Disclaimer: Don’t own it, just appreciate it. If you recognize it it's not mine. Some lines from the episode since this takes place during both parts of “All hell breaks loose”.
Summary: Change is a choice, destiny is a myth, life is hard, and there are somethings you just can’t make untrue no matter how much you wish you could. Liz is starting to figure that out.
Chapter 4 Section 2
“Did you add up all the cards left to play to zero, And sign up with evil” - Elliot Smith, Angeles
It takes ten stitches to close the gash on the back of my head.
They wanted go to the hospital. See if I have a fractured skull or swelling of the brain since I hit so hard but I told them no. Fought them on it until they realized that the only way I would go was if I was unconscious. I'm fairly sure Dean thought about knocking me out especially since he wants Sam to go. He said no too.
Bobby repeatedly tells me how lucky I am to be alive as he sows my head up after he's seen to Sam. I made sure they looked at him first. There are no pain killers, just a small razer to shave the hair around it and a threaded needle. At least they have the proper stuff to clean it out first.
The swig, gulp, chug, whatever you want to call it, of whiskey comes after he finishes. Alcohol is a blood thinner. I remember that much from health ed. That had to be one of the most painful things I have ever been through and you're talking to the girl who accidentally stepped on her roommates heated straightener with a bare foot.
I might be able to heal it on my own but I'm exhausted, I've never healed like that before. If the pod squad has taught me anything it's to rest before you get knocked on your ass. I can take the stitches if it means I can be useful later. I think Dean attributes me not doing that to being uncomfortable with this seemingly new development in my abilities. I allow him to keep that assumption.
Sam and Dean just watch as Bobby does it. They should be researching and god knows that there are enough books in Bobby's house to start but they sit with me. Any other day I'd like to look around. There has to be some fascinating stuff in those books. But nows not the time. There are three alive where there should only be one.
So much for the cretins plans.
Jake thinks he killed us both. That much I can figure out on my own. The yellow eyed demon should know better if he is half as good at this manically evil complex of his as I think he is. Will he pull us back to finish the job or go along with the one person who was willing to kill?
“So, what happens now?” I'm all stitched up and ready to go.
“You get on a bus,” come again? I laugh.
“That's funny really, it is,” No way in hell that it's not gonna happen, it's cute that he thought that it would though. “But seriously, what now?”
Dean is scowling but Bobby cuts him off, opting to offer up what research he had started. I return the frown with a cheeky smile. He may be able to flirt his way into most girls pants but people think I'm cute, they let me get away with stuff. With some more research we have an idea of what the hot zone is.
Southern Wyoming.
A blank spot surrounded by demonic omens, cattle deaths, lightning storms, you know the usual. And demons, lots and lots of demons. Oh, joy. Demons, aren't they just lovely. I don't think Wyoming would be happy to know that they've become a demonic party ground. That poor poor state.
Dean and Sam start to fight. Sam wants to go after Jake. Dean wants Sam to relax, take a break. He's worried, understandably so but Sam's right. I attempt to tell him that. Not a smart move on my part. He once again tells me that I won't be accompanying them.
Bobby drags him outside. Hopefully to knock some sense into him. Bobby looks like he has some spunk, he can so take Dean.
I quickly change into the jeans and flannel shirt Bobby left for me. It's a relief to be out of clothes that looked like I had gone all Jason's Mom on a camp full of kids. They're much too big but that's fine. With a belt the pants stay up, that's all I ask.
When they come back in they are both intact, I'd like to think that Dean looks a little ruffed up. My pride demands that I think that. People always think they can tell the small ones what to do. They don't seem to comprehend that we don't like it and that we can use our small stature to better take them by surprise. It is to be understood that when I say we, I mean me.
There's a woman with them. Ellen, she owned some bar called the Roadhouse. Or what use to be the Roadhouse. Sick son of a bitch burned the place down with everyone inside. Bobby gives her a shot of holy water and then a shot of whiskey.
I take a shot after she does.
“What?” They're looking at me odd, except for Ellen she just nods with a motherly smile. It has occurred to me that I have had the equivalent of about four or five shots in the last couple of hours. I could be drunk about now.
I should slow down, drink some water, get something to eat.
“Hey Bobby, do you have anything to eat?” Again with the odd looks. I'm not crazy, people.
“Yeah, kitchen's down the hall.”
“Thanks,” Sam comes with.
Bobby has cheerios of the honey nut variety. He is my new favorite person. Sam grabs the milk and we sit to eat. He wants to say something. The way he is glancing over to me and back to his bowl gives that away. I love cheerios.
“So much has happened” he pushes his bowl away, there are plenty of perfectly good cheerios still in it. Dammit Sam, don't waste food. “It's ok if you need time.”
“I don't. I'm fine,” I haven't stopped to think so I am perfectly peachy. I put my bowl in the sink. He needs to stop trying to make me think.
“Just know that,” shut up Sam, “we'd understand if you did need it.”
“I don't need time,” I throw my hands up in frustration. One of the cabinet doors blows off and I can feel the friendly, comforting green lights fucking with my arms and chest.
“Son of a bitch,” oh, Dean was standing in the doorway next to the cabinet when it blew. How unfortunate. “What the hell was that?”
I pull the sleeves of my shirt down to cover my hands, “I might be having some trouble.”
“I think that's a bit of an understatement,” wise ass. I wonder what would happen if I showed him my arms.
“Dean,” Sam's voice is sharp.
“I'm not bringing someone with us who can't control themselves,” that is a good point but I'm not staying behind.
“I'm fine. That's never happened before,” that's a lie. I've blown up things before when I'm emotional but never so easily. I was barely ticked off. “I'm just a little off my game.”
“You're not coming,” he uses the that's final voice that dads use. I have to take a deep breath to ensure that the lights don't spread and give away that I'm more than different.
“Yes I am,” we're standing toe to toe. Don't look away. Don't look away, whoever looks away first loses. Sam's trying to deflate the situation. “You can use me.”
Dean and I do the fighting thing very well.
****
We're in a cemetery in Wyoming, hiding behind headstones waiting for Jake to show so that he can open up a crypt that is a gate to hell. The Demon is using him to open it because it's at the center of a devils trap consisting of old iron railways between churches built by Samuel Colt. Colt as in the gun company. You learn something new everyday.
Makes you wonder how much you actually know about the past. Samuel Colt gun maker and demon expert that certainly wasn't in the textbooks.
My life just keep getting weirder. First I meet a reincarnated half alien king now I'm trying to stop a psychic from carrying out the work of a demon. It's an odd, odd world out there.
Jake enters and we all draw our guns on him. The thing is bulky and uncomfortable in my hand. I've never used one before, held one sure but never fired. Sam's itching to shoot, Jake tried to kill him people tend to take things like that personally.
“You were dead,” ut oh.
“Should have done a better job,” we might have not have gotten around to explaining to Sam exactly what happened, he didn't remember the whole almost being dead thing. He was alive, that seemed to be the only important thing. Jake hasn't said anything about me not being dead, I'd be insulted if he wasn't crazy.
“I did, I cut clean through your spinal cord,” Sam cocks his gun.
Jake laughs, Ellen has her gun to her own head. Crap, “Ava was right, once you accept it there's lots you can do.”
He'll have Ellen dead by the time any of us can react. There's nothing anyone can do. Jake is walking to the crypt and inserting the gun to unlock it. What happened to the man who attacked us so that he could kill the demon himself? Right, stupid question.
Dean has Ellen's gun away from her head and Sam's going to shoot. I can't let him kill Jake. If it's true what he said before that killing seems to open the way for the Demon to influence us than I can't let him do it. His brother would be broken without him, even more so if he has to kill Sam himself. I can take being the one he has to kill. He can take me being the one he has to kill.
If one of us has to have blood on our hands, it's going to be me.
I blast Jake, giving Sam a warning look. The gun is still heavy in my hand and I'd rather not use it. Every time Jake gets up I send him flying again. I don't really know what else I can do, I've melted things before but never willingly and I'd have to be touching him which would be hard to do without him trying to, you know, kill me. I turn away for a second as Bobby yells to take cover. Black is spilling out of the crypt. Hell.
Jake has me by the neck. My feet a foot above the ground. I'm getting really tired of being strangled. He knocks the gun out of my hand and won't let me raise them. For fucks sake you'd think he'd kill me quick. Next thing you know he's going to monologue.
“I should have made sure you were dead too,” a gun shot and he drops to his knees. It's Dean, I can barely see him from where he's crouched but it was him.
The momentary loosening of his grasp lets me blast him again. But he's on his feet quickly. Shouting behind me. I grab my gun and fire. Just keep firing. Jake is dead but I empty the clip. Cockroach.
Ellen and Bobby are trying to close the doors. Sam is running for his brother where he is confronting the Demon. I don't know where to go. Who to help. The door is slipping from Ellen so I rush to her side, putting everything I have into trying to close it. I glance over my shoulder. Sam is pinned against a tree, the Demon is standing over Dean.
“Dean,” I raise my hand, it barely makes the thing take a step back. It does however make him head towards me, smirking maliciously.
There's another man grabbing him around the waist. I recognize him from a picture at Bobby's place, John Winchester, their dad, their dead dad. Supernatural crap is so hard to follow. The door is slipping, I focus back on that. Just shut already.
When it finally does, the black mass stops. Fuckin' hell. The Demon's dead. Fuckin' hell. We stand back and let the boys have a moment with their dad before he passes on in a flash of white light. Fuckin' hell.
“That was for our mom you son of a bitch,” the always articulate Dean.
We walk back to the cars, Deans arm draped over my shoulder. Him and Sam all smiles. They've spent their whole lives hunting that thing and now it's dead. There might be a hundred or two hundred other demons and minions of hell on the loose but right now but they've earned the right to celebrate.
The crash course in demon hunting can come later. I'm not going anywhere.
*************
The motel is like every other one that they've stayed in over the years. Tacky but functional. The only difference is the female occupant that the Winchesters have taken to traveling with. Parker had been with them for almost two weeks, doing her best to absorb as much as she could about hunting the supernatural. Spending hours researching with Sam or learning to shoot with Dean.
Tonight had been the first hunt they had let her be actively involved in. Which is why it was no surprise when she had been asleep before her head had hit the pillow, leaving Dean to take off her shoes and jeans. He was sure that she did it to get to him.
Because Parker seemed to take a perverse pleasure in working him up. Whether it be by walking around in a pair of his boxer briefs or by arguing with him, she did her best to get a rise out of him. Dean wasn't ashamed to admit that she was very good at it. He didn't think that a man alive would fault him for it either.
He did have some concerns though. Like the night a week before when she had woken up bleeding, a symbol lightly carved onto her stomach mirroring the ones found on the victims of the hunt it had sent them on. Not as deep as the ones found on the victims but disconcerting all the same. Or the fact that she refused to use her abilities at all, even to fix the wound. Not that he liked them but they did act up occasionally. Luckily not in public yet.
And even with the Demon gone there were others who could try and use what she and his brother could do, so he liked to keep a close eye them. He didn't need for them to be whisked away somewhere again or to turn into serial killers. Parker had killed once already, it had needed to be done, but it still made Dean feel better that she had nightmares about it. As sick as that sounded.
Not tonight though. Tonight they were all passed out. Sam in one bed, Dean and Parker in the other. It was taking some getting use to and they were doing there best to settle into a routine but at night, in bed it worked.
So they slept.
Until Parkers phone started to ring. She was the first one to wake up and she stumbled out of bed trying to find the phone, walking into everything along the way. Sam didn't move at all, the boy could sleep through a hurricane.
It was shoved into her dufflebag, the one she had had her friend overnight to her. “Hello?”
Dean watched her through hooded eyes as she stiffened and did her best not to look back at him. “Are you sure?”
He leaned up in bed. The tone of her voice filled him with dread. Fear and resignation. They were never a good combination. “Ok, I'll be there as soon as I can.”
Where was she going? Parker sank down on to the bed, leaning into the hand he placed on her shoulder. “What's going on?”
“I have to go,” Dean knew he should be happy that she was removing herself from the danger that being with them put her in. He wasn't.
End Chapter 4
Millstone (SPN, XO, UC, Mature) COMPLETE
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vaifeal
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Disclaimer: Don’t own it, just appreciate it
Summary: Change is a choice, destiny is a myth, life is hard, and there are somethings you just can’t make untrue no matter how much you wish you could. Liz is starting to figure that out.
Chapter 5 Section 1
“All you've ever wanted, Was someone to truly look up to you, And six feet under water, I do” - Linkin Park, The Little Things Give You Away
For the fifth time in the last hour the suspenders that are dangling from my waist get stuck on a passing object. I'd slip them over my shoulders but I stupidly took off my holster so that I could move easier while helping get everyone's crap into the new motel and now I can't find the damn thing.
I'd pull them back up but then when I finally find the holster, I'd have to take them off again, then on again. Too much energy.
Ava is waiting for me too. We're suppose to 'train'. She hasn't felt comfortable in a while, not since Vilandra had her and attempted to use her as leverage with one of Khivar's lackeys. So we train. At least four times a week, Ava drags me off to target practice using guns or our powers, or she teaches me some hand to hand stuff she learned while living on the streets. Anything she thinks will keep us safe.
Isabel doesn't like to come, her and Ava have never been on the best of terms. Isabel thinks of Tess. Ava thinks of Lonnie.
I'm not sure if I've ever seen a more dysfunctional group of people. There are five of us and four are tearing themselves to pieces missing people we can't be near or know where they are or even think about. If we do who knows who'll be dead in the next check in, for the those of us who get a check in.
This is why relationships suck. Because Michael always has his hackles up with Maria not there to take the edge off. And Isabel is worried all the time since her marriage was on the rocks when she left, Jesse had only just found out about her other worldly status. And Ava has nightmares most nights that I can only do so much to help with, she needs Kyle to tell her that everything is ok but we'd both put our feet down and said no to him coming with us.
Not even almighty Max could change our minds.
And me, well I'm trying not to think of some fling I had a million and a half years ago but that's staying with me through the occasional email from his brother or five minute calls which in most cases are the result of drunk dialing. Relationships forged in high stress circumstances rarely last, too bad they're hard to get over too.
He saved my life, more than once. I can't forget that.
Or a thousand other little quirks and irritations of his. Especially at night, the way he sleeps. How no matter the distance between us he still had to be touching. Light brush of fingers or completely wrapped in each other. There was always touching.
My hand automatically goes up to the pendants at my neck, playing with the small round one. Dean got it from Bobby and gave it to me before I'd had to leave, he said it would keep things from possessing me like a demon had possessed Sam before I had met them. He had wanted to follow me when I went back to Roswell. Offered to drive and everything. I had to purposely piss him off to the point were he didn't care if I got on the bus. Half an hour later he started calling me.
I didn't answer.
Not then.
I don't know if he went to Roswell, if he did we were gone already. Dean hasn't really talked to me since. This isn't his fight. I miss pushing his buttons and him pushing mine. My fingers slide to the other pendant. It's a protective symbol variations of which I have come across several times. Every time I see one I buy it. Not to wear them all at once but to give them to the others.
I make everyone wear one, who knows what could happen to them. A whole diner of people died so a demon could get Sam and the sick bastards like to hit where it hurts. I don't know if they'll work, legends have a tendency to mix a lot of fiction with fact but I still feel safer with them wearing it.
I need to find that damn holster.
Breathe, Liz.
Back to being Liz. I don't know who I want to be anymore. No, that's not true I know. I just don't know what name that person is.
Liz like I am to everyone who knows me from Roswell. E or Eli like I am in New York and Boston. Beth like I was at Oxford. Parker like I am to the Winchester's. Just never Elizabeth. I'm a step away from having a multiple personality disorder.
By the time I find the holster squashed under bags and squeezed into the corner of the dirty little closet, I really want to shoot something. So I grab my government issue colt series 80, that I had taken from an overeager Special Unit officer a while back, from the draw along with some ammo.
Time to start the routine.
Harness on, colt in holster. Suspenders up: connect harness to them to make sure neither slides. Extra ammo clipped to the back. Then my trusty muela venecia knife strapped to my leg. Jacket to cover the ensemble.
You do all that long enough you feel naked without it. Every time we go up against a Skin or one of the others it comes down to powers but still, they can help especially when you consider that my powers are a tad unpredictable. I don't know who has worse control Michael or me.
It's the way they are. What I was born with the ability to do and what I got from Max, they're twisted together. Feeding off of each other. Making it difficult to learn to control because every time I get better at one aspect another morphs to match it. They're like volatile chemicals residing with in me. I don't know if I'll ever have control.
Ava pops her head in the door and we leave. Out to find some place in Bumfuck, Arkansas where we can blow up crap without being seen.
By the end of the day we're both exhausted but Ava is laughing and no one cannot not smile at that. After years of having to be great at everything so that she would be left unharmed, she finds it amusing that she's such a bad shot. It's actually the one thing that I can do better than her, thanks to Dean. After emptying the clip into the shooting ranges paper target perfectly in the center I take a clumsy little curtsy holding up an imaginary skirt, which makes her laugh harder and miss her target more.
When we leave the range we slowly walk back to the motel. For late December the weather is beautiful it would even be peaceful if taken out of context. We decide to grab some dinner at a local place instead of living off of whatever Michael has decided are tonights rations.
“I never told you how grateful I am for the way you treat me Liz,” Ava says, restless fork pushing around her meal. I think it's suppose to be turkey. I look up confused. “The rest of them treat me like I'm going to turn into Tess. You don't.”
“You're not Tess,” I reply with a shrug.
“You, Miss Parker are a good person.”
“... thanks,” how is a person to respond to that?
“I don't know if I could do it. Separate physically identical people, like you have with Tess and I after all she did,” I want to reply that Ava having dyed her hair brown helps but I'm not sure what she means by 'all she did'. Is it the stealing Max, the getting pregnant, or the being a bitch? She just keeps talking. “I can understand why they're so hesitant to trust me. What Tess did to Alex, it's unforgivable.”
Alex? What does Alex have to do with Tess? My stomach feels like lead and I'm starting to shake.
“What about Alex?” My voice is thick and tight. Ava suddenly looks vaguely panicked.
“Maybe we should-”
“What about Alex?” If he... How could... That fucking piece of shit.
Ava bites her lip. She either thought I knew or what she said was an accident. Please be the former I don't need to have someone else pulling crap like this. She takes a deep breath, “Tess was using him to translate the destiny book. She killed Alex.”
