#falling the fuck apart on my body and it was a HORRIBLE experience largely bc i think everybody in town was out shopping for back to school

[pepprs]

discovered miah_pie on t*ktok (<- i don’t have one btw i just stumbled upon her bc someone i follow on ig talked abt her) and her videos make me want to cry so bad. 24 year old dependent moment

[phan-of-the-pen]

I Dare You To Stay: Chapter 12

HI YALL IVE GOT A NEW CHAPTER OUT OF THE BLUE THAT I JUST WROTE BC @dansyellowshirt AND AN ANON WERE LOVELY AND MADE ME SMILE SO IVE BEEN TYPING FURIOUSLY FOR THE PAST HOUR OR SO ENJOYYYY

Tags for chapter: F L U F F, kissing

Words for chapter: ~2.7k

Fic Summary: Dan Howell is a barista working a shitty job, frequenting his shitty apartment, and living a shitty existence, hiding his asexuality and going for a PHD in self-depreciation and depression. Phil Lester is a part-time intern, part-time employee at a local weather station, trying to get experience in his field and make a name for himself, while juggling a second job at the nearby Tesco’s to give him some financial breathing room. Their paths were never supposed to meet, but what happens when they do anyways, one rainy day in Manchester?

(ao3!)

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~~~~~~~~~~

When Dan woke up it was dark in his flat. The television was off—which was not how Dan remembered leaving it—and none of his lights were on. The only source of light in the whole flat were the blinds on his big window being drawn, letting the moonlight filter into the room and giving everything the softest edge.

He groaned after a moment of realizing that he was awake, shuffling his body a little to try and get more comfortable. It was dark—obviously he wasn't supposed to be awake yet if the sun wasn't even up so why the fuck was he?

Dan started to try and think back to what had happened earlier to put him in this position, however, when he started to move, whatever he was lying on top of shifted as well and let out a soft-yet-very human sound. Dan held his breath and suppressed a scream. What the fucking hell-

Dan tried to jerk his body up into a sitting position only to fail due to some kind of weight resting on the small of his back. His heart still racing, Dan snapped up his neck instead of his whole body only to come face-to-face with Phil's sleeping one.

What the goddamn hell-

Oh.

Everything came rushing back to him all at once, and relieved at the fact that he hadn't been tied down to his couch by burglars or something just as utterly ridiculous in his sleep, Dan let out a breath and relaxed against Phil, feeling the anxiety in his system start to drain out.

His peace of mind didn't last long, though, because half a heartbeat later he was blushing horribly and his head was already thinking of a million different excuses to...to explain whatever this was.

Phil was lying on his back on the sofa, head propped up against the armrest. Dan was curled on top of him, his head tucked under Phil's neck and right up on his chest (Dan had a feeling that Phil's chin had been resting on his head while they had both been asleep. The thought made his heart race a little bit faster). Their bodies were tangled together under the duvet, their legs intertwined and Phil's arms cast around Dan's waist, Dan's own arms pulled under himself. The duvet itself was draped over the both of them in a bit of a mess, slipping off of the sofa and onto the floor at the one corner.

Dan glanced up once again. Phil's face was smushed comically against the junction of the back of the couch and the armrest, mouth parted and hair sticking up in more ways than what was probably physically possible. His glasses—when the fuck had they appeared?—were askew and slipping off the bridge of his nose. Dan felt a dopey smile spread across his face. Phil was adorable when he was sleeping but still as much of an endearing mess as he was when he was awake. Unbelievable.

He reached up and lifted the black frames from Phil's face, gently to try and avoid waking the older man. Phil didn't even stir, and Dan twisted around, reaching with his arm out to place the glasses on his coffee table. Phil grumbled in his sleep at Dan's fidgeting and brought his arms a little tighter around Dan's waist, one of his legs twitching. Dan snorted out of amusement, but settled back into place and held himself still.

Under normal circumstances, Dan's head would be going crazy. He would be unconsciously psychoanalyzing everything in the situation and he would be doubting himself in his normal manner. But in a pleasant change of heart—or mind, rather—his head was staying blissfully quiet. Dan didn't have an explanation for it; it might have been because of waking up not too long ago, or maybe because he had absolutely exhausted himself with all of his emotional distress lately, or something else. Regardless, Dan wasn't going to force it. The quiet thoughts were a welcome change.

