Hello, flist, and a very merry holiday season! Merry Solstice, Happy Christmas, Joyful Chanukah, Blessed Ramadan, Peaceful Kwaanza... I love this time of year, and i hope, for all you, many blessings and much joy. I have no idea how much i'll be around to read my flist for the next few days, but i'll be back eventually, a couple pounds heavier from all the bread and cookies. Wheeeee!
Once again, all beta credit to the lovely
darkhavens, and my emotional prop and bestest IM chat buddy *evah*,
sweptawaybayou. *luffs you guys*
On to the fic! Previous parts here.
The crater's edge was a little over a quarter of a mile away. The snow petered out before they were halfway there, and the air took on a slightly balmy feel. The rubble was smaller the closer they got – more pulverized – and the ground sticky-slick with mud. Sam slithered along in his sneakers, taking quick glances up and around. A jumbled hedge of what looked like sticks became, as they got closer...crosses.
Dozens and dozens – probably hundreds – of crosses made from rebar or wood or, here and there, stone. Andy stopped at one in particular that looked as if it had been salvaged from a monument makers. It was pinkish granite, unpolished, the edges ragged. He rested his hand on the top of it for a moment, looking down, and then with a little hitch of his shoulders was moving on. There was a path, now – broken bits of stone and sidewalk and Sam stepped gratefully onto it, catching up to Dean and Ava. Ava touched the cross, too, looking after Andy.
Dean caught Sam's questioning look and let Ava go ahead of him. "Andy's twin brother," he said, and Sam stopped and stared down at the rough-cut marker.
"Oh. He didn't – was he –?"
"He fell. Hit his head – took him a few days, but..." Dean sighed and looked up and around at the forest of crosses. "It was a couple years ago."
"That sucks." Sam followed Dean's gaze, shivering a little. It wasn't as cold down here as it had been by the bunker but the air was leaden. Dead in his lungs, scentless and colorless and just...wrong. It made Sam feel slightly sick. "Who are – all the rest?"
"The poor bastards that got possessed." Dean started walking again, following a bend in the path. They skirted a tumble of shattered boulders and cement, the dogs barking somewhere up ahead. "We burn 'em but...Ava wanted to do something to remember them."
"It's kind of creepy," Sam said, low, and Dean laughed a little.
"Yeah. She's got her ideas." They came out from the shadow of the rubble and Sam stumbled, staring. The edge of the crater was about twenty feet away, sides and hazy floor a strange, green-tinted grey, lines of tarnished silver seemingly cut into it. A pattern – something so familiar – but Sam didn't have time to take it in because...
Something was moving – stirring – all along the floor of the crater. Like black oil in water it shifted and curled, fluid. Darting in from every side – flowing upward with a low, keening hum that was like the whine of a badly-tuned engine. It pierced through Sam's bones – made his teeth ache and his head pound and Ava was down on her knees, holding her temples. Jake dropped down beside her, pulling her close and Andy was backing up the path, eyes wide.
Shouting – they were all shouting but Sam couldn't hear anything – couldn't see anything but the twisting columns of smoke that rose, up and up into the air, writhing and darting and shrieking at him. Demons. Hundreds of them disembodied and trapped and they were all – they knew, they wanted...
Sam felt his knees going, the whining hum making him dizzy – making him sick. The cold stone underfoot jolted his knees and scraped his palms and he was vaguely aware of Ava shouting something. Ava and Andy and Jake all together, hurling Latin like arrows until the pressure and noise snapped off like a switch thrown and Sam looked up, panting. Sight blurred with tears that he wiped away with the back of his hand. The demons were gone – chased away – and Dean was standing there, his face a mask. He had the Colt in his hand, and it was pointed straight at Sam.
"Guess you're not quite right after all, huh, little brother?"
"Dean –" Sam reached out to him and Dean took one decisive step back, the Colt rock-solid in his hand. "No, Dean –"
"Wait, wait, hold on –" Ava was struggling to her feet, a thin line of blood streaking down from her nose. Jake smudged it with the tail of his scarf and from the overturned wheelbarrow came a vague noise, like someone choking. Or laughing. Sam-dog and Janis were both barking, deep and hoarse and terrible and Sam wanted to cover his ears.
"They know him, or he called them or – something –" Dean's voice was shaky where his hand wasn't and Sam sat back on his heels, hands on his thighs. Trying hard not to look like someone who called demons or knew demons or fuck, wasn't human.
"Yeah, but...it's not... Dean, let me figure this out."
Dean's gaze flicked to Ava and then back and Sam didn't breathe until the minutest relaxing of Dean's shoulders told him Dean was listening. Was waiting. "Okay. What are you gonna do?"
Ava leaned on Jake for a moment and then stepped away from him, sniffing once. "I need to talk to the demon in possession."
"Fuck," Jake muttered. But he went to the wheelbarrow and jerked it upright – hauled the duffel back into it and took the lock into his hand. "Dean?"
"Head's up." Dean tossed the key over and Jake undid the lock – opened the duffel and pushed the stiff canvas sides down.
The person inside looked... *No, body. That's a body...fuck...* It looked like a body. Skin a bluish-grey, lips nearly black, bitten and ragged. The eyes sunk back into their sockets so far they seemed more like pits than orbs. The gag was shredded but still intact and Jake picked the knot loose with a few twists of the tip of a knife – pushed the ragged twist of cloth down around his – its – neck. The demon moved, then – cracked its jaw like a snake swallowing an egg, grotesque dislocation that it didn't even seem to notice. A grey tongue swiped across the bloodless lips and then it was looking at Sam. Coyote-grin on that hollow, sunken face that made Sam shudder in revulsion.
It tried to say something but it couldn't – the sounds that emerged from its ruined mouth were broken and horrible, rusty metal scraping over bone and Andy flinched away, turning to look out over the crater.
"Well, hell." Ava sniffed again – looked over at Jake. "Okay?"
"Fuck. Yeah, okay." Sam watched, confused, as Ava put her fingertips to her temples. She shut her eyes, concentrating, and suddenly the body's mouth gaped wide and the demon streamed out with a tin-whistle shriek. It coiled overhead for a moment and then arrowed straight at Ava – and into her.
