#but when eva gets horror its done so fucking well and i can’t ever get enough!!!! when 01 eats the angel is my FAVORITE PART

[coredrill]

pros of watching eva w the pals: vindication

cons of watching eva with the pals: chews at my brain for even longer than usual

[kaile-hultner]

Nihilism is so easy, which is why we need to kill it

(I initially published this here a couple weeks ago.)

So last night it dawned on me that, after over two years of being relatively symptom-free, my depression snuck back up on me and has taken over. It’s still pretty mild in comparison to other times I’ve been stuck in the hole, but after 24 months (and more) of mostly being good to go, I can tell that it’s here for a hot minute again.

How do I know? Well, it might be the fact that I spent more time sleeping during my recent vacation from work than I did just about anything else, and how it’s suddenly really hard for me to stay awake during work hours. I don’t really have an appetite, and in fact nausea hits me frequently. I don’t really have any emotional reactions to things outside of tears, even when tears aren’t super appropriate to the situation (like watching someone play Outer Wilds for the first time). And I’ve been consuming a lot of apocalyptic media, to which the only response, emotional or otherwise, I can really muster is “dude same.”

For a long time I was huge into absurdist philosophy, because it felt to my depressed brain like just the right balance between straight up denying that things are bad (and thus we should fix them, or at least try to do so) and full-blown nihilism. This gives absurdism a lot of credit; mostly it’s just a loose set of spicy existentialist ideas and shit that sounds good on a sticker, like “The only way to deal with an unfree world is to become so absolutely free that your very existence is an act of rebellion.”

In the last couple years, while outside of my depressive state, I went back to Camus’ work and found a lot of almost full-on abusive shit in it. Not toward anyone specifically, but shit like “nobody and nothing will care if you’re gone, so live out of spite of them all” rubs me the wrong way in retrospect. The philosophy Camus puts out opens the door for living in a very self-destructive fashion; that in fact the good life is living without care for yourself or anyone/anything else. The way Camus describes and derides suicide especially is grim as fuck, and certainly I would never recommend The Myth of Sisyphus to anyone currently struggling with ideation. That “perfect balance” between denial and nihilism is really not that perfect at all, and in fact skews much more heavily towards the latter.

Neon Genesis Evangelion has been a big albatross around my neck in terms of the media products I’ve consumed in my life that I believe have influenced my depression hardcore. It sits in a similar conversational space to Camus’ work, in that it confronts nihilism and at once rejects and facilitates it. A lot of folks remark that Evangelion is pretty unique – or at least uncommon – in its accurate portrayal of depression, especially for mid-90s anime properties. The thing I notice always seems to be missing in these discussions is that along with that accurate portrayal comes a spot-on – to me, at least – depiction of what depression does to resist being treated. This is a disease that uses a person’s rational faculties to suggest that nobody else could possibly understand their pain, and therefore there’s no use in getting better or moving forward. Shinji Ikari is as self-centered as Hideaki Anno is as I am when it comes to confronting the truth: there are paths out of this hole, but nobody else can take that step out but us, and part of our illness is that refusal to do just that. Depression lies, it provides a cold comfort to the sufferer, that there is no existence other than the one where we are in pain and there is no way out, so pull the blanket up over our head and go back to sleep.

Watching Evangelion for the first time corresponded with the onset of one of the worst depressive spirals I’ve ever been in, and so, much like the time I got a stomach virus at the same time that I ate Arby’s curly fries, I kind of can’t associate Evangelion with anything else. No matter what else it might signify, no matter what other meaning there is to derive from it, for me Eva is the Bad Feeling Anime™. Which is why, naturally, I had to binge all four of the Evangelion theatrical releases upon the release of Evangelion 3.0+1.0 Thrice Upon A Time last month.

If Neon Genesis Evangelion and End of Evangelion are works produced by someone with untreated depression just fucking rawdogging existence, then the Eva movies are works produced by someone who has gone to therapy even just one fucking time. Whether that therapy is working or not is to be determined, but they have taken that step out of the hole and are able to believe that there is a possibility of living a depression-free life. The first 40 minutes or so of Evangelion 3.0+1.0 are perfect cinema to me. The world is destroyed but there is a way to bring it back. Restoration and existence is possible even when the surface of the planet might as well be the surface of the Moon. The only thing about this is, everyone has to be on board to help. Even though WILLE fired one of its special de-corefication devices into the ground to give the residents of Village 3 a chance at survival, the maintenance of this pocket ecosystem is actively their responsibility. There is no room or time for people who won’t actively contribute, won’t actively participate in making a better world from the ashes of the old.

There are a lot of essentialist claims and assumptions made by the film in this first act about how the body interacts with the social – the concept of disability itself just doesn’t seem to have made it into the ring of safety provided by Misato and the Wunder, which seems frankly wild to me, and women are almost singularly portrayed in traditionalist support roles while men are the doers and the fixers and the makers. I think it’s worth raising a skeptical eyebrow at this trad conservative “back to old ways” expression of the post-apocalypse wherever it comes up, just as it’s important to acknowledge where the movie pushes back on these themes, like when Toji (or possibly Kensuke) is telling Shinji that, despite all the hard work everyone is doing like farming and building, the village is far from self-sufficient and will likely always rely on provisions from the Wunder.

As idyllic as the setting is, it’s not the ideal. As Shinji emerges from his catatonia, Kensuke takes him around the village perimeter. It’s quiet, rural Japan as far as the eye can see, but everywhere there are contingencies; rationing means Kensuke can only catch one fish a week, all the entry points where flowing water comes into the radius of the de-corefication devices have to be checked for blockages because the water supply will run out. There is a looming possibility that the de-corefication machines could break or shut down at some point, and nobody knows what will happen when that happens. On the perimeter, lumbering, pilot-less and headless Eva units shuffle around; it is unknown whether they’re horrors endlessly biding their time or simply ghosts looking to reconnect to the ember of humanity on the other side of the wall. Survival is always an open question, and mutual aid is the expectation. Still: the apocalypse happened, and we’re still here. The question Village 3 answers is “what now?” We move on, we adapt.

Evangelion is still a work that does its level best to defy easy interpretation, but the modern version of the franchise has largely abandoned the nihilism that was at its core in the 90s version. It’s not just that Shinji no longer denies the world until the last possible second – it’s that he frequently actively reaches out and is frustrated by other people’s denials. He wants to connect, he wants to be social, but he’s also burdened with the idea that he’s only good to others if he’s useful, and he’s only useful if he pilots the Eva unit. This last movie separates him and what he is worth to others (and himself) from his agency in being an Eva pilot, finally. In doing so, he’s able to reconcile with nearly everyone in his life who he has harmed or who has hurt him, and create a world in which there is no Evangelion. While this ending is much more wishful thinking than one more grounded in the reality of the franchise – one that, say, focuses on the existence and possible flourishing of Village 3 and other settlements like it while keeping one eye on the precarious balancing act they’re all playing – it feels better than the ending of End of Eva, and even than the last two episodes of the original series.

I’m glad the nihilism in Evangelion is gone, for the most part. I’m glad that I didn’t spend roughly eight hours watching the Evamovies only to be met yet again with a message of “everything is pointless, fuck off and die.” Because I’ve been absorbing that sentiment a lot lately, from a lot of different sources, and it really just fuckin sucks to hear over and over again.

It is a truth we can’t easily ignore that the confluence of pandemic, climate change, authoritarian surge and capitalist decay has made shit miserable recently. But the spike in lamentations over the intractability of this mix of shit – the inevitability of our destruction, to put it in simpler terms – really is pissing me off. No one person is going to fix the world, that much is absolutely true, but if everyone just goes limp and decides to “123 not it” the apocalypse then everyone crying about how the world is fucked on Twitter will simply be adding to the opening bars of a self-fulfilling prophesy.

We can’t get in a mech to save the world but then, neither realistically could Shinji Ikari. What we can do looks a lot more like what’s being done in Village 3: people helping each other with limited resources wherever they can.

Last week, Hurricane Ida slammed into the Gulf Coast and churned there for hours – decimating Bayou communities in Louisiana and disrupting the supply chain extensively – before powering down and moving inland. Last night the powerful remnants of that storm tore through the Northeast, causing intense flooding. Areas not typically affected by hurricanes suddenly found themselves in a similar boat – pun not intended – to folks for whom hurricanes are simply a fact of life. There’s a once-in-a-millennium drought and heatwave ripping through the West Coast and hey – who can forget back in February when Oklahoma and Texas experienced -20 degree temperatures for several days in a row? All of this against the backdrop of a deadly and terrifying pandemic and worsening political climate. It’s genuinely scary! But there are things we can do.

First, if you’re in a weather disaster-prone area, get to know your local mutual aid organizations. Some of these groups might be official non-profits; one such group in the Louisiana area, for example, is Common Ground Relief. Check their social media accounts for updates on what to do and who needs help. If you’re not sure if there’s one in your area, check out groups like Mutual Aid Disaster Relief for that same information. Even if you’re not in a place that expects to see the immediate effects of climate change, you should still consider linking up with organizing groups in your area. Tenant unions, homeless organizations, safe injection sites and needle exchanges, immigrant rights groups, environmental activist orgs, reproductive health groups – all could use some help right now, in whatever capacity you might be able to provide it.

In none of these scenarios are we going to be the heroes of the story, and we shouldn’t view this kind of work in that way. But neither should we give into the nihilistic impulse to insist upon doing nothing, insist that inaction is the best course of action, and get back under the blankets for our final sleep. Kill that impulse in your head, and fuck, if you have to, simply just fucking wish for that better world. Then get out of bed and help make it happen.

[prolestariwrites]

Dadgil Week Day #7: Silence/Peace Fandom: Devil May Cry Characters: Vergil, Nero Tags: Angst, Family Part 7 of 7

The ride back to Red Grave City is silent. This seems to be their de facto state: sitting side by side or across from one another, not speaking. For someone like Nero, who is always running his mouth, it feels weird, like a suit that doesn't fit or shoes the wrong size. His tongue is practically buzzing with the need to talk but everything seems like the wrong thing to say.

He glances over at Vergil in the passenger side. He looks content enough, back to looking out the window, the same posture he had on the drive up to the site. It strikes Nero that he must find the world so fascinating since it has changed so much over the years, and wonders why he never thought of that before.

There is a lot he hasn’t thought of before. What Hell had been like, what coming back had been like. He wonders if Vergil even preferred it there; despite its horror Hell seemed very orderly compared to the chaos of the human world. He had heard Vergil remark before that demons only want one thing while humans want everything, and remembers how he had thought that was the stupidest thing he ever heard. But it’s true, isn’t it? Demons are way easier to figure out.

Humans are complicated, including himself. Nero would laugh if it wasn’t so ridiculous: all this time, all he wanted were answers to his questions. Why did Vergil do what he did? Why did he choose Hell? Why did he stay? Why kill people? So many fucking questions and now that he has his answers… well, he wishes he could go back and warn himself. He knows now why Dante had never told him much of the truth. Who wants truth when it’s so fucked up? 

Nero had spent another night staring at the ceiling of the van, unable to sleep as he thought about Vergil’s story. Closing his eyes, he had pictured the orphanage being overrun with demons, had tried to think about what he would have done without Credo and Kyrie, how he would have handled it if that had happened to him. The fact that he couldn’t picture it at all had told him all he needed to know. Fuck Sparda and Mundus and all of them for leaving them with all this shit.

He hadn’t been angry at Vergil, not really, even though it came out like that. Nero’s neck heats a bit at that, knowing it’s how he has always been. He used to always get in trouble and get chewed out because he was what Credo called a hothead and what the other kids called a freak. It was as if rage was in his DNA. He had tried so many times to not react, and Nero honestly thought now that he is an adult he was past all that shit… only to blow up at Vergil. His hands tighten around the steering wheel, clenching his teeth together to stop himself from cursing. What in the hell is he going to do?

But he needs to say something. The silence is getting weird now, what was comfortable last night when they stopped crying and finally slept and lasted through the morning as they packed up and headed out is now turning uncomfortable. Nero shifts in his seat as he eases on the gas, the early morning highway almost totally clear and leaving his brain way too much time to think. 

What did Vergil and Dante do after they fought? He can’t recall ever seeing them talk or anything. He’s seen them fight over everything from weapons to bedrooms to the volume of the television, more times than not ending up with a sword in some body part. Once Nero had walked in on them tearing each other’s clothes into shreds, angry and arguing but laughing at the same time before suddenly stopping and ordering a pizza, only to resume again once they had eaten. 

Nero should have brought a pizza.

He flips through the possibilities: I’m sorry. I forgive you. I forgive you only if you promise not to do that again. Don’t fucking do that again. I shouldn’t have hurt you. You shouldn’t have hurt me. Let’s stop this. Let’s start over. Let’s keep going. You need to make this right. You need to make this up to me. You can’t take it all back. I want you to try. I want you to be yourself. I want to try to be better. I want to try to be your son.

Fuck, so many questions, filling up his mind. Do you like fighting? When did you learn? What was Sparda like? Would Sparda and Eva have liked me? What do you really think of Dante? Why did you hurt him? Did you know? Why did you create V? 

Did V know who I was?

Did you ever know who I was?

Who was my mother?

Just one question, he thinks. Come on, dumbass, pick one fucking question and ask him. He’s right there. He’ll answer, just pick one, come on, pick!!

“You doing okay?” Nero asks, breaking the silence.

“Yes,” Vergil replies.

Nero nods and looks back at the road, heading for home.

[slothgiirl]

live. die. repeat. (a noah marshall x mc fic)

i. visions are seldom what they seem.

