#in all seriousness revenant exasperates me a little because you can see how it can be good | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mattzerella-sticks · 3 years

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metamorphosis

Chapter 2 (ao3)

Prologue (ao3) (tumblr)

What if, when Jack was born, he stayed a baby?

A retelling of season 13, with a few key differences.

No planned schedule, will update when I finish chapters lol

Chapter 2 - Sam I

Sam cursed Jack’s aim as he hit him directly on his chest. The pee immediately soaked through the fabric, Sam suffering its unnatural warmth. He blindly groped for anything nearby to shove atop Jack and staunch the flow from his bladder before it spread too far. He gently pressed a motel towel down, Jack giggling all the while as he ruined it much like he did Sam’s shirt. “Seriously?” Sam sighed, “Couldn’t have done this earlier?” Jack answered with more laughter, kicking his feet in the air to punctuate his glee. Seeing his joyful wriggling lessened Sam’s exasperation. “Okay… It was kind of funny,” he told Jack. Then, leaning closer, “Next time, do it when Dean changes you… if he ever changes you.” Sam faltered, smile drooping slightly. He adjusted to cover that momentary lapse, his expression softer. “You done?” Jack stuck his fist in his mouth, babbling around stubby digits. Sam, hesitantly, lifted the towel away from Jack. There’s no active peeing, but the large stain on the towel was not something Sam wanted to see. Dissimilar to his shirt, it’s unsalvageable. “Damn – darn, darn it!”

Tossing the towel over his shoulder, stain-side up, Sam finished fastening Jack’s diaper. His nose scrunched from the wafting odor, and he audibly gagged because of it. Leaving Jack on the bed, Sam whipped the towel off and dumped it into a waiting trash bin. Then he wrapped his fingers along the bottom hem of his shirt to take it off in one swift move.

Dean returned partway through this struggle. He whistled, slamming the door behind him. “Stripping for the baby?” he chuckled darkly, his eyes dull and his grin vicious, “Not what I imagined when I told you to go nuts with him…” Dean emptied his pockets onto the room’s lone table, tugging his necktie free when done.

Sam ignored him, balling his shirt between twitching fingers. “So,” he started, “did you figure out if we’ve got a case or not?” He opened his duffel, zipper ripping through the silence of what he chose not to say.

Dean shrugged, stepping out of his leather agent shoes, chair held for leverage. “Maybe,” he coughed, “A connection, something…”

Sam paused, temple creasing from the sudden onset of a migraine. He closed his eyes, grip tightening on the unstained button-down in his hands. “A maybe…” he repeated, quieter, “then you’re not sure?”

“I’ve got a hunch,” Dean growled, “and we’re not leaving ‘till I at least make certain of it.”

Closing his eyes, Sam rocked back on his heels. He rubbed his neck, feeling every strain and ache from the past few days weighing on his body. “Of course we aren’t.”

Dean used the same excuse when they arrived, and with each delivery it became increasingly unflinching and stubborn. During its first appearance, Sam rightfully challenged him. He cornered Dean outside the motel’s lobby, demanding why they pulled off the highway instead of continuing their journey home, to the Bunker. Dean explained, “There’s been a few deaths in town, our M.O.” Sam’s unsure how he learned this. He guessed, during Dean’s shift in the passenger seat, he feigned unconsciousness to scour the web. “Figured we’d scope it out and gank whatever summ’na’bitch’s wreaking havoc.” Sam, exasperated, reminded Dean of the little bundle with immeasurable power somehow asleep in Baby’s backseat despite Dean’s atypical car door slamming during his exit. “What?” Dean asked, his voice a dark and stormy sound that rattled Sam’s bones like lightning, “Dad hunted with you when you were his age. It’ll be fine.”

Now, hearing about Dean’s ‘hunch’, Sam ground his teeth and refrained from speaking his mind. He told himself that this case, Dean’s attitude, was part of the healing process. Some point down the line, Dean will be in a better place where he wouldn’t have to handle his brother with kid gloves. Only days have passed since they lost their mom, an ally, a virtual stranger, and their best friend. If Sam applied pressure too fast, too hard, he might crack Dean’s already fractured well-being into a larger mess where there’d be no hope of repairing. He shouldn’t take any unnecessary risks with his brother’s well-being.

“So?” Sam asked, doing up his new shirt, playing along. “What’s this hunch you have?”

“Well, when I checked the victims’ houses for haunting signs, I came up empty,” Dean said, hopping into his jeans, “Turned my thinking around, started asking if there were any connections between the two stiffs and, apparently, both were seeing the same therapist.” He fastened the button of his jeans, then moved to dig out some shirts. “Some woman named Mia Vallens. They’d been seeing her, separately, because both had – uh… had lost someone in their lives.”

“What are you thinking then? Revenant? Shifter?”

“Not sure,” he said, “But that won’t stop me.”

Sam’s eyes floated behind his eyelids, “Please don’t go in guns blazing.”

Dean scoffed, thumb lightly brushing the hammer of his gun; unholstered, ever since he started changing outfits. “I’m not that reckless. Thought I’d snoop around, y’know? Get a sense what kind of monster she is before I put a bullet between her eyes. That way I don’t get it wrong and tip her off.” He slipped into an old flannel, worn at the elbows from use, and gestures at his outfit. “You think this is good enough?”

Sam huffed, “For what?”

“For therapy?”

“Pretty sure there isn’t a dress code for therapy,” he snickered, “Is this why you didn’t just go straight there?”

Dean nodded, “Figured a badge and gun might make her antsy, raise unwanted suspicion. Going in as a new patient’ll help me fly under her radar.” He paused, clearly thinking about what he will say next. He swung his keys around his pointer finger, metal jingling with every spin. “Plus,” he added, “wanted to check in, see if you were ready to join me. United front and all that… going in blind’d be better with two bodies rather than one.”

“Dean, it’s just therapy.”

“Don’t remind me.”

Sam shook his head, glancing at Jack. The young boy watched them with keen interest, golden brown eyes unblinking as they studied them; like he understood what they discussed. Sam discarded this thought in his next breath. He might have ancient power coursing through him, but he’s not even a week old. “You know I can’t,” he started, “Someone has to be here with Jack.” Since Dean refused to do it, Sam’s stayed in the motel for most of this case.

Dean’s attempt to appear cheerful dispersed like smoke, familiar dreariness scarring his features. “Kid’ll be fine by himself for an hour or two,” he muttered.

A vein throbbed in his forehead, forcing Sam’s eye to twitch. “He’s not a kid. He’s a baby.”

“He’s part angel.”

“That doesn’t change anything,” Sam seethed, “Actually, that makes it more important we don’t let him out of our sight! There’s no telling what he can do, or what might happen if we left him alone for even a second! So, sorry if I can’t run off at the drop of a pin to play hunter because I have more important things to worry about. Things that you should be worrying about, too!”

