FIC: A Rose (In Another Man's Garden)
This is a weird little mood piece that popped into my head last night and I had to write it out. I'm in this Supernatural fic zone, the ideas keep popping in my head; and when I'm lucky enough to be near a computer, pen and paper, or stone tools, I get to write it down--w00t.
Also, for the detail-freaks like me, the title was inspired by and large by this song.
However, I'm such a picky writer that I might decide later that I hate this, but right now I like it enough to commit to LJ. Still working on the Delusion-verse, probably next chapter will go up around Monday.
Title: A Rose (In Another Man's Garden)
Author: memphis86
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: PG-13 for language and implications of wincest
Word Count: 2,412
Disclaimer: Totally not mine, didn't happen, sadly only happens in my head.
Summary: Sam only wants to eat green things, and Dean wants to eat cake. There's a curse, and letters are written but never sent.
ETA: There is now a soundtrack to accompany this fic.
ETA-2: The lovely and incredible anasuede has read this aloud for your listening pleasure! Go here to download the story and tell her how awesome she is!
It starts when Sam makes a point to order everything with avocados. He throws a fit when there are none to be had. So he starts bringing them to roadside diners to cut up and eat with his salad.
Dean wants to sit on his chest and force-feed him chocolate cake. And make him lick every crumb off his fingers. Dean gets a clear mental image and has to clear his throat and shift around in his seat a lot.
Sam just rolls his eyes and says some bullshit about how many essential fats and oils and nutrient crap they have.
Dean smiles and thinks about his upcoming cheese fries and cheeseburger. "Cheese has many essential nutrients."
"Dean, the cheese they use is totally processed and full of preservatives and-"
Dean tunes him out and thinks about chocolate cake smeared all over his brother's face. He sips his coffee and then the waitress plops his plate down in front of him with a crooked smile.
Dean would never admit this to anyone, but sometimes he writes little letters in his head to people. He thinks of one immediately when he sees the waitress licking cheese off of her thumb:
Dear Waitress,
Thanks for putting your thumb in my cheese fries. Don't forget to spit in my coffee and sneeze on the check. Enjoy your lack of a tip.
Sincerely,
Dean
Sam tsk-tsks Dean's plate. "You should really eat more green vegetables."
"I don't like avocados." Dean responds, drowning his food in salt, pepper and ketchup.
"Actually, they're fruits."
"Actually, I don't care!" Dean smiles and stuffs as many fries in his mouth as he possibly can.
Sam just picks the croutons and bacon out of his salad and puts it on a napkin and slides it to Dean. Dean accepts it and trades his lettuce and tomato to Sam.
Sam still refuses to eat more than one bite of Dean's cheesecake.
*****
Dear Guy in Front Of Me Who Can't Drive,
You should probably learn how to drive.
Sincerely,
Dean
P.S. Seriously, fucking learn to drive or get the fuck off the road.
Dean is cursing and honking and Sam shifts in his seat, shrugging out of his jacket.
It's midday and the car is flooded with light, Dean's got his shades on and it's still too sunny. He squints in his mirror and Sam is down to just a t-shirt. Dean quirks an eyebrow when that goes too, exposing his naked chest.
"Sam?" Dean asks hesitantly.
"Feels good…" is all Sam manages and then he drifts off, the sun beating down on him.
When they get to the motel that night, Sam doesn't want to eat anything but his spirulina and fruit juice. So Dean goes out for pizza, and brings back extra chewy chocolate-chip cookies. They're Sam's favorite and he tries to eat one, but ends up spitting it out in the sink.
Dean frowns at the wet crumbs of wasted cookie and decides he's going to put Sam's hand in warm water when he's asleep.
*****
Sam gets up with the sun and Dean is sitting on the bed next to his, staring. He has a glass of water in his hand.
Sam stretches out and yawns, he feels refreshed and amazing when the sun hits his bare skin. He lets the sheet drop off and takes in every drop of warmth pouring in from the window.
Dean flushes and looks like hell, dark circles under his eyes.
Before Sam can say anything, Dean gestures to his right hand, "What happened to your hand there, Sam?"
"Huh?" Sam turns his hand over to see a green scar running along the pad of his thumb. "Hum, a scar?"
"You didn't really see fit to mention it to me before?"
"Nope."
"It's green."
"I know."
"Cuts like that shouldn't be green, Sammy."
