Fear Itself

“Hey!” I called out as I banged on Sam’s door so hard that my knuckles were turning red. “Sam,” I whined. “Please open up!”

Sam’s office was like the eighth wonder of the world. Not many people got to see it, ever. I had only seen Alex and Dean go in there, and sometimes, people were in there for a few seconds, but there was one thing nobody ever saw: Sam walking out of it. He was always in that room, which was I had decided to bother him. Nobody else was around; I was bored. Sam was my only option left, but getting through the door was the issue.

“No,” I heard him mumble from inside of his office. Not once had I ever been inside the thing, even in the last couple of weeks. It had nearly been a month since I set foot in the base, and I never once saw Sam in his natural habitat. In fact, I hardly saw Sam at all. Even when I went asking people where he was, a lot of them looked confused and asked who in the world I was talking about because they didn’t know anyone named Sam.

“Sam!” I continued, just shouting louder and banging some more. “It’s so important! I really need to tell you something, Sam!”

Much to my delight, there was a pause, some shuffling, and then the door creaked open, exposing a sliver of Sam’s perpetually tired eye. “What do you want, Tali?”

“Can you open the door?” I asked. “Pretty please?” A sweet smile widened into a grin on my face, and I batted my eyelashes at him until he finally opened the door further.

“Yes, there,” he scoffed. “Can you please just tell me what you want now?”

“I’m bored,” I explained with a pout. Sam sighed and began to close the door on me, until I leapt forward and threw my body between the door and the wall. “Hey!” I exclaimed. “Can’t you just talk to me? Nobody else is here.” Sam turned his head back to me and glared for a moment. “Please?” I begged.

“Oh, fine,” he gave in with a sigh, leaving the door open wide enough for me to come in. He closed it behind me while I was busy staring around the room, taking everything it. “Don’t touch anything,” Sam murmured as he sat back at his makeshift desk, which was really just a table and chair with a very old, out-dated computer on it.

“Why’s your computer so old?” I asked him. The glow of the screen reflected on his face in the dimly lit room. He barely looked back at me when he answered.

“No chip,” he explained briefly. “If theres no chip, they can’t watch me.”

Chips. Things had… chips… I was thinking, thinking long and hard about what Sam had just told me, thinking back to the tiny, red thing I had pulled out of Avery’s phone the first night I had spent in the base. That horrible little chip had made the most god awful sound, and now that Sam mentioned the chip made it possible for someone, whoever he was referring to, to watch you… It made sense.

Perhaps that noise was meant to alert the viewers/listeners/what have you that the chip had been removed. Too bad it was so easy to break before the signal could have been traced… at least I don’t think it had been traced. Nobody showed up to pursue it, after all.

“You know, I can take them out, right?” I asked, and Sam’s head turned to me, absolutely baffled.

“Really?” he replied, not really asking so much as he was exclaiming in his shock. I gave him a brief nod, trying not to giggle at how startled he seemed. Sam was never really one for expressing emotion, but he truly seemed to not believe I could do. “No way.” He shook his head at me. “Nobody knows how to do that.”

“I do,” I told him with confidence, knowing I had done just that not all that long ago. “I took it out of a phone just a few weeks ago.” Sam raised his eyebrows attentively, and he nodded slowly, taking everything. “So, if you can get your hands on a new computer and a tool kit, or even like… some bobby pins or a fork, I’ll work some magic on it.”

“That would be… really great.” Sam’s voice was soft… slow, even. He was smiling at me, not much, but enough for me to know that the idea truly did please him, and the idea of making Sam happy when he rarely even seemed to smile had me glowing. “Thanks, Tali.”

I just smiled and nodded. A small silence filled the room as Sam went back to clicking and typing and doing whatever on the computer. Despite Sam’s protests, I sat on the bed against the wall, making myself at home, much like I had in Avery’s room. “Sam,” I addressed him. “Who would be watching you?”

“Um… well… the League,” he answered, seemingly unsure, of what I didn’t know. Maybe he was confused that I didn’t know what he had been referring to… which was completely possible. Everyday, I found myself lacking the same common knowledge everybody else seemed to have around here. “You know, government bastards… out to create their perfect little world of pretty, rich, elitist pigs with their fancy wine and their parties and their ridiculous lifestyle… fill the rest of us with lies, drugs, altered history… anything to keep the sheep in the herd.”

“Sheep?”