The world drops out from under me.
“Do they all know?”
“Yes.”
I need air. I toss some money on the table and walk out of the restaurant. I can't believe that no one told me. After everything that happened then and now, how could they not tell me. I knew it, they didn't believe me. Hell, they stopped talking to me up until I left and I was right. And they had the gall to keep this from me.
Tess Killed Alex.
I want to throw up.
“Liz, wait-”
“No,” I don't turn to her. I don't even stop. If I do I'll do something I'll regret later. “Just don't.”
She doesn't follow. Soon enough I'll have Max up my ass lecturing about why we shouldn't go off on our own despite that he does it all the time. Let him come. I've never wanted to hurt him so bad. Not even with the Demon whispering in my ear.
Alex. How long was Tess using him? I'm betting Sweden was all a lie. Why didn't I see it earlier? He was my best friend, the only person I could count on and I just let that... that two faced whore hurt him.
A heavy hand grabs my arm, I spin around ready to yell till I'm hoarse. But it's not Max. Or Michael. The blood drains from my face and all the anger flees.
“Nice to see you again Elizabeth.”
Maybe I should learn to listen.
************
The first time I wake up I'm not sure where I am or how long I've been out. It's dark and cramped and warm. Very warm. Alright, it's fucking hot and I feel like I've been hit by a bulldozer. My hands are bound together. Palm to palm so that I can't use my powers and every time I pull at the restraints they get tighter. I don't need to check to know that my gun and knife are gone.
The sadistic bastard sealed me inside a wall. I try to maneuver to kick at it but there isn't enough room.
One day, I'm going to kill Nickolas and I'm going to enjoy every second of it. I listen carefully as time ticks by. Nothing but silence. There's no one else here. I'd be lucky if I was even in Arkansas anymore.
Ok, don't panic. Panic is bad. Step one take stock of the situation. Sealed in a wall of an empty building or house. Hands tied. Feet free but no space to move enough to use them. It's really hot in here, even without my jacket on.
This is what he wants, Nickolas wants me to die slowly of dehydration knowing it was him that put me here. He'll wait, he'll wait till he knows I'm dead to leak his former location. Ava and the rest will find a corpse.
And they'll let emotion cloud their judgment.
It's what Nickolas wants.
Stop it, stop thinking that way. Step two: think of positive things. Like, help is coming. Sure, help must be coming.
There's no help coming.
Ava will know I'm gone but there's nothing they can do. My mind is shut to Isabel, even with the Demon gone. I feel the tears build up behind my eyes. Don't cry, it's a waste of moisture. They manage to slide down before I can stop them. I can get visions of people being mugged but not warning me that I'm going to get trapped in a wall. Where's the justice in that?
Maybe I can contact someone. I've never done it consciously before but it's worth a try.
*****
I crack my eyes open slowly. My mouth is dry, clothes soaked with sweat. It didn't work. Not consciously or unconsciously. I start to bang my knee as hard as I can against the wall, pressing my forehead against the relatively cool brick of the outer one.
Maybe the noise will attract someone. Please, attract someone.
When my knee is throbbing I stop. It's no use. I'm starting to lose feeling in my hands and there's that ever growing feeling of helplessness in the pit of my stomach. I let myself drift off to sleep again. It's better this way.
Summary: Change is a choice, destiny is a myth, life is hard, and there are somethings you just can’t make untrue no matter how much you wish you could. Liz is starting to figure that out.
Chapter 5 Section 1
“All you've ever wanted, Was someone to truly look up to you, And six feet under water, I do” - Linkin Park, The Little Things Give You Away
For the fifth time in the last hour the suspenders that are dangling from my waist get stuck on a passing object. I'd slip them over my shoulders but I stupidly took off my holster so that I could move easier while helping get everyone's crap into the new motel and now I can't find the damn thing.
I'd pull them back up but then when I finally find the holster, I'd have to take them off again, then on again. Too much energy.
Ava is waiting for me too. We're suppose to 'train'. She hasn't felt comfortable in a while, not since Vilandra had her and attempted to use her as leverage with one of Khivar's lackeys. So we train. At least four times a week, Ava drags me off to target practice using guns or our powers, or she teaches me some hand to hand stuff she learned while living on the streets. Anything she thinks will keep us safe.
Isabel doesn't like to come, her and Ava have never been on the best of terms. Isabel thinks of Tess. Ava thinks of Lonnie.
I'm not sure if I've ever seen a more dysfunctional group of people. There are five of us and four are tearing themselves to pieces missing people we can't be near or know where they are or even think about. If we do who knows who'll be dead in the next check in, for the those of us who get a check in.
This is why relationships suck. Because Michael always has his hackles up with Maria not there to take the edge off. And Isabel is worried all the time since her marriage was on the rocks when she left, Jesse had only just found out about her other worldly status. And Ava has nightmares most nights that I can only do so much to help with, she needs Kyle to tell her that everything is ok but we'd both put our feet down and said no to him coming with us.
Not even almighty Max could change our minds.
And me, well I'm trying not to think of some fling I had a million and a half years ago but that's staying with me through the occasional email from his brother or five minute calls which in most cases are the result of drunk dialing. Relationships forged in high stress circumstances rarely last, too bad they're hard to get over too.
He saved my life, more than once. I can't forget that.
Or a thousand other little quirks and irritations of his. Especially at night, the way he sleeps. How no matter the distance between us he still had to be touching. Light brush of fingers or completely wrapped in each other. There was always touching.
My hand automatically goes up to the pendants at my neck, playing with the small round one. Dean got it from Bobby and gave it to me before I'd had to leave, he said it would keep things from possessing me like a demon had possessed Sam before I had met them. He had wanted to follow me when I went back to Roswell. Offered to drive and everything. I had to purposely piss him off to the point were he didn't care if I got on the bus. Half an hour later he started calling me.
I didn't answer.
Not then.
I don't know if he went to Roswell, if he did we were gone already. Dean hasn't really talked to me since. This isn't his fight. I miss pushing his buttons and him pushing mine. My fingers slide to the other pendant. It's a protective symbol variations of which I have come across several times. Every time I see one I buy it. Not to wear them all at once but to give them to the others.
I make everyone wear one, who knows what could happen to them. A whole diner of people died so a demon could get Sam and the sick bastards like to hit where it hurts. I don't know if they'll work, legends have a tendency to mix a lot of fiction with fact but I still feel safer with them wearing it.
I need to find that damn holster.
Breathe, Liz.
Back to being Liz. I don't know who I want to be anymore. No, that's not true I know. I just don't know what name that person is.
Liz like I am to everyone who knows me from Roswell. E or Eli like I am in New York and Boston. Beth like I was at Oxford. Parker like I am to the Winchester's. Just never Elizabeth. I'm a step away from having a multiple personality disorder.
By the time I find the holster squashed under bags and squeezed into the corner of the dirty little closet, I really want to shoot something. So I grab my government issue colt series 80, that I had taken from an overeager Special Unit officer a while back, from the draw along with some ammo.
Time to start the routine.
Harness on, colt in holster. Suspenders up: connect harness to them to make sure neither slides. Extra ammo clipped to the back. Then my trusty muela venecia knife strapped to my leg. Jacket to cover the ensemble.
You do all that long enough you feel naked without it. Every time we go up against a Skin or one of the others it comes down to powers but still, they can help especially when you consider that my powers are a tad unpredictable. I don't know who has worse control Michael or me.
It's the way they are. What I was born with the ability to do and what I got from Max, they're twisted together. Feeding off of each other. Making it difficult to learn to control because every time I get better at one aspect another morphs to match it. They're like volatile chemicals residing with in me. I don't know if I'll ever have control.
Ava pops her head in the door and we leave. Out to find some place in Bumfuck, Arkansas where we can blow up crap without being seen.
By the end of the day we're both exhausted but Ava is laughing and no one cannot not smile at that. After years of having to be great at everything so that she would be left unharmed, she finds it amusing that she's such a bad shot. It's actually the one thing that I can do better than her, thanks to Dean. After emptying the clip into the shooting ranges paper target perfectly in the center I take a clumsy little curtsy holding up an imaginary skirt, which makes her laugh harder and miss her target more.
When we leave the range we slowly walk back to the motel. For late December the weather is beautiful it would even be peaceful if taken out of context. We decide to grab some dinner at a local place instead of living off of whatever Michael has decided are tonights rations.
“I never told you how grateful I am for the way you treat me Liz,” Ava says, restless fork pushing around her meal. I think it's suppose to be turkey. I look up confused. “The rest of them treat me like I'm going to turn into Tess. You don't.”
“You're not Tess,” I reply with a shrug.
“You, Miss Parker are a good person.”
“... thanks,” how is a person to respond to that?
“I don't know if I could do it. Separate physically identical people, like you have with Tess and I after all she did,” I want to reply that Ava having dyed her hair brown helps but I'm not sure what she means by 'all she did'. Is it the stealing Max, the getting pregnant, or the being a bitch? She just keeps talking. “I can understand why they're so hesitant to trust me. What Tess did to Alex, it's unforgivable.”
Alex? What does Alex have to do with Tess? My stomach feels like lead and I'm starting to shake.
“What about Alex?” My voice is thick and tight. Ava suddenly looks vaguely panicked.
“Maybe we should-”
“What about Alex?” If he... How could... That fucking piece of shit.
Ava bites her lip. She either thought I knew or what she said was an accident. Please be the former I don't need to have someone else pulling crap like this. She takes a deep breath, “Tess was using him to translate the destiny book. She killed Alex.”
The world drops out from under me.
“Do they all know?”
“Yes.”
I need air. I toss some money on the table and walk out of the restaurant. I can't believe that no one told me. After everything that happened then and now, how could they not tell me. I knew it, they didn't believe me. Hell, they stopped talking to me up until I left and I was right. And they had the gall to keep this from me.
Tess Killed Alex.
I want to throw up.
“Liz, wait-”
“No,” I don't turn to her. I don't even stop. If I do I'll do something I'll regret later. “Just don't.”
She doesn't follow. Soon enough I'll have Max up my ass lecturing about why we shouldn't go off on our own despite that he does it all the time. Let him come. I've never wanted to hurt him so bad. Not even with the Demon whispering in my ear.
Alex. How long was Tess using him? I'm betting Sweden was all a lie. Why didn't I see it earlier? He was my best friend, the only person I could count on and I just let that... that two faced whore hurt him.
A heavy hand grabs my arm, I spin around ready to yell till I'm hoarse. But it's not Max. Or Michael. The blood drains from my face and all the anger flees.
“Nice to see you again Elizabeth.”
Maybe I should learn to listen.
************
The first time I wake up I'm not sure where I am or how long I've been out. It's dark and cramped and warm. Very warm. Alright, it's fucking hot and I feel like I've been hit by a bulldozer. My hands are bound together. Palm to palm so that I can't use my powers and every time I pull at the restraints they get tighter. I don't need to check to know that my gun and knife are gone.
The sadistic bastard sealed me inside a wall. I try to maneuver to kick at it but there isn't enough room.
One day, I'm going to kill Nickolas and I'm going to enjoy every second of it. I listen carefully as time ticks by. Nothing but silence. There's no one else here. I'd be lucky if I was even in Arkansas anymore.
Ok, don't panic. Panic is bad. Step one take stock of the situation. Sealed in a wall of an empty building or house. Hands tied. Feet free but no space to move enough to use them. It's really hot in here, even without my jacket on.
This is what he wants, Nickolas wants me to die slowly of dehydration knowing it was him that put me here. He'll wait, he'll wait till he knows I'm dead to leak his former location. Ava and the rest will find a corpse.
And they'll let emotion cloud their judgment.
It's what Nickolas wants.
Stop it, stop thinking that way. Step two: think of positive things. Like, help is coming. Sure, help must be coming.
There's no help coming.
Ava will know I'm gone but there's nothing they can do. My mind is shut to Isabel, even with the Demon gone. I feel the tears build up behind my eyes. Don't cry, it's a waste of moisture. They manage to slide down before I can stop them. I can get visions of people being mugged but not warning me that I'm going to get trapped in a wall. Where's the justice in that?
Maybe I can contact someone. I've never done it consciously before but it's worth a try.
*****
I crack my eyes open slowly. My mouth is dry, clothes soaked with sweat. It didn't work. Not consciously or unconsciously. I start to bang my knee as hard as I can against the wall, pressing my forehead against the relatively cool brick of the outer one.
Maybe the noise will attract someone. Please, attract someone.
When my knee is throbbing I stop. It's no use. I'm starting to lose feeling in my hands and there's that ever growing feeling of helplessness in the pit of my stomach. I let myself drift off to sleep again. It's better this way.
"Like many non-violent men since that time, he was deeply hated." - on Desiderius Eramus
"Where there is life, there is hope." - Terence
"The mind has no sex." - Descartes
"As long as their is life there is pain. I'm damned to breathe and to be insane." - Old Man's Child
"Where there is life, there is hope." - Terence
"The mind has no sex." - Descartes
"As long as their is life there is pain. I'm damned to breathe and to be insane." - Old Man's Child
-
vaifeal
- Addicted Roswellian
- Posts: 186
- Joined: Sun May 14, 2006 4:08 pm
- Location: somewhere this side of unstable
- Contact:
Disclaimer: Don’t own it, just appreciate it
Summary: Change is a choice, destiny is a myth, life is hard, and there are somethings you just can’t make untrue no matter how much you wish you could. Liz is starting to figure that out.
Chapter 5 Section 2
“Inside my hands these petals browned, dried up fallen to the ground, but it was already too late now” - Rise Against, The Good Left Undone
Dean makes his way through the abandoned warehouse. Sam at his heels, gun at the ready, flashlight pointed ahead. They weren't sure what they were hunting yet but the building was at the center of it all.
Screams, crashes, lights, and a couple of unresolved disappearances.
So far nothing had come of it. There was no EMF, nothing to say that there was anything supernatural occurring in or around this town. Except for the numerous reports from residents and two missing men in their early thirties.
It all read like a story in the Weekly World News.
The building was brick, two stories high but spanned at least half a city block. It had functioned as the administrative building for the mine and while there had been violent deaths in the area, none had been in or around the building. All in all, the hunt seemed like it was going to be a bust.
“Dean,” Sam nodded towards the wall. “Check this out.”
“What- ok then,” large black angry letters, clear against the graying paint of the far wall.
You're Next
There wasn't much else in the room. An empty desk, a pile of ashes probably from some kids trying to show how brave they were, nothing else except dust and dirt. Almost nothing else. Buried hilt deep in the wall was a knife, Sam quickly pulled it out.
Thump
Dean took the knife from his brothers out stretched hand. It was a nice blade but nothing special, clean no signs of blood. Just a knife.
Thump
“What's that?” Sam followed the sound, pressing his ear against the wall. “Hello?”
Dean would be concerned for his brothers mental wellbeing if he didn't hear the two thumps in a quick succession answer. This was just getting weirder and weirder. His brother turned to him concerned.
“There's someone in there,” he started to look frantically around the bare room. “Help me find something to get them out.”
“They might be in there for a reason, Sammy,” even as he said it he was walking into the hall to find something to knock it down. They had a sledge hammer in the car but he didn't feel like walking back to the Impala. He found a rusting fire extinguisher and returned to the room.
Where his brother was still talking to the wall.
“You want me to leave the two of you alone?” Sam glared and moved so he could take down the wall.
It took a couple of hard hits to get a hole big enough to see into the gap. Dean leaned in, flashlight searching for the source of the thumping. There was a black pipe, lots of dirt and on the floor a person. A fully corporal person. Not on their side, not really on their back either there wasn't enough space for that but squeezed in the space none the less.
Boots, worn in jeans, tee-shirt. A woman. Shoulders back telling him that their hands were bound. He hoped that they hadn't stumbles upon some mafia revenge deal, that was the last thing they needed. Dark hair obscured the face where it was directed at him.
She turned away from the light of the flashlight and then slowly looked back. He almost dropped it.
“Parker.”
*************
I've moved past depression and panic, straight into boredom. There is nothing to do when you're in a wall. Not when your head is throbbing and you are dizzy whether or not you have your eyes open or not. There is only so many things you can do as you wait to die.
How long it takes to die of dehydration depends on several conditions. I'm not sure how long I've been here so I can't make an accurate projection as to when I'll fall asleep and just not wake up. I'm exhausted and nauseous but I don't want to not wake up.
I'm not ready to go.
There are too many things left to do.
I can't see anything. I can't hear anything outside of the ringing that your ears get when they haven't heard anything in a while. And whenever I try to use my powers it feels like acupuncture gone wrong.
It's the only feeling that I have in my hands. A slight tingling that I know is going to pass soon. I really wish I hadn't read all those emergency medicine books. Ignorance really is bliss. If I hadn't I wouldn't know how fucked I really am.
I should resign myself to not making it out of this. We all knew that there was probability tended towards of one of us not walking away. Is it arrogant of me to say I didn't think it would be me? Funny how things work out.
Some low noises reach me. It's a nice change from the ringing.
Great, now I'm hearing voices. Just what I need. This might be a symptom, can't really remember. They get louder so that they sound like they're right next to me. Can't I die in peace? Why do I have to delude myself into thinking that someone is here.
A scraping. A small stream of dull light.
Maybe I'm not so crazy after all. I try to say something but my throat is too dry, instead I settle on banging my leg against the wall once again. I wince every time it hits, I bruised it last time. It's going to look nasty, all black and purple. Maybe a bit swollen. One for the scrap book.
A muffled word, I think it's hello.
If this is my imagine I'm going to start dry heaving. I hit the wall twice in quick succession. Yes, I am here. I don't think the guy on the other side has realized that I can't understand a word that they're saying. So they keep talking. If I wasn't on the wrong side of this wall I would think he was insane.
I jerk in surprise when something crashes into the wall as they try to knock a whole in it. If Nickolas sealed it they won't be able to get in. The end of the battering ram trough the wall proved that theory wrong. Little space man's not so smart after all.
I can't see who is leaning in, my eyes haven't adjusted to the slight change in the darkness. A bright light forces me to look away. Fucker. That hurt. Not that I don't want them here helping me but can they please turn the light away. I look back at them but I still can't make them out.
“Parker,” it's not a question. What the fuck?
