#and i'm annoyed that i have been totally unable to identify any ideas about it

[quaranmine]

playing doctor on myself this morning with google and losing my mind just a bit

i keep. over the course of the last two years at least. randomly getting these blotchy red rashes on my torso. they don't itch or hurt, they aren't raised, and they seem completely random. i cannot figure it out or any link between it appearing. It will typically last several hours. they do not go on my face, neck, or limbs, just the torso. i don't think theyre like dangerous??? because i assume that if they were i would have some adverse reaction like pain, fever, swelling, etc. so that is why i have not been overly concerned with it. but it is baffling me. now sometimes in the past i have gotten extremely itchy for no reason on my torso, so maybe that's a factor, but the itchiness does not always coincide with the rash. for example, today there is none.

the thing i'm interested in today though, is if it's some sort of drug allergy rash. because it always looks exactly like the rash i got last year when i took paxlovid for my covid infection. the doctor told me that's a common (harmless) reaction. i've looked it up and it looks most like a morbilliform drug reaction which are very common. so, if morbilliform drug reactions look and behave like that, i had that reaction to taking a drug, and a doctor told me it was a reaction to the drug then....

...it stands to reason that my experiencing this off and on for 2-3 years might ALSO be a similiar reaction? i just can't figure out the common thread.

one of my meds is implicated as a cause for this type of rash, and has studies/journal articles on it causing this. EXCEPT. um, it happens when you are first introduced to taking it??? and like dude i've been taking this particular medication since 2016 probably. i'm sure anything is possible (like developing new sensitivies) but nothing i have read is about reactions popping up YEARS after the fact, just within 1-3 weeks of starting it. i saw a study done on someone who developed the rash after taking the medicine, but 5 days after first taking it. i saw another study/journal article that was written as a diagnostic aid that literally excluded any drugs you'd been on for a few months as not the cause. so??? idk. my other medicine does not seem to be implicated in this, as when i looked it up i didn't really get anything.

i'm no biochemist or whatever but i can't seem to find any similarities between my med and paxlovid? like ok, we've established that either the nirmatrelvir or ritonavir that is in paxlovid likely caused it. that's what the doctor said. he said my reaction was a common one to one of the drugs in that mixture, which lines up with everything i have read. but afaik these drugs arent like....similiar to the one i have been taking...it isnt like "oh these are the same drug class so maybe your issue is with them"....

the other (relevant) drug implicated in these types of reactions are NSAIDS. now this could be something. i did take ibuprofen yesterday, and woke up with the reaction. is that it? i'm going to start logging it every time it happens to see if it ever coincides with me recently taking ibuprofen. BUT LIKE. i take ibuprofen pretty frequently, mostly for headaches. this reaction might only happen once every two or three months. i feel like if i were getting a reaction from ibuprofen it would happen every time, not just once in a blue moon?

so why am i experiencing it today???? i'm not wearing any clothing made from atypical materials. i havent used any new shower products. i havent tried any new medicines for a while. i havent eaten anything i don't normally have. none, except for the paxlovid rash, coincide with me being sick so i doubt it's viral.

if it IS a mobilliform drug reaction, it still seems atypical because a) i havent started anything new b) it goes away within a few hours, not days/weeks c) it isn't always itchy

WHERE IS THE COMMON LINK AND HOW DO I FREE MYSELF OF THIS?

#like i said it's not particularly worrying (no pain etc) but it does LOOK very alarming #and i'm annoyed that i have been totally unable to identify any ideas about it #i have a dermatolgist appointment in july i will bring it up then #the other thing is that if it is a morbilliform drug reaction those can sometimes take a few weeks to show up after the first interaction #so would i even know? would i ever be able to identify the culprit???? #i would love to think it's heat related but it doesnt look like a heat rash or necessarily show up when i'm overheated #medical tw

[one-boring-person]

Six Bodies In An Alley.

The Lost Boys x reader

Warnings: pretty graphic descriptions of gore, death, blood imagery

Context: the reader lives in Santa Carla, and has befriended the boys, but still has no idea what they are, so is in for a surprise when they go looking for their brother one night, only to find them in the middle of business they'd rather the reader didn't see.

A/N: I reckon I'll turn this into a two-part story, seeing as it is a bit inconclusive, and the boys don't play a massive part just yet, so I'd better get down to that😂💛

Masterlist

"Three hours late. How on earth is anyone ever three hours late to anything?" I mutter irritably to myself as I push through the crowd, aiming to get off the Boardwalk as quickly as possible, my confused yet annoyed mood giving me the confidence to actively shove people out of my way, choosing to ignore any protests as I move past them. Two or three of them try to grab my arm, but I don't give them the time of day, pulling myself from their grip without even turning to them, worry starting to creep into me as I glance back down at my watch, knowing how late it now is.

A couple of days ago, my younger brother got in contact, telling me that he'll be in Santa Carla for a few days, and would like to meet up, having taken a couple of weeks off from his job in New York, where he's been holed up for months. Naturally, I'd jumped at the opportunity, glad to finally be able to show him around the little coastal town, and to be able to introduce him to the friends I've made in my time living here, seeing as he has not seen me since we both left our hometown, back when our mother passed away. We arranged to meet up on the Boardwalk around seven, but he never turned up, leaving me to wait in the bustling area with no clue as to his whereabouts. The hours dragged on, three of them passing before I finally had enough of worrying, deciding to go looking for him as my curiosity spiked, which is where I find myself now, a frown etched onto my face as I push through the writhing bodies around me.