“But this is how it has to be,” Noah says as fear clamps down into your spine, all the horrors of the last few weeks crashing down on you at once and you can’t process it, can’t deal with it anymore. You break down there, trying to wrap your head around Noah and Jane and Redfield and Noah holding Eva’s knife.

You lay there, gaping like a fish out of water, your mouth still in a perfect O of surprise as the knife enters your stomach. Maybe it’s a mix of shock and adrenaline that hasn’t let out since, since Dan, god that feels like years, but it doesn’t hurt, not as much as seeing Noah’s unflinching face.

He’s made up his mind, not the scared boy who’d realized what Jane had in store for his friends when he’d led you down here.

After everything.

“Noah,” you whimper, wanting a sign that this was still the same Noah who’d gone into the woods with you to save Dan. The same Noah who’d. . .

Your hands feel cold around the knife, blood oozing out slowly. There’s an ache building up as you realize that you’re going to die there. As your body responds to getting stabbed by this boy who you thought you could trust. The boy who held your gaze without even trying.

He has the decency to look ashamed then, a green tint to his face and then you’re really slumped against the floor, energy leaking out of you as the blood continues to seep out, coating your hands entirely.

Jane draws near, the shadows that now make up her. . .essence, like a childhood nightmare of what darkness is, swallowing you whole, nothing like the darkness of turning off the lights. No, this time it’s crushing, like some kind of underwater pressure bearing down on your chest as everything disappears from view.

At least the rest of your friends are okay. At least they’re alive. It’s cold comfort when the boy who had been causing all these feelings, warm and there and you couldn’t help but smile when he was there had killed you.

You’re sob is choked by a scream as the darkness consumes you.

The birds scatter when they hear the shadows scream.

ii. If I know you, I’ll know what you do.  

You wake up with a choked sob, scream, you don't know the difference anymore, an ache in your gut. You can still see his face, Noah's, as he stabbed you, as dead as you'd been a few minutes later. You wake up in your room, alone, your parents god knows where.

It had been a nightmare.

You take a deep breathe trying to steady yourself, hugging your knees to your chest. It doesn't make the feeling go away, as you take shallow breaths, on the verge of breaking down crying. It had felt so real. All of it.

But if you start crying now you don't know if you'll be able to stop and you have school in the morning. Noah. Dan. Ava. You haven't talked to any of them in years. It's just you and Lily together in loneliness.

Fuck.

Your phone buzzes, shining blue in the dark of your room.

You cover your face with your hands, and let out a frustrated scream, “get ahold of yourself!” That's as much as you let your grip slip before, grabbing for your phone, nested in your tangled bedsheets, damp with sweat. You must have fallen asleep watching youtube.

Dans name flashes on your phone, just like…

It can't be.

You drop it, a cold chill running down your spine. No. No. It was just a dream. “It was just a dream,” you whisper to yourself and force yourself to open the text, replying before you can think.

It wasn't real. Your alive.

You haven't talked to Noah Marshall since before Jane died. Hadn't seen him since the funeral.

Lead builds up in your stomach as you text Dan, too eerily similar to your dreams. You can't remember what he'd said exactly in the dream or what you had, but the situation is much the same.  If you couldn't remember maybe it was because you can't read in dreams. So it's fine. You're fine.

Dan knocks on your window and you've been here before, but you still ask “how’d you get up here,” you ask, already fearing the worst.

“It’s nothing, I’m fine,” Dan says. The same words he’d said before. The same way as in your dream.

Your phone buzzes again, Dan’s name lighting up. You glance up at the Dan in your room, who isn't really Dan but you already knew that, a scream tearing itself from your lungs as you watch him climb into your room, the illusion shattered. The thing that wears Dan’s face grabs you and you kick and tear at its flesh, dirt making its way under your nails, and it can't be. It was just a dream, a nightmare.

You'd died.

You spend the rest of the night laying on the floor, where you'd fallen, where Redfield had left you, staring up at the ceiling, unable to think beyond the monster in the woods. It was all real. And it was all going to happen again.

You don't sleep.

You find Conner on your way to school, looking every bit as handsome as you’d pictured him in your dream. Maybe this was Redfield messing with you. If he was back. Sending you that dream to throw you off from the get go. You take a deep breath and try to calm down.

Lily coming up to you oblivious. “It’s been a while,” you tell her, happy to see that the real Lily isn’t a mess after Jocelyn had ditched her at prom. You remind yourself that it hasn’t happened. Probably won’t even happen. “How was your summer?”

You try to smile as she tells you about Portland and okay there’s been too many coincidences. Maybe it was real. You swallow thickly and try to keep a smile on your lips when all you want to do is curl up into a ball and not deal with this.

Ava glances your way, looking down at you puzzled, but says nothing. Then there’s nothing to say as Cody and Britney get into it, rage turning your vision red and for once you can think about something other than dying.

You spent the rest of the day trying to catch a glimpse of Noah, your gaze wandering about the halls. Somehow you know you won’t, that it won’t be until the pep rally that you’ll get to see him again.

No that wasn’t right. You’d see him for the first time this school year.

It had felt so real.

That was a fucking mess. He'd killed you to save Jane, the monster that had been Jane. And just when you'd started, when the thought of going to prom without him seemed like the worst thing in the world because it wouldn't be right. You didn't really want to go if he didn't. And well shit you thought he'd been, that he'd cared at least half as much as you did.

Even now there's no one you want to see more than him, but your not sure you want to either. That dead eyed look he'd had in the end, it's burned into the backs of your eyelids. You don't know how you'll react seeing him again, oblivious, or maybe even as he'd helped you save Dan he'd already been planning on betraying you to the monster.

When had you lost him? Had you ever really had him? Or were the years he’d been alone damaged him irreparably?

You’re a coward. As soon as Lily and you try to find seats, as soon as you meet Noah’s gaze and feel bile rise up your throat, you decide to squeeze in besides Lily, butt hanging off the side of the bench.

You can’t do it.

There’s an ache where he’d stabbed you and you can’t.

You spend the next few weeks in a constant state of paranoia. Just like, you’re willing to admit, as you and Noah drag Dan out of the woods, the first time around. Somehow you were reliving the events all over again. Except this time it’s worse because you know what’s going to happen and you still can’t stop any of it.

You’re jumpy and tired from not sleeping and a sick part of you wants to skip to the end where Noah stabs you. The deja vu feeling never goes away even if you’d forgotten exact words over the course of the days, you know you’ve been here before.

You’ve gone to the game and watched spiders invade. You get the pleasure of coming home and finding Cody’s body left to you like a gift a cat might bring home a dead rat, Jane’s doing. Redfield. Jane. You still didn’t know what to think. Noah had seemed so sure but you couldn’t picture Jane, your best friend, wanting you or any of your friends dead.

It doesn’t keep you from talking with Noah, from him winding his way into your empty heart all over again as he sits alone by the pool, looking unsure about having come. You’ve oscillated between avoiding him and clinging to him, reaching for him. It gets harder as the days go on and it’s Noah with you in the woods. And Noah who’s ready to go fight Redfield himself if he has to and surely he didn’t know then, now.

It’s easy to forget, to separate the Noah who you loved and the Noah who betrayed you. He hasn’t yet and you cling to that hope.

You cling to that hope as you walk down the stairs into the house, knowing full well that Noah’s led you down there. You see the doubt in his eyes and panic consume him as Jane forces you all to play are you scared, trapping you in your seats. Maybe he wasn’t as lost as you thought.

It’s that alone that keeps you from yelling and screaming at him the way everyone else is. Silent on your way to the grave. You know how this ends. You swallow hard.

“I didn’t,” Noah tries, his pleas falling on deaf ears, “Jane-,” he catches your gaze. You can’t help it even now. Even here all over again. You look to him, the panic in his wide brown eyes, lips pressed together like he’s five seconds from falling apart. It makes your chest hurt to see him like this. To be back here.

Why couldn’t your second chance go differently?

“I had to help her,” he tells you, ignoring everyone else, willing you to understand, “I had to help my sister. I know you would have done the same.”

It’s then that you realize that he still doesn’t know that she’s going to kill one of you, most likely you, because that’s how it happened last time and apart from a few words here and there, it had happened exactly like it had last time. It’s with a heavy heart that you respond, looking away like the coward you are, “Noah, she’s needs one of us to die.”

He shakes his head, finally cracking.

Stacy looks on in contempt, looking too much like her mother as she frowns, less scared than over it. Even Lily looks away, unable to hold Noah’s gaze. And then Jane’s asking if your scared and it’s too late.  

Again.

One by one your friends fly back, disappearing from sight.

Then it’s just you and Noah.

This time, his hand shakes as he stabs Ava’s knife into your stomach, trying to fight Jane’s influence off. Her own shadowy hand wrapped around his. It makes the cut jagged.

It hurts more than the first time. “I’m sorry,” he tries as tears fall down his cheeks and there’s too many emotions tied to him to know if you’re sorry for him or if you hate him for making this happen all over again but it makes your heart ache as he holds you gently so as not to aggravate the wound he gave you.

God this is so fucked up you think, as he sits down with you. And there’s the small part of you that forgives him for being tricked by Jane. He hadn’t known. Blinded by his love for his sister. It’d be touching if you weren’t lying here dying because of it.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles like a broken record, looking down at you.

You try to speak, but blood wells up in your mouth. You choke on it, noise a strangled rasp and Noah shuts up, his hands putting pressure on the wound in your stomach as he tries to stem to blood flowing from it, a steady drip that leaves you cold and tired beyond words. He won’t stop looking at you as you bleed to death in his arms like he’s trying to memorize every detail of your face, tears matching the flow of blood.

It’s too much. In the end you look away, swallowing down the blood in your throat as Jane approaches, her darkness engulfing you once more.

It’s a relief this time.

iii. i know you i walked with you once upon a [nightmare]

The buzz of your phone wakes you up. Dan. Again. This time you know it’s real. Just as real as the last two times have been.

You still reply. To the real Dan out in the woods somewhere. This time you’re going to change things. You’re going to make this as easy as you can for your friends. You’re going to keep Noah from betraying you all.

You know how things play out so maybe that’s why this keeps happening. Maybe you’re going to live through this again and again until you get this right.

“Jane I know it’s you,” you call out as Dan raps at your window, “Go away.”

Jane, this time as she is, not disguised as Dan appears inside, your room to small to contain a creature of shadow and darkness and somewhere inside is the little girl you used to play with so much you practically lived in each others houses.

Her eyes glow like the dying embers of a bonfire, elongating the shadows already there.

She stares at you, tilting her head.

For a second you think there's recognition and a brief hope flares up in your chest. You might be able to stop it before it even begins. Then the embers of her eyes spring to life as the darkness grows thick in your room right before she comes at you like a howling wind that tears down trees.

Your back hits the wall, a blinding pain surging from your spine, from your bones. You cover your head with your arms but she’s-it’s gone. Dissipating into the night.

If it wasn’t for the fact that you’d been through this twice already, you wouldn’t have believed she’d been here at all.

You try to get up, wincing from the pain in your back, spreading further with each movement you make. Definitely real.

Third time’s the charm. So this time you’re determined to do everything in your power to keep your friends as safe and sane as could be.

You go into the woods with Noah once more, hand clutching a baseball bat, Noah lighting your way.

The cops ask the same questions as the flashing red and blue lights break the cloak of darkness that surrounds you. Little old Westchester, surrounded by woods, only one highway leading to the nearest city. If you answer mechanically, a beat to soon, they write it off as panic.

Your eyes stay glued to Noah, even as the ambulance drives off with Dan. His hands shaking even as his voice stays steady as he answers as best as he's able without going all supernatural creatures took Dan on them.

The cops finally leave you alone, while they look around and write reports. Useless stuff.

You sit on the curb, hugging your knees as Noah paces in front of you, jaw tight. Tomorrow he'll tell everyone he couldn't sleep. Too many nightmares.

But it doesn't have to be that way.

“Noah,” you offer as the commotion starts to die down and you already know they're about to drive you both home. Back to your empty house.

He stops pacing in front of you. Hands stuffed into his pockets, as his wide doe eyes meet yours.

What if he says no?  

You've barely exchange a word in years as far as he knows. He hasn't been through this before.

Swallowing thickly, you utter the words you think have the best chance of him going along with your plan, “Can-I don't want to go home to an empty house right now.” Hilda the kindest fluff ball had scarred the shit out of you twice already.

“Your parents aren't home,” he asks, shaking his head and being purposely obtuse, “guess some things never change.”

“Can you stay with me? I mean,” you run a hand through your hair and blushing is so not the right feeling you should be having right now, “just so I'm not alone? Doubt I'll be getting much sleep,” you trail off, gazing hard into the tree line rather than having to meet Noah's heavy gaze.

“Uh,” he clears his throat caught off guard for a second and it hurts to think that somehow he ended up killing you because you just can't understand how that happens, before continuing in normal Noah fashion. “Like a sleepover,” he grins through the haunted look in his eyes, the same as yours, no matter how many times you've been here, is still there.

It'll only get worse.

“Yeah,” you snort, rolling your eyes, “like a sleepover. The part right after you've watched a horror movie and have to go to sleep.”

“Okay.”

The cops drop the both of you off on the curb. Don't even check if there's anyone home. Fuck this town. No one turns a blind eye like them.

He's been here before. But he still lets you lead and fumble with the key and god is this house empty. Two whole floors to yourself. It's somehow even more empty than usual.

“Have you let your mom know,” you ask because now that he's here you don't really know what to do with him. You place Candy on your nightstand and sit down as he looks over your things. Gone are the toys and dolls from when you were close.

There's some posters from National geography and bands from when you were in middle school and hadn't yet realized how far the nearest concert venues were.  

