Don't Entertain Him

The Lost Boys (1987) dir. Joel Schumacher

are you going to continue bad moon rising? Love it 🤞

I promise I’m going to continue Bad moon rising 😭 I just have no motivation right now and I can’t think of anymore excuses of why I’m putting it off. I promise I will pick it back up soon. 🙏

Nothing. And I mean NOTHING. Can ever out hot the carousel scene from The Lost Boys

‘So… Déjà vu?’

Summary: Sam and Dean have to watch their best friend die over and over again everyday.

Word count: 4.7k

A/N: I tried to not use Y/n a whole bunch in this story, mainly because I realized not a whole lot of people like that. But it is steal in the story. Also I did base this off of @jasmines-library story called GROUNDHOG DAY, y'all should go read it it’s really good. But please enjoy.

· · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·

‘Heat of the moment’

Sam woke up with a start, the music dragging him from his short slumber. Rising to sit up in his bed the small digital alarm blaring through the small motel room. Bring a hand up to his face he tried to rub the sleep from his eyes. 

Sam glanced over to his side slightly surprised to see that his brother was already up and moving about, considering that he would be the one to stay in bed throughout the day if he could. 

Dean sat on his side of the bed, one leg pulled towards his chest as he tied his shoelaces together. “Rise and shine, Sammy.” He shouted over the music, tossing both feet on the ground once he was done. 

“Dude,” Sam said with a small chuckle. “Asia?”

A groan came from Deans bed, the sight of the motel pillow being flipped over a tired head caused a smile to lift onto Sam’s face. “Turn it down.” You muttered beneath the pillow, tugging it closer towards your face. 

Dean leaned over towards the nightstand, turning up the volume on the digital clock. “Suck it up, buttercup. This is y’all’s wake up call.”

You sat up in the bed, purposely swatting Dean in the back with your pillow before hauling yourself up. Sam let out a breathy laugh at his brother’s expression, tossing the sheets off his body to start getting ready for the day. 

· · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·

You stood beside Sam, patiently waiting in the door way for Dean to finish going through his bags to retrieve his pistol. Stopping his movements the older man lifted a bra by his finger, meeting Sam’s eyes as he gestured to the garment. “This yours?”

Sam gave his brother an annoyed look, in return Dean laughed in his face. 

“Hurry up, I’m hungry.” You told him, slightly curious if the bra Dean was holding was yours or from the last couple that occupied the room. 

“Relax,” Dean told you, digging deeper into his bag before he pulled out his gun. “So am I.”

The drive to the diner was short and the parking lot was vaguely packed. Walking through the door, the bell chimed above as Dean lead them to an empty table. 

“Hey, Tuesday.” Dean said pointing at the ‘specials’ board above the counter. “Pig in a poke.”

“Do you even know what that is?” Sam asked, eyeing the older man. 

Dean opened his mouth to answer, but whatever he was about to say died in his throat. Sam gave him a very smug smile as the waiter came up to their table. “Now what can I get y’all started with?”

“Think I’ll have the chocolate pancakes with the strawberry toppings.” You told the lady, handing over your menu as you did so.

“You’re gonna get sick.” Sam told you after he and Dean had ordered their own breakfast. 

You simply shrugged your shoulders. “Then I’ll get sick, Sam, and hopefully have the day off afterwards.”

“Nah,” Dean told you, his arm resting behind your seat. “We’ll still make you work anyway.”

You slung Deans arm off before facing Sam again, “What exactly are we searching here for, Sam?”

“Nothing, that’s what we’re searching for.” Dean said for Sam, purposely ignoring the look the taller man gave him. 

“Well Dean, what do you think we should be doing then?”

“Searching for Bela, getting the colt back, Sam. Not sitting here and working a simple disappearance case.”

“I agree with Dean,” you told Sam, leaning forward onto the table in case anyone were to eavesdrop. “We can’t close up Hell with out the colt.”

“I know that, Y/n.” Sam told you, a deep sigh falling from his lips as he looked around the small diner. “But we don’t even know where she is. And in the meantime we have this.” He pulled a couple of news clipping articles from his jacket and placed them onto the table.

As the three of you discussed the disappearance of the local professor, the waitress gave each of you y’all’s breakfast. Your chocolate chip pancakes with whipped cream and chopped strawberries made your stomach rumble, giving a quick thank you before pouring syrup on top. 

A loud smash lifted you from the sugary dessert, both brothers staring down at the smashed bottle of hot sauce on the floor. “Crap.” The waitress muttered to herself, before rushing off to grab something to clean the spill. 

After she left, you talked briefly about the professor, Sam making a small point about how he was last scene at the local Mystery Spot. A place ‘Where the laws of physics have no meaning!”

“Alright then,” You said, pulling out your wallet to leave a small tip for the waitress. “Let’s head to the Mystery Spot.”

· · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·

The said Mystery Spot lived up to its name, tables stuck to the ceiling, the hallways were painted to give off a hypnotic appeal. If it weren’t for the fact that the place was completely pitch black and that the magical effect it was supposed to have wasn’t in full effect. It would honestly be something that you would like to go and see when your not on the job. 

“Huh,” You muttered, shinning a flashlight at one of the strange objects in the room. “Do you think this guy actually gets money off this place.”

“Are you kidding? I’m surprised if this guy could even keep the place open.” Dean responded eyeing the same piece that you were. 