“Metaphorical sheep,” Sam explained. “Not… not actual sheep. We’re the sheep, Tali. Actually, you’re not. You have money but… the rest of us.”

“Oh,” I murmured. “Like you, and Alex? And Dean?”

“No,” Sam blurted out rather quickly. “Not Dean. Dean joined the military at fifteen. They liked that. When members of the masses are willing to shoot and kill their own, the League praises them,” he told me with disdain. “It’s gruesome and appalling, and they have no remorse. The League likes soldiers because they follow orders, and that’s all. The militia will kill you without question if the League tells them to.” He paused and shook his head with a sigh. “That’s why they watch all the time. They put an enormous amount of effort into keeping the poor people in the dark… make them apathetic. You know, they push drugs out, right?” he asked me but didn’t wait for an answer. “They actually put drugs in the hands of black market dealers to make them more accessible, and people buy into this rubbish that the League’s trying to lock down on drugs. There’s a board position for regulation for fuck’s sake, but the League’s not trying to help us at all.”

My father worked for the League. Sam didn’t like the League. The League lied; this wasn’t making sense to me. Though I hated being confused, I was unsure of whether or not I wanted to know how my dad tied into all of this. The way Sam described these people made them sound awful, but my dad always made it sound like the League was truly looking out for the people of the world. Not wanting to upset Sam and try to dispute his claims, I switched the topic. “So, Dean went into the military,” I said. “What did you do? University?” I asked him, trying to think of what I had read. Most people attended university after school, right? Sam was older than me, and he was probably well out of school, I reasoned, and while I waited for his answer, all Sam could do was murmur a half-hearted chuckle.

“No,” he laughed. “No, I didn’t go to university.”

“Didn’t you have an idea of what you wanted to do?” I continued, wondering why he wouldn’t have attended considering her seemed like such a bright man.

“People don’t have aspirations in this world, Tali,” Sam told me, giving me an earnest look. I knew he wasn’t lying. His gaze was heavy with the harshness of reality and all the baggage that came with it. I hoped I would never have that look in my eyes. “The League made damn sure of that.” Sam turned back to his computer. “Hell, Alex is the smartest man I know, and he’s stuck working as a cashier ringing people up down at Liberty Market… you know, when they aren’t just stealing.”

Liberty Market was where I had stolen shoes, wasn’t it? It must have been. Avery had never mentioned any other markets we could have gone to. Knowing that Alex worked there made me feel like less of a bad person… maybe it was just because I loathed his existence. “Right,” I replied quietly, barely above a whisper. “But the people… shouldn’t they be upset? I mean… I would be… I just would think that more people would be here… trying to help.” I still wasn’t sure exactly what “helping” was or if Harley was right in calling the Brotherhood the “good guys.”

“Well, it would certainly help if the League stopped broadcasting to the entire globe that we’re terrorists,” he muttered with disdain. “Not to mention, there’s no such person as Emmanuel Cassidy, so anybody who goes off looking to contact him is definitely shit out of luck.”

“Emmanuel… Cassidy…?” I thought aloud. My eyebrows furrowed in thought, and suddenly, the light bulb went off. “You are supposed to be Emmanuel Cassidy?” I inquired with utmost surprise and curiosity. It seemed Sam, though unwilling to socialize, was the only one willing to answer any of my questions.

“No,” he replied briefly, finally spinning away from his computer to face me. The sight of me on his bed made his face twist up. “I thought I told you—never mind.” He sighed a little. “Emmanuel Cassidy is the League’s way of making fun of my father. He’s an absolutely fictitious person used to discourage people from rebelling. They’ve used him to brainwash the citizens of the world into hating our movement, and they’ve absolutely discredited my father’s work by stealing his last name. Landon Cassidy was a great man, and they’ve turned him into an absolute joke.”

“Landon,” I repeated. Landon. Landon, I had seen that name before. Perhaps on the back of a photo in my mother’s album, but I was having a hard time matching a face to the name. “That sounds awfully familiar to me.”

“Probably because he worked with your mother,” Sam explained, and a tiny smirk graced his features. “I actually met her a few times.”

“Really?” I asked him, full of excitement and bursting at the seams with curiosity, eager to know about her, and I knew he could tell. It was written all over my face, and he just laughed.

“Yeah, but I was really young,” he told me. His shoulders shrugged a little. “She was a lovely lady. A lot like you actually.” A chuckle escaped his throat. “She was… always happy, from what I remember. Very eager to give hugs too.”