“She won't care.”

And boy can you relate.

You kick your shoes off, biting back the rush of heat threatening to bloom brightly on you cheeks, as you find an old shirt and yoga shorts, “I'll take the floor.”

“What! No,” Noah says frowning so deeply his forehead wrinkles up, “I'm not making you sleep on the floor. Didn't you used to have a guest room?”

“I've been sleeping in the guest room,” you admit, realizing belatedly that for him, this all only started yesterday. For you it's been months of avoiding your room. “I can't-not when it was here.”

“Ohhh,” Noah jokes, “so your trying to leave it to me.”

“Fuck you,” you snipe back. “I can fit into the couch in the guest room. That way you can take the bed.”

“Such a good host you turned out to be.”

“Shut up Noah. Now get out I have to change.”

Noah laughs, but leaves and you prefer this to the silence. To tossing and turning all night without a wink of sleep.

He clearly still remembers it all as well as you because you find him in the guest room, flipping through the tv channels. You can't help but stand in the doorway for a second and wonder what your life would have been like if Jane had lived.

It's easy to go from there. To sit down next to him on the bed and laugh at bobs burgers like your life isn't a literal horror show.

The clock reads two in the morning before you turn off the lights and neither of you moves, or brings up the couch. And you fall asleep planning how your going to save everyone this time.

This time Noah won't kill you.

This time you watch in horror as Noah slices his own wrists open and he dies in your arms as you desperately try to caulk the flow of blood. It's worse. It's a hundred times worse than dying which is just cold and lonely because you can't save the boy that you love.

Because that's what this is. Why else would watching Noah die feel like your heart’s been ripped out as well.

It's with bitterness filling your mouth like the metallic taste of blood, that you think that it's only for a little while.

iv.

You avoid Noah like the plague next time around.

Letting him go by himself into the woods. Letting him save Dan by himself.

It's too much for you and you know it's hurting him. You know how it'll end if you drive him away but every time you see him you can't help but want to burst into tears.

Sometimes you do.

Turning before he can see the tears in your eyes.

Lily catches on fast. As you walk home together. “I'm sorry,” she tells you, taking her hand in yours. “I know you and Jane were always the closest.”

You swallow thickly. Anger and hurt welling up like blood in your mouth. “Do you ever think how Jane's been dead longer than we were ever friends?” And she's been alone all this time. Stunted.

“Not really. I try not to think of it. Or I tried. Guess we can't ignore it now.”

“We don't have to talk about this,” you tell her. Lily clearly doesn't want to deal with any of this. Jane's death so many years ago was bad enough.

“No. It's okay. You’re always here for me. It's the least I could do. But. . .Noahs hurting to.”

And then Cody and Jocelyn show up.

For once you’re glad to see them.

v.

You don't let Noah go find Dan alone this time. Though you are so tired of waking up to Jane. To Dan and Redfield and the bruises that ring your neck.

There's a sullenness in you that will take the others another few weeks to build. But then you've been here before. You've died four times. You’re sick of this purgatory.

Noah picks up on it right away. Noah who used to let you and Jane wrangle him into playing barbie and tea party where you'd play out the latest soap opera storylines that your housekeeper watched.

You browse the shelves silently and brush off Connor after a stilted conversation. You don't even feel bad about it.

“You blame me too don't you,” Noah states sounding as hollowed out as you feel, as he looks at the flashlight you already know you’ll buy him. “Just like my parents.”

“Noah I don't-,”

“Don't lie to me,” he utters harshly. “I can see it in your face. Well guess what. It's your fault. Not mine. If you had just made Jane leave the first time, we would've never met Redfield.”  

He shoves roughly by you, sending you bumping into the shelf. And okay you deserve that. For this time. And the last.

It's time to confront the real issue.

You died. Noah had died. And yet the cycle went on. Nothing had changed. You'd been convinced that it was about Noah but you were wrong. Your feelings clouding your judgement and this was all so messed up. But who else.

None of them ever remembered.

You had to talk to Jane.

Jane listens for a second and then there's only darkness.

?.

You call out to Jane as soon as Dan knocks on your window. Dying has gotten old. And you refuse to get to close to Noah again, no matter how it hurts, you won't watch him die again.

“I know it's you Jane. And I'm sorry. I'm sorry I'm such a bad friend but I didn't know! I couldn't have know or I'd have gone back for you.”

The darkness coalesces in your room and glowing red eyes peer back at you.

There's no way for you to gage the intelligence. No way to tell if there's enough of the girl you knew left in there.

Silence reigns for a minute. The longest minute of your life.

And then she sends you flying back, hitting the wall at just the right angle. There's a sickening crack ringing in your ears as you wake up again.

Starting from scratch again.

So that didn't work. Maybe you have to go to her. So you let her scare you and choke you and then wake up to skip school.

Not like your parents will care out in Yemen. Or was it Iraq now?

Either way the school will call and you'll make up some lame excuse like you had a fever.

You'll grab Dan on the way out. If it works.

“Jane,” you call out as the ruins come into sight. “Jane I'm sorry. I'm sorry it took me so long to come. Jane Marshall. That's you!”

A shadow looms in the doorway.

“Jane. Do you remember?” You halt, waiting for a sign of recognition.

“Fr i e nds.”

“Yeah Jane,” you say, “It's me. Your best friend. Though I'm not very good at it.” You reach the doorway.

The idea of a hand reaches out towards you, looking a lot like what a child might draw for arms, and you let out a breathe.

Maybe this will work.

Her grip is cold, like walking through the fog of halloween haunted houses, and firm as it closes around your wrist and your courage gives out. You can still feel the throne of the bruises lining your neck.

It's too late to back out.

She leads you to the top of the stairs. “Everyone plays together.”

“No Jane. That's not the kind of help you need.”

Her eyes flare, the red coals burning brighter than stars, light extinguished by her presence. Her presence at your back and you manage half a scream before she shoves you down the stairs.

Your limbs ache as you reach the bottom. Sharp pain running up your spine before sudden numbness sets in.

At least it's a change from Noah killing you.

“Redfield hasn't been here. He hasn't been here for ten years,” Noah states, a deadness to his voice that you hate.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean Noah,” Stacy yells, sick of all this shit. At least she doesn't have to remember.

He opens his mouth to speak.

“It's Jane,” you sigh. They all turn towards you, their gaze burning holes and you won't look at Noah. Not till later, when it's just the both of you.

Prom feels like a million years ago but you know that tomorrow you'll do it all again. “Jane's been stuck here since she died.”

“No,” Lily shakes her head, tears falling from her eyes, “No! You're lying.”

“You knew,” Noah says, the hurt clear in his voice, as he looks at you and you can't help but look back. How many times have you been here? How many times have you looked into his eyes as you died?

“I-”

“How long have you known,” he growls, hurt solidifying into anger.

“No-,” Lucas shakes his head, deep in denial even as you watch the shadows clumsily take human form. “That's not true. Jane died!”

This time, Noah looks on passively as you gasp, blood flowing from your side as you die. The darkness is a welcome respite from his cold dead eyes.

Noah flips through the channels as you pull the covers over yourself. It's cold but shorts are the way to go.

You wait for him to leave the tv on bob's burgers. You've lost count of the times, the variations that all lead up to all of your friends in the ruins, to your death.  You study his profile, the aristocratic angle of his nose, the swell of his well formed mouth.  

In every cycle, you do your best to save everyone and yet you have nothing to show for it. Dan’s always hurt. Andy gets hurt. Not to mention you dying.

It's time to be a little selfish.

God only knows how many more times you'll live through this. At least Noah’ll make breakfast in the morning.

That does change.

Pancakes. Omelettes. Toast with tomato and the leftover chicken you'd forgotten about.

“What,” Noah asks, a slight smile on his lips, so different from the fear from your earlier trek through the woods.

“Nothing.” You look down at the blanket, navy blue stripes, boring and therefore perfect for the guest room.

“Than why are you looking at me like that.”

With months of pent up emotions, you tell him “I'm just glad you’re here.”

Noah smiles, ducking his head down, “I know what it's like to live in an empty house.”

“I'm sorry I wasn't there for you,” you reply. You hadn't been there for anyone. But at least most of them were doing okay given everything. Dan needed help, but he at least had Stacy. Who did Noah have? Who did Lily have?

“Me too.”

You lean in, closing the distance between you, pressing your lips against the edge of his softly, before pulling away.

The surprise is written into his features. Noah swallows and you wait for him.

“I-I'm sorry I just can't right now.” Which isn't surprising. Not when you've heard him say these words before. Right as dance approaches.

“Sh. It's okay,” you respond, shifting away, “I understand. Just-just know we're going to get through this Noah. I'm not abandoning you again.”

Noah takes Jane's place in the most peaceful way. “It's time for me to take over.” He utters as the darkness embraces him.

Finally, you can't help but think. Finally it's over.

You wake up to your phone buzzing. “UGH!” You fling it against the wall. “Don't even try it Jane,” you tell like a crazy person.

This time you get out of bed and march right into the woods. No Noah. No Ava. No Andy. Not that it ever matters if Ava and Andy come. You just end up chickening out from inviting Noah to stay at your house.  

No Candy.

It's dark but you've walked this path so often it's ingrained into your bones. The beasts aren't out.

You still grab the first large stick you can find.

Sure enough Dan’s in the clearing. Still conscious for once.

You rush to his side, “I'm going to get you out of here,” you tell him, wrapping an arm around his waist, letting him lean his weight onto you.

He shakes his head sadly, “you shouldn't have come. I shouldn't have come.”

“It'll be okay,” you lie.

“Listen to me,” he urges, “now he can leave!”

She, you mentally correct, frowning. Everyone plays together. But then why could Jane leave as soon as Dan came. As soon as you can rushing to save Dan. “Shouldn't we all have to come? But then when only Noah and I,” you tail off. It still always happens. And Pritch’s spell had held for a little while.

There's still something you don't understand. Some variable you've overlooked. Jane's a dead end. She always attacks first and then you're dead.

“What are you talking about?”

You look at Dan, having forgotten you were dragging him through the woods. His leg is still broken but he doesn't look like he's about to be comatose. “Let's just get you out of here.”

You leave Dan at the hospital more than a little aware that it's nearly three in the morning but you can't put it off. If you die walking alone in the middle of the night it won't be for long anyway.

Pritch’s house is always foreboding. Exactly like a witch's house should look. Plants growing wildly in the corner. Wind chimes dangling even in the still night.  

You don't flinch when here none creature barks at you. “I'm here to talk about Redfield.”

For the first time, you say everything that's happened to you. How you keep reliving the same thing over and over and over again with no end in sight. You word vomit in Pritch’s living room until the tea grows cold and the sun rises.

Her lips purse. “So it's not Redfield.”

“No. And this,” you say waving your hands around, “can't be a coincidence right!”

“No.” She confirms.

“So what do I do? The rules changed. It's Jane. And we've set her free!”

“She's not free yet,” Pritch corrects arching a brow and daring you to contradict her.”

“But. . . I rescued Dan?” And you had. That was real. It hadn't happened last time.

“I've checked. And nothing.”

You take a deep breathe. “Every time me and Noah rescue Dan she's set free. But then why is the emphasis on everyone!”

“You just said it yourself,” Pritch replies. “You and that boy of yours. The rules changed. But Jane's memories of you and her brother are the only ones that survive. I think Jane believes she must play the game, but it might just be the three of you that are connected.”

“otherwise I wouldn't be here,” you slump back in your chair, setting the teacup down. “Not that I'm complaining. Dying is not it.”

“Many have trifled with the power to worse ends,” Pritch concurs.

“So then what do I do! I don't want to die and I don't want Noah to die but also I have to set Jane free!”

Pritch rolls her eyes, “How the fuck should I know? I'm just an old woman. I don't have all the answers. Now go to school or you'll be late.”

If you and Noah can set Jane free from the ruins, you think as you walk to school, maybe you can also free her from living a quasi life as a shadow monster. You'll have to tell Noah. Or go with him alone to the ruins. Somehow?

When you get to school you learn Dan died last night at the hospital and okay you know a sign when you see one. No saving Dam too early.

You go to Jane, impatient to start over.

There's a satisfying feeling to the sound of your spine cracking.

You wake up again. This time you're ready. It's game time. Game mode. The final round. Some other sports metaphor that Andy would know.

You yell at Jane to fuck off and all you have to show for it are bruises around your neck. Whatever. You can deal with that.

You go to school, and go off on Cody.

“My hero,” Ava grins as she walks with you and Lily. “And I thought I was the cool badass one.”

“No,” Lily smiles, “you're the bad boy with a heart of gold.”

“Ahhhh the cheese,” Ava laughs, “my one true weakness aside from rainbows and unicorns.”

“Of course,” you grin and then wait for the assembly to be called.

Waving Lily off to go sit with Ava as you plop down by Noah, almost forgetting to ask, “is this seat taken?”

“Knock yourself out,” Noah replies evenly, unburdened by the hundred different times you've lived through this and shit you've been waiting to hear those words, anticipating the start of you and Noah. Everything has to go right this time. Everyone lives and Jane finally gets to rest.

“Sit your stupid ass down,” Cody yells.

You flip him off and stand for a moment more than you have to.

Noah looks up at you, eyes crinkling as he chuckles. “You're such an asshole.”

“Only on a good day,” you grin.

You watch the pep rally and wait for the black out.

It still sends chills down your spine.

Ava and Andy don't come with you which you're glad for. It's always a coin toss to whether you can convince them to come. You haven't found out the secret to swaying them and it doesn't matter now. Soon it'll all be over. As soon as you figure out how you and Noah can set Jane free without any bloodshed.

