You know what they say...one riot, one ranger

Good news! I'm not dead yet!

Thu, 10 Dec 2009 16:43:43 GMT

OK, I've been inconspicuously absent lately. Which means I've missed posting all of the exciting things in my life.

Oh no, not really.

I did do a big trip to Cambodia - Angor Wat - and Thailand - Phuket and Bangkok and ... just wow. Never been to Asia before - it was amazing. When I get organized, I'll try to figure out how to post pictures.

But I just wanted to say THANK YOU FOR THE SNOWFLAKES! and to let people know that the reason for my comment only status is not because I have to type with only my nose and thus find it too laborious to continue, but rather that, unlike anyone else, work is miserable and I cannot face more typing when I get home - I've actually found that my creativity is at an all time low due to work stress - a condition I find morbidly fascinating.

Here's to New Year's Resolutions and a Great December!!

And - if you need a writing boost or just a good laugh : http://www.stumbleupon.com/su/4Yyw2h/help.com/post/124066-funny-metaphors-used-in-high-school/r:f

Cheers!

Kayto

Thu, 10 Sep 2009 23:12:38 GMT

"Howdy Boys."

Yeah!!! They're back! They're back!

I like my show - it says okee dokee.

YEAH!!!!

Fri, 24 Jul 2009 02:26:27 GMT

Otis tumor results.....CAME BACK CLEAN!!! The surgeon got all of the tumor. This is the best possible result - no further treatment, no chemo, no radiation, no medication - just some check-ups for a year to keep an eye on him.

BUT YEAH!! This has made my month. My summer even.

Thu, 23 Jul 2009 02:02:15 GMT

Note to self: Just because the donuts and the candy and the BBQ ribs are there doesn't mean you have to eat them. And it really doesn't mean you have to have seconds.

In which I discover Strocks actually exist.

Tue, 21 Jul 2009 03:57:13 GMT

But alas, cannot get one. A Strock, sold online, but not until August 1, is a "sock" and a "strap" meant to go over a dog's foot so said dog will STOP CHEWING ON IT. Unfortunately, Otis must instead continue to endure the Cone of Fun, which has been reinforced with chopsticks and ducktape and now looks quite...original.

On the upside, recovery going well. He is snoring beside me right now. Something very relaxing about your dog snoring at your feet. Makes me want to trundle off to bed as well!

Other news - nope, none. I did manage to get all my ironing done (yeah me!) while watching a Masterpiece Mystery! - PBS.ORG has some of the Ms. Marple Agatha Christie mysteries for streaming. I love them :). I wish I was Ms. Marple - she packs binoculars when she goes to visit friends - could probably teach eagle scouts a lot about being prepared.

Fri, 17 Jul 2009 14:16:42 GMT

Dork Dog Update - Otis is home and doing great - he alternates between hop-along-Cassidy on his massively bandaged foot or holding it up in the air and looking a bit baffled (might be the MASSIVE drugs they have him on for that...) He has also discovered that if he rams his cone of shame into his dog-bro Sam, Sam will drop the toy and walk away. It is awesome in my house......and it is so good that he is home and doing well :)

RL Update!

Wed, 15 Jul 2009 14:43:15 GMT

So much for LJ'ing more often - I just suck at this :).

But lots of news - biggest first - I'm engaged! BF is now F (hmmm....there has to be a better acronym for that...). He took me to New York City for my birthday (right there indicating keeper status) and then, during the fireworks, popped the question (and yes, he does love to say that I saw fireworks when he proposed....). The rest of NYC was amazing - great food - bagels, pizza, fancy stuff, street food, hotdogs, just YUM. Amazing musuems. I've been to the Smithsonians and to Houston, Dallas, and Austin musuems...but the Met, the MOMA and the Natural History - wow. Just.....wow. Especially the Met. Caught a show - South Pacific. We had amazing seats - we could see the actors spit..but I was underwhelmed - It didn't feel fresh - I'm trying to figure out why, and can't exactly - I've read some books on screen writing and I now (if don't totally understand) that modern pacing is different for movies, which makes me think the same might be true for plays - I hate not liking something, but not knowing WHY.....

On the bad news front, Otis has a mast cell tumor on his foot - they are operating today - it will wipe out my savings account - OUCH....but hey, emergencies are exactly why I started this account (OK, I started it so I could quit my job, but hey, he's my baby....) If all goes well, 90% success rate for non-re-occurence. He will also have to have radiation therapy. I never thought I would be one of those people who spent gobs on medical procedures for pets - but then, when the rubber hit the road, I had that checkbook out pretty fast.

I'm working on my Gen Fic Exchange. Got excited to do it and am totally stumped. TOTALLY STUMPED. Starting to panic a bit.

Other life - Work - same old, same old. Signed up for another triathlon - now I will have to get my butt out running again - it is extremely unmotivating to go outside when it is 100+ degrees, however.

Next up - learning how to do mutliple LJ cuts.

Uh...people?

Tue, 09 Jun 2009 14:30:30 GMT

So, you know auto-fill-in with Google searches?  On a random I-Hate-My-Job whim I decided to search, "How to become a forest ranger" (WHAT?  Some days living in the forest, wearing green polyster, is incredibly appealing).

So I type in "How" "To" "Become" - and guess what - "How to Become a Vampire" is the first to pop up.

I resisted clicking - but only because I'm at work.

Cause....seriously?  Do people not watch horror movies?  They all need to sit down and watch show - Vampires - BAD. The only upside would be if you were lucky, a hot Winchester would finish you off. If you weren't, it be Gordon or Jesus dude.

And yes, we all know that when I get home tonight, I will be learning all the internet has to teach me about becoming a vampire. Guessing it might read something like this: Find a real vampire. Become its friend. Do not let it kill you.

UPDATE:   So, how to become a vampire?  A little depressing - a lot of the lore centers around church mythology - so a suicide, unable to find rest or have the soul depart the body, would become a vampire. I like my friendship route much better. On the upside - how to become a forest ranger - apply to the US Parks and Wildlife. Easy.

So I have learned - becoming a vampire - sucky. Applying to become a forest ranger - easy (becoming one is apparently as hard as becoming a vampire though....)

Tue, 02 Jun 2009 00:45:03 GMT

Huh.

So I had this idea that I would post more.

Except...I kinda don't do enough stuff that is interesting.......

Here is my excitement from last night - burned the popcorn. I decided to make it old fashioned - oil and kernels in a big pot - except that I walked away from the oil (I know, I know) for about two minutes....came in to massive smoke and two unhappy dogs.....luckily no smoke alarms. SamDog spent the rest of the evening giving me and the oven reproachful looks. I don't know why he was blaming me for what the oven clearly did.....

Other news...gonna try to write my teleplay for the screen writing contest. It is due June 8th...I've only known about this for a year. And taken a class to help me through it. But yet, I still seem to have the entire thing to write. So for inspiration I'm watching "I'm a Celebrity Get Me Out of HERE!! - and thinking god, people are boring and and stupid...and really whiney!

Sigh.

But Lou Diamond? Still hot.

Thu, 21 May 2009 22:50:54 GMT

When I met Chemm and Dragrons, both commented that I don't post much - I always think, 'Phfft, who wants to know my boring stuff?" but then I realized I LOVE reading other people's posts - so I've made a mini goal to post more. And, you will all be relieved to know, I am also going to work on my LJ cut skills. Which are currently less than MAD.