Dan let his eyes drift up past Phil's face and to the exposed window and the stars outside of it. He had always loved to look at the stars ever since he was younger, and now that he was laying on top of Phil, letting himself be held, his head quiet, everything was so much better. If time decided to freeze right at this moment, Dan wouldn't even care.

~~~~~

The next thing Dan knew, he was yawning and cracking his eyes open.

He groaned from the light nearly blinding him as soon as he lifted his eyelids even a little bit, and moved to tuck his face into the couch cushions, but ended up snuggling down further into the duvet still draped over him and shifting his whole body as well to try and get more comfortable. Dan started to nod off once more, when he suddenly realized that he was alone on said sofa.

Picking his head up and blearily opening his eyes, Dan looked around the lounge. He didn't see Phil anywhere, but his glasses weren't on the coffee table anymore.

Did he leave?

Dan jumped as a loud yelp sounded form the kitchen and as well as what Dan could only guess was something metal—a fork or knife, maybe—clattering to the ground.

"Phil?"

Dan didn't get an answer, but he could hear Phil muttering to himself in the background, so very reluctantly, Dan rolled off of the couch and tugged the duvet tighter around his shoulders, not willing to give up the comfort just yet. Dan padded into the kitchen. A large handful of his cabinets were open and there were two bowls of cereal on the counter, the box of Crunchy Nut that Dan had left on the floor yesterday next to the poured cereal. Phil was bent over, picking up a spoon from the floor, which was probably what Dan had heard falling.

"Phil?" Dan said again, with a bit of a yawn this time, rubbing his eye. He was tired as hell.

Phil jumped about a dozen feet into the air and dropped the spoon yet again, it clattering away from Phil's foot. Phil spun around with a hand on his chest, eyes wide.

"Dan! You scared me!"

"Phil," Dan sighed, rolling his eyes a little but smiling nonetheless, "sometimes I'm surprised by you, really."

"Look, here I am trying to get us both a nice breakfast-"

"Of cereal? Scratch that, of my cereal?"

"Oh shut it. Like I said, here I was, being the perfect guest and you just scare me. Rude." Phil said, sticking his tongue out and picking up the dropped silverware. He slid the now-dirty spoon into Dan's sink and went to reach for another, but Dan stopped him.

"Don't bother, I don't think I have any milk to pour in anyways, so we don't really need spoons as long as you don't have some weird 'no-eating-with-hands' thing I need to know about." Dan walked over and picked up his bowl of cereal, giving Phil a little, appreciative smile. "C'mon, we can eat in the lounge on my couch."

Dan didn't really wait for Phil, but he could hear him moving—presumably—to follow Dan. As an afterthought, Dan called over his shoulder, "And close the cabinet doors!" to which Phil replied with a very indignant sounding "Yes, mum!"

Within a few moments of Dan dropping himself back onto the couch, Phil was there as well, sitting on the other end, their legs both in the middle and on top of each other. Dan was reminded of a few nights ago, with them playing video games, his feet draped over Phil's lap, and what happened after. Dan looked at Phil out of the corner of his eye. He didn't really mind if he could get the chance to kiss Phil again. But the question was; did Phil?

They ate in silence, but it wasn't an oppressive one, just the two of them munching and enjoying each other's company. Dan's thoughts were still a little hopeful, a little wary, but he tried to keep them tame enough to not show; he didn't want to ruin this with his insecurities.

Dan finished his breakfast first, and he tapped his fingers against the ceramic for a few moments before he gave in.

"Hey, Phil?"

"Yeah?"

He had to know.

"Last night you said we wouldn't talk about anything until I slept, and well...I don't have work for-" Dan looked at the clock on his wall, "-another hour." He purposely left half of his question unsaid, and Phil nodded in understanding, making Dan simultaneously breathe out a little sigh of relief and tighten his grip on his bowl in anxious anticipation.

"Just because of time, I don't think we should talk about anything too heavy," Phil began, finishing the bite in his mouth and swallowing, "but, I think you're right. We do have a bunch of stuff to sort out."

"Mhm...what do you, uh, want to sort out then?" Dan asked. He felt nervous and unlike earlier, he was sure that it showed with how his fingers wouldn't stop moving along the ceramic and how his shoulders were tense and pulled tight to his body.

Phil just smiled and plucked the empty bowl from Dan's hand, putting both of their bowls on the table near them and scooting forward. Phil clasped one of their hands together, and with the skin-on-skin contact his heart started to beat a little bit happier in his chest. Phil leaned in until their faces were close enough for Dan to see the starbursts of his eyes, and let his other hand fall to the side of Dan's head.