After a good ten minutes of wrestling with the crowd, I manage to reach a main road, where the pedestrian traffic is a lot thinner, allowing me to see the surroundings with more ease. Still unable to spot either him or his recognizable car, I start to walk towards the outskirts of the town, where it is likely he may have gotten lost, pulling my jacket tighter around me as the air becomes cooler, the lack of people around me making the cold breeze more noticeable. Biting my lip, I try to suppress the urge to turn back and get somewhere warmer, continuing on into the dimly lit back roads looping around the town, an odd feeling starting to grow in the back of my mind, an inbuilt instinct telling me something is wrong, and that I'm not safe. Ignoring it, I start to observe the few cars parked here and there, struggling to see in the strangely foggy light, aware that the streetlights don't illuminate everything around me, meaning there are a lot of blindspots surrounding me.

At first, I don't recognise any of the vehicles lingering by the side of the road, my hopes briefly flaring up as I see a similar car, only to realise it is the wrong model and is, in fact, not the gaudy crimson colour I thought it was, a realisation that draws a curse from me. It takes another twenty minutes of searching before I finally find the right one, my suspicions having been confirmed when I see the scarlet car parked on the curb, the engine idling in the now-freezing night air. Relieved, I go over to it, knocking on the window of the driver's side, waiting for him to roll it down, or get out of the car. When neither happens, I bend over to look into the interior, my brow furrowing when I find it empty, the keys still in the ignition despite the fact that the driver is clearly missing. Straightening, I look over the exterior of the car, noticing that the back left tyre is flat, my eyes wandering to the back windows, though there is nothing behind them when I check, expecting to see the familiar sight of my brother sleeping on the backseats.

Frowning, I step away from the car, trying to think where he may have gone, going over all the possible places he could've walked to in the area, though I don't know this particular area as well as I'd like, my knowledge of the surrounding streets slightly limited. Chewing my lip, I go back to the car and switch off the engine, taking the keys with me as I decide to check if there are any garages anywhere nearby, knowing my brother is unlikely to leave the car running unless he is going to return to it relatively quickly. Locking the vehicle, I start back up the road, cursing myself for not checking up on him sooner, worry still biting at the back of my mind as I try to focus on finding him again.

I don't go far, expecting him to have stayed in the area, stopping and turning back when I reach another badly lit junction, at which point I finally acknowledge something off about the last half an hour: the streets are deserted, not a living soul passing me as I traipse the dark pavements. At this realisation, the instinctual feeling from before returns, the hairs at the back of my neck standing on end as goosebumps appear on my skin, an irrational fear clouding my judgement as I turn and start walking hurriedly back the way I came, intending to reach the car again so that I can at least memorize it's whereabouts and collect it in the morning. My brother must've found his way into town or something, though it is odd that he left his prized car alone, with the engine still idling, something he's never really done. I try to reassure myself of this fact as my mind becomes ever more convinced that I'm not safe, my pace inadvertently picking up at the thought of something happening to me. It's only when I pass close to an alley that I slow, halting in my step as something catches my attention.

Taking a breath, I approach the alley, my instincts telling me to run and get away from here, still fully aware that I can't see every inch of the area around me, due to the bad coverage of the streetlights. Despite this, I still manage to make out the shape that caught my eye, instantly recognising it as human, though it isn't moving, not even to breathe, which is odd. As I move closer to the person, I become aware of the other people lying a little way away, one of them separate from the rest, a putrid stench floating up from them all, making my eyes water slightly at the strength of it. Wrinkling my nose, I crouch down beside the first person, intending to ask them where I am and if they've seen my brother pass them, only to let out a half scream when her head rolls forwards, a thick liquid rushing down her front as it does.

In the dim light, her eyes stare up at me, glassy and unseeing, her face mutilated and caked with dark blood, bone and muscle visible under the torn skin. Her hair hangs in filthy strands over her shoulders, though it moves out of the way to reveal a deep hole in her chest, as if her ribs caved in over her heart, puncturing her lungs and heart, which are just visible under the slick covering of blood, all the skin that would normally cover her torso torn into shreds and peeled away to reveal the musculature beneath. Flies are already gathering around the reeking corpse, a few rats even starting to crawl up her slashed arms, eager to get hold of this new meal, the whole sight making me want to throw up, bile starting to rise in my throat, leaving a bitter taste in my mouth as I stand, tearing my gaze away from her.

A quick glance proves to me that the rest are all similarly mangled, their blood black in the dusky lighting, pools of the stuff gathering in the dips in the pavement around their corpses, the stench emanating from these vile puddles. Horror and fear, as well as panic, well up in me, my body starting to shake as I remain rigid, standing there for a good few minutes before I manage to collect my thoughts again, thinking through what could possibly have happened. Was it a freak animal attack? Are there rabid creatures waiting in the shadows to tear me apart, as they have done to these people?

As I think this through, one thought surfaces, a pang of deep fear striking me as I quickly go to each body, frantically checking their faces for a familiar one, gagging and wincing as I see the bloodied scraps that are left of their visages, their blood soon coating my hands and shirt from where I've handled their lifeless cadavers. In total, there are six bodies, and five of them are unfamiliar to me, so I approach the sixth with some hesitation, my steps slow and cautious, as if to delay the inevitable, though it isn't long until the face of the person comes into view, the unmistakable shape of his jaw and bone structure sending an icy bolt of horror through me.

It's my brother.

Gasping, I trace to his side and collapse to the floor, eyes finding the wounds littering his body, widening as they take in the gory mess that is the remains of his throat, as well as the mangled stump where his right arm used to be. A wave of nausea threatens to crash over me as I try to concentrate, unsure of whether this is really happening, my hands reaching out, gingerly, to trace a clean patch of his skin, a strangled sob leaving me at the feeling of his frigid skin beneath mine. Just in time, I turn to the side and allow the contents of my stomach to empty themselves onto the pavement, my stomach unable to hold itself together as I try not to break down completely; I continue to throw up for a good five minutes, a painful cramp setting in as I am reduced to dry-heaving.

