A/N I've been gone forever, I know. I'm sorry I suck. But I do have kind of a good excuse. I recently got diagnosed with ADHD so it makes so much sense to me now why I have so much trouble sitting down and working on a new chapter for long periods of time. I've also been super busy with school. I'm going to try harder to update more frequently (shooting for once a month realistically but I'll try for bi-weekly. I'll really really try.) Anyway, thanks to all of you for the continued support. You don't know how much it means to me. As a consolation, I'll have you know that Avery and Dean's relationship is about to get ~spicy~ if you know what I mean *wink wink*. If any of you can guess what the catalyst for the spice will be then I'll be super pleased. (it's kind of obvious for me since I'm writing it but who knows). I'll give you a hint: Think about the hunts that I haven't done yet... Okay, that's a pretty huge hint so I'm sure y'all are gonna guess it right away. Leave a review! I love to hear what you guys have to say. I'm not sure exactly what I want to do. I know what I want the end of part 2 to be but the middle part is a little squishy. If you want to see something happen, let me know! I'll credit any plot ideas to the people who offer them. Okay, enough of my rambling. Enjoy the chapter!

Ch. 25

Memory Lane

Sam was worried about Avery. It'd been almost two months since they killed Abaddon and since Slater died, but Avery hadn't really grieved at all. Sure, she'd been torn up when it happened. But she never once cried. Not when they burned his body or at all since then. Dean, on the other hand, was thrilled. They had Avery back, Sam was staying in the bunker again, Slater was dead, Abaddon was dead, those had all been wins in his book.

Especially since Avery seemed to have all her memories back. She hadn't really explained it to them in much detail. She just told them about something called the maya. It was a term he'd seen before from Hinduism. Maya, the grand illusion and the lie they all told themselves. Her explanation hadn't entirely made sense, but Sam was the only one to realize exactly what she'd meant by it and that's what really concerned him.

Avery wanted to believe in Ally and in Tom so much that she'd ignored the truth and accepted the maya as reality. She would have been able to remember if she wanted to. But she hadn't wanted to.

Again, Avery didn't seem all that upset. She didn't argue about trying to leave the bunker. She didn't fight with them to go on hunts. She didn't really do much of anything except wander around the bunker and, on occasion, meditate in her room.

It was like she was waiting for something.

What exactly, Sam couldn't be sure. It wasn't until one day when he and Avery were silently scanning documents to add to Sam's MoL database that she suddenly stopped, a sheaf of papers held unsteadily in a shaking hand, that something changed.

Avery closed her eyes and tilted her head slightly to the side, her mouth popping open with surprise.

"Avery?" Sam asked and the expression slid off her face in an instant. The papers fell to the table and Avery shook her head. She looked at Sam and muttered in a strangled voice,

"It's heaven."

Sam dropped his file as well, "What about it?"

She shook her head, "No, I mean, it's heaven. I can hear it."

"The angels?"

Avery sat down in one of the chairs and closed her eyes again. Her body leaning towards whatever sound she was hearing.

The phone on the table buzzed and Sam paused to watch Avery for a moment before picking up his cell and answering the phone.

"Cas?"

Sam listened intently before turning back to look at Avery in surprise. Cas had heard the sound as well, in Utah.

"Avery," Sam kicked her chair and she jolted out of the trance again.

"Go get Dean," He said and she nodded absently before standing.

Avery made her way to Dean's room, hoping he would be there and not where she suspected he was. When she found his room empty, she sighed and headed towards the gym. She could hear his grunts and the sound of fists smacking leather almost as soon as she got to the hallway leading there.

She watched him for a moment, he was beating the shit out of the punching bag till his knuckles had split. Ever since— that day, Avery clenched her fists and swallowed harshly. Ever since that day, Dean had been letting out pent up aggression in any way he could. The healthiest of which was what he was doing now. Exercising until he could barely lift a finger. What little pudge he'd accumulated over the years from one too many beers and greasy hamburgers had withered away completely.

But that wasn't the only thing to whither away. No one could really say Dean looked more healthy now with his exercise regimen. Sure there was barely a pound of fat on his body and his muscles were more pronounced than ever, but his eyes were bloodshot and he had dark purple shadows under them at all times from restless booze-filled nights. His skin was pale and waxy, and the usually close military haircut he sported along with the relatively short stubble on his face had both grown longer. He had to push his hair back from his forehead now and resorted to using cheap pomade from the local gas station to keep it in place. The stubble had grown into scruff and was well on its way to becoming a short beard if he didn't shave soon.

