WARNING: THIS STORY CONTAINS GRAPHIC AND DISTURBING THEMES. PROCEED AT YOUR OWN DISCRETION.

WHILE THE THEMES MAY BE FICTIONAL, ALL METHODS USED ARE MEDICALLY PLAUSIBLE. PLEASE BE ADVISED.

Oh. My. God.

I know it's been AGES since I updated this and, for that, I'm terribly sorry! I got a bit of writer's block and I have noticed that I don't typically work on my Supernatural fics when I'm not in class. I don't know why that is. I have to force myself to work on them, whereas, during school, I'm ready, like, "LET'S DO THIS!" Summer classes start up next week, so that's good news for you all. Ah-ha!

To everyone that reviewed, thank you so much! kept by corgi's, so glad I'm not the only one. Then again, the Friday the 13th remake that Jared did...I was just like, "He looks like this film was awkward for him to do." Maybe on-set tension, but he just seemed out of place. Ah-ha? Darky4Ever, I notice that I do that. xD But I get too lazy to fix it - and I don't do Beta readers, because they always want to fix things that aren't broken. I had two go through one of my other fics and they kept wanting to remove hyphens and semi-colons, because they didn't know how to properly use them. So I deemed them worthless. That's horrible, I know. O-O boredtotearstoday (love your avatar, by the way!), THANK YOU! :D Who likes the status quo? Most of my stories are very dark and violent - hell, even my book's disturbingly factual. -innocent whistle- And to JaredPadaleckiFan, not too late that I lost you interest, I hope. OxO

Disclaimer: The boys would probably murder me in my sleep if I owned them.

3: Metal and Leather

Jensen groaned and rolled over, grabbing the covers of the bed and wrapping himself in a mock-cocoon. His head pounded and he clamped his eyes shut when light invaded the shelter of his lids; he pulled the covers over his head, trying to force out as much light as he could. He did not even recall falling asleep; but what he did recall was a horrifying nightmare of videos of Jared bleeding and screaming. He kept seeing the same face over and over: L.F with the crooked teeth and unkempt black hair, leaning over Jared's tortured form with a sadistic smile pasted onto his face.

A horrific nightmare.

Full of blood and metal.

He felt something heavy on the bed next to him. The thought ran across his head that he and Jared passed out late last night in the middle of some pointless conversation; and perhaps that was what the images playing in his head were: a dream.

The room blurred as his eyes opened, slowly focusing. However, instead of seeing Jared, his vision focused on Misha's torso. Apparently, his costar had fallen asleep sitting up against the headboard, his head falling off to the side. Jensen pushed himself up. He tried to recall Misha coming into his room, but last night was much of a blurred rush of horrible images. The sound of Jared screaming echoed around his head; screams of shear pain. Just the memory of it had his eyes burn and nausea wash over him. Because if Misha was in the room, then that meant all of those images and sounds had been…real.

The images of Jared came back full-throttle, flashing before his eyes like a cruel and taunting music box.

"HEATHROW ONE FOUR EIGHT TWO!"

He jerked, head jerking around. He threw the covers off of him, barely even noticing that there was a lack of sunlight behind the curtains; which either meant that it was early morning or overcast. A quick glance down at himself showed that he was still fully dressed, but he did not give it much thought and went to grab his laptop, only to realize that it was not sitting on the table next to the bed, anymore. Eyebrows pressed together as he scanned the room. He spotted it sitting on top of the television; he definitely did not recall putting it there. Then again, the last thing he recalled was holding onto someone's shirt as he broke down after watching….

That was who was in his room last night or early that morning, he realized, glancing over his shoulder to Misha. He must have passed out after his bout, because he could not remember actually lying down to go to sleep – his mind would not have willingly allowed itself to shutdown long enough for rest, not with everything that was happening.

He shook the thought and went to retrieve his laptop. Once he grabbed it and popped it open, it loaded to the wake-up page, making him type in his password before it would allow him to go any further. After it was typed in, the screen popped back up to the black-screen of what had been the live feed. Biting back the urge to release a shout and throw his laptop onto the floor, he clicked for a new tab, then took himself to Google. His fingers clicked on the keyboard as he plugged in "Heathrow 1482". His chest sunk when the only thing to come up was for British Airways. Aggravation setting in, he tried again, this time typing in their location, as well. Unfortunately, nothing came up at all that was even the slightest bit helpful.

"Maybe he misread the sign."