I barely register the sounds of a group of people rounding the corner, their voices familiar to me as they joke with each other, laughter accompanying the cynical words of their leader. It's only when they stop a few metres away, voices fading into shocked silence, that I look up, terror filling me as I take in their appearance, identifying them immediately: Paul, Marko, Dwayne and David.

My eyes take their forms, horror and panic building up in me as I take in their bloodied appearances, discomposure filling me as I notice the concentration of the brackish fluid around their chins and mouth, before my eyes lift to their other features. Upon seeing them, I back away, confusion and fear evident on my face as I slowly get to my feet, continuing to edge away from them as they start to come closer - their features are distorted, their brows pulled into longer, grotesque caricatures of their usually handsome faces, blazing yellow eyes ringed with crimson following my every move, razor sharp fangs poking out from under their top lips as they go to speak, each pale tooth stained scarlet.

Without a second thought, I turn and run.

Adrenaline gives me speed, my pulse pounding in my ears as I race back onto the street I was on before, my breathing becoming harsh and ragged as I push myself into my fastest pace. Behind me, I hear a couple of deep chuckles, as well as a maniac laugh as footsteps start to follow me, a horribly familiar voice calling after me. I ignore it, focusing on staying ahead of my pursuers, doing my best to avoid the stones littering the pavement, my hand scrabbling in my pocket for the keys to my brother's car, thinking I could use it to get away, even if the tyre is flat. Finding them, I pull them out and continue sprinting down the road, a relieved gasp escaping me as I catch sight of the vehicle ahead, a new burst of energy exploding in me as I give one final push, reaching it swiftly.

Tremors wrack my hands as I attempt to get the key into the door, aware of the ever-approaching boys behind me, my breath held as I struggle to remain calm, adrenaline still pumping through me, a curse escaping me as I fight with the stuff turning mechanism. It finally opens, allowing me to climb into the car and slam the door behind me, quickly sticking the key into the ignition and turning it, only for the engine to stall. Going to try again, I growl in frustration as the same thing happens, the car refusing to let me put it into drive as I wrestle with the key. Panic starts to resurface within me, my actions becoming more and more frenzied, until I give up, punching the steering wheel in front of me in anger, wincing when my fist smarts afterwards.

A dent suddenly appears in the roof of the car, as if a heavy weight was dropped on it, a blood-curdling screeching noise following, as if someone was tearing through rusted metal, or trying to bend it out of shape. Looking out of the window, I notice a pair of hands digging into the weak spot just above the window, the metal coming away from the base as they continue to pull at it, opening me up to them, whatever they are. Petrified, I remain still for a couple of seconds, before jumping back into action, moving so that I'm forcing myself through the gap between the driver and passenger seats, crushing myself through the space into the backseats, collecting myself before I throw open the back door, stumbling briefly as I try to regain my balance, racing off towards the main road. I must look a sight - wearing a bloodied shirt and sporting similarly stained hands, tears streaking my cheeks, my breath coming out in rasping pants as I try to stay ahead of a group of who I assume to be killers. Hope fills me as I see a brighter light appear at the end of the road, clearly the beginning of the main road leading into Santa Carla, my pace remaining steady as I aim for it, careful not to get too excited, knowing I'm not quite in the clear yet.

A pair of arms suddenly appear around my waist, their owner easily lifting me off the ground and into the air, a scream of terror ripping itself from me as my attacker somehow floats upwards, holding me against a muscular chest, the smell of their black coat very familiar to me. Instantly, I start to writhe in his grip, kicking and wriggling as much as I can in his tight grasp.

"Calm down, (Y/n)! I'm not going to hurt you!" David commands, tightening his arms around me as I pay him no attention, trying to get out using any possible technique, "If you keep this up, I'll have to drop you, and we're a long way from the ground!"

At his words, I look down, freezing up as I see how far away we are from the pavement below, my eyes widening in fear, a pathetic whimper escaping me. I look up to see the other three sort of hovering around David and I, all of them looking serious for once, not just Dwayne, Marko chewing on his thumb as Paul struggles to stay still, somehow managing to fidget in mid air.

"What do you want? What are you?" I ask them, despair lacing my tone as I address them, knowing I'll probably end up like my brother, another corpse my supposed friends have left behind for others to find.

"We'll explain soon enough, but for now, we're going home. Hang on tight." The platinum blonde confirms, shifting me around so that I'm facing him, his icy blue eyes boring into mine as he repositions my arms around his neck, encouraging me to hold on tight. Gritting my teeth, I swallow and hold on, linking my legs around his waist as he starts to move, burying my face into his chest in pure fear, unsure of what will happen.

#the lost boys #joel schumacher #vampire #david(thelostboys) #kiefer sutherland #paul(the lost boys) #dwayne(the lost boys) #marko(the lost boys) #santa carla #star(the lost boys) #slight trigger warning #slight tw #blood #Gore #mild gore #one-boring-person

[confetti-cupcake]

Glad to hear that you are loving this season! I feel like I've been pretty chill when it comes to this season. I don't particularly have as strong of feelings this season than I did for the last one. I'm just loving it and continuing on that vibe.

I think the players that I really like are definitely Michael, Omar, Drea, and Jonathan. I don't particularly think anyone has an overly loud gameplay so its hard to pin point who is doing better. I just love that Michael always has the most positive of intentions and that he's always taking an opportunity to learn. I think his social game is very strong. Everyone likes him and they tend to look at him as more of a fatherly figure than they do with Rocksroy. Omar also has a strong social game down. He's just an overall joy to watch.

Can we just talk about Jonathan for a minute. You literally hit the nail on the head with that point. HOW?! There is absolutely no way in any previous season that Jonathan wouldn't have been the first one targeted because everyone does truly like him and he's a physical threat. I am amazed at every single challenge he partakes in. However, he's so great at the team challenges and yet has been unable to win an immunity. I wonder if that's the trend we'll continue to see. He's a great shield in idea, but he's not really shielding anyone. Maryanne is really fun to watch because she's so animated. She always finds the grace in every situation. I don't think she'll win, but I do root for her. I would like to see her go farther in the game because she does love it so much.

