delomheem

[cutestkilla]

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers (except me because obvs I have done it). Spread the self-love ❤

Thank you so much for this ask (and @bookish-bogwitch and @aristocratic-otter too). You're all amazing and your self-recs are too - I cosign them all!

So: this is the first time I've gotten one of these where I actually HAVE 5+ fics (of my own) to choose from 😂 so you know what, even though it's a *somewhat* trivial process, I'm gonna DO THE THING and come up with a Top 5.

1. What's Left (133K, M)

My first fic, and still my favourite. Probably because conceptually, I don't think I'll ever come up with something this cool or interesting again. And also because I got to spend so many words with my version of the Humdrum (who many of you know as Sid), expanding on what we know of him from canon and all the ways he intersects with Simon, and I kind of just love him alot. This is definitely the plottiest thing I've ever written, with lots of twists and turns and what I think is a sort of an arc you can't predict from the start (pioneering the Baz/Humdrum tag!!), and that made it really fun to write, and I hope fun to read too. Also, this is the most painful thing I've written (it starts with Simon dead, folks), which if you know me at all, explains why it would be my favourite. 😂

2. Hiding Out in the Open (48K, M - WIP 5/7 chapters)

This takes the #2 spot for sure because: a) it's also got a decent amount of pain courtesy of an alt-WS divergence setting and b) it's also kinda high concept. And c) I'm writing it as a very drawn out birthday gift for my beloved @artsyunderstudy in honour of what is now OUR beloved psychology podcast of choice, Hidden Brain. My favourite thing about this one is the way I've worked all these real concepts in psychology (and real episodes of Hidden Brain) into the narrative in a way that I think feels organic and true to the characters. It's been a challenging puzzle to solve, but man have I learned some cool things along the way. This one IS a WIP, but I'm going full steam ahead on it, and even though the story is NOT over, ch 5 ends in a decently satisfying place.

3. Slamming and Smashing (18K, E)

My first (and only) E-rated fic! I'm more of a soft smut writer, but I had so much fun writing this one as a gift for @ic3-que3n based on prompts that included: NSFW, Simon slamming Baz into a wall (as referenced in Snow for Christmas), a very specific line from Bram Stoker's Dracula about wild rose, AND an Anastasia AU. This one is pretty low on pain/angst and high on post-canon fluff, but I did still give Baz a *bit* of a breakdown in it 😂. I'm proud of this one because I think it's hot and also because I managed to hit ALL those prompts in one smutty fic, and tell what I think is a pretty relatable story about how hard communicating can be in relationships.

4. Episode 5: The Tardigrade and His Boy (25K, T)

Another gift fic, this time for @raenestee! This was not only an amazingly fun collaboration with @facewithoutheart @aristocratic-otter @you-remind-me-of-the-babe @thewholelemon

@mostlymaudlin and @artsyunderstudy, but I found a way to have the Humdrum front and centre again which makes me so happy. I also cut my teeth writing Shep and Agatha POVs for the first time in this one, which was very fun. And I managed to write one of my most favourite types of fics: one that is both an AU and also secretly canon-compliant. This is my only true AU and I think it's a really fun romp (just like the rest of the series which I highly recommend).

5. This Is Your Place (18K, M)

This one was for Prompt Fest 2022 (a fest to celebrate the anniversary of @carryonprompts where - reminder - you can submit your Carry On fic prompt ideas and maybe someone will write them) and filled this prompt by @bookish-bogwitch:

"@ionlydrinkhotwater wrote this meta: "Omg Simon is such a ho, in retaliation for Baz pulling the open sesame move, he dashes to their room, showers, shaves (nicking his skin so he's a little bit bloody and therefore yummy) and "accidentally" comes out in just pajama bottoms with his tits full out, without the necklace." ... And I want to read a fic where Baz fuckin' Takes. The. BAIT."

What I think I did well in this one is building up both the tension and the empathy between Simon and Baz in a way that makes the payoff feel earned, even though the story only takes place over the course of a few hours, the day Baz gets back to Watford after the numpties. I also really love my Baz inner monologue in this, and that Simon gets to be a little bit smooth, too.

[flightfoot]

I have scattered thoughts about Nino, Alya, and the intersection of racism/misogyny.For example, Alya may receive more criticism not only for racism but also for misogyny. We support women's mistakes! Except not and especially not if it's a black woman.

(And I can't help but notice how many of those criticisms are aimed at Alya not fitting the Good Black Friend™ trope )

But now, with what you said about how Nino's criticism in that episode isn't that harsh, I'm VERY curious about the amount of Adrino vs alyanette fics taking into account the main focus.By that I mean that both couples, if they appear in the same fic, are treated equally and not that it is one of the cases of "we went back to lesbian women because I want to see two men kissing." (This is a VERY common problem in several fandoms where the misogyny that many m/m fics usually imply and the erasure and reduction of F/f couples have been pointed out)

Oh yeah, most of the heavy criticism and outright demonization of Alya comes down to her supposedly being a "bad friend" to Marinette... because she dares to "ask why Marinette doesn't like someone" and "asks for evidence that the person is really as bad as her friend thinks" instead of immediately believing that her friend is 100% correct in her assessment on nothing but her word and committing herself to doing whatever her friend wants in order to take down the other person.

There's this expectation that "being a good friend" when it comes to Alya means that she has to give up all notion of personal judgement or perspective. Heck, looking at the uproar over Rocketear when Alya told Nino that she's still helping Ladybug, or even earlier with Optigami when she decided to get the Turtle Miraculous for Nino because she thought it might be useful, she gets hefty criticism anytime she does anything without Marinette's express approval, no matter what her personal issues or perspective.

Actually the babysitting issue is probably the most clear-cut illustration of this. Alya volunteers to babysit Manon multiple times so that her friend can spend time with her crush, with Marinette even tricking Alya into babysitting Manon for her once so she could do an interview? Barely a peep of criticism against Marinette. Marinette babysits Chris ONE TIME so Alya and Nino can go on a date? Alya pressuring Marinette to babysit for her without pay and behind her parents' back becomes a common recurring trope.

(Note: I'm aware that Marinette's slated to babysit two more times for Alya during the series, in Timetagger and Simple Man. But in the first instance she cancels because she's busy, and in the second one she dumps the kids on her grandpa so she can help with Adrien's photoshoot, so I'm not counting them).

If Marinette needs someone to cover for her babysitting duty, then Alya's merely doing the duty of a good friend by taking on the responsibility for her. While if Marinette ever covers for Alya, she's being taken advantage of by a toxic friend.

Considering that the main criticisms of the "Black Best Friend" trope boil down to how it makes the black character an accessory to the white (well, in this case Marinette's only half-white) character, whose main purpose is to serve and support the other character, without having any internal world of their own? Yeah, I'd say that Alya's major demonization almost always comes down to her violating that role, even slightly.

Oh yeah, Adrino vs. Alyanette fics. Weirdly enough, there appear to be more fics tagged with Alyanette than Adrino (note: I'm gonna keep on all my usual filters for this search, I ain't seeing saltfics if I can help it). I've got 360 Adrino fics, but 560 Alyanette fics.

Now, in my personal experience, very few fics have equal focus for both pairings when they're together. They normally favor one or the other, with one being the main focus, and the other being more of a "pair the spares" situation. I'm also gonna skip the ones where it's one happy poly pile.

So here's the tag I ended up with, when I factored in all my usual exclusions and also included Adrino and Alyanette and excluded Alya/Nino/Marinette/Adrien and Lovesquare.

Of these 33 fics, 11 appear to be Adrino-centric, 6 appear to be Alyanette centric, and the rest I dunno. So I'd say Adrino gets a little more attention, especially since its fics tend to be a lot longer than the Alyanette ones.

Honestly though, I will TAKE Alyanette being "pair the spares" for Adrino a lot of the time, it's a heck of a lot better to make Alyanette and Adrino Ship Mates than to inflict Die For Our Ship on one of the pairs.

[talltalesandbedtimestories]

Wash. RINSE. Repeat. - Dean x Reader/OFC

"Rinse" is Part 3 of the Wash. Rinse. Repeat. Series

Rating Mature

Dean x Reader/OFC

Tags: Canon-compliant (or trying to be), Season 3, Lots of Angst, Demon Assault/Attempted Sexual Assault (trigger), Show Level Gore/Violence, Language, Pining, Dean is infuriating at times, Sam is the sweetest, Main character death (offscreen; but, it's Supernatural, so you know, it's probably not sticking)

Word Count: 15,000

Summary: The boys stink. Something needs to be done about it.

The above summary was something I came up with when I thought this was going to be a fun little one shot. (hah! stupid writer and her stupid assumptions. how dare she think she can make plans and have Sam and Dean adhere to them.) It still applies to the beginning (and this sniff, sniff theme may come up again) but I'm going to add that this story is a first person reader insert that weaves in and out of show canon.

"Rinse" won't make a lick of sense if you haven't read the other parts. If you want to read the previous installments, you can find them on AO3 -- WASH -- PRE-RINSE

I'm participating in @jacklesversebingo and this part will fill my "Friends Becoming Strangers" square.

A huge thanks to @jacklesversebingo for allowing me to use one of my bingo squares in a part of a story I was currently working on. These bingo prompts have genuinely tested my creativity and provided some meaty plot twists. Thank you, thank you!

Rinse

~ Six Months Later ~

I bolt upright in bed, mid-gasp.

My heart pounds. Flashes of what caused my pulse to race appear in the curtain call of each blink.

Bobby. In the dark with a flashlight. In his house? Sneaking around, like he’s investigating an unfamiliar place. Then, he was attacked by something. Thrown to the floor in his kitchen. A blur of arms clawing. A screeching sound that wasn’t human.

What the hell? I shake the shiver out of my spine and glance over at the alarm clock. Fifteen minutes before it goes off. There’s no way I’ll get back to sleep. I resign myself to get out of bed and start the day.

It’s gonna be a busy one at Hoyt and Hagan. There are two client appointments on the calendar. I’ve got some note taking during and transcribing to do after each of them.

I debate with myself in the shower as to when I should check on Bobby. It’s still too early and he’ll only scoff in my ear at the unnecessary concern.

I decide I’ll call him during my lunch break, all nonchalant like. Hey Bobby, it’s your favorite psychic nut job, poking out of hunter hibernation for some updates.

Just to be sure he’s okay.

I grab a slice and a soda at Tony’s Pizza Parlor for lunch. The four block walk gives me a chance to stretch my legs and see if they’ll be short staffed over the next week. I need to bulk up my car maintenance fund. According to Nate at Carl’s Auto Shop, I will probably need to replace the brake pads in a few months. Before the squeaks turn into screeches at every stop.

Gary’s working the counter. I try not to fuss with my hair too much in his presence. His dimples drill into his cheeks with a bright smile. My stomach spins like it’s in a washing machine. I ask him how his Aunt Cheryl is doing. The swoony, sensitive six footer moved back to Matamoras when his only living relative, Cheryl Somers, fell ill and couldn’t take care of herself anymore.

It’s been five months since Gary arrived and became ubiquitous around this tiny town where you only have to breathe heavily to become the subject of juicy gossip. He works a variety of service jobs. I’m blessed that one of them is at Tony’s. My random shifts have intersected with his on occasion. I am also cursed because I still haven’t gotten the nerve to get past simple pleasantries. Mainly I worry I’ll slip about my personal details or he’ll ask me a question about my family. And, I’ll have to lie. Because he’d never believe the truth. The people that would understand are just as damaged as I am.

Playing at normal is tough.

I scoot into a booth that has a nice vantage of the counter so I can spy on Gary. I pry the greasy pepperoni one by one from the stringy mozzarella. The deconstruction exercise prolongs my excuse to hang around with my solitary slice. I mindfully chew. Taste buds light up with oregano, tomato sauce, processed toppings, and velvety cheese.

The one brain cell not focused on Gary reminds me about Bobby. I dab at my face with a one-ply scratchy napkin, then tap in the start of a phone number I know by heart on my cell. Bobby’s name appears from my contacts after the fifth digit.

I’m still miffed about Garth accidently dropping my old phone in the depths of the Delaware when he visited six months back. He felt so bad he drove me to the nearest cell phone store and bought me a new one right on the spot. He got me a newer and nicer model. It didn’t make up for all the contacts and messages I lost, though. It took me weeks to connect with almost everyone I could remember.

I wait for Bobby to pick up. It rings. And rings. And rings. The voicemail answers. “You’ve reached Bobby. You know what to do.”

I know what to do, but I hang up instead. I’m that person that hits redial and gives it another try. Bobby is prone to leaving his cell phone atop a stack of books or on the kitchen counter as he hops from room to room. So, there’s a chance he might…

“You’ve reached Bobby. You know what to do.”

I sigh and collect my words. “Hey, Bobby. It’s been a bit. Wanted to see how you’re doing. Nothing much new on this end. Give me a call, though, soon. Yeah? Been told my car’s gonna need new brake pads. Wanna make sure I’m not getting hosed on the cost to replace them. Okay? Thanks. Bye.”

“Who’s Bobby?” The voice drifts over my shoulder from behind me.

Oh God. Gary’s asking that question. I’m gonna have to turn and actually make eye contact and answer. I swallow and rotate in the booth a bit. He’s wiping down the table, tray filled with trash in his grasp. Wavy jet black bangs obscure his eyes for a brief second. It’s not enough time before his onyx irises gaze with interest in my direction.

“Huh?” I pretend I didn’t hear him.

“Who’s Bobby? He’s not the only guy that knows a thing or two about cars.” His smile is bright. “I could probably help you out. Take a look.”

“Oh.” I want to bang my head into the table to shake out any words that are longer than one syllable. “That’s… that’s…”

“He family? Bobby?” Gary stands beside my booth now.

“Yeah.”

Gary nods. “Well, offer’s available if you need it.” Someone, maybe Maribel, shouts his name across the restaurant. “Good luck.” He darts away.