"Can I kiss you, Dan?" Phil asked, his voice low.

"Yes," Dan breathed, his voice even quieter than Phil's.

This kiss wasn't like the ones they shared that night. It was softer, but still filled to the brim with emotion. These emotions, however, weren't like the powerful, fast, desperate ones that had dominated their kisses before. They were much more gentle, filled with a more soothing warmth, and—dare he say it—drenched in a feeling that Dan couldn't help but think as something similar to adoration.

Phil's mouth was warm and his lips were velvet soft, dragging across Dan's, his thumb brushing Dan's cheekbone over and over, making Dan's head spin. Dan's eyes had long drifted closed, and he just let himself relax into the cushions, absolutely melting under the kisses Phil was giving him.

He nipped at Dan's lip and pulled back, Dan's head following him until his neck just wouldn't stretch anymore and he had to let it fall back against the sofa, a pout on his features but not even caring if Phil saw.

"Phil, come back," Dan whined. Phil giggled at his antics, but decidedly didn't lean back in to kiss Dan breathless like he wanted him to. Instead, Phil brought their linked hands up so they could both see them and started to play with Dan's knuckles.

"Dan, I wasn't kidding when I said I've fallen for you, completely and utterly. You're Dan Howell and you have my heart, right here in your hands." Phil squeezed Dan's hand with his own. "I would love nothing more than if you gave me the chance to be your boyfriend. To take you out on dates, and watch shitty Netflix movies with, and dance in the kitchen with at 3AM when we certainly should be sleeping, and, yes, to play with your hair just like you said you love. I want to kiss you and surprise you at the coffee shop and do all the cheesy things couples do." Phil leaned in and dropped a series of little, feather-light kisses to Dan's forehead. "What do you say," he whispered, "will you give me the chance?"

"Phil," Dan said, drilling his eyes shut. He could feel his insecurities rising again, just as illogical as usual, and just as self-depreciative. "I can't love you completely, like how you deserve. If we were to date—and god, do I want to date you—you'd have to give up sex because I'm sorry but I'm too sex repulsed to try and do anything with you, and I'd never be able to stand anything like an open relationship, and-"

"Dan, Dan, shhh," Phil said, starting to stroke Dan's cheek again. It was incredibly soothing, and helped settled some of Dan's racing thoughts. "I don't care. I don't care. I can live perfectly content with never having sex again for the rest of my life if I have you, Dan. You are a thousand times better than sex, alright? And you can love me completely even if you aren't sexually attracted to me. I don't need physical pleasure to be happy or be loved 'as I deserve' even if that's what your ex and parents told you when you came out. All you need is love to give, and I have a feeling that you have a lot of that from shutting yourself out for so long."

Their gazes were connected, and Dan didn't know if he was going to start crying or laughing—maybe both. Phil was smiling gently, his eyes so tender in their expression, and Dan wanted nothing more than to kiss this man, to kiss him and hug him and just hide them both away from the world to just be happy together.

So that's what Dan did.

Dan surged forward, wrapping his arms around Phil's shoulders and pulling him in, their mouths crashing together. Dan kissed him like he was a dying man and he was trying to commit the feeling of Phil's mouth to memory, and Phil returned the sentiment just as eagerly, carding his hands through Dan's hair and following every press of Dan's lips with his own.

God, why did Dan ever try and deny himself from falling in love with Phil? Why did he get so caught up in being scared of what happened in the past to enjoy the future? Why didn't he start kissing this man sooner?

Dan didn't know any answers to his questions, but fuck it didn't matter.

They broke away because they had started to run out of air and Dan brought his hands up to Phil's face, cupping it, and nodding, shaking his head up and down furiously, moisture shining in his eyes. He couldn't help it—he didn't remember the last time he had felt. So. Loved. And. Accepted.

"Yes, yes yes yes, Phil, god, I'd want nothing more," Dan whispered, chasing his own words with little kisses on Phil's cheeks, his nose, his forehead, everywhere.

Phil's entire face lit up like the fucking sky and a smile blinding enough to shadow the sun took over his face. He brought them back together, and this time their kiss was slow, both of them smiling into it, wrapped up in each other.

"Daniel Howell, you just made me the happiest man on this side of the Thames."