Maybe even spare Cody's life which should give you unlimited lifetime good karma.

They're not coming which means you can now shanghai Noah into coming home with you and not dealing with any nightmares. Keep him from betraying you. And the fact that you're in love with him helps too. Any time you can steal with him is a plus.

Noah sighs, rubbing his hands over his eyes, as you come to a stop among the aisles in Gunther's hardware.  “This has been haunting me for years. What we did. . .what he did.”

You take Noah's hand in yours, “You can't blame yourself. I know-I want to blame myself to for being a stupid little kid but that's just it Noah, we were kids. We didn't know any better.”

Noah closes his eyes but doesn't pull away. “My parents blamed me.”

“Fuck them. Fuck them for not being there for you when you needed them,” you respond with a burning conviction. Your parents were negligent, but they didn't make you feel like shit either.

“The worst part is that,” Noah continues after taking a deep breath, his caramel eyes meeting yours, “this sounds lame as hell, but the day I lost my sister, I lost my whole family. My mom. You guys. Everyone.”

You rub Noah's hand in yours with your thumb, making small circles, “You didn't lose me.” You steel yourself for what follows.

“But I did.” Noah pulls away, studying the different lamps, scrutinizing them.

“It won't happen again. I'm not leaving you again.”

You find yourself watching bobs burgers with  Noah once more. No matter how many times you've been here, you never pay much attention to the episode. Noah's given up any pretense of watching the tv, staring holes into the ceiling.

“Dan’ll be alright. As soon as we fix things.”

“You sound so sure,” he replies, shifting so he's facing you.

“I'm just trying to be positive,” you admit. There's been so many times and they've never worked. You've always messed things up. “The power of positive thinking.”

He cracks a smile as you both lay there.

You wake up to scrambled eggs and bacon. “This is much better than the cereal I usually have,” you tell Noah, grabbing a fork and taking a piece straight from the skillet.

He smacks your arm away with the spatula, “that's just sad,” and plops a strip of bacon in his own mouth. It's easy to fall into a comfortable routine with him. Both of you eating from the skillet before booking it to school.

You wave him off and barely make it to homeroom on time.

You're all sitting down together going over last nights events. You can't hear a word mayor green is saying. And you don't care.

Dan will be okay as soon as Jane's free. Then the power will just be some neutral thing out in the woods. You should really talk to Pritch about setting up a containment system.

“-I can barely believe it and I was there,” Noah adds. “Shit I don't think I would've gotten any sleep by myself.”

You blush brightly and avoid Noah's gaze at all costs but Ava still raises her brows.

“I'm sorry I thought Basketball was more important that this,” Andy admits. “I'm just glad Dan will recover.”

“Basketball isn't dumb Andy,” you respond. “This whole thing sounds crazy.

“Well,” Stacey points out, “we still have to figure out how to stop anymore freaky things from happening. Any ideas?”

Yes, you think but say nothing. You still have time. You'll have to tell Noah and hope he believes you for long enough to go and talk to Pritch. Would just telling Jane she can move on work? Or maybe you just want someone else there to soften the blow?

Ava walks up besides you and Lily, “so do you guys want to walk in the same direction at the same speed after school?”

Lily laughs, “Ava, the bell just rang.”

“So?”

You nod, “ok but I have an errand to run first.”  The longer you can keep Cody and Jocelyn under the radar the better it will be for everyone. You might as well be named a saint now.

Ava tells you both about her surgence of power and Lily talks about Britney much to Ava's eye rolls.

You take your keys, switching the swiss army blade your mom had given you years ago out and jam it into Cody's tire. That should keep him out of your hair for a while. And then Connor would get rid of them before the game.

“That's her errand,” Lily squeals.

“What a badass,” Ava grins. “That dick definitely had it coming.”

“Yeah well,” you shrug, “I like to be proactive.”

“I can tell,” Ava smirks, “so you and Noah last night? You can tell me all dearie…”

“Well you don't sound at all like a witch who eats children.”

She cackles and you can only guess how often she's practiced that in her room, “only the naughty ones.”

“Wait Noah spent the night at yours,” Lily asks for clarification.

“Yeah,” you sober up, you weren't even that far in and your mind was already frayed thin. You still had to make it to the ruins. Dan was safe. No one had died. And as long as you beat Jane to Pritch and convinced Noah, you were home free. There were only a thousand things that could go wrong in that time. “I just didn't want to be alone in my house after…”

Ava rounds on you, “wait, Your parents are still awol?”

“Didn’t you have that Nanny,” Lily adds, “Mrs. Garcia?”

“Used to being the key words,” you catch them up to date, “she decided to move in with her eldest daughter down in Arizona. I mean she was old the entire time I knew her. Still sends me birthday cards and christmas cards though.”

“You are the definition of a latchkey child,” Ava notes. “My parents would kill me if I had a boy in my room.”

You roll your eyes. She's not going to let this go anytime soon. At least this calm won't last long. Hopefully a flat tire keeps Cody out of your hair for a while.

“My parents don't know I like girls yet,” Lily admits with a blush, hesitant to share after being bullied at school for daring to walk by Jocelyn.

Ava barks out a laugh, “oh you're bad Lily,” before she turns down her street, closer to town than your house, and then it's just you and Lily walking home together.

She seems happier today, even with everything going on, now that Brittney asked her on a date. It's strange to think of them together. You hadn't even realized they were once friends; can't imagine a nice Brittney or just one that doesn't give everyone shit.

Even after all these cycles you don't know what to make of them. Sometimes Lily and her work things out and she's tolerable but others...and then there's the times when Lily dies and it doesn't really matter.

“I really hope that Stacy's right about Brittney,” you comment, glancing over at the trees. Without Cody and Jocelyn, nothing should happen. But you had learned to be careful.

“I hope so too,” Lily confides, “it's just-she used to be-well not nice. Not like you. But she was my friend and I think she liked seeing my reaction when she did something bad. But harmless stuff like stealing candy or lip gloss.”

“What happened,” you ask, because this is all new for Lily even though you already know about Brittney and camp and how she basically ditched Lily to go be a bitch with Jocelyn. The woods stay quiet.

Lily shrugs and tells you about camp all over again.

You hate that you won't get to tell Lily how brave she is even if she's not like you or Ava, ready to throw fists at Cody and Jocelyn, but you would like to never see a dead body again. And Lily's plenty brave without your help. At her core there's steel or else she'd have given up on Britney years ago. It's the quiet loyalty that matters the most. That will see your friendship through tough times.

You get home and sit in the grass, waiting for Hilda to run over.

Instead of heading straight for the gym, you loiter around the parking lot until you spot Connor. He stands out easily in the crowd with his long blonde hair and the same tall build that he shares with his sister.

“Does Stacy seem a little off to you,” he asks by way of greeting.

“She must be under a lot of stress,” you muse playing the part. You’re in the long stretch of the days now, the lull that sets your teeth on edge. Andy always saves the game. Getting pizza after with him and the team depends on how your mood is; if you want to keep the mask on.

You couldn’t wait for this to be over. It had to end?

What if you did everything right but it turned out this was what being trapped by the power was like? Was this how Jane had gone mad?

Fuck. Fuck.

Your smile drops for a second while Andy makes the winning throw. You can’t let yourself think like that. Gotta snap out of it.

“Your buddy did it,” Connor grins, betraying the fact that he hadn’t completely left Westchester behind. He still had some school spirit in him yet.

“Yeah,” you try, snapping out of it, before cupping your hands around your mouth and yelling, “King Kang,” the way you had the first time.

Andy catches your eyes and smiles even wider.

If this is really the last time, then you want to do it right. You’re going to eat pizza with them all later.

Britney ignores you, focusing her attention on Lily. You let them go off. Once you had followed them and Britney while callus, wasn’t actively trying to be a bitch to Lily so you know she’s in good hands.

One thing you will avoid this night is playing are you scared. It’s fucked up after how many times you’ve had to sit through it and die. Besides, Cody always dies after this. Always. You’ve tried brushing him off but he’s nothing if not persistent.

Waving to Connor you head to the kitchen where Tom’s mixing some type of drink. Mixing juices and alcohol that were not meant to be together.

“Want one,” he offers, as you open the pantry where the chips are. Tonight you’re dragging Noah to Pritch’s. It’s the only time that you’ll get. You won’t let Jane attack the dance. It’s your homecoming and you’re going to make sure it’s one to remember.

“No thanks,” you demure, “Not if you put V8 in there.”

“Hey,” Tom says, narrowing his eyes, “how’d you know I put V8 in here?”

You let him wonder and go find Noah.

He’s just sat down by the pool and you have a little window before Cody and Jocelyn show up. You open the chip bag as you take a seat next to him, “the party’s inside.”

Noah chuckles, “not really my scene.”

“But you still came,” you note, wiggling your eyebrows.

“Shut up,” he mutters.

“No really,” you continue, nudging the conversation along, “why’d you decide to come tonight?”

Noah shrugs and mumbles, “you’re going to think it’s dumb,” he blushes and your dumb heart speeds up even though you know where this conversation is headed. Baby Jane’s. Which is fine. It’s fine.

“I bet it’s not.” You’re sitting close enough to him that your shoulders touch. It’s an intimate bubble you never want to leave. And how messed up is it that after everything you still want him in a way you’ve never come close to having. “What if I tell you something dumb?”

“It won’t be as dumb,” Noah protests, but lets you continue.

“No, really. It’s so dumb. I got points off my Language arts homework because I misspelled ‘orange’.”

“You mean,” Noah smirks, gazing into your eyes with and intensity that has you blushing, “the most phonetically sound work in the english language.”

“See, that was dumb.”

“I came because…,” he trails off, staring at the ground. You reach out, unable to help yourself, covering his hand with yours, with a gentleness he could shake off easily if he wants to. This is a first. “Well, being with your friends in a place you hate is still better than being alone right?”

There’s ten years of pain and loneliness in his voice that it breaks your heart all over again.

“Yeah,” you sigh, “I guess you’re right,” pulling away for once as you pull your knees up to your chest.

His gaze snags on the grill and you let out a breath you didn’t know you’d been holding. You know what happens from here. Somehow you have to get him to Pritch’s and soon. You remember Cody and Jocelyn for the first time since you found him here, just like he always is.

“What,” you ask him.

Noah turns to you, shrugging, “I don’t-I. . .” He leans down and catches your lips with his and kisses you. And wow. Wow. This is a first. Your heart speeds up in your chest. Blood rushing to the tips of your fingers, to your hands that itch at the desire to run your hands through his hair.

You don’t.

With a depthless pool of regret, you pull away. “Noah,” you whisper, voice choked in your throat with raw emotion, “I have to tell you something.”

“What,” he responds, confused.

“Not here. . .just-do you trust me?”

He nods.

“Okay.” You steel yourself, leading him along, his hand intertwined with yours, and waving Andy goodbye as he catches you both leaving.

The road is empty and quiet even at nine on a Friday night. And dark as you reach the edge of main street.

“What’s going on,” he asks, “you don’t live this way.”

“You said you trust me,” you try, taking a deep breath.

“Okay but where are we going?”

“Pritch.”

He stops in the middle of the road. “What! Why?”

You turn to him, “She’ll know how to help.”

His lips thin in understanding. “And this had to be right now? Why didn’t we bring the others.”

Taking a deep breath you start, “Noah. It’s not Redfield. He hasn’t been there for ten years.” Your hands shake and you can’t force the last few words out. Digging your nails into the meat of your palm you continue, voice breaking, “it just has to be us okay! Just trust me enough to go to Pritch.”

He nods, but doesnt take your hand again. The rest of the walk spent in silence and you’re not fucked up enough to restart all over again just to feel his lips against yours because you love him. That’s been your constant through all these lives.

You love him enough to settle for a world in which you’re both alive.

Pritch raises an eyebrow at you once she opens up. “Took you long enough to come by.” You start, thinking for a second that she remembers. “Idiot kids releasing Redfield,” she mutters, shaking her head as you lets you both in.

“It’s not Redfield,” you say for the third time that night.

“It’s Jane isn’t it,” Noah breaks in, sitting down on the matted couch, putting his head in his hands.

You nod, locking gazes with Pritch. “How do release a soul stuck in the power.”

“Can’t be done,” the old witch scoffs.

“Bullshit.” You huff, refusing to take a seat, “you messed around enough with the power. I know you did. Jane’s a little girl. She doesn’t deserve this!”

“Maybe you shouldn’t have gone-”

Noah’s face twists in anger, “we were kids!”

Pritch sips her tea. “Only the idiots who-”

“It’ll work with the both of us,” you retort.

For the first time that night, she studies you, truly paying attention, “you’ve been touched by the power too haven’t you?”

Noah turns to you as well, “how did you know?”

“Jane-she,” you let out a sigh. “She told me.” And then you lie. “That night. I thought it was just Redfield messing with me but she’s been giving us all these fucked up gifts for a reason.”

He turns from you after, frowning as he studies the woven rugs.

“Something must take it’s place,” Pritch finally answers, “The power doesn’t just let things go without reason. It never freely gives. Like all things in nature there is a balance.”

“So one of us has to die,” Noah surmises.

“No you idiot,” she places her teacup down with a clang on the coffee table, “just take my dog. I can make more. It’ll accept that and let the girl’s soul be at peace.”

Noah pauses in front of the runs. Pritch’s vine dog yapping at your heels. Swallowing thickly, he turns to face you. “It has to be all of us or it won’t work.”

“It’ll work,” you urge.

“How can you be so sure,” he asks with a thick layer of suspicion on him. Noah still won’t meet your gaze.

“It was us showing up to save Dan that freed her.” You run a hand through your hair, “I know it all sounds crazy and you probably think I’m wrong but I’m not Noah.”