“Thanks.” I groan at my suave communication skills.

~~~~

(Italicized Dialogue from S3, Episode 10, “Dream a Little Dream of Me” - Teleplay by Cathryn Humphris; Story by Sera Gamble & Cathryn Humphris)

Dean sat at Bobby’s hospital bedside. 

It’d only been a couple days since he got the call. A doctor had been looking for a Mr. Snyderson.

Bobby enjoyed informing Dean years ago of the name he would have to answer to if he received a call from someone in search of Bobby Singer’s emergency contact. 

“How the hell’d you get yourself into this mess, Bobby?” he asked aloud.

Dean wondered if Bobby had picked the name Edgar Snyderson so that would be all John’s eldest son would focus on. Not the fact that if he ever heard it uttered by anyone else, it would be because Bobby wouldn’t be able to call him a numbnut or an idjit.

Sam was due back any minute. Dean’d tasked Sam with the research part of this mystery, which included combing through the collage of pictures and news clippings hidden on the back closet wall in Bobby’s hotel room.

The room where his comatose body had been found.

Dean had gone to the university to dig up any information on a Dr. Walter Gregg, whose obit had graced Bobby’s case board. Finding out about unapproved dream studies led to the name of a test subject, Jeremy Frost. The college kid made it clear the doctor had been playing fast and loose with his research and the people involved. That equalled a whole lot of potential enemies and nefarious insinuators. Bobby was probably close to figuring out who the murderer was.

The machines whirred and beeped around the man he’d bet his life on, if he had much left of it to wager. 

Dean was shy of six months before his demon bill came due.

“I don’t need you rolling out the red carpet for me in the hereafter. Pretty sure you ain’t gonna be taking a sauna or walking over raked coals. But we don’t need you practicing your harp skills anytime soon, either.” He bit his tongue at the name that almost slipped out. He tried not to mention her if he could help it. The more time went on, the more he hoped it would stick; his nonexistence for her. “It’d kill her if something happened to you.” He nodded to no one. “We’ll figure this out.”  

As if on cue, his studious brother entered the room. “How is he?”

“No change.” Dean wiped a hand over his face and stood to meet Sam by the tray table at the edge of the bed. “What you got?”

“Well, considering what you told me about the Doc’s experiments, Bobby’s wall is starting to make a hell of a lot more sense.”

“How so?”

“This plant, Silene Capensis, also known as African Dream Root, it’s been used by shamans and medicine men for centuries.”

“Let me guess – they dose up, bust out the didgeridoos, and start kicking around the hacky.”

Sam scoffed. “Not quite. If you believe the legends, it’s used for dream walking. I mean entering another person’s dreams, poking around in their heads.”

“I take it we believe the legends.”

“When don’t we? But dream-walking is just the tip of the iceberg.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, this dream root is some serious mojo. You take enough of it, with enough practice, you can become a regular Freddy Krueger. You can control anything. You could turn bad dreams good. You could turn good dreams bad.”

“And killing people in their sleep.” Dean added the obvious.

“For example. So, let’s say this doc was testing the stuff on his patients Tim Leary-Style.”

“Somebody gets pissed at him, decides to give him a little dream visit, he goes nighty-night.”

“But what about Bobby? I mean if the killer came after him, how come he’s still alive?”

They both stared at Bobby.

“I don’t know.” Dean tapped Sam in the middle of his chest. “Come on. Man needs as much beauty rest as he can get before we wake him. And a kiss on the lips better not end up being the cure.” He strolled to the doorway and turned back in time to see Sam making his way to Bobby’s side.

“Wouldn’t be the worst thing we’ve ever had to do to save someone.” Sam chided in a soft whisper over his shoulder towards Dean. “Stay strong until we can figure this out, Bobby.” His gigantor hand gripped Bobby’s pale one.

Dean marched out into the hallway in wait. Something heavy lodged in the base of Dean’s throat. He swallowed but the fear wouldn’t loosen. The possibility of losing Bobby. The memories of his father in the hospital right before he died kept rising to the surface. He didn’t want to think about it anymore.

Sam finally joined him. They walked down the hall towards the nurse’s station and the elevators. Their steps got into that synced soldier rhythm they easily fell into often. Dean wished it would continue in silence. But out of the corner of his eye he spotted Sam’s mouth open and close. Trying out the lines in his head before he’d have to share what he was thinking.

With that much thought, Dean knew it wasn’t going to be anything good.

When it was only the two of them in the elevator going down, Sam spoke. “Am I gonna have to be the one that mentions the elephant in the room?”

Dean’s gaze lifted to the ceiling. He sighed.

“We gotta call her, Dean.”

“No. We don’t. We’re gonna handle it so she doesn’t have to ever know what kind of danger Bobby was in.”

“She deserves to know,” Sam mumbled. “Bobby’s important to her. Plus, all of this dream stuff…”

“Sam,” Dean started.

Sam got his hands and arms in the conversation now, waving them about. “She should be here!”

“No!” Dean huffed, raising his voice back at Sam. He glanced at the number display. “I still need to work this case with you. I shouldn’t even be in the same state as her, let alone the same room. We can’t risk that, Sam. Not again.”

“You of all people know what she’s capable of. She could get into Bobby’s head.”

“Yeah. You know it. I know it. Bobby knows it. But, as far as we know, Elena doesn’t. As long as she doesn’t remember me, she won’t be doing any ‘Wonder Twins, Activate’ shit. And we’re gonna keep it that way.”

“Dean!”

“No. Bobby’s been onboard with the plan, all of it, for the past six months. Last I checked, you were, too.”

“Not like you gave any of us a choice.” Sam snarked. 

Dean ignored the jab. “Bobby’d want us to exhaust every other option before we pull her into something like this. Again.” He pointed at the floor as the door’s slid open. “We find another way.” He waved a hand for Sam to exit first. “Let’s go, Sherlock.” They covered the distance quickly to another set of double doors. “So, how do we find our homicidal little sandman?”

“It could be anyone.” Sam stated, looking thoroughly exasperated.

“Yeah?”

Yeah.

Dean rattled off possible suspects. “Anyone who knew the doctor, had access to his dream shrooms.”

“Maybe one of his test subjects or something?”

“Possible, but his research is pretty sketchy. I mean, we don’t know how many subjects he had or who all of them were.”

Sam scoffed.

“What?” Dean asked.

Sam sighed, long and deep. “In any other case, we’d be calling Bobby and asking him for help right now.”

Dean halted, pulled at Sam’s forearm to stop his brother’s stride. “Know what? You’re right.”

“What?”

“Let’s go talk to him.”

“Sure. I think we might find the conversation a bit one-sided.”

“Not if we’re tripping on some Dream Root.”

“What?”

“You heard me.”

~~~~

There’s been no response from Bobby by the end of my work day.

Something was up. A car question always ensured Bobby would return a call within hours.

I call the other hunter who knows almost everyone’s business as much as Bobby does.

“Elle Woods.” Garth coos his nickname for me. I still don’t get how he made the connection between me and the fictional main character in Legally Blonde. “How’re you doin? To what do I owe this honor?”

“Hey, Garth. I’m trying to get a hold of Bobby. He’s not answering my calls.”

“Oh?” The one syllable expresses confusion.

“Yeah.”

“When’d you last talk to him?”

“It’s been about a month.” My face warms at the confession.

“Oh.” The one syllable is laced with judgment.

I let the guilt was over me as I wait.

“Hm. Well, I had to call him about a case I worked in Baton Rouge, Louisiana last week. There was this circus in town and a murder pinned on one of the performers. Killer clowns couldn’t turn their victims into a pile of green goo last I checked.” Garth chuckles.

I veer the conversation back. “Was he okay? Everything good at the salvage yard?���

“Oh, well, he wasn’t home. Was working his own case.”

My skin tingles at the news. It’s not surprising to hear. Bobby hunts on occasion. It’s more the reminder of the dream I had of him that morning that puts me on edge. “Where was he?”

Garth sighs. “If memory serves right, he was investigating something that happened at a university in, I think, Pittsburgh.”

“Okay, thanks Garth.”

“Sure thing, sweets. Want me to try and check in on him, too?”

I smile. “Appreciate it.”

“I’ll tell him to call you ASAP if I make contact.”

“Thanks.”

“No problemo.”

“Talk soon.”

I hang up. Pittsburgh. It’s clear across in western Pennsylvania. A good six-hour drive from me. Couldn’t be any farther from Matamoras and in the same state. It makes sense he wouldn’t bother to call me. Not like he could do a quick pop in.

Still.

I click my teeth. Moments later, I’m clicking away at the keyboard, searching anything weird over the wire that matches what Garth told me. Only one news headline has me screaming Yahtzee in my head. There’s mention of a university neurologist dying in his sleep. Cause: Unknown.

It’s not much. But, it would catch Bobby’s eye. And he’d do some digging. So, I do the same. The neurologist was the research head of a large, ongoing sleep study. And, another article hints that his death may have been the result of foul play.

I then do what Bobby always suggests I do when I can’t get a hold of him and he’s off on a case somewhere. I contact hospitals in the area.

By the third phone call, I’ve found him. All I can get out of the medical staff is that he’s unresponsive and been in their care for a few days.

An hour later, I’m on I-80, headed to Pittsburgh.

My brakes are squeaking big time.

~~~~ 

(Italicized Dialogue from S3, Episode 10, “Dream a Little Dream of Me” - Teleplay by Cathryn Humphris; Story by Sera Gamble & Cathryn Humphris)

My driver’s license (fake) gets me the information I need at the hospital. Next of kin and all that. A doctor runs through the updates on Bobby’s current medical state while we stand at the nurse’s station. It's good news. Bobby woke up a few hours ago.

The doc questions why I wasn’t listed as an emergency contact. He mentions that they had to call a Mr. Snyderson instead. I shrug, rattling off that my Dad probably doesn’t think I know how to manage an emergency.

I wonder who the hell Mr. Snyderson is as I get Bobby’s room number and am pointed in the direction to find it. Mainly I’m relieved that the closest thing I have to family - that hasn’t disowned me - is conscious and doing fine by all accounts.

I don’t even need to check the number, hearing Bobby’s voice drift out into the hall from a room just up ahead on the right. “We better work fast… and coffee up. ‘Cause the one thing we cannot do is fall asleep.”

I take a cautious step in and prepare to meet “Mr. Snyderson.” A very tall figure with expansive shoulders stands at the side of Bobby’s bed. His broad back is to the doorway. It’s the moppy head of hair that I recognize first. My brain swims with sudden knowledge and memory. I feel overwhelmed and a bit lightheaded.

Sam. Sam Winchester. A hunt. We worked a hunt together a couple years ago. Road tripped from Maine to California. I even remember spending some time with him at Bobby’s after a car accident he’d been in with his dad. I’m also struck with the fact that he lost his dad. The scattered moments don’t have any connective tissue that I can discern. They catch my attention like twinkling ornaments atop a Christmas tree. Each represents some commemorative event I need to be reminded of.

Bobby sees me in the doorway. His face runs a litany of emotions. Serious to surprised. Welcoming to worried. “L.” He whispers.

I smile. Sam spins. His rotation hints at the shape of someone sitting on the other side of Bobby’s bed. Sam settles with a stare at me and walls off the stranger for the time being.

Sam’s as cute as I remember. There’s a bit more mass to him. And then, I remember us bonding over his psychic abilities. It’s disorienting, the flashes and pops of life bursting out of hibernation.

“L?” Bobby asks. “You doin’ alright there, kid?”

I shake my head and manage a smile again. “Considering I’m visiting you in the hospital, don’t you think I should be the one asking that question?” I hesitate at the awkward glances Sam and Bobby shoot each other. I flap my hands at my sides. “Hey, Sam. How are you doing? Been a while.”

His eyes bug. “H-Hey Elina. Yeah. I’m, I’m doin’ pretty well.” A hand scratches the side of his neck. “How’s things in Matamoras?”

“Good. Doing my best to stay out of trouble.” I point a finger at him. “Are you Mr. Snyderson, who got the call about Bobby instead of me?”

“That’d be me.” There’s a terse answer from the other side of the room. The figure is still hidden by Sam. A scrape of chair legs follows.

Sam swallows. Hard. He steps to the side.

My gaze lands on a pair of bright green eyes staring back. The guy is male model attractive. My skin warms up in a reflexive response to all that pretty. “You can call me Dean, though.” He smirks.

“Dean?” The name registers instantly. “Sam’s brother?”

He nods and puffs his chest out. I can’t quite tell if it’s a smug posture or if he’s donning some invisible protective armor.

“He-” I start to fill the gaps in my mind as my mouth reveals the facts. “Sam’s mentioned you.” Older brother. Cocky. Pain in the ass. Overbearing.

I don’t get a response in return. Instead, Dean turns to Bobby. “We’ll touch base if we hear anything else.” He rounds the edge of the hospital bed and taps Sam on the arm. All I get is a quick nod from Dean before he disappears.

“See ya.” Sam smiles, lips scrunched tight. He stumbles past me out of the room, following his older, shorter brother.

Yeah, I’ve met my share of guys like that before. Bad boys have never done me any favors. Way more trouble than they’re worth. I keep reminding myself of that as I catch one last glimpse of Dean Winchester in the hallway before Sam shuts the door behind him.

When it’s only the two of us, I hurry over and give the old man a careful embrace. He taps my back in assurance. “I’m fine.”

I peel away and stand to squint at him. “Let me guess? Fine enough to hop back into solving whatever caused this.” I plant my hands on my hips. “Why can’t you fall back asleep? And why does that Dean dude rank as your emergency contact?”

He squints back at me. “The Winchester boys are family, too, L.”

“Sam’s what you’d call an absolute peach, Bobby, I’ll give you that. But, I don’t have any firsthand experience with Dean to make a judgment call.”

“Hm.” Bobby nods slowly. “Could’ve sworn you’ve met both of them.”

“Nope.” I definitely would have remembered Dean Winchester.

~~~~

I knock on the door to Bobby’s room at The Aviary Hotel.

There’s a delay. I can hear some cursing and arguing as I wait. The taller squatter opens the door part way in greeting. “El.” Sam smiles.

“Hi.”

“Everything alright?” A hand stuffs into a pocket and he leans against the door, filling up the space.

“Bobby’s probably getting released tomorrow morning.”

“That’s great news.”

“It is. I figured I’d grab him some clean clothes for his discharge.” I sweep a hand towards him. “Can I come in?”

“Oh, uh…” Sam stammers.

“For chrissakes.” Dean’s voice interrupts. An arm pushes Sam back into the room and out of the way. Dean grimaces at Sam before giving me a dose of all that attitude. “Listen, Elena, it’s great that you’ve decided to come all this way and play nursemaid. But, we’ve got actual case work to do. So, would you make it quick?”

I blink at the condescending tone. Bobby filled me in on the details back at the hospital. I had felt a little sympathy at the predicament Dean has found himself in. HAD. “Oh, of course. Certainly don’t want to interfere with all your great case work. Is there another suspect you need to give a DNA sample to?”

Dean’s irritation crumbles. He looks like a shamed puppy that’s peed on the carpet.

“Don’t mind him, El.” Sam pulls the door all the way open. “We’re all a little high strung at the moment.”

I scoot in between the brothers. The room’s wallpaper is a feathery explosion in blues, greens and yellows. “Well, the decor isn’t going to help calm anyone down,” I critique.

Dean flops in a sad looking armchair and grabs sheets of paper on a nearby side table to study with intense interest.

Hospitality must be Dean Winchester’s middle name.     

“Get you something to drink?” Sam strolls by Dean, backhanding Dean’s bicep along the way. Dean pays him no mind.

I wave a hand. “Nope. Just point me in the direction of Bobby’s stuff and I’ll be out of here.”

Sam offers a soft smile in apology and gestures to a set of louvered bifold doors. The room is crazy huge. A full kitchen and another door that must lead to the bathroom make up the other half. There’s a desk on this side of the living area. More papers litter its surface, along with a laptop that I recognize as Sam’s (various stickers are slapped on top).

Yep, the brothers have made themselves at home. The double beds have been slept in by the state of the sheets. I smell greasy fast food.

When I open the closet, Bobby’s entire wardrobe is hung up. I grab the empty duffle from the closet floor. “Was he planning on moving here?” I frown to myself. When I remove the first plaid ensemble from a hanger I spot the case board on the back closet wall. “Ah, of course.” I take my time and fold one shirt with care before packing it. Then another. Taking my sweet time as I take in all the information.

