#i am oddly at peace and freakin out at the same time

[eyukileaf]

Sometimes you just gotta stay up till 4:30 on a school night. You just gotta.

[fitzs-trained-monkey]

Chapter Thirty-Four: The Revelation

Rated PG-13 For mentions of abuse, trigger topics such as suicidal thoughts, torture, language, and kidnaping.

Masterlist

~I am not the only traveler

And then I can tell myself

I had all and then most of you

When the night was full of terrors

There aren't very many things worse than watching one's little brother die. I think the only thing worse than that is enduring it twice. I had already had to watch Jasper be slaughtered like a pig in front of me. Wasn't that torture enough for a lifetime? Was having to salt and burn my own brother the universe's twisted idea of a joke? This wasn't funny!

What kind of cruel world was I living in? Why did my last words to my precious little brother have to be empty promises? How was that okay? Jasper would spend the rest of eternity waiting for me to show up, tell him my stories, and tuck him into bed, but I never would. Because if I lived, I would be stuck down here on this awful planet, reliving the same day over and over and over again. And if the Winchester's decided to kill me when they found out what I was, then I wouldn't be going to heaven. I already knew where I would go. It wasn't anywhere good.

Well, if my life was a joke then I hoped at least somebody was getting a kick out of it.

I knew I wasn't.

From the top of the stairs, I heard Sam, Dean, and Cas open the sliding glass door and shuffle outside. Jack firmly insisted on staying here. He probably thought he should stay in case I ' needed him ' for comfort or something.

'Well, joke's on you, puppy, cause I don't need anyone.' I thought, bitterly. I traveled down the dark hallway to my room, the one with the plain white door all the way down on the end. The door opened with a soft click and squeaky hinges and I kicked it shut behind me.

My room was exactly how I had left it. Not a single thing was out of place. Of course, it was about as far away from immaculate as anything can get. There were pieces of paper strewn all over the desk, plenty of wadded-up sketches in the trash can and even more outside the trash, pencils were left in strange places, and mix-matched fairy-lights draped over  way  too many things. Miscellaneous articles of clothing were draped over a chair, clustered around the laundry basket, crumpled on the bed, and a few were even hanging from the doorframe of the closet. The bed wasn't made, the blankets and sheets hopelessly tangled together and there was an atrocious number of glow-in-the-dark stars glued to the roof. Oh, and let us not forget the rainbow-colored streamers hanging from the ceiling fan, so really everything was just an absolute mess.

But it was a comforting mess and that's how that girl who used to be me had lived. She had been a scatterbrained, messy-haired, and bright-eyed sort of girl, she'd had so much potential. That girl could have great. Her mess comforted me too. Maybe she wasn't as dead as I'd thought.

"Well, I'm just about done with this whole damn popsicle-stand of existence. You?" Isaac asked, sounding more dead than he looked.

"Done," I agreed. "So, so done."

I flopped down on my already messy bed, staring up at the tacky stars on the ceiling while I tried to come to terms with the fact that I'd never see my little brother again. I couldn't feel the prickling of tears forming in my eyes. I guess I'd run all out of tears to cry. Lucky me. I felt like throwing up.

"Should we go down fighting or give up and roll over? What say you?" Isaac collapsed at the foot of my bed.

"What's the point in fighting?" I asked, shaking my head.

"Dunno." He shrugged. "Frequent flyer miles?"

"So... Nothing?"

"Yeah, pretty much."

Maybe I would just attack the Winchesters once I tore Felix to sheds. Maybe they wouldn't kill me fast. Maybe they'd make me suffer. Then maybe I could cry like I was supposed to.

I had hardly been debating those thoughts for a minute when I heard footsteps pounding up the stairs. Oh, joy. Five minutes of peace was all I'd asked for and apparently I couldn't even get that. Screw my life.

The door flew open with an overly dramatic bang but I didn't flinch. Jack stood in the doorway, eyes alight like molten gold. I turned my head lazily to face him, aware of my void expression but ultimately indifferent to it. I couldn't even bring myself to act like the fake version of myself I had made to fool the Winchesters. I felt oddly numb like nothing mattered. Because honestly, what did? Not even getting my revenge on Felix would change anything. Things wouldn't get better, my life would still suck to an astronomical degree, and this whole stupid world would just keep turning like it always did. Getting revenge was just self-indulgence, really. So what if Jack saw the real me for a couple of hours?

With luck, I'd be dead by morning.

With luck, he'd be the one to kill me.

I deserved it.

"Welcome to the year Nineteen-Thirty, puppy. What do you want?" I addressed him. My tone was clipped, calloused, and cold, but I didn't care.

Jack's eyes were glowing and the air was charged with his power; it made my hair stand on end and my ears hurt like when a plane takes off. Yet, oddly enough, if there and been one in my hand, I would have been swirling chocolate milk in a wine glass for all I'd cared.

Jack didn't answer me. His mouth opened and closed and opened and closed. There was something in his eyes, something akin to desperation. He knew what he wanted to say but the words died in his throat.

"You deaf, honey-bug?" I lifted an eyebrow and took an actual glance at his expression. He didn't look angry. He looked...

Terrified.

And shocked.

And torn.

And betrayed.

I did this. It was me. I had hurt him.

His hands clutched an object tightly between them with enough force to turn his knuckles white. It was a picture frame. I caught a glimpse of the picture within; it had been taken two weeks to the day I'd died. I looked back up to his eyes.

Ah, yes. There it was. The recognition. What a clever, clever boy.

He'd finally put all the pieces together.

'Well, good for him.'

"Uh, oh spaghetti-oh's; looks like the Nephil knows," Isaac droned from the foot of my bed.

"What are you?" Jack asked, his voice trembling. He blinked back tears, biting down on his lower lip to keep it from trembling.

I blinked, feeling sick. I didn't want to lose him, I realized. As much as the bitterness inside me tempted me to bite into him and taste his sweet blood or tell him the truth and watch him squirm just for a distraction from the pain, I couldn't. Because then I'd lose him. I didn't want to lose him. I'd already lost Jazzy today for the second time, I couldn't lose Jack too.

Isaac turned to me, his expression as empty as mine. "Ya gonna tell him?"

"I am Miss. Nidsbit," I answered, flatly. It was supposed to sound friendly like I was teasing, but it only came off as evasive. Jack glared at me. It was already happening; I was already losing him. I guess I deserved that much.

"Don't joke," He said.

"I thought it was hilarious," Isaac chimed.

"In that case, I'm bottled-depression." I flashed my teeth in a way that held no joy whatsoever. "Pint-sized for your convenience," I added, trying for a familiar joke about my height. It sounded empty.

"That was better," My brother snickered, leaning back and closing his eyes. He was probably just going to keep making sarcastic jabs in an attempt to vent his anger, so I ignored him.

"I asked you a question," Jack growled in a way that somehow managed to be threatening despite the whole baby-face puppy-eyed thing he had going on. It was actually kinda hot... Wait, what? When had that happened?

"And I answered you." I sat up. Why did I sound so bitter? Why couldn't I change it? My eyes flicked down to Jack's throat without my permission. His skin looked so soft and I realized I was suddenly famished. My throat burned and desire reared its ugly head inside me. Isaac's voice snapped my attention back to reality.

"Oh dear, Marty. You made the Nephil sniffle."

Jack clenched his teeth and hissed, seemingly bothered by the fact that I wasn't afraid of him. He wouldn't hurt me, right? No, he would. He would hurt me if he knew. If he knew what I wanted to do to him. I wanted him to hold me as he had a few days ago but I wanted to sink my teeth into him at the same time. I deserved to die.

"What are you?" He repeated, taking a step forward. He would hurt me. Good.

"I don't know what you're talking about," I replied, my voice inflectionless. Wandering towards my dresser I started fiddling with some meaningless piece of junk. Anything for a distraction from his soft throat and thrumming pulse. Jack's glowing eyes followed me.

"Y-you're lying," He said. He was trying to sound strong, but there was something broken in his tone.

"Ya think?" I deadpanned. Jack swallowed thickly; his hand shot out to grab my wrist, eyes fading back to their soft blue.

"This isn't funny, Marty. Stop." His eyes pleaded with me. I eyed his hand.

"Or what?" I challenged. What would he do to me? He looked me in the eyes, frowning and moving closer to me. He needed to step away. I caught my gaze drifting to his neck again but I couldn't stop.

"I really don't want to hurt you," He said.

'Then don't make me tell you.' I thought. His eyes searched my face for any glimpse of his friend, but that girl had never been real, not really anyway. I had made her up.

I wished I could go back in time. Back to the night we met. We could do it all over again and maybe, if I had another chance, he wouldn't figure it out. Maybe it would've been better if I'd never come with Jack in the first place. I wished we could go back to the night we met. Then I could have said no. If I hadn't come with him, I never would have hurt Jack like this. If he had never touched me then I would never have had to feel this pain. If I could just go back.

"And you won't," I said, taking a chance.

Jack huffed, his expression pained.

"This is freakin' five-star entertainment," Isaac mused, resting his chin on his fist, observing Jack and me.

"Please, Marty," Jack begged in a whisper. His sweet-smelling breath was warm as it washed over my face. His eyes flicked down to my lips but only for a split second. No, no. Anything but that. "Just tell me the truth."

'You already know it.'

"I have," I lied. Everything kept coming out wrong! I sounded emotionless like I didn't care but I did! Jack's soft expression melted into one of betrayal.

"So, you're just going to lie?" He asked. "Right to my face?"

I didn't have control over what slipped from my lips next.

"Says the Devil's kid."

"Ooh! One point to the Marty!" Isaac laughed.

Jack stared at me like he was heartbroken. Then his eyes narrowed into a glare, lighting with gold as he released my wrist and moved his hand to seize my throat. He whirled us around and slammed me into a wall with more force than I'm sure than he intended to use. Not that I couldn't take it. Without so much as a flinch, I tilted my head as much as I could with Jack cutting off my air supply.

"Tell me what you are!" He shouted. There was desperation there.

"That's quite the grip ya got there, puppy," I taunted, rasping. He loosened his grip but only slightly, holding the picture of my family up for me to see, the corner was dated January 8th, 2014.

"You said they died five years ago. This picture- it was taken five years ago! You said you were nine then! But y-you - you weren't!" Jack's eyes were wide, almost crazed as he glanced from the girl in the picture and back to me. He knew the truth; he just didn't want to believe it. His voice softened. "You haven't aged a day. Five years and you haven't aged a day."

My voice was soft and it wasn't just from the lack of air. "I aged about a month, actually."

Jack let go of my throat like I was burning him, shaking his head as he backed away like a frightened animal. As well he should. He was the prey here and I did want to kill him. But I wanted him to hold me again even more. "Y-you're one of them..." He whispered.

'Don't leave me. I'm sorry, just don't leave me!' I thought desperately, but that wasn't what came out. I felt trapped in my own skin, the monster inside me taking over, fed by my own bitterness.

"I'd say something along the lines of 'say it out loud' but I'm pretty sure that would have copywrite issues," I said, shrugging and moving back to sit on my bed. Jack watched me carefully.

"Felix - h-he turned you. He made you just like him - a vampire... You're a monster!" He spat the word like it was snake-venom.

And it hurt. It hurt so freaking bad. It was like I had lodged a knife in my own chest years ago and now Jack was twisting it.

'I know I am.' I wanted to say.

"Well that's a harsh way of putting it. But I've been called worse." I brushed it off like I didn't care like it wasn't that deep like I wasn't  bleeding  to tell him how sorry I was. I lowered my head in shame.

"I-I have to tell Sam and Dean," Jack said, shifting onto the balls of his feet, edging towards the door. He was going to make a run for it. Suddenly, I was in control of my body again.

I couldn't let him. I needed more time. I needed to beat Felix first and then they could all find out. I had to fix this. I could still fix this.

I had made Jack forget once.

I could do it again.

I would take us back in time. Before he knew. Make everything right. Take us back to the night we met.

He had to forget.

"I can't let you do that," I spoke softly, my gaze still focused on my feet.

"Are you going to try to kill me?" He asked accusingly.

"No." I shook my head. No, I could never kill him. I was too selfish for that. He deserved someone so much better than me. But I loved him.

"Then what are you going to do?" Jack shifted closer to the exit.

"Isaac," I glanced at my brother out of the corner of my eye. Jack stiffened, his eyes snapping to where mine went. "Get the door."

"On it!" Isaac said, overly eager. Jack bolted but he was too slow. My brother flicked his wrist and the door swung closed with a click. Jack swallowed thickly and glanced back to me, fear filling his features. I knew what he was going to try next.

'This is necessary. One day I'll be sorry.'

