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#((be it wibbly wobbly timey wimey stuff or whatever))

pttucker · 4 months

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Among all those comments, a particular one caught her attention. – Dear author-nim. It was a great read. May I ask about your release schedule? Such an unparalleled naivete that made him use his real name as the username. Han Sooyoung stared at that name for a long, long time. She looked closer, and discovered another comment attached to it. – Are you… going to release another chapter tomorrow? She repeatedly clenched and unfurled her fists many times. Sweat was soaking her small hands. Is it really okay for me to write this? Even then, isn't it fine this way? Han Sooyoung hesitated for a long time, before typing her reply. While thinking about a certain someone, still alive beyond this screen. While thinking about a certain boy who'd breathe, eat, shout some nonsense about 'I'm Yoo Joonghyuk', and do whatever it takes to endure his own apocalypse. And so, the story of a regressor that reached 3149 chapters started in this manner. – Yes. A new chapter will be published tomorrow.

I WAS RIGHT!!!!!!!!

Well, I was right after I spent like half the novel convinced the author was actually Dokja. At least I wasn't alone in thinking that, considering Sooyoung thought so too. 😂

Though I do love that it's not at all how I thought it was. I figured she was the author and just forgot because she lost half her memories to her avatar and just assumed that Dokja wrote it because that was the most logical option that her Predictive Plagiarism could come up with.

Was not expecting all this wibbly wobbly, timey wimey stuff, though I guess I should have by the time I reached the end of the novel and all sorts of things in the beginning were being affected by the ending. Time travel. Dimension travel. Just full of paradoxes.

I loooooove though that the novel is "trash" because she has to speed write it as fast as possible based on vague memories while using Predictive Plagiarism (...plagiarizing herself...) because she only has a limited time with her own body and also because she needs to keep Dokja engaged, needs to pump out chapters as fast as humanly possible to give him his reason to live until the next day.

And I love that the reason it only has one view is because she doesn't bother to read it, not even to typo check. She already knows it has a reader. A paradox it may be, I love that the novel truly was written for Dokja and not just after the first hundred or so chapters when all the other readers fell off. Nope, it was written for him and him alone from the very beginning. Sooyoung already knows that she doesn't have to make it good, she just has to make it, and that in turn will save him, even if it dooms millions of others.

Oh man, Sooyoung seeing him in the hospital after he tried to jump out of a window and wondering where the heck tls123 is, why haven't they started posting yet, they need to hurry up and save this unbelievably precious idiot. 😭💖

Sooyoung of all people having to wrestle with the knowledge that if she saves one person, she will kill billions (perhaps trillions) of other people across multiple worldlines.

Well, actually, perhaps it's fitting that it is Sooyoung of all people because I don't know how many others in Dokja's party who would doom this entire universe of parallel worlds to save a single person, even if that single person is Dokja himself.

Like, it parallels pretty well with what's going on with Sooyoung's other half...she's the weird one in the group who wants to go save the Dokja they left on the train while even Dokja's incarnation is worried that they're going to cause a lot of harm in the process and open up another worldline of tragedy, which they all know Dokja would not want.

I guess what I'm trying to say is that Han Sooyoung is perhaps one of the few people selfish enough to save Kim Dokja at the cost of the entire universe and it's so interesting to think back on the fact that she literally tried to get Joonghyuk to kill him way back in the earliest chapters and now she's using Joonghyuk to save him.

(Oh man...when Joonghyuk finds out who his creator is...)

#granted it's almost difficult to think of hsy as yjh's creator because of all the weird circular time travel stuff #like...yjh lived as a real person because dokja read about him...dokja read about him because hsy wrote it...#hsy wrote it based on things dokja told her and things the living breathing yjh said and did or MIGHT have based on his real personality #...the personality that she gave him...which dokja read and brought to life...which made hsy write it later...around and around we go #like she's his creator but also it's almost like yjh created himself along with the help of dokja???#lol orv you hurt my brain sometimes but I love you #(also hankim shippers rise up! get you a woman who will destroy the universe for you!)#orv spoilers #orv epilogue spoilers #orv #orv novel chapter 532 #omniscient reader's viewpoint #orv liveblog #hsy #kdj

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literaticat · 1 year

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Piggybacking on the sci-fi vs spec fic question, could you explain what is meant by light SFF? I see this on MSWLs all the time I don’t know what it encompasses. Magical realism, maybe?

I'm not like AN EXPERT about the nuances here, there are actual SCHOLARS of this stuff who might quibble with my interpretations of these terms, it's all up to your own interpretation ANYWAY -- but maybe this can help you just sort of "get it"?

IMO, people asking for "light" SF or Fantasy are just saying they want accessible and fun SF / F. It's really that simple.

If you want to get a little deeper:

Hard Science Fiction is SF that is concerned with the mathematical or technological realities and possibilities. Like, they are actually thinking about SCIENCE. Additionally, these books may feel sort of ... inaccessible... to people who aren't already fans of the genre. I feel like people who would self-label their books as "hard SF" are serious about it.

What I'd call "light" SF is something that is more about the FUN of it, and IS accessible to people who might not be conversant with all kinds of technical or Mathematical or scientific stuff. You know? Like, I'd call Doctor Who "light" SF -- there are a lot of points of entry, you could be in it for the banter or the relationships, nobody is suggesting that the Tardis really works on anything more than *vibes* and it's full of, as the Doctor himself might say, "wibbly-wobbly, timey-wimey stuff". (Other people might disagree! But hey.)

On the fantasy side, I'd say that "High Fantasy" (aka "Epic Fantasy") is what you think of when you think of like -- Lord of the Rings, Game of Thrones, etc. . . The author has invented languages and species and there's an entire world of mythology and there are quests and realms people with lots of apostrophes in their names and whatever. (To somebody who is not familiar, it probably seems quite daunting -- like I have never watched Game of Thrones and I never will, because I KNOW that it's too complicated for me and I don't have the bandwidth to get into it!)

Whereas what I'd call "light fantasy" (sometimes called "low fantasy" but I hate that) is probably much more grounded in our world, with more human characters, and is much more about those characters and their interactions with one another, relationships, etc, rather than The Deep Lore. So like, Harry Potter, while it has for sure got "epic" things about it, is light/"low" fantasy. The kids, magic or not, are KIDS IN SCHOOL, with all the friendship/bullying/classroom antics, etc, that goes along with that, and while by the end of the series the magic stuff gets a little complicated, for the most part it's easy enough for anyone to follow.

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mysterious-prophetess · 1 year

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So I just fell down the DMDP rabbit hole lol

Thanks to Mother’s Basement for turning me onto this anime/manga. Otherwise I might have missed it and it is RIGHT up my alley, like you don’t know how much up my alley it is.

I loved episodes 1 and 2 so much, I binged the manga clear up through current chapter: 98. I also own the currently available volumes in English (Vols. 1-8) and I’ve pre-ordered Vol. 9.

So!

With everything I’ve read (the manga volumes having short stories of what the world that was left behind is up to), I’m going to use my super-English major skills to make some predictions while also talking about stuff because I’m eager to blather on about this manga.

I won’t claim to be accurate with my predictions at all.

BUT I did call All for One’s Attempted Extreme Identity Theft using these skills and a line from the Dub. So, take from that what you will.

I’m putting everything else under a “keep reading.” You click on this, and you’re not up to speed through chapter 98, be it on your heads!

So, firstly, let’s go into the fact that Rizdilusia Redrazalf/False Polka Shinoyama AKA Corpse God is well, the True Polka’s maternal half-brother. Only, unlike poor Polka, Rizdilusia got the cute pointy ears their mother had as part of her being a not!Elf. The actual race’s name begins with a “V” and I can’t spell it. It also appears Polka and Rizdilusia do share hair and eye color.

I’d also wager that Polka actually has Elemental eyes too, but I think Rizdilusia/Corpse God might have been right about the Evil Eye being soul bound.

So, what does that mean? Ronzan already respected Rizdilusia/Corpse God, now he’s going to feel responsible for his newly discovered stepson, who is currently borrowing his own son’s body.

It also means that Rizdilusia/Corpse God is going to want to build a life with that family.

I think he is maybe going to try to take the robo-body but I think Polka will still want to be the one in it. TBH it would be safer for him since he was murdered once already.

I also think that someone who knows about the other side is the one who wanted Polka dead because of his heritage for some reason. A crazy theory is, maybe, someone either saw the future or (because of weird timey-wimey-wibbly-wobbly stuff) and knew that Rizdilusia/Corpse God would use a reincarnation art and wanted to control what body he landed in.

I doubt it but I am putting it out there. It’s more than likely anti-whatever-his-mother’s-race-was stuff.

I also think that with references to the alchemist Pani and the fact that Civil is a homunculus, point me to an idea that I find I don’t mind: Pani using the grimoire from Civil’s faction, is able to create a homunculus body for Rizdilusia using some of Polka’s blood/DNA as a base. Why would she do this? Because, she’s friends with his friends, and they might ask her to. That would solve the whole “borrowing his brother’s body thing” very nicely.

Onto the biggest prediction I’ve gleamed from reading the short stories and my own plot analysis skills:

The Geldwood Cult is going to invade Earth and I think the exit to that hole is in Japan. They’ll either pose as peaceful visitors and try to get the Earth to accept their lies. e.g. they’ll use false flags to make it look like those who were labeled “enemies of the world like Rizdilusia/Corpse God” are there to do nefarious stuff and they can save this sinful world.

Or they’ll bust through that hole with guns and magic blazing, forcing what were once enemies into uniting and fighting back.

#dmdp #death mount death play

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reineyday · 2 years

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✨️✨️✨️

this is for the made-up fic titles as prompts thing! thanks @kageillusionz for sending one in 💖 i'll do harringroveson but like, with wibbly wobbly timey wimey stuff thrown in cuz your other prompt Has Me Thinking haha 😂 it gets REALLY long lol sorry (not sorry 💞)

one not so very special day (harringroveson):

this is one of those prompts where i have an ending in mind that plays off the beginning in a circular way, and it'll be a canon fix-it fic where everyone lives, amd steve fixes it with time travel lol

i like the idea that, at the end, steve is having a totally normal not so special day in march at school in 1985, but he's coming at it with the knowledge of what could have been in 1986, SO.

it starts with a flashback. steve's graduating high school soon (this is the semester after christmas s2 1984 but before the summer that is s3 1985) and steve is sitting with nancy and jonathan at the cafeteria and absentmindedly observing school politics in a way he isn't invested in anymore after, yknow, the upside down.

steve is the Fallen King of hawkins high, or whatever hargrove used to call him before the whole thing at the byers went down and he stopped bothering with steve altogether (which doesnt bother steve. honestly. itd be weird to be bothered abt being ignored by a guy who beat his face in right? even tho that guy was practically obsessed with him before that night?)

eddie munson, everyone's favourite weed dealer, is making a fuss at his nerd table (dustin mentioned a dnd club and steve thinks that table is probably it--look at him, he pays attention!) about being club leader again next year cuz apparently he's not graduating again

that obnoxious blond junior from the basketball team steve always found a little insufferable (jason?) is looking at munson with disgust on his face, and hargrove is sitting in the same row of tables with tommy and carol, cuz all the popular kids group up.

jason gets up to yell at munson but hargrove aggressively throws a wadded up napkin at jason's face and says smthg that makes all the other popular kids laugh. jason flushes and sits back down, embarrassed, and steve sees munson pause and look at hargrove who looks back. steve briefly wonders whether or not hargrove buys weed from munson like everyone else when hargrove's eyes turn sharply to look right at steve.

the flashback turns into a nightmare, and billy's eyes looked the same when he was staring steve down from across the byers driveway, from inside the camaro and possessed by the mind flayer, probably thats what his face looked like when he stepped right in front of el to die--

steve wakes up. it's march, 1986. hawkins is split into four by what might as well be the cracks of hell and billy hargrove died last summer. eddie munson died three days ago. steve is still here.

theyre going to go exploring the upside down again today for clues or something reasonable sounding for the plot lol, and steve signed up to go because he's done it already a few times.

they go down there and steve ends up exploring his house in the upside down. takes in his decrepit room, and marvels at how many things in his house havent changed since 1983, which is when the upside down is stuck for some reason they still dont know. he doesnt even have that many photos of him and nance up yet, bc he didnt actually care that much about their relationship till they trauma-bonded. it was too bad their coping mechanisms didnt match, but steve is well and truly over it after his embarrassing spur-of-the-moment confession in the woods.

something outside catches his eye. it's in the empty pool. steve looks out with dread and sees the spot where he assumes barb died--he's never known where exactly in the pool she got taken, and knowing actually only makes him feel worse about it so thats. great.

he walks closer to examine it, yknow, like an idiot (he thinks this to himself), and then falls in and gets spat out.

