“ absinthe makes the heart grow fonder or maybe that’s the smiths? who knows —- trying not to questions the haze. ”
..
poor taste in alcohol and in music is a lethal combination. he simply winces sympathetically, finishing off a can of the bar’s specialty craft beer and motioning for the bartender to bring him another. “ absinthe and the smiths, huh ? heh, and i thought my night was bad. ”
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“ I would apologise for my analytical ambush, but i know i will soon be apologising again and you’ll tire of that eventually, —- so i have to consider using apologies sparingly. ”
..
“ unless you start apologizing for apologizing, i think we’re good. ” he eyes the angel skeptically, wondering when cas had gotten so formal again. he was always a little more ... REFINED than the rest of them but this was a bit much even for him. “ you feeling okay ? ”
the antics of a drunk weren’t something of uncommon in any town and bobbyd had been witness to it his entire life. he figured if the guy didn’t back off he would have kicked his ass, before someone steps in. the voice registers in bobby’s ears immediately and he looks away from the man to indeed see sam sliding into the other side of his booth. an older sam than he remembers, with hair that’s a bit longer too. it makes him worry about what’s going on more and wonder if this wasn’t as much of a pleasant surprise as he immediately thought.
“sam?” he asked, holding back the other million questions that he had for a moment. if anyone in this place had figured anything out about it yet, it would be him, if it truly was him. a brief pause after the question hung in the air before bobby reached into his pocket to pull out a silver bullet and held it out to sam. “i suppose you know what to do with that.”
as the atmosphere of the diner quiets down again, bobby asked the waitress for an extra cup for the pot of coffee in front of him for sam. his flask, full of holy water laced whiskey rested in his pocket in wait for his second test. it took until this point to notice the sort of tense demeanor of sam’s. if he somehow was an older version of sam, what had happened to him since the time bobby last had seen him? “how long have you been here?”
..
he takes the bullet without hesitation. they’ve all been through this song and dance enough to know the routine; silver, and holy water. for good measure he tugs the collar of his shirt down to expose the mess that is his chest. his anti-possession tattoo’s still there but it’s tattooed over scarred skin; the only evidence, reminder, of the demon who’d sliced through the original and taken him for a joyride. once he’s toyed the bullet between his fingers long enough to confirm he’s not hurt by it, he passes it back and gestures for the flask. “ yeah. ” he confirms. “ i know. ”
once he’s sipped from the flask, confirming he’s clean, he passes it back over. knowing he can’t be safe, he motions for bobby to drink too. “ just to be safe. ” he’s getting paranoid in his age. he seem more of bobby in himself these days than he ever did before. “ a couple weeks now. i’ve been staying at the prestige. ” despite its name, the place isn’t much to look at; run by some kid who looks scared of his own shadow, but it’s cheap and it’s somewhere quiet. he can’t ask for much more. “ something’s not right here, bobby. ” like you being here, he wants to say, but he can’t bring himself to. not yet. “ i saw jo harvelle last week. ”
“i want to say i’m glad to see you-” the brunette says with a lopsided smile, taking in the familiar face. “but if you’re here that means i’m damn sure we’re in trouble.”
..
he can’t help but laugh. she’s not wrong. where the winchesters go, trouble’s not long to follow. “ trouble or not, i am glad to see you. ” what surprises him is that the words ring true. he hasn’t seen her in years, not since before the wedding, and to see her in one piece — IT’S A RELIEF. “ what are the chances you’ve already figured all of this out ? ”
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She can feel her heart beat faster when he turns around, just like it always did when he got home from class… But there was something off. Why her dream had presented him to her like this? She had no clue… Unless it was just a coincidence, and this stranger only bore a resemblance to her Sam. He just… He looked more like him than the brother that had turned up out of nowhere just a couple of days ago, so how coincidental could it be? Compared to her Sam this one was all muscles and hair. ( and maybe those were crows feet at the corners of his eyes — was that a grey hair? )
She couldn’t just stand here staring at him though, so she took the situation at face value. This was her dream after all as weird as it was - and then the way that he ground the palms of his hands into his eyes? That was all the evidence that she needed. She’d seen her Sam make that exact movement on a hundred other nights after long study sessions. She can only smile at him, relieved that in the midst of this strange dream she has a friendly face in front of her.
