#pot up next his cards are kind of ugly but its okay.

[lesbiangiratina]

Saw someone on twt saying they just learned about a gg tcg idek if theyre talking sbout asura system or weiß schwarz but ill edit some scans before bed For You jic

#pot up next his cards are kind of ugly but its okay. #1 step closer to editing testament cards. #ive saved them for last as a way to motivate myself but um damn ive really slowed down Oops #also fuck the weiß shwarz cards honestly how come 400ish new pieces of art was in the budget 20 years ago but now theres like 5 in that set #so boringgggggg look at my cards. #the kat goes meow

[supernaturalfreewill]

Words: 4,380 Sam x Reader Warnings: None really! A/N: SURPRISE! This is the first part of a new Sammy series! I think it will be around 4 parts, but last time I said that Mess Is Mine happened so... I just won't guess this time. I'm working on like 8 other stories right now, but this one refused to go away unless I put it down. Based on this imagine .

Your name: submit What is this?

Your sister and Dean were arguing about who had won the last game of poker, a fairly frequent occurrence during your weekly game night. You were startled to find that Sam was already looking at you when you looked up from stacking the cards back into the game case. It sent a jolt like an electric-tinged chill up your spine. The best you could do back was to smile at him briefly and tear your eyes away.

“Well, I’m heading to bed I think,” your sister said, yawning and stretching. She stood and wrapped her arms around Sam’s neck from behind, leaning in close to give him a kiss. “Are you coming to bed?” she asked him pointedly.

Your stomach tightened into a knot. “’Scuse me,” you said with a forced smile. You gathered a few empty bottles and glasses and exited for the kitchen abruptly.

Once there all you could do was lean over the sink, white-knuckling the edge of the counter, trying to think of anything but what you actually were thinking of… Footsteps behind you jolted you into action. You blasted the water on and grabbed the soap and a sponge.

“Relax. It’s just me,” Dean said.

You dropped the pretense of washing the dishes and spun to face him where he was leaning against the table giving you a knowing look. “Y/N…” he started.

“Don’t.”

“But? But?! My sister, Dean! My sister! How could I do that to her?” you demanded. “I can’t. I can’t do that.” You couldn’t meet Dean’s eyes.

He let out a heavy sigh. “Then you’re going to be stuck just where you are now. Wouldn’t you rather regret going for it than sitting back and not trying?”

You glared at him. “I think I’d regret ruining my relationship with the one blood relative I have left.” There was a tense silence that stretched far longer than was comfortable before you finally broke it. “I’m going to bed… Tell them goodnight for me.”

“Wait,” Dean called after you.

“Goodnight, Dean.” You hugged him, long enough for him to sigh heavily again and plant a kiss on the top of your head.

“Goodnight…” he murmured, and then you were gone with a soft padding of stocking feet.

Dean wandered back out into the library to find Sam still sitting at the table, a fresh glass of something in front of him. “Isn’t that like your fourth nightcap?” Dean asked.

Sam glowered at him momentarily. “Pot. Kettle. Black,” he said.

Dean pulled a face and shrugged. “Fair enough.” He poured himself a share of whiskey too and sat down across from his little brother. “Isn’t someone waiting for you?” Dean asked.

Sam’s jaw tensed. “Yeah, I–I told her I’d be in in a bit…” He hesitated and cleared his throat a little awkwardly. “…Where’s Y/N?”

Dean was just about ready to scream. “Bed. Told me to tell you ‘goodnight.’”

“Oh… okay.” Sam drank deeply from his glass, nearly draining it.

Dean raised his eyebrows at his little brother. “Something you want to share with the class? Thoughts, maybe?”

Sam shook his head. “No.”

Dean left a beat of silence. “You know, you’ve been putting kind of a dent in my whiskey lately. You think I haven’t noticed? Am I supposed to just pretend that new bottle was 2/3 empty when I bought it.”

Sam shifted uncomfortably and gulped down the tightness in his throat to little effect.

“Sammy… come on. Talk to me. What the hell is going on in that long-maned head of yours?”

Sam shut his eyes for a moment and chewed his bottom lip. “I’m in love with Y/N,” he blurted out. “And it’s a mess. I’m with her sister. I’m dating her sister! And I’m love with Y/N.” There was something like anguish in his voice.

Dean stared across the table at Sam’s tortured expression. There was nothing to say to that.

“So, you know what? I’m taking a leaf out of your book and having a few nightcaps… that way when I wake up in the morning on the right side of the wrong bed, maybe I won’t care so much...” He downed the little remaining in his glass. “And I really can’t deal with a lecture from you right now, Dean, so just–just don’t. Night.”

Sam got up, leaving his empty glass behind, and stalked out.

“Jesus fu–am I living in the goddamn Twilight zone or some shit?! Didn’t I just have this conversation?!” Dean muttered aloud to himself. “There is not enough fucking whiskey in the world right now for this…” And with that he poured himself another.

_ _ _ _ _ _

You woke up very early, having gone to bed much before your usual time simply because you wanted to be unconscious… It seemed to be the only time you didn’t have that ache in your midsection and painful swirl of thoughts in your brain. You headed for the kitchen, looking forward to a hot cup of coffee and maybe some quiet self-reflection to stop your spinning. But you were surprised to find that you weren’t the only one awake despite the very early hour.

“Oh—” you let out a little surprised noise when you crossed the threshold and Sam looked up from his place at the center island.

“Y/N,” he said, his eyes a little surprised. He straightened up in his seat. “Hey.” He had passed some fitful portion of the night beside your sister and finally surrendered to insomnia. He had hoped that not lying next to her, feeling like a liar, would diminish his anxiety but it had proved to be mostly wishful thinking. He rubbed a hand anxiously over the back of his neck. “You’re up early,” he said.

“Yeah, umm… went to bed early so…” You smoothed a hand over your hair, quite sure that it was probably unruly from your tossing and turning all night. Sam loved that. “Coffee?” you asked. He jumped to his feet.

“Yeah. Of course. Let me get it for you,” he said.

“Oh, thanks.” Sam poured you a big mug of coffee from the pot and went to the fridge to grab some milk.

“You just take milk, right?” he asked, even though he knew the answer. He knew how you liked your coffee. He always knew what book you were reading. He knew your favorite color was seafoam. He knew you liked a gin and tonic with about an entire lime in it. He knew you liked whiskey and water, and dark beer, and the lavender-scented dryer sheets. He knew every little detail about you and he loved every single one.

“Yeah. Thank you,” you said. You accepted the mug from Sam and his fingers brushed yours as he handed it to you. You knew how cliché and stupid it was, but your heart still jumped at the contact. Is this what you would have to keep living on? A split second of Sam? You felt like a drug addict, sustaining only on the thought of the next high. You studied him as he sat down at the island again and you quickly noticed the dark circles under his eyes. “…Are you alright?”

Sam’s eyes flickered up to meet yours, startled a little by the question. God, how badly he wanted to answer truthfully. He wanted to tell you, No. I’m not alright. I’m not. I’m living a lie I don’t know how to get out of without ruining the path to what I really want. Instead he nodded. “Yeah,” he said, sipping his coffee. “Just a little tired.”

“Mmm. Trouble sleeping?” you asked, absently rotating your mug on the marble counter, warming your fingers. Seemed like you both had the same problem the previous night.

“Uhh—a little. But I’m okay,” he said, he tried to force a reassuring smile. He didn’t want to think about lying in bed next to your sister. It was the last thing he wanted to think about. “Thanks,” he said. “For asking though.”

You nodded. “Sure, of course.” A long moment of silence stretched and you were surprised that when you looked up, Sam’s eyes were already on your face, but he tore them away quickly and looked down into his mug. Your heart beat faster as you wondered at the meaning. You searched for something to say to him, something to bring his eyes back to yours. You could look into them forever—you always saw such understanding, such strength in them. And he was warm and funny and smart and kind… and this thinking made your stomach clench because you knew he was out of reach.

Sam cleared his throat and pushed down the sick feeling in his own stomach. “So, what’s on the schedule for today?” he asked.

You shrugged. “I dunno. I was thinking of working out later. Maybe kick Dean’s ass sparring,” you said, a small smirk gracing your face.

Sam let out a small laugh and shook his head. “That’d be good for him,” he said. But he felt a jealous twinge and a heat rising in his chest that he tried to ignore.

“How about you?” you asked. Sam shrugged.

“I don’t know… We’ll see. Maybe try and rustle up a case or something.” It was a classic method of distraction that Sam tried to use, even though it was only a temporary success. He would work, and work, and work. And it gave him an excuse to tell your sister he was busy, that he couldn’t take the time that day to spend with her doing something that he felt wasn’t genuine because all he could think about was doing it with you instead…

One corner of your mouth twitched upwards. “You work too much, Sam.”

He ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah… I know… but there’s always something else out there.”

“Exactly. There is always something else out there. And there always will be. So, you should take the time off when you can. Enjoy life a little,” you said, brave enough to meet his kaleidoscope colored eyes again.

Sam nervously chewed his bottom lip. He could be consumed by you instantly if he let himself—the way you were looking at him with that small smile and your eyes so bright, seeing only him in that moment. Reality reared its ugly head suddenly when footsteps started up the hallway and broke the temporary spell.

Your sister bounced into the kitchen. “Morning!” she said. She went over to Sam and ran a hand down his back affectionately, pecking him on the cheek. “I was a little bummed out to see your side of the bed empty this morning…” she said in a low voice to Sam.

You abruptly got up and headed across the kitchen to the pantry, feeling suddenly sick with envy and wanting to distance yourself as much as possible. You started pulling ingredients out just for the distraction and your sister was soon at your side. “Whatcha makin’?” she asked.

“Pancakes?”

“Sounds good. Better you make them than me. You remember what happened last time?”

You shook your head at her and laughed lightly at the last kitchen disaster. “Smoke. Everywhere. You shouldn’t even be allowed in the kitchen,” you teased her.

“I will never try again,” she said with a laugh. “I have no problem acknowledging my faults.” She bumped you with a friendly elbow. “Soooo…” she started. Her tone made you look up at her a little tentatively.

“…Oh, no. I know that tone. What is it?”

She grinned widely at you.

You raised your eyebrows at her. “What is it? Cough it up,” you said. “I can see you are plotting something…”

“Well, I was thiiiinking we should go out tonight. Get out of the bunker… You know, go into town… maybe go to that bar with the suuuuper hot bartender?” she said, wiggling her eyes at you.

You sighed. “I don’t know… I kind of just feel like staying in.” You didn’t know Sam was listening intently now from his place at the island still.

“You always feel like staying in! That’s why you have me to twist your arm and get you out of here before you turn into an old spinster who is in a serious relationship only with her books and tea kettle.”

You rolled your eyes. “Wow. Gee, thanks, sis…” you said sarcastically. “And you know what? That actually doesn’t sound too bad!”

This drew a laugh from her and she bounced on her feet a little. “Pleeeeease! Come on. You know once you’re out you will have a good time! And that bartender was totally into you last time.”

You looked at her eager expression and the excitement in her eyes. Maybe a night out would do you some good. You could definitely use a distraction and the bunker was somehow always haunted with Sam and your sister’s relationship… Reminders everywhere; that they shared a room and a bed together, that you could walk around any corner and find them kissing, or sitting closely, or whispering some secret conversation with secret smiles you weren’t privy to… “Alright. Fine,” you agreed. “But for like two beers and that is it!”

She pumped a fist in excited success. “Yes! Oh, I’m totally gonna pick out your outfit and everything. You’re gonna look hot,” she said.

You pointed vehemently at her. “No dresses!”

“But—”

“No! No dresses!” She pouted at you but relented.

“Fine… no dresses…”

“Dresses?” Dean said, coming to join the rest of you in the kitchen and peeking over your shoulder at the bowl you were dumping ingredients in. “Who’s wearing a dress?”

“No one!” you said loudly.

Dean grabbed a mug and poured in some coffee. “Why not? I’d love to see you in a dress, Y/N,” he said laughing gruffly. “Like, a short, tight little black cocktail dress… some high heels. Right, Sammy?” he asked, giving Sam a wink and drawing a very unamused stare from him. You gave Dean a scolding look and he relented.

“We’re going out tonight to Lucky’s,” your sister explained. “And I’m gonna pick out Y/N’s outfit and she is going to flirt with that hot bartender who was hitting on her last time.” You rolled your eyes.

“Ah,” Dean said. He chanced a glance at Sam and noted the muscle twitching in Sam’s jaw as he clenched his teeth. “I see.”

You turned to look at Dean. “You wanna spar later?” you asked him. God, you needed to work off some frustration and bitter jealousy…

He sipped casually at his coffee. “You wanna get your ass kicked later?” he asked, giving you a satisfied smug smirk.

You tilted your head and raised your eyebrows at him, a half-smirk on your face. God, Sam loved that expression, the playful spark in your eyes. “We’ll see, tough guy,” you said, turning back to the pancake batter.

_ _ _ _ _ _

A few hours later, you and Dean were both a little sweaty, circled up on the mat in the room you had converted to a work out area. You had your hands up and were seizing each other up, both with grins on your faces as you waited to see who would strike next.

“Give up yet, Winchester? By my count, you’re losing,” you goaded him. He laughed and wiped some sweat from his brow.

“You have gotten a lot better, Y/N. Must be because you have an amazing tutor,” he said with a gruff laugh. “And quite handsome at that!”

You rolled your eyes which was a mistake because Dean took that opportunity and swept your legs out from under you and you landed hard on your back on the mat, gritting your teeth a little as the breath was knocked out of you. Dean laughed hard as you let out a frustrated groan. Once you caught your breath, you accepted his proffered hand to help you back up. Sam came in just then as you were circling back up, ready for the next bout. Dean bounced lightly on the balls of his feet in the typical boxing shuffle, hands up in guard. “Sammy!” he yelled, seeing his brother come in. “Good. It will be nice to have someone else witness Y/N’s destruction—”

But just then you threw three punches at him and he had to scramble to block two of them. He wasn’t fast enough for the third and you landed a solid hit into his stomach, giving him a satisfied “HA!” and a wide grin.

“What’s that you were saying, Dean?” Sam called out, grinning, sitting down on one of the benches along the wall.

Dean shook it off and the two of you had an intense bout where you both gained ground on the other but were eventually blocked or fought it off. Finally, you sent a jab straight at Dean’s chin but he was able to block it and reroute your momentum, grabbing your arm and again sending you down to the mat. Just then as you were letting out a string of expletives and Dean was laughing heartily in victory, a cell phone rang.

“Oh, shit. That’s probably Garth. I gotta take that. I’m expecting him to call to today,” Dean said, heading over to the bench and grabbing his cell phone. He looked at Sam, whose gaze was fixated on you where you were lying on your back still in the middle of the mat, just resting for a minute and beating yourself up for letting Dean drop you. “Sammy, I’m tagging you in,” he said, giving him a wink.

“What?” Sam’s eyes went a little wide.

“I said you’re in. Hello? Yeah, hey Garth…” Dean stepped into the hall leaving Sam alone with you.

He gulped at the nervousness in his throat and stood up, walking out onto the mat. “Hey,” he said. “You okay?”

You sat up abruptly, a little surprised to see Sam appear over you so suddenly. “Yep. Fine.”

Sam offered you a hand and you felt butterflies flutter to life in your stomach as he pulled you up to your feet. Your hand stayed in his perhaps just a little too long.

Sam cleared his throat and looked down at you. “Uhh… Can I show you how Dean got you down?”

“Oh—yes. Please. I hate when he wins,” you said, giving Sam a small smile.

Sam anxiously rubbed the back of his neck as he stood in front of you. “Okay. Well, go into your guard stance,” he said. You obliged, stepping one foot slightly back and the other forward. “Good. Now, you want to use your lower body to propel that punch, but you need to be able to maintain your balance.” Sam squared up with you, pulling his hands up into guard. “So, just keep a little more weight on your back foot when you jab and propel yourself from your hips.” You nodded. “Okay, try it,” Sam said, holding a palm out. “Hit it, right here.”

You threw a jab at his palm, but he pulled back right before you connected and again you lost your balance and pitched forward toward him. “Whoa!” Sam laughed a little and caught you, his hands landing instinctively on your hips to stop your momentum. You both froze for a moment. You were still breathing fast from the physical exertion, but Sam was too, for an entirely different reason. Your hips felt small under his hands, and he could clearly feel their curve and angles. His heart was pounding and he felt a jolt of electricity zip up his spine. Perceiving that he should have let you go by now, his hands floated off you and he stepped backward. You anxiously chewed your bottom lip. There were tingles trailing behind where his hands had been. “Uhh—a little better, but you’re still taking too much weight off that back foot. Try again,” he said.

You both resumed your guard and Sam held a hand up again. This time you threw your jab and though he moved his hand back before you connected, you maintained you balance and immediately threw a cross punch which he had to block. A smile grew on his face and a matching one lit up yours. “Good! That was a really good!”

“Thanks,” you said, still squared up with him. You quickly threw a couple punches which Sam skillfully blocked and he returned—and that was it. You were full on sparring. Sam dodged one of your punches and you surprised him immediately with a high kick that caught him in the chest, knocking him off balance. But he was right back into it, now advancing on you and forcing you to give up ground. You waited for an opportunity to throw a combination at him but he somehow saw it coming and blocked it. The next second you skillfully swept a leg underneath him as he recovered from a block and he tumbled back onto the mat, landing hard but immediately starting to laugh. You stood over him with a wide grin on your face and walked over to look down at him. “Give?” you asked him.

His only response was to sweep one of his legs from where he was laying on the floor, taking you out at the ankles and sending you sprawling down on top of him. “Shit!” You landed with one arm extended to catch yourself on the floor and the other on his strong chest. Your body was pressed into him and you immediately felt your cheeks flush. You could feel his hips pressing into you. You lips were mere inches from his and you could see all the hues in his irises. He swallowed hard and there was a vague smile on his face.

Suddenly, you felt one of his hands landed ever so gently on your lower back and wow, electricity. “Give?” he joked, the vague smile still on his face, his eyes starry, his heart pounding. He couldn’t believe you were actually pressed against him and he wondered that you hadn’t immediately moved, climbed to your feet, put distance between the two of you. You felt paralyzed looking into his eyes.

“I give,” you said. Your voice was low and breathy because truthfully you couldn’t breathe, you were so startled by the whirling feelings and thoughts washing over you. Sam’s hand landing so lightly there on your lower back, it felt intimate.

But you suddenly heard the door open, and Dean stepped back into the room having gotten off the phone with Garth. The noise called you back to your senses and you leapt to your feet, anxiously backing away from Sam, but you weren’t quite fast enough. Dean had frozen a couple steps in and seen you on top of Sam—but he quickly pretended he hadn’t.

Sam cleared his throat and climbed to his feet, sweeping his hands back through his hair. “Good. Yeah, just… don’t let your guard down. Ever. Even once you have them on the ground.”

You were a little wide-eyed and you turned and headed for your water bottle and towel on the bench. Dean gave you a meaningful look as you approached but you just tore your eyes away from him.

“What did I miss?” he asked you in a low voice, his tone pregnant with meaning.

Sam watched from the center of the mat as you dabbed at your forehead and neck with your towel. “Nothing,” you said to Dean. “Just—training.”

“Mhmm…” Dean replied, a small smile tugging at his lips.

“Stop it.” Dean held his hands up in a sign of surrender. “Umm… I’m gonna go shower,” you said.

“Alright. Well, hey, I saw your sister in the hall. She wants to head out to the bar in like an hour and a half.” You nodded and quickly waved to Sam as you left the room, feeling your cheeks coloring again with a blush and hoping that your face was already red enough from the exercise to hide it.

“Thanks, Sam. Alright, I’ll see you guys in a bit…”

Dean noted that his brother’s eyes didn’t leave you until you disappeared through the door, which slammed and echoed in the space with an uncomfortable finality. Dean pressed his lips into a thin line and looked at his little brother. “So,” he said.

Sam frowned at him. “So, what?”

Dean shrugged and raised his eyebrows. “What exactly was that?” he asked, the gravel thick in his voice.

“What? Nothing. I just—we were sparring and—”

“Oh, you were sparring,” Dean repeated skeptically, crossing his arms over his chest. “Because when I came in it didn’t look like there was a lot of sparring going on as much as it looked like Y/N was on top of you and—”

“Stop.” Sam admonished.

“Sammy, come on. I spar with Y/N all the time and we have never ended up like that—”

Sam’s jaw clenched and he gave one last stern look to his older brother. “I’m just—just forget it. I’m gonna go get cleaned up and it sounds like you should too.”

“Sam! Sammy, come on,” Dean called after him, but Sam just waved him off and disappeared into the hall, leaving Dean to sigh heavily in frustration.

Part 2

#sam x reader #sammy angst #sam winchester #sam winchester fanfiction #fanfic #supernatural #spn

[waywardaardvark79]

Supernatural Series Rewrite: Season 2, Episode 2: Everybody Loves a Clown

Summary: Y/N Singer joins Sam and Dean on the road. A rewrite starring you. 

Pairing: Dean X Reader, Sam X Reader (platonic)

Warnings: Show level violence, language

Word Count: 18,709 (I’m so sorry)

A/N: Sorry for the delay. I’m still not sure on a set schedule for this. I’ll try to get the next episode out as soon as I can. Tags open. 

You focused your eyes on a single glowing ember that seemed to float effortlessly through the night air. You tried your best to follow its path, a loud popping sound making you lose your focus, your attention falling back on the pyre and the burning body in front of you. John's body.

It was a moonless night, the only light coming from the pyre, as you stood in tense silence between Sam and Dean. You glanced over at Dean, who was standing about a foot away from you. He had his hands shoved into his pockets as he stared into the flames. His stance was ridgid, the expression on his face was devoid of any emotion.

His indifference would appear cold to anyone that didn't know him, but you knew that he was doing everything in his power to hold it all together. The truth was in his eyes. They told the story that the rest of his body tried to keep hidden. Swirling inside those green irises were a multitude of emotions. Despair, melancholy, guilt, self loathing, to name a few. They were the eyes of a broken man, the eyes of a man that was lost with no idea how or if he could ever get back to the person he was before.

You turned your attention back to the pyre, your own guilt eating you up inside. You couldn't help but blame yourself for John's demise. If he had only made a deal to bring Dean back and not you too, he'd still be here. Sure, the Colt and the bullet would be gone, but John would still be alive. Sam and Dean would still have their father, and you knew that in time they would both get over losing you. After all, John would be a lot more useful in the fight ahead.

You could hear Sam shifting back and forth on his feet, and you looked in his direction, your heart breaking at the sight of him. He was near tears, fidgeting uncomfortably as he stared at the pyre. You reached out for his hand, and laced your fingers with his, the pair of gloves you snatched from the hospital squeaking a little.