and then time shenanigans! im stuck between steve landing somewhere once before everything happening and just changing everything from there (like, he gets thrown into his body from That Night at the byers and decides "fuck government nda's" and shows billy the demodog in the freezer), and steve doing a batman and getting sent all the way to like, when brenner was starting the lab w henry and infrequently flashing forward, only able to stay a few days at a time

i think the latter will probably be able to more earnestly pull in eddie, since the former would have a larger focus on harringeove till billy decides to buy weed with steve or something lol

so yeah, let's say he does a batman and subtly guides the whole timeline to Be Better and maybe henry creel doesnt shape the upside down with what he knows but the force of the mind flayer still exists to be manipulated and steve does something about it almost by accident

and he becomes this weird older brother figure to el who he's trying to get to help him stop jumping forward (it's not something he can control and he's worried he'll jump too far into the future and never stop), and helps hopper find the lab and adopt her a lot sooner, and catches a tiny eddie munson (and tiny chrissy cunningham) at their tiny little talent show and steve encourages eddie to continue with his guitar and gives him hope for the future (and mb jump-starts a lil sexuality crisis on eddie's behalf lmao)

when billy shows up, steve tells him to stop being an asshat to max and then accidentally catches neil laying into billy, stops it, and for the first time confronts his alternate self and tells him about it bc steve cant stay but this is something that needs more stability, and the next time he jumps forward, he's found that billy and eddie and other steve have bonded over this time-jumping steve and steve realizes they can finally pull in the party cuz theyre old enough to Have Ideas now

btw i imagine the harringroveson romance starts there? like other steve would get a pov starting from when original steve makes contact w him and billy, who has thus far been aggressively annoying about steve's position as "king" at school, suddenly corners him all angry with his hackles up cuz of what original steve saw and did and other steve is like "oh my god dude what is happening" and then other steve suddenly remembers being a freshman and coming face to face with eddie munson for the first time and munson saying all this confusing shit about how he looks the same and how is he a student here, isnt he older? and when steve gave him a confused face, munson apologized and literally never talked to him again?? so other steve grabs billy and finds munson at his weed-dealing picnic table and they Talk and then keep talking and kind of? become friends?? safe spaces for each other, cuz all three of them are kind of isolated in their own ways yknow?

anyways something something they involve the party and manage to catch original steve's time-jumping consciousness by shepherding other steve and his consciousness in the upside down in the place where it all started for him and he catapults into his consciousness from the changed timeline and they seal the upside down for sure (maybe by trapping the mind flayer into a vessel that can never be manipulated by someone like henry again) and it's over, it's over and steve's graduating high school for the second time but he remembers this alternate timeline now and this is his life now and woah, barb is alive? is bob alive?? billy is alive and eddie is alive and steve is not only relieved but somehow halfway in love with both of them??

btw kage if u read till the end, i want u to know that both my ideas for the kkir ship for either of ur prompts started with iruka's seals master stuff going fubar ;P always a fun way to start kkir shenanigan stories!!!

and so it ends with steve coming into the cafeteria and sitting down and his (secret) boyfriends coming to sit by him, and he waves at nancy and barb, and steve decides he'll try to befriend jonathan too cuz he knows he's a decent person, and everyone is alive and here is steve harrington, eating lunch before heading to study period (where billy will attemlt to tutor both eddie and steve so that they will actually graduate in '85, all together), having one not so special day

after writing all this, it has occured to me that "one not so very special day" is also an extremely easy prompt for a domestic fluff fic lmao so u can also imagine older harringroveson somewhere in california like 10 years post-s4 where everyone lives, and it's just their domestic life. billy's a surf instructor. steve's a gym teacher. eddie works at a community centre and plays in a band at bars on weekends.

if there's a twist, it's that it's one of their birthdays--maybe steve's, and eddie and billy make fun of him cuz he usually wants to do smthg big to celebrate and shouldnt he wanna do smth for the big 30? but steve just wants to have a normal day cuz he's so content with them, every day. billy and eddie still call him things like pretty boy and big boy but also things like sweetheart and darling and steve blushes about all of it, about how used to it he is to hearing and how natural it feels to call them back the same way. they are very happy together.

#stranger things #harringroveson #steve harrington

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lxvefrxmthextherside · 4 months

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Heeey..... ya, it's me!! Lmao, so I did expect to be back and writing... Thursday? Or, uhh...was it yesterday....? Fuck it, I literally do not know anymore, the wibbly wobbly, timey wimey stuff is legitimately an illusion to me at this point! I'm exhausted and still waiting on certain things to get done. If you're somehow still here and willing to be my writing partner after, I've basically semi-ghosted on the writing for the month.... Thank you for sticking around, I appreciate you. Have a great holiday, whatever you celebrate.

Also, I tossed together this little Spotify playlist of alty-xmas stuff. Feel free to listen and enjoy!

#t's ooc

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sarah-dipitous · 9 months

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Hellsite Nostalgia Tour 2023 Day 188

Devil May Care/The Angels Take Manhattan

“Devil May Care”

Plot Description: Dean shocks Sam when he opens the Impala’s trunk to reveal he’s kidnapped the King of Hell. Meanwhile, Abaddon rises with plans to take over his role.

Would I Survive the First Five Minutes??: oh, we START with Dean dragging in a corpse, but it doesn’t seem like anyone else is dying

I really hope she has even ONE episode where she doesn’t get brutalized…

Ok maybe it wasn’t Dean dragging in a corpse, just some shmuck recruited by Abaddon. Love that ❤️ she’s back

I don’t like whatever’s going on in this bunker now. You don’t get to keep both Kevin AND Crowley there

Honestly, yeah. That’s probably the best way to torture Crowley: leave him alone in a dark room with no one to make snide quips to

I would 100% accept her as queen. She’s as cruel as she is beautiful

Abaddon is having so much fun and I love that for her

I can’t believe Kevin 1) chose Solo as his fake last name (I actually can) and 2) basically blackmailed the military officer

ABADDON HAS NEVER DONE ANYTHING WRONG EVER. Everything she’s done is completely right

Nooo…honestly, it was inevitable, but you shouldn’t have left Kevin and Crowley alone in the bunker. He’s just a KID, and Crowley’s a centuries old demon. I can’t even blame him if he gets manipulated into freeing Crowley

PLEASE. I’m begging. Just ONE episode. A little holy water splash is fine but she’s already been through so much at the Winchesters’ hands

I……….she could possess me any day. I wouldn’t want to actually do the things she’s threatening to make Dean do should she possess him, but the way she talks about it 🥰🥰🥰 I’m very normal about her

I still don’t trust Ezekiel.

Fuuuuck. It does look like…oh, Crowley’s still here. But where’s Kevin??

Mmmmmmmmmmmm, he’s gonna think that this is Dean only needing him because he’s useful…..omg, ok, so turns out if Kevin cries, I cry. He’s needed cuz he’s FAMILY. Eat your heart out, Fast and Furious franchise

Godddd, when will the secrets STOP?!

“The Angels Take Manhattan”

Plot Description: the Angels are back, and this time they’re taking over Manhattan

This little girl’s got no business playing peekaboo with a Weeping Angel. The fuck

Wait. That’s not how they work. You disappear from your timeline…you don’t…you don’t make it back to your same timeline, do you?? And meet your old self? But…I guess…wibbly wobbly timey wimey

I’ve been to that rock they’re sitting on.

Oh. Oh Rory. Oh dear, sweet Rory who has apparently never been on the internet????? “Only [the Doctor] could fancy someone in a book”??? Good thing ao3 is down. It’s completely blow his mind to bits. Then again, just send him to any character tag here and same difference

And I had my picture taken at that fountain

Of course the protagonist of the book is actually River. (I remembered the author even now but I forgot the main character was River)

That giggling though. Creepy

Omg. Okay, I like all the weird time travely stuff. It’s one thing to go to one destination but it’s another to get a book from the past and then influence that book by going even further into the past. Just. Delightful

Ohhhhhhh the Doctor’s freak out about saying goodbye to Amy…telling River to get out of the Angel’s grasp without breaking her own wrist, to change the future that’s already been written. AND SHE WANTED TO LET HIM BELIEVE SHE HAD 😭😭😭

I can’t believe Amy just had to watch Rory die again…this time as an old man

Amy’s love for Rory is so beautiful and endearing, and it’s so dumb they ever made us doubt it

OMG YOU CANNOT MAKE HER WATCH HIM DIE AGAIN. TWICE?? IN ONE EPISODE??

I know this is supposed to be an emotional moment but the music is killing the mood

Except now we’re back in that graveyard……and I know what’s gonna happen and I hate it

It was the right thing but it doesn’t make it less heartbreaking. She’ll take any chance to see Rory again. Every time

Donna🤝Amy: gingers who tell the Doctor to not travel alone

#hellsite nostalgia tour 2023

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howlingaround · 9 months

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[ Doctor Who ] about: time travel headcanons in doctor who Also Wilderness Years stuff: Time Travel and the relationship to Time that Time Lords have is described as following Time Lords can observe events to make them part of History, and whatever they dont look at is in flux If they actually interact with events in any other way Time gets crystallised or sth and it becomes fixed And i dont really like that version I think it would be a lot more fun if it was the other way around: The Reason why Time Lords are always on Gallifrey and Isolated from the rest of the universe is because when a Time Lord interacts with Time it starts to flux Is that a verb? I dont care the point is Time gets wibbly wobbly simply due to a Time Lord being present And we know Time Lords dont want History to be muddled up and complicated and (this is again personal headcanon) they like to keep a record of everything for the sake of record keeping Which is why TARDIS are not travel machines, but instruments of scientific research. Why else would a TARDIS camouflage itself? Be bigger on the inside and all that scanner business? A research team of Time Lords goes to a planet, observes, takes samples, records history blablabla and then leave without every stepping outside of their TARDIS But I also think that Flux doesnt mean Time changes drastically:

if a Time Lord steps outside and goes back in, time will have fluxed, but it will also change into a state where the Time Lord has never left any footprints In other words: like a sort of natural protection against paradoxa, the changes a Time Lord does do exist in a timey wimey way, but not stay permanent Unless they are observed By a non-Time Lord Why else would the Doctor travel around with Companions so much? Otherwise whatever changes the Doc has done do not become part of History... otherwise they dont matter This goes against almost everything in the show, but i still prefer it to the whole fixed points stuff It makes sense to me that Time Lords would be less stable in Time and a proper nuisance to local History by simply being Time Lords Why would time become crystallized, if Time Lords are literal embodiments of Change (they regenerate, duh) In the novel Alien Bodies we got a line about how the Doctor is a tree in a forest, falling without anyone to hear a sound, and while the event has happened it doesnt affect history until it has been observed So tl;dr: i think it makes more sense if everybody else except Time Lords have an Observer Effect thingy going on, and its the Time Lords who are the Schrödingering Cats

#Doctor Who #Headcanon #My Post #Canonwelding

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timebranded · 3 years

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((Just a quick note: while Aevus is basically the canon Dialga for my portrayal of Lucas, that doesn’t mean I’m not open to RPing with other Dialga muses! Because I absolutely am.))

#a step out of time (ooc)#((be it wibbly wobbly timey wimey stuff or whatever))

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serendipitous-posts · 3 years

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Listen to me. Listen to me right now.

I have recently discovered that there are a lot of fanfics where BNHA and Assassination Classroom cross over. And you guys don’t know. You guys don’t get it.

Class 1A would be terrified of 3E.

Let’s say they meet up somehow. Maybe you have them set in the same universe, maybe some wibbly wobbly timey wimey stuff happens.

Guys. Guys.

3E is older than 1A but they are also the lowest rank in their year, quirkless, and, from the perspective of 1A, civilians. Which means that in the eyes of 1A, these guys should be helpless.

But 3E are the most feral group of people I have ever seen. 1A practices rescue missions and are attacked by villains and kidnapped. They have been selected into a school and trained in the best way to save people, from hand to hand to weapons to work shadowing.

3E. 3E.

These poor fuckers literally had the government stroll in one day and tell them they were being tasked with saving the world. Have been attempting murder ever since, for money more than anything. Have been perfecting their technique by constantly trying to kill this one person.

There is a stigma in BNHA world against quirkless people, and this mixed with the fact that 3E are the worst class in the school? 1A wouldn’t be expecting much of them.

And then Aizawa has to sit there and watch as his kids-his kids who he has been training for a year- get absolutely fucking flattened by these kids, kids who shouldn’t have any sort of training yet can handle guns as easily as anything. 3E would be better fighters than 1A. They have been honing the skill of murder every day.

And then there’s the other things they do. The way they just-casually talk about killing their teacher? And their so earnest about it? Bakugou tries to threaten them once and gets shredded alive. They are actively pumping the teachers for information on how to kill.

And? None of the other classes are like that? 3A,B,C,D all fine? Bit snobbish but??? Not whatever the fuck these guys have going on

Guys.

Class 1A would be terrified of 3E

#boku no hero academia #bnha #assassination classroom #crossover

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valntynedeangelis · 3 years

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Let It Be - Damiano David (Teacher!AU)

In which your science teacher Damiano David makes you stay behind after class <3 (ps, this is an old brian may imagine I wrote for my friend, I tried to replace every mention of his name but if I left some I'm sorry, ignore it, or let me know and I'll fix it, thank you)

warnings: swearing, slight smut, teacher x student key: y/l/n - your last name wordcount: 3,593

REQUESTS OPEN

"and I told them, look, I'm not a rockstar-" The dark-haired gentleman stands tall at the front of the class recalling for the millionth time about the time he started a band, saying he was a teacher he never did a lot of teaching but that was just his style, Mr David never really cared too much for the curriculum so taught whatever he pleased. The class laughed at his anecdote like they did every time he told it, people would ask him to tell it deliberately to pass the time so they wouldn't have to learn anything, this annoyed you a little as you were there to you know- get an education, however, you couldn't help but notice how happy he seemed when he recalled the same tale, he seemed at peace in remembrance of his life before this school.