“I know that,” She’s still smiling even as she speaks, “I know it’s not real.” Of course it wasn’t. She was dreaming, and she couldn’t wait to wake up and tell her Sam all about this one. Assuming he made it back in time for his interview… But for now she had this Sam, and this strange lucid dream, and it only made sense to ask him for help. “I think I need to figure out how to get home… Will you help me, Sam?” She asked, lettingher fingers fall from his shoulder, trailing down his arm while she reached to hold his hand. “Please? I’m lost, I think… I was trying to call you but my phone won’t work.”
..
he’s not twenty-two anymore. age has become more of a suggestion than a value these days; it has to when you die, get displaced, or lose control of yourself for undetermined amounts of time. he can’t even go by the year he was born because somehow, with little explanation as to why, he’s been punted back in time. looking at her, however, he’s never felt more thirty-something than he does right now ... so far removed from the person he’d been when they lived together in that tiny apartment in palo alto.
for a long time, he knew this life wasn’t what he wanted. he wanted the dream; white picket fence, perfect girl, with a ring shoved at the back of his sock drawer and money already squirrelled away for the church deposit. he saw it all so clearly then, knew what he wanted and would do anything to make it happen. he knows better now, knows he never really had a shot at an apple pie life. he’s made peace with it. even if he could be normal now, leave hunting behind, he wouldn’t; it’s so ingrained in his being, in who he is, that there’s no going back now. he does however regret the people that got hurt along the way. the jessica’s, the sarah’s, the natasha’s; the people he loves and who got hurt because they loved him too. this might not be real but that doesn’t mean he can’t indulge himself for a moment. maybe two.
“ yeah. i — of course, jess. ” the answer’s automatic. of course he’ll help her. he owes her that, in the least. what surprises him however is the contact; it feels real. he can feel the weight of her hand on his shoulder and then her fingers tangling with his own. hallucinations aren’t this tactile. they shouldn’t be. either he’s really lost it, or this is — somehow — real. “ we’re not in california anymore. ” he says slowly, testing out the waters. “ this is reprieve. ” a city that asks more questions than it answers. “ it’s — a lot of time has passed,” since you died, “ since we last saw each other. i’ve got a new number. ” even if this is just a hallucination, if it’s not real, he'll spare her the gory details of her last moments.
Falling into a routine again has been simple enough. After some well deserved hiatus, Tom decides to arm himself up and get out of his house to do some patrolling. If there’s one thing he knows is that there is always someone who needs saving. There are plenty of hunters roaming around, but still he feels he needs to try and help the lives that would often slip through the cracks. Like Jane once did. Perhaps if there had been someone there to help them she’d still be alive. He keeps telling himself this as if the mantra would magically make the pain go away. And yes, he did go through the stages of grief, but once he landed on anger he refused to let go. Accepting what happened and moving on feels - wrong. Might not make a lot of sense but Tom believes that accepting the fact that Jane is dead and simply moving on would be the same as forgetting her. And he needs this. Needs to do this. Needs to put a stake through a vampire’s heart and watch as their bodies turn grey. IS the only way he knows how to keep her alive.
It’s why he finds himself walking alone on this particular evening. The night seems fairly quiet, but as he walks by the alley of one of the local bars he can hear almost inaudible screams. Tom’s instincts take over from there, rushing into the alley but his footsteps are quiet against the pavement as he tries to maintain some form of surprise, pummeling into the short looking vampire that’s eating some random bikini top clad woman. She’s at least smart enough to immediately back away and get the hell out of the alley. Not even a thank you or anything. So drunk that she stumbles on herself on her high heels in her haste to put as much distance between her neck and the vampire. The Napoleon sized vampire is not exactly all that troubling though the complex that goes with his size starts to become a nuisance.
The vampire gets a few solid punches in, but after a few more blows and he’d be able to stake the bastard. Just needs to get the upper hand somehow. He raises his arm and lets his fist quickly fly through the air in the direction of his opponent’s face, but he soon feels himself being thrown to the ground. The force of the concrete against his torso knocks the wind out of him. The weight of the creature crushing him but suddenly the vampire stops moving. Someone had managed to stab him in the heart from the back.
Dead weight.
“Get off me.” He breaks the silence, pushing the now dead vampire away from him and on the pavement. When he stands he sees him standing there, stake in hand. Deja vu. “Damn it Sam, I had that one under control.”