The flashlight is lowered and I can see a face. Dean. I'm telling you fate has a wicked sense of humor. I suppose it's not much a stretch for him to be investigating the area, Nickolas is never subtle about where he's been. Hard to track? Yes. Blatantly obvious once you find? You betcha.
He pulls back and there is more banging which is making my head throb but that's ok because he's leaning over me, squeezing himself into a space that must hurt to do so. I'm carefully lifted out. I hurt all over and even the dull light of the room makes me wince but thats ok.
Dean cuts my hands with my own knife, the only thing of mine left. I wrap my arms tightly around his neck trying to stop a sob and unable to stop a cry of pain as the circulation suddenly returns to my hands. I need a drink and some food and a shower but I can't let go of Dean.
He doesn't make me.
Instead he carries me to the car. Carries. I haven't been innocently carried since I was eight and my dad picked me up after I fell down the stairs. He even has Sam drive so that I don't have to let go. For someone who can be so completely obtuse at times he can be surprisingly insightful.
****
I wake up tangled in sheets and with a thin sheen of sweat on my body. Sweat. Actual sweat. I didn't think I'd ever be happy to perspire. The room is empty, shades shut tight to keep out what I assume is the day. Dean is nowhere in sight, neither is Sam.
It couldn't have been my imagination... could it?
The details on how I got to a motel are blurry. I remember Dean being there and drinking a lot of water too fast so that I had almost thrown up. I remember having a wet washcloth or towel run along my face and neck. Not much else.
There is some clothing stacked on the side table, my jeans and a tee shirt. A large black short sleeved shirt. Dean's. I pull the clothes on. The shirt is clean and smells like him, I almost smile.
Dean comes in right as I come out of the bathroom, carrying breakfast. Smells so good, my stomach rumbles. Two bottles of water, fruit, some pancakes. He went all out. If he doesn't stop doing things like this there will be no questioned on how far gone I really am.
I will not be one of those cling dependent women. I won't. But damn does he make it appealing.
We eat in silence. The food is good, obviously from a local diner. The fruit is out of season so we're probably somewhere with a moderately sized population. Considering the sheer berth of the United States that could be anywhere. When I'm done I play with the food in front of me, occasionally taking a bite. As long as I look like I'm eating we don't have to talk. How do you explain to someone that you were trapped in a wall by an alien inside a skin suit... and not have them commit you?
He knows absolutely nothing about what I'm going to say, he's going to either think I'm lying to him or have been lying to him about what I am since I've barely talked to him about being from Roswell. We only ever talked about him or my life post Roswell.
Is the absence of truth the same as a lie?
“Are you hunting?” the question startles me. He just goes right to the point, doesn't he. I carefully avoid his gaze. Why what a fascinating paper plate. The syrup stain almost looks like Mother Teresa with an afro.
“Not exactly,” I am hunting just not what he thinks I am. Besides half the time its more like I'm being hunted. The vagueness of the answer pisses him off, a quick peak out of the corner of my eye tells me that.
Where is Sam? He's always a good buffer. Dean must have asked him to leave us alone for the time being. I'd bet that he has the Impala too.
“Dammit Parker,” he pushes away from the table and starts pacing the small room. Back and forth. Back and forth. Like a caged animal. “Why don't you ever listen? You know this stuff is dangerous, why would you do it alone?”
“I'm not hunting,” partially contradicts my previous statement but for him it's truth. He ignores it. Most likely doesn't believe me.
“Are you trying to get yourself killed?” he is steadily getting louder, “What the hell are you thinking going out on your own? You almost died.”
“How many times have you almost died?” I want to scream that I know how close I came to dying. I want to yell at him that he's the one that doesn't know what's going on. My hackles are rising and even though he is partially right I do get careless, angry words can't be stopped. “You don't have the market cornered on doing stupid shit.”
Dean shakes his head as if he's disappointed in me, it hurts. “If I had known this is what you were going to do, I wouldn't have let you go.”
Like he could have stopped me. Why does it seem like I'm always having this argument? I close my eyes tightly and breathe deep, “You can't always protect me.”
I don't want to fight anymore. I've just had a crystal clear reminder of my mortality this isn't how I want to spend my time. I know he's worried, that's easy enough to see but I can't stop what I'm doing because he's afraid for me. Warm hands are at the sides of my face, I slowly open my eyes.
“What are you involved in Parker?” Dean's crouched in front of me, his eyes begging me for the truth. I have two options. I can use sex to avoid the situation for the time being or I can come clean.
I'm tired of lying to him.
“When I was sixteen I was shot.”
***********
“Right here, I was shot here,” Dean was puzzled as Parker took his hand and placed it on her stomach. There was no scar there he knew that without a doubt, he had seen her bare abdomen enough.
And he knows that after getting shot in the stomach she was lucky to be alive. A wound there could bleed out very quickly but he wasn't sure why she was telling him this. What does her getting shot have to do with what ever was happening in the here and now?
He's confused even after she finishes weaving her tale.
Alien-human hybrids of reincarnated kings with the power to heal. Running from an elite unit within the FBI. The ability to time travel. A crystal space ship. Powers resulting from being healed. Enemies that wear 'husks' of human skin. It all sounded crazy.
He wasn't sure what was worse. That Parker so obviously believed what she was saying or that he almost believed her too.
“Look,” she waved her hand over a plastic fork turning it into a small figurine and back again. How in hell was he suppose to take this.
It was unfair. Dean knew that. She had accepted what they did so easily but he couldn't help but doubt everything she was saying. Aliens? Really now, it was a fairly far fetched. Green lights were playing on her skin, flashing up and down her arms.
“Please Dean,” she wanted him to understand. She wanted him to believe her. And he wanted to, he really did.
But could he?
Section 3 Tomorrow Morning.
Summary: Change is a choice, destiny is a myth, life is hard, and there are somethings you just can’t make untrue no matter how much you wish you could. Liz is starting to figure that out.
Chapter 5 Section 2
“Inside my hands these petals browned, dried up fallen to the ground, but it was already too late now” - Rise Against, The Good Left Undone
Dean makes his way through the abandoned warehouse. Sam at his heels, gun at the ready, flashlight pointed ahead. They weren't sure what they were hunting yet but the building was at the center of it all.
Screams, crashes, lights, and a couple of unresolved disappearances.
So far nothing had come of it. There was no EMF, nothing to say that there was anything supernatural occurring in or around this town. Except for the numerous reports from residents and two missing men in their early thirties.
It all read like a story in the Weekly World News.
The building was brick, two stories high but spanned at least half a city block. It had functioned as the administrative building for the mine and while there had been violent deaths in the area, none had been in or around the building. All in all, the hunt seemed like it was going to be a bust.
“Dean,” Sam nodded towards the wall. “Check this out.”
“What- ok then,” large black angry letters, clear against the graying paint of the far wall.
You're Next
There wasn't much else in the room. An empty desk, a pile of ashes probably from some kids trying to show how brave they were, nothing else except dust and dirt. Almost nothing else. Buried hilt deep in the wall was a knife, Sam quickly pulled it out.
Thump
Dean took the knife from his brothers out stretched hand. It was a nice blade but nothing special, clean no signs of blood. Just a knife.
Thump
“What's that?” Sam followed the sound, pressing his ear against the wall. “Hello?”
Dean would be concerned for his brothers mental wellbeing if he didn't hear the two thumps in a quick succession answer. This was just getting weirder and weirder. His brother turned to him concerned.
“There's someone in there,” he started to look frantically around the bare room. “Help me find something to get them out.”
“They might be in there for a reason, Sammy,” even as he said it he was walking into the hall to find something to knock it down. They had a sledge hammer in the car but he didn't feel like walking back to the Impala. He found a rusting fire extinguisher and returned to the room.
Where his brother was still talking to the wall.
“You want me to leave the two of you alone?” Sam glared and moved so he could take down the wall.
It took a couple of hard hits to get a hole big enough to see into the gap. Dean leaned in, flashlight searching for the source of the thumping. There was a black pipe, lots of dirt and on the floor a person. A fully corporal person. Not on their side, not really on their back either there wasn't enough space for that but squeezed in the space none the less.
Boots, worn in jeans, tee-shirt. A woman. Shoulders back telling him that their hands were bound. He hoped that they hadn't stumbles upon some mafia revenge deal, that was the last thing they needed. Dark hair obscured the face where it was directed at him.
She turned away from the light of the flashlight and then slowly looked back. He almost dropped it.
“Parker.”
*************
I've moved past depression and panic, straight into boredom. There is nothing to do when you're in a wall. Not when your head is throbbing and you are dizzy whether or not you have your eyes open or not. There is only so many things you can do as you wait to die.
How long it takes to die of dehydration depends on several conditions. I'm not sure how long I've been here so I can't make an accurate projection as to when I'll fall asleep and just not wake up. I'm exhausted and nauseous but I don't want to not wake up.
I'm not ready to go.
There are too many things left to do.
I can't see anything. I can't hear anything outside of the ringing that your ears get when they haven't heard anything in a while. And whenever I try to use my powers it feels like acupuncture gone wrong.
It's the only feeling that I have in my hands. A slight tingling that I know is going to pass soon. I really wish I hadn't read all those emergency medicine books. Ignorance really is bliss. If I hadn't I wouldn't know how fucked I really am.
I should resign myself to not making it out of this. We all knew that there was probability tended towards of one of us not walking away. Is it arrogant of me to say I didn't think it would be me? Funny how things work out.
Some low noises reach me. It's a nice change from the ringing.
Great, now I'm hearing voices. Just what I need. This might be a symptom, can't really remember. They get louder so that they sound like they're right next to me. Can't I die in peace? Why do I have to delude myself into thinking that someone is here.
A scraping. A small stream of dull light.
Maybe I'm not so crazy after all. I try to say something but my throat is too dry, instead I settle on banging my leg against the wall once again. I wince every time it hits, I bruised it last time. It's going to look nasty, all black and purple. Maybe a bit swollen. One for the scrap book.
A muffled word, I think it's hello.
If this is my imagine I'm going to start dry heaving. I hit the wall twice in quick succession. Yes, I am here. I don't think the guy on the other side has realized that I can't understand a word that they're saying. So they keep talking. If I wasn't on the wrong side of this wall I would think he was insane.
I jerk in surprise when something crashes into the wall as they try to knock a whole in it. If Nickolas sealed it they won't be able to get in. The end of the battering ram trough the wall proved that theory wrong. Little space man's not so smart after all.
I can't see who is leaning in, my eyes haven't adjusted to the slight change in the darkness. A bright light forces me to look away. Fucker. That hurt. Not that I don't want them here helping me but can they please turn the light away. I look back at them but I still can't make them out.
“Parker,” it's not a question. What the fuck?
The flashlight is lowered and I can see a face. Dean. I'm telling you fate has a wicked sense of humor. I suppose it's not much a stretch for him to be investigating the area, Nickolas is never subtle about where he's been. Hard to track? Yes. Blatantly obvious once you find? You betcha.
He pulls back and there is more banging which is making my head throb but that's ok because he's leaning over me, squeezing himself into a space that must hurt to do so. I'm carefully lifted out. I hurt all over and even the dull light of the room makes me wince but thats ok.
Dean cuts my hands with my own knife, the only thing of mine left. I wrap my arms tightly around his neck trying to stop a sob and unable to stop a cry of pain as the circulation suddenly returns to my hands. I need a drink and some food and a shower but I can't let go of Dean.
He doesn't make me.
Instead he carries me to the car. Carries. I haven't been innocently carried since I was eight and my dad picked me up after I fell down the stairs. He even has Sam drive so that I don't have to let go. For someone who can be so completely obtuse at times he can be surprisingly insightful.
****
I wake up tangled in sheets and with a thin sheen of sweat on my body. Sweat. Actual sweat. I didn't think I'd ever be happy to perspire. The room is empty, shades shut tight to keep out what I assume is the day. Dean is nowhere in sight, neither is Sam.
It couldn't have been my imagination... could it?
The details on how I got to a motel are blurry. I remember Dean being there and drinking a lot of water too fast so that I had almost thrown up. I remember having a wet washcloth or towel run along my face and neck. Not much else.
There is some clothing stacked on the side table, my jeans and a tee shirt. A large black short sleeved shirt. Dean's. I pull the clothes on. The shirt is clean and smells like him, I almost smile.
Dean comes in right as I come out of the bathroom, carrying breakfast. Smells so good, my stomach rumbles. Two bottles of water, fruit, some pancakes. He went all out. If he doesn't stop doing things like this there will be no questioned on how far gone I really am.
I will not be one of those cling dependent women. I won't. But damn does he make it appealing.
We eat in silence. The food is good, obviously from a local diner. The fruit is out of season so we're probably somewhere with a moderately sized population. Considering the sheer berth of the United States that could be anywhere. When I'm done I play with the food in front of me, occasionally taking a bite. As long as I look like I'm eating we don't have to talk. How do you explain to someone that you were trapped in a wall by an alien inside a skin suit... and not have them commit you?
He knows absolutely nothing about what I'm going to say, he's going to either think I'm lying to him or have been lying to him about what I am since I've barely talked to him about being from Roswell. We only ever talked about him or my life post Roswell.
Is the absence of truth the same as a lie?
“Are you hunting?” the question startles me. He just goes right to the point, doesn't he. I carefully avoid his gaze. Why what a fascinating paper plate. The syrup stain almost looks like Mother Teresa with an afro.
“Not exactly,” I am hunting just not what he thinks I am. Besides half the time its more like I'm being hunted. The vagueness of the answer pisses him off, a quick peak out of the corner of my eye tells me that.
Where is Sam? He's always a good buffer. Dean must have asked him to leave us alone for the time being. I'd bet that he has the Impala too.
“Dammit Parker,” he pushes away from the table and starts pacing the small room. Back and forth. Back and forth. Like a caged animal. “Why don't you ever listen? You know this stuff is dangerous, why would you do it alone?”
“I'm not hunting,” partially contradicts my previous statement but for him it's truth. He ignores it. Most likely doesn't believe me.
“Are you trying to get yourself killed?” he is steadily getting louder, “What the hell are you thinking going out on your own? You almost died.”
“How many times have you almost died?” I want to scream that I know how close I came to dying. I want to yell at him that he's the one that doesn't know what's going on. My hackles are rising and even though he is partially right I do get careless, angry words can't be stopped. “You don't have the market cornered on doing stupid shit.”
Dean shakes his head as if he's disappointed in me, it hurts. “If I had known this is what you were going to do, I wouldn't have let you go.”
Like he could have stopped me. Why does it seem like I'm always having this argument? I close my eyes tightly and breathe deep, “You can't always protect me.”
I don't want to fight anymore. I've just had a crystal clear reminder of my mortality this isn't how I want to spend my time. I know he's worried, that's easy enough to see but I can't stop what I'm doing because he's afraid for me. Warm hands are at the sides of my face, I slowly open my eyes.
“What are you involved in Parker?” Dean's crouched in front of me, his eyes begging me for the truth. I have two options. I can use sex to avoid the situation for the time being or I can come clean.
I'm tired of lying to him.
“When I was sixteen I was shot.”
***********
“Right here, I was shot here,” Dean was puzzled as Parker took his hand and placed it on her stomach. There was no scar there he knew that without a doubt, he had seen her bare abdomen enough.
And he knows that after getting shot in the stomach she was lucky to be alive. A wound there could bleed out very quickly but he wasn't sure why she was telling him this. What does her getting shot have to do with what ever was happening in the here and now?
He's confused even after she finishes weaving her tale.
Alien-human hybrids of reincarnated kings with the power to heal. Running from an elite unit within the FBI. The ability to time travel. A crystal space ship. Powers resulting from being healed. Enemies that wear 'husks' of human skin. It all sounded crazy.
He wasn't sure what was worse. That Parker so obviously believed what she was saying or that he almost believed her too.
“Look,” she waved her hand over a plastic fork turning it into a small figurine and back again. How in hell was he suppose to take this.
It was unfair. Dean knew that. She had accepted what they did so easily but he couldn't help but doubt everything she was saying. Aliens? Really now, it was a fairly far fetched. Green lights were playing on her skin, flashing up and down her arms.
“Please Dean,” she wanted him to understand. She wanted him to believe her. And he wanted to, he really did.
But could he?
Section 3 Tomorrow Morning.
Last edited by vaifeal on Sat Jun 02, 2007 2:07 pm, edited 1 time in total.
"Like many non-violent men since that time, he was deeply hated." - on Desiderius Eramus
"Where there is life, there is hope." - Terence
"The mind has no sex." - Descartes
"As long as their is life there is pain. I'm damned to breathe and to be insane." - Old Man's Child
"Where there is life, there is hope." - Terence
"The mind has no sex." - Descartes
"As long as their is life there is pain. I'm damned to breathe and to be insane." - Old Man's Child
-
vaifeal
- Addicted Roswellian
- Posts: 186
- Joined: Sun May 14, 2006 4:08 pm
- Location: somewhere this side of unstable
- Contact:
Disclaimer: Don’t own it, just appreciate it
Summary: Change is a choice, destiny is a myth, life is hard, and there are somethings you just can’t make untrue no matter how much you wish you could. Liz is starting to figure that out.
A/N: I know the song isn't originally Johnny Cash but his version is amazing.
Chapter 5 Section 3
“What have I become, My sweetest friend, Everyone I know goes away, In the end, And you could have it all” - Johnny Cash, Hurt
I'm stretched out languidly in bed. Sam has gone off to get coffee and Dean is in the shower, things couldn't be better. I don't want to leave this spot. If time could be frozen, I'd want it to be right now.
Dean comes out of the shower, towel around his waist water dripping down his chest. Yep, definitely would freeze time right now. He drops his towel to put on his boxer briefs, glancing over at me as he does.
“You gonna take a shower?” I cock my head to the side, deliberately watching him pull on his jeans. Fuckin' hell a girl could get use to this.
“In a minute,” he grins devilishly and goes to grab me. I manage to dodge him and duck into the bathroom laughing. Wouldn't do to have Sam walk in on us. It's bad enough he leaves most mornings saying he's going to get coffee to avoid us, I won't scar the poor guy anymore than that.
They found me on Christmas Eve. I was in the wall for two days. I hadn't even known it was so close to Christmas and I spent the day first arguing then trying to get Dean to accept that I wasn't crazy that aliens do exist, it looked touch and go there for a moment but he believes me. I'm not sure he really understands it but he doesn't look at me like a mental patient anymore, which is good.