"Don't!" Sam lurched upward, trying to get to his feet and Dean took three fast steps forward and pushed him down, hard. "Ava, Jesus –!"
"Don't move, damnit," Dean snapped and Sam sank back onto his heels again, fists clenched on his thighs.
Ava's eyes snapped open, blank and black and horrible and Sam shuddered. She looked at him for a long moment, her head cocking this way and then that. Then she smiled. It made Sam's blood run cold. "Oh, lost lamb, aren't you? Agnus Dei." The black eyes flicked up to Dean and back, and the smile twisted. "You're not right at all, wanderer. Not even remotely...right. Why don't you just...flip that switch, huh? Turn on the lights, little brother," it said, hand lifting as if to touch Sam's cheek and Sam recoiled, scrabbling backward on palms and heels and ass, shaking.
"Get the fuck away from me, Ava, God –"
"Get rid of it, Ava," Jake said, and Ava blinked. Her own blue eyes now, instead of the black shark orbs of the demon. She walked to the edge of the crater – walked out over it. Two, three – four steps onto nothingness and the trapped demons swirled up again, darting like swallows against the invisible walls. Ava tipped her head back and screamed and the scream dragged out, on and on, breathless shriek until the demon inside her was out, poised above her like a stooping hawk. Ava stepped shakily backward, one careful step at a time and as her foot hit solid ground the demon struck.
Andy grabbed her arm and jerked her across the edge, into his chest and the demon slammed the ward, flattening like wind-blown smoke for a moment, howling. Jake stepped up to pull Ava into his arms and she sagged there, shuddering. The body in the wheelbarrow looked like a deflated balloon. A sack of grey flesh and rags of hair and Sam rubbed his stinging palms on his thighs, unsurprised to see dark streaks of blood. *Over now. God, he'll never...he thinks... What the fuck was it saying, what does it mean? God, never should have come here, never should have...tried...*
Dean was watching him – watching Ava – and she finally lifted her head and looked back at him. Nodded, just once, and Dean sighed. Let the trigger on the Colt ease forward, and then he was sliding the gun into his jacket, jaw set and eyes dark. He walked over to Sam and after a moment held his hand out.
"Come on – we've got a body to burn."
They were arguing. Low voices, no big gestures but an argument all the same. Sam sat on a battered couch, plate of lasagna on his knees, cup of milk by his foot and no appetite whatsoever. He could still smell the greasy, burnt-pork reek of the body they'd burned – the acid and gut churning stench of charred bone that lingered in his clothes and hair. He's scrubbed in a big, industrial stainless-steel sink with Lava soap and he was still...tainted.
The lasagna was white and tomato-red and ropey with cheese. It looked like something off the floor of a slaughterhouse and Sam stood up fast, teeth clamped shut and his belly heaving. In their corner, both dogs' heads went up, muzzles swinging toward Sam, alert and wary. Sam abandoned the plate on a counter top and strode toward the front door, concentrating on not throwing up until he was out in the snow. He was totally unprepared for Dean's fingers sinking into his shoulder like a steel trap, jerking him around and into the bunker's cinder block wall.
"Where the fuck are you going?" Sam just stared at him, one hand on his belly and the other one on Dean's arm, clutching tight. Breathing through his nose in panting, strangled breaths and Dean's expression went from furious to knowing to fed up. "Shit. Come on." Dean jerked him away from the wall and propelled him up the hall – through the small entryway and to the door. Sam fumbled with the locks and Dean muttered a curse – pushed him aside and did it himself. The door swung ponderously and Sam pushed through, scraping his shoulder and hip and then stumbling out into the snow. The air was crisp and cold and smelled only of snow and Sam took a hard, deep breath. Took another and another, swallowing and shaking and wondering if Dean would shoot him if he just...walked away.
"You gonna hurl?"
Sam breathed in again – swallowed and shook his head. "Yeah. N-no, I'm...okay, I'm good." There was a mound of irregular snow heaped up beside the door and Sam reached out and scooped some up – put it in his mouth. It was so cold it burned, and his mouth felt hot afterward. He wiped his damp fingers over his face – back through his hair and finally turned around. Dean was leaning in the doorway, arms crossed. Looking a little worried and also looking like he was pissed for caring.
"Sorry, I...the body, it was...I'm not used to... We mostly just burned old bones."
Dean just nodded, still staring. Still looking pissed off and Sam just stood there. Starting to shiver just a little because the storm they'd been outrunning before had caught up and the wind was stronger now, full of ice-crystals and the faint smell of smoke. The sky was low and heavy, bruise-black clouds blocking the sun and the windmills whirring like bees, blurs of color that made Sam dizzy.
"So what are you hiding?" Dean asked, and Sam blinked and shook his head.
"I –"
"Don't give me any shit. Just tell me what you're hiding. Tell me what the fuck you thought was so fucking unimportant about you and demons that you didn't even bother to fill me in." Dean's voice was sharp with sarcasm and anger, rough with cold.
"Dean, I –" Sam wrapped his arms around himself and rubbed, hunching, trying to keep the warmth close. "It wasn't – like that."
"Then what the fuck was it like, huh?" Dean wasn't moving – wasn't doing anything but Sam could see the barely-leashed tension quivering through his shoulders. Could see where his hands were knotted into fists, shoved under his biceps. Teeth clenched and probably grinding and all of it told Sam he was about five seconds or five wrong words from being decked. Or shot.
"We fought some demons right after...right after I died. The seven deadly sins." Dean's eyebrows went up and Sam nodded, fleeting smile on his lips. "Yeah, the seven deadly sins. Anyway...one of them said...told me I was the 'boy-king'. Said I was supposed to lead them. And you – Dean – talked to this other demon, and she said she was ready to...follow me. Ready to be a soldier in my army. They all thought..." Sam stopped and rubbed his hands up and down his arms a little, looking up and away – out over the crater. The demons milled in it like fish, vague blurs against the haze of snow dropping like a curtain across the horizon.
