#aggie2011

First off, a scene from a chapter I wrote for ‘Hunters and Spies’ (my collaboration with Aggie - seemed fitting since she was the one who tagged me!). Though I can’t take 100% of the credit because she did help me beta this one!

Hunters and Spies - Chapter 6 - April 2007

There was something in Dean's voice, something off.

"Dean, what's wrong?" he asked seriously.

"What do you mean? Nothing's wrong."

"Don't give me that. What is it? Is it about Sam?"

"What?" Dean sounded honestly affronted. "No, I just told you. Sam's fine."

Clint's eyes narrowed. Something was wrong, his instincts were screaming it. If it wasn't Sam…

"Then is it something with you? And don't give me this 'I'm fine' crap because I've used that excuse too often to not know what it means."

Dean's sigh crackled over the line. "It was too close this time, Clint. I guess I'm just still a bit shaken up about it."

A half truth. But Clint wasn't letting him off the hook this time.

"How did you get out of it, Dean?"

"Oh come on, you don't want me to bore you with the details."

That was it.

"Dean, stop avoiding the question. If you don't start talking, I'll track your phone, fly over there, and make you tell me. And don't think I won't."

"Dude, calm down."

"No! Why won't you tell me what happened? What's got you so scared you can't even talk about it? I've got worst case scenarios playing out in my head right now and you dancing around it is just making it worse."

The heat behind Clint's words wasn't entirely fake. He hated getting lied to. And Dean's evasiveness was becoming infuriating. But he was also hoping to kick Dean's big brother tendencies into gear. If Dean thought he was causing Clint some undue distress, he'd be more inclined to fess up.

And if that didn't work…well then Clint would do what he could to piss him off. Anger tended to take down verbal filters with ease.

His first play worked, though. Dean confessed, albeit grudgingly and with great annoyance.

"I made a deal, alright? Are you happy now? Sam died and I made a deal with a demon. His life for mine. You asked me who I'd pick when it came down to it and I chose Sam. I made the same decision you did with that bullet you took so you don't get lecture me about this."

Clint felt the blood drain from his face and he had to catch himself before the phone slipped out of his hand.

Sam died.

Dean…Dean made a deal. The logical part of Clint's brain demanded more information, even if his emotional side hadn't quite processed anything.

"If you traded your life for his, how are you still alive right now?"

Maybe it wasn't so bad, maybe Dean had pulled a fast one and everybody was okay.

Dean let out a breath before he answered.

"When you make a deal with a demon you usually get ten years before they come for your soul."

"Usually?" Clint held his breath. 'Usually' was suddenly this least favorite word in the dictionary. He already knew, before Dean even spoke, that he wasn't going to like his answer.

"I got one."

"Dean." Clint said his name like a curse and a prayer all wrapped up into one. "What the hell have you done?" It was said more to himself than to the man he was talking to.

The next is a short story I wrote that actually got published at my university in the Bricolage Undergraduate Literary and Arts Journal. I actually had two of my works published in it but this one is near and dear to my heart and as such I would like to provide a little bit of background for it.

There is a nurse at my family’s doctor’s office who’s so totally awesome and nice and one time when I went in for...I don’t even remember what it was, she told my mom and me about her mother who was an army nurse back in WWII. She grew up in England, survived the blitzkrieg, and even though she was too young to become a nurse at the time, she forged her grandfather’s signature to get in.

After I heard her story, all of these ideas and images started swirling in my head and the moment I got home I wrote this down. I hope you enjoy, and God bless our service men and women and those from around the globe.

My Soldier

I wanted to be a nurse for as long as I could remember. When WWII broke out I was still too young to become one. But I would not be put off. I forged my grandfather’s signature to get into nursing school. Crazy I know, but it worked. No one knew that I was too young, and if they did they didn’t seem to care. My luck was holding up, for now.

           I was stationed in Germany in one of the make-shift hospitals, caring for our wounded soldiers. I will never forget all the blood and gore that I saw. So many men who would never walk again or be able to write to their loved ones back home. It broke my heart.

           One night, a louder one in relation to the days before, I was feeding a soldier who had shrapnel imbedded in his leg. It would have to be amputated. He had a fever of 103°F and he was rarely awake. We could always hear the low rumble of bombs in the distance, but they were usually far enough away that they didn’t pose any threat. But this night they seemed to be closer. Too close.

           All of the other nurses were on edge. I heard one of the more senior nurses talking about the enemy breaking the lines and heading this way. She was talking about evacuation. Just as the full effect of this statement struck me, a bomb went off not five or so miles away. The hospital burst with activity.

           I was preparing the man I had been feeding for transport when a bomb exploded right next to our shelter. At first I could only register the sound. I thought I would be deaf after that. Then I saw that the foundations had been rattled. The walls seemed to wave, and debris from the roof was coming down right on top of us. I flung myself over my soldier. First do no harm. Or let any come I thought. I heard screaming from nurses and patients alike. Something hit me square in my back. I saw a light flash before my eyes, and then all was dark.

           Waking was not much different than oblivion. I couldn’t see a thing. Thinking I was blind I tried to wave my hand in front of my face to test this theory. What I found was more terrifying than being blind:  I was trapped under a pile of rubble.

           I tried to lift myself but this proved useless. I tried to locate my soldier’s neck or wrist to check his pulse. I found his neck. His heart was still beating, but barely. I started to cry, whether for relief that he was still alive or depression that he probably wouldn’t live an hour after what he had and was going through.

           We must have not been that far down in the debris because someone heard my crying. I was going to go to sleep again when I heard the sound of shouts and the moving of rock and wood above me. Faintly, I remember yelling for help even though I knew that it wasn’t needed. They had already found us. At the time I didn’t really care. I was just so tired. But before sleep took me again, I remember looking at the soldier who I had laid on for who knows how much time and saw that he was awake. I read, more than saw, his lips saying, “thank you. Thank you.”

           We were the only ones who survived in that bombing. I don’t know why we were chosen to live. No one ever really knows do they? I couldn’t have cared less if I had survived, though my family would fall into grief. All I really cared about was my soldier. Against the odds he survived. Maybe that is why I was kept alive: to cry and have this soldier saved by my actions. I was transported back home to England after I left the hospital. As a patient, not a nurse. I don’t know what became of my soldier. I don’t know if he raised a family or became someone important in the world. And although I never knew his name, I would never forget his face, or his words, “thank you. Thank you.” 

Thank you so much for reading and be on the lookout for what these lovely people post: