MEKKI

i'm still alive

Mon, 24 Jan 2011 03:52:08 GMT

And I've updated the SPN story. Just need some time to post them. In the meantime, enjoy this short;

I love the director, Jamin Winans. He did, "Ink," a really creative and touching movie that you should be watching RIGHT NOW if you haven't already watched it.

Writer's Block: Must see TV

Wed, 17 Nov 2010 19:43:06 GMT

If you were a TV producer, what would be the premise of your first TV series, and who would star in it?

First question listed was submitted by galadwen85. (Follow-up questions, if any, may have been added by LiveJournal.)

View 743 Answers

The show would be called "Copper." A crime-noir horror vampire show that's less in the vein of True Blood and The Vampire Diaries and more in the lines of FX programming like The Shield and Terriers. The plot would be as follows; When people start turning up dead in NYC with missing body parts, police start to wonder if they have a serial killer on their hands. However; for detective, Mor O'Donnell all signs point to something far more deadly. Someone is trying to put a vessel together to house something nasty. Perhaps a Demon. Perhaps something worse. Now the 500+ year old vampire must find a way to solve the mystery before it tears her beloved city apart.

Starring;

(I have no idea who would be Mor O'Donnell. I would love to get an Irish Actress for the part.)
Adam Goldberg as Det. Andrew "Andy" Cohen
Sarah Shahi as Det. Tova "Tov" Cohen
Konstantin Khabensky as Crime boss Anton Leonov
Karina Logue as The Mage "Maddie"

and chapter six makes half a dozen...yes, another Supernatural chapter

Mon, 27 Sep 2010 06:31:55 GMT

Title: Keep Me Hangin' On (Chapter Six)
Summary: Six months after "Swan Song" Dean has tried to settle into an Average Joe life as best as he can. But thanks to an unwelcome Archangel with a request for him, Dean is finding himself being thrown back into the supernatural fold again against his will.
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Still not Kripke. Not even in my wildest dreams. Though in my wildest dreams I was Oscar Wilde.

"Pastor, from where do you know the Winchesters from?" asked Jack.

A strange look came across Pastor Francis' face as if he was not sure what to speak next. "I had an...infestation problem back then. John Winchester, the eldest in the picture, showed up out of the blue and said he could take care of it. And he did. He and the boys stayed with me for a week afterward. Came back twice after that. Both times John dropped off Sam and Dean for a week or so while he did a job." He took the photograph that Jack was still holding. He stared at the young Winchester boys. "I used to make Sam and Dean slave in the shelter. You have never seen two boys work so hard."

He sighed handing back the photo. "I haven't seen them in about sixteen years."

Jack slipped the picture into his back pocket. "Do you have a number where they can be reached?"

Pastor shook his head. "This was before cell phones were everywhere." He snapped his fingers, "But John did leave me a number to call if any other problems came up." Pastor turned to Father Gallagher. "Do you still have that Bible I gave you or did you ditch it?"

Father raised an eyebrow, "Pastor."

"Yes?"

"You are asking a Catholic Priest if he junked a Bible like it was Tuesday's trash."

Pastor thought about that for a moment before coming to the conclusion that what he had said was one of the stupidest statements he had ever made. "Right. Good, then. Where is it?"

"In my office." Father started to make his way through the rows of tables.

Everyone followed. They walked into a large, pristine office where a young priest was manning the phones with one hand and going over the bills with the other. Father nodded at him. The young priest nodded back. Father walked around the last desk in the room. It was sitting next to a gigantic glass window. A bright shaft of light was shining down on the papers, making everything glow with an almost halo. Pastor's Bible was resting on the corner on top of a dictionary of Saints. Father grabbed the book and handed it to Pastor. He took the Bible and began to flip backwards. There were lined blank sheets of paper in the back of the book for notes. Pastor had used those sheets as a make-shift phonebook. He ran his fingers down the numbers.

"Here we go." He put the book down and took out his cell phone. "John left a number to some place called "Harvelle's Roadhouse". Maybe they will have a number to contact him."

He dialed.

Jack broke out a face aching grin. He knew that he had said that he did not care about his past a short while ago but deep down, he was still curious. He looked over at Nobuko, hoping she was sharing his excitement. But she was not. A worried frown wore on her face.

"What's wrong, kiddo?"

Her cheeks burned like lit scarlet. "I want you to find your family but..."

"But what?"

She squished her eyes closed, not wanting to face the man she had grown so close to. In one breath she spat, "You are going to find your family and you are going to leave. And I-"

"Wow, you're silly," Jack interrupted.

The girl opened one eye in shock. She found herself staring deep into Jack's unamused glower. He pried open Nobuko's other closed eye and thumped her gently on her forehead.

"Do you actually think the moment I reunite with who ever is in my past I am going to go, 'So long, Screwy, see you in Saint Louie'?"

Nobuko bit her lip and stared at her polished shoes. She barely made the effort to shrug.

Tossing his head back, Jack sighed. "Give me some credit here." He took the girl by the shoulders, "We may not share DNA but you are my family. Everyone here is family. And I don't know if the past me was the type of dick who just ditched people but the guy who is talking to you right here and now, is not. Besides, kiddo ," he rubbed the Nobuko's belly, "that boy of yours is going to be my Godson. And someone needs to teach him how to have good taste in music because, Nobuko, dear, yours... Seriously, who in this day and age willfully listens to disco?"

Nobuko smacked his chest. "It's not disco. It's electro. There is a difference."

The two shared a smile.

"The number's no good," said Pastor as he shut his phone close. "It's no longer in service."

"And there goes that." Jack plopped down in one of the overstuffed office chairs. "Nice try though, Pastor. Maybe it wasn't meant to be."

"Oh, you are not going to give up that easily, Jack." Nobuko took a seat behind Father's desk. "There's more than one way to skin a proverbial cat. Father, may I use your laptop?"

Father nodded. He unhooked his leather satchel and slipped his computer out of it. He opened the laptop up and pressed a few keys until he was able to get a connection. The machine hummed ready for use.

The girl cracked her knuckles. "Maybe I can find the Winchesters online."

Pastor was impressed. "Do you think you can actually do that, Nobuko?"

"I am a Millennial. We are born Saint Anthony's of the Internet. If it's on the web, I can find it."

Jack grinned as he leaned across the desk. "Then onward Christian soldier. Let's see what you can do."

With a nod and the tip of her tongue sticking out of the side of her mouth, the girl began to click away at the keyboard. She hit "enter" and sat back. She was shocked by the results. "There are over a hundred and fifty thousand hits for these guys. Are they famous or something 'cause I've never heard of them before." She read the first link, "Oh, Sam has a wiki page. Hold on." She clicked on the link and read. Her brow wrinkled in confusion.

"What is it?" asked Jack who got up and went around to look at the screen. He scanned the page. "'The Winchesters are part of a fictional family of...what? Demon, ghost and vampire hunters in the book series, Supernatural by Chuck Shurley, who writes under the pen name, Carver Edlund. The last name, Winchester, which has never been mentioned in the books, was indeed confirmed by ex-girlfriend, Becky Rosen, and confirmed again at the first Supernatural convention in Chicago by the writer, himself." He looked over his shoulder at Pastor who had a disturbed expression on his face. "Did those guys give you a fake name?"

"They couldn't have," said Nobuko as she scrolled up on the page. "The books only started coming out back in mid '05. That photo on board is from '92. It has to be a coincidence."

Pastor was still frowning but he did not say anything. Has someone been writing about the boys? Do they even know about this? He wanted to dive deeper into the books but knew that would only raise more questions from Jack and the others. Questions that he really did not want to answer. Like what exactly had been his infestation problem? How does one even start explaining ghouls?

Jack stood up and scratched his head. "Nobuko, how about looking for them on a social networking site or a forum."

The girl backtracked out of the page. "It's a start." She edited her search and hit "enter" again. The hits went down in half but still there were tens of thousands of pages to search through. She dug into her pocket and pulled out a hair band. Pulling her hair back, she made herself a ponytail. This was her serious look. She scrolled down the result page and began to read off what she had found. "'The Sam and Dean Extreme Fan site. Nope. Supernatural; We are in it for the hot boys. Uh-uh. The Win'cest Mpreg Forum. Now that's deeply disturbing."

"What's 'Win'cest'?" asked Jack.

"What's 'Mpreg'?" asked Father.

Nobuko leaned back, throwing her head up at the two, "For your sanity and my breakfast, don't ask." She returned to the computer. "Ah, this seems promising." She lightly tapped the screen. "Check this out. There's an argument going on about The Winchesters in this one forum. Someone says that they are real and they are...oh."

"Oh?" asked Jack as he looked at the text. "And they are 'douchebags'. Nice. What site is that?"

"Ghostfacers. I think they're sort of like that Syfy show, Ghost Hunters. Should we look into it?"

Father nodded. "It's worth a shot. Anyone that angry at someone might know them personally."

"Yeah, but these Winchesters seem to be into the supernatural and not pest control." She turned to Pastor. "Does that sound like the Winchesters you know, Pastor?"

Pastor pointed at the screen. He really did not want to get into it. "Click the link, Nobuko."

Nobuko obeyed. Everyone closed in around the screen and read the argument. A few people made posts about the Ghostfacers constant bashing of the Winchester brothers in their videos. The commenters, who were fans of the Supernatural books, felt that the Ghostfacers were mocking them unfairly. Heads on silver platters were demanded.

"Man," said Jack, "you do not want to cross those Supernatural fangirls."

Nobuko hushed him as she read on. The Ghostfacers counter argued, swearing that they were not talking about the book Winchesters but the real ones. They had met the pair and had worked with them on a ghost hunting case. Though in parenthesises, one of the Ghostfacers sneered, "All they did was get their asses kicked. We saved them!"

To which another Ghostfacer commented, "Well, it was actually Corbett who did it."

"Dude, he is one of us," came the reply.

"Was one of us."

"Fine, was one of us. And still is in the great beyond."

"R.I.P. Corbett."

"We're pouring a 40 in your honor, dude."

"Totally."

Jack stood up. He made a face. "Are these guys morons?"

"Morons or not," said Nobuko as she clicked on one of the Ghostfacer's profile. "They do seem to know the brothers." A picture of a man in glasses wearing a smoking jacket while sitting in an overstuffed chair by a fireplace came up. To the right of the picture was his name; Ed. "Still, this guy is wearing an ascot. So, again, he probably is a moron."

Nobuko scrolled down the profile. There was a blinking icon at the very end indicating that Ed could be chatted with live at the moment. "He's online. Should I contact him?"

"Yes!" shouted Jack. He took out a candy bar from his pocket and stuffed it into his mouth, trying to quell his excitement. "Go for it."

With another click, the girl opened a chat window. Under the name "anon102" she wrote, "Hello."

A moment later Ed wrote back, "Hello, fellow Facer."

Everyone in the room let out a little cheer. Nobuko's hands began to shake, "What should I write? What should I write?"

Pastor scratched his chin, "Tell him who you are and that you are looking for the Winchester family."

"But tell them that you are not another book fan," added Father, "You are actually looking for the real Sam, Dean and John."

"And tell them about me," said Jack as he patted the girl on the shoulder.

Nobuko waved her arms, clearing the air. "Gentlemen, one at a time. I can only type so fast." She stuck her tongue back out the side of her mouth and began to write. "I am looking for The Winchesters. The real ones. Not the book ones. My name is Nobuko Watanabe and my friend needs their help. Do you have any way I can reach them?"

She cleared her hands from the keyboard and rested them on her belly. All eyes stared at the window waiting for a reply.

A minute passed when Ed finally wrote back. "Is this a joke? Did Tim put you up to this?"

Jack groaned. "He thinks we're pranking him. Great. He's not going to help out."

Throwing an arm behind her, Nobuko covered Jack's mouth and hushed him. She nibbled at her lip. "Father, do you have Skype? I thought I had seen you used it when you were talking to Archbishop Naumann last month about the new church blessing up north."

"Yes. I do."

"Awesome." She leaned back towards the keyboard. Her belly rubbing against the desk. She typed, "Do you have Skype? I'll prove to you who I am."

Ed wrote back that he did and gave her his Skype name. Nobuko brought up the page and connected. A moment later the man who was once sitting by a fire while wearing an ascot was now staring at her while wearing a Fight Club t-shirt with a Twizzler hanging out his mouth. Another young man, dark haired and in a black jacket covered with band and sci-fi pins sat next to him.

"Holy crap, it's actually a girl and not some naked dude again," said the young man. "A pretty girl. Hello, pretty girl with..." he looked at Father and Pastor in their vestments. His face went milk white. "priests. I-I'm sorry. I didn't mean to flirt. I mean..."

Ed removed the candy from his lips and smacked the man in the chest. "Shut up, Harry." He turned back to the screen. "It's not every day men of the cloth ask for help from me and my crew. So, Padres," he pressed his hands together, making a temple with his fingers, "you are looking for the Winchesters. May I ask why?"

Jack raised his hand. "It's for me. I think the Winchesters may know who I am."

Ed arched an eyebrow. "And why should that matter?"

"Because long story short, I've lost my memory and I need it back."

The two Ghostfacers stared at the screen with screwed up faces that screamed with disbelief. Nobuko jolted up with eyes as wide as moons. "Guys, the baby just did a Highland jig on my bladder. Pregnant chick has got to go." With the grace of a drunk, she rose from her chair with the help of Pastor and Jack. Ed and Harry watched as her belly came on screen and swallowed up the entire picture. Harry felt even worse having flirted with her a few minutes ago.

Nobuko waddled out of the office. "Take notes, fellas. I will be quizzing." She made her way down the corridor. Her eye caught a homeless man standing in the hallway reading a bulletin board. He looked over at her. Their gazes locked. A shiver raced throughout the girl's body but she did not understand why. Quickly, turning her head, she went into the ladies' room trying to leave the image of the grizzled man in the dirty coat behind.

Out in the hallway, the man grinned his snaggled tooth smirk. He shuffled back in his worn out boots to the janitor's closet. After knocking twice, he snuck into the tiny walk-in space. The other homeless person that he had been with in the dining hall was sitting on the floor. He had his arms around the waist of a woman janitor. Her throat had been sliced open and he was milking her for every drop of blood he could squeeze out. The thick, frothy liquid dribbled into a chalice that was resting between his thighs. The last drops trickled out as the matted hair man shoved the corpse off of him and under a pile of toilet paper. He closed over the chalice as his green eyes became choked in black. He spoke the words that linked him to the other side and held still for a response.

A voice, sweet and cold, began to swim around in his head. Caressing his thoughts and whispering into the deep pit that the demon hid within the Human shell.

"We have located the girl and she is still with the child," the matted hair man said.

The voice was pleased. It whispered on.

The man nodded. "I understand. No harm will come to the girl until you are able to return here. But we will make sure she does not leave the building." A frown came over the man, "However, the girl lives with a pastor and she is watched over by a priest."

The voice growled and continued.

"No, I have not seen any signs of Angels or Archangels near here. Perhaps they are not aware of-"

The voice snapped.

The man cast his eyes away from the chalice in shame. "Yes, Lord. We will be careful."

The voice vanished. The matted hair man shook his head clearing the lovely fog from his mind. His black eyes gave back to green. He looked up to his companion. "You understood that one sided conversation from Harut, right?"

The bearded man snarled. He kicked the corpse making the body spill rolls of toilet paper all over the floor. "Yep. It's going to be a long day."

Jack ran his hand through his hair out of frustration. "Look, we are not fanboys. We have not even heard of this books series before ten minutes ago. And besides, are you calling a priest and a pastor a pair of liars?"

Harry began to wave his hands in front of him in defense. "No, we're not doing that at all. Come on, I don't want to go to Hell here."

"I don't think they would send you to Hell just for calling a priest and a pastor liars," said Ed. "At least I don't remember that lesson in Sunday school."

Father rubbed his eye and sighed. "No one is going to Hell. All we want is a way to contact the Winchester family. A simple yes or no to the question, can you help us, would be greatly appreciated."

Ed and Harry grew quiet. They shot glances as each other. Ed leaned into Harry's ear and whispered something. Harry shook his head and leaned back into Ed's ear and returned whispered.

Jack rolled his eyes at the ceiling. He had never met anyone so mind numbingly headache inducing as these two yahoos. He was about to click the call out and cry defeat when he remembered the picture in his back pocket. He slipped it out and brought the photo up to the laptop camera. He whistled.

