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#╰ ✦ * 。 — WE’RE  ALL  PRETTY  BIZARRE . ( SAMMY . )
oliverreedmasterass · 28 days
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Words: 8k
Synopsis: Based on a hilarious personal anecdote from the incredible @writingcold about seeing something bizarre at a hotel in Green Bay, the GVF guys find themselves caught in a heap of trouble. The problem is, they can't quite work out what they did.
Warnings: language, drinking, drug use, mentions of theft, drowning, and running into traffic
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“Do you know why you’re here, son?” a graying man dressed in a loose-fitting two-piece suit with a strewn purple tie leaned close to the young man who sat across from him at the aged wooden table. 
“No clue,” Jake avoided eye contact while wringing his hands together out of sight of the older man. He snuck a quick glance at the man’s golden nametag pinned to his chest. Doug. “I was just minding my business in my room and then somebody dragged me down here. Am I in trouble?” 
“Depends on how much you’re willing to share with me today,” Doug stared back at Jake with his piercing blue eyes. “I’m gonna need you to tell me what you were up to last night.” 
Jake’s face pinched as he tried to think back. He made a humming noise to stall, and wiped at his mouth - a nervous tick he had never been able to shake. 
“My band and I were out getting drinks,” Jake remembered. “At Ned Kelly’s Pub. Someone recommended the place to us since they’re known for their sour beers. It’s something I’ve been getting into a lot more recently.” 
It was a perfectly normal evening. Like, genuinely, nothing crazy was going down. Jake, Josh, Sam, and Danny all squeezed around a tall pub table, leaning over their pints to sip out of the top of the overfilled glasses. Jake wiped his mouth with the back of his hand to clear the foam from his upper lip and craned his neck to look over Josh’s head at the live band. They were playing a Creedence Clearwater Revival song, and it sounded good enough that Jake started to tap his foot to the beat.
“I can’t believe we’re in Green Bay,” Josh called over the music to his friends. Jake took another slurp from his glass and then nodded his head in agreement. 
“We had the opportunity to go anywhere in the world, and we settled on Wisconsin.” 
“I don’t regret it,” Sam shrugged. “It’s not too far from home and, hey, I’ve always wanted to get my hands on one of those Packers cheese hats.” 
Jake gazed at the ridiculous cheese hat that was perched atop Sam’s head and grimaced at how stupid his younger brother looked. 
“I’m becoming one with the cheese,” Sam proudly stated.  
Jake flicked at Sam’s hat, knocking it just slightly off of his forehead. 
“Are you really gonna keep that thing on all night, Sammy?” he asked. He had noticed Sam was earning some strange looks from the other patrons in the bar which gave him serious second-hand embarrassment. Sam let out a loud laugh at Jake’s question and forced the hat back down on his head so it was set in place. 
“I know you hate it, Jake. So, yeah.” 
Jake faked a scowl, but couldn’t help chuckling into his beer. He took a deep sip and let the taste of the sour beer wash over him. Their Lyft driver had totally been right when she recommended this place. It was by far the best sour beer he had ever had, which was seriously saying something.
Jake took in the bar around him while he worked on his drink. It was classy and pretty packed, which felt just right. He knew he had stepped foot in hundreds of bars like Ned Kelly’s Pub before, but that just made it feel more like home. 
When he finished his drink, Jake stepped away from the table and grabbed his glass, motioning back towards the bar that was only getting more crowded. “I’m gonna get a refill. Anyone need anything?” 
“Ask if they have peanuts!” Sam shouted with enthusiasm. He enjoyed throwing the peanut shells at Josh and getting them stuck in his curly floof. 
“Don’t do that,” Josh firmly told Jake. “It took me two weeks to get them all out of my hair last time. Two weeks!” 
Jake looked beyond Josh to Danny, who was mouthing at him to go and get the peanuts. Jake shook his head at his friends and made his way to the bar, where the bartender was finishing up another order for a group of women around his age. 
“Just a second,” the bartender held up his finger to Jake, who nodded his head with a smile. While he waited, he bobbed his head along to the live band’s Allman Brothers cover. 
“Hey,” a voice said next to Jake. “You look familiar.” 
Jake was curious where the conversation would go, so he turned to his left and looked at one of the women who was waiting for her drink. “Do I?” he asked with a cheeky grin. While he usually didn’t like the attention, he sometimes got a kick out of people trying to place his face. The amount of times people had mistaken him for Julien Baker was extraordinary. 
“Did we go to high school together?” the woman guessed. Jake had heard that one plenty of times. 
“Not unless you grew up in Frankenmuth, Michigan,” Jake replied. 
“Really? You don’t sound like you’re from Michigan,” the woman observed. This comment threw Jake off. 
“Where would you guess I was from?” 
“You’ve got, like, an echo of a British accent. It’s really interesting.” 
“What can I get for you?” The bartender’s attention was finally on Jake. 
“Fill ‘er up,” Jake motioned down to his glass. 
With his glass filled to the brim once more, Jake made a detour over to where the band was playing so he could watch the guitar player. The guy obviously had a lot of experience under his belt, because he was hitting every note in perfect precision. Jake liked to think that he was a pretty talented guitar player, but this guy wasn’t making a single error, and it was blowing his mind. 
Once they finished their song, Jake gave them an extra loud whoop in front of the stage. “Bravo!” he added. 
“Hey, thanks,” the lead singer grinned at Jake. “Got any requests?” 
“Play Cream and I’m never leaving this joint,” Jake beamed wide. 
“You better get yourself comfortable then,” the guitarist chuckled before launching into SWLABR. Jake let out a whoop in glee, gave the band a thumbs up, and made his way back to his friends’ table. 
“Hey there, social butterfly,” Josh poked fun at Jake. 
“I like the vibe of this place,” Jake shrugged. “The band said they would play Cream for me.” 
“So what you’re saying is it’s gonna be impossible to get you out of here, right?” Danny stared at Jake. 
Jake swigged down more beer, and then nodded in Danny’s direction. “You’re gonna have to drag me out of here kicking and screaming.” 
Danny shook his head at Jake with a smile between his pursed lips and Jake stuck his tongue back out at him. He jumped in surprise when he saw the woman from earlier at the side of their table. 
“I figured out where I know you from,” she announced, looking proud. Jake arched an eyebrow. “You’re from that rock band!” 
“Bingo,” Jake pointed at her. As fun as it was to get misrecognized, there was something gratifying in knowing that they were big enough to get spotted out in public. 
“My sister is a huge fan,” the woman continued. “She saw you guys during your last tour and said that your show was literally life changing. She’d die if she knew I was talking to you right now. But, uh, I’m sure you’re used to hearing this, so I’ll keep it brief. I just wanted to bring this over to thank you for making my sister so happy.” 
Jake stared at the tall pint that the woman was handing out to him in awe. 
“It’s a Copper State Sun Soaked - I overheard you ordering it at the bar,” the woman continued as she slipped the glass into Jake’s hands. 
“Thank you,” Jake told her, and he really meant it. The woman waved goodbye to him and made her way across the bar back to her friend group. Jake looked down at the pint in his hands, and set it next to his other glass. 
“Water for the rest of the night after this, I promise,” Jake looked around at everyone. “Mark my word.” 
“And that’s what I did,” Jake told the older man. “We hung around the bar for about another hour, and then we made our way back to the hotel. I went to my room and crashed almost immediately. Then, when I woke up, I was brought down here.” 
“Interesting,” Doug studied Jake. The kid looked like he was being sincere, which threw Doug and his hypothesis in for a loop. He searched Jake’s face for any signs of deceit. “I sent you down here to talk to me because there was vandalism reported in the lobby last night.” 
“Really?” Jake’s eyebrows raised. “What happened?”
“Let’s just say that someone tampered with something that’s really important to me and my hotel.”  
Jake had no trouble looking Doug in the eyes this time around. “I can promise you, sir, I had nothing to do with it.”
Doug gazed at Jake a few beats longer, and then nodded his head. “You’re free to go.”
“Oh thank god,” Jake heaved out and then rose from his seat. 
“But I want you to send in someone else from your party,” Doug continued. Jake frowned at that. 
“We have to hit the road soon.” 
“Don’t worry, it won’t take long.” 
Jake gave a grunt, and left the room in silence. A few minutes later, his twin, Josh, entered into the hotel manager’s office, looking around at the IKEA-inspired decor. 
“Love what you’ve done with the place,” Josh greeted Doug. “Fake plants are really in right now.” 
“Take a seat,” Doug motioned towards the wooden chair that his brother had just been nervously sitting in. Josh slowly lowered himself into the seat and then folded his hands politely in his lap. 
“Is this about the bathrobe I took from the bathroom? Because I thought it was complimentary. If it’s not, I’ll put it back.” 
“Don’t worry about that,” Doug shook his head. “It’ll just get charged to your card.” 
“Aw man,” Josh pouted. 
“I’m trying to fit the pieces of a mystery together, and I need your help. Can you tell me what you did last night?” 
Josh gave Doug a look that showed he was surprised by the question, but shrugged. “My pals and I went to this pub right by the river for their tap selection. We wanted to have a celebratory night out before we headed back home to Michigan.” 
The night was already exhausting. Jake, Josh, Sam, and Danny all squeezed around a tall pub table, leaning over their pints to sip out of the top of the overfilled glasses. Josh winced at the taste of the sour beer and nudged the drink away from him. The rest of his friends were still hard at work, slurping down the beer with content. Josh folded his hands in front of him and thought about their weekend away from home. Their trip to Green Bay had started on a whim, inspired by a side comment from Sam about how they had never really spent any quality time in Wisconsin. Paired with Danny’s recent That 70s Show obsession, it only seemed right that they would squeeze into the Jeep Truck and hit the road west. 
In their 72 hours they had enjoyed some hikes, visited a cool botanical garden, and, of course, hit up as many bars as they could. Josh wasn’t sure what he thought about Ned Kelly’s Pub. Although the massive chandelier made out of glass bottles was pretty impressive, Josh didn’t feel like it outshined the other places they had visited. However, looking around at his friends’ faces, he could tell that they were all enchanted by the bar. They were gonna be there for a while. 
After trading some jokes about Sam’s goofy cheese hat that he had picked up at the National Railroad Museum gift shop earlier in the day, Josh noticed that Jake’s big glass was already empty. The guy must have enjoyed that sour beer a whole lot more than he had. 
“Pace yourself, tiger,” Josh found himself telling Jake without thinking. Jake had promised that he would drive a leg of their trip back to Michigan the following day, and there was no way he was getting out of it by pulling the hungover card. He had used that one way too many times. 
Josh noted that Jake genuinely looked surprised by his alcohol intake, but his shock seemed to last a millisecond since he bounced over to the bar for a refill without hesitation. 
“Do you like this shit?” Josh asked Sam and Danny, pointing an unenthusiastic finger down at his sour beer. He was relieved to see Sam and Danny both shrugging. 
“It’s okay, I guess,” Danny sounded indifferent. 
“I don’t get what the hype is,” Sam chimed in. “This tastes like soap.” Sam then proceeded to take another long chug. 
“Jake seems to like it though,” Danny commented. They all turned to watch the guitarist saunter up to the bar, slam his empty glass down on the counter, and grin at the bartender. The three watched with more interest when they noticed a woman peel away from her group of friends to talk to him. Jake seemed to be torn between getting the bartender’s attention to fill his glass and listening to the woman, but he eventually started conversing with her. 
“What do you think they’re talking about?” Josh wondered. 
Sam snorted. “He’s probably trying to convince her he has a Grammy.” 
Josh noted that Jake’s body language was unusually confident as he talked to the stranger. The woman towered over him in her heels, but he seemed at ease as they laughed over something. When he got his drink, he looked like he was coming back to them, but then quickly diverted his path to head to the live band, who was playing Midnight Rambler. Josh couldn’t help but chuckle when he saw Jake move uncomfortably close to the stage, staring at the guitarist with his eyes wide. 
“He’s freaking that guy out,” Josh commented under his breath. Sam and Danny paused their side conversation about how Sam could style his cheese hat to watch Jake take slow steps closer and closer to the stage. “He looks like he’s on the brink of taking the guitar away from that guy.” 
“He better not,” Danny frowned. “We’re already banned from a handful of bars because of that.” 
They all exhaled in relief when the band broke into a Cream song and Jake, in complete euphoria, returned to the table. Josh watched in horror as Jake guzzled his second glass down in less than 10 seconds like it was nothing. He let out a burp, smiled happily, patted his stomach, and then jolted upright when he realized he had cleared his pint. 
“How is that surprising to you?” Josh asked Jake. “You’re the one who drank it all, it’s not like it magically disappeared.” 
“These are just going a lot faster than I had anticipated, I guess,” Jake looked troubled. 
They made a pact after some arguing that Jake would stick to water for the night, but that quickly went down the drain when the woman approached the table, gave Jake a wink, and placed another tall pint of sour beer in front of him. Josh wanted to scream at the lady to give that beer to literally anyone else in the establishment but Jake, but his mouth remained glued shut. He watched in despair as Jake, once more, threw the entire pint back like it was a shot. Frat guys around the world would be in utter awe of what he was doing. 
“Water for the rest of the night. I promise,” Jake promised, starting to slur his words. “Mark my word.” 
Jake did not stick to his word. 
Over the next 45 minutes, Jake managed to sneak three more pints of the Copper State Sun Soaked. Whether it be bribing someone to bring him a glass in the bathroom, sipping one under the table, or lapping up spills behind the bar, Jake’s BAC was guaranteed to be nearing staggering heights. 
When Jake decided to tear off his shirt and jump on stage to play the tambourine with the poor live band that was just trying to get through a Bob Seger song, Josh threw in the towel. 
“I can’t do this tonight,” Josh admitted to Danny, who looked equally tired of Jake’s antics. “I’m gonna go back to my room and watch some HGTV to unwind.” 
“And I left the bar after that,” Josh concluded his story. “I’m pretty sure I heard them get back to their room around 2am last night. They were a bit loud, but they quieted down pretty fast.” 
“Your brother said that he stuck to water last night after his third drink,” Doug tapped his chin. 
“Well then, he’s a liar,” Josh shrugged. “I don’t know what to tell you. But what does Jake’s drinking last night have to do with anything?” 
“Nothing you have to worry about,” Doug shook his head. Josh looked like he wanted to protest, but Doug quickly motioned for the door. “Please send your brother, Sam, in. I want to talk to him.” 
“Fine, but you better take it easy on him. He’s a sensitive guy, it doesn’t take a whole lot to spook him,” Josh warned Doug. He chuckled at Josh’s warning and, once more, pointed for the door. 
“No need to worry, I’ll be nice to the little guy.” 
Sam entered the room next, still wearing his cheese hat, which he had styled with a pair of black slacks, a yellow button up shirt, and yellow Adidas. 
“What’s up, Doc?” Sam greeted the older gentleman as he peeled a large orange and started to slide the slices into his mouth. Doug motioned for Sam to take a seat at his desk and Sam complied after he took a pause to snap a photo of Doug’s bald head with his fancy camera. “I never thought I’d get to chat with a hotel manager one-on-one like this,” Sam continued to chatter while balancing the orange peels on top of the desk. 
“Sam,” Doug cleared his throat. “I want you to take this conversation seriously.” 
“Are you mad at me?” Sam theatrically called out, his eyes started to well up. Doug started to stumble on his words, panicking over the fact that the curly haired one had been right about his younger brother. 
“No, of course not,” Doug assured Sam, using his sweetest tone. “I just need you to tell me about your time last night at Ned Kelly’s Pub.” 
“How did you know I was at Ned Kelly’s Pub last night,” Sam squinted his eyes at Doug.
“Your brothers told me.” 
“Oh, well, in that case,” Sam chuckled. He grabbed the desk lamp from Doug’s desk and flicked it on so he could hold it under his chin, creating grisly shadows on his face. “It was a cold and dark night in Green Bay, Wisconsin,” Sam started off in a dramatic tone. Doug took a seat across from him and held his head in his hands. This was going to be a long testimony. 
“Since you already know that we were at Ned Kelly’s Pub, I’ll spare you the details about Daniel and I stealing a horse downtown beforehand. You don’t need to hear about that.” 
“Wait,” Doug tried to interrupt Sam. “I actually do want to hear about that.” 
“I was standing at this tall table with my best friend and my brothers, feeling on top of the world with my cheese hat,” Sam cut off Doug, staring into the distance.
It was a bonkers night. Sam and Daniel kept flashing each other excited grins. They had taken something in the parking lot of the bar to really lean into the That 70s Show fantasy that Daniel was trying to live out. Sam had no idea what they had sent into their systems, but it tasted like cherries and made him feel like he was floating. 
He could hear what his brothers and Daniel were saying, but his head wasn’t processing any of it. He felt like he was on autopilot as he gave short answers and laughed when everyone else did. When the conversation shifted to Jake’s drinking, Sam found himself staring daggers at the bartender. He couldn’t help it, the guy looked just like Ben Affleck. In fact, the more Sam stared at him, the more certain he was that the guy really was the A-list actor. Sam had hated his portrayal of Bruce Wayne in Batman Vs. Superman; it was a travesty.
He was ready to storm up to the guy to demand who he thought he was, dating J-Lo and being the moody cigarette “it” boy and all, but Jake beat him to it. Sam watched Jake approach the bartender and let his shoulders slump in defeat. That was a fight to pick later. Plus anyways, Sam had a bigger bone to chew: there was a portal opening on the dancefloor. Sam stared at the streaking lights of blue, yellow, and orange that seemed to be flinging out of the portal in every direction and could tell that his eyes were dilating. 
“Woah,” he whispered out in awe. Josh gave him a quick glance but shook his head and went back to blabbing about how Jake was weird for liking the sour beer. Sam was pretty sure he had agreed that it tasted bad, but really he didn’t mind it. His sense of taste was heightened to God-levels, so each sip made him feel like he was consuming the elixir of life. 
Sam tried to send Daniel morse code messages by batting his eyelashes, but Daniel just winked back at him. He was disappointed that they hadn’t reached the point where they could telepathically communicate with each other, but he knew it was bound to happen eventually. 
“How do bus drivers exit the bus and close the door when they’re the last shift?” Sam wondered aloud. Josh didn’t hear him, but Daniel did and widened his eyes, his mouth hung open. 
“Dude,” Daniel mumbled in awe. Sam was too hung up on that philosophical question to notice Jake rejoining their table, cradling another pint. He only turned his attention towards his older brother when he saw Jake unhinge his jaw to suck down all of the beer in one animalistic gulp out of the corner of his eye. Sam paled at the sight and started to run through the possibilities. 
Was his brother a lizard person? Was that a normal thing that people could do? Or did he and Daniel take some seriously good shit in the parking lot? 
Josh started to yell something at Jake, and Sam cupped his head in his hand, focusing on breathing through his ears. He saw a woman with five arms approach Jake and slip another drink in his hand. All over again, Jake’s jaw unhinged and the drink was gone. He chewed the glass and everything. 
Sam couldn’t stay silent on the issue anymore, and tried to blink in morse code to Daniel, “BATHROOM” but Daniel fluttered his eyelashes back at Sam, obviously not getting the message. Sam sighed and jutted his thumb in some general direction. 
“It’s piss time for me, the piss boy,” he shouted over the music. Josh and Jake both paused from their arguing to stare at Sam, and then Sam scampered away. 
He was grateful that Daniel trailed behind him and leaned into his side when they were out of sight of the twins.
“Jake is a lizard person,” Sam shared. Daniel jumped away from Sam and shook his head in disbelief. 
“No way. But he doesn’t like the sunlight that much.” 
“Did you see him eat that pint glass?” 
“No?” 
“You must have been distracted by something else.” 
“I saw a guy standing in the corner of the room who claimed he was my great-great-grandfather,” Danny remembered. “Wait, what were we talking about?” 
Sam tried to think back on what information he had been so desperate to share with Daniel, but came up short. “I think the bartender is Ben Affleck,” he remembered. 
“That guy stunk as Batman,” Daniel clenched his fist. 
By the time they made it back to their table, Josh looked beyond fed up. He went on a rant about something, but Sam was too busy trying to spot the light molecules coming off the disco ball over the dancefloor to listen. Jake wandered away a few times and, each time he came back, his face looked brighter and happier, until he was a beaming ray of light. Sam squinted to see him. 
“I’m going back to my room,” Josh grumbled, tugging on Sam’s arm to get his attention. Sam made a comment that he thought might make sense, and then focused back on Jake, who had magically appeared on top of the bar and was missing his shirt. 
Ben Affleck shouted something towards Sam and Daniel, and his face turned tomato red when Sam gave him a thumbs up. Sam wondered if the thumbs up gesture meant something rude in Wisconsin, and made a vow to keep his thumb to himself. 
From 10:30pm to 12:30am, Sam stood in the bathroom, gaping at his reflection in the mirror. He could have sworn that his eyes were starting to droop down his cheeks the longer he stared, and the only way he could put them back in place was if he smiled as hard as he could. It was a daunting task but, after 2 committed hours, he finally decided that droopy eyes were actually kind of cool. 
He exited from the bathroom and turned in fifteen full circles looking for Jake and Daniel, but they were nowhere to be seen. Sam wanted to sob at the thought of being left alone, but he quickly reasoned with himself that they trusted him on his own, and had given him a quest to make his way back to the hotel in one piece. 
So Sam stepped out of the bar and dawdled around the empty Green Bay streets. At one point he shed his shoes and chucked them into the river for the fish to wear. He plodded through the desolate neighborhoods, whistling classical music to himself that his parents had played for him on Baby Einstein CDs as a child. He was everywhere and nowhere at once. It was beautiful. 
He couldn’t say for certain what he had accomplished in those hours, but he vaguely recalled something to do with a helicopter, multiple slices of Kraft singles, and a raccoon who wouldn’t stop screaming. 
Around 3am, Sam finally stepped foot into their hotel lobby and was struck with a jarring familiarity at the space. 
“This is my home,” Sam realized in delight. “I made it home. My journey is complete.” 
“And then I fell asleep until literally 20 minutes ago when Josh dragged me out of my room to come down and see you,” Sam finished his tale. Doug looked at him with a twitching eye. 
“You’re telling me you were the one who hijacked the helicopter off the top of the Bellin Building and drove down near the interstate to throw cheese slices at cars?” 
“Probably,” Sam shrugged. “I still don’t know where the screaming raccoon came in though.” 
“Tell me this,” Doug pinched at the bridge of his nose. “Do you remember seeing anything out of the ordinary when you came into the hotel lobby?” 
“I was on drugs,” Sam reminded Doug. “Everything I saw was out of the ordinary.” 
“This is no use,” Doug grumbled. “Is your friend gonna be any help to me, or was he out tripping balls all night long too?” 
“Daniel has a crystal clear memory, inebriated or not,” Sam proudly shared. 
“Send him in then,” Doug asked. Sam shrugged, popped up from his seat, took one more photo of Doug’s bald head, and skipped out of the room. 
“This is a nightmare,” Doug groaned before taking a couple aspirin. 
Danny wandered into the room, looking around him in a panic. When he saw the hotel manager staring at him, he gulped and forced his hands into the front pockets of his jeans. 
“Can I help you?” Danny squeaked. Doug’s furrowed brow loosened when he saw how much the poor guy was trembling. 
“Your friend told me that you have a pretty good memory,” Doug sounded out his words. “It would be a massive help to me and my report if I could get a detailed look into everything that happened with you and your friends last night.” 
Danny looked pale, but he slowly nodded his head. 
“What do you need to know?” 
“Tell me what happened from the second you entered the bar, to when you made it back to your hotel room.” 
“Okay,” Danny whispered. 
The night was frankly a mess. Jake, Josh, Sam, and Danny all squeezed around a tall pub table, leaning over their pints to sip out of the top of the overfilled glasses. Danny was feeling a bit woozy from the LSD he and Sam had taken in the parking lot before entering the bar. It had been Sam’s treat: he wanted Danny to feel like a teen in the 70s as much as he could. Weed probably would have done the trick, but Danny appreciated the gesture. 
It was clear that Sam was hallucinating more than Danny, because every glimpse he caught of his friend, Sam looked like he was seeing the world for the first time. Danny, on the other hand, was dealing with a gnarly headache, a rapid heartbeat, and an overall feeling of disorientation. Sure, he kept seeing a guy who kinda looked like him, but dressed in Pilgrim clothing, speaking in a hush about being his ancestor, but that was the only thing that felt out of the ordinary. 
He took slow sips of the nasty sour beer that made his stomach groan in even more protest, and listened as Jake and Josh poked fun at Sam’s cheese hat. Danny wanted to stand up for Sam and tell off the twins for not respecting the cheese hat, but he felt so queasy, he didn’t want to risk what would happen when he opened his mouth. 
Jake took a long sip from his beer, entirely clearing it of its contents, and Danny was relieved when Josh spoke up. 
“Pace yourself, tiger,” Josh warned his brother. 
“Oh, geez,” Jake murmured under his breath, staring at his glass in awe. Danny could tell that he was surprised by how fast the beer had gone down; they had hardly been standing at the table for more than five minutes. Danny knew: he could feel every second tick away. 
Jake looked conflicted, but eventually opted to take his glass back to the bar for a refill. While he was gone, Josh leaned forward to check and see if Danny and Sam liked the beer at all. Danny let out a burning burp that made him flinch, and then coughed out that it wasn’t great. What really wasn’t great was how his body was reacting to the LSD. 
He watched through squinted eyes as Jake chatted with a nice looking woman at the bar, and then meandered over to the live band that was playing the Allman Brothers. Once he got them to play a Cream song, he made his way back to the table, looking proud of himself. 
“Hey there, social butterfly,” Josh taunted Jake. 
“Fuck you,” Jake growled. "So maybe I like this place."
“So what you’re saying is it’s gonna be impossible to get you out of here, right?” Danny stared at Jake. The last thing he wanted was to be trapped in that bar while he felt like such shit. 
“You’re gonna have to drag me out of here kicking and screaming,” Jake chuckled in between drinks.  
“Jesus Christ,” Sam gaped at Jake. 
“What?” Jake asked, confused once more. Sam, Danny, and Josh all pointed at the tall pint in Jake’s right hand. Jake held it up to his eyeline and paled. It was empty again. “How the hell did I do that?” Jake choked out. 
“You drank that thing like it was a watering hole in the middle of the Sahara,” Danny observed. Jake studied his loose black button up top and took in the dark beer stains dotting his chest and collar. His face reddened in embarrassment. 
“I’ll tone it down, I promise,” he said. “I know we’re leaving tomorrow.” 
“Yeah, and you’re supposed to drive the second leg,” Josh nodded. “I’m not covering for your ass.” 
“I’d ask Sam to drive that leg before I asked you,” Jake protested. “You stink at driving.” 
“Look who’s talking, Mr. Go-95-On-The-Highway!” Josh exclaimed, waving his hands around in a fury.
“It was late at night, there was hardly anyone on the road!” Jake defended himself. 
“Hey, hey,” Danny waved his arms across the table to get the twins to quit bickering. It was really starting to hurt his head. “Let’s not argue over something that isn’t even a problem yet, okay?” 
Danny felt like he had gotten the situation under control, until the woman approached their table. 
“I figured out where I know you from,” she smiled at Jake, looking proud. Jake arched an eyebrow. “You’re from that rock band!” 
“You finally got it,” Jake laughed. 
“Here, have this on me," the woman said.
Jake stared at the tall pint that the woman was handing out to him with hungry eyes. 