Jensen jumped and turned to see Misha sitting up and nodding towards the screen. Not responding, Jensen looked back at the laptop, making a grunt from the top of his throat. Looking at the results that meant nothing aggravated him and he slammed the laptop shut, tossing it behind him onto the bed. He set his elbows on his knees and ran his hands through his hair, taking a deep inhale as he tried to stay composed and not allow his emotions to get the best of him yet again. The weight shifted on the bed as Misha moved to get off. The younger star stared straight ahead of him as Misha came around to his side, staring down at him. Deeply inhaling, Jensen gazed at him, his eyes tired and red. It was odd seeing Misha so composed; the usually cocky actor that was always joking and being able to get even the most straight-faced person to crack a smile appeared so much more mature.

"What if they killed him?" He watched Misha's jaw tense as he took a breath before sitting on the bed next to him. His look to Jensen's was sympathetic as Jensen tried to keep his voice from shaking. "What if he said too much and they just killed him?" A hand being set on his shoulder blade was the only response Misha gave to him. Jensen tried to stop talking, but his mouth did not seem to want to listen to his brain and he kept going. "Tell me he's fine – I don't care if it's a lie, but I need to hear it." He could feel his eyes burning as the light in the room started to glow from seeing it through water.

Misha shook his head at the expression, his hand lightly rubbing the other's back. "Jared's not weak, you know? He's a freak, the size of a bus and a complete pervert." Jensen forced a laugh from the pit of his throat and Misha took his hand back, setting his elbows on his knees. "He's got the mental capacity to, not only put up with me, but put up with you and if that doesn't mean he's got one strong-assed mentality, then I don't know what does." He turned his head to look at his costar, who was staring straight ahead at the door. "They're going to find him and he's going to be fine."

Silence filled the room as he continued to stare at Jensen, waiting for some form of response. Finally, after a tense few minutes, Jensen straightened up, inhaling deeply before taking to his feet. He turned to look at the other star, a fierce determination set into his features. "I'm not waiting that long." Misha's look was curious. "I'm not gonna sit around while some pigs, who don't give a shit, half-ass their jobs."

He did not give the older male a chance to reply and, in a few strides, was at the door, swinging it open and walking out. Misha quickly followed after him, only to catch up to him as he went through the door to the stairwell. Their shoes hit on the cement stairs sounding like tap dancing, moving flights in seconds. A girl coming up the staircase glued herself to the wall as they actors went by her and she watched them until they disappeared around the next turn, more than likely recognizing them, whereas she leaned over the railing to watch them descend. Twelve flights to reach the bottom and Jensen pushed through the door, swinging it open far enough for Misha to go through without even having to touch it. The doorway let them out at the end of the hall with the elevators and, when they entered the lobby, the realization hit on what time it was.

The windows in the lobby showed early morning air and the people standing at the front desk with bags checking out proved that it was still dawn. From what they could see out of the lobby windows, it was gray and a light fog had invaded the streets: it was a strange irony. The only thing that could have made it worse was had it have been raining.

Misha's distracted attention was drawn back when he noticed Jensen pushing himself in front of the first person in the line at the front desk. He could not hear what they were saying, but the agitated look on the person's face was more than likely followed by an obscenity, but Jensen just held up his hand to cut them off as he focused his attention on the clerk. Eyes darting over to a guard that was starting to make his way over to the Supernatural star, Misha walked as quickly as he could and grabbed Jensen's shoulder just as he got to the counter and heard the clerk say, "I'm sorry, sir, but you're going to have to wait."

Jensen jerked his shoulder to shake off Misha's grip. "I'm sick of waiting, goddamn it!"

"Some of us have places to go," the man that Jensen had cut in front of snapped.

"Your cab can wait five freakin' minutes," he shot back over his shoulder, then turned back to the clerk. "Look, it'll take five seconds: I just need to know if there's a place called Heathrow—"

"Is there a problem, here?"

The look of aggravation in Jensen's demeanor was blatantly obvious when the security guard came up to them, one hand on his belt as the other set on the counter, forcing the star to turn his attention to him. Much like an agitated smirk his character would give, Jensen was delivering the same one to the official. "Everything's fine, officer."

The official's eyes moved to the clerk, but the man behind them piped back in. "This prick won't wait and I've got a flight I've got to catch."

Finally seeming fed up with him, Jensen spun around to face them. "If you'd shut your goddamn mouth for five freakin' seconds, I would have already been done!" Again, he faced the clerk. "Please, I need to—"

"Sir, please come with me," the officer said as they grabbed Jensen's upper arm.