"They thought I was gonna lead them. Be the general of a demon army and take over the world." Sam looked back at Dean – met his gaze. Saw fear there, and anger. "But I didn't. I didn't do that. I didn't ever even...no matter what they said, I never –" Sam stepped toward Dean, almost close enough to touch. Willing his brother to listen – to believe. Praying to a God he still believed in – but didn't count on – to please just... *Let him understand. Let him...trust me. Please, just...let me have my brother...*
Dean's gaze was intent – hot and unsettling and Sam did his best to return it unflinchingly. The worst was out – whatever had made the demons think he was something special...think he was like them – was laid bare, now. All Sam could do was wait, and hope Dean understood. Hope he believed.
"You've gone of your own free will into two of the most heavily warded places I know," Dean said finally. Slowly, like he was testing his words before he said them. "Ava thinks it's because you're like them. Like her and Jake and everybody. And that whatever happened back – there –" Dean made a little gesture with his hand and Sam didn't know where he meant, exactly. "Whatever happened when you died.... She thinks it marked you."
"Well, yeah. I died."
"Yeah. You died, and I brought you back." Dean's shoulders sagged down and his hands swung free, his right coming up to settle on Sam's chest. Right over his heart. His hand was warm through the layers of thermal and flannel Sam wore. "I mean...he did."
"It seems like it was you," Sam said. He couldn't help leaning into Dean's touch. Couldn't help yearning toward the warmth of Dean's body – toward the solid safety of it, the familiar and unshakeable bedrock that had steadied him all his life. "It seems like...it was always..."
"You," Dean said, barely above a whisper and then he was leaning in and they were kissing, Sam's fingers twisting helplessly in Dean's shirts, taste of salt and whiskey on Dean's tongue. Dean's hand sliding over his collarbone – up the back of his neck – sent a twist of arousal through Sam. Sharp, hot little pulse of need and want that made Sam gasp in a ragged, stuttering breath. Made him jerk Dean up tight against him, hip to hip and Sam's thigh pushing between Dean's, chapped lips and the rough edge of a ragged fingernail.
"Dean, I mean it, I'm not...I'd never..." He talked into Dean's mouth – over the little hitch of breath when their groins rubbed together, too many layers and too much pressure and God, not enough... "I'm not one of them, I'm not –"
"Shut up, Jesus, I know, Ava said..." Dean pushed clumsily at the hems of Sam's layered shirts, worming his way under flannel, thermal and t-shirt to skin and Sam jumped, twisting away.
"Fuck, cold!"
"Suck it up," Dean growled and dug his fingers into Sam's ribs – kissed him hard enough to hurt and left them both panting, tangled up together, snow in their hair. "C'mon, your dinner's getting cold." Dean backed off a step and Sam stopped him, hand fisted in Dean's shirt.
"You really – you just...believe me? Just like that?"
Dean gazed at Sam for a long moment and then he shrugged a little – looked down at where his hand had curled over Sam's. "Yeah. Just like that."
Part twelve.
Once again, all beta credit to the lovely
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On to the fic! Previous parts here.
The crater's edge was a little over a quarter of a mile away. The snow petered out before they were halfway there, and the air took on a slightly balmy feel. The rubble was smaller the closer they got – more pulverized – and the ground sticky-slick with mud. Sam slithered along in his sneakers, taking quick glances up and around. A jumbled hedge of what looked like sticks became, as they got closer...crosses.
Dozens and dozens – probably hundreds – of crosses made from rebar or wood or, here and there, stone. Andy stopped at one in particular that looked as if it had been salvaged from a monument makers. It was pinkish granite, unpolished, the edges ragged. He rested his hand on the top of it for a moment, looking down, and then with a little hitch of his shoulders was moving on. There was a path, now – broken bits of stone and sidewalk and Sam stepped gratefully onto it, catching up to Dean and Ava. Ava touched the cross, too, looking after Andy.
Dean caught Sam's questioning look and let Ava go ahead of him. "Andy's twin brother," he said, and Sam stopped and stared down at the rough-cut marker.
"Oh. He didn't – was he –?"
"He fell. Hit his head – took him a few days, but..." Dean sighed and looked up and around at the forest of crosses. "It was a couple years ago."
"That sucks." Sam followed Dean's gaze, shivering a little. It wasn't as cold down here as it had been by the bunker but the air was leaden. Dead in his lungs, scentless and colorless and just...wrong. It made Sam feel slightly sick. "Who are – all the rest?"
"The poor bastards that got possessed." Dean started walking again, following a bend in the path. They skirted a tumble of shattered boulders and cement, the dogs barking somewhere up ahead. "We burn 'em but...Ava wanted to do something to remember them."
"It's kind of creepy," Sam said, low, and Dean laughed a little.
"Yeah. She's got her ideas." They came out from the shadow of the rubble and Sam stumbled, staring. The edge of the crater was about twenty feet away, sides and hazy floor a strange, green-tinted grey, lines of tarnished silver seemingly cut into it. A pattern – something so familiar – but Sam didn't have time to take it in because...
Something was moving – stirring – all along the floor of the crater. Like black oil in water it shifted and curled, fluid. Darting in from every side – flowing upward with a low, keening hum that was like the whine of a badly-tuned engine. It pierced through Sam's bones – made his teeth ache and his head pound and Ava was down on her knees, holding her temples. Jake dropped down beside her, pulling her close and Andy was backing up the path, eyes wide.
Shouting – they were all shouting but Sam couldn't hear anything – couldn't see anything but the twisting columns of smoke that rose, up and up into the air, writhing and darting and shrieking at him. Demons. Hundreds of them disembodied and trapped and they were all – they knew, they wanted...
Sam felt his knees going, the whining hum making him dizzy – making him sick. The cold stone underfoot jolted his knees and scraped his palms and he was vaguely aware of Ava shouting something. Ava and Andy and Jake all together, hurling Latin like arrows until the pressure and noise snapped off like a switch thrown and Sam looked up, panting. Sight blurred with tears that he wiped away with the back of his hand. The demons were gone – chased away – and Dean was standing there, his face a mask. He had the Colt in his hand, and it was pointed straight at Sam.