Dean was unraveling but trying his best not to seem so. Minor things set him off. A gun being neglected from maintenance for one day too many, a stray gum wrapper on the floor of the Impala, someone moving his duffel from the library table to the kitchen without telling him. Sam was walking on veritable eggshells but Avery had refused to join in.

She wouldn't be snapped at by anyone, let alone Dean Winchester, not anymore.

"Dean," She called out and Dean stopped the punishing pace he'd set to look at her. A strand of hair had fallen over his left eyebrow, which he pushed back in annoyance.

"What."

Avery ignored his tone and walked up to the punching bag to stop it swinging.

"Sam wants you. Cas called."

Dean perked up at that. His friendship with Castiel always seemed to make him feel better. It was no wonder everyone always assumed they were gay for each other.

"What about?" Dean started unwrapping his hands. Why he bothered in the first place, Avery had no idea. The skin on his knuckles tore anyway, but then again, Avery didn't know what the function of wrapping one's hands before boxing did. Maybe it helped the wrists.

Avery took one of his unwrapped hands and passed a thumb over the cuts. Dean watched her silently until she quickly squeezed his hand and let it fall.

"We're hearing heaven. Sam has more details but he wants you to come and hear Cas out yourself."

When Cas explained to them that Gadreel had been luring angels with some kind of sigil, Dean frowned. Sam didn't look happy either, especially when he cross-referenced the picture of the sigil Cas found against the police database and found that it had appeared at several crime scenes with multiple homicides. More dead angels.

Gadreel was heading north through Utah.

"He could be going to either Auburn or Ogden," Cas said through the speakerphone.

"We'll take Ogden if you take Auburn, Cas. We'll meet in the middle."

After Dean ended the call, he looked over at Avery, who had closed her eyes again.

"Hey," he said, and she opened her eyes, "you good to stay here on your own?"

She gave him a wry, bordering cynical smile, "I haven't got anyplace else to be, do I?"

"Guess not," Dean grunted.

Avery tried desperately not to feel guilty as she watched the brothers leave to deal with the Gadreel situation, but she couldn't shake the weight in her chest. Dean was trusting her and she was about to throw that in his face… again.

She was sitting alone in the kitchen nursing a vodka on the rocks when Sadie brushed against her mind to let her know she'd arrived. Avery let her in, and they returned to the kitchen where Sadie declined the offer for alcohol, preferring to get straight down to business.

They'd been meeting like that ever since Tom had died. Anytime the boys left on a hunt, Sadie would visit for another session of "Avery's marvelous mental jigsaw puzzle" so dubbed by Sadie herself. Avery thought it was more Jenga mixed with Yahtzee, given the scattered and slightly disorganized process of pulling memories out of the maelstrom and hoping desperately that they didn't scramble her eggs in the process. But, whatever, Avery thought, it was all semantics anyway.

"How are you feeling?" Sadie asked.

Avery shrugged, "Better, last time was a little rough, but I don't think the brothers noticed. I guess they think it's just me dealing with…"

Sadie dipped her head and nodded, "How are you dealing?"

Avery internally recoiled at the thought of contemplating how she felt about— so she didn't and instead pushed forward. Better to just jump into the session and try to right what she could. Sadie didn't press the issue. Avery could always trust Sadie to leave things alone.

"Want to try going further back?" She asked and Avery nodded. Going 'further back' was a bit of a misnomer what with several thousand different universes and timelines to choose from. It had taken a bit of judicious sort and discard tactics on both Avery and Sadie's parts to decide just exactly how they should spend their time reassembling a working chronology of her life.

A chronology, much to Avery's chagrin, that explained so much about the mess she had found herself in for the past year of her life. She had brought it all down on her head and there was no one to blame for any of it except herself. Looking back at it now and relearning everything that she had done in such a removed fashion gave her the mother of all 20/20 hindsight. A string of bad decisions fueled by hubris, boredom, and a touch of sadism had been the death of her closest friend and lover, her mother, and tens of innocent people who had had the rather unfortunate luck of crossing her path at just the right moment.

It had all started with Death.