He pulled his arm away. "It's fine, I just need to know—"

"I won't say it again, sir."

Misha finally broke in when it was about to become apparent that Jensen was going to either get arrested or escorted away. He grabbed Jensen's shoulder again, this time being successful in pulling him back and putting his hand up to the guard. "We're sorry, sir. Didn't sleep well last night and haven't had coffee, yet." His hand had shifted from holding Jensen's shoulder to holding his upper arm as he started to pull him away from the desk. The guard seemed to let it slide, whereas he sighed, nodded to the man that had been cut off and walked away.

When they were near the front doors, the younger male took his arm back, glaring towards the front desk. "God, bunch of worthless fu—"

"Excuse me. Mr. Ackles?"

Both of them turned to see a young female in her early twenties standing behind them near the door. Her appearance was disheveled, medium-length brown hair a mess, as though she had just finished rolling on the ground. "Oh, thank god," she said, sounding relieved. The thought ran through their heads that it was a fan of the show that found out what hotel they were staying at, but that all changed when she came out with, "I'm sorry." They stared at her intently, eyebrows pressed together as they exchanged curious expressions.

"What?" was the first thing out of Misha's mouth followed by Jensen saying:

"Sorry? Sorry for what?"

"I didn't know they would actually do it," she spoke face, her brown eyes red and puffy. As she stood there, trembling with Jensen and Misha staring at her as though she had escaped from a mental institution, Jensen's eyes started to widen, realizing what she was referring to. When she saw the change in his expression, she shook her head, eyes filling up with water. "We were just joking around, you know?" she started, a nervous smile falling on her rounded features. "Saying we would do stupid things; like when you're broke and you say you're gonna rob a bank. You're not actually going to do it, but Lance took it too far – I'm so sorry, Jensen, I'm sorry. I didn't think—" Her breath caught in her throat, finally cutting off her rambling.

He grabbed her shoulders, forcing her to look at him. Her face was red as remorseful tears streaked her face. "Where is he?" he demanded, but she was shaking so much, she was having trouble speaking. He gripped her shoulders tighter and shook her, voice coming out much harsher when he went, "Where the hell is he?"

"I – I—"

She was stuttering, voice catching in her throat.

"Heathrow…," he muttered looking away from her for only a moment before putting his eyes back on her. "Heathrow 1482, what is that? A – a street? A building? What is it?" His grip was digging into her shoulders. "What is it!"

Misha grabbed Jensen's shoulder and pulled him back, but he shoved off his costar's hand and released his grip on the girl's shoulders. It did not stop his expression and harsh stare. She took a step away from them, looking as though she was about to run, but her eyes started searching around in front of her. Appearing to have found what she was searching for, her eyebrows knitted toegether.

"Heathrow…. It doesn't mean…." She trailed off right before her eyes lit up. "Harthlow…the old insane asylum?" she muttered to herself, still not looking back to them. Her brown hair moved in front of her face when she shook her head. "All the way on Glendale…they…moved it?"

She suddenly seemed confused, but shook the thought, face overcome with shear dread. Before either of the stars could comment, she took off running from the lobby. Jensen cursed and took off after her, but by the time he pushed through the doors leading outside, she had vanished down the sidewalk. Another curse escaped his throat as Misha came up behind him; the older male did not even have a chance to get in a word before Jensen was at the edge of the sidewalk, waving his hand to try to catch one of the few cabs out so early. When one blew passed him, he ended up stepping out in front of another, forcing them to stop. His hand was on the door handle when Misha grabbed his arm.

"Where are you going?"

Jensen pulled the door open. "Wherever it was that chick said." He moved to sit in the cab.

"Have you lost your mind? We need to call the police!" His hand was on the door, keeping Jensen from shutting it. The other just growled and shot him a glare.

"Then you do that, but I'm going to check it out."

"Jen—"

"Don't bother. Because if it really is those sick fucks, I'm going to kill'em."

Misha took his hand off the door, but shoved Jensen over in the cab, forcing himself in the seat next to his co-star. "Well, I can't risk you going by yourself." He shut the door, opposing Jensen's look and pulled out his phone to dial for emergency. As Jensen gave the location to the cab driver, Misha was giving the same information to an emergency personnel.

