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last01standingTitle: Five For Fighting (4/12)
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Dean, Sam centered with an epic supporting cast
Notes: Will be updated sporatically due to nano.
Summary: For the Winchester brothers hockey was always something apart from hunting until one season it suddenly wasn’t.
For those of you not familiar with hockey, you can read a quick primer on game basics here
one | two | three | four | five | six | seven | eight | nine | ten | eleven | twelve | epilogue
Five For Fighting
CHAPTER 4: Luck of the Draw
They couldn’t talk until the were in the hotel room and then Sam tossed down his duffle, rounded on his brother and said, “Possessed? They were possessed. That’s why you took a swing at him?”
“Why the hell else would I take a swing at him?” Dean snapped. “I don’t fight. I haven’t since I broke that kid’s arm in the peewee league. It was one of dad’s rules. I could keep playing as long as I didn’t break out the secret hunter kong-fu on the unsuspecting thugs.”
Sam flipped on the television as if he thought he was going to find a story about Dean Winchester’s fight admits the highlights from basketball season but it wasn’t there and probably wouldn’t be there except for a five second blurb on Sportscenter tomorrow morning. “What are we going to do about this?” Sam asked finally. “We’re leaving for the Canadian circuit tomorrow. We don’t have time for a mass exorcism.”
“Not to mention, they’re going to watch me like a hawk next time I’m in Philly.”
“Yeah, you kind of screwed the pooch on this one, Dean.”
“You’re not doing an exorcism alone,” Dean ordered.
“I’m not an idiot, I’m going to go to Jess’s room and make sure she salts her doors. Then I’m probably going to stay there. See you in the morning, right?”
“I think I’m going to go celebrate with the team,” Dean replied. “We did just get a win. Plus with all the blood shed, we can all get drunk cheep tonight.”
“Dude, we have money.”
“Sorry, still get the flashbacks to the old days sometime.”
They’d spent half of their youth running flat broke. The deal had always been that if they wanted to play the peewee hockey season, they had to scrap together the money for it on their own. Dean had made it happen every year, skipping meals when he could bear it. Having enough money to eat and drink what he wanted was still a bit of a luxury.
“Don’t get in any bar fights,” Sam cautioned him.
Dean spread his arms wide as if to ask Who? Me? There was a bruise blossoming over his right eye, a souvenir from the fight he’d started with a demon on ice skates. His right knee still ached and in his pocket he kept a thin scrap of paper, copied from his dad’s journal with the exorcism jotted hastily down.
***
There were no bar fights that night. No fights of any kind really. Dean wound up at a dinner table with Adam and Ben as the Trickster attempted to get them all to participate in Karaoke.
“Why’d you fight ‘em?” Ben asked after his third beer of the night had lessened his constant nervousness from being in the presence of people he’d grown up watching on television. He was still under aged and most people knew it but he was also a professional athlete so no one was willing to call him on it. “I knew him in the minors. He’s a nice guy.”
“He’s a demon,” Dean said, sipping at his whiskey, not bothering to be subtle. He’d kept an eye on the door all night watching for any of the Flyers to come in. He didn’t know what bars they normally frequented but this one had seemed pretty athlete friendly.
“Yeah,” Adam snorted. “That’s a good one.”
Carl Rubesen was sitting alone at the end of the bar, glass of scotch in his hand. Dean’s eyes narrowed. To his knowledge Carl tended to hang out with the skinny slip of a forward called Scott Carey and Calvin Reidy who was the quietest of the players on the Hendriksen line. Dean excused himself from his table for a moment and made his way over to the bar, sitting down next to him. “Hell of a game tonight, Rube,” he said.
“Thanks,” Rubesen replied quiet and a slightly higher pitch then Dean was used to hearing but Dean wasn’t really friends with Rubesen. He’d always kind of felt like Rubesen hated all of the Rage’s defense for allowing an average of thirty shots a game.
“Buy you another?” Dean asked.
Rubesen finished his current glass and looked over. “No, I’m headed out. See you tomorrow, Winchester.”
He paid for the drinks and walked out of the bar and Dean felt like a jackass because he was the reason Rubesen had to be brilliant the night before. He’d taken a stupid penalty even though he’d made it out of necessity. If he didn’t watch it, this was the kind of stuff that could get him booted back down to the AHL.
