#and twilight is tackling him into the fountain anyways

[abizarreyodelingincident]

Our Nightly Confidant 4

War Games

Warriors needs fresh air.

The hand resting in the crook of his elbow is soft, but its grip is threatening to cut off the blood circulation to his hand. The pain has steadily numbed as the ladies exchange thinly veiled insults about this or that province and this or that financial ruin.

He used to like this.

The attention, the admiration, the glory! When did it start to taste like ash in his mouth?

If his queen heard that thought, she'd have another one of her brutal truths for him. 'When war stopped being a game and became a duty.'

When he realized that not even being the Chosen Hero of Courage would shield him from the game. That it made him twice the target every other soldier was. When the bodies of fallen comrades couldn't go past the numb exhaustion that took him every evening.

“Lady Farosh, Lady Ordonas, if you'll excuse me for a second...” he says, flashing them his flashiest smile.

Lady Ordonas brings out her fan to hide her rosy cheeks and agrees with an obvious giggle. Lady Farosh, whose fingernails are on the verge of piercing skin, delays her reply by the barely polite amount of time.

“Oh, Captain Link, you cannot abandon me so swiftly,” she tries, eyes flickering to her father, an esteemed general in discussion with Impa.

“But of course not, only a second to freshen up.”

The instant she releases him, he pulls away and bows. Though, despite his instincts screaming at him, he doesn't run a straight line for the glass doors of the Queen's ballroom. Lady Farosh would take it as an insult. He weaves through conversations, dropping the minimum expected of him here and there, snarks at a Legend that looks ready to murder Lord Lonnayru (and Warriors wishes him to succeed), never touches a drink or bite offered that he did not pick for himself, and eventually reaches freedom.

The cool night air is a balm on his skin as it strokes his hair and face.

Even the small, military tents he's slept in during the campaign didn't feel half as stifling as that ballroom. And some of the tents, he couldn't even stand up inside!

Above, the moon shines its silvery glow down to the garden's fountain. With the ball in full swing inside, no one walks the peaceful path of stone amidst the roses and the arches. Shame. It's a beautiful place. His first stroll there had been a pleasant experience, though not his first conversation with his queen. Impa had chased away the rest of the escort and glared the patrolling guards into submission. Any attempt to bargain had been met with stony silence and a dare to prove themselves worthier of the Queen's protection than her Sheikah general and mentor.

Warriors stops by the hedgerow. If he focuses, he can see the spot where Zelda sat down, where she picked a rose for him, and pinned it on his breastplate.

They had had hopes for the future. Have. He still has hopes. Don't get him wrong. But he's a little more tired than he used to be. Where had the time gone?

'Captain Link, I must introduce you to my daughter.'

Must. Must. Must. Always a 'must', never a 'may'. Duty traps him and the wild beasts know it. They sniffed his blood long ago, and he can only ever bandage the wound so much before it becomes infected.

Traipsing around with the heroes of previous eras is a blessing and a reward that Hylia offered him. A thank you, he feels, and perhaps the beginning of an apology.

“You shouldn't be out there on your own, Captain Link.”

Those are normal words, spoken with careful reverence. Nothing about them should bring his walls up this quickly. But Warriors is no longer accosted by the common soldiers. Hasn't in a long time.

The cracks on his heart spread just a little further. Deeper.

“Someone might try to hurt you, sir.”

The reverence is gone.

And the spear points straight at his chest.

He doesn't have time to bring out his sword.

A snarling mass of fur tackles the traitor, and by the time Warriors can react, the cry of fear stops abruptly. In its stead is a steady gurgle, a fading wheeze. A limb that thuds against the garden grounds.

Warriors doesn't flinch. He's seen worse.

Once his prey has been deemed sufficiently mauled, Wolfie turns to him, muzzle dark with blood, and worry clear in his eyes.

“Good boy,” he says, absentminded, a hand ruffling through the beast's sinfully soft fur.

It's a testament to his companion's state of mind that no warning growl responds to the familiarity. Warriors doubt he would hear it anyway. He's staring at the dead body.

