#no but flagstaff is where sam runs away to so it's mentioned in the show... does that count??

[farday-spark]

Season 15 "Carry On” was not as powerful as “Swan Song” Season 5.

In seasons 1- 5 Dean’s fundamental driving foundation is “protect Sam.”

Dean is family oriented and loyal.

He has always wanted a family, whether it was with Sam & John, Sam & Bobby or Lisa & Ben. In his djinn world, his mom, Jessica, Sam and his “girlfriend” Carmen are there. He prioritizes spending time with them and is excited to have dinner together. 

His flaws are low self esteem, self-sacrificial, bossy, controlling, inability to let go and lacking in empathy to understand different perspectives. His inability to save people drives him to despair, rage and prone to suicidal behavior.  In seasons 1-5 he rarely acts in anger unless a loved one is threatened or hurt.  

Sam in contrast to Dean is ideal oriented, academic and self determinate.

He aspires to be a lawyer and live a “safe” “normal” life. 

His flaws are arrogance, anger, revenge and prioritizing himself over family. 

His failure to prioritize Jessica and warn her about his visions leads to her death. Sam running away to Flagstaff and off to Stanford has harmful consequences to his brother Dean. To the point where Dean wasn’t sure what he was going to do if Sam told him to leave in the Pilot episode. Implying Dean was unstable possibly suicidal. Worse he thought Sam didn’t care about him. 

The ending of Swan is perfect because it deals with their fundamental character flaws. Dean’s flaws drive Sam’s flaws. 

Dean has to let go of Sam to save the world. He has to learn to view Sam as the adult he is because if he does that he can let Sam make his own choices. Part of Sam’s flaws result from Dean not giving him freedom of choice. Sam therefore acts on his own whether by leaving Dean, drinking demon blood or not mentioning his visions. 

By letting go of Sam, by letting go of his control, Dean is learning to live without Sam. He is learning to become a more selfish person and how to be independent. He is rewarded with Sam’s blessing to go form a family with Lisa and Ben. He still has self-esteem issues but learns to live without Sam. Given time without Sam coming back I think he would of gone down the route of Sam’s family storyline in “Carry On.”

Sam’s character flaws lead him down a dark path and almost cost him Dean and Bobby and results in the breaking of the final seal. Sam amends his actions by learning to control his addiction, learning to work with Dean and controlling his anger. 

Dean finally getting the family he always wanted and retiring from a life of hunting in which he was “barely holding it together” is a reward for his sacrifices over the years.

Sam grows as a person by moving past himself and finally gains the recognition from Dean that he always wanted. While not a happy ending for Sam it is one where he grew into his ending.

The issue with the way “Carry On” ends is that at this point neither Dean nor Sam believe they can have traditional families and live normal lives. Both have tried and failed multiple times with friendships and romances. 

Dean had to give up Lisa and Ben to keep them safe. He’s watched Castiel, Jack and Sam die multiple times. We learned that on top of giving up his love interest Cassie(S1), he had to give up his childhood romance Robin(S8). He killed his friend Benny to save Sam. As long as Sam is alive Dean will always chose Sam.  

Sam has a similar experience to Dean. Losing both Jessica and Madison.  He also chooses Dean over Amelia much like Dean chose Sam over Lisa. Dean asks Sam if he would ever consider settling down with a hunter. Sam says he hasn’t really thought about it. It also would be hard to consider for him as he loses Eileen. In Season 9 Sam tells Charlie that he used to think that he would go back to his old life, to law school. However he has accepted this is his life now. He doesn’t want to do it without Dean. 

When John Winchester is disappointed that both are still hunting and without traditional families Dean expresses that he’s happy with their found family. I think both Winchesters also recognize their family is always in flux due the nature of being a hunter.

At this point in the story Sam and Dean have repeatedly chosen each other over others.  When Jack seems to be in control of his powers they both contemplate going straight to retirement. They only express going out with a bang whenever a big bad is put in front of them. 

That’s what makes Sam’s end storyline confusing at this point he pretty much settled on die hunting or retire with Dean.  He has never expressed wanting kids or a wife in the way that Dean has. Sam mostly wanted safety and to put down roots. If they wanted to set Sam up for this storyline they should of given Jack a more central role in Sam’s story. Where Sam would be set up to be more fatherly towards Jack and expressing hopes to have kids one day.  Rather than him having a few meaningful conversations with Jack. Give them more bonding time. Or he could of built a relationship with Eileen in which creating a family could of been mentioned. It was quite out of the blue. Particularly since he appeared to have given up on those dreams with Amelia in season 7 and dedicated himself to hunting. Rather I would picture Sam without Dean as an academic being more likely to rebuild the Men of Letters to carry on the Winchester’s legacy.  Or leading and organizing Hunters like Bobby did prior. 

If Dean lost Sam and was told to keep fighting I think he would be the one to create a family.  Dean always wanted a family and has demonstrated an ability to be great with kids. Dean only believed his fate to die young because it’s what he saw happening to other hunters. His wish to go down swinging was always tied to how hopeless he felt. This sentiment was  strongest when he still had the Mark of Cain.  His anger and drive to hunt were driven by the need to protect people from ending up with the same fate as his family. Also being put through Chuck’s multiple storylines he lost hope of ever finding a normal as a new big bad always appeared. 