“Oh no,” Danny could hear Josh whisper. 
“It’s a Copper State Sun Soaked - I overheard you ordering it at the bar,” the woman continued as she slipped the glass into Jake’s waiting hands. 
“Cheers,” Jake told her. The woman waved goodbye to him and made her way across the bar back to her friend group. Jake looked down at the pint in his hands, and then up at his band members. 
“Give me that,” Josh motioned at Jake. “Before you do something stupid.” 
Jake kept the glass firm in his hands, and tipped it back. 
“You’re kidding me,” Danny gaped. 
“He did it again,” Sam’s eyes widened. 
Jake’s hands shook as he gaped at the third empty glass he had seen in under 20 minutes. “I swear,” he croaked out, “I’m not doing this on purpose.” 
“It sure as hell seems like you are,” Josh countered. “You downed that whole thing while making eye contact with me. In fact, it felt really targeted.” 
“Water for the rest of the night. I promise,” Jake looked around at everyone. “Mark my word.” 
Danny wished they could have just gone back to the hotel at that point, but things never went that smoothly. After having a brief check in with Sam that confirmed Danny’s suspicions that Sam was having the trip of a lifetime, they returned back to their table to find Jake in a much worse state than they had left him. 
“He keeps drinking this shit,” Josh grumbled to Danny, motioning at the pile of empty glasses surrounding Jake. “I can’t get him to stop.” 
“Can’t stop, won’t stop,” Jake burped out. 
“Can stop, should stop,” Josh countered. Jake gave Josh a loud and juicy raspberry, and then tore his shirt over his head. 
“No shirt, no service!” the bartender hollered at Jake as he hopped onto the live band’s small makeshift stage and smacked a tambourine against his ass to their Bob Seger song. 
“I DON’T NEED SERVICE FROM YEW WANKER!” Jake hollered at the man in between barking laughs. Josh stared at his twin in silence for a few beats, and then shook his head in disappointment. 
“I’m not doing this tonight,” Josh spoke in a low grumble. “I’m gonna go back to my room and watch some HGTV to unwind.” 
Danny watched him step away from their table, flip off Jake, and silently move out of the bar and down the city street. He desperately wanted to run after Josh, begging for them to leave together, but he remained glued in place. Jake was transforming into Oliver Reed, and that was something you couldn’t leave unsupervised.
“BOB SEGER IS A GENTLEMAN IF I’VE EVER KNOWN ONE!” Oliver Reed hollered from the stage. He took a pause from his incoherent shouting to bash the tambourine a couple of times over the drummer’s head. 
“Security!” the guitarist called out in a panic. “Can you get this guy out of here?” 
Danny hurried to the stage, climbed up onto the elevated wooden platform, and hoisted Jake over his shoulder. “HOW DARE YEW PUT YER GRIMY HANDS ON ME YEW BIG OLD BUFFOON!” Oliver Reed howled at Danny while trying to scratch him. He got in a few good swipes that slowed Danny down, but he successfully carried his friend out of the bar and was even met with applause as they left. 
Once they were a block away from the bar, Danny set Jake down and forced his shirt into his hands. 
“Put that back on, dude,” Danny snapped. “It’s, like, 30 degrees outside.” 
“ME NIPS KNOW NOTHIN ‘BOUT WEATHER! I’M A MACHINE THAT DOESN’T FEEL COLD, YA TWAT!” 
Danny stared at Jake in disbelief. Oliver Reed was being more of a menace than usual. 
As if his words weren’t biting enough, Jake leaned forward, kicked Danny in the shin, and then tore in the opposite direction down the street. “I hate my life,” Danny groaned before chasing after Jake. 
“RUN RUN RUN AS FAST AS YEW CAN, YEW CAN’T CATCH ME CUZ’ I’M THE BDE MAN!” Oliver Reed cackled over his shoulder at Danny. 
Danny wasn’t happy that Jake was outrunning him by so much, but he could blame that on the LSD. It was challenging to run in a straight line when it felt like the night sky was below Danny’s feet. Talk about bad timing for the hallucinations to kick in. 
“Jake! Oliver! Whoever you are!” Danny called after his friend in desperation. “Can you please stop? I’m so tired!” 
“NO!” Oliver Reed’s voice echoed off in the distance. 
Danny huffed and tried to pick up his pace. Jake was edging closer to the waterfront, and it was making Danny nervous. When Oliver Reed came out, he was often motivated to dive into whatever water was closest by to “seduce the mermaids.” Danny knew for a fact that Oliver Reed didn’t know how to swim (the man sank like a stone), so the stakes were higher than ever. 
Thank goodness Jake stopped. Danny would have been more relieved if he hadn’t done it in the middle of six lanes of oncoming traffic. 
“I PART THEE, RED SEA!” Oliver Reed held a hand up to the cars that were swerving to avoid him. Danny forced back a scream and put his head down to power towards his friend without being smushed into oblivion by an 18-wheeler. How he made it to Jake unscathed, he had no clue. “THE RED SEA! JUST LIKE YER MUM’S PANTIES LAST NIGHT!” Oliver Reed screeched at a cab that just barely missed him. 
“OLIVER!” Danny yelled at the top of his lungs. He was surprised that he actually had his attention. Even though Jake had somehow acquired sunglasses and a fake beard since leaving the bar, making it hard to read his facial expressions, he could still see that Jake was listening to him attentively. “Get out of the road!” Danny continued. 
Jake stared at him a bit longer, and then started to sprint away from Danny again. 
“SKEEDOOSH!” Oliver Reed called over his shoulder with a barking laugh. 
Danny chased Jake nearly everywhere in the city, from the downtown area to the less-populated rural areas just outside of town. It was exhausting work, and Danny kept thinking that Jake was bound to flop over, but he wouldn’t stop. Danny was starting to think that the guy really was a machine, until they made it to the front doors of their hotel. 
“Best be getting me to bed,” Oliver Reed announced at the most normal volume Danny had heard all night. 
“Good,” Danny gasped for breath. 
Entirely unaffected by their extensive aerobics, Jake pushed the front door open and made his way into the lobby. 
“Wouldn’t turn down a sip or two of the good shit,” he decided. Danny tried to stop Jake, but he was moving on a mission towards the bar area, even though it was closed. Danny nearly tripped over Jake’s feet when he came to an abrupt halt, looking up at something in awe, as if looking into the face of a deity. 
“Would yew look at ‘at,” he breathed out as he took in the lifesize statue of Captain Morgan that was standing tall and proud in the middle of the hotel lobby. “The captain of the seven seas, Mr. Cap’n Morgan. I thought he was only a myth, but there he is. Wild shit.” 
“Take a picture, it’ll last you longer,” Danny said, trying to move Jake along. Jake stood firm, staring at Captain Morgan with a newfound interest. 
“He’s tellin’ me I’m shit,” Oliver Reed suddenly growled. “That old Oliver Fucking Reed himself is no worthy pirate. Well, I’ll show ‘im. I’ll show that bastard.” 
“Jake,” Danny’s voice squeaked in shock as he watched Jake jump at the Captain Morgan statue and tear his left hand away like a rabid animal. The sword that was in the statue’s hand loudly clattered to the floor, and Jake was quick to scoop it up. 
“WHO’S THE BEST PIRATE NOW, MORGAN? EH? THE BLOKE WITH ONE HAND AND NO SWORD? I DON’T THINK SO!” 
“Jake!” Danny cried out once more as Jake swirled the sword around and jabbed it into the statue’s plaster chest. 
“YAR!” Oliver Reed cried in triumph. “VICTORY ONCE MORE FOR THE BRITS! GOD SAVE THE QUEEN! OR WHOEVER THE BLOKE IN POWER IS NOW!”
Danny had to plank to the ground with a yelp when Jake chucked Captain Morgan’s left hand as hard as he could across the lobby. They both watched it soar towards the front doors, which automatically opened for the hand and closed when it had fully passed through. Jake attempted to chop with the sword a couple of times as if he was cutting a head of lettuce, and then lit a large cigar to celebrate his victory. 
Danny rose back to his feet and, while Oliver Reed was chuckling to himself about what a great swordsman he was, he lurched forward and forced the sword out of Jake’s grasp. 
“BOLLOCKS!” Oliver Reed hollered in despair. “I’VE BEEN ROBBED!” 
“You’ve been saved,” Danny corrected Jake, holding the sword under Jake’s chin. 
“I’ll call it a draw,” Oliver Reed gulped. 
“You’re gonna do what I say, okay?” Danny growled at the troublemaker. Jake nodded, wincing at the feeling of the sword up against his jugular. “We’re gonna take a nice walk up to your room, you’re gonna get in bed, and you’re gonna have the best night’s sleep of your life.” 
“That sounds bloody nice,” Oliver Reed thought aloud. “Better than a sword through the heart, I reckon.” 
So Danny led Jake upstairs to his room, saw that he made it under his covers, and only left when he heard soft snores coming from the bed. Then he went to the shore of Lake Michigan and chucked the sword as far as he could. 
Finally feeling content with where things were at, Danny made his way to his own room and immediately passed out under the covers to sleep off the LSD. 
“I’m so sorry, Sir,” Danny told Doug with sincerity. “I tried to keep my friend from messing with your statue, but you should see how fast he moves while intoxicated. He’s like a cat.” 
“I should have talked to you first,” Doug gazed at Danny in interest. “That would have saved me a hell of a lot of time and a headache.” 
“What are you going to do with us?” Danny looked fearful. “I can promise you all of this was a big mixup, we have nothing against Captain Morgan, his brand, or your hotel partnership.” 
“Gather your friends. I want to talk to you all.” 
Danny looked on the brink of soiling himself, but he left the room and shortly came back with Jake, Josh and Sam. In his time away, Sam had managed to acquire a cheese board to serve as an accessory with the rest of his outfit. 
They all crowded into the cramped office and Jake shot Danny a worried glance. Danny wasn’t sure how much Jake knew or remembered, so he opted to keep his eyes glued to the floor. He hated how awful he was at lying when he was stressed; he should have done more to cover for his friend instead of recounting every part of the night in excruciating detail. Jake was bound to never talk to him again. Probably Josh too. Sam would most likely still be his friend because he thought it was funny when Jake got in trouble. 
“You’ve probably pieced together why I brought you all in here today,” Doug shared with the group. 
“Nope,” Sam shook his head. “I’m still stumped.” 
“My Captain Morgan statue was desecrated last night, and it’s come to my attention that one of you is at fault.” 
Danny continued to study the floor. 
“Captain Morgan?” Jake’s voice trailed off. His face dropped. The previous night was coming back to him fast. He had not stuck to water after his three pints of beer. 
“Oh no!” Josh called out. “I liked that guy! Very nice decor. Very aquatic.” 
“Captain Morgan,” Doug looked at Jake. Jake stared back at him with wide eyes. “Son, you really need to tone it down with the sour beers.” 
“So I’m not the one who’s in trouble?” Sam asked around. When no one responded to him, he gave the room a peace sign and strolled out the door. “Later skaters,” he called over his shoulder. 
“I know,” Jake choked. “Sour beers aren’t good for me.” 
“They’re just not good, period,” Josh corrected Jake. 
“It’s my fault too,” Danny burst out. “I should have stopped Jake.” 
“You tried your best,” Doug gave Danny a sympathetic gaze. “You weren’t the one who tore off the hand.” 
“But I did dump the sword in the lake.” 
“For the welfare of everyone in the vicinity. I can respect that.” 
“Wait, Jake had a sword last night?” Josh looked around at everyone. “And I missed it?” 
“I’m going to ask that you cover the charge to fix Captain Morgan,” Doug told Jake. “Whether it was your alter ego or not, you were caught on those security cameras doing the dirty work.” 
“So you knew it was me all along?” Jake couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Then why did you make us go through all of that interrogating?” 
Doug shrugged. “I mostly just wanted to try to understand why someone would destroy something as sacred as my Captain Morgan statue.” 
Jake pondered this and eventually nodded, like he understood where Doug was coming from. 
“But now I’m also sitting on a lot of information that the Green Bay police department would find valuable about that horse and helicopter theft that went down last night.” 
“You know, it’s been so nice meeting you,” Danny nervously chuckled, pushing on Jake and Josh’s backs to steer them out of the room. “Jake will get that check sent to you as soon as you get us the invoice. Whatever the price, we’ve got it covered. Thank you so much for your hospitality, and we’ll make sure to give this place five stars on Yelp.” 
Once they were out of the doorframe, Danny looked between the twins. 
“Run,” he hissed. “We’re not getting caught for any more of our crimes today.” 
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hekate1308 · 1 year
Text
Fictober 2022, #12
Prompt: “You’re making my head hurt“
Fandom: Supernatural 
Rating: G
Pairings: Destiel
“Cas” Dean says, bringing his hand up to squeeze the bridge of his nose, "You're making my head hurt."
It’s not that he’s not happy Cas has decided to stay with them at the bunker for the foreseeable future instead of fluttering off to Heaven or wherever he used to go when he flew off. He is. For several reasons, some of which he is even ready to acknowledge, like the fact that he’s now living with his two best friends.
But the fact is, sometimes this leads to situations that are just… ever so slightly bizarre, and this is definitely one of them.
“But Papa Smurf would have to have known Granny Smurf, since she and Grandpa Smurf appear to be close, so it makes no sense that he would ask to be introduced –“
“Cas, I am not discussing the genealogy of the freaking Smurfs with you.”
“But it makes no sense –“
“It’s a kids’ show, I don’t think they cared enough to think all of that through.”
Cas frowns. “It seems to me that one should care more about what one allows children to watch than when the intended audience consist of adults…”
“That may be true, but that’s not how it works.”
Cas thinks about it for a moment, then says, “I think there are a lot of things I do not yet understand, despite having known you and your brother for over a decade.”
Dean laughs; he can’t help it. “Cas, you’ve been around for millennia. You can’t tell me that me and Sammy are a more important blip on your radar than freaking Moses or any of those other guys and gals.”
Cas is silent for a heartbeat or two, then he slowly but surely backs away, leaving the room altogether, and Dean has no idea what he’s done now. It’s only too natural to think that he is at fault, only he really can’t say what exactly he did, but well, this is dean we’re talking about, so of course he did something.
Thing is, he doesn’t think he was wrong. Sure, Cas is a pretty big thing for him… and Sam (although in very different ways, and such as he will never divulge to another being if he can help it) but why should he feel the same way? Guy was around when the freaking Tower of Babel was built, and for what it’s worth, no matter what they’ve been through, Dean still thinks that’s more important than their troubles.
Should he apologize? In the end, he just shrugs and goes to blow off some steam in the kitchen. That usually works for him, and it’s a hell of a lot healthier than drinking, which he has been doing a lot less of ever since Cas moved in, now that he thinks about it.
When Sam enters the room, he assumes he’s going to chew him out for upsetting Cas, but somehow his brother mostly looks… sad? It’s somewhat confusing, seeing as he’s usually pissed at Dean when he puts his foot in.
“Hey, Sammy. Care for a beer?”
Soe he cracked a cold one open after all. It’s just one drink, he can deal.
“Cas is upset.”
“Before you say anything, this actually started because of the freaking smurfs” he tells him, keeping his eyes on the scrambled eggs he’s making.
“Yes, he told me.”
“Sorry if me not caring made him angry, but…”
“Dean, he’s upset because you doubt that you are the most important thing in his life.”
Scratch. Freeze frame. Or whatever the kids are saying, these days.
What the hell?
He takes a deep breath. “Calm down there, Sammy. You make it sound as if…”
“Dean, it’s okay. It’s not as if I don’t know.”
What? “Don’t know what?”
“Come on. You’ve been spending how much time in your room lately?”
That’s true, but – “Dude, we’ve been watching movies and stuff!” Hence their ill-fated Smurf binge.
“I know. I just meant that… if… that is…”
Isn’t this awkward.
Then, to make it even worse, Sam says, “You know I wouldn’t mind –“
“Goddamn it Sam, he’s an angel. He’s got better options.”
Another pause. Then, “You didn’t say that you aren’t –“
“Come off it Sam, of course I am. But that’s not the point.”
“Dean… you do realize Cas thinks it is?”
Wait a moment. “Are you saying that you think that –“
“Dean, I know. Dude can only stare at you for so long before even I get a hint.”
He takes another deep breath. “So you really –“
“Yes, Dean, really. So can you just go and talk to him? Please?”
He comes to a decision and cleans his hands. “Can you take over for me?”
Of course Sam agrees.
He turns back around at the door. “Oh, and if this goes right… don’t wait for me with dinner.”
His brother’s bitchfae is more than worth it, especially because he and Cas only re-emerge from their room the next morning.
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my-weird-news · 7 months
Text
Barefoot Running: Unleash the Truth! 😱
Barefoot Follies: Running Like Our Ancestors (But With Less Grace) So, apparently, there's a hot trend in town, and it's not just any trend – it's a trend that involves flinging your precious footsies right onto the pavement. Yep, barefoot running is a thing now. I mean, have you ever seen someone sprinting down the street, dodging pebbles and puddles like they're starring in their own bizarre episode of "Survivor: Concrete Jungle Edition"? That's the image you can't unsee. Picture this: you're strolling down the street, admiring the skyscrapers, the fast-food joints, and the occasional pigeon making a rather bold fashion statement. Suddenly, you spot a brave soul who's taken the concept of "soles on the ground" to the next level. Yep, they're sans shoes, channeling their inner caveman or cavewoman – because who needs a fancy pair of Nikes when you can feel the warmth of urban grime between your toes? According to experts, this trend brings you closer to Mother Nature. Because clearly, Mother Nature intended for us to run marathons on the concrete, just like she intended for us to watch Netflix on cave walls. And hey, if you're looking for a way to reconnect with your roots (and also possibly step on something sharp), then congrats, you've found your calling. But hold on a second. Before you ditch your sneakers and embrace your inner Hobbit, let's weigh the pros and cons. We consulted the gurus – Sammy Margo, physiotherapist extraordinaire, and Dina Gohil, podiatrist and ambassador of "Walking on Weird Surfaces 101." First off, benefits. Sammy says that running barefoot gives you a profound sense of being one with nature. And if by "nature" she means the sticky gum on the sidewalk, then sure, we're all about that oneness. Plus, some folks claim it helps with their running form. Because what's a workout if you don't look like a cross between a gazelle and a squirrel on a caffeine high? But here's the kicker: every foot is a diva, and they all handle ground pressure like they're auditioning for a reality TV show. Dina reminds us that our bodies are a patchwork quilt of pain tolerance and awkward movements. So, congrats, you've just entered a reality where one foot might be dancing the tango while the other is stuck in the Macarena. Oh, but wait, there's more! Exercising barefoot isn't just about the physical experience; it's like a spiritual journey for your toes. Dina spills the beans: going barefoot boosts your "proprioception," which is fancy talk for feeling your body's every jiggle and wobble. And let's not forget that running shoe-free is like ordering the VIP package for your foot's personal training program. Suddenly, your feet are doing yoga and Pilates, and you're wondering if you need to hire a foot masseuse. Now, here's the part where things get interesting. Apparently, walking on weird surfaces is the secret to becoming the next superhero – or at least having soles like a superhero. Dina suggests stepping on newspapers like you're auditioning for "America's Got Soles," which I'm pretty sure isn't a real show, but should be. And brace yourselves: your leg muscles are going to hit the gym and get ripped – no, not the gym with dumbbells, the one with pebbles and glass shards. But before you toss your running shoes out the window and prance off into the sunset, let's talk risks. Turns out, going all caveman can lead to some less-than-idyllic situations. Like stepping on sharp objects and trying to make peace with blisters that are more tenacious than your ex. And did someone say "plantar fasciitis"? Because apparently, that's a thing – the name alone sounds like a villain in a foot-themed comic book. Also, brace yourselves for the possibility of your muscles becoming tighter than a jar of pickles you just can't open. Yep, your legs might throw a tantrum and refuse to cooperate with your newfound "barefoot bliss" plan. And let's not forget the ultimate buzzkill: the risk of injury. If you thought the high heels were evil, try running barefoot and dealing with the potential aftermath of Achilles tendonitis, stress fractures, and whatever else the foot apocalypse has in store. So, folks, before you embark on this journey of sole-searching (see what I did there?), maybe consult an actual professional who's seen more feet than a podiatrist at a shoe sale. Because, let's be real, cavemen probably didn't have to deal with foot massages and Epsom salt baths. Stay wild, stay cautious, and remember that even if you're running barefoot, you're still light-years ahead of those poor pigeons trying to make their marks in the fashion world. 🦶💃# Barefoot Follies: Running Like Our Ancestors (But With Less Grace) So, apparently, there's a hot trend in town, and it's not just any trend – it's a trend that involves flinging your precious footsies right onto the pavement. Yep, barefoot running is a thing now. I mean, have you ever seen someone sprinting down the street, dodging pebbles and puddles like they're starring in their own bizarre episode of "Survivor: Concrete Jungle Edition"? That's the image you can't unsee. Picture this: you're strolling down the street, admiring the skyscrapers, the fast-food joints, and the occasional pigeon making a rather bold fashion statement. Suddenly, you spot a brave soul who's taken the concept of "soles on the ground" to the next level. Yep, they're sans shoes, channeling their inner caveman or cavewoman – because who needs a fancy pair of Nikes when you can feel the warmth of urban grime between your toes? According to experts, this trend brings you closer to Mother Nature. Because clearly, Mother Nature intended for us to run marathons on the concrete, just like she intended for us to watch Netflix on cave walls. And hey, if you're looking for a way to reconnect with your roots (and also possibly step on something sharp), then congrats, you've found your calling. But hold on a second. Before you ditch your sneakers and embrace your inner Hobbit, let's weigh the pros and cons. We consulted the gurus – Sammy Margo, physiotherapist extraordinaire, and Dina Gohil, podiatrist and ambassador of "Walking on Weird Surfaces 101." First off, benefits. Sammy says that running barefoot gives you a profound sense of being one with nature. And if by "nature" she means the sticky gum on the sidewalk, then sure, we're all about that oneness. Plus, some folks claim it helps with their running form. Because what's a workout if you don't look like a cross between a gazelle and a squirrel on a caffeine high? But here's the kicker: every foot is a diva, and they all handle ground pressure like they're auditioning for a reality TV show. Dina reminds us that our bodies are a patchwork quilt of pain tolerance and awkward movements. So, congrats, you've just entered a reality where one foot might be dancing the tango while the other is stuck in the Macarena. Oh, but wait, there's more! Exercising barefoot isn't just about the physical experience; it's like a spiritual journey for your toes. Dina spills the beans: going barefoot boosts your "proprioception," which is fancy talk for feeling your body's every jiggle and wobble. And let's not forget that running shoe-free is like ordering the VIP package for your foot's personal training program. Suddenly, your feet are doing yoga and Pilates, and you're wondering if you need to hire a foot masseuse. Now, here's the part where things get interesting. Apparently, walking on weird surfaces is the secret to becoming the next superhero – or at least having soles like a superhero. Dina suggests stepping on newspapers like you're auditioning for "America's Got Soles," which I'm pretty sure isn't a real show, but should be. And brace yourselves: your leg muscles are going to hit the gym and get ripped – no, not the gym with dumbbells, the one with pebbles and glass shards. But before you toss your running shoes out the window and prance off into the sunset, let's talk risks. Turns out, going all caveman can lead to some less-than-idyllic situations. Like stepping on sharp objects and trying to make peace with blisters that are more tenacious than your ex. And did someone say "plantar fasciitis"? Because apparently, that's a thing – the name alone sounds like a villain in a foot-themed comic book. Also, brace yourselves for the possibility of your muscles becoming tighter than a jar of pickles you just can't open. Yep, your legs might throw a tantrum and refuse to cooperate with your newfound "barefoot bliss" plan. And let's not forget the ultimate buzzkill: the risk of injury. If you thought the high heels were evil, try running barefoot and dealing with the potential aftermath of Achilles tendonitis, stress fractures, and whatever else the foot apocalypse has in store. So, folks, before you embark on this journey of sole-searching (see what I did there?), maybe consult an actual professional who's seen more feet than a podiatrist at a shoe sale. Because, let's be real, cavemen probably didn't have to deal with foot massages and Epsom salt baths. Stay wild, stay cautious, and remember that even if you're running barefoot, you're still light-years ahead of those poor pigeons trying to make their marks in the fashion world. 🦶💃 Read the full article
0 notes
heavenvaulted-blog · 6 years
Text
i just added like twelve muses so here’s me just mashing tags
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swan2swan · 3 years
Text
So, where do we go from here? 
Camp Cretaceous Season 4 Prediction (LONG): 
As much as I’ve argued that we need to stay on Isla Nublar the whole time, turning right back around after that final sendoff would be too much of a forced “Return to Status Quo” for a story that has propelled itself forward so much. The kids did it. They won. They got off the island. I feel like we've explored almost everything we needed to (what's left? The bamboo forests? The gardens?), and though we never saw Triceratops or Stygimolochs or got chased by Gallimimus, we can't just go back after everything's increased. The only Big Challenge remaining on the island is the volcano, and that's six months out.
But the story’s nowhere near done, because we have four major plot threads that need to be addressed before the show ends:
1. Most immediately, we have the dinosaur in the closet. Is it a baby Scorpios? Blue? A Monolophosaurus? A Dilophosaurus? A baby Ouranosaurus? A baby Baryonyx? Jeanie? We don’t know, but odds are that it’s going to throw a wrench into the kids’ plans to return home. 
2. The state of Sammy's family and the ranch are still in flux; what will happen to them? Did they get all the money they needed from lawsuits? Does Mantah Corp have dirt on them? Are they going to try to interfere with Sammy because she Knows Too Much? They were set up as villains for a reason.
3. Darius and Kenji's strained relationship is a setup for future conflict.
4. We need to see Bumpy again. This isn't something that “needs” to come up, but the fact is that she's one of the main characters—bringing her back is essential to the story's quality, and we're not missing that thread. She either needs to get off the island, or we need to see that she lives afterwards.
Considering all of these things, I can rule out a lot of options: we're not getting chased right back by the Mosasaurus, and the creature in the ship isn't just going to wreck the engines and send them back. They're less than a hundred miles off of Costa Rica, so even if they're cruising at a cautious ten miles an hour, they should be able to see the shore within twenty-four hours, which means we're not going on an island-hopping adventure, either. You need dinosaurs, too, so nothing generic will happen.
Thus we can consider:
1: The kids are on the mainland of Costa Rica, and lost in the jungle or mountains. Just because they found their way back to mainland doesn't mean that they're going to find a port, and if their stowaway or the Mosasaurus causes problems, they can crash easily. If it's a Scorpios Rex baby, they'll have to hunt it and capture/kill it to finish their mission from this season. The problem with this option is that it just retreads the threat from the last season, which is boring; if it's a Monolophosaurus (or two), then it might not even impact things...so, I don't think the “kids in the jungle” plot is going to stick. I give this one a “D”.