"His wings," I said to Isaac, my voice breaking. Isaac grinned widely and reached out, making a pinching motion. Jack froze in a panic, then he clenched his eyes shut groaning as Isaac twisted his hands just a bit.

"Can I rip 'em off?" He asked, basking in the Nephilim's pain.

"Isaac, no!"

"Oh, come on," He twisted his hands even more and Jack cried out, his innocent face twisting in agony. "Just a little?"

"Stop! Just-" I sighed. "Please, don't hurt him, Isaac. Just keep him still, please."

Isaac rolled his eyes. "Oh, fine!" He let go and Jack fell to the ground, panting and shaking. He did his best to get to his feet but Isaac flung him into a wall, pinning him there. "Go ahead and Obliviate the simp."

I stood and stepped towards Jack, slowly and carefully, trying not to scare him any more than I had. I could tell he was trying desperately to move but Isaac was too strong.

"What are you going to do?" Jack demanded, trying to hide the fear in his voice. "Are you going to drink my blood?!"

I froze.

Because I could. Then, I could make him forget.

I glanced at his throat. My fangs ached to come out - to bite.  I could imagine what it might feel like to bury my teeth in that soft, delicious-smelling skin. I could imagine what he might taste like. He'd be sweet like candy. I could be gentle! Maybe if he could somehow understand how badly I needed him then he'd let me. And he heals fast so he'd be okay.

But he wouldn't understand. And I wanted him to hold me again.

I just wanted Jack to hold me again.

"No," I said. I plucked the picture frame from his hands, gazing at the smiles of my family for a moment. I looked up, trying to smile despite the ache of grief and guilt in my chest. "I'm going to need you to forget this."

"I wish I could," Jack said, glaring at the floor. He couldn't even look at me. He couldn't even look.

I nodded. "You will."

"W-what?"

I sighed and moved over to the window. The crisp breeze blew in from the sea as I threw it open, the curtains billowing like vicious barking dogs on a leash. It was a long way down to the black rocks where the land met the ocean. I dropped the picture and watched it tumble until it smashed into the rocks, shattering that perfect picture frame, shattering my picture-perfect family into a million pieces.

"I can make you forget," I told him, over my shoulder. "Take us back to the night we met." The power inside me trilled with excitement; it wanted Jack, it craved him. Or maybe that was just the monster I was, begging to be unleashed. I turned away from the window, closing it as I did.

"What do you mean?" He asked cautiously. He was scared. He was  so  scared.

"I'm going to talk to you, and then you're going to forget, and everything will be back to the way it was." I would fix this. His arms would be around me as soon as I fixed this and everything would be okay. I hung my head and let the power inside me launch forward and wrap itself like chains around my Nephilim. I could feel his light, his grace, fighting back but it had nothing substantial to fight. My power wasn't physical, I just imagined it being so.

"No! W-wait!" Jack watched me with dread, beginning to feel the effects of what I was doing to him. I was locking his memories away, locking him up in his own head. But I had to. Because he wouldn't understand and I needed him.

"I have to do this," I whispered, digging my mental claws in deeper.

"Stop," He gasped, beginning to tremble with effort, "Whatever you're doing, just stop!"

"I can't stop, Jack. I'm sorry, but I just need a little more time," I said, gently. "Four moves and I win."

"Four moves..." He mumbled to himself, his brows furrowing, "Four moves? I-I've heard that before. Where have I heard that before?" Then he groaned and squeezed his eyes shut again.

"Please, just forget. I need you to forget."

'I need you to hold me again.'

"Get out of my head!" Jack's voice rose with panic. He flinched away from me as much as he could but Isaac kept him pinned and helpless.

"I'm gonna make everything okay again. I promise." I fought harder against him, willing my power to work faster. Jack moaned and I glanced up to see his face contorted with pain.

"Please!" He begged me, grimacing, "Please, stop! Marty, please. It hurts." I tried harder, and a choked sob escaped his throat. "Marty, please! It hurts! It hurts! You have to stop! Please!"

"I wish you hadn't found out, Jack, and one day I'll be sorry about this."

"Wait. Wait, no!"

I pushed my power harder than I ever had before.

A horrifying scream of pure agony ripped from Jack's throat. But the walls of this house were built to withstand hurricanes. I was the only one who could hear him. With one last burst of effort, I overpowered the walls of his grace and my power flooded his mind, wiping away any memories of what I was. His scream faltered into groans and those softened into whimpers and Jack's body went limp.

Isaac let go and the Nephilim collapsed but I caught him before his head hit the floor. Carding my fingers through his hair, I pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. Picking him up, I carried him to my bed and laid him there. He weighed more than I did, obviously, but he didn't feel very heavy to me. I laid down beside him, hugging him around the middle and pressing my face into his chest.

Then I finally cried.

"I hope you can forgive me before I'm sorry. Because I'm a liar and don't think I'll ever really regret this."

***

"You hear something?" Sam asked, perking up. Castiel sat dutifully on a large black bolder, watching the house. The angel flicked his eyes to Sam and gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head before focusing back on the house.

"Hm? Uh, no." Dean hardly spared a glance. He was too busy drawing inappropriate words in the sand with his foot. Sam frowned.

"Weird." He shook his head, swallowing thickly as he paced back and forth across the moonlit sand.

"Martina threw a picture frame from her window and it shattered against the rocks approximately sixty-two feet south-east of where you are standing," Castiel informed him, "Perhaps that's what you heard."

Sam shook his head again, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"No, no. It, uh, it wasn't that. I just- I-I coulda' sworn I heard someone..." He trailed off. 'Scream,' He wanted to say. The sound had been like a phantom pain; intense yet insubstantial.

'Just like the visions...' Sam thought. But no. That wasn't possible. He hadn't had a vision or any manifestation of psychic abilities for going on twelve years! He was probably just imagining things. Sam pushed the thought away as soon as it had come. It was impossible... Right?

Yet still, his eyes wandered to the window on the upstairs floor of the dark house; the only window with a slim shaft of light peaking through the curtains. Because what if...

No .

No. Everything was fine, Jack would have alerted them if there was any danger - or at least - the brothers and their angel would've been able to see if Jack thought there was any danger. Judging by the lack of explosions, Sam could assume that everything was fine.

There was no trap here after all. Although, if he thought about it, that may have been the trap in itself. That monster called Felix had lured Marty back here to relive the most painful day of her life. There had been no vamps waiting to do her any physical harm, but Felix didn't need them to. He just wanted that poor, sweet, little girl to hurt.

And, boy was she hurting.

Sam knew how it felt to lose a brother. He knew how it felt to watch his brother die twice. Hell! Sam had watched Dean die more than one hundred times on the one hundred worst Tuesdays of his life. It had made him feel empty inside - hollow. Like somebody had scraped out everything inside of him, the good and the bad, and had left an utter nothingness in its place. And in the face of all that nothing, fear had gripped Sam's heart like a vice. Fear of that emptiness - of all the unspeakable things it made him willing to do. Sam had been willing - eager even - to do whatever it took if it meant filling that awful hole inside of him.

That was what scared him. It was that ruthlessness. It was that titanium will he'd always shied away from. It was when he'd looked into a mirror and seen John Winchester staring back at him. Deep down, that was what both Sam and Dean had always feared the most. Becoming their father. Becoming the shell of a man that had raised them.

Sam could see the beginnings of a similar shell-forming in Martina. He had seen it when they'd rescued her from that shed the week before. Her shell wasn't made of hate like John's had been - not completely at least. Marty's shell had come from grief and fear. She was just trying to hide; both from Felix and from the shell of a person that she was becoming. Jack had told Sam about Marty's memory gaps - about how she couldn't remember what had happened in the shed after she had left. Sam knew that traumatized people tend to blot things out, it was common. But things like the shed and her return to her childhood home could only serve to send Marty further into her shell.

And the last thing the world needed was another John Winchester.

"These kids were livin' a dream, aye Sammy?"

Sam frowned as Dean's mumbled words knocked him from his train of thought. "H-how do you mean?"

"I mean, look! They had everything!" He said, gesturing from the white sand of the beach to the black rocks to the brine woods. His tone and expression grew sober. "Just like a little fairy-tale. And, I mean, three psychics? Those kids - they had a lotta' potential. So smart and talented and now..." Dean trailed off with a frown.

"Yeah..." Sam quietly agreed. Dean turned to his brother with a pensive expression.

"Got me thinkin', maybe-" He sighed. It was hard for him to say and he didn't want to say it. Even though Dean knew that Marty was capable of more than she seemed and that she could affect his emotions, he didn't really care.

Well, he did  care . Dean hated people screwing with his head or his feelings, period. But somehow Marty was different. He didn't really care to admit it, but Dean had always wanted a daughter. A sweet soul he could love and care for but definitely, with a badass side, he could bestow his knowledge upon. Claire was a close as he had gotten but she had already grown up and she didn't want his help. To Claire, Dean was only a painful reminder of all she'd lost.

And, of course, there was Emma.

But Dean didn't like to think about her.

Thinking about Emma was too painful.

But Marty was still young, and she didn't see Dean the way Clair did. Marty looked at Dean with hope in her eyes and he desperately wanted to keep it that way.

Jack had used to look at him that way. Jack didn't look at him like that anymore.

Because Dean had messed up with Jack. He could admit that now. He'd messed up and he'd messed up bad. Things had gotten better between them; little by little over time. But Jack hadn't even been five days old when Dean had promised to take his life. After that, Jack had only watched Dean with fear. Not hope. Just sheer friggin' terror on his face whenever the elder Winchester walked into the room. And though things had gotten better, they'd always have that promise between them.

That promise from the night when if Dean had only been a better person he could have made things better and not worse like he always did. (Because he was always making things worse. Always too selfish. Always screwing things up. Always getting people hurt. It was always him, always his fault.) Dean could've snatched that knife from Jack's hands and told him it was going to be alright even if it didn't seem like it would be. And Dean could've given the kid the kind of hug he should've been given the day he was born; a father's hug, just like Castiel would have given him if he'd been alive to do it. Because that was Cas's son. That was Cas's kid! Oh, God... Cas... How could Dean have let his best friend down so horribly? Cas, who had given everything up for him and his brother. Cas had saved them time and time again at his own expense. Cas, who would bleed every drop of blood he had with a smile on his face, all in the name of the Winchesters. How could Dean have betrayed him like that? It wasn't enough for Dean to just let the angel die!  (It was Dean's fault, of course. It always was. How couldn't it be? He could have prevented it. If he'd just been a little faster or a little smarter.) No, he had to go and tear that innocent kid to pieces just cause he was sad. (So, selfish. How could he be so selfish? Why was he always so selfish?) Cas had trusted Dean with his son and Dean had repaid him with the promise to take Jack's life. No wonder Jack still could hardly bear to look Dean in the eyes. How could he? Dean wasn't meant to be a father to anyone. He was too frickin' selfish for that.

But this time, things would be different. This time around, Dean would be different - he would be better. For once in his life, he would be selfless and he'd do the right thing even if it possibly meant giving up his only chance to raise a little girl. Because, despite being tainted by darkness and tears, there was still so much good inside Martina Linville. She had so much potential, with the right chances, she could grow up to be great. But she would need those right chances and she wouldn't get them if she stayed with the Winchester's broken little family. All they brought to people was tears and death.

Dean didn't want that for her. She deserved better. Just like Dean himself and his brother had deserved better. She deserved to live a life free from all this pain - a good life, a happy life. Dean wanted that for her. Dean just wanted to help. That was all he'd ever wanted. The last thing Marty needed was more darkness in her life. She didn't need them in her life.

She didn't need him in her life.

So, Dean would be selfless and he would let her go and he would give her the chance to shine like the stars she loved so much. It was probably the most fatherly thing he could do for her. 'Cause Dean just wasn't cut out to be a Dad.

But, oh, did he wish he could be one. Even though he knew that Marty's empathic abilities were probably what was making him feel so strongly about her, Dean couldn't help but go along with it. It wasn't like she was stuffing thoughts in his head; his feelings may have been bolstered but Dean's mind was his own. Dean had always wanted a daughter, Marty hadn't made that up that wish, she'd just reminded him of it. He felt awful about how he had treated Jack and craved a chance at redemption for his mistakes; Dean had made those choices, all Marty had done was exist to give him a chance. Sure, she was rioting his emotions. But what did that matter? Because Dean wanted this and damn it! This felt real!

But he couldn't have it.

Because Dean, and his brother, and their angel, and - yes - even Jack -- it was all some sick, screwed up, god damn beautiful tragedy -- But they were the last thing Martina Linville needed.

So, Dean would be selfless.

"Thinkin' about what?" Sam's question shook Dean from his reverie and back to what he'd been meaning to say.