A bit of RL:

My first rookie triathlon went well -

the swim, which was supposed to be my easy part, was actually a bit harder than I anticipated- mostly because of the people and the water (well, yes, I did know there would be water...just not sulfurous dirty water that you couldn't see two inches in). Then the bike - which was to be my second easiest - not that I trained enough, but I do spin classes at the gym - yeah, gym class and real road? Not quite the same. But the run? Went pretty well. I was slow, but I ran almost the whole way, which was 100% of my goal. And didn't end up crawling over the finish line, sobbing incoherently. So WIN!!! And the coolest part? My training partner, who 1.5 years ago was a very overweight, unhealthy woman passed me on the bike - and by passed I mean blew by me, yelling "Come on Kate, ride with me!!!!" (wasn't going to happen!) and then proceeded to place THIRD in her age group. THIRD. This is a woman who was "waddling with pace" per her son just a year ago when she took up run/walking....We were actually leaving, but when they started announcing the winners, the times were quite close to her's, so we stayed, just on a whim. When they called her name, we went crazy - just me and Katherine, at the very back of the crowd - it was AWESOME - she ran up, stood on the winner's platform, got her pic and a plaque. So, we both made our goals - and she kicked butt. Very successful day!

A bit of the Sam Saga: I convinced 4 of the six neighbors that all of the measures I have taken to contain Sam are reasonable and that I am very diligent and committed to nothing like this ever happening again. Unfortunately, the remaining neighbors are the ones driving the whole issue. Tomorrow is the day the hearing officer rules. I am preparing myself to lose - but then I will appeal in court and can hopefully win on a point of law. On the upside, the boyfriend and I took the dogs camping these last two nights (I have the week off work) and they had the best time. Stinky water - jumped in. Dead fish - rolled in it. Armadillo - chased it. Good good times. Except for the mandatory hosedowns after two of those activities....

Wed, 08 Apr 2009 20:30:23 GMT

Say Hello to my Little Friend:

Sam and Otis like to call him (her?) SNACK:

Found little SNACK outside the school last night after writing class - apparently possum moms don't keep track of their babies - so if you find a baby and the mom isn't around...odds are the mom isn't going to be around.

But I didn't know that then, so I waited and waited and waited, all the while watching SNACK putz about the sidewalk. Then I scooped him up into my purse (what?) and took him home. He spent the night in a cat carrier in the garage (he didn't really get to meet Sam or Otis). Then this morning it was off to Wildlife Rescue, where he will be fed, cared for and set free again (or so they say.....they also rehabilitate owls, so hopefully there isn't too much synergy going on...)

I really really really wanted to keep him...especially when the Wildlife Rescue person just grabbed him with her hands to take him out of the carrier and he was totally cool with that.....(that's her holding SNACK)

Thoughts on characterization

Sat, 04 Apr 2009 14:41:27 GMT

OK - I need help - I'm taking a script writing class (finally!) and actually doing homework (yes, sign number three of the Apocalypse) and we are now learning about "Show, Don't Tell."

Which brings me to Season 4 of Supernatural.

Sam has repeatedly said, "Dean is weak....," This particularly struck me when Sam came to rescue Dean from Alistair and during Sam's discussion with Chuck. I think the show has done a good job of showing how Sam has changed, but not as much, or maybe just intermittently, of how Dean has changed.

Thoughts? I am trying to think of how this could have been better handled - I've come up with more consistent application of Dean's drinking (it seems to have been dropped); less womanizing (given his speech to Jo in S2, his behavior with Jamie in Monster Movie then makes no sense...); more clinging to Sam (haven't seen much of this either).

Just wondering about some instances of how they have shown this behavior (Dean being weak/different) as opposed to Sam just saying it.....I did like that Dean wanted to run from Lilith in Monster at the End...he'd never run from a fight before, so I thought that was good...And what people think could have been done differently or better.

4.17 Thinking Thoughts

Fri, 27 Mar 2009 15:32:32 GMT

Oh Show.

My first thought after watching this was, OH NO YOU DIDN'T. You didn't hit the economy. You didn't hit the soullessness/hopelessness of most people's employment and economic lives....but they did. And they didn't even do it well....The Office - does it well. This? Was just a smug re-tread of the non-truism "Follow your bliss." It lacked heart and or the sly tongue-in-cheek winks of The Office. In fact, the message seemed to be "HA. Corporate life is the worst possible of all lives....."

But then this morning, as I made my way through the cube farm to my office space, I thought...maybe it is just that Zachariah is that much of a clever bastard. The office life they showed - poor Smart! Sam stuck telling people to turn their printers on and off and BadBoy Dean! living the organized, exhausting life on the corporate ladder. Neither of their lives were what they have expressed a longing for - Dean, a family (nice shout out to Ellen and Jo though), Sam helping people. But I did like the twist that it was Sam who was more gung-ho to return to the life than Dean - I figured that they had been mind-whammied and that Dean would be more reluctant to return, given the past events.

But I still am not at all happy with the episode. So there. (Although I did like that that when Dean decides to "go back" the screen got grayer and dingier....and the "I'll stab you in the face! line? LOVE :)! - which is wrong wrong wrong).

Final thought, but on 4.16 - when Sam says Dean isn't strong enough to get the job done, he implies that it is because Dean is different (weaker) after his return from Hell. Which I found to be either ironic or non-sensible that it would mean that prior to going to Hell and learning to torture and enjoy it, Dean would have been a better torturer? Uhm...huh?

Dang, but I'm good

Wed, 11 Mar 2009 15:34:57 GMT

This is my "MTO" or Mandatory Time Off week - my company, rather than reducing salaries, is having everyone take a week off without pay - which is nice (not for the missing money) but for the time.

Now, initially I thought I would write my screen or teleplay of genius. Instead? I have avoided computers at all costs - not even keeping up with FanFic - which I read like an addict.....

This is what I have done:

1. Aerated lawn - this involved renting a very large, heavy lawnmower like thing that punches holes into the grass so the roots can "breathe," loosens the soil, and allows fertilizer to get deeper.  Or so they say. I have bruises all over my arms and legs from walking that thing around the yard - you have to stop at each turn, lift up the lever to disengage the rotating plug blades, turn it manually (yes, there was grunting), reengage the blades....a lovely picture picture.

2. Spread dillo dirt - this is the City's euphemism for treated sewage.  It is supposed to be very very good for lawns. It smells. A lot.

3. Tilled up a garden patch and tilled in compost.

4. Planted: Key Lime tree (yeah! I am such an optimist -unlike the lemon tree, the other lime tree, the two peach trees or the dwarf pomegranate trees I have planted, THIS tree will bear fruit); large hibiscus - so what if it will only last one season - I love love love it!; several poppies, gerber daisies, jasmine and other flowers. My yard looks pretty!  If you squint past the dillo dirt and stay inside where the smell won't get you....

5. Tilled up the useless side strip by the driveway to make it more xeric. I stopped watering it during the drought - and it showed. So now it is pretty sparkling tumbled glass.  Or it will be, once I finish.....

6. Tilled up the last part of the strip between the sidewalk and the street to put in gravel and another tree.  In twenty years, people walking on the sidewalk will thank me for the shade.

7. Moved a TON of dirt (it could have been a ton - sure felt like it!) from my house to my neighbors - they need it, I don't - see above tilling and replacing with things....

The blisters on my calluses have blisters and I can no longer make a fist.

But do I miss my desk job?

Nope!!!

It is rainy today, so I have a forced rest period - probably very good as I think I would injure myself if I keep this up - but I am going out in the rain - really, it is more of a cold, miserable drizzle to finish some things. Because I love this stuff. Really, I do. And the rain will wash in the dillo dirt, which is a really good thing - the dogs are sick of not being able to throw the ball and having their paws washed and wiped each time they go out - it is supposed to be safe.....but....uh.....yeah.

Enough of this computer time - I've got a yard to improve

Wed, 18 Feb 2009 16:36:46 GMT

So, I signed up for another writing class - this one is Intro to TV writing. Our project will be to write a Spec Script - basically you write an episode for an existing series. The payoff - I can enter my Spec Script for the screenwriters' conference that is here in October. Which would be cool.