2:  The kids run into a patrol vessel before landing. Isla Nublar is under quarantine. While they're on the boat, their rescuers/captors unleash the creature (which could be Scorpios!), and now there's a tight opening adventure on the boat. Thrilling, but not much of a big season if it's just a navy vessel...which leads me to:
3:  This is the only way I think we go back to Nublar, and that is if they meet up with a patrol boat, and then the creature in the hold (a small Scorpios???) rampages through the ship. They put it down, but the noise attracts the Mosasaurus, which wrecks the boat and puts them right back on Nublar—separated and with a bunch of adults alongside them. With a cast of much-more-plot-vulnerable adults to care about now (perhaps including Roxie, who joined the crew?), the stakes are higher and the kids are guides—maybe even separated at different points on the island. Not a big fan of this idea, though—again, it's retreading, and the number of excuses for “military-trained adults can't radio for help” is slim. So, I give it an “F”. But let's refine it a little further:
4: The kids get picked up by a patrol boat that is actually working for Mantah Corp—and they discover the dinosaur that has snuck aboard. Seeing an opportunity, Mantah Corp excitedly takes the kids to their secret base...on Isla Sorna. Though the dinosaurs on the island are mostly extinct and sick from disease, the abandoned island was perfect for a field laboratory. Specimens to study, buildings that already existed, a quarantine keeping prying eyes away...there's a whole organization here now. The kids escape from captivity (as they do) and find themselves wandering around a new island with new dangers: all around them are long-decayed skeletons of dinosaurs from the past, and hunting them are bizarre creations from Mantah Corp's labs. It's an island of ghosts now, and the kids need to escape...and perhaps, when they do, they find that they only have enough fuel to make it to one place: and it's the place they never thought they'd return to.
This plot covers pretty much every base—the stowaway, Mantah Corp, the relationships, and a chance to return to Bumpy—and gives them a proper, probable reason to go to Isla Sorna that isn't “Fate decided that it would be fun if they went to a different island”. I give this one “B-to-A” probability.
However...
There is one other major option:
Three. Year. Timeskip.
There are only two things holding me back from leaning into this: one is that it would deny us the sight of the kids reuniting with their families. We need that. We need some sort of triumphant return home. The other, simpler, more obvious problem is the monster in the hold; that kind of cliffhanger seems like it should come up. Obviously both of these problems can be solved via flashbacks, or a prologue, but...the need for new models and such would be an issue, because “budget” has always been a thing.
The other major problem, obviously, is the fact that the kids would need a reason to come back together. Maybe they all gather together for an anniversary and a dinosaur attacks them; maybe they're all being interviewed; but a far more interesting, compelling, and obvious motivation would be this:
Bumpy is alive and in danger.
Thus, all six kids (well...at least two would be adults now...) go running off to find and rescue Bumpy. They're bold and independent, rebellious and reckless: they each go to save their dinosaur friend, and they end up running into each other and ultimately facing Mantah Corp, who is one of the major power players in the prelude to Dominion.
This one has the ultimate story potential, in my opinon. You have Kenji and Darius meeting again with death glares because they left on poor terms. Ben has adjusted. Yaz and Sammy have had three years of yearning, notes, and problems (or maybe Sammy vanished...). And Brooklynn has had to forge a completely new life for herself, because she can't deal with internet fame anymore—everyone asking her about the island wherever she goes was just too much.
It directly sets the stage for Dominion, allowing glimpses of the world as it will be in the movie. Maybe the kids set more dinosaurs loose from Mantah Corp's (land-based in this one) laboratories as they free Bumpy. Maybe they become renegades and outlaws—forced to live in the wilds of California, Nevada, or Mexico. They're no longer looking for rescue, but for refuge. Maybe Claire has a sanctuary, a real one, that they have to get to. This would make it a full-scale adventure in a world filled with dinosaurs. Whatever they brought back with them is out there, too...and perhaps an old, scarred nemesis they never thought they would see again.
The biggest drawback to this is that the show hasn’t been running long enough for kids who started it to connect with the grown-up forms of the characters, but also...at the same time...it could work? I dunno, I give it “B” probability, A+ potential. 
Other thoughts that could work in any of these:
Roxie is working for Mantah Corp. She's unemployed, combat ready, and bitter at InGen...also, she'd look great in a uniform.
Brand is involved in any mainland shenanigans.
Dodgson. Dodgson. Can we get Dodgson here?
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watermelonlipstick · 3 years
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Dreams, Chapter 18
If you haven’t read this series before, you might want to start on Chapter 1, or check out the Dreams Masterlist! Here’s the series description:
When Dean dies for good leaving Sam and his girlfriend (the reader) behind, they must figure out how to carry on without him. Alone, reeling, and unsure what to do next, trying to honor Dean’s memory and follow their hearts gets even more complicated when their nightmares become dreams that feel a little too real.
Title: Dreams, Chapter 18
Pairing: (past) Dean Winchester x Reader, (eventual) Sam Winchester x Reader
Word Count: 4326
Summary: Dean gets a better sense of what Sam and the reader’s new life is like.
Warnings: FLUFF, swearing
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           Barbie opens the door with an honest to god plate of pigs in a blanket as though she just had them going and you have to remind yourself you’re in a dream. “What a nice surprise! Come in, come in. And who’s this?” she asks, hugging Sam with one arm while holding onto the plate and offering for you to take one. It’s as buttery and salty as you ever could’ve hoped.
           “This is, uh, this is my brother Dean.”
           “Well hello, Dean! What a handsome pair you two are.” She offers the plate to the brothers. Dean grabs two with a pincher, tossing both in his mouth. Sam politely takes one as Barbie yells over her shoulder. “Mike, we have company!” She motions for you three to follow her into the house and Sam has to practically clothesline his brother to get him to take his shoes off before he trails blindly after the plate full of sausage.
           Mike stands up from one of those leather armchairs, folding back the magazine he’s reading to greet Sam with a bear hug. “This is my brother Dean,” Sam offers as Mike hugs you with decidedly gentler back pats than he had for Sam. Dean holds his hand out as if to shake but Mike curves his big paws around Dean’s shoulders and pulls him in for a hug with enough force that Dean almost falls into him.
           “You didn’t say anything about a brother!” he bellows to Sam over Dean’s shoulder.
           Sam and you both freeze, and you can only speak for yourself but you suspect Sam is also worried Dean will be upset to hear that. Instead, finally released from Mike’s binding embrace, Dean rocks back to holding up his own weight with a big smile. “Crazy private, these two, right? You’d think they were in the witness protection program.” For another second you’re worried about how you’ll do damage control, how you’ll talk to them about Dean after this, and then you remember this isn’t actually Mike and Barbie, they won’t actually remember anything.
           Mike leans into Dean conspiratorially. “You can say that again. Now, what can I get you three to drink?”
           “Whatever you’re having works for me, sir,” Dean answers, charming as ever with his most clean-cut smile.
           “You’re going to regret saying that,” Mike laughs, heading over to the kitchen where Barbie is fiddling with something in the oven. He fills a row of pint glasses with dark beer out of a growler you know is the extremely strong beer he brews himself and hands one to his wife with a kiss on her cheek, motions for you and the Winchesters to each take one. “To a pleasant surprise and finding out there’s another man in the world like Sam.”
           “I think you mean another man like me,” Dean says cheerfully as you all clink your glasses together.
           “So you’re older?” Barbie asks, handing Sam a stack of plates to go make the table with.
           “Four years, yeah. It was easier to tell when I had a foot on him.” Dean reaches up to ruffle his baby brother’s hair, and Sam generously waits a half-second before swatting his hand away with a sheepish flush.
           “A foot? Really? I wouldn’t have thought anyone would ever have had a foot on this behemoth,” Mike laughs, catching Sam with a jokey punch to his bicep when he comes back for silverware.
           “Oh, yeah. Sam was a little squirt until he was like 17.” Dean continues.
           “How’s Luke’s basketball team doing?” Sam asks, color rising in his cheeks and desperate to have the focus shifted off of himself.
           Barbie grants his wish with a knowing smile. “Going to the playoffs! He’s very excited.” She hands Sam a huge bowl of salad to carry to the table and takes out a hot casserole dish from the oven.
           “They do playoffs for middle school?” you ask, about to trail into the dining room after Barbie with Sam and Mike like a chain of ducklings. Dean stops you with a hand on your arm.
           “It’s going to make it weird if you’re not yourself with him,” he mutters, low so the Kaisers and Sam won’t hear. “I’m okay, kid, I promise. This is…awesome, but I know you’re holding back. You don’t have to.”
           “What’re you talking about?”
           “You touched Sam more when I was topside and we were together. You’d think he has leprosy the way you’re dodging him now.”
           “Dean, we’re always going to be togeth—”
           He rolls his eyes in frustration. “Okay, fine, yeah, we’re together now. But you know what I mean.”
           You bite your lip. “I thought they’re just my mind’s projections, who cares if they think it’s weird.”
           “Babe.” He holds firm, his gaze steady.
           “Jesus, Dean, it is weird, okay? The whole thing is bizarre!” Your whisper has turned into a bit of a hiss and he glances to the dining room to make sure you haven’t caught anyone’s attention.
           He wraps his fingers around your hand and swipes an arc into it, looking down as he does. “I know it is, I’m sorry. Can you try, just a little bit? The whole thing is only going to get less awkward if we keep at it.”
           “Fine, yeah. I’ll try.”
           Dean holds your eyes for a moment, not seeming to buy it, before staring back at his feet. “For you it’s a dream but this—this is the closest I’m going to get; to being part of your lives. I just—I just kinda want it to be as close as it can be, you know? If you’re acting different then it’s not really—”
           “Understood.” You swallow hard against the lump forming in your throat, willing it to dissolve, not about to keep feeling sorry for yourself when he’s clearly putting so much aside to be present.
           Too quickly for you to react Dean lifts your hand to his lips, and the warmth of the kiss on your skin sends a shudder through you. He follows you into the dining room, where Sam and the Kaisers are about to sit down. You grab the seat next to Sam, leaving the head of the table opposite Barbie for Dean as the new guest.
           “You okay?” Sam asks, quietly enough you’re sure you’re the only one who can hear it.
           You squeeze his thigh reassuringly under the table. “Yeah, definitely.”
           Dean catches your eyes to give you a meaningful look that makes you swallow again, and before you can think about it you’re sliding your hand around Sam’s neck, looping him down to kiss him on the cheek. Sam’s cheeks flush pink as the corner of his mouth tries to tug into a smile and it’s so impossibly cute that you’re not faking your subsequent smile for Dean’s sake.
           Both Barbie and Dean smirk thoughtfully at the two of you before pretending to be engrossed in the salad she’s passing to him. “So, Dean! We heard your families were friends before these two got together; was it one of those things that you always knew was going to happen?”
           Sam chokes on a sip of beer, trying his best to cough with his mouth closed to keep the sputtering to a minimum. You think you’re probably the only one who catches the flair of joyful ribbing behind Dean’s eyes as he pretends to be concerned.
           “Aw, I remember my first drink. All good over there, Sammy?”
           His little brother strains to stop, his voice sounding as rough and cracked as if he’d spent 50 days breathing sand. “Yep. Wrong pipe, sorry.” He gives a closed-mouth smile of reassurance to his hosts that makes him look like a kid.
           Dean turns to Barbie, smile smooth and charming as anything. “You know, it’s funny you ask that. When we were younger, I was the one with the crush on her.”
           You probably should’ve guessed Dean would pull some kind of jokey shit like this but you’re still thankful that the Winchesters aren’t sitting close enough to kick each other’s legs under the table. As it is, you give a grin you hope seems warm and not tense.
           Mike finishes chewing a huge bite and nudges Dean’s arm with his elbow playfully. “I hope there’s no jealousy there.”
           “Ah, you know how it is. You grow up, things happen.” And if that isn’t the damn understatement of the century. “Couldn’t ask for a better girl to take care of my baby bro.”
           “Well I think that’s pretty damn sweet. Barb’s sister hated me until I drove to Wausau on Thanksgiving Day to change a blown-out tire for her. We’d already been married six years!”
           Barbie rolls her eyes across the table at Sam, mouthing “not true,” with an easy smile.  
           “I think that’s worth a drink,” Mike emphasizes, raising his beer. “To the best girl for—what’d you call him? Somehow I can’t imagine He-Man over here ever being a ‘Sammy.’”
           You raise your own drink with everyone else and Dean catches your eye with an iridescent twinkle as he repeats the toast. “To the best girl.”
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           The rest of dinner is the exact emotional and literal comfort food you always get from the Kaisers, a respite from the world in the best way. As you had suspected he would, Dean gets along perfectly with them, falling into a good-natured ribbing of Sam borne of admiration with Mike and charming Barbie within an inch of her life. Dean tells stories about Sam as a little kid that you know are really far more embarrassing than the version he shares, and hearing Dean edit to idealize Sam for the Kaisers even as an eight year old makes you want to melt into the floor.
           You pretend to be tired too early in the evening, feeling selfish and wanting the boys all for yourself. Being handed a Tupperware of leftovers reminds you this isn’t real; the futility of carrying them a flash in the evening that you’ve otherwise forgotten won’t last.
           Standing in the doorway, Sam’s already on the porch when Barbie stops Dean as he’s following you out. Quietly, trying for privacy, she says to him, “Honey, I am so glad we got to meet you. We worry about these two being all by themselves, but knowing they’ve got you looking out for them is going to help me sleep a little more soundly tonight.”
           Dean covers her hand where she has his arm and looks at her with soft doe eyes. “You have no idea how much I could say the same to you.”
           They hug for a beat longer than necessary and then Dean’s right at your side, trailing after Sam’s long legs down the road to your cabin.
           It’s hard not to think it’s purposeful, Sam going ahead to let you walk with Dean on the way back. Dean flicks a side of his jacket away from his body and you slide in there like you always did, warmed by the pre-contained heat coming off of him and giggling when he kisses the top of your head. “Man, I guess some things never change,” he murmurs, breath spilling over your hair. “You even move to the damn arctic and still don’t get any warmer coats.”
           He’s feeding you the intro to an old script but you don’t have the heart to tease back, just snuggling up to him and walking to the cabin together feeling the familiar way the muscles in Dean’s side move against you as he does. Sam doesn’t even look back and it’s so unlike him not to check that you’re there that then you know definitively he’s giving you a moment together. “I miss you, baby.”
           “Kid, I’m right here.”
           You peer up at him. “Don’t be a dick.”
           He glances down at you bundled against him. “I miss you too. But I see you guys all the time; it’s like nothing changed.”
           The reflex to laugh bitterly doesn’t fit the moment but you can’t stop it. “Right. My mistake.”
           His jaw muscles tighten to a ball for a whisper of a beat. “I need you to fucking work with me here, babe. I know this is not ideal but it’s so much more than anyone else gets and I gotta be honest, you’re being kind of a bitch about it.” You kick your eyebrows up on your forehead, both disbelieving and challenging. Dean realizes the mistake borne of his frustration immediately. “Not a bitch, that’s not what I mean, sorry. A baby. You’re being a baby.”
           “A baby?”
           He stops you both. Sam’s already about halfway up the driveway. “Listen, I know that you’re—I don’t know, mad. At me for not being here, the way things happened, whatever. But it’s done. It’s over. No one else in the fucking world gets this, gets to have it both ways, visit like I’m just a town away. You get to see me, I get to see you guys, pretty much whenever we want.”
           A few tears start collecting in the wells of your eyelids, indignance or grief or both. You try to blink them back but when one falls, lightning fast and stupid like Wil E. Coyote running out over the edge of a cliff, Dean brushes it away with a swipe of his thumb. “I get it. I miss you too, all the fucking time. I miss the way things could’ve been; I miss shit I didn’t even have, you know? I miss this fucking cabin, believe it or not—I—we all could’ve lived in a cabin like this together. We—maybe we could have had kids or something, couple of little girls to braid Uncle Sammy’s hair, the fuck do I know? But at some point I had to accept what I do have, and you do too.”
           You look over his shoulder, not wanting to meet Dean’s eyes or the truth that’s there. He’s right, but that doesn’t make the bottomless pit of greed for more of him go away. “Sam’s going to be waiting for us.”
           “Don’t deflect. It doesn’t have to be this second, but you have to get good with this. Today—tonight, whatever—was pretty damn near perfect and you’re upset because you want something that doesn’t exist.” He flicks his gaze up the driveway to confirm it’s empty; Sam’s already inside. His jaw is still tight but his eyes are tender and fuzzy, the same way he looks when he’s tired. When they lock onto yours, you can feel them sear straight into you, heating you up slow like an Easy Bake oven. “But right now you’re going to kiss me like it’s the first time. Then we’re going to head in, and you’re going to act like I know you’ve been with Sammy, sappy freaks that you both are, I’m going to have a few drinks with my brother, and we’ll tell the same stupid stories you’ve heard a hundred times.”
           That’s finally enough to make you chuckle and you venture an arm out of the protective embrace he has on you to take his chin in your hand, thumb on that perfect indent as you catch Dean’s lips with yours. It’s soft and delicate, a thank you and a reminder and a memory at once. His lashes catch a shadow when he opens his eyes, and you hold them for a long second. “I thought you said like our first kiss—you didn’t even try to jam your tongue down my throat.”
           Dean rolls his eyes through a smile and a part of your mind flares with victory knowing you’ve made it past the bramble patch of emotion. “I was like twenty, can’t blame a guy for trying. You couldn’t have been that mad; you still let me get under your shirt the next day.”
           You laugh hard, letting it ring out along the driveway as you tug Dean to the house with your fingers interlinked in his.
           Sam is pouring a few fingers of bourbon into three little juice glasses when you walk in, and you grab one right off the counter without breaking your stride, tossing it back and offering it to Sam. “Hit me.”
           He smirks and obliges as you slide a hand to his lower back. There’s a half beat of hesitation before he leans back that inch or two into your palm like he always does, but what’s more important in that moment is that he still does, and without flushing. Sam and Dean both grab their glasses and you don’t remember the last time you’ve done this many toasts in a night that weren’t at the bar following a Packers win.
           “To you two morons finally figuring this shit out,” Dean says, raising his glass.
           “Yeah, whatever,” Sam grins. For a beat you can see in his eyes the unbridled admiration he has for his brother, the complete devotion and deep grain of grief he’ll never be free of even if he can see Dean like this every day for the rest of forever. You wonder if you had truly realized the way it flared in his eyes before everything. All three of you sip at your whiskeys together, and you have to fight to keep your mouth closed through a petite yawn.
           Sam tucks a stray piece of hair behind your ear and lets you lean into the wall of his body, wrap your hand around to his side. His hand moves to envelop your shoulder, thumb swiping absentmindedly back and forth. It’s nothing, genuinely less physical affection than you used to show Sam most of the time when you and Dean were two halves of a living couple like he’d pointed out to you earlier, but the most important thing is that it feels okay. More than anything it feels like being at the bar, the ‘aren’t they so cute’ on Dean’s face the same one that you get at work only made different by how much you wish you were somehow able to tuck up under Dean’s arm at the same time.
           A couple drinks and a while later you’re sprawled on the couch, head laid back on the armrest. One foot is tucked under Sam’s thigh where he sits next to you and one rests on top of his lap, a large, warm palm gently wrapped around your shin. The living room—area in the non-bedroom-or-bathroom-space in the cabin where you’ve put a couch, armchair, and rocking chair you’ve grown fond of, really—is small enough that Dean’s knees, extended and one crossed over the other where his feet are on the coffee table, are right by your shoulder, absentminded slow rocking of the maple chair he’s on not quite matching the pace of the hand he has playing with your hair. You’re close to drifting off, and isn’t that weird, that you would get sleepy in a dream, but listening to Sam and Dean is so relaxing. They’re talking about the few weeks they stayed in Bar Harbor as kids, running around Acadia National Park like it was their own personal playground and swimming in freezing cold Atlantic waters, creating all kinds of imaginary games in spite of even Sam being maybe a touch too old for it, by then.
           It’s warm; Sam has put a couple logs on the fireplace, trying to hide how eager he is to show his brother all the repairs he’s done to the cabin. More than that, you realize suddenly, it finally feels like home, Dean’s appraisal the baptism that it needed to make you feel safe enough here to approach sleep so casually without Sam’s body as physical protection. Dean’s hand wraps around to cradle your head and he leans over to whisper in your ear. “It’s okay, you can fall asleep.”
           You shake your head loose of a little of the drowsiness. “No, I—we’re in my head, it’ll be over if I—” you murmur, waking up even more as you talk.
           Sam’s hand moves up and down your shin reassuringly. “It’s okay. We have a greenhouse filled with dream root now, we can come back all the time.”
           “Well, not all the time,” Dean amends. “You guys have to get out there, not become sleep junkies. Once, twice a month or something.”
           “Oh good, a standing appointment. Like the dentist,” you say, rolling your eyes around a bitter smirk and killing the rest of your drink. Sam smiles softly and looks up at Dean, silently willing him to be the one to argue with you.
           Dean takes the bait, sliding his hand out of your hair to prop his elbows on his knees. You sit up straighter to be able to fully see his face.
           “Babe, come on, don’t make this harder than it needs to be. Sam and I have seen what happens to people who get hooked on this shit, take it every day. It’s a risk to do it even every couple weeks.”
           “You haven’t even explained to me how this works—do I have to decide to wake up or will it happen by itself?”
           “It’ll be a natural transition if you don’t consciously decide to,” Sam offers, voice quiet and smooth like you’re some victim’s family member he’s trying to soothe. You let him do it, stop yourself from rankling defensively and appreciate for a second how nice it sounds, how comforting it really is. “Most likely it’ll get easier to control it with a little practice, but I think Dean’s right, if you go to sleep that’ll probably do it a little more, uh, gently.”
           Sam’s eyes reflect the firelight as they do every time he sits in that spot on the couch. He looks warm, looks calm and whole. You can see right away that he needs you to be the one who’s struggling to let go—maybe partly for Dean, who’s eviscerated every time he sees his brother hurt and has always been, but also for himself, for the way he’s telling himself this is enough. Though you were the one who’d threatened Dean, Sam had undoubtedly gotten closer to following through—following Dean—both actively and passively. You loved Dean, but Sam in many ways was Dean, just like Dean was Sam. Inextricable in the parts that really counted and that was the point, why you would’ve mainlined dream root swamp ass tea until you withered away like a rat choosing a pleasure button over food to see them both. They were each perfect alone, Sam and Dean—different and perfect—but together they were the sun and the moon, the entire universe inside one Impala.
           It’s easy to let him have it. Sam deserves so much more than this small mercy and you are struggling, want desperately to have been put in some kind of coma together in this little play-pretend world where the food’s always exactly what you want and the time passes inconsequentially if at all.
           You wipe a tear off your cheek that you hadn’t felt fall, can tell before you open your mouth that your voice is going to falter. “Couple weeks, right? You promise?” Sam and Dean nod in tandem and you try to drink up every drop of it, try to ignore the shade of sad-desperate behind both of their eyes. “And it’s going to be the same? No one’s going to like, forget or anything? Is this like Groundhog Day where you’ll have to be re-introduced to Barbie and Mike every time?”
           Dean’s eyebrows screw up in thoughtful empathy. “Pretty uncharted territory here, kid. I hope not, but I don’t want to promise you something I can’t deliver.”
           Sam reaches over to take your hand, stroking the back of it with his thumb. “It’ll still be us, though. That’s the important part, right?”
           You nod tightly, feeling small and stupid ironically like a kid trying to fight off bedtime. It hangs in the air for a beat.
           “Catch you losers later, I guess,” Dean smirks, standing up and offering you a hand. Like he’s heading to his house on the other side of the block you reach up for a hug, only momentarily surprised when Dean foregoes the hug to slip a strong hand into your hair, cradling your face for a kiss that’s somehow bruising and tender as he presses your lower back to weld yourself to him. The feeling of his lips steals the breath from your lungs and you barely have the presence of mind to realize you’re blushing, getting dangerously close to making out just a step away from Sam. Dean, cocky asshole that he is, winks at you as he draws back.
           When you turn back to Sam, he’s—he’s rolling his eyes through a smile. With a start you realize it’s exactly the same long-suffering playful tolerance he’d have catching you stealing a kiss during a case and that thought alone is a buoy as Dean pulls Sam down to tuck into his arms, that same eternally-little-brother hug that has always made you smile. You look down at your feet, giving them a second to share a few of those ever-indecipherable looks.
           “Do you guys want to just stay out here maybe? I can ‘go to sleep’ or whatever in the other room? Feels a little weird to just sit here and have you both staring at me,” you offer with air quotes.
           Sam’s eyes are earnest and reassuring when he meets yours. “Whatever makes you most comfortable. Do you want me to, ah, also…?” He tosses a casual thumb over his shoulder to the bedroom.
           “I’ll be okay, I think. Thanks, though.” You rock back on your feet awkwardly. “Um, goodnight, I guess.”
           “See you soon, babe,” Dean says, and it’s not hard to see the sweetness under the casual affect he’s trying on.
           “See you both soon. Love you, morons.”
           You don’t remember falling asleep, but then you wouldn’t, because in reality you’re waking up.
-
Continue to Dreams, Chapter 19
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A one-off request for @lonelyghostwriter: a story about Joey introducing Henry to the more innocent side of magic. This is just a goofy, whimsical ball of fun, and Joey x Henry is implied. This is the last one-off before I’m finishing “The Angel of the Ink Machine.”
The Boris had come out perfect.
The Boris had come out perfect!
And then it had decked him and run away to God knew where, but it had come out perfect! Joey was ecstatic. All he had to do now was hunt the creature down and make a few more and his dream would be fulfilled! And in the meantime, he had one more dream that he needed to fulfill, one that concerned his dear partner, Henry.
Despite sharing so much of his life and soul with Henry, he’d always kept the magic secret from him. He’d moved nearly all his supplies into the studio when Henry had moved in. Even the spell he needed to do regularly to keep disease at bay, he completed before Henry got up in the morning, with a pentagram hidden under the carpeting in their closet. But seeing their cartoon creations brought to life was worth the risk of scaring him- and anyhow, Joey Drew had planned how he’d do this years ago.
After dealing with Buddy’s body and before coming home that night, Joey made calls to Allison and Sammy. It was late, and in the excitement he’d forgotten that he’d fired Allison out of anger mere hours ago. Thankfully he’d been able to bribe her into one more session of potion-making. Sammy hadn’t picked up at all, but Joey could make do without him.
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Henry woke up, far too early, to Joey shaking him awake with a big smile on his face.
“Huh? What is it?” Henry asked.
“I have a whole day planned for us. Get up! We’re meeting Allison soon. There’s something- a lot of somethings, actually- that I need to show you. You have an hour to get ready. Alright?”
“Uh, okay!” Henry was kind of used to Joey being full of surprises. He was fairly sure this would be a good one- they usually were. Within an hour, he was in the passenger seat of Joey’s car.
Joey took a deep breath. This would be the difficult part- admitting all he’d been hiding from Henry for the past few years. “So, Henry... you know how I tell you that Sammy and I go bowling together? Well, that’s not entirely true. Sammy and I share a hobby, but it’s one I didn’t know how to explain to you without showing it to you, and... anyhow, we perform magic together.”
Henry didn’t miss a beat. “Oh. Okay, the thought of Sammy doing stage magic is pretty strange. But it seems right up your alley- why did you hide it from me?”
“It’s not stage magic. And you’ll see why later.”
“Oh. Um.” Henry wasn’t sure how to respond to that. “Great. I can’t wait!”
A while later, they pulled up to a lovely brick house on the outskirts of town. Over the short wooden fence, Henry could see a lovely hutch of three rabbits. The garden had a lot of browning plants in it that clearly weren’t getting enough attention. “Nice place- must have cost a lot to get one in this area. Who lives here?” Henry asked.
“Allison,” Joey answered, ringing the doorbell. “I borrow books and buy potions off of her. And we’re going to make potions with her today.”