The two Ghostfacers broke away from their private conversation and gave their attention to the photo. There was something familiar about the family in the picture but they could not place their finger on what it was exactly.

"Who are they?" asked Ed.

"A Polaroid of the Winchesters from '92. No common fanboy would have this. Only someone who knew them personally." Jack smiled trying to build trust. "Guys, we are not fans. Just some old friends who have lost touch with them and are trying to track them down."

Ed and Harry burst out laughing.

"Look at them!" Ed wiped a tear away from his eye. "They were geeks!"

"And if that is Dean because he still wears that dumb-ass necklace then that must be Sam." Harry clapped his hands in glee. "God, what a wimp he was. I could kick that kid's ass easy. Hey, Ed, couldn't I kick that kid's ass?"

"Oh, there's no question. And that guy in the back must be big bad Daddy Winchester." Harry stopped laughing and cleared his throat. "Now he looks like he could kick my ass."

"He is an ex-Marine," said Pastor with a bit of grit in his voice. "And he's real handy with a rifle."

Ed started to cough in shame and horror. Harry tried to avoid the gaze of the camera as he straightened out the things that sat around his computer. He moved to fiddling around with the pins on his jacket, overly polishing one that read, "FRAK THIS!"

"So," he began dropping the pin and the jacket behind. "I think we have a number you can use to get in touch with at least the brothers."

Jack put away the photo. "Thank you," he sighed dropping his head in release.

Grabbing a Sharpie, Harry scribbled down a number on his palm. He held it up to the screen. "Can you read this?"

Pastor snatched up a pen and a memo pad. He nodded as he jotted down the number.

Harry dropped his hand back down. "Honestly, I don't know how good that number is any more. We haven't used it in a while. See, Sam gave it to us to call if we came across anything big and bad that we couldn't handle."

Ed snorted. "Like they are so much better than us." He leaned into the camera. "Anyway, we kinda spam his voice mail with inappropriate sound bites from certain...movies."

"Casa Erotica and its sequels," interrupted Harry.

Ed closed his eyes and winced. "Thanks ever so much for that." He opened them again, "Like I said, we did that for a few weeks."

Harry grinned. "It was fun."

Tired of the quips, Ed seized the arm of Harry's rolling chair and pushed him off camera. The hooded Ghostfacer sailed out of sight. Only the sound of his wheels spinning could be heard. Then came the crash. It was loud, glorious and involved shattering glass. Ed made a face at the scene that Pastor, Father and Jack could not see.

"Hey, are you alright?"

"I'm good," Harry whimpered.

Shaking his head again, Ed continued. "So, again, given the beating we gave to his mail, that number may or may not be good. But it's the only one we've got."

Pastor held up the newly written memo. "We'll take it." He came close to the camera. "Thank you for your help, boys."

"No problem, Padre. Anytime we can fight the good fight, right?

"I think you are misquoting Angel now," said Harry who was still off camera.

Turning to the disembodied voice, Ed threw a paper clip, "I am not." He went back to the computer. "Bye." He closed the window ending the Skype conversation.

Pastor, Father and Jack stood in silence for a moment before Jack hit his forehead in a groan.

"Can you believe those guys?" He shook his head trying to free their stupidity from himself.

Pastor took out his cell phone again. "At least we have a number." He hit green and began to dial.

The number went through and a voice began to speak. "This is Sam. Leave a message and I will get back to you." Pastor blinked in shock. Sam sounded remarkably like his old man.

An electronic voice followed telling Pastor to press one if he wanted to leave a message. He did so. The recording started. "Sam, I don't know if you will remember me but this is Pastor Francis of The Church of the Resurrection in Leafwood, Kansas. I know it has been over fifteen years since your family and I last met but if you could, please call me. I need your family's assistance again. Thanks."

He ended the message and slipped the phone back into pocket. "I hope he answers back."

Jack crossed his arms and sighed. "You and me both, Pastor. Now, I've got to get back to the kitchen. Someone needs to chop those vegetables."

Pastor threw an arm around Jack's shoulders. "I'll lend a hand since you are down a man with Nobuko. When my sister was preg-"

Pastor's cell phone rang.

The two men looked at each in startled amazement. It couldn't be, both their minds spoke in sync. Pastor had only made that message a moment ago.

"Answer the phone!" shouted Father.

With shaking hands, Pastor took out his cell. He read the number calling. It was unlisted. He pressed the green button.

"Hello?"

"This is Sam Winchester. Is this Pastor Francis?"

"Yes." Pastor's voice cracked.

"Pastor, yeah, I remember who you are. How can I help you?"

Return to Chapter Five

well, lookie here, another chapter

Mon, 27 Sep 2010 06:19:56 GMT

Title: Keep Me Hangin' On (Chapter Five)
Summary: Six months after "Swan Song" Dean has tried to settle into an Average Joe life as best as he can. But thanks to an unwelcome Archangel with a request for him, Dean is finding himself being thrown back into the supernatural fold again against his will.
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Nope, still not Kripke. Wrong gender for the first part.

Dean could imagine India being the birthplace of color. Having lived all of his life knee deep in the gloomiest strangleholds the States had to offer, he knew every shade of grey that existed there. Blue-greys. Green-greys. Brown-greys. And his favorite; grey-greys.

But in India, here the world was saturated with hues. He had never seen the sky so blue. He felt like if he tried to touch it, the sky would dye his hand that color. The men and women around him, especially, the women, wrapped in their brilliant saris, looked like living, breathing creatures from an impressionist painting. As if they had strolled off a Van Gogh. Even the Dakshineswar Kali Temple with its warm cream colored walls and its terra cotta red roofs, was a drastic change to the faded brick and chipped paint buildings that Dean was used to.

Dean had to close his eyes because he could swear if he stared any longer his head would explode with over stimulation. He felt a tap on his shoulder. He opened his right eye to see Castiel uncomfortably up close and staring at him with mild curiosity.

Dean leaned back. Damn, even Cas' eyes are bluer here.

"What are you doing?" asked the Angel.

"This place is messing with my head, Cas. Not use to the technocolor lifestyle. You get me?"

Castiel narrowed his eyes and shook his head slowly. "No. I do not 'get you'."

"You two," Sariel snapped, "Quit your knitting circle and help me search here."

Dean leaned into Castiel's ear, "Your sister's a peach."

"I heard that."

The man smiled tightly. "I hoped you did." Dean rubbed his eyes and scanned the area around him. There was a flood of people coming and going as fast and as strong as any current. "Sar, how are we going to find Kali in this Human swarm? How do you know she is even here?"

Sariel craned her neck. "She's here because her worshippers are here. The bigger the crowd the more likely she is in the middle of it basking in the attention." She shot a dirty glance at Dean. "And don't call me 'Sar.'"

Dean pointed at Castiel and shrugged like it was nothing big to get upset over. "I call him 'Cas.'"

"Yeah, and that rhymes with 'ass.'"

Castiel blinked as the truth dawned on him. He had never realized it before. "It does rhyme with 'ass'. Dean."

"Don't start with me." Dean turned away from the Angel and went back to picking apart the crowd person by person. He swore by the number of women alone he would be at this for a month. "C'mon, there has to be a better way to find a god in a hoard of Humans other than just standing around and gawking at-wait." His eyes lit up. He could not believe it. His hand struck out in front of him, pointing. "There she is."

Castiel and Sariel turned to where Dean was gesturing to. There in the middle of a swirling crowd stood a woman in a navy blue three piece suit. In a mass of people wearing either traditional Indian clothing or loud and tacky tourist gear, she was the only one dressed in a tailored to the teeth business outfit with sensible pumps. She looked like a CEO from a Fortune 500 company. Especially since she had a metal clipboard and was writing numbers down on it.

"That's Kali?" asked Castiel.

Dean nodded. He could never forget her face or the headache she had given him in the Hotel and on the road. "That's her alright. Worst back seat driver ever."

"What is she doing?"

Sariel snorted. "Counting her worshippers, no doubt." She started towards the god. "Dean stay behind me. Castiel cover Dean's back. Kali gets pissy whenever someone interrupts her favorite past time."

Castiel grabbed Dean's right arm from the back and place his other hand on his shoulder. Dean hated being man handled but he knew when dealing with a god, any god, it was better to be safe than sorry. He had seen Kali's powers and while there were no match for Lucifer, Dean was sure that they could roast him Cajun style in a flash. He thought of Lisa and Ben for a second and realized that for the first time in he could not remember, he did not want to die. He wanted to live to see them again. The concept left him uneasy.

The two followed Sariel. The crowd parted for her without seemingly noticing her. Not one person looked her in the eye or acted startled as she in her Southern truck stop waitress outfit marched past them.

Is she putting a spell on them? thought Dean as he walked in her wake. Dean would have thought that at least a couple of men would glance to see her parading around in her tiny shorts. But no one did.

Sariel stopped a distance from Kali. She raised her arms and swung them out. The crowd lowered their heads and backed away. The Archangel was indeed doing a spell. She was trying to make sure no Human was in the path of Kali's grasp. The last thing she needed was for Humans to be ripped apart and for their blood to spill on the ground. Kali could used that blood to cast spells. Spells that could destroy the very Earth under their feet which meant that Sariel would have more work to do. Bad enough that she was slacking off on checking on the other sub-pockets to look for Gabriel. At least she could argue with upper management that this was a worthy cause. But if she went around tearing up the lands and causing new problems, someone was not going to be happy. In Heaven, when someone high up was not happy, everyone felt the brunt. She waved her arms again, only harder. People began to flee. There faces were still slack like bored cattle. She walked slowly again towards the god. Her every boot step clicked against the clay street.

Kali noticed her people running. She held down her clipboard and looked around trying to figure out where they were all going to. Turning around, she saw a tall, blond woman with a farmer's tan making a bee line to her as the people around her moved in the opposite direction. The expression on the woman's face was cold and stern like an oncoming tempest. Kali dropped her clipboard and frowned. Westerners meant trouble. Always trouble.

Sariel stopped. "Kali, Destroyer of Worlds and the Redeemer of the Universe, I demand an audience."

Kali bared her teeth. "Who are you to demand from me?" She spotted Dean behind Kali. "You."

Dean hesitated on the next step. He caught his breath. Two seconds on meeting the god again and she was already pissed at him. Always the damn ladies' man, aren't you? He swallowed the spit in his mouth. It went down hard in his throat like a spiked stone.

Sariel stepped in front of Kali's line of sight. She bared her own teeth. "Do not ignore me, god. It is I who demand from you."

"And, again, who are you?"

"The Archangel, Sariel. Destroyer of Armies, Guardian of Earth, Bringer of Death and Healer of Life. That's who."

A flash of fear swept across Kali's face as the memory of Lucifer shot across her mind. Then a blistering anger took its place and remained. "How dare you come here and command me." Flames formed at her fingers tips and licked up her arms.

Sariel threw back her shoulders, taking a fighting stance. The hairs on Dean's arms raised not out of fear but because of the growing electricity in the air. Dean looked around him. The crowds had moved at a distance away from the two beings but not enough for his liking. Those two start fighting, someone was going to get hurt or worse. The man dropped to his knees, breaking free of Castiel's grasp. He bolted across the street and stopped between the two of them. Standing amongst them he realized then that what he was doing was going to make his top ten list of idiot moves of a lifetime. Screw it. I am already here. He held his arms out blocking the two from each other. His hands were trembling but he tried to hide his panic by scowling.

"Stop it. No one is fighting. Not here. Not now!"

Kali threw a blazing hand around and seized Dean's right arm. The fire leaped from her and attacked him. Flames devoured his flesh, eating their way up to his shoulder.

Dean screamed.

Castiel appeared behind him and wrapped his arms around Dean's chest. The two vanished to the other side of the street. Dean shoved himself off of Castiel and dropped to ground. The fire raced across his chest like a virus. He rolled around trying to kill it. The flames swallowed up even more of him. Pain was strangling every nerve and shrieking in his face. His hands raked at his flesh. If he could not rid himself of the fire then he would rip off his own skin to stop it from gorging. His nails turned black with burnt skin and then red with the blood underneath.

He never stopped screaming.

Through the flame, Castiel seized Dean's shoulder, holding him still. With his other hand he placed three fingers, the thumb, index and the middle one on the man's forehead. The flames disappeared. Dean was made whole once more without scar.

Dean swept his hands over himself, checking that everything was in order. His clothes had even been mended. His breathing still remained labored as he climbed to his feet. He nodded a 'thank you' at Castiel. The Angel nodded back.

"Is he okay?" yelled Sariel as she looked over.

"Yes," answered Castiel.

Sariel smirked as she returned her glare at Kali. "Well, now that is out of the way."

A shiver went up Kali's spine. The twinkle in the Archangel's eyes spoke of something dark. The god threw back her own shoulders ready for anything.

Almost anything.

Sariel struck out her hand in front of her. Kali's body jerked ram rod straight. The Archangel snapped her hand into a fist. The god's flames snuffed out. Without her fire she looked so ordinary in her no nonsense suit. Sariel threw her arm in the air. Up soared Kali as if she had been fired from a bow. She flew into the heavens until the sky around her was bloated and fat with clouds and the air was as thin as whispers. Sariel dropped to one knee and slammed her fist into the ground. The clay street cracked and collapsed under her touch. Kali came down right after, her skin lighting up with fire not from her will but from speed. She smashed into the street, creating a crater that rippled out, coming almost to Sariel's feet. The sound wave ran through the air and hit Dean square in the chest, knocking him back on his butt. He scrambled onto his feet as fast as he could wanting to see the damage that Sariel had did to Kali.

"Did she kill her?" Dean stood on his toes. "Did she kill Kali?"

Castiel shook his head. "No. Not hardly."

A column of blue fire erupted from the crater. It burned upwards for thirty feet before stopping. Four arms grew out of the flames. The bottom broke into two legs. The rest turned into the shape of a woman. The head took on Kali's form but had twisted into strange differences. Two tusks jutted up and out from her mouth. Her tongue lolled out. A third eye appeared in the center of her forehead right between her eyes. It sat sideways. Slowly, it opened and glared down at the Archangel. She let out a roar that made every piece of metal for blocks vibrate.

"Holy crap." Dean gasped as he stepped back behind Castiel. He looked around him and could not believe that no one else was seeing what he was seeing. But no one was. A couple, laughing, strolled past him. In any other moment, in any other place they were would have been mundane but here Dean found them maddening. He wanted to grab them, shake them and yell, "How can you not see this!"

Sariel tssked and rolled her eyes. Kali was always so damn dramatic. The Archangel held her head back taking in the entire god. "Oh, you are so big. So absolutely huge. Gosh, we're all really impressed down here, I can tell you," she mocked in her best Palin.

Kali snorted in rage. She lifted her arms, ready to fight. Sariel snorted back. Her eyes became wide as her mouth gaped open. Light began to emit from the orifices.

Castiel grabbed Dean by the arm. "Turn your head and cover your ears. Now!"

Dean tried to push off the Angel but Castiel wrestled him to the ground. He shoved his hands over Dean's ears.

"What is it, Cas?" Dean struggled even harder. "What is she doing?"

"Sariel is about to leave her vessel and fight Kali in her Celestial form."

Another couple walked past Dean. They were pushing a carriage. If Sariel goes from Clark Kent to Superman, these people are going to get creamed. He shoved an elbow into Castiel's nose as hard as he could. Though there was no pain, the surprise of having an elbow smash into his nose made Castiel fall backward. Dean stumbled up to his feet and ran towards the supernatural beings. He had to stop the fight. He had to. Castiel appeared before him blocking his way.

"Dean."

"Not now." He threw a hard right going for Castiel's nose again.

The Angel caught his hand in mid-flight. "I can not let you be harmed. I promised them."

"I know, I know. I am under Heaven's Watch." He blinked realizing what Castiel had actually said. "Wait, 'them'? What do you mean by 'them'?"

Letting go, Castiel's eyes went wide with guilt. He was the kid whose hand was caught in the cookie jar. His mouth fell open but nothing came out.

As much as Dean wanted to give the Angel the third degree, he did not have time for it. He spun on his foot and bolted towards Kali and Sariel. Castiel appeared in front of him again but Dean was ready. He hunkered down low and blew his shoulder into the Angel's stomach, sending him flying sideways. Castiel was not prepared for such an attack. He hit the ground hard. Dean plowed on.

"Sariel," he screamed, "Don't do it . You can't. These people will die if you do."

The Archangel shut her eyes and mouth close. She opened her eyes again and blinked. They were normal. Dean ran up and grabbed her by the shoulders. He panted, gasping for air. It had been a while since he had ran that fast. It had been a while since he had any reason to.

"Please, don't." He swallowed the spit in his mouth and held his breath for a beat before speaking again. "They don't deserve it."

"These people are my worshippers," roared Kali behind him, "They deserve whatever I wish to give to them!"

Dean's fear snapped into anger. "Princess," he twisted around and pointed at the god, "Why don't you beautify the world and shut that trap of yours."

"How dare you!"

"Oh, I dare." Adrenaline flooded Dean's system. His heart knocked like a madman. "You see, the last time we crossed paths it was me saving your itty bitty butt. So, you owe me."

Kali snarled, "You only drove me to the airport. Gabriel was the one who save me."

"Then you owe him."

A sadness sparked in Kali's eyes before dying out an instant later. She clenched her teeth. "Gabriel is dead."

"That's up for debate."

The fire god vanished as if someone had doused the flame, leaving Kali's regular body standing alone in the crater. She looked minuscule in the massive hole. Her eyes became big and soft. "What?"

Dean gave a half weak smile. "Gabriel might be alive."

"He is alive," corrected Sariel with a growl. She glared at the god, "That's why we are here. To ask you about him."

Kali climbed out of the crater. Dean offered a hand to her in help. She took it. "I thought Lucifer killed Gabriel. Are you saying it was all a trick? Gabriel tricked me again?"

"No, he was dead," Dean turned to Sariel to see Castiel standing next to her. The man hid his start. Angels popping up was always going to wig him out. "Lucifer murdered his little brother without a doubt. But, again, he may be back."

"How do you even know that then?" Disbelief painted Kali. She was still weary of the Angel and the Archangel but somehow her doubt was less with Dean. Perhaps because he was Human and offered less of a threat to her.

"Lucifer went god ganking at the hotel, right? Like he made Odin buy the farm?"

Kali nodded.

"Yeah, well, Odin's back." Dean scratched the back of his neck, "Missy Archangel, here, found his drunk ass, eating apples."

"In Asgard," added Sariel. "And the rest of the gods' bodies as well as Gabriel's vessel are missing."

"Which means they could be back too."

"They were resurrected?" Kali stared at the ground as her mind whirled. She thought about all the gods in the hotel. The blood and gore on the wall and carpeting from their destroyed bodies. All of that had the possibility to be gone? And what about Loki? No, she corrected herself. Gabriel. He was always Gabriel. She hated Angels as much as she could possibly do so. But he was different. She gave his life for her. She snapped her head up. "Ganesha!"

Spinning around on her heel, She leaped over the crater. She landed on the other side as soft as a cat. Towards the temple, she sprinted. Her worshippers stood aside for her not understanding why they were doing so but simply did.

"Where is she going?" asked Dean.

Sariel grabbed his shoulder. "Move!"

Dean ran after Kali not sure why but with Sariel running ahead of him and Castiel at his rear, he knew that he could not pause to question. Kali stopped at the wall of her temple. She stepped back, eyeing it up and down until she found the spot that she needed. She slapped an open palm against the plaster. Blue fire erupted from the outline of her hand and scurried across the wall. The flames formed a rectangle and stayed steady. Kali jumped into the flame and disappeared.

"She opened a sub-pocket door?" asked Castiel.

"And we are going into that door!" Sariel leaped and soared into the fire. The door swallowed her whole.

Dean halted in his tracks. "Oh, hell no!" He turned around and laid a flat palm against Castiel's chest, giving him a distance. "I just got over being burned a few minutes ago. If you think I am going in-"

Castiel shoved Dean into the door, knocking both of them in. Dean landed hard on the ground but the thick carpet of grass cushioned the blow. Castiel fell on top of him. He rolled off the man and climbed to his feet. He held out his hand to Dean. Dean glared at the Angel and then at his hand. He took it. Pulled to his feet, he pushed a finger into Castiel's face, "Not cool."

"You were taking too long. I helped you out."

"Still not cool." Dean looked at the fire door behind Castiel. It was the only thing he recognized for the temple walls, the clay and stone streets, the constantly walking people, India, herself was gone. Instead, Dean found himself standing in a field surrounded by mountains that stretched up, yawning to the sky. An enormous lake snaked around their feet, separating each of them. Their colors were even brighter than their Indian counterparts. The sky seemed to scream its blue. The grass dared with its green. Even the mountains were bold in their snow capped gold. The aromas were even stronger. Dean smelled mint, ginger, garlic, cummin and other spices that no other Human had smelled before. His stomach growled. He slapped a hand over it, trying to shush it.

Then he noticed something odd. For all of the sensory overload, the place was quiet. Like the cold quiet that comes with a funeral.

"Where are we?" he asked.

"Meru." Sariel scanned the world around her, "A most holy of holy lands."

"And this," Kali added, "Is Ganesha's library."

Castiel and Dean turned around to see Kali gesturing in front of her. There, before her in a valley was a white marble open roofed building that Dean could not see the other side of. It stretched off into the vanishing horizon. Columns stood tall and proud around the building. Each wrapped in streaks of gold that shone like starlight in the sun. Between them grew a tree. Their branches were heavy and pregnant with fruit. Their trunks were thick and as solid as battlements. Dean doubted that the most powerful of hurricanes could even move a single branch. From the top looking down, he could see that inside the building held rows and rows of shelves. Each one spilling over with scrolls, papers and books. Every book that had ever been written, every poem that had ever been composed, every song lyric that had been created was held within those columns. A collection of knowledge worthy of the god of wisdom and literature.

Sam would wet himself over this place, thought Dean with a smirk.

Kali glanced over her shoulder back at the fire door. "Shiva had closed this section of Meru to everyone when Ganesha died. It was only to be open by Ganesha, himself, or his reincarnation." She smiled. Tears formed at the edges of her eyes. "He's back."

"But where in here?" Dean tried to see if he could spot an elephant down below like he had seen back at the hotel months before. He did not. "That's alot of ground to cover."

Not answering, Kali leaped up and flew towards the library.

Dean was aghast. "She can fly?"

Sariel narrowed her eyes in disgust. "Here, she can. And she is not leaving us behind."

She vanished and appeared a hundred yards down the field. Looking up at the sky, she tracked the god's trail and disappeared again only to reappear several hundred yards later right on Kali's tail.

Dean made a motion to run after Sariel only to have Castiel pull him back. The man spun around facing the Angel. "C'mon, they're ditching us!"

Castiel shook his head. "You need protection first."

"Protection? From who? Kali is going bye-bye and Ganesha is God knows where."

"You need protection from the Dakini." He held Dean still with one hand and bit into the thumb of his free hand.

Dean tried to wiggle loose from the Angel's grip as Castiel held up a bloody thumb. "Whoa, stop. What are you going to do with that? And what the hell is the Dakini?"

Castiel sighed. His face took on a tired mask of frustration. "Really, Dean, you should read more books. The Dakini are Kali's servants in this realm. They take on the appearance of beautiful women."

"And I need protection from that?"

"They eat Humans."

"Oh."

Dean heard chattering. His heart began to sink to his feet. He did not have to look to know what was there but he did anyway. Two women were walking across the field. Their bodies jerked and twitched as if Dean was watching them through a strobe light. Save for the gold jewerly that dripped from their necks, wrists, hips and ankles, they were naked. Normally, Dean loved a curvy, nude woman but these had their teeth bared. They were jagged as broken bottles and just as sharp. The women were clicking them and making noises that sounded like song birds. They were talking to each other. By the way they stared at him with wide unblinking eyes, by the way saliva was filling their mouths and spilling over their lips, they were talking about him.

Castiel grabbed Dean by the jaw and made the man face him. He smeared his thumb across Dean's forehead, writing a sigil. Then he laid his hands on the man, sealing the marking. A cold wave swam through Dean's veins. He heard a voice ring in his ears. Though he could not make out the words, he knew it was Castiel's voice.

Dean locked eyes with Castiel, "Did it work?"

The Angel placed a finger to his own lips.

A warm breath tickled Dean's right ear. The man wanted to jerk away but he kept his stare with Castiel. The look on the Angel's face read, Don't move.

One of the Dakini pressed her nose into Dean's hair and sniffed. She pulled back with a jerk and growled deeply like a dog. The other Dakini snaked up to Dean's cheek. She ran her tongue across his skin, tasting him. A second later she fell back, spitting on the ground. Her teeth began to chatter again. The other Dakini roared like lion. Dean bit his lip, trying to calm his nerves.

Silence came.

Dean's eyes drifted left and right, followed by his head. The Dakini were gone. He looked back at Castiel, "What did you do?"

The Angel raised his eyebrows. "The marking on your forehead masks your scent and taste with my own."

"Are you saying-?"

"You taste and smell like an Angel." He leaned in like he was sharing a secret with Dean. "We are not very appealing to the Dakini."

"Great," Dean rolled his eyes. "I am wearing Eu De Cas." He paused realizing what he had just said. How do I even know that phrase? Lisa was rubbing off on him more than he knew.

"You, two."

Castiel and Dean turned to see Sariel standing before them with her arms planted on her hips and her mouth twisted in a frown.

"Why are you standing arou-" She sniffed the air like she smelled something rotten and dying. Grabbing Dean by his jacket, she tugged his sleeve to her nose. "Why do you smell like Castiel?" She spotted the marking on Dean's forehead and raised an eyebrow.

"The Dakini," started Dean but Sariel waved him off.

She took Castiel's hand. "Bro, you need to wash that trench more than once in never."

The three vanished from the field and arrived in the middle of a congregation of aisles. Every millimeter of shelf space was crammed with books. For most of the books, Dean could not read the titles because they were not in English. But a few were. He reached for a copy of Good Omens when Sariel grabbed his hand.

"Don't mess with Ganesha's order."

Dean scanned the shelves. The place was chaos as books were shoved in each and every way. Some of the smaller novellas had actually been slipped in between the pages of larger novels. Dean shoved his hands into his pockets. This is order?

"Where's Kali?" asked Castiel.

Sariel scanned around her. "She was here a moment ago. I just popped out to get you, two." She cupped her hands around her mouth. "Kali!"

"I am here," a voice yelled back.

The Archangel followed the trail of the voice. Dean and Castiel stayed at her feet. They went through row after row of shelves, feeling like mice in a maze as they did so. Up ahead they saw the last stack of shelves. It gave way to a small field. The library's marble floors formed an open circle. Blades of grass grew over and rested on the tiles. Two trees with winding branches stood in the middle of the field. A massive wooden desk with ivory inlay rested in the crook between them. All around laid fruit and vegetables. A feast large enough to feed an empire. Every last piece was untouched. On the desk rested dozens of rolled scrolls. On either side of the desk, piled up high were their siblings. Too numerous to count.

Behind the desk, sitting on a small mountain of cushions sat Ganesha writing. Only he did not look the same as Dean had remembered. Gone was his rotund belly and soft, fleshy cheeks. He had lost almost all of his fat making his elbows and wrist bones knobby. His robe hung open allowing his chest to peek out. Dean could count the ribs leaning against his skin. Despite everyone gawking at him, Ganesha did not look up from his work. His quill scratched along the parchment, going back and forth like a perpetual typewriter.

"What happened to him?" asked Dean.

Kali hit the desk with her palm. "Ganesha."

The god did not stir. He lifted the quill and dipped it into the ink well. He resumed writing.

Again, Kali hit the desk only with her fist. "GANESHA!"

Ganesha remained tuned to his duty.

Spinning around, Kali grabbed Sariel by her throat and lifted the Archangel off the ground, "What have your kind done to him?"

"Let the Archangel go, Kalika."

Kali dropped Sariel and turned to the god at the desk. Ganesha was still writing. Only his eyes had lifted up from his works and caught his fellow god's eyes. "They have not harmed me. I sit here, merely doing what I was called back for. To write down my witnessing and I must finish it."

Leaning over the desk, Kali rested her head against Ganesha's hollowed cheek. She wanted to cry. Whether out of joy of having Ganesha back after seeing his butchered body in the hotel's hallway or out of sadness that he sat behind the desk weak and emanciated, she did not know. Such feelings were alien to her. Usually, anger, pride and lust filled her days. She stood up and took a scroll. She unrolled it. "And what have you witnessed?"

"A miracle. The resurrection of the gods."

"By whom?"

Ganesha gestured towards Castiel and Sariel, "By their father."

Shocked, Sariel snatched up one of the scrolls from the ground. She unrolled it. The words were written in Tagalog but she could read them. She could read anything. Her eyes scanned the parchment for a moment. Her shoulders went slack with awe. "And lo! I heard the voice of God whisper upon my person," she began to translate, "and it did spake, "Rise up, for I have returned you from the darkness so that you may behold what I shall do. Take your quill and your ink and record all that gives birth here for that it may be known throughout the land and time."

The Archangel held the scroll against her chest. Her head was a storm of crashing thoughts. She turned to her brother who had the same confused and bewildered expression slapped across his face. "Castiel, do you know what this means?"

"Yes. I do."

Dean held his hand up, "I don't. In fact, I don't have a freakin' clue to what is going on at all."

"Ganesha," said Castiel, "is an Apostle."

Go to Chapter Six
Return to Chapter Four

again, another supernatural fanfic chapter...

Mon, 27 Sep 2010 06:09:37 GMT

Title: Keep Me Hangin' On (Chapter Four)
Summary: Six months after "Swan Song" Dean has tried to settle into an Average Joe life as best as he can. But thanks to an unwelcome Archangel with a request for him, Dean is finding himself being thrown back into the supernatural fold again against his will.
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Still not Kripke.

He remembered a pain in his side. A sharp burst that spread throughout him. He remembered not feeling scared or angry by it but sad. Profoundly sad. He remembered thinking, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I never wanted to hurt you."

And then the blackness came.

What he did not remember was the voice that found him in the darkness. "Wake up, Gabriel," it said. "Wake up. Your work is not done. My word needs to be delivered." He felt its warm breath, the breath of life, on his cheek. "And know this, out of all of them, you understood me best."

He failed to remember this not because he was incapable. He failed to remember because he did not want to.

He woke up in the back pew of The Church of the Resurrection crying. He could not remember what had made him cry only that as hard as he tried, he could not stop.

Pastor Francis was in the front of the church, sweeping the floor when he heard the crying. He looked up, startled because he was sure that he had locked the entrance doors. "Excuse me." He leaned the broom against a pew and started towards the stranger. "How did you get in? I could have-"

The stranger lifted his gaze at the Pastor. Tears had made his eyes raw red and swollen. He looked utterly helpless, like a broken child.

Pastor halted in his steps. "Son, why are you crying?"

Wiping his eyes with the edges of his sleeve, the stranger shrugged his shoulders. "I-I don't know."

"You don't know?" Pastor sunk to his knees next to the stranger. He placed a gentle hand on the man's leg. "How can you not know? Son, please, tell me, who are you?"

The stranger shrugged again. "I don't know. I can't remember." He leaned back in the pew, covering his face with his hands. The front of his jacket fell open baring his shirt underneath and the dried brown stain that dyed it.

Pastor recognized the stain. Blood. He grabbed the edge of the shirt and tugged it taut. There was a hole in the center of the stain. But where the skin peeked through the slit, there was no damage to be found. Only perfectly smooth clean flesh. He looked at the stranger with confusion. Who are you?

Pastor called the police. They came and took the stranger to the station. He followed them in his beat up blue Beetle. Something told him to look after the man. He did not know why only that the stranger needed him. Fingerprints and mug shots were taken and scanned in the computer. No match was found. Missing person reports were searched. Anyone fitting the description of a thirty something, white male of medium height and build with hazel eyes and brown hair was combed through and compared to the stranger. Again, nothing matched. Nothing came close.

Frustrated, they interrogated him. But the more the police broiled him under the lights hoping that this was a game on the man's part, the more he claimed his innocence.

"No wallet, no phone, nothing in the computer, nothing on the Internet" said Detective Kenner as he leaned towards the stranger's face. "You are a ghost. Which in this day in age, is impossible." He grabbed the stranger's shirt and pulled the stain up to the man's face, almost ripping the fabric. "Especially when you are going around town in bloody clothing." He yanked the shirt back down and let it go. "If this is a prank and I find out that it is, you are going to be-"

"Enough, Matthew," said Pastor, who had been sitting across from the stranger in the small holding room. He had been watching over the man the whole time hoping that by some miracle the mystery of the stranger would crack. Pastor got up and went around the table to the man. He placed a hand on his shoulder, giving it a comforting squeeze. "Clearly, he doesn't know anything."