"Maybe we should put her into the system after all this," He said, thoughtfully, though there was regret in his tone also. Sam blinked twice, shaking his head.

"W-what? The system? You mean the foster system?" He asked, incredulously.

"Yeah? Something wrong with that?" Dean responded. Sam gaped at him.

"Is something wrong with that? Dean, everything is wrong with that!" He exclaimed. Dean opened his mouth to argue but Sam didn't let him. "We made Marty a promise! Just this morning you said she was part of the family. Was all that just talk?"

"No, but-"

"Then what the Hell was it, Dean? Because you can't just go back on something like that! We said we'd take care of her," Sam huffed, crossing his arms and glaring at his older brother.

"And that's exactly what we'd be doing," Dean argued, "Giving her a place that's safe."

"Who would take her in? She's fourteen and she's got more trauma than some war veterans, I don't-"

"Exactly!" Dean cut him off. "The kid's got issues! She needs help, the professional kind."

"Since when do you promote therapy? Sam scoffed.

"When it doesn't involve me," Dean grumbled. Sam shook his head, getting back to the point.

"Throwing her on a bunch of strangers with no clue what she's been through, and who couldn't possibly understand her even if they knew, isn't going to help her! She'd get tossed around or thrown into some group therapy home till she's eighteen and then they'd dump her back on the streets where we found her! How is that taking care of her?"

"It's getting her out of this life, Sam," Dean said firmly. Sam glared.

"You mean getting her out of your life," The younger brother spat lowly.

"What did you just say?" Dean asked dangerously.

"You heard me."

"You have somethin' ya wanna say to my face, Sammy?" Dean growled.

"Dean," Castiel said his name like a warning, his hand gripping Dean's shoulder, holding him back.

"Yeah, I do." Sam's nostrils flared and his mouth was pressed into a thin line. "I'm not gonna stand by and watch you do this again."

"Do what again?" Dean questioned, Cas' hand on his shoulder reminding him to keep calm.

"This thing you do. Anytime a kid comes along, you do this. You act all annoyed, then right as you start liking having 'em around something happens and you realize the responsibility and it freaks you out so you back off and you push 'em away."

"I don't do that," Dean said, rolling his eyes.

"Yeah? 'Cause you did it with Kevin, you did it with Claire, you did it with Jack, and now you're doing it again right now with Marty. The second things get real, you get scared and you run away." Sam kept eye contact with Dean, challenging him to look away. Dean clenched his teeth, his pride preventing him from losing the contest of wills.

"Quit fooling yourself, Sam. Look at me!" Dean's voice broke just a little. But he cleared his throat, quick to cover his mistake. "Er, at us, I mean. We can't raise a kid!" He protested.

"We raised Jack," Sam countered.

"Because there were  literally no better alternatives!" Dean seethed. Sam opened his mouth but Dean wasn't done. Hyperaware of Castiel's presence just behind him, guilt ate at his heart. But Dean had never been very good at apologies. "And I even screwed that up! I'm not Dad material, Sam. I'm just not!"

His outburst of emotion made Sam blink, rendering him momentarily speechless. He could have spoken his next words gently but pride made them come out like acid.

"I don't think that's what Ben thought," He hissed. Sam knew it was a low-blow bringing up Ben. That wound was still sore.

"Yeah?" Dean laughed but there was no humor in it. "WELL LOOK HOW THAT TURNED OUT!" He yelled. Sam tensed but didn't back off.

"Something isn't real because it lasts, Dean," Sam said, speaking just a little bit gentler now. "For however short a time, Ben had a dad that loved and cared about him. For however short a time, you made him happy. You say you're not dad material, but that's not what I saw. If that's what you're so worried about, then don't be. 'Cause you made an pretty awesome dad, Dean, even if Ben doesn't remember."

Dean sighed in defeat. "We have nothing to give her, Sam."

"We have trust and understanding, a-and that's more than some random foster home could give her."

Dean shook his head. "It doesn't have to be random."

"What do mean?"

"Jody," He suggested, "I mean, she's already got Claire and Alex. What's one more?"

Sam sighed through his nose, shaking his head. "Yeah, she's got Claire and Alex-" He paused giving his older brother a pointed look. "-  And Patience and Kaia. What's one more? That's only five emotionally unstable teenage girls to take care of, on top of a full time job as a sheriff, and hunting to worry about too."

"I agree with Sam," Castiel spoke up, "We cannot simply dump yet another troubled youth onto the already burdened shoulders of Sheriff Mills." Sam gestured to the angel as if accentuate his point.

"But at least she'd be safe," Dean argued, pursing his lips into a thin line.

"From monsters, sure," Sam agreed, nodding. Dean could sense a ' but ' coming. "But not from herself."

"Jody could help Marty just as much as we could - probably more!" He said. Dean could hear Sam grind his teeth in frustration, but Cas held up a hand to speak.

"I don't think that's true, Dean."

"Why not?" Dean asked the angel.

"'Why not?' Haven't you been listening?" Sam exclaimed. Cas shot the younger Winchester a look and he fell silent.

"I am sure Sheriff Mills is a competent and kind woman; however, Martina does not know or trust her. Sending her to live there would only be marginally better than shipping her off to a stranger," The angel stated, evenly.

"What's that gotta do with what Sam said?" Dean asked. Cas gave him a long-suffering look but continued in perfect patience.

"As weary as I am of Martina's true motives and intentions, I think it is plenty clear the choice she faces after the termination of her family's killer. That is, if she has not made her decision already."

Dean's face scrunched with confusion. "What choice is that?"

"The choice of continuing to live free from the threat of Felix Monroe, or..." The angel trailed off, frowning. His tone made Dean feel like there was a knot in his chest.

"Or what?" He pressed, cautiously. Cas sighed.

"Or to end her life and return to her family," Cas finished, soberly.

Dean was stunned. He hadn't thought- He had never realized.

"Wait, whoa. Are you telling me Marty wants to commit suicide?" His eyes were wide with fear and alarm. She was too young for that. Too young to want to kill herself. No. She couldn't. Dean wouldn't let that happen. "Where's this coming from?" He demanded. Sam glared at him.

"She told her little brother she'd be with him soon. Combine that with the scars on her wrists, and it's really not that hard to figure out," He said, coolly.

Scars? Dean understood now. That was why she was always wearing long sleeves, even in the sweltering heat of Florida. Sam took advantage of his older brother's silence.

"Think about it, Dean," He pushed, "Sending her away from first people she's allowed herself to get attached to in five years? You think that will help?"

The thought made Dean reconsider but Sam had more to say.

"A-and think of Jack! You've seen how much he cares about her. I've seen him smile more in these last two and a half weeks than he did in the five months since we got him back from Apocalypse World. What do you think would happen if he found Marty laying in a pool of her own blood? What do you think that would do to him?"

"It would kill him." Dean sighed, nodding in agreement and Sam cracked a smile.

"I mean, we both know he loves her, Dean. And I-I don't mean like a sister," The younger brother said, fondly. Dean chuckled and the tension in the air cleared.

"Yeah, there's definitely a thing there." He shook his head, grinning. "I mean, it's totally weird but it's a thing." Sam nodded and shrugged.

"Well, I dated a demon. I don't think I can judge."

"You can say that again!" Dean laughed.

The sudden chime of a phone ringing cut through the cool nighttime air like a knife and Dean reached to answer. The smile dropped from his face as soon as he caught a glance at the screen.

"Who is it?" Castiel asked.

"Blocked," Dean answered, apprehension filling his voice, "Three guesses as to who." He mumbled, sliding a finger across the screen to pick up the call and putting it on speaker.

"This is Dean Winchester," He announced as the line connected.

There was no voice on the other side of the call.

"Hello?" He tried again.

Again nothing.

Dean could hear someone breathing but they didn't speak. The breaths sounded ragged and uneven like the person was out of breath. There was background noise as well, a deep rumbling that seemed to increase in volume as time wore on. Without warning, the sound of a deep bellowing horn blared from the phone's speaker. It was the sort of horn that typically accompanies a low rumbling noise. It was the sort of horn that accompanies a really, really big train. The sound of the horn grew louder but soon began to fade as the train passed by whoever had been holding the phone. Something told him this wasn't a simple case of a butt-dial. The situation unnerved for some reason he couldn't name. It was like a scene from a movie.

"Tell me who you are or I'm hanging up," Dean said, his voice demanding.

"I-I would'nt d-do that if I were y-you!"  A desperate, ragged voice called from the phone. Dean had gotten it wrong. The person on the phone wasn't Felix. The person on the phone was a little girl and she wasn't out of breath. She was terrified.

"Why not?" He asked, cautiously.

"B-because little Pamala o-only get's this one c-call." The voice on the other end sounded oddly robotic despite the words being broken into syllables by the girl's sobs.

"What do you mean?" He wondered.

"She-she's lu-ucky you picked u-up. If you hadn't I'd have t-old my friends to e-eat swe-eet Pammy here! Sh-she's seven, just so you know!"  The little girl choked out.

"Felix," Dean growled, "You're using the little girl to talk for you?"

"Pamala is a c-cute little pup-pet. But she's a-annoy-ing. If she d-doesn't stop s-stutter-ing, I'll tell one of my f-friends to t-ake a bite!"  The little girl whimpered and took a deep breath, trying to steady her voice for the sake of her life. " So, what shall I make Panama say next?"

Dean gritted his teeth together. To his right, Sam looked like he was going to be sick. But this wasn't just sick, this was downright  vile . On his left, Cas looked about ready to rip that monster apart with his bare hands.

"Why don't you talk to me with your own voice, Nessie? Ya scared?" Dean taunted.

"No. That would ruin the fun of the game." The girl spoke slowly, trying her best to stay calm.

"What game?" Castiel demanded, sounding a step away from livid.

"You hunters and your angel have thirty minutes to come and rescue poor, little Pamala. When time is up, I'll tell my friends to- to r-rip her in- into itty-bitty pieces!" The girl let out a panicked sob after finishing the monster's words.

"How are we supposed to do that?" Dean demanded, fuming. "She could be anywhere!"

"No, not anywhere, Dean. She's sitting all wrapped up in the attic of the Florida East Coast Railway Station at Fort Pierce. I might be there with her too, gives you a chance to catch me just to make things interesting. But you better hurry, I hear t-traffic can be a biatch."

"You're gonna pay for this, you son of a bitch!" Dean growled.

"Watch the language, Dean Winchester. There are children present. You don't wanna spoil little Pamala's innocence, do you?"

Dean was so enraged, he couldn't even speak. Luckily, Sam was thinking the same as he was.

"We're gonna kill you," Sam promised.

"Perhaps. But not before I show y-you the truth."

The truth? What truth?

"This call will end in...

Five...

Four..."

"Stay strong, sweetheart!" Dean called to the little girl on the other side of the phone. "We're gonna come help you!"

"Three...

Two...

One...

...

...

...

Please save me...

...

...

...

I don't wanna die..."

Then the line clicked and the call was over.

Dean clenched his jaw and put the phone away.

"Let's go gank that sick bastard."

~I am not the only traveler

And then I can tell myself

I had all and then most of you

When the night was full of terrors

Lyrics from: The Night We Met by Lord Huron

I had all and then most of you

[need-a-fugue]

Why Not? - Chapter Ten

Summary: With a garage to run and a young daughter to, well… run after, Bucky Barnes doesn’t exactly have time for dating. And with his relationship track record – and the constant meddling of a certain overbearing best friend – he’s not so sure that’s a bad thing. But then he meets Annie – a rather insistent, pretty damn cute fellow car enthusiast – and it’s got him asking himself, despite all his hesitations, why not?

Author’s Note: Written for Little Darlin’s Mystery AU Challenge. Thanks to @sourpatchkidsandacokecan​ for triggering this… sprawling thing simply by supplying me with the prompt of Mechanic!AU for Bucky. It’s taken on a life of its own already… look at what you’ve done!

I'm so sorry it took so long to update... I got a little sucked into a different WIP that I've been obsessing a bit over. But here we are, the final chapter!

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x OFC

Warnings: Bit of angst, mostly fluff. Some bad language words…

“Come on,” Annie intones – practically whines – as both hands come up to wrap around his wrist. She gives a sharp tug, lets out a dramatic groan, and then plants her high heels and pulls on him with all her might.

But Bucky’s feet remain cemented firmly in place, his eyes still lingering on the throngs of well-dressed, Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous people behind her as they casually saunter into the country club. The corner of his mouth ticks up ever so slightly, lopsided grin blooming as he watches her antics from his periphery, catching sight of the pretty pink chiffon of her dress blowing in the soft breeze as she leans heavily back and lets out another huff while continuing to manhandle him.

“Uh-uh,” he mutters, shaking his head slowly, methodically. “No way in hell am I going in there.”