"I like green things."
"What's it from?"
"Pricked my thumb on a rose."
"When?"
"Last month."
They sit in silence for a while. Dean is furious and wants to sit on Sam and punch him, then make him eat cake. The cake thing just won't go away, Dean's starting to weird himself out.
"Hey Dean, you gonna drink that?"
Sam grabs the water and drinks it all down in one gulp. "Sam, that was warm."
"Mmn thirsty." Sam gets up and walks naked across to the kitchenette. Dean squeezes his eyes shut and ignores the warmth in his stomach. Sam refills the glass from the tap, drinking it down in another gulp and making happy sounds.
He repeats this for about an hour and Dean calls Ellen and Bobby but neither have a clue.
*****
The next day Sam can't bring himself to get out of the shower. Dean has to drive until they find a motel with bathtubs and bathrooms with windows. Sam's set up nicely, tub full of water and window with light streaming in. His skin looks green, or maybe the light is playing tricks on Dean and he's blue from the cold water.
Dean finally gets a hit through one of Bobby's connections and someone is scheduled to come see Sam, "when he can find his way down."
Dean seethes as he hangs up the phone, wishing there was a way to slam a cellphone down like a real phone without breaking it.
Dear Curse Expert,
Take your time, really. Ignore the fact that my only brother is about to sprout leaves and petals. But you know what? Relax. Mosey on down here whenever you fucking feel like it. Stop and smell the roses. Oh wait, those weren't roses. That was my goddamn brother you sonavabitch.
I hope you get syphilis,
Dean
Dean knows he should count his blessings that he's lucky enough Bobby found an expert on plant-based curses. So when he shows up 3 days later, Dean pastes on a big ol' fake smile and makes him tea. He speaks with Sam in the tub and looks over his thumb carefully.
The expert, cryptobotanist and expert of para-ecology Dr. Liev Greene, motions Dean to leave the bathroom with him. The absolute worst scenario, Sam turning into some hideous plant monster, runs through his head. He looks at his brother, lying in the tub, motionless. He's naked with clear water up to his collarbone. His eyes are blanks and his mouth moves slowly as he chews on raw ginger slices.
Dear Sam,
Please don't turn into Swamp Thing. Please turn back to normal.
Well, whatever is normal for you.
Love Sincerely,
Dean
P.S. If you get better, I promise I will eat nothing but vegetables and oat bran or whatever.
Dr. Greene rubs a hand across his face, "I've seen this before, poison from an enchanted rose."
"Can you cure him?"
"There's nothing to cure, he only thinks he's turning into a plant."
"Ohhhh-kay?"
"The curse affects the mind, not the body. He'll keep thinking he's a plant until he's dead or convinced otherwise. Cut off his comforts for about a week and he'll snap out of it. Don't let him bathe for that long anymore or over-drink water, he'll poison himself and his skin will start to blister even worse. Fifteen-minute showers and no more than 16 ounces of water a day. No more vegetables or fruit drinks; some junk food might also help."
"Like, cake?"
"Sure."
*****
Dean goes to the local grocery store and buys all the supplies he needs for the next week. He buys cake mix, on a whim, though he has no intention of making it. There's something about having the potential for cake in his life that makes him feel good.
Dean closes the curtains on all the windows, and goes to the bathroom. He blocks the light coming from the little window. Sam quirks an eyebrow but otherwise ignores him. Then Dean reaches down under the sink and turns off the water valve for the bathtub.
"What are you doing-?" Sam starts to get alarmed, and Dean reaches down in-between his feet and pulls the plug out of the drain. The water sputters and drains; he yanks hard on the plug, three times and the chain breaks off. The skin on Sam's feet is pruned and cracked and already bled out; it's going to get infected so Dean goes for the first aid kit.
Sam kicks and won't let him near him and he's frantically fiddling with the knobs and a pathetic dribble of water comes out. The water is draining out and he's freaking. Dean sighs and sits on him, holding his arms and using his weight to keep him from moving.
Sam fights him and screams but Dean just stares at him and holds on. When the water is gone, Sam stops yelling and goes limp, and Dean lies on top of him. Sam's hands are just like his feet, white and puffy and bloody. Dean squeezes his arms, hoping he can pump life back into his extremities.