As far as Hai goes, I like him, but there is also something about him that rubs me the wrong way. I can't put a finger on it yet, but hopefully i'll be able to put it into words one day. I am also not really a fan of tori or rocksroy. I keep actively rooting against tori and somehow she keeps winning those immunity challenges lol. I do love watching tori vs. rocksroy though. It gives the amount of drama that's been necessary. What has been going on outside the game? i have not been paying attention to any of their social media. As far as Lindsay and Romeo go, they are just existing for me. I don't have a particular feeling for them either way. It'd be interesting to see if Lindsay will be able to break free the bigger alliance and actually make moves at all. Sadly, Romeo will be gone soon in my opinion.

The twists that we've seen last season we're so much more powerful and had a greater impact. The twists have sadly not done much to turn the game on its heel this time around. I just wonder what it's going to take for one person to break and move away from it.

No, I totally get you. I like all the players you listed, too and I really feel like Mike's social game is so on point. It seems like he gets along with everyone pretty effortlessly and I loved the moment when he sat with Omar (who's also really killing it) while he prayed. Drea is doing well so far, but I feel like how the jury perceives her game will be heavily based on what she does with her stockpile of advantages. After what happened with Xander last year, I don't think anyone is going to give credit at the end for just finding advantages — they're going to need to be played in a game-changing way.

I agree, I liked Hai a lot at the beginning too, but it felt like last episode he was a little catty, for lack of a better word. I felt so bad for that Romeo was correctly identifying that his name was getting thrown out there, but Hai was accusing him of being paranoid and trying to make it seem like he was in the wrong? Didn't love that. It kind of annoys me when a big alliance ostracizes people, and then get mad when the ostracized people dare to play the game. Another thing I hate about Big Brother 😂

So the outside-the-game stuff re: Tori is that her dad is a vocally anti-vax (not just covid, all vaccines) eye doctor who used to take to Facebook and spread a lot of conspiracy theories about covid and discouraged the wearing of masks, and Tori shared a lot of his posts and condemned Facebook for deleting his account for what I assume was misinformation. This all happened last year, so I'm not sure if she still believes this stuff, but yeah... not a great look. Social media drama has actually been pretty non-existent this season.

I kind of agree that the advantages haven't really done a whole lot to change the game, other than when Chanelle and Omar got their wires crossed and both risked their votes. I'll be kind of annoyed if Drea winds up stealing Maryanne's idol with Knowledge is Power — it's the kind of thing that can be really fun if someone in the minority gets the advantage, but could also be catastrophic if someone in the majority gets it and steals a likeable underdog's only means of protection. I guess we'll see how it goes. I'm still interested in seeing how the Amulet advantage from the premiere plays out, and if it incentivizes someone like Lindsey to turn on Hai and Drea and vote them out.

#ask box #halsteadsass #survivor #survivor 42

[lifeisdabubbles-undersalmondean]

La Pomme ~ Chapter 12

Pairing: Sam x OC (eventual Dean x OC and Dean x Castiel. And I mean eventual.)

Series summary: George is a casual French-Mistake-universe Supernatural fan living in no-COVID 2020, who's life is upended when she's suddenly launched between realities, two years into the boys' past (S13E22). What begins as an insane, immersive fan experience turns into more when Jack goes missing and George offers up her AU information to help track him down. Soon it's discovered that she and Sam may actually have history. But that's impossible, right?

Word Count: 5,500

Warnings: {smut, fluff, angst, show level violence, swearing, mentions of suicide} ***Detailed warnings will be tagged for specific chapters.

A/N: Following the events of my prequel Paradise and second story From My Eyes Off. Reading those first gives context but isn’t necessary to start this one.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

George was lounging in the warm bath water, trying to use breathing exercises to clear her mind and calm herself. It had been a long day, capping off a long almost-month inside the Supernatural Universe. There were so many questions she couldn't answer and she wished she could turn her brain off; focus on anything else.

"George?" She heard Dean's muffled call from the other side of the bathroom door. "You OK in there?"

"Yea," She answered quietly. "Just humiliated," She added with an eye roll.

"Don't sweat it," Came his unusually sympathetic reply. "We've all been there, or somewhere similar… or somewhere worse," He added off handedly, taking another bite of pie. It occurred to him suddenly that the two of them were alone and Dean had a thought. After a moment's hesitation, he swallowed his bite of pie and called timidly, "George?"

"Yea?" She responded curiously, her voice raised slightly to compensate for the sound barrier. There was such a long pause with no answer that she wondered if it had just been her imagination. As she was about to call out again, she heard him finally.

"Can I ask you something?" Came an inquiry so quiet she almost didn't hear it. He sounded uncharacteristically troubled and… nervous?

"Yea, sure," She answered gently.

"What do you know about Michael?"

"Michael who?" Came her quick, confused reply.

"The archangel? Asshole that's been wearing me as a suit the last few weeks?" She was suddenly reminded of the fact that she was living inside of a TV show and it stunned her into silence. "That Michael? Has he not been on the show or...?" The nervous huff in his reply shook her out of her stupor. She realized this must be a hard topic for him. Unfortunately, though, she didn't have any insight to give.

"Oh fuck, right, Michael," She swallowed and gathered her thoughts before replying with a sigh, "I'm sorry, Dean, I don't really know much. I hadn't started this season yet," She finished apologetically.

"Thanks," Came a sarcastic reply.

She frowned and defended, "Look, I have a life, dude! I get behind, I can't always tune in every Thursday! Trust me, no one is more sorry about that than me right now. Maybe if I had, I could have done something to prevent this insane situation." A heavy sigh dotted the end of her sentence pointedly. Then she had a strange, disconcerting thought:

Would you really have prevented this from happening if you had a choice?