Kenner glared down at the stranger, who was trying his hardest not look back. The detective snorted in disgust. There was something off about the man that Kenner could not put his finger on. He looked up at Pastor and crooked his finger at him. "Can I speak with you outside?"

The two stepped out in the hallway. Kenner closed the door and turned to Pastor. "What are you doing, Frank?"

"What do you mean?"

"You're babysitting this guy. You should be back home at the church getting ready for services tomorrow. We can handle this one without you."

Pastor shook his head. "Clearly, you can't. You're treating him like he has done something wrong."

"He has done something wrong."

"What?"

Kenner frowned and threw a glance back at the room. "I don't know. But I do know that there is something not right about him."

Pastor sighed and rolled his eyes. He started back for the door when Kenner grabbed him by the arm. The two men looked at Kenner's heavy grip. The detective knew he had done something amiss and let go, lifting his hands in peace. He was only trying to help out his friend.

"Frank, what are you going to do?"

"I'm taking him back with me. I have that room upstairs."

"No, Frank." He leaned against the wall and thumped his head on the cement in frustration. "Did you already forget-"

"Matt, stop."

Kenner frowned. "Again, no. You still have a scar above your right eyebrow because the last little angel you took in tried to rob you and stabbed you with a steak knife."

Silent for a moment, Pastor relived that memory in his mind. His heart began to pound in fear. The knife had been small but sharp. Its blade sunk into his flesh, scraping his skull. There was so much blood that his face was a mask of red. Pastor's fingers wandered up to the scar that laid raised against his wrinkled skin. He brushed the front of his silver hair down trying to cover the mark. He readjusted his wire framed glasses trying to bring his mind back into focus in the here and now. "Don't think I have forgotten about that, Matt. But the truth remains, that was one individual. The person in that room there, is another. And he needs me."

He walked around Kenner and stuck his head in the room. The stranger had his arms crossed on the table and his face buried in them. He looked like he was praying. Pastor knocked on the door, "Come on, Eastwood, let's go."

The stranger raised his head. His face twisted in confusion at the name. "Eastwood?"

Pastor smiled a lopsided grin. "You know, as in 'The Man With No Name.' Can't call you by 'that guy' forever, can I?" He snapped the fingers, "Grab your jacket. We're leaving."

Eastwood rose from his seat and took his jacket from the back of his chair. He tossed it on and zipped it up, hiding the blood stain. He made his way towards the door when Kenner stepped into the room in front of Pastor. The detective towered over Eastwood by half a foot. He shoved a big, meaty hand into Eastwood's chest. His fingers spread out like enormous spider legs, holding tightly onto the man.

Leaning down, Kenner glared straight into Eastwood's eyes. There was no love in his scowl. "I want you to know that Pastor Francis is a good friend of mine. A very good friend. And if anything happens to him by you-"

"You'll hunt me down and shoot me like the dog I am," finished Eastwood with a frown. "I know."

Kenner tried to smile. It came off more as a snarl. "Just so we understand each other."

Pastor grabbed Kenner's hand and shoved it down off the man. "Knock it off, Matt." Putting an arm around Eastwood, he guided him out of the room and through the station.

The next stop Pastor Francis took Eastwood to was the Hospital of Saint Raphael. The place was run by the Catholic church and Pastor knew the head of the hospital. He was able to beg and plea for doctors to give Eastwood the once over on their dime. If Eastwood could not remember who he was, perhaps there was something wrong with his brain. An injury that could be hidden away deep beneath the bone. The hospital took pity on the Eastwood. Scans were done of his head but nothing was found. He had a perfectly functioning brain that lit up in all of the right places when stimulated. The only thing askew was that part of his ventral medial prefrontal cortex remained active even when Eastwood was being completely passive in thought. Still, that had nothing to do with memory and they dismissed it as being a fluke. What the doctors did not know was if they had lowered the scan to his ribs, they would have seen the markings on his bones that had hid him from his siblings for so long. But they did not.

They told Eastwood and Pastor that what he most likely had was retrograde amnesia even though the tests came out clean. Most likely it was due to emotional trauma and not physical.

"Is complete amnesia even possible?" asked Eastwood as he sat on the edge of the hospital bed in nothing but his socks, boxers and a rather embarrassing too small dressing gown.

"Technically, anything is possible," said the doctor. He had a fresh from school face and was trying his hardest to look like an authority figure. He was failing miserably. He tapped on the laptop he had placed on the rolling bed table. "But probability? Not really. And, yet, here you are. Tah Dah!"

Pastor, who had been sitting next to Eastwood on a stool, tried to get a peek at the screen. "So, what should he do?"

The doctor shut the laptop. "My suggestion? Go home. With amnesia there isn't any pill you can swallow to cure it. All you can do is hope that your memories will come back on their own. Most times they do. Sometimes in fragments. Others in whole waves." He picked up the computer and tucked it under his arm. "Good luck."

He walked out of the room.

Eastwood turned to Pastor with his jaw dropped. He could not believe that snot nosed kid in a white lab coat. "Good luck? What sort of bed side manner is that?"

Pastor shrugged. "These days? A typical one."

Despite protesting that the good Samaritan had done enough already, Eastwood went home with Pastor Francis. In the end, Pastor argued that since Eastwood could not even remember his own name let alone where he was from, he had no one else to turn to for help. Pastor did not mean to come across as hurtful when he said this but Eastwood's eyes still went dim and he sank into the bed of the guestroom.

"Why are you doing all of this?"

Pastor pointed to himself, "Man of the cloth, responsibility comes with the job description." He smiled trying to hide the fact that he had partially lied. Yes, he felt that as a pastor he had to do something. But the main truth was that he had never seen anyone cry like the way Eastwood cried back at the church. And the way the stranger simply appeared out of no where even when the doors were locked and him having a stab wound in the shirt but none on the flesh, unsettled Pastor. He wanted an answer. He thought of what Kenner had said. About how he found Eastwood off. Pastor did not feel the same. Eastwood was not a bad omen. He was sure of it. But what the stranger was, only time would reveal that.

Months had past.

Pastor had talked to the his friend, Father Gallagher, who headed St. Anthony's, a Catholic church that was down two blocks from the Methodist church. It was the only Catholic church in town but it had something no one else had, a homeless shelter that also doubled as a soup kitchen. Pastor was able to convince Father to give Eastwood a job despite the man not having a social security number or a legal name.

"He at least has to have a first name, Pastor, before I sign off on this."

Pastor, Eastwood and Father were sitting in the church's office. Pastor studied Eastwood who looked embarrassed that he was still halfway nameless.

"'Jack'," said Pastor. "Put down 'Jack'."

"Why 'Jack'?" asked Eastwood.

"Because since no one in this room knows your history, we really don't know jack."

Father groaned, pinching his nose,"Hoo boy, that was bad."

Eastwood smiled widely. "I like it!" He had just discovered that he adored awful puns. "We are going to use that."

He eagerly signed off on the paperwork with his new name; Jack Eastwood.

Soon after, Jack was working at the shelter and the soup kitchen. In the mornings and afternoons, he made sure that the food was ready for the hungry crowds that came through. At night, he assigned rooms to those who were seeking beds. The work was hard. Sometimes Jack loathed that he had to turn away some families due to lack of beds. But he was happy. As happy as someone with no memories of his past could be. Though like the doctor said, some fragments did made their way home to him.

Once he was pouring soup for a young girl in a thread bare pink parka. She looked at him with her eyes that were too large for her thin face and Jack flashed on a memory. An olive skinned girl with the prettiest almond shaped green eyes he had ever seen stared back at him. She looked scared and in awe. Jack remembered telling her that she was with child.

Am I doctor? he thought. The girl was not dressed in Western clothing. Maybe I am one of those Doctors without Borders guys. He imagined himself in scrubs. Nah.

Another time he was helping a child of one of the few families that stayed at the shelter with his homework. As he leaned over the boy showing him that he had the angle measurements wrong, Jack flashed on himself in a cave leaning over a middle aged man in red who smelled of spices. He was whispering into the man's ear and the man in returned wrote down everything Jack was saying. Jack remembered that the man used a stylus rather than a pen and wrote on what appeared to be homemade parchment rather than ruled paper.

What does that even mean? Jack stood up and stepped back from the boy he was tutoring. He hit his own head with the butt of his hand. Why couldn't I flash on me doing something normal? Like washing my car or cooking dinner. I'd even settle on one of me vegged out on the couch watching Jeopardy. He frowned. Who the hell am I?

"I think I know who you are," said Nobuko.

Jack walked into the shelter's kitchen from the outside. He was carrying an industrial sized garbage can that he had moments before emptied in the dumpster in the back with great difficulty. Even with the can unloaded, carrying it around was an awkward task that was in danger of making him trip. He kicked the door closed behind him, leaving the cold Autumn air behind. Nobuko waddled over and locked it. She leaned against the door, resting her back. Her pregnancy was beating up her little body. Each day she swore the balance of belly to girl was tipping over into the belly's favor.

Jack settled the garbage can back in the corner and washed his hands. Nobuko followed him and leaned against the counter top. "What if you are a Peace Corp volunteer? It would settle right with the flashbacks you've had. Here, let me see your pad."

Reaching into the back pocket of his jeans, Jack pulled out a small pad of paper. He carried it around in case a memory came to him and he needed to write it down. So far, there had been four flashes.

Pushing her Buddy Holly style glasses up on her head like a headband, Nobuko riffled through the papers. "Yeah, it makes sense. Except for the one you had about the farm girl. But maybe you were on vacation then."

Jack doubted that. "I told her she had to take up arms and fight for her country. What sort of Peace Corp volunteer tells that to anyone? Even one that is on vacation. I thought all they did was help build schools and dig wells."

The young girl closed the pad and sighed. That had been her best guess in weeks. She handed the pad back to Jack who took it and slipped it in his pocket.

"Then I am busted. You still remain "Jack Eastwood: International Man of Mystery."

"Awesome," sneered Jack as he took a fun sized Snickers bar from his shirt pocket. He ripped off the wrapper and popped the whole thing in his mouth. This was another thing he had discovered about himself in the last few months. He had a monster of a sweet tooth. There were times where he would go to the the local grocery story buy a couple of bags of candy, plant himself at one of the shelter's dining room tables and eat every last scrap of sweet. Three, four and sometimes even five pounds he could put away in one sitting. The upside to this was another discovery he had made about himself. He had the metabolism of an army of hummingbirds. Because no matter how much sugary junk food he put away, he never gained a pound.

He dug into his pocket again and pulled out another candy bar. He tore into that one. "Kiddo, I appreciate what you are doing but-" he swallowed the bite in his mouth. "-give it a rest. My memories will come when they come."

Nobuko was not satisfied with this. "What if they never come back completely?"

Jack shrugged. He remembered himself crying in the church all of those months ago. "Maybe it's for the best. I'd hate to find out that I am nothing more than some dick who ran away from everything because life became too complicated and he couldn't handle it." He wandered over to the kitchen radio. It was set to a station that was playing The Supremes' "You keep me hangin' on." But at the moment Ross' voice was coming across as more static than song. He fiddled with the knobs. "Besides, I am happy here. And starting next week, I am apprenticing at Sal's garage." He grinned. "I'm going to be a mechanic!"

He settled on a station that was playing The Rolling Stones', "Gimme Shelter." He stepped back and took in the music. It was one of his favorite songs. "Nobuko, my girl, life is good. I am going to enjoy this."

Nobuko frowned. "But what if someone is out there looking for you? What if right now your sister or brother is scouring the Earth searching for you?"

Jack sighed. He knew the girl meant well but these questions from her were becoming a tired daily routine. He understood that she was projecting herself on to him. She, herself, was originally from back west when she was knocked up by a friend of friend who was visiting from back east. Her old fashion Japanese family did not want to have anything to do with her after that. So, she called up her baby's father and he told her if she could make it to the East Coast, she could live with him and they would raise the baby together. She made it as far as Kansas when the boy called her on her cell and told her that he had changed his mind. Now she was stuck in Middle America with no where to turn. That was until, Pastor Francis and Father Gallagher took pity on the teen-aged mother to be. She moved into Pastor's other guestroom and was given a job at the shelter as well. Jack took the girl under his wing and the two developed a brother and sister bond.

Still, she missed her family and wondered if they ever thought of her. Before all of this, she never thought she could have been so disposable.

Turning around and facing the girl, Jack placed his hands on her shoulders. The girl barely came up to his chest. "Kiddo, we've put my face in the papers and on the local news. No one has come for me. No one cares."

"I care." She tried to hug him but her belly got in the way. All she could manage was placing her head on his chest with her arms flopping around him in a clumsy fashion. "Stupid belly."

Jack laughed at her attempt. He handed her a knife and a pair of carrots. "Come on, the lunch rush is only two hours away. We need to start chopping or else we are going to have a repeat of yesterday."

She took the knife and the carrots. "What if we do an online video of you?"

"Nobuko."

"No, seriously," she grabbed a cutting board and slapped it down on the counter. She began to chop away. "What if we aren't thinking big enough. If we can get a metric ton of hits on the video I am sure we can find someone who maybe knows someone who knows you. Hey, maybe we can turn you into a meme."

"What the hell is a meme?"

Pastor Francis stuck his head into the kitchen, "There you are. Guys, can I see you in the dining hall for a moment. I have something to show you."

Jack and Nobuko looked at each other. Jack shrugged. The two headed out of the kitchen. The dining hall was already starting to fill up with people. Most were hoping to beat the rush but some were there because they had nothing better to do. A few played the board games that laid about the hall. A few still were gathered around the television set watching talk shows. Pastor Francis was with Father Gallagher on the other side of the room. They had hung up a massive cork board on the wall. Construction paper letters ran across the top stating, "Angels of St. Anthony." Photographs of people covered everywhere else.

"What's this?" said Jack.

Father tapped the board, "We've decided to raise a board featuring the people who have worked in the shelter over the years. A sort of wall of fame, so to speak."

"Wow," Nobuko leaned in on a photograph of a young woman with pink hair. "All of these people came through here?"

"Yes," said Pastor, "And you are going up on the wall now too." He produced a pocket sized camera. "I want to get a picture of you, two, separately."

Nobuko tried to wrap her arms around herself. Her fingers barely made it around her belly. "Do we have to do it now when I am so big?"

Pastor smiled. "You look beautiful, Nobuko." He turned to Jack, who was intensely staring at one photograph at the board. "Jack, tell Nobuko that she looks beautiful."

Jack did not say anything.

Nobuko turned to him and nudged him in the arm, "What's a matter? Do you think I look like a snake that has swallowed an elephant?"

The man did not answer again. Instead, he removed the photo from the board and brought it closer to himself. His whole body was tensing up as if his emotions were swelling inside of him.

"Jack, what is it?" asked Pastor.

Jack held up the faded Polaroid to the man. The picture was of a family. Two young boys, one short and scrawny, the other taller with freckles and a serious stare, stood in front of their father, a stern faced man with tired eyes and a growing five o'clock shadow. All three looked like they had seen better days. Scrawled along the bottom of the photo in red ink was a date; September 20, 1992.

"Who are they?" asked Jack softly.

"Those are the Winchesters. John and his boys, Sam and Dean. Why do you ask?"

Jack stared at the photo, again. "I think I know them..."

Everyone fell quiet with the revelation. Lost in their own heads, no one noticed two men dressed in soiled, brown jackets staring at them from one of the front tables in the room. The taller man with a wild beard turned to his companion, whose hair was matted against his dirt stained forehead. He arched his eyebrows in question. The matted haired man nodded. For a moment, both of their eyes turned black before switching back to brown and green.

They both smiled.

Go to Chapter Five
Return to Chapter Three

yet another supernatural fanfic chapter...

Wed, 01 Sep 2010 06:09:18 GMT

Title: Keep Me Hangin' On (Chapter Three)
Summary: Six months after "Swan Song" Dean has tried to settle into an Average Joe life as best as he can. But thanks to an unwelcome Archangel with a request for him, Dean is finding himself being thrown back into the supernatural fold again against his will.
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 4030
Disclaimer: Still not Kripke.

"This has gone on long enough, Sam. You have to tell him!"

Sam dug into his pocket and took out his phone. He flipped the keyboard open.