Sam is breathing against Dean's neck and he can swear lips touch his skin. Dean shakes it off and puts his hands under his arms and pulls Sam up, walking him out of the bathroom and dropping him on a bed. He tosses clothes at him.
"Cover your shame, Sammy."
Sam just moans so Dean ends up dressing him. Sam tries to make a break for the door but Dean sits on him and tells him that he'll be too weak to fight him soon. The suggestion works, like Dr. Greene said. Sam convinces himself that without sunlight, he's weak as a kitten.
Dean still sits on his stomach and spoon-feeds him Count Chocula even though Sam's not resisting him anymore. Of course it's far too close to Dean's fantasy for comfort so he ends up half-hard and makes a break for the bathroom.
When he's done, Sam is asleep. Dean drops to his knees and puts his arms on the bed. He strokes Sam's damp hair with one hand.
Dear Sam,
I had a dream last night that we were in a garden and you were lying on a bed of grass and forsythias, and I was eating chocolate cake off your stomach. Please don't disown me for being a pervert.
It seems I have this fetish for both you and cake, simultaneously. Probably stems from that time when Becky Lowenstein dumped me because she found out we lived in a motel (and sometimes our car) and then you gave me your hostess cupcakes. Also there was that one birthday when you fell asleep in my lap, drunk. I think I was eating cake at the time.
Whatever, I probably was already going to hell, might as well enjoy the ride.
Love,
Dean
P.S. In the dream, you're totally naked save for some strategically placed foliage. Did I not mention that? Yeah, I'm really that fucked up. But at least I don't think I'm a goddamn daisy.
The week is filled with many letters like that for Sam. Dean still has to fight with him to eat and let him bandage his hands and feet. Sam starts wailing that he's dying--that Dean is killing him. On the 5th day Sam's yelling is particularly nasty and he starts calling Dean a murderer, a traitor, and throws the death of their father into the mix.
Dean closes his eyes and thinks about the garden.
*****
It's late at night and Dean calms as he hears Sam's body hit the pillow on the bed next to his. Things are finally getting back to normal, and Dean can make out a silvery Sam turning over to face him. His face illuminated by the incessant glow of the streetlights, Dean licks his lips.
Dear Sammy,
Fuck me.
Love,
Dean
"Okay."
Dean hadn't realized he said that one out loud but he stares at Sam who's approaching his bed, shirtless and pulling him up. Sam sits next to him and kisses Dean, pulling him by the back of his head. It's a quick jerk and Dean knows he's going to feel a crick there later.
Dean's probably dreaming, or worse but Sam's a quick stripper and he scrambles to catch up, throwing clothes everywhere.
"So, what's this?" Dean asks as he wraps his arms around Sam's torso and touches lips to his temple.
"Dunno, what's with the letters?" Sam turns and breathes in Dean's ear.
"…What?"
Sam laughs, "You say these little letters in your sleep sometimes. Like: 'Dear Whoever Pissed Me Off, You're not cool enough to look at my car. I hope you get a really nasty VD. Sincerely, Dean'. They're actually pretty funny."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah, but most of them are about cake. My favorite is: 'Dear Cake, you are so delicious! I love you!' Something like that, and then something about eating it off of my stomach."
"That doesn't sound like one of mine. Except for the last part."
"Yeah, I know. I'm paraphrasing, you just kinda talk about how much you like cake."
"Huh. I really talk in my sleep?"
"Yeah, since we were kids. We've had entire conversations before I could figure out that you weren't awake. We've actually talked about this whole--um, 'thing' for a few years now. You always forget it the next night, and we end up having the same discussion over and over."
Sam stops and grabs Dean's face. "Honestly Dean, I'm not entirely sure you're awake right now."
Dean shrugs. "There's no cake, so I'm pretty sure this isn't a dream. Also, you're probably okay to start showering again. Y'know you don't exactly smell like flowers."
"Thank god."
"I know."
"Seriously, I don't ever want to see another vegetable as long as I live."
"I don't blame you."
"I want to like, slaughter and eat an entire cow."
"…I am so turned on right now."
*****
Dear Sam,
You're really quite good in bed: 8 out of 10. You lost one point for not jumping me earlier. And another one for letting me make an ass out of myself in my sleep all these years. And no, I don't appreciate that remark about how I'd still manage to make an ass of myself when I'm awake.
