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#Dean is a lieutenant or something and has been on a gate team with Cas for years
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Whack-A-Nazi
Fic Type: Winchester Sister!Reader 
Warnings: mentions of Neo Nazism, minor violence, blood, mention of school shooting 
Song: Pumped up Kicks by Foster the People
I roll out of bed, a yawn slipping through my lips as I stretch. Throwing on some clothes (a flannel shirt, jeans, the usual) I walk down the winding hallways and into the kitchen where Dean was cooking breakfast.
“Morning, Sleeping Beauty.” Dean hands me a plate with bacon and some eggs. “There’s orange juice in the fridge.” 
“Thanks, Dean.” I peck him on the cheek before pouring myself a glass of orange juice and making my way to the library, where I knew my other brother would be slaving away. The only person we were missing was Castiel. He was gone, and we hadn’t heard from him in months. Yeah, I was worried. But I also knew that Cas could handle himself, and that if he needed help he’d ask. Hopefully. It had been stressful, between meeting Henry Winchester, my grandfather, and finding out about the Men of Letters, I had had a very busy few months. But, we finally had a place to call home. The Bunker. Sure, we had a minor problem. Abaddon, a Knight of Hell. She was a bitch, but not exactly a major problem at the moment. I mean, she wasn’t causing any mass destruction, so it wasn’t high on our to-do list. Not that we weren’t hunting her. Of course, Kevin was still busy trying to figure out a way to close the Gates of Hell forever.
 I sat down next to Sam, taking a drink of my orange juice.
“So get this,” Sam looks up from his computer screen. “Apparently, this high schooler, Timothy Byrnes, from Arlington, Virginia shot up a three of his classmates at school.”
“And?” I ask through a mouthful of bacon.
Sam rolls his eyes. “And, all these kids had something in common. The three kids he shot all had the same brand of shoes, Air Jordan 3 Retro Soulfly’s. They’re about $7,000 on Ebay.”
I sigh. “How is this our kind of thing? How do we know he just didn’t want the money?” I put down my fork and scoot closer to peer at Sam’s computer screen.
“Because he didn’t need the money.” Sam’s fingers flicked across the keyboard. “Timothy Byrnes’ family owns almost half of Apple in stock. He could’ve just as easily bought the shoes himself. On top of that, he’s a straight A student with an immaculate record. Real mild-mannered, from what it looks like. But here’s the kicker. Mr. Byrnes is a real big World War II history buff, and apparently likes collecting antiques from that time period.”
 I grin. “Sounds like we’ve got a case.”
 ---
“Mrs. Byrnes, I’m agent  Natalie Ackerman and this is agent Keith Banner. We’d just like to ask you a few questions about your son.” I flashed my fake FBI badge to the woman who strongly reminded me of Mrs. Dursley from Harry Potter.
“Yes, yes of course.” Mrs. Byrnes opened the door wider and invited me and Sam in. Dean was off investigating the crime scene and interrogating Timothy, leaving Sam and I to do some sleuthing of our own.
Mrs. Byrnes was tall and skinny with brown hair and a pale, pointed face. Behind her stood a little girl, who she promptly shooed off saying, “Abby, mommy has to talk with these nice agents. Why don’t you play in your room for a while?”. She had the posture of a pencil, and would’ve been quite intimidating if it wasn’t for the fact that she was dressed in Bugs Bunny pajama pants and looked like a disgruntled emu. The Byrnes residence was more or less a mansion, probably an inheritance from a wealthy uncle. Mrs. Byrnes led us into a living room with a grand piano and motioned for us to sit.
“I’m so sorry, the house is such a mess. I’ve been meaning to call the cleaning lady, but just haven’t gotten around to it.” She sat down on a white silk couch opposite of my brother and I.
 I tried not to gape at the huge crystal chandelier hanging above us. “It’s quite alright, Mrs. Byrnes-”
“Please call me Janet.” She smiled warmly.
“You have a lovely house, Janet.” I complimented. It never hurt to butter people up a bit before you roasted them.
“Thank you, I inherited it from father.” She smiled warmly at us.
“Janet. If you don’t mind, my associate would like to look around Timothy’s room?” I motioned to Sam.
 “That’s no problem, dear. Just up the stairs and down the hall, fifth door on the right. On the left is his game room, if you’d like to look in there as well.” Janet motioned to a grand staircase just visible through the wide doorway. Sam nodded and excused himself.
“Janet, did you notice anything odd about your son’s behavior before the shooting? Maybe a drop in grades, less appetite than usual, bouts of anger?”
Mrs. Byrnes’ brow furrowed. “No, not that I can recall. I mean, he’s always been a bit strange. He’s very smart you know- took all the AP classes, was in chess club, the debate team, mathletes group, TAG programs.” She gestured to a glass case by the fireplace full of trophies and photos and letters from the mayor, governor, and president. “He was very upset when his father wasn’t able to make it to his birthday last week…”
I looked up from scribbling notes as she paused. “Go on.” I encouraged.