Looking over the room, not taking in what he was saying, your eyes landed on a vintage-looking red and black electric guitar that sat against the large blackboard at the front of the class, you oftentimes felt bad for Damiano, knowing he spent the best years of his life out on tour playing music that he loved with people he loved and for people who loved him and now he was restricted to attempting to teach physics to a group of barely awake teenagers every day of the week.

"were you like famous sir?" one kid who sat at the back of the class asked, clearly uninterested but wanting to keep him talking about anything but what he was supposed to be teaching, which by now even you couldn't remember what the lesson was actually about.

"Not really, we felt like we were like we were owned the world but...well, I'm here aren't I" Damiano let out a sad chuckle at his statement, full of regret and resentment, causing you to frown slightly, he seemed nice and you couldn't help but think that he hated working here and wished he was still in the band but as he'd said previously he was 'past it'- whatever that meant.

"Will you play us something?" someone else asks, you place your head on the desk knowing exactly where this was going, fed up for him that people kept asking no matter how many times he declined. Sometimes when you'd be wandering down the science corridor on your way to hand a piece of work into another teacher you could hear him strumming melodically on his guitar, he'd never plug it in but you could just about hear the twang of the metal through the fire doors.

"I don't play anymore, anyway so what were we talking about? oh yeah wibbly wobbly timey wimey stuff" the class groan as he gets back to what he was speaking about before he went off on one about his better years. " People assume that time is a strict progression of point a to be, cause to effect. However, from a non-linear, Non-subjective point of view, it's more of a big ball of you know.... wibbly wobbly timey wimey...stuff" he explains hopelessly to the dead-eyed kids in the room, you appeared to be the only one noting anything he said down, apart from the last part.

" Wibbly wobbly timey wimey stuff?" you raise your hand and his mesmerising brown eyes landing on you where you sat centre back row.

"at a very very incredibly basic level, yes, but I guess I mean that time isn't really what people think it is it's more than just a series of events... its energy and could, with extremely intelligent almost alien technology could most likely be manipulated...but if I tried to explain the entire basis of time travel to you I'm sure your heads would explode" the class laugh, you roll your eyes at his lack of explanation.

"Not to be rude sir, but that is your job isn't it....to teach us" the class fell silent, everyone immediately stopped laughing, you heard sharp intakes of breath around the room. Damiano was usually a rather chill teacher, he was way more relaxed than a lot of other teachers at your school but no one would dare ever contradict him, it was unheard of.

"I'm sorry miss...." he stalks closer to your desk, his knuckles turning white from gripping on his pen so hard. you felt a little embarrassed as you noticed everyone's eyes on you.

"y/l/n" you gulped in reply, scared for what he might do to you, it was commonplace for teachers to punish their students when they spoke out of turn. "Miss y/l/n, do you have a problem with the way I teach my class?" he asks, finally stopping just before your desk, you look down at your feet and shake your head frantically. "I'm sorry I didn't quite get that" he leans in closer to you, raising your head to look at him your eyes meet and your body fills with fear, he wasn't necessarily a scary man overall but you found that he could be rather intimidating and dominating when threatened.

"No sir.." your voice comes out as nothing more than a squeak, he places his index finger under your chin forcing you to look directly in his eyes once you tried to lower your head in shame again. "louder." he sneers, your hands begin to shake forcing you to drop your pen to the floor. "I, I, uh i-I s-said" tears begin to form in your eyes, he notices and a sly smile forms on his handsome face. "LOUDER!" he barks, slamming his fist on the table making you jump in your chair. "No sir, I don't have a problem with the way you teach I'm sorry for speaking out of turn" he lets go of your chin and you immediately slump in your chair, a tear rolling down your flushed cheeks. "that's what I thought you said, now pick up your pen for heaven's sake!" he turns away to return to the front of the class, but as he does he deliberately kicks your pen across the room.

"yes sir!" you quickly rise for your seat and scurry across the room to where your pen had landed, you could feel everyone's eyes burning through you as you bent over to pick it up, your ass prominent in your tight denim wide-leg jeans, your orange tank top riding up slightly as you bent over revealing the bottom of a tattoo that crawled down your spine. You returned to your desk as quickly as you'd got over to your pen and sat down immediately, pretending to write down some stuff, though you were just trying to concentrate on not crying your eyes out.

The bell that signified the end of class rang and you shot up out of your seat, shoving your books and pens into your canvas tote bag that read some Beatles lyrics on it, you pushed to try and get out of class before he noticed but it was too late. "Miss y/l/n, get your ass back here, I'm not done with you" the rest of the class shuffled out quietly, obviously not wanting to make him even madder, you sat back at your desk and rested your head on it waiting for the classroom to become empty.

"now then, sorry I don't even think I know your name" he sits on the desk opposite you, his wavy brown hair was pushed back slightly and the top few buttons of his shirt had come undone, you had to admit he did look particularly attractive though it was hard to keep your mind focussed on his dashing looks when you knew you were about to get an absolute battering off the man.

"y/n, my name is y/n" you lean back in your chair attempting to relax however you sit right back up as he gives you a stern look of disapproval. "Okay so y/n, just by the way of introductory remarks, that I'm extremely pissed with today's events, and in my quest to make you understand the level of my unhappiness, I'm likely to use a lot of what we call violent sexual imagery and I just wanted to check that you wouldn't be offended by that" he taps his foot against the floor as though he was awaiting a reply to his rhetorical question. However, in your anxiety you made the mistake of actually giving him an answer, "I- I'm sorry what do-" he cuts you off, immediately getting off the desk and turning around, to try and conceal his anger.

"enough, e-fucking-nough, you young lady, need to learn how to shut your cave, learn some manners for crying out loud! how old are you?" he asks, slamming his hand on your desk, making you jump again.

"18...I'm sorry sir, I didn't mean to be rude I just-" you interrupted by his open being launched across the room hitting the wall and falling apart. " did you not just fucking hear me! I said shut your mouth!" you just sit there, afraid to say anything in case he throws something again, your eyes don't leave your lap for minutes until you hear what you believe to be sniffling was he....crying?

looking up you see him sat slumped in his desk chair, his head in his hands weeping silently. You didn't know whether you should say anything or just get up and leave, getting up you sling your bag over your shoulder you creep over to the door, your hand grabs the handle and you were about to leave when suddenly you felt as though you couldn't, your body wouldn't let you go, the goodness in you wanted to help him, to make him feel better. sighing you drop your bag and walk over to him quietly picking up the acoustic guitar that sat by his electric one.

sitting on the desk next to his you situate the guitar in your lap, thinking over what you were about to do before you started strumming at it, repeating the same few chords before you began singing softly.

"Io c'ho vent'anni

Perciò non ti stupire se dal niente faccio drammi

Ho paura di lasciare al mondo soltanto denaro

Che il mio nome scompaia tra quelli di tutti gli altri

Ma c'ho solo vent'anni" you started, his head slowly rose as the first few words left your lips, a sad smile formed on his face as he wiped away a single tear from his reddened eyes.

"E già chiedo perdono per gli sbagli che ho commesso

Ma la strada è più dura quando stai puntando al cielo

Quindi scegli le cose che son davvero importanti

Scegli amore o diamanti, demoni o santi" you carried on, he swayed gently in his chair like he was in some great debate with himself in his head, debating whether or not he should stop you or let you carry on.

Strumming away on his guitar you finish up the song, he doesn't say anything the whole time you're singing he just gently smiles remembering his life before teaching.

"E farà male il dubbio di non essere nessuno

Sarai qualcuno se resterai diverso dagli altri

Ma c'hai solo vent'anni" you finish up, gently placing the guitar back to where it was before picking your bag back up to leave, reaching for the handle you frown slightly as he doesn't say anything, he just lets you walk out and leave. "y/n, please, stay" he finally croaks, his voice hoarse from sobbing, you nod turning around and sitting back where you were.

"How do you know that song?" he asks, rubbing at his eyes again this time with a tissue he'd gotten from his desk drawer. "It takes two seconds to google your name sir, I love your music, it's amazing" smiling softly, you pick up the guitar again and aimlessly pluck at the strings.

"thank you"

"for what?"

"for playing for me, you have a beautiful voice" he gets up and sits beside you, even sat down he towered over you, taking the guitar from you he started playing it almost effortlessly, playing a tune that you knew too well, one that your dad would play you when you were a child.

" When I find myself in times of trouble, Mother Mary comes to me

Speaking words of wisdom, let it be " you sing as he plays, you sway slightly as you sing the rest of the song along with his strumming, at one point you moved too far right and your head ended up resting against his side momentarily though he didn't seem to mind the contact.

"I'm sorry" he was the first to speak after you finished humming the last lyric of the song, you could feel a tear prick at the corner of your eye though this time it wasn't a tear of sadness but of peace, remembering all the times your dad would play it for you when you were younger, how happy you were then, how different and easy life was.

"for what?"

"for shouting earlier, you didn't deserve it, It's just I always get a bit upset this time of the year and I don't know how to control my emotions, I shouldn't have been as hard on you as I was you were just making a very valid point, I feel awful, especially as you're still being so kind and generous to me after all that, I don't deserve your graciousness, you should hate me" he starts, you could feel him getting emotional again and in an attempt to calm him down you lean your head against his side again, wrapping one arm around him, You knew that you technically shouldn't be doing this as he's your teacher but you couldn't help it he was in dire need of a hug.

"do you miss him?" you ask simply, of course, knew the answer already but it was good for him to talk about it, to get it off his chest.

"every day" he replies, a tear falling on his guitar, you rub his back softly and nod, "he was my best friend in the world, some times I felt like my only friend, 5 years, 5 whole years without him, I don't even know who I am anymore you know?" he places his guitar down on the floor, placing his head in his hands once more before sighing.

"I'm sorry, I know there's nothing that I can do to bring him back but I do know that I could perhaps help you feel better" you slide off the desk and walk over to the CD player on his desk that he would use for the class to play audio lessons. Out of your bag, you grab a CD and place it into the player, waiting for it to begin.

Walking back over to him, you slowly reach for his hands, which he lets you take, pulling him gently up off the desk and to the centre of the room where there was a slight gap between the board and the first row of desks.

"Today is gonna be the day" the song starts and he breathes out a slight laugh, "Oasis really!?" he asks rolling his eyes.

"shush your mouth and just dance with me old man" you chuckle and pull him slightly closer to yourself, swaying with him as the slow song played, as it went on he got more and more relaxed spinning you under his arms a few times before holding your body close to his own, wrapping his arms around you as you danced on the spot, silently.

"y/n?" he lifts his chin from where it rested on the top of your head, you looked up at him craning your neck slightly as you were still against him. "sir?", your arms wrapped around his back as you couldn't quite reach his neck, he bent down slightly to place his hands on your waist guiding you in what was a poorly coordinated yet sweet slow dance.

"thank you, from the bottom of my heart thank you, I don't think I've ever met anyone so forgiving, I truly don't deserve this" his face nuzzles into your hair as you shake your head at his statement, "no you don't but I don't care, we all deserve a little bit of love sometimes" he exhales a content sigh as he moves his face away from your head pulling away slightly from the embrace. Looking up at him, your eyes meet and for a second you forgot where you were, what rules you had to follow, who he was to you and just for a moment you felt like you had known this man your entire life like he was a completely different man to the one who you were terrified of only less than an hour ago.

And at that moment, that brief moment of serenity and complete bliss you reached up on your tiptoes, timidly pressing your lips against his own in a short yet incredibly loving kiss, one that clearly took him by surprise but instead of pushing you away like you thought he should, his strong and safe arms found their way around your waist again as he kissed back, deepening the kiss. It only lasted seconds but in his arms, you felt like hours had passed, you didn't want to leave his lips, you felt as though you could kiss him for the rest of the time, you wanted to- but of course, he had to break away.

"I'm so-" you began but he cut you off by placing his lips on your own again, this time you didn't hold back you reached up wrapping your arms around his neck bringing him closer to you, he in response pushed you back up against the desk and you jumped up, wrapping your legs around him, the kiss becoming more passionate by the second, his teeth grazing your bottom lip as one of his hands snaked up the back of your vest top, resting at the top of your spine, slightly pulling at your short hair that you thankfully wore down that morning.

"don't you dare say you're sorry," he pulls away before placing kisses all over your jaw and down your neck, you let out a breathy moan, your own hands playing with his magnificent hair, hair that you would often spend lessons admiring. "because if you're sorry, I'll just have to make up for it" he smirks, placing you back on the desk, leaning over he kisses all down your neck and across your collar bone, down your shoulders before returning to your lips.

"in that case, I'm definitely sorry" you giggle playfully in between kisses, your hands move down from his hair down to his shirt, undoing his shirt further until it was just hanging on his shoulders, he shakes his head and smirks at you before pushing you back slightly on the desk, you hold yourself up by your elbows, watching him as his head dips down to your exposed midriff, he places gentle kisses up from the hem of your jeans to the bottom of your cropped vest top, pulling it up further with every kiss his eyes widening as he realises you aren't wearing a bra.

"God, I love this" he laughs, running his tongue up the valley between your breasts, squeezing them slightly, his large hands almost covering your entire boob. "you're gorgeous" he smiles up at you, making you blush, your hands on the back of his head pulling at his hair as his mouth works at your left nipple, you let out another soft moan as his tongue flicks gently against the metal barbell that decorated your chest. "and I absolutely love these" his tongue again running over the length of the metal bar through your nipple, you bit your lip in reply not even being able to form any words.