Bobby went to the kitchen and picked up the book he had thrown. "The deal was that we wouldn't tell Dean about you and Adam coming back as long as I kept in touch with him on the phone and you spied on him on occasion. That way Dean could have a nice, normal life."

"I know that," said Sam.

"Well, he's not having a nice, normal life, is he?" The man's voice turned into a roar. "The Angels are dragging him on some wild goose chase. And your idjit brother is allowing it in some half-assed hope that he can bring you and Adam back. But that's not going to work now is it? Because you guys are not in Hell, are you?"

Sam did not say anything. His thumbs were flying across the keyboard.

In frustration, Bobby slammed the book down on the table next to Sam. The young man did not even flinch.

"What are you doing?" Bobby growled.

Sam hit "send" and closed the phone. He stood up. "I'm texting Cas."

Bobby was taken back. "Cas knows how to text?"

"Yeah. And it only took me a week to teach him."

"How long is it going to take him to get ba-"

There was a rush of air in the den like a windstorm had broken out only to die instantly later. Castiel was standing in the middle of the room holding his phone. "I received your message. You needed to see me?"

Sam stuffed his phone in his pocket. "You better believe I needed to see you. Why are you dragging Dean around looking for Gabriel?"

Castiel looked shocked and confused as Sam had seemed to pull that information out of no where. First Sariel with Odin and now Sam with Dean. The Angel was beginning to feel like he was two steps behind everyone. "How do you know that?"

Sitting back behind his desk, Bobby tapped on his phone, "Dean just called asking for a background check on Sariel. He said she was hanging out in his kitchen. Castiel, what is going on? I thought Gabriel was dead but Dean doesn't think so."

"Dean may be right. One of the gods that Lucifer murdered at the Elysian Fields Hotel has been resurrected. There may be more because every last body that was in the hotel is gone. Including my brother's."

"And what does this have to do with Dean?" asked Sam.

"Sariel believes that he has a connection to Gabriel and that she could use Dean to find him."

"Why does she believe that?"

"Because he was Michael's vessel. Michael was one of the four Archangels to see the face of God as was Gabriel. There is a connection between the brothers because of this."

Sam shrugged his shoulders. "Lucifer saw God's face too and I was his vessel. Use me instead of Dean. Leave him alone and I'll go where ever you want."

Castiel frowned. He shook his head as he refused to look Sam in the eye. "You can't."

"Why not?"

"Because for the very reason that you were Lucifer's vessel. We can not run the risk that diving into your psyche may open a portal for him to return."

A knot grew in Sam's gut. He knew he still had ties to Lucifer be had not realized they were so raw. The thought that Lucifer could climb back into him as easily as a person slipping into a suit terrified him. Lucifer had already worn him once. Had shoved Sam so far back in his skin that the man thought he was on the other side of universe. And even then Lucifer, the real Fallen Angel, with his many wings of fire that burned like dying suns and his multiple faces that took on the snarl of his pride, could be seen as brilliant as day. For Lucifer was everywhere Sam looked. Sam could not hide from him.

Sam dropped to his chair. His skin had grown ghost white and he wanted to throw up. But he still thought of his brother, "You can't, Castiel. You can't take Dean. We promised that we would keep him out of hunting for the rest of his life."

"No," said the Angel. There was an edge to his voice. "You promised that. I agreed because Dean does deserve peace."

"Cas, goddamit," yelled Bobby. "What has gotten into you? It's Dean!"

"And it's Gabriel!" he snapped back.

Bobby and Sam were stunned by Castiel's outburst. The Angel stood there with his eyes narrowed and staring at the space between them. His face was a stern mask of stone. "Do you know how many sisters and brothers I have lost since I have raised Dean from hell? I even killed some of them, myself. Initially, I was not a part of this. However; if there is a sliver of a chance that one of them may be alive out there somewhere, I am willing to take it."

"But it's Gabriel," said Sam. "Last time you saw him he tossed you around and bruised you up. Not to mention that he has been estranged for God knows how long. You must barely know him. How can you care so much for someone who is practically a stranger?"

Castiel's shoulders dropped back as his head slowly turned to meet Sam's eyes. His entire body tensed up seemingly ready to fight. Sam could feel the hairs on his arms raise at attention. Every last primal instinct told him to flee. He clenched his teeth and buried the fear in his bones.

"How is Adam, by the way?" Castiel said drawing out each and every word and dipping it in ice. "Are you still sending him money? Were you able to use your college connections to get him that scholarship you were talking about?"

Sam bared his teeth. "That's not the same, Cas, and you know it."

"Really?"

"Dammit, Cas-"

"SHUT UP!" yelled Bobby straining his voice, "THE BOTH OF YOU!"

Castiel and Sam obeyed.

Bobby rose from his chair. Closing his eyes, he took off his ball cap and scratched his scalp. His mind was racing with a million thoughts. All of which came to the same conclusion. He hated that conclusion. He put his hat back on and sighed. "Castiel, can you promise me that Dean will be absolutely safe with you and Sariel?"

"What?" Sam jumped to his feet. He was dumbfounded. He thought Bobby had his back. "You can't really mean-"

"Dean already said 'yes'," explained Bobby. "If Castiel and Sariel just up and disappear on him after asking for his help, he's going to get suspicious. Hell, the boy already is suspicious. He thinks that Cas is hiding something. Which he is. You. We have to let this play out or else Dean is going to start sniffing around. And once he does that, he will find you and Adam, Sam. And you know he will."

Sam sunk back in his chair. "Bobby..."

"Look, I don't like it any more than you do. But the faster Dean goes on this fool's errand, the faster he can return to his Mayberry life," He turned back to Castiel who was standing there as still as a shadow. "So, can you promise me?"

"I will die before he does."

"Then go, you son of a bitch."

Castiel nodded and vanished.

Dean came bounding down the stairs. He had grabbed his old Colt 1911 from its hiding spot between the mattress and the boxspring in his room. Lisa did not even know of the gun. Dean liked it that way. The gun was his security blanket and one of the few things he could not let go from his old life. Having it around allowed him to sleep better at night knowing that he could grab it if anyone broke into the house. Though with the track record of the past few months, the most Dean had to worry about was shooting a stray raccoon that had wandered into the crawlspace above the attic.

He stuffed it in the back of his jeans waistband and fixed his shirt on top of it. "I called in all of my sick days at work," he shouted as he shoved his feet into his boots and tied the laces. He grabbed his jacket and tossed it on. "I am cleared until next Saturday." He wandered into the kitchen, "If this little recon takes more than a week, well, you're going to have to take it up with my boss."

Sariel was leaning against the counter. With her head thrown back, she was staring at the overhead light which had relit itself despite having been blown out. She was alone.

"Where's Cas?"

She pointed upwards. "Said he had to do some paperwork to clear this job."

"Paperwork?" Dean raised a doubtful eyebrow. "In Heaven?"

She shrugged her shoulders. "Bureaucracy is universal." She lolled her head to the side, smiling in his direction, "Don't worry. He'll be back in a jiffy."

Dean smiled back despite himself. He had a soft spot for anyone who used the word, "jiffy". He caught himself forgetting for a moment that the woman in his kitchen could possibly sink half of California in the ocean if she wished to. But then he saw that the once dead overhead light was back on. She's an Archangel. She's an Archangel. She's an Archangel. His mind thumped the thought in his skull trying to make the marking permanent. He gave the woman a glance as he pulled a bottle of water from the fridge. Okay, she's an Archangel in short shorts. Dammit, Dean. Focus. He opened the bottle and took a sip. "I have to ask. You said the Bobby didn't 'fess to where I was. How did you find me?"

Sariel reached into her back pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. "I remembered the Winchester Gospels and I paid a visit to the Prophet Charles Shurley to see if he had written anything about you lately."

Dean groaned at the mention of the Winchester Gospels. Even now Dean had a hard time believing that one day those cheesy novels would be considered holy scripture. He thought of Chuck as a nice enough guy but still could not help but think, Man, those books were badly written. "How is Chuck, by the way?"

"I don't know. " Sariel unfolded the piece of paper. "The Holy Prophet wasn't there when I had dropped by." She handed it to Dean. "Anyway, I found a story he had been working on. I wrote some of it down here."

Putting the bottle of water on the counter, Dean took the paper and began to read. The passage Sariel had written down spoke of Dean's search to find Lisa again right after he had made up his mind to say "yes" to Michael. Every last detail was there. Which states he had gone through. What streets he had search. What the color of Lisa's house was. Even the smell of the lilac incense that had wafted out when Lisa opened the door to him. It was all there as if he had written the passage himself from memory.

A cold chill raced down Dean's spine. Always a bug under glass. He crumpled up the paper and tossed it in the trash. He looked back at Sariel as if daring her to say something. She stared back for a second only to return her gaze to the ceiling.

Castiel appeared in the dining room.

Sariel clasped her hands in excitement. "Are we good to go?"

"Yes," he said.

"No, we're aren't. Not yet." Dean went to a kitchen drawer and opened it. He took out a pad of paper and a pen. He scribbled down;

"Went out. Will be back soon. Basement works fine.
-Dean"

He skimmed it over and added;

"P.S. I owe you a radio."

He slapped the paper down on the open space counter that faced the front entrance. Grabbing the two empty bottles from the sink, he placed them on the edge of the paper. There. Just in case if I am not back in time. With Lisa's hatred of messes, the bottles would grab her attention and she would see the note.

"Okay, now we can go."

Sariel grabbed Dean by the shoulder and Castiel by his hand.

"Where are we going fir-" before Castiel could finish he found himself standing in front of the Elysian Fields Hotel.

"What are we doing in the middle of an empty field?" asked Dean as he gazed out on the flat plain that was littered with wiltering dandelions.

Sariel smacked the man on the back of his head.

He let out a yelp. Rubbing the sore spot, he growled, "What the hell was that fo-?" His eyes stared at the front of a building that was not there a moment ago. He scanned up and up taking every inch of it in.

"Your sight needed adjusting." Sariel stepped up to the entrance. There was a sigil painted in her blood on the front door. Enochian lettering encircled her name. She slipped a Swiss Army knife from her pocket and pulled out the blade. She sliced open her palm. Blood beaded and then pooled in the cup of her hand. She muttered something under her breath and slapped her hand against the sigil. She pulled away. The lettering began to burn and turn to flame. Smoke and ash drifted into the air leaving the glass behind it clean. She balled up her injured hand and reopened it. The blood and the cut was gone. Grabbing the doorknob, she turned it and opened the door.

All three walked in. The perfume of flowers greeted them. Dean scanned the room. Lilies of the Valley grew along the wall. Their stems and leaves stretched from floor to ceiling. Roots dug deep into the carpet holding the plants in place. This was not the smell Dean had expected from a place that had been turned into a slaughterhouse. Still, there was something eerily death-like about it. He sniffed the air trying to smell the blood that had once soaked the carpets and the walls. The memory of that metallic stench never leaves anyone who has ever smelled it. But there was no blood reek there. Only flowers.

"Did you guys do this?" he asked pointing to the plants.

"A tomb needs flowers," Sariel answered as she headed to the hallway. She motioned for Castiel and Dean to follow.

The three went into the Grand Ballroom. Dean had not been there since he had last fled. He had forgotten how gaudy it was. The red plush velvet chairs, the gold lamé tablecloths, the hip glass chandeliers, the 70's swinger wall decor, it was all there in its Barry White glory. There were only two things that were different. Where there was once an empty space in the horseshoe shaped table, a large block of white marble took up residence. Enochian writing was etched on one side. Hebrew on another. And Latin on another still. Dean guessed that on the side he could not see had Arabic on it. Though he could not read the Hebrew or the Enochian inscriptions, Dean could understood the Latin one and knew that what the other languages said had to be the same.

"Gabrielus," he read. He stared at the blue shroud that was draped over the block. "This was where Gabriel was rested?"

"Yes," said Sariel.

Dean wandered over to the other thing that was different in the room. Two massive scorched outlines of wings stretched across the wooden floor onto one of the tables. "And this was where he died?"

Sariel closed her eyes feeling her heart sink. "Yes."

Dean squatted down to examine the markings. He thought about what Gabriel's last moments must have been like. The younger Archangel standing up to his brother in order to save Sam, Kali and his skin. Gabriel knew that he would be killed. He had to. But still the Archangel stood his ground because Dean had talked him into it. Gabriel, you were a major pain in my ass but you didn't deserve this. He rose to his feet and stepped away from the outlines. I'm sorry.

He turned to Sariel, "Why are we here?"

"To look for clues. I was hoping that somehow, someway with you being Michael's vessel you could tap into something here that I can't."

"Do you feel anything, Dean?" asked Castiel who was eyeing him like he was about to sprout antlers.

"What? No." He looked at Castiel. The Angel was slowly frowning. Only it was not in anger but in soul crushing disappointment. Dean felt like he had just told a child that his puppy was lost and there was nothing he could do about it. He rolled his eyes. This is stupid. He closed them anyway. Breathing slowly, he tried to feel out the room with his mind. He had no idea what to expect. A sharp pain. A bolt of shock. A tickle. Anything. Anything with an answer.

Nothing came to him.

Some waste of vessel he was turning out to be.

He opened his eyes. There had to be another way to search for Gabriel if he was actually alive. "You said the meat locker was empty and that Odin was back. Maybe we should talk to the gods that were here to see if they know anything. At least the ones that Gabriel was known to hang around with."

"Gabriel hid as Loki," Castiel said as a light appeared in his eyes. A slight smile of hope grew across his face. "Perhaps we should to talk to Odin again."

Sariel laughed bitterly. "That guy was three sheets to the wind. The most we will get out of him are some old football stories of him going on village raids. He's useless."

Dean held up his hand getting the two's attention. "What about Kali?"

"What about her?" asked Sariel. "She wasn't amongst the dead."

"No, but she was here." Dean started for the door. "Don't move." He ran down the hallway to the front desk. He hoped that the Angels had not messed with the area. They had not. Scattered paperwork littered the work place. The electronic register was still waiting to be used. Pens rested in a cup. Dean found what he wanted on the counter. The guest sign in book. Making his way back to the Ballroom, he flipped through the first few pages. The names read like a who's whom of Olympian mythology. Each god signed their name twice, once for their Greek name and once for their Roman name. Dean ran his fingers down the list. Apparently, Eros was a frequent guest. He flipped towards the back until the familiar Latin and Greek letters stopped and other alphabet characters appeared. Here were the non-Olympian gods. Dean stopped in the middle of the hallway, surprised at what he came across. While the Olympians signed their names using a single uniformed line each, the other gods went all out in their signatures. Some had used fat markers that bled through the paper. Others had signed using huge characters and flourishes that sometimes over took another god's name. A few had actually burned their names into the paper. How they did not manage to burn the whole book was a mystery to Dean.

It's a pissing contest with signatures. He found the whole thing ridiculous. Are they gods or are they thirteen year old boys? He remembered what Sariel and Castiel had said about the gods. How they were always fighting amongst themselves. Here was proof positive of that truth.

He found Kali's signature. It was not hard to spot. She had taken up two entire pages with it. She had written her name out in Sanskrit and in Bengali. Then below that she wrote out in English in parenthesis, "Kali: Destroyer of Worlds and Redeemer of the Universe."

I wonder how her business card looks like, thought Dean with a smirk.

He walked back into the Ballroom holding the book out to Sariel. "See, here's the guestbook. She signed her name."

Sariel took the book and read Kali's signature. She still did not understand the fuss over the fact that Kali had been at the hotel. "Why should that matter?"

Dean was taken back. He thought it should have been obvious. Then he realized that he had never told anyone every detail of that night when Lucifer had come to the hotel. Only the bare facts of the gods trying to bribe their way out of harm's path, Lucifer showing up and Gabriel fighting him. Dean had forgotten to tell one important fact.

"It matters," he said taking back the book and turning through the pages once more, "because Gabriel, under the disguise of Loki, had a thing with Kali for a while." He stopped at Loki's signature. The strange thing with his name was it had been written like an Olympian name; neatly on a single line. The only thing that separated the two styles was that Gabriel had drawn a smiley face with its tongue sticking out as the dot in the "i". He handed the book back to Sariel pointing out Loki's name. "If there is one thing I know from my years of working cases is that old girlfriends always seem to have the dirt on their exes."