Moving the flashlight away from the object and towards the younger Winchester, you flashed it at the EMF in his hand. “What’s your reading?”

Sam just shook his head. 

“Do you even know what you’re looking for?” Dean asked, aggravation slowly seeping into his tone. 

“Yeah…” Sam gave a small shrug, though his response was clearly unsure of him self. He noticed the look both his brother and you were giving him. “No.” He finally admitted. 

You gave a small nod, your lips pulled into a tight line as you moved on through the room. “Lovely.”

Click

“What the hell are you doing here.” A voiced called out, causing you and the brothers to instantly draw your guns and aim at the person. 

You recognized him as the owner of the Mystery Spot, and so did the boys because they both held up their guns in the air to not show that they were not any danger. Though by the looks of it all the three of them were far from innocent in the eyes of the owner. 

“Woah, hey look, we can explain.” Dean said, eyeing the weapon with worry, seeing as he can’t defend themselves as much since they are the ones that broke into his building. 

The owner waved his gun between the three of them, uncertain if he should pull the trigger or not. “You robbing me?”

“No sir,” You told the man, moving towards the nearby table to place your gun in his eye of sight, trying to prove that you weren’t about to harm him. “No sir, we aren’t stealing from you.”

“Don’t move!” He shouted, the barrel of the gun pointed at your chest. “Don’t.”

“I’m just putting gun away.” You tried to reassure the man. 

Bang

The noise came loud and sudden, causing you to fall backwards upon impact. 

“Y/n!”

Sam quickly fell to the ground, placing both hands over the hole in your chest. “Oh my God.” He muttered tears slowly collecting at his water line, he looked over at his older brother for help, unsure of what to do. 

“Call 911.” Dean told the man, coming to sit beside you, eyes darting between your wound and the pained expression on your face. 

“I-I didn’t mean t-“

“Call them, now!” He shouted, placing a hand near the seeping hole. Praying that it’ll disappear once he lifts it. 

Though like all his prayers they go unheard as blood continued to pour from the wound. You let out a pained moan, with either of the boys putting pressure on it, it caused pain to shoot through your body. But, you felt to numb to tell them off about that. 

Sam tugged you up into his arms, feeling as your body starts to relax the longer you laid there. Once more he looked at Dean, desperation in his eyes as he didn’t want to loose you like this. 

Dean lightly tapped the side of your face, watching as your eyes drooped behind your eyelids. “Please, buttercup,” he whispered, voice slowly cracking as the weight of the situation suddenly fell on him. “Just stay awake for a little while, ok? C-can you do that for me?”

You began to see spots in your vision, sounds had started to mix in with one another and you could taste the blood filling your mouth. And above all filling your lungs, slowly choking on copper liquid. 

“J-just a little longer.” Dean whispered, bringing your head to him to place a kiss on your hairline. “You can do it, me and Sammy know you can.”

Sam felt his heart stop when he noticed your eyes wouldn’t open back up, when your chest stopped rising  and falling, how your arms just dangled. A choked sob left his mouth, and Dean just held your head closer to him, muttering quiet prayers for you to stay with them. 

But they knew it was too late, they knew that the ambulance would never make it on time. You were dead. 

· · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·

‘Heat of the moment’

Sam woke up with a start, panic deeply embedded in his mind as he slowly processed what exactly had happened. But, looking around it appeared as if nothing had happened and that it was a strange dream. 

Dean sat in his bed, leg pulled towards his chest, shoelaces tightly gripped in each hand as he appeared to have the same thoughts racing through his mind just like his brother. “Rise and shine, Sammy.”

Sam had heard that before, the same line ringing through his mind like a signal. He’s heard that before, he’s heard this song before, almost like he had already lived this day before. 

A groan came from Deans bed, immediately both brothers looked over at the noise. And both felt their heart stop in their chest at what they saw. 

It was you. 

And you had just pulled your pillow over your head like from a distant memory of theirs. 

“Y/n?” Dean asked, forgetting his shoe completely and reaching over to lightly shake you. Almost as to see if you were real. “Y/n?”

“Cut it out.” You told him, taking the pillow and hitting him in the chest. 

Dean turned to his brother, disbelief and shock written all over his face as he tried to find an answer from his smart little brother. But, Sam just slowly shook his head, he didn’t know why or how you were back, but you were. 

And neither boys knew if they should be thankful or concerned for that. 

· · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·

Everything was the same. That the boys figured out the longer the day passed, from you doing the same morning routine as before, all the way to the people in the diner talking and acting as if they’ve done this before. 

It was almost as if it was rehearsed. 

Sam and Dean knew something was happening but they just didn’t know how to voice it. You were acting as if nothing had happened, as if you didn’t die in their arms from a gun shot. And maybe it didn’t happen. 

“Hey, Dean,” you said, sitting down in the inside of the booth. “Tuesdays pig in a poke.”

Sam gave you a funny look, eyebrows pinched together as he glanced at his brother real quick. “It’s Tuesday?”

You looked at the menu, not even bothering to met Sam’s eye as you spoke. “Yep, just like yesterday was Monday, and the day before was Sun-“

“We get it.” Dean interrupted you, his arm slung behind your back at he glanced around the restaurant. An unnerving feeling creeping up the back of his mind. 

Eyeing both boys, you could tell that something was the matter. They’ve been acting strange ever since they woke up this morning, but for the life of you, you couldn’t figure out why. “Are you guys ok?”  