—

[Supernatural Universe, Los Angeles California, 1999]

I was lying under the bright summer sun on a beach along the Santa Monica pier, feeling my skin bake in the heat when a shadow blotted out the light. A man dressed head to toe in black looked down at me and I knew immediately who had come to call.

"Your boss couldn't come himself?" I asked, but the man made no move to answer. I sighed and propped myself up on my elbows. I had only been back in the 90s to visit my mother two days before Death had sent a reaper to come collect me. To say Death was displeased with me was a slight understatement, but the fact that he had sent a lackey instead of coming himself was a good sign that I hadn't gone too far… yet.

"How has collecting the souls of the dead been treating you, Tim?"

The reaper's name wasn't really Tim. I didn't know if reapers even had names. It just tickled me to call him something so innocuous. Tim was only slightly less unamused by the name I'd given him than he was by having to be the one to scold, threaten, or bargain with me whenever I messed with the natural order.

When Tim made no move to answer me, I sighed and stood up, brushing the sand from my legs.

"Fine, right to business then. What's he pissed about this time?"

"Stalin died two weeks early," Tim scowled, "half the politburo was executed on charges of treason and one thousand Ukrainians didn't die."

"I'm waiting to hear the bad news…"

"Your flippancy in the face of disrupting the order of the universe is not as endearing as you may think it is."

"I don't know," I smirked, "I find it very endearing and I know Tom does too even though he doesn't have the balls to be as flip as I am."

Tim sneered.

"Anyway, there must be something else you've come here to tell me. I know Death wouldn't call just for a slap on the wrist."

"Death has instructed me to offer you some information on the condition that you put a halt to your meddling for the next century."

I balked, "A century? This better be fucking good or you might run the risk of insulting me."

"Believe me, Death has no qualms with the idea of insulting you. But yes, it's 'fucking good,' as you put it."

I rolled up my towel and tucked it under my arm, "Well, get on with it. I have a lunch date in fifteen."

"We've found the Malahaph."

A thrill of excitement flooded me to the fingertips and I struggled to remain composed. I had been hunting for that damn knife for the better part of twenty years in this universe, and here I was about to receive its location on a silver platter. But, something about the offer was rotten. A one hundred year moratorium on fucking with the timeline wasn't enough of a catch in return for such a prize.

Securing the Malahaph meant security for eternity so long as I kept it safe. Every other mischievous iteration had locked it down centuries before I had. I was the last weak link and Death had always known it.

"Where is it? Who has it?"

"Your word, Jackson," Tim insisted.

Ah, yes, my word. Words tended to be very tricky in my experience, but deals and promises were the currency of the land. If your word meant nothing, then that meant you were bankrupt and there was no loan forgiveness or second chances if you defaulted. Checks didn't bounce here, especially not when you were dealing with Death.

"Death has it, now tell me what I want to know."

"Abaddon, 1852, Scotland."

My answering smile was bitter. Of course, Abaddon had it. The deal was starting to make much more sense now that I knew that the one thing that could kill me permanently and totally was in the hands of Cain's lieutenant, a knight of hell.

"Don't look so pleased, Tim. It's not flattering on a man your age."

Tim straightened his cufflinks and parted with one last reminder, "One hundred years."

When he was gone, I pulled out my cell and called my mother to cancel our lunch. I had work to do.

—

Avery massaged her temples in a futile attempt to ease the stabbing pain behind her eyes. Every time they did this, the pain seemed to get worse and the time to recover got longer.

"How are you?" Sadie asked and Avery tried hard not to scowl.

"Just peachy."

Well, she did try.

Sadie sighed, "I know this is hard, but it'll be worth it in the end. After you remember what you can, we'll be able to come up with a game plan and go from there."

"Hard?" Avery snapped, "Every time we do this, I learn more and more about how much of the shit that happened to me and the people I love is my goddamn fault. I think it's a little bit more than hard."

Sadie's eyes flashed dangerously, all the patience and tolerance vanishing from her face. She shrank away on instinct and remembered who it was she was speaking to.

"Sorry," Avery grumbled.

Sadie's lips pulled back into a sympathetic smile and that moment of danger dissipated with its return.

"It's okay, you're going through a lot. I don't expect you to be fine."

Avery stood to refill her now empty tumbler with more vodka and ice, "You sure you don't want anything?" She asked and Sadie shook her head. Sadie had told her after their third meeting that she had been teetotaling since 1853 after an unfortunate incident between her, a bottle of vodka, and a Russian general in Walachia.