She pulls herself upright and gives him a disappointed look, bottom lip protruding in an overdone pout. “You promised.”

He shrugs, twisting his hand easily in her grip to wrap his fingers around hers. “Changed my mind.”

There’s a cheekiness to his gaze – and a brilliant hue to his crystal blue eyes – that she recognizes immediately. It’s the same vague, teasing look he gives his daughter whilst telling her that dinosaurs used to keep sabretooth tigers at pets… and made wooly mammoths use their tusks to clean their litter boxes. Or when he insists that ice cream for breakfast is against the law, and he’s keeping her out of jail by giving her waffles instead.

It’s a look Annie’s had directed her way a time or two as well, the playful flash in his features doing more to set her ablaze than just about anything else – save maybe seeing him slide out from under a car, covered in grease and sweat. Those moments when he sneaks up behind her while she’s washing dishes, gives her a swift and startling slap on the ass that every time causes her to nearly jump out of her skin? There’s that glint burning in his gaze as she turns to coyly chide him. Or when she bemoans being tired after a long day and a late night, only to feel his fingers trail slowly up her thigh, setting her flesh to tingle and singe? Sure enough, when she rolls over in bed, it’s that look she’s met with, impish anticipation painting his features.

It’s a look that has already become adored and craved by her. And freely given by him. A gesture, an unspoken admittance of affection that – in just these few short months – has managed to work its way into a new, shared vernacular.

She steps closer to Bucky, the slowly setting sun beating harshly on her back as she presses herself to his chest. “What if I change my mind about coming home with you tonight?” she asks with a sly smile, eyes fluttering flirtatiously up at him. “I mean, if I go in there alone, chances are, I’ll find some handsome, rich man and go home with him instead. Let him whisk me away in his Ferrari.”

Her mere presence coupled with the unseasonably warm temperature causes sweat to build beneath his collar, and he reaches up with his free hand to tug at the suffocating tie. “If he’s got a Ferrari, I can’t blame you,” he breathes out casually. “Go for it.” He drops his palm down to her hip, taking in the cool silkiness of her dress. “But you’re not gonna find anyone in there more handsome than me.”

She pulls back with a sudden – utterly enchanting, he can’t help but think – laugh and slaps him in the chest. “Cocky much?”

He merely wiggles his brows at her, earning an eyeroll – amid a beautifully dimpled smile – in response.

“C’mon,” she breathes out then, spinning round and twining her fingers with his before setting off towards the celebration. “You’re my officially RSVPed plus one. There’s no backing out now. It’s the law.”

He bites back a short chuckle, lets out instead a rumbling growl, but easily relents just the same, this time allowing himself to be pulled forward towards the massive gardens ahead. “I don’t know any of these people,” he whines pathetically, plodding behind her with heavy feet.

“You know me. And Tony,” she supplies, forging on without casting a glance back at him.

He rolls his eyes restlessly. “Last time I saw your boss, he was practically dusting for prints in my garage.”

“So dramatic,” she mocks thickly, accepting a program from one of the ushers as they enter the sprawling garden. She stops short once inside, Bucky very nearly ramming into her from behind. “It looks amazing,” she lets out in a low, astonished tone, the very tenor of which shoots a wide grin across Bucky’s face. She spins to look at him, her eyes inadvertently ticking round to take in more details of their surroundings. The lush, green topiaries looming on all sides. The big, beautiful lilies and orchids encircling the seating area. The perfectly placed fairy lights streaming from the tall trees. The giant pergola up front where a terribly well-dressed justice of the peace is already stoically standing. “This is exactly like what Pepper requested,” she mutters delightedly. “She must be so happy!”

He tugs her off to the side – out of the way – as more people stream in. “Well, it is her day, right?”

Annie nods, small hum spilling from her lips as she turns and drags him off towards the pristine white chairs, marching ever closer to the pergola at the front. “Tony said that if I sit any further back than the third row, I’m fired,” she tells him when his heels begin to dig in yet again.

And again, he yields, a deep, rather comic frown pulling on his face as they lightly push their way through the other guests. “So Stark is the bridezilla,” he mutters, no question to his voice.

She leads him into the seats, across a few already sitting – oddly familiar-looking – people before plopping down with a huff. “Ugh,” she drones, completely ignoring his comment and instead straightening her skirt beneath her before letting out a long, weary sigh alongside the very simple utterance, “It is hot.”

“You’re hot?” He turns on her with wide eyes, tugging once more at his tie, trying – and failing – to slide the sleeves of his suit jacket up his forearms for just a little air. “If they say anything more than just I do, I might freakin’ melt out here.”

A soft, clever smile rolls across her face. “But you’ll look good while you do it,” she says, reaching up to flatten his lapel before giving a single, terse nod. “I like you in a suit.”

He lets out a small scoff. “Don’t get any ideas, doll.”

“Any ideas?” she intones, grin only growing. “We’re at a wedding, Buck. I’m getting all sorts of ideas.”

His eyes blow wide for the briefest of moments, mouth falling agape and head cocking towards her as an anxious trilling buzzes through his brain. But then he sees the teasing turn to her lips, the tightness in her jaw as she works to hold in a bout of laughter. And he releases a breath he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding as an exasperated, “Very funny,” slips from his lips.

The bright, airy chuckle she’d been holding so tightly to spills out, her fingers dropping to splay wide over his knee. “Relax. I promise I won’t propose to you at the end of the night.”

His face drops, and along with it, his voice. “Might not mind you proposing certain things,” he mutters with a shrug.

A quick bark of a laugh has his eyes veering automatically back up at her, locking onto her mirthful gaze. “Fine,” she eases out after the giggles begin to fade. “Maybe I’ll propose something.” Then she shifts in her seat, turning towards him, her face mere inches from his. Her eyes take on a somewhat solemn quality as she tells him, voice dropping nearly a full octave, “I’m not one of those super-sentimental, sappy girls who’s going to get all weepy just because we’re at a gorgeous wedding.” Her eyes tick over to the waiting pergola, a wistful air wrapping around her tone. “Or because I genuinely love the two people getting married. Or because,” she looks back at him, something clenching and burning deep in her core as she catches his bright blue eyes. “Because I love the fact that you actually came here with me.”

A tight breath hisses between his teeth. “Jesus, doll. You keep looking at me like that, you might just turn me into one of those super-sentimental, sappy girls,” he tells her before throwing an arm over her shoulder – despite the heat – and settling back with her body nestled close to his.

000

In the weeks following what had since been dubbed FLU: Revenge of the Toilet, Annie and Bucky had not only grown closer, but more… solid.

That rather rough Wednesday night – when everything seemed to go wrong and all of their insecurities were laid bare – had been a bit of a turning point in their relationship. Looking back, both of them would likely say that it was, in fact, the beginning of their relationship. Before that night, they were dating. They were two people who talked and laughed and hung out… and were – undeniably, categorically – attracted to one another. But after, they became so much more.

For Annie, the defining aspect of that evening – the thing that convinced her they were about to head down a new path together – was simply the fact that Bucky had pushed. He forced a conversation about whether or not she could handle his messy life, felt the need to because – I really like you – he was beginning to see a place for her in his future. That, coupled with the fact that he never asked her to leave, clearly never wanted her to leave, served to quiet Tony’s well-intentioned warning – You’ll never come first, you know – that always seemed to linger in the back of her mind.

Maybe that would still be true at times. Maybe it should be true, especially when the one she’d be competing against for that top spot was a four-year-old girl. But in that moment – that night – Bucky had made it abundantly clear that she was his priority.

Needless to say, she had stayed the night after all. After a rather intense and achingly long make out session that resulted in swollen lips, a bit of beard-burn, and a broken coffee maker; a quick everything’s good here check-in phone call from Steve and Natasha; and too much lukewarm Indian food, Annie ended up coiled around Bucky’s hulking form, breathless in his bed, sweaty sheets sticking to naked flesh as her exhausted body drifted off to sleep. It was blissful and hot, and above all else, it just felt… right.

The next morning, on the other hand, wound up being less than stellar. She woke cold and alone, sprawled atop an otherwise empty bed, pulled from her slumber by the muffled sounds of retching emanating from behind the closed bathroom door.

She cared for Bucky that day – much to his chagrin – helped him shower and dress, cleaned his toilet, even ran to the store to stock up on Gatorade and ginger ale. And she allowed him to care for her as well – to come and fetch her and take her home, clean her up and keep her hydrated – when she blew chunks all over her desk at work two days later.

And that is what became the defining moment for Bucky.

It had all been a somber sign of things to come. Sickness. Hardship. Going to bed on cloud nine and waking the next morning with a faceplant to the dirty ground. It was all the things that he’d been afraid might happen. Burdening Annie with the cumbersome task of caring for a stubborn patient – I see where Lana gets it now – and the painful domesticity it bore. Having to do the same for her, just looking at her pale skin and hooded eyes, wiping the sweat from her brow, all the while knowing she was sick because of him. Having to break plans – the first plans they managed to make that didn’t involve chicken soup and Netflix – when a rather green-looking Natasha brought Svetlana over two days early because Steve’s horrendous retching was making the little girl cry.

But they made it through just fine. It was oddly easy, in fact… easier than he ever expected it to be. Caring for one another. Wanting to care for one another. It had been too damn easy.

If he were to be completely, unabashedly honest, Bucky would have to admit that this degree of ease… of comfort and simplicity – because that’s really what it is, isn’t it? Just a bizarrely uncomplicated, effortless sensation? – was not something he’d ever had with any other woman before. Even with Nat – whom he’d loved long before Lana came along, though admittedly not in the way that allowed two people to forge a life together – it had never been easy. She was strong and independent and wholly her own person. Her strength reeled him in and turned him on. But it also terrified him. Still does. Showing any vulnerability in front of Natasha Romanov – despite her telling him repeatedly that she can see right through his cocky façade – is not a thing he has ever been willing or able to do.

And with other woman too, he’s only ever allowed a certain side of himself – or perhaps a select few sides – to be glimpsed. More often than not, he’s shown them the charming, self-assured smile, imbued every movement, every word with the seemingly subtle confidence that he could see turned them to mush. But never, that he can recall, had he shared with them his struggles. No, instead he’d wear that charm like armor, a beguiling indifference that got him laid while still keeping his heart safe. And after Lana was born, once he realized his heart had become even more precious – more full and seemingly fragile now that his baby girl lay inside – an utter air of detachment was added on as an extra, thicker layer of protection.

He’d tell women about himself – what he did for a living, where he grew up. He’d share with them that he loved cars, loved screwball comedies, loved his daughter more life itself. He’d let them into his home and his bed. But his heart – and most of what made him truly him – was simply off limits.

He never really realized how much of his time was spent walking on eggshells around the women in his life, cautiously selecting which pieces of information to reveal, which parts of himself – if any – to lay bare. He’d never realized quite how hard it had been to be himself… to be real and genuine and – God help him – vulnerable with women.

Until Annie came along and made things so damn easy.

000

The music is surprisingly… intense. For a wedding reception, at least. The not-so-subtle beats of AC/DC and Metallica permeating the air for a good hour or so before slowly tapering off into some more appropriate rock ballads. “Tony got to choose the tunes for the cocktail hour,” Annie whispers to him with a smirk. “Don’t worry, it’ll be over soon.”

But for Bucky, the predetermined cocktail hour expands well into the post-dinner lull, his general wariness of large crowds and unease with small talk driving him to keep his hands and lips busy with drinks for as long as humanly possible. He gets it down to a science… sip easily at the watered-down drink in his hand to keep from having to say more than a few words to any of Annie’s overeager – borderline neurotic – coworkers. Then slip back over to the bar, taking his sweet-ass time to get a refill.

He’s on his fifth lap now, taking a break to sit at the far corner of the open bar. He watches from afar – head ducked, fleeting smile stifled – as Annie laughs and talks and mingles with a handful of work friends, her kind eyes ticking his way every few moments in quiet – easy – reassurance. And with each tender glance he feels a new wave of adoration wash over him, a steadily undulating current that both buoys him and threatens to drown him in the depths.

“You’re drinking the cheap shit,” he hears from over his shoulder. His hand grips the crystal tumbler of bourbon a little tighter as he slowly spins on the stool, raising a brow at the suspiciously unaccompanied center of attention. Tony ticks his chin toward his glass before calling the bartender over and saying simply, “Break out the Pappy Van Winkle.”

“The what?” Bucky asks, his eyes following the bartender’s cautious steps as he makes his way around to the back of the bar, throwing furtive glances over his shoulder as he goes.

Tony rolls his eyes and lets out a small grunt before dropping into the seat beside him. “Stupid name, wholeheartedly agree.” He tugs at his bowtie, unfurling it in one quick swipe and flinging it down atop the mahogany bar. “But it’s the best. Or…” he shrugs. “One of the best. Don’t worry, you’ll like it.”