Mrs. Byrnes took a watery breath. “My husband, James, is on a business trip in Germany currently. He was supposed to be home a matter of weeks ago, before Timothy’s birthday, but he wasn’t able to make it, something about a business transaction mishap. He sent him a lovely phonograph for him to play his vinyl record collection on, though.”
“Uh huh. So, anything else odd? Maybe cold spots, traces of sulfur or-”
Mrs. Byrnes’ eyes narrowed. “Are you asking if my son was involved in the Occult?”
 I swallowed hard. It wasn’t every day that people knew what we were talking about when we mentioned demonic omens and signs of hauntings. “Uh…”
Mrs. Byrnes lowered her voice and leaned closer to me, covering her mouth with her hand so no one could read her lips. “Meet me at the Blue Cafe at one.” She sat back up and resumed her normal demeanor. “No, nothing like that. In fact, I’m insulted that you’d suggest such a thing.” Her voice was icy and stuck up.
“Right... well my partner should be finished by now. Would you mind if I went up to Timothy’s room and looked around a bit before we leave?”
 Janet sighed exasperatedly, as if I was wasting her time. “I suppose. But make it quick, I have to go down to the juvenile detention center in an hour. My son has been given the death penalty.”
---
I peeked into the fifth room on the right to see Sam digging through a box of records. “Find anything?” I asked. Timothy Byrnes’ bedroom looked just like every other high school boy’s bedroom: messy. A half eaten box of pizza sat on the desk, along with stacks of calculus books and classic literature like Gulliver’s Travels. A Call of Duty: Black Ops 4 poster was hanging on the wall, next to a Sports Illustrated calendar featuring a bikini-clad model. Shoved up against one wall was a flat screen TV and almost every XBox game in existence. 
“Other than a stash of Playboy magazines and enough A+ homework assignments to choke a dragon? Nothing.” Sam tossed me a record. “I did find this.”
“Hey, I know this band!” I examined the vinyl record. “Okay, but what does a Foster the People record have to do with a school shooting?”
“I don’t think it’s got anything to do with the record so much as the record player. Come look at this thing. It’s gotta be from the 1940’s.” Sam motioned to the old phonograph perched precariously on top of a stack of comic books.
“Yeah, didn’t you say Mr. Byrnes was a huge WWII fanatic?” I trace my finger along the tone arm.
“Yeah… How about you? What’d you find out from Mrs. Byrnes?” Sam took the record from me, slid it back into its sleeve, and dropped it back into a box full of vinyls.
“Not much. Just what we already know; he’s a great kid, super smart, etc. She started acting really weird when I mentioned demonic omens though. Like, she knew about the sulfur thing. She told me to meet her at this place called the Blue Cafe at one.”
Sam glanced over to me. “Seriously? That’s kinda suspicious.”
I rolled my eyes. “Thanks, Captain Obvious.”
“You’re welcome, Lieutenant Sarcastic.”
 ---
At one o’clock sharp I showed up at the Blue Cafe in downtown Arlington. Sure enough, Janet Byrnes was sitting at an outdoor table reading the latest edition of Vogue.
“Mrs. Byrnes.” I nod a greeting and take the seat opposite her.
“Agent Ackerman, thank you for coming on such short notice. I’m sorry for the cryptic invitation, but I can never be too careful, especially with my husband…” She shook her head. “Would you like anything to drink? My treat.” 
“Yeah, sure. A beer sounds great.”
“It’s my husband, Agent. He’s… Well he’s very secretive to say the least. I believe he had something to do with my son murdering those three boys.”
 I thanked the waiter for my beer and took a sip. “How so?”
 Janet looked around nervously. “I have reason to believe he may be a part of a cult.” She ran a finger along the rim of her martini glass. “James’ family, well his ancestors were Nazis. That’s why he’s so interested in the history and collecting artifacts, but I think he’s gotten into more than just the history. He’s a member of the American Nazi Party.”
 ---
 “American Nazi Party, huh?” Dean sipped his beer.
 Sam’s eyes were glued to his computer screen. “Yeah, I learned about that in high school. It supposedly started here in Arlington, Virginia in the sixties. Big on socialism and white power.”
 “But what does that have to do with a clean cut kid shooting up three of his classmates with $7,000 shoes?” Dean asked.
 I shrugged. “Beats me. Mrs. Byrnes thinks that it was some sort of initiation for the ANP, but her husband’s off in Germany right now, so I don’t know…” I reached over to turn on the radio next to Sam’s elbow. Music usually helped me think.
