight face. He wasn't as nervous now as he was then, but he truly did want to do a good job during this game. If he was being honest with himself, he hoped he did a good job just for the sake of seeing how happy his family would be if he won.

Remus actually looked a bit embarrassed at this, so Harry said, "but it was good advice, which I'm pretty sure I use."

Then he read on.

Seamus was trying to convince Harry to eat as well, reminding him that Seekers were known for taking the most hits during a game.

Lily huffed, wondering if James might have been lying to her, just a bit, to make her feel better. Too late now though.

Harry bleakly thanked him for the reminder.

"Well at least your advice was better than that," Harry told Remus, who both started laughing.

As eleven o'clock rolled around, every seat in the stadium was packed full, but even with the height it would be difficult to make out exactly what was going on in the air.

"Can't count how many times Peter and I broke our binoculars," Remus said with fond

remembrance.

"Thank goodness for the Reparo Charm then," James laughed.

Ron, Hermione, Neville, Seamus, and Dean had all gotten together without Harry's

knowledge and had taken an old bed sheet and written out a cheerful poster supporting Harry, which they planned on waving during the game.

"That's so sweet," Lily said at once, happier than anything that there were people there to cheer on her son.

All of the boys had to admit that, yeah, that was a really sweet thing for Harry's classmates to have done.

In the changing room, Wood was beginning his pep talk speech, which Fred and George were mimicking along with him, as Fred told Harry that since they'd been on the team last year, they knew it well.

"He doesn't change it?" James asked.

Sirius just shrugged, though he had to agree, that would get boring.

"I thought Ron said Charlie was Quidditch Captain though?" Remus asked, "Why would they know his speech, this should be his first year as captain?"

"Oliver was co-captain," Harry said, as he had asked the same thing later that night, "and since it was Charlie's last year there, he let Oliver give the pep talks to the team."

Wood told the pair of them to shut up, and then enthused his team saying that he was sure they would win today. Then he silently glared around, as if saying 'or else.'

"Now that look I know all too well," both James and Sirius coursed.

At Harry's questioning look, James explained, "the Quidditch captain, when we joined the team in our second year, guy named Vosper, was a bit of a fanatic."

"That's putting it lightly," Sirius laughed, "but considering he went to play for England, it clearly paid off."

Harry and the rest of the team went out onto the field then to find Madam Hooch

refereeing. She was glaring at both team captains, telling them she wanted a fair game from both sides, though Harry couldn't help but notice she was looking particularly at the Slytherin captain who looked a little trollish in Harry's opinion.

"Oh, I wouldn't put it past him," James snickered.

Then Harry caught sight of his friend's banner, and he felt a little lighter for it.

Lily beamed, clearly that banner meant just as much to Harry as it had to her.

The fourteen players mounted their brooms, and were off to the shrill sound of a whistle.

"Yes," all three boys said eagerly, it had been far too long since they'd heard a proper game of Quidditch, the last world cup had been seven years ago! Since it had happened in Syria, only James and his parents had been able to go. The other boy's families hadn't been able to make it, for various independent reasons. Of course they all listened in on the wireless to every game. It was going to be a thrill to see their little Harry in action for the first time.

Commentary began at once, provided by Fred and George's friend Lee Jordan, who was saying how pretty he found one of the Gryffindor Chasers-

"Brilliant," Remus laughed.

"Oh I'm going to like him," James and Sirius agreed.

"Though I still doubt he could beat you out Moony," Sirius added on.

Remus beamed at his friends, privately thinking they were probably biased, but flattered all the same.

Jordan apologized and returned his attention back to the game, watching the Quaffle be passed from hand to hand, the Beaters taking their chances whenever they could to knock the opposing teams aside, at one point Katie Bell being hit in the back of the head with a Bludger,

"What?" All four of them yelped in concern.

But Harry quickly reassured them, "It was a glancing blow, she just lost hold of the Quaffle."

Seeing them all relax, Harry quickly kept going.

until finally Gryffindor made a score.

"Yes!" All five of them cheered. Even Lily couldn't deny she was enjoying this, as this was

exactly what she had been hoping for. A nice relief from the death in the previous two chapters anyways.

Cheers rose up all over from the crowd, mingled with boos as well. Then a random voice cuts in telling someone to move along,

"What?" All four of them said in confusion.

Harry was looking genuinely confused, he had no idea, but he kept going.

which turns out to be Hagrid squeezing in beside Ron and Hermione in the bleachers.

"Oh," Remus said, blinking a moment before readjusting, "it just switched point of views again."

"Ah," the others said, just a little thrown off since this hadn't happened since the beginning of the book. Harry quickly readjusted and read on.

Hagrid tells how he had been watching from his place, but wanted to be closer to the action, then asks how Harry's been. Ron points out that he hadn't had much to do yet, that Wood had instructed him to stay out of the way until he caught sight of the Snitch.

"Always a good plan," James agreed.

In the air Harry had been circling the field, only having seen something glitter once, but it only turned out to be one of the Weasley's watches.

Sirius frowned at that, saying, "now they really should have known better."

"They're only third years," Remus defended.

Sirius easily let it go, rookie mistake it was, but he couldn't claim he'd never made those either.

At one point a bludger had been pelted his way, but Fred had zoomed up to lob it back off, only managing a quick hello before he flew back off.

"All the conversation you really can have up there," Sirius agreed.

Then Harry really did begin pelting back to the ground, distracting a Slytherin Chaser named Pucey as he dropped the Quaffle,

"Now that was just a dumb mistake," Remus agreed, "you do have to maintain some focus on your own job."

in fact the whole stadium went tense and still including the rest of the game as they watched in shock for Harry to continue hurtling to the ground,

All three boys were too hyper for Harry's first catch to say what idiots those people were.

and Harry was gaining speed, when WHAM.

"Oh no," Lily paled at once.

Harry kept reading quickly, there was no point in worrying about them when he knew he hadn't been hurt too badly.

Marcus Flint had moved to intercept Harry, knocking him off course.

"Foul," All three boys cried in outrage.

James said hotly, "that's blatching! A Chaser's not allowed to block the Seeker, the two should never even intersect."

Smiling at them for his defence, Harry still kept reading, this time to sooth their nerves.

The whole of the Gryffindor supporters shouted foul, which Madam Hooch granted giving the team a free shot, which caused enough confusion for the Snitch to disappear again.

"At least that's fair," Lily said for them.

They nodded, only slightly appeased.

In the stands Dean Thomas was yelling that Flint should be given a red card, which Ron asked about.

"I feel so smart," James said with pride, he finally wasn't the pure blood in the dark.

Dean explains that in soccer, if you're given a red card, you have to leave for the whole of the game. Hagrid agrees that should be a rule.

"I'll agree with that," Lily muttered.

Remus shook his head and said, "there's not enough reserve players in the teams for someone to get sent off every time there's a foul."

Lily huffed but let the matter go.

Back with the commentary, Jordan was being a bit biased as he claimed that after the cheating that had taken place,

"Sounds like someone I know," Sirius muttered to a blushing Remus.

but McGonagall interrupted him, and Jordan quickly rerouted into saying that after that open and obvious foul,

"Now why does that remind me of someone," James began in an offhand tone of voice, trying to force back laughter.

"Alright, all of you," Remus said, going even more red in the face.

Harry was still laughing at all of them, and determined he would have to hear a full Quidditch story soon, but kept going with his own for now.

to which McGonagall interrupts again, telling him to stop being so biased, and Jordan finally acquits that he was sure anyone could have nearly killed the other players Seeker,

"Never let this kid graduate," James laughed.

and that Gryffindor had been awarded its penalty. Harry was having a problem hearing that though, because his broom gave a sudden lurch.

"What?" all four of them said in real concern now.

"Did someone run into you again?" Lily asked.

Harry felt eager now, this was the important thing he had been feeling, something about his broom bucking him would be important.

Glancing up he saw all of his family's concerned faces and he quickly said, "I'm fine, no

permanent injuries, I don't even think this time left a bruise."

"This time?" Lily balked, "How many times do you fall off a broom?"

Harry pursed his lips, but as he would never actually be able to remember that, he decided to keep going.

Harry wondered what on earth was going on, but he didn't have much of a chance to think before he was holding on for dear life as his broom began bucking around.

"You didn't get a defective model did you?" James asked with worry.

"I would hope not," Sirius snapped, "or I'm going to be having some real problems with

someone."

All three of them agreed viciously.

Harry tried to get the attention of Wood, or anyone, to call a timeout, but he had no control whatsoever as his ride continued trying to unseat him.

Harry was very happy that he was the one who got this chapter, his voice reading this in such a calm manner seemed to be keeping the other four from really freaking out, though they were all on the edge of their seat with tension.

Lee Jordan was still commentating,

"He doesn't notice," Remus said, frowning in agitation.

"I would think that would be a spectacle, the Seeker suddenly playing bucking broom," Lily

agreed, nerves colouring her tone.

stating how Slytherin was now in possession of the Quaffle, but gets hit in the face with a bludger, which the commentator hopes at least broke his nose,

Not even this light humour could break the tension in the room now.

even as Slytherin scored no one seemed to notice Harry's problem,

"Not even his friends," Lily demanded.

that Harry's broom was continuing to carry him higher from the ground, twitching all the way.

"Not good, very not good," Sirius muttered, tapping his feet in agitation now, like he wanted to bolt to his feet and grab his own broom to stop this.

Hagrid finds the behaviour odd, speculating if Harry really did lose control of his broom,

"This thing really needs to pick what point of view it wants," Remus grumbled in agitation.

"At least someone noticed," Lily breathed, hoping Hagrid would now realize what was going on, and go get one of the teachers.

and suddenly the whole crowd seemed to realize as one Harry's problem, pointing up at him in awe. They all gasp as one,

"What?" All four demanded when Harry paused for breath, then baby Harry began crying again.

Remus had a hard time calming him down again, this really was becoming too frequent for the poor kid.

"I'm fine," Harry repeated soothingly, then hurried on so as not to keep them worried.

as Harry lost a portion of the fight with his broom and was left dangling from one hand now.

"Exactly how high up were you by then?" Lily demanded, not even noticing the way her voice cracked, or how high it was.

"Not a scratch remember," Harry reminded, managing to avoid answering.

Seamus wonders if something could have happened when Flint had knocked into Harry's broom earlier.

"No," James said at once, diverting his attention for the time being, "it takes very powerful, dark magic to..." he trailed off, losing all colour as he realized what he was saying.