"Guess you're not quite right after all, huh, little brother?"
"Dean –" Sam reached out to him and Dean took one decisive step back, the Colt rock-solid in his hand. "No, Dean –"
"Wait, wait, hold on –" Ava was struggling to her feet, a thin line of blood streaking down from her nose. Jake smudged it with the tail of his scarf and from the overturned wheelbarrow came a vague noise, like someone choking. Or laughing. Sam-dog and Janis were both barking, deep and hoarse and terrible and Sam wanted to cover his ears.
"They know him, or he called them or – something –" Dean's voice was shaky where his hand wasn't and Sam sat back on his heels, hands on his thighs. Trying hard not to look like someone who called demons or knew demons or fuck, wasn't human.
"Yeah, but...it's not... Dean, let me figure this out."
Dean's gaze flicked to Ava and then back and Sam didn't breathe until the minutest relaxing of Dean's shoulders told him Dean was listening. Was waiting. "Okay. What are you gonna do?"
Ava leaned on Jake for a moment and then stepped away from him, sniffing once. "I need to talk to the demon in possession."
"Fuck," Jake muttered. But he went to the wheelbarrow and jerked it upright – hauled the duffel back into it and took the lock into his hand. "Dean?"
"Head's up." Dean tossed the key over and Jake undid the lock – opened the duffel and pushed the stiff canvas sides down.
The person inside looked... *No, body. That's a body...fuck...* It looked like a body. Skin a bluish-grey, lips nearly black, bitten and ragged. The eyes sunk back into their sockets so far they seemed more like pits than orbs. The gag was shredded but still intact and Jake picked the knot loose with a few twists of the tip of a knife – pushed the ragged twist of cloth down around his – its – neck. The demon moved, then – cracked its jaw like a snake swallowing an egg, grotesque dislocation that it didn't even seem to notice. A grey tongue swiped across the bloodless lips and then it was looking at Sam. Coyote-grin on that hollow, sunken face that made Sam shudder in revulsion.
It tried to say something but it couldn't – the sounds that emerged from its ruined mouth were broken and horrible, rusty metal scraping over bone and Andy flinched away, turning to look out over the crater.
"Well, hell." Ava sniffed again – looked over at Jake. "Okay?"
"Fuck. Yeah, okay." Sam watched, confused, as Ava put her fingertips to her temples. She shut her eyes, concentrating, and suddenly the body's mouth gaped wide and the demon streamed out with a tin-whistle shriek. It coiled overhead for a moment and then arrowed straight at Ava – and into her.
"Don't!" Sam lurched upward, trying to get to his feet and Dean took three fast steps forward and pushed him down, hard. "Ava, Jesus –!"
"Don't move, damnit," Dean snapped and Sam sank back onto his heels again, fists clenched on his thighs.
Ava's eyes snapped open, blank and black and horrible and Sam shuddered. She looked at him for a long moment, her head cocking this way and then that. Then she smiled. It made Sam's blood run cold. "Oh, lost lamb, aren't you? Agnus Dei." The black eyes flicked up to Dean and back, and the smile twisted. "You're not right at all, wanderer. Not even remotely...right. Why don't you just...flip that switch, huh? Turn on the lights, little brother," it said, hand lifting as if to touch Sam's cheek and Sam recoiled, scrabbling backward on palms and heels and ass, shaking.
"Get the fuck away from me, Ava, God –"
"Get rid of it, Ava," Jake said, and Ava blinked. Her own blue eyes now, instead of the black shark orbs of the demon. She walked to the edge of the crater – walked out over it. Two, three – four steps onto nothingness and the trapped demons swirled up again, darting like swallows against the invisible walls. Ava tipped her head back and screamed and the scream dragged out, on and on, breathless shriek until the demon inside her was out, poised above her like a stooping hawk. Ava stepped shakily backward, one careful step at a time and as her foot hit solid ground the demon struck.
Andy grabbed her arm and jerked her across the edge, into his chest and the demon slammed the ward, flattening like wind-blown smoke for a moment, howling. Jake stepped up to pull Ava into his arms and she sagged there, shuddering. The body in the wheelbarrow looked like a deflated balloon. A sack of grey flesh and rags of hair and Sam rubbed his stinging palms on his thighs, unsurprised to see dark streaks of blood. *Over now. God, he'll never...he thinks... What the fuck was it saying, what does it mean? God, never should have come here, never should have...tried...*
Dean was watching him – watching Ava – and she finally lifted her head and looked back at him. Nodded, just once, and Dean sighed. Let the trigger on the Colt ease forward, and then he was sliding the gun into his jacket, jaw set and eyes dark. He walked over to Sam and after a moment held his hand out.
"Come on – we've got a body to burn."
They were arguing. Low voices, no big gestures but an argument all the same. Sam sat on a battered couch, plate of lasagna on his knees, cup of milk by his foot and no appetite whatsoever. He could still smell the greasy, burnt-pork reek of the body they'd burned – the acid and gut churning stench of charred bone that lingered in his clothes and hair. He's scrubbed in a big, industrial stainless-steel sink with Lava soap and he was still...tainted.
The lasagna was white and tomato-red and ropey with cheese. It looked like something off the floor of a slaughterhouse and Sam stood up fast, teeth clamped shut and his belly heaving. In their corner, both dogs' heads went up, muzzles swinging toward Sam, alert and wary. Sam abandoned the plate on a counter top and strode toward the front door, concentrating on not throwing up until he was out in the snow. He was totally unprepared for Dean's fingers sinking into his shoulder like a steel trap, jerking him around and into the bunker's cinder block wall.