At the end his adoption of a dog into the bunker and a messy room show him enjoying his life. He’s not acting like a desperate unhappy man anymore.  He was willing to sacrifice Jack so him and Sam would be free. Dean is typically the first one to jump at the self-sacrifice so letting Jack sacrifice himself is a big indicator of how much Dean wanted to be free. Him dying early was not a fitting end. Even worse they revert his character progress by saying to Sam you’re stronger than me and indicating he wouldn’t know how to live without Sam if the roles were reversed. Even when he does figure out how to live without Sam at the end of season 5 or in purgatory with Cas. 

In either case the implication of him dying on a rod is sad. It implies that without Chuck’s protection the Winchesters are not as good of hunters as we thought they were. 

The ending itself is not bad, but I wish their approach to it had been built up over the season rather than a setup in the final episode. As it stood Dean and Sam had both been resolved to not ever being able to achieve normal. 

Sam didn't have a deep yearning for a family that was finally filled. He no longer felt a pull to a normal life. His character flaws from Season 5 were resolved and few new ones were introduced or were long lasting. Sam was already his best self.

Dean died with self-esteem issues, an inability to live without Sam. His anger issues were introduced season 9 yet never resolved. The closet we come is to Dean saying he's not a killer to Chuck. If anything this episode regressed his character by giving him the death Mark of Cain Dean or Michael!Dean would of wanted. Not the one a Dean 15 would of wanted.

#supernatural #supernatural finale #sam winchester #dean winchester

[gumnut-logic]

We’ll Be Home For Christmas 3.4

Title: We’ll be home for Christmas

Day Three - If not for the courage of the fearless crew – Part 4

Prologue | 1.1 | 1.2 | 2.1 | 2.2 | 2.3 | 3.1 | 3.2 | 3.3

Author: Gumnut

29 Dec 2019 - 4 Jan 2020

Fandom: Thunderbirds Are Go 2015/ Thunderbirds TOS

Rating: Teen

Summary: The boys can’t fly home for Christmas, so they have to find another way.

Word count: 4342

Spoilers & warnings: language and so, so much fluff. Science!Gordon. Artist!Virgil, Minor various ships, mostly background.

Timeline: Christmas Season 3, I have also kinda ignored the main storyline of Season 3. The boys needed a break, so I gave them one. Post season 3B, before Season 3C cos we haven’t seen it yet.

Author’s note: For @scattergraph. This is my 2019 TAG Secret Santa fic :D I hope you enjoy it.

I’m probably posting this before it is ready and I’m not happy with the ending so may change where it ends when I start writing the next part, but I really need a little cheering up today, so here be the next 4000-odd words of this fic. I hope you enjoy them :D

Many thanks to @vegetacide and @scribbles97 for cheering me on and their wonderful support through this craziness. And to @onereyofstarlight for geeking out with me over the setting.

Disclaimer: Mine? You’ve got to be kidding. Money? Don’t have any, don’t bother.

-o-o-o-

They stashed their luggage in the hostel, a large white and wooden building that had obviously seen many residents over the years, but was well loved and maintained.

Melissa gave them a quick tour of the compound. It consisted of series of buildings similar to the hostel but of varying sizes over looking the ocean and the adjacent Oneraki Beach. The island was basically a triangle with the encampment on the north facing side high up on Fleetwood Bluff. There was something about a Flagstaff but Virgil missed it...mainly due to the conversation Gordon and Sam were laughing over behind him.

Whatever it was called, the view was magnificent. Far below in the bay, A Little Lightning was a small white smudge on the blue of the Pacific.

Melissa ran them through the rules of conduct on the island. No one was to venture anywhere on the island outside the compound unaccompanied by a DOC employee. Please keep your luggage inside the hostel. All life is protected on the island and in the waters. It was illegal to damage or remove anything. No littering. The list went on.

It was a long one.

Apart from being a cetacean biologist and a loud talker, Sam was also apparently the resident cook on the island. Melissa put no claim to any culinary skills, so had left it to Sam.

The man had baked a cake.

A Christmas cake.

In their isolation on the boat, despite their aim to be home for Christmas, Virgil had forgotten it was the day before Christmas Eve. December twenty-three.

It wasn’t the first time he had forgotten Christmas. Three years ago he had spent Christmas dragging survivors off the Amazon flood plain when the river engulfed an entire city. Christmas had been obliterated. As had the two months after due to the damn fever he had caught from those flood waters. It hadn’t been a great start to the year.

But this year it was different. They were on vacation. A forced vacation, but a vacation nonetheless, of which the whole purpose was to get home in time for Christmas. Yet the decorations and the tree in the corner of the communal hall had taken him by surprise.

The cake was very nice. He had to hold Alan back from grabbing seconds. But it got him thinking about the day after next and what they would be doing as a family.

“He sang to the whales?!”

Virgil jumped at Sam’s exclamation somewhere behind him.

“Yeah, he did. You should have heard it. It was incredible.” Virgil’s eyes widened at the pride in Gordon’s voice.

“They didn’t pay any attention, though, did they? All previous attempts have failed.”

“Ho, Sam, I have to show you the recordings. They responded alright. Virg may not speak whale, but he knows how to speak emotion. Mamma whale definitely understood something.”

Virgil buried his face in his coffee. The experience was still raw. He wasn’t sure he wanted to talk about it and it was inevitable that he would be asked.