The thought startled her and she guiltily refused to answer herself.

A welcome distraction for her was noticing the silence that followed her answer to Dean; George could tell he was still concerned. Reaching over and grabbing the door handle, she cracked it just enough to spy Dean sitting on the edge of the mattress, holding a take out box. He glanced at her almost imperceptibly and she could tell her eyes weren't exactly welcome, so she turned her head away but left the door open.

"Here's what I've heard/seen on accident," She started, pausing to think and then saying carefully, "He comes back somehow," She heard him bristle but kept going, "And you do something to trap him. Some kind of box… or maybe a walk-in freezer?" She was trying to organize the spoilers she'd seen and identify what was related to Michael and what wasn't. "I know that doesn't make a lot of sense and I'm sorry, but that's all I've got."

Dean sighed and shrugged, "It's alright, George. I'm just… feeling lost. Was hoping for some clues, but it's not on you to save my bacon." George gave a wry smile to the bath water and sat quietly for a moment.

Finally she turned her head to look at him and asked, "You want to know what I do know, Dean?"

Slowly, he turned to look at her with an intrigued eyebrow, "I don't know, do I?"

With an amused eye roll she spoke, "I know this--right now--this story line with alternate Michael? It's two seasons behind where you and your brother end up in my reality. And--at least as far as I remember--this alternate Michael isn't a starring role for very long."

Dean furrowed his eyebrows at her in consideration, "Meaning?"

She shrugged and offered, "Meaning, you figure this out. Like you always do. You will figure this out and you will beat Michael and be onto the next big bad, whomever that is. Which, don't even ask because I really have no idea. Haven't watched those seasons at all yet… I think there's one episode where you meet Scooby Doo?"

Dean smirked and rolled his eyes, telling her matter-of-factly, "We already did that."

"No shit?! That already happened?" When he nodded in confirmation George 'ughed' loudly, rolling her eyes, "Damnit, that must have been one of the ones I just watched. What was it like?! Was Shaggy really high? Was Daphne really hot? Was Scooby just adorable?!"

Dean chuckled and answered, "Uh, yes, hell yes, and duh! It's Scooby Doo! Of course he's adorable!"

"Was it weird to be animated?"

He shrugged a little, "Eh, kin-"

She cut him off with a gasp, "Wait! Was all of you animated, like.. did you have all your-"

He shook his head and proclaimed, "That's none of your business!"

"Sorry!" George apologized defensively, then begged, "Tell me you and Daphne-"

"George!" Dean admonished with feigned offense, "I don't kiss and tell."

She scoffed and guessed, "Struck out, huh?"

Dean frowned and simply said, "Her and Fred are an item. I didn't want to break that up," to which George laughed in disbelief.

"Yea, I got it. I think things are starting to come back to me now," George teased him and he shrugged in defeat, unable to deny the fact that he definitely struck out with Daphne. When her laughter died away, she looked at him again and said, "I'm sorry I can't be more of a help. I know, I know, it's not my job to save you but that doesn't mean I enjoy not being able to." They were quiet again for a minute and she sighed, "If I could just call Ryan."

"Who's he?"

"She is my Winchester Wiki," She explained very matter of factly and Dean stared at her with an annoyed expression. With a smile she continued, "She's my friend and she's also a fan of the show; Got me back into it later in life and, well lets just say, she pays closer attention than I do. She'd be able to help you with this whole Michael problem without breaking a sweat. Oh and she's gorgeous," George tossed on and Dean raised a curious eyebrow. She caught his curious expression and asked, "You don't happen to have a phone with trans-universal long distance coverage by chance?"

Dean snorted and shook his head in bemused defeat, "Not on me." He was frustrated that she didn't have more insight on Michael, though somewhat comforted by the fact that-at least in her reality-he wasn't dead yet. That was something, he guessed.

"So," George smirked at him, glee in her eyes, "American's Next Top Model, hmm?"

"What, are you surprised? A house full of attractive models?" Dean gave her an obvious expression.

She shark-mouthed understandably and nodded, "Fair point. Allison cycle 12? Ooof. Hello!"

Dean considered her assessment for a moment, then nodded agreeably but offered, "Mercedes, cycle 2."

George had to remember who that was for a minute but then nodded emphatically, "Yes! Gorgeous and she was good. She ended up top three, right?"

They compared notes for a few minutes, until he finished the last bite of pie in the container he was holding. Then he whipped out his phone and muttered in her direction, "Finish your bath. I'm gonna text Sam for more towels."

When Sam got the text he snagged a pile from a housekeeping cart on their way back to George's room. They had also stopped by the car and brought up a few bags, per his request. Dean carefully handed George the towels through the bathroom door, so as to not accidentally see any bits, and then turned to Sam for a room update.

"Bad news: no adjoining rooms. The best I could do was five doors down. Even more bad news: only one queen bed." Sam held up the room key with a feigned wince. "But listen, I don't think we should leave George alone, so I'll just crash on the floor in here and you can take the room."

"Wow, what a sacrifice," Dean chuckled knowingly at his brother and snatched the key from him. "Shouldn't we have Cas handle it, though?"

"No, why?" Sam protested a little too fast.

"Because he doesn't need sleep. He can keep an eye on the little deserter. Make sure she doesn't do it again?"

Sam frowned, "She's not going to. And if she does, I think I can handle it. How is she supposed to get any sleep with Cas staring at her all night?"

"I don't stare at people when they sleep," Cas interrupted. With a huff he clarified, "I stare at the wall."

Dean looked at the offended angel and shrugged, "It's not that bad. He's quiet. Honestly, it's kind of comforting when you think about it." There was an awkward pause and Dean added, "Sometimes he'll sing for you if you ask nice-"

"Dean," Castiel admonished him for sharing something so intimate. Cas only did that for him.