‘’That thing,” he cries in denial, tears in his eyes as he meets your searching gaze, “it can’t be Jane.”

You wrap your arms around his shoulders, hugging him close and he lets you. “I hope it’s not, but either way after tonight it’ll be over.” God you hope so. You’ve never been this tired in your life. Not before AP exams. Not after flying in an airplane for twenty hours.

He buries his face in your hair, his arms pulling you in closer to him. “We’ll talk about it after. . .right?”

“After,” you ponder, unable to imagine not waking up in your bed to Dan. To Redfield. To Jane. Heart skipping a beat in your chest as you wonder if there is still hope for you and him, for Noah and you yet. If he meant the kiss the way you hope he did. If he wasn’t taking it back after tonight.

“Just-after.”

“Okay.” you step into the clearing before calling out, “Jane! Jane I’ve come to save you!”

Blue eyes appear in the doorway.

“Jane,” you continue, crouching down to pet the vine dog, “I’ve brought you a friend so you won’t be lonely anymore. Since I’ve been such a shitty friend. Jane I’m sorry it took this long.” You can sense Noah behind you, waiting for any recognition.

“F Rien ds!” The shadow surges forward, stopping mere centimeters from your face, letting out a sound approximating a whistle.

“Holy shit,” Noah mutters.

“b ro Th eRrr!”

You smile, tears flowing freely down your cheeks now, “yeah. Yeah it’s your twin.”

She turns from you to him, back to you.

“You can rest now,” you finally say, not sure how arcane dark magic rituals work.

The vine dog barks.

And the shadow that is Jane snuffs out like birthday cake candles.

The light hurts as it hits your eyes and no amount of tossing and turning will make it go away. You crack an eye open. Noah’s jacket still thrown over your desk chair.

The boy in question missing.

So it had been real.

Holy shit.

You’d actually done it.

Jumping out of bed, still in last night’s clothes, you run down the stairs bursting in on Noah in the kitchen. “You don’t have anymore baking power,” he tells you before flipping a pancake.

You can only stare at him from the doorway, shameless as ever.

He rolls his eyes, “and you need to buy eggs.”

“I can do that. . .in exchange for food of course.”

“Of course,” he laughs, before sighing. “It’s really over isn’t it.”

“Yeah.” You step into the kitchen. “Yeah, it is. What are we going to do now?”

“Go back to not speaking,” he says bitterly.

“Noah, I’m sorry.”

He snorts humorlessly, “We didn’t-you wouldn’t talk to me for years and then Redfield appears back in our lives and suddenly all of us are hanging out again and you’re doing everything I wish you would have after Jane-except that thing was Jane all along and I don’t know what to do! I feel so fucked up about everything. About Jane. About my parents. About you but I also can’t stop wanting to see you around but I can’t-couldn’t think with Redfield let alone the way you look at me sometimes like you have stars in your eyes or some other ridiculous cartoon shit.”

Noah grips the stone countertop, resting his weight against it.

“We all handled what happened badly,” you try to put into words everything but nothing will be enough, “and you didn’t deserve any of it. Neither did Jane. But I’m here for you now, whatever that means for you.” Anything, anyway, as long as he’s in your life.

He straightens up, standing tall in front of you, his eyes meeting yours with a raw understanding about how you felt for him and the ball was now in his court and how long has it been since someone loved him this badly. Badly enough to let him decide.

You both share absentee parents now.

Noah runs a hand through his hair before letting out a sigh. “I was waiting to kiss you until it was all over,” he admits, blushing red all up his cheekbones, “but I couldn’t help myself.”

Blushing back just as fiercely, you reply, “I’m glad you did.”

“I’m glad I did too.”

“Can I kiss you now,” you ask him, already taking a tentative stepforward.

He nods.

You go to him, pressing your lips against his well formed mouth with an urgency, convincing yourself this was real and not some trick and he kisses you back with a gentleness that slows you down and lets you soak in the feel of his lips against yours and now you have time. Now. Now. Now.

When the tightness in your chest becomes unbearable, you pull away, breathless, looking up at him.

“Help me with the plates,” he tells you.

“We should go on a real date,” you respond, already balancing the glasses and plates and jug of milk. “Pizza?”

“Why would we buy pizza,” Noah waves his hand around with a fork in hand as he drenches his pancakes with maple syrup, “when I can just make it.”

“Don’t be an asshole.”

“Hey,” he smiles, sitting nonchalantly at your table, “have I ever told you about Baby Jane’s?”

“No.”

[rosewinterborn]

11/11/11

I waited too long to do this, so now I have 44 questions to do. RIP. Tagged by @writersblockandapotoftea, @arwallace (I know you tagged @expositionpreposition but it’s easier to do it here!), @shit-she-wrote, and @atinydino

Cap:

Who was your childhood hero?

Honestly, probably JKR. Again, RIP.

If we didn’t start the fire, who did?

People like my dad who say “millennials” like it’s a derogatory word probably

What made you start your wip?

Reading too much Dresden Files and also looking at magic academia posts on Tumblr (Gutter Witch); Reading Eragon (Companion to Dragons); Wanting to make an open magic world (Witches Anthology); Reading too much Stucky fanfiction (Fractal); Listening to the Magnus Archives three times through in a month (CHAF3k); wanted to go on a magic adventure with my high school friends (Children of the Light)

Hogwarts house?

Gryffindor!

Star Trek or Star Wars

Star Wars, though I like both

What was your pre-teen bop?

Uhhh Taylor Swift’s whole second album

If you could have a fantasy creature as a pet, what would you pick?

A dragon about the size of a cat that could sit on my shoulder and talk to me

What’s your pet peeve?

Feeling like people are upset with me but won’t talk to me about it

Dracula or Frankenstien’s Monster?

Haven’t read Dracula so Frankenstein’s monster, I guess.

What’s the weirdest thing you’ve said to a friend?

I mean I had a conversation with two lesbians about dildos yesterday, soooo

If you had to murder someone, who would it be?

No one. I honestly don’t think I’d be able to live with myself after.

A R Wallace

Which book(s)/series would you compare your current WIP(s) to?

The Dresden Files. Though I did have someone say it was like reading a better-written Mortal Instruments. I was tickled.

Would you be willing to adapt your WIP into a movie one     day? Why or Why not?

Yes. Please. Let me see my work come to life.

What is your ‘writing ritual’? (do you make sure     you’ve made a cup of tea, sit in a particular spot, etc.)

I don’t have any particular ritual, I usually just try and seize the energy when I have it. Right now I am trying to sit at my actual desk to work, though, and during school if I had anything that I desperately needed to get done I took my ass to a coffee shop and told myself I wasn’t allowed to leave until it was done.

How much has writeblr helped you with your writing?

It helped me find a writing community that inspired me to get back to work after the depression had taken it away from me. I’m not as active on writeblr as maybe I could be, but the writing discord I found through it has been a lifeline.

If you could be one creature (real or mythical), what would you be?

A dragon. But like, one of the ones that can shapeshift. I also like being human.

Sum up your favorite WIP in one sentence

Oh god I’m supposed to have a favorite? That’s not gonna happen…

Gutter Witch: Local teens sick and tired of prophetic bullshit

Children of the Light: Estranged assholes learn to love each other again and also stop the apocalypse

Fractal: Hell on Earth in so many ways

Companion to Dragons: Girl’s asshole father sends her and her sister on a suicide mission and thinks that’s the end of it (surprise!)

Witches Anthology: literally a whole bunch of short stories so I’m not gonna try

Which of your characters is your favorite?

Whyyyyyy idk in GW probably Hunter, he’s fun to write. Overall maybe Sterling, my enby necromancer in the anthology

Which of your characters is your least favorite?

Hunter’s mother. Like honestly, every time I write about her she gets worse.

What do you believe is the most overused trope in your WIP’s genre(s)?

Melodrama.

Favorite season?

Autumn

If you could travel anywhere in the universe, where would you go?

Several places in Europe, in no particular order.

Eva:

1.     What’s the first story you remember writing?

A story about a cat and a mouse becoming friends.

2.     How has your taste in books changed since childhood?

I’ve tended a lot less towards high fantasy. I think it’s too much of an energy investment to try and understand the worldbuilding right now, whereas you can usually just jump into urban fantasy. I’ve also gotten a lot more interested in horror.

3.     Do you see any similarities to your favorite books in your work? If yes, what are they?

If I’m being real honest, most of my wips are direct rip-offs of stuff I’ve read/watched/listened to, at least in the first draft. I usually try and direct my obsessions into creative energy at some point, with differing amounts of success.

4.     What sort of music inspires you?

Stuff with strong beats/baseline and vaguely rebellious lyrics. So like, lots of Imagine Dragons and Fall Out Boy. But also trailer music like Epic Score and Two Steps from Hell

5.     Favorite book?

These are the most evil kinds of questions you guys.

I can’t think of any published books I’d call my absolute favorite, but I do have a handful of fanfics I read on at least an annual basis: War, Children, by Nonymos; To Be Vulnerable Is Needed Most of All, by perfect_plan; and Schroedinger’s Romance by lesbuchanan

6.     Favorite mythology (Greek, Norse, etc.)?

Probably Celtic? I’m really rusty on it though

7.     Dream vacation?

A long, long trip through Europe without having to worry about money

8.     Favorite writing snack?

I don’t really eat when I write because its too much of a distraction :P

9.     What tea do you drink the most while writing?

Irish Breakfast

10.  Do you have a special writing cup, that you drink tea out of specifically when writing to fill you up with inspiration?

I have a couple I’m more likely to grab, like my Night Vale Community Radio mug or my white Starbucks mug with the gold lettering

11. Write your favorite quote from your recent wip!!

Just outside the beam of light was a circle of what looked like black paint, tiny sigils scratched into it, shimmering uncannily in the dark. Wisps of that grim light drifted from the sigils to the figures at their center, dancing around Mara’s hands, clutching at Hunter’s shirt. Anywhere they touched his skin, blood seeped from a new laceration, sluggish and dark and horrible. 

“Hunter,” she breathed. 

Then she heard him. 

“Run, Cady,” he croaked. “Tell my mom...she’s a bitch.”

Ames:

1.     What’s your favorite season and why

Autumn! I love rain and also that it’s not super hot or super cold

2.     What’s your favorite food?

Bread.

3.     Who’s your favorite character in your most recent WIP?

Hunter Bishop, asshole extraordinaire

4.     Do you hide easter eggs in your writing? If so tell me a few.

Hm. If I do, I don’t consider them easter eggs, just references. Though I did have someone in my creative writing class ask if the sandwich my protagonist was eating was based on one served in one of the restaurants on campus (and he was right)

5.     Would you prefer your WIPs to be turned into a movie or tv series? (feel free to tell me about more than just 1)

Gutter Witch should just be a movie, and I’m leaning towards that for Witches as well. Fractal could go either way, though I’m leaning towards TV show. Children of the Light could go either way. CHAF3k will hopefully be a podcast at some point.

6.     If you could have a writing studio anywhere with anything in it, what would it be like and where would it be?

I like the nook I have, though I think I’d adjust the height of my desk chair and add a coffee maker and a closer bathroom so I don’t have to walk all the way across the apartment. Oh, and I’d get a massive whiteboard so I can go all conspiracy theory on my wips.

7.     What music do you listen to to get you in the zone? (the writing zone)

Trailer music! Epic Score and Two Steps from Hell. I can’t listen to music with lyrics while I try to make the words go.

8.     What’s your worldbuilding process?

Panic.

But actually, I think of the aesthetic I’m after and then try to make everything build off of that. Along the way I usually try to figure out what thing I’m consciously or unconsciously basing it off of so that I can make necessary changes.

9.     Who are your most influential authors?

JKR (sorry), Laini Taylor, Juliet Marillier, Tamora Pierce

10.  What’s your favorite kind of cookie?

French macarons

11. Give me your favorite excerpt for your recent WIP!

“I wanted to talk to Madge.”

“Madge is dead,” Hunter said, confused. 

“I’m aware,” she said. “I asked Death to take me to her, but she said she couldn’t and suggested projection instead.”

Hunter turned from the stove with the most dumbfounded expression Cady had ever seen outside of cinema. “You asked Death,” he repeated.

Cady snorted. “Yeah. I asked Death.”

“The cosmic power, Death.”

“The cosmic power, Death. We’re good friends. She comes over for tea on occasion.”

Hunter stared at her, expression halfway between disbelief and suspicion. “You’re fucking with me.”

“I’m not fucking with you,” Cady said. “Death is the whole reason I came to this Coven. She sent me here when I was thirteen.”

Hunter sank back against the counter, looking almost faint. Whatever he’d been cooking began to sizzle alarmingly. “Death has been...in this apartment.”

Cady nodded.

Not tagging anyone else on this one. I’ve learned my lesson lmao.

[charmingsrisingson-blog]

Fallen Angel: Chapter One

AN: I’ve been very nervous to post this. I hope you enjoy the first chapter! 

Trigger warnings: Drugs, abuse during pregnancy 

Fallen Angel

Chap One: 

Jax’s POV:

I took a long drag from a freshly lit cigarette, sucking it as far into my lungs as I could. While I did so, I brought my free hand to the bridge of my nose, then around my eyes, trying to stem a flow of tears. I was having a very rare soppy moment. I’d just been dealt a hand of literal shit.

I’d just been told that my ex-wife just overdosed on Crank or some shit and almost killed herself and our unborn baby. 

I’ll rephrase that; it wasn’t “ours” anymore, it was, just mine. I’d separated from her and bailed. Thank fuck! I hated that bitch ever since she told me she was pregnant and frankly, I have a good mind to end her life right now, but I won’t.