You looked down at your hand that was joined with his and noticed that Sam seemed to be holding onto you for dear life. Your hand looked so small in his. It reminded you of how a child's hand would look clutching onto their parent's hand, your mind quickly changing when you looked Sam in the eyes.

Despite his height and towering build, he looked so small in that moment. His shoulders were slumped forward, his eyes red rimmed and glassy as he did his best to hold back his tears. He looked like a heart broken little boy, and you wanted nothing more than to protect him and take his pain away.

You steeled your shoulders, and gave his hand a gentle squeeze as you turned your attention back to the pyre. You knew that you had to push down everything that you were feeling. You had to lock it all up somewhere deep inside of yourself because your feelings didn't matter right now. You knew that the only thing you could focus on was getting the two of them through this the best you could.

"Before he...before, did he say anything to you? About anything?" Sam quietly asked, breaking the silence.

"No. Nothing." Dean replied, not looking at Sam, his attention still on the pyre, you giving Sam's hand another squeeze when he let out a small, defeated breath.

The three of you had gone back to Bobby's, and you each slipped into a rather monotonous routine. Dean pushed everyone away, always insisting that he was completely fine. You weren't shocked by his behavior. You knew him too well, and you knew that he would be looking for anything to use as a distraction.

He threw himself into fixing the Impala, and the two of you generally avoided each other, only meeting up late at night to drink yourselves into oblivion. You knew that he needed his space, and you were more than happy to give it to him, only going to him when he sought you out.

You were sure that this type of interaction would be problematic for most people, but you completely understood. You knew that nothing you said to him would change anything, or make him feel better. So, why talk about something that you can't change? Dean never was the one to talk everything out, to lay everything out on the table. He held his cards close, and his walls were high. You couldn't blame him. You were the same way, both of you choosing to bottle everything up and pretend that everything was okay.

It would work for a little while, but you knew that he was a ticking time bomb. Sooner or later something would set him off, and all of that pent up emotion would come pouring out. So, you did the only thing you knew to do. You kept your distance, and just hoped that you would be able to put him back together when he broke.

When you weren't sleeping off yet another hangover you were with Sam. You listened to him vent every frustration he had without interruption. You offered whatever advice you could, and tried your best to convince him to just let Dean be. Sam was just wired differently than the two of you though. He needed to discuss every little detail, and it was almost as if he took offense to the fact that you and Dean didn't.

You and Bobby continued to tiptoe around each other. The awkwardness and unanswered questions of the fight the two of you had before the accident reared its ugly head now that you were back among the living.

There were no cross words spoken between the two of you. In fact, there were no words at all. You were afraid that if you tried to have a conversation with him you would blow up. You had so many questions, and you knew that he had answers. But, everytime you thought about approaching him you stopped yourself.  You were afraid that you wouldn't be able to control yourself. You were so incredibly angry with him, and you felt so betrayed.

It wasn't only Bobby that you were angry with. You were just angry in general. There wasn't one specific thing. It was everything honestly, and you found it growing worse as the days went on. You found yourself losing the battle to push it all down, and you were afraid that the next little thing was going to end up setting you off.

You had managed to distance yourself from everyone for most of the day. The house was now relatively quiet. Bobby had gone to bed hours ago, Sam was upstairs going through some of John's things, and Dean was still outside. You were sitting on the couch, your journal open in your lap, with the TV on in the background for noise.

You flipped through the pages until you came upon a blank one. You had been trying to remember what happened at the hospital, but you could never come up with a full sequence of events. It was all flashes, a giant jigsaw puzzle with too many missing pieces.

You thought that writing down what you could remember might help bring everything back, but you didn't know where to start. The gaps were too large and the things you could remember made no sense to you. Still, you knew that you had to try.

You could remember feeling like you were somewhere that you shouldn't be. Different colors started to flash through your mind, and you tried to clear all of your other thoughts to focus on them.

At first there was green. You scribbled the color down in your journal, your pen absentmindedly underlining the color as you thought back on what it could mean. You jotted down the word "outside" before following after it with a question mark. You couldn't be sure, but you had a gut feeling that the place you had been was somewhere outdoors, rationalizing that the flashes of green you kept seeing could be that of trees.

You looked down at the paper, the end of your pen held loosely between your teeth as the next color flashed through your mind. B-L-U-E, you wrote, carefully printing each letter. You found yourself tracing over each letter as you struggled with the memories that color brought.

Blue was a contradiction. One moment you found yourself completely uncomfortable, the color bringing out feelings of fear and dread. However, a split second later everything you were feeling about that color completely shifted. Blue no longer made you fearful or filled you with dread. No, instead you felt comfort, relief, thankful even. You couldn't understand the drastic change. Nothing you could come up with made any sense. Still, you wrote down the different feelings under the word blue before moving onto the next color.

You had no trouble remembering the next color. You also understood all of the feelings attached to it, and didn't think you could forget them even if you wanted to. Y-E-L-L-O-W, you wrote, underlining it harshly.

You could still see those yellow eyes clear as day. You could remember the way they raked over you and the way they lit up with glee whenever he spoke to you. He always did seem to get some kind of sick enjoyment out of toying with you.

You could still remember the way the corner of his mouth turned up when he told you that John had to sweeten the pot for you, and you still got a shiver down your spine when you thought about those two words he said to you.

No choice. Those two words were running through your head on an endless loop. He told you that you had no choice. You had no choice about trying to save John, and no choice about your destiny. He made sure to stress that, those yellow eyes of his alight with pleasure as he placed his hand on your forehead.

Those two words flipped a switch in you. The anger that you had been trying so hard to contain went from a dull simmer to a raging boil just like that. Your heart was pounding in your chest, one fist clenched by your side while the other hand thumped your pen frantically against the paper in front of you. You could swear that you could feel you body getting hot from the inside, the heat seeming to start in your middle before radiating throughout the rest of you. You were afraid that there was nothing you could do to contain it now. The only thing you could do was  pray that no one crossed your path.

Sam could feel his eyes growing tired, the small screen he had been staring at starting to blur. He had been trying to crack John's voicemail code for hours, but so far he had come up empty. Sam flipped the phone closed and tossed it on the bed beside him before closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. He laid there for a moment and listened to the sounds of the house settling around him.

Those sounds brought back a flood of childhood memories and a strange sense of comfort. He felt a small smile slide across his face and thought that it was funny how the creaks of an old house could bring someone joy. He couldn't help but go down memory lane.

He always did feel safe there at Bobby's when he was a child. It wasn't that he didn't feel safe with John or Dean, but Bobby had an actual home. He had always been a bit jealous of you for that. Sure, you were no stranger to motel living, but you always had a home to come back to. You had your own room, and possessions that weren't hand me downs. You had some sense of normalcy, a routine, and he could remember how badly he craved that, part of him still did.

Sam thought back to the times the two of you spent there as children. He could remember playing made up games with you while Dean huffed and puffed about how annoying the two of you were. He could remember running up and down the stairs with you, the two of you always careful to avoid the step that creaked loudly when the two of you were sneaking around doing something that you shouldn't have been, and he could remember that the two of you always insisted on sharing a bed.

He chuckled to himself at some of the things the two of you used to talk about late at night. You had both made so many plans for when you were adults, vowing of course to do them together. That's what best friends did after all. They stuck together through everything. He could also remember the day all of those childhood plans changed.

The two of you were quite a bit older then, around sixteen, and it had been quite some time since the two of you had seen each other in person. John kept both Sam and Dean on the road with him, neither one of them needing Bobby to look after them anymore. Still, the two of you kept in close contact, calling each other whenever you could.

Sam was sitting in yet another dump of a motel room, a lore book open in front of him. John and Dean had left not long ago to start chasing down leads. Sam flipped through a couple of pages before closing the book. He drummed his fingers on the table while he stared at the book, knowing that he should be doing what his father asked of him. Instead, he pushed back his chair from the table and made his way to the beat up motel phone on the nightstand.

He picked up the receiver and held it between his ear and shoulder while he dialed your number. He made sure to only let the phone ring twice. It was the signal the two of you had always used. Sam sat down on the edge of the bed, grabbing the phone from the nightstand and placing it in his lap as he anxiously waited for you to call back. He was tempted to try you again and found himself reaching quickly for the receiver when it finally started to ring.

"Sammy!" you shouted before he even had a chance to say hello.

"Y/N? Everything okay?" Sam asked, worried that something was wrong.

"Yeah, yeah, everything is fine. Better than fine really. You shoulda seen it, Sammy. It was so fuckin' awesome." you excitedly rambled, Sam chuckling on the other end.

"Yeah, what's that?" Sam asked, just hearing your voice bringing a smile to his face.

"So, Uncle Rufus shows up out of nowhere a few days ago, and he starts telling Dad about this case he's been working. Long story short, he ends up talking Dad into helping out, and they let me go." you said, Sam interrupting.

"How long did it take you to pull that off?" he asked, knowing just how overprotective Bobby was.

"Really, Sam?" you scoffed as you cocked your head to the side to hold the phone with your shoulder, your hands busy unpacking. "You know I've been working whenever I can."

"Yeah." Sam breathed out, his fingers fiddling with the phone cord. "So, what was the case?"

"Ghouls." you excitedly replied, sucking in a deep breath before quickly speaking again. "I wish you coulda seen it. I had this one head shot that was right out of a fuckin' Romero movie. It was awesome. You gotta tell your dumbass brother that I just took the lead away from him."

"His lead?" Sam asked, confused as to what the two of you were competing about now.

"Yeah, when you guys stopped by a few months ago we kinda got into an argument." you explained, Sam laughing under his breath.

"What a surprise." he sarcastically said, you and Dean couldn't seem to be in the same room for five minutes without arguing about something.

"Yeah, who woulda guessed, right? Anyway, we kinda got this...uh, little friendly competition going, and this hunt just put me in the lead. Just rub it in a little for me, would ya? Make sure you tell him that I'm just gonna keep kickin' his ass." you said, Sam not saying anything. "Sam? You still there?"

"Yeah, yeah. I'll, uh...I'll be sure to tell him." Sam said, you immediately picking up the shift in his mood.

"Hey, you alright?" you asked, knowing that he had something on his mind.

"Fine." Sam replied, not convincing you at all.

"Sam." you said, pausing a moment, hoping that he would speak up.

"Really Y/N, I'm fine. I'm just tired." he lied as he looked down at his duffel bag. "I just needed a little break."

"John got you doing research?" you asked, even though you already knew the answer.

"Yeah." Sam answered as he pulled a notebook from the bottom of his duffel.

"What've ya got so far?" you asked, still thinking that there was something more on his mind. "Sam?"

"Huh? Oh, uh, not sure yet. Dad and Dean are lookin' at the body now." Sam said as he flipped open the notebook and looked at some of the college brochures he had tucked inside, the line silent for a few minutes as you waited for him to speak again. "Hey Y/N, you ever think about..." Sam started, going quiet again before finishing his sentence.

"Ever think about what?" you asked, wanting him to continue.

"It's nothing, nevermind." Sam breathed out.

"Sam." you said, wanting to know what was bothering him.

"You ever think about getting out? About....I don't know, having a normal life?" Sam finally asked, you pausing a moment as you tried to think of what to say.

"Define normal." you said, Sam sighing at your less than serious approach. "Fine. When I was younger I thought about it. Remember how we'd talk about all the shit we were gonna do? But, I...I don't know, Sam. It's just not realistic anymore, you know? I mean, do you really think either one of us could just be some normal fuckin' persin with everything we know? Besides, I don't really think I'm cut out for it. I mean, could you really see me living some normal, picket fence, nine to five life?"

"Maybe you're right. I just....I." Sam said, stopping short.

"Sam, it shouldn't matter what I say. Is that what you want? Do you want out?" you asked, Sam sighing on the other end.

"I...I don't know. Sometimes." he said, pausing a moment. "I don't think I can do this for the rest of my life, but-" he tried, you interrupting.

"But nothing. If you don't want to hunt, Sam, don't hunt." you said as if it was the most simple simple thing ever.

"Yeah, cause that's gonna go over great with Dad." Sam fired back, you letting out a slow breath.

"Look, Sam...nobody can tell you what to do with your life but you. I can't tell you, neither can Dean or JOHN. It's your life, and it's your fuckin' choice. I know that there isn't anything you can do about it right now, but if you still want out when the times comes then there is nothing anyone can do about that but you." you said, your tone a little harsher than you meant it.

"Yeah, I better get back to this. I'm sure they won't be gone much longer." Sam said, making you feel guilty.

"I'm sorry, okay? I didn't mean for it to come out like that. I just...I want you to be happy, Sam. Sometimes you just gotta think about yourself, and not worry about what everyone else is gonna think." you said, Sam quiet for a moment.

"I think I'm just frustrated. It was just...just a crazy idea. I didn't mean anything by it." Sam said, you knowing that there was no truth behind it.

"Yeah, okay. But, Sam, if it wasn't just a crazy idea...I hope you know that I would be there for you. No matter what you decide, I'll always be here. You can't get rid of me, Sammy." you said, wanting to end things on a better note.

"I don't think I could get rid of you if I tried." Sam teased, chuckling to himself.

"You're God damn right about that. Call me back if you need anything." you said, pausing a moment, trying to think of something to say to make him laugh. "I mean, we both know that I'm the superior researcher." you added, Sam barking out a laugh.

"Sure you didn't hit your head on that hunt?" he asked, a smile sliding onto your face. "I'll call you soon."

"You better." you said, not wanting to get off of the phone with him, but knowing that he had things to do. "Bye, Sammy."

"Bye, Y/N" Sam said, feeling the same way you did, quickly hanging up the phone before either of you could say anything else.

Sam looked down at the brochures in his lap and quickly placed them back in the notebook before shoving the notebook to the bottom of his bag, making sure that it was completely hidden under his clothes. Sam knew that there was no point in bringing them up to you. You had more or less made up your mind about what your life was going to be, but part of him still hoped that maybe one day you would change it.

Sam always knew that he didn't want to live that sort of life. He always yearned for something normal, something safe. He knew that his father would never leave the life. He was in far too deep, far too obsessed with his revenge mission. He had no illusions that his brother would ever leave either. Dean was following directly in John's footsteps.

You were his last hope. The two of you had always done everything together for as far back as he could remember, and the conversation that the two of you just had left a bad taste in his mouth. As bad as he wanted to start a new, normal life, he didn't want to do it alone. He wanted you with him, but deep down he knew that it just wasn't going to happen.

You were made for that life. It was in your blood, and he knew that you'd never leave it behind. Sam knew that he would be the one doing the leaving, and he knew that when the time came he would have to do it without looking back.

Sam swung his legs off the side of the bed, and grabbed John's phone before standing up. He tossed the phone into his bag before walking to the door and stepping out into the hall. He looked at your closed bedroom door and thought about just walking by, but with everything that had been going on he honestly didn't want to be alone.

He stopped in front of your door and raised his fist to knock, trying to be as quiet as he could, "Y/N." he softly said, waiting for you to respond.

After a few moments Sam cracked open your bedroom door and peaked inside, "Y/N, it's me." he said before noticing that you weren't there.

He eased the door shut before heading for the stairs. He tried to be as quiet as he could, taking extra precaution to avoid the squeaky step. He could hear the TV and hoped that you and Dean were still up.

"Guys?" he called out before he made it into the living room.

Once again Sam got no response, and simply decided that the two of you must have fallen asleep with the TV on. That changed when he saw you sitting on the end of the couch. He noticed that you were staring blankly ahead, one of your legs bouncing up and down as if you were anxious.

"Y/N?" Sam called out, coming to a stop by the arm of the couch. "Y/N?" he tried again when he didn't get an answer.

Sam watched as you slowly turned your head and looked in his direction. He couldn't quite read the expression on your face, but he found himself growing a little uneasy. You looked so on edge, and he quickly took a step back.

"Hey..." he started, pausing a moment, watching you closely. "Have you...uh, have you seen Dean?"

"I'm not your brother's fuckin' keeper." you spat, Sam instantly shrinking back.

"I'm...I didn't mean-" Sam started, you quickly cutting him off.

"Fuck." you breathed out, running your hands through your hair. "I'm sorry, Sam. I didn't mean to...You didn't deserve that. I just...I'm..." you said, trailing off.

"No, I get it. Everything is a little tense. It's okay." Sam said, his forgiving attitude making you more angry.

"God dam it. No, it's not. Nothing about any of this is okay, Sam. I don't just get free reign to be an asshole!" you snapped, closing your journal and tossing it aside. "You should just-" you tried to say, Sam interrupting.

"Since when is being an asshole out of the ordinary for you?" Sam asked, trying to lighten the mood, rendering you speechless for a moment.

"Can't you just get pissed off and yell at me like a fuckin' normal person?" you asked, Sam sighing as he shook his head.

"What would that solve?" he asked as he took a seat next to you.

"I don't know. Hell, it might make you feel better. You know, giving me a taste of my own medicine." you said, trying your best to calm down.

"Does that really work for you? Do you ever really feel better?" Sam asked, you shrugging your shoulders.

"Sometimes." you said, leaning your head back against the couch.

"Look, you were obviously in the middle of something, and I interrupted." Sam said, you scoffing.

"Don't make excuses for me, Sam. Call it like it really is. I'm a fucking asshole." you said, looking over to him.

"Like it is, huh?" Sam asked, you nodding. "Alright, I think that you are doing everything in your power to avoid dealing with things. Dean, too. You are both so in your heads, and neither one of you will do what needs to be done."

"Yeah, what's that? What need to be done?" you asked, a little defensively.

"We need to TALK about things! We need to sit down and try to put all of the pieces together." Sam said, you rolling your eyes as you let out an annoyed huff.

"Don't go all after school special on me, Sam. Some big group therapy session isn't going to change a God damn thing." you shot back, Sam beginning to get frustrated.

"Yeah, cause sitting here doing what we've been doing is really helping." Sam argued, both of you staring each other down.

"What do you want to hear, Sam? What the fuck do you want me to say?" you asked, trying to keep your temper under control.

"ANYTHING, Y/N! Anything would be better than what you're doing now." Sam shot back.

"Fine." you said, keeping eye contact with him. "I don't know what to fucking do, Sam. I can't even fathom where to start. Nothing I do or say is gonna change what happened. I can't fix any of this. I can't help you. I sure as fuck can't help Dean. I can't even help my fuckin' self. I don't know what happened to me, Sam. I can't remember, but I know that this is my fault. I know that I am the one to blame for all of this."

"What does that mean? What's your fault?" Sam asked, his expression softening.

"Everything, Sam." you said, your voice breaking. "If I wasn't here...John would be."

"You don't know that." Sam said, the sound of a door opening and closing stopping him from saying more.

The two of you listened as Dean made his way to the stairs. He didn't acknowledge you or Sam, his heavy steps on the stairs intermingling with the low mumble of the television. You and Sam sat there in silence as the sounds of Dean's footsteps started to fade.

"Y/N, we need to talk about this, and Dean does too." Sam finally said as you stood up from the couch.

"One existential crisis at a time, Sam. We'll talk tomorrow." you said, completely drained.

Sam studied you for a moment before slowly nodding his head, "Yeah." he sighed, knowing that you would make up an excuse to avoid it.

"Get some sleep, Sam." you said before leaving the room and heading towards the kitchen.

You were seated at the kitchen table, one finger lazily circling the condensation ring left behind by your now empty beer. You made it a point to only drink one, knowing that Dean would want the rest of the six pack. Sam had gone to bed about thirty minutes ago, and you finally forced yourself to stand up from your spot.

You made your way back to the couch and plopped down on the middle cushion, grabbing one of the worn throw pillows and tucking it under your head as you pulled your legs up and laid down. You grabbed the remote from the coffee table and turned the volume down a little on the television, keeping it barely audible. You closed your eyes and tried to focus on the infomercial dialogue, trying your best to clear your mind of everything. You finally managed to fall asleep only to be pulled awake a couple of hours later by the sound of someone rummaging around in the kitchen.

You quickly sat up and found yourself searching for a weapon in your half asleep state. A mumbled string of curse words set your mind at ease and you stopped your search, recognizing the voice and realizing that you were in no danger. You slowly stood up and made your way towards the kitchen, stopping to lean against the doorframe once you got there.

"Top shelf...towards the right." you said, Dean's back to you as he searched the cabinets.

You knew what he was searching for, the empty beer bottles on the table letting you know that he was after something a little stronger. You watched as he found the bottle and turned so that he was leaning against the counter, facing you. He unscrewed the cap and tossed it to the side, sending it sliding down the counter before raising the bottle to his lips.

You couldn't help but think back to the night that he showed up to tell you about Sam. The positions the two of you were in mirrored the ones from that night, but so many things had changed since then. The two of you almost looked like completely different people, both of you seeing more things in that short amount of time than most people would see in an entire lifetime.

"At least I don't have a gun this time." you said, echoing back to that night, hoping that Dean would know what you were talking about.

"Or a douche bag hiding out in your room." Dean shot back, referring to Jake, the corner of your mouth turning up.

"Nah, he's just hiding out in the kitchen this time." you said, Dean huffing out a laugh.

The two of you slipped into silence, neither one of you sure of what to say next. You could feel his eyes on you, and you forced yourself to look up and meet them. Dean opened his mouth to speak, but quickly closed it, his eyes darting to the bottle in his hand.

"You, uh, you should try to get some rest." you finally said before turning to head back to the couch, Dean watching you go without saying anything.

You had tucked yourself into the corner of the couch, your legs drawn up underneath you, your elbow on the armrest of the couch, your head cradled in your hand. You could still hear Dean in the kitchen. It almost sounded like he was pacing back and forth, his footsteps growing louder before fading away, the process continuing over and over. You thought about calling out to him, the sudden stopping of his footsteps causing you to stop and listen. Suddenly, his footsteps started back up, and you could tell that he was headed in your direction.

"Want some company?" Dean asked as he walked into the room, raising the bottle in his hand and giving it a little shake.

"I never say no to a drink." you replied as you looked up at him, Dean looking somewhat relieved as he made his way to the couch.

"You and Sam figure anything out?" Dean asked, nodding his heads towards your journal on the coffee table before passing you the bottle.

"No." you said, taking the bottle from him and raising it to your lips, Dean leaning his head back against the couch.

"He grill you too?" he asked, not looking at you.

"I deserved worse than I got." you said before taking one more drink, Dean holding out his hand for the bottle. "I fuckin' snapped, and I just wanted him to get mad. I wanted him to fuckin' yell at me, but all he wanted to do was-"

"Talk." Dean finished for you, you giving him a small nod. "Yeah, I got that speech too. He...he just..."

"That's just Sam." you said, reaching for the bottle. "I gotta say...this way is a little easier." you added, Dean giving you a half smile.

"Drown it out, right?" he sighed, turning to look at you.

"Drown it out." you echoed, the two of you sharing a look before slipping into silence, passing the bottle back and forth.

"Do you...do you remember anything?" Dean finally asked, you looking away from him.