Then we celebrated. Meaning I dragged the two of them to the local tree and made them watch all the Christmas classics. It's A Wonderful Life. A Christmas Story. The original Grinch, and all the claymation short films.
Dean even got me a present, a sweater and undergarments. No shirts though, I think he likes me wearing his. Some male pride thing. No worries. I won't bother your innocent ears about what I gave him. Guys are so easy.
The best thing he did though was talk to Michael for me, well not so much talk as not allow Michael to respond. I had used his phone to call Ava the day after Christmas, I know I should have called earlier but honestly I hadn't even thought to. Michael had taken the phone from her demanding to know what happened then that I get back to them 'ASAP'.
He actually said ASAP. The ass.
That was about the time that Dean took his phone back and told Michael when and where he could pick me up, they wouldn't see me any sooner than that. It gave us six days, including the one I called on. Which means I have three days left. I really don't want to go but I have to. I know I have to.
Hell, I had spent that whole morning convincing Dean that I had to. Which constitutes us standing on opposite sides of the room, Sam stuck in the middle trying to get us to calm down, him yelling about my safety, me screaming about obligation.
Poor Sam.
He's always getting stuck between the two of us playing mediator in his brothers explosive relationship. I'd say that was about the last thing that he wanted to do. Ever. He won't have to do it much longer.
Because I'm leaving again in three days.
Three fucking days.
I'm trying to resign myself to the fact that Dean and I seem destined to always say goodbye. It's not working out so well. Every time I think I've got it, I don't. This is Dean, he's about as hard to rid yourself of as Mono. He's always with you dammit.
At least I get to spend the New Years with him.
Put a new spin on the routines of old years. This could be the year. The year that I finally get away from the Alien Abyss. The year I can start living my life without regards to what others want. That's going to be my resolution. To start doing things that make me happy regardless of what others expect.
Because I've never gotten away from expectations.
Little Miss Perfect Liz Parker. Even miles away from origin some piece of her carries on. When I was at Trinity, I screwed up on a paper. The professor expressed his concern and told me that he was there to help if I was having problems with the transition. Because Liz Parker doesn't do mediocre.
Fuck it all.
That's going to be my new motto. Fuck it all. Who cares if I want to utilize my years of education by traveling the country in a '67 Chevy Impala hunting things that go bump in the night. My loans aren't that bad, I had a fair number of grants and scholarships. Some odd jobs here and there and it's doable.
But first I have to finish this thing with the skins.
A pair of arms wrap around my waist, lifting me off my feet. My mostly empty luke warm cup of coffee gets dropped in surprise. I roll my eyes and turn in the arms. This is Deans way of reminding me to stay alert. Doesn't work so well.
“Jerk,” I point my finger in a manner that is suppose to be menacing. “Do that again I'll kick you ass.”
He raises his eyebrow, leaning down. Damn why couldn't he be a little less attractive. Amusement laces his voice, “Is that right?”
“Yep,” low and husky. Rabbits. We're freakin' rabbits.
“Get a room,” Sam gets into the Impala and waits. I hate to agree with Dean but he needs something to occupy his time besides hunting. However, unlike his brother I don't think it necessarily have to be of a sexual nature.
Knitting. He could take up knitting.
“That's not a bad idea,” I'm tempted to give in to him but I slip out of his arms instead. It wouldn't do to become a nypho. Any more than I already am. I'm pathetic. I really am. I've turned into a sex starved monogamous Winchester groupie. Shoot me now, the world has turned upside down.
“Get in the car,” I take the seat behind him. Front seat is strictly Sam's. Besides this way I can bother him without immediate retaliation. It's hard to reach into the backseat.
I wait a couple of minutes, letting him relax into driving before I start harassing him. If he thinks he can purposely make me spend most of the night with my face buried in my pillow so I won't disturb his brother and get away with it he's got another thing coming.
I start by blowing lightly behind his ear, it works better if the area is damn but I want to start slow. Dean shivers anyway, swatting at the invisible force too absorbed in his conversation with Sam to immediately realize that it's me.
I pull back and wait a minute. Then start running my fingers slowly and faintly along the back of his neck, partially playing with the hair there. He has this thing about his hair, he likes when you thread your fingers in it, grabbing it firmly, possessively. So I work my way up, playing with his always surprisingly soft locks.
His eyes meet mine in the rear view mirror. Intent and intense. Maybe it wasn't such a good idea to tease him.
**************
It's New Years Eve and I'm laying out on the lawn of some random ass town square trying not to think about leaving tomorrow. Dean is off scouting bars or something and Sam's stretched out next to me. He is a foot and an inch taller than I am when we are standing. Right now from above, I look like a midget.
Voices are ricocheting around the clearing and the stars are shinning bright, only slightly muted from the streetlights. A great night for the New Years.
A good omen. If you believe in those things.
“Here's to almost dying only once in the coming year,” Sam snorts at me. I can no longer count my close calls on one hand, maybe not even two depending on the definition of close call. I'm sure it's the same for Sam.
“Here's to a better year than the last,” there's an unspoken 'few' on the end. Can't blame him for that.
“Come on, it wasn't that bad,” I turn my head and give him a cheeky smile. “You met me.”
Another snort. “You and Dean were made for each other.”
“Hey I take offense to that,” Sam's cracking up and a familiar figure is walking towards us, “I am no where near as crazy as your brother.”
“Sure about that?” Dean is looking between the two of us, not sure why we're laughing.
“Dean,” My voice is akin to nails on a chalkboard. It's the spoiled baby whine. “Your brother's bothering me.”
“Dean,” he's mocking me the lanky imp. “Your girlfriends annoying me.”
“What have the two of you been smoking?” I start laughing so hard that I'm having trouble breathing and I have to lean on Dean so I don't end up back on the grass. It's not even that funny but it feels so good to laugh like this I can't stop.
We end up in some small pub with a bunch of locals. It turns out Dean was making me an ID since I didn't have one. He needs to have a jackass moment so I don't feel so reluctant to leave. It's a great night. I even get to listen to current music for the first time in a week.
I'll take it as an omen.
*************
When Michael shows up on his motorcycle glaring and refusing to play nice, I still do my best to make him wait. I still don't want to leave. I'll burn out when I go back, I know that and I'm happy here. I want to stay with the Winchesters.
I want to stay with Dean.
Dean who isn't here at the moment. He wasn't there when I woke up either, he had to do some research for a hunt. It's better this way. No temptation. Sam's here though. Standing there all awkward trying to ignore the glares pointed in his direction.
Michael can be such an ass.
“You take care of yourself alright,” a quick hug. I don't have a phone anymore, Nickolas made sure of that but I still have their numbers and I gave Sam all my information. Email. Ava's number. Lena's address. Even how to contact my parents.
It comes off a bit desperate but what can I say, maybe I am.
I take the helmet from Michael, wanting to inflict bodily harm on him for taking the bike instead of an actual car. What in hells name was he thinking, it's January. Typical male. All testosterone no common sense. This is why women should rule the world. We'd be so much better at it.
Just look at the bonobos.
Dean pulls in as I'm trying to fasten the helmet. The buckle thing is harder than it looks. If Dean could get flustered I'd imagine that this is what he would look like. Standing there uneasy, hands buried in in the pockets of his leather jacket.
Fuck Nickolas.
“If you need anything...” a shrug. I will not cry. I will not cry.
“Yeah, you too,” dammit, I'm crying.
We kiss, slow and intense, the type of kiss that knocks you on your ass, my hands desperately holding on to him. Too soon. It's too soon. I hate him for it, for how easy he gets to me but I lo- I want him for it too.
Michael clears his throat as we separate, shooting me a glance that's calling me a petulant child. Why the fuck can't I be? Shoot me, I want what I want. My returning look has him raising his hands in surrender.
Short people can be scary too.
There's a breeze and I can't help but shiver. All I have is a sweater. If I had known Michael was going to bring the bike I would have bought a jacket but now I'll have to convince him to stop or spend the ride freezing my tuccus off.
“Here,” Dean takes his leather jacket off and slips it over my shoulders.
“I can't-” it's his favorite.
“You'll get sick,” he gives me his smirk, “I expect to get it back the way I gave it to you.”
I hate him.
End Chapter 5.
Next week is the last chapter
Summary: Change is a choice, destiny is a myth, life is hard, and there are somethings you just can’t make untrue no matter how much you wish you could. Liz is starting to figure that out.
A/N: I know the song isn't originally Johnny Cash but his version is amazing.
Chapter 5 Section 3
“What have I become, My sweetest friend, Everyone I know goes away, In the end, And you could have it all” - Johnny Cash, Hurt
I'm stretched out languidly in bed. Sam has gone off to get coffee and Dean is in the shower, things couldn't be better. I don't want to leave this spot. If time could be frozen, I'd want it to be right now.
Dean comes out of the shower, towel around his waist water dripping down his chest. Yep, definitely would freeze time right now. He drops his towel to put on his boxer briefs, glancing over at me as he does.
“You gonna take a shower?” I cock my head to the side, deliberately watching him pull on his jeans. Fuckin' hell a girl could get use to this.
“In a minute,” he grins devilishly and goes to grab me. I manage to dodge him and duck into the bathroom laughing. Wouldn't do to have Sam walk in on us. It's bad enough he leaves most mornings saying he's going to get coffee to avoid us, I won't scar the poor guy anymore than that.
They found me on Christmas Eve. I was in the wall for two days. I hadn't even known it was so close to Christmas and I spent the day first arguing then trying to get Dean to accept that I wasn't crazy that aliens do exist, it looked touch and go there for a moment but he believes me. I'm not sure he really understands it but he doesn't look at me like a mental patient anymore, which is good.
Then we celebrated. Meaning I dragged the two of them to the local tree and made them watch all the Christmas classics. It's A Wonderful Life. A Christmas Story. The original Grinch, and all the claymation short films.
Dean even got me a present, a sweater and undergarments. No shirts though, I think he likes me wearing his. Some male pride thing. No worries. I won't bother your innocent ears about what I gave him. Guys are so easy.
The best thing he did though was talk to Michael for me, well not so much talk as not allow Michael to respond. I had used his phone to call Ava the day after Christmas, I know I should have called earlier but honestly I hadn't even thought to. Michael had taken the phone from her demanding to know what happened then that I get back to them 'ASAP'.
He actually said ASAP. The ass.
That was about the time that Dean took his phone back and told Michael when and where he could pick me up, they wouldn't see me any sooner than that. It gave us six days, including the one I called on. Which means I have three days left. I really don't want to go but I have to. I know I have to.
Hell, I had spent that whole morning convincing Dean that I had to. Which constitutes us standing on opposite sides of the room, Sam stuck in the middle trying to get us to calm down, him yelling about my safety, me screaming about obligation.
Poor Sam.
He's always getting stuck between the two of us playing mediator in his brothers explosive relationship. I'd say that was about the last thing that he wanted to do. Ever. He won't have to do it much longer.
Because I'm leaving again in three days.
Three fucking days.
I'm trying to resign myself to the fact that Dean and I seem destined to always say goodbye. It's not working out so well. Every time I think I've got it, I don't. This is Dean, he's about as hard to rid yourself of as Mono. He's always with you dammit.
At least I get to spend the New Years with him.
Put a new spin on the routines of old years. This could be the year. The year that I finally get away from the Alien Abyss. The year I can start living my life without regards to what others want. That's going to be my resolution. To start doing things that make me happy regardless of what others expect.
Because I've never gotten away from expectations.
Little Miss Perfect Liz Parker. Even miles away from origin some piece of her carries on. When I was at Trinity, I screwed up on a paper. The professor expressed his concern and told me that he was there to help if I was having problems with the transition. Because Liz Parker doesn't do mediocre.
Fuck it all.
That's going to be my new motto. Fuck it all. Who cares if I want to utilize my years of education by traveling the country in a '67 Chevy Impala hunting things that go bump in the night. My loans aren't that bad, I had a fair number of grants and scholarships. Some odd jobs here and there and it's doable.
But first I have to finish this thing with the skins.
A pair of arms wrap around my waist, lifting me off my feet. My mostly empty luke warm cup of coffee gets dropped in surprise. I roll my eyes and turn in the arms. This is Deans way of reminding me to stay alert. Doesn't work so well.
“Jerk,” I point my finger in a manner that is suppose to be menacing. “Do that again I'll kick you ass.”
He raises his eyebrow, leaning down. Damn why couldn't he be a little less attractive. Amusement laces his voice, “Is that right?”
“Yep,” low and husky. Rabbits. We're freakin' rabbits.
“Get a room,” Sam gets into the Impala and waits. I hate to agree with Dean but he needs something to occupy his time besides hunting. However, unlike his brother I don't think it necessarily have to be of a sexual nature.
Knitting. He could take up knitting.
“That's not a bad idea,” I'm tempted to give in to him but I slip out of his arms instead. It wouldn't do to become a nypho. Any more than I already am. I'm pathetic. I really am. I've turned into a sex starved monogamous Winchester groupie. Shoot me now, the world has turned upside down.
“Get in the car,” I take the seat behind him. Front seat is strictly Sam's. Besides this way I can bother him without immediate retaliation. It's hard to reach into the backseat.
I wait a couple of minutes, letting him relax into driving before I start harassing him. If he thinks he can purposely make me spend most of the night with my face buried in my pillow so I won't disturb his brother and get away with it he's got another thing coming.
I start by blowing lightly behind his ear, it works better if the area is damn but I want to start slow. Dean shivers anyway, swatting at the invisible force too absorbed in his conversation with Sam to immediately realize that it's me.
I pull back and wait a minute. Then start running my fingers slowly and faintly along the back of his neck, partially playing with the hair there. He has this thing about his hair, he likes when you thread your fingers in it, grabbing it firmly, possessively. So I work my way up, playing with his always surprisingly soft locks.
His eyes meet mine in the rear view mirror. Intent and intense. Maybe it wasn't such a good idea to tease him.
**************
It's New Years Eve and I'm laying out on the lawn of some random ass town square trying not to think about leaving tomorrow. Dean is off scouting bars or something and Sam's stretched out next to me. He is a foot and an inch taller than I am when we are standing. Right now from above, I look like a midget.
Voices are ricocheting around the clearing and the stars are shinning bright, only slightly muted from the streetlights. A great night for the New Years.
A good omen. If you believe in those things.
“Here's to almost dying only once in the coming year,” Sam snorts at me. I can no longer count my close calls on one hand, maybe not even two depending on the definition of close call. I'm sure it's the same for Sam.
“Here's to a better year than the last,” there's an unspoken 'few' on the end. Can't blame him for that.
“Come on, it wasn't that bad,” I turn my head and give him a cheeky smile. “You met me.”
Another snort. “You and Dean were made for each other.”
“Hey I take offense to that,” Sam's cracking up and a familiar figure is walking towards us, “I am no where near as crazy as your brother.”
“Sure about that?” Dean is looking between the two of us, not sure why we're laughing.
“Dean,” My voice is akin to nails on a chalkboard. It's the spoiled baby whine. “Your brother's bothering me.”
“Dean,” he's mocking me the lanky imp. “Your girlfriends annoying me.”
“What have the two of you been smoking?” I start laughing so hard that I'm having trouble breathing and I have to lean on Dean so I don't end up back on the grass. It's not even that funny but it feels so good to laugh like this I can't stop.
We end up in some small pub with a bunch of locals. It turns out Dean was making me an ID since I didn't have one. He needs to have a jackass moment so I don't feel so reluctant to leave. It's a great night. I even get to listen to current music for the first time in a week.
I'll take it as an omen.
*************
When Michael shows up on his motorcycle glaring and refusing to play nice, I still do my best to make him wait. I still don't want to leave. I'll burn out when I go back, I know that and I'm happy here. I want to stay with the Winchesters.
I want to stay with Dean.
Dean who isn't here at the moment. He wasn't there when I woke up either, he had to do some research for a hunt. It's better this way. No temptation. Sam's here though. Standing there all awkward trying to ignore the glares pointed in his direction.
Michael can be such an ass.
“You take care of yourself alright,” a quick hug. I don't have a phone anymore, Nickolas made sure of that but I still have their numbers and I gave Sam all my information. Email. Ava's number. Lena's address. Even how to contact my parents.
It comes off a bit desperate but what can I say, maybe I am.
I take the helmet from Michael, wanting to inflict bodily harm on him for taking the bike instead of an actual car. What in hells name was he thinking, it's January. Typical male. All testosterone no common sense. This is why women should rule the world. We'd be so much better at it.
Just look at the bonobos.
Dean pulls in as I'm trying to fasten the helmet. The buckle thing is harder than it looks. If Dean could get flustered I'd imagine that this is what he would look like. Standing there uneasy, hands buried in in the pockets of his leather jacket.
Fuck Nickolas.
“If you need anything...” a shrug. I will not cry. I will not cry.
“Yeah, you too,” dammit, I'm crying.
We kiss, slow and intense, the type of kiss that knocks you on your ass, my hands desperately holding on to him. Too soon. It's too soon. I hate him for it, for how easy he gets to me but I lo- I want him for it too.
Michael clears his throat as we separate, shooting me a glance that's calling me a petulant child. Why the fuck can't I be? Shoot me, I want what I want. My returning look has him raising his hands in surrender.
Short people can be scary too.
There's a breeze and I can't help but shiver. All I have is a sweater. If I had known Michael was going to bring the bike I would have bought a jacket but now I'll have to convince him to stop or spend the ride freezing my tuccus off.
“Here,” Dean takes his leather jacket off and slips it over my shoulders.
“I can't-” it's his favorite.
“You'll get sick,” he gives me his smirk, “I expect to get it back the way I gave it to you.”
I hate him.
End Chapter 5.
Next week is the last chapter
"Like many non-violent men since that time, he was deeply hated." - on Desiderius Eramus
"Where there is life, there is hope." - Terence
"The mind has no sex." - Descartes
"As long as their is life there is pain. I'm damned to breathe and to be insane." - Old Man's Child
"Where there is life, there is hope." - Terence
"The mind has no sex." - Descartes
"As long as their is life there is pain. I'm damned to breathe and to be insane." - Old Man's Child
-
vaifeal
- Addicted Roswellian
- Posts: 186
- Joined: Sun May 14, 2006 4:08 pm
- Location: somewhere this side of unstable
- Contact:
Disclaimer: Don’t own it, just appreciate it
A/N: Last chapter. I can't believe it. I actually finished a story. Thank you so much for all the reviews, I never expected a response let alone the one I got. Thank you and enjoy the last few sections. I can't write past where my mind has taken the story, otherwise I'd make it longer :}
Summary: Change is a choice, destiny is a myth, life is hard, and there are somethings you just can’t make untrue no matter how much you wish you could. Liz is starting to figure that out.
