Always You, without time or space - Sam/Dean - NC-17 (spn_j2_bigbang 2009) - Pt. 4
By the time Dean returns, carrying two cups of coffee and containers of food, Sam's showered, dressed and ready to get going. There's an awkward moment when Dean enters, both of them looking at each other wordlessly. Sam wonders whether he can just get up and kiss Dean. God, he wants to but he's not sure Dean would appreciate it. They haven't talked about this, where this is going, where they're going. Cursing at himself for over-thinking again, Sam closes the distance to Dean with quick steps and goes for it.
Dean seems taken aback at first, tensing for the fraction of a second, but then he relaxes and responds to the kiss. Sam doesn't know for how long they're standing by the door, making out like two clumsy teenagers. Kissing guys isn't much different from kissing girls, only that Sam usually doesn't have to bend that far down when he's with a guy. It's been a while, before Jess; not that it matters anyway. He's got Dean now.
Sam's skin is tight and hot when they break apart. It doesn't get any better when Dean grins at him and says, "Hi there, Casanova."
There's this typical Dean smirk on his face so Sam's mimics his expression and counters, "Hm, you know that makes you the girl."
But Dean wouldn't be Dean if he gave up like this. His smirk doesn't fade. "Whatever, Sammy. I don't feel threatened in my manliness. I'm not the one who was in your position last night."
Sam wants to point out that he doesn't feel unmanly at all. Far from it. But he bites his tongue, shakes his head and playfully whacks Dean upside the head. He'll save that discussion for some other day. Now it's time for a very late breakfast and then they've got a case to solve. There are a few weird moments during breakfast because everything's so new, so different between them. It's not like he wants to feed Dean strawberries while they lie in a wheat field, listening to romantic music. But he's tempted to touch a few times, just to reassure him that this is real, that it's really happening. It's weird that a new situation feels so awkward. Especially if you're a Winchester and if your childhood consisted of going to a new school every other month and the only thing that gave you a sense of familiarity was the smell of worn leather in an old muscle car.
"Ya know, Sammy, one of these days, your brain's gonna go on strike 'cause of overstrain," Dean says between two gulps of coffee. Without waiting for Sam's answer, he says, "Finish up. Found us a professor to talk to."
It's early afternoon by the time they arrive at Morningside Heights Campus of Columbia University. They're talking to Professor Glasberg, an elderly gentleman who specializes in pre-Columbian history; he's been teaching at Columbia for over thirty years. Or rather, they're trying to talk to him. While the professor seems nice enough at first it turns out that he can't - or doesn't want to - help them. He proves to be a dead end, subtly making it clear that he's got better things to do with his time.
The old feeling of frustration is back. Only this time it's worse because Sam's sure this is their best lead after Georgia Baehr's death. Unlike their previous research, where they'd been looking in the wrong place from the beginning, he's confident that this is the right direction. Obviously, Sam's aware that Central and South American cultures are very different from each other and that it means they don't know yet whether they need to talk to an Aztec, Maya or Inca expert - just to name a few - but the general direction is correct. That much he knows.
He's at his wit's end.
"Someone's gotta know something about pre-Columbian myths and legends," Dean grumbles loudly as they leave the professor's office, heading out on the hallway.
"And be willing to talk to us," Sam adds.
They're almost outside, when someone behind them says, "I could do that."
Turning around, they find a petite, young woman looking at them. Her blonde hair is bleached, her roots already showing from where Sam's looking down at her. She bites her lip before she flashes a bright grin and holds out her hand. "Hi, I'm Carrie. I'm a doctoral student here, currently working on my dissertation on the influence of Viking Explorations on the Pre-Columbian Culture. I'm a bit of a geek when it comes to old stories and stuff. What d'you need to know?"
Sam doesn't trust his ears at first. He can't believe that they're lucky on this case for once. Dean extends his hand, grins and says, "Hi Carrie. I'm Dean, this is Sam. Can we get you a coffee or something?"
They're at a Greek-American diner. The dark wooden booths are tiny, having seen better days. The place is relatively small and busy with students that keep the two waitresses buzzing at all times. Carrie sits across from Sam and Dean, sipping her black coffee. She looks around as if she is searching for someone or checking whether anybody here will recognize her. She takes her time, taking another sip before she finally says, "My dissertation's got a heavy focus on history and influences in culture, but what really gets me excited are the myths and legends. I have a thing for them, I guess."