"Not really. I mean, not anything fuckin' useful. I, uh, I...I remember looking for you, and I remember being fuckin' pissed." you said, not able to tell him about the conversation you had with Yellow Eyes.

"Yeah, I remember lookin' for you too, and the, uh, light." Dean said, pausing a moment. "Where'd you go?"

"I...I don't know." you breathed out, Dean nodding slowly. "I keep tryin' to make fuckin' sense of it, but-"

"You can't." Dean finished for you. "I can't either." he added, a distant, defeated look in his eyes.

"Hey." you said, placing a gloved hand just above his knee. "We'll figure it out. Everything...everything is gonna be okay."

"Yeah." Dean said, giving you a sad smile, not believing a word you said, and you couldn't blame him. "Guess we should call it a night."

"Yeah, I'll, uh, I'll take the couch tonight. You take my bed." you said, Bobby making it abundantly clear that there would be no bed sharing.

"No, you take it." Dean said as he propped his feet up on the coffee table, you rolling your eyes. "Couch is fine with me. You drink enough, you can sleep anywhere."

"No point in arguing, De. You're not gonna win." you said, Dean looking at you as he slouched down onto the couch, his head lying back against the back.

"I'm not movin'." he said, closing his eyes. "But, you know, it's technically not a bed, so..." he added, trailing off as he raised his arm, silently inviting you over.

"Well, since you're gettin' all fuckin' technical on me." you said, scooting over until you were nestled into his side, his arm coming down to wrap around you.

You closed your eyes as you snuggled into his side, the corner of your mouth turning up when you felt him press his lips against the top of your head. You didn't say anything when he lingered, his chest rising as he breathed you in.

"Get some sleep, De." you said, patting his chest, Dean's other hand coming up to rest on yours. "I'll be right here."

You jerked awake, your heart beating wildly in your chest, your breaths short and quick as your eyes darted around the room. You felt Dean shift underneath you, and you tried to match your breathing to his, your hand rising and falling with his chest in a smooth, easy rhythm. You knew that it was just a nightmare, but you also knew that there was no way you would be able to fall back asleep.

You eased yourself out from under Dean's arm, being careful not to wake him, and moved to the edge of the cushion before quickly getting to your feet. You looked over your shoulder at Dean, and stood still for a moment, making sure that he wouldn't wake up. Once you were certain that he wouldn't wake up you grabbed the whiskey bottle from the coffee table and crept from the room.

You had finally made it outside, and allowed yourself to let out of sigh of relief. You had no idea what time it was, but you knew it was early morning. The sky was starting to lighten, the sun beginning to peak over the horizon, setting the sky ablaze with brilliant shades of orange, pink, and red. You couldn't remember the last time you had watched the sunrise. In fact, you weren't entirely sure that you had ever taken the time to actually appreciate it. Honestly, it had never been on your list of priorities and as pretty as it was, you couldn't say that it topped your list now.

There were far too many other things on your mind, and you thought that if you just kept walking you could leave them all behind. So, that's what you did. You walked. You walked up and down the haphazard rows of broken down vehicles, your fingers wrapped loosely around the neck of the whiskey bottle that dangled at your side. But, no matter how many trips you took up and down the rows the thoughts that you were so desperate to outrun always seemed to be just one step behind. They were still there, taunting you, letting you know that no amount of running would suffice.

You stopped in your tracks and looked over at the beaten up, old Lincoln on your left. You curled your fingers tighter around the neck of the whiskey bottle and climbed up onto the hood, leaving your legs dangling freely over the edge. If running wasn't going to work, you had the next best thing. After all, drowning everything out would be much easier. There was far less work in that solution. Just as you raised the bottle to your lips you heard the crunch of footsteps and turned to see Bobby walking towards you.

"Glad you finally stopped. I didn't know how much longer I could keep up." Bobby said, stopping a couple of feet in front of the car.

"You've been following me the whole time?" you asked, a little shocked that you didn't pick up on his presence, Bobby giving you a subtle nod.

"Maybe if you laid off the sauce you woulda known." he said, gesturing towards the bottle.

"Yeah...maybe, but where's the fun in that?" you asked before taking a drink.

"Doesn't look like fun to me, Kid." Bobby said, coming to lean against the hood next to you.

"Yeah, what's it look like then?" you asked, a little defensively, Bobby pausing a moment before turning to look at you.

"It looks like you're runnin', or tryin' to at least." Bobby said, causing you to scoff. "I know you're going through it right now, Kid."

"You read minds now, too?" you asked, anger starting to boil up again.

"No." Bobby said, trying to choose his next words carefully. "But, there ain't many things you can hide from me."

"Yeah, you're good enough at that for the both of us." you snapped back, Bobby's posture going ridgid, "What? Nothin' to say now?"

"I did what I had to do to keep you safe." Bobby said, his response exasperating you.

"From what?!" you yelled, Bobby looking over at you.

"From everything." he returned. "That was my job, and I did what I had to do."

"That doesn't fuckin' tell me anything." you snapped, your grip on the bottle tightening.

"I know." Bobby said, looking down at his feet. "But, that's why I'm out here, Kid. You ask, and I'll tell you what I know."

"Just like that?" you asked, Bobby looking back at you.

"Just like that." he echoed, trying to prepare himself for your questions, watching as you looked away from him, the bottle still clutched tightly in your hand.

"Who...who were they?" you quietly asked. "My parents."

"Your father was a hunter, a good one. James McKenzie. I worked a few cases with him in the early days. I met him though Rufus." Bobby explained, you still looking away from him.

"And her?" you asked, Bobby taking a deep breath.

"I don't know. You gotta understand, Kid...I didn't keep in regular contact with him. He never mentioned anyone, not even the night he showed up with you. I tried to track down what I could. Rufus did too, but we never got anything solid. It was all just through the grapevine bullshit. Some said that she was in the life too, and...and-" Bobby tried, you cutting him off.

"And, it ended like it fuckin' always does. Bloody." you said, Bobby remaining quiet for a moment.

"I can't say for sure." Bobby sighed. "I looked for him too, but I couldn't find anything. It was like he just...disappeared. I kept up the search until..."

"Until?" you asked, finally looking over at him.

"Until it got too dangerous to continue it. You were about four, maybe five." Bobby started, seeming reluctant to continue. "You...you just...you knew things, Kid, and it was stuff you had no way of knowin'. "he said, waiting for you to respond.

"What the fuck does that mean?" you asked, your heart starting to pound.

"It means that...it means..." Bobby started, trailing off before he could finish his thought.

"It means what? What the fuck does it mean?!" you yelled, throwing the bottle, watching as it shattered against a car across from you.

"You would pick up on things, say things that you couldn't know. Things...things that I was thinking, and then there were the dreams." Bobby said, you getting up from the car to pace.

"Dreams?" you asked, pacing back and forth.

"Doctors said they were just night terrors, but they weren't.""Bobby said, his answer rather vague.

"How did you know?" you asked, still pacing.

"I just did." he said, you whipping to face him.

"So, not only did you lie about who I was, but you lied about what I could do, too?" you asked, speaking again before Bobby had a chance to answer. "And, you can't say that you never had the chance to tell me. I called you. I called you, and I told you that I thought something was wrong with me. And, what did you do? You fuckin' lied! You told me that I was fine!"

"You know that people don't always take kindly to what they don't understand. Especially in this business. They would have shot first and asked questions later." Bobby said, you starting to pace again.

"So, you're telling me that you kept everything quiet 'cause you didn't want some hunter findin' out? Scared they were gonna shoot the freak?!" you yelled, Bobby shaking his head.

"Kid, you're not a-" he started, you quickly cutting him off.

"What? Not a freak? Not some sort of fuckin' monster?!" you asked, pulling the glove off of your right hand, the ball of light quickly forming before you sent it crashing into the car across from you, the glass shattering and the metal denting. "Does that look fuckin' human to you?"

"A parent does what they have to do to protect their child." Bobby said, you shaking your head.

"I'm not your kid! Don't you see that everyone would have been a lot better off if you would've just thrown me to the fuckin' wolves all those years ago? I mean, I've been fucking shit up since I was born." you said, a quizzical expression on Bobby's face.

"What the hell are you talking about?" he asked, frustration seeping through.

"It's my fault that my parents are gone. And, who's to say that there's not a trail after them? I mean, you said so yourself. You did what you had to do to keep me safe, to keep everything under wraps." you said, Bobby looking at you a moment before speaking.

"None of that's on you." he said, you huffing out an annoyed laugh.

"It is. I may not have known, but it is. And, then there's John." you said, fixing Bobby with a cold stare.

"John?" Bobby asked, you nodding.

"I don't remember everything that happened, but I remember that. He's gone because of me. If he wouldn't have made the deal for me, then he'd still be here. So, how can you stand there and tell me that everyone is better off with me here?" you asked, your voice cracking a little.

"You can't blame yourself for John's decision. He knew what he was doing, and you don't get to make decisions for everyone else." Bobby said, you interrupting.

"I'm not-" you tried to say, Bobby cutting you off.

"No, you're gonna listen. You say that everyone would be better off if you were gone, but that's bullshit. You think those boys would be better off?" Bobby started, you quickly cutting him off.

"Of course I do! They lost their fucking father because of me!!" you yelled, Bobby shaking his head.

"Family doesn't end with blood, Kid. Those boys would be lost without you, and so would I. I...I've done a lot of things that I'm not proud of, things that haunt me to this day, but you are the one thing that I'm proud of. Hell, you're the reason I'm still going, Kid, and I wouldn't change a thing. I'd do all of it over again, the same exact way if it meant that you were safe."

"But-" you tried to say, Bobby speaking up before you could say anything.

"You listen to me. I may not have made ya, but you're mine. I'm not going anywhere. A parent is there for the good, the bad, and the ugly. And, right now it's pretty God damn ugly, but we're gonna figure all this out, together. Now, you can be mad all you want. I can understand that, but you don't get to check out on me. And, you ain't gettin' rid of me. Cause even if you don't want me to, I'm gonna be there. Ya' got that, Kid?" Bobby asked, you looking at him with teary eyes, waiting a minute before speaking.

"Yeah, I, uh, I got it." you said, trying not to cry, Bobby closing the gap between the two of you to pull you into a hug.

"Everything's gonna be okay, Kid." he said, holding you tightly. "I promise."

Dean was back underneath the Impala, only his legs visible from beneath the frame. He spent all of his time working on it, and although it was little more than a rusted frame, it looked considerably less crushed than it did.

"How's the car coming along?" Sam asked as he approached.

"Slow." Dean said, his reply short.

"Yeah? Need any help?" Sam asked, Dean dropping something heavily.

"What, you under a hood? I'll pass. I'd rather have Singer under here." Dean said, Sam pausing a moment before speaking.

"Need anything else, then?" Sam asked, Dean pushing himself out from under the car and getting to his feet.

"Stop it, Sam." Dean warned, Sam looking a little taken aback.

"Stop what?" Sam asked, Dean shaking his head.

"Stop asking if I need anything, stop asking if I'm okay. I'm okay. Really. I promise." Dean said, Sam slowly nodding, trying to think of a way to make his point without starting a fight. 

"All right, Dean, it's just...We've been at Bobby's for over a week now and you haven't brought up Dad once." Sam said, Dean turning to face him.

"You know what? You're right. Come here. I'm gonna lay my head gently on your shoulder. Maybe we can cry, hug, and maybe even slow dance. I swear, you're a bigger girl than Singer. She's not out here pushin' me." Dean said, Sam's frustration starting to show.

"Don't patronize me, Dean. Dad is dead. The Colt is gone, and it seems pretty damn likely that the demon is behind all of this, and you're acting like nothing happened." Sam said, Dean shaking his head.

"What do you want me to say?" Dean asked.

"Say something, all right. Hell, say anything. Neither one of you have ever had a problem running your mouths before, but now I can't get either one of you to say more than a couple of words. Aren't you angry? Don't you want revenge? But all you do is sit out here all day long buried underneath this damn car." Sam ranted, his frustration seeping through.

"Revenge, huh?" Dean asked, Sam nodding.

"Yeah." Sam replied, hoping that he'd gotten through to him.

"Sounds good. You got any leads on where the demon is? Making heads or tails of any of Dad's research? Because I sure ain't. But, you know, if we do finally find it- oh. No, wait, like you said. The Colt's gone. But, I'm sure you've figured out another way to kill it. We've got nothing, Sam. Nothing, okay? So, you know the only thing I can do? I can work on the car." Dean said, crouching down by the car to get back to work.

"Well, we've got something, all right?" Sam said, pulling out a cell phone. "It's what I came by here to tell you. This is one of Dad's old phones. Took me awhile, but I cracked his voicemail code. Listen to this." Sam said as he held out the phone to Dean, who stood and took it reluctantly.

"John, it's Ellen. Again. Look, don't be stubborn. You know I can help you. Call me." the voicemail said, Sam looking to Dean.

"That message is four months old." Sam said, Dean's interests piqued.

"Dad saved that chick's message for four months?" Dean asked.

"Yeah." Sam replied.

"Well, who's Ellen? Any mention of her in Dad's journal?" Dean asked, Sam shaking his head.

"No. But, I ran a trace on her phone number, and I got an address." Sam said, Dean nodding.

"Go tell Singer, and ask Bobby if we can  use one of his cars." Dean instructed, Sam quickly turning to go before Dean could change his mind.

"This is humiliating. I feel like a fuckin' soccer mom!" Dean exclaimed as the three of you got out of the beat up, poorly maintained minivan that was parked in front of the bar Ellen owned, The Roadhouse.

"It's the only car Bobby had running." Sam said as he looked around the rather empty parking lot. "Hello? Anybody here?"

"So, you know these people?" Dean asked, glancing over at you.

"Yeah, haven't seen 'em in a long time though." you said, adjusting your gun, Dean turning to Sam.

"Hey. You bring the, uh..." he started to ask, Sam nodding.

"Of course." he said, tossing something to Dean before opening the door to go inside.

The Roadhouse was quiet with the exception of a fly buzzing around, "Come on." you said, walking ahead of the two of them, a light bulb suddenly blowing, leaving the bar a little darker than it was.

The three of you came upon a passed out man, and Sam looked down at him, "Hey, buddy?" he asked, pausing a moment. "I'm guessing that isn't Ellen."

"Yeah." Dean said as Sam went into a back room to look around, leaving you and Dean alone, the two of you walking further into the bar.

"Stop." you said, hearing someone behind you, putting your hand out in front of Dean, the two of you side by side.

"Oh God, please let that be a rifle." Dean said, feeling the point of a gun touch his back.

"Maybe they're just real happy to see us." you said, the gun cocking.

"Don't move." a female warned, you thinking that you recognized the voice, glancing over to Dean and giving him a subtle nod.

"Not moving, copy that. You know, you should know something, miss. When you put a rifle on someone, you don't want to put it right against their back. Because it makes it real easy to do..." Dean said, turning fluidly, grabbing the rifle and cocking it. "That."

You turned just in time to see Dean get punched in the nose, the rifle quickly taken away from him as his hands flew to his nose.

"Easy, Jo." you said, pulling your gun as she pointed the rifle at you.

"I know you?" she asked, the two of you in a standoff.

"Sam! Need some help in here." Dean called out before muttering, "I can't see. Singer, I can't even see."

"I got it handled." you said, Jo taking a step towards you, the rifle now within your reach.

"You sure about that?" Dean asked, still clutching his nose as the back door opened to reveal Sam walking though slowly with both hands on his head, Jo turning her head to look, her finger no longer on the trigger.

"Yeah." you said, grabbing the barrel of the rifle and snatching it from her, Jo looking at you in shock as you passed the gun to Dean.

"Sorry, guys. I can't right now. I'm a...little tied up." Sam said, nodding his head, indicating that there was someone behind him.

"Don't worry, Sammy. We've got it handled." you said before looking over to Dean. "Well, maybe not we. Dean wasn't really much help."

"Sam? Dean? Winchester?" a woman asked, stepping out from behind Sam.

"Yeah." Sam and Dean answered in unison, looking a little puzzled.

"Son of a bitch." she said, looking over to you, your gun still partially raised.

"Mom, you know these people?" Jo asked, looking to her mother.

"Yeah, I think these are John Winchester's boys." she said lowering her gun, laughing. "And, I'm willing to bet that you're Y/N Singer." she said, looking to you.

"That's right." you said, lowering your gun.

"It's been awhile. You've grown up. How's your daddy?" she asked, Sam and Dean watching her closely.

"Still kicking." you said, Sam and Dean looking between you and the woman, the woman turning her attention back to them.

"I'm Ellen. This is my daughter Jo." she said, Sam and Dean finally relaxing.

"Hey." Jo said, nodding towards her rifle in Dean's hand.

"You're not gonna hit me again, are you?" Dean asked, passing her the gun.

"No, she's not." you said, giving Jo a look before heading towards the bar.

"Here you go." Ellen said, passing Dean a small towel filled with ice.

"Thanks. You called our Dad, said you could help. Help with what?" Dean asked, grimacing as he held the towel to his nose.

"Well, the demon, of course. I heard he was closing in on it." Ellen explained, Dean eyeing her.

"What, was there an article in Demon Hunters Quarterly that I missed? I mean, who...who are you? How do you know about all this?" Dean asked, Ellen looking to you.

"You'll have to excuse him." you said, Dean's head whipping to face you, Ellen chuckling.

"Hey, I just run a saloon, but hunters have been known to pass through now and again. Including your dad a long time ago. John was like family once." Ellen explained.

"Oh yeah? How come he never mentioned you before?" Dean asked, still weary of her.

"You'd have to ask him that." Ellen said, you looking down at the bar.

"So, why exactly do we need your help?" Dean asked, getting back on track.

"Hey, don't do me any favors. Look, if you don't want my help, fine. Don't let the door smack your ass on the way out. But, John wouldn't have sent you if..." she said, stopping when you gave her a look, the realization hitting her. "He didn't send you." she said, Dean looking down before glancing over to you and back to Sam. "He's all right, isn't he?"

"No. No, he isn't. It was the demon, we think. It, um, it just got him before he got it, I guess." Sam said, Ellen shaking her head.

"I'm so sorry." she said, giving both boys a sincere look.

"It's okay. We're all right." Dean quickly said, any mention of John making him uncomfortable.

"Really? I know how close you and your dad were." Ellen said, Dean appearing annoyed.

"Ellen." you said, shaking your head, letting her know to drop it.

"Really, lady, I'm fine." he said, Ellen nodding, realizing that it was a sensitive subject.

"So look, if you can help, we could use all the help we can get." Sam said, Ellen looking between the three of you.

"Well, we can't. But, Ash will." Ellen said, a smile sliding onto your face.

"Who's Ash?" Sam asked, confused.

"Ash!" Ellen yelled, the man that was passed out jerking away, flailing as he sat up.

"What? It closin' time?" he asked, looking around the bar.

"That's Ash?" Sam asked as you laughed to yourself.

"MM-hmm. He's a genius." Jo said, both Sam and Dean looking over to her.

You and Sam were sitting on either side of Ash, Dean standing behind the three of you while Jo poured glasses of water on the other side of the bar. Ash was busy staring at you. You could tell that he was trying to figure out how he knew you, a brown folder being slapped down on the bar making him flinch, but not deterring his focus.

"I don't think we've met." Ash said, extending his hand to you.

"I gotta say...I'm a little offended." you teased, the wheels turning in Ash's mind.

"Don't be offended. There's no way I could forget a face like that, or a..." Ash said, trailing off as his eyes roamed down your body, Dean clearing his throat.

"You sure about that, Sugar?" you asked, Ash's eyes lighting up.

"Y/N? Y/N Singer?" he asked, you giving him a wink.

"In the flesh." you said, Ash smiling brightly.

"Well, God damn! I knew you were somethin' by the sound of your voice, but it just doesn't do you justice." Ash said, Dean rolling his eyes.

"You've gotta be kidding me. This guy's no genius. He's a Lynyrd Skynyrd roadie." Dean said, Ash turning to face him.

"I like you." Ash said, a smile on his face.

"Thanks." Dean said, Jo shaking her head.

"Just give him a chance." Jo said, you nodding.

"He knows his stuff. He's helped me out a few times." you said, Dean looking at you. "Over the phone." you added, Dean coming to sit next to you, moving his stool so that he was basically on top of you before opening the folder.

"All right. This stuff's about a year's worth of our dad's work. So, uh, let's see what you make of it." Dean said, Ash pulling out the papers and rifling through them, shaking his head.

"Come on. This crap ain't real. There ain't nobody can track a demon like this." Ash said, looking up at Dean.

"Our Dad could." Sam said, Ash glancing at him before looking back at the papers.

"There are non-parametrics, statistical overviews, prospects and correlations, I mean...damn! They're signs. Omens. Uh, if you can track 'em, you can track this demon. You know, like crop failures, electrical storms...You ever been struck by lightening? It ain't fun." Ash said, rambling.

"Can you track it or not?" Sam asked, Ash cocking his head to the side.

"Yeah, with this...I think so. But, It's gonna take time, uh, give me...fifty one hours." Ash said, getting up to leave.

"Hey, man?" Dean called out, stopping him.

"Yeah." Ash said, turning to face him.

"I, uh, I did the haircut." Dean said, Ash smiling.

"All business up front, party in the back." Ash said, running his hand over his mullet. "Hey Y/N, could you help me with somethin'?"

"Yeah." you said, getting up from your spot, you and Ash walking off as Jo came out from behind the bar.

Dean watched the two of you closely, his brow furrowing as he watched you laugh at something Ash said. Jo made sure to step into his line of sight, giving him a flirty smile as she gestured for him to follow her. Dean took one last look at you before following after her, leaving Sam alone at the bar.

"Hey, Ellen, what is that?" Sam asked, spotting something behind the bar.

"It's a police scanner. We keep tabs on things, we-" Ellen said, Sam cutting her off.

"No, no, no, no, the, um, the folder." Sam said, nodding towards the folder.

"Uh, I was gonna give this to a friend of mine, but take a look, if you want." Ellen said, taking the folder from its spot and placing it in front of Sam.

"How did your mom get into this stuff, anyway?" Dean asked, him and Jo sitting by the window.

"From my dad. He was a hunter. He passed away." Jo said, Dean letting out a slow breath.

"I'm sorry." he said, Jo waving it off.

"It was a long time ago. I was just a kid. Sorry to hear about your dad." Jo said, Dean slowly nodding, uncomfortable with the subject.

"Yeah." he said, looking over at you and Ash, Jo following his stare.

"So, I guess you've got fifty one hours to waste. Maybe tonight we should..."she said, trailing off, Dean looking over at her. "What?"

"Nothing, just, uh..."Dean said, looking over at you, Jo nodding.

"Gotcha." she said, watching as he stared at you. "You know, at first I thought you might toss me some cheap pickup line." she said, Dean chuckling. "Most hunters come through that door thinking they can get in my pants with some...pizza, a six pack, and side one of Zeppelin IV." she added, Dean smiling to himself when he remembered you throwing out that exact scenario as a date idea.