"Christ! I need you so ba-" he starts but was cut off by the bell ringing again, signalling that his room would soon be full of students once again, who would catch you in the act if you weren't quick to cover it up. "Hold that thought!" he shakes his head, furiously trying to button his shirt back up whilst you jump off the desk pulling your top back down and rearranging your jeans that were now considerably damper than when you had arrived, the sensation of the wet fabric tight against you made you uncomfortable but you would just have to live with it.

"uh sir..." you shyly look over to him, your eyes fixed at the considerable ridge in his tight black work trousers. "oh shit, this is on you" he grabs his guitar covering his lap with it, "oh how I wish it was" you wink, teasing him as you grabbed your bag just as students started to walk into the room, none of them particularly paid attention to you being there, they just filed into their seats.

"until next time sir" you wave and wink seductively at him, causing him to purse his lips and roll his eyes at your teasing, "I'll be seeing you at lunch y/n this conversation is NOT over!" he put on a stern voice for the students making them all look at you, making all sorts of 'uh oh' and 'oooooh' noises, you nodded your head, "we'll see" if only they knew what had gone on only moments before.

#damiano x reader #damiano david x reader #damiano david imagine #teacher!damiano x student!reader #teacher x student imagine #valyntyneimagines #imagine #imagine requests #valyntynedavid

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idrilearfalas · 3 years

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I’ve been obsessed by a Lokius scene / prompt for days now. Bear with me, I love angst like nothing else, but I get confused easily by the concept of timelines and stuff and wouldn't know how to write my own fanfiction if my life depended on it (if anyone out there wants to write a story based on this idea, please be my guests!)

So...

Loki and Mobius are on a mission, a pretty easy one. They've just had an argument in which Loki denied caring and trusting his colleague, so the mood is not the best. Things suddenly go south and a villain tries to mortally wound Mobius. Loki jumps in front of him and takes the bullet intended for his colleague.

Mobius shoots the villain, then kneels down next to Loki, trying to stop the blood - so much blood - but Loki is getting weaker. Heartbreaking moment, perhaps a scared comment or a sarcastic (but kinda sweet) joke from Loki. And then he dies.

Mobius is broken, tries to wake him up, wants to scream... when a shadow falls over him and someone kneels next to the dead body. It’s Dangerous-Variant Loki.

Our Loki and Mobius teamed up with him during some of their previous missions. He’s a strange guy, this Dangerous-Variant one: he was supposed to be the Big Enemy but actually helped Mobius and Loki quite a lot since they first met, even saving them from some bad situations. Now he offers Mobius a deal: Mobius will do his wibbly-wobbly, timey-wimey thing and turn back time and he, Dangerous-Variant Loki, will take the place of the other Loki so to save the both of them.

Mobius is confused, tries to ask why he would do this, why he would take the place of his other 'self'. Variant Loki merely looks at him for long seconds.

"You asked me once why I was doing what I was doing," he tells Mobius, finally. “Killing TVA officers, trying to destroy the system. It was just... revenge. Against the TVA. For taking away the thing I cared the most about”. And he looks right into Mobius' eyes with a strange intensity. "...I was that Loki," he points to the dead man on the floor, "Then they killed you." He pauses, lets that sink in. "And I decided it was time to stray from my written path again. Because nothing else mattered anymore, except making them pay for what they did and making sure what happened to you in my past... did not happen in your present”.

Variant Loki looks at his dead self, then raises his eyes to Mobius' again, a wistful expression on his face. "I will take his place because he still has you, and he still has time to accept “, makes a small gesture with his hand, encompassing the dead Loki and Mobius, “whatever you’ve got going on. He still has time to tell you all the things I never said”.

Then Dangerous-Variant Loki stands up, his resolve clear in his stance, his voice the voice of a King. “I am Loki of Asgard, and I am burdened with glorious purpose".

And Mobius, who has been shocked into silence until that moment, stands up too, hesitates for a moment then extends his hand to Dangerous-Variant Loki. This time, unlike so many years before in that elevator, Loki shakes it.

"I was right, you know," Mobius says to Loki after a moment, his lips curled into an almost amused smile, "You're not a villain." Dangerous-Variant Loki snorts and rolls his eyes, then looks at Mobius again, trying to hide his amusement. "Turn back the clock, Mobius." And after a slow nod, his hand still in Variant Loki's, Mobius does so.

(Two days later Mobius and Loki are in their office and Loki is complaining fiercely that Mobius is a tyrant and a bureaucrat, and “I hate you so much”. Mobius, this time, just smiles. “Sure you do, kitten”)

#lokius #wowki #loki x mobius #loki series #guys forgive me #this scene has been in my head for the past two days #I cannot write #but I NEEDED to share it #even if it's dumb #marvel I need this #fanwriters I NEED THIS #someone give me this #crying #angst oh angst

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there-must-be-a-lock · 4 years

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Spitting Venom (Supernatural x Criminal Minds)

Word Count: ~10,300 yikes

Warnings: Non-explicit violence, nothing more than you’d see on either show. More cursing though. Don’t even try to tell me Emily Prentiss doesn’t swear like a sailor.

A/N: This is for @stunudo and her “Lie To Me” Challenge! My prompt was the Modest Mouse song “Spitting Venom.” Thanks to @fookinghelljensensthighs for reading and exclaiming and also just loving Sam and Spencer with me.

This is part of the “Coffee & Psychopaths” series. It follows the events of Quitting, but you don’t need to read that to understand anything that happens here.

This centers around (and steals dialogue from) the events of “Slash Fiction” (SPN) and “Proof” (CM). In order to smoosh the timelines together right, I had to do some wibbly-wobbly timey-wimey stuff, so don’t think about it too hard. You should be able to tell from context clues, but for reference, the flashbacks (in order of appearance) correspond to “Shut Up, Dr Phil” (SPN) / “It Takes A Village” (CM), “To Hell... And Back” (CM), “My Bloody Valentine” (SPN), “Amplification” (CM), “With Friends Like These” (CM) / “Unforgiven” (SPN), “Appointment In Samarra” (SPN), and “Memoriam” (CM). Seriously, wibbly-wobbly. So much canon juggling. Just go with it.

“Just for the record, the weather today is partly suspicious with chances of betrayal.”

― Chuck Palahniuk

“Strap in, folks, we’ve got a weird one,” Garcia says cheerily, handing Spencer a paper folder as everybody else opens their tablets.

“I thought the Winchesters were dead,” Hotch says.

“That is part of the aforementioned weird, yes. Okay, for those of you who weren’t paying attention four years ago…”

Spencer opens his file, and Garcia’s words stop making sense, because that’s Sam in the mugshot.

His first instinct is to shout, This is a mistake.

Spencer’s stomach churns. He’s cold all over.

This feeling (betrayal, his brain supplies helpfully) is becoming a little too familiar, lately.

Garcia is showing a video: a bank, a group of people scared and screaming, two men opening fire. That’s Sam. His expression is stone-cold, maybe even satisfied, as he empties the clip into the crowd.

That’s Sam.

Garcia’s talking about M.O. now, or the total lack of a consistent one, and Spencer can’t listen. He forces his features into the bland, neutral expression that has made people underestimate him for years, and he takes slow breaths, trying to calm his racing heartbeat.

“Spence?” he hears, and when he looks around the table he realizes that it wasn’t the first time somebody said his name. They’re all staring.

“You okay, kid?” Morgan asks, brow furrowed.

“I’m fine,” Spencer insists, with a shrug.

“No you’re not, I know that face. Are you feeling okay?” Emily prods, and Spencer hates her for a moment, hates that she can still read him.

He tries to force a smile, but it feels stiff on his face.

“I know him,” Spencer blurts out. “Sam. Sam Winchester. He’s… he was my friend. Or I thought he was.”

There’s a moment of stunned silence all around the table. Spencer looks down at his hands, twirling a pen idly, instead of looking any of them in the eyes.

“Reid,” Hotch says quietly.

“We met at a… meeting,” Spencer says. He looks up at Hotch to make sure he understands, and Hotch nods. “About two years ago. He was only here for a couple weeks. We got along, though. We… he left. We kept in touch.”

“When did you last speak to him?” Hotch asks, frowning.

Spencer swallows around the lump in his throat. It’s taking his best effort to maintain his mask of composure.

“It was eight days ago.”

Hotch nods. “I’m assuming he’s already using a new number, but just in case, we’ll need you to give Garcia any contact information you have.”

Spencer tries to smile. “Of course.”

Emily asks, “And he didn’t say anything that would…”

“That would, what, tip me off that he was planning a massive murder spree?” Spencer says. His voice cracks.

“Anything that might be helpful,” Morgan interjects diplomatically. “Locations, names.”

Spencer shakes his head. “No, it was… we didn’t talk about that sort of thing. It was random, mostly. When something was on my mind that I couldn’t… couldn’t talk to you about, or - when I couldn’t sleep. But there wasn’t much small talk.”

“And you never suspected?” Garcia asks, wide-eyed.

“Do you really think that if I suspected -”

“We know that if there were any hints, you would’ve seen them. Nobody is suggesting that you should’ve known,” Hotch says firmly.

“I should’ve, though,” Spencer insists, with a hysterical edge in his voice. “There were so many things that he just… avoided talking about. He looked familiar, even! I kept wondering where I recognized him from!”

“Enough, kid,” Rossi interrupts. “Getting angry at yourself doesn’t help anybody. It was before you joined the Bureau, there was no reason for you to remember his face.”

“This is a good thing, right?” Emily points out. “The better you know him, the easier it’s going to be for us to catch him.”

“Apparently I didn’t know him, though,” Spencer says hoarsely. “I didn’t know him at all.”

“Are you going to be able to work this case objectively?” Hotch asks. “We’ll all understand if you want to sit this one out.”

Spencer stares at him helplessly. He’s not sure he knows the answer to that question.

“I remember Gideon talking about the Winchester case,” Rossi muses. “Couldn’t make head or tail of it, no apparent connection between victims, witnesses who kept changing their stories…”

“Your insight will undoubtedly be useful,” Hotch adds quietly.

Spencer grits his teeth, shock turning quickly to anger.

“I want to find him,” he says. He wants to know. He wants to hear the confession.

Hotch gives him one more steely, appraising look before nodding.

“Very well. Let’s talk victimology.”

* * * * * * * * *

September 2011 (eight days earlier)

“I don’t understand how she could do that,” Spencer says bitterly. “If I saw one of my friends hurting like that, and I knew something that would stop them hurting…”

“Shit,” Sam mutters. “I’m sorry.”

“Did they not trust me to keep the secret? Did they not think I could handle it? We’re a team. We’re not supposed to keep things from each other. Not important things, not like that.”

“Yeah, I hear you.”

Sam leans against the kitchen counter, watching Dean through the window. Baby’s hood is open and Dean’s wrestling with something inside, and Sam wonders, for the thousandth time, whether he’s imagining the wariness in Dean’s face whenever they talk these days. He can’t shake the feeling there’s something Dean’s not saying.

“I don’t know what to do,” Spencer says quietly, and his voice cracks on the last word.

“I don’t know if there’s anything you can do, except give it time.”

“I hate that answer,” Spencer says flatly, and Sam laughs.

“Yeah. But… I think hearing the truth is the hard part, sometimes. Or saying it. Right? It hurts like hell, and it’s going to hurt for a while, but now that it’s all out in the open… now it’ll start getting better. It has to.”

“I guess.”

“She thought she was doing the right thing,” Sam repeats. “Do you really think she’d do that, if she didn’t feel like she had a choice?”

Spencer sighs in a rush of static. “No,” he says begrudgingly. “But I think she had a choice. And now it’s my choice whether to trust her or not.”

“You’ll get there.”

“How do you know?”

“A very smart man once told me that’s what friends do,” Sam says wryly. “They trust each other.”

“Quoting me back to me doesn’t seem fair,” Spencer grumbles.

“Doesn’t make it wrong,” Sam retorts with a grin.

Sam watches Dean slam the hood shut, and he wonders why his brother has such a hard time trusting him.

* * * * * * * * *

“Are you kidding me right now?” Dean snaps, and the sneer in his voice makes Sam feel all of six years old again.

“No, Dean, I’m not kidding,” Sam says stubbornly. He leans against the doorframe and watches Dean pace back and forth, like a wild animal on a too-short leash in the tiny living room of Rufus’s cabin.

“Dead or alive, Sam. We’re wanted dead or alive. You try to talk to a Fed, which one d’you think it’ll be? They’ll have you pumped full of bullets before you can blink.”

“He’s got a point, Sam,” Bobby says quietly.

Sam rubs his eyes, feeling a headache building. “I trust him.”

“Yeah? Well, I don’t,” Dean retorts. “Who the hell is this guy, anyway? When’d you make a friend I don’t know about?”

“Is that what this is about?” Sam asks bitterly. “You’re pissed there’s something about me that you don’t get to control?”

“In case you hadn’t noticed, you don’t have a great track record here,” Dean spits, and Sam’s throat clogs with anger even before Dean says, “Whenever you’ve made a friend on your own, how’s that gone for you, huh? Meg, Ruby, Amy… two demons, a monster, and now a fucking Fed?”