Here is the problem: I only really watch one show. You can probably guess which one.....I'm willing to hit the couch with a bunch of DVDs this weekend if people can recommend some other shows that might be fun to write a Spec Script for.....Thoughts?

It would be "easy" to do Law & Order and CSI - but I'm not really interested in their plots or formula...the other one I've thought of (I've watched S1 and S2 on DVD) is Dexter - but it seems to build serially each week, which would make a Spec Script hard (or maybe not - thoughts on that?)

Yeah TV!

Prompt 54!

Sat, 07 Feb 2009 05:34:31 GMT

Author: Kayto1
Rating: PG (it's about undies folks...)
Length: 1903
Characters/Pairing: Gen. Dean and Sam
Disclaimer: The characters are not owned by myself. They are owned by Kripke and Co and the CW.
Summary: Wrong place, wrong time...oh, and they're idiots.

You would think, that with all their training, all their experience, they’d have known better. But, apparently, obviously, you’d be wrong. Because they stood there, smack in the middle of that mushroom ring, and wished. Wished like any ordinary wistful idiot who didn’t know how things could be twisted, that simple words and heartfelt dreams could turn on you and swallow you whole, leaving you so that if you were one of the lucky ones, you’re next wish, the one that you were dead, would be granted.

Or maybe it was just that Lady Luck had finally thrown the towel in or was off on a much needed break to Fiji. Or just on a smoke break. She could have been on a smoke break. She’d done a lot for the Winchesters, their life story not withstanding, the night had been hell, and if she wanted a drag or two, then she was probably entitled. And then some. Besides, given how it all turned out, she was probably on just a smoke break. Probably came back in time to think, Seriously? You morons. This is why I’m getting gray hairs and hazard pay. Probably why it went the way it did, but stopped before any lesson could be driven through their thick skulls. Course, that seems to be how it goes with these two. A bit of a miracle the Lady’s still around.

Anyhow, I'm betting she caught this when she made her way back to her charges.

“Did ya ever wish you had x-ray vision? It’d be cool if you had x-ray vision.” Dean, the eldest – half his mind in the gutter, the other half on his brother. Thinking about him that way makes sense of a lot of his scrapes. Boy ain’t got any more halves to spare. He was trying to distract his brother, take Sam’s mind off what had to be a mighty painful leg wound, so I’m not sure I totally blame him for what happened. Not totally.

They’d stopped for a bit of a rest, just a pause on their slow way back to the road and civilization, away from the smoking remains of something that had developed a taste for snacking on the locals. It hadn’t been a greedy thing, taking maybe only one or two every once in a while, but that’s how things go and now it was dead, Sam was bloody, Dean was concussed and they had stopped to rest in the worst place in the forest. I mean, come on, you have to think any forest with enough juice to have one of those things romping about in it would have other things? You would, right? I mean, that’s just basic sense right there. You see something like old smokey back there and you should be thinking, “Hey, where there’s smoke there’s fire.” (Pretty good, huh?) You should be moving with all possible haste towards the nearest exit. You should not be stopping and jawing at your brother, never mind your motives.

Sam, supposed to be the smart one, but seems like that ain’t saying much, maybe should have known better. Sure, it was dark, he was bloody, but still. Dean, he’s always running his mouth when he shouldn’t and with that concussion pounding at his head, maybe I’d be inclined to let him of the hook a bit. Sam’s response, though, well, it just sealed their deal. Say what you want, he was tired, he was in pain, his brother needed to let him make it back to the car, but keeping your trap closed is almost always the smart way to go. Bet you’re thinking about now, just like I am, that smart really ain’t the Winchester way. Naturally, Sam opened his mouth and let it fly.

“It’d be cooler if you just shut up.”

And that was that. Now, mind you, it may not have been just that the Lady happened to come back right then and work some of her overtaxed mojo, it may have been that tradition wasn’t followed. Neither lad used the magic word, I mean, neither ever actually said wish. And really, although in Sam’s case it may have been heartfelt at the time, it wasn't really. He’d been holding to the pitch and timbre of his brother’s voice for the last mile or so and just needed to let loose the line a bit. Not to drop it entirely.

But Dean took an affronted stumble back, crushed a mushroom or three, pissed something off, and their fat hit another fire. Not that they knew it then. Took til next morning to figure out – they were almost to the car anyway, Dean didn’t feel much more like talking, and well, heck, x-ray vision ain’t much good in the dark anyway.

But, bright and mostly early, when their waitress leaned close in to take Dean’s order and work her tip, Dean tried to order up the ham and egg special. Only he didn’t get too far. His mouth opened, his jaw flapped and his tongue wagged a bit, but no special order came out. Mostly because nothing came out. Sam, a bit dopey from the pain killer or two he’d swallowed, finally woke up a bit to the world around him and narrowed his eyes at his brother’s wide eyes and flopping fish imitation. He squinted over at that poor waitress next, who’d herself stepped back pretty quick from aqua boy, and his eyes went and got real wide, real fast. And his face turned beet red. Which was kinda cute, them being brothers and all, as it matched the color Dean’s had turned round that time.

Not being strangers to the weird, the boys schooled themselves relatively quickly and Sam, eyes tight to the menu, ground out two to go orders. They set a bit of a record for paying, left that poor woman a tip, and hoofed it back to the motel, Dean’s mouth moving pointlessly near the whole time.

When they’d cleared the door to the room, Dean smacked Sam on the arm (not the one with the food, turns out he did have a bit of brain to spare for sustenance perseveration) and motioned at this mouth with sharp gestures. Sam hadn’t quite pulled himself back together to respond fast enough for Dean’s liking, so Dean grabbed the food and stalked the bed, apparently determined get some use out his mouth that morning.

Sam stood, shook himself, and said to his brother, “Many people don’t realize it, but it is very important to wear underpants….”

Dean gaped at him. Which may have been due to his current inability to speak, but heck, probably due to the apparent non-sequiter Sam was offering up.

Sam shuffled his feet and his face burned red again, “I…uh…I…,” which only served to turn Dean’s milk a bit more sour.

“…I have a special eye for underwear.”

The look on Dean’s face was almost priceless, as was Sam’s futile attempts to shrink. Boy that size ain’t never gonna be small.

“Yeah. So, I…”

Dean did manage to make a sound then. The grinding of his teeth carried over to Sam, who tried thoughtfully speed things up a bit.

“It’s more like x-ray vision you see, I mean, I see…” He laughed nervously, looking over to his brother for his reaction. 'Bout then Dean looked to go nuclear, leaving Sam not much choice but to gamely soldier on, blurting out, “The waitress wasn’t wearing any underwear.”

Dean’s reaction was just about what you’d expect. He bugged his eyes at Sam, who stood his ground, albeit shakily. So Dean, in a classic senior Winchester move, closed his eyes and began moving his lips again, mouthing upward to ten. When he got there, he opened his eyes, looked over at Sam, closed them again and moved on to twenty. When Dean didn’t stop at fifty, Sam figured that he might be better off occupying his time some other way than standing there staring at his brother. Especially after, in a moment of misapplied concentration, he realized his new found talent worked on all comers.

In fact, he was so busy staring hard at the table and no where, and no one, else, that his brother’s slap to the back of his head came as a bit of a surprise. He looked up to find Dean heading out the door, jacket on and keys in hand.

The ride back to the forest gave Sam enough time to work towards the same conclusion his brother’s counting ritual had led up to. Which I guess, given that it was just the morning after, does go to show their experience counts for something. They were back at that fairy ring in no time, well, fair enough, a bit of time given Sam’s leg, but still pretty lick smart. But as any moron and Winchester knows, a broken fairy ring ain’t worth much, ‘less you're in the mind to harvest some mushrooms. Which some folk do – I’ve heard they eat ‘em, too, but I’d like to believe no one’s that dumb. Course, looking at them two brothers arguing, one flapping his arms and mouth in the breeze, didn’t give me much hope.