I decide to inquire with the friendlier Winchester. “So, Sam. Bobby told me what happened to him.” I turn to see him sitting at the desk. Dean’s in my field of view in the background as well, still reading. I attempt a poke. “That he was stupid enough to make himself a prime lullaby target of this Frost kid.” Dean’s mouth purses but he doesn’t look over. “Got any ideas yet on how he gets some shut eye without being murdered?”

Sam sighs. “No.”

I want to ask if he’s thought about using his powers while he’s asleep and under the influence of the African Dream Root again. But I don’t know how Dean feels about his brother’s powers. Or, if he even knows for certain. My memory is still hazy and I don’t want to risk outing him or stirring up a touchy subject. Something tells me Dean wouldn’t handle Sam’s powers well if he did know.

“Well, if you need me to try and make contact with someone on the other side, let me know. I mean I haven’t done it in a while, but I can always give Bobby’s friend Pam a call if I need some guid-”

Dean bolts out of his chair. Papers crumple in his tight fist. “We don’t need you to do anything.” The dismissive tone matches the inconsequential way he stares at me. “We don’t need anyone else fucking things up.”

Sam rotates in the seat, arm resting along the chair back. His bewildered and angry expression towards Dean is all I focus on. My cheeks warm at the berating from this stranger with a chip on his shoulder the size of the Grand Canyon. 

“From what I hear,” Dean continues, “you are giving the normal life the good ole college try back in Montezuma. I suggest you keep it that way. And get as far away from all this as you can.” His voice cracks at the end. That sound makes me dare to lift my gaze back to him.

He’s trying his best to be an all-knowing asshole. But something’s cracking the veneer. I don’t think he’ll be able to keep it up for much longer. For a moment, I want to march right into this guy’s personal space and slap him. Right before I hug him. But it’s a fleeting inkling. I nod at him. “I’ll get this stuff to Bobby. Sounds like the both of you can handle picking him up at the hospital in the morning.” I inhale and prop up a smile as I turn to Sam. It’s the only way I’ll keep my lips from quivering.

Sam’s brows angle down. “I’m sorry, El.” He whispers.

I shake my head. I can’t speak. If I do, I’ll cry. And I don’t fucking know why my body is reacting like this to the things Dean Winchester said to me. 

My heart is racing. I walk with lightning speed to the door.

My brakes are squeaking big time back to Matamoras. 

~~~~

Sam’s tired. He should be the one sleeping in the back seat.

He’s the one that’s lived through and remembered hundreds of Tuesdays where Dean died. He didn’t have the blessing(?) of a memory wipe with every morning reset. Now, he panics when he stumbles upon a radio station playing the chorus of Asia’s most well known song. He woke up on so many Tuesdays to “the heat of the moment.” Those words grate like fingernails across a chalkboard every time he hears it. Hearing that music always makes him question for a couple seconds if he’s been dropped back into Groundhog Day Hell.

One Tuesday did have a Wednesday after it. Without Dean. 

Sam’s lived six months without Dean already. The Trickster showed him what life would be like without his brother. Sam spent those six months obsessed, determined to find a way to bring Dean back from the dead. He’d convinced the Trickster to snap his fingers and take him back to a Wednesday where Dean lived. Honestly, the Trickster probably got bored of Sam’s sulking and found another puppet’s strings to pull. But, regardless, Sam got his brother back.

He hasn’t bothered to share any of what happened during those six months with Dean (or that one of his deaths actually stuck). Not when they’re trying to prevent Dean from going to hell.

Sam’s need to fix messes could be considered heroic –maybe even to him– if he wasn’t the reason the messes were created.

Sam’s not sure how much one person is expected to withstand. If he and Dean are in some kind of tragedy endurance contest, he’d like to tap out, please, and wave the white flag in surrender. But, then, he thinks about Dean going it alone. When he decides that’s not an option, he straightens up, plants his feet, and braces for the next wave of sorrow to pummel him.

So, yeah, Sam’s tired. But still determined that his brother’s not gonna die. Not anytime soon. Not if he has a say in the matter. Especially when Dean’s no longer resigned to the inevitable of his demon deal coming to fruition.

Sam can push through the exhaustion and fight for Dean’s future because even Dean wants a chance at what’s possible for himself.

Sam saw it with his very own eyes in Dean’s dream. Not the dream Dean’s currently having in the backseat. In between snuffles and snores he’s mumbling nonsense (something about wrenches and spanners). No, what Sam witnessed in Dean’s dream months back proved Dean thinks about a future of what ifs.

The dream had occurred days after he and Dean had managed to wake Bobby from the nightmare coma courtesy of Jeremy Frost. Days after Dean found himself in grave danger of becoming Jeremy’s next victim.

Dean hadn’t slept for days. The threat of never waking up again meant classic rock on full blast in Baby. Gallons of coffee. A concerning amount of No-Doze pills that Dean most definitely wasn’t taking to cram for a college exam.

Bobby had kept himself awake researching with Bela. In between, he spent a lot of time fuming at Dean for the way he’d sent Elina packing. Dean brushed off Bobby's grumpy attitude and reminded him it was best for Elina.

Dean had eventually reached a breaking point, gave his safety a big ole’ “fuck you,” and decided sleep was worth the risk. He’d driven Baby to a clearing off the road, parked her, and leaned back to close his eyes.

Sam harvested some of Dean’s hair right off the scalp, insisting that if Dean was going under he’d need someone to watch his back in the dreamworld.

When they’d both roused from sleep in the Impala nothing had seemed off.

Until Elina popped up in the backseat.

“Finally!” Elina exclaimed.

Sam almost pogoed off the bench at the sound made by a person that most definitely could not be there.

She bopped first Dean’s, then Sam’s, shoulder with a folded up newspaper. “Geez, you two were really knocked out.” Her elbows and arms draped atop the front bench’s backrest. “I was gonna give you five more minutes of beauty sleep. I know you both need it.” 

Dean’s eyes widened, staring at her. His lips parted.

Sam dared to interact with the apparition. “El, what are you doing here?”

Her brows furrowed. She nodded in pensive thought. “I ask myself that question every day, Sam. What the hell am I doing with my life, hunting with the likes of you two?” She nudged Dean’s shoulder with an elbow and grinned at him. “Saving people: an absolutely non-existent way to earn a living, am I right?”

Dean nodded back and offered a confused smile. “R-right.”

Elina looked from Dean to Sam then back to Dean. “You okay?”

Dean nodded with increased fervor and turned in his seat to give her his full attention. “Yeah.”

“Better be. I think I found us a case.” She presented the paper to Sam. “Take a look.”

Sam took the offering and gazed at the front page. A jumble of letters littered the paper like a word search puzzle. “What are we looking at?” Sam bluffed.

“A man was found dead in the famous confectionery amusement park in Hershey, Pennsylvania. Police hadn’t released details of the death to the public.” She tapped the spot that appeared to be a headline. “An anonymous source talked to this reporter and said the guy that died had been literally encased in a chocolate mold. You know, like those chocolate bunnies? Only this was a gigantic chocolate dude. Impossible to create anything like that in the on-site factory.”

“Solid Milk Murder,” Dean mumbled. Sam watched his older brother fixate his gaze away on Elina’s face.

“Get this,” Elina continued. “This reporter did more digging into the victim’s life. Six months prior his father had died. Dad had been a supervisor at a candy factory in a Delaware beach town. He’d been pulled to pieces in a taffy stretching machine.” She scooted behind Dean and wrapped her arms around him. Dean stiffened in shock. “Sticky situation,” she mumbled into Dean’s ear and then pecked him on the cheek. Dean closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. A small smile lined his lips. When his eyes blinked open and Adam's apple twitched with a swallow, he appeared to relax into the embrace. “I say the Three Amigos see if this is our kind of thing.”  

Before Sam or Dean could respond a noise rattled outside of the car. Elina flickered out, gone in an instant. There’d been no time for either of them to discuss what had happened. They quickly exited the car to investigate.

Dean manifested Lisa next. The scene was the perfect slice of Apple Pie Life. A picnic in the park. Lisa had even told Dean she loved him before disappearing.

Things went downhill from there. But, they’d made it out of the dream alive. Jeremy hadn’t, thanks to Sam turning the tables.

Unfortunately, Bela had broken into the safe in the hotel room and stolen the Colt. Bobby left them with a promise to be in touch if he got a lead on her or the gun’s whereabouts. That was the only thing they thought could kill Lilith.

Sam finished packing back at the hotel. A heavy mix of anger and defeat hung in the air. Quietly writing, Dean hunched over the desk in an attempt at privacy while Sam bounced around the room grabbing all their items. Sam spotted names on the envelopes Dean stuffed into his bag when he was done. One read Lisa. The other, Elina. 

It wasn’t until they headed out to the car and tossed the bags in the trunk that Dean spoke.

“Hey Sam, I was wondering, when you were in my head what did you see?”

“Uh, just Jeremy, he kept me separated from you. Easier to beat my brains out I guess. What about you? You never said.”

“Nothing. I was looking for you the whole time.”

As easy as it was for Sam to withhold all the dream details, he was pretty certain Dean was doing the same. 

The car doors creaked and squeaked. When they settled in the driver and passenger seat, Dean said, “Sam…”

“Yeah.”

“I’ve been doing some thinking. And… well, the thing is… I don’t want to die. I don’t want to go to hell.”

“All right, yeah. We’ll find a way to save you.”

“Okay, good.”

Sam’s lived through his own hell since Dean confessed wanting salvation from an eternity of torture. With everything they have been through, they’ve got nothing to show for it. They still aren’t any closer to finding Bela and the Colt and the magic bullet that will put an end to Dean’s demon deal.

The last case in Milan, Ohio and the monster they encountered fed off Dean’s fear of dying. The crocotta had used its powers to mimic their dad’s voice and contact Dean through the phone. The monster, claiming to be John, told Dean he could help him locate the demon that held his contract.

Dean had opened up to Sam after they’d defeated the crocotta back at the motel room.

(Dialogue - in italics - from Ep. Long Distance Call; written by Jeremy Carver)

“I wanted to believe so badly there was a way out of this. I mean, I’m staring down the barrel at this thing. You know, Hell… for real, forever, and I’m just…”

“Yeah.”

“I’m scared, Sam. I’m really scared.”

“I know.”

“I guess I was willing to believe anything – you know, last act of a desperate man.”

“There’s nothing wrong with having hope, you know.”

“Hope doesn’t get you Jack Squat. I can’t expect Dad to show up with some miracle at the last minute. I can’t expect anybody to, you know? And the only person that can get me out of this thing is me.”

“And me.”

“‘And me’?”

“What?”

“Deep revelation, having a real moment here, that’s what you come back with – ‘And me’?”

“Do you want a poem?”

“Moments gone.” Dean turned on the television. “Unbelievable.” He passed Sam a beer and they drank in silence.

They’ve shaked and baked their way through a handful of demons since that case; trying to get any information on the real demon that holds Dean’s contract. But they keep hitting a brick wall. Whatever owns the agreement to Dean’s demise scares the holy hell out of every demon they’ve encountered.

Sam might have a lead on a novel way out of Dean’s contract. It doesn’t involve facing off with the Demon that makes every underling willingly choose an exorcism over betrayal. The solution may be wrapped up in the potential case they’re heading to in Erie, Pennsylvania. Sam knows it will be a hard sell if his hunch is right. But he’ll cross that bridge when he comes to it.

For now, anyway, Sam’s got another trick up his sleeve. He offered to drive from Ohio into Pennsylvania so Dean could get some shut eye. The trek had taken longer because he passed right on by Erie. On purpose.

Sam’s luck ran out about an hour from the destination when Dean stretched and sat up in the backseat.

Sam clocked Dean in the rearview mirror. He checked his watch. Eyes widened. “What the hell? Did you drug me? I’ve been out for like seven hours.”

Sam had thought about knocking his brother out. Thankfully, he didn’t need to resort to that. Yet. 

Sam shrugged. “My smooth driving lulled you to sleep.”

“Yeah, right.” Dean chuckled.

Sam’s jaw clenched as he passed a highway distance sign that displayed the city where they were headed.

“Sam.” The mirth in Dean’s voice disappeared. “Sam,” he repeated. “Are you lost? You better be lost.”

Dean has always looked out for Sam. Sam knows, deep down, Dean’s always wanted happiness for him. Sam wants that for Dean, too. If Sam can unload Dean off to someone that might be able to help him get happiness in whatever form - whether it’s the hunting life with Elina or the suburban life with Lisa - why shouldn’t Dean get the chance to try? 

“Pull over,” Dean ordered.

Sam shook his head. “Nope.”

“Bitch, what the fuck?”

“Consider this a proactive discussion prior to the demon deal dissolution.”

Dean groaned. His head flopped onto the backrest. “I’m so kicking your ass when you stop this car. And, you’ve gotta stop eventually.”

“It’ll be worth it.” The hesitance in Sam’s voice contradicted the certainty of his words.

Dean was directly behind him now. Sam could feel Dean’s warm breath on the back of his neck as he huffed, “Really?”

Sam swallowed hard. “Yep. We’re gonna find a way to save you, Dean. And, when we do, Elena’s gonna remember all of it.”

“You don’t know that,” Dean murmured.

“Well, if she doesn’t, then Bobby and I will tell her everything that happened.” 

Dean slapped him upside the head.

“Jerk! I’m driving!” Sam exclaimed.

“It won’t change anything.” Dean slid to the middle of the back seat. “It won’t change how I feel. She’s better off without me, Sam, and you know it.”

“No, I don’t. And how would she know it when she doesn’t even remember you? You got a shit deal and Elena got dragged in as a free gift with your order.”

“I didn’t ask for that.”

“I know you didn’t. But, Dean,” –Sam glanced at his brother– “Elena didn’t ask for it either.”

“She’s trying the normal life thing. That’s good. I’d just complicate it all again.”

“You could give the normal life thing a try, too, you know.”

“You aren’t gonna shut up about this are ya?”

“Nope. Come on, no time like the present.” Because there’s literally no time, Sam thought.

~~~~

Ugh. No time!

I rummage through the jewelry box. Again. My gaze darts to the alarm clock on the nightstand. I should have left the apartment five minutes ago if I wanted to appear fashionably late. 

The attempt at nonchalance is no longer an option. I will now have to text Gary. 

Running later than expected. Wait for me?

Thoughts claw their way up the curtains in my head when I rush like this. I can’t find my grandmother’s rose gold necklace. I know I didn’t lose it. At least I hope not.

Are the blouse and skirt not dressy enough for Bella Notte? I forgot to ask Gary if it’s a formal restaurant. If I send another text it will be obvious I’m obsessing way more than I should. Maybe the outfit is too much? If it is, I probably don’t need the necklace, too. But now that I went searching for it and it’s not where I expected it to be, I have to find it.

My fingers thread through my hair and grip my skull. I’ve gotta calm my ass down. 

The phone chirps with news of a Gary response.

Nowhere I gotta be but waiting for a beautiful woman. Just don’t stand me up, alright? 

Gary’s flirting. And even through the technical distance of texting this attention increases the beating of my racing heart. I steady my fingers to type.

Of course not.

Screw it. It’s taken almost a year for this first date to happen. I can tear the apartment upside down for the necklace I was going to wear when I return. 