"Where the fuck are you going?" Sam just stared at him, one hand on his belly and the other one on Dean's arm, clutching tight. Breathing through his nose in panting, strangled breaths and Dean's expression went from furious to knowing to fed up. "Shit. Come on." Dean jerked him away from the wall and propelled him up the hall – through the small entryway and to the door. Sam fumbled with the locks and Dean muttered a curse – pushed him aside and did it himself. The door swung ponderously and Sam pushed through, scraping his shoulder and hip and then stumbling out into the snow. The air was crisp and cold and smelled only of snow and Sam took a hard, deep breath. Took another and another, swallowing and shaking and wondering if Dean would shoot him if he just...walked away.
"You gonna hurl?"
Sam breathed in again – swallowed and shook his head. "Yeah. N-no, I'm...okay, I'm good." There was a mound of irregular snow heaped up beside the door and Sam reached out and scooped some up – put it in his mouth. It was so cold it burned, and his mouth felt hot afterward. He wiped his damp fingers over his face – back through his hair and finally turned around. Dean was leaning in the doorway, arms crossed. Looking a little worried and also looking like he was pissed for caring.
"Sorry, I...the body, it was...I'm not used to... We mostly just burned old bones."
Dean just nodded, still staring. Still looking pissed off and Sam just stood there. Starting to shiver just a little because the storm they'd been outrunning before had caught up and the wind was stronger now, full of ice-crystals and the faint smell of smoke. The sky was low and heavy, bruise-black clouds blocking the sun and the windmills whirring like bees, blurs of color that made Sam dizzy.
"So what are you hiding?" Dean asked, and Sam blinked and shook his head.
"I –"
"Don't give me any shit. Just tell me what you're hiding. Tell me what the fuck you thought was so fucking unimportant about you and demons that you didn't even bother to fill me in." Dean's voice was sharp with sarcasm and anger, rough with cold.
"Dean, I –" Sam wrapped his arms around himself and rubbed, hunching, trying to keep the warmth close. "It wasn't – like that."
"Then what the fuck was it like, huh?" Dean wasn't moving – wasn't doing anything but Sam could see the barely-leashed tension quivering through his shoulders. Could see where his hands were knotted into fists, shoved under his biceps. Teeth clenched and probably grinding and all of it told Sam he was about five seconds or five wrong words from being decked. Or shot.
"We fought some demons right after...right after I died. The seven deadly sins." Dean's eyebrows went up and Sam nodded, fleeting smile on his lips. "Yeah, the seven deadly sins. Anyway...one of them said...told me I was the 'boy-king'. Said I was supposed to lead them. And you – Dean – talked to this other demon, and she said she was ready to...follow me. Ready to be a soldier in my army. They all thought..." Sam stopped and rubbed his hands up and down his arms a little, looking up and away – out over the crater. The demons milled in it like fish, vague blurs against the haze of snow dropping like a curtain across the horizon.
"They thought I was gonna lead them. Be the general of a demon army and take over the world." Sam looked back at Dean – met his gaze. Saw fear there, and anger. "But I didn't. I didn't do that. I didn't ever even...no matter what they said, I never –" Sam stepped toward Dean, almost close enough to touch. Willing his brother to listen – to believe. Praying to a God he still believed in – but didn't count on – to please just... *Let him understand. Let him...trust me. Please, just...let me have my brother...*
Dean's gaze was intent – hot and unsettling and Sam did his best to return it unflinchingly. The worst was out – whatever had made the demons think he was something special...think he was like them – was laid bare, now. All Sam could do was wait, and hope Dean understood. Hope he believed.
"You've gone of your own free will into two of the most heavily warded places I know," Dean said finally. Slowly, like he was testing his words before he said them. "Ava thinks it's because you're like them. Like her and Jake and everybody. And that whatever happened back – there –" Dean made a little gesture with his hand and Sam didn't know where he meant, exactly. "Whatever happened when you died.... She thinks it marked you."
"Well, yeah. I died."
"Yeah. You died, and I brought you back." Dean's shoulders sagged down and his hands swung free, his right coming up to settle on Sam's chest. Right over his heart. His hand was warm through the layers of thermal and flannel Sam wore. "I mean...he did."
"It seems like it was you," Sam said. He couldn't help leaning into Dean's touch. Couldn't help yearning toward the warmth of Dean's body – toward the solid safety of it, the familiar and unshakeable bedrock that had steadied him all his life. "It seems like...it was always..."
"You," Dean said, barely above a whisper and then he was leaning in and they were kissing, Sam's fingers twisting helplessly in Dean's shirts, taste of salt and whiskey on Dean's tongue. Dean's hand sliding over his collarbone – up the back of his neck – sent a twist of arousal through Sam. Sharp, hot little pulse of need and want that made Sam gasp in a ragged, stuttering breath. Made him jerk Dean up tight against him, hip to hip and Sam's thigh pushing between Dean's, chapped lips and the rough edge of a ragged fingernail.
"Dean, I mean it, I'm not...I'd never..." He talked into Dean's mouth – over the little hitch of breath when their groins rubbed together, too many layers and too much pressure and God, not enough... "I'm not one of them, I'm not –"
"Shut up, Jesus, I know, Ava said..." Dean pushed clumsily at the hems of Sam's layered shirts, worming his way under flannel, thermal and t-shirt to skin and Sam jumped, twisting away.
"Fuck, cold!"
"Suck it up," Dean growled and dug his fingers into Sam's ribs – kissed him hard enough to hurt and left them both panting, tangled up together, snow in their hair. "C'mon, your dinner's getting cold." Dean backed off a step and Sam stopped him, hand fisted in Dean's shirt.
"You really – you just...believe me? Just like that?"
Dean gazed at Sam for a long moment and then he shrugged a little – looked down at where his hand had curled over Sam's. "Yeah. Just like that."
Part twelve.
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:)
And thank you!
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Yes!
Thank you!
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Anyway, I love your use of details to create atmosphere and mood, and I also love the way that these boys love each other. I love that Dean is about heat and stability but also anger and longing, and I love that Sam is both lost and also, strangely, more sure of his own identity than Dean is, to some extent. I love the experiences both of them shorthand, too.
Bravo!
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Thank you so much! I really appreciate that my obsessions with detail makes for good atmosphere.