He realized now why his dad had made it rule number one. Hockey is not hunting. The two should not mix.
Because now they had started bleeding into one another, Dean didn’t know what he was supposed to do.
***
He called Marc Staal that night. He would have called Jordan or Eric instead but the Rangers were coming in to play Philly in a week while Pittsburg was on a west coast swing and Carolina was in Arizona. He answered on the third ring sounding tired and annoyed. “Dean Winchester?” he said. “Why are you calling me at two in the morning?”
Dean hesitated, looking over to Sam’s empty bed. “You remember that time me and my brother ran into you guys summer before last.”
They’d been locked in a house under the assault of a half dozen or so black dogs. Dean and Sam had rolled in expecting to find a couple of helpless kids huddled up in the corner. What they found was a set of four brothers making a flame thrower out of a can of spray paint. Marc had looked over to Dean only to say, Back off. We’ve got this.
To his knowledge the Staal brothers were the only other players in the NHL with any knowledge of the supernatural. It could have been worse though. The nice thing about the Staal brothers was that, between the four of them, they could pretty much cover the entire east coast.
“Yeah,” Marc said. “Yeah, I remember.”
“I think pretty much everyone on the Flyers is possessed.”
“You serious? That why you clocked the guy?”
Dean winced and rubbed his forehead. “Yeah. Wanted to give you the heads up.”
“I don’t think I’m going to be performing an exorcism on the ice.”
“Just keep an eye out all right?”
“Yeah, Dean, sure. Thanks for the head up.” He yawned. “You going to Toronto, yeah? Jordan says they’ve got a curse on them. They haven’t won a home game all season.”
“Me and Sam will check it out. Good luck to you guys.”
“Right up until we’re playing you right.”
“You’ve got it,” Dean laughed. “Get some sleep.”
The dial tone greeted him and he hung up, laying back against the bed, letting himself feel the dull ache of his bones.
***
They were the two worst teams in the conference. Fifteen games in and the Rage had two wins and the Maple Leafs three. Sam and Jess were in the hotel room with him, a few books scattered on the hotel desk.
“They haven’t won a home game this season,” Jess said. “In fact, they haven’t won a home game since last March.”
“There’s our pattern,” Sam said. “Cross reference it. Find out if anything was gifted to the team or any of the players.”
“Hold on a second,” Dean said, raising a hand. “We’re saying that Toronto hasn’t won a home game since last season?”
“March 2nd,” Jess confirmed.
“And all of their wins this season have come on the road?”
“The Habs, Ottowa and Chicago.”
Dean snapped his book closed. “Let’s think about this. We’re playing them tomorrow. Do we really want to break this curse now?”
“What the hell are you saying, Dean? We just leave them like this?”
“No one’s getting hurt! And I’m not suggesting we leave them like that. Just you know wait. And not act on it until you know after our game tomorrow.”
“Dean—“
“I really don’t like being the worst team in the league, Sammy!” Dean snapped. “It’s not about this curse it’s about us really needing another win. We get this one and we’ve got two in a row. That’s something to building on. You know something that will ramp us up into mediocrity.”
“Mediocrity?”
“Dude, I hate losing all the time.”
Jess tossed her hair over her shoulder. “How long you suspended, Dean?”
“Two games,” Dean admitted. “NHL called it unprovoked. If the guy hadn’t swung back it would have been five. I would be really, really nice if we could win one of them.”
Sam snorted. “You’ve got to get that temper under control.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Dean muttered.
***
They won the game with Dean watching from the bench in his street clothes. The Rage got every bounce, funny deflections and three different too many men on the ice penalties. Dean’s suspension had left them short a defensemen so the lines were shifted leaving Ben Braeden playing defense in his place and the Rage playing short a forward. But it didn’t seem to matter in the end. The final score was four to one, the one on a rather soft screen shot that to Dean’s eyes looked like it could have been stopped.
Ellen gave them a short post game speech before dismissing them for the evening. A few people had family in the area and Dean dodged a few offers of company so that he and Sam could make their way back to the Air Canada Centre. Jess greeted them at the door. “What the hell took you so long?” she said. Her hair was pulled up in a tight blonde ponytail. “I’ve been dodging the night security for the last two hours.”
“You’ve got us a way into the home locker room, right?”
“You know who you’re talking to right?”