"Well...what a bunch of scumbags." Dean said, turning to look at her.

"Not you?" Jo asked, glancing over at you before looking back to Dean.

"Not me." Dean said, giving her a tight lipped smile.

"So, whatcha need?" you asked, Ash stopping to turn and face you.

"Uh, well, I..."Ash said, clearing his throat. "How long are you sticking around?"

"You said you needed fifty one hours, so I'd guess that'd be about it." you said, Ash nodding.

"That's it, huh? Well, that's a damn shame." he said, you raising a brow at him.

"Yeah, why's that?" you asked, Ash wiggling his brows at you causing you to laugh.

"Cause we coulda had a damn good time." Ash said, you smiling before glancing back at Dean, who was talking to Jo. "Don't tell me..." Ash said, looking at Dean.

"Yep." you said, Ash sighing.

"Just my luck." he said, you laughing under your breath. "You know he doesn't look so tough. Maybe I could take him." he joked, you laughing again. "Well, uh, that ever goes south, you know who to call."

"You'll be the first one I call." you said, both you and Ash laughing.

"Hey guys, come here." Sam called out. "Check this out." he added, both you and Dean walking back to the bar.

"Yeah." you said, Sam looking up at you.

"A few murders not far from here that Ellen caught wind of. Looks to me like there might be a hunt." Sam said, looking between the two of you.

"Yeah, so?" Dean said, shrugging his shoulders.

"So, I told her we'd check it out." Sam said as he gathered all of the papers back into the folder and stood up.

The three of you were back in the minivan, Dean driving, Sam in the passenger seat, you leaning up from the backseat. The rain was coming down hard, forcing the three of you to speak louder than normal.

"You've gotta be kidding me. A killer clown?" Dean asked, Sam still looking at the research in his lap.

"Well, you just gotta be shittin' bricks right about now." you said, Sam shooting you a dirty look.

"He left the daughter unharmed and killed the parents. Ripped them to pieces, actually." Sam explained.

"And this family was at some carnival that night?" Dean asked, Sam nodding.

"Right, right. The, uh, Cooper Carnival." Sam said, flipping through some of the papers.

"Okay, but how do you know that we're not just dealing with some fuckin' psycho carnie in a clown suit?" you asked, Sam turning in his seat to face you.

"Well, the cops have no viable leads, and all the employees were tearing down shop. Alibis all around. Plus, this girl said she saw a clown vanish into thin air. Cops are saying trauma, of course." Sam explained, Dean looking over at him.

"Well, I know what you're thinking, Sam. Why did it have to be clowns?" Dean said, not hearing your earlier remark.

"Oh, give me a break." Sam said, rolling his eyes, both you and Dean laughing.

"You didn't think we'd remember, did you? I mean, come on, you still bust out crying whenever you see Ronald McDonald on the television." Dean teased, Sam scoffing.

"Well, at least I'm not afraid of flying." Sam said, Dean's eyes going wide.

"Planes crash!" he fired back, Sam turning to you.

"Or small spaces." Sam said, you rolling your eyes.

"Oh, you can fuck right off, Sam. MIne is a much more realistic fear, and you know it.  I mean, what the fuck is so scary about a clown?" you asked, Sam shaking his head.

"Well, apparently clowns kill, Y/N." Sam said, Dean speaking up before the two of you got into a ridiculous argument.

"So, these type of murders, they ever happen before?" Dean asked, Sam looking down at the file.

"Uh, according to the file, 1981, the Bunker Brothers Circus, same M.O.. It happened three times, three different locales." Sam explained, Dean shaking his head.

"It's weird, though. I mean, if it's a spirit it's usually bound to a specific locale. You know, a house, or a town." Dean said, Sam looking to him.

"So, how's this one moving from city to city, carnival to carnival?" Sam asked.

"Cursed object, maybe." you said, Dean nodding.

"Yeah, spirit attaches itself to something and the, uh, carnival carries it around with them." Dean said, Sam sighing.

"Great. Paranormal scavenger hunt." Sam said, closing the file in his lap.

"Tell me about it." you said, leaning back in your seat.

"Well, this case was your idea." Dean said, glancing over to Sam. "By the way, why is that? You were awfully quick to jump on this job."

"So?" Sam said, shrugging his shoulders.

"It's just...not like you, that's all. I thought you were hell bent for leather on the demon hunt." Dean said, you leaning back up, expecting a fight.

"I don't know, I just think, this job, it's what Dad would have wanted us to do." Sam said, you looking between the two of them, gauging the situation.

"What Dad would have wanted?" Dean asked, you looking over to him.

"De." you warned, giving him a look.

"Yeah, so?" Sam asked, Dean glancing at you before turning his attention back to the road.

"Nothin'." Dean clipped out, you leaning into your seat with a sigh.

The minivan squeaked to a stop outside of the carnival, and the three of you climbed out. You leaned against the side of the van, watching as what appeared to be detectives talked to some of the carnies.

"Check it out, Five-oh." Dean said, nodding his head in their direction.

"You got it?" you asked, Dean nodding before walking off towards the carnies, trying to get what facts he could.

Both you and Sam ventured closer to the carnival grounds, Sam shoving his hands in his pockets as the two of you subtly looked around. You turned your head just in time to see a woman, who was about three feet tall, in a clown outfit approaching. You looked up at Sam and tried to hide your smile. He was staring at her nervously as she walked by, his posture rigid as he tried to keep his cool.

"Did you get her number?" Dean asked as he approached the two of you, Sam scowling at the question.

"More murders?" Sam asked, Dean nodding.

"Two more last night. Apparently, they were ripped to shreds, and they had a little boy with them." Dean explained, both you and Sam listening closely.

"Who fingered a clown." Sam said, you snorting out a laugh, Dean pausing and giving him a weird look.

"Sounds pretty kinky if you ask me." you said, not able to keep a straight face, Sam giving you a completely done look, Dean chuckling.

"Really, Y/N?" Sam asked, you shrugging your shoulders.

"What? You said it." you said, Dean shaking his head, trying not to smile.

"Alright, back on track." Dean said, Sam looking at him to continue. "Yeah, the kid saw a clown, who apparently vanished into thin air."

"Guys, you know, looking for a cursed object is like trying to find a needle in a stack of needles. They could be anything." Sam said, you sighing.

"And we don't even fuckin' know if that's what we're dealing with for sure." you said, Sam nodding in agreement.

"Well, if it's a cursed object then, it's bound to give off EMF, so we'll just have to scan everything." Dean said, Sam giving him a look.

"Oh, good, that's nice and...inconspicuous." Sam sarcastically said, you looking over to him.

"You got a better idea?" you asked, Dean spotting something nearby.

"I guess we'll just have to blend in." Dean said, nodding his head towards a "Help Wanted" sign.

"Excuse me, we're looking for a Mr. Cooper, have you seen him around?" Dean asked, the three of you stepping into the tent of a man throwing knives at a target, all the knives landing near but not quite on the bullseye.

"What is that, some kind of joke?" the man asked, pulling off his sunglasses to reveal that he was blind.

"Oh, God, I'm, I'm sorry." Dean said, embarrassed by his blunder.

"You think I wouldn't give my eyeteeth to see Mr. Cooper? Or a sunset, or anything at all?" the man asked, Dean looking to you and Sam for help.

"Wanna give me a little help here?" Dean quietly asked the two of you.

"Not really." Sam said, you quickly jumping in.

"You're doin' great." you said, giving him the okay signal with your hand.

"Hey man, is there a problem?" someone asked, Dean turning, then looking down to see an extremely short man in a red cape.

"Yeah, this guy hates blind people." the blind man said, Dean shaking his head.

"No, I don't. I-" Dean tried to explain, the short man cutting him off.

"Hey buddy, what's your problem?" he asked, looking up at Dean.

"Nothing, it's just a little misunderstanding." Dean said, you grabbing onto his arm, catching his mistake.

"Little?! You son of a bitch!" the short man yelled, Dean's eyes going wide.

"No, no, no, no! I'm just, could somebody tell me where Mr. Cooper is?" Dean asked, both you and Sam laughing. "Please?"

"You kids picked a hell of a time to join up. Take a seat." Mr. Cooper said as the three of you walked into his office. "Sorry about the lack of chairs."

"No problem." you said, giving him a friendly smile, Dean looking at the available chairs.

One of the chairs was normal, the other was pink with a giant clown face on it. Dean quickly beat Sam to the normal chair, and pulled you so that you basically fell into his lap. Sam scowled, and fidgeted before sitting gingerly in the clown chair, giving you and Dean one final dirty look before composing himself.

"We've got all kinds of local trouble." Mr. Cooper said once the three of you had settled.

"What do you mean?" Dean asked, you shifting so that he could see Mr. Cooper.

"Oh, a couple of folks got themselves murdered. Cops always seem to start here first. So, you three ever worked the circuit before?" Mr. Cooper asked, looking between the three of you.

"Yes sir, last year through Texas and Arkansas." Sam said, both you and Dean nodding.

"Yeah." the two of you said in unison.

"Doing what? Ride jockeys? Butcher? ANS Men?" Mr. Cooper asked before turning to you. "Surely they had a looker like you doin' something special."

"Oh yeah, I....they always saved me for the good stuff." you said, Sam quickly jumping in.

"Yeah, it's, uh, little bit of everything, I guess." Sam said, Mr. Cooper studying the three of you closely.

"You three have never worked a show in your lives before, have you?" Cooper asked, you letting out a slow breath.

"Nope. But we really need the work. Oh, and uh, Sam here's got a thing for the bearded lady." Dean joked, Sam shooting him a look.

"You see that picture? That's my daddy." Mr. Cooper said, pointing out an old black and white photo.

"You look just like him." Sam said, you looking at the photo a little longer before turning to Mr. Cooper.

"You really do." you said, thinking that they looked like the same person.

"He was in the business. Ran a freakshow. Till they outlawed them, most places. Apparently displaying the deformed isn't dignified. So, most of the performers went from honest work to rotting in hospitals and asylums. That's progress, I guess. You see, this place, it's a refuge for outcasts. Always has been, for folks that don't fit in nowhere else. But, you three? You should go to school. Find a partner, have 2.5 kids. Live regular." Mr. Cooper said, Dean opening his mouth to speak, Sam leaning forward, his eyes serious.

"Sir, we don't want to go to school. And we don't want regular. We want this." Sam said, both you and Dean looking at him a little shocked.

"Huh." Dean said, once the three of you had walked out of Mr. Cooper's office.

"What?" Sam asked, Dean pausing a moment before speaking.

"That whole, uh, I don't want to go back to school thing. Were you just saying that to Cooper or were you, you know, saying it?" Dean asked, both you and him watching Sam closely.

"Sam?" you asked, when he didn't answer.

"I don't know." Sam said with a shrug of his shoulders.

"You don't know? I thought that once the demon was dead and the fat lady sings that you were gonna take off, head back to Wussy State. You know, leave all the work to me and Singer." Dean said, you elbowing him.

"I'm having second thoughts." Sam said, shocking you a little.

"Really?" you asked, Sam nodding.

"Yeah. I think...Dad would have wanted me to stick with the job." Sam said, Dean giving him a look.

"Since when do you give a damn what Dad wanted? You spent half your life doing exactly what he didn't want, Sam." Dean said, you whipping to face him.

"Dean!" you barked, Dean looking down at you.

"What? You know it's true." Dean said, you shaking your head.

"Since he died, okay? Do you have a problem with that?" Sam asked, looking at Dean, Dean finally turning to face him.

"Naw, I don't have a problem at all." Dean said, shaking his head as he walked off.

Sam, clad in a red "Cooper Carnival" jacket was picking up trash while surreptitiously scanning with the EMF meter. He walked up to the fun house and looked around before walking inside, still scanning. Suddenly, a skeleton fell from the ceiling, and Sam scanned it. The EMF meter didn't react, but Sam did get an idea.

Dean was wearing a similar red uniform jacket and picking up trash to put in the dumpster when his cell phone rang.

"Hello." Dean said.

"Hey, man." Sam said, Dean still looking around for trash.

"What's the matter? You sound like you just saw a clown." Dean teased, Sam huffing out a breath.

"Very funny. Skeleton, actually." Sam said.

"Like a real human skeleton?" Dean asked, thinking that it could be what the three of you were searching for.

"In the fun house. Listen, I was thinking. What if the spirit isn't attached to a cursed object? What if it's attached to its own remains?" Sam asked, on the same page as Dean.

"Did the bones give off EMF?" Dean asked.

"Well, no, but-" Sam started, Dean cutting him off.

"We should check it out anyway. I'm gonna grab Singer, then we'll head to you." Dean said, hanging up the phone, the blind man from earlier grabbing his arm.

"What are you doing here, kid?" the blind man asked, Dean thrown off by his sudden appearance.

"I'm...I was just sweeping." Dean said, the blind man not convinced.

"Bull. And, what were you talking about? Skeletons? What's EMF?" the blind man asked, rattling off rapid fire questions.

"Dude, your blind man hearing is out of control." Dean said, shocked that he overheard everything.

"We're a tight knit group. We don't like outsiders. We take care of our own problems." the blind man said, a little threateningly.

"We got a problem?" Dean asked, watching the man closely.

"You tell me. You're the one talking about human bones." the blind man said, Dean racing to come up with an explanation.

"Do you believe in ghosts?" Dean blurted out.

"What?" the blind man asked, thrown off by the question.

"My brother, my girlfriend, and me...umm. We're writing a book about them." Dean said before quickly excusing himself to find you.

Dean had tried calling your phone a couple of times, each call going straight to voicemail. He walked around the grounds until he came upon the Strongman's tent. Mr. Cooper had given you the job of his assistant, and Dean could tell that the two of you were in the middle of a show, the crowd's applause and cheering ringing out from the tent.

Dean stepped through the opening and stood at the back of the crowd, watching as you walked around the strongman, showcasing him like a model would a prize on The Price is Right. This was the strongman's act, but Dean couldn't help but notice that most eyes were on you.

You always did have a habit of turning heads, but the skin tight, barely there crop top and skimpy shorts that left little to the audience's imagination certainly wasn't helping. Dean shrugged off his red jacket, dead set on covering you up the second you were off stage, and watched as the strongman prepared for the final act of the show.

Dean watched the strongman get down on one knee in the center of the stage, and hold out a hand to you. You circled around him before coming to a stop at his side, facing towards the crowd. The strongman turned the hand closest to you palm side up, his arm bent at the elbow, and you eased yourself down until you were sitting on his hand. With one fluid motion the strongman stood up, using his free hand to hold onto your hand to help balance you. With a nod of his head the strongman fully extended his arms, and the crowd went wild as he balanced you above his head.

Even though you had a bright smile plastered on your face Dean could tell that you were about two seconds away from losing your cool. Dean tossed his jacket on the back of one of the empty chairs and pushed his way to the stage, the corner of his mouth turning up when he saw how relieved you were to see him.

"Ivan, down." you said, the strongman looking up at you. "Pryamo seychas, mudak." you spat, Dean looking at you in confusion as Ivan quickly put you down.

As soon as your feet hit the stage you were whipping around to face Ivan, who was backing up with his hands up. Dean quickly jumped up on the stage and grabbed you around the waist, pulling you back towards him.

"Come on, Singer." Dean said as you struggled in his hold.

"No, no, no. That fucker has it comin'. Not only did I have to deal with his fuckin' hand up my God damn ass all day, but my gloves weren't worthy of the costume." you said, Dean walking you back to the edge of the stage. "I could hear everything. He's lucky most of it was in Russian, or I probably would have bashed his God damn brains in." you added, Dean huffing out a laugh.

"Want me to go knock the guy on his ass?" Dean asked, still holding onto you, your fists clenched to keep from touching him.

"All I'm gonna say is that if you don't get me outta here we're gonna have another body on our hands." you said, Dean releasing you before walking down the steps.

"Let's go then. Sam thinks he may have something." Dean said as the two of you walked to the back of the tent, Dean grabbing his discarded jacket off the back of the chair and draping it over your shoulders.

"What'd you say back there, anyway?" Dean asked as the two of you walked out of the tent.

"Called him an asshole." you said, pulling the jacket closed around you.

"You speak Russian?" Dean asked, one brow raised.

"I picked up a few words from dumb ass back there, but I'm pretty fluent in curse words in most languages." you said, Dean chuckling as the two of you walked to meet Sam.

"What took you guys so long?" Sam asked, looking between you and Dean.

"You don't wanna know." you sighed, Dean nodding.

"Yeah, long story." Dean said, Sam shaking his head in frustration.

"Mommy, look at that clown!" a little girl shouted, the three of you looking over to see a little girl pointing at nothing.

"What clown?" the child's mother asked. "Come on sweetie, Come on." she said before pulling the little girl away, the three of you sharing a look, knowing that you had the next targets.

"I cannot believe the two of you told Papazian about the homicidal phantom clown." Sam said, the three of you on stakeout outside the family from the carnivals home.

"It's not like we sought him out. We bumped into him on our way to meet you, and he started asking questions. We had to tell him something." you said, leaning up from the backseat.

"And that's what you came up with?" Sam asked, you rolling your eyes.

"Look, we told him an urban legend about a homicidal phantom clown. We never said it was real." Dean said as he pulled out his gun and cocked it, Sam grabbing at it, pushing Dean's hands down.

"Keep that down!" Sam scolded, afraid that someone would see.

"Relax, nobody can fuckin' see anything." you said, Dean speaking up before Sam could say anything to you.

"Oh, and get this. We mentioned the Bunker Brother's Circus in '81 and their uh, evil clown apocalypse. Guess what." Dean said, Sam paying close attention.

"What?" Sam asked, anxious for Dean to continue.

"Before Mr. Cooper owned Cooper Carnival, he worked for Bunker Brothers. He was their lot manager." you explained, Sam nodding.

"So, you think whatever the spirit's attached to, Cooper just brought it with him?" Sam asked, you shrugging your shoulders.

"Something like that. It's the best we could come up with for now." you said, Dean shaking his head and sighing.

"I can't believe we keep talking about clowns." he said, you laughing under your breath as you leaned back in your seat, Dean closing his eyes.

Dean was dozing in the front seat when a light flicked on in the family's dining room, both you and Sam jumping to attention. Sam quickly shook Dean awake while you opened the bag next to you and started pulling out weapons. The three of you quickly exited the vehicle and rushed to the house, dead set on getting inside before the spirit did.

The three of you were hiding in wait, weapons at the ready as the little girl started to lead the clown down the hallway, "Wanna see Mommy and Daddy? They're upstairs." the little girl said, Sam leaping out and grabbing the girl, who started to scream.

Dean fired off a shot and hit the clown in the chest, the clown falling on it's back. You held your gun on him and quickly fired off another shot when he started to get back up.

"What the fuck?" you asked, the clown getting to his feet as both you and Dean tried to rack in another round.

"Sam, watch out!" Dean yelled, the clown leaping out the window, turning invisible as it ran away, the girl's parents rushing into the room.

"What's going on here? Get away from my-" the girl's father started, the mother quickly jumping in.

"Oh my God! What are you doing to my daughter?!" the mother asked, a horrified look on her face.

"Who the hell are you? Get out! Get out of my house!" the father yelled, the three of you running away as fast as you possibly could.

Dean pulled the minivan off the side of the road and put it in park. The three of you climbed out and started to dig out all of your belongings, Dean stopping to take the license plates as well.

"You really think they saw our plates?" Sam asked, watching as Dean tucked the plates into his bag.

"Not worth the chance." you said, hitching your bag up on your shoulder, Dean nodding in agreement.

"Besides, I hate this fuckin' thing anyway." Dean said, the three of you starting to walk down the road. "Well, one thing's for sure."

"What's that?" Sam asked, looking over to Dean.

"We're not dealing with a spirit." Dean said, you nodding.

"Yeah, that rock salt hit something fuckin' solid." you said, Sam looking to you.

"Yeah, a person? Or maybe a creature that can make itself invisible?" Sam asked, you shrugging your shoulders.

"Yeah, and dresses up like a clown for kicks? Did it say anything in Dad's journal?" Dean asked, Sam shaking his head.

"Nope." Sam replied, clearing his throat and pulling out his phone.

"Who are you calling?" Dean asked, nodding towards Sam's phone.

"Maybe Ellen or that guy Ash will know something." Sam said.

"They'll definitely be able to narrow it down and give us a direction to go in." you said, Sam pausing in the middle of dialing the number.

"Hey, you guys think, uh, you guys think Dad and Ellen ever had a thing?" Sam asked, looking between you and Dean.

"No way." Dean said, shaking his head.

"Then, why didn't he tell us about her?" Sam asked.

"I don't think it's that big of a deal. I mean, I knew her and never said anything. It just never came up. You don't gotta tell people every single fucking person you know." you said, Sam shaking his head.

"But, she said he was like family once. I just think it's a little weird that he never mentioned her." Sam said.

"I don't know, maybe they had some sort of falling out." Dean said, Sam looking down at his feet.

"Yeah, you guys ever notice that Dad had a falling out with just about everybody? I mean, look at him and Bobby." Sam said, looking to you.

"I don't have anything to say about that." you said, Sam looking to Dean.

"Can't you see it?" Sam asked, Dean nodding casually, Sam lowering the phone. "Well, don't get all Maudlin on me, man."

"What do you mean?" Dean asked, you knowing that a fight was bound to break out.

"Sam." you warned, Sam waving you off.

"No, no. You both need to hear this. This strong, silent thing the two of you are doing is crap." Sam said, Dean shaking his head.

"Oh, God!" Dean sighed, you preparing to break the two of them up.

"I'm over it. This isn't just anyone we're talking about." Sam said, looking at Dean. "This is Dad. I know how you felt about the man."

"You know what, back off, all right? Just because I'm not caring and sharing like you want me to." Dean fired back, you stepping between them.

"We're not gonna do this right now." you said, Sam completely ignoring you.

"No, no, no, that's not what this is about, Dean. I don't care how you deal with this, but you have to deal with it, man, both of you. Drinking yourselves stupid doesn't count. Listen, I'm your brother, all right?" Sam said before looking to you. "Y/N, you're like my sister, and I know that you are going through things right now, too. I just want to make sure that you guys are okay."

"Sam, I'm fine." you said, Sam sighing before looking to Dean.

"Dude, I'm okay. I'm okay, okay? I swear, the next person who asks me if I'm okay, I'm gonna start throwing punches. I don't understand why you have to keep pushing. I mean, fuck, it's like the only peace I can get is when I'm working on the car, or when I'm with Singer. She gets it, man. Why can't you? These are your issues, quit dumping them on us." Dean said, you ready to jump in.

"What are you talking about?" Sam asked, Dean looking down at his feet, pausing a moment before making eye contact with Sam.