Dean recoiled like he’s been slapped, squeezing the keys so hard Sam can see his hand visibly tremble. Regret rose to his ankles and then, as if a dam broke, it’s at his neck and Sam struggled to breathe. He looked from Dean to Jack, the baby’s stare was still trained on Sam like he waited to see what he will say next. Like Sam will have an answer that fixed everything, pleased everyone.

All Sam could give was a compromise.

“I’ll come with,” he said, gaze trapped on his feet below, “Jack will, too. That’s the best I can offer.”

Sam’s resolve stayed firm. He flexed his toes against the carpet as the silence dragged on, Dean obviously warring with himself over whether to accept Sam’s terms or storm out like Sam feared he might. The tension snapped with a high-pitched squeal from Jack, followed by some more clapping that had Dean saying, “Fine. Hurry up, then.” He didn’t lift his head until the door closed behind Dean and it’s him and Jack left in the room.

Visibly deflating, Sam selfishly took a moment to gather his thoughts. Once he felt a semblance of normalcy, he began gathering what he needed. Sam hurriedly finished dressing, throwing on his jacket and almost tripped shoving his feet into some boots. Then, he returned to what he was doing earlier, helping Jack into his tiny shirt and overalls. Sam set Jack aside in the baby carrier, focusing on assembling the baby bag and slinging it onto his shoulder.

Dean sat in the driver’s seat, engine running. He revved it as a warning while Sam safely tucked Jack in the back, Sam glaring at Dean’s dead-eyed expression in the rearview. His irritation ebbed by the time he joined Dean up front. The passenger side door barely closed, and Dean hit the pedal. Sam buckled his seatbelt after Dean peeled out of the parking lot.

They reached the therapist’s office at record speed. During their drive, Sam kept a careful eye on both the speedometer and Jack, his gaze bouncing between the two, ensuring they were where they should be. There were few instances where Dean sped, testing Sam’s patience. But Sam would clear his throat, and the needle rebounded into lower numbers.

Dean, in an act of revenge for Sam’s nitpicking, abandoned him for the therapist’s office without any offer to help once they parked. Although Sam wondered if it should count, since Sam hadn’t expected Dean to go out of his way and help him, regardless of how Dean caved when it came to bringing Jack. He fleetingly considered this, but ultimately decided it didn’t matter. He needed to hurry.

Alone, Sam balanced the baby bag and Jack’s carrier in his hands. He chased after Dean, climbing the steps as a man, tall, white and utterly average, descended. They bumped shoulders, Sam mumbling an apology on reflex. He heard the passerby say something while Jack spewed raspberries in response. He didn’t give it more thought than that.

Sam found Dean near the front desk, angrily slamming on a concierge bell. “C’mon, c’mon…” he grumbled, “it’s way past lunch break.”

“Dean…” Sam stormed towards his brother, dropping the baby bag as he slammed Dean’s hand atop the ringing bell. “Quit it.”

“What?” Dean barked, “Not like I’m annoying anyone.” He gestured around the waiting room, sweeping his arm to show Sam all the vacant seats pushed against the walls. “Am I?”

“Actually, if you rang that bell at least three more times, I’d’ve gotten a headache.” A woman stepped into view, her dark skin glistening under the fluorescent lighting. She wore an oversized, orange turtleneck and a long skirt with pointed boots peeking out at the hem, adorned with rings, a necklace, and a barrette clipped in her afro puff hairdo. She forced a polite expression on her face, pocketing her hands in the folds of her skirt. “Can I help you with anything?”

“Yeah,” Dean said, “We’re looking for the doc. You know if she’s in?”

“I do.”

She walked behind the front desk, ignoring Sam and Dean rather than finish speaking. Dean briefly glanced at Sam before clearing his throat. She stopped rifling through papers, arching her brow. It’s not likely she’ll do more without some prompting. “Well,” Dean growled, “where is she?”

She huffed, fiddling with one of the rings on her fingers. Sam noted how it, like all the other pieces of her jewelry, was gold. “You’re looking at her,” she said, “I thought that was obvious.”

“Not really,” Dean said, “I mean, you’re not even wearing a white coat!”

Whatever expression Sam made Mia mirrored. Jack, meanwhile, giggled and shifted in his carrier, delighted by Dean’s idiocy. Jack’s carrier swung from the force of his mirth, forcing Sam to readjust his grip. As he did that, Sam used his other hand to pinch Dean’s wrist and forced his brother’s attention onto him. “That joke wasn’t funny the first time.” Dean rolled his eyes at Sam, then wretched himself free from Sam’s hold. Sam steered the conversation from there, “Sorry about him. We were here wondering if you might have an opening today?”

Dean coughed, mumbling to himself. “Looks like she might…” He parried Sam’s scowl with a jerkish smirk.

Mia glossed past Dean’s comment, folding her arms across her chest as she studied them. “I was actually about to close early,” she said, “had a lot of cancellations and… I’ve got some errands to run” –

“Please,” Sam tried, leaning far into her personal space as he could without climbing the desk. “My brother was supposed to make an appointment, but with the move and everything it, uh… slipped his mind.” He dialed his puppy dog features to their highest setting, blasting her with his best Labradoodle. “When we left town, our previous therapist said falling back into a routine was the most important thing once we settled. It was hard enough getting him to go the first time, and with the baby I didn’t want him to become an excuse to not go back because we… we were doing really good, before.” Every lie did better when sprinkled with the truth, covering up the bitter taste. From what he saw, Mia ate every word and didn’t gag or wince.

“Well…” She sighed, smoothing her hands down her sweater, “I guess I can squeeze you in. Come on.”

Mia led them into the next room, leaving behind the non-descript lobby furniture and peeling yellow wallpaper for a cozier space. Sam scanned the area, noting pictures and degrees hanging on rogue-painted walls alongside other knick-knacks cluttering the space. Other than the door they entered from, the only exits Sam saw were twin windows covered by heavy drapes on either side of a dark fireplace and an unmarked door to the side. He made sure to stay wary of that door, in case uninvited guests might stroll in.

Sam sat on the edge of a plush sectional, placing Jack beside him. Dean seized the chair nearest Sam, collapsing into it and leaving Mia with the last available chair across from them. They’re separated by a magazine-laden coffee table. “Pretty swanky duds you have here, doc,” Dean told her, poking one of the magazines, “must say I am disappointed there’s not any of those beds that they showed in the movies.”

“Yes, well, I find a lot of how therapists and therapy is portrayed on film leaves much to be desired…” She shifted, throwing a leg over her knee and laying a notebook she pulled from elsewhere on her lap. “Among other things.” She spoke so quietly, Sam almost missed it. “Anyway,” she cleared her throat, “before we get into our session, I do want to mention that even though I am a therapist, my specialization is in helping patients overcome grief-related trauma relating to deaths of loved ones. Is that okay, Mr…?”