The guard was young. Maybe... Hyrule's age. He must have hated the war, if he'd gone to the front lines. Hell is hardly enough of a description for the dance of bodies and hacked limbs. He had probably lost a brother or a father or a cousin to the fighting, if he was earning his keep in the Queen's castle at that age. Maybe Impa had taken pity on him.

“Simple-minded fools who can't resist basic mind magic,” Warriors repeats, a wobbly chuckle in his voice.

Wolfie noses his hand, and the little shock of cold and wet jolts enough that he can avert his eyes from the traitor. Defeated, the events of the night all playing on loop, he drags himself to a secluded spot by the hedgerow. One from which he can see people coming, with his back to the branches. Wolfie plops down next to him.

“Mind magic. What I wouldn't give for that to be the case,” he confesses to the wolf-like companion. “Hylia. I'd take cowards over this. I'm not asking them to fight my battles for me. Not even fight by me. Just...”

His fingers curl into his scarf. Holds onto the lifeline.

“I just want to be able to turn my back on the people I protect. Is that really so much to ask for?”

Soft fur fills his sight. He ought to resist the urge. An officer must be strong. Cannot let the soldiers down. Fear spreads like wildfire. One spark, and the whole army goes up in flame.

He knows this.

He knows, and he sobs anyway. Farore, please, just for an instant, allow him to be weak.

He buries his face in Wolfie's shoulder, relishes the warmth and protection that comes from the sacred beast. It doesn't matter that some blood splatters might stain his official knight armors. It doesn't matter that for a split second, he doesn't scan his surroundings for exits, potential ambushes and traps. He gives the taut ropes of tension inside him just enough relief.

Until he pulls back.

Sniffs twice, wipes his face once and plasters the charmer smile.

“I'm alright, Wolfie... I'm alright.”

Wolfie doesn't buy it. Makes an inquisitive little whine. A question.

His hand trembles in the fur. “I am. I will be.”

Wolfie turns, quick not to notice one's tears. Strange for a wolf, but he doesn't pounce on their weaknesses. They trust he never will.

Silly as it sounds, there's more than a few noble daughters in that ballroom that could take lessons in civility from Wolfie. At least, in his presence, he doesn't feel like a bloody piece of meat dangling in front of a pack of wolves. Now, that's irony.

“You know... you kind of make me miss Midna.”

Warriors jumped back when Wolfie suddenly straightened, his eyes laser focused.

“Yeah, I know her,” he said, feeling a hint of a real smile. “We have a statue for her in the Temple of Souls. Hell of a woman.”

His hands went to his sword the second his ears picked up a low growling noise, only to realize it had come from Wolfie. Was... was their canine companion protective of the Twilight Princess? Or, Hylia forbid, jealous? Goddess, that was too cute.

“Shh, don't alert the others,” Warriors said, hands held in front of him in mock surrender.

Wolfie, with very Hylian-like intelligence, puts a paw first on his muzzle, then scratches one of his ears. It's a good point. He'd know first.

Warriors relents before Wolfie starts nipping. He remembers Time's mud bath. “She mentioned you too. Called you her favorite pet.”

He hadn't know what disgruntled looked like on a wolf before, but now he had the perfect picture. No wonder Midna had loved to tease him.

“She went into battle with this shadow spell. Wolf-companions.”

Wolfie's interest shifts into disguised wariness. There are hints that he might like to pull back a bit, but Warriors' hand remains firm on the back of the wolf's neck.

“Called her main one Rinku,” he adds, waggling his eyebrows. “Reminds you of something, huh?”

Wolfie blinks. Then blinks some more. He's almost completely frozen, like he has no clue what to make of that information. Or is trying to choose the right way to react. And when he does, Warriors bites down on a burst of laughter.

The puppy eyes. The good boy smile. It's worrying how they almost work.

Almost.

Warriors keeps a sly grin on his face and waits. He's in no hurry to return inside the palace.