“Well, I do like to give hugs,” I reasoned. A grin graced my face, and I could have sworn I saw one twisting across Sam’s lips, but it was wiped away when the heavy door creaked open to reveal my very best friend whom I hadn’t seen all day. “Mumbles!” I laughed, wiggling my toes around in my shoes and swinging my legs.

“Princess,” he acknowledged me in his usually gruff voice, but his eyes turned to Sam. “Gotta talk to you, Cassidy.”

Sam cleared his throat. “Right,” he said and started to rise from his chair, but I rushed over and threw my arms around him; Sam locked up like a dead tree.

“No, Mumbles!” I cried. “You can’t take him from me!” My bottom lip protruded in a small pout. “He’s the only person I got to talk to all day!”

“Sorry, Princess,” he murmured. “Got business with ‘im.”

Before I could protest, I heard Dean calling from just outside the office. “Don’t worry about them, Blondie. They’re boring. Come here, I’ve got something for you!”

“Oh!” I exclaimed, immediately terminating my vice grip on Sam. “A surprise!” I squealed before rushing past Avery, letting the door close behind him. I saw Dean sitting out at the table I had seem far too many times, a table I had later been told was the “meeting table.” I saw Dean seated there, dressed in more casual clothes today, but still looking far more put-together than anybody down in the tunnels. “What is it?!” I sat beside him grinning. “Is it a party!?” My eyes fell upon a bag on the table, something that look very similar to the black back I used to carry Ralph to and from the tunnels every morning… the bag I had left in Avery’s room that Ralph had decided to sleep all over. “What’s in the box?”

“The greatest invention mankind has ever thought of,” Dean told me, oozing charisma that really only made this even more exciting. I was practically bouncing in the chair as I watched him reach in the bag. I watched him pull out several glass bottles, all filled with different-colored liquids. “Alcohol.”

Almost the second Dean revealed that he was not in fact throwing me a party, I had absolutely lost interest in the exchange. He pulled two glasses out of the bag and was mumbling about something, but I wasn’t paying attention to him. Instead, as he began pouring, I asked, “What business does Mumbles have with Sam?”

Dean’s eyes didn’t even lift, just focused on the drinks. “Compensation,” he answered. “See, Blondie, your friend doesn’t really… align with our cause,” Dean explained to me as he put the cap on the drink. “It’s kind of a um… ‘you do things for us, we’ll give you a room and some cash’ kind of exchange. Here,” he said, handing me a glass. “Try this. You should like this better than what you had at that party.”

It was a pint glass about half full, from the looks of it. I took it in my hand and scanned the liquor over as I brought the glass closer. It was clear, and it smelled strong, smelled very distinctly like alcohol, very bitter, but clear. There was a pause, and Dean grinned, watching as I inspected it. “Chandler’s my usual drinking buddy, but I need someone in his absence, and you’re the only one around here who isn’t a total stick in the mud,” he joked.

“Oh,” I laughed quietly, eyes still stuck on the drink. “Do you do this often?”

“Well, we go out for drinks once or twice a week,” he explained with a nod. “Generally, hanging out with Chandler means that Chandler comes and sleeps in my guest bedroom for weeks at time because he can’t ‘live where he works.’” He saw the confusion in my face, I was sure, because he chuckled and added, “Chandler’s house isn’t somewhere you live, Blondie. The furniture’s covered in plastic for what he calls ‘aesthetic reasons,’ and the walls are entirely white, like a blank canvas, because it offers him a ‘creative space.’ The only things he ever hangs up are mirrors and clocks. He crashes at my place most of the time, but when he isn’t crashing at mine, I’m crashing at his.” Dean shrugged. “But like I said, he’s been busy.”

“With what?” I asked, almost trying to change the subject from the drink in my hand, hoping maybe Dean might forget that he brought me out here to drink and not to converse.

“Rumor has it Chandler’s found himself a new boy-toy,” Dean chuckled.

“Chandler’s gay?”

Dean looked at me, utterly shocked. “You mean… you didn’t know?” He sputtered a laugh. “Blondie, dead people know Chandler’s gay.” His grin faded. “But I forgot you spent eighteen years in house, never seeing a single homosexual. I’ll give you a pass on that one.” Embarrassed, I grinned, and Dean smirked. “Blondie, I’m waiting.” He eyed my glass and raised his eyebrows.