 All the other kids with the pumped up kicks
You better run, better run, outrun my gun
All the other kids with the pumped up kicks
You better run, better run, faster than my bullet
 “SAM!” I yelled as the lyrics hit me, slamming my hand down hard on the motel table.
 “Jesus fucking Christ Y/N, what the hell is it?” A startled Sam Winchester eyed me like I’d lost my mind.
 “The record! Sammy, the record!”
 “Yeah, what about it?” Sam looked confused and Dean shot us both a look that clearly told me he thought we were crazy.
 “The vinyl album in Timothy’s room. The album, Torches, is the album that this song is on.”
 “And?” Dean’s eyebrow was raised, and I could tell that he was wondering what drugs I had taken.
 “Listen,” I turned up the radio volume as the chorus of the song played again.
 All the other kids with the pumped up kicks
You better run, better run, outrun my gun
All the other kids with the pumped up kicks
You better run, better run, faster than my bullet
 “Shit.” Sam ran a hand through his hair. “You can’t be serious.”
 “Okay guys, what’d I miss?” Dean asked, still puzzled.
 “This song, Pumped Up Kicks, is by a band called Foster the People. Timothy Byrnes had an album by this band with this song on it. It was on a record player in his bedroom. I’m not sure if you were listening to the lyrics, but the song is about a school shooting where this kid with a father who’s gone a lot goes after some kids with “pumped up kicks”, in other words, really high end shoes.” I grinned. “Cursed object.”
 “Okay,” Dean took another swig of beer. “But what does this have to do with the Neo-Nazi thing?”
 Sam shrugged, closing his laptop. “Probably nothing. The mom’s just in hysterics because her kid did just kill three students. She’s probably looking for a outlet, some explanation as to why her kid just acted up and just happened to affiliate her husband’s love of WWII history and the fact that they live in Arlington to the murders. When really it’s just a cursed vinyl that made him go Charles Manson on his classmates.”
 Dean put his beer in the fridge. “Makes sense. Let’s go smash some records.”
 ---
 Three hours later, the Foster the People album was burned and we were on our way back to Lawrence, Kansas when we got a call from the police station where Dean had interrogated Timothy Byrnes. Apparently, his little seven year old sister, Abby Byrnes (the little girl I had seen with her mother when I first visited the Byrnes residence) had jumped off the top of a bank building on Williamsburg Boulevard in Arlington. Nobody knew how she got up there, only that she had gone to the bank with her mother, only to disappear. When they found her again, she was nothing but a blood splatter on the pavement.
 ---
 After talking with the local sheriff at the crime scene, Sam pulled Dean and I aside. “So apparently it wasn’t the Foster the People album.”
 I shook my head. “Yeah, and I’d say that it was the phonograph, but Timothy isn’t dead and his sister is. It doesn’t add up.”
 “We’re going back to the Byrnes residence anyway, so might as well check it out.”
 ---
 “John Mayer. Guess what song it just played?” Sam held up a vinyl record.
 Dean, the avid classic rock fan that he is, had his lips pressed in a thin line. “Free Fallin’.”
 “Yep.” Sam didn’t even bother to resleeve the record before he tossed it back into the box. “Which means,” He sent a malevolent glance towards the phonograph. “We have some research to do.”
 “I know a great place for lunch,” I pipe in. “The Blue Cafe.”
 ---
 I swallowed a bite of my BLT club sandwich, an uncomfortable feeling that I was missing something important settling in my stomach. Dean was inhaling his second burger, and Sam was busy typing away on his laptop.
 “Okay guys, get this. The building that Abby Byrnes was “Free Fallin” off of was the first headquarters of the American Nazi Party. The second was a mansion on Rudolf St. that belonged to a the widow of a man named Willis Kerns. When Mrs. Kerns died, she passed the house on to her daughter, Janet and her husband James Byrnes, an Apple stock investor and avid World War II artifact collector who passed away in 2005.”
 Dean and I both dropped our sandwiches. “You’re joking.”
 “Nope.” Sam glanced up from his computer screen. But it gets worse. “Apparently, the American Nazi Party was founded by George Rockwell, the right hand man of Commander Eckhart, leader of a sect of the Thule Society.”
 I groaned. “Not them again. Please tell me you’re joking.” The Thule Society was a group of Nazi necromancers that could regenerate because of a successful experiment.  We weren’t really on the best of terms with them, considering we destroyed a ledger that was the only remaining information from the experiment that gave them their regenerative abilities.
 “Son of a bitch…” Dean muttered, rubbing his eyes. “So what about the phono-whatever?”
 “I’m working on it.” Sam’s fingers were practically a blur as he scrolled through pages of information. “Right here. Apparently, the phonograph belonged to Hitler himself. It’s a myth, but yeah. Legend says it’s how he got his closest advisors and the foot soldiers to actually do all those horrible things to the Jews. Whatever is played on this phonograph, whether it be a recording of a voice or music or whatever, it would brainwash the listener or listeners into doing whatever was spoken. So, in Timothy’s case, he killed a bunch of kids with “pumped up kicks” and Abby went “free fallin”.”