Sam looked between the two of their sheepish faces and then assured sarcastically, "Yea, a singing angel staring at the wall in the dark. Totally not creepy."

George came out of the bathroom wrapped in the clean towels from Dean. She was now looking a little sheepish as well, "Hey, sorry about earlier. All of it. I jus-"

"Ah, ah, ah!" Dean held up a hand to her. "Save it for the morning. You can spill your guts over breakfast. We couldn't get adjoining rooms, so Cas and I will be just down the hall; Sam will stay with you tonight. On the floor," He said pointedly with a 'behave' look toward Sam, who rolled his eyes in irritation. George nodded, barely listening, and let out a tired sigh.

Then she had a startling thought and groaned, "Shit. I'm going to have to put those crusty clothes back on."

Dean grinned proudly, "You're not the only one with surprise gifts." He took the bags that Sam and Cas had retrieved from the car and set them down on the wooden table.

"What's this?" She asked, grabbing one of the handles and peeking into the bag where she spotted the Friends logo hoodie she'd picked out at Target. "My clothes? My deodorant?! Oh Dean! Thank you so much! I would kiss you but you have pie like… all over your face, but thank you!" As she dug into the bags to search for the PJs, Dean looked questioningly at Sam and Cas who nodded in confirmation.

"Why didn't you say anything?" Dean grumbled, moving over to the sink to wipe his face. Sam shrugged in feigned innocence, laughing internally at his idiot brother.

"How did you get all the clothes I picked?" She asked, impressed.

"We got lucky; Sam happened to hear one of the employees complaining about a nutty woman who'd run from the store like a bat outta hell and abandoned all her stuff," Dean gave her a pointed stare.

She looked first at Sam, and then Cas and Dean, with immense gratitude, "Thank you, thank you, thank you!" Her spirits had been lifted a little. The fresh underwear alone was going to make her feel a thousand times better.

"They mentioned they'd already put back one or two items when we asked about it, so hopefully we got the right replacements." Sam warned her.

"I don't care! I can apply deodorant and brush my teeth; I'm sure I can put together at least one clean outfit with what's here! So I'm hap-" She suddenly stopped and froze, having discovered a strange item in one of the bags. "Wha?" In one swift motion she pulled out a pale pink lace bodysuit and held it up for them to see. With an annoyed, yet curious expression she looked at Dean and asked, "Someone care to explain this?"

Dean held his hands up in innocence and Sam inspected the garment in confusion.

"It looked nice on the mannequin and the Target associate who helped me pick it out said it was bold, yet feminine. Perfect for the new woman in my life," Castiel happily explained, sounding as though he was reciting someone else's words.

George blushed a bit, looking at Sam and Dean like 'is he for real?', unsure how to respond. Both men shrugged unhelpfully, avoiding eye contact with the item she was still holding, and remained quiet. Cas seemed so proud, she didn't want to ruin it.

Finally, she stuttered out, "Wow. OK, well… thanks. Very thoughtful of you, Castiel…"

"If you wanted to provide me with your exact measurements, the sales associate offered to help me pick out a 'matching bra and panty se'-"

"OK, why don't we quit while we're ahead, eh Buddy?" Dean grabbed up four of the remaining takeout boxes and motioned for Cas to do the same. He then reached for the pink, lacey material in George's hand, jokingly trying to take it from her.

She swatted him with it and held it out of his reach, "Hey! You're the old woman in his life."

He couldn't help but laugh in response, though he shook his head in annoyance, and then headed out the door with the angel in tow, "See you crazy kids in the morning!"

When they left George looked at Sam curiously, "Is it wrong that I kind of want to give Cas 'my measurements' and then watch him try to pick out lingerie?"

Sam smirked in amusement but nodded, "Yes."

"Oh, you're no fun," George chuckled and tossed the teddy back into the bag.

"Perhaps the wrong audience?" He suggested with a chuckle.

"Yea, that's fair," She agreed. While she rifled through the bags and grabbed out some black PJ pants, a light blue, short sleeved t-shirt, and a pair of underwear, Sam watched her quietly. To say he was relieved to find her safe and unharmed was an understatement. He'd also been thrilled by her admission that she liked it here, but, like Cas, he was curious what it meant. And what it could mean for him.

Does she like it enough to stay maybe? He cursed at himself for even thinking it.

"Uh, George?" He finally pushed through the nerves and forced himself to speak.

"Hmm?" She responded curiously, not looking up from her bags just yet.

He tried to adopt a nonchalant, yet comforting tone and asked, "When you were saying earlier that you felt… comfortable here? Like you belong? What did you mean?"

Pausing her rummaging, she glanced over at him, caught off guard by the question. Truthfully, she didn't know if she could answer it. She was quiet for a long time, trying to decide how deep she wanted to get into this.

Finally, she turned to him and said, "Back home I… I've always had this strange, out of place feeling. Major dysphoria my whole life and kinda irritatingly painful too, like... full body restless leg syndrome. I've always imagined it similar to how a trans individual might experience feeling like they were born in the wrong body, ya know?" Sam made a noise of confirmation and she continued, "Except, my body is fine--well, it's not the cause of this problem anyway," they chuckled together.

"It's more… my whole being was wrong somehow, like I didn't belong. Anywhere. I had trouble connecting with people and making friends; even my own family seemed so different from me. I felt like I was on a different wavelength than other people, and not in a snooty, I'm-better-than-anybody way but like a sad, I-have-hardly-any-friends-because-I-can't-relate way, so it sucked. Hard. My family wasn't much help; though they tried to help by testing me for every 'disorder' you could think of. Nada. I was just… inexplicably different and no one could explain why. I could barely explain what I was feeling. They--my parents--were surprisingly relieved when I came out after college. For them, my 'struggle with the fact that I liked boys and girls throughout my childhood' explained everything away so perfectly, that they wrote it off right then and there. But it never had to do with that; my sexuality was nothing I ever struggled with, I just didn't feel like I needed to tell them. And since I'm still queer in this reality..." She trailed off her point, allowing him to fill in the blanks, with a chuckle.