Bucky’s eyes narrow – not unkindly, but certainly suspiciously – as he watches the bartender return with two tumblers and a bottle that his fingers curl around as though it were the freaking holy grail. “Shouldn’t you be out there mingling with all your high-society guests?” he asks once they’re left alone with their drinks.

Tony raises his glass, holding it high with an expectant sort of impatience. “C’mon,” he mutters fitfully. “I just married the love of my life. Toast me.”

The corner of Bucky’s mouth quirks up into an amused grin, a quick snort of a chuckle spilling out as he brings the bourbon up and clinks Tony’s glass. “Congratulations,” he deadpans, the smallest gleam in his eye revealing the depth of his sincerity.

“Thank you.” Tony pulls back and sips at his drink, a look of pure comfort spilling across his face as his Adam’s apple bobs.

Bucky brings the bourbon to his lips – slowly, cautiously – and lets the amber liquid slide inside, coating his tongue, his throat, his soul in the most delicious burn possible. “Damn,” he breathes out, staring wide-eyed at the drink in his hand. A delicate trace lingers as he swipes his tongue along his bottom lip, head shaking slowly. “Damn.”

Tony chuckles under his breath. “Probably shouldn’t have introduced you to good ole Pappy,” he declares. “Like sending someone who’s only ever flown coach across the ocean on a private jet.”

“I’d settle for business class,” he smarts with a frown.

Tony nods, another small chortle spilling out of him. He takes another sip and cheats out on his stool, gazing across the large dancefloor in front of them until his eyes light on the tall strawberry blonde, dripping with white silk, a glass of champagne in her left hand that sets a sparkling backdrop for the platinum band clinking delicately against it. “Nah,” he mutters, grin growing as he watches his new wife throw her head back in a carefree, delightful bout of laughter. “Why settle when you can have the best?”

Bucky’s shoulders pull into a quick shrug, his gaze sweeping out to find the object of Tony’s attention before returning to settle on the drink in his hand. “Not everyone can afford the best,” he mutters a bit under his breath.

Tony turns to him with a disappointed glare. “You do realize I’m not actually talking about bourbon, right?” He lets out a long, exasperated sigh and settles in, placing his glass on the bar and leaning close to the man beside him. “She’s ruined you, hasn’t she? Annie,” he clarifies when Bucky’s brows curl in confusion. “Can’t go back to the cheap shit after getting a taste of her. Am I right?”

Something akin to a growl pulls from his chest, his jaw ticking tightly to the side. “Don’t talk about tasting my girlfriend.”

And Tony just laughs. Loudly. Haughtily. Slapping Bucky on the shoulder as he goes. “Relax, will ya?” he chokes out before swallowing down the snickers. He shakes his head with a fond sort of amusement. “Metaphor, Barnes.”

“Yeah,” he mumbles, hint of agitation still in his voice as he brings the glass back to his lips and lets the liquor wash away the remnants of his irritation.

“I was watching you before,” he states simply, mirthful eyes still trained on the rather uncomfortable looking man before him. “The way you look at her, eyes following her around like a little puppy dog.”

Bucky’s lips press tightly together into a small snarl.

“I’m a genius, you know,” he lets out vapidly before giving a quick shrug and reaching up to pop open the top button of his starched, white collar. “Doesn’t take a genius to see what I saw, though.”

“Oh, yeah?” Bucky bites out, perhaps a bit harsher than intended. “What’s that?”

A smug smile, a stifled laugh, a short, incredulous snort… that’s all the answer he really needs. But Tony says it anyway, never one to pass up the opportunity to be heard. “You’re smitten. Intoxicated. You’ve had the Pappy and – you’ve gotta admit – nothing’s been sweeter, smoother… easier going down.”

He flashes him a stunned look, his stare reflecting something between confusion and accusation. And his lips part, jaw popping open to emit nothing but dumbfounded silence.

“Love’s a good thing,” Tony tells him, his voice light and airy, flitting atop a soft laugh. “Annie is a damn good… thing,” he finishes, frown forming as he realizes what he said. But he shakes it off, a look of you know what I mean flashing Bucky’s way. “She tell you about the promotion?” he asks, curiosity lacing his tone.

Bucky sputters a bit, the swift change in topic causing him to reel. “Uh,” he thinks. Promotion… promotion. “Yeah,” he utters finally, once his brain catches up. “Yeah. Something about… operations…” He shakes his head. “Or operational… something.”

Another snort of a laugh. “Operations manager for our new Innovative Tech Division.” He shakes his head with an almost annoyed air. “Up and comers are the worst. They all think they’re the hottest shit, each of their ideas the most… innovative. I find them… exhausting.” He narrows his eyes pensively. “Actually I find them to be the most irritating little shits on the planet.” He issues out a quick scoff and downs the rest of his drink before returning his gaze to Bucky. “Annie says they’re too much like me and that’s why I hate them. But I don’t buy that. I love me.” He shrugs. “Anyway… figured she could go unleash some of that insight on them. Help them all get their shit together and function like a team. Or, hell, I’d settle for just function.”

Bucky lets out a soft snicker, crooked smile blooming. “Want her to clean up more of your messes,” he muses thickly, taking another pull of bourbon.

Tony flattens him with an uncharacteristically serious stare. “It’s what makes us a good team.” He turns on his stool to bodily face the man before him, brows knitting tightly as a contemplative expression washes over his face. “I can only function in a world tempered with chaos… need it to be able to find the answers that just swirl around in the air. I make messes. It’s part of my process. Annie, she likes to… clean things up. Organize them. Fix them. She’s good at it too.”

Bucky’s lips pinch tightly together, his head slowly bobbing in a pensive nod as a sudden swell of doubt rises in his gut. “She likes order,” he says, almost to himself.

“Nah,” Tony mutters. “She just knows that sometimes order is what you need to make things more… palatable for others.” Bucky’s brows twist tightly together, utter befuddlement tugging at his features. Tony stifles a laugh as he catches the look. “What she likes is the mess. Because it gives her something to fix. She likes the challenge.”

“The challenge,” he repeats, his shoulders deflating, head drooping. “Great. Just what every guy wants to hear… I’m a challenge to be around,” he murmurs under his breath.

“Give her some credit,” Tony mutters drolly, pulling Bucky from his haze. “If she didn’t want to be challenged, she’d shack up with one of the boring-ass intellectuals down in accounting. Lord knows enough of them have tried. She saw your ramshackle little garage, saw you racing all over the place to fix things…”

“My garage isn’t ramshackle,” he interrupts with a frown.

“Every time I went in there the place was overbooked, you had some new project going on – ”

“You brought me those projects,” he defends a bit heatedly.

Tony merely shrugs. “Tools and grease everywhere,” he goes on. “A business partner who comes and goes as he pleases. Some teenager trying not to break shit in the back…”

“Hey, Peter’s a good kid.”

He rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I know. I’ve heard.” He stares Bucky down, his deep brown eyes holding a steely edge. “Barnes, I have heard everything about you. About how great you are with early model fuel-injection systems. How generous your are with your regulars… working out financing and payment plans and other nonsense that’s just gonna land you in the poorhouse. How patient you are with working around other people’s schedules. How wonderful you are with your kid,” he finishes with another overdone roll of his eyes. “Yeah, you got a little bit of chaos surrounding you,” he goes on with a tender note. “And she likes that.”

“You’re saying she likes me because my life’s a mess,” he mutters, only a hint of a question to his voice. “She wants something to fix.”

“Your skull really that thick?” he asks with a raised brow. “I know you’re not a genius like some people…” Bucky rolls his eyes and snorts, both actions being completely ignored by Tony as he goes on to say, “You fix cars. She fixes people. You clean up after a kid. She cleans up after me. You hold together a complicated little family unit, work to make it, well, work. She’s about to do the same with a group of arrogant young prodigies. She’s not trying to fix you. She’s not looking to be challenged by you. Barnes, you idiot… she wants to be challenged with you.”

000

As the party slows, the night growing long and stretching out towards its inevitable end, Bucky finally leaves the bar and returns to their table. The other Stark Industries’ workers that had been surrounding them before, smothering Bucky with their enthusiastic welcomes and long-winded inside jokes that drove him to the silent corner of the bar to begin with, had all filtered off to either take over the dancefloor or simply retire for the night. It’s only Annie now, a vision in pale pink, the loose curls around her face coiling tightly at her temples due the unseasonable humidity. She rests heavily in her seat at the empty table, head propped on her fist as her eyes trail along the smaller – yet still substantial – crowd before her. The sweetest smile rests on her lips as she placidly watches people dance, laugh, talk, and just be.

Bucky flops down in the chair beside her, scooting a plate piled high with two different types of cake and a heaping scoop of fruit covered in chocolate sauce – because apparently there had been a chocolate fountain sitting at yet another dessert buffet on the opposite side of the room all night – over between them. Her smile grows into an excited, toothy grin as she accepts the proffered fork and stabs through the mountain of sugar, trying to capture all of the sweet treats into a single bite.

“Finally get tired of keeping yourself sequestered?” she asks just before popping the fruit-laden cake into her mouth.

He lets out a small chuckle and spears a chocolatey strawberry with his own fork. “Kinda backfired on me,” he murmurs, swiping his tongue around some of the dripping chocolate. “Your boss found me.”

She laughs indelicately, almost snorting around the massive bite of dessert as she chews and effortfully swallows it down. “Yeah,” she says with a nod. “I saw.” Her fork returns for another serving, playfully batting his away to get at a plump blueberry sitting atop a mass of vanilla buttercream. “Could’ve been worse. Gary from accounting found his way over here.” Her head drops dramatically back, a mocking – and loud – snore pulling from somewhere deep in her chest alongside a theatrical moan. “Sooooo boring.”

Bucky can’t help but laugh at that, his wide smile settling into something fond and familiar as he watches her sigh and slouch forward and focus once again on the dessert, taking another too-large bite and leaving a smear of frosting along the corner of her mouth. “You tired?” he asks, reaching down and plucking a naked raspberry from the pile, raising it up to swipe along her lip, using it to clean her mess before he pops it into his mouth with a wink.

She cocks her head at him and grins, eyes crinkling at the edges as she finishes chewing. He reaches out with his thumb to clear off the remnants of icing and chocolate pocking her bottom lip, and she lets her eyes blink slowly shut, head drooping a bit once she swallows. Bucky unfurls his hand, palm opening to easily accept her flushed cheek as she nuzzles into him. “Is that a pickup line?” she asks, leaning over the edge of her seat, gradually fading into his warmth. “You want to put me to bed?”

He laughs – the sound light and airy and wonderfully melodic to her ears – and scoots his chair closer, wraps an arm around her and tugs her casually to his chest. “Maybe.”

Her eyes flit open and take in the twinkling fairy lights above, each tiny, haloed bulb melding masterfully in with the night sky. “Thanks for coming with me tonight, Buck,” she murmurs languidly as her head rolls back along his shoulder.

He lays a chaste kiss atop her head and pulls her a little closer with his left arm, his right hand still absently stabbing at fruit with his fork. “Any time, doll.”

She shifts beside him, turns her head just enough to be able to catch a glimpse of his face. Her eyes shine with something akin to mischief as she says, “I have a friend who’s getting married in December. We went to high school together so everyone I grew up with will be there.” Her eyebrows wiggle almost maniacally, the look equal parts terrifying and endearing.

“Great,” he deadpans, swallowing down a chortle. Then, “Ah, you know what?” oozes out of him in an easy cadence. “Yeah, I think I have Lana that night. Probably can’t make it.”

“I didn’t tell you the date,” she says, blank face just barely cracking as a sneaky smile threatens to tug at her lips.

“Yeah, well,” he breathes out. “I’m a busy guy, you know.”

She scoots a bit closer, her hip splitting his knees apart as she settles in and wraps her arms around his center. “You’re not that busy,” she intones, dropping her face to his chest and letting out a small yawn. “Or did you forget that I updated your calendar myself?”

No, he hadn’t forgotten. He actually – silently – thanks her daily. Every time he gets an alert on his phone… a reminder about swim lessons, soccer practice, a change of days with Lana. Or a notification – complete with embedded heart emoji – telling him exactly where to be and at what time for their date that evening. She had – now that he thinks about it – somehow managed to already calm the inherent chaos in his life, easing the strain of the everyday.

“Hm,” he hums out casually as his fingers weave into her hair. “You know, I’m pretty sure that calendar told me just the other day that Lana’s starting gymnastics next month…”

She pops up excitedly, coming to life in his arms as she presses her palms into his chest and pushes off of him. “I know!” she enthuses, turning a beaming smile his way. “I’m so excited for her!”