“You’re the best,” Sam said. “I mean that.” He leaned in and press a quick kiss to her lips as Dean pretended to gag.
Jess jangled a set of keys in front of them and lead them over to the locker room before flipping on the lights. Despite himself Dean found himself smiling. “What are we looking for?” Jess asked.
“Cursed object,” Dean said, pulling out his EMF. “Should set it off. We find it and we burn it and we let Toronto lose games on their own.”
“You’re in a good mood.”
“I’m not currently on the worst team in hockey. Turns your day around.”
Jess was methodically going through the player lockers as Sam scanned the outskirts of the room. Dean moved side to side waiting for a hit from the EMF.
“Bingo,” Jess sang out. “This is weird right?”
A brown hex bag sailed through the room Dean caught it with his off hand, wrinkling his nose. “Freaking witches,” he muttered and checked the contents. Piece of a jersey, some sort of bone. “Looks like amateur work,” he said. “I think this is a bird bone.”
“They sacrificed a bird?” Sam asked his face scrunched up in apparently genuine distress.
“Better a bird then a person,” Jess said, clapping a hand on Sam’s shoulder. “Can we get out of here before I get caught and lose my job?”
“Up in smoke.” Dean pulled a lighter up out of his pocket and the hex bag crumpled in a blue flame.
“We need to find a witch?” Sam asked.
Dean shook his head. “Amateur work. I don’t think we need to bother.”
***
Two days later, they were in Ottawa and Dean was watching from the bench as the Senators whooped up on the Rage. Ellen pulled Rubesen when the Rage was down 5-1 half way through the second. Ronald Reznick lumbered out. He decent goaltender in a pinch, but he relied more on size then actual skill. He filled up the net but tired easily. Rubesen need to get his shit together.
“Tough one tonight,” Dean commented. “There’s always another one though, right.”
“Bite me,” Rubesen snapped, turning his gaze back onto the ice.
Ellen glanced at the two of them briefly, eyes narrowed before returning her gaze through the ice.
The game ended with a score of 7-1.
***
After the game Ellen cornered Dean coming out of the locker room. “You’re rooming with Rubesen in Montreal,” she ordered. “I don’t know what issues you and Rubesen have but you damn well better fix it. Beat on each other for a night, I don’t care but fix it. I don’t take this kind of shit on my team.”
Sam was waiting for him outside. “What did she want?” he asked.
Dean wrinkled his nose. “Does Rube have a problem with me?”
“Only your face.”
“I’m being serious.”
“Dean, we’re almost twenty games into the season and we’ve got three wins. Everyone has a problem with everyone right now. I’m surprised Hendriksen hasn’t snapped on Harry and Ed yet.”
***
The hotel room in Montreal was just awkward. Dean would never admit it, but it made him miss Sammy. Sam could annoy the hell out of him but he knew the all of his ticks, knew what to expect. But Rubesen, Rubesen did things like sing in the shower and watch some television show about some Dr. Sexy and his hospital full of slutty interns.
Two hours in and Dean was going insane. Luckily though, Rubesen took off for the night and Dean laid back on the bed in blessed silence. He though briefly about calling up Sam but remembered that his girlfriend was just a few rooms down and though better of it. He had half a mind to go find Vic Hendriksen or the Trickster for the night but, embarrassingly, he found himself falling asleep before he could.
He woke up a few hours later as Rubesen stumbled inside, obviously trying to keep quiet Dean shook his head and turned on the lights. “Don’t worry about it,” he said off Rubesen’s wide-eyed look. “Light sleeper.”
“Sorry,” he mumbled.
Dean rolled over and grabbed a water bottle from his bag. “Drink up, dude. We’re playing tomorrow and Reznick ain’t who we want in goal.”
It was supposed to be a peace offering, some way to fix whatever grudge Rubesen was harboring against him. He hadn’t even remembered that he’d filled his spare water bottle up with holy water after the Philly game. It wasn’t something that crossed his mid at two in the morning.
But Rubesen brought the water bottle to his mouth and the second his lips hit the water his let out a hiss as steam from the burns curled out of his mouth.
***
Next time.... The Winchesters deal with Rubesen and the angels touch down.
| five |
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Dean, Sam centered with an epic supporting cast
Notes: Will be updated sporatically due to nano.
Summary: For the Winchester brothers hockey was always something apart from hunting until one season it suddenly wasn’t.