But as I’d guessed, Lady Luck had only taken a bit of a breather earlier, she hadn’t full on dropped those lads yet. Turns out one of fey liked a bit of a lie in and hadn’t gotten up to move on with the rest yet. It was sitting there on its mushroom, about to roll off from laughing so hard, distracted by all the flapping. And damn, if it wasn’t surprised when two of them oven mitts Sam passes off as hands closed around it tight. Now, I know the legends all say it takes iron to bind fey, but I gotta tell you, get a good enough grip and you’ll do allright. Specially if you aren’t in a magic circle. Not to say it don’t help some if your partner pulls a pistol loaded with iron rounds. Dean also pulled out what looked to be an iron box from his duffle and that poor little guy got stuffed on in. And, when Sam wasn’t looking too close, maybe even shaken a bit. Which would account for what happened next. I mean, fair’s fair and all.

A bit of haggling with their prisoner, thankfully through Sam, who’d learnt a bit at school and was far better at making deals than any other Winchester, led to a promise to switch ‘em. And then, as Dean was holding the box and more than happy to give it a hard shake, a promise to switch ‘em back by next morning. Raising a boy like Sam had taught Dean to look for loopholes. Too bad for them both though, no one can slip a loophole like the fey.

The little dude promised to switch ‘em, then he promised to switch ‘em back. Seems like he was in a mood to keep all his promises that day. And I’m thinking he knew what he was doing, or maybe Lady Luck decided they needed a bit more of a lesson, cause the first switch gave Dean the x-ray eyes and his mouth back. And laying a “Nice bra you’ve got on, but I mean….come on! Those undies?” on any woman’s liable to get you slapped hard enough to learn a thing or too. But I ain’t real hopeful.

RL Update

Mon, 24 Nov 2008 15:25:42 GMT

So, uh, yeah....for those of you who have assumed I have disappeared because I have been churning out my NAMO commitment (or even my KATYOMO commitment...)....uh....yeah. Nope.

RL is again giving me the butt whooping. Mostly worky work - but ok, fine, that is just an excuse - I need to develop the habit of just sitting in front of the screen and filling it up.

Maybe in December....

On bright side of life: went over to borrow a sheet of aluminum foil from my neighbor and she offered me biscuits and gravy and pumpkin bread. My neighbors are awesome. I shoved a HUGE piece in my mouth this morning for breakfast - and it was sooooooo good.

Secondary bright side of life - it is almost Thanksgiving and I am bringing pie - cherry pie - to the celebration. Just to be sure there is enough I am making two. And hogging the leftovers. WHAT????

Third - Sam and Otis got baths this weekend - an awesome pleasure in life is petting a super clean dog. They love it, I love it - all kinds of win.

Fourth - finally saw Niagra Falls!!! I am so stoked to re-read Big Pink's Dazzleland this weekend! BF and I were up there for his sister's wedding. Her hubby collects comic books - I am a closet comic book geek. Her hubby and I had a great conversation - afterwards, BF looks at me and says, "I didn't know you were into comic books...." He looked worried - whoops!

Summation: Good food, good dogs, good times :)

Oh - and I've been rewatching S1 and S2 - and am really appreciating some of the subtleties that I missed - like Dean's little grimace when Cassie introduces him to her mother - she makes it clear she didn't know him from college - someone ficc'ed something similar to this and it was awesome. I am constantly blown away by the amazing attention to subtle of the fic fandom. I know there has been a lot of consternation over S4, but I hope people keep writing - because while the show isn't always made of the win, the fics are!!

Saddle Sore

Fri, 10 Oct 2008 22:27:53 GMT

Title: Saddle Sore
Author: Kayto1
Rating: PG (language)
Characters/Pairing: Dean and Sam
Disclaimer: I do not own them. And I cannot even work LJ.
Summary: Sam's thoughts.....S4.
Prompt Number: Found Fic Prompt 45

Some of Sam's thoughts - because maybe he's playing a dangerous game with Ruby...but he's had a lot to deal with - and unlike Dean, he remembers.

Written for Found Fic 45 - but I still can't get the lj cuts so not cross posting right now.

Dean’s back. Bada bing bada boom, here’s your brother back. No real explanation. No warning. Just, Hey, I’m back, miss me, bro? Wanna order pizza?

If look close at Dean, you see the fissures, new ones crossing the old. Dean doesn’t go out alone any more. No more, “Catch you in a few, unless I get lucky”’s tossed over his shoulder on his way to a bar. He sleeps fully clothed, the knife under his pillow joined by a gun in his jacket pocket and a shank in his boot. He’s fanatical about salt lines. Dean thinks Sam doesn’t notice him check and re-check the lines, circling like a dog about their squats three times before settling down. Dean thinks Sam doesn’t notice anything.

But Dean’s back.

And that’s good.

Really, it is.

It is just…not enough. Not now. It’s not quite too little, too late, so thank you very much, God, but it’s close. Because Sam tried. And he failed. He’s seen Dean die and almost die so many times. But each time, he, or someone, pulled him back. Saved him. Someone did something and rebalanced the ledger. But this? This isn’t karma paying Dean back for all that he’s done, for throwing himself into so many fires that he’s burned out all vestiges of self worth, of self preservation.

This is a fuck-you to the Winchesters.

Cause now Dean’s got an angel sitting on his shoulder. Or riding his ass if you listen to Dean. But it’s clear – his freedom is conditional. It’s not a one way get out of jail card. It’s probation. Do what we say, or….. Yeah, Sam and Dean are pretty clear on the “or.” Turns out good’s not much different from evil after all. If they aren’t taking your body over full on, they sure as hell are still pulling your strings.

Sure as hell.

Sam’s pretty sure Dean remembers something. He’s too off not to. To off to notice Sam’s more than just a little different now himself.

And fair enough, Sam was in hell too. And something got him out, too. Maybe Ruby’s the devil sitting on Sam’s shoulder, but she’s offered a lot more. And taken less.

“I know what you do in the dark…” Yeah, well fuck you. Because it’s been dark a long time. And lonely. And empty and just everything that he’d thought he could run from.

And God didn’t answer Sam. But Ruby did.

Sam’s dark. And he’s light. He doesn’t have a brother and Dean’s sitting right beside him. He knows this. He’s scared. He’s certain. He’s everything all of the time. And the bits of him left outside his barricades are getting ripped to shreds.

But when he’s with Ruby, it’s clearer. He’s alive.

Real Life

Wed, 08 Oct 2008 16:20:28 GMT

Haven't posted in forever - RL is kicking my butt - it has already taken my name.

Current issues:

Work - meh. Lots of it -more of a job than a career and one that is taking over my life. I know, I know, how is this different from anyone else? OK, fine, shutting up already about it.

Sam Dog - getting squirrelier everyday. Latest? Won't go with the dog walker for his walks. Used to go, changed his mind - is now "afraid" of the dog walker. My other dog Otis, blessed with a small, but focused brain (FOOOOOOOD!), is happy enough to go solo. Which means poor Sam, because he is a nutjob, spends all day in the house, missing out on ball throwing and neighborhood sight seeing.

Boyfriend - things are interesting - in the good way, but in the big decisions way. He is thinking marriage. I am wondering how you know if the person is right for you forever????? Very very scary. If you are just supposed to "know," then I don't know - but weighing against saying this isn't it is my age and the lack of available Dean Winchesters knocking at my door....

Just felt like putting something onto paper. Even if it is electronic paper.

On other note - read The Watchman, solely based on the fact that Jeffrey Dean Morgan was going to be in the movie. Very interesting. Well done, complex and rather dark. I find the JDM character, the Comedian, to be very confusing.

Final note - SPN. Show - I am getting confused. Either you are going to have a brilliant S4 or a horrible one. But either way, you best be explaining Sam pretty soon.