The corner of his mouth quirks up, soft chuckle spilling forth. “Well, that’s good, I guess,” he mutters cheerily, all the while shoving down the butterflies that so often burst to life in his gut when she’s around. She’s excited for my baby, he thinks, grin growing wider from just that one thought. “But I was trying to point out that I’m sure I’ll be way too busy for any more weddings.”

Her bottom lip pushes out into a pout, pensive look tugging at her features as her eyes narrow. “Nah,” she says after a moment of seeming contemplation. “We’ll make it work.”

“Oh, we will?” he questions amid a laugh.

She drops back into him, her head colliding with his collarbone and causing a harsh grunt to sound, cutting off his laughter. “Of course we will,” she mumbles into his chest, the sound of her voice muffled but the feel of it edging into him, vibrating through his chest and colliding with his heart.

He squeezes her a little bit tighter, his fingers trailing softly along the bare skin of her neck, swiping down over her shoulder in a delicate trace. He drops his lips to her hair once more, breathes in the now familiar scent of coconut shampoo… smiles when he gets a swift hit of Lana’s lavender detangler too.  

“I think,” he breathes out, low voice slowing trailing off. She curls deeper into him and gives a small hum by way of encouragement. But he doesn’t go on, can’t quite form the sudden, overwhelming thought into a coherent sentence. He releases a long, hot breath into her hair, the statement that had only just cracked forth and dropped through a chink somewhere in his armor now lodging in his throat.

I love you.

She pulls back and gives him a curious, almost worried look. “You want to go home?” she asks, her voice soft, achingly tender.

He offers a fond, closed-lip smile before tugging her back to his chest, nuzzling her close, and tucking her head beneath his chin. I love you. The words are now tickling the very tip of his tongue, smacking ceaselessly atop the roof of his mouth. I love you.

But… not yet. Not here. “Home,” he muses serenely, hums softly into her hair. A deep sigh spills from his lips, and along with it – carrying a note of practiced ease – he utters plainly, “Yeah, doll. Why not?”

[filmfanatic82]

AO3 Link (HERE)

Chapter 5

“I walk through this world, just tryna be nice

They say I'll get hurt, if I'm not like ice

I know I've got friends, I still get so lonely

If I look in your eyes, I'll want you to hold me

I'm sorry that I care, care

I'm sorry that I care, care

It's really not that fair, fair

I can't help but care”

-- Feeings, Hayley Kyioko

__________

“Yo! Penelope! Wait up!” MG yells from across the dining hall as he jogs to catch up with Penelope. 

Penelope stops, letting the sea of exiting students pass by her. 

After ending their impromptu spell lesson in the woods with a literal bang, Penelope hadn’t returned to classes, opting to spend the remainder of the afternoon buried deep within the comforting stacks the library instead. Book had always been a bit of a sanctuary for her. No matter the time nor the place, they were ever constant. A reliable anchor in the chaotic sea of Penelope’s life.

Once leaving the Salvatore School and becoming nomadic, books— non-magical books— were a real luxury. Sure, there was always an abundance of ancient spell books laying around and Caroline loved to surprise Hope and Penelope every so often with an obscure text on mythical rituals and covens. But anything that fell outside of those realms was rare at best. 

The only book that Penelope had managed to keep amongst her few belongings-- besides her journal-- was a mangled copy of Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban. It had been a one-month anniversary gift from Josie. A simple paperback version so that she didn’t have to lug around her first edition hardcover copy whenever she felt like re-reading it. It was her favorite. Not only within the series but possibly out of all the books Penelope had ever read. There was just something so oddly reassuring about the story itself. The ability to go back in time and right the wrongs of the past. 

Although Penelope had had to make the gut-wrenching decision to leave the book behind-- opting to take Josie’s yellow sweater instead-- she did remember that there was a stray copy of the book hidden away deep within the school library in the section where all the modern books with pop-culture references to witchcraft lived. And after locating it, she had curled up in one of the free wingback chairs and allowed herself to get lost within its pages. 

Sure, it wasn’t the most productive use of her time-- especially given the ever-present countdown ticking away in the back of her mind-- but one that still needed nonetheless. A little extra reassurance that just maybe there would be a happier ending to their story this time around.

But after an hour or two of non-stop reading, Penelope’s hunger had gotten the best of her and she decided to wander down to the dining hall for an early dinner. And to her luck, it had been almost deserted, with only a few young students sprinkled throughout the hall. 

The plan had been to eat quick and then retreat back to the safety of her own dorm room in the hopes that maybe Josie would be true to her word and swing by later. In and out. Unnoticed. As if it were just another day at Salvatore.

And for the most part, it had been successful… Until now.

“Hey, I’ve been trying to track you down all day,” MG says slightly out of breath. “What’s going on?”

“What’d you mean?” Penelope responds, trying to mask the growing ball of nerves within her stomach. 

“What’d I mean?? Pen, you were all set to up and peace out of here last night. You swung by my room to say goodbye and yet… You’re still here. What gives? I thought you were done with this place?” 

“I changed my mind.” Penelope holds her breath and silently says a prayer that MG will accept her answer at face value rather than digging a little bit deeper. 

“You mean Josie changed your mind.” 

“No… Not exactly… I just…” Penelope fumbles over her words, but it doesn’t matter. MG’s eyes light up with an all-knowing spark regardless. 

“Ah… I knew it! I… knew… it! You two are the freakin’ modern-day Romeo and Juliette man. Star crossed lovers. Destined to be together no matter what happens and all that shit.”

“MG…” 

“No, seriously Pen. That’s you and Josie. You guys give the rest of us hope, you know?” 

“Please tell me you aren’t still hung up on Lizzie.” 

“A boy’s gotta dream,” MG responds with a bit of shrug.

Penelope sighs. She shouldn’t do it… Just let sleeping dogs lay. It will all work itself out in time. MG will meet another vampire-- a transfer student from Denmark-- during his senior year at Salvatore, fall head over heels in love and forget all about his unhealthy obsession with the blonde-haired siphoner. The two will end up getting married and even go on to have an adorable baby boy who shares MG’s infectious smile. She really shouldn’t. But--

“Piece of advice?”

“Always from you.”

“Pick a different dream.”

“But--”

“Trust me on this, MG.” Penelope reaches out and places her hand down on MG’s shoulder, locking eyes with him as she does. “Pick a different dream.”

It takes a moment to sink in but then slowly MG’s face transforms into a look of common understanding. He gives a nod in return.

“Good,” Penelope replies and offers up a sympathetic smile. It isn’t much but it’s all she can think of doing without further crossing the line. “I’ve got a mountain of reading to get through tonight, so maybe we can continue to catch up in the morning? Over breakfast?”

“Yeah sure.”

“Great.” 

“Oh, wait! Pen, there’s something else,” MG says with a sudden urgency to his voice. “It’s Hope.”

“Hope? What about her?”

“Dunno. Think she got some bad news about Landon or something. She seemed pretty choked up last I saw her. Like she had been crying. Figured you might wanna know.” 

“Shit. Malivore,” Penelope mutters under her breath.

“Maliv- What?”

“Nevermind… Thanks for the heads up.”

“Yeah, no prob--” But Penelope doesn’t wait for MG to finish his sentence before taking off out of the dining hall and diving straight back into the sea of students.

__________

“Mikaelson! Open up,” Penelope bangs against Hope’s dorm room door a few minutes later sweaty and out of breath. 

“Go away, Penelope,” Hope answers back, voice trembling with tears. 

“Not happening.” Penelope waits for a minute or two for any sign of a further response but is only met with silence. She lets out a frustrated sigh. “Fuck.”

Penelope takes a giant step back from the dorm room door and shuts her eyes. “Aperi ianuam.”

BANG.

The dorm room door flies open and slams against the wall causing Hope to jump out of her skin. “What the fuck?! Did you just use magic to break into my room?”

“Relax,” Penelope replies. “I do it all the time… Or I used too… You get what I mean.”

Penelope crosses the threshold into Hope’s room and then mutters an incoherent phrase under her breath. The door shuts close followed by an audible click. “See? Good as new.”

“Not the point.” Hope settles herself back onto her bed. She swipes at her eyes with the sleeve of her cardigan, in an attempt to mask all traces of her tears. But it doesn’t matter. Penelope already knows. Six years of spending every single moment side by side with the Tribrid and she doesn’t need much in regards to cues. All it takes is a slight quiver on the end of a word or a brief flash of raw emotion buried deep within those golden eyes. That’s all. And Penelope can piece the rest of the puzzle together.

Every time.  

“Move,” Penelope says as she climbs onto the bed and wedges herself next to Hope. 

“What are you--”

“No seriously… Move over.” Penelope gives Hope a nudge in the ribcage with her elbow and Hope obliges. “God, you’re such a bed hog.”

Hope shoots Penelope a hard eye roll. “Am not.”

“Oh, you so are, Furball. And a mad cuddler too, but we’re not gonna get into that one right now,” Penelope replies and slumps her head against Hope’s shoulder. It’s a selfish move… Especially given that this isn’t her Hope, but at the moment, she doesn’t care. It’s been beyond a day and her skin itches with the need for just a little bit of familiarity. “Right now we’re gonna talk about why you are hiding out in here and crying.”

“I wasn’t--”

“Let’s skip bullshit, okay? You were. And it must be about something pretty big cause you brought out Mr. Bearrington.”

Hope’s eyes instantly glance towards her nightstand where a raggedy old teddy bear sits slumped over on top of a pile of textbooks. “How did you…”

“I told you, Mikaelson,” Penelope says with a hint of a smirk. “I know you.”

“God, this is so weird.”

“You’ve got no idea.” 

A momentary silence settles within the room as Hope leans over to the nightstand and scoops up the teddy bear. She rubs her fingers in methodical circles along the stuffed animal’s threadbare ear over and over again and Penelope knows that this is her cue to sit tight and wait. 

Words will come. They always do. It’s just a matter of giving Hope the proper amount of time and space needed to wade through her inner tumultuous sea of thoughts and emotions first. 

Another minute or two passes by and then--

“Okay,” Hope says, breaking the silence. She stops rubbing the teddy bear and sighs. “You’re right. I was crying.”

“About Landon?” 

“Landon?” Hope asks with a sudden quirk of her eyebrow.

“Yeah. I thought… MG mentioned that you… Wait. This isn’t about Landon?”

Hope out a bark of a laugh. “No… God no. It’s not about him… But I guess it could be. It depends on how you look at it.”

“Alright… So… If it’s not about Landon, then who…” Penelope trails off as a wave of clarity all but blindsides her. She doesn’t need to finish her sentence because she already knows the answer. 

In fact, they’ve had this same exact conversation before. Except for the first time when it happened, they had been sitting on the rooftop at 3 am in Paris and halfway through their second bottle of Jack Daniels. It had been on the night that Caroline had let it slip that Lizzie was dating someone new… A Romanian witch named Violet. 

At first, Penelope didn’t think twice about it. Caroline was always providing them with tidbits of information from the world that they once called home. And that specific comment had seemingly been no different than the rest. Just another brief update intermixed within their normal dinner conversations. 

After it was said, though, Penelope noticed that Hope’s entire demeanor had instantly changed. She seemed off with a look upon her face that was only reversed for those rare moments when her emotions were too strong to hide from the outside world. 

So Penelope did what she always did in those situations when she needed Hope to open up. She guilty tripped the Tribrid into joining her for a nightcap at a local pub and proceed to all but pour shot after shot down Hope’s throat. 

It took six shots in total. Six shots to crack through Hope’s stoic facade and finally get to the real root of the problem. Hope had indeed been thrown off by the news about Lizzie. 

But it wasn’t until four hours later when they had stumbled their way back home and ontop their apartment rooftop, did Hope reveal the full truth to Penelope. She had been head-over-heels in love with Lizzie Saltzman since she first time she had laid eyes on the blonde-haired siphoner.

The conversation that followed was one of the best-- and most honest-- conversations that the two of them ever had with each other. It had, in short, be a turning point for their relationship. The moment where they transitioned from friendship into something so much more. 

“I know you said you can’t reveal too much about the future, but can I ask you something?” 

“Sure. Anything,” Penelope responds without missing a beat.

“Do I…” Hope pauses for a moment and lets go of a breath of air. “Do I ever end up getting together with Lizzie?”

The question cuts deep. Ripping straight through Penelope’s soul. 

God, how the hell is she supposed to answer this? It’s such a simple yet complex question. 

Penelope blinks away a hint of tears from her eyes and then forces a reassuring smile upon her lips. “Let’s say that if you both had had the chance to, you and Liz would’ve been together in a heartbeat.”

“She goes by Liz?” Penelope nods and Hope matches her smile. “Liz… I like that.”