It takes another change of beat in the music coming from the ballroom before Wolfie gives, and shadows swallow him.

“Since when?” Twilight says, sighing.

Warriors' smirk is immensely punchable, he's aware. He loves to live dangerously.

“Are you implying that I would deliberately play dumb so that one of my fellow Hero of Courage would act like a dog when he doesn't need to? That I knew from the very beginning and asked Wild to take pictures for posterity? For shame, Twilight.”

A vein twitched under Twilight's jaw. “No, I wasn't implying that. I was saying you're an asshole, Wars!”

Warriors fails to dodge the lunge, half-paralyzed by muffled chuckles. The momentum throws them on the grass, and there's a split second of disorientation before his back hits the ground, and a weight lands on his chest. A heavy weight. Goddesses be good, the farmer lifestyle paid, huh?

“Twilight, move your fat ass.”

The mullish expression on his brother's face would have made a raging moblin sweat. “No. We're still doing this. I have a great track record, and I'm not letting you narcissistic goatfiddler break it by being your usual self. Talk.”

His eyes widen in alarm. “Really? This is the setup? Me, suffocating, and you, thinking of a place to hide my body. What is this, a deathbed confession?”

“You could have had the amazing emotional support of everyone's favorite wolf. But noooo, you're too good for that, so spill. Better be fast, because I had double serving of Wild's chili. Gives me gaz like thunder.”

“You. Wouldn't. Dare.”

The silent glare he receives is all Time.

Warriors squirming renews. “Farmhand, I will skewer you on the Master Sword myself if you don't-”

“Why would you go off on your own like that? We were all in the ballroom. You could have gotten any of us.”

“Let's not reverse the roles here,” Warriors hisses, one eyebrow raised. “I'm not the one playing double-life around our group. You can't talk about trust when you constantly hide in plain sight. You want trust? You tell me why.”

The boyish, almost light air between them breaks. Guilt blooms on Twilight's face. He can't meet Warriors' gaze and doesn't even try.

“... It's Dark Magic.”

“I couldn't care less. I've fought amongst noble fighters with dark magic and against monsters with the opposite. Next.”

Twilight's ears droop slightly. It's dog-like, and amusingly fitting for a moment of hesitation. Every second that passes without a word hammer the fact that 'dark magic' is the surface excuse for Twilight's shifty dealings about their group. Warriors tries not to be angry. Twilight did just save his life with that very secret.

“I've had...” Lips mull the words for a few seconds. “Mixed reactions.”

Warriors feels himself frown. “Mixed how?”

“You know me, the country boy, raised in the small farmer village lost in the woods. Country bumpkins, the lot of us... You ever heard what they think of wolves?”

His breath hitches. Slow dread creeps on him. He hates the ease with which images come to him. He's never seen Twilight's hometown, never met any of his family, but he's suddenly overwhelmed by the idea of a mob of pitchforks and pickaxes held high, of dogs barking through the woods as a grey wolf scampers. Narrowly avoids a bear trap snapping its deadly maw on thin air instead of a limb. Overhears angry grumbling about making a pelt out of his skin.

They should be farmers, but he sees old faces instead. Soldiers. Commanders. Officers. Brothers-in-arms he's long trusted. Thought he could trust.

“W-what do they know about those majestic beasts?” he says, jokingly because he's afraid to let the mask slip an inch. (It'd fall a mile, shatter too hard for him to ever glue back the pieces.)

“My father threatened to skewer me,” comes the quiet admission, less than a whisper.

Warriors' heart squeezes. “Twilight.”

“Didn't know it was me though,” Twilight adds, failing at even a small smile. “To him, I was just this wild animal circling the village right after most of the children had been stolen. He... he only threatened me. Just words. Nothing like what you had to deal with.”

“The words are the worst part for me,” Warriors hears himself say. “I hear them in my nightmares, even if I forget what they tried to do. Couldn't tell you who came at me with a spear, with a sword, with a dagger. But I see their eyes in the mirror, the hate as they died.”