On other final note - haven't posted in so long have forgotten how to do the cuts. Most humble apologies

SPN Quote Meme

Tue, 16 Sep 2008 22:25:16 GMT

"What rhymes with Shut Up Sam?"

Dean to Sam, Fresh Blood

Because that is exactly what I would say to one of my siblings :)

The meme is as follows: When you see this, post an entry in your journal with an SPN quote. I'm also curious as to why people pick their quotes....

Ahhh, marketing

Fri, 05 Sep 2008 14:12:22 GMT

So, last night I dashed (in a non-urgent, totally cool, calm and collected way) to Best Buy to buy my SPN3 with the Metallicar.

Proving, once again, that I am indeed marketing's bitch.

But now it is sitting on my desk, all shiny like.

And no, another matchbox car for less $$ wouldn't be the same.

SPN Ficlet

Thu, 13 Mar 2008 21:06:37 GMT

Just a ficlet to amuse between chappies of Blind Spot , New Deal, and the Sharpness of the Outline.

Dean woke up dead. Which, in and of itself, wasn’t unusual. He had woken up dead for quite a number of days, ever since St. Louis. In fact, he had woken up dead on a daily basis (sometimes even more than once a day) until Agent Henriksen discovered the error and restored Dean to the land of the living. Plus, given everything he had seen and done, unusual had become relative and waking up dead, technically or not, did not rate.

But he didn’t really have a term to describe waking up on a cold metal table in the morgue. Rationally, he knew that the mere act of waking up mostly, if not totally, cancelled out the dead part. Except for zombies. Well, the ones still capable of thought processes. The mindless ones probably had less of a wake up and more of a get up. So, waking up didn’t totally rule out being dead. But waking up because you were cold and hungry, but not for brains, probably did. Dean didn’t actually know from personal experience, but he assumed that most zombies probably woke up with a craving for brains. Or something besides Denny’s Combo #2. Which meant that he had woken up not dead. Just in a morgue. And, as his mind took inventory beyond hunger, he had woken up naked.

To sum it up then, Dean woke up not dead, cold, hungry, and naked. Dizzy made the list when he sat up, the thin draping sheet dropping to puddle at his waist, covering up the paperwork that had been taped to it. He was also thirsty. And brother-less. But, being a natural optimist, he started to look for the bright side, you know, something besides not dead. He didn’t get far but he figured that was based upon the distraction his stomach was providing. He had never been the best of thinkers while hungry.

Sighing, he swung his legs to the floor. Naturally, that was also cold. But at least now he was not dead and standing. A noise in the hallway alerted him to the fact that he was about to be not dead, standing, and entertaining company. He scooted over to the far side of the door, clutching his sheet. Walking didn’t bring any injuries to light – all of his limbs happily, and without much more than their usual protest, obeyed his orders to move. So, again the optimist, he added uninjured to his list. On the positives: not dead, mobile, and uninjured. All in all, a good start to a morning.

The man that entered seemed a bit taken aback by Dean’s not dead state. In fact, his surprise made knocking him out pathetically easy. And, as Dean’s conscience had informed him that it may have been a little cruel to take advantage of the poor guy (it was possible that he had affected a zombie-esque appearance to increase the advantage of surprise), after taking his clothes (but not his underwear, because that would be just gross), Dean was kind enough hoist the unconscious morgue attendant off the floor onto the table, where he left him with his sheet for warmth.

Still not dead, mobile, uninjured and now dressed, Dean made his way cautiously down the long hall. Thankfully, it was deserted – Dean’s new identity was Ko-Fang Li, Morgue Attendant. He didn’t want to bet too high on his odds of passing a thorough inspection. Plus, Combo #2 was still calling, and thanks to Li, he had a crisp twenty to get him through. One thing life on the road had taught him, a town big enough for a morgue was big enough for a good breakfast. Which made him think of his brother. Had Sam been here, Dean could have passed that pearl of wisdom on. His absence was troubling, given that Dean was pretty sure that when he went to sleep the night before (not dead, not hungry, not thirsty and definitely not naked) Sam had been there.

Dean couldn’t figure out if he should be pissed Sam wasn’t here, or worried. He was actually worried that he wasn’t more worried. He knew he should be worried, but he felt mostly annoyed that he would be worrying again about a missing Sam. There was also a nagging sense of something forgotten, important but not…dangerous. So he settled for angry and worried. Current tally: not dead, mobile, uninjured, hungry, thirsty, dizzy, dressed, pissed and worried. The addition of pissed and worried to his list brought his day down a bit – and he hadn’t even had breakfast yet.

He was thinking that breakfast thought when he stepped outside into the night. And promptly updated the list to include disorientated and move worried further up the line (but not before not dead). If it wasn’t breakfast time, or at least morning, then it was late. And since his last memory before waking up was going to sleep, then he was missing more time than he thought. Which, ok, fair enough, was a conclusion that he had already come to – he hadn’t, after all, woken up where he should have. But he had been banking on having woken up when he should have. Missing time was scary. Lots of things disappeared when didn’t keep a careful eye on them. Like brothers.

Everything outside the county facility looked normal and quiet. The lack of people about made Dean think it was probably pretty late (or really early). He crossed the street and made for the convenience store on the corner, shucking the morgue coat on the way. Once inside, he grabbed two packs of M&Ms and a large coffee. The clock on the wall marked the time as 4:45. Early. The bleary clerk gave him change for the pay phone outside, along with his purchase and Dean forgave him for not informing him that the pay phone wasn’t working when the clerk let Dean use his cell phone. Only took a little bit of persuasion too.

Sam didn’t answer, so Dean left a message that he was heading back to the room. All factors considered (not dead, worried, mobile, uninjured, annoyed), he thought the message was polite. Judging by the clerk’s shaking hands and bugged out eyes, he may have been wrong about that, though.

It was a long walk back to their motel room, and he had a lot of time to re-evaluate. He set his status to not dead, worried, mobile - but on foot, and reinstated hungry, figuring he should have grabbed some jerky. By the time he finished hoofing the four miles, he knew he should have grabbed some jerky. And that wearing too small shoes for any length of time sucked. But shoe size was par for this course. And he wasn’t really that surprised when the Impala wasn’t in the lot. But he was surprised when, after resorting to picking the motel room door, it was empty. Not just empty as in no brother, but empty as in no one staying there. For a moment, he was just plain worried (well, and not dead).

So he stood for a while, just inside the empty room, contemplating his next move. He’d only lifted twenty bucks from Mr. Li and had already spent some of that. He didn’t have his wallet or any cards. He was wearing a stranger’s clothes. And he had no weapons. He tried to recall exactly what he had said to Sam on voicemail. He was pretty sure he had said he would meet him back at the motel. Not which. So if Dean’s missing time problem was a little larger (or geographically wider) than he had thought, Sam might not know exactly where to meet him.

And he still had that nagging feeling of forgetting. Normally, he would bluff his way along until Sam reminded him of some little (but occasionally vital) detail that he’d forgotten. No Sam meant no backup. And yet, he didn’t really know if he should move worried up the list beyond hungry or sore feet. It just didn’t seem right somehow. In fact, he had a vague suspicion that he was only worried that he wasn’t worried. Which was, you know, worrying. After a few more moments pondering the empty, but upon closer inspection, not serviced, room, he decided his status was: not dead, uninjured, mobile but with sore feet, hungry, worried, pissed, and maybe confused. He could knock out hungry at the convenience store. Although, the irrational part of his mind, the part he often listened to, was urging him to return to the morgue. A quick more intensive system check indicated he was hungry for a breakfast burrito (or Combo #2), so he didn’t think (but wasn’t entirely certain) that the craving to return to the morgue implicated any other, grosser cravings, like for brains.