~~~~~

No matter how much Dan might not have wanted to, they had to disentangle themselves much sooner than preferable because Dan had to shower and get ready for work. He had already been let off the hook by Jaime once, and he refused to leave her hanging like that for a second day in a row. Plus, he needed the money desperately.

However, things were different than his normal routine. Because when he got out of the shower, Phil kissed him on the way in. Because Phil was standing in his kitchen, scrolling on his phone, in Dan's own clothes because Phil only had his Tesco's uniform and he had already slept in it last night. Because they had walked out together, Phil's hand snaking down to intertwine in Dan's within a block of leaving Dan's flat. Because Phil had gone out of his way to walk Dan to work even if it was in the opposite direction of his own flat. Because Phil kissed Dan sweetly on the lips before letting him go, promising to stop in later.

But as Dan walked in the shop, a million emotions swirling in his chest, threatening to burst, they settled, each one fluttering away until only one was left, making Dan's limbs feel light and warm, putting a dumbstruck smile on his face that he knew would end up lasting the whole day.

Dan was happy.

And he wouldn't change it for the world.

[realdeadlovin]

and the long rambly email, so far.

Hey brian. I don't know if I'm going to send this but I guess part of me just wants to know that I did my best to explain where I'm coming from even if nothing comes from it, I won't look back and be like well maybe if I'd explained myself more... idk.  It feels futile bc in my experience it just feels like if you have decided some piece of information or feedback is threatening or uncomfortable to you, you will just refuse to hear it or acknowledge it til the end of time. which makes it utterly impossible to work through what should be simple conflicts. I talked to MC about your visit today. she said something like, "I know you aren't someone who is freely vulnerable very often, and as someone who also struggles a lot to feel safe with vulnerability I can really understand how hard that was." I dont know brian, I guess thats why I wanna clarify that it wasn't that you weren't "emotionally available" bc like I said I really wasn't asking for or expecting anything from you. i was just expecting you not to actively throw it back in my face and make me feel like I would lose you for showing my feelings in front of you. I mean, I didn't actually know to ask that, because I hadn't really considered it as a possibility. I felt genuinely shocked. I couldn't imagine ever responding that way to you if the situations were reversed; it would feel so awful and cruel. when i was passive aggressive for a second while you were having anxiety I immediately felt so horrible. if anyone else in my life acted that way towards me, well, it's a moot point because no one else who I keep around in my life would dream of it. my therapist spends all this time trying to convince me that the people I love aren't going to abandon me if I let them see how I feel or let myself have my emotions in front of them but I guess she doesn't know you. i spend $100 a week trying to work through that shit so idk, pay me. I know alcohol plays a role in the whole thing but I also feel not into like using alcohol as a catch all excuse anymore in my life, obviously I still drink but its not a good excuse for being shitty to people you care about, or at least for not taking responsibility for it. If you want to explain where you were coming from or your perception of the situation go ahead, I will listen. slash read and consider. maybe my memory is off. I just want to say that like being able to identify why you acted shitty doesn't justify it. youre an adult and should be able to take responsibility for yourself when youre feeling insecure or whatever. you dont get to just lash out at people without consequences because you were feeling bad or anxious. I don't think you hurt me because youre like "hurting parker is just my idea of a good time." and even if I had been mad about something you did, which I wasn't, I don't understand how that really makes it okay either...  If youre not a person I can feel safe like, crying in front of, telling you that I"m not mad at you but some hard feelings about sex were coming up for me and I was just processing it but it wasn't about you.... without you actively making me feel like shit for expressing that and like you would leave me as a result... how can i feel safe trusting you or like I can be myself around you? I mean especially as someone who is supposed to "love" and "care about" me sooo much who I've known forever, not some stranger... like if a tindr date said they were leaving bc I was crying, sure. but I think some tindr dates would be nicer than that. but you? I just don't know how you don't see that.  as a side note I guess it did honestly feel hurtful that you lavish so much love and affection on me from afar and then so instantly feel certain you dont feel that way actually when were in person. i know you shrug it off, and I can't say I'm exactly mad about it cause I guess you can't help it, but it does make me feel like all that love wasn't real and theres something wrong with me or something you dont like when you actually have to be around me. you tease me about saying that 5 days seemed "daunting" to you but it did actually make me sad that we talk on a constant basis and then like the idea of seeing me was so hard. i mean obviously in retrospect you were "right" to be nervous or something but yea I guess I just like I feel some rejection when it comes to you especially seeing you "in person" which feels hard and disconcerting when u go back to being all like in love with me once you're gone, yea idk and just have this whole time struggled with feeling alternately like some rejection and then also like really intense validation. but so it goes. i guess thats just saying that even if this visit hadnt be like Bad Bad bt had just been lackluster it would have felt weird to go back to talking how we had been. but, who knows how this visit would have gone if that night hadn't happened, I know things were weird and off/awkward with us all weekend largely bc I didnt tell you how I was feeling but then also didnt know how to relax around you or be normal and yea that felt like no "spark" but maybe there wouldn't have been anyways, I don't know. I wish I'd said something sooner, also I hope you can understand why I didn't or was afraid to and who knows how the weekend would have gone if I had... maybe not any better, I dunno.   