I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the jewelry box mirror. I touch the soft leather cord around my neck. It doesn’t go with the blouse. But I promised Bobby I wouldn’t take the thing off when he gave it to me months ago. 

I sigh, thinking about the grouch in the hospital bed. Back then, he asked where the fire was that I needed to get to in such a goddamn hurry. I wasn’t about to tell him I was running away from an avalanche of attitude by the name of Dean Winchester. The passing thought of that guy still bristles my fur. What the hell was his problem?

Bobby ordered me to hand over his duffle I’d brought from the hotel room. It took him a couple minutes to sift through it as he grumbled about my packing job. Eventually, he pulled out a cord with a charm.

“Should have given you one of these years ago, L. They only gotta find a chink in your armor when you’re the most vulnerable. Lost. Without hope.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Demons, knucklehead.” He rubbed the scrap of hair atop his balding skull.

I frowned. “My place is warded to ‘Singer Specifications.’” I air-quoted. “Salt lines get redone on the windows and doors weekly with double-sided tape. I’ve got a spray bottle of holy water on the kitchen counter. You even told me you peeled the upholstery off the roof of my car to paint a Devil’s Trap under it.”

He cleared his throat. “Right, I forgot I did that.” He waves the cord at me. “Overkill? Maybe? But a lot of shit’s been stirred up lately. And there’s an increase in demon activity because of it. Humor an old man. Put it on and promise me you won’t take it off. Ever.”

“Ever?”

He nodded. “Shower with it. Sleep with it. The whole nine yards.” 

I’d kept my promise. 

But, tonight. Well, tonight, fashion sense beats common as I pull the cord over my head. Before I can drop it into my jewelry box, there’s a knock at my door.

I frown, stuff the cord and charm in my grip, and wonder who’s paying me a visit and how fast I can get rid of them. “Who is it?” I call out.

“Uh, it’s Dean Winchester.” The voice rumbles. “You probably don’t remember me.”

“Oh no,” I mumble and rush to the door. I’m face to face with him after a quick unlock and pull. “What happened?” The question spews out. I hear how frantic I sound.

His eyes widen and punctuate his already shocked expression. “What?”

“Bobby! What happened?”

“Nothing. Bobby’s fine. Back in Sioux Falls, far as I know. Talked to him just yesterday.” He raises a hand to apparently calm me.

The gesture has the opposite effect. From my limited encounters, any reaction from this man reeks of condescension. I lash out with what I think is biting sarcasm. “Good. Hopefully Bobby put me down as his emergency contact like I asked, Mr. Snyderson.”

He confuses me further with a smile.

I shake my head and try not to focus on how cute his smile is. Or how long his lashes are and how that only adds to the flirtatious vibes when his lids flutter over those green eyes. “Why are you here?”

“Sam and I were in the area. On the way to a case.” He rocks back and forth from heel to sole.

I peek past him to the staircase landing. No Sam.

“He’s waiting in the car, outside.” Dean clears his throat. “He figured it was better I do this alone.”

My hand lands on my hip as I try my best cool-and-could-care-less stance. “Do what?”

He sighs. “Apologize.”

I’m staring up at this guy. Not as tall and eclipsing as his brother, but still much taller than me. He’s wearing a leather jacket that’s a little too big for his frame. A fleeting thought has me wondering if it’s Sam’s. But that can’t be right. An older brother doesn’t get his younger brother’s hand-me-downs. There’s hesitation and uncertainty in his eyes. Their gaze flits from side to side. For a moment, he seems smaller.

And sincere.

“I’m on my way out,” I state. Then add, “but you can come in for a minute.” 

He tugs a smile up the corner of his mouth and hurries inside. My nose twitches at the odor of stale sweat and something metallic.

“This is a nice little place you got here. Just like I imagined it would be.”

Why the hell had he been imagining what my place looks like?

His hands disappear into his jacket pockets. He strolls into the middle of my apartment.

I close the door. “You mentioned apologizing.” I’ve got places to be, buddy.

Dean turns to stare back at me. He lifts a brow, then steels his jaw. “Yeah.” He rotates on his heels to face me full on. “I was a dick and you didn’t deserve any of my bullshit. I’ve been going through some shit for about a year… not an excuse, I know that. But, I figured an explanation to go along with the apology was in order. Trying to make amends to the people I wronged before I hang up my hunting license.”

“You’re quitting?” For some reason, the confession utterly surprises me. I know nothing about this guy. But, none of that lines up in my brain about him. “Getting out of the life?”

“Something like that, yeah.” He smiles. It’s forced and pinned high on his cheeks. “Got any tips?”

“Tips?”

“Yeah, how’d you do it?”

I shake my head. “Tips should come from someone who’s done it successfully. I can’t say I’ll never get wrapped up in a case again. It’s a work in progress.”

He shrugs. The long jacket sleeve almost swallows his clenched fist at the action. “I don’t know. You’ve got a job. Your own place. Sounds pretty successful to me.” He spins, slow and deliberate, taking in the details of my apartment.

It should feel intrusive. Privacy invading. But, I find myself taking advantage of the opportunity to study his mannerisms. His lids squint, then relax. He licks his top lip. There’s a slight nod to some steady bopping tune that might be playing in his head.

Dean halts and stares at something. He bends over and leans to the side. On his way to the dresser, he crouches with creeping steps. Investigation mode appears to be activated with a graceful squat. A hand sweeps along the wood floor out of my view. He hops up to standing. Something shiny dangles between his fingers.

I float over in adulation at the sight. “Oh wow, you found it!”

He grins and drops it into my open, waiting palm. “Pretty important?”

“A gift from my grandmother.” My gaze darts to the corner behind the dresser where it had been hiding. I connect the dots. “It must have slipped over the side.” I inhale and beam at Dean. “Thank you.”

“Glad I could help.”

I drop the anti-possession charm on the dresser and use both hands to put on Grandma’s rose gold necklace.

Dean points to the leather cord. “Don’t forget that.”

I shake my head. “Doesn’t go.”

The judgment in his eyes wipes away any mirth on his face. “Bobby gave you that, didn’t he? He’d be awfully disappointed to know you weren’t taking precautions. ‘Out of the life’ doesn’t mean you slack off on being careful.” He scoops up the cord and unties the knot. A nod precedes his order. “Hold your arm out.”

I’ve obeyed before I realize it. He wraps the cord around my wrist a few times, turning it into a bracelet. Warm fingers fumble against my skin to fasten the leather. They slide up my forearm just enough to tuck the charm under my cuffed sleeve. “There,” he states. “Don’t have to worry about clashing or demons tonight.”

I’m about to thank him again when his eyes do a double-take in the direction of my dresser. He stares in surprise. “You-uh-you collect a lot of cat figurines, huh?”

I huff out a laugh and joke, “Yeah, I’m easing into the crazy cat lady role.”

He picks one up from the dozen miniature cats without asking.

I smile at the little angel in his hand. “That’s my favorite one.”

Dean raises a brow. “Another gift?”

“No.” I shake my head. “Best guess is the people that rented the apartment before me forgot it in the dresser they left behind. I found it in the bottom of a drawer under my clothes one day.”

“Oh.” He nods. “Why’s it your favorite?”

“I don’t know. Just makes me smile.”

“Hmm.” There’s a far away expression on his face.

I suddenly remember I am now very, very late for a date. “Well, Dean, I appreciate you coming by to apologize. No hard feelings. I hope things work out for you. Really.”

Dean relocates the angel with care. He straightens and gains a couple of inches. “I can use all the hope I can get.”

I nod along with him for what seems like forever.

“Riiight.” He stretches the word. “Have a nice night.”

I trail him to the door. “Tell Sam I said hi?”

He turns and looks at me. “Will do.” A hitch of breath follows. I wait for him to say whatever it is he seems to be mulling over. He offers me a soft smile. “Goodbye, Elina.”

The door opens and closes in a second and he’s gone. I’ve been surprisingly affected again by one Dean Winchester. And even though the apology should make me feel better, I somehow find myself worrying about the mysterious and aloof hunter.

I sigh and choose not to dwell on it if I can help it. After all, I’ve got a date! 

I rush to the bathroom one more time.

~~~~

Gary’s lips are insistent. Not super rough. His hands curl about my waist. The door handle by the passenger seat presses into my lower back.

The front seat of my VW bug isn’t very roomy. But, here we are, parked at the Staircase Rapids Canoe and Kayak Launch along the Delaware River. The deserted pull off and the moonlight dancing over the water make for a decent and impromptu makeout location.

Dinner was nice enough. I thought my Fettuccine Alfredo was a little runny. But I kept those thoughts to myself.

Gary was a nice enough dinner companion – from the crusty Italian bread with the dipping oil to the Tiramisu we shared. After months of building Gary up in my head, I thought I’d only find more of him to be starry eyed about. Once we could finally talk uninterrupted, the only new thing I’ve found out is he’s very good at deflecting. He offered up short and stubby answers to most of my questions. 

I assumed a cool disinterest had crept up in him by the end of the night. He didn’t ask anything very personal. There was nothing deep and probing. Well, except for his tongue currently in my mouth.

As I rate his kissing technique (there’s too much swirl and suction for my liking) I’m also wondering what the hell is wrong with me. Why am I not able to let go and enjoy the closeness and warmth of this other person? It’s been way too long since I’ve experienced this kind of touch. I don’t need to calculate how long. My inner scorekeeper quickly reminds me. It’s been almost two years since my one night stand in Wildwood, New Jersey. 

I’m swimming in a haze of too much wine mixed with indecisiveness. His fingers skirt under the hem of my blouse and test the waters. When do I tell him that’s enough? Do I let him cop a feel over my bra? Despite his insistence to pay for my dinner, I slipped my credit card to the waitress so we could split the cost. I didn’t want to owe him anything.

I’ve done more for less attention and regretted it later. I shouldn’t care. Shouldn’t beat myself up for craving touch and fulfilling a basic human need.

It would be easy if I didn’t want more. And I’m realizing with every slip and slurp of Gary’s mouth that there isn’t going to be anything more than this. Whatever happens.

He whispers in my ear that I look incredibly hot tonight. I should gasp a thank you or toss him a complementary compliment. Instead, I’m reminding myself how expendable and forgettable I am. I’m tallying up how many people I expected to stick around –who displayed a modicum of care and interest– actually did.

Gary has been, well, nice enough. I recall how he offered to look at my brakes months back. Fixed them for me at cost at the garage where he moonlights.

All the chance encounters with this man have been thrilling and invigorating. After tonight, they could be embarrassing and stomach upsetting.

Cause this doesn’t feel right.

What the fuck is wrong with me? I finally get what I think I want… and… it’s not.

“Whatsa matter, baby?” he mumbles the question into my mouth.

I snatch at the opportunity presented. My hand rests atop his chest to push him away. I am done inhaling the red wine and cocoa on his breath. “I-I think it’s getting late.” His offer to drive me home in my car, after I had too much wine, is now an obvious problem. I scramble to sound invested in his well being. “You don’t want to call Jason too late for that drive back to the restaurant to pick up your truck, do you?”

“Sweet of you to worry, but I’m a big boy.” He combs some of my hair behind my ear. “You aren’t having a good time?”

“No,” I hurry out my answer. Gary’s figure is awash in the ashy gray of evening. His face, half in pitch black shadow, gives me little to read. The whites of his eyes are the only thing I can make out well. He blinks in wait. I continue. “I had a great time. But, it’s getting late.”

“We could have an even better time if you’d relax.” His thin lips curl up high into a smirk. Hands overpower with ease and clamp over my wrists. A push and I’m smothered between his chest and the door. He grapples my arms tight against my sides. His mouth latches onto my neck. “Isn’t this what you’ve been wanting?” His question vibrates under my skin.

My heart beats for release. “Gary, please…”

“Hm, begging for it already.” He chuckles.

“No.” I squirm. I shake my head, lift my shoulder in vain to detach his lips from me. “Take me home, please.”

He groans out an exasperated sigh. His bangs sweep over my lips. “For fuck’s sake. We could’ve had a good time tonight, El.” His teeth click. He launches backward into the driver’s seat.

I sit up and wedge farther into the little corner between the door and the seat. Where the hell can I run where he won’t catch me right away? There isn’t anything for five miles in either direction on this stretch of road heading back to Matamoras from Pond Eddy. I massage the skin of one wrist. Maybe I can convince him to drive me home? Promise to continue the fun at my apartment? I could hop out of the car and run to the 24-hour Smoke Shop a block away. 

When I switch to the other wrist I notice something’s missing.

Gary starts the engine. The dashboard illuminates and winks to life. He taps on the overhead light. My leather cord dangles from the tips of his fingers. He eyes the charm swaying back and forth. His lips peel back and display pearly whites. “Fuckin’ piece of shit,” he hisses. Under the engine hum a whirr accompanies the opening of the driver’s side window. With a quick slingshot, my necklace disappears into the darkness outside.

“What the hell are you doing?” I’m surprised at my ability to sound angry.

“What did Dean have to say when he stopped by earlier?” Gary asks and turns to look at me. I can see every inch of his face now but he’s not any easier to read.

Oh. Shit.

I grab the door handle.

But I’m not faster than Gary.

He cups the back of my head and slams my forehead into the curved outcrop of the dash. A shock of whiplash shuffles the contents of my skull. It’s followed by a ringing in my ears. Fingers weave into my hair and tug me to sit upright, tipping my head back like a Pez dispenser. I scream at the corkscrew twisting of his hand. Hundreds of strands yank out of my scalp. 

“The Winchesters.” Gary is calm and stone faced. He’s in my personal space, staring down at me. “Where are they headed?”

“I-I don’t know.” Balance upended, I’m woozy and confused. “How-, why-”

“Those two are stupid enough to get themselves killed if they aren’t careful, El. Help ‘em out. Tell me where they are going.”

“I t-t-told you. I don’t kn-”

I hear a crack, then realize it was the side of my head getting slammed into the car window. A dull, heavy pulse bangs against the kettle drum that is my brain.

“We gotta do it the hard way, huh?”

I slump against the glass and close my eyes. The surface is cool, slippery. Despite the pain radiating throughout my body, I could fall asleep.

Gears shift. The car judders forward in that familiar way when I give it a little too much gas. Then, it slows to a crawl.

“We’ve got a pool going, seeing how boring as hell it’s been topside lately. Pun intended, by the way.” Gary hums a little to the pop tune blaring from the radio. “Who’s Dean gonna run to before his deal comes due?” He announces the question like a game show host. “I had my money on you. Always thought you had an advantage over Lisa. I mean, yeah, there’s Ben. That meat stick has a soft spot for kids. But, you, I mean come on, you were in the life. You know what it’s like. You get him. Well, when you remember him.” Gary snorts. “You saved him for fuck’s sake!”

I force my lids open. Something sticky’s blurring the vision of my right eye. The headlights are creeping over a dirt path. Gary taps the steering wheel to the song’s beat. 

“Wha- talkin’ ‘bout?” I murmur.  

“You pulled out in the lead at the last minute. Spray a little scrubbing bubbles in there” – he presses a finger to my temple – “and I’ll get what I need, get out of this ass backwards town and onto bigger and better things. A promotion from Lilith. Maybe visit New York City. Get up to some trouble.” Gary turns to grin at me. I’m seeing double, his figure swimming in and out of focus. 

His eyes turn totally black.

I shake my head. The pounding only increases.

A demon. There’s a fucking demon driving my car.

“Gotta say I’m a little disappointed.” Gary slams the brake pedal hard. My body flails back into the seat. I groan as Gary continues talking, shifting into park while the engine runs. “Thought we could have some real fun before getting down to the doldrums of business. This wasn’t the way Gary wanted to end up inside you, either.”

I gotta get out of here. I reach for one of the door handles but I only fist at air. Beyond the car hood, I can only make out a sliver of the dirt path awash in high beams. Ripples of water, the color of black volcanic glass, sway and meet the edge of the earth. 

Sudden and abrupt, Gary’s palms cradle my head. A kaleidoscope of black-eyed masks circle in my vision. “Open wide so I can have a peek, baby.” His jaw unhinges. Smoke expels from between his lips. Onyx clouds hang in the air. Terror bubbles up and a pitiful yelp leaves me. His gaping hole of a mouth turns up at the corners in a sinister cheshire cat grin. 

The smoke appears sentient, swirling its form into a thread with a needle-like point heading right toward my mouth. Then, I feel the invasion. The alien gas slides down my throat. It violates and expands throughout my lungs and inflates in dominance. It’s rough, uncaring, pawing under my skin for control. My vision is gone, a complete blackout. I can’t stop blinking in hopes I will see something, anything. I gasp somewhere, far away, for breath. 

“There we go, baby.” It’s my voice, but I’m not saying the words. I’ve been amputated from the body I’m stuck inside. The prisoner part of me rattles around in my brain, beating against my skull. “It’ll be better if you don’t fight.”

My sight returns but it’s distorted. I’m peeking through a fisheye lens. My hand adjusts the rear view mirror - without any directive that’s mine - so I can stare at my reflection. Half of my face is smeared in blood. My blood. My fingers push matted hair off my forehead and cheek. My eyes leer at my own visage, lascivious and coveting. My tongue peeks out to lick the blood dripping from my nose.

“Oh, we’re gonna be able to get so much more done with this body.” Incorporeal fingers flip through my memory. “Hm. You weren’t lying. You don’t know where they went.” 

“Elina?” A hoarse voice mumbles out of Gary’s body slumped in the driver’s seat.

“All those naughty thoughts.” My voice holds a condescending, judgy tone, as I stare at Gary. “Maybe if you’d paid more attention to taking care of that sickly aunt you wouldn’t be in this mess, Gar.” One of my hands feels its way up Gary’s shirt and under his suit jacket. It finds something cool and hard inside the breast pocket. My other hand unceremoniously pulls the clear bud vase from the mount it resides in near the steering wheel. “Lilith appreciates your service.”

Gary stares at the folded hunting knife in my hand. A firm wrist whip releases the blade from the confines. He scrambles to sit up in the seat. “What-what are you-”

Gary doesn’t get to finish his sentence. I’m screaming in the cage of my brain. My hand slashes at his throat, plunging deep into the flesh and meeting the resistance of bone. My wrist twists. My other hand places the bud vase near the gaping wound. Blood gurgles and spurts into the receptacle as Gary’s head flops to the side.

I can’t stop screaming. 

“Hopefully that’s enough.”

My voice quips out some lines of Latin as my eyes stare hard at the tiny vase.

“Fuck. Well, guess that killing two birds with one stone saying doesn’t apply here. Not enough juice.” My hand tosses the vase into the back of the car. “We’ll just give Sam a ring and find out where he and Dean are. Find another warm body to make another call. Then we’ll update Lilith on our progress.” I see my lips scrunch up in the mirror’s reflection. “Gary’s gonna have to go for a swim.” My body expels an exasperated sigh.

I can’t stop screaming.

“Shut the fuck up. Or when we track Dean and Sam down, I’ll cut their tongues out and feed them to you.”

I gasp, stunned and muted by the threat.

“That’s better. Now where’s that cell phone of yours.”

Dropping the knife, my hand searches the footwell by my heels. The demon will secure my purse in moments.

Dean’s face flashes in my memory. I can use all the hope I can get.

“You get him. Well, when you remember him. You saved him for fuck’s sake!” Gary’s voice - the demon’s words - replay in my head.

Demons lie. 

But I remember Sam. Sam doesn’t deserve whatever this demon has in store for him. And, deep down, I’m pretty sure Dean doesn’t deserve it either.

From the periphery of my sight, I see blood seeping out of Gary’s fatal wound. The wound my hands created.

Demons kill.

The demon won’t hesitate to do this again to someone else.

Unless I fight back.

“You can’t fight me.” My voice sing songs. “You don’t get out of this until I say.”

I remember Sam. Sam was able to do things he hadn’t thought possible when something was important enough to try and save.

“I told you to shut up.”

I realize how similar my voice sounds to my sister’s when she used to tease and scold me.

I hated that.

The engine idles, a background hum to all of the crazy.

My hand flips my phone open and begins to tap through my contacts.

I won’t be used to hurt another person. Anger boils and the body I’m in heats up around me. My thoughts zone in on how the gear shift would feel in my hand. How I’d press on the brake while I switch from Park to Drive.

The pedal bears down and the gear shift clicks to R, N, then D.

“What the–?”

I imagine my foot lifting off the brake and slamming the gas.

The car hiccups forward, almost rearing up on its wheels like a horse being whipped. It’s only a few seconds and then it’s bobbing as if it’s been fitted with hydraulics. Gary’s lifeless body bounces in the driver’s seat.

“You psycho bitch!” My voice screams. “Your funeral, not mine!” I feel my jaw open wide, stretching muscles and tendons to their limits.

The lights flicker out in the car. I focus on the sound of water lapping against the exterior. Whatever is going to happen next, I hope it’s quick.

“What the hell?!?” My voice roars in the dark. “What did you do?!? Why am I stuck?!?” My head whips side to side with a feral intensity.

I imagine chuckling like a victorious villain. The Devil’s Trap on the ceiling. Bobby came through for me. Again. Even as my body shivers at the cold water surrounding my feet, I know I can do one last thing to make the man proud. After all, I aced my Latin class in college.

I thread the words of the exorcism together, echoing in my brain.

“No! Stop!”

My body is betraying me again, either because of the demon or because I might be weakening its hold and control over my flesh. I’m fading. Lids too heavy to keep open. 

Glass breaks behind me and water rushes in. The ice cold shocks my heart. Hands wrap around my waist and tug. I’m pulled through the water. This must be what dying feels like.

I break through the water’s surface. “El!” A hand wraps around my waist. A body tangles around mine in the river and drags me somewhere. 

Pairs of hands hold me down on hard ground.

“Fuck! Sam!”

The Latin chant spills from a familiar voice, fast and furious.

Sam.

The force of water and smoke expelling from my throat jolts me awake. My eyes flicker open.

I see them.

Sam and Dean stare down at me. A heavy full moon hangs in the sky behind them.

“Hold on, El!”

Dean. 

I can’t, though.