“Yep.”

“Never better.”

You could tell they were lying, even through they were physically fine, deep down you knew something was wrong mentally. “Ok.” You replied going back to the menu, eyeing the many types of pancakes they had. “Think I’ll have chocolate pancakes with strawberry toppings.”

“Do you… Do you not remember any of this?” Sam asked, knowing now that this had happened before. 

“… no?” 

The waitress came over taking both yours and deans order, whom went with the special. Once she left, you turned you attention back to the boys. “What exactly should I be remembering?”

“This, today. Like it’s happened before.”

You pulled your lips into a tight line, mind racing to think if you’d actually remember this. “No, but maybe yall are experiencing Deja vu.” You told them, pretty certain that that’s all that was happening to them. 

“No, not Deja vu.” Sam told you, rubbing the sides of his head. “But it’s like this day has happened already, like we are reliving the yesterday.”

You glanced at each Winchester, concern etching to the front of your mind. “So… Deja vu?”

“No it’s-“ Dean rubbed his face, unsure of how to tell you that they’d already been through this day before. 

The waitress came back stack of chocolate chip pancakes, the whipped cream smothered in sliced strawberries. She also placed Deans pig in a poke onto the table, the smell of the breakfast gave off caused your stomach to rumble as your began to pour syrup on top the fruity food. 

“And here’s your hot sauc- crap!” The hot sauce on the platter tipped over falling towards the ground, though almost as a reflex Sam caught it, surprise etched on his face at what he’d done. “Thanks.” The waitress told him, walking away with the empty platter. 

“Wow.” You told the younger man. “We got our very own Spider-Man.”

After breakfast the boys seemed to try and explain the whole situation to you, though they tried their hardest to leave out the part where you got blown away by the owner of the mystery spot. 

The Mystery Spot. 

That’s where you died and that’s also when you came back and everything was practically normal. The brothers knew they had to go back there and find some answers, but not at night. That’s what they told you when you brought up going at night, they knew that if they could prevent the inedible then they would. 

Tires screeched from the road, trying to stop itself before it connected with your body. You were thrown across the road, your body broken and bloody from the impact. Once the brothers reached your side they knew it was too late, you were far to gone for them so save. 

‘Heat of the moment’

· · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·

Day after day, song after song, the Winchester boys had to watch you die in both gruesome and unrealistic ways. And every single time there was no way to save you. 

They were starting to get desperate, everyday they had explained to you what had happened and every time you ended up dead in one way or another. Right now they were back in the diner, you were quietly munching on your stack of waffles while the boys had the computer and newspaper articles scattered around the table. 

“So…” you began trying to figure out how exactly to word your next sentence. “”I’ve been killed every day and neither of y’all can figure out how?” 

“Well not exactly but I think we are getting close.” Sam told you, glancing up from behind the computer screen. 

“Yeah, see we thought I was the mystery spot, but after we tor down the walls and you got an axe to the head.” Dean told you, ignoring the way you stopped eating at that. “We thought maybe it wasn’t the place, but the things around it.”

“So then the town?”

“Exactly.”

“Well,” you began picking out the strawberries and eating them alone. “Have y'all tried leaving this place?”

“Yes”

“And?”

“And we got T-boned” Sam told you, finger clicking against the keyboard. 

”Oh… and I take it I didn’t make it.”

“No. No your neck broke on impact. “

“Oh” you didn’t really feel like eating after that. Clearing your throat and pushing your plate away you leaned forward to see what they were working on. “So what exactly have you guys gotten from all this.”

“It’s not that clear but, this Dexter Hasselback had put a lot of places like the Mystery Spot out of business.” Sam told you flipping the papers in your direction. “So we may think that I has to do something with him.”

“Yeah, but, we don’t know where Hasselback is.” Dean added on. “So we’re thinking that if we find him, we find out what going on.”

You nodded along with the information given, “Sounds great. Should we go ahead and look for Hasselback then?”

Dean gave a quick nod, hurriedly packing all the newspapers clippings into the small back that Sam had brought with him. Out of the corner of his eye, Sam saw a man from the counter get up to leave. 

Sam glanced at where the man once sat, and he seem to freeze at what he saw. The pink sticky syrup next to the plate covered in leftovers of the man’s breakfast. “Dean,” he said not once taking his eyes off the syrup. “Look at the counter.”

“What about it?” You asked, even though Sam didn’t call for you. 

“That man has maple syrup for the last 100 Tuesdays, now all of the sudden he has strawberries?” He said eyeing the man as he walked out of the restaurant. 

“Can’t blame ‘em.” You told Sam, picking up your own strawberry at that. “It’s earths one weakness.”

“Nothing changes, not the people and especially what they do. Except for us.” Dean muttered catching onto Sam’s ranting. 

And by tomorrow they would know exactly what to do to stop this. 

· · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·

Neither Sam nor Dean spoke a word to you the next day, they let you get your pancakes and listened to the words you seemed forced to say all while never taking their eyes off the man at the counter. 

“You know if you keep on being rude, the lady is gonna spit in my food.” You told them playing with a sugar packet as you waited on your food to come. 

They knew you were right, when the waitress came by, they were the ones to tell them what you wanted. And when they did it was very curt and off handed, almost like they were too focused on something else to care about how they acted. 