Sam balls his hands into fists to fight the urge to start swinging. “Why can’t you just trust me? You don’t know Frank, either.”

“I trust Bobby,” Dean says. The I don’t trust you goes unspoken.

Sam clenches his jaw, breathing until he knows he can talk without shouting.

“Just go, then, Dean,” he says, quiet and venomous. “Go ahead. Do whatever you want. I’m going to call Spencer.”

Dean’s frozen for a moment, stone-faced. Then he whirls around and heads for the door. “Fine. I’ll check in when I get to Frank’s.”

Sam sits down on the couch, resting his head in his hands for a moment. He hears the dim rumble of the engine starting outside.

“I’m gonna use the landline, if that’s okay,” Sam says quietly.

“I sure hope you’re right about this, boy,” Bobby growls.

“So do I.”

He finds Spencer’s number on the worn slip of paper in his wallet, written down with the five or so others that he doesn’t want to lose, and holds his breath as he dials. He has a feeling Spencer might not pick up on the first try, if he picks up at all. For all he knows, Spencer’s on the job already, in Colorado with his team looking for clues that aren’t there.

He closes his eyes and thinks, please, and then Spencer picks up.

“Hi, Sam.” His voice is icy.

“Hey,” Sam says. There’s a long, weighted pause before he continues, “It’s not me.”

“You’re kidding me, right?” It’s clipped and robotic and forceful.

“No, look, I - it’s not me, okay? That’s why I’m calling. I’ll turn myself in.” Another weighted pause. Sam clears his throat. “Not to the police, ‘cause I’m pretty sure they’ll shoot me on sight, but. To you. It’s hard to explain, but I’m innocent, it’s someone else pretending to be me, so if you can get to Montana -”

“Montana?” Spencer interrupts incredulously.

“Montana,” Sam repeats. He hesitates. “I figured you’d be tracking the call, I used a landline to make it easy for you.”

“She’s working on it,” Spencer admits begrudgingly.

Sam feels a twist of guilt, wondering how Spencer’s coworkers are reacting to this… even worse than Dean, probably.

He hears a faint female voice in the background, too quiet to make out more than, “...not sure how, but…”

“Fine, then,” Spencer says quietly. “Montana.”

“Wherever you want, okay? I - I won’t put up a fight. Just…” Sam can’t help but laugh. “Don’t let them shoot me, okay?”

There’s a crackle of static as Spencer sighs. “We’ll call you with details when we land.”

A voice in the back of his head that sounds like Dean is shouting, this is a terrible idea.

Sam ignores it.

“I trust you,” he says. “And Spencer?”

“Mmhmm?”

“Thanks for picking up.”

* * * * * * * * *

May 2010

Spencer feels like he’s choking on the thick stink in the air. He looks around the packed dirt yard of the farmhouse and can’t find any relief; he’s surrounded by ugly raw grief, and he can’t stand it. Emily is consoling the crying girl. Hotch is talking to the locals, tying up loose ends. Morgan is staring numbly at the rows and rows of muddy shoes on the ground.

He knows he’s not the only one dealing with the weight of what they saw today. He should find Penelope, give her a hug, face this together, but he can’t bring himself to do it. Sharing this would make it a little too real.

Maybe it’s all the practice he’s had at being alone; his first instinct is to hide, when things start to get overwhelming, and to maintain a certain level of clinical detachment until he can make sense of what he’s feeling. He can dissect his own feelings. When his friends are hurting, though… that’s a different story. When he sees his friends hurting, he hurts too, hurts in a way that chokes him, hurts in a way that crowds everything else out, and all he wants to do is fix it. Even when it’s not something that can be fixed. It’s illogical.

Love doesn’t leave any room for logic, he’s learning.

He slips away, into the barn.

Dust motes and chaff drift in the scattered beams of light that cut through the empty space, swirling around him as he climbs the ladder to the dark drafty loft. Spencer sits down on the floor in front of the wall of drawings. He hugs his knees to his chest and looks, committing the clumsy crayon strokes to memory, because it doesn’t seem right to let all those empty shoes live on without also remembering this: bright color, crushing loneliness, constant fear.

The loneliness is too much, after a few minutes. He pulls out his phone and closes his eyes.

“Hey, Sam,” he says. His voice cracks and wobbles.

“Hey. What’s up?”

“I’m just not having a great day,” Spencer says, aiming for casual, falling short.

“You wanna talk about it?”

“Not really,” Spencer says. His voice is thin and scratchy and small in the darkness of the barn, lost immediately in the blanketing silence.

Sam hesitates, and Spencer waits, hoping he’ll understand.

“If you could have one object from a fictional universe, what would you want? Has to fit in your pocket.”

Spencer lets out a grateful little huff of a sigh. “Obviously the -”

“TARDIS doesn’t count,” Sam interrupts, laughing. “It has to be portable in its normal everyday form, not just temporarily shrinkable.”

“Sonic screwdriver, then. Obviously.”

“Right? That’s what I said.”

“What else would there be?”

“Dean would go with a lightsaber,” Sam says, and Spencer can practically hear him rolling his eyes.

It’s the first time Spencer’s really smiled all day. “Based on what you’ve told me about your brother, that doesn’t actually surprise me.”

“Yeah. That’s Dean…”

* * * * * * * * *

There’s a dial tone. Spencer closes his phone and tries to breathe.

“Do you believe him?” Hotch asks quietly.

Spencer looks down at his hands, twirling his pen again, feeling claustrophobic with all their concerned gazes pinning him in place. There’s too much going on in his head, too many things trapped and buzzing inside him with nowhere to go, and he wants to start running but all he can do is shrug.

“I don’t know,” he says, voice strained.

“Even if he is telling the truth, there are parts of this case that just don’t make any sense,” Morgan says.

JJ adds, “If it’s a ruse, it’s a bizarre one.”

“Gut feeling, kid,” Rossi says softly. “Are we walking into a trap?”

Spencer wants to scream. Instead he says, “I don’t think he’d hurt me, but…”

“If you trust him, that’s good enough for us,” Emily says fiercely.

Spencer can’t help it; he looks at JJ before staring stubbornly down at the table again. The words burn on their way out: “This wouldn’t be the first time I trusted the wrong person, though.”

“We need to make sure we’re prepared for all eventualities, but I think it’s worth the risk,” Hotch says. “We can discuss it more on the jet. Wheels up in thirty.”

Spencer refuses to meet any of their eyes as he gathers up his folder and his bag. He gets out of the conference room before anyone can try to talk to him. His cheeks are burning, and his hands are shaking, and he’s already jittery but he really needs coffee; beyond that singular thought, his brain is stuck between stations, all white noise and useless static.

The coffee pot in the break room is empty. He’s glad; it’s good to have something to do with his hands, a ritual, a tiny piece of his life that he can still count on. Filter, measure grounds, fresh water…

“Spence.” It’s JJ, of course, and Spencer’s first petulant instinct is to ignore her. “Spence. Look, we gotta talk about this.”

“About what? The fact that one of the few people I still trusted turns out to be a serial killer?” Spencer says sharply. “It’s becoming a pattern, me trusting the wrong people. I’m getting used to it.”

“You know what I mean.” Her voice is low and soothing, like she’s talking to a victim’s family.

“I don't want to talk about it.”

“I get it, okay?” she says, still in that calm, professional voice. Spencer wishes she’d scream instead. He wants to scream. “You're disappointed with the way we handled Emily.”

He breathes in through his nose, out through his mouth, focusing on the steady drip of coffee into the pot.

“Listen, I have a lot going on, all right?” he says coolly.

“You know what I think it is?” He doesn’t look at her, but she continues anyway: “You're mad that Hotch and I controlled our micro-expressions at the hospital and you weren't able to detect our deception.”

It hurts. Her words bite down somewhere deep, venomous needle-sharp fangs that sink in and sting, and the toxic ache spreads through his system before he can take a breath.

“You think it's about my profiling skills?” he spits back. “Jennifer, listen, the only reason you were able to manage my perceptions is because I trusted you. I came to your house for ten weeks in a row crying over losing a friend, and not once did you have the decency to tell me the truth.”

Her expression is hurt, confused, and she says quietly, “I couldn't.”

“You couldn't? Or you wouldn't?” he snaps.

“No, I couldn't,” she insists. Her eyes are brimming with tears now, and Spencer feels a sick rush of satisfaction.

He knows it’s cruel, but he lashes out anyway: “What if I started taking Dilaudid again? Would you have let me?”

She recoils. “You didn't.”

“Yeah, but I thought about it.” It’s petty and it’s unfair and it’s vicious, and he doesn’t care, not even a little bit.

It stuns her into silence for a moment, and he turns to pour coffee into his travel cup, hands shaking so badly he almost spills.

“Spence,” she whispers. “I'm sorry.”

He whirls on her, almost shouts: “It's too late, all right?”

“Reid,” she says, but he’s already brushing past her, and he doesn’t stop.

* * * * * * * * *

February 2010

He’ll never forget the look on Dean’s face. He knows it a little too well, by now: disappointment, disgust. I expected better. This isn’t who I raised you to be. You’re not the person I thought you were.

“You know I couldn’t have gotten out of that bathroom on my own,” Sam says. “You know I wouldn’t have - I wouldn’t have done that. I didn’t mean to. I didn’t want to.”

Dean doesn’t trust him, though. He’s not sure Dean will ever trust him again.

Sam lets Dean lock him in the panic room. He doesn’t protest; he goes without complaint, head down, like a dog with its tail between its legs as it waits for a kick that never comes. Detox will hurt. It always does. He feels like he deserves that, though.

Dean almost says something, before he closes the door. The words catch on his lips and die on his throat, and he just shakes his head as he slides the deadbolts into place.

“I’m sorry,” Sam says, but Dean’s already walking away, and the hallucinations are already creeping in around the edges of his vision: his mother sighing sadly, his younger self shaking his head in contempt.

Sam sits down, curls up, and looks around at the bare walls and the locked door. The floor is cold under him, and he can already feel the chill sinking into his skin, down to his bones. He leans back against the wall and tries to breathe through the panic.

“I’m sorry,” he says, over and over again, but he’s not really sure who he’s talking to any more.

The hallucinations fade. The bloodstains won’t, not really. Dean will see those forever.

He can barely look at Sam when he finally unlocks the door.

Sam’s still itchy and wired, that night, even though the worst of it is over. Dean’s not even trying to pretend he’s doing anything other than keeping watch outside. He’s sitting in the hallway with a bottle of whiskey for company. Sam can’t leave, and he sure as hell can’t sleep, so he calls Spencer, and he doesn’t realize until it starts ringing that it’s two in the morning.

“Hi, Sam,” Spencer says, staticky and distant.

“Hey.”

“You okay?”

Sam sighs, stammers, stops, tries to start again. He doesn’t know what to say.

“Not really,” he manages. There’s another long pause before he can admit, “I fucked up. I keep fucking up.”

“Oh,” Spencer says softly. “Okay.”

Sam exhales. “I didn’t mean to.”

“I know. I believe you.”

“You’re the only one who does.”

“I trust you,” Spencer says. It’s so matter-of-fact, so easy, and it’s been a long time since someone trusted Sam like that. He didn’t realize how much he missed it.

“Why?” Sam asks. He tries to laugh, but it comes out wet and choked.

“That’s what friends do, right?”

Sam takes a deep, shaky breath and swallows down the lump in his throat, trying not to wonder if Dean’s still standing guard outside his door.

“Thanks for picking up,” Sam says, barely a whisper.

“Any time.”

* * * * * * * * *

They cuff his hands behind the back of the uncomfortable metal chair. Sam didn’t expect anything less, but he still hates it. They had the entire team except for Spencer there to take him in, and that was a few too many guns trained on him for comfort, but he’s alone now. It’s cold, and the walls are blank, and he shivers.

He’s spent too much of his life locked in cages of one sort or another.

When Spencer finally opens the door, Sam can’t help but breathe a sigh of relief, even as his stomach twists with nerves. He’d worried they would insist on sending someone else in.

“Hey, Spencer,” he says quietly.

Spencer doesn’t answer. He avoids eye contact as he sits down, settling in with his posture stiff and his hands clasped on the table in front of him. He looks like a different person from the one Sam first met; the jittery, fidgety, chattering Spencer is gone, and there’s an actual Fed in his place. Even when he meets Sam’s eyes, his expression doesn’t give anything away. He’s ice-cold and completely closed-off.

Sam tries to breathe.

“Where’s Dean?” Spencer asks bluntly.

“He’s at a friend’s, trying to figure out how to clear our names.”

“Why isn’t he here with you?”

“He didn’t think this was a good idea,” Sam says. “We haven’t had great experiences with law enforcement, but… him even more than me. I trust you. He doesn’t.”

Spencer’s eyes narrow. “You trust me.”

Sam shrugs helplessly. “That’s what friends do, right?”

Spencer’s face goes stormy immediately, and he leans closer, glaring at Sam with startling intensity. “Let’s get one thing straight. You and I are not friends. You’re a murderer, and the only reason I’m here is that I want to see what you look like when you’re telling the truth… because apparently you’ve been lying to me since we met.”

It’s not unexpected, but it still hurts. Sam hesitates for a moment before saying softly, “I’m not a murderer, and I haven’t been lying to you.”

“There’s video.”

“It’s not me.”