Avery had yet to recall any memories about Sadie or their friendship and she wondered why that was. In the course of their work, Avery had stumbled across several memories of…Tom, it still hurt to think his name. She had quickly pulled away from the memory, sending both herself and Sadie into a shock of intracranial pain and pressure that stunned them for several minutes at a time.

It had done Avery's stability no favors, the headaches were particularly fierce when she separated her mind from Sadie's so incautiously. Sadie had thwacked her hard over the head with her phone after the third time it happened. The ensuing slap fight ended only after their frustration and anger manifested in a small earthquake that baffled local geologists and populated the front page of the Lebanon newspaper for two weeks.

Since then, they'd avoided anything Tom-related like the plague. Instead, they focused on family. A foray into her pre-Connecticut stint as a schizophrenic teenager revealed her first meeting with Crowley and the history of her parents.

Avery was technically a week old at the time, but in physical development, she was about five years old. It was hard to tell where she was in mental development what with having access to thousands of iterations and years of experience to draw from. Still, Avery had been present enough to understand that her parents were running and looking to Crowley for an out.

After meeting in a halfway house for celestial malcontents, demonic runaways, and monsters hiding from hunters, a young Allison and Eric bonded over the contracts on their lives. Allison, anti-christ to be until a young boy in Alliance, Nebraska was born and beat her in the line of succession, was being hunted by her demon mother. Eric, Nephilim and abomination of nature, was being hunted by his father, an angel who was trying to get back into the grace of heaven after his indiscretion.

What neither of them had known or foreseen was that God had smiled upon them from wherever he was and blessed them (or cursed them depending on how you viewed it) to conceive a rare and exceptionally powerful child, a vessel. It shouldn't have been possible, Nephilim and cambions are genetic dead ends like mules. But a swift week long pregnancy later, baby Avery was born.

The other refugees quickly discovered what had been born under their roof and cast them out, opening the new family to renewed and intensified danger, which pushed them into the arms of the King of the Crossroads.

After the demon deal, the family was relocated to 1990s New Orleans. Six years passed in relative peace until Allison learned what her husband had traded for their family's safety, a vial of his blood, her blood, and the blood of their daughter. Furious, Allison refused to give up her blood or induce her daughter to do so either. Eric's insistence that Crowley would kill him if they didn't comply didn't sway her in the slightest. When Eric asked Avery to hide him, she (in a surprisingly uncaring and unaffected manner) did without hesitation.

One inter-dimensional portal later, Eric Jackson was safely out of reach from Crowley and his father.

Crowley never looked for Allison or Avery to collect. Perhaps it was the ensuing apocalypse and his assent to King of Hell, but it turned out not to matter. Allison lived one year waiting and watching her daughter return again and again older and mischievously incurring the wrath of any and every creature she came across. It wasn't until Y2k that Avery had broached the topic of possibly relocating to a non-magical dimension. Five years later, in a frantic bid to escape Abaddon's vendetta from across time, Avery asked her mother to stab her with the malahaph and then jumped through the last intentional portal Avery ever made. Delirious from the effects of the knife and the hastily erected gate to safety, Avery's remaining iterations pulled up the walls in her mind for protection and went into hibernation.

The flimsy barriers leaked manifesting in schizophrenic episodes, and Avery, with help from her mother, finished the job with the decision to construct a false set of memories to block as much of the overflow as possible. No longer tempted to scratch at the walls, they lived in relative peace until Abaddon followed Henry Winchester through his time gate and she discovered a method of world-hopping that gave her access to her most bitter enemy.

And now there she was, mother dead, father in another dimension, poking at her poorly sectioned mind looking for answers to how exactly she'd fucked all of her abilities and life.

The consensus was that the effects of the malahaph had permanently damaged her ability to do… well, anything. The ability to fly from one place to another almost instantaneously, granted to her by her father, was something Avery was technically capable of but unsure of how to control. Attempts usually ended with Avery's crash landing in the general vicinity of her desired destination (give or take several miles) with a raging headache and the overwhelming urge to vomit. Her furthest flight found her waking in the middle of a crater the size of a small house and a quickly emptied stomach that produced a jet of blood and bile.

There were no further tests after her last attempt.