“The fear. The 'Get back, beast!' and the screams.”

“'It's your fault!'” Warriors repeat, the same tone that echoed in his head. “'You should have died instead!'”

Twilight's face twists, and there's a split second when Warriors thinks his heart will give out. Even the shadows of Twili magic can't compare to the darkness that covers the blue of his eyes. But Twilight turns his head to the side and spits in disgust.

It hits the traitor's cooling corpse.

“Bastards,” he says, venom lacing his tongue. “Should have made that last.”

He says, with blood all over his face , Warriors thinks dryly.

It's a sharp contrast, that violence on him. Twilight has always had that air of earnest, straightforward honesty. One look at him and strangers will put their trust in him without hesitation. He lacks the battleworn scars (at least where it's visible), is old enough to be taken seriously and his bumpkin accent breeds familiarity with most commoners they meet. Warriors himself has to deploy all his charms to get the same results, and he's still being glared at by a lot of the men.

They peg him a charmer, and not without reason.

“I don't like it either,” Warriors says, quiet.

“What?” Twilight replies, an eyebrow raised.

“The knight act, you know.” And before Twilight's mouth can drop – “At least, some of it. The game. The doublespeak. The mask. It all feels pointless sometimes.”

“I... really?” Twilight's baffled words hurt, just a little.

Warriors scoffs. “Yes, really. I'm not meant to play knaves and daggers. I'm a soldier. An officer. I'm meant to be out there, defending the kingdom I love. Inspiring the people to fight back against darkness, to stand up for their lives. To be at the front of an army, to lead as one amongst the great... it's incredible. It's what I was born to do, I know it in my bones. The act is necessary. But by the Goddesses do I wish I could live without it.”

He sees the way his meaning worms itself past Twilight's gaze, understanding dawning on him. “No matter where one goes, huh?” Sheepish ruffle of his own hair. “Is it something in the water?”

“Like they'd lower themselves to drinking water,” Warriors sneers, a smirk hidden underneath. “Wine only, my good sir. And only the finest year, from the finest yard. Vintage, my good peasant, it's all the vintage that shows breeding.”

“They do know that for everyone else, breeding is something you check for your horses and your dogs, right?”

“I... couldn't tell. I've stopped listening a while ago. I just nod and play my handsome part. It is the only use for a Hero once the King of Evil has been defeated, it looks like. I don't know if I even should call myself a knight anymore.”

“Wild was touched, y'know?” Twilight says, looking up to the moon. “When you called him an honorable knight,” he adds with a sigh. “He's always associated his life before the Calamity to knighthood, to that incredible soldier that had trained for a decade before facing his destiny. Someone whose shadow he chased for months, not realizing it's his own. You might have been the first to call his current self a knight.”

“He is!” Warriors near jumps to his feet. “Wild may be unorthodox, but he is a loyal, devoted man that served Hyrule to the best of his ability despite having lost everything but his life to the cause. Most generals in my army could not even measure up to his standard.”

“Should have seen the look in his eyes when I mentioned it.” There's a hint of sadness beyond the pride and joy of this memory.

He hates the curdling feeling that brings forth. “Remind me to knock a couple of heads together next time we visit his Hyrule, would you?”

Twilight's chuckle is fond, gentle. “Yeah, that's what I meant. I never thought to tell him in those words. To me, he was always good enough. But you saw that side of him too. You know what it's like to want it. I can't relate that well to this, but... well, anyone under your command has to look up to a guy like you.”

Hands ball into fists. Eyes drift to the corpse. “Not everyone does. Obviously.”

Twilight bumps shoulders with him. “I'm sorry, pretty boy. I'm sorry these assholes think they have any right to blame you. To resent you. You're an amazing leader. Much better than me. I... I honestly admire you and your skill.”

Warmth settles in his stomach. He can't... For a second, he needs to blink away tears.

“So he admits it.”

There's a wry, wolfish quality to Twilight's grin. “You speak a word of it, and you'll meet an unfortunate fate, Captain.”