She smiles again. "My favorites were always the Aztecs. Don't know why. Maybe 'cause they were said to be so bloody with the human sacrifices and being so war-hungry." She shakes her head and laughs. "I like gory things. I'm a total sucker for horror flicks."
Sam can almost hear Dean click into flirt mode. It's sickening. "Me too," Dean says sweetly.
Carrie's whole face lights up even more, and Sam thought it was physically impossible. There's a stab of jealousy when he sees how she looks at Dean. He tells himself not to be childish, Dean's not even flirting with her all that much but the feeling doesn't go away. Of course, Sam knows that Dean's an attractive guy. Hell, he's attracted to Dean. It certainly doesn't help that Sam's painfully aware of how it's not above Dean to use his handsomeness to get information and more. The thought stings. Sam's mind wanders off to their fight two nights earlier. It feels like a lifetime ago: Dean taking off after their fight, calling Sam from the girl's apartment, Sam's jealousy even though they weren't involved, even though nothing had happened. The same feeling haunts Sam now and he knows he'll have to learn how to deal with it. Or to address it, despite Dean not wanting the whole share & care deal.
Sam's thoughts have drifted and once he focuses back on the current situation, he finds Carrie talking animatedly about the worship of the Maya Moon Goddess.
She bites her lip and looks at Dean from underneath her lashes. As Dean leans a little over the table, a bit closer to her, she blushes furiously. "Say Carrie, there anything about angry spirits of women killing men?"
For a moment she blinks at Dean, perplexed by what must seem like a strange question to anybody who leads a normal life. Sam sighs. "Doesn't have to be Mayan," he adds to Dean's question.
Carrie thinks for a moment and then she says, "You mean something like the Cihuateteo? They're the spirits of woman who died in childbirth. The Aztecs believed that giving birth was a kind of battle so when a woman died during it, she was treated like a fallen warrior. As I said, the Aztecs had a distinctive war culture. The women's remains were believed to give the soldiers more power in a fight whereas their souls became the Cihuateteo. They were greatly feared. They were said to haunt crossroads, steal children, cause illness and to seduce men."
Sam bites his lip. This story's probably their closest guess so far but it still doesn't fit one hundred percent.
"Did they also kill men?" Dean asks, hope written across his face.
"No, not that I know of." Carrie shakes her head. She gives Dean another smile while completely ignoring Sam. He wouldn't be surprised if she'd ask Dean for his number on their way out, not with the way Dean is responding to her not-so-subtle flirting.
"Anything on unfaithful men?"
The question is sharper than Sam intended it to be; he's surprised at his own tone. Carrie gives him an irritated look before she glances at Dean and then back at Sam. She blushes again.
"Well, there's a legend about one of the Willaq Umu, the High Priest of the Sun. It's an Incan legend. You could compare the Willaq Umu to the Pope in today's Roman Catholic church. They were usually the brother of the Sapa Inca, the ruler of the Incan Empire, and they were the second most powerful person in the empire after the Sapa Inca. They were the leader of the Incan army and on top of priests, they were fortunetellers, wizards and medicine men, the whole deal. The Willaq Umu held the power over all temples in the empire, could appoint new priests, crowned the Sapa Inca and led their wedding ceremonies. But most importantly, they supervised the worship of Inti, the sun god. They had to keep a strict vegetarian diet and live celibate. They were assisted by the Mamaconas, chosen women who became priestesses and also lived celibate. You could compare them to the Roman Vestal Virgins."
Carrie pauses and looks at Sam and Dean again. Something's unnerving about the way she checks them out. Without thinking, Sam scoots a little closer to Dean. He's all but sitting in Dean's lap when something like realization dances over Carrie's face. It earns Sam a kick from Dean underneath the table, yet he doesn't move away again. Neither does Dean.
Her blush becomes even stronger when she mumbles, "I'm sorry, I didn't realize you two were together."
Dean goes rigid next to Sam and Sam feels pretty bad for Carrie all of a sudden. It's not like he wanted her to feel bad, it's not like he wanted to embarrass her. It's just that he can't help it. He sighs and apologizes softly, "I'm sorry, Carrie. We should've been more subtle. We didn't mean to make you feel uncomfortable."
Sam feels Dean watching him and when he steals a quick glance to the side, it confirms that Dean's glaring at him. Deciding to ignore Dean, Sam says, "Carrie, would you tell the rest of the story, please?"
He gives her what he hopes comes across as a sweet smile. Carrie rewards him with a big grin and an enthusiastic nod.