Thomas opened the door, rolled his eyes and called for Allison before retreating into the garage. Then, Allison popped her head in.
“Hey, guys! Sorry to call you here so early. But you know- early is the only time you can get fresh morning dew, and for what we’re making, that’s pretty important.”
“Of course,” Joey said. “I brought everything we’ll need. Let’s get cooking!”
Henry had been put to the task of chopping up herbs as Joey mixed three strangely-labelled vials into a pot of boiling water and Allison was outside collecting morning dew and whiskers from her rabbits. He was pretty sure at this point that this was some bizarre prank. Hopefully there would be some kind of payoff to it and this wasn’t just a waste of a Saturday, but at least Allison seemed pleasant enough.
“So, where do you get crow’s blood from?” Henry asked, a bit of sarcasm in his voice.
“A crow!” It didn’t seem like a good idea to tell Henry about the black market- at least, not yet.
“Okay. So, what’s this potion supposed to do?”
“You’ll see,” Joey said cryptically, “this is actually a pretty powerful one.”
A few minutes later, everything had been added, and the potion had boiled for just long enough, according to Allison. She scooped some out into coffee mugs with a ladle and handed it out to Joey and Henry.
Henry stared down apprehensively at the unappetizing mix of herbs and hair floating in the clearish-brown substance. “What’s it going to taste like?”
Allison smiled. “About how it looks, I’m afraid. But go on, down the hatch. Oh, and the effect might startle you, but it isn’t supposed to last long, so just try to have fun with it.”
Henry did as he was told, and Allison took his cup. He started to feel... heavy, and off-balance, and dropped down onto his hands. All traces of red melted from his vision, leaving the world in tones of blue, yellow, and green. Joey ruffled his hair, and it seemed as though his skull was smaller and thinner than usual. He said something that Henry heard as gibberish. Then, Joey took a sip of his drink, handed the cup to Allison, and before Henry’s eyes, turned into a black lab.
Henry yelped and skittered backwards, and yelped again once he caught sight of his own paws. But Allison was laughing- she seemed unconcerned, and she had said that this was temporary. So, Henry rolled with it. Allison ushered the two of them into the backyard, where they played fetch. A while later, as Henry was trotting back to Allison with the tennis ball in his mouth, he felt his teeth dull and his center of balance change once again, and he spat the ball back onto the ground. Joey came up behind him and put a hand on his shoulder.
“Well, Henry? Do you believe in magic now?” Joey asked.
“Yeah, it would be pretty hard to deny at this point.”
“Thank you. Because I have a whole lot else to show you.”
Joey returned to Allison. “And thank you! I’ll miss this, you know.”
“I’ll miss it, too,” Allison admitted. “I’ve never made a potion this advanced before- and I might not have much use for it, but imagine the kind of money I could make from this! Oh, and thanks for testing it for me.” Allison went quiet a moment. “Let’s keep in touch, alright?”
Joey weighed his bitterness with his desire to do just that. “Sure.”
With that, Joey and Henry got back into Joey’s car and they took off to their next destination.
“So... you’ve been doing stuff like that for years?”
“Well, yes and no. Allison is more of a specialist than I am. Unfortunately, the stuff I’m most into has a bad reputation, but I’m going to show you that it can be just as innocent as Allison’s potions.”
Henry nodded. After literally turning into a dog, he wasn’t even going to try and guess what Joey had in store. After a few minutes, Henry found himself gazing out at a wooded area on the edge of town. Henry figured that Joey must have been driving to another city, but instead he pulled over onto the side of the road and  ushered Henry into the brush, taking with him a bag. Finally, Joey reached a clearing and dropped the bag.
“This is the place,” he announced.
It was an untamed natural area, with no trails made through it. No one was likely to come out here. It wasn’t pretty either- just a dusty field surrounded by trees.
“Sammy and I spent our first few sessions here. I spent some of my first sessions here alone, too- learning to summon things. And now, I’m going to summon something for you. A demonstration.” Joey’s back was turned to Henry- he was scared of how he’d react.
Henry was beginning to worry- Joey sounded like he was trying to seem positive, but it wasn’t working.
“What kinds of things? And how?”
Joey met Henry’s eyes. Henry didn’t seem too afraid yet. Still, there was no easy way to explain this. “We summon spirits and Gods from the spirit realm using pentagrams. The spirit realm isn’t hell, spirits aren’t demons, and Gods aren’t the Christian God. No religion is right about everything. Spirits aren’t angels and demons- they aren’t fully good or evil any more than people are. But it’s the more reckless ones- the fast-and-easy-with-the-rules ones- that are likely to come when you’re summoning one. Pentagrams are like a ‘help wanted’ add for spirits and Gods. They have a job description, which are in the pentagram itself. Pentagrams are like writing in their language. And, they have an offering of pay. The sacrifice for spirits is generally flesh or blood. Tasks that are more difficult for them, you want to leave out more of a payment, or the ritual has a higher chance of failing- no one took the bait, basically. Or, someone did, but thought your offer was so insulting that they found a way to bungle it up. Gods… they demand a greater sacrifice. But summoning Gods is considered insane even by pentagram users. A spirit won’t escape unless your pentagram has line breaks, and there’s a limit to how much damage they can do. As for Gods, well… even I don’t know how to contain them, or the consequences of letting them escape…”
Joey broke his somber monologue with a bright smile. “So, wanna ask a demon to grab us some lunch?”
“Uh...”
“Okay, I know I made that sound scary. But I’ve... actually been doing a summoning ritual every morning to keep myself healthy for years. It’s no big deal.”
Henry smiled awkwardly. “Can I maybe just watch?”
Joey smiled back. “Sure.”
And so, Henry watched. Joey drew up a pentagram in the dirt, lit a candle in its center, and then slit his wrist and let his blood drop onto the pentagram.
Henry rushed to the bag and pulled out a first aid kit to tend to Joey’s wound. Henry had seen the scars on Joey’s right hand before, and had seen them seem to grow and stay fresh, but he’d never gotten the chance to really look at them before.
“Y’know, this is actually a huge relief. I mean, it’s a lot of things, but... Joey, I thought you were self-harming, and I didn’t know how to bring it up. I’m glad you’re not.”
Joey smiled. “Thanks. So, are you okay with this?”
“I mean, I guess so. It seems shady, but you aren’t harming anyone.”
“Good. Because I’ve been working with the Gods of the spirit realm, and with their help, I brought one of our cartoons into existence. And I didn’t want to hide the magic from you anymore because I couldn’t imagine leaving you out of something that big! The toon I made is a Boris. He’s scared, and hiding somewhere in the studio. After lunch, will you help me coax him out of hiding?”
Henry’s face was lit up with awe and disbelief. “Oh my God. Of course! I can’t believe this! Joey, you should have told me sooner!”
Joey could practically feel the weight of secrecy leaving his shoulders. He still had to keep the murders away from Henry, of course, but he didn’t mind that. The murders weren’t a part of him. Magic was. “Thank you. I should have known I could trust you.”
At that moment, the pentagram glowed, and a picnic lunch sprang up from the ground.
“Let’s go see what those demons sent us for lunch.”
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grifalinas · 3 years
Text
Batter Up (working title) (Chapter 5)
-/-
Flint took Radley with him to help bring back lunch, and while they waited for their orders, he finally calmed down enough to actually talk.
“You knew about Deacon, didn’t you,” he asked.
“I knew he was lying about his age,” Radley said. “He was at school with me, he graduated last summer. He used to give me a hard time.”
“That why you were fighting?”
Radley nodded, a little embarrassed. “It felt like a chance to finally get my own back, so I thought I’d try needling him a bit. I wasn’t expecting him to swing on me.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I wasn’t kidding, you know, I take responsibility for us fighting.”
“Yeah, well.” Flint gave him a sour look. “I don’t like him lying about being able to bake. That’s what I need him for.”
“Not really.” Radley gestured vaguely at himself. “You taught me all your recipes since I was a toddler, I could make them blindfolded, and by the time school lets back in you’ll be able to hire someone else. Demand probably won’t be super high after the first week we’re open, and if it is, you’ll be able to afford more employees anyway.”
“All the more reason to fire him, then.” He huffed a stray lock of hair out of his eyes, then huffed again and slipped a sequined scrunchy from his wrist to pull it all back with a grumble. “What do I need him for when I’ve got you?”
“He can run the front and be an extra set of hands, since Mr. Bassington can’t do any heavy lifting and won’t let Eddie. Actually I feel like Deacon will really thrive if you put him doing heavy lifting.”
“I have you to do my heavy lifting.”
“I’m still a minor. I’m pretty sure those liabilities apply to me, too, and Mr. Bassington just looked the other way. But he’s not going to for very long.”
Flint leaned back in his chair with a groan. “What in the world has Raphael gotten me into? That man is way too controlling.”
“He’s doing his job.”
Flint let out a frustrated little growl. “Changed your tune, have you?”
“He makes a better second impression. Things have gone way smoother with him organizing everything. And he puts his money where his mouth is when it comes to protecting his employees. He isn’t just worried about legal issues, he really does try to protect the people under him.”
There was a long silence, and Radley added, a little hesitantly, “You looked like you were about to start swinging on Deacon earlier.”
“I wanted to,” Flint admitted. “I like to think I wouldn’t have…” He shook his head. “But there’s no way for Sam to have known one way or another.”
There was another long silence, Flint mulling over the Deacon situation while Radley scrolled social media in an idle sort of way. Finally Flint sighed and slumped, a little defeated.
“Guess I owe the kid an apology,” he said. “And Sammy, too…”
-/-
Samuel felt it might help cool Flint’s temper a little if the kitchen was cleaned up by the time he got back, so he set Deacon and Eddie to do that while he went back to supervising the work crew and getting everything else done.
While Radley and Deacon appeared to have declared each other public enemy number one, Deacon seemed to have no such animosity for Eddie, though the two had interacted little thus far. Eddie seemed intent on making up for this discrepancy now that they were working on a task together, though.
“-and Mr. Bassington says he’s going to introduce me to Rosie and we’re going to be best friends so I’m trying to decide what things I like that he didn’t mention her liking that I should try to introduce her to and I’m thinking of seeing if she listens to Angel DJ on the radio because that’s my favorite radio show and if she gets into music through Angel DJ then we can get into music on the same path instead of both of us discovering stuff, not that that isn’t fun but it’s really fun to find stuff together, me and Radley used to get into stuff through Angel DJ together all the time but then he stopped really caring much about getting into music except as something fun to play while you do other stuff and I like music as something that exists in its own right and should be experienced by itself too and Radley doesn’t like looking up stuff about the artists like how what I do so he’s not fun but I bet maybe I hope that Rosie will be into music like how what I’m into music so we can be into music together.”
Deacon gave her a second to make sure that was actually the end of the sentence and poked his head out of the oven he was cleaning to ask, “What’s Angel DJ?”
“It’s a radio show! Angel is just some guy, he broadcasts from his apartment and he isn’t tied to any specific radio station so he can just play whatever he likes, so he just plays stuff he’s into. He’s been on a bit of an eighties rock kick lately, and he’s playing a lot of Queen stuff so I’ve been really getting into them, I was watching videos of their performances on the internet and they’re SO cool.”
Deacon laughed. “No arguments there. I learned to play on Queen songs.”
“You play?” She lit up. “What do you play?! I don’t play anything, I kinda wouldn’t mind learning but I can’t even pick anything because I hear a song and I think ‘boy it’d be fun to play that I bet’ but there’s so many different parts that go into it that I just end up getting bogged down. What do you play? Guitar? Drums? Keys?”
“Uh… well I main bass, but I can do electric…” He rocked back on his heels to tick off on his fingers. “...Mother made me learn piano and violin so I can do keys and violin, and I was percussion ensemble in high school so most basic percussion, though I’m not great at drums, and I sing.”
Eddie stared at him with stars in her eyes and squeaked out, “That’s so cool~”
He opened his mouth to say he wouldn’t mind playing for her sometime, if she was into that, and was interrupted by the return of Flint and Radley. He clammed up, returning to the oven without a word, leaving Eddie to go help get the food unpacked and call the crew in. He listened to her chattering about how Deacon could play and liked Queen and wasn’t that SO cool?, and stilled to listen to their response.
“You don’t think it’s cool that I like Queen,” Radley said.
“That’s because you just like listening to them. Deacon learned to play on Queen songs.”
“You play?” Flint asked, when Deacon finally emerged from the oven to join them for lunch.
“He mains bass!” Eddie chirped before Deacon could answer.
“I like music,” he said. “It’s a good distraction.” There was a beat, and, seeing the opening, he added, “Sometimes I play with the house band next door, when one of their permanent musicians can’t make it. You should come hear me play sometime.”
Eddie lit up again. “Oh, can we? Can we, Uncle Flint? Please? Can’t we? Please can we?”
“We’ll… see,” he said, a little uncomfortable. “I think taking you kids into a bar is one of those things your old man would kick my ass for.”
Eddie deflated like a three month old birthday balloon. “I’m never going to be old enough to do anything fun.”
“And once you are you’re going to be carded for years,” Flint agreed, reaching over to ruffle her hair. “Sorry, kiddo, that’s just how it is.”
This got a huff, and she batted his hands away before turning to pout at her lunch.
“Sorry,” Deacon said, shuffling a little. “I wasn’t thinking about the age thing, I guess…”
-/-
After lunch, once everyone had gotten back to work, Flint decided to talk to Samuel first. His partner was guiding two of their contractors through putting up the menu boards; Flint took hold of his arm to get his attention, and startled back when Samuel jerked his arm back as if Flint’s touch had burned him.
“Sorry-” they both attempted at the same time, and Flint shook his head before jerking his head toward the office. “Can we talk?”
Samuel paused, and looked to the contractors, but they seemed to have the menu boards under control so he nodded and the two headed back to the office.
“I’m sorry,” Samuel began, before Flint could say anything. “I’m- sensitive to touch sometimes.”
Flint waved that away as unimportant. “I wanted to talk to you about earlier. I owe you an apology, and a thank you.”
“I don’t think I’m the one you owe an apology to.”
“I know. The kid’ll get one in a little while, I just want to get my thoughts in order before I talk to him.”
He sat down in his chair, and Samuel followed suit with a nod of approval. “Smart call.”
“Yeah, turns out I got a couple of braincells kicking around in here.” He cracked a lopsided smirk and then shook his head. “Anyway. I also wanted to thank you. I can’t say for sure that I wasn’t going to swing on the kid, even if I’d like to think I wouldn’t, but I can say for sure if I had you would have stopped me. I appreciate that.”
Samuel opened his mouth to say something, then shut it and shrugged. “We have a responsibility to protect the people we employ, and that includes from each other. I take that seriously.”
“Not a lot of people do.” He leaned his chair back with a sigh. “I wonder if that’s why Raphael sent you to me? She knows I got a temper. I’m a little impulsive, too. And I don’t always think things through…”
“To protect your employees from you? I doubt that. She seemed very invested in your success, and I don’t think she would be if she thought you were the sort to abuse your employees.”
“Not so much that, just someone to curb my impulses when they might have collateral damage.”
“Ah, right. That makes more sense.”
Flint watched him for another quiet moment, taking a few seconds to enjoy his rigid, perfectly controlled posture that did nothing to diminish the amount of him there was- here was a man who had never been taught to take up less space, though paradoxically his presence seemed to invite others into the space he was already occupying. Flint was struck with a bizarre desire to press into his side, enjoy his warmth while they shared… something, anything, it didn’t matter.
He shook the thought away.
“So if she sent you to keep me in line, what did she mean for you to get out of it? Think maybe she wants me to loosen you up?”
“Given she’s applied the words ‘tightly wound’ to me more than a few times in our friendship, I wouldn’t be surprised.”
“You ever think Raph secretly wants to produce a sitcom? That’d explain all the odd couple situations she’s always setting up.”
Samuel chuckled softly at that, and Flint suddenly felt as if he’d been shot through the throat.
He must be staring, because Samuel was giving him a confused look. “Everything okay?”
“Wh-? Oh, yeah. Fine. Just didn’t know you were capable of laughing, that’s all.”
“Maybe if you didn’t run off every time your niece starts talking…”
Flint let out a startled bark of laughter at that. “Yeah? Try living with her, pal. I need a break sometimes, you know. Your girl a chatterbox too?”
“No, she’s very quiet. You’d hardly know she was there half the time.”
“When are you bringing her around? Eddie’s not going to stop pestering yout about it until you do.”
Another of those laughs that made Flint feel like curling his toes up. “To be honest, I’m hoping I can get some of the anticipation to wear off. Rosie is so wonderful but Eddie’s hopes are so high.”
“You’ll never do that. Eddie doesn’t curb her enthusiasm, she just gets more tightly wound up until she finally experiences the thing she’s excited about. We took her to an amusement park to see this singer she was into once and she got so excited she threw up. Keep putting it off and you’re just perpetuating the problem.”
“Hmm.” Samuel seemed a little put out by that, and stroked his beard thoughtfully. “I suppose I could have Theresa drop her off tomorrow? I’m sure she’ll be interested in seeing what we’ve got going on here anyway. She’s very nosy, though she’ll never admit that.”
Flint grinned. “Sounds like a plan!”
-/-
Unfortunately, after his chat with Samuel, Flint had to bite the bullet and talk to Deacon. He didn’t want to. He was still furious with the kid, still wouldn’t really mind just tossing him out and letting him be someone else’s problem.
But whatever he felt about Deacon’s choices, he had behaved far worse, and if he wanted to be the sort of man his kids could look up to, he had to be the sort of man that owned up when he misstepped. So he told Samuel to send the kid in, and took a seat behind his desk and tried not to look like he was sulking too hard over having to apologize.
Deacon slouched in like a spooked animal, like he fully expected Flint to start yelling at him again and, oof, that was fair. Suddenly apologizing felt a lot more doable and a lot more important.
“Siddown, kid, I’m not gonna bite you,” Flint said, waving vaguely at the second desk chair that Samuel usually occupied. “I just wanna talk. And I owe you an apology. I shouldn’t have blown up like that.”
Deacon shrugged, like that didn’t factor to him, and said, in a rushed sort of way, “I’m not sorry about lying. Everyone lies on their resume and they even advise that.”
“They also advise learning how to fake the thing you’re saying you can do,” Flint said. “But that wasn’t really the issue, and you and I both know it.”
An uncomfortable silence descended. Deacon shifted a little in his seat, and said, “It’s cause of the help comment, isn’t it?”
Flint nodded. “I got my recipes from my ma,” he said. “She was an amazing cook, and an even better baker. She taught me and my si- brother coming up, but I was the one who really took to it.” He was silent for a long moment, thinking back to those days with his mother, explaining how every aspect of the recipe worked with every other aspect of the recipe, how to know if the process was working and how to figure out what was missing when it was.
Then he shook his head, dispelling the memory, and went on.
“Ma was a personal chef, she cooked for a lot of wealthy families. Made sure they always had a hot meal waiting without any effort on their part. You know how much thanks she got for it?”
Deacon was shrinking in his chair now, the full realization of what he’d implied hitting him. “‘M sorry,” he mumbled. “I didn’t mean…”
Flint gave him a few more seconds of discomfort before saying, “You should be. That’s the kinda toxic shit you gotta start unlearning now you’re on your own. There’s people out there without a tenth of what you’ve been handed that are worth ten times that, and you’re gonna be surrounded by them now. But. That don’t mean I gotta treat you like that. You’ll never learn like that.”
He leaned back in his chair, waiting in case Deacon had anything to put in, but the kid just stayed staring at the floor. Flint wondered what was going through his head, what he was thinking. If he was taking in what Flint was getting at, or just writing him off as some angry chef’s boy.
“As for your future here… I’ve handed you over to Sammy. Not just because you pissed me off, but also that. I don’t trust my temper enough to be directly in charge of you. But you still answer to both of us. I’m still your boss; Sam is just your direct supervisor.”
Deacon nodded, still staring down at the floor. Flint squinted at him, wondering where all of his fight had gone.
Hmm.
“Hey, kid. Why’d your old man cut you off? What was the decision you made that offended him?”
And, oh, there it was. Deacon bristled up like a rooster with a temper and said, “I don’t think that’s any of your business.”
“There it is. Knew you were in there somewhere. All right, go on, get back to work. Go on.”
He shooed him away; Deacon slouched out in a hurry, before Flint could start Talking To Him again.
-/-
6 notes · View notes
arcticfox007 · 3 years
Text
The Yeti, the Witch, and the Angel
Hi everyone - this is a continuation from days 2&3 which you can find under the same series as this one on AO3.
It will continue with Day 5. I had a great time writing this, it has more action than ther previous ones. Some fluff, some angst, general audiences.
I’m happy to add and/or remove people from my tag list, notes/comments/kudos on AO3 are all appreciated and I’m always open to feedback!
Destiel December 2020
Day 4: Sledding
Sam and Dean were running for their lives – again. Dean noted, somewhere in the back of his mind, that it was much more difficult to accomplish this in knee-high snow. Unfortunately, the Yeti, yes, an actual goddamn Yeti because their lives weren’t bizarre enough, anyway - the Yeti was much better at running through the deep snow. They were hoping to make it to the abandoned park station up ahead, maybe they could barricade themselves against the creature long enough to figure out a plan.
“Dean, c’mon already!” Sam had less trouble in the snow with his stupid giraffe legs. Dean had resorted to running by basically leaping as far as he could to try and stay above the wintery fluff trying to get him killed. Thankfully, the station was now in sight.
The brothers managed to make it before the snow monster had caught up with them. The station was right by a rather steep hill and was surrounded by trees on most sides. Dean quickly accessed the area as Sam reloaded his handgun. Dean started to push the bookshelf over to help block the door.
“I don’t think that’s gonna kill it man. We’ve already unloaded two clips into that thing, just made it madder.” Dean looked around for anything else to barricade the door but there wasn’t a whole lot in here and he doubted the Yeti would be slowed down by much.
“Do you have a better idea?” Dean was about to snap back sarcastically at his brother when his eyes fell on the massive trash and recycling bins that must have been pulled aside when the station was shut down for the worst of winter.
“Well, no, but I do have a crazier idea.”
Dean knocked over one of the bins and started working the lid off of the top. “Come help already!” Sam and Dean together popped off one of the massive plastic lids just as the door shook with the Yeti’s weight. The thing screeched in rage and pounded harder.
“Shit Dean, what good will these do against that thing??”
“Just shut up and get the other one!” The second lid was wrenched off and Dean shoved it into Sam’s arms. He took a second to reload his gun which made him feel slightly better, even if the bullets hadn’t phased the monster. Then Dean picked up the other lid in his free hand. When he glanced over at Sam, his overly tall brother was looking at Dean like maybe he had finally lost it for real. Dean just shoved Sam towards the back of the building.
The Yeti screeched again and Dean thought that maybe it was part banshee. He was starting to wonder if his ears would ever work properly again. Dean threw open the back door just as he heard the front one start to shatter. The sight of its prey escaping seemed to give the Yeti a burst of energy and Sam’s eyes widened at the sight of the door and walls being ripped away as if they were nothing more than paper.
“Dean! We could use that plan anytime now!” Dean ran out the back door pulling Sam with him towards the hill. It was steeper than he remembered but he only hesitated for an instant. He threw the lid on the ground in front of him.
“This is the plan Sammy, we’re going sledding!” Sam’s jaw dropped.
“What kind of plan is – shit!” They both turned to see the Yeti barreling towards them and Sam stopped arguing about Dean’s questionable plan as they both turned to throw themselves down the tree speckled drop off. Sam started yelling something about Dean’s plan being terrible as Dean just tried to steer the trash bin lid enough to avoid the trees, which was getting harder as he picked up speed.
“Fuck!” This was a terrible plan; the service road was coming up on them fast as Dean spotted a car turning the corner. He wasn’t sure if crashing into a tree, getting mauled by a Yeti, or hit by an incoming car was a better way to go out. Meanwhile the Yeti was still chasing them.
“Dean, it’s right behind you!” Impulsively, Dean spun his lid around so he was now speeding down towards the road backwards. Hoping he didn’t hit a tree he managed to pull his gun out and shoot at the rampaging monster. Not that he managed to hit it more than once.
“Crap, crap, crap!” Before Dean had time to spin back around, he felt as if the bottom of the lid dropped from under him as he heard it crunch on gravel. With the last vestiges of his adrenaline he managed to throw himself off of the lid and roll – right into the Yeti. Dean only had a moment to stare up into the face of the vicious spitting creature before hearing a pop-pop noise and then the hairy snarling thing tipped over. Onto Dean. Dean felt his head crack on the ground. “Ermph!”
“Sorry, Dean.” Dean gasped for air as his guardian angel rolled the creature off of him. Dean looked up at Cas still trying to catch his breath, and damn, if he wasn’t the most beautiful thing Dean had ever seen. Cas crouched down and briefly checked Dean over for injuries. When he seemed satisfied that there was nothing immediately wrong with the hunter, he glowered at him. Dean had no idea what he had done to piss Cass off, but honestly even his glower was fucking beautiful. Dean continued to stare at Cas but the angel turned to look in the other direction.
“Are you alright Sam?” Dean heard his brother let out a high-pitched laugh that was just shy of sounding manic.
“Yeah, Cas, I’ll survive. Is Dean okay? What did you shoot the Yeti with?” Dean could see Cas’ mouth turn down into a frown. So pretty, Dean just wanted to touch his face.
“Dean will be fine, but there are no such things as Yetis, Sam. It was a witch that transformed itself, I used the witch killing bullets.” Dean heard Sam’s boots in the snow as he approached them but Dean stayed on the ground staring at Cas as he reached his hand up and started pushing his fingers into Cas’ face. Cas swung his attention back to Dean as the older Winchester started pinching Cas’ cheek between his fingers.
“Dean. What are you doing?” Dean smiled hazily at the angel.
“You’re so pretty Cas. I just want to squish your face.” Dean let out a breathy giggle. Cas gazed more closely at Dean. All of a sudden Dean could see Sam as his younger brother came to stand by Cas.
“Did you hit your head Dean?” Cas’ voice was so gravelly and sexy. He tried to move Cas’ chin to make him say more. Cas just caught Dean’s arm and looked up at Sam. “I think he has a concussion, give me a moment.” Sam nodded and went to check out the Yeti. Meanwhile Dean was enraptured by Cas’ eyes, they were just so blue.
“Blue is my favorite color Cas. Blue, blue, blue.” Cas ignored Dean in favor of pushing his grace into Dean’s bruised head. Dean felt warm and a soothing feeling spread through him. He sighed and then felt the world snap back into place. Cas continued to cradle Dean’s head making sure there wasn’t any other injury he needed to heal. Dean just lay still until Cas looked into his eyes. He was vividly aware of Cas holding his face with one hand and his forearm with the other.
“Better?”
“Yeah Cas, thanks. Um, could you help me up?” Cas raised an eyebrow, and all Dean could think of was how hot that was. Crap, maybe he still had a concussion? No, his head was fine, he’d known for a while now that he was attracted to him best friend, he was just usually better at shoving those feelings down. While Dean was struggling with his thoughts Cas had stood up and pulled Dean up with him. Dean staggered for a moment and Cas helped steady him. As soon as Dean seemed stable on his own two feet Cas resumed scowling at him.
“What?”