Spencer stares at him incredulously. “All that stuff you never wanted to talk about. All those times you talked about… being scared of yourself, worrying what you could do. What was that, then?”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” Sam says. He feels exhausted, suddenly.

“You’ve never even told me what you do for a living!”

“I can’t.”

“How am I supposed to believe you?” Spencer asks. He’s starting to lose his composure, an agitated edge creeping into his voice.

“Look, remember when you called me, and told me you might be dying?”

“How is that relevant?” Spencer hisses.

“I figured it out, afterward. Anthrax. Right?”

“How did you…”

“And you told me that you couldn’t give me details, and the details weren’t important anyway.”

“That’s right.”

“And I accepted that, because I trust you, and I trust that if you’re not telling me something, it’s for a damn good reason,” Sam says determinedly. “They tried to keep it out of the news, but later, once I knew you were okay, I did some digging, and I figured it out. Why didn’t you alert the public?”

Spencer looks utterly baffled. “Because people would panic. There’d be mass hysteria.”

“There you go. It’s the same thing.”

“It’s not the same thing at all,” Spencer exclaims. “I work for the federal government!”

“Look, I know you, okay?” Sam says desperately. “I know that your job is to notice the details that don’t make sense. Even when something seems obvious, you and your team pay attention, and you make sure everything fits, and you figure out the truth, not just whatever bullshit explanation seems easiest.”

Spencer nods slowly.

“That’s why you’re here, and that’s why your team didn’t shoot me on sight,” Sam continues. “And I know you’re good at your job, so I know you’ve noticed that there are things about this case that don’t add up. Okay? Why would I be here talking to you, if I was guilty? Did you ask yourself how I got to Montana so quickly? Did you talk to any of the witnesses from the old cases? Diana Ballard? Rebecca Warren? Did you try to profile us? Find any similarities in m.o. between all those murders? No. None of it made any sense then, and none of it makes any sense now. You know why? Because it wasn’t us,” he finishes.

“Sam. Maybe there are details from the old cases that don’t make sense, but…” Spencer trails off, shaking his head, like he doesn’t even know where to start. Then he stops himself, sets his jaw, refocuses, and when he looks at Sam again, there’s nothing but pure clear anger in his face. “Look me in the eye, right now, and tell me you’ve never killed anyone.”

Sam instinctively goes to tuck his hair behind his ears, but the cuffs cut the movement short. Spencer sees it. His face falls, bitter and disappointed.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” he mutters.

“I’ve never killed anything that didn’t deserve it,” Sam insists.

“Any thing? Really? Or any person?” Spencer asks. Sam doesn’t answer, and Spencer continues, rushing, like he can’t stop the words from coming out: “Do you know how many times I’ve heard a serial killer say that? Everybody thinks they have a reason, Sam, whether angels told him the guy was guilty, or… Satan was possessing them, or… a talking dog told them the meaning of life.”

Sam lets out a borderline hysterical laugh, and Spencer just stares like he’s completely crazy. Sam can’t blame him. He’s starting to feel crazy.

“Okay, here, look,” he says, in a sudden burst of inspiration. “Go through the old case files, look at the dates. Every one, I guarantee you, people were dying before we got to town. There’s gotta be a way to prove it, right? The murders started happening before we got there. Everything you’ve told me about Penelope, I bet she can do it, easy.”

“What, so now you’re telling me you’re some sort of vigilante?” Spencer half-shouts.

“Not exactly, no.” Sam’s starting to run out of ideas.

The door opens abruptly, and a stern-faced agent says, “Reid. A word?”

Spencer gives Sam one last look before he gets up. It’s a familiar expression: disgust, disappointment, you’re not the person I thought you were. Then he turns his back, and the door slams shut behind him. Sam can hear the click of the lock.

* * * * * * * * *

April 2010

He writes to her every day, pages and pages of words. He hopes she realizes that they all boil down to “I love you,” because right now, he doesn’t know what else to say.

“Hi, Mom, this is Spencer,” he says, “I just… I just really want you to know that I love you. And -” when he blinks away tears he can practically see her, her smile swimmy through the salt water, same as it looked when he was small and crying over a scraped knee, and if he keeps thinking like that he’ll never make it through this message. He pauses, gulps for air, steadies himself. “I need you to know that I spend every day of my life proud to be your son.”

She hasn’t taken care of him since he was small. Right now, though, he feels small and scared, and all he wants is for his mom to tell him that she loves him, and that it’s going to be alright.

“Reid?” Penelope whispers, and then he hears Dr. Kimura, and he doesn’t get to be a child right now; there’s nobody there to take care of him.

“I gotta go,” he says, and hangs up before Garcia can ask questions.

“Doctor Reid?”

“You look nice,” he jokes, with a watery laugh, and she smiles. “How are the patients doing?”

“Let’s worry about you,” she says smoothly.

Spencer forces a smile and shakes his head. “I actually… I feel fine.” It’s one of the most obvious lies he’s ever told.

“If you feel any pain, I could give you something,” she offers.

“No, I’d rather not take any pain medication.” His hands are shaking, but at least his voice sounds strong.

She looks concerned. “We can at least make you feel more comfortable.”

“I am comfortable, and I don’t want to take any narcotics,” he says fiercely. It’s not easy to say the words, but he feels better once he does; he feels proud.

There’s someone else he needs to call, Spencer realizes.

“Tell me how I can help,” Dr. Kimura says, and Spencer nods. First things first: if the poison is here, so is the antidote.

“I think the cure for this strain is in here somewhere,” he says, ignoring the way his chest aches.

“Well, shall I start here?”

“Yes, just… I just need a moment.”

Spencer looks down at his phone. He could call Garcia, again, have her save the message as a contingency plan, but he’s not sure he could handle her questions right now, and he can trust Sam not to push for details; he’s always been good about that.

“Hey, Spencer.”

“Hey, so, I can’t explain, but I’m not sure I’m going to make it out of this,” he says, stumbling over the words. “Don’t interrupt, I can’t - I just wanted to say thank you. In case I don’t get to say it again. Recovery was… I don’t… you helped. Thanks for always picking up the phone when I needed you.”

“Right back at you,” Sam says quietly.

It’s getting harder to breathe, and the panicked hammering of his heartbeat isn’t helping.

“Thanks,” he says again, and closes the phone without saying goodbye.

* * * * * * * * *

“Reid, you need to calm down,” Hotch says, as soon as the lock clicks behind them.

“I know,” Spencer says, rubbing his eyes, agitated. “There’s just… there’s so much that doesn’t make sense.”

“It’s more than that.” Hotch gives him one of those piercing glares he’s so good at. “You’re allowing your anger with JJ to cloud what you’re seeing in Sam.”

Spencer can’t really argue with that. He just nods.

“When this is over, I want you to take a couple days,” Hotch says. “You need some time to process.”

Spencer’s instinct is to argue, but one look at Hotch’s face tells him it’s pointless. He nods again, reluctantly.

“Garcia is checking into the pattern that he talked about,” Hotch says, as he leads Spencer back into the observation room. “She may be able to pin the Winchesters’ locations at the times of the original murders. JJ’s talking to old witnesses. There has to be something Henricksen missed.”

Emily, Morgan, and Rossi are clustered in the small, spare room, watching Sam through the one-way glass. Emily cuts herself off mid-sentence as Spencer and Hotch walk in.

“You okay, kid?” Morgan asks again, looking at Spencer like he’s a bomb about to go off, and Spencer tries to smile for him.

“All my time in the Bureau, I’ve never seen a case that made less sense,” Rossi comments.

They all look at Sam, who’s frowning down at the table, deep in thought.

Spencer clears his throat and asks, “Do you believe him?”

“I believe that he’s telling part of the truth,” Hotch says. “It’s what he’s not saying that concerns me.”

Inside the interrogation room, Sam starts, eyes wide, and looks from the door to the one-way mirror.

“Hey,” he barks. “Hey, I know you’re listening! It’s St. Louis. I figured out the pattern, and they’re going to St. Louis next.” He tugs at the cuffs, clearly agitated. “Come on. Can anybody hear me?”

“He’s genuinely distressed,” Emily says, frowning.

“If it’s a delusion, it’s a complex one,” Morgan adds.

The door swings open, and JJ starts talking before any of them can ask: “That was Diana Ballard. She swears up and down that it’s all a big misunderstanding, but she’s not clear on any of the details; she just said that she’d trust the Winchesters with her life. Rebecca Warren said the same. There was someone impersonating the Winchesters, back then, and she swears up and down that someone’s got it out for them now.”

“How did Henricksen not have that statement in his file?” Morgan asks.

“Maybe Sam’s right, as much as I hate to admit it,” Emily says. “Maybe this is a case of agents just wanting the easy explanation.”

“You guys are gonna want to see this,” Penelope interrupts, hurrying through the door as fast as her hot pink heels will allow, holding out her tablet.

“Another one?” JJ asks.

“Unfortunately, yes, and it’s a doozy. This just came in from -”

“St. Louis,” Hotch fills in grimly.

“How did you know?” Penelope asks, but she presses play without waiting for an answer, and they all cluster together to watch the grainy cell phone footage: Sam, leaning in close, giving the camera a smug smile before he opens fire.

“Is that really…” Spencer says numbly, looking from the screen to the window, where Sam is tapping his foot, impatient, undeniably solid and real.

“It’s real,” she confirms. “And to top it off, I found a call that the local brass dismissed, but I just talked to him a couple minutes ago and it sounds like the genuine article. A guy thinks he saw the older Winchester just a couple hours after Sam originally called us. He was at a gas station in, you guessed it, Montana.”

There’s a stunned pause, while everybody tries to digest that news, until Emily breaks the silence with a succinct, “What in the ever-loving fuck is happening.”

“I’m going to talk to Sam,” Hotch says.

Spencer’s acutely aware of everyones’ eyes on him again as he moves closer to the window. His reflection in the glass looks masklike and composed, but he doesn’t feel anything of the sort.

He’s kind of starting to believe Sam. That’s his first instinct, at least. Something deep in his gut is telling him to trust, but it’s being strangled by the suspicion and twisted fear that have been poisoning him slowly since Emily came back. Now that it’s in his system, Spencer’s not sure how to flush it out; it’s just in him now, like some sort of chronic infection.

* * * * * * * * *

March 2011

“I hate how often we see it,” Spencer says quietly. “It’s the first thing everybody thought of, with this kid, even though it wasn’t just schizophrenia, but… what’s the difference, between him and my mom?”

“Your mom has you,” Sam points out. He can hear the murmur of Dean and Bobby’s voices downstairs, constant and comforting.

“The headaches haven’t stopped.”

Sam grimaces. “No answers, still?”

“They all say there’s nothing wrong with me, physically.”

“Yeah,” Sam sighs. “That’s… kinda harder, isn’t it?”

“I hate not knowing,” Spencer fumes. “I hate that there’s no test for it. Even if it was a positive diagnosis, I’d rather have that, you know? I mean, that’d be awful, obviously, but… ”

“At least you’d know,” Sam finishes. “Yeah.”

“It’s like my brain may or may not be a ticking bomb. No way of knowing what’s hiding up there,” Spencer bites out, with a warped attempt at a laugh.

Sam can’t help but think of his flashback: coming back to reality with Dean pale and wide-eyed above him, the disorientation of feeling the solid floor under his back, the way his skin still burned. It felt so real.

He pushes those thoughts away.

“Like you can’t even trust yourself,” Sam says softly.

“Exactly.” Spencer’s voice is small and thin, and he sounds very young, suddenly. “My mom’s counting on me. What if… if something happened - I don’t know who would take care of her. Of us.”

“Your family,” Sam says, without hesitating.

“My team? Yeah, I… I guess so.”

“Your family,” Sam repeats. “Even if you can’t trust yourself, you’ll be able to trust your family.”

* * * * * * * * *

Sam’s heart leaps at the sound of the door opening again.

“They’re going to St. Louis,” he says, all in a rush, before the stern-faced agent from earlier can even sit down. The guy doesn’t bat an eye, just sits down calmly, pinning Sam with a stare that could strip paint.

“Sam, I’m Supervisory Special Agent Aaron Hotchner.” Sam’s heard Spencer talk about “Hotch,” and it all makes sense now. “What makes you think St Louis is next?”

“They’re retracing our steps,” Sam answers. “Dean and I, when we started working together. They’re hitting each town we stopped in. Jericho, Black Water Ridge, Manitoc. St. Louis is next.”

Sam holds his breath, hoping he won’t be pressed on his definition of working. He can see the moment Hotch comes to a decision with an infinitesimal nod.

“We’re too late,” he says. “We just got the news.”

“Shit,” Sam can’t help but mutter, and he tugs instinctively at the handcuffs, frustrated, done with sitting still.

“This means you’re innocent,” Hotch points out, clearly watching Sam’s reaction.

Sam can’t help but roll his eyes. “Yeah, but I already knew that. It’s… Iowa next, then. Ankeny, Iowa.”

“Very well,” Hotch says flatly, giving Sam a critical, evaluating look. “It’s very clear that you’re not what we thought you were, and you may be able to help us end this. Are you still interested in accompanying us?”

“Yes,” Sam replies impatiently.

“First, I’m going to give you one last chance to tell me the truth about what’s going on here,” Hotch says, in such a low, dangerous voice that Sam’s almost intimidated. “Otherwise, if one of my agents gets hurt because you withheld information, or if there’s even a hint that you’re leading us into a trap, I will shoot you without hesitation. Do I make myself clear?”