“You’ll live.” Dean told you, eyes glued to the man. 

“You two are dicks when your hungry.” You muttered under your breath, although they still heard what you said, but that was the least of their concerns.

The waitress came back with your pancakes before leaving again, and as she left the man at the counter suddenly stood up. He cleaned his mouth with a napkin, pulled out some money from his pocket and headed for the door. 

Sam and Dean shared a quick look, waiting til he was outside before getting up themselves. You stared confusedly as they walked out the diner, completely leaving you in the booth were you sat. 

“Are you seriously making me pay?” You called after them, though they were already out the door before you could argue any further. Plucking a small strawberry off the whipped cream, you threw down some money and hurried after the boys, not wanting to be left behind. 

The boys followed the man to the parking lot, though they refused to let him go any further as Sam slammed the man up against the fence. 

“Sam! What the hell?” You asked, coming up beside the taller man. But, your confusion went from one brother to the next as Dean pulled out a stake, the end dipped in blood. He pressed it up against the man’s throat silencing his yelling momentarily, the threat of being stabbed causing him to let out pleads to the two men. 

“We know who you are.” Dean told him pushing the piece of wood deeper into his neck. “Or what you are.”

“Oh my God.” The man looked between the three, eyes landing on you as you were the only one currently not posing as a threat to him. “Please don’t kill me.”

“It took us a hell of long time, but we figured it out.” Sam said, adding onto Dean explanation. “It was your M.O. that gave it away.”

“Yeah, going after jerks, giving them their just deserts. You kind loves that, don’t they?” Dean continued to taunt, not once letting his gripped slip up. 

The man looked like he was ready to start screaming again, eyes glancing between the weapon to the boys. “Yeah, sure. Ok! Just put the stake down!”

“Guys, maybe y’all should-“ you tried to reason with either of the brothers before they interrupted you.

“No!” Dean pressed the stake further into the man’s neck. “There’s only one creature powerful enough to do what you’re doing.” The man let out a pained groan. “Making reality out of nothing, sticking people into time-loops.”

“You’d have to be a God.” Sam finished, grip ever so slightly tightening on the man’s collar. “You’d have to be a trickster.”

“Sam…”

The man began to panic even more, a light sheen of sweat covering his face as he tried his hardest to lean away from the weapon. “Misters… my name is Ed Coleman. My wife is Amelia- I’ve got two kids!” He then stared right at the boys, “I sell add space for Christs sake.”

“Boys, I don’t think you should be doing this.” You tried once more, but all that came from your mouth just fell on deaf ears. 

“Don’t lie!” Sam suddenly shouted. “We know what you are, we killed your kind before.”

A beat of silence passed, no one seemed to move or even breath as they waited for something to happen. And right before their eyes the man’s face seemed to shift, his hair changing colors, eyes ever so slightly distancing themselves and his skin ridded itself of wrinkles. 

The man before you had shifted into an all to familiar face. 

“Actually,” The trickster began, a smug smirk plastered on his lips. “You didn’t.”

“Why are you doing this?” Dean asked first, the initial shock slowly fading as he came back to the current situation. “Why Y/n?”

“Are you kidding me? All three of you tried to kill me last time.” The trickster told you all, pointing an acusase finger as he did so. “Why wouldn’t I do this? Why not make each of you suffer?”

“So this is funny to you?” Sam asked, pushing the smaller man further into the fence. “Killing her over and over again, you find joy in that?”

“I’ve been getting killed?” You asked, confused and slightly shocked at what Sam had confessed. 

“Oh,” the trickster said, fake sincerity lacing his voice. “Did they forget to tell you today?”

“Shut up! Answer the question.” Dean shouted, the stake being pushed deeper into his throat as he did so. 

“Ok, ok! Yes it is fun.” The trickster confessed, trying to present a small laugh to ease the situation. Though it’s far from working. “But, this is so not about killing Y/n.”

The boys give one another a look of confusion. “What do you mean?”

“The joke is on the both of you. I mean… come on.” He gave a small roll of his eyes. “How great is it to watch your best friend die, day after day? Death after death? Forever.”

“Screw you.” Sam muttered. 

The trickster gave a small scoff, “Oh, yeah, way to go Sam. Way to keep it PG. But seriously how long will it take you two to realize you can’t save everyone? No matter how hard you try.”

“Yeah? We stick this stake in you right now, it ends for good.” Dean taunted pressing deeper with the wood. 

“Ok. Ok!” The trickster held up both hands. “You can’t take a joke? Fine, you’re out of it. You wake up tomorrow and it’ll be Wednesday.”

“And if you’re lying?”

“Then you know where to find me. At the diner having pancakes.” He then snapped his fingers and everything went dark. 

· · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·

Sam woke up with a start, the music blared through the small digital clock on the bedside table. He tried to rub the sticky from the back of his eyes, but the song of choice caused him to awaken even more. Glancing over at the table he ignored the time, seemingly staring at the date. 

“Wednesday.” He muttered to himself. “It’s Wednesday.”

“Yeah,” you called out from the bathroom, ringing out your hair into the motels shower as you did. “Like how yesterday was Tuesday and the day before was Monday. And can you turn that down, please? I don’t want to get a complaint from the neighbors.”

“No, are you kidding?” Dean asked you, deeply relieved that he didn’t have to listen to Asia again this morning. “Is this not the most beautiful song you’ve ever heard?”