“What? What? You just text me to say you and Sam found the trail of a YETI, and then refuse to answer your phone? What if I couldn’t find you in time? What if I hadn’t already figured out it was a witch? I COULD HAVE TOLD YOU IT WAS A WITCH IF YOU HAD ANSWERED YOUR PHONE. Instead I make it just in time to see the two of you throwing yourself off of a mountain!” Dean was all ready to get angry and defensive but found himself defusing as the whole “it was just a witch” thing sunk in. Crap. Cas seemed to have run out of words and was now just glowering intensely at him.
“Uh – sorry? My bad man.” If possible, this seemed to make Cas even madder. He turned his back on Dean and went over to Sam and the Yeti corpse. Dean just stood there for a moment feeling like an idiot. Then he headed over to help the two of them get rid of the body.
***
Later that night Castiel was still unhappy with Dean and had left them at the motel to return the car he had borrowed when he had frantically scrambled to get to Dean and Sam in time. He mumbled something about the Impala not having snow tires and that they were lucky the local deputy was generous. Dean hoped Cas would cool off while he was out, Dean hated feeling like he was in the dog house which he mistakenly mentioned to his brother.
“He’ll calm down. You could try a more sincere apology though.” Little brothers were obnoxious, especially when they were right, thought Dean. He frowned at Sam but couldn’t keep it up as he sat on one of the beds with a heavy sigh.
“Yeah, okay. I’m not great at apologies, but he’s right, I should have answered the phone. I was just so caught up tracking the Yeti-witch thing, I dunno, I just didn’t think.” Sam rolled his eyes.
“So, tell him that.” Dean nodded and stared at his feet, thinking. Sam must have assumed the conversation was over because by the time Dean looked up, he was absorbed in his laptop.
“Sammy. I need to do better than that. Cas, well, he’s important. He’s my best friend and I feel like I always, um, take him for granted or something. I want to do something really great for him for our Christmas present thing. But I ain’t got a single damn idea of what.” Sam turned back towards Dean and smiled at him.
“I think that’s a great idea Dean. You can’t think of anything? I mean, I’ve had a hard time thinking of something too, but I don’t have as much to apologize for.” Sam smirked and Dean was already regretting asking his brother for help.
“No. I mean I know some things he likes – like bees.” Sam snorted. “But I want to show him that I really do, er, value his friendship, y’know?” Dean was skirting around the idea that he wanted to show Cas that he valued him, just his presence in his life. Who was he kidding? He wanted to show Cas he was loved, but without actually saying it. Dean wasn’t even sure angels could be in love. There was a reason Dean kept his feelings buried, and it wasn’t just because he couldn’t imagine an angel, an actual freaking angel, loving someone like him. Sam just looked thoughtful.
“You know, that reminds me of something Mom told me.” Sam watched his brother carefully, but Dean had seemed calmer about Mom leaving since Cas had come back. “She told me she asked Cas how long it had taken him to feel like he belonged here – I guess because technically, she and Cas both had to experience adjusting to Earth after being in Heaven. Anyway, Cas told mom he still wasn’t sure he belonged. She said he seemed, uh, sad about it. Lost.” Dean felt like he had been stabbed through the heart. Cas felt like he didn’t belong?
“Why… why would he say that? He’s always chosen us over Heaven, chosen humans.” Dean started to internally panic at the idea of Cas deciding to leave one day.
“No Dean, he’s chosen you over Heaven.” Sam wasn’t right, was he? Dean felt a massive headache starting, he was drowning in thoughts. “Dean. Pay attention.” Dean’s head snapped back up and looked at Sam.
“What do I do Sam?” Sam looked at Dean, the exasperation clear on his face.
“You need to do something to show him he belongs here Dean.” Sam said this as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. And of course, it was. Dean’s head partially cleared and he started thinking, thinking back to when Cas was the happiest, when he seemed to fit in here on Earth the most, and then Dean knew what present to get his goddamn angel on Earth.
“Sam, I know what I’m going to do for him.” Sam rolled his eyes.
“Well that’s good, Dean, because you only have eight days left until Christmas.”
***
@jellydeans, @galaxycastiel, @nguyenxtrang, @my-favourite-hellatus
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shemakesmusic-uk · 3 years
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Simpson is a Richmond-based singer and rapper who you may also know as Babe Simpson, one-fourth of the Tumblr-born rap collective Barf Troop. They dazed the internet back in the early 2010s with their uncensored, forward-thinking rhymes and aesthetics, and even got the attention of Drake. Though the collective has gone silent in recent years, Simpson has since cultivated her own steady following around her soft, and ruminative tunes. Her latest is 'Cherry Ice Cream Sundae,' a song about "treating ourselves with as much tenderness as we treat everyone else," she says, and is backed by a lush landscape of jazzy guitars and drums — a sound that could be considered a close sibling to the rap lullabies of Noname. Simpson's now sharing the song's peculiar video, which features a charming but eerie cast of marionette puppets. Over email, Simpson explains that she wrote the song after experiencing "a feeling that I’ve always been trying to put into words but I don’t think I was mature enough to be able to sing. I reached my breaking point where I was like, f*ck it, whatever happens, happens, and I’m gonna look on the bright side everywhere I can. I’m going to 'smile because I can.' I actually changed the original opening lyrics from 'The world is in the shitter' to 'Life is kind to who’s kind to it back.' The world has always been in the shitter, but that hasn’t made it any less special or sweet. I think that’s made me much more of a realist. I recorded it tipsy, upside down, hanging off my bed as a freestyle, and it felt so natural saying and listening to it back made me feel so proud." [via NYLON]
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Earlier this week, Lana Del Rey revealed the artwork and tracklist for her new album Chemtrails Over The Country Club. Back in October, Del Rey shared the album’s lead single 'Let Me Love You Like A Woman.' It was the first song she shared from the album after postponing its planned September release. Now, she’s sharing the album’s second single and title track. She’s also announced that Chemtrails Over The Country Club will be out March 19. In a lengthy interview with BBC Radio 1 — during which she talked about the Trump insurrection and her album cover controversy — she mentioned that Jack Antonoff produced much of the album, minus 'Yosemite,' which was produced with Rick Nowels. Watch a music video for the album’s title track, directed by BRTHR, above. In a different kind of statement, prior to the release of the 'Chemtrails Over The Country Club' music video, Del Rey explained why she is wearing a cast in it: "When you see my second video for this album, don’t think that the fact I’m wearing a cast is symbolic for anything other than thinking I was still a pro figure skater. I wiped out on my beautiful skates before the video even began after a long day of figure eights and jumps in the twilight of the dezert. Anyways my fracture isn’t that bad kind of goes with my new bucket hat. Thanks to my beautiful family for my gifts." [via Stereogum]
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Joining forces for the new uplifting track, G Flip and mxmtoon are sharing new empowerment anthem ‘Queen’, produced by Rostam Batmanglij. "'Queen' was written about the strong women around me, the queens that raised me and the queens I’ve met through my years,” G Flip explains. “My idea of a queen is not necessarily linked to gender; queens come in all forms and walks of life. To me a queen embodies power and strength; they embrace all they are fiercely yet gracefully. The song was written one sunny day in LA, I was chillin on Rostam’s lovely white couch and he turned around to me and said ‘how about we write a song about Queens’ and I replied with ‘F@!K yeah!’. I’m also super stoked to have mxmtoon on the track with me, she is an absolute queen. I first was introduced to her when I was trying to find ukulele chords to a Khalid song and found her cover on YouTube years ago. She makes awesome music and her voice has such a cruisy timbre to it so I was thrilled to have her jump on 'Queen' with me. She is also an avid croc lover and part of the LGBTQIA+ community, so obviously it just made sense!” mxmtoon adds, “So happy to be a part of ‘Queen’ with G! she and Rostam were such a joy to work with and so so much fun to collaborate with on creative as well. I’m so glad that it’s still possible to make art and music with someone even when they’re on the other side of the world, and I’m lucky that I got the opportunity to feature on G’s song. ‘Queen’ is a power anthem for any person, and I’m so excited for people to love it as much as we do!” [via DIY]
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With her hotly-anticipated new album Magic Mirror out now, Pearl Charles gave us our latest teaser of what to expect earlier this week, sharing new glitzy bop ‘Only For Tonight’. “‘Only for Tonight’ tells the story of a currently bygone era of wild nights out on the town - the highs and lows of one night stands and the crashes of the morning after,” she explains. “The music video, directed by Bobbi Rich, leans into those excesses, paying a sparkly homage to the late-night musical television shows of the 70’s, from Soul Train to The Midnight Special, as well as the gauzy, Vaseline’d lens of ABBA’s music videos. With an added sprinkling of VHS special effects, you’re likely to feel like you’re watching a home-taped recording of a lost episode of Top of the Pops.” [via DIY]
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Alt-pop trailblazer dodie has shared her new single 'Hate Myself' in full. Everything the songwriter touches seems to turn into melodic gold, with her debut album Build A Problem landing this Spring. Out on March 5, it's led by new single 'Hate Myself', which made its bow as Annie Mac's Hottest Record In The World. It's an apt title, with this instantly-viral moment offering an "inner monologue" that touches on some of dodie's inner-most feelings. The song depicts "someone who seems to find themselves in relationships of any kind with people who deal with their feelings internally - unfortunately resulting in assuming the issue is with them." dodie co-directed the video alongside Sammy Paul, shooting at the Cornish seaside village Polperro. The pair "excitedly landed on the silly idea of the training leading up to becoming a post-lady, and thoroughly enjoyed planning the many bizarre exercises she would have to perfect. Our excellent Art Director, Louis Grant, worked on bringing her home and training station to life. Though jogging on cliff tops in the rain, carrying a large sack and slipping in the mud was certainly cold and exhausting, I think I preferred it to slowly feeling sicker, licking stamps on a swaying boat by the Excel." [via Clash]
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Berlin-based indie five-piece People Club are back with new single and video 'Francine', following on from their last release 'Lay Down Your Weapons', which focused on police brutality.  The new single 'Francine' tackles the topics of addiction and lovelessness. In the words of the band: "The song speaks from the voice of a lamenting partner whose lover (Francine) is helplessly addicted to drugs. Francine lost interest in her relationship with the narrator a long time ago. It's a song about commitment and how love can fade away leaving only wickedness behind."  Regarding the visuals, the band said "The 'Francine' video is a play on the old idiom of 'being your own worst enemy'. A phrase which quite beautifully captures the inner critic which we know so well, especially during the course of the pandemic - we've had to learn to each give ourselves a break. The video was shot in the depth of the harsh Berlin winter, in the depth of the pandemic." Director Felix Spitta added "I love the band and I love the different personalities. It is always heaps of fun working on creative output together. Riding through Berlin only with bikes and all the film equipment in the freezing cold almost felt like a masochistic idea from Saxon. It's inspiring to be surrounded by so many creative minds.”
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Pale Waves are back with 'Easy', the third single to be shared from their highly-anticipated second album Who Am I?. Lead vocalist Heather Baron-Gracie describes the new track as "a song about how love can change your whole entire perspective on life itself. It’s saying ‘being in love with you is so easy, you finally make sense in my life because nothing did before'." The new single is accompanied by a James Slater-directed video that shows Baron-Gracie performing at a Tim Burton/medieval-style wedding in an abandoned church. Baron-Gracie adds, "I wore a wedding dress throughout and we shot the video in an old abandoned church. I’m really inspired by the gothic medieval aesthetic and at the time I was thinking of the video I was watching a lot of Tim Burton films whose creativity really inspires me." Pale Waves' second album will follow their 2018 debut LP My Mind Makes Noises. Baron-Gracie says of their upcoming album, "For me, music and art is for people not to feel so alone and isolated. I want to be that person my fans look up to and find comfort in." [via the Line Of Best Fit]
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The official video for Zoe Wees’ new single, 'Girls Like Us,' is online now. Like the song, the clip sends a message of togetherness and solidarity to girls around the world who are feeling the pressures of society. Zoe Wees says, “It’s not always good to think about how you look to the rest of the world. It’s much more important to think about how you feel inside. It is not easy to call yourself beautiful but being confident helps you to accept and love yourself.” The 18-year-old Hamburg, Germany-based artist adds, “We’re walking through a world with blinded eyes. At the end of the day, we all go to bed without make-up with the ugliest clothes and wake up with the messiest hair on earth.”
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Julien Baker has shared a new taste of her forthcoming album Little Oblivions by way of a new single ‘Hardline’. Julien says, “A few years ago I started collecting travel ephemera again with a loose idea of making a piece of art with it. I had been touring pretty consistently since 2015 and had been traveling so much that items like plane tickets and hotel keycards didn't have much novelty anymore. So I saved all my travel stuff and made a little collage of a house and a van out of it. I wanted to incorporate it into the record and when we were brainstorming ideas for videos we came across Joe Baughman and really liked his work so we reached out with the idea of making a stop-motion video that had similar aesthetic qualities as the house I built did. I don't know why I have the impulse to write songs or make tiny sculptures out of plane tickets. But here it is anyway: a bunch of things I've collected and carried with me that I've re-organized into a new shape.” The video for ‘Hardline’ was directed by Joe Baughman, who notes: “Man, even after having spent 600 hours immersed in ‘Hardline’ and having listened to it thousands of times, I am still moved by it. It was a fun and ambitious challenge creating something that could accompany such a compelling song. The style of the set design, inspired by a sculpture that Julien created, was especially fun to work in. I loved sifting through magazines, maps, and newspapers from the 60s and 70s and finding the right colors, shapes, and quotes to cover almost every surface in the video.”
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Teenage Joans are staying true to their world and unveiling 'Something About Being Sixteen', a new single that's sure to cement their 2021 as victorious. It's the perfect successor to 'Three Leaf Clover' and a track that makes it two-for-two for Teenage Joans, further capturing the excitement and energy within Cahli and Tahlia as they trade catchy riffs and thriving choruses with the combo of light-heartedness and intimateness that seems to define Teenage Joans' work, and how they're able to look in at themselves (and out at the world around them) through a lens that keeps it fun and digestable. "'Something About Being Sixteen' is undoubtedly Teenage Joans' great take on the classic coming of age rock tune, generally closing our live sets with audiences singing along every time without fail," the duo say on the single. [via Pilerats]
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Kate Hollowell took a risk going by the moniker Number One Popstar when she released her debut single 'Psycho.' However, Hollowell didn’t mind if that choice set her up for failure or not. She goes with the flow. Luckily, that mentality has advanced her even farther. Now, Number One Popstar releases her second single, 'I Hate Running.' New Year’s resolutions are, most of the times, created for the wrong reasons. It’s also no surprise that majority of people’s goals center around exercising and weight loss. 'I Hate Running', however, challenges that mindset, satirizing the toxic nature of exercise industry and diet culture. Hollowell said herself, “The song explores facing the hard, emotional work instead of the physical.  I really don’t enjoy running, and I wanted to troll the exercise industry and write an anti-motivational song.” In terms of sound, 'I Hate Running' shares similar vibes to her first single with its classic 80s pop of saturated synths. But, this time, there’s a hint of disco with the zealous psychedelic guitar and electric drums and keys. The interludes consist of a symbolic, robotic, and almost sinister snippet from a workout instructor. It all complements well with Hollowell’s escapist lyrics. Even though the lyrics say otherwise, the track’s sound might just spark that motivation to workout or dance, doing mindful movement that makes us feel good. Exercise should never feel like a punishment, and Number One Popstar is here to remind us. She makes us want to stick it to the exercise industry, proving to it that we will only work out for the right reasons. [via Earmilk]
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Alt-pop riser Chloe Rodgers has shared her new video 'The Algea' in full. The Nottingham based talent sparkled in 2020 in spite of the pervasive gloom, releasing two startling singles. Her third release could be her best yet, with 'The Algea' hitting streaming services just before Christmas. The video captures those mid-winter chills, while providing a platform for Chloe to express herself. Constructed alongside creative director Kate Lomas, it was shot at Newstead Abbey in Nottingham. Chloe comments... "I wanted to use a music box in the video to represent being objectified and getting stuck in the same cycles, as that’s largely what the song is about. I wrote the song when I was 18, but didn’t add the verse at the end about claiming my power back until a couple of years later when I felt a bit stronger. We tried to reflect this in the video too with the Chloe in white sort of protecting the other Chloe of the past." Kate Lomas adds: "This was such a joy to watch come together, the video concept is based around the idea that Chloe is the character in a music box, she’s the performer that’s spinning round on an endless cycle for other people’s entertainment. The video tells the tale of Chloe definitely breaking this cycle and no longer playing this role." [via Clash]
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Jaguar Jonze has announced her ANTIHERO EP will be released on April 16 via Nettwerk Records. With the EP announcement, Deena shares the official music video for her latest single, 'ASTRONAUT,' the follow-up to two previously released videos for 'DEADALIVE' and 'MURDER'. Each of the five music videos for the forthcoming ANTIHERO EP will come together through bold-palette videos that transform into an antihero character “in a cyberpunk, anime, futuristic, graphic, almost sci-fi world,” says Deena. Deena adds, “as ‘ASTRONAUT’ delves into my anxiety, I wanted the film to reflect that in a simple way that helped portray how my anxiety can sometimes manifest - a contradiction between feeling lost in vast spaces and trapped in claustrophobic spaces. I had a specific idea in mind, which meant that I had to undergo stunt training with professionals and learn how to maneuver in a wire harness. Most of the video had to be shot in a single take because of the stunts' nature in safety preparation, time consumption, and impact on the body. I'm still recovering from the bruises, but it was all worth it, and the team was amazing in pulling it all together. I'm proud of this one as it is 3 minutes of my rawest vulnerability, visually interpreted. I'm also finally ready to share it.” 'ASTRONAUT' is the sound of Deena liberating herself from a lifelong battle with anxiety.  “It is a human trait. It’s how we survive in the wild,” she says. “We’re all wired as humans to be quite anxious.  As females more so, because we’re more susceptible to danger.”
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Rising star Mulay shares the smoking visuals for her new single, ‘Antracyte’. It’s the culminating release in a three-part video series from the Berlin-based alternative R&B singer-songwriter/producer/artist, ahead of her highly anticipated EP, which comes out at the end of the month via Groenland Records. Mulay explains about the single, “'ANTRACYTE' is the intro and title track to my debut EP. It’s the soundtrack to the birth of a villain and captures the moment of complete honesty to yourself about the awareness of doing wrong by the ones you love while feeling the inability to turn around. It’s about the desire to taste forbidden fruits, to cross and explore what lies beyond the line and the self-empowering feeling of playing by your own rules defeating the fear of consequences and the power of moral concepts. 'ANTRACYTE' tells a story of contradicting emotions, a story of love, lust, pain and a longing for more. It’s about facing your own darkness and sins, about self-revelation, emancipation and about paying its price, resigning to your fate.”
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Only a band like shallow pools could make a blast of 'ice water' sound refreshing and necessary in the dead of New England winter. But the Massachusetts indie-pop group is usually pushing against the current of what we’d normally expect, and now the quartet hits us with a dose of cold reality through their new single and video. 'ice water' is a vivid new single that confronts the mental health struggles brought on by quarantine and isolation, and even the shallow pools aesthetic has reflected this by shifting from bright glowing neons to a more subdued color palette of beiges and browns. Call it a sign of the times, and call 'ice water' the sound of now; upbeat and jovial on the surface, a comet of pop smarts and hooks, but with the darker shine that resides in our lives when we’re positioned away from the screens and digital scenes. As Glynnis Brennan sings “Every day’s the same and / There’s no breaking out / Like I’m stuck here / Going through the motions now” well, we feel that. shallow pools describe “ice water” as “a departure from the music we’ve made in the past, but it’s the perfect bridge between our old and new sound.” That is certainly the case, and 'ice water' continues to showcase the group as one of New England’s sharpest, following a string of 2020 singles that included pop standouts like 'Haunted' and 'Afterlight'. “We wrote the song with our friend and producer, Chris Curran, and learned a lot about the type of music we want to be making in the process,” the band adds. “The song is about the impact that the state of the world has had on our mental health, specifically in the last year. We’re excited to share it and hope that anyone who has had similar experiences will find some comfort in knowing that there are others who can relate.” [via Vanyaland]
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mwolf0epsilon · 4 years
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Story about something crashing on little Sammy parents farm. Maybe the government comes and forces them out for a while to collect it?👽
Warning for disturbing imagery and dead animals!
Summary: Joey Drew Studio is snowed in, so while everyone tries to keep warm for the night they end up reminiscing about the oddest things they had ever experienced. Sammy ends up recalling a rather bizarre event from his childhood.
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"I'm sorry to impose so much Mrs. Harrison. I trust Abigail will behave, she's a little angel I assure you." Sammy fidgeted with the phone chord nervously as he listened to his elderly neighbor. "Yes, yes thank you... Oh certainly! Let her on so I can wish her a good night..."
Susie watched as the tired look on the music director's face melted away to welcome a gentler smile. She could sort of hear a child's voice on the line (his little sister that he'd mentioned a few times). It was quite endearing to see Sammy with such a calm and content expression instead of the usual grumpy scrawl that scared half the band into submission.
"Good night Abby, be good to Mrs. Harrison." The call was coming to a close. "I love you too."
Susie smiled at him and nodded, taking her turn to call home now that he was finished.
"Wally is heating up soup in the break room. The stove's thankfully working." She called after him as she dialed the number.
"Everyone camping out there?" He asked as he looked back at the voice actress.
"Everyone but Joey, that devil of a man actually has an insulated office... The rest of us are sleeping by the stove." She sighed "Thankfully Norman and Grant thought ahead and brought a few blankets to stay warm."
Clever thinking and also a necessity, as Grant's office was very drafty, and Norman's booth got cold from the pipework frosting over a bit (since the music department had been a repurposed bathroom) in cold weather. Mr. Cohen also knew the likelyhood of Joey having paid the heating bill. Slim to none.
"Great... Just what I wanted, to sleep in a stuffy room full of people and the smell of that rancid soup..." A soup he'd enjoyed at first (due to it reminding him of his father's cauliflower soup which had little bits of bacon in it), but which had lost its luster on the third week of being asked to take a few cans home. Abby hated the stuff so he'd had to eat it himself. "Don't you just love getting snowed in?"
"Only when I was a child. The snow usually meant no classes." Susie finished dialing and waited for her mother to answer.
He left her alone to go back into the break room where Wally and Norman were passing around bowls of soup. Grant greeted him with a blanket, which he graciously took. The damn studio was absolutely freezing in November. The freak snowstorm hadn't helped.
Honestly he'd loved the look of a snowy New York when he'd first moved here with his father. It had looked beautiful and new, almost magical, unlike the ranch he'd grown up in until he was 11. Looking back now, he missed the expanse of snowy fields instead of the cold streets. He also missed watching a few of the animals play in the snow.
Getting stuck in the studio made him a little nostalgic.
"Here ya go Sammy!" Wally passed him a bowl of soup, which he nearly dropped in surprise, and grinned "It ain't my ma's beef stew and it definitely lacks a spoon since we don't got that many of those to begin with, but at least it'll keep you warm from the inside!"
"I, yes at least that." He sniffed it and grimaced. Pork grease and chunky bits that definitely were less bacon and more cartilage. "You ever wonder how they made this slop?"
"I'd rather not think about it. It's like hot dogs ya know... The less you know about it, the better they are!" The janitor shrugged and went to sit on one of the chairs closer to the stove. Everyone was very much huddled close by, swaddled in shared blankets, rubbing their hands together to keep them warm, or drinking soup.
Norman nodded at the music director once he sat down to join the group. Not too long after Susie was sitting beside him, and he offered to share his blanket with her.
"So, what do we do now?" Wally asked as he looked around. The issue would be sorted in the morning but it was still only a quarter to eleven and no one was particularly keen on sleeping just yet.
"I'll tell ya what we could do!" Shawn called out from his spot, voice slightly muffled by his big red scarf. "I say we pass t'time by indulging in the ye old grand art that is story tellin'!"
"Story telling? What, like a sleepover?" Jack questioned. Sammy found it amusing that he'd swaddled himself in his blanket in a way that pressed his hair tight against his skull, to the point where it looked like a makeshift scarf and ear mitts. "Like when we were little kids?"
"Well we're all sleepin' here t'night aren't we? And ya don't need t'be wee little ankle biters t'go tellin' stories." Shawn huffed "Besides, what better way t'know yer co-workers than share some harrowin' tales? I sure got a few that'll intrigue you folks I'm sure."
"Is it about potatoes?" One of the art department workers asked, only to get a slap on the back of the head and an elbow to the ribs.
"Very funny, that muppet over there's a real comedian coddin like that..." The Irishman rolled his eyes. "Right, you folk ever hear 'bout the legend o'the banshee?"
Everyone gave him a peculiar look, which Shawn took as permission to carry on.
"The tale varies some dependin' on t'person who tells ya. But the way me ma told it to me was somethin' like this: The banshee is a sweet singin' virgin, pretty as a button, a real feek." He tapped his chin thoughtfully as he recalled his mother's words. "Sometimes she has long black hair, other times it's a bright red like fire. Always pale... But don't be thinkin' she's just some little lady, oh no. The banshee is a spirit, one that heralds death in the family. Her ghastly cries precede the death o'loved ones and fill ya with a mighty chill o'dread... And I saw one when I was just a wee lad."
"Ya saw... A ghost?" Lacie wrinkled her nose. "And ya sure it wasn't some regular girl you just saw?"
"Couldn't o'been. She was right outside the window Lacie. And me room was on the second floor..." Shawn shook his head "And I knew it had to o'been a banshee. She looked just like me cousin, who died o'the shakes a few months prior. My pa always did say she might come back as the household haunt, she wasn't ready t'leave just yet."
"So, that's it? You saw some apparitions at your window and think it was some folklore horror?" Sammy rolled his eyes.
"Yep. An' then in the morning me grandpa was dead. Dreadful song she went and had t'sing. I was just 5 too! T'damn beour coulda gone bother me brother instead... He was t'one that used to scare us wee lads with these tales o'ghosts n' ghoulies..."
Well, that wasn't a very nice story. And it likely had a reasonable explanation behind it too. Just a small child frightened by tales and likely still coming to terms with losing a cousin.
"Oh, that's nothin'!" Wally grinned. "Ghost stories aren't anythin' compared to what I found in a ditch when I was 8!"
"Oh yeah? Then enlighten us, oh scare Meister!" Shawn barked back, glaring slightly. "What coulda been worse than a banshee?"
"How about a maneater?" The janitor offered.
Shawn fell quiet and others began to whisper among each other at the claim, before Norman began to hush everyone.
"Go on then... Yous can't just say that an' not tell us."
"Oh man, it was the dang scariest thing I'd seen as a kid!" Wally grinned. "Us tykes from Brooklyn? We didn't grow up with monster stories and such. Our mas and pas told us about kidnappers and murderers instead, cuzz those are like, real dangers you know?"
He took a sip from his cooling bowl of soup, before clearing his throat.
"But you know what kids are like. They like adventure and don't really listen too much cuzz, you only believe it when you see it!" He carried on. "Me? I was with a couple a pals exploring this old ditch that had some neat stuff people used to throw in there. Busted watches, trinkets, sometimes a lost wallet with a little bit of cash in it...Well that day there wasn't just goodies."
Sammy sipped his own soup and felt Susie's arm brush up against his as she got on the edge of her seat. She was excited to hear wherever Wally's story was going.