Jesus. But if the FBI can help him get to Iowa in time, with enough firepower to put a dent in the Leviathans, this’ll all be worth it.

Sam leans forward, as much as his cuffs will allow, meeting Hotch’s impenetrable glare with a determined stare of his own.

“Look, I could tell you more, but you’re not going to believe some of it until you see for yourself,” he snaps. “So as far as I’m concerned, the only truth that matters is this: people are dying, and we both want to put a stop to it. Now, are you going to waste time asking for irrelevant details, or are you going to choose to trust me?”

Hotch holds his gaze for a moment before nodding tersely. “Let’s get going, then. I’ll go get the keys.”

He gets up and Sam grimaces at his retreating back, twisting his wrist uncomfortably to get the bobby pin at the right angle. Then the cuffs fall to the ground with a metallic clatter, and Hotch looks back at him in disbelief. Sam smiles at him, equal parts sheepish and smug.

“I told you, full cooperation,” he explains, and Hotch shakes his head like he might just be a tiny bit impressed.

The rest of the team is waiting out in the hallway, some looking skeptical (tall, dark, handsome, eyebrows; Morgan, if Sam's guessing right), others nervous (pink pom-poms in her hair; that’ll be Penelope), but almost all with some degree of confusion written across their faces. Sam can’t exactly blame them. Spencer’s staring at his shoes, avoiding eye contact.

They’re a very clean, professional-looking bunch, and it’s making Sam incredibly uncomfortable, even aside from the obvious awkwardness inherent in the situation.

“I’m Sam,” he blurts out, and then winces. “Um. You knew that.”

“Yep,” Penelope squeaks. “This is weird.”

“Emily Prentiss, Derek Morgan, David Rossi,” Hotch says brusquely, pointing to each in turn. “Jennfer Jareau, Penelope Garcia, and you know Spencer. There’ll be time to talk more on the jet. Everyone, grab your things, meet outside in five.” He’s already pulling out a cell phone and striding away as the team scatters, and Sam feels sort of windswept in his wake; the guy’s intense.

Sam and Spencer are alone in the hallway. Sam’s stomach twists. This is familiar. This is another person he’s let down, and the bitter voice in the back of his head whispering you fucked up again is familiar too.

“I’m sorry,” Sam blurts out. “I know it doesn’t change anything, but… I’m sorry.”

Spencer looks up at him with a quizzical frown, head tilted. “I was going to apologize to you.”

Sam blinks. “Why?”

Spencer presses his lips together in a funny little grimace. Sam had forgotten that face, the weird things he does with his mouth when he’s not sure what to say.

“For not trusting you.” His voice is scratchy and uneven and honest, now that there isn’t any anger keeping it strong and sure. “I wanted to believe that you… that it couldn’t be you. When I saw the first video, that was my instinct. But my instincts haven’t been great, lately.”

Sam shakes his head. “No, you have nothing to apologize for.”

“I think maybe I don’t trust myself right now?” Spencer barrels on. “But there’s video, and... I trust Hotch. If Hotch believes you... yeah. I’m sorry.”

Sam’s not used to being forgiven so easily. It takes him a moment to remember how to speak.

“You gave me a chance,” he says. “Most people wouldn’t have even picked up the phone. And there’s still… I still haven’t told you everything, why would you -”

“There are a lot of things going on that I don’t understand, and I want answers, don’t get me wrong.” Spencer looks frustrated for a moment. “But… knowing that you’re not a murderer goes a long way. The details can wait.”

“When I start sharing details is when most people start running in the opposite direction,” Sam admits.

“I think that’s sort of a universal human experience,” Spencer offers. He looks like he’s trying not to laugh, now. “Or at least, the fear is. Nobody likes telling the full truth. It’s uncomfortable at best, painful at worst.”

Sam huffs out a laugh and swipes a hand over his face. “Yeah, okay. Got me there.”

“I’ll trust that you’re not lying if you trust that I won’t run,” Spencer says, and he’s not smiling now. He’s dead serious, determined, maybe a little scared.

“Okay,” Sam says hoarsely. “Deal.”

There’s an awkward moment where they both just look at each other, but then Spencer jerks his head in the direction of the front doors. “C’mon, we should go.”

Sam nods and lets him lead the way. “Should we - do you know where my phone is? I need to call my brother.”

“Garcia will have it.”

They walk out into the bullpen, where the team is bustling around, collecting their things, and Sam’s reminded again of how much they’re risking on his word. It’s overwhelming. His throat feels too tight.

“So, that handcuff thing,” says Rossi, tossing his bag over his shoulder and falling into step next to Sam.

Sam laughs. “Yeah, I can teach you. It’s just a bobby pin.”

“Might help next time I get kidnapped,” Spencer says, with alarming nonchalance.

“Would’ve come in handy a few times during college,” Rossi comments.

“You mean as a party trick?” Spencer asks him.

“Yeah. Sure, kid. A party trick.”

“...oh.”

* * * * * * * * *

November 2010

“Spencer?”

“I… is that you?” Spencer asks, so shocked he feels dizzy. It’s been six months.

Spencer’s first thought had been, ‘Weird, that's the second “just in case” call in a month,’ when he got the voicemail. He’d almost laughed.

Spencer had called Sam from the hospital, though, after the anthrax thing, when the antidote worked and he woke up.

Sam never called. Spencer assumed he never woke up.

“It’s me,” Sam says. “I’m so sorry, I -”

“What happened?”

“I was… sick,” Sam stammers. “Really… really sick. I’m sorry.”

Spencer has to pause for a moment to digest that. His head is spinning.

“What -” he starts, but he cuts himself off. He has some idea of what kind of sickness might cause someone to go away for six months, and it’s not physical. “Oh,” he says softly.

“Sorry,” Sam says again. He sounds miserable.

“No, don’t apologize,” Spencer protests. “You shouldn’t - it’s not your fault. I’m just glad you’re okay. I thought…”

“Yeah.”

All Spencer can say is, “I’m really glad you’re alive.”

“Me too,” Sam says quietly.

Spencer’s been wanting to talk to him for six months, but now he can’t think of anything to say. Eventually he just goes with the first thing that comes into his head: “You missed some really good episodes of Doctor Who.”

Sam laughs. “Yeah, I’ve got some catching up to do.”

Spencer closes his eyes and reminds himself to breathe. He’s never been so happy to be wrong.

* * * * * * * * *

“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” Emily says flatly, as Spencer brandishes the Super Soaker in her direction. “Of all the stupid fucking ideas.”

“Yup,” he says, popping the p and maybe kinda enjoying the way her eyes have gone all buggy. In a low voice, he adds, “Play along, remember?”

She casts a glance over to where Sam is busying himself with the rest of the water guns and a box of Borax. “As long as he doesn’t try to take my fucking Glock.”

“Nobody is taking your Glock, Emily,” Spencer says dryly. She shakes her head and goes over to join Morgan, Hotch, and JJ, who have already been outfitted and are standing at the other side of the parking lot. Garcia is sneakily taking a picture of them.

Admittedly, when Sam insisted that they make an emergency stop between the airstrip and the police precinct, Spencer wasn’t expecting Toys R Us, but he was also pretty gobsmacked when Sam started talking about monsters. He’d waited until they were in the jet to do so, which was probably a smart move. This isn’t the first time they’ve played along with a delusion in order to get answers, but it’s definitely the strangest.

Funniest, also. Spencer hopes Garcia got a lot of pictures.

Sam will definitely be headed to an institution, when all of this is over, and Spencer’s having trouble processing that, but… well, it’s not like Spencer’s unfamiliar with that sort of facility. Spencer’s just glad Sam’s not a murderer, and he’s ready to get Dean, arrest whoever’s framing them, and get some answers. He can deal with the rest later; there’s only so much he can handle right now.

It’s been a weird day.

“Okay, we’re ready,” Sam announces, passing the last Super Soaker to Spencer. “Bobby didn’t know where they’re keeping Dean, but I’m guessing the cells. I’ll lead the way. Don’t trust anyone, we have to assume the local cops are Leviathans, at this point. Stick together, don’t let them touch you. Clear?”

“And I’ll be right here with the emergency radio,” Garcia chimes in cheerily. “Thank God.”

Sam tucks his own water gun into the back of his jeans, hefting the fire axe he’d somehow stolen from the cockpit of the jet without anyone noticing. “Let’s go,” he says authoritatively.

“We’re right behind you,” JJ says, in her warmest, most soothing “placate the crazy man” voice.

Sam leads them around the corner and through the front door of the station, easing the door open without a sound, and they follow, entering the oddly quiet precinct quickly and efficiently.

Spencer can see his teammates starting to draw their real weapons; luckily, Sam’s too focused on what’s in front of him to notice what everyone is doing behind him. Spencer hooks a finger on the Super Soaker and lets it dangle from his left hand, drawing his gun with his right, and most of the team is doing the same, for the sake of appearances. Emily and Morgan just set their water guns on the floor.

“Dean?” Sam calls out.

“Sammy!”

Dean walks jauntily out into the bullpen like it’s a very normal thing to find a team of federal agents aiming their guns at him, but he does a double take, disconcerted, frowning for a moment at all the neon plastic toys on display. Then he recovers and turns a wide grin on Sam, who’s hanging back, wary.

“You brought backup,” Dean says, laughing. “Good, I’m hungry. I’m very glad you made it.”

“You’re not Dean,” Sam says, low and certain.

“No, I am not,” the man says, almost gleeful. “Close enough, though! I have all his memories, and I wanted to chat for a moment, before I eat you. I like my meat a little bitter.”

“What the almighty shitfire,” Emily breathes, but neither Sam or Dean pay any attention to her. Spencer has a hysterical urge to laugh, but he swallows it, heart pounding, not daring to look away from the insanity that’s unfolding in front of them.

“Dean thinks you’re nuts, you know.” The man’s eyes flick behind Sam, taking in the team fanned out behind him. “So do your new friends.”

Sam reaches behind his back to grab the handle of his water gun, but he holds it out of sight, still. Spencer keeps his finger firmly on the trigger of his real gun.

“Where’s my brother?” Sam snaps.

“Okay, okay, I’ll get to the point.” He’s wearing a smug, nasty smile, and this isn’t going the way Spencer expected at all. “Dean killed Amy.”

Sam seems frozen, completely paralyzed.

“There it is,” the man who isn’t Dean says, laughing. “Now I can eat you.”

Sam draws his water gun so quickly it’s just a blur of neon orange, and then the man (thing, Spencer corrects himself frantically) is smoking. He’s smoking and sizzling wherever the water touches, and he’s screaming, looking just as stunned as Spencer feels in the split-second before Sam swings the fire axe and chops off his head with one powerful blow.

There’s a moment where everything seems to slow down, like Spencer’s moving underwater, as he takes in the black goo pouring from the stump where the creature’s head used to be.

“What in the almighty motherfucking shitfire,” Emily says again, into the momentary silence.

“More incoming,” Sam snaps. “Heads up.”

Then everything speeds up, too fast for Spencer to process, and it all blurs together: he’s holstering his gun, spraying water at something that’s wearing Sam’s face, as someone screams. Glass shatters, somewhere. Out of the corner of his eye Spencer sees Morgan pulling the station’s fire axe out of its case, whirling around without hesitation in a spray of black goo, and he keeps getting caught in the water pistol jets but it’s better than all those goddamn teeth, what the hell, in the massive mouth that just appeared, so he shoots, what, how, and then -

And then it’s over as suddenly as it began.

It’s over.

Spencer’s heart is racing. He’s surrounded by puddles of water and puddles of oozing black, Morgan’s clutching an axe like it’s a life raft, and everyone is okay. Spencer looks around frantically, double-checking, but everyone is okay; they’re still standing, at least, although JJ, greenish-pale, looks like she’s seconds away from keeling over in shock.

“Back here, Sammy!” comes a muffled voice from the back of the station. Sam casually wipes the blade of his axe on the side of his pants, expression unreadable. Spencer watches him clench his jaw and take a deep breath.

“Sweet baby Jesus,” Rossi mumbles.

Sam’s face is blank as he looks around, taking in the mess and the team.

“I told you so,” he says mildly. Then he steps over the headless remains of a monster and goes to get his brother.

* * * * * * * * *

November 2009

He doesn’t bother trying to go back to sleep after the second nightmare. He goes outside instead, sits on the curb in the parking lot, looks up. The stars are barely visible with the Vegas light pollution, but it still helps to be outside. He can breathe a little easier.

There’s this tightly-knotted mess of rage in his chest, sitting on his ribcage like a tumor, poisoning him slowly.

It’s almost four in the morning, and he has no idea where Sam might be, or what time it is there. He takes out his phone anyway and fires off a text.

You awake?

The phone rings less than a minute later.

“What’s up?” Sam asks. He doesn’t sound like he was sleeping.

“I’m in Vegas,” Spencer says softly, and then realizes that doesn’t mean anything to Sam. “It’s where I grew up.”

“Win big on the slot machines?”

“I guess. I won two thousand dollars today, actually. I… I gave it to a prostitute,” Spencer admits. He adds hastily, “Not for sex.”

Sam laughs. “Right.”

There’s a moment of silence. Spencer could make small talk, now; he could pretend he called for no reason in particular. Sam wouldn’t believe him, but he wouldn’t question it, either.