Sam nodded with a sympathetic smile, clearly reading on her face how painful her experience had been. Gently he asked, "And now, being here, i-in this reality, you feel...?"

Her head tilted to the side and, looking at him wide-eyed, she sighed deeply, "Now? God, now, I feel… normal? Or, at least what I can only assume normal people feel like." Suddenly her voice was heavy with deep emotional relief, "I don't know how to explain it… and I don't know why, maybe I don't even care why, but I feel so good for the first time in forever. Emotionally, spiritually, physically... The constant restless buzzing is mercifully just gone. Sometimes I think I feel it again--that terrible, agonizing discomfort--and my heart skips a beat. But then my brain registers that it really is gone and I still feel good! And that feeling is almost better than the best sex I've ever had."

Sam shark-mouthed in surprised appreciation and teased kindly, "So, I guess you did know how to explain it?"

George let out the breath she hadn't realized she was holding with a chuckle and nodded, "Yea, I guess so. Honestly, I'm a little scared to go back," A few tears that had welled up as she was proselytizing spilled down her cheeks uncontrollably and she reached up to wipe them away, blushing lightly.

As George contemplated her admission in the silence, the guilt she felt over leaving them earlier was back. Why the hell did she leave if she'd felt so damn good here? She also felt like a stupid, impulsive child running away from the only people who seemed to care about her, at least insofar as they didn't want her to die. She felt especially guilty that Sam had stuck his neck out for her with Dean and she'd basically stomped on it.

Sam stood awkwardly, watching her with an empathetic grimace. He nearly leapt over to comfort her but… Christ, was this situation complicated. Maybe if things were different, maybe if she wasn't safer in her old reality, maybe if they hadn't handcuffed her to a chair and interrogated her, maybe if she hadn't spent the last few hours crying through an existential crisis, maybe if he wasn't terrified she would push him away in disgust? Maybe if she wasn't practically naked right now... maybe then he wouldn't feel so torn about walking over and wrapping her up into a bear hug.

After a moment of nervously wringing her fingers, George met his eyes and took a deep breath, apologizing, "I'm sorry I ran, Sam. I don't even really know why I-"

"Hey, you don't have to explain anything to me," Sam shook his head definitively, taking a few small steps toward her, now within arms reach. "I understand what you're going through-sort of, and you know, in reverse but still-I get it. Don't worry about it," He reached over and took her hand, squeezing it, "I'm just happy I found you."

At his touch, her heart skipped a beat and she felt her whole body flush, goosebumps forming on her skin. The sincerity in his voice and the look in his eyes nearly made her physically swoon. Was that an admission of something or just a subtextless statement of forgiveness? Staring into his eyes made her feel like she was on the downswing of the world's tallest roller coaster. She had to force herself to break eye contact before she could breathe again. He squeezed her hand once more before slowly letting go and as he did she had a realization.

"Thank you." Mustering up a smile through her butterflies, she clumsily grabbed the clothing she needed. "Anyway, I'm suddenly very, very aware of the fact that I'm naked-oh and have been since the three of you got here," She realized, blushing again. Jesus, I took a bath with Dean Winchester in the next room. Her legs felt like jelly as she tried to remain cool, calm, collect, walking toward the bathroom, "Uh, so, I should probably go put some clothes on, now."

Sam nodded understandingly and said with an earnest expression, "Hopefully not on my account." When George froze mid step and jerked her head towards him, burning red from head to toe, he faltered, "Er-uh-I just meant, you don't need to feel uncomfortable naaak-err-without-I mean you aren't making me uncomfortable while-without… clothes." George was relaxed by his shy, adorable stuttering, although at this point 'shy' surprised her. He'd been just as bold back at the bunker, more than once. He sighed and gave her a meek smile, "Uh, somehow this sounded less creepy in my head."

With a chuckle she put him out of his misery, "Relax, Ravenclaw, I understand. It's not on your account, it's on mine," She assured him, to which he nodded thankfully, a relieved expression on his face. She turned back to the door of the bathroom, pushing it open and stepping in.

When she exited the bathroom again, now fully clothed, the only light in the room was now the small, soft light above the bed. At first, the room seemed empty and George wondered if she'd scared Sam away with all her emotions. She was about to call out for him when she finally noticed a pair of big old feet sticking out from along the side of the bed near the window.

"Sam? What are you doing?" She walked over and found him lying on the ground on top of one solitary blanket.

"Just relaxing." He shrugged boyishly.

"On the floor?"

He clarified, "On my bed."

"Sorry, this tissue paper is supposed to be your bed?" She asked for clarification.

"Standard issue motel comforter. And, yea, it's perfect," He reached down on his side and pulled the right side of the blanket over himself. "See, you just fold the top over and it becomes a mattress and a blanket in one!" He seemed genuinely pleased about his makeshift accommodations, as though he was sharing a trade secret with her.

"Wow," she tried to sound impressed, "clever." She hopped onto the bed above him complimenting a bit sarcastically, "Quite the boy scout, aren't you?"

His head jerked up to look at her. There it was again. Another line direct from his dream falling familiarly from her lips. Hearing the pet name conjured images in his mind of the dream woman saying it. It felt identical.

But, how? That dream wasn't real. It was just Gabriel. George is a different woman, it's just a coin-

"Hey, can I ask you something?" George cut into his internal panicking with a soft voice suddenly.

"Yep?" He tried to seem nonchalant.