Sariel and Castiel crowded around the book and stared at Loki's name as if they kept on staring a connection would form between them and the ink that would lead them back to Gabriel. When nothing happened, Sariel ripped the page out and tossed the book on one of the red velvet chairs. She ripped the page again, tearing Baldr's name away from her brother's alias. Crumpling up Baldr's signature, she tossed the trash over her shoulder and with great care, slipped Loki's signature into her front pocket.

Dean understood why she had done this. He still had an old post-it note that his mom had scribbled down a grocery list on. He kept the scrap paper in his wallet. Even Sam did not know about that.

He raised his eyebrows. "So, come on. Kali. What do you think?"

"I think you are right but," Sariel pinched the bridge of her nose and growned, "why does it have to be Kali? There are so many gods out there, Gabriel. Why did you pick her?"

Dean smirked, "I take it you've met Little Miss Charming."

Sariel gave the man a somber look that read, Don't ask stupid questions, boy.

"What is wrong with Kali?" asked Castiel, cocking his head. He had never come across the goddess and only knew of her by myths.

Sariel took him by the hand and grabbed Dean by his shoulder. "You'll find out." She pulled them along down the hallway, through the front lobby and back outside. She closed the door. Taking out her Swiss Army knife, she sliced open her hand again and rewrote the spell on the entrance. A crackle of electricity ran up the walls of the building. She healed her hand and slipped it back into Castiel's. She grabbed Dean's shoulder again.

"Now where are we going?" he asked.

"To see Kali." She closed her eyes and shook her head like a disappointed parent. "Honestly, Dean, it was you who suggested it."

Dean curled his lip at Sariel's rudeness. "I know that but where is she?"

"Most likely slumming it at her temple back east, surrounded by her worshippers."

"Hold on, are you saying we are going to India?"

"Dakshineswar, specifically."

Dean tried to wiggle free from Sariel's grasp. Leaving his home for some other place in the U.S. was one thing but popping into another country was something different altogether. He did not even own a passport. "No, wait!"

"Too late."

The three vanished.

RETURN TO CHAPTER TWO

Keep me hangin' on chapter two

Wed, 01 Sep 2010 05:48:52 GMT

Another chapter of the Supernatural fanfic I've been playing around with.

Title: Keep Me Hangin' On (Chapter Two)
Summary: Six months after "Swan Song" Dean has tried to settle into an Average Joe life as best as he can. But thanks to an unwelcome Archangel with a request for him, Dean is finding himself being thrown back into the supernatural fold again against his will.
Rating: What is Supernatural rating, show-wise? Teen? M? PG-13. Well, whatever it is, that's it.
Word Count: 5,109
Disclaimer: Nope, I am not Kripke. Nope, these guys aren't mine. But I love them anyway.

"Gabriel is dead," said Castiel.

Sariel narrowed her eyes. "No."

"It's true," said Dean softly. He could see the pain in the Archangel's eyes. He knew that look like it was his own reflection. "We were at a hotel, The Elysian Fields. Your brother went up against Lucifer. And, well, I didn't see it because Sam and I were running but...Gabriel never came out."

The overhead light started to tap out messages again.

"Yeah, so?"

"So," Dean began, "dead is dead."

"That's rich coming from you." The light popped and went out. Sariel pointed at Dean. "Just how many times have you died only to have been brought back soon after. Huh? Do you even have a number?"

Dean stared at his feet without saying a word.

"There you go." The Archangel leaned towards the man barely keeping out of his comfort zone. Her eyes locked with his. "I know that Gabriel died. Castiel can tell you. It's a huge deal when an Archangel bites it."

Dean glanced at Castiel. The Angel nodded. "When you and Sam told me about Gabriel's death at the hotel and then you showed me the DVD, I told a few Angels that were still on speaking terms with me. From there, they spread the word. There was a great despair. All of Heaven wept."

"They even kept the hotel erected as a tomb," said Sariel, "It would be invisible to non-Angels but for us, it would always stand-"

"-as a monument of when the Prodigal Son returned and picked up his sword for the side of the Just," finished Castiel.

Dean's heart ached for the two. The idea of a garish hotel as a tomb was somewhat fitting for the Trickster Archangel. However; any tomb was a reminder of who was lost. A thought pricked his mind, "There were gods in that place. Dead gods. What happened to them?"

Shrugging her shoulders, Sariel leaned back and slouched against the counter. "Their bodies were shoved into the hotel's meat locker."

"Like leftovers?"

"Yep, and serves them right. They shouldn't have tried to go after Lucifer."

The man's mouth fell open but he could not think of anything to say.

"Don't be so horrified. They weren't missed."

"How could they have not been missed?" Dean said almost shouting, "They were gods."

Sariel exchanged tired looks with Castiel. She waved a hand off as if inviting the Angel to answer this one.

"Pagan gods are different from Angels," Castiel explained in a flat voice like he was reading from a manual. "Most of them, at least. Angels are always joyous to have more Angels around. The creation of an Angel is a celebration. It is very much like the birth of a Human child. Only with less handing out of cigars." He paused waiting for Dean to laugh at his attempt at a joke. When Dean did not so much as smile, Castiel cleared his throat and continued. "Pagan gods, on the hand, see other gods as competition. They are constantly fighting amongst themselves over land, goods, magic and worshippers."

"So," stepped in Sariel, "when a god kicks the bucket everyone pops their champagne corks. One less adversary in the game." Her face became serious once more. "No one came for them, Dean. No one asked for them. No one cared." She scrunched up her face. "Or at least I thought no one did."

"What do you mean, sister?" asked Castiel as he cocked his head.

Dean drew closer. He wanted to know too.

The Archangel began to pace between the kitchen and the dining room. She scratched behind her ear looking as if she was trying to figure out the right words to say. "The instant Michael and Lucifer fell into that pit and the Earth shut closed, clean-up began. The six other Archangels of the Earth and myself made sure the floods, plagues, and hurricanes that came about due to Lucifer's road trips were taken care of. I was the one who was regulated to check the Earth's sub-pockets."

"'Sub-pockets?'" asked Dean.

"They're realms within realms. They share the same sun and sky but not entirely. Places like Olympus. The actually one. Not the mountain. My job was to make sure that those lands were okay as well. Because if they weren't, the gods, demi-gods and what not that lived there would be ticked. And if they are ticked they create havoc nature-wise. Which makes my job as an Earth guardian so much more difficult."

"Sariel," said the man, "with all due respect-" He made circles with his hand indicating that the Archangel should cut the fat and get to the meat of the story.

The Archangel bit her lip and held up her hands. "Sorry, I am not used to talking about work. And I am definitely not used to the impatience of Humans."

Castiel rolled his eyes and nodded in agreement. "Tell me about it."

"Hey," snapped Dean, smacking the Angel in the arm as hard as he could knowing that it would barely tickle Castiel. "Can we get back to the sub-pockets, already?"

"Right," Sariel nodded. "The first place I went to was Asgard. Now do you know who I found there drunk off his ass and eating golden apples like there was no tomorrow? Odin."

Disbelief washed over Dean. "That can't be. Odin's dead. Lucifer smoked him."

"I know! I was the one who personally put that geezer in the freezer. But there he was in all of his glass eye glory."

Castiel began to pace after his sister, "I did not know this. How come I do not know this?"

Swinging around, she grabbed her brother by his shoulders, halting the both of them. "No one but me knows this. It just happened."

"How could it have just happened?" asked Dean. "It has been six months since your brothers went under."

"Time works differently in the sub-pockets. You go there for a day only to return here and find out that six months have passed."

Dean remembered reading about fairy circles that acted exactly like that in an entry in his father's journal. "Fine, then. Here's the sixty-four thousand dollar question, who brought him back?"

Letting go of her brother, Sariel shrugged as if she could not fathom the truth even though she was the one telling it. "That's the thing. The old man says he doesn't know. All he does know is that right before he opened his eyes again he heard a voice telling him that he had to wake up. That he had his own prophecy to full fill. And then bam! He was in Valhalla."

The room became quiet as everyone was lost in their minds. Even though they were not talking, the same thought screamed loud and bright as a supernova in each of them.

"Could it have been Father?"

Sariel stared off into nothingness with her mind beating hard with ideas. "Who else can bring a god back to life, renew his powers and send him on his merry little way?"

Dean searched his head for an answer but could not find one besides the person being God, Himself. He wished he was at Bobby's. At least then he could double check it against the books. However; deep down Dean knew that the truth had to be God. He looked over at Castiel. An expression flashed over the Angel's face that took Dean back. Was that disgust? Strong emotions were a rarity for Castiel. Outward expressions were even rarer. But Dean could not deny what he had seen. There was anger in those blue eyes. Dean wondered if Castiel was pissed off at his own Father for the same reason why he was pissed off at Him. All these people get a second life but not the ones either of us want.

"Could that Odin have been a doppelganger?" asked Castiel. He seemed to be begging for the Odin resurrection to be a lie. "A shapeshifter perhaps? Maybe his real body still lies in the meat locker."

Sariel shook her head. "No. That was him. I went back to the hotel immediately after I came across his living, breathing self. No one had touch the place since I had sealed it up with sigils. Except for a few stored away Human body parts, the meat locker was empty."

"What about Gabriel's vessel?"

"Gone as well. And his death shroud, the one I laid on his body after finding him? It had not been disturbed. It was as if Gabriel's vessel had vanished right from underneath the fabric. And that's why I don't think he's dead anymore. Because if Father can bring you and Dean back, as well as Odin then why couldn't He have brought Gabriel back? He had to." There was a crack in her voice. "He simply had to."

The room grew quiet again as everyone swam in their thoughts. Dean frowned knowing what he had to say next but did not know how to say it politely. After all, missing siblings and a schmuck for a father was a common road for him. He felt like he understood where the two siblings were coming from. In any other time, he would buy the two a beer and whine about the suckfest that was their immediate family. Still, the question had to be asked.

He tensed up knowing that there was a good chance there was going to be another electrical storm running through the house any second. "Sariel," he started off slowly, "Not to be a dick or anything but what does this got to do with me?"

The appliances stayed still but a disgusted frown came across Sariel. But the frown took on an exhausted feel. Dean could have sworn that he saw the Archangel's vessel reveal every second of her age. And Sariel looked ancient. "You're tied to my brother. At least more so than me."

"What do you mean?"

"After the war in Heaven between Lucifer with his Angels and Michael with his, Gabriel was the one who locked Lucifer up."

"I thought it was Michael who threw Lucifer into the pit."

The Archangel shook her head. "It was Father who made the pit. It was Michael who threw Lucifer in the cage. And it was Gabriel who locked the cage and tossed the key."

Dean thought about Gabriel on the DVD. That's how he knew about the Horsemen's rings. He was the one who had the key in the first place.

"Locking up his brother killed him. Absolutely killed him. After that Gabriel disappeared. No one knew where he was except Father and He wasn't speaking. Personally, I thought Gabriel had gone off world and transformed into a star."

"You can do that?" Dean said trying to imagine the Trickster that he knew bursting into a huge ball of gas and light.

"Like I said," Sariel continued rolling her eyes, "I thought he had transformed into a star. And if that was the case the search was screwed because have you ever looked at the night sky? Not exactly an Easter egg hunt. Especially for me seeing how my station was on Earth. Leaving my post was and is verboten. But then something interesting happened. Angels were getting assigned to certain Humans because Gabriel had showed up delivering messages from God. But it was always after the fact. Father gave a memo to Gabriel. Gabriel passed the word to the subject. Then bro would disappear. Then an Angel would be assigned to that Human to watch over him or her. And this went on for millennia and up until a few hundred years ago."

"We've been thinking that as long as Gabriel delivered the word of our Father, Father would leave Gabriel alone," said Castiel. "How else was he able to hide away from Heaven's eyes for this long?"

Sariel nodded in agreement. "All of those years and not one Angel came across him? Not one caught a glimpse of him? Please. And this is where you come in. How many times have you bumped into my brother?"

Dean backtracked in his head. He remembered the Janitor, Sam's Groundhog Day bit, the Prime Time television gag and the hotel. "Around four times."

"Four times. In your short, brief candle of a life, you've run into my brother four times. Again, not one Angel has been able to catch wind of him for millennia. What does that tell you?"

"Oh, come on," Dean threw his hands in the air. "You can't seriously be suggesting this. I am not tied to your brother, Lady. I am just..."

"The old vessel for Michael," Sariel interrupted, "The same Archangel who was one of the four to see the face of God. A group which included Gabriel."

"No. No. No," Dean waved his hands over his head as if he could swipe off the very idea of what Sariel was saying. He stormed past the Archangel into the dining room. His headache was starting to turn into a migraine. All he wanted to do was to go up to his room and crash on his bed.

Sariel appeared in front of him.

Dean jumped back, tripping over his own feet. Down he went but felt two arms wrapping around his chest. He looked up to see Castiel holding him. The Angel set him back up. Dean jerked his shirt down, straightening his rumpled clothing. "Cas, tell your sister I don't want to hear any more of this bunk."

"I do not think it's bunk, Dean."

"Then you agree with her? You think I am tied to Gabriel?"

"You were once Michael's potential vessel."

Letting out a growl, Dean turned to continue his path towards his bedroom only to face Sariel. He held his hands up in peace as he walked around the Archangel. His face never leaving her stare. He swung around to go up stairs only to find Sariel standing in front of him again. Dean spun around towards the front door, deciding if she was going to follow him around the house he was going to go outside. But again, she was right there. He dodged around her leaving her in the dining room. Racing for the entrance, he grabbed the handle and yanked the door open. Sariel was standing on the porch looking in.

"Oh, come on!" he said again. He tossed his head back, "Cas, I thought you said I couldn't be harmed by any Angel."

"She is not harming you."

Dean jumped sideways again and away from Castiel who had popped up on his left side.

"Stop that!" Dean slammed the door shut in Sariel's face. He stomped back into the kitchen to see Sariel leaning against the counter with her arms crossed. She was smirking. Dean paused giving her a dirty look. He then went to the fridge and grabbed a beer. Uncapping, he took one long swig nearly emptying half the bottle. He gave Sariel another dirty look in case she did not understand the first one. Without checking his left side, he slapped his hand in the space. He felt the wrinkled fabric of a suit and tie. Castiel was back as Dean was assure he would be. Only a short while ago, Dean had been bemoaning about how everyone in his life eventually left him. Now he was stuck with two supernatural beings that he could not shake off. Somewhere Dean was convinced that God was laughing at the irony. He took another swig to stop himself from calling the being a bastard out loud.

An idea occurred to him. An idea that would surely enrage the Archangel. However, Dean knew he had to ask it. He took another swig for courage. "How powerful are you, Sariel?"

"Pardon?"

Another swig. "I mean, how strong of an Archangel are you? I met Raphael. He blacked out the entire Eastern Seaboard. Are you that powerful? What can you do?"

Sariel tilted her head at the question. She found it odd but still ran through her memories for an answer. Her mouth flattened out to a grim slit. "Remember that earthquake that happened in the Indian Ocean back in '04. The one that made those tsunamis? That was me."

Dean dropped his beer. Castiel caught the bottle before it hit the floor. He handed it back to the man. Dean took it and finished the rest of the bottle in one gulp. He tossed the beer in the sink, clinking it against its twin. "Then it may be possible."

"What may be possible?" asked Sariel.

"You want me to help you find your brother?" He stepped up face to face with the Archangel. In her boots and his socks, she was barely a couple of inches shorter than him. "Alright, but only on one condition, you yank Sam and Adam out of Hell."

Dean waited for the Archangel to growl at him and to make the electricity dance again. After all, even though he was Michael's vessel at some point, he was still a little guppy of a Human to her Great White. But instead of anger, confusion showed on her face followed by an expression that spoke, You poor bastard.

"What?" said the man.

"You don't know?"

"Know what?"

Sariel caught Castiel narrowing his eyes and shaking his head. Her eyes went back to Dean who was standing there quickly turning pissed. Then back to Castiel who gave her a threatening glare. She knew that Castiel could do little to her. His rank gave him so much power against hers. But still, there was something in his eyes that said if she tried to speak, she would at least lose an ear.

Dean watched as she went from confused to taken back. Her whole body leaned back further on the counter as if to distance herself from him. Dean knew that was incorrect. She was not afraid of her she was afraid of Castiel. The man turned to the Angel behind him. Castiel's face was flat. Not even a grimace or a smirk. His blue eyes drifted from Sariel to the man's. Nothing was behind them. It was as if Castiel had tied up his emotions and expressions in a neat bow and shoved them into the deepest place within himself for safe keeping. Dean went back to Sariel who was still staring at Castiel with a stern expression.