 “Wait.” I turned on my phone and started to do some research of my own. “Mrs. Byrnes told me that her husband was on a business trip to Germany and sent Timothy the phonograph as a birthday gift. Which means, assuming that her husband is dead, that she knew full well the capabilities of the phonograph.”
“Then why would she- Oh. OH. Sam, Y/N, Abby and Timothy aren’t dead. It only looks that way.” Dean’s eyes widened.
 I nearly laughed. “She hid the truth in plain sight. She told me that she thought her husband was trying to get Timothy initiated into a Nazi cult, when it was really her all along. She’s a member of the Thule Society, a necromancer. Abby and Timothy aren’t dead, they’re back at their house, the Kerns Mansion.”
 ---
 I double checked the bullets in my handgun. “Headshot, then salt and burn right?”
 “Yep.” Dean kicked down the front door of the Byrnes’ mansion.
 I could hear rushed chanting coming from the living room where I had first talked to Janet Byrnes. I followed Sam and Dean, keeping my eyes peeled for any other members of the Thule or the ANP. I peeked into the living room, only to see the bodies of the three boys Timothy killed lying on the coffee table, stomachs slit open and organs spilling out onto the floor. Blood stained the white marble floors and silk couch as the mother and her son and daughter continued to chant in Latin, oblivious to the fact we had just stormed the gates. Each person held one of the dead boys’ hearts in their hands, blood spilling from their palms as if they had pulled the hearts from the boys’ chests with their bare hands. They probably had.
 We took no time in pumping as many rounds of lead as we could into their brains before dragging them out into the backyard gardens and having ourselves a nice, large Thule Society/American Nazi Society barbecue that we seasoned heavily with salt. With a side of charred cursed phonograph, of course.
 ---
 Dean collapsed in an armchair in the Bunker library. “I’m getting real sick of those Thule motherfuckers.”
 “You’re telling me.” Sam poured himself some scotch and grabbed a book to read.
 “Let’s just agree that next time Hitler pops his head up, we’re gonna let someone else whack-a-mole him, okay?”
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michaelmilligan · 4 years
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Noone:
Literally noone:
Not a soul:
Me: Okay but what about an SPN/SGA crossover with trans!Cas and also there are trans Wraith, including trans queens and trans kings, bc yes there are kings, but they are really rare but revered not just bc they can typically give birth, but also bc they are strong and resourceful and generally amazing. And trans queens generally can't give birth, but that's okay bc they are fierce warriors and take excellent care of their hive in every aspect and their minds shine brighter than anyone else's. Also they often take in younger queens or kings to raise them like their own children, and if the trans queen dies, the young queen/king takes over the hive.
Also nonbinary Wraith exist and some of them are royalty. It is considered a great honor to serve such royalty, which are rare and transcend the understanding of binary Wraith, who can only marvel at the beauty that is the gender expression in the nonbinary Wraith's mind.
Also Wraith come in all sexualities (including, but not limited to, bisexuality, pansexuality, asexuality, homosexuality, heterosexuality).
There are Wraith polycules.
There are Wraith qpr.
There are a multitude of genders, sexualities and partnerships (most) humans have never even thought of and wouldn't be able to understand.
#In short: queer Wraith#I know they're the bad guys in the show but wow did the books help me see their... humanity is a weird word here#They're living beings with feelings and a history which was anything but easy but they adapted and overcame#Also trans!Cas#And destiel of course#Sam is also on Atlantis as an anthropologist#Cas resigned from the military the day before the trans ban was enacted#Then he came on as a scientific consultant at Atlantis lol#Bc mayyyyybe Landry gave him a tip and a number to call#Dean is a lieutenant or something and has been on a gate team with Cas for years#And due to Atlantis getting more and more residents guess who has to bunk together#Sadly there are two beds but that doesn't mean they have to use both of them#Now that Cas isn't military anymore they can actually be together without the immediate fear of being thrown out#Even though I know bisexuality might still lead to problems in the friggin military#But I have decided that all superiors at Atlantis are firm allies who will not tolerate any nonesense from soldiers or anyone else#There's so much more but these are already too many tags lol#Not like anyone will read it anyway#But this is all still just in my head and I've never actually written it down#I'm beginning to think that I might need to do so at some point#Even though it's a lot of fun to keep changing things#Redo the same scenes with slight differences again and again#Change the order of things#Add new stuff#That's what I love#Not the writing part#I like that and I especially like reading it afterwards#At least in recent years where I think my writing improved#But yeah#I may just write this to finally write a trans character#Or several hehe
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