“Just Sam is fine. And yeah, better than okay, actually,” Sam said, “What finally convinced my brother to finally start therapy is because we lost someone very close to us.” Dean visibly tensed, clawing at the chair’s arms with enough pressure Sam feared he might rip it. Distracted, Sam faltered halfway through his spiel. He recovered enough in his next breath to finish it. “Our mom… she passed.” Hearing about their mom caused Dean to relax considerably, into a familiar apprehension. Sam’s confusion, in response, deepened.

“I’m sorry for you loss.” The perfunctory statement rolled off her tongue as expected. At least it sounded sincere. “How recently did she pass?”

Sam grimaced. “Uh… a few months back?”

“Although,” Dean chuckled, “it still feels like it was only yesterday.” His chest puffed up, goaded by the reproachful glance Sam shot his way. “What? It’s what I’m feeling. And ain’t that what therapy’s all about? Discussing what I’m feeling.”

“Yes, it is.” Mia scribbled a quick note in her journal, frowning. “However, sharing your feelings is not mandatory.” Dean sunk into his seat, knees bumping against the coffee table. Mia jotted another line to her observations. She pointed at Jack with her pen, “And him? What’s his story?”

“Jack?” Sam asked. He glanced at the baby, hand reflexively reaching for the carrier’s handle. He paused midway, instead slipping into it to pull Jack’s fist out of his mouth. “We took him in after a… a family friend passed during childbirth.”

“That’s very unfortunate,” she nodded, “and… coincidental.”

“Yeah, losing our moms around the same time isn’t the best of things to have in common but…” Sam bit his lower lip, confidence wavering on whether he should finish. The words teetered in his mind, rocking back and forth. He pressed on a side, tipping it over and into existence. “I mean, I guessed that was part of the reason we decided to look after him. I might not remember what it was like, growing up without a mom, but I knew it wasn’t easy for me” –

“Excuse me,” Mia interrupted, drawing Sam away from Jack to her. He kept his thumb and forefinger looped around Jack’s wrist. “You didn’t grow up with your mom?”

Sam winced, shrugging in response. He tried tagging Dean in, to help explain, but his brother had a faraway gleam in his eye that matched his childish pout. Sam realized he was on his own for now. “After I was born, she… she left,” Sam told her, “Without a trace one night. My dad he… it devastated him, broke him in some way that he couldn’t get past. Like, up until he died, he refused to believe she left him like that, by choice, and kept going on about how she died, and every day we were alive was for her, to do right by her. And because of this I only knew of our mom through stories he and, sometimes, Dean would share… but then one day Dean he… he happened to run into her.” He rubbed at his neck, head bowed so the fringe of his bangs shielded his eyes. “And she’s back in our lives. Just like that.”

“How did that make you feel? Having her back?”

“Weird,” he said, “There’s this woman who says that she’s my mom, and I believed it at first. But then, the more I learned about her, the less it felt like she and the mother I grew up with, the… the ghost of her, were the same person?”

“It’s common for adults to have difficulty in reconciling the image of the mother in their heads with the person they actually are,” Mia said, “Kids take their parents for granted, a lot of times forgetting that they have a life outside of their children’s concerns, and this continues despite growing out of adolescence.”

Dean huffed in agreement, “Ain’t that the truth.” Sam tamped down the urge to punch him, to make him behave.

“So Sam,” Mia pointed with her pen, “did this disconnect affect how you processed your mother’s death?”

“Uh…” He asked himself the same question. Sam’s brows dipped into a shallow grave above his head. “Maybe,” he answered her, “But not in the way you might think? Like… I missed her, back before, but I didn’t know her. Now I miss her but I… I got to know her? She’s more than my mother, to me. And that’s… I’m happy I got to know her before she died. Still, I feel a little guilty because why should I… she’s my mom, she died, and I shouldn’t be happy, should I?”

“Have you considered that instead of happiness,” Mia says, “what you’re feeling is closure?”

“Closure?”

She planted both feet on the ground, now, bent forward as she expanded on her point. “Your mother was a mystery for most your life. A puzzle with most of the pieces missing. Then, she comes back and with her are those little pieces that complete the picture for you. Suddenly your mother isn’t much of a ghost or an ideal. She’s a person” –

“So what?” Dean chimed in, “This was some cosmic joke, then? Have her kick up some dust long enough we form a connection with her, fill in a few blanks, and then poof? She’s no longer needed?”

“It’s unfortunate what happened to your mother,” Mia stressed, good mood tempered by Dean’s outburst, “but comfort can be found in closure. My patients lost people in their lives suddenly, like you did, but there’s a gap in their healing because a lot of times there were words or feelings never expressed that they still clung to, that if they had a few more seconds, they would have gotten off their chests.” She turned to Sam, directing her next question at him. “Is there anything you think wasn’t said between you and your mother before she died?”

He reflected. Sam parsed through the leaflet of memories he collected of him and his mother, wondering if, within them, there is a moment of regret where he bit his tongue when he shouldn’t have. There were none. “No, I don’t…” he mumbled, “I don’t think there was.” Sam’s lips curled into a tepid smile. “That’s weird.”

“How so?”

“I guess I’m not used to closure, is all,” he sighed, “for most of our lives, things and… and people – it all tends to be cut short. Usually, we’ve got to keep our heads up high and move on. Like with…” Sam trailed off, Eileen’s name caught in his teeth. He refused to let Eileen go and swallowed her name into the murky depths of his soul along with the other things he didn’t think about, where he stored everything that was in the way of doing his job. Because that’s what they’re here for, led there by Dean’s hunch. He couldn’t forget that. Mia’s stare burned on his profile, waiting for him to continue. He will be disappointing her. Jack’s tugging on his finger, sticking it in his mouth as he gummed it and guided Sam free from his stupor. Sam forced his mind to settle by wading into safer waters. “That might be another reason why we took Jack in. His mother… we knew how much she’d regret not being there for him. So by giving him a home, a family who will love him… I’m hoping it gives her comfort wherever she is. Or closure, as you might put it.”

“God,” Dean groaned, slamming his head on the chair’s backboard, “If I have to hear that word one more time, I swear I’m gonna scream.”

Mia’s journal was open again and rapidly taking notes, her attention diverted towards Dean. “I’m guessing that’s not how you’re feeling about all this, then?”

“Like what? Like everything’s wrapped up in a neat little bow?”

“If that’s how you wish to describe it.”

“Well it’s not,” Dean spat, “It’s a big mess of string that’s tangled with no hope of ever being untangled! In fact, it’s like the more effort we go into untangling it, the messier it gets, and the larger it gets, spreading past us and mucking up everyone else in our lives!”