"Local news had like, been going on about this one loon that had run off from the big house or somethin'. Some big mug who was a pervert or whatever. Adult stuff we kids didn't care for." Wally looked around as he spoke. "Only he wasn't no pervert, just really messed in the head. A cannibal. A cannibal that liked eating little tots. You know, stories like Little Johnny went pokin' around where he shouldn't and now there was no Little Johnny no more? Yeah that nearly was us."
"You found the guy in the ditch?" Sammy guessed.
"Nope! Found my neighbor, Sally, partially eaten and all kinds o' messed up." Wally replied "I figured we were in trouble so we ran like our butts were on fire and screamed the whole way back. Coppers caught the fucker and his picture on the paper still gives me nightmares. If we'd found him instead, we woulda ended up like Sally!"
Everyone looked extremely disturbed at the thought of a couple of 8 year olds finding another child's partially eaten corpse.
"Shite... No wonder yer such a mog. Brooklyn's fucked up!" Shawn winced.
"Hey!" Wally pouted.
"Also your story was misleading. You didn't actually encounter the "maneater"." Sammy pointed out. "That's not how you should advertise a tale you twit."
"Would ya rather I have found the creep that did it?"
"No, next time just don't make it sound like an actual encounter when it's an anecdote about another outcome entirely."
"Don't go bein' an ass Lawrence." Norman called out. "I thought the story was good. Messed up, but good... Granted it don't top what I experienced when I was still in the cradle."
"Oh, this ought to be good." The blond smirked. "Word of mouth?"
"My Nanna never told no lie. Yous won't find a more honest lady." Norman smirked back.
At this point everyone had finished their soup and was practically laying or leaning against one another for warmth. It helped that the story telling atmosphere had all but made everyone forget about the cold.
Norman being so tall and obscuring the stove ever so slightly, cast strange shadows on the wall.
"Now, this happened a few months after I was born. My Nanna was lookin' after me while my mama and memaw was helpin' my pops and pepaw out in the cotton fields. My brother and sister wasn't that much older either, not yet ready to go pickin', so they was in their room playin' together." He leaned back in his chair, a content smile on his face "Nanna was just preparin' lunch while I was layin' in this big ol' basket full o' pillows and blankets, just sleepin' away like babies do. She turned 'round to chop up some carrots when she had this weird feelin' all of a sudden."
Sammy put an arm around Susie as he listened. Norman was a pretty good story teller. Had this voice that just pulled you in. He could almost imagine a little chubby baby in a basket while an old lady prepared food in the kitchen.
"Nanna Polk always had a feel for when things were no good all of a sudden. She'd known when Poppop weren't doing well in the head, and she knew how to pop a shot into a big gator when it got too close to the house. She wasn't afraid o'nothin'." Norman carried on. "But she was afraid. She was afraid when the blade o'her knife caught the reflection o'this big brute pullin' my basket out the window."
Sammy winces and Susie tightened her grip on his arm. The others were quite aghast as well, at the thought of an innocent little babe getting snatched away by some stranger.
"Nanna didn't scream. She didn't wanna scare my siblings you see... Instead she tiptoed towards the backdoor, knife in hand, and kept outta sight o'the man that was tryin' to take me away." Norman hummed as he thought back on what Nanna had told him. "You know, they often tell ya 'bout southern hospitality. If yous is friendly and respectful, yous always got a friend. They don't tell yous about Louisiana ladies like my sweet Nanna tho... They is forged of iron and grief. Strong and protective o'their youngins... She knew what that man wanted from me, an' she wasn't bout to let it happen."
"What did she do?" Wally asked, bitting his knuckles as he put his legs up to his chest.
"Put the knife through his back. She pushed him so he wouldn't go an' fall on me, oh 'course, and that basket well about saved my life cuzz it was damn well padded and didn't so much as wake me when it hit the ground."
"Holy shit..."
"Now, that might sound a little extreme to yous, but I trust Nanna's judgement." Norman began once he noticed the horrified looks on his coworker's faces. "That man woulda taken me somewhere no one could'a gotten me from, an' she wasn't 'bout to lose anyone else to them creeps. Nanna was smart, and Nanna was hard workin'. She buried the bastard where he fell, an' planted a tree t'remember it too. I got to put a swing on it when it grew big enough to support the weight."
"Where were they going to take you?" Sammy finally asked, once he realized no one would do so. "The man?"
"Hm, well I don't know exactly. But she did say it was where my Poppop grew up, so I know it wasn't a good place." Norman frowned. "They did bad things to him, made him messed up in the head an' dangerous. Nanna saved me from endin' up the same way... Don't care if it wasn't the right way t'do it, them folks don't deserve no pity if they go stealin' babies from their cribs t'do god only knows what."
"Well... For what is worth, we're glad your nanna saved you Norman. You're a gem." Susie smiled which got the much larger man to chuckle.
"How's that for a story then? Anyone steppin' up to top it off?"
No one seemed to have anything that quite matched the energy of this... What should he call it? Cultist kidnapping story? It certainly sounded that the man was some underground cultist if he was taking babies to indoctrinate, or whatever...
The blond watched, saw no one step up to the challenge, and then remembered.
"Well, it may not be as bad as getting snatched away. But I do recall a rather peculiar set of events from before I moved to New York with my father." He began, the band members snorting and whispering among themselves that it was probably something stupid. He glared their way before looking at Norman who gestured for him to go on.
"Floor's all yours Sammy."
"Right." He thought back, way back when he was 10. Just a year prior to his mother's death. It was all a little foggy but the more he concentrated on what his father had told him about that night, the less his explanation made sense once correlated with his own memories. "I didn't exactly grow up in the city. Not until I was 11 that is... I actually lived in a cattle ranch for a while."
"That explains why you call us sheep." Johnny laughed.
"No, I call you sheep because your job is to follow me, you damn goat." Sammy snarled back at the interrupting organist.
"Ouch." Jack winced.
"Either way, as a child living with a father who raised cattle for a living, one can expect that I was often tasked to help with a few of the animals. Mainly cleaning the pens and, if I was particularly lucky, shearing the sheep." The sheep, he confesses, had been his favourite. They were dumb and cute. "My father usually dealt with the larger animals. When this event occured, he'd just bought a big healthy heifer. His ornery old bull had covered our best breeding cow but she'd not been having calves."
"Was she called Bessie?" Wally grinned.
"The name of the cow isn't of importance!" Sammy rolled his eyes. "It was Felicity by the way."
"My mistake."
"Either way, my father was a breeder, so his breeding female not producing offsprings was a big deal. I was a kid so I wasn't particularly interested if Felicity had issues, I just liked watching her when she had little calves. They were the cutest thing right after the baby lambs." Sammy carried on "The new heifer, Clarabelle, arrived that day and immediately the bull was put to working. My father thought That'd be the end of his problems... An easy fix. Except it wasn't..."
"She sterile?" Norman asked.
"Oh I wish that had been it. I was 10, had seen animals in plenty of states from sickness or wild animal attacks. But never had I seen a cow turned inside out, other than in a damn butcher's..." Sammy shuddered. He could still remember it... Going outside to get the eggs like his father had asked, and just finding this massive dead heifer with no skin on her body. His mother had said he'd screamed like the devil himself had been before him.
"Oh god..." Susie gagged slightly. "That couldn't have been nice..."
"It wasn't. I was freaked out and my father was furious. Clarabelle had been an expensive purchase. And she wasn't the only casualty." Sammy shook his head. "The pen was wrecked, the bull was in better state but no less dead, and poor Felicity must have run into whatever butchered them both because she had a massive wound on her hind. Every animal was spooked out of their minds and even our sheepdog wouldn't come out of the house. Peed himself when we tried coaxing him."
"Did ya find what did it?" Shawn asked.
"No, we couldn't find anything that explained it." Sammy carried on. "No tracks, no trails of blood, nothing. The pen was just ruined, like it had been splintered apart, and Clarabelle looked to have just... I don't know how to explain it. Pop? Like a balloon?"
"I figure your father wasn't too keen on going' about business after that?"
"He wanted compensation, but you can't exactly put the blame on anything if you can't even find a cause." The music director sighed "We eventually just decided to call it quits on figuring out what the hell happened and went on with our lives. But then things just got... Weird."
Strange lights at night, bizarre noises, and horrific night terrors. Sammy's father had lost his patience when he'd found their dog's remains and called the authorities.
"We were all on edge, unsure what was going on at the ranch, and losing animals every night. My father called the cops, saying someone must be playing some seriously messed up joke to terrorize us. He'd made a lot of enemies with his attitude over the years, so I wouldn't have been surprised..." He trailed of, beginning to feel goosebumps as he recalled the final night of these strange occurances. "And then one night I saw something strange out of my window. Stranger than anything else."
Everyone was eager for the conclusion, he could tell. Taking a deep breath, he recounted what he'd been a witness to.
"I wasn't sleeping well, no one was, but I just couldn't settle in bed that night. It felt too warm in my room so I got up to open a window." His 10 year old self had always struggled with the latch on his window, but not that night. That night it opened without a fuss. "I saw... A figure. Out in the fields. Cast in weird green light that I couldn't put a source to. They were tall, and I couldn't tell if it was a man or a woman, but I assumed man because there wasn't a hair on its head... I just stared, and it looked to be staring back. Next thing I know, I'm outside in my pajamas, staring up at this pitch black figure... Taller, imposing, faceless. No eyes, no nose, no mouth... And yet it felt like it was glaring hatefully at me. Frustrated, angry... It pointed at the woods and I don't... I don't know what it wanted and I was just a scared kid."
He gulped heavily as he recalled how oppressive everything had felt.
"Again I blacked out, but this time awoke inside to my mother fanning me. My dad was yelling at the cops and it was morning." Sammy frowns "Yelling at them to get that damn thing off his property, and to fuck right off since they were so useless at their damn job."
A soft amen from a member of the writer's department. Followed by a chuckle from another one.
"My throat was raw, and when I tried to ask what happened, my mom told me they'd found me outside at the edge of the woods, screaming until my voice went. Screaming about wanting out of the woods. Screaming about wanting to go home... Screaming that nothing here was good to eat and that I was going to die... I don't recall doing it, and my father said I'd probably had a nightmare of some kind. A fever dream even, since mom had been trying to cool me down for a good reason." He bit his lip "It's odd, I'd just fallen ill overnight and everything was fuzzy... I asked why the cops were here, and my father said when he'd gone to get me he'd spotted a weather balloon of some kind in the woods. The cops were there to take it away."
Everyone stared, confused and trying to figure out how these events connected. He gave them a shrug.
"I have no idea what was going on, so don't ask. I was 10, animals were dying weirdly, and I got so sick all of a sudden that I started sleep walking and hallucinating demonic figures. No one ever said anything about the weather balloon in the local paper either, so I don't even know what to think of that." He leaned against Susie "It was weird, but it stopped. Still that thing kept appearing in my nightmares for a while... It faded with time but it bothered me while it was still fresh in my mind."
"Sounds like aliens." Wally pips up.
"No such thing." Bertrum laughed at the suggestion. "Just a bunch of vandalism, fallen governament property, animal attacks, and a child's overactive imagination."
"No, I'm serious! Stuff like that happens in farms all the time! Stuff no one can explain..."
"Wally, there's tons o' things none can explain in this world already." Norman pointed out. "I'm not sure what sorta thing Sammy might o' stumbled upon as a kid... But little green men don't sound plausible."
"Oh come on, ain't it obvious? Cows gettin' killed, the strange damages? The fallen thing in the woods? The spooky figure? The one person who no one would believe being chosen to see the alien? Then the cops just swoopin' in and covering it up? Happened just the same to my uncle Paul!"
"What I saw wasn't little or green. Don't make it another one of your outlandish tall tales." Sammy grinned, enjoying how much Wally was puffing up.
"Bite your tongue! It ain't a tall tale!"
"Sure it's not."
"Boys don't fight... Because I've got one heck of a story that'll make Norman's and Sammy's feel like child's play!" Susie cut in, with a devilish grin of her own.
And so the night carried on, with more stories to be shared. All the while Sammy laughed and listened, content with the situation.
Although... He did still wonder what he'd seen out in the field. Surely it couldn't have been extraterrestrial.
Hm... Yes, surely not. Just a bad dream and some sick prank. Had to have been.
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heavenvaulted-blog · 6 years
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          they kick idly at the floor, scuffing the toes of their flats as they walk, clinging to belle's arm gently, “ there isn't much flowers here. but there are a lot of dresses. are we going to play dress up for prom, belly ? ” @almostseries​ for belle ! (x)
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cosycaracal · 4 years
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i had a very detailed dream about BATDR and it was WILD
everything that will come now will probably just disappoint me kcndkdsb
it was basically joey just being a thousand times crazier and it was so bizarre ngl but i dig it
this looked more like a trailer, but there was a lot of gameplay, so w/e
there were mostly something like Bendy Land rides and everything? it was awesome
but it was also pretty scary sometimes, like, in my dream i could feel myself panicking a few times
the best & worst part was that wally was just in the middle of the game at this haunted house between the carts, but his model looked so funny and weird, he didn't fit the style at all lmao
he looked like a more cartoony mii or something, that was hilarious
oh and joey's (back)story was, idk which word to use ? but I want this ngl
he basically wanted to live and be known forever, but even after he reached that goal he didn't stop and wanted to go even further
( I don't think I fully understood it wjksxbak)
like I said, it was more bendy land themed, but there were also a ton of new rides (some of them were more based on joey than on bendy, i loved it)
those rides sometimes became sentient ? like, they would talk creepily and we're almost like possessed by joey (maybe they were, that was a mystery to me)
some of the rides even transformed into bigger ones (the designs were awesome tho😳) and I think it was to show how joey wanted to go further and further with his plans, "not stopping to grow" with his business and the like (that were at least my thoughts in the dream, not sure how to explain it)
of course there were a lot of new enemies, which I think, are supposed to be the known employees (and some designs were wow👌)
my favourite was "bucket man" (I think I really called them in the dream like that), it was basically Sammy, less buff, and with a bucket as a head slcbskdn (though it was kinda small compared to their body, making it look extremely funny)
and there was this lost one (I think?) who was partly or fully a robot and they could "open" their face (maybe?) and hands sister location-like and that was cool but also creepy af
so yeah, i think this dream was basically a mix of BATIM, FNAF and JoJo ksndksnfk
but damn do i want this so bad now ///
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watermelonlipstick · 3 years
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Dreams, Chapter 4
If you haven’t read this series before, you might want to start on Chapter 1, or check out the Dreams Masterlist! Here’s the series description:
When Dean dies for good leaving Sam and his girlfriend (the reader) behind, they must figure out how to carry on without him. Alone, reeling, and unsure what to do next, trying to honor Dean’s memory and follow their hearts gets even more complicated when their nightmares become dreams that feel a little too real.
If you have been reading this series....things are going to start happening....
Title: Dreams, Chapter 4
Pairing: (past) Dean Winchester x Reader, (eventual) Sam Winchester x Reader
Word Count: 3773
Summary: For Sam and the reader, a winter night working together leads to an uncomfortable confrontation and a confusing dream.
Warnings: angst, fluff?, alcohol, swearing, slow burn, I think that’s it!
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           The tree was still up a few days later when you were throwing together sandwiches. It was a gloomy afternoon, stealing from the already meager offering of sunlight you got each day, but at least you could see the Christmas lights as you worked in the little kitchen and listened to Me Talk Pretty One Day. Brushing crumbs off your hands, you ducked your head into the bedroom to tell Sam lunch was ready.
           He was sitting on the bed with his legs crossed under him, looking surprisingly young with his long limbs folded. He glanced over at you briefly with a noncommittal nod before turning his gaze back to the wall. You walked into the room when you understood; following his eyes to the photos where you’d taped them up. Toeing off each of your boots, you climbed onto the mattress with him and gently put your arm around his broad shoulders. “He would’ve loved this,” Sam murmured, and it was almost too low for you to hear.
           “Which part?” you asked, trying to match his tone.
           “This cabin, the bar, Christmas.”
           “I think you’re right.”
           You looked over at the pictures, a tight row intentionally placed a little too low so you could see them as you fell asleep. Sam tilted his head to rest on yours.
           “We had a lot of fun though, didn’t we?”
           You considered the memories and the heat coming off of him under your cold fingers. “Yeah, we did.” After a beat you opened your mouth again. “Getting that tree was fun.”
           Sam pulled back and you looked up at him. A sad smirk was tugging at the corner of his mouth. “That was fun, wasn’t it?”
           You curved your head back into him. “Dean would’ve liked that too.” He was silent for a moment.
           “There’s no way he would’ve worked at the bar and not made every night a party.”
           He was right. Even just passing through, bars like the one you worked at were Dean’s favorite—no frills, honest people, décor not so nice it couldn’t tolerate some spills in the name of a good time. In the right mood Dean would’ve been everyone’s best friend in an hour, taking shots with the owners and playing pool with anyone who had a spare minute.
           You sat upright and tucked your hair behind your ears. “Okay, then tonight’ll be a party.”
           Sam looked at you in surprise. “Uh, what?”
           “You heard me. Tonight, we’re doing tequila shots and dancing on tables and talking to people longer than to take their orders.”
           “It’s a Monday.”
           “Wouldn’t have stopped Dean. Now come eat this sandwich I slaved over, you’re a lightweight on an empty stomach.”
           Sam’s smile was tired, but he obediently untangled his legs and got off the bed to head to the kitchen. You padded after him, letting a deep breath out through your nose. Dean would be so pissed if he saw you weren’t being strong for Sammy, just a little tougher, come on. By the time Sam sat down at the tiny breakfast bar to eat, you’d screwed your face back together.
           In some ways, it was better that you’d had this sudden change of heart on a Monday, when there weren’t so many customers to watch you crumble if it came to that. You had a propensity for being a sad drunk even in the best circumstances, and this first time truly drinking around people since losing Dean was about the worst circumstance as you could imagine.
           A few shots in Sam’s cheeks were flushed and you could feel the heat in yours as you sucked hard on a lime wedge. He was pretending to know about some football controversy with the over-shoulder towel that was ever present when he worked, his legs crossed and accentuating the long, relaxed line of his body. It was an especially cold night and condensation clouded the windows of the bar where hot air met the freezing glass. You watched as a woman about your age—you were pretty sure her name was Megan but had only served her a handful of times—traced lazy shapes in it before replacing the moisture with a hot breath and starting over. It was almost hypnotic and you didn’t know how long it was until you snapped back to reality when Sam’s warm hands wrapped over your shoulders.
           “You okay?” he asked, low and private, straight into your ear.
           “Uh, yeah, sorry. Just tired,” you lied.
           Sam gently and half-consciously kneaded the muscles in your shoulders. Before you realized what you were doing, muscle memory bobbed your head to the side, kissed his rough knuckles, and pressed your cheek to his hand. You both froze.
           “Aw, so cute,” Steve sang out from across the bar top.
           You took your chance to step forward out of Sam’s grip. “Yeah, yeah. Refill?” Steve nodded, and you snatched another Miller High Life out of a mini fridge under the bar and popped the cap with a fluid practiced motion. About a week ago you’d realized that the twist-bottle callus you had just below the first joint of your index finger had come back, a recurrent souvenir that had lasted years after you’d quit bartending last time. You were thankful for it as much as the distraction from your bizarre reflexive step over the unspoken boundary between you and Sam. It wasn’t that the contact was unprecedented, obviously, you could only catch even chunks of sleep tightly wound around Sam and kept your fingers wrapped around his forearm as he drove, but Dean was the last person whose skin your lips had touched. Until now, you corrected yourself. It was a very specific kind of closeness in a relationship already stretching the limits of what appropriate intimacy could possibly be.
           You jammed a cold metal scoop into the ice machine to break up chunks and buy some time. The same grief-hungry part of your brain that searched Sam for facial tics and habits that Dean had couldn’t stop repeating how much those hands felt the same, dry and warm and firm under your lips, under your cheek, and you wanted to clutch at them, a phantom of Dean’s that first stitched you up in Bobby’s kitchen all those years ago when life was easy and bloody, so nervous to touch you his hands shook and the scar still remained to this day. You crashed through those thoughts with a solid thump of This Is Sam Not Dean Sam Your Friend Sam The Only Thing You Have In This World, and how cruel it was to triple distill him down to only the parts that were reminiscent of someone else. Sam, who chopped wood to keep you warm, who restocked beer in the little life you’d created here. Sam, who in his own unfathomable sadness let you latch onto him as a steady point in a storm and kept you afloat just as you had him.
           “Hello?” Joe repeated, a touch of concern peeking through his annoyance.
           “Yeah, sorry! What’s up?” you asked, hearing the shrillness of your voice as you tried to overcompensate.
           “I’m trying to buy you a drink, hon. 5 shots, dealer’s choice.”
           “You, me, Jake, Steve and who?” you asked, racking up 5 sturdy shot glasses.
           “Your Paul Bunyan over there, unless you’re trying to take his too. I’ve never seen you guys really drink before, gotta jump on my chance,” he winked.
           “Oh, okay. Uh, Sam—” you called out across the bar. He was wiping up a spill you knew didn’t exist from the way he focused too hard on the bar top, trying to look busy. He looked up at his name and walked over with his hands jammed in his pockets. His unease was palpable, and your heart sank as you let go of any possibility that he wouldn’t have registered the fleeting kiss and the shift was only in your head. “—Joe’s trying to get you drunk.”
           “Careful, Joe, you think you can carry me home?” Sam joked, and you thought you would be the only one who’d be able to detect the tightness in his throat underneath it. He rubbed a lime wedge on the web of his thumb and poured salt over it before handing you the shaker. You almost dropped it when your fingertips grazed his.
           “To the only people dumb enough to move up here in the winter,” Steve proclaimed, touching his glass to the counter before shooting it. You all followed suit, politely chuckling at the teasing. When you took the lime wedge out of your mouth, Sam had his palm open in front of you. You dropped the rind in his hand and let him take the stack of glasses to the sink.
           It didn’t get as crazy as Dean likely would’ve gotten which was probably good for the bar’s bottom line and your drive back to the cabin, but Sam did end up somewhat accidentally hustling Jake for $100 over a game of pool and singing along to Shania Twain when you put it on. You were careful not to touch him or stare too long the rest of the evening, and by the time you were flipping chairs up for the night you had almost convinced yourself that nothing was different save for a little softness around the edges of the ever-present bolus of sadness in your stomach.
           Sam had two cases of Miller Lite from the basement in his grip, the veins on his forearms popping out as he set them on the ground in front of the beer cooler and crouched to replace the ones that had been drunk that night. You double checked that the cash drawer of the register was even and hopped up to sit on a spare spot of counter.
           “That’s the last one?”
           “Yeah, I already did the Coors and Bud.”
           “Are you good to drive or do you want me to?” You wiggled your toes in your shoes, feeling the ache of standing for hours in the balls of your feet.
           “No, I’m good to drive,” Sam said, shaking hair out of his face. He looked up at you, hazel eyes hard to read with fatigue or fear or pity or some murky combination thereof. You drew tight spirals over orders you’d taken that night, feeling the pen press impressions into the small notepad. The absence of words spread out to close the distance between you, feeling cloying and claustrophobic even as the Nate Bargatze standup you’d cued up piped out through the bar’s speakers.
           “Hey, I—”
           “Are you—” Sam started at the same time. You held out a palm to signal for him to continue, not truly wanting to speak yourself. “Uh, sorry. I just…I—I’m not Dean. I can’t be Dean.”
           The words and deflation in his shoulders made you wish you’d been set ablaze. Stunned, you felt your mouth open and close around words that weren’t materializing, just collecting in your throat and hardening there, the backup starting to choke you.
           “I, uh—I know,” you finally managed to squeak past the lump.
           And part of you wondered if he was right in thinking you were using him as a stand-in. As atypical as the whole situation was, you couldn’t imagine that it was normal to sleep in the same bed and spend virtually every minute together. You began to feel sick at the thought that Sam would be out living up to his potential somewhere if it weren’t for you, back to law school or righting the wrongs of the world rather than in a Northwoods dive bar restocking domestic beers at 2:30 on a Tuesday morning. The selflessness of it seemed unfathomable and yet so entirely something Sam would do. Suddenly it felt like the walls were collapsing around you.
           The moment stretched out and Sam stood up, leaning on the counter across the bar from you. His jaw was set hard and he tilted his head the way he did when he was trying to stop himself from teetering over the edge of tears. “Sam, I—I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to—”
           He cleared his throat but looked down at the nonstick mats on the floor. “No, ah, you don’t need to apologize. I just need you to know I can’t be him for you.”
           You didn’t dare look up in case you met Sam’s eyes as you nodded, so eviscerated and humiliated you were having a hard time taking a deep breath. After a long minute you heard the clink of bottles as Sam finished restocking, grabbed your coat to mumble something about warming up the car, and went to the small parking lot. You managed to make it into the Impala before your vision started swimming and the potential enormity of the situation crashed against you; was this the end of your carved out hideaway, full of grief and memories and comfort and little moments of affection and joy you had just barely started to accept? All for some stupid thought that Dean would be happier if you were out getting wasted, an idea that reduced him to a drifter barfly instead of the complex man who’d been more loyal and loved more deeply than anyone you’d ever met. The tears dried up quickly as self-disgust rolled over you and started ringing in your ears. You didn’t hear Sam coming and jolted when he opened the door, recoiling against the passenger side to give him as much space as possible. He glanced over at you with eyes so pitying that you couldn’t bear to look at them, staring out the window at the abject darkness the rest of the drive home.
           Sam didn’t turn on the stereo.
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           Back in the cabin, you quickly shucked off your coat and snatched what you needed out of the bedroom before barricading yourself in for a shower. You didn’t bother taking your makeup off first, allowing the sting of mascara to get washed away in the water. It was too hot and you didn’t care; you only came out when you realized you were going to leave Sam in a cold shower in the last week in December.
           You brushed your teeth in the mirror and took a few deep breaths before sliding out, heading past the open bedroom door straight to the kitchen in order to gulp down a panicked glass of water. Mercifully, you heard the bathroom door lock when Sam entered it quietly. You took the opportunity to grab your pillow out of the bedroom, tossing it on the couch and pulling the throw off the sofa’s back to cover yourself. Your eyes were closed tight and ramming up against your racing mind when Sam came out.
           “You don’t have to sleep on the couch,” he said softly from behind you.
           You opened your eyes but didn’t move your head to seek him out. “It’s okay.”
           Sam appeared in front of you, legs bending severely to perch on the short coffee table. His bare chest still glistened a little from the shower and you knew the green flannel pants he was wearing were soft and thick to the touch. Earnest hazel eyes meeting yours, Sam braced his elbows on his knees.
           “Sam, I’m really sorry. It was a weird reflex and it was unfair for me to—”
           “No, I, it—it wasn’t that. It’s just like, sometimes when you look at me, you look like you’re seeing a ghost. I’m just—I need to know you’re not staying here because I’m the closest you can get.”
           If your heart hadn’t been shattered and re-shattered over the last almost- two-years and today, the fear and resignation in his eyes would’ve sent you to pieces. You pushed up to sitting in order to give Sam the respect he deserved.
           “I can’t—I won’t lie and say you don’t remind me of him, but you’re my best friend—been my best friend since I first met you guys—and I am so, so, sorry I made you feel…I could never try to replace him, Sam.” You were barely making sense, having a hard time stringing together how you felt. “The only place I want to be is with you. You’re all I’ve got.”
           It felt desperate and needy but it was true and Sam deserved the truth. You didn’t shy away from him, stayed there holding his gaze until he seemed content having searched your eyes for anything hiding from the light. After a moment he nodded tightly against lips pressed in a firm line. “Okay.”