Chapter 6 Section 1
“And I wish that I could tell you right now (...I love you), But it looks like I won't be around, So you won't know...” - Brand New, You Won't Know
I'm back in New York. Hankered down in my cousins apartment being woken up morning after morning by music blaring from the living room. I don't know how it happened but somehow my perpetually disturbed cousin has become some kind of perky insomniac.
She goes to bed at three or four every night and never wakes up after nine. I'm not sure when this was established as normal but when it comes to my cousin I have learned not to ask questions. I never get answers anyway.
Its our thing.
We each have aspects of our lives that we don't want to be pushed into discussing and we leave each other alone. Unless we need an out and then its doing your best to weather the storm. All the things in our lives that are just... wrong, build and build till we break.
It's not the healthiest way to deal with things but it works.
Don't ask questions, just be there. Like I was for her five months after her dad died and she finally broke. Like she was for me when I showed up on her doorstep, covered in blood and dirt ready to go to sleep and never wake up.
I am where I need to be. Full circle. Full stop.
In an apartment that is pretty fucking close to feeling like home, with a steady job, and a group of friends who every Saturday night manage in a feat of oddity to deage ten years so that they can act like a bunch of teenagers that managed to pull one over on a bouncer and get allowed in the bar.
This is normality for those of us who aren't.
I never thought I'd get this. At a point I didn't think I'd be alive to enjoy anything like this. Didn't think I'd have the opportunity to renew old ties and make fresh ones. This is the stuff that dreams are made of.
I've lived the nightmares. Now, I get dreams.
Not the whole happy ending bit, more like when you are half awake and you can still taste the dream but it's fading, shifting into something else. Because dreams made up of leather jackets and emails that form inquiries that make your colleagues look at you like you suddenly decided to become a Scientologist have a habit of slipping through fingers.
Slipped, slide, bang and gone.
Like the rest. Like friends who lie and pasts that get in the way.
Traps. Tricks. Ashes. Bones. Dust to dust.
Nickolas came apart in my hands. I killed him like I said I would. Not with powers. Not with a two by four or a baseball bat like those that had become the last minute instruments of our war. But with my bare hands. I took a creature with the face of a child and I snapped its head back so hard that it dissolved through my fingers.
Whoosh and away.
Should it scare me that I never paused when I was doing it? That I've never had a nightmare blending his face with that of an innocent? I want someone to tell me that I did the right thing and know that they've done the same thing. Why am I more worried over the fact that I don't feel anything than that I'm capable of doing that? Am I even making sense anymore?
Ava, Michael, they all tried. I know they think that they'd do the same. But they wouldn't. They wouldn't have held him down until they could get the upper hand and make him come apart like that. They would have used they're powers and done it quickly. Even with it being Nickolas. With all the others they've killed, they've never come close to that.
I don't even know why I feel like I should feel wrong about what I did.
He was an evil sadistic monster that had made our lives hell for years and was trying to kill us in order to take over the world. Who knows all the things that he's done. He got what he deserved. No, he deserved to go out much slower but there were others to be dealt with.
I don't talk to the rest anymore. I can't not after what they did. Alex. At some point I'll talk to them, some of them. But not now. Max, not ever. That bridge is burnt. The rest are just having termite problems.
I want... I want Dean.
That is all sorts of fucked up but I want someone who knows what it's like to do things that might make any other person pause, but not you, never you. I want green eyes that tell you they care even when they're purposely pissing you off. Lips quirked with that infuriating, too sexy smirk that makes you want to punch him as much as you want to jump him.
I want more contact than continuously checking the FBI database to make sure he's still listed.
Lena comes bounding into my room and turns off the music that had been filling the room, complimenting my mood perfectly. She ignores my protest and starts rummaging through the closet before tossing a blue sweatshirt at me.
“Up, up. We're gonna be late.”
“Huh?”
“Didn't I tell you? I thought I did. Anyhoo, We're going to the Mets home opener. Georgie boy got the tickets for us,” she leaves as quickly as she had come in. Bouncing to a tune that only she could possibly hear.
Damn, I could use a rewind button about now.
I learned a while ago that trying to keep up with my cousin is like trying to calm a hyperactive toddler: impossible. The rest of us wee mortals are just along for the ride. Work hard, play hard. That's her motto. Ani wants to do a case study on her but Ani is her own personal case study. Everyone is screwed up in their own way I suppose.
I grab the sweatshirt and the worn comfortable leather jacket that is much too large for me but that I still can't help wearing. Ten minutes later we're heading out.
Lena drives, she usually doesn't preferring instead to take public transportation but we have a case of Bulmers Irish Cider in the back. Because to her it is Bulmers not Magners like they call it here in the States. The cans' say Magners.
My dear dear cousin flips shit when George calls it that. He only drinks the Sam Adams that he brought with him for the rest of the time we tailgate. I'm feeling better by the time we enter the stadium. Like she knew I would because I'm not stupid enough to think that we're not here because I've been holing myself in the room lately.
It's not really a violation of our rules but it edges the line. I appreciate it though. It's no good to dwell and that seems to be all I've been doing.
We're in nose bleed. George isn't. He's behind the dugout, like he'd appreciate the view from there. Sure he loves the game but he can love the game from the boonies. It is much harder to appreciate the players from this high up.
*******
We get stuck in traffic on the way home. Music blasting, Lena making or taking the occasional cryptic call. Got to be something work related. Besides a silly little anecdote here and there I have no clear picture of what she does for a living. But then, that's ok.
Lena turns up the stereo when 'Love You Madly' by Cake comes on. It's an upbeat song that she knows every word to, plays it nonstop too. Funny that she has this song on her mp3, the girl who doesn't believe that love exists has a song centered around the concept. She believes in respect and obligation, never love but she'll listen to songs that say otherwise.
A romantic cynic. People are so weird.
“You ever think about it? Getting involved with someone?” an odd look. When I had first moved to New York senior year we had had a similar conversation. It never came up again. I haven't been in an actual relationship since... well, since Max at sixteen. What can I say, he turned me off the idea.
I've been a queen of random hookups since him. Living by the doctrine that sex was sex and kissing was kissing, there didn't need to be any emotional attachments or ties to complicate things. Harsh but effective.
“Once in a while,” a rueful smile, “for a total of five seconds. I've never been one for attachments,” It was true. Arms distance, with Lena you were always at arms distance. Months would pass without a word from her but no one cared when she popped up out of the blue and called you, it's who she is. I use to want so much to be like her. “You?”
“Yeah,” it sounds wistful, an idiot can hear it. The kind of wistful that says there was a specific someone. Maria would be dragging me away for a girls night to pry all the details from me no matter how much I didn't want to talk about it. I close my eyes and lean back in the seat. There are no more questions. The rules apply here.
Reality is: expressing it out loud makes it less personal.
Somethings are better left unsaid.
A/N: Last chapter. I can't believe it. I actually finished a story. Thank you so much for all the reviews, I never expected a response let alone the one I got. Thank you and enjoy the last few sections. I can't write past where my mind has taken the story, otherwise I'd make it longer :}
Summary: Change is a choice, destiny is a myth, life is hard, and there are somethings you just can’t make untrue no matter how much you wish you could. Liz is starting to figure that out.
Chapter 6 Section 1
“And I wish that I could tell you right now (...I love you), But it looks like I won't be around, So you won't know...” - Brand New, You Won't Know
I'm back in New York. Hankered down in my cousins apartment being woken up morning after morning by music blaring from the living room. I don't know how it happened but somehow my perpetually disturbed cousin has become some kind of perky insomniac.
She goes to bed at three or four every night and never wakes up after nine. I'm not sure when this was established as normal but when it comes to my cousin I have learned not to ask questions. I never get answers anyway.
Its our thing.
We each have aspects of our lives that we don't want to be pushed into discussing and we leave each other alone. Unless we need an out and then its doing your best to weather the storm. All the things in our lives that are just... wrong, build and build till we break.
It's not the healthiest way to deal with things but it works.
Don't ask questions, just be there. Like I was for her five months after her dad died and she finally broke. Like she was for me when I showed up on her doorstep, covered in blood and dirt ready to go to sleep and never wake up.
I am where I need to be. Full circle. Full stop.
In an apartment that is pretty fucking close to feeling like home, with a steady job, and a group of friends who every Saturday night manage in a feat of oddity to deage ten years so that they can act like a bunch of teenagers that managed to pull one over on a bouncer and get allowed in the bar.
This is normality for those of us who aren't.
I never thought I'd get this. At a point I didn't think I'd be alive to enjoy anything like this. Didn't think I'd have the opportunity to renew old ties and make fresh ones. This is the stuff that dreams are made of.
I've lived the nightmares. Now, I get dreams.
Not the whole happy ending bit, more like when you are half awake and you can still taste the dream but it's fading, shifting into something else. Because dreams made up of leather jackets and emails that form inquiries that make your colleagues look at you like you suddenly decided to become a Scientologist have a habit of slipping through fingers.
Slipped, slide, bang and gone.
Like the rest. Like friends who lie and pasts that get in the way.
Traps. Tricks. Ashes. Bones. Dust to dust.
Nickolas came apart in my hands. I killed him like I said I would. Not with powers. Not with a two by four or a baseball bat like those that had become the last minute instruments of our war. But with my bare hands. I took a creature with the face of a child and I snapped its head back so hard that it dissolved through my fingers.
Whoosh and away.
Should it scare me that I never paused when I was doing it? That I've never had a nightmare blending his face with that of an innocent? I want someone to tell me that I did the right thing and know that they've done the same thing. Why am I more worried over the fact that I don't feel anything than that I'm capable of doing that? Am I even making sense anymore?
Ava, Michael, they all tried. I know they think that they'd do the same. But they wouldn't. They wouldn't have held him down until they could get the upper hand and make him come apart like that. They would have used they're powers and done it quickly. Even with it being Nickolas. With all the others they've killed, they've never come close to that.
I don't even know why I feel like I should feel wrong about what I did.
He was an evil sadistic monster that had made our lives hell for years and was trying to kill us in order to take over the world. Who knows all the things that he's done. He got what he deserved. No, he deserved to go out much slower but there were others to be dealt with.
I don't talk to the rest anymore. I can't not after what they did. Alex. At some point I'll talk to them, some of them. But not now. Max, not ever. That bridge is burnt. The rest are just having termite problems.
I want... I want Dean.
That is all sorts of fucked up but I want someone who knows what it's like to do things that might make any other person pause, but not you, never you. I want green eyes that tell you they care even when they're purposely pissing you off. Lips quirked with that infuriating, too sexy smirk that makes you want to punch him as much as you want to jump him.
I want more contact than continuously checking the FBI database to make sure he's still listed.
Lena comes bounding into my room and turns off the music that had been filling the room, complimenting my mood perfectly. She ignores my protest and starts rummaging through the closet before tossing a blue sweatshirt at me.
“Up, up. We're gonna be late.”
“Huh?”
“Didn't I tell you? I thought I did. Anyhoo, We're going to the Mets home opener. Georgie boy got the tickets for us,” she leaves as quickly as she had come in. Bouncing to a tune that only she could possibly hear.
Damn, I could use a rewind button about now.
I learned a while ago that trying to keep up with my cousin is like trying to calm a hyperactive toddler: impossible. The rest of us wee mortals are just along for the ride. Work hard, play hard. That's her motto. Ani wants to do a case study on her but Ani is her own personal case study. Everyone is screwed up in their own way I suppose.
I grab the sweatshirt and the worn comfortable leather jacket that is much too large for me but that I still can't help wearing. Ten minutes later we're heading out.
Lena drives, she usually doesn't preferring instead to take public transportation but we have a case of Bulmers Irish Cider in the back. Because to her it is Bulmers not Magners like they call it here in the States. The cans' say Magners.
My dear dear cousin flips shit when George calls it that. He only drinks the Sam Adams that he brought with him for the rest of the time we tailgate. I'm feeling better by the time we enter the stadium. Like she knew I would because I'm not stupid enough to think that we're not here because I've been holing myself in the room lately.
It's not really a violation of our rules but it edges the line. I appreciate it though. It's no good to dwell and that seems to be all I've been doing.
We're in nose bleed. George isn't. He's behind the dugout, like he'd appreciate the view from there. Sure he loves the game but he can love the game from the boonies. It is much harder to appreciate the players from this high up.
*******
We get stuck in traffic on the way home. Music blasting, Lena making or taking the occasional cryptic call. Got to be something work related. Besides a silly little anecdote here and there I have no clear picture of what she does for a living. But then, that's ok.
Lena turns up the stereo when 'Love You Madly' by Cake comes on. It's an upbeat song that she knows every word to, plays it nonstop too. Funny that she has this song on her mp3, the girl who doesn't believe that love exists has a song centered around the concept. She believes in respect and obligation, never love but she'll listen to songs that say otherwise.
A romantic cynic. People are so weird.
“You ever think about it? Getting involved with someone?” an odd look. When I had first moved to New York senior year we had had a similar conversation. It never came up again. I haven't been in an actual relationship since... well, since Max at sixteen. What can I say, he turned me off the idea.
I've been a queen of random hookups since him. Living by the doctrine that sex was sex and kissing was kissing, there didn't need to be any emotional attachments or ties to complicate things. Harsh but effective.
“Once in a while,” a rueful smile, “for a total of five seconds. I've never been one for attachments,” It was true. Arms distance, with Lena you were always at arms distance. Months would pass without a word from her but no one cared when she popped up out of the blue and called you, it's who she is. I use to want so much to be like her. “You?”
“Yeah,” it sounds wistful, an idiot can hear it. The kind of wistful that says there was a specific someone. Maria would be dragging me away for a girls night to pry all the details from me no matter how much I didn't want to talk about it. I close my eyes and lean back in the seat. There are no more questions. The rules apply here.
Reality is: expressing it out loud makes it less personal.
Somethings are better left unsaid.
"Like many non-violent men since that time, he was deeply hated." - on Desiderius Eramus
"Where there is life, there is hope." - Terence
"The mind has no sex." - Descartes
"As long as their is life there is pain. I'm damned to breathe and to be insane." - Old Man's Child
"Where there is life, there is hope." - Terence
"The mind has no sex." - Descartes
"As long as their is life there is pain. I'm damned to breathe and to be insane." - Old Man's Child
-
vaifeal
- Addicted Roswellian
- Posts: 186
- Joined: Sun May 14, 2006 4:08 pm
- Location: somewhere this side of unstable
- Contact:
Disclaimer: Don’t own it, just appreciate it
Summary: Change is a choice, destiny is a myth, life is hard, and there are somethings you just can’t make untrue no matter how much you wish you could. Liz is starting to figure that out.
A/N: Short epilogue later today, sorry for yesterdays confusion :} But for now I'm off to do laps and study. Damn summer semester.
Chapter 6 Section 2
“Difficult not to feel a little bit, Disappointed and passed over, When I look right through, See you naked but oblivious... And you don't see me” - A Perfect Circle, 3 Libras
Donovan is splashing about in the water attempting to collect the sticks that I've thrown out there but failing miserably. He either chickens out before he gets to them or he jumps on them and gets confused as to where it's gone. I think I got the challenged puppy.
When I first got him I was worried that I'd have to return him. He was the last in the litter and was very timid. Tail between his legs, afraid to leave the house, afraid of the house, didn't bark, whined when he was walked. Frankly I thought he was defective.
Of course I'd get the defective puppy.
But then I moved. Well, actually he got even more weird when I did but he became a normal puppy when I took him to the park. He loves kids and other dogs. Everyone loves him too, I keep getting told what a beautiful dog he is. Donovan is a mutt, a mix of a brown English Labrador and and Irish Setter. A pretty, if stupid, dog.
Despite being an energetic puppy now who loves the water but hates the tub and the hose, he is still my defective puppy. He's afraid of everything and I do mean everything. Brooms, things with wheels, rubber gloves. The works. And he snores. Full blown wake you up snores so that I can't let him sleep in my room anymore. I think he might have problems with his sight as well.
Just yesterday he ran head first into the entertainment center. The door wasn't open or anything, it was exactly as it was when we first moved in. And he ran into it, dazed himself too. My special special puppy.
Donovan's good company though. He'll follow me from room to room, preferring to keep me company than to be alone. And it's good not to be alone.
Because I don't know anybody here.
I'm completely on my own.
In Colorado.
Don't really know how I decided to move here. I got the offer from Fort Lewis College about the same time as I got others but it just seemed right. Offers had spilled in after I released a series of articles in the Journal of Anthropology on the Mythos of American Cultural Traditions.
There needed to be something to account for my time out of work. My brief period hunting had given me the idea. Figured that half the stuff being hunted was so obscure that there wouldn't be much written on the topic, vague articles would suffice.
Surprise, surprise it did.
So here I am teaching classes in a small college with not much around it, teaching classes to a handful of students, and having colleagues judge me because my reputation as a loon has preceded me. And living in the middle of nowhere.
The house is a nice place. Took most of my savings to put the down payment on but it was worth it. It had been a foreclosure property so I got it cheaper than it should have been especially since it's on a lake and has ten acres of land. My own little haven.
It'd be perfect if I wasn't so damn paranoid.
I've put an iron gate around the house, I couldn't afford to encompass the whole place. The bottom part of which is half buried and filled with salt. Psycho woman? You don't know the half of it. I have a full blown weapons depot in my house.
Guns, iron and silver knives, salt. Lots and lots of salt. Locks, protective circles, the works.
I've become some demented form of a crazed hermit.
Much of the stuff is hidden, wouldn't do for people to see how unhinged I have become. That and many of the guns are technically illegal. So yeah, they're hidden.
I have all this stuff because frankly it's like I'm some sort of antenna for the paranormal with a nice bright flashing neon sign attached to it that says 'Place Your Ad Here'. It's damn annoying. Inconvenient too.
People keep questioning me about the scars on my body. Particularly asking after the nice brand on my back from one of my dream-vision-reality things. That wasn't supernatural though. That was a good old serial murderer. Had to phone in an anonymous tip once I figured it out. Kinda hard to explain to the police that you know what the murderer looks like because you saw him while you were asleep.