but yea not texting you right now still feels hard and sad. I've wanted so badly to text you throughout the day. I know we have leaned on each other too much in order to not feel lonely but yeah so now I feel really lonely especially with sophie gone, I just felt soooo alone after you left. seeing you cry when I dropped you off made me want to take everything back and say I dont actually feel this way, I love you and of course you wont lose me, maybe I overreacted, etc etc just wanted to walk everything back. but I don't think I'm overreacting and idk I don't think that pretending everything is fine will fix anything... idk brian, i love you and I care about you and I can't imagine you not being in my life, although I guess you weren't really there for a bit. but sometimes people are friends for a long time and then they stop. I don't think I want that and I know you have been there for me in a lot of ways as well. I just dont know.. how do we interact in a way that isn't like codependently leaning on each other but isn't like distant and surface level either? I know you've said it was hard talking to me a ton after the last time we split , I know this sitch is different too but I dunno. I dunno how to find the right balance esp when I really am struggling to trust you in any sort of deep way. you also seemed to have this attitude of like "well I can't take it back now" and thats true but people/relationships do heal from hurt all the time it just takes a certain kinda work I don't feel that I will get from you.. happy to be proven wrong though..  I'm reading an article about "reforms" in the local sheriffs dept, they are getting body worn cameras and straight up saying the cops want them bc they think they will get the off the hook more often than not *~*~*I talked to kyle last night, cried some, anyways he hates you now. jk ish. definitely was like "wow fuck that guy." which wasn't actually what I had intended to convey. It's hard for me to talk to other people in my life here about anything with you because idk, your behavior sometimes is just so unreasonable and unkind on its face people always get so like against you if I actually tell them things you say to me and such, and then I feel like I'm actually in this position of just like trying to defend you and be like "no but he can be really great though and I really love him" and such. I've been in that dynamic before in "relationships" where I don't feel I can tell my friends about what is actually going on because then they will absolutely not support me being with that person and yea it's not great. I know that I know you better than they do and that you're really a very caring and loving person but its hard to reconcile that sometimes with your thoughtlessness at other times. I guess this is what you were talking about earlier in this whole thing.. about how far we've drifted apart, I guess in terms of who we surround ourselves with and such. I told kyle youre someone I've known and loved for long before I started having the current standards I have for people in my life. but, I'm also really deeply grateful you're in my life, and I'm glad to have had you come into my life when you did and to have stayed in it all this time.I felt so much better and less alone after talking to kyle and that helped clarify how much I was freaking out because of missing you versus how much i was freaking out about being alone. it was nice feeling like I could cry around someone about something that was hurting me and have it actually create intimacy rather than drive them away, as it should, so that was validating and healing in a way, like yea im not crazy. I don't want you to not be in my life. I want to continue having a close friendship with you that isn't like awkwardly not addressing unsaid things or like surface level and yeah like i want that trust back blah. and maybe I fucked that up by restarting things romantically when maybe we were on our way towards that again.  arms sore like from adrenaline day 3 lol I'm getting pretty sad not talking to you or knowing how youre feeling. it's become less urgent because I don't feel lonely/alone anymore per se. getting a lot of comfort from kyle thats maybe weird/ co dependent in its own way, hes been staying in sophies room, making em coffee and breakfast in the mornings / walking me to work etc. yesterday had agood therapy session, then played cards with some rfiends, then met kyle at owls club and hung out with him and some nurses, then kyle stayed over and we talked until we were both falling asleep on the couches, tonight im maybe having dinner (sex? who knows? I think I dont want ot, I barely want to hang out with him at all it feels like a chore) tonight. still nothing physical with kyle, I wonder if cuddling may imminent, but idk.well so what im saying is when yo ufirst left I had this panicky feeling that I couldn't tell if was about fear of being alone or about missing you and the lsat few days I have felt better and less alone, and I sitll miss you, in a not urgent way but in a, I want to hear how you're doing and I want you in my life, way. I dont know brian. I feel I'm sort of processed what happened and I am mad indeed but as long as we know we can like never be involved romantically lol i can forgive that you have a lot of unhealed shit and act poorly a lot of the time in relationsihp idk. blabla. and not being involved romantically,well, it doesn't seem healthy to be so dependant on talking constantly so I don't think we can go back to that. but regularly, I would like.I dont want to not talk to you.