You glance between both brothers, stopping your movements momentarily. “I’ve heard better.” You then went back to drying your hair. “How many Tuesdays did you two have exactly.”

“Too many.” Sam told you, tossing His bed sheets away from him as he got out of bed. “Wait… what do you remember?”

“Well you two were being real dicks at breakfast yesterday, then you threatened to stab a guy in the diners parking lot. And then the guy turned into the trickster, and that’s ‘bout it, really.”

“Right, ok. Let’s get out of here.” Sam told you, making his way to his bag to get a change of clothes. Dean not to far behind. 

“Are- are you two not hungry?”

“No.”

· · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·

You placed the last of your stuff in the back of the impala, the door shutting will a loud thump as you did so. Turning to make your way back into the motel, you were stopped by an older man. One you recognized as someone from the diner yesterday. 

“Jus’ hand me your money and I’ll be on my way.” He told you, cocking his pistol to show that he wasn’t joking around. 

“Alright, ok. Yeah.” You told him, hands slightly raised at your sides as you did so. “It’s just in my pocket, ok?”

He gave you a quick nod, eyes darting around the empty parking lot in case someone walked out on them. “That’s fine.”

Reaching into your pockets, you pulled your wallet out. Raising it to show the man, you then tossed it at him, he caught it with his unoccupied hand. The gun still pointed directly at you. 

“We good?” You questioned, hands going back to the air as the man didn’t look like he was going to lower his weapon.

“Yeah, we’re good.”

Bang

Sam and Dean stopped their movements, the both of them giving each other a Quick Look before running outside. Upon reaching the motels parking lot they saw you on the ground, blood everywhere so slowly pooling around you as you laid motionless. 

The man who had shot you was running away, his gun tucked tightly towards his chest as he fled from the scene. But the brothers main focus wasn’t on him, instead they raced towards you, praying that they weren’t too late.

Sam dropped to one side as Dean dropped to the other, their blue jeans soaking up the blood on the asphalt as they lifted you into a sitting position. 

“Y/n?” Sam asked hands clutching onto the sides of your face as your body went numb. “Y/n please.”

Dean knew this was too familiar, it was like the first time that you had been killed. Only this time he had a sliver of hope that the trickster was playing another joke on them. But as seconds passed and you had yet to wake up, that hope began to fade. And instead tears threatened to spill over. 

“Sam,” dean muttered out, holding on your lifeless hand. “I don’t think we are waking up this time.”

· · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·

A/N: Hope yall enjoyed. And for anyone that is wondering I am working on the DAREDEVIL!READER x JASON TODD story. I just finished school and tests is all, but let me know what yall think!

you: wait, babe… we can’t fuck yet… you aren’t wearing protection…

your vampire lover: protection? what do you mean prote- oh ok so fuck you first of all

you, holding these:

dwayne + being sweet and/or a dork

Goldilocks and the Four Bears

I haven’t written for the cod fandom yet so all the 141 might be terribly out of character. In fact I haven’t written for a while. I appreciate all the people that still read my work and continue to support me. I hope you’re all doing well :)

Poly!141 x reader

Masterlist -> Here (will be made later :))

Warnings: 18+, mature themes, descriptions of torture, injuries and mistreatment, etc

Summary: After escaping from your last mission that had gone terribly wrong, your stumble through the woods leads you to a log cabin.

It was snowing. Fucking snowing.

Any belief in a deity had been long since crushed after the last few months. Well you thought it had been months. Your captors (a small but deadly terrorist group) had failed to provide you with your own calendar and clock. Much like how they had failed to provide you with new clothes to replace your own, that had been ripped and torn and become tattered to the eye.

It was stolen clothes you now wore as you made your escape. Trudging slowly through the already six inch snow, your thoughts trailed to the fresh snow adding to the existing six inches. The size 12 pair of boots were rubbing at your heels with increasing vigour. Leading you to contemplate if bruised skin could blister or not. The guard you’d killed as part of your escape had been good for one thing. Or three things actually. The ill-fitting boots, a loose pair of combat trousers and long sleeved compression shirt.

As you made your way through the terrain you felt a cold chill steadily working it’s way up your trouser leg. Slowly, spreading across the flesh, affecting any skin that wasn’t in direct contact with the trouser material. It made you wish you’d waited for a guard more similar to your stature. While the compression shirt was better than nothing, it was still thin. The flimsy seeming material now doing little to ward off the cold.

Maybe the sudden awareness of the less than ideal weather conditions wasn’t down to your stolen clothes, but the sudden loss of adrenaline. How long had you been running now? Well trudging desperately through the snow, making your way further and further into the thick forrest and fauna.

It was hard to try and map where you’d been, what direction you’d walked in and where you’d come from. It was all white. Every tree looked the same. Every incline became and decline and you’d become disoriented.

Months of abuse, of torture, ofpain. All ignored for a few short hours as you willed your aching body forward. Through trees and snow and stone. Through anything that would put you at a greater distance from them, from Miasma.

They hadn’t transported you. At least you were mostly sure. When you blacked out, you woke in the same dingy cell, on the same dingy floor. Only covered in more bruises or cuts. So you hoped you were where this all started. In Slovenia.

You’d done solo missions before. It was easier that way. One man in, one man out. No one to turn on you or leak information. With Gunner in your ear, nothing ever went wrong. Until it did.