"Well… OK, I'm just going to say this because fuck it, I have nothing to lose at this point," She wasn't looking at him but sensed his nervous curiosity right away. Ignoring her own butterflies, she said, "Seems to me that the Sam I met at the bunker would have committed to that earlier 'unintended' innuendo." She raised a sideways brow at him, checking out of the corner of her eye to make sure he understood what she was referencing. When she could tell he did, she finally turned her head to meet his eyes and with a shy smile asked, "So, what gives?"

Sam considered her question for a minute; he wasn't sure where to start. Finally he folded his hands in his lap and shrugged sadly, "Actually, uh-about that, I feel like I owe you an apology."

Oooh, that doesn't sound good, George tried to hide her grimace. Her stomach started twisting in painful knots. What's that you were saying about nothing to lose?

"Por que?" She was trying to stave off a cold sweat.

"For… Well, I guess, how about handcuffing you to a chair and interrogating you for starters? For allowing you to be sexually assaulted by a demon? For letting you risk your life to come with us on this hunt? For hitting on you when you were obviously going through a difficult time? Take your pick."

She let out a breath of surprised relief and smiled curiously, "Oh… well in that case, let me just say: one, your brother was the one who handcuffed me to the chair--and it was understandable. Two, it's not your responsibility to protect me from the likes of Tim. He wasn't the first creep and he won't be the last." He seemed thoroughly unsatisfied by that response, so she tried to lighten it up by continuing, "And three, you didn't let me come on the hunt. Clearly I strong armed you." A tiny snort of amusement emitted from him and she smirked, then added curiously, "And, lastly, just to be clear… you were hitting on me?"

He huffed in humiliation, running his hand over his face, unable to look at her, "God, I feel like a real jackass." A blackhole was growing in the pit of his stomach. "Your world was literally turned upside down and you needed help not--not some weird, bunker dwelling asshole making advances."

"Uh, Sam," At first George laughed; the absurdity of the hottest man on television apologizing for hitting on her struck her funny bone. However, when it registered just how sober the tone of his voice was, the reality of the situation hit her again like a ton of bricks. She realized that part of her was still anticipating Jared to break at some point and reveal all of this had been an elaborate set up. It hadn't occurred to her yet that, for Sam, this was all real. His sincerity touched her.

She swallowed down the rest of her laughter, along with her typical smartass response, and smiled kindly, "Thank you for the apology and I appreciate the thought, I really do, but it's not necessary. You had no idea, considering I lied to you--which I'm also sorry about if I haven't already said that." That last part came out quickly upon realizing she might not have apologized yet. He gave her a kind smile and waved her off gently, so she continued, "So, please don't feel guilty. And I'll let you know if your advances are ever unwanted. Promise."

The deja vu hit him again so hard it knocked the wind out of him. His eyes snapped up to meet hers from his spot on the floor. A blush creeped across her cheeks as he stared curiously. She was back on the roller coaster, butterflies tumbling in her gut, but forced herself to keep eye contact, allowing him to conduct his search. She wasn't sure what he was so determinedly looking for but she hoped he was finding it.

A mix of emotions wrestled within him at the moment. Though he knew logically it made no sense, he was having a harder and harder time denying that he knew this woman, intimately--in every sense of the word. But, how?! And, holy shit, was she saying what he hoped she was saying? He could feel his hopes skyrocketing while he struggled to hold them down in self-preservation.

A huge yawn broke out on her face, ruining the moment and snapping Sam out of his stupor.

"Whoa, Jesus," She laughed a bit, surprised by the force of the yawn.

"Time for bed?" Sam tried to mask his disappointment at the disruption. She nodded agreeably.

"Listen, could you at least take a pillow, please? One pillow? For me?" Pulling the sheets back, so she could climb in, she yanked a pillow out and tossed it over the edge of the bed. She heard it land with an audible POOMPF right on his face. "Oops," she said with a snicker, reaching over to turn off the lamp on the table while he adjusted the pillow behind his head.

Sliding up under the covers, she settled down on her back. The deafening silence in the room allowed her mind to wander freely while she stared up at the ceiling. After a moment she rolled onto her side and peeked over the edge of the bed, surprised to find Sam's beautiful hazel eyes staring intensely back at her in the dark.

She whispered, "Sam?"

"Yeah?" Came a soft, low rumble, as he continued to stare back.

"How did you find me?" She wondered.

"Uh…" He turned away from her quickly and shifted nervously. He felt compelled to be honest with her; luckily the shroud of darkness made him bolder than he would have been in the harsh light of day. "We tracked you through the cab company mostly. Lost your trail at the diner and then… I'm not really sure. We were driving around and when I saw the sign for the motel I… uh, just had a strong feeling that you were here?"

"...uh huh." His answer surprised her. So much so, that she had to break eye contact and lay back down. She stared at the ceiling in shock.

What did that mean?

Though even as she asked herself the question, she had a feeling that she already knew. It was a feeling that didn't exactly put her at ease; raising more questions than it answered. She mulled it over for a few moments, before deciding she was too tired to pull at that thread.

She finally shrugged a little and said, "Good instincts?"

"Yeah… that must be it," He trailed off, having a nearly identical conversation with himself, and they fell silent again.

"Sam?" She said, choking back a nervous laughter. When she heard him respond with a curious grunt she hesitated. Finally, she blurted in a quiet, definitive whisper, "Samgirl. No question." When she could hear the smile behind another, practically silent--as though he was trying to hide it--grunt of confirmation she smiled wide, adding quickly, "And just so you know, that is the first and last time you will ever hear me utter that silly term of my own volition."

"Understood," He murmured in a teasingly serious tone, making her laugh quietly.

With another big yawn, she forced herself to stop engaging. Before rolling over, she tossed over her shoulder, "And don't tell Dean. He'll be devastated and we have a job to do." The sound of his joyful chuckling was the last thing she heard before sleep overtook her.

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