“Yeah. The name fits her… At least the future her.”

Hope slinks down a bit, resting her head against the top of Penelope’s and once again exhales. “I was crying because… I think I’m in love with Lizzie Saltzman.” 

“Oh, you are.” Penelope yawns and cuddles in closer, nuzzling up into Hope like she has done countless times before. “And she’s madly in love with you too, Mikaelson.”

“She is?”

“Without a doubt,” Penelope mumbles as her eyelids slowly succumb from the sheer emotional weight of the day. “Okay. My turn to ask you something.”

“Of course. What is it?”

“Would you mind if napped here for a bit? It’s been a crazy long day and just that I can barely keep my eyes open… But if it’s too weird or strange, I can always--”

“Stop,” Hope cuts Penelope off and proceeds to reach down to the foot of the bed and grabs a blanket for the two of them. “Of course you can.”

“Thanks.”

“But if you start to snore, I’m kicking your ass out,” Hope replies with a yawn as well. 

“You’re the snorer, Furball. Not me,” Penelope whispers already half-sleep. 

Hope shakes her head with a look of amused annoyance and then wraps her arm around Penelope as she gets comfortable. “So freakin’ weird.”

[tongue-tied-ties]

I finally got through all 200,000 words of that freaking epilogue and GOD HAVE MERCY I SHOULD HAVE WENT CANDY AND THEN MEAT.

Overall though, I like it. I like it alot! I mean there are some things I feel weird about which like.......aren’t the things everyone else feels weird about apparently.

SPOILERS BELOWWWWW~!!!!

So it’s alot easier to get out of the way what I am weirded out about than to explain the many things I did like. 

- I feel weird about the xenophobia thing and how it’s being treated. Like it’s being treated like a huge issue but like non-issue all at once?? I guess that’s because from John’s perspective he’s just too busy being weirded out or suffering to truly get involved. Like I sincerely hope nobody on the team thinks standing by in a situation like this is a valid stance in any way. But it also happens in real life so like, I get it. I think this bothers me because these kids were heroes. But also they were heroes out of necessity and because they were main characters. Like that’s honestly it. They had a mission and fulfilled it and they were hailed as heroes.

- Hussie presenting xenophobia as both a joke and a serious issue and sometimes it’s hard to tell what position the comic is trying to take which makes me uncomfortable. 

- I think it’s in character, but I hate that Karkat alone had to defend himself every time Jane was being the #worstTM. I hate that Roxy just standing by knowing good and well these are the stakes every single time was never fully addressed. I wish somebody sat our beautiful bae Roxy to let them know that like this is shitty too?? Like you saying this is simply politics when a literal extinction is happening is shitty why didn’t anyone tell them that in stone cold, super serious terms for the love of GOD it bothered me so much. 

- Alright anytime Dirk used any sort of like reddit NiceGuy Are you triggeredTM 4-chan bullshit language it turned me all the way off. Like incel, beta, cuck?? Misgendering our void icon?? Yea. Cancelled but also not cancelled because I haven’t been this shook or excited over a villain in so long.

- Gamzee. Just...yikes all around. I’m not sure how I feel.

- JAKE DESERVED BETTER. HE REALLY FREAKING DID JUST SAYING. JAKE DIDNT DESERVE THIS MADNESS. Omfg i never hated anyone as much as I did Dirk when he snapped Jake’s psyche in half forcing him to love Dirk. It was so fucking iconic though and I’m still mad y’all. So many feelings. Oh god and when Jane like........did him wrong?? What le fuck? Jake i’ll be your friend, come here mate. Please let me hug my boi who I didn’t stan before but i stan now.

- Those kids.....I love those kids give them a good future, please. I’m begging hussie let John be a good father.

- I think the kids grew because they were with each other, and they fact they didn’t stay together and let each other be isolated kinda makes this make sense to me but it does feel like with some characters the growth went out the window. But also....people can regress especially if they stop after like one epiphany or whatever, so I see how this happened.

- Dave redirecting what should have been the core political issue (freaking extinction/controlled population of exclusively the trolls) to the economy every single time. Like Dave baby you were never the most racially sensitive dude (coming from a black girl who watched you say negrocity, call black people not shining shoes revolutionary (which could be read as irony in context but still) in the same rap, which, YIKES!) but like try please?? Hussie freaking fix this.

- I oddly feel weird about them getting rid of their flesh bodies for their ultimate forms and I’m not sure why but I honestly don’t want all bots. I can’t even explain that in a way that makes sense.

- Jade. Like....everything she did was a big yikes and honestly I’m reading the main story again to see if there was a character trait that led to her behavior. Cuz Dirk literally always had an overbearing personality and it was never truly addressed leading to what happened. Jane never really stopped with the whole business and control thing and she never really seemed to care for the trolls one way or another so I can kinda see it.

- Honestly?? I’m happy for the form of happiness that some characters had but MAN was it just the slowest most excruciating march towards that end. In candy, it felt like I was literally feeling John’s twilight-zone stir-crazy rise up in me as I read through. I think a “benefit” from reading Meat first is that like.....damn I ended up agreeing with Dirk. Like all of this shit was largely avoided and addressed sooner when Dirk was in charge and I hate/love that I’m saying this! Like what the hell y’all that's so brilliant to me. In Meat, I just.....wanted them to be free to make their own choices and when I was nearing the end in Candy, I realized they weren’t so damn isolated and I was happy that some of them finally got to heal.

To segue into I liked it starts on the same point my dislikes end.

 - I felt so frustrated by everything that was happening which.....dear God is great writing because if I was John feeling this for years instead of the solid day it took me to get through Candy I’d be handling it way worse than John. I almost wished that Dirk would come in and take charge because they were just.....fucking up on every level. With Meat, I wanted what was in Candy and I wanted them to have their fucking free will to choose instead of these awful circumstances Dirk forced them to be in.

- DAVE. DAVE. DAVE. Fuck I love dave just so much, he felt the most home to me the entire time. When he fought back in Meat to make his own choices I was so proud of him. When he decided to join the revolution I was proud of him, when he finally admitted he was gay I was proud of him. When he just existed and seriously thought about what he wanted and needed to work through he felt like he authentically was trying to figure himself out the entire time in both Meat and Candy and I was so proud of him. Honestly will always have my heart.

- NUBS MCSHOUTY. From awkward bottom to rebel leader he is just a breath of fresh air every time he speaks because it is always a freaking mood. LIke yes, the extinction of your people is awful and you should say it. Yes, people who stand by and just sidetrack the conversation into semantics is awful and you should freaking say it. Yes! Yes! Yes! omfg. YOU ABSOLUTE FREAKING ICON

- Dirk. I.....ugh I know this is controversial but I love everything that happened. Our Dear walking God complex becomes literal God and it all goes to hell. Our friend the control freak, controlling the narrative when he reaches his ultimate form. Ou dear Dirk who always needs something to fix horribly fixes the narrative. When he revealed himself and said “but you already know that don’t you” in his iconic yellow text color me FREAKIN SHOOK. Like literary reveal of the gods (specifically this god ha). Nothing will shake me the same holy shit I was horrified and the horror never stopped. Omfg shook Dirk just freaking shook. So since I read meat first I was like “holy cow was he always like this?” But like, the one dirk that was decent freaking killed himself with his last wish being for relevance and like.....of course he’s like this?? It’s Hal, Caliborn, ARDirk, Brain Ghost Dirk and Dirk One who honestly was only half decent most of the time. All of these pretentious beings in one? Oh yea edge lord self masturbatory train dead ahead. AND I LOVED IT, the absolute fear and horror as he took the narrative back from Calliope was horrifying, his increasing disdain after the reveal, the moment he forced Jake to fuck everything up for the resistance was ICONIC oh my god I was so here. I was loving it so much I was scared I was being controlled by Dirk.

- Jake was always passive and like.....it manifested so bad. I mean I thought he stepped up when he finally, defeated the felt crew but like....of course, one battle isn’t going to solve a lifetime of posing and passivity. I don’t know why I never considered the horrible implications. I do wish he grew a full spine in one of the epilogues.

- Regardless of how I perceived her in canon, Epilogue!Jane was never painted as a hero ever. THANK GOD cuz Epilogue Jane is doing some really bad stuff.

- Roxy - our voidey babe exploring their gender identity and deciding in both that they don’t care for their assignment in some way, valid. Having all stages of their identity and the stages respected (in what I viewed as a great and fully addressed way as a cis black girl) is surprisingly refreshing when I look at Roxy alone and not the transphobic stuff Dirk was doing which was icky and Caliborn-ish.

- Rose and Kanaya being happy in Candy. Like it seemed so OOC but Rose also was literally dealing with something that ENTIRE TIME. When she was little it was the alcoholism of her mother, when she was in paradox space it was from horror demons to literal death, to life-threatening situations to being the seer she needed, to her own substance problem etc etc. Being non-essential freed her from that and we got to witness her still be the badass, freedom fighter she became. And I just love the thing she chose without needing to, without absolute necessity, was to raise their daughter AND fully immerse themselves in troll revolution against an oppressive regime. Fuck yes Rose, you deserve some fucking peace without debilitation or circumstance. Rose in Meat shall never be spoken of because that is so so so sad honestly. She was dying and like...Dirk took advantage of that which is tactically freaking genius considering Rose is usually who can pull these dorks together into action but damn Dirk.

- Fuck you know what I’m gonna say it. Dirk is the best villain holy shit he is honestly, truly smart and manipulative and somehow charming in this sick sick way God I hate/love him right now. I’m.....omfg still shook.

- I honestly just loved how intertwined it is, how twilight-zone/gritty it felt. Every literary craving I didn’t know I was having was fed and in the best/worst way. I’m hooked and here for wherever this is going. Also, I typed it above and I’ll type it again. I didn’t realize it but these kids, while they ascended as Gods were not heroes. I don’t think the kids really cared about their denizens much ever in canon. They fulfilled their mission and we handed them the hero stamp because we’ve followed their story. They are simply people who had a mission to fulfill and did that mission in whatever capacity you choose. They are ultimately really flawed human beings who were traumatized to hell and back with no real devices on how to deal with it properly. Of course, when you give flawed humans God powers, a world to rule over and nobody really holding anyone accountable bad things are bound to happen. They grew because they were in a situation where they had to and they were removed too soon for them to keep that growth. Fanfic or not, canon or not, essential or not, I think these are valid outcomes, within the context of who they are.

[littlelovelymemes]