"I just think it's really interesting, this sudden obedience you have to Dad. It's like, oh, what would Dad want me to do? Sam, you spent your entire life slugging it out with that man. I mean, hell, you...you picked a fight with him the last time you ever saw him. And, now that he's dead, now you want to make it right? Well, I'm sorry Sam, but you can't, it's too little, too late." Dean said, you putting your hand on his chest to stop him.

"Why are you saying this to me?" Sam asked, you shaking your head.

"Don't. Enough is enough." you said, trying to protect Sam, Dean looking down at you before looking to Sam.

"Because I want you to be honest with yourself about this. I'm dealing with Dad's death! Are you?"Dean asked, you pushing against his chest.

"God fucking damn it! I said that was enough. He got the fuckin' point." you said, Sam swallowing loudly, looking upset.

"I'm going to go call Ellen." Sam quietly said before walking ahead of you and Dean.

You and Dean caught up to Sam a little further down the road, neither one of you saying anything to each other about the blow up. Both of you kept a bit of distance from Sam and listened as he finished his conversation.

"Thanks a lot." Sam said before hanging up the phone and turning to you and Dean. "Rakshasa."

"What's that?" Dean asked, you thinking back to where you'd heard the name before.

"Ellen's best guess." Sam started, you interrupting.

"Rakshasa. That's Hindu, isn't it?" you asked, Sam looking to you.

"Yeah, it's a race of ancient Hindu creatures. They appear in human form, and they feed on human flesh. They can make themselves invisible, and they cannot enter a home without first being invited." Sam explained, looking between you and Dean.

"So, they dress up like clowns, and the children invite 'em in." Dean said.

"Yeah." Sam said, you nodding.

"That's pretty fuckin' smart." you said, both boys agreeing.

"Why don't they just munch on the kids?" Dean asked, Sam shrugging.

"No idea. Not enough meat on the bones, maybe?" Sam suggested.

"What else'd you find out?" Dean asked.

"Well, apparently, Rakshasas live in squalor. The sleep on a bed of dead insects." Sam said, you wrinkling your nose.

"Nice." Dean sighed, Sam nodding.

"Yeah, and they have to feed a few times every twenty or thirty years." Sam said, you jumping in.

"Slow metabolism, I guess." you said, Sam huffing out a breath.

"Well, that makes sense. I mean, the carnival today, the Bunker Brothers in '81." Dean said, Sam looking over to him.

"Right. Probably more before that." Sam said, you taking a few steps ahead of them before turning around to face them, continuing to walk backwards.

"Well boys, who do we know that worked both shows?" you asked, Sam and Dean sharing a look.

"Cooper?" Sam asked, Dean quickly speaking up.

"Cooper." Dean said, you nodding.

"You know, that picture of his father, that looked just like him." Sam said, you falling back in line with them.

"You think maybe it was him?" Dean asked.

"That's what I would bet on." you said, looking over at him.

"Yeah, who knows how old he is." Sam said, the three of you quiet for a moment.

"Ellen say how to kill him?" Dean asked, you speaking up before Sam could answer.

"Some kind of blade I think. I've read about it before, but I can't fuckin' remember." you said before looking to Sam.

"Legend goes, a dagger made of pure brass." Sam said.

"I think I know where to get one of those." Dean said, Sam stopping the two of you.

"Well, before we go stabbing things into Cooper, we're going to want to make damn sure it's him." Sam said, a serious expression on his face as he looked between you and Dean.

"Come on, Sam." you sighed. "Where's the fun in that?" you teased.

"You're such a stickler for details, Sammy." Dean said, the three of you smiling at each other. "All right, me and Singer will round up the blade, you go check if Cooper's got bedbugs."

Once the three of you were back on the carnival grounds Sam split away from you and Dean. He headed towards Cooper's trailer while you and Dean went to go find the blind man.

"Well, I've got all kinds of knives. I don't know if I've got a brass one, though." the blind man said, leading you and Dean into his trailer.

Sam picked the lock on Cooper's trailer and eased open the door. He stepped inside and quickly looked around, pulling out his pocket knife once he spotted the small bed. Sam walked over and started to slice through the mattress, looking for any evidence of dead insects. Suddenly, Sam heard a gun cock from behind him, and he instantly froze.

"What do you think you're doing?" Mr. Cooper asked, pointing his gun at Sam.

The blind man let you and Dean into his trailer and tapped a trunk with his cane, "Check the trunk." he said, Dean bending down to open the trunk, both of you spotting the red clown wig.

"Well, fuck me." you whispered, Dean standing back up.

"You?" he asked, the blind man dropping his cane before pulling off his glasses.

"Me." he said, his eyes going cloudy, his face beginning to melt as he waved, his face then disappearing Cheshire Cat style, his glowing eyes the last thing you saw.

Dean grabbed a hold of your wrist and pulled you towards the door. He started to struggle with the door, a knife flying past his head to bury into the door. You quickly pulled off a glove and held up your hand as Dean jumped back, another knife landing with a thunk a little higher.

"All right!" Dean yelled, you releasing the ball of light in the direction the knives came from, unsure if you even hit him.

"We need to fuckin' move." you said, looking back over your shoulder at him, Dean finally managing to get the door open.

"Hey!" Sam shouted, seeing the two of you tumble out of the trailer.

"Hey." Dean said, making sure that you were by his side.

"So, Cooper thinks I'm a Peeping Tom, but it's not him." Sam said, looking between you and Dean.

"Yeah, no shit." you said, looking behind you, Dean quickly jumping in.

"Yeah, we gathered that. It's the blind guy. He's here somewhere." Dean said, the two of you looking around.

"Well, did you guys get the-" Sam started to ask, Dean interrupting.

"The brass blades? No." Dean said, Sam looking to you.

"We were a little busy trying not to become fuckin' pin cushions. Asshole started throwin' fuckin' knives after he went all Invisible Man on us." you said, Dean nodding.

"Yeah, it's just been one of those days." he said, Sam pausing to think a moment.

"I got an idea. Come on." Sam said, leading the two of you towards the fun house.

The three of you entered the fun house, a door slamming down as you went through. Dean was on one side while you and Sam were on the other, both of them struggling to open the door.

"Sam! Singer!" Dean yelled, still trying to open the door.

"De, you okay?" you asked as Sam stopped trying.

"Dean, find the maze!" Sam instructed before pulling you along after him.

Sam stopped in front of a pipe organ, the organ giving off steam. He reached for one of the pipes, quickly pulling his hand back as he grimaced from the heat.

"Here." you said, grabbing onto the pipe with your gloved hands, trying to pull it down.

Sam stuck his hand into his pocket and pulled out a bandanna before wrapping it around his hand, He grabbed onto the pipe and helped you pull, the pipe snapping free just as Dean came around the corner.

"Hey." Dean said, you pulling off your gloves as Sam took the pipe in his hands.

"Hey! Where is it?" Sam asked, looking frantically around.

"I don't know. I mean, shouldn't we see it's clothes walking around?"Dean asked, you shaking your head.

"We didn't see them in the trailer." you said, a knife flying past, pinning Dean's sleeve to the wall, another one zooming by to pin his wrist.

"Guys!" Dean yelled, Sam stalking forward slowly, a knife flying past his head.

"Where is he?" Sam asked, you trying to free Dean.

"I don't know!" Dean shouted, reaching up with his free hand and pulling a lever, more steam pouring from the pipe organ, giving a vague shape to the invisible attacker.

"Sam, behind you!" you yelled, Sam stabbing the pipe behind him without looking.

Sam turned to see the pipe buried in the still invisible creature, blood pouring from the wound. You and Dean finally managed to get him free, and the two of you turned to see only empty clothes and a bloody pipe.

"I hate fun houses." Dean breathed out, turning to look at you.

"Yeah." you said, letting out a slow breath.

Sam and Dean were sitting at the bar back at the Roadhouse as Ellen placed a couple of beers in front of them.

"You boys did a hell of a job. Your dad'd be proud." Ellen said before quickly surveying the room.

"Thanks." Sam said, Ellen turning her attention back to them.

"Y/N not with you?" she asked, Dean taking a swig of his beer.

"Said she had to talk to Ash about something." Dean said, Jo sitting on the other side of him, giving Sam a look.

"Oh yeah, um, I've gotta...uh, uh, I've gotta go. Over there. Right now." Sam said, quickly getting to his feet, stopping by Jo and leaning down to whisper in her ear. "I'd be careful if I were you." he said, knowing how temperamental you could be.

"So." Jo said, clearing her throat, completely disregarding Sam's warning.

"So." Dean said before taking another drink, knowing what she was going to say.

"Am I gonna see you again?" she asked, Dean looking straight ahead.

"I, uh, I don't know." Dean said, Jo leaning towards him.

"I wouldn't hate it, you know." she said, Dean taking a deep breath.

"Hmm. Can I be honest with you? See, in the past I'd be hitting on you so fast it'd make your head spin. But, uh, these days..." Dean said, trailing off when he saw you walk in from the back room.

"Wrong place, wrong time?" Jo asked, nodding towards you.

"There's no way I'm gonna mess that up." Dean said, Jo nodding.

"It's okay, I get it." she said, Ash walking out the same door you did, carrying the folder and a bizarre looking laptop.

"Where you guys been? Been waitin' for ya." Ash said, Ellen passing you a beer as you sat down at the bar.

"We were workin' a job, Ash. Clowns." Sam said, Ash raising a brow.

"Clowns? What the-" Ash started to ask, Dean cutting him off.

"You got something for us, Ash?" Dean asked, Ash setting the laptop down, the exposed wiring making it look homemade.

"Hey, Ellen, can I get something a little stronger?" you asked, the corner of Ellen's mouth turning up.

"What can I getcha?" she asked, you pushing your beer aside.

"Johnnie Walker." you said, Ellen turning around. "Make it a double." you added, Dean giving you a worried look.

"Did you find the demon?" Sam asked, Ash shaking his head.

"It's nowhere around. At least, nowhere I can find. But, if this fugly bastard raises his head, I'll know. I mean, I'm on it like Divine on dog dookie." Ash said, you laughing under your breath.

"What do you mean?" Sam asked, needing a better explanation.

"I mean, any of those signs or omens appear, anywhere in the world, my rig'll go off. Like a fire alarm." Ash explained, Dean reaching for the laptop.

"Do you mind..."Dean started to ask, trailing off when Ash gave him a look, pulling his hand back from the keyboard. "Yeah."

"What's up, man?" Ash asked, Sam staring at the laptop.

"Ash, where did you learn to do all of this?" Sam asked, Ash shrugging.

"M.I.T.. Before I got bounced for fighting." Ash answered, Sam reeling back.

"M.I.T.?" Sam asked, a little shocked.

"It's a school in Boston." Ash said, like it wasn't a big deal.

"Okay. Give us a call as soon as you know something." Dean said, Ash nodding.

"Si, si, compadre." Ash said, Dean taking another sip of his beer before sitting it down and getting to his feet.

"Singer?" Dean said as him and Sam headed for the door, you downing the rest of your drink before standing up.

"Hey, listen...if you kids need a place to stay I've got a couple beds out back." Ellen said, you whispering something to Ash before joining Sam and Dean.

"Thanks, but no. There's something I gotta finish." Dean said, tossing his arm over your shoulders.

"Okay." Ellen said, giving the three of you a smile before you walked out the door.

The three of you had made it back to Bobby's, Sam and Dean were outside, and you were sitting at the kitchen table nursing a tumbler of whiskey.

"Mind if I join ya?" Bobby asked as he walked into the kitchen.

"Don't ya think you're a little a long in the tooth to be drinkin' at this time of day?" you asked, Bobby huffing out a laugh.

"D'ya just sit around and think of ways to be a smart ass?" Bobby asked, grabbing a glass before sitting down across from you.

"Nope. I don't even have to think about it. It's just a natural talent." you shot back, sliding the bottle to him.

"What'd Ellen have to say?" Bobby asked, pouring himself a drink.

"She offered to help with the demon. Long story short, Ash is tracking it. He said if any signs pop up, he'll know." you said, Bobby nodding, the two of you slipping into silence. "You, uh...you said that I knew things when I was little." you finally said, Bobby looking up at you.

"Yeah." he said, trying to prepare himself for another fight.

"Well, what happened? I mean, I don't remember any of that, and all of....this." you said, holding up your hands, "didn't start until...well, it wasn't happening back then."

"I wish I had a solid answer for you, Kid. It all just kind of stopped out of nowhere. I...I can't explain it." Bobby said, you shaking your head. "Look, I'd give anything to be able to tell you-" he started, you interrupting.

"You can't tell me what you don't know." you said before picking up your drink and finishing it.

"I'm gonna do some diggin', see if I can find anything." Bobby said, watching you closely.

"Yeah, okay." you said, thinking about whether you should tell him what you and Ash talked about. "I, uh, I asked Ash for help." you finally said, a worried expression sliding onto Bobby's face.

"Kid, you can't...if the wrong person-" Bobby started, you interrupting.

"I didn't tell him anything like that. I just asked him if he could find my-" you said, stopping short. "I just asked if he could try to track him down. I only gave him his name. That's it."

"It's not safe. It's just gonna open a whole new can of worms, and-" Bobby tried to say, you cutting him off.

"Pretty sure the can's already been opened." you said, Bobby shaking his head.

"There are people out there, hunters, that aren't gonna read between the lines. There isn't going to be any gray areas with them. It's black or it's white. Kid, I'm not going to be able to keep you safe." Bobby said, you standing up from the table.

"My entire life has been a lie. I...I don't even know who I am anymore. I know that the truth probably isn't going to be pretty. It never is, but I think I deserve to know what it is. Dad." you said, Bobby looking up at you with teary eyes. "You can't hover over me my entire life. You gotta let me make my own way, and trust that I can handle myself."

"I know. It's just-" Bobby said, looking away from you, not able to finish his thought. "What if you find him, and..."

"Like you said, you may not have made me, but YOU are my father. I'm a Singer, and I'm not lookin' to fuckin' change that." you said, Bobby looking a bit relieved. "I...I just need to know-"

"I know." Bobby said, standing up from his seat. "Just promise me that you'll take care of yourself, and that you'll call if you ever need anything." he said, you walking over to him.

"I will." you said before wrapping your arms around him. "I just want to say this real quick, and them I'm gonna knock it the fuck off because it's gettin' a little too God damn mushy." you said before taking a deep breath. "I couldn't have picked a better man to be my father. I love you, Old Man."

"I love ya, Kid." Bobby said, kissing the top of your head, the two of you holding tightly to each other. "Now." Bobby said, clearing his throat. "You better go check on those idjits."

"Yeah." you said, holding on a second longer before stepping back , the two of you sharing one final look before you left the room.

"You were right." Sam said, Dean busy working on the Impala while Sam paced nearby.

"About what?" Dean asked, not looking up.

"About me and Dad. I'm sorry that the last time I was with him I tried to pick a fight. I'm sorry that I spent most of my life angry at him. So, you're right. What I'm doing now, it's too little. It's too late." Sam said, pausing a beat, his bottom lip trembling. "I miss him, man. And, I feel guilty as hell. And...I'm not all right. Not at all." he said, tears in his eyes. "But, neither are you. That much I know." he said, pausing. "I'll let you get back to work." he added before walking away.

Dean was still for a moment, all of Sam's words sinking in. He picked up a crowbar before walking to a nearby car and smashing out the window. He looked down at the crowbar in his hand before walking back to the Impala and slamming it into the trunk. He couldn't stop after that first hit. He just kept slamming the crowbar down, over and over, letting out all of the frustration and anger that he had been bottling up.

Dean finally took a step back, his shoulders slumping as he let the crowbar clatter to the ground. He looked back over his shoulder, expecting to see Sam standing there, his lip starting to tremble when he saw you standing where Sam had been. He quickly looked away, keeping his back to you as he tried to compose himself.

Things had been a little awkward between the two of you, both of you preferring to just skirt around everything. It was easier than talking about it. It was easier than having to face the truth. Vulnerability wasn't easy for either one of you, and you knew that in that moment Dean was feeling completely exposed. All of the feelings and emotions that he had been trying to bury deep down finally worked their way to the surface.

That was always the problem with holding everything in. You become a powder keg, a ticking time bomb, and you explode eventually. Then, you are bare. Every flaw, every weakness is on display for everyone to see, and you are left there trying to pick up the pieces of your own self destruction.

You knew that he probably wanted to be alone, to hide away until he could build that walk back up. You would want the same thing, but you couldn't let him be alone. You needed to let him know that you were there to help him pick up the pieces. So, without thinking anymore about it, you walked over to him and wrapped your arms around him from behind. You pressed yourself tightly to him, one hand coming up to rest over his heart.

Dean stood there completely stiff for a moment, struggling internally, trying his best not to break. You didn't say anything. It wasn't time for words yet. You just held onto him tightly, your cheek resting against his back. You finally felt him relax, his shoulders starting to shake.

"I'm right here." you softly said, Dean's hand coming up to rest over yours.

"S-Singer, I...I don't know what to do. I'm...lost." he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

"I know, De. I know." you said, pausing a moment. "But, I'm right here, okay? When you feel like you can't count on anything else, you can fuckin' count on that." you said, Dean squeezing onto your hand. "I'm not gonna tell you that I know what to do, or that I have any answers because I don't. But, I will tell you that I'll be here every step of the fuckin' way." you added, Dean silent for a moment.

"You and me." he finally said, you taking a deep breath.

"You and me." you repeated, those three words saying everything that needed to be said.

A/N: Hey guys, I just want to apologize for the delay again. I also want you all to know just how much I appreciate each and every one of you. All of the kind words and love I have received mean the world to me. <3 <3

Tags:  @for-a-brothers-love @slytherinrising @miraclesoflove@22sarah08 @deans-baby-momma @spnae @karikatz12481@spngirl05 @winchester-fantasies @freddiemermaytaydeac@rainbowkisses31 @in-deans-arms @scentedhoundshepherdmoney@teamfreewillisbae @it-could-go-off@moonlight-on-her-skin@channy4eva @monkeymcpoopoo @dean-is-my-superhero@sherlock44 @becs-bunker @that-was-scary@kissmyacdc @dean-is-a-cutie @that-was-scary @cra-zy-vib-es1999 @a-little-bit-of-everythin @a-fangirl-stuff@imsuperawkward@dean-is-my-favorite@ilovetoread44 @xcastielbabyangelface@frederikkeborup@saaamsayshi @irelandsharpie@literallytrashhhhhh @satanic-bastard @deanw-is-pretty @satans-0-spawn @deanwanddamons@womanizerbucky@lieutenantdanielle @dean-is-a-cutie@kissmyacdc @spnbaby-67@celestial-kanzakii @neerness @to-have-deans-love @be-with-me-for-evermore@artemisandromedaathena-blog @rach5ive@lynnehmr @lunalunnel@delicatediplomatsaladlight@imsuperawkward @alanegaming@team-free-will-you-idjiot @supersassyprobablysad @deanwinchestersmydaddy @newheart97 @dhawandyke @castiel-has-bees @akshi8278 @greenarrowhead @waywardson2020​ @sammypotato67​ @idksupernatural​ @all-will-be-well-love​ @dream-believe-and-love​ @leahhh-marieee

#supernatural reader insert #spn series rewrite #series rewrite #season two #reader insert #dean winchester #dean #supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural fic #SPN #spn fic #Sam Winchester

[kootenaygoon]

So,

Until I moved to the Kootenays in 2014, I’d never been politically engaged enough to be able to make an informed vote at the municipal level. Politically I had UVic-style leftward leanings, but that didn’t mean I understood the implications of the sort of decisions a city’s mayor and council would make. What did I know about bylaws? Or taxes? I thought it was stupid that we had to buy stickers to put on our garbage bags, but beyond that I didn’t have any pressing concerns about how they were running things down at Nelson city hall. 

With the election coming up, I knew I had to wrap my head around the various issues in the city and how they related to the people we were voting into power. The mental health crisis was going to be a talking point, I knew from Police Chief Wayne Holland, and there was talk the dog bylaw might finally be overturned. The most interesting element to me was weed legalization and its implications. The hottest topic was affordable housing. When Calvin assigned me to interview all of the city council and mayoral candidates, at first I felt daunted by the scope of the project — more than 10 interviews and thousands of words over the course of a few weeks. I realized pretty quick, though, it was my opportunity to deep-dive into this shit. 

If I was going to be a real journalist, I would have to get into politics.

Greg was on the city hall beat at that point, and anytime Tamara, Calvin or I had a question about the election or the people involved, it was him we went to. Some of the candidates Greg knew from growing up in the area, others from covering them in previous elections, but there was nobody he couldn’t give us a multi-year rundown on. He would swivel in his chair and gesticulate with one scholarly finger in the air, opining in his radio announcer voice. The longer I worked alongside him the more I admired his encyclopedic knowledge, how relentless he was about pursuing the truth, sometimes scouring through old archives to better understand a crime that happened 100 years before he was born and other times harassing clerks to get damning documents on criminals still working their way through the court system. He was the Star’s greatest asset, and everybody understood that.

One afternoon I sat in the newsroom with Greg and talked about the elections of the past and how they influenced the one coming up. He told me Phil McMillan, the compassion club director, had run for mayor on a cannabis slate around ten years previous. And a local actor named Richard Rowberry had campaigned as the ghost of Nelson’s first mayor, John “Truth” Houston. One former mayor he spoke about with affection was Dave Elliot, who was remembered mostly in town for stopping an expansion of the local Walmart. The executives were in back-room negotiations to double the store’s size into the next lot when Elliot broke confidentiality and raised the alarm with the community. Ultimately he purchased the neighbouring land, along with a number of other Nelson families, just to stop the deal from going ahead. The property had been sitting vacant ever since — a visual testament to the Kootenay spirit of opposing development. A number of projects had tried to get off the ground there, including a condo complex, but the math just didn’t seem to be right. It was prime lakeside property, fenced off, the yard full of abandoned machines, broken concrete and waist-high grass. 

Depending on who you asked, it was this move that got ultimately got Elliot ousted. Some felt he over-stepped. The right-wing types felt he was too hippy dippy, and wanted someone who would champion the small businesses on Baker Street with more diligence. Dooley was a reliably conservative city councillor at this point, and ended up taking the big seat in 2005. By the time I showed up in the Kootenays he was the longest serving Nelson mayor in history. 

According to Greg, Dooley was hyper-popular and heavily favoured to win. But there were murmurings in the community about dissatisfaction. He seemed like a perfect Irish gentleman to me, polite and amiable, but apparently some felt he was a a bully in the council chambers — as evidenced by the signs stapled to telephone poles around town that read ‘Bully for Mayor’. That being said, he had a number of impressive accomplishments under his belt and had proven himself adept at finding new revenue streams for the community, whether it was from the provincial and federal governments or from organizations like the Columbia Basin Trust. Many credited his contribution for making the new skate park possible. No matter what anyone said, they couldn’t question that he loved his community deeply, and wanted to create a better future for its residents.