"It must have been a dark wizard who let that troll in," Sirius whispered through numb lips.

"A holiday is one thing, but this is a school event in the middle of the year," Remus muttered, instead of fear creeping up in him though, he was getting mad. He trusted Dumbledore, he was the only headmaster who would have ever given a werewolf a chance to attend school like a normal child, and so he had to trust his judgement about this as well. He said so aloud, "If Dumbledore trusts Snape, then I think we shouldn't start pointing fingers-" he began, but at the confounded looks his two mates were giving him, he hurried on, "but if Snape really did pull one over on him, then I get a crack at him."

Lily's lower lip was trembling. Yes, she'd heard the rumours same as them, more probably since she kept an ear out, and went into the public wizarding world more than all three of them. Yet, deep down, she had hoped they were just that, rumours. If she found out that Severus really had...

Her thoughts were cut short as Harry said, "what on earth are you lot talking about? What exactly did Snape do?" There was clearly a history here, and he really wanted to know what it was. He hadn't ever realized he'd never gotten his explanation earlier, he'd been so distracted. Clearly no one else had wanted to bring it up, as it was such a sore subject that they all started to flinch away again.

Sucking in a deep breath, Lily whispered, "Harry dear, that really is a long story, but" she began when Harry looked about arguing, "I promise we will tell you after this chapter. I think these are things you should know. Right now though, I'd still like to hear your feet are safe on the ground again."

'Or know already' he thought to himself, rubbing his temple again. They were all implying

something, and it was that old memory pain again. He should know the answer, know exactly what they were talking about, but the information was lost to him, for now.

James, Remus and Sirius all exchanged dark looks, unable to decide if they were angrier at what this book was implying Snape was trying to do, or more upset that a perfectly good Quidditch game was being ruined by it.

Hagrid explains that this isn't possible, only truly dark magic could tamper with such a powerful broom, which gives Hermione an idea. She grabs up a pair of binoculars and begins looking wildly through the stands, spotting Snape.

"No," Lily hissed, still refusing to believe it, "Harry, keep reading," she instructed when it looked like the three boys were about to explode.

Ron grabs the binoculars away from her to see Snape muttering under his breath, his eyes locked on Harry.

"Why that-" James began at the top of his lungs mind you, so before he could get any farther Remus bolted out of the room, the baby in his arms. He made his way quickly upstairs, set up a monitory spell, and then delayed even longer by checking the diaper, and doing other sorts of things that really didn't need doing right at this moment. Still, it did what he had intended, calmed him down.

In that moment, when he heard that Severus Snape was cursing Harry, his little cub, he was angrier then he had been in his entire life. He had been outraged when he found out Harry had been locked up in a cupboard, disgusted at the treatment he had to endure after this, and yes, even beyond reproach with fury at Harry nearly losing his life by a three headed dog, and not two months later, a troll.

Through all of that though, he could handle. He could control himself by telling his nature that, Harry was fine. Sitting right across the room from him, safe and comfortable. Not to mention the perpetrators for all of those crimes were out of his reach. If he attacked a house of muggles, he would be killed for sure, they wouldn't even consider Azkaban for his kind. The two monsters could be anywhere in the world at this moment in time, and even then he couldn't blame the beasts for their actions. They were mindless monsters.

Severus Snape was attacking Harry. That one thought just kept circling round and round in his head like a death drum roll. He knew how to get a hold of Snape, right now. Knew well and good that he had a grudge against Harry, simply for living. Yet never, in all his life, would he have attached that to attempting to kill the innocent boy.

His hand was curled into a fist in his hair, the pain grounding him slightly, when a small little fist tapped it. Blinking the red out of his eyes, he glanced down at the baby in his arms.

Remus loved Harry, loved him like he was his own. Remus could never have children of his own, he would never dream of it, so for all intents and purposes, he thought of Harry as his own. When James had told the three of them that his wife was pregnant, he had turned to Remus first, offering him the title of Godfather. It was because all three of his friends knew what Remus did, that he most likely would never settle down, never have his own family. It had just seemed right to make him the official part of Harry's life.

Remus had to actually remind his friends though, that he legally couldn't. The Ministry would never allow such a thing. That moment however, had changed his life. That very day he had intended to tell his friends that he was going to get a job at Gringotts as a curse breaker. Then, after hearing James' wishes, he had changed his mind. James, while still unemployed, was looking about to get an Auror job, though Moody didn't think much of him, James was making leaps and bounds to prove himself. Sirius was having to prove himself to, though in a different way, proving to the Ministry that in these dark times, a Black was refusing to join the rest of his family in Voldemort's ways.

Peter, as one of the smallest and sneakiest of the group, was practically on call for the Order of the Phoenix, while Lily only had a week left before her maternity leave ended and she would have to go back to her full time job of working at the Department of Magical Law enforcement.

Thinking about all of this, his friends, no family, and the little baby cuddled up in his arms,

managed to calm him down. He was right to have left the room, since even now he could hear yelling below, and he never would have been able to control his temper, 'the monster within' his mind muttered snidely, down there.

Feeling much calmer, though still murderous and willing to help in any way that James and Sirius would allow, he put the toddler, whose eyes were growing heavier by the second, down into his crib for a nice long nap, put up a few spells to alert them downstairs when he woke up. Then made his way back downstairs.

The scene he walked in on gave him a brief pause. Lily and James were yelling in each other's faces, and Sirius had his wand out and was barking at Harry that he needed to move, now.

The spat between the married couple was familiar enough, those two had argued almost constantly while at school. Granted, they still argued almost constantly now when they were married, but it was certainly in lighter tones then what he was witnessing now.

Harry and Sirius' argument on the other hand looked far more pressing, so he quickly made his way over there, putting his hand on Sirius' shoulder and whispering, "you know he's right. We can not do anything about it now."

Sirius made to pull away, but then his grip tightened all the more on his shoulder and he said in more forceful tones, "I know you want to kill that bastard, and so do I, but getting thrown in Azkaban right now won't solve anything. We'll keep our word to Harry, and finish these books before we take care of him. All of them."

Sirius was still shaking, but he looked a mite bit calmer as he turned flashing eyes on him.

Breathing like a wounded animal he said, "we didn't promise not to kill anyone else. Just those Dursley's."

"I said," Harry jumped in quickly, "you wouldn't leave the house until we were done. You

promised Sirius, please."

Whatever lingering feelings Remus may have had about wanting to leave as well dissolved the second he looked into Harry's bright green eyes. He looked near tears, he seemed truly frightened. Not of them though, but of them leaving. Whether it was an abandonment issue, highly possible given the boys living conditions or lack thereof, or just a fear of the unknown, outside this house, neither of them could guess.

Still, they both agreed, and then Sirius turned to him and whispered back, "I'm sorry I didn't-" he began, but Remus cut him off, saying with a small smile, "Don't be. Harry's always been able to calm me down, and apparently he always will." The two friends shared a genuine smile before turning to the bickering couple.

Neither had drawn their wand yet, which was small consolation for the row they were having.

Remus went over to James while Harry began talking softly to his mother. James was angrier than Remus had ever seen him, and who could blame him, but he made the same argument to this friend as he had with the other. James didn't exactly calm down, but he did stomp over to the armchair and flop into it, not looking at anyone in the room.

Lily took a bit more convincing, Remus wasn't even sure where she stood in all of this since he hadn't been listening to the actual words in their argument, but she finally sat back down, throwing a nasty look over at James just to make sure her feelings were clear to him.

Harry finally breathed in relief, looking around at all four of them, before sinking into the couch beside his mom. Guess he really should have remembered something like this beforehand. Still, it was quite a shock to him as well. Yet he couldn't shake this feeling, something he would never speak aloud to anyone in this room for fear he was wrong, that he didn't think Snape had done this. Why though? There was no other suspect, who else could it be? Taking a deep, long breath, Harry managed to continue reading.

Hermione hisses that she's going to take care of it and bolts off, while Ron sits terrified as he can only watch his twin brothers fly up and try to pull Harry on to one of their brooms, to no success. They're left to fly underneath Harry, clearly hoping to catch him when he fell.

It was a testament to how tense the atmosphere was that no one made the comment at how much they appreciated this. It's what any good teammate would do after all.

They dropped lower so to stop the agitated broom from going higher.

All four breathed a silent bit of relief, at least this wouldn't end so badly. Even if Harry did fall now, they all had confidence these two would catch him.

Flint clearly had no concern for any of this, as he seized the Quaffle and started scoring points while no one was watching.

James screwed up his face, but he was still too keyed up to comment on this open and blatant disrespect of the game, and especially his son's life.

Hermione was on the other end of the stands now, fighting her way through the crowd and accidentally knocking into a few people in her haste, like Professor Quirrell, to make it to Snape's backside and silently set his robes on fire with the BlueBell flame.

Now all three boys smiled vindictively. Lighting him on fire was the least of that man's worries, and it would certainly do the trick of breaking his eye contact.

None of them glanced over towards Lily to see her reaction.

It only took a few seconds for Snape to realize he was on fire, and by the time he reacted Hermione had scooped the fire away and was sprinting out of sight.

"Pity that," Sirius broke the silence, wishing Hermione had let that fire burn far longer.

Lily still couldn't bring it in herself to open her mouth though.

Up in the air Harry got control of his broom back and was now speeding back towards the ground. In the stands Ron turned comfortingly to Neville and told him it was okay to look now, as the boy had buried his face in Hagrid's jacket rather than look.

"Compassionate lad," James said, a small, barely visible smile made its way onto him. Still angrier then he would probably ever be in his life, but Harry had just said he was safe and back on his broom. He could breathe a bit easier now, "I hope you start hanging out with him a bit more Harry."

Harry briefly glanced up, smiling at his dad and deciding to say, "yeah, I may not be as close to Neville as I am with Ron and Hermione, but I really feel like we are friends."

When Harry hit the ground he doubled up on all fours, coughing,

All four of them winced at that, not blaming him in the least. That had been quite a stunt after all. Lily even privately thought that if anyone made fun of him for it, she would probably praise Harry for standing up to them.

and something gold fell into his hand.

"What?" The tension finally began seeping out of the room as all four of them spoke in unison again.

Lily pursed her lips back up though when James threw her a haughty look, but Remus and Sirius leaned in eagerly, Remus saying, "you can't mean-"

"Oh I think he does," Sirius said eagerly at the look on Harry's face.