So, he trudged back to the morgue, one complaining foot in front of the other. To take his mind off his feet, he concentrated on his stomach and determined, to a 99% confidence level, that he really, really wanted a Combo #2, not brains. Especially uncooked, formaldehyde injected brains. Or you know, brains at all. No, it was Combo #2. Maybe some more M&Ms. Or jerky – but beef only. Or venison. Turkey wouldn’t be so bad either, if it was teriyaki. Thus engaged in not thinking of brain food, he made it back to the morgue. By this time, it was six am, and the morning sun was starting to come up. Current status: not dead, moderately mobile but really ready to get his boots back, hungry – but absolutely positively not for brains, worried and pissed (no longer at something specific, like a certain missing brother, but rather a vague hunger induced discontent), confused. The sun was nice though, so he added moderately cheered to the list. He only caught the occasional sunrise but they were nice. In a totally non-girly way.

Again the hallways were deserted, probably due to the hour, and Dean wound his way back to the bowels of the building without incident. Except for stumbling a bit on his miserable feet, but since he had managed to catch himself prior to any damage infliction (yes, he was that awesome), no incidents.

Which also meant that he arrived at the entrance without a clear plan in mind. Or any type of explanation to provide the attendant if he’d woken back up. Being a man of action, Dean put these thought aside and pushed the door open. And stood there, gaping. His brother, wearing his own clothes, and the morgue attendant, still sheet draped, were playing cards. Looked like Mexican Stand-off, if the cards stuck to their foreheads and the pile of pins in front of each was any indication. Luckily, Dean, no stranger to stupefaction, was quick to recover.

“Gentlemen.” Given the circumstances, he thought it came out rather suave.

“Welcome back, idiot. You owe Ko-Fang breakfast. Again. I fold.” Sam threw his cards down, unstuck the one from his forehead and looked at it with a grimace.

Ko-Fang, pausing in gathering up his winning pins, jerked his head at Dean. “Your clothes are in the closet. Can I have mine back?”

Sam and Ko-Fang were very calm, acting as if it was an ordinary occurrence for Dean to walk into a morgue and find his brother (why did he get to have clothes?) playing poker with the morgue dude (who didn’t have clothes, but at least Dean knew why). So Dean freaked. Mostly on the inside.

Sure enough, his clothes, wallet, weapons and car keys were all in the closet. Dean made fast work of undressing and redressing. The guilt over having gone commando in another man’s pants had him folding Ko-Fang’s clothes very neatly before moving to hand them back over.

Ko-Fang looked at the proffered pile, a troubled frown creasing his face.

“You wore underwear, right?”

“Dude.” Dean tried to pack affront, shock and a hell of a lot of leave it alone into his response. When Ko-Fang didn’t reach to grab his clothes back, he figured it hadn’t worked. He was just about to reel off some inventive explanation about why it really shouldn’t matter when he heard Sam snicker. Grateful for the interruption, he wheeled on his brother.

“What the hell, Sam? Why do you have clothes?” Nice, Dean. Cause clothes are what you want to focus on right now….. “How come you know this dude?” Better.

“Because we’ve woken up here every morning for the last five mornings. Because I read the notes left for me. Because I don’t punch out people trying to help us and go for long walks in the moonlight. But mostly, because I’m awesome.”

“Huh?”

Ko-Fang peeled the piece of paper off his sheet, handed it to Dean, then crossed back to the closet, where he pulled out a fresh pair of pants and a shirt. Dean started to get the uncomfortable feeling that his brother and the morgue attendant accomplice were messing with him. He looked down at the note, put down Ko-fang’s worn, but come on – not really soiled - clothes, and started reading.

Dean – don’t freak. We’re hunting a fugly (your words, not mine) – it releases a toxin that wipes short term memory and leaves you for dead. The morgue attendant – Ko-Fang Li – knows about it. Our stuff is in the closet. Impala’s at the parking garage – Kenny the attendant (you liked him) is guarding it. I think we are going to get it this time. Wake me up if I’m not already up – should be near you somewhere. Drink the anti-dote in your pocket. Sam

Shit. His hand fumbled a small vial out of his jeans. He had a vague impression of impending nastiness, but at this point, he figured being a wuss about swallowing anything inside the vial would just land him in further trouble. Naturally, the contents followed the unwritten rule that any antidote had to taste like ass. He grinned through it and belched.

“Awe…” Oh FUCK. A blinding white pain hit him, moving from the center of his brain out, binding all his senses in a vortex of misery and dropping him to his hands and knees. Thankfully, it passed quickly. Still down, he waited out the flash of memories – late night hunt in the abandoned factory at the edge of town, trapping the fugly (it was seriously fugly), killing it with silver and brass, stumbling out, seeing Ko-Fang pulling up in the coroner's wagon (which was freaking cool really) and then succumbing to the toxin. He looked up to see the other men grinning at him.

“Ready?” Sam asked, no sympathy apparent.

“Uh, yesh…yeah.” Pause. Dean’s brain kicked back into gear. Given the looks on the faces of the other two men, a very important question was in order. “For what?”

“Breakfast – you’re buying.”

Ahh, yes, Combo #2. Rising, he evaluated his status again: Not dead, mobile (in his own boots), pissed (come on, no warning about that freaking antidote?) and hungry. Actually, he thought as he gave the back of Sam’s head a retaliatory swipe on the way out the door, his status could be summed up in one word. Awesome. He still had most of Ko-Fang's money.

Jus In Bello Drabble

Mon, 25 Feb 2008 16:44:33 GMT

He was out grabbing dinner when it hit him. Ruby had it wrong. She thought Sam needed training, needed to be knocked around until he turned into something cold, something calculating, something that could win her war. Something that would sacrifice anything for his greater good. But Ruby hadn’t been around Sam in high school. Dean learned a lesson then, parts of which he’d had imprinted on his soul. If Sam wanted something badly enough, he’d take no prisoners, he’d take down everything and everyone in his path. He didn’t need her training. Sam would go where he needed to, on his own.

SPN Christmas 48

Sun, 03 Feb 2008 20:54:45 GMT

OK, so this is massively late....or early. But it is making it out the door prior to any Christmas cards, so I am counting it as a win.

Here we go!

Disclaimers: Not mine. PG, tops. LATE LATE LATE. Around 2,900 words. Un-beta'd and all crack. Dean and Sam.

“Huh.”

Dean groaned. Inwardly, of course. Any external response to that particular type of Sam enunciation other than silence or enthusiasm most often resulted in a discourse that would have had Gandhi reaching for his stabbing fork. It was his first cup of the day and Dean figured he could pretend blissful de-caffeinated ignorance. No man could be expected to listen to a lecture prior to a second cup. Dean continued staring at his section of the paper; eyes focused just enough to give the appearance of concentration, but not enough so that he actually had to process anything.

“Dean, listen to this. Dean. Dean. Come on, I know you’re not reading that.” Sam could function at higher levels without artificial aid most every morning. It was his blessing and Dean’s curse. Especially at times like these when slow moving wait staff lagged behind on refills.

“You listening?” It was amazing how much impatience and annoyance Sam could cram into simple phrases.

“Yeah.” Dean twisted in his seat, trying to flag down their waitress. “So far you’ve said huh, Dean listen, Dean listen and oh yeah, Dean, listen. I’m listening Sam. But I’m also getting more coffee.”

“Fine, I think this is our kind of thing, so listen up.”

“Dude.” Dean waved his hand to draw Sam’s attention to the interested, engaged, and oh so responsive look he had plastered on his face. “This? Is me LISTENING.”

Sam read, in his best professorial tone, about a run of mall Santas gone bad. Seems they had taken it upon themselves to cull out the naughty from the nice, in the process redecorating the cookie cakes to include more suggestive themes and smashing the guadiest of the decorations.

“What’s your point? I mean, kinda funny and all, but our thing? I dunno Sam.”

“Funny? Dean, they spanked kids.”

“Most kids now days could use a spanking.”