:)
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What a great update... the demon place was so brilliantly conveyed, and so damn spooky. And I really liked how Dean was suspicious of Sam, and ready to shoot him, and then believes, him, "just like that." Because even though in this reality they haven't been together... it's Sam and Dean and that's the way they are.
This was so cool. Thank you!
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And yes, i really think he just *cannot* not believe Sam in the end.
Thank you so much!
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I'm so happy that Dean believed him, this is fascinating reading.
So can't wait for the next chapter.
Happy Holidays to you too.
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:)
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best.paragraph.evah.
*luffs you right back*
*clings hard*
is it january yet?
xoxoxoxooxo
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Thank you, bay-bee.
:)
*counts days*
xxxxxxxxxxxx
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Although I was sitting on the edge of my seat for a bit, it went better than I thought it might.
Way too much tension when the demons all went off and the special kids all went down trying to keep the wards in place-Dean must have been ready for something like that to happen, but it came out nicely as a series of strobe-lit scenes that resolved with Dean pointing the Colt at Sam and the demon laughing. Flip the switch, huh?
I guess if we had any doubt Sam's got the same potential in this world that's answered now.
A rather frightening image of Ava crossing the wards and walking out over the pit to expel the demon, and it almost got her again before she could back out-was it going for her or the baby? She's definitely got guts, and a better sense of justice than Lisa does.
I'm glad it worked out in the end, with Dean knowing the truth and remembering that demons lie. Sam may eventually figure out that his suspicions are worse than letting him know what he should worry about!
"Just like that".. did he think it was easy? lol
Now I just want to know what the angel is going to say never satisfied, me-
Oh, and thank you SO MUCH for the lasagna image, since its what I'm making for xmas eve dinner :)
Have a great holiday, Thanks for the update before taking off! There's a cookie for you (points up)
Hope you escape all the perils of the season, including the dreadful lurg! (my family is seriously thinking of postponing the get together, so we don't all infect each other:()
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Yay!
I love the kids, i love them having powers, i love the idea that if they *want* the powers, then omg, they will have it. Especially i loved how Jake got Andy's power, at the end, so i think that they can all have all of them, if they work at it.
I hope your lasagna is great!
Cookie! Yum.
:) Thank you so very much!
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Looks like Ava can still control demons in this world too. Interesting.
I can't wait for more! Oh and have a GREAT CHRISTMAS AND A HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!!
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Thank you so much!
:)
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And the Colt? He has the Colt? Good stuffs.
And Ava with her demon control powers even strogner, and pregnant with Jake's baby? And ANDY! I love my Andy.
And telling Dean all about the boy-king remark, Sam coming back from the dead marked, and Dean just believing him. giving in and just believing Sam isn't evil, that he doesn't want to be, that he's fighting against it every step of the way.
Aw. Awesome Christmas present. Thank you!
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:)
Thank you so very much!
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You have a way with description that just pulls the reader in and puts them right there. This world is so desolate, the characters burn with vitality, are supersaturated. Does that make sense?(I'm a visual artist) It's like the background is a grainy black and white photo, almost blurred and Dean and Ava and Andy and the dogs are over-saturated and over-sharpened. Sam's in color too, but his doubt fades him just a bit. (I think I love them more then canon.)
Just gorgeous.
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I completely understand what you mean by 'supersaturated' and wow, that's just really neat. Makes me smile!
I'm glad you enjoyed.
*more than canon! squee!*
:)
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things will turn out all right, won't they?
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:)
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Oh, Dean.
*hugs*
so awesome.
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:)
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And yes, they were - there are hints of it in earlier chapters.
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OMG.
And: "Whatever happened when you died.... She thinks it marked you."
"Well, yeah. I died."
"Yeah. You died, and I brought you back." Dean's shoulders sagged down and his hands swung free, his right coming up to settle on Sam's chest. Right over his heart. His hand was warm through the layers of thermal and flannel Sam wore. "I mean...he did."
"It seems like it was you," Sam said. He couldn't help leaning into Dean's touch. Couldn't help yearning toward the warmth of Dean's body – toward the solid safety of it, the familiar and unshakeable bedrock that had steadied him all his life. "It seems like...it was always..."
"You," Dean said, barely above a whisper
That's just . . . it brought tears to my eyes.
You rock hard core. You're heavy metal--you're strontium.
Never stop writing this.
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*snuggles*
I'm so glad you liked!
And tears - oh!
*tissues*
*glee*
:)
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Dozens and dozens – probably hundreds – of crosses made from rebar or wood or, here and there, stone.
Very post-Apocalyptic. Strange, unlovely, compelling, tragic, and somehow weary. Even at the end of everything, there are those who still take the time to leave monuments to the dead. Something to say "so-and-so was here".
That hits like a knife in the heart, because this is exactly how it would be. The few that remain, left to bury the multitudes.
Andy stopped at one in particular that looked as if it had been salvaged from a monument makers. It was pinkish granite, unpolished, the edges ragged. He rested his hand on the top of it for a moment, looking down, and then with a little hitch of his shoulders was moving on. There was a path, now – broken bits of stone and sidewalk and Sam stepped gratefully onto it, catching up to Dean and Ava. Ava touched the cross, too, looking after Andy.
Dean caught Sam's questioning look and let Ava go ahead of him. "Andy's twin brother," he said, and Sam stopped and stared down at the rough-cut marker.
"Oh. He didn't – was he –?"
"He fell. Hit his head – took him a few days, but..." Dean sighed and looked up and around at the forest of crosses. "It was a couple years ago."
So, good or bad, Anson Weems dies young. It's weird to think that maybe a million-million universes down the road, and he dies young in every one. Even if it's by nothing more grand and evil than a drunk driver, or cancer.
It wasn't as cold down here as it had been by the bunker but the air was leaden. Dead in his lungs, scentless and colorless and just...wrong. It made Sam feel slightly sick.
Yeah, that whole place is dead. There's no life in that place for miles, probably, except for the six of them. No plants or animals or other people, just--burnt out places and stagnant mud. And demons.