"As I said, the priest and the priestesses in the temples were supposed to be celibate. The Mamaconas' virginities were an especially big taboo that couldn't be broken. If it happened, both the seducer and the priestess would be killed, as well as their families, everybody in their villages and even the plants and animals. There's a legend from the early 15th century that a Willaq Umu had an affair with one of the Mamaconas. They made a pact to kill themselves to save their families when they were scared of their secret being revealed. However, the priest bailed and as she was dying, the priestess swore revenge on him and all unfaithful men because she felt cheated upon when he broke their pact."
"And then?" Sam and Dean ask at the same time.
Carrie giggles. "The legend says the priest used magic to bind his dead lover's soul to a ceramic statue that shows Inti, the god they both worshipped, to prevent her from taking revenge."
Only it doesn't seem to be working, Sam adds in his mind. He remembers having seen a few statues, outshone by all the gold and silver pendants at the Met when they first visited; he just hopes this is it. He's not looking forward to going to the museum poorly prepared and maybe one of them taking another beating. Or worse.
"Is there anything else?" Dean asks.
Carrie shakes their head and tells them she needs to go. Before she does, she scribbles down her number on a napkin, insisting they call her if they need more information - for the book they told her they were writing.
The ringing bell on the door hasn't entirely faded yet when Dean turns to Sam, glares at him and snarls, "What the fuck was that about, Sam? She was our lead. Did you have to be such a bitch to her?"
Sam leans back and doesn't answer right away. He studies Dean's face for a moment, the hard, angry lines. Thing is, he doesn't know. And he doesn't want to think about it. He can't explain his jealousy so he goes for the sure way to end this discussion before it even starts properly. "Wait, what? You wanna talk feelings?"
It does have the affect Sam was hoping for when Dean's nostrils flare as he bristles with anger. Quickly, he gets up and calls out on his way toward the door, "Move your pretty little ass, Princess."
They still have plenty of time before they need to be back at the museum for their nightshift, so they decide to stop by anyway to figure out the best escape route should they need it. The silence between them almost kills Sam, despite knowing he has no right to complain. When he had the chance to bring up what's bothering him, he had pushed Dean away and now that he wants to talk, Dean's not willing.
First they check the room with the pre-Columbian works of art. As soon as they enter, another shiver runs down Sam's spine, bringing back the feeling that the solution of their case lies in this room. They split up and study display case after display case. As soon as Sam sees it, he knows he just found the jackpot.
"Dean!" he calls.
Dean's by his side in no time and when Sam points to the sculpture in the display cabinet in front of them it only takes a split second until Dean recognizes it too. The statue dedicated to Inti. Peru, 15th century, belonged to the Willaq Umu of the time. It's relatively small, maybe five inches high. It's not suspicious-looking at all, but Sam knows that doesn't make it any less dangerous. From there they go to find the nearest emergency exit. Sam's got a feeling they'll be grateful for this escape route later. With their plan ready for tonight, they head back to the motel to get a few hours of sleep before the big showdown.
As soon as Sam enters the room and spots the king size bed, the rumpled sheets the display of last night's happenings, he's reminded that there's still unsolved issues between them. He sighs. Dean follows him inside and goes stiff next to him. He's not sitting down, he just stands there, gaze focused on a spot on the wall. When Sam notices that Dean's trying to make a move to the bathroom, a Winchester tactic to avoid tense situations, Sam grabs him by the arm and says, "Are we gonna talk about it?"
Dean cocks an eyebrow. "Talk about what?"
"Why you're mad at me."
This is when Dean turns around so that they stand face to face. Dean looks angry and Sam's pretty sure he knows what's coming next. Turns out, he's right. "Sure, d'you wanna do that before or after we discuss why you went all caveman on me in the diner?"
"Dean," Sam pleads. He really doesn't want to fight right now.
The rage inside Dean seems to grow as he raises his voice. "Sammy, I mean it. What do you want?"
"I- Look, man, I'm trying to figure this out, okay?" Sam says. At this point, the only thing he can do is be bluntly honest. "I want you. I don't want anybody else to want you too."
There he said it. He's admitting that he's jealous of how Carrie looked at Dean, how Dean responded to her flirting.
"What d'you mean?" Dean sounds perplexed; his hard lines relax a little, confusion taking over his face.
"I wanna know that if we're gonna do this. You and me. Together like this. That you're gonna be mine. Exclusively." Sam feels so much better now that he's said it. He wants Dean to himself. He doesn't want to have to worry about Dean going off with the next best chick to let her blow him only for a few minutes of gratification. All of a sudden a sensation of insecurity washes over Sam. He can't explain where it comes from but it's taking away his breath in a very unpleasant way. He needs to know. "Have you changed your mind about last night?"