           Sam stood up, the broad planes of him catching the glitter of the Christmas tree lights. When he spoke again, his voice was quiet and tentative. “Can you, uh, can you come back?”
           It took a moment to process before you nodded, standing up and snagging your pillow before following Sam into the bedroom. You climbed into your side of the mattress, close to the wall and your tiny precious gallery, and Sam folded around you, his warm skin seeping through your t-shirt onto your back. You felt tense and comfortable all at once, safe and uneasy. The two of you sat there for a long time, the relatively light weight of Sam’s arm over you betraying that he wasn’t asleep either. When drowsiness finally began to tug your eyelids closed, he pressed his lips to a spot on your shoulder exposed from the looseness of its sleeve. The last thing you remembered was his arm going heavy like an anchor across yours.
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           The sun is hot and delicious on your cheeks, baking the cotton of your jeans and t-shirt into you and turning the roof tiles under you into a frying pan. Wispy clouds move with no urgency across the sky above you and you can’t think of anything better than this, glancing down to worn laces on Dean’s boots undone to give his feet some air as his t-shirt clings half-humid to him. You know his freckles are going to be darker by dinner and it makes you smile to think about it but you’ll never tell him—it makes him shy to be reminded of the spray of pigment that makes him feel alternatively feminine or juvenile but never stunning the way you think it should. You press up to your elbows, barely registering the sting of heat and grit of the roof underneath you and kiss the spot on Dean’s arm where his shoulder slopes into his bicep. He smiles down at you, a lazy half-open smirk perfectly framed by the blue sky behind him like a painting.
           “You’re so weird,” he chuckles. “Who kisses someone’s arm?”
           “Then come down here,” you toss back, exaggerated pout ready for him. He ducks down to you, the warmth of his lips on yours like a cookie fresh out of the oven, like sliding down the hallway on new fuzzy socks, like the summer’s first plunge into water.
           Sam’s head peeks out from under the gutter. “Bobby’s putting brats on the grill, do you want any?”
           “Hell yeah, extra onions,” Dean yells down, grinning smugly when you make a face.
           “Me too!” you call out, watching Sam squint up at the roof. 
           “No onions though, right?”
           “You’re the best, Sam.”
           Sam beams up at you, dimples almost high enough to reach the squint-crinkled skin around his eyes. He nods and ducks back out of sight.
           “Come on, I’m thirsty,” Dean says, standing up. He reaches a hand down to you and takes a half step back to brace himself, stepping on the lace of his other boot. He stumbles and it’s a quick shuffle and you realize he’s too close to the edge his next step is into thin air like Wil E. Coyote and you’re grabbing at that same thin air and you can see his face change when he realizes and some part of your subconscious that’s even deeper than this can feel it’s happening again and the sound is so final, such a wet crack but you scrabble to the edge anyway because you have to see and Dean’s lying there.
           He’s clutching his left leg bent against his chest like a stretch. “Son of a bitch, what the fuck!” he mutter-yells, and you hear the thump of Sam and Bobby running through the old house and skittering to a stop in front of him as you carefully shimmy down the porch post with your hands tearing on the gutter’s rusty edge, jumping down when you feel the railing beneath you.
           “Dean! Are you okay?” Sam yells over Bobby who’s cursing out the goddamn idjit told you not to climb up there it’s like having a bunch of teenagers in this goddamned house and Dean winces and nods angrily.
           You’re lifting up the hem of his jeans and gingerly taking off his boot and Dean hisses when you peel off his sock, but nothing is poking through the skin and that’s better than you expected. “Can you stand up?”
           He nods again and you can practically taste him biting back the string of expletives when you and Sam each take an arm and lift him to standing. You snake a hand into his pocket and grab the keys to the Impala, leaning behind Dean to say to his brother, “I’ll take him to the ER.”
           Dean doesn’t argue and it’s yet more evidence that it’s pretty bad, but you feel fine, elated almost, that he’s still warm under your palm and against your side, that he still smells like fresh laundry and domestic beer and a little bit of salt and engine grease. Sam’s long arm opens the door when you get there and slides Dean in and you promise to text when you know how bad it is as you round the car and get to the driver’s side. You turn the key in the ignition and throw your arm around Dean’s seat to reverse out of the driveway. Dean’s looking at you as you throw the car back into drive, staring almost, and his face is soft even around the broken ankle.
           “I’m always going to love you,” he says, smooth and sure of himself. You tug your eyes away from the road with half a question on your face but Dean doesn’t explain why he’s saying this now. “I’ll be okay and I’m always going to love you, no matter what.”
           It doesn’t make any sense and you open your mouth to tease this unexpected sappiness, remind him the ankle is just one more in a long string of injuries he’ll owe you for, and then Dean’s gone, the car’s gone, and the heat is coming from Sam’s chest in front of you. 
-
Continue to Dreams, Chapter 5
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Dean X cop! Reader: Soulmate AU - Part 1
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Genre: Dean X Reader, fluff (??), soulmate AU, slight angst/whump (if you squint)
Warnings: Description of injury/blood (let me know if I missed any) Summary: 
Summary: This is based on the soulmate AU where any unnatural markings or blemishes (cuts, bruises, stains, marker, ect…) on your body will show up on your soulmate’s body. You got the short straw with whoever your soulmate was-This crazy bastard was always getting the holy hell beat out of him. Waking up in the dead of night feeling like a truck had just run you over went from terrifying to extremely annoying as time went on, but you always did your best to stay safe after one of those nights. However, being a homicide detective, “safe” wasn’t a word you got to use often.
          “Back again?” The doctor asked, flipping through the clipboard Janice had left on the door. 
          “Don’t worry Dan, Janice has already patched me up and just wanted you to check me over before discharge in case this is anything like last time.” You explained, casually rolling up your shirt to show Dan your several bruised ribs and what once was a deep gash in your side. 
          You were in and out of the hospital so often that you were on a first-name basis with the majority of the staff and even friends with several. It was almost routine for you to walk- or even be carried in at least once a week with an assortment of bruises, open wounds and the occasional broken bone. They often joked that once you met your soulmate they would thank him or her for giving them such a dedicated customer, that is if your soulmate didn’t get themselves or you killed anytime soon. There have been several times when your soulmate must’ve made the choice to fight a bear or something because more than once, you’ve come in half dead. 
          "Looks all good to me, (Y/N)," Dan said and you rolled your shirt back down. 
          He signed your discharge form while you gingerly slipped on your coat and detective badge. Dan indiscreetly watched the detective badge glinting on your belt disapprovingly as he walked you to the front desk. 
          "Hey, you gave me the all-clear, doc. Besides, if I don’t leave now, I’ll be late.” You said as you slid the paper across to the desk for Oliver to look over. 
          “Are you sure you’re ready to go back to work? Right now, today? I mean, I discharged you but that doesn’t mean you should pass up some bed rest.” Dan advises. 
          “I really don’t think there’s a point, Doctor.” Oliver sighs, handing you back some papers. 
          “I’m sorry but, Oliver’s right, Dan.” You feign an over apologetic tone, slipping the papers into your bag while walking backwards “There’s been more of those creepy homicides and the PD needs all hands on deck. There’s nothing I can do.” 
          “Oh, that’s bull and we all know it.” Oliver calls out, making Dan snort. 
          “Hey, whose side are you on, Oliver?” You demand. But halfway out the door you turn back and joke “Don’t worry though, I’ll be careful. My soulmate really doesn’t need another injury!” 
          When you make it to the precinct no one needs to ask why you’re late. Your soulmate problems are a well-known routine here as well. You slide into your desk but before you can even begin to crack the surface of the mountain of files before you, your secondary rushes over, brimming with enthusiasm. 
          “So primary, what’s the plan for today? Check-in at the crime scene? Take a look at those corpses firsthand? Interview suspects? Well, I suppose we should properly look over the security footage we just got-“ 
          You have to grab Natasha's arm to get her to stop bouncing around. “Let’s tackle one question at a time. I know this is your first homicide case as a detective and it’s starting to get pretty damn interesting, but we need to keep our heads clear.” 
            You look Natasha in the eye and half expect to see her pupils vibrating out of excitement. When they don’t and she just nods so hard that her blonde ponytail almost flops over her head, you sit her down and continue; “So, what do we know about the killer, Palmer?”
          You’ve barely finished your question before Natasha starts chattering away “Again, you can just call me Tasha, I’m not big on formalities. It’s so weird y’know-“ 
          “Tasha?” 
          “Right, the killer. They first struck a week ago and killed Patricia Davids and Brian Lee We know their MO is to kill a man and a woman within twenty-four hours by stabbing the victim’s brain through the eye sockets. The man and woman are usually involved romantically in some way, so we’re thinking that the motivation is love and the killer is someone with a vendetta against romance. Have you found out anything else on this lead?” 
          And once again, before you can respond Natasha gets sidetracked "This works so well! This whole call and response thing where we bounce clues around is never something I got to do as a cop! I-“ 
          “Well I’m glad you enjoy this tactic, Tasha, but it’d kind of dead in the water if only you get to respond.” You explain, feeling slightly guilty when she sagged a little at getting shut down for the second time. 
           You leaned in conspiratorially and as expected, Tasha’s excitement came flooding back as she leaned in to listen like a schoolgirl being let in on a secret “I went and checked out each victim's itineraries leading up to the homicides and got a connection: The last time each couple was seen together was at Vicci’s Diner. I was thinkin-“ 
          “What’s so special about Vicci’s Diner?” An unfamiliar voice asked from behind you. 
          Slightly ticked at the fact that more reporters wanted info on the murders, you put on your best passive-aggressive smile and turned. 
          Two men you guessed to be in their early to mid-thirties, wearing layered overclothes and muted colours looked down at you. The taller one had a longer hair and slouched a little, almost like he didn’t want to intimidate anyone with his height. The shorter one had green eyes that were fixed on Natasha and you could’ve sensed from miles away that he was about to hit on her. 
          “I’m Sam, this is Dean.” The taller one introduces “We’d like to ask some questions about the Davids and Lee case.” 
          “I’m sorry, but as I’ve told the several other reporters; we’ve already had all the information we’re allowed to disclose published so you can go and check that source.” You said through a gritted smile before turning your back on them. 
          “Well, can’t you tell us again? We want to hear it straight from the source.” Dean says a little too automatically, giving away that they had coaxed info out of people one too many times. 
          “What was the crime scene like?” Sam asks, hot on Dean’s tail “Did it maybe smell odd? Did things not add up? Any weird patterns?” 
          Tasha opens her mouth eagerly to answer but you didn't trust Sam's bizarre questioning and their rundown attire showed that they weren’t reporting for anything too serious. 
          “Well it’s a murder scene so things did smell a bit fishy and if things added up we would’ve found the killer- I’m sorry but I didn’t catch what news publishers you were reporting for.” You pointed out, watching the men’s eyes meet and Dean crosses his arms across his chest to seem more authoritarian as he prepares to deliver what you know is going to be a lie. 
          “Who’s the primary?” Sam asks, now addressing the two of you and dodging the question. 
          “Oh, it's not me.” Tasha answers placing her hands proudly on your shoulders from behind “It’s detective (Y/N) (L/N).” 
          Dean looks almost surprised, as most people do when they find out that someone like you is a high-ranking detective. For some reason, it ticked you off more when Dean didn’t think that you were one to solve double homicides than it did anyone else. 
          Great now the lack of sleep from bleeding all night was making you seek approval from a total stranger. 
          “Damn okay, I was expecting your pretty lookn’ partner to bee the primary but I can see how you could’ve fought your way to the top.” Dean smoothly dishes out a compliment with a smirk and once again you can tell that this is something he did often. 
          Sam elbows Dean and resumes the one-sided questioning “Could you tell us something about Vicci’s Diner maybe? Has anything like this ever happened before in this city?” You sigh and stand up from your desk. 
          Placing a hand on each of their backs you turn the boys around and guide them to the exit “Vicci’s Diner is a really nice place downtown that had some great soup and occasionally carters to the homeless. Personally, I would recommend their grilled cheese and I would also like to work on the case so I actually have some new information to give you ‘reporters’.” 
          You gently nudge them out the precinct doors and scribble your address and number onto a scrap piece of paper “Now I don’t know who you guy actually work for but if you really are that desperate for a firsthand account swing by at night and you guys can help me finish my pie while we talk.” 
          The door closes in the Winchester’s face and you hurry back to your desk, massaging your temples.
           Did I really just give two complete strangers my address? God, what is wrong with me today? 
          Outside the precinct, Dean memorizes (Y/N)’s address before pocketing it. “Quit pacing Sammy, we got an address, it’s fine.” 
          “Yeah, we know where there’s a connection, but the detective didn’t give us any clues on whether or not it’s supernatural.” Sam opens the Impala doors and awkwardly clambers in. “Maybe we would’ve if you didn’t scare (Y/N) off with your questions. You might as well have been screaming “hey do you think a ghost killed those lovebirds?’” 
           Dean starts the engine and the loud banging of a drum solo fills the car. Sam can barely hear Dean when he waves the address in his face and says triumphantly “And I wasn’t talking about the diner’s address; I just got the address of a cute cop who just invited me over for pie because I gave one compliment. What do you think I could get if I bought them a couple of drinks?"
          "A restraining order," Sam mutters as the car takes off. 
          The break room in your precinct had been transformed in the last few hours into a mess of loose papers and gruesome pictures connected by thread beautiful mind style. The cuff of your shirt was indefinitely stained with dry erase marker from the frustrated wiping blank of the whiteboard every time a lead didn’t pan out. 
          You took a swig of room temperature coffee as you reread the ME’s report but the words seemed to have lost all meaning in the 2AM stupor you were currently swimming in. You absent-mindedly run your hands over the puckered line on your skin where your soulmate’s gash had been patched up in your stress and sigh deeply. 
          “What are you still doing here?” One of the night shift detectives asked, poking their head through the crack in the breakroom door “Go home, you look like a mess- and so does your workspace.” 
          “Thanks, Nosellla.” You snap, picking your way across the cluttered room to shut the door and other distractions out. 
          Nosella wasn’t wrong though; you had bitten your nailbeds into raw oblivion and had to band-aid a few fingers. Your hair stuck up at the front and became an impenetrable net at the back from all the times you had run fingers through it and you didn’t even need a mirror to know that you had some killer bags under your bloodshot eyes. 
          Between your soulmate’s antics and this impossible case, you would be lucky to have gotten twelve hours of sleep in the last week. Maybe it was the stress or sleep deprivation or just delusions in general but you rolled up your sleeve and stood by the sink with a washable marker. 
          When you were a kid, you and your soulmate would hold little conversations by writing messages on your arm for the other to see and washing it off to leave room for a response. 
          You wouldn’t be surprised if you were called in to do a psych eval tomorrow for leaning over a running sink with a red marked poised against your forearm. The mess around you must not help your case either but what the hell-you were desperate. The paranoia sent you down a spiral of wondering if your soulmate- one of the only sure things in your life right now- was out there and alive. He had stopped responding when the beatings started getting really bad and you hadn’t “talked” in decades. 
          “Hey guess who?” you scribbled and instantly dunked your arm under the water like one would toss away a phone after sending a risqué text. 
           “I was starting to think that you’d disappeared until it felt like someone was trying to rip off my fingernails today. Are you okay?” 
          Your heart soared and you let out a breath you’ve been holding since the marker first touched your skin. 
           You washed off his black ink and wrote in place: “I’m fine, just stressed. Since I have you “talking” I have a question for you actually.” 
          "Shoot," He wrote 
          “I know you wouldn’t tell me when we were kids because you said it was dangerous but we’ve both gotta be adults now, right? I mean you wouldn’t even want to get close to me as we grew up because apparently any connection at all could be dangerous. I kinda want to know who on earth my soulmate is yknow. All I know is that you’re an adult male who has a habit of getting the shit beat out of them. I want to meet you one day, hopefully soon?”
          It takes him much longer to respond this time and the letters appear haltingly, without the usual ‘no looking back’ penmanship that you were used to. “Listen meeting my soulmate sounds great but look at the hell I’m putting you through without even meeting you. I could never put you through what I have to do every day and people who I talk to have a habit of getting hurt.” 
          Your heart clenches for him but you must resist the urge to roll your eyes. “I already go through everything you go through if that hasn’t toughened me up then my job certainly has. If what you go through is hell than what kind of soulmate am I to just stand here and live in blissful ignorance?” 
          You can feel that he’s pressing the pen harder into his skin as he rushes to finish his statement in his annoyance “It’s complicated, what do you think this is a fairy tale? You can’t just rush into my life like a knight in shining armour and expect to come out in one piece.” 
          Your phone pings and you check it one-handed as you run your other arm under the tap. The stakeout crew that you had stationed by Vicci’s with Tasha had just texted you about a suspicious car that had parked across the street behind the diner but stayed stationary with the engine idling and no one entering or exiting. 
           “Haha, yes!!” You exclaim out loud at the news of a concrete lead and possible suspects. 
          You quickly text the team to take photo evidence but not to engage until you got there and end the unfulfilling conversation with your still nameless soulmate: “I’m still here aren’t I? Trust me when I say I do have field experience with getting near-fatal injuries. Speaking of my job, duty calls but please consider trusting me. We are soulmates and I’d hate for you to actually die one day without me even knowing your name.”
          “Who said anything about me dying?” 
          “Call it gut instinct.” 
          Under a shadowed overpass you tap on the window of the stakeout car and it whirs down to reveal Tasha’s always grinning face. “You took long enough, (Y/N).” She whispers. 
           “Sorry.” You apologize glancing around for eavesdroppers before continuing: “ So what’s the deal?” 
          “Well, they know what they’re doing.” Tasha says with an edge to her whispers “They parked somewhere dark so we couldn’t really get their profiles or see what kind of guns they pulled out of their trunk. But it looked like this wasn’t their first time going into a dinner heavily armed.”
           “Good to know.” You say, eyeing the suddenly sinister diner “Tasha vest on and with me. We’ll go in and split up and you two be ready to call for backup on my call.” You order the team in the car. 
           You slip on the familiar weight of your Kevlar vest and draw your firearm. Tasha grins at you and gives you a manicured thumbs up and you smile tensely and nod. 
          This could be the day you make the biggest break of your career, but despite this, you think back to your soulmate. You think of the hell he refuses to put you through, wherever he is right now, while you’re hunting down a pair of potential serial killers, and you change your mind. This could be the day you prove to your soulmate that you have the balls to walk through hell with him. 
          It’s now or never; You quietly push aside the yellow tape barring off the retro diner door and step into the dark reception area. You almost gasp when your eyes adjust to the dark and see an enormous silhouette no more than a few feet from the nearest booth. You barely have time to load your gun when: 
          “SAM DOWN!” 
          A click, a flash and a bang and you’re blown off your feet as the shot hits you square in the chest.
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queenofbaws · 4 years
Text
UD: Who ya gonna call? - 15
Chapter: 15/? Chapter title: All alone? Fic rating: T - Language, blood, general spookiness, discussions of death Summary: Sam and the rest of the CREEPs take a drive. Previous | Next ---
“So here’s what I’m thinking about the whole ‘Let’s scare Alex’ thing…”
Chris groaned, his eye-roll perfectly visible in the rearview mirror. “Jesus, we’re still doing that?”
“Uh, duh?”
“Dude, since when do we ever follow-through on giving Conrad what he wants? Is that really the level we’ve sunk to? I mean, lying to people on the internet is one thing, but a guy’s gotta have limits.”
“I’ll have you know, Cochise, that I’m a man of my word. If I say I’m gonna scare the pants off someone, then by God, those pants are coming off!”
Ashley let out a long-suffering sigh and twisted herself around to face him and Sam from her spot in the passenger seat. “What did you have in mind?”
Josh leaned forward until his seatbelt pulled tight across his jacket. “Okay, so…”
She stretched herself out, looking back in time to watch him make an old-timey viewfinder with his thumbs and forefingers as he launched into a spiel she only half-heard and (judging by the look on her face) Ash only half-cared about. All the same, Sam couldn’t stop herself from smiling.
Now that their dirty laundry had been aired out, things just felt…better. Not perfect, obviously, and there was no point in pretending like there wouldn’t be some weirdness they’d have to deal with once they made it to the lodge…but still, it was better. With everything about the twins out in the open, spending a couple weeks of winter break tucked away in a private ski lodge with a bunch of friends and a trunk full of snacks sounded pretty sweet. Ideal, even.
And yeah, okay, there was still the matter of the, uh…okay, the bizarre shit that seemed to happen every so often when they were hanging out, but like…that was part of being a paranormal investigator, right?
Right.
“Oooh!” Ash’s earlier disinterest had apparently blossomed into something else entirely. She pulled the sucker from out of her mouth and gestured with it like a professor using a laser pointer. “We should do the drawing thing! That always gets people.”
Josh clapped his hands together once. “Fuck that’s a good idea!”
“I’m full of them.”
Chris raised his hand over the center console and seesawed it, eyes never leaving the road. “Eh.”
“Oh, shush. No one asked you.”
Knowing full well that their little schtick could (and would) last for the rest of the drive if she let it, Sam cut in. “I’m sorry, ‘drawing thing?’ I thought I’d seen all your tricks by now.”
“Pfft, not even close.”
“So, for the drawing th—hey!” Ashley frowned at Josh as he stole her sucker and popped it into his own mouth. “I could be sick,” she said incredulously, narrowing her eyes in what was either disgust or bald-faced scientific intrigue.
He waved her on, his cheek bulging in a manner that struck Sam as decidedly chipmunk-esque. “You were gonna explain the drawing trick. I’m just keeping this warm ‘til you’re done.”
“That’s disgusting.”
“I call dibs next!”
“Oh, I hate you two so much…”
“Hey Sammy, you wanna get in on this action?”
“Absolutely not.”
“It’s graaape…”
When she realized this was a losing battle, Ashley groaned and turned her attention to Sam again. “The drawing thing,” she began, raising her voice to be heard over the guys’ doofy laughter, “Is this neat little trick where Josh and I look up a photo of someone before we do the investigation. Usually it’s someone who, like, previously owned the house we’re checking out or a, uh…” she cleared her throat and averted her eyes, “…dead relative…and then I say that I saw a ‘presence’ wandering around.” The word was accompanied by gratuitous finger-wiggling. “Cuz, y’know, psychic medium and all that jazz…then I start describing the person’s features as I remember them and Josh draws it and…that’s about it!”
“It. Slays.” Josh added. “Every. Single. Time.” He widened his eyes until they were mostly whites, pressing a hand to his chest before keening in a wavery voice, “B-b-but…that’s dear, sweet Grandmàmà! She passed back in nineteen-aught-seven!” He and Chris collapsed into snickers again, though quite frankly, she hadn’t found the voice that funny.
Sam turned to him with a quirked eyebrow. “Since when do you draw?”
He only gave her a one-shouldered shrug in reply, but both Ashley and Chris made a point to get their two cents in.
“He’s like, freakishly good. You wouldn’t guess by looking at him, but…”
“Mhm, just like Leonardo DiCaprio in that movie.”
“Titanic.”
“Uh…no…I don’t think that’s right.”
“It’s Titantic, Chris.”
“Pretty sure it’s not, Ash.”
“I—oh my God.”
“It’s the ‘Draw me like one of your French girls’ one.”
“Yeah. Titanic!”
“…I still don’t think that’s right.”
They’d been driving for hours already, the minivan having taken on that buzzy roadtrip feel long, long ago; granola bar and chip wrappers jammed between armrests, seats moved up and down and up again as they tried to find optimal comfiness, the aux cord lying unused as the radio played (they had all plugged their phones by that point, and each had summarily lost their music privileges for some reason or another). It was only once the radio signal started cutting out that they knew they were getting close, though the snow had been a pretty good clue, falling in lazy flakes at first, then absolutely pummeling them.
Sam watched the scenery as they flew by it, a terrible, nagging voice at the very back of her head ruining any enjoyment she might’ve found in the white-capped trees and still ponds. Her eyes kept searching the surroundings for a roadside marker—one of those crosses people sometimes jammed into the ground just off the shoulder of a highway, or a particularly gnarly dent in the supports of a sign, or even just streaks of tire tracks on the road itself—some terrible proof that they’d made it to the spot where it had gone down. Had the twins made it this far? Farther?
A peal of laughter from the other three shook her out of that line of thinking, and not a second too soon. Blech. In a bid to look casual, she reached up and swiped the window with her sleeve, cutting through the fog their talking had caused. “Not to sound like a five-year-old or anything, but…”
Before she could finish, Chris jokingly smacked one of his palms against the steering wheel, “We’ll get there when we get there! Now stop complaining or so help me, I will turn this car around!”
“I mean, I am getting kinda hungry now that you mention it…” There was a little clicking sound as Ash reclined her seat a bit more, now almost in Sam’s lap. Turning to Josh, she raised her eyebrows, “So…”
He looked between the two of them, eyes moving from Sam to Ash before he turned his hands palms-up, “I’m not the one driving, I cannot help you.” Leaning forward, he checked the GPS system, mouth pulled into a curl of concentration.
She wasn’t about to ask, no way, no how, but Sam suspected Josh had been doing the same as her, staring out the window at each and every landmark they passed, just…wondering. Definitely not a topic of discussion with Chris and Ashley in the car, but oof, she couldn’t shake the feeling.
“We should be getting into town in like ten minutes. Maybe an hour, if Cochise keeps driving at half the speed limit.”
“Ha ha, make fun of me all you want, man. You see some of these turns?! Fuckin’ hairpin. I’m not messing with ‘em.”
The topic got dropped, uh, pretty quickly after that.
Clearing her throat, Ashley looked Sam’s way and gestured for Chris to turn the radio’s volume up. “Wait ‘til we get there,” she said, “To actually get up to the lodge we have to take this lift and it’s totally crazy. You get so high up into the mountains you can see everything!”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah,” Josh sighed playfully, letting his head rest against the window to his side. “Cable car’s pretty cool, I guess. If you’re into that sort of thing.”
“Y’know, I’ve been thinking about that…” Chris sat back after adjusting the radio’s volume (uselessly, it seemed, given how often the signal kept cutting out into nothing but static). “With all the tech shit we brought, we’re probably gonna have to make two trips.”
“Who cares? It’s not like we’ve got a deadline.”
“I know, just…i-i-it’s gonna be cramped no matter what we do, is what I’m saying. We can probably each sit with a bag on our laps, that might help, but for the bigger stuff, we might have to—”
“Hey, I thought we were on vacation?” Sam peeled her eyes away from the pine trees zipping past them, instead sticking her tongue out at Chris from the rearview mirror. “The creepy crap can totally wait.”
“Yeah man, I shoulda hoped that if you’d learned anything by now, it’s that ghosts are patient.” Josh snickered as he said it, lacing his hands behind his head in a makeshift pillow. “The ghoulies waiting for us in the nuthouse will be there even if it takes us three whole tri—”
She must’ve been spending too much time with them, because Sam could’ve sworn she heard Ash’s groan a full second before it actually happened. “Oh my God, don’t call it that.”
“Don’t call it what?”
“A nuthouse! Jiminy Christmas, Josh! It’s a sanatorium. They were used to treat tuberculosis first, and then yeah, okay, people started using them—”
“As nuthouses.”
“Stop! That’s so not PC. You better get that out of your system now, because I swear, I’ll make us do a million takes. Do you know how long I worked on researching this stuff? On coming up with a script that wasn’t just ‘Hurr durr, mental illness scary?!’”