Mia didn’t seem fazed by Dean’s tantrum, and Sam wondered if she truly is a monster like Dean suspected. If Sam were in her place, he wouldn’t know how he’d have maintained composure when dealing with his brother acting like a damned ass. There’d be blood splattered everywhere by now. “In my professional experience, many times we believe we’re ‘untangling’ the mess in our lives… it’s actually the opposite.”

“You saying I did this to myself?”

“What I’m saying is that… messes in our lives happen because of misunderstandings and miscommunication. We assume something about another person and act according to these assumptions, only to find out those were wrong, and we dig a bigger hole for ourselves. We lie because we believe it’s easier than the truth, and we hold in things we think don’t need to be said because there’s a misbelief they might not matter.”

“Trust me, doc, things were definitely said,” Dean seethed, crossing his arms. He broke their staring contest, Sam surprised at the momentary flash of hurt that radiated from Dean’s gaze. Dean smothered it immediately, returning with hardened steel. “And maybe things that weren’t said were that way for a good reason, to not rock the boat… or mess up something that was already better than I thought I could have…” He blanched, face paling in realization of what, Sam guessed, he hadn’t meant to say. With this new awareness, Dean won’t give more than he already had. He stayed as he is, frozen in stubbornness.

Sam wished he would. His forehead pounded, the beat of his heart loud in his eardrums. It didn’t sound like Dean was talking about their mother, but he can’t exactly name who Dean meant with his latest revelation.

Mia had the same inklings. She’s better prepared, and perfectly distanced, to needle him about it. “Are you dealing with more than your mother’s loss?” she asked, “Did you lose someone else? Or… were you close with Jack’s mother, before she passed?”

Dean deflated, anger whooshing out of him like a burst balloon. “It’s nothing.”

“Because if there is something you wish to say, to someone,” Mia says, “I do have methods and exercises you can try that will help you work through these feelings” –

“I said it’s nothing, okay?” He stood, body rigid and tense like a taut bowstring. “I think we’re done here.”

Sam rose, too, ready to disagree. The thin press of Dean’s mouth warned Sam he shouldn’t argue. He accepted an early defeat, but in his own way. “Thank you, Doctor Vallens,” he said, offering his hand to her, “I’m sorry about my brother and his… assness, but this was a great session.”

“I’m used to people like him,” she said, accepting the gesture and pumping his hand twice. Mia moved onto Dean. She’s the bigger person, holding her hand out for a handshake. “If you weren’t too put off by my methods, maybe we can work on what’s bothering you in another session?”

Dean smiled, seizing her hand. “Trust me, I’m capable of finding that on my own.”

Mia shouted, reeling backwards. In her haste she drops her journal, too concerned with touching the red welt burning on her hand. “What did you” –

“Silver bullet,” Dean said, wiggling the ammunition. He uncovered his gun and loaded the bullet back inside it. “Only silver thing I had on me that you wouldn’t notice.” Dean shifted his stance, holding tight to his gun’s handle with a finger hovering near the trigger. “Though I bet you’ll notice it better after I’ve blasted it into your skull.”

“No, no!” Mia pleaded, stumbling behind her chair, building distance between her and Dean, “You don’t have to do this!”

“Oh, I think I do,” Dean growled, advancing, “otherwise you’ll just keep going on killing.”

“What? I’m not – I haven’t killed anyone!”

“Right, like I’m supposed to believe that.”

He might not, but Sam did. He leapt between them, quickly disarming Dean. Sam twisted Dean’s wrist until he dropped the gun into Sam’s waiting hand. “Stop it.”

“What the hell?” Dean yelled at him, massaging his sore wrist, “Sam, what do you even think you’re doing?”

“Hearing her out,” he said. Sam, on instinct, glanced behind himself at Mia. She hadn’t run. She didn’t flinch when their eyes locked. As they did, Sam saw an apprehensive trust hidden within her eyes. Sam wouldn’t comment on it, to try and ease her fear. He was still a hunter. He still had the gun. His opinion might change, and she might need to spring into defensive mode again when Sam levelled the weapon at her. “You’re not human,” Sam pointed out what’s already obvious.

Her shoulders tensed. Mia straightened to her full height; her expression now free of any earlier fear. “I’m not.”

“What are you?”

“A shifter.”

“Are you actually a therapist?” Dean asked, an incredulous lilt to his tone. He jerked his thumb at the wall of degrees Sam noticed before. “Or did you shift into this poor doctor’s life after you killed her.”

“Yes, I am a therapist,” she told them, palpable anger coloring her tone. Dean finally struck a nerve. “These are all mine… went to a lot of trouble getting them. But I did my time, like everyone else.”

“Except you’re not like everyone else,” Dean said, “are you?” Mia’s lips flattened into a tight line, a refusal to answer. Dean continued, not expecting her to. “Okay, can we shoot her now?”

“Shut up, Dean.” Sam snapped the safety of the gun on, then tucked it inside his waistband. He directed his next question to Mia, “Do you know why we’re here?”

“I guess therapy was a cover?” she scoffed, stepping out of her hiding spot. Sam nodded. Mia chuckled low in her throat, shaking her head. “Of course… dammit I should have – I should have known what you were from the moment you walked in… And I didn’t think there’d be any harm in one last session before I left town altogether” –

“Leaving town?” Dean jumped onto that last statement, clinging to it, “Only guilty people leave, y’know.”

“This isn’t my fault. Those deaths, they weren’t my fault,” she argued, “I’m a victim in this as much as they are.”

“Sure, right…” Dean angled his head away from Mia, muttering in Sam’s ear, “Seems like she knows about the deaths, and she’s a shifter. If you keep distracting her, I can sneak the gun out of your pocket and –“

“No, Dean.”

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

“I could ask you the same thing.” A hot wave of fury blistered Dean’s face, transforming the terrain and leaving a barren, ashen wasteland in its trail. Dean stormed away from him but didn’t move far. He hovered by the door to the lobby, fiddling with a wooden statue. Sam let him. That he remained in the room spoke more to his willingness of hearing Mia’s story than anything he’s said this past hour. Sam turned to her, “You were aware of the deaths in town?”

“They were my patients,” she said, “They’re always my patients.”

“Always?” Sam asked, “Has this happened before?”

“In about every town I moved to in the past two years.” Mia sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose as she wandered towards the fireplace. He watched her grab a box of cigarettes and a lighter from atop it. “Mind if I?”

Sam thought of Jack, about his little lungs. He almost denied her, except Dean cut in and shrugged, “Sure, why not.” Sam glared at him, nodding his head at the carrier. “What? It’s not like it’ll do any damage to him.” He hated that he’s right. Sam silently gestured his assent to Mia.

“Thanks.”

“So,” he said as she lit the cigarette and took a long drag off it, “you set up shop in a town, and at some point… your patients start dying and you have to move?”

“For my patient’s safety,” she explained, “For my safety. From people like you, and… and him.”

“Him?” Sam asks, “Who’s him?”