“What did he use?” And the conversation dropped to normal levels. Virgil’s name was mentioned several times along with John’s. Sam was eager and excited.

Virgil felt dread.

“You okay, bro?” Alan was frowning at him while hoovering the second piece of cake Virgil had already told him he couldn’t have.

Why did he bother?

“So I guess we’ll be hauling in extra food supplies for these people after you’ve finished with them.”

“It was one piece of cake.”

“It’s the only cake, Alan.”

His brother’s eyes widened in realisation. “Oh.”

“Yes, oh.”

“I’ll bring them something before New Years.”

“Yes, you will.”

“Or maybe Scott can. He might want to visit.”

“What? Why?” But Alan was gesturing with his head in the direction of their eldest brother.

Deep in conversation with Melissa Fisher.

Virgil raised an eyebrow.

-o-o-o-

“So by claiming for twenty one instead of twenty volunteers we get just that extra bit of funding.”

“Clever move.” Scott had finished his cake and was drinking tea. Virgil had shot him an incredulous look when he asked for it, but if there was one thing Scott remembered about this place, it was the herbal tea. Melissa knew how to brew a great drink...even if she had to threaten him and his father to try it the first time.

“Are you still using Jack Dunning?”

“Oh, yes, the man is brilliant. And he does all our work pro bono which saves us so much. Thank you for the recommendation.”

Scott was not going to mention one Gordon Tracy jumping up and down in front of him one afternoon several years ago. His aquanaut brother had been apoplectic and at the end of a very sharp conversation, Scott had been more than willing to call in their lawyers to act on behalf of the DOC Kermadec Expedition. The fishery megacorporation challenging the validity of the Sanctuary hadn’t known what hit them.

And if Scott wanted Jack to send him all the bills, that was his prerogative. Melissa didn’t have to know everything.

“So how is Virgil?” It was a quiet question as she picked up her own cup of tea.

He eyed her a moment. He was well aware of her attraction to his brother. Gordon had made a point of stirring Virgil until his quiet brother had clapped him around the ears.

“He’s recovering. I’ll be happier when he is home.”

She eyed him as if considering whether she should breach a topic or not. Something flickered in her eyes. “How goes Tracy Island? Is the regrowth flourishing as we hoped?”

He thought back at the tracts of native vegetation his father had planted all those years ago, mostly on the other side of the island, though some covered scars from the IR excavations.The pōhutukawa and palm trees seemed to be okay, but his mind was usually on other things when he ran past them.

He shook his head. “To be honest, I don’t know. You could ask Gordon?”

She peered closer at him. “Are you okay?”

He straightened where he sat. “I’m good.” He stretched. “Got any recommendations for a good place to run? Need to stretch my legs.”

She swallowed the last of her drink. “I can show you.”

“No need, just point me in the right direction and I’ll find my way.”

A snort. “You’re not on Tracy Island, Commander. No visitors go unaccompanied on Raoul, remember. You’ve got a choice between me and Sam.” A smirk. “And you won’t get much distance out of him unless you prefer swimming.”

Internally he groaned. He had been looking forward to time alone.

“I can show you around the crater rim. You’ll get a great workout.”

The thought of finding the physical relief was just too tempting. The hike up the hill had been a teaser and he wanted more. He sculled the last of his tea. “Fine. Lead the way.” He hoped she could keep up.

Her smile was a challenge in itself. “I’ll go grab my running gear. Meet you out front in ten.”

“FAB.”

-o-o-o-

Gordon watched as Scott stood up, brushed past Virgil and said something, before following Mel out the door.

“Do you think Virgil would be willing to talk about his experience?”

Gordon glanced at Sam and then eyed his brother. His linen shirt was tight across his shoulders as the man hunched over his coffee. “I don’t know.”

“Can you ask?” Sam was all eagerness. It was understandable. The surfer had made cetaceans his life’s work and this was a fantastic opportunity.

A sucked in breath. “Leave it with me, I’ll see what I can do.”

-o-o-o-

John, drink in hand, had taken the opportunity to find himself a vantage point on the cliff. The island was very quiet, even quieter than Tracy Island was at times and considerably bigger.

He appreciated the solitude.

Of course, the boat hadn’t exactly been loud or even crowded. He truly enjoyed the time with his brothers. But it was nice to step away, even if only for a little time.

He parked himself in the long grass at the edge of the bluff and stared out into the blue of the Pacific.

An idle thought.

“Eos?”

“Hello, John.”

“Hello, Eos. Status?”

“All emergency calls are being fielded by the appropriate agencies. Mr Lemaire has entombed himself in ice at the South Pole in an attempt to locate Santa Claus. I have advised the GDF. He is safe and secure for the moment.”

John’s thoughts locked up for a second. “The South Pole? Santa Claus lives in the North Pole.”

“Ignoring the fact that Santa Claus is a myth, Mr Lemaire claimed that ‘the North Pole is an ocean and only an idiot would build a house on an ice floe that melts every summer, therefore he must be hidden at the South Pole.’ He planned to be the first human to interview the father of Christmas and used a specialised drilling machine to dig into the ice...which promptly collapsed on him twenty metres down.”

John sighed. “You are sure he is safe?”

“Colonel Casey has sent a specialist team. He and his wife have enough survival supplies to make it through to New Years if necessary.”

“Monitor the situation. Call us in only if there is no alternative.” A trip to the South Pole was something they did not need.