“As if anyone but my Queen could make me fall in battle,” he laughs, pushing Twilight's shoulder, hard.

“Careful there.” His brother's grin sharpens, and the returning shove almost sends Warriors crashing into a bush. “You might touch my cursed stone, and then you'd be stuck as your true self. What would your queen think if she saw a plague-ridden rat try to command her armies?”

Laughter bubbles in his chest. “Be happy to send the rat to infect the goat-loving hillbillies before they spread out of their mudholes! Imagine the half-goat, half-hylians that would invade Hyrule!”

Twilight's gauntlets fall to the ground. Knuckles are cracked. “A'right. Someone needs an asswhooping.”

He could not stop smirking if the Goddesses ordered him to. “Bring it, dog-boy. I'll put a collar on you.”

Taunts, past this point, become superfluous. The breath they would waste could be better utilized trying not to die (lose) against this moblin (his brother) and his freakish strength (no, really, he pushes giant metal crates on ice, the goron-born idiot). The honor of Hyrule rests on his victory.

At some point, they roll over in the fountain.

This does not, in fact, stop their roughhousing.

                                                    ***

 “Should I ask why you both have black eyes and split lips when no one noticed any monster for miles?” Time wonders at his seconds-in-command. “While we were attending a ball?”

“No,” they growl with a ferocity to chill bones.

“Not fair!” Wind protests, to the nodding of most. “Why did they get to have all the fun?”

Ah, youth.

[asklyracalistaandaidan]

Remember

Lyra gasped as the black and white plane she was trapped in began to spin, nauseating waves of sharp pain screaming across every inch of her skin.

The Devil’s smile came to focus in her bleary vision, the large creature’s claws lifting her chin.

“Looks like our deal is up little one. Oh, and ah, sorry about the excruciating pain...I have a handful of shit to deal with. Looks like your magician cared about you more than you know.” He announced, retracting his hand.

“Oh, I’m aware of what Asra is capable of, trust me. I’m just surprised you hadn’t figured that out yet.” She spat out, sweat beading onto her forehead as she dropped to her knees.

“I’ll leave you to your pain. Tell everyone I said hello, moon child.”

With that, she felt herself slam into something hard, the overwhelming scent of wet grass and earth confusing her to no end.

Lyra groaned, gulping in large breaths of fresh air, chest heaving as she forced her eyes up.

Lush green bushes littered with flowers assaulted her vision, a fountain spitting out water that reflected the twilight sky above them.

Was she...was she in a garden?

Wait...those flowers and the fountain?

Nadia’s garden.

She slowly sat up, groaning at her shaking body as the sound of rapidly approaching footsteps echoed through the garden.

“Asra, please.”

FRIEND!

“FAUST SAID FRIEND, IT HAS TO BE HER!”

“I’m telling you that it’s just another drunken courtier, Asra. I know you’re worried, we all are, but there’s no way that…”

Lyra tried to stand as she recognized the voices, the shaking in her legs and pounding in her head making it nearly impossible.

Violet locked onto green and hazel, the both of them too surprised to say anything.

“Oh. My. God. The snake was right.” Nadia muttered, freezing behind Asra before Julian whipped around the corner and nearly slammed into the both of them.

Asra inhaled deeply, slowly approaching Lyra and kneeling down next to her.

“Hi.”

Lyra stayed still, too winded to speak, trying to process why Asra hadn’t tackled her into a hug or kissed her or something.

“I know that this is all pretty scary and confusing, but we’re gonna figure everything out, okay? Right now, we’re in the Countess of Vesuvia’s garden, and I’m-” He continued, and she could see the hurt and worry mixing in his eyes.

SHE KNOWS! FRIEND!

Faust slithered into Lyra’s lap, wriggling up to settle in a coil on her shoulder.

“Hi Faust.” She croaked out, the pressure on chest starting to diminish.

“Wait, wait, wait...you...you remember?” Asra asked, the sheer amount of hope on his face brought tears to her eyes.