-o-o-o-o-o-

The area was not that far from the hotel. Outside of the city were a cluster of rundown neighborhoods and the cabbie dropped them off on a street called Glendale. Jensen practically shoved the cash to the driver, saying for him to keep the change as he followed after Misha; the second the door was shut to the vehicle, the driver pulled away. An iron fence ran around what appeared to be the grounds to the abandoned mental facility. The building itself was dark with broken windows on the lower floors of all of the attached buildings. Though there was undoubtedly a break somewhere in the fence for people to easily slip through, the Supernatural stars did not bother to search for it and, instead, ended up hopping the fence. Jensen's shoes hit the ground below, followed by his palms when he fell forward. Right as he tried to stand up, he heard Misha curse, the sound of something rip and, next thing he knew, the weight of the other was on his back.

"Damn it," Misha groaned as he rolled off of him, sitting on the ground. Jensen pushed himself up and looked next to him to see Misha staring at a long rip and large gash on his inner thigh. The older man cursed again when he touched it, garnering a light sting. Without turning his head, he said, "Jeans caught on the fence."

"You gonna be good?" Jensen stood up, dusting the dirt off of his pants.

He nodded and pushed himself to stand, catching his balance when pressure from the muscles in his leg flexing pushed against the wound. "Yeah." The blood trickled down his leg, disappearing into the boundary of the fabric. "Shit's not as easy in real life."

An odd laugh caught in Jensen's throat. "No kidding. C'mon." He lightly hit Misha in the chest as they began walking across the grounds. Between the morning fog and the overcast skies, the asylum looked as though it had stepped out of a horror film. Wind picked up, chilling the air, which did not help the feeling of dread both of the actors were experiencing. Around the base of the asylum, the doors were locked and the only door that was not locked ended up being an outside janitor's closet. Instead of focusing on finding an unlocked door, they ended up splitting up, each going around a different side to look for a window that was unlocked without bars. The thought that all bad things in movies happens when the characters split up was a fleeting thought through Jensen's mind. Most of the windows he checked were busted with jagged pieces of glass sticking up, but the insides all had cast iron bars.

When he managed to find an unlocked window, he stood facing the side, bent his elbow and bashed it into the glass, breaking it; however, when he knocked the glass out of the way, he released a frustrated shout, balled up his fist and punched the safety glass that was set in a half-foot passed the window. Pain shot through his hand and up his arm as he pulled his arm back, holding his hand as more swears escaped from his mouth. His attention was drawn when he caught movement from his peripheral vision and saw Misha jogging up to him. He took a glance from the busted window to Jensen's hand, shook his head and pointed behind him. "I think I found the way in." He led Jensen back around the side of the building, passing the one they were by and following one of the overhangs to a connected building. Standing by the edge where the overhang met the building, Misha pointed up to an opened window. The glass that had once been held in the pane was gone. He turned to look at Jensen's baffled expression. "What?"

The younger male shook his head, still gazing up at the window. "It doesn't make sense." Now it was Misha's turn to deliver the curious look. "There would be no way that anyone could haul a body at a deadlift up there and through that window." He turned to face his costar. "There has to be another way in. Either that or…." He trailed off, jaw clenching, not wanting to finish the thought. The response was a sympathetic expression.

Not allowing the train of thought to continue, Misha followed up with, "Look, all of the buildings are probably connected, anyway. If we can get up there—"

He did not have to finish. Jensen was already climbing up the rusting shaft to the gutter drain, trying to get to the top of the overhang. It creaked and bent as he ascended and, just as he reached the top, the rusted bolts began pulling away from the wall. "Shit!" Jensen's voice caught in his throat as he had to perform an awkward side jump to reach the top of the overhang; only his upper body made it as the gutter fell, hitting the ground below with a clang. With a grunt, he managed to pull himself up onto it. He collapsed on it for a moment before pushing himself to all fours and turning to look over the edge down at Misha who went from staring at the fallen gutter up to him.

"Looks like I'll have to find another way in," he said as Jensen began leaning over the edge to look around the corner of the building.

He pointed to the end. "Is that a door?"

Misha turned to look and started nodding his head. "Yeah, but it's locked from the inside."

"All right." Misha gazed back up as Jensen stood at a crouch to keep his balance. "I'll see if I can unlock it; don't disappear on me." He headed to the window.

"Watch it in there." Jensen nodded. After he climbed into the window, Misha yelled back, "And don't do anything without me!"