“Let me guess. A long time?” “A long time!”
He shot a look Sam’s way as if to say ‘You see what I deal with?’ before shaking his head. “Fine, fine, fine, let me rephrase: Cochise, I’m sure the ghoulies waiting for us in the—”
Up until that moment, the radio had been playing some crappy Top 50 chart, the poppy beats and repetitive lyrics broken every few seconds by static as they climbed higher into the mountains. When the interference broke up that time, though, they got something entirely different.
In a scene that felt cut straight from a cheap horror movie, all four of them slowly but surely went quiet, each turning their attention to the digital readout of the radio as a tinny, somehow antiquated melody played over the speakers. Sam felt her skin rise up in goosebumps despite the layers she was wearing, the back of her neck prickling as if someone had just gingerly skated their fingertips along the stretch of it. One by one they sat up straighter, expressions drawing in, neither Chris nor Ash seeming capable of reaching over to touch the volume dial, and all the while a pair of high, tremulous voices sang along to the old rhyme, genderless and whisper-soft: “Are you sleeping, are you sleeping, brother John? Brother John? Morning bells are ringing, morning bells are ringing, ding dang dong, ding dang dong…”
The melody, the voices, the song itself trailed off into nothing, the low fwip-fwip of the windshield wipers keeping time even as the radio gave way to silence.
No one moved. No one said a word. For a moment it genuinely seemed that none of them breathed…
And then the radio came to life again, a burst of static interrupting a much-too-energetic announcer: “—CKWOOD COUNTY’S NUMBER ONE STATION FOR KID’S TUNES! NEXT UP, OUR MOST REQUESTED SONG OF THE WEEK!” There were a few notes, not nearly enough to give them any sort of warning, before, “BABY SHARK DOO DOO DOO DOO DOO DOO!”
Chris smacked the dial to turn the radio off.
It was a relief at first, the snowy silence that filled the car, though it didn’t take too long for the squeaking of the wiper blades to pull on their already frayed nerves.
“So,” came Chris’s comment, oddly dad-like in its delivery, “That was weird.”
The snow definitely didn’t stop, but it let up almost as soon as they noticed the wilderness around them breaking up. If there was a sign to mark the little hamlet, then Sam didn’t see it; to her it was as though the town appeared out of nowhere, a wintry Brigadoon where the people outside were bundled up to the point of looking like tiny yetis and all the buildings seemed to be made out of actual, honest-to-goodness logs…it was a scene that made her feel sort of like she’d somehow managed to find her way inside of a snowglobe someone had given a good shake to.
“Oh thank God. Fucking starving. I could eat my own leg.”
“Yeah, I was just starting to think your leg was looking pretty tasty too, honestly.”
There was a general rustle as everyone set about undoing the comfortable slouches they’d found themselves in—undoing seatbelts, wriggling into jackets, lacing boots on, jamming hats over heads, the usual—but it was only once the latch of the trunk clicked open that Sam suspected something was up. “Uh,” she started, turning towards all the stuff stashed into the back of the van, “What’s, uh…what’s going on?”
Ash’s sigh probably would’ve been all the answer she needed, but Josh was never one to pass up an opportunity to hear his own voice. “Well we gotta dig out at least one of the handhelds, Sammy.”
She glanced to Ashley, who just sort of shrugged apologetically. “We…do?”
“Yeah, how else are we gonna get interviews?”
It took a second to sink in (blame the cold). When it did, though, oh when it did…Sam rolled her eyes to the ceiling of the van, slumping down deep into her seat. “I thought we were just getting lunch? Are you guys seriously gonna interrogate everyone we pass?”
Chris slammed the driver’s side door shut before reappearing at the mouth of the trunk, rifling through the piles of stuff. “Pretty much! Have you uh, not been paying attention? At all? Unwanted and inappropriately timed questions are sort of what we do here.”
“What, you worried you’re gonna run into someone you know in there?” Josh teased, making no attempt to defend himself as she leaned over, grabbed the brim of his beanie, and yanked it down over his eyes. “Professional.”
“Aren’t you worried that you’ll run into someone you know? I mean, we are heading to your family’s vacation house.”
He tugged his hat back into place just in time for her to catch him rolling his eyes. “Yeah, not too concerned about that one, believe it or not. We’ve never really been a roadside diner kinda family, if you catch my drift.”
Her hopes of sprinting through the snow into the warm embrace of a restaurant and plate of steaming food were quickly dashed. There weren’t a ton of people milling about the little strip of a shopping center they’d pulled into, but there were more than enough willing to talk to Josh once he brought up the magic words; most of the adults shook their heads and politely excused themselves at the mention of the Blackwood Sanatorium, a fact that wasn’t a huge surprise to her, but man oh man the people their age were all over that shit.
Per the usual, he handled most of it, only having Sam step in every few people or so to mix it up a little, and that was fine. Mostly because all either of them ever had the chance to get out was “What can you tell me about the sanato—” before the people they were talking to launched themselves into their stories.
“Oh, it’s crazy haunted! My cousin and his friends went up there once and—”
“Yeah, my great-great-great-great grandfather worked as an orderly there and he said there was this one night where—”
“—and that’s when the cannibalism started.”
“No, seriously, they said it was like seven…maybe eight feet tall, with these long, long arms, and claws, and…wait, maybe it was that its legs were super long? Anyway—”
“—by the time anyone knew anything was wrong, they were all dead!”
“They say if you listen really hard at night, you can still hear the screaming, but—”
By the time they reached the end of the campfire stories, their teeth were chattering and their hands had gone numb. Each and every interview had been different…to an extent. She’d been hanging out with the gang for long enough to recognize the kernels they’d latch onto in the end, the generic, spooky pieces-parts that they could pepper into whatever the final story ended up being, but wow, it was immediately obvious that this plan of theirs was a good one: The sanatorium wasn’t just a local urban legend, it was a full-on phenomenon. No wonder they’d been so excited to make the trip up there!
So caught up in the whirlwind of it all, Sam didn’t really have time to realize how…distracted she’d been until they were cramming themselves into their booth to eat. She slid in first, the uncomfortable vinyl of the seats squeaking as she made herself comfortable near the window, and as the hum of the diner settled in around them, she remembered the alien lump of her phone in her pocket. When was the last time she’d gone so long without anxiously checking it? She wasn’t sure she could remember, and wasn’t that strange? After all, she was, um, well…at the scene of the crime, so to speak. There she was in the middle of Blackwood County, on her way to the very same destination the twins had set out for a year ago, and…she was…laughing? And smiling? And joking around? And having a good time?
None of that seemed to mesh the right way.
She slid out of her jacket and draped it over the back of their booth, all the while trying to find a way to soften her smile into something that felt more respectful of the situation. They’d come up here for the ghost hunting—paranormal research—aspect of it, obviously, though she’d figured from the get-go that the trip would be more about closure than creepy-crawlies for her. From the corner of her eye, she chanced a glance Josh’s way, but sitting next to her as he was, it was difficult to parse too much from his profile. Maybe she’d ask him about it once they actually got up to the lodge.
Maybe he’d ask her.
Their server, a young woman right about their age, was more than happy to launch into the rumors she’d heard about the sanatorium as she handed them their menus, but only after they’d muddled through a supremely awkward explanation of why, precisely, they were all wearing matching sweatshirts (“Crepes?” “It’s a long story.” “If you all want breakfast, sorry, but we don’t make it this time of day, so…” “Yeah, see, I can understand how you might think that, but no, it’s a ghost thing.” “…oookay.”).
As she walked off, Josh grabbed one of the flimsy paper napkins from the table’s dispenser, patting his pockets down until he managed to pull out a pen. “You wanna see a real-time example of the drawing trick?” Ostensibly he’d been asking Sam, but he didn’t wait even half a second for her response before he was lightly tracing the general shape of a head.
“I mean, sure?” Sam folded her arms on the table, craning her head to get a better view of what he was doing. “Who’re you gonna draw?” She looked up when a small throat clearing noise came from the other side of the table.
In public as they were, she doubted Ashley was about to go into the full-out medium act she did for the camera, but she had definitely sat herself up a bit straighter and closed her eyes, a tiny wrinkle of concentration creasing the space between her eyebrows. “Um…okay, so…she’s…a young woman. Early 20’s maybe? She has…she has a well defined chin, but not…not pointy, y’know, um…” She frowned a bit deeper, raising a hand to rub at the bridge of her nose. “A thin nose…narrow…her mouth…um…she has cupid’s bow lips…”
Her gaze moved back to Josh’s napkin drawing, and that was when she realized what was going on. “Oh my God,” she laughed, shaking her head and leaning in closer, “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“Shhh Sammy, can’t you see Ash is channeling the spirits? It’s incredibly rude to interrupt.” A few more strokes of the pen and there was no denying it, he was absolutely drawing her, and geez Louise, drawing her awfully well for how quickly he was making his lines. “Keep goin’ Ash, I’m not used to getting to draw the sexy ghosts.”
She nudged him with her shoulder, nearly causing him to scribble out one of her eyes. Josh recovered quickly enough, turning the blob of ink into a fan of eyelashes with a few practiced flicks of his wrist.
Thankfully it didn’t take too much longer for their food to get to them, hot and greasy and smelling like bad decisions. She couldn’t help but cluck her tongue when she saw what the other’s had gotten, clearly having zoned out when they’d actually ordered. “I’m sorry, we’re in the middle of a blizzard, and you dorks ordered milkshakes?”
“You don’t have to say it like it’s weird.”
“It absolutely is. Who eats ice cream when it’s this cold out?”
“People who aren’t wimps, obviously.”
“Ouch.”
They were all happy enough to take a break from the endless talk of their plans for the sanatorium investigation to stuff their faces. The whole car ride there had been full of ideal camera locations and debates about what spots would look the spookiest in night-vision, what the best tricks to use to subvert their viewers’ expectations would be and how to avoid dying of lead poisoning from touching old paint. As long as they waited until after the storm to get their footage, Sam thought they were probably pretty darn well off…it was obvious that they really had been planning this excursion for months.
By the time she made it down to the last few fries on her plate, the joking had mostly calmed itself into the sleepy mumblings that always seemed to follow a heavy meal, the buzz of the diner’s other patrons filling in the gaps. She glanced up to the other side of the table as she mopped up a smear of ketchup with a limp fry, and laughed quietly as she recognized the old song and dance she remembered from their very first investigation together—Chris trying to fish the cherry from his shake with his straw, Ash leaning over his shoulder to watch, and Josh rolling his eyes before stabbing his fork down into the glass and pulling it out with a victorious flourish. Sam gave a polite little golf clap as he held the fork out towards Ashley.
“Um, hey?”
“You’re welcome.”
“I-I’m sorry, did I just have some kinda…out-of-body experience? Did I go amnesic for a second there and tell you to do that?”
She watched Josh’s eyebrows arch upwards. He stuck his fork into his mouth and (in a move that was also incredibly familiar) pulled it out clean.
“Maybe I wanted it!”
At that, Josh made a noise she could only describe as a snorty groan, leaning forward with his weight on his forearms. “Cochise. Everyone at this table—” he paused long enough to sweep an arm in a grand gesture, “—knows for a fact that you want Ash to take your cherry. And don’t you worry…I have it on good authority that she wants it juuust as bad. So!” He sat back in his seat, smacking the table with his palm, the world’s strangest judge with the world’s most ineffective gavel, “I was simply facilitating the process.”
The fact that he didn’t immediately burst into flame under the combined scorn of Chris and Ashley’s glares was quite possibly the most supernatural thing Sam had ever seen in her life (and yes, that included the quarter thing). It was impossible to miss how they both ‘subtly’ scooted a few inches away from one another at the comment, much less the way their faces went red. They were so easy to get a rise out of. Just so, so easy. Sometimes it flat-out amazed her that they’d managed to survive Josh’s teasing for as long as they had, or that neither of them had strangled him yet.
Well…
That neither had strangled him yet, to her knowledge.
As though sensing their displeasure (she doubted he actually did), Josh grabbed and unfolded another napkin, pushing his plate out of the way so he’d have more space. “Hey, c’mon, let’s show Sam how it’s really done. Gimme someone I don’t know.”
Ashley heaved a dramatic sigh. She was still glaring at Josh as though she could melt him with the sheer power of her disapproval…and when his face didn’t go wet and runny like the bad guy from that Indiana Jones movie, she gave up and instead began searching the diner. “Hmm,” she hummed under her breath, “Hmm hmm hmm…I…oh, okay.” She was looking out the window, Sam noticed, probably so she didn’t have to run the risk of anyone at a nearby table catching her staring. “He’s older, I think…um…roundish face, definitely rounder…not much of a chin…the nose is…there’s…a narrow bridge, but the nose itself is round too, kind of…smooshed almost…there’s a…the hairline is a severe widow’s peak…”
“Eyes?”
“I…I can’t see them.”
Only then did Josh glance up from his napkin, throwing an amused, if not slightly impressed look her way. “No eyes? Très creepy! I like that, save it for the taping lat—”
Ashley shook her head, “No, I can’t see them because he’s wearing something…um…goggles? Not skiing goggles, though, they’re more like…” She moved closer to the window and squinted a bit, and Sam’s curiosity finally got the better of her—she turned to the window too, immediately seeing the figure Ash was describing. Oh, yikes. “I think they’re welding goggles?”
“Welding gog—the fuck are you talking about?” There was a rustle as both Josh and Chris moved to join them at the window overlooking their table.
Lo and behold, a row or two away from where they’d parked, there was some guy in a big, fur-lined parka and yes, welding goggles, loading what seemed to be hunting equipment into the back of a pickup truck. There was something off about the way he moved, something unsettling in the way he heaved each item up into the flatbed, but it was the thing strapped to his back that really caught Sam’s attention.
“Now why,” Chris started, straining to get a good look without inadvertently pressing too close to Ashley, “Is he lugging around a got-dang flamethrower out here?”
“Maybe to clear away the snow?” Ash offered.
“Yeah, thanks Nancy Drew, definitely solved that case.” Josh turned away from the window, and Sam had the impression he waved an arm in the air or something, probably meaning to ask the server for their check. “I know I always go to my trusty flamethrower first when my driveway gets a little too frosty.”
“Well I don’t know,” she bristled, “I’m just trying to think of stuff that could make sense…”
“Is it even legal to carry one of those things around?” When Sam turned again, it was to see their server quickly approaching the table, bill in hand. Eugh, she wondered if she could slip off to the restroom, maybe buy them a few minutes of time so they wouldn’t have to run into flamethrower guy in the parking lot. The trip had been strange enough already, what with the memory of the twins hanging over her like a storm cloud…the last thing she needed was—
Josh cleared his throat as their server arrived, and with something like dawning horror, Sam realized he’d put on his best salesman voice. The one he used when trying to goad someone into one of his schemes. “‘Scuse me,” he said with that smile of his, “Uh…what’s that guy’s deal, huh?”
This had bad news written all over it.
“Hmm? Oh!” The server peered out the window and immediately her face wrinkled in distaste. “Oh,” flatter that time. “That’s crazy old Jack Fiddler.”
She wasn’t about to turn to see Josh’s expression, but she didn’t particularly need to—across the table, both of the others had embarked on their own face journeys, and she figured the look on Josh’s face was probably somewhere between Chris’s unrestrained glee and Ash’s abject confusion.
Oh this really, really, really was bad news.
“Well that’s a hell of a name.” Still all teeth and dimples, Josh tilted his head to the side, “Local celebrity?”
She set their empty glasses onto her tray before letting out a little laugh through her nose. “Something like that…”
“Local cryptid?” Chris tried.
It didn’t land. The server shot him a perplexed glance over a tight-lipped smile before leaving their table once more.
Then Sam did turn to Josh, and she did look at his face; if such a thing were possible, she thought she’d momentarily caught a glimpse of the wheels turning ‘round and ‘round in his head. That had to be how she knew what was coming. She knew it was a futile effort…and still she tried to stop it before it could happen. “Hey I think—”
But of course it was too late. Whatever she’d wanted to say was gone—lost to the annals of time—because Chris and Josh were already on their feet, the former fumbling with his coat and camera bag, the latter slamming a few crumpled bills onto the table.
Ashley looked away from the window at the noise. “Um…?”
“Oooh, I wanna talk to crazy old Jack Fiddler,” Chris muttered, zipping his coat so quickly that it caught for a second.
“I don’t.”
“Tough.” Josh whirled around to talk to them, walking backwards towards the door as he did so (much to the chagrin of their poor server, who had to duck out of his way to avoid spilling what was on her tray). “Because ladies? Honestly? I have never, ever, in my life, wanted to talk to anyone half as much as I want to talk to crazy old Jack Fiddler right now.”
“Bet he’s got some real hot takes on the sanatorium sitch,” Chris added, the two of them guffawing. The bell above the door made its cheerful little ring as the both of them hurried out towards the parking lot…but like hell were the girls about to go rushing after them.
“That man’s going to murder them,” Ash remarked, her voice so flat that Sam didn’t have any choice but to laugh.
She wiped a dab of ketchup from the corner of her mouth before grabbing the wad of money Josh had left in his wake. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust him, so much as he’d been in such a goddamn hurry to run after the guy that she couldn’t believe he’d left the right amount. And to her credit, uh, he hadn’t.
Shock of shocks, huh?
“Hey, look on the bright side…if he kills them, then at least you don’t have to worry about piecing together a story later! We’ll just make the episode a retrospective on all the stupid th—”
“Oh my God, are those wolves?!”
When she looked up from the strenuous task that was basic math, she found Ashley all but pressed flush against the window, her eyes the size of the plates on the table.
Wolves? There was no way there would be— “Oh holy shit, those are wolves.” Sam felt the hinge of her jaw go slack at the sight of the two monstrous dogs flanking old Jack. For the time being, it seemed Chris was keeping his distance, but ohoho, there was Josh—of course!—strolling up like it was no big deal, hand held out, mouth moving a mile a minute, and oh, none of that was good. Sam dropped the cash, pulled her jacket back on, and without any warning grabbed Ashley by the crook of her arm and positively dragged her out of the booth. “What is wrong with him?!”
Really, she’d meant to say it to herself, but as Ash picked up her pace to meet her stride, she answered as helpfully as she could, “Way more than we’ve got time to list, clearly.”
“Yeah, clearly.” Leaving the warmth of the diner for the parking lot was such a drastic change that she found herself momentarily dizzy, every muscle in her body seizing up as if she’d just jumped headfirst into a pool of ice water. The snow had picked up again while they were eating, it seemed, and she didn’t particularly like the thought of them driving up the rest of the mountain in that kind of weather…then again, she didn’t particularly like the thought of them standing in the middle of the parking lot chatting with crazy old Jack Fiddler in it either.
Over the wind, she could just barely make out the sound of Ash’s voice. “If I become a tally mark on a serial killer’s belt because of those dunderheads…”
Sam tucked her head in slightly, if only to get in a hissed aside of her own. “I think we could outrun ‘em.”
“I mean, the old guy, sure, but Sam…wolves?”
“Oh nonono, I meant Josh and Chris. Run faster than them and the wolves are their problem.”
Now, she was hardly the psychic of their stupid enterprise, but she’d managed to predict Josh’s spiel with such pinpoint accuracy that she thought she could’ve matched him word-for-word if she’d wanted to. And wasn’t that a terrifying thought. “…documentary about the history of Blackwood Pines,” he was saying, seemingly oblivious to the surreal situation he’d led them into.
The man—crazy old Jack Fiddler—narrowed his eyes. “Are you now?” There was a loud clang! as he unloaded the flamethrower into the flatbed of his truck. When he turned back to face them properly, Sam had to catch herself from gasping. The get-up had been one thing, the wolves another, but in the process of talking to the guys, it appeared he’d removed his goggles, revealing a face full of thick, welted scar tissue and windburn. His gaze flicked to her and Ashley as they approached, and that was what really got her—one eye tracked them with the cold alacrity of a hunter spotting a deer in a clearing while the other, clouded over and almost perfectly white, didn’t do much of anything at all.
She swallowed hard, trying not to make direct eye contract with him or his…pets? Was that what they were? Pets?! They weren’t attacking, so they must’ve been, but still…
Sam made a mental note to thank the others later. If there was one thing her life had been missing up until that point, well gee whiz, she’d have to say it was uncomfortable confrontations with spooky old guys, and wow! The CREEPs were just…magnets for them, weren’t they?! Edgar, Alan, Jack…who was next? Maybe Vincent Price himself would be waiting for them up in the lodge with mugs of hot cocoa.
A pressure near her wrist startled her, and she glanced down to see Ash clutching at her sleeve. She patted her hand lightly and shifted her weight on her feet; she’d only been half-joking about outrunning the boys if push came to shove.
Josh, unsurprisingly, didn’t seem to care in the slightest. “So, what can you tell us about the Blackwood Pines Sanat—”
The man let out a noise that was more growl than groan, reaching over and covering the lens of the camera with his hand. He actually shoved it down towards the ground, sending Chris stumbling to keep his balance. To either side of him, the wolves’ ears went flat. One went so far as to raise its hackles, showing a flash of horrible yellow fangs in the snowy light. “I should’ve known—there’s always some group of you fool enough to go poking around where you don’t belong.” He ignored Chris’s protests, keeping his hand firmly on the camera as he looked from one of them to another, searching their faces for…well, something, obviously. “Here’s what I know about Blackwood Pines—I know that none of you are gonna go up there. I know that much for damn certain.”
Josh hummed thoughtfully. It was a sound they all recognized as meaning one thing and one thing only: a smartass tirade was a’brewing. “Aw geez, well, I do hate to be a contrarian, but we’ve already gone and gotten permission. Filled out all the requisite forms, packed ourselves some snacks, got our big, warm coats out of storage…sooo…” He sucked his teeth, “I think we are gonna go up there, actually.”
“Permission?!” the man spat, finally releasing the camera to whirl on Josh. “Permission from who, exactly?”
Shoulders squared, Josh almost appeared unaffected. Almost. Sam couldn’t help noticing the way his eyes would occasionally flit down to the two massive dogs at the man’s side. “The Washington estate,” he said, painstakingly enunciating every single consonant.
“Pah! The Washingtons don’t own that mountain!”
“I’m sure they’d be shocked to hear that. Especially since, uh, the name and all.” His smile was frosty but no less charming. It seemed to take on a new edge when the stranger’s forehead wrinkled; maybe he was beginning to think Josh looked familiar. “I mean…Mount Washington, how much clearer can you get, right?”
Either way, he closed the gap between himself and Josh (the others taking a few abrupt steps backward to compensate), leveling his gaze. “Well I’ll tell you what I tell everyone who comes around here thinking it’ll be good fun to stir up trouble they ain’t got any business in.” He brandished a finger like a bowie knife, his mouth twisting into monstrous shapes with each word, bringing attention to the few front teeth he was missing. “Laugh all you want, ain’t anything to me, but there’s nothing funny about what goes on up on that mountain.” In one fluid move, the finger in Josh’s face was replaced by a thumb jerked over his shoulder. “If you knew the half a’ what men have been brought to do up in that godforsaken place…”
“Well I would love to learn.” The usual persuasion had gone out from his voice only to be replaced by something she recognized as…ugh, yeah, it was the defensive snap. It was unsprung for now, more of a warning, a taste of what was to come, but boy she hoped Josh had enough common sense to keep from getting into an actual fight with a wolf-owning, flamethrower-wielding maniac in the parking lot of a strip mall.
‘Hoped’ was, of course, the operative word in that particular sentence.
Sam felt Chris move beside her. She didn’t turn to look—peeling her eyes away from Fiddler and his wolves felt like a decidedly poor judgment call—but goddamn it, she just knew he was trying to get the camera pointed at him again. Oh, if he and Josh got them killed by this loony old fuck, she was going to haunt the shit out of them…see the views they got on those videos.
“Blackwood Pines is cursed,” the stranger continued, undaunted by Josh’s attitude. “Y’hear me? I’ll say it again for you, slower this time. Cursed. The dead don’t rest up there, you take it from me. Something about the place twists ‘em, turns ‘em wrong, make ‘em sour.”
“A curse,” Josh answered flatly. “Have to be honest with you, sir, that’s sort of why we’re interested—”
“Don’t go meddling with forces beyond your ken, boy,” the stranger continued, voice gravelly and grave. “There are things on that mountain that no one—not you, not your little friends, not the Washingtons—are able to comprehend. You leave well enough alone, and you turn right around and go home before you find yourself tangled up in something what never should be seen by the likes of you and yours.”
The curve of Josh’s smirk became a barb. He surprised them all by raising his hands in a clear ‘You got me!’ gesture, taking a single step backwards. The three of them stared on, silent spectators, barely moving even as he nodded in defeat. “Sorry, sorry…you’re probably right. After all, you sure sound like you know your stuff…and way better than anyone else we’ve talked to up here. Between you and me?” he asked, lowering his voice in that friendly, conspiratorial way that more often than not sucked people right into his bullshit, “I got the impression the Washingtons were all sorta uppity assholes, anyway. Anything to make a quick buck or two, am I right?” There was laughter in his tone; there was defiance in his eyes. “So y’know what? Yeah…yeah, I think we’re gonna take your advice.” Josh glanced over to the rest of them, spinning a finger in the air, “Pack it up, team! Change of plans!” He stuck his gloved hand out to the stranger, flinching only slightly when the dogs began to growl. “Sorry again for taking up your valuable time, sir, but thank you for talking with us. It has truly—truly!—been an enlightening experience.”
The stranger eyed his hand warily, seemingly more than a bit suspicious. After a long, uncomfortable moment, he took Josh’s hand, giving it a curt pump before releasing it. “You don’t believe me.” His voice was sandpaper even as the corners of his mouth tucked into something she might’ve been tempted to say was meant to be a smile. “That’s fine. That’s just fine. You will. See that you all watch yourselves.”
“Oh, don’t you worry about that,” Josh smiled, turning to rejoin the rest of them. “C’mon guys!” And his voice was way too chipper for comfort, making him sound like a throwaway character on some old, wholesome tv show like Leave it to Beaver. “Let’s go home. How about…oh, I know, we can go to my place!”
Didn’t need to tell her twice.
Sam was moving long before Josh got the last word out, physically pulling Ashley along with her. She could still feel the stranger’s eyes on their backs, could feel the wolves’ eyes following their legs, no doubt trying to size up the best spot to sink those teeth of theirs into…and so she picked up her pace to try and get the image out of her head.
The headlights of the van flickered once when Chris pressed the button on his key fob, the girls wasting no time in yanking the doors open and sealing themselves away inside the (relative) safety of their makeshift Mystery Machine. Neither of them commented on it, but Sam could see Ash’s breath fogging the window of the passenger seat as she watched Fiddler return to his work of loading up the truck.
“You all saw that too, right?” Chris joked, eyes going comically large behind the foggy lenses of his glasses as he opened the trunk. “I wasn’t like…hallucinating the grungy hermit character from every shitty slasher movie, was I? Because it kiiinda feels like that’s what just happened.” He stowed the camera in he trunk, pausing before shutting it. In the rearview, Sam saw him frown for a second—but only a second. “Sure hope that little run-in wasn’t, uh…”
“Foreshadowing?” Ashley asked flatly, turning away from the window to shoot Josh a furious look once she heard him shut his door. “Yeah. I was just thinking the same.” A second later, she clicked her seatbelt into place, and to Sam at least, the sound felt almost like punctuation.
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