..
he’s seen people use the job as an unhealthy coping mechanism. hell, the winchesters are some of the worst for it so he really can’t say much. so he doesn’t. everyone has their why, the reason they started hunting, and it’s not his place to tell them why they shouldn’t. not anymore. ( once, he would have. he would have said the people they loved wouldn’t want this, that they’d want them to move on, have normal lives, and find some kind of happiness ... but he knows better now. now he’ll help them; make sure they don’t end up as just another cautionary tale to tell the next generation of hunters to teach them how to be better. )
he met tom a few weeks back on a routine hunt. in a town crawling with supernaturals, it wasn’t hard to find someone causing mayhem. while some of them seemed to be playing nice, staying out of trouble and not hurting anyone, for every good supernatural creature there were five bad ones. reprieve’s been no exception. he’d been sitting on a vampire den, watching carefully to get an idea on their numbers, when he’d seen a couple kids get dragged in. they’d reminded him of alex, of what her ‘ family ’ had done to her ... and admittedly, he’d gone in guns blazing without much of a plan. he’d met tom on the inside, ripped him away from some vamp seconds before they could sink their teeth in. his blade severed their head from their torso but he took a nasty cut to the side for his troubles. tom stitched him up, they compared notes, and while he wouldn’t exactly say he treated him to hunting 101 ... he made sure he knew enough to handle whatever might get thrown at him. he’s got enough dead hunters on his conscience between michael and the demon that took him over; he needs to save everyone he can. he has to.
today however he’s wondering if maybe he’s not the best teacher, sighing as the stake dipped in dead man’s blood pierces the vampires heart. “ uh huh. sure you did. ” he retracts his stake, wiping it on the back of his jeans before shoving it back into the inside pocket of his jacket. “ you punch werewolves, not vampires. they’re stronger and they’re faster. you’re lucky you didn’t break your hand. ” all the same, he offers a hand up to help him up. he likes tom, even if he does give him a hard time.
after a few days of finding no solid information about this city or how the hell to get out of it, he was starting to wonder if crowley had somehow killed him in his sleep and remodeled hell. with others seemingly concerned about their presence here, this being a distraction from the lead he had found on fergus macleod was becoming far more unlikely. so far, he had built up some semblance of a weapons arsenal and demon proofed his place. times like this he wish he could run into enough cash to rebuild his panic room.
but alas, he had to fruitlessly come out from the books from time to time to be among the public. at least the cheap diner food seemed normal. sitting in a booth had seemed like a surefire way to keep the others that he didn’t trust away from him, coupled with his surly appearance. small talk had fallen to the wayside from what he could tell, with everyone’s conversations centering around worried whispers about where they were to others insisting they’d lived in so-called reprieve their whole lives.
whatever it was that was going on here, it wasn’t good. when he saw someone out of the corner of his eye as he read the newspaper with his cup of coffee pause a little bit too long near his table, his hand twitched toward the silver knife holstered to his belt which was hidden by his flannel. turning his eyes toward the intruder, his words spill out before he can even be sure they meant to stop by him. “can i help ya?”
..
the diner’s nothing special. decent grits, cheap coffee, and wait staff that know when to make polite chit chat and when to leave people the hell alone. with his monosyllabic responses that could rival john winchester, though softened with a twist of a smile, he’s usually left to his own devices as he circles oddities in the paper. the whole city’s an oddity, so it’s a bit redundant, but staying busy keeps him sane.
he’s halfway through the morning crossword, trying out different five letter words for ‘without success’, when he catches movement out of his peripheral. one of the regulars is stumbling in drunk, probably trying to sober up before he heads home, and he’s picked the wrong person to tussle with. most of the usuals just ignore the man now, know his antics well enough not to engage, but it’s a learning curve for newcomers. he emphasizes and decides to help them out, only to clam up when he sees bobby snarling at the man. bobby who, last he checked, was off with jody somewhere. how he got stuck in reprieve, looking more like their bobby than himself, is anyone’s guess; he can’t help but stare.
“ that’s my booth. ” reggie’s slurred speech reminds him that he was going to act, rising to his feet as he comes up from behind the man. he’s got six inches on him, easy, and he knows reggie’s not about to start throwing punches again. it didn’t work out so hot for him last time.