“OK, fine, but here’s the thing – five different malls have Santas going paddle happy on the same day? And then two more the next? That’s a little coincidental, don’t you think?”

“See, now there’s where we’re different. I don’t think before my second cup.” Thankfully the waitress had finally arrived at their table, bringing the steaming good stuff. “Give me five minutes, ok?”

Five minutes on the dot, Sam started again, having spent his time on the laptop. Productively, of course. “So, the malls are owned by two holding companies. And if you trace through the management of those companies, you get to one central holding trust. Located here. So I say we suit up and check it out.”

“No freaking way I’m going to a mall in December. Forget it, Sam.”

“OK, not the mall then. We’ll check out the holding company instead.” From the smug grin on Sam’s face, Dean knew he'd been played. And now there wasn't really all that much Dean could say. His day had a forgone conclusion since Sam’s “Huh.”

“Sure, Rudolph. Whatever pulls your sleigh.”

The holding company squatted a row of non-descript beige brick buildings, beiges Legos lined up on the warehouse side of town. The industrial sized numbers that blazed out addresses and discreetly lettered signs were the only unique features. They'd pulled into one of the parking space and sat, gearing up for the “interviews.” Dean glanced over at Sam and got a jolt of perverse satisfaction when he caught him running a finger between his collar and neck. Geekboy had been away from normal for only about a month, but Dean would bet his left nut that Sam didn’t really miss neckties and button downs. Lawyer wanna be or not.

“So, I’ll chat up the lovely receptionist and you interview the suits. Ready, set, go.” Dean threw himself out of the Impala and raced to the door at go. Partially because it was really cold, but mostly just to piss Sam off. He might care a bit more if he thought it was a real case, a real bug-a-boo making Santas naughty, but he was thinking it was more of an organized, ordinary, and, frankly rather hilarious, pranking. Served people right for dragging their kids to sit on some strange man’s lap and ask him for things. That wasn’t a good idea, ever, in Dean’s book.

Sam got out of the car more slowly, looking pretty pissed.

“Sam, shake a leg. I’m freezing.” Dean grinned at his brother, doing his best to look innocent. See Sam, no naughtiness here. The slam of an I.D. into his chest rocked Dean back a bit. OK, some naughtiness.

“OK, Frosty, it’s your carrot. Lead on.” Dean magnanimously made amends – he held the door for Sam and didn’t kick him in the butt as he passed. Not naughty at all. Sam just glowered and hissed something about being serious on his way by. Which had Dean rethinking the kick. Might knock the stick loose. Which would be doing Sam a favor. Which would be a nice thing. But by the time Dean had bent reason to his favor, Sam was out of range and already starting to speak to the receptionist.

“Hi, we’re with the Fairfax County organized crime division, investigating the recent incidents at the malls. Is there someone here we could talk to?”

A high, but definitely male voice, answered. “Oh, that would be Mr. Inch. Do you have an appointment?” OK, they were going to switch assignments. Sam would chat up the receptionist.

Dean couldn’t see Sam’s face, but he could picture the expression: sincere. “Do we need one?”

“Well, everyone needs one.”

Dean rolled his eyes. Inwardly. Which hurt. He shouldered his brother aside. “Dude, we’re the cops.” And Dean was going to be the bad cop. Awesome. “We don’t need an appointment. We need to see..uh..”

“Mr. Inch.” Sam helpfully, and oh so nicely, supplied.

“Yeah, Mr. Inch. Right now.” Dean emphasized the right now by leaning over the counter and into the guy’s face, smiling his not-so-nice-smile. The poor guy’s eyes ferreted over to Sam for help. Dean felt Sam’s hand drop onto his shoulder and he allowed himself to be pulled back.

“I could buzz him?” Mr. Receptionist asked Sam, who graciously gave permission with a nod of his head and a warm smile.

Mr. Inch, once alerted to the presence of the police in his lobby, was happy to speak with them. He was an odd looking man, all of his weight had moved to his belly, leaving stretched limbs and thin fingers behind. His smile was pinched and yellow. But the worst part, surpassing even his breath, was the tie tightly clinging to his neck. Garish was too kind a descriptor for the glow of Mr. Inch’s (“Call me Gerald, please, named after my grandfather, Gerald Reginald Inch, great visionary you know.” They didn’t) necktie. It was nuclear waste green, a touch of Christmas cheer gone so bad, it could never come back. The Winchesters found themselves looking around his office in an effort to avoid direct eye contact with the monstrosity, which unfortunately, provided little in the way of distraction. His office was mostly barren, functionality only broken by a framed photo of a sad looking little brown dog.

“Now, how can I help you fine fellows? I’ve already given interviews to the police. Don’t know how much more I can tell you.”

Dean, who had been counting on flirting with the receptionist as the only bright side in this mission, waived his hand vaguely at Sam. “My partner here has some questions he’d like to ask.” Mission accomplished, Dean settled into one of the two office chairs and picked up the dog’s photo, engaging himself in canine inspection, and checking out mentally. Which is why he couldn’t help but start a little when Sam clapped him (hard) on the shoulder and stood up to leave. They both murmured goodbyes and Dean found himself being rocketed out of the building, propelled by the pressure of Sam’s hand on his lower back.

“Thanks a lot for the assist back there.” Yeah, Sam was pissed.

“No problem. Although I bet you could have charmed your way into seeing the green dude sooner or later.”

“Nice, Dean. Did you pay any attention?”

“Uh, no.”

Dean fiddled with the door lock, covertly watching Sam suck down a few calming breaths and spasmodically flex his fists. He ducked his head to hide his grin. He’d missed a lot of things during the absent years, annoying the piss out of Sam close to the top.

“So, where to now? That dinner had pie on special. Apple.”

“The mall.”

“Aww, no way, man. Come on….”

“You know, if you had anything to contribute, I might let you decide what to do next. But, hey, that would require listening. We’re going to the mall.”

“All right Yukon, let’s got find your Bumble.”

The mall was exactly the nightmare Dean imagined. Frantic parents burdened with bags, coats, and despair roamed the halls, desperate for the perfect Christmas gift. The third violation of his personal space zone put Dean on edge, ready to start swinging. He’d have gone for shooting, but Sam wisely disarmed him in the parking lot, all the way down to his last knife, the one he would have sworn Sam didn’t know about. He settled for glowering, promising a lingering death to anyone who met his eye. Which no one did, too intent upon their own missions and miseries.

“God, Sam. We’ve got to get out of here.”

“Ten more stores until the main office. Want me to hold your hand?” Sam was barely containing his glee at Dean’s discomfort. Bastard. “Shoo away all the dangerous mothers? Buy you a GI Joe?” Yeah, Sam’s got some pummeling coming.

“Just keep moving, asshole. I hate this place.”

The mall office was behind the main action, tucked into a long hallway running behind the stores. It’s clinical dingy white and harshly lit. Dean loved it. It was deserted, except for a harried looking woman, her arms full of paper.

“Ma’m? We’re with the police department and have a few questions concerning Tuesday’s…incident.”

“Oh god. More? I can’t handle this right now. Do you have any idea what that did to our sales? Let alone the liability. Oh god. Look, I’ve got get these to Macy’s. Can I just leave you with the files?”

“Uh..yeah, that’d be great.” Every once in a while, karma tried to pay back the huge debt it owed the Winchesters and made a token deposit in their account. The woman waived them into an office, pointed to a box of files on the floor and disappeared. Catching Sam’s look of determination, Dean realized that karma had actually screwed him again. No way he’d be able to phase out or fake going through the files, he was in for research. Karma was a bitch. And he was mostly certain he hadn’t done anything yet today to deserve this.

He lasted an hour. Exactly sixty two minutes in (Dean maybe knew this because Sam informed him) he broke.