“FAB, John.”

“And how are you?”

“I am functioning well.”

“Do you have any results from the problem I set you?”

“I have analysed three thousand two hundred and twenty-three recordings of humpback whale communications. Unfortunately, many of the recordings are missing the lower frequencies as the equipment used was not sufficient. I do have some translation possibilities, however I am still calculating multiple variables and am hesitant to postulate a theory.”

He had expected as much. She had only been working on it for a few hours. “Are you enjoying the work?” To be honest, he wasn’t expecting a positive result. It did, however, keep a bored AI occupied.

“It is very interesting. Virgil’s response shows no pattern relative to the language he was attempting to respond to, yet he received a result.”

“I suspect there is an element of synergy in the language that enables it to become more than a sum of its parts. Perhaps that is what Virgil was able to tap into.”

“I’m not sure what you mean, John.”

John sucked in a breath. “You are a computer program, yet you are more than lines of code, you are a person. Correct?”

“Yes.”

“Perhaps this language is a step beyond simple complexity. Perhaps the elements combined create a new level of communication? One that is not entirely on the conscious level.”

His daughter was silent for a moment. “How does interpretation differ between the human conscious and subconscious? The literature claims a lack of cognitive recognition of events created or observed subconsciously. How could Virgil create something he is not aware of?”

“There is much we do not yet understand. The human subconscious is well known for gathering multiple observed factors and combining them into instinct, all without conscious control. Perhaps you should explore that region of research?” Come to think of it, Virgil’s instincts in the field were very sharp. There were multiple examples of his brother acting against orders and ultimately saving lives that otherwise would have been lost, including those of his brothers.

“I will, John, thank you.”

“You are welcome.” His lips curled into a smile. “Enjoy yourself.”

-o-o-o-

It was amazing to finally get his feet moving.

Scott’s shoes pounded volcanic dust and rock so familiar it was almost as if he was home. A regular thud-thud-thud, the sea breeze, the rock, the vegetation...energy flowed through him and was used, muscles firing, skin tingling in the afternoon air. God, it was so good to get out.

Melissa said nothing to him beyond directing which path to take. She had removed her DOC uniform, reducing her clothing to a tight crop top, shorts and running shoes, and if he was honest, he had to admit he was appreciating the view.

The woman was all slim muscle. Tight waist, lightly browned skin. Her pale hair bounced behind her in a hastily tied ponytail and he found himself following it as she leapt from path to rock and over logs.

She had no trouble keeping up. In fact, it was more the other way around. He had to work to keep up with her, despite the difference in stride. She knew exactly where she was going and she was offering no handicap.

They pushed up a steep incline for some time. She had taken them off the main track and deep into the forest. Birds sung all around and the wind rustled through the blossoming trees. The pōhutukawa were in their brilliant crimson Christmas flowers, festooning the island as if to decorate for the season.

Grandma loved the pōhutukawa trees on Tracy Island and was in fact the only reason he knew the name of the plant. She cut flowers every year for their Christmas table to acknowledge the beautiful piece of land they lived on.

They reminded him of home.

This whole island reminded him of home.

Melissa ran around a particularly large tree and he followed only to come to a screeching halt as the path suddenly changed direction. A huge crater appeared in front of him.

Melissa was running on the spot. She nodded down at the lake at the bottom of the volcanic bowl. “Blue Lake.”

And it was.

A stunning, almost unnatural cobalt blue. He stared down at it, panting from his exertions. His thin grey tank top clung to his sweaty body.

She grinned at him before darting off along the crater rim.

Hmmm. An indrawn breath and he took off after her.

The crater wasn’t massive on a volcanic scale, but it was impressive nonetheless. The late afternoon sun shadowed the mountain, emphasising the extremes of the landscape.

“The far lake is Green Lake.” Melissa had stopped and was running on the spot again. A fine sheen of perspiration glistened on her skin.

He did know the geography, he had flown over the island often enough, but this perspective was considerably different. “It’s beautiful.” Not unlike its caretaker.

The random thought shook him out of contemplation and forced himself to look out at the smaller green lake in the distance.

Where the hell had that come from? A sideways glance in her direction and he found her gaze caught on the spectacle before them, her love for the island obvious.

Well, he had to admit that he did have his own island love. Just not this island.

“C’mon, slow poke, let’s up the pace.” And she darted off into the forest again.

Really?

Thighs pumping, he followed her under the trees, down the slope a little before he found himself climbing again.

She called back to him from several metres in front. “Got a full body workout coming up. I hope you’re up to it.” Her grin bounced down the mountain and off his head.

She was challenging him? Well, he had been known to hang off rocket ships and climb vertical cliff faces. Bring it on.

She did.

The path dissolved. There was no other real word for it. It became a mass of black jagged volcanic rocks, interspersed with tree regrowth.

“This was dumped here last time Virgil yanked us off the Island.” Her words were interspersed with harsh breathing as she clambered over the obstacle. As he climbed the crater once again came into view and the scar in the side of the mountain became clear.

Wow.

There was a swath of dead forest dotted with regrowth. He remembered Virgil’s report. The footage had involved billowing smoke and steam, but his brother had confined most of his readings to the encampment, his concern more for the lives endangered than any geological happenings. Brains had taken readings and read GeoNet’s reports as he did for any activity on the Kermadec Ridge, but he had reported it small and unremarkable.

Looked far more remarkable in person.