When Sadie insisted Avery refrain from trying to dimension hop given her unsuccessful attempts to move comfortably in the one she currently occupied, Avery informed her that she had little desire to do so anyway.

"What about Lucy? What about your dad?" Sadie asked when Avery had made her sentiment known.

Lucy. Avery had completely forgotten about her after everything that happened. In another life, she'd dropped her unsuspecting babysitter in an alternate dimension in which the events of Harry Potter actually took place. At the behest of a friend in that dimension, she'd chosen someone to offer up as a pawn to stop the second wizarding war from ever happening. An unforeseen consequence of her actions (well unforeseen to the current iteration of Avery that didn't know anything about who she was or what she had done) was that the girl was now trapped in a dimension with magical powers that were slowly killing her.

Tom had told her all those months ago that it was impossible for her to go there after stitching all of her selves together with the malahaph. He hadn't seemed to be lying, but it was clear now, after everything, that Tom had never been a hundred percent honest with her. The fact that Sadie discouraged inter-dimensional travel meant that it was at least possible for her to try.

"I can still save her?" Avery asked. After replaying her greatest (read worst) hits for the past month, she had a desperate desire to right at least one wrong.

Sadie shrugged, "Even if you did make it through, I don't know if you'd be able to bring anyone back with you."

When Avery didn't speak, Sadie continued, "I'm surprised that she's the one you're concerned about. I would have thought you cared more about what happened to your father."

Avery crossed her arms, "Not sure why I'd want to. I know that most of my memories of my dad being a deadbeat are fake, but it doesn't look like we had much of a relationship anyway."

Sadie pursed her lips and Avery frowned.

"Why do you even ask? I thought you didn't want me trying to go anywhere?"

Sadie brushed her bangs away from her eyes and sighed, "Well, I mean. You wouldn't remember, obviously, but you asked me to keep tabs on him after you dropped him off."

Avery's eyebrows lifted, "Oh?"

"He's fine… I think. Last I saw him he was enlisting to fight the war in Afghanistan."

Avery didn't quite know what to think about that.

"If you ever want to know more about him, his life…" Sadie trailed off at the look on Avery's face. There was a mix of uncertainty, ambivalence, and shame pinching the corners of her mouth that hinted at her confusion about how to feel. Avery wanted to care about her father, about his well being. She wanted to want to know him, but for all she knew, he could be dead in some desert across the world in another dimension. Not knowing whether or not he was dead was better than knowing for sure that the last member of her biological family was gone forever.

It was then that Sadie decided they had done enough work for the day. Sadie's parting gift to Avery before she left was a brief bone-crushing hug and a heavy pewter signet ring that had belonged to Tom.

"He left this at his old place," Sadie said as she dropped the piece of jewelry into Avery's palm. "If you ever want to go there, collect some of his things, let me know. I think he would have liked you to have them."

Avery stared at the ornately twisted metal as Sadie walked away and left the bunker. She pressed her thumb to the crest etched on the flat circle that jutted out from the band. His initials, T.S, were set in a shield framed with angel wings and hellfire. Avery tried the ring on each of her fingers, but they were too slender to keep it in place. She stuffed the ring in her pocket and planned to venture into town the next day for a chain so that she could wear it around her neck. Avery pulled the vodka off the counter and retreated to her room to listen to Coldplay and forget as much as she could about demon deals, cursed knives, and dead friends by chasing the bottom of the bottle.

—

1 month later

—

Dean couldn't stand the looks Sam kept shooting him as they drove home from the hunt at Sonny's Home for Boys. His eyes were all wide and sad and infuriatingly sympathetic in the way that only Sam knew how to make them. Yes, he'd wanted to stay there. Yes, he'd wanted to give up the life. Fine. Whatever. But Dean had responsibilities. Dean had his family, his father, but more importantly, Sammy. There was no apple pie life for people like Dean, who had a job to do and a brother to look out for. That's all there was to it.

But Sam wasn't like Dean. Sam left for college and found himself a girl. He escaped their father and his vendetta even if only for a time. Dean could tell that Sam was torn between feeling happy to know that he wasn't alone in wanting out and guilt at being the reason that Dean couldn't act on the desire to leave the life. It was stupid and a little narcissistic of Sam to feel that way because it wasn't just him that stopped Dean from leaving. Dean liked hunting with his dad. Dean loved having a family. What's more, Dean loved having a family that knew what was out there and fought to protect others from it.