“So, uh, I’m gonna go get a coffee. I’ll bring you back one.” The key to a plan that depended upon speed, such as this strategic withdrawal, was to be up and moving before the enemy could engage its forces. Sam’s answer, which Dean was pretty sure ran along the lines of bring me one and not it's only been an hour wuss was lost behind the office door, which Dean had considerately closed on his way out. Dean realized, as soon as he waded back into the mall melee that Sam’s answer was probably more along the lines of, YOU are going back out THERE? Alone? Because there were a lot of things, all of them varyingly unpleasant, that Dean would rather do than be back in the midst of the Christmas shoppers. Still, he’d had years of training and he could get the damn cup of coffee. Even if it would mean a seemly, not rushed, slightly brisker than brisk walk (not run) back to the safety of the office.

Sam was still there, of course, looking relaxed. Except that at some point during Dean’s absence he’d found a Santa hat and a candy cane. The hat was perched on his head, the cane in his mouth. He looked…like a dork.

“Dude. You look like a dork. You don’t know where that hat’s been.”

“Actually, nowhere. The mall switched over to a new supplier of Santa suits. This hat is part of that suit over there,” Sam gave a vague wave at the closet; “They got in one more suit than they had Santas. And, I like it.”

“Yeah, well, it’s gonna mess up your hair. Find anything? And where’s my candy?”

“Only good researchers get candy with their coffee. Give me my coffee.” There was a vague note of threat in Sam’s voice. Enough to trigger Dean’s spidey sense and trip him over into brother mode.

“Oh, this? This is my spare. Didn’t get you one.”

“Give me the coffee Dean.”

“Dude. I deserve this for going out there solo. Tell ya what. Candy cane for the coffee.”

“The coffee. Now.” No doubt about it, there was definite menace to Sam’s tone. If Dean didn’t know better, he would have thought it was a real threat. Just in case, he set both cups down on the desk. When he turned to face Sam again, he was a bit startled to find the ginamatron in his face, peppermint breath exhaling into his air. Dean gave Sam a light shove.

“Whoa, there. Personal space.”

But Sam merely rocked back with the shove and then came back swinging, a fast right uppercut that hit Dean squarely in the jaw knocking him back onto the desk. His last coherent thought was, “huh?”

He awoke trussed up in the back of the Impala, which his groggy brain informed him meant Sam had carted his unconscious ass through the mall. And, since they were still present, while wearing a Santa hat and sucking on a candy cane. Didn’t speak well for mall security, letting him be kidnapped like that. Nor did it speak well for whatever was coming next.

“Uh, Sam? Could you, uh, maybe loosen the rope a bit?” Actually, it wasn’t rope. It was freaking Christmas ribbon. The mental image of his brother carrying him through the mall, wrapped in ribbon, that had Dean groaning again. Well, that and his jaw. Jesus, Sam could swing a hammer when he wanted.

“Sam, what the hell?” Dean struggled upright, blinking in the sun. “Where we going?”

Sam ignored him, apparently too busy working the candy cane and singing something about Santa coming to answer him. So Dean concentrated on the knots instead. Apparently, Stanford hadn’t rotted out the knot tying portion of Sam’s brain. They were tight and the ribbon (for Pete’s sake) had been looped, making it virtually unbreakable. Not that Dean gave up. By the time the Impala pulled back into the parking space they had left this morning, his wrists had started to bleed a bit. Yeah, Sam knew his knots.

“So, uh, guessing I missed something first time we were here, huh?”

Sam didn’t answer, just opened the doors and heaved Dean upwards.

“Get off. If I’m going in there, I’m walking.” Sam still wasn’t on speaking terms with him apparently, because he just hummed Jingle Bells and gave Dean a shove towards the door.

“Is this because I didn’t get you anything for Christmas last year? Because, I did. I just drank it.” They'd moved down the hall, towards the reception area, Sam humming, Dean fuming.

Mr. Receptionist wasn’t at his desk, which torpedoed Dean’s initial plan. Instead, he found himself being marched right back into Mr. Inch’s office. Mr. Inch was sitting behind his desk, fingers steepled in the classic villain’s pose, a yellow leer plastered on hs face.

“Detectives. How nice of you to stop by again. Looks like you’re a hat short though.” A strong shove from Sam plopped Dean down into one of the office chairs. Sam, now tunelessly, but cheerily, humming, stood behind him, both hands on Dean’s shoulders, holding him in place.

“No freaking way. I’m not wearing any stupid hat.” Seriously. There was only so much humiliation a guy could endure in one day. Dean shifted his balance subtlety, preparing to spring forward and take the creepy dude out. Then he would deal with his coffee taking, candy cane sucking, Christmas tune humming, turkey trussing turncoat of a brother.

Mr. Inch had retrieved an additional Santa hat from a closet behind his desk and was approaching, yellow teeth first. Either the green of his tie had spread or he really needed to upgrade lighting, because he had taken on a definite pea soup hue. And he was fuzzier. In fact, he looked exactly like…..

***

“Dean.”

“Wha??”

“Turn the damn TV off if you’re going to sleep.”

“Huh?” Dean blinked and sat up in the bed. Which wasn’t the office chair. And he wasn’t tied with ribbon. And Sam wasn’t the spirit of Christmas pissed. Just pissed.

“The cartoons Dean? Think you could shut them off or turn ‘em down so I can get a little sleep? Like you were?”

“Uh, yeah.” Their room didn’t have a remote, which was probably why Sam hadn’t woken him by beaning him with it. Dean got up, walked over to the TV, and shut it off. Not like Sam couldn’t have done that himself. But hey, he was a mean one sometimes.

Birthday Ficlet for Kimonkey!

Wed, 05 Dec 2007 15:49:00 GMT

Title: Good Citizens
Pairing: Sam and Dean, Gen
Rating: PG
Set after: Bloodlust, S2 (well, mostly - I totally garbled the time line though....but I wanted it to end the way it does, so...)
Summary: Discussion at breakfast.....

Sorry for the late b-day wish - stooooopid internet crashed...and burned...and then ran away on little scorched feet last night....
I

“Dude. This proves it. Sam. SAM.” Dean’s jabbing a belligerent finger at the paper and managing to wave it under Sam’s nose at the same time.

“What?” Ignoring him, Sam’s usual course of action, apparently isn’t going to work. Dean’s far too hopped up on sugar, caffeine, and the apparent issue de jour.

“Check this out.”

“It’d help if you’d stop moving it.” Dean’s finger is still thrusting in the general area of an article….on Iran? And nuclear capability? An article Sam would have sworn on a stack of demonology texts that Dean would never even glance at.

“Ohhhkayyy, proves what?”

“He’s the Anti-Christ. Well, maybe not THE Anti-Christ, but definitely possessed or something.”

“Dean.”

“Seriously, think about it dude. War in the Middle East? All those ties with the “religious” right? End of days shit. Totally the work of the Anti-Christ.. Or you know, his minion or something.”

“You think Bush is the minion of the Anti-Christ.”

“Uh huh.” Gleeful nodding ensues, Dean’s pleased Sam’s caught up. “Make’s sense, don’t it?”

“Dude. I can’t…I mean…Dean, come on.”

“THINK about it, Sam.”

Sam decides to use his “thinking” time to finish his breakfast. But he can’t help it. He starts considering, weighing options, thinking.

He looks up at Dean, swallowing the last bit of egg, “OK, but no way we can walk up to the President of the United States of America and sprinkle him with holy water” This brings Dean down a bit. But Dean can be an idiot and he's already brightening right back up. Sam cuts him off. “We can’t Dean. America’s most wanted, remember?”

“Yeah. I’ve been thinking about that…”

“NO DEAN. Just, NO.”

“What? I’m thinking Bobby might have someone for this I’m not an idiot.”

“Betcha Gordon'd do it.”

“See, now you’re thinking like a Winchester. I’ll call Ellen.”