Melissa reached the top of the pile of rock and finally stopped.

He was grateful. The woman knew how to push it. He clambered up the last few and stood next to her.

The view was magnificent.

“She risks our lives, but I have to say she is beautiful.” Her love was there again, in her eyes. It was a similar expression to what he saw on Gordon’s face when he stared out across the ocean.

“You love this island, don’t you.” It wasn’t a question.

She turned to stare at him and he realised that her eyes were a startling multicoloured grey. “I love this place. It’s mountains, its plants, its ocean, its everything. It is one of the truly saved places on our planet. There aren’t many left.” She shrugged. “I’m just lucky to be able to experience it and contribute my little bit of help.”

He snorted. “Even I know what you are doing is anything but little. You’ve expanded the Sanctuary by hundreds of kilometres since you’ve been here.”

Her gaze turned back to him. “You’ve been reading up on me?”

Half a grin. “I like to know who I am dealing with.”

She arched an eyebrow. “And what did you find, Commander?”

His smile spread. “Someone remarkable.”

-o-o-o-

Virgil hid for the rest of the afternoon. He slunk away to the hostel, found himself a bed and curled up. At some point, he heard a brother open the door to the communal room and another brother, Alan maybe, mutter something, but they went away and he was glad for it.

The wood of the building creaked in the sun and birds squawked almost continually, but despite, or perhaps because of the soundscape, he fell into a much better sleep than he had had the entire week. Deep and complete.

The sun was heading towards the horizon when he woke, yellowing rays cutting across the hostel windows, turning the white paintwork gold.

Gordon was in the room, fossicking through a bag. “G’don?” He blinked and screwed up his face.

“Hey, Virg! Sorry, did I wake you?”

“No. Don’t think so?”

“How are you feeling?”

Virgil rolled over and pushed himself up, sitting on the side of the bed. He rubbed his hands over his face. “Okay, I guess.”

His brother snorted. “I’ll ask you again in half an hour after coffee and brain activation.”

The grunt he sent in the aquanaut’s direction only proved his point.

“Sam is very interested in what you did today.”

Crap. Another grunt.

That earned him a querying look. Virgil had no idea what his brother expected. If a simple question about how he was feeling was a stumbler, the complex concepts involving what had happened earlier in the day were a complete brain frier.

“You up for dinner?” Gordon was suddenly sitting on the bed next to him. When had he moved? “Sam’s dragged out the barbecue. Claims he wants to test the theory of ‘throwing a prawn on the barbie’. Apparently, as an Australian he’s never cooked a shrimp on a barbecue before.” As if to punctuate the statement, the smell of cooking meat wafted in through the window.

Virgil stared at his brother.

“They had to import the shrimp for Christmas.”

The staring continued.

“They’re throwing a party because we’re here and using their Christmas supplies to do it...why the hell are you staring at me like that?”

Virgil didn’t answer him. He just wrapped an arm around him and hugged Gordon to his side.

His brother didn’t resist, but did look at him strangely. “You okay?”

“I’m good.”

Gordon didn’t say anything further and for a moment they sat there together.

Virgil’s stomach rumbled.

Gordon snorted. “C’mon, bro, food awaits.” He slipped Virgil’s hold and, turning around, offered him a hand up.

Without another word, Virgil took it and stood up beside his brother, his hand landing on his shoulder and squeezing.

That earned him another questioning look, but he ignored it.

The grassed central area of the compound had been transformed both by the golden sunlight and the lights strung between the trees. Sam was standing in front of a sizzling barbecue, someone Virgil didn’t know, laughing and holding him close. Alan and John were deep in discussion with another new person. All three of them had drinks in hand. John’s hair flickered about as if it was on fire, the sun catching it as the breeze tossed it around. And Scott...

Virgil stared.

Scott was laughing his ass off.

With Melissa Fisher.

The two of them sat beside each other in a couple of deck chairs. His brother appearing more relaxed than Virgil had seen him in a long time.

“What happened?” It came out without thought.

“They went for a run. Came back friendly as can be. I think Scott may have fallen for her charms.”

Charms? The woman was a handful. Virgil wasn’t afraid to admit he found her a challenge. Her gratitude the last time he had airlifted her and her squad of staff and volunteers off Raoul had been...exuberant.

If Kayo hadn’t escorted her out of his cockpit, he wasn’t sure what he would have done. As it was, Gordon had ribbed him until he cracked and thwapped him one.

But Scott seemed almost enthusiastic. Despite himself, Virgil broke into a grin.

Gordon echoed it. “Yeah, it’s great to finally see him relaxing.”

Quiet. “Yes. Yes, it is.”

Gordon grabbed his arm and nudged him in the direction of a table piled with food and drink. “Let’s get you fuelled up so I can introduce you to Liam and Elspeth.”

Coffee, as always, solved a lot of problems and, hugging his mug like the lifeline it was, Virgil was introduced to Sam’s husband.

Liam turned out to be a meteorologist. Raoul was not only important as a wildlife sanctuary, but also supported this corner of the Pacific’s meteorological station, providing atmospheric readings crucial to both weather and climate studies.

Having no shortage of interest in weather conditions, both as a pilot and a rescue operative who often found himself in the extremes of all kinds of those conditions, Virgil fell into in a very interesting discussion regarding navigating tropical cyclones.