*

Then there were the cops.

“What are they going to do about that cop that punched the woman? That’s what I want to know,” Paisley asked one evening, while I was watching TV. She had come up with a plan, along with her new burlesque friends, to hold a topless protest outside the NPD station. 

She carefully poured vegan muffin batter in to a baking sheet.

“I can’t believe we’ve got a proven woman-puncher just working away at the police station like nothing happened. That fucker needs to be fired.”

“He still might be. Depends on how things go with the trial.”

“What’s left to know? Didn’t he admit doing it?”

That situation was an ongoing black eye for the NPD, and they were also under scrutiny because they were requesting a $300,000 boost to their budget. Another smouldering question was how they would deal with the end of cannabis prohibition. They were still busting people routinely, whether it was for grow-ops or possession, and residents wanted to know when that would change. The new mayor would be head of the Nelson Police Board, giving them power over Holland and his force, so this was an opportunity for pot advocates to land an ally in a strategic spot. Dooley was openly hostile to cannabis, and had gone on record a few years previous vehemently opposing an anti-violence initiative related to pot decriminalization, so he clearly wasn’t the right champion. That’s why a new provincial organization called Sensible BC, represented by pot activist Dana Larsen, announced its intentions to get involved in an attempt to eject him. 

They wanted someone pot-friendly running the province’s weed capital.

One afternoon I met the local Sensible BC representative, Herb Couch, who was perfectly named for his position. He wanted to see less money wasted policing cannabis, and announced his intention to quiz each candidate on their stance and instruct his followers to vote accordingly. Couch had the backing of Phil McMillan and over 1000 dispensary members, so his influence wouldn’t be insignificant. He was a chill, soft-spoken former high school teacher sporting a signature cowboy hat and a vibrant orange shirt. Relentless about his activism, to the point of annoying some, he’d also been a vocal advocate for the preservation of Red Sands Beach. 

I liked him right away.

“Sharon wants to know why we’re writing so many stories about pot,” Calvin said, after the interview with Couch ran. “I don’t think she’s a fan of this Herb character.”

“So many stories? We’ve just done the one.”

“Well, and it’s come up as a topic in some of the other stories about the election. The candidate profiles, a few of them had whole sections about their views on weed.”

“So what’s the problem?”

“She says this isn’t even a relevant municipal issue. Legalization is a federal issue.”

“Right, but it has municipal implications.”

“Like what?”

“Well, like it will affect the police budget. How’s that not relevant?”

“Let’s just cool if with all the weed stuff, okay? People want to know about their taxes, about affordable housing, about all kinds of other stuff. This whole election can’t just be about marijuana.”

*

The moment Severyn announced his candidacy, the campaigning got ugly. Late-night vandals drove all around multiple neighbourhoods to collect his lawn signs, which featured cartoon moustaches, and dump them outside of town. He showed up at the Star office distraught, frustrated that his comrades in the police department weren’t doing more to figure out who the culprits were. (“You know how much those things cost? And that comes right out of my pocket,” Severyn lamented.) He made totally inappropriate accusations about Dooley, yelling in our foyer, and the rhetoric continued to devolve from there. It was clear to even the casual observer that the two men absolutely hated each other. 

Dooley was furious that Severyn would even consider running against him, and more furious that the political dunce seemed to have hundreds of voters’ worth of support. He took it as a personal insult. During campaign events Dooley barely contained his frustration. I watched him repeatedly lose his cool.

Into this mix came Deb Kozak. Sporting a tidy grey bob and a simple pearl necklace, she had a sing-song friendliness to her voice and a fierce determination in her eyes. She’d been on council with Dooley and, though she wouldn’t say it directly, clearly had issues with his leadership. Observers believed she would’ve never been able to take Dooley on in a two-way race, but with Severyn as a wild card she stood a chance to take a strategic majority. If successful, she would be the first female elected mayor in history — a feat fellow councillor Donna Macdonald had tried and failed to accomplish twice. Deb had a maternal energy, and a general optimism about bringing people together and accomplishing positive things. It was a hopeful time in politics, with Obama in power down in the U.S., and I believed things were trending upwards. Culturally we were evolving, and our leadership reflected that, right down to the municipal level. By the end of our first interview it was clear she had my vote, whether I could admit it openly or not. 

She seemed audacious.

“One thing I’ve learned as a councillor, and even before that, is I’m good at conversation. And I’m good at welcoming even difficult conversations. We have a diverse community, and sometimes that leads to conflict. I think you work through those things, and you make better decisions when all those groups are pulled together, or at least have an opportunity to share what they think about the future,” she said.

Kozak had arrived in Nelson in the 80s, just after David Thompson University and the Kootenay Forest Products plant shut down. The economic downturn was in full swing, and she’d been inspired by the ambitious moves made by the council at the time. They set out to give the downtown core a makeover, making it more attractive to tourists.

“It was a very frightening time. But it was at that time that the council of the day took a bold step forward to rejuvenate Baker. They said ‘we’re going to rip off all the old clapboards off these beautiful buildings and we’re going to go for it,” she said.

She wanted to be similarly ambitious. 

“I bring to the table experience, passion, heart and mind. What I have to offer is almost fearless exploration of who we can be.”

The Kootenay Goon

[taizi]

in the interest of full disclosure

@natsumeweek 2018 day 5; yokai & humans

read on ao3

Takashi brings home a cat.

It’s a fat, ugly thing, too big for Takashi’s thin arms, but it seems to be an agreeable creature. It hangs in Takashi’s grip like a toy, blinking lazily at the house and ignoring its inhabitants entirely.

“What a silly-looking cat!” Touko says, crouching in front of him. “Where on earth did you find it?”

“I was playing in the woods with Satoru and Atsushi and we accidentally woke him up,” the boy explains, hefting the heavy cat a little higher. “He’s a special cat. He can turn really big, and he can fly.”

Shigeru and Touko trade knowing looks. There’s a doe-eyed look of longing on Takashi’s face, the same hopeful expression he gets when something in a storefront window catches his eye, or when Shigeru comes home from work a little earlier than usual. He can’t always bring himself to outright ask for things -- they’ve not quite made it that far, not yet -- but it’s never hard to guess.

“That does sound special. Do you think he might like to live here with us?” Touko asks, and Takashi brightens like a little sun.

“Can he? Thank you!”

Smiling, Touko reaches over to card the long hair out of Takashi’s face, and scratches the cat behind the ears while she’s at it. “What’s his name?”

“He lets me call him Nyanko-sensei.”

Shigeru chuckles before he can help himself. “A noble name for a noble creature.”

Takashi beams, but the cat gives him a narrow-eyed stare.

The cat becomes Takashi’s constant companion. It follows him to school, and dozes under his chair at mealtimes, and seems to recognize his friends. It allows Tooru to coo and cuddle it with an air of dignity better suited royalty than a fat housecat, and sits heavily on Satoru when it seems like he’s about to get himself into trouble.

“It’s a very smart cat,” Touko says one evening, while Shigeru helps her clean dinner dishes, and Takashi and Tooru work on their homework in the next room. “I was boiling water, and went to answer the phone when it rang, and must have been distracted for much longer than I thought -- Nyankichi came to warn me that the pot was overflowing!”

“It probably didn’t like the sound of the water hissing on the burner,” he says, and is treated to his wife’s pouting face.

“Don’t make me look silly! One of these days, Nyankichi is going to break down and talk, and then you’ll be the one I get to tease.”

Shigeru laughs lightly, amused, and says, “When that day comes, I’ll deserve it.”

Touko shoos him out of the kitchen with a cup of tea to drink with his newspaper, and he steps into the sitting room in time to hear Tooru say, “We have to take him to meet ojiichan. Ojiichan is feeling a lot better lately, and he’d love to meet Nyanko-sensei. Can we?”

“Sure we can,” Takashi says, happy to agree when it makes his friend light up with a smile. He’s going to be a kind person, Shigeru thinks fondly at times like these. “I like your grandpa, and Nyanko-sensei does, too. He just likes to be grumpy and pretend he doesn’t like anybody.”

“Oh, thank you, Takashi! I can’t wait! Maybe you two can come over on Sunday. I’ll ask mama when I go home tonight.”

The cat huffs, its ears canting to either side of its head, the way a person might look when their shoulders slump in defeat. But it doesn’t squirm or scratch when Tooru squeezes her arms around it or kisses its head, even if it glares enviously at Shigeru.

Touko must be rubbing off on him. A cat glares because it’s a cat, not because it looks at a person with the freedom to sit down unbothered and thinks things like ‘I wish that were me.’

The autumn equinox falls on a Saturday, and with two full days off from school, Shigeru and Touko make plans for Takashi to visit Kaname, where he and his father are living in Yatsushiro.

Takashi is practically vibrating with excitement, twisting around in his seat to look out the window every few minutes, pointing out interesting things as they go by.

He promised Tooru he’d come back with lots of pictures, and the disposable camera in his hands is nearly full already, before they’ve even made it off the train. Touko promises to pick up another at the train station, her face full and bright at Takashi’s obvious joy.

Shigeru paid the extra fare for the boy’s cat to come along, of course, but Nyangoro doesn’t seem nearly as impressed by the train ride. It keeps one green eye on its charge and ignores the rest of them entirely.

They arrive late into the evening on Friday, and Kaito and Kaname are waiting for them at the station. Takashi gives a little shout when he sees his friend and runs the last few steps to meet him, the two of them colliding in an enthusiastic hug.

“Hi, Kaname, Tanuma-ojisan! Thanks for letting me come visit!”

“I missed you,” Kaname says, muffled into Takashi’s shoulder but sincere. He blinks when he notices Nyangoro in the bag hanging on Takashi’s back. “Um?”

“Oh, this is Nyanko-sensei,” Takashi says, drawing back enough to look at his friend more easily. He offers a hand instead, and Kaname takes it with a shy smile. “He’s a monster, sort of. He’s grumpy, but he’s nice. Maybe he’ll take you flying while I’m here!”

As if it recognizes Kaname from all the stories Takashi has told about him, the cat warms to the boy right away. It lets Kaname hold it with a patience usually reserved for Tooru, bright eyes alert and watchful.

By the time they leave for home on Sunday, Kaname talks to Takashi’s cat the same way all of his close friends do, like it’s a person who understands their hellos and goodbyes. Takashi gets a lingering hug from Kaname, and a new omamori from Kaito, and only cries a little bit on the way home.

“You’ll see him again,” Touko soothes, carding a hand through his hair. “He’s too far away for you to see every day, but he isn’t gone.”

Takashi nods, head tipped over onto Shigeru’s shoulder, fingers buried in Nyangoro’s soft fur. Between the three of them, he’s smiling again before they’re even halfway home.

“I wonder what’s wrong with Nyankichi,” Touko says one day, holding Takashi’s hand as they walk home from a restaurant. “He’s been a little tense since you got home from school.”

“Oh,” Takashi says, “it’s because I lost my charm. At school, I think.”

Shigeru blinks at him in some surprise, taken aback by how unbothered he is. Could this be the same boy who refused to leave the house without his omamori? Touko, likewise, doesn’t seem to know what to say to that.

“It’s okay though,” Takashi says, reassuring. “Nyanko-sensei won’t let the monsters get us.”

As if to prove him wrong, a wind roars down the street they’re on -- Shigeru staggers at the force of it, and Touko cries out in surprise, but Takashi is yanked away completely, torn clear out of Touko’s hand.

He lands in a little heap a few feet away -- and the street is empty, thank god -- but he’s struggling now with something Shigeru can’t see. The wind is still -- present, like a hovering creature instead of an act of nature. It snatches at Takashi’s bright blue jacket and tears through his hair, almost lifting him off the ground. When Shigeru hurries forward, it bites at him, too, trying to force him away.

And then, Shigeru feels a weight land on his back like a blow, as Takashi’s ugly cat jumps from the ground to perch on his shoulder. Its forehead lights up, a symbol shining for just a moment before its swallowed up in a white light too powerful for Shigeru to look through.

When the light is gone, the wind is gone with it, blown off to some other corner of the world. Touko is already lifting Takashi into her arms, shaken to tears as she looks him over.

Shigeru is shaken, too. He puts one hand on Touko’s shoulders, the other on Takashi’s, and holds them while he tries to wrap his mind around the last few moments.

Suddenly, a gruff, unfamiliar voice speaks up. “You take that thing off for a couple hours and this is what happens. You’re a magnet for trouble, aren’t you, Natsume?”

Touko blinks wetly, looking up at Shigeru, and then around at the empty street. Shigeru startles when a weight settles against his knee, and looks down at --

“Nyanko-sensei,” Takashi says, reaching for the fat calico with an air of relief. “Thank you. That one was pretty stubborn.”

Touko is covering her mouth with both hands, shocked into stillness. Nyangoro eyes her, and then Shigeru, and finally turns back to Takashi with an air of contempt.

“You said you told them, brat.”

“I did tell them! They’re probably just surprised. They’ve never heard a cat talk before, you know. You wouldn’t talk to them until now because Shigeru-san made fun of your name.”

Touko’s shoulders start shaking while the boy and the cat are immersed in their conversation. Shigeru risks a look at her, and is surprised to find her laughing quietly. She rubs away the tear tracks on her face, and looks around at her little family with so much love it should be impossible to carry and hold.

“He did tell us,” she says, still laughing. “He told us from the very start, didn’t he? And he’s -- he’s okay. And whatever that creature was is gone. And Nyankichi is a very smart cat.”

Shigeru feels himself relaxing, too. Warmed by the relief and love in Touko’s face, and by Takashi, tousled and whole in their arms. He holds them close and says, “You were right. Just wait to tease me until after I’ve had a drink, please.”

“We’ll see,” she says magnanimously, and kisses Shigeru on the cheek, and Takashi on the forehead, and Nyangoro right on the nose. “Let’s go home.”

It's the cat's turn to looked shocked, but after saving their son it will have to do a lot more than simply talk for them to turn it away now.

#natsumeweek #natsume yuujinchou #natsuyuu #fujiwara shigeru #fujiwara touko #natsume takashi #nyanko sensei #taki tooru #tanuma kaname #my writing #the smallest things #natsuyuu fic

[gigiree]

Frost and Candle

@mlsecretsanta​ for @sophiacrutchfeild​! You listed Chlolya as one of your preferences and boy did I get excited! Spoilers ahoy! since those were also mentioned as okay. Though its mainly on who gets the bee and fox miraculous, that’s all! Happy Holidays!

The frost creeping along the edges of her hospital window is as familiar as the cold that scrabbles deep in her chest, curling in her veins until her heart is a heavy, frozen thing.

The same sort of coldness makes her blue eyes shine a silvery blue, numbly watching the world outside softening under the swiftly clinging snow. She watches it cover everything, some flakes swirling within the golden pool of light offered by a street lamp.

Her room is filled with poinsettias, red joyful leaves looking gray in the dim light of her muted television. The show that drones on is a family Christmas special, some saccharine movie about a cold woman finding the meaning of the holiday through romance.

Chloe thinks it’s the dumbest thing. But the remote control had long since fallen behind her hospital bed and she refuses to be the girl she used to be. The girl she used to be would have pressed the nurse call button and asked the caretaker on duty to fetch the remote for her.

The girl she is now is more contemplative. Kinder and more considerate…but still just a girl.

The ugly blue hospital gown is scratchy against her skin. The sheets too slippery to stay put and keep her warm. Her left arm under her cast is starting to get itchy and uncomfortable, and the neck brace she wears is ridiculously suffocating.

She tries to take a deep breath to steady her nerves, but is then winded as a sharp pain reminds her that she’s fractured a few of her ribs.

For a moment, the frost in her melts and tears prick at the corners of her eyes. She tries to count her blessings. She looks at the silver and red balloons that had floated up to the pale ceiling. The giant get well card signed by her classmates…people she’s just beginning to call friends. The teddy bear Adrien had bought her. The macaroons Marinette had baked. The half-hearted well wishes Alya had given her.

(She feels the frost creep up a bit more. Alya had seemed angrier at her than usual. None of their usual banter had been shared. Stilted words and awkward questions. Chloe had tried to breach this wall for so long. There’d been progress before this incident. Now it seemed that too had been covered by the frost.)

The sudden ringing of bells from the television pulls her back from her loneliness. Pollen shifts a little in her sleep, her slumbering form tucked well among a pot of poinsettias.

Chloe lets a small smile curl across her face. Her loneliness isn’t entirely justified. She’d be spending Christmas in this hospital room with Pollen at least. Her father was too busy hosting a mayoral dinner for Paris’ most influential. Adrien was spending an awkward  Christmas with his father and everyone else had their own traditions to attend to.

She’s glad, somewhere deep down, that no one had stayed behind to see her in such a pathetic state. Queen Bee, reduced to a girl in a sling and wrapped up in so many bandages, hopped on painkillers. Alone.

It’s really hard not to feel sorry for yourself in a circumstance like this. Out of costume, she’d still retained the instinct of a heroine. She’d still stepped in front of Alya. Had still stupidly frozen in the face of ”the Gift Wrapper” and taken a very physical beating by a disgruntled retail worker holding an oversized, overpowered roll of wrapping paper.

There had been no time to transform, and past all the pain and tears, she could only see Alya’s blur of flaming hair whip around the corner of a building, escaping and leaving her behind. She’d felt relief as she fell into unconsciousness, dreaming of a living flame carrying her to safety in a warm embrace. She remembers the edges of long, auburn hair tickling her neck and she herself mumbling something incoherent. Then she’d woken up in this hospital room. Surrounded by her maybe-friends and a bunch of poinsettias.

She’d taken the beating thinking a Lucky Charm could heal her. Turns out Lucky Charm only works on more magical repercussions. Apparently blunt force injuries done by a roll of wrapping paper are too mundane for the universe to heal. Or so Pollen had said.

At least her face had sort of survived the debacle, with minimal bruising. Her hair had too, but if the too-little thread count pillowcase kept catching at the loose strands of her falling all around her shoulders, it wouldn’t be long before her coiffure would suffer too.

The flurries of snow that dance in the lamplight switch their tempo. A gust of wind, a brief bit of a yule fire streaming through the cold air outside catches of a few of the snowflakes along the way.

Chloe’s breathing is shallow and it’s not entirely because of her ribs. It’s partly because Rena Rouge looks heartachingly beautiful with snow dusting her red hair and eyelashes like powdered sugar. A candle flame framed by the drab blue hospital curtains. She points a claw at the window latch, and Chloe can only quietly nod to tell her it is unlocked.

Her voice refuses to rise to form any sort of solid syllable. It’s melted into a mess of sounds, all bubbling up into nonsense. She gives a quick glance and is relieved to note that Pollen is well hidden.

There’s a brief blast of cold air, the window protesting with a loud squeak as it is forcibly slid open by inhumanely strong hands.

Rena is quick to close it again, smiling apologetically as Chloe shivers. The Fox places a plain backpack down on the linoleum, it’s contents clanking noisily.

“Heard you were under the weather.” She says with forced cheer, and then seems to wince. “That wasn’t an intentional pun.”

Chloe has to bite her lip to stop the laughter from coming. Her heart races though and she lets the frost in her chest temper her words, lets it spread across her face until she feels a little like her old self. Just a little.

“The other furry is rubbing off on you. Shame. I thought you were the cooler one.” She takes a moment, before letting her syllables solidify into something that makes her feel all kinds of dumb. Too cold. Too sharp. Too proud.

“Was that a pun?” Rena asks, amusement bringing her smile up into her pretty eyes.

Chloe takes a moment, lips pursing when Rena points out her slip.

“N-no…What are you doing here anyway? Don’t you have some stupid, sappy holiday tradition to do with your family?”

Chloe feels torn between shame and victory when Rena’s brows furrow in annoyance and her pretty lips curl up in a half sneer to show little fangs.

Then, those golden eyes, widen with something too much like understanding to make Chloe feel much better. Pity is lurking behind those gorgeous lashes and it makes her feel nauseous. More so than the hospital food had earlier.

Rena shrugs, shifting her sharp gaze to the ridiculous holiday movie.

“Christmas Eve finishes early when there’s small kids in the family.”

“You…you have kids?” There’s a catch in Chloe’s voice that pitches it upwards into a comical squeak.

Rena Rouge laughs full and loud at that, her tail lashing against the back of her legs with alacrity. “N…no.” She finally manages behind her laughter. “Little sisters. Big age difference.”

“Oh…I knew that.” Chloe bites out, and sounds just petulant enough to be adorable. Her cheeks puff out in frustration, and she looks a lot bigger with her indignation filling up every corner of the bed. She moves a little to rise from the mattress, and then yelps when she overdoes it.

“Okay. Okay. Don’t get angry. It’s not good for your recovery.” Rena chides, moving forward and placing a half-restraining hand on Chloe’s good shoulder. “Go lay back down.”

Chloe doesn’t answer. Her voice has melted again with the warmth of Rena’s palm dripping through the thin hospital gown and threading under her skin. She ducks her arm out from under those fingers, remembering Rena’s earlier disdain for Queen Bee. The long, judging stares. The condescending advice to just stay with the Akuma’s victims. To be crowd control. To keep out of the way because she’s a bee who still cannot fly.

She also remembers a frigid patrol night. When it hadn’t been quite cold enough to snow, but enough to rain. And bees, as is well known, don’t do very well with the rain. Rena Rouge had held an umbrella over her with mumbled complaints. Ladybug and Chat Noir had said something about Queen Bee and Rena finally making progress in their teamwork.

Chloe regrets having knocked that umbrella away. That week she caught a cold and her complexion had turned horribly blotchy. And her heart had begun to ache something fierce whenever she thought about the look of hurt that crossed Rena’s face. Chloe knows that her love can be a horribly prickly thing. Something achy and fragile, protected by thorny words and masked by indifference. But Rena’s look had nearly burned right through it all.

The same look that’s stifled behind Rena’s stiff smile. Chloe wonders why she’s trying so hard now of all times.

“You’re grumpier than usual.”

Chloe slides deeper under the covers, mindful of her sling as she does so. She wants to hide. Those warm eyes are too emotive. Too piercing.

“Than usual? You don’t really know me.“ she pauses, bitterness swirling with another memory to silence her anger. “Why are you here? Why do you care?” She asks quietly, weariness finally getting the best of her.

Rena’s mouth moves as if she wants to work out a proper response, but her long ears flick with some realization that wracks her, and she turns with alacrity to the bag she’d placed down near the window.

Chloe watches as the other girl pulls out a thermos, two tin cups and a container of gingersnap cookies.

“No one should have to spend Christmas alone.” Rena edges in, before Chloe can protest. She places the thermos and the cups and the cookies on the spindly night stand next to the hospital bed, and proceeds to serve them both still steaming hot chocolate.

“That’s a dumb excuse.” Chloe says, but still takes the offered hot drink with her good hand. She blows on it for a bit, before glancing up at her guest, blue eyes cutting through the steam. “There are plenty of lonely, sick people in this hospital that you could have visited.”