Your objective was to gather intel. To stay under the radar before formulating the next attack. While sneaking around you’d learned just how large their operation was. In turn you’d also learned just how large their base was.

The small outpost hid underground levels. That became clear after your covert operation was blown and you were dragged down to the very heart of the multi-storey building.

Each day (if that’s what you could call them) gave you no indication of the time of day or how much time had passed. They made sure of that. In fact it was the first time in months you’d seen the light of day.

The light that you noticed was now fading apparently, as you looked desperately up into the sky. Grey clouds had rolled in, covering the majority of the sky. The sun was still peaking out from the dense overcast that was rolling further forward. Soon the sky would be covered and the snow fall would quicken.

A few miles back you were struck that no one from Miasma had followed you. You’d expected armed guards to be shooting at you and angry dogs to be tearing at your ankles. Yet you’d had no chase.

Maybe they knew you would get nowhere in the climate. That you’d be weakened by the terrain and from the violence you’d endured. They were right of course. But you didn’t let it stop you.

Even now as you’d gone further, you still felt the burning desire to survive. Granted it dwindled under the ache of your body and the never ending valley of white before you. But you wanted to live. You wanted your revenge.

The final rays of the sun had been clouded and the snow started to pick up. At least your footprints would be covered under the fresh snow. Not that it mattered if all your footprints lead to was a frozen corpse.

Flexing your fingers, you found yourself wishing for gloves. Your toes were long past numb and every injury you’d endured felt like it was waking up. Old cuts that had turned to scars felt fresh, bruises that had yellowed felt like they’d returned to their starting purple colour. Your felt heavy. You felt dense. You felt tired.

Your desire to drive on had dwindled now. The once raging fire was now only a candle. A candle that was down to its wick. The wax around it long since melted and now it was to its edge. Trying to burn the glue that chained it in place. The image made you crave warmth even more.

Was this it?

All the work you’d put in over the years. From a child you had trained for a mission you didn’t fully understand. A mission that belonged to someone else, to Gunner. He’d turned you into a soldier, his perfect soldier.

Is this how his perfect soldier died?

No it wasn’t.

So despite your blue fingers, numb toes and foggy mind, you push on. Just a little further, you tell yourself. Past these trees, past this stream, past more trees.

Your doubts evaporate when you come upon a clearing. You find a decent space boarded by snow dusted trees from all sides. They stand tall, seemingly acting as natural walls to protect those inside. The grass is covered in undisturbed snow. It’s thick and white and makes you smile.

None of it matter though because sitting in the middle of it all if your salvation.

A log cabin.

You consider the sight to be a mirage. Created from and low blood sugar, dehydration and desperation. But you trudge on, almost to a stumble speed, as you reach for the door handle.

It’s unlocked.

Despite any moral compass telling you that breaking and entering or trespassing is wrong, you ignore it. You’re hurt, aching and this is a last resort.

You close the thick wooden door behind you. Taking note of the copious locks it has. When you move inside the cabin you find that no one’s home. As quietly as you can on stiff legs, you sneak around the house. Trying to wake up the instincts you’d been trained on.

Enter a room, check your surroundings, check again. Don’t assume anywhere is empty. Threats could be hiding around any corner.

So for each room of the ground floor you do just that. Open door, check the rooms, move on. From your searching you’ve found a large living room, a kitchen, a dining room, a toilet some sort of office/drawing room. The decor gives you no clue as to who’s house you’ve invaded. There are no pictures of people, no personal possessions. It feels surreal. And wrong.

To start with you go back to the living room. Using the large fireplace, stockpile of logs and matches, you start a fire.

Again, better sense would tell you to avoid such an action. To avoid alerting anyone of your presence here. But you decide to put sense aside in a bid for survival. If you didn’t get warm soon you were sure you’d be frozen soon.

Next you go to the kitchen. You rifle through the cupboard in an attempt to find something edible. To your surprise you find the place to be well stocked. Even going as far as having fresh milk in the fridge. The sight confuses you. Send alarm bells ringing in your ears.

There are products in the fridge that are in date. Fresh products. Yet no one is home. It doesn’t make sense.

As you empty a can of soup into a pan you realise, it doesn’t need to. You’re happy to play stupid and see this as all some sort of blessing, some miracle.

While the soup cooks you fill a glass with clean, cold water. Relishing in the taste of something fresh. When you’ve downed the first glass you refill it again. This time with an intention to make it last longer.

After the first spoonful you find that you like vegetable soup very much. Almost burning your mouth as you devour it in a few minutes. Immediately it feels as though you’ve been recharged. The warmth from the fire has spread throughout the ground floor, your fingers have warmed around the bowl of soup and your body no longer feels related to a glacier.

The sky only darkens as you sit by the fire. Basking in the warmth and taking a moment to rest for the first time in months. You don’t imagine ever leaving your spot on the floor. But the promise of a bed upstairs has you moving your legs in that direction.

Before your ascent to the second floor, you strip your clothes and hang them on a drying rack you found to the side of the fire. Now left in the nude.

Upstairs you find multiple bedrooms. All almost identical, except for one at the end of the hall. You assume this is the Cabin’s master bedroom as it’s slightly larger than the others. Inside there’s a wardrobe full of clothes, a full length mirror, a TV, some sort of game station, and of course the larger than most bed.