In appearance, Liam was taller than Sam, blond and much more reserved than his husband. Hell, it was almost like someone had grabbed John and Gordon, thrown their physical characteristics in a blender and then assembled Liam and Sam. Liam even had a similar flick of blond hair on his forehead that John had in his red hair.

Almost in contrast, where Liam was pale and tall, Elspeth was dark and petite. Long plaited black hair hung to her waist, her features in shades of sepia. The artist in him was quite drawn to her.

But not as much as his two starbound brothers, because Elspeth was an astronomer. She and Liam had been on the other side of the island earlier in the day collecting readings from the observatory. Something about a rogue object passing through the Solar System. Virgil lost the discussion at some point between the Oort cloud and the orbit of Jupiter. He kept getting distracted by Scott laughing.

Virgil hadn’t heard his brother laugh so freely in a long time. Melissa appeared to be enjoying herself. It was as if a bubble had surrounded them and cut them off from everyone else. Stuck in their own happy little world.

An irrational spark of envy and the inevitable smirk at his brother deploying his well played charms were all completely smothered by the happiness he felt seeing Scott finally relaxing and enjoying himself.

As the evening became night, Virgil continued to hover on the edges of conversation, more Gordon, Sam and Liam than John, Alan and Elspeth. The latter group’s discussion had dissolved into equations and while Virgil loved a good piece of math like any engineer, theoreticals were more than he was willing to think about right at the moment.

The food was delicious and he complimented Sam thoroughly. Liam smiled and waxed poetic about some of the meals his husband had cooked in the past. Sam blushed appropriately red on several occasions, setting Gordon off into ribbing the poor man.

A thumb in Gordon’s direction. “Ignore him, he’s just jealous. There are days on end where we don’t get time to cook a decent meal.”

“You don’t have a cook?” Sam was frowning.

“We have Grandma.” Gordon was smiling ruefully.

“She’s a good cook?”

Virgil cut in. “Grandma is the backbone of International Rescue.”

“Your grandmother works with you?”

“Often, yes.”

“A truly family business.”

“Yes, it is.”

The conversation fell quiet a moment and Virgil took a swig of the beer in his hand.

“So, how did you become a cetacean biologist?”

Sam’s eyes widened. “Oh, um, had an encounter, fell in love, now devoted to them forever.”

Liam snorted. “He asked about you and whales, not for our love story.”

His husband shrugged. “Pretty much the same story really. Found myself in dire straits off Waitpinga Beach while surfing, dolphin saved me.”

Gordon had obviously heard the story before. He grinned. “For a surfer, you really are crap at surfing.”

“It’s all about the image, Gordo. You know that.” But Sam was grinning as much as Gordon. “But on a more serious note,” and the grin turned into a mock glare at Virgil’s brother, “she saved my life. It was a big, life changing moment. Been saving the whales ever since.”

“I can understand that.” All the Tracys could understand that.

Sam sparked up, all eagerness and bright eyes. “So, you spoke to a whale today?”

-o-o-o-

End Day Three, Part Four

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #virgil tracy #thunderbirds fanfiction #scott tracy #gordon tracy #john tracy #alan tracy

[morganaspendragonss]

make myself a king

A/N: This was originally written for the Sam Winchester ‘Zine. The whole ‘zine is free and now available for you to read on their blog @samwinchesterzine! Many, many thanks to the wonderful mods and to everyone who has participated - it’s been an absolute joy to work on this project.

Rating: T

Pairing: minor Jessica Moore/Sam Winchester, mostly gen

Word count: 2561

Summary: Sam dreams of faces in the shadows, of yellow eyes watching his every move. He dreams of fire and blood and death, and he dream of destiny. There are demons talking in Sam Winchester's head and, sometimes, he listens.

Warnings/tags: Angst, hurt/comfort, Boy King AU, hurt Sam, show-level violence, canon divergence, pre-series

read on ao3 || ff.net

Sam has the first dream when he is five years old. He dreams quite a lot, actually, but this one is different. There’s a man in front of him, but Sam can’t really tell what he looks like; he can only see his shadow. His sil-hou-ette. (Miss Jemima taught him that word last week. The ‘h’ is silent).

The man moves closer, but he’s still just a silhouette, even when he’s right in front of Sam. He can only see the figure’s eyes, bright yellow ones that never seem to blink or look away. Sam tries to shy away, but the figure just follows him wherever he goes. 

Giving up, Sam balls his hands into fists and stands as tall as he can, frowning at the figure. “Who are you?” he demands.

The figure starts laughing, the sound spreading all around Sam. It’s not a nice laugh, not like Dean has, or Dad when he’s in a good mood, and Sam instantly curls back in on himself, fear enveloping him. 

“Soon,” the yellow-eyed man promises, and then he’s gone.

Sam wakes up with a start. He remembers his dream and shakes Dean awake, earning himself a few tired swipes and a lot of grumbling. Eventually, though, Dean sits up and Sam barrels into an explanation, making sure he leaves nothing out. When he’s done, he looks at Dean expectantly, but his brother just sighs and lies back down.

“It was just a dream, Sam,” Dean mumbles. “Go back to sleep.”

------

The figure doesn’t appear again for a while, and Sam starts to think that maybe Dean was right all along. But then he reads Dad’s journal, and it visits him once more.

The shadow speaks first this time, yellow eyes dancing with humour. “So,” he says. “You know.”