Sonny was good people— is good people. Sure he knew about the life now, but he wasn't out there in the trenches with the rest of the hunters. He was a good substitute father while it lasted but John Winchester was a hard man to live up to. For all the things he hated about his father, Dean couldn't say that he didn't sacrifice everything for the greater good. Sure it might have thrown him and Sammy in harm's way more times than he could count, but compared to the lives saved in exchange? Well, Dean knew he wasn't and isn't worth more than them.

Sam looked over at him again and Dean's jaw clenched painfully. He could hear his teeth grind together. By the time the arrived back at the bunker, Dean was itching to escape to the gym and punch his frustrations out on the hanging sand-filled bag that had become his only respite outside of monster killing ever since touching the First Blade.

Before he could make it, though, he heard glass shatter in the kitchen and a loud expletive bounce against the tiles. The source of the noise was an exceptionally drunk Avery who was now on her hands and knees picking up the broken shard of a handle of vodka. The stupid bitch palmed and exceptionally large piece and uttered a pitiful 'Ow' when it sliced her from finger to wrist.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Dean asked tiredly and walked over before kneeling next to her to help her pick up. Blood flowed steadily from her hand and dripped on the usually pristine checkered tile.

"I was drinking and it slipped," she pouted before licking the wound like an injured dog. Her tongue skated up from the bottom of the cut all the way to the tip of her finger. Almost immediately, the wound started to close.

"That's new," Dean said, sweeping away the rest of the glass.

Avery swayed before standing, "Depends what you mean by 'new.'"

Dean would have asked what she meant a month ago, but ever since Tom's death, little displays of her abilities' new' and 'old' had become the norm. She never explained when he asked, and if she did, the explanations were vague or inaccessible, so he'd stopped asking.

"I'm going to drink your scotch now," she told him and Dean didn't protest. Without asking if he wanted any, Avery pulled two new tumblers from the cupboard and the half-finished fifth of whiskey that Dean had hidden behind a Costco sized jar of peanut butter. She poured him a glass, no ice, and did the same for herself.

"How was the hunt?"

Dean finished his drink in one swallow and poured himself some more.

"Oh," she said, "did you not get it in time?"

"We did," Dean corrected and she frowned.

"What was the hunt?"

"Ghost in a boy's home."

Avery smiled wanly and nodded, "I remember that one… Sam up your ass about it?"

Dean bristled. He hated how much Avery new about his life. He hated more that she acted like she understood him because of that. He wanted to hate how on point her assessment was, but he couldn't help and find relief to have someone to bitch to.

"He keeps looking at me. It's fucking annoying."

Avery looked like she might laugh but hid behind her glass when Dean glared at her. Dean swallowed the rest of his whiskey and stood to leave. He didn't say anything when Avery grabbed the fifth in one hand and her glass in the other and followed him to the gym.

Dean wrapped his hands and stretched for a minute before punching the bag with all of his might. Avery watched him set a punishing pace while slowly draining the bottle she'd stolen from him. When he finally tired, he sat down on the floor next to her and swiped the last of the whiskey.

"What do you do when we leave for hunts?" Dean asked.

Avery went very still before answering, "I try to remember."

"And?"

Avery grimaced and stared at the empty bottle in Dean's hands longingly, "Then I try to forget."

"Fair enough," Dean said. After another moment of silence, Dean spoke.

"You should come on the next hunt."

Avery shrugged noncommittally.

"Don't you want to leave the bunker?" Dean asked and Avery sighed.

"Sure, I guess. I'm too drunk to think right now."

Dean understood drunk to also mean tired. They were all tired. After Tom's death, Avery kept almost as irregular hours as he did. They often bumped into each other in the dead of night, both of them wandering in an attempt to tire themselves out enough to sleep. It never worked, of course, but it was nice to have the company, however sporadic it was.

Avery stood up and gave him a lazy two-finger salute by way of goodbye. After she turned the corner out of sight, Dean rubbed his eyes and got up for another round with the punching bag. Sleep wouldn't come easy that night. Not like it ever did.

P/N This chapter is kind of depressing but don't fear. The next one is going to be much more fun and ~spicy~. If you didn't read the note at the top please go back! There's hints and such. Also, please leave a review. They help motivate me. Half with shame for leaving y'all hanging and half with joy that you want to read at all. Until next time.

-Lucy