All four of them were still angry beyond belief, but finally had to acknowledge that, like with the Dursleys, they couldn't do anything about it now. So, they would accept this, and in the meantime think of new ways to get away with murder.

Harry read on eagerly.

Somehow Harry had managed to catch the snitch in all the confusion, ending the game in complete confusion as he waved it around in triumph.

"That's going in the books," Remus cheered, while James and Sirius looked like they were going to tackle Harry to the ground hugging him.

Laughing with glee, all four boys spent a good ten minutes talking about the good, highlight points of the game. Harry added in a few details the book had left out.

Lily sat back, smiling slightly at them all. They all avoided a topic that could cause strife to begin again, and as soon as it appeared they were running out of steam on the subject, Harry hurried on, ignoring another feeling in his gut. That Snitch was important. Why though? Because it was his first catch? He would just have to believe that for now, no matter what his organ told him.

Flint tried to argue the matter, saying he hadn't caught it but nearly swallowed it,

"It still counts," James said in a sing-song voice.

but the game was still won. Harry was celebrating in Hagrid's hut, where Ron and

Hermione caught him up to speed on what they'd seen.

"Not the way one usually enjoys a victory," Sirius said indulgently.

"But as it's Hagrid, we'll allow this," Remus finished for him, then they both cracked up laughing, finally feeling like themselves again.

Hagrid told Ron and Hermione they were crazy, why would Snape attack Harry?

Swallowing bile, none of them made to say a word. If they were stuck in the house with each other until these books were over, they should probably at least try to avoid killing Lily, who didn't look any more up to chatting then they did.

The three of them tried to convince him of what they knew, like how Snape had tried to get past the three headed dog. Hagrid's response is to ask how they knew about Fluffy.

"Fluffy?" They all said, looking faint.

"He named it Fluffy?" Remus repeated.

"Cerberus is a Rottweiler with three heads, they're not even fluffy dogs!" Sirius yelped.

"That's what you caught on," James demanded, fighting back a smile.

His two friends smiled at him, happy to see he was shaking off the visages of his fight as well.

Hagrid admits the dog is his, he'd bought him only last year and lent him to Dumbledore to guard, but Harry interrupted by eagerly asking him to go on.

"Now why would you interrupt him," Remus demanded, "if you'd said nothing, he probably

would have just kept talking and told you."

"I was eager, and he was already starting to trail off," Harry shrugged.

Hagrid told them to stop asking questions, because this was all top secret.

"They didn't ask you to begin with," Lily finally spoke up, avoiding every eye in the room, "he just asked about the name. You were the one who was about to tell him."

Silence for a long, drawn out moment, before James finally spoke up, "yeah Hagrid, you can't tell Harry not to ask a question he never asked."

The couple shared another long moment to simply stare at each other, and Harry only began reading again when the two started smiling at each other.

Harry persisted that Snape was trying to steal it, and Hagrid shot back that since Snape was a teacher he'd do nothing of the sort.

Then they broke eye contact and looked to opposite corners of the room again. Harry really wanted to get this chapter over with now, so he hurried on.

Hermione snapped back, then why did Snape just try to kill Harry? Clearly the day's events had changed her mind on the subject.

"Talk about an understatement," Remus muttered.

She insists she saw him doing a jinx, because they take eye contact, and Snape hadn't been blinking.

"Hermione's know it all bit finally came in handy," Sirius said in genuine and pleasured surprise.

Hagrid tried to pacify them, saying a teacher would never! What that dog was guarding was between Dumbledore, and Nicolas Flamel. Harry interrupted again, exclaiming now they knew another name involved.

"Again, I will say, why did you cut him off," Remus actually laughed this time.

Harry smiled to himself, but didn't speak aloud what he was thinking, since the others looked like they were finally heading towards a good mood again. Privately he was thinking that he had blurted just then for the same reason he had blurted out that thing about motorcycles back during Dudley's birthday. He had simply learned, and hadn't unlearned yet like he had now, that nobody listened to him when he talked. So when he had interrupted Hagrid, he had been talking to himself more than anything. The exclamation of surprise probably hadn't helped much though.

Instead he just shrugged by way of answer, and read the last sentence.

Hagrid was clearly furious with himself.

"Why?" James asked, "he's just some old alchemist."

"How do you know?" Lily demanded.

"He's got a chocolate frog card, but it's super rare. I think they made like five. Plus, he's also mentioned on Dumbledore's."

"Of course you'd know that," she said to the ceiling.

Harry beamed at the pair, pleased beyond measure that they were still talking to each other, and passed the book to his mom saying, "chapter's over. Did you want to read?"

[verseofthedead]

Lost in the Snow

if you lower your expectations and this isn’t half bad....lower...lower. no lower... that’s good. enjoy, or not. i’m not your guardian. all mistakes are mine cause how do grammar?

This is something to be said about the isolating feeling of a New England town in winter. Everything is quiet; even my footsteps, dampened by the few inches of snowfall from earlier in the day, seem almost silent. Quiet like this unnerves me. It makes the hair on the back of my neck rise with uncertainty. In the five or so minutes since I left my rusted, old Toyota Corolla in the ditch where it slid; I haven’t been able to keep my eyes forward. I’m afraid one of these moments I’ll look back and someone will be there ill intentioned and ready to strike. I’d never been mugged before, but then again I’ve never slid off the road on the outskirts of an unfamiliar town.  

If you’ve never owned a Toyota, they aren’t made for ice and snow, or any harsh weather for that matter. They’re light little things that will shift in a small breeze. So when I slammed on my breaks to avoid the panicked deer that had leapt out into the road, I went spinning. I managed to remember to direct the wheel with the slide instead of cutting harshly against it and that is probably what put me down a bumper and not put me upside down, probably unconscious, on an empty road. Up ahead the town lights glow softly against the deep black of the night sky. It’s January and on nights like this it feels the world is at its darkest. I can make out the lights that align the main road, and even thought they should be a beacon guiding me to safety, they glow a dull, pale orange as if in warning. If one looked at just the right angle, they would say darkness itself was feeding on their luminance.

“Don’t go.”

I swear I heard someone speak from behind me. A low growl of a voice muffled by the quiet of the air. I whip around so fast I slip a little on the snow. Regaining a bit of composure I call out, my voice wavering. If it’s from the cold or from fear I cannot tell. The darkness behind me swallows more of my vision in response. The darkness grows around one point, so dark nothing can reflect back. And in that point of pitch black I swear I see two eyes gleam, barely there and low to the ground watching my every move.  A dogs head appears, impossibly dark fur matted and something, blood probably, glistens on its snout.

“Stay.”

Hearing that growl of a voice, barely a whisper, my body goes into fight or flight mode and never being one for a fight, I run towards the lights of the town. My feet scramble on the snow for purchase and whether or not there is someone following after me, I bolt as fast and as far as my body will take me from that point. Taking in lungfuls of bitter cold air, my throat burns in a way I’ve never experienced and despite the pain in my chest I don’t stop until I see the welcome sign of the town which appears much sooner than I was expecting. Even on a good day I am far from a strong runner. The edges of the sign are wooden and worn. White and red paint peels from the parts I can see, but most of the sign is covered in snow, lit by two overheard lights, casting shadows onto the ground. Long and lithe almost like guardians standing watch over the town. My breathes come in painful gasps and wheezes,  lungs too tight for comfort as these shadows seem to waiver in and out of reality. I realize now the wind has picked up a little and my mind is playing tricks as the tree branches shift. I look back as a feeling of unease eats away at my gut, gnawing at me to seek out those eyes again. Find some sort of proof they existed and I wasn’t just afraid of the dark. I stared for some time, eyes probing as deep as I was allowed, but there was nothing but darkness. I convinced myself the whispers through the trees were merely my mind trying to make sense out of the wind. Pulling my scarf over my nose and mouth in an attempt to cut out the cold I begin to walk down the lit road I saw earlier before whatever I thought was in the darkness chased me here.

To be honest I’m not sure which town this is. My GPS had cut out along the long road up to the town, it was surrounded by dense forest and that probably is what interfered. When I find some place to stop in I’ll ask and check my phone. I can feel the last bit of adrenaline ebb away and my teeth begin to chatter so harshly I fear a couple might crack. My hands are so numb they feel like the static of an old tube TV left on an empty station. I squeeze them in an attempt to get some blood flow back into them, it’s futile however, my thin excuses for gloves are soaked and frozen over.

I make my way down the main road of the town. It is surprisingly empty for a main road. No cars in sight. It has been plowed recently though, the asphalt striking black strip against the snow piled up on the sidewalks.  Both sides of the road were lined with antique lamp posts, each positioned a few hundred feet from the others, covered with a light coating of snow. They’re the old models. The one with the bulb in a box-like casing, pointed on top, with all the electric guts in the large, sturdy base. The glow they emit is soft and orange and when I look up it’s as if the glow barely skims the bottom of the sky, somehow contained to the town. It’s always strange how changing where you stand changes everything about your perspective. Looking around the storefront windows are eerily dark. The light from the street posts barely illuminate the old brick facings let alone the windows. It’s as though someone hung a black curtain over all of them. Most of the windows have some business signage painted on them. A few thousand feet away on the other side of an intersection there is the distinct shadow of a church. I squint to take a better look at it, its design is simple in nature: a plain white building with  a single steeple, three large windows with bull’s-eye glass panes, two framing the welcoming red door and one in the middle of the steeple. A top it all lays a thick weather beaten cross painted bronze. It looms, as if passing judgment on those who walk up to it. The windows that frame either side of the big red door are the only other source of light in this town and I shrug as I make my way towards them. I’m not sure about God and his “plans” but I am sure that whoever resides there is probably kind enough to offer some sanctuary and help me get my car out of the ditch and back on the road. Or at the very least, get myself towed into town and set up in a hotel. If this place even has one.

I make my way to the church and as I look around I notice just how abandoned this town feels. Beyond your usual New England fair, the world is muted in sound and color. As if the snow has blocked the town away from the rest of the world. I struggle to think of a word to describe what kind of place this is, and the best I can come up with is luminal. Even as I think it, the word morphs into a sinister feeling that crawls its way up my spine prodding as it goes. I reach the intersection and the snow drift kicked up by the wind makes it difficult to see down the perpendicular road. It’s like the town ends where the road is no longer visible and I shudder violently against the cold, crossing hastily to the church. Taking the old snow-covered stone steps two at a time I reach the red door and grasp a bronze knocker I couldn’t make out when I was first looking at the church. It’s terrifying to look at. A man’s face, rendered in horrifically realistic detail screaming in agony, his head pierced through the temples by the knocker. His eyes belie immense pain and from each orifice bronze rivulets of an unknown substance, possibly blood, have been carved. I can’t stand to look at it so I turn my head as I knock once, twice, three times and wait. Shoving my hands in my jacket pockets I glance back down the stairs. The town is barely visible behind a wall of snow drift, yet the wind didn’t seem as though it had picked up. It worries me that I’ve reached the point I’m so numb from the cold I hadn’t noticed the wind.