"The poor bastards that got possessed." Dean started walking again, following a bend in the path. They skirted a tumble of shattered boulders and cement, the dogs barking somewhere up ahead. "We burn 'em but...Ava wanted to do something to remember them."
"It's kind of creepy," Sam said, low, and Dean laughed a little.
"Yeah. She's got her ideas."
They came out from the shadow of the rubble and Sam stumbled, staring. The edge of the crater was about twenty feet away, sides and hazy floor a strange, green-tinted grey, lines of tarnished silver seemingly cut into it. A pattern – something so familiar – but Sam didn't have time to take it in because...
Demon-trap?
Something was moving – stirring – all along the floor of the crater. Like black oil in water it shifted and curled, fluid. Darting in from every side – flowing upward with a low, keening hum that was like the whine of a badly-tuned engine. It pierced through Sam's bones – made his teeth ache and his head pound and Ava was down on her knees, holding her temples. Jake dropped down beside her, pulling her close and Andy was backing up the path, eyes wide.
Shouting – they were all shouting but Sam couldn't hear anything – couldn't see anything but the twisting columns of smoke that rose, up and up into the air, writhing and darting and shrieking at him. Demons. Hundreds of them disembodied and trapped and they were all – they knew, they wanted...
Their Boy-king? There's a whole army for the taking, were Sam so inclined. Thank goodness he's not.
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"Guess you're not quite right after all, huh, little brother?"
"Dean –" Sam reached out to him and Dean took one decisive step back, the Colt rock-solid in his hand. "No, Dean –"
Exactly--that doesn't prove anything, except that he's catnip to demons. And I'd say his response to all that demonic attention was proof enough that whatever Sam is or isn't, he isn't one of them.
"They know him, or he called them or – something –" Dean's voice was shaky where his hand wasn't and Sam sat back on his heels, hands on his thighs. Trying hard not to look like someone who called demons or knew demons or fuck, wasn't human.
Hah. And Dean--it's not like Sam was overjoyed about being called or something.
"Yeah, but...it's not... Dean, let me figure this out."
Dean's gaze flicked to Ava and then back and Sam didn't breathe until the minutest relaxing of Dean's shoulders told him Dean was listening. Was waiting. "Okay. What are you gonna do?"
I'd wonder what she's done to earn that kinda respect from Dean, but--that'd be a stupid question.
The person inside looked... *No, body. That's a body...fuck...* It looked like a body. Skin a bluish-grey, lips nearly black, bitten and ragged. The eyes sunk back into their sockets so far they seemed more like pits than orbs. The gag was shredded but still intact and Jake picked the knot loose with a few twists of the tip of a knife – pushed the ragged twist of cloth down around his – its – neck. The demon moved, then – cracked its jaw like a snake swallowing an egg, grotesque dislocation that it didn't even seem to notice. A grey tongue swiped across the bloodless lips and then it was looking at Sam. Coyote-grin on that hollow, sunken face that made Sam shudder in revulsion.
It tried to say something but it couldn't – the sounds that emerged from its ruined mouth were broken and horrible, rusty metal scraping over bone and Andy flinched away, turning to look out over the crater.
Dude. That's just creepy. Creepier than zombies. Seriously makes me shiver to reread that, no matter how many times I read it. Very few writers do that to me. Poe, Lovecraft, (August Derleth, depending on my mood) Shirley Jackson, (Stephen King depending on the story). You. Between this and Wolfpack!verse. . . .
Ava's eyes snapped open, blank and black and horrible and Sam shuddered. She looked at him for a long moment, her head cocking this way and then that. Then she smiled. It made Sam's blood run cold. "Oh, lost lamb, aren't you? Agnus Dei." The black eyes flicked up to Dean and back, and the smile twisted. "You're not right at all, wanderer. Not even remotely...right. Why don't you just...flip that switch, huh? Turn on the lights, little brother," it said, hand lifting as if to touch Sam's cheek and Sam recoiled, scrabbling backward on palms and heels and ass, shaking.
Jeebus. I wonder what it knows, what it sees.
Andy grabbed her arm and jerked her across the edge, into his chest and the demon slammed the ward, flattening like wind-blown smoke for a moment, howling. Jake stepped up to pull Ava into his arms and she sagged there, shuddering. The body in the wheelbarrow looked like a deflated balloon. A sack of grey flesh and rags of hair and Sam rubbed his stinging palms on his thighs, unsurprised to see dark streaks of blood.
I wonder how demon-catching effects her, and if it affects the baby. You've gotta give us backstory. Don't just leave us hanging. How long has she been able to do this?
And the body used to be a person. One who didn't deserve to die and have something like that walking around in his skin like a cheap suit. This world is fascinating, but kinda sucky, too.
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Dean was watching him – watching Ava – and she finally lifted her head and looked back at him. Nodded, just once, and Dean sighed. Let the trigger on the Colt ease forward, and then he was sliding the gun into his jacket, jaw set and eyes dark. He walked over to Sam and after a moment held his hand out.
"Come on – we've got a body to burn."
And--"sorry a pulled a gun on you, but . . . can't be to careful. Are we cool?"
Not saying Dean'd ever say that--it'd certainly be out of character if this!Dean did--but it'd be nice if he strongly implied something to that effect. No matter how justified, pulling a gun on an ally is worth a "my bad, are we okay?"
A verbal one, not that macho-avoidance bullshit.
Guys are so damn repressed and dumb.
The lasagna was white and tomato-red and ropey with cheese. It looked like something off the floor of a slaughterhouse and Sam stood up fast, teeth clamped shut and his belly heaving.
The weird thing is, I've always kinda though lasagna looked like the business end of a four-car pile-up, but it never really bothered me. I mean, it tastes wonderful, so . . . that kinda out-weighed. . . .
::clears throat::
Sam abandoned the plate on a counter top and strode toward the front door, concentrating on not throwing up until he was out in the snow. He was totally unprepared for Dean's fingers sinking into his shoulder like a steel trap, jerking him around and into the bunker's cinder block wall.
"Where the fuck are you going?"
Okay, they've established that Sam isn't evil. That said, can't a man puke his guts up in peace?