“My ex, Buddy, that’s who.” She tapped cigarette ash into the fireplace, leaning against it as she told her story. “Another shifter I was dating. He was a nice guy, at first, and, well… it’s not like there are a lot of options when you have to peel off your skin every few hours. Besides my mom, he was the only other shifter I ever knew. We started dating during my graduate program and he… he seemed so supportive. Things changed when I actually started practicing.” Mia began pacing in front of the fireplace now, hand holding the cigarette bouncing with every step. “He started complaining that I never had time for him anymore, that I was letting my hobby push him out of my life, and I was caring more for my patients then our safety.”

“Why would he say that?”

“Because he was jealous,” she said. Then, briefly, a sheepishness tints her cheeks. “Also, I might have been using my abilities while practicing?”

Sam’s uneasiness swiftly returned. “What does that mean?”

“I told you, how a lot of my patients have things and feelings they wished they’d shared with people who were no longer with them. Sometimes… after I noticed how talking about it or grief journaling could only do so much I – I shifted. Became the person who died, but only so that my patients could unburden themselves of what they carried, that’s all.”

“Right,” Dean chuckled, “and people bought that, no questions asked?”

“There’s nothing someone won’t believe if it meant a few more seconds with someone they loved.”

That shut Dean down better than anything she said all afternoon. Sam didn’t worry too much about his brother’s weighty silence, however, pressing her further for information. “Your ex didn’t appreciate that?”

“No. Our fighting got so bad, I had to break things off. He was getting… violent. A few days later, the first death happened…” She sucked on the cigarette a final time, discarding it into the soot-covered fireplace beside her. “Since then it’s been the same thing over and over. I leave, find somewhere new to practice, he somehow finds me, then finds out who my patients are, and kills them until I start this fucked-up process over again.”

“Hey,” Sam motioned to the baby carrier, whispering, “Language.”

“…Sorry.”

A silence dragged out in the room as Sam digested her story. He considered it from every angle, taking great pains to ensure his instincts weren’t wrong. That Mia told them the truth, and the real monster was somewhere skulking around town, searching for his next kill. Sam was almost convinced. Something did trouble him, though, keeping him from fully believing her. “It said in the police reports that both victims were killed by people who looked like their dead loved ones… how would Buddy’ve known who they were, let alone who to shift into?”

“I… I don’t know,” Mia said, “I never knew how he found me… he always… I did my best, staying off social media. I don’t even have a damned website for my practice, or a LinkedIn page!”

Dean snorted, finally rejoining the conversation, “Maybe he tried doing what we did and played your heartstrings like a fiddle.”

Sam could kick him for that remark, for it being rude and, unfortunately, being completely plausible. He asked Mia, “Could he?”

“I…” Mia sighed, rubbing a tired hand across her face, “I want to say no, that I wouldn’t be that much of a fool to do that, but… you two made it work.”

“Okay,” Sam smiled, “that’s a start. Is there anyone who you’re close to that he might’ve taken the form of? Friends? Coworkers?”

Mia shook her head, “The only people I speak to on a regular basis are my patients, and I’m the only doctor who works here since I, well… also live here, too.”

“So that front desk out there?” Dean said, scoffing, “that for show? Or do you find time to shift, shrink, and answer calls?”

“Oh, no, I have an assistant,” Mia told them. Sam shared a glance with Dean, the same idea building within Sam’s mind reflected in his brother’s eyes. Mia interrupted their silent communication, “No, no, it can’t be Jim.”

“How sure can you be?”

“He’s on vacation, right now.”

Dean chuckled, “Because that’s a bulletproof alibi…”

“How about this then,” she huffed, smirking, slowly approaching him. “I drove him and his boyfriend to the airport because he didn’t want to leave his car in the parking lot for the next two weeks.” Dean deflated, blanching uncomfortably at her words. He ended their contest, stiffly shifting, facing the wall. She further encroached upon his personal space, “How’s that for an alibi?”

Dean pinched his red ears, mumbling, “…Seems pretty airtight.”

Sam, once more, ignored Dean’s strange behavior in favor of continuing his line of questioning. “If it’s not your assistant then it has to be a patient. Is there anyone you’ve seen lately who might have been… off? Maybe they were acting differently than you might remember?”

“Not that I can say, off the top of my head.”

“Okay…” Sam said, “Do you have notes that we can look at – if, if that’s not an invasion of privacy, or whatever? Maybe we can establish a pattern or – or see whether there’s differences between sessions based on what you wrote?”

Mia shook her head, squeezing her elbows as she turned from him. “That’d be a serious invasion of privacy I can’t allow, even if I thought it’d be of any help.” Sam hummed a sour note, tearing a page out his mental notebook as he scrapped another idea. Before he returned to the drawing board, Mia gasped and spun back around. “But,” she continued, “I do have something I think will help. Follow me.” Mia brushed past Sam, heading into the lobby.

Sam trailed behind her, Dean, too, judging from his footsteps. He paused in the doorway, however, remembering Jack and how he shouldn’t leave him alone. As he was about to double back, he bumped into Dean who hissed, “watch out” while shoving him off. Sam’s gaze dipped low, then, hearing a familiar giggle. Jack beamed up at Sam from his carrier; it gently swinging, held in Dean’s hand. Sam glanced at Dean, his older brother knowing well to avoid the other’s gaze. “What?” Dean mumbled, “Shouldn’t we see what Mia’s doing? For all we know, she’s out the door while we dawdle here…”

Sam surrendered without a fight here, too. He chose his battles and could see how meaningless it’d be to press now. He filed this away, though, to use for a later date.

They huddled around Mia in the lobby, at the front desk. She clicked through different tabs on her assistant’s computer. “A while back, we had these teens break in and mess the place up searching for cash, or whatever. I didn’t press any charges – nothing was stolen, and all I had to replace was a window and a few magazines – but Jim didn’t want to come back to work unless I installed some type of security system. I didn’t want to hire someone new so… I caved and got cameras. I never usually bother with them, since they’d do me more harm than good. But given all of us know what’s what…”

“We can use the cameras to figure out which one of your patients is your ex,” Sam finished her thought, laughing, “that’s perfect!” Both Mia and Dean stared at him with twin, strange expressions on their faces. He cleared his throat, “…Sorry.”

They lapsed into an anxious silence after. Even Jack fell into a quiet lull, entertained by the pacifier Dean stuffed into his mouth when he set him on the desk. Although his focus, like theirs, was trained on the screen. Together, they watched people – regular people, given how their eyes didn’t flare – walk in and out of frame for longer than Sam would have liked. When it seemed as if they hit another dead end, Sam saw Dean storm into view. “This is us,” he said, Sam’s own figure appearing at the same time the man from earlier had.

Jack clapped his hands, the pacifier spat from his mouth. Almost like the raspberries he blew at the other man. The stranger craned his neck to smile at Jack, giving the camera a clear view of his face.