[satans-codpiece]

ok fr im gonna post this bc this is amazing @ 16 y/o me, what happened to you? selfshipping with a character not a single person on this hell of an earth cares about while staring the entire SPN cast straight in the eyes and being like fuck y’all?

[December 27th, 2012]

HE hadn't thought dying would feel quite like this. Or maybe he did, to an extent. Weightless, like he was floating was to be expected, feeling lightheaded, especially as the almost blinding light blasted from the stone. "It wall went white" doesn't have the same ring to it, though. He had seen that poor woman earlier be vaporized by the stone's power, and he was sure that was what was happening to him right now. Individual atomic bonds being ripped apart by the raw energy being thrown off by Stonehenge.

Even as an astrophysicist he hadn't expected to die such an unpredictable death. Maybe in an accidental atomic explosion at the worst, maybe get cancer or something. Much domestic deaths available than this seemed almost appealing, but in the end, he had saved the world in his death. He knew that long before he left the car with Dr. Jennings. He would die at Stonehenge, even if he failed. Getting the key to the center rock would cause what was happening: this discharge of power on a much smaller scale than the one hat would've occurred had he failed. The one that would redirect the atomic bomb, and then the one after procuring enough of the magnetic power from the Earth's poles.

That was why he left his ring with Dr. Jennings, and faked hope when she said she'd be giving it back. He would never see her again. A chestful of anticipation and the weight of quite possibly the literal world rested on his shoulders and he set out with determination.

Which he was successful and lead to this feeling of weightlessness, of falling even. To be honest he hadn't even realized he was falling until he realized his side and leg burned with pain. He had thought with just enough clarity to think that wasn't the pain supposed to stop once your brain had been picked apart one atomic-level bond at a time? Weren't you supposed to stop thinking? And in that moment he opened his eyes and he could swear on every book of astrophysical theory that he was actually falling. The light spiralling around his was not his near death experience, he was actually falling Goddamn it all. Hell, for all he knew he was actually being taken to see who the hell made Stonehenge and the key and terraformed Earth in the first place billions of years ago. He admitted earlier that there were forces they simply couldn't explain with modern theories, and maybe even any theories to ever trickle through peer reviews. Maybe they had something else at work in their terraforming device, they wouldn't even have to know.

The weightlessness was expected, the falling was a bit of a surprise but still could maybe to chalked up to last-minute hallucinations in an attempt to keep his mind in a single piece. It was the collision of his back to a very solid, very hard surface that had Dr. Glaser sputtering and trying to keep his focus on the material world.

Landing had jostled his already tender gunshot wound, and he groaned despite himself. This was so much less graceful than just being ripped apart or vaporized. He really hoped that at least the cult follower was being as disgraced as himself. Maybe a little more dead, since he did after all wish death upon all the humans in the world. That wasn't very nice.

Jacob stared up from his position on what he assumed was the ground of some abandoned building. The walls were concrete, maybe in a basement somewhere- supposing it was of human origins. The walls were old and a dingy gray, obviously uncared for and let to fall into disrepair. On the ceiling, however, Jacob could not comment since above him was only a swirling vortex of light and color: one that he had obviously just fallen from. He thought for perhaps a moment he had fallen through some sort of wormhole, created by the extreme energy at the stone and forced a counterpart white hole somewhere and had sucked him through. Though that hardly explained how he was still alive: a black hole would crush him under the extreme internal gravity. Not to mention it would also be ripping apart Europe by now.