What sickened me most was that, at the time of telling me, she’d thought of a name and I’d have to use it or else my ass would be grilled. So tonight, a whole 10 weeks premature, Abel was born. I can’t say how glad I am that he has arrived in this world, but I just wish his Mom wasn’t so fucked up. Well, to be honest, even if she wasn’t, we weren’t gonna last long anyway. I guess, that if she does make it, I’ll have to bite my tongue, but I know one thing for sure; I’m not letting her mind the kid. Even if I’ve to sacrifice a few runs, or late shifts at the club, I’ll fucking do it! I’ll do all I can for Abel. 

Right now though, I can’t do much at all because, he was born so early and has Congenital Heart Disease and half his stomach barely attached. Unfortunately, I can’t blame herself for the CHD, its run in my family for a few generations now, but I sure as hell can for the belly thing. Bitch pumped herself so full of shit that she’s lucky he survived. I’m not gonna go assaulting her, that’d be a really, really bad move, instead, I’m hunting down the guy who sold her the drugs she took and I’m gonna show him a thing or two about giving a hit to a pregnant woman! That visit can wait though, for the moment. I need to get my head somewhat straightened out first.

After finishing the cig, I lit another one. A passing nurse looks at me with distain.

“That’s bad for you.” She points out.

“What’s it to you?” I snap back, holding it in the corner of my mouth while looking at her, my head dipped low and to the side, leading her to blink and continue on, obviously not having expected the harsh response.

I slowly raised my head up towards the sky. I gazed at the full moon and array of stars, hoping for some sign that things would get better. A few seconds passed before I let my head down. I quickly inhaled one more puff of smoke before I let it fall to the concrete ground beneath my feet.  I stubbed the cigarette out, with the heel of my warn down trainers, and began to walk. I was in search of a late night coffee shop. I suppose I ended up walking about one and a half blocks before I found one.

As I approached the entrance door, I noticed a girl around my age walk running towards it. She seemed like she was trying to get away from someone or something. The outside lights of the café cast an eerie light on her as she rushed under them. Already I could see she had wavy dark brown hair, shoulder length, half tied up and swept to one side. She had a low white tank top on, with nothing covering her arms and on the bottom I could just make out a pair of ankle boots and leggings. I was routed to the spot, watching her rapid movements, as if she had cast some kind of time pausing spell on me. 

Suddenly, she began to stumble and I was catapulted out of my trance. I sprang to her like a leopard, just in time to catch her before she hit the ground.  She let out a loud gasp as the shock of the near fall hit her.

“Hey darlin’. Its ok, I got you.” I said softly, making sure I had her safe and secure within my arms. For some unexplainable reason it felt, really good to hold her, but then again, it could be the adrenaline rush or pain I was feeling for Abel, talking.

“H-Hi.” She uttered weakly and vaguely, clearly trying to stay awake. I couldn’t stop myself letting out a quiet chuckle at her vagueness. I don’t know what I was thinking, but she didn’t seem to notice it. As I continued to hold her, she moved her head a bit as if she was trying to ward off some invisible insect, but I assumed it was more a case of trying to stay alert, and this caused a rush of worry to go through me.

“Darlin’, try and stay awake.” I instructed, smoothly, still holding onto her carefully.

“I try.” She responded, again in the same vague and distant tone. I nibbled my lip and managed to get out my phone from the back of my jeans, without unbalancing her. I was just about to punch in the emergency services number when I realized a) that might lead to the cops and b) the hospital was just a block and a half away. If only I had my bike! I thought to myself, but alas, I hadn’t. I let out a quiet sigh and let the stranger cuddle into me a bit. I figured, if it gave her comfort, at least that would be something.

“I need…” She started but trailed off, snapping me out of my little pensive moment.

“You need what, darlin’?

“I need…. Help.” She murmured.

“I know you do, but I can’t give you it.”

“P-Please!”

“No darlin’ I’m sorry, but I can’t get that shit! I can’t risk some guy ratting me out.”

“B-But.. I.. I need.”

“You need to get someone else to help you.”

“You don’t understand, I just need…. sugar.” She responded, faintly. My eyes widened in a mix of surprise and mortification. Within seconds of this realization hitting me, her head slumped to the side and her eyes half closed.

“OH SHIT! SHIT! SHIT! Hold on darlin’ hold on!” I half screamed and urged, taking her up in my arms bridal style. Once I had her secured, I then began to run the last few yards to the café door. I ended up almost taking the café door off its hinges with the force I used to get in through it.

After several anxious moments, I had gotten the girl a drink after I had sat her down. She remained slumped over the entre time and showed little reaction when I had returned to the seat with the drink for her. It was a long bench type seat so I was able to get right up beside her.

“C’mon babe, drink it!” I urged again, my heart racing in my chest. She wasn’t compliant at first; I quickly figured that her level of consciousness was so low that she couldn’t get the message across her brain to open her mouth, so I did it for her and practically forced fed her the 7up. At least it was late at night and I only had the staff to deal with.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing to that girl?” A waiter with a contemptuous look asked me as I did it.

“What does it look like? Asshole!”

“It looks like assault!” The guy retorted. I let out a loud snort.

“It’s not. Now, you either let me get on with it or else!” I half threatened, just to ensure he’d leave me alone. Unfortunately, it didn’t work in my favor.

“Was that a threat? I’m calling the cops!” I let out a low growl at this and half turned my head away from the girl.

“If you so much as go near ANY phone, you’ll need a Bus more than a cop.” I uttered savagely. His eyes widened in sudden shock and he immediately began to retreat.  I smirked softly to myself and turned my head back to the still unknown and half conscious girl by me.

Around about 15 minutes later, she started showing responsive signs. I’ve not got a clue about medical stuff, but to me, she seemed out of the woods. Very slowly she managed to open her eyes and within mere seconds of her doing so, her lips formed a slow, shy smile.

“Hey darlin’.” I chuckled softly and stroked her cheek, for comfort more than anything else. I presumed it be a bit of a shock to see a guy like me looking at you after you blacked out!

“Hey.” She replied faintly, smiling a bit stronger but not letting it last. She looked up and then down and blinked.

“Oh my god.” She breathed, bringing a hand up to cover her mouth, while she gasped in horror and realization.

“S’alright babe. You just blacked out. Mentioned something about sugar.” I assured softly, continuing to stroke her cheek. I didn’t feel like stopping doing so.  

“I. Thank you, so, so much.”

“No need.” I smiled softly. She returned the smile, shyly.

“I-I’m Eva.”

“Jax.”

“N-Nice to meet you. I er, I mean, now anyway.”

I chuckled softly.

“Aye.” I winked back, leading her to send me a stronger smile than before. 

“You gonna be ok now?”

Eva nodded slowly.

“Yeah. I shouldn’t have gone to work without a sugar fix.”

“Where do you work?” I asked, intrigued that she’d be out this late. It must have been around 2am by now.

“Bat Country, the uh, strip club on 66th”

“Awh. Heard but never been.” I chuckled softly, taking out my cigarette packet from the back of my jeans.

“You should! I’ll give you a free lap dance. It’s the least I could do after what you’ve just done for me!” I couldn’t help but chuckle and grin at this suggestion, all the while, lighting my cig.

“Sounds like a plan!” I eventually said, with yet another grin, having rested the cig in the corner of my mouth, so that I could talk and inhale some of it at the same time.

“Awesome! Come down tomorrow night?”

“Yeah. I’m sure I could make it.”

“Awesome!” Eva repeated, beaming wide and my dick gave me a little excited nudge within my pants. I shifted a bit to contain it and checked my phone quickly. 2 messages and 4 missed calls, surely all around Abel’s shit. I couldn’t take any of it right now. I snapped the phone back down and got up.

“Awh! Leaving me already?”

“Uh, yeah, I gotta head.” I replied with a half sigh, putting everything back in my back pockets.

“Where you going?”

“Uh, Mercy.” I said without thinking. Eva’s eyes widened and her jaw almost detached.

“Ain’t serious or about me.” I stated and she slowly relaxed her features.

“I hope not.” She replied, nibbling her lip a bit. My heart lunged seeing her do this.

“Hey, uh, you know what. I can leave it.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah totally babe.”

“Okay.” Eva sent me an uplifting smile and I instantly felt it. It was in that moment that I decided to make my pitch.

“Wanna head to my place? Maybe, take it easy after your blackout and all?”

 Eva blinked softly and then after a moment or two of consideration, she nodded and smiled yet again.

“C’mon then darlin’” I smiled cutely, taking her hand in mine and helping her up from the seat. Once we had left the diner, I insisted she take my jacket to wear and eventually she did.

I know if Clay or my Mom had caught me letting her, I’d have probably gotten a beating as she isn’t apart of the club, but under the circumstances with Abel, I couldn’t give any less of a shit what anyone thought right now.

After collecting my bike at Mercy, I helped Eva on the back and we set off into the dark night with a bright full moon leading the way.

[superninjaviolinist]

The Girl With The Black Dragon Tattoo, Chapter 3

I would find out much, much later, what all this future-talk meant, but at that point I was overtaken by overwhelming panic. Romance and love? Big fat red flags in my book. It’s how I was lured before and I swore to myself that I’d never let it happen again.

I took a step back from the brothers. “Stay away from me.”

“Eva, wait—“ Sam started to say.

I began moving faster towards the Continental. “Both of you just stay the hell away from me!”

I’d automatically locked the door when I’d gotten out, and since my brain had gone stupid all I ended up doing was yank uselessly at the handle. Someone put their hand on my arm and I instinctively swiveled around and punched its owner in the face.

Dean Winchester staggered back a few steps and palmed his cheek. He whipped his gaze over to his brother. “Where the fuck did you pick her up?”

“Oklahoma.” I could swear Sam was trying not to laugh.

“Yeah, well, Busty Asian Beauty she ain’t.”

Oh. That tore it. I hate that magazine. My body was closer to Lucy Liu, the A-list actress, than Lucy Lee, the C-cup porn star, and I was tired of hunters trying to compare my more toned, small-breasted form to those squishy, silicone-enhanced inaccuracies. Time to take a stand.

I walked up to Dean and stabbed him in the chest with my finger. “You listen to me, you dim-witted, inbred hick. I don’t know what pool of stupid you crawled out of but I’m not some starry-eyed slut that’s going to fall into your arms just because you went and made up some sci-fi fairy tale!”

“It ain’t a fairy tale!” Dean shouted down at me.

“You expect me to believe that someone flew you into the future where not only am I dead, but I’d had some kind of relationship with your pretty-boy ass?”

“Yes.”

The conviction with which he said that single word took me by surprise. Either Sam’s brother was a complete lunatic or… well, we’re hunters. Weird and unusual is part of the gig. But time travel? That was stretching it. “Prove it.”

I’d apparently stunned the man. “Uh…”

“Something like this happened before,” Sam offered. “Angels have the power to transport people through time.”

“You expect me to believe that? On your word alone?” I threw my hands in the air. “You’re both crazy! Why the hell did I let you drive me all this way after that shit last night? For all I know you two are psycho killer rapists!”

For some reason Dean took a good deal of umbrage against what I’d accused him of. “We ain’t psycho… killer… what you said!”

“Eva,” Sam said gently, “what’s wrong?”

Everything. “Nothing.”

“What’s she talkin’ about, ‘last night’?” Dean asked his brother. “Did you two…?”

Both Sam and I vehemently cried, “No!” “Look,” Sam said to me, “we can still get you to Bobby’s. It’s maybe two hours out. After that, you don’t have to see us ever again.”

His sentiments were wrong, but there was no way he could have known what was to come. Our lives would eventually become so intertwined it would be impossible to separate one from the other without creating tremendous, vacuous spaces. Regardless, I warily accepted the offer of transportation. “Long as we’re going straight there.”

Dean was giving his brother the stink-eye. Sam, thankfully, was unrelenting. “Dean, I promised.”

“Fine,” grumbled the pretty-boy. “Get in the back, Xhang Xiyi.”

I put him on the receiving end of one of my finest glares. “I’m not from China, I’m from San Francisco. And I’m Korean, asshole.”

He threw up his hands in surrender and backed away. “Sorry.”

By the way, Dean still can’t tell the difference. It’s all tits and exoticism to him.

After Sam and I got our things we headed out. The tension in the car was thick; not only were the brothers still dealing with the issues had separated them, Dean was pointedly ignoring me. I had the feeling that he was embarrassed over his proclamation and was now pretending he’d never said it.

We arrived at Bobby’s around noon. I escaped the car as soon as it had rolled to a stop, not bothering to wait for Dean to kill the engine. “Hey!” he barked out the window.

“Fuck off,” I said loudly as I tore open the screen door and headed inside.

I expected to be able to throw myself into Bobby’s arms and give him a tremendously big hug. It had been several months since I’d been able to visit and I was very fond of him. He was sitting behind his desk when I walked in the study and rolled out to greet me. Bobby Singer was wheelchair-bound and I had no idea when or how. “What happened?”

Before he could answer, Dean yanked me out of the room, nearly tearing my arm from its socket in the process. He shoved me up against the hallway wall and pressed one of his forearms against my neck. “Don’t you know not to go barging into people’s houses like that?”

“Let me go. Now.”

“I’d take heed, son,” Bobby said. He sounded way too amused by the situation.

“You know her?” Dean asked incredulously.

Bobby didn’t bother answering. Instead, his eyes flicked downwards. When Dean complied with the silent request he found one of the small daggers I kept up my sleeves pointed directly at the V of his jeans. He grimaced at me. “Now that’s just rude.”

“Me and Eva go back a ways,” Bobby answered. “No need to get your undies in a bunch.”