In the mirror you catch sight of yourself. The cuts of course stand out first. From the slight turn you can muster in your neck, you can see large welts and thin cuts, bruises and scrapes, all littering the previously plain skin. From the front and behind, your legs look like a Jackson Pollock original piece.

Capturing various purple and blues surrounded by smaller splodges of green and brown. With the occasional black blob or two to really contrast the overall tone of the piece.

As a child you had a strange infatuation with your bruises. Likening them to a sticker or badge of achievement. They were easy to come by during training. A strange part of you liked the way they looked on your skin. They acted as a log book of the hits you’d taken, the falls you’d taken, any sort of impacts you’d had. They made you feel strong, maybe even proud too.

Staring into the mirror at your body again, it all seems worthless. You knew you were strong before. You didn’t need months as a prisoner to prove it.

You take a few steps forward to properly look at your face. Who stares back must be a stranger. You haven’t let your eyebrows be this out of shape since you were thirteen. You didn’t have that scar above under your chin before. Your eyes were always so bright and vivid. Not lifeless or hollow or so lost.

With newfound energy you take yourself to the nearest bathroom. That just so happens to be the en-suite in the bedroom. It doesn’t surprise you. Nothing about this abandoned, well stocked cabin does anymore.

Instead you shower in one of the nicest bathrooms you’ve been to in a long time.

At first the water has you freezing. Not due to the temperature but because of the fire it lights on your back. Every scrape, every cut, every burn now being cleaned. The cleanse sets your body alight. In a way you feel the heat is helping you to heal. Granted, all you have to show for it is a mixture of blood and grime, floating slowly down the drain. But it’s more than that.

It’s the last few months being scrubbed off your skin. Your wounds and ailments being shown that this is the end. They can heal in peace. You can heal in peace.

So you take your time. Using any products you can find; shampoos, conditioners, body wash, face wash. You’ve acquired a new razor, fresh from the packet. It’s amazing what a difference shaving your legs and various other places can do to your mood. You’ve always preferred removing the body hair. Afterwards the feeling of smooth legs under a thick duvet made all the work worth it.

The final step, bar drying yourself, was brushing tour yellowing and plaque ridden teeth. The minty taste in your mouth feels unfamiliar but it welcomed nonetheless. Wiping your tongue across the now almost pearly-whites you’re happy with how smooth they feel.

Now showered, shaved and dried, you make you way into the bedroom. Finding the wardrobe and drawers to be filled wit strictly masculine clothes. You pick out a pair of boxers and one of the large white t-shirts to sleep in. The shirt dwarfs you in size, looking more like a dress. Not one that you would wear outside though. Not with the black boxers showering through the material, or your hardened nipples making an appearance.

With your towel back in the bathroom and the lights off, you crawl into bed. Letting out the loudest sigh your sore throat could muster. Then quickly falling asleep on the linen.

It was snowing. In fact it was a fucking blizzard.

A barrage of white, dagger-like snowflakes pelted against the four men. The lack of light and the dense haze of the storm made it impossible to see where they were going. They were all thankful for the less than modern compass. Hidden away at the bottom of Jonny’s bag. When he acquired it was unknown. But the four were grateful nonetheless that the Scott had the dated equipment in is kit.

After their week long training they were ready to fall asleep on the nearest surface. The blizzard they now faced was an unexpected one. Nothing on Price’s radar Gad alerted them to such a storm.

They’d just finished their survival training in the mountains when the first snowflake formed. During the rest of their descent it had only worsened.

As the snow around them thickened they trudged on. Becoming more aware of the weight of their kit, ache of their muscles and chill in their bones. These men were tired, hungry and cold.

After more miles and more words of encouragement from Price, Gaz was sure they were close to the safe house now.

Laswell had been kind enough to let them use the safe house after a particularly gruelling training exercise. It would be the closest thing to a holiday the 141 would get this year. Before the worst of the storm it had the Scotsman joking that he would build a snowman outside. An idea quickly shot down by Ghost in the interest of remaining vigilant to an enemies surrounding the house.

While snowmen were out of the question, snowballs were not. Something Ghost found out, twice, in the back of the head. Turning to see an innocent looking Gaz and Soap.

“You’ll regret that when we’re back on base and you two are on shit duty” the balaclava wearing Brit grumbles.

Soap sighs dramatically, “Oh come on Lt. Dinnae be like that, it was only a joke”.

The threat prompts Kyle to add, “It was all Soaps idea, think he should get shit duties on his own.”

Soap gasps feigning offence, “You bleeding clipe, don’t come knocking on my door when you want someone to warm your bed tonight.”

The comment causes the younger man’s face to heat up and laughs to come from the others.

“That if we get there in this blizzard” the captain quips. Trying to keep morale, but refusing to ignore the sinking feeling that they’ve missed the safe house completely.

“How far now?” Gaz asks, determined not to start pestering like an insolent child. Yet equally determined to have a proper meal and get out of his cold clothes.

“Two klicks north, then we should be there.” Soap tells him, loud enough for the others to hear in the now whipping winds.

“It was two klicks north last time someone asked Soap, are you sure you’re reading that right lad?” Price finds himself asking. Despite his rank, his military expertise and all his training agains the elements, it doesn’t make him immune to the cold. Immune to looking forward to sitting by a fire with a cup of tea in his hands.