However, not to worry! These scores will not count against you during the next round. Which begins promptly in 10 minutes. So cowboy the fuck up and stop whining about needing more rest time. You can sleep when you're I'm dead.
Love,
Dean
Fin.
Also, for the detail-freaks like me, the title was inspired by and large by this song.
However, I'm such a picky writer that I might decide later that I hate this, but right now I like it enough to commit to LJ. Still working on the Delusion-verse, probably next chapter will go up around Monday.
Title: A Rose (In Another Man's Garden)
Author: memphis86
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: PG-13 for language and implications of wincest
Word Count: 2,412
Disclaimer: Totally not mine, didn't happen, sadly only happens in my head.
Summary: Sam only wants to eat green things, and Dean wants to eat cake. There's a curse, and letters are written but never sent.
ETA: There is now a soundtrack to accompany this fic.
ETA-2: The lovely and incredible anasuede has read this aloud for your listening pleasure! Go here to download the story and tell her how awesome she is!
It starts when Sam makes a point to order everything with avocados. He throws a fit when there are none to be had. So he starts bringing them to roadside diners to cut up and eat with his salad.
Dean wants to sit on his chest and force-feed him chocolate cake. And make him lick every crumb off his fingers. Dean gets a clear mental image and has to clear his throat and shift around in his seat a lot.
Sam just rolls his eyes and says some bullshit about how many essential fats and oils and nutrient crap they have.
Dean smiles and thinks about his upcoming cheese fries and cheeseburger. "Cheese has many essential nutrients."
"Dean, the cheese they use is totally processed and full of preservatives and-"
Dean tunes him out and thinks about chocolate cake smeared all over his brother's face. He sips his coffee and then the waitress plops his plate down in front of him with a crooked smile.
Dean would never admit this to anyone, but sometimes he writes little letters in his head to people. He thinks of one immediately when he sees the waitress licking cheese off of her thumb:
Dear Waitress,
Thanks for putting your thumb in my cheese fries. Don't forget to spit in my coffee and sneeze on the check. Enjoy your lack of a tip.
Sincerely,
Dean
Sam tsk-tsks Dean's plate. "You should really eat more green vegetables."
"I don't like avocados." Dean responds, drowning his food in salt, pepper and ketchup.
"Actually, they're fruits."
"Actually, I don't care!" Dean smiles and stuffs as many fries in his mouth as he possibly can.
Sam just picks the croutons and bacon out of his salad and puts it on a napkin and slides it to Dean. Dean accepts it and trades his lettuce and tomato to Sam.
Sam still refuses to eat more than one bite of Dean's cheesecake.
*****
Dear Guy in Front Of Me Who Can't Drive,
You should probably learn how to drive.
Sincerely,
Dean
P.S. Seriously, fucking learn to drive or get the fuck off the road.
Dean is cursing and honking and Sam shifts in his seat, shrugging out of his jacket.
It's midday and the car is flooded with light, Dean's got his shades on and it's still too sunny. He squints in his mirror and Sam is down to just a t-shirt. Dean quirks an eyebrow when that goes too, exposing his naked chest.
"Sam?" Dean asks hesitantly.
"Feels good…" is all Sam manages and then he drifts off, the sun beating down on him.
When they get to the motel that night, Sam doesn't want to eat anything but his spirulina and fruit juice. So Dean goes out for pizza, and brings back extra chewy chocolate-chip cookies. They're Sam's favorite and he tries to eat one, but ends up spitting it out in the sink.
Dean frowns at the wet crumbs of wasted cookie and decides he's going to put Sam's hand in warm water when he's asleep.
*****
Sam gets up with the sun and Dean is sitting on the bed next to his, staring. He has a glass of water in his hand.
Sam stretches out and yawns, he feels refreshed and amazing when the sun hits his bare skin. He lets the sheet drop off and takes in every drop of warmth pouring in from the window.
Dean flushes and looks like hell, dark circles under his eyes.
Before Sam can say anything, Dean gestures to his right hand, "What happened to your hand there, Sam?"
"Huh?" Sam turns his hand over to see a green scar running along the pad of his thumb. "Hum, a scar?"
"You didn't really see fit to mention it to me before?"
"Nope."
"It's green."
"I know."
"Cuts like that shouldn't be green, Sammy."
"I like green things."
"What's it from?"
"Pricked my thumb on a rose."
"When?"
"Last month."