Reluctantly, Dean backed away. “How?”

“None of your business,” I snapped at him. In a far more sympathetic tone, I repeated my query to Bobby. “What happened?”

“Demon,” he replied succinctly as Sam came in bearing my saddlebags. “Guess that thing down in Oklahoma didn’t go so well.”

“Steve’s dead,” Sam said quietly. “The others got away.”

“Still don’t explain why Eva didn’t come here on her own wheels.”

“Because those fuckers ran over my bike!” I exclaimed.

“On purpose?”

“On purpose.”

“Dickhead move. What did you do?”

Yeah, okay, he was right to assume it was my fault; Bobby knew my mouth tended to run faster than my brain. Except this time I had the upper hand. “Tim-fucking-Janklow sucker-punched me and then used me as bait!”

“Bait for what?”

“Me,” Sam replied. “They… Um…”

“No need, son. I get it.” The gentleness in Bobby’s tone was new to me. I’d never seen him act so paternal to anyone other than me before. Most of his relationships with other hunters were purely professional, Rufus Turner being the exception. I suppose you could call Bobby and Rufus frenemies, if you were being generous. Cantankerous old grumps with grudges would be more accurate.

The Winchesters, seeing that their duty to me was done, prepared to leave. They gave their farewells to Bobby and headed back to their car. I followed them to the porch. “Sam.”

“Yeah?”

”Thanks.”

He gave me a smile. God, the man did and still does have the cutest little dimples. “You’re welcome.”

“Say,” Dean inserted, “how do you know Bobby?”

I’d already told him to mind his business, but seeing the way Bobby acted around these two made me trust them a minuscule amount more. “He saved my life.”

“He does that a lot,” Sam said as he opened the passenger’s side door. “Well, good luck with everything, Eva.”

“See ya,” was Dean’s farewell. I waved, their engine turned over, and they were gone.

I headed back inside. “I don’t got a new bike for you, darling,” Bobby said. “But if you hang about I’m sure one’ll turn up. Unless you think you might head on home?”

Home? I didn’t have a home, not really. I had a place of origin, certainly, but San Francisco wasn’t home anymore. The old, narrow house that I grew up in was sold, its blood-spattered walls covered with thick beige paint. I wonder if the new owners know about the history of horrors their million dollars granted them. “Can I stay upstairs?” I asked. “I won’t get in your way.”

“Back in the old bedroom? Sure. You know, there’s parts and frames all around the yard. Maybe you could cobble something together.”

Put together some Frankenstein’s monster of a motorcycle? “Think I’ll just wait.”

“Suit yourself. Room and board’s same price as always.”

“Home cooked dinners and the occasional supply run. Got it.”

Bobby smiled. “Glad to have you back, Eva.”

We’d had this arrangement, at this point, for about five years. I’d get melancholy and need company, he’d get sick of canned chili, and the two of us would be housemates up until one of us needed to get on the road. Unfortunately, with Bobby’s debilitating condition the only one of us able to indulge in extracurricular activities was me, and he wasn’t shy about showing how dejected he was about it. The man found relief by plugging himself into a bottle of whiskey. Hauling up a dead weight, middle-aged, belligerent alcoholic off the floor is about as easy and delightful as it sounds.

He left at one point because of what he said was a witch. I was a little worried about the gleam in his eye, but I knew better than to pry. When Bobby got back, I was surprised to see that his spirits had risen. The older hunter merely said that he’d had a change in perspective.

A Triton motorcycle from the sixties came in shortly after the witch incident and finally answered my prayers. Some idiot had seen the handlebars and the seat as prime parts and had left the engine intact. It was going to take a bit of work, but that baby was going to be mine.

Several weeks after meeting the weirdo Winchesters I was done fixing up the Triton. The day before I’d done a test run and she moved like a dream. I was wiping the last bits of dirt and oil off it when Bobby rolled in. He gave an appreciative whistle. “That is one mighty fine lookin’ bike.”

I gave him a grin. “No backsies. She’s mine.”

“Promise is a promise.” He scratched under his hat a bit, a sure sign that whatever he had on his mind was something that made him uncomfortable. “Look, I got company coming and I don’t think you wanna be here.”

I grabbed a rag and began cleaning my hands. “What, embarrassed that some Asian chick is now King of the Scrapyard?”

He snorted derisively. “You need a couple more decades of tinkering around here before I give up that title.”

“Then what?”

“It’s Sam and Dean. They’ll be here tonight.”

Ick. “You’re right. I better get going.” I sniffed under an armpit. “Do I have time to get cleaned up?”

“Maybe. Depends on whether or not Dean or Sam is driving.”

“Better hurry then,” I said as I started jogging towards the house.

I’d showered and dressed and was putting the last of my things into my saddlebags (of course I’d gotten them replaced) when I heard a car pull up. I looked out of the window and spotted a truck. The woman getting out was around Bobby’s age: Ellen Harvelle. She strode right in and I could vaguely hear her and Bobby greet one another.

I knew the woman from when she’d managed the Roadhouse, a great bar where hunters had gathered to swap info and stories. I used to swing by whenever I was near; it was nice to talk to a woman that didn’t treat me like either a rival hunter or a stupid little girl that didn’t belong. Her daughter, Jo, and I were on friendly terms through mutual association; we both liked her mother. The place had been demolished by a demon, so I was told, and I was happy to see Ellen alive and well.

When I came down the stairs, bags in hand, I saw Bobby and Ellen in the kitchen talking quietly. I didn’t want to interrupt; I’d been brought up to respect my elders’ privacy. That all went to hell when a low, gravelly voice said from behind me, “Who are you?”

I immediately stepped forward and swung my saddlebags around to clobber whoever it was. My belongings smacked into the man’s head before bursting from their confines and scattering everywhere. Apparently I hadn’t closed them as tightly as I thought. Much to my irritation, the stranger didn’t even flinch. I drew a fist back but was arrested by Ellen shouting, “Whoa whoa whoa!” as she came rushing over.

“Cass, you idjit!” Bobby snapped as he followed her.

I let my hand drop and peered at the newcomer. He was almost the same height as Bobby, a healthy six feet, with tousled dark hair and a set of ancient blue eyes. No standard hunter gear (jeans, shirt, flannel, boots); this guy had a trenchcoat, suit, tie, and even dress shoes. It was like being stared at by a weirdly intense accountant. A handsome accountant. Which made him even more weird.

“Who is this?” the man asked, this time directed at Bobby.

“Evangeline!” Ellen cried warmly. She knew I didn’t like being hugged and settled for patting my cheeks. “It’s been a while.”

Yeah, more than a year at least. I gave her a smile. “I missed you, too. Where’s Jo?”

“Oh, she’ll be along soon. Out with those Winchester boys retrieving the Colt.” I couldn’t tell whether the woman was proud or anxious that her daughter was out with those two freaks.

Hold up. “Wait, the Colt?” I asked, astonished. “The Colt?” Everyone knew about the magical gun wrought to kill everything.

“One and only. Were you heading out? It’d be a shame if you two missed each other.”

“‘Evangeline’,” said the stranger in a thoughtful tone. “‘Bringer of good news’.”

I lifted an eyebrow without looking at him. “Someone want to tell me who special ed over here is?”

“That there’s Castiel,” Ellen replied. “He’s an angel. It’s why he doesn’t exactly have a whole lot of what you’d call ‘social graces’.”

“I’m working on it,” the angel said testily.

“Well, keep at it,” I snapped. “Learn that it’s not nice to sneak up on a girl.”

So it wasn’t love at first sight. That’s for fairy tales and silly romantic movies. In fact, it wasn’t even like at first sight. All I came away with from this encounter was the impression that he was just another big dumb idiot. It would take months, years even, for Castiel to make a dent in that thick steel wall I’d built around my heart, but when he did…

“All right, all right,” Bobby scolded, “stop trying to piss him off. Didn’t you wanna head out before Sam’n’Dean get here? Any minute now they’re gonna be drivin’ up.”

Oh shit. I immediately knelt down and started shoving things back into my saddlebags. The so-called angel stepped out of the way and Ellen joined me. I was still scrabbling for wayward arrows when the sound of an approaching engine came rumbling through Bobby’s screen door. “Sweetie,” Ellen whispered as she handed me a shirt, “you wanna tell me why you’re running from the Winchesters?”

“No time,” I answered as I zipped and buckled up. I hurried to the front door and swung it open… only to smack face first into someone’s chest.

“The hell…?” said its owner, one Dean Winchester.

I shoved passed him, nearly knocking Sam and Jo down on the way, and walked as fast I could towards the shed and my bike.

Of course, the dickhead followed me. “Eva!”

I turned around after getting my bags attached. “What?” I snapped.

“I’m sorry.”

“For?”

“For freaking you out last time! I shouldn’t have told you… you know…”

“What?” My lip curled into a sneer. “That we were destined to be? That you’re apparently going to be there holding me when I die?” I walked over to the workbench and snatched up my helmet.

Dean grabbed it out of my hands as soon as I got close enough. “Listen, we don’t know the first thing about each other—“

“You’re goddamn right.”

“—And so far the only things I know about you are that you’re hot and you’re freaking insane!”

I breezed by the first thing he said and latched onto the second. “I’m insane?”

The man gave an exasperated sigh and plunked my helmet onto the back of the Triton. “Look, we’re heading out tomorrow to take on Lucifer. Could use another hand.”

I paused. This was important. Fighting ghouls and vampires wouldn’t mean anything if Satan roasted the planet. I could be part of something big, something vital. It could be that my presence could mean the difference between someone living and someone dying.

There were, however, two big issues with Dean’s request, both of them having to do with him. For one, going up against Lucifer was suicide at best, and with Dean in attendance I had no intention of prophetically fulfilling my demise. For the other, there was no way I was going to dive into that handsome, green-eyed trap. Going into a life and death situation with the man would leave too many openings for him to show me that he was worth falling for. “No,” I said as I swung one leg over onto my bike.

Dean looked at me in disbelief, like I’d told him I hated kittens or something. “No?”

“No,” I repeated as I squished my head into my helmet. The engine purred when I turned the key and I revved the handle a few times to get Dean out of the way. He stepped back and I nearly broke the sound barrier getting away from him.

I didn’t see the Winchesters again for several months after that, thankfully. The world didn’t end but the Apocalypse kept on rolling, which meant that they’d probably failed at stopping Lucifer. When I called Bobby about it a week later he broke the news that the Harvelles had died and confirmed my suspicions about the Winchesters’ defeat.

So much time and so many hunts passed that I figured I was done with those two idiots and put thoughts of them aside. In the weeks before it all went to shit there was a werewolf in Utah and a djinn in Vegas (selling “dreams come true” of all things). Afterwards I’d headed to San Francisco and checked on my sister (still whoring it up on Geary), solved a haunting at Ghiradelli Square while I was there, drove up to Idaho for a pair of ghouls, swung all the way over to North Dakota for a nest of vamps (I loathe those assholes), and ended up in Blue Earth, Minnesota after hearing about a demon infestation.

What’s the saying? Hindsight is 20/20. If I had known how bad it was going to get I would have turned the fuck around.

Blue Earth had been taken over by the church. It’s inevitable that when you deal with Heaven and Hell you get tangled up with religious nuts. This wasn’t the first town like this I’d encountered and it wouldn’t be the last. The difference this time was that I’d ridden willingly in and now I wasn’t allowed out.

The inability to go was more due to the abnormal amount of demons surrounding the perimeter than anything else. Anyone that tried to go by freeway ended up running into a blockade. Anyone trying to go through the woods ended up dead.

I think I could have stood the isolationism if a lot of those people didn’t start seriously freaking me the fuck out. In the past seventy-two hours I’d gotten three marriage proposals, dozens of admonishments over my cleavage (you know, the minuscule amount that I had), and several lectures about my habit of using profanities. The latter two I could ignore, the first was unnerving. Couples were marching down that aisle every day, ones I suspected hadn’t even considered the other person as a viable husband/wife prior to that morning. Unfortunately, this town had more men than women, which meant that the more I refused the more frowns were thrown my way. I slept with my blade in hand just in case someone decided to rouse me in the middle of the night for a shotgun wedding.

The bartender, Paul, was the only person I could regularly stand to be around. We’d even flirted a bit, but the watchful eye of Leah Gideon and the Sacrament Lutheran Militia kept us apart.

Speaking of which: Leah Gideon, Prophet of the Lord, gave me the creeps. I don’t know how to describe it, but there was something about her that was just off. It made me want to stab her in the face.

I suppose that’s what happens when you’re the Whore of Babylon masquerading as the pastor’s daughter.

The bar Paul ran was full from lunchtime to closing due to the fact that these people knew the Apocalypse was nigh. It was strange to be around non-hunters who talked about angels and demons casually, slipping them into conversations like some people do sports teams. I suppose with the actual hellspawn around the perimeter and the Prophet talking about her connection to Heaven they had a right to be casual and supercilious about the whole thing, but it didn’t make it any less odd.

Paul was pouring me another beer when they walked in. I’d heard that strangers had rolled into town, demons hot on their tail, I just didn’t expect it to be the Winchesters. There wasn’t much I could do to hide (other than duck under a table), so I did what I could to keep my face pointed away from them. It seemed to work. Sam waltzed right on by while dialing a number on his phone and Dean plopped down at a table almost directly behind me.

I waited to see how long the giant would stay on his call. Once he started talking to Castiel’s voicemail (I didn’t know it then, but for the crime of siding with humanity Cass had been cut off from Heaven’s energy; thus the mundane communication method) I figured that was distraction enough for me to escape. I slapped a twenty down on the bar top, swiveled my stool, and took two steps towards the exit.