I've seen Dean twice since the whole alien thingamajig ended. Once when I had a conference and figured what the hell might as well drop in and see Ellen while I was in the area. He was there too. That time it was him telling me that I couldn't go with them. I turned the Impala pink for that. Took Sam an hour to convince me to turn it back.
Every time Dean tried I added a new color so that it started to look tie dyed. I wanted to give him flats or fuck with the engine but despite how vindicating it would have been I didn't. A minuscule portion of me is still nice.
I gave Sam the passwords to all my anthropology Internet resources instead.
The next time I saw him I finally gave him back his jacket. It was right before I left New York and contributed to my choice of location upon moving. I had called him frantic because my neighbor was being possessed by a demon and had broken into my apartment.
Hadn't been prepared for that. Hence the hyper preparedness now.
I had had a protective circle in my room, it's become a habit to draw one where ever I go, and had actually forgotten that it was there. I ran into the room to look for my gun but accidentally trapped it instead.
While I have participated in an exorcism before, how to preform one wasn't on the top of my priorities at the moment. Rather, saying 'what the fuck' over and over again was.
One phone call and in comes the Winchesters to save the day. Luckily they had been in Michigan so it hadn't taken them too long to get to me. It was hard enough to explain to my cousin why I had our neighbor in my room talking like a drunken sailor let alone if he hadn't moved in a week.
We only got into one fight that time around, when we were at the bar after the whole fiasco. He didn't seem to understand that while yes, Sam would get laid if he continued to talk to my cousin, no it wouldn't be a good thing. Lena would have eaten him alive, leaving little pieces of Sammy in her wake.
Dean thought that I didn't think his brother was good enough for her. The jackass.
I haven't seen him since. I told Sam where I'm living now but I don't know if Dean knows. The emotionally stunted Winchester seems to see me as the occasional fuck buddy instead of a potential member of a fucked up relationship.
We still talk but it's mostly when they need information. I'm the reference book to Sam's encyclopedia of weird.
Donovan is shaking off, spraying me with doggy water. Why do dogs always do that? He's tired and tripping over his large paws. He is kinda adorable. We walk back to the house, thanks god he's trained enough that I don't need a leash when its the two of us. I'd rather not get dragged.
The house is a moderately sized one, sorta two stories. The second more of a loft deal than a floor but it holds both bedrooms and a shower. Downstairs is the kitchen and living room area. There's a basement too but it was never finished. The previous owners ran out of money which led to me owning the place.
It's nice, not home yet but nice.
The schools' cool too. I'm only teaching two classes. Both introductory courses, one on cultural anthropology and the other on archaeology. They're not the large lecture center classes but smaller classroom ones and a pain in my ass. Surprisingly enjoyable at the same time. I get to argue theory with a bunch of snot nosed freshman. Hurray.
Were we all so obnoxious as freshman or am I just a short tempered person?
For a professor who has a habit of swearing at her students, my class is surprisingly popular. I don't take attendance but most of the students show. The school is even going to let me pick up a third course next semester. Who knew that being confrontational keeps students interested?
This life isn't so bad, painfully simplistic but nice.
The phone is ringing insistently when we get inside, Donovan snuggles himself into his plush bed that has been delegated to the corner of the kitchen. I was going to put him on the porch but that wouldn't work in crappy weather. The caller id flashes a familiar number.
“Hey Sam,” there's static on the line, the faint murmur of rock coming through. He's in the Impala as per usual.
“Hi Parker,” hesitation. Don't think he'll get over that, no matter how insistent I am about helping. I find a pencil shoved in the napkin holder of all places and grab a scrap of paper. “Can you get us into John Hutchings Museum after hours?”
“In Utah right?”
“Yeah, Lehi.”
“Probably, I'll call you when I have something,” this time I hesitate, “Is your bother around?”
The muffled sounds of a low argument. Sam responds grudgingly, “He's indisposed.”
They're in a fucking car, how 'indisposed' can he be, how stupid does he think I am? My ire rises, “I hate to put you in the middle of this Sam,” not that that would stop me, “but can you tell Dean that he has to settle whatever the hell this is one way or another or I'm going to make sure that his future performances are not up to par.”
The phone lands with a crack on the counter, bouncing slightly before stilling wounded.
Bastard.
**************
Donovan is barking. I realize that once he has stopped. My sleep clouded mind recognizes that it could be a fluke. He could be barking at a passing bug or dust particle. Hell, we could have mice and that's what he's getting all excited about. The possibility doesn't stop me from slipping out of bed.
I put on a pair of socks before leaving my room so that my feet won't stick on the wood floors and give me away. If there is an intruder. I'm sure there isn't. Right?
Down the stairs, careful to avoid the creaking step. I'll get around to fixing that at some point.
It's dark, the only light coming from the faint glow of the moon streaming in through the windows. Not enough to make out more than vague shapes of the larger items of furniture.
The soft patter of paws, a black figure briefly passes in front of a window. Traitor.
So much for a guard dog.
My hand glides over the top of the nearest table cautiously, wrapping around the first object it comes across. A pen. Out of my whole freakin' arsenal I grab a pen. Pathetic.
Light feet lead me in the direction of where I saw them last. Nothing. Damn. Where the hell is Donovan? He never stays away when I'm up. Feckin' dog.
A strong arm wraps around my shoulders and I can't help the startled yelp or little jump. Fuck. My socked feet slip on the floor, taking us both off guard. The mans grip loosens allowing me to use my momentum to get away.
He reaches out, I don't know if it's to steady himself or to get hold of me again but I grab his arm and twist it back. The vulnerable position lets me knee him in the gut. I get the one shot before he grabs my leg and I tumble backwards landing on my back painfully.
I swipe the feet from under him, grabbing the pen that I had dropped and standing up once again. Where in hells bloody name is the damnable light switch? I'm forcibly turned and I don't hesitate to swing the pen to bury it in their neck.
But I stop it before it is more than pressed sharply into the soft flesh. Dazed I let it slip from my fingers and am vaguely aware of it hitting the floor.
“Dean,” all cocky smile and small winces. Guilt gnaws at me. Think before you act dammit. Think before you act. I pull his head down harshly, capturing his lips. Fuck it all. Hot, open mouthed, demanding. Oh god. I'm pressed up against the wall, calloused hand running along the small of my back sending shivers up my spine.
I am suddenly very aware of my state of undress.
He pulls away briefly, I try to follow but it's impossible. Damn height difference, “Didn't think I'd leave you hanging, did you?”
We make our way up the stairs. Wandering hands and fused lips. Garments fluttering through the air, performing their own ballet. Stumbling and laughing. I fall backwards on the last step, dragging him down with me.
The hard edge is digging into my back, his weight pressing me down. Fuckin' hell he knows how to use that mouth. I moan half in pleasure, half in pain. Dean chuckles and pulls me to my feet. Touching just have to keep touching.
“So this is home?” He says, looking around the place. Still guiding me towards my open bedroom door.
I catch his eye and keep it, “Yeah, this is home.
Summary: Change is a choice, destiny is a myth, life is hard, and there are somethings you just can’t make untrue no matter how much you wish you could. Liz is starting to figure that out.
A/N: Short epilogue later today, sorry for yesterdays confusion :} But for now I'm off to do laps and study. Damn summer semester.
Chapter 6 Section 2
“Difficult not to feel a little bit, Disappointed and passed over, When I look right through, See you naked but oblivious... And you don't see me” - A Perfect Circle, 3 Libras
Donovan is splashing about in the water attempting to collect the sticks that I've thrown out there but failing miserably. He either chickens out before he gets to them or he jumps on them and gets confused as to where it's gone. I think I got the challenged puppy.
When I first got him I was worried that I'd have to return him. He was the last in the litter and was very timid. Tail between his legs, afraid to leave the house, afraid of the house, didn't bark, whined when he was walked. Frankly I thought he was defective.
Of course I'd get the defective puppy.
But then I moved. Well, actually he got even more weird when I did but he became a normal puppy when I took him to the park. He loves kids and other dogs. Everyone loves him too, I keep getting told what a beautiful dog he is. Donovan is a mutt, a mix of a brown English Labrador and and Irish Setter. A pretty, if stupid, dog.
Despite being an energetic puppy now who loves the water but hates the tub and the hose, he is still my defective puppy. He's afraid of everything and I do mean everything. Brooms, things with wheels, rubber gloves. The works. And he snores. Full blown wake you up snores so that I can't let him sleep in my room anymore. I think he might have problems with his sight as well.
Just yesterday he ran head first into the entertainment center. The door wasn't open or anything, it was exactly as it was when we first moved in. And he ran into it, dazed himself too. My special special puppy.
Donovan's good company though. He'll follow me from room to room, preferring to keep me company than to be alone. And it's good not to be alone.
Because I don't know anybody here.
I'm completely on my own.
In Colorado.
Don't really know how I decided to move here. I got the offer from Fort Lewis College about the same time as I got others but it just seemed right. Offers had spilled in after I released a series of articles in the Journal of Anthropology on the Mythos of American Cultural Traditions.
There needed to be something to account for my time out of work. My brief period hunting had given me the idea. Figured that half the stuff being hunted was so obscure that there wouldn't be much written on the topic, vague articles would suffice.
Surprise, surprise it did.
So here I am teaching classes in a small college with not much around it, teaching classes to a handful of students, and having colleagues judge me because my reputation as a loon has preceded me. And living in the middle of nowhere.
The house is a nice place. Took most of my savings to put the down payment on but it was worth it. It had been a foreclosure property so I got it cheaper than it should have been especially since it's on a lake and has ten acres of land. My own little haven.
It'd be perfect if I wasn't so damn paranoid.
I've put an iron gate around the house, I couldn't afford to encompass the whole place. The bottom part of which is half buried and filled with salt. Psycho woman? You don't know the half of it. I have a full blown weapons depot in my house.
Guns, iron and silver knives, salt. Lots and lots of salt. Locks, protective circles, the works.
I've become some demented form of a crazed hermit.
Much of the stuff is hidden, wouldn't do for people to see how unhinged I have become. That and many of the guns are technically illegal. So yeah, they're hidden.
I have all this stuff because frankly it's like I'm some sort of antenna for the paranormal with a nice bright flashing neon sign attached to it that says 'Place Your Ad Here'. It's damn annoying. Inconvenient too.
People keep questioning me about the scars on my body. Particularly asking after the nice brand on my back from one of my dream-vision-reality things. That wasn't supernatural though. That was a good old serial murderer. Had to phone in an anonymous tip once I figured it out. Kinda hard to explain to the police that you know what the murderer looks like because you saw him while you were asleep.
I've seen Dean twice since the whole alien thingamajig ended. Once when I had a conference and figured what the hell might as well drop in and see Ellen while I was in the area. He was there too. That time it was him telling me that I couldn't go with them. I turned the Impala pink for that. Took Sam an hour to convince me to turn it back.
Every time Dean tried I added a new color so that it started to look tie dyed. I wanted to give him flats or fuck with the engine but despite how vindicating it would have been I didn't. A minuscule portion of me is still nice.
I gave Sam the passwords to all my anthropology Internet resources instead.
The next time I saw him I finally gave him back his jacket. It was right before I left New York and contributed to my choice of location upon moving. I had called him frantic because my neighbor was being possessed by a demon and had broken into my apartment.
Hadn't been prepared for that. Hence the hyper preparedness now.
I had had a protective circle in my room, it's become a habit to draw one where ever I go, and had actually forgotten that it was there. I ran into the room to look for my gun but accidentally trapped it instead.
While I have participated in an exorcism before, how to preform one wasn't on the top of my priorities at the moment. Rather, saying 'what the fuck' over and over again was.
One phone call and in comes the Winchesters to save the day. Luckily they had been in Michigan so it hadn't taken them too long to get to me. It was hard enough to explain to my cousin why I had our neighbor in my room talking like a drunken sailor let alone if he hadn't moved in a week.
We only got into one fight that time around, when we were at the bar after the whole fiasco. He didn't seem to understand that while yes, Sam would get laid if he continued to talk to my cousin, no it wouldn't be a good thing. Lena would have eaten him alive, leaving little pieces of Sammy in her wake.
Dean thought that I didn't think his brother was good enough for her. The jackass.
I haven't seen him since. I told Sam where I'm living now but I don't know if Dean knows. The emotionally stunted Winchester seems to see me as the occasional fuck buddy instead of a potential member of a fucked up relationship.
We still talk but it's mostly when they need information. I'm the reference book to Sam's encyclopedia of weird.
Donovan is shaking off, spraying me with doggy water. Why do dogs always do that? He's tired and tripping over his large paws. He is kinda adorable. We walk back to the house, thanks god he's trained enough that I don't need a leash when its the two of us. I'd rather not get dragged.
The house is a moderately sized one, sorta two stories. The second more of a loft deal than a floor but it holds both bedrooms and a shower. Downstairs is the kitchen and living room area. There's a basement too but it was never finished. The previous owners ran out of money which led to me owning the place.
It's nice, not home yet but nice.
The schools' cool too. I'm only teaching two classes. Both introductory courses, one on cultural anthropology and the other on archaeology. They're not the large lecture center classes but smaller classroom ones and a pain in my ass. Surprisingly enjoyable at the same time. I get to argue theory with a bunch of snot nosed freshman. Hurray.
Were we all so obnoxious as freshman or am I just a short tempered person?
For a professor who has a habit of swearing at her students, my class is surprisingly popular. I don't take attendance but most of the students show. The school is even going to let me pick up a third course next semester. Who knew that being confrontational keeps students interested?
This life isn't so bad, painfully simplistic but nice.
The phone is ringing insistently when we get inside, Donovan snuggles himself into his plush bed that has been delegated to the corner of the kitchen. I was going to put him on the porch but that wouldn't work in crappy weather. The caller id flashes a familiar number.
“Hey Sam,” there's static on the line, the faint murmur of rock coming through. He's in the Impala as per usual.
“Hi Parker,” hesitation. Don't think he'll get over that, no matter how insistent I am about helping. I find a pencil shoved in the napkin holder of all places and grab a scrap of paper. “Can you get us into John Hutchings Museum after hours?”
“In Utah right?”
“Yeah, Lehi.”
“Probably, I'll call you when I have something,” this time I hesitate, “Is your bother around?”
The muffled sounds of a low argument. Sam responds grudgingly, “He's indisposed.”
They're in a fucking car, how 'indisposed' can he be, how stupid does he think I am? My ire rises, “I hate to put you in the middle of this Sam,” not that that would stop me, “but can you tell Dean that he has to settle whatever the hell this is one way or another or I'm going to make sure that his future performances are not up to par.”
The phone lands with a crack on the counter, bouncing slightly before stilling wounded.
Bastard.
**************
Donovan is barking. I realize that once he has stopped. My sleep clouded mind recognizes that it could be a fluke. He could be barking at a passing bug or dust particle. Hell, we could have mice and that's what he's getting all excited about. The possibility doesn't stop me from slipping out of bed.
I put on a pair of socks before leaving my room so that my feet won't stick on the wood floors and give me away. If there is an intruder. I'm sure there isn't. Right?
Down the stairs, careful to avoid the creaking step. I'll get around to fixing that at some point.
It's dark, the only light coming from the faint glow of the moon streaming in through the windows. Not enough to make out more than vague shapes of the larger items of furniture.
The soft patter of paws, a black figure briefly passes in front of a window. Traitor.
So much for a guard dog.
My hand glides over the top of the nearest table cautiously, wrapping around the first object it comes across. A pen. Out of my whole freakin' arsenal I grab a pen. Pathetic.
Light feet lead me in the direction of where I saw them last. Nothing. Damn. Where the hell is Donovan? He never stays away when I'm up. Feckin' dog.
A strong arm wraps around my shoulders and I can't help the startled yelp or little jump. Fuck. My socked feet slip on the floor, taking us both off guard. The mans grip loosens allowing me to use my momentum to get away.
He reaches out, I don't know if it's to steady himself or to get hold of me again but I grab his arm and twist it back. The vulnerable position lets me knee him in the gut. I get the one shot before he grabs my leg and I tumble backwards landing on my back painfully.
I swipe the feet from under him, grabbing the pen that I had dropped and standing up once again. Where in hells bloody name is the damnable light switch? I'm forcibly turned and I don't hesitate to swing the pen to bury it in their neck.
But I stop it before it is more than pressed sharply into the soft flesh. Dazed I let it slip from my fingers and am vaguely aware of it hitting the floor.
“Dean,” all cocky smile and small winces. Guilt gnaws at me. Think before you act dammit. Think before you act. I pull his head down harshly, capturing his lips. Fuck it all. Hot, open mouthed, demanding. Oh god. I'm pressed up against the wall, calloused hand running along the small of my back sending shivers up my spine.
I am suddenly very aware of my state of undress.
He pulls away briefly, I try to follow but it's impossible. Damn height difference, “Didn't think I'd leave you hanging, did you?”
We make our way up the stairs. Wandering hands and fused lips. Garments fluttering through the air, performing their own ballet. Stumbling and laughing. I fall backwards on the last step, dragging him down with me.
The hard edge is digging into my back, his weight pressing me down. Fuckin' hell he knows how to use that mouth. I moan half in pleasure, half in pain. Dean chuckles and pulls me to my feet. Touching just have to keep touching.
“So this is home?” He says, looking around the place. Still guiding me towards my open bedroom door.
I catch his eye and keep it, “Yeah, this is home.
"Like many non-violent men since that time, he was deeply hated." - on Desiderius Eramus
"Where there is life, there is hope." - Terence
"The mind has no sex." - Descartes
"As long as their is life there is pain. I'm damned to breathe and to be insane." - Old Man's Child
"Where there is life, there is hope." - Terence
"The mind has no sex." - Descartes
"As long as their is life there is pain. I'm damned to breathe and to be insane." - Old Man's Child
-
vaifeal
- Addicted Roswellian
- Posts: 186
- Joined: Sun May 14, 2006 4:08 pm
- Location: somewhere this side of unstable
- Contact:
Disclaimer: Don’t own it, just appreciate it
Summary: Change is a choice, destiny is a myth, life is hard, and there are somethings you just can’t make untrue no matter how much you wish you could. Liz is starting to figure that out.