A view of his glowing eyes, too.

“Him,” Sam tapped the screen, “Who is he?”

“Travis?” Mia sighed, running a tired hand across her face. “Travis Hodgins. He’s someone I’ve been seeing since… since I started my practice. Lost his daughter to cancer, and his marriage to the grief of it. He was… he was getting better…”

Sam offered her condolences that Mia shrugged off. “Do you know where he lives?” he asked instead.

“Yeah, it’s not that far from here…”

Sam looked at Dean, “You want to check it out?”

“Alone?”

“Someone has to stay here, in case Buddy comes back,” Sam said, “besides, if he is there, just text me and I’ll find my way to you.”

Dean didn’t appear too pleased with the orders, but like the soldier he was raised to be, Dean listened regardless. Sam handed Dean his gun and muttered a few quick words of encouragement his brother rebuffed.

Soon, it was Mia, Sam, and Jack in the lobby, the sun having set some time ago and casting the room into an eerie darkness. They returned to the warmer light of her other room and its many lamps, Mia readying another cigarette while Sam dug through the baby bag for a bottle of milk. He settled beside the carrier, helping Jack onto his lap to better feed him.

Mia’s shadow stretched over him. She stood behind the couch, nodding at Jack. “Is what you said about him true?” she asked, “Or did you borrow him for the ruse?”

“He’s ours…” Sam sank into the couch, tilting his head to better meet her guarded stare. “We didn’t know his mom that well, but we were all he had after…” He trailed off, unsure how much he should share. Mia didn’t need to hear the specifics. “After this big… this big blow-out. Cost us his mom… our mom… a few friends” –

“So you did lose your mom?” she asked, “That wasn’t fake, too?”

“No…” Sam shifted, discarding the empty bottle on the nearby coffee table. “She died a few days ago, actually.”

Mia hissed, a harsh cloud of smoke drifting past the space of her clenched teeth. “And you’re here? I heard hunters had to have hard hearts for the job, but that sounds brutal even for me…”

“It wasn’t my idea to come here,” Sam confessed, “Dean… he kinda hijacked our trip back home. I didn’t like it, but I get it – in a way. He’s coping.”

“Poorly.”

“There’re worse things he could be doing, like drinking,” Sam defended his brother, “at least he’s trying to get back to normal. We both are.”

Mia shrugged in response, drifting towards the fireplace to dump her second cigarette. Sam didn’t mind, busying himself with burping Jack. They existed separately in this space, lost in their own thoughts. Although Sam found himself wanting to reengage with Mia, continuing their conversation so he might better explain their situation. His stomach twisted itself in knots, like he ate bad gas station food, because he felt like she misunderstood him. It was stupid. It was completely unnecessary. It shouldn’t matter what her opinion of them was.

“It’s not healthy,” he started, slowly rocking Jack in his carrier. Sam watched the little boy as his eyes began to droop, instead of Mia. “You’re right. The fact that Dean and I are still hunting, after everything that’s happened to us – all we lost, all we’ve bled because of the job – we’re insane for waking up the next day and carrying on. But it’s all we know. Our whole lives have been about the hunt. We’ve tried to walk away from it… and it works for a little bit… but somehow we always find ourselves back in the thick of it.” He swallows around a terrifying lump in his throat, of a secret held he never spoke of. “When I was younger, there was nothing I wanted more than to not be a hunter. Now… I don’t see myself doing anything else. This is what I’m supposed to be doing.”

“And your brother?” Mia asked, “Is this what he wants?”

Sam, used to speaking for his brother, especially tonight, was at a loss for words. He struggled piecing together an answer. It went down like expired milk. “He’s never said anything to make me doubt otherwise.”

“I believe that,” she scoffed, “Dean doesn’t seem the chatty type.”

There’s another half-formed defense waiting in Sam’s arsenal, but his ringing phone reminded Sam where his priorities should be. He answered, “What?”

“House is empty.”

“It is?”

“Except for the rotting corpse of Mr. Hodgins,” he said, “but I don’t think he should count.”

Sam cursed, bolting upright from his seat. “If he’s not there,” he mumbled, pacing, “then where is he?”

He heard the gun click before he saw it, felt the cold muzzle of it knock into his head, right above his ear. Mia gasped where she stood, and Dean kept repeating Sam’s name like a siren. Sam glanced to the side, seeing the man from earlier holding the gun. “Put that down,” Buddy ordered, punctuating his threat by shoving the gun even closer.

Sam nodded, hitting speaker and placing the phone next to Jack’s carrier. As he did, he said, “You roll in from funkytown or something?”

“Real funny, scumbag,” Buddy chuckled, “why don’t you go and stand next to the bitch who thinks she’s a doctor?” He made it halfway towards Mia when he heard Buddy cluck his tongue at him. “Hold it.” Sam waited, scowling as Buddy’s hand traveled his body, stopping only as he felt the oblong shape of Sam’s gun tucked inside his jacket. Buddy relieved Sam of his weapon, taunting him with it, dangling it in front of his face before dropping it. He kicked Sam’s ass, making him stumble on his path to Mia. “Now get!”

Buddy hurriedly swarmed he and Mia, crowding them further against the fireplace. The gun wavered. Not enough Sam might risk retaliating, but every few seconds it left him and was trained on Mia. “Look how far you’ve sunken, baby,” Buddy purred, stroking Mia’s chin with the gun, “teaming with hunters? I knew you were a traitor, but I didn’t realize it had gotten this bad.”

“If anyone’s the traitor, it’s you, Buddy,” Mia said, “breaking my heart. Making me think you were some kind of good guy and not the scuzz you really were.”

He whipped her hard, the crack reverberating and making Sam’s nerves shake. Blood spurted out of Mia’s nose. She wiped it as she recovered, panting. “You wanna say that again?” Buddy asked.

Mia bit her tongue, protest visible in her eyes. Buddy readied another blow, but stopped midway when Jack interrupted with a healthy cry. “Well fuck,” he said, as if noticing Jack for the first time, “you’ve done and woke up the baby… happy?”

“Stop it,” Sam warned, “Don’t you dare go near him.”

“Or what?” He laughed, inching away from them to where Jack was. “Y’know… I thought hunters had a little more sense than bringing babies on a hunt.” Buddy said. In response, Jack’s voice rose to a pitch that made Sam wince. “Dammit!” Buddy growled, stomping closer to Jack, crouching in front of him. Buddy shook the carrier, “Can you stop that! Can you shut up!” He pointed the gun at Jack, “I swear, if you aren’t quiet in the next second” –

Sam grabbed the poker almost immediately, slamming it into Buddy with his next breath, powered by adrenaline and instinct. He dropped his weapon to hurl himself at Buddy, next, knocking both them and the couch over. Sam heard the gun fly out of Buddy’s hand, and he punched and punched the other shifter to keep it that way.