No, Dr. Glaser was contented to ponder on how he got here as he bled to death slowly. It was a sad death, he thought. He much preferred being vaporized to this, at least in being vaporized he could hope someone would make a movie for him one day, with decent special effects for being vaporized. He could be famous, but no, like this he would be that one scientist that ends up being found in 30 years and then accused of faking his death for publicity. At the scale of everything that had happened surely it would be even more incredible than if they had found Hitler's body in South America. He pondered it a moment more.

Maybe not quite that sensational. It would certainly still rattle the gossiping TV shows for a couple weeks. No, he contented to pressing a hand to his wound which still oozed warm blood over his fingers and into this clothing. Judging from the state of the room and likelihood that he was in an evacuated zone, he hadn't expected anyone to show up. He certainly did not expect a loud cry of "Jesus Christ! Sam, Cas! Get in here!"

Actually he was expecting to really be hallucinating that. He looked lazily, the blood loss finally digging at his consciousness, and saw a large pair of too-green eyes staring back at him. The man, - oh God, Jacob could swear he looks just like Jensen Ackles, the American actor, pushes Jacob's hand out of the way to press a cloth to his wound. "Hey man, it's going to be okay, alright?" Jacob's head is too blurry to really understand what's going on, but is clear enough to know that that tone is more like 'I'm saying this so you wont freak out on me' than 'its okay'.

He expected to die anyway so it's all good. Maybe not with an actor trying to keep his blood inside his body, but hey it'll only make the story even better. He could probably get by with better last words than "It was a robot head", but he could settle for dying in an actor's basement. The man turned around again and yelled: "Sam! Cas!"

This time another man appeared from a doorway, rushing over to the first. He was remarkably tall, Jacob knew for certain even from his state on the floor. And now maybe Jacob could start having a panic attack or laughing off this hallucination because god dammit the other man was fucking Jared Padalecki. So either he was dying on the set of Supernatural, or something was definitely off. He recalled distantly that he had called him Sam, not Jared. And now he was sure he was hallucinating: this was absurdly nuts. Yeah, maybe Sabrina had told him that it was real and she was stuck on the wrong side, but come on. She was having some sort of mental breakdown when she said that. She'd said his alternate on the other side was an angel but this was stupid, this was ridiculous.

"Oh my god, Dean, he looks just like..." Jared (Sam?) mumbled, grabbing a hold of the wound on Jacob's leg. Dean- Jensen- nodded somewhere between numbly and grimly. And then around the corner came another body. Oh Christ, why would this have to be his pre-death hallucination, why couldn't he be receiving his award for astrophysics again, that would be nice.

"Move," The Jacob lookalike said, voice way too low and gravelly to be correct with his body. But they moved and Cas(?) moved in close, squinting at Jacob and all Jacob could was try to not cough up any blood that he felt trickling in his throat. Cas pressed two fingers the Jacob's temple and -now its certain he's hallucinating, but whatever- he was just fine. He gasped, happy to not feel restricted by the pain in his abdomen.

"What do we do...?" Sam began, looking helplessly between Cas and Dean. Jacob was still trying to sort his thoughts.

"Do you know Sariel?" Cas questioned, and it took him a moment to realize his lookalike was talking to him. He thought over a minute. Sariel? No, he didn't think he knew any and shook his head accordingly, too stunned for words.

"If she was stuck on the other side would she even be using her real name? Wouldn't she pick something else so she wouldn't, you know, stand out?"

Jacob could piece that together. Stuck on the otherside and there even being a Jacob alternate? He breathed in through his mouth, expecting it to feel tight and dry and shocked to feel it wet and edging on normal. He worked out, "Sabrina,"

The trio looked down at him. "This is another.. world, right?" They exchanged glances and shrugged, a unison of 'more or less'. "Sabrina Jennings, she said she was,"

The surprised yelp from above was all the warning he got as a body was falling much too quickly from the ceiling to stop. It landed heavily with a thick 'thump' on Jacob's middle, making his cough and sputter.

[December 28th, 2012]

"Oooh, I think I'm dying..."

"You are not dying, Sariel."

"You don't know that, ughh, this feels so awful. Won't you help me Jacob?" "No, just taken some more Nyquil, you're fine. You have the flu." I rolled onto my other side and mustered up my best kicked puppy dog look. "Jacob, won't you please go get it for me...?"