What the hell is going on here? Dean thought. Castiel was hiding something. He was sure of it. But the Angel was not one to keep things from him. The opposite was often the truth. Castiel was quite childlike in that if he thought it, he spoke it. No information was too private or personal.

At least that was what Dean had believed. But now the Angel was definitely hiding something. Something so big that even an Archangel was afraid to speak it.

However; that did not stop Dean from asking again, "Know what?"

Sariel refused to look the man in the eye. She stared at the broken overhead light. "Know that it is forbidden by Father's law. What's done is done and Sam and Adam have to stay down there."

Liar! Dean bit deep into his tongue to help hide his simmering temper. He wanted to seize Castiel by the lapels and shake him, demanding to be told what he knew and why was the Angel hiding it from him. If you know something, you winged son of a bitch. Dean shut his eyes. He reminded himself that Castiel was a friend. More than a friend. The Angel literally went through hell and back for him. He was family. However; Dean had punched family before. Castiel would not be an exception. But Dean also knew that the moment he tried to manhandle the Angel, Castiel would either vanish or knock Dean out with a touch. Either way, he would be without answers. Dammit, Cas, what is it that you can't tell me?

No, Dean would have to use his wits instead of his fists. He did not know how sharp Sariel was yet but Castiel was all book and no street. If he tried, Dean could probably con the Angel into spilling his guts. Dean had done it a million times with other people. Say you are from whatever department. Flash a badge. Grin the pearly whites. Get the information. Easy-peasy. Doing something similar to Castiel should not be that different. At least not that hard. The down side to this was he was going to have to stick to Castiel where ever he went. And it seemed right now Castiel was going to stick to Sariel. Dean was going to have to say "yes" to that woman's stupid quest. Fan-frikkin-tastic.

"Dean," said Sariel, "please, come with me." She looked over to her brother. "Come with us."

Dean frowned. "You are coming along after all, Cas?"

"I am now." Castiel stared at Dean intensely. There was something heartbreaking in the Angel's eyes. Castiel turned away, blinking. Apparently, something he did not want to share with the man.

"Okay," Dean clenched his teeth, "but promise me this, Lady, Daddy's law or not, you help me find a loop hole to get my brothers back."

Sariel gave him another poor bastard look. "Kid, I don't think there is a loop hole. Not in this case."

"There's always a loop hole."

Sariel exchanged glances with Castiel again. The Angel nodded.

"Deal," she said. "We'll look for this mysterious loop hole after we're done."

"And I also need to be back by Monday or else."

"What's happening Monday?" she asked.

"The wiring in the basement is shot to hell. I've got an electrician coming in to look at it."

Sariel laughed. "You're kidding, right?"

"Lady, I work in construction. I never kid about wiring."

The Archangel smiled. Dean was becoming cute to her again. "Wait a tic." She vanished.

Dean was alone with Castiel in the kitchen. Dean's palms began to itch. He wanted to reach out and yank Castiel. The Angel was not even looking at him now. He was pretending to be interested in the fried radio. Instead of being casual, he was hamming it up. Playing with the knobs and hitting the top as if he really understood the inner workings of the machine.

A hot flush was turning Dean's ears pink. He was brewing harder and harder with each passing second. The urge to scream, "LOOK AT ME!" was starting to make his body tremble.

You know something, Cas. GOD DAMN IT! YOU KNOW SOMETHING!

"Done."

Dean swung around to see Sariel standing at the kitchen entrance. "You were right. It was shot to hell. But it's honky dory David Bowie now. Let's hit the road."

"Wait," said Dean as he turned back to Castiel. The Angel was still refusing to look him in the eye. "There are a few things I need to get before we can go. Give me a second." He stormed out of the kitchen, grazing Sariel in the shoulder. He did not bother to apologize. Rounding out the living room corner, he stopped and crouched low. Leaning in, he spied into the kitchen hoping that now that Castiel and Sariel were alone, they would trip something up. Dean felt like he was four again and sneaking a peek at one of the many fights his parents had when they thought he was not around. Only Castiel and Sariel were not speaking. They were not even moving. Dean squinted his eyes. He could not tell with Sariel since her back was to him but for Castiel he could see his actions plainly. His chest was not moving. He was not breathing! Dean shut his eyes thinking that they were playing tricks on him. Castiel had to breathe. He could have sworn he heard the Angel gasp once in a fight.

Dean rose to his feet and leaned over again. The two beings were still flesh and blood statues. He was not going to learn a single thing from spying on them. He snorted a grunt in frustration. Going to the front entrance, he grabbed his jacket from the heap. Poking around in the pockets, he took out his phone and ran up stairs to his room. He slammed the door behind him.

Sariel's eyes climbed up to the ceiling. Dean was gone. Good. She could now speak. "Why haven't you told him his brothers are back on Earth?"

Castiel frowned. "Orders."

"Whose? I know all the orders that trickle down from the higher ups. I haven't heard of a memo."

"That is because there is no memo. The order doesn't come from Heaven."

"Then from whom does it come from?"

"It comes from Sam. Himself."

Dean clicked on the phone's menu. Going through his address book, he stopped at the second number on his list. He dialed. He began to pace around the room, kicking about the dirty clothes that littered the floor.

"Come on. Come on," he said biting into the nails of his free hand, "Be there and pick up. Please."

There was a click on the other end.

"Hello," said a gruff voice.

"Bobby, it's me, Dean."

"Dean? Good to hear from you, son. It has been about two weeks, hasn't it? How the hell are you?"

A twinge of guilt came over the Dean. It had been two weeks since he had last called Bobby. Ever since he had returned from hell to learn that Sam had practically abandon Bobby, leaving the man heartbroken and on a bender, Dean promised that if something like that happened and the roles were reversed, he would never forget Bobby. Bobby was blood without the blood. Especially when Dean had learned that the man who had saved Sam and his life time and time again, the man who Dean thought was one of the bravest and most loyal men that he had ever known was seen by the outside world as the town drunk. That truth ate Dean up. He wanted to go around and slug each and every person who ever dared to slur Bobby's name. So, Dean kept in touch hoping that Bobby would know that at least one person on the planet believed in him and was grateful that he was around.

"Sorry that I haven't called, Bobby. It's just-"

"You have a different life," said Bobby. Dean could hear the smile in the man's voice. "It's alright, boy. I understand. I am just happy you've called."

Dean smiled weakly. Good old Bobby. He snapped his fingers, "Bobby, what can you tell me about the Archangel, Sariel?"

"Sariel?"

"Yeah."

There was a pause. Dean could hear books being opened and paper ruffling. "Here we go. Sariel. He's also known as Suriel. But depending on what book you are reading, they can be two separate Archangels."

"Tell me about both of them."

"Their stories are similar. Suriel is an Angel of healing. He's also an Angel of Death."

Dean stopped and pinched the bridge of his nose in disgust. "That's nice. What else?"

"Well, Sariel is listed as one of the seven Archangels in Enoch as well as one of the seven Archangels of Earth. We are talking a big bad mofo here. Think a Roman general watching over the planet. During Biblical times, soldiers used to write his name on their shields to invoke his protection as well as his power."

"Did it work?"

"Whole armies were wiped out by those guys. Like I said, this is one nasty Archangel. Why do you ask?"

"I ask 'cause Sariel, who is actually a girl, is in my kitchen right now hanging out with Cas."

"What?"

Dean pulled the phone away from his head. Bobby's yell nearly busted his ear drum. He stuck his pinkie in his ear and wiggled the finger. He could still hear the ringing even after he had pulled his hand away but it was less harsh. He brought the phone back to his ear. Bobby was already going on a full blow out.

"-is wrong with you, boy? What have you gotten yourself into this time? You were supposed to lie low."

"I am lying low!" Dean began to pace again, "The Archangel came to me."

"Came to you. What does she possibly want from you?"

"To help her find Gabriel."

"Gabriel? I thought he was dead."

"It doesn't look like it any more."

"What do you mean by that? No, don't answer. It doesn't matter. Boy, you listen here and you listen good. You tell that Archangel to shove it. You are no longer in the hunting business."

Dean stopped and dropped the phone to his chest. He knew what he was about to say next was going to make Bobby madder than he already was. Dean winced. Bobby was going to chew him out even more than he already was now. The old man's tirades always made him feel like a snot nosed teenager again. On some days Dean actually liked them. It was nice to have someone who cared enough about him that they were willing to take the time to beat some sense into him. But today was not one of those days. Dean raised the phone again.

"I already said, "yes," Bobby. Look, Cas is acting weird. I think he's hiding something about Sam."

"Cas? Why would he be hiding anything from you?"

"That's what I want to know. If he knows something that can get Sam out-"

"Dean, no. Remember your promise to Sam."

A red flush burned in Dean's cheeks. There were way too many people today telling him what he could and could not do. "I don't care. That was a stupid promise anyway. Besides, I may have promised Sammy but I didn't promise Adam. So, say I am really doing this for Adam if that helps you sleep at night. And if Sam happens to return to Earth because of this action, bonus."

"Dean Winchester, you are not-"

Dean hung up. He slipped his phone in his jeans pocket. "I'm really sorry, Bobby," he said out loud. "But it's Sam."

Bobby slammed his phone down on his desk. "God dammit!" He grabbed a book and threw it across the room. It hit the kitchen stove and dropped to the floor. "Dean has gotten himself mixed up with some Angel crap now. And why? Because he thinks if he does what they want he can bring you back from Hell."

From across the desk, Sam closed the book he was reading. "That idiot."

RETURN TO CHAPTER ONE
GO TO CHAPTER THREE

supernatural fanfic a-go-go

Wed, 01 Sep 2010 05:06:16 GMT

I've hit a road block of sorts with Doon at the moment. To loosen me up, or at least to get my mind unstuck I did some fanfiction. Yes, I did fanfiction. Supernatural fanfiction. I used to write fanfiction when I was younger. In fact, I haven't written any fanfics in almost ten years. So, here's a go at an old hobby.

Title: Keep Me Hangin' On
Summary: Six months after "Swan Song" Dean has tried to settle into an Average Joe life as best as he can. But thanks to an unwelcome Archangel with a request for him, Dean is finding himself being thrown back into the supernatural fold again against his will.
Rating: What is Supernatural rating, show-wise? Teen? M? PG-13. Well, whatever it is, that's it.
Word Count: 3198
Disclaimer: Nope, I am not Kripke. Nope, these guys aren't mine.

Domestic life had not been that difficult to adjust to as Dean had thought it would be. Or at least had feared it would be.

Six months ago, he had moved into Lisa’s guestroom. Despite the flowery wallpaper and the little bowls of potpourri, Dean found staying in a room whose bedsheets did not light up like a Christmas tree when hit with a UV lamp a pleasant change of pace. Though he still missed the Magic Fingers feature of his past motel beds.

Soon after with the help of Lisa’s connections, Dean secured a construction job building houses on the undeveloped edges of the town. Lisa thought it was odd that Dean listed his name as “Dean Moriarty” on his W2 forms. He told her that his real name carried too much legal baggage. Secretly, he simply liked the irony of being Dean Moriarty.

Sam isn’t the only reader in the family, he had smirked to himself. He frowned a moment later when he realized that he was still using present tense whenever he thought about his brother. The last time he saw Sam, the younger brother had trapped the Fallen Angel, Lucifer, in his human shell and was taking a swan dive with the Archangel, Michael, back into the Pit through a hell hole. Then the earth sealed itself up back to normalcy. Back to ant hills, weeds and trampled grass. Dean knew that if he tried to dig through the dirt all he would find would be more dirt. No secret tunnel to his brother. No massive world of demons. Just worms, rocks and mud.

Dean did not want to think about his brother in Hell. He did not want to wonder if Sammy was still in control of his own body. Or if Lucifer had retaken over and was forcing his brother to ride shotgun. And if Lucifer had taken over, was the Fallen Angel still fighting his own brother?

No, he did not want to think about any of that.

But sometimes he did.

Late at night when Lisa’s house became too quiet because she did not have the same tommy gun rattling air conditioners that the motels had, which Dean called his “on the road lullaby”, he would lie in bed with eyes wide open. He thought of his promise to Sam. To never try to bring him back from hell. To live a normal nine to five life full of apple pies and baseball. To be happy in this new routine. And for the most part Dean had fulfilled his promise. He was happy to a point. He liked getting up and knowing exactly what he was going to do that day. Putting up some roofing. Laying some tiling. Hammer. Hammer. Hammer. It was a switch from his past constant mental march of wondering if this was going to be day that something with claws that catch and teeth that bite would gank him. He liked being around Lisa and Ben. Especially Ben. The kid was like a little version of himself only without the monster of the week horror show. Ben loved old cars, pretty girls and cheese burgers. He was still a little behind on classic rock. But when Dean had introduced him to Led Zeppelin IV, the kid took to the music like it was air. Lisa on the other hand was not a classic rock fan.

“Except for that one song by CCR.”

Dean winced. “Let me guess, Bad Moon Rising?”

“Yeah. How did you know?”

“Just my luck.”

Being around Ben was as if Dean was getting a second chance on his own childhood. Only he was not going to make the same jacked up mistakes his father did. Ben knew there were things that went bump in the night out there. But Dean made sure that the boy also knew that with a little salt, sigils and the right gris gris bag, he would not have to worry about them taking him away again. Dean was going to make sure of that. No shoving a gun into Ben’s hands and saying, “Sorry, kid, you ain’ sleepin’ tonigh’. We be monster huntin’!” Dean swore this to Lisa but, again, above all else, he swore to himself. And he kept it.

Still, he was not completely happy. An itch in the back of his skull was always there, scraping away. Dean wanted his brother back.

He had Lisa. He had Ben. He had a solid roof over his head and three actually healthy squares for his belly.

Why could he not have his brother too?

Why was his life always missing something? That whole ying/yang bull that Sam was yammering on years ago, why did it always plague him? Dean could have his brother around but not a normal life. He could have a normal life but not his brother around. That garbage was always tailing him. He could have his life or his father. He could have his father or his life. Everything was either or.

It was as if Dean were ever completely and utterly happy and had everything he wanted, the universe would implode.

“That’s some Douglas Adams crap, right there,” he muttered to himself once.

For a moment he thought about breaking his promise to Sam. To try to make a deal with a Demon to bring him back but Dean realized it was an impossible dream. If Sam was by himself in Hell, then perhaps a demon could yank him out. But with Lucifer trapped in jail and Michael and his winged cronies making sure that he did not get out again, no Demon was powerful enough to separate his brother from the Fallen Angel. Sam was stuck. Dean could offer his soul and all the souls in New York City and still no Demon would be able to strike that bargain.

The only being that could do it was God and, frankly, Dean was still a little pissed at Him for bringing Bobby and Castiel back but not his brother. As much as he cared for those two why did they get the one up life and not Sam as well? What sort of cosmic crack up was that? Dean knew that he would never get an answer from a being who liked to keep tight lipped and did most of his talking through a burning bush. He was going to have to live with it. And live with it he did.

Lisa had taken Ben to Kentucky for her Aunt’s wedding leaving Dean with the house to himself for the weekend. He had offered to drive the two there but Lisa declined. The wiring in the basement had broken down and someone needed to be home for when the electrician showed up bright and early Monday morning. Dean was volunteered.

“Besides you hate weddings.”

“True. But I love wedding cake.”

“Is this your way of telling me to bring back a slice?”

“Can you keep it fresh?”

“I’ve got some Tupperware.”

“Then, yes, this is my way of telling you to bring back some cake...and pie, if they’ve got any.”

Saturday rolled around and after working his nine hour shift Dean returned to an empty house. He stood on the thresh hold and gazed into the vacant living room. Usually, the sound of Ben playing his video games would greet him about now. Instead, a big fat nothing was there.

Dean hated it.

He dropped his tool box and jacket on the floor in a pile. He kicked off his work boots and shoved them on the mess with his foot. Since Lisa was not around to give him the stink eye when it came to cleaning up after himself, Dean was not going to bother. The act with his own private middle finger to fate. He closed the door behind himself and wandered into the kitchen. Lisa had a small radio that was made to look 50’s retro except for the slot to slip an mp3 player in sitting on the counter. Dean flipped the switch. A poppette, whose fifteen minutes were ten seconds shy of ending, belted out a song about sex in a club’s bathroom. Fantastic. Lisa’s music. Dean felt twice his age as he grumbled about how lousy modern music was. He turned the dial until he hit the only Oldies station in the city. The station played both Classic rock and Motown. Dean did not mind Motown. The songs reminded him of his mother and how she used to play her 45’s when she was cleaning the house when he was only a tot.