The room that he had managed to get into appeared to be an old half-bath that was falling apart. The floor was peeling and the sink and urinals were covered in rust; pipes that ran up the wall and across the ceiling fared no better. It was obvious that teenagers had infiltrated the place on multiple occasions, whereas graffiti littered the cement walls. Jensen's shoes crunched on broken glass from a busted mirror that had once been above the since as he made his way to the partially-opened door. The hallway was nearly black, the only light that came in was from a window at the other end, but the early morning light did not give much. Other than his footsteps, the silence inside was eerie, and every time he thought he heard something, it was either the creak of the building or he could not see what it was, because it was too dark.

The good note was that the window was bringing in enough light for him to make out the door to the stairwell on the opposite side of the wall; however, the stairwell was pitch black. He reached into the pocket of his jeans, remembering his phone. Opening up the screen, it emitted very little light, but, after accessing the flashlight application, the LED light flooded the stairwell. It was a narrow passage that he made his way down, the paint on the walls was peeling away and broken wood, glass and metal littered the base. At the bottom, the floor fared no better and the hallway outside was in worse shape than what he had been able to make out on the upper floor. He shined the flashlight on his phone around and saw doors, some with missing handles, others opened and others with rust eating away at the metal. He headed right and found a framed map on the wall near an apparent nurse's station. A quick look over it showed an emergency exit around the corner at the end of the hall. Accessing the camera, he snapped a photo of it for reference before moving down the hall to the door.

Half-expecting it to be locked from both directions, his surprise came when he was able to push it open. Once outside, he jumped when Misha came around the corner.

"Well, that was simple enough," the older male commented. Jensen nodded as Misha walked in, shutting the door behind him.

Pulling up the picture of the map he took on his phone, Misha leaned over his shoulder. "All right, if here's the emergency exit, we should be—"

"There." Misha pointed to the red marked area with his index finger.

"We need the stairwell. There were stairs in the video," he answered to his costar's expression.

"Is that them?" Misha pointed to the left corner. Zooming in, they could see the lines that marked a stairwell. "Think it goes to the basement?"

"They better. Aren't all the basements connected in places like this?" Misha only shrugged. "Damn it. Come on." With long strides, he moved down the hallway into the nurse's station. Making a quick stop, he went behind the counter and began sifting through the drawers. When he opened the bottom cabinet, he came back up, tossing a flashlight to Misha, who turned it on to make sure it worked. Jensen grabbed a second one, doing the same, then came back around as they went to the marked stairwell. An elevator was next to the doors, the doors for the device were rusted and the button had long since been busted, its wiring protruding out. The door to the stairwell creaked when it was pushed open, making them glance to each other. One set going up and one going down, they descended, meeting another rusted door that had 'PERSONNEL ONLY' written on a sign. The door was locked, but, growing agitated, Jensen rammed his shoulder up against it, releasing an aggravated shout as he did it again, trying to force it open.

"Jen!" Misha reached to grab his shoulder, but Jensen did it again, slamming his full weight against the door. "Jensen, stop!" He grabbed Jensen's forearm and the younger man spun around, his eyes red and swollen. Jensen fell against the door with his left hand barely slapping against it.

"I know he's down there – I know it…," he trailed out, voice shaking. "Goddamn it!" he shouted as he turned and kicked the door.

"Move," Misha commanded as he pulled Jen away from the door. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a small pocket knife and opened its barely-two-inch blade. Pressing the tip against the screw, he had to turn it slowly, but the screw turned with it. It took a few minutes to get that screw and the next, but when they were out and he gave the handle a tug, it popped right off, baring the inner mechanism. He slid his finger through the hole and pushed it to the side, unlatching the door and pushing it open. Jensen was staring at him with knitted eyebrows. "What? I was a teenager, too."

Shining their flashlights, there were more stairs; only these were grated, rusting metal. Taking lead again, Jensen led the way down, cautious with each step as it creaked under their weight. Rust had eaten through the metal on several steps, so when they reached the bottom, there was an air of relief. Several feet down a cemented in hallway, there was a fork with a glass-encased map on the wall in front. Each hallway led underneath a different building, with side room down both. Jensen shined his light down both directions as Misha inspected the map. Pulling out his own phone, he did the same thing Jensen had done and snapped a photo of it for reference. Grabbing Jensen's phone from his hand, he did the same and handed it back.

"You go left, I go right?" he asked, drawing Jensen's attention.

The younger male contemplated it. "Isn't separating the dumbest thing you can do in a horror movie?"