A small sliver of light appears and casts my shadow onto the ground. It is much shorter than the long one that is cast beside mine, I turn around and jump as the old man that answered the door stood much closer than I had anticipated. He is dressed in a solid black clergy cassock with gold buttons trailing down the front. His face is aged and wrinkled, with clear grey eyes lit up with some sort of mischief. He is bald except for the crown of grey hair round his head.  

“Ah, hello there child. Lost are we?”  His voice is dry like leaves in fall, crisp and crackling. His smile doesn’t reach his eyes and I feel much less comfortable standing next to him than I did wandering the roads in.

“I’m not lost, per se. I had an accident down the road.” I gestured vaguely behind me. Not wanting to take my eyes off of his. That deep unsettling feeling I felt when I was first walking down the road returned. I didn’t want to turn my back to him “A deer ran out in front of me and I ran off the road. Uh, there was a dog too.”

“Did you kill him?” The question itself didn’t surprise me, but the nature of how he asked it. As if the dog was a common annoyance that must be taken care of.

“Uh. I don’t think so?” I hadn’t really stopped to look for the dog. Really I had yelled into the woods while I tried to make a call on my cell. It was the lack of service that prompted me to seek out the town. “Can I step inside?”

“Of course! How rude of me. You must be freezing to death out there.”

Pushing the door open a little more and stepping aside he bowed slightly as I stepped into the warm church. I watched him shut the door and make his way towards the front towards the Alter.

I stayed back wanting to take a quick look around. Along the walls were tapestries of Jesus’ trials, some depictions of angels on high, with their horns blaring out the end of the world, and some dark illustrations of what most certainly are hell; Fire and Brimstone galore. When I finally looked towards the front of the church he was there, watching me from the pulpit. I started to feel queasy and remembered I came here to warm up and make a call. Pulling my gloves off was more painful than I wanted it to be, my hands were a bright red, raw from the cold. I shook them a bit until the pins and needles subsided. Reaching into the front pocket of my green pea coat my hand grasped pocket lint where a cell phone should be. Swallowing down the wave of fear rising in my throat I tried to search the other pockets without coming off as frantic. I always put my cell in the right pocket, it wasn’t there or in any of the other pockets, inner and outer. It wasn’t in my jeans either and I felt the panic begin to take over. It must have fallen out when I was running. Now I’m stuck in an unknown town with a strange man in an empty church, blanketed by a new England winter. I honestly doubt if anyone would hear me scream even if they stood outside the door.

“Something wrong dear?” His voiced carried across the church high up into the rafters.

“Uh… I, uh I lost my cell phone somewhere and I need it to make a call.” My throat feels dry and the air feels thick around me.

“Cell phones aren’t allowed here and even if they were, there’s no signal.” He chuckles at that. “Besides you don’t need them anymore.” His words were calm as he gazed at me. I felt indignant; certainly I’ll need it to call someone when I get back to my car.

“What, what do you mean I don’t need my cell phone anymore. How else am I going to call for a tow truck? Unless you have a tow truck in town? If you let me sleep here I’ll just go there in the morning.”

“There won’t be a tow truck.” He looks down at me, his emotions unreadable. “You don’t need one anymore.”

“What, no I have a car just down the road!” My voice carries high into the ceiling. My panic echoes off carved angels and devils. My car is down the road in a ditch. There was a dog and he might have been rabid so I ran here to get some help.”

“He does have the particularly difficult task of getting people to listen to him.” The Priest smiled. “But now you’re here and we have to figure out what to do with you.” Now he just wasn’t making any sense. Without turning my back to him I walked slowly until my back hit the door. Frantically I groped around behind me until I finally found the doorknob which forgivingly turned and unlocked.

“Look, I have no idea what the hell you’re talking about but I’m going back to my car! You can just send someone to pick me up in the morning.”

“That won’t be necessary, but go. See for yourself.” He turned and sat in the modest, tall backed chair. “I’ll be here when you get back and we can proceed from there.”

I ripped the door open, light spilling onto my path, and slid down the stairs, my knees colliding harshly against the stone there. Looking down the intersection the asphalt was still clear, but I still couldn’t make out where they lead to. The wind had picked up and the snow drift blocked whatever lay beyond it. My heart beat a vigorous tattoo against my chest as I ran down the main road which had sprung to life. Around me tall shadows moved around the little town and I dipped and bobbed through them. Terrified of what might befall me if I touched one. The lights in the storefronts were on and there was nothing inside them. No one is here but that priest and these things. I won’t find any help here. I have to get back to my car and find the way back.

When I reached the welcome sign that damned black dog was there. My head pounded and it felt like my brain was trying to punch its way out of my skull. Why couldn’t I remember the direction I came from? When I reached the towns edge the darkness had drawn closer. I could barely make out the welcome sign.

“I’m sorry. You have to stay here.” The growling voice I had heard in the darkness.

“I have to get back to my car!” I yelled, feeling much braver with the adrenaline and fear coursing through my blood making my skin hot. “Who the fuck is out there!?” From the darkness stepped that damned dog. Steam rose from its face as it huffed at me. It’s eyes were a deep brown, almost human and they looked at me forlornly.

“There is no car. It’s gone. You are gone. I tried to get you to stay, but you ran.” It’s mouth didn’t move but I heard that voice all the same. “I can’t get you from there, he won’t let me cross the threshold.” The dogs snout lifted back towards the town. “And you can’t cross back.”

I took two steps towards him before two shadowy figures moved into my peripheral. Tendrils of shadow grasped at my arms and forced me back. It was those long shadows that had looked like people, the ones from earlier, the sentinels that stood underneath the sign.

“You have to go now. If you’re lucky he’ll send you down the road. I’m sorry I couldn’t bring you back” The dog turned back into the darkness, the winter swallowing him whole.

Roughly I was tossed back onto the ground. One of the sentinels pointed to the sign, and my eyes followed. What I saw made my heart drop. The snow had fallen off the rest of the sign and there in blood red paint brilliant against worn wood covered in white paint were the words:

Welcome to Purgatory.

[elsewhereuniversity]

Threes

A short story about encounters with the Gentry. I left a bit of an open end, in case I want to continue this as a series, but that is yet to be confirmed. Hope you enjoy!

—

As a child, you adored tales about faeries. Anything that had to do with the fair folk, you consumed. All of it was fiction, of course. The only “fairies” you’d ever seen were the Tinkerbell figurines your best friend gave you as a gift, the art your mom drew for you, and the reading lights your grandmother had given you for your birthday. You decorated your room with posters, you had stories lining your shelves, and the figurines took up every flat space you could find.

You could never know that this knowledge would save your life.

You had taken a year off to get your bearings, earn a little money, find your place in life. When you found the website for Elsewhere University, it was an accident. You had been browsing a college webpage when it glitched, landing you on their website. It was almost like magic. The college had an incredible arts program, all the languages you were looking to study, and even relatively cheap housing. You had never seriously considered anything except the college your mother went to before you, but this place was just too good to be true. You showed the website to your parents, and you began enrollment.

The day you moved out, you and your mother drove into the countryside. You had lived here your whole life, driving these woods so much that you knew them like the back of your hand. You frowned at the GPS when it told you to turn right onto a road you knew didn’t exist, but to your surprised there was, in fact, a road there. You followed the directions, uneasiness settling in for the first time since you had discovered this incredible place.

The trip, which you had estimated would take half a day at least, took a mere hour, crossing through towns you had never heard of in places you had been a hundred times. You found your way to the dorms, ordinary looking brick buildings with extraordinarily normal paths leading to them. You and your mom began to unpack, carrying your things to the dorm. When everything had been moved up, your mother gave you a long hug and a quick kiss on the cheek before waving to you from the car as she drove away. You watched her go apprehensively, looking at your map and going to the main building for orientation along with a pack of other freshman.

When the RA began tell you the rules, you recognized them. The others laughed, college superstitions novel to them. But you knew. You knew what iron and salt were, you knew why you never say “Please” or “Thank You” or “I’m Sorry”. You knew the danger of walking into circles, of wandering into places where time crawls. You knew.

You went to your room, your roommate chattering excitedly. She laughed about the superstitions, saying that it was so ridiculous. You quickly cut her off, telling her that it was no joke. She seemed surprised by your seriousness, by the fear in your voice. You took off the iron ring your aunt gave you, handing it to her. You told her not to take it off, not even in the shower, and she nodded, seeming more scared of you than anything the RA said.

You were never one to wear jewelry, but you pull out all the stops here. You wore everything iron you’ve ever had. Your charm bracelet, mostly empty, was always on your wrist. You always kept your bag full of snacks, and always grabbed salt packets from the dining hall, even when your pockets were full. You also kept rings and bracelets and charms made of plastic, things you never really had a use for, just in case.

You remember being young. You remember your friends, all believers in faeries, making a resting place out of a butterfly cage. You remember waking up to the food being gone, the water depleted. You had poured it in your left eye, hoping to gain the Sight. You still occasionally saw figures out of the corner of that eye, but you always chalked it up to your eyes playing tricks on you. You grew up, you thought that maybe your parents had taken the food, hoping to make you happy. That it was all an indulgent game for a child.

Walking across campus was frightening. There were always Things. You wouldn’t look directly at them, terrified they’d see you. You knew better than to attract their attention. You knew better. When people took out their mood rings, you always told them to put it away. You didn’t glance, but you knew they were there. They saw you, and you saw them. You prayed they didn’t know.

You winced when you heard people ask their friends for favors. Polite phrases pierced your ears like arrows, pleases and thank yous being tossed around without care. You made friends with some of the more cautious people, although most of them were as unaware as the rest. You told them in quiet whispers what will happen to the people who don’t follow the rules, the people who don’t respect The Good Neighbors. The Fair Folk.

You never said faerie out loud. They don’t like it. Seeing them for who they are angers them. The smart ones never mention them, if they don’t have to. One idiot in your dorm proclaimed loudly that all this superstition is idiotic, that magic isn’t real. You steered clear of him, never looking at the things that followed him for a week. You weren’t surprised when he disappeared.