Sam imagines him smirking, although he still can only see the eyes. “I know that you’re a monster,” he replies, trying to sound brave. He’s not sure it works though; his voice quivers and his hands shake at his sides.

The figure moves, an arm going up to rest on his chest. “Me?” it asks, affronted. “Your father has lied to you all your life, your brother, too. They kill things without question, without remorse. So tell me, Sam, who is the real monster?”

Sam frowns. He hates that he’s been lied to, but lies don’t make people monsters. “They kill evil.”

He laughs, harsh, short. “Good, evil, black, white,” he says. “They are not so different. You don’t understand yet, but you will.”

“Why don’t you show yourself to me?” Sam calls out, frustration rising.

“I can’t,” the figure says simply. “I have no body, and you can’t look upon my true form.” He pauses, and Sam imagines he smiles, then. “Not yet, anyway.”

“What -” Sam starts, but then those yellow eyes turn on him, gazing deep into his soul. As he stands there, fixed to the spot, Sam feels something stir beneath his skin, writhing and twisting. He stares at his hands in horror, an energy, a power concentrating in them. 

“You have so much power, boy,” the figure hisses. “You could be a king.”

Sam can hear his heart pounding in his chest when he wakes. He sits up slowly, his hands still feeling alive with that unnatural power. He looks over to where Dean is asleep on the other bed and briefly thinks about waking him up, but he knows he can’t. 

It was just a dream, after all.

------

The dreams come and go, after that. Sometimes Sam will go weeks without seeing so much as a hint of the figure; other times he’ll come to him three days in a row. The whisper of power never quite goes away either - Sam can always feel it lurking, dormant, in his veins, whispering in his ears to unleash it. He feels eyes following him everywhere he goes, yellow ones, waiting for him to give in. He tries mentioning it, but the few times he brings it up with Dad, or Dean, or even Uncle Bobby, he’s met with Later, Sam, or I’m busy, or Get back to work, we don’t have time. 

So.

He takes matters into his own hands, the way he’s been learning to do for years now, long before he knew the truth. He shuts himself in local libraries whenever he can (which is often; that’s where Dad prefers him to be) and pours over lore on yellow-eyed creatures. Most of it is useless, talking about inhuman beasts with the claws and minds of animals, which Sam knows this thing is not. But there are other books, few as they may be, that tell of demons and devils who sit at Satan’s right hand. Sam wants these to be wrong, too, but he can feel the truth of them in his bones, and he feels heavy with this new knowledge.

He steals these books away, knowing that no-one will notice them going missing, and hides them in his gear, reading and re-reading them when Dad and Dean aren’t looking. He commits every word to memory, making sure he is ready to deal with whatever this demon has planned for him.

------

Just after his sixteenth birthday, the demon comes to him again, still just a shadow with sickly yellow eyes.

“I know what you are,” Sam says quietly. “What do you want with me?”

The demon cocks his head. “Someone’s been doing their homework, I see. But you’re not ready yet.”

Sam’s anger rises, and he rushes forward with a growl, grabbing at the demon’s neck. But he is only a shadow, and Sam almost falls as he disappears in his grasp. There’s cold laughter behind him and he whirls, the figure seeming amused at his persistence.

“Interesting,” he mutters. Then, “Alright. I like you Sam, so I’ll give you a little head start.”

He stretches out his hand and Sam flinches away but somehow, impossibly, cool fingers touch his forehead, sending a blinding agony shooting through him. The power in his veins fizzes gleefully and Sam’s dream dissolves, being replaced by trees and moonlight.

Sam recognises these woods as the ones near their motel, the ones where Dad had thought the wendigo they’re hunting might be hiding. He watches, paralysed, as three figures come slowly into his field of vision - Dad, Dean, and Sam himself. He tries calling out to them, but he’s completely frozen, reduced to looking on helplessly as they look for the creature.

All of a sudden, Other Sam yells, “Dad!” then lunges at John, pushing him out of the way just as the wendigo crashes through the treeline. Bright flames light up the forest as Dean ignites his flamethrower, and Sam is forced to close his eyes, the image of the dying wendigo stamped across his vision.

When he opens his eyes again, he sees Dean looming above him, scowling in annoyance.

“Get up, Sam,” he says impatiently. “Dad just called, said he’s tracked the thing down. He needs us both there as back up. You’ve got two minutes.”

Sam pushes himself upright, his dream still clearly replaying in his head. It could all just be a coincidence, but something in the back of his mind is whispering to him not to ignore it, that Dad’s going to be in danger tonight and Sam’s the only one who’ll be able to stop it. Anxiety settles in his guts, and Sam walks out of the motel knowing what he has to do.

------

Sam’s dream comes true, and Dad is pissed. Despite Sam’s best efforts, the night hadn’t gone injury-free - Sam has a long gash down his leg from where he’d fallen and Dean sports a black eye.

They have their first big fight that night, John saying that if he’d kept his damn mouth shut then the creature wouldn’t have found them; Sam retorting that he’d saved John’s life and he should be thanking him. Dean takes Dad’s side like he always has done when they’ve butted heads, but this feels different to their usual spats. It feels like something is breaking, and there’s no going back.

In his dreams that night, the demon tells him that his talents will never be appreciated as long as he’s with his family. Sam just listens, wondering not for the first time if this is ever going to end. The demon’s been in his head for over ten years, now, and Sam is still no closer to figuring out what any of it means. He just wants it to be over.