Lyra simply nodded, words getting stuck in her throat as a sob escaped his lips, and the next thing she knew, she was in his arms and he was crying into her shoulder.

She threw her arms around him, tangling her fingers in his hair and using her other hand to hold onto him.

“You remember, you remember, you remember.” He whispered, over and over, his warm breath ghosting against her ear.

“Oh Asra.” Lyra sighed, fighting the urge to start sobbing herself.

“Julian, why don’t we go consult Nazali about the ashen body in the ballroom.” Nadia suggested, dragging Julian back to the palace with her.

“How...how did you get back?” Asra asked finally, refusing to let her go.

“I guess the devil kept his word....and I annoyed the living shit out of him too, so that may have helped a bit.”

Asra couldn’t help but laugh, tucking a stray strand of silvery hair back behind her ear.

“I was so scared, Ly. So worried that I lost you again, and I wasn’t ready to live without you again.”

He took her hands, salty liquid still streaming down his cheeks, toying with fingers and palms, afraid that if he let her go she would disappear again.

“I love you. I love you so much it hurts, and I would never leave you on purpose.” Lyra assured, letting her hands leave his and trail to his shoulders.

Asra surged forward, his lips slamming into hers in a desperate need to cement in his mind that she was there, she was safe.

“Can we please go home? I think this needs to be continued, but ah….not here.” She mumbled, curling herself against his chest.

Asra’s gazed darkened as he lifted her off of the ground, the latter nuzzling her face into the crook of his neck.

“I hope you enjoy not walking.” He practically growled, Faust laying herself on Lyra’s stomach.

“Eh, it’s overrated anyway.” Lyra agreed sweetly, innocently pecking his lips.

KISS! BITE!

BITE?

LOVE!

[shirtlesssammy]

13x11: Breakdown

Then:

You Betcha, Donna is the best! And you betcha, Sam watching Dean getting turned into a vampire is the worst!

Now:

Cue creepy oldies music, jars of liquids of unknown origin, murder board, chains!, and one gnawed on tasty arm. What?

In Oshkosh, Nebraska (real place, they don’t make cute kids’ dungarees though) at Manny’s Truck Stop, a socially conscience young woman pulls up to get gas. Her card is declined so she heads into the diner to find out what’s what.

(omg, her card wasn’t really declined!) Creepy register guy wants Ms. Hanscum to smile more and we all want him to die more. (I am 1000% behind making creepy white men the ultimate villains this season. Who are you Supernatural?) Ms. Hanscum gets her gas, and notices a ‘Jesus Saves’ van and a semi-truck in the parking lot. She’s suddenly accosted by a window washer dude but declines his creepy offer and takes off in her car.

Breakdown!

Some time later, her car gets a flat tire. Boris is screaming for her to just change the tire herself (didn’t everyone’s father make them change their car’s tires for funsies when they first got a car?) She watches as a semi-truck barrels past and then is brutally attacked and kidnapped by an unknown assailant (cough MAN cough) in a mask.

Sam is Depressed and I Need all the Details and Meta and well Developed Storylines on This Situation

At the bunker, it’s 6:00 am and Sam is wide awake. It’s 8:22 am and Sam is STILL wide awake. Dean’s making pancakes but Sam ignores him. It’s 10:00 am and his phone rings. It’s Donna. He heads to the kitchen to take a bit of shit from Dean before they’re both informed by Donna that her niece is missing and she could really use their help. “Text us the address, we’re on our way.” DONNA. DEAN.

The boys meet up with Donna --and I LOVE how they visually show Donna’s headspace here. She’s waiting for the Winchesters and the camera pans over to the Impala pulling up, but we can’t hear the familiar rumble. SO great. She’s panicked, and in her head completely.

She fills the boys in on what’s happened. Dean heads into talk with the locals and Doug.