“Don’t think I don’t see you there.”

Shit.

“Been a while, Eva,” Dean continued. I turned around, my lips pressed tight. He was slouched in his seat facing the opposite wall and didn’t bother changing positions.

I folded my arms and glowered at the back of his head. “Not long enough.”

“How long would that have to be?”

“I was honestly hoping for, you know, forever.”

Dean gave the peanuts a wry grin. “Yeah, well, me too.”

This was weird. At the time, I didn’t know Dean very well, but I’d gotten the impression from our two rather heated encounters that he was a little more… I don’t know, alive? The way he sat, the way he spoke, it was as if whatever spark had once lit Dean Winchester had guttered out. It was disheartening, and pitiable.

What had happened to him would have been devastating to anyone, really. Dean had basically found out God had said, in terms of the Apocalypse, “Fuck it. You’re on your own.” I’m sure there were more nuances to the message He’d left, but that was the gist. Before receiving that message, Dean had already been on a steady slide towards self immolation and God’s apathy just steepened his descent. This shitstorm at Blue Earth would get him to smash right into the bottom.

Sam slipped by me to sit down with three beers. He held one up to me and gave a small smile in greeting. I’ve never been one to turn down free alcohol. “Hey, Eva,” he said as I sat. “Came here because of the same reason, I assume.”

He was at least unchanged. I nodded. “Been here couple of days already.”

“You’ve been sticking around that long?”

“It’s not a matter of ‘sticking around’. It’s a matter of ‘I can’t fucking leave’.”

Sam glanced at his brother who, I assumed, was supposed to glance back. Instead Dean kept drinking, his eye-line somewhere around his brother’s stomach.

This had passed awkward straight into excruciatingly uncomfortable. I decided to change the subject. “Who were you calling?” I asked (even though I already knew the answer).

“Cass—uh, Castiel. The angel? He said you guys met at Bobby’s and you hit him with your stuff.”

I shrugged. “That’s what he gets for sneaking up on me.”

“He probably didn’t sneak up so much as… appeared in that space.”

“Great. Do they just pop up whenever? Should I expect angels to show up in my shower at some point?” I was starting to wonder whether I could be alone and naked without fearing angelic intrusion.

Sam gave a little chuckle. “I don’t think… well…”

“The bastards are junkless,” Dean inserted. “Probably see a woman’s ass and wonder where her balls went.”

I thought back to that first encounter with Castiel. Clueless and tactless. “Well there’s one less thing to worry about.”

Sam took a swig of beer. “So any clues why the demons are circling this town in particular?”

I shook my head. “Best I could come up with was that they didn’t want the Prophet slipping through their hands.”

“Sounds reasonable.” Sam shook his head. “I can’t believe the angels are making these people do their dirty work.”

Both Dean and I asked, “Yeah? And?”

Sam blinked disbelievingly at us. “And they could get ripped to shreds!”

“They’ve got their stupid little exorcism chant,” I retorted. “Not to mention their phone line to Heaven. Believe me, these guys are a lot more prepared for slaughter than anyone else I’ve met.”

“It’s the end of the world,” Dean added dismissively. “These people ain’t freaking out, they’re runnin’ to the exit in an orderly fashion. I don’t know that that’s such a bad thing.”

“Who says they’re all gonna die?” Sam snapped back. “Whatever happened to us saving them?”

The church bells started ringing, cutting through whatever Dean was going to say (and also the biting remark I had in mind). I sighed and spent a few seconds chugging down the rest of my beer, a good three-quarters of the bottle. When I was done, I found both brothers goggling at me. Apparently girls in their world didn’t really drink. “What? Ding dongs mean Leah’s had another vision. Time for church. You two coming?”

“You know me,” Dean said with a ghost of his former spunk. “Downright pious.”

The Prophet had seen demons about five miles out all gathered nice and neat in an abandoned farmhouse. This all stank of setup and stupidity but it wasn’t like anyone was going to listen to the drunk old maid who’d rambled into town a few days ago. The only thing of any real consequence occurred when Pastor Gideon began the Lord’s Prayer. “Our Father, who art in Heaven…”

Dean was right behind me. Under his breath he muttered, “Yeah, not so much.” When I turned around, puzzled, he shifted, but didn’t acknowledge my silent query.

The raid itself went without a hitch. People running about chanting their little chant and black smoke flying out of the windows like someone had let loose really ugly balloons. It was afterwards when it all went to shit.

Most of us had already left, me included. Sam and Dean had lingered and so had Dylan, the son of some locals (Rob and Jean? Jane?). Not all the demons had hightailed it as soon as the guns started going off; one had decided to hang out underneath the Winchesters’ car. It pulled the young man underneath and slit his throat before the brothers could do shit.

They came driving back, solemn as all hell, and quietly informed the others about Dylan’s fate. His mother let out a terrible wail. I flinched, not at the mangled body in their back seat, but at that unearthly, devastating sound. I’d seen a silent version under my grandparents’ lips at my parents’ wake. No one should live to bury their own child.

Funerary services were hastily put together for that very evening. Sam, Dean, and I stood at the doorway of the church as it filled. We all felt as if going inside would be an unwelcome intrusion; after all, we were the only non-residents currently in town. A young man’s death was too intimate a tragedy to barge in upon.

Eventually, Dylan’s coffin passed by. His pallbearers, none of whom acknowledged our presence, appeared to be an uncle, grandfather, and several of his friends. Mother and father came stumbling up the steps shortly afterwards. I was staring at the grim wooden box when I heard Dean attempt to give his condolences. “Ma’am, we’re just… very sorry.”

“You know,” the woman hissed through her tears, “this is your fault.”

Her husband said her name quietly in admonishment (Jane! That was it), but before they could go any further, I stepped in front of Dean and snapped, “You can’t blame him for a damn demon. What, you think he personally stuck that thing under his car just to fuck over your son?”

“I don’t have to listen to you,” Jane snarled at me. “Blasphemous, drunken whore.”

Dean grabbed my arm and pulled me away before I could smack the bitch. Dylan’s father took the opportunity to hustle Jane inside.

As Pastor Gideon began the service, I jerked my limb out of Dean’s grip. He frowned at me. “She just lost her son,” Dean scolded. “Let her blame whoever she wants.”

I threw my hands up and let them drop. This apathy of his was starting to grate on my nerves. “The fuck is wrong with you?”

Before he could retort there was a commotion inside the church. Sam gestured us over. On the floor was Leah, seizing, her father making blandishments until the fit passed. When it did, Pastor Gideon helped his daughter sit up. “Dad,” she gasped, “it’s Dylan.”

“Just rest a minute, huh?”

“No, listen! Dylan’s coming back.”

Leah Gideon, Prophet of the Lord, stood at the pulpit and promised paradise, including the inevitable reunion with lost loved ones… if we followed the angel’s commandments. As I listened to her rattle off the list of demands my eyebrows crawled higher and higher. No gambling. No drinking. No premarital sex. In fact, no unmarried man or woman was allowed to be alone with the opposite gender without a church-sanctioned chaperone. Prayer morning, noon, and night. Curfew from nine to six.

Dylan’s parents, as well as a majority of the townsfolk, ate it up. Sam and I glanced at each other, astonished. I looked over and saw Paul staring at the girl in disbelief. Dean projected weary resignation.

The brothers split up when the congregation finally dispersed. Dean went back inside to speak to whomever while Sam started walking towards the town’s single motel. Paul had given me one of those sweet smiles of his as he’d passed. Maybe we could start following the rules tomorrow instead…?

I headed for the bar. It was nearly dark, but unlike every other night I’d been in town no one else came in. Whatever. It wasn’t curfew yet and Paul was a local. He flipped the neon “open” sign and settled behind the counter. I swung myself onto what I had privately claimed as “my” barstool and he plunked the usual down in front of me.

A few minutes into my beer and Sam walked in. He greeted us both before sitting beside me.

The boys bantered for a bit, Paul revealing the abrupt change in most of the town’s attitudes once Leah had gone Prophet. He was the only person I knew that was outspoken about the obvious fraudulence underlying everyone’s sudden piety. It’s why I liked him best.

“Not a true believer, I take it,” Paul said to Sam.

“I believe, yeah. I do.” He shrugged. “I’m just pretty sure God stopped caring a long time ago.”

We scoffed at the indifference of our supposed creator. “What about you?” Sam asked me.

I was on my third beer and my guard had slipped a bit. “Parents were devout. I believe that He’s out there but I’ll be damned if I give the son of a bitch the time of day.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Paul said. The three of us clinked mugs.

We continued to drink until curfew. Paul and Sam talked about demons and television and sports while I munched on nuts and irregularly provided my opinions. It was a comfortable spot, cushioned by alcohol, and we drew a modicum of relief after the trials of the past twenty-four hours.

Of course, shit wasn’t done yet. I’d been scrolling through news bits on my phone when my service abruptly died. “What the fuck?”

“What is it?” asked Sam. I showed him. He and Paul pulled out their own phones and, despite the varying carriers, found the same problem. “What the hell?”

“Great,” Paul grumbled. “And it’s ‘curfew’.”

Sam groaned and staggered to his feet. “Guess I’ll see you two tomorrow then.”

We ribbed him for a bit about being a good little cultist before he left. Paul sighed and picked up Sam’s empty mug. “You going too?”

“I dunno.” I gave him a (drunken) smile. “You want me to go?”

He returned the expression, eyes dipping down to the skin I had peeking out from the V of my shirt and back up again. “Not particularly.”

I reached over to grab his button-up and pulled him close. “Then what do you say you lock up that door, close the lights, and we see what happens?”

“Sounds good to me,” he replied huskily.

Sex with Paul was what I had come to expect from these small-town guys, but in his case the alliteration was in a good sense. See, when you live in a place where nearly everybody knows everybody most people end up having no more two or three sexual partners; the variety is lacking and the gossip is damning. These guys were, unfailingly so, inexperienced, with more clumsy enthusiasm than anything else. Wham, bam, thank you, ma’am.

Paul fell into that same, sorry category, but he had the exception of being gifted in both stamina and endowment. Good God, his was a dick to remember. He was sweet about the whole thing, too, getting all shy about putting on a condom and insisting on lapping at my folds until I was good and wet. I was the one who was pushing, eager to lose myself in the exertion, the alcohol not nearly enough to dull the effects of all the messed up shit that had gone down in the past eighteen hours.

The man obliged, eventually, after he had slid himself deliciously inside of me. We were on the edge of one of the tables and I bit my lip as I gazed into his eyes, my hand gripping his shirt as my legs wrapped around his waist, before quietly requesting he get on with fucking me. Paul grinned, gave me a few experimentally harsh thrusts, before shunting that wonderful cock of his in and out of my cunt.

We were just coming down, wrapped in post-coital bliss with his head resting between my breasts, when a rock came crashing through a window. I let out a shriek and he hurriedly drew away. Paul buttoned his pants back up as he went to investigate while I shoved my bra and shirt down and went looking for my jeans. I didn’t find them before the door smashed in and a half dozen locals, spearheaded by Dylan’s parents, marched in.

My shirt was thankfully long enough to give me a shred of modesty, but it was obvious what we had been doing. Paul was still flushed and his buttons were askew while I was, well, pantsless. Jane’s lip curled up at me. “She was right!” the woman cried. “You’re the reason why the angels are angry at us! Fornicators! Unbelievers! Blasphemers!”

I could have sworn we were in Blue Earth, Colorado, and not Castle Rock, Maine. “We’re two consenting adults,” I said as calmly as possible. “What does it matter?”

“What matters is that you are keeping us from joining our son!”

Okay, that made absolutely no sense, but when Pastor Gideon came rushing in things started to click into place. “Please!” he cried. “Calm down. There’s no reason to do this! Let’s just talk it over.”

“The angels are angry, Pastor,” said one of the other women. “If we want to enter paradise we need to be rid of these people!”

“They need to leave town now,” Rob growled. “Then we can tear apart this den of debauchery and lust.”

A chorus of agreement swept through the group. Bolstered by the support, Rob lifted the bat and smashed it down on the nearest set of liquor bottles. Seeing his livelihood threatened, Paul grabbed the weapon and began grappling with his old friend. Pastor Gideon did his best to physically come between them while shouting for peace.

Jane and another local woman tried to corner me into the bar. I still hadn’t found my pants, goddamnit! “Touch me,” I warned, “and I’ll break your face.”

My bravado was swept away by apprehension when I saw Jane reach into her jacket. There was no mistaking the black object hidden within as anything other than the handle of a semiautomatic. I was contemplating ways of disarming her when a new voice asked, “Need some help, padre?”

Fuck. Dean Winchester. I risked glancing over towards the doorway and saw the poster child for Prozac assessing the situation. My underdressed state made him blink but he was otherwise concerned by the rest. Pastor Gideon took advantage of the momentary lull in violence to plead, “Just everybody cool down for a minute.”

“‘Cool down,’ hmm?” Paul repeated angrily. He turned towards Dean. “My friends are trying to run me out of town. Do you think I should ‘cool down’?”

I lost track of the ensuing conversation as I had, with great relief, finally caught sight of my missing jeans. I was inching towards them when I heard Paul say loudly, “This is my home. You want me out of here? You’ll have to drag me out.”

I snatched up my pants and held them close to my chest. Maybe I’d get ten seconds in all this chaos to shove them back on.

Or not. I was sliding my way to Paul’s side when Dean abruptly slugged Rob. The Pastor shouted, “No no no— stop —“

There were two loud reports. Something punched me in the stomach.

Then nothing.

Acknowledgement : Some lines of dialogue are taken directly from the episode “99 Problems” (SPN 5.17).