A/N: Once again thank you for all your reviews. I'll post the alternate version of chapter 4 tomorrow but besides that it's done. Six weeks and the whole things up. So proud. I'm working on some other stuff (all SPN XOs, I have a very large soft spot for the pairing) at the moment but don't know when they'll be up. Teasers are at oddended.livejournal.com Thanks.
Epilogue
“When I look at you, I see someone I know and I love, And just the crack of your smile make me stay for awhile, from my home there is nothing above ” - Of A Revolution, I Feel Home
Dean makes his way to the house. His home, never thought that that would happen. He's watching Parker as she busies herself rushing in and out of it, making more of a mess with the cleaning supplies than what was there before.
She hasn't acted like this in a while.
Sticky fingers slip out of his hand and the tiny bundle of energy is off. Running across the yard, tripping briefly on the stone path. There are no tears or hesitation as he gets up and continues his journey up the porch.
Getting hurt doesn't faze him. Never does unless it's more than the normal cuts and bruises of childhood. Jack launches himself at his mother, ignoring cleaning chemicals in her hands and dirt smeared all over her. So does she.
“Momma,” Parker scoops him up and swings him around. The joyful squeal washing over them. Once back on his feet, Jack starts telling his mother about his day. Talking with the excitement that only a little boy going on three can.
Meaning that most of what he says isn't clear enough for his parents to understand.
At times it's hard for Dean to accept that this is his life. It seems too good to be true. Too like the dream the Djinn gave him. But as Parker assures him, usually with a slap up side the head, it was completely real.
Dean Winchester has his own family.
A woman who while not his wife, he couldn't afford to have her name connected to his – the FBI would have surveillance on the house in no time, but that might as well be. And a little boy who was turning into quite a handful. Something that Sam thought was karma paying his brother back for being so difficult. Dean didn't think that karma would be so cruel as to give him a son as hard to handle as Jack was turning out to be just for some wiseass remarks.
Because if Jack turned the upholstery of the Impala sunshine yellow one more time, he was never going to let the boy in the car again.
Jack Winchester was definitely his mothers son. He even gave his namesake a run for his money with how stubborn he was. John would be proud.
Maybe if he had a younger sibling he'd mellow out some. Give him something to focus his attention on when he was home. Family was important. Jack shouldn't be deprived of the type of bond that Dean had with Sam.
Every time he brought up having another kid though, the television would get stuck on the Discovery Health Channel during a marathon of women pushing infants out of them. It did look painful, even with medication.
So Parker fights him on it.
Well, fought.
Because she was 'in the family way' to use the phrase that she hated. The signs were in her behavior. The same behavior that had popped up with her early on with Jack. Cleaning, sleeping more curled up than normal, getting queasy from meat in the evening, and lets not forget her habit of holding his ear while they were in bed.
His ear.
Neither had any idea why she did, but for the whole nine months she was pregnant with Jack when she slept she ended up holding Dean's ear. Only when she was pregnant and she had started doing it again. It was what had tipped him off this time around.
He's not sure if Parker even knows she's pregnant. Probably. Probably keeping it from him for the time being. His little woman could be spiteful when she wants to be. And he knows she's going to blame him, in her head it's his fault. She won't be shy about letting it be known too. That's the way it had played out when she found out about Jack. At least now he knows what to expect.
She'll complain. Say that they are never having sex again. Threaten performing a vasectomy on him in his sleep.
All the while falling completely head over heals in love with the little person growing in her. An extension of her and a part of him.
Because Elizabeth Parker didn't do things half-assed.
Dean just hoped that this pregnancy went easier. Last time she had been so emotionally strung out he had ended up getting stitches. Damn textbook. Those things hurt when thrown at your head by a pissed off pregnant woman.
Sam had found that terribly amusing. Doing little to protect his brother from Parkers occasional rampage, even going to far as to tell her when he was hiding in Sam's basement apartment. The traitor.
All the Winchesters under one roof. In an actual home. A place they could return to between hunts. A place where they could have research taped on walls and books strewn all over without worrying about housekeeping finding it. It was nice. It was damn nice.
Now if only Dean could get his 'wife' to take down the obnoxious Camp Winnie sign she had put up under their mailbox just to annoy him. If one thing hadn't changed in their relationship, it was Parkers desire to tick him off.
Said woman was staring at him head tilted to the side, holding the screen door open, “You ok?”
“Yeah,” he took her hand and kissed her lightly on the forehead, “Yeah, I am.”
“Reality to me, Is that door, And I walk through, I walk through, I’m walking back to you, You’re my home” - Of A Revolution, I Feel Home
THE END!!!!!
Summary: Change is a choice, destiny is a myth, life is hard, and there are somethings you just can’t make untrue no matter how much you wish you could. Liz is starting to figure that out.
A/N: Once again thank you for all your reviews. I'll post the alternate version of chapter 4 tomorrow but besides that it's done. Six weeks and the whole things up. So proud. I'm working on some other stuff (all SPN XOs, I have a very large soft spot for the pairing) at the moment but don't know when they'll be up. Teasers are at oddended.livejournal.com Thanks.
Epilogue
“When I look at you, I see someone I know and I love, And just the crack of your smile make me stay for awhile, from my home there is nothing above ” - Of A Revolution, I Feel Home
Dean makes his way to the house. His home, never thought that that would happen. He's watching Parker as she busies herself rushing in and out of it, making more of a mess with the cleaning supplies than what was there before.
She hasn't acted like this in a while.
Sticky fingers slip out of his hand and the tiny bundle of energy is off. Running across the yard, tripping briefly on the stone path. There are no tears or hesitation as he gets up and continues his journey up the porch.
Getting hurt doesn't faze him. Never does unless it's more than the normal cuts and bruises of childhood. Jack launches himself at his mother, ignoring cleaning chemicals in her hands and dirt smeared all over her. So does she.
“Momma,” Parker scoops him up and swings him around. The joyful squeal washing over them. Once back on his feet, Jack starts telling his mother about his day. Talking with the excitement that only a little boy going on three can.
Meaning that most of what he says isn't clear enough for his parents to understand.
At times it's hard for Dean to accept that this is his life. It seems too good to be true. Too like the dream the Djinn gave him. But as Parker assures him, usually with a slap up side the head, it was completely real.
Dean Winchester has his own family.
A woman who while not his wife, he couldn't afford to have her name connected to his – the FBI would have surveillance on the house in no time, but that might as well be. And a little boy who was turning into quite a handful. Something that Sam thought was karma paying his brother back for being so difficult. Dean didn't think that karma would be so cruel as to give him a son as hard to handle as Jack was turning out to be just for some wiseass remarks.
Because if Jack turned the upholstery of the Impala sunshine yellow one more time, he was never going to let the boy in the car again.
Jack Winchester was definitely his mothers son. He even gave his namesake a run for his money with how stubborn he was. John would be proud.
Maybe if he had a younger sibling he'd mellow out some. Give him something to focus his attention on when he was home. Family was important. Jack shouldn't be deprived of the type of bond that Dean had with Sam.
Every time he brought up having another kid though, the television would get stuck on the Discovery Health Channel during a marathon of women pushing infants out of them. It did look painful, even with medication.
So Parker fights him on it.
Well, fought.
Because she was 'in the family way' to use the phrase that she hated. The signs were in her behavior. The same behavior that had popped up with her early on with Jack. Cleaning, sleeping more curled up than normal, getting queasy from meat in the evening, and lets not forget her habit of holding his ear while they were in bed.
His ear.
Neither had any idea why she did, but for the whole nine months she was pregnant with Jack when she slept she ended up holding Dean's ear. Only when she was pregnant and she had started doing it again. It was what had tipped him off this time around.
He's not sure if Parker even knows she's pregnant. Probably. Probably keeping it from him for the time being. His little woman could be spiteful when she wants to be. And he knows she's going to blame him, in her head it's his fault. She won't be shy about letting it be known too. That's the way it had played out when she found out about Jack. At least now he knows what to expect.
She'll complain. Say that they are never having sex again. Threaten performing a vasectomy on him in his sleep.
All the while falling completely head over heals in love with the little person growing in her. An extension of her and a part of him.
Because Elizabeth Parker didn't do things half-assed.
Dean just hoped that this pregnancy went easier. Last time she had been so emotionally strung out he had ended up getting stitches. Damn textbook. Those things hurt when thrown at your head by a pissed off pregnant woman.
Sam had found that terribly amusing. Doing little to protect his brother from Parkers occasional rampage, even going to far as to tell her when he was hiding in Sam's basement apartment. The traitor.
All the Winchesters under one roof. In an actual home. A place they could return to between hunts. A place where they could have research taped on walls and books strewn all over without worrying about housekeeping finding it. It was nice. It was damn nice.
Now if only Dean could get his 'wife' to take down the obnoxious Camp Winnie sign she had put up under their mailbox just to annoy him. If one thing hadn't changed in their relationship, it was Parkers desire to tick him off.
Said woman was staring at him head tilted to the side, holding the screen door open, “You ok?”
“Yeah,” he took her hand and kissed her lightly on the forehead, “Yeah, I am.”
“Reality to me, Is that door, And I walk through, I walk through, I’m walking back to you, You’re my home” - Of A Revolution, I Feel Home
THE END!!!!!
"Like many non-violent men since that time, he was deeply hated." - on Desiderius Eramus
"Where there is life, there is hope." - Terence
"The mind has no sex." - Descartes
"As long as their is life there is pain. I'm damned to breathe and to be insane." - Old Man's Child
"Where there is life, there is hope." - Terence
"The mind has no sex." - Descartes
"As long as their is life there is pain. I'm damned to breathe and to be insane." - Old Man's Child
-
vaifeal
- Addicted Roswellian
- Posts: 186
- Joined: Sun May 14, 2006 4:08 pm
- Location: somewhere this side of unstable
- Contact:
Disclaimer: Don’t own it, just appreciate it. If you recognize it it's not mine. Some lines from the episode since this takes place during both parts of “All hell breaks loose”.
Summary: Change is a choice, destiny is a myth, life is hard, and there are somethings you just can’t make untrue no matter how much you wish you could. Liz is starting to figure that out.
Alternate Chapter 4: Same up until Sam gets stabbed.
“We're gonna patch you up. You'll be as good as new,” those are the first words I hear when I come to but they're not said to me. A few blinks and my eyes focus. Dean is here. Holding up Sam who's on his knees, his head moving easily by his brothers hands.
No. No. Sam's not allowed to get hurt. He can't be hurt. Not Sam.
I drag myself over to them. Pushing Dean to give me some room, he lets me but only because he's a mess. I put my hand up Sam's shirts, placing my hand over his wound. I might not be able to heal the whole thing but I can help.
Why isn't Max ever there when you need him?
“What are you doing?”
“Accepting who I am,” Dean tries to move me, if I was him I would too, but I shoot him a dangerous look. “Come on Sam, open your eyes. Please, just a little Sam.”
I concentrate and my hands glowing slightly. It's not working. There's nothing to work on, I can't heal the dead. I remove my hand, moving away from the body. Dean is back to holding him.
“No. No. Sam. SAM.”
I can't look away from my hand. It's bright red.
*****************
Chapter 4 Section 2
“If the silence takes you then I hope it takes me too” Death Cab for Cutie, Soul Meets Body
What am I suppose to say? He's just. Then there's. It's my fault. I hesitated. I was so busy running away from what I can do that when I needed to use it, I didn't. I killed Sam.
And Dean.
Dean has no one left. His family, his whole family is gone. So he sits. He shouldn't just sit there with the body of his brother, it's not good for him. Not that there is any good to be found with this whole fucking catastrophe.
When I touch him, he flinches. I failed him. I failed Sam. And this whole thing isn't over yet. I'm still alive. There are two where there should be one. I'm alive and Sam's dead and the whole world is fucked because one of the only people that can stop it from collapsing in on itself is screaming at Bobby that it can go ahead and do just that.
“You don't think I've paid enough. I'm done with it, all of it.”
Broken, he sounds broken. He is broken. Dean lives for his family, anyone who meets him can tell that quickly enough and now he has none left. He's alone. Alone. What do you do for someone who has lost their reason to live?
“You know what's good for you, you'll leave,” he looks at both of us none to kindly. Dean's on the edge of a breakdown with no safety net. “GO,” he composes himself. It's a lie. The way he does it, it's just to get rid of us. “Sorry, I'm sorry. Please, just go.”
Bobby complies, holding the door open for me to follow. I don't move. I don't look away from Dean. I make sure he is watching me reply, “I'm not going anywhere.”
Read the underlying message Dean. I may not be Sam but I owe it to him to keep you safe. He ignores it and returns to his brothers side. The soft murmur of emotional words reach me, this is their time.
Bobby left some clean clothes for me. Jeans and and a long sleeved shirt. They don't fit but they're better than nothing. I run my fingers through my hair, there is a welt on the back of my head and some dry blood matted in it.
A little more force I'd be dead.
“I guess Jake didn't finish the game,” cruel smile. Smug bastard. I glare.
“I'm going to enjoy watching you die,” the smile gets deeper.
I shake my head to clear it. I really hate when he pulls me into one of those things.
“Guess that's what I do. I let down the people that I love. What am I suppose to do Sammy?”
I'm in over my head. How am I suppose to keep him from drowning when he's tied rocks to his ankles. He's up and walking to the door before I can register that he's not next to Sam. Without thinking I raise my hand and close it as he pulls it open.
“Where are you going?” eyes flashing, breathing harsh. I stand with him, toe to toe. I already killed one Winchester, I won't watch the other one do the same.
“There is something I have to do.”
“Like hell,” Dean pushes me up against the wall. It scares me, how on edge he is. His hand digs into my arm. A gasp of pain escapes my lips and I twist out of his grasp. He used the distraction to leave.
Fuck.
Sam. He doesn't look peaceful. Aren't the last moments before death suppose to be peaceful? I sit in Dean's chair. At least his eyes are closed. I bury my head in the mattress next to him, “I'm so sorry Sam.”
A blinding pain wraps around my head. Black dots floating in my vision. I want to pass out. Shit.
It's Dean, at an intersection, a crossroad. Everything is jumpy. Pieces of a puzzle, more like when I get a vision of what hasn't happened than what is. The images keep shifting, changing.
A woman, eyes flashing red. They have words, I can only make out some of them.
“Ten years – Sam – Joking – Not,” the pain in my head is mounting. “Weasel – die.”
Where the hell did Dean go? I'm out the door, there's no car. Not that it would help. Phone. I need a phone. Bobby would know what to do. What's Bobby's phone number? I check Sam for his phone, I'm checking the dead body of a Dean's brother for a cellphone. I'm going to be sick.
There isn't one.
I barely register that I've dropped heavily to my knees, my hands grasping at my head tightly. Pain enveloping my whole body.
Dean and the woman. One glaring, one playing the seductress. I can't hear the words between the two of them. But Dean is slamming his lips viciously on hers. It hurts in more ways than one.
Ugh.
I thought that the painful visions were Sam's bag of tricks. Whatever Dean is doing, it's sending out a psychic sledgehammer. Someone is beside me. Please be Dean. Please be Dean.
“Parker? Are you ok? What happened? What's going on?” I slowly look up.
Oh, god.
*****
I haven't said more than two words to Sam since he woke up, neither of them made any sense but that fits the situation. I help him check the wound on his back, which now looks like it was hastily but thoroughly treated instead of what it had been minutes earlier. Even with the stitch job he shouldn't be able to move around as freely as he is. Sure it hurts but he's still on his feet, moving.
Sam was dead and now he isn't. This has to be dream.
Dean immediately hugs his brother when he comes in, relief shining on his face but no shock at finding his once dead brother conscious. Apparently I missed the part where Bobby expertly patched Sam up. The stone in my stomach is getting heavier. It's all wrong.
He had forgotten that I was there, that much was evident by the fact that I manage to drag him a couple of feet to the door before he digs in his heels. I like to think that it's the pure horror on my face that gets him to follow me the rest of the way out of the house.
“What the hell did you do?” my voice is on the high side. He covers my mouth with his hand and pulls me further from the house. He really doesn't want Sam to know.
“What I had to,” there is no remorse there. Didn't I get yelled at for saying that the last time we saw each other?
“Sam was dead,” he flinches, “How is he not anymore?”
Ok, so maybe I am a little hysterical.
“I made a deal,” he made a deal. With a Demon. His life for Sam's. In a year, Dean is going to be dead and in hell. I hit him as hard as I can.
Not an open handed slap but a punch that actually makes him take a step back. He sure as hell didn't expect that. I go to hit him again but he moves out the way.
“You fucking bastard,” I manage to slap him upside the head. What he did is a selfish selfless act. I hate him for it. I hit him to punctuate every word. “Fucking self sacrificing martyr.”
“Hey,” he manages to grab my hands. Dammit. I keep shoving him, “calm down.”
“Calm down? CALM DOWN. You sold your soul,” he made a deal with a thing that he spends his time hunting down and sending back to hell. It's hard to comprehend, “You couldn't live without your brother so you're going to make your brother live without you. You prick. Do you understand what you did?”
My back hits the Impala pretty hard. “Yes, I do.”
Yes, he does. We glare at each other. Times like these I wish I wasn't so short. If I had another couple of inches I could headbutt him. Because he knows exactly what he did and he wouldn't change it even if he could.
It takes ten minutes for me to stop trying to hit him and another five before we're settled enough to go back inside. We both look like we were stuck in a storm. I wonder if Sam thinks we were doing the dirty deed. Minus bruised lips the look is passable.
I let them hash out what to do next. Dean wants Sam to relax having suddenly returned from the dead and all. Not that he says that. Sam wants to go after Jake and the Demon. Sam wins this round. It takes a minute to realize that they're talking to me.
“What?”
“We'll drop you off at a bus station,” huh, what?
“Uh, no,” here we go again. Can Dean and I not fight for all of five minutes please.
“It wasn't a question,” like he can tell me what to do.
“You fight, I fight. Simple as that.”
“You'll get in the way.”
“This is my battle too. You think I'll just be left alone all of a sudden. I go,” or I'll follow you and get involved anyway.
“Can we just get Bobby's already?” thank you Sam.
The drive is quiet. Which fits me just fine. No talking means no fighting. No fighting means no headache. It also means I can rest. Take a little nap. Make sure I'm as on top of my game as I can be when shit hits the fan.