While looking over Donna’s niece’s car, Dean is accosted by FBI dude. He calls Dean “son” in the most condescending way. Dean’s too old to be “son” and Dean is confident in himself enough to not take that shit. Good job, Dean! Doug interrupts the potential smackdown and tells Agent Clegg that Dean is FBI too. He’s here on personal reasons though; relative to the missing woman. (Boris, and countless other people on Tumblr, called Agent Clegg as The Monster right here. Creepy White Man.) Doug is shocked to learn that Donna and Dean are related. “So you were in Sioux Falls a couple weeks ago, at the family reunion?” Yes. Yes they were. Family reunion. Yes.

Clegg fills the gang in on the case, and the series of connected cases he’s been working for 12 years. *Kill Bill Siren*

Depressed!Sam doesn’t want to help. Dean says, “We’re in.” Sam Bean!!!

At their motel, Dean puts out a call of local truckers for info on Donna’s niece, Wendy. Sam wants to back down. They are fugitives after all. Aggghhh. I’m SO HERE FOR SAM’S GRIEF. Like, I can’t articulate well enough what’s actually happening, but it’s so nice to FINALLY see him expressing the pain that he’s going through. He’s a perpetual fountain of optimism to Dean’s downer attitude. Or he’s just countering how Dean feels (see: Tombstone where he was meh towards Dean’s Very Enthusiastic Attitude to Cas’s return). He expresses this later but his hope is gone now. No Jack, no Kaia --no getting his mom back. As much as we wanted and needed (and got) a cathartic scene between Dean and Mary, we need Sam to come to terms with never having a mother at all. AGGGGHHHH. Dean tough talks his point of the situation before they get a lead from a CB radio trucker. Dean makes a date with ‘Felix’ to learn more about the case.

Cue oldies music, Wendy blindfolded and tied to a chair, and creepy masked man. He unmasks her and she begs “Why are you doing this?” while he sets up a camera.

At the police station, Agent Clegg fills Sam and Donna in on the ‘Butterfly’ case, and his main suspect: Pastor ‘Diamond’ Don Hankey. Creepo had Wendy’s bloodied t-shirt in his van.

Dean talks to the trucker about the night Wendy disappeared.

Felix remembers seeing Wendy, and really regrets not helping her, but she was running behind.

Sam and Agent Clegg interview the pastor. The smug fucker gives them nothing. Oh, and he’s an implied racist. Donna comes in to lend a hand.

At Manny’s Trunk Stop, Dean and Doug have a heart to heart. Dean’s giving relationship advice? Waaaahhhh.

Donna continues to lay the smackdown on dirty pastor man.

At the truck stop, window washer man fills Dean and Doug in on Marlon, the cashier, and how he closed up shop and followed Wendy that night.

Ugh, the pastor is married with two kids? Ugh. Donna breaks the pastor, but it turns out he’s just a regular creepy man. (So many layers of creepy men these days, ugh) Sam, Donna, and Agent Clegg wonder, if not the pastor, then who?

Cut to Dean entering the diner and asking Marlon where Wendy is.

Marlon’s being difficult, but Dean’s insistent. Marlon caves and shows them a website. A website where monsters bid on human body parts. Lovely!

A little while later the team's assembled to rewatch the video for clues. The creepy clerk shows Donna and Sam the recording of the feed and they try to twist their minds around what's happening. They realize that body parts are getting auctioned off to monsters. MONSTERS? Doug's taken aback by the theory – particularly the monsters part.

The clerk reveals that he flags people he thinks won't be missed, notifies the sellers, and then gets paid. While he's chatting a new bid flashes on screen. It's Wendy! She begs for help. Dean asks Sam if he can hack into the streaming server and find their location but Sam explains that the signal's bounced around the TOR network and he can't track it. However, the FBI can so they contact Clegg for help. We shed a silent tear thinking about Charlie, who could probably hack it with her eyes closed. They've got a timer, anyway. In 58 minutes Wendy dies.

Off to the side Donna has “The Talk” with Doug and he's...rattled. She explains that Sam and Dean are hunters...and so is she. Doug struggles to process the news. Their talk's interrupted by the news that Clegg's tracked the video feed.