“ you can take mine. ” sam suggests, not-so gently nudging the man over towards his table. he’s barely touched his food so it’s no skin off his back if the man wants to pick at it. at least it won’t go to waste. he grabs his bag and paper, moving over to bobby’s table and sliding in across from him. he has the decency to look chagrined, knowing that things are always a little ... terse, with them; they look at bobby like a father figure, even if he’s N O T the same man, and it’s a ... complicated dynamic. to say the least. he’s torn between apologizing, or wondering how bobby’s made it here, but it’s just — nice, to see a familiar face. one he trusts isn’t a hallucination. the twenty questions can wait. “ trust me ... you’re better off with me than that guy. ”
@reprievestarters·
Jo had been raised to expect the unexpected in life. Monsters were real, it was real fun to take ‘em out, and always make sure you check under your bed, in your shower and in your closet before you hit the pillow that night. However, nothing had quite prepared her to become Alice in Wonderland and find herself sucked out of her reality and promptly plopped into this one. She spent a few days feeling relatively frazzled, but once she got the lay of the land, she took it in stride. After all, that was what Harvelles did…even if it did suck not knowing where you were, what was happening, and not seeing a single familiar face whatsoever. She stayed on alert, a few knives on her person and her pistol tucked into the back of her jeans, and took a step back to observe rather than try to interact right away.
However, there was one familiarity she could find comfort in no matter where she went, and here was no exception: cheap beer and crappy bar food. Cheese fries were usually her devil of choice, and by damn they were good. Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand after taking a drink from her glass, she felt eyes on her from the side, and she glanced over at the other beside her. “If you buy me another plate of fries, I’ll even let you stare up close.”
..
he doesn’t mean to stare but lately, it seems like his hallucinations are becoming more and more vivid; first jessica, now jo. she looks exactly as he remembers her too, like you could have ripped her from his memories and plunked her down in front of him. that’s what hallucinations are though, aren’t they ? conjurations of the mind ? of course she looks how he remembers her. he manifested her.
he’s picking away at some pasta dish, dragging his fork through the crunchy bits at the bottom, when he hears the familiar voice. he smiles, lips twisting into a half-smile. she might not be real but she’s just like the girl he remembers. he’s missed her. “ heh. you know that stuff’s not good for you. ” he plays the game even though it’s — delusional, really. he’s conversing with a figment of his own withdrawal-induced imagination. he’s so far from the shallows, he can practically hear bobby’s disapproving tone. you’ve lost it, boy. hey, maybe he’ll conjure him next. “ it wouldn’t kill you to eat a salad. something with vegetables. ”
There’s nothing. The top corner of her screen that should be showing her service bars is only showing her that it’s searching for a signal and failing to find one, even as she holds the flip phone up above her head in hopes it might register. “Come on, come on, come onnn,” she half begs, frowning when she brings it back down where she can see it before shaking her head, stuffing it back into the pocket of her pajama pants.
She’s dreaming, or at least she figures she must be, because she wouldn’t go out in public dressed like this. She doesn’t know why she’s dreaming something like this, but she’ll figure it out. She’ll see Brady or Sam or someone that she actually knows here and she’ll wake up warm and comfortable in bed to go to class in the morning… Or something. (has she ever had a lucid dream like this before? has she ever been aware that she was dreaming?)
It’s only when she sees someone walking ahead of her that she springs into action, jogging the few steps she needs to to catch up to them before reaching out to tap their shoulder, “Hey, can I borrow your phone for a minute? I’ve got no signal.”
..
he’s been in reprieve for a few weeks now, so he’s come to learn a few things.
first: the town doesn’t seem to be on any maps he’s ever seen. not that, it should be noted, he’s managed to find a map anywhere in the city.
second: while some people seem equally as confused as him to be here, others claim to have lived here their whole lives. they even have memories of living here their entire lives. it seems real for them.
REAL OR NOT, he’s not sure what to make of this town. it’s busier than your average town but not so busy it’s like new york or california. there’s a lot of unanswered questions and the people he’d usually ask ? they’re gone. they’ve been gone for awhile. ( that, however, he’d be happy to find out wasn’t real. )
his grip on reality is tenuous. so much so that when he hears a familiar voice, he’s not all that surprised. his regrets haunt him in his dreams so is it really a stretch for them to bleed into his waking hours ? if he’s even awake. he turns slowly, braces himself for the stabbing guilt he always feels when he comes face to face with her.