To say that Bobby is shocked when he opens the door to see Sam standing there perfectly alive is to say that elephants weigh a lot. A gross understatement. He does however manage to valiantly follow the cock and bull story that Dean has made up to protect his little brother.
After explaining the sudden surge in demonic omens in the form of cattle deaths and lightening storms everywhere but southern Wyoming where the demons seem to be surrounding, he not so politely has Dean follow him outside. Sam stares after them. His weird antenna is flying high. How could it not, he knows something is wrong. He just doesn't know that it's him.
“So who do you think has more testosterone, Bobby or your brother?” I don't like what Dean did but I won't tell Sam. It would eat at him. What is done is done. With a snort he turns back to the map. I quickly use Bobby's land line to leave a message on my friends machine telling them where I disappeared to and that I'll call back later.
When they come back in there is a woman with them. Ellen, owner of what use to be the roadhouse saved by the inability of drunks not to eat pretzels put in front of them. She has a map with her too. Wyoming again. Apparently Samuel Colt did more than just make guns. He also built churches and made a gigantic devils trap to keep demons out. This information could have been useful earlier, could have been a nice safe place for us 'gifted children' to hide out.
Instead we have a gifted child on his way to open up a gate to hell. Lovely.
****
I'm crouched behind a headstone gun in hand when Jake comes in. I can see Sam from where I am and can tell that he is itching to shoot the man. I'd want to kill the man who stabbed me too but he can't. He'll be playing into the demons hands if he does.
Because I'm liked but Sam is the favorite. When all is said and done, I'd rather Sam have his hands clean. Things escalate quickly. One minute all guns are trained on Jake then Ellen has her gun at her head because of a maniacal lunatic and the tomb is being opened.
Even quicker Sam had Jake on his back chest full of bullets. Trigger ready to finish him off, even with the victim begging they'll be no mercy. I shoot him instead, two shots clean to the head. Hands clean Sam. Keep those hands clean. Don't hurt Dean more than he already has been.
Dean has the colt and we're ducking for cover as hell spills from the crypt. The demon materializes but Dean and Sam will have to deal with him because I'm trying to use my powers to help Bobby and Ellen close gigantic doors. Fucking hell, this is hard. The doors are heavy by themselves let alone with things keeping them open so they can get out.
I wonder how many centuries of the work of hunters are pouring out of these doors. There's a commotion behind us but I can't turn. Turning would mean losing what progress we've made. Keep pushing. They snap shut.
There's a man. Not the Demon but another. Who is that? Dean and Sam are just watching as he smiles at them. He places his hand on Deans shoulder and holds the other out to Sam before stepping back and going out in a flash of light.
There's only one person that could put those looks on their faces. That was their dad.
“You did it,” Sam's staring down at a too familiar body.
“I didn't do it alone.”
We walk back to the car after Dean gets his “That's for our mom you son of a bitch.” I can go for a bath, a beer, and hours of sleep. I'm not the only one either.
I stand with Bobby and Ellen while the boys talk. The closest thing I got to siblings were Maria and Alex. But those two, that's family. They're talking about what Dean did. It's not hard to tell.
“I'm going to get you out of this,” I can believe that he'll try.
So here we are with an army of demons on the loose and a war to fight. Time for a crash course in how to hunt things that use to only exist on television.
**************
They're in a motel room passed out after spending all day hunting then getting rid of a demon. It has been a week since the crypt had been opened and this was the first one that they had found. It was also the first exorcism that Parker had ever taken part of or witnessed. She had held it together and stayed back when she knew that she would be in the way. An all around good little soldier.
They were all exhausted and had all but fallen into bed. Dean and Parker in one, Sam in the other. Trying to get as much sleep as possible before they had to get up and start searching again. It was a nice break.
Then her phone started to ring, the small piece of plastic that had just been returned to her was annoyingly loud.
It woke up Parker first and she stumbled out of bed to get it from her jacket, hitting everything in her way. “Hello?”
Dean watched through hooded eyes as she stiffened and glanced back at him, looking away before he could read what was on her face. “Are you sure?”
She sank onto the bed, weary with more than physical exhaustion. “Ok, I'll be there soon.”
Parker turned to him. It wasn't good, “What is it?”
“I have to go,” he knew that he should be thankful that she'd be out of harms way. But he wasn't.
End.
A/N: If I had used this one, the story would have gone differently. Don't know if Dean would have gone to Roswell with her but since there would be a time constraint, Liz would have been more obsessive about seeing him and protecting him.
There also wouldn't have been a happy ending. Instead Liz would have traded herself for him, since she's a gifted child and worth more to the demons. Extreme emotions lead to extreme deeds.
Thank You So Much.
See you with a new story soon. Sections of which are up on oddended.livejournal.com, if you want to leave some feedback/tips on where they should head cause the endings are up in the air.
- Vaifeal.
Summary: Change is a choice, destiny is a myth, life is hard, and there are somethings you just can’t make untrue no matter how much you wish you could. Liz is starting to figure that out.
Alternate Chapter 4: Same up until Sam gets stabbed.
“We're gonna patch you up. You'll be as good as new,” those are the first words I hear when I come to but they're not said to me. A few blinks and my eyes focus. Dean is here. Holding up Sam who's on his knees, his head moving easily by his brothers hands.
No. No. Sam's not allowed to get hurt. He can't be hurt. Not Sam.
I drag myself over to them. Pushing Dean to give me some room, he lets me but only because he's a mess. I put my hand up Sam's shirts, placing my hand over his wound. I might not be able to heal the whole thing but I can help.
Why isn't Max ever there when you need him?
“What are you doing?”
“Accepting who I am,” Dean tries to move me, if I was him I would too, but I shoot him a dangerous look. “Come on Sam, open your eyes. Please, just a little Sam.”
I concentrate and my hands glowing slightly. It's not working. There's nothing to work on, I can't heal the dead. I remove my hand, moving away from the body. Dean is back to holding him.
“No. No. Sam. SAM.”
I can't look away from my hand. It's bright red.
*****************
Chapter 4 Section 2
“If the silence takes you then I hope it takes me too” Death Cab for Cutie, Soul Meets Body
What am I suppose to say? He's just. Then there's. It's my fault. I hesitated. I was so busy running away from what I can do that when I needed to use it, I didn't. I killed Sam.
And Dean.
Dean has no one left. His family, his whole family is gone. So he sits. He shouldn't just sit there with the body of his brother, it's not good for him. Not that there is any good to be found with this whole fucking catastrophe.
When I touch him, he flinches. I failed him. I failed Sam. And this whole thing isn't over yet. I'm still alive. There are two where there should be one. I'm alive and Sam's dead and the whole world is fucked because one of the only people that can stop it from collapsing in on itself is screaming at Bobby that it can go ahead and do just that.
“You don't think I've paid enough. I'm done with it, all of it.”
Broken, he sounds broken. He is broken. Dean lives for his family, anyone who meets him can tell that quickly enough and now he has none left. He's alone. Alone. What do you do for someone who has lost their reason to live?
“You know what's good for you, you'll leave,” he looks at both of us none to kindly. Dean's on the edge of a breakdown with no safety net. “GO,” he composes himself. It's a lie. The way he does it, it's just to get rid of us. “Sorry, I'm sorry. Please, just go.”
Bobby complies, holding the door open for me to follow. I don't move. I don't look away from Dean. I make sure he is watching me reply, “I'm not going anywhere.”
Read the underlying message Dean. I may not be Sam but I owe it to him to keep you safe. He ignores it and returns to his brothers side. The soft murmur of emotional words reach me, this is their time.
Bobby left some clean clothes for me. Jeans and and a long sleeved shirt. They don't fit but they're better than nothing. I run my fingers through my hair, there is a welt on the back of my head and some dry blood matted in it.
A little more force I'd be dead.
“I guess Jake didn't finish the game,” cruel smile. Smug bastard. I glare.
“I'm going to enjoy watching you die,” the smile gets deeper.
I shake my head to clear it. I really hate when he pulls me into one of those things.
“Guess that's what I do. I let down the people that I love. What am I suppose to do Sammy?”
I'm in over my head. How am I suppose to keep him from drowning when he's tied rocks to his ankles. He's up and walking to the door before I can register that he's not next to Sam. Without thinking I raise my hand and close it as he pulls it open.
“Where are you going?” eyes flashing, breathing harsh. I stand with him, toe to toe. I already killed one Winchester, I won't watch the other one do the same.
“There is something I have to do.”
“Like hell,” Dean pushes me up against the wall. It scares me, how on edge he is. His hand digs into my arm. A gasp of pain escapes my lips and I twist out of his grasp. He used the distraction to leave.
Fuck.
Sam. He doesn't look peaceful. Aren't the last moments before death suppose to be peaceful? I sit in Dean's chair. At least his eyes are closed. I bury my head in the mattress next to him, “I'm so sorry Sam.”
A blinding pain wraps around my head. Black dots floating in my vision. I want to pass out. Shit.
It's Dean, at an intersection, a crossroad. Everything is jumpy. Pieces of a puzzle, more like when I get a vision of what hasn't happened than what is. The images keep shifting, changing.
A woman, eyes flashing red. They have words, I can only make out some of them.
“Ten years – Sam – Joking – Not,” the pain in my head is mounting. “Weasel – die.”
Where the hell did Dean go? I'm out the door, there's no car. Not that it would help. Phone. I need a phone. Bobby would know what to do. What's Bobby's phone number? I check Sam for his phone, I'm checking the dead body of a Dean's brother for a cellphone. I'm going to be sick.
There isn't one.
I barely register that I've dropped heavily to my knees, my hands grasping at my head tightly. Pain enveloping my whole body.
Dean and the woman. One glaring, one playing the seductress. I can't hear the words between the two of them. But Dean is slamming his lips viciously on hers. It hurts in more ways than one.
Ugh.
I thought that the painful visions were Sam's bag of tricks. Whatever Dean is doing, it's sending out a psychic sledgehammer. Someone is beside me. Please be Dean. Please be Dean.
“Parker? Are you ok? What happened? What's going on?” I slowly look up.
Oh, god.
*****
I haven't said more than two words to Sam since he woke up, neither of them made any sense but that fits the situation. I help him check the wound on his back, which now looks like it was hastily but thoroughly treated instead of what it had been minutes earlier. Even with the stitch job he shouldn't be able to move around as freely as he is. Sure it hurts but he's still on his feet, moving.
Sam was dead and now he isn't. This has to be dream.
Dean immediately hugs his brother when he comes in, relief shining on his face but no shock at finding his once dead brother conscious. Apparently I missed the part where Bobby expertly patched Sam up. The stone in my stomach is getting heavier. It's all wrong.
He had forgotten that I was there, that much was evident by the fact that I manage to drag him a couple of feet to the door before he digs in his heels. I like to think that it's the pure horror on my face that gets him to follow me the rest of the way out of the house.
“What the hell did you do?” my voice is on the high side. He covers my mouth with his hand and pulls me further from the house. He really doesn't want Sam to know.
“What I had to,” there is no remorse there. Didn't I get yelled at for saying that the last time we saw each other?
“Sam was dead,” he flinches, “How is he not anymore?”
Ok, so maybe I am a little hysterical.
“I made a deal,” he made a deal. With a Demon. His life for Sam's. In a year, Dean is going to be dead and in hell. I hit him as hard as I can.
Not an open handed slap but a punch that actually makes him take a step back. He sure as hell didn't expect that. I go to hit him again but he moves out the way.
“You fucking bastard,” I manage to slap him upside the head. What he did is a selfish selfless act. I hate him for it. I hit him to punctuate every word. “Fucking self sacrificing martyr.”
“Hey,” he manages to grab my hands. Dammit. I keep shoving him, “calm down.”
“Calm down? CALM DOWN. You sold your soul,” he made a deal with a thing that he spends his time hunting down and sending back to hell. It's hard to comprehend, “You couldn't live without your brother so you're going to make your brother live without you. You prick. Do you understand what you did?”
My back hits the Impala pretty hard. “Yes, I do.”
Yes, he does. We glare at each other. Times like these I wish I wasn't so short. If I had another couple of inches I could headbutt him. Because he knows exactly what he did and he wouldn't change it even if he could.
It takes ten minutes for me to stop trying to hit him and another five before we're settled enough to go back inside. We both look like we were stuck in a storm. I wonder if Sam thinks we were doing the dirty deed. Minus bruised lips the look is passable.
I let them hash out what to do next. Dean wants Sam to relax having suddenly returned from the dead and all. Not that he says that. Sam wants to go after Jake and the Demon. Sam wins this round. It takes a minute to realize that they're talking to me.
“What?”
“We'll drop you off at a bus station,” huh, what?
“Uh, no,” here we go again. Can Dean and I not fight for all of five minutes please.
“It wasn't a question,” like he can tell me what to do.
“You fight, I fight. Simple as that.”
“You'll get in the way.”
“This is my battle too. You think I'll just be left alone all of a sudden. I go,” or I'll follow you and get involved anyway.
“Can we just get Bobby's already?” thank you Sam.
The drive is quiet. Which fits me just fine. No talking means no fighting. No fighting means no headache. It also means I can rest. Take a little nap. Make sure I'm as on top of my game as I can be when shit hits the fan.
To say that Bobby is shocked when he opens the door to see Sam standing there perfectly alive is to say that elephants weigh a lot. A gross understatement. He does however manage to valiantly follow the cock and bull story that Dean has made up to protect his little brother.
After explaining the sudden surge in demonic omens in the form of cattle deaths and lightening storms everywhere but southern Wyoming where the demons seem to be surrounding, he not so politely has Dean follow him outside. Sam stares after them. His weird antenna is flying high. How could it not, he knows something is wrong. He just doesn't know that it's him.
“So who do you think has more testosterone, Bobby or your brother?” I don't like what Dean did but I won't tell Sam. It would eat at him. What is done is done. With a snort he turns back to the map. I quickly use Bobby's land line to leave a message on my friends machine telling them where I disappeared to and that I'll call back later.
When they come back in there is a woman with them. Ellen, owner of what use to be the roadhouse saved by the inability of drunks not to eat pretzels put in front of them. She has a map with her too. Wyoming again. Apparently Samuel Colt did more than just make guns. He also built churches and made a gigantic devils trap to keep demons out. This information could have been useful earlier, could have been a nice safe place for us 'gifted children' to hide out.
Instead we have a gifted child on his way to open up a gate to hell. Lovely.
****
I'm crouched behind a headstone gun in hand when Jake comes in. I can see Sam from where I am and can tell that he is itching to shoot the man. I'd want to kill the man who stabbed me too but he can't. He'll be playing into the demons hands if he does.
Because I'm liked but Sam is the favorite. When all is said and done, I'd rather Sam have his hands clean. Things escalate quickly. One minute all guns are trained on Jake then Ellen has her gun at her head because of a maniacal lunatic and the tomb is being opened.
Even quicker Sam had Jake on his back chest full of bullets. Trigger ready to finish him off, even with the victim begging they'll be no mercy. I shoot him instead, two shots clean to the head. Hands clean Sam. Keep those hands clean. Don't hurt Dean more than he already has been.
Dean has the colt and we're ducking for cover as hell spills from the crypt. The demon materializes but Dean and Sam will have to deal with him because I'm trying to use my powers to help Bobby and Ellen close gigantic doors. Fucking hell, this is hard. The doors are heavy by themselves let alone with things keeping them open so they can get out.
I wonder how many centuries of the work of hunters are pouring out of these doors. There's a commotion behind us but I can't turn. Turning would mean losing what progress we've made. Keep pushing. They snap shut.
There's a man. Not the Demon but another. Who is that? Dean and Sam are just watching as he smiles at them. He places his hand on Deans shoulder and holds the other out to Sam before stepping back and going out in a flash of light.
There's only one person that could put those looks on their faces. That was their dad.
“You did it,” Sam's staring down at a too familiar body.
“I didn't do it alone.”
We walk back to the car after Dean gets his “That's for our mom you son of a bitch.” I can go for a bath, a beer, and hours of sleep. I'm not the only one either.
I stand with Bobby and Ellen while the boys talk. The closest thing I got to siblings were Maria and Alex. But those two, that's family. They're talking about what Dean did. It's not hard to tell.
“I'm going to get you out of this,” I can believe that he'll try.
So here we are with an army of demons on the loose and a war to fight. Time for a crash course in how to hunt things that use to only exist on television.
**************
They're in a motel room passed out after spending all day hunting then getting rid of a demon. It has been a week since the crypt had been opened and this was the first one that they had found. It was also the first exorcism that Parker had ever taken part of or witnessed. She had held it together and stayed back when she knew that she would be in the way. An all around good little soldier.
They were all exhausted and had all but fallen into bed. Dean and Parker in one, Sam in the other. Trying to get as much sleep as possible before they had to get up and start searching again. It was a nice break.
Then her phone started to ring, the small piece of plastic that had just been returned to her was annoyingly loud.
It woke up Parker first and she stumbled out of bed to get it from her jacket, hitting everything in her way. “Hello?”
Dean watched through hooded eyes as she stiffened and glanced back at him, looking away before he could read what was on her face. “Are you sure?”
She sank onto the bed, weary with more than physical exhaustion. “Ok, I'll be there soon.”
Parker turned to him. It wasn't good, “What is it?”
“I have to go,” he knew that he should be thankful that she'd be out of harms way. But he wasn't.
End.
A/N: If I had used this one, the story would have gone differently. Don't know if Dean would have gone to Roswell with her but since there would be a time constraint, Liz would have been more obsessive about seeing him and protecting him.
There also wouldn't have been a happy ending. Instead Liz would have traded herself for him, since she's a gifted child and worth more to the demons. Extreme emotions lead to extreme deeds.
Thank You So Much.
See you with a new story soon. Sections of which are up on oddended.livejournal.com, if you want to leave some feedback/tips on where they should head cause the endings are up in the air.
- Vaifeal.
Last edited by vaifeal on Sat Jun 16, 2007 8:56 pm, edited 1 time in total.
"Like many non-violent men since that time, he was deeply hated." - on Desiderius Eramus
"Where there is life, there is hope." - Terence
"The mind has no sex." - Descartes
"As long as their is life there is pain. I'm damned to breathe and to be insane." - Old Man's Child
"Where there is life, there is hope." - Terence
"The mind has no sex." - Descartes
"As long as their is life there is pain. I'm damned to breathe and to be insane." - Old Man's Child