The crows that hung around the university were overtly friendly. You fed them whenever you got the chance, leaving shiny things on your windowsill for them. Most of them were actually crows, although when you’re so close to the border animals are never just animals. Some of them, though, were Them in disguise. You were always careful to feed them the same as the rest of the crows, although you never got too close. Sometimes you heard scratching on your window at night, as if something had come knocking for you. You always looked. Sometimes it was a tree branch, sometimes a crow. Sometimes it was something else. You always made sure to leave something for it, no matter what.

Your roommate headed your advice, at least when you saw her. You were sure she didn’t believe you, though, and you sometimes overheard her talk on the phone about her “crazy roommate” and how “weird” you were. One day, you found your ring on her nightstand. You knew she wasn’t taken, but it’s clear that she was done humoring you. You took it back.

Your classes were mostly normal, although your English classes always had one or two… extra students. On some days, you would walk by a classroom where all the desks have been put in a circle. You always walked quickly by, turning away those you could.

Your first mistake was singing. You had always been quite a fan of anything to do with music, and you had a lovely voice. You couldn’t help listening to music when you showered, and one day you began to sing along. You only stopped when you heard the other voice harmonizing with you. When you emerged, towel wrapped protectively around you, you had seen only a single shimmering scale lying on the ground. You kept it, fearfully watching from that day on.

You wore the scale in your hair, as a reminder. Of course, that didn’t stop you from making your second mistake. Every day you put on your jewelry, and you almost always took it off before going to bed. However, that day you had been working so hard, and you had been up so long… rather than place it all carefully on the front of your dresser like you normally did, you had tossed it onto your nightstand. It must have fallen down during the night, because when you looked the next day, you couldn’t find any of it.

As most things were with the fae, your mistakes came in a group of three. You knew that the one thing the fae valued above all else was Hospitality. That, of course, meant that an invitation to a party was a binding contract on both parts. This meant that, when you found your bowl of cream replaced with a letter, you had been genuinely delighted to find an invitation. This would be your first party on campus, as you hadn’t had an honest-to-god invitation before. You were absolutely delighted. You wore your most beautiful black ensemble, even wearing some of the new jewelry you had bought to replace the old things. Nothing iron, of course. Shops on campus didn’t sell iron.

You arrived at the party, excitement overwhelming you and making you forget your sense at the door. You saw many people there, all throwing themselves wildly into the party… no, the revel, and the night had only just begun. You went onto the dance floor, throwing yourself into the music in a wild, primal joy that hadn’t been able to grip you, not careful you with your iron and diplomatic words and fearful glances. You didn’t realize how exhilarating Their ways could be, but of course that was the danger of it all.

She was on your right when you saw her, dancing next to you with a shining dress and moss colored hair, her smile dazzling and sharp. You laughed, spinning closer to her and opening your eyes. You almost gasped, almost gave yourself away when you saw that her hair really was moss, dress no dress at all but rather scales that covered her head to toe and shone under the light. You stared in awe at her teeth, barracuda sharp and lovely all the same. Despite your Sight… she was still beautiful, and all the more dangerous for it. You felt yourself moving towards her, awe drowning out the screams from the sensible side of you saying to run as far and as fast as you could.

“I see you found me,” she bubbled, voice like a babbling brook as she reached out and brushed the scale in your hair. You blinked hand reaching up to her hair.

“You were the one singing with me… in the showers.”

Her laugh crashed on you like a wave against the cliff and she nodded.

“I’ve been watching you since then. I’m glad you got my invitation. You’re a slippery one, you know. It was hard to get you here. I’ve been waiting.”

“Waiting…” you trail off, keeping your voice form quirking the end into a question. Too many questions would lead to a favor, so it was best to make statements.

“I wanted to hear you sing again. You have such a beautiful voice… why don’t you share it?”

“I’m saving it for someone special,” you replied flirtily, internally cursing yourself. You were never good at being reserved around pretty girls.

She simply giggled like a bubbling hot spring at that, holding out a hand. “Well, if you won’t sing, may I at least have a dance?”

You knew it was probably a trap, but saying no would be an insult. You didn’t want to insult her… fae or not, she was a lady. You never insulted a lady. You took her hand, and she put her other on your shoulder as you put yours on her waist. As if by magic… most likely by magic, the song ended, and a new one began for the two of you to dance to. She lead, being the more experienced of the two. You were entranced, though not by magic. You could tell it wasn’t by magic. You blamed your genetics for making you so damn susceptible to a pretty face and a beautiful voice.

When it happened, you weren’t sure, but when you looked up again you weren’t in the frat house. Rather, you were in a grand hall, full of dancers both Fair and human. Your simple black ensemble had transformed into a black tie affair, and your partner’s a silver gown of a fairly… revealing cut. You looked around, your double vision telling to you that, wherever you were, it wasn’t simply a Glamour. You were Underhill, definitely, as the room was what it seemed to be even if the Things in it weren’t. You saw quite a few creatures wearing skins to trick their guests… and with your Sight you also saw that all of the humans had some sort of aura around them, one you hadn’t seen before. When you looked to your own gloved hands, you saw it there too.

“Isn’t it lovely?” your partner asked.

“Astounding,” you said. You turned back to her, and after a moment realized she had dropped the Glamour that made her into a student.

“You are very clever, you know. It’s just too bad that you’ve got that pesky eyeball, or you’d be just another of the pretty ones.”

Your blood had turned cold at that, your footsteps almost faltering. “S-so… so you know.”

“Oh yes. We all do. They wanted to take it from you, but I think it adds to your charm. You didn’t even try to scream when you saw me. I like that.”

You swallowed, fear creeping back into you. She liked you… and probably wanted to keep you. You gave your best smile before replying, thankful that you were at least a good actor. “Since you know so much about me, you must know that dancing isn’t my talent and it would be such a waste to keep me like that.”

Her smile sharpened at that. “What a darling thing you are! I won’t keep you dancing forever, just for one song.”

You knew that was no guarantee. Just because she said it wasn’t forever didn’t mean it wouldn’t last for decades, or centuries or millennia. You thought quickly, going back and counting. “In that case, I’ll take my three questions in return during this song.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Not many would notice that, let alone have the knowledge to ask. You’re more well-read than I thought. Very well, you may ask.”

You thought carefully for a long time before asking, trying to think your way out of any linguistic loopholes that might arise. “Will I return the same night I left?”

“You will be back before next sunrise,” she replied enigmatically. For all you knew, a thousand sunrises had already passed since you got here, but you would take that. It was as clear as they got.

You had a trick you could use, but you would rather not. Having one of Them like you was rare, and doing this would sour that. As dangerous as it was to be favored, it was more so to anger them. Instead, you asked the second question you were curious about. “Are you interested in claiming me?”

“You are a fascinating creature. A human with the Sight who’s rather discreet about it? That’s rare, at least among those who aren’t outright against us.”

Again, it wasn’t the answer you were looking for. The Good Neighbors were slippery things, never one to answer a question directly. There was a lot said in her reply, nevertheless, and it definitely didn’t seem as though she was completely shying from answering in anything but a riddle as most of them would.

“Enigma is certainly your forte. You haven’t answered any of my questions, so far.”

Her smile stretched unnaturally wide. “As if you expected any less. You’re much to intelligent to believe in straight answers from one of us.”

You nodded assent. “You’re fascinating yourself. Speaking to me rather than outright taking my eye is a bold strategy.”

“Ah, but your people have a saying. ‘An eye for an eye’. I’d rather keep both of mine. Though, it seems I’ve underestimated you. Many of the others have already gotten what they came for, yet we are still speaking.”

At her mention, your eyes darted around the room. It had grown emptier as you’d spoken, more couples disappearing to whence they came. You glanced to yourself once more, that aura still around you. As you looked to some of the other humans left, you notice that only a handful have it, the rest still dancing without. Those who had lost it seemed to be smiling to wide, dancing too quickly, eyes glazed over. Their partners were leading them around, some even leaving the halls through grand doorways further into the Underhill.

Your skin grew cold, realization dawning on you. “…You want my eye as much as the other f- uh… Fair Folk.”

Her smile seemed to grow sharper, more hostile, although maybe that was your bias draining away. “The Sight is a useful thing. The more powerful you are, the better your Glamours, and the harder it is for others to see through them. True Sight, Ungifted Sight…. Stolen Sight is a gift any could use.”

Your palms grew sweaty, her grip on you seeming more sinister by the second. Panic gripped your heart, making you struggle to find your next question. For a moment, your fear kept you from thinking before your mouth opened…

But then your rational side came to you once again, and asked… why would she tell you this, if she had no guarantee of you being hers? Unless she wanted you to panic. Unless she wanted you to slip up, to say something you would regret. You searched her eyes, finally seeing the hunger behind them, revealed by her plan coming to fruition.

You closed your mouth, a smile playing on your lips. At that, hers wavered.

“What should I call you, my lady?”

Her smile dropped… but a laugh escaped from her through, bubbling up and out of her chest like the dying breaths of a drowning man, popping at the surface and releasing back into the air.

“I am known as the Silver River, to those who I take an interest in. You’ve surprised me today, certainly. Perhaps our paths will cross again.”

You smiled at her. “Perhaps.”

In the blink of an eye, you found yourself back in the dark living room, slow dancing to a song entirely unsuited to it. You looked around, surprised to find yourself in the same moment as when she took you. You felt the brush of cold lips against your cheek, but when you turned back to her she was gone. You put your hand to that cheek, pulling away to find a tube of silver lipstick in your hand. You tucked it into your pocket, fear and exhilaration coursing through you.

When you left that night, you still had the sight in your left eye. You were still yourself, wholly your own. It was your first brush with the Gentry.

But as with all things with them, encounters came in Threes.

x

[67chevy-imagine]

I Trust Her

Word Count: 3,803

Summary: Castiel asks you to go back in time to visit some familiar faces. Will knowing who you are change everything? 

A/N: I really hope you like this one! It’s something I’ve been wanting to write for a really long time. Feedback is always appreciated, drop a message my way! And a big shout out to @thefangirllifeismine for always reading over my writing and making sure you will all love it! 

Song: Flashlight - Jessie J 

The waitress eyed the two of you warily, deciding if she should approach and interrupt the conversation with fresh coffee, or leave you be.