~~~~

I wake up screaming.

Sam and Dean are gone.

No moon. No night.

I’m in a room. Yellow fluorescent light.

My heart races. Something beeps.

I stare at a drop ceiling.

“El!”

Pamela. Pamela’s here. I gasp for air.

“It’s alright, darlin’.” Her hand soothes a warm trail up and down my arm.

I slowly realize “here” is a hospital room. I am in a bed, sensors taped to skin and needles tapped into veins.

“Aw, sweetie. Everyone’s gonna be so happy to know you’re awake. Doctor’s gonna want to check you out and talk to you.” She sighs. “Unfortunately, so are the police.”

My mind swims with newfound knowledge. “Dean.” I croak out. “Where’s Dean?” I turn to see her watercolor blue eyes inspect me. The usual troublemaker grin is nowhere to be found.

She pats my hand. “Later, sweetie. Listen to me now.”

“Pamela…”

“Do you remember what happened to you? In the car?” She strokes the hair atop my head. “Do you remember what that thing did to you? Do you remember what it made you do to Gary?”

The knife in Gary’s throat. The blood. I nod. The tears flow.

Pamela nods back. “That’s what the police want to talk to you about,” she whispers. “But, if you claim it was self-defense-that he was gonna hurt you-trust me, it’ll be an easy sell. Those two lawyers you work for, Mitch and Ryan?” I nod as she continues. “They’ve been by to check on you and keep me informed of the investigation. Gary’s Aunt Cheryl’s been rotting away in the  basement of her house for months. Gary” –her voice even lower– “that thing joyriding him, it had you in its sights all that time, just waiting for the right moment, like a goddamn serial killer. Cops found photos of you all over the house and satanic” –she air quotes– “stuff in his room.”

My head spins. “Why? Why was it after Sam and Dean?”

A nurse pops in. Her face lights up. “Oh. How’s the patient?”

Pamela smiles and grips my wrist. “Sis just woke up.”

The nurse beelines to the side of my bed and checks the IV drip. Her gaze skirts over me and then at the monitor. “Dr. Wallace is making the rounds.” She clears her throat. “We’ve been given specific instructions to notify the police department as soon as…”

Pamela waves a hand, “Just do whatever you gotta do so we can get her out of here as soon as she’s able. Please.”

The nurse nods and zips out of the room.

“Sis?” I notice a dull throb from my forehead extends to the right side of my head. Oh, yeah, my skull met the dashboard and a window. The painkillers are obviously holding back a torrent of pain.

“Bobby needed one of your relatives to watch over you while he…” Pamela trails off.

“He’s with them, isn’t he? Sam and Dean?”

“What do you remember?”

It’s all a jumble. Memories and thoughts can’t reconcile themselves. “I remember knowing Dean, and then… not. And then, knowing him again.”

Her fingers rub circles atop my hand. “I don’t know all the details. Bobby’s a vault when he swears to secrecy. But, the long and short of it… this Dean Winchester made some kind of demon deal almost a year ago.”

I close my eyes. All I hear in my head is Dean.

I don’t like any of this, though, not one bit. I can’t keep literally dragging you into my shit.

Whatever this connection is, it’s obvious we don’t have any control over it. And that can go real bad, real quick.

You’re special. And I want you to stay that way.

“Oh, Dean,” I whisper. “What did you do?”