✰  —  —  *  MORE POPULAR TEXT POST STARTERS

‘  when i figure out how to die without hurting my mom’s feelings it’s over for me, bitches  ’ ‘  420 stands for “4got 2 0pologize”  ’ ‘  all millennials do is commit minor felonies and be gay  ’ ‘  hoodies are one of the most powerful and underappreciated articles of clothing. cold? put on a hoodie. raining? put on a hoodie. no bra? put on a hoodie. nothing to wear? hoodie. cripplingly low self esteem? you already know. so versatile! so multifaceted!  ’ ‘  i thought christmas was like… next friday or something its in like 3 days fuck  ’ ‘  if you’re not in love with me by 00:00:00 jan 1 then just block me. i don’t need that kind of energy following me into the new year  ’ ‘  who needs ghosts? haunt your own house. wander around your own living room wailing and crying  ’ ‘  my kink is not opening messages and pretending theyre not there  ’ ‘  u know when ur growing out of phases and mindsets but u haven’t found where exactly ur shift in identity is going yet? that’s tonight’s mood  ’ ‘  me @ me: don’t start buddy don’t you dare  ’ ‘  there are people you haven’t met yet who will love you  ’ ‘  god knew what she was doing when she made bruno mars short if he had been tall he would be too powerful  ’ ‘  motivation? haven’t heard of her in years how she doin  ’ ‘  Do you think people with LED headlights know that everyone hates them? Like…really hates them in an oddly personal way? Do you think they know?  ’ ‘  and the final mood for 2017 is: you know those days where you’re like, this might as well happen?  ’ ‘  putting more importance into self care, spirituality, love and peace of mind. start with stretching and deep breathing.  ’ ‘  dont forget to tell someone you love that you love them, thank people who deserve to be thanked, be more patient on people having a hard time, be more considerate, understanding, and be kinder, always.  ’ ‘  do you think in the 1700s there were people who were like nah man Mozart’s a total sellout I only listen to peasants beating things with sticks it’s way more authentic  ’ ‘  2032 is gonna be my year just u wait  ’ ‘  I want a “I made a playlist for you” typa love  ’ ‘  @ 2018 the bar is literally so low  ’ ‘  Just because you don’t look like somebody who you think is attractive doesn’t mean you aren’t attractive. 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What the fuck??”  ’ ‘  my hands? ready to be held  ’ ‘  Catch These Hands! with your hands. we’re holding hands now. this is nice  ’ ‘  kinda weird that u can think about someone as much as u want and they have no idea  ’ ‘  physically, yes, i could fight a bird. but emotionally? imagine the toll  ’ ‘  I would rather wander around a store for 9 hours than ask an employee where something is and this I do not understand  ’ ‘  my childhood, or, as i like to call it, the general abyss with one or two memories attached to it   ’ ‘  i know ‘gay’ isn’t an emotion but let’s be real,,,,,,,,,it kind of is and i feel it 24/7  ’ ‘  babe get ready for a night on the town, i just found an old Subway gift card and there’s still $9.45 left on it  ’ ‘  just because the past didn’t turn out like you wanted it to, doesn’t mean your future can’t be better than you ever imagined  ’ ‘  i’m the person who’s 100% down for spontaneous adventures but also 100% down to lay in bed all day. i’m on both ends of the spectrum  ’ ‘  this year has changed me more than I ever thought it would.   ’ ‘  it’s ok to disappear for a lil while and get your shit together.  ’ ‘  if you wanna love me hmu  ’ ‘  calling me baby makes me so freakin weak  ’ ‘  i’m that one guy on spongebob always screaming about his leg  ’ ‘  remember to drink a fucking shit ton of water every miserable day of ur life  ’ ‘  i just want someone who’s excited to make out with me and text me all the time.  ’ ‘  never apologize for your giant dogs getting overexcited, if i get taken down by a 100 pound mass of fluff then that’s how i go.  ’ ‘  when i figure out how to die without hurting my mom’s feelings it’s over for me, bitches  ’ ‘  THIS GUY JUST ASKED ME WHAT MY NAME WAS AND I DIDNT UNDERSTAND WHAT HE SAID SO I SAID 4:45  ’ ‘  my blood is glow stick juice. thats why all my bones crack when i move.  ’ ‘  are cute dates and rough sex too much to ask for  ’ ‘  honestly, my goal in life is just to be a very warm person. i want to be as loving and as kind as i can be.  ’ ‘  just a small dumb bitch…. living in a lonely ditch  ’ ‘  you’re not selfish for wanting to be treated well  ’ ‘  when y'all fake conversations in your heads do you sometimes say random sentences out loud too? i was just tying my shoes and said very sternly and loudly “i DO know how ants work, fucker”  ’ ‘  true space facts: if u look up there it is  ’ ‘  anyone else bummed they have 2 sleep alone tonight and uh not in some1s arms  ’ ‘  how am i sensitive and a bitch at the same time  ’

[nonsense-and-shenanigans]

(First, go to this post if you don’t know what my #Before30BucketList is. I’ll also be going back to that original post and noting each goal accomplished if you want to keep up but miss out on some of my posts.)

This one was a really, really big deal.

I’ve spent my whole life going to concerts and rallys and shows and plays and movies and museums and whatever else people get excited about. But I’ve also spent my whole life loving books more than anything. And, until now, had never been to a single book signing or met a prominent author. I had heard musicians explain and sing songs that touched my heart, and I had watched my feelings played out on stage, I had seen art that spoke to me up close, but I had never heard an author discuss or read the words that lived in my soul.

So when I saw one of my favorite authors announce her book tour this year, I jumped on it. Then I decided to look up who else might be reading/signing close to me, and I found him.

The man who is made entirely of flaws, stitched together with good intentions.

(If you don’t know that quote we can’t be friends. Just kidding, keep reading, and maybe you’ll learn it.)

As a toddler, my favorite book was Goodnight Moon (Margaret Wise Brown). As I grew, obviously that changed. I don’t remember them all, but as an adolescent You Don’t Know Me (David Klass) really spoke to me. Of course all of the Harry Potter (J.K. Rowling) books were in there, and as a teen I fell in love with Ellen Hopkins (Crank, among others). Once I started to fully come into my right-of-passage reading, I, like so many others, became glued to Catcher In The Rye (J.D. Salinger). As I grew into adulthood I gravitated toward the outcast novels — those written about drugs and insanity and homosexuality, with snark and exaggerated opinions — people who experienced struggles like mine with a crude mindset. Candy (Luke Davies) remains an all-time favorite, but Running With Scissors (Augusten Burroughs) imprinted itself in my veins and became a part of me.

My personal copy. I had the original cover design but someone must have borrowed it and never given it back. I keep a log of who borrows what book now. Because I’m crazy.

(p.s. – If you’ve seen any of these movies but haven’t read the books, please don’t judge a book by its movie adaptation. Some of the best books I’ve read turned into some of the worst movies I’ve seen.)

Sometimes I feel silly, telling people my favorite book is his most popular, because mainstream isn’t cool or something. But then I tell myself to shut up and that I’m not cool anyway, so admitting to loving something that’s fucking amazing isn’t going to change my seat in the lunchroom.

I love everything Burroughs writes. Even if I don’t agree with it, I find myself accepting him wholly and begging for more. His memoirs put me in times and places I’d never otherwise be, but also bring a sense of home when his intense, blunt words intermingle with my delicate, rambunctious, off-kilter brain. His fiction is hilarious and riveting. Even in times (and they are rare) when I find myself not wanting to read certain stories or opinions, I later find that I needed to read them. I don’t really believe much in role models, because no one’s exactly like you, but he comes damn close because I relate so much to him, yet sometimes not at all.

Anyway, enough gushing. I stalked his Facebook and Googled my ass off and learned he would be in New Jersey on Tuesday, March 28th. So I put it on my calendar and my dad’s calendar and my husband’s calendar and my mom’s calendar and my sister-in-law’s calendar. I usually like to have a partner in crime (or two) when I have incredible experiences so my mom and sister-in-law were planning to come with me, and we had it all set. Except sometimes I suck, so while I knew there was a $17 charge for the NJ book signing (it also came with a paperback copy of his latest book, Lust & Wonder, which I wanted because I only have the hard copy), I somehow put it out of my mind until the weekend before. And of course, when I went to purchase the tickets they were sold out.

Me being me, however, I also knew pretty much every other date and venue on the book tour, and it turned out he would be in NYC that Monday, March 27th. Now you may think that New York is much farther away from me than a location in my home state, but I’m at the very bottom and NJ, PA, and NY are oddly set up so they were both actually the same distance. I was just worried that, since Burroughs had spent so much of his life in New York, and it was a free event, and it was freakin’ New York City, that it would be mobbed and I would miss out. I also found out that literally no one I knew was available to go with me.

So I got a babysitter and every book he’s ever written and my “I can’t live without books” book tote and my Jenny Lawson You Are Here coloring-but-not-really book and my gel pens and I set off for the big city, all by my lonesome.

I arrived four hours early. When I went to Jenny Lawson’s book signing I got there an hour early and all the seats were already taken so I had to sit on the floor (but in the front, so there, seat-takers) so naturally I assumed I wouldn’t be the first to arrive. The Barnes & Noble customer service representative looked at me like I was on fire and breathing spiders when I told her I was there for Augusten Burroughs. Also like she pitied me, which didn’t make me mad but rather humored because I wasn’t missing anything by waiting — I had my books (and a whole book store) to keep me company, while she would miss out on meeting a legend because she had to sit behind a desk. Who’s the winner, really?

This is my “I’m crazy and arrive 4 hours early” face.

While I was waiting I knocked out some aspects of my Traveling Alone bucket list item and felt very peaceful and content. It’s not such a bad thing having to wait for four hours exploring book stores and Manhattan and meeting new people and simply doing whatever I wanted. But I was a little neurotic and kept venturing back to Barnes & Noble to make sure some mad rush of fans didn’t show up and kick me out of my first-in-line spot.

They didn’t. I was the first one at the door, and the first one in the door, and the first one to pick my seat, which was obviously front and center. The rest of the crowd still thought I was crazy when they learned that I had arrived so early, but hey, when you’re passionate about something you fight for it. I fought time.

This is how front and center I was. There was maybe a foot between the front of my chair and the stage.

I was so giddy and so nervous and didn’t know what to do with my hands or my three bags or my phone or my breathing. I don’t know why I get nervous — I preach all day every day that politicians and police and celebrities and the like are all people — humans like you and me with flaws and fabulosities (I just made that word up), but when I get around authors I freeze and become a blubbering idiot.

We all got seated and excited and I kept looking around to see what other kinds of degenerates Burroughs attracted, and I was surprised to find a wide array of people — a businessman, a woman and her son who was actually named Augusten, teachers, young adults, older adults, gay men, straight men, the rebels and the righteous. We all came together over the love of writing or reading, specifically by one man who did not fit into all of our labels.

I was actually surprised to learn that Burroughs was more “stereotypically gay” than I had pictured him. I don’t know if that makes me a good person for assuming he was just a human, or a bad person for noticing “gay traits”, or maybe I was good turned bad or maybe I was just another person trying to scrub out the brainwashing done by growing up in American Millennium society. But I did learn a bit about myself, and him, and I felt like I got to know him much better which calmed me down a lot because usually I have a tendency to build people up into unattainable perfection in my head and am nearly always let down by the real thing.

He started out by reading a section from Lust & Wonder, and hearing how he narrated it in his head while writing was an experience I can’t even explain. We read things according to our own biases, and it’s often thrilling to learn how words on paper were meant to be read — with the proper exaggerations and pauses and snark.

This clip is long, but if you’re anything like me, you’ll be able to watch it a million times. Otherwise, skip around, watch as much or as little as you’d like.

Then the room was open to ask questions. I’ve learned, in the whole two book signings/readings I’ve been to, that I need to not ask the first question, but learn to read the author and prepare myself for their ending so I can shoot up my hand at exactly the right time — not too soon as to avoid being rude, but not too late as to avoid be overlooked. I think I’ve perfected this art. (This is something that should be taught. People teach everything nowadays, maybe I’ll make my own “When to raise your hand at exactly the right moment to be noticed without being pushy” class.)

So I asked my question, which I didn’t even know needed to be asked until it came out, and his response was perfect and detailed and meaningful.

(I have this horrible habit of constantly messing with my nose and I never noticed how gross it looks until now and I’m horrified that I did it not only in front of, but to one of my swoon-worthy celebrities.)

After the questions from all types of audience members, we lined up to get our books signed. (I told people how excited I was and they agreed but then I noted that this was better than meeting Brad Pitt and they just gave me weird looks and stopped talking to me.) I was the only one with all nine of his books so I was worried he wouldn’t want to sign them all, or there wouldn’t be enough time, or his handler (manager was the word I was looking for but handler came out and now I think it’s fitting) would push some of my books to the side. But none of that happened. Burroughs was thrilled to take as much time as needed to sign everyone’s books the way they wanted, and talk to them about whatever nonsense came out of their mouths (I also told him the Brad Pitt thing and he said “No, it’s really not”, which is the same thing Jenny Lawson said so now my mission is to make writers realize how wonderful and talented and essential they are), and to take pictures with anyone who asked.

When I got my picture taken with Jenny Lawson I looked awkward and starstruck standing behind her, trying not to touch her but be close enough to look like she actually cares about me, all while hiding a horrible breakout I had on my chest. So this time I embarrassingly but wonderfully asked to take a selfie, and Burroughs was not only more than happy to partake but put his arm around me, got as close as possible, and let me take two to make sure at least one was acceptable.

This is the good one where I look like a normal person taking a picture with her friend.

This is the funny one where I’m like “Holy fuck guys LOOK WHO’S TOUCHING ME”, But it’s still adorable, right?

The selfie thing totally worked out, by the way, because I’ve been breaking out like a 14-year-old lately and Burroughs mentioned that a facial he’d had a few days prior made him break out, but I’ve tweaked the light intake settings on my front camera to make us look flawless.

So in the end I got to experience a sincere reading, engage in extensive Q&A discussion, get every single book personally signed, take an everlasting selfie with my closest-thing-to-a-role-model, and partake in more personal conversation in which he told me he would remember my blog and check it out (Yes, I almost fainted) (Yes I’m also aware it might not happen). (If you’re reading this — I am crazy but I swear it’s usually in a good, quirky way.)

Then, high on life and experience and thinking magical thoughts and happiness, I went on my next #Before30BucketList adventure (coming soon).

Companions: Books, Augusten Burroughs, other fans

Cost Book for Son: $5 (I always bring him home a book when I go to a book signing) (Travel costs included in “Travel Alone” instead)

Goal # 3: Meet Favorite Author Accomplished: 3-27-2017

Bucket List Total: $129

#Before30BucketList: Meet Favorite Author (First, go to this post if you don’t know what my #Before30BucketList is. I’ll also be going back to that original post and noting each goal accomplished if you want to keep up but miss out on some of my posts.)