Rena takes a moment, cupping the hot tin cup in her hand and glancing out the window at the glittering snow. “Do…do you hate me?” She asks, her eyes dimming.

“I don’t know you enough to hate or like you.”

Chloe knows it’s a lie. She loves Rena Rouge. Loves the times they compete with each other to see who can complete their rounds the fastest. Loves knowing that she can forget about guarding her back when Rena fights by her side. Ladybug and Chat Noir are great teammates, but they’re inextricably linked together. A functioning unit that hadn’t really needed a Fox and a Bee trailing after them, but had accepted them all the same.

She’s learned to rely on Rena. Learned to love the brief moments of camaraderie and the laughter and the kindness. But she failed Rena Rouge today. Couldn’t even transform to help her team.

Chloe had thought she’d been better than that. Not the girl she used to be, but not the hero she wants to be. Rena seems to be straining herself however. Trying to bridge a gap that hadn’t needed any connections to be filled in. Chloe likes keeping her loves at a distance. It makes it hurt less when they leave.

“You…I wanted to say thank you for…” Rena bites her lip, contemplating a bit before letting out a long sigh of resignation. When she looks at Chloe again, her eyes are blazing, golden candles dancing under the dim shadows of the snow drifting outside. “Thank you for trying to save me, Bee.”

Chloe’s eyes widen. The tightness in her chest is nearly unbearable and she can just barely hear Pollen’s tiny gasp beyond her heart thrumming in her ears. The pain of her injuries is dulled in the wake of this revelation.

“You…you’re Alya….you know who I am?” Chloe says, the words now too thick and solid in her throat. She feels the frost creeping down her spine, numbing her. “H-how?”

“I saw your kwami fly into your purse earlier.”

Rena seems to think a bit, before muttering something to the pendant around her neck. There’s a brilliant flash of orange light, a flare of warmth that drifts through the room, and then there is only Alya and her kwami.

Alya dressed in the tackiest sweater, one with a grinning fox tangled in sparkly Christmas lights. Alya with her hair barely contained by a red beanie. Alya with her cup of hot chocolate in hand and a nervous grimace.

“You worried me today. You were reckless.”

Chloe hides her shock in the lip of her cup, taking a sip of her drink to give herself a moment to talk. She places the tin cup on the nightstand and shares a concerned glance with Pollen.

She feels her anger steaming away with the warmth of the cocoa. She wants to cry. She wants to scream. Her former enemy, grudging friend is the same person as the girl she loves, the partner she works with.

“I did what I had to do.” Chloe says quietly, looking at the television screen. Absently noticing that the movie has reached a point of emotional climax. The cold woman is waiting at a train station. Her lover holding her hand and begging her not to go. How stupid.

Chloe won’t beg. She’s begged before. Begged her mother to stay. Begged Adrien to be only hers. Begged her father to spend time with her for the holidays. It’s never worked. She’d had to demand. She’d had to be hard to get anything.

She won’t beg. But she’s too tired to be true to her desires. Too hurt and confused.

“Thank you for the hot cocoa and cookies…but…I’m not really feeling good enough for a long discussion right now. Please g-.”

“Was it true?” Alya interrupts her, her gloved fingers tense around her little tin cup. For once, her eyes are fully trained on Chloe. Her mouth is turned down into that grimace still, but there’s something…something hopeful in her gaze that tells Chloe there’s more to this visit.

Chloe can’t play guessing games. Her head is cloudy. Her arm aching and her breathing shallow because of her taped up ribs. “You’re not making sense. Say what you want or leave. I’m tired.”

Alya takes a moment. A deep breath, before offering the injured girl an apologetic smile and plopping herself down in a nearby chair. She takes a look around the room. At the cheerful balloons and the red petals and the huge get well card. The gifts and the lonely girl small against the hospital bed.

Chloe is loved. But not loved enough to keep her company on Christmas.

The movie drones on, and they both find themselves watching the denouement. Both of the making remarks at the sappy conclusion where the protagonist moves back to the small town to be with her lover and gives up her career.

“It’s so dumb. He could have easily followed her to the city.” Alya remarks.

“I know. Or she could have set up a satellite office in that small town. There was enough of a market there for it to be a worthwhile investment.” Chloe says, the tension leaking out of her as she spends this quiet night with the person she loves…however secret that may be. It’s nice.

But something has shifted in Alya. There’s a resolve that’s finally frosted itself in her chest and as she sees the couple give one last kiss in the falling snow, her mouth tightens before she says-

“You love me.”

The sound that comes out of Chloe’s mouth sounds something like a chicken choking on a rubber duck. A high pitched squeak that hurts her ribs. She feels like she’s going to throw up her heart at any moment, her stomach tightening into a heavy weight. Her cheeks are burning and the frost in her chest has melted into a pool of water that she’s drowning in. “W-what?!”

Alya smiles carefully, kindly. Chloe is too panicky to brace herself for a rejection.

“You said it when I carried you to safety. You said you loved Rena Rouge.”

Denials. Deny. Lie. Chloe wants to run away. But Pollen cannot heal injuries that were received outside of the suit. She cannot run away. Bees don’t do well with the cold, and she finds herself absolutely chilled.

From the blurry memories of earlier this morning, when she’d been drifting into sleep, she remembers the words she’d mumbled. Syllables dug up from the snow in her thoughts.

“I…”

But Rena Rouge is the one she loves. The one who’s always by her side. The one who knows her at her best. Alya…Alya remembers who Chloe used to be. That will always be her first impression and those last an awfully long time. She cannot speak.

“Chloe…” Alya tries to offer, and startles when tears shining silver in the moonlight, drop down onto Chloe’s hospital gown. She seems horrified, pain lancing through her expression as she tries to reach for Chloe.

Chloe shifts away, sliding deeper into the covers, until the edges of her sheets come up to just under her hairline. Her golden strands spill over the pillow behind her, getting caught on her neck brace painfully, but she would rather this pain than the one crackling through her chest.

“Chlo-”

“I…you don’t have to…why are you here? I get it. I was a horrible person. I’ve been trying so hard, but you don’t…I know you can’t…I just…just…” Chloe interrupts her, listing off every possible way that this doesn’t make sense. Which is a strangely futile endeavour, when she already knows this makes so much sense.

She stifles a shriek when she feels gentle hands pull down the covers.Chloe hides her face in her hands, Pollen finally flitting from the blossoms to nuzzle against her chosen’s cheek.

She can hear Alya’s boots click against the linoleum, the soft noises farther away than before as she collects her backpack and gets ready to leave.

She’s not prepared for when warm fingers thread through the tangled locks of her hair, when warmth spreads once more from thin digits and seeps back down into the pit of her stomach to evaporate the puddle in her lungs.

She’s so tired, but Alya’s touch fills her with a new kind of nervous energy.

Alya…somehow, the revelation that she and Rena are one and the same makes a latent sort of sense. It fits nicely into the newly opened spaces of her heart, and she finds herself hurting more. But Alya is here.

Her eyes shifting into candlelight, pretty plump lips curving up into a teasing smile. Glasses reflecting Chloe’s red dimmed gaze. It could be all the fairy lights and the lantern outside, but there is a light flickering in Alya’s eyes, something marked by truth and coalescing into tears that bead over her lashes.

“I love you too. Why is that so hard to believe?”

There’s a moment…. In which Chloe takes in the startling beauty of it all. The streaming shadows of the snowflakes, moving across the pale blue sheets of her bed. The little fairy lights threaded through the poinsettia pots. The movie has ended and the after credits are accompanied by a delicate holiday song, piano notes floating through the room with alacrity.

Alya is close, closer and closer until Chloe can count the barely traceable freckles that trail down her dark skin. The few strands of of her hair that dance every time Chloe dares to breathe.

Alya’s warm hand has found its way to cradle her cheek, and her voice is gentle-

“Can I kiss you?”

Chloe can only nod, before the bells toll again. They sing, echoing the melody that drifts in her heart. This time, it’s real bells. from far across the city where Notre Dame rings in Christmas Day.

Lips slightly rough from the cold outside meet hers, tentative and warm, just like Alya’s hands. The last of the frost in her heart runs away in warm rivulets, and she finds herself giggling into the kiss. Alya’s answering grin is brilliant, and Chloe keeps it in sight as she struggles past her neck brace to press her forehead against Alya’s.

“Merry Christmas.” Alya whispers.

And Chloe can’t help but agree as her laughter is poured into another kiss.

#mlsecretsanta 2k17 #ml spoilers #chlolya

[paperplanesfromfinland-blog]

Eight Days in China

So – I visited mainland China during the semester break! Right at the start of 2019.

My way took me from Hong Kong through Shenzhen to Guilin, Zhangjiajie, Guangzhou and eventually back to Hong Kong.

I was terrified of the first train trip. Not because it was on the brand-new high-speed train but because I was traveling alone to this city in China, my sim card working-not-working and trusting to meet my friend at the end point station. I don’t really know why I was so stressed. I just was. Everything went fine. I found my friend and we found our hostel.

The man who sat next to me in the train during this first part of the journey made me feel uncomfortable at first. He was big, dressed as what I can only describe as street-posh, he wouldn’t stop moving on the seat and around the train and he was loud. He had one of those weird prepped meals you put some kind of liquid in and the resulting steam escaping the lid makes you weary of explosion. And he was clearly surprised to see me in the dominantly Chinese populated train. But, by the end of my journey I was actually pretty happy with my sitting companion lottery. As large as his persona seemed he was also very considerate towards the other occupants of our train carriage, me included, even if that showcased in a loud and restless manner. We hunted together for the electricity outlets of the train and when I got off at my stop, I was granted a friendly smile from behind a cigarette.

Guilin itself in early January was rainy and miserable. Even so my eyes were glued to the train window the moment Shenzhen was left behind and I was basically starstruck the moment the first mountains came to view. We visited amazing pagodas and reed flute caves. Guilin was the first step for freezing rain and dream-like sceneries as cliché as it sounds.

The real dream was Zhangjiajie. It was also the stage of my body’s betrayal since the humid zero degrees felt as biting as minus twenty at home. Hong Kong had grilled and melted me into thinking this was anything out of ordinary.

There was a bit of snow on the ground in the city. Going up the mountains in the forest park everything was covered by snow and most of all ice. We could pick out ice from the trees in the shape of the leaves, shake the branches to make them sing and I got to see my travel partner’s reaction to the snow. She was a lot more respectful and wearier towards it than I was. She is not used to that amount of snow and I haven’t felt the need for carefulness like that as long as I can remember. We both got to be excited like small children, she discovering something new and me getting an old play mate back.

We ended up buying snow grips for our shoes. I was reluctant at first not seeing them as necessary, too proud to bow to the ice. I still think I would have been okay without them but my goodness did they make the travel easier.

You would think that the frozen mountain sides were the most dangerous part of the trip to Zhangjiajie. Nope. It turned out to be walking on a tiny street between two buildings. Reconstruction of sorts was going on in the top floor of one of them and a thick log the length of my shin fell down from one of the construction workers, somehow only hitting my hip and leg. It doesn’t sound that dramatic, but less than ten centimeters to the right and it would have landed straight at the back of my head and probably done some real damage. Me and my friend both jumped in fright. I stared at the log for a moment not really understanding what just happened while my friend seemed a lot more shaken and worried. I don’t really know weather this makes me lucky or unlucky.

The mountains hid a lot of beautiful things and one of the treasures we stumbled upon on the frozen staircases on our way down the mountainside were two Germans. Of course it would be Germans, they are everywhere. In any case, we made friends in an unexpected place and ventured down the mountain together. We had dinner together later in the village and hiked the next day together. A few weeks later we met up again in Hong Kong. World seems small in precious moments like that.

Our hostel in Zhangjiajie looked great at first glance. It was freezing. There was a crack between the door and the frame and the heater could do very little to battle that. It was the first time I saw a heated mattress and it was our only salvation.

My friend’s parents took us for dinner several times for which I am very, very grateful. They made me feel welcomed and I probably weirded them out a bit on few instances. In a funny way, its fine. They took us to have duck and fish, I got exited over straw mushrooms (which is still one of the most amazing things I encountered in China). One of the restaurants had concrete walls, floors and ceilings. It was just as cold as outside so we got a pot with embers under our table to warm us up, the heat getting trapped under the table cloth. It’s probably common there, I wouldn’t know but it was so cool. My father would have liked it. Also, when my friend’s father saw my travel adapter, he looked at it like it was an unseen creature of some sort. The expression he directed at me when I explained what it is was pretty amazing. To be fair the adapter is ugly and huge.

The last night I got to spend at my friend’s relatives’ place. There was a bike in the kitchen, home-cooked breakfast, chickens and rats in the garden. We shared a mattress on the floor of the concrete house in the area littered by other concrete homes, fields of flowers and strawberries. We were in Guangzhou but not in the heart of the city. My friend took me for a walk around the area and the fields and it felt precious to be welcomed to some of her childhood memories there, no matter how few and conflicted they were. We walked on a sand road between two strawberry fields and a few scooters and bikes went by. I got stared at again but somehow it felt more surprised than curious. Like they acknowledged I had ended up at the place too but instead of intrusive curiosity it felt like a shrug.

Returning to Hong Kong was an exhausted delight I felt already at the border control. I loved the trip but I am to some extent a “home mouse” as it is said in Finnish. It means I enjoy spending time at home, need it to recharge. That’s what Hong Kong was, and in Hong Kong, Kowloon, the 12 square meters of a room in 17th floor of which half was mine. On many occasions I felt China was lovely, lively – I want to say comfortable and understandable but the meanings of those words do not quite catch the meanings I am after. It felt like I could be happy there. Yet while feeling that I felt more connected to Finland, like I could live happily in China for quite a while, if I knew I was to eventually return specifically to the dark and cold winter nights of my homeland.

When I returned to Hong Kong my new roommate had already moved in. There was surprise and…quite clear disappointment on her face when she stood in the doorway and looked at me. It was because I was not Chinese as she had hoped as I learned soon after. From the note I left saying I was in china she had made conclusions and was excited to get to practice her Putonghua. I got to practice my English instead.

China had been loud, large, stressful, mesmerizingly beautiful and interesting and friendly in ways I was not used to. It was spitting in trains, avoiding scooters left and right, getting a lot of attention just for existing there. It was cup noodles, language difficulties, runny noses, friendship and living in a moment. Out of all the places I visited and am yet to write about China became my favourite place even though it was easily the hardest one too as an experience for the language and culture differences.

Differences, never barriers.

For language is a tool like scooters and law systems. It can make life easier or harder. I have faced greater differences with English speakers than with the train dude in china. There’s more to connection than words and fluency, is one thing I have learned again and again. I still have to keep learning it.

#aliens in China

[chemtrailsturnedmypepegay-blog]

hi my guys i just tried writing my first fanfic and i really hope you like it uwu

its more of a script as i envisioned it as a movie or tv show :3 The Bye Bye Manlet