For those of you not familiar with hockey, you can read a quick primer on game basics here
CHAPTER 4: Luck of the Draw
They couldn’t talk until the were in the hotel room and then Sam tossed down his duffle, rounded on his brother and said, “Possessed? They were possessed. That’s why you took a swing at him?”
“Why the hell else would I take a swing at him?” Dean snapped. “I don’t fight. I haven’t since I broke that kid’s arm in the peewee league. It was one of dad’s rules. I could keep playing as long as I didn’t break out the secret hunter kong-fu on the unsuspecting thugs.”
Sam flipped on the television as if he thought he was going to find a story about Dean Winchester’s fight admits the highlights from basketball season but it wasn’t there and probably wouldn’t be there except for a five second blurb on Sportscenter tomorrow morning. “What are we going to do about this?” Sam asked finally. “We’re leaving for the Canadian circuit tomorrow. We don’t have time for a mass exorcism.”
“Not to mention, they’re going to watch me like a hawk next time I’m in Philly.”
“Yeah, you kind of screwed the pooch on this one, Dean.”
“You’re not doing an exorcism alone,” Dean ordered.
“I’m not an idiot, I’m going to go to Jess’s room and make sure she salts her doors. Then I’m probably going to stay there. See you in the morning, right?”
“I think I’m going to go celebrate with the team,” Dean replied. “We did just get a win. Plus with all the blood shed, we can all get drunk cheep tonight.”
“Dude, we have money.”
“Sorry, still get the flashbacks to the old days sometime.”
They’d spent half of their youth running flat broke. The deal had always been that if they wanted to play the peewee hockey season, they had to scrap together the money for it on their own. Dean had made it happen every year, skipping meals when he could bear it. Having enough money to eat and drink what he wanted was still a bit of a luxury.
“Don’t get in any bar fights,” Sam cautioned him.
Dean spread his arms wide as if to ask Who? Me? There was a bruise blossoming over his right eye, a souvenir from the fight he’d started with a demon on ice skates. His right knee still ached and in his pocket he kept a thin scrap of paper, copied from his dad’s journal with the exorcism jotted hastily down.
There were no bar fights that night. No fights of any kind really. Dean wound up at a dinner table with Adam and Ben as the Trickster attempted to get them all to participate in Karaoke.
“Why’d you fight ‘em?” Ben asked after his third beer of the night had lessened his constant nervousness from being in the presence of people he’d grown up watching on television. He was still under aged and most people knew it but he was also a professional athlete so no one was willing to call him on it. “I knew him in the minors. He’s a nice guy.”
“He’s a demon,” Dean said, sipping at his whiskey, not bothering to be subtle. He’d kept an eye on the door all night watching for any of the Flyers to come in. He didn’t know what bars they normally frequented but this one had seemed pretty athlete friendly.
“Yeah,” Adam snorted. “That’s a good one.”
Carl Rubesen was sitting alone at the end of the bar, glass of scotch in his hand. Dean’s eyes narrowed. To his knowledge Carl tended to hang out with the skinny slip of a forward called Scott Carey and Calvin Reidy who was the quietest of the players on the Hendriksen line. Dean excused himself from his table for a moment and made his way over to the bar, sitting down next to him. “Hell of a game tonight, Rube,” he said.
“Thanks,” Rubesen replied quiet and a slightly higher pitch then Dean was used to hearing but Dean wasn’t really friends with Rubesen. He’d always kind of felt like Rubesen hated all of the Rage’s defense for allowing an average of thirty shots a game.
“Buy you another?” Dean asked.
Rubesen finished his current glass and looked over. “No, I’m headed out. See you tomorrow, Winchester.”
He paid for the drinks and walked out of the bar and Dean felt like a jackass because he was the reason Rubesen had to be brilliant the night before. He’d taken a stupid penalty even though he’d made it out of necessity. If he didn’t watch it, this was the kind of stuff that could get him booted back down to the AHL.
He realized now why his dad had made it rule number one. Hockey is not hunting. The two should not mix.
Because now they had started bleeding into one another, Dean didn’t know what he was supposed to do.
He called Marc Staal that night. He would have called Jordan or Eric instead but the Rangers were coming in to play Philly in a week while Pittsburg was on a west coast swing and Carolina was in Arizona. He answered on the third ring sounding tired and annoyed. “Dean Winchester?” he said. “Why are you calling me at two in the morning?”