They spread out to tackle the winding layout of the warehouse. Doug stays behind with the clerk while Dean and Donna advance. In the back, Sam gets surprised by Clegg who has shown up to investigate this tale of a body-parts-selling website.

Wendy's strung up with the feed still on her. The killer slowly sharpens his blade while she screams.

Dean and Donna hear music playing and track it to a room that's empty other than a radio on the floor. Uh oh. Back with Doug, the clerk asks him about monsters. “Fun fact,” he says. “I am one.” He vamps out, busts out of his cuffs, and starts to attack Doug. He tears open his wrist with his teeth and drips the blood into Doug's mouth.

Sam overhears the attack and signals to Clegg to advance on the room when... Clegg knocks him out! Boris was right, y'all. Boris was right all along. Clegg is evil.

Dean and Donna bust into the room where Doug's lying on the floor. He turns to Donna. He's feeling...kinda strange. He vamps out in front of her. “I'm so hungry,” he whimpers before trying to bite her. Dean pulls some dead man's blood from his duffle and injects Doug with it, knocking him out. Dean tells Donna that he'll be okay. There's a cure. “Huh?” Donna asks and I'm knocking my palm against my hand. The woman specializes in vampire kills and you never bothered to tell her about dead man's blood or the CURE? What the heck, Deano?

Anyway, “Mix up some sage, a little bit of garlic...” And the bloodsucker who turned Doug. The clerk swans in and brags about the attack and reveals that Clegg is behind the kidnapping!

Dean unsheaths his machete with a “bring it, Twilight” when Donna shoots the clerk in the knee. He collapses to the floor. Donna orders Dean to start mixing the cure for Doug and tells the clerk that she's gonna kill him no matter what. “You just gotta decide if you want it fast...or slow.” Donna <3 <3 <3

Sam wakes up tied to an operating table and realizes that Clegg's The Butterfly killer. Clegg tells Sam that there are monsters all over who take advantage of his people-chopping services. Clegg's of the mind that Sam should be grateful for his services...keeping monsters off the streets and all.

Sam's not buying it, but it's time for their next video feed. (Wendy's been put on hold in favor of their BIG catch.)

Dean, Donna, and Doug race to save Sam. Donna pours the vamp cure into Doug. Meanwhile, they start auctioning off Sam piece by piece. Clegg starts off the auction for Sam Winchester's heart in a not-at-all symbolic move.

Dean and Donna leave Doug behind in the car to infiltrate the warehouse. Donna finds Wendy still tied up. One of the killers attacks Donna from behind but Donna kicks his ass and kills him quickly. She frees Wendy.

Clegg's finished the auction for Sam's heart netting $500K (aw Sammy) for it so now it's time to chop him up. He points a gun at Sam to kill him quick since Dean's still in the wind. The camera pans away and there's a gunshot.

EEK

Red spreads along Clegg's chest. It's Dean here to save the day! He's killed Clegg and saved Sam. “Show's over.”

A little while later Dougie Bear wakes up. He's cured! Donna tells him that Wendy's safe...and so is Doug. But Doug's ultra freaked out about being a vampire. Donna smiles at him and tries to talk it down. Dean's been in Donna's shoes before and he recognizes the look on Doug's face. Doug tells Donna that she's a hero for killing monsters but he can't have any part of it. He walks out. (UGH don't mind me I'm just crying over here.)

Sam tells Donna that anyone who gets too close to a hunter gets hurt – or worse. Essentially, Donna should look at this as a good thing since Doug will be safer without her. Dean shoots Sam a LOOK.

Later in the car Dean tells Sam he was a little harsh. Sam explains that it’s just a fact that they get people killed. Kaia most recently, for one. Sam tells Dean he's not in “a mood” and that he's just being realistic. The hunting life ends one way for them – bloody.

You Betcha These Are Quotes:

I'm not your son.

And then you turn down pancakes!

This is how we do things in the FBI.

I'm not hurt but I don't think I'm okay.

There are many pieces of Sam Winchester, but only one heart. 

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