Laswell wasn’t one to be stingy with safe house stock. From previous safe houses he’d been to that she had set up, they’d been a home away from home. Proper bedrooms, running water, stocked shelves. Price found himself ready to welcome anything that had four walls, a roof and could shelter him and his men from the storm.

“Two klicks north Captain, I’m sure”. Jonny confirms.

Sure enough, through the dense curtain of blizzard, light emerges. A gentle glow against the black nights sky. The closer they get, the clearer the house becomes.

A log cabin.

A big one at that. The sight is inviting enough to bring a smile to the men’s faces.

“Laswell’s outdone herself this time, fuckin yaldy” soap practically exclaims. Pushing forward to the front of the pack, in an effort to get in first.

“Hold it Jonny,” Simons voice is quiet through the mask, but harsh enough that the others can hear.

Ghost points to the chimney, “someone’s here”.

Sure enough as the others look up, they too see the plumes of smoke, gently rising from the brick chimney.

“Another team captain?” Gaz finds himself asking, while reaching for the know hidden in his thigh holster.

Price finds himself doing the same, “No, we’re the only ones in the country.”

The tension in the air is thick, rivals the thick snow pelting down on them. The four of them stand motionless, a short distance from the front door. Covered head to toe in winter gear, a layer of the snowstorm attached to anything it can stick to.

“Right, there’s only one door. I’ll lead. We’ll secure the ground floor first. Stay silent, we do this quietly.” Price commands. The men nod, moving to grasp their various knives. Following their captain as he moves to the front of the cabin.

With an almost inaudible creek, Price turns the handle of the door. Pushing the oak forward, grateful that it seems to glide over the wooden floors. Allowing him and his men to breach the property without alerting its inhabitants.

Price enters the living room first, signalling for the others to spread out and search the rest of the floor. He does indeed find a crackling fire, yet no one man’s it. The warmth is welcomed, but for the time being he ignores any desire to sit near it and warm himself.

His attention moves to the drying rack set up beside the fire. Upon further inspection of the items he finds combat trousers, a compression t shirt and a pair of large boots, size 12 he gathers from the label on the tongue. The clothes are still damp to the touch, leading him to infer that the intruder arrived a short time ago.

The badge on the arm of the shirt catches his eye. He rips it off the Velcro and examines it up close. An unknown insignia, contractor perhaps? Some new found terrorist group? Price doesn’t know. It’s not one he’s come across before.

Simon searches the kitchen. The space is a decent size, dark too. He blends into the shadows as he checks the space for any sign of life. He finds a empty soup can on one of the worktops. Turning to the sink he notices a single glass and pan siting there.

Once finished in his search he creeps back to the living room. Finding his captain there, along with a stoic looking soap and serious looking Gaz.

Price raises his hand to Simon, showcasing the fabric insignia to him. With cold eyes Ghost runs over the stitchwork. Mind running through the possible groups it could be associated with.

“Any ideas?” Price asks in a hushed voice.

Ghosts silence is a loud enough answer for the group. No

“Whoever they are haven’t been here long. Their clothes are still damp. Large boots, size 12.” Price goes through the details he’s uncovered.

“Men’s?” Gaz asks.

“Most likely”.

“There’s a pan in the kitchen. They’ve had soup. Only one glass.” Ghost reels off.

“We don’t know who we’re dealing with, could be anyone. Stay vigilant. Be prepared for a fight. I’ll take the lead upstairs. Shout if you find anything.” Price commands.

The team follow him single file up the stairs. Weapons at the ready as the sneak up the steps. Footsteps light on the wooden floor.

Price takes the first door, Gaz the second, Ghost the third and Soap the last door at the end of the hallway.

While three of the 141 find their rooms to be empty, Soap stops in the doorway. After almost silently twisting the door handle and letting it slide open, he stands in silence. What he didn’t expect to find was a girl sleep in the master bed, a pretty girl to be exact.

The Scotsman finds himself lost for words. He expected to have to fight someone of his stature. Maybe larger. He expected to walk away with a bruise or two. He feels lost on what to do. Should he wake her? Should he leave her?

Meanwhile the others have gathered in the hallway. Sharing a concerned glance at their teammate.

“What is it soap?” Ghost asked quietly.

“It’s a lass. A bonnie lass at that.” He tells them. Wonder in his tone as he stares at the sleeping girl. Watching as her chest rises and falls at a steady rate. Completely unaware of the four men that have entered the house.

The men collectively frown, walking further to investigate themselves. Sure enough, after they pass the threshold of the master bedroom, they too stand frozen. A girl. Not a man, or group of men. A girl, sleeping in their bed, in their log cabin.

Completely unaware.

roger's execution was like

🤔STRANGER THINGS THEORIES🤔

Ok so this is a big theory I have for season five so just bear with me and if you don’t understand just nod and smile. 😉

Ok so I believe that when max wakes up in from her little coma she is either gonna be A) Blind or B) Not blind. So what I am thinking is that she will wake up after a while and then boom she is gonna be Max blind or not.

But I believe that when she wakes up she would not remember anything about Hawkins Indiana. So that means she would not remember El, Lucas, Will, Dustin anybody. Like she wouldn’t even remember moving there in the fist place. She would believe that her mom and step father are still together, and sadly that Billy is still alive. Then she would have to learn about the upside down agian and we all know how that went in season two so it’s gonna be difficult for her to comprehend.

Anyways these are only theories let me know what you think and

!NO NEGATIVE COMENETS!