“Hey.” Pamela gives me a soft nudge. “This Dean sounds like a ton more trouble than he’s worth. You need to worry more about yourself right now, those police that are going to be by, and getting better. Bobby’s orders.”

~~~~ 

I was in the hospital for two more days under observation because of the head trauma I sustained. Once they ran me back and forth for numerous tests I finally got discharged with orders to rest.

I’ve been on lockdown for three weeks. I’ve also got security detail.

Not from the cops, mind you. I was convincing enough with my story. They bought that what I did to Gary was in self-defense. It wasn’t like I had to embellish much, just selectively omit some details. The demon had left a trail of crazy and murder that only supported my innocence.

No, I’m on lockdown with Pamela. And Garth, my security detail, has been ordered by Bobby to act as a sentinel outside my building. When he’s not in his car by the entrance during the day, he’s tucked into a sleeping bag by the threshold of my door at night. Pamela sleeps on the couch. I am within eyesight of either one of them in my twin bed. No one could ever claim this studio apartment is spacious.

It’s not so much about who might be coming after me, I suspect, as much as where I might run off to. Bobby called Pamela often. There’d been discussions, of which I’d not been allowed input, that maybe I should be moved. But the logistics and the where couldn’t be agreed. I couldn’t be taken to Sioux Falls. That meant Sam and Dean were there.

Garth had to get on the phone one night and offer, “Geez, Bobby. Law enforcement here is so on edge even the wind changing direction gets the third degree. No way anyone new or somethin’ out of the ordinary gets by them for quite a while. This is probably the safest place for El to be right now.”

That seemed to be good enough for Bobby, finally. Not for me. All I want are answers from Dean about why he thought wiping my memory of him was a great idea. More importantly, all I want to do is help him. Nothing involving a demon is good, I’m living proof. And anything involving a deal with a demon is a thousand times worse.

Pamela went out for food and supplies one morning while “cousin” Garth and I had a late Saturday breakfast. It was the first time we’d been by ourselves.

“You never met Sam and Dean Winchester?” I ask and slurp the sweet sugared milk from my cereal bowl.

“Nope.” Garth helps himself to another serving of the copycat Froot Loops.

I sit up and eye him as he digs in. “So, it was Bobby, then, that had you destroy my phone?”

He gasps, then coughs, mouth full of cereal. A little milk dribbles out of his nose. The features on his cue ball of a head scrunch in towards the center at his discomfort. “What?”

“Come on, Garth. Be honest with me.”

He wipes the mess off his face. “Alright, fine. Yes, Bobby had me do it.” He raises a hand. “And before you ask, I swear I don’t know why. He just told me you needed to be kept out of harm’s way and getting rid of your phone would help with that. So, I did.”

“I know why,” I mumble. “Erase any trace of Dean. It was probably Dean’s idea and Bobby just had you execute it.” I stand, itchy with irritation, and head over to the sink to deposit my cereal bowl. “Doesn’t it piss you off? The way Bobby doles out orders and we’re supposed to follow them without question?”

Garth blows his nose, I’m guessing to clear it of any residual milk. He flares his nostrils and does a little head shake. “Way I see it, Bobby’s survived this long on more than a little luck and a lot of praying. Like it or not, he’s usually right.” Garth looks up at me from his seat. His face wrinkles up into a thoughtful expression. “Bobby did tell me you got pretty close to those Winchesters. The Dean fella, in particular.”

I cross my arms, lean against the tiny bit of counter space that makes up my kitchenette. “I thought so.” I sweep my socked foot along the linoleum floor. My gaze lands on the cat figurine collection across the room on the dresser.

“Thought?”

I zone in on the cat angel. The one Dean got me. The one he picked up when he was here and trying to apologize when I didn’t remember everything. “Being close to someone means having faith in them. That’s how it goes for me anyway.”

“Faith is hard to come by for some people.” Garth shrugs. “You and I are close but it wasn’t always like that. I had to earn it. Look me in the eyes and say you have faith in everything I do with a straight face.” He raises his eyebrows.

I feel my mouth quirk up into a grin. “Fair enough,” I chuckle.

There’s a tell tale knock at the door. It’s the secret knock and I start for the door. But Garth raises a finger and sprints over before me.

Pamela breezes in with a couple bags. “Alright, I think I got everything on the list.” She drops them on the table and pulls out a newspaper for Garth.

“Thanks, Pammy. Gotta catch up on what Marmaduke’s up to.”

She smiles softly at him, then hands me a pile of envelopes. “Grabbed your mail.”

“Thanks, Pammy.” I parrot Garth.

I don’t get the same sweet smile at the use of the nickname. “I’m makin’ rice and beans tonight. Not up for discussion.”

“Hmmm.” Garth rubs his non-existent tummy and wades through the newspaper.

The two of them chatter. I walk to the couch and flop on it, flipping through the mail. Bill. Bill. Junk. But then there’s an envelope with my name and address handwritten on it. The print is haphazard and hurried. It’s postmarked from Sioux Falls from about a week ago. And in the top left corner are two letters.

D.W.

I purse my lips to hold in a gasp. Once I compose myself I announce, “Anyone gotta use the bathroom before I take a shower?”

“Nope,” Pamela states.

“I am A OK,” Garth replies. “Pammy, you like Garfield?”

I pull some clean clothes out of the dresser and dash into the bathroom while they discuss the merits of Odie.

It’s the only place I can get any privacy. I sit on the toilet, my change of clothes a heap in my lap, and Dean’s letter in my hands.

My entire body shivers. I inhale deep and slow to try and calm down, but it’s not helping. A finger inches under the flap and rips open the envelope. I unfold three pieces of paper that were inside. The first one is on stationery from The Aviary Hotel.There’s a crease etched in the middle, top to bottom, and a few left to right; it’s been folded into a smaller square at some point in the past.

The writing is tight and neat. Different from the one on the envelope.

I’m not gonna apologize for how I acted today, El.  What would be the point, anyway? You wouldn’t understand why I had to.  Take my advice and stay as far away from Sam and me as possible. –Dean

Short and not very sweet. But, I think back to the altercation I had with Dean in the hotel room with the loudest wallpaper I’d ever seen. It was when I didn’t remember, months back. Bobby had been in the hospital. I shake my head, even now, at how obnoxious Dean had been.

The fucker was doing everything in his power to make sure I wasn’t gonna give a shit about him. But why? Why the memory wipe? I tuck the page behind the others.

The next page is on very familiar stationery. I gave it to Bobby as a cheeky little gift one Christmas. He never uses it, but I know where he stashes it - in the right side drawer of the desk in his library.

Dean found that stationery and probably sat at that very desk to write what I’m now reading. The page has crinkles in it, like it was balled up and thrown out.

I let out a chuckle in nervous hiccups at Dean’s scribble right under the fancy font.

A bunch of BS from the desk of B.S. Ain’t that the truth!!! El, Bobby told me you remember everything. His friend Pamela told him that you’ve been asking about me. I don’t know why your memories came back. The deal’s not up yet. I’m glad you’re gonna get to go home soon. I’m so sorry you got caught in the middle of all of this ,. princess I always just wanted you safe. As much as I wish things could be different, nothing good comes from being around me. It kills me you had to find out the hard way with the demon riding that guy. All those times you saved me and didn’t give up on me, it kills me I’ll never be able to repay you proper. I’m glad you remember me now. Truth is, I didn’t think you ever would again.  It hurt to have to push you away all this time. To not reach out and tell you about the stupid thing I did when I was crazy in my head over losing Sam. He died, El. About a year ago.

I stop reading. Drop the papers in my lap. I recall the very healthy looking Sam I saw months back. And the one who helped rescue me only weeks ago.

I traded my soul to bring him back. But the crossroads demon only gave me a year before my bill came due. 

My heart beat increases, pounds in my head. Dean’s words trigger the pain from the assault, a deep ache in my bones. My skin prickles with anger. 

Sam died a year ago and Dean’s deal was for a year. 

No, Dean. No.

The bitch thought it’d be cute to wipe your memory of every little bit of me as part of the agreement. You gotta believe me, El, that’s not what I wanted. I may have thought it was better you’d never met me. But I never would have traded losing you for Sam. Me, that’s a no-brainer. 

I turn the page over and continue to read Dean’s words through my blurry vision. The other pages scatter onto the tile floor.

I want It just twisted the knife, having you look at me like I was a stranger. Having to tear into you hurt so fucking much. But it was all I could do to drive that urge to help out of you. You were a great hunting partner. One of the best. It’s selfish of me and dangerous for you, but I’ve thought about what it would be like having you hunt with Sam and me again. Like a team. And it feels right. I think that life, if the apple pie life was never in the cards for me, that would have been nice. 

But my time is almost up, so I’m gonna try to hold on to what might have been, wherever I’m going.  I just want to tell you that I love  need you to stay safe, alright. I need you to be okay when all this is over. And, I need you to be there for Sam. And maybe, maybe he can be there for you, when you want to remember me. Cause I’ll never forget you, Suds. -Dean  

Both hands cover my mouth. I stifle the sobs. It’s not helping and I’m only getting louder. Pamela or Garth will knock on the door soon. I lean to the left and twist the faucet knob. A spurt of water shoots out. A steady stream soon follows.

I wish he’d tried to tell me. That night when he was here. I would have thought he was crazy. But, still, I might have told him to have Sam come up and confirm. I might have called Bobby. I might never have gone to meet Gary.

I could have been with them all this time. Trying anything and everything to help. I grab the page again and look at that word he’s crossed out. Love. He could have written anything after that. He could have just wanted to remind me that he loves pie.

But somehow, I think not.

More tears come.

I flip the lever so water cascades out of the showerhead. I wipe my soggy eyes with the back of my hand and gather up the other dropped pages.

The last page wasn’t written by Dean. The print is large and loopy. Sam. 

Dean tossed both these letters out today. The first one he’d been carrying around in his bag for months in an envelope with your name on it. I saw him dump it in Bobby’s office along with the second note. I wanted to give you the chance to read them now, in case there’s time for you to reach out before we track down Lilith. Maybe give him a reason to keep fighting, El. Cause he’s tired of hearing me. He’s trying to hold on but the closer he gets to the clock running out… I can’t lose him, either. Sam.

I leave all the pages atop the sink. My gaze lingers on the phone number Sam wrote at the bottom of the note. It’s gotta be Dean’s. My brain and body go on autopilot. I cry as I shower, towel off, and then dress into my second set of pajamas for the day.

By the time I exit the bathroom, Garth is gone, and Pamela waits for me on the couch. She’s the best big sister I could ask for in that moment, opening her arms for me to collapse into and cry some more. She waits until I’m ready to tell her everything. When I’m done, she tucks my damp hair behind my ears and gives me a nod for courage.

“You do what you got to do, sweetie. I’ll be out in the hall. When you need me, that’s where I’ll be.”

I know he won’t pick up. And, I don’t know what I’m gonna leave on his voicemail. I stand up and walk over to the dresser. I place Sam’s note on top of it, by my cat figurine collection, and punch in the numbers. The ringing begins and I stare at the little cat angel, readying to say anything after Dean’s greeting.

“This is Dean’s other, other cell so you must know what to do.”

“Hi.” My voice eeks out, a whispery rasp. I clear my throat. “Dean. It’s me. El. I-I just wanted to tell you that I’m-I’m pissed. I’m pissed that you didn’t hang around at the hospital and wait for me to wake up. Cause, ah, I-I did think of a tip for you.” The lump in my throat makes my breath hitch. “Don’t quit the life. Not yet. And don’t wait so damn long to kiss me the next time you see me, Winchester. I’ll, I’ll be waiting.”

I circle my finger along the halo of the little kitty.

~~~~

I don’t sleep that night. I wait for his call. When my phone finally rings, it’s a little after two in the morning.

But the name on the screen is Bobby. He hasn’t called me direct since I’ve been out of the hospital.

I answer but don’t say anything. Just wait for the old man’s voice.

“I’m sorry, L. He’s-he’s gone.”

[handdrawnfantasma]

i got tagged by @monstrousmoonshine (ty!!) to self-rec 5 of my fave fics wot i have wrote so... here we go :')

1. "what if final fantasy x but with the magnus archives characters" aka the result of miri asking 'i had a mental image of jon doing the Sending and where's my jonmartin ffx au' aka clutching a map of dreams, the fic that has taken up the better part of the past 2 yrs and 8 months of my life. if you like tma and you also like fantasy epics like lord of the rings this is the fic for you. (i mean this very literally because the final word count pretty much equals that of LOTR lmao)!! Martin is swept away by a mysterious kaiju death monster into a stagnant future where things have gone Horribly Wrong and crosses paths with Jon who is a summoner tasked to go on a pilgrimage to somehow calm the aforementioned kaiju death monster. JRPG adventures, the world's saddest hiking trip, slowburn romance, found family and MANY revelations about why the world is the way it is ensue, also featuring the author wrestling with the concepts of sacrifice and responsibility and blame and where those all intersect with The Greater Good(tm) and how people's intent to do good or to atone for real or imagined wrongs can be manipulated by others and twisted to other purposes. there are only 6 updates to go until the fic is over so now is a good time to jump in and binge it. if u wanna [ eyes emoji ] honestly this is the first time i've even attempted to write something this long let alone FINISHED it and if i do say so myself i did a good job making sure that the plot made sense and that all the foreshadowing and callbacks/call forwards paid off. i also managed to fit SO MANY tma character cameos in there and some nice parallels to tma canon events as well as expanding on the FFX lore itself so like. im Very Proud of this one haha

2. the variant of soft hanahaki as envisioned by isa and myself and a few of our other friends back on plurk has lived in my brain rent-free for years and so of course i was going to inflict it on jon and martin. milk vetch is a short fic that takes place in the middle of TMA season 3, in a world where unspoken love (whether that be romantic, platonic, or otherwise) causes you to cough up (mostly harmless) flowers until you get over yourself and tell whoever it is that you love them. i had a LOT of fun with jon's POV in this one, his exhaustion and self-deprecation, and i also had a LOT of fun with the concept of the Beholding dropping a dictionary of flower symbolism into his head whenever he so much as looks at a hanahaki flower. it was also interesting to explore like... the psychology/reasoning behind NOT telling someone you love them even when the evidence is Right There, just going full magic realism with it all.

3. not to have never been is a fic taking place in the 13th doctor era sunless skies au that i've been building with kite for about a year and a half! 13 is a sky-captain, the fam are her officers, and this fic is about them getting caught in a weft of unravelling time and struggling to get Out without dying or losing themselves. i'm rly proud of this one because i managed to mix the episodic nature of a bottle episode of dr who (think 42 or Tsuranga) with the Sunless Skies ambience, and switching between 5 different 3rd-person limited POVs really let me play with allowing the voice of the character to permeate the narration which is a LOT of fun. i'm also proud of a couple of the cool things i managed to do with the structure here (having an Ice section followed by a Fire section and then a Dark section followed by a Light section) and some of the hints i laid down for the backstory of a few of the characters...

i actually only have 1 more of my fics to rec for this LMAO and it is still unfinished BUT in the spirit of the meme i'm gonna rec it anyway bc WIPs are still worth reading:

4. spydoc the locked tomb au, aka the result of me watching the power of the doctor last year and immediately losing my mind over the fact that dhawan!master basically reinvented lyctorhood. spydoc are a necro-cav pair from the Fifth House and this tragedy is going exactly where you think it is going (also featuring me straining the torvic affair thru a 13-shaped sieve and then re-straining it thru a tlt-shaped sieve, state-sanctioned codependency, and canon-typical memes, ruth!doctor and yaz are also going to feature when i get back to writing this thing). if you, too, are haunted by all the ways dhawan!master ends up emulating + recreating all of the worst excesses of gallifrey's founders despite the fact that he despises them so much and love trainwrecks as much as i do then u should read this and yell at me to finish it

tagging @birdybirdnerd bc i kno u write a lot BUT if anyone else wants to pick this meme up then pls do, we should all be more insufferable about our own work LMAO

[bunnyinatree]

I decided to combine two of my interests and brainstorm which schools of magic the Death Note characters would main if they had played Wizard101 growing up. My thoughts are beneath the cut!

Light would be a Fire wizard, because I associate that school with obnoxious men who often compete rather than cooperate with other players because they want to be the main hitter. He prioritizes high offense over high defense and can get around shields with DoT spells.  (Also, Immolate is a pretty good metaphor for what Light does to himself during the Yotsuba Arc!) 

L would be an Ice wizard, to contrast with Light (and so they can be super-effective against each other). In my experience, male Ice wizards often got flack for choosing "a feminine school," so this can reflect L's queer energy. I also think that the taunting component of certain Ice spells fits L nicely, and spells such as Ice Armor would explain why Light finds L so hard to kill. 

If Light chooses an elaborate, three-part name such as Adam Nighthunter, then it would be funny if L went with a short one such as "Elie." Bonus points if he wears some of the less-gendered gear and has to endure other male wizards asking, "Are you a girl?" and trying to flirt with him. Bonus bonus points if Light did this once and now can't decide whether he should pretend like it never happened or dig in his heels and insist that he's always known that Elie was a male-exclusive name and decided to flirt with L anyway.

I think that Light would hate L in the context of Wizard101, because L would be so good without any visible effort.  Light would spend 50 hours farming a boss for the best boots, or he would dedicate his entire weekend to farming Loremaster with nothing to show for it, while L would be drawing the Ultra Rare 4-person mount from a free seasonal pack and complaining to people on chat forums that it took him “almost thirty runs to get Pigsie.”

Just as Light and L are opposites (Fire and Ice), Near and Mello would be a Myth and a Storm wizard, respectively.

Mello would be a good fit for a Storm wizard, because he can do a lot of damage, but his spells often fizzle, and he frequently dies before the battle is over. Other players would use him for his heavy hitting, but that strategy wouldn't be viable for soloing much—although I'm sure that wouldn't stop Mello from trying. Also, Storm and Fire are similar schools, and I think that Light and Mello are similar characters. Both are too pretentious for their own good.

Near would be a Myth wizard, because both are given a hard time by fans for being "boring." Back when the game was new, I remember minions being the main draw to the Myth school. But plenty of people thought that they didn't need to summon minions to fight well, so it was seen as childish and a waste of everyone's time to summon a creature that would mess up traps, provide useless shields, etc. etc.

If Myth was seen as the most childish school, then I think it would fit well with Near, one of the youngest characters in Death Note who, like the Myth school, is very imaginative and surprisingly competent. (Also, I think that Near deserves to have a pet Orthrus. It would be very cute.)  Near also delegates responsibilities to people such as Gevanni and Rester, so it would make sense for him to be a minion-summoner.

Mikami would be a Death wizard, because his gameplay style would focus on being a supportive role for others at the cost of himself.  Could you imagine him using Feint four times (maybe eight, if he makes use of Treasure Cards) just so Light’s Fire Dragon spell can be boosted as much as possible?  He would also have spells such as Dark Pact, Sacrifice, and Bad Juju, which would deplete his health significantly if he never cast his own attacks to restore some hit points. 

I also think that Mikami wouldn’t optimize his deck completely, because he would enjoy the thrill of deleting half of his hand every round—and even though other players (like Light) would get mad at him for it, Mikami would genuinely enjoy having to rely on the luck of the draw to determine his next move.  (It’s worth noting that Mikami probably wouldn’t pack any Spiritual Traps or Blades for himself but would focus on having Elemental Traps and Blades that other, more powerful players can use.)

If Mikami is Death and Near is Myth, then imagine the sheer rage Light would feel when Mikami’s gearing up for his big attack (like at the Yellow Box Warehouse) only for Near to use Myth Imp the preceding turn and place a Death dispel on him.  (Bonus points if Light anticipated this and had Mikami prepare a Cleanse, only to realize that Near placed an Indemnity on the dispel, so Mikami’s big attack still fizzles.)

Misa would be a Life wizard, because it is seen as one of the more feminine schools (based on its weak attacks and emphasis on healing).  It would be fun if she always dyed her clothes black, so people assumed she was a Death wizard, while she actually played for one of the most vibrant and colorful schools.  I could see her attaching herself to a group of stronger players and establishing herself as the resident healer—though she would be surprisingly good at wreaking havoc on and attacking her enemies in a pinch.