The Animals finished “The House of the Rising Sun” as Dean pulled a beer from the fridge. He uncapped the top as The Supremes began to sing, “You keep me hangin’ on.” Dean always had a thing for a young Diana Ross but at that moment, the song’s lyrics were grating his nerves;

Why do ya keep a’comin’ around playin’ my heart
Why doncha get out of my life and let me make a new start
Let me get over you the way you got over me

“Shut up,” he said as he took a swig from his beer. But he did not turn the knob. Some part of him wanted to think about the people in life who had come and gone. For years this thought pattern was a daily exercise. He would be eating in a backwoods diner thinking about how his mother was gone. He would be driving in the car with Sam next to him asleep, thinking about how his father was gone. And even now he still thought about Sam.

A headache was starting to pound against his temple. He ran the cold bottle across his forehead. He had to stop this nonsense for once and for good.

“You have Lisa and Ben,” he bellowed out in the empty kitchen, screwing up his eyes to fight off the headache, “You can’t bring them down with your personal baggage. They took your stray ass in and you want to do that to them? And for what? Because you can’t deal with the truth, you stupid moron. Mom isn’t coming back. Dad isn’t coming back. And most of all, Sammy is not coming back!”

“You should really get yourself a yellow cat.”

Dean opened his eyes to see a woman sitting at the dining room table.

She smiled. “I hear they always come back the very next day.”

Spinning around, Dean tossed the beer bottle in the sink and yanked a knife out from the butcher block. He swung back with the knife out in front of him. His body tensed up in a fighting stance. The woman did not look one ounce of impressed. She leaned back in her chair and crossed her legs giving Dean a moment to look her over. She was wearing an Eagles of Death Metal shirt, cut offs and white cowboy boots that were scuffed brown on the toes. Her bleached hair was tied up in a messy bun. Everything about her telegraphed truck stop waitress.

“Who the hell are you?”

“Wrong end of the egg there, buddy.” She started to mess with the fake sunflower centerpiece. “My vacation home is a little ways to the North.”

Dean frowned. “Angel.”

“Archangel, really,” She rose from her chair, “I like to pull rank.” She pointed at the knife in the man’s hand, “Are you going to keep waving that thing around? You could take someone’s eye out with that. Most likely your own.”

Dean looked at his knife. He realized that it was useless against an Angel let alone an Archangel. He might have as well been holding a salami for all the good it could do. Without letting his gaze off of the woman, he slipped the knife behind him and back into the butcher block.

“There,” said the Archangel with another smile that reminded Dean of a condescending grade school teacher, “Now we can talk.” She pushed the dining table chair back in its place. “You know, Mr. Winchester, you are a very hard man to find seeing how you still have those little carvings all about your rib cage.”

Dean felt his chest. He had forgotten about the Enochian markings. He had figured that when Castiel had healed him, the Angel had reversed everything including the carvings. How dumb of him to even think that Castiel would take away that protection from him.

The Archangel shook her head amused at the young man’s thick headed nature. She leaned against the back of the chair as if she was gossiping with an old friend. Rolling her eyes she continued, “Anyway, I found myself having to visit one, Mr. Singer.”

“If you’ve hurt Bobby so help me-”

“Oh, please, knock it off.” The Archangel shook her head again only this time in disgust. “I did jack to him, okay. In fact, I erased his memory of us ever had talked. Give him a ring right now. Ask him what he was doing earlier this afternoon. He’ll say he was napping. Sleeping off old Johnny Walker. Go on, I can wait.”

“Lady,” Dean interrupted, feeling a bit braver before. He knew that in a hand to hand fight an Angel would wipe the floor with him. But there was something about this Archangel that made him drop his guard and think that he could talk her out of his house. Perhaps it was the almost white trash vessel that the Archangel wore but Dean could not help but feel that she was not as cruel or at least as violent as her brothers. “I don’t know what you want but you can stop the yammering because you must not have gotten the memo. I am out of the Demons and Angels business. I survived my two weeks until retirement and I am done.” He swiped his hand against each other, cleaning them free of the imaginary troubles. “So, if you would ever be so kind as to get the hell out of my home.”

The Archangel winced. “Again with the “hell.” I am the furthest thing from a Demon.”

“I’m sorry but you must have mistaken me for someone who actually gives a crap.”

The light from the woman’s eyes vanished as if someone had blown out a candle. Her smile straightened out to a tight lip slit. She stood like a statue staring down the man in silence. Dean felt his heart sink to his feet. He knew he was wrong about this Archangel. With the look she was giving him, she seemed like she could be every bit as violent as her Brothers. Perhaps even more so.

The radio shorted out in an explosion of sparks. The fridge began to shake like it was alive and angry. The blender turned itself on and roared. The toaster began to smoke. Everything that was connected to electricity was revolting.

Dean stepped away from the counter. He jerked his head up at the overhead light as it blinked a Morse code message that he could not make out. He looked back at the Archangel who was still glaring at him.

“I like you, Dean Winchester. I know all about your story. And, honestly, it’s a hoot. But make no mistake-”

Every light and appliance died drowning the room in silence.

“-I don’t like you that much.”

Dean’s heart punched against his rib cage. The hairs on his arms and his neck were standing at attention. Beads of sweat formed on his brow. He had pissed her off and he was completely weaponless.

“That is enough, sister.”

Dean jerked to his right and away from Castiel who was standing next to him. Despite having been upgraded to management level in Heaven, the Angel was still wearing his crumpled trench and slacked suit and tie. Dean did not care. He was simply happy to have the Angel around at this moment.

“This man is protected under Heaven’s watch. He is not to be harmed by any Celestial host.”

“I am?” Dean asked trying to figure out what was going on.

“Butt out, bro,” said the Archangel as she crossed her arms with a newly formed scowl on her face. “Mr. Winchester and I need to have a little talk.”

That was it. Dean threw his arms in the air, “Enough already!” He pointed at the woman, “You, shut your pretty little pie hole. No one is having an International Coffee moment here.”

The Archangel did not say anything.

Dean then pointed at Castiel. “Have you been spying on me this whole time?”

Castiel looked at Dean without expression. “No, not the whole time. There were moments where I allowed you to have privacy with yourself. Such as last Friday when you were watching Casa Erotica 4 and-”

“Alright, I got it!” A hot flush burned red in Dean’s cheeks. Images of himself on the toilet and in shower with Castiel floating over him with a pair of binoculars and a clip board flooded his mind. He cringed. No amount of bleach was going to scrub that idea clean from his brain. He knew that the Angel meant no ill will but the opposite. However, for a quick moment he wanted to sock Castiel in the jaw for violating his personal space. He pinched the bridge of his nose. Thoughts like that did not matter at the moment. Just more clutter to get in the way of what was in important. “Cas, who’s the chick?”

“You know, you can ask me face to face,” said the woman, “I have a working mouth.”

“No, really?” snapped Dean before he could stop himself. He held up his hands in a note of truce. The last thing he needed was for the Archangel to become mad again and break even more electronics.

“She is Sariel,” said Castiel not even realizing that the Archangel and Dean were in a mini feud. “She is one of the seven Archangels of Earth. Meant to walk the lands in guardianship.”

“She is this planet’s security guard?”

Sariel palmed her hand against her face. “Oh, thank you for belittling me even more.”

Castiel’s brow scrunched up. He did not understand. “A security guard? No. She is one of its protectors.”

Dean was not buying it. “Then,” he said to Sariel, “where were you when your brothers decided to turn Earth into their personal fight club?”

“Trying to keep the tsunamis and earthquakes at bay,” the Archangel snapped back through clenched teeth. She was starting to become very sick of the man’s tone. “It could have been and should have been much worse than it was, kid. You thought this place was bad. You should have seen Heaven the first time around when Lucifer and Michael had a tift. There’s still over turned furniture up stairs.”

Dean waved off Sariel’s answer, “Fine, whatever.” Again, it was more needless nonsense. “So, why are you here? Why do you want to talk to me?”

“Because I need your help finding someone.”

“Me finding someone? Who?”

“My brother.”

“Excuse me?”

“I need you to help me find Gabriel.”

GO TO CHAPTER TWO

random thought...

Sun, 22 Aug 2010 05:20:24 GMT

The only things you need to make the perfect Old West cowboy name are the first and second names "Frank James" followed by an Irish surname.

Try it.

Frank James Sullivan
Frank James O'Hara
Frank James Carroll
Frank James Mulligan

See, all great cowboy names. You can practically see them on a horse, riding into town all dusty.

The horror, the horror

Tue, 17 Aug 2010 06:56:45 GMT

After reading astrology books for all of these years, I realize that astrology is bunk.

Why?

Because I refuse to believe in it ever since I learned that Sarah Palin and I have almost identical charts.

What the hell?

I am nothing like her. Please, tell me I am nothing like her.

(sits in a corner and rocks herself)

Writer's Block: Happy happy joy joy

Sun, 15 Aug 2010 05:50:42 GMT

What cheers you up the most when life gets you down?

First question listed was submitted by reginawie. (Follow-up questions, if any, may have been added by LiveJournal.)

View 2223 Answers

Ska music. It's hard to be depressed when you are skanking.

Good God, HA!, It's the 4th of July

Sun, 04 Jul 2010 22:06:16 GMT

Why do I love cheesy songs about the USA so much? And why are they always so much fun?

Writer's Block: First and only

Sun, 02 May 2010 03:42:00 GMT

Is there a film that you think is perfect in its original form and should never be remade?

First question listed was submitted by nekoinu525. (Follow-up questions, if any, may have been added by LiveJournal.)

View 1973 Answers

Fight Club. Yes, it's based on a book, which I love. And, yes, the ending is different from the book. But the cast, the director and the dialog. It is a perfect movie. I can't think of anyway it could improved upon. If Fight Club were ever to be remade, short of doing it with puppets, it would be a disaster. Strange enough, I think some how, some way, puppets would make an interesting take on the movie. But that's just me. Wait, scratch that. No, not even puppets would save a remake. That was a stupid idea.

Look, pal, just stay away from Fight Club, okay?

great, now I can't smell...

Fri, 16 Apr 2010 04:31:41 GMT

Well, this isn't fun. On the plus side though, changing diapers just got easier! :D

still can't taste anything...

Thu, 15 Apr 2010 02:55:25 GMT

Yesterday, having a lack of the sense of taste was interesting if not amusing. Now? I am tired of everything tasting the same, that is, nothing. When you don't have a sense of taste, eating all becomes about texture. But when phlegm has the same texture as egg drop soup, which happens to be my favorite soup in the world, the experiment of blandness has long since become stale.

When people are asked, "What is the one sense you would never want to lose?" They usually go for either hearing or sight. But let me tell you, you don't realize how amazing the sense of taste is until it is gone.

I want it back.

Now.

I've been sick all week with some cold flu type thing...

Wed, 14 Apr 2010 05:51:36 GMT

The weird result from this? I have lost my sense of taste. I can smell things fine. But taste? Either everything is very, very dull or none at all. Except for rare steak. I can taste that fine.

Strange, right?

LOST theory

Thu, 01 Apr 2010 04:57:50 GMT

It's all a game. Just one giant game.

A big clue? Frank and Miles were playing Gin in an episode about Jin when Frank says, "Play your cards." Both Jacob and Smokey are shuffling everyone around trying to get the best hand to win the game. Plus all the game metaphors and references this show has thrown at us. It all has to mean something.

Again, I could be wrong and it could all about keeping MIB on the Island but I am telling you now; it's a game.

another strip of The Yanks Are Coming...

Mon, 29 Mar 2010 16:30:30 GMT

Introducing The Dakotas and Connecticut.

Go here for the strip!

comic strip time!

Fri, 12 Mar 2010 02:17:35 GMT

I created a comic strip called The Yanks Are Coming. The inspiration came from Hetalia and Scandinavia and the World. But rather doing countries I am doing all fifty states. Here is a sample of the first strip.

The rest of the details are with the full strip.

Go on, have look. And if you are from the US, please, I would love to hear from what state you are from and a little about your state. Being a navy brat, I know some states but not all fifty. I want to get the characters right. So, any help would be welcomed.

THANK YOU!

LOST airs in less than 24 hours!

Tue, 02 Mar 2010 05:26:49 GMT

The running theory I have going now after watching last week's episode where Hurley could see Jacob but no one else could him is that the same thing happened to Ben. Jacob was around Ben this whole time giving Ben instructions. Only no one could see Jacob except Ben.

But, again, I've been wrong before. SMOKEY!!!

Anyway, someone posted this on Fark and, frankly, this is one the best LOST parodies going. It's just so silly. So here it is, LOST - The Vocalize Remix Enjoy.

The original Vocalize video. If you can stomach to watch it again. I swear, you will get this song stuck in your head.

two great tastes that taste great together...

Mon, 01 Mar 2010 21:53:30 GMT

I like Lincoln. Not only was he a great man but there is something ripe about him that is perfect for parody and pop cultural. The man has been dead for almost a 150 years and he is still as popular now as he was then. Now I also love vampires. I am sucker for vampire books, movies and TV shows.

Imagine how I felt when I heard they were coming out with a book called, "Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter". Oh, yeah, I am not kidding. You better believe I am reading this bad boy.

What's even better is that the book has a trailer!

Stake that sucker, Mr. President!

favorite commercial at the moment...

Wed, 24 Feb 2010 19:39:48 GMT

Old Spice is giving Skittles and Dos Equis a run for their money as the best commercial makers.

like the sands of time...

Wed, 17 Feb 2010 03:46:17 GMT

Fark, less than ninety minutes until my birthday. What am I going to do with this remaining moments of this stage of life?

Well, besides rethinking LOST. Man, I was wrong about Richard being Smokey. Though it doesn't make any sense at all that Not!Locke is Smokey. I feel like Ben, I hate being in the dark. I always like having a plan.

Anyway, what am I going to do tomorrow? Cake or cupcake? Vanilla or Chocolate?

I am putting this out there before the new season of LOST starts...

Tue, 02 Feb 2010 21:49:26 GMT

I am calling it;

Richard Alpert is Smokey.

Clues;
* He is immortal. Possibly as old as Jacob and Not!Jacob.
* Alpert said that Jacob made him what he is today. Could that mean that Jacob made Alpert Smokey?
* He does not answer to Ben or Widmore. If he wants to follow them, he will. But he can not be ordered around by them. Smokey can not be ordered around by them as well. He can be summoned but, again, not ordered.
* Smokey and Alpert have never been seen together.
* Despite living on the bad side of the fence with Smokey, Alpert and the Others under his care have never been attacked by Smokey.
* We have this picture. If Jacob is Anubis and Anubis is tending Smokey like a pet and Richard is Smokey, could that be what Alpert meant when he said that he only answers to Jacob
* Why has Alpert's past been kept in the dark all of these seasons? If he is just immortal, why hide his origin since that fact has been a known for a while now.

I can't wait until the new season!

a not so daily drawing...

Wed, 20 Jan 2010 07:37:43 GMT

Trying to be more productive. Anyway, here's this number;

I've been devouring as many folklore books that my brain will allow. Let me to tell you, there are many seriously messed up folktales out there that would rival any splatterpunk movie of the modern age.

There was this one tale where a young pregnant woman breaks down a door to a room that was forbidden to her by her so called beloved husband. In the room she discovers eleven dead pregnant women hanging from meat hooks like butchered slabs of meat. Turns out her husband is trying to become a wizard but in order to do that he must murder twenty four people. So what he does is, he marries a woman, gets her pregnant and murders her thus killing the baby. Two birds with one stone.

I actually yelled in real life when I read that scene.

Anyway, this woman here is a Djinn which is where we get the term genie from. Though Arabic in nature I gave her more of a Indian/Japanese vibe. In the Hindu religion, blue is a divine color. Which is why you often see pictures of Krishna sporting blue skin. So, I made her blue. The red hair came from an ancient Greek wives' tale that said blonds and redheads were witches and demons.

I've also been reading Hellboy comics like mad. (I love what Mignola does with folklore.) I tried his style but somehow mine managed to bleed through. Well, more like hemorrhaged through. Still, I love his use of sparse detail and heavy blacks.