They sit in silence for a while. Dean is furious and wants to sit on Sam and punch him, then make him eat cake. The cake thing just won't go away, Dean's starting to weird himself out.
"Hey Dean, you gonna drink that?"
Sam grabs the water and drinks it all down in one gulp. "Sam, that was warm."
"Mmn thirsty." Sam gets up and walks naked across to the kitchenette. Dean squeezes his eyes shut and ignores the warmth in his stomach. Sam refills the glass from the tap, drinking it down in another gulp and making happy sounds.
He repeats this for about an hour and Dean calls Ellen and Bobby but neither have a clue.
*****
The next day Sam can't bring himself to get out of the shower. Dean has to drive until they find a motel with bathtubs and bathrooms with windows. Sam's set up nicely, tub full of water and window with light streaming in. His skin looks green, or maybe the light is playing tricks on Dean and he's blue from the cold water.
Dean finally gets a hit through one of Bobby's connections and someone is scheduled to come see Sam, "when he can find his way down."
Dean seethes as he hangs up the phone, wishing there was a way to slam a cellphone down like a real phone without breaking it.
Dear Curse Expert,
Take your time, really. Ignore the fact that my only brother is about to sprout leaves and petals. But you know what? Relax. Mosey on down here whenever you fucking feel like it. Stop and smell the roses. Oh wait, those weren't roses. That was my goddamn brother you sonavabitch.
I hope you get syphilis,
Dean
Dean knows he should count his blessings that he's lucky enough Bobby found an expert on plant-based curses. So when he shows up 3 days later, Dean pastes on a big ol' fake smile and makes him tea. He speaks with Sam in the tub and looks over his thumb carefully.
The expert, cryptobotanist and expert of para-ecology Dr. Liev Greene, motions Dean to leave the bathroom with him. The absolute worst scenario, Sam turning into some hideous plant monster, runs through his head. He looks at his brother, lying in the tub, motionless. He's naked with clear water up to his collarbone. His eyes are blanks and his mouth moves slowly as he chews on raw ginger slices.
Dear Sam,
Please don't turn into Swamp Thing. Please turn back to normal.
Well, whatever is normal for you.
Love Sincerely,
Dean
P.S. If you get better, I promise I will eat nothing but vegetables and oat bran or whatever.
Dr. Greene rubs a hand across his face, "I've seen this before, poison from an enchanted rose."
"Can you cure him?"
"There's nothing to cure, he only thinks he's turning into a plant."
"Ohhhh-kay?"
"The curse affects the mind, not the body. He'll keep thinking he's a plant until he's dead or convinced otherwise. Cut off his comforts for about a week and he'll snap out of it. Don't let him bathe for that long anymore or over-drink water, he'll poison himself and his skin will start to blister even worse. Fifteen-minute showers and no more than 16 ounces of water a day. No more vegetables or fruit drinks; some junk food might also help."
"Like, cake?"
"Sure."
*****
Dean goes to the local grocery store and buys all the supplies he needs for the next week. He buys cake mix, on a whim, though he has no intention of making it. There's something about having the potential for cake in his life that makes him feel good.
Dean closes the curtains on all the windows, and goes to the bathroom. He blocks the light coming from the little window. Sam quirks an eyebrow but otherwise ignores him. Then Dean reaches down under the sink and turns off the water valve for the bathtub.
"What are you doing-?" Sam starts to get alarmed, and Dean reaches down in-between his feet and pulls the plug out of the drain. The water sputters and drains; he yanks hard on the plug, three times and the chain breaks off. The skin on Sam's feet is pruned and cracked and already bled out; it's going to get infected so Dean goes for the first aid kit.
Sam kicks and won't let him near him and he's frantically fiddling with the knobs and a pathetic dribble of water comes out. The water is draining out and he's freaking. Dean sighs and sits on him, holding his arms and using his weight to keep him from moving.
Sam fights him and screams but Dean just stares at him and holds on. When the water is gone, Sam stops yelling and goes limp, and Dean lies on top of him. Sam's hands are just like his feet, white and puffy and bloody. Dean squeezes his arms, hoping he can pump life back into his extremities.
Sam is breathing against Dean's neck and he can swear lips touch his skin. Dean shakes it off and puts his hands under his arms and pulls Sam up, walking him out of the bathroom and dropping him on a bed. He tosses clothes at him.