He takes a deep breath and spits the words out fast, before he can regret letting them loose. “Apparently my dad lived really close by my entire life, even after he left my mom and me. I didn’t know. He never told me.”

“Shit,” Sam says.

“He was keeping tabs on me my whole life,” he says. His voice gives him away, breaking and rasping, and it hurts to keep forcing the words out. “He read all my articles, my dissertation, everything I ever had published. My friends seem to think I should be happy about that.”

“That’s bull,” Sam says firmly.

“Why wasn’t it enough?” Spencer whispers. He’s been holding that question in all day, and it’s been choking him.

His lower lip is wobbling. He’s glad Sam can’t see him. This is the sort of honesty that’s much easier from a distance; Sam might hang up right now, but at least Spencer won’t have to watch him walk away.

“Do you think they know?” Sam asks. “How badly they messed us up, I mean.”

“Do you think they care?” It comes out more bitter than he intended. Spencer makes a face and looks down at his feet in their mismatched socks. “I think that’s the important part. If he cared, I could probably forgive him, but… I don’t think he does. Not really.”

“Yeah.”

Spencer takes a breath. The anger is gone now. He doesn’t like how hollow he feels in its wake, but he does feel lighter. He feels better.

“Thanks for listening,” he says. “It helps.”

There’s a long pause, and Spencer thinks maybe he should hang up, now, try to rest even if he can’t sleep.

“Want to hear a joke?” Sam asks. “I tried to tell Dean, but... I don’t think he got it.”

“Sure.”

“How many existentialists does it take to screw in a lightbulb?”

“How many?”

“Two. One to change the light bulb and one to to observe how it symbolizes an incandescent beacon of subjectivity in a netherworld of cosmic nothingness.”

Spencer laughs, grinning up at the stars. “That’s good. I’m gonna steal that.”

* * * * * * * * *

Sam sighs as he closes the door of the precinct behind himself. They’re not totally done with cleanup, but all Hotch’s wild-eyed muttering about paperwork is starting to make him anxious.

Also, every time he looks at Dean, he feels sick.

He sits down on the bench that’s out front, under a little awning. The sky is dark with clouds, and the air is thick, threatening rain, so humid it seems hard to breathe… but maybe that’s the shock setting in.

He barely gets a minute of peace before Dean comes out to find him.

“Hey,” Dean says cheerfully. “Ready to go? I’m starving, and I don’t want to be here when that bunch starts asking questions. Pretty cool, though, having an in with the FBI. Definitely makes life easier, bein’ dead again.”

He’s standing there on the sidewalk with his hands in his pockets, grinning like it’s just another day. Sam’s chest hurts.

“Don’t,” he says quietly.

“What’s up?” Dean asks, frowning.

“You killed Amy,” Sam says, and he watches Dean’s face as he realizes, the way he shifts his weight uncomfortably.

“Listen, Sam...” he says.

“No, you know what, don’t,” Sam spits. He knows the drill. Dean thought he was doing the right thing, he made a choice, he had to take responsibility if Sam couldn’t. Sam looks at his feet and says, “I don’t think I can be around you right now.”

“So… what, you -”

“You should go,” Sam says. He looks up and searches Dean’s face for some sign of guilt, remorse, empathy, but Dean just looks resigned. Sam wishes he would just start screaming, or throw a punch so Sam could hit him back. It’s not fair that Sam’s the only one in pain right now.

“Okay, Sam,” Dean says, and he turns to go. Sam watches him walk away.

He’s not sure how long he sits on the bench, watching people pass. The sky is getting darker by the minute.

Spencer doesn’t announce his presence when he comes outside, just sits on the bench next to Sam and waits quietly.

“He killed my friend,” Sam mumbles, without looking at him. “She was a monster, but she didn’t… she didn’t mean to. She didn’t want to hurt anybody.”

“Let me guess, he thought he was doing the right thing?” Spencer says wryly.

The lack of pity in his voice makes it easier for Sam to keep talking, and sarcasm feels better than grief. “Shocking, right?” he says. There’s a low rumble of thunder overhead, and they both look up at the sky. “I didn’t have many friends, but… I liked her.” The grief seems to be creeping in whether he wants it or not.

“I’m sorry.”

“Thanks.” Sam’s throat feels tight. “He’s my brother, I just… I’ve fucked up in the past, I know I have. But I always feel like I have to earn his forgiveness. It feels like I’m always asking him to give me another chance, to trust me again, and… and he still doesn’t really look at me the same way. Then he pulls something like this, and I know, one way or the other, he just doesn’t trust me. He thinks it’s okay to lie to me, because I don’t deserve the truth.”

Spencer doesn’t say anything, just makes an unhappy, understanding sort of sound. The first fat raindrops start to fall on the concrete in front of them, and they’re both quiet for a moment.

Sam smiles in spite of himself, remembering. “She changed her name, since I met her. Her name was always Amy, but she changed her last name to Pond.”

“Cool,” Spencer says.

“Yeah. I mean, no, she wasn’t cool, neither of us were, but… yeah.”

Sam can breathe a little easier, now.

“What are you going to do?” Spencer asks.

Sam looks sideways at him and sees the way his mouth is twitching. “Don’t.”

“Nothing you can do, is what I seem to remember you saying,” Spencer says innocently. “Give it time. Right? Does that make you feel any better?”

Sam laughs, burying his face in his hands. “That was fucking useless advice. Fuck, don’t ever listen to me.” He wipes his eyes. “This just sucks.”

“Yeah, it really does,” Spencer agrees. It’s pouring steadily now, rain streaming off the sides of their little awning. “Apparently Hotch thinks I should run away from my problems for a little while, give myself time to process, so I’ve been ordered to take a couple days off.”

“JJ, still?”

“Yeah. I think maybe he’s right. But… I was going to rent a car and drive back to DC, instead of taking the jet. Make a couple detours. Get some space. Give it time. You could come, if you want.”

Sam turns to him, surprised, but Spencer looks sincere; he’s giving Sam one of his trademark anxious not-quite-smiles.

“I was just going to hotwire a car,” Sam blurts out, and then winces. “That might be a better idea.”

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that.”

“I guess you probably have some questions,” Sam says reluctantly.

Spencer grins. “Harder for me to run away if we’re in a moving vehicle, right?”

Sam laughs, tucking his hair behind his ears. “Yeah, guess so.”

“After today, I’m not actually sure I want to know all the details,” Spencer says, wrinkling his nose. “But I do have some questions.”

“Anything you want to know,” Sam promises. “The truth. I promise. I should’ve… I should’ve told you sooner.”

Spencer shrugs. “No, I’m pretty sure you were right, I would’ve run away screaming.”

Sam laughs and rolls his eyes, and they sit there in silence for a moment, watching the rain start to slow. The clouds are already starting to blow over.

“Never tell the truth to people who are not worthy of it.”

― Mark Twain

You can now read about the road trip right here!

#criminal minds fic #spn fic #supernatural x criminal minds #sam winchester #spencer reid #spn #cm #crossover

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charincharge · 3 years

Note

Hey! I saw your recommendation for One Last Stop, and I’ve been considering reading it, but there’s one thing keeping me on the fence: the back-of-the-book summary indicates there is some sort of time travel or time weirdness involved? I love fantasy and urban fantasy is cool too, but for whatever reason as soon as wibbly-wobbly timey-wimey stuff happens I get less interested 9 times out of 10.

Anyway, my question: how pervasive is that in here? Like, is it majorly important to the story that I understand wtf is going on with the time stuff? I’m sure I would love the characters, and I *adored* RWRB, but if we get all bogged down in the mechanics of time travel it might take me a HOT second to finish and it might help to know that going in. 😂

Thanks!

It is fairly pervasive, but in a very logical way? I would say it’s not actually time travel at all? It’s not really like anything I’ve seen before. I don’t know how to describe it without spoiling things lol. I’m not usually into time travel anything, but I thought it was so smart and so well done. I think you should give it a try.

#seriously it’s truly fantastic #I don’t think you’ll be bumped #it’s not time travel in any kind of traditional way

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riversofmars · 3 years

Photo

December 1st December 2nd December 3rd December 4th

December 5th December 6th December 7th

The Doctor breathed a little easier as they exited the shop, leaving the other Doctors to make their own deductions. “Right okay, this is bad, this is real bad…“

“Does that mean there are other Timelords here?“ Yaz asked as they walked to the centre of the square, away from the shop. They stopped by the huge Christmas tree, the most central point from which they could easily look up and down the streets.

“It means there are other MEs here. There are no more Timelords, they all died, except me.“ The Doctor retorted pacing a little as her mind raced, working through different scenarios, just as she expected her former selves were.

“Damn…“ Ryan mumbled. The Doctor rarely spoke of what happened on Gallifrey after she had sent them back to Earth. They had always presumed it was a sort of catastrophic event after what the Master had done, but that was even worse than they had imagined. All the nicknames they had heard used for her over the years were beginning to ring more true. The lonely God… she really was, wasn’t she.

“But why? What made us come here?“ The Doctor huffed, searching for possible explanations as she looked around.

“You suggested it.“ Graham pointed out. “I mean, it’s a lovely place.“

“Yeah, I could really go for some gingerbread right about now…“ The Doctor mused as the smell took over her senses for a moment. She shook her head, clearing it, she couldn’t get distracted. “Something must be pulling us all here. Not just the same place but the same time.“ She said, gesturing around herself. “I’m usually very careful not to cross my own timeline, lots of wibbly wobbly timey wimey stuff, it gets really complicated. I don’t have the memories from my other selves of this though, it’s all a blur, that really should have been a clue… I just remember that I used to come here with the others, there is like this draw… why didn’t I see that before?“ She was at a loss. She should have noticed her memories of these trips were faulty, shouldn’t she? And what if she did and something made her ignore it anyway?

“Then we must find out what it is.“ Yaz said firmly.

“Yes, because if we don’t, if even one of my past selves gets stuck here or dragged into whatever this is, gets themselves killed or… it would create a paradox that could rip all of space and time apart.“ The Doctor mused, placing her hands on her hips.

“That would be a very 2020 thing to happen.“ Yaz sighed.

“Checks out…“ Ryan agreed.

“It might as well happen.“ Graham shrugged.

“No, it may not, let’s go.“ The Doctor clapped her hands together.

“Let’s go!“ Eyebrows, Bowtie and Sandshoes clapped their hands together in unison.

“They really are the same person, aren’t they…“ Bill mumbled to the other companions.

“Terrifying isn’t it. Here I was thinking one is a handful.“ Donna had to agree.

“Donna!“ The three Doctors snapped glaring at her.

“This is going to be a lot of fun…“ Rory sighed sarcastically.

“Are you okay?“ Amy noticed that River had gone very quiet.

“Yeah, fine…“ She waved it off quickly, drawing herself from her own thoughts.

“What is it?“ Amy could tell when her daughter wasn’t okay and this was one of those times.

“It’s just… I thought he’d know… I thought it was him that brought me back…“ River forced a smile. “But he doesn’t know, none of them do…“

“You know with all the time travel and stuff… maybe it really just hasn’t happened yet. One problem at a time, yeah? You’re here now, that’s what matters.“ Amy tried not to think too much about the fact that her daughter had been dead for a time, that the Doctor had known of her death and never said anything, not to anyone. She looked to Sandshoes, the youngest Doctor here, the one to see her die and keep that secret henceforth. It pained her so much to think that in the end, River had been with a Doctor that didn’t even know her, didn’t know how much he would grow to love her, and couldn’t be the comfort she had needed at the time. She pushed the thoughts away and focused on the fact that her daughter was alive and well. She grabbed her hand and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. “You’re okay. And you can work out the how later. Let’s solve one mystery at a time.“

“It must be something about this time and place.“ River mused, trying to focus her attention to something more productive. “It’s almost like a black hole in time, and they’re all being dragged into it.“

“Sounds a lot more menacing when you put it like that.“ Amy huffed.

“Well, it is… Fourteen Timelords in one place… If they’re all the Doctor, and they might be… that’s a lot of time streams with the potential to create a lot of havoc.“

“I suggest we best split up, look for anything suspicious and meet back here in an hour?“ Sandshoes suggested as they stepped outside the ornament store and looked around. Around them, people were getting on with their Christmas shopping, oblivious to the uneasiness the Timelords were feeling.

“Before we go, can we get some burned almonds cause they smell amazing…“ Bill pointed to the stand that was a little to their right. “Like I get this is turning into another adventure or whatever but we did come here for the Christmas cheer, right?“

“I’d like to go with her!“ Bowtie announced, sharing her excitement for Christmas treats.

“Everyone take their own companions with you, no need to strain the time streams any more than necessary.“ River interrupted sternly before anymore confusion could set in and all the Doctors were quick to nod.

“She’s got a good grip on you, hasn’t she.“ Donna smirked elbowing her Doctor who rolled his eyes.

“Right then, get your nuts so we can be on our way.“ Eyebrows sighed gesturing for Bill to go to the almond stand.

“I don’t usually go for nuts so it’s a nice treat.“ Bill grinned waiting for a response to her joke to which Eyebrows just covered his face with his hand in resignation.

“Right then, come along Ponds!“ Bowtie waved his companions along.

“Come on, River.“ All three Doctors said in absolute unison and looked back at each other in confusion, each one assuming she would come with them.

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