Though the smell was enough to initially deter me, Dean was drinking from his, and I wasn’t about to close myself off to anything experiences… if I did, it seemed rather pointless to be sneaking out all the time, so I followed suit, taking a sip. “Mm,” I hummed as I swallowed. A burning sensation trailed behind the liquid as it traveled down my throat. I felt a little light-headed for a moment, but it passed soon enough. “That’s not so bad,” I remarked. “Kind of tastes like raspberries.”

“Great deduction, Sherlock,” Dean teased, grinning. “That’s because it’s raspberry vodka.” He laughed and began pouring himself another glass. “Well, now that we know you like that one… drink up, Blondie. There’s plenty more to go around.”

And, boy, did I take that advice.

I didn’t realize what had happened at first. I just got really relaxed, and I felt inclined to drink more and more… I was just knocking them back, or at least it felt like it. Dean swears to this day that I only had one glass by the time the tingling set in, but he also said that I was very tired. I remember that much. I remember telling Dean that I was “sleepy and really wanted to take a nap,” and all Dean said was, “No, no, no, Blondie. Here. Have another.” I took it regardless, giggling, because for some reason whatever Dean said was absolutely hilarious, to the point where I laughed so hard I thought my gut might split right in half.

Somewhere between drink two and three a spinning contest had seemed like a good idea, so Dean and I stood in the middle of the common room, twirling like idiots, laughing like it was the most fun we had in years, but I barely made half a rotation before I stumbled and fell, crippled with body-wracking giggle fits. Dean’s laugh echoed above me, and from my new place on the floor, I saw Avery slowly lean over me, eyebrows furrowed and examining me. I snorted, and I might have spit in his face by accident, I don’t know, but he retracted awfully quick, and all I could do was lay on the floor and laugh.

“Hmm, Mumbles,” I sputtered through my laughter, still looking up at him, squinting my eyes and watching his figure blur against the glow from the light above him. “Mumbles, I… I think I might be allergic to vodka because… I… Because I… Hmmm.” I giggled. “What is this?”

“Princess, you’re drunk,” Avery murmured, looking down at me once more, then glancing up to Dean with narrowed eyes and saying something else. 10 minutes. I remember him saying 10 minutes. Had it been ten minutes? No. It must have been longer, I reasoned. 10 minutes, how preposterous. I laughed. I laughed incredibly hard, and Avery gave me a look as though I had been laughing at nothing at all. Avery was funny. Dean was funny. Who else was funny? Right, Sam. Him too.

With this sudden epiphany, I somehow managed to get back on my feet and raced for Sam’s door, nearly ramming right into Avery in the process, but he managed to dodge me. Obviously, his dexterity was still in tact. Whereas mine was… not so much. I went bowling straight through the door to Sam’s office, shouting, “Sam! Sam!” I laughed all the while, even when I overshot my trajectory and landed straight in Sam’s lap. “Oops,” I giggled unbearably hard. “Sorry, Sammy.” I finally brushed the hair out of my face, grinning, to look at him. Sam was absolutely beet red, stock still, probably from my presence and the fact that I was seated on his lap. “You okay, Sam?” I inquired with concern, tilting my head to the side before a giggle fit came over me again.

He stammered. I began to wonder if Sam ever really knew any girls because I certainly had never known any boys before this, and it occurred to me that I had a wonderful opportunity sitting right in front of me—or beneath me. I wondered if Sam was feeling the same fluttering in the pit of his stomach. I wondered if my face was as red as his was. My face certainly felt warm, but I didn’t know if that was from anxiety or from the alcohol, and all I could do was giggle as Sam continued to sit there in shock. “Shhh,” I hushed him, pressing my index finger to his lips and shaking my head. “Just… shh, stop talking, Sam,” I muttered, and he did fall silent. It didn’t mean he looked any less nervous as I leaned in and pressed my lips against him.

I never tell anyone that I remember this happening… any of this night really. There are several reasons for this, one of which is part of my own shame over experiencing my first kiss pissed drunk with a boy I really didn’t feel any legitimate attraction to at all. No offense to Sam, but if I had to choose between the Cassidy brothers, Dean was the obvious, far more attractive choice.

Had I been sober or in the correct state of mind, I would have felt overwhelmed by the sensation, probably would have been startled and probably would have pulled myself away from him immediately, but I wasn’t. If I was sober, this wouldn’t have been happening, and I definitely wouldn’t be diving headfirst even deeper either. My muscles were so relaxed, and I’m sure that must have been the alcohol, but even Sam seemed to lose the tension he’d been harboring since I practically on him. His hands awkwardly fumbled and slid to my waist as my hands cupped his face.