"Cover your shame, Sammy."
Sam just moans so Dean ends up dressing him. Sam tries to make a break for the door but Dean sits on him and tells him that he'll be too weak to fight him soon. The suggestion works, like Dr. Greene said. Sam convinces himself that without sunlight, he's weak as a kitten.
Dean still sits on his stomach and spoon-feeds him Count Chocula even though Sam's not resisting him anymore. Of course it's far too close to Dean's fantasy for comfort so he ends up half-hard and makes a break for the bathroom.
When he's done, Sam is asleep. Dean drops to his knees and puts his arms on the bed. He strokes Sam's damp hair with one hand.
Dear Sam,
I had a dream last night that we were in a garden and you were lying on a bed of grass and forsythias, and I was eating chocolate cake off your stomach. Please don't disown me for being a pervert.
It seems I have this fetish for both you and cake, simultaneously. Probably stems from that time when Becky Lowenstein dumped me because she found out we lived in a motel (and sometimes our car) and then you gave me your hostess cupcakes. Also there was that one birthday when you fell asleep in my lap, drunk. I think I was eating cake at the time.
Whatever, I probably was already going to hell, might as well enjoy the ride.
Love,
Dean
P.S. In the dream, you're totally naked save for some strategically placed foliage. Did I not mention that? Yeah, I'm really that fucked up. But at least I don't think I'm a goddamn daisy.
The week is filled with many letters like that for Sam. Dean still has to fight with him to eat and let him bandage his hands and feet. Sam starts wailing that he's dying--that Dean is killing him. On the 5th day Sam's yelling is particularly nasty and he starts calling Dean a murderer, a traitor, and throws the death of their father into the mix.
Dean closes his eyes and thinks about the garden.
*****
It's late at night and Dean calms as he hears Sam's body hit the pillow on the bed next to his. Things are finally getting back to normal, and Dean can make out a silvery Sam turning over to face him. His face illuminated by the incessant glow of the streetlights, Dean licks his lips.
Dear Sammy,
Fuck me.
Love,
Dean
"Okay."
Dean hadn't realized he said that one out loud but he stares at Sam who's approaching his bed, shirtless and pulling him up. Sam sits next to him and kisses Dean, pulling him by the back of his head. It's a quick jerk and Dean knows he's going to feel a crick there later.
Dean's probably dreaming, or worse but Sam's a quick stripper and he scrambles to catch up, throwing clothes everywhere.
"So, what's this?" Dean asks as he wraps his arms around Sam's torso and touches lips to his temple.
"Dunno, what's with the letters?" Sam turns and breathes in Dean's ear.
"…What?"
Sam laughs, "You say these little letters in your sleep sometimes. Like: 'Dear Whoever Pissed Me Off, You're not cool enough to look at my car. I hope you get a really nasty VD. Sincerely, Dean'. They're actually pretty funny."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah, but most of them are about cake. My favorite is: 'Dear Cake, you are so delicious! I love you!' Something like that, and then something about eating it off of my stomach."
"That doesn't sound like one of mine. Except for the last part."
"Yeah, I know. I'm paraphrasing, you just kinda talk about how much you like cake."
"Huh. I really talk in my sleep?"
"Yeah, since we were kids. We've had entire conversations before I could figure out that you weren't awake. We've actually talked about this whole--um, 'thing' for a few years now. You always forget it the next night, and we end up having the same discussion over and over."
Sam stops and grabs Dean's face. "Honestly Dean, I'm not entirely sure you're awake right now."
Dean shrugs. "There's no cake, so I'm pretty sure this isn't a dream. Also, you're probably okay to start showering again. Y'know you don't exactly smell like flowers."
"Thank god."
"I know."
"Seriously, I don't ever want to see another vegetable as long as I live."
"I don't blame you."
"I want to like, slaughter and eat an entire cow."
"…I am so turned on right now."
*****
Dear Sam,
You're really quite good in bed: 8 out of 10. You lost one point for not jumping me earlier. And another one for letting me make an ass out of myself in my sleep all these years. And no, I don't appreciate that remark about how I'd still manage to make an ass of myself when I'm awake.
However, not to worry! These scores will not count against you during the next round. Which begins promptly in 10 minutes. So cowboy the fuck up and stop whining about needing more rest time. You can sleep when you're I'm dead.
Love,
Dean
Fin.