“Why now?” You asked quietly, fingers finding the edge of your napkin.

He sighed heavily, “There’s a lot going on in their life.”

You looked up at him, noticing that the wrinkles around his eyes weren’t there on his younger vessel. He had a stronger jaw and brighter eyes.

“Cas…” You trailed off, but you already knew that you wouldn’t say no. His big blue eyes were begging you.

“They don’t know who you are, do not worry. If anything happens, pray to me and I will take you back to this time.” He reasoned with you and you nodded.

“Alright.” You agreed and he gave you a small smile. You left the diner after dropping a twenty on the table, and walked around back.

“Are you ready?” He asked, his hand already raising.

“Do it.” You shut your eyes and felt his fingers press to your forehead. The warmth only lasted for a second until you were whisked away, insides turning.

Once you opened your eyes, all you saw was green grass for miles. God, it smelled the same. Like dew and summer’s sweat. Walking, you searched for the familiar door. It felt odd having to knock, but you did nonetheless. When a few minutes had passed, you knocked again, louder this time.

“Who are you?” A face you knew as well as your own spoke.

“A hunter.” You stated, and the gun he was holding nearly lowered. “You’re Sam Winchester, right?”

He furrowed his brows and clenched his jaw. “If you’re a hunter then you know I’ve got to test you.”

“Bring it on.” You said with a smile, and he nearly smiled himself. With his gun still half-cocked, he moved over to allow you inside the bunker.

“What’s your name?” He asked, “And how do you know about this place?”

You walked down the stairs slowly, taking in the looks of the place.

“Y/N. I’ve heard about it from someone, and I got lost in the area.” You explained, “So, I figured you would help a fellow hunter out.”

He nodded, taking in what you were saying, before pulling out a silver blade. You exhaled deeply and grabbed it, pressing the cool metal flush against your skin.

He tilted his head and began unscrewing a flask, and suddenly you were drenched.

“Overkill, much?” You spit out some water.

“Had to be sure.” He shrugged.

You followed him through the war room, the library, then finally down the steps into kitchen. When you made yourself comfortable on the stool by the island counter, he finally gave you a glass of water.

“So, what exactly are you hunting here?” He asked. “We would’ve known-”

“Oh, don’t worry about it.” You cut Sam off, “It was a complete wild goose chase. Turns out, what looked like omens, were actually just nature this time.” Bullshit poured out from between your lips so well you were nearly proud of yourself.

“Sammy!” A familiar voice shouted and then you heard footsteps come nearer. When he came inside, immediately his eyes were on you.

“Who the hell is this?” He asked, senses rising.

“I’m Y/N.” You smiled, “A hunter who got herself in a bit of a mess.”

He looked at his brother, as if to make sure you weren’t lying.

“I tested her, Dean. She’s clean.” Sam motioned towards the blade and flask which lay astray on the table.

He raised his chin and crossed his arms. You hadn’t noticed that you were staring at him. He was so amazingly young. His forehead was clear of the thick scar you were so used to, and his eyes were brighter; there was so much more hope lying underneath that familiar green.

Dean turned and opened the fridge while Sam began discussing different cases with you. You told him of the ones you had been on, and listened as he told you about the latest ones they had both solved. What distracted you though, was the giant burger that Dean began to grill.

When he saw you eyeing it, he motioned to make you another one. You nodded hungrily.

Despite just having eaten with Cas, you discovered that time travel makes you extremely hungry.

“I like her.” Dean raised his brows, eliciting a laugh from you. Sam rolled his eyes and continued on with his story of the werewolf he and Dean had found by accident.

“We were actually going to check out a case today. We could use some extra hands.” Dean stated as he plated the two burgers.

“Really? I wouldn’t be imposing?” You asked, some part of you excited to finally be able to see how they hunted when they were younger.

“How good of a shot are you?”

You gave a cocky smile, proud of your skills. “Bullseye every time.”

“Then, you’re hired!” He joked and took a bite of his burger. You followed suit, nearly moaning at the taste. You’ve had practically every burger out there, but nothing beat this one.

You and Dean both lifted up the top of the bun and re-adjusted the toppings before popping a pickle from on top into your mouth, while Sam watched, completely bemused. When you and Dean both reached for the same soda bottle, he nearly choked.

“You could be twins.” Sam observed.

-- -- -- --

“So,” Dean asked from the driver’s seat of the car. “How’d you get into this life?”

You shrugged, “Kinda just... grew up in it.”

Dean reached for the knob and lowered the music, “How old are you, anyhow?” He looked at you through the rear-view mirror, suddenly aware you couldn’t be anywhere near their age.

“Twenty-two.”

Dean glanced at his brother who asked, “And you’re hunting?”

“Weren’t you the same age when you started hunting?” You asked, not realizing what you had let slip.

“I mean- How did you-” Sam began to speak when you cut him off, salvaging what was left of this conversation.

“You’re famous hunters, of course you’ve been hunting since the same age as me.” You said quickly.

Sam nodded, but you could tell he knew something was off.

“Let’s go over the plan one more time.” He decided to re-explain exactly how the afternoon would go.

In response, Dean made the music louder, cutting off anything Sam was about to say.

“Really?” His younger brother stared at him.

“You told us a hundred times, Sammy!” Dean exclaimed. We go in, find the vamps, and kill ‘em.”

You chuckled into your water bottle, taking another long drag of it.

It was another two hours until Dean finally drove the Impala into the parking lot of a motel. You watched the two of them joke around while they took their things out of the trunk, and wondered why Castiel was begging you to go back in time for them. They seemed perfectly fine. Either way, what could *you* do for them?

“Y/N?” Sam asked, snapping your attention towards him. “Where’s all your stuff?”

“My duffel is back at the motel I was staying at.” You lied, “Doesn’t matter, all I need is this-” You explained and pulled a gun out of the back of your jeans. When both brothers stared at it as if it were alien, you regretted it immediately.

“Huh.” Dean stated, taking his gun out and holding it up to yours. They were identical except for a few added scratches on your own.

The customized detailing that Dean got on the chrome plating of his gun made him narrow his eyes at your weapon, which held the same exact design.

“Must’ve been the same guy detailing it.” You shrugged and shoved it back in your jeans as quickly as you could.

“Must have been.” Dean stared at you. You could practically see the gears turning in his head.

Sam walked inside and began making room arrangements with the motel manager. You followed him inside and felt Dean’s gaze burning into the back of your skull as you walked.

“Here.” Sam passed you a set of keys. “You’re in the room right across from ours.”

“Thanks.” You smiled and gripped the keys, following him and Dean down the hall.

Sam began unlocking his door, “Meet in the lobby in an hour?” He asked.

“Sounds good.” You agreed and stared up at you door number. 17C was hammered into the wood. When you finally locked the door behind yourself, you pressed your back against it and shut your eyes.

“Fuck.” You whispered, tossing your keys onto the table. You should have never come here. They were already suspicious of you, and the gun had to have been the final straw. What the hell did Castiel need you for anywhow? The brothers always had issues. What would your presence help with?

You walked into the bathroom and began running the shower water.

-- -- -- --

“You’re telling me that’s not weird?” Sam asked, tossing his duffel bag onto the bed.

“No, it’s weird alright.” Dean was still gripping his gun, passing it between his hands. “I just…”

Sam crossed his arms, “Just what, Dean? Are you telling me you still trust her?”

“You’re the one who told me she was clean!” He shouted back. “And yeah.” He sighed. “I still… I still trust her.”

Sam tilted his head and let out an exasperated sigh, “You trust her?”

“Yeah, Sammy. I don’t know why, just a- just a gut feeling.” He placed the gun down on the table and began stripping out from his flannel.

Sam kept his eyes trained on his brother. “So what? We just go on a hunt with this girl we just met?”

“Pretty much.” Dean pulled on a fresh t-shirt.

“Dean.”

“What?”

“She knows things about us. She knew about the bunker, for one thing. Somehow she knew how old I was when we went looking for Dad- I mean! Seriously.” Sam began to question everything you had told them, “No one just stumbles upon our bunker.”

“I trust her.” Dean stated again.

-- -- -- --

“Ready?” Dean pressed a machete into your palm.

You nodded then looked over at Sam, who had remained quiet for the entire car ride.

“Then let’s go.” Dean motioned to move forward into the house.

When you entered the house, all you saw was darkness. Sam found a light switch and flicked it on, but it only turned on one light bulb. You noticed the other three were shattered on the ground.

“What the hell?” You whispered. The three of you looked at one another. The vampires should have already sensed you and begun to attack, but it was silent.

“Are you sure this is the right house?” Dean asked Sam, who nodded.

You gripped your blade tighter. “Let’s go downstairs.”

Sam gripped the doorknob and swung open the door. You followed closely behind him.

Dean was about to go down the stairs as well when he was knocked down to the floor with a crash. As you and Sam scrambled to get back upstairs, the basement door was slammed shut and you were left banging on it.

“Fuck!” You shouted. Dean yelled out in pain and then you heard another crash.

“Let me try.” Sam got in front of you and began to throw his weight against the door, but something was blocking it.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a flashlight before shining it around the basement.

“Find something to knock this thing down.” He passed you the flashlight and you went to work. At the bottom of the stairs there was a table with a few tools and a crowbar. You grabbed it and tossed it up to Sam who tried breaking the door down with it.

“Come on, come on!” You begged. Sam glanced at you. He was trying to understand why you were so upset over a man you had just met.

“Please, Sam.” You begged, swallowing down the sob that threatened to leave your throat. “He can’t get hurt!”

He turned to you, chest heaving. Grunting and shouting could be heard on the other side, it was messing with your head. He took the flashlight from your hands and shone it in your direction so he could see you better.

“I don’t think they’re going to let us up anytime soon.” He stated the obvious. But there was nothing else to do about it.

“Please!” You banged your fist against the door one more time. Your body was shaking as you realized that it was your suggestion to go down here in the first place, and now Dean was getting hurt on the other side of this door.

“You need to calm down!” Sam shouted, trying to ground the situation as much as possible.

“How can I possibly calm down when my dad is on the other side of that door?!” You shouted, fists hitting the wood until it began to splinter.

Sam swallowed thickly, “W-What?” He managed to exhale.

“That’s my dad out there.” You steadied your breath before wiping away another stray tear. When his eyes met your green ones, his lips parted. He hadn’t paid closer attention earlier to see that he was looking into his brother’s eyes.

“Okay.” Sam seemed to reassure himself more than you, “Okay.”