Lips parted and saliva was ultimately swapped, and it’s not a story I particularly like remembering, not because Sam’s performance was subpar (that’s not saying he was perfect, far from it), but because the entire exchange was all kinds of awkward, especially because neither one of us was experienced enough to know what the hell we were even doing at the time. There was nothing smooth or sexy about this, in fact, my tongue felt a little bit raped in the aftermath, but I was too drunk to care, so when I decided I was done, I merely tugged myself from his lap, kissed him on the cheek and told him, “Thanks. That was lovely.”

Next thing I knew (and from this point on, things seemed to get incredibly vague and blurry), Dean and I were at some club, don’t know exactly where it was. I just know that it smelled like sweat, alcohol, cheap perfume, and desperation. I also know that I ended playing a second round of tonsil honkey with a short, raven-haired girl in a rather revealing dress, who I decided I rather liked after another drink. I invited her to have tea with me tomorrow at lunch, but she declined not-so-politely, which absolutely devastated me, and the world suddenly felt like it was ending and that the sky was crashing down with it.

I rushed over to Dean, who was at the bar, probably getting another drink, I wasn’t sure. He probably wasn’t sure he either. He was just as plastered as I was at this point, and there was no telling what actually took place. All I have left to share are very vague memories of a night nobody ever discusses anymore.

“Muscles,” I whined, so horribly upset that I just walked up and leaned against him, face sinking in his chest. I didn’t know when I decided that I was going to call him Muscles, but it seemed fitting enough. “She doesn’t want to get tea with me.”

“Who?” Dean slurred, looking down at me, and I just whined at him again.

“My new friend, Muscles,” I agonized. “She doesn’t like me.”

“Oh,” he muttered. “I think you’re alright, Blondie. Forget her.”

“Really?” I exclaimed, looking up him, suddenly overjoyed and excited again.

“Yup.” He slid a glass my way. “Here Blondie. Have this.”

“Cool!” I chirped, chugging it back, and triumphantly knocking the glass back onto the bar. “Dean… Dean, I really wanna tell you something,” I told him. “I love you from head to toe.” I hiccuped. “And that drink was delicious.”

Dean grinned. “Thanks, Blondie.”

“You are a magnificent human being.”

“I know, Blondie.”

“I just really wanted you to know that.” Another hiccup made it’s way up my throat, and I stumbled forward. I caught myself on a nearby, stool, giggling. “Whoa!” I exclaimed, laughing harder now. “That was a close one, wow. Oh, wow.”

Dean was laughing now too. “Watch yourself,” he warned, reaching out and grabbing my arm to steady me.

“Muscles,” I said, furrowing my brows, suddenly not laughing or all that happy anymore. “I seriously have to pee right now.” I was laughing again. I really didn’t know why that was so funny.

“Oh…” Dean murmured. “Shit.” His voice sounded like this was absolutely dreadful news, and I thought for a second that his head did a total 360. “I don’t see a bathroom in here.” But there was. Neither of us remembered that it was there, and neither of us saw the the glowing exit sign by the entrance to it. Only in retrospect did I remember how ludicrous the entire situation was.

“I know where one is. I know where we can go, okay?” I told him, and Dean nodded. I grabbed him by the wrist and dragged him outside like a dog on a leash. He stumbled behind me, giggling as I led him out into what looked like the suburban area… East London… where I lived. I knew where this was, I thought. “Muscles,” I giggled, finally letting go of Dean’s hand.

“Yeah, Blondie?” he snorted, holding his stomach as he tried to fight off more laughter.

“You know, sometimes… I just… I just wish that I just like had a pee bag… attached to me at all times, so I could just pee wherever I wanted.” There was a brief silence, and we both stared deadpan at each other before bursting into more gut-splitting laughter.

Things got weird again after this. I remember brief images: managing to unlock the front door and stumble through it but falling onto the carpeting immediately. I remember tripping and falling up the stairs. Dean almost fell on top of me. Somewhere in that moment we decided it was a great moment to start kissing. I remember being picked up. I remember for a second having my back up against the wall and almost knocking a picture frame off.

I don’t remember ever taking Dean’s shirt off, but he was shirtless when I woke up. My foot was also pressed into his face.