JESSICA.
the first in the long line of women who’ve suffered because they knew him.
he stares. drinks in every detail, feels every bit his age as the weariness brings palms to press against his eyes. he knows this isn’t real. if he blinks twice, focuses, he knows she’ll be gone. it’s the demon blood leaving his system; the withdrawal. hallucinations are just part of the package. “ you’re not really here. ” his words are a sigh, a three count transpiring mentally before he lets his eyes flutter open again. yet somehow, she’s still there. he blinks once, twice, and then his lips twist into a frown. “ this isn’t real. ”
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every so often the smile slipped, like now when she was bone tired. eve slept less than most, but that didn’t always stop the exhaustion from seeping in. she was still stuck in a strange town, after all. in the middle of who knows what dimension or universe or whatever. that was enough to mess with a person to say the least.
the combination of a weary body and overtaxed mind was prime game for not paying the least bit of attention where she was going. it didn’t take long until she found herself colliding with someone or something hard enough to toss the brunette on her ass.
“ow,” she hissed, whether it actually hurt or she just expected it to was anyone’s guess. either way she glanced up, hoping she’d knocked into a pole, not a person, but apologizing instinctively. “i’m so sorry.”
insomnia is something he’s familiar with. he wears it like a badge of honor, afraid of what he might see when sleep takes him again. if it’s not flashes of a life he’s not entirely sure wasn’t a hallucination, it’s the ghosts of his past rearing their ugly faces and haunting him until he wakes up in a cold sweat.
he’s roaming the streets in the dead of night for such reasons, a grocery bag filled with energy drinks and beef jerky tucked under one arm. long gone are the caprese salads and the healthy meal options. when your whole life’s in a constant state of CRISIS, you lose interest in taking care of yourself.
their collision is the fault of both of them, as he’s not paying much attention either until they knock into each other. the bag tumbles from his hand, a sigh slipping past his lips as the cans thunk against the ground. one springs a leak, bubbling liquid sloshing out over both of their shoes as it spins like a top. it’s ... almost funny. he chokes on a snicker. “ sorry. ” he apologizes, the words almost delirious as he holds out a hand to help her out. “ i didn’t see you. ”
( jared padalecki, 35ish, he/him ) welcome to reprieve, SAM WINCHESTER who is from SUPERNATURAL, SEASON 14. rumor has it they are a HUNTER/SPECIAL CHILD, but only they could tell you the truth! when i close my eyes, i think of them and imagine PLAID SHIRTS, DARK CIRCLES FROM SLEEPLESS NIGHTS, AND SECRETS BURIED IN LIES.
given that sam’s a canon character from supernatural, i’m not going to go super in-depth on his background. you can read about it here.
basically from a young age, sam was resistant to the life the winchesters lived. he didn’t want to be a hunter — he longed to be normal, to have your typical apple pie life, and he left hunting behind to do just that. he went to stanford, took the LSATS, and was going to law school. throw in probably marrying his college girlfriend, maybe having a couple kids, and he knew exactly how his life would play out.
that is, until dean crashed through his window and said their father was missing. he allows himself to get dragged back into a world he thought he’d left behind, willfully ignorant to the visions he’d been having. when he finally gets back to stanford, his girlfriend dies at the hands of the very creature that killed their mother 20 years earlier.
the rest, as they say, is history.
saving people, hunting things; the family business.
but it’s not just monsters that go bump in the night. there’s demons, angels, even the big man himself, and in the end it’s all just some cosmic joke. god’s a puppet master with too much free time on his hands and he makes them suffer. they suffer, they lose, and in the last stand against him they lose again. one last time. the end.
( this is au post s14. i diverged a little and ruined his life bc i’m the worst. )
except it isn’t. he’s in purgatory, trapped with no visible way out; one last game chuck plays with him. when he manages to get out, he’s the sole survivor. jack, cas, dean, they’re all dead. he starts over. so he does what he knows; he saves people, hunts things. it’s shortly after that he meets another hunter and her family. while he was planning on going it alone, keeping to himself and just focusing on the work, something about her endeared him and they started working jobs together. they hunted, fell in love, and were y’know relatively happy for 4 years. they even decided to get married, though they never did make it down the aisle after saying i do. papers signed, but no happy ending. an enemy of the winchesters grabbed sam, carving out his anti-possession tattoo mid-ceremony. he was possessed by a demon who was working with their enemy, forced to watch himself kill friends and people he considered family. he was powerless to stop them. when his wife came face to face with him, standing among the corpses of their friends, he’d hoped she’d put an end to their suffering. that was the rule; if something ever happened, they weren’t to hesitate but to shoot first, ask questions later. she didn’t though, and he got away. as far as he knew, she was dead; murdered by his hand.