Sam fumbled with the locks and Dean muttered a curse – pushed him aside and did it himself. The door swung ponderously and Sam pushed through, scraping his shoulder and hip and then stumbling out into the snow. The air was crisp and cold and smelled only of snow and Sam took a hard, deep breath. Took another and another, swallowing and shaking and wondering if Dean would shoot him if he just...walked away.
That was a really nicely-worded passage. Especially the last two lines.
"So what are you hiding?" Dean asked, and Sam blinked and shook his head.
"I –"
"Don't give me any shit. Just tell me what you're hiding. Tell me what the fuck you thought was so fucking unimportant about you and demons that you didn't even bother to fill me in." Dean's voice was sharp with sarcasm and anger, rough with cold.
"Dean, I –" Sam wrapped his arms around himself and rubbed, hunching, trying to keep the warmth close. "It wasn't – like that."
"Then what the fuck was it like, huh?" Dean wasn't moving – wasn't doing anything but Sam could see the barely-leashed tension quivering through his shoulders. Could see where his hands were knotted into fists, shoved under his biceps. Teeth clenched and probably grinding and all of it told Sam he was about five seconds or five wrong words from being decked. Or shot.
Wow, with such a kind, father-confessor attitude, I can't imagine why Sam wouldn't immediately confide his deepest, darkest secrets in Dean.
Hasn't he ever heard you catch more flies with honey? Especially when the fly is as emo as Sam?
Sam stopped and rubbed his hands up and down his arms a little, looking up and away – out over the crater. The demons milled in it like fish, vague blurs against the haze of snow dropping like a curtain across the horizon.
I love that cross association deal--the relaxing sensation of watching fish in a bowl. The very not-relaxing sensation of watching demons in a trap.
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"Well, yeah. I died."
THANK YOU!
I mean, did Dean not see this before--at least as a possiblity? That having died, been reanimated, then traveling inter-dimensionally with a freaking angel would leave a mark or two? Aside from whatever other weirdness Sam might have going on?
I swear, I love him, but sometimes, I just wanna smack him.
"Yeah. You died, and I brought you back." Dean's shoulders sagged down and his hands swung free, his right coming up to settle on Sam's chest. Right over his heart. His hand was warm through the layers of thermal and flannel Sam wore. "I mean...he did."
And I know he has to know exactly how our!Dean felt. He'd do anything to bring back a dead child that's more memory than anything else. How much worse must our!Dean have felt after having a brother for twenty-four years?
He knows.
"It seems like it was you," Sam said. He couldn't help leaning into Dean's touch. Couldn't help yearning toward the warmth of Dean's body – toward the solid safety of it, the familiar and unshakeable bedrock that had steadied him all his life. "It seems like...it was always..."
"You," Dean said, barely above a whisper and then he was leaning in and they were kissing, Sam's fingers twisting helplessly in Dean's shirts, taste of salt and whiskey on Dean's tongue. Dean's hand sliding over his collarbone – up the back of his neck – sent a twist of arousal through Sam. Sharp, hot little pulse of need and want that made Sam gasp in a ragged, stuttering breath. Made him jerk Dean up tight against him, hip to hip and Sam's thigh pushing between Dean's, chapped lips and the rough edge of a ragged fingernail.
"Dean, I mean it, I'm not...I'd never..." He talked into Dean's mouth – over the little hitch of breath when their groins rubbed together, too many layers and too much pressure and God, not enough...
The balls I don't have? Are turning blue. But so help me, I wouldn't have it any other way. The pacing is just perfect.
And: "It seems like it was you," Sam said. He couldn't help leaning into Dean's touch. Couldn't help yearning toward the warmth of Dean's body – toward the solid safety of it, the familiar and unshakeable bedrock that had steadied him all his life. "It seems like...it was always..."
"You," Dean said, barely above a whisper
Is awesome in so manys way I can't even count them all, let alone name them. That should be the romantic slogan of forever. Fuck "you had me at hello" right in its insipid ear.
I can't stand Renee Zellwegger, anyway.
"I'm not one of them, I'm not –"
"Shut up, Jesus, I know, Ava said..." Dean pushed clumsily at the hems of Sam's layered shirts, worming his way under flannel, thermal and t-shirt to skin and Sam jumped, twisting away.
Hands down, she'd be the authority. That is a backstory that needs--nay, demands telling. I don't think you've ever written a 'verse I didn't wanna go walking around in, just to get the lay of the land, even aside from the main characters' odysseys.
"Fuck, cold!"
"Suck it up," Dean growled and dug his fingers into Sam's ribs – kissed him hard enough to hurt and left them both panting, tangled up together, snow in their hair. "C'mon, your dinner's getting cold." Dean backed off a step and Sam stopped him, hand fisted in Dean's shirt.
"You really – you just...believe me? Just like that?"
Dean gazed at Sam for a long moment and then he shrugged a little – looked down at where his hand had curled over Sam's. "Yeah. Just like that."
Repressed. Ape.
But I think I love him all the more for it. That clinches it. Men are dumb apes and women are crazy.
Have a happy New Year--your first resolve of which should be to send me a pie =D
::hugs::
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:)
Thank you so much for the awesome fb! You, as always, rule. And you make me think about what i'm writing, and you pick up on things even *i* don't see.
Which i love.
*huggles you*
Merry New Year!
Pie, eh? Do i have your address? Have you sent it to me? Pardon my horrible memory...
*luffs*
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"We burn 'em but...Ava wanted to do something to remember them."
This little bit just feels like something Ava (well, pre-Cold Oak Ava) would want to do.
I adore what you've done with Ava, Jake and Andy in this AU. Ava's power was just terrifying, but it was awesome to see her use those powers for good instead of evil.
Dean freaking out, but just believing Sam created all sorts of warm fuzzies in me, and the description of Sam's food fit so seamlessly into his mood.
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:)
Thank you! It was hard to write the super!kids, they didn't have *huge* parts, and i was really hoping their voices would be distinct enough to make them as cool/fun/special as they were on the show.