So Sam runs. Dad leaves on a hunt, and Dean’s back is turned, and Sam runs. He runs until he can’t anymore, finding himself in a cabin in Flagstaff, Arizona, with junk food and a dog and no dreams. For two whole weeks, there’s no sign of yellow eyes or shadowy figures, and even the ever-present energy begins to diminish. Sam thinks he’s finally done it. He got away, he’s out, he’s free of everything -

He’s pulled back in, and the dream of freedom fades like breath on a mirror. Sam learns that day - freedom isn’t made for people like him.

(In his dream, the demon just laughs.)

------

Two years down the line, and Sam’s running again, all the way to California. He’d promised himself all those years ago that, one day, he’d find a way out of it all, one that meant he would never have to go back again. He thinks he’s found it, now. Dad will never come and get him, not after Sam betrayed him so, and the demon can’t get to him here, in this state of sunshine and innocence. It’s perfect.

Time passes, and, sure enough, the demon goes quiet. This foreign power’s intensity dips until Sam barely knows it’s there at all. He aces college, he makes new friends, he gets a girl.

Jessica. Her name sounds so sweet on his tongue, pure and gentle, so different to everything he had growing up. He doesn’t know why she’s with him, but a part of him doesn’t care about that; the fact that she is, is enough. He loves her deeply, and a future appears before his eyes, so bright and solid that he thinks he can make it real. And, God, is he willing to make it so, because it’s everything he thought he could never have, and more.

He gets as far as looking for engagement rings when she starts to burn. His dreams are vivid, the flames searing his skin, the feeling of her blood on his head so visceral that he has to check it’s not there when he wakes. He worries that it’s starting again, that the demon is trying to tell him something, like he did the night before the wendigo hunt. But he tells himself that it can’t be - there are no eyes watching him in the shadows, no voices hissing king and power and destiny in his ears.

He’s fine. It’s fine.

Sam goes back to his carefully built life, trying to ignore the almost nightly dreams. Anyway, this is normal, right? He’s going to marry this girl - it’s only natural that he should be worried about her. It’s fine.

Two weeks later, Jessica burns on the ceiling, the future Sam had seen melting around her like glass.

------

There’s a funeral. Sam goes, watching as what’s left of the girl he loves is lowered into the earth. Her parents are there, and all their college friends, everyone dressed in black, a sharp contrast against the flowers and photos that are scattered around.

He doesn’t cry.

Dean looks like he wants to say something when they head back to the motel, but he’s never been good at this sort of thing so he stays silent. Sam’s grateful. He doesn’t want anyone else to tell him how sorry they are, how unfair it was, how cruel. Those are just words now, empty and void.

He doesn’t talk to Dean, either, which is probably unreasonable of him, but he doesn’t have it in him to care anymore. He just turns away and closes his eyes, waiting to see if sleep will come tonight.

It does, and with it comes Jessica. He watches her burst into flame, and her eyes bore into his, hard and unforgiving.

Why? she demands of him. Why Sam?

I’m sorry, he cries, like he always does, but this time the dream freezes. Something moves in Sam’s periphery, and he turns to face it, his eyes widening in shock when he sees the demon lounging in the doorway. He’s more solid now, features beginning to make themselves clear, although they are still cloaked in shadows.

“I did warn you,” he says, as though reprimanding a child.

“I thought…” Sam starts, but the words won’t come, his throat closing up as tears fill his eyes for the first time since her death.

“What?” the demon asks, his tone mocking and cruel. “You thought you could run from your destiny - run from me? Sorry, kiddo. Guess again.”

Sam looks away from the demon, gaze flicking back up to Jessica. Her eyes are wide with fear and pain, her hair fanned out around her like a halo. The flames ring her body, casting a bright glow all around her. It’s a strangely beautiful image.

Off to the side, the demon sighs. “Alright,” he says. “I’ll make you a little deal. You come with me, right now, claim your place at my side, and I can guarantee that you can see her again.”

Sam’s head jerks up at that, and he stares at the demon in shock. He’s heard of such things, of course he has, demons making deals with humans and damning their souls for eternity. It’s dangerous, he knows, and he shouldn’t do it, but…

But, Sam thinks his soul is probably already damned, for this life he’s led. All he is good for now is shadows and darkness; an angel like Jessica should never have come near him. It’s true that she would not want him to do this, but Sam is tired of fighting his destiny. He should just give up now, while he still has a choice in the matter. Or, the illusion of one, at least; he knows deep down that this is no real choice.

“Yes,” he says, voice hoarse, and the demon grins. The apartment melts away, replaced by a large hall, with a throne sitting on a raised dais at the end of it. The demon leads him through a crowd of faceless creatures to the throne, pushing Sam to his knees in front of it.

“Sam Winchester,” the demon calls, raising his voice so that it rings around the hallway. “The Boy King!”

Mutters break out around him, but they quiet as the demon produces a crown of thorns, holding high for all to see. After a moment, he lowers it to Sam’s head, the thorns piercing the skin, but Sam barely feels the pain. As soon as the crown touches him, the power that’s lain ignored for so long bursts to life, electrifying his entire body. Sam takes a shuddering breath, closing his eyes and letting the energy course through him. He smiles, his future clear once more.

The Boy King stands and takes his place on the throne of Hell.

He has work to do.

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