"No, Sammy. Never." Dean's voice is soft. He cups Sam's cheek and for a moment, Sam allows himself to simply enjoy the touch. Leaning in, he closes his eyes and only opens them again when Dean says, "I wanna try this, okay? You and me. You know how, I-" Dean pauses, "How much I care about you, right?"
Sam nods. Yes, he knows what Dean really means when he says care. He waits for Dean to go on.
"I know this isn't right and I know we shouldn't do this. No matter what, it'll never be right. But I can't help it. Fuck, I want you so bad, Sammy. So bad. But - but I don't know whether I can be exclusive, man. I- I don't know." Dean sounds desperate, at loss.
The thought stings but Sam's obviously been aware of this. He knows Dean like no one else, his strengths and weaknesses, knows how Dean ticks. "I'm not saying you can't flirt. I just want to know you're not- you're not gonna act on it. Can we try, Dean?"
Sam gives Dean a hopeful look, pours his soul into it. It's more than trying to be exclusive. Of course, Sam knows how wrong this is and that there's no justification that'll ever make it right. But he needs to know they're willing to try this - them, together - against all odds.
"Yeah," Dean nods.
Obviously, Sam can't predict the future. He's aware this is all they can promise at this point. Maybe Dean will manage, maybe he won't. Maybe Sam won't manage. Maybe this whole being exclusive thing won't work out. Maybe they won't work out. The fact that they're both willing to try feels like a first small victory. Sam grabs Dean around the waist and pulls him close until their bodies are flush against each other. A wave of heat runs through Sam, the excitement of touching Dean overcomes him. He presses a soft kiss to Dean's lips and Dean responds immediately. Walking them over to the bed, carrying on where they left off earlier, they simply make out for a while.
Dean's on top of him, writhing and grinding. When Dean's cock starts taking interest in the friction, Sam's not surprised. He's slowly growing hard himself, the closeness and heat feeding an insatiable need in him. There's no time to undress as their kisses become more urgent, the movements of clothed hips sliding against one another becoming rougher. Sam grabs Dean's ass, pulling him down even harder, Dean's hands are in his hair as he pants wetly against Sam's throat. There's no grace in their dry humping but Sam doesn't give a damn because it's good enough to get them off. He gasps when Dean's hard dick slides along his, the heat almost burning hot. He comes first with a hoarse cry. Dean follows shortly after. They just lay there for a while until Sam starts squirming.
"Fuck, your stitches!" Dean exclaims, quickly rolling off Sam.
"They're okay," Sam reassures him. In fact, he totally forgot about them. It's not the stitches. "Man, I feel so gross. I can't even remember the last time I came in my pants like this."
Dean's laugh accompanies him all the way to the bathroom. They quickly clean up and then lie down to catch at least a few hours of sleep before they have to go hunt a ghost.
Going to the Met as a guard turns out to be almost exactly like the night before. Harold lets them in, they split up temporarily, Sam takes over for Paul in one of the rooms with Korean Art, they chat for a bit and then Paul takes off. From there, everything's supposed to happen really fast. Dad and years of hunting have taught them that if you know how to take care of a ghost, do it right away without wasting any time. Angry spirits are unpredictable and enough people have lost their lives already.
As soon as Dean joins him, they head to the section of South American Art to destroy their target. When they pass by the Ancient Near Eastern Art, by the human-headed winged lion that attacked Sam the night before, a shiver runs down his spine. Instinctively, he turns around, checking for any ghosts. He releases a deep breath he wasn't aware of holding when everything seems normal.
"Let's hurry," he says, quickening his pace.
They've reached the staircase between 19th and 20th century European paintings and Modern Art when Sam feels the air go stone-cold. He's surprised it took the ghost so long to catch up. Turning around, stairs at his back, Sam's shocked to see her face to face with him. Before Sam can blink, she gives him a firm shove. He tumbles backward toward the steps, fumbling with his hands to grip something, anything, to prevent him from falling over. It almost happens in slow-motion. Dean yells, "Son of a bitch!" and there are two shots and then a fisted grip on the front of Sam's shirt.
Sam exhales deeply. Dean's got his angry expression where he scrunches his eyes, the lines on his face hard. He always gets it when he's hunting and Sam knows it's not directed at him.