Buddy, anticipating his plan, recovered enough between punches that he dodged one and managed to knock Sam off of him. Sam heard him scramble to his feet, searching for his weapon. Fear, familiar and slick, trickled down his back in millions of droplets of sweat. His mind jolted, quickly, working up an idea that might buy them a few more minutes for Dean to arrive.

Mia delivered when he couldn’t. “Sam!” she said, drawing his attention. She held his gun and, without saying anything else, she tossed it to him. Sam caught it easily. He aimed for Buddy.

Except Buddy already had his gun pointed at Sam. “So long, hunter.” Buddy’s finger squeezed the trigger and it fired, the gunshot overpowering Jack’s persistent crying.

Sam braced for the bullet, wincing preemptively. Instead of his life flashing, all Sam saw was what would happen after. Dean arriving to see Sam failed at stalling Buddy, his lifeless body dripping blood alongside Mia’s and Jack’s, meaning Dean was well and truly alone in the world. Alone because of Sam.

Except that never happened.

Sam was still alive when he knew he should be bleeding out. He cracked one eye open, then the other, and noticed the bullet hovering in mid-air, frozen in its path. Suddenly, as if waiting for Sam’s attention, the bullet splintered and exploded into dust. The force from the explosion knocked Buddy backwards, his limp hand dropping the gun again.

He wasted little time firing two bullets into Buddy’s chest, adding a third for good measure between the eyes.

Panting, Sam whipped around to Mia. “Are you good?” he asked, advancing.

Mia, mouth agape and eyes wide, startled free from her trance. “Yeah, yes… I’m good. I…” She never finished her thought, torn, looking at Buddy’s corpse, then to where the bullet exploded.

Sam carried on and moved to Jack, stepping over the couch to reach him. As he did, he noticed the younger boy’s tantrum lessened since the height of the battle. He appeared tired, his cries weaker with each release. His cheeks were red, and his eyes –

His eyes were bright gold.

Sam nearly cursed, stopping himself at the last moment. He extended a hand to Jack, hovering near his face, thinking of the bullet and what Jack’s eyes meant.

He didn’t dwell on it for long. Dean burst into the room, gun at the ready, his glare darting around the room. “Sam?” he asked, locking eyes with him from the doorway, “What the hell happened in here?”

Sam didn’t know where he should start.

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#supernatural #spn #spn13 #sam winchester #dean winchester #destiel #deancas #mia vallens #jack winchester #spn case fic #destiel fanfic #spn fanfic

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epeolatry001 · 6 years

Text

Graveside Matters Chapter Two

The college we both attended was amid a busy little city, surrounded by buildings that looked exactly like it in an attempt to blend in by remaining in plain sight. They only accepted very specific, very qualified students here – students who had some sort of special ability. Think of it kind of like Hogwarts or Xavier's School for Gifted Children, except that it's not at all similar, because it's just as expensive as a normal college and you're still expected to balance a regular classwork load on top of the powers training classes.

"Does this mean I'm a zombie?" Jake piped up as he strode shirtless out of the bathroom, steam from the hot shower he had just taken dissipating into the air behind him. A new pair of jeans hung low on his hips and he held a t-shirt in one hand while rubbing a towel over his head with the other.

He looked a lot better now that he was no longer covered in dirt and blood and the bruising around his slightly broken nose had gone down. But he still held a certain haunted look on his face that could only result from dying and being resurrected. Twice.

We had stopped by his room while his roommate was out to nab a pair of clean clothes and a couple of other items he might need, before scurrying to hide out in my room. We didn't have to fear anyone seeing him here, since I was one of the lucky few upper classmen to have been graced with a room of my own, complete with its own bathroom and little kitchenette. (One of the perks of the high expenses and exclusive acceptance of this school were the apartment-style dorms.) (… Okay, I get that it's a perk at other colleges too, but I'm going to be in debt for the rest of my life so just let me have this, alright?)

"Not exactly," I assured him from where I was sprawled out on my bed, propped up on my elbows. "More like a revenant, I think? You shouldn't keep decaying or develop a taste for human brains. But I've never really had anyone I raised stay around this long, so who knows." My eyebrows rose with a sudden thought. "Hey, maybe I can use you as a case study for my final project this semester."

He made a face. "Awesome. I'm like an undead guinea pig."

As he toweled off his shoulders, I noticed his skin was smooth and unblemished except for the two fading pink scars running under his pecs and the red bullet hole over his heart. The recent wound was still a little garish, but it wasn't looking as see-through as earlier. "Looks like your wound is slowly closing. That's interesting." Very interesting, considering how, in my experience, corpses usually stayed frozen in the state they were raised in.

Jake's face lit up with wonder-filled apprehension as he gently prodded at the pink skin, then winced slightly. "It doesn't really hurt anymore, but the memory of the pain is still pretty vivid."

"Yeah, I can imagine getting shot hurts like a bitch," I said with a nod in sympathy, because, like I said earlier, I was bad at comforting. I jutted a chin at his chest. "What are the other scars from?"

He paused in folding his towel to give me a strange look before understanding dawned with a glance down. "Oh, these are just from top surgery."

Ah, well, that explained why they were so symmetrical. "So, not from a freak swordfight accident or something, gotcha," I replied easily with a grin. My gaze strayed to the clock on the nightstand and I tried my best to withhold a groan once I realized how late it was getting. "You're so lucky tomorrow is Saturday, because I definitely wouldn't have time to deal with this on a week day." In retrospect, a lot of what came out my mouth probably sounded harsh. But I don't mean it to, not always. It just had a lot to do with the fact that I simply hated doing things.

"I'm sorry that my death is such an inconvenience to you," he deadpanned, but a smile tugged at the corner of his lips before he pulled the shirt over his head, covering any evidence of his death. "But hey, speaking of - does anyone else know I died?"

I shook my head. "Not that I know of. You technically haven't been gone for an alarmingly long time, so your roommate hasn't reported you missing yet. Though I suspect it's because he's covering for you. He seemed pretty jumpy when I stopped by earlier to see if you were there." I ran a hand over the soft blue blanket I was laying on. "I had planned to call the cops and leave an anonymous tip about the whereabouts of your body after I got my money back, but… Now you're technically not dead anymore, so I guess that'd be a moot point."

He crossed his arms and rose a thick eyebrow at me. "How considerate. But it begs the question, how did you even know where to find me?"

I batted my eyelashes and gave him a sweet, innocent smile. "The crows told me." Because that's what people expect.

"No, seriously."

"I tracked your phone to where it had been dropped in the woods - kind of lazy of your killers if you ask me – but that reminds me…" I adjusted my position to sit cross-legged as I pointed at my fringed purse on the desk next to him. "Your phone is in there if you want it back. Then when I got to the woods my necromancy powers kicked in to let me know there was a recently deceased body laying in a shallow grave up ahead, and here we are."