Dean hesitated, looking over to Sam’s empty bed. “You remember that time me and my brother ran into you guys summer before last.”
They’d been locked in a house under the assault of a half dozen or so black dogs. Dean and Sam had rolled in expecting to find a couple of helpless kids huddled up in the corner. What they found was a set of four brothers making a flame thrower out of a can of spray paint. Marc had looked over to Dean only to say, Back off. We’ve got this.
To his knowledge the Staal brothers were the only other players in the NHL with any knowledge of the supernatural. It could have been worse though. The nice thing about the Staal brothers was that, between the four of them, they could pretty much cover the entire east coast.
“Yeah,” Marc said. “Yeah, I remember.”
“I think pretty much everyone on the Flyers is possessed.”
“You serious? That why you clocked the guy?”
Dean winced and rubbed his forehead. “Yeah. Wanted to give you the heads up.”
“I don’t think I’m going to be performing an exorcism on the ice.”
“Just keep an eye out all right?”
“Yeah, Dean, sure. Thanks for the head up.” He yawned. “You going to Toronto, yeah? Jordan says they’ve got a curse on them. They haven’t won a home game all season.”
“Me and Sam will check it out. Good luck to you guys.”
“Right up until we’re playing you right.”
“You’ve got it,” Dean laughed. “Get some sleep.”
The dial tone greeted him and he hung up, laying back against the bed, letting himself feel the dull ache of his bones.
They were the two worst teams in the conference. Fifteen games in and the Rage had two wins and the Maple Leafs three. Sam and Jess were in the hotel room with him, a few books scattered on the hotel desk.
“They haven’t won a home game this season,” Jess said. “In fact, they haven’t won a home game since last March.”
“There’s our pattern,” Sam said. “Cross reference it. Find out if anything was gifted to the team or any of the players.”
“Hold on a second,” Dean said, raising a hand. “We’re saying that Toronto hasn’t won a home game since last season?”
“March 2nd,” Jess confirmed.
“And all of their wins this season have come on the road?”
“The Habs, Ottowa and Chicago.”
Dean snapped his book closed. “Let’s think about this. We’re playing them tomorrow. Do we really want to break this curse now?”
“What the hell are you saying, Dean? We just leave them like this?”
“No one’s getting hurt! And I’m not suggesting we leave them like that. Just you know wait. And not act on it until you know after our game tomorrow.”
“Dean—“
“I really don’t like being the worst team in the league, Sammy!” Dean snapped. “It’s not about this curse it’s about us really needing another win. We get this one and we’ve got two in a row. That’s something to building on. You know something that will ramp us up into mediocrity.”
“Mediocrity?”
“Dude, I hate losing all the time.”
Jess tossed her hair over her shoulder. “How long you suspended, Dean?”
“Two games,” Dean admitted. “NHL called it unprovoked. If the guy hadn’t swung back it would have been five. I would be really, really nice if we could win one of them.”
Sam snorted. “You’ve got to get that temper under control.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Dean muttered.
They won the game with Dean watching from the bench in his street clothes. The Rage got every bounce, funny deflections and three different too many men on the ice penalties. Dean’s suspension had left them short a defensemen so the lines were shifted leaving Ben Braeden playing defense in his place and the Rage playing short a forward. But it didn’t seem to matter in the end. The final score was four to one, the one on a rather soft screen shot that to Dean’s eyes looked like it could have been stopped.
Ellen gave them a short post game speech before dismissing them for the evening. A few people had family in the area and Dean dodged a few offers of company so that he and Sam could make their way back to the Air Canada Centre. Jess greeted them at the door. “What the hell took you so long?” she said. Her hair was pulled up in a tight blonde ponytail. “I’ve been dodging the night security for the last two hours.”
“You’ve got us a way into the home locker room, right?”
“You know who you’re talking to right?”
“You’re the best,” Sam said. “I mean that.” He leaned in and press a quick kiss to her lips as Dean pretended to gag.
Jess jangled a set of keys in front of them and lead them over to the locker room before flipping on the lights. Despite himself Dean found himself smiling. “What are we looking for?” Jess asked.
“Cursed object,” Dean said, pulling out his EMF. “Should set it off. We find it and we burn it and we let Toronto lose games on their own.”
“You’re in a good mood.”