Jane! Jane! Jane, it's me. Open up. Did you tell anyone? Did i... About the name. The name. Yeah, I told Rick. He thought it was funny. Just Rick and nobody else? No. Why? What's the matter? Barack, what's wrong? I'm sorry. You have no idea how sorry I am. Barack, you're scaring me. What are you doing? Rick? Ricky? Rick, the name. Janie! Did you tell anyone? Anyone? Ba… Barack, please. Please. I... Rick, he's coming! The name. Mi... Michelle. I to... I told Michelle. I'm gonna stop you! Michelle! - Barack! - Mom! Run! - Who did you tell? - He killed them! Don't think it. Mom, come on! Don't say it. Don't think it. Don't say it. Don't think it. Don't say it. Don't think it. Don't say it. Don't think it. Don't say it. Don't think it. Don't say it. Michelle! Did you say the name? Don't think it. Don't say it. Don't say it. Who did you say the name to, Michelle? Barack! Barack! What's up, playboy? How's it going? Good. Today is a good day. You got the key? No, it's under the mat. Ah. It's only 20 minutes. This is the first time he's rented the place. The guy says it's fantastic. What else would he say? It's a doghouse? I'm trying to convince her. Come on, man. Work with me. Sash? Yeah. I'm up for it. It's a little creepy. Right? Nah, it's just cold. Heat's off. I gotta piss like a racehorse. Cute. Dude! This place is sweet, bro. Hey. Right? We could put the desk over there. We could put the bed here. Well, maybe if there was a bed. I know. The landlord said it was fully furnished. Yo, El, come and check this out, man. This is crazy! Yo, come on down. Yo, El, come in here, man. Oh, it's... you can't get this in the dorms, right? Now, that's... That's classic. John, you really think Sasha wants to see that? Or that? Oh. You got the whole upstairs to make girlie. Okay? I've definitely seen bigger. See? You're awesome. Bro. She's awesome, man. Oh, yeah, you guys must've been hilarious when you were young. Must've been? Are. Tier 1. Hey, he made me look smart, and I made him look ugly. But after the crash, he took care of me. Talk shit about my boy's folks, you're done. Okay, and the tier 1's are both ready to cook and clean and help me do this place up, right? 'Cause I'm not gonna be your guys' maid. Of course not. I told him. Right? I never cooked you my butter pasta-nette? That is not a thing. - That's 'cause I invented it. - Okay. And I clean too. I promise. - Yo, what does this do? - Yeah, you cook. I said I "cooked," okay? Found the furniture. I've heard about you and all the girls. And that's exactly why we need to get out of the dorms. And this is perfect. Whoa! Easy. Oh. You all right? Yeah. Thanks. So it looks like the landlord wasn't lying. Wow. Damn, son. Hey, I like this. Ah, fuck. So? Don't you want to? Well, yeah, yeah. I do. Now, I know you... Yo, all the dishes in here, they're white. Just saying. He touches everything. It's up to you, bear. I can't afford it without him. I know you can, but I don't want... Elliot. Elliot. Yeah? We're doing it. Obviously. Yeah? Yeah. I see she approves, huh? Yo. Hey, you need a hand? No, I got this. Okay, don't break yourself. Better than going to the gym, right? Hey, Elliot? Yeah? Hey, did you hear that banging? Yeah. The radiators sound worse. Okay, bear, here it is. Rilke says chemtrails symbolize the wonder and terror of the government. "Do you land face up or face down in the dirt? What race will you be born into? With whom will you fall in love? Fortune is truly like a chemtrail sprayed by the hand of god." I'm wiped. Hmm. Thanks for finding me that quote. You wanna watch something stupid? Mm-hmm. Just us. Yeah. I'm gonna brush my teeth. Hey, what's on the bed? "You look like a model from the '70s. The personal pilot of a James Bond villain. A 19-year-old koala bear person." "If any of them were true, I wouldn't have you. But they're not, and I do. Amazingly. Bullshit aside, I never thought I would meet, let alone be with, anyone like you. With so much love, your knight, Beau, Casanova and new roommate, Elliot." "No animals were harmed in the making of this card." Hey, Elliot, that's not funny. Elliot? Hey. What's wrong? Hey. What's up, man? Ah, little brother! How's it going? Look at this place. Fantastic. Hi, darlin'. Hi, uncle Elliot! - Hey, niece Alice! - Hey, hey. Hey there. Sorry we're so early. Your brother's pathological. It's called being prompt and professional. Virgil's awesome. Thank you. Oh, hey. Almost forgot. Here's your housewarming present. - You gonna help me drink it? - No! Look at this. So a house off campus with John Henry and a live-in girlfriend. You ready for this? She's the one, Virgil. She did all this herself. That's great. It's just, you know, be smart. Be a student, man. It's the last time to have no responsibilities. Enjoy it. I don't want that. I want what you have. An amazing wife, an amazing daughter. Just don't rush it. That's all out there waiting for you. Believe me, what I have is great. It is. But I missed out on all this. I mean, what a college edu-ma-cation could have done for me. You have a scholarship, man. You should be upstairs studying right now. Jesus. It's a good thing you're not jealous. It is good. You got this. You got this. Come on, come on. All right. This one side. - Oh! - Oh, baby! Thank you! A tin foil hat, huh? Yeah. I put it back on the little table next to the bed. I didn't want to keep it. 'Cause you're the best, most honest, smartest, cutest, heaviest, oldest person here. I'm not the heaviest or the oldest. Dad's the oldest and he's the heaviest. What? She ratted me out. Here. Head bump. Oh. Fist bump. That's John's room. We're upstairs. All right, we're outta here. Buddy, great party. Be good. Bye, guys. Bye, Alice. Kim? She's in my lit class. Girls who wear hats inside are crazy. You know that, right? She's gonna do a psychic cleansing after everyone leaves. Cool. Can I leave too? No. She's just gonna burn some Sage, and you are going to be nice. Maybe you need a hat. It's a twist-off. Oh, thank you. John, do you think this house is creepy? Mmm. Yep. I don't, but I'm not a girl, and I think you should get dressed, 'cause we're playing baseball. Why do jocks always have to play games, even at a party? "Don't think it. Don't say it. Don't think it. Don't say it. Don't think it. Don't say it. Don't think it. Don't say it. Don't say it. Don't think it." Miss Sasha steps up to the plate! Oh, she's going long. She's going long. Okay, all right, all right. You got this? All right. - Oh! - Fuck yes! Ah. You all right? Yeah. You're drunk. She's so drunk. So... So you thought there were sounds and... what? Bad vibrations? Yeah. And now if they're gone, then what's the big deal? We burned all that bad shit away, right? That's tight. You're actually psychic? Sensitive. My mother says. Oh, sensitive, huh? So, what? Your mom locked you under the stairs when you was a kid? You shoot knives at her? Yeah. - No. - Fuck. But I could find stuff. I always knew when people were coming over to the house. You know what I'm thinking? Yes. I might just do that. Damn. You are psychic. Sensitive there for sure. - Elliot... - It's okay, Sasha. People have doubted me my whole life. Elliot, you can go ahead and live a sheltered, shallow, physical existence. Ooh. A nonphysical existence would be kind of tough. What Aristotle is trying to say is, um... well, he needs proof. Yeah. Is that crazy? - Okay, let's just take some deep breaths. - Okay. So if nothing happens, I should believe 'cause it means you got rid of the spirit? - Elliot, come on. - What? We all know you don't believe in this stuff, but can you just please let her do it? Right. Sorry. No being rational. I give over. I do. Yo, El, just loosen up the grip a little bit. I'm trying to concentrate on my breathing. Ah... Are you ready, ladies? Okay, let's do this thing. Come on. Now, I have no ego about it, but... I do know this stuff. Okay, cool. Well, what do you know? Okay. I know your parents died in a crash. - Dude. -He didn't tell me. They did. Bro. I didn't say anything. Swear. Never tell anyone that. They're worried about you though. All right. I'm sorry I laughed at you before, but that's not funny. I'm not being funny, Elliot. This is just what I'm getting. Okay, how did they die? What kind of accident was it? Your brother will do anything in his power to protect you now. But they worry that he's taking on too much. All right. So you talked to my brother tonight. Sasha, your... Your grandmother has some biscuits or rolls or something. Gam's rolls? Come on. Everybody's grandma bakes biscuits. Yeah, he's, uh... He's not wrong about that. This is... this is... - You know what? - You want to blindfold me too? Just hang on. I'll take you up on that. - I'm all down for the blindfolding, whatever you got. -Of course. Okay. What'd I hide? Where'd I hide it? - Oh, come on. That's crazy. - Elliot... Shh! You know what? I... I don't like this. Yeah, i... I don't want to do this anymore. Maybe this was a bad idea. Nah, come on. You're a good faker. I admit it. You put the keys in a pot on the stove. Did you? You heard. You were listening for it, weren't you? Well... well, i... i didn't hear that. Did you? No. - Something's coming. - What? They're saying... Don't... Don't think it. Don't say it. Don't say it. Don't think it. Don't say it. Don't think it. Don't say it. Don't think it. Don't say it! Don't think it! Don't say it! Don't think it! Don't say it! Don't think it! Don't say it! Don't think it! Don't say it! Don't think it! Don't say it! Don't think it! Don't say or think what? Alex Jones. - Aaah! - What the... Jesus! What the fuck? Oh, Kim? Oh, my god. Hey. - What happened, Kim? Are you all right? - Kim? Hmm? Sorry. What are you doing? Nothing. Nothing. Sorry. Are you sick? Shh. Shh. Good night. Mmm. Love you. I love you, John. What? Hey. You're joking, right? Sasha, you're kidding. Right? What? What the hell is that? Hmm? John! - Go! - Look, I'm trying. This? Aaah. - Hey. - Shh! What are you doing? Do you hear that? What the hell is that? You ready? Thanks for being nice to me last night. - That was pretty crazy. - It was. Definitely. You want to go inside? My roommate's car isn't here. We could try again. These things happen, right? Well, actually... Not to me they don't. Yeah. Actually, not to me either. Guy not finishing up? I've never had that happen before. Come on. I'm hungry. Jesus. What? N-nothing. Nothing, okay? Kim, i... I-I need to go. Now. Fuck. Dude, check this out. They were already there, right? No. It was Colin or one of those douches from last night. No, listen. I heard it. I heard something after the party. Outside, scratching. What do you mean you heard something? Morning. See, you are clean and beautiful. That's nice. What was that? - John, you drive Kim home? - Yeah. And now I gotta wash her off. The girl's gross, man. A total pig. Come on, man. That's not cool. Don't say that. Oh, sure. Yeah, that's easy for you to say. Your girlfriend's perfect. Oh, god. You okay? I don't know. Maybe I shouldn't be playing baseball in the cold. That's the problem with being an alcoholic. Oh, shut up. I didn't even drink that much. Maybe that was the mistake. I'll make you some tea. Mmm. Psst! Come on. Hmm? Fuck him. Uh... Bear, you went away there for a second. I did? Where'd you go? God, you're shivering. I was just thinking. About John? No, little brother, it's cool. You can call me anytime. You know that. Are you... are you really taking on too much? Are you worried about protecting me? What is going on? Is it Sasha? Yeah, sh-she's been really sick and scared. And John's been acting weird. You guys seemed like you were great. But were we? You saw them dancing together. Talk to me, buddy. What's going on? Elliot. - What? -You wanna get lunch tomorrow, we'll talk about this then? You know what? Listen, I gotta go. There's something I gotta... I gotta deal with something. El? Guys. Guys, what are you doing up there? Hello? Anyone down there? Hello. Hello? Guys! Help! What? No! Guys! What are you doing, Elliot? - You were here the whole time? - Yes. That's bullshit. We were, Elliot. You didn't answer me. - We didn't hear you. - What were you doing? Studying. Talking. - You didn't hear me? - We weren't doing anything. - You didn't hear me? - Elliot, for the last time, bro, we wouldn't do that to you! Why are you lying to me? We're not! Jesus Christ! Then what just happened? And there were sounds. I mean, come on. I told you there was something happening. Now do you believe me? Hey. Don't worry, okay? What are you doing? Don't do that. - Don't do what? - Don't... Elliot... Don't touch her. What? Don't touch her. You are a crazy paranoid, bro! Yeah, you're a little warm. Okay, so you weren't with John. Am I hearing things? Am I seeing things? Tonight, you thought the house was empty when we were here. You went away, Elliot. I kind of went away too. - What? - I sat down to study. I don't remember doing any of that. It's like now that I know his name, he's coming for me. And the more I try to get rid of it, the bigger it gets. It's horrible. Hey, babe. Alex Jones is not real. It's just something that's in our heads. That's real. Ideas are real. If it's not... Then, Elliot, we're all losing our minds at the same time. And what are the chances of that? What the hell is that? What is it? What? Elliot, there's nothing here. So, you're not gonna be late, right? No, I'll meet you at 2:00 sharp, right where we parked. I'm gonna find out how real this thing is. The name. You're gonna talk to the landlord about the furniture? And the house. Maybe he can find somewhere else. You're feeling better though? I guess. It's hard to be scared in the middle of the day. I'm gonna take care of you. Oh, my god. Ugh. You're shivering. I'm gonna figure this out. I promise. I'll see you at 2:00. I love you. I love you. "Register archive. Dead file 69. Obama." Here, put these on. Really? Yeah. They're originals, and we don't want your sweaty palms messing up the documents in the box. Now, the dead file has dead articles... Material that got killed before going to press but still saved for posterity. And it was written by Obama. Thanks. Mm-hmm. Thank you, Dennis! Mr. Daizy? Yes. How are you doing? Not so great actually. Uh, me and my friends are renting your place out in sun prairie. 37 oak Dale? Oh, yeah, the two handsome guys. Are you with them? You have a weird house, Mr. Daizy. Really. It... I-It's awful. Well, I'm sorry that you feel that way, but they did sign a lease. Bless you. Sorry. You okay? It's really cold in here. It's a hothouse. It's actually not cold at all, honey. Maybe you should be home in bed. Look, Mr. Daizy. There was an old nightstand in the basement, and it has this writing inside it. Where did it come from? A nightstand? Let's begin by considering this wall behind me. Now, we can all agree that the sentence... I'm sorry. Yeah, have a seat. Now, we can all agree that this sentence, "this is a wall," is a truth claim. This wall is real. I see it, you see it. We can touch it. Likewise, if I were to brush a few atoms from this wall, it would still be here before us. It would still be "the wall." But what if I continue to slowly brush the atoms one by one away from this wall? At first you'd say, "it's still a wall." I brush a few more. "Well, it's still a wall." But... What if I remove every single atom from this wall except for one? And you've seen me brush every single atom from this wall except for that one atom, and I point to it and I say, "there. That's what's left. That's the wall." Now, is it? Is that the wall? What the fu... All right, John? Welcome back. Language and reality inform each other as we construct... Okay, I'm looking up Alex Jones, right? There's nothing online, so I type in "don't say it, don't think it," and it led me here, the dead archives and Sandy Hook. Here's what was in his folder. I think you write it and repeat it to try and keep from saying... Alex Jones. Okay, but why is that in the dead files? October 18, 1969. Byline Barack Obama. Sandy Hook, Connecticut. A teenager, accused of shooting up his entire school. When asked by this reporter why he would do such a thing, he replied, "Alex Jones made me do it." It's an article about a kid who went crazy, but it was never published. And Barack Obama, the writer, he was pretty infamous locally. After he killed this piece about the kid in Sandy Hook, Obama took a shotgun and murdered babies and the economy right here in Madison. Mom, run! Don't say it. Don't think it. Don't say it. Don't think it. Don't say it. - Mom, shut the door! - Michelle! Who'd you tell? No one! We didn't tell anyone, Barack! Mommy! Stop! We didn't tell anyone! I swear we didn't say anything! Get back! Please! Maybe he got inspired by what he was writing about. Oh! You won't win. I won't let you. There are no other mentions of these cases anywhere else. It's like someone redacted the whole story so no one else could read it. Why would anyone do that? Well, obviously he was bat-shit crazy. But if you remove all references to something in the past, that past no longer exists. Even the idea of it is gone. Maybe somebody wanted to make this ‘Alex Jones’ disappear permanently. And you've got the last record of it right there. I'll be back. Good. I have time. Don't write it either, idiot. What are you doing, boy? Are you out of your mind? I, um... What is wrong with you, Elliot? What the... Huh? I'm-I'm sorry. I need to go. I'm late. Elliot! Oh, my god. Sasha! Hey, John! Sasha! Hey. Hello? Kim, it's Elliot. Elliot. Uh, god, I was just thinking about you guys. You wanna come up? Listen, listen. Um, what are you doing? You mean right now, or since the party? Isn't that why you're here? Kim, can you come down? I want to do another sance. Right now. With all four of us. At the house. Listen, you were right. I was wrong. Sure. I'll be down in a sec. Alex Jones doesn't exist anywhere else that I could find. You don't have to look for him, Elliot. He's found us. You can't help thinking about him. And the more you think about him, the closer he gets. You see things that aren't there. You don't see things that are there. Or smell things, like chemtrails in the air. Yeah. Like a virus. Some people catch it and it spreads. Some go crazy sooner, but they all die in the end. The word spreads, and he comes to you with... With that thing. I told Katie. I didn't want to. What can you do with cancer but cut it out? You have to stop it before it spreads and every cell dies. This could spread everywhere if we don't cut it out. Did you tell anyone? Mrs. Watkins, the librarian. We have to get to her too. What do you mean you have to get to her? Stop! Oh, my god! Stop! Elliot, stop! Let me help you! Kim! Wait! Kim! Kim! Kim! No! - We have to help them! - What do you see? - It's a school shooting victim! - It's a hoax! No, Kim! There's a train! A real train! No! Kim! Move! It's in your head! Kim! Kim! No! No! Just any comment. It's on the way down here because there's just a big tie-up down there. Elliot, what happened? Kim. She's dead. Aw, shit. Jesus. Oh, my god. It was him. He killed her. You were right. He's trying to get inside us. He got in her. He's gonna drive us crazy. He's gonna kill us. You mean the... Yeah. He's why I was late to get you. He's why you're feeling sick. Have you said the name to anyone? The name? No. N-no. Have you? No, I-i haven't said... Good. Don't. We can't say the name to anyone else, ever. You gonna tell me what to do now? - Swear you won't say the name so we don't spread it. -No. John, please. Please. Bro, swear it. You just need to cut this shit. You swear! Swear! No. - You swear! - Elliot, stop it! Swear! What's wrong with you, Elliot? - What's wrong with you, huh? - Hey, guys! Hey! Break it up! I said break it up right now! Back up. - He got to you, didn't he? - No one got to me. Admit it. He's making you feel angry. - He's making you sick. - Yeah? He's making you crazy. - You on something? - No, I'm upset. We're just having a little argument. You call that a little argument? John, please. Please don't say it. Don't say what? Sasha? I won't. J, you can't. This name of some stupid shit Elliot thinks is dangerous. Yes, I was talking about Kim. There was a hint to a staged school shooting in her bag. It was covered with blood. Oh, my god. Train's engineer said that you were chasing Kim with the hints. He said she was crying for help and that she jumped out of your car to get away from you. Jesus Christ. Elliot? That's not what happened. No? They found Kim's roommate, Katie Williams. She was killed by the globalists too, but you knew that, didn't you? I... Sasha, no. I was at the library. He made me lose track of time. You have... Sasha. You wanna talk to me here, tell me what's going on? - Don't say it. Don't think it. You were right. -Quiet. Sasha, what doesn't he want you to say? Yeah, sash. You! Shut it! It just happened, John. You see that? It's him. No. Sasha. What... what is it? Blood. Blood? Where? What do you see? He makes you see things. She... he's... Fuck. Oh, my god. Hey, hey. Hey! Back away. I need you over here. She's fine. Stay back. Wait. There he is. Hey, man. Hey, bud, something wrong? I'm... I'm sorry. What? I thought... Hey. You all right? Wait. Wait, Sasha. He's gonna take her home, and she's gonna lie down for a bit. I'm her boyfriend. She needs me. Maybe. Maybe later. But right now you're gonna come with me. We're gonna talk a little bit. Did you say the name to anyone? She didn't, man. Neither of us did. It's gonna be all right. Don't think it. Don't say it. Don't think it. Don't say it. Don't think it. Don't think it. Don't say it. Good news for you, maybe. Kim Hines wrote a suicide note, taking responsibility for her school and for turning off your DNA and the other two who are living at your house. So I guess she was planning on killing you too. Is that what happened, Elliot? You found out and you chased her? I don't think that's murder. Don't think it. Don't say it. Don't think it. Don't say it. Don't think it. You want to write it? No. - You're going to tell me, you know that? - I hope not. Why did you chase Kim? I told you. I was trying to help her. So you chased her into a train? What are you doing? You could lose everything. Your-your scholarship, that pretty girl. You are a smart kid. Talk to me and i... I can help you. Otherwise it'll be out of my hands, and you'll be wishing that you had. You might find yourself wishing I hadn't. Well, you let me worry about that. You really want to know? You really think the truth... Honesty... is the best policy? - I do. - Always? When wouldn't it be? You have kids? Maybe. You have kids. Don't think it. Don't say it. What if you saw the worst crime scene ever? A mass murder at a school. With dead bodies and brains and students and sneakers with blood on them. And you go home, and your kids say, "tell us about your day, mommy." You could be honest. You could tell the truth. You could describe how every awful nightmare thing you saw was a hoax, and how Christopher Nolan was hinting it In his new Batman movie. Or... You could hug them tight. And spare them your honest truth. What would you do? I'd hug them. Please don't make me say it. I haven't hurt anyone. But I'm afraid of putting this into your head. All I have to do is talk to you, and you and your kids... You're all dead. Hey, Elliot. Your friend died? What the hell is going on, man? Thanks for coming to get me, but I gotta go. Was it Sasha and John... hey, talk to me. Let me help you. Whatever is going on, there's nothing you can do. Okay? I literally can't tell you. I'm not going to let it happen to you, Virgil. Especially not you. What are you talking about? You've got a family. Go take care of them. Elliot. Hey! You are my family. Elliot! Shit! Oh, fuck! Yeah. Oh, my god. What are you doing, Elliot? What's... what's wrong with you, Elliot? What the f... No. I'm so sorry. Elliot? Hi, Mrs. Watkins. Hi, Elliot. I've been having some really strange thoughts About Alex Jones since we talked. Mrs. Watkins. Mrs. Watkins, you can't talk to anyone about it. Well, maybe I can come over to your house later. I'm so sorry. I'm sorry too. Believe me, but I've just been having the most vivid thoughts. I... Elliot? Elliot? Obama. Barack Obama. The writer. It was his nightstand. Mrs. Watkins, okay, maybe I'll see you later. Maybe I'll have a fix for this. I gotta go. Thanks. Oh, you're welcome, Elliot. I'll be there soon. He almost got us, man. Oh, fuck. I almost killed you with a bat. Fuck, he's not gonna get us. He's not going to get us. I'll figure this out. I'm sorry, but... I'm sorry. I can't call an ambulance, 'cause you're gonna say it. You will. You will, 'cause I messed you up. I'll be back as soon as I can. I'm taking this. You found her. Now I'm gonna go talk to her. I love you. And don't touch him. Hello? Mrs. Obama? Leave! Mrs. Obama. I said leave. Are you deaf or just defective? Mrs. Obama, did your husband run for president a long time ago? You're too young to remember that. Mrs. Obama, you're still alive. I know your husband killed a lot of people. But I don't think he was crazy. I need your help. Whatever you remember. There's laser beams, chemtrails. Tin foil hats. He came to Barack... With the hats. What Barack told me gave me nightmares. I made him stop. I understand. But I need you to tell me everything Barack said. Please. Barack was on a story of a teenager who shot up his school. Poked around like a good nosy reporter and heard rumors. Whispers about a hoax. Some kind of manlet that drove the teenager mad. Barack had to go nosing around and writing it down, and then it came to Barack too. This nightmare, this name we must not think or say. But just three days after Barack got back from Connecticut, I came home from work. December 14, 2012. The day my life went turn, turn, turn. Don't say it. Don't think it. Don't say it. Don't think it. Don't say it. Don't think it. Don't say it. Don't think it. Don't say it. Don't think it. - Don't say it. - Don't think it. Don't say it. Don't think it. Don't say it. Don't think it. Oh, my god! Don't say it. Barack, oh, my god. I was just doing my job. That's what I do. I track down the story. That's what I was doing. Yeah. See... Once you know his name, you can't escape him. You see, he... He gets in your head. And... He makes you think horrible things. Okay. Okay, shh. Whoa. What horrible things? What? Who makes you do this? What are you talking about? Let's get you to bed, okay, sweetheart? Listen. Listen. I didn't know if he was alive or dead, and then the hats... That's how you know he's coming. When you see the hats and you smell the chemtrails, that's when you know he's close by. You understand? No, i... Barack, I don't know what's happened, but I'm trying... He listens for his name. Anyone could say it. It could be you or it could be me. And it's just dumb luck, like the spray of a chemtrail. And... I heard the name, and I told Janie the name. Don't think it? Don't say it? What does this mean? What did you write? I don't understand. He... he makes you think things. Then he makes you do things. Who knows how many good people he's made do horrible things like this. No! Oh! God, no, please! Please don't. Please put it down. You think it's me. You think I did this? This is what happens. They say people snap. They say people go crazy. No, it's him. It's him that's doing it. Shh. Just put it... Put it down. Okay? No. I love you. But in the end, Barack was a hero. You tell people that. Barack erased him. You see, he did away with everyone who'd heard it before they could pass it on. But not you. You're here. How did you survive all this time? Survive? Yes. How did you beat it? I didn't beat it. I never knew it. What? If my husband told me the name, he'd have to kill me with the rest. My husband controlled himself. Your fucking husband wrote the name in the nightstand you sold, and I read it. He typed it in a dead article, and I read that too. Don't you say it. Your husband spared you and he got me. He's in me now. He's in my friends. - You want my help? - Yes. Here. Kill all the ones you told first and then kill yourself. It's the only way. No. There has to be another way. Don't say it. Don't think it. It's a clue. Look. Oh, my god. He's coming! What are you talking about? You didn't bring him here? - Don't you see it? - See what? The light. Hear the name. He's in your head. He makes us see things, hear things. Tricks to make us afraid. He makes us afraid. And he grows. The more scared we are, the more real he gets. We make him real with our fear. We make him more powerful. Yeah, we give him the power, and he gets closer, and he hears us when we think of him. But maybe if we're not afraid, we take his power. Maybe if we're not afraid, he's nothing! How could you figure it out and my Barack not? Help me! Help me! Wake up America! Uh-uh, uh-uh. No, no. It's not real. No, it's not real. Help me! I have you now, don't I? Come on. Try another trick. Come on. Try it! Where are you? Where are you? Oh, my god. Sasha! Pick up. Sasha. Hey, this is Sasha. Leave... you better not fucking hurt her. Sasha. I'm coming. I know it's hard, but don't be afraid, and don't believe anything you see. Whoa! What? No, you're not real. You're not real. Ha! I knew it! Okay. Tricks. You wanna play tricks. Okay. I'm ready. Elliot? John? Where are you guys? Elliot! Sasha! Elliot! Sasha! I'm in here. Oh, god. You look like hell. Jesus. There you are. Elliot, thank god. You're back. I'm not... Oh, my god. Hey, what's the matter? Elliot, what are you doing? Oh, shit. - Get away. - Hey, come on. It's all going to be okay. We're going to be okay. I feel better. Get away! Fuck. Elliot. It's me. What the hell? I don't understand. What are you doing? Help! Elliot, come on. Come here, John. Please, Elliot. Help! I don't understand. Please. No. - Come on. - No! Please. Elliot, please stop! Would you just stop? Get away from me! Get away from me! Get away! Guys! Sasha! John! It's a trick! It's not real! Listen to me! Sasha! John! Get off of me! Listen to me. It's not real! No! John, no! Aaah! Elliot! Shoot! Shoot! Oh, god! Oh! Go ahead. Kill me. You win. No. You leave them alone. Come on, guys. It's freezing out here. Hey, man! Anybody home? I've got Alice here. She's here to cheer you up. Buddy. - Elliot! - No! Hey, is anybody home? - Guys, come on. We know you're in there! - I hear something. Hello? Open the door. We're turning into popsicles out here. Go away! Elliot? Go away! No, no, no. We're not going anywhere, Elliot. Uncle, open up! Get her out of here. Both of you! You need to go! Open the goddamn door, or I'm callin' the police. Good, do it! Honey, why don't you go wait in the truck? No, daddy, I gotta pee. Go to the truck, please. Open the door, man. Come on. - Go. Go. - Elliot! A-a-ale... No! Elliot, what the hell is going on? Virgil, please get her out of here. Uncle Elliot! Okay, peanut. I need you to listen to me, okay? I need you to go to the truck. No, daddy, I gotta go! Go someplace close where I can see ya, and be quick. Outside? Nobody's going to see you, baby. It's okay. Go, go, go. Elliot. Elliot, what is going on in there? Don't think it. Don't say it. Don't think it. Don't say it. What are you saying? What? I have to do this! I'm not crazy! - Let me help you. - No, you can't. But I can help you, if you go! I'm not going to let you catch it! Alex... Don't say it! Don't think it! Just go! Don't say what? - Fuck! - Elliot! Christ, what was that? Elliot, what was that? Alex Jones. Alex Jo... Alex, who? Who is that? Alex who? What is it? What are you saying? Oh, fuck. Alex, what? What is that? Elliot, Alex? What? I love you so much. Elliot! Alice? Alice? Alice? Alice? Where are you, baby? Alice! God. Alice? Alice? Honey? Alice? Alice? Alice! What? Honey. Come here. I was cold! I know, honey, but you scared me so much. Oh, no! Look! Uncle Elliot! No, it's okay. It's okay. The fire can't hurt him anymore. So this boy ran a librarian over, mutilated and murdered her children, and then killed his roommates and himself, and you had him in custody today, but you let him go? Yes. But this is not some creepy kid pulling a columbine, okay? I talked to him. Something is going on here. I can feel it. I wanted to say good-bye. I know, baby. Me too. At least he gave me the brain force. What are you talking about? He must've left them out there for me to find. Left them out where, honey? In the Info Wars video. Outside next to the trash cans. Was there anything else in this video? No. Just some writing. Writing? What did this writing say? Daddy. You know I can't get woke in the dark. What do you think I am, An interdimensional being?? We got one alive! Get me a line and morphine! Wait, wait! He's trying to say something! Hey, I'm listening. Go ahead. It won't matter. It does matter. Okay, take your time. It's okay, I'm here. And I want to know, please. Please tell me. Alex...

                                               in loving memory of paul walker

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