He passed you the flashlight, and you were relieved by his sudden calm. He grabbed his gun from his jeans and began shooting at the door knob. It took four shots, but you finally heard something drop to the floor. Whoever was blocking the door jumped back from the sound and Sam was able to push it open.

Immediately, you were thrown into action. A vamp tackled you from the side and you raised your knee, landing a swift kick to the gut. He grabbed your throat and began tightening his grip when Sam kicked him off, allowing you to roll on top and slice his head clean off.

You caught your breath and began to look for your dad.

“Dean!” You shouted, but no response came.

“Let’s go.” Sam gripped your hand and pulled, and you ran behind him.

When you finally got outside he began to speak.

“I saw them taking him into the storm cellar before I got jumped.” He explained. You nodded and exhaled.

“Then why aren’t we moving?” You asked, looking up at your uncle.

He was staring at you, not noticing that he hadn’t replied yet.

“Sam?” You waved your hand in front of him.

“You look just like him. Why didn’t we-” Shock was taking over the rational part of his brain which would tell him to get to Dean first.

“Uncle Sam!” You shouted over his voice. “We gotta move.”

He agreed and led you to the cellar. “I’m going in. Wait out here.”

“Hell no!” You shouted, gripping the handle that opens the cellar.

“I can’t let you get hurt!”

“Two minutes ago you didn’t know who I was!”

He clenched his jaw as he realized he wouldn’t win this fight.

“Stay behind me.” He commanded.

When you finally dropped down into it, the first thing you saw was your father tied up to a chair with a vampire holding a blade to his neck.

Sam stepped back, reaching out his arm to hold you back as well.

“Winchesters.” The vampire smiled, “You must have the best blood out there.”

“Let him go.” Sam stated, machete ready to go in his other hand.

Dean’s mouth was gagged but his eyes were trained on the both of you.

You had never seen him in such a weak position and frankly, it scared the living shit out of you.

“Why would we let a Winchester get away?” He laughed and it made your stomach churn.

“Because I’m going to kill you.” You pushed out of Sam’s hold and towards the monster.

“Y/N!” Sam shouted but you were already too far gone. You slashed at the vamp but he sidestepped and landed a punch to your side.

“Son of a bitch!” You shouted.

Before you could attack him again, Sam was already on it.

“Get Dean!” He shouted and you listened, dropping down to your knees to begin untying him.

“Are you alright?” You asked, pulling the gag from out of his mouth.

“Peachy.” He muttered and began trying to wriggle his ankles out from the rope. You grabbed your blade and sliced at it until the knots gave out and the rope fell loose at his feet.

“Thanks.” He gave a half smile and stood up, only to come crashing back down and into your arms.

“Come on.” You heaved his arm over your shoulders to balance him. Sam finally killed the vamp and lugged Dean over himself instead.

When they finally got to the car, Sam took the wheel while Dean pulled himself into the passenger seat.

“You shouldn’t have done that.” Dean finally spoke after a few minutes of driving.

“What?” You asked from the back seat.

“You could’ve gotten hurt.” He said and began rubbing the back of his neck.

You sighed, “Good to know some things don’t change.”  You whispered to yourself, having heard those words a hundred times before.

“Huh?” Dean asked from the front seat.

“You two should talk.” Sam said suddenly.

Sam met your eyes in the rear-view mirror and you sighed.

“How about we get some food first?” You asked, and Dean finally seemed happy about something.

Next thing you knew, you were sliding into a booth with both men seated across from you.

You watched as your dad picked up a menu, drooling over the many food options as usual.

“You did good out there.” Sam said after he ordered himself a sandwich. “You got guts.”

“I learned from the best.” You said in a way that told Sam that you learned from him.

He smiled and took a sip of his drink.

“Thanks for saving my ass back there, by the way.” Dean said while taking a bite of his food.

“I thought you were pissed about that.” You stuck your fork into your waffle.

He shook his head, “I would’ve done the same thing.”

Sam rolled his eyes, waiting for Dean to realize who you were.  

“Oh, yeah.” Dean picked up a handful of fries and shoved them into his mouth, “What were you saying back in the car?” He asked Sam, with a fry hanging out of his mouth.

Sam simply replied with, “Look at her.”

Your heart began to race. Dean turned to you with his brow raised, trying to find something -- anything on your face that would explain what Sam was saying.

“Dean.” Sam pushed, “Really, look at her.”

There you sat. Staring at your father who didn’t even know who you were. You watched as his eyes traveled over your face, then stopped at your eyes.

“Hey, Dad.” Slipped your lips.

The smile that had remained on his lips from earlier, faded. Sam looked over at his brother only to see him toss his napkin into his plate and leave the restaurant.

You stared at your uncle, wide eyed. “He- he hates me.”

“No!” Sam shouted, then lowered his voice. “No, he doesn’t. He- I’m going to go check on him.”

“Uncle Sam?” You grabbed the edge of his jacket before he could walk past.

“Yeah?”

“I can call Cas. I can go, right now if that’s what he wants.” You said and his eyes softened.

“Don’t. Please, don’t.” He begged, “I’ll be right back. Don’t call Cas.”

You nodded your head and busied yourself with your drink, sipping at it absentmindedly until there was nothing left.

Back outside, Sam found Dean leaning against the Impala.

“What the hell was that?” He raised his voice at his older brother.

“You’re telling me, Y/N is my kid?” He clenched his jaw, “And a hunter?”

Sam sighed, “That strong girl sitting in there is your daughter. My niece.”

“A hunter.” Dean reiterated.

“A reason to keep going.” Sam stated simply, and Dean considered it.

“Meaning?”

“All we’re doing, all the nights we spend- we spend totally wasted or nearly dead, well something great is going to come out of it.” Sam motioned towards the diner where you were waiting. “And the way that you just walked out on her tells me she’s about to call Castiel to take her back.”

“Leaving?” Dean peeled himself off of the car, “She wouldn’t-” He started, then sprinted towards the entrance of the diner.

You bumped into him as he nearly tore the door open.

“Y/N.” He breathed out.

“I should go, really.” You pushed past him and towards the parking lot.

“No!” He exclaimed and grabbed your arm. You turned around and looked up at him. He stared at you, seeing his own eyes looking back, and pulled you into a tight hug. You pressed your head against his familiar chest and smiled.

“So, you’re okay with me?” You asked.

“What?” He pulled you off of him, “Look at you.”

Sam walked up to the both of you and gave you the familiar smile you were so used to seeing.

Dean beamed at you, “Seriously. You’re the only good thing to come out of this life. Everything about you. I saw your strength and smarts today. You’re more than just okay. You’re fucking perfect.”

You smiled up at them, loving the compliment, “You’re pretty cool when you’re young.”

He scoffed, “When I’m young?”

“You get kinda cranky.” You shrugged.

“He’s always cranky.” Sam rolled his eyes, sending you into a fit of laughter.

Dean crossed his arms and scoffed.

“I’ll go grab our leftovers.” You said and started towards the diner.

“That’s my daughter!” Dean exclaimed with a smile, then suddenly turned to Sam.

“Daughter.” He repeated, realizing what he just said.

“Yeah.” Sam nodded.

“Huh.” Dean swung the car keys around his finger, “Daughter.”

“And a damn good one.” Sam said, causing Dean to smile.

He looked at his younger brother, then pulled him into a tight hug.

“I got a daughter, Sammy!” He exclaimed, “Ha!”

Sam began to laugh, pulling away from his older brothers grip.

You watched and listened from the door, careful not to interrupt. Right there, you saw exactly why Castiel sent you here. They just needed something to look forward to, and that’s where you came in. Cas knew that knowing you would make Dean realize that he wasn’t all bad, and that Sam would eventually get the family he always wanted. Your lip quirked upwards as you looked on. 

A familiar rustling of feather sounded behind you.

“I think you’re done here.” Castiel spoke from behind you.

You exhaled and looked at the boys beaming faces. “I am.”

Suddenly, you were back in your bedroom at the bunker.

[sending-the-message]

Tales from the Gas Station (part 3) by GasStationJack

Link to part one Link to part two.

There are times when this world drifts so close to the fabric of reality that I can hear something calling me from beyond that veil. I’m always careful not to get too close because I can feel that thing on the other side tugging at the corners of my mind.

I’m worried about Carlos. He doesn’t seem to be taking this so well.

In case you don’t know, I work at the shitty gas station at the edge of our town, and weird things have been happening there for as long as I’ve known about it. I’ve been attempting to tell some of my stories, and if you haven’t caught up yet, I would invite you to read part one and part two.

When I returned to work yesterday, I was happy to find a stack of receipt papers sitting on the counter with notes written in my own hand-writing. I don’t remember writing these notes, but then again, I don’t remember a lot of things these days. It is possible that I’m working too hard, or maybe the fumes coming from beneath the gas station are playing tricks on me, or perhaps it’s just another effect of my condition.

My handwriting isn’t the best. And at times, the writing on the receipt paper becomes less and less legible, but this is my best effort at a transcription:

7:00 – It’s getting dark earlier these days. I found a note when I got to work that simply says, “I’m in the walls.” I don’t know who wrote it, but the paper smells like oranges and plumeria.

7:30 – Farmer Junior came into the gas station today, asking about the hand plants. I told him that they weren’t there anymore. He left his phone number scribbled on the back of a coupon for fifteen-percent off bulk pig feed from an online retailer. I think he’s trying to send me a message.

9:00 – I think maybe some kids are playing a prank on me. I found a lawn gnome behind the pork rinds. I didn’t think much about it, and put him in a box behind the counter. Then, I found another matching lawn gnome in the soda case. I added this one to the box as well. It wasn’t until I noticed the third and fourth lawn gnomes that I started to suspect something. I took a bag of garbage out back to the dumpster and found them on my way inside, perched on top of the roof, staring down at me like gargoyles. I used a chair and broom to knock them down, and I put them in the box with the other three.

10:00 – There is a strange scratching noise coming from the tiles above the cash register. I fear Rocco and his brood may have infiltrated the building again.

11:00 – Farmer Junior called the store. He asked about the hand plants. I assured him that they weren’t there anymore and if they ever showed up again, I would call him. I think he’s beginning to suspect that I’m lying.

12:00 – One of the cultist recruits wandered in from the community in the woods. They hate it when I call them cultists. I know they aren’t supposed to interact with the outside world until they graduate to senior cultist, but from time to time the junior cultists will sneak into town, never any further than this gas station, and buy cigarettes. They aren’t supposed to try and recruit new members until they reach senior cultist status, but this one isn’t a very good cultist. I know the cultists aren’t supposed to have names, but I’m going to call this one Marlboro. I’ll let you guess why.