"The bitch's pissing me off." Dean gives Sam's shirt another pull until Sam's secure on his two feet again, balanced and safe. For now. Then Dean clasps a hand down on Sam's shoulder and without words they both head down the stairs quickly, one of them always looking back in case their special friend decides to make another appearance. Once they're on the first floor, so close to the gallery with the Incan treasures, Sam steals a quick glance to the right. Their escape route will take them to the Oceanic Section, two rooms away from the South American Arts away. Sam's stomach flutters and he hopes nothing goes wrong. They quickly check for other guards and when they see no one, they all but run through the last three rooms that separate them from their destination.
It's brightly lit, the gold and silver reflecting the light and looking even more precious than in the natural light of the day. They've got no time to admire the beauty of all the art though. The ceramic statue of Inti seems to be mocking them as it looks on from behind the thick glass of the display case. It looks so innocent that for a split second Sam questions whether they're doing the right thing. He shakes his head, clearing it. Of course, they're doing the right thing.
"You get rid of this, I'll fend off ghostie," Dean says.
Gripping the barrel of his gun tightly, Sam smashes the handle against the glass as hard as he can. He's not surprised to see there's nothing more than a slight crack. The blow was hard enough to set off the alarm though. Sam knows what this means; it'll be only a matter of time until a night guard's going to turn up to check out why the alarm went off. The last thing he wants is for another innocent person to get caught in the middle of this or have someone call NYPD. He exchanges a quick look with Dean when someone calls, "Hello?" from some other room.
"Go take care of that, Dean," Sam says, smashing his gun against the Plexiglas again. "I'm gonna destroy the statute."
Dean doesn't argue, aware that they have to be fast now. "Watch out for the ghost, Sammy."
Sam doesn't have to be told again. Nearly being killed twice is enough. There's sweat pooling in his eyebrows, on his upper lip, and his scalp from the exhaustion of hitting against the glass repeatedly. It's finally starting to crack. Maybe another two or three blows and that should be it.
In the end, it takes two more for the glass to break into hundreds of pieces under the handle of Sam's Beretta. Just as he reaches inside the display case to remove the statue, an incredible force slams against his side, knocking him against another showcase. When he tries to move, he realizes that he's pinned there, unable to move. Panic starts to rise within him, breathing becomes harder and harder. He blinks when he sees the ghost crouch down in front of him. She looks angry, so angry that it sends a shiver down Sam's spine. Her dark eyes are flashing dangerously, standing out against her pale skin. There are dark circles around her eyes, her long, black hair covering most of her face. She hisses something at Sam in an ancient language he doesn't understand. With each word she whispers Sam's throat becomes even tighter, making it almost impossible to breathe. When she digs her sharp claw-like fingernails into his chest, Sam almost doesn't have enough air left to scream. The wounds from the previous night burn as if on fire. Sam can't tell whether it's the pain or the lack of oxygen that's making his head dizzy.
"Hey, bitch!"
Another two shots and then the pressure on Sam is gone. As quickly as he can, Sam scrambles to his feet and runs toward the sculpture, ignoring the pain in his chest. From the corner of his eye, he sees the ghost next to him, making another move in his direction. He ignores her as he reaches inside the display case and pulls out the ceramic figure. With all the force he has, he slams it onto the floor where it shatters into tiny fragments. Her shrill screech is almost like music to Sam's ears as her ghost bursts in a flash of fire, until nothing but smoky air is left.
Sam drops to his knees, the pain finally overwhelming him, the blood seeping through his shirt. He doesn't think he's hurt worse than the day before, but he's pretty sure that some of the stitches are torn. Dean's gonna be pissed.
Dean is by Sam's side in no time, his hands on Sam's face, tilting it up. There's concern in his eyes. "You okay? Sammy?"
He rubs the pad of his thumb along Sam's jaw line and that's really nice. "Can you walk?"
Sam leans into the touch and then nods, "Yeah."
Yes, he can walk. He'll be fine. When there's the quick taptaptap of footsteps from not too far, Dean's got Sam's arm around his neck. He pulls Sam up and drags him along as they run as fast as they can. They leave the Met through an emergency exit, hidden in the glass façade of the south side of the museum that leads them directly into the darkness of Central Park. They parked the car on the other side of the park tonight, knowing that if they do have to make a run for it, they'll have fewer problems shaking off any pursuers if they run through the dark park than having to run through the brightly lit streets of the Upper Eastside. The sounds of someone following them fade quickly, yet they don't slow down until they've crossed Central Park and are securely seated inside the Impala.