“I’m not currently on the worst team in hockey. Turns your day around.”
Jess was methodically going through the player lockers as Sam scanned the outskirts of the room. Dean moved side to side waiting for a hit from the EMF.
“Bingo,” Jess sang out. “This is weird right?”
A brown hex bag sailed through the room Dean caught it with his off hand, wrinkling his nose. “Freaking witches,” he muttered and checked the contents. Piece of a jersey, some sort of bone. “Looks like amateur work,” he said. “I think this is a bird bone.”
“They sacrificed a bird?” Sam asked his face scrunched up in apparently genuine distress.
“Better a bird then a person,” Jess said, clapping a hand on Sam’s shoulder. “Can we get out of here before I get caught and lose my job?”
“Up in smoke.” Dean pulled a lighter up out of his pocket and the hex bag crumpled in a blue flame.
“We need to find a witch?” Sam asked.
Dean shook his head. “Amateur work. I don’t think we need to bother.”
Two days later, they were in Ottawa and Dean was watching from the bench as the Senators whooped up on the Rage. Ellen pulled Rubesen when the Rage was down 5-1 half way through the second. Ronald Reznick lumbered out. He decent goaltender in a pinch, but he relied more on size then actual skill. He filled up the net but tired easily. Rubesen need to get his shit together.
“Tough one tonight,” Dean commented. “There’s always another one though, right.”
“Bite me,” Rubesen snapped, turning his gaze back onto the ice.
Ellen glanced at the two of them briefly, eyes narrowed before returning her gaze through the ice.
The game ended with a score of 7-1.
After the game Ellen cornered Dean coming out of the locker room. “You’re rooming with Rubesen in Montreal,” she ordered. “I don’t know what issues you and Rubesen have but you damn well better fix it. Beat on each other for a night, I don’t care but fix it. I don’t take this kind of shit on my team.”
Sam was waiting for him outside. “What did she want?” he asked.
Dean wrinkled his nose. “Does Rube have a problem with me?”
“Only your face.”
“I’m being serious.”
“Dean, we’re almost twenty games into the season and we’ve got three wins. Everyone has a problem with everyone right now. I’m surprised Hendriksen hasn’t snapped on Harry and Ed yet.”
The hotel room in Montreal was just awkward. Dean would never admit it, but it made him miss Sammy. Sam could annoy the hell out of him but he knew the all of his ticks, knew what to expect. But Rubesen, Rubesen did things like sing in the shower and watch some television show about some Dr. Sexy and his hospital full of slutty interns.
Two hours in and Dean was going insane. Luckily though, Rubesen took off for the night and Dean laid back on the bed in blessed silence. He though briefly about calling up Sam but remembered that his girlfriend was just a few rooms down and though better of it. He had half a mind to go find Vic Hendriksen or the Trickster for the night but, embarrassingly, he found himself falling asleep before he could.
He woke up a few hours later as Rubesen stumbled inside, obviously trying to keep quiet Dean shook his head and turned on the lights. “Don’t worry about it,” he said off Rubesen’s wide-eyed look. “Light sleeper.”
“Sorry,” he mumbled.
Dean rolled over and grabbed a water bottle from his bag. “Drink up, dude. We’re playing tomorrow and Reznick ain’t who we want in goal.”
It was supposed to be a peace offering, some way to fix whatever grudge Rubesen was harboring against him. He hadn’t even remembered that he’d filled his spare water bottle up with holy water after the Philly game. It wasn’t something that crossed his mid at two in the morning.
But Rubesen brought the water bottle to his mouth and the second his lips hit the water his let out a hiss as steam from the burns curled out of his mouth.
Next time.... The Winchesters deal with Rubesen and the angels touch down.
| five |
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
4/12/09 05:44 (UTC)I'm thinking another chapter this weekend.
(no subject)
6/12/09 09:22 (UTC)Yay, I see you've posted another chapter! I can't wait to have a chance to read it! *covets fic*
Also, I [have recced this] at
(no subject)
6/12/09 15:04 (UTC)You can join me in my secret quest to unite all fans of SPN and hockey!
(no subject)
6/12/09 20:32 (UTC)I am behind you 100% on this secret quest! Although I think that my rec makes my particular agenda on this issue a little not-stealthy, if that's going to be a problem :)
(no subject)
7/12/09 17:15 (UTC)