Misha shrugged. "Anything happens, police have already been called; though I don't get what's taking them so long," he muttered the last bit. "Besides"—he held his phone up—"oddly enough, there's service down here." He put his phone into his pocket.

Jensen finally nodded, appearing as though he had to force himself to do so. "All right." And, despite his brain telling him differently, he took a step backward. "Be careful. If it's those fucking bastards—"

"Don't worry. Good luck."

A quick nod was all that was given before they both went separate directions.

Jensen's heart pounded in his chest with apprehension as he made his way down the corridor, with the flashlight being the only source of light. He did his best to keep his hand steady as he flashed it from door-to-door; his nerves were shot. All of the doors had small, square windows, and he would make sure to flash the light into each of them, only to see empty hospital gurneys and old medical equipment. One room was wide open and, when he stepped inside, the thought that lobotomies and awry patient experiments used to be performed; which might have been why the hospital had been shut down.

His heart beat faster and harder in his chest at the thought.

There was no doubt in his mind that Jared was somewhere in the underground tunnels.

All of this old equipment crawling with disease.

And that was what they were using….

His skin crawled at the thought and his spine tingled.

A loud clang from somewhere down the hall pulled him out of the room, shining the flashlight back and forth. His feet began moving forward, though his brain was saying to stay away; getting to the source was his only motive. Falling into more of a jog with the light going from one door to the next, his attention focused on one very out-of-place. It was the only door that was not fully opened or fully shut; the door's latch was set on the doorframe. Covering the flashlight with his hand, he peeked into the window.

The only thing he could see was a feint light somewhere towards the back.

Uncovering the light, he shined in around to make sure he was alone, then shut it completely off. Trying to open the door without it creaking or scraping on the floor, he opened it just enough to slip through, and then kept his hand on it as he slowly let it close. As he moved through the room, he had to go through clear plastic curtains, that were enclosed around a typical-type room, complete with medical bed and restraints – most likely to hold patients that became violent. On a metal table by the bed were medical supplies, including scalpels, syringes with multiple tip choices and others that he had only seen on the set and did not know the name of.

When he heard the sound of movement, he kept his eyes focuses on the low light ahead through the curtains as he grabbed the scalpel, slipping it under the sleeve arm to his jacket. Slowly, with one foot in front of the other, he moved forward, nearly holding his breath. As he moved through the curtains on the other end, which caused a blurry haze around everything, the flashlight he had still been holding hit the floor and his legs felt numb.

He had to find his footing and force himself to move.

His eyes and hands shook when he approached the table, darting around the figure of his costar.

The upside down Y-shaped scar from part of his liver being removed, only sewn up with thick, black thread; and another scar that ran across his left side, also stitched with thick, black thread.

Dried and still-drying blood was caked around the more recent incision.

With hands trembling, he brought his right hand up to hover over Jared's face, eyes burning as he grabbed the blood-soaked rag that was still shoved in his mouth to take it out. Now setting his hand on the side of Jared's face, he leaned down. Jared's eyes were staring straight ahead, completely blank – unblinking. "Jare?" His voice came out in a shaken whisper as he staring into the other's eyes. "Hey, buddy, it's me." He cocked his head, making sure he knew he was the only thing in front of the other's gaze. A stray drop fell down his face. "We're gonna get you out of here, okay?" He ran his fingers through the other's knotted hair, trying to get a response: a twitch, a nod, a blink – something.

He looked around, making the note of Jared's chest moving up and down.

A step behind him and he pulled up, spinning around to see a dangerously familiar face.

More than likely, only one more chapter to go. Maybe two, if I decide to add in a scene without it seeming really out of place.

Psychologically, though, it's about to get bad.

I'm warning you all ahead of time. I do wanna say this, which is probably unrelated, but I've been working on an Avengers 2012 fic and, since it's action-related, I've been getting to work with something completely out of comfort zone. I always work with psychological factors, because I understand the human brain - I know how triggers work: what people feel, what they experience, the different ways different people deal with things, addictions, rape, murder, torture (as you all can see with this fic). But I never realized how fun action is to do. The way you get to write the actions of the human body, instead of the mind. It's so different!

There's a reason I'm going into the field I'm going into. But...argh. I digress.

Random thing: SHOUTOUT TO THE COOLEST PROFESSOR, EVER! Lotta love, sir! Ha~

Keep an eye out for the next chapter, everyone! I promise it won't take this long! It'll be up before Father's Day, okay?