Jake shuffled through the many contents of my purse until he pulled out his phone. It was a little dirty, but still in good condition. "I'm the one who dropped it, just in case. It was like an electric bread crumb."

"Well, that's the first smart thing you've done so far," I replied with a smirk. "Wanna tell me what, exactly, you were involved in that got you killed?"

A heavy silence fell.

"Jake?"

His expression was guarded when he finally spoke up. "I agreed to meet up with these guys because they said they'd sell me some Stifler."

"Stifler…" I tried my best to reign in my reaction and keep my voice unjudgmental even as surprise and shock coursed through me.

Stifler was a hard drug I've only heard whispers about that lurked in the dark edges of the powered community. Those who were desperate for a quick fix to suppress their abilities instead of learning how to harness it, often fell victim to its addicting and flimsy promises. The build-up from having one's essence smothered could result in some serious consequences, some of which have led to multiple cases of powers combusting that had to be covered up before main stream media got a hold of them.

Because of this, it was also extremely illegal, and anyone caught with even a hint of the drug on campus would be expelled faster than you could say, "ButwaitIcanexplain!"

I cleared my throat, then said evenly, "Why were you trying to buy Stifler?"

He quirked an eyebrow, crossing his arms. "I had my reasons."

Alright, obviously he wasn't going to spill. I sighed, knowing my decision to help was coming back to bite me in the ass. "Have you bought it before?"

This, he allowed an answer. "No, that was going to be my first time."

I tilted my head in thought. "But they killed you. Hmm… Not very business-like of them."

"Tell me about it." Jake's shoulders slumped, then he lowered himself into my desk chair. "The meet-up point was in the woods. I had the money and everything, but the two guys there didn't care. They made me show them what my power was to prove I was who I said I was, and then they jumped me."

"What's your power?"

He fixed me with an exasperated look. "Seriously? We've been in the same class this whole year and you never noticed my abilities or claimed to know me well enough to care about my death, but you felt it was fine to loan me twenty dollars?"

I clucked my tongue. "Obviously I was wrong about loaning you that twenty. And I usually spend that class catching up on physics, so no, I don't recall what your special power is."

I also, up until I loaned him money, ignored him for the most part. He had a confident way of moving and a gentleness when he spoke that made everyone instantly like him, even when he grew quieter through the years. And it was because everyone fawned over him that I deliberately decided to stay away. I guess some could say that was spiteful but, it's the principle of the matter.

He shrugged. "Well, it doesn't matter anyway. They saw it and then they killed me."

Hm. That was a new development in the drug trade. I pulled a ponytail off my wrist to tie back my long hair as I thought. I didn't like where this was going, but I never was one to think things through. "Alright then, give me the number and I'll set up a meeting with them."

Jake stared at me like I had just casually told him I wear tin foil hats to avoid aliens. "Those meetings don't go well. They killed me."

"I know," I said with a deliberate roll of my eyes. "But I kinda have this thing where I control the dead, so that's not really a problem for me."

"Yeah well, you control it, but that doesn't mean you're unsusceptible to death."

I gave him a look that told him exactly where he could shove his unsusceptible opinion. "Do you want my help or not?"

There was a conflicted few seconds before finally he let out a heavy sigh, tossing his phone onto the bed next to me. "It's the last number I texted."

Shooting him a smug smile, I snatched his phone and plugged the number into my own. The blank text box stared up at me as I tried to think of some cool way to phrase my request; something coded, something that screamed, 'seasoned druggie.'

"Got your number from a friend. Looking to buy. Hit me up," I read aloud as I thumbed the keyboard. I quickly scanned it over to see if anything was missing, then added a sly face emoji. Totally legit. A smile spread across my face at how dumb it was, but I quickly hit send before I could overthink it or Jake could protest further.

He leaned his head back with a groan. "Oh god, this was a mistake. What if you just tell the president of the school and have her take care of it? Lampart's supposed to know the division in the police force that deals with special situations."

"Yeah, not happening." I shot him a look. "Because, A: I'm not even technically supposed to be raising actual people from the dead. I'm on an animal and plant based curriculum only and I'll get in big trouble if they find out about you. And two: they take drug allegations super serious here, and have a tendency to expel first and ask questions later. This school might not have been my first choice, but I'm so close to graduating and getting out of here, so there's no way I'm going to risk throwing away years of surviving mental break-downs and going into premature debt for nothing. Capeesh?"

Jake's eyes had grown wide at my growing enthusiasm, and watched me take in a deep breath when I finished. Then he squinted and muttered, "You messed up your bullet points."

"Excuse me?" The words came out tight.

"You said A, then two."

I gritted my teeth. "That's all you got out of this?"

"No… I get it, there's a lot at stake. But I don't like the idea of you putting yourself in danger." Jake sighed, a heavy, serious sigh that chased away the lightness of the situation I was doing so well with weaving. "I thought I wanted help, but I'm the one who got myself into this mess and I shouldn't be dragging anyone else into it." The chair creaked suddenly as he leaned forward to give me a hard look, and I was taken aback by the intensity in those steel grey eyes. "Are you sure you actually want to do this?"

My face pinched with slight confusion as I picked up on some sort of layered meaning in his question, but couldn't quite pin down what it was. I tapped my fingers on my leg, holding his gaze. "… Honestly? No. I wanted to binge something on Netflix tonight and put off studying for my exam." I shrugged. "But you didn't get me involved, I did, when I went out and rose you from the dead. So I'm sticking with it whether you like it or not. I guess."

Jake looked like he wanted to protest further, but seemed to understand arguing with me wouldn't get anywhere. Good. He was learning. Instead he crossed his arms and surveyed me. "Then what are you planning to tell them when they ask what your power is?"

I stretched my legs and leaned back on my hands. "I was thinking I'd just tell them my power…? They want me to prove it, right?"

"But you have a really powerful gift, I don't think you should give away what little upper hand we have in this situation by revealing what it actually is. And if you lied, they wouldn't even suspect anything because nothing about you really screams, 'I control the dead.'"

My eyes narrowed. "Oh, I'm sorry. Do I not look emo enough to be a necromancer?"

He shifted in his seat, looking me over with a slight smile, no doubt taking in the pastel pink streaks in my hair and baby blue sweater. Then he scanned from the soft shades of my room to the plants in polka-dotted pots on the window frame. "Well, you definitely don't fit the stereotype."

"Is that right?"

The flowers all at once slowly wilted and turned brown, curling into husks of themselves. Jake's eyes shot to them, then he rose an eyebrow at me. I waited for the usual flash of apprehension to cross his face like with everyone else, but it never came. Instead, he looked… Impressed.

I blinked, a little thrown. The flowers shot back to life, spreading their colorful petals wide as if they had never died.

"That's genius," he grinned, causing a dimple to appear in his left cheek. "You can tell them you have some sort of plant manipulating power."

Huh. That could actually work.

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