“Blondie,” he murmured, muffled, obviously by the fact that my heel was resting square on his jaw. “Blondie, would you kindly remove your foot from my face please?”

I stirred awake, and the light pouring in from between the dark purple curtains stung my eyes. I groaned and squirmed a little, moving my foot. I heard Dean make an “oomph” sort of noise just before he decided to roll over, out of my way. He sat up, and I followed suit. He rubbed his eyes and looked over his shoulder at me, and his eyes widened instantly. “Why aren’t you wearing a shirt?” he inquired. I stared down and realized I was only wearing my bra. “Oh no,” he muttered. “Why am I not wearing a shirt?” He shot up from the bed. “Blondie, what is this? What happened?”

Blinking, my head surveyed the room, my room, judging by the familiar bookshelves and lilac sheets. I saw my fairy lights flickering from around the walls. I saw shirt laying on the floor. “Oh,” I yawned.

“That’s all you have to say?” he asked incredulously. “Blondie, what the fuck? Is this your room?” His face fell and flushed white. “Tell me your father isn’t home. There’s no way this is happening.” His hands combed through his tousled hair, and I thought I heard him mutter, “Oh my god.”

“Shhhh,” I hushed him, furrowing my eyebrows and closing my eyes. “Firstly, you’re being unbearably loud right now. Secondly, nothing happened. I… sometimes… I strip in my sleep.”

“You strip in your sleep?”

“Yes,” I answered.

“Well, that’s brilliant.”

“Muscles, will you just get your shirt on so we can move on with our lives?” I asked, sighing, tugging my shirt from last night back over my head and trying to smooth out the wrinkles. “My dad’s out for the weekend.”

“Okay,” he muttered, taking a deep breath. “Okay, that’s one plus.” There was a pause as I started lacing up my boots. “Blondie, I have a girlfriend.”

“And?” I replied, not even looking at him.

“…And this isn’t going to turn into anything,” he explained slowly, almost as though he thought I didn’t understand him the first time he had said. I just laughed.

“Yeah, I got that,” I told him with amusement. “Dean, come on.” I sat up and turned my body a bit to look at him. “I barely even remember last night. I didn’t fall madly in love with you during my drunken stupor, trust me.”

“Really?” He seemed shocked by this news. I quirked an eyebrow at him and bit my tongue, fighting the urge to make some sarcastic comment. He probably wasn’t used to rejection, not judging by the chiseled jaw and those baby blue eyes. He sighed, and his eyes fell upon me pleadingly. “At least tell me I’m better than my brother,” he begged.

“Very much so,” I told him, nodding quickly, eyes wide with remembrance. I had almost completely forgotten about Sam. Wouldn’t that be awkward when I got back, I thought. “Come on,” I muttered, rising to my feet. “Now that you’re collected, I’d say it’s time we got back. Or at least I got back.”

“True.” Dean nodded. “Very true. Okay, Blondie.”

“Don’t worry, Muscles,” I chuckled under my breath, striding up next to him and punching him lightly in the shoulder. “I know the bro code. My lips are sealed.”

“How do you know—“ he began to ask but shook his head. “Never mind. Let’s just go.”

And we went. And I awkwardly discussed with Sam that I was incredibly drunk. He said he understood. Thankfully, we were able to move past the whole thing. I did feel bad; he was blushing the whole time.

“It’s okay, Tali,” he stammered, and I merely gave him a smile. I leaned forward to embrace him in the chair. From over his shoulder, Alex’s judgmental stare caught my eye. He was curled up on a ratty, old armchair in the far corner, and he was looking straight at me, eyebrows furrowed like he had known what had taken place. Part of me hoped that he didn’t… and I didn’t know why I cared, just that I did. I quickly averted my glance, and I leaned over to kiss Sam on the cheek.

“Thanks for understanding,” I whispered to him before turning and leaving, forcing myself not to look back at Alex. I was sure he was rolling his eyes. Dean entered just as I left, and I heard heckling, laughing, something about “being better than Sam.”

“Good god,” I murmured and rubbed my forehead. “It’s too early for this.” Unwilling to sit and listen to the verbal jousting about to take place, I made it back to my room (well, Avery’s room) and curled up on my cot. Ralph, who had patiently been waiting for me all night, hopped up and laid down next to me, purring loudly as I fell asleep in an effort to rid myself of the nasty headache and the feeling of utter shame.