He turned around to glared at me, frustrated and tired with my antics. I really did feel horrible, more than what I expected the "flu" to feel like: more accurately I felt like death personified. I ached all over and moving at all left me terribly nauseousness. I'd never felt anything like it, Angelic or otherwise. Hell, I wasn't supposed to be able to get sick. I may have only partially fallen but that implied I was still partially an Angel and as a part angel being, I shouldn't be able to get sick with such human diseases, right? surely that was in my contract. Maybe

I probably should've read the fine print. I didn't even bother reading the shortened juicier version. Not that this metaphorical contract existed, that's why its metaphorical. I just didn't bother to actually consider what would actually happen if I ripped half my grace out (closer to two thirds, I still had a single pair of wings, not all three). I felt temperature and was bothered by it (I took to wearing several pairs of socks in the winter), I needed food occasionally, I slept a little off and on (maybe 3 hours a night, easily looked over). I hadn't even thought that sickness could also claim my much more fragile body.

I was still angelic enough that it would require a heavenly blade to kill me, I knew that for certain after I tripped and stabbed myself one evening. Whether it still took an archangels' blade or if any lackey could kill me was a mystery I wasn't too keen on figuring out. Being dipped in holy oil would probably fry me, which is such a pity.

But sickness is another thing all together, there were a handful of diseases that could affect angels. Mostly they attached to the wings: the most sensitive part of any angel, arch- or not. They were akin to birds' diseases, but the difference was simple. We could rid ourselves of them almost instantaneously. I'd only heard of cherubs being stuck with their sickness for a while, and even then they are so far down the food chain it isn't surprising. They're barely above humans, only capable of flight and hiding themselves from human view. They don't even require vessels.

But the flu, oh the flu. I had kept the part of my grace the healed, which seemed to be useless now, unable to rid my vessel which was essentially now my body, of this virus. Or whatever it was. It wasn't pleasant, I knew that. I ached all over to the very core of my being and even trying to press my grace against the wound-less pains seemed to be useless. I felt cold all the time and yet my body burned inside, and I was partially worried I was becoming Lucifer: burning cold and vessel flushed hot in attempts to press my grace and form out of its physical self. I slept much more, a full 8 hours which Jacob had explained was normal for humans to sleep more when they were sick. It meant their body was working overtime to try to push the stuff that was making you sick out. He swore to show me a movie he called Osmosis Jones, "Even though it's inaccurate in so many ways, it's pretty funny." I didn't really pay attention. I liked almost every movie he'd shown me thus far even though I hadn't seen a whole lot. Only maybe 50ish, and that was being generous. I guess for being around for a year on Earth, that was pretty good.

But this sickness was not "pretty good". It was horrible. I don't know how humans dealt with this as a possibility every winter. I snuggled deeper into the bed, pulling the blankets up to my nose and Jacob seemed to understand that getting up really would send my nausea into overload again. (Last time I had tried to move ended with me curled up on the floor with my head between my legs, crying out of my misery). I left the room for a minute, and I coughed roughly. Dry and it ripped at my throat, I grumbled something about probably using all my archangel abilities, as soon as I got them back, into wiping out the flu virus. This was a perfect example of grade A suckage.

I sniffled and suddenly a bluish greenish liquid in a clear bottle was being thrust at me. Jacob held it out while I took it from it, opened the top and took a large drink of it. He raised an eyebrow and I shrugged. I still had resistance to much of humanities drugs, making going to the doctor especially weird. Jacob had feigned flu as well to get a double dose of Tamaflu, whatever that was. He said I should probably just double the dose and anymore and he'd be worried about its effects on me.

So far I didn't feel any better. Doubling the amount of any medicine I took never seemed to do the trick, at tripling I got trickles of effects, mostly little things. Six ibuprofen and I noted that I didn't want to tear my spine out quite as much. It took ten to really make me relax and be able to think about anything besides it.

I screwed the cap back on and held it out to him again. He took it and set it upon the night stand. He sighed and ran a hand over my forehead, his palm feeling cool against my skin. "I'm sorry you're sick, Sariel." He cooed softly. He leaned down and kissed my forehead.

I stifled a cough and mumbled, "Yeah well, don't get yourself sick too, I can't take care of you like you take care of me... I wouldn't even be able to heal it out of you."

He laughed and stroked a hand through my hair, "I can't get the flu."

I barely contained the shock in my voice: "What? how?"

He grinned and shook it head. "Unlike you, I got my flu shot."