Rem would be a Balance wizard, not just because of the whole dissolving-into-sand pun, but because she would be great in a support role, and I associate Life and Balance together (because I main a Life wizard whose secondary school is Balance).  If Misa focuses on healing others at the cost of herself, then Rem could use Helping Hands to reciprocate and keep Misa from over-exhausting herself. 

I also like the idea of Rem using the spell Judgment, and I could see her being a generally self-sufficient solo player who decides to help out those who are less competent at the game (much to the chagrin of more impatient players such as Light who don’t have the patience to explain puzzle rooms and cheat codes to newbies).

Those are the seven playable schools, but I DID think about a few other characters...

Matsuda would play as a Myth wizard, for similar reasons as Near: being underestimated and unpredictably efficient at his job, as well as working best in team settings.  Also, Matsuda having to put up with Cyrus Drake as his teacher would be a parallel to how exasperated the other Death Note characters get with him in canon.

Aizawa would be a Balance wizard, because he supposedly mediates well between the police and L during post-series investigations.  I also think this fits with his image as a family man, and if he were playing Wizard101, it would totally be to help his daughter out with tough boss battles.  (He would probably also trust her to log onto his account when he’s at work and have an extra player in battle to make her quests go by more quickly.)

Ryuk would be a Death wizard, mostly for the macabre aesthetic, although I can’t help but think that the perfect role for him in this game wouldn’t be another playable character but an NPC who follows a questing player around and lends them stat boosts—only I think that Ryuk would behave much like Captain Pork and provide a relatively insignificant benefit, like 3% accuracy.  (Bonus points if he provides +10% Death damage, which is completely useless to Light and only makes Mikami’s strategy of damaging himself to boost Light even more unsustainable.)

[aftgficrec]

Hi! Do y'all have any recs for surprise sibling fics?

There are many fics with Neil especially having a sibling (check out our tag  au: siblings).  Many of them are fics where the siblings are on the run together, or have grown up together.  As per your request, we’re concentrating here on fics where the appearance of the sibling comes as a surprise, either because their existence was unknown, or because they were presumed dead.  - S

Also see…

Foxes taking in a younger sibling here

Neil with a sister here

Neil with a half-sister here; particularly ‘In Her Shoes’ and ‘Mack the Knife’ (updated) 

‘The F Word’ here

‘The Water’s Sweet’ (updated) here

‘Razor sharp smile and icy blue eyes’ here

‘blood on their teeth’, ‘What if Neil had a younger sister?’ and ‘Wesninski Brothers Au’ here

‘It is Easier to Run if the World Thinks You Stayed Behind’ here

‘Aidan Minyard’, ‘Another Minyard’, ‘Three Minyards’ series and ‘counting sheep’ here

The Love We Lost (then found) by high_queen_emory42 [Rated T, 2612 words, incomplete, last updated May 2022]

What if Neil had a long-lost twin that appeared out of nowhere one day after practice?

Cue mass confusion.

(Inspired by @thesoupinursocks on Tumblr)

Familiar (Unfamiliar) by alisonlynn [Rated T, 3120 words, complete, 2022]

Nathaniel knew that he had a step-mother and a half brother. He knew this because Lola had taunted him with it while she was burning his face off. It didn’t matter what happened to him anymore, his father had something better to give the Moriyamas.

tw: violence, tw: injuries

An endless road to rediscover by Arirmis [Rated M, 28019 words, complete, 2022]

Kevin is shaking hard enough for his left hand to ache as he mindlessly tries to reattach the strings on Neil’s racquet. He knows it’s futile – that it is broken, and that Neil will never pick it up again.

Or: A VERY twisted version of Baltimore

tw: violence, tw: implied/referenced child abuse, tw: implied/referenced torture, tw: implied/referenced rape/noncon

Big Brother, I'm Just Like You by hoziertozier  [Rated T, 16312 words, incomplete, last updated March 2022]

What if Neil got a call weeks, months after Baltimore, that he had a little sister? Well, this series of vignettes shows how he and the other Foxes would adjust to having a kid around, and also gives a new point of view on Neil, Andrew, and the Foxes.

Everyone, meet Charlotte Josten.

(this originally started as posts on my tumblr, and i'm still gonna make those but i'm moving it onto here as well for ease of navigation. very self-indulgent, i'm very passionate about these characters healing slowly goddamnit!)

tw: implied/referenced child abuse, tw: nightmares, tw: panic attacks

the way that we were (as if by chance) by maybeoneday_wellbefree [Rated G, 9252 words, incomplete, last updated Jan 2022]

Neil hasn't seen his sister in 10 years, since he went on the run with his mom. He hasn't thought about her for most of that time (not actively, anyway).

So when the FBI and Stuart show up telling him that a) his sister is alive, b) she has things to lose now and, c) shes taken over for their father as the Butcher, Neil needs... he needs a minute.

The siblings need to reunite again, to bring down the rest of an empire from the inside out. All while navigating their pasts, their world as they know it now, and how those are going to intersect with each other.

Neil's not sure if he's ready for it, and honestly, Valen isn't either.

tw: violence, tw: implied/referenced child abuse, tw: implied/referenced rape/noncon, tw: implied/referenced self harm, tw: implied/referenced torture

I Think Mom Was Hiding Something… by clumsylittlewriter [Rated T, 2223 words, complete, 2022]

"Aaron’s jaw dropped at the same time he heard Katelyn gasp. He was sure he was hallucinating. Or maybe he was back on drugs. Because the man who stepped up to their table looked absolutely identical to Aaron.

He had the same straight, blond hair. He had the same hazel eyes with gold flecks, though his looked completely apathetic. He had an eyebrow slit and black gouges in his ears. He appeared to have the same abundance of tattoos Neil did, some lining his biceps, while others crawled up his neck.

He was also absolutely ripped, with bulging biceps and broader shoulders than Aaron’s could ever be. He had a tight, black, short-sleeved turtleneck on, along with a pair of light wash, ripped jeans. He was wearing black armbands that covered pretty much his entire forearms too, which were embroidered with colorful flowers and bumble bees.

Okay, so maybe not exactly the same. But he was similar enough to obviously be Aaron’s twin."

(Aaron meets Andrew a little later in life)

missing pieces by DesertLily [Rated T, 1026 words, complete, Aftg Winter Exchange 2021]

There are some things Neil Josten hasn’t told anyone but, as always, Andrew and Kevin find themselves as the exception.

In Our Family Portrait by bazerella [Rated G, 2707 words, complete, 2021]

Like most things wrong in Andrew and Aaron’s life, Tilda Minyard was to blame.

Andrew and Aaron discover Tilda had given up another child two years after they were born. When they get a call about their alleged sister being in a coma they reflect on what it means to be family and how far they've come as brothers.

Oh Brother by ExyEimi (Siyah_Kedi) [Rated G, 693 words, complete, 2018]

Nathan kept secrets from Mary, and the result shows up in Wymack's office claiming to be Neil's sister.

tw: violence

Neil-and-Katelyn-are-siblings AU by poly_pr1nce [Rated T, 1215 words, complete, 2018, locked]

Neil discovers he knew Katelyn a decade ago, except his name was Nathanial and her name was Natalie, and they were the children of Nathan Wesninski.

blood isn’t love by nebulousviolet [Rated T, 1213 words, complete, 2017]

“Your sister is annoying,” Andrew says.

“She’s not my sister,” Neil replies, and he isn’t lying.

Neil has a half-brother by @palmettofoxden [tumblr, 2017]

Who wants to hear about my latest idea that is at least at the moment at the top of my list of fics I want to write?

[stackthedeck]

Hi you asked for fanfic writing prompts on tiktok and idk if you want anymore (and i also know you haven't posted anuthing with this ship) but! You're the person who got me into Johnny Storm/Peter Parker (This is a great ship and also how dare you get me into another rarepair) so I'm just gonna drop all the ideas ive got that i refuse to write bc I've got to many projects and u can go wild or change stuff idc obviously have fun

Okay this is less of a prompt and more of just an au but i, personally, think that photo journalism Peter Parker should get more importance to the Plots so like. Idk Meet Cute where Peters trying to scope out a villain or smth and Johnny swoops in to save Civillian Peter Parker, ensue identity shenanigans and general vibes

If u want angst ! We got the Negative Zone bb. There's a lot about it already but my au creating self went "hm what if peter and johnny both went in and Trauma BondedTM" so 👍 do i know if this works logistically no i refuse to read the comics about the Negative Zone

Lastly i think this pair is missing some key tropes on its page, such as: Timeloops, aus where they get hit by some type of Power which causes shenanigans, aus in general man idk what it is they're just never leaving the comic universe (Gods Aus? Absolute Classic. Past Lives? Aus where the characters are so far detatched from the source material that theyre basically different people? Cafe worker/regular? Flower shop and tattoo artist? Bro. Drag racer (cars not queens) and mechanic/pit crew/whatever other jobs. Johnny likes cars why dont we have these! !!!)

Anyways in conclusion i wish u luck on your quest for fic prompts and thank u for listening to this ramble 👍 im going to go read the singular time loop fic i found while writing this lol.

Has this been sitting in my ask box for like a month? Yes. Are these prompts so excellent that I just had to write a long fic for it? Yes!! I also refuse to read the negative zone comics because they make me so sad, it's called self-care

I might come back for the rest of these another time, but I just love identity shenanigans so have this 10k spideytorch fic!

Title: one little slip

summary:

Spider-Man is the hero, Peter Parker is the photographer. Their lives don't intersect except for the byline on the Daily Bugle. Until suddenly Spider-Man's best friend Johnny Storm takes an interest in the only photographer that can get a picture of his favorite hero.

Professional hero and shining star of New York City, Johnny Storm could never be interested in plain old Peter. And Spider-Man could never see him as more than just a friend.

tags: Fluff, Pining, Mutual Pining, Friends to Lovers, Identity Reveal, Identity Porn, Getting Together, Meet-Cute, Photographer Peter Parker, don't ask me where this is in canon, Peter Parker is a Damsel in Distress, THAT'S A TAG?!, Peter Parker is a Mess

[febuwhump]

(1/2) not to keep bringing this up, but hell, I have chronic pain, saw the prompt, and didn't blink even though it's personal to me, because I figured any writing about it would be about different characters in different situations to mine. I've also had head wounds, nightmares, severe homesickness, been too weak to move, ect., and I don't expect stories based on those to reflect my experiences too closely because again - different characters. Also that's what warnings are for.

(2/2) I suspect the people with concerns about the chronic pain prompt are having trouble separating themselves from their pain. I sympathize - it's something I've struggled with as well - but chronic pain and disabilities such as deafness, which can be intrinsic to a person's self hood, are not the same. My pain has shaped my personality a bit, but it isn't part of me. I don't feel weird about the idea of it being used as whump, because honestly it does suck. And I still won't have to read them

i'm not gonna claim to know anyone's experiences at all but i have very much appreciated everyone's opinions on the subjects, from their personal experiences that had them disagree with the on chronic pain post, to the ones that had them agreeing with it. people have different experiences. people relate to their own experiences and to seeing them used as prompts in an event about emotional and physical hurt in different ways. for some people, they can separate their pain from their personhood. for others, it's not so easy. their pain is their existence, not just an experience.

i've seen a lot of opinions on write and let write, on censorship in fiction, on holier than thou attitudes and on morality. how people use the internet and tagging comes up in basically all of them.

in the end, however, i don't think my stance has changed. you can, as i have always said, write whatever the hell you want. i will not stop you, i will not punish you for it - i know some events have the trope at the centre: you must write whump, you must focus on that aspect. that's not the way i run febuwhump, nor the way i will be running any event in the future. febuwhump has creativity at its centre, and i have no interest in infringing on that.

however, as a person, i place compassion at the centre. my decision to give options for the chronic pain prompt (completing the original prompt, the alternate, and providing a brand new prompt if the original makes you uncomfortable) is, in my opinion, where my focuses on creativity and compassion intersect.

it has definitely sparked some form of debate, and more than one response has blamed me for encouraging Censorship Lite or bringing up an old problem that gets rehashed every few months about morality in fiction, but tbh i think there is no absolute correct answer. i placed compassion and creativity at the centre of my decision and i'm fine with the choice i made.

i'm glad you, and many others with chronic pain it seems, are happy to use the chronic pain prompt. there are some who don't want to. both are fine.

from the faq:

[gilly-bean]

Thank you @suzukibeanes for tagging in me this. Let it be known I was so excited I got the reading glasses out for this one.

1. your all time favorite bl/gl character and why

Oh-aew, Oh-aew, Oh-aew. Is it because I love PP more than anything in this world? Maybe so. But that moment when he said to Teh in the hammock "You don't know? But I think you know" he stole my heart and I don't think I'm ever getting it back again. To have that kind of goodness intersect with such confidence? Ugh I only wish.

2. what's your one character from a bl/gl you wanted to punt in to the stratosphere (you only get one so choose wisely)

Am I supposed to just choose one from such a large selection of old creepy guys from these shows? I couldn't possibly- Dr. Sam from FriendZone.

3. the best music moment from a bl/gl

Listen Phuket Confusion playing on the background of Teh and Oh-aew rubbing each other's thighs? That was a moment. I was on the edge of my seat already but with that music I just stopped breathing altogether.

I gotta give props to Bad Buddy too though, the way they timed Cold Light of Day with that first kiss was perfection. The buildup in the scene matching the buildup in the music, that moment when they first come for air timed with those beautiful strings (guitar? piano keys? idek I'm not a very musical person) and the way the music comes down as they come down. Perfection.

4. what's a popular heterosexual text that you would like to see adapted into a bl/gl?

Who is reading heterosexual texts in this economy? I really gotta scrounge the dregs of my childhood for this one.

Hunger Games? Katniss definitely should have been gay.

6. a scene from a bl/gl that always makes you laugh

Every time that Pat does something super annoying and Pran looks like he's gonna kill him and then himself for falling for such a fool. I couldn't possibly choose a scene it happens in every episode. Most definitely every time they eat something.

7. biggest disappointment?

You know the only answer I can possibly have for this question is everything about IPYTM.

8. what two random bl/gl characters would make hilarious exes?

The possibilities are endless. We need some absolutely feral, loud, annoying people, like Pete from DBK and....actual Black from Not Me.

9. who would be funniest person to force to watch a bl/gl in it's entirety and which one would you make them watch?

If we are talking about actual people who would need to be forced, I would force my sister to watch IPYTM. She didn't like ITSAY because of the excessive crying (but loved SOTUS for example which tells me everything I need to know about her level of straightness) and she refuses to watch IPYTM once I told her the basics of what happens in that. But I think it would be fun to see her lose her entire mind watching it. When she gets mad it becomes existential.

10. best wardrobe moment/or character wardrobe from a bl/gl (screenshots if you are brave)

If nothing else, I approve everything PP wore in IPYTM (except for that god forsaken wedding suit) but it's the play get up that was so sleek I was afraid he might cut me up from behind the screen.

Tagging @liyazaki @elnotwoods @kyr-kun-chan @praninlove @pranparakul @plaidcladjuno and everyone who sees this and wants to do it

[autistic-shaiapouf]

thank you for answering my ask about pouf. i need to find more fans like you who take pouf seriously. i honestly believe homophobia is the main reason he’s so hated and not taken seriously enough in the fandom. (like yes he plotted against sweet baby komugi but like, his actions were very understandable-maybe even the most logical of all the royal guards?)