Marlboro stayed in the store for half an hour, trying to convince me to go back to the compound with him. They hate it when I call their home a compound. He tried to appeal to my logical side, but I kept insisting that I was not interested in logic. I can’t remember when he left, but I don’t see him now.

2:00 – I found myself digging again. Sometimes, on slow nights, I let myself drift. My mind goes somewhere and when I come to, I wonder: where was I just now? Who was that controlling my body while I was gone?

My body did those things I’ve done so many times before that I guess it’s learned how to do them without me. My body restocked the cigarettes, my body rotated the frozen drink machine, my body scraped the mold off the bottoms of the ice buckets, my body emptied the rat traps, and somewhere along the way, my body found a shovel, went out back, and started digging a hole.

Actually, I shouldn’t say my body “started” digging. I have been, or rather “my body” has been digging this hole, off and on for the last few months. Usually, I come to after a few shovel-fulls. This time, I added another foot deep before I snapped back to reality and asked myself, “what the hell am I doing?”

3:30 – I just noticed a door at the end of the hallway past the walk-in cooler. How long have I worked here and never noticed that door before? It seems disappointingly ordinary as far as doors go, except for the fact that it’s warm to the touch and feels like it’s vibrating. I tried the handle, but it’s locked.

When I got back to my register, I noticed a man in a trench coat standing outside beyond the gas pumps, just outside the reach of our lights, dangerously close to the road. I can’t tell if he’s looking at me, or if he’s looking past the building at the woods on the other side. I wish he wouldn’t stand there like that, stoic and still, with his arms reaching down past his knees.

The scratching against the tiles in the ceiling over the counter is getting louder.

3:45 – A man came into the store, rolling a large white ice chest behind him. He had sunken blue eyes, wiry hair coming from his nose and ears, long boney fingers, and paper-thin skin revealing every blue and green vein beneath the translucent dermis. He wore a bowler cap and smelled like milk. I had definitely never seen him around before. He asked if we would be interested in partnering up with him. He sold ground meat at discount prices, but I told him that our store doesn’t do well with the “fresh foods” category, recommending he try his hand at making jerky. Before he left, he scooped about a pound or so of raw ground meat from the ice chest onto a piece of parchment paper and gave it to me as a “sample.” Once he had left, I took the meat into the cooler, where I found another lawn gnome waiting for me. I put the gnome into the box with the other seven.

4:00 – Carlos just told me something strange about Kieffer.

4:30 – There was a kid named Spencer Middleton who went to the same high school as me and Kieffer. Spencer was just a year ahead of me, but looked much older and acted much younger. I live in a small town, and small towns get bored. For entertainment, some turn to gossip, some turn to more sinister pass times. The latter often fueled the former. There were rumors around town that Spencer liked to torture and kill animals. Rumors that Spencer’s parents and siblings always locked their bedroom doors when they went to sleep at night. The rumors didn’t slow down any after the fire at Spencer’s house, where Spencer was the only one to escape unscathed.

I once saw Spencer gleefully stomp on a lizard, throw his head back, and laugh.

Some short time after his house caught fire for the second time, Spencer left town. The story went that he had gone off and joined the army. I didn’t know what to think about that, so I simply didn’t think about that. I would have been perfectly happy to never think about that, but after all these years I’m forced to. Because Spencer Middleton just came into the store and ordered a cup of coffee. He’s sitting in one of the booths, talking to Kieffer.

The cultist, Marlboro, is back. He asked if I could spare him some time to talk about his fake religion. They hate it when I call it a fake religion. I told him he had to leave. He seemed upset.

4:45 – Spencer and Kieffer sat around for a while and didn’t buy anything but two cups of coffee. When they finally left, I let Carlos know. He had been hiding under a blanket in the walk-in cooler, although I can’t really understand why.

Carlos explained to me exactly what happened. He had finished his shift a couple nights ago and just left the gas station when he saw Kieffer’s SUV pulled over in a ditch at the bottom of the hill. Carlos, being the good guy he is, decided to check and see if Kieffer needed any help. He says that when he pulled up and got out of the car, he could hear what sounded like a loud crunching noise coming from just beyond the tree line.

Carlos went to investigate. That’s when he saw something. When I asked Carlos what he saw, he just started speaking Spanish in a fast, panicked sort of way. I don’t speak Spanish, but I nodded along empathetically. The only word I could pick up was “Strega,” which is the name of a liquor we carry.

Whatever it was that Carlos saw, it made him race back to his car as fast as he could and back out quickly, without looking. And that’s when he ran over Kieffer.

Carlos is a good guy. But here he was in a bad situation. He stopped, checked on Kieffer, and confirmed that he was definitely dead. There was nothing he could do that would change that fact. It was an accident. Carlos was on parole. There was that thing in the woods, and Carlos had to make a decision, and quickly. So, Carlos heaved the body into the trunk of his car and drove off, trying to figure out exactly what he should do.

Carlos took me to his car and showed me the body. I can confirm, one hundred percent, that it was Kieffer in the trunk of his car. Not just because of his unmistakable face, but also because of his phone and wallet that were in his pockets.

5:00 – I finally got tired of the scratching and pulled our ladder out of storage to see what the racoons were doing in the ceiling, but when I pushed back the tile, the only thing up there was another gnome. That makes one dozen so far.

6:00 – The man in the trench coat is still outside.

The cultist came back in, demanding an audience with me, insisting that if I would just listen to him I would see that his reasoning is superb and flawless, and that I would be a fool not to join him in the perfection of logic and nirvana that is his belief structure.

I agreed to listen to his pitch if he would agree to ask the man in the trench coat to leave. Our hasty verbal contract in place, I steeled myself to listen. Honestly, he did make a few good points, but I suppose that’s to be expected from a viral thought experiment strong enough to convince perfectly normal people to abandon their real lives and go live in a commune in the woods past the shitty gas station on the edge of town.

They call themselves “mathmetists.” They believe that humankind exists to fulfill two moral imperatives: to decrease suffering, and to increase happiness. A successful life increases happiness more than suffering. A decent life decreases suffering more than happiness. How good a person is can be determined by the spread between the happiness increased and the suffering decreased. Obviously, if the individual has a negative spread—that is, if they’ve increased happiness less than they’ve increased suffering, or if they’ve decreased suffering less than they’ve decreased happiness—then that means, very simply, that the individual is bad. Therefore, if an individual causes a tremendous amount of happiness and suffering, one can simply determine which was higher, and use this perfect rubric to determine whether that individual was good or bad. Simple, right?

The mathmetists believe that the world has been going about good and bad in the wrong way. For eons, we’ve been attempting to increase happiness, when instead we should have been focusing on decreasing suffering. As happiness is a fluid concept, and the more happiness you create, the harder it is to sustain, as happiness has a clear set of diminishing returns. Suffering, however, is consistent. Suffering results from happiness coming to an end. Suffering is pure, and eternal. For a mathmetist to be supremely good, they must simply end all suffering. That is why the mathmetists are working on a bomb to destroy the entire planet.

By ending all life on earth, they end an infinity of suffering into the future. With every life they avert, an entire lineage of people that would be born into a life of suffering will no longer. Every death is a preemptive mercy-killing. Every happy moment that will no longer occur pales in the face of all the sad moments that are likewise prevented.

And so, as Marlboro explained, their murder cult believes that killing is a kindness.

I told him that his ideas were stupid and he was stupid and that now he now had to go tell the man in the trench coat to go away.

6:30 – The phone rang.

This is strange for two reasons. First, because it was not the land line. It was the cell phone, even though we do not get cell phone service way out here. And second, because it was the cell phone. The one that I took off of Kieffer’s body.

I’ll admit, I was stuck in a bit of a moral quandary ever since Carlos confided in me. On the one hand, Carlos had killed someone. On the other, it was an accident and Carlos’s parole officer may not see it that way. I thought I would have more time to figure this out, but when the cell phone started ringing, I knew I had to make a decision.

I answered it.

I didn’t speak first. The voice on the other line was one I recognized.

“You have something that belongs to my boss.”

It was Spencer Middleton.

“His cell phone and his wallet,” I answered.

“What? No! We don’t care about that shit! We can buy more phones. We can get more wallets. You know what we want.”

He was right. I did.

“It was an accident,” I explained.

“We know. We want to make a deal. You give it back, and we pretend this whole thing didn’t happen.”

“Can we do that?”

“Absolutely.”

7:30 – Carlos came in for his shift at seven and I explained the deal to him. He wasn’t thrilled, but as I laid it out very clearly, he didn’t have a choice.

We parked Carlos’s Camry behind the gas station near the growth of handplants and made a point to stand far enough away to not get grabbed. Kieffer’s SUV drove up a few minutes later. Spencer was driving. He and Kieffer got out, sized us up, and opened the back of their vehicle.

Carlos popped the trunk.

Kieffer and I stared at each other while Carlos helped Spencer transfer the body from one vehicle to the other. Spencer had a tarp and blanket ready to wrap everything up. Kieffer put a hand on my shoulder and whispered in my ear, “You done good.”

Then they left. Carlos started crying and I left him to go back inside the store. It was almost day time, and that’s when the new part-timer was scheduled to take over.

8:00 – The new part timer is late. I’m overdue for a lunch break. I made the best of my extra time here by putting price stickers on all the lawn gnomes. We’re ringing them up as “miscellaneous grocery” for $9.99 each, and I’ve already sold a couple. I’m a really good employee.

8:30 – I went to the bathroom and saw a man standing there with his pants at his ankles. He wore checkered boxers and a cowboy hat. He smiled when he saw me and simply said in a somewhat sing-song voice, “Come on man. Come onnn with it.”

I took the opportunity to ask him something that has been bothering me.

“Do you know, is everything going to be ok?”

The bathroom cowboy took a second to think, then he pulled up his pants and walked past me, spurs clinking against the bathroom tile. He stopped for a second when he was right next to me and said plainly, “I appreciate it.” Then he left.

I honestly have no idea what that means.

These are the entirety of the receipt paper notes, but I did make a point to continue keeping a journal. I think this will be a healthy way of chronicling the weird events at the gas station. Maybe this will even help with my condition, I don’t know. The next time something strange happens, maybe I’ll come back and write more. Until then, I guess this is to be continued…