everything’s blurry after that. one minute it’s 2030, and the next he’s back in 2020 and in a city he’s not sure every existed. he’s certainly never heard of it. maybe it’s a blessing, getting those missed years back, or some kind of ‘groundhogs day’ esque curse — or trap — that he’s playing straight into.
SO WHAT NOW?
his memories of his time possessed are patchy, and some of it is just straight up inaccurate bc he had his memories / awareness fucked with by the demon. it’s why he thinks his wife’s dead even though he didn’t actually do it. he’s also now starting to experience some of the… side effects of not being on his demon blood shit. because, ofc, the demon wanted to be powerful and was guzzling it like you wouldn’t believe. soon, he’s going to be experiencing worse than a few hallucinations. given how much he ingested, if he doesn’t get back on his shit — it might kill him.
the bunker door shuts with a clang. sam’s shoes squish as he descends the stairs, stormy expression on his face as a sticky substance drips as he goes. that, he sincerely hopes, can be done away with using magic. later. much, later. ( after he’s had three — no, maybe four, decontamination showers. ) spotting his brother sitting at the table, he holds up a hand to stop him before he asks the question that’s probably dying to be asked. “ i don’t want to talk about it. ” @saltedburnt
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right now? it seemed like e v e r y t h i n g was going to shit. all of the studying he was doing, every book he was reading and any lead he caught? none of them were panning out and he wasn’t sure how or if he was going to be able to save his ass when the time came to collect his s o u l. a sigh passed his lips, calloused fingers wrapped around the glass in hand as he sat at the bar stool and downed the amber liquid down quickly. “give us a n o t h e r round.” ben called out to the b a r t e n d e r, offering a nod and lift of his now empty glass to the person sat beside him.
@apxstarters·
the answers to life’s toughest questions are hardly ever found at the bottom of the bottle. it does, however, seem to take the sting off the worst of his early withdrawal symptoms. first came his powers weakening, barely able to make a demon sneeze let alone send its ass back to hell, and now the headaches; the nosebleeds. he knows what comes next, knows how bad it’s going to get, but hasn’t decided what he wants to do. he has a sea of bad choices presented before him and somehow has to decide which bad choice he’d rather run with. IF HE CAN PROCRASTINATE THAT BY KNOCKING BACK A FEW GLASSES OF WHISKEY, HE WILL. when the man beside him orders another round, he nudges his glass forward and does the same. he knows a man fighting with ghosts, has seen it too many times reflecting in the eyes of everyone in the bunker, so he jerks his head towards the stranger and throws out. “ throw his drink on my tab. ”
there’s nothing like a shift towards normal, or as close to normal as possible, to make it seem like your life isn’t in shambles. he knows he’s teetering on a precipice, on the verge of making a series of bad decisions, but for now he’s happy for the distraction. it should be an open and shut case; wendigos, at least two, camped out in muir woods. at least twelve tourists have gone missing over the last three years and somehow he thinks coyotes aren’t responsible. he’s wearing a trucker’s hat with his ranger’s badge on full-display, talking to one of the security people when he sees a familiar face. vaguely so, not enough to know her name, but enough that he recognizes the weight to her bag and the set to her shoulders. SHE’S NOT YOUR AVERAGE CAMPER. SHE’S A HUNTER, TOO.
“ well what are the chances of that. ” he responds wryly, when the security guard remarks how coincidental that two teams of rangers are investigating the attacks. “ i guess we’re, ah, taking these matters very seriously. ” it’s the only reason why he agrees to the man showing them both the access route to the hiking trails, not saying a word until it’s just the two of them. “ look, we don’t both need to go up there. i’ve got this handled. ” it’s been too long since he worked with someone else, had to watch their back as well as his own. he’s been going it alone for so long, by sheer necessity or fear of letting his people down again, he’s not entirely sure he remembers how to work as a team. the irony isn’t lost on him. @erinxdevlin