Thank you for your patience in how long it takes for me to gather my thoughts on these asks! I love love love pouf and honesty found a lot of the ways he thinks and struggles to be intensely relatable, so I feel especially sad when people dismiss him/the things he's done because there's just so much going on with him; he can't really be broken down into singular characteristics, none of the guards can, but with pouf there's a tendency for people to either full on despise or forget about him, or reduce him down to annoying, when there's just as much complexity to him as there is for the other guards. Granted, there doesn't seem to be as much hatred for him as there was a few years ago, but it's still definitely there.

Towards the beginning of his arc, I feel like he could definitely be considered more of a comic relief type character, just ridiculously overblown and over the top, but then there's that slow progression until the famous 2 minute improv ballet breakdown scene where he actually becomes more of a threat and is definitively an antagonist. I honestly can't think of any other characters who have that kind of progession, so I'd say that (amongst many other things) it definitely makes him unique in that respect. There's a whole lot to be said about his actions and I feel like I covered it pretty well in the other ask I wrote for (but by all means if you wanna ask more then feel free, I'm having the time of my life doing this!), so I'm gonna head straight for the heart of this 👀

I'm not saying the homophobia angle is fun to unpack, I'm just saying that there's a lot here. What's really interesting is that it's actually entirely possible to read him without applying any kind of sexuality at all; I think it's completely possible to just see this as twisted devotion and nothing more, but I personally support the gay reading in addition to that. And that's also where things get interesting because I'll see some of the jabs people take at pouf in the tags and while I don't feel I'm seeing anything overt, there IS a considerable number of jokes that are just swings at his sexuality. I'm not immune to the occasional "haha gay" joke, but seeing it enough from lots of different users + the general disdain towards him really does drive everything in at a bad angle.

This also works with the other big thing i see in the tags, which is also the prime criticism I see of pouf, and that's that people found him annoying. It's a fair criticism, and when I showed this arc to two of my friends they felt the same, I could hear some very deep sighs every time the violin solo kicked in again because they were so sick of seeing him. Calling him annoying on its own is a valid criticism, but seeing it so often while it also tends to be juxtaposed with people poking at him for being gay really does start to paint an unfortunate picture.

He's definitely one of the more flamboyant and, for lack of a better way to say it, "loud" characters too, and this is where I'm seeing the most interesting intersections. It's pretty widely agreed that people read killua as gay, but the worst extent I've seen (and I speak as someone who doesn't really venture into the tags too often) is people insisting that he can't be gay because of either his age or that he's just a very good friend, neither of which really stack against some of the outright mockery I've seen against pouf.

This gets even more down to the wire when you look at an antagonistic character like hisoka, who is also pretty consistently read as gay (or maybe it actually is canon? I've seen some debate over it) and has arguably committed worse acts than pouf ever did, yet hisoka is a fan favorite in a lot of circles; both of them are also pretty bold in design as well, making them really stand out against the rest of the cast. There's a weird unique intersection of things going on with pouf specifically.

I do remember seeing someone who didn't like his character because he seemed like every homophobic/gay stereotype rolled into one man, and I think that might nail it. From that to the jokes about him being the ultimate theater kid, he's flamboyant in a way that can come off as obnoxious, and combining that with the way he targeted komugi and was kind of very clearly in the wrong sets him up as a target. I saw someone else say that, because of the way he kept going after meruem, pouf gets very dangerously close to the stereotype of gay men being predatory, but I personally feel like that may be a bit of a stretch.

From a sexuality lens, there's just a lot of things going on; I didn't mean for this to get as long as it is, but I definitely know what you mean anon U_U pouf is very easy to make fun of and bully because he stands out so much, and I've done my fair share of bullying too, but a lot of the bullying does come from a certain angle, which is suspect to say the least U_U

[mo-mo-and-porkchop]

Sometimes all you need is hope.

The Walking Dead fan fiction

Chapter 3 (chapter 2 here)

*I do not own any part of the Canon characters. It is simply my interpretation. I make no profit off of this.

**I do own the original characters and everything associated with them.

Prompt: Daryl ends up catching feels for a Savior survivor. Set after Negan’s fall. Aspects from both show & comic

Tagging for updates: @kenzieam , @of-storms-and-sadness , @jodiereedus22

"For the record, we ain't friends," Daryl muttered as they drove out of Hilltop. Isabella had been turned around, watching everyone become smaller and smaller until the gate shut behind them. She shifted back forward, a slight bounce in her movements.

"For the record, I already knew that," she countered, rolling down her window and leaning against it. Her eyes shut and she smiled softly as the wind blew past gently.

God damn that felt good.

The two of them may not become besties, but she knew the silence wouldn't last long. They had at least two weeks ahead of them - and that was on the hopeful side. Being alone out here that long was a death sentence. They needed each other if they were going to survive.

-----

They rode mostly in silence. Daryl's nerves itched with anxiousness to interrogate her, but slow and steady was the only thing that would win this race. Not only did he have to keep it together, but he had to figure out how to backpedal his initial hostility. His mouth always seemed to get him in trouble. She wasn't going to open up if she really thought they couldn't ever be 'friends'.

"So I gotta ask," he started, his eyes straight ahead on the road. "What made ya wanna join forces with an asshole like Negan?" he asked as nicely as he could stand. She was still a savior in his mind.

Isabella laughed softly. He was an asshole.

"Same as everyone else. Survival."

The exact answer he hadn't wanted to hear.

"How'd you end up with Rick?" she countered relaxing back against her door.

He side-eyed her from beneath his mess of hair. It was an honest question.

"Met him back in Atlanta. Not long after all this started," he said motioning to the outside.

Partially following his movements, Isabella glanced back out the window just in time to see a Walker shuffling along the treeline.

"No wonder you two are so tight," she said half to herself. Daryl merely grunted in reply. "I heard Atlanta is sort of ground zero for all this?" She looked back to Daryl. "That true?"

"Who tha hell told ya tha'?!" he asked harshly. Even tough it was kind of true his offense over the question was only because of her previous alliance.

"Damn," she said softly to herself.

It must have been true for him to become so defensive. Of course that was just Daryl. From what little she'd learned about him, he wasn't the most welcoming to those he deemed undesirable.

Not that it really mattered to her. The shit had already hit the fan. Where it had all started made no difference at this point. She was just curious.

"Sorry," she offered in condolence.

He remained silent.

This was going at be an awesome trip.

------

When they came to their first highway intersection Daryl began to pull off, but Isabella stopped him. "If you take that way you'll knock off some time," she offered pointing toward the other highway. "Plus it'll be cooler if we head more North. Less chance of getting cut off from a hoard," she added with a shrug.

"Yea? N'how tha hell you know that?"

"Because I'm from there," she admitted freely, her eyes already back out the window.

Daryl looked her way, his shock contained, but near the tipping point. No wonder she had been so willing to go this run. Her home was here.

"N'when were ya gonna share that with the class?"

"It's not some secret I've been waiting to reveal."

"So is tha why ya volunteered ta go with me? Ya tryin' ta go home or somethin'?" he asked accusingly, though he veered off toward where she'd pointed. Regardless of what he felt, she was right. Walkers hated the cold, so North was a safe bet.

She chuckled gently. "No."

He huffed in response.

"Look, I know you don't like me because of my past with the Saviors, but that's not my fault. Despite what you think I am an open book."

"Ain't nobody an open book."

"Yea, well, I am. I don't see the point in lying. Especially now."

"Seems like ya'd have more of a reason ta lie now. Ya know, survival bein' important n'all," he added a bit mockingly.

"I have no secrets, Daryl. If you wanna know something all you gotta do is ask."

Holy fuck!

She was giving him an in. One he hadn't prepared for. He was sure he was gonna have to work for his intel on their run. That or she was baiting him and would lie like he expected.

Either way he wasn't biting.

-----

"Radiator is shot," Daryl grumbled, irritated, as he let the hood of their truck slam shut.

Isabella sighed, disappointed. That meant they were hoofing it until they found more transportation.

"There's a house up ahead," he said pointing further up the road. "Tucked up in the trees," he said as he reached into the truck through the driver's side window. The keys jingled when he yanked them free. "We can hole up there for the night."

"Sounds like a plan," she said as she slung her backpack over her shoulders, followed by her rifle.

[spuriusbrocoli]

I'm not straight at all and I don't get most of your posts about being LGBT vs. being straight?

So I presume you’re talking about this post that I made as well as… another one. Which I’ll talk about later.

Basically, this post is about how I have an irrational association between my experiences as a queer person (nonbinary mlm is a pretty accurate label, I think) and my experience raising my pets. And I know that this association between my queerness and my pets is entirely imagined; I draw attention to the fact that it wasn’t logical in the post.

(bolding edited in here)

I can’t imagine how heterosexuals do pet-rearing.

Like, I got my first cat at the same time as I did my first live-in boyfriend, and then we got my first dog where we were the primary caregivers to the dog as opposed to our parents.

As a result, the emotions of my overwhelming queerness and the emotions associated with raising my sons (i.e., the cat and dog) are probably more intertwined than is logical. And when I see cishets with pets I’m just like “¿¿¿¿¿¿¿???????? the straights aren’t allowed to do that”.

The point of this post is “Hey, I have this weird association that doesn’t make any sense! Isn’t that funny?” I know straight people can have pets; I was in fact raised by two straight people with pets. That’s part of the joke (that straight people can have pets, not that my parents in specific did). The punchline is supposed to be me and the inherent absurdity of my reaction to seeing straight people with pets, because, again, straight people can and do raise pets and everyone knows this including myself which is the entire joke.

Like, I did actively call attention to that fact in the post. I’m kind of at a loss as to how to make my posts more unambiguously facetious. Maybe I could tag it as “#jowak” to let audiences know that I’m kidding, but I tagged The One Post as “#rant”, and it didn’t do shit, so idk.

But anyway, let’s talk about The One Post, shall we?

On the third-and-twentieth of April, two-thousands-and-eighteen anno domini, according to Tumblr, I made a post that got… some attention.

Rather a lot of attention, actually.

My do these folks know how to make a girl blush.

Just so many lovely characters here…

And that’s without the reblogs (mostly more of the same, but editing out the usernames and profiles is a pain, so I’m not gonna bother).

Sot tldr: it got attention. Almost 5k notes’ worth of attention in fact. Yay me.

Now I will openly admit that the original is an incoherent rant. It’s all over the place, and if people missed the point, I’d understand. I considered addressing some of the legitimate points, but until now they had been too buried in the crap for me to really bother (though I will address some of the less-shitty vitriol here).

But enough talking about The One Post, let’s just read the whole unedited thing, shall we?

a straight girl will date anything vaguely male-shaped so long as its as cis and het as she is. istfg you could line up the handsomest butches who could eat her pussy for days or the most genteel bi boys who could top her from wall to wall of her tacky apartment, and she’ll still choose her broke, ugly trogolodyte boyfriend who thinks staring at her tits is foreplay and humping vaguely in her direction will get her to cum bc gay men are meant only to compliment her tasteless dress over brunch and lesbians are gross.

(whole thing can be found here as well)

So this post was actually inspired by two very specific neighbors. They had two dogs–Pluto and Coppernicus, whom my puppy was not allowed to socialize with. The two of them were actually kind of infamously unfriendly with everyone in the building, tbth. That’s neither here nor there, but it’s some context.

Anyway, I see this miserable woman while we’re both going in and out of the laundry room. She’s, like, decent-looking, but my type for women tends to err between butch and futch. And her husband/fiance/boyfriend/partner/whatever is real ugly. Like, a potential project for Queer Eye type: utter lack for clothing or basic skincare. Except he’s also an ass.

So I made a post that was mostly about how straight boys are ugly. And straight boys are kind of ugly. Bc we as a society code that sort of basic self-care as queer/feminine, which is the fault of no individual straight boy–and certainly not the fault of this one dude.

But as I was making the post, it kind of occurred to me that many straight women are not only complicit in this system, but they actively encourage it. Straight women do avoid men attracted to women–even straight men–if they seem “too effeminate”. So I went back and edited the post to be inclusive of queer men attracted to women.

Then it kind of occurred to me that attraction isn’t really perfectly binary to begin with and that we as humans are primarily attracted to features like how our potential partners conduct themselves and not really to abstract labels like “man” or “woman”. This isn’t to say that people aren’t attracted to people with any given label (there’s a big difference between men attracted to feminine women and men attracted to feminine men, for instance), but they aren’t coherent classes. And straight women are getting wise to this; look at this comic routine about a straight woman’s first time at a gay bar (yeah, it’s hardly scientific evidence, but this isn’t my fucking thesis). Hence why I went back again and edited in the butch comment.

So yeah, the result was an incoherent mess. And I can sort of understand how someone could read this post and think I was equating butches with straight men, which I do not want to do. Women, no matter how masculine, have a fundamentally less privileged position than men, and gnc women experience the intersectional oppressions of patriarchy and gender conformity. And if this all-over-the-place rant seems to be equivocating between cis and trans people’s experiences or men and butches’ to you, I get that. My wording was bad, and I should’ve done a reread. I’m sorry for that.

What I wasn’t expecting and am definitely not apologizing for is the influx of hatemail from straight people calling me a lesbian incel. And I know that it’s coming from straight people bc wlw would never call another wlw an incel bc the incel subculture is distinctly one rooted in the experiences of male entitlement to women’s bodies. And bc wlw are objectified like all women, they understand that the experiences of an entitled straight man are not equivalent to wlw who can’t find a partner bc of systemic issues that affect all women and especially sapphic women. (Or I hope that wlw have that level of understanding at least.) Or like, just listen to the original, mournful “Slow Dance” compared to the quietly negging “White Blank Page” or “Treat You Better”. (No shade against Mumford and Sons, but both of these examples show how jealous straight men tend to turn their lack of unrequited love at either the other man or at the object of his affection; Babeo Baggins is just sad.)

So given that I am (i) assigned male and male-aligned, (ii) attracted primarily to men, and (iii) in a happy relationship with a nonbinary person with a penis; the hatemail is rather ridiculous.

And that’s exactly what it is: hatemail. Reread through that shit, and it’s just utterly vitriolic. And I’m not gonna say my post wasn’t vitriolic in turn; it definitely was. But my faggot exasperation with straight dudes is not equivalent to the degree to which people on this site harass lesbians. And even if I were a lesbian who couldn’t get with a girl bc she had some ugly-ass boyfriend, that’s still no excuse to turn her personal, rambly post into a nearly 5,000 note meme.

So tldr: Leave lesbians tf alone.

Now to loop back to your original statement, dear Nonnie (I know it has a question-mark, but I read that as upspeak in this context and not a true question):

I’m not straight at all and I don’t get most of your posts about being LGBT vs. being straight?

Well, I’m a queer talking about my queer-ass experiences and my queer-ass thoughts. If your not-straight self relates to that, well great. If you don’t, that’s kind of not my problem. My blog isn’t a resource of any sort, and I wouldn’t claim otherwise; even my linguistics tag is mostly my opinions (though my opinions on linguistics are gonna be way-the-hell better-informed than a non-linguist’s, just sayin’).

So frankly, unfollow. Or don’t. I kind of don’t care. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