They drive a few blocks north until they're nowhere close to the Met anymore. Before they came to the museum, they had checked out of the motel, so if they needed to, they could leave Manhattan right away. Dean slows down and places a hand on top of Sam's thigh, giving it a quick squeeze.
"How you doin'?" he asks not looking away from the road.
Sam unbuttons his shirt and takes it off. He uses it to wipe away the blood from his chest and to assess how bad the damage is. He's pretty sure that Dean will have to re-do some of the stitches, the question is when. Once he's as clean as he can get, he sees that it's not all that bad. "I'm good. Keep driving."
They drive for about an hour. They're somewhere in Pennsylvania by the time they decide to stop. It's about 3:00 AM and Sam wouldn't mind getting some sleep right now. It's been a couple of physically and emotionally exhausting days. Dean comes back from the front office of the motel, dangling a set of keys in his hands. Once they're inside, Dean takes a look at Sam's stitches.
"It's not too bad."
He ends up having to re-do one set of stitches. There are a few more scratches on Sam's skin that might scar but it's nothing severe. Just like Sam had said, it all looks worse than it really is. They're both too exhausted to do anything more than make out a bit and then go through the before-bed-routine. When Sam returns from the bathroom, he realizes that the room only has on bed. One bed that Dean is sitting on. There's the faintest hint of pink on his cheeks when he says, "Last room."
Sam grins and nods, "Sure."
He doesn't mind. Far from it. He crawls underneath the cover with Dean, their legs entangled. Sam thinks for a moment; about them, about the case, about everything. The case hadn't been the most difficult they've ever had but they've also worked easier cases. The interesting thing is how this case brought them to a whole new level. Thinking about it is a little scary because Sam can't tell what the future brings, but he's hopeful. He moves a little closer to Dean and whispers, "Man, what a case."
Dean snorts. He draws an invisible pattern onto Sam's back with the tips of his fingers. It's nice and relaxing, making Sam sleepier.
"Yeah, what a case. I'm against any kind of art-related cases in the near future. Go find us a good old poltergeist or something."
Sam laughs softly and bends up to place a light kiss on Dean's jaw. "Will do."
- The End
Notes and thanks: I could probably write another 30,000 words on how a very vague idea turned into this but I don't want to bore you. I'm trying to keep it short! Promised! When spn_j2_bigbang sign-ups came around, I was sure I'd be writing another J2 fic like the previous years. I even started one.
Until it all turned out differently…
I had always wanted to write a casefile fic. I love reading them, they fascinate me. I thought, maybe I'd even do something related to museums and ancient pre-Columbian cultures because they fascinate me, too. The Metropolitan Museum is probably one of my most favorite places in the world. It was more out of personal curiosity than intent to write a Big Bang fic set at the Met when I started looking into freak accidents and/or other weird things that happened there. What I found though, surprised me greatly and as I kept searching, it somehow turned into this.
It took me a while until I managed to combine random facts and turn them into a self-contained story. I changed and added things, but in the end, it mostly just comes down to facts.
The title is from a poem (Ima munay yana Inti) by Anton Ponce de Leon Paiva. It was written originally in Quechua, the native language of the Inca and it was dedicated to the sun god Inti. But then, it's so Sam/Dean too!
Obviously, I also have people to thank! I think my first thanks have to go out to drvsilla without whom this fic probably would never have been what it is now. Not only did she accompany me to a field trip (for research purposes) to the Met, but she also gave me so much valuable input, little ideas, insights and things to consider. She answered all my burning questions and shaped this piece greatly. Thank you! ♥
Many thanks also to maerhys for working her mad betaing magic on this fic and for sharing her thoughts with me when this was still a first draft. ♥ Many thanks to twofourteen for beta and the fabulous, fabulous art! Please make sure to check out the art masterpost too. On top of the pieces you've seen posted at the fic masterpost and throughout the fic, she made kickass wallpapers and icons. Please head over to her LJ too and have a look! Thanks, Anna! ♥
Many thanks also to bekkis for read-through and feedback after I had finished the first draft! ♥ And to my flist on LJ and Twitter for answering my canon-related questions and answering my polls and generally just being very supportive and enthusiastic about this.
AND! Finally, many thanks to wendy, audrarose and thehighwaywoman for organizing this madness year after year. Without them, Big Bang wouldn't be possible. ♥
And thank you for reading!
Masterpost